\
 
 THE 
 
 WANDEREE. 
 
 BT 
 
 JAMES A. MAITLAND. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE WATCHMAN," "THE OLD DOCTOR," "THE 
 LAWYER'S STORY," ETC., ETC. 
 
 "Trudging along, unknowing what he sought, 
 And whistling as he went, for want of thought." 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, NO. 102 CHESTNUT STREET.
 
 {Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year eighteen hundred and Fifty six 
 by E. D. LONG, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for 
 the Southern District of New York.]
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 THE title of the following story, in a great measure explains 
 itself : therefore but few words will be necessary by way of 
 preface. " The fewer the better," I fancy I hear the reader 
 exclaim, for I believe there is truth in the assertion, that few 
 persons read a preface, and the few who do read it think it a 
 bore; but it has, like many other disagreeable things, become 
 a necessary evil. 
 
 I shall therefore merely observe, that in tracing the career, 
 not only of the hero of my story, but that of every character 
 that figures therein. I have fixed my thoughts on a living model, 
 and have followed the original as closely as it has been possible 
 for me to follow it, and at the same time weave from a mass 
 of facts a continuous story, and develop a pre-arranged plot. 
 
 My story is no less fact, because it has assumed the form 
 of fiction. Readers now-a-days look into fiction for fact. Now- 
 a-days, do I say ! Ought I not rather to say. that fiction has 
 always been employed to exemplify fact ! The story-teller of 
 ancient times always sought and the present story-tellers of
 
 iv PREFACE. 
 
 Eastern climes still seek to point a moral, while relating their 
 fantastic and gorgeous fictions ; and the novelist of the present 
 day is but the story-teller of by-gone years, habited in a coat 
 of modern cut, to suit the altered taste, and the progress of 
 the times. 
 
 Although I have not written an autobiography, I have pic- 
 tured in the career of my hero the early history of his life; 
 and in depicting every character in the book, I have portrayed 
 the peculiar characteristics of each as faithfully as it has been 
 in my power so to do. 
 
 My story has a moral, too : but what it is I shall leave the 
 reader to discover. I shall not resort to the practice of the 
 ancient painters, who wrote under their pictures, " This is a 
 horse ; " or, " This is a cow ; " as the case might be, in order 
 to prevent misconception. If the reader be unable to discern 
 my moral, I confess that I shall have failed in my purpose; 
 but I trust that such will not be the case, or at least I hope, 
 should things turn out so unfortunately, he will find a moral 
 in my story of his own making, which if it be a good one, 
 will answer the purpose equally as well, and perhaps be more 
 to his satisfaction. 
 
 At all events, I have written with an honest purpose, and 
 I trust have chosen an acceptable theme. It has been said, 
 that the history of any person's life, would, if truthfully written, 
 be of interest to the reader ; but in my opinion, the mere every- 
 day adventure of many persons' lives, would be very humdrum
 
 PREFACE. V 
 
 sort of reading. Still I believe, if the motive-springs could 
 be disclosed, and the secret feelings be brought to light, which 
 have urged to action at various important epochs of existence, 
 the experience of the humblest and simplest would prove of the 
 deepest and most engrossing interest. I am aware, that in 
 striving to effect this, I have imposed upon myself a difficult 
 task. I cannot hope that I have perfectly succeeded ; yet, I 
 trust, since I have adhered as closely as possible to truth, that 
 I have not altogether failed in my endeavor, and I please my- 
 self with the fancy, that my story will at least strike some 
 tuneful chord in the hearts of my readers, many of whom I 
 hope will be old acquaintances, though we may never have 
 met each other face to face. And if through this story, I 
 should again enjoy with these an hour's mental communion, 
 even if I do not succeed in my more ambitious aim, I shall 
 feel that I have not written altogether in vain. 
 
 THE AUTHOB.
 
 '
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. In which the hero of the story is introduced to the reader, not 
 in the most dignified manner, but after the fashion in which most heroes 
 make their earliest appearance on this world's stage. 
 
 CHAP. II. Strangers in a strange land, without a European reputation. 
 
 CHAP. III. In which troubles thicken, and clouds grow darker, until Charles 
 Dalton fortunately becomes acquainted with a man of large mind and 
 universal philanthropy. 
 
 CHAP. IV. In which the principles which govern a true philanthropist are 
 explained, if the reader chooses to accept the explanation. 
 
 CHAP. V. In which Mr. Dalton's unhappy career is brought to a close. 
 
 CHAP. VI. Which treats of family matters, and introduces the reader to 
 some new acquaintances. 
 
 CHAP. VII. Treats of various matters in connection with Mr. Ashley's posi 
 tion, and relates how it was arranged that Mrs. Dalton should return to 
 England. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. Gerald Dalton falls in with a fellow-countryman in the stage, 
 on his journey to Kent, and what comes of the meeting. Mrs. Dalton ia 
 welcomed home by her sister. 
 
 CHAP. IX. Showing who prove to be friends in time of trouble, and attest- 
 ing to the truth of the old adage, " A friend in need is a friend indeed." 
 
 CHAP. X. Contains some account of Herrington and its inhabitants, and tells 
 how Gerald Dalton made up his mind to leave home and seek his fortune. 
 
 CHAP' XI. In which it is shown that misfortune still presses upon Mr. 
 Ashley : but he meets with a friend in the hour of need, and goes to Lou- 
 don. Showing further how Gerald Dalton accompanied him thither. 
 
 CHAP. XII. The journey to London, and what befel Mr. Ashley and Gerald 
 in the great metropolis. 
 
 CHAP. XIII. "Which relates how Mr. Ashley went to Ceylon, and treats of 
 a mystery hereafter to be explained. 
 
 CHAP. XIV. Descriptive of Gerald's feelings when he returned to London. 
 Also of what Mr. Ashley wrote from Ceylon. And of a bright ray which 
 shed a light over Gerald's gloomy prospects. 
 
 CHAP. XV. Jemmy Milton gives Gerald some good advice in a letter. And 
 Gerald takes possession of an invoice of rare and curious merchandise, to 
 do the best he can therewith. 
 
 CHAP. XVI. In which it is told how Gerald went to India, and what occur- 
 red during the voyage and after he arrived at Calcutta. Also details of 
 many other interesting incidents. 
 
 CHAP. XVII. Which tells of the result of the Auction Sale, and what hap- 
 pened afterwards, and also shows that justice is awake to her interests in 
 India as well as in Europe and America.
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. XVIII. A very short chapter, which shows how pride sometimes 
 
 overcomes right and reason, ana severs its possessor from all that he holds 
 
 most dear. 
 CHAP. XIX. Which relates to Alice Thornton, and lifts the veil, without 
 
 however explaining the cause of her mysterious disappearance from Her- 
 
 rington. 
 
 CHAP. XX. In which the scene is changed, and some strange things occur 
 after a strange fashion. 
 
 CHAP. XXI. Misrepresentations and 'their results. The evil effects of false 
 pride again exemplified. 
 
 CHAP. XXII. In which Mr. Craddock makes a long and strange explanation, 
 which Alice listens to patiently, with what result will be seen hereafter. 
 
 CHAP. XXIII. In which the reader obtains some inkling of the motives 
 which actuated Mr. Craddock, and in which Alice and her cousin come to 
 a mutual understanding. Showing also what was the result. 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. In which the hero of the story is found to have made a more 
 successful voyage. He visits old friends, and receives some good advice, 
 which partially meets the usual fate of good advice ; and accepts the offer 
 of a novel situation. 
 
 CIIAP. XXV. Showing how the noble Dane was right when he said, " There 
 are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than e'er were dreamed of in 
 our philosophy." 
 
 CIIAP. XXVI. Which announces the death of Deacon Milton, and tells how 
 Jemmy Milton came into possession of a "fortun 7 ." How he was sought 
 after in marriage by antiquated spinsters and disconsolate widdys. How 
 all was in vain, and how Jemmy made his will, and smoked his pipe in 
 peace in the boat-house. 
 
 CHAP. XXVII. Explaining how Minette manuges to procure an interview 
 with Alice, at the Convent at Orleans, and showing me result of the inter- 
 view. 
 
