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TALES 
 
 FROM 
 
 MARIA EDGEWORTH 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
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 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
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 One of the things which perplexes the dreamer — 
 for in spite of the critics there are dreamers still — is 
 the almost complete extinction of the early editions of 
 certain popular works. The pompous, respectable, full- 
 wigged folios, with their long lists of subscribers, and 
 their magniloquent dedications, find their permanent 
 abiding places in noblemen's libraries, where, unless, 
 with the Chrysostom in Pope, they are used for the 
 smoothing of bands or the drying of flowers, nobody 
 ever disturbs them. They are sacred by their bulk : 
 like the regimental big drum, they are too large to be 
 mislaid. But where are all the first copies of that little 
 octavo of 246 pages, price eighteen pence, " Printed by 
 T. Maxey for Rich. Marriot in S. Dunstans Church- 
 yard, Fleetstreet," in 1653, which constitute the editio 
 princeps of Walton's Angler} Probablv they were 
 worn out in the pockets of Honest Jzaak's "brothers 
 of the Angle," or left to bake and cockle in wayside 
 
Introduction 
 
 alehouse windows, or dropped in the deep grass by 
 some casual owner, more careful for baits and flies or 
 possibly for the contents of a leathern bottle, than all 
 the " choicely-good " madrigals of Maudlin the Milk- 
 maid. In any case, there are very few of the little 
 tomes, with their quaint coppers of fishes, in existence 
 now, nor is it silver that pays for them. And that 
 other eighteen-penny book, put forth by " Nath. Pon- 
 der at the Peacock in the Poultrey near CornhiV five and 
 twenty years later — The Pilgrim's Progress from This 
 World \ to That which is to come — why is it that there 
 are only five known copies, none quite perfect, now 
 existing, of which the best sold not long since for more 
 than ^1,400? One of them, the first that came to 
 light, had been preserved owing to its having taken 
 sanctuary, almost upon publication, in a great library, 
 where it was forgotten. But the rest that passed over 
 Mr. Ponder's counter in the Poultry — were they all 
 lost or destroyed ? Probably they were worn, and 
 thumbed, and dog's-eared out of existence. But they 
 are gone; and gone apparently beyond reach of re- 
 covery. 
 
 These remarks — which need not be styled reflections 
 — have been suggested by the difficulty experienced by 
 the writer in obtaining particulars as to the first form 
 of the work which is here, in part, reprinted. As a 
 matter of course, children's books are more liable to 
 disappear than any others. They are sooner torn, 
 soiled, dismembered, disintegrated : — sooner find their 
 way to that mysterious unlocated limbo of lost things, 
 which engulfs so much. Yet one scarcely expected that 
 
Introduction 
 
 even the British Museum would not have possessed 
 a copy of the first issue of Miss Edgeworth's Parent's 
 Assistant. Such, however, seems to be the case. Ac- 
 cording to the catalogue, there is no earlier copy at 
 Bloomsbury, than the first part of the second edition ; 
 and from the inexplicit and conjectural manner in which 
 most of the author's biographers speak of the book, 
 it can scarcely — outside private collections — -be very 
 easily accessible. Fortunately, the old Monthly Review 
 for September, 1796, with a most unusual forethought 
 for posterity, gives, as a heading to its notice, a precise 
 and very categorical account of the first edition. The 
 Parent's Assistant; or, Stories for Children was, it ap- 
 pears, published in two parts making three small duo- 
 decimo volumes. The price, bound, was six shillings. 
 There was no author's name, but it was said to be 
 " by E. M." (i. e., Edgeworth, Maria) and the publisher 
 was Cowper's Dissenter publisher, Joseph Johnson, of 
 No. 72, St. Paul's Churchyard. Part I. contained 
 " The Little Dog Trusty; or, The Liar and the Boy of 
 Truth"; " The Orange Man; or, the Honest Boy and 
 the Thief" ; " Lazy Lawrence " ; " Tarleton " ; and 
 "The False Key." Part II., "The Purple Jar," "The 
 Bracelets," "Mademoiselle Panache," "The Birthday 
 Present," "Old Poz," and "The Mimic." In the 
 same vear, 1796, a second edition was issued, appar- 
 ently with some supplementary stories (e. g., "Barring 
 Out " ); and in 1 800 came a third edition in six volumes. 
 In this the text was increased bv " Simple Susan," " The 
 Little Merchants," " The Basket Woman," " The 
 White Pigeon," " The Orphans," " Waste Not, Want 
 
Introduction 
 
 Not," " Forgive and Forget," " The Barring Out," 
 and " Eton Montem." One story, " The Purple Jar " 
 of Part II. of the first edition, was withdrawn, and after- 
 wards included in the Rosamond series ; while the sto- 
 ries entitled respectively " Little Dog Trusty " and 
 " The Orange Man " have disappeared from the col- 
 lection, probably for the reason given in one of the first 
 prefaces, namely, that they " were written for a much ear- 
 lier age than any of the others, and with such a perfect 
 simplicity of expression as, to many, may appear in- 
 sipid and ridiculous." The six volumes of the third 
 edition came out successively on the first day of the 
 first six months of 1800. The Monthly Reviewer of 
 the first edition, it may be added, was highly laudatory; 
 and his commendations show that the early critics of 
 the author were fully alive to her distinctive qualities. 
 " The moral and prudential lessons of these volumes," 
 said the writer, " are judiciously chosen ; and the stories 
 are invented with great ingenuity, and are happily con- 
 trived to excite curiositv and awaken feeling, without 
 the aid of improbable fiction or extravagant adventure. 
 The language is varied in its degree of simplicity, to 
 suit the pieces to different ages, but is throughout neat 
 and correct ; and, without the least approach towards 
 vulgarity or meanness, it is adapted with peculiar felic- 
 ity to the understandings of children. The author's 
 taste, in this class of writing, appears to have been 
 formed on the best models ; and the work will not dis- 
 credit a place on the same shelf with Berquin's Child's 
 Friend, Mrs. Barbauld's Lessons for Children, and Dr. 
 Aikin's Evenings at Home. The story of " Lazy Law- 
 
Introduction 
 
 rence," the notice goes on, is " one of the best 
 lectures on industry we have ever read." The Critical 
 Review, which also gave a short account of the book 
 in its number for January, 1797, does not rehearse 
 the contents. But it confirms the title, etc., adding 
 that the price, in boards, was 4s 6d, and its praise, 
 though brief, is very much to the point. " The 
 present production [it says] is particularly sensible 
 and judicious, the stories are well written, simple, and 
 affecting ; calculated, not only for moral improve- 
 ment, but to exercise the best affections of the human 
 heart." 
 
 With one of the books mentioned by the Monthly 
 Review — Evenings at Home — Miss Edgeworth was 
 prepared, at all events in appearance, to ally herself. 
 "The stories," she says in a letter to her cousin, Miss 
 Buxton, " are printed and bound the same size as 
 Evenings at Home, and I am afraid you will not like 
 the title." Her father had sent the book to press as 
 the Parent's Friend, a name no doubt suggested by the 
 Child's Friend of Berquin ; but "Mr. Johnson (the 
 publisher)," continues Miss Edgeworth, " has degraded 
 it into the Parent's Assistant (which I dislike particu- 
 larly from association with an old book of arithmetic 
 called the Tutor's Assistant." The ground of objec- 
 tion is not a very forcible one, but the Parent's Assistant 
 is certainly an infelicitous title. From some other of 
 the author's letters we are able to trace the gradual 
 growth of the book. Mr. Edgeworth, her father, a 
 man of much mental energy, and many projects, was 
 greatly interested in education — or, as he would have 
 
Introduction 
 
 styled it, practical education — and long before this 
 date, as early, indeed, as May, 1780, he had desired 
 his daughter, while she was still a girl at a London 
 school, to write him a tale, about the length of a 
 Spectator, upon the subject of " Generosity," to be 
 taken from history or romance. This was her first 
 essay in fiction ; and it was pronounced by the judge 
 to whom it was submitted, in competition with a simi- 
 lar production by a young gentleman from Oxford, 
 to be " an excellent story, and extremely well written," 
 although with this commendation was coupled the 
 somewhat damaging inquiry, — " But where's the Gen- 
 erosity ? " The question cannot be answeerd now, as the 
 story has not been preserved, though the inconvenient 
 query, we are told, became a kind of personal proverb 
 with the young author, who was wont to add that her 
 first effort contained " a sentence of inextricable con- 
 fusion between a saddle, a man, and his horse." This 
 was a defect from which she must have speedily freed 
 herself, for her style, as her first reviewers admitted, 
 is conspicuously direct and clear. Accuracy in speak- 
 ing and writing had indeed been early impressed upon 
 her. Her father's doctrinaire ally and co-discipli- 
 narian, Mr. Thomas Day, later the author of Sandford 
 and Merton, and apparently the first person of whom 
 it is affirmed that " he talked like a book," had been 
 unwearied in bringing this home to his young friend, 
 when she visited him in her London school days. Not 
 content alone to dose her copiously with Bishop Berke- 
 ley's Tar Water — that chosen beverage of Young 
 and Richardson — he was unwearied in ministering to 
 
Introduction 
 
 her understanding. " His severe reasoning and un- 
 compromising truth of mind awakened all her powers; 
 and the questions he put to her, and the working out 
 of the answers, the necessity of perfect accuracy in all 
 her words, suited the natural truth of her mind; and, 
 though such strictness was not always agreeable, she 
 even then perceived its advantage, and in after-life 
 was grateful for it." 
 
 The discipline which she underwent from the inex- 
 orable Mr. Day was continued bv her father when she 
 quitted school and moved with her family to the parental 
 seat at Edgeworthstown in Ireland. Mr. Edgeworth, 
 whose principles were as vigorous as those of his friend, 
 devoted himself early to initiating her into business 
 habits. He taught her to copv letters, to keep accounts, 
 to receive rents, and, in fact, to act as his agent. She 
 was frequently with him in the many disputes and dif- 
 ficulties which arose with his Irish tenantry ; and, apart 
 trom the insight which this must have afforded her into 
 the character and peculiarities of the people, she no 
 doubt very early acquired that exact knowledge of 
 leases and legacies and dishonest agents which is a 
 noticeable feature even of her childish books. It is 
 some time, however, before we hear of any successor to 
 " Generosity "; but, in 1782, her father, with a view to 
 provide her with an occupation for her leisure, proposed 
 to her to prepare a translation of the Adcle et Theodore 
 of Mme. de Genlis, those letters upon education by 
 which that gentle moralist acquired — to use her own 
 words — at once " the suffrages of the public, and the 
 irreconcilable hatred of all the so-called philosophers 
 
Introduction 
 
 and their partisans." At first there had been no definite 
 thought of print in Mr. Edgeworth's mind. But as 
 the work progressed, the idea gathered strength; and 
 he began to correct his daughter's manuscript for the 
 press. Then, unhappily, when the first volume was 
 finished, Holcroft's complete translation appeared and 
 made the labour useless. Yet it was not without profit. 
 It had been excellent practice in aiding Miss Edge- 
 worth's faculty of expression, and increasing her vo- 
 cabulary — to say nothing of the influence which the 
 portraiture of individuals and the satire of reigning 
 follies which are the secondary characteristics of Mme. 
 de Genlis's most important work, may have had on her 
 own subsequent efforts as a novelist. Meanwhile, her 
 mentor, Mr. Day, was delighted at the interruption 
 of her task. He possessed, to the full, that rooted 
 antipathy to female authorship of which we find so 
 many traces in Miss Burney's novels and elsewhere; 
 and he wrote to congratulate Mr. Edgeworth on having 
 escaped the disgrace of a translating daughter. At this 
 time, as already stated, he himself had not become the 
 author of Sandford and Merton, which, as a matter of 
 fact, owed its inception to the Edgeworths, being at 
 first simply intended as a short story to be inserted in 
 the Harry and Lucy which Mr. Edgeworth wrote in col- 
 laboration with his second wife, Honora Sneyd. As 
 regards the question of publication, both Maria and 
 her father, although sensible of Mr. Day's prejudices, 
 appear to have deferred to his arguments. Nor were 
 these even lost to the public, for we are informed that, 
 in Miss Edgeworth's first publication, ten years later, 
 
Introduction 
 
 the Letters to Literary Ladies, she employed and em- 
 bodied much that he had advanced. But for the 
 present she continued to write — though solely for her 
 private amusement — essays, little stories, and dramatic 
 sketches. One of these last must have been " Old 
 Poz," a pleasant study of a country justice, which 
 appeared in Part II. of the first issue of the Parent's 
 Assistant, and which we are told was acted by the 
 Edgeworth children in a little theatre which had been 
 erected for the purpose. According to her sisters, it 
 was Miss Edgeworth's practice first to write her stories 
 (as did the famous Miss Pinkerton her Johnsonian 
 epistles) upon a slate, and then to read them out. If 
 they were approved, she transcribed them fairly. " Her 
 writing for children," says one of her biographers, " was 
 the natural outgrowth of a practical study of their wants 
 and fancies; and her constant care of the younger 
 children gave her exactly the opportunity required to 
 observe the development of mind incident to the age 
 and capacity of several little brothers and sisters." 
 According to her own account, her first critic was her 
 father. "Whenever I thought of writing anything, I 
 always told my father my first rough plans; and always, 
 with the instinct of a good critic, he used to fix im- 
 mediately upon that which would best answer the pur- 
 pose; — -'■Sketch that and shew it to me' : These words, 
 from the experience of his sagacity, never failed to 
 inspire me with hopes of success. It was then sketched. 
 Sometimes when I was fond of a particular part, I used 
 to dilate on it in the sketch; but to this he always 
 objected. c I don't want any of your painting — none 
 
Introduction 
 
 of your drapery : I can imagine all that ; let me see 
 the bare skeleton."' 
 
 Of the first issue of the Parent's Assistant in 1796 
 we have already given a sufficient account. In Miss 
 Ldgeworth's " Preface," which is not here reprinted, 
 she has explicitly set forth the intention of several of 
 the stories. " Lazy Lawrence," we are told, illustrates 
 the advantages of industry and demonstrates that peo- 
 ple feel cheerful and happy when they are emploved; 
 while "Tarleton " represents " the danger and the follv 
 of that weakness of mind, and that easiness to be led, 
 which too often pass for good nature." " The False 
 Key " points out the evils to which a well-educated bov, 
 on first going to service, is exposed from the profligacy 
 of his fellow servants; "The Mimic," the drawbacks 
 of vulgar acquaintances ; " Barring Out," the errors to 
 which high spirit and the love of party are apt to lead, 
 and so forth. In the final paragraph Miss Edgeworth 
 touches upon what any fresh reader must at once 
 recognise as her supreme merit — her faculty for drama- 
 tising her story, or, in her actual words, for keeping 
 " alive hope and fear and curiosity, by some degree of 
 intricacy." The amount of ingenious invention and 
 of clever expedient in these professedly nurserv stories, 
 is indeed extraordinary ; and nothing can exceed the 
 dexterity with which — to use Dr. Johnson's words con- 
 cerning Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer — " the inci- 
 dents are so prepared as not to seem improbable." 
 There is no better example of this than the admirable 
 little tale of " The Mimic," in which the most un- 
 looked-for occurrences succeed each other in the most 
 
Introduction 
 
 natural way, while the disappearance, at the end, of the 
 little sweep, who has departed up the chimney in Fred- 
 erick's new blue coat and buff waistcoat, is a master 
 stroke. Everybody has forgotten everything about 
 him until the precise moment when he is needed to 
 supply the fitting surprise of the finish — a surprise 
 which is only to be compared to that other wonderful 
 surprise in The Rose and the Ring of Thackeray, where 
 the long-lost and obnoxious porter at the palace, hav- 
 ing been turned by the Fairv Blackstick into a door- 
 knocker for his insolence, is restored to the sorrowing 
 Servants' Hall precisely when his services are again 
 required in his capacity of Mrs. GruffanufT's husband. 
 But in Miss Edgeworth's little fable there is no fairy 
 agency. " Fairies were not much in her line," savs 
 Mrs. Richmond Ritchie, Thackerav's daughter, " but 
 philanthropic manufacturers, liberal noblemen, and 
 benevolent ladies in travelling carriages, do as well and 
 appear in the nick of time to distribute rewards or to 
 point a moral." 
 
 Although, by their sub-title, these stories are profes- 
 sedlv composed for children, they are almost as attrac- 
 tive to grown-up readers. This is partlv owing to 
 their narrative skill ; partlv also to the clear character- 
 isation which already betravs the coming author of 
 Castle Rackrent, and Belinda, and Patronage, — which 
 Jast, under its first name of The Freeman Fami/v, was al- 
 readv partly written, although many years were still to 
 elapse before it saw the light in 1814. Readers, wise 
 after the event, might fairly claim to have foreseen 
 from some of the personages in the Parent's Assistant 
 
Introduction 
 
 that the writer, however sedulous to describe "such sit- 
 uations only as children can easily imagine, was not 
 able entirely to resist tempting specimens of hu- 
 man nature like bibulous Mr. Corkscrew, the butler 
 in "The False Key," or Mrs. Pomfret, the house- 
 keeper of the same story, whose prejudices against the 
 " Villaintropic Society," and its unholy dealings with the 
 "drugs and refuges " of humanity, are quite in the style 
 of the excellent Mrs. Slipslop of a great novelist whose 
 works we should have scarcely expected to find among 
 the paper-backed and gray-boarded books which lined 
 the shelves at Edgeworthstown. Mrs. Theresa Tattle 
 again, in "The Mimic," is a type which requires but 
 little to fit it for a subordinate part in a novel. In one 
 case we seem to detect an actual portrait. Mr. Somer- 
 ville of Somerville, in Ireland, to whom that little vil- 
 lage belonged, who had done so much " to inspire his 
 tenantry with a taste for order and domestic happiness, 
 and took every means in his power to encourage indus- 
 trious, well-behaved people to settle in his neighbour- 
 hood," can surely be none other than the father of 
 the author of the Parent's Assistant, the busy and be- 
 neficent Mr. Edgeworth of Edgeworthstown. 
 
 Twelve onlv of the sixteen stories which make up 
 the modern editions of the Parent's Assistant are here 
 reprinted. "Old Poz" and "Eton Montem," both 
 of which are in dialogue form, have been advisedly 
 omitted, as also have been the very early stories of 
 "The Bracelets " and " The Birthday Present" — the 
 latter of which may hereafter appear in a future 
 volume of the Rosamond series, to which, like " The 
 
Introduction 
 
 Purple Jar," it was subsequently added. The story of 
 the French governess, "Mademoiselle Panache," which 
 appears in very few editions after the first, has also 
 no place in this collection. 
 
 Austin Dobson. 
 
 Ealing, August, 1903. 
 
Introduction . 
 The Orphans 
 Lazy Lawrence 
 The False Key 
 Simple Susan . 
 The White Pigeon 
 Forgive and Forget 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 vii-xix 
 
 27 
 . 62 
 
 87 
 . 160 
 
 175 
 
 Waste Not, Want Not; or, Two Strings to your Bow 191 
 
 The Mimic ...... 225 
 
 The Barring Out; or, Party Spirit . . 264 
 
 xxi 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Little Merchants .... 309 
 
 Tarlto>j . ,-., 
 
 373 
 
 The Basket-Woman 
 
 39 6 
 
FRONTISPIECE — "Where? oh where did you find it?" 
 
 HEADING TO INTRODUCTION . . . . . vii 
 
 HEADING TO TABLE OF CONTENTS .... xxi 
 
 HEADING TO LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS . , . xxiii 
 
 " The orphans were left alone " I 
 
 "Mary took her goat with her" . . . . .5 
 
 "A potato and a sup of something" ... 19 
 
 " Lounging upon a gate " . . . . . .27 
 
 Going to market ...... 27 
 
 Lazy Lawrence . . . . . . - 33 
 
 "He saw that his pile of mats had disappeared" . . 45 
 
 " 'They've got the thieves '" . . . . . 57 
 
 The False Key ....... 62 
 
 " ' You will carry this letter to my sister ' " . . .62 
 " Fresh flowers for her bees '' . . . . .87 
 
 " The Queen of the May " ..... 87 
 
 "The gentleman asked her how many miles it was" . 91 
 
 "Carolling in honour of the May" . . . .101 
 
 "The old harper" . . . -. . .12.3 
 
 xxiii 
 
List of Illustrations 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "The pet lamb" . . . . . . .133 
 
 "It would hop about the kitchen" .... 160 
 
 The sign of "The White Pigeon" . . . .160 
 
 "Mr. Cox put himself into a boxing attitude" . , 163 
 "The Pigeon grew so tame'' ..... 169 
 
 "' You will break your china jar'" . . 175 
 
 "'What do you want, my patient little fellow?'" . 175 
 
 "'The everlasting whipcord, I declare!'" . , = 191 
 
 "'What an excellent motto!'" . . . .191 
 
 "Playing at cat's cradle" . . . . .197 
 
 "'I must take care to pick my way nicely'" . . -213 
 "A sudden gust of wind " . . . . .219 
 
 " Frederick showing how the Doctor goes to sleep " . . 225 
 
 The Mimic ....... 225 
 
 " She met Mrs. Montague's children " . . . . 227 
 
 " ' The Chimney-sweepers, ma'am ' " . . . . 247 
 
 "'Will he die?' cried Marianne" . . • -259 
 
 " The doors were locked "..... 264 
 
 "The Barring Out" ...... 264 
 
 " The group of sleepers ''..•■■ 287 
 
 "'I'm so weak, I can't help laughing"' . . .297 
 
 " He overtook Francesco " . . . • ■ 3°9 
 
 " As the old cock crows, so crows the young '' . . . 309 
 
 "He started and looked up" . • • • 3 2 3 
 
 "'Why these large tears?'" . • • 335 
 
 "The Brindled Cow" ..... 349 
 
 " They were the best players in the school " . . . 373 
 
 " He thought he heard a door open " 373 
 
 "A violent struggle" . • • 3§7 
 
 '"We'll help you to pick them up'" . . 39 6 
 
 The postilion .... • • 396 
 
 "Annie held the hat " . . „ . 401 
 

 /Mm" 
 
 
 (^ EAR the ruins of the castle of Rossmore, 
 in Ireland, is a small cabin, in which 
 there once lived a widow and her four 
 children. As long as she was able to 
 work, she was very industrious, and was 
 accounted the best spinner in the parish ; 
 but she overworked herself at last, and 
 fell ill, so that she could not sit at her 
 wheel as she used to do, and was obliged 
 to give it up to her eldest daughter, 
 Mary. 
 
 Mary was at this time about twelve 
 
 years old. One evening she was sitting 
 
 at the foot of her mother's bed, spinning, and her little 
 
 brothers and sisters were gathered round the fire, eating 
 
 their potatoes and milk for supper. 
 
The Orphans 
 
 " Bless them, the poor young creatures ! " said the widow ; 
 who, as she lay on the bed, which she knew must be her 
 deathbed, was thinking of what would become of her 
 children after she was gone. Mary stopped her wheel, for 
 she was afraid that the noise of it had wakened her mother, 
 and would hinder her from going to sleep again. 
 
 " No need to stop the wheel, Mary dear, for me," said 
 her mother, " I was not asleep ; nor is it that which keeps 
 me from sleep. But don't overwork yourself, Mary." 
 
 "Oh, no fear of that," replied Mary; "I'm strong and 
 hearty." 
 
 " So was I once," said her mother. 
 
 "And so will you be again, I hope," said Mary, "when 
 the fine weather comes again." 
 
 "The fine weather will never come again to me," said 
 her mother ; " 'tis a folly, Mary, to hope for that ; but what 
 I hope is, that you'll find some friend, some help — orphans 
 as you'll soon all of you be. And one thing comforts my 
 heart, even as I am lying here, that not a soul in the wide 
 world I am leaving has to complain of me. Though poor 
 I have lived honest, and I have brought you up to be the 
 same, Mary ; and I am sure the little ones will take after 
 you ; for you'll be good to them — as good to them as you 
 can." 
 
 Here the children, who had finished eating their suppers, 
 came round the bed, to listen to what their mother was 
 saying. She was tired of speaking, for she was very weak ; 
 but she took their little hands, as they laid them on the 
 bed ; and joining them all together, she said, " Bless you, 
 dears ; bless you ; love and help one another all you can. 
 Good-night ! — good-bye ! " 
 
 Mary took the children away to their bed, for she saw 
 that their mother was too ill to say more ; but Mary did 
 not herself know how ill she was. Her mother never spoke 
 rightly afterwards, but talked in a confused way about 
 some debts, and one in particular which she owed to a 
 schoolmistress for Mary's schooling ; and then she charged 
 Mary to go and pay it, because she was not able to go in 
 with it. At the end of the week she was dead and buried ; 
 and the orphans were left alone in their cabin. 
 
 2 
 
The Orphans 
 
 The two youngest girls, Peggy and Nancy, were six and 
 seven years old ; Edmund was not yet nine, but he was a 
 stout-grown, healthy boy, and well disposed to work. He 
 had been used to bring home turf from the bog on his 
 back, to lead car-horses, and often to go on errands for 
 gentlemen's families, who paid him sixpence or a shilling, 
 according to the distance which he went : so that Edmund, 
 by some or other of these little employments, was, as he 
 said, likely enough to earn his bread ; and he told Mary to 
 have a good heart, for that he should every year grow able 
 to do more and more, and that he should never forget his 
 mother's words when she last gave him her blessing, and 
 joined their hands all together. 
 
 As for Peggy and Nancy, it was little that they could 
 do ; but they were good children : and Mary, when she 
 considered that so much depended upon her, was resolved 
 to exert herself to the utmost. Her first care was to pay 
 those debts which her mother had mentioned to her, for 
 which she left money done up carefully in separate papers. 
 When all these were paid away, there was not enough left 
 to pay both the rent of the cabin, and a year's schooling 
 for herself and sisters, which was due to the schoolmistress 
 in a neighbouring village. 
 
 Mary was in hopes that the rent would not be called 
 for immediately ; but in this she was disappointed. Mr. 
 Harvey, the gentleman on whose estate she lived, was in 
 England, and, in his absence, all was managed by a Mr. 
 Hopkins, an agent, who was a hard man. The driver 
 came to Mary about a week after her mother's death, and 
 told her that the rent must be brought in the next day, 
 and that she must leave the cabin, for a new tenant was 
 coming into it ; that she was too young to have a house to 
 herself, and that the only thing she had to do was to get 
 some neighbour to take her and her brother and sisters in, 
 for charity's sake. 
 
 The driver finished by hinting, that she would not be so 
 hardly used, if she had not brought upon herself the ill-will 
 of Miss Alice, the agent's daughter. Mary, it is true, had 
 refused to give Miss Alice a goat upon which she had set 
 her fancy ; but this was the only offence of which she had 
 
The Orphans 
 
 been guilty, and, at the time she refused it, her mother 
 wanted the goat's milk, which was the only thing she then 
 liked to drink. 
 
 Mary went immediately to Mr. Hopkins, the agent, to 
 pay her rent; and she begged of him to let her stay 
 another year in her cabin ; but this he refused. It was 
 now the twenty-fifth of September ; and he said that the new 
 tenant must come in on the twenty-ninth, so that she must 
 quit it directly. Mary could not bear the thought of begging 
 any of the neighbours to take her and her brother and sisters 
 in for charity's sake, for the neighbours were all poor enough 
 themselves : so she bethought herself that she might find 
 shelter in the ruins of the old castle of Rossmore, where she 
 and her brother, in better times, had often played at hide-and- 
 seek. The kitchen, and two other rooms near it, were yet 
 covered in tolerably well ; and a little thatch, she thought, 
 would make them comfortable through the winter. The 
 agent consented to let her and her brother and sisters go 
 in there, upon her paying him half-a-guinea in hand, and 
 promising to pay the same yearly. 
 
 Into these lodgings the orphans now removed, taking 
 with them two bedsteads, a stool, chair and a table, a sort 
 of press, which contained what little clothes they had, and 
 a chest in which they had two hundred of meal. The 
 chest was carried for them by some of the charitable 
 neighbours, who likewise added to their scanty stock of 
 potatoes and turf enough to make it last through the 
 winter. 
 
 These children were well thought of and pitied, because 
 their mother was known to have been all her life honest 
 and industrious. " Sure," says one of the neighbours, " we 
 can do no less than give a helping hand to the poor 
 orphans, that are so ready to help themselves." So one 
 helped to thatch the room in which they were to sleep, and 
 another took their cow to graze upon his bit of land, on 
 condition of having half the milk ; and one and all said, 
 they should be welcome to take share of their potatoes 
 and buttermilk, if they should ever find their own falling 
 short. 
 
 The half-guinea which Mr. Hopkins, the agent, required 
 
 4 
 
aMavy Too k fler qaxxk~ ujdJL h&T.' 
 
 vigx 
 
 Ld>~4zn^ 
 
The Orphans 
 
 for letting Mary into the castle, was part of what she had 
 to pay to the schoolmistress, to whom above a guinea was 
 due. Mary went to her, and took her goat along with her, 
 and offered it in part of payment of the debt, as she had no 
 more money left ; but the schoolmistress would not receive 
 the goat. She said that she could afford to wait for her 
 money till Mary was able to pay it ; that she knew her to 
 be an honest, industrious little girl, and she would trust her 
 with more than a guinea. Mary thanked her ; and she 
 was glad to take the goat home again, as she was very 
 fond of it. 
 
 Now being settled in their house, they went every day 
 regularly to work ; Mary spun nine cuts a day, besides 
 doing all that was to be done in the house ; Edmund got 
 fourpence a day by his work ; and Peggy and Anne earned 
 twopence apiece at the paper-mills near Navan, where they 
 were employed to sort rags, and to cut them into small 
 pieces. 
 
 When they had done work one day, Anne went to the 
 master of the paper-mill, and asked him if she might have 
 two sheets of large white paper, which were lying on the 
 press ; she offered a penny for the paper ; but the master 
 would not take anything from her, but gave her the paper, 
 when he found that she wanted it to make a garland for her 
 mother's grave. Anne and Peggy cut out the garland, and 
 Mary, when it was finished, went along with them and 
 Edmund to put it up : it was just a month after their 
 mother's death. 
 
 It happened that, at the time the orphans were putting 
 up this garland, two young ladies, who were returning 
 home after their evening walk, stopped at the gate of the 
 churchyard, to look at the red light which the setting sun 
 cast upon the window of the church. As the ladies were 
 standing at the gate, they heard a voice near them crying, 
 " O mother ! mother ! are you gone for ever ? " They 
 could not see any one ; so they walked softly round to the 
 other side of the church, and there they saw Mary kneeling 
 beside a grave, on which her brother and sisters were 
 hanging their white garlands. 
 
 The children all stood still when they saw the two ladies 
 
 7 
 
The Orphans 
 
 passing near them ; but Mary did not know anybody was 
 passing, for her face was hid in her hands. 
 
 Isabella and Caroline (so these ladies were called) would 
 not disturb the poor children, but they stopped in the 
 village to inquire about them. It was at the house of the 
 schoolmistress that they stopped, and she gave them a 
 good account of these orphans ; she particularly com- 
 mended Mary's honesty, in having immediately paid all 
 her mother's debts, to the utmost farthing, as far as her 
 money would go ; she told the ladies how Mary had been 
 turned out of her house, and how she had offered her goat, 
 of which she was very fond, to discharge a debt due for 
 her schooling ; and, in short, the schoolmistress, who had 
 known Mary for several years, spoke so well of her, that 
 these ladies resolved that they would go to the old castle 
 of Rossmore to see her the next day. 
 
 When they went there, they found the room in which 
 the children lived as clean and neat as such a ruined place 
 could be made. Edmund was out working with a farmer, 
 Mary was spinning, and her little sisters were measuring 
 out some bog-berries, of which they had gathered a basket- 
 ful, for sale. Isabella, after telling Mary what an excellent 
 character she had heard of her, inquired what it was she 
 most wanted ; and Mary said, that she had just worked up 
 all her flax, and she was most in want of more flax for her 
 wheel. 
 
 Isabella promised that she would send her a fresh supply 
 of flax, and Caroline bought the bog-berries from the 
 little girls, and gave them money enough to buy a pound 
 of coarse cotton for knitting, as Mary said that she could 
 teach them how to knit. 
 
 The supply of flax, which Isabella sent the next day, 
 was of great service to Mary, as it kept her in employment 
 for above a month ; and when she sold the yarn which she 
 had spun with it, she had money enough to buy some 
 warm flannel for winter wear. Besides spinning well, she 
 had learned at school to do plain work tolerably neatly, 
 and Isabella and Caroline employed her to work for them ; 
 by which she earned a great deal more than she could by 
 spinning. At her leisure hours she taught her sisters to 
 
The Orphans 
 
 read and write ; and Edmund, with part of the money 
 which he earned by his work out of doors, paid a school- 
 master for teaching him a little arithmetic. When the 
 winter nights came on, he used to light his rush candles 
 for Mary to work by. He had gathered and stripped a 
 good provision of rushes in the month of August, and a 
 neighbour gave him grease to dip them in. 
 
 One evening, just as he had lighted his candle, a footman 
 came in, who was sent by Isabella with some plain work to 
 Mary. This servant was an Englishman, and he was but 
 newly come over to Ireland. The rush candles caught his 
 attention, for he had never seen any of them before, as he 
 came from a part of England where they were not used. 
 
 Edmund, who was ready to oblige, and proud that his 
 candles were noticed, showed the Englishman how they 
 were made, and gave him a bundle of rushes. 1 The servant 
 was pleased with his good nature in this trifling instance, 
 and remembered it long after it was forgotten by Edmund. 
 Whenever his master wanted to send a messenger any- 
 where, Gilbert (for that was the servant's name) always 
 employed his little friend Edmund, whom, upon further 
 acquaintance, he liked better and better. He found that 
 Edmund was both quick and exact in executing commis- 
 
 1 " The proper species of rush for this purpose seems to be the Juncus 
 effiisus, or common soft rush, which is to be found in most moist pas- 
 tures, by the sides of streams, and under hedges. These rushes are 
 in best condition in the height of summer, but may be gathered, so as 
 to serve the purpose well, quite on to autumn. . . . The largest end 
 longest are best. Decayed labourers, women, and children make it 
 their business to procure and prepare them. As soon as they are cut 
 they must be flung into water, and kept there ; for otherwise they will 
 dry and shrink, and the peel will not run. At first a person would find 
 it no easy matter to divest a rush of its peel or rind, so as to leave one 
 regular, narrow, even rib from top to bottom that may support the 
 pith. . . . When these jnnci are thus far prepared, they must he out on 
 the grass to be bleached, and take the dew for some nights, and after- 
 wards be dried in the sun. Some address is required in dipping these 
 rushes in the scalding fat or grease ; but this knack also is to be at- 
 tained by practice. ... A pound of common grease may be procured 
 for fourpence, and about six pounds of grease will dip a pound of 
 rushes, and one pound of rushes may be bought for one shilling ; so 
 that a pound of rushes, medicated and ready for use, will cost three 
 shillings." (White's Natural History of Selborne, Letter xxvi.) 
 
 9 
 
The Orphans 
 
 sions. One day, after he had waited a great while at a 
 gentleman's house for an answer to a letter, he was so im- 
 patient to get home that he ran off without it. When he 
 was questioned by Gilbert why he did not bring an answer, 
 he did not attempt to make any excuse : he did not say, 
 " There was no answer, plase your honour' 1 or, " They bade 
 me not wait" but he told exactly the truth ; and though 
 Gilbert scolded him for being so impatient as not to wait, 
 yet his telling him the truth was more to the boy's advan- 
 tage than any excuse he could have made. After this he 
 always believed him when he said, " There was no anszuer" 
 or, " They bade me not wait " ; for Gilbert knew that he would 
 not tell a lie, to save himself from being scolded. 
 
 The orphans continued to assist one another in their 
 work, according to their strength and abilities ; and they 
 went on in this manner for three years ; with what Mary 
 got by her spinning and plain work, and Edmund by lead- 
 ing car-horses, going on errands, and so on, and with little 
 Peggy and Anne's earnings, the family contrived to live 
 comfortably. Isabella and Caroline often visited them, and 
 sometimes gave them clothes, and sometimes flax or cotton 
 for their spinning and knitting ; and these children did not 
 expect, that because the ladies did something for them, they 
 should do everything : they did not grow idle or wasteful. 
 
 When Edmund was about twelve years old, his friend 
 Gilbert sent for him one day, and told him that his master 
 had given him leave to have a boy in the house to assist 
 him, and that his master told him he might choose one in 
 the neighbourhood. Several were anxious to get into such 
 a good place, but Gilbert said that he preferred Edmund 
 before them all, because he knew him to be an industrious, 
 honest, good-natured lad, who always told the truth. So 
 Edmund went into service at the vicarage, and his master 
 was the father of Isabella and Caroline. He found his new 
 way of life very pleasant ; for he was well fed, well clothed, 
 and well treated ; and he every day learned more of 
 his business, in which at first he was rather awkward. He 
 was mindful to do all that Mr. Gilbert required of him; 
 and he was so obliging to all his fellow-servants that they 
 could not help liking him ; but there was one thing which 
 
The Orphans 
 
 was at first rather disagreeable to him ; he was obliged to 
 wear shoes and stockings, and they hurt his feet. Besides this, 
 when he waited at dinner he made such a noise in walking 
 that his fellow-servants laughed at him. He told his sister 
 Mary of this his distress ; and she made for him, after many 
 trials, a pair of cloth shoes, with soles of plaited hemp. 1 
 In these he could walk without making the least noise ; and 
 as these shoes could not be worn out of doors, he was 
 always sure to change them before he went out ; and con- 
 sequently he had always clean shoes to wear in the house. 
 It was soon remarked by the men-servants that he had left 
 off clumping so heavily ; and it was observed by the maids 
 that he never dirtied the stairs or passages with his shoes. 
 When he was praised for these things, he said it was his 
 sister Mary who should be thanked, and not he ; and he 
 showed the shoes which she had made for him. 
 
 Isabella's maid bespoke a pair immediately, and sent 
 Mary a piece of pretty calico for the outside. The last- 
 maker made a last for her, and over this Mary sewed the 
 calico vamps tight. Her brother advised her to try plaited 
 packthread instead of hemp for the soles : and she found 
 that this looked more neat than the hemp soles, and was 
 likely to last longer. She plaited the packthread together 
 in strands of about half-an-inch thick ; and these were 
 sewed firmly together at the bottom of the shoe. When 
 they were finished they fitted well, and the maid showed 
 them to her mistress. Isabella and Caroline were so well 
 pleased with Mary's ingenuity and kindness to her brother, 
 that they bespoke from her two dozen of these shoes, and 
 gave her three yards of coloured fustian to make them of, 
 and galoon for the binding. When the shoes were com- 
 pleted, Isabella and Caroline disposed of them for her 
 amongst their acquaintances, and got three shillings a pair 
 for them. The young ladies, as soon as they had collected 
 the money, walked to the old castle, where they found 
 everything neat and clean as usual. They had great 
 pleasure in giving to this industrious girl the reward of her 
 ingenuity, which she received with some surprise and more 
 
 1 The author has seen a pair of shoes, such as are here described, 
 made in a few hours. 
 
The Orphans 
 
 gratitude. They advised her to continue the shoemaking 
 trade, as they found the shoes were liked, and they knew 
 that they could have a sale for them at the Repository in 
 Dublin. 
 
 Mary, encouraged by these kind friends, went on with 
 her little manufacture with increased activity. Peggy and 
 Anne plaited the packthread, and pasted the vamps and 
 the lining together, ready for her. Edmund was allowed 
 to come home for an hour every morning, provided he was 
 back again before eight o'clock. It was summer time, and 
 he got up early, because he liked to go home to see his 
 sisters, and he took his share in the manufactory. It was 
 his business to hammer the soles flat : and as soon as he 
 came home every morning he performed his task with so 
 much cheerfulness, and sang so merrily at his work, that the 
 hour of his arrival was always an hour of joy to the family. 
 
 Mary had presently employment enough upon her hands. 
 Orders came to her for shoes from many families in the 
 neighbourhood, and she could not get them finished fast 
 enough. She, however, in the midst of her hurry, found 
 time to make a very pretty pair, with neat roses, as a present 
 for her schoolmistress, who, now that she saw her pupil in 
 a good state of business, consented to receive the amount 
 of her old debt. Several of the children who went to her 
 school were delighted with the sight of Mary's present, and 
 went to the little manufactory at Rossmore Castle, to find 
 out how these shoes were made. Some went from curiosity, 
 others from idleness ; but when they saw how happy the 
 little shoemakers seemed while busy at work, they longed 
 to take some share in what was going forward. One begged 
 Mary to let her plait some packthread for the soles ; 
 another helped Peggy and Anne to paste in the linings; and 
 all who could get employment were pleased, for the idle 
 ones were shoved out of the way. It became a custom 
 with the children of the village to resort to the old castle at 
 their play hours ; and it was surprising to see how much 
 was done by ten or twelve of them, each doing but a little 
 at a time. 
 
 One morning Edmund and the little manufacturers were 
 assembled very early, and they were busy at their work, all 
 
 12 
 
The Orphans 
 
 sitting round the meal-chest, which served them for a 
 table. 
 
 " My hands must be washed," said George, a little boy 
 who came running in ; "I ran so fast that I might be in 
 time to go to work along with you all, that I tumbled down, 
 and look how I have dirtied my hands. Most haste worst 
 speed. My hands must be washed before I can do any- 
 thing." 
 
 Whilst George was washing his hands, two other little 
 children, who had just finished their morning's work, came 
 to him to beg that he would blow some soap bubbles for 
 them, and they were all three eagerly blowing bubbles, and 
 watching them mount into the air, when suddenly they 
 were startled by a noise as loud as thunder : they were in 
 a sort of outer court of the castle, next to the room in 
 which all their companions were at work, and they ran 
 precipitately into the room, exclaiming, " Did you hear 
 that noise ? " 
 
 " I thought I heard a clap of thunder," said Mary ; " but 
 why do you look so frightened ? " 
 
 As she finished speaking, another and a louder noise, 
 and the walls round about them shook. The children 
 turned pale and stood motionless ; but Edmund threw 
 down his hammer, and ran out to see what was the matter. 
 Mary followed him, and they saw that a great chimney of 
 the old ruins at the farthest side of the castle had fallen 
 down, and this was the cause of the prodigious noise. 
 
 The part of the castle in which they lived seemed, as 
 Edmund said, to be perfectly safe ; but the children of the 
 village were terrified, and thinking that the whole would 
 come tumbling down directly, they ran to their homes as 
 fast as they could. Edmund, who was a courageous lad, 
 and proud of showing his courage, laughed at their 
 cowardice ; but Mary, who was very prudent, persuaded 
 her brother to ask an experienced mason, who was building 
 at his master's, to come and give his opinion, whether their 
 part of the castle was safe to live in or not. The mason 
 came, and gave it as his opinion that the rooms they 
 inhabited might last through the winter, but that no part 
 of the ruins could stand another year. Mary was sorry to 
 
 J 3 
 
The Orphans 
 
 leave a place of which she had grown fond, poor as it was, 
 having lived in it in peace and content ever since her 
 mother's death, which was now nearly four years ; but she 
 determined to look out for some other place to live in ; 
 and she had now money enough to pay the rent of a com- 
 fortable cabin. Without losing any time, she went to a 
 village that was at the end of the avenue leading to the 
 vicarage, for she wished to get a lodging in this village 
 because it was so near to her brother, and to the ladies 
 who had been so kind to her ; she found that there was 
 one newly-built house in this village unoccupied ; it be- 
 longed to Mr. Harvey, her landlord, who was still in 
 England ; it was slated, and neatly fitted up inside ; but 
 the rent of it was six guineas a year, and this was far above 
 what Mary could afford to pay ; three guineas a year she 
 thought was the highest rent for which she could venture 
 to engage ; besides, she heard that several proposals had 
 been made to Mr. Harvey for this house, and she knew 
 that Mr. Hopkins, the agent, was not her friend, therefore 
 she despaired of getting it. There was no other to be had 
 in this village. Her brother was still more vexed than she 
 was, that she could not find a place near him. He offered 
 to give a guinea yearly towards the rent out of his wages ; 
 and Mr. Gilbert spoke about it for him to the steward, and 
 inquired whether, amongst any of those who had given in 
 proposals, there might not be one who would be content 
 with a part of the house, and who would join with Mary in 
 paying the rent. None could be found but a woman who 
 was a great scold, and a man who was famous for going to 
 law about every trifle with his neighbours. Mary did not 
 choose to have anything to do with these people ; she did 
 not like to speak either to Miss Isabella or Caroline about 
 it, because she was not of an encroaching temper ; and 
 when they had done so much for her, she would have been 
 ashamed to beg for more. She returned home to the old 
 castle, mortified that she had no good news to tell Anne 
 and Peggy, who she knew expected to hear that she had 
 found a nice house for them in the village near their brother. 
 " Bad news for you, Peggy," cried she, as soon as she got 
 home. 
 
 14 
 
The Orphans 
 
 " And bad news for you, Mary," replied her sisters, who 
 looked very sorrowful. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " 
 
 " Your poor goat is dead," replied Peggy. " There she 
 is, yonder, lying under the great corner-stone ; you can 
 just see her leg. We cannot lift the stone from off her, it 
 is so heavy. Betsy {one of the neighbour s girls) says she 
 remembers, when she came to us to work early this 
 morning, she saw the goat rubbing itself, and butting with 
 its horns against the old tottering chimney." 
 
 " Many's the time," said Mary, " that I have driven the 
 poor thing away from that place ; I was always afraid 
 she would shake that great ugly stone down upon her at 
 last." 
 
 The goat, which had long been the favourite of Mary 
 and her sisters, was lamented by them all. When Edmund 
 came, he helped them to move the great stone from off the 
 poor animal, which was crushed so as to be a terrible sight. 
 As they were moving away this stone, in order to bury the 
 goat, Anne found an odd-looking piece of money, which 
 seemed neither like a halfpenny, nor a shilling, nor a 
 guinea. 
 
 " Here are more, a great many more of them," cried 
 Peggy; and upon searching amongst the rubbish, they 
 discovered a small iron pot, which seemed as if it had been 
 filled with these coins, as a vast number of them were found 
 about the spot where it fell. On examining these coins, 
 Edmund thought that several of them looked like gold, 
 and the girls exclaimed with great joy — " Oh, Mary ! 
 Mary ! this is come to us just in right time — now you can 
 pay for the slated house. Never was anything so lucky ! " 
 
 But Mary, though nothing couM have pleased her better 
 than to have bsen able to pay for the house, observed that 
 they could not honestly touch any of this treasure, as it be- 
 longed to the owner of the castle. Edmund agreed with 
 her that they ought to carry it all immediately to Mr. 
 Hopkins, the agent. Peggy and Anne were convinced by 
 what Mary said, and they begged to go along with her and 
 their brother, to take the coins to Mr. Hopkins. In their 
 way they stopped at the vicarage, to show the treasure to 
 
 r 5 
 
The Orphans 
 
 Mr. Gilbert, who took it to the young ladies, Isabella and 
 Caroline, and told them how it had been found. 
 
 It is not only by their superior riches, but it is yet more 
 by their superior knowledge, that persons in the higher 
 ranks of life may assist those in a lower condition. 
 
 Isabella, who had some knowledge of chemistry, dis- 
 covered, by touching the coins with aqua regia (the only 
 acid which affects gold), that several of them were of gold, 
 and consequently of great value. Caroline also found out 
 that many of the coins were very valuable as curiosities. 
 She recollected her father having shown to her the prints 
 of the coins at the end of each king's reign, in Rapin's 
 History of England ; and upon comparing these impressions 
 with the coins found by the orphans, she perceived that 
 many of them were of the reign of Henry the Seventh. 
 People who are fond of collecting coins set a great value 
 on these, as they are very scarce. 
 
 Isabella and Caroline, knowing something of the 
 character of Mr. Hopkins, the agent, had the precaution to 
 count the coins, and to mark each of them with a cross, so 
 small that it was scarcely visible to the naked eye, though 
 it was easily to be seen through a magnifying glass. They 
 also begged that their father, who was well acquainted with 
 Mr. Harvey, the gentleman to whom Rossmore Castle 
 belonged, would write to him, and tell him how well these 
 orphans had behaved about the treasure which they had 
 found. The value of the coins was estimated at about 
 thirty or forty guineas. 
 
 A few days after the fall of the chimney at Rossmore 
 Castle, as Mary and her sisters were sitting at their work, 
 there came hobbling in an old woman, leaning on a crab 
 stick, that seemed to have been newly cut ; she had a 
 broken tobacco-pipe in her mouth ; her head was wrapped 
 up in two large red and blue handkerchiefs, with their 
 crooked corners hanging far down over the back of her 
 neck, no shoes on her broad feet, no stockings on her many- 
 coloured legs ; her petticoat was jagged at the bottom, and 
 the skirt of her gown turned up over her shoulders, to 
 serve instead of her cloak, which she had sold for whisky. 
 This old woman was well known amongst the country 
 
 16 
 
The Orphans 
 
 people by the name of Goody Grope : l because she had, for 
 many years, been in the habit of groping in old castles, and 
 in moats, 2 and at the bottom of a round tower 3 in the 
 neighbourhood, in search of treasure. In her youth she 
 had heard some one talking, in a whisper, of an old 
 prophecy, found in a bog, which said that " before many 
 St. Patrick's days should come about, there would be found 
 a treasure under ground, by one within twenty miles 
 round." 
 
 This prophecy made a deep impression upon her. She 
 also dreamed of it three times ; and as the dream, she 
 thought, was a sure token that the prophecy was to come 
 true, she, from that time forwards, gave up her spinning- 
 wheel and her knitting, and could think of nothing but 
 hunting for the treasure, that was to be found by one 
 " within twenty miles rounds Year after year St. Patrick's 
 day came about, without her ever finding a farthing by all 
 her groping ; and as she was always idle, she grew poorer 
 and poorer ; besides, to comfort herself for her disappoint- 
 ments, and to give her spirits for fresh searches, she took 
 to drinking : she sold all she had by degrees ; but still she 
 fancied that the lucky day would come sooner or later, 
 and would pay for all. 
 
 Goody Grope, however, reached her sixtieth year, with- 
 out ever seeing this lucky day ; and now, in her old age, 
 she was a beggar, without a house to shelter her, a bed to 
 lie on, or food to put into her mouth, but what she begged 
 from the charity of those who had trusted more than she 
 had to industry, and less to luck. 
 
 " Ah, Mary, honey ! give me a potato and a sup of some- 
 thing, for the love o' mercy ; for not a bit have I had all 
 day, except half a glass of whisky and a halfpenny worth 
 of tobacco ! " 
 
 1 Goody is not a word used in Ireland. Colly ogh is the Irish ap- 
 pellation of an old woman ; but as Collyogh might sound strangely to 
 English ears, we have translated it by the word Goody. 
 
 2 What are in Ireland called moats, are, in England, called Danish 
 mounds, or barrows. 
 
 3 Near Kells, in Ireland, there is a round tower, which was in 
 imminent danger of being pulled down by an old woman's rooting at 
 its foundation, in hopes of finding treasure. 
 
 17 c 
 
The Orphans 
 
 Mary immediately set before her some milk, and picked 
 a good potato out of the bowl for her : she was sorry to see 
 such an old woman in such a wretched condition. Goody 
 Grope said she would rather have spirits of some kind or 
 other than milk ; but Mary had no spirits to give her ; so 
 she sat herself down close to the fire, and after she had 
 sighed and groaned and smoked for some time, she said to 
 Mary— 
 
 " Well, and what have you done with the treasure you 
 had the luck to find ? " 
 
 Mary told her that she carried it to Mr. Hopkins, the 
 agent. 
 
 "That's not what I would have done in your place," re- 
 plied the old woman. " When good luck came to you, what 
 a shame to turn your back upon it ! But it is idle talking 
 of what's done — that's past ; but I'll try my luck in this 
 here castle before next St. Patrick's day comes about : I 
 was told it was more than twenty miles from our bog, or 
 I would have been here long ago ; but better late than 
 never." 
 
 Mary was much alarmed, and not without reason, at this 
 speech ; for she knew that if Goody Grope once set to work 
 at the foundation of the old castle of Rossmore, she would 
 soon bring it all down. It was in vain to talk to Goody 
 Grope of the danger of burying herself under the ruins, 
 or of the improbability of her meeting with another pot 
 of gold coins. She set her elbow upon her knees, and 
 stopping her ears with her hands, bid Mary and her sisters 
 not waste their breath advising their elders ; for that, let 
 them say what they would, she would fall to work the next 
 morning, "barring you'll make it worth my while to let it 
 alone." 
 
 " And what will make it worth your while to let it alone ? " 
 said Mary ; who saw that she must either get into a quarrel 
 or give up her habitation, or comply with the conditions 
 of this provoking old woman. 
 
 Half-a-crown, Goody Grope said, was the least she could 
 be content to take. 
 
 Mary paid the half-crown, and was in hopes she had got 
 rid for ever of her tormentor : but she was mistaken ; for 
 
 18 
 
The Orphans 
 
 scarcely was the week at an end before the old woman ap- 
 peared before her again, and repeated her threats of falling 
 to work the next morning, unless she had something given 
 her to buy tobacco. 
 
 The next day, and the next, and the next, Goody Grope 
 came on the same errand; and poor Mary, who could ill — 
 afford to supply her constantly with halfpence, at last ex- 
 claimed — " I am sure the finding of this treasure has not 
 been any good luck to us, but quite the contrary, and I 
 wish we never had found it." 
 
 Mary did not yet know how much she was to suffer on 
 account of this unfortunate pot of gold coins. Mr. Hop- 
 kins, the agent, imagined that no one knew of the discovery 
 of this treasure but himself and these poor children, so, net 
 being as honest as they were, he resolved to keep it for his 
 own use. He was surprised, some weeks afterwards, to 
 receive a letter from his employer, Mr. Harvey, demanding 
 from him the coins which had been discovered at Rossmcrc 
 Castle. Hopkins had sold the gold coins, and some of the 
 others ; but he flattered himself that the children, and the 
 young ladies to whom he now found they had been shown, 
 could not tell whether what they had seen were gold or 
 not ; and he was not in the least apprehensive that those of 
 Henry the Seventh's reign would be reclaimed from him, as 
 he thought they had escaped attention. So he sent over 
 the silver coins, and others of little value, and apologized 
 for his not having mentioned them before, by saying that 
 he considered them as mere rubbish. 
 
 Mr. Harvey, in reply, observed that he could not consider 
 as rubbish the gold coins which were amongst them when 
 they were discovered ; and he inquired why the gold coins, 
 and those of the reign of Henry the Seventh, were not now 
 sent to him. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins denied that he had ever received any such ; 
 but he was thunderstruck when Mr. Harvey, in reply to 
 this falsehood, sent him a list of the coins which the 
 orphans had deposited with him, and exact drawings of 
 those that were missing. He informed him that this list 
 and these drawings came from two ladies, who had seen 
 the coins in question. 
 
 21 
 
The Orphans 
 
 Mr. Hopkins thought that he had no means of escape, 
 but by boldly persisting in falsehood. He replied, that it 
 was very likely such coins had been found at Rossmore 
 Castle, and that the ladies alluded to had probably seen 
 them, but he positively declared that they never came to 
 his hands ; that he had restored all that were deposited 
 with him ; and that, as to the others, he supposed they 
 must have been taken out of the pot by the children, or by 
 Edmund or Mary, in their way from the ladies' house to 
 his. 
 
 The orphans were shocked and astonished when they 
 heard, from Isabella and Caroline, the charge that was 
 made against them. They looked at one another in silence 
 for some moments; then Peggy exclaimed — "Sure, Mr. 
 Hopkins has forgotten himself strangely! — Does he not 
 remember Edmund's counting the things to him upon 
 the great table in his hall, and we all standing by ? I 
 remember it as well as if it was this instant." 
 
 " And so do I," cried Anne. " And don't you recollect, 
 Mary, your picking out the gold ones, and telling Mr. 
 Hopkins that they were gold ? and he said you knew nothing 
 of the matter ; and I was going to tell him that Miss Isabella 
 had tried them, and knew that they were gold ; but just then 
 there came in some tenants to pay their rent, and he 
 pushed us out, and twitched from my hand the piece of gold 
 which I had taken up to show him the bright spot which 
 Miss Isabella had cleaned by the stuff that she had poured 
 on it? I believe he was afraid I should steal it; he 
 twitched it from my hand in such a hurry. — Do, Edmund ; 
 do, Mary — let us go to him, and put him in mind of 
 all this." 
 
 " I'll go to him no more," said Edmund, sturdily. " He 
 is a bad man — I'll never go to him again. Mary, don't be 
 cast down — we have no need to be cast down — we are 
 honest." 
 
 " True," said Mary ; " but is not it a hard case that we, 
 who have lived, as my mother did all her life before us, in 
 peace and honesty with all the world, should now have our 
 
 good name taken from us, when " Mary's voice faltered 
 
 and stopped. 
 
 22 
 
The Orphans 
 
 " It can't be taken from us," cried Edmund, " poor 
 orphans though we are, and he a rich gentleman, as he calls 
 himself. Let him say and do what he will, he can't hurt our 
 good name." 
 
 Edmund was mistaken, alas! and Mary had but too much 
 reason for her fears. The affair was a great deal talked of; 
 and the agent spared no pains to have the story told his 
 own way. The orphans, conscious of their own innocence, 
 took no pains about the matter ; and the consequence was, 
 that all who knew them well had no doubt of their honesty ; 
 but many, who knew nothing of them, concluded that the 
 agent must be in the right and the children in the wrong. 
 The buzz of scandal went on for some time without 
 reaching their ears, because they lived very retiredly ; but 
 one day, when Mary went to sell some stockings of Peggy's 
 knitting, at the neighbouring fair, the man to whom she 
 sold them bid her write her name on the back of a note, and 
 exclaimed, on seeing it — " Ho ! ho ! mistress ; I'd not have 
 had any dealings with you, had I known your name sooner. 
 Where's the gold that you found at Rossmore Castle ? " 
 
 It was in vain that Mary related the fact ; she saw that 
 she gained no belief, as her character was not known to this 
 man, or to any of those who were present. She left the fair 
 as soon as she could ; and, though she struggled against it, 
 she felt very melancholy. Still she exerted herself every 
 day at her little manufacture ; and she endeavoured to 
 console herself by reflecting that she had two friends left 
 who would not give up her character, and who continued 
 steadily to protect her and her sisters. 
 
 Isabella and Caroline everywhere asserted their belief in 
 the integrity of the orphans ; but to prove it was, in this 
 instance, out of their power. Mr. Hopkins, the agent, and 
 his friends, constantly repeated that the gold coins had been 
 taken away in coming from their house to his ; and these 
 ladies were blamed by many people for continuing to 
 countenance those that were, with great reason, suspected 
 to be thieves. The orphans were in a worse condition than 
 ever when the winter came on, and their benefactresses left 
 the country to spend some months in Dublin. The old 
 castle, it was true, was likely to last through the winter, 
 
 2 3 
 
The Orphans 
 
 as the mason said ; but though the want of a comfortable 
 house to live in was, a little while ago, the uppermost thing 
 in Mary's thoughts, now it was not so. 
 
 One night, as Mary was going to bed, she heard someone 
 knocking hard at the dcor ; — " Mary, are you up ? let us in," 
 cried a voice, which she knew to be the voice of Betsy Green, 
 the postmaster's daughter, who lived in the village near 
 them. 
 
 She let Betsy in, and asked what she could want at such 
 a time of night. 
 
 " Give me sixpence, and I'll tell you," said Betsy ; " but 
 waken Anne and Peggy. — Here's a letter just come by the 
 post for you, and I stepped over to you with it ; because I 
 guessed you'd be glad to have it, seeing it is your brother's 
 handwriting." 
 
 Peggy and Anne were soon roused, when they heard that 
 there was a letter from Edmund. It was by one of his rush 
 candles that Mary read it ; and the letter was as follows : — 
 
 " Dear Mary, Nancy, and little Peg,— 
 
 " J°y ! j°y ! — I always said the truth would come out at last, and 
 that he could not take our good name from us. But I will not tell you 
 how it all came about till we meet, which will be next week, as we (I 
 mean, master and mistress, and the young ladies — bless them !— and 
 Mr. Gilbert and I) are coming down to the vicarage to keep the Christ- 
 mas ; and a happy Christmas 'tis likely to be for honest folks : as for 
 them that are not honest, it is not for them to expect to be happy, at 
 Christmas, or at any other time. You shall know all when we meet ; 
 so, till then, fare ye well, dear Mary, Nancy, and little Peg. 
 
 "Your joyful and affectionate brother, " Edmund." 
 
 To comprehend why Edmund was joyful, our readers 
 must be informed of certain things which happened after 
 Isabella and Caroline went to Dublin. One morning they 
 went with their father and mother to see the magnificent 
 library of a nobleman, who took generous and polite pleasure 
 in thus sharing the advantages of his wealth and station with 
 all who had any pretensions to science or literature. Know- 
 ing that the gentleman who was now come to see his library 
 was skilled in antiquities, the nobleman opened a drawer of 
 medals, to ask his opinion concerning the age of some coins, 
 which he had lately purchased at a high price. They were 
 
 = 4 
 
The Orphans 
 
 the very same which the orphans had found at Rossmore 
 Castle. Isabella and Caroline knew them again instantly ; 
 and as the cross which Isabella had made on each of them 
 was still visible through a magnifying glass, there could be 
 no possibility of doubt. 
 
 The nobleman, who was much interested both by the 
 story of these orphans, and the manner in which it was told 
 to him, sent immediately for the person from whom he had 
 purchased the coins. He was a Jew broker. At first he 
 refused to tell them from whom he got them, because he 
 had bought them, he said, under a promise of secrecy. 
 Being further pressed, he acknowledged that it was made a 
 condition in his bargain that he should not sell them to any 
 one in Ireland ; but that he had been tempted by the high 
 price Lord had offered. 
 
 At last, when the Jew was informed that the coins were 
 stolen, and that he would be proceeded against as a receiver 
 of stolen goods, if he did not confess the whole truth, he 
 declared that he had purchased them from -a gentleman, 
 whom he had never seen before or since ; but he added 
 that he could swear to his person if he saw him again. 
 
 Now, Mr. Hopkins, the agent, was at this time in Dublin, 
 and Caroline's father posted the Jew, the next day, in the 
 back-parlour of the house of a banker, with whom Mr. 
 Hopkins had, on this day, appointed to settle some ac- 
 counts. Mr. Hopkins came — the Jew knew him — swore 
 that he was the man who had sold the coins to him ; and 
 thus the guilt of the agent and the innocence of the orphans 
 were completely proved. 
 
 A full account of all that happened was sent to England 
 to Mr. Harvey, their landlord ; and a few posts afterwards 
 there came a letter from him, containing a dismissal of the 
 dishonest agent, and a reward for the honest and industrious 
 orphans. Mr. Harvey desired that Mary and her sisters 
 might have the slated house, rent free, from this time 
 forward, under the care of the ladies Isabella and Caroline, 
 as long as Mary or her sisters should carry on in it any 
 useful business. This was the joyful news which Edmund 
 had to tell his sisters. 
 
 All the neighbours shared in their joy ; and the day of 
 
 25 
 
The Orphans 
 
 their removal from the ruins of Rossmore Castle to their 
 new house was the happiest of the Christmas holidays. 
 They were not envied for their prosperity, because every- 
 body saw that it was the reward of their good conduct ; 
 everybody except Goody Grope. She exclaimed, as she 
 wrung her hands with violent expressions of sorrow — " Bad 
 luck to me ! bad luck to me ! — Why didn't I go sooner to 
 that there castle? It is all luck, all luck in this world ; but 
 I never had no luck. Think of the luck of these c/iilder, 
 that have found a pot of gold, and such great, grand friends, 
 and a slated house, and all ; and here am I, with scarce a 
 rag to cover me, and not a potato to put into my mouth ! 
 — I, that have been looking under ground all my days for 
 treasure, not to have a halfpenny at the last, to buy me 
 tobacco ! " 
 
 " That is the very reason that you have not a halfpenny," 
 said Betsy. " Here Mary has been working hard, and so 
 have her two little sisters and her brother, for these five 
 years past ; and they have made money for themselves 
 by their own industry— and friends too — not by luck, but 
 by » 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! " interrupted Goody Grope ; " don't be 
 prating ; don't I know as well as you do, that they found a 
 pot of gold, by good hick ? and is not that the cause why 
 they are going to live in a slated house now ? " 
 
 "No," replied the postmaster's daughter ; "this house is 
 given to them as a reivard — that was the word in the letter, 
 for I saw it ; Edmund showed it to me, and will show it to 
 any one that wants to see it. This house was given to them 
 ' as a reward for their honesty! " 
 
 26 
 
THE pleasant valley of Ashton 
 there lived an elderly woman of 
 the name of Preston : she had a 
 small neat cottage, and there was 
 not a weed to be seen in her 
 garden. It was upon her garden 
 that she chiefly depended for 
 support ; it consisted of straw- 
 berry-beds, and one small border 
 for flowers. The pinks and roses 
 she tied up in nice nosegays, 
 and sent either to Clifton or 
 Bristol to be sold ; as to her straw- 
 berries, she did not send them to market, because it was 
 the custom for numbers of people to come from Clifton, in 
 the summer time, to eat strawberries and cream at the 
 gardens in Ashton. 
 
 27 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 Now the widow Preston was so obliging, active, and 
 good-humoured, that every one who came to see her was 
 pleased. She lived happily in this manner for several 
 years ; but, alas ! one autumn she fell sick, and during her 
 illness, everything went wrong ; her garden was neglected, 
 her cow died, and all the money which she had saved was 
 spent in paying for medicines. The winter passed away, 
 while she was so weak that she could earn but little by her 
 work ; and when the summer came her rent was called for, 
 and the rent was not ready in her little purse as usual. 
 She begged a few months' delay, and they were granted to 
 her ; but at the end of that time there was no resource but 
 to sell her horse Lightfoot. Now Lightfoot, though per- 
 haps he had seen his best days, was a very great favourite. 
 In his youth he had always carried the dame to market 
 behind her husband ; and it was now her little son Jem's 
 turn to ride him. It was Jem's business to feed Lightfoot, 
 and to take care of him — a charge which he never neglected ; 
 for, besides being a very good-natured, he was a very 
 industrious boy. 
 
 "It will go near to break my Jem's heart," said Dame 
 Preston to herself, as she sat one evening beside the fire 
 stirring the embers, and considering how she had best open 
 the matter to her son, who stood opposite to her, eating a 
 dry crust of bread very heartily for supper. 
 
 " Jem," said the old woman, " what, art hungry ? " 
 
 " That I am, brave and hungry ! " 
 
 " Aye ! no wonder, you've been brave hard at work — Eh ? " 
 
 " Brave hard ! I wish it was not so dark, mother, that you 
 might just step out and see the great bed I've dug ; I know 
 you'd say it was no bad day's work — and oh, mother! I've 
 good news : Farmer Truck will give us the giant straw- 
 berries, and I'm to go for 'em to-morrow morning, and I'll 
 be back afore breakfast." 
 
 " Bless the boy ! how he talks ! — Four mile there, and 
 four mile back again, afore breakfast ! " 
 
 " Aye, upon Lightfoot, you know, mother, very e sily ; 
 mayn't I ? " 
 
 "Aye, child!" 
 
 "Why do you sigh, mother?" 
 
 28 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 " Finish thy supper, child." 
 
 "I've done!" cried Jem, swallowing the last mouthful 
 hastily, as if he thought he had been too long at supper — 
 " and now for the great needle ; I must see and mend 
 Lightfoot's bridle afore I go to bed." 
 
 To work he set, by the light of the fire ; and the dame 
 having once more stirred it, began again with " Jem, dear, 
 does he go lame at all now ? " 
 
 " What, Lightfoot ! Oh, la, no, not he ! — never was so 
 well of his lameness in all his life. He's growing quite 
 young again, I think ; and then he's so fat he can hardly 
 wag." 
 
 " Bless him — that's right. We must see, Jem, and keep 
 him fat." 
 
 " For what, mother ? " 
 
 " For Monday fortnight at the fair. He's to be — sold ! " 
 
 " Lightfoot ! " cried Jem, and let the bridle fall from his 
 hand ; " and will mother sell Lightfoot ? " 
 
 " Will ? no : but I must, Jem." 
 
 " Must ! who says you must ? why must you, mother ?" 
 
 " I must, I say, child. — Why, must not I pay my debts 
 honestly ; and must not I pay my rent ; and was not it 
 called for long and long ago ; and have not I had time ; 
 and did not I promise to pay it for certain Monday fort- 
 night, and am not I two guineas short ; and where am I to 
 get two guineas ? So what signifies talking, child ? " said 
 the widow, leaning her head upon her arm, " Lightfoot 
 must go." 
 
 Jem was silent for a few minutes — " Two guineas, that's 
 a great, great deal. If I worked, and worked, and worked 
 ever so hard, I could no ways earn two guineas afore 
 Monday fortnight — could I, mother?" 
 
 " Lord help thee, no ; not an' work thyself to death." 
 
 " But I could earn something, though, I say," cried Jem, 
 proudly ; " and I will earn something — if it be ever so little 
 it will be something — and I shall do my very best; so I 
 will." 
 
 " That I'm sure of, my child," said his mother, drawing 
 him towards her and kissing him ; " you were always a 
 good, industrious lad, that I will say afore your face or 
 
 29 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 behind your back ; — but it won't do now — Lightfoot must 
 
 Jem turned away, struggling to hide his tears, and went 
 to bed without saying a word more. But he knew that 
 crying would do no good ; so he presently wiped his eyes, 
 and lay awake, considering what he could possibly do to 
 save the horse. " If I get ever so little," he still said to 
 himself, " it will be something; and who knows but landlord 
 might then wait a bit longer ? and we might make it all up 
 in time ; for a penny a day might come to two guineas in 
 time." 
 
 But how to get the first penny was the question. Then 
 he recollected that one day, when he had been sent to 
 Clifton to sell some flowers, he had seen an old woman 
 with a board beside her covered with various sparkling 
 stones, which people stopped to look at as they passed, and 
 he remembered that some people bought the stones ; one 
 paid twopence, another threepence, and another sixpence 
 for them ; and Jem heard her say that she got them amongst 
 the neighbouring rocks : so he thought that if he tried he 
 might find some too, and sell them as she had done. 
 
 Early in the morning he wakened full of this scheme, 
 jumped up, dressed himself, and having given one look at 
 poor Lightfoot in his stable, set off to Clifton in search of 
 the old woman, to inquire where she found her sparkling 
 stones. But it was too early in the morning, the old woman 
 was not at her seat ; so he turned back disappointed. He 
 did not waste his time waiting for her, but saddled and 
 bridled Lightfoot, and went to Farmer Truck's for the 
 giant strawberries. A great part of the morning was spent 
 in putting them into the ground ; and, as soon as that was 
 finished, he set out again in quest of the old woman, whom, 
 to his great joy, he spied sitting at her corner of the street 
 with her board before her. But this old woman was deaf 
 and cross ; and when at last Jem made her hear his questions, 
 he could get no answer from her, but that she found the 
 fossils where he would never find any more. " But can't I 
 look where you looked ? " 
 
 " Look away, nobody hinders you," replied the old woman ; 
 and these were the only words she would say. 
 
 3° 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 Jem was not, however, a boy to be easily discouraged ; 
 he went to the rocks, and walked slowly along, looking at 
 all the stones as he passed. Presently he came to a place 
 where a number of men were at work loosening some large 
 rocks, and one amongst the workmen was stooping down 
 looking for something very eagerly ; Jem ran up, and asked 
 if he could help him. 
 
 "Yes," said the man, "you can ; I've just dropped, 
 amongst this heap of rubbish, a fine piece of crystal that 
 I got to-day." 
 
 " What kind of a looking thing is it? " said Jem. 
 
 " White, and like glass," said the man, and went on 
 working whilst Jem looked very carefully over the heap of 
 rubbish for a great while. 
 
 " Come," said the man, " it's gone for ever ; don't trouble 
 yourself any more, my boy." 
 
 " It's no trouble ; I'll look a little longer ; we'll not give 
 it up so soon," said Jem ; and after he had looked a little 
 longer, he found the piece of crystal. 
 
 " Thank'e," said the man, " you are a fine industrious little 
 fellow." 
 
 Jem, encouraged by the tone of voice in which the man 
 spoke this, ventured to ask him the same questions which 
 he asked the old woman. 
 
 " One good turn deserves another," said the man ; " we 
 are going to dinner just now, and shall leave off work — wait 
 for me here, and I'll maka it worth your while." 
 
 Jem waited ; and, as he was very attentively observing 
 how the workmen went on with their work, he heard some- 
 body near him give a great yawn, and, turning round, he saw 
 stretched upon the grass, beside the river, a boy about his 
 own age, who he knew very well went in the village of 
 Ashton by the name of Lazy Lawrence ; a name which he 
 most justly deserved, for he never did anything from 
 morning to night ; he neither worked nor played, but 
 sauntered and lounged about restless and yawning. His 
 father was an ale-house keeper, and, being generally drunk, 
 could take no care of his son ; so that Lazy Lawrence grew 
 every day worse and worse. However, some of the 
 neighbours said that he was a good-natured, poor fellow 
 
 3 1 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 enough, and would never do any one harm but himself; 
 whilst others, who were wiser, often shook their heads, and 
 told him that idleness was the root of all evil. 
 
 " What, Lawrence ! " cried Jem to him, when he saw him 
 lying upon the grass — " what, are you asleep ? " 
 
 "Not quite." 
 
 " Are you awake ? " 
 
 " Not quite." 
 
 " What are you doing there ? " 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 " What are you thinking of ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 "What makes you lie there? " 
 
 " I don't know — because I can't find anyDody to play 
 with me to-day. Will you come and play? " 
 
 " No, I can't ; I'm busy." 
 
 "Busy," cried Lawrence, stretching himself, "you are 
 always busy — I would not be you for the world, to have 
 so much to do always." 
 
 " And I, " said Jem, laughing, " would not be you for the 
 world, to have nothing to do." So they parted, for the 
 workman just then called Jem to follow him. He took him 
 home to his own house, and showed him a parcel of fossils, 
 which he had gathered, he said, on purpose to sell, but had 
 never had time yet to sort them. He set about it, however, 
 now ; and having picked out those which he judged to be the 
 best, he put them into a small basket, and gave them to 
 Jem to sell, upon condition that he should bring him half of 
 what he got. Jem, pleased to be employed, was ready to 
 agree to what the man proposed, provided his mother had 
 no objection to it. When he went home to dinner, he 
 told his mother his scheme ; and she smiled, and said he 
 might do as he pleased, for she was not afraid of his being 
 from home. "You are not an idle boy," said she, "so there 
 is little danger of your getting into any mischief." 
 
 Accordingly Jem that evening took his stand, with his 
 little basket, upon the bank of the river, just at the place 
 where people land from a ferry-boat, and where the walk 
 turns to the wells, where numbers of people perpetually 
 pass to drink the waters. He chose his place well, and 
 
 32 
 
<^CjT/'u^T^^f 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 waited almost all evening, offering his fossils with great 
 assiduity to every passenger; but not one person bought 
 any. 
 
 " Hallo ! " cried some sailors, who had just rowed a boat 
 to land, " bear a hand here, will you, my little fellow, and 
 carry these parcels for us into yonder house ? " 
 
 Jem ran down immediately for the parcels, and did what 
 he was asked to do quickly, and with so much good-will, 
 that the master of the boat took notice of him, and, when 
 he was going away, stopped to ask him what he had got in 
 his little basket ; and when he saw that they were fossils, 
 he immediately told Jem to follow him, for that he was 
 going to carry some shells he had brought from abroad to 
 a lady in the neighbourhood who was making a grotto. 
 " She will very likely buy your stones into the bargain. 
 Come along, my lad ; we can but try." 
 
 The lady lived but a very little way off, so that they were 
 soon at her house. She was alone in her parlour, and was 
 sorting a bundle of feathers of different colours ; they lay 
 on a sheet of pasteboard upon a window seat, and it 
 happened that as the sailor was bustling round the table 
 to show off his shells, he knocked down the sheet of paste- 
 board, and scattered all the feathers. 
 
 The lady looked very sorry, which Jem observing, he 
 took the opportunity, whilst she was busy looking over the 
 sailor's bag of shells, to gather together all the feathers, and 
 sort them according to their different colours, as he had seen 
 them sorted when he first came into the room. 
 
 " Where is the little boy you brought with you ? I 
 thought I saw him here just now." 
 
 " And here I am, ma'am," cried Jem, creeping from 
 under the table, with some few remaining feathers which 
 he had picked from the carpet ; " I thought," added he, 
 pointing to the others, " I had better be doing something 
 than standing idle, ma'am." She smiled, and, pleased 
 with his activity and simplicity, began to ask him several 
 questions ; such as who he was, where he lived, what 
 employment he had, and how much a day he earned at 
 gathering fossils. 
 
 " This is the first day I have ever tried," said Jem ; " I 
 
 35 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 never sold any yet, and if you don't buy 'em now, ma'am, 
 I'm afraid nobody else will ; for I've asked everybody else." 
 
 " Come, then," said the lady, laughing, " if that is the 
 case, I think I had better buy them all." So, emptying all 
 the fossils out of his basket, she put half-a-crown into it. 
 
 Jem's eyes sparkled with joy. " Oh, thank you, ma'am," 
 said he, " I will be sure to bring you as many more, to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Yes, but I don't promise you," said she, " to give you 
 half-a-crown to-morrow." 
 
 " But, perhaps, though you don't promise it, you will." 
 
 " No," said the lady, " do not deceive yourself; I assure 
 you that I will not. That, instead of encouraging you to 
 be industrious, would teach you to be idle." 
 
 Jem did not quite understand what she meant by this, but 
 answered, " I'm sure I don't wish to be idle ; what 1 want 
 is to earn something every day, if I knew how ; I'm sure 
 I don't wish to be idle. If you knew all, you'd know I 
 did not." 
 
 " How do you mean, if I knew all?" 
 
 "Why, I mean, if you knew about Lightfoot." 
 
 "Who's Lightfoot?" 
 
 " Why, mother's horse," added Jem, looking out of the 
 window ; " I must make haste home, and feed him afore it 
 gets dark ; he'll wonder what's gone with me." 
 
 " Let him wonder a few minutes longer," said the lady, 
 " and tell me the rest of your story." 
 
 " I've no story, ma'am, to tell, but as how mother says 
 he must go to the fair Monday fortnight, to be sold, if she 
 can't get the two guineas for her rent ; and I should be 
 main sorry to part with him, for I love him, and he loves 
 me ; so I'll work for him, I will, all I can. To be sure, as 
 mother says, I have no chance, such a little fellow as I am, 
 of earning two guineas afore Monday fortnight." 
 
 "But are you in earnest — willing to work?" said the 
 lady ; " you know there is a great deal of difference 
 between picking up a few stones, and working steadily 
 every day, and all day long." 
 
 " But," said Jem, " I would work every day, and all day 
 long." 
 
 36 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 "Then," said the lady, "I will give you work. Come 
 here to-morrow morning, and my gardener will set you 
 to weed the shrubberies, and I will pay you sixpence a 
 day. Remember, you must be at the gates by six o'clock." 
 Jem bowed, thanked her, and went away. 
 
 It was late in the evening, and he was impatient to get 
 home to feed Lightfoot ; yet he recollected that he had 
 promised the man who had trusted him to sell the fossils, 
 that he would bring him half of what he got for them ; so 
 he thought that he had better go to him directly ; and 
 away he went, running along by the waterside about a 
 quarter of a mile, till he came to the man's house. He was 
 just come home from work, and was surprised when Jem 
 showed him the half-crown, saying, " Look what I got for 
 the stones ; you are to have half, you know." 
 
 " No," said the man, when he had heard his story, " I shall 
 not take half of that ; it was given to you. I expected 
 but a shilling at the most, and the half of that is but six- 
 pence, and that I'll take. — Wife! give the lad two shillings, 
 and take this half-crown." So his wife opened an old 
 glove, and took out two shillings ; and the man, as she 
 opened the glove, put in his fingers, and took out a little 
 silver penny. — " There, he shall have that into the bargain 
 for his honesty — honesty is the best policy — there's a lucky 
 penny for you, that I've kept ever since I can remember." 
 
 " Don't you ever go to part with it, do you hear ? " cried 
 the woman. 
 
 " Let him do what he will with it, wife," said the man. 
 
 " But," argued the wife, " another penny would do just 
 as well to buy gingerbread ; and that's what it will go for." 
 
 " No, that it shall not, I promise you," said Jem : 
 and so he ran away home, fed Lightfoot, stroked him, 
 went to bed, jumped up at five o'clock in the morning, and 
 went singing to work as gay as a lark. 
 
 Four days he worked " every day, and all day long " ; 
 and the lady every evening, when she came out to walk in 
 her garden, looked at his work. At last she said to her 
 gardener, " This little boy works very hard." 
 
 "Never had so good a little boy about the grounds," said 
 the gardener ; " he's always at his work, let me come by 
 
 37 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 when I will, and he has got twice as much done as another 
 would do ; yes, twice as much, ma'am ; for look here — he 
 begun at this here rose-bush, and now he's got to where 
 you stand, ma'am ; and here is the day's work that t'other 
 boy, and he's three years older too, did to-day — I say, 
 measure Jem's fairly, and it's twice as much, I'm sure." 
 
 " Well," said the lady to her gardener, " show me how 
 much is a fair good day's work for a boy of his age." 
 
 " Come at six and go at six ; why, about this much, 
 ma'am," said the gardener, marking off a piece of the 
 border with his spade. 
 
 " Then, little boy," said the lady, " so much shall be your 
 task every day ; the gardener will mark it off for you ; and 
 when you've done, the rest of the day you may do what 
 you please." 
 
 Jem was extremely glad of this ; and the next day he 
 had finished his task by four o'clock, so that he had all the 
 rest of the evening to himself. Jem was as fond of play as 
 any little boy could be ; and when he was at it, played 
 with all the eagerness and gaiety imaginable ; so as soon 
 as he had finished his task, fed Lightfoot, and put by the 
 sixpence he had earned that day, he ran to the playground 
 in the village, where he found a party of boys playing, and 
 amongst them Lazy Lawrence, who indeed was not playing, 
 but lounging upon a gate, with his thumb in his mouth. 
 The rest were playing at cricket. Jem joined them, and 
 was the merriest and most active amongst them ; till, at 
 last, when quite out of breath with running, he was obliged 
 to give up to rest himself, and sat down upon the stile, close 
 to the gate on which Lazy Lawrence was swinging. 
 
 " And why don't you play, Lawrence ? " said he. 
 
 " I'm tired," said Lawrence. 
 
 " Tired of what ? " 
 
 " I don't know well what tires me ; grandmother says 
 I'm ill, and I must take something — I don't know what 
 ails me." 
 
 " Oh, pooh ! take a good race — one, two, three, and 
 away — and you'll find yourself as well as ever. Come, 
 run — one, two, three, and away." 
 
 " Ah, no, I can't run, indeed," said he, hanging back 
 
 38 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 heavily ; "you know I can play all day long if I like it, so 
 I don't mind play as you do, who have only one hour for it." 
 
 " So much the worse for you. Come now, I'm quite fresh 
 again, will you have one game at ball ? Do." 
 
 " No, I tell you, I can't ; I'm as tired as if I had been 
 working all day long as hard as a horse." 
 
 " Ten times more," said Jem, " for I have been working 
 all day long as hard as a horse, and yet you see I'm not a 
 bit tired ; only a little out of breath just now." 
 
 " That's very odd," said Lawrence, and yawned for want 
 of some better answer ; then taking a handful of halfpence, — 
 " See what I got from father to-day, because I asked him 
 just at the right time, when he had drunk a glass or two : 
 then I can get anything I want out of him — see ! a penny, 
 twopence, threepence, fourpence — there's eightpence in all ; 
 would not you be happy if you had eightpence ? " 
 
 " Why, I don't know," said Jem, laughing, "for you don't 
 seem happy, and you have eightpence." 
 
 " That does not signify, though. I'm sure- you only say 
 that because you envy me. — -You don't know what it is to 
 have eightpence. — You never had more than twopence or 
 threepence at a time in all your life." 
 
 Jem smiled. " Oh, as to that," said he, " you are mis- 
 taken, for I have at this very time more than twopence, 
 threepence, or eightpence either ; I have— let me — see — 
 stones, two shillings ; then five days' work, that's five six- 
 pences, that's two shillings and sixpence ; it makes in all 
 four shillings and sixpence ; and my silver penny, is four 
 and sevenpence ! " 
 
 " You have not!" said Lawrence, roused so absolutely as 
 to stand upright, " four and sevenpence, have you ? Show 
 it me, and then I'll believe you." 
 
 " Follow me, then," cried Jem, " and I'll soon make you 
 believe me ; come." 
 
 " Is it far ? " said Lawrence, following, half-running, 
 half-hobbling, till he came to the stable, where Jem showed 
 him his treasure. " And how did you come by it — 
 honestly ? " 
 
 " Honestly ! to be sure I did ; I earned it all." 
 
 " Bless me, earned it ! well, I've a great mind to work ; 
 
 39 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 but then it's such hot weather ; besides, grandmother says 
 I'm not strong enough yet for hard work ; and besides, I 
 know how to coax daddy out of money when I want it, so 
 I need not work. — But four and sevenpence ; let's see, what 
 will you do with it all ?" 
 
 " That's a secret," said Jem, looking great. 
 
 " I can guess ; I know what I'd do with it if it was mine. 
 First, I'd buy pocketfuls of gingerbread ; then I'd buy 
 ever so many apples and nuts ; don't you love nuts ? I'd 
 buy nuts enough to last me from this time to Christmas, 
 and I'd make little Newton crack 'cm for me ; for that's 
 the worst of nuts, there's the trouble of cracking 'em." 
 
 " Well, you never deserve to have a nut." 
 
 " But you'll give me some of yours," said Lawrence, in a 
 fawning tone ; for he thought it easier to coax than to 
 work—" you'll give me some of your good things, won't 
 you ? " 
 
 " I shall not have any of those good things," said Jem. 
 
 " Then, what will you do with all your money ? " 
 
 " Oh, I know very well what to do with it ; but, as I told 
 you, that's a secret, and I sha'n't tell anybody. Come now, 
 let's go back and play — their game's up, I dare say." 
 
 Lawrence went back with him, full of curiosity, and out 
 of humour with himself and his eightpence. " If I had four 
 and sevenpence," said he to himself, " I certainly should be 
 happy ! " 
 
 The next day, as usual, Jem jumped up before six o'clock 
 and went to his work, whilst Lazy Lawrence sauntered 
 about without knowing what to do with himself. In the 
 course of two days he laid out sixpence of his money in 
 apples and gingerbread ; and as long as these lasted, he 
 found himself well received by his companions ; but, at 
 length the third day he spent his last halfpenny, and when 
 it was gone, unfortunately some nuts tempted him very 
 much, but he had no money to pay for them ; so he ran 
 home to coax his father, as he called it. 
 
 When he got home he heard his father talking very loud, 
 and at first he thought he was drunk ; but when he 
 opened the kitchen door, he saw that he was not drunk, 
 but angry. 
 
 40 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 " You lazy dog ! " cried he. turning suddenly upon 
 Lawrence, and gave him such a violent box on the ear as 
 made the light flash from his eyes ; " you lazy dog ! See 
 what you've done for me — look ! — look, look, I say ! " 
 
 Lawrence looked as soon as he came to the use of his 
 senses, and with fear, amazement, and remorse, beheld at 
 least a dozen bottles burst, and the fine Worcestershire 
 cider streaming over the floor. 
 
 " Now, did not I order you three days ago to carry these 
 bottles to the cellar ? and did not I charge you to wire the 
 corks ? Answer me, you lazy rascal ; did not I ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Lawrence, scratching his head. 
 
 " And why was not it done, I ask you ? " cried his 
 father, with renewed anger, as another bottle burst at the 
 moment. " What do you stand there for, you lazy brat ? 
 why don't you move, I say ? No, no," catching hold of 
 him, "I believe you can't move ; but I'll make you." And 
 he shook him till Lawrence was so giddy he could not 
 stand. " What had you to think of? What had you to do 
 all day long, that you could not carry my cider, my 
 Worcestershire cider, to the cellar when I bid you ? But 
 go, you'll never be good for anything, you are such a lazy 
 rascal — get out of my sight ! " So saying, he pushed him 
 out of the house door, and Lawrence sneaked off, seeing 
 that this was no time to make his petition for halfpence. 
 
 The next day he saw the nuts again, and wishing for 
 them more than ever, went home, in hopes that his father, 
 as he said to himself, would be in a better humour. But the 
 cider was still fresh in his recollection ; and the moment 
 Lawrence began to whisper the word " halfpenny " in his ear, 
 his father swore, with a loud oath, " I will not give you a half- 
 penny, no, not a farthing, for a month to come. If you want 
 money, go work for it; I've had enough of your laziness — 
 go work ! " 
 
 At these terrible words Lawrence burst into tears, and, 
 going to the side of a ditch, sat down and cried for an hour ; 
 and when he had cried till he could cry no more, he exerted 
 himself so far as to empty his pockets, to see whether there 
 might not happen to be one halfpenny left ; and, to his 
 great joy, in the farthest corner of his pocket one half- 
 
 4i 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 penny was found. With this he proceeded to the fruit- 
 woman's stall. She was busy weighing out some plums, 
 so he was obliged to wait ; and whilst he was waiting he 
 heard some people near him, talking and laughing very 
 loud. 
 
 The fruit-woman's stall was at the gate of an inn-yard ; 
 and peeping through the gate in this yard, Lawrence saw a 
 postilion and stable-boy, about his own size, playing at 
 pitch-farthing. He stood by watching them for a few 
 minutes. 
 
 " I began but with one halfpenny," cried the stable-boy, 
 with an oath, " and now I've got twopence ! " added he, 
 jingling the halfpence in his waistcoat pocket. 
 
 Lawrence was moved at the sound, and said to himself, 
 "If /begin with one halfpenny I may end, like him, with 
 having twopence ; and it is easier to play at pitch-farthing 
 than to work." 
 
 So he stepped forward, presenting his halfpenny, offering 
 to toss up with the stable-boy, who, after looking him full 
 in the face, accepted the proposal, and threw his halfpenny 
 into the air. 
 
 " Head or tail ? " cried he. 
 
 " Head," replied Lawrence, and it came up head. He 
 seized the penny, surprised at his own success, and would 
 have gone instantly to have laid it out in nuts ; but the 
 stable-boy stopped him, and tempted him to throw again. 
 This time he lost ; he threw again and won ; and so he 
 went on, sometimes losing, but most frequently winning, till 
 half the morning was gone. At last, however, he chanced 
 to win twice running, and, finding himself master of three 
 halfpence, said he would play no more. 
 
 The stable-boy, grumbling, swore he would have his 
 revenge another time, and Lawrence went and bought the 
 nuts. 
 
 " It is a good thing," said he to himself, "to play at pitch- 
 farthing; the next time I want a halfpenny I'll not ask my 
 father for it, nor go to work neither." 
 
 Satisfied with this resolution, he sat down to crack his 
 nuts at his leisure, upon the horse-block in the inn-yard. 
 Here, whilst he ate, he overheard the conversation of the 
 
 42 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 stable-boys and postilions. At first their shocking oaths 
 and loud wrangling frightened and shocked him ; for 
 Lawrence, though a lazy, had not yet learned to be a wicked 
 boy. But, by degrees, he was accustomed to their swear- 
 ing and quarrelling, and took a delight and interest in their 
 disputes and battles. As this was an amusement which he 
 could enjoy without any sort of exertion on his part, he 
 soon grew so fond of it, that every day he returned to the 
 stable-yard, and the horse-block became his constant seat. 
 Here he found some relief from the insupportable fatigue of 
 doing nothing ; and here, hour after hour, with his elbows 
 on his knees, and his head on his hands, he sat the 
 spectator of wickedness. 
 
 Gaming, cheating, and lying, soon became familiar to 
 him ; and, to complete his ruin, he formed a sudden and 
 close intimacy with the stable-boy with whom he had first 
 begun to game — a very bad boy. The consequences of 
 this intimacy we shall presently see. But it is now time to 
 inquire what little Jem has been doing all this while. 
 
 One day, after he had finished his task, the gardener 
 asked him to stay a little while, to help him to carry some 
 geranium-pots into the hall. Jem, always active and 
 obliging, readily stayed from play, and was carrying in a 
 heavy flower-pot, when his mistress crossed the hall. 
 
 " What a terrible litter ! " said she, " you are making 
 here — why don't you wipe your shoes upon the mat ? " 
 
 Jem turned round to look for the mat, but he saw none. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the lady, recollecting herself, " I can't blame 
 you, for there is no mat." 
 
 " No, ma'am," said the gardener, " nor I don't know when, 
 if ever, the man will bring home those mats you bespoke, 
 ma'am." 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear that," said the lady ; " I wish 
 we could find somebody who would do them, if he can't — 
 I should not care what sort of mats they were, so that one 
 could wipe one's feet on them." 
 
 Jem, as he was sweeping away the litter, when he heard 
 these last words, said to himself, " Perhaps I could make a 
 mat." And all the way home, as he trudged along whist- 
 ling, he was thinking over a scheme for making mats, 
 
 43 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 which, however bold it may appear, he did not despair of 
 executing, with patience and industry. Many were the 
 difficulties which his " prophetic eye " foresaw ; but he felt 
 within himself that spirit which spurs men on to great 
 enterprises, and makes them "trample on impossibilities." 
 
 He recollected, in the first place, that he had seen Lazy 
 Lawrence, whilst he lounged upon the gate, twist a bit of 
 heath into different shapes ; and he thought, that if he 
 could find some way of plaiting heath firmly together, it 
 would make a pretty green, soft mat, which would do very 
 well for one to wipe one's shoes on. About a mile from his 
 mother's house, on the common which Jem rode over when 
 he went to Farmer Truck's for the giant strawberries, he 
 remembered to have seen a great quantity of this heath ; 
 and, as it was now only six o'clock in the evening, he knew 
 that he should have time to feed Lightfcot, stroke him, go 
 to the common, return, and make one trial of his skill before 
 he went to bed. 
 
 Lightfoot carried him swiftly to the common, and there 
 Jem gathered as much of the heath as he thought he should 
 want. But what toil, what time, what pains did it cost him, 
 before he could make anything like a mat ! Twenty times 
 he was ready to throw aside the heath, and give up his 
 project, from impatience of repeated disappointments. 
 But still he persevered. Nothing truly great can be 
 accomplished without toil and time. Two hours he worked 
 before he went to bed. All his play-hours the next day 
 he spent at his mat ; which, in all, made five hours of fruit- 
 less attempts. The sixth, however, repaid him for the 
 labours of the other five ; he conquered his grand difficulty 
 of fastening the heath substantially together, and at length 
 completely finished a mat, which far surpassed his most 
 sanguine expectations. He was extremely happy — sang, 
 danced round it — whistled— looked at it again and again, 
 and could hardly leave off looking at it when it was time to 
 go to bed. He laid it by his bedside, that he might see it 
 the moment he awoke in the morning. 
 
 And now came the grand pleasure of carrying it to his 
 mistress. She looked full as much surprised as he expected, 
 when she saw it, and when she heard who made it. After 
 
 44 
 
We jaui- tficct £s fiikffimdts dad dc's^pearecf 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 having duly admired it, she asked how much he expected 
 for his mat. 
 
 " Expect ! — nothing, ma'am," said Jem ; " I meant to 
 give it you, if you'd have it ; I did not mean to sell it. 
 I made it at my play-hours, and I was very happy making 
 it ; and I'm very glad, too, that you like it ; and if you 
 please to keep it, ma'am, that's all." 
 
 " But that's not all," said the lady. " Spend your time 
 no more in weeding my garden, you can employ yourself 
 much better ; you shall have the reward of your ingenuity 
 as well as of your industry. Make as many more such 
 mats as you can, and I will take care and dispose of them 
 for you." 
 
 " Thankee, ma'am," said Jem, making his best bow, for he 
 thought by the lady's looks that she meant to do him a 
 favour, though he repeated to himself, " Dispose of them ; 
 what does that mean ? " 
 
 The next day he went to work to make more mats, and 
 he soon learned to make them so well and quickly that he 
 was surprised at his own success. In every one he made 
 he found less difficulty, so that, instead of making two, he 
 could soon make four, in a day. In a fortnight he made 
 eighteen. It was Saturday night when he finished, and he 
 carried, in three journeys, his eighteen mats to his mistress's 
 house ; piled them all up in the hall, and stood with his 
 hat off, with a look of proud humility, beside the pile, wait- 
 ing for his mistress's appearance. Presently a folding-door, 
 at one end of the hall, opened, and he saw his mistress, 
 with a great many gentlemen and ladies, rising from several 
 tables. 
 
 " Oh ! there is my little boy and his mats," cried the 
 lady ; and, followed by all the rest of the company, she 
 came into the hall. Jem modestly retired whilst they 
 looked at his mats ; but in a minute or two his mistress 
 beckoned to him, and, when he came into the middle of the 
 circle, he saw that his pile of mats had disappeared. 
 
 " Well," said the lady, smiling, " what do you see that 
 makes you look so surprised ? " 
 
 " That all my mats are gone," said Jem ; " but you are 
 very welcome." 
 
 47 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 " Are we ? " said the lady ; " well, take up your hat, and 
 go home then, for you see that it is getting late, and you 
 know Lightfoot will wonder what's become of you." 
 
 Jem turned round to take up his hat, which he had left 
 on the floor. 
 
 But how his countenance changed ! the hat was heavy 
 with shillings. Every one who had taken a mat had put 
 in two shillings ; so that for the eighteen mats he had got 
 thirty-six shillings. 
 
 " Thirty-six shillings ! " said the lady ; " five and seven- 
 pence I think you told me you had earned already — how 
 much does that make? I must add, I believe, one other 
 sixpence to make out your two guineas." 
 
 " Two guineas ! " exclaimed Jem, now quite conquering 
 his bashfulness, for at the moment he forgot where he was, 
 and saw nobody that was by : " Two guineas ! " cried 
 he, clapping his hands together, — " Oh, Lightfoot ! Oh, 
 mother ! " Then, recollecting himself, he saw his mistress, 
 whom he now looked up to quite as a friend. " Will you 
 thank them all ? " said he, scarcely daring to glance his eyes 
 round upon the company ; " will you thank 'em ? for you 
 know I don't know how to thank 'em rightly." 
 
 Everybody thought, however, that they had been thanked 
 rightly. 
 
 " Now we won't keep you any longer — only," said his 
 mistress, " I have one thing to ask you, that I may be by 
 when you show your treasure to your mother." 
 
 " Come, then," said Jem, " come with me now." 
 
 " Not now," said the lady, laughing, " but I will come to 
 Ashton to-morrow evening ; perhaps your mother can find 
 me a few strawberries." 
 
 " That she will," said Jem : " I'll search the garden 
 myself." 
 
 He now went home, but felt it a great restraint to wait 
 till to-morrow evening before he told his mother. To con- 
 sole himself he flew to the stable : — " Lightfoot, you're not 
 to be sold on Monday, poor fellow ! " said he, patting him, 
 and then could not refrain from counting out his money. 
 Whilst he was intent upon this, Jem was startled by a 
 noise at the door ; somebody was trying to pull up the 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 latch. It opened, and there came in Lazy Lawrence, with 
 a boy in a red jacket, who had a cock under his arm. They 
 started when they got into the middle of the stable, and 
 when they saw Jem, who had been at first hidden by the horse. 
 
 " We — we — we came," stammered Lazy Lawrence — " I 
 mean, I came to — to — to " 
 
 " To ask you," continued the stable-boy, in a bold tone, 
 "whether you will go with us to the cock-fight on Monday? 
 See, I've a fine cock here, and Lawrence told me you were 
 a great friend of his ; so I came." 
 
 Lawrence now attempted to say something in praise of 
 the pleasures of cock-fighting, and in recommendation of 
 his new companion. 
 
 But Jem looked at the stable-boy with dislike, and a sort 
 of dread ; then, turning his eyes upon the cock with a look 
 of compassion, said, in a low voice, to Lawrence, "Shall you 
 like to stand by and see its eyes pecked out ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Lawrence, " as to that ; but they 
 say a cock-fight's a fine sight, and it's no more cruel in me 
 to go than another ; and a great many go ; and I've nothing 
 else to do, so I shall go." 
 
 " But I have something else to do," said Jem, laughing, 
 " so I shall not go." 
 
 " But," continued Lawrence, " you know Monday is the 
 great Bristol fair, and one must be merry then, of all days 
 in the year." 
 
 " One day in the year, sure, there's no harm in being 
 merry," said the stable-boy. 
 
 " I hope not," said Jem ; " for I know, for my part, I am 
 merry every day in the year." 
 
 " That's very odd," said Lawrence ; " but I know, for my 
 part, I would not for all the world miss going to the fair, 
 for at least it will be something to talk of for half a year 
 after. Come ; you'll go, won't you ? " 
 
 " No," said Jem, still looking as if he did not like to talk 
 before the ill-looking stranger. 
 
 " Then what will you do with all your money ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you about that another time," whispered Jem ; 
 " and don't you go to see that cock's eyes pecked out ; it 
 won't make you merry, I'm sure." 
 
 49 E 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 " If I had anything else to divert me — " said Lawrence, 
 hesitating and yawning. 
 
 " Come," cried the stable-boy, seizing his stretching arm, 
 "come along," cried he; and, pulling him away from Jem, 
 upon whom he cast a look of extreme contempt, " leave 
 him alone, he's not the sort." 
 
 " What a fool you are ! " said he to Lawrence, the moment 
 he got him out of the stable ; " you might have known he 
 would not go — else we should soon have trimmed him out 
 of his four and sevenpence. But how came you to talk of 
 four and sevenpence ? I saw in the manger a hat full of 
 silver." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed Lawrence. 
 
 " Yes, indeed — but why did you stammer so when we 
 first got in ? you had like to have blown us all up." 
 
 " I was so ashamed," said Lawrence, hanging down his 
 head. 
 
 " Ashamed ! but you must not talk of shame now you 
 are in for it, and I sha'n't let you off; you owe us half-a- 
 crown, recollect, and I must be paid to-night ; so see and 
 get the money somehow or other." After a considerable 
 pause he added, " I'll answer for it he'd never miss half-a- 
 crown out of all that silver." 
 
 " But to steal," said Lawrence, drawing back with horror 
 — " I never thought I should come to that — and from poor 
 Jem, too — the money that he has worked so hard for, too." 
 
 " But it is not stealing ; we don't mean to steal ; only to 
 borrow it ; and if we win, which we certainly shall, at the 
 cock-fight, pay it back again, and he'll never know anything 
 of the matter ; and what harm will it do him ? Besides, 
 what signifies talking ; you can't go to the cock-fight, or 
 the fair either, if you don't; and I tell ye we don't mean to 
 steal it ; we'll pay it again on Monday night." 
 
 Lawrence made no reply, and they parted without his 
 coming to any determination. 
 
 Here let us pause in our story — we are almost afraid to 
 go on — the rest is very shocking — our little readers will 
 shudder as they read. But it is better that they should 
 know the truth, and see what the idle boy came to at last. 
 
 In the dead of the night Lawrence heard somebody tap 
 
 5° 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 at the window. He knew well who it was, for this was the 
 signal agreed upon between him and his wicked companion 
 He trembled at the thoughts of what he was about to 
 do, and lay quite still, with his head under the bedclothes 
 till he heard the second tap. Then he got up, dressed him- 
 self, and opened his window. It was almost even with the 
 ground. His companion said to him, in a hollow voice 
 "Are you ready?" He made no answer, but got out of 
 the window and followed. When he got to the stable a 
 black cloud was just passing over the moon, and it was 
 quite dark. 
 
 " Where are you ? " whispered Lawrence, groping about 
 " where are you ? Speak to me." 
 
 " I am here ; give me your hand." 
 
 Lawrence stretched out his hand. 
 
 " Is that your hand ?" said the wicked boy, as Lawrence 
 laid hold of him ; " how cold it felt ! " 
 
 " Let us go back," said Lawrence ; " it is time yet." 
 
 " It is no time to go back," replied the other, ooening the 
 door ; " you've gone too far now to go back ; " and he 
 pushed Lawrence into the stable. " Have you found it? 
 take care of the horse— have you done? What are you 
 about? Make haste, I hear a noise," said the stable-bo V 
 who watched at the door. ' 
 
 " I am feeling for the half-crown, but I can't find it." 
 "Bring all together." 
 
 g He brought Jem's broken flower-pot, with all the money 
 in it, to the door. ' 
 
 The black cloud was now passed over the moon, and the 
 light shone full upon them. 
 
 " What do we stand here for ? " said the stable-boy 
 snatching the flower-pot out of Lawrence's trembling hands 
 and pulling him away from the door. 
 
 "Surely," cried Lawrence, "you won't take all. You 
 said you'd only take half-a-crown, and pay it back on 
 Monday— you said you'd only take half-a-crown ! " 
 
 " Hold your tongue ? " replied the other, walking on, deaf 
 to all remonstrances—" if I am ever to be hanged, it sha'n't 
 be for half-a-crown." 
 
 Lawrence's blood ran cold in his veins, and he felt as if all 
 
 5i 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 his hair stood on end. Not another word passed. His 
 accomplice carried off the money, and Lawrence crept, with 
 all the horrors of guilt upon him, to his restless bed. All 
 night he was starting from frightful dreams ; or else, broad 
 awake, he lay listening to every small noise, unable to stir, 
 and scarcely daring to breathe — tormented by that most 
 dreadful of all kinds of fear, that fear which is the constant 
 companion of an evil conscience. He thought the morning 
 would never come ; but when it was day, when he heard 
 the birds sing, and saw everything look cheerful as usual, 
 he felt still more miserable. It was Sunday morning, and 
 the bell rang for church. All the children of the village, 
 dressed in their Sunday clothes, innocent and gay, and 
 little Jem the best and gayest amongst them, went flocking 
 by his door to church. 
 
 " Well, Lawrence," said Jem, pulling his coat as he passed 
 and saw Lawrence leaning against his father's door, " what 
 makes you look so black ? " 
 
 "I?" said Lawrence, starting ; " why do you say that I 
 look black?" 
 
 " Nay, then," said Jem, " you look white enough now, if 
 that will please you, for you're turned as pale as death." 
 
 " Pale ! " replied Lawrence, not knowing what he said ; 
 and turned abruptly away, for he dared not stand another 
 look of Jem's ; conscious that guilt was written in his face, 
 he shunned every eye. He would now have given the 
 world to have thrown off the load of guilt which lay upon 
 his mind ; he longed to follow Jem, to fall upon his knees, 
 and confess all. Dreading the moment when Jem should 
 discover his loss, Lawrence dared not stay at home ; and 
 not knowing what to do, or where to go, he mechanically 
 went to his old haunt at the stable-yard, and lurked there- 
 abouts all day, with his accomplice, who tried in vain to 
 quiet his fears and raise his spirits by talking of the next 
 day's cock-fight. It was agreed, that as soon as the dusk 
 of evening came on, they should go together into a certain 
 lonely field, and there divide their booty. 
 
 In the mean time, Jem, when he returned from church, 
 was very full of business, preparing for the reception of his 
 mistress, of whose intended visit he had informed his 
 
 52 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 mother ; and whilst she was arranging the kitchen and 
 their little parlour, he ran to search the strawberry-beds. 
 
 " Why, my Jem, how merry you are to-day ! " said his 
 mother, when he came in with the strawberries, and was 
 jumping about the room playfully. " Now, keep those 
 spirits of yours, Jem, till you want 'em, and don't let it 
 come upon you all at once. Have it in mind that to- 
 morrow's fair day, and Lightfoot must go. I bid Farmer 
 Truck call for him to-night ; he said he'd take him along 
 with his own, and he'll be here just now — and then I know 
 how it will be with you, Jem ! " 
 
 " So do I ! " cried Jem, swallowing his secret with great 
 difficulty, and then turning head over heels four times 
 running. 
 
 A carriage passed the window, and stopped at the door. 
 Jem ran out ; it was his mistress. She came in smiling, 
 and soon made the old woman smile, too, by praising the 
 neatness of everything in the house. But we shall pass 
 over, however important they were deemed at' the time, the 
 praises of the strawberries, and of "my grandmother's china 
 plate." Another knock was heard at the door. " Run, 
 Jem," said his mother ; " I hope it's our milk-woman with 
 cream for the lady." — No ; it was Farmer Truck come 
 for Lightfoot. The old woman's countenance fell. " Fetch 
 him out, dear," said she, turning to her son ; but Jem was 
 gone ; he flew out to the stable the moment he saw the 
 flap of Farmer Truck's great-coat. 
 
 " Sit ye down, farmer," said the old woman, after they 
 had waited about five minutes in expectation of Jem's 
 return. " You'd best sit down, if the lady will give you 
 leave ; for he'll not hurry himself back again. My boy's a 
 fool, madam, about that there horse." Trying to laugh, 
 she added, " I knew how Lightfoot and he would be loth 
 enough to part — he won't bring him out till the last minute ; 
 so do sit ye down, neighbour." 
 
 The farmer had scarcely sat down when Jem, with a pale, 
 wild countenance came back. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said his mistress. 
 
 " God bless the boy ! " said his mother, looking at him 
 quite frightened, whilst he tried to speak, but could not. 
 
 53 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 She went up to him ; then, leaning his head against her, 
 he cried, "It's gone! — it's all gone!" and, bursting into 
 tears, he sobbed as if his little heart would break. 
 
 " What's gone, love ? " said his mother. 
 
 " My two guineas — Lightfoot's two guineas. I went to 
 fetch 'em to give you, mother ; but the broken flower-pot 
 that I put them in, and all's gone ! — -quite gone ! " repeated 
 he, checking his sobs. " I saw them safe last night, and 
 was showing 'em to Lightfoot ; and I was so glad to think 
 I had earned them all myself; and I thought how surprised 
 you'd look, and how glad you'd be, and how you'd kiss me, 
 and all ! " 
 
 His mother listened to him with the greatest surprise, 
 whilst his mistress stood in silence, looking first at the old 
 woman, and then at Jem, with a penetrating eye, as if she 
 suspected the truth of his story, and was afraid of becoming 
 the dupe of her own compassion. 
 
 " This is a very strange thing ! " said she, gravely. " How 
 came you to leave all your money in a broken flower-pot 
 in the stable? How came you not to give it to your 
 mother to take care of?" 
 
 " Why, don't you remember ? " said Jem, looking up in 
 the midst of his tears ; " why, don't you remember you 
 your own self bid me not tell her about it till you were 
 by ? " 
 
 " And did you not tell her ? " 
 
 " Nay, ask mother," said Jem, a little offended ; and when 
 afterwards the lady went on questioning him in a severe 
 manner, as if she did not believe him, he at last made no 
 answer. 
 
 " Oh, Jem, Jem ! why don't you speak to the lady ? " 
 said his mother. 
 
 " I have spoken, and spoke the truth," said Jem, proudly ; 
 " and she did not believe me." 
 
 Still the lady, who had lived too long in the world to be 
 without suspicion, maintained a cool manner, and deter- 
 mined to await the event without interfering, saying only 
 that she hoped the money would be found, and advised 
 Jem to have done crying. 
 
 " I have done," said Jem, " I shall cry no more." And 
 
 54 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 as he had the greatest command over himself, he actually 
 did not shed another tear, not even when the farmer got up 
 to go, saying he could wait no longer. Jem silently went 
 to bring out Lightfoot. The lady now took her seat where 
 she could see all that passed at the open parlour-window. 
 The old woman stood at the door, and several idle people 
 of the village, who had gathered round the lady's carriage, 
 examining it, turned about to listen. In a minute or two 
 Jem appeared, with a steady countenance, leading Light- 
 foot ; and, when he came up, without saying a word, put 
 the bridle into Farmer Truck's hand. 
 
 " He has been a good horse," said the farmer. 
 
 " He is a good horse ! " cried Jem, and threw his arm 
 over Lightfoot's neck, hiding his own face as he leaned 
 upon him. 
 
 At this instant a party of milk-women went by ; and one 
 of them, having set down her pail, came behind Jem, and 
 gave him a pretty smart blow upon the back. He looked up. 
 
 " And don't you know me ? " said she 
 
 " I forget," said Jem ; " I think I have seen your face 
 before, but I forget." 
 
 " Do you so ? and you'll tell me just now," said she, half 
 opening her hand, " that you forget who gave you this, and 
 who charged you not to part with it, too." Here she quite 
 opened her large hand, and on the palm of it appeared 
 Jem's silver penny. 
 
 " Where ? " exclaimed Jem, seizing it, " oh, where did 
 you find it ? and have you — oh, tell me, have you got the 
 rest of my money ? " 
 
 " I know nothing of your money — I don't know what 
 you would be at," said the milk-woman. 
 
 " But where, pray tell me, where did you find this ? " 
 
 " With them that you gave it to, I suppose," said the 
 milk-woman, turning away suddenly to take up her milk- 
 pail. But now Jem's mistress called to her through the 
 window, begging her to stop, and joining in his entreaties 
 to know how she came by the silver penny. 
 
 " Why, madam," said she, taking up the corner of her 
 apron, " I came by it in an odd way, too. — You must know 
 that my Betty is sick, so I came with the milk myself, 
 
 55 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 though it's not what I'm used to ; for my Betty — you 
 know my Betty ? " said she, turning round to the old 
 woman, " my Betty serves you, and she's a tight and 
 stirring lassy, ma'am, I can assure " 
 
 " Yes, I don't doubt it," said the lady, impatiently ; " but 
 about the silver penny?" 
 
 " Why, that's true ; as I was coming along all alone, for 
 the rest came a round, and I came a short cut across yon 
 
 field No, you can't see it, madam, where you stand — 
 
 but if you were here " 
 
 " I see it — I know it," said Jem, out of breath with 
 anxiety. 
 
 " Well — well — I rested my pail upon the stile, and sets 
 me down a while, and there comes out of the hedge — I 
 don't know well how, for they startled me so I'd like to 
 have thrown down my milk — two boys, one about the size 
 of he," said she, pointing to Jem, " and one a matter taller, 
 but ill-looking like, so I did not think to stir to make way 
 for them, and they were like in a desperate hurry ; so, 
 without waiting for the stile, one of 'em pulled at the gate, 
 and when it would not open (for it was tied with a pretty 
 stout cord) one of 'em whips out with his knife and cuts 
 
 it Now, have you a knife about you, sir?" continued 
 
 the milk-woman to the farmer. He gave her his knife. 
 " Here, now, ma'am, just sticking, as it were here, be- 
 tween the blade and the haft, was the silver penny. He 
 took no notice, but when he opened it, out it falls ; still he 
 takes no heed, but cuts the cord, as I said before, and 
 through the gate they went, and out of sight in half a 
 minute. I picks up the penny, for my heart misgave me 
 that it was the very one husband had had a long time, and 
 had given against my voice to he? pointing to Jem ; " and 
 I charged him not to part with it ; and, ma'am, when I 
 looked, I knew it by the mark, so I thought I should show 
 it to he" again pointing to Jem, " and let him give it back 
 to those it belongs to." 
 
 " It belongs to me," said Jem ; " I never gave it to any- 
 body — but " 
 
 " But," cried the farmer, " those boys have robbed him, 
 it is they who have all his money." 
 
 56 
 
<S^pur vi *- < *''^' 
 
 * they've get t£e "tAeires 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 " Oh, which way did they go ? " cried Jem, " I'll run after 
 them." 
 
 " No, no," said the lady, calling to her servant ; and she 
 desired him to take his horse and ride after them. 
 
 " Aye," added Farmer Truck, " do you take the road, 
 and I'll take the field way, and I'll be bound we'll have 'em 
 presently." 
 
 Whilst they were gone in pursuit of the thieves, the lady, 
 who was now thoroughly convinced of Jem's truth, desired 
 her coachman would produce what she had ordered him to 
 bring with him that evening. Out of the boot of the 
 carriage the coachman immediately produced a new saddle 
 and bridle. 
 
 How Jem's eyes sparkled when the saddle was thrown 
 upon Lightfoot's back ! 
 
 " Put it on your horse yourself, Jem," said the lady ; " it 
 is yours." 
 
 Confused reports of Lightfoot's splendid accoutrements, 
 of the pursuit of the thieves, and of the fine, and generous 
 lady who was standing at Dame Preston's window, quickly 
 spread through the village, and drew everybody from their 
 houses. They crowded round Jem to hear the story. The 
 children, especially, who were all fond of him, expressed 
 the strongest indignation against the thieves. Every eye 
 was on the stretch ; and now some, who had run down the 
 lane, came back shouting, " Here they are ! they've got the 
 thieves ! " 
 
 The footman on horseback carried one boy before him ; 
 and the farmer, striding along, dragged another. The 
 latter had on a red jacket, which little Jem immediately 
 recollected, and scarcely dared lift his eyes to look at the 
 boy on horseback. " Why," said he to himself, " it must 
 be — yet surely it can't be Lawrence." The footman rode 
 as fast as the people would let him. The boy's hat was 
 slouched, and his head hung down, so that nobody could 
 see his face. 
 
 At this instant there was a disturbance in the crowd. A 
 man who was half drunk pushed his way forwards, swearing 
 that nobody should stop him ; that he had a right to see — 
 and he would see. And so he did ; for, forcing through all 
 
 59 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 resistance, he staggered up to the footman just as he was 
 lifting down the boy he had carried before him. 
 
 " I will — I tell you, I will see the thief! " cried the 
 drunken man, pushing up the boy's hat. It was his own 
 son. " Lawrence ! " exclaimed the wretched father. The 
 shock sobered him at once, and he hid his face in his hands. 
 
 There was an awful silence. Lawrence fell on his knees, 
 and, in a voice that could scarcely be heard, made a full 
 confession of all the circumstances of his guilt. 
 
 " Such a young creature so wicked ! What could put 
 such wickedness into your head ? " 
 
 " Bad company," said Lawrence. 
 
 " And how came you — what brought you into — bad 
 company ? " 
 
 " I don't know, except it was idleness." 
 
 While this was saying, the farmer was emptying Lazy 
 Lawrence's pockets ; and when the money appeared, all his 
 former companions in the village looked at each other with 
 astonishment and terror. Their parents grasped their little 
 hands closer, and cried, " Thank God ! he is not my son. 
 How often, when he was little, we used, as he lounged about, 
 to tell him that idleness was the root of all evil." 
 
 As for the hardened wretch, his accomplice, every one 
 was impatient to have him sent to gaol. He put on a bold, 
 insolent countenance, till he heard Lawrence's confession ; 
 till the money was found upon him ; and he heard the milk- 
 woman declare that she would swear to the silver penny 
 which he had dropped. Then he turned pale, and betrayed 
 the strongest signs of fear. 
 
 " We must take him before the justice," said the farmer, 
 " and he'll be lodged in Bristol gaol." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Jem, springing forward when Lawrence's 
 hands were going to be tied, " let him go — won't you ? — 
 can't you let him go ? " 
 
 " Yes, madam, for mercy's sake," said Jem's mother to 
 the lady, "think what a disgrace to his family to be sent to 
 gaol ! " 
 
 His father stood by wringing his hands in an agony of 
 despair. " It's all my fault," cried he ; " I brought him up 
 in idleness." 
 
 60 
 
Lazy Lawrence 
 
 " But he'll never be idle any more," said Jem ; " won't 
 you speak for him, ma'am ? " 
 
 " Don't ask the lady to speak for him," said the farmer ; 
 " it's better he should go to Bridewell now, than to the 
 gallows by and by." 
 
 Nothing more was said, for everybody felt the truth of 
 the farmer's speech. Lawrence was sent to Bridewell for a 
 month, and the stable-boy was transported to Botany Bay. 
 
 During Lawrence's confinement, Jem often visited him, 
 and carried him such little presents as he could afford to 
 give ; and Jem could afford to be generous, because he was 
 industrious. Lawrence's heart was touched by his kindness, 
 and his example struck him so forcibly, that, when his 
 confinement was ended, he resolved to set immediately to 
 work ; and, to the astonishment of all who knew him, soon 
 became remarkable for industry ; he was found early and 
 late at his work, established a new character, and for ever 
 lost the name of Lazy Lawrence, 
 
 61 
 
7 FEMCER, a very benevolent and sensible 
 man, undertook the education of 
 several poor children. Amongst the 
 rest was a boy of the name of Franklin, 
 whom he had bred up from the time he 
 was five years old. Franklin had the 
 misfortune to be the son of a man of 
 infamous character ; and for many years 
 this was a disgrace and reproach to his 
 child. When any of the neighbours' 
 children quarrelled with him, they used to tell him he would 
 turn out like his father. But Mr. Spencer always assured 
 him that he might make himself whatever he pleased ; that 
 by behaving well he would certainly, sooner or later, secure 
 the esteem and love of all who knew him, even of those 
 who had the strongest prejudice against him on his father's 
 account. 
 
 This hope was very delightful to Franklin, and he showed 
 the strongest desire to learn and to do everything that was 
 right ; so that Mr. Spencer soon grew fond of him, and took 
 great pains to instruct him, and to give him all the good 
 habits and principles which might make him a useful, 
 respectable, and happy man. 
 
 When he was about thirteen years of age, Mr. Spencer 
 one day sent for him into his closet ; and as he was folding 
 up a letter which he had been writing, said to him, with a 
 
 62 
 
The False Key 
 
 very kind look, but in a graver tone than usual, " Franklin, 
 you are going to leave me." 
 
 " Sir ! " said Franklin. 
 
 " You are now going to leave me, and to begin the world 
 for yourself. You will carry this letter to my sister, Mrs. 
 Churchill, in Queen's Square — you know Queen's Square?" 
 
 Franklin bowed. 
 
 " You must expect," continued Mr. Spencer, " to meet 
 with several disagreeable things, and a great deal of rough 
 work, at your first setting out ; but be faithful and obedient 
 to your mistress, and obliging to your fellow-servants, and 
 all will go well. Mrs. Churchill will make you a very good 
 mistress, if you behave properly ; and I have no doubt but 
 you will." 
 
 " Thank you, sir." 
 
 " And you will always — I mean, as long as you deserve 
 it — find a friend in me." 
 
 "Thank you, sir — I am sure you are — — " There Franklin 
 stopped short, for the recollection of all Mr. Spencer's good- 
 ness rushed upon him at once, and he could not say another 
 word. 
 
 " Bring me a candle to seal this letter," said his master ; 
 and he was very glad to get out of the room. He came 
 back with the candle, and, with a stout heart, stood by 
 whilst the letter was sealing ; and, when his master put it 
 into his hand, said, in a cheerful voice— 
 
 " I hope you will let me see you again, sir, sometimes." 
 
 " Certainly ; whenever your mistress can spare you, I 
 shall be very glad to see you ; and remember, if you get 
 into any difficulty, don't be afraid to come to me. I have 
 sometimes spoken harshly to you ; but you will not meet 
 with a more indulgent friend." 
 
 Franklin at this turned away with a full heart ; and, after 
 making two or three attempts to express his gratitude, left 
 the room without being able to speak. 
 
 He got to Queen's Square about three o'clock. The door 
 was opened by a large, red-faced man, in a blue coat and 
 scarlet waistcoat, to whom he felt afraid to give his message, 
 lest he should not be a servant. 
 
 " Well, what's your business, sir ? " said the butler. 
 
 <>3 
 
The False Key 
 
 " I have a letter for Mrs. Churchill, sir" said Franklin, 
 endeavouring to pronounce his sir in a tone as respectful as 
 the butler's was insolent. 
 
 The man having examined the direction, seal, and edges 
 of the letter, carried it upstairs, and in a few minutes 
 returned, and ordered Franklin to rub his shoes well, and 
 follow him. He was then shown into a handsome room, 
 where he found his mistress — an elderly lady. She asked 
 him .a few questions, examining him attentively as she 
 spoke ; and her severe eye at first, and her gracious smile 
 afterwards, made him feel that she was a person to be both 
 loved and feared. 
 
 "" I shall give you in charge," said she, ringing a bell, " to 
 my housekeeper, and I hope she will have no reason to be 
 displeased with you." 
 
 The housekeeper, when she first came in, appeared with 
 a smiling countenance, but the moment she cast her eyes 
 on Franklin it changed to a look of surprise and suspicion. 
 Her mistress recommended him to her protection, saying, 
 " Pomfret, I hope you will keep this boy under your own 
 eye." And she received him with a cold "Very well, 
 ma'am " ; which plainly showed she was not disposed to 
 like him. In fact, Mrs. Pomfret was a woman so fond of 
 power, and so jealous of favour, that she would have 
 quarrelled with an angel who had got so near her mistress 
 without her introduction. She smothered her displeasure, 
 however, till night ; when, as she attended her mistress's 
 toilette, she could not refrain from expressing her sentiments. 
 She began cautiously : " Ma'am, is not this the boy Mr. 
 Spencer was talking of one day — that had been brought up 
 by the Villaintropic Society, I think they call it ? " 
 
 " Philanthropic Society — yes ; and my brother gives him 
 a high character : I hope he will do very well." 
 
 "I'm sure I hope so too, but I can't say ; for my part, 
 I've no great notion of those low people. They say all 
 those children are taken from the very lowest dntgs and 
 refugees of the town, and surely they are like enough, 
 ma'am, to take after their own fathers and mothers." 
 
 " But they are not suffered to be with their parents, and 
 therefore cannot be hurt by their example. This little boy, 
 
 64 
 
The False Key 
 
 to be sure, was unfortunate in his father, but he has had an 
 excellent education." 
 
 " Oh, edication ! to be sure, ma'am, I know — I don't say- 
 but what edication is a great thing. But then, ma'am, 
 edication can't change the natur that's in one, they say ; 
 and one that's born naturally bad and low, they say, all the 
 edication in the world won't do no good ; and, for my part, 
 ma'am, I know you knows best, but I should be afraid to 
 let any of those Villaintropic folks get into my house, for 
 nobody can tell the natur of them beforehand : I declare it 
 frights me." 
 
 <: Pomfret, I thought you had better sense : how could 
 this poor boy earn his bread ? he would be forced to starve, 
 or steal, if everybody had such prejudices." 
 
 Pomfret, who really was a good woman, was softened at 
 this idea, and said, " God forbid he should starve, or steal ; 
 and God forbid I should say anything prejudiciary of the 
 boy, for there may be no harm in him." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Churchill, changing her tone, " but, 
 Pomfret, if we don't like the boy at the end of a month, we 
 have done with him ; for I have only promised Mr. Spencer 
 to keep him a month upon trial — there is no harm done." 
 
 " Dear, no, ma'am, to be sure ; and cook must put up 
 with her disappointment, that's all." 
 
 " What disappointment ? " 
 
 "About her nephew, ma'am; the boy she and I was 
 speaking to you for." 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 " The day you called her up about the almond pudding, 
 ma'am ; if you remember, you said you should have no 
 objection to try the boy ; and upon that cook bought him 
 new shirts ; but they are safe, as I tell her." 
 
 " But I did not promise to take her nephew." 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am, not at all ; she does not think to say 
 that, else I should be very angry ; but the poor woman 
 never lets fall a word, any more than frets that the boy 
 should miss such a good place." 
 
 " Well, but since I did say that I should have no objection 
 to try him, I shall keep my word ; let him come to-morrow. 
 Let them both have a fair trial, and at the end of a month 
 
 65 F 
 
The False Key 
 
 I can decide which I like best, and which we had better 
 keep." 
 
 Dismissed with these orders, Mrs. Pomfret hastened to 
 report all that had passed to the cook, like a favourite 
 minister ; proud to display the extent of her secret influence. 
 In the morning Felix, the cook's nephew, arrived ; and, the 
 moment he came into the kitchen, every eye, even the 
 scullion's, was fixed upon him with approbation, and after- 
 wards glanced upon Franklin with contempt — contempt 
 which Franklin could not endure without some confusion, 
 though quite unconscious of having deserved it ; nor, upon 
 the most impartial and cool self-examination, could he 
 comprehend the justice of his judges. He perceived indeed, 
 for the comparisons were minutely made in audible and 
 scornful whispers, that Felix was a much handsomer, or, 
 as the kitchen-maid expressed it, a much more genteeler, 
 gentlemanly looking like sort of person than he was ; and 
 he was made to understand, that he wanted a frill to his 
 shirt, a cravat, a pair of thin shoes, and, above all, shoe- 
 strings, besides other nameless advantages, which justly 
 made his rival the admiration of the kitchen. However, 
 upon calling to mind all that his friend Mr. Spencer had 
 ever said to him, he could not recollect his having warned 
 him that shoe-strings were indispensable requisites to the 
 character of a good servant ; so that he could only comfort 
 himself with resolving, if possible, to make amends for 
 these deficiencies, and to dissipate the prejudices which he 
 saw were formed against him, by the strictest adherence to 
 all that his tutor had taught him to be his duty. He hoped 
 to secure the approbation of his mistress by scrupulous 
 obedience to all her commands, and faithful care of all that 
 belonged to her ; at the same time he flattered himself he 
 should win the good-will of his fellow servants by showing a 
 constant desire to oblige them. He pursued this plan of 
 conduct steadily for nearly three weeks, and found that he 
 succeeded beyond his expectations in pleasing his mistress ; 
 but, unfortunately, he found it more difficult to please his 
 fellow servants, and he sometimes offended when he least 
 expected it. 
 
 He had made great progress in the affections of Cork- 
 
 66 
 
The False Key 
 
 screw, the butler, by working very hard for him, and doing 
 every day at least half his business. But, one unfortunate 
 night, the butler was gone out — the bell rang — he went 
 upstairs ; and his mistress asking where Corkscrew was, he 
 answered that he was gone out. 
 
 " Where to ? " said his mistress. 
 
 " I don't know," answered Franklin. 
 
 And, as he had told exactly the truth, and meant to do 
 no harm, he was surprised, at the butler's return, when he 
 repeated to him what had passed, to receive a sudden box 
 on the ear, and the appellation of a mischievous, impertinent, 
 mean-spirited brat ! 
 
 " Mischievous, impertinent, mean ! " repeated Franklin to 
 himself; but, looking in the butler's face, which was a 
 deeper scarlet than usual, he judged that he was far from 
 sober, and did not doubt but that the next morning, when 
 he came to the use of his reason, he would be sensible of 
 his injustice, and apologize for this box on the ear. But 
 no apology coming all day, Franklin at last ventured to 
 request an explanation, or rather, to ask what he had best 
 do on the next occasion. 
 
 " Why," said Corkscrew, " when mistress asked for me, 
 how came you to say I was gone out ? " 
 
 " Because, you know, I saw you go out." 
 
 " And when she asked you where I was gone, how came 
 you to say that you did not know ? " 
 
 " Because, indeed, I did not." 
 
 " You are a stupid blockhead ! could you not say I was 
 gone to the washerwoman's ? " 
 
 " But were you ? " said Franklin. 
 
 " Was I ? " cried Corkscrew, and looked as if he would 
 have struck him again ; " how dare you give me the lie, 
 Mr. Hypocrite ? You would be ready enough, I'll be 
 bound, to make excuses for yourself. Why are not mistress's 
 clogs cleaned ? Go along and blacken 'em, this minute, 
 and send Felix to me." 
 
 From this time forward Felix alone was privileged to 
 enter the butler's pantry. Felix became the favourite of 
 Corkscrew ; and though Franklin by no means sought to 
 pry into the mysteries of their private conferences, nor 
 
 67 
 
The False Key 
 
 ever entered without knocking at the door, yet it was his 
 fate once to be sent on a message at an unlucky time, and, 
 as the door was half open, he could not avoid seeing Felix 
 drinking a bumper of red liquor, which he could not help 
 suspecting to be wine ; and, as the decanter, which usually 
 went upstairs after dinner, was at this time in the butler's 
 grasp, without any stopper in it, he was involuntarily forced 
 to suspect they were drinking his mistress's wine. 
 
 Nor were the bumpers of port the only unlawful rewards 
 which Felix received ; his aunt, the cook, had occasion for 
 his assistance, and she had many delicious douceurs in her 
 gift. Many a handful of currants, many a half custard, 
 many a triangular remnant of pie, besides the choice of his 
 own meal at breakfast, dinner, and supper, fell to the share 
 of the favourite Felix ; whilst Franklin was neglected, 
 though he took the pains to please the cook in all honour- 
 able service, and, when she was hot, angry, or hurried, he 
 was always at hand to help her ; and in the hour of 
 adversity, when the clock struck five, and no dinner was 
 dished, and no kitchen-maid with twenty pairs of hands 
 was to be had, Franklin would answer to her call, with 
 flowers to garnish her dishes, and presence of mind to 
 know, in the midst of the commotion, where everything 
 that was wanted was to be found ; so that, quick as 
 lightning, all difficulties vanished before him. Yet when 
 the danger was over, and the hour of adversity had passed, 
 the ungrateful cook would forget her benefactor, and, when 
 it came to be his supper time, would throw him, with a 
 carelessness that touched him sensibly, anything which the 
 other servants were too nice to eat. All this Franklin bore 
 with fortitude ; nor did he envy Felix the dainties which 
 he ate, sometimes close beside him : " For," said he to 
 himself, " I have a clear conscience ; and that is more than 
 Felix can have. I know how he wins cook's favour too 
 well, and I fancy I know how I have offended her ; for 
 since the day I saw the basket, she has done nothing but 
 huff me." 
 
 The history of the basket was this. Mrs. Pomfret, the 
 housekeeper, had several times, directly and indirectly, 
 given the world below to understand that she and her 
 
 68 
 
The False Key 
 
 mistress thought there was a prodigious quantity of meat 
 eateu of late, Now when she spoke — it was usually at 
 dinner time — she always looked, or Franklin imagined that 
 she looked, suspiciously at him. Other people looked still 
 more maliciously ; but, as he felt himself perfectly innocent, 
 he went on eating his dinner in silence. 
 
 But at length it was time to explain. One Sunday there 
 appeared a handsome sirloin of beef, which before noon on 
 Monday had shrunk almost to the bare bone, and presented 
 such a deplorable spectacle to the opening eyes of Mrs. 
 Fomfret that her long smothered indignation burst forth, 
 and she boldly declared she was now certain there was foul 
 play, and she would have the beef found, or she would 
 know why. She spoke, but no beef appeared, till Franklin, 
 with a look of sudden recollection, cried, " Did not I see 
 something like a piece of beef in a basket in the dairy ? — I 
 think " 
 
 The cook, as if somebody had smote her a deadly blow, 
 grew pale ; but, suddenly recovering the use of her speech, 
 turned upon Franklin, and, with a voice of thunder, gave 
 him the lie direct ; and forthwith, taking Mrs. Pomfret by 
 the ruffle, led the way to the dairy, declaring she could 
 defy the world — " that she could, and so she would." 
 
 " There, ma'am," said she, kicking an empty basket 
 which lay on the floor — " there's malice for you. — Ask him 
 why he don't show you the beef in the basket." 
 
 " I thought I saw " poor Franklin began. 
 
 " You thought you saw ! " cried the cook, coming close 
 up to him with kimboed arms, and looking like a dragon — 
 " and pray, sir, what business have such a one as you to 
 think you see ? — And pray, ma'am, will you be pleased to 
 speak — perhaps, ma'am, he will condescend to obey you — 
 ma'am, will you be pleased to forbid him my dairy ? for 
 here he comes prying and spying about — and how, ma'am, 
 am I to answer for my butter and cream, or anything at 
 all? I'm sure it's what I can't pretend to, unless you do me 
 the justice to forbid him my places." 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret, whose eyes were blinded by her pre- 
 judices against the folks of the Villaintropic Society, and 
 also by her secret jealousy of a boy whom she deemed to 
 
 69 
 
The False Key 
 
 be growing a favourite of her mistress's, took part with the 
 cook, and ended, as she began, with a firm persuasion that 
 Franklin was the guilty person. " Let him alone, let him 
 alone ! " said she ; " he has as many turns and windings as 
 a hare ; but we shall catch him yet, I'll be bound, in some 
 of his doublings. I knew the nature of him well enough, 
 from the first time I ever set my eyes upon him ; but 
 mistress shall have her own way and see the end of it." 
 
 These words, and the bitter sense of injustice, drew tears 
 at length fast down the proud cheek of Franklin, which 
 might possibly have touched Mrs. Pomfret, if Felix, with a 
 sneer, had not called them crocodile tears. " Felix, too ! " 
 thought he ; " this is too much." In fact, Felix had till 
 now professed himself his firm ally, and had on his part 
 received from Franklin unequivocal proofs of friendship ; 
 for it must be told that every other morning, when it was 
 Felix's turn to get breakfast, Felix never was up in decent 
 time, and must inevitably have come to public disgrace 
 if Franklin had not got all the breakfast things ready for 
 .him, the bread and butter spread, and the toast made ; and 
 had not moreover regularly, when the clock struck eight, 
 and Mrs. Pomfret's foot was heard overhead, run to call the 
 sleeping Felix, and helped him constantly through the 
 hurry of getting dressed, one instant before the house- 
 keeper came downstairs. All this could net but be 
 present to his memory ; but, scorning to reproach him, 
 Franklin wiped away his crocodile tears, and preserved a 
 magnanimous silence. 
 
 The hour of retribution was, however, not so far off as 
 Felix imagined. Cunning people may go on cleverly in 
 their devices for some time ; but though they may escape 
 once, twice, perhaps ninety-nine times, what does that 
 signify? — for the hundredth time they come to shame, and 
 lose all their character. Grown bold by frequent success, 
 Felix became more careless in his operations ; and it 
 happened that one day he met his mistress full in the 
 passage, as he was going on one of the cook's secret errands. 
 
 " Where are you going, Felix ? " said his mistress. 
 
 " To the washerwoman's, ma'am," answered he, with his 
 usual effrontery. 
 
 70 
 
The False Ke 
 
 y 
 
 " Very well," said she : " call at the bookseller's in — 
 stay, I must write down the direction. Pomfret," said she, 
 opening the housekeeper's room door, "have you a bit of 
 paper ? " 
 
 Pomfret came with the writing-paper, and looked very 
 angry to see Felix was going out without her knowledge ; 
 so, while Mrs. Churchill was writing the direction, she 
 stood talking to him about it ; whilst he, in the greatest 
 terror imaginable, looked up in her face as she spoke, but 
 was all the time intent upon parrying on the other side 
 the attacks of a little French dog of his mistress's, which, 
 unluckily for him, had followed her into the passage. 
 Manchon was extremely fond of Felix, who, by way of 
 pleasing his mistress, had paid most assiduous court to 
 her dog ; yet now his caresses were rather troublesome. 
 Manchon leaped up, and was not to be rebuffed. 
 
 " Poor fellow, poor fellow — down ! down ! poor fellow ! " 
 cried Felix, and put him away. 
 
 But Manchon leaped up again, and began smelling near 
 the fatal pocket in a most alarming manner. 
 
 " You will see by this direction where you are to go," 
 said his mistress. " Manchon, come here — and you will be 
 so good as to bring me — down ! down ! Manchon, be 
 quiet ! " 
 
 But Manchon knew better ; he had now got his head 
 into Felix's pocket, and would not be quiet till he had 
 drawn thence, rustling out of its brown paper, half a cold 
 turkey, which had been missing since morning. 
 
 " My cold turkey, as I'm alive ! " exclaimed the house- 
 keeper, darting upon it with horror and amazement. 
 
 " What is all this ? " said Mrs. Churchill, in a composed 
 voice. 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am," answered Felix, so confused 
 that he knew not what to say ; " but " 
 
 "But what?" cried Mrs. Pomfret, indignation flashing 
 from her eyes. 
 
 " But what ? " repeated his mistress, waiting for his reply 
 with a calm air of attention, which still more disconcerted 
 Felix ; for, though with an angry person he might have 
 some chance of escape, he knew that he could not invent 
 
 7i 
 
The False Ke 
 
 y 
 
 any excuse in such circumstances, which could stand the 
 examination of a person in her sober senses. He was 
 struck dumb. 
 
 " Speak," said Mrs. Churchill, in a still lower tone ; " I 
 am ready to hear all you have to say. In my house every- 
 body shall have justice— speak — but what ? " 
 
 " But" stammered Felix ; and, after in vain attempting 
 to equivocate, confessed that he was going to take the 
 turkey to his cousin's ; but he threw all the blame upon his 
 aunt, the cook, who, he said, had ordered him upon this 
 expedition. 
 
 The cook was now summoned ; but she totally denied 
 all knowledge of the affair, with the same violence with 
 which she had lately confounded Franklin about the beef 
 in the basket ; not entirely, however, with the same 
 success ; for Felix, perceiving by his mistress's eye that 
 she was upon the point of desiring him to leave the house 
 immediately, and not being very willing to leave a place 
 in which he had lived so well with the butler, did not 
 hesitate to confront his aunt with assurance equal to her 
 own. He knew how to bring his charge home to her. He 
 produced a note in her own handwriting, the purport of 
 which was to request her cousin's acceptance of " some 
 delicate cold turkey" and to beg she would send her, by the 
 return of the bearer, a little of her cherry-brandy. 
 
 Mrs. Churchill coolly wrote upon the back of the note her 
 cook's discharge, and informed Felix she had no further 
 occasion for his services ; but, upon his pleading with many 
 tears, which Franklin did not call crocodile tears, that he 
 was so young, and that he was under the dominion of his 
 aunt, he touched Mrs. Pomfret's compassion, and she ob- 
 tained for him permission to stay till the end of the month, 
 to give him yet a chance of redeeming his character. 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret now seeing how far she had been imposed 
 upon, resolved for the future to be more upon her guard 
 with Felix, and felt that she had treated Franklin with 
 great injustice, when she accused him of malpractices about 
 the sirloin of beef. Good people, when they are made 
 sensible that they have treated any one with injustice, are 
 impatient to have an opportunity to rectify their mistake ; 
 
 72 
 
The False Key 
 
 and Mrs. Pomfret was now prepared to see everything which 
 Franklin did in the most favourable point of view ; espe- 
 cially as the next day she discovered that it was he who 
 every morning boiled the water for her tea, and buttered 
 her toast — services for which she had always thought she 
 was indebted to Felix. Besides, she had rated Felix's 
 abilities very highly, because he had made up her weekly 
 accounts for her ; but unluckily once, when Franklin was 
 out of the way, and she brought a bill in a hurry to her 
 favourite to cast up, she discovered that he did not know 
 how to cast up pounds, shillings, and pence, and he was 
 obliged to confess that he must wait till Franklin came home. 
 
 But, passing over a number of small incidents which 
 gradually unfolded the character of the two boys, we must 
 proceed to a more serious affair. 
 
 Corkscrew frequently, after he had finished taking away 
 supper, and after the housekeeper was gone to bed, sallied 
 forth to a neighbouring alehouse to drink with his friends. 
 The alehouse was kept by that cousin of Felix's, who was 
 so fond of" delicate cold turkey," and who had such choice 
 cherry-brandy. Corkscrew kept the key of the house-door, 
 so that he could return home at what hour he thought 
 proper ; and, if he should by accident be called for by his 
 mistress after supper, Felix knew where to find him, and 
 did not scruple to make any of those excuses which poor 
 Franklin had too much integrity to use. All these precau- 
 tions taken, the butler was at liberty to indulge his favourite 
 passion, which so increased with indulgence, that his wages 
 were by no means sufficient to support him in this way of 
 life. Every day he felt less resolution to break through his 
 bad habits, for every day drinking became more necessary 
 to him. His health was ruined. With a red, pimpled, 
 bloated face, emaciated legs, and a swelled, diseased body, 
 he appeared the victim of intoxication. In the morning, 
 when he got up, his hands trembled, his spirits flagged, he 
 could do nothing till he had taken a dram — an operation 
 which he was obliged to repeat several times in the course 
 of the day, as all those wretched people must who once 
 acquire this custom. 
 
 He had run up a long bill at the alehouse which he 
 
 73 
 
The False Key 
 
 frequented ; and the landlord, who grew urgent for his 
 money, refused to give him further credit. One night, when 
 Corkscrew had drunk enough only to make him fretful, 
 he leaned with his elbow surlily upon the table, began to 
 quarrel with the landlord, and swore that he had not of late 
 treated him like a gentleman. To which the landlord 
 coolly replied, " That as long as he had paid like a gentle- 
 man, he had been treated like one, and that was as much 
 as any one could expect, or, at any rate, as much as any 
 one would meet with in this world." For the truth of 
 this assertion he appealed, laughing, to a party of men who 
 were drinking in the room. The men, however, took part 
 with Corkscrew, and, drawing him over to their table, made 
 him sit down with them. They were in high good humour, 
 and the butler soon grew so intimate with them, that, in the 
 openness of his heart, he soon communicated to them, not 
 only all his own affairs, but all that he knew, and more 
 than all that he knew, of his mistress's. 
 
 His new friends were by no means uninterested in his 
 conversation, and encouraged him as much as possible to 
 talk ; for they had secret views, which the butler was by no 
 means sufficiently sober to discover. Mrs. Churchill had 
 some fine old family plate ; and these men belonged to a 
 gang of housebreakers. Before they parted with Corkscrew, 
 they engaged him to meet them again the next night ; 
 their intimacy was still more closely cemented. One of the 
 men actually offered to lend Corkscrew three guineas to- 
 wards the payment of his debt, and hinted that, if he thought 
 proper, he could easily get the whole cleared off. Upon 
 this hint, Corkscrew became all attention, till, after some 
 hesitation on their part, and repeated promises of secrecy 
 on his, they at length disclosed their plans to him. They 
 gave him to understand, that, if he would assist in letting 
 them into his mistress's house, they would let him have an 
 ample share in the booty. The butler, who had the reputa- 
 tion of being an honest man, and indeed whose integrity 
 had hitherto been proof against everything but his mistress's 
 port, turned pale, and trembled at this proposal ; drank two 
 or three bumpers to drown thought, and promised to give 
 an answer the next day. 
 
 74 
 
The False Ke 
 
 y 
 
 He went home more than half intoxicated. His mind 
 was so full of what had passed, that he could not help 
 bragging to Felix, whom he found awake at his return, 
 that he could have his bill paid off at the alehouse whenever 
 he pleased ; dropping, besides, some hints, which were not 
 lost upon Felix. In the morning Felix reminded him of 
 the things which he had said ; and Corkscrew, alarmed, 
 endeavoured to evade his questions, by saying that he was 
 not in his senses when he talked in that manner. Nothing, 
 however, that he could urge made any impression upon 
 Felix, whose recollection on the subject was perfectly 
 distinct, and who had too much cunning himself, and too 
 little confidence in his companion, to be the dupe of his 
 dissimulation. The butler knew not what to do, when he 
 saw that Felix was absolutely determined either to betray 
 their scheme, or to become a sharer in the booty. 
 
 The next night came, and he was now to make a final 
 decision ; either to determine on breaking off entirely with 
 his new acquaintance, or taking Felix with him to join in 
 the plot. 
 
 His debt, his love of drinking, the impossibility of indulg- 
 ing it without a fresh supply of money, all came into his 
 mind at once, and conquered his remaining scruples. It is 
 said by those whose fatal experience gives them a right to 
 be believed, that a drunkard will sacrifice anything, every- 
 thing, sooner than the pleasure of habitual intoxication. 
 
 How much easier it is never to begin a bad custom, than 
 to break through it when once formed ! 
 
 The hour of rendezvous came, and Corkscrew went to the 
 alehouse, where he found the housebreakers waiting for him, 
 and a glass of brandy ready poured out. He sighed — drank 
 — hesitated — drank again — heard the landlord talk of his 
 bill — saw the money produced, which would pay it in a 
 moment — drank again — cursed himself, and, giving his hand 
 to the villain who was whispering in his ear, swore that he 
 could not help it, and must do as they would have him. They 
 required of him to give up the key of the house-door, that 
 they might get another made by it. He had left it with 
 Felix, and was now obliged to explain the new difficulty 
 which had arisen. Felix knew enough to ruin them, and 
 
 75 
 
The False Key- 
 must therefore be won over. This was no very difficult 
 task : he had a strong desire to have some worked cravats, 
 and the butler knew enough of him to believe that this 
 would be a sufficient bribe. The cravats were bought and 
 shown to Felix. He thought them the only things wanting 
 to make him a complete, fine gentleman ; and to go with- 
 out them, especially when he had once seen himself in the 
 glass with one tied on in a splendid bow, appeared im- 
 possible. Even this paltry temptation, working upon his 
 vanity, at length prevailed upon a boy, whose integrity had 
 long been corrupted by the habits of petty pilfering and 
 daily falsehood. It was agreed that, the first time his mistress 
 sent him out on a message, he should carry the key of the 
 house-door to his cousin's, and deliver it into the hands of 
 one of the gang, who would be in waiting for it. Such was 
 the scheme. 
 
 Felix, the night after all this had been planned, went to 
 bed, and fell fast asleep ; but the butler, who had not yet 
 stifled the voice of conscience, felt, in the silence of the 
 night, so insupportably miserable, that, instead of going to 
 rest, he stole softly into the pantry for a bottle of his 
 mistress's wine, and there, drinking glass after glass, he 
 stayed till he became so far intoxicated, that, though he 
 contrived to find his way back to bed, he could by no means 
 undress himself. Without any power of recollection, he 
 flung himself upon the bed, leaving his candle half hanging 
 out of the candlestick beside him. Franklin slept in the 
 next room to him, and presently wakening, thought he per- 
 ceived a strong smell of something burning. He jumped up, 
 and seeing a light under the butler's door, gently opened it, 
 and to his astonishment, beheld one of the bed-curtains in 
 flames. He immediately ran to the butler, and pulled him 
 with all his force, to rouse him from his lethargy. He came 
 to his senses at length, but was so terrified, and so helpless, 
 that, if it had not been for Franklin, the whole house would 
 soon inevitably have been on fire. Felix, trembling and 
 cowardly, knew not what to do ; and it was curious to see 
 him obeying Franklin, whose turn it was now to command. 
 Franklin ran upstairs to waken Mrs. Pomfret, whose terror 
 of fire was so great that she came from her room almost out 
 
 76 
 
The False Key 
 
 of her senses, whilst he, with the greatest presence of mind, 
 recollected where he had seen two large tubs of water, which 
 the maids had prepared the night before for their washing, 
 and seizing the wet linen which had been left to soak, threw 
 it upon the flames. He exerted himself with so much good 
 sense that the fire was presently extinguished. Everything 
 was now once more safe and quiet. Mrs. Pomfret, recovering 
 from her fright, postponed all inquiries till the morning, 
 and rejoiced that her mistress had not been awakened, 
 whilst Corkscrew flattered himself that he should be able to 
 conceal the true cause of the accident. 
 
 " Don't you tell Mrs. Pomfret where you found the candle 
 when you came into the room," said he to Franklin. 
 
 " If she asks me, you know I must tell the truth," replied 
 he. 
 
 " Must ! " repeated Felix, sneeringly ; " what, you must be 
 a tell-tale!" 
 
 " No, I never told any tales of anybody, and I should be 
 very sorry to get any one into a scrape ; but,, for all that, I 
 shall not tell a lie, either for myself or anybody else, let you 
 call me what name you will." 
 
 " But if I were to give you something that you would 
 like," said Corkscrew. 
 
 " Something that I know you would like," repeated Felix. 
 
 " Nothing you can give me will do," answered Franklin, 
 steadily ; " so it is useless to say anything more about it — 
 I hope I shall not be questioned." 
 
 In this hope he was mistaken ; for the first thing Mrs. 
 Pomfret did in the morning was to come into the butler's 
 room to examine and deplore the burnt curtains, while 
 Corkscrew stood by, endeavouring to exculpate himself by 
 all the excuses he could invent. 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret, however, though sometimes blinded by her 
 prejudices, was no fool ; and it was absolutely impossible 
 to make her believe that a candle, which had been left on 
 the hearth, where Corkscrew protested he had left it, could 
 have set curtains on fire which were at least six feet distant. 
 Turning short round to Franklin, she desired that he would 
 show her where he found the candle when he came into the 
 room. He begged not to be questioned, but she insisted. 
 
 77 
 
The False Key 
 
 He took up the candlestick ; but the moment the house- 
 keeper cast her eyes upon it, she snatched it from his hands. 
 
 " How did this candlestick come here? This was not the 
 candlestick you found here last night," cried she. 
 
 " Yes, indeed it was," answered Franklin. 
 
 " That is impossible," retorted she, vehemently, " for I 
 left this candlestick with my own hands, last night, in the 
 hall, the last thing I did, after you," said she, turning to the 
 butler, " were gone to bed — I'm sure of it. Nay, don't you 
 recollect my taking this japanned candlestick out of your 
 hand, and making you to go up to bed with the brass one, 
 and I bolted the door at the stair-head after you ? " 
 
 This was all very true ; but Corkscrew had afterwards 
 gone down from his room by a back staircase, unbolted 
 that door, and upon his return from the alehouse, had taken 
 the japanned candlestick by mistake upstairs, and had left 
 the brass one instead upon the hall table. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am," said Felix, " indeed you forget ; for Mr. 
 Corkscrew came into my room to desire me to call him 
 betimes in the morning, and I happened to take particular 
 notice, and he had the japanned candlestick in his hand, 
 and that was just as I heard you bolting the door — indeed, 
 ma'am, you forget." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," retorted Mrs. Pomfret, rising in anger, " I 
 do not forget; I'm not come to be siippcraiinuated yet, I 
 hope. — How dare you tell me I forget ? " 
 
 " Oh, ma'am," cried Felix, " I beg your pardon, I did not 
 — I did not mean to say you forgot — but only I thought, 
 perhaps, you might not particularly remember ; for, if you 
 please to recollect " 
 
 " I won't please to recollect just whatever you please, sir ! 
 Hold your tongue. — Why should you poke yourself into 
 this scrape ? what have you to do with it, I should be glad 
 to know ? " 
 
 " Nothing in the world, oh, nothing in the world ; I'm 
 sure I beg your pardon, ma'am," answered Felix, in a soft 
 tone ; and, sneaking off, left his friend Corkscrew to fight 
 his own battle, secretly resolving to desert in good time, if 
 he saw any danger of the alehouse transactions coming to 
 light. 
 
 73 
 
The False Key 
 
 Corkscrew could make but very blundering excuses for 
 hunself, and, conscious of his guilt, turned pale, and appeared 
 so much more terrified than butlers usually appear when 
 detected in a lie, that Mrs. Pomfret resolved, as she said, to 
 sift the matter to the bottom. Impatiently did she wait 
 till the clock struck nine, and her mistress's bell rang, the 
 signal for her attendance at her levee. 
 
 " How do you find yourself this morning, ma'am ?" said 
 she, undrawing the curtains. 
 
 " Very sleepy, indeed," answered her mistress in a drowsy 
 voice ; " I think I must sleep half-an-hour longer — shut the 
 curtains." 
 
 " As you please, ma'am ; but I suppose I had better open 
 a little of the window-shutter, for it's past nine." 
 
 " But just struck." 
 
 " Oh dear, ma'am, it struck before I came upstairs, and 
 you know we are twenty minutes slow. Bless us ! " ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Pomfret, as she let fall the bar of the window, 
 which roused her mistress — " I'm sure I beg your pardon 
 a thousand times — it's only the bar — because I had this 
 great key in my hand." 
 
 " Put down the key, then, or you'll knock something else 
 down ; and you may open the shutters now, for I'm quite 
 awake." 
 
 "Dear me! I'm so sorry to think of disturbing you," 
 cried Mrs. Pomfret, at the same time throwing the shutters 
 wide open ; " but, to be sure, ma'am, I have something to 
 tell you, which won't let you sleep again in a hurry. I 
 brought up this here key of the house-door for reasons of 
 my own, which I'm sure you'll approve of — but I'm not 
 come to that part of my story yet — I hope you were not 
 disturbed by the noise in the house last night, ma'am ? " 
 
 " I heard no noise." 
 
 " I am surprised at that, though," continued Mrs. Pomfret, 
 who now proceeded to give the most ample account of the 
 fire, of her fears, and her suspicions. " To be sure, ma'am, 
 what I say is, that, without the spirit of prophecy, one can 
 no ways account for what has passed. I'm quite clear in 
 my own judgment, that Mr. Corkscrew must have been out 
 last night after I went to bed ; for, besides the japanned 
 
 79 
 
The False Key- 
 candlestick, which of itself I'm sure is strong enough to 
 hang a man, there's another circumstance, ma'am, that 
 certifies it to me — though I have not mentioned it, ma'am, 
 to no one yet," lowering her voice — " Franklin, when I 
 questioned him, told me, that he left the lantern in the out- 
 side porch in the court last night, and this morning it was 
 on the kitchen table ; now, ma'am, that lantern could not 
 come without hands ; and I could not forget about that, 
 you know ; for Franklin says, he's sure he left the lantern out. ' 
 
 " And do you believe him ? " 
 
 " To be sure, ma'am — how can I help believing him ? I 
 never found him out in the least symptom of a lie, since 
 ever he came into the house ; so one can't help believing in 
 him, like him or not." 
 
 " Without meaning to tell a falsehood, however, he might 
 make a mistake." 
 
 " No, ma'am, he never makes mistakes ; it is not his way 
 to go gossiping and tattling ; he never tells anything till 
 he's asked, and then it's fit he should. About the sirloin of 
 beef, and all, he was right in the end, I found, to do him 
 justice ; and I'm sure he's right now about the lantern — 
 he's always rig/it." 
 
 Mrs. Churchill could not help smiling. 
 
 " If you had seen him, ma'am, last night, in the midst of 
 the fire — I'm sure we may thank him that we were not 
 burnt alive in our beds — and I shall never forget his coming 
 to call me. — Poor fellow ! he that I was always scolding, 
 and scolding, enough to make him hate me. But he's too 
 good to hate anybody ; and I'll be bound I'll make it up to 
 him now." 
 
 " Take care that you don't go from one extreme into 
 another, Pomfret ; don't spoil the boy." 
 
 " No, ma'am, there's no danger of that ; but I'm sure if 
 you had seen him last night yourself, you would think he 
 deserved to be rewarded." 
 
 " And so he shall be rewarded," said Mrs. Churchill ; 
 " but I will try him more fully yet." 
 
 " There's no occasion, I think, for trying him any more, 
 ma'am," said Mrs. Pomfret, who was as violent in her likings 
 as in her dislikes. 
 
 80 
 
The False Key 
 
 " Pray desire," continued her mistress, " that he will 
 bring up breakfast this morning ; and leave the key of the 
 house-door, Pomfret, with me." 
 
 When Franklin brought the urn into the breakfast- 
 parlour, his mistress was standing by the fire with the key 
 in her hand. She spoke to him of his last night's exertions 
 in terms of much approbation. 
 
 " How long have you lived with me ? " said she, pausing ; 
 " three weeks, I think ? " 
 
 " Three weeks and four days, madam." 
 
 11 That is but a short time ; yet you have conducted your- 
 self so as to make me think I may depend upon you. You 
 know this key ? " 
 
 " I believe, madam, it is the key of the house-door." 
 
 " It is. I shall trust it in your care. It is a great trust 
 for so young a person as you are." 
 
 Franklin stood silent, with a firm but modest look. 
 
 " If you take the charge of this key," continued his mis- 
 tress, " remember it is upon condition that you never give it 
 out of your own hands. In the daytime it must not be left in 
 the door. You must not tell anybody where you keep it at 
 night ; and the house-door must not be unlocked after eleven 
 o'clock at night, unless by my orders. Will you take charge 
 of the key upon these conditions ? " 
 
 " I will, madam, do anything you order me," said Franklin, 
 and received the key from her hands. 
 
 When Mrs. Churchill's orders were made known, they 
 caused many secret marvellings and murmurings. Cork- 
 screw and Felix were disconcerted, and dared not openly 
 avow their discontent ; and they treated Franklin with the 
 greatest seeming kindness and cordiality. Everything went 
 on smoothly for three days ; the butler never attempted 
 his usual midnight visits to the alehouse, but went to bed 
 in proper time, and paid particular court to Mrs. Pomfret, 
 in order to dispel her suspicions. She had never had any 
 idea of the real fact, that he and Felix were joined in a plot 
 with housebreakers to rob the house, but thought he only 
 went out at irregular hours to indulge himself in his passion 
 for drinking. 
 
 So stood affairs the night before Mrs. Churchill's birth- 
 Si C- 
 
The False Key 
 
 day. Corkscrew, by the housekeeper's means, ventured to 
 present a petition, that he might go to the play the next 
 day, and his request was granted. Franklin came into the 
 kitchen just when all the servants had gathered round the 
 butler, who, with great importance, was reading aloud the 
 play-bill. Everybody present soon began to speak at once, 
 and with great enthusiasm talked of the playhouse, the 
 actors, and actresses ; and then Felix, in the first pause, 
 turned to Franklin, and said, " Lord, you know nothing of 
 all this ! yo2i never went to a play, did you ? " 
 
 <: Never," said Franklin, and felt, he did not know why, a 
 little ashamed ; and he longed extremely to go to one. 
 
 " How should you like to go to the play with me to- 
 morrow ? " said Corkscrew. 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Franklin, " I should like it exceedingly." 
 
 " And do you think mistress would let you if I asked ? " 
 
 " I think — maybe she would, if Mrs. Pomfret asked her." 
 
 " But then you have no money, have you ? " 
 
 " No," said Franklin, sighing. 
 
 " But stay," said Corkscrew, "what I am thinking of is, 
 that, if mistress will let you go, I'll treat you myself, rather 
 than that you should be disappointed." 
 
 Delight, surprise, and gratitude, appeared in Franklin's 
 face at these words. Corkscrew rejoiced to see that now, 
 at least, he had found a most powerful temptation. 
 
 " Well, then, I'll go just now and ask her : in the mean 
 time, lend me the key of the house-door for a minute or 
 two." 
 
 " The key ! " answered Franklin, starting ; " I'm sorry, 
 but I can't do that ; for I've promised my mistress never to 
 let it out of my own hands." 
 
 " But how will she know anything of the matter? Run, 
 run, and get it for us." 
 
 " No, I cannot," replied Franklin, resisting the push 
 which the butler gave his shoulder. 
 
 " You can't ? " cried Corkscrew, changing his tone ; 
 " then, sir, I can't take you to the play." 
 
 " Very well, sir," said Franklin, sorrowfully, but with 
 steadiness. 
 
 " Very well, sir," said Felix, mimicking him, " you need 
 
 82 
 
The False Key 
 
 not look so important, nor fancy yourself such a great man, 
 because you are master of a key." 
 
 " Say no more to him," interrupted Corkscrew ; " let him 
 alone to take his own way. — Felix, you would have no 
 objection, I suppose, to going to the play with me? " 
 
 " Oh, I should like it of all things, if I did not come 
 between anybody else. But come, come ! " added the 
 hypocrite, assuming a tone of friendly persuasion, " you 
 won't be such a blockhead, Franklin, as to lose going to the 
 play for nothing ; it's only just obstinacy. What harm can 
 it do to lend Mr. Corkscrew the key for five minutes ? he'll 
 give it to you back again safe and sound." 
 
 " I don't doubt that" answered Franklin. 
 
 " Then it must be all because you don't wish to oblige Mr. 
 Corkscrew." 
 
 " No, but I can't oblige him in this ; for, as I told you 
 before, my mistress trusted me ; I promised never to let the 
 key out of my own hands, and you would not have me 
 break my trust ; Mr. Spencer told me that was worse than 
 robbing." At the word robbing both Corkscrew and Felix 
 involuntarily cast down their eyes, and turned the con- 
 versation immediately, saying, that he did very right ; that 
 they did not really want the key, and had only asked for it 
 just to try if he would keep his word. 
 
 " Shake hands," said Corkscrew, " I am glad to find you 
 out to be an honest fellow ! " 
 
 " I am sorry you did not think me one before, Mr. Cork- 
 screw," said Franklin, giving his hand rather proudly ; and 
 he walked away. 
 
 " We shall make no hand of this prig," said Corkscrew. 
 
 " But we'll have the key from him in spite of all his 
 obstinacy," said Felix ; " and let him make his story good 
 if he can afterwards. He shall repent of these airs. To- 
 night I'll watch him, and find out where he hides the key ; 
 and when he's asleep we'll get it without thanking him." 
 
 This plan Felix put into execution. They discovered 
 the place where Franklin kept the key at night, stole it 
 whilst he slept, took off the impression in wax, and carefully 
 replaced it in Franklin's trunk, where they had found it. 
 
 Probably our young readers cannot guess what use they 
 
 83 
 
The False Key- 
 could mean to make of this impression of the key in wax. 
 Knowing how to do mischief is very different from wishing 
 to do it ; and the most innocent persons are generally the 
 least ignorant. By means of the impression, which they 
 had thus obtained, Corkscrew and Felix proposed to get a 
 false key made by Picklock, a smith who belonged to their 
 gang of housebreakers ; and, with this false key, they knew 
 they could open the door whenever they pleased. 
 
 Little suspecting what had happened, Franklin, the next 
 morning, went to unlock the house-door, as usual ; but 
 finding the key entangled in the lock, he took it out to 
 examine it, and perceived a lump of wax sticking in one of the 
 wards. Struck with this circumstance, it brought to his mind 
 all that had passed the preceding evening, and, being sure 
 that he had no wax near the key, he began to suspect what 
 had happened ; and he could not help recollecting what he 
 had once heard Felix say, that " give him but a halfpenny- 
 worth of wax, and he could open the strongest lock that 
 ever was made by hands." 
 
 All these things considered, Franklin resolved to take 
 the key just as it was, with the wax sticking to it, to his 
 mistress. 
 
 " I was not mistaken when 1 thought I might trust you 
 with this key," said Mrs. Churchill, after she had heard his 
 story. " My brother will be here to-day, and I shall consult 
 him ; in the mean time say nothing of what has passed." 
 
 Evening came, and, after tea, Mr. Spencer sent for 
 Franklin upstairs. " So, Mr. Franklin," said he, " I'm glad 
 to find you are in such high trust in this family." Franklin 
 bowed. "But you have lost, I understand, the pleasure of 
 going to the play to-night." 
 
 " I don't think anything — much, I mean, of that, sir," 
 answered Franklin, smiling. 
 
 " Are Corkscrew and Felix gone to the play ? " 
 
 " Yes : half-an-hour ago, sir." 
 
 " Then I shall look into his room, and examine the pantry 
 and the plate that is under his care." 
 
 When Mr. Spencer came to examine the pantry he found 
 the large salvers and cups in a basket behind the door, and 
 the other things placed so as to be easily carried off. 
 
 84 
 
The False Key 
 
 Nothing at first appeared in Corkscrew's bedchamber, to 
 strengthen their suspicions, till, just as they were going to 
 leave the room, Mrs. Pomfret exclaimed, " Why, if there is 
 not Mr. Corkscrew's dress coat hanging up there ! and if 
 here isn't Felix's fine cravat that he wanted in such a hurry 
 to go to the play ! — Why, sir, they can't be gone to the 
 play — look at the cravat. Ha ! upon my word, I am afraid 
 they are not at the play. — No, sir, no ! you may be sure that 
 they are plotting with their barbarous gang at the alehouse — ■ 
 and they'll certainly break into the house to-night — we shall 
 all be murdered in our beds, as sure as I'm a living woman, 
 sir — but, if you'll only take my advice " 
 
 "Pray, good Mrs. Pomfret, don't be alarmed." 
 
 " Nay, sir, but I won't pretend to sleep in the house, if 
 Franklin isn't to have a blunderbuss, and I a baggonet? 
 
 " You shall have both, indeed, Mrs. Pomfret ; but don't 
 make such a noise, for everybody will hear you." 
 
 The love of mystery was the only thing which could have 
 conquered Mrs. Pomfret's love of talking. She was silent ; 
 and contented herself the rest of the evening with making 
 signs, looking ominous, and stalking about the house like 
 one possessed with a secret. 
 
 Escaped from Mrs. Pomfret's fears and advice, Mr. 
 Spencer went to a shop within a few doors of the alehouse, 
 which he heard Corkscrew frequented, and sent to beg to 
 speak to the landlord. He came, and when Mr. Spencer 
 questioned him, confessed that Corkscrew and Felix were 
 actually drinking in his house, with two men of suspicious 
 appearance ; that, as he passed through the passage, he 
 heard them disputing about a key; and that one of them 
 said, " Since we've got the key, we'll go about it to-night." 
 This was sufficient information : Mr. Spencer, lest the 
 landlord should give them information of what was going 
 forward, took him along with him to Bow Street. 
 
 A constable and proper assistance was sent to Mrs. 
 Churchill's. They stationed themselves in a back parlour 
 which opened on a passage leading to the butler's pantry, 
 where the plate was kept. A little after midnight they 
 heard the hall-door open ; Corkscrew and his accomplices 
 went directly to the pantry, and there Mr. Spencer and the 
 
 85 
 
The False Key 
 
 constable immediately secured them, as they were carrying 
 off their booty. 
 
 Mrs. Churchill and Pomfret had spent the night at the 
 house of an acquaintance in the same street. 
 
 "Well, ma'am," said Mrs. Pomfret, who had heard all the 
 news in the morning, " the villains are all safe. I was afraid 
 to go to the window this morning, but it was my luck to see 
 them all go by to gaol — they looked so shocking ! I am sure 
 I never shall forget Felix's looks to my dying day ! But 
 poor Franklin, ma'am ; that boy has the best heart in the 
 world — I could not get him to give a second look at them 
 as they passed — poor fellow ! I thought he would have 
 dropped ; and he was so modest, ma'am, when Mr. Spencer 
 spoke to him, and told him he had done his duty." 
 
 " And did my brother tell him what reward I intend for 
 him ?" 
 
 " No, ma'am, and I'm sure Franklin thinks no more of 
 reward than I do." 
 
 " I intend," continued Mrs. Churchill, "to sell some of 
 my old useless plate, and to lay it out in an annuity for 
 Franklin's life." 
 
 " La, ma'am ! " exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret, with unfeigned 
 joy, " I am sure you are very good ; and I am very glad of 
 it." 
 
 " And," continued Mrs. Churchill, " here are some tickets 
 for the play, which I shall beg ycu, Pomfret, to give him, 
 and to take him with you." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, indeed, ma'am ; and 
 I'll go with him with all my heart. And, ma'am," said Mrs. 
 Pomfret, " the night after the fire I left him my great Bible 
 and my watch in my will ; for I never was more mistaken 
 at the first in any boy in my born days ; but he has won 
 me by his own deserts, and I shall, from this time forth, love 
 all the 'Villaintropic folks for his sake." 
 
 86 
 
S'impfe Smanf. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Waked, as her custom was, before the day, 
 To do the observance due to sprightly May. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 a retired hamlet on the borders oi Wales, 
 between Oswestry and Shrewsbury, it is 
 still the custom to celebrate the first of 
 May. The children of the village, who 
 look forward to this rural festival with joy- 
 ful eagerness, usually meet on the last day 
 of April to make up their nosegays for the 
 morning, and to choose their queen. Their 
 customary place of meeting is at a haw- 
 thorn, which stands in a little green nook, 
 open on one side to a shady lane, and 
 separated on the other side by a thick 
 sweet-brier and hawthorn hedge from the 
 
 garden of an attorney. 
 
 This attorney began the world with — nothing ; but 
 
 he contrived to scrape together a good deal of money, 
 
 87 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 everybody knew how. He built a new house at the 
 entrance of the village, and had a large, well fenced 
 garden ; yet, notwithstanding his fences, he never felt 
 himself secure ; such were his litigious habits, and his 
 suspicious temper, that he was constantly at variance with 
 his simple and peaceable neighbours. Some pig, or dog, 
 or goat, or goose was for ever trespassing : his complaints 
 and his extortions wearied and alarmed the whole hamlet. 
 The paths in his fields were at length unfrequented, his 
 stiles were blocked up with stones, or stuffed with brambles 
 and briers, so that not a gosling could creep under, or 
 a giant get over them, and so careful were even the village 
 children of giving offence to this irritable man of the law, 
 that they would not venture to fly a kite near his fields 
 lest it should entangle in his trees or fall upon his 
 meadow. 
 
 Mr. Case, for this was the name of our attorney, had 
 a son and a daughter, to whose education he had not time 
 to attend, as his whole soul was intent upon accumulating 
 for them a fortune. For several years he suffered his 
 children to run wild in the village ; but suddenly, upon 
 his being appointed to a considerable agency, he began to 
 think of making his children a little genteel. He sent 
 his son to learn Latin ; he hired a maid to wait upon his 
 daughter Barbara, and he strictly forbade her thenceforward 
 to keep company with any of the poor children, who had 
 hitherto been her playfellows. They were not sorry for 
 this prohibition, because she had been their tyrant rather 
 than their companion : she was vexed to observe that her 
 absence was not regretted, and she was mortified to 
 perceive that she could not humble them by any display 
 of airs and finery. 
 
 There was one poor girl, amongst her former associates, 
 to whom she had a peculiar dislike — Susan Price, a sweet 
 tempered, modest, sprightly, industrious lass, who was the 
 pride and delight of the village. Her father rented a small 
 farm, and, unfortunately for him, he lived near Attorney 
 Case. 
 
 Barbara used often to sit at her window, watching Susan 
 at work — sometimes she saw her in the neat garden 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 raking the beds, or weeding the borders; sometimes she 
 was kneeling at her beehive with fresh flowers for her bees ; 
 sometimes she was in the poultry-yard, scattering corn 
 from her sieve amongst the eager chickens ; and in the 
 evening she was often seated in a little honeysuckle arbour, 
 with a clean, light, three-legged deal table before her, upon 
 which she put her plain work. Susan had been taught 
 to work neatly by her good mother, who was very fond of 
 her, and to whom she was most gratefully attached. 
 
 Mrs. Price was an intelligent, active, domestic woman ; 
 but her health was not robust. She earned money, how- 
 ever, by taking in plain work ; and she was famous for 
 baking excellent bread and breakfast cakes. She was 
 respected in the village, for her conduct as a wife and as a 
 mother, and all were eager to show her attention. At her 
 door the first branch of hawthorn was always placed on 
 May morning, and her Susan was usually Queen of the 
 May. 
 
 It was now time to choose the queen.- The setting 
 sun shone full upon the pink blossoms of the hawthorn, 
 when the merry group assembled upon their little green. 
 Barbara was now walking in sullen state in her father's 
 garden ; she heard the busy voices in the lane, and she 
 concealed herself behind the high hedge, that she might 
 listen to their conversation. 
 
 " Where's Susan ? " were the first unwelcome words 
 which she overheard. — " Aye, where's Susan ? " repeated 
 Philip, stopping short in the middle of a new tune that he 
 was playing on his pipe. "I wish Susan would come! I 
 want her to sing me this same tune over again ; I have 
 not learned it yet." 
 
 " And I wish Susan would come, I'm sure," cried a little 
 girl, whose lap was full of primroses — " Susan will give 
 me some thread to tie up my nosegays, and she'll show me 
 where the fresh violets grow, and she has promised to 
 give me a great bunch of her double cowslips to wear 
 to-morrow. — I wish she would come." 
 
 " Nothing can be done without Susan ! She always 
 shows us where the nicest flowers are to be found in the 
 lanes and meadows," said they. " She must make up the 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 garlands, and she shall be Queen of the May ! " exclaimed 
 a multitude of little voices. 
 
 " But she does not come ! " said Philip. 
 
 Rose, who was her particular friend, now came forward 
 to assure the impatient assembly, " that she would answer 
 for it Susan would come as soon as she possibly could, 
 and that she probably was detained by business at home." 
 The little electors thought that all business should give 
 way to theirs, and Rose was dispatched to summon her 
 friend immediately. 
 
 "Tell her to make haste," cried Philip — "Attorney 
 Case dined at The Abbey to-day — luckily for us ; if he 
 comes home and finds us here, maybe he'll drive us away ; 
 for he says this bit of ground belongs to his garden ; 
 though that is not true, I'm sure ; for Farmer Price knows, 
 and says it was always open to the road. The attorney 
 wants to get our playground, so he does. I wish he and 
 his daughter Bab, or Miss Barbara, as she must now be 
 called, were a hundred miles off, out of our way, I know. 
 No later than yesterday she threw down my ninepins 
 in one of her ill-humours, as she was walking by with her 
 gown all trailing in the dust." 
 
 "Yes," cried Mary, the little primrose-girl, "her gown 
 is always trailing, she does not hold it up nicely like 
 Susan ; and with all her fine clothes she never looks half 
 so neat. Mother says she wishes I may be like Susan, 
 when I grow up to be a great girl, and so do I. I should 
 not like to look conceited, as Barbara does, if I were ever 
 so rich." 
 
 " Rich or poor," said Philip, " it does not become a girl 
 to look conceited, much less bold, as Barbara did the other 
 day, when she was standing at her father's door, without a 
 hat upon her head, staring at the strange gentleman who 
 stopped hereabout to let his horse drink. I know what he 
 thought of Bab by his looks, and of Susan, too — for Susan 
 was in her garden, bending down a branch of the 
 laburnum-tree, looking at its yellow flowers, which were 
 just come out ; and when the gentleman asked her how 
 many miles it was from Shrewsbury, she answered him so 
 modestly ! — not bashfully, as if she had never seen anybody 
 
 90 
 
s 
 
 
 •*'; y - ^IsBL '■■--y^ '-■-■■■ --■■•- 3-<-^ -safes?, ^ ■• 
 
 d\jfc 
 
 ^to gijnt/ema-n asked /Jet /law mtum,] r^JLej tJtu,ty 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 before — but just right — and then she pulled on her straw 
 hat, which was fallen back with her looking up at the 
 laburnum, and she went her ways home ; and the gentle- 
 man says to me, after she was gone, ' Pray, who is that 
 neat, modest girl ? ' But I wish Susan would come," cried 
 Philip, interrupting himself. 
 
 Susan was all this time, as her friend Rose had rightly 
 guessed, busy at home. She was detained by her father's 
 returning later than usual. His supper was ready for him 
 nearly an hour before he came home ; and Susan swept up 
 the ashes twice, and twice put on wood to make a cheerful 
 blaze for him ; but at last, when he did come in, he took 
 no notice of the blaze, nor of Susan, and when his wife 
 asked him how he did, he made no answer, but stood 
 with his back to the fire, looking very gloomy. Susan put 
 his supper upon the table, and set his own chair for 
 him ; but he pushed away the chair and turned from 
 the table, saying — " I shall eat nothing, child ; why have 
 you such a fire to roast me at this time of the year ? " 
 
 " You said yesterday, father, I thought, that you liked 
 a little cheerful wood fire in the evening, and there was 
 a great shower of hail : your coat is quite wet, we must 
 dry it." 
 
 " Take it, then, child," said he, pulling it off — " I shall 
 soon have no coat to dry — and take my hat, too," said he, 
 throwing it upon the ground. 
 
 Susan hung up his hat, put his coat over the back of 
 a chair to dry, and then stood anxiously looking at her 
 mother, who was not well ; she had this day fatigued 
 herself with baking, and now, alarmed by her husband's 
 moody behaviour, she sat down pale and trembling. He 
 threw himself into a chair, folded his arms, and fixed his 
 eyes upon the fire. 
 
 Susan was the first to venture to break silence. Happy 
 the father who has such a daughter as Susan ! — her 
 unaltered sweetness of temper, and her playful, affectionate 
 caresses, at last somewhat dissipated her father's melan- 
 choly. He could not be prevailed upon to eat any of the 
 supper which had been prepared for him ; however, with a 
 faint smile, he told Susan that he thought he could eat 
 
 93 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 one of her guinea-hen's eggs. She thanked him, and with 
 that nimble alacrity which marks the desire to please, 
 she ran to her neat chicken-yard ; but, alas ! her guinea- 
 hen was not there — it had strayed into the attorney's 
 garden. She saw it through the paling, and, timidly 
 opening the little gate, she asked Miss Barbara, who was 
 walking slowly by, to let her come in and take her guinea- 
 hen. Barbara, who was at this instant reflecting, with no 
 agreeable feelings, upon the conversation of the village 
 children, to which she had recently listened, started when 
 she heard Susan's voice, and with a proud, ill-humoured, 
 look and voice, refused her request. 
 
 " Shut the gate," said she ; " you have no business in our 
 garden, and as for your hen, I shall keep it ; it is always 
 flying in here, and plaguing us, and my father says it is a 
 trespasser ; and he told me I might catch it and keep it 
 the next time it got in, and it is in now." Then Barbara 
 called to her maid, Betty, and bid her catch the mischievous 
 hen. 
 
 " Oh, my guinea-hen ! my pretty guinea-hen ! " cried 
 Susan, as they hunted the frightened, screaming creature 
 from corner to corner. 
 
 " Here we have got it ! " said Betty, holding it fast by 
 the legs. 
 
 " Now pay damages, Queen Susan, or good-bye to your 
 pretty guinea-hen ! " said Barbara, in an insulting tone. 
 
 "Damages! what damages?" said Susan; "tell me 
 what I must pay." 
 
 " A shilling," said Barbara. 
 
 " Oh, if sixpence would do ! " said Susan ; " I have but 
 sixpence of my own in the world, and here it is." 
 
 " It won't do," said Barbara, turning her back. 
 
 " Nay, but hear me," cried Susan ; " let me at least come 
 in to look for its eggs. I only want one for my father's 
 supper ; you shall have all the rest." 
 
 " What's your father, or his supper to us ? is he so nice 
 that he can eat none but guinea-hen's eggs ?" said Barbara : 
 " if you want your hen and your eggs, pay for them, and 
 you'll have them." 
 
 " I have but sixpence, and you say that won't do," said 
 
 94 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 Susan, with a sigh ; and she looked at her favourite, which 
 was in the maid's grasping hands, struggling and screaming 
 in vain. 
 
 Susan retired disconsolate. At the door of her father's 
 cottage she saw her friend Rose, who was just come to 
 summon her to the hawthorn bush. 
 
 " They are all at the hawthorn, and I'm come for you ; 
 we can do nothing without you, dear Susan," cried Rose, 
 running to meet her, at the moment she saw her. " You 
 are chosen Queen of the May — come, make haste ; but 
 what's the matter ? why do you look so sad ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Susan, " don't wait for me, I can't come to 
 you ; but," added she, pointing to the tuft of double 
 cowslips in the garden, " gather those for poor little Mary ; 
 I promised them to her ; and tell her the violets are under 
 the hedge just opposite the turnstile, on the right as we go 
 to church. Good-bye ! never mind me ; I can't come — 
 I can't stay, for my father wants me." 
 
 " But don't turn away your face, I won't keep you a 
 moment ; only tell me what's the matter," said her friend, 
 following her into the cottage. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, not much," said Susan ; " only that I 
 wanted the egg in a great hurry for father, it would not 
 have vexed me — to be sure I should have clipped my 
 guinea-hen's wings, and then she could not have flown over 
 the hedge — but let us think no more about it, now," added 
 she, twinkling away a tear. 
 
 When Rose, however, learnt that her friend's guinea-hen 
 was detained prisoner by the attorney's daughter, she 
 exclaimed with all the honest warmth of indignation, and 
 instantly ran back to tell the story to her companions. 
 
 " Barbara ! aye ; like father, like daughter," cried Farmer 
 Price, starting from the thoughtful attitude in which he had 
 been fixed, and drawing his chair closer to his wife. 
 
 " You see something is amiss with me, wife — I'll tell you 
 what it is." As he lowered his voice, Susan, who was not 
 sure that he wished she should hear what he was going to 
 say, retired from behind his chair. "Susan, don't go; sit 
 you down here, my sweet Susan," said he, making room for 
 her upon his chair ; " I believe I was a little cross when I 
 
 95 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 came in first to-night ; but I had something to vex me, as 
 you shall hear. 
 