 CHAP. XXVIII. Melancholy news, and its results. 
 
 CHAP. XXIX. Gerald arrives at Liverpool and proceeds to Herrington. 
 His interview with the vicar. More news of Alice. Gerald's plans. A 
 voyage to Cuba. 
 
 CHAP. XXX. The interview with the executor, showing how he fell into 
 the snare laid for him, and how Mr. Craddock consented to the release of 
 his niece from the convent. He returns to England. 
 
 CHAP. XXXI. Tn which the reader is conducted over a good deal of ground, 
 and in which Love, Courtship and Matrimony are all introduced. Some 
 readers may think better late than never. 
 
 CHAP. XXXII. Which treats of various matters, showing how Gerald and 
 Alice visited Cuba, and arranged matters to their own satisfaction, and 
 afterwards went to New York, where Gerald met with some old acquaint- 
 ances by name. How lie visited Ohio, and returned to New York, leaving 
 matters in abeyance which the next und concluding chaptcrwill set to rights. 
 
 CHAP. XXXIII. Conclusion, which treats of various matters, each neces- 
 sary to the winding up of the story, and which, the author hopes, winda 
 up everything to the satisfaction or the reader.
 
 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 In which the hero of the story is introduced to the reader, not in the most 
 dignified manner, but after the fashion in which most heroes make their 
 earliest appearance on this world's stage. 
 
 IT was the 22d day of February, 18 ; the guns were firing 
 a salute from the Battery, which was shortly afterwards return- 
 ed from the broadside of a man-of-war which lay at anchor in 
 the stream, with the stars and stripes bravely flaunting in the 
 wind from her mizzengaff end, while a pop-gun sort of cross- 
 fire was kept up from the guns of several other vessels in the 
 harbor. The streets were lively with the gay uniforms of the 
 militia, the volunteer companies, and the members of the 
 various civic societies, and the air was filled with music from 
 the bands attached to each company that formed the brilliant 
 procession. Out of doors all was joyousness and gaiety in 
 the city, and within doors, too, many kept holiday in honor of 
 the great day of national rejoicing : but to the poverty-stricken, 
 the sick and suffering, the sounds of revelry without, afforded 
 no delight, and those who wept o'er sorrows all their own, 
 heeded little the anniversary of Washington's birthday. 
 
 Stretched on a bed, in a small and scantily furnished, but 
 sufficiently commodious chamber on the second story of a 
 tenement dwelling house, situated on one of the streets leading 
 out of Broadway in the direction of the Hudson River, lay a 
 young woman in a condition of pain and suffering, apparently
 
 10 THE WANDERER. 
 
 obtaining little relief from the rather over assiduous attentions 
 of a nurse who had evidently been endeavoring to brace her 
 nerves for some great coming occasion, by imbibing certain 
 spirituous tonics, and who had, like many other over zealous 
 folks, rather over-done the thing. 
 
 To her repeated inquiries of the sufferer, whether she lay 
 comfortably in bed, the young woman made no other reply 
 than to beg to be left to rest quietly, and a look of pain and 
 supplication was all that the nurse received in return for her 
 too frequent re -arrangement of the pillows and bed clothes ; 
 but finding expostulations and silent and imploring appeals 
 equally fruitless, the young woman at length resigned herself 
 with all the patience she could to the tormenting assiduity of 
 her attendant. Only now and then when the door of the cham- 
 ber was softly opened and the pale, anxious face of a gentle- 
 man appeared, did she make sign or motion ; but on these 
 occasions she turned her eyes towards the door and with a 
 faint, wan smile, sought to give the consolation he seemed to 
 need. An hour passed away, and the nurse wearied and vexed 
 at the repeated appearance of the gentleman at the door, at 
 length asserted her prerogative, and telling him, in no very 
 gentle tone of voice, that the lady was doing well and was 
 quite comfortable, and that if the poor dear became worse, she 
 would let him know, without giving him the trouble to come to 
 the door and make such a disturbance, (although, to tell the truth, 
 the disturbance consisted solely in his appearance in, for the 
 time being, the nurse's particular domain) the irate old lady 
 closed the door in his face, and then with an air of triumph 
 turned the key in the lock, muttering to herself the while 
 various bitter anathemas against the impertinent curiosity of 
 the male sex in general, husbands as a class, and young hus 
 bands in particular, on such occasions as these. 
 
 The gentleman quietly submitted, as gentlemen on such oc- 
 casions are wont to do, however imperious they may be at 
 other times, and in fact, the sentence of banishment was not a
 
 THE HERO'S BIRTH. 11 
 
 very severe one, since he had but to remain in an adjoining 
 apartment out of which the door leading to the bedroom direct- 
 ly opened, and from which retirement he could distinctly hear, 
 if he strove to do so, all that passed in the next room, and if 
 called for could be on the spot in a moment. 
 
 He sat himself down before a writing desk in the room, on 
 which lay a number of narrow slips of paper partly written 
 over, and taking a pen in his hand wrote rapidly for some 
 moments. Soon, however, the flow of his ideas seemed to 
 have met with some obstruction. He ceased writing and sat 
 apparently absorbed in thought ; but in reality listening 
 anxiously to discover the occasion of the slightest motion made 
 in the adjoining room. He essayed to write again, but vainly, 
 and throwing aside his pen in despair, he took from the floor 
 one of a file of newspapers, and glanced hastily up and down 
 the columns. With a pair of scissors he clipped out one or 
 two paragraphs which attracted his attention, and laid them 
 carefully aside ; but even in this occupation on this particular 
 day he appeared to fail. Newspaper after newspaper was taken 
 up and glanced over, and yet the scissoring progressed very 
 slowly until at last he gave it up in despair. He cast the last 
 newspaper aside, pushing away the crumpled heap which lay at 
 his feet, threw down the useless scissors beside the useless pen, 
 and leaning his head on his hand, sat in silence and seeming 
 abstraction, from which state, however, he was shortly aroused 
 by the sound of a quick footstep on the stairs. He started up 
 and at the same moment his room door was opened, and a 
 gentleman made his appearance. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Dalton ?" said the new comer, and, 
 without waiting for a reply, he added, " how is Mrs. Dalton 
 getting on 7" at the same time walking to the door which led 
 into the bedroom, and tapping gently. 
 
 His tapping was unheeded, and he repeated it somewhat 
 louder. 
 
 " It aint o'no use," now responded a querulous voice through
 
 12 THE WANDERER 
 
 the keyhole, " you can't come in, not if you knock the skin off 
 your knuckles, and you shan't that's flat. Nobody shan't 
 come in until the doctor comes and it's time he was here if 
 he know'd how to 'tend to his bis'ness." 
 
 " Silence, you stupid woman !" replied the doctor. " It is 
 I Doctor Sinclair. Open the door directly." 
 
 The key was turned, and amidst the muttered apologies of 
 the grim duenna, the doctor entered. 
 
 Mr. Dalton was about to follow, but with a malicious grin 
 the old dame closed the door in his face, and the poor gentle- 
 man returned crestfallen to his solitary writing desk. 
 
 In a few minutes Doctor Sinclair reappeared from the bed- 
 room, and anticipating the anxious inquiry Mr. Dalton was 
 about to make, he said 
 
 " I am glad to inform you, Mr. Dalton, that your wife ap- 
 pears to be progressing most favorably. I should like to wait 
 here a short time, if you will allow me, and, excuse me, but 
 perhaps you had better retire into another apartment for the 
 present. You know in case of necessity not that I apprehend 
 there is the slightest reason to anticipate any difficulty you 
 can be sent for immediately." 
 
 Poor Mr. Dalton ! first turned out of his own room by a 
 crusty nurse, and then politely requested to resign his private 
 sitting room to the doctor. Independently of his natural 
 anxiety, he was placed in a quandary. He had, in fact, no other 
 apartment of his own to retire to, unless he took refuge in the 
 kitchen, or in an attic room occupied as a sleeping apartment 
 by his only servant maid. 
 