 " About a fortnight ago, you know, wife," continued he, 
 " there was a balloting in our town for the militia ; now at 
 that time I wanted but ten days of forty years of age, and 
 the attorney told me I was a fool for not calling myself 
 plump forty. But the truth is the truth, and it is what I 
 think fittest to be spoken at all times come what will of it — 
 so I was drawn for a militiaman ; but when I thought how 
 loth you and I would be to part, I was main glad to hear 
 that I could get off by paying eight or nine guineas for a 
 substitute ; only I had not the nine guineas, for you know 
 we had bad luck with our sheep this year, and they died 
 away one after another ; but that was no excuse, so I went 
 to Attorney Case, and, with a power of difficulty, I got him 
 to lend me the money ; for which, to be sure, I gave him 
 something, and left my lease of our farm with him, as he 
 insisted upon it, by way of security for the loan. Attorney 
 Case is too many for me ; he has found what he calls afanu 
 in my lease, and the lease, he tells me, is not worth a 
 farthing, and that he can turn us all out of our farm to- 
 morrow if he pleases ; and sure enough he will please, for I 
 have thwarted him this day, and he swears he'll be revenged 
 of me. Indeed, he has begun with me badly enough 
 already. I'm not come to the worst part of my story 
 yet " 
 
 Here Farmer Price made a dead stop ; and his wife and 
 Susan looked up in his face, breathless with anxiety. 
 
 "It must come out," said he, with a short sigh ; " I must 
 leave you in three days, wife." 
 
 " Must you ? " said his wife, in a faint, resigned voice — 
 " Susan, love, open the window." 
 
 Susan ran to open the window, and then returned to 
 support her mother's head. When she came a little to 
 herself she sat up, begged that her husband would go on, 
 and that nothing might be concealed from her. 
 
 Her husband had no wish indeed to conceal anything 
 from a wife he loved so well ; but stout as he was, and 
 steady to his maxim, that the truth was the thing the fittest 
 to be spoken at all times, his voice faltered, and it was with 
 
 96 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 some difficulty that he brought himself to speak the whole 
 truth at this moment. 
 
 The fact was this : Case met Farmer Price as he was 
 coming home, whistling, from a new-ploughed field ; the 
 attorney had just dined at The Abbey — The Abbey was 
 the family seat of an opulent baronet in the neighbourhood, 
 to whom Mr. Case had been agent. The baronet died 
 suddenly, and his estate and title devolved to a younger 
 brother, who was now just arrived in the country, and to 
 whom Mr. Case was eager to pay his court, in hopes of 
 obtaining his favour. Of the agency he flattered himself 
 that he was pretty secure, and he thought that he might 
 assume the tone of command towards the tenants, especially 
 towards one who was some guineas in his debt, and in 
 whose lease there was a flaw. 
 
 Accosting the farmer in a haughty manner, the attorney 
 began with, ■' So, Farmer Price, a word with you, if you 
 please; walk on here, man, beside my horse, and you'll 
 hear me. You have changed your opinion,. I hope, about 
 that bit of land — that corner at the end of my garden ? " 
 
 "As how, Mr. Case ? " said the farmer. 
 
 " As how, man — why, you said something about its not 
 belonging to me, when you heard me talk of enclosing it 
 the other day." 
 
 " So I did," said Price, " and so I do." 
 
 Provoked and astonished at the firm tone in which these 
 words were pronounced, the attorney was upon the point of 
 swearing that he would have his revenge ; but, as his 
 passions were habitually attentive to the letter of the law, 
 he refrained from any hasty expression, which might, he 
 was aware, in a court of justice, be hereafter brought 
 against him. 
 
 " My good friend, Mr. Price," said he, in a soft voice, and 
 pale with suppressed rage — he forced a smile — " I'm under 
 the necessity of calling in the money I lent you some time 
 ago, and you will please to take notice, that it must be 
 paid to-morrow morning. I wish you a good evening. 
 You have the money ready for me, I dare say." 
 
 " No," said the farmer, " not a guinea of it ; but John 
 Simpson, who was my substitute, has not left our village 
 
 97 h 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 yet ; I'll get the money back from him, and go myself, if 
 so be it must be so, into the militia — so I will." 
 
 The attorney did not expect such a determination, and 
 he represented, in a friendly, hypocritical tone to Price, 
 that he had no wish to drive him to such an extremity ; 
 that it would be the height of folly in him to run his head 
 against a wall for no purpose. " You don't mean to take 
 the corner into your own garden, do you, Price ? " said he. 
 
 "I!" said the farmer, " it's none of mine ; I never take 
 what does not belong to me." 
 
 " True, right, very proper, of course," said Mr. Case ; 
 " but then you have no interest in life in the land in 
 question ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Then why so stiff about it, Price ? All I want of you 
 is to say " 
 
 " To say that black is white, which I won't do, Mr. Case ; 
 the ground is a thing not worth talking of, but it's neither 
 yours nor mine ; in my memory, since the new lane was 
 made, it has always been open to the parish, and no man 
 shall inclose it with my good-will. Truth is truth, and 
 must be spoken ; justice is justice, and should be done, 
 Mr. Attorney." 
 
 "And law is law, Mr. Farmer, and shall have its course, 
 to your cost," cried the attorney, exasperated by the 
 dauntless spirit of this village Hampden. 
 
 Here they parted — the glow of enthusiasm, the pride of 
 virtue, which made our hero brave, could not render him 
 insensible. As he drew nearer home, many melancholy 
 thoughts pressed upon his heart. He passed the door of 
 his own cottage with resolute steps, however, and went 
 through the village in search of the man who had engaged 
 to be his substitute. He found him, told him how the 
 matter stood ; and luckily the man, who had not yet spent 
 the money, was willing to return it, as there were many 
 others had been drawn for the militia, who, he observed, 
 would be glad to give him the same price, or more, for his 
 services. 
 
 The moment Price got the money, he hastened to Mr. 
 Case's house, walked straight forward into his room, and 
 
 ^ 98 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 laying the money down upon his desk, " There, Mr. 
 Attorney, are your nine guineas ; count them : now I have 
 done with you." 
 
 "Not yet," said the attorney, jingling the money 
 triumphantly in his hand ; " we'll give you a taste of the 
 law, my good sir, or I'm mistaken. You forgot the flaw in 
 your lease, which I have safe in this desk." 
 
 " Ah, my lease ! " said the farmer, who had almost forgot 
 to ask for it, till he was thus put in mind of it by the 
 attorney's imprudent threat. " Give me my lease, Mr. 
 Case ; I've paid my money, you have no right to keep the 
 lease any longer, whether it is a bad one or a good one." 
 
 " Pardon me," said the attorney, locking his desk, and 
 putting the key into his pocket, " possession, my honest 
 friend," cried he, striking his hand upon the desk, 
 "possession is nine points of the law. Good-night to you. 
 I cannot in conscience return a lease to a tenant in which I 
 know there is a capital flaw ; it is my duty to show it to 
 my employer ; or, in other words, to your- new landlord, 
 whose agent I have good reasons to expect I shall be. 
 You will live to repent your obstinacy, Mr. Price. Your 
 servant, sir." 
 
 Price retired melancholy, but not intimidated. 
 
 Many a man returns home with a gloomy countenance, 
 who has not quite so much cause for vexation. 
 
 When Susan heard her father's story, she quite forgot her 
 guinea-hen, and her whole soul was intent upon her poor 
 mother, who, notwithstanding her utmost exertion, could 
 not support herself under this sudden stroke of misfortune. 
 In the middle of the night Susan was called up; her 
 mother's fever ran high for some hours ; but towards 
 morning it abated, and she fell into a soft sleep with 
 Susan's hand locked fast in hers. 
 
 Susan sat motionless, and breathed softly, lest she should 
 disturb her. The rushlight, which stood beside the bed, was 
 now burnt low ; the long shadow of the tall wicker chair 
 flitted, faded, appeared, and vanished, as the flame rose and 
 sunk in the socket. Susan was afraid that the disagreeable 
 smell might waken her mother ; and, gently disengaging 
 her hand, she went on tiptoe to extinguish the candle. All 
 
 99 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 was silent : the grey light of the morning was now spreading 
 over every object ; the sun rose slowly, and Susan stood at 
 the lattice window, looking through the small leaded, cross- 
 barred panes at the splendid spectacle. A few birds 
 began to chirp ; but, as Susan was listening to them, 
 her mother started in her sleep, and spoke unintelligibly. 
 Susan hung up a white apron before the window to keep 
 out the light, and just then she heard the sound of music at 
 a distance in the village. As it approached nearer, she 
 know that it was Philip playing upon his pipe and tabor. 
 She distinguished the merry voices of her companions 
 " carolling in honour of the May," and soon she saw them 
 coming towards her father's cottage, with branches and 
 garlands in their hands. She opened quickly, but gently, 
 the latch of the door, and ran out to meet them. 
 
 " Here she is !— here's Susan ! " they exclaimed, joyfully. 
 " Here's the Queen of the May." " And here's her crown ! " 
 cried Rose, pressing forward ; but Susan put her finger 
 upon her lips, and pointed to her mother's window — Philip's 
 pipe stopped instantly. 
 
 "Thank you," said Susan: "my mother is ill; I can't 
 leave her, you know." Then gently putting aside the 
 crown, her companions bid her say who should wear it 
 for her. 
 
 "Will you, dear Rose?" said she, placing the garland 
 upon her friend's head. " It's a charming May morning," 
 added she, with a smile ; " good-bye. We sha'n't hear your 
 voices, or the pipe, when you have turned the corner into 
 the village ; so you need only stop till then, Philip." 
 
 " I shall stop for all day," said Philip : " I've no mind to 
 play any more." 
 
 " Good-bye, poor Susan. It's a pity you can't come with 
 us," said all the children ; and little Mary ran after Susan 
 to the cottage door. 
 
 " I forgot to thank you," said she, "for the double cow- 
 slips ; look how pretty they are, and smell how sweet the 
 violets are in my bosom, and kiss me quick, for I shall be 
 left behind." 
 
 Susan kissed the little breathless girl, and returned softly 
 to the side of her mother's bed. 
 
r r~ 
 
 ■ap 
 
 Carorfm^ m honour off}? Jrfsx\\ 
 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 " How grateful that child is to me for a cowslip only ! — 
 How can I be grateful enough to such a mother as this ? " 
 said Susan to herself, as she bent over her sleeping 
 mother's pale countenance. 
 
 Her mother's unfinished knitting lay upon a table near the 
 bed, and Susan sat down in her wicker arm-chair, and went 
 on with the row, in the middle of which her hand stopped 
 the preceding evening. " She taught me to knit, she 
 taught me everything that I know," thought Susan ; " and, 
 best of all, she taught me to love her, to wish to be like her." 
 
 Her mother, when she awakened, felt much refreshed by 
 her tranquil sleep, and observing that it was a delightful 
 morning, said, " that she had been dreaming she heard 
 music ; but that the drum frightened her, because she 
 thought it was the signal for her husband to be carried 
 away by a whole regiment of soldiers, who had pointed 
 their bayonets at him. But that was but a dream, Susan ; 
 I awakened, and knew it was a dream, and I then fell 
 asleep, and have slept soundly ever since." • 
 
 How painful it is to waken to the remembrance of mis- 
 fortune ! Gradually, as this poor woman collected her 
 scattered thoughts, she recalled the circumstances of the 
 preceding evening : she was too certain that she had heard 
 from her husband's own lips the words, " / must leave you 
 in three days " ; and she wished that she could sleep again, 
 and think it all a dream. 
 
 " But he'll want, he'll want a hundred things," said she, 
 starting up ; "I must get his linen ready for him. I'm 
 afraid it's very late ; Susan, why did you let me lie so long ?" 
 
 " Everything shall be ready, dear mother ; only don't 
 hurry yourself," said Susan. 
 
 And indeed her mother was ill able to bear any hurry, or 
 to do any work, this day. 
 
 Susan's affectionate, dexterous, sensible activity was 
 never more wanted, or more effectual. She understood so 
 readily, she obeyed so exactly ; and, when she was left to 
 her own discretion, judged so prudently, that her mother 
 had little trouble and no anxiety in directing her ; she said 
 that Susan never did too little, or too much. 
 
 Susan was mending her father's linen, when Rose tapped 
 
 103 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 softly at the window, and beckoned to her to come out. 
 She went out. 
 
 " How does your mother do, in the first place ? " said 
 Rose. 
 
 " Better, thank you." 
 
 " That's well, and I have a little bit of good news for 
 you besides — here," said she, pulling out a glove, in which 
 there was money, " we'll get the guinea-hen back again — 
 we have all agreed about it. This is the money that has 
 been given to us in the village this May morning ; at every 
 door they gave silver — see how generous they have been — 
 twelve shillings, I assure you. Now we are a match for 
 Miss Barbara. You won't like to leave home ; I'll go to 
 Barbara, and you shall see your guinea-hen in ten minutes." 
 
 Rose hurried away, pleased with her commission, and 
 eager to accomplish her business. 
 
 Miss Barbara's maid, Betty, was the first person that was 
 visible at the attorney's house. 
 
 Rose insisted upon seeing Miss Barbara herself, and she 
 was shown into a parlour to the young lady, who was 
 reading a dirty novel, which she put under a heap of law 
 papers as they entered. 
 
 " Dear, how you startled me ! Is it only you ? " said 
 she to her maid ; but as soon as she saw Rose behind the 
 maid, she put on a scornful air. 
 
 " Could not you say I was not at home, Betty? Well, 
 my good girl, what brings you here? Something to borrow 
 or beg, I suppose." 
 
 May every ambassador — every ambassador in as good a 
 cause — answer with as much dignity and moderation as 
 Rose replied to Barbara upon the present occasion ! 
 
 She assured her, that the person from whom she came 
 did not send her either to beg or to borrow ; that she was 
 able to pay the full value of that for which she came to 
 ask ; and, producing her well-filled purse, " I believe that 
 this is a very good shilling," said she ; " if you don't like it, 
 I will change it ; and now you will be so good as to give 
 me Susan's guinea-hen ; it is in her name I ask for it." 
 
 " No matter in whose name you ask for it," replied 
 Barbara, "you will not have it — take up your shilling, if you 
 
 104 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 plea.se. I would have taken a shilling yesterday, if it had 
 been paid at the time properly ; but I told Susan, that if it 
 was not paid then, I should keep the hen — and so I shall, I 
 promise her. You may go back, and tell her so." 
 
 The attorney's daughter had, whilst Rose opened her 
 negotiation, measured the depth of her purse with a keen 
 eye ; and her penetration discovered that it contained at 
 least ten shillings. With proper management she had 
 some hopes that the guinea-hen might be made to bring in 
 at least half the money. 
 
 Rose, who was of a warm temper, not quite so fit a 
 match as she had thought herself for the wily Barbara, 
 incautiously exclaimed, " Whatever it costs us, we are 
 determined to have Susan's favourite hen ; so, if one 
 shilling won't do, take two ; and if two won't do, why, 
 take three." 
 
 The shillings sounded provokingly upon the table, as she 
 threw them down one after another, and Barbara coolly 
 replied, " Three won't do." 
 
 " Have you no conscience, Miss Barbara? Then take 
 four." 
 
 Barbara shook her head. A fifth shilling was instantly 
 proffered — but Bab, who now saw plainly that she had the 
 game in her own hands, preserved a cold, cruel silence. 
 
 Rose went on rapidly, bidding shilling after shilling, till 
 she had completely emptied her purse. The twelve 
 shillings were spread upon the table — Barbara's avarice 
 was moved ; she consented for this ransom to liberate her 
 prisoner. 
 
 Rose pushed the money towards her, but just then, 
 recollecting that she was acting for others more than for 
 herself, and doubting whether she had full powers to 
 conclude such an extravagant bargain, she gathered up 
 the public treasure, and with newly-recovered prudence 
 observed that she must go back to consult her friends. 
 
 Her generous little friends were amazed at Barbara's 
 meanness, but with one accord declared that they were 
 most willing, for their parts, to give up every farthing of 
 the money. They all went to Susan in a body, and told 
 her so. 
 
 io 5 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 " There's our purse," said they ; " do what you please 
 with it." 
 
 They would not wait for one word of thanks, but ran 
 away, leaving only Rose with her to settle the treaty for 
 the guinea-hen. 
 
 There is a certain manner of accepting a favour, which 
 shows true generosity of mind. Many know how to give, 
 but few know how to accept a gift properly. 
 
 Susan was touched, but not astonished, by the kindness 
 of her young friends, and she received the purse with as 
 much simplicity as she would have given it. 
 
 " Well," said Rose, " shall I go back for the guinea-hen ? " 
 
 " The guinea-hen ! " said Susan, starting from a reverie 
 into which she had fallen, as she contemplated the purse ; 
 " certainly I do long to see my pretty guinea-hen once 
 more, but I was not thinking of her just then — I was 
 thinking of my father." 
 
 Now Susan often, in the course of this day, had heard 
 her mother wish that she had but money enough in the 
 world to pay John Simpson for going to serve in the militia, 
 instead of her husband. " This, to be sure, will go but a 
 little way," thought Susan ; " but still it may be of some 
 use to my father." She told her mind to Rose, and con- 
 cluded by saying, decidedly, that " if the money was given 
 to her to dispose of as she pleased, she would give it to her 
 father." 
 
 " It is all yours, my dear, good Susan," cried Rose, with 
 a look of warm approbation. " This is so like you ! But 
 I'm sorry that Miss Bab must keep your guinea-hen. I 
 would not be her for all the guinea-hens, or guineas either, 
 in the whole world. Why, I'll answer for it, the guinea- 
 hen won't make her happy, and you'll be happy even with- 
 out it — because you are good. Let me come and help you 
 to-morrow," continued she, looking at Susan's work, "if you 
 have any more mending work to do — I never liked work 
 till I worked with you — I won't forget my thimble or my 
 scissors," added she, laughing — " though I used to forget 
 them when I was a giddy girl. I assure you I am a great 
 hand at my needle now — try me." 
 
 Susan assured her friend that she did not doubt the 
 
 1 06 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 powers of her needle, and that she would most willingly 
 accept of her services, but that unluckily she had finished 
 all the needle-work that was immediately wanted. 
 
 " But do you know," said she, " I shall have a great deal 
 of business to-morrow — but I won't tell you what it is that 
 I have to do, for I am afraid I shall not succeed ; but if I 
 do succeed, I'll come and tell you directly, because you 
 will be so glad of it." 
 
 Susan, who had always been attentive to what her 
 mother taught her, and who had often assisted her when 
 she was baking bread and cakes for the family at The 
 Abbey, had now formed the courageous, but not pre- 
 sumptuous idea, that she could herself undertake to bake a 
 batch of bread. One of the servants from The Abbey had 
 been sent all round the village in the morning in search of 
 bread, and had not been able to procure any that was 
 tolerable. Mrs. Price's last baking failed for want of good 
 barm ; she was not now strong enough to attempt another 
 herself ; and when the brewer's boy came, with eagerness, 
 to tell her that he had some fine fresh yeast for her, she 
 thanked him, but sighed, and said it would be of no use to 
 her, she was too ill for the work. Susan modestly re- 
 quested permission to try her hand, and her mother would 
 not refuse her. Accordingly she went to work with much 
 prudent care, and when her bread the next morning came 
 out of the oven it was excellent — at least her mother said so, 
 and she was a good judge. It was sent to The Abbey ; 
 and as the family there had not tasted any good bread 
 since their arrival in the country, they also were earnest 
 and warm in its praise. Inquiries were made from the 
 housekeeper, and they heard, with some surprise, that this 
 excellent bread was made by a young girl of twelve years 
 old. 
 
 The housekeeper, who had known Susan from a child, 
 was pleased to have an opportunity in speaking in her 
 favour. 
 
 "She is the most industrious little creature, ma'am, in 
 the world," said she to her mistress ; " little I can't so well 
 call her now, since she's grown tall and slender to look at ; 
 and glad I am she is grown up likely to look at, for hand- 
 
 107 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 some is that handsome does — and she thinks no more of 
 her being handsome than I do myself — yet she has a 
 proper respect for herself, ma'am, as you have ; and I 
 always see her neat, and with her mother, ma'am, or fit 
 people, as a girl should be ; as for her mother, she dotes 
 upon her, as well she may, for I should myself if I had half 
 such a daughter ; and then she has two little brothers, and 
 she's as good to them, and, my boy Philip says, taught 
 'em to read more than the school-mistress, all with tender- 
 ness and good nature ; but I beg your pardon, ma'am, I 
 cannot stop myself when I once begin to talk of Susan." 
 
 " You have really said enough to excite my curiosity," 
 said her mistress ; " pray send for her immediately ; we 
 can see her before we go out to walk." 
 
 The benevolent housekeeper dispatched her boy Philip 
 for Susan. Susan was never in such an untidy state, that 
 she could not obey such a summons without a long pre- 
 paration. She had, it is true, been very busy ; but orderly 
 people can be busy and neat at the same time. She put 
 on her usual straw hat, and accompanied Rose's mother, who 
 was going with a basket of cleared muslin to The Abbey. 
 
 The modest simplicity of Susan's appearance, and the 
 artless good sense and propriety of the answers she gave 
 to all the questions that were asked her, pleased the ladies 
 at The Abbey, who were good judges of character and 
 manners. 
 
 Sir Arthur Somers had two sisters, sensible, benevolent 
 women ; they were not of that race of fine ladies who are 
 miserable the moment they come to the country ; nor yet 
 were they of that bustling sort, who quack and direct all 
 their poor neighbours, for the mere love of managing, or 
 the want of something to do. They were judiciously 
 generous ; and whilst they wished to diffuse happiness, they 
 were not peremptory in requiring that people should be 
 happy precisely their own way. With these dispositions, 
 and with a well-informed brother, who, though he never 
 wished to direct, was always willing to assist in their efforts 
 to do good, there were reasonable hopes that these ladies 
 would be a blessing to the poor villagers amongst whom 
 they were now settled. 
 
 108 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 As soon as Miss Somers had spoken to Susan, she in- 
 quired for her brother ; but Sir Arthur was in his study, 
 and a gentleman was with him on business. 
 
 Susan was desirous of returning to her mother, and the 
 ladies, therefore, would not detain her. Miss Somers told 
 her, with a smile, when she took leave, that she would call 
 upon her in the evening, at six o'clock. 
 
 It was impossible that such a grand event, as Susan's 
 visit to The Abbey, could long remain unknown to Barbara 
 Case and her gossiping maid. They watched eagerly for 
 the moment of her return, that they might satisfy their 
 curiosity. 
 
 " There she is, I declare, just come into her garden," cried 
 Bab ; " I'll run and get it all out of her in a minute." 
 
 Bab could descend, without shame, whenever it suited 
 her purposes, from the height of insolent pride, to the lowest 
 meanness of fawning familiarity. 
 
 Susan was gathering some marigolds and some parsley 
 for her mother's broth. 
 
 " So, Susan," said Bab, who came close to her before 
 she perceived it, " how goes the world with you to-day ? " 
 
 " My mother is rather better to-day, she says, ma'am — 
 thank you," replied Susan, coldly but civilly. 
 
 '■' Mdam ! dear, how polite we are grown of a sudden ! " 
 cried Bab, winking at her maid. " One may see you've 
 been in good company this morning." 
 
 "Hey, Susan — Come, let's hear about it? Did you see 
 the ladies themselves, or was it only the housekeeper sent 
 for you?" said the maid. 
 
 " What room did you go into ? " continued Bab. " Did 
 you see Miss Somers, or Sir Arthur?" 
 
 "Miss Somers." 
 
 " La ! she saw Miss Somers ! Betty, I must hear about 
 it. Can't you stop gathering those things for a minute, and 
 chat a bit with us, Susan ? " 
 
 " I can't stay, indeed, Miss Barbara ; for my mother's 
 broth is just wanted, and I'm in a hurry." Susan ran home. 
 
 " Lord, her head is full of broth now," said Bab to her 
 maid ; " and she has not a word for herself, though she has 
 been abroad. My papa may well call her Simple Susan — 
 
 109 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 for simple she is, and simple she will be, all the world over ; 
 for my part, I think she is little better than a downright 
 simpleton ; but, however, simple or not, I'll get what I 
 want out of her ; she'll be able to speak, maybe, when she 
 has settled the grand matter of the broth. I'll step in 
 and ask to see her mother ; that will put her in a good 
 humour in a trice." 
 
 Barbara followed Susan into the cottage, and found her 
 occupied with the grand affair of the broth. 
 
 " Is it ready?" said Bab, peeping into the pot that was 
 over the fire: "dear, how savoury it smells ! I'll wait till 
 you go in with it to your mother ; for I must ask her how 
 she does, myself." 
 
 " Will you please to sit down then, miss," said Simple 
 Susan, with a smile ; for at this instant she forgot the 
 guinea-hen. " I have but just put the parsley into the 
 broth, but it soon will be ready." 
 
 During this interval Bab employed herself, much to her 
 own satisfaction, in cross-questioning Susan. She was 
 rather provoked indeed that she could not learn exactly 
 how each of the ladies was dressed, and what there was to 
 be for dinner at The Abbey ; and she was curious beyond 
 measure to find out what Miss Somers meant, by saying 
 that she would call at Mr. Price's cottage at six o'clock in 
 the evening. " What do you think she could mean ? " 
 
 " I thought she meant what she said," replied Susan, 
 " that she would come here at six o'clock." 
 
 " Aye, that's as plain as a pike-staff," said Barbara ; 
 " but what else did she mean, think you ? People, you 
 know, don't always mean exactly, downright, neither more 
 nor less than they say." 
 
 " Not always," said Susan, with an arch smile, which 
 convinced Barbara that she was not quite a simpleton. 
 
 "Not always" repeated Barbara, colouring; "oh, then, 
 I suppose you have some guess at what Miss Somers 
 meant." 
 
 " No," said Susan, " I was not thinking about Miss 
 Somers, when I said not always." 
 
 " How nice that broth does look," resumed Barbara, after 
 a pause. 
 
 no 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 Susan had now poured the broth into a basin, and as she 
 strewed over it the bright orange marigolds, it looked very 
 tempting ; she tasted it, and added now a little salt, and 
 now a little more, till she thought it was just to her 
 mother's taste. 
 
 " Oh, / must taste it," said Bab, taking the basin up 
 greedily. 
 
 " Won't you take a spoon ? " said Susan, trembling at 
 the large mouthfuls which Barbara sucked up with a terrible 
 noise. 
 
 "Take a spoon, indeed!" exclaimed Barbara, setting 
 down the basin in high anger. " The next time I taste 
 your broth you shall affront me, if you dare ! The next 
 time I set my foot in this house, you shall be as saucy to 
 me as you please." And she flounced out of the house ex- 
 claiming " Take a spoon, pig, was what you meant to say." 
 
 Susan stood in amazement at the beginning of this 
 speech, but the concluding words explained to her the 
 mystery. 
 
 Some years before this time, when Susan was a very 
 little girl, and could scarcely speak plain, as she was eating 
 a basin of bread and milk for her supper at the cottage 
 door, a great pig came up, and put his nose into the basin. 
 Susan was willing that the pig should have some share of 
 the bread and milk ; but as she ate with a spoon, and he 
 with his large mouth, she presently discovered that he was 
 likely to have more than his share ; and in a simple tone 
 of expostulation she said to him, " Take a poou, pig." x 
 The saying became proverbial in the village ; Susan's little 
 companions repeated it, and applied it upon many occasions, 
 whenever anyone claimed more than his share of anything 
 good. Barbara, who was then not Miss Barbara, but plain 
 Bab, and who played with all the poor children in the 
 neighbourhood, was often reproved in her unjust methods 
 of division by Susan's proverb. Susan, as she grew up, 
 forgot the childish saying ; but the remembrance of it 
 rankled in Barbara's mind, and it was to this that she 
 suspected Susan had alluded, when she recommended a 
 spoon to her, whilst she was swallowing the basin of broth, 
 1 This is a true anecdote. 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 " La ! miss," said Barbara's maid, when she found her 
 mistress in a passion upon her return from Susan's, " I only 
 wondered you did her the honour to set your foot within 
 her doors. What need have you to trouble her for news 
 about The Abbey folks, when your own papa has been there 
 all the morning, and is just come in, and can tell you 
 everything ? " 
 
 Barbara did not know that her father meant to go to The 
 Abbey that morning, for Attorney Case was mysterious, 
 even to his own family, about his morning rides. He never 
 chose to be asked where he was going, or where he had 
 been, and this made his servants more than commonly 
 inquisitive to trace him. 
 
 Barbara, against whose apparent childishness and real 
 cunning he was not sufficiently upon his guard, had often 
 the art of drawing him into conversation about his visits. 
 She ran into her father's parlour; but she knew, the moment 
 she saw his face, that it was no time to ask questions ; his 
 pen was across his mouth, and his brown wig pushed 
 obliquely upon his contracted forehead — the wig was always 
 pushed crooked whenever he was in a brown, or rather a 
 black study. Barbara, who did not, like Susan, bear with 
 her father's testy humour from affection and gentleness of 
 disposition, but who always humoured him from artifice, 
 tried all her skill to fathom his thoughts ; and when she 
 found that it would not do, she went to tell her maid so, 
 and to complain that her father was so cross there was no 
 bearing him. 
 
 It is true that Attorney Case was not in the happiest 
 mood possible, for he was by no means satisfied with his 
 morning's work at The Abbey. Sir Arthur Somers, the 
 new man, did not suit him, and he began to be rather 
 apprehensive that he should not suit Sir Arthur. He had 
 sound reasons for his doubts. 
 
 Sir Arthur Somers was an excellent lawyer, and a 
 perfectly honest man. This seemed to our attorney a 
 contradiction in terms : in the course of his practice the 
 case had not occurred, and he had no precedents ready to 
 direct his proceedings. 
 
 Sir Arthur Somers was a man of wit and eloquence, yet 
 
 112 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 of plain dealing and humanity. The attorney could not 
 persuade himself to believe that the benevolence was any- 
 thing but enlightened cunning, and the plain dealing he 
 one minute dreaded as the masterpiece of art, and the next 
 despised as the characteristic of folly. In short, he had 
 not yet decided whether he was an honest man or a knave. 
 He had settled accounts with him for his late agency, he 
 had talked about sundry matters of business, he constantly 
 perceived that he could not impose upon Sir Arthur ; but, 
 that he could know all the mazes of the law, and yet prefer 
 the straight road, was incomprehensible. 
 
 Mr. Case paid him some compliments on his great legal 
 abilities, and his high reputation at the bar. 
 
 " I have left the bar," replied Sir Arthur, coolly. 
 
 The attorney looked in unfeigned astonishment when a 
 man was actually making ^3,000 per annum at the bar, 
 that he should leave it. 
 
 "I am come," said he, "to enjoy the kind of domestic 
 life which I prefer to all others, in the country, amongst 
 people whose happiness I hope to increase." 
 
 At this speech the attorney changed his ground, flattering 
 himself that he should find his man averse to business, and 
 ignorant of country affairs. He talked of the value of land, 
 and of new leases. 
 
 Sir Arthur wished to enlarge his domain, to make a ride 
 round it. A map of the domain was upon the table ; 
 Farmer Price's garden came exactly across the new road 
 for the ride. Sir Arthur looked disappointed ; and the 
 keen attorney seized the moment to inform him that 
 " Price's whole land was at his disposal." 
 
 " At my disposal ! how so ? " cried Sir Arthur, eagerly ; 
 " it will not be out of lease, I believe, these ten years. 
 I'll look into the rent roll again, perhaps I am mis- 
 taken." 
 
 " You are mistaken, my good sir, and you are not mis- 
 taken," said Mr. Case, with a shrewd smile ; " the land will 
 not be out of lease these ten years, in one sense, and in 
 another it is out of lease at this time being. To come to 
 the point at once, the lease is, ab origine, null and void. I 
 have detected a capital flaw in the body of it ; I pledge 
 
 113 1 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 my credit upon it, sir ; it can't stand a single term in law 
 or equity." 
 
 The attorney observed, that at these words Sir Arthur's 
 eye was fixed with a look of earnest attention. " Now I 
 have him ! " said the cunning tempter to himself. 
 
 " Neither in law nor equity," repeated Sir Arthur, with 
 apparent incredulity. "Are you sure of that, Mr. Case?" 
 
 " Sure ! As I told you before, sir, I'd pledge my whole 
 credit upon the thing — I'd stake my existence." 
 
 " That's something," said Sir Arthur, as if he was ponder- 
 ing upon the matter. 
 
 The attorney went on with all the eagerness of a keen 
 man, who sees a chance at one stroke of winning a rich 
 friend, and of ruining a poor enemy ; he explained, with 
 legal volubility and technical amplification, the nature of 
 the mistake in Mr. Price's lease. 
 
 " It was, sir," said he, "a lease for the life of Peter Price, 
 Susanna his wife, and to the survivor or survivors of them, 
 or for the full time and term of twenty years, to be com- 
 puted from the first day of May then next ensuing. Now, 
 sir, this, you see, is a lease in reversion, which the late Sir 
 Benjamin Somers had not, by his settlement, a right to 
 make. This is a curious mistake, you see, Sir Arthur, and 
 in filling up those printed leases there's always a good 
 chance of some flaw. I find it perpetually ; but I never 
 found a better than this in the whole course of my 
 practice." 
 
 Sir Arthur stood in silence. 
 
 " My dear sir," said the attorney, taking him by the 
 button, " you have no scruple of stirring in this business ? " 
 
 " A little," said Sir Arthur. 
 
 " Why, then, that can be done away in a moment ; your 
 name shall not appear in it at all ; you have nothing to do 
 but to make over the lease to me — I make all safe to you 
 with my bond. Now, being in possession, I come forward 
 in my own proper person. Shall I proceed ? " 
 
 " No ; you have said enough," replied Sir Arthur. 
 
 " The case, indeed, lies in a nutshell," said the attorney, 
 who had by this time worked himself up to such a pitch of 
 professional enthusiasm, that, intent upon his vision of a 
 
 114 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 lawsuit, he totally forgot to observe the impression his 
 words made upon Sir Arthur. 
 
 " There's only one thing we have forgotten all this time," 
 said Sir Arthur. 
 
 " What can that be, sir ? " 
 
 " That we shall ruin this poor man." 
 
 Case was thunderstruck at these words, or rather, by 
 the look which accompanied them. He recollected that he 
 had laid himself open, before he was sure of Sir Arthur's 
 real character. He softened, and said he should have 
 had certainly more consideration in the case of any but a 
 litigious, pig-headed fellow, as he knew Price to be. 
 
 " If he be litigious," said Sir Arthur, " I shall certainly 
 be glad to get him fairly out of the parish as soon as 
 possible. When you go home, you will be so good, sir, as 
 to send me his lease, that I may satisfy myself before I stir 
 in this business." 
 
 The attorney, brightening up, prepared to take leave ; 
 but he could not persuade himself to take -his departure, 
 without making one push at Sir Arthur about the agency. 
 
 " I will not trouble you, Sir Arthur, with this lease of 
 Price's," said he ; " I'll leave it with your agent. Whom 
 shall I apply to ? " 
 
 " To myself, sir, if you please," replied Sir Arthur. 
 
 The courtiers of Louis the Fourteenth could not have 
 looked more astounded than our attorney, when they re- 
 ceived from their monarch a similar answer. It was this 
 unexpected reply of Sir Arthur's which had deranged the 
 temper of Mr. Case, which had caused his wig to stand so 
 crooked upon his forehead, and which rendered him im- 
 penetrably silent to his inquisitive daughter Barbara. After 
 walking up and down his room, conversing with himself, 
 for some time, he concluded that the agency must be given 
 to somebody when Sir Arthur should go to attend his duty 
 in Parliament ; that the agency, even for the winter season, 
 was not a thing to be neglected ; and that, if he managed 
 well, he might yet secure it for himself. He had often 
 found that small timely presents worked wonderfully upon 
 his own mind, and he judged of others by himself. The 
 tenants had been in the reluctant, but constant, practice of 
 
 ii5 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 making him continual petty offerings; and he resolved to 
 try the same course with Sir Arthur, whose resolution to be 
 his own agent, he thought, argued a close, saving, avaricious 
 disposition. 
 
 He had heard the housekeeper at The Abbey inquiring, 
 as he passed through the servants' hall, whether there was 
 any lamb to be got? She said that Sir Arthur was re- 
 markably fond of lamb, and that she wished she could get 
 a quarter for him. 
 
 Immediately he sallied into his kitchen, as soon as the 
 idea struck him, and asked a shepherd, who was waiting 
 there, whether he knew of a nice fat lamb to be had 
 anywhere in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " I know of one," cried Barbara ; " Susan Price has a pet 
 lamb, that's as fat as fat can be." 
 
 The attorney eagerly caught at these words, and speedily 
 devised a scheme for obtaining Susan's lamb for nothing. 
 
 It would be something strange if an attorney of his 
 talents and standing was not an over-match for Simple 
 Susan. He prowled forth in search of his prey. He 
 found Susan packing up her father's little wardrobe ; and 
 when she looked up as she knelt, he saw that she had been 
 in tears. 
 
 " How is your mother to-day, Susan ? " 
 
 " Worse, sir. My father goes to-morrow." 
 
 " That's a pity." 
 
 " It can't be helped," said Susan, with a sigh. 
 
 " It can't be helped — how do you know that? " said he. 
 
 " Sir ! dear sir ! " cried she, looking up at him, and a 
 sudden ray of hope beamed in her ingenuous countenance. 
 
 " And if you could help it, Susan ? " 
 
 Susan clasped her hands in silence, more expressive than 
 words. 
 
 " You can help it, Susan." 
 
 She started up in ecstasy. 
 
 " What would you give now to have your father at home 
 for a whole week longer ? " 
 
 " Anything ! but I have nothing." 
 
 " Yes, but you have a lamb," said the hard-hearted 
 attorney. 
 
 116 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 " My poor little lamb ! " said Susan ; " but what good can 
 that do ? " 
 
 " What good can any lamb do ? Is not lamb good to 
 eat ? Why do you look so pale, girl ? Are not sheep 
 killed every day ? and don't you eat mutton ? Is your 
 lamb better than anybody else's, think you ? " 
 
 " I don't know, but I love it better." 
 
 " More fool you." 
 
 "It feeds out of my hand ; it follows me about ; I have 
 always taken care of it ; my mother gave it to me." 
 
 " Well, say no more about it, then ; if you love your 
 lamb better than your father and your mother both, keep 
 it, and good morning to you." 
 
 " Stay, oh stay ! " cried Susan, catching the skirt of his 
 coat with an eager, trembling hand ; — " a whole week, did 
 you say ? My mother may get better in that time. No, I 
 do not love my lamb half so well." 
 
 The struggle of her mind ceased, and with a placid 
 countenance and calm voice, " Take the lamb," said she. 
 
 " Where is it ? " said the attorney. 
 
 " Grazing in the meadow, by the river-side." 
 
 " It must be brought up before night-fall for the butcher, 
 remember." 
 
 " I shall not forget it," said Susan, steadily. 
 
 But as soon as her persecutor turned his back and 
 quitted the house, she sat down, and hid her face in her 
 hands. She was soon roused by the sound of her mother's 
 feeble voice, who was calling Susan from the inner room, 
 where she lay. Susan went in, but did not undraw the 
 curtain as she stood beside the bed. 
 
 "Are you there, love? Undraw the curtain, that I may 
 see you, and tell me — I thought I heard some strange 
 voice just now talking to my child. Something's amiss, 
 Susan," said her mother, raising herself as well as she 
 was able in the bed, to examine her daughter's counten- 
 ance. 
 
 " Would you think it amiss, then, my dear mother," said 
 Susan, stooping to kiss her, " would you think it amiss, if 
 my father was to stay with us a week longer ? " 
 
 " Susan ! you don't say so ? " 
 
 117 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 " He is indeed, a whole week ; — but how burning hot 
 your hand is still." 
 
 "Are you sure he will stay? How do you know? Who 
 told you so? Tell me all, quick." 
 
 " Attorney Case told me so ; he can get him a week's 
 longer leave of absence, and he has promised he will." 
 
 " God bless him for it, for ever and ever ! " said the poor 
 woman, joining her hands. " May the blessing of Heaven be 
 with him ! " 
 
 Susan closed the curtains, and was silent — she could not 
 say Amen. 
 
 She was called out of the room at this moment ; for a 
 messenger was come from The Abbey for the bread bills. 
 It was she who always made out the bills, for though she 
 had not had a great number of lessons from the writing- 
 master, she had taken so much pains to learn that she 
 could write a very neat, legible hand, and she found this 
 very useful. She was not, to be sure, particularly inclined 
 to draw out a long bill at this instant, but business must be 
 done. She set to work, ruled her lines for the pounds, 
 shillings and pence, made out the bills for The Abbey, and 
 dispatched the impatient messenger. Then she resolved to 
 make out all the bills for the neighbours, who had many 
 of them taken a few loaves and rolls of her baking. 
 
 "I had better get all my business finished," said she to 
 herself, " before I go down to the meadow to take leave of 
 my poor lamb." 
 
 This was sooner said than done ; for she found that she 
 had a great number of bills to write, and the slate on which 
 she had entered the account was not immediately to be 
 found, and when it was found the figures were almost 
 rubbed out. Barbara had sat down upon it. Susan 
 pored over the number of loaves, and the names of the 
 persons who took them ; and she wrote, and cast up sums, 
 and corrected and re-corrected them, till her head grew 
 quite puzzled. 
 
 The table was covered with little square bits of paper, 
 on which she had been writing bills over and over again, 
 when her father came in with a bill in his hand. 
 
 " How's this, Susan ? " said he ; " how can ye be so care- 
 
 118 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 less, child ? What is your head running upon ? Here, 
 look at the bill you were sending up to The Abbey! I 
 met the messenger, and luckily asked to see how much it 
 was. Look at it." 
 
 Susan looked and blushed ; it was written, " Sir Arthur 
 Somers, to John Price, debtor, six dozen lambs" so much. 
 She altered it, and returned it to her father; but he 
 had taken up some of the papers which lay upon the 
 table. 
 
 " What are all these, child ? " 
 
 " Some of them are wrong, and I've written them out 
 again," said Susan. 
 
 " Some of them ! All of them, I think, seem to be 
 wrong, if I can read," said her father, rather angrily ; and 
 he pointed out sundry strange mistakes. 
 
 Her head, indeed, had been running upon her poor lamb. 
 She corrected all the mistakes with so much patience, and 
 bore to be blamed with so much good humour, that her 
 father at last said, that it was impossible ever to scold 
 Susan, without being in the wrong at last. 
 
 As soon as ail was set right, he took the bills, and said 
 he would go round to the neighbours, and collect the 
 money himself, for that he should be very proud to have 
 it to say to them, that it was all earned by his own little 
 daughter. 
 
 Susan resolved to keep the pleasure of telling him of his 
 week's reprieve till he should come home to sup, as he had 
 promised to do, in her mother's room. She was not sorry 
 to hear him sigh as he passed the knapsack, which she had 
 been packing up for his journey. 
 
 " How delighted he will be when he hears the good 
 news!" said she to herself; "but I know he will be a 
 little sorry too for my poor lamb." 
 
 As she had now settled all her business, she thought she 
 could have time to go down to the meadow by the river 
 side to see her favourite ; but just as she had tied on her 
 straw hat the village clock struck four, and this was the 
 hour at which she always went to fetch her little brothers 
 home from a dame-school near the village. She knew that 
 they would be disappointed if she was later than usual, and 
 
 119 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 she did not like to keep them waiting, because they were 
 very patient, good boys ; so she put off the visit to her 
 lamb, and went immediately for her brothers. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Ev'n in the spring and playtime of the year. 
 That calls th' unwonted villager abroad, 
 With all her little ones, a sportive train, 
 To gather king-cups in the yellow mead, 
 And prink their hair with daisies. — COWPER. 
 
 THE dame-school, which was about a mile from the hamlet, 
 was not a splendid mansion ; but it was reverenced as 
 much by the young race of village scholars as if it had 
 been the most stately edifice in the land ; it was a low- 
 roofed, long, thatched tenement, sheltered by a few reverend 
 oaks, under which many generations of hopeful children 
 had in their turn gambolled. The close-shaven green, 
 which sloped down from the hatch-door of the schoolroom, 
 was paled round with a rude paling, which, though decayed 
 in some parts by time, was not in any place broken by 
 violence. The place bespoke order and peace. The dame 
 who governed was well obeyed, because she was just ; and 
 well beloved, because she was ever glad to give well-earned 
 praise and pleasure to her little subjects. 
 
 Susan had once been under her gentle dominion, and 
 had been deservedly her favourite scholar ; the dame often 
 cited her as the best example to the succeeding tribe of 
 emulous youngsters. 
 
 Susan had scarcely opened the wicket which separated 
 the green before the schoolroom door from the lane, when 
 she heard the merry voices of the children, and saw the 
 little troop issuing from the hatchway, and spreading over 
 the green. 
 
 " Oh, there's our Susan ! " cried her two little brothers, 
 running, leaping, and bounding up to her ; and many of 
 the other rosy girls and boys crowded round her to talk of 
 their plays ; for Susan was easily interested in all that 
 
 120 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 made others happy ; but she could not make them com- 
 prehend, that, if they all spoke at once, it was not possible 
 that she could hear what was said. The voices were still 
 raised one above another, all eager to establish some 
 important observation about ninepins, or marbles, or tops, 
 or bows and arrows, when suddenly music was heard, 
 unusual music, and the crowd was silenced. The music 
 seemed to be near the spot where the children were 
 standing, and they looked round to see whence it could come. 
 
 Susan pointed to the great oak-tree, and they beheld, 
 seated under its shade, an old man playing upon his harp. 
 
 The children all approached — at first timidly, for the 
 sounds were solemn ; but as the harper heard their little 
 footsteps coming towards him, he changed his hand, and 
 played one of his most lively tunes. The circle closed, 
 and pressed nearer and nearer to him ; some who were in 
 the foremost row whispered to each other, " He is blind ; 
 what a pity ! " and " He looks very poor ; what a ragged 
 coat he wears ! " said others. " He must be very old, for 
 all his hair is white ; and he must have travelled a great 
 way, for his shoes are quite worn out," observed another. 
 
 All these remarks were made whilst he was tuning his 
 harp, for when he once more began to play, not a word was 
 uttered. He seemed pleased by their simple exclamations 
 of wonder and delight, and, eager to amuse his young 
 audience, he played now a gay and now a pathetic air, to 
 suit their several humours. 
 
 Susan's voice, which was soft and sweet, expressive of 
 gentleness and good nature, caught his ear the moment she 
 spoke ; he turned his face eagerly to the place where she 
 stood, and it was observed, that whenever she said that she 
 liked any tune particularly he played it over again. 
 
 " I am blind," said the old man, " and cannot see your 
 faces, but I know you all asunder by your voices, and I 
 can guess pretty well at all your humours and characters 
 by your voices." 
 
 " Can you so, indeed ? " cried Susan's little brother 
 William, who had stationed himself between the old man's 
 knees. " Then you heard my sister Susan speak just now. 
 Can you tell us what sort of a person she is ? " 
 
 121 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 " That I can, I think, without being a conjuror," said the 
 old man, lifting the boy upon his knee ; " your sister Susan 
 is good-natured." 
 
 The boy clapped his hands. 
 
 " And good-tempered." 
 
 " Right," said little William, with a louder clap of 
 applause. 
 
 " And very fond of the little boy who sits upon my 
 knee." 
 
 " Oh, right ! right ! quite right ! " exclaimed the child, 
 and " quite right " echoed on all sides. 
 
 " But how came you to know so much, when you are 
 blind ? " said William, examining the old man attentively. 
 
 " Hush," said John, who was a year older than his 
 brother, and very sage, " you should not put him in mind 
 of his being blind." 
 
 " Though I am blind," said the harper, " I can hear, you 
 know, and I heard from your sister herself all that I told 
 you of her, that she was good-tempered and good-natured, 
 and fond of you." 
 
 " Oh, that's wrong — you did not hear all that from herself, 
 I'm sure," said John, " for nobody ever hears her praising 
 herself." 
 
 " Did not I hear her tell you, when you first came round 
 me, that she was in a great hurry to go home, but that she 
 would stay a little while, since you wished it so much ? 
 Was not that good-natured ? And when you said you did 
 not like the tune she liked best, she was not angry with 
 you, but said, ' Then play William's first, if you please,' — 
 was not that good-tempered ? " 
 
 "Oh," interrupted William, "it's all true; but how did 
 you find out that she was fond of me ? " 
 
 " That is such a difficult question," said the harper, " that 
 I must take time to consider." He tuned his harp as he 
 pondered, or seemed to ponder ; and at this instant two 
 boys who had been searching for birds'-nests in the hedges, 
 and who had heard the sound of the harp, came blustering 
 up, and, pushing their way through the circle, one of them 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " What's going on here ? Who are you, my old fellow? 
 
^jRe ofd Ziar^r 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 A blind harper ! Well, play us a tune, if you can play 
 ever a good one — play me — let's see, what shall he play, 
 Bob ? " added he, turning to his companinon. " Bumper 
 Squire Jones." 
 
 The old man, though he did not seem quite pleased 
 with the peremptory manner of the request, played, as he 
 was desired, " Bumper Squire Jones " ; and several other 
 tunes were afterwards bespoken by the same rough and 
 tyrannical voice. 
 
 The little children shrunk back in timid silence, and eyed 
 the great brutal boy with dislike. 
 
 This boy was the son of Attorney Case, and as his father 
 had neglected to correct his temper when he was a child, 
 as he grew up it became insufferable : all who were younger 
 and weaker than himself dreaded his approach, and detested 
 him as a tyrant. 
 
 When the old harper was so tired that he could play no 
 more, a lad who usually carried his harp for him, and who 
 was within call, came up, and held his master's hat to the 
 company, saying, " Will you be pleased to remember us ? " 
 The children readily produced their halfpence, and thought 
 their wealth well bestowed upon this poor, good-natured 
 man, who had taken so much pains to entertain them, 
 better even than upon the gingerbread-woman, whose stall 
 they loved to frequent. The hat was held some time to the 
 attorney's son before he chose to see it ; at last he put his 
 hand surlily into his waistcoat pocket, and pulled out a 
 shilling — there were sixpennyworth of halfpence in the hat 
 — " I'll take these halfpence," said he, " and here's a shilling 
 for you." 
 
 " Bless you, sir," said the lad ; but as he took the shilling, 
 which the young gentleman had slily put into the blind 
 man's hand, he saw that it was not worth one farthing. 
 
 " I am afraid it is not good, sir," said the lad, whose 
 business it was to examine the money for his master. 
 
 " I am afraid, then, you'll get no other," said young Case, 
 with an insulting laugh. 
 
 "It never will do, sir," persisted the lad; "look at it 
 yourself ; the edges are all yellow ; you can see the copper 
 through it quite plain ; sir, nobody will take it from us." 
 
 I2 5 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 " That's your affair," said the brutal boy, pushing away 
 his hand ; " you may pass it, you know, as well as I do, if 
 you look sharp — you have taken it from me, and I sha'n't 
 take it back again, I promise you." 
 
 A whisper of " that's very unjust," was heard. 
 
 The little assembly, though under evident constraint, 
 could no longer suppress their indignation. 
 
 "Who says it's unjust?" cried the tyrant, sternly, looking 
 down upon his judges. 
 
 Susan's little brothers had held her gown fast, to prevent 
 her from moving at the beginning of this contest, and she 
 was now so much interested to see the end of it, that she 
 stood still, without making any resistance. 
 
 " Is anyone here amongst yourselves a judge of silver ? " 
 said the old man. 
 
 " Yes, here's the butcher's boy," said the attorney's son ; 
 " show it to him." 
 
 He was a sickly-looking boy, and of a remarkably peace- 
 ful disposition. 
 
 Young Case fancied that he would be afraid to give 
 judgment against him ; however, after some moments' 
 hesitation, and after turning the shilling round several 
 times, he pronounced, " that, as far as his judgment went, 
 but he did not pretend to be downright certain sure of it, 
 the shilling was not over and above good." Then turning 
 to Susan, to screen himself from manifest danger, for the 
 attorney's son looked upon him with a vengeful mien, " But 
 here's Susan here, who understands- silver a great deal 
 better than I do ; she takes a power of it for bread, you 
 know." 
 
 " I'll leave it to her," said the old harper ; " if she says 
 the shilling is good, keep it, Jack." 
 
 The shilling was handed to Susan, who, though she had 
 with becoming modesty forborne all interference, did not 
 hesitate, when she was called upon, to speak the truth : " I 
 think that this shilling is a bad one," said she ; and the 
 gentle but firm tone in which she pronounced the words, 
 for a moment awed and silenced the angry and brutal boy. 
 
 " There's another, then," cried he ; " I have sixpences 
 and shillings too in plenty, thank my stars." 
 
 126 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 Susan now walked away with her two little brothers, and 
 all the other children separated to go to their several homes. 
 
 The old harper called to Susan, and begged, that if she 
 was going towards the village, she would be so kind as to 
 show him the way. 
 
 His lad took up his harp, and little William took the old 
 man by the hand : " I'll lead him, I can lead him," said he; 
 and John ran on before them, to gather king-cups in the 
 meadow. 
 
 There was a small rivulet, which they had to cross, and 
 as the plank which served for a bridge over it was rather 
 narrow, Susan was afraid to trust the old blind man to his 
 little conductor ; she therefore went on the tottering plank 
 first herself, and then led the old harper carefully over. 
 They were now come to a gate, which opened upon the 
 high road to the village. 
 
 " There is the high road straight before you," said Susan 
 to the lad, who was carrying his master's harp ; " you can't 
 miss it. Now I must bid you a good evening ; for I'm in 
 a great hurry to get home, and must go the short way 
 across the fields here, which would not be so pleasant for 
 you, because of the stiles. Good-bye." 
 
 The old harper thanked her, and went along the high 
 road, whilst she and her brothers tripped on as fast as they 
 could by the short way across the fields. 
 
 " Miss Somers, I am afraid, will be waiting for us," said 
 Susan. " You know she said she would call at six ; and 
 by the length of our shadows I'm sure it is late." 
 
 When they came to their own cottage-door, they heard 
 many voices, and they saw, when they entered, several 
 ladies standing in the kitchen. 
 
 " Come in, Susan ; we thought you had quite forsaken 
 us," said Miss Somers to Susan, who advanced timidly. 
 " I fancy you forgot that we promised to pay you a visit 
 this evening ; but you need not blush so much about the 
 matter, there is no great harm done ; we have only been 
 here about five minutes, and we have been well employed 
 in admiring your neat garden, and your orderly shelves. 
 Is it you, Susan, who keep these things in such nice order?" 
 continued Miss Somers, looking round the kitchen. 
 
 127 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 Before Susan could reply, little William pushed forward, 
 and answered, " Yes, ma'am ; it is my sister Susan that 
 keeps everything neat ; and she always comes to school for 
 us, too, which was what caused her to be so late." " Because 
 as how," continued John, " she was loth to refuse us hearing 
 a blind man play on the harp — it was we kept her, and we 
 hopes, ma'am, as you are — as you seem so good, you won't 
 take it amiss." 
 
 Miss Somers and her sister smiled at the affectionate 
 simplicity with which Susan's little brothers undertook her 
 defence, and they were, from this slight circumstance, 
 disposed to think yet more favourably of a family which 
 seemed so well united. 
 
 They took Susan along with them through the village ; 
 many came to their doors, and, far from envying, all 
 secretly wished Susan well as she passed. 
 
 " I fancy we shall find what we want here," said Miss 
 Somers, stopping before a shop, where unfolded sheets of 
 pins and glass buttons glistened in the window, and where 
 rolls of many-coloured ribbons appeared ranged in tempting 
 order. She went in, and was rejoiced to see the shelves at 
 the back of the counter well furnished with glossy tiers of 
 stuffs, and gay, neat printed linens and calicoes. 
 
 " Now, Susan, choose yourself a gown," said Miss Somers ; 
 "you set an example of industry and good conduct, of 
 which we wish to take public notice, for the benefit of 
 others." 
 
 The shopkeeper, who was father to Susan's friend Rose, 
 looked much satisfied by this speech, and, as if a compli- 
 ment had been paid to himself, bowed low to Miss Somers, 
 and then with alertness, which a London linendraper might 
 have admired, produced piece after piece of his best goods 
 to his young customer — unrolled, unfolded, held the bright 
 stuffs and calendered calicoes in various lights. Now 
 stretched his arm to the highest shelves, and brought down 
 in a trice what seemed to be beyond the reach of any but 
 a giant's arm ; now dived into some hidden recess beneath 
 the counter, and brought to light fresh beauties and fresh 
 temptations. 
 
 Susan looked on with more indifference than most of 
 
 128 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 the spectators. She was thinking much of her lamb, and 
 more of her father. 
 
 Miss Somers had put a bright guinea into her hand, and 
 had bid her pay for her own gown ; but Susan, as she 
 looked at the guinea, thought it was a great deal of money 
 to lay out upon herself, and she wished, but did not know 
 how to ask, that she might keep it for a better purpose. 
 
 Some people are wholly inattentive to the lesser feelings, 
 and incapable of reading the countenances of those on 
 whom they bestow their bounty. Miss Somers and her 
 sister were not of this roughly-charitable class. 
 
 " She does not like any of these things," whispered Miss 
 Somers to her sister. 
 
 Her sister observed, that Susan looked as if her thoughts 
 were far distant from gowns. 
 
 "If you don't fancy any of these things," said the civil 
 shopkeeper to Susan, " we shall have a new assortment of 
 calicoes for the spring season, soon from town." 
 
 " Oh," interrupted Susan, with a smile and a blush, " these 
 are all pretty, and too good for me, but " 
 
 " But what, Susan ?" said Miss Somers. "Tell us what 
 is passing in your little mind." 
 
 Susan hesitated. 
 
 " Well then, we will not press you ; you are scarcely 
 acquainted with us yet ; when you are, you will not be 
 afraid, I hope, to speak your mind. Put this shining 
 yellow counter," continued she, pointing to the guinea, " in 
 your pocket, and make what use of it you please. From 
 what we know, and from what we have heard of you, we 
 are persuaded that you will make a good use of it." 
 
 " I think, madam," said the master of the shop, with a 
 shrewd, good-natured look, " I could give a pretty good 
 guess myself what will become of that guinea — but I say 
 nothing." 
 
 " No, that is right," said Miss Somers ; " we leave Susan 
 entirely at liberty ; and now we will not detain her any 
 longer. Good-night, Susan, we shall soon come again to 
 your neat cottage." 
 
 Susan curtsied with an expressive look of gratitude, and 
 with a modest frankness in her countenance, which seemed 
 
 129 K 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 to say, " I would tell you, and welcome, what I want to do 
 with the guinea — but I am not used to speak before so 
 many people ; when you come to our cottage again you 
 shall know all." 
 
 When Susan had departed, Miss Somers turned to the 
 obliging shopkeeper, who was folding up all the things he 
 had opened. " You have had a great deal of trouble with 
 us, sir," said she ; " and since Susan will not choose a gown 
 for herself, I must." 
 
 She selected the prettiest ; and whilst the man was 
 rolling it in paper, she asked him several questions about 
 Susan and her family, which he was delighted to answer, 
 because he had now an opportunity of saying as much as 
 he wished in her praise. 
 
 " No later back, ma'am, than last May morning," said he, 
 " as my daughter Rose was telling us, Susan did a turn, in 
 her quiet way, by her mother, that would not displease you 
 if you were to hear it. She was to have been Queen of the 
 May, ladies, which, in our little village, amongst the younger 
 tribe, is a thing, ladies, that is thought of a good deal — but 
 Susan's mother was ill, and Susan, after sitting up with her 
 all night, would not leave her in the morning, even when 
 they brought the crown to her. She put the crown upon 
 my daughter Rose's head with her own hands ; and, to be 
 sure, Rose loves her as well as if she was her own sister. 
 But I don't speak from partiality ; for I am no relation 
 whatever to the Prices — only a well-wisher, as every one, 
 I believe, who knows them, is. I'll send the parcel up to 
 The Abbey, shall I, ma'am ?" 
 
 " If you please," said Miss Somers, "and let us know 
 as soon as you receive your new things from town. You 
 will, I hope, find us good customers, and well-wishers," 
 added she, with a smile ; " for those who wish well to their 
 neighbours surely deserve to have well-wishers themselves." 
 
 A few words may encourage the benevolent passions, and 
 may dispose people to live in peace and happiness ; a few 
 words may set them at variance, and may lead to misery 
 and lawsuits. Attorney Case and Miss Somers were both 
 equally convinced of this, and their practice was uniformly 
 consistent with their principles. 
 
 130 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 But now to return to Susan. — She put the bright guinea 
 carefully into the glove with the twelve shillings, which she 
 had received from her companions on May-day. Besides 
 this treasure, she calculated that the amount of the bills for 
 bread could not be less than eight or nine and thirty 
 shillings ; and as her father was now sure of a week's 
 reprieve, she had great hopes that, by some means or other, 
 it might be possible to make up the whole sum necessary 
 to pay for a substitute. " If that could but be done," said 
 she to herself, "how happy would my mother be! She 
 would be quite stout again, for she certainly is a great deal 
 better since morning, since I told her that father would 
 stay a week longer. Ah ! but she would not have blessed 
 Attorney Case, though, if she had known about my poor 
 Daisy." 
 
 Susan took the path that led to the meadow by the 
 water-side, resolved to go by herself, and take leave of her 
 innocent favourite. But she did not pass by unperceived : 
 her little brothers were watching for her return, and, as soon 
 as they saw her, they ran after her, and overtook her as she 
 reached the meadow. 
 
 " What did that good lady want with you ? " cried 
 William ; but looking up in his sister's face, he saw tears 
 in her eyes, and he was silent, and walked on quietly. 
 Susan saw her lamb by the water-side. 
 " Who are those two men ? " said William. " What are 
 they going to do with Daisy ? " 
 
 The two men were Attorney Case and the butcher. The 
 butcher was feeling whether the lamb was fat. 
 
 Susan sat down upon the bank in silent sorrow ; her 
 little brothers ran up to the butcher, and demanded 
 whether he was going to do any harm to the lamb. 
 
 The butcher did not answer, but the attorney replied," It 
 is not your sister's lamb any longer ; it's mine — mine to all 
 intents and purposes." 
 
 " Yours ! " cried the children, with terror ; " and will you 
 kill it?" 
 
 " That's the butcher's business." 
 
 The little boys now burst into piercing lamentations ; 
 they pushed away the butcher's hand, they threw their arms 
 
 131 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 round the neck of the lamb, they kissed its forehead — it 
 bleated. 
 
 " It will not bleat to-morrow," said William, and he wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 The butcher looked aside, and hastily rubbed his eyes 
 with the corner of his blue apron. 
 
 The attorney stood unmoved ; he pulled up the head of 
 the lamb, which had just stooped to crop a mouthful of 
 clover. " I have no time to waste," said he ; " butcher, 
 you'll account with me. If it's fat — the sooner the better. 
 I've no more to say." And he walked off, deaf to the prayers 
 of the poor children. 
 
 As soon as the attorney was out of sight, Susan rose from 
 the bank where she was seated, came up to her lamb, and 
 stooped to gather some of the fresh dewy trefoil, to let it 
 eat out of her hand for the last time. Poor Daisy licked 
 her well-known hand. 
 
 " Now, let us go," said Susan. 
 
 " I'll wait as long as you please," said the butcher. 
 
 Susan thanked him, but walked away quickly, without 
 looking again at her lamb. 
 
 Her little brothers begged the man to stay a few minutes, 
 for they had gathered a handful of blue speedwell and 
 yellow crowsfoot, and they were decking the poor animal. 
 
 As it followed the boys through the village, the children 
 collected as they passed, and the butcher's own son was 
 among the number. Susan's steadiness about the bad 
 shilling was full in this boy's memory, it had saved him a 
 beating ; he went directly to his father to beg the life of 
 Susan's lamb. 
 
 " I was thinking about it, boy, myself," said the butcher ; 
 " it's a sin to kill a pet lamb, I'm thinking — any way, it's 
 what I'm not used to, and don't fancy doing, and I'll go 
 and say as much to Attorney Case — but he's a hard man ; 
 there's but one way to deal with him, and that's the way I 
 must take, though so be I shall be the loser thereby ; but 
 we'll say nothing to the boys, for fear it might be the thing 
 would not take, and then it would be worse again to poor 
 Susan, who is a good girl, and always was, as well she' may, 
 being of a good breed, and well reared from the first." 
 
 132 
 
V& T.fCamS 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 " Come, lads, don't keep a crowd and a scandal about my 
 door," continued he, aloud, to the children ; " turn the lamb 
 in here, John, in the paddock, for to-night, and go your 
 ways home." 
 
 The crowd dispersed, but murmured, and the butcher 
 went to the attorney. " Seeing that all you want is a good, 
 fat, tender lamb, for a present for Sir Arthur, as you told 
 me," said the butcher, " I could let you have what's as good 
 and better for your purpose." 
 
 " Better — if it's better, I'm ready to hear reason." 
 
 The butcher had choice, tender lamb, he said, fit to eat 
 the next day ; and as Mr. Case was impatient to make his 
 offering to Sir Arthur, he accepted the butcher's proposal, 
 though with such seeming reluctance, that he actually 
 squeezed out of him, before he would complete the bargain, 
 a bribe of a fine sweetbread. 
 
 In the mean time Susan's brothers ran home to tell her 
 that her lamb was put into the paddock for the night ; this 
 was all they knew, and even this was some comfort to her. 
 Rose, her good friend, was with her, and she had before 
 her the pleasure of telling her father of his week's reprieve. 
 Her mother was better, and even said she was determined 
 to sit up to supper in her wicker arm-chair. 
 
 Susan was getting things ready for supper, when little 
 William, who was standing at the house-door, watching in 
 the dusk for his father's return, suddenly exclaimed, " Susan ! 
 if here is not our old man ! " 
 
 " Yes," said the old harper, " I have found my way to 
 you ; the neighbours were kind enough to show me where- 
 abouts you lived ; for, though I didn't know your name, 
 they guessed whom I meant by what I said of you all." 
 
 Susan came to the door, and the old man was delighted 
 to hear her speak again. 
 
 " If it would not be too bold," said he, " I'm a stranger in 
 this part of the country, and come from afar off; my boy 
 has got a bed for himself here in the village ; but I have no 
 place — could you be so charitable to give an old blind man 
 a night's lodging ? " 
 
 Susan said she would step and ask her mother ; and she 
 soon returned with an answer, that he was heartily welcome, 
 
 J 35 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 if he could sleep upon the children's bed, which was but 
 small. 
 
 The old man thankfully entered the hospitable Cottage 
 — he struck his head against the low roof, as he stepped 
 over the door-sill. 
 
 " Many roofs that are twice as high are not half so good," 
 said he. 
 
 Of this he had just had experience at the house of 
 Attorney Case, where he had asked, but had been roughly 
 refused all assistance by Miss Barbara, who was, according 
 to her usual custom, standing staring at the hall-door. 
 
 The old man's harp was set down in Farmer Price's 
 kitchen, and he promised to play a tune for the boys before 
 they went to bed ; their mother giving them leave to sit up 
 to supper with their father. 
 
 He came home with a sorrowful countenance ; but how 
 soon did it brighten, when Susan, with a smile, said to him, 
 " Father, we've good news for you ! good news for us all ! — 
 You have a whole week longer to stay with us ; and per- 
 haps," continued she, putting her little purse into his hands, 
 — " perhaps with what's here, and the bread bills, and what 
 may somehow be got together before a week's at an end, we 
 may make up the nine guineas for the substitute, as they call 
 him : who knows, dear mother, but we may keep him with 
 us for ever ? " — As she spoke she threw her arms round her 
 father, who pressed her to his bosom without speaking, for 
 his heart was full. He was some little time before he could 
 perfectly believe that what he heard was true ; but the 
 revived smiles of his wife, the noisy joy of his little boys, 
 and the satisfaction that shone in Susan's countenance, 
 convinced him that he was not in a dream. 
 
 As they sat down to supper, the old harper was made 
 welcome to his share of the cheerful though frugal meal. 
 
 Susan's father, as soon as supper was finished, even 
 before he would let the harper play a tune for his boys, 
 opened the little purse which Susan had given to him ; he 
 was surprised at the sight of the twelve shillings, and still 
 more, when he came to the bottom of the purse, to see the 
 bright golden guinea. 
 
 " How did you come by all this money, Susan ? " said he. 
 
 136 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 " Honestly and handsomely, that I'm sure of beforehand," 
 said her proud mother ; " but how I can't make out, except 
 by the baking. Hey, Susan, is this your first baking?" 
 
 " Oh, no, no," said her father, " I have her first baking 
 snug here, besides, in my pocket. I kept it for a surprise, 
 to do your mother's heart good, Susan. Here's twenty- 
 nine shillings ; and The Abbey bill, which is not paid yet, 
 comes to ten more. What think you of this, wife ? Have 
 we not a right to be proud of our Susan ? Why," continued 
 he, turning to the harper, " I ask your pardon for speaking 
 out so free before strangers in praise of my own, which 
 I know is not mannerly ; but the truth is the fittest thing 
 to be spoken, as I think, at all times ; therefore, here's your 
 good health, Susan ; — why, by and by she'll be worth her 
 weight in gold — in silver at least. But tell us, child, how 
 you came by all this riches, and how comes it that I don't 
 go to-morrow ? All this happy news makes me so gay in 
 myself, I'm afraid I shall hardly understand it rightly. But 
 speak on, child — first bringing us a bottle of the good mead 
 you made last year from your own honey." 
 
 Susan did not much like to tell the history of her guinea- 
 hen — of the gown — and of her poor lamb. Part of this 
 would seem as if she was vaunting of her own generosity, 
 and part of it she did not like to recollect. But her mother 
 pressed to know the whole, and she related it as simply as 
 she could. When she came to the story of her lamb, her 
 voice faltered, and everybody present was touched. The 
 old harper sighed once, and cleared his throat several times 
 — he then asked for his harp, and, after tuning it for a con- 
 siderable time, he recollected — for he had often fits of 
 absence — that he sent for it to play the tune he had 
 promised to the boys. 
 
 This harper came from a great distance, from the moun- 
 tains of Wales, to contend with several other competitors 
 for a prize, which had been advertised by a musical society 
 about a year before this time. There was to be a splendid 
 ball given upon the occasion at Shrewsbury, which was 
 about five miles from our village. The prize was ten 
 guineas for the best performer on the harp, and the prize 
 was now to be decided in a few days. 
 
 *37 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 All this intelligence Barbara had long since gained from 
 her maid, who often went to visit in the town of Shrewsbury ; 
 and she had long had her imagination inflamed with the 
 idea of this splendid music-meeting and ball. Often had 
 she sighed to be there, and often had she revolved in her 
 mind schemes for introducing herself to some genteel neigh- 
 bours, who might take her to the ball in their carriage. 
 How rejoiced, how triumphant was she, when this very 
 evening, just about the time when the butcher was bargain- 
 ing with her father about Susan's lamb, a livery servant 
 from The Abbey rapped at the door, and left a card of 
 invitation for Mr. and Miss Barbara Case ! 
 
 " There," cried Bab, " I and papa are to dine and drink 
 tea at The Abbey to-morrow. Who knows ? I dare say, 
 when they see that I'm not a vulgar-looking person, and 
 all that — and if I go cunningly to work with Miss Somers, 
 as I shall, to be sure — I dare say, she'll take me to the ball 
 with her." 
 
 " To be sure," said the maid ; " it's the least one may 
 expect from a lady that demeans herself to visit Susan 
 Price, and goes about a-shopping for her. The least she 
 can do for you is to take you in her carriage, which costs 
 nothing, but is just a common civility, to a ball." 
 
 " Then pray, Betty," continued Miss Barbara, " don't 
 forget to-morrow, the first thing you do, to send off to 
 Shrewsbury for my new bonnet. I must have it to dine in, 
 at The Abbey, or the ladies will think nothing of me — and, 
 Betty, remember the mantua-maker too. I must see and 
 coax papa to buy me a new gown against the ball. I can 
 see, you know, something of the fashions to-morrow at The 
 Abbey. I shall look the ladies well over, I promise you. 
 And, Betty, I have thought of the most charming present 
 for Miss Somers, as papa says it's good never to go empty- 
 handed to a great house ; I'll make Miss Somers, who is 
 fond, as her maid told you, of such things — I'll make Miss 
 Somers a present of that guinea-hen of Susan's ; — it's of no 
 use to me, so do you carry it up early in the morning to 
 The Abbey, with my compliments — that's the thing." 
 
 In full confidence that her present, and her bonnet, would 
 operate effectually in her favour, Miss Barbara paid her first 
 
 138 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 visit to The Abbey. She expected to see wonders ; she 
 was dressed in all the finery which she had heard from her 
 maid, who had heard from the 'prentice of a Shrewsbury 
 milliner, was the tiling in London ; and she was much sur- 
 prised and disappointed, when she was shown into the room 
 where the Miss Somerses and the ladies at The Abbey 
 were sitting, to see that they did not, in any one part of 
 their dress, agree with the picture her imagination had 
 formed of fashionable ladies. She was embarrassed when 
 she saw books, and work, and drawings, upon the table ; 
 and she began to think that some affront was meant to her, 
 because the company did not sit with their hands before them. 
 
 When Miss Somers endeavoured to find out conversation 
 that would interest her, and spoke of walks, and flowers, 
 and gardening, of which she was herself fond, Miss Barbara 
 still thought herself undervalued, and soon contrived to 
 expose her ignorance most completely, by talking of things 
 which she did not understand. 
 
 Those who never attempt to appear what they are not — ■ 
 those who do not in their manners pretend to anything 
 unsuited to their habits and situation in life, never are in 
 danger of being laughed at by sensible, well-bred people of 
 any rank ; but affectation is the constant and just object of 
 ridicule. 
 
 Miss Barbara Case, with her mistaken airs of gentility, 
 aiming to be thought a woman, and a fine lady, whilst she 
 was in reality a child, and a vulgar attorney's daughter, 
 rendered herself so thoroughly ridiculous, that the good- 
 natured, yet discerning spectators, were painfully divided 
 between their sense of comic absurdity, and a feeling of 
 shame for one who could feel nothing for herself. 
 
 One by one the ladies dropped off — Miss Somers went 
 out of the room for a few minutes to alter her dress, as it 
 was the custom of the family, before dinner. She left a 
 portfolio of pretty drawings and good prints, for Miss 
 Barbara's amusement ; but Miss Barbara's thoughts were 
 so intent upon the harpers' ball, that she could not be 
 entertained with such trifles. 
 
 How unhappy are those who spend their time in 
 expectation ! They can never enjoy the present moment. 
 
 139 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 Whilst Barbara was contriving means of interesting Miss 
 Somers in her favour, she recollected, with surprise, that 
 not one word had yet been said of her present of the 
 guinea-hen. 
 
 Mrs. Betty, in the hurry of her dressing her young lady 
 in the morning, had forgotten it ; but it came just while 
 Miss Somers was dressing ; and the housekeeper came into 
 her mistress's room to announce its arrival. 
 
 "Ma'am," said she, "here's a beautiful guinea-hen just 
 come, with Miss Barbara Case's compliments to you." 
 
 Miss Somers knew, by the tone in which the housekeeper 
 delivered this message, that there was something in the 
 business which did not perfectly please her. She made no 
 answer, in expectation that the housekeeper, who was a 
 woman of a very open temper, would explain her cause of 
 dissatisfaction. In this she was not mistaken : the house- 
 keeper came close up to the dressing-table, and continued, 
 " I never like to speak till I'm sure, ma'am, and I'm not 
 quite sure, to say certain, in this case, ma'am, but still I 
 think it right to tell you, which can't wrong anybody, what 
 came across my mind about this same guinea-hen, ma'am ; 
 and you can inquire into it, and do as you please afterwards, 
 ma'am. Some time ago we had fine guinea-fowls of our 
 own, and I made bold, not thinking, to be sure, that all our 
 own would die away from us, as they have done, to give a 
 fine couple last Christmas to Susan Price, and very fond 
 and pleased she was at the time, and I'm sure would never 
 have parted with the hen with her good-will ; but if my eyes 
 don't strangely mistake, this hen, that comes from Miss 
 Barbara, is the self-same identical guinea-hen that I gave to 
 Susan. And how Miss Bab came by it is the thing that 
 puzzles me. If my boy Philip was at home, maybe, as he's 
 often at Mrs. Price's (which I don't disapprove), he might 
 know the history of the guinea-hen. I expect him home 
 this night, and, if you have no objection, I will sift the 
 affair." 
 
 " The shortest way, I should think," said Henrietta, 
 
 " would be to ask Miss Case herself about it, which I 
 
 will do this evening." i 
 
 " If you please, ma'am," said the housekeeper, coldly ; 
 
 140 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 for she knew that Miss Barbara was not famous in the 
 village for speaking the truth. 
 
 Dinner was now served. Attorney Case expected to 
 smell mint sauce, and as the covers were taken from off the 
 dishes, looked around for lamb — but no lamb appeared. He 
 had a dexterous knack of twisting the conversation to his 
 point. 
 
 Sir Arthur was speaking, when they sat down to dinner, 
 of a new carving-knife, which he lately had had made for 
 his sister ; the attorney immediately went from carving- 
 knives to poultry, thence to butcher's meat : some joints, 
 he observed, were much more difficult to carve than others ; 
 he never saw a man carve better than the gentleman opposite 
 him, who was the curate of the parish. 
 
 " But, sir," said the vulgar attorney, " I must make bold 
 to differ with you in one point, and I'll appeal to Sir 
 Arthur. Sir Arthur, pray may I ask, when you carve a 
 fore-quarter of lamb, do you, when you raise the shoulder, 
 throw in salt, or not ? " 
 
 This well-prepared question was not lost upon Sir Arthur ; 
 the attorney was thanked for his intended present, but mor- 
 tified and surprised to hear Sir Arthur say that it was a 
 constant rule of his never to accept of any presents from his 
 neighbours. 
 
 "If we were to accept a lamb from a rich neighbour on 
 my estate," said he, " I am afraid we should mortify many 
 of our poor tenants, who can have little to offer, though, 
 perhaps, they may bear us thorough good-will notwith- 
 standing." 
 
 After the ladies left the dining-room, as they were walk- 
 ing up and down the large hall, Miss Barbara had a fair 
 opportunity of imitating her keen father's method of con- 
 versing. One of the ladies observed, that this hall would 
 be a charming place for music — Bab brought in harps and 
 harpers, and the harpers' ball in a breath. — " I know so 
 much about it, — about the ball I mean," said she, " because 
 a lady in Shrewsbury, a friend of papa's, offered to take me 
 with her ; but papa did not like to give her the trouble of 
 sending so far for me, though she has a coach of her own." 
 
 Barbara fixed her eyes upon Miss Somers, as she spoke, 
 
 141 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 but she could not read her countenance as distinctly as she 
 wished, because Miss Somers was at this moment letting 
 down the veil of her hat. 
 
 " Shall we walk out before tea ? " said she to her com- 
 panions ; " I have a pretty guinea-hen to show you." 
 
 Barbara, secretly drawing propitious omens from the 
 guinea-hen, followed with a confident step. 
 
 The pheasantry was well filled with pheasants and pea- 
 cocks, and Susan's pretty little guinea-hen appeared well, 
 even in this high company. It was much admired. Barbara 
 was in glory ; but her glory was of short duration. 
 
 Just as Miss Somers was going to inquire into the 
 guinea-hen's history, Philip came up, to ask permission to 
 have a bit of sycamore, to turn a nutmeg box for his 
 mother. Philip was an ingenious lad, and a good turner 
 for his age ; Sir Arthur had put by a bit of sycamore, on 
 purpose for him, and Miss Somers told him where it was 
 to be found. He thanked her : but in the midst of his 
 bow of thanks his eye was struck by the sight of the 
 guinea-hen, and he involuntarily exclaimed, " Susan's 
 guinea-hen, I declare ! " 
 
 " No, it's not Susan's guinea-hen," said Miss Barbara, 
 colouring furiously. " It is mine, and I've made a present 
 of it to Miss Somers." 
 
 At the sound of Bab's voice, Philip turned — saw her — 
 and indignation, unrestrained by the presence of all the 
 amazed spectators, flashed in his countenance. 
 
 " What is the matter, Philip ? " said Miss Somers, in a 
 pacifying tone ; but Philip was not inclined to be pacified. 
 
 " Why, ma'am," said he, " may I speak out? " and, without 
 waiting for permission, he spoke out, and gave a full, true, 
 and warm account of Rose's embassy, and of Miss Barbara's 
 cruel and avaricious proceedings. 
 
 Barbara denied, prevaricated, stammered, and at last was 
 overcome with confusion, for which even the most indulgent 
 spectator could scarcely pity her. 
 
 Miss Somers, however, mindful of what was due to her 
 guest, was anxious to dispatch Philip for his piece of 
 sycamore. 
 
 Bab recovered herself as soon as he was out of sight ; 
 
 142 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 bat she further exposed herself by exclaiming, " I'm sure I 
 wish this pitiful guinea-hen had never come into my posses- 
 sion. I wish Susan had kept it at home, as she should have 
 done ! " 
 
 " Perhaps she will be more careful, now that she has 
 received so strong a lesson," said Miss Somers. " Shall we 
 try her ? " continued she ; " Philip will, I dare say, take the 
 guinea-hen back to Susan, if we desire it." 
 
 " If you please, ma'am," said Barbara, sullenly ; " I have 
 nothing more to do with it." 
 
 So the guinea-hen was delivered to Philip, who set off 
 joyfully with his prize, and was soon in sight of Farmer 
 Price's cottage. 
 
 He stopped when he came to the door ; he recollected 
 Rose and her generous friendship for Susan ; he was deter- 
 mined that she should have the pleasure of restoring the 
 guinea-hen. He ran into the village ; all the children who 
 had given up their little purse on May-day were assembled 
 on the play-green ; they were delighted to see the guinea- 
 hen once more — Philip took his pipe and tabor, and they 
 marched in innocent triumph towards the whitewashed 
 cottage. 
 
 " Let me come with you — let me come with you," said 
 the butcher's boy to Philip. " Stop one minute ! my father 
 has something to say to you." 
 
 He darted into his father's house. The little procession 
 stopped, and in a few minutes the bleating of a lamb was 
 heard. Through a back passage, which led into the paddock 
 behind the house, they saw the butcher leading a lamb. 
 
 " It is Daisy! " exclaimed Rose — " It's Daisy ! " repeated 
 all her companions. " Susan's lamb ! Susan's lamb ! " 
 and there was a universal shout of joy. 
 
 " Well, for my part," said the good butcher, as soon as 
 he could be heard, — " for my part, I would not be so cruel 
 as Attorney Case for the whole world. These poor brute 
 beasts don't know aforehand what's going to happen to 
 them ; and as for dying, it's what we must all do some 
 time or another ; but to keep wringing the hearts of the 
 living, that have as much sense as oneself, is what I call 
 cruel ; and is not this what Attorney Case has been doing 
 
 143 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 by poor Susan and her whole family, ever since he took a 
 spite against them ? But, at any rate, here's Susan's lamb 
 safe and sound ; I'd have taken it back sooner, but I was 
 off before day to the fair, and am but just come back ; 
 however, Daisy has been as well off in my paddock as he 
 would have been in the field by the water-side." 
 
 The obliging shopkeeper, who showed the pretty calicoes 
 to Susan, was now at his door ; and when he saw the lamb, 
 heard that it was Susan's, and learnt its history, he said 
 that he would add his mite ; and he gave the children 
 some ends of narrow ribbon, with which Rose decorated 
 her friend's lamb. 
 
 The pipe and tabor now once more began to play, and 
 the procession moved on in joyful order, after giving the 
 humane butcher three cheers — three cheers which were 
 better deserved than " loud huzzas " usually are. 
 
 Susan was working in her arbour, with her little deal 
 table before her ; when she heard the sound of the music, 
 she put down her work and listened ; she saw the crowd 
 of children coming nearer and nearer : they had closed 
 round Daisy, so that she could not see it, but as they 
 came up to the garden gate she saw Rose beckon to her. 
 Philip played as loud as he could, that she might not 
 hear, till the proper moment, the bleating of the lamb. 
 
 Susan opened the garden-wicket, and at the signal the 
 crowd divided, and the first thing that Susan saw, in the 
 midst of her taller friends, was little smiling Mary, with the 
 guinea-hen in her arms. 
 
 " Come on ! Come on ! " cried Mary, as Susan started 
 with joyful surprise ; " you have more to see." 
 
 At this instant the music paused ; Susan heard the 
 bleating of a lamb, and, scarcely daring to believe her 
 senses, she pressed eagerly forward, and beheld poor 
 Daisy ! — she burst into tears. 
 
 " I did not shed one tear when I parted with you, my 
 dear little Daisy ! " said she ; " it was for my father and 
 mother. I would not have parted with you for anything 
 else in the whole world. Thank you, thank you all," added 
 she to her companions, who sympathized in her joy, even 
 more than they had sympathized in her sorrow. " Now, if 
 
 144 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 my father was not to go away from us next week, and if 
 my mother was quite stout, I should be the happiest person 
 in the world ! " 
 
 As Susan pronounced these words, a voice behind the 
 little listening crowd cried, in a brutal tone, " Let us pass, 
 if you please ; you have no right to stop up the public 
 road ! " This was the voice of Attorney Case, who was 
 returning with his daughter Barbara from his visit to The 
 Abbey. He saw the lamb, and tried to whistle as he 
 passed on ; Barbara also saw the guinea-hen, and turned 
 her head another way, that she might avoid the con- 
 temptuous, reproachful looks of those whom she only 
 affected to despise. Even her new bonnet, in which she 
 had expected to be so much admired, was now only 
 serviceable to hide her face, and conceal her mortification. 
 
 " I am glad she saw the guinea-hen," cried Rose, who 
 now held it in her hands. 
 
 " Yes," said Philip, " she'll not forget May-day in a hurry." 
 
 " Nor I neither, I hope," said Susan, looking round upon 
 her companions with a most affectionate smile ; " I hope, 
 whilst I live, I shall never forget your goodness to me last 
 May-day. Now I've my pretty guinea-hen safe once more, 
 I should think of returning your money." 
 
 " No ! no ! no ! " was the general cry. " We don't want 
 the money — keep it — you want it for your father." 
 
 " Well," said Susan, " I am not too proud to be obliged. 
 I will keep your money for my father. Perhaps some time 
 or other I may be able to earn " 
 
 " Oh," interrupted Philip, " don't let us talk of earning, 
 don't let us talk to her of money now ; she has hardly 
 had time to look at poor Daisy and her guinea-hen. 
 Come, we had best go about our business, and let her have 
 them all to herself." 
 
 The crowd moved away in consequence of Philip's con- 
 siderate advice ; but it was observed that he was the very 
 last to stir from the garden-wicket himself. He stayed, 
 first, to inform Susan that it was Rose who tied the ribbon 
 on Daisy's head : then he stayed a little longer to let her 
 into the history of the guinea-hen, and to tell her who it 
 was that brought the hen home from The Abbey. 
 
 145 l 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 Rose held the sieve, and Susan was feeding her long-lost 
 favourite, whilst Philip leaned over the wicket prolonging 
 his narration. 
 
 " Now, my pretty guinea-hen, my naughty guinea-hen, 
 that flew away from me, you shall never serve me so again 
 — I must cut your nice wings ; but I won't hurt you." 
 
 "Take care," cried Philip; "you'd better, indeed you'd 
 better let me hold her whilst you cut her wings." 
 
 When this operation was successfully performed, which 
 it certainly could never have been if Philip had not held 
 the hen for Susan, he recollected that his mother had sent 
 him with a message to Mrs. Price. 
 
 This message led to another quarter of an hour's delay, 
 for he had the whole history of the guinea-hen to tell over 
 again to Mrs. Price ; and the farmer himself luckily came 
 in whilst it was going on, so it was but civil to begin it 
 afresh ; and then the farmer was so rejoiced to see his 
 Susan so happy again with her two little favourites, that 
 he declared he must see Daisy fed himself, and Philip 
 found that he was wanted to hold the jug full of milk, out 
 of which Farmer Price filled the pan for Daisy ! Happy 
 Daisy ! who lapped at his ease, whilst Susan caressed him, 
 and thanked her fond father and her pleased mother. 
 
 "But, Philip," said Mrs. Price, " I'll hold the jug — you'll 
 be late with your message to your mother ; we'll not detain 
 you any longer." 
 
 Philip departed, and as he went out of the garden-wicket, 
 he looked up, and saw Bab and her maid Betty staring out 
 of the window, as usual ; on this he immediately turned 
 back to try whether he had shut the gate fast, lest the 
 guinea-hen might stray out, and fall again into the hands 
 of the enemy. 
 
 Miss Barbara, in the course of this day, had felt con- 
 siderable mortification, but no contrition. She was vexed 
 that her meanness was discovered, but she felt no desire to 
 cure herself of any of her faults. The ball was still upper- 
 most in her vain, selfish soul. 
 
 " Well," said she, to her confidante, Betty, " you hear how 
 things have turned out ; but if Miss Somers won't think of 
 asking me to go with her, I've a notion I know who will. 
 
 146 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 As papa says, it's a good thing to have two strings to one's 
 bow." 
 
 Now some officers who were quartered at Shrewsbury 
 had become acquainted with Mr. Case ; they had got into 
 some quarrel with a tradesman in the town, and Attorney 
 Case had promised to bring them through the affair, as the 
 man threatened to take the law of them. Upon the faith 
 of this promise, and with the vain hope that, by civility, 
 they might dispose him to bring in a reasonable bill of costs, 
 these officers sometimes invited Mr. Case to the mess ; and 
 one of them, who had lately been married, prevailed upon 
 his bride sometimes to take a little notice of Miss Barbara. 
 It was with this lady that Miss Barbara now hoped to go 
 to the harpers' ball. 
 
 " The officers and Mrs. Strathspey, or, more properly, 
 Mrs. Strathspey and the officers, are to breakfast here, to- 
 morrow, do you know," said Bab to Betty. " One of them 
 dined at The Abbey to-day, and told papa they'd all come ; 
 they are going out on a party, somewhere into the country, 
 and breakfast here on their way. Pray, Betty, don't forget 
 that Mrs. Strathspey can't breakfast without honey ; I 
 heard her say so myself." 
 
 "Then, indeed," said Betty, " I'm afraid Mrs. Strathspey 
 will be likely to go without her breakfast here, for not a 
 spoonful of honey have we, let her long for it ever so much." 
 
 " But, surely," said Bab, " we can contrive to get some 
 honey in the neighbourhood." 
 
 " There's none to be bought, as I know of," said Betty. 
 
 " But is there none to be begged or borrowed ? " said 
 Bab, laughing. " Do you forget Susan's beehive ? Step 
 over to her in the morning with my compliments, and see 
 what you can do— tell her it is for Mrs. Strathspey." 
 
 In the morning Betty went with Miss Barbara's com- 
 pliments to Susan, to beg some honey for Mrs. Strathspey, 
 who could not breakfast without it. 
 
 Susan did not like to part with her honey, because her 
 mother loved it, and she therefore gave Betty but a small 
 quantity : when Barbara saw how little Susan sent, she 
 called her a miser, and she said she must have some more 
 for Mrs. Strathspey. 
 
 147 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 " I'll go myself and speak to her ; come you with me, 
 Betty," said the young lady, who found it at present con- 
 venient to forget her having declared, the day that she 
 sucked up the broth, that she never would honour Susan 
 with another visit. 
 
 " Susan," said she, accosting the poor girl whom she had 
 done everything in her power to injure, " I must beg a little 
 more honey from you for Mrs. Strathspey's breakfast. You 
 know, on a particular occasion such as this, neighbours 
 must help one another." 
 
 "To be sure they should," added Betty. 
 
 Susan, though she was generous, was not weak ; she was 
 willing to give to those she loved, but not disposed to let 
 anything be taken from her, or coaxed out of her, by those 
 she had reason to despise. She civilly answered that she 
 was sorry she had no more honey to spare. Barbara grew 
 angry, and lost all command of herself, when she saw that 
 Susan, without regarding her reproaches, went on looking 
 through the glass pane in the beehive. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Susan Price," said she in a high tone, 
 " the honey I will have, so you may as well give it to me 
 by fair means. Yes or no ? Speak ! will you give it me or 
 not ? Will you give me that piece of the honey-comb that 
 lies there ? " 
 
 " That bit of honey-comb is for my mother's breakfast," 
 said Susan ; " I cannot give it you." 
 
 " Can't you ? " said Bab, " then see if I don't get it ! " 
 
 She stretched across Susan for the honey-comb, which 
 was lying by some rosemary leaves that Susan had freshly 
 gathered for her mother's tea. Bab grasped, but at her 
 first effort she reached only the rosemary : she made a 
 second dart at the honey-comb, and in her struggle to 
 obtain it she overset the beehive. The bees swarmed about 
 her — her maid Betty screamed, and ran away. Susan, who 
 was sheltered by a laburnum tree, called to Barbara, upon 
 whom the black clusters of bees were now settling, 
 and begged her to stand still, and not to beat them 
 away. 
 
 " If you stand quietly you won't be stung, perhaps." 
 
 But instead of standing quietly, Bab buffeted, and 
 
 148 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 stamped, and roared, and the bees stung her terribly ; her 
 arms and her face swelled in a frightful manner. She was 
 helped home by poor Susan and treacherous Mrs. Betty, 
 who, now the mischief was done, thought only of exculpating 
 herself to her master. 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Barbara," said she, " this was quite wrong 
 of you to go and get yourself into such a scrape. I shall 
 be turned away for it, you'll see." 
 
 " I don't care whether you are turned away or not," said 
 Barbara ; " I never felt such pain in my life. Can't you do 
 something for me? I don't mind the pain either, so much 
 as being such a fright. Pray, how am I to be fit to be seen 
 at breakfast by Mrs. Strathspey ? and I suppose I can't go 
 to the ball either, to-morrow, after all ! " 
 
 " No, that you can't expect to do, indeed," said Betty, 
 the comforter. " You need not think of balls ; for those 
 lumps and swellings won't go off your face this week. 
 That's not what pains me ; but I'm thinking of what your 
 papa will say to me when he sees you, miss," 
 
 Whilst this amiable mistress and maid were, in their 
 adversity, reviling one another, Susan, when she saw that 
 she could be of no farther use, was preparing to depart, but 
 at the house-door, she was met by Mr. Case. 
 
 Mr. Case had revolved things in his mind ; for his second 
 visit at The Abbey pleased him as little as his first, from a 
 few words Sir Arthur and Miss Somers dropped, in speaking 
 of Susan and Farmer Price. Mr. Case began to fear that 
 he had mistaken his game, in quarrelling with this family. 
 The refusal of his present dwelt upon the attorney's mind ; 
 and he was aware that, if the history of Susan's lamb ever 
 reached The Abbey, he was undone ; he now thought that 
 the most prudent course he could possibly follow would be 
 to hush up matters with the Prices with all convenient 
 speed. Consequently, when he met Susan at his door, he 
 forced a gracious smile. 
 
 " How is your mother, Susan ? " said he. " Is there any- 
 thing in our house can be of service to her? I'm glad to 
 see you here. Barbara ! Barbara ! Bab ! " cried he, " come 
 downstairs, child, and speak to Susan Price." And, as no 
 Barbara answered, her father stalked up stairs directly, 
 
 149 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 opened the door, and stood amazed at the spectacle of her 
 swelled visage. 
 
 Betty instantly began to tell the story her own way, 
 Bab contradicted her as fast as she spoke. The attorney 
 turned the maid away on the spot ; and partly with real 
 anger, and partly with politic affectation of anger, he de- 
 manded from his daughter, how she dared to treat Susan 
 Price so ill : " When she was so neighbourly and obliging 
 as to give you some of her honey, couldn't you be content, 
 without seizing upon the honey-comb by force? This is 
 scandalous behaviour, and what, I assure you, I can't 
 countenance." 
 
 Susan now interceded for Barbara ; and the attorney, 
 softening his voice, said that Susan was a great deal too 
 good to her, "as indeed you are, Susan," added he, "to 
 everybody. I forgive her for your sake." 
 
 Susan curtsied, in great surprise, but her lamb could 
 not be forgotten ; and she left the attorney's house as 
 soon as she could, to make her mother's rosemary tea for 
 breakfast. 
 
 Mr. Case saw that Susan was not so simple as to be 
 taken in by a few fair words. His next attempt was to 
 conciliate Farmer Price ; the farmer was a blunt, honest 
 man, and his countenance remained inflexibly contemptuous, 
 when the attorney addressed him in the softest tone. 
 
 So stood matters the day of the long-expected harpers' 
 ball. Miss Barbara Case, stung by Susan's bees, could not. 
 after all her manoeuvres, go with Mrs. Strathspey to the 
 ball. 
 
 The ball-room was filled early in the evening : there was 
 a numerous assembly : the harpers, who contended for the 
 prize, were placed under the music-gallery at the lower end 
 of the room ; amongst them was our old blind friend, who, 
 as he was not so well clad as his competitors, seemed to be 
 disdained by many of the spectators. Six ladies and six 
 gentlemen were now appointed to be judges of the perform- 
 ance. They were seated in a semicircle, opposite to the 
 harpers. The Misses Somers, who were fond of music, were 
 amongst the ladies in the semicircle, and the prize was 
 lodged in the hands of Sir Arthur. There was now silence. 
 
 i5° 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 The first harp sounded, and as each musician tried his skill, 
 the audience seemed to think that each deserved the prize. 
 The old blind man was the last ; he tuned his instrument, 
 and such a simple, pathetic strain was heard as touched 
 every heart. All were fixed in delighted attention ; and 
 when the music ceased, the silence for some moments 
 continued. The silence was followed by a universal buzz 
 of applause. The judges were unanimous in their opinions ; 
 and it was declared that the old blind harper, who played 
 the last, deserved the prize. 
 
 The simple, pathetic air, which won the suffrages of the 
 whole assembly, was his own composition ; he was pressed 
 to give the words belonging to the music, and at last he 
 modestly offered to repeat them, as he could not see to 
 write. Miss Somers's ready pencil was instantly produced ; 
 and the old harper dictated the words of his ballad, which 
 he called " Susans Lamentation for her Lamb" 
 
 Miss Somers looked at her brother from time to time, as 
 she wrote ; and Sir Arthur, as soon as the old man had 
 finished, took him aside, and asked him some questions, 
 which brought the whole history of Susan's lamb, and of 
 Attorney Case's cruelty, to light. 
 
 The attorney himself was present when the harper began 
 to dictate his ballad ; his colour, as Sir Arthur steadily 
 looked at him, varied continually ; till at length, when he 
 heard the words " Susan's Lamentation for her Lamb," he 
 suddenly shrunk back, skulked through the crowd, and dis- 
 appeared. We shall not follow him ; we had rather follow 
 our old friend, the victorious harper. 
 
 No sooner had he received the ten guineas, his well- 
 merited prize, than he retired into a small room belonging 
 to the people of the house, asked for pen, ink, and paper, 
 and dictated, in a low voice, to his boy, who was a tolerably 
 good scribe, a letter, which he ordered him to put directly 
 into the Shrewsbury post-office. The boy ran with the 
 letter to the post-office ; he was but just in time, for the 
 postman's horn was sounding. 
 
 The next morning, when Farmer Price, his wife, and 
 Susan, were sitting together, reflecting that his week's leave 
 of absence was nearly at an end, and that the money was 
 
 151 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 not yet made up for John Simpson, the substitute, a knock 
 was heard at the door, and the person who usually delivered 
 the letters in the village put a letter into Susan's hand, saying, 
 "A penny, if you please — here's a letter for your father." 
 
 " For me ! " said Farmer Price ; " here's the penny then ; 
 but who can it be from, I wonder ; who can think of writing 
 to me, in this world ? " He tore open the letter ; but the 
 hard name at the bottom of the page puzzled him — "your 
 obliged friend, Llewellyn." "And what's this?" said he, 
 opening a paper that was enclosed in the letter ; " it's a song, 
 seemingly ; it must be somebody that has a mind to make 
 an April fool of me." 
 
 " But it is not April ; it is May, father," said Susan. 
 
 " Well, let us read the letter, and we shall come at the 
 truth — all in good time." 
 
 Farmer Price sat down in his own chair, for he could not 
 read entirely to his satisfaction in any other, and read as 
 follows : — 
 
 " My Worthy Friend, — I am sure you will be glad to hear that I 
 have had good success this night. I have won the ten guinea prize, 
 and for that I am in a great measure indebted to your sweet daughter 
 Susan ; as you will see by a little ballad I enclose for her. Your 
 hospitality to me has afforded me an opportunity of learning some of 
 your family history. You do not, I hope, forget that I was present 
 when you were counting the treasure in Susan's little purse, and that I 
 heard for what purpose it was all destined. You have not, I know, yet 
 made up the full sum for your substitute, John Simpson ; therefore do 
 me the favour to use the five-guinea bank note, which you will find 
 within the ballad. You shall not find me as hard a creditor as Attorney 
 Case. Pay me the money at your own convenience ; if it is never con- 
 venient to you to pay it, I shall never ask it. I shall go my rounds 
 again through this country, I believe, about this time next year, and 
 will call to see how you do, and to play the new tune for Susan and the 
 dear little boys. 
 
 " I should just add, to set your heart at rest about the money, that it 
 does not distress me at all to lend it to you : I am not quite so poor 
 as I appear to be ; but it is my humour to go about as I do. I see 
 more of the world under my tattered garb than, perhaps, I should 
 ever see in a better dress. There are many of my profession who are 
 of the same mind as myself in this respect ; and we are glad, when it 
 lies in our way, to do any kindness to such a worthy family as yours. 
 — So, fare ye well. 
 
 "Your obliged Friend, 
 
 " Llewellyn." 
 152 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 Susan now, by her father's desire, opened the ballad. 
 He picked up the five-guinea bank note, whilst she read, 
 with surprise, " Susan's Lamentation for her Lamb." Her 
 mother leaned over her shoulder to read the words ; but 
 they were interrupted, before they had finished the first 
 stanza, by another knock at the door. It was not the post- 
 man with another letter ; it was Sir Arthur and his sisters. 
 
 They came with an intention, which they were much 
 disappointed to find that the old harper had rendered vain ; 
 they came to lend the farmer and his good family the 
 money to pay for his substitute. 
 
 " But, since we are here," said Sir Arthur, " let me do my 
 own business, which I had like to have forgotten. Mr. 
 Price, will you come out with me, and let me show you a 
 piece of your land, through which I want to make a road ? 
 Look there," said Sir Arthur, pointing to the spot, " I am 
 laying out a ride round my estate, and that bit of land of 
 yours stops me." 
 
 " Why so, sir ? " said Price ; " the land's mine, to be sure, 
 for that matter ; but I hope you don't look upon me to be 
 that sort of person that would be stiff, about a trifle or so." 
 
 " Why," said Sir Arthur, " I had heard you were a litigious, 
 pig-headed fellow ; but you do not seem to deserve this 
 character." 
 
 " Hope not, sir," said the farmer ; " but about the matter 
 of the land, I don't want to make no advantage of your 
 wishing for it : you are welcome to it, and I leave it to you 
 to find me out another bit of land convenient to me, that 
 will be worth neither more nor less, or else to make up the 
 value to me some way or other. I need say no more about 
 it." 
 
 " I hear something," continued Sir Arthur, after a short 
 silence — " I hear something, Mr. Price, of a flaw in your 
 lease. I would not speak to you of it whilst we were 
 bargaining about your land, lest I should over-awe you ; 
 but, tell me, what is this flazu ? " 
 
 " In truth, and the truth is the fittest thing to be spoken 
 at all times," said the farmer, " I didn't know myself what 
 a. flaw, as they call it, meant, till I heard of the word from 
 Attorney Case ; and I take it, a flaw is neither more nor 
 
 153 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 less than a mistake, as one should say. Now, by reason a 
 man does not make a mistake on purpose, it seems to me 
 to be the fair thing, that if a man finds out his mistake, he 
 might set it right : but Attorney Case says this is not law, 
 and I've no more to say. The man who drew up my lease 
 made a mistake; and if I must suffer for it, I must," said 
 the farmer. " However, I can show you, Sir Arthur, just 
 for my own satisfaction and yours, a few lines of a 
 memorandum on a slip of paper, which was given me by 
 your relation, the gentleman who lived here before, and let 
 me my farm. You'll see, by that bit of paper, what was 
 meant ; but the attorney says, the paper's not worth a 
 button in a court of justice, and I don't understand these 
 things. All I understand is the common honesty of the 
 matter. I've no more to say." 
 
 " This attorney, whom you speak of so often," said Sir 
 Arthur, "you seem to have some quarrel with. Now, 
 would you tell me frankly what is the matter between ? " 
 
 "The matter between us, then," said Price, "is a little bit 
 of ground, not worth much, that is there open to the lane at 
 the end of Mr. Case's garden, sir, and he wanted to take it 
 in. Now I told him my mind, that it belonged to the 
 parish, and that I never would willingly give my consent to 
 his cribbing it in that way. Sir, I was the more loth to see 
 it shut into his garden, which, moreover, is large enough 
 of all conscience, without it, because you must know, Sir 
 Arthur, the children in our village are fond of making a 
 little play-green of it ; and they have a custom of meeting, 
 on May-day, at a hawthorn that stands in the middle of it, 
 and altogether I was very loth to see 'em turned out of it 
 by those who have no right." 
 
 " Let us go and see this nook," said Sir Arthur ; " it is 
 not far off, is it ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, sir, just hard by here." 
 
 When they got to the ground, Mr. Case, who saw them 
 walking together, was in a hurry to join them, that he might 
 put a stop to any explanations. Explanations were things 
 of which he had a great dread ; but fortunately he was 
 upon this occasion a little too late. 
 
 " Is this the nook in dispute ? " said Sir Arthur. 
 
 i54 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 "Yes ; this is the whole thing," said Price. 
 
 " Why, Sir Arthur, don't let us talk any more about it," 
 said the politic attorney, with an assumed air of generosity ; 
 " let it belong to whom it will, I give it up to you." 
 
 " So great a lawyer, Mr. Case, as you are," replied Sir 
 Arthur, " must know that a man cannot give up that to 
 which he has no legal title ; and in this case it is impossible 
 that, with the best intentions to oblige me in the world, you 
 can give up this bit of land to me, because it is mine already, 
 as I can convince you effectually, by a map of the 
 adjoining land, which I have fortunately safe among my 
 papers. This piece of ground belonged to the farm on 
 the opposite side of the road, and it was cut off when the 
 lane was made." 
 
 " Very possibly ; I dare say you are quite correct ; you 
 must know best," said the attorney, trembling for the 
 agency. 
 
 " Then," said Sir Arthur, " Mr. Price, you will observe 
 that I now promise this little green to the children for a 
 play-ground ; and I hope they may gather hawthorn many 
 a May-day at this their favourite bush." 
 
 Mr. Price bowed low, which he seldom did, even when 
 he received a favour himself. 
 
 " And now, Mr. Case," said Sir Arthur, turning to the 
 attorney, who did not know which way to look, " you sent 
 me a lease to look over." 
 
 " Ye — ye— yes," stammered Mr. Case. " I thought it 
 my duty to do so ; not out of any malice or ill-will to this 
 good man." 
 
 " You have done him no injury," said Sir Arthur, coolly. 
 " I am ready to make him a new lease, whenever lie 
 pleases, of his farm ; and I shall be guided by a memo- 
 randum of the original bargain, which he has in his 
 possession. I hope I never shall take an unfair advantage 
 of any one." 
 
 " Heaven forbid, sir," said the attorney, sanctifying his 
 face, " that I should suggest the taking an unfair advantage 
 of any man, rich or poor — but to break a bad lease is not 
 taking an unfair advantage." 
 
 " You really think so ? said Sir Arthur. 
 
 i55 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 " Certainly I do, and I hope I have not hazarded your 
 good opinion by speaking my mind concerning the flaw 
 so plainly. I always understood that there could be no- 
 thing ungentlemanlike, in the way of business, in taking 
 advantage of a flaw in a lease." 
 
 " Now," said Sir Arthur, " you have pronounced judgment, 
 undesignedly, in your own case. — You intended to send me 
 this poor man's lease ; but your son, by some mistake, 
 brought me your own, and I have discovered a fatal error 
 in it." 
 
 " A fatal error ! " said the alarmed attorney. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Sir Arthur, pulling the lease out of his 
 pocket ; " here it is. — You will observe that it is neither 
 signed nor sealed by the grantor/' 
 
 " But you won't take advantage of me, surely, Sir 
 Arthur ? " said Mr. Case, forgetting his own principles. 
 
 " I shall not take advantage of you, as you would have 
 taken of this honest man. In both cases I shall be guided 
 by memorandums which I have in my possession. I shall 
 not, Mr. Case, defraud you of one shilling of your property. 
 I am ready, at a fair valuation, to pay you the exact value 
 of your house and land ; but upon this condition — that you 
 quit the parish within one month." 
 
 Attorney Case submitted, for he knew that he could not 
 legally resist. He was glad to be let off so easily ; and he 
 bowed, and sneaked away, secretly comforting himself with 
 the hope, that when they came to the valuation of the house 
 and land he should be the gainer, perhaps, of a few guineas ; 
 his reputation he justly held very cheap. 
 
 " You are a scholar, you write a good hand ; you can keep 
 accounts, cannot you ? " said Sir Arthur to Mr. Price, as 
 they walked home towards his cottage. " I think I saw a 
 bill of your little daughter's drawing out the other day, 
 which was very neatly written. Did you teach her to 
 write ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Price, " I can't say I did that; for she 
 mostly taught herself but I taught her a little arithmetic, 
 as far as I knew, on our winter nights, when I had nothing 
 better to do." 
 
 " Your daughter shows that she has been well taught," 
 
 156 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 said Sir Arthur ; " and her good conduct and good 
 character speak strongly in favour of her parents." 
 
 " You are very good, very good indeed, sir, to speak in 
 this sort of way," said the delighted father. 
 
 " But I mean to do more than pay you with words," said 
 Sir Arthur. " You are attached to your own family ; 
 perhaps you may become attached to me, when you come 
 to know me, and we shall have frequent opportunities of 
 judging of one another. I want no agent to squeeze my 
 tenants, or do my dirty work. I only want a steady, in- 
 telligent, honest man, like you, to collect my rents ; and 
 I hope, Mr. Price, you will have no objection to the 
 employment." 
 
 " I hope, sir," said Price, with joy and gratitude glowing 
 in his honest countenance, " that you'll never have cause to 
 repent your goodness." 
 
 " And what are my sisters about here ? " said Sir Arthur, 
 entering the cottage, and going behind his sisters, who 
 were busily engaged in measuring an extremely pretty- 
 coloured calico. 
 
 " It is for Susan, my dear brother," said they. 
 
 " I knew she did not keep that guinea for herself," said 
 Miss Somers ; " I have just prevailed upon her mother to 
 tell me what became of it. Susan gave it to her father — 
 but she must not refuse a gown of our choosing this time, 
 and I am sure she will not, because her mother, I see, likes 
 it. — And Susan, I hear that instead of becoming Queen 
 of the May this year, you were sitting in your sick mother's 
 room. Your mother has a little colour in her cheeks 
 now." 
 
 " Oh, ma'am," interrupted Mrs. Price, " I'm quite well. — 
 Joy, I think, has made me quite well." 
 
 " Then," said Miss Somers, " I hope you will be able to 
 come out on your daughter's birthday, which, I hear, is the 
 twenty-fifth of this month. Make haste and get quite well 
 before that day ; for my brother intends that all the lads 
 and lasses of the village shall have a dance on Susan's 
 birthday." 
 
 " Yes," said Sir Arthur ; " and I hope on that day, Susan, 
 you will be very happy with your little friends upon their 
 
 157 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 play-green. I shall tell them that it is your good conduct 
 which has obtained it for them ; and if you have anything 
 to ask, any little favour for any of your companions, which 
 we can grant, now ask, Susan ; these ladies look as if they 
 would not refuse you anything that is reasonable ; and 
 I think you look as if you would not ask anything 
 unreasonable." 
 
 " Sir," said Susan, after consulting her mother's eyes, 
 " there is, to be sure, a favour I should like to ask ; it is for 
 Rose." 
 
 " Well, I don't know who Rose is," said Sir Arthur, 
 smiling; "but go on." 
 
 " Ma'am, you have seen her, I believe; she is a very good 
 girl, indeed," said Mrs. Price. 
 
 "And works very neatly, indeed," continued" Susan, 
 eagerly, to Miss Somers ; "and she and her mother heard 
 you were looking out for some one to wait upon you." 
 
 " Say no more," said Miss Somers ; " your wish is granted. 
 Tell Rose to come to The Abbey, to-morrow morning, or, 
 rather, come with her yourself; for our housekeeper, I 
 know, wants to talk to you about a certain cake. She 
 wishes, Susan, that you should be the maker of the cake 
 for the dance ; and she has good things ready looked out 
 for it already, I know. It must be large enough for every- 
 body to have a slice, and the housekeeper will ice it for you. 
 I only hope your cake will be as good as your bread. 
 Farewell." 
 
 How happy are those who bid farewell to a whole family, 
 silent with gratitude, who will bless them aloud when they 
 are far out of hearing ! 
 
 " How do I wish, now," said Farmer Price, " and it's 
 almost a sin for one that has had such a power of favours 
 done him, to wish for anything more ; but how r I do wish, 
 wife, that our good friend, the harper, was only here at this 
 time. It would do his old, warm heart good. Well, the 
 best of it is, we shall be able next year, when he comes his 
 rounds, to pay him his money with thanks, being all the 
 time, and for ever, as much obliged to him as if we kept it, 
 and wanted it as badly as we did when he gave it so hand- 
 some. — I long, so I do, to see him in this house again, 
 
 iS8 
 
Simple Susan 
 
 drinking, as he did, just in this spot, a glass of Susan's 
 mead, to her very good health." 
 
 " Yes," said Susan, " and the next time he comes, I can 
 give him one of my guinea-hen's eggs, and I shall show 
 him my lamb, Daisy." 
 
 " True, love," said her mother ; " and he will play that 
 tune and sing that pretty ballad. Where is it ? for I have 
 not finished it." 
 
 " Rose ran away with it, mother ; but I'll step after her, 
 and bring it back to you this minute," said Susan. 
 
 Susan found her friend Rose at the hawthorn, in the 
 midst of a crowded circle of her companions, to whom she 
 was reading " Susan's Lamentation for her Lamb/' 
 
 " The words are something, but the tune — the tune — I 
 must have the tune," cried Philip. <: I'll ask my mother to 
 ask Sir Arthur to try and rout out which way that good 
 old man went after the ball ; and if he's above ground, we'll 
 have him back by Susan's birthday, and he shall sit here — 
 just exactly here — by this our bush, and he shall play — I 
 mean, if he pleases — that tune for us : and I shall learn it — 
 I mean, if I can — in a minute." 
 
 The good news that Farmer Price was to be employed 
 to collect the rents, and that Attorney Case was to leave 
 the parish in a month, soon spread over the village. Many 
 came out of their houses to have the pleasure of hearing 
 the joyful tidings confirmed by Susan herself; the crowd on 
 the play-green increased every minute. 
 
 " Yes," cried the triumphant Philip, " I tell you it's all 
 true, every word of it. Susan's too modest to say it herself; 
 but I tell you all, Sir Arthur gave us this play-green for 
 ever, on account of her being so good." 
 
 You see, at last, Attorney Case, with all his cunning, has 
 not proved a match for " Simple Susan." 
 
 *59 
 
tffa^Vfiftfce t&gvQnT' 
 
 LITTLE town of Somerville, in 
 Ireland, has, within these few 
 years, assumed the neat and cheerful 
 appearance of an English village. Mr. 
 Somerville, to whom this town belongs, 
 wished to inspire his tenantry with a taste 
 for order and domestic happiness, and 
 took every means in his power to encour- 
 age industrious, well-behaved people to settle in his neigh- 
 bourhood. When he had finished building a row of good 
 slated houses in his town, he declared that he would let 
 them to the best tenants he could find, and proposals were 
 
 160 
 
The White Pigeon 
 
 publicly sent to him from all parts of the country. By the 
 best tenants, Mr. Somerville did not, however, mean the 
 best bidders ; and many, who had offered an extravagant 
 price for the houses, were surprised to find their proposals 
 rejected. Amongst these was Mr. Cox, an alehouse 
 keeper, who did not bear a very good character. 
 
 " Plase your honour, sir," said he to Mr. Somerville, "I 
 expected, since I bid as fair and fairer for it than any 
 other, that you would have let me the house next the 
 apothecary's. Was not it fifteen guineas I mentioned in 
 my proposal ? and did not your honour give it against me 
 for thirteen ? " 
 
 " My honour did just so," replied Mr. Somerville, calmly. 
 
 " And plase your honour, but I don't know what it is I 
 or mine have done to offend you — I'm sure there is not a 
 gentleman in all Ireland I'd go further to sarve. Would 
 not I go to Cork to-morrow for the least word from your 
 honour ? " 
 
 " I am much obliged to you, Mr. Cox, but I have no 
 business at Cork at present," answered Mr. Somerville, 
 drily. 
 
 " It is all I wish," exclaimed Mr. Cox, " that I could find 
 out and light upon the man that has belied me to your 
 honour." 
 
 " No man has belied you, Mr. Cox ; but your nose belies 
 you much, if you do not love drinking a little ; and your 
 black eye and cut chin belie you much, if you do not love 
 quarrelling a little." 
 
 " Quarrel ! I quarrel, plase your honour ! I defy any 
 man, or set of men, ten mile round, to prove such a thing, 
 and I am ready to fight him that dares to say the like of 
 me ; I'd fight him here in your honour's presence, if he'd 
 only come out this minute, and meet me like a man." 
 
 Here Mr. Cox put himself into a boxing attitude ; but 
 observing that Mr. Somerville looked at his threatening 
 gesture with a smile, and that several people, who had 
 gathered round him as he stood in the street, laughed at 
 the proof he gave of his peaceable disposition, he changed 
 his attitude, and went on to vindicate himself against the 
 charge of drinking. 
 
 161 M 
 
The White Pigeon 
 
 " And as to drink, plase your honour, there's no truth in 
 it. Not a drop of whisky, good or bad, have I touched these 
 six months, except what I took with Jemmy M'Doole the 
 night I had the misfortune to meet your honour coming 
 home from the fair of Ballynagrish." 
 
 To this speech Mr. Somerville made no answer, but 
 turned away to look at the bow-window of a handsome new 
 inn, which the glazier was at this instant glazing. 
 
 " Plase, your honour, that new inn is not let, I hear, as 
 yet," resumed Mr. Cox ; " if your honour recollects, you 
 promised to make me a compliment of it last Seraphtide 
 was twelvemonth." 
 
 "Impossible!" cried Mr. Somerville; "for I had no 
 thought of building an inn at that time." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your honour's pardon ; but if you'd be just 
 plased to recollect, it was coming through the gap in the 
 bog meadows, forenent Thady O'Connor, you made me the 
 promise — I'll leave it to him, so I will." 
 
 " But I will not leave it to him, I assure you," cried Mr. 
 Somerville ; " I never made any such promise : I never 
 thought of letting this inn to you." 
 
 " Then your honour won't let me have it ? " 
 
 " No, you have told me a dozen falsehoods. I do not 
 wish to have you for a tenant." 
 
 " Well, God bless your honour ; I've no more to say, but 
 God bless your honour," said Mr. Cox ; and he walked 
 away, muttering to himself, as he slouched his hat over his 
 face, " I hope I'll live to be revenged on him ! " 
 
 Mr. Somerville the next morning went with his family to 
 look at the new inn, which he expected to see perfectly 
 finished ; but he was met by the carpenter, who, with a 
 rueful face, informed him that six panes of glass in the large 
 bow-window had been broken during the night. 
 
 " Ha ! perhaps Mr. Cox has broken my windows, in 
 revenge for my refusing to let him my house," said Mr. 
 Somerville ; and many of the neighbours, who knew the 
 malicious character of this Mr. Cox, observed that this was 
 like one of his tricks. 
 
 A boy of about twelve years old, however, stepped for- 
 ward and said, " I don't like Mr. Cox, I'm sure ; for once he 
 
 162 
 

The White Pigeon 
 
 beat me when he was drunk ; but, for all that, no one 
 should be accused wrongfully. He could not be the person 
 that broke these windows last night, for he was six miles 
 off: he slept at his cousin's last night, and he has not re- 
 turned home yet; so I think he knows nothing of the matter." 
 
 Mr. Somerville was pleased with the honest simplicity of 
 this boy, and observing that he looked in eagerly at the 
 staircase, when the house-door was opened, he asked him 
 whether he should like to go in and see the new house. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the boy, " I should like to go up those 
 stairs, and to see what I should come to." 
 
 " Up with you, then ! " said Mr. Somerville ; and the boy 
 ran up the stairs. He went from room to room with great 
 expression of admiration and delight. At length, as he 
 was examining one of the garrets, he was startled by a 
 fluttering noise over his head ; and, looking up, he saw a 
 white pigeon, which, frightened at his appearance, began to 
 fly round and round the room, till it found its way out of 
 the door, and it flew into the staircase. The carpenter was 
 speaking to Mr. Somerville upon the landing-place of the 
 stairs ; but, the moment he spied the white pigeon, he broke 
 off in the midst of a speech about the nose of the stairs, and 
 exclaimed, " There he is, plase your honour ! There's he that 
 has done all the damage to our bow-window — that's the 
 very same wicked white pigeon that broke the church win- 
 dows last Sunday was se'n night ; but he's down for it now ; 
 we have him safe, and I'll chop his head off, as he deserves, 
 this minute." 
 
 "Stay! Oh stay! don't chop his head off: he does not 
 deserve it," cried the boy, who came running out of the garret 
 with the greatest eagerness — " / broke your- window, sir," 
 said he to Mr. Somerville. " I broke your window with this 
 ball ; but I did not know that I had done it till this moment, 
 I assure you, or I should have told you before. Don't chop 
 his head off," added the boy to the carpenter, who had now 
 the white pigeon in his hands. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Somerville, " the pigeon's head shall not 
 be chopped off, nor yours neither, my good boy, for breaking 
 a window. I am persuaded by your open, honest countenance, 
 that you are speaking the truth ; but pray explain this 
 
 165 
 
The White Pigeon 
 
 matter to us ; for you have not made it quite clear. — How 
 happened it that you could break my windows without 
 knowing it? and how came you to find it out at last?" 
 
 " Sir," said the boy, " if you'll come up here, I'll show 
 you all I know, and how I came to know it." 
 
 Mr. Somerville followed him into the garret ; and the boy 
 pointed to a pane of glass that was broken in a small window 
 that looked out upon a piece of waste ground behind the 
 house. Upon this piece of waste ground the children of the 
 village often used to play. " We were playing there at ball 
 yesterday evening," continued the boy, addressing himself 
 to Mr. Somerville, "and one of the lads challenged me to hit 
 a mark in the wall, which I did ; but he said I did not hit 
 it, and bade me give him up my ball as the forfeit. This I 
 would not do ; and when he began to wrestle with me for it, 
 I threw the ball, as I thought, over the house. He ran to 
 look for it in the street, but could not find it, which I was 
 very glad of; but I was very sorry just now to find it my- 
 self, lying upon this heap of shavings, sir, under this broken 
 window ; for, as soon as I saw it lying there, I knew I must 
 have been the person that broke the window ; and through 
 this window came the white pigeon ; — here's one of his white 
 feathers sticking in the gap." 
 
 " Yes," said the carpenter, " and in the bow-window 
 room below there's plenty of his feathers to be seen ; for I've 
 just been down to look. — It was the pigeon broke t lie m 
 windows, sure enough." 
 
 " But he could not have got in if I had not broke this 
 little window," said the boy, eagerly ; " and I am able to earn 
 sixpence a day, and I'll pay for all the mischief, and 
 welcome. The white pigeon belongs to a poor neighbour, a 
 friend of ours, who is very fond of him, and I would not 
 have him killed for twice as much money." 
 
 " Take the pigeon, my honest, generous lad," said Mr. 
 Somerville, "and carry him back to your neighbour. I 
 forgive him all the mischief he has* done me, tell your friend, 
 for your sake. As to the rest, we can have the windows 
 mended ; and do you keep all the sixpences you earn for 
 yourself." 
 
 "That's what he never did yet," said the carpenter ; " many's 
 
 1 66 
 
The White Pieeoti 
 
 t> 
 
 the sixpence he earns, but not a halfpenny goes into his 
 own pocket : it goes every farthing to his poor father and 
 mother. Happy for them to have such a son ! " 
 
 " More happy for him to have such a father and mother ? " 
 exclaimed the boy ; " in their good days they took all the best 
 care of me that was to be had for love or money, and would, 
 if I would let them, go on paying for my schooling, now, 
 fallen as they be in the world ; but I must learn to mind 
 the shop now. Good morning to you, sir ; and thank you 
 kindly," said he to Mr. Somerville. 
 
 " And where does this boy live, and who are his father 
 and mother ? They cannot live in town," said Mr. 
 Somerville, " or I should have heard of them." 
 
 " They are but just come into the town, please your 
 honour," said the carpenter. " They lived formerly upon 
 Counsellor O'Donnel's estate; but they were ruined, please 
 your honour, by taking a joint lease with a man, who fell 
 afterwards into bad company, ran out all he had, so could 
 not pay the landlord ; and these poor people were forced to 
 pay his share and their own too, which almost ruined 
 them. They were obliged to give up the land ; and now 
 they have furnished a little shop in this town with what 
 goods they could afford to buy with the money they got by 
 the sale of their cattle and stock. They have the good-will 
 of all who know them ; and I am sure I hope they will do 
 well. The boy is very ready in the shop, though he said 
 only that he could earn sixpence a day ; he writes a good 
 hand, and is quick at casting up accounts, for his age. Be- 
 sides, he is likely to do well in the world, because he is 
 never in idle company ; and I've known him since he was 
 two foot high, and never heard of his telling a lie." 
 
 " This is an excellent character of the boy, indeed," said 
 Mr. Somerville ; " and from his behaviour this morning I 
 am inclined to think that he deserves all your praises." Mr. 
 Somerville resolved to inquire more fully concerning this' 
 poor family and to attend to their conduct himself, fully 
 .determined to assist them if he should find them such as 
 they had been represented. 
 
 In the mean time this boy, whose name was Brian O'Neill, 
 went to return the white pigeon to its owner. 
 
 167 
 
The White Pigeon 
 
 " You have saved its life," said the woman to whom it 
 belonged, " and I'll make you a present of it." 
 
 Brian thanked her ; and he from that day began to grow 
 fond of the pigeon. He always took care to scatter some 
 oats for it in his father's yard ; and the pigeon grew so 
 tame at last that it would hop about the kitchen, and eat off 
 the same trencher with the dog. 1 
 
 Brian, after the shop was shut up at night, used to amuse 
 himself with reading some little books which the school- 
 master, who formerly taught him arithmetic, was so good 
 as to lend him. Among these he one evening met with a 
 little book full of the history of birds and beasts ; he looked 
 immediately to see whether the pigeon was mentioned 
 amongst the birds, and, to his great joy, he found a full 
 description and history of his favourite bird. 
 
 " So, Brian, I see your schooling has not been thrown 
 away upon you ; you like your book, I see, when you have 
 no master over you to bid you read," said his father, when 
 he came in and saw him reading his book very attentively. 
 
 " Thank you for having me taught to read, father," said 
 Brian. " Here I've made a great discovery : I've found 
 out in this book, little as it looks, father, a most curious 
 way of making a fortune ; and I hope it will make your 
 fortune, father ; and if you'll sit down, I'll tell it to you." 
 
 Mr. O'Neill, in hopes of pleasing his son rather than in 
 the expectation of having his fortune made, immediately 
 sat down to listen ; and his son explained to him, that 
 he had found in his book an account of pigeons who 
 carried notes and letters : " and, father," continued Brian, 
 " I find my pigeon is of this sort ; and I intend to make 
 my pigeon carry messages. Why should not he? If 
 other pigeons have done so before him, I think he is as 
 good, and, I dare say, will be as easy to teach as any 
 pigeon in the world ; and I shall begin to teach him 
 to-morrow morning ; and then, father, you know people 
 often pay a great deal for sending messengers ; and no boy 
 can run, no horse can gallop, so fast as a bird can fly ; 
 therefore the bird must be the best messenger, and I should 
 be paid the best price — Hey, father? " 
 1 This is a fact. 
 
§^JSil*M' 
 
 Jhe luje.on cfre.uo- 60 *ta.m.€ " 
 
The White Pigeon 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure, my dear," said his father, laugh- 
 ing; " I wish you may make the best messenger in Ireland 
 of your pigeon ; but all I beg, my dear boy, is that you 
 won't neglect our shop for your pigeon ; for I've a notion 
 we have a better chance of making a fortune by the shop 
 than by the white pigeon." 
 
 Brian never neglected the shop ; but at his leisure hours 
 he amused himself with training his pigeon ; and after 
 much patience he at last succeeded so well, that one day 
 he went to his father and offered to send him word by his 
 pigeon what beef was a pound in the market of Bally- 
 nagrish, where he was going. " The pigeon will be home 
 long before me, father ; and he will come in at the kitchen 
 window, and light upon the dresser ; then you must 
 untie the little note which I shall have tied under his left 
 wing, and you'll know the price of beef directly." 
 
 The pigeon carried his message well ; and Brian was 
 much delighted with his success. He soon was employed 
 by the neighbours, who were amused by Brian's fondness 
 for his swift messenger ; and soon the fame of the white 
 pigeon was spread amongst all who frequented the markets 
 and fairs of Somerville. 
 
 At one of these fairs a set of men of desperate fortunes 
 met to drink, and to concert plans of robberies. Their 
 place of meeting was at the alehouse of Mr. Cox, the man 
 who, as our readers may remember, was offended by Mr. 
 Somerville's hinting that he was fond of drinking and of 
 quarrelling, and who threatened vengeance for having been 
 refused the new inn. 
 
 Whilst these men were talking over their schemes, one 
 of them observed, that one of their companions was not 
 arrived. Another said, "No." "He's six miles off," said 
 another ; and a third wished that he could make him hear 
 at that distance. This turned the discourse upon the 
 difficulties of sending messages secretly and quickly. 
 Cox's son, a lad of about nineteen, who was one of this 
 gang, mentioned the white carrier-pigeon, and he was 
 desired to try all means to get it into his possession. 
 Accordingly, the next day young Cox went to Brian 
 O'Neill, and tried, at first by persuasion and afterwards 
 
 171 
 
The White Pigeon 
 
 by threats, to prevail upon him to give up the pigeon. 
 Brian was resolute in his refusal, more especially when the 
 petitioner began to bully him. 
 
 "If we can't have it by fair means, we will by foul," 
 said Cox ; and a few days afterwards the pigeon was gone. 
 Brian searched for it in vain — inquired from all the neigh- 
 bours if they had seen it, and applied, but to no purpose, 
 to Cox. He swore that he knew nothing about the 
 matter ; but this was false — for it was he who, during the 
 night-time, had stolen the white pigeon : he conveyed 
 it to his employers, and they rejoiced that they had got 
 it into their possession, as they thought it would serve 
 them for a useful messenger. 
 
 Nothing can be more short-sighted than cunning. The 
 very means which these people took to secure secrecy 
 were the means of bringing their plots to light. They 
 endeavoured to teach the pigeon, which they had stolen, 
 to carry messages for them in a part of the country at 
 some distance from Somerville ; and when they fancied 
 that it had forgotten its former habits, and its old master, 
 they thought that they might venture to employ him 
 nearer home. However, the pigeon had a better memory 
 than they imagined. They loosed him from a bog near 
 the town of Ballynagrish in hopes that he would stop 
 at the house of Cox's cousin, which was on the road 
 between Ballynagrish and Somerville. But the pigeon, 
 though he had been purposely fed at this house for a week 
 before this trial, did not stop there, but flew on to his 
 old master's house in Somerville, and pecked at the kitchen 
 window, as he had formerly been taught to do. His master, 
 fortunately, was within hearing ; and poor Brian ran with 
 the greatest joy to open the window and to let him in. 
 
 " Oh, father, here's my white pigeon come back of his 
 own accord," exclaimed Brian ; " I must run and show him 
 to my mother." 
 
 At this instant the pigeon spread his wings, and Brian 
 discovered under one of them a small and very dirty- 
 looking billet : he opened it in his father's presence. 
 The scrawl was scarcely legible ; but these words were 
 at length deciphered : — 
 
 172 
 
The White Pigeon 
 
 " Thare are eight of uz sworn ; I send yo at botom thare names. 
 We meat at tin this nite at my faders, and have harms and all in 
 radiness to brak into the grate ouse. Mr. Summervill is to lye out 
 to nite — kip the pigeon untill to-morrow. For ever yours, 
 
 "MURTAGH COX, JUN." 
 
 Scarcely had they finished reading this note, than both 
 father and son exclaimed, " Let us go and show it to 
 Mr. Somerville." Before they set out, they had, however, 
 the prudence to secure the pigeon, so that he should not 
 be seen by any one but themselves. 
 
 Mr. Somerville, in consequence of this fortunate dis- 
 covery, took proper measures for the apprehension of the 
 eight men who had sworn to rob his house ; and when 
 they were all safely lodged in the county gaol, he sent for 
 Brian O'Neill and his father ; and after thanking them 
 for the service they had done him, he counted out ten 
 bright guineas upon the table, and pushed them towards 
 Brian, saying, " I suppose you know that a reward of ten 
 guineas was offered some weeks ago for the discovery of 
 John Mac Dermod, one of the eight men whom we have 
 just taken up ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Brian ; " I did not know it, and I did 
 not bring that note to you to get ten guineas, but because 
 I thought it was right. I don't want to be paid for doing 
 right." 
 
 " That's my own boy," said his father. " We thank you, 
 sir, but we'll not take the money ; / don't like to take the 
 price of blood!' x 
 
 " I know the difference, my good friends," said Mr. 
 Somerville, " between vile informers and courageous, honest 
 men." 
 
 " Why, as to that, please your honour, though we are 
 poor, I hope we are honest." 
 
 " And what is more," said Mr. Somerville, " I have a 
 notion that you would continue to be honest, even if 
 you were rich." 
 
 "Will you, my good lad," continued Mr. Somerville, 
 after a moment's pause — "will you trust me with your 
 white pigeon a few days ? " 
 
 1 This answer was really given upon a similar occasion. 
 173 
 
The White Pigeon 
 
 " Oh, and welcome, sir ! " said the boy, with a smile ; 
 and he brought the pigeon to Mr. Somerville when it 
 was dark, and nobody saw him. A few days afterwards, 
 Mr. Somerville called at O'Neill's house, and bade him 
 and his son follow him. They followed till he stopped 
 opposite to the bow-window of the new inn. The 
 carpenter had just put up a sign, which was covered over 
 with a bit of carpeting. 
 
 " Go up the ladder, will you ? " said Mr. Somerville to 
 Brian, " and pull that sign straight, for it hangs quite 
 crooked. There, now it is straight. Now pull off the 
 carpet, and let us see the new sign." 
 
 The boy pulled off the cover, and saw a white pigeon 
 painted upon the sign, and the name of O'Neill in large 
 letters underneath. 
 
 "Take care you do not tumble down and break your 
 neck upon this joyful occasion," said Mr. Somerville, who 
 saw that Brian's surprise was too great for the situation. 
 " Come down from the ladder, and wish your father joy 
 of being master of the new inn called the White Pigeon. 
 And I wish him joy of having such a son as you are. 
 Those who bring up their children well will certainly be 
 rewarded for it, be they poor or rich." 
 
 174 
 
THE neighbourhood of a seaport town, 
 
 in the west of England, there lived a 
 
 gardener, who had one son, called 
 
 Maurice, of whom he was very fond. 
 
 % One day his father sent him to the 
 
 * neighbouring town to purchase some 
 
 garden seeds for him. When Maurice 
 
 got to the seed-shop, it was full of 
 
 people, who were all impatient to be 
 
 served ; first, a great tall man, and next, 
 
 a great fat woman, pushed before him, and he 
 
 stood quietly beside the counter, waiting till 
 
 somebody should be at leisure to attend to 
 
 him. At length, when all the other people 
 
 who were in the shop had got what they 
 
 wanted, the shopman turned to Maurice — 
 
 "And what do you want, my patient little 
 
 said he. 
 
 i75 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 " I want all these seeds for my father," said Maurice, 
 putting a list of seeds into the shopman's hand ; " and I 
 have brought money to pay for them all." 
 
 The seedsman looked out all the seeds that Maurice 
 wanted, and packed them up in paper : he was folding up 
 some painted-lady peas, when, from a door at the back of 
 the shop, there came in a square, rough-faced man, who 
 exclaimed, the moment he came in, " Are the seeds I 
 ordered ready ? — The wind's fair — they ought to have been 
 aboard yesterday. And my china jar, is it packed up and 
 directed ? where is it? " 
 
 " It is up there on the shelf over your head, sir," answered 
 the seedsman. " It is very safe, you see ; but we have not 
 had time to pack it yet — It shall be done to-day; and we 
 will get the seeds ready for you, sir, immediately." 
 
 "Immediately! then stir about it — the seeds will not 
 pack themselves up. Make haste, pray." 
 
 " Immediately, sir, as soon as I have done up the parcel 
 for this little boy." 
 
 "What signifies the parcel for this little boy? He can 
 wait, and I cannot — wind and tide wait for no man. Here, 
 my good lad, take your parcel, and sheer off," said the 
 impatient man ; and, as he spoke, he took up the parcel of 
 seeds from the counter, as the shopman stooped to look for 
 a sheet of thick brown paper and packthread, to tie it 
 up in. 
 
 The parcel was but loosely folded up, and as the im- 
 patient man lifted it, the weight of the peas which were 
 withinside of it burst the paper, and all the seeds fell out 
 upon the floor, while Maurice in vain held his hands to 
 catch them. The peas rolled to all parts of the shop ; the 
 impatient man swore at them, but Maurice, without being 
 out of humour, set about collecting them as fast as possible. 
 
 While he was busied in this manner, the man got what 
 seeds he wanted ; and as he was talking about them, a 
 sailor came into the shop, and said, " Captain, the wind has 
 changed within these five minutes, and it looks as if we 
 should have ugly weather." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad of it," replied the rough-faced man, who 
 was the captain of a ship. " I am glad to have a day 
 
 176 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 longer to stay ashore, and I've business enough on my 
 hands." 
 
 The captain pushed forward towards the shop door. 
 Maurice, who was kneeling on the floor, picking up his 
 seeds, saw that the captain's foot was entangled in some 
 packthread which hung down from the shelf on which the 
 china jar stood. Maurice saw that, if the captain took one 
 more step forward, he must pull the string, so that it would 
 throw down the jar, round the bottom of which the pack- 
 thread was entangled. He immediately caught hold of the 
 captain's leg, and stopped him — " Stay ! Stand still, sir ! " 
 said he ; " or you will break your china jar." 
 
 The man stood still, looked, and saw how the packthread 
 had caught in his shoe-buckle, and how it was near drag- 
 ging down his beautiful china jar. " I am really very much 
 obliged to you, my little fellow," said he. " You have 
 saved my jar, which I would not have broken for ten 
 guineas ; for it is for my wife, and I've brought it safe from 
 abroad many a league. It would have been a pity if I had 
 broken it just when it was safe landed. I am really much 
 obliged to you, my little fellow ; this was returning good 
 for evil. I am sorry I threw down your seeds, as you are 
 such a good-natured, forgiving boy." 
 
 " Be so kind," continued he, turning to the shopman, " as 
 to reach down that china jar for me." 
 
 The shopman lifted down the jar very carefully, and the 
 captain took off the cover, and pulled out some tulip-roots. 
 
 " You seem, by the quantity of seeds you have got, to 
 belong to a gardener. Are you fond of gardening ? " said 
 he to Maurice. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Maurice, " very fond of it ; for my 
 father is a gardener, and he lets me help him at his work, 
 and he has given me a little garden of my own." 
 
 " Then here are a couple of tulip-roots for you ; and if 
 you take care of them, I'll promise you that you will have 
 the finest tulips in England in your little garden. These 
 tulips were given to me by a Dutch merchant, who told 
 me that they were some of the rarest and finest in Holland. 
 They will prosper with you, I'm sure, wind and weather 
 permitting." 
 
 I 77 N 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 Maurice thanked the gentleman, and returned home, 
 eager to show his precious tulip-roots to his father, and to 
 a companion of his, the son of a nurseryman, who lived 
 near him. Arthur was the name of the nurseryman's son. 
 
 The first thing Maurice did, after showing his tulip -roots 
 to his father, was to run to Arthur's garden in search of 
 him. Their gardens were separated only by a low wall of 
 loose stones : — " Arthur ! Arthur ! where are you ? Are 
 you in your garden ? I want you." — But Arthur made no 
 answer, and did not, as usual, come running to meet his 
 friend. " I know where you are," continued Maurice, 
 " and I'm coming to you as fast as the raspberry-bushes 
 will let me. I have good news for you — something you'll 
 be delighted to see, Arthur ! — Ha ! — but here is something 
 that I am not delighted to see, I am sure," said poor 
 Maurice, who, when he had got through the raspberry- 
 bushes, and had come in sight of his own garden, beheld his 
 bell-glass — his beloved bell-glass, under which his cucumbers 
 were grown so finely — his only bell-glass, broken to pieces ! 
 
 " I am sorry for it," said Arthur, who stood leaning upon 
 his spade in his own garden ; " I am afraid you will be 
 very angry with me." 
 
 " Why, was it you, Arthur, broke my bell-glass ? Oh, 
 how could you do so ? " 
 
 " I was throwing weeds and rubbish over the wall, and 
 by accident a great lump of couch-grass, with stones 
 hanging to the roots, fell upon your bell-glass, and broke 
 it, as you see." 
 
 Maurice lifted up the lump of couch-grass, which had 
 fallen through the broken glass upon his cucumbers, and 
 he looked at his cucumbers for a moment in silence — " Oh, 
 my poor cucumbers ! you must all die now ; I shall see all 
 your yellow flowers withered to-morrow ; but it is done, 
 and it cannot be helped ; so, Arthur, let us say no more 
 about it." 
 
 " You are very good ; I thought you would have been 
 angry. I am sure I should have been exceedingly angry 
 if you had broken the glass, if it had been mine." 
 
 " Oh, forgive and forget, as my father always says ; 
 that's the best way. Look what I have got for you." 
 
 178 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 Then he told Arthur the story of the captain of the ship, 
 and the china jar ; the seeds having been thrown down, 
 and of the fine tulip-roots which had been given to him ; 
 and Maurice concluded by offering one of the precious 
 roots to Arthur, who thanked him with great joy, and 
 repeatedly said, " How good you were, not to be angry with 
 me for breaking your bell-glass ! I am much more sorry 
 for it than if you had been in a passion with me ! " 
 
 Arthur now went to plant his tulip-root ; and Maurice 
 looked at the beds which his companion had been digging, 
 and at all the things which were coming up in his garden. 
 
 " I don't know how it is," said Arthur, " but you always 
 seem as glad to see the things in my garden coming up, 
 and doing well, as if they were all your own. I am much 
 happier since my father came to live here, and since you 
 and I have been allowed to work and to play together, 
 than I ever was before ; for you must know, before we 
 came to live here, I had a cousin in the house with me, 
 who used to plague me. He was not near so good-natured 
 as you are ; he never took pleasure in looking at my 
 garden, or at anything that I did that was well done ; and 
 he never gave me a share of anything that he had ; and so 
 I did not like him — how could I ? But I believe that 
 hating people makes us unhappy ; for I know I never was 
 happy when I was quarrelling with him ; and I am always 
 happy with you, Maurice. You know we never quarrel." 
 
 It would be well for all the world if they could be con- 
 vinced, like Arthur, that to live in friendship is better than 
 to quarrel. It would be well for all the world if they 
 followed Maurice's maxim of " Forgive and Forget," when 
 they receive, or when they imagine that they receive, an 
 injury. 
 
 Arthur's father, Mr. Oakly, the nurseryman, was apt to 
 take offence at trifles ; and when he thought that any of 
 his neighbours disobliged him, he was too proud to ask 
 them to explain their conduct ; therefore he was often 
 mistaken in his judgment of them. He thought that it 
 showed spirit, to remember and to resent an injury ; and, 
 therefore, though he was not an ill-natured man, he was 
 sometimes led, by his mistaken idea of spirit, to do ill— 
 
 179 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 natured things : " A warm friend and a bitter enemy," was 
 one of his maxims, and he had many more enemies than 
 friends. He was not very rich, but he was proud ; and 
 his favourite proverb was, " Better live in spite than in 
 pity." 
 
 When first he settled near Mr. Grant, the gardener, he 
 felt inclined to dislike him, because he was told that Mr. 
 Grant was a Scotchman, and he had a prejudice against 
 Scotchmen ; all of whom he believed to be cunning and 
 avaricious, because he had once been over-reached by a 
 Scotch pedlar. Grant's friendly manners in some degree 
 conquered this prepossession ; but still he secretly suspected 
 that this civility, as he said, "was all show, and that he was 
 not, and could not, being a Scotchman, be such a hearty 
 friend as a true-born Englishman." 
 
 Grant had some remarkably fine raspberries. The fruit 
 was so large as to be quite a curiosity. When it was in 
 season, many strangers came from the neighbouring town, 
 which was a sea-bathing place, to look at these raspberries, 
 which obtained the name of Brobdingnag raspberries. 
 i " How came you, pray, neighbour Grant, if a man may 
 ask, by these wonderful fine raspberries ? " said Mr. Oakly, 
 one evening, to the gardener. 
 
 " That's a secret," replied Grant, with an arch smile. 
 
 " Oh, in case it's a secret, I've no more to say ; for I 
 never meddle with any man's secrets that he does not 
 choose to trust me with. But I wish, neighbour Grant, 
 you would put down that book. You are always poring 
 over some book or another, when a man comes to see you ; 
 which is not, according to my notions (being a plain, 
 unlarned Englishman bred and born), so civil and neigh- 
 bourly as might be." 
 
 Mr. Grant hastily shut his book, but remarked, with a 
 shrewd glance at his son, that it was in that book he found 
 his Brobdingnag raspberries. 
 
 " You are pleased to be pleasant upon them that have 
 not the luck to be as book-larned as yourself, Mr. Grant ; 
 but I take it, being only a plain-spoken Englishman, as I 
 observed afore, that one is to the full as like to find a rasp- 
 berry in one's garden as in one's book, Mr. Grant." 
 
 1 80 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 Grant, observing that his neighbour spoke rather in a 
 surly tone, did not contradict him ; being well versed in 
 the Bible, he knew that " A soft answer turneth away 
 wrath ; " and he replied, in a good-humoured voice, " I hear, 
 neighbour Oakly, you are likely to make a great deal of 
 money of your nursery this year. Here's to the health of 
 you and yours, not forgetting the seedling larch, which I 
 see are coming on finely." 
 
 "Thank ye, neighbour, kindly; the larch are coming on 
 tolerably well, that's certain ; and here's to your good 
 health, Mr. Grant — you and yours, not forgetting your 
 what d'ye call 'em raspberries" — {drinks) — and, after a 
 pause, resumes, " I'm not apt to be a beggar, neighbour, 
 but if you could give me " 
 
 Here Mr. Oakly was interrupted by the entrance of some 
 strangers, and he did not finish making his request. Mr. 
 Oakly was not, as he said of himself, apt to ask favours, 
 and nothing but Grant's cordiality could have conquered 
 his prejudices, so far as to tempt him to ask- a favour from 
 a Scotchman. He was going to have asked for some 
 of the Brobdingnag raspberry-plants. The next day the 
 thought of the raspberry-plants recurred to his memory ; 
 but being a bashful man, he did not like to go himself on 
 purpose to make his petition, and he desired his wife, who 
 was just setting out to market, to call at Grant's gate, and, 
 if he was at work in his garden, to ask him for a few plants 
 of his raspberries. 
 
 The answer which Oakly's wife brought to him was that 
 Mr. Grant had not a raspberry-plant in the world to give 
 him, and that if he had ever so many, he would not give 
 one away, except to his own son. Oakly flew into a passion 
 when he received such a message, declared it was just such 
 a mean, shabby trick as might have been expected from a 
 Scotchman — called himself a booby, a dupe, and a block- 
 head, for ever having trusted to the civil speeches of a 
 Scotchman — swore that he would die in the parish work- 
 house before he would ever ask another favour, be it never 
 so small, from a Scotchman — related for the hundredth 
 time, to his wife, the way in which he had been taken in 
 by the Scotch pedlar ten years ago, and concluded by 
 
 1S1 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 forswearing all further intercourse with. Mr. Grant, and 
 all belonging to him. 
 
 " Son Arthur," said he, addressing himself to the boy, 
 who just then came in from work — " Son Arthur, do you 
 hear me ? let me never again see you with Grant's son." 
 
 " With Maurice, father ? " 
 
 " With Maurice Grant, I say ; I forbid you from this 
 day and hour forward to have anything to do with him." 
 
 " Oh, why, dear father ? " 
 
 "Ask me no questions, but do as I bid you." 
 
 Arthur burst out a-crying, and only said, " Yes, father, 
 I'll do as you bid me, to be sure." 
 
 "Why now, what does the boy cry for? Is there no 
 other boy, simpleton, think you, to play with, but this 
 Scotchman's son ? I'll find out another play-fellow for ye, 
 child, if that be all." 
 
 " That's not all. father," said Arthur, trying to stop himself 
 from sobbing ; " but the thing is, I shall never have such 
 another play-fellow, I shall never have such another friend 
 as Maurice Grant." 
 
 " Ah, poor fool ! " said his father, pressing his son's head 
 to him, " you are just such another as your father — ready 
 to be taken in by a fair word or so. But when you've 
 lived as long as I have, you'll find that friends are not as 
 plenty as blackberries, and don't grow upon every bush." 
 
 " No, indeed, I don't think they do," said Arthur : " I 
 never had a friend before, and I shall never have such 
 another as Maurice Grant." 
 
 " Like father like son — you may think yourself well off 
 to have done with him." 
 
 " Done with him ! Oh, father, and shall I never go 
 again to work in his garden, and may not he come to mine ? " 
 
 " No," replied Oakly, sturdily ; " his father has used me 
 uncivil, and no man shall use me uncivil twice. I say no. 
 Wife, sweep up this hearth. Boy, don't take on like a fool, 
 but eat thy bacon and greens, and let's hear no more of 
 Maurice Grant." 
 
 Arthur promised to obey his father. He only begged 
 that he might once more speak to Maurice, and tell him 
 that it was by his father's orders he acted. This request 
 
 182 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 was granted ; but when Arthur further begged to know 
 what reason he might give for this separation, his father 
 refused to tell his reasons. 
 
 The two friends took leave of one another very sorrowfully. 
 
 Mr. Grant, when he heard of all this, endeavoured to 
 discover what could have offended his neighbour; but all ex- 
 planation was prevented by the obstinate silence of Oakly. 
 
 Now, the message which Grant really sent about the 
 Brobdingnag raspberries was somewhat different from that 
 which Mr. Oakly received. The message was, that the 
 raspberries were not Mr. Grant's ; that therefore he had no 
 right to give them away ; that they belonged to his son 
 Maurice, and that this was not the right time of year for 
 planting them. This message had been unluckily mis- 
 understood. Grant gave his answer to his wife ; she to a 
 Welsh servant-girl, who did not perfectly comprehend her 
 mistress's broad Scotch ; and she in her turn could not 
 make herself intelligible to Mrs. Oakly, who hated the 
 Welsh accent, and whose attention, when the servant-girl 
 delivered the message, was principally engrossed by the 
 management of her own horse. The horse on which Mrs. 
 Oakly rode this day, being ill-broken, would not stand still 
 quietly at the gate, and she was extremely impatient to 
 receive her answer, and to ride on to market. — On such 
 slight things do the quarrels of neighbours often depend. 
 
 Oakly, when he had once resolved to dislike his neigh- 
 bour Grant, could not long remain without finding out fresh 
 causes of complaint. There was in Grant's garden a plum- 
 tree, which was planted close to the loose stone wall that 
 divided the garden from the nursery. The soil in which 
 the plum-tree was planted happened not to be quite so 
 good as that which was on the opposite side of the wall, 
 and the plum-tree had forced its way through the wall, and 
 gradually had taken possession of the ground which it 
 liked best. Oakly thought the plum-tree, as it belonged to 
 Mr. Grant, had no right to make its appearance on his 
 ground : an attorney told him that he might oblige Grant 
 to cut it down ; but Mr. Grant refused to cut down his 
 plum-tree at the attorney's desire, and the attorney persuaded 
 Oakly to go to law about the business, and the lawsuit 
 
 1 3 3 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 went on for some months. The attorney, at the end of 
 this time, came to Oakly with a demand for money to 
 carry on his suit, assuring him that, in a short time, it 
 would be determined in his favour. Oakly paid his attorney 
 ten golden guineas, remarked that it was a great sum for 
 him to pay, and that nothing but the love of justice could 
 make him persevere in this lawsuit about a bit of ground, 
 " which, after all," said he, " is not worth twopence. The 
 plum-tree does me little or no damage, but I don't like to 
 be imposed upon by a Scotchman." 
 
 The attorney saw and took advantage of Oakly's pre- 
 judice against the natives of Scotland ; and he persuaded 
 him, that to show the spirit of a true-born Englishman it 
 was necessary, whatever it might cost him, to persist in this 
 lawsuit. 
 
 It was soon after this conversation with the attorney that 
 Mr. Oakly walked, with resolute steps, towards the plum- 
 tree, saying to himself, "If it costs me a hundred pounds 
 I will not let this cunning Scotchman get the better of me." 
 
 Arthur interrupted his father's reverie, by pointing to a 
 book and some young plants which lay upon the wall. 
 " I fancy, father," said he, " those things are for you, for 
 there is a little note directed to you, in Maurice's hand- 
 writing ; shall I bring it to you ? " 
 
 "Yes, let me read it, child, since I must." 
 
 It contained these words : 
 
 "Dear Mr. Oakly, — I don't know why you have quarrelled with 
 us ; I am very sorry for it. But though you are angry with me, I am 
 not angry with you. I hope you will not refuse some of my Brobding- 
 nag raspberry-plants, which you asked for a great while ago, when we 
 were all good friends. It was not the right time of the year to plant 
 them then, which was the reason they were not sent to you, but it is 
 just the right time to plant them now ; and I send you the book, in 
 which you will find the reason why we always put seaweed ashes about 
 their roots ; and I have got some for you. You will find the ashes in 
 the flower-pot upon the wall. I have never spoken to Arthur, nor he 
 to me, since you bid us not. So, wishing your Brobdingnag raspberries 
 may turn out as well as ours, and longing to be all friends again, I am, 
 with love to dear Arthur and self, 
 
 " Your affectionate neighbour's son, 
 
 " Maurice Grant. 
 
 "P.S. — It is now four months since the quarrel began ; and that is 
 a very long while." 
 
 184 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 A great part of the effect of this letter was lost upon 
 Oakly, because he was not very expert at reading writing, 
 and it cost him much trouble to spell it and put it together. 
 However, he seemed touched by it, and said, " I believe 
 this Maurice loves you well enough, Arthur, and he seems 
 a good sort of boy ; but as to the raspberries, I believe all 
 that he says about them is but an excuse ; and, at any rate, 
 as I could not get 'em when I asked for them, I'll not have 
 them now. — Do you hear me, I say, Arthur ? What are 
 you reading there ? " 
 
 Arthur was reading the page that was doubled down in 
 the book, which Maurice had left along with the raspberry- 
 plants upon the wall. Arthur read aloud as follows : — 
 
 {Mo7ithly Magazitie, Dec. 1798, p. 421.) 
 
 "There is a sort of strawberry cultivated at Jersey, which is almost 
 covered with seaweed in the winter, in like manner as many plants in 
 England are with litter from the stable. These strawberries are 
 usually of the largeness of a middle-sized apricot, and the flavour is 
 particularly grateful. In Jersey and Guernsey, situate scarcely one 
 degree further south than Cornwall, all kinds of fruit, pulse, and 
 vegetables, are produced in their seasons, a fortnight or three weeks 
 sooner than in England, even on the southern shores ; and snow will 
 scarcely remain twenty-four hours on the earth. Although this may 
 be attributed to these islands being surrounded with a salt, and conse- 
 quently a moist atmosphere, yet the ashes (seaweed ashes) made use 
 of as manure, may also have their portion of influence." l 
 
 " And here," continued Arthur, " is something written 
 with a pencil, on a slip of paper, and it is Maurice's writing. 
 I will read it to you : — 
 
 " When I read in this book what is said about the straw- 
 berries growing as large as apricots, after they had been 
 covered over with seaweed, I thought that, perhaps, seaweed 
 ashes might be good for my father's raspberries ; and I 
 asked him if he would give me leave to try them. He 
 gave me leave, and I went directly and gathered together 
 some seaweed that had been cast on shore : and I dried it, 
 and burned it, and then I manured the raspberries with it, 
 and the year afterwards the raspberries grew to the size 
 that you have seen. Now, the reason I tell you this is : 
 
 1 It is necessary to observe that this experiment has never been 
 actually tried upon raspberries. 
 
 185 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 first, that you may know how to manage your raspberries ; 
 and next, because I remember you looked very grave, and 
 as if you were not pleased with my father, Mr. Grant, when, 
 he told you that the way by which he came by his Brob- 
 dingnag raspberries was a secret. Perhaps this was the 
 thing that has made you so angry with us all ; for you 
 never have come to see father since that evening. Now I 
 have told you all I know ; and so I hope you will not be 
 angry with us any longer." 
 
 Mr. Oakly was much pleased by this openness, and said, 
 " Why now, Arthur, this is something like, this is telling 
 one the thing one wants to know, without fine speeches. 
 This is like an Englishman more than a Scotchman. Pray, 
 Arthur, do you know whether your friend Maurice was 
 born in England or in Scotland ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, father, I don't know — I never asked — I did 
 not think it signified. All I know is, that wherever he 
 was born, he is very good. Look, father, my tulip is 
 blowing." 
 
 " Upon my word, this will be a beautiful tulip ! " 
 
 "It was given to me by Maurice." 
 
 "And did you give him nothing for it? " 
 
 " Nothing in the world ; and he gave it to me just at a 
 time when he had good cause to be very angry with me, 
 just when I had broken his bell-glass." 
 
 " I have a great mind to let you play together again," 
 said Arthur's father. 
 
 " Oh, if you would," cried Arthur, clapping his hands, 
 " how happy we should be ! Do you know, father, I have 
 often sat for an hour at a time up in that crab-tree, looking 
 at Maurice at work in his garden, and wishing that I was at 
 work with him. My garden, look ye, father, is not nearly 
 in such good order as it used to be ; but everything would 
 go right again if " 
 
 Here Arthur was interrupted by the attorney, who came 
 to ask Mr. Oakly some question about the lawsuit concern- 
 ing the plum-tree. Oakly showed him Maurice's letter ; 
 and to Arthur's extreme astonishment, the attorney had no 
 sooner read it, than he exclaimed, " What an artful little 
 gentleman this is ! I never, in the course of all my practice, 
 
 186 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 met with anything better. Why, this is the most cunning 
 letter I ever read." 
 
 " Where's the cunning ? " said Oakly, and he put on his 
 spectacles. 
 
 " My good sir, don't you see, that all this stuff about 
 Brobdingnag raspberries is to ward off your suit about the 
 plum-tree ? They know — that is, Mr. Grant, who is sharp 
 enough, knows — that he will be worsted in that suit ; that 
 he must, in short, pay you a good round sum for damages, 
 if it goes on." 
 
 " Damages ! " said Oakly, staring round him at the plum- 
 tree ; " but I don't know what you mean. I mean nothing 
 but what's honest. I don't mean to ask for any good 
 round sum ; for the plum-tree has done me no great harm 
 by coming into my garden ; but only I don't choose it 
 should come there without my leave." 
 
 " Well, well," said the attorney, " I understand all that ; 
 but what I want to make you, Mr. Oakly, understand, is, 
 that this Grant and his son only want to make up matters 
 with you, and prevent the thing's coming to a fair trial, by 
 sending you, in this underhand sort of way, a bribe of a 
 few raspberries." 
 
 " A bribe ! " exclaimed Oakly ; " I never took a bribe, 
 and I never will ; " and, with sudden indignation, he pulled 
 the raspberry plants from the ground in which Arthur was 
 planting them ; and he threw them over the wall into 
 Grant's garden. 
 
 Maurice had put his tulip, which was beginning to blow, 
 in a flower-pot, on the top of the wall, in hopes that his 
 friend Arthur would see it from day to day. 
 
 Alas ! he knew not in what a dangerous situation he had 
 placed it. One of his own Brobdingnag raspberry-plants, 
 swung by the angry arm of Oakly, struck off the head of 
 his precious tulip ! 
 
 Arthur, who was full of the thought of convincing his 
 father that the attorney was mistaken in his judgment of 
 poor Maurice, did not observe the fall of the tulip. 
 
 The next day, when Maurice saw his raspberry-plants 
 scattered upon the ground, and his favourite tulip broken, 
 he was in much astonishment, and, for some moments, 
 
 187 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 angry ; but anger, with him, never lasted long. He was 
 convinced that all this must be owing to some accident or 
 mistake. He could not believe that any one could be so 
 malicious as to injure him on purpose — " And even if they 
 did all this on purpose to vex me," said he to himself, " the 
 best thing I can do, is, not to let it vex me. — Forgive and 
 forget." 
 
 This temper of mind Maurice was more happy in enjoy- 
 ing, than he could have been made, without it, by the 
 possession of all the tulips in Holland. 
 
 Tulips were, at this time, things of great consequence in 
 the estimation of the country several miles round where 
 Maurice and Arthur lived. 
 
 There was a florists' feast to be held at the neighbouring 
 town, at which a prize of a handsome set of gardening-tools 
 was to be given to the person who could produce the finest 
 flower of its kind. A tulip was the flower which was 
 thought the finest the preceding year, and consequently 
 numbers of people afterwards endeavoured to procure 
 tulip-roots, in hopes of obtaining the prize this year. 
 
 Arthur's tulip was beautiful. As he examined it from 
 day to day, and every day thought it improving, he longed 
 to thank his friend Maurice for it ; and he often mounted 
 into his crab-tree, to look into Maurice's garden, in hopes 
 of seeing his tulip also in full bloom and beauty. He never 
 could see it. 
 
 The day of the florists' feast arrived, and Oakly went 
 with his son, and the fine tulip, to the place of meeting. 
 It was on a spacious bowling-green. All the flowers of 
 various sorts were ranged upon a terrace at the upper end 
 of the bowling-green ; and, amongst all this gay variety, 
 the tulip which Maurice had given to Arthur appeared con- 
 spicuously beautiful. To the owner of this tulip the prize 
 was adjudged ; and, as the handsome garden-tools were 
 delivered to Arthur, he heard a well-known voice wish him 
 joy. He turned, looked about him, and saw his friend 
 Maurice. 
 
 " But, Maurice, where is your own tulip ? " said Mr. 
 Oakly ; " I thought, Arthur, you told me that he kept one 
 for himself." 
 
 188 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 "So I did," said Maurice ; "but somebody (I suppose by 
 accident) broke it." 
 
 "Somebody! who?" cried Arthur and Mr. Oakly at 
 once. 
 
 " Somebody who threw the raspberry-plants back again 
 over the wall," replied Maurice. 
 
 " That was me — that somebody was me," said Oakly. 
 " I scorn to deny it ; but I did not intend to break your 
 tulip, Maurice." 
 
 " Dear Maurice," said Arthur — " you know I may call 
 him dear Maurice, now } t ou are by, father — here are all 
 the garden-tools ; take them and welcome." 
 
 " Not one of them," said Maurice, drawing back. 
 
 "Offer them to the father— offer them to Mr. Grant," 
 whispered Oakly; "he'll take them, I'll answer for it." 
 
 Mr. Oakly was mistaken — the father would not accept of 
 the tools. 
 
 Mr. Oakly stood surprised — " Certainly," said he to him- 
 self, " this cannot bz such a miser as I took him for ;" and 
 he walked immediately up to Grant, and bluntly said to 
 him, " Mr. Grant, your son has behaved very handsome to 
 my son ; and you seem to be glad of it." 
 
 " To be sure I am," said Grant. 
 
 " Which," continued Oakly, " gives me a better opinion 
 of you than ever I had before — I mean, than ever I had 
 since the day you sent me the shabby answer about those 
 foolish, what d'ye call 'em, cursed raspberries." 
 
 " What shabby answer ? " said Grant, with surprise : and 
 Oakly repeated exactly the message which he received ; 
 and Grant declared that he never sent any such message. 
 He repeated exactly the answer which he really sent, and 
 Oakly immediately stretched out his hand to him, saying, 
 " I believe you : no more need be said. I'm only sorry I 
 did not ask you about this four months ago ; and so I 
 should have done if you had not been a Scotchman. Till 
 now, I never rightly liked a Scotchman. We may thank 
 this good little fellow," continued he, turning to Maurice, 
 " for our coming at last to a right understanding : for there 
 was no holding out against his good-nature. I'm sure, from 
 the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry I broke his tulip. Shake 
 
 189 
 
Forgive and Forget 
 
 hands, boys ; I'm glad to see you, Arthur, look so happy 
 again, and hope Mr. Grant will forgive " 
 
 " Oh, forgive and forget," said Grant and his son at the 
 same moment. And from this time forward the two 
 families lived in friendship with each other. 
 
 Oakly laughed at his own folly, in having been persuaded 
 to go to law about the plum-tree ; and he, in process of 
 time, so completely conquered his early prejudice against 
 Scotchmen, that he and Grant became partners in Business. 
 Mr. Grant's book-laming and knowledge of arithmetic he 
 found highly useful to him ; and he, on his side, possessed 
 a great many active, good qualities, which became service- 
 able to his partner. 
 
 The two boys rejoiced in this family union ; and Arthur 
 often declared that they owed all their happiness to Maurice's 
 favourite maxin^ " Forgive and Forget." 
 
 190 
 
ooi want mot 
 
 (sffctT, 
 
 5 Jwo sMn&s to your 6ow. 
 
 |wa|tc NCT.wuglgT' R. GRESHAM, a Bristol merchant, 
 who had, by honourable industry and 
 economy, accumulated a considerable 
 fortune, retired from business to a new 
 house which he had built upon the 
 Downs, near Clifton. Mr. Gresham, 
 however, did not imagine that a new 
 house alone could make him happy. He 
 did not purpose to live in idleness and extravagance, for 
 such a life would have been equally incompatible with 
 his habits and his principles. He was fond of children ; 
 and as he had no sons, he determined to adopt one of his 
 relations. He had two nephews, and he invited both of 
 them to his house, that he might have an opportunity of 
 judging of their dispositions, and of the habits which they 
 had acquired. 
 
 Hal and Benjamin, Mr. Gresham's nephews, were about 
 ten years old. They had been educated very differently. 
 Hal was the son of the elder branch of the family ; his 
 father was a gentleman, who spent rather more than he 
 could afford ; and Hal, from the example of the servants 
 in his father's family, with whom he had passed the first 
 
 191 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 years of his childhood, learned to waste more of everything 
 than he used. He had been told that " gentlemen should 
 be above being careful and saving ; " and he had unfor- 
 tunately imbibed a notion that extravagance is the sign of 
 a generous, and economy of an avaricious disposition. 
 
 Benjamin, so called from Dr. Benjamin Franklin, on the 
 contrary, had been taught habits of care and foresight. 
 His father had but a very small fortune, and was anxious 
 that his son should early learn that economy ensures 
 independence, and sometimes puts it in the power of those 
 who are not very rich to be very generous. 
 
 The morning after these two boys arrived at their uncle's 
 they were eager to see all the rooms in the house. Mr. 
 Gresham accompanied them, and attended to their remarks 
 and exclamations. 
 
 " Oh ! what an excellent motto ! " exclaimed Ben, when 
 he read the following words, which were written in large 
 characters over the chimney-piece, in his uncle's spacious 
 kitchen — 
 
 " WASTE NOT, WANT NOT." 
 
 "'Waste not, want not !'" repeated his cousin Hal, in 
 rather a contemptuous tone ; " I think it looks stingy to 
 servants ; and no gentlemen's servants, cooks especially, 
 would like to have such a mean motto always staring them 
 in the face." 
 
 Ben, who was not so conversant as his cousin in the ways 
 of cooks and gentlemen's servants, made no reply to these 
 observations. 
 
 Mr. Gresham was called away while his nephews were 
 looking at the other rooms in the house. Some time after- 
 wards, he heard their voices in the hall. 
 
 " Boys," said he, " what are you doing there ? " 
 
 " Nothing, sir," said Hal ; " you were called away from 
 us, and we did not know which way to go." 
 
 "And have you nothing to do ? " said Mr. Gresham. 
 
 "No, sir, nothing," answered Hal, in a careless tone, like 
 one who was well content with the state of habitual idleness. 
 
 " No, sir, nothing ! " replied Ben, in a voice of lamentation. 
 
 192 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 " Come," said Mr. Gresham, " if you have nothing to do, 
 lads, will you unpack those two parcels for me ? " 
 
 The two parcels were exactly alike, both of them well 
 tied up with good whipcord. Ben took his parcel to a table, 
 and, after breaking off the sealing-wax, began carefully to 
 examine the knot, and then to untie it. Hal stood still, 
 exactly in the spot where the parcel was put into his hands, 
 and tried first at one corner, and then at another, to pull 
 the string off by force. " I wish these people wouldn't tie 
 up their parcels so tight, as if they were never to be undone," 
 cried he, as he tugged at the cord ; and he pulled the knot 
 closer instead of loosening it. 
 
 " Ben ! why, how did you get yours undone, man ? — 
 what's in your parcel ? — I wonder what is in mine ! I wish 
 I could get this string off — I must cut it." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Ben, who now had undone the last knot 
 of his parcel, and who drew out the length of string with 
 exultation, " don't cut it, Hal, — look what a nice cord this 
 is, and yours is the same : it's a pity to cut it ; ' Waste 7tot, 
 want not ! ' you know." 
 
 " Pooh ! " said Hal, "what signifies a bit of packthread ? " 
 
 " It is whipcord," said Ben. 
 
 " Well, whipcord ! what signifies a bit of whipcord ! you 
 can get a bit of whipcord twice as long as that for twopence ; 
 and who cares for twopence ! Not I, for one ! so here it 
 goes," cried Hal, drawing out his knife; and he cut the 
 cord, precipitately, in sundry places. 
 
 " Lads ! have you undone the parcels for me ? " said Mr. 
 Gresham, opening the parlour door as he spoke. 
 
 " Yes, sir," cried Hal ; and he dragged off his half-cut, 
 half-entangled string — " here's the parcel." 
 
 " And here's my parcel, uncle ; and here's the string," 
 said Ben. 
 
 " You may keep the string for your pains," said Mr. 
 Gresham. 
 
 "Thank you, sir/' said Ben: "what an excellent whip- 
 cord it is ! " 
 
 "And you, Hal," continued Mr. Gresham, "you may 
 keep your string too, if it will be of any use to you." 
 
 " It will be of no use to me, thank you, sir," said Hal. 
 
 193 o 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 " No, I am afraid not, if this be it," said his uncle, taking 
 up the jagged, knotted remains of Hal's cord. 
 
 A few days after this, Mr. Gresham gave to each of his 
 nephews a new top. 
 
 " But how's this? " said Hal ; " these tops have no strings ; 
 what shall we do for strings?" 
 
 " I have a string that will do very well for mine," said 
 Ben ; and he pulled out of his pocket the fine, long, smooth 
 string, which had tied up the parcel. With this he soon set 
 up his top, which spun admirably well. 
 
 " Oh, how I wish that I had but a string," said Hal. 
 " What shall I do for a string ? I'll tell you what, I can 
 use the string that goes round my hat ! " 
 
 " But then," said Ben, " what will you do for a hat-band ? " 
 
 " I'll manage to do without one," said Hal, and he took 
 the string off his hat for his top. It soon was worn through ; 
 and he split his top by driving the peg too tightly into it. 
 His cousin Ben let him set up his the next day ; but Hal 
 was not more fortunate or more careful when he meddled 
 with other people's things than when he managed his own. 
 He had scarcely played half-an-hour before he split it, by 
 driving in the peg too violently. 
 
 Ben bore this misfortune with good humour. " Come," 
 said he, " it can't be helped ; but give me the string, because 
 that may still be of use for something else." 
 
 It happened some time afterwards that a lady, who had 
 been intimately acquainted with Hal's mother at Bath — 
 that is to say, who had frequently met her at the card-table 
 during the winter — now arrived at Clifton. She was in- 
 formed by his mother that Hal was at Mr. Gresham's ; and 
 her sons, who were friends of his, came to see him, and 
 invited him to spend the next day with them. 
 
 Hal joyfully accepted the invitation. He was always 
 glad to go out to dine, because it gave him something to 
 do, something to think of, or at least something to say. 
 Besides this, he had been educated to think it was a fine 
 thing to visit fine people ; and Lady Diana Sweepstakes 
 (for that was the name of his mother's acquaintance) was a 
 very fine lady ; and her two sons intended to be very great 
 gentlemen. 
 
 194 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 He was in a prodigious hurry when these young gentle- 
 men knocked at his uncle's door the next day ; but just as 
 he got to the hall door, little Patty called to him from the 
 top of the stairs, and told him that he had dropped his 
 pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " Pick it up, then, and bring it to me, quick, can't you, 
 child," cried Hal, " for Lady Di's sons are waiting for me." 
 
 Little Patty did not know anything about Lady Di's 
 sons ; but as she was very good-natured, and saw that her 
 cousin Hal was, for some reason or other, in a desperate 
 hurry, she ran down stairs as fast as she possibly could 
 towards the landing-place, where the handkerchief lay : — 
 but, alas ! before she reached the handkerchief, she fell, 
 rolling down a whole flight of stairs ; and when her fall 
 was at last stopped by the landing-place, she did not cry, 
 but she writhed, as if she was in great pain. 
 
 " Where are you hurt, my love ? " said Mr. Gresham, who 
 came instantly, on hearing the noise of some one falling 
 down stairs. " Where are you hurt, my dear ? " 
 
 " Here, papa," said the little girl, touching her ankle ; " I 
 believe I am hurt here, but not much," added she, trying to 
 rise ; " only it hurts me when I move." 
 
 " I'll carry you ; don't move then," said her father ; and 
 he took her up in his arms. 
 
 " My shoe ! I've lost one of my shoes," said she. 
 
 Ben looked for it upon the stairs, and he found it sticking 
 in a loop of whipcord, which was entangled round one of 
 the balusters. When this cord was drawn forth, it appeared 
 that it was the very same jagged, entangled piece which 
 Hal had pulled off his parcel. He had diverted himself 
 with running up and down stairs, whipping the balusters 
 with it, as he thought he could convert it to no better use ; 
 and, with his usual carelessness, he at last left it hanging 
 just where he happened to throw it when the dinner-bell 
 rang. Poor little Patty's ankle was terribly sprained, and 
 Hal reproached himself for his foil)'-, and would have re- 
 proached himself longer, perhaps, if Lady Di Sweepstakes' 
 sons had not hurried him away. 
 
 In the evening, Patty could not run about as she used to 
 do; but she sat upon the sofa, and she said, that she did 
 
 i95 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 not feel the pain of her ankle so much, whilst Ben was so 
 good as to play at jack-straws with her. 
 
 " That's right, Ben ; never be ashamed of being good- 
 natured to those who are younger and weaker than your- 
 self," said his uncle, smiling at seeing him produce his 
 whipcord, to indulge his little cousin with a game at her 
 favourite cat's-cradle. " I shall not think you one bit less 
 manly, because I see you playing at cat's-cradle with a little 
 child of six years old." 
 
 Hal, however, was not precisely of his uncle's opinion : 
 for when he returned in the evening, and saw Ben playing 
 with his little cousin, he could not help smiling contemptu- 
 ously, and asked if he had been playing at cat's-cradle all 
 night. In a heedless manner he made some inquiries after 
 Patty's sprained ankle, and then he ran on to tell all the 
 news he had heard at Lady Diana Sweepstakes' — news 
 which he thought would make him appear a person of vast 
 importance. 
 
 " Do you know, uncle — do you know, Ben," said he — 
 " there's to be the most famous doings that ever were heard 
 of upon the Downs here, the first day of next month, which 
 will be in a fortnight, thank my stars ! I wish the fortnight 
 was over ; I shall think of nothing else, I know, till that 
 happy day comes ! " 
 
 Mr. Gresham inquired why the first of September was to 
 be so much happier than any other day in the year. 
 
 " Why," replied Hal, " Lady Diana Sweepstakes, you 
 know, is a famous rider, and archer, and all that " 
 
 " Very likely," said Mr. Gresham soberly ; " but what 
 then ? " 
 
 " Dear uncle ! " cried Hal, " but you shall hear. There's 
 to be a race upon the Downs on the first of September, and 
 after the race, there's to be an archery meeting for the 
 ladies, and Lady Diana Sweepstakes is to be one of them. 
 And after the ladies have done shooting — now, Ben, comes 
 the best part of it ! — we boys are to have our turn, and 
 Lady Di is to give a prize to the best marksman amongst 
 us, of a very handsome bow and arrow ! Do you know, 
 I've been practising already, and I'll show you, to-morrow, 
 as soon as it comes home, the famous bow and arrow that 
 
 196 
 
"Xtayiny at Gafo crcxffc 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 Lady Diana has given me ; but, perhaps," added he, with a 
 scornful laugh, " you like a cat's-cradle better than a bow 
 and arrow." 
 
 Ben made no reply to this taunt at the moment ; but the 
 next day, when Hal's new bow and arrow came home, he 
 convinced him that he knew how to use it very well. 
 
 " Ben," said his uncle, " you seem to be a good marksman, 
 though you have not boasted of yourself. I'll give you a 
 bow and arrow ; and, perhaps, if you practise, you may 
 make yourself an archer before the first of September ; and, 
 in the mean time, you will not wish the fortnight to be over, 
 for you will have something to do." 
 
 " Oh, sir," interrupted Hal, " but if you mean that Ben 
 should put in for the prize, he must have a uniform." 
 
 " Why must he ? " said Mr. Gresham. 
 
 " Why, sir, because everybody has — I mean everybody 
 that's anybody ; — and Lady Diana was talking about the 
 uniform all dinner-time, and it's settled, all about it, except 
 the buttons ; the young Sweepstakes are to get theirs made 
 first for patterns — they are to be white, faced with green, 
 and they'll look very handsome, I'm sure ; and I shall write 
 to mamma to-night, as Lady Diana bid me, about mine; 
 and I shall tell her to be sure to answer my letter, without 
 fail, by return of post; and then, if mamma makes no 
 objection, which I know she won't, because she never thinks 
 much about expense, and all that — then I shall bespeak my 
 uniform, and get it made by the same tailor that makes for 
 Lady Diana and the young Sweepstakes." 
 
 " Mercy upon us ! " said Mr. Gresham, who was almost 
 stunned by the rapid vociferation with which this long 
 speech about a uniform was pronounced. " I don't pretend 
 to understand these things," added he, with an air of 
 simplicity ; " but we will inquire, Ben, into the necessity of 
 the case ; and if it is necessary — or, if you think it necessary, 
 that you should have a uniform — why, I'll give you one." 
 
 " You, uncle? Will you, indeed ? " exclaimed Hal, with 
 amazement painted in his countenance. " Well, that's the 
 last thing in the world I should have expected ! — You are 
 not at all the sort of person I should have thought would 
 care about a uniform ; and I should have supposed you'd 
 
 199 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 have thought it extravagant to have a coat on purpose only 
 for one day ; and I'm sure Lady Diana Sweepstakes thought 
 as I do ; for when I told her of that motto over your kitchen 
 chimney, ' waste NOT, WANT NOT,' she laughed, and said 
 that I had better not talk to you about uniforms, and that 
 my mother was the proper person to write to about my 
 uniform : but I'll tell Lady Diana, uncle, how good you are, 
 and how much she was mistaken." 
 
 " Take care how you do that," said Mr. Gresham ; " for 
 perhaps the lady was not mistaken." 
 
 " Nay, did not you say, just now, you would give poor 
 Ben a uniform ? " 
 
 " I said I would, if he thought it necessary to have one." 
 
 "Oh, I'll answer for it, he'll think it necessary," said Hal, 
 laughing, " because it is necessary." 
 
 "Allow him, at least, to judge for himself," said Mr. 
 Gresham. 
 
 " My dear uncle, but I assure you," said Hal earnestly, 
 " there's no judging about the matter, because really, upon 
 my word, Lady Diana said distinctly that her sons were 
 to have uniforms, white faced with green, and a green and 
 white cockade in their hats." 
 
 " May be so," said Mr. Gresham, still with the same look 
 of calm simplicity ; " put on your hats, boys, and come with 
 me. I know a gentleman whose sons are to be at this 
 archery meeting, and we will inquire into all the particulars 
 from him. Then, after we have seen him (it is not eleven 
 o'clock yet), we shall have time enough to walk on to 
 Bristol, and choose the cloth for Ben's uniform, if it be 
 necessary." 
 
 " I cannot tell what to make of all he says," whispered 
 Hal, as he reached down his hat ; " do you think, Ben, he 
 means to give you this uniform, or not ? " 
 
 " I think," said Ben, " that he means to give me one, if it 
 be necessary ; or, as he said, if I think it is necessary." 
 
 " And that to be sure you will ; won't you ? or else you'll 
 be a great fool, I know, after all I've told you. How can 
 any one in the world know so much about the matter as I, 
 who have dined with Lady Diana Sweepstakes but yesterday, 
 and heard all about it from beginning to end ? And as for 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 this gentleman that we are going to, I'm sure, if he knows 
 anything about the matter, he'll say exactly the same as 
 I do." 
 
 " We shall hear," said Ben, with a degree of composure 
 which Hal could by no means comprehend when a uniform 
 was in question. 
 
 The gentleman upon whom Mr. Gresham called had 
 three sons, who were all to be at this archery meeting ; and 
 they unanimously assured him, in the presence of Hal and 
 Ben, that they had never thought of buying uniforms for 
 this grand occasion ; and that, amongst the number of their 
 acquaintance, they knew of but three boys whose friends 
 intended to be at such an unnecessary expense. Hal stood 
 amazed. 
 
 " Such are the varieties of opinion upon all the grand 
 affairs of life," said Mr. Gresham, looking at his nephews. 
 " What amongst one set of people you hear asserted to be 
 absolutely necessary, you will hear from another set of 
 people is quite unnecessary. All that can be done, my 
 dear boys, in these difficult cases, is to judge for yourselves 
 which opinions and which people are the most reasonable." 
 
 Hal, who had been more accustomed to think of what 
 was fashionable than of what was reasonable, without at all 
 considering the good sense of what his uncle said to him, 
 replied, with childish petulance, " Indeed, sir, I don't know 
 what other people think ; I only know what Lady Diana 
 Sweepstakes said." 
 
 The name of Lady Diana Sweepstakes, Hal thought, 
 must impress all present with respect : he was highly 
 astonished when, as he looked round, he saw a smile of 
 contempt upon every one's countenance ; and he was yet 
 further bewildered when he heard her spoken of as a very 
 silly, extravagant, ridiculous woman, whose opinion no 
 prudent person would ask # upon any subject, and whose 
 example was to be shunned, instead of being imitated. 
 
 "Aye, my dear Hal," said his uncle, smiling at his look 
 of amazement, " these are some of the things that young 
 people must learn from experience. All the world do not 
 agree in opinion about characters : you will hear the same 
 person admired in one company, and blamed in another ; 
 
 201 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 so that we must still come round to the same point, Judge 
 
 for yourself. " 
 
 Hal's thoughts were, however, at present too full of the 
 uniform to allow his judgment to act with perfect im- 
 partiality. As soon as their visit was over, and all the time 
 they walked down the hill from Prince's Buildings towards 
 Bristol, he continued to repeat nearly the same arguments 
 which he had formerly used respecting necessity, the 
 uniform, and Lady Diana Sweepstakes. 
 