 A sudden thought struck him. He had been greatly com- 
 forted by the doctor's cheerful tone of voice when speaking of 
 his wife, and he said : 
 
 " Since you think there is no danger to be apprehended no 
 immediate " 
 
 " None at all, my dear sir," interrupted the doctor " I do 
 not perceive that there is the least cause for anxiety ; though,"
 
 THE HERO'S BIRTH. 13 
 
 he added, smiling archly as he spoke, " there is always anxiety 
 on the part of the husband in such cases." 
 
 " Well, then," continued Mr. Dalton, " I will run round to 
 the Trumpeter of Freedom office, and leave some copy. The 
 printers, I fear, will be waiting. I should have been there two 
 hours ago to read proof. It is but a few blocks distant from 
 the next street, you know ; I shall be back again in an hour, 
 and if before that time anything should occur if I should be 
 wanted, why of course " 
 
 " Of course you shall be sent for immediately," again inter- 
 rupted the doctor. " But give yourself no alarm. I have no 
 doubt every thing will progress favorably, and I trust that 
 happy news will await you on your return." 
 
 Mr. Dalton grasped the doctor's hand and shook it with a 
 vehemence that astonished tnat worthy gentleman. (It appear- 
 ed as if he anticipated the happy news the doctor had alluded 
 to and was tendering his gratitude beforehand ;) and then 
 seizing a roll of manuscript he left the room, turning about, 
 however, before he closed the door, and repeating : 
 
 " Of course, in case " 
 
 " In case your presence is required you shall be sent for im 
 mediately," interrupted the doctor, stepping to the door, and 
 closing it himself and Mr. Dalton, in a state of high nervous 
 excitement descended to the street and hastened to the news- 
 paper office. 
 
 Mr. Dalton had been absent an hour, during which period the 
 doctor had divided his attention between the sitting room and the 
 bed chamber. It was considerably past the hour of noon, and the 
 last salvo of artillery had been fired from the Battery; the echoes 
 of the pacific cannonade still resounded in the air, and Mr. 
 Dalton, who had, sorely against his will, been detained longer 
 than he had been expected, was still engaged in proof-reading 
 at the newspaper office, and mentally and most unpatriotically 
 anathematizing the noise and confusion in the street when a feeble 
 cry might have been heard in the sitting room, proceeding from
 
 14 THE WANDERER. 
 
 the bedroom from which he had been so unceremoniously ejected, 
 if any one had been in the sitting room to hear it. The lady 
 of the house had been sent for a quarter of an hour before, and 
 had made her appearance, accompanied by a lady lodger who 
 chanced to be in conversation with her in the parlor when the 
 messenger arrived ; both these ladies, with the nurse and the 
 doctor, were now in the bedroom, and Mr. Dalton was the 
 father of a fine healthy male child. 
 
 The grateful intelligence was made known to him by the 
 servant girl, who had been sent to his office by Dr. Sinclair im- 
 mediately after the occurrence of the auspicious event, and he 
 hastened home as soon as he heard it. 
 
 Loud and many were the congratulations poured into the 
 delighted father's ears by the ladies in attendance, and again he 
 shook hands with the doctor, murmuring the while various in- 
 coherent expressions of gratitude, and commendations of the 
 doctor's skill. After a short time he was allowed to visit the 
 sick chamber, and to imprint upon the pale cheek of his young 
 wife the joint husband and father's first kiss, and to take an ad- 
 miring look at the pledge of their mutual love ; but the doctor 
 soon begged him to retire, as the lady needed rest and he 
 unwillingly returned to the newspaper office, there to waste the 
 hours till midnight, as was his daily obligation ; his weary 
 labors only, on this special occasion, relieved by two or three 
 brief visits to his home, to satisfy himself that all was going 
 on well. 
 
 Having thus introduced my hero to my readers in the person 
 of the newly born babe, I shall leave him for the present, 
 while I, according to precedent established in such cases, 
 give some account of his parentage and trace back his ancestry 
 as far as is necessary to the proper development of my story. 
 The infantile period of the most interesting hero's life, unless 
 he chance to be born King of Rome, or Algiers, or heir to 
 some great estate, can possess nothing of interest worth record 
 ing beyond the pale of the family circle that circle, in most
 
 THE HERO'S BIETH. 15 
 
 instances, narrowed to the fond father and mother alone 
 therefore, I shall allow some years to pass over the hero's head 
 before I again introduce him in propria personce to my readers. 
 
 I may state, however, that the fact of his being born on the 
 anniversary of the birthday of the immortal Washington, af- 
 forded much food for gossip among the sisterhood of the board 
 ing house in which he drew his first breath. The landlady o. 
 the house thought it decidedly a good omen, and prophesied all 
 manner of good luck in consequence ; but she was in the mi- 
 nority, the other two lady boarders who, with the family of 
 Mr. Dalton, comprised the whole number of lodgers in Mrs. 
 Hammond's select boarding house, thought differently. They 
 professed to believe that ill-fortune always befals the unhappy 
 infant who chances to be born on the 22d of February, on the 
 ground that it is a sort of presumption on the part of any 
 child to come into the world on a day that has been rendered 
 sacred by the birth of the Father of his Country ; and being 
 both elderly ladies, who had had a great deal of experience in 
 the world, and who had not, in their own opinion, been lacking 
 in observation, they brought several cases in point to bear 
 against the landlady, who, however, stoutly persisted in her own 
 opinion. 
 
 This gossip, of course, was carried on in the parlor, over a 
 glass of mulled wine that was brewed in honor of the occasion 
 by the landlady, and out of the hearing of the young mother, 
 who, while these speculations respecting the future prospects 
 of her first born were being made, was soundly sleeping to the 
 droning music of the nurse, who, wearied with anxious watching 
 and her drowsiness increased by her potations, was snoring 
 in a rocking chair by the bedside. 
 
 Whether the prognostications of the hopeful landlady, or 
 those of her lady boarders proved correct, will be learnt by 
 the reader who traces the career of my hero through the fol- 
 .owing pages. 
 
 r
 
 16 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Strangers in a Strange Land, without a European Reputation. 
 
 ABOUT thirty or thirty-five years ago, there arrived one day 
 an emigrant ship at the port of New York. At the Dresent 
 period the arrival of an emigrant ship is a matter of every-day 
 occurrence, and even at the distant period of which I write, 
 it was not an event of such rarity as to call forth any 
 extraordinary curiosity, for the tide of emigration from the 
 Old World had many years before set Westward, and although 
 it had been temporarily checked by the war of 1812-14, the 
 return of peace had given to it an unwonted activity. Conse- 
 quently, though there might have been a few more curious 
 lookers-on than are found in the event of a similar arrival 
 now a days, the matter was regarded with no very great interest 
 by the citizens generally. 
 
 There was the customary hurry and bustle on the pier ; the 
 customary quarrelsome vociferation among carters and porters 
 and the customary endeavors to practice knavish tricks upon 
 the unwary passengers by emigrant runners, boarding house, 
 keepers, et id genus omne ; and by-and-by the strangers were 
 scattered in every direction hither and thither throughout the 
 city, seeking rest and refreshment after their long sea voyage ; 
 some were dreaming hopeful dreams which were never destined 
 to be realized ; some were again mingling in the flights of their 
 sleeping fancy with the loved ones they had left behind them, 
 and a happy few were hatching plans to secure the favors of
 
 A STRANGER'S DIFFICULTIES. 17 
 
 'ortune in their newly adopted country, which were destined to 
 succeed to a degree beyond even their own sanguine expectations. 
 
 The next morning the ship lay alongside the pier, deserted 
 oy all her late living freight except the crew. 
 
 Among the passengers that had arrived in the city of New 
 Yor/c on board this emigrant ship, were a young Englishman 
 named Charles Dalton and his still more youthful wife, whom 
 he nad wedded only six months before he Bailed from 
 England. 
 
 This young couple had engaged a steerage passage, from 
 motives of necessary economy ; but it was evident from their 
 appearance that they belonged to a more cultivated class of 
 society than usually composes the steerage passengers of an 
 emigrant vessel. 
 