 To all this Mr. Gresham made no reply ; and longer had 
 the young gentleman expatiated upon the subject, which 
 had so strongly seized upon his imagination, had not his 
 senses been forcibly assailed at this instant by the delicious 
 odours and tempting sight of certain cakes and jellies in a 
 pastrycook's shop. 
 
 " Oh, uncle," said he, as his uncle was going to turn the 
 corner to pursue the road to Bristol, " look at those jellies ! " 
 pointing to a confectioner's shop ; " I must buy some of 
 those good things, for I have got some halfpence in my 
 pocket." 
 
 " Your having halfpence in your pocket is an excellent 
 reason for eating," said Mr. Gresham, smiling. 
 
 "But I really am hungry," said Hal ; "you know, uncle, 
 it is a good while since breakfast." 
 
 His uncle, who was desirous to see his nephews act with- 
 out restraint, that he might judge their characters, bid them 
 do as they pleased. 
 
 " Come, then, Ben, if you've any halfpence in your 
 pocket." 
 
 " I'm not hungry," said Ben. 
 
 " I suppose that means that you've no halfpence," said 
 Hal, laughing, with the look of superiority which he had 
 been taught to think the rich might assume towards those 
 who were convicted either of poverty or economy. 
 
 " Waste not, want not," said Ben to himself. Contrary 
 to his cousin's surmise, he happened to have two penny- 
 worth of halfpence actually in his pocket. 
 
 At the very moment Hal stepped into the pastrycook's 
 shop, a poor, industrious man, with a wooden leg, who 
 usually sweeps the dirty corner of the walk which turns at 
 
 202 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 this spot to the Wells, held his hat to Ben, who, after 
 glancing his eye at the petitioner's well-worn broom, 
 instantly produced his twopence. " I wish I had more 
 halfpence for you, my good man," said he; "but I've only 
 twopence." 
 
 Hal came out of Mr. Millar's, the confectioner's shop, 
 with a hatful of cakes in his hand. 
 
 Mr. Millar's dog was sitting on the flags before the door ; 
 and he looked up with a wistful, begging eye at Hal, who 
 was eating a queen-cake. 
 
 Hal, who was wasteful even in his good-nature, threw a 
 whole queen-cake to the dog, who swallowed it for a single 
 mouthful. 
 
 " There goes twopence in the form of a queen-cake," 
 said Mr. Gresham. 
 
 Hal next offered some of his cakes to his uncle and 
 cousin ; but they thanked him, and refused to eat any, 
 because, they said, they were not hungry ; so he ate and 
 ate as he walked along, till at last he stopped, and said, 
 " This bun tastes so bad after the queen-cakes, I can't 
 bear it ! " and he was going to fling it from him into the 
 river. 
 
 " Oh, it is a pity to waste that good bun ; we may be 
 glad of it yet," said Ben ; " give it to me rather than throw 
 it away." 
 
 " Why, I thought you said you were not hungry," said 
 Hal. 
 
 " True, I am not hungry now ; but that is no reason why 
 I should never be hungry again." 
 
 " Well, there is the cake for you. Take it ; for it has 
 made me sick, and I don't care what becomes of it." 
 
 Ben folded the refuse bit of his cousin's bun in a piece of 
 paper, and put it into his pocket. 
 
 " I'm beginning to be exceedingly tired, or sick, or some- 
 thing," said Hal ; " and as there is a stand of coaches 
 somewhere hereabouts, had we not better take a coach, 
 instead of walking all the way to Bristol ? " 
 
 " For a stout archer," said Mr. Gresham, "you are more 
 easily tired than one might have expected. However, with 
 all my heart, let us take a coach ; for Ben asked me to 
 
 203 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 show him the cathedral yesterday ; and I believe I should 
 find it rather too much for me to walk so far, though I am 
 not sick with eating good things." 
 
 The cathedral!" said Hal, after he had been seated in 
 the coach about a quarter of an hour, and had somewhat 
 recovered from his sickness — "the cathedral! Why, are 
 we only going to Bristol to see the cathedral ? I thought 
 we came out to see about a uniform." 
 
 There was a dullness and melancholy kind of stupidity 
 in Hal's countenance, as he pronounced these words, like 
 one wakening from a dream, which made both his uncle 
 and his cousin burst out a-laughing. 
 
 " Why," said Hal, who was now piqued, " I'm sure you 
 
 did say, uncle, you would go to Mr. 's to choose the 
 
 cloth for the uniform." 
 
 "Very true, and so I will," said Mr. Gresham ; "but 
 we need not make a whole morning's work, need we, of 
 looking at a piece of cloth ? Cannot we see a uniform and 
 a cathedral both in one morning ? " 
 
 They went first to the cathedral. Hal's head was too 
 full of the uniform to take any notice of the painted 
 window, which immediately caught Ben's unembarrassed 
 attention. He looked at the large stained figures on the 
 Gothic window, and he observed their coloured shadows on 
 the floor and walls. 
 
 Mr. Gresham, who perceived that he was eager on all 
 subjects to gain information, took this opportunity of tell- 
 ing him several things about the lost art of painting on 
 glass, Gothic arches, etc., which Hal thought extremely 
 tiresome. 
 
 " Come ! come ! we shall be late, indeed," said Hal ; 
 " surely you've looked long enough, Ben, at this blue and 
 red window." 
 
 " I'm only thinking about these coloured shadows," said 
 Ben. 
 
 " I can show you when we go home," said his uncle, "an 
 entertaining paper on such shadows." 
 
 " Hark ! " cried Ben, " did you hear that noise ? " 
 
 They all listened, and heard a bird singing in the 
 cathedral. 
 
 204 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 " It's our old robin, sir," said the lad who had opened the 
 cathedral door for them. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Gresham, " there he is, boys— look — 
 perched upon the organ ; he often sits there, and sings, 
 whilst the organ is playing." 
 
 " And," continued the lad who showed the cathedral, 
 " he has lived here this many winters. They say he is 
 fifteen years old ; and he is so tame, poor fellow ! that 
 if I had a bit of bread he'd come down and feed in my 
 hand." 
 
 " I've a bit of bun here," cried Ben, joyfully, producing 
 the remains of the bun which Hal but an hour before 
 would have thrown away. " Pray, let us see the poor robin 
 eat out of your hand." 
 
 The lad crumbled the bun, and called to the robin, who 
 fluttered and chirped, and seemed rejoiced at the sight of 
 the bread ; but yet he did not come down from his pinnacle 
 on the organ. 
 
 " He is afraid of us" said Ben ; " he is not used to eat 
 before strangers, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Ah, no, sir," said the young man, with a deep sigh, 
 " that is not the thing. He is used enough to eat afore 
 company. Time was he'd have come down for me, before 
 ever so many fine folks, and have ate his crumbs out of my 
 hand, at my first call ; but, poor fellow ! it's not his fault 
 now. He does not know me now, sir since my accident, 
 because of this great black patch." 
 
 The young man put his hand to his right eye, which was 
 covered with a huge black patch. 
 
 Ben asked what accident he meant ; and the lad told him 
 that, a few weeks ago, he had lost the sight of his eye by 
 the stroke of a stone, which reached him as he was pass- 
 ing under the rocks at Clifton, unluckily, when the workmen 
 were blasting. 
 
 " I don't mind so much for myself, sir," said the lad ; 
 "but I can't work so well now, as I used to do before my 
 accident, for my old mother, who has had a stroke of 
 the palsy ; and I've a many little brothers and sisters, not 
 well able yet to get their own livelihood, though they be as 
 willing as willing can be." 
 
 205 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 " Where does your mother live ? " said Mr. Gresham. 
 
 " Hard by, sir, just close to the church here : it was her 
 that always had the showing of it to strangers, till she lost 
 the use of her poor limbs." 
 
 " Shall we, may we, uncle, go that way ? This is the 
 house, is not it ? " said Ben, when they went out of the 
 cathedral. 
 
 They went into the house : it was rather a hovel than a 
 house, but, as poor as it was, it was as neat as misery could 
 make it. 
 
 The old woman was sitting up in her wretched bed, wind- 
 ing worsted ; four meagre, ill-clothed, pale children, were all 
 busy, some of them sticking pins in paper for the pin-maker, 
 and others sorting rags for the paper-maker. 
 
 " What a horrid place it is ! " said Hal, sighing ; " I did 
 not know there were such shocking places in the world. 
 I've often seen terrible-looking, tumble-down places, as we 
 drove through the town in mamma's carriage ; but then I 
 did not know who lived in them, and I never saw the inside 
 of any of them. It is very dreadful, indeed, to think that 
 people are forced to live in this way. I wish mamma 
 would send me some more pocket-money, that I might do 
 something for them. I had half-a-crown ; but," continued 
 he, feeling in his pockets, " I'm afraid I spent the last shilling 
 of it this morning upon those cakes that made me sick. I 
 wish I had my shilling now, I'd give it to these poor 
 people." 
 
 Ben, though he was all this time silent, was as sorry as 
 his talkative cousin for all these poor people. But there 
 was some difference between the sorrow of these two 
 boys. 
 
 Hal, after he was again seated in the hackney-coach, and 
 had rattled through the busy streets of Bristol for a few 
 minutes, quite forgot the spectacle of misery which he had 
 seen ; and the gay shops in Wine Street, and the idea of his 
 green and white uniform, wholly occupied his imagination. 
 
 " Now for our uniforms ! " cried he, as he jumped eagerly 
 out of the coach, when his uncle stopped at a woollen-draper's 
 door. 
 
 " Uncle," said Ben, stopping Mr. Gresham before he got 
 
 206 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 out of the carriage, " I don't think a uniform is at all 
 necessary for me. I'm very much obliged to you ; but I 
 would rather not have one. I have a very good coat, and 
 I think it would be waste." 
 
 " Well, let me get out of the carriage, and we will see 
 about it," said Mr. Gresham ; " perhaps the sight of the 
 beautiful green and white cloth, and the epaulettes (have 
 you ever considered the epaulettes ?) may tempt you to 
 change your mind." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Ben, laughing ; " I shall not change my 
 mind." 
 
 The green cloth, and the white cloth, and the epaulettes, 
 were produced, to Hal's infinite satisfaction. His uncle 
 took up a pen, and calculated for a few minutes ; then, 
 showing the back of the letter, upon which he was writing, to 
 his nephews, " Cast up these sums, boys," said he, " and tell 
 me whether I am right." 
 
 " Ben, do you do it," said Hal, a little embarrassed ; " I 
 am not quick at figures." 
 
 Ben was, and he went over his uncle's calculation very 
 expeditiously. 
 
 "It is right, is it ? " said Mr. Gresham. 
 
 " Yes, sir, quite right." 
 
 " Then, by this calculation, I find I could, for less than 
 half the money your uniforms would cost, purchase for each 
 of you boys a warm great-coat, which you will want, I have 
 a notion, this winter upon the Downs." 
 
 " Oh, sir," said Hal, with an alarmed look ; " but it is not 
 winter yet ; it is not cold weather yet. We sha'n't want 
 great- coats j/<?A" 
 
 " Don't you remember how cold we were, Hal, the day 
 before yesterday, in that sharp wind, when we were flying our 
 kite upon the Downs ? and winter will come, though it is not 
 come yet — I am sure, I should like to have a good warm 
 great-coat very much," said Ben. 
 
 Mr. Gresham took six guineas out of his purse ; and 
 he placed three of them before Hal, and three before 
 Ben. 
 
 " Young gentlemen," said he, " I believe your uniforms 
 would come to about three guineas apiece. Now I will lay 
 
 207 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 out this money for you just as you please. Hal, what say 
 you ? " 
 
 "Why, sir," said Hal, "a great-coat is a good thing, to be 
 sure ; and then after the great-coat, as you said it would 
 only cost half as much as the uniform, there would be some 
 money to spare, would not there ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear, about five-and -twenty shillings." 
 
 " Five-and-twenty shillings ! — I could buy and do a great 
 many things, to be sure, with five-and-twenty shillings ; but 
 then, the thing is, I must go without the uniform, if I have 
 the great-coat." 
 
 " Certainly," said his uncle. 
 
 "Ah ! " said Hal, sighing, as he looked at the epaulettes, 
 " uncle, if you would not be displeased, if I choose the 
 uniform " 
 
 " I shall not be displeased at your choosing whatever 
 you like best," said Mr. Gresham. 
 
 " Well, then, thank you, sir, I think I had better have 
 the uniform, because, if I have not the uniform, now, 
 directly, it will be of no use to me, as the archery meeting 
 is the week after next, you know; and, as to the great-coat, 
 perhaps, between this time and the very cold weather, 
 which, perhaps, won't be till Christmas, papa will buy a 
 great-coat for me ; and I'll ask mamma to give me some 
 pocket-money to give away, and she will, perhaps." 
 
 To all this conclusive, conditional reasoning, which 
 depended upon perhaps, three times repeated, Mr. Gresham 
 made no reply ; but he immediately bought the uniform 
 for Hal, and desired that it should be sent to Lady Diana 
 Sweepstakes' sons' tailor, to be made up. The measure of 
 Hal's happiness was now complete. 
 
 "And how am I to lay out the three guineas for you, 
 Ben ? " said Mr. Gresham ; " speak, what do you wish for 
 first?" 
 
 " A great-coat, uncle, if you please." 
 
 Mr. Gresham bought the coat ; and, after it was paid for, 
 five-and-twenty shillings of Ben's three guineas remained. 
 
 " What's next, my boy ? " said his uncle. 
 
 " Arrows, uncle, if you please ; three arrows." 
 
 " My dear, I promised you a bow and arrows." 
 
 208 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 " No, uncle, you only said a bow." 
 
 " Well, I meant a bow and arrows. I'm glad you are 
 so exact, however. It is better to claim less than more 
 than what is promised. The three arrows you shall have. 
 But go on ; how shall I dispose of these five-and-twenty 
 shillings for you? " 
 
 " In clothes, if you will be so good, uncle, for that poor 
 boy who has the great black patch on his eye." 
 
 " I always believed," said Mr. Gresham, shaking hands 
 with Ben, " that economy and generosity were the best 
 friends, instead of being enemies, as some silly, extravagant 
 people would have us think them. Choose the poor, blind 
 boy's coat, my dear nephew, and pay for it. There's no 
 occasion for my praising you about the matter. Your best 
 reward is in your own mind, child ; and you want no other, 
 or I'm mistaken. Now, jump into the coach, boys, and let's 
 be off. We shall be late, I'm afraid," continued he, as the 
 coach drove on : " but I must let you stop, Ben, with your 
 goods, at the poor boy's door." 
 
 When they came to the house, Mr. Gresham opened the 
 coach door, and Ben jumped out with his parcel under 
 his arm. 
 
 " Stay, stay ! you must take me with you," said his 
 pleased uncle ; " I like to see people made happy, as well 
 as you do." 
 
 " And so do I, too," said Hal ; " let me come with you. I 
 almost wish my uniform was not gone to the tailor's, so I 
 do." And when he saw the look of delight and gratitude 
 with which the poor boy received the clothes which Ben 
 gave him ; and when he heard the mother and children 
 thank him, Hal sighed, and said, " Well, I hope mamma 
 will give me some more pocket-money soon." 
 
 Upon his return home, however, the sight of the famous 
 bow and arrow, which Lady Diana Sweepstakes had sent 
 him, recalled to his imagination all the joys of his green 
 and white uniform ; and he no longer wished that it had 
 not been sent to the tailor's. 
 
 " But I don't understand, Cousin Hal," said little Patty, 
 " why you call this bow a famous bow. You say famous 
 very often ; and I don't know exactly what it means ; a 
 
 209 p 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 famous uniform — -famous doings — I remember you said 
 there are to he famous doings, the first of September, upon 
 the Downs. What does famous mean ? " 
 
 " Oh, why, famous means — now, don't you know what 
 famous means ? It means — it is a word that people say — 
 it is the fashion to say it — it means — it means famous!' 
 
 Patty laughed, and said, " This does not explain it 
 to me." 
 
 " No," said Hal, " nor can it be explained : if you don't 
 understand it, that's not my fault. Everybody but little 
 children, I suppose, understands it ; but there's no ex- 
 plaining those sorts of words, if you don't take them at once. 
 There's to be famous doings upon the Downs, the first of 
 September ; that is grand, fine. — In short, what does it 
 signify talking any longer, Patty, about the matter ? — Give 
 me my bow, for I must go out upon the Downs and 
 practise." 
 
 Ben accompanied him with the bow and the three arrows 
 which his uncle had now given to him ; and every day 
 these two boys went out upon the Downs and practised 
 shooting with indefatigable perseverance. Where equal 
 pains are taken, success is usually found to be pretty nearly 
 equal. Our two archers, by constant practice, became 
 expert marksmen ; and before the day of trial, they were 
 so exactly matched in point of dexterity, that it was 
 scarcely possible to decide which was superior. 
 
 The long expected first of September at length arrived. 
 " What sort of a day is it ? " was the first question that 
 was asked by Hal and Ben, the moment that they 
 awakened. 
 
 The sun shone bright ; but there was a sharp and high 
 wind. 
 
 " Ha ! " said Ben, " I shall be glad of my good great-coat 
 to-day ; for I've a notion it will be rather cold upon the 
 Downs, especially when we are standing still, as we must, 
 whilst all the people are shooting." 
 
 " Oh, never mind ! I don't think I shall feel it cold 
 at all," said Hal, as he dressed himself in his new green 
 and white uniform ; and he viewed himself with much 
 complacency. 
 
 2 TO 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 " Good-morning to you, uncle ; how do you do ? " said 
 he, in a voice of exultation, when he entered the breakfast- 
 room. 
 
 " How do you do ? " seemed rather to mean, " How do you 
 like me in my new uniform ? " 
 
 And his uncle's cool, "Very well, I thank you, Hal," 
 disappointed him, as it seemed only to say, " Your uniform 
 makes no difference in my opinion of you." 
 
 Even little Patty went on eating her breakfast much as 
 usual, and talked of the pleasure of walking with her father 
 to the Downs, and of all the little things which interested 
 her ; so that Hal's epaulettes were not the principal object 
 in any one's imagination but his own. 
 
 " Papa," said Patty, "as we go up the hill where there is 
 so much red mud, I must take care to pick my way nicely; 
 and I must hold up my frock, as you desired me ; and 
 perhaps you will be so good, if I am not troublesome, to lift 
 me over the very bad place where are no stepping-stones. 
 My ankle is entirely well, and I'm glad of that, or else I 
 should not be able to walk so far as the Downs. How 
 good you were to me, Ben, when I was in pain the day I 
 sprained my ankle ! You played at jack-straws and at 
 cat's-cradle with me. Oh, that puts me in mind — here are 
 your gloves, which I asked you that night to let me mend. 
 I've been a great while about them ; but are not they very 
 neatly mended, papa ? Look at the sewing." 
 
 " I am not a very good judge of sewing, my dear little 
 girl," said Mr. Gresham, examining the work with a close 
 and scrupulous eye ; " but, in my opinion, here is one stitch 
 that is rather too long. The white teeth are not quite even." 
 
 " Oh, papa, I'll take out that long tooth in a minute," 
 said Patty, laughing ; " I did not think that you would 
 observe it so soon." 
 
 " I would not have you trust to my blindness," said her 
 father, stroking her head, fondly ; " I observe everything. 
 I observe, for instance, that you are a grateful little girl, 
 and that you are glad to be of use to those who have been 
 kind to you ; and for this I forgive you the long stitch." 
 
 " But it's out, it's out, papa," said Patty ; "and the next 
 time your gloves want mending, Ben, I'll mend them better." 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 "They are very nice, I think," said Ben, drawing them 
 on ; " and I am much obliged to you. I was just wishing I 
 had a pair of gloves to keep my fingers warm to-day, for 
 I never can shoot well when my hands are numbed. Look, 
 Hal ; you know how ragged these gloves were ; you said 
 they were good for nothing but to throw away ; now 
 look, there's not a hole in them," said he, spreading his 
 fingers. 
 
 " Now, is it not very extraordinary," said Hal to himself, 
 "that they should go on so long talking about an old pair 
 of gloves, without scarcely saying a word about my new 
 uniform ? Well, the young Sweepstakes and Lady Diana 
 will talk enough about it ; that's one comfort. — Is not it 
 time to think of setting out, sir?" said Hal to his uncle. 
 " The company, you know, are to meet at the Ostrich at 
 twelve, and the race to begin at one, and Lady Diana's 
 horses, I know, were ordered to be at the door at ten." 
 
 Mr. Stephen, the butler, here interrupted the hurrying 
 young gentleman in his calculations. " There's a poor lad, 
 sir, below, with a great black patch on his right eye, who is 
 come from Bristol, and wants to speak a word with the 
 young gentlemen, if you please. I told him they were just 
 going out with you ; but he says he won't detain them above 
 half a minute." 
 
 " Show him up, show him up," said Mr. Gresham. 
 
 "But, I suppose," said Hal, with a sigh, "that Stephen 
 mistook, when he said the young gentlemen ; he only wants 
 to see Ben, I dare say ; I'm sure he has no reason to \v r ant 
 to see me." 
 
 " Here he comes. — Oh, Ben, he is dressed in the new coat 
 you gave him," whispered Hal, who was really a good- 
 natured boy, though extravagant. " How much better he 
 looks than he did in the ragged coat ! Ah ! he looked at 
 you first, Ben — and well he may ! " 
 
 The boy bowed without any cringing civility, but with 
 an open, decent freedom in his manner, which expressed 
 that he had been obliged, but that he knew his young 
 benefactor was not thinking of the obligation. He made 
 as little distinction as possible between his bows to the 
 two cousins. 
 
: WW~Y 'f-mostlafe ZayZ jbfic&.TnX) UHUy mx:e0 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 " As I was sent with a message, by the clerk of our 
 parish, to Redland Chapel, out on the Downs, to-day, sir," 
 said he to Mr. Gresham, " knowing your house lay in my 
 way, my mother, sir, bid me call, and make bold to offer the 
 young gentlemen two little worsted balls that she has 
 worked for them," continued the lad, pulling out of his 
 pocket two worsted balls worked in green and orange- 
 coloured stripes. " They are but poor things, sir, she bid 
 me say, to look at ; but, considering she has but one hand 
 to work with, and that her left hand, you'll not despise 'em, 
 we hopes." 
 
 He held the balls to Ben and Hal. 
 
 " They are both alike, gentlemen," said he. " If you'll 
 be pleased to take 'em, they're better than they look, for 
 they bound higher than your head. I cut the cork round 
 for the inside myself, which was all I could do." 
 
 " They are nice balls, indeed : we are much obliged to 
 you," said the boys, as they received them, and they proved 
 them immediately. The balls struck the floor with a de- 
 lightful sound, and rebounded higher than Mr. Gresham's 
 head. Little Patty clapped her hands joyfully. But now 
 a thundering double rap at the door was heard. 
 
 " The Master Sweepstakes, sir," said Stephen, " are come 
 for Master Hal. They say that all the young gentlemen 
 who have archery uniforms are to walk together, in a body, 
 I think they say, sir ; and they are to parade along the 
 Well Walk, they desired me to say, sir, with a drum and 
 fife, and so up the hill by Prince's Place, and all to go upon 
 the Downs together, to the place of meeting. I am not 
 sure I'm right, sir ; for both the young gentlemen spoke at 
 once, and the wind is very high at the street door ; so that 
 I could not well make out all they said ; but I believe this 
 is the sense of it." 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Hal, eagerly, "it's all right. I know 
 that is just what was settled the day I dined at Lady 
 Diana's ; and Lady Diana and a great party of gentlemen 
 are to ride " 
 
 " Well, that is nothing to the purpose," interrupted Mr. 
 Gresham. " Don't keep the Master Sweepstakes waiting. 
 Decide — do you choose to go with them, or with us ? " 
 
 2I 5 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 " Sir — uncle — sir, you know, since all the uniforms agreed 
 
 to go together " 
 
 1 "Off with you then, Mr. Uniform, if you mean to go," 
 said Mr. Gresham. 
 
 Hal ran down stairs in such a hurry that he forgot his 
 bow and arrows. Ben discovered this when he went to 
 fetch his own ; and the lad from Bristol, who had been 
 ordered by Mr. Gresham to eat his breakfast before he 
 proceeded to Redland Chapel, heard Ben talking about his 
 cousin's bow and arrows. 
 
 " I know," said Ben, " he will be sorry not to have his 
 bow with him, because here are the green knots tied to it, 
 to match his cockade : and he said that the boys were all 
 to carry their bows, as part of the show." 
 
 "If you'll give me leave, sir," said the poor Bristol lad, 
 " I shall have plenty of time ; and I'll run down to the 
 Well Walk after the young gentleman, and take him his 
 bow and arrows." 
 
 " Will you ? I shall be much obliged to you," said Ben ; 
 and away went the boy with the bow that was ornamented 
 with green ribbons. 
 
 The public walk leading to the Wells was full of com- 
 pany. The windows of all the houses in St. Vincent's 
 Parade were crowded with well-dressed ladies ; who were 
 looking out in expectation of the archery procession. 
 Parties of gentlemen and ladies, and a motley crowd of 
 spectators, were seen moving backwards and forwards, 
 under the rocks, on the opposite side of the water. A 
 barge, with coloured streamers flying, was waiting to take 
 up a party who were going upon the water. The barge- 
 men rested upon their oars, and gazed with broad faces of 
 curiosityon the busyscene thatappeared upon the public walk. 
 
 The archers and archeresses were now drawn up on 
 the flags under the semicircular piazza just before 
 Mrs. Yearsley's library. A little band of children, who 
 had been mustered by Lady Diana Sweepstakes' spirited 
 exertions, closed the procession. They were now all in 
 readiness. The drummer only waited for her ladyship's 
 signal ; and the archers' corps only waited for her lady- 
 ship's word of command to march. 
 
 216 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 " Where are your bow and arrows, my little man ? " said 
 her ladyship to Hal, as she reviewed her Lilliputian regi- 
 ment. " You can't march, man, without your arms ! " 
 
 Hal had dispatched a messenger for his forgotten bow, 
 but the messenger returned not. He looked from side to 
 side in great distress — " Oh, there's my bow coming, I 
 declare ! " cried he ; " look, I see the bow and the ribbons. 
 Look now, between the trees, Charles Sweepstakes, on the 
 Hottwell Walk ; it is coming ! " 
 
 " But you've kept us all waiting a confounded time," said 
 his impatient friend. 
 
 " It is that good-natured poor fellow from Bristol, I pro- 
 test, that has brought it to me ; I'm sure I don't deserve it 
 from him," said Hal, to himself, when he saw the lad with 
 the black patch on his eye running, quite out of breath, 
 towards him, with his bow and arrows. 
 
 " Fall back, my good friend — fall back," said the military 
 lady, as soon as he had delivered the bow to Hal ; " I 
 mean, stand out of the way, for your great patch cuts no 
 figure amongst us. Don't follow so close, now, as if you 
 belonged to us, pray." 
 
 The poor boy had no ambition to partake the triumph ; 
 he fell^back as soon as he understood the meaning of the 
 lady's words. The drum beat, the fife played, the archers 
 marched, the spectators admired. Hal stepped proudly, 
 and felt as if the eyes of the whole universe were upon his 
 epaulettes, or upon the facings of his uniform ; whilst all 
 the time he was considered only as part of a show. 
 
 The walk appeared much shorter than usual, and he was 
 extremely sorry that Lady Diana, when they were half- 
 way up the hill leading to Prince's Place, mounted her 
 horse, because the road was dirty, and all the gentlemen 
 and ladies who accompanied her followed her example. 
 
 " We can leave the children to walk, you know," said she 
 to the gentleman who helped her to mount her horse. " I 
 must call to some of them, though, and leave orders where 
 they are to join." 
 
 She beckoned : and Hal, who was foremost, and proud 
 to show his alacrity, ran on to receive her ladyship's orders. 
 Now, as we have before observed, it was a sharp and windy 
 
 217 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 day ; and though Lady Diana Sweepstakes was actually 
 speaking to him, and looking at him, he could not prevent 
 his nose from wanting to be blown : he pulled out his 
 handkerchief and out rolled the new ball which had been 
 given to him just before he left home, and which, according 
 to his usual careless habits, he had stuffed into his pocket 
 in his hurry. " Oh, my new ball ! " cried he, as he ran after 
 it. As he stooped to pick it up, he let go his hat, which he 
 had hitherto held on with anxious care ; for the hat, though 
 it had a fine green and white cockade, had no band or 
 string round it. The string, as we may recollect, our waste- 
 ful hero had used in spinning his top. The hat was too 
 large for his head without this band ; a sudden gust ©f wind 
 blew it off — Lady Diana's horse started and reared. She 
 was a famous horsewoman, and sat him to the admiration 
 of all beholders ; but there was a puddle of red clay and 
 water in this spot, and her ladyship's uniform habit was a 
 sufferer by the accident. 
 
 " Careless brat ! " said she, " why can't he keep his hat 
 upon his head ? " 
 
 In the mean time, the wind blew the hat down the hill, 
 and Hal ran after it amidst the laughter of his kind friends, 
 the young Sweepstakes, and the rest of the little regiment. 
 The hat was lodged, at length, upon a bank. Hal pursued 
 it : he thought this bank was hard, but, alas ! the moment 
 he set his foot upon it the foot sank. He tried to draw it 
 back ; his other foot slipped, and he fell prostrate, in his 
 green and white uniform, into the treacherous bed of red 
 mud. His companions, who had halted upon the top of 
 the hill, stood laughing spectators of his misfortune. 
 
 It happened that the poor boy with the black patch upon 
 his eye, who had been ordered by Lady Diana to fall 
 back" and to <; keep at a distance" was now coming up the 
 hill ; and the moment he saw our fallen hero, he hastened 
 to his assistance. He dragged poor Hal, who was a de- 
 plorable spectacle, out of the red mud. The obliging 
 mistress of a lodging-house, as soon as she understood that 
 the young gentleman was nephew to Mr. Gresham, to whom 
 she had formerly let her house, received Hal, covered as he 
 was with dirt 
 
 218 
 
°&j&hL4x». gual-a/ w*k£* 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 The poor Bristol lad hastened to Mr. Gresham's for clean 
 stockings and shoes for Hal. He was unwilling to give up 
 his uniform : it was rubbed and rubbed, and a spot here 
 and there was washed out ; and he kept continually re- 
 peating, — " When it's dry it will all brush off — when it's 
 dry it will all brush off, won't it ? " But soon the fear of 
 being too late at the archery meeting began to balance the 
 dread of appearing in his stained habiliments ; and he now 
 as anxiously repeated, while the woman held the wet coat 
 to the fire, " Oh, I shall be too late ; indeed, I shall be too 
 late ; make haste ; it will never dry ; hold it nearer — nearer 
 to the fire. I shall lose my turn to shoot ; oh, give me the 
 coat ; I don't mind how it is, if I can but get it on." 
 
 Holding it nearer and nearer to the fire dried it quickly, 
 to be sure ; but it shrunk it also, so that it was no easy 
 matter to get the coat on again. 
 
 However, Hal, who did not see the red splashes, which, 
 in spite of all the operations, were too visible upon his 
 shoulders, and upon the skirts of his white coat behind, 
 was pretty well satisfied to observe that there was not one 
 spot upon the facings. " Nobody," said he, " will take 
 notice of my coat behind, I dare say. I think it looks 
 as smart almost as ever ! " — and under this persuasion 
 our young archer resumed his bow — his bow with green 
 ribbons, now no more ! — and he pursued his way to the 
 Downs. 
 
 All his companions were far out of sight. " I suppose," 
 said he to his friend with the black patch — " I suppose my 
 uncle and Ben had left home before you went for the shoes 
 and stockings for me ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ; the butler said they had been gone to the 
 Downs a matter of a good half-hour or more." 
 
 Hal trudged on as fast as he possibly could. When he 
 got on the Downs, he saw numbers of carriages, and crowds 
 of people, all going towards the place of meeting at the 
 Ostrich. He pressed forwards. He was at first so much 
 afraid of being late, that he did not take notice of the mirth 
 his motley appearance excited in all beholders. At length 
 he reached the appointed spot. There was a great crowd 
 of people. In the midst he heard Lady Diana's loud voice 
 
 221 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 betting upon some one who was just going to shoot at the 
 mark. 
 
 " So then the shooting is begun, is it ? " said Hal. " Oh, 
 let me in ! pray let me into the circle! I'm one of the 
 archers — I am, indeed ; don't you see my green and white 
 uniform ? " 
 
 " Your red and white uniform, you mean," said the man 
 to whom he addressed himself; and the people, as they 
 opened a passage for him, could not refrain from laughing 
 at the mixture of dirt and finery which it exhibited. In 
 vain, when he got into the midst of the formidable circle, 
 he looked to his friends, the young Sweepstakes, for their 
 countenance and support. They were amongst the most 
 unmerciful of the laughers. Lady Diana also seemed more 
 to enjoy than to pity his confusion. 
 
 " Why could you not keep your hat upon your head, 
 man ? " said she, in her masculine tone. " You have been 
 almost the ruin of my poor uniform habit ; but I've escaped 
 rather better than you have. Don't stand there, in the 
 middle of the circle, or you'll have an arrow in your eye 
 presently, I've a notion." 
 
 Hal looked round in search of better friends. " Oh, 
 where's my uncle — where's Ben ? " said he. He was in 
 such confusion, that, amongst the number of faces, he could 
 scarcely distinguish one from another ; but he felt some- 
 body at this moment pull his elbow, and, to his great relief, 
 he heard the friendly voice, and saw the good-natured face, 
 of his cousin Ben. 
 
 " Come back ; come behind these people," said Ben ; 
 " and put on my great-coat ; here it is for you." 
 
 Right glad was Hal to cover his disgraced uniform with 
 the rough great-coat which he had formerly despised. He 
 pulled the stained, drooping cockade out of his unfortunate 
 hat ; and he was now sufficiently recovered from his vexa- 
 tion to give an intelligible account of his accident to his 
 uncle and Patty, who anxiously inquired what had detained 
 him so long, and what had been the matter. In the midst 
 of the history of his disaster, he was just proving to Patty 
 that his taking the hatband to spin his top had nothing to 
 do with his misfortune ; and he was at the same time 
 
 222 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 endeavouring to refute his uncle's opinion that the waste of 
 the whipcord that tied the parcel was the original cause of 
 all his evils, when he was summoned to try his skill with 
 his famous bow. 
 
 " My hands are numbed ; I can scarcely feel," said he, 
 rubbing them, and blowing upon the ends of his fingers. 
 
 " Come, come," cried young Sweepstakes. " I'm within 
 one inch of the mark ; who'll go nearer, I shall like to see. 
 Shoot away, Hal ; but first understand our laws ; we settled 
 them before you came on the green. You are to have three 
 shots, with your own bow and your own arrows ; and no- 
 body's to borrow or lend under pretence of other bows 
 being better or worse, or under any pretence. Do you 
 hear, Hal?" 
 
 This young gentleman had good reasons for being so 
 strict in these laws, as he had observed that none of his 
 companions had such an excellent bow as he had provided 
 for himself. Some of the boys had forgotten to bring more 
 than one arrow with them, and by his cunning regulation 
 that each person should shoot with his own arrows, many 
 had lost one or two of their shots. 
 
 " You are a lucky fellow : you have your three arrows," 
 said young Sweepstakes. " Come, we can't wait whilst you 
 rub your fingers, man — shoot away." 
 
 Hal was rather surprised at the asperity with which his 
 friend spoke. He little knew how easily acquaintances, 
 who call themselves friends, can change when their interest 
 comes in the slightest degree in competition with their friend- 
 ship. Hurried by his impatient rival, and with his hands 
 so much benumbed that he could scarcely feel how to fix 
 the arrow in the string, he drew the bow. The arrow was 
 within a quarter of an inch of Master Sweepstakes' mark, 
 which was the nearest that had yet been hit. Hal seized 
 
 his second arrow. " If I have any luck " said he. But 
 
 just as he pronounced the word luck, and as he bent his 
 bow, the string broke in two, and the bow fell from his 
 hands. 
 
 " There, it's all over with you ! " cried Master Sweep- 
 stakes, with a triumphant laugh. 
 
 " Here's my bow for him, and welcome," said Ben. 
 
 223 
 
Waste not, Want not 
 
 " No, no, sir ; that is not fair ; that's against the regula- 
 tion. You may shoot with your own bow, if you choose it, 
 or you may not, just as you think proper ; but you must 
 not lend it, sir." 
 
 It was now Ben's turn to make his trial. His first arrow 
 was not successful. His second was exactly as near as 
 Hal's first. 
 
 " You have but one more," said Master Sweepstakes — 
 " now for it ! " 
 
 Ben, before he ventured his last arrow, prudently 
 examined the string of his bow ; and, as he pulled it to try 
 its strength, it cracked. 
 
 Master Sweepstakes clapped his hands with loud exulta- 
 tions, and insulting laughter. But his laughter ceased 
 when our provident hero calmly drew from his pocket an 
 excellent piece of whipcord. 
 
 " The everlasting whipcord, I declare ! " exclaimed Hal, 
 when he saw that it was the very same that had tied up 
 the parcel. 
 
 " Yes," said Ben, as he fastened it to his bow, " I put it 
 into my pocket to-day, on purpose, because I thought I 
 might happen to want it." 
 
 He drew his bow the third and last time. 
 
 " Oh, papa ! " cried little Patty, as his arrow hit the mark, 
 " it's the nearest ; is it not the nearest? " 
 
 Master Sweeptakes, with anxiety, examined the hit. 
 There could be no doubt. Ben was victorious ! The bow, 
 the prize bow, was now delivered to him ; and Hal, as he 
 looked at the whipcord, exclaimed, " How lucky this whip- 
 cord has been to you, Ben ! " 
 
 "It is lucky \ perhaps you mean, that he took care of it," 
 said Mr. Gresham. 
 
 Aye," said Hal, " very true : he might well say, ' Waste 
 not, want not ' ; it is a good thing to have two strings to 
 one's bow." 
 
 224 
 
n^ ..» c7Wenc& jno^cno /Wr iHe ctocTor QoeJ "fe sfef/ 
 
 me'Wlmiv 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 R. AND MRS. MONTAGUE spent 
 the summer of the year 1795 at Clifton 
 with their son Frederick, and their 
 two daughters, Sophia and Marianne. 
 They had taken much care of the 
 education of their children, and had 
 never been tempted, by any motive of personal conveni- 
 ence or temporary amusement, to hazard the permanent 
 happiness of their pupils. 
 
 Sensible of the extreme importance of early impressions, 
 and of the powerful influence of external circumstances in 
 forming the character and the manners, they were now 
 anxious that the variety of new ideas and new objects 
 which would strike the minds of their children should 
 appear in a just point of view. 
 
 "Let children see, and judge for themselves," is often 
 
 225 Q 
 
The Mimic 
 
 inconsiderately said. Where children see only a part they 
 cannot judge of the whole ; and from the superficial view 
 which they can have in short visits and desultory 
 conversation, they can form only a false estimate of the 
 objects of human happiness, a false notion of the nature of 
 society, and false opinions of characters. F"or these reasons, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Montague were particularly cautious in the 
 choice of their acquaintance, as they were well aware that 
 whatever passed in conversation before their children 
 became part of their education. 
 
 When they came to Clifton they wished to have a house 
 entirely to themselves, but, as they came late in the season, 
 almost all the lodging-houses were full, and for a few weeks 
 they were obliged to remain in a house in which some of 
 the apartments were already occupied. 
 
 During the first fortnight they scarcely saw or heard 
 anything of one of the families who lodged on the same floor 
 with them. An elderly Quaker, with his sister Bertha, 
 were their silent neighbours. The blooming complexion of 
 the lady had indeed attracted the attention of the children, 
 as they caught a glimpse of her face when she was getting 
 into her carriage to go out upon the Downs. They could 
 scarcely believe that she came to the Wells on account of 
 her health. 
 
 Besides her blooming complexion, the delicate white of 
 her garments had struck them with admiration ; and they 
 observed that her brother carefully guarded these from the 
 wheel of the carriage, as he handed her in. From this 
 circumstance, and from the benevolent countenance of the 
 old gentleman, they concluded that he was very fond of his 
 sister, — that they were certainly very happy, only they 
 never spoke, and could be seen but for a moment. 
 
 Not so the maiden lady who occupied the ground floor. 
 On the stairs, in the passages, at her window, she was 
 continually visible ; and she seemed to possess the art of 
 being present in all these places at once. Her voice was 
 eternally to be heard, and it was not particularly melodious. 
 The very first day she met Mrs. Montague's children on 
 the stairs, she stopped to tell Marianne that she was a 
 charming dear! and a charming little dear ! to kiss her, to 
 
 226 
 
\f\Q rr\<t\ JHP^jHotiia.gu.Q's cf)i(drcr\" 
 
The Mimic 
 
 inquire her name, and to inform her that her own name was 
 " Mrs. Theresa Tattle," a circumstance of which there was 
 little danger of their long remaining in ignorance ; for, in 
 the course of one morning, at least twenty single and as 
 many double raps at the door were succeeded by vocifer- 
 ations of " Mrs. Theresa Tattle's servant ! " — " Mrs. Theresa 
 Tattle at home ! " — " Mrs. Theresa Tattle not at home ! " 
 
 No person at the Wells was oftener at home and abroad 
 than Mrs. Tattle ! She had, as she deemed it, the 
 happiness to have a most extensive acquaintance residing 
 at Clifton. She had for years kept a register of arrivals. 
 She regularly consulted the subscriptions to the circulating 
 libraries, and the lists at the Ball and the Pump-rooms ; so 
 that, with a memory unencumbered with literature, and free 
 from all domestic cares, she contrived to retain a most 
 astonishing and correct lists of births, deaths, and marriages, 
 together with all the anecdotes, amusing, instructive, or 
 scandalous, which are necessary to the conversation of a 
 water-drinking place, and essential to the character of a 
 " very pleasant woman." 
 
 " A very pleasant woman," Mrs. Tattle was usually 
 called ; and, conscious of her accomplishments, she was 
 eager to introduce herself to the acquaintance of her new 
 neighbours ; having, with her ordinary expedition, collected 
 from their servants, by means of her own, all that could be 
 known, or rather all that could be told about them. The 
 name of Montague, at all events, she knew was a good 
 name, and justified her courting their acquaintance. She 
 courted it first by nods, and becks, and smiles, at Marianne 
 whenever she met her ; and Marianne, who was a very little 
 girl, began presently to nod and smile in return; persuaded 
 that a lady, who smiled so much, could not be ill-natured. 
 Besides, Mrs. Theresa's parlour door was sometimes left 
 more than half open, to afford a view of a green parrot. 
 Marianne sometimes passed very slowly by this door. 
 One morning it was left quite wide open ; she stopped to 
 say " Pretty Poll," and immediately Mrs. Tattle begged she 
 would do her the honour to walk in and see " Pretty Poll," 
 at the same time taking the liberty to offer her a piece of 
 iced plum-cake. 
 
 229 
 
The Mimic 
 
 The next day Mrs. Theresa Tattle did herself the honour 
 to wait upon Mrs. Montague, " to apologize for the liberty 
 she had taken in inviting Mrs. Montague's charming Miss 
 Marianne into her apartment to see Pretty Poll, and for the 
 still greater liberty she had taken in offering her a piece of 
 plum-cake — inconsiderate creature that she was ! — which 
 might possibly have disagreed with her, and which certainly 
 were liberties she never should have been induced to take, 
 if she had not been unaccountably bewitched by Miss 
 Marianne's striking though highly flattering resemblance to a 
 young gentleman, an officer, with whom she had danced, she 
 was sorry to say, now nearly twelve years ago, at the races in 
 
 shire, of the name of Montague, a most respectable 
 
 young man, and of a most respectable family, with which, 
 in a remote degree, she might presume to say, she herself 
 was someway connected, having the honour to be nearly 
 related to the Joneses of Merionethshire, who were cousins 
 to the Mainwarings of Bedfordshire, who married into the 
 family of the Grifhthses, the eldest branch of which, she 
 understood, had the honour to be cousin-german to Mr. 
 Montague ; on which account she had been impatient to 
 pay a visit, so likely to be productive of most agreeable 
 consequences, in the acquisition of an acquaintance whose 
 society must do her infinite honour." 
 
 Having thus happily accomplished her first visit, there 
 seemed little probability of escaping Mrs. Tattle's further 
 acquaintance. In the course of the first week she only 
 hinted to Mr. Montague that " some people thought his 
 system of education rather odd ; that she should be obliged 
 to him if he would, some time or other, when he had 
 nothing else to do, just sit down and make her understand 
 his notions, that she might have something to say to her 
 acquaintance, as she always wished to have when she 
 heard any friend attacked, or any friend's opinions." 
 
 Mr. Montague declining to sit down and make this lady 
 understand a system of education only to give her some- 
 thing to say, and showing unaccountable indifference about 
 the attacks with which he was threatened, Mrs. Tattle next 
 addressed herself to Mrs. Montague, prophesying, in a most 
 serious whisper, "that the charming Miss Marianne would 
 
 230 
 
The Mimic 
 
 shortly and inevitably grow quite crooked, if she were not 
 immediately provided with a back-board, a French dancing- 
 master, and a pair of stocks." 
 
 This alarming whisper could not, however, have a per- 
 manent effect upon Mrs. Montague's understanding, because 
 three days afterwards Mrs. Theresa, upon the most anxious 
 inspection, mistook the hip and shoulder which should have 
 been the highest. 
 
 This danger vanishing, Mrs. Tattle presently, with a 
 rueful length of face, and formal preface, " hesitated to 
 assure Mrs. Montague, that she was greatly distressed 
 about her daughter Sophia ; that she was convinced her 
 lungs were affected ; and that she certainly ought to drink 
 the waters morning and evening; and above all things, 
 must keep one of the patirosa lozenges constantly in her 
 mouth, and directly consult Dr. Cardamum, the best phy- 
 sician in the world, and the person she would send for 
 herself upon her death-bed ; because, to her certain 
 knowledge, he had recovered a young lady, a relation 
 of her own, after she had lost one whole globe of her 
 lungs." 
 
 The medical opinion of a lady of so much anatomical 
 precision could not have much weight ; nor was this 
 universal adviser more successful in an attempt to intro- 
 duce a tutor to Frederick, who, she apprehended, must 
 want one to perfect him in the Latin and Greek, and dead 
 languages, of which, she observed, it would be impertinent for 
 a woman to talk ; only she might venture to repeat what 
 she had heard said by good authority, that a competency of 
 the dead tongues could be had nowhere but at a public 
 school, or else from a private tutor who had been abroad 
 (after the advantage of a classical education, finished in one 
 of the Universities) with a good family; without which 
 introduction it was idle to think of reaping solid advantages 
 from any continental tour ; all which requisites, from per- 
 sonal knowledge, she could aver to be concentrated in the 
 gentleman she had the honour to recommend, as having 
 been tutor to a young nobleman, who had now no farther 
 occasion for him, being, unfortunately for himself and his 
 family, killed in an untimely duel. 
 
 231 
 
The Mimic 
 
 All her suggestions being lost upon these unthinking 
 parents, Mrs. Theresa Tattle's powers were next tried upon 
 the children, and presently her success was apparent. On 
 Sophia, indeed, she could not make any impression, though 
 she had expended on her some of her finest strokes of 
 flattery. Sophia, though very desirous of the approbation 
 of her friends, was not very solicitous to win the favour of 
 strangers. She was about thirteen — that dangerous age 
 at which ill-educated girls, in their anxiety to display their 
 accomplishments, are apt to become dependent for applause 
 upon the praise of every idle visitor ; when the habits not 
 being formed, and the attention being suddenly turned to 
 dress and manners, girls are apt to affect and imitate, 
 indiscriminately, everything that they fancy to be 
 agreeable. 
 
 Sophia, whose taste had been cultivated at the same time 
 with her powers of reasoning, was not liable to fall into 
 these errors ; she found that she could please those whom 
 she wished to please, without affecting to be anything but 
 what she really was ; and her friends listened to what she 
 said, though she never repeated the sentiments, or adopted 
 the phrases, which she might easily have caught from the 
 conversation of those who were older, or more fashionable, 
 than herself. 
 
 This word fashionable, Mrs. Theresa Tattle knew, had 
 usually a great effect, even at thirteen ; but she had not 
 observed that it had much power upon Sophia ; nor were 
 her arguments concerning grace and manners much 
 attended to. Her mother had taught Sophia that it was 
 best to let herself alone, and not to distort either her person 
 or her mind in acquiring grimace, which nothing but the 
 fashion of the moment can support, and which is always 
 detected and despised by people of real good sense and 
 politeness. 
 
 " Bless me ! " said Mrs. Tattle, to herself, " if I had such a 
 tall daughter, and so unformed, before my eyes from morn- 
 ing to night, it would certainly break my poor heart. 
 Thank heaven, I am not a mother! Miss Marianne for 
 me, if I were ! " 
 
 Miss Marianne had heard so often from Mrs. Tattle that 
 
 232 
 
The Mimic 
 
 she was very charming, that she could not help believing it; 
 and from being a very pleasing, unaffected little girl, she in 
 a short time grew so conceited, that she could neither speak, 
 look, move, nor be silent, without imagining that everybody 
 was, or ought to be, looking at her ; and when Mrs. Theresa 
 saw that Mrs. Montague looked very grave upon these 
 occasions, she, to repair the ill she had done, would say, 
 after praising Marianne's hair or her eyes, " Oh, but little 
 ladies should never think about their beauty, you know. 
 Nobody loves anybody, you know, for being handsome, but 
 for being good." People must think children are very silly, 
 or else they can never have reflected upon the nature of 
 belief in their own minds, if they imagine that children will 
 believe the words that are said to them, by way of moral, 
 when the countenance, manner, and every concomitant 
 circumstance tell them a different tale. Children are 
 excellent physiognomists — they quickly learn the universal 
 language of looks ; and what is said of them always makes 
 a greater impression than what is said to them ; a truth of 
 which those prudent people surely cannot be aware who 
 comfort themselves, and apologize to parents, by saying, 
 " Oh, but I would not say so and so to the child." 
 
 Mrs. Theresa had seldom said to Frederick Montague, 
 " that he had a vast deal of drollery, and was a most in- 
 comparable mimic ; " but she had said so of him in whispers, 
 which magnified the sound to his imagination, if not to his 
 ear. He was a boy of much vivacity, and had consider- 
 able abilities ; but his appetite for vulgar praise had not 
 yet been surfeited. Even Mrs. Theresa Tattle's flattery 
 pleased him, and he exerted himself for her entertainment 
 so much that he became quite a buffoon. Instead of 
 observing characters and manners, that he might judge of 
 them, and form his own, he now watched every person he 
 saw, that he might detect some foible, or catch some 
 singularity in their gesture or pronunciation, which he 
 might successfully mimic. 
 
 Alarmed by the rapid progress of these evils, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Montague, who, from the first day that they had 
 been honoured with Mrs. Tattle's visit, had begun to look 
 out for new lodgings, were now extremely impatient to 
 
 23.3 
 
The Mimic 
 
 decamp. They were not people who, from the weak fear 
 of offending a silly acquaintance, would hazard the happi- 
 ness of their family. They had heard of a house in the 
 country which was likely to suit them, and they determined 
 to go directly to look at it. As they were to be absent all 
 day, they foresaw that their officious neighbour would prob- 
 ably interfere with their children. They did not choose 
 to exact any promise from them which they might be 
 tempted to break, and therefore they only said at parting, 
 "If Mrs. Theresa Tattle should ask you to come to her, 
 do as you think proper." 
 
 Scarcely had Mrs. Montague's carriage gone out of hear- 
 ing when a note was brought, directed to " Frederick 
 Montague, junior, Esq.," which he immediately opened, 
 and read as follows : — 
 
 " Mrs. Theresa Tattle presents her very best compliments to the 
 entertaining Mr. Frederick Montague ; she hopes he will have the 
 charity to drink tea with her this evening, and bring his charming 
 sister, Miss Marianne, with him, as Mrs. Theresa will be quite alone 
 with a shocking headache, and is sensible her nerves are affected ; 
 and Dr. Cardamum says that (especially in Mrs. T. T.'s case) it is 
 downright death to nervous patients to be alone an instant ; she 
 therefore trusts Mr. Frederick will not refuse to come and make her 
 laugh. Mrs. Theresa has taken care to provide a few macaroons for 
 her little favourite, who said she was particularly fond of them the 
 other day. Mrs. Theresa hopes they will all come at six, or before, 
 not forgetting Miss Sophia, if she will condescend to be of the party." 
 
 At the first reading of this note, "the entertaining" Mr. 
 Frederick, and the "charming" Miss Marianne laughed 
 heartily, and looked at Sophia, as if they were afraid that 
 she should think it possible they could like such gross 
 flattery ; but upon a second perusal, Marianne observed 
 that it certainly was good-natured of Mrs. Theresa to 
 remember the macaroons ; and Frederick allowed that it 
 was wrong to laugh at the poor woman because she had 
 the headache. Then twisting the note in his fingers, he 
 appealed to Sophia : — 
 
 " Well, Sophia, leave off drawing for an instant, and tell 
 us what answer can we send ? " 
 
 " Can ! — we can send what answer we please." 
 
 " Yes, I know that," said Frederick ; " I would refuse if 
 
 234 
 
The Mimic 
 
 I could ; but we ought not to do anything rude, should we ? 
 So I think we might as well go, hey ? because we could not 
 refuse, if we would, I say." 
 
 " You have made such confusion," replied Sophia, 
 "between 'couldn't' and ' wouldn't' and ' shouldn't,' that 
 I can't understand you ; surely they are all different 
 things." 
 
 " Different ! no," cried Frederick — " could, would, should, 
 might, and ought, are all the same thing in the Latin 
 grammar ; all of them signs of the potential mood, you 
 know." 
 
 Sophia, whose powers of reasoning were not to be con- 
 founded, even by quotations from the Latin grammar, 
 looked up soberly from her drawing, and answered, " that 
 very likely those words might be signs of the same thing 
 in the Latin grammar, but that she believed they meant 
 perfectly different things in real life." 
 
 " That's just as people please," said her sophistical 
 brother. " You know words mean nothing- in themselves. 
 If I choose to call my hat my cadwallader, you would 
 understand me just as well, after I had once explained it 
 to you, that by cadwallader I meant this black thing that 
 I put upon my head ; cadwallader and hat would then be 
 just the same thing to you." 
 
 " Then why have two words for the same thing ? " said 
 Sophia ; " and what has this to do with could and should ? 
 You wanted to prove " 
 
 " I wanted to prove," interrupted Frederick, " that it's 
 not worth while to dispute for two hours about two 
 words. Do keep to the point, Sophia, and don't dispute 
 with me." 
 
 " I was not disputing, I was reasoning." 
 
 "Well, reasoning or disputing. Women have no business 
 to do either ; for how should they know how to chop logic 
 like men ? " 
 
 At this contemptuous sarcasm upon her sex, Sophia's 
 colour rose. 
 
 " There ! " cried Frederick, exulting, " now we shall see a 
 philosopheress in a passion ; I'd give sixpence, half-price 
 for a harlequin entertainment, to see Sophia in a passion. 
 
 2 35 
 
The Mimic 
 
 Now, Marianne, look at her brush dabbling so fast in the 
 water ! " 
 
 Sophia, who could not easily bear to be laughed at, said 
 with some little indignation, " Brother, I wish " 
 
 " There ! there ! " cried Frederick, pointing to the colour 
 which rose in her cheeks almost to her temples — " rising ! 
 rising ! rising ! Look at the thermometer ! blood heat ! 
 blood ! fever heat ! boiling-water heat, Marianne ! " 
 
 " Then," said Sophia, smiling, " you should stand a little 
 farther off, both of you. Leave the thermometer to itself a 
 little while. Give it time to cool. It will come down to 
 ' temperate' by the time you look again." 
 
 " Oh, brother ! " cried Marianne, :i she's so good-humoured, 
 don't tease her any more, and don't draw heads upon her 
 paper, and don't stretch her india-rubber, and don't let us 
 dirty any more of her brushes. See ! the sides of her 
 tumbler are all manner of colours." 
 
 " Oh, I only mixed red, blue, green and yellow, to show 
 you, Marianne, that all colours mixed together make white. 
 But she is temperate now, and I won't plague her ; she 
 shall chop logic, if she likes it, though she is a woman." 
 
 " But that's not fair, brother," said Marianne, " to say 
 ' woman ' in that way. I'm sure Sophia found out how to 
 tie that difficult knot which father showed us yesterday, 
 long before you did, though you are a man." 
 
 " Not long," said Frederick. "Besides, that was only a 
 conjuring trick." 
 
 " It was very ingenious, though," said Marianne ; " and 
 father said so : and besides, she understood the Rule of 
 Three, which was no conjuring trick, better than you did, 
 though she is a woman ; and she may reason, too, mother 
 says." 
 
 " Very well, let her reason away," said the provoking wit. 
 " All I have to say is, she'll never be able to make a 
 pudding." 
 
 " Why not, pray, brother ? " inquired Sophia, looking up 
 again very gravely. 
 
 " Why, you know father himself, the other day at dinner, 
 said that that woman who talks Greek and Latin as well 
 as I do is a fool after all ; and that she had better have 
 
 236 
 
The Mimic 
 
 learned something useful ; and Mrs. Tattle said, she'd 
 answer for it she did not know how to make a pudding." 
 
 " Well ! but I am not talking Greek and Latin, am I ? " 
 
 " No, but you are drawing, and that's the same 
 thing." 
 
 " The same thing ! Oh, Frederick ! " said little Marianne, 
 laughing. 
 
 " You may laugh ; but I say it is the same sort of thing. 
 Women who are always drawing and reasoning, never know 
 how to make puddings. Mrs. Theresa Tattle said so, when 
 I showed her Sophia's beautiful drawing yesterday." 
 
 " Mrs. Theresa Tattle might say so," replied Sophia, 
 calmly ; " but I do not perceive the reason, brother, why 
 drawing should prevent me from learning how to make a 
 pudding." 
 
 " Well, I say, you'll never learn how to make a good 
 pudding." 
 
 " I have learned," continued Sophia, who was mixing her 
 colours, " to mix such and such colours together to make 
 the colour that I want ; and why should I not be able to 
 learn to mix flour, and butter, and sugar, and egg, together, 
 to make the taste that I want ? " 
 
 " Oh, but mixing will never do, unless you know the 
 quantities, like a cook ; and you would never learn the right 
 quantities." 
 
 " How did the cook learn them ? Cannot I learn them 
 as she did ? " 
 
 "Yes, but you'd never do it exactly, and mind the 
 spoonfuls right, by the recipe, like a cook, exactly." 
 
 " Indeed ! indeed ! but she would," cried Marianne, 
 eagerly : " and a great deal more exactly, for mother has 
 taught her to weigh and measure things very carefully : and 
 when I was ill she always weighed my bark so nicely, and 
 dropped my drops so carefully ; not like the cook. When 
 mother took me down to see her make a cake once, I saw 
 her spoonfuls, and her ounces, and her handfuls : she 
 dashed and splashed without minding exactness, or the 
 recipe, or anything. I'm sure Sophia would make a much 
 better pudding, if exactness only is wanting." 
 
 " Well, granting that she could make the best pudding in 
 
 237 
 
The Mimic 
 
 the whole world, what does that signify ? I say she never 
 would : so it comes to the same thing." 
 
 " Never would ! how can you tell that, brother ? " 
 
 " Why, now look at her, with her books, and her drawings, 
 and all this apparatus. Do you think she would ever jump 
 up, with all her nicety, too, and put by all these things, to 
 go down into the greasy kitchen, and plump up to the 
 elbows in suet, like a cook, for a plum-pudding?" 
 
 " I need not plump up to the elbows, brother," said 
 Sophia, smiling : " nor is it necessary, that I should be a 
 cook: but, if it were necessary, I hope I should be able to 
 make a pudding." 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes," cried Marianne, warmly, " that she 
 would ; jump up, and put by all her things in a minute if 
 it were necessary, and run down stairs and up again like 
 lightning, or do anything that was ever so disagreeable to 
 her, even about the suet, with all her nicety, brother, I 
 assure you, as she used to do anything, everything for me, 
 when I was ill last winter. Oh, brother, she can do any- 
 thing ; and she could make the best plum-pudding in the 
 whole world I'm sure, in a minute, if it were necessary." 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A KNOCK at the door, from Mrs. Theresa Tattle's servant, 
 recalled Marianne to the business of the day. 
 
 " There," said Frederick, " we have sent no answer all 
 this time. It's necessary to think of that in a minute." 
 
 The servant came with his mistress's compliments, to let 
 the young ladies and Mr. Frederick know that she was 
 waiting tea for them. 
 
 " Waiting ! then we must go," said Frederick. 
 
 The servant opened the door wider, to let him pass, and 
 Marianne thought she must follow her brother : so they 
 went down stairs together, whilst Sophia gave her own 
 message to the servant, and quietly stayed at her usual 
 occupations. 
 
 Mrs. Tattle was seated at her tea-table, with a large plate 
 of macaroons beside her when Frederick and Marianne 
 
 238 
 
The Mimic 
 
 entered. She was " delighted " they were come, and 
 " grieved " not to see Miss Sophia along with them. 
 Marianne coloured a little ; for though she had quieted her 
 conscience for a moment by saying, " You know father and 
 mother told us to do what we thought best," yet she did 
 not feel quite pleased with herself: and it was not till alter 
 Mrs. Theresa had exhausted all her compliments, and half 
 her macaroons, that she could restore her spirits to their 
 usual height. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Frederick," said she after tea, " you promised 
 to make me laugh ; and nobody can make me laugh so 
 well as yourself." 
 
 " Oh, brother," said Marianne, " show Mrs. Theresa Dr. 
 Carbuncle eating his dinner ; and I'll be Mrs. Carbuncle." 
 
 Marianne. Now, my dear, what shall I help you to ? 
 
 Frederick. " My dear ! " she never calls him my dear, 
 you know, but always doctor. 
 
 Mar. Well then, doctor, what will you eat to-day? 
 
 Fred. Eat, madam ! eat ! nothing ! nothing ! I don't see 
 anything here I can eat, ma'am. 
 
 Mar. Here's eels, doctor ; let me help you to some eel — 
 stewed eel, doctor — -you used to be fond of stewed eel. 
 
 Fred. Used, ma'am, used ! But I'm sick of stewed eels. 
 You would tire one of anything. Am I to see nothing but 
 eels ? And what's this at the bottom ? 
 
 Mar. Mutton, doctor, roast mutton ; if you'll be so good 
 as to cut it. 
 
 Fred. Cut it, ma'am ! I can't cut it, I say ; it's as hard 
 as a deal board. You might as well tell me to cut the 
 table, ma'am. Mutton, indeed ! not a bit of fat. Roast 
 mutton, indeed ! not a drop of gravy. Mutton, truly ! quite 
 a cinder. I'll have none of it. Here, take it away ; take 
 it down stairs to the cook. It's a very hard case, Mrs. 
 Carbuncle, that I can never have a bit of anything that I 
 can eat at my own table, Mrs. Carbuncle, since I was 
 married, ma'am, I that am the easiest man in the whole 
 world to please about my dinner. It's really very extra- 
 ordinary, Mrs. Carbuncle ! What have you at that corner 
 there, under the cover? 
 
 Mar. Patties, sir ; oyster patties. 
 
 239 
 
The Mimic 
 
 Fred. Patties, ma'am ! kickshaws ! I hate kickshaws. 
 Not worth putting under a cover, ma'am. And why have 
 you not glass covers, that one may see one's dinner before 
 one, before it grows cold with asking questions, Mrs. 
 Carbuncle, and lifting up covers ? But nobody has any 
 sense : and I see no water-plates anywhere, lately. 
 
 Alar. Do, pray, doctor, let me help you to a bit of 
 chicken before it gets cold, my dear. 
 
 Fred, {aside). " My dear," again, Marianne ! 
 
 Mar. Yes, brother, because she is frightened, you know, 
 and Mrs. Carbuncle always says "my dear" to him when 
 she's frightened, and looks so pale from side to side ; and 
 sometimes she cries before dinner's done, and then all the 
 company are quite silent, and don't know what to do. 
 
 "Oh, such a little creature ; to have so much sense, too ! " 
 exclaimed Mrs. Theresa, with rapture. " Mr. Frederick, 
 you'll make me die with laughing ! Pray go on, Dr. 
 Carbuncle." 
 
 Fred. Well, ma'am, then if I must eat something, send 
 me a bit of fowl ; a leg and wing, the liver-wing, and a bit 
 of the breast, oyster sauce, and a slice of that ham, if you 
 please, ma'am. 
 
 \Dr. Carbuncle eats voraciously, with his head down to 
 his plate, and, dropping the sauce, he buttons up his 
 coat tight across the breast.'] 
 
 Fred. Here — a plate, knife and folk — bit o' bread — a 
 glass of Dorchester ale ! 
 
 " Oh, admirable ! " exclaimed Mrs. Tattle, clapping her 
 hands. 
 
 " Now, brother, suppose that it is after dinner," said 
 Marianne ; " and show us how the doctor goes to sleep." 
 
 Frederick threw himself back in an arm-chair, leaning 
 his head back, with his mouth open, snoring ; nodded from 
 time to time, crossed and uncrossed his legs, tried to awake 
 himself by twitching his wig, settling his collar, blowing his 
 nose, and rapping on the lid of his snuff-box. 
 
 All which infinitely diverted Mrs. Tattle, who, when she 
 could stop herself from laughing, declared " It made her 
 sigh, too, to think of the life poor Mrs. Carbuncle led with 
 that man, and all for nothing, too ; for her jointure was 
 
 240 
 
The Mimic 
 
 nothing, next to nothing, though a great thing, to be sure, 
 her friends thought for her, when she was only Sally 
 Ridgeway before she was married. Such a wife as she 
 makes," continued Mrs. Theresa, lifting up her hands and 
 eyes to heaven, " and so much as she has gone through, 
 the brute ought to be ashamed of himself if he does not 
 leave her something extraordinary in his will ; for, turn it 
 which way she may, she can never keep a carriage, or live 
 like anybody else, on her jointure, after all, she tells me, 
 poor soul ! A sad prospect, after her husband's death, to 
 look forward to, instead of being comfortable, as her friends 
 expected ; and she, poor young thing ! knowing no better 
 when they married her ! People should look into these 
 things, beforehand, or never marry at all, I say, Miss 
 Marianne." 
 
 Miss Marianne, who did not clearly comprehend this 
 affair of the jointure, or the reason why Mrs. Carbuncle 
 would be so unhappy after her husband's death, turned to 
 Frederick, who was at that instant studying Mrs. Theresa 
 as a future character to mimic. " Brother," said Marianne, 
 " now sing an Italian song for us like Miss Croker. Pray, 
 Miss Croker, favour us with a song. Mrs. Theresa Tattle 
 has never had the pleasure of hearing you sing — she's quite 
 impatient to hear you sing." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I am," said Mrs. Theresa. 
 
 Frederick put his hands before him affectedly : " Oh, 
 indeed, ma'am ! indeed, ladies ! I really am so hoarse, it 
 distresses me so to be pressed to sing ; besides, upon my 
 word, I have quite left off singing. I've never sung once, 
 except for very particular people, this winter." 
 
 Mar. But Mrs. Theresa Tattle is a very particular 
 person. I'm sure you'll sing for her. 
 
 Fred. Certainly, ma'am, I allow you use a powerful 
 argument; but I assure you now, I would do my best to 
 oblige you, but I absolutely have forgotten all my English 
 songs. Nobody hears anything but Italian now, and I 
 have been so giddy as to leave my Italian music behind 
 me. Besides, I make it a rule never to hazard myself 
 without an accompaniment. 
 
 Mar. Oh, try, Miss Croker, for once. 
 
 241 R 
 
The Mimic 
 
 [Frederick sings, after much preluding.] 
 
 Violante in the pantry, 
 Gnawing of a mutton-bone ; 
 
 How she gnawed it, 
 
 How she claw'd it, 
 When she found herself alone ! 
 
 "Charming!" exclaimed Mrs. Tattle; "so like Miss 
 Croker, I'm sure I shall think of you, Mr. Frederick, when 
 I hear her asked to sing again. Her voice, however, intro- 
 duces her to very pleasant parties, and she's a girl that's 
 very much taken notice of, and I don't doubt will go off 
 vastly well. She's a particular favourite of mine, you must 
 know ; and I mean to do her a piece of service the first 
 opportunity, by saying something or other, that shall go 
 round to her relations in Northumberland, and make them 
 do something for her ; as well they may, for they are all 
 rolling in gold, and won't give her a penny." 
 
 Mar. Now, brother, read the newspaper like Counsellor 
 Puff. 
 
 " Oh, pray do, Mr. Frederick, for I declare I admire you 
 of all things ! You are quite yourself to-night. Here's a 
 newspaper, sir; pray let us have Counsellor Puff. It's 
 not late." 
 
 [Frederick reads in a pompous voice.] 
 
 " As a delicate white hand has ever been deemed a dis- 
 tinguished ornament in either sex, Messrs. Valiant and 
 Wise conceive it to be their duty to take the earliest op- 
 portunity to advertise the nobility and gentry of Great 
 Britain in general, and their friends in particular, that they 
 have now ready for sale, as usual, at the Hippocrates' 
 Head, a fresh assortment of new-invented, much admired, 
 primrose soap. To prevent impositions and counterfeits, 
 the public are requested to take notice, that the only 
 genuine primrose soap is stamped on the outside, ' Valiant 
 and Wise.' " 
 
 " Oh, you most incomparable mimic ! 'tis absolutely the 
 counsellor himself. I absolutely must show you, some day, 
 to my friend Lady Battersby ; you'd absolutely make her 
 die with laughing ; and she'd quite adore you," said Mrs. 
 Theresa, who was well aware that every pause must be 
 
 242 
 
The Mimic 
 
 filled with flattery. " Pray go on, pray go on. I should 
 never be tired, if I were to sit looking at you these* hundred 
 years." 
 
 Stimulated by these plaudits, Frederick proceeded to 
 show how Colonel Epaulette blew his nose, flourished his 
 cambric handkerchief, bowed to Lady Di Periwinkle, and 
 admired her work, saying, " Done by no hands, as you may- 
 guess, but those of Fairly Fair." — Whilst Lady Di, he 
 observed, simpered so prettily, and took herself so quietly 
 for Fairly Fair, not perceiving that the colonel was admiring 
 his own nails all the while. 
 
 Next to Colonel Epaulette, Frederick, at Marianne's 
 particular desire, came into the room like Sir Charles Slang. 
 
 " Very well, brother," cried she, " your hand down to the 
 very bottom of your pocket, and your other shoulder up to 
 your ear ; but you are not quite wooden enough, and you 
 should walk as if your hip were out of joint. — There now, 
 Mrs. Tattle, are not those good eyes ? They stare so like 
 his, without seeming to see anything all the while." 
 
 " Excellent ! admirable ! Mr. Frederick ; I must say you 
 are the best mimic of your age I ever saw, and I'm sure 
 Lady Battersby will think so too. That is Sir Charles to 
 the very life. But with all that, you must know, he's a 
 mighty pleasant, fashionable young man when you come 
 to know him, and has a great deal of sense under all that, 
 and is of a very good family — the Slangs, you know. Sir 
 Charles will come into a fine fortune himself next year, if 
 he can keep clear of gambling, which I hear is his foible, 
 poor young man ! Pray go on ; I interrupt you, Mr. 
 Frederick." 
 
 " Now, brother," said Marianne. 
 
 " No, Marianne, I can do no more. I'm quite tired, and 
 I will do no more," said Frederick, stretching himself at 
 full length upon a sofa. 
 
 Even in the midst of laughter, and whilst the voice of 
 flattery yet sounded in his ear, Frederick felt sad, displeased 
 with himself, and disgusted with Mrs. Theresa. 
 
 " What a deep sigh was there ! " said Mrs. Theresa ; 
 "what can make you sigh so bitterly? You, who make 
 everybody else laugh. Oh, such another sigh again ! " 
 
 243 
 
The Mimic 
 
 " Marianne," cried Frederick, " do you remember the 
 man in the mask ? " 
 
 " What man in the mask, brother ? " 
 
 " The man — the actor — the buffoon, that my father told 
 us of, who used to cry behind the mask that made every- 
 body else laugh." 
 
 " Cry ! bless me," said Mrs. Theresa, " mighty odd ! very 
 extraordinary ! but one can't be surprised at meeting with 
 extraordinary characters amongst that race of people, actors 
 by profession, you know — who are brought up from the egg 
 to make their fortune, or at least their bread, by their 
 oddities. But, my dear Mr. Frederick, you are quite pale, 
 quite exhausted — no wonder — what will you have? a glass 
 of cowslip-w ine ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! thank you, ma'am," said Frederick. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! indeed you must not leave me without taking 
 something ; and Miss Marianne must have another macaroon. 
 I insist upon it," said Mrs. Theresa, ringing the bell. "It 
 is not late, and my man Christopher will bring up the 
 cowslip-wine in a minute." 
 
 " But, Sophia ! and father and mother, you know, will 
 come home presently," said Marianne. 
 
 " Oh ! Miss Sophia has her books and drawings ; you 
 know she's never afraid of being alone. Besides, to-night 
 it was her own choice. And as to your papa and mamma, 
 they won't be home to-night, I'm pretty sure ; for a gentle- 
 man, who had it from their own authority, told me where 
 they were going, which is farther off than they think ; but 
 they did not consult me, and I fancy they'll be obliged to 
 sleep out ; so you need not be in a hurry about them. 
 We'll have candles." 
 
 The door opened just as Mrs. Tattle was going to ring the 
 bell again for candles and the cowslip-wine. " Christopher ! 
 Christopher ! " said Mrs. Theresa, who was standing at the 
 fire, with her back to the door when it opened, "Christopher! 
 pray bring — Do you hear?" but no Christopher answered; 
 and, upon turning round, Mrs. Tattle, instead of Christopher, 
 beheld two little black figures, which stood perfectly still 
 and silent. It was so dark, that their forms could scarcely 
 be discerned. 
 
 244 
 
The Mimic 
 
 "In the name of heaven! who and what may you be? 
 Speak, I conjure you ! what are ye ? " 
 
 " The chimney-sweepers, ma'am, an' please your lady- 
 ship." 
 
 " Chimney-sweepers ! " repeated Frederick and Marianne, 
 bursting out a-laughing. 
 
 " Chimney-sweepers ! " repeated Mrs. Theresa, provoked 
 at the recollection of her late solemn address to them. 
 " Chimney-sweepers ! and could not you say so a little 
 sooner ? And pray, what brings you here, gentlemen, at 
 this time of night ? " 
 
 " The bell rang, ma'am," answered a squeaking voice. 
 
 " The bell rang ! yes, for Christopher. The boy's mad, 
 or drunk." 
 
 " Ma'am," said the tallest of the chimney-sweepers, who 
 had not yet spoken, and who now began in a very blunt 
 manner ; " ma'am, your brother desired us to come up 
 when the bell rang ; so we did." 
 
 " My brother ? I have no brother, dunce," said Mrs. 
 Theresa. 
 
 " Mr. Eden, madam." 
 
 " Oh, ho ! " said Mrs. Tattle, in a more complacent tone, 
 " the boy takes me for Miss Bertha Eden, I perceive ; " 
 and, flattered to be taken in the dark by a chimney-sweeper 
 for a young and handsome lady, Mrs. Theresa laughed, 
 and informed him " that they had mistaken the room ; 
 that they must go up another pair of stairs, and turn to the 
 left. 
 
 The chimney-sweeper with the squeaking voice bowed, 
 thanked her ladyship for this information, said, " Good- 
 night to ye, quality ; " and they both moved towards the 
 door. 
 
 " Stay," said Mrs. Tattle, whose curiosity was excited ; 
 " what can the Edens want with chimney-sweepers at this 
 time o' night, I wonder? Christopher, did you hear any- 
 thing about it?" said the lady to her footman, who was 
 now lighting the candles. 
 
 " Upon my word, ma'am," said the servant, " I can't say ; 
 but I'll step down below and inquire. I heard them talking 
 about it in the kitchen ; but I only got a word here and 
 
 245 
 
The Mimic 
 
 there, for I was hunting for the snuff-dish, as I knew it 
 must be for candles when I heard the bell ring, ma'am ; so 
 I thought to find the snuff-dish before I answered the bell, 
 for I knew it must be for candles you rang. But, if you 
 please, I'll step down now, ma'am, and see about the 
 chimney-sweepers." 
 
 " Yes, step down, do ; and, Christopher, bring up the 
 cowslip-wine, and some more macaroons for my little 
 Marianne." 
 
 Marianne withdrew rather coldly from a kiss which Mrs. 
 Tattle was going to give her ; for she was somewhat 
 surprised at the familiarity with which this lady talked to 
 her footman. She had not been used to these manners in 
 her father and mother, and she did not like them. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Tattle to Christopher, who was now 
 returned, " what is the news ? " 
 
 " Ma'am, the little fellow with the squeaking voice has 
 been telling me the whole story. The other morning, 
 ma'am, early, he and the other were down the hill sweeping 
 in Paradise Row. Those chimneys, they say, are difficult ; 
 and the square fellow, ma'am, the biggest of the two boys, 
 got wedged in the chimney. The other little fellow was up 
 at the top at the time, and he heard the cry ; but in his 
 fright, and all, he did not know what to do, ma'am ; for he 
 looked about from the top of the chimney, and not a soul 
 could he see stirring, but a few that he could not make mind 
 his screech — the boy within almost stifling too. So he 
 screeched, and screeched, all he could ; and by the greatest 
 chance in life, ma'am, old Mr. Eden was just going down 
 the hill to fetch his morning walk." 
 
 " Aye," interrupted Mrs. Theresa, " friend Ephraim is 
 one of your early risers." 
 
 " Well," said Marianne, impatiently. 
 
 " So, ma'am, hearing the screech, he turns and sees the 
 sweep ; and the moment he understands the matter " 
 
 " I'm sure he must have taken some time to understand 
 it," interposed Mrs. Tattle, " for he's the slowest creature 
 breathing, and the deafest in company. Go on, Christopher. 
 So the sweep did make him hear." 
 
 " So he says, ma'am ; and so the old gentleman went in 
 
 246 
 
" u jhc Cfir>\ne,y-ScoeebgrS,)nQ.'aYn. 
 
The Mimic 
 
 and pulled the boy out of the chimney, with much ado, 
 ma'am." 
 
 " Bless me ! " exclaimed Mrs. Theresa ; " but did old 
 Eden go up the chimney himself after the boy, wig and 
 all?" 
 
 " Why, ma'am," said Christopher, with a look of great 
 delight, " that was all as one, as the very 'dentical words I 
 put to the boy myself, when he telled me his story. But, 
 ma'am, that was what I couldn't get out of him, neither, 
 rightly, for he is a churl — the big boy that was stuck in the 
 chimney, I mean — for when I put the question to him about 
 the wig, laughing like, he wouldn't take it laughing like 
 at all ; but would only make answer to us like a bear, ' He 
 saved my life, that's all I know ' ; and this over again, 
 ma'am, to all the kitchen round, that cross-questioned him. 
 So when I finds him so stupid and ill-mannered like (for I 
 offered him a shilling, ma'am, myself, to tell about the wig ; 
 but he put it back in a way that did not become such as 
 he, to no lady's butler, ma'am) ; whereupon I turns to the 
 slim fellow (and he's smarterer, and more mannerly, ma'am, 
 with a tongue in his head for his betters), but he could not 
 resolve me my question neither ; for he was up at the top 
 of the chimney the best part of the time : and when he 
 came down Mr. Eden had his wig on, but had his arm all 
 bare and bloody, ma'am." 
 
 " Poor Mr. Eden ! " exclaimed Marianne. 
 
 " Oh, miss," continued the servant, " and the chimney- 
 sweep himself was so bruised, and must have been killed." 
 
 " Well, well ! but he's alive now ; go on with your story, 
 Christopher," said Mrs. T. " Chimney-sweepers get wedged 
 in chimneys every day ; it's part of their trade, and it's a 
 happy thing when they come off with a few bruises. To 
 be sure," added she, observing that both Frederick and 
 Marianne looked displeased at this speech, " to be sure, if 
 one may believe this story, there was some real danger." 
 
 " Real danger ! yes, indeed," said Marianne ; " and I'm 
 sure I think Mr. Eden was very good." 
 
 " Certainly it was a most commendable action, and quite 
 providential ; so I shall take an opportunity of saying, 
 when I tell the story in all companies ; and the boy may 
 
 249 
 
The Mimic 
 
 thank his kind stars, I'm sure, to the end of his days, for 
 such an escape. — But pray, Christopher," said she, persist- 
 ing in her conversation with Christopher, who was now 
 laying the cloth for supper, " pray, which house was it in 
 Paradise Row ? where the Eagles, or the Miss Ropers 
 lodge ? or which ? " 
 
 " It was at my Lady Battersby's, ma'am." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " cried Mrs. Theresa, " I thought we should 
 get to the bottom of the affair at last. This is excellent ! 
 This will make an admirable story for my Lady Battersby 
 the next time I see her. These Quakers are so sly ! Old 
 Eden, I know, has long wanted to get himself introduced 
 into that house ; and a charming charitable expedient he 
 hit upon ! My Lady Battersby will enjoy this, of all 
 things." 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 "Now," continued Mrs. Theresa, turning to Frederick, as 
 soon as the servant had left the room, " now, Mr. Frederick 
 Montague, I have a favour — such a favour — to ask of you ; 
 it's a favour which only you can grant ; you have such 
 talents, and would do the thing so admirably ; and my 
 Lady Battersby would quite adore you for it. She will do 
 me the honour to be here to spend an evening to-morrow. 
 I'm convinced Mr. and Mrs. Montague will find themselves 
 obliged to stay out another day, and I so long to show you 
 off to her ladyship ; and your Doctor Carbuncle, and your 
 Counsellor Puff, and your Miss Croker, and all your 
 charming characters. You must let me introduce you to 
 her ladyship to-morrow evening. Promise me." 
 
 " Oh, ma'am," said Frederick, " I cannot promise you any 
 such thing, indeed. I am much obliged to you ; but I 
 cannot come indeed." 
 
 " Why not, my dear sir ? — why not ? You don't think I 
 mean you should promise, if you are certain your papa 
 and mamma will be home." 
 
 " If they do come home, I will ask them about it," said 
 Frederick, hesitating ; for though he by no means wished 
 
 250 
 
The Mimic 
 
 to accept the invitation, he had not yet acquired the 
 necessary power of saying No, decidedly. 
 
 " Ask them ! " repeated Mrs. Theresa ; " my dear sir, at 
 your age, must you ask your papa and mamma about such 
 things ? " 
 
 " Must ! no, ma'am," said Frederick ; " but I said I would. 
 I know I need not, because my father and mother always 
 let me judge for myself about everything almost." 
 
 " And about this, I am sure," cried Marianne. " Father 
 and mother, you know, just as they were going away, said, 
 ' If Mrs. Theresa asks you to come, do as you think best.'" 
 
 " Well, then," said Mrs. Theresa, "you know it rests with 
 yourselves, if you may do as you please." 
 
 " To be sure I may, madam," said Frederick, colouring 
 from that species of emotion which is justly called false 
 shame, and which often conquers real shame ; " to be sure, 
 ma'am, I may do as I please." 
 
 " Then I may make sure of you," said Mrs. Theresa ; 
 " for now it would be downright rudeness to- tell a lady you 
 won't do as she pleases. Mr. Frederick Montague, I'm 
 sure, is too well-bred a young gentleman to do so impolite, 
 so ungallant a thing !" 
 
 The jargon of politeness and gallantry is frequently 
 brought by the silly acquaintance of young people to confuse 
 their simple morality and clear good sense. A new and 
 unintelligible system is presented to them, in a language 
 foreign to their understanding, and contradictory to their 
 feelings. They hesitate between new motives and old 
 principles. From the fear of being thought ignorant, they 
 become affected ; and from the dread of being thought to 
 be children, act like fools. But all this they feel only when 
 they are in the company of such people as Mrs. Theresa 
 Tattle. 
 
 " Ma'am," Frederick began, " I don't mean to be rude ; 
 but I hope you'll excuse me from coming to drink tea with 
 you to-morrow, because my father and mother are not 
 acquainted with Lady Battersby, and maybe they may not 
 like—" 
 
 " Take care, take care," said Mrs. Theresa, laughing at 
 his perplexity: "you want to get off from obliging me, 
 
 2 5 r 
 
The Mimic 
 
 and you don't know how. You had very nearly made a 
 most shocking blunder in putting it all upon poor Lady 
 Battersby. Now you know it's impossible Mr. and Mrs. 
 Montague could have in nature the slightest objection to 
 my introducing you to my Lady Battersby at my own 
 house ; for, don't you know, that, besides her ladyship's 
 many unquestionable qualities, which one need not talk of, 
 she is cousin, but once removed, to the Trotters of Lanca- 
 shire — your mother's great favourites ? And there is not a 
 person at the Wells, I'll venture to say, could be of more 
 advantage to your sister Sophia, in the way of partners, 
 when she comes to go to the balls, which it's to be supposed 
 she will, some time or other ; and as you are so good a 
 brother, that's a thing to be looked to, you know. Besides, 
 as to yourself, there's nothing her ladyship delights in so 
 much as in a good mimic ; and she'll quite adore you ! " 
 
 "But I don't want her to adore me, ma'am," said Frederick, 
 bluntly ; then, correcting himself, added, " I mean, for being 
 a mimic." 
 
 " Why not, my love ? Between friends, can there be any 
 harm in showing one's talents — you that have such talents 
 to show? She'll keep your secret, I'll answer for her; 
 and," added she, " you needn't be afraid of her criticism ; 
 for, between you and me, she's no great critic ; so you'll 
 come. Well, thank you, that's settled. How you have 
 made me beg and pray ! but you know your own value, I 
 see ; as you entertaining people always do. One must ask 
 a wit, like a fine singer, so often. W r ell, but now for the 
 favour I was going to ask you." 
 
 Frederick looked surprised ; for he thought that the 
 favour of his company was what she meant : but she 
 explained herself farther. 
 
 " The old Quaker who lodges above, old Ephraim Eden 
 — my Lady Battersby and I have so much diversion about 
 him ; he is the best character, the oddest creature ! If you 
 were but to see him come into the rooms with those stiff 
 skirts, or walking with his eternal sister Bertha, and his 
 everlasting broad-brimmed hat ! One knows him a mile 
 off! But then his voice, and way, and all together, if one 
 could get them to the life, they'd be better than anything 
 
 252 
 
The Mimic 
 
 on the stage ; better even than anything I've seen to-night ; 
 and I think you'd make a capital Quaker for my Lady 
 Battersby ; but then the thing is, one can never get to hear 
 the old quiz talk. Now you, who have so much invention 
 and cleverness — I have no invention myself — but could not 
 you hit upon some way of getting to see him, so that you 
 might get him by heart? I'm sure you, who are so quick, 
 would only want to see him, and hear him, for half a 
 minute, to be able to take him off, so as to kill one with 
 laughing. But I have no invention." 
 
 " Oh, as to the invention," said Frederick, " I know an 
 admirable way of doing the thing, if that was all ; but then, 
 remember, I don't say I will do the thing, for I will not. 
 But I know a way of getting up into his room, and seeing 
 him, without his knowing I was there." 
 
 " Oh, tell it me, you charming, clever creature ! " 
 
 " But, remember, I do not say I will do it." 
 
 " Well, well, let us hear it ; and you shall do as you 
 please afterwards. — Merciful goodness ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Tattle, " do my ears deceive me ? I declare I looked 
 round, and thought the squeaking chimney-sweeper was in 
 the room ! " 
 
 " So did I, Frederick, I declare," cried Marianne, laughing; 
 " I never heard anything so like his voice in my life." 
 
 Frederick imitated the squeaking voice of this chimney- 
 sweeper to great perfection. 
 
 " Now," continued he, " this fellow is just my height. 
 The old Quaker, if my face were blackened, and if I were 
 to change clothes with the chimney-sweeper, I'll answer for 
 it, would never know me." 
 
 " Oh, it's an admirable invention ! I give you infinite 
 credit for it ! " exclaimed Mrs. Theresa. " It shall, it must 
 be done. I'll ring, and have the fellow up this minute." 
 
 " Oh, no ; do not ring," said Frederick, stopping her 
 hand, " I don't mean to do it. You know you promised 
 that I should do as I pleased ; I only told you my 
 invention." 
 
 " Well, well ; but only let me ring, and ask whether the 
 chimney-sweepers are below. You shall do as you please 
 afterwards." 
 
 253 
 
The Mimic 
 
 " Christopher, shut the door. Christopher," said she to 
 the servant who came up when she rang, " pray are the 
 sweeps gone yet ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " But have they been up to old Eden yet? " 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am ; nor be not to go till the bell rings ; for 
 Miss Bertha, ma'am, was asleep, lying down, and her 
 brother wouldn't have her wakened on no account what- 
 somever. He came down hisself to the kitchen to the 
 sweeps, though ; but wouldn't have, as I heard him say, his 
 sister waked for no account. But Miss Bertha's bell will 
 ring, when she wakens, for the sweeps, ma'am. 'Twas she 
 wanted to see the boy as her brother saved, and I suppose 
 sent for 'em to give him something charitable, ma'am." 
 
 " Well, never mind your suppositions," said Mrs. Theresa ; 
 " run down this very minute to the little squeaking chimney- 
 sweep, and send him up to me. Quick, but don't let the 
 other bear come up with him." 
 
 Christopher, who had curiosity as well as his mistress, 
 when he returned with the chimney-sweeper, prolonged his 
 own stay in the room by sweeping the hearth, throwing 
 down the tongs and shovel, and picking them up again. 
 
 " That will do, Christopher ! Christopher, that will do, I 
 say," Mrs. Theresa repeated in vain. She was obliged to 
 say, " Christopher, you may go," before he would depart. 
 
 " Now," said she to Frederick, " step in here to the next 
 room with this candle, and you'll be equipped in an instant. 
 Only just change clothes with the boy ; only just let me 
 see what a charming chimney-sweeper you'd make. You 
 shall do as you please afterwards." 
 
 " Well, I'll only change clothes with him, just to show 
 you for one minute." 
 
 " But," said Marianne to Mrs. Theresa, whilst Frederick 
 was changing his clothes, "I think Frederick is right 
 about " 
 
 " About what, love ? " 
 
 " I think he is in the right not to go up, though he can 
 do it so easily, to see that gentleman ; I mean on purpose 
 to mimic and laugh at him afterwards. I don't think that 
 would be quite right." 
 
 254 
 
The Mimic 
 
 " Why, pray, Miss Marianne ? " 
 
 " Why, because he is so good-natured to his sister. He 
 would not let her be wakened." 
 
 " Dear, it's easy to be good in such little things ; and he 
 won't have long to be good to her neither ; for I don't 
 think she will trouble him long in this world." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Marianne. 
 
 " That she'll die, child." 
 
 " Die ! die with that beautiful colour in her cheeks ! How 
 sorry her poor, poor brother will be ! But she will not die 
 I'm sure, for she walks about, and runs up stairs so lightly ! 
 Oh, you must be quite mistaken, I hope." 
 
 " If I'm mistaken, Dr. Panado Cardamum's mistaken too, 
 then — that's my comfort. He says, unless the waters work 
 a miracle, she stands a bad chance ; and she won't follow 
 my advice, and consult the doctor for her health." 
 
 " He would frighten her to death, perhaps," said Mari- 
 anne. " I hope Frederick won't go up to disturb her." 
 
 "Why, child, you are turned simpleton all of a sudden ; 
 how can your brother disturb her more than the real 
 chimney-sweeper ? " 
 
 " But I don't think it's right," persisted Marianne, " and 
 I shall tell him so." 
 
 " Nay, Miss Marianne, I don't commend you now. Young 
 ladies should not be so forward to give opinions and advice 
 to their elder brothers unasked ; and Mr. Frederick and I, 
 I presume, must know what's right as well as Miss Marianne. 
 Hush ! here he is. Oh, the capital figure ! " cried Mrs. 
 Theresa. " Bravo, bravo ! " cried she, as Frederick entered 
 in the chimney-sweeper's dress ; and as he spoke, saying, 
 " I'm afraid, please your ladyship, to dirt your ladyship's 
 carpet," she broke out into immoderate raptures, calling 
 him " her charming chimney-sweeper ! " and repeating, that 
 she knew beforehand the character would do for him. 
 