 On landing in New York they took lodgings in a comfortable 
 but economical hotel, and after chatting awhile before a cheer- 
 ful fire about the friends they had left at home, and over their 
 future prospects in the United States, they retired to rest. 
 
 Mr. Dalton left England with a very scanty supply of ready 
 money and a very large stock of hope. In fact, he felt assured 
 of success, although he had scarcely given a serious thought in 
 regard to the method by which success was to be achieved ; 
 but he firmly believed that before his slender funds were ex- 
 hausted, he would be able, in the young and energetic land of 
 his adoption, to discover some stepping stone by the aid of 
 which he might secure a favorable position on the ladder of 
 fortune. 
 
 If he had thought at all upon the subject of his future exertions 
 it is probable that he mainly depended upon his expectations of 
 obtaining literary employment. He had received a liberal edu- 
 cation, and had been thought by his friends to possess more than 
 mediocre talent ; but he had been taught no trade nor profes- 
 sion, and his hopes of literary advancement in America were 
 simply founded on the strength of several literary compositions ot 
 his writing having found their way into the newspapers of his 
 own country. 2
 
 18 THE WANDERER 
 
 Like many others, he had quitted the Old World impressed 
 with the belief that the services of a man of education would 
 be eagerly sought after and liberally remunerated in the New 
 World, and that so far from finding himself under the necessity 
 of seeking employment, he would be requested to choose from 
 a multiplicity of offers the situation that best pleased his fancy, 
 and like many others, he was doomed to find himself most 
 wofully mistaken in his notions. 
 
 He spent the first few weeks after his arrival at New York 
 in looking about him ; in endeavoring to make himself familiar 
 with the manners and customs of the people, and in writing 
 letters to his friends in England ; but he was somewhat disap 
 pointed when, at the expiration of this period, he found that he 
 had had no offer of employment. 
 
 But a little reflection reassured him ; for how was it possi- 
 ble, he thought, that any body could make his acquaintance or 
 become cognizant of his capabilities unless he first introduced 
 himself to them. 
 
 By this time the small supply of money he had brought 
 with him from England had become alarmingly reduced, and 
 he felt that it was really time that he was doing something to 
 replenish his purse so, after due consultation with his wife, he 
 resolved to make application at some of the newspaper offices, 
 and by this means procure employment. 
 
 It was Saturday afternoon when he made this determination, 
 and on the following Monday morning he sallied forth in high 
 spirits to make the first application for employment that he had 
 ever found it necessary to make. As he left his room at the 
 hotel, he kissed his young wife, and playfully remarked that in 
 future she would have to make much of him when at home, for 
 he intended to work hard when he once commenced. 
 
 Alas ! poor Charles Dalton ; he soon discovered, as many 
 others have discovered before and since, that the loftier a man's 
 aspirations the lesser his prospects of success. Before he return- 
 ed to his hotel that night, his high blown hopes had proved to
 
 A STRANGER'S DIFFICULTIES. ]9 
 
 be mere empty bubbles, which had collapsed and wasted into 
 thin air with the shock of the first collision they met with. 
 
 Newspaper office after newspaper office was visited in vain. 
 Every where, with few exceptions, he was courteously received 
 and his proffers of service patiently listened to, and then quiet- 
 ly and courteously declined. 
 
 The newspapers of New York of that period did not employ 
 the host of editors and the large corps of reporters attached to 
 every influential journal now, and he discovered to his surprise 
 and regret that every journal was fully supplied with all the 
 literary assistance it needed. 
 
 Some few of the editors, however, to whom he applied ques- 
 tioned him as to his ability, and his acquaintance with the 
 routine of newspaper labor. 
 
 " Ah ! you are recently from London," said one gentleman, 
 after having listened to his story. " What journals have you 
 been engaged upon there, and in what special department were 
 you employed ]" 
 
 " I have never had any regular engagement with any," was 
 the young man's reply. 
 
 " Ah ! I see. You have been engaged as an occasional re- 
 porter. Do you write short hand ?" 
 
 Charles Dalton honestly confessed that he knew nothing of 
 stenography, and in fact had never reported a speech or a trial 
 in his life. 
 
 " You have been simply a literary man ; perhaps a review- 
 er ? We scarcely require the services of such a gentleman here 
 just now." 
 
 The young man was fain to confess that he had been in no 
 way connected with any journal either as editor, reporter or 
 occasional correspondent. " I have, to amuse myself, some- 
 times written articles for the newspapers and magazines," he 
 said, " but I sent them to the editors anonymously, and never 
 received or sought for remuneration. Circumstances, unfore- 
 seen, have compelled me to look for support to my own exer-
 
 20 THE WANDERER. 
 
 tions, and I resolved to visit the United States in the hope and 
 belief that a wider field was open here to the educated and in- 
 dustrious than in England." 
 
 The gentleman with whom he had been conversing was a 
 kind-hearted man, and he regarded the youth, for Charles Dal- 
 ton was only twenty-two years of age, with sympathy, as he 
 replied : 
 
 " I fear, young gentleman, that you will find your hopes dis- 
 appointed. As you truly observe, there is a wide field open 
 here to the energies of the educated and industrious ; but un- 
 less you have a practical acquaintance with some useful trade 
 or profession, education will avail you but little. If you were 
 a printer, now we are in no particular need of hands but I 
 would give you a job until you could find some employment 
 better suited to your views. This is a large city and a vast 
 amount of business is daily transacted within its limits, yet 
 there are always to be found in the city more laborers in every 
 department of industry than there is work for them to do. 
 The city is especially overstocked with persons like yourself, 
 accustomed to and fitted only for educated labor. The country 
 is the place where strangers should seek for employment ; there 
 they will find it in abundance ; but you are scarcely adapted 
 for a country life, yet unless you possess remarkable talent and 
 have some extraordinary opportunity afforded you to bring it 
 into notice, you can scarcely hope for literary success, even after 
 years of struggling, and patient endurance of poverty and its 
 attendant evils. 
 
 " I should advise you I speak plainly, because I wish to 
 serve you to lay aside your literary tastes, and go into the 
 fields. As a farmer your education will still be of service, and 
 common industry will always supply you with the necessaries 
 of life ; with the aid of perseverance you cannot fail, in the 
 course of time, to become independent. 
 
 " I tell you honestly, young man, were I as young as you, and 
 had my time to go over again, I would shun the city as I would
 
 A STEAKGER'S DIFFICULTIES. 21 
 
 a pest house and betake myself to the fields, and become that 
 most independent class of all men an American farmer. 
 
 "If, however, you feel unable to cast aside the habits of your 
 past life, you may perhaps succeed with the magazine publish- 
 ers or the booksellers ; but, take notice, I give you little en- 
 couragement. You can, however, if you think proper, write a 
 short article that will afford some proof of your capabilities, 
 and I will then direct you to a friend of mine, a magazine pub- 
 lisher ; you can talk the matter over with him, and perhaps 
 you may come to some terms ; but again I warn you the 
 chance in your favor is but small." 
 
 Charles Dalton thanked the friendly editor, and left the office. 
 He returned to the hotel depressed in spirits and weary with 
 his travel through the streets, for he had during the day called 
 at every newspaper office in the city, and his imperfect ac- 
 quaintance with the localities had led him to traverse many a 
 needless distance and often to retrace his steps. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton met her husband at the door of the sitting 
 room they occupied in the hotel. She had heard and recognized 
 his footsteps in the passage, and full of hope and confidence in 
 her husband's talents, she had anticipated his joyful return. 
 
 The first glance that she cast at his face, however, satisfied 
 her that he had met with disappointment. She threw her arms 
 round his neck and kissed him. He affectionately returned the 
 caress, and threw himself on the sofa without speaking. His 
 wife seated herself by his side. 
 
 " You have been unsuccessful, dear Charles," she said. " I 
 see disappointment in your face. Is it not so ?" 
 
 " It is, Mary," he despondingly replied. "Nor do I perceive 
 the faintest hope of success. I have been grievously misled. 
 Such as I have no business in this country." 
 
 " Do not be discouraged, Charles, with the ill-success of one 
 day's endeavor," said Mrs. Dalton. "Think no more about it 
 to-night ; perhaps to-morrow you may be more successful." 
 
 " I fear not, Mary, and yet something must be done, and
 
 22 THE WANDERER. 
 
 that speedily. You know as well as I, dear, that our funds will 
 not support us much longer. " 
 
 The subject was talked over earnestly during the evening. 
 Charles knew that his previous habits had utterly unfitted him 
 for manual labor, and he shuddered at the thought of the pri- 
 vations to which his young and delicately nurtured wife would 
 be subjected if he were compelled to remove with her into the 
 country, and depend for subsistence upon farm labor. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton's affection for her husband caused her to treat 
 the matter lightly, and in the hope of cheering him and re- 
 storing his spirits to their customary buoyancy, she expressed 
 her willingness to go at once to the country ; but Charles would 
 not listen to her, and he finally resolved, notwithstanding the 
 faint hopes held out to him by the friendly editor, to try if he could 
 not succeed in obtaining an engagement with more publishers. 
 
 He closely calculated his expenses for three weeks longer 
 and thought that by observing the strictest economy, he had suf- 
 ficient money left to support himself and his wife during that 
 period, and satisfied of this he resolved at once to go to work 
 and write a series of short articles suitable for a magazine or 
 perhaps for a small book or nouvellette and when he had 
 completed his task to call again upon the friendly editor and 
 solicit his assistance in obtaining the promised introduction to 
 a publisher. 
 
 He labored intensely, working early and late, and at the ter- 
 mination of the three weeks he had completed a series of 
 papers sufficient to fill a moderately sized volume. He had 
 some doubts as to their quality ; but in his wife's partial opin- 
 ion they were the most delightful sketches she had ever read. 
 
 She had assisted him from time to time, in copying now and 
 then a blotted sheet and in looking out passages in his books of 
 reference, and in arranging the sheets of manuscript and stitch- 
 ing them together, and at length, with a beating heart, he again 
 set forth to visit the editor. 
 
 He was kindly received by that gentleman, and after a few
 
 A STRANGER S DIFFICULTIES. 23 
 
 words of explanation the young man offered the editor his man- 
 uscript for inspection, begging him to read a few pages here 
 and there, and requesting his candid opinion regarding it. 
 
 The editor carefully read a few pages in different parts of 
 the stitched manuscript, without speaking a word. At length 
 returning it to the young man, he said : 
 
 " You have asked my candid opinion and I will not flatter 
 you ; at the same time you are aware that my opinion is 
 simply that of one individual ; others may differ widely from 
 me. Some of your articles appear to be very well written ; but 
 there are marks of haste, and evidence, occasionally, to show 
 that you have not been accustomed to write for the press ; but 
 your style is scholar-like, and your ideas are clearly expressed 
 in simple and elegant language. There is much room for that 
 improvement which practice will bring. Altogether your 
 specimens are at least equal to the majority of those which 
 appear in the magazines and reviews of the day. I will give 
 you a letter to the gentleman of whom I spoke the other day, 
 he perhaps may publish your manuscript for you, or advise you 
 what to do with it, but I cannot conscientiously give you much 
 encouragement. However, there is nothing like trying ; a man 
 that perseveres generally succeeds in the end, and I heartily 
 wish you success." 
 
 The promised letter was written and handed to the young 
 man, and wishing the editor good day, he wended his doubtful 
 way to the publisher's office. 
 
 It was situated at a considerable distance from the news- 
 paper office, and Charles Dalton consequently had ample time 
 to collect his thoughts and calm down the nervous excitement 
 which he felt creeping over him; but his efforts were in vain. 
 His nervousness increased as he neared the place where his 
 hopes were to be realized, or the labors of the past three weeks 
 rendered worthless and himself and his wife thrown upon the 
 world to starve for one dollar was all that remained in his 
 pocket. He rarely tasted spirits, but he felt so faint, so much
 
 24 THE WANDERER. 
 
 in need of some stimulant, that for the first time since he had 
 been in New York he entered a public house, and called for a 
 glass of brandy, changing his last dollar to pay for it. 
 
 He drank it hastily and pursued his way; at length he 
 arrived at the office he was in search of. It was a dreary look- 
 ing place, occupying the first floor of a dingy looking building, 
 the lower portion of which was occupied by a dealer in hard- 
 ware, and the publisher's office was reached by ascending a 
 dirty ladder-like flight of steps, on one side of the store. It 
 was a very different place outside as well as inside from the 
 well-built, commodious, handsomely fitted up houses occu- 
 pied by the publishers of the present day ; but it must be re- 
 collected that publishing was carried on in a very different 
 style thirty years ago, from what it is now. 
 
 "Is Mr. Jenkins within?" asked Charles Dalton after he 
 had entered the office, of a young man attired in a threadbare 
 suit of clothing, that had once been black but had assumed a 
 tawny reddish hue with age and dust. 
 
 The young man looked from behind a heap of old books 
 which he had taken down from a shelf to arrange and briefly 
 replying in the affirmative, pointed towards a stout red-faced 
 elderly gentleman, wearing spectacles, who was busy in exam- 
 ining a ledger, at a desk at the further end of the room. 
 
 Charles Dalton walked up to the gentleman to whom he 
 was directed. 
 
 * Your name, sir, is Jenkins ?" he said, as he drew near. 
 
 " Yes sir, that is my name," was the reply, and the publisher 
 looked at the young man beneath his spectacles which he had 
 pushed up on his forehead on being spoken to, with an expres- 
 sion which seemed to ask the question, " and what is your espe- 
 cial business with me 1 ?" 
 
 "I have called," replied Charles, in reply to this mute inter- 
 rogatory, " at the instance of Mr. S , of the New York , I 
 
 have brought a letter of introduction from him," and the young 
 man handed the letter to the publisher, who immediately 
 opened it and read the contents.
 
 A STRANGER'S DIFFICULTIES. 25 
 
 " I have a very great respect for Mr. S ," said the pub- 
 lisher, after he had read the letter, again pushing his spectacles 
 up on his forehead and addressing the young man. " He 
 informs me that you wish to show me some manuscript Have 
 you it with you ?" 
 
 " It is here sir," said Charles, handing the manuscript to the 
 publisher. 
 
 " A great deal of it ; a vast amount of manuscript here, sir," 
 continued the publisher, turning the pages over, and glancing 
 at the numbers at the head of each sheet. " Three hundred 
 and twenty-five folios. My good Sir ah ! excuse me ; pray 
 take a seat. I observe you are standing I was about to re- 
 mark that if I were inclined to publish it mark me if I 
 found after due examination that it were suitable matter I 
 don't say that I can publish it until I examine it you under- 
 stand that : but if I were to do so, there is sufficient manuscript 
 here to occupy all the space I could spare in my magazine for 
 the next twelve months." 
 
 Charles trembled with nervous excitement as he replied : 
 
 " I know, sir, that there is more matter than space could be 
 conveniently found for in a magazine even in several months, 
 but I thought that is, I was led to hope that you might feel 
 inclined to publish it in book form ; that is, if you found it 
 satisfactory after perusal." 
 
 " In book form, young gentleman !" exclaimed the publisher, 
 actually starting from his seat with astonishment at the pre- 
 sumption of the supposition. " Why, Sir, allow me to ask the 
 question, ' Have you a European reputation V 
 
 " I am an Englishman by birth," replied Charles. " But 
 unfortunately I have no European reputation as a literary man. 
 You will readily perceive, Sir, that I am too young to have yet 
 been able to acquire such a reputation, even had I made it my 
 ambition !" 
 
 " Ah ! of course I see. But, really, young gentleman, you 
 quite startled me with your proposition. Why, Sir, it would 
 2
 
 26 THE WANDERER. 
 
 be a perfectly ruinous speculation on my part were I to attempt 
 such a thing. Who would read the work after it was pub 
 lished ; or what comes more directly to the point, who would 
 buy it, Sir 1" 
 
 " I really cannot undertake to say," replied Charles, gaining 
 courage from very despair. " But I had no idea it was neces- 
 sary to the sale oi" a book here, that the author should enjoy a 
 European reputation." 
 