 She instantly rang the bell, in spite of all expostulation 
 — ordered Christopher to send up the other chimney- 
 sweeper — triumphed in observing that Christopher did not 
 in the least know Frederick when he came into the room ; 
 and offered to lay any wager that the other chimney- 
 sweeper would mistake him for his companion. — And so 
 
 255 
 
The Mimic 
 
 he did ; and when Frederick spoke, the voice was so very 
 like, that it was scarcely possible that he should have 
 perceived the difference. 
 
 Marianne was diverted by this scene ; but she started, 
 when in the midst of it they heard a bell ring. 
 
 " That's the lady's bell, and we must go," said the blunt 
 chimney-sweeper. 
 
 " Go, then, about your business, and here's a shilling for 
 you to drink, my honest fellow. I did not know you were 
 so much bruised when I first saw you — I won't detain you. 
 Go," said she, pushing Frederick towards the door. 
 
 Marianne sprang forward to speak to him ; but Mrs. 
 Theresa kept her off, and, though Frederick resisted, the 
 lady shut the door upon him by superior force, and, having 
 locked it, there was no retreat. 
 
 Mrs. Tattle and Marianne waited impatiently for Fred- 
 erick's return. 
 
 " I hear them," cried Marianne, " I hear them coming 
 down stairs." 
 
 They listened again, and all was silent. 
 
 At length they suddenly heard a great noise of many 
 steps, and many voices in confusion in the hall. 
 
 " Merciful ! " exclaimed Mrs. Theresa, " it must be your 
 father and mother come back." 
 
 Marianne ran to unlock the room door, and Mrs. Theresa 
 followed her into the hall. 
 
 The hall was rather dark, but under the lamp a crowd of 
 people ; all the servants in the house were gathered together. 
 
 As Mrs. Theresa approached, the crowd opened in silence, 
 and she beheld in the midst Frederick, blood streaming 
 from his face ; his head was held by Christopher, and the 
 chimney-sweeper was holding a basin for him. 
 
 "Merciful! what will become of me?" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Theresa. " Bleeding ! he'll bleed to death ! Can nobody 
 think of anything that will stop blood in a minute ? A 
 key, a large key down his back — a key — has nobody a key? 
 Mr. and Mrs. Montague will be here before he has done 
 bleeding. A key ! cobwebs ! a puff-ball ! for mercy's sake ! 
 Can nobody think of anything that will stop blood in a 
 minute ? Gracious me ! he'll bleed to death, I believe." 
 
 256 
 
The Mimic 
 
 " He'll bleed to death ! Oh, my brother ! " cried Mari- 
 anne, catching hold of the words ; and terrified, she ran 
 up stairs, crying, " Sophia, oh, Sophia ! come down this 
 minute, or he'll be dead ! My brother's bleeding to death ! 
 Sophia ! Sophia ! come down, or he'll be dead ! " 
 
 " Let go the basin, you," said Christopher, pulling the 
 basin out of the chimney-sweeper's hand, who had all this 
 time stood in silence ; " you are not fit to hold the basin for 
 a gentleman." 
 
 " Let him hold it," said Frederick ; " he did not mean to 
 hurt me." 
 
 " That's more than he deserves. I'm certain sure he 
 might have known well enough it was Mr. Frederick all 
 the time, and he'd no business to go to fight — such a one 
 as he — with a gentleman." 
 
 " I did not know he was a gentleman," said the chimney- 
 sweeper ; " how could I ? " 
 
 " How could he, indeed ! " said Frederick ; " he shall hold 
 the basin." 
 
 " Gracious me ! I'm glad to hear him speak like himself 
 again, at any rate," cried Mrs. Theresa. " And here comes 
 Miss Sophia, too." 
 
 " Sophia ! " cried Frederick. " Oh, Sophia, don't you 
 come — don't l:>ok at me ; you'll despise me." 
 
 " My brother ! — where ? where ? " said Sophia, looking, 
 as she thought, at the two chimney-sweepers. 
 
 " It's Frederick," said Marianne ; " that's my brother." 
 
 " Miss Sophia, don't be alarmed," Mrs. Theresa began ; 
 " but, gracious goodness ! I wish Miss Bertha " 
 
 At this instant a female figure in white appeared upon 
 the stairs ; she passed swiftly on, whilst everyone gave way 
 before her. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Bertha ! " cried Mrs. Theresa, catching hold 
 of her gown to stop her, as she came near Frederick. " Oh, 
 Miss Eden, your beautiful India muslin ! take care of the 
 chimney-sweeper, for heaven's sake." But she pressed 
 forward. 
 
 "It's my brother ! will he die?" cried Marianne, throwing 
 her arms round her, and looking up as if to a being of 
 a superior order. " Will he bleed to death ? " 
 
 257 s 
 
The Mimic 
 
 " No, my love ! " answered a sweet voice : " do not 
 frighten thyself." 
 
 " I've done bleeding," said Frederick. 
 
 " Dear me, Miss Marianne, if you would not make such 
 a rout," cried Mrs. Tattle. " Miss Bertha, it's nothing but 
 a frolic. You see Mr. Frederick Montague only in a 
 masquerade dress. Nothing in the world but a frolic, 
 ma'am. You see he stops bleeding. I was frightened out 
 of my wits at first ; I thought it was *his eye, but I see it's 
 only his nose ; all's well that ends well. Mr. Frederick, 
 we'll keep your counsel. Pray, ma'am, let us ask no 
 questions ; it's only a boyish frolic. Come, Mr. Frederick, 
 this way, into my room, and I'll give you a towel, and some 
 clean water, and you can get rid of this masquerade dress. 
 Make haste, for fear your father and mother should pop in 
 upon us." 
 
 " Do not be afraid of thy father and mother — they are 
 surely thy best friends," said a mild voice. It was the voice 
 of an elderly gentleman, who now stood behind Frederick. 
 
 " Oh, sir ! oh, Mr. Eden ! " said Frederick, turning to him. 
 
 " Don't betray me ! for goodness' sake, say nothing about 
 me ! " whispered Mrs. Tattle. 
 
 " I'm not thinking about you. Let me speak," cried he, 
 pushing away her hand, which stopped his mouth. " I 
 shall say nothing about you, I promise you," said Frederick, 
 with a look of contempt. 
 
 " No, but for your own sake, my dear sir, your papa 
 and mamma. Bless me ; is not that Mrs. Montague's 
 carriage ? " 
 
 " My brother, ma'am," said Sophia, " is not afraid of my 
 father and mother's coming back. Let him speak — he was 
 going to speak the truth." 
 
 " To be sure, Miss Sophia, I wouldn't hinder him from 
 speaking the truth ; but it's not proper, I presume, ma'am, 
 to speak truth at all times, and in all places, and before 
 everybody, servants and all. I only wanted, ma'am, to 
 hinder your brother from exposing himself. A hall, I 
 apprehend, is not a proper place for explanations." 
 
 " Here," said Mr. Eden, opening the door of his room, 
 which was on the opposite side of the hall to Mrs. Tattle's 
 
 258 
 
^Wl(( £<? cf ( 'e ? ." criad JKa.ria.YVne" 
 
The Mimic 
 
 — " Here is a place," said he to Frederick, " where thou 
 mayst speak the truth at all times, and before everybody." 
 
 " Nay, my room's at Mr. Frederick Montague's service, 
 and my door's open too. This way, pray," said she, pulling 
 his arm. 
 
 But Frederick broke from her, and followed Mr. Eden. 
 
 " Oh, sir, will you forgive me ? " cried he. 
 
 " Forgive thee ! — and what have I to forgive ? " 
 
 " Forgive, brother, without asking what," said Bertha, 
 smiling. 
 
 " He shall know all ! " cried Frederick ; " all that concerns 
 myself, I mean. Sir, I disguised myself in this dress ; I 
 came up to your room to-night on purpose to see you, 
 without your knowing it, that I might mimic you. The 
 chimney-sweeper, where is he?" said Frederick, looking 
 round ; and he ran into the hall to see for him. " May he 
 come in ? he may — he is a brave, an honest, good, grateful 
 boy. He never guessed who I was. After. we left you we 
 went down to the kitchen together, and there I, fool that I 
 was, for the pleasure of making Mr. Christopher and the 
 servants laugh, began to mimic you. This boy said he 
 would not stand by and hear you laughed at ; that you had 
 saved his life; that I ought to be ashamed of myself ; that 
 you had just given me half-a-crown — and so you had — but I 
 went on, and told him I'd knock him down if he said 
 another word. He did ; I gave the first blow ; we fought ; 
 I came to the ground ; the servants pulled me up again. 
 They found out, I don't know how, that I was not a 
 chimney-sweeper — the rest you saw. And now can you 
 forgive me, sir ? " said Frederick to Mr. Eden, seizing hold 
 of his hand. 
 
 " The other hand, friend," said the Quaker, gently with- 
 drawing his right hand, which everybody now observed was 
 much swelled, and putting it into his bosom again. " This, 
 and welcome," offering his other hand to Frederick, and 
 shaking his with a smile. 
 
 " Oh, that other hand ! " said Frederick, " that was hurt, I 
 remember. How ill I have behaved — extremely ill ! But 
 this is a lesson that I shall never forget as long as I live. I 
 hope for the future I shall behave like a gentleman." 
 
 261 
 
The Mimic 
 
 " And like a man — and like a good man, I am sure thou 
 wilt," said the good Quaker, shaking Frederick's hand 
 affectionately ; "or I am much mistaken, friend, in that 
 black countenance." 
 
 " You are not mistaken," cried Marianne. " Frederick 
 will never be persuaded again by anybody to do what he 
 does not think right : and now, brother, you may wash your 
 black countenance." 
 
 Just when Frederick had got rid of half his black counten- 
 ance, a double knock was heard at the door. It was Mr. 
 and Mrs. Montague. 
 
 "What will you do now?" whispered Mrs. Theresa to 
 Frederick, as his father and mother came into the room. 
 
 " A chimney-sweeper ! covered with blood ! " exclaimed 
 Mr. and Mrs. Montague. 
 
 " Father, I am Frederick," said he, stepping forward 
 towards them, as they stood in astonishment. 
 
 " Frederick ! my son ! " 
 
 "Yes, mother, I'm not hurt half so much as I deserve ; 
 I'll tell you " 
 
 "Nay," interrupted Bertha, "let my brother tell the story 
 this time. Thou hast told it once, and told it well ; no one 
 but my brother could tell it better." 
 
 " A story never tells so well the second time, to be sure," 
 said Mrs. Theresa ; " but Mr. Eden will certainly make the 
 best of it." 
 
 Without taking any notice of Mrs. Tattle, or her ap- 
 prehensive looks, Mr. Eden explained all he knew of the 
 affair in a few words. " Your son," concluded he, " will 
 quickly put off this dirty dress. The dress hath not 
 stained the mind ; that is fair and honourable. When he 
 felt himself in the wrong, he said so ; nor was he in haste 
 to conceal his adventure from his father ; this made me 
 think well of both father and son — I speak plainly, friend, 
 for that is best. But what is become of the other chimney- 
 sweeper ? He will want to go home," said Mr. Eden, 
 turning to Mrs. Theresa. 
 
 Without making any reply, she hurried out of the room 
 as fast as possible, and returned in a few moments, with a 
 look of extreme consternation. 
 
 262 
 
The Mimic 
 
 " Here is a catastrophe indeed ! Now, indeed, Mr. 
 Frederick, your papa and mamma have reason to be 
 angry. A new suit of clothes ! — the bare-faced villain ! 
 gone ! no sign of them in my closet, or anywhere. The 
 door was locked ; he must have gone up the chimney, out 
 upon the leads, and so escaped ; but Christopher is after 
 him. I protest, Mrs. Montague, you take it too quietly. 
 The wretch ! — a new suit of clothes, blue coat and buff 
 waistcoat. I never heard of such a thing ! I declare, Mr. 
 Montague, you are vastly good, now, not to be in a passion," 
 added Mrs. Theresa. 
 
 " Madam," replied Mr. Montague, with a look of much 
 civil contempt, " I think the loss of a suit of clothes, and 
 even the disgrace that my son has been brought to this 
 evening, fortunate circumstances in his education. He will, 
 I am persuaded, judge and act for himself more wisely in 
 future ; nor will he be tempted to offend against humanity, 
 for the sake of beino- called ' The best mimic in the world.'" 
 
 263 
 
3hQ Barring Out 
 Tariy Sjnrct 
 
 HE mother of mischief," says an old 
 proverb, " is no bigger than a midge's 
 wing." 
 
 At Doctor Middleton's school, there 
 was a great tall dunce of the name 
 of Fisher, who never could be taught 
 how to look out a word in the dictionary. He used to 
 torment everybody with — " Do pray help me ! I can't 
 make out this one word." The person who usually helped 
 him in his distress was a very clever, good-natured boy, 
 of the name of De Grey. De Grey had been many 
 years under Dr. Middleton's care, and, by his abilities 
 and good conduct, did him great credit. The doctor 
 certainly was both proud and fond of him ; but he was so 
 well beloved, or so much esteemed, by his companions, that 
 nobody had ever called him by the odious name of favourite, 
 until the arrival of a new scholar of the name of Archer. 
 
 264 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 Till Archer came, the ideas of favourites and parties were 
 almost unknown at Dr. Middleton's ; but he brought all 
 these ideas fresh from a great public school, at which he 
 had been educated — at which he had acquired a sufficient 
 quantity of Greek and Latin, and a superabundant quantity 
 of party spirit. His aim, the moment he came to a new 
 school, was to get to the head of it, or at least to form the 
 strongest party. His influence, for he was a boy of con- 
 siderable abilities, was quickly felt, though he had a 
 powerful rival, as he thought proper to call him, in De 
 Grey ; and, with him, a rival was always an enemy. De 
 Grey, so far from giving him any cause of hatred, treated 
 him with a degree of cordiality, which would probably have 
 had an effect upon Archer's mind, if it had not been for 
 the artifices of Fisher. 
 
 It may seem surprising, that a great dunce should be 
 able to work upon a boy like Archer, who was called a 
 great genius; but when genius is joined to a violent temper, 
 instead of being united to good sense, it is at the mercy 
 even of dunces. 
 
 Fisher was mortally offended one morning by De Grey's 
 refusing to translate his whole lesson for him. He went 
 over to Archer, who, considering him as a partisan deserting 
 from the enemy, received him with open arms, and translated 
 his whole lesson, without expressing much contempt for his 
 stupidity. From this moment Fisher forgot all De Grey's 
 former kindness, and considered only how he could in his 
 turn mortify the person whom he felt to be so much his 
 superior. 
 
 De Grey and Archer were now reading for a prize, which 
 was to be given in their class. Fisher betted on Archer's 
 head, who had not sense enough to despise the bet of a 
 blockhead. On the contrary, he suffered him to excite the 
 spirit of rivalship in its utmost fury, by collecting the bets 
 of all the school. So that this prize now became a matter 
 of great consequence ; and Archer, instead of taking the 
 means to secure a judgment in his favour, was listening to 
 the opinions of all his companions. It was a prize which 
 was to be won by his own exertions ; but he suffered himself 
 to consider it as an affair of chance. The consequence was, 
 
 265 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 that he trusted to chance — his partisans lost their wagers, 
 and he the prize — and his temper. 
 
 " Mr. Archer," said Dr. Middleton, after the grand affair 
 was decided, " you have done all that genius alone could 
 do ; but you, De Grey, have done all that genius and 
 industry united could do." 
 
 " Well ! " cried Archer, with affected gaiety, as soon as 
 the doctor had left the room — " Well, I'm content with my 
 sentence. Genius alone for me ! — industry for those who 
 want it," added he, with a significant look at De Grey. 
 
 Fisher applauded this as a very spirited speech ; and, by 
 insinuating that Dr. Middleton "always gave the prize to 
 De Grey," and that " those who had lost their bets might 
 thank themselves for it, for being such simpletons as to bet 
 against the favourite," he raised a murmur highly flattering 
 to Archer, amongst some of the most credulous boys; while 
 others loudly proclaimed their belief in Dr. Middleton's 
 impartiality. These warmly congratulated De Grey. At 
 this Archer grew more and more angry, and when Fisher 
 was proceeding to speak nonsense for him, pushed forward 
 into the circle to De Grey, crying, " I wish, Mr. Fisher, you 
 would let me fight my own battles ! " 
 
 " And / wish," said young Townsend, who was fonder of 
 diversions than of prizes, or battles, or of anything else — " / 
 wish, that we were not to have any battles ; after having 
 worked liked horses, don't set about to fight like dogs. 
 Come," said he, tapping De Grey's shoulder, " let us see 
 your new playhouse, do — it's a holiday, and let us make 
 the most of it. Let us have the School for Scandal, do ; 
 and I'll play Charles for you, and you, De Grey, shall be 
 my ' little Premium.' Come, do open this new playhouse of 
 yours to-night." 
 
 " Come then ! " said De Grey, and he ran across the 
 playground to a waste building at the farthest end of it, in 
 which, at the earnest request of the whole community, and 
 with the permission of Dr. Middleton, he had with much 
 pains and ingenuity erected a theatre. 
 
 " The new theatre is going to be opened ! Follow the 
 manager ! Follow the manager ! " echoed a multitude of 
 voices. 
 
 ?66 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 " Follow the manager ! " echoed very disagreeably in 
 Archer's ear ; but as he could not be left alone, he was 
 also obliged to follow the manager. 
 
 The moment that the door was unlocked, the crowd rushed 
 in : the delight and wonder expressed at the sight was 
 great, and the applause and thanks, which were bestowed 
 upon the manager, were long and loud. 
 
 Archer at least thought them long, for he was impatient 
 till his voice could be heard. When at length the acclama- 
 tions had spent themselves, he walked across the stage with 
 a knowing air, and looked round contemptuously. 
 
 " And is this your famous playhouse ? " cried he. " I 
 wish you had, any of you, seen the playhouse I have been 
 used to ! " 
 
 These words made a great and visible change in the 
 feelings and opinions of the public. Who would be a 
 servant of the public ? or who would toil for popular 
 applause ? A few words spoken in a decisive tone by 
 a new voice operated as a charm, and the playhouse was 
 in an instant metamorphosed in the eyes of the spectators. 
 All gratitude for the past was forgotten, and the expecta- 
 tion of something better justified to the capricious multitude 
 their disdain of what they had so lately pronounced to be 
 excellent. 
 
 Everyone now began to criticize. One observed " that 
 the green curtain was full of holes, and would not draw up." 
 Another attacked the scenes : " Scenes ! they were not 
 like real scenes — Archer must know best, because he was 
 used to these things." So everybody crowded to hear 
 something of the other playhouse. They gathered round 
 Archer to hear a description of his playhouse, and at every 
 sentence insulting comparisons were made. When he had 
 done, his auditors looked round, sighed, and wished that 
 Archer had been their manager. They turned from De 
 Grey as from a person who had done them an injury. 
 Some of his friends — for he had friends who were not 
 swayed by the popular opinion — felt indignation at this 
 ingratitude, and were going to express their feelings ; but 
 De Grey stopped them, and begged that he might speak 
 for himself. 
 
 267 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 "Gentlemen," said he, coming forward, as soon as he 
 felt that he had sufficient command of himself — " My 
 friends, I see you are discontented with me and my play- 
 house. I have done my best to please you ; but if anybody 
 else can please you better, I shall be glad of it. I did not 
 work so hard for the glory of being your manager. You 
 have my free leave to tear down — " Here his voice 
 faltered, but he hurried on — " You have my free leave to 
 tear down all my work as fast as you please. Archer, 
 shake hands first, however, to show that there's no malice 
 in the case." 
 
 Archer, who was touched by what his rival said, and 
 stopping the hand of his new partisan Fisher, cried, " No, 
 Fisher ! no ! — no pulling down. We can alter it. There 
 is a great deal of ingenuity in it, considering." 
 
 In vain Archer would now have recalled the public to 
 reason, — the time for reason was passed : enthusiasm had 
 taken hold of their minds. " Down with it ! Down with 
 it ! Archer for ever ! " cried Fisher, and tore down the 
 curtain. The riot once begun, nothing could stop the 
 little mob, till the whole theatre was demolished. The 
 love of power prevailed in the mind of Archer ; he was 
 secretly flattered by the zeal of his party, and he mistook 
 their love of mischief for attachment to himself. De Grey 
 looked on superior. " I said I could bear to see all this, 
 and I can," said he ; " now it is all over." And now it was 
 all over there was silence. The rioters stood still to take 
 breath, and to look at what they had done. There was a 
 blank space before them. 
 
 In this moment of silence there was heard something 
 like a female voice. " Hush ! What strange voice is that ? " 
 said Archer. Fisher caught fast hold of his arm — every- 
 body looked round to see where the voice came from. It 
 was dusk — two window-shutters at the farthest end of the 
 building were seen to move slowly inwards. De Grey, and 
 in the same instant Archer, went forward ; and, as the 
 shutters opened, there appeared through the hole the dark 
 face and shrivelled hands of a very old gipsy. She did not 
 speak ; but she looked first at one and then at another. 
 At length she fixed her eyes upon De Grey. 
 
 268 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 "Well, my good woman, what do you want with 
 me ? " 
 
 " Want ? — nothing — with you" said the old woman ; " do 
 you want nothing with me ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said De Grey. Her eye immediately turned 
 upon Archer, — " You want something with me," said she, 
 with emphasis. 
 
 " I ? — what do I want ? " replied Archer. 
 
 " No," said she, changing her tone, " you want nothing — 
 nothing will you ever want, or I am much mistaken in that 
 face." 
 
 " In that watch-chain" she should have said ; for her 
 quick eye had espied Archer's watch-chain. He was the 
 only person in the company who had a watch, and she 
 therefore judged him to be the richest. 
 
 " Had you ever your fortune told, sir, in your life ? " 
 
 " Not I ! " said he, looking at De Grey, as if he was afraid 
 of his ridicule, if he listened to the gipsy. 
 
 " Not you ! No ! for you will make your own fortune, 
 and the fortune of all that belong to you ! " 
 
 " There's good news for my friends ! " cried Archer. 
 "And I'm one of them, remember that," cried Fisher. 
 " And I — " " And I — " joined a number of voices. 
 
 " Good luck to them ! " cried the gipsy ; " good luck to 
 them all ! " 
 
 Then, as soon as they had acquired sufficient confidence 
 in her good will, they pressed up to the window. " There," 
 cried Townsend, as he chanced to stumble over the car- 
 penter's mitre-box, which stood in the way — "there's a 
 good omen for me. I have stumbled on the mitre-box ; I 
 shall certainly be a bishop." 
 
 Happy he who had sixpence, for he bid fair to be a 
 judge upon the bench. And happier he who had a shilling, 
 for he was on the high road to be one day upon the wool- 
 sack, Lord High Chancellor of England. No one had half- 
 a-crown, or no one would surely have kept it in his pocket 
 upon such an occasion, for he might have been an arch- 
 bishop, a king, or what he pleased. 
 
 Fisher, who, like all weak people, was extremely credu- 
 lous, had kept his post immovable in the front row all the 
 
 269 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 time, his mouth open, and his stupid eyes fixed on the 
 gipsy, in whom he felt implicit faith. 
 
 Those who have least confidence in their own powers, 
 and who have least expectation from the success of their 
 own exertions, are always most disposed to trust in fortune- 
 tellers and fortune. They hope to win, when they cannot 
 earn ; and as they can never be convinced by those who 
 speak sense, it is no wonder that they are always persuaded 
 by those who talk nonsense. 
 
 " I have a question to put," said Fisher, in a solemn tone. 
 
 " Put it, then," said Archer, " what hinders you ? " 
 
 " But they will hear me," said he, looking suspiciously at 
 De Grey. 
 
 " / shall not hear you," said De Grey ; " I am going." 
 
 Everybody else drew back, and left him to whisper his 
 question in the gipsy's ear. 
 
 " What has become of my Livy ? " 
 
 " Your sister Livy, do you mean ? " said the gipsy. 
 
 " No, my Latin Livy." 
 
 The gipsy paused for information. " It had a leaf torn 
 out in the beginning, and 7" hate Dr. Middleton " 
 
 " Written in it," interrupted the gipsy. 
 
 " Right — the very book ! " cried Fisher with joy. " But 
 how could you know it was Dr. Middleton's name? I 
 thought I had scratched it, so that nobody could make it 
 out." 
 
 " Nobody could make it out but me" replied the gipsy. 
 " But never think to deceive me," said she, shaking her 
 head at him in a manner that made him tremble. 
 
 " I don't deceive you indeed ; I tell you the whole truth 
 I lost it a week ago." 
 
 " True." 
 
 " And when shall I find it ? " 
 
 " Meet me here at this hour to-morrow evening, and I 
 will answer you. No more ! I must be gone. Not a word 
 more to-night." 
 
 She pulled the shutters towards her, and left the youth 
 in darkness. All his companions were gone. He had been 
 so deeply engaged in this conference, that he had not per- 
 ceived their departure. He found all the world at supper, 
 
 270 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 but no entreaties could prevail upon him to disclose his 
 secret. Townsend rallied in vain. As for Archer, he was 
 not disposed to destroy by ridicule the effect which he saw 
 that the old woman's predictions in his favour had had upon 
 the imagination of many of his little partisans. He had 
 privately slipped two shillings into the gipsy's hand to 
 secure her : for he was willing to pay any price for any 
 means of acquiring power. 
 
 The watch-chain had not deceived the gipsy, for Archer 
 was the richest person in the community. His friends had 
 imprudently supplied him with more money than is usually 
 trusted to boys of his age. Dr. Middleton had refused to 
 give him a larger monthly allowance than the rest of his 
 companions ; but he brought to school with him, secretly, 
 the sum of five guineas. This appeared to his friends and 
 to himself an inexhaustible treasure. 
 
 Riches and talents would, he flattered himself, secure to 
 him that ascendancy of which he was so ambitious. " Am 
 I your manager, or not ? " was now his question. " I scorn 
 to take advantage of a hasty moment ; but since last night 
 you have had time to consider. If you desire me to be 
 your manager, you shall see what a theatre I will make 
 for you. In this purse," said he, showing through the 
 network a glimpse of the shining treasure — " in this purse 
 is Aladdin's wonderful lamp. Am I your manager ? Put 
 it to the vote." 
 
 It was put to the vote. About ten of the most reasonable 
 of the assembly declared their gratitude and high appro- 
 bation of their old friend, De Grey ; but the numbers were 
 in favour of the new friend. And as no metaphysical dis- 
 tinctions relative to the idea of a majority had ever entered 
 their thoughts, the most numerous party considered them- 
 selves as now beyond dispute in the right. They drew off 
 on one side in triumph ; and their leader, who knew the 
 consequence of a name in party matters, immediately dis- 
 tinguished his partisans by the gallant name of Archers, 
 stigmatizing the friends of De Grey by the epithet of 
 Greybeards. 
 
 Amongst the Archers was a class not very remarkable 
 for their mental qualifications ; but who, by their bodily 
 
 271 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 activity, and by the peculiar advantages annexed to their 
 way of life, rendered themselves of the highest consequence, 
 especially to the rich and enterprising. The judicious 
 reader will apprehend that I allude to the persons called 
 day-scholars. Amongst these, Fisher was distinguished by 
 his knowledge of all the streets and shops in the adjacent 
 town ; and, though a dull scholar, he had such reputation 
 as a man of business, that whoever had commissions to 
 execute at the confectioner's, were sure to apply to him. 
 Some of the youngest of his employers had, it is true, at 
 times, complained that he made mistakes of halfpence and 
 pence in their accounts ; but as these affairs could never 
 be brought to a public trial, Fisher's character and conse- 
 quence were undiminished, till the fatal day when his Aunt 
 Barbara forbade his visits to the confectioner, or rather, till 
 she requested the confectioner, who had his private reasons 
 for obeying her, not to receive her nephew's visits, as he had 
 made himself sick at his house, and Mrs. Barbara's fears for 
 his health were incessant. 
 
 Though his visits to the confectioner's were thus at an 
 end, there were many other shops open to him ; and 
 with officious zeal he offered his services to the new 
 manager, to purchase whatever might be wanting for the 
 theatre. 
 
 Since his father's death Fisher had become a boarder at 
 Dr. Middleton's ; but his frequent visits to his Aunt 
 Barbara afforded him opportunities of going into the town. 
 The carpenter, De Grey's friend, was discarded by Archer, 
 for having said " lack-a-daisy ! " when he saw that the old 
 theatre was pulled down. A new carpenter and paper- 
 hanger, recommended by Fisher, were appointed to attend, 
 with their tools, for orders, at two o'clock. Archer, im- 
 patient to show his ingenuity and his generosity, gave his 
 plan and his orders in a few minutes, in a most decided 
 manner — " These things," he observed, " should be done 
 with some spirit." 
 
 To which the carpenter readily assented, and added, 
 that " gentlemen of spirit never looked to the expense, but 
 always to the effect." Upon this principle Mr. Chip set to 
 work with all possible alacrity. In a few hours' time he 
 
 2 7 2 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 promised to produce a grand effect. High expectations 
 were formed — nothing was talked of but the new play- 
 house ; and so intent upon it was every head, that no 
 lessons could be learnt. Archer was obliged, in the midst 
 of his various occupations, to perform the part of grammar 
 and dictionary for twenty different people. 
 
 " O ye Athenians ! " he exclaimed, " how hard do I work 
 to obtain your praise ! " 
 
 Impatient to return to the theatre, the moment the hours 
 destined for instruction, or, as they are termed by school- 
 boys, school-hours, were over, each prisoner started up with 
 a shout of joy. 
 
 " Stop one moment, gentlemen, if you please," said Dr. 
 Middleton, in an awful voice. " Mr. Archer, return to 
 your place. Are you all here ? " The names of all the 
 boys were called over, and when each had answered to 
 his name, Dr. Middleton said : — 
 
 " Gentlemen, I am sorry to interrupt your amusements ; 
 but, till you have contrary orders from me, no one, on pain 
 of my serious displeasure, must go into that building" 
 (pointing to the place where the theatre was erecting). 
 " Mr. Archer, your carpenter is at the door ; you will be so 
 good as to dismiss him. I do not think proper to give my 
 reasons for these orders ; but you who know me," said the 
 doctor, and his eye turned towards De Grey, " will not 
 suspect me of caprice. I depend, gentlemen, upon your 
 obedience." 
 
 To the dead silence with which these orders were re- 
 ceived, succeeded in a few minutes a universal groan. 
 " So ! " said Townsend, "all our diversion is over." "So," 
 whispered Fisher in the manager's ear, " this is some trick 
 of the Greybeards. Did you not observe how he looked 
 at De Grey ? " 
 
 Fired by this idea, which had never entered his mind 
 before, Archer started from his reverie, and, striking his 
 hand upon the table, swore that he "would not be out- 
 witted by any Greybeard in Europe — no, not by all of 
 them put together. The Archers were surely a match for 
 them. He would stand by them, if they would stand by 
 him," he declared, with a loud voice, " against the whole 
 
 273 T 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 world, and Dr. Middleton himself, with ' little Premium ' at 
 his right hand." 
 
 Everybody admired Archer's spirit, but they were a little 
 appalled at the sound of standing against Dr. Middleton. 
 
 " Why not ? " resumed the indignant manager. " Neither 
 Dr. Middleton nor any doctor upon earth shall treat me with 
 injustice. This, you see, is a stroke at me and my party, 
 and I won't bear it." 
 
 " Oh, you are mistaken ! " said De Grey, who was the 
 only one who dared to oppose reason to the angry orator. 
 "It cannot be a stroke aimed at ' you and your party,' for 
 he does not know that you have a party." 
 
 " I'll make him know it, and I'll make you know it, too," 
 said Archer. " Before I came here you reigned alone ; now 
 your reign is over, Mr. De Grey. Remember my majority 
 this morning, and your theatre last night." 
 
 " He has remembered it," said Fisher. " You see, the 
 moment he was not to be our manager, we were to have 
 no theatre, no playhouse, no plays. We must all sit down 
 with our hands before us — all for ' good reasons ' of Dr. 
 Middleton's, which he does not vouchsafe to tell us." 
 
 " I won't be governed by any man's reasons that he 
 won't tell me," cried Archer. " He cannot have good 
 reasons, or why not tell them ? " 
 
 " Nonsense ! We shall not suspect him of caprice ! " 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 "Because we, who know him," said De Grey, "have 
 never known him capricious." 
 
 " Perhaps not : / know nothing about him," said Archer. 
 
 " No," said De Grey ; " for that very reason / speak who 
 do know him. Don't be in a passion, Archer." 
 
 " I will be in a passion ; I won't submit to tyranny. I 
 won't be made a fool of by a few soft words. You don't 
 know me, De Grey — I'll go through with what I've begun 
 — I am manager, and I will be manager ; and you shall 
 see my theatre finished in spite of you, and my party 
 triumphant." 
 
 " Party ? " repeated De Grey ; " I cannot imagine what 
 is in the word ' party ' that seems to drive you mad. We 
 never heard of parties till you came amongst us." 
 
 274 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 " No ; before I came, I say, nobody dared oppose you ; 
 but / dare ; and I tell you to your face, take care of me — 
 a warm friend and a bitter enemy is my motto." 
 
 " I am not your enemy ! I believe you are out of your 
 senses, Archer ! " said he, laughing. 
 
 " Out of my senses ! No ; you are my enemy ! Are not 
 you my rival ? Did not you win the prize ? Did not you 
 want to be manager ? Answer me ; are not you, in one 
 word, a Greybeard ? " 
 
 " You called me a Greybeard, but my name is De Grey," 
 said he, still laughing. 
 
 " Laugh on!" cried the other, furiously. " Come, Archers, 
 follow me ! — We shall laugh by-and-by, I promise you." 
 
 At the door Archer was stopped by Mr. Chip — " Oh, Mr. 
 Chip, I am ordered to discharge you." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and here's a little bill " 
 
 " Bill, Mr. Chip I- — why, you have not been at work for 
 two hours ! " 
 
 " Not much over, sir; but if you'll please to' look into it, 
 you'll see it's for a few things you ordered. The stuff is all 
 laid out and delivered. The paper, and the festoon-border- 
 ing for the drawing-room scene, is cut out, and left yonder 
 within." 
 
 " Yonder, within ! I wish you had not been in such a 
 confounded hurry — six-and-twenty shillings ! " cried he ; 
 "but I can't stay to talk about it now. I'll tell you, Mr. 
 Chip," said Archer, lowering his voice, " what you must do 
 for me, my good fellow." Then, drawing Mr. Chip aside, 
 he begged him to pull down some of the wood-work which 
 had been put up, and to cut it into a certain number of 
 wooden bars, of which he gave him the dimensions, with 
 orders to place them all, when ready, under a haystack, 
 which he pointed out. Mr. Chip scrupled and hesitated, 
 and began to talk of " the doctor." Archer immediately 
 began to talk of the bill, and throwing down a guinea and 
 a half, the conscientious carpenter pocketed the money 
 directly, and made his bow. 
 
 " Well, Master Archer," said he, " there's no refusing you 
 nothing. You have such a way of talking one out of it. 
 You manage me just like a child." 
 
 275 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 " Aye, aye ! " said Archer, knowing that he had been 
 cheated, and yet proud of managing a carpenter, " aye, 
 aye ! I know the way to manage everybody. Let the 
 things be ready in an hour's time : and hark'e ! leave your 
 tools by mistake behind you, and a thousand of twenty- 
 penny nails. Ask no questions, and keep your own 
 counsel like a wise man. Off with you, and take care of 
 the doctor." 
 
 " Archers, Archers, to the Archers' tree ! Follow your 
 leader," cried he, sounding his well-known whistle as a 
 signal. His followers gathered round him, and he, raising 
 himself upon the mound at the foot of the tree, counted his 
 numbers, and then, in a voice lower than usual, addressed 
 them thus : — 
 
 " My friends, is there a Greybeard amongst us ? If there 
 is, let him walk off now ; he has my free leave." 
 
 No one stirred — " Then we are all Archers, and we will 
 stand by one another. Join hands, my friends." 
 
 They all joined hands. 
 
 " Promise me not to betray me, and I will go on. I ask 
 no security but your honour." 
 
 They all gave their honour to be secret and faithful, as 
 he called it, and he went on : — 
 
 " Did you ever hear of such a thing as a ' barring out,' my 
 friends ? " 
 
 They had heard of such a thing ; but they had only 
 heard of it. 
 
 Archer gave the history of a barring out, in which he 
 had been concerned at his school ; in which the boys stood 
 out two days against the master, and gained their point at 
 last, which was a week's more holiday at Easter. 
 
 " But if we should not succeed," said they. " Dr. Middleton 
 is so steady ; he never goes back from what he has 
 said." 
 
 " Did you ever try to push him back ? Let us be steady, 
 and he'll tremble. Tyrants always tremble, when " 
 
 " Oh," interrupted a number of voices ; " but he is not a 
 tyrant — is he ? " 
 
 " All schoolmasters are tyrants — are not they ? " replied 
 Archer ; " and is not he a schoolmaster ? " 
 
 276 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 To this logic there was no answer ; but, still reluctant, 
 they asked, " What they should get by a barring out ? " 
 
 " Get everything ! — what we want ! — which is everything 
 to lads of spirit — victory and liberty! Bar him out till he 
 repeals his tyrannical law ; till he lets us into our own 
 theatre again, or till he tells us his ' good reasons ' against it." 
 
 " But perhaps he has reasons for not telling us." 
 
 " Impossible ! " cried Archer ; " that's the way we are 
 always to be governed by a man in a wig, who says he has 
 good reasons, and can't tell them. Are you fools ? Go ! 
 go back to De Grey ; I see you are all Greybeards. Go ! — 
 Who goes first ? " 
 
 Nobody would go first. 
 
 " I will have nothing to do with you, if you are resolved 
 to be slaves ! " 
 
 " We won't be slaves ! " they all exclaimed at once. 
 
 " Then," said Archer, " stand out in the right, and be free." 
 
 " The right." It would have taken up too much time to 
 examine what the " right " was. Archer was always sure 
 that " the right " was what his party chose to do — that is, 
 what he chose to do himself ; and such is the influence of 
 numbers upon each other, in conquering the feelings of 
 shame and in confusing the powers of reasoning, that in a 
 few minutes " the right " was forgotten, and each said to 
 himself, " To be sure, Archer is a very clever boy, and he 
 can't be mistaken " ; or, " to be sure, Townsend thinks so, 
 and he would not do anything to get us into a scrape " ; or 
 " to be sure, everybody will agree to this but myself, and I 
 can't stand out alone, to be pointed at as a Greybeard and 
 a slave. Everybody thinks it is right, and everybody can't 
 be wrong." 
 
 By some of these arguments, which passed rapidly 
 through his mind without his being conscious of them, each 
 boy decided, and deceived himself ; what none would have 
 done alone, none scrupled to do as a party. 
 
 It was determined, then, that there should be a barring 
 out. The arrangement of the affair was left to their new 
 manager, to whom they all pledged implicit obedience. 
 
 Obedience, it seems, is necessary, even from rebels to 
 their ringleaders ; not reasonable, but implicit obedience. 
 
 277 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 Scarcely had the assembly adjourned to the Ball-alley, 
 when Fisher, with an important length of face, came up to 
 the manager, and desired to speak one word to him. 
 
 " My advice to you, Archer, is, to do nothing in this till 
 we have consulted, you know who, about whether it's right 
 or wrong." 
 
 " ' You know who ! ' Whom do you mean ? Make haste, 
 and don't make so many faces, for I'm in a hurry. Who is 
 1 You know who ' ? " 
 
 " The old woman," said Fisher, gravely ; " the gipsy." 
 
 " You may consult the old woman," said Archer, bursting 
 out a-laughing, " about what's right and wrong, if you please ; 
 but no old woman shall decide for me." 
 
 " No ; but you don't take me," said Fisher ; " you don't 
 take me. By right and wrong, I mean lucky and unlucky." 
 
 "Whatever / do will be lucky," replied Archer. "My 
 gipsy told you that already." 
 
 " I know, I know," said Fisher ; " and what she said 
 about your friends being lucky — that went a great way 
 with many," added he, with a sagacious nod of his head, " I 
 can tell you that — more than you think. Do you know," 
 said he, laying hold of Archer's button, " I'm in the secret. 
 There are nine of us have crooked our little fingers upon it, 
 not to stir a step till we get her advice ; and she has ap- 
 pointed me to meet her about particular business of my 
 own at eight. So I'm to consult her and to bring her 
 answer." 
 
 Archer knew too well how to govern fools, to attempt to 
 reason with them ; and, instead of laughing any longer at 
 Fisher's ridiculous superstition, he was determined to take 
 advantage of it. He affected to be persuaded of the wisdom 
 of the measure ; looked at his watch ; urged him to be exact 
 to a moment ; conjured him to remember exactly the words 
 of the oracle ; and, above all things, to demand the lucky 
 hour and minute when the barring out should begin. 
 
 With these instructions Archer put his watch into the 
 solemn dupe's hand, and left him to count the seconds, till 
 the moment of his appointment, whilst he ran off himself to 
 prepare the oracle. 
 
 At a little gate which looked into a lane, through which 
 
 27S 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 he guessed that the gipsy must pass, he stationed himself, 
 saw her, gave her half-a-crown and her instructions, made 
 his escape, and got back unsuspected to Fisher, whom he 
 found in the attitude in which he had left him, watching the 
 motion of the minute hand. 
 
 Proud of his secret commission, Fisher slouched his hat, 
 he knew not why, over his face, and proceeded towards the 
 appointed spot. To keep, as he had been charged to do by 
 Archer, within the letter of the law, he stood behind the 
 forbidden building, and waited some minutes. Through a 
 gap in the hedge the old woman at length made her ap- 
 pearance, muffled up, and looking cautiously about her. 
 
 " There's nobody near us ! " said Fisher, and he began to 
 be a little afraid. " What answer," said he, collecting him- 
 self, " about my Livy ? " 
 
 " Lost ! lost ! lost ! " said the gipsy, lifting up her hands ; 
 " never, never, never to be found ! — But no matter for that 
 now ; that is not your errand to-night ; no tricks with me ; 
 speak to me of what is next your heart." 
 
 Fisher, astonished, put his hand upon his heart, told her 
 all that she knew before, and received the answers which 
 Archer had dictated : — " That the Archers should be lucky 
 as long as they stuck to their manager, and to one another ; 
 that the barring out should end in woe, if not begun pre- 
 cisely as the clock should strike nine on Wednesday night ; 
 but if begun in that lucky moment, and all obedient to their 
 lucky leader, all should end well." 
 
 A thought, a provident thought, now struck Fisher ; for 
 even he had some foresight where his favourite passion 
 was concerned. — " Pray, in our barring out, shall we be 
 starved ? " 
 
 " No," said the gipsy, " not if you trust to me for food, 
 and if you give me money enough. Silver won't do for so 
 many ; gold is what must cross my hand." 
 
 " I have no gold," said Fisher, " and I don't know what 
 you mean by ' so many.' I'm only talking of number one, 
 you know — I must take care of that first." 
 
 So, as Fisher thought it was possible that Archer, clever 
 as he was, might be disappointed in his supplies, he deter- 
 mined to take secret measures for himself. His Aunt 
 
 279 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 Barbara's interdiction had shut him out of the confectioner's 
 shop, but he flattered himself that he could outwit his aunt ; 
 he therefore begged the gipsy to procure him twelve buns 
 by Thursday morning, and bring them secretly to one of 
 the windows of the schoolroom. 
 
 As Fisher did not produce any money when he made 
 this proposal, it was at first absolutely rejected ; but a bribe 
 at length conquered all difficulties ; and the bribe which 
 Fisher found himself obliged to give — for he had no pocket- 
 money left of his own, he being as much restricted in that 
 article as Archer was indulged — the bribe that he found 
 himself obliged to give to quiet the gipsy was half-a-crown, 
 which Archer had intrusted to him to buy candles for the 
 theatre. " Oh," thought he to himself; " Archer's so care- 
 less about money, he will never think of asking me for the 
 half-crown again ; and now he'll want no candles for the 
 theatre — or, at any rate, it will be some time first ; and 
 maybe, Aunt Barbara may be got to give me that much at 
 Christmas ; then, if the worst comes to the worst, I can pay 
 Archer. My mouth waters for the buns, and have 'em I 
 must, now." 
 
 So, for the hope of twelve buns, he sacrificed the money 
 which had been intrusted to him. The meanest motives, 
 in mean minds, often prompt to the commission of those 
 great faults, to which one should think nothing but some 
 violent passion could have tempted. 
 
 The ambassador having thus, in his opinion, concluded 
 his own and the public business, returned well satisfied 
 with the result, after receiving the gipsy's reiterated promise 
 to tap three times at the window on Thursday morning. 
 
 The day appointed for the barring out at length 
 arrived ; and Archer, assembling the confederates, informed 
 them that all was prepared for carrying their design into 
 execution ; that he now depended for success upon their 
 punctuality and courage. He had, within the last two 
 hours, got all the bars ready to fasten the doors and 
 window-shutters of the schoolroom ; he had, with the 
 assistance of two of the day-scholars who were of the 
 party, sent into the town for provisions, at his own expense, 
 which would make a handsome supper for that night ; he 
 
 280 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 had also negotiated with some cousins of his, who lived in 
 the town, for a constant supply in future. 
 
 " Bless me," exclaimed Archer, suddenly stopping in this 
 narration of his services, " there's one thing, after all, I've 
 forgot ; we shall be undone without it — Fisher, pray did 
 you ever buy the candles for the playhouse ? " 
 
 " No, to be sure," replied Fisher, extremely frightened ; 
 " you know you don't want candles for the playhouse 
 now." 
 
 " Not for the playhouse, but for the barring out — we 
 shall be in the dark, man. — You must run this minute, run." 
 
 " For candles ? " said Fisher, confused ; " how many ? — 
 what sort ? " 
 
 " Stupidity ! " exclaimed Archer ; " you are a pretty fellow 
 at a dead lift ! — Lend me a pencil and a bit of paper, do ; 
 I'll write down what I want myself! Well, what are you 
 fumbling for ? " 
 
 " For money ! " said Fisher, colouring. 
 
 " Money, man ! Didn't I give you half-a-crown the other 
 day ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Fisher, stammering; "but I wasn't sure 
 that that might be enough." 
 
 " Enough ! yes, to be sure it will. — I don't know what 
 you are at." 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," said Fisher ; " here write upon this, 
 then," said Fisher, putting a piece of paper into Archer's 
 hand, upon which Archer wrote his orders. 
 
 " Away, away ! " cried he. 
 
 And away went Fisher. He returned ; but not until a 
 considerable time afterwards. 
 
 They were at supper when he returned. " Fisher always 
 comes in at supper-time," observed one of the Greybeards, 
 carelessly. 
 
 " Well, and would you have him come in after supper- 
 time ? " said Townsend, who always supplied his party with 
 ready wit. 
 
 " I've got the candles," whispered Fisher, as he passed by 
 Archer to his place. 
 
 " And the tinder-box ? " said Archer. 
 
 " Yes ; I got back from my Aunt Barbara, under pretence 
 
 281 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 that I must study for repetition-day an hour later to-night. 
 — So I got leave. Was not that clever ? " 
 
 A dunce always thinks it clever to cheat even by sober 
 lies. 
 
 How Mr. Fisher procured the candles and the tinder-box 
 without money and without credit, for he had no credit, we 
 shall discover in the future. 
 
 Archer and his associates had agreed to stay the last in 
 the schoolroom ; and as soon as the Greybeards were gone 
 out to bed, he, as the signal, was to shut and lock one door, 
 Townsend the other ; a third conspirator was to strike a 
 light, in case they should not be able to secure a candle ; a 
 fourth was to take charge of the candle as soon as lighted ; 
 and all the rest were to run to their bars, which were 
 secreted in the room ; then to fix them to the common 
 fastening-bars of the windows, in the manner in wh ch they 
 had been previously instructed by the manager. Thus each 
 had his part assigned, and each was warned that the success 
 of the whole depended upon his order and punctuality. 
 
 Order and punctuality, it appears, are necessary even in 
 a barring out ; and even rebellion must have its laws. 
 
 The long-expected moment at length arrived. De Grey 
 and his friends, unconscious of what was going forward, 
 walked out of the schoolroom as usual at bedtime The 
 clock began to strike nine. There was one Greybeard left 
 in the room, who was packing up some of his books, which 
 had been left about by accident. It is impossible to describe 
 the impatience with which he was watched, especially by 
 Fisher and the nine who depended upon the gipsy oracle. 
 
 When he had got all his books together under his arm, 
 he let one of them fall ; and whilst he stooped to pick it up, 
 Archer gave the signal. The doors were shut, locked, and 
 double-locked in an instant. A light was struck, and each 
 ran to his post. The bars were all in the same moment 
 put up to the windows, and Archer, when he had tried them 
 all, and seen that they were secure, gave a loud " Huzza ! " 
 in which he was joined by all the party most manfully — 
 by all but the poor Greybeard, who, the picture of astonish- 
 ment, stood stock still in the midst of them with his books 
 under his arm ; at which spectacle Townsend, who enjoyed 
 
 282 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 the frolic of the fray more than anything else, burst into an 
 immoderate fit of laughter. 
 
 " So, my little Greybeard," said he, holding a candle full 
 in his eyes, " what think you of all this ? — How came you 
 amongst the wicked ones ? " 
 
 " I don't know, indeed," said the little boy, very gravely : 
 " you shut me up amongst you. Won't you let me out ? " 
 
 " Let you out ! No, no, my little Greybeard," said 
 Archer, catching hold of him, and dragging him to the 
 window bars. " Look you here — touch these — put your 
 hand to them — pull, push, kick — put a little spirit into it, 
 man — kick like an Archer, if you can — away with you. 
 It's a pity that the king of the Greybeards is not here to 
 admire me. I should like to show him our fortifications. 
 But come, my merry-men all, now to the feast. Out with 
 the table into the middle of the room. Good cheer, my 
 jolly Archers ! I'm your manager ! " 
 
 Townsend, delighted with the bustle, rubbed his hands, 
 and capered about the room, whilst the preparations for the 
 feast were hurried forward. " Four candles ! — Four candles 
 on the table. Let's have things in style when we are about 
 it, Mr. Manager," cried Townsend. " Places . — Places ! 
 There's nothing like a fair scramble, my boys. Let every- 
 one take care of himself. Hallo! Greybeard, I've knocked 
 Greybeard down here in the scuffle. — Get up again, my 
 lad, and see a little life." 
 
 " No, no," cried Fisher, " he sha'n't sup with us." 
 
 " No, no," cried the manager, " he sha'n't live with us ; a 
 Greybeard is not fit company for Archers." 
 
 " No, no," cried Townsend, " evil communications corrupt 
 good manners." 
 
 So with one unanimous hiss they hunted the poor little 
 gentle boy into a corner ; and having pent him up with 
 benches, Fisher opened his books for him, which he thought 
 the greatest mortification, and set up a candle beside him — 
 " There, now he looks like a Greybeard as he is ! " cried 
 they. 
 
 "Tell me what's the Latin for cold roast beef?" said 
 Fisher, exulting, and they returned to their feast. 
 
 Long and loud they revelled. They had a few bottles of 
 
 283 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 cider. " Give me the corkscrew, the cider sha'n't be kept 
 till it's sour," cried Townsend, in answer to the manager, 
 who, when he beheld the provisions vanishing with surprising 
 rapidity, began to fear for the morrow. 
 
 " Hang to-morrow ! " cried Townsend, " let Greybeards 
 think of to-morrow ; Mr. Manager, here's your good 
 health." 
 
 The Archers all stood up as their cups were filled, to 
 drink the health of their chief with a universal cheer. 
 
 But at the moment that the cups were at their lips, and 
 as Archer bowed to thank the company, a sudden shower 
 from above astonished the whole assembly. They looked 
 up, and beheld the rose of a watering-engine, the long neck 
 of which appeared through a trap-door in the ceiling. 
 
 " Your good health, Mr. Manager ! " said a voice, which 
 was known to be the gardener's ; and in the midst of their 
 surprise and dismay the candles were suddenly extinguished, 
 the trap-door shut down, and they were left in utter 
 darkness. 
 
 " The Devil ! " said Archer. 
 
 " Don't swear, Mr. Manager," said the same voice from 
 the ceiling. " I hear every word you say." 
 
 " Mercy upon us ! " exclaimed Fisher. " The clock," 
 added he, whispering, " must have been wrong, for it had 
 not done striking when we began. Only, you remember, 
 Archer, it had just done before you had done locking your 
 door." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, blockhead ! " said Archer. " Well, 
 boys ! were you never in the dark before ? You are not 
 afraid of a shower of rain, I hope. Is anybody drowned ? " 
 
 " No," said they, with a faint laugh ; " but what shall we 
 do here in the dark all night long, and all day to-morrow ? 
 We can't unbar the shutters." 
 
 " It's a wonder nobody ever thought of that trap-door ! " 
 said Townsend. 
 
 The trap-door had indeed escaped the manager's observa- 
 tion, as the house was new to him, and the ceiling being 
 newly whitewashed, the opening was scarcely perceptible. 
 Vexed to be out-generalled, and still more vexed to have 
 it remarked, Archer poured forth a volley of incoherent 
 
 284 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 exclamations and reproaches against those who were thus 
 so soon discouraged by a trifle ; and groping for the tinder- 
 box, he asked if anything could be easier than to strike a 
 light again. 
 
 The light appeared. But at the moment that it made 
 the tinder-box visible, another shower from above, aimed, 
 and aimed exactly, at the tinder-box, drenched it with 
 water, and rendered it totally unfit for further service. 
 
 Archer in a fury dashed it to the ground. And now, for 
 the first time, he felt what it was to be the unsuccessful 
 head of a party. He heard in his turn the murmurs of the 
 discontented, changeable populace ; and recollecting all his 
 bars and bolts, and ingenious contrivances, he was more 
 provoked at their blaming him for this one only oversight 
 than he was grieved at the disaster itself. 
 
 " Oh, my hair is all wet ! " cried one, dolefully. 
 
 " Wring it then," said Archer. 
 
 " My hand's cut with your broken glass," cried another. 
 
 " Glass ! " cried a third, " mercy ! is there broken glass ? 
 and it's all about, I suppose, amongst the supper — and I had 
 but one bit of bread all the time." 
 
 " Bread ! " cried Archer ; " eat if you want it. Here's a 
 piece here, and no glass near it." 
 
 " It's all wet — and I don't like dry bread by itself; that's 
 no feast." 
 
 " Hey-day! What, nothing but moaning and grumbling! 
 If these are the joys of a barring out," cried Townsend, " I'd 
 rather be snug in my bed. I expected that we should have 
 sat up till twelve o'clock, talking, and laughing, and singing." 
 
 " So you may still ; what hinders you ? " said Archer. 
 " Sing, and we'll join you, and I should be glad if those 
 fellows overhead heard us singing. Begin, Townsend — 
 
 " ' Come, now, all ye social Powers, 
 Spread your influence o'er us ' — 
 
 Or else — 
 
 " ' Rule, Britannia ! Britannia rule the waves ! 
 Britons never will be slaves.' " 
 
 Nothing can be more melancholy than forced merriment. 
 In vain they roared in chorus. In vain they tried to appear 
 
 285 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 gay — it would not do. The voices died away, and dropped 
 off one by one. They had each provided himself with a 
 great-coat to sleep upon ; but now, in the dark, there was 
 a peevish scrambling contest for the coats, and half the 
 company, in very bad humour, stretched themselves upon 
 the benches for the night. 
 
 There is great pleasure in bearing anything that has the 
 appearance of hardship, as long as there is any glory to be 
 acquired by it : but when people feel themselves foiled, 
 there is no further pleasure in endurance ; and if, in their 
 misfortune, there is any mixture of the ridiculous, the 
 motives for heroism are immediately destroyed. Dr. 
 Middleton had probably considered this in the choice he 
 made of his first attack. 
 
 Archer, who had spent the night as a man that had the 
 cares of government upon his shoulders, rose early in the 
 morning, whilst everybody else was fast asleep. In the 
 night he had revolved the affair of the trap-door, and a 
 new danger had alarmed him. It was possible that the 
 enemy might descend upon them through the trap-door. 
 
 The room had been built high to admit a free circulation 
 of air. It was twenty feet high ; so that it was in vain to 
 think of reaching to the trap-door. 
 
 As soon as daylight appeared, Archer rose softly, that he 
 might reconnoitre, and devise some method of guarding 
 against this new clanger. Luckily there were round holes 
 in the top of the window-shutters, which admitted sufficient 
 light for him to work by. The remains of the soaked feast, 
 wet candles, and broken glass, spread over the table in the 
 middle of the room, looked rather dismal this morning. 
 
 " A pretty set of fellows I have to manage ! " said Archer, 
 contemplating the group of sleepers before him. " It is well 
 they have somebody to think for them. Now if I wanted 
 — which, thank goodness, I don't — but if I did want to call 
 a cabinet council to my assistance, whom could I pitch 
 upon ? — Not this stupid snorer, who is dreaming of gipsies, 
 if he is dreaming of anything," continued Archer, as he 
 looked into Fisher's open mouth. " This next chap is 
 quick enough ; but then he is so fond of having everything 
 his own way. And this curl-pated monkey, who is grinning 
 
 2S6 
 
C 7h<2 grrbt<-/> of jteeyberj" 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 in his sleep, is all tongue and no brains. — Here are brains, 
 though nobody would think it, in this lump," said he, look- 
 ing at a fat, rolled-up, heavy-breathing sleeper ; " but what 
 signify brains to such a lazy dog? I might kick him for my 
 football this half-hour before I should get him awake. 
 This lank-jawed harlequin beside him is a handy fellow, to 
 be sure ; but then, if he has hands, he has no head — and 
 he'd be afraid of his own shadow too, by this light, he is 
 such a coward ! And Townsend, why, he has puns in 
 plenty ; but, when there's any work to be done, he's the 
 worst fellow to be near one in the world — he can do nothing 
 but laugh at his own puns. This poor little fellow, that we 
 hunted into the corner, has more sense than all of them 
 put together ;' but then he is a Greybeard." 
 
 Thus speculated the chief of a party upon his sleeping 
 friends. And how did it happen that he should be so 
 ambitious to please and govern this set, when, for each 
 individual of which it was composed, he felt such supreme 
 contempt ? He had formed them into a party, had given 
 them a name, and he was at their head. If these be not 
 good reasons, none better can be assigned for Archer's 
 conduct. 
 
 " I wish you could all sleep on," said he ; " but I must 
 waken you, though you will be only in my way. The 
 sound of my hammering must waken them ; so I may as 
 well do the thing handsomely, and flatter some of them by 
 pretending to ask their advice." 
 
 Accordingly, he pulled two or three to waken them. 
 " Come, Townsend, waken, my boy ! Here's some diversion 
 for you — up ! up ! " 
 
 " Diversion ! " cried Townsend ; " I'm your man ! I'm 
 up — up to anything." 
 
 So, under the name of diversion, Archer set Townsend to 
 work at four o'clock in the morning. They had nails, a 
 few tools, and several spars, still left from the wreck of the 
 playhouse. These, by Archer's directions, they sharpened 
 at one end, and nailed them to the ends of several forms. 
 
 All hands were now called to clear away the supper 
 things, and to erect these forms perpendicularly under the 
 trap-door ; and with the assistance of a few braces, a cJicval- 
 
 280 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 de-frise was formed, upon which nobody could venture to 
 descend. At the farthest end of the room they likewise 
 formed a penthouse of the tables, under which they pro- 
 posed to breakfast, secure from the pelting storm, if it 
 should again assail them through the trap-door. They 
 crowded under the penthouse as soon as it was ready, and 
 their admiration of its ingenuity paid the workmen for the 
 job. 
 
 " Lord ! I shall like to see the gardener's phiz through 
 the trap-door, when he beholds the spikes under him ! " 
 cried Townsend. " Now for breakfast ! " 
 
 "Aye, now for breakfast," said Archer, looking at his 
 watch ; " past eight o'clock, and my town-boys not come ! 
 I don't understand this ! " 
 
 Archer had expected a constant supply of provisions from 
 two boys who lived in the town, who were cousins of his, 
 and who had promised to come every day, and put food in 
 at a certain hole in the wall, in which a ventilator usually 
 turned. This ventilator Archer had taken down, and had 
 contrived it so that it could be easily removed and replaced 
 at pleasure ; but, upon examination, it was now perceived 
 that the hole had been newly stopped up by an iron back, 
 which it was impossible to penetrate or remove. 
 
 " It never came into my head that anybody would ever 
 have thought of the ventilator but myself! " exclaimed 
 Archer, in great perplexity. He listened and waited for 
 his cousins, but no cousins came ; and at a late hour the 
 company were obliged to breakfast upon the scattered 
 fragments of the last night's feast. That feast had been 
 spread with such imprudent profusion, that little now 
 remained to satisfy the hungry guests. 
 
 Archer, who well knew the effect which the apprehension 
 of a scarcity would have upon his associates, did everything 
 that could be done by a bold countenance and reiterated 
 assertions to persuade them that his cousins would certainly 
 come at last, and that the supplies were only delayed. The 
 delay, however, was alarming. 
 
 Fisher, alone, heard the manager's calculations and saw 
 the public fears unmoved. Secretly rejoicing in his own 
 wisdom, he walked from window to window, slily listening 
 
 290 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 for the gipsy's signal. " There it is ! " cried he, with more 
 joy sparkling in his eyes than had ever enlightened them 
 before. " Come this way, Archer ; but don't tell anybody. 
 Hark! do you hear those three taps at the window? — 
 This is the old woman with twelve buns for me. I'll give 
 you one whole one for yourself, if you will unbar the window 
 for me." 
 
 " Unbar the window ! " interrupted Archer ; " no, that I 
 won't, for you or the gipsy either ; but I have head enough 
 to get your buns without that. But stay ; there is some- 
 thing of more consequence than your twelve buns — I must 
 think for you all, I see, regularly." 
 
 So he summoned a council, and proposed that every one 
 should subscribe, and trust the subscription to the gipsy, to 
 purchase a fresh supply of provisions. Archer laid down a 
 guinea of his own money for his subscription ; at which 
 sight all the company clapped their hands, and his 
 popularity rose to a high pitch with their renewed hopes 
 of plenty. Now, having made a list of their wants, they 
 folded the money in the paper, put it into a bag, which 
 Archer tied to a long string, and, having broken the pane of 
 glass behind the round hole in the window-shutter, he let 
 down the bag to the gipsy. She promised to be punctual ; 
 and having filled the bag with Fisher's twelve buns, they 
 were drawn up in triumph, and everybody anticipated the 
 pleasure with which they should see the same bag drawn 
 up at dinner-time. The buns were a little squeezed in being 
 drawn through the hole in the window-shutter ; but Archer 
 immediately sawed out a piece of the shutter, and broke 
 the corresponding panes in each of the other windows, to 
 prevent suspicion, and to make it appear that they had all 
 been broken to admit air. 
 
 What a pity that so much ingenuity should have been 
 employed to no purpose ! 
 
 It may have surprised the intelligent reader that the 
 gipsy was so punctual to her promise to Fisher ; but we 
 must recollect that her apparent integrity was only cunning ; 
 she was punctual that she might be employed again — that 
 she might be intrusted with the contribution which, she 
 foresaw, must be raised amongst the famishing garrison. 
 
 291 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 No sooner had she received the money, than her end was 
 gained. 
 
 Dinner-time came ; it struck three, four, five, six. They 
 listened with hungry ears, but no signal was heard. The 
 morning had been very long, and Archer had in vain tried 
 to dissuade them from devouring the remainder of the 
 provisions before they were sure of a fresh supply. And 
 now those who had been the most confident were the most 
 impatient of their disappointment. 
 
 Archer, in the division of the food, had attempted, by the 
 most scrupulous exactness, to content the public ; and he 
 was both astonished and provoked to perceive that his 
 impartiality was impeached. So differently do people judge 
 in different situations ! — He was the first person to accuse 
 his master of injustice, and the least capable of bearing 
 such an imputation upon himself from others. He now 
 experienced some of the joys of power, and the delight of 
 managing unreasonable numbers. 
 
 " Have not I done everything I could to please you ? 
 Have not I spent my money to buy you food ? Have not 
 I divided the last morsel with you ? I have not tasted one 
 mouthful to-day ! — Did not I set to work for you at sunrise ? 
 Did not I lie awake all night for you ? Have not I had all 
 the labour, all the anxiety ? Look round and see my 
 contrivances, my work, my generosity ! And, after all, you 
 think me a tyrant, because I want you to have common 
 sense. Is not this bun which I hold in my hand my own ? 
 Did not I earn it by my own ingenuity from that selfish 
 dunce (pointing to Fisher), who could never have got one 
 of his twelve buns, if I had not shown him how ? Eleven 
 of them he has eaten since morning for his own share, 1 
 without offering any mortal a morsel ; but I scorn to eat 
 even what is justly my own, when I see so many hungry 
 creatures longing for it. I was not going to touch this last 
 morsel myself; I only begged you to keep it till supper- 
 time, when perhaps you'll want it more, and Townsend, 
 who can't bear the slightest thing that crosses his whims, 
 and who thinks there's nothing in this world to be minded 
 but his own diversion, calls me a tyrant. You all of you 
 promised to obey me — the first thing I ask you to do for 
 
 292 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 your own good, and when, if you had common sense, you 
 must know I can want nothing but your good, you rebel 
 against me. Traitors ! — Fools ! ungrateful fools ! " 
 
 Archer walked up and down, unable to command his 
 emotion, whilst, for the moment, the discontented multitude 
 was silenced. 
 
 " Here," said he, striking his hand upon the little boy's 
 shoulder, " here's the only one amongst you who has not 
 uttered one word of reproach or complaint, and he has had 
 but one bit of bread — a bit that I gave him myself this day. 
 Here ! " said he, snatching the bun, which nobody had dared 
 to touch — " take it — it's mine — I give it to you, though you 
 are a Greybeard ; you deserve it. Eat it, and be an Archer. 
 You shall be my captain ; will you ? " said he, lifting him 
 up in his arms above the rest. 
 
 " I like you now," said the little boy, courageously ; " but 
 I love De Grey better ; he has always been my friend, and 
 he advised me never to call myself any of those names, 
 Archer or Greybeard ; so I won't. Though I am shut in 
 here, I have nothing to do with it. I love Dr. Middleton ; 
 he was never unjust to me, and I dare say that he has very 
 good reasons, as De Grey said, for forbidding us to go into 
 that house. Besides, it's his own." 
 
 Instead of admiring the good sense and steadiness of this 
 little lad, Archer suffered Townsend to snatch the untasted 
 bun out of his hands. He flung it at the hole in the window, 
 but it fell back. The Archers scrambled for it, and Fisher 
 ate it. 
 
 Archer saw this, and was sensible that he had not done 
 handsomely in suffering it. A few moments ago he had 
 admired his own generosity, and though he had felt the 
 injustice of others, he had not accused himself of any. He 
 turned away from the little boy, and, sitting down at one 
 end of the table, hid his face in his hands. He continued 
 immovable in this posture for some time. 
 
 " Why ! " said Townsend ; " it was an excellent joke ! " 
 
 " Pooh ! " said Fisher ; " what a fool, to think so much 
 about a bun ! " 
 
 " Never mind, Mr. Archer, if you are thinking about me," 
 said the little boy, trying gently to pull his hands from his face. 
 
 293 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 Archer stooped down, and lifted him up upon the table, 
 at which sight the enraged partisans set up a general hiss — 
 " He has forsaken us ! He deserts his }:>arty ! He wants 
 to be a Greybeard ! After he has got us all into this scrape, 
 he will leave us ! " 
 
 " I am not going to leave you/' cried Archer. " No one 
 shall ever accuse me of deserting my party. I'll stick by 
 the Archers, right or wrong, I tell you, to the last moment ; 
 but this little fellow — take it as you please, mutiny if you 
 will, and throw me out of the window ; call me traitor ! 
 coward ! Greybeard ! — this little fellow is worth you all put 
 together, and I'll stand by him against whoever dares to 
 lay a finger upon him ; and the next morsel of food that I 
 see shall be his ; touch him who dare ! " 
 
 The commanding air with which Archer spoke and 
 looked, and the belief that the little boy deserved his 
 protection, silenced the crowd. But the storm was only 
 hushed. 
 
 No sound of merriment was now to be heard — no battle- 
 dore and shuttlecock, no ball, no marbles. Some sat in a 
 corner, whispering their wishes that Archer would unbar 
 the doors, and give up. Others, stretching their arms, and 
 gaping as they sauntered up and down the room, wished 
 for air, or food, or water. Fisher and his nine, who had 
 such firm dependence upon the gipsy, now gave themselves 
 up to utter despair. It was eight o'clock, growing darker 
 and darker every minute, and no candles, no light could 
 they have. The prospect of another long dark night made 
 them still more discontented. Townsend, at the head of 
 the yawners, and Fisher, at the head of the hungry malcon- 
 tents, gathered round Archer and the few yet unconquered 
 spirits, demanding " How long he meant to keep them in 
 this dark dungeon ? and whether he expected that they 
 should starve themselves to death for his sake ? " 
 
 The idea of giving up was more intolerable to Archer 
 than all the rest. He saw that the majority, his own con- 
 vincing argument, was against him. He was therefore 
 obliged to condescend to the arts of persuasion. He 
 flattered some with hopes of food from the town-boys. 
 Some he reminded of their promises ; others he praised for 
 
 294 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 former prowess ; and others he shamed by the repetition of 
 their high vaunts in the beginning of the business. 
 
 It was at length resolved that at all events they would 
 hold out. With this determination they stretched them- 
 selves again to sleep, for the second night, in weak and 
 weary obstinacy. 
 
 Archer slept longer and more soundly than usual the 
 next morning, and when he awoke, he found his hands tied 
 behind him. Three or four boys had just got hold of his 
 feet, which they pressed down, whilst the trembling hands 
 of Fisher were fastening the cord round them. With all 
 the force which rage could inspire, Archer struggled and 
 roared to " his Archers ! " — his friends, his party — for help 
 against the traitors. 
 
 But all kept aloof. Townsend, in particular, stood laugh- 
 ing and looking on. " I beg your pardon, Archer, but really 
 you look so droll ! — All alive and kicking ! — Don't be angry 
 — I'm so weak, I cannot help laughing to-day." 
 
 The packthread cracked. "His hands are free! He's 
 loose ! " cried the least of the boys, and ran away, whilst 
 Archer leaped up, and seizing hold of Fisher with a powerful 
 grasp, sternly demanded " What he meant by this ? " 
 
 " Ask my party," said Fisher, terrified ; " they set me on ; 
 ask my party." 
 
 " Your party ! " cried Archer, with a look of ineffable 
 contempt. " You reptile ! — -your party ? Can such a thing 
 as you have a party ? " 
 
 " To be sure ! " said Fisher, settling his collar, which 
 Archer in his surprise had let go. " To be sure ! Why 
 not ? Any man who chooses it may have a party as well 
 as yourself, I suppose. I have my nine Fishermen." 
 
 At these words, spoken with much sullen importance, 
 Archer, in spite of his vexation, could not help laughing — 
 " Fishermen ! " cried he, " Fisliermen ! " 
 
 " And why not Fishermen as well as Archers ? " cried 
 they. " One party is just as good as another ; it is only a 
 question which can get the upper hand ; and we had your 
 hands tied just now." 
 
 " That's right, Townsend," said Archer ; " laugh on, my 
 boy ! Friend or foe, it's all the same to you. I know how 
 
 295 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 to value your friendship now. You are a mighty good 
 fellow when the sun shines ; but let a storm come, and how 
 you slink away ! " 
 
 At this instant, Archer felt the difference between a good 
 companion and a good friend ; a difference which some 
 people do not discover till too late in life. 
 
 " Have I no friend ? — no real friend amongst you all ? 
 And could you stand by, and see my hands tied behind me, 
 like a thief's ? What signifies such a party — all mute ? " 
 
 " We want something to eat," answered the Fishermen. 
 " What signifies such a party, indeed ? and such a manager, 
 who can do nothing for one ? " 
 
 " And have / done nothing ? " 
 
 " Don't let's hear any more prosing," said Fisher ; " we 
 are too many for you. I've advised my party, if they've a 
 mind not to be starved, to give you up for the ringleader, 
 as you were ; and Dr. Middleton will let us all off, I dare 
 say." 
 
 So, depending upon the sullen silence of the assembly, 
 he again approached Archer with a cord. A cry of " No, 
 no, no ! Don't tie him," was feebly raised. 
 
 Archer stood still ; but the moment Fisher touched him 
 he knocked him down to the ground ; and turning to the 
 rest, with eyes sparkling with indignation, " Archers ! " 
 cried he. 
 
 A voice at this instant was heard at the door — it was De 
 Grey's voice : — " I have a large basket of provisions for 
 your breakfast." 
 
 A general shout of joy was sent forth by the voracious 
 public — " Breakfast ! Provisions ! A large basket ! De 
 Grey for ever ! Huzza ! " 
 
 De Grey promised, upon his honour, that if they would 
 unbar the door nobody should come in with him, and no 
 advantage should be taken of them. This promise was 
 enough, even for Archer. 
 
 "I will let him in," said he, "myself; for I'm sure he'll 
 never break his word." 
 
 He pulled away the bar — the door opened — and having 
 bargained for the liberty of Melsom (the little boy, who 
 had been shut in by mistake), De Grey pushed in his 
 
 296 
 
$m. jo toeo.^ i J'cayit' n&fy Gxujklng 
 
 />2V 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 basket of provisions, and locked and barred the door 
 instantly. 
 
 Joy and gratitude sparkled in every face when he un- 
 packed his basket, and spread the table with a plentiful 
 breakfast. A hundred questions were asked him at once — 
 " Eat first," said he, " and we will talk afterwards." This 
 business was quickly dispatched by people who had not 
 tasted food for several hours. Their curiosity increased as 
 their hunger diminished. " Who sent us breakfast ? Does 
 Dr. Middleton know ? " were questions reiterated from 
 every mouth. 
 
 " He does know," answered De Grey ; " and the first 
 thing I have to tell you is, that I am your fellow-prisoner. 
 I am to stay here till you give up. This was the only 
 condition on which Dr. Middleton would allow me to bring 
 you food, and he will allow no more." 
 
 Every one looked at the empty basket. But Archer, in 
 whom half-vanquished party spirit revived with the strength 
 he had got from his breakfast, broke into exclamations in 
 praise of De Grey's magnanimity, as he now imagined that 
 De Grey was become one of themselves. 
 
 " And you will join us, will you ? That's a noble 
 fellow!" 
 
 " No," answered De Grey, calmly ; " but I hope to 
 persuade, or rather to convince you, that you ought to 
 join me." 
 
 "You would have found it no hard task to have per- 
 suaded or convinced us, whichever you pleased," said 
 Townsend, "if you had appealed to Archers fasting ; but 
 Archers feasting are quite other animals. Even Caesar 
 himself, after breakfast, is quite another thing ! " added he, 
 pointing to Archer. 
 
 "You may speak for yourself, Mr. Townsend," replied 
 the insulted hero, "but not for me, or for Archers in 
 general, if you please. We unbarred the door upon the 
 faith of De Grey's promise — that was not giving up. And 
 it would have been just as difficult, I promise you, to 
 persuade or convince me either that I should give up 
 against my honour, before breakfast as after." 
 
 This spirited speech was applauded by many, who had 
 
 299 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 now forgotten the feelings of famine. Not so Fisher, 
 whose memory was upon this occasion very distinct. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " and the orator paused for a synony- 
 mous expression, but none was at hand. " What nonsense 
 and — nonsense is here ! Why, don't you remember that 
 dinner-time, supper-time, and breakfast-time will come 
 again ? So what signifies mouthing about persuading and 
 convincing? We will not go through again what we did 
 yesterday ! Honour me no honour, I don't understand 
 it. — I'd rather be flogged at once, as I've been many's 
 the good time for a less thing. I say, we'd better all be 
 flogged at once, which must be the end of it sooner or 
 later, than wait here to be without dinner, breakfast, and 
 supper, all only because Mr. Archer won't give up because 
 of his honour and nonsense ! " 
 
 Many prudent faces amongst the Fishermen seemed to 
 deliberate at the close of this oration, in which the argu- 
 ments were brought so " home to each man's business and 
 bosom." 
 
 " But," said De Grey, " when we yield, I hope it will not 
 be merely to get our dinner, gentlemen. When we yield, 
 Archer " 
 
 " Don't address yourself to me," interrupted Archer, 
 struggling with his pride; "you have no further occasion 
 to try to win me — I have no power, no party, you see ! 
 And now I find that I have no friends, I don't care what 
 becomes of myself. I suppose I'm to be given up as ring- 
 leader. Here's this Fisher, and a party of his Fishermen, 
 were going to tie me hand and foot, if I had not knocked 
 him down, just as you came to the door, De Grey ; and 
 now, perhaps, you will join Fisher's party against me." 
 
 De Grey was going to assure him that he had no inten- 
 tion of joining any party, when a sudden change appeared 
 in Archer's countenance. 
 
 "Silence!" cried Archer, in an imperious tone; and 
 there was silence. Some one was heard to whistle the 
 beginning of a tune, that was perfectly new to everybody 
 present, except to Archer, who immediately whistled the 
 conclusion. 
 
 " There ! " cried he, looking at De Grey, with triumph ; 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 " that's a method of holding secret correspondence, whilst 
 a prisoner, which I learned from ' Richard Cceur de Lion.' 
 I know how to make use of everything. Hallo, friend ! 
 are you there at last ? " cried he, going to the ventilator. 
 
 " Yes, but we are barred out here." 
 
 " Round to the window then, and fill the bag. We'll let 
 it down, my lad, in a trice ; bar me out who can ! " 
 
 Archer let down the bag with all the expedition of joy, 
 and it was filled with all the expedition of fear — " Pull 
 away ! make haste," said the voice from without ; " the 
 gardener will come from dinner, else, and we shall be 
 caught. He mounted guard all yesterday at the ventilator; 
 and though I watched and watched till it was darker than 
 pitch, I could not get near you. I don't know what has 
 taken him out of the way now — Make haste, pull away ! " 
 
 The heavy bag was soon pulled up — " Have you any 
 more ? " said Archer. 
 
 " Yes, plenty — let down quick ! I've got the tailor's 
 bag full, which is three times as large as yours ; and I've 
 changed clothes with the tailor's boy, so nobody took 
 notice of me as I came down the street." 
 
 " There's my own cousin !" exclaimed Archer — "there's 
 a noble fellow — there's my own cousin, I acknowledge. 
 Fill the bag, then." 
 
 Several times the bag descended and ascended ; and 
 at every unlading of the crane, fresh acclamations were 
 heard. " I have no more ! " at length the boy with the 
 tailor's bag cried. 
 
 " Off with you, then ; we've enough, and thank you." 
 
 A delightful review was now made of their treasure; 
 busy hands arranged and sorted the heterogeneous mass. 
 Archer, in the height of his glory, looked on, the acknow- 
 ledged master of the whole. Townsend, who, in prosperity 
 as in adversity, saw and enjoyed the comic foibles of his 
 friends, pushed De Grey, who was looking on with a more 
 good-natured and more thoughtful air. " Friend," said he, 
 "you look like a great philosopher, and Archer like a great 
 hero." 
 
 " And you, Townsend," said Archer, " may look like a 
 wit, if you will ; but you will never be a hero." 
 
 301 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 " No, no," replied Townsend ; " wits are never heroes, 
 because they are wits — you are out of your wits, and 
 therefore may set up for a hero." 
 
 " Laugh, and welcome — I'm not a tyrant. I don't want 
 to restrain anybody's wit; but I cannot say I admire 
 puns." 
 
 " Nor I, neither," said the time-serving Fisher, sidling up 
 to the manager, and picking the ice off a piece of plum- 
 cake ; " nor I neither ; I hate puns. I can never under- 
 stand Townsend's puns. Besides, anybody can make puns ; 
 and one doesn't want wit, either, at all times ; for instance, 
 when one is going to settle about dinner, or business of 
 consequence. Bless us all, Archer ! " continued he, with 
 sudden familiarity ; " what a sight of good things are here ! 
 I'm sure we are much obliged to you and your cousin — I 
 never thought he'd have come. Why, now we can hold 
 out as long as you please. Let us see," said he, dividing 
 the provision upon the table ; " we can hold out to-day, 
 and all to-morrow, and part of next day, maybe. Why, 
 now we may defy the doctor and the Greybeards — and the 
 doctor will surely give up to us ; for, you see, he knows 
 nothing of all this, and he'll think we are starving all this 
 while ; and he'd be afraid, you see, to let us starve quite, in 
 reality, for three whole days, because of what would be 
 said in the town. My Aunt Barbara, for one, would be at 
 him, long before that time was out ; and besides, you 
 know, in that case, he'd be hanged for murder, which is 
 quite another thing, in law, from a barring out, you know." 
 
 Archer had not given to this harangue all the attention 
 which it deserved, for his eye was fixed upon De Grey. 
 "What is De Grey thinking of?" he asked impatiently. 
 
 "I am thinking," said De Grey, "that Dr. Middleton 
 must believe that I have betrayed his confidence in me. 
 The gardener was ordered away from his watch-post for 
 one half-hour when I was admitted. This half-hour the 
 gardener has made nearly an hour. I never would have 
 come amongst you if I had foreseen all this. Dr. Middle- 
 ton trusted me, and now he will repent of his confidence 
 in me." 
 
 " De Grey," cried Archer, with energy, " he shall not 
 
 302 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 repent of his confidence in you ; nor shall you repent of 
 coming amongst us. You shall find that we have some 
 honour as well as yourself; and I will take care of your 
 honour as if it were my own ! " 
 
 " Hey-day ! " interrupted Townsend ; " are heroes allowed 
 to change sides, pray ? And does the chief of the Archers 
 stand talking sentiment to the chief of the Greybeards ? 
 In the middle of his own party too ! " 
 
 " Party ! " repeated Archer, disdainfully ; " I have done 
 with parties ! I see what parties are made of. I have felt 
 the want of a friend, and I am determined to make one if 
 I can." 
 
 " That you may do," said De Grey, stretching out his 
 hand. 
 
 " Unbar the doors ! unbar the windows ! Away with all 
 these things ! — I give up for De Grey's sake. He shall not 
 lose his credit on my account." 
 
 " No," said De Grey ; " you shall not give up for my 
 sake." 
 
 " Well, then, I'll give up to do what is honourable," said 
 Archer. 
 
 " Why not to do what is reasonable ? " said De Grey. 
 
 " Reasonable ! Oh, the first thing that a man of spirit 
 should think of is, what is honourable." 
 
 " But how will he find out what is honourable, unless he 
 can reason ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Archer, " his own feelings always tell him 
 what is honourable." 
 
 " Have not your feelings changed within these few 
 hours?" 
 
 " Yes, with circumstances ; but right or wrong, as long 
 as I think it honourable to do so and so, I'm satisfied." 
 
 " But you cannot think anything honourable, or the 
 contrary, without reasoning; and as to what you call 
 feeling, it's only a quick sort of reasoning." 
 
 " The quicker the better," said Archer. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said De Grey ; " we are apt to reason 
 best when we are not in quite so great a hurry." 
 
 " But," said Archer, " we have not always time enough to 
 reason at first." 
 
 3°3 
 
The Barring: Out 
 
 " You must, however, acknowledge," replied De Grey, 
 smiling, "that no man but a fool thinks it honourable to 
 be in the wrong at last. Is it not, therefore, best to begin 
 by reasoning to find out the right at first ? " 
 
 " To be sure." 
 
 "And did you reason with yourself at first? And did 
 you find out that it was right to bar Dr. Middleton out of 
 his own schoolroom, because he desired you not to go into 
 one of his own houses ? " 
 
 "No; but I should never have thought of heading a 
 barring out, if he had not shown partiality ; and if you 
 had flown into a passion with me openly at once for pulling 
 down your scenery, which would have been quite natural, 
 and not have gone slily and forbid us the house, out of 
 revenge, there would have been none of this work." 
 
 " Why," said De Grey, " should you suspect me of such 
 a mean action, when you have never seen or known me 
 do anything mean, and when in this instance you have no 
 proofs ? " 
 
 "Will you give me your word and honour now, De 
 Grey, before everybody here, that you did not do what I 
 suspected ? " 
 
 " I do assure you, upon my honour, I never directly, 
 or indirectly, spoke to Dr. Middleton about the play- 
 house." 
 
 " Then," said Archer, " I'm as glad as if I had found a 
 thousand pounds !— Now you are my friend, indeed." 
 
 " And Dr. Middleton — why should you suspect him 
 without reason, any more than me ? " 
 
 " As to that," said Archer, " he is your friend, and you 
 are right to defend him ; and I won't say another word 
 against him — will that satisfy you ? " 
 
 " Not quite." 
 
 " Not quite ! Then, indeed you are unreasonable ! " 
 
 " No ; for I don't wish you to yield out of friendship to 
 me, any more than to honour. If you yield to reason, you 
 will be governed by reason another time." 
 
 "Well; but then don't triumph over me, because you 
 have the best side of the argument." 
 
 " Not I ! — How can I ? " said De Grey ; " for now you 
 
 3°4 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 are on the best side as well as myself, are not you ? So we 
 may triumph together." 
 
 '•' You are a good friend ! " said Archer ; and with great 
 eagerness he pulled down the fortifications, whilst every 
 hand assisted. The room was restored to order in a few 
 minutes ; the shutters were thrown open, the cheerful light 
 let in. The windows were thrown up, and the first feeling 
 of the fresh air was delightful. The green playground 
 appeared before them, and the hopes of exercise and liberty 
 brightened the countenances of these voluntary prisoners. 
 
 But, alas ! they were not yet at liberty. The idea of 
 Dr. Middleton, and the dread of his vengeance, smote their 
 hearts ! When the rebels had sent an ambassador with 
 their surrender, they stood in pale and silent suspense, 
 waiting for their doom. — " Ah ! " said Fisher, looking up at 
 the broken panes in the windows, "the doctor will think 
 the most of that — he'll never forgive us for that." 
 
 " Hush ! here he comes ! " His steady step was heard 
 approaching nearer and nearer. Archer threw open the 
 door, and Dr. Middleton entered. — Fisher instantly fell on 
 his knees. 
 
 " It is no delight to me to see people on their knees ; 
 stand up, Mr. Fisher. I hope you are all conscious that 
 you have done wrong ? " 
 
 "Sir," said Archer, "they are conscious that they have 
 done wrong, and so am I. I am the ringleader — punish 
 me as you think proper — I submit. Your punishments — 
 your vengeance ought to fall on me alone." 
 
 " Sir," said Dr. Middleton, calmly, " I perceive that, 
 wnatever else you may have learned in the course of your 
 education, you have not been taught the meaning of the 
 word punishment. Punishment and vengeance do not, 
 with us, mean the same thing. Punishment is pain given, 
 with the reasonable hope of preventing those on whom it 
 is inflicted from doing, in future, what will hurt themselves 
 or others. Vengeance never looks to the future ; but is the 
 expression of anger for an injury that is past. I feel no 
 anger — you have done me no injury." 
 
 Here many of the little boys looked timidly up at the 
 windows. 
 
 3°5 x 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 " Yes, I see that you have broken my windows ; that is 
 a small evil." 
 
 " Oh, sir ! How good ! — How merciful ! " exclaimed 
 those who had been most panic-struck — " He forgives us ! " 
 
 " Stay," resumed Dr. Middleton ; " I cannot forgive you 
 — I shall never revenge, but it is my duty to punish. You 
 have rebelled against the just authority which is necessary 
 to conduct and govern you, whilst you have not sufficient 
 reason to govern and conduct yourselves. Without obedi- 
 ence to your master, as children, you cannot be educated. 
 Without obedience to the laws," added he, turning to 
 Archer, " as men, you cannot be suffered in society. You, 
 sir, think yourself a man, I observe ; and you think it the 
 part of a man not to submit to the will of another. I have 
 no pleasure in making others, whether men or children, 
 submit to my will ; but my reason and experience are 
 superior to yours — your parents at least think so, or they 
 would not have intrusted me with the care of your education. 
 As long as they do intrust you to my care, and as long as 
 I have any hopes of making you wiser and better by 
 punishment, I shall steadily inflict it, whenever I judge it 
 to be necessary, and I judge it to be necessary now. This 
 is a long sermon, Mr. Archer, not preached to show my 
 own eloquence, but to convince your understanding. Now, 
 as to your punishment ! " 
 
 "Name it, sir," said Archer; "whatever it is, I will 
 cheerfully submit to it." 
 
 " Name it yourself," said Dr. Middleton, " and show me 
 that you now understand the nature of punishment." 
 
 Archer, proud to be treated like a reasonable creature, 
 and sorry that he had behaved like a foolish schoolboy, was 
 silent for some time, but at length replied, that he would 
 rather not name his own punishment. He repeated, how- 
 ever, that he trusted he should bear it well, whatever it 
 might be. 
 
 "I shall, then," said Dr. Middleton, "deprive you, for 
 two months, of pocket-money, as you have had too much, 
 and have made a bad use of it." 
 
 "Sir," said Archer, " I brought five guineas with me to 
 school — this guinea is all that I have left." 
 
 306 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 Dr. Middleton received the guinea which Archer offered 
 him with a look of approbation, and told him that it should 
 be applied to the repairs of the schoolroom. The rest of 
 the boys waited in silence for the doctor's sentence against 
 them ; but not with those looks of abject fear, with which 
 boys usually expect the sentence of a schoolmaster. 
 
 " You shall return from the playground, all of you," said 
 Dr. Middleton, " one quarter of an hour sooner, for two 
 months to come, than the rest of your companions. A bell 
 shall ring at the appointed time. I give you an oppor- 
 tunity of recovering my confidence by your punctuality." 
 
 " Oh, sir ! we will come the instant, the very instant the 
 bell rings — you shall have confidence in us," cried they, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I deserve your confidence, I hope," said Dr. Middleton ; 
 "for it is my first wish to make you all happy. You do 
 not know the pain that it has cost me to deprive you of 
 food for so many hours." 
 
 Here the boys, with one accord, ran to the place where 
 they had deposited their last supplies. Archer delivered 
 them up to the doctor, proud to show that they were not 
 reduced to obedience merely by necessity. 
 
 " The reason," resumed Dr. Middleton, having now 
 returned to the usual benignity of his manner — " the reason 
 why I desired that none of you should go to that building," 
 pointing out of the window, "was this: — I had been in- 
 formed that a gang of gipsies had slept there the night be- 
 fore I spoke to you, one of whom was dangerously ill of a 
 fever. I did not choose to mention my reason to you 
 at that time, for fear of alarming you or your friends. 
 I have had the place cleaned, and you may return to it 
 when you please. The gipsies were yesterday removed 
 from the town." 
 
 " De Grey, you were in the right," whispered Archer, 
 "and it was I that was unjust." 
 
 " The old woman," continued the doctor, " whom you 
 employed to buy food, has escaped the fever, but she has 
 not escaped a gaol, whither she was sent yesterday, for 
 having defrauded you of your money." 
 
 " Mr. Fisher," said Dr. Middleton, " as to you, I shall not 
 
 3°7 
 
The Barring Out 
 
 punish you ! I have no hope of making you either wiser or 
 better. Do you know this paper ? " 
 
 The paper appeared to be a bill for candles and a tinder- 
 box. 
 
 " I desired him to buy those things, sir, " said Archer, 
 colouring. 
 
 "And did you desire him not to pay for them ? " 
 
 " No," said Archer ; "he had half-a-crown on purpose to 
 pay for them." 
 
 " I know he had ; but he choose to apply it to his private 
 use, and gave it to the gipsy to buy twelve buns for his 
 own eating. To obtain credit for the tinder-box and 
 candles, he made use of this name," said he, turning to the 
 other side of the bill, and pointing to De Grey's name, which 
 was written at the end of a copy of one of De Grey's exercises. 
 