 " It is necessary, Sir, absolutely necessary ; and even then 
 I could not undertake to pay a copyright for the work. You 
 see the way we manage is, to reprint the books after they have 
 been published on the other side of the Atlantic and have 
 attracted notice there. Still, if, as I have observed, you had a 
 European reputation, I might be induced in consideration for 
 my friend, Mr. S., to give the manuscript more attention." 
 
 " Surely, Sir," said Charles, " America is capable of support- 
 ing a literature of her own ? You have men of talent in all 
 other professions in this country. Surely the literary profes- 
 sion is not altogether ignored ? Even in light literature, such 
 as I have ventured to try my humble skill upon. I think I have 
 heard of Charles Brockden Brown ? 
 
 " Brockden Brown ? ah, yes a tolerably clever writer he 
 was ; but his novels never sold much here. Somehow or 
 other he managed to gain attention abroad and he did rather 
 better, but he never did much, Sir, he never did much." 
 
 "I have heard him highly spoken of," replied Charles, 
 " though I happen never to have seen any of his works." 
 
 " Yes, yes, he has been pretty highly spoken of," returned 
 the publisher, " but still, Sir, his books don't sell like the books 
 of the Minerva press class, Sir. Our people's taste runs that 
 way just now, and publishers, you know, like other people, must 
 look to the main chances." 
 
 " I have heard also," continued Charles, " of a humorous 
 work entitled the ' Knickerbocker's History of New York,' 
 which gained much credit for its author in this, his own country, 
 and which has been read with great delight in England."
 
 A STRANGER'S DIFFICULTIES. 27 
 
 "Ah, yes, the Knickerbocker a humorous thing, written 
 by a young man what is his name, now ? It slips my mem- 
 ory a h, by one Washington Irving. Knickerbocker's His- 
 tory of New York was well enough as a mere piece of hu- 
 morous writing ; but it had but a brief existence, Sir. It has 
 had its day, and I venture to predict will not be heard of five 
 years hence. The author is now in England and he has pub- 
 lished there another work called the Sketch Book ; but he 
 might as well spare his pains. It is not at all probable he 
 will ever achieve a European reputation." 
 
 "Then you positively cannot publish my manuscript 1 ?" said 
 Charles, in a tone rendered firm by desperation. 
 
 " I really cannot entertain the thought ; at least not as a book. 
 Although since you have been recommended to me by my good 
 friend Mr. S., perhaps I might make use of portions of it oc- 
 casionally in my magazine." 
 
 " A drowning man will catch at a straw," says the old adage 
 Charles in his despair caught at this suggestion. He could hope 
 but for little remuneration for the short articles which might 
 occasionally appear in a magazine ; but he eagerly asked on 
 what terms Mr. Jenkins would accept his shorter articles for 
 the magazine. 
 
 " Why," replied the publisher, " as to terms, I could'nt pay 
 anything at present, you perceive, till I see how your matter 
 takes with the public. By and by, if it suited, I might give a 
 trifle, and perhaps increase the price as we become better ac- 
 quainted ; but, to tell the truth, literary matter is a drug in 
 the market a mere drug, Sir. There are so many young 
 ladies of a literary turn of mind, Sir ; sweet, amiable, accom- 
 plished creatures, who write for my magazine, to which they 
 all subscribe, and who consider themselves sufficiently repaid 
 by seeing their compositions in print, that I should really be 
 doing very wrong to myself and my family if I were to pay 
 anything. If, howeyej^ you would like to read one of your
 
 28 THE WANDERER. 
 
 articles ia print, to oblige my friend Mr. S., I will stretch a 
 point, although my magazine matter for the next month is 
 nearly up, and insert one of your articles, leaving the choice of 
 the subject to you." 
 
 " What do you offer for the article ?" eagerly demanded 
 the young man, flushed with the dawning of renewed hope, 
 faint though it was. 
 
 " I shall be happy to send to your address a copy of my 
 magazine," returned the publisher. "Three or four copies, 
 if you like, for distribution among your friends." 
 
 Without replying, Charles Dalton seized his manuscript, and 
 bowing to the publisher, proceeded to leave the office, when, 
 just as he reached the head of the stairs, Mr. Jenkins called to 
 him: 
 
 "Sir," said he, " I shall be glad to see you any time you are 
 passing this way, and if, at any future time you have any fresh 
 proposals to make why, perhaps we may come to terms." 
 
 " I shall call upon you again, sir, when I have achieved a 
 European reputation," sarcastically replied the young man, as 
 he closed the door. 
 
 " A very singular young man that, very presuming, very," 
 
 observed the publisher to his clerk, "I wonder how S 
 
 came to think of recommending him to me." 
 
 Charles descended the creaking, dirty stairs rapidly; but 
 when he gained the open street he paused, as if uncertain 
 which way to turn his steps. His last feeble thread of hope 
 was broken ; the labor of three long weeks had proved fruit- 
 less ; he saw nothing before him but hopeless penury. He 
 thought of his wife, anxiously awaiting his return, and almost 
 breathed aloud the impious wish that crossed his mind, that 
 they both had perished in the ocean they had recently crossed, 
 rather than have lived to endure the misery which appeared to 
 be in store for them. 
 
 But soon better thoughts succeeded, and breathing a prayer
 
 A STRANGER'S DIFFICULTIES. 29 
 
 to God that He would not utterly forsake them in their dis- 
 tress, he hastened back to his wife, to pour out his sorrows into 
 her ears, and to receive from her the consolation and support 
 he had often received in the midst of the troubles that had 
 come upon them during the four months that had closed, since 
 he had led her to the altar, a happy bride.
 
 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 In which troubles thicken, and clouds grow darker, until Charles fortunately 
 becomes acquainted with a man of large mind and universal philanthropy. 
 
 Had people but resolution enough while not cynically indif- 
 ferent to the opinions of others, to be less solictitous about 
 what others may think of their own affairs, of what a load 
 of trouble might they at once relieve themselves ! 
 
 At last one half of the toil, the anxieties and the fatigues of 
 life, is occasioned by the struggle to cut a figure. 
 
 Charles Dalton had never been accustomed to manual labor ; 
 until within a few months he had never known the want of 
 money; he had quitted England, because, he could not endure 
 the idea of descending in the social scale in his native land. 
 This was well enough, if he had been contented to forget what 
 he had been, now that he found himself in a new country, in 
 which there were abundant opportunities of gaining a livelihood, 
 if not of carving out a fortune, although, perhaps, not immedi- 
 ately such opportunities as were most desirable; but the 
 phantom of pride followed him across the ocean, and clung to 
 his back still, with the tenacity of the " Old man of the Sea," 
 in Sinbad's wonderful story. Had he made up his mind to 
 work, without thinking it absolutely necessary that the work 
 he engaged in must be of his own choosing, he need not have 
 been so many weeks in the city of New York, and still have been 
 unemployed. He had proof of this while he was despairingly 
 wending his weary way to his hotel ; indeed he had not unfre-
 
 TROUBLES THICKEN. 31 
 
 quently met with some one or other of his fellow passengers 
 from England, men whom he considered his inferiors, although 
 he had been compelled for the time being to associate with 
 them on shipboard, but from whom he had held himself aloof 
 as much as possible, yet now these once despised mechanics 
 and laborers, all seemed to be doing better than he. 
 
 On the present occasion, while walking moodily along Broad- 
 w ay, deeply absorbed in harassing thought, he was hailed by 
 a passer-by. He turned, and saw that the man who had 
 addressed him by name had occupied, with his wife and family, 
 the next berth to his own on shipboard. 
 
 He was an uneducated Irishman a bricklayer's laborer, with 
 whom Mr. Dalton had scarcely exchanged a word during the 
 voyage ; but misery makes us eager for the sympathies of our 
 kind, regardless of the fictitious grades of civilized society, and 
 the kindly tone of the man's voice, and his apparent delight at 
 meeting with a fellow voyager, touched the heart of the dis- 
 appointed young man, and he heartily returned the Irishman's 
 salutation. 
 