 " I assure you, sir — " cried Archer. 
 
 " You need not assure me, sir," said Dr. Middleton ; " I 
 cannot suspect a boy of your temper of having any part in 
 so base an action. When the people in the shop refused to 
 let Mr. Fisher have the things without paying for them, he 
 made use of De Grey's name, who was known there. 
 Suspecting some mischief, however, from the purchase of 
 the tinder-box, the shopkeeper informed me of the circum- 
 stance. Nothing in this whole business gave me half so 
 much pain as I felt, for a moment, when I suspected that 
 De Grey was concerned in it." 
 
 A loud cry, in which Archer's voice was heard most 
 distinctly, declared De Grey's innocence. Dr. Middleton 
 looked round at their eager, honest faces, with benevolent 
 approbation. 
 
 " Archer," said he, taking him by the hand, " I am 
 heartily glad to see that you have got the better of your 
 party spirit. I wish you may keep such a friend as you 
 have now beside you ; one such friend is worth two such 
 parties. As for you, Mr. Fisher, depart ; you must never 
 return hither again." 
 
 In vain he solicited Archer and De Grey to intercede for 
 him. Everybody turned away with contempt ; and he 
 sneaked out, whimpering in a doleful voice — " What shall I 
 say to my Aunt Barbara ? " 
 
 308 
 
>% tfheQffife (Merchants 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Chi di gallina nasce, convien che razzoli. 
 As the old cock crows, so crows the young. 
 
 who have visited Italy give us an agreeable 
 picture of the cheerful industry of the 
 children of all ages in the celebrated city of 
 Naples. Their manner of living and their 
 numerous employments are exactly described 
 in the following " Extract from a Traveller's 
 Journal." 1 
 
 " The very children are busied in various ways. A great 
 number of them bring fish for sale to town from Santa 
 Lucia ; others are very often seen about the arsenals, or 
 wherever carpenters are at work, employed in gathering up 
 the chips and pieces of wood, or by the sea-side, picking 
 up sticks, and whatever else is drifted ashore; which, when 
 
 1 Varieties of Literature, vol. i. p. 299. 
 3°9 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 their basket is full, they carry away. Children of two or 
 three years old, who can scarcely crawl along upon the 
 ground, in company with boys of five or six, are employed 
 in this petty trade. From hence they proceed with their 
 baskets into the heart of the city, where in several places 
 they form a sort of little market, sitting round with their 
 stock of wood before them. Labourers, and the lower 
 orders of citizens, buy it of them, to burn in the tripods for 
 warming themselves, or to use in their scanty kitchen. 
 
 " Other children carry about for sale the water of the 
 sulphureous well ; which, particularly in the spring season, 
 is drunk in great abundance. Others again endeavour to 
 turn a few pence, by buying a small matter of fruit, of 
 pressed honey, cakes, and comfits, and then, like little 
 pedlars, offer and sell them to other children ; always for 
 no more profit than that they may have their share of them 
 free of expense. It is really curious to see how such an 
 urchin, whose whole stock and property consist in a board 
 and a knife, will carry about a water-melon, or a half- 
 roasted gourd, collect a troop of children round him, set 
 down his board, and proceed to divide the fruit into small 
 pieces among them. The buyers keep a sharp look-out to 
 see that they have enough for their little piece of copper ; 
 and the Lilliputian tradesman acts with no less caution, 
 as the exigencies of the case may require, that he be not 
 cheated out of a morsel." 
 
 The advantages of truth and honesty, and the value of a 
 character for integrity, are very early felt amongst these 
 little merchants in their daily intercourse with each other. 
 The fair dealer is always sooner or later seen to prosper ; 
 the most cunning cheat is at last detected and disgraced. 
 
 Numerous instances of the truth of this common ob- 
 servation were remarked by many Neapolitan children, 
 especially by those who were acquainted with the characters 
 and history of Pietro and Francesco, two boys originally 
 equal in birth, fortune, and capacity, but different in their 
 education, and consequently in their habits and conduct. 
 Francesco was the son of an honest gardener, who, from 
 the time he could speak, taught him to love to speak the 
 truth; showed him that liars are never believed — that 
 
 310 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 cheats and thieves cannot be trusted, and that the shortest 
 way to obtain a good character is to deserve it. " Youth 
 and white paper," as the proverb says, " take all impres- 
 sions." The boy profited much by his father's precepts, 
 and more by his example ; he always heard his father speak 
 the truth, and saw that he dealt fairly with everybody. In 
 all his childish traffic, Francesco, imitating his parents, was 
 scrupulously honest, and therefore all his companions 
 trusted him — " As honest as Francesco," became a sort of 
 proverb amongst them. 
 
 " As honest as Francesco," repeated Pietro's father, when 
 he one day heard this saying ; " let them say so ; I say, 
 ' As sharp as Pietro ' ; and let us see which will go through 
 the world best." With the idea of making his son sharp, 
 he made him cunning. He taught him, that to make a 
 good bargain was to deceive as to the value and price of 
 whatever he wanted to dispose of; to get as much money 
 as possible from customers by taking advantage of their 
 ignorance or of their confidence. He often repeated his 
 favourite proverb — " The buyer has need of a hundred 
 eyes ; the seller has need but of one ; " 1 and he took 
 frequent opportunities of explaining the meaning of this 
 maxim to his son. He was a fisherman ; and as his gains 
 depended more upon fortune than upon prudence, he 
 trusted habitually to his good luck. After being idle for a 
 whole day, he would cast his line or his nets, and if he was 
 lucky enough to catch a fine fish, he would go and show it 
 in triumph to his neighbour the gardener. 
 
 " You are obliged to work all day long for your daily 
 bread," he would say. " Look here ; I work but five 
 minutes, and I have not only daily bread, but daily fish." 
 Upon these occasions, our fisherman always forgot, or 
 neglected to count, the hours and days which were wasted 
 in waiting for a fair wind to put to sea, or angling in vain 
 on the shore. 
 
 Little Pietro, who used to bask in the sun upon the 
 sea-shore beside his father, and to lounge or sleep away 
 his time in a fishing-boat, acquired habits of idleness, which 
 
 1 Chi compra ha bisogna di cent' occhi ; chi vende n' ha assai di uno. 
 
 3" 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 seemed to his father but of little consequence whilst he 
 was but a child. 
 
 " What will you do with Pietro as he grows up, neigh- 
 bour ? " said the gardener ; " he is smart and quick enough, 
 but he is always in mischief. Scarcely a day has passed 
 for this fortnight but I have caught him amongst my 
 grapes. I track his footsteps all over my vineyard." 
 
 " He is but a child yet, and knows no better," replied the 
 fisherman. 
 
 " But if you don't teach him better now he is a child, 
 how will he know better when he is a man ? " said the 
 gardener. 
 
 " A mighty noise about a bunch of grapes, truly ! " cried 
 the fisherman ; " a few grapes more or less in your vineyard, 
 what does it signify ? " 
 
 " I speak for your son's sake, and not for the sake of my 
 grapes," said the gardener ; " and I tell you again, the boy 
 will not do well in the world, neighbour, if you don't look 
 after him in time." 
 
 " He'll do well enough in the world, you will find," 
 answered the fisherman, carelessly. " Whenever he casts 
 my nets, they never come up empty — ' It is better to be 
 lucky than wise.' " 1 This was a proverb which Pietro had 
 frequently heard from his father, and to which he most 
 willingly trusted, because it gave him less trouble to fancy 
 himself fortunate than to make himself wise. 
 
 " Come here, child," said his father to him, when he 
 returned home after the preceding conversation with the 
 gardener; "how old are you, my boy? — twelve years old, 
 is not it ? " 
 
 "As old as Francesco, and older by six months," said 
 Pietro. 
 
 " And smarter and more knowing by six years," said his 
 father. " Here, take these fish to Naples, and let us see 
 how you'll sell them for me. Venture a small fish, as the 
 proverb says, to catch a great one.' 2 I was too late with 
 them at the market yesterday, but nobody will know but 
 
 1 E meglio esser fortunato che savio. 
 
 2 Butta una sardella per pigliar un luccio. 
 
 312 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 what they are just fresh out of the water, unless you go 
 and tell them." 
 
 " Not I ; trust me for that ; I'm not such a fool," replied 
 Pietro, laughing ; " I leave that to Francesco. Do you 
 know, I saw him the other day miss selling a melon for his 
 father by turning the bruised side to the customer, who 
 was just laying down the money for it, and who was a raw 
 servant-boy, moreover ; one who would never have guessed 
 there were two sides to a melon, if he had not, as you say, 
 father, been told of it." 
 
 " Off with you to market. You are a droll chap," said 
 his father, " and will sell my fish cleverly, I'll be bound. 
 As to the rest, let every man take care of his own grapes. 
 You understand me, Pietro ? " 
 
 " Perfectly," said the boy, who perceived that his father 
 was indifferent as to his honesty, provided he sold his fish 
 at the highest price possible. He proceeded to the market, 
 and he offered his fish with assiduity to every person whom 
 he thought likely to buy it, especially to those upon whom 
 he thought he could impose. He positively asserted to all 
 who looked at his fish, that they were just fresh out of the 
 water. Good judges of men and fish knew that he said 
 what was false, and passed him by with neglect ; but it 
 was at last what he called his good luck to meet with the 
 very same young raw servant-boy who would have bought 
 the bruised melon from Francesco. He made up to him 
 directly, crying, " Fish ! Fine fresh fish ! fresh fish ! " 
 
 " Was it caught to-day ? " said the boy. 
 
 "Yes, this morning; not an hour ago," said Pietro, with 
 the greatest effrontery. 
 
 The servant-boy was imposed upon ; and, being a 
 foreigner, speaking the Italian language but imperfectly, 
 and not being expert at reckoning the Italian money, he 
 was no match for the cunning Pietro, who cheated him not 
 only as to the freshness, but as to the price of the com- 
 modity. Pietro received nearly half as much again for his 
 fish as he ought to have done. 
 
 On his road homewards from Naples to the little village 
 of Resina, where his father lived, he overtook Francesco, 
 who was leading his father's ass. The ass was laden with 
 
 3 J 3 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 large panniers, which were filled with the stalks and leaves 
 of cauliflowers, cabbages, broccoli, lettuces, and so on — all 
 the refuse of the Neapolitan kitchens, which are usually- 
 collected by the gardeners' boys, and carried to the gardens 
 round Naples, to be mixed with other manure. 
 
 " Well filled panniers, truly," said Pietro, as he overtook 
 Francesco and the ass. The panniers were, indeed, not 
 only filled to the top, but piled up with much skill and 
 care, so that the load met over the animal's back. 
 
 "It is not a very heavy load for the ass, though it looks 
 so large," said Francesco ; " poor fellow, however, he shall 
 have a little of this water," added he, leading the ass to a 
 pool by the roadside. 
 
 " I was not thinking of the ass, man ; I was not thinking 
 of any ass, but of you, when I said, ' Well filled panniers, 
 truly ! ' This is your morning's work, I presume, and 
 you'll make another journey to Naples to-day, on the same 
 errand, I warrant, before your father thinks you have done 
 enough ? " 
 
 " Not before my father thinks I have done enough, but 
 before I think so myself," replied Francesco. 
 
 " I do enough to satisfy myself and my father, too — with- 
 out slaving myself after your fashion. Look here," said 
 Pietro, producing the money he had received for the fish ; 
 " all this was had for asking for. It's no bad thing, you'll 
 allow, to know how to ask for money properly." 
 
 " I should be ashamed to beg, or borrow either," said 
 Francesco. 
 
 " Neither did I get what you see by begging, or borrow- 
 ing either," said Pietro, " but by using my wits ; not as you 
 did yesterday, when, like a novice, you showed the bruised 
 side of your melon, and so spoiled your market by your 
 wisdom." 
 
 " Wisdom I think it still," said Francesco. 
 
 " And your father ? " 
 
 " And my father," said Francesco. 
 
 " Mine is of a different way of thinking," said Pietro. 
 " He always tells me that the buyer has need of a hundred 
 eyes, and if one can blind the whole hundred, so much the 
 better. You must know, I got off the fish to-day that my 
 
 3 T 4 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 father could not sell yesterday in the market. Got it off 
 for fresh just out of the river — got twice as much as the 
 market price for it ; and from whom, think you ? Why, 
 from the very booby that would have bought the bruised 
 melon for a sound one if you would have let him. You'll 
 allow I'm no fool, Francesco, and that I'm in a fair way to 
 grow rich, if I go on as I have begun." 
 
 " Stay," said Francesco ; " you forgot that the booby you 
 took in to-day will not be so easily taken in to-morrow. 
 He will buy no more fish from you, because he will be 
 afraid of your cheating him ; but he will be ready enough 
 to buy fruit from me, because he will know I shall not 
 cheat him : so you'll have lost a customer, and I gained one." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Pietro ; " one customer does 
 not make a market : if he buys no more from me, what 
 care I ? there are people enough to buy fish in Naples." 
 
 " And do you mean to serve them all in the same 
 manner ? " 
 
 "If they will only be so good as to give me leave," said 
 Pietro, laughing, and repeating his father's proverb, 
 " ' Venture a small fish to catch a large one.' " He had 
 learned to think that to cheat in making bargains was 
 witty and clever. 
 
 " And you have never considered, then," said Francesco, 
 " that all these people will, one after another, find you out 
 in time? " 
 
 " Aye, in time ; but it will be some time first. There 
 are a great many of them, enough to last me all the 
 summer, if I lose a customer a day," said Pietro. 
 
 " And next summer, what will you do ? " 
 
 " Next summer is not come yet ; there is time enough 
 to think what I shall do before next summer comes. Why, 
 now, suppose the blockheads, after they had been taken in 
 and found it out, all joined against me, and would buy 
 none of our fish — what then ? Are there no trades going 
 but that of a fisherman? In Naples, are there not a 
 hundred ways of making money for a smart lad like me ? 
 as my father says. What do you think of turning merchant, 
 and selling sugar-plums and cakes to the children in their 
 market ? — Would they be hard to deal with, think you ? " 
 
 3*5 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 "I think not," said Francesco; "but I think the children 
 would find out in time if they were cheated, and would like 
 it as little as the men." 
 
 " I don't doubt them. Then in time I could, you know, 
 change my trade — sell chips and sticks in the wood-market 
 — hand about lemonade to the fine folks, or twenty other 
 things. There are trades enough, man." 
 
 " Yes, for the honest dealer," said Francesco, " but for no 
 other ; for in all of them you'll find, as my father says, that 
 a good character is the best fortune to set up with. Change 
 your trade ever so often, you'll be found out for what you 
 are at last." 
 
 " And what am I, pray ? " said Pietro, angrily. " The 
 whole truth of the matter is, Francesco, that you envy my 
 good luck, and can't bear to hear this money jingle in my 
 hand. Aye, stroke the long ears of your ass, and look as 
 wise as you please : it's better to be lucky than wise, as my 
 father says. Good morning to you. When I am found 
 out for what I am, or when the worst comes to the worst, 
 I can drive a stupid ass, with his panniers filled with 
 rubbish, as well as you do now, honest Francesco." 
 
 " Not quite so well. Unless you were honest Francesco, 
 you would not fill his panniers quite so readily." 
 
 This was certain, that Francesco was so well known for 
 his honesty, amongst all the people at Naples with whom 
 his father was acquainted, that every one was glad to deal 
 with him ; and as he never wronged any one, all were 
 willing to serve him — at least, as much as they could with- 
 out loss to themselves : so that after the market was over, 
 his panniers were regularly filled by the gardeners and 
 others, with whatever he wanted. His industry was 
 constant, his gains small but certain, and he every day had 
 more and more reason to trust to his father's maxim — that 
 honesty is the best policy. 
 
 The foreign servant lad, to whom Francesco had so 
 honestly, or, as Pietro said, so sillily, shown the bruised side 
 of the melon, was an Englishman. He left his native 
 country, of which he was extremely fond, to attend upon 
 his master, to whom he was still more attached. His 
 master was in a declining state of health, and this young 
 
 ;i6 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 lad waited on him more to his mind than his other servants. 
 We must, in consideration of his zeal, fidelity, and in- 
 experience, pardon him for not being a good judge of fish. 
 Though he had simplicity enough to be easily cheated once, 
 he had too much sense to be twice made a dupe. The 
 next time he met Pietro in the market, he happened to be 
 in company with several English gentlemen's servants, and 
 he pointed Pietro out to them all as an arrant knave. They 
 heard his cry of " Fresh fish ! fresh fish ! fine fresh fish ! " 
 with incredulous smiles, and let him pass, but not without 
 some expressions of contempt, which, though uttered in 
 English, he tolerably well understood ; for the tone of con- 
 tempt is sufficiently expressive in all languages. He lost 
 more by not selling his fish to these people than he had 
 gained the day before by cheating the English booby. The 
 market was well supplied, and he could not get rid of his 
 cargo. 
 
 " Is not this truly provoking ? " said he, as. he passed by 
 Francesco, who was selling fruit for his father. " Look, my 
 basket is as heavy as when I left home ; and look at 'em 
 yourself, they really are fine fresh fish to-day ; and yet, 
 because that revengeful booby told how I took him in 
 yesterday, not one of yonder crowd would buy them ; and 
 all the time they really are fresh to-day ! " 
 
 " So they are," said Francesco ; " but you said so yester- 
 day, when they were not ; and he that was duped then, is 
 not ready to believe you to-day. How does he know that 
 you deserve it better ? " 
 
 " He might have looked at the fish, they are fresh to-day. 
 I am sure," repeated Pietro, "he need not have been afraid 
 to-day." 
 
 " Aye," said Francesco ; " but, as my father said to you 
 once — the scalded dog fears cold water." x 
 
 Here their conversation was interrupted by the approach 
 of this same English lad, who smiled as he came up to 
 Francesco, and taking up a fine pine-apple, he said, in a 
 mixture of bad Italian and English — " I need not look at 
 the other side of this ; you will tell me if it is not as good 
 as it looks. Name your price ; I know you have but one, 
 1 II cane scottato dall' acqua calda, ha paura della fredda. 
 317 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 and that an honest one ; and as to the rest, I am able and 
 willing to pay for what I buy ; that is to say, my master is, 
 which comes to the same thing. I wish your fruit could 
 make him well, and it would be worth its weight in gold — 
 to me, at least. We must have some of your grapes for 
 him." 
 
 " Is not he well ? We must, then, pick out the best for 
 him," said Francesco, singling out a tempting bunch — " I 
 hope he will like these ; but if you could some day come as 
 far as Resina — it is a village but a few miles out of town — 
 where we have our vineyard, you could there choose for 
 yourself, and pluck them fresh from the vines for your poor 
 master." 
 
 " Bless you, my good boy ; I should take you for an 
 Englishman, by your way of dealing. I'll come to your 
 village ; only write me down the name, for your Italian 
 names slip through my head. I'll come to your vineyard 
 if it were ten miles off; and all the time we stay in Naples 
 (may it not be so long as I fear it will !), I will, with my 
 master's leave, which he never refuses me to anything that's 
 proper — and that's what this is — deal with you for all our 
 fruit, as sure as my name's Arthur, and with none else, with 
 my good will. I wish all your countrymen would take 
 after you in honesty — so I do " — concluded the Englishman, 
 looking full at Pietro, who took up his heavy melancholy 
 basket of fish, and walked off, looking somewhat silly. 
 
 Arthur, the English servant, was as good as his word. 
 He dealt constantly with Francesco, and proved an 
 excellent customer, buying from him during the whole 
 season as much fruit as his master wanted. His master, 
 who was an Englishman of distinction, was invited to take 
 up his residence, during his stay in Italy, at the Count di 
 
 F 's villa, which was in the environs of Naples — an 
 
 easy walk from Resina. Francesco had the pleasure of 
 seeing his father's vineyard often full of generous visitors ; 
 and Arthur, who had circulated the anecdote of the bruised 
 melon, was, he said, " proud to think that some of this was 
 his doing, and that an Englishman never forgot a good 
 turn, be it from a countryman or foreigner." 
 
 " My dear boy," said Francesco's father to him, whilst 
 
 3i8 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 Arthur was in the vineyard helping to tend the vines, K I 
 am to thank you and your honesty, it seems, for our having 
 our hands so full of business this season. It is fair you 
 should have a share of our profits." 
 
 " So I have, father, enough and enough, when I see 
 you and mother going on so well. What can I want 
 more ? " 
 
 " Oh, my brave boy, we know you are a grateful, good 
 son ; but I have been your age myself; you have com- 
 panions, you have little expenses of your own. Here ; this 
 vine, this fig-tree, and a melon a week next summer, shall 
 be yours. With these you'll make a fine figure amongst 
 the little Neapolitan merchants ; and all I wish is you may 
 prosper as well, and by the same honest means, in managing 
 for yourself, as you have done managing for me." 
 
 " Thank you, father ; and if I prosper at all, it shall be 
 by those means, and no other, or I shall not be worthy to 
 be called your son." 
 
 Pietro the cunning did not make quite so successful a 
 summer's work as did Francesco the honest No ex- 
 traordinary events happened, no singular instance of bad or 
 good luck occurred ; but he felt, as persons usually do, the 
 natural consequences of his own actions. He pursued his 
 schemes of imposing, as far as he could, upon every person 
 he dealt with ; and the consequence was, that at last 
 nobody would deal with him. 
 
 " It is easy to outwit one person, but impossible to out- 
 wit all the world," said a man l who knew the world at 
 least as well as either Pietro or his father. 
 
 Pietro's father, amongst others, had reason to complain. 
 He saw his old customers fall off from him, and was told, 
 whenever he went into the market, that his son was such a 
 cheat there was no dealing with him. One day, when he 
 was returning from market in a very bad humour, in con- 
 sequence of these reproaches, and of his not having found 
 customers for his goods, he espied his smart son Pietro at 
 a little merchant's fruit-board, devouring a fine gourd with 
 prodigious greediness. 
 
 1 The Duke de la Rochefoucauld. — "On peut etre plus fin qu'un 
 autre, mais non pas plus fin que tous les autres." — Maximes, 394. 
 
 319 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 " Where, glutton, do you find money to pay for these 
 dainties ? " exclaimed his father, coming close up to him, 
 with angry gestures. Pietro's mouth was much too full to 
 make an immediate reply, nor did his father wait for any, 
 but darting his hand into the youth's pocket, pulled forth a 
 handful of silver. 
 
 " The money, father," said Pietro, " that I got for the fish 
 yesterday, and that I meant to give you to-day, before you 
 went out." 
 
 "Then I'll make you remember it against another time, 
 sirrah!" said his father. "I'll teach you to fill your 
 stomach with my money ! Am I to lose my customers by 
 your tricks, and then find you here eating my all ? You 
 are a rogue, and everybody has found you out to be a 
 rogue ; and the worst of rogues I find you, who scruples 
 not to cheat his own father." 
 
 Saying these words, with great vehemence he seized hold 
 of Pietro, and in the very midst of the little fruit-market 
 gave him a severe beating. This beating did the boy no 
 good ; it was vengeance, not punishment. Pietro saw that 
 his father was in a passion, and knew that he was beaten 
 because he was found out to be a rogue, rather than for 
 being one. He recollected, perfectly, that his father once 
 said to him : " Let every one take care of his own grapes." 
 Indeed it was scarcely reasonable to expect that a boy who 
 had been educated to think that he might cheat every 
 customer he could in the way of trade, should be afterwards 
 scrupulously honest in his conduct towards the father 
 whose proverbs encouraged his childhood in cunning. 
 
 Pietro writhed with bodily pain, as he left the market 
 after his drubbing ; but his mind was not in the least 
 amended. On the contrary, he was hardened to the sense 
 of shame by the loss of reputation. All the little merchants 
 were spectators of this scene, and heard his father's words: 
 " You are a rogue, and the worst of rogues, who scruples 
 not to cheat his own father." These words were long 
 remembered, and long did Pietro feel their effect. He once 
 flattered himself that, when his trade of selling fish failed 
 him, he could readily engage in some other ; but he now 
 found, to his mortification, that what Francesco's father 
 
 320 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 said proved true : " In all trades the best fortune to set up 
 with is a good character." 
 
 Not one of the little Neapolitan merchants would either 
 enter into partnership with him, give him credit, or even 
 trade with him for ready money. — " If you cheat your own 
 father, to be sure you would cheat us," was continually said 
 to him by these prudent little people. 
 
 Pietro was taunted and treated with contempt at home 
 and abroad. His father, when he found that his son's 
 smartness was no longer useful in making bargains, shoved 
 him out of his way whenever he met him. All the food 
 or clothes that he had at home seemed to be given to him 
 grudgingly, and with such expressions as these : — " Take 
 that ; but it is too good for you. You must eat this, now, 
 instead of gourds and figs — and be thankful you have 
 even this." 
 
 Pietro spent a whole winter very unhappily. He 
 expected that all his old tricks, and especially what his 
 father had said of him in the market-place, would be 
 soon forgotten ; but month passed after month, and still 
 these things were fresh in the memory of all who had 
 known them. 
 
 It is not easy to get rid of a bad character. A very 
 great rogue 1 was once heard to say, that he would, with 
 all his heart, give ten thousand pounds for a good 
 character, because he knew that he could make twenty 
 thousand by it. 
 
 Something like this was the sentiment of our cunning 
 hero, when he experienced the evils of a bad reputation, 
 and when he saw the numerous advantages which Fran- 
 cesco's good character procured. Such had been Pietro's 
 wretched education, that even the hard lessons of ex- 
 perience could not alter its pernicious effects. He was 
 sorry his knavery had been detected, but he still thought 
 it clever to cheat, and was secretly persuaded that, if he 
 had cheated successfully he should have been happy. 
 " But I know I am not happy now," said he to himself 
 one morning, as he sat alone disconsolate by the sea-shore, 
 dressed in tattered garments, weak and hungry, with an 
 
 1 Chartres. 
 
 321 Y 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 empty basket beside him. His fishing-rod, which he held 
 between his knees, bent over the dry sands instead of into 
 the water, for he was not thinking of what he was about ; 
 his arms were folded, his head hung down, and his ragged 
 hat was slouched over his face. He was a melancholy 
 spectacle. 
 
 Francesco, as he was coming from his father's vineyard 
 with a large dish of purple and white grapes upon his 
 head, and a basket of melons and figs hanging upon his 
 arm, chanced to see Pietro seated in this melancholy 
 posture. Touched with compassion, Francesco approached 
 him softly ; his footsteps were not heard upon the sands, 
 and Pietro did not perceive that any one was near him 
 till he felt something cold touch his hand ; he then 
 started, and, looking up, saw a bunch of ripe grapes, which 
 Francesco was holding over his head. 
 
 " Eat them : you'll find them very good, I hope," said 
 Francesco, with a benevolent smile. 
 
 " They are excellent — most excellent, and I am much 
 obliged to you, Francesco," said Pietro. " I was very 
 hungry, and that's what I often am now, without any- 
 body's caring anything about it. I am not the favourite 
 I was with my father, but I know it is all my own 
 fault." 
 
 " Well, but cheer up," said Francesco ; " my father 
 always says, ' One who knows he has been in fault, and 
 acknowledges it, will scarcely be in fault again.' Yes, take 
 as many figs as you will," continued he ; and he held his 
 basket closer to Pietro, who, as he saw, cast a hungry eye 
 upon one of the ripe figs. 
 
 " But," said Pietro, after he had taken several, " shall 
 not I get you into a scrape by taking so many ? Won't 
 your father be apt to miss them ? " 
 
 " Do you think I would give them to you if they were 
 not my own ? " said Francesco, with a sudden glance of 
 indignation. 
 
 " Well, don't be angry that I asked the question ; it was 
 only from fear of getting you into disgrace that I asked it." 
 
 " It would not be easy for anybody to do that, I hope," 
 said Francesco, rather proudly. 
 
'cKq. itacr"t<?oC omci Cooked up 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 "And to me less than anybody," replied Pietro, in an 
 insinuating tone, " I, that am so much obliged to you ! " 
 
 " A bunch of grapes, and a few figs, are no mighty 
 obligation," said Francesco, smiling ; " I wish I could do 
 more for you. You seem, indeed, to have been very 
 unhappy of late ; we never see you in the markets as we 
 used to do." 
 
 " No ; ever since my father beat me, and called me 
 rogue before all the children there, I have never been able 
 to show my face without being gibed at by one or t'other. 
 If you would but take me along with you amongst them, 
 and only just seem my friend for a day or two, or so, 
 it would quite set me up again ; for they all like you." 
 
 " I would rather be than seem your friend, if I could," 
 said Francesco. 
 
 " Aye, to be sure ; that would be still better," said 
 Pietro, observing that Francesco, as he uttered his 
 last sentence, was separating the grapes - and other 
 fruit into two equal divisions. " To be sure I would 
 rather you would be than seem a friend to me ; but I 
 thought that was too much to ask at first, though I have 
 a notion, notwithstanding I have been so unlucky lately — 
 I have a notion you would have no reason to repent of it. 
 You would find me no bad hand, if you were to try ; and 
 take me into partnership." 
 
 " Partnership ! " interrupted Francesco, drawing back 
 alarmed ; " I had no thoughts of that." 
 
 " But won't you ? can't you ? " said Pietro, in a supplicat- 
 ing tone ; " cant you have thoughts of it ? You'd find me 
 a very active partner." 
 
 Francesco still drew back, and kept his eyes fixed upon 
 the ground. He was embarrassed ; for he pitied Pietro, 
 and he scarcely knew how to point out to him that some- 
 thing more is necessary in a partner in trade besides 
 activity, and that is honesty. 
 
 " Can't you ? " repeated Pietro, thinking that he hesi- 
 tated from merely mercenary motives. " You shall have 
 what share of the profits you please." 
 
 " I was not thinking of the profits," said Francesco ; 
 "but, without meaning to be ill-natured to you, Pietro, 
 
 325 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 I must say that I cannot enter into any partnership with 
 you at present ; but I will do what, perhaps, you will 
 like as well," said he, taking half the fruit out of his 
 basket — "you are heartily welcome to this ; try and sell 
 it in the children's fruit-market. I'll go on before you, 
 and speak to those I am acquainted with, and tell them 
 you are going to set up a new character, and that you 
 hope to make it a good one. Hey, shall I ? " 
 
 " Thank you for ever, dear Francesco," cried Pietro, 
 seizing his plentiful gift of fruit. " Say what you please 
 for me." 
 
 " But don't make me say anything that is not true," 
 said Francesco, pausing. 
 
 " No, to be sure not," said Pietro ; " I do mean to give 
 no room for scandal. If I could get them to trust me as 
 they do you, I should be happy indeed." 
 
 " That is what you may do, if you please," said Fran- 
 cesco. "Adieu, I wish you well with all my heart ; but I 
 must leave you now, or I shall be too late for the market." 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 CM va piano va sa/to, e anchc /on/ano. 
 Fair and softly goes far in a day. 
 
 PlETRO had now an opportunity to establish a good 
 character. When he went into the market with his grapes 
 and figs, he found that he was not shunned or taunted 
 as usual. All seemed disposed to believe in his intended 
 reformation, and to give him a fair trial. 
 
 These favourable dispositions towards him were the 
 consequence of Francesco's benevolent representations. 
 He told them that he thought Pietro had suffered enough 
 to cure him of his tricks, and that it would be cruelty in 
 them, because he might once have been in fault, to banish 
 him by their reproaches from amongst them, and thus to 
 prevent him from the means of gaining his livelihood 
 honestly. 
 
 Pietro made a good beginning, and gave what several 
 of the younger customers thought excellent bargains. 
 
 326 
 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 His grapes and figs were quickly sold, and with the money 
 that he got for them he the next day purchased from 
 a fruit dealer a fresh supply ; and thus he went on for 
 some time, conducting himself with scrupulous honesty, 
 so that he acquired some credit among his companions. 
 They no longer watched him with suspicious eyes ; they 
 trusted to his measures and weights, and they counted 
 less carefully the change which they received from him. 
 
 The satisfaction he felt from this alteration in their 
 manners was at first delightful to him ; but in proportion 
 to his credit, his opportunities of defrauding increased ; 
 and these became temptations which he had not the firm- 
 ness to resist. His old manner of thinking recurred. 
 
 " I make but a few shillings a day, and this is but slow 
 work," said he to himself. — " What signifies my good 
 character, if I make so little by it ? " 
 
 " Light gains, and frequent, make a heavy purse," 1 was 
 one of Francesco's proverbs. But Pietro was in too great 
 haste to get rich to take time into his account. He set 
 his invention to work, and he did not want for ingenuity, 
 to devise means of cheating without running the risk of 
 detection. He observed that the younger part of the 
 community were extremely fond of certain coloured sugar- 
 plums, and of burnt almonds : with the money he had 
 earned by two months' trading in fruit he laid in a large 
 stock, or what appeared to these little merchants a large 
 stock, of these almonds and sugar-plums ; and he painted 
 in capital gold-coloured letters upon his board, " The 
 sweetest, largest, most admirable sugar-plums of all 
 colours ever sold in Naples, to be had here," and in 
 gratitude to his numerous customers, Pietro added to these, 
 " Burnt almonds gratis." 
 
 This advertisement attracted the attention of all who 
 could read ; and many who could not read heard it 
 repeated with delight. Crowds of children surrounded 
 Pietro's board of promise, and they all went away the first 
 day amply satisfied ; each had a full measure of coloured 
 sugar-plums at the usual price, and along with these a 
 burnt almond gratis. The burnt almond had such an 
 1 Poco e spesso empie il borsello. 
 327 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 effect upon the public judgment, that it was universally 
 allowed, the sugar-plums were, as the advertisement set 
 forth, the largest, sweetest, most admirable ever sold in 
 Naples ; though all the time these were, in no respect, 
 better than any other sugar-plums. 
 
 It was generally reported that Pietro gave full measure 
 — fuller than was to be had at any other board in the city. 
 He measured the sugar-plums in a little cubical tin box ; 
 and this, it was affirmed, he heaped up to the top, and 
 pressed down before he poured out the contents into the 
 open hands of his approving customers. This belief, and 
 Pietro's popularity, continued longer even than he had 
 expected ; and, as he thought his sugar-plums had now 
 secured their reputation with the generous public, he gradu- 
 ally neglected to add burnt almonds gratis. 
 
 One day a boy of about ten years old passed carelessly 
 by, whistling as he went along, and swinging a carpenter's 
 rule in his hand. " Ha ! what have we here ? " cried he, 
 stopping to read what was written on Pietro's board. 
 " This promises rarely. Old as I am, and tall of my age, 
 which makes the matter worse, I am still as fond of sugar- 
 plums as my little sister, who is five years younger than 
 I. — Come, signor, fill me quick, for Pm in haste to taste 
 them, two measures of the sweetest, largest, most admirable 
 sugar-plums in Naples — one measure for myself, and one 
 for my little Rosetta." 
 
 " You'll pay for yourself and your sister, then," said 
 Pietro, " for no credit is given here." 
 
 " No credit do I ask," replied the lively boy ; " when I 
 told you I loved sugar-plums, did I tell you I loved them, 
 or even my sister, so well as to run in debt for them ? 
 Here's for myself, and here's for my sister's share," said he, 
 laying down his money ; " and now for the burnt almonds 
 gratis, my good fellow." 
 
 " They are all out ; I have been out of burnt almonds 
 this great while," said Pietro. 
 
 " Then why are they in your advertisement here ? " said 
 Carlo. 
 
 " I have not had time to scratch them out of the board." 
 
 " What ! not when you have, by your own account, been 
 
 328 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 out of them a great while ? — I did not know it required 
 so much time to blot out a few words — let us try ; " and 
 as he spoke, Carlo, for that was the name of Pietro's new 
 customer, pulled a bit of white chalk out of his pocket, 
 and drew a broad score across the line on the board 
 which promised burnt almonds gratis. 
 
 " You are most impatient," said Pietro ; " I shall have a 
 fresh stock of almonds to-morrow." 
 
 " Why must the board tell a lie to-day ? " 
 
 " It would ruin me to alter it," said Pietro. 
 
 "A lie may ruin you, but I could scarcely think the 
 truth could." 
 
 " You have no right to meddle with me or my board," 
 said Pietro, put off his guard, and out of his usual soft 
 voice of civility, by this last observation. " My character, 
 and that of my board, are too firmly established now for 
 any chance customer like you to injure." 
 
 " I never dreamed of injuring you or any one else," said 
 Carlo — " I wish, moreover, you may not injure yourself. 
 Do as you please with your board, but give me my sugar- 
 plums, for I have some right to meddle with those, having 
 paid for them." 
 
 " Hold out your hand, then." 
 
 " No, put them in here, if you please ; put my sister's, 
 at least, in here — she likes to have them in this box : I 
 bought some for her in it yesterday, and she'll think they'll 
 taste the better out of the same box. But how is this ? 
 your measure does not fill my box nearly ; you give us 
 very few sugar-plums for our money." 
 
 " I give you full measure, as I give to everybody." 
 
 " The measure should be an inch cube, I know," said 
 Carlo ; " that's what all the little merchants have agreed 
 to, you know." 
 
 " True," said Pietro, " so it is." 
 
 "And so it is, I must allow," said Carlo, measuring the 
 outside of it with the carpenter's rule which he held in his 
 hand ; " an inch every way ; and yet by my eye — and 
 I have no bad one, being used to measuring carpenter's 
 work for my father — by my eye I should think this would 
 have held more sugar-plums." 
 
 3 2 9 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 " The eye often deceives us," said Pietro ; " there's no- 
 thing like measuring, you find." 
 
 " There's nothing like measuring, I find, indeed," replied 
 Carlo, as he looked closely at the end of his rule, which, 
 since he had spoken last, he had put into the tin cube 
 to take its depth in the inside. " This is not as deep by 
 a quarter of an inch, Signor Pietro, measured within as 
 it is measured without." 
 
 Pietro changed colour terribly, and seizing hold of the 
 tin box, endeavoured to wrest it from the youth who 
 measured so accurately. Carlo held his prize fast, and 
 lifting it above his head, he ran into the midst of the 
 square where the little market was held, exclaiming, " A 
 discovery ! a discovery that concerns all who love sugar- 
 plums ! A discovery ! a discovery that concerns all who 
 have ever bought the sweetest, largest, most admirable 
 sugar-plums ever sold in Naples!" 
 
 The crowd gathered from all parts of the square as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " We have bought," and " We have bought of those 
 sugar-plums," cried several little voices at once, " if you 
 mean Pietro's." 
 
 " The same," continued Carlo ; " he who, out of gratitude 
 to his numerous customers, gives, or promises to give, burnt 
 almonds gratis." 
 
 " Excellent they were ! " cried several voices. " We all 
 know Pietro well ; but what's your discovery ? " 
 
 " My discovery is," said Carlo, " that you, none of you, 
 know Pietro. Look you here — look at this box, this is his 
 measure — it has a false bottom — it holds only three-quarters 
 as much as it ought to do, and his numerous customers 
 have all been cheated of one-quarter of every measure of 
 the admirable sugar-plums they have bought from him. 
 1 Think twice of a good bargain,' says the proverb." 
 
 " So we have been finely duped, indeed," cried some, 
 looking at one another with a mortified air. " ' Full of 
 courtesy, full of craft ! ' " x 
 
 " So this is the meaning of his burnt almonds gratis," 
 
 1 Chi ti fa piu carezza che non vuole, 
 O ingannato t'ha, o ingannar ti vuole. 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 cried others ; all joined in an uproar of indignation, except 
 one, who, as he stood behind the rest, expressed in his 
 countenance silent surprise and sorrow. 
 
 " Is this Pietro a relation of yours? " said Carlo, going up 
 to this silent person. " I am sorry, if he be, that I have 
 published his disgrace, for I would not hurt you. You don't 
 sell sugar-plums as he does, I'm sure ; for my little sister 
 Rosetta has often bought from you. Can this Pietro be a 
 friend of yours ? " 
 
 " I wished to have been his friend ; but I see I can't," 
 said Francesco. " He is a neighbour of ours, and I pitied 
 him ; but since he is at his old tricks again, there's an end 
 of the matter. I have reason to be obliged to you, for I 
 was nearly taken in. He has behaved so well for some time 
 past, that I intended this very evening to have gone to him, 
 and to have told him that I was willing to do for him what 
 he has long begged of me to do — to enter into partnership 
 with him." 
 
 " Francesco ! Francesco ! — your measure ; lend us your 
 measure ! " exclaimed a number of the little merchants, 
 crowding round him. " You have a measure for sugar- 
 plums ; and we have all agreed to refer to that, and to see 
 how much we have been cheated before we go to break 
 Pietro's bench and declare him bankrupt, 1 — the punishment 
 for all knaves." 
 
 They pressed on to Francesco's board, obtained his 
 measure, and found that it held something more than a 
 quarter above the quantity that could be contained in 
 Pietro's. The cries of the enraged populace were now 
 most clamorous. They hung the just and unjust measures 
 upon high poles ; and, forming themselves into a formidable 
 phalanx, they proceeded towards Pietro's well - known 
 yellow-lettered board, exclaiming, as they went along, 
 " Common cause ! common cause ! The little Neapolitan 
 merchants will have no knaves amongst them ! Break his 
 bench ! break his bench! He is a bankrupt in honesty." 
 
 1 This word comes from two Italian words, bcuico rotto — broken 
 bench. Bankers and merchants used formerly to count their money, and 
 write their bills of exchange, upon benches in the streets ; and when 
 a merchant or banker lost his credit, and was unable to pay his debts, 
 his bench was broken. 
 
 33 1 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 Pietro saw the mob, heard the indignant clamour, and, 
 terrified at the approach of numbers, he fled with the 
 utmost precipitation, having scarcely time to pack up half 
 his sugar-plums ; there was a prodigious number, more than 
 would have filled many honest measures, scattered upon 
 the ground and trampled under-foot by the crowd. Pietro's 
 bench was broken, and the public vengeance wreaked 
 itself also upon his treacherous painted board. It was, after 
 being much disfigured by various inscriptions expressive of 
 the universal contempt for Pietro, hung up in a conspicuous 
 part of the market-place, and the false measure was fastened 
 like a cap upon one of its corners. Pietro could never 
 more show his face in this market, and all hopes of friend- 
 ship — all hopes of partnership with Francesco — were for 
 ever at an end. 
 
 If rogues would calculate, they would cease to be rogues ; 
 for they would certainly discover that it is most for their 
 interest to be honest — setting aside the pleasure of being 
 esteemed and beloved, of having a safe conscience, with 
 perfect freedom from all the various embarrassments and 
 terrors to which knaves are subject. Is it not clear that our 
 crafty hero would have gained rather more by a partnership 
 with Francesco, and by a fair character, than he could 
 possibly obtain by fraudulent dealing in comfits ? 
 
 When the mob had dispersed, after satisfying themselves 
 with executing summary justice upon Pietro's bench and 
 board, Francesco found a carpenter's rule lying upon the 
 ground near Pietro's broken bench, which he recollected to 
 have seen in the hands of Carlo. He examined it carefully, 
 and he found Carlo's name written upon it, and the name of 
 the street where he lived ; and though it was considerably 
 out of his way, he set out immediately to restore the rule, 
 which was a very handsome one, to its rightful owner. 
 After a hot walk through several streets, he overtook Carlo, 
 who had just reached the door of his own house. Carlo was 
 particularly obliged to him, he said, for restoring this rule 
 to him, as it was a present from the master of a vessel, who 
 employed his father to do carpenter's work for him. " One 
 should not praise oneself, they say," continued Carlo ; 
 " but I long so much to give you a good opinion of me, 
 
 332 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 that I must tell you the whole history of the rule you have 
 saved. It was given to me for having measured the work 
 and made up the bill of a whole pleasure-boat myself. You 
 may guess I should have been sorry enough to have lost it. 
 Thank you for its being once more in my careless hands ; 
 and tell me, I beg, whenever I can do you any service. 
 By-the-by, I can make up for you a fruit stall ; I'll do it 
 to-morrow, and it shall be the admiration of the market. 
 Is there anything else you could think of for me ? " 
 
 " Why, yes,'" said Francesco ; " since you are so good- 
 natured, perhaps you'd be kind enough to tell me the mean- 
 ing of some of those lines and figures that I see upon your 
 rule ; I have a great curiosity to know their use." 
 
 " That I'll explain to you with pleasure, as far as I know 
 them myself; but when I'm at a fault, my father, who is 
 cleverer than I am, and understands trigonometry, can help 
 us out." 
 
 " Trigonometry ! " repeated Francesco, not. a little alarmed 
 at this high-sounding word ; "that's what I certainly shall 
 never understand." 
 
 " Oh, never fear," replied Carlo, laughing ; " I looked 
 just as you do now — and felt just as you do now — all in a 
 fright and a puzzle, when I first heard of angles and sines, 
 and versines, and co-sines, and arcs and centres, and com- 
 plements, and tangents." 
 
 " Oh, mercy ! mercy ! " interrupted Francesco, whilst 
 Carlo laughed, with a sense, but with a benevolent sense, of 
 superiority. 
 
 " Why," said he, " you'll find all these things are nothing 
 when you are used to them — but I cannot explain my rule 
 to you here, broiling in the sun — besides, it will not be the 
 work of a day, I promise you ; but come and see us at your 
 leisure hours, and we'll study it together — I have a great 
 notion we shall become friends ; and, to begin, step in with 
 me now," said Carlo, " and eat a little macaroni with us. I 
 know it is ready by this time. Besides, you'll see my father, 
 and he'll show you plenty of rules and compasses, as you 
 like such things ; and then I'll go home with you in the cool 
 of the evening, and you shall show me your melons and 
 vines, and teach me, in time, something of gardening. Oh, 
 
 333 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 I see we must be good friends, just made for each other ; so 
 come in — no ceremony." 
 
 Carlo was not mistaken in his predictions ; he and Fran- 
 cesco became very good friends, spent all their leisure 
 hours together, either in Carlo's workshop or in Francesco's 
 vineyard, and they mutually improved each other. Fran- 
 cesco, before he saw his friend's rule, knew but just enough 
 of arithmetic to calculate in his head the price of the fruit 
 which he sold in the market ; but with Carlo's assistance, 
 and the ambition to understand the tables and figures upon 
 the wonderful rule, he set to work in earnest, and in due 
 time, satisfied both himself and his master. 
 
 " Who knows but these things that I am learning now 
 may be of some use to me before I die?" said Francesco, 
 as he was sitting one morning with his tutor, the carpenter. 
 
 " To be sure it will," said the carpenter putting down his 
 compasses, with which he was drawing a circle; — 
 "arithmetic is a most useful, and I was going to say 
 necessary thing to be known by men in all stations ; and a 
 little trigonometry does no harm. In short, my maxim is, 
 no knowledge comes amiss ; for a man's head is of as much 
 use to him, and more, than his hands. 
 
 1 A word to the wise will always suffice.' * 
 
 Besides, to say nothing of making a fortune, is not there a 
 great pleasure in being something of a scholar, and being 
 able to pass one's time with one's book, and one's com- 
 passes and pencil ? Safe companions these for young and 
 old. No one gets into mischief that has pleasant things to 
 think of, and to do, when alone ; and I know, for my part, 
 trigonometry is " 
 
 Here the carpenter, just as he was going to pronounce 
 a fresh panegyric upon his favourite trigonometry, was 
 interrupted by the sudden entrance of his little daughter 
 Rosetta, all in tears : a very unusual spectacle ; Rosetta, 
 take the year round, shed fewer tears than any child of her 
 age in Naples. 
 
 " Why, my dear good-humoured little Rosetta, what has 
 happened ? Why these large tears ? " said her brother 
 
 1 A buon intenditor, poche parole. 
 334 
 

 
The Little Merchants 
 
 Carlo ; and he went up to her, and wiped them from her 
 cheeks. " And these that are going over the bridge of the 
 nose so fast ? I must stop these tears, too," said Carlo. 
 
 Rosetta, at this speech, burst out a-laughing, and said that 
 she did not know till then that she had any bridge on her 
 nose. 
 
 " And were these shells the cause of your tears ? " said her 
 brother, looking at a heap of shells, which she held before 
 her in her frock. 
 
 " Yes, partly," said Rosetta. " It was partly my own 
 fault, but not all. You know I went out to the carpenters' 
 yard, near the arsenal, where all the children are picking up 
 chips and sticks so busily ; and I was as busy as any one of 
 them, because I wanted to fill my basket soon ; and then I 
 thought I should sell my basketful directly in the little wood- 
 market. And as soon as I had filled my basket, and made 
 up my faggot (which was not done, brother, till I was almost 
 baked by the sun, for I was forced to wait by the carpenters 
 for the bits of wood to make up my faggot) — 1 say, when it 
 was all ready, and my basket full, I left it altogether in the 
 yard." 
 
 " That was not wise to leave it," said Carlo. 
 
 " But I only left it for a few minutes, brother, and I could 
 not think anybody would be so dishonest as to take it 
 whilst I was away. I only just ran to tell a boy, who had 
 picked up all these beautiful shells upon the sea-shore, and 
 who wanted to sell them, that I should be glad to buy them 
 from him, if he would only be so good as to keep them for 
 me, for an hour or so, till I had carried my wood to market, 
 and till I had sold it, and so had money to pay him for the 
 shells." 
 
 " Your heart was set mightily on these shells, Rosetta." 
 
 " Yes ; for I thought you and Francesco, brother, would 
 like to have them for your nice grotto that you are making 
 at Resin a. That was the reason I was in such a hurry to 
 get them. The boy who had them to sell was very good- 
 natured ; he poured them into my lap, and said I had such 
 an honest face he would trust me, and that, as he was in a 
 great hurry, he could not wait an hour whilst I sold my 
 wood ; but that he was sure I would pay him in the evening, 
 
 337 z 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 and he told me that he would call here this evening for the 
 money. But now what shall I do, Carlo ? I shall have no 
 money to give him : I must give him back his shells, and 
 that's a great pity." 
 
 " But how happened it that you did not sell your wood ? " 
 
 " Oh, I forgot ; did not I tell you that ? When I went 
 back for my basket, do you know it was empty, quite 
 empty — not a chip left ? Some dishonest person had 
 carried it all off. Had not I reason to cry now, Carlo?" 
 
 " I'll go this minute into the wood-market, and see if I 
 can find your faggot ; won't that be better than crying ? " 
 said her brother. " Should you know any one of your 
 pieces of wood again, if you were to see them ? " 
 
 " Yes, one of them, I am sure, I should know again," said 
 Rosetta. "It had a notch at one end of it, where one of the 
 carpenters cut it off from another piece of wood for me." 
 
 " And is the piece of wood from which the carpenter cut 
 it still to be seen ? " said Francesco. 
 
 " Yes, it is in the yard ; but I cannot bring it to you, for 
 it is very heavy." 
 
 " We can go to it," said Francesco, " and I hope we shall 
 recover your basketful." 
 
 He and Carlo went with Rosetta immediately to the 
 yard, near the arsenal, saw the notched piece of wood, and 
 then proceeded to the little wood-market, and searched every 
 heap that lay before the little factors ; but no notched bit 
 was to be found, and Rosetta declared that she did not see 
 one stick that looked at all like any of hers. 
 
 On their part, her companions eagerly untied their 
 faggots to show them to her, and exclaimed, " That they 
 were incapable of taking what did not belong to them ; 
 that of all persons they should never have thought of taking 
 anything from the good-natured little Rosetta, who was 
 always ready to give to others, and to help them in making 
 up their loads." 
 
 Despairing of discovering the thief, Francesco and Carlo 
 left the market. As they were returning home, they were 
 met by the English servant Arthur, who asked Francesco 
 where he had been, and where he was sfoinef. 
 
 As soon as he heard of Rosetta's lost faggot, and of the bit 
 
 338 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 of wood, notched at one end, of which Rosetta drew the 
 shape with a piece of chalk, that her brother had lent her, 
 Arthur exclaimed, " I have seen such a bit of wood as this 
 within this quarter of an hour ; but I cannot recollect where. 
 — Stay ! it was at the baker's, I think, where I went for 
 some rolls for my master. It was lying beside his oven." 
 
 To the baker's they all went as fast as possible, and they 
 got there but just in time. The baker had in his hand the 
 bit of wood, with which he was that instant going to feed 
 his oven. 
 
 " Stop, good Mr. Baker ! " cried Rosetta, who ran into the 
 baker's shop first ; and as he heard " Stop ! stop ! " re-echoed 
 by many voices, the baker stopped ; and turning to Francesco, 
 Carlo, and Arthur, begged, with a countenance of some 
 surprise, to know why they desired him to stop. 
 
 The case was easily explained, and the baker told them 
 that he did not buy any wood in the little market that 
 morning ; that this faggot he had purchased between the 
 hours of twelve and one from a lad about Francesco's height, 
 whom he met near the yard of the arsenal. 
 
 " This is my bit of wood, I am sure ; I know it by this 
 notch," said Rosetta. 
 
 " Well," said the baker, " if you will stay here a few 
 minutes, you will probably see the lad who sold it to me. 
 He desired to be paid in bread, and my bread was not 
 quite baked when he was here. I bid him call again in 
 an hour, and I fancy he will be pretty punctual, for he 
 looked desperately hungry." 
 
 The baker had scarcely finished speaking when Francesco, 
 who was standing watching at the door, exclaimed, " Here 
 comes Pietro ! I hope he is not the boy who sold you the 
 wood, Mr. Baker ? " 
 
 " He is the boy, though," replied the baker ; and Pietro, 
 who now entered the shop, started at the sight of Carlo and 
 Francesco, whom he had never seen since the day of his 
 disgrace in the fruit-market. 
 
 " Your servant, Signor Pietro," said Carlo ; " I have the 
 honour to tell you that this piece of wood, and all that you 
 took out of the basket, which you found in the yard of the 
 arsenal, belongs to my sister." 
 
 339 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 " Yes, indeed," cried Rosetta. 
 
 Pietro being very certain that nobody saw him when he 
 emptied Rosetta's basket, and imagining that he was sus- 
 pected only upon the bare assertion of a child like Rosetta, 
 who might be baffled and frightened out of her story, 
 boldly denied the charge, and defied any one to prove him 
 guilty. 
 
 " He has a right to be heard in his own defence," said 
 Arthur, with the cool justice of an Englishman ; and he 
 stopped the angry Carlo's arm, who was going up to the 
 culprit with all the Italian vehemence of oratory and 
 gesture. Arthur went on to say something in bad Italian 
 about the excellence of an English trial by jury, which 
 Carlo was too much enraged to hear, but to which Francesco 
 paid attention, and turning to Pietro, he asked him if he 
 was willing to be judged by twelve of his equals? 
 
 "With all my heart," said Pietro, still maintaining an 
 unmoved countenance, and they returned immediately to 
 the little wood-market. 
 
 In their way, they had passed through the fruit-market, 
 and crowds of those who were well acquainted with Pietro's 
 former transactions followed, to hear the event of the 
 present trial. 
 
 Arthur could not, especially as he spoke wretched Italian, 
 make the eager little merchants understand the nature and 
 advantages of an English trial by jury. They preferred 
 their own summary mode of proceeding. Francesco, in 
 whose integrity all had perfect confidence, was chosen with 
 unanimous shouts for the judge; but he declined the office, 
 and another was appointed. He was raised upon a bench, 
 and the guilty, but insolent-looking Pietro, and the in- 
 genuous, modest Rosetta stood before him. She made her 
 complaint in a very artless manner ; and Pietro, with in- 
 genuity, which in a better cause would have deserved 
 admiration, spoke volubly and craftily in his own defence. 
 But all that he could say could not alter the facts. The 
 judge compared the notched bit of wood found at the 
 baker's with the piece from which it was cut, which he went 
 to see in the yard of the arsenal. It was found to fit 
 exactly. The judge then found it impossible to restrain 
 
 34o 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 the loud indignation of all the spectators. The prisoner 
 was sentenced never more to sell wood in that market ; 
 and the moment sentence was pronounced, Pietro was 
 hissed and hooted out of the market-place. — Thus, a third 
 time, he deprived himself of the means of earning his bread. 
 
 We shall not dwell upon all his petty methods of cheating 
 in the trades he next attempted. He handed lemonade 
 about in a part of Naples where he was not known, but he 
 lost his customers by putting too much water and too little 
 lemon into his beverage. He then took to the waters from 
 the sulphureous springs, and served them about to foreigners ; 
 but one day, as he was trying to jostle a competitor from 
 a coach door, he slipped his foot, and broke his glasses. 
 They had been borrowed from an old woman, who let out 
 glasses to the boys who sold lemonade. Pietro knew that 
 it was the custom to pay, of course, for all that were broken ; 
 but this he was not inclined to do. He had a little money 
 in his pocket, and thought that it would be very clever to 
 defraud this poor woman of her right, and to spend his 
 money upon what he valued much more than he did his 
 good name — macaroni. The money was soon gone. And 
 we shall for the present leave Pietro to his follies and his 
 fate ; or, to speak more properly, to his follies and their 
 inevitable consequences. 
 
 Francesco was all this time acquiring knowledge from 
 his new friends, without neglecting his own or his father's 
 business. He contrived, during the course of the autumn 
 and winter, to make himself a tolerable arithmetician. 
 Carlo's father could draw plans in architecture neatly ; and, 
 pleased with the eagerness Francesco showed to receive 
 instruction, he willingly put a pencil and compasses into 
 his hand, and taught him all he knew himself. Francesco 
 had great perseverance, and, by repeated trials, he at length 
 succeeded in copying exactly all the plans which his master 
 lent him. His copies, in time, surpassed the originals, and 
 Carlo exclaimed, with astonishment : " Why, Francesco, 
 what an astonishing genius you have for drawing ! — 
 Absolutely, you draw plans better than my father ! " 
 
 "As to genius," said Francesco, honestly, " I have none. 
 All that I have done has been done by hard labour ; I 
 
 34i 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 don't know how other people do things, but I am sure that 
 I never have been able to get anything done well but by 
 patience. Don't you remember, Carlo, how you and even 
 Rosetta laughed at me the first time your father put a 
 pencil into my awkward, clumsy hands ? " 
 
 " Because," said Carlo, laughing again at the recollection, 
 " you held your pencil so drolly ; and when you were to cut 
 it, you cut it just as if you were using a pruning-knife to 
 your vines ; but now it is your turn to laugh, for you sur- 
 pass us all. And the times are changed since I set about to 
 explain this rule of mine to you." 
 
 " Aye, that rule," said Francesco — " how much I owe to 
 it ! Some great people, when they lose any of their fine 
 things, cause the crier to promise a reward of so much 
 money to whoever shall find and restore their trinket ; how 
 richly have you and your father rewarded me for returning 
 this rule ! " 
 
 Francesco's modesty and gratitude, as they were perfectly 
 sincere, attached his friends to him most powerfully; but there 
 was one person who regretted our hero's frequent absences 
 from his vineyard at Resina. Not Francesco's father, for 
 he was well satisfied his son never neglected his business : 
 and as to the hours spent in Naples, he had so much con- 
 fidence in Francesco, that he felt no apprehensions of his 
 getting into bad company. When his son had once said 
 to him, " I spend my time at such a place, and in such and 
 such a manner," he was as well convinced of its being so, 
 as if he had watched and seen him every moment of the 
 day. But it was Arthur who complained of Francesco's 
 absence. 
 
 " I see, because I am an Englishman," said he, " you 
 don't value my friendship, and yet that is the very reason 
 you ought to value it ; no friends so good as the English, 
 be it spoken without offence to your Italian friend, for 
 whom you now continually leave me to dodge up and down 
 here in Resina, without a soul that I like to speak to, for 
 you are the only Italian I ever liked." 
 
 " You shall like another, I promise you," said Francesco. 
 " You must come with me to Carlo's, and see how I spend 
 my evenings ; then complain of me if you can." 
 
 342 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 It was the utmost stretch of Arthur's complaisance to 
 pay this visit ; but, in spite of his national prejudices and 
 habitual reserve of temper, he was pleased with the recep- 
 tion he met with from the generous Carlo and the playful 
 Rosetta. They showed him Francesco's drawings with 
 enthusiastic eagerness ; and Arthur, though no great judge 
 of drawing, was in astonishment, and frequently repeated, 
 " I know a gentleman who visits my master who would 
 like these things — I wish I might have them to show him." 
 
 " Take them, then," said Carlo ; " I wish all Naples could 
 see them, provided they might be liked half as well as I 
 like them." 
 
 Arthur carried off the drawings ; and one day, when his 
 master was better than usual, and when he was at leisure, 
 eating a dessert of Francesco's grapes, he entered respect- 
 fully with his little portfolio under his arm, and begged 
 permission to show his master a few drawings done by the 
 gardener's son, whose grapes he was eating. • 
 
 Though not quite so partial a judge as the enthusiastic 
 Carlo, this gentleman was both pleased and surprised at 
 the sight of these drawings, considering how short a time 
 Francesco had applied himself to this art, and what slight 
 instructions he had received. Arthur was desired to summon 
 the young artist. Francesco's honest, open manner, joined 
 to the proofs he had given of his abilities, and the character 
 Arthur gave him for strict honesty, and constant kindness 
 
 to his parents, interested Mr. L , this English gentleman, 
 
 much in his favour. Mr. L was at this time in treaty 
 
 with an Italian painter, whom he wished to engage to copy 
 for him exactly some of the cornices, mouldings, tablets, 
 and antique ornaments which are to be seen amongst the 
 ruins of the ancient city of Herculaneum. 1 
 
 1 We must give those of our young English readers who may not be 
 acquainted with the ancient city of Herculaneum, some idea of it. None 
 can be ignorant that near Naples is the celebrated volcanic mountain 
 of Vesuvius ; — that, from time to time, there happen violent eruptions 
 from this mountain ; that is to say, flames and immense clouds of 
 smoke issue from different openings, mouths, or craters, as they are 
 called, but more especially from the summit of the mountain, which is 
 distinguished by the name of the crater. A rumbling, and afterwards 
 a roaring, noise is heard within, and prodigious quantities of stones 
 
 343 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 and minerals burnt into masses (scoria?), are thrown out of the crater, 
 sometimes to a great distance. The hot ashes from Mount Vesuvius 
 have often been seen upon the roofs of the houses of Naples, from which 
 it is six miles distant. Streams of lava run down the side of the 
 mountain during the time of an eruption, destroying everything in 
 their way, and overwhelming the houses and vineyards which are in 
 the neighbourhood. 
 
 About 1800 years ago, during the reign of the Roman Emperor 
 Titus, there happened a terrible eruption of Mount Vesuvius ; and a 
 large city called Herculaneum, which was situated at about four miles' 
 distance from the volcano, was overwhelmed by the streams of lava 
 which poured into it, filled up the streets, and quickly covered over the 
 tops of the houses, so that the city was no more visible. It remained 
 for many years buried. The lava which covered it became in time fit 
 for vegetation, plants grew there, a new soil was formed, and a new 
 town called Portici was built over the place where Herculaneum 
 formerly stood. The little village of Resina is also situated near the 
 spot. About the year 1730, in a poor man's garden at Resina, a hole 
 in a well about thirty yards below the surface of the earth was observed. 
 Some persons had the curiosity to enter into this hole, and after 
 creeping under ground for some time, they came to the foundations 
 of houses. The peasants, inhabitants of the village, who had probably 
 never heard of Herculaneum, were somewhat surprised at their dis- 
 covery. About the same time, in a pit in the town of Portici, a 
 similar passage under ground was discovered, and, by orders of the 
 King of Naples, workmen were employed to dig away the earth, and 
 clear the passages. They found, at length, the entrance into the 
 town, which, during the reign of Titus, was buried under lava. It was 
 about eighty-eight Neapolitan palms (a palm contains near nine 
 inches) below the top of the pit. The workmen, as they cleared the 
 passages, marked their way with chalk when they came to a turning, 
 lest they should lose themselves. The streets branched out in many 
 directions, and, lying across them, the workmen often found large 
 pieces of timber, beams, and rafters ; some broken in the fall, others 
 entire. These beams and rafters are burned quite black, and look 
 like charcoal, except those that were found in moist places, which have 
 more the colour of" rotten wood, and which are like a soft paste, into 
 which you might run your hand. The walls of the houses slant, some 
 one way, some another, and some are upright. Several magnificent 
 buildings of brick, faced with marble of different colours, are partly 
 seen, where the workmen have cleared away the earth and lava with 
 which they were incrusted. Columns of red and white marble, and 
 flights of marble steps are seen in different places ; and out of the 
 ruins of the palaces some very fine statues and pictures have been 
 dug. Foreigners who visit Naples are extremely curious to see this 
 subterraneous city, and are desirous to carry with them into their own 
 country some proofs of their having examined this wonderful place. 
 
 344 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Tidte le grandifaccende si fan no di ft oca cosa. 
 Great things hang upon small wires. 
 
 SlGNOR CAMILLO, the artist employed by Mr. L to 
 
 copy some of the antique ornaments in Herculaneum, was 
 a liberal-minded man, perfectly free from that mean jealousy 
 which would repress the efforts of rising genius. 
 
 " Here is a lad of scarcely fifteen, a poor gardener's son, 
 who, with merely the instruction he could obtain from a 
 common carpenter, has learned to draw these plans and 
 elevations, which you see are tolerably neat. What an 
 advantage your instruction would be to him," said Mr. 
 
 L , as he introduced Francesco to Signor Camillo. " I 
 
 am interested for this lad from what I have learned of his 
 good conduct. I hear he is strictly honest and one of the 
 best of sons ; let us do something for him : if you will give 
 him some knowledge of your art, I will, as far as money 
 can recompense you for your loss of time, pay whatever you 
 may think reasonable for instructing him." 
 
 Signor Camillo made no difficulties ; he was pleased 
 with his pupil's appearance, and every day he liked him 
 better and better. In the room where they worked 
 together there were some large books of drawings and 
 plates, which Francesco saw now and then opened by his 
 master, and which he had a great desire to look over ; but 
 when he was left in the room by himself he never touched 
 them, because he had not permission. Signor Camillo, the 
 first day he came into this room with his pupil, said to him, 
 " Here are many valuable books and drawings, young man ; 
 I trust, from the character I have heard of you, that they 
 will be perfectly safe here." 
 
 Some weeks after Francesco had been with the painter, 
 they had occasion to look for the front of a temple in one 
 of these large books. — " What ! don't you know in which 
 book to look for it, Francesco? " cried his master, with some 
 impatience. " Is it possible that you have been here so 
 long with these books, and that you cannot find the print I 
 mean ? Had you half the taste I gave you credit for, you 
 
 345 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 would have singled it out from all the rest, and have it fixed 
 in your memory." 
 
 " But, signor, I never saw it," said Francesco, respectfully, 
 " cr, perhaps, I should have preferred it." 
 
 " That you never saw it, young man, is the very thing of 
 which I complain. Is a taste for the arts to be learned, 
 think you, by looking at the cover of a book like this ? Is 
 it possible that you never thought of opening it ? " 
 
 " Often and often," cried Francesco, " have I longed to 
 open it, but I thought it was forbidden me : and however 
 great my curiosity in your absence, I have never touched 
 them. I hoped indeed, that the time would come when 
 you would have the goodness to show them to me." 
 
 " And so it is come, excellent young man," cried Camillo; 
 " much as I love taste, I love integrity more : I am now 
 sure of your having the one, and let me see whether you 
 have, as I believe you have, the other. Sit you down here 
 beside me, and we will look over these books together." 
 
 The attention with which his young pupil examined 
 everything, and the pleasure he unaffectedly expressed in 
 seeing these excellent prints, sufficiently convinced his 
 judicious master that it was not from the want of curiosity 
 or taste that he had never opened these tempting volumes. 
 His confidence in Francesco was much increased by this 
 circumstance, slight as it may appear. 
 
 One day Signor Camillo came behind Francesco, as he 
 was drawing with much intentness, and, tapping him upon 
 the shoulder, he said to him : " Put up your pencils and 
 follow me ; I can depend upon your integrity ; I have 
 pledged myself for it. Bring your note-book with you, and 
 follow me ; I will this day show you something that 
 will entertain you at least as much as my large books of 
 prints. — Follow me." 
 
 Francesco followed, till they came to the pit near the 
 entrance of Herculaneum. — " I have obtained leave for you 
 to accompany me," said his master, " and you know, I sup- 
 pose, that this is not a permission granted to every one?" 
 Paintings of great value, besides ornaments of gold and 
 silver, antique bracelets, rings, and the like, are from time 
 to time found amongst these ruins, and therefore it is 
 
 346 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 necessary that no person should be admitted whose honesty 
 cannot be depended upon. Even Francesco's talents could 
 not have advanced him in the world, we may remark, un- 
 less they had been united to integrity. He was much de- 
 lighted and astonished by the new scene that was now 
 opened to his view ; and as he, day after day, accompanied 
 his master to this subterraneous city, he had leisure for ob- 
 servation. He was employed, as soon as he had gratified his 
 curiosity, in drawing. There are niches in the walls in 
 several places, from which pictures have been dug, and these 
 niches are often adorned with elegant masks, figures, and 
 animals, which have been left by the ignorant or careless 
 workmen, and which are going fast to destruction. 
 Signor Camillo, who was copying these for his English 
 employer, had a mind to try his pupil's skill, and, pointing 
 to a niche bordered with grotesque figures, he desired him 
 to try if he could make any hand of it. Francesco made 
 several trials, and at last finished such an excellent copy, 
 that his enthusiastic and generous master, with warm 
 encomiums, carried it immediately to his patron, and he had 
 
 the pleasure to receive from Mr. L a purse containing 
 
 twenty scudi} as a reward and encouragement for his pupil. 
 
 Francesco had no sooner received this money than he 
 hurried home to his father and mother's cottage. His 
 mother, some months before this time, had taken a small 
 dairy-farm ; and her son had once heard her express a 
 wish that she was but rich enough to purchase a remarkably 
 fine brindled cow, which belonged to a farmer in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 '■' Here, my dear mother," cried Francesco, pouring the 
 scudi into her lap ; " and here," continued he, emptying a 
 bag, which contained about as much more, in small Italian 
 coins, the profits of trade, money he had fairly earned during 
 the two years he sold fruit amongst the little Neapolitan 
 merchants ; " this is all yours, dearest mother, and I hope 
 it will be enough to pay for the brindled cow. Nay, you 
 must not refuse me — I have set my heart upon that cow's 
 being milked by you this very evening ; and I'll produce 
 my best bunches of grapes, and my father, perhaps, will 
 1 A scudo is worth five shillings. 
 347 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 give us a melon ; for I've had no time for melons this 
 season ; and I'll step to Naples and invite — may I, mother? 
 — my good friends, dear Carlo and your favourite little 
 Rosetta, and my old drawing-master, and my friend Arthur, 
 and we'll sup with you at your dairy." 
 
 The happy mother thanked her son, and the father 
 assured him that neither melon nor pine-apple should be 
 spared, to make a supper worthy of his friends. 
 
 The brindled cow was bought, and Arthur and Carlo and 
 Rosetta most joyfully accepted their invitation. 
 
 The carpenter had unluckily appointed to settle a long 
 account that day with one of his employers, and he could 
 not accompany his children. It was a delicious evening ; 
 they left Naples just as the sea-breeze, after the heat of the 
 day, was most refreshingly felt. The walk to Resina, the 
 vineyard, the dairy, and, most of all, the brindled cow, were 
 praised by Carlo and Rosetta, with all the Italian superlatives 
 which signify, " Most beautiful ! most delightful ! most 
 charming ! " whilst the English Arthur, with as warm a 
 heart, was more temperate in his praise, declaring that this 
 was the most like an English summer's evening of any he 
 had ever felt since he came to Italy : and that, moreover, 
 the cream was almost as good as what he had been used to 
 drink in Cheshire. The company, who were all pleased 
 with each other, and with the gardener's good fruit, which 
 he produced in great abundance, did not think of separating 
 till late. 
 
 It was a bright moonlight night, and Carlo asked his 
 friend if he would walk with them part of the way to 
 Naples. " Yes, all the way, most willingly," cried Francesco, 
 " that I may have the pleasure of giving to your father, 
 with my own hands, this fine bunch of grapes, that I have 
 reserved for him out of my own share." 
 
 " Add this fine pine-apple for my share, then," said his 
 father ; " and a pleasant walk to you, my young friends." 
 
 They proceeded gaily along, and when they reached 
 Naples, as they passed through the square where the little 
 merchants held their market, Francesco pointed to the spot 
 where he found Carlo's rule. He never missed an oppor- 
 tunity of showing his friends that he did not forget their 
 
 348 
 
 

 \w -///■ 
 
 V 
 
 
 ^o 3rmcffe</ Cu 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 former kindness to him. " That rule," said he, " has been 
 the cause of all my present happiness, and I thank you 
 
 for " 
 
 " Oh, never mind thanking him now," interrupted Rosetta, 
 "but look yonder, and tell me what all those people are 
 about." She pointed to a group of men, women, and 
 children, who were assembled under a piazza, listening, in 
 various attitudes of attention, to a man, who was standing 
 upon a flight of steps, speaking in a loud voice, and with 
 much action, to the people who surrounded him. Francesco, 
 Carlo, and Rosetta, joined his audience. The moon shone 
 full upon his countenance, which was very expressive, and 
 which varied frequently, according to the characters of the 
 persons whose history he was telling, and according to all 
 the changes of their fortune. This man was one of those 
 who are called Improvisatori — persons who, in Italian 
 towns, go about reciting verses, or telling stories, which 
 they are supposed to invent as they go on speaking. Some 
 of these people speak with great oratory, and collect crowds 
 around them in the public streets. When he sees the 
 attention of his audience fixed, and when he comes to some 
 very interesting part of his narrative, the dexterous impro- 
 visatore drops his hat upon the ground, and pauses till his 
 auditors have paid their tribute to his eloquence. When 
 he thinks the hat sufficiently full, he takes it up again, and 
 proceeds with his story. The hat was dropped just as 
 Francesco and his two friends came under the piazza : the 
 orator had finished one story, and was going to commence 
 another. He fixed his eyes upon Francecco, then glanced 
 at Carlo and Rosetta, and after a moment's consideration 
 he began a story which bore some resemblance to one that 
 our young English readers may, perhaps, know by the 
 name of " Cornaro, or the Grateful Turk." 
 
 Francesco was deeply interested in this narrative, and 
 when the hat was dropped, he eagerly threw in his con- 
 tribution. At the end of his story, when the speaker's 
 voice stopped, there was a momentary silence, which was 
 broken by the orator himself, who exclaimed, as he took 
 up the hat which lay at his feet, " My friends, here is some 
 mistake ! this is not my hat ; it has been changed whilst I 
 
 35i 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 was taken up with my story. Pray, gentlemen, find my 
 hat amongst you ; it was a remarkably good one, a present 
 from a nobleman for an epigram I made. I would not lose 
 my hat for twice its value. Pray, gentlemen, it has my 
 name written within side of it, ' Domenico, Improvisatore.' 
 Pray, gentlemen, examine your hats." 
 
 Everybody present examined their hats, and showed 
 them to Domenico, but his was not amongst them. No 
 one had left the company; the piazza was cleared, and 
 searched in vain. " The hat has vanished by magic," said 
 Domenico. 
 
 "Yes, and by the same magic a statue moves," cried 
 Carlo, pointing to a figure standing in a niche, which had 
 hitherto escaped observation. 
 
 The face was so much in the shade, that Carlo did not at 
 first perceive that the statue was Pietro. Pietro, when he 
 saw himself discovered, burst into a loud laugh, and throw- 
 ing down Domenico's hat, which he held in his hand behind 
 him, cried, " A pretty set of novices ! Most excellent 
 players at hide-and-seek you would make." 
 
 Whether Pietro really meant to have carried off the poor 
 man's hat, or whether he was, as he said, merely in jest, we 
 leave it to those who know his general character to decide. 
 
 Carlo shook his head. " Still at your old tricks, Pietro," 
 said he. " Remember the old proverb : ' No fox so cunning 
 but he comes to the furrier's at last.' " l 
 
 " I defy the furrier and you, too," replied Pietro, taking 
 up his own ragged hat ; " I have no need to steal hats ; I 
 can afford to buy better than you'll have upon your head. 
 Francesco, a word with you, if you have done crying at 
 that pitiful story you have been listening to so attentively." 
 
 " And what would you say to me ? " said Francesco, 
 following him a few steps. " Do not detain me long, 
 because my friends will wait for me." 
 
 "If they are friends, they can wait," said Pietro. "You 
 need not be ashamed of being seen in my company now, I 
 can tell you ; for I am, as I always told you I should be, 
 the richest man of the two." 
 
 " Rich ! you rich ? " cried Francesco. " Well, then, it 
 1 Tutte le volpi alia fine si riveggono in pellicceria. 
 352 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 was impossible you could mean to trick that poor man out 
 of his good hat." 
 
 " Impossible ! " said Pietro. Francesco did not consider 
 that those who have habits of pilfering continue to practise 
 them often, when the poverty which first tempted them to 
 dishonesty ceases — " Impossible ! You stare when I tell 
 you I am rich ; but the thing is so. Moreover I am well 
 with my father at home. I have friends in Naples, and I 
 call myself Pietro the Lucky. Look you here," said he, 
 producing an old gold coin ; " this does not smell of fish, 
 does it ? My father is no longer a fisherman, nor I neither. 
 Neither do I sell sugar-plums to children ; nor do I slave 
 myself in a vineyard, like some folks ; but fortune, when I 
 least expected it, has stood my friend. I have many pieces 
 of gold like this. Digging in my father's garden, it was my 
 luck to come to an old Roman vessel full of gold. I have 
 this day agreed for a house in Naples for my father. We 
 shall live, whilst we can afford it, like great folks, you will 
 see ; and I shall enjoy the envy that will be felt by some 
 of my old friends, the little Neapolitan merchants, who will 
 change their note when they see my change of fortune. 
 What say you to all this, Francesco the Honest ? " 
 
 " That I wish you joy of your prosperity, and hope you 
 may enjoy it long and well." 
 
 " Well, no doubt of that. Every one who has it enjoys it 
 well. ' He always dances well to whom Fortune pipes.' " l 
 
 " Yes, but no longer pipe, no longer dance," replied 
 Francesco, and here they parted ; for Pietro walked away 
 abruptly, much mortified to perceive that his prosperity did 
 not excite much envy, or command any additional respect 
 from Francesco. 
 
 " I would rather," said Francesco, when he returned to 
 Carlo and Rosetta, who waited for him under the portico, 
 where he left them — " I would rather have such good friends 
 as you, Carlo and Arthur, and some more I could name, 
 and, besides that, have a clear conscience, and work honestly 
 for my bread, than be as lucky as Pietro. Do you know 
 he has found a treasure, he says, in his father's garden — a 
 vase full of gold ; he showed me one of the gold pieces." 
 1 Assai ben balla a chi fortuna suona. 
 
 353 a A 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 " Much good may they do him. I hope he came honestly 
 by them," said Carlo ; " but ever since the affair of the 
 double measure, I suspect double-dealing always from him. 
 It is not our affair, however. Let him make himself happy 
 his own way, and we ours. 
 
 1 He that would live in peace and rest, 
 Must hear, and see, and say the least.' " 1 
 
 All Pietro's neighbours did not follow this peaceable 
 maxim ; for when he and his father began to circulate the 
 story of the treasure found in the garden, the village of 
 Resina did not give them implicit faith. People nodded, 
 and whispered, and shrugged their shoulders ; then crossed 
 themselves, and declared that they would not, for all the 
 riches in Naples, change places with either Pietro or his 
 father. Regardless, or pretending to be regardless, of these 
 suspicions, Pietro and his father persisted in their assertions. 
 The fishing-nets were sold, and everything in their cottage 
 was disposed of; they left Resina, went to live at Naples, 
 and, after a few weeks, the matter began to be almost 
 forgotten in the village. 
 
 The old gardener, Francesco's father, was one of those 
 who endeavoured to think the best ; and all that he said 
 upon the subject was, that he would not exchange Francesco 
 the Honest for Pietro the Lucky ; that one can't judge of 
 the day till one sees the evening as well as the morning. 2 
 
 Not to leave our readers longer in suspense, we must 
 inform them that the peasants of Resina were right in their 
 suspicions. Pietro had never found any treasure in his 
 father's garden, but he came by his gold in the following 
 manner : — 
 
 After he was banished from the little wood-market for 
 stealing Rosetta's basketful of wood ; after he had cheated 
 the poor woman, who let glasses out to hire, out of the 
 value of the glasses which he broke ; and, in short, after he 
 had entirely lost his credit with all who knew him, he 
 roamed about the streets of Naples, reckless of what 
 
 1 Odi, vedi, e taci, se vuoi viver in pace. 
 
 2 La vita, il fine, — e'l di loda la sera. 
 
 " Compute the morn and evening to the day." — POPE. 
 
 354 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 became of him. He found the truth of the proverb, that 
 " credit lost is like a Venice glass broken — it can't be 
 mended again." The little money which he had in his 
 pocket supplied him with food for a few days ; at last he 
 was glad to be employed by one of the peasants who came 
 to Naples to load their asses with manure out of the streets. 
 They often follow very early in the morning, or during the 
 night-time, the track of carriages that are going to, or that 
 are returning from, the opera ; and Pietro was one night at 
 this work, when the horses of a nobleman's carriage took 
 fright at the sudden blaze of some fireworks. The carriage 
 was overturned near him ; — a lady was taken out of it, and 
 was hurried by her attendants into a shop, where she 
 stayed till her carriage was set to rights. She was too 
 much alarmed for the first ten minutes after her accident 
 to think of anything ; but, after some time, she perceived 
 that she had lost a valuable diamond cross, which she had 
 worn that night at the opera. She was uncertain where 
 she had dropped it ; the shop, the carriage, the street, were 
 searched for it in vain. 
 
 Pietro saw it fall as the lady was lifted out of the carriage, 
 seized upon it, and carried it off. Ignorant as he was of 
 the full value of what he had stolen, he knew not how to 
 satisfy himself as to this point, without trusting some one 
 with the secret. 
 
 After some hesitation, he determined to apply to a Jew, 
 who, as it was whispered, was ready to buy everything that 
 was offered to him for sale, without making any troublesome 
 inquiries. It was late ; he waited till the streets were 
 cleared, and then knocked softly at the back door of the 
 Jew's house. The person who opened the door for Pietro 
 was his own father. Pietro started back ; but his father 
 had fast hold of him. 
 
 " What brings you here ? " said his father, in a low voice, 
 a voice which expressed fear and rage mixed. 
 
 " Only to ask my way — my shortest way," stammered 
 Pietro. 
 
 " No equivocations ! Tell me what brings you here at 
 this time of night ? I will know." 
 
 Pietro, who felt himself in his father's grasp, and who 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 knew that his father would certainly search him, to find 
 out what he had brought to sell, thought it most prudent 
 to produce the diamond cross. His father could but just 
 see its lustre by the light of a dim lamp, which hung over 
 their heads in the gloomy passage in which they stood. 
 
 " You would have been duped, if you had gone to sell 
 this to the Jew ; it is well it has fallen into my hands. 
 How came you by it ? " Pietro answered that he had found 
 it in the street. 
 
 " Go your ways home, then," said his father ; " it is safe 
 with me. Concern yourself no more about it." 
 
 Pietro was not inclined thus to relinquish his booty, and 
 he now thought proper to vary in his account of the manner 
 in which he found the cross. He now confessed that it had 
 dropped from the dress of a lady, whose carriage was over- 
 turned as she was coming home from the opera ; and he 
 concluded by saying that, if his father took his prize from 
 him, without giving him his share of the profits, he would 
 go directly to the shop where the lady stopped whilst her 
 servants were raising the carriage, and that he would give 
 notice of his having found the cross. 
 
 Pietro's father saw that his smart son, though scarcely 
 sixteen years of age, was a match for him in villany. He 
 promised him that he should have half of whatever the Jew 
 would give for the diamonds, and Pietro insisted upon 
 being present at the transaction. 
 
 We do not wish to lay open to our young readers scenes 
 of iniquity ; it is sufficient to say that the Jew, who was a 
 man old in all the arts of villany, contrived to cheat both 
 his associates, and obtained the diamond cross for less than 
 half its value. The matter was managed so that the 
 transaction remained undiscovered. The lady who lost 
 the cross, after making fruitless inquiries, gave up the 
 search, and Pietro and his father rejoiced in the success of 
 their manoeuvres. 
 
 It is said, that "111 gotten wealth is quickly spent"; 1 
 
 and so it proved in this instance. Both father and son 
 
 lived a riotous life as long as their money lasted, and it did 
 
 not last many months. What his bad education began, 
 
 1 Vien presto consumato P ingiustamente acquistato. 
 
 356 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 bad company finished ; and Pietro's mind was completely 
 ruined by the associates with whom he became connected 
 during what he called his prosperity. When his money was 
 at an end, these unprincipled friends began to look coldly 
 upon him, and at last plainly told him — " If you mean to 
 live with us, you must live as we do." They lived by 
 robbery. 
 
 Fietro, though familiarized to the idea of fraud, was 
 shocked at the thought of becoming a robber by profession. 
 How difficult it is to stop in the career of vice ! Whether 
 Pietro had power to stop, or whether he was hurried on by 
 his associates, we shall, for the present, leave in doubt. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 We turn with pleasure from Pietro the Cunning to Francesco 
 the Honest. Francesco continued the happy and useful 
 course of his life. By his unremitting perseverance, he 
 improved himself rapidly under the instructions of his 
 master and friend, Signor Camillo ; his friend, we say, for 
 the fair and open character of Francesco won, or rather 
 earned, the friendship of this benevolent artist. The English 
 gentleman seemed to take a pride in our hero's success and 
 good conduct. He was not one of those patrons who think 
 that they have done enough when they have given twenty 
 scudi. His servant, Arthur, always considered every gener- 
 ous action of his master's as his own, and was particularly- 
 pleased whenever this generosity was directed towards 
 Francesco. 
 
 As for Carlo, and the little Rosetta, they were the com- 
 panions of all the pleasant walks which Francesco used to 
 take in the cool of the evening, after he had been shut up 
 all day at his work. And the old carpenter, delighted with 
 the gratitude of his pupil, frequently repeated — " That he 
 was proud to have given the first instructions to such a 
 genius ; and that he had always prophesied Francesco 
 would be a great man." 
 
 " And a good man, father," said Rosetta ; " for though 
 he has grown so great, and though he goes into palaces 
 
 357 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 now, to say nothing of that place underground, where he 
 has leave to go, yet, notwithstanding all this, he never 
 forgets my brother Carlo and you." 
 
 " That's the way to have good friends," said the carpenter. 
 " And I like his way ; he does more than he says. Facts 
 are masculine, and words are feminine." * 
 
 These good friends seemed to make Francesco happier 
 than Pietro could be made by his stolen diamonds. 
 
 One morning, Francesco was sent to finish a sketch of 
 the front of an ancient temple, amongst the ruins of Her- 
 culaneum. He had just reached the pit, and the men were 
 about to let him down with cords, in the usual manner, 
 when his attention was caught by the shrill sound of a 
 scolding woman's voice. He looked and saw, at some 
 paces distant, this female fury, who stood guarding the 
 windlass of a well, to which, with threatening gestures and 
 most voluble menaces, she forbade all access. The peasants 
 — men, women and children, who had come with their 
 pitchers to draw water at this well — were held at bay by 
 the enraged female. Not one dared to be the first to 
 advance ; whilst she grasped with one hand the handle of 
 the windlass, and, with the other tanned muscular arm 
 extended, governed the populace, bidding them remember 
 that she was padrona, or the mistress of the well. They 
 retired, in the hope of finding a more gentle padrona at 
 some other well in the neighbourhood ; and the fury, when 
 they were out of sight, divided the long black hair which 
 hung over her face, and, turning to some of the spectators, 
 appealed to them in a sober voice, and asked if she was not 
 right in what she had done? " I, that am padrona of the 
 well," said she, addressing herself to Francesco, who, with 
 great attention, was contemplating her with the eye of a 
 painter — " I, that am padrona of the well, must in times of 
 scarcity do strict justice, and preserve for ourselves alone 
 the water of our well — there is scarcely enough even for 
 ourselves. I have been obliged to make my husband 
 lengthen the ropes every day for this week past ; if things 
 go on at this rate, there will soon be not one drop of water 
 left in my well." 
 
 1 I fatti son maschi, e le parole son feminine. 
 353 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 " Nor in any of the wells of the neighbourhood," added 
 one of the workmen, who was standing by, and he men- 
 tioned several in which the water had lately suddenly 
 decreased ; and a miller affirmed that his mill had stopped 
 for want of water. 
 
 Francesco was struck by these remarks. They brought 
 to his recollection similar facts, which he had often heard 
 his father mention in his childhood, as having been observed 
 previously to the last eruption of Mount Vesuvius. He 
 had also heard from his father, in his childhood, that it is 
 better to trust to prudence than to fortune ; and therefore, 
 though the peasants and workmen, to whom he mentioned 
 his fears, laughed, and said, " That as the burning mountain 
 had been favourable to them for so many years, they would 
 trust to it and St. Januarius one day longer ; " yet Francesco 
 immediately gave up all thoughts of spending this day 
 amidst the ruins of Herculaneum. After having inquired 
 sufficiently, after having seen several wells, in which the 
 water had evidently decreased, and after having seen the 
 mill-wheels that were standing still for the want of their 
 usual supply, he hastened home to his father and mother, 
 reported what he had heard and seen, and begged of them 
 to remove, and to take what things of value they could to 
 some distance from the dangerous spot where they now 
 resided. 
 
 Some of the inhabitants of Resina, whom he questioned, 
 declared that they had heard strange rumbling noises 
 under ground ; and a peasant and his son, who had been 
 at work the preceding day in a vineyard, a little above the 
 village, related that they had seen a sudden puff of smoke 
 come out of the earth, close to them ; and that they had, 
 at the same time, heard a noise like the going off of a 
 pistol. 
 
 The villagers listened with large eyes and open ears to 
 these relations ; yet such was their habitual attachment to 
 the spot they had lived upon, or such their security in their 
 own good fortune, that few of them would believe that 
 there could be any necessity for removing. — "We'll see 
 what will happen to-morrow; we shall be safe one day 
 longer," said they. 
 
 359 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 Francesco's father and mother, more prudent than the 
 generality of their neighbours, went to the house of a 
 relation, at some miles' distance from Vesuvius, and carried 
 with them all their goods. 
 
 In the mean time, Francesco went to the villa where his 
 English friends resided : this villa was in a most dangerous 
 situation, near Torre del Greco — a town that stands at the 
 foot of Mount Vesuvius. He related all the facts that he 
 had heard to Arthur, who, not having been, like the inhab- 
 itants of Resina, familiarized to the idea of living in the 
 vicinity of a burning mountain, and accustomed to trust 
 in St. Januarius, was sufficiently alarmed by Francesco's 
 representations. He ran to his master's apartment, and 
 communicated all that he had just heard. The Count di 
 
 F and his lady, who were at this time in the house, 
 
 ridiculed the fears of Arthur, and could not be prevailed 
 upon to remove even as far as Naples. The lady was intent 
 upon preparations for her birthday, which was to be cele- 
 brated in a few days with great magnificence at their villa ; 
 and she observed that it would be a pity to return to town 
 before that day, as they had everything arranged for the 
 festival. The prudent Englishman had not the gallantry 
 to appear to be convinced by these arguments, and he left 
 this place of danger. He left it not too soon, for the next 
 morning exhibited a scene — a scene which we shall not 
 attempt to describe. 
 
 We refer our young readers to the account Sir William 
 Hamilton has published of that dreadful eruption of Mount 
 Vesuvius. 1 It is sufficient here to say that, in the space of 
 about five hours, the wretched inhabitants of Torre del 
 Greco saw their town utterly destroyed by the streams of 
 burning lava which poured from the mountain. The villa 
 
 of Count di F , with some others, which were at a little 
 
 distance from the town, escaped ; but they were absolutely 
 surrounded by the lava. The Count and Countess were 
 obliged to fly from their house with the utmost precipitation 
 in the night-time ; and they had not time to remove any of 
 their furniture, their plate, clothes, or jewels. 
 