 " Ah, Dolan !" said he, "I am glad to see you, you are look- 
 ing well and hearty, I hope you are doing well in New York ?" 
 
 " Doing well, is it ?" returned the Irishman ; " doing better 
 than iver I expected, Misther Dalton. Ah! Sir this is a grate 
 counthry for a poor man. No workin', for tin pence a day, 
 when ye can get it ; but a dollar a day, an' plinty of work at 
 that, an' if it be o' paper, sure it sarves the purpose as well as 
 silver." 
 
 "Did you soon succeed in getting work, Dolan ?" inquired 
 Charles. " I got work, sir," returned the Irishman, " afore I 'd 
 been three days in the city in fact, as soon as I had time to 
 look about me, afther I 'd got me say legs into shoregoin' shape 
 again, and I 've had work iver since." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear of it," replied Charles, " and I'm glad to 
 see you looking so well and happy." 
 
 " And I'm sorry I can't return the compliment," continued
 
 32 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Dolan. " Troth ! but you're lookin' like the shaddy of what 
 ye was on boord ship, Sir, and your face is thoughtful and 
 throubled. Ye'll excuse me for making bowld to say so. An' 
 how's the good lady, Misther Dalton, Sir ?" 
 
 " My wife is pretty well, Dolan," replied Charles, " but I 
 have not been very well lately, myself. How are your wife 
 and children 3" 
 
 " Quite well and hearty, Sir, and Biddy she takes to the 
 counthry amazing ; as for Pat, he's an American right off al- 
 ready, and little Katy, sure she's as fat as a pig, the crather !" 
 
 Charles shook hands with his humble fellow-voyager, and 
 passed on. The temporary excitement occasioned by the meet- 
 ing soon subsided, and still more gloomy thoughts took posses- 
 sion of his breast. 
 
 " This man," he soliloquized, " uneducated, unused to the 
 refinements of life, satisfied if he can procure by his daily toil 
 the simplest necessaries, can find employment readily in this 
 country, and obtain remuneration sufficient to enable him to 
 supply himself with all he needs, while with a thousand advan- 
 tages that he does not possess, I have nothing before me but 
 starvation. I should not care if I alone were concerned ; but 
 my poor Mary ! what will become of her if things continue thus ? 
 
 He Lad gained the hotel, and passing in by the private en- 
 trance, he ascended to the room occupied by his wife and him- 
 self. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton rose from the sofa on which she had been sit- 
 ting, and welcomed him home with a kiss. She did not speak, 
 but there was anxious expectation in her look, and he met 
 and understood the interrogative glance of her eye. 
 
 " Disappointed, as usual, my love." was his response, " I 
 see no probability, present or prospective, of obtaining em- 
 ployment, such as I am fitted for." 
 
 Oh, Charles, Charles ! there was the rock upon which you 
 split ! No work that you were fitted for ! Then why not seek 
 other work, and watch narrowly, but wait patiently for the 
 opportunity of engaging in more agreeable employment ?"
 
 TROUBLES THICKEN. 33 
 
 The young man had endeavored to speak in a cheerful tone 
 of voice, but the keen, anxious ear of his young wife was not 
 to be deceived. She saw that his cheerfulness was assumed 
 and knew that it was assumed for her sake. 
 
 "Do not despair, dear Charles," she replied, "surely if 
 you have failed again to-day it will not be always so. 
 Success may attend your efforts tomorrow. We shall not be 
 permitted to starve in this favored land, of which we have heard 
 so much and entertained such pleasing anticipations." 
 
 Poor child ! she was little more than a child in years although 
 eight months a wife. She smiled as she spoke and threw her 
 arms around her husband's neck. The light from the window 
 shone full upon her fair young face, and as her husband 
 returned her embrace, he observed that she had been crying. 
 
 " What has been the matter, Mary ?" he asked. " Your 
 poor eyes are swollen with weeping, darling." 
 
 " Oh nothing," she replied. " I have been foolish, that's all. 
 I am so lonesome here when you are absent, Charles." 
 
 "That is not all, Mary," said Charles, "something more 
 than usual has happened to give you annoyance ; tell me what 
 it is." 
 
 "Promise not to be angry, then, and I will," returned Mrs. 
 Dalton. " You will promise ?" 
 
 " If possible I will not permit myself to be annoyed, my 
 dear," he replied. 
 
 " Because," continued his wife, " I have arranged everything 
 so nicely, that I am sure you will be pleased, and we shall 
 have means to support ourselves a few weeks longer till you 
 do get something to do, and then you know, you are so clever 
 that when once people know what you can do, you will have 
 more to do than you will be able to find time for ; and our 
 expenses will not be so heavy as they are at this hotel and " 
 
 " Whatz's the matter, Mary ?" impatiently demanded Charles, 
 contemplating his wife. " I cannot understand your meaning. 
 Has any one dared to insult you?" 
 3
 
 34 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " It is simply this, Charles," she replied, " you know we made 
 a little miscalculation, and that manuscript took so long to 
 write, and our bill was not paid on Saturday night, so while 
 you were absent to day, the landlord sent it in, and he demands 
 immediate payment. Now, I see you are going to be angry, 
 although you promised me you would keep your temper. You 
 know he knows nothing of us beyond Captain Ly man's recom- 
 mendation. His message was very civil ; but the waiter said 
 his boss, so he termed his employer, had had an offer from 
 another person to engage the room permanently, and unless 
 we could give reference and engage to remain for some definite 
 period, he would be glad if we could vacate the apartment as 
 soon as convenient." 
 
 " Cursed, impudent scoundrel !" muttered Charles, between 
 his teeth. 
 
 " Now, Charles, you said you wouldn 't get angry and there 
 is really no occasion for you to do so," continued Mrs. Dalton. 
 " You don't know how cleverly I have arranged matters. All 
 the money we brought with us is spent ; but we have means of 
 obtaining more, that you are not aware of. I have never shown 
 you the jewelry left me by my aunt, shortly before we left 
 home. I kept its posession a secret when 1 found that you had 
 resolved upon going to America, in anticipation of some such 
 occasion as this when it would be of service. It is old fash- 
 ioned, but really valuable, Charles. I should not like to part 
 with it altogether for poor aunt Mary's sake ; but I have heard 
 there are places in which loans can be obtained on such trinkets, 
 and where they can be redeemed when better times come round 
 to the owners are there not such places, Charles ? " 
 
 "Yes," said the young man, moodily, "but your little orna- 
 ments, dear, must never go there." 
 
 "Do not say so, Charles; what are my ornaments to me, 
 when you are in want of money indeed but for poor aunt's 
 sake I should care nothing about them you know I never 
 wear them. I should like to dispose of them temporarily in
 
 TROUBLES THICKEN. 35 
 
 that manner ; then we can pay the bill due to our landlord and 
 get cheaper lodgings." 
 
 " I 'm sure there must be many places where we can get rooms, 
 quite sufficiently comfortable, at half the price we pay here ; 
 and the trinkets ought to fetch a good deal of money. There 
 are a pair of ruby earrings, and a diamond ring, and 
 breastpin ; so you see, dear Charles, that we are not so desti- 
 tute as you thought." 
 
 It was quite a surprise to Mr. Dalton, this revelation of his 
 wife's hidden wealth of jewelry, and although his pride revolt- 
 ed at the idea of visiting the pawnbroker's shop or the office 
 of the money lender, poverty had so blunted the edge of his 
 sensibilities, that after some faint show of opposition, he prom- 
 ised to try what he could effect in the way of raising money oil 
 these heir-looms on the following day. Indeed the prospect of 
 temporarily relieving himself from his difficulties even by these 
 humiliating means, rendered him comparatively cheerful. Ho 
 sent down to the office a message, informing the landlord, 
 with the air of a man of abundant means, that his bill should 
 be paid on the following day, and that he should leave the hotel 
 at his earliest convenience, and he and his wife sat up till a 
 late hour of the evening chatting together hopefully over many 
 Utopian schemes. 
 