 1 This account appears in the Philosophical Transactions for 1795, 
 first part, pp. 73-116. 
 
 360 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 A few days after the eruption, the surface of the lava 
 became so cool that people could walk upon it, though 
 several feet beneath the surface it was still exceedingly hot. 
 Numbers of those who had been forced from their houses 
 now returned to the ruins to try to save whatever they 
 could ; but these unfortunate persons frequently found their 
 houses had been pillaged by robbers, who, in these moments 
 of general confusion, enrich themselves with the spoils of 
 their fellow-creatures. 
 
 " Has the Count abandoned his villa ? and is there no 
 one to take care of his plate and furniture? The house 
 will certainly be ransacked before morning," said the old 
 carpenter to Francesco, who was at his house giving him 
 an account of their flight. Francesco immediately went to 
 the Count's house in Naples, to warn him of his danger. 
 The first person he saw was Arthur, who, with a face of 
 terror, said to him, " Do you know what has happened ? 
 It is all over with Resina ! " 
 
 " All over with Resina ! What, has there been a fresh 
 eruption ? Has the lava reached Resina ? " 
 
 " No ; but it will inevitably be blown up. There," said 
 Arthur, pointing to a thin figure of an Italian, who stood 
 pale and trembling, and looking up to heaven as he crossed 
 himself repeatedly — " There," said Arthur, " is a man who 
 has left a parcel of his cursed rockets and fireworks, with I 
 don't know how much gunpowder, in the Count's house, 
 from which we have just fled. The wind blows that way ; 
 one spark of fire, and the whole is blown up." 
 
 Francesco waited not to hear more, but instantly, with- 
 out explaining his intentions to any one, set out for the 
 Count's villa, and, with a bucket of water in his hand, crossed 
 the beds of lava with which the house was encompassed, 
 reached the hall where the rockets and gunpowder were 
 left, plunged them into the water, and returned with them 
 in safety over the lava, yet warm under his feet. What 
 was the surprise and joy of the poor firework-maker when 
 he saw Francesco return from this dangerous expedition ! 
 He could scarcely believe his eyes, when he saw the rockets 
 and the gunpowder all safe. 
 
 The Count, who had given up all hope of saving his 
 
 361 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 palace, was in admiration when he heard of this instance 
 of intrepidity, which probably saved not only his villa, but 
 the whole village of Resina, from destruction. These fire- 
 works had been prepared for the celebration of the 
 Countess's birthday, and were forgotten in the hurry of 
 the night on which the inhabitants fled from Torre del 
 Greco. 
 
 " Brave young man ! " said the Count to Francesco, " I 
 thank you, and shall not limit my gratitude to thanks. 
 You tell me that there is danger of my villa being pillaged 
 by robbers. It is from this moment your interest, as well 
 as mine, to prevent their depredations ; for a portion, trust 
 to my liberality, of all that is saved of mine shall be 
 yours." 
 
 " Bravo ! bravissimo ! " exclaimed one, who started from 
 a recessed window in the hall where all this passed — 
 " Bravo ! bravissimo ! " — Francesco thought he knew the 
 voice and the countenance of this man, who exclaimed 
 with so much enthusiasm ; he remembered to have seen 
 him before, but when, or where, he could not recollect. 
 As soon as the Count left the hall, the stranger came up 
 to Francesco — " Is it possible," said he, " that you don't 
 know me ? It is scarcely a twelvemonth since I drew tears 
 from your eyes." 
 
 " Tears from my eyes ? " repeated Francesco, smiling ; 
 " I have shed but few tears — I have had but few misfortunes 
 in my life." 
 
 The stranger answered him by two extempore Italian 
 lines, which conveyed nearly the same idea that has been 
 so well expressed by an English poet : — 
 
 " To each his sufferings : all are men, 
 Condemn'd alike to groan ; 
 The tender for another's pain, 
 Th' unfeeling for his own." 1 
 
 " I know you now perfectly well," cried Francesco ; "you 
 are the Improvisatore who, one fine moonlight night last 
 summer, told us the story of Cornaro the Turk." 
 
 "The same," said the Improvisatore — "the same, though 
 
 1 Gray : Eton College. 
 
 %62 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 in a better dress, which I should not have thought would 
 have made so much difference in your eyes, though it 
 makes all the difference between man and man in the eyes 
 of the stupid vulgar. My genius has broken through the 
 clouds of misfortune of late ; a few happy impromptu 
 
 verses I made on the Count di F 's fall from his horse 
 
 attracted attention. The Count patronizes me. I am here 
 now to learn the fate of an ode I have just composed for 
 his lady's birthday. My ode was to have been set to 
 music, and to have been performed at his villa near Torre 
 del Greco, if these troubles had not intervened. Now that 
 the mountain is quiet again, people will return to their 
 senses ; I expect to be munificently rewarded. But, per- 
 haps, I detain you. Go ; I shall not forget to celebrate the 
 heroic action you have performed this day. I still amuse 
 myself amongst the populace in my tattered garb late in 
 the evenings, and I shall sound your praises .through Naples 
 in a poem I mean to recite on the late eruption of Mount 
 Vesuvius. Adieu." 
 
 The Improvisatore was as good as his word. That 
 evening, with more than his usual enthusiasm, he recited 
 his verses to a great crowd of people in one of the public 
 squares. Amongst the crowd were several to whom the 
 name of Francesco was well known, and by whom he was 
 well beloved. These were his young companions, who 
 remembered him as a fruit-seller amongst the little 
 merchants. They rejoiced to hear his praises, and repeated 
 the lines with shouts of applause. 
 
 " Let us pass. What is all this disturbance in the 
 streets?" said a man pushing his way through the crowd. 
 A lad, who held by his arm, stopped suddenly on hearing 
 the name of Francesco, which the people were repeating 
 with so much enthusiasm. 
 
 " Ha ! I have found at last a story that interests you 
 more than that of Cornaro the Turk," cried the Improvisa- 
 tore, looking in the face of the youth, who had stopped so 
 suddenly. " You are the young man who, last summer, 
 had like to have tricked me out of my new hat. Promise 
 me you won't touch it now," said he, throwing down the 
 hat at his feet, " or you hear not one word I have to say — 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 Not one word of the heroic action performed at the villa of 
 
 the Count di F , near Torre del Greco, this morning, 
 
 by Signor Francesco." 
 
 " Signor Francesco ! " repeated the lad, with disdain. 
 " Well, let us hear what you have to tell of him," added 
 he ; " your hat is very safe, I promise you ; I shall not 
 touch it — What of Signor Francesco ? " 
 
 " Signor Francesco I may, without impropriety, call 
 him," said the Improvisatore ; " for he is likely to become 
 rich enough to command the title from those who might 
 not otherwise respect his merit." 
 
 "Likely to become rich ! how?" said the lad, whom our 
 readers have, probably before this time discovered to be 
 Pietro. " How, pray, is he likely to become rich enough 
 to be a signor ? " 
 
 " The Count di F has promised him a liberal portion 
 
 of all the fine furniture, plate, and jewels, that can be saved 
 from his villa at Torre del Greco. Francesco is gone down 
 thither now, with some of the Count's domestics, to protect 
 the valuable goods against those villanous plunderers, who 
 rob their fellow-creatures of what even the flames of 
 Vesuvius would spare." 
 
 " Come, we have had enough of this stuff," cried the man 
 whose arm Pietro held. " Come away " — and he hurried 
 forwards. 
 
 This man was one of the villains against whom the 
 honest orator expressed such indignation. He was one 
 of those with whom Pietro got acquainted during the 
 time that he was living extravagantly upon the money 
 he gained by the sale of the stolen diamond cross. That 
 robbery was not discovered ; and his success, as he called 
 it, hardened him in guilt. He was both unwilling and 
 unable to withdraw himself from the bad company with 
 whom his ill-gotten wealth connected him. He did not 
 consider that " Bad company leads to the gallows." x 
 
 The universal confusion which followed the eruption of 
 
 Mount Vesuvius was to these villains a time of rejoicing. 
 
 No sooner was any wealthy house known to be forsaken 
 
 by the possessors, than it was infested by these robbers. 
 
 1 La mala compagnia & quella che menagli uomini alia forca. 
 
 3 6 4 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 No sooner did Pietro's companion hear of the rich furniture, 
 plate, etc., which the imprudent orator had described as 
 
 belonging to the Count di F 's villa, than he longed to 
 
 make himself master of the whole. 
 
 "It is a pity," said Pietro, "that the Count has sent 
 Francesco, with his servants, down to guard it." 
 
 " And who is this Francesco of whom you seem to stand 
 in so much awe ? " 
 
 " A boy, a young lad only, of about my own age ; but I 
 know him to be sturdily honest. The servants we might 
 corrupt ; but even the old proverb of ' Angle with a silver 
 hook,' x won't hold good with him." 
 
 " And if he cannot be won by fair means, he must be 
 conquered by foul," said the desperate villain ; " but, if we 
 offer him rather more than the Count has already promised 
 for his share of the booty, of course he will consult at once 
 his safety and his interest." 
 
 " No," said Pietro ; " that is not his nature. I know him 
 from a child, and we had better think of some other house 
 for to-night's business." 
 
 " None other ; none but this," cried his companion, with 
 an oath — " My mind is determined upon this, and you must 
 obey your leader : recollect the fate of him who failed me 
 yesterday." 
 
 The person to whom he alluded was one of the gang of 
 robbers who had been assassinated by his companions for 
 hesitating to commit some crime suggested by their leader. 
 No tyranny is so dreadful as that which is exercised by 
 villains over their young accomplices, who become their 
 slaves. Pietro, who was of a cowardly nature, trembled at 
 the threatening countenance of his captain, and promised 
 submission. 
 
 In the course of the morning, inquiries were made secretly 
 amongst the Count's servants ; and the two men who were 
 engaged to sit up at the villa that night along with Fran- 
 cesco, were bribed to second the views of this gang of 
 thieves. It was agreed that about midnight the robbers 
 should be let into the house ; that Francesco should be 
 tied hand and foot, whilst they carried off their booty. 
 1 Pescar col hamo d'argento. 
 365 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 " He is a stubborn chap, though so young, I understand," 
 said the captain of the robbers to his men ; " but we carry 
 poniards, and know how to use them. Pietro, you look 
 pale — you don't require to be reminded of what I said to 
 you, when we were alone just now? " 
 
 Pietro's voice failed ; and some of his comrades observed 
 that he was young and new to the business. The captain, 
 who, from being his pretended friend during his wealthy 
 days, had of late become his tyrant, cast a stern look at 
 Pietro, and bid him be sure to be at the old Jew's, which 
 was the place of meeting, in the dusk of the evening. 
 After saying this he departed. 
 
 Pietro, when he was alone, tried to collect his thoughts — 
 all his thoughts were full of horror. " Where am I ? " said 
 he to himself; "what am I about? Did I understand 
 rightly what he said about poniards ? — Francesco ; oh, 
 Francesco ! Excellent, kind, generous Francesco ! Yes, I 
 recollect your look when you held the bunch of grapes to 
 my lips, as I sat by the sea-shore deserted by all the world ; 
 
 and now, what friends have I ? Robbers and " The 
 
 word murderers he could not utter. He again recollected 
 what had been said about poniards, and the longer his 
 mind fixed upon the words, and the look that accompanied 
 them, the more he was shocked. He could not doubt but 
 that it was the serious intention of his accomplices to 
 murder Francesco, if he should make any resistance. 
 
 Pietro had at this moment no friend in the world to 
 whom he could apply for advice or assistance. His 
 wretched father died, some weeks before this time, in a fit 
 of intoxication. Pietro walked up and down the street, 
 scarcely capable of thinking, much less of coming to any 
 rational resolution. 
 
 The hours passed away, the shadows of the houses 
 lengthened under his footsteps ; the evening came on, and 
 when it grew dusk, after hesitating in great agony of mind 
 for some time, his fear of the robbers' vengeance prevailed 
 over every other feeling, and he went at the appointed hour 
 to the place of meeting. 
 
 The place of meeting was at the house of that Jew to 
 whom he, several months before, sold the diamond cross. 
 
 .166 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 That cross which he thought himself so lucky to have 
 stolen, and to have disposed of undetected, was, in fact, the 
 cause of his being in his present dreadful situation. It 
 was at the Jew's that he connected himself with this gang 
 of robbers, to whom he was now become an absolute slave. 
 
 " Oh, that I dared to disobey ! " said he to himself, with 
 a deep sigh, as he knocked softly at the back door of the 
 Jew's house. The back door opened into a narrow, un- 
 frequented street, and some small rooms at this side of the 
 house were set apart for the reception of guests who desired 
 to have their business kept secret. These rooms were 
 separated by a dark passage from the rest of the house, 
 and numbers of people came to the shop in the front of the 
 house, which looked into a creditable street, without know- 
 ing anything more, from the ostensible appearance of the 
 shop, than that it was a kind of pawnbroker's, where old 
 clothes, old iron, and all sorts of refuse goods, might be 
 disposed of conveniently. 
 
 At the moment Pietro knocked at the back door, the 
 front shop was full of customers ; and the Jew's boy, whose 
 office it was to attend to these signals, let Pietro in, told 
 him that none of his comrades were yet come, and left him 
 in a room by himself. 
 
 He was pale and trembling, and felt a cold dew spread 
 over him. He had a leaden image of Saint Januarius tied 
 round his neck, which, in the midst of his wickedness, he 
 superstitiously preserved as a sort of charm ; and on this 
 he kept his eyes stupidly fixed, as he sat alone in this 
 gloomy place. 
 
 He listened from time to time, but he heard no noise at 
 the side of the house where he was. His accomplices did 
 not arrive, and, in a sort of impatient terror, the attendant 
 upon an evil conscience, he flung open the door of his cell, 
 and groped his way through the dark passage which he 
 knew led to the public shop — he longed to hear some noise, 
 and mix with the living. The Jew, when Pietro entered 
 the shop, was bargaining with a poor, thin-looking man 
 about some gunpowder. 
 
 " I don't deny that it has been wet," said the man ; " but 
 since it was in the bucket of water, it has been carefully 
 
 367 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 dried. I tell you the simple truth ; so soon after the grand 
 eruption of Mount Vesuvius, the people of Naples will not 
 taste fireworks. My poor little rockets, and even my 
 Catherine-wheels, will have no effect : I am glad to part 
 with all I have in this line of business. A few days ago I 
 
 had fine things in readiness for the Countess di F 's 
 
 birthday, which was to have been celebrated at the Count's 
 villa." 
 
 " Why do you fix your eyes on me, friend ? What is 
 your discourse to me ? " said Pietro, who imagined that the 
 man fixed his eyes upon him as he mentioned the name of 
 the Count's villa. 
 
 " I did not know that I fixed my eyes upon you ; I was 
 thinking of my fireworks," said the poor man, simply. 
 " But now that I do look at you and hear your voice, I 
 recollect having had the pleasure of seeing you before." 
 
 " When ? where ? " said Pietro. 
 
 " A great while ago ; no wonder you have forgotten me," 
 said the man ; " but I can recall the night to your recol- 
 lection — you were in the street with me the night I let off 
 that unlucky rocket, which frightened the horses, and was 
 the cause of overturning a lady's coach. Don't you re- 
 member the circumstance ? " 
 
 " I have a confused recollection of some such thing," said 
 Pietro, in great embarrassment ; and he looked suspiciously 
 at this man, in doubt whether he was cunning, and wanted 
 to sound him, or whether he was so simple as he appeared. 
 
 " You did not, perhaps, hear then," continued the man, 
 " that there was a great search made, after the overturn, 
 for a fine diamond cross, belonging to the lady in the 
 carriage ? That lady, though I did not know it till lately, 
 was the Countess di F ." 
 
 " I know nothing of the matter," interrupted Pietro, in 
 great agitation. His confusion was so marked, that the 
 firework-maker could not avoid taking notice of it ; and a 
 silence of some moments ensued. The Jew, more practised 
 in dissimulation than Pietro, endeavoured to turn the man's 
 attention back to his rockets and his gunpowder — agreed 
 to take the gunpowder — paid for it in haste, and was, 
 though apparently unconcerned, eager to get rid of him. 
 
 368 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 But this was not so easily done. The man's curiosity 
 was excited, and his suspicions of Pietro were increased 
 every moment by all the dark changes of his countenance. 
 Pietro, overpowered with the sense of guilt, surprised at 
 the unexpected mention of the diamond cross, and of the 
 
 Count di F 's villa, stood like one convicted, and seemed 
 
 fixed to the spot, without power of motion. 
 
 " I want to look at the old cambric that you said you 
 had — that would do for making — that you could let me 
 have cheap, for artificial flowers," said the firework-maker 
 to the Jew ; and as he spoke, his eye from time to time 
 looked towards Pietro. 
 
 Pietro felt for the leaden image of the saint, which he 
 wore round his neck ; the string which held it cracked, and 
 broke with the pull he gave it. This slight circumstance 
 affected his terrified and superstitious mind more than all 
 the rest. He imagined that at this moment his fate was 
 decided ; that Saint Januarius deserted him, and that he 
 was undone. He precipitately followed the poor firework- 
 man the instant he left the shop, and seizing hold of his 
 arm, whispered, " I must speak to you." 
 
 " Speak, then," said the man, astonished. 
 
 " Not here ; this way," said he, drawing him towards the 
 dark passage ; " what I have to say must not be overheard. 
 You are going to the Count di F 's, are not you ? " 
 
 " I am," said the man. He was going there to speak to 
 the Countess about some artificial flowers, but Pietro 
 thought he was going to speak to her about the diamond 
 cross. 
 
 " You are going to give information against me ? Nay, 
 hear me, I confess that I purloined that diamond cross ; 
 but I can do the Count a great service, upon condition that 
 he pardons me. His villa is to be attacked this night by 
 four well-armed men ; they will set out five hours hence. 
 I am compelled, under the threat of assassination, to ac- 
 company them ; but I shall do no more. I throw myself 
 upon the Count's mercy. Hasten to him — we have no time 
 to lose." 
 
 The poor man, who heard this confession, escaped from 
 Pietro the moment he loosed his arm. With all possible 
 
 369 B B 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 expedition he ran to the Count's palace in Naples, and 
 related to him all that had been said by Pietro. Some of 
 the Count's servants, on whom he could most depend, were 
 at a distant part of the city attending their mistress, but 
 the English gentleman offered the services of his man 
 Arthur. Arthur no sooner heard the business, and under- 
 stood that Francesco was in danger, than he armed himself 
 without saying one word, saddled his English horse, and 
 was ready to depart before any one else had finished their 
 exclamations and conjectures. 
 
 " But we are not to set out yet, it is but four miles to 
 Torre del Greco ; the sbirri (officers of justice) are sum- 
 moned — they are to go with us — we must wait for them." 
 
 They waited, much against Arthur's inclination, a con- 
 siderable time for these sbirri. At length they set out, 
 and just as they reached the villa, the flash of a pistol was 
 seen from one of the apartments in the house. The robbers 
 were there — this pistol was snapped by their captain at 
 poor Francesco, who had bravely asserted that he would, 
 as long as he had life, defend the property committed to 
 his care. The pistol missed fire, for it was charged with 
 some of the damaged powder which the Jew had bought 
 that evening from the firework-maker, and which he had 
 sold as excellent immediately afterwards to his favourite 
 customers — the robbers who met at his house. 
 . Arthur, as soon as he perceived the flash of the piece, 
 pressed forward through all the apartments, followed by 
 the Count's servants and the officers of justice. At the 
 appearance, the sudden appearance, of so many armed 
 men, the robbers stood dismayed. Arthur eagerly shook 
 Francesco's hand, congratulating him upon his safety, and 
 did not perceive, till he had given him several rough 
 friendly shakes, that his arm was wounded, and that he 
 was pale with the loss of blood. 
 
 " It is not much — only a slight wound," said Francesco ; 
 " one that I should have escaped, if I had been upon my 
 guard ; but the sight of a face, I little expected to see in 
 such company, took from me all presence of mind ; and 
 one of the ruffians stabbed me here in the arm, whilst I 
 stood in stupid astonishment." 
 
 37o 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 " Oh ! take me to prison ! take me to prison — I am 
 weary of life — I am a wretch not fit to live ! " cried Pietro, 
 holding his hands to be tied by the sbirri. 
 
 He was taken to prison the next morning ; and as he 
 passed through the streets of Naples he was met by several 
 of those who had known him when he was a child. " Aye," 
 said they, as he went by, " his father encouraged him in 
 cheating when he was but a child ; and see what he's come 
 to, now he is a man ! " He was ordered to remain twelve 
 months in solitary confinement. His captain and his ac- 
 complices were sent to the galleys, and the Jew was 
 banished from Naples. 
 
 And now, having got these villains out of our way, let 
 us return to honest Francesco. His wound was soon 
 healed. Arthur was no bad surgeon, for he let his patient 
 get well as fast as he pleased ; and Carlo and Rosetta 
 nursed him with so much kindness, that he was almost 
 sorry to find himself perfectly recovered. 
 
 " Now that you are able to go out," said Francesco's 
 father to him, " you must come and look at my new house, 
 my dear son." 
 
 " Your new house, father ? " 
 
 " Yes, son, and a charming one it is, and a handsome 
 piece of land near it — all at a safe distance, too, from 
 Mount Vesuvius ; and can you guess how I came by it ? — 
 it was given to me for having a good son." 
 
 " Yes," cried Carlo ; " the inhabitants of Resina, and 
 several who had property near Torre del Greco, and whose 
 houses and lives were saved by your intrepidity in carrying 
 the materials for the fireworks and the gunpowder out of 
 this dangerous place, went in a body to the Duke, and 
 requested that he would mention your name and these 
 facts to the King, who, amongst the grants he has made 
 to the sufferers by the late eruption of Mount Vesuvius, 
 has been pleased to say, that he gives this house and 
 garden to your father, because you have saved the property 
 and lives of many of his subjects." 
 
 The value of a handsome portion of furniture, plate, etc., 
 
 in the Count di F 's villa, was, according to the count's 
 
 promise, given to him ; and this money he divided between 
 
 37i 
 
The Little Merchants 
 
 his own family and that of the good carpenter who first 
 put a pencil into his hands. Arthur would not accept of 
 any present from him. To Mr. L , the English gentle- 
 man, he offered one of his own drawings — a fruit-piece. 
 " I like this very well," said Arthur, as he examined the 
 drawing, " but I should like this melon better if it were a 
 little bruised. It is now three years ago since I was going 
 to buy that bruised melon from you ; you showed me your 
 honest nature then, though you were but a boy, and I have 
 found you the same ever since. A good beginning makes 
 a good ending — an honest boy will make an honest man ; 
 and honesty is the best policy, as you have proved to all 
 who wanted the proof, I hope." 
 
 " Yes," added Francesco's father, " I think it is pretty 
 plain that Pietro the Cunning has not managed quite so 
 well as Francesco the Honest." 
 
 372 
 
& 
 
 arftonA 
 
 OUKG HARDY was educated by Mr. 
 Trueman, a very good master, at an 
 
 excellent school in shire. He was 
 
 honest, obedient, active and good- 
 natured ; so that he was esteemed 
 and beloved by his master and by his 
 companions. Beloved by all his com- 
 panions who were good, he did not 
 desire to be loved by the bad ; nor was he at all vexed 
 or ashamed when idle, mischievous, or dishonest boys 
 attempted to plague or ridicule him. His friend Loveit, 
 on the contrary, wished to be universally liked ; and his 
 highest ambition was to be thought the best-natured boy 
 in the school — and so he was. He usually went by the 
 name of Poor Loveit, and everybody pitied him when he 
 got into disgrace, which he frequently did ; for though he 
 had a good disposition, he was often led to do things which 
 he knew to be wrong merely because he could never have 
 the courage to say " No " — because he was afraid to offend 
 
 373 
 
Tarlton 
 
 the ill-natured, and could not bear to be laughed at by 
 fools. 
 
 One fine autumn evening, all the boys were permitted 
 to go out to play in a pleasant green meadow near the 
 school. Loveit, and another boy called Tarlton, began to 
 play a game at battledore and shuttlecock, and a large 
 party stood by to look on, for they were the best players 
 at battledore and shuttlecock in the school, and this was a 
 trial of skill between them. When they had kept it up to 
 three hundred and twenty, the game became very interest- 
 ing. The arms of the combatants grew so tired that they 
 could scarcely wield the battledores. The shuttlecock began 
 to waver in the air ; now it almost touched the ground, and 
 now, to the astonishment of the spectators, mounted again 
 high over their heads : yet the strokes became feebler and 
 feebler ; and " Now, Loveit ! " " Now, Tarlton ! " resounded 
 on all sides. For another minute the victory was doubtful ; 
 but at length the setting sun, shining full in Loveit's face, 
 so dazzled his eyes that he could no longer see the 
 shuttlecock, and it fell at his feet. 
 
 After the first shout for Tarlton's triumph was over, 
 everybody exclaimed, " Poor Loveit ! he's the best-natured 
 fellow in the world ! What a pity that he did not stand 
 with his back to the sun ! " 
 
 " Now, I dare you all to play another game with me," 
 cried Tarlton, vauntingly ; and as he spoke, he struck the 
 shuttlecock up with all his force — with so much force that 
 it went over the hedge, and dropped into a lane, which 
 went close beside the field. " Hey-day ! " said Tarlton, 
 " what shall we do now ? " 
 
 The boys were strictly forbidden to go into the lane ; 
 and it was upon their promise not to break this com- 
 mand, that they were allowed to play in the adjoining 
 field. 
 
 No other shuttlecock was to be had, and their play was 
 stopped. They stood on the top of the bank, peeping over 
 the hedge. " I see it yonder," said Tarlton ; " 1 wish any- 
 body would get it. One could get over the gate at the 
 bottom of the field, and be back again in half-a-minute," 
 added he, looking at Loveit. 
 
 374 
 
Tarlton 
 
 " But you know we must not go into the lane," said 
 Loveit, hesitatingly. 
 
 " Pooh ! " said Tarlton, " why now what harm could it 
 do?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Loveit, drumming upon his battle- 
 dore ; "but " 
 
 " You don't know, man ! why, then, what are you afraid 
 of, I ask you ? " 
 
 Loveit coloured, went on drumming, and again, in a lower 
 voice, said " he didn't know!' But upon Tarlton's repeating, 
 in a more insolent tone, " I ask you, man, what you're afraid 
 of? " he suddenly left off drumming, and looking round, 
 said, " he was not afraid of anything that he knew of." 
 
 " Yes, but you are," said Hardy coming forward. 
 
 " Am I ? " said Loveit ; " of what, pray, am I afraid ? " 
 
 " Of doing wrong ! " 
 
 " Afraid of doing wrong I" repeated Tarlton, mimicking 
 him, so that he made everybody laugh. " Now, hadn't you 
 better say afraid of being flogged ? " 
 
 " No," said Hardy, coolly, after the laugh had somewhat 
 subsided, " I am as little afraid of being flogged as you are, 
 Tarlton ; but I meant " 
 
 " No matter what you meant ; why should you interfere 
 with your wisdom and your meanings ? nobody thought of 
 askingjw^ to stir a step for us ; but we asked Loveit because 
 he's the best fellow in the world." 
 
 " And for that very reason you should not ask him, 
 because, you know he can't refuse you anything." 
 
 " Indeed, though," cried Loveit, piqued, " there you're 
 mistaken, for I could refuse if I chose it." 
 
 Hardy smiled ; and Loveit, half afraid of his contempt, 
 and half afraid of Tarlton's ridicule, stood doubtful, and 
 again had recourse to his battledore, which he balanced 
 most curiously upon his forefinger. " Look at him ! — now 
 do look at him ! " cried Tarlton ; " did you ever in your 
 life see anybody look so silly ! — Hardy has him quite under 
 his thumb ; he's so mortally afraid of Parson Prig, that he 
 dare not turn either of his eyes from the tip of his nose ! 
 look how he squints ! " 
 
 "I don't squint," said Loveit, looking up, "and nobody 
 
 375 
 
Tarlton 
 
 has me under his thumb ! and what Hardy said was only 
 for fear I should get in disgrace : — he's the best friend I 
 have." 
 
 Loveit spoke with more than usual spirit, for both his 
 heart and his pride were touched. 
 
 " Come along, then," said Hardy, taking him by the arm 
 in an affectionate manner ; and he was just going, when 
 Tarlton called after him, " Aye, go along with its best friend, 
 and take care it does not get into a scrape ; — good-bye, 
 Little Panado ! " 
 
 " Whom do they call Little Panado ? " said Loveit, turning 
 his head hastily back. 
 
 " Never mind," said Hardy, " what does it signify ? " 
 
 " No," said Loveit, " to be sure it does not signify ; but 
 one does not like to be called Little Panado : besides," 
 added he, after going a few steps further, " they'll all think it 
 so ill-natured — I had better go back, and just tell them that 
 I'm very sorry I can't get their shuttlecock ; — do come back 
 with me." 
 
 " No," said Hardy, <: I can't go back ; and you'd better 
 not." 
 
 " But, I assure you, I won't stay a minute — wait for me," 
 added Loveit ; and he slunk back again to prove that he 
 was not Little Panado. 
 
 Once returned, the rest followed, of course : for to support 
 his character for good-nature he was obliged to yield to the 
 entreaties of his companions ; and, to show his spirit, he 
 leapt over the gate, amidst the acclamations of the little 
 mob : — he was quickly out of sight. 
 
 " Here," cried he, returning in about five minutes, quite 
 out of breath, " Pve got the shuttlecock ; and I'll tell you 
 what I've seen," cried he, panting for breath. 
 
 " What ? " cried every bod y, eagerly. 
 
 " Why, just at the turn of the corner, at the end of the 
 lane," panting 
 
 " Well," said Tarlton, impatiently, "do go on." 
 
 " Let me just take breath first." 
 
 " Pooh ! never mind your breath." 
 
 " Well, then, just at the turn of the corner, at the end 
 of the lane, as I was looking about for the shuttlecock, I 
 
 376 
 
Tarlton 
 
 heard a great rustling somewhere near me, and so I looked 
 where it could come from ; and I saw, in a nice little garden, 
 on the opposite side of the way, a boy, about as big as 
 Tarlton, sitting in a great tree, shaking the branches ; and 
 at every shake, down there came such a shower of fine large 
 rosy apples, they made my mouth water ; so I called to 
 the boy, to beg one ; but he said he could not give me one, 
 for that they were his grandfather's ; and just at that minute, 
 from behind a gooseberry-bush, up popped the uncle — the 
 grandfather poked his head out of the window ; so I ran off 
 as fast as my legs would carry me though I heard him 
 bawling after me all the way." 
 
 " And let him bawl," cried Tarlton ; "he sha'n't bawl for 
 nothing ; I'm determined we'll have some of his fine large 
 rosy apples before I sleep to-night." 
 
 At this speech a general silence ensued ; everybody kept 
 his eyes fixed upon Tarlton, except Loveit, who looked 
 down, apprehensive that he should be drawn on much 
 farther than he intended. " Oh, indeed," said he to himself, 
 " as Hardy told me, I had better not have come back ! " 
 
 Regardless of this confusion, Tarlton continued, " But 
 before I say any more, I hope we have no spies amongst 
 us. If there is any one of you afraid to be flogged, let him 
 march off this instant ! " 
 
 Loveit coloured, bit his lips, wished to go, but had not 
 the courage to move first. He waited to see what every- 
 body else would do — nobody stirred ; so Loveit stood still. 
 
 " Well, then," cried Tarlton, giving his hand to the boy 
 next him, then to the next, "your word and honour that 
 you won't betray me ; but stand by me, and I'll stand by 
 you." Each boy gave his hand and his promise ; repeating, 
 " Stand by me, and I'll stand by you." 
 
 Loveit hung back till the last ; and had almost twisted 
 off the button of the boy's coat who screened him, when 
 Tarlton came up, holding out his hand, " Come, Loveit, lad, 
 you're in for it : stand by me, and I'll stand by you." 
 
 " Indeed, Tarlton," expostulated he, without looking him 
 in the face, " I do wish you'd give up this scheme ; I dare 
 say all the apples are gone by this time — I wish you would 
 ■ — Do, pray, give up this scheme." 
 
 377 
 
Tarlton 
 
 " What scheme, man ? you haven't heard it yet ; you may 
 as well know your text before you begin preaching." 
 
 The corners of Loveit's mouth could not refuse to smile, 
 though in his heart he felt not the slightest inclination to 
 laugh. 
 
 " Why, I don't know you, I declare I don't know you to- 
 day," said Tarlton ; " you used to be the best-natured, most 
 agreeable lad in the world, and would do anything one 
 asked you ; but you're quite altered of late, as we were 
 saying just now, when you skulked away with Hardy ; 
 come, do, man, pluck up a little spirit, and be one of us, or 
 you'll make us all hate you." 
 
 " Hate me ! " repeated Loveit, with terror : " no surely 
 you won't all hate me ! " and he mechanically stretched out 
 his hand which Tarlton shook violently, saying, " Aye, now, 
 that's right? " Aye, now, that's zvrong ! " whispered Loveit's 
 conscience ; but his conscience was of no use to him, for it 
 was always overpowered by the voice of numbers ; and 
 though he had the wish, he never had the power, to do 
 right. " Poor Loveit ! I knew he would not refuse us," 
 cried his companions ; and even Tarlton, the moment he 
 shook hands with him, despised him. It is certain that 
 weakness of mind is despised both by the good and by the 
 bad. 
 
 The league being thus formed, Tarlton assumed all the 
 airs of a commander, explained his schemes, and laid the 
 plan of attack upon the poor old man's apple-tree. It was 
 the only one he had in the world. We shall not dwell upon 
 their consultation ; for the amusement of contriving such 
 expeditions is often the chief thing which induces idle boys 
 to engage in them. 
 
 There was a small window at the end of the back stair- 
 case, through which, between nine and ten o'clock at night, 
 Tarlton, accompanied by Loveit and another boy, crept 
 out. It was a moonlight night, and after crossing the field, 
 and climbing the gate, directed by Loveit, who now 
 resolved to go through the affair with spirit, they proceeded 
 down the lane with rash yet fearful steps. 
 
 At a distance Loveit saw the white-washed cottage, and 
 the apple-tree beside it. They quickened their pace, and 
 
 378 
 
Tarlton 
 
 with some difficulty scrambled through the hedge which 
 fenced the garden, though not without being scratched and 
 torn by the briers. Everything was silent. Yet now and 
 then, at every rustling of the leaves, they started, and their 
 hearts beat violently. Once, as Loveit was climbing the 
 apple-tree, he thought he heard a door in the cottage open, 
 and earnestly begged his companions to desist and return 
 home. This, however, he could by no means persuade 
 them to do, until they had filled their pockets with apples ; 
 then, to his great joy, they returned, crept in at the 
 staircase window, and each retired, as softly as possible, to 
 his own apartment. 
 
 Loveit slept in the same room with Hardy, whom he had 
 left fast asleep, and whom he now was extremely afraid of 
 wakening. All the apples were emptied out of Loveit's 
 pockets, and lodged with Tarlton till the morning, for fear 
 the smell should betray the secret to Hardy. The room 
 door was apt to creak, but it was opened with such 
 precaution, that no noise could be heard, and Loveit found 
 his friend as fast asleep as when he left him. 
 
 "Ah," said he to himself, "how quietly he sleeps! I 
 wish / had been sleeping, too." The reproaches of Loveit's 
 conscience, however, served no other purpose but to 
 torment him ; he had not sufficient strength of mind to be 
 good. The very next night, in spite of all his fears, and 
 all his penitence, and all his resolutions, by a little fresh 
 ridicule and persuasion he was induced to accompany the 
 same party on a similar expedition. We must observe, 
 that the necessity for continuing their depredations became 
 stronger the third day ; for, though at first only a smail 
 party had been in the secret, by degrees it was divulged to 
 the whole school ; and it was necessary to secure secrecy by 
 sharing the booty. 
 
 Every one was astonished that Hardy, with all his 
 quickness and penetration, had not yet discovered their 
 proceedings ; but Loveit could not help suspecting that he 
 was not quite so ignorant as he appeared to be. Loveit 
 had strictly kept his promise of secrecy, but he was by no 
 means an artful boy ; and in talking to his friend, conscious 
 that he had something to conceal, he was perpetually on 
 
 379 
 
Tarlton 
 
 the point of betraying himself; then recollecting his 
 engagement, he blushed, stammered, bungled ; and upon 
 Hardy's asking what he meant, would answer with a silly, 
 guilty countenance, that he did not know ; or abruptly break 
 off, saying, " Oh nothing ! nothing at all ! " 
 
 It was in vain that he urged Tarlton to permit him to 
 consult his friend. A gloom overspread Tarlton's brow 
 when he began to speak on the subject, and he always 
 returned a peremptory refusal, accompanied by some such 
 taunting expression as this — " I wish we had had nothing 
 to do with such a sneaking fellow ; he'll betray us all, I see, 
 before we have done with him." 
 
 " Well," said Loveit to himself, " so I am abused after all, 
 and called a sneaking fellow for my pains ; that's rather 
 hard, to be sure, when I've got so little by the job." 
 
 In truth he had not got much ; for in the division of the 
 booty only one apple, and the half of another, which was 
 only half ripe, happened to fall to his share ; though, to be 
 sure, when they had all eaten their apples, he had the 
 satisfaction to hear everybody declare they were very sorry 
 they had forgotten to offer some of theirs to '■'poor Loveit!' 
 
 In the mean time, the visits to the apple-tree had been 
 now too frequently repeated to remain concealed from the 
 old man who lived in the cottage. He used to examine his 
 only tree very frequently, and missing numbers of rosy 
 apples, which he had watched ripening, he, though not 
 much prone to suspicion, began to think that there was 
 something going wrong ; especially as a gap was made 
 in his hedge, and there were several small footsteps in his 
 flower-beds. 
 
 The good old man was not at all inclined to give pain to 
 any living creature, much less to children, of whom he was 
 particularly fond. Nor was he in the least avaricious, for 
 though he was not rich, he had enough to live upon, 
 because he had been very industrious in his youth ; and he 
 was always very ready to part with the little he had. Nor 
 was he a cross old man. If anything would have made him 
 angry, it would have been the seeing his favourite tree 
 robbed, as he had promised himself the pleasure of giving 
 his red apples to his grandchildren on his birthday. 
 
 3S0 
 
Tarlton 
 
 However, he looked up at the tree in sorrow rather than 
 in anger, and leaning upon his staff, he began to consider 
 what he had best do. 
 
 " If I complain to their master," said he to himself, "they 
 will certainly be flogged, and that I should be sorry for : yet 
 they must not be let to go on stealing ; that would be worse 
 still, for that would surely bring them to the gallows in the 
 end. Let me see — oh, aye, that will do ; I will borrow 
 farmer Kent's dog Barker; he'll keep them off, I'll answer 
 for it." 
 
 Farmer Kent lent his dog Barker, cautioning his neigh- 
 bour, at the same time, to be sure to chain him well, for he 
 was the fiercest mastiff in England. The old man, with 
 farmer Kent's assistance, chained him fast to the trunk of 
 the apple-tree. 
 
 Night came ; and Tarlton, Loveit, and his companions, 
 returned at the usual hour. Grown bolder now by fre- 
 quent success, they came on talking and laughing. But 
 the moment they had set their foot in the garden, the dog 
 started up ; and, shaking his chain as he sprang forward, 
 barked with unremitting fury. They stood still as if fixed 
 to the spot. There was just moonlight enough to see the 
 dog. " Let us try the other side of the tree," said Tarlton. 
 But to whichever side they turned, the dog flew round in 
 an instant, barking with increased fury. 
 
 " He'll break his chain and tear us to pieces," cried 
 Tarlton ; and, struck with terror, he immediately threw 
 down the basket he had brought with him, and betook 
 himself to flight, with the greatest precipitation. 
 
 " Help me ! oh, pray ! I can't get through the hedge," 
 cried Loveit, in a lamentable tone, whilst the dog growled 
 hideously, and sprang forward to the extremity of his chain. 
 " I can't get out ! Oh, pray ! dear Tarlton, stay for me one 
 minute." He called in vain ; he was left to struggle through 
 his difficulties by himself; and of all his dear friends not 
 one turned back to help him. At last, torn and terrified, 
 he got through the hedge and ran home, despising his 
 companions for their selfishness. Nor could he help ob- 
 serving that Tarlton, with all his vaunted prowess, was the 
 first to run away from the appearance of danger. 
 
 38 j 
 
Tarlton 
 
 The next morning he could not help reproaching the party 
 with their conduct. " Why could not you, any of you, stay 
 one minute to help me ? " said he. 
 
 " We did not hear you call," answered one. " 1 was so 
 frightened," said another, " I would not have turned back 
 for the whole world." 
 
 " And you, Tarlton ? " 
 
 " I ! " said Tarlton ; " had not I enough to do to take 
 care of myself, you blockhead ? Every one for himself in 
 this world ! " 
 
 " So I see, " said Loveit, gravely. 
 
 " Well, man ! is there anything strange in that ?" 
 
 " Strange ! why, yes ; I thought you all loved me ! " 
 
 " Lord love you, lad ! so we do ; but we love ourselves 
 better." 
 
 " Hardy would not have served me so, however," said 
 Loveit, turning away in disgust. Tarlton was alarmed. 
 
 " Pooh ! " said he ; " what nonsense have you taken into 
 your brain? Think no more about it. We are all very 
 sorry, and beg your pardon ; come, shake hands, — forgive 
 and forget." 
 
 Loveit gave his hand, but gave it rather coldly. " I 
 forgive it with all my heart," said he ; " but I cannot 
 forget it so soon ! " 
 
 " Why, then, you are not such a good-humoured fellow 
 as we thought you were. Surely you cannot bear malice, 
 Loveit ? " Loveit smiled, and allowed that he certainly 
 could not bear malice. " Well, then, come ; you know at 
 the bottom we all love you, and would do anything in the 
 world for you." Poor Loveit, flattered in his foible, began 
 to believe that they did love him at the bottom, as they 
 said, and, even with his eyes open, consented again to be 
 duped. 
 
 " How strange it is," thought he, " that I should set such 
 value upon the love of those I despise! When I'm 
 once out of this scrape, I'll have no more to do with them, 
 I'm determined." 
 
 Compared with his friend Hardy, his new associates did 
 indeed appear contemptible; for all this time Hardy had 
 treated him with uniform kindness, avoided to pry into his 
 
 382 
 
Tarlton 
 
 secrets, yet seemed ready to receive his confidence, if it had 
 been offered. 
 
 After school in the evening, as he was standing silently 
 beside Hardy, who was ruling a sheet of paper for him, 
 Tarlton, in his brutal manner, came up, and seizing him by 
 the arm, said, " Come along with me, Loveit, I've something 
 to say to you." 
 
 " I can't come now," said Loveit, drawing away his arm. 
 
 " Ah, do come now," said Tarlton, in a voice of persuasion. 
 
 " Well, I'll come presently." 
 
 " Nay, but do, pray, there's a good fellow ; come now, 
 because I've something to say to you." 
 
 " What is it you've got to say to me ? I wish you'd 
 let me alone," said Loveit ; yet at the same time he 
 suffered himself to be led away. 
 
 Tarlton took particular pains to humour him and bring 
 him into temper again ; and even, though he was not very 
 apt to part with his playthings, went so far as to say, 
 " Loveit, the other day you wanted a top ; I'll give you 
 mine if you desire it." 
 
 Loveit thanked him, and was overjoyed at the thoughts 
 of possessing this top. — " But what did you want to say to 
 me just now ? " 
 
 " Aye, we'll talk of that presently ; not yet — when we 
 get out of hearing." 
 
 " Nobody is near us," said Loveit. 
 
 " Come a little farther, however," said Tarlton, looking 
 round suspiciously. 
 
 "Well now, well?" 
 
 " You know the dog that frightened us so last night ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " It will never frighten us again." 
 
 " Won't it ?— how so ? " 
 
 " Look here," said Tarlton, drawing from his pocket 
 something wrapped in a blue handkerchief. 
 
 " What's that ? "—Tarlton opened it. " Raw meat ! " 
 exclaimed Loveit ; " how came you by it ? " 
 
 " Tom, the servant boy, Tom got it for me, and I'm to 
 give him sixpence." 
 
 " And is it for the dog ? " 
 
 383 
 
Tarlton 
 
 " Yes ; I vowed I'd be revenged on him, and after all 
 this he'll never bark again." 
 
 " Never bark again ! — What do you mean ? — Is it 
 poison ? " exclaimed Loveit, starting back with horror. 
 
 " Only poison for a dog" said Tarlton, confused ; " you 
 could not look more shocked if it were poison for a 
 Christian." 
 
 Loveit stood for nearly a minute in profound silence. 
 " Tarlton," said he at last, in a changed tone and altered 
 manner, " I did not know you ; I will have no more to do 
 with you." 
 
 " Nay, but stay," said Tarlton, catching hold of his arm, 
 " stay ; I was only joking." 
 
 " Let go my arm — you were in earnest." 
 
 " But then that was before I knew there was any harm. 
 If you think there's any harm i " 
 
 " If! " said Loveit. 
 
 "Why, you know, I might not know ; for Tom told me 
 it's a thing that's often done. Ask Tom." 
 
 " I'll ask nobody ! Surely we know better what's right 
 and wrong than Tom does." 
 
 " But only just ask him, to hear what he'll say." 
 
 " I don't want to hear what he'll say," cried Loveit, 
 vehemently : " the dog will die in agonies — in horrid 
 agonies ! There was a dog poisoned at my father's — I saw 
 him in the yard. Poor creature ! he lay and howled and 
 writhed himself! " 
 
 " Poor creature ! Well, there's no harm done now," cried 
 Tarlton, in a hypocritical tone. But though he thought fit 
 to dissemble with Loveit, he was thoroughly determined in 
 his purpose. 
 
 Poor Loveit, in haste to get away, returned to his friend 
 Hardy ; but his mind was in such agitation, that he neither 
 talked nor moved like himself ; and two or three times his 
 heart was so full that he was ready to burst into tears. 
 
 " How good-natured you are to me," said he to Hardy, 
 as he was trying vainly to entertain him ; " but if you 
 
 knew " Here he stopped short, for the bell for evening 
 
 prayer rang, and they all took their places, and knelt down. 
 After prayers, as they were going to bed, Loveit stopped 
 
 334 
 
Tarlton 
 
 Tarlton. — " Well ? " asked he, in an inquiring manner, 
 fixing his eyes upon him. 
 
 " Well ! " replied Tarlton, in an audacious tone, as if he 
 meant to set his inquiring eye at defiance. 
 
 " What do you mean to do to-night ? " 
 
 " To go to sleep, as you do, I suppose," replied Tarlton, 
 turning away abruptly, and whistling as he walked off. 
 
 " Oh, he has certainly changed his mind ! " said Loveit to 
 himself; ei else he could not whistle." 
 
 About ten minutes after this, as he and Hardy were 
 undressing, Hardy suddenly recollected that he had left 
 his new kite out upon the grass. " Oh," said he, " it will be 
 quite spoiled before the morning ! " 
 
 " Call Tom," said Loveit, " and bid him bring it in for 
 you in a minute." They both went to the top of the stairs 
 to call Tom ; no one answered. They called again louder, 
 " Is Tom below ? " 
 
 " I'm here," answered he at last, coming out of Tarlton's 
 room with a look of mixed embarrassment and effrontery. 
 And as he was receiving Hardy's commission, Loveit saw 
 the corner of the blue handkerchief hanging out of his 
 pocket. This excited fresh suspicions in Loveit's mind ; 
 but, without saying one word, he immediately stationed 
 himself at the window in his room, which looked out 
 towards the lane ; and, as the moon was risen, he could see 
 if any one passed that way. 
 
 " What are you doing there ? " said Hardy, after he had 
 been watching some time ; " why don't you come to bed ? " 
 
 Loveit returned no answer, but continued standing at the 
 window. Nor did he watch long in vain. Presently he saw 
 Tom glide slowly along a by-path, and get over the gate 
 into the lane. 
 
 " He's gone to do it ! " exclaimed Loveit aloud, with an 
 emotion which he could not command. 
 
 " Who's gone ? to do what ? " cried Hardy, starting up. 
 
 " How cruel ! how wicked ! " continued Loveit. 
 
 " What's cruel — what's wicked ? speak out at once ! " re- 
 turned Hardy, in that commanding tone which, in moments 
 of danger, strong minds feel themselves entitled to assume 
 towards weak ones. 
 
 3 S 5 cc 
 
Tarlton 
 
 Loveit instantly, though in an incoherent manner, ex- 
 plained the affair to him. Scarcely had the words passed 
 his lips, when Hardy sprang up, and began dressing him- 
 self without saying one syllable. " For God's sake, what 
 are you going to do ? " said Loveit, in great anxiety. 
 " They'll never forgive me ! don't betray me ! they'll never 
 forgive ! pray, speak to me ! only say you won't betray us." 
 
 " I will not betray you, trust to me," said Hardy, as he 
 left the room, and Loveit stood in amazement ; whilst, in 
 the mean time, Hardy, in hopes of overtaking Tom before 
 the fate of the poor dog was decided, ran with all possible 
 speed across the meadow, and then down the lane. He 
 came up with Tom just as he was climbing the bank into 
 the old man's garden. Hardy, too much out of breath to 
 speak, seized hold of him, dragged him down, detaining 
 him with a firm grasp, whilst he panted for utterance. 
 
 " What, Master Hardy, is it you ? what's the matter ? 
 what do you want ? " 
 
 " I want the poisoned meat that you have in your 
 pocket." 
 
 " Who told you that I had any such thing ? " said Tom, 
 clapping his hand upon his guilty pocket. 
 
 " Give it me quietly, and I'll let you off." 
 
 " Sir, upon my word I haven't ! — I didn't ! — I don't know 
 what you mean," said Tom, trembling, though he was by 
 far the stronger of the two. " Indeed, I don't know what 
 you mean." 
 
 " You do," said Hardy, with great indignation : and a 
 violent struggle immediately commenced. 
 
 The dog, now alarmed by the voices, began to bark out- 
 rageously. Tom was terrified lest the old man should come 
 out to see what was the matter ; his strength forsook him, 
 and, flinging the handkerchief and meat over the hedge, he 
 ran away with all his speed. The handkerchief fell within 
 reach of the dog, who instantly snapped at it ; luckily it did 
 not come untied. Hardy saw a pitchfork on a dunghill 
 close beside him, and, seizing upon it, stuck it into the 
 handkerchief. The dog pulled, tore, growled, grappled, 
 yelled ; it was impossible to get the handkerchief from 
 between his teeth; but the knot was loosed, the meat, 
 
 .186 
 
# 
 
 1 I 
 
 
Tarlton 
 
 unperceived by the dog, dropped out, and while he dragged 
 off the handkerchief in triumph, Hardy, with inexpressible 
 joy, plunged the pitchfork into the poisoned meat, and bore 
 it away. 
 
 Never did hero retire with more satisfaction from a field 
 of battle. Full of the pleasure of successful benevolence, 
 Hardy tripped joyfully home, and vaulted over the window- 
 sill, when the first object he beheld was Mr Power, the 
 usher, standing at the head of the stairs, with a candle in 
 his hand. 
 
 " Come up, whoever you are," said Mr. William Power, 
 in a stern voice ; " I thought I should find you out at last. 
 Come up, whoever you are ! " — Hardy obeyed without 
 reply. — " Hardy ! " exclaimed Mr. Power, starting back 
 with astonishment; "is it you, Mr. Hardy?" repeated he, 
 holding the light to his face. " Why, sir," said he, in a 
 sneering tone, " I'm sure if Mr. Trueman were here he 
 wouldn't believe his own eyes ; but, for my part, I saw 
 through you long since ; I never liked saints, for my share. 
 Will you please to do me the favour, sir, if it is not too 
 much trouble, to empty your pockets ? " Hardy obeyed in 
 silence. " Hey-day ! meat ! raw meat ! what next ? " 
 
 " That's all," said Hardy, emptying his pockets inside 
 out. 
 
 " This is all" said Mr. Power, taking up the meat. 
 
 " Pray, sir," said Hardy, eagerly, " let that meat be burned, 
 it is poisoned." 
 
 " Poisoned !" cried Mr. William Power, letting it drop 
 out of his fingers ; " you wretch ! " looking at him with a 
 menacing air : " what is all this ? Speak." — Hardy was 
 silent. — " Why don't you speak ? '"' cried he, shaking him by 
 the shoulder impatiently. Still Hardy was silent. " Down 
 upon your knees this minute, and confess all : tell me where 
 you've been, and what you've been doing, and who are 
 your accomplices, for I know there is a gang of you ; so," 
 added he, pressing heavily upon Hardy's shoulder, " down 
 upon your knees this minute, and confess the whole ; that's 
 the only way now to get off yourself. If you hope for my 
 pardon, I can tell you that it's not to be had without 
 asking for." 
 
 339 
 
Tarlton 
 
 " Sir," said Hardy, in a firm but respectful voice, a I have 
 no pardon to ask, I have nothing to confess ; I am innocent ; 
 but if I were not, I would never try to get off myself by 
 betraying my companions." 
 
 " Very well, sir ! very well ! very fine ! — stick to it, stick 
 to it, I advise you, and we shall see. And how will you 
 look to-morrow, Mr. Innocent, when my uncle, the doctor, 
 comes home ? " 
 
 " As I do now, sir," said Hardy, unmoved. 
 
 His composure threw Mr. Power into a rage too great for 
 utterance. " Sir," continued Hardy, " ever since I have 
 been at school I never told a lie, and therefore, sir, I hope 
 you will believe me now. Upon my word and honour, sir, 
 I have done nothing wrong." 
 
 " Nothing wrong ? Better and better ! what, when I 
 caught you going out at night ? " 
 
 " That, to be sure, was wrong," said Hardy, recollecting 
 himself; "but except that " 
 
 " Except that, sir ! I will except nothing. Come along 
 with me, young gentleman, your time for pardon is past." 
 
 Saying these words, he pulled Hardy along a narrow 
 passage to a small closet, set apart for desperate offenders, 
 and usually known by the name of the Black-hole. " There, 
 sir, take up your lodging there for to-night," said he, pushing 
 him in; "to-morrow I'll know more, or I'll know why," 
 added he, double locking the door, with a tremendous noise, 
 upon his prisoner, and locking also the door at the end of 
 the passage, so that no one could have access to him. " So 
 now I think I have you safe ! " said Mr. William Power to 
 himself, stalking off with steps which made the whole 
 gallery resound, and which made many a guilty heart 
 tremble. 
 
 The conversation which had passed between Hardy and 
 Mr. Power at the head of the stairs had been anxiously 
 listened to ; but only a word or two here and there had 
 been distinctly overheard. The locking of the black-hole 
 door was a terrible sound — some knew not what it portended, 
 and others knew too well. All assembled in the morning 
 with faces of anxiety. Tarlton's and Loveit's were the 
 most agitated : Tarlton for himself — Loveit for his friend, for 
 
 39o 
 
Tarlton 
 
 himself, for everybody. Every one of the party, and Tarlton 
 at their head, surrounded him with reproaches ; and con- 
 sidered him as the author of the evils which hung over them. 
 " How could you do so ? and why did you say anything to 
 Hardy about it ? when you had promised, too ! Oh ! what 
 shall we all do ? what a scrape you have brought us into ! 
 Loveit, it's all your fault ! " 
 
 " All my fault 1 '" repeated poor Loveit, with a sigh; 
 "well, that is hard." 
 
 " Goodness ! there's the bell," exclaimed a number of 
 voices at once. " Now for it ! " They all stood in a half 
 circle for morning prayers. They listened — " Here he is 
 coming ! No — Yes — Here he is ! " And Mr. William 
 Power, with a gloomy brow, appeared and walked up to his 
 place at the head of the room. 
 
 They knelt down to prayers, and the moment they rose, 
 Mr. William Power, laying his hand upon the table, cried, 
 " Stand still, gentlemen, if you please." Everybody stood 
 stock still. He walked out of the circle ; they guessed that 
 he was gone for Hardy, and the whole room was in com- 
 motion. Each with eagerness asked each what none could 
 answer, "Has he told? "— " What has he told ? "— " Whom 
 has he told of? " — " I hope he has not told of me," cried they. 
 
 " I'll answer for it he has told of all of us," said Tarlton. 
 
 " And I'll answer for it he has told of none of us," 
 answered Loveit, with a sigh. 
 
 " You don't think he's such a fool, when he can get 
 himself off," said Tarlton. 
 
 At this instant the prisoner was led in, and as he passed 
 through the circle, every eye was fixed upon him. His eye 
 turned upon no one, not even upon Loveit, who pulled him 
 by the coat as he passed — every one felt almost afraid to 
 breathe. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mr. Power, sitting down in Mr. True- 
 man's elbow-chair, and placing the prisoner opposite to 
 him ; " well, sir, what have you to say to me this 
 morning?" 
 
 " Nothing, sir," answered Hardy, in a decided, yet 
 modest manner ; " nothing but what I said last night." 
 
 " Nothing more ? " 
 
 39i 
 
Tarlton 
 
 " Nothing more, sir." 
 
 u But I have something more to say to you, sir, then ; 
 and a great deal more, I promise you, before I have done 
 with you ; " and then, seizing him in a fury, he was just 
 going to give him a severe flogging, when the school-room 
 door opened, and Mr. Trueman appeared, lollowed by an 
 old man whom Loveit immediately knew. He leaned upon 
 his stick as he walked, and in his other hand he carried a 
 basket of apples. 
 
 When they came within the circle, Mr. Trueman stopped 
 short — " Hardy!" exclaimed he, with a voice of unfeigned 
 surprise, whilst Mr. William Power stood with his hand 
 suspended. 
 
 "Aye, Hardy, sir," repeated he- "I told him you'd not 
 believe your own eyes.'' 
 
 Mr. Trueman advanced with a slow step. " Now, sir, 
 give me leave," said the usher, eagerly drawing him aside, 
 and whispering. 
 
 " So, sir," said Mr. Trueman when the whisper was done, 
 addressing himself to Hardy, with a voice and manner 
 which, had he been guilty, must have pierced him to the 
 heart, " I find I have been deceived in you — it is but three 
 hours ago that I told your uncle I never had a boy in my 
 school in whom I placed so much confidence ; but, after all 
 this show of honour and integrity, the moment my back is 
 turned, you are the first to set an example of disobedience 
 of my orders. Why do I talk of disobeying my commands 
 — you are a thief ! " 
 
 " I, sir ? " exclaimed Hardy, no longer able to repress his 
 feelings. 
 
 " You, sir — you and some others," said Mr. Trueman, 
 looking round the room with a penetrating glance — " you 
 and some others." 
 
 " Aye, sir," interrupted Mr. William Power, "get that out 
 of him if you can — ask him." 
 
 " I will ask him nothing ; I shall neither put his truth 
 nor his honour to the trial ; truth and honour are not to be 
 expected amongst thieves." 
 
 " I am not a thief ! I have never had anything to do 
 with thieves," cried Hardy, indignantly. 
 
 39 2 
 
Tarlton 
 
 " Have you not robbed this old man ? Don't you know 
 the taste of these apples ? " said Mr. Trueman, taking one 
 out of the basket. 
 
 " No, sir ; I do not. I never touched one of that old 
 man's apples." 
 
 " Never touched one of them ! I suppose this is some 
 vile equivocation — you have done worse ; you have had 
 the barbarity, the baseness, to attempt to poison his dog ; 
 the poisoned meat was found in your pocket last night." 
 
 " The poisoned meat was found in my pocket, sir ; but I 
 never attempted to poison the dog — I saved his life." 
 
 " Lord bless him ! " said the old man. 
 
 " Nonsense ! cunning ! " said Mr. Power. " I hope you 
 won't let him impose upon you so, sir." 
 
 " No, he cannot impose upon me ; I have a proof he is 
 little prepared for," said Mr. Trueman, producing the blue 
 handkerchief in which the meat had been wrapped. 
 
 Tarlton turned pale; Hardy's countenance never 
 changed. 
 
 " Don't you know this handkerchief, sit ? " 
 
 " I do, sir." 
 
 w Is it not yours ? '' 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Don't you know whose it is ? " cried Mr. Power. Hardy 
 was silent. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen," said Mr. Trueman, " I am not fond of 
 punishing you ; but when I do it, you know, it is always in 
 earnest. I will begin with the eldest of you ; I will begin 
 with Hardy, and flog you with my own hands till this 
 handkerchief is owned." 
 
 M I'm sure it's not mine," and "I'm sure it's none of mine," 
 burst from every mouth, whilst they looked at each other 
 in dismay ; for none but Hardy, Loveit and Tarlton knew 
 the secret. 
 
 " My cane," said Mr. Trueman, and Mr. Power handed 
 him the cane. Loveit groaned from the bottom of his 
 heart. Tarlton leaned back against the wall with a black 
 countenance. Hardy looked with a steady eye at the 
 cane. 
 
 " But first," said Mr. Trueman, laying down the cane, 
 
 393 
 
Tarlton 
 
 " let us see. Perhaps we may find out the owner of this 
 handkerchief another way," examining the corners. It was 
 torn almost to pieces ; but luckily the corner that was 
 marked remained. 
 
 "J. T. ! " cried Mr. Trueman. Every eye turned upon 
 the guilty Tarlton, who, now as pale as ashes and trembling 
 in every limb, sank down upon his knees, and in a whining 
 voice begged for mercy. 
 
 " Upon my word and honour, sir, I'll tell you all ; I should 
 never have thought of stealing the apples if Loveit had not 
 first told me of them ; and it was Tom who first put the 
 poisoning the dog into my head. It was he that carried the 
 meat ; wasn't it ? " said he, appealing to Hardy, whose word 
 he knew must be believed. " Oh, dear sir ! " continued he, 
 as Mr. Trueman began to move towards him, " do let me 
 off; do pray let me off this time ! I'm not the only one, 
 indeed, sir ! I hope you won't make me an example for the 
 rest. It's very hard I'm to be flogged more than they ! " 
 
 " I'm not going to flog you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Tarlton, getting up and wiping 
 his eyes. 
 
 " You need not thank me," said Mr. Trueman. " Take 
 your handkerchief — go out of this room — out of this 
 house; let me never see you more." 
 
 " If I had any hopes of him," said Mr. Trueman, as he 
 shut the door after him ; "if I had any hopes of him, I 
 would have punished him ; but I have none — punishment 
 is meant only to make people better ; and those who have 
 any hopes of themselves will know how to submit to it." 
 
 At these words Loveit first, and immediately all the rest 
 of the guilty party, stepped out of the ranks, confessed their 
 fault, and declared themselves ready to bear any punish- 
 ment their master thought proper. 
 
 " Oh, they have been punished enough," said the old 
 man ; " forgive them, sir." 
 
 Hardy looked as if he wished to speak. " Not because 
 you ask it," said Mr. Trueman ; "though I should be glad 
 to oblige you — it wouldn't be just ; but there," pointing to 
 Hardy, " there is one who has merited a reward ; the 
 highest I can give him is the pardon of his companions." 
 
 394 
 
Tarlton 
 
 Hardy bowed and his face glowed with pleasure, whilst 
 everybody present sympathized in his feelings. 
 
 " I am sure," thought Loveit, " this is a lesson I shall 
 never forget." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the old man, with a faltering voice, 
 " it wasn't for the sake of my apples that I spoke ; and you, 
 sir," said he to Hardy, " I thank you for saving my dog. If 
 you please, I'll plant on that mount, opposite the window, a 
 young apple-tree, from my old one. I will water it, and 
 take care of it with my own hands for your sake, as long as 
 I am able. And may God bless you ! " laying his trem- 
 bling hand on Hardy's head ; " may God bless you — I'm 
 sure God will bless all such boys as you are." 
 
 395 
 
<5fw 0oift(pf %©mcw 
 
 " Toute leur etude etait de se complaire et de s'entr'aider." : 
 
 Paul et Virginie. 
 
 THE foot of a steep, slippery, 
 white hill, near Dunstable, in 
 Bedfordshire, called Chalk Hill, 
 there is a hut, or rather a hovel, 
 which travellers could scarcely 
 suppose could be inhabited, if 
 they did not see the smoke rising 
 from its peaked roof. An old 
 woman lives in this hovel, and 
 \} with her a little boy and girl, the 
 children of a beggar, who died, 
 these orphans perishing with hunger. They 
 thought themselves very happy the first time the good old 
 woman took them into her hut, bid them warm themselves 
 at her small fire, and gave them a crust of mouldy bread to 
 cat. She had not much to give, but what she had she gave 
 with good-will. She was very kind to these poor children, 
 and worked hard at her spinning-wheel and at her knitting, 
 to support herself and them. She earned money also in 
 another way. She used to follow all the carriages as they 
 
 1 Their whole study was how to please and to help one another. 
 
 39 6 
 
 and 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 went up Chalk Hill ; and when the horses stopped to take 
 breath or to rest themselves, she put stones behind the 
 carriage wheels to prevent them from rolling backwards 
 down the steep, slippery hill. 
 
 The little boy and girl loved to stand beside the good- 
 natured old woman's spinning-wheel when she was spinning, 
 and to talk to her. At these times she taught them some- 
 thing, which, she said, she hoped they would remember all 
 their lives. She explained to them what is meant by telling 
 the truth, and what it is to be honest ; she taught them to 
 dislike idleness, and to wish that they could be useful. 
 
 One evening, as they were standing beside her, the little 
 boy said to her, " Grandmother," for that was the name by 
 which she liked that these children should call her — " grand- 
 mother, how often you are forced to get up from your 
 spinning-wheel, and to follow the chaises and coaches up 
 that steep hill, to put stones under the wheels, to hinder 
 them from rolling back ! The people who are in the 
 carriages give you a halfpenny or a penny for doing this, 
 don't they ? " 
 
 " Yes, child." 
 
 " But it is very hard work for you to go up and down 
 that hill. You often say that you are tired, and then you 
 know that you cannot spin all that time. Now if we might 
 go up the hill, and put the stones behind the wheels, you 
 could sit still at your work ; and would not the people give 
 us the halfpence ? and could not we bring them all to 
 you? Do, pray, dear grandmother, try us for one day — 
 to-morrow, will you ? " 
 
 "Yes," said the old woman; "I will try what you can 
 do ; but I must go up the hill along with you for the first 
 two or three times, for fear you should get yourselves 
 hurt." 
 
 So, the next day, the little boy and girl went with their 
 grandmother, as they used to call her, up the steep hill ; 
 and she showed the boy how to prevent the wheels from 
 rolling back, by putting stones behind them ; and she said, 
 " This is called scotching the wheels ; " and she took off the 
 boy's hat and gave it to the little girl, to hold up to the 
 carriage-windows, ready for the halfpence. When she 
 
 397 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 thought that the children knew how to manage by them- 
 selves, she left them, and returned to her spinning-wheel. 
 
 A great many carriages happened to go by this day, and 
 the little girl received a great many halfpence. She carried 
 them all in her brother's hat to her grandmother in the 
 evening ; and the old woman smiled, and thanked the 
 children. She said that they had been useful to her, and 
 that her spinning had gone on finely, because she had been 
 able to sit still at her wheel all day. " But, Paul, my boy," 
 said she, " what is the matter with your hand ? " 
 
 " Only a pinch, only one pinch that I got, as I was putting 
 a stone behind a wheel of a chaise. It does not hurt me 
 much, grandmother ; and I've thought of a good thing for to- 
 morrow. I shall never be hurt again, if you will only be so 
 good as to give me the old handle of the broken crutch, 
 grandmother, and the block of wood that lies in the chimney- 
 corner, and that is of no use. I'll make it of some use, if I 
 may have it." 
 
 " Take it then, dear," said the old woman ; " and you'll 
 find the handle of the broken crutch under my bed." 
 
 Paul went to work immediately, and fastened one end of 
 the pole into the block of wood, so as to make something 
 like a dry-rubbing brush " Look, grandmother, look at my 
 scotcJier. I call this thing my scotcher" said Paul, " because 
 I shall always scotch the wheels with it. I shall never 
 pinch my fingers again ; my hands, you see, will be safe at 
 the end of this long stick ; and, sister Anne, you need not 
 be at the trouble of carrying any more stones after me up 
 the hill ; we shall never want stones any more ; my scotcher 
 will do without anything else, I hope. I wish it was morn- 
 ing, and that a carriage would come, that I might run up 
 the hill, and try my scotcher." 
 
 " And I wish that as many chaises may go by to-morrow 
 as there did to-day, and that we may bring you as many 
 halfpence, too, grandmother," said the little girl. 
 
 " So do I, my dear Anne," said the old woman ; " for I 
 mean that you and your brother shall have all the money 
 that you get to-morrow. You may buy some gingerbread 
 for yourselves, or some of those ripe plums that you saw 
 at the fruit-stall, the other day, which is just going into 
 
 393 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 Dunstable. I told you then that I could not afford to buy 
 such things for you ; but now that you can earn halfpence 
 for yourselves, children, it is fair you should taste a ripe 
 plum and bit of gingerbread for once in your lives, dears." 
 
 " We'll bring some of the gingerbread home to her, 
 sha'n't we, brother?" whispered little Anne. The morning 
 came ; but no carriages were heard, though Paul and his 
 sister had risen at five o'clock, that they might be sure to 
 be ready for early travellers. Paul kept his scotcher poised 
 upon his shoulder, and watched eagerly at his station at 
 the bottom of the hill. He did not wait long before a 
 carriage came. He followed it up the hill ; and the instant 
 the postilion called to him, and bid him stop the wheels, 
 he put his scotcher behind them, and found that it answered 
 the purpose perfectly well. 
 
 Many carriages went by this day, and Paul and Anne 
 received a great many halfpence from the travellers. 
 
 When it grew dusk in the evening, Anne said to her 
 brother — " I don't think any more carriages will come by 
 to-day. Let us count the halfpence, and carry them home 
 now to grandmother." 
 
 "No, not yet," answered Paul, "let them alone — let them 
 lie still in the hole where I have put them. I dare say 
 more carriages will come by before it is quite dark, and 
 then we shall have more halfpence." 
 
 Paul had taken the halfpence out of his hat, and he had 
 put them into a hole in the high bank by the roadside ; 
 and Anne said that she would not meddle with them, and 
 that she would wait till her brother liked to count them ; 
 and Paul said — " If you will stay and watch here, I will go 
 and gather some blackberries for you in the hedge in 
 yonder field. Stand you hereabouts, half-way up the hill ; 
 and the moment you see any carriage coming along the 
 road, run as fast as you can and call me." 
 
 Anne waited a long time, or what she thought a long 
 time, and she saw no carriage ; and she trailed her brother's 
 scotcher up and down till she was tired. Then she stood 
 still, and looked again, and she saw no carriage ; so she 
 went sorrowfully into the field, and to the hedge where 
 her brother was gathering blackberries, and she said, " Paul, 
 
 399 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 I'm sadly tired, sadly tired ! and my eyes are quite 
 strained with looking for chaises ; no more chaises will 
 come to-night ; and your scotcher is lying there, of no use, 
 upon the ground. Have not I waited long enough for 
 to-day, Paul? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Paul ; " here are some blackberries for 
 you ; you had better wait a little bit longer. Perhaps a 
 carriage might go by whilst you are standing here talking 
 to me." 
 
 Anne, who was of a very obliging temper, and who liked 
 to do what she was asked to do, went back to the place 
 where the scotcher lay ; and scarcely had she reached the 
 spot, when she heard the noise of a carriage. She ran to 
 call her brother ; and, to their great joy, they now saw four 
 chaises coming towards them. Paul, as soon as they went 
 up the hill, followed with his scotcher; first he scotched 
 the wheels of one carriage, then of another ; and Anne was 
 so much delighted with observing how well the scotcher 
 stopped the wheels, and how much better it was than 
 stones, that she forgot to go and hold her brother's hat to 
 the travellers for halfpence, till she was roused by the voice 
 of a little rosy girl, who was looking out of the window of 
 one of the chaises. " Come close to the chaise-door," said 
 the little girl ; "here are some halfpence for you." 
 
 Anne held the hat ; and she afterwards went on to the 
 other carriages. Money was thrown to her from each of 
 them ; and when they had all got safely to the top of the 
 hill, she and her brother sat down upon a large stone by 
 the roadside, to count their treasure. First they began 
 by counting what was in the hat — " One, two, three, four 
 halfpence." 
 
 " But, oh, brother, look at this !" exclaimed Anne ; " this 
 is not the same as the other halfpence." 
 
 " No, indeed, it is not," cried Paul ; " it is no halfpenny ; 
 it is a guinea, a bright golden guinea ! " 
 
 " Is it ? " said Anne, who had never seen a guinea in her 
 life before, and who did not know its value ; " and will it 
 do as well as a halfpenny to buy gingerbread ? I'll run to 
 the fruit-stall, and ask the woman ; shall I ? " 
 
 " No, no," said Paul, " you need not ask any woman, or 
 
 400 
 
" Annie held the hat}'' 
 
 ^kA" 1 . /wi^^m 
 
 OD 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 anybody but me ; I can tell you all about it, as well as 
 anybody in the whole world." 
 
 " The whole world ! Oh, Paul, you forget ! Not so well 
 as my grandmother." 
 
 " Why, not so well as my grandmother, perhaps ; but, 
 Anne, I can tell you that you must not talk yourself, 
 Anne ; but you must listen to me quietly, or else you won't 
 understand what I am going to tell you ; for I can assure 
 you that I don't think I quite understood it myself, Anne, 
 the first time my grandmother told it to me, though I stood 
 stock still, listening my best." 
 
 Prepared by this speech to hear something very difficult 
 to be understood, Anne looked very grave ; and her brother 
 explained to her, that, with a guinea, she might buy two 
 hundred and fifty-two times as many plums as she could 
 get for a penny. 
 
 " Why, Paul, you know the fruit-woman said she would 
 give us a dozen plums for a penny. Now, for this little 
 guinea, would she give us two hundred and fifty-two 
 dozen ? " 
 
 " If she has so many, and if we like to have so many, to 
 be sure she will," said Paul, "but I think we should not 
 like to have two hundred and fifty-two dozen of plums ; 
 we could not eat such a number." 
 
 " But we could give some of them to my grandmother," 
 said Anne. 
 
 " But still there would be too many for her, and for us, 
 too," said Paul, " and when we had eaten the plums, there 
 would be an end of all the pleasure. But now I'll tell you 
 what I am thinking of, Anne, that we might buy something 
 for my grandmother, that would be very useful to her 
 indeed, with this guinea — something that would last a 
 great while." 
 
 " What, brother ? What sort of thing ? " 
 
 " Something that she said she wanted very much last 
 winter, when she was so ill of the rheumatism ; something 
 that she said yesterday, when you were making her bed, 
 she wished she might be able to buy before next winter." 
 
 " I know, I know what you mean ! " said Anne ; " a 
 blanket. Oh, yes, Paul, that will be much better than 
 
 4°3 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 plums ; do let us buy a blanket for her ; how glad she will 
 be to see it ! I will make her bed with the new blanket, 
 and then bring her to look at it. But, Paul, how shall we 
 buy a blanket ? Where are blankets to be got ? " 
 
 " Leave that to me, I'll manage that — I know where 
 blankets can be got ; I saw one hanging out of a shop, the 
 day I went last to Dunstable." 
 
 " You have seen a great many things at Dunstable, 
 brother." 
 
 <! Yes, a great many ; but I never saw anything there, or 
 anywhere else, that I wished for half so much as I did for 
 the blanket for my grandmother. Do you remember how 
 she used to shiver with the cold last winter? I'll buy the 
 blanket to-morrow ; I'm going to Dunstable with her 
 spinning." 
 
 " And you'll bring the blanket to me, and I shall make 
 the bed very neatly ; that will be all right — all happy ! " 
 said Anne, clapping her hands. 
 
 " But stay ! Hush ! don't clap your hands so, Anne ; 
 it will not be all happy, I'm afraid," said Paul, and his 
 countenance changed, and he looked very grave. " It will 
 not be all right, I'm afraid, for there is one thing we have 
 neither of us thought of, but that we ought to think about. 
 We cannot buy the blanket, I'm afraid." 
 
 " Why, Paul, why ? " 
 
 " Because I don't think this guinea is honestly ours." 
 
 " Nay, brother, but I'm sure it is honestly ours. It was 
 given to us, and grandmother said all that was given to 
 us to-day was to be our own." 
 
 " But who gave it to you, Anne ? " 
 
 " Some of the people in those chaises, Paul. I don't know 
 which of them, but I dare say it was the little rosy girl." 
 
 " No," said Paul, " for when she called you to the chaise- 
 door, she said, ' Here's some halfpence for you.' Now, if 
 she gave you the guinea, she must have given it to you by 
 mistake." 
 
 " Well, but perhaps some of the people in the other 
 chaises gave it to me, and did not give it to me by mistake, 
 Paul. There was a gentleman reading in one of the 
 chaises, and a lady, who looked very good-naturedly at 
 
 404 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 me, and then the gentleman put down his book, and put 
 his head out of the window, and looked at your scotcher, 
 brother, and he asked me if that was your own making ; 
 and when I said yes, and that I was your sister, he smiled 
 at me, and put his hand into his waistcoat-pocket, and 
 threw a handful of halfpence into the hat, and I dare say 
 he gave us the guinea along with them, because he liked 
 your scotcher so much." 
 
 " Why," said Paul, " that might be, to be sure ; but I 
 wish I was quite certain of it." 
 
 " Then, as we are not quite certain, had not we best go 
 and ask my grandmother what she thinks about it ? " 
 
 Paul thought this was excellent advice ; and he was not 
 a silly boy, who did not like to follow good advice. He 
 went with his sister directly to his grandmother, showed 
 her the guinea, and told her how they came by it. 
 
 " My dear, honest children," said she, " I am very glad 
 you told me all this. I am very glad that you did not buy 
 either the plums or the blanket with this guinea. I'm sure 
 it is not honestly ours. Those who threw it to you gave it 
 by mistake, I warrant ; and what I would have you do is, 
 to go to Dunstable, and try if you can, at either of the 
 inns, find out the person who gave it to you. It is now so 
 late in the evening that perhaps the travellers will sleep at 
 Dunstable, instead of going on the next stage ; and it is 
 likely that whosoever gave you a guinea instead of a half- 
 penny has found out his mistake by this time. All you 
 can do is to go and inquire for the gentleman who was 
 reading in the chaise." 
 
 " Oh ! " interrupted Paul, " I know a good way of finding 
 him out. I remember it was a dark green chaise with red 
 wheels : and I remember I read the innkeeper's name upon 
 the chaise, 'John Nelson! (I am much obliged to you for 
 teaching me to read, grandmother.) You told me yester- 
 day, grandmother, that the names written upon chaises are 
 the innkeepers to whom they belong. I read the name of 
 the innkeeper upon that chaise ; it was John Nelson. So 
 Anne and I will go to both the inns in Dunstable, and try 
 to find out this chaise — John Nelson's. Come, Anne, let 
 us set out before it gets quite dark." 
 
 4°5 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 Anne and her brother passed with great courage the 
 tempting stall that was covered with gingerbread and ripe 
 plums, and pursued their way steadily through the streets 
 of Dunstable ; but Paul, when he came to the shop where 
 he had seen the blanket, stopped for a moment, and said, 
 " It is a great pity, Anne, that the guinea is not ours. 
 However, we are doing what is honest, and that is a com- 
 fort. — Here, we must go through this gateway, into the 
 inn-yard ; we are come to the Dun Cow." 
 
 " Cow ? " said Anne, " I see no cow." 
 
 " Look up, and you'll see the cow over your head," said 
 Paul — "the sign — the picture. Come, never mind looking 
 at it now ; I want to find out the green chaise that has 
 John Nelson's name upon it." 
 
 Paul pushed forward, through a crowded passage, till he 
 got into the inn-yard. There was a great noise and bustle. 
 The ostlers were carrying in luggage. The postilions were 
 rubbing down the horses, or rolling the chaises into the 
 coach-house. 
 
 " What now ? What business have you here, pray ? " 
 said a waiter, who almost ran over Paul, as he was crossing 
 the yard in a great hurry to get some empty bottles from 
 the bottle-rack. " You've no business here, crowding up 
 the yard ; walk off, young gentleman, if you please." 
 
 " Pray give me leave, sir," said Paul, " to stay a few 
 minutes, to look amongst these chaises for one dark green 
 chaise with red wheels, that has Mr. John Nelson's name 
 written upon it." 
 
 " What's that he says about a dark green chaise ! " said 
 one of the postilions. 
 
 " What should such a one as he is know about chaises ? " 
 interrupted the hasty waiter ; and he was going to turn 
 Paul out of the yard ; but the ostler caught hold of his 
 arm and said, " Maybe the child lias some business here ; 
 let's know what he has to say for himself." 
 
 The waiter was at this instant luckily obliged to leave 
 them to attend the bell ; and Paul told his business to the 
 ostler, who as soon as he saw the guinea and heard the 
 story, shook Paul by the hand, and said, " Stand steady, 
 my honest lad ; I'll find the chaise for you, if it is to be 
 
 406 
 
The Basket- Woman 
 
 found here ; but John Nelson's chaises almost always drive 
 to the Black Bull." 
 
 After some difficulty, the green chaise, with John 
 Nelson's name upon it, and the postilion who drove that 
 chaise, were found ; and the postilion told Paul that he 
 was just going into the parlour to the gentleman he had 
 driven, to be paid, and that he would carry the guinea 
 with him. 
 
 " No," said Paul, " we should like to give it back our- 
 selves." 
 
 " Yes," said the ostler ; " that they have a right to do." 
 
 The postilion made no reply, but looked vexed, and went 
 on towards the house, desiring the children would wait in 
 the passage till his return. 
 
 In the passage there was standing a decent, clean, good- 
 natured looking woman, with two huge straw baskets on 
 each side of her. One of the baskets stood a little in the 
 way of the entrance. A man who was pushing his way in, 
 and carried in his hand a string of dead larks hung to a 
 pole, impatient at being stopped, kicked down the straw 
 basket, and all its contents were thrown out. Bright straw 
 hats, and boxes, and slippers, were all thrown in disorder 
 upon the dirty ground. 
 
 " Oh, they will be trampled upon ! They will be all 
 spoiled ! " exclaimed the woman to whom they belonged. 
 
 "We'll help you to pick them up, if you will let us," 
 cried Paul and Anne ; and they immediately ran to her 
 assistance. 
 
 When the things were all safe in the basket again, the 
 children expressed a great desire to know how such beauti- 
 ful things could be made of straw ; but the woman had 
 not time to answer them before the postilion came out of 
 the parlour, and with him a gentleman's servant, who came 
 to Paul, and clapping him upon the back, said, " So, my 
 little chap, I gave you a guinea for a halfpenny, I hear ; 
 and I understand you've brought it back again ; that's 
 right, give me hold of it." 
 
 " No, brother," said Anne, " this is not the gentleman 
 that was reading." 
 
 " Pooh, child, I came in Mr. Nelson's green chaise. 
 
 407 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 Here's the postilion can tell you so. I and my master 
 came in that chaise. It was my master that was reading, 
 as you say ; and it was he that threw the money out to 
 you. He is going to bed ; he is tired and can't see you 
 himself. He desired that you'll give me the guinea." 
 
 Paul was too honest himself to suspect that this man 
 was telling him a falsehood ; and he now readily produced 
 his bright guinea, and delivered it into the servant's hands. 
 
 " Here's sixpence apiece for you, children," said he, " and 
 good-night to you." 
 
 He pushed them towards the door ; but the basket- 
 woman whispered to them as they went out, " Wait in 
 the street till I come to you." 
 
 " Pray, Mrs. Landlady," cried this gentleman's servant, 
 addressing himself to the landlady, who just then came 
 out of a room where some company were at supper, " pray, 
 Mrs. Landlady, please to let me have some roasted larks 
 for my supper. You are famous for larks at Dunstable ; 
 and I make it a rule to taste the best of everything 
 wherever I go ; and, waiter, let me have a bottle of claret 
 — Do you hear ? " 
 
 " Larks and claret for his supper ! " said the basket- 
 woman to herself, as she looked at him from head to foot. 
 
 The postilion was still waiting, as if to speak to 
 him ; and she observed them afterwards whispering and 
 laughing together. "No bad hit" was a sentence which 
 the servant pronounced several times. 
 
 Now it occurred to the basket-woman that this man 
 had cheated the children out of the guinea to pay for the 
 larks and claret ; and she thought that perhaps she could 
 discover the truth. She waited quietly in the passage. 
 
 " Waiter ! — Joe ! Joe ! " cried the landlady, " why don't 
 you carry in the sweetmeat-puffs and the tarts here to 
 the company in the best parlour?" 
 
 " Coming, ma'am," answered the waiter ; and with a 
 large dish of tarts and puffs, the waiter came from the 
 bar ; the landlady threw open the door of the best parlour, 
 to let him in ; and the basket-woman had now a full view 
 of a large cheerful company, and amongst them several 
 children, sitting round a supper-table. 
 
 40S 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 " Aye," whispered the landlady, as the door closed after 
 the waiter and the tarts, •' there are customers enough, 
 I warrant, for you in that room, if you had but the luck 
 to be called in. Pray, what would you have the conscience, 
 I wonder now, to charge me for these here half-dozen little 
 mats to put under my dishes ? " 
 
 '-' A trifle, ma'am," said the basket-woman. She let the 
 landlady have the mats cheap ; and the landlady then 
 declared she would step in and see if the company in the 
 best parlour had done supper — "When they come to 
 their wine," added she, " I'll speak a good word for you, 
 and get you called in afore the children are sent to 
 bed." 
 
 The landlady, after the usual speech of, " / hope the 
 supper and everything is to your liking, ladies and gentle- 
 men" began with, " If any of the young gentlemen or ladies 
 would have a curiosity to see any of our famous Dunstable 
 straw-work, there's a decent body without would, I dare 
 say, be proud to show them her pincushion-boxes, and her 
 baskets and slippers, and her other curiosities." 
 
 The eyes of the children all turned towards their 
 mother ; their mother smiled, and immediately their father 
 called in the basket-woman, and desired her to produce 
 her curiosities. 
 
 The children gathered round her large pannier as it 
 opened ; but they did not touch any of her things. 
 
 " Oh, papa ! " cried a little rosy girl, " here is a pair of 
 straw slippers that would just fit you, I think ; but would 
 not straw shoes wear out very soon ? and would not they 
 let in the wet ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear," said her father, " but these slippers 
 are meant " 
 
 " For powdering-slippers, miss," interrupted the basket- 
 woman. 
 
 " To wear when people are powdering theii hair,' con- 
 tinued the gentleman, ''that they may not spoil their 
 other shoes." 
 
 " And will you buy them, papa ? " 
 
 " No, I cannot indulge myself," said her father, " In buy- 
 ing them now. I must make amends," said he, laughing, 
 
 409 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 " for my carelessness ; and as I threw away a guinea 
 to-day, I must endeavour to save sixpence at least." 
 
 " Ah, the guinea that you threw by mistake into the 
 little girl's hat as we were coming up Chalk Hill. Mamma, 
 I wonder that the little girl did not take notice of its being 
 a guinea, and that she did not run after the chaise to give 
 it back again. I should think, if she had been an honest 
 girl, she would have returned it." 
 
 " Miss ! — ma'am ! — sir ! " said the basket-woman, " if it 
 would not be impertinent, may I speak a word ? A little 
 boy and girl have just been here inquiring for a gentleman 
 who gave them a guinea instead of a halfpenny by 
 mistake ; and not five minutes ago I saw the boy give the 
 guinea to a gentleman's servant, who is there without, and 
 who said his master desired it should be returned to 
 him." 
 
 " There must be some mistake, or some trick in this," 
 said the gentleman. " Are the children gone ? I must 
 see them — send after them." 
 
 " I'll go for them myself," said the good-natured basket- 
 woman ; " I bid them wait in the street yonder ; for my 
 mind misgave me that the man who spoke so short to 
 them was a cheat — with his larks and his claret." 
 
 Paul and Anne were speedily summoned, and brought 
 back by their friend the basket-woman ; and Anne, the 
 moment she saw the gentleman, knew that he was the 
 very person who smiled upon her, who admired her 
 brother's scotcher, and who threw a handful of halfpence 
 into the hat ; but she could not be certain, she said, that 
 she received the guinea from him ; she only thought it was 
 most likely that she did. 
 
 " But I can be certain whether the guinea you returned 
 be mine or no," said the gentleman. " I marked the 
 guinea ; it was a light one ; the only light guinea I had, 
 which I put into my waistcoat-pocket this morning." 
 
 He rang the bell, and desired the waiter to let the 
 gentleman who was in the room opposite to him know that 
 he wished to see him. 
 
 " The gentleman in the white parlour ; sir, do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 410 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 " I mean the master of the servant who received a guinea 
 from this child." 
 
 " He is a Mr. Pembroke, sir," said the waiter. 
 
 Mr. Pembroke came ; and as soon as he heard what had 
 happened, he desired the waiter to show him to the room 
 where his servant was at supper. 
 
 The dishonest servant, who was supping upon larks and 
 claret, knew nothing of what was going on ; but his knife 
 and fork dropped from his hand, and he overturned a 
 bumper of claret, as he started up from the table, in great 
 surprise and terror, when his master came in with a face 
 of indignation, and demanded " The guinea — the guinea, 
 sir ! that you got from this child — that guinea which you 
 said I ordered you to ask for from this child." 
 
 The servant, confounded and half intoxicated, could 
 only stammer out that he had more guineas than one 
 about him, and that he really did not know which it was. 
 He pulled his money out, and spread it upon the table 
 with trembling hands. The marked guinea appeared. 
 His master instantly turned him out of his service with 
 strong expressions of contempt. 
 
 " And now, my little honest girl," said the gentleman 
 who had admired her brother's scotcher, turning to Anne, 
 " and now tell me who you are, and what you and your 
 brother want or wish for most in the world." 
 
 In the same moment Anne and Paul exclaimed, " The 
 thing we wish for, the most in the world, is a blanket for 
 our grandmother." 
 
 " She is not our grandmother in reality, I believe, sir," 
 said Paul ; " but she is just as good to us, and taught 
 me to read, and taught Anne to knit, and taught us both 
 that we should be honest — so she has — and I wish she had 
 a new blanket before next winter, to keep her from the 
 cold and the rheumatism. She had the rheumatism sadly 
 last winter, sir ; and there is a blanket in this street that 
 would be just the thing for her." 
 
 " She shall have it, then ; and," continued the gentle- 
 man, " I will do something more for you — Do you like to 
 be employed or to be idle best ? " 
 
 " We like to have something to do always, if we could, 
 
 411 
 
The Basket-Woman 
 
 sir," said Paul ; " but we are forced to be idle sometimes, 
 because grandmother has not always things for us to do, 
 that we can do well." 
 
 " Should you like to learn how to make such baskets 
 as these ? " said the gentleman, pointing to one of the 
 Dunstable straw-baskets. 
 
 " Oh, very much ! " said Paul. 
 
 " Very much ! " said Anne. 
 
 " Then I should like to teach you how to make them," 
 said the basket-woman ; " for I'm sure of one thing, that 
 you'd behave honestly to me." 
 
 The gentleman put a guinea into the good-natured 
 basket-woman's hand, and told her that he knew she 
 could not afford to teach them her trade for nothing. " I 
 shall come through Dunstable again in a few months," 
 added he ; " and I hope to see that you and your scholars 
 are going on well. If I find that they are, I will do 
 something more for you." 
 
 " But," said Anne, " we must tell all this to grand- 
 mother, and ask her about it ; and I'm afraid — though 
 I'm very happy — that it is getting very late, and that we 
 should not stay here any longer." 
 
 " It is a fine moonlight night," said the basket-woman ; 
 " and it is not far. I'll walk with you, and see you safe 
 home myself." 
 
 The gentleman detained them a few minutes longer, 
 till a messenger whom he had dispatched to purchase 
 the much-wished-for blanket returned. 
 
 " Your grandmother will sleep well under this good 
 blanket, I hope," said the gentleman, as he gave it into 
 Paul's opened arms. "It has been obtained for her by 
 the honesty of her adopted children." 
 
 THE END 
 
 Richard Clay £?* Sous, Limited, London &> Bungay.