 The next day, fifty dollars was advanced at a loan office on 
 the articles of jewelry the hotel bill was duly paid, and before 
 night Mr. and Mrs. Dalton had removed into cheap but com- 
 fortable private lodgings. 
 
 But still weeks passed away, and nothing came of all Mr. 
 Dalton's endeavors to obtain employment. The liotel bill and 
 other necessary expenses consequent upon their removal, had 
 considerably lessened the amount of the sum received from the 
 money lender and at the expiration of other four weeks they 
 found themselves again utterly destitute. The daily and weekly 
 newspapers had been searched through and through with the 
 hope that something available might be found in the advertia-
 
 36 THE WANDERER. 
 
 ing columns ; but in vain, and Charles began to give way to 
 utter despair, when one morning as he was about to go out to 
 wander through the streets, he knew not where, he was startled 
 by an expression of joy from his wife, who was anxiously scan- 
 ning the columns of the New York Mirror. 
 
 "What is the matter, Mary?" he asked. "Here is an 
 advertisement which will exactly suit you, Charles," was her 
 reply listen ; 
 
 "To GENTLEMEN OF EDUCATION, ACCUSTOMED TO LITERARY 
 
 LABOR. Required immediately, a gentleman to assist in the 
 editorial department of a new daily paper. He must be tho- 
 roughly conversant with European politics, and fully compe- 
 tent to undertake the sole charge of the literary department of 
 the journal, and willing to devote his whole time and attention 
 to his duties. A knowledge of the French language is essen- 
 tial, and one who understands and can read well Spanish, Ger- 
 man and Italian, will be preferred. The salary will be liberal, 
 and as there can be no doubt of the success of the paper, 
 the situation may be considered a permanent one. Apply to 
 A. B. at the office of the New York Mirror" 
 
 "There, Charles," said Mrs. Dalton, when she had finished 
 reading the advertisement. " There is something that will 
 perfectly suit you, you speak nearly all the languages of the 
 southern portion of the continent of Europe, and are familiar 
 with European politics. I knew that something would turn up, 
 after all." 
 
 " But my dear," said Charles smiling at his young wife's enthus- 
 iasm ; " I may not obtain the situation, even if I apply for it ; 
 there may be fifty applicants besides myself, and then I don't 
 understand a word of the German language, and you know 
 that is specially mentioned." 
 
 " No, Charles, French is essential," said Mrs. Dalton read- 
 ing again from the paper, " one who speaks German and the 
 other languages will be preferred" and as to fifty applicants, 
 why, there can't be so many persons, qualified for the situation
 
 TROUBLES THICKEN. 37 
 
 in New York at least," she added, " fifty qualified persons out 
 of employment, you know." " I am not so sure of that, my 
 dear ; there may not be fifty persons whose qualifications are 
 equal to the requirements of the advertiser ; but I doubt not 
 there are that number of persons in the city fully as well qual- 
 ified as myself." 
 
 " Do you think so, Charles ?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear. Since I have been in New York, my ideas 
 respecting my particular abilities have become much modified." 
 
 " But you will make application ?" said Mrs. Dalton, appa- 
 rently disappointed with the tenor of her husband's remarks. 
 
 " Undoubtedly, my dear. I will write to the office at once." 
 And he sat down and wrote a letter, honestly stating his actual 
 qualifications for the duty required, and then bidding his wife 
 farewell for the day, left his lodgings to tread his customary- 
 weary round, and as he passed the Mirror office, he left the let- 
 ter according to the directions. 
 
 The day passed away with the usual result. Wearied and 
 sick at heart with hope deferred, Mr. Dalton returned at night 
 having met with no success. 
 
 " No answer has been sent to that letter I wrote to A. B. 
 this morning, I suppose, Mary ?" he observed to his wife when 
 he entered the room, on his return. 
 
 " None yet, Charles," was the reply. 
 
 " Of course, I knew there would be none. I might have 
 known that I should meet with disappointment when I wrote 
 it." 
 
 " But, Charles," interposed his wife, " there has not yet been 
 time. An answer may come to-morrow morning." 
 
 " I don't expect any answer at all I never did," was the 
 rather sulky reply of the young man, and no further allusion 
 was made to the subject that night. 
 
 Th.3 next morning, however, just as Mr. Dalton was prepar- 
 ing to go out, the postman's knock was heard at the door. 
 Mrs. Dalton went to the head of the stairs and listened eagerly.
 
 38 THE WANDERER. 
 
 ** A letter for Mr. Charles Dalton," said the man ; and Mrs. 
 Dalton almost flew down stairs to receive it. In a few mo- 
 ments she had returned breathless to the room, with the letter 
 in her possession. 
 
 " I knew it would be so. I knew there would be an answer, 
 Charles," she said, as she handed it to her husband. " Now, 
 am I not a true prophet." 
 
 Charles did not reply. He had opened the letter and was 
 reading the contents. They were brief, and ran thus : 
 
 ** A. B. has received Mr. Dalton's letter and will be glad to 
 see him at No. Hudson street, at eight o'clock this evening, 
 and talk matters over. A. B. thinks it very probable that 
 Mr. Dalton and he will be able to come to satisfactory terms." 
 
 u There, did'nt I say so 7 didn't I know it T exclaimed Mrs. 
 Dalton, perfectly overjoyed, as she listened to the contents, 
 read aloud by her husband, after he had first silently perused 
 them. 
 
 " I have not got the situation yet, my dear," said Charles, 
 smiling at his young wife's earnestness, " and I have not now 
 to learn that there are many disappointments even when things 
 appear most secure. You must not be too sanguine, Mary. 
 Perhaps nothing may coine of this ; however, I don't think I 
 shall go out to-day. I am weary of vainly walking the streets 
 of this city. I will stay at home with you, and in the evening 
 will call according to the request contained in this letter." 
 
 It is singular how people will sometimes trouble themselves 
 to discover that which it is quite impossible for them ever to 
 guess at with any possibility of success, and how, at the same 
 time, they will give themselves the trouble of guessing and 
 surmising, when it is in their power to discover the secret at 
 once. A letter is sometimes received and turned over and over, 
 the seal examined, and the handwriting subjected to a rigid 
 criticism, in order to satisfy the recipient in regard to the 
 name of the writer and the object he had in writing, when he 
 could at once satisfy himself by breaking the seal and opening
 
 TROUBLES THICKEN. 39 
 
 and reading the letter. In the present instance it was utterly 
 out of the power of Mr. or Mrs. Dalton to form the least idea 
 who was the person who shrouded himself under the mysteri- 
 ous letters A. B., and it was equally impossible for them to 
 guess the name or the peculiar characteristics of a newspaper 
 which had as yet no existence, and the advent of which had 
 not as yet been publicly announced. Yet still they did trouble 
 their beads the whole day to do both, until the futile endeavor 
 became positively annoying, and the hours till eight o'clock 
 passed so slowly away that the day seemed thrice as long as 
 any ordinary day. 
 
 Half past seven o'clock came, however, at last, and Mr Dal- 
 ton sallied forth to the appointed rendezvous, leaving his wife 
 in a state of great anxiety and himself feeling no little nervous 
 excitement, as he drew near the house. 
 
 It was a dwelling-house of ordinary pretensions, and evident- 
 ly occupied as a boarding-house, for a dozen or more gentle- 
 men were coming up stairs from the tea-table as Mr. Dalton 
 stood in the passage-way, after having been admitted by the 
 servant maid. It was a strange thing to ask for Mr. A. B., 
 but Mr. Dalton had no clue to the real name of the gentleman 
 he had called to see, and the servant, unable to understand 
 who he meant, had recourse to the landlady. 
 
 This lady, it appeared, had received her instructions from 
 the veritable A. B. himself, for she requested Mr. Dalton to 
 walk into the parlor, and in a few moments a stout, portly 
 gentleman presented himself. 
 
 " Mr. Dalton ?" he said, addressing Charles. 
 
 " That is my name, Sir," was the reply. 
 
 " My name, Sir, is Biggin Amos Biggin," said the portly 
 gentleman. " You have called, Sir, in reply to a note 1 sent 
 you this morning ?" 
 
 Mr. Dalton said that such was the case. 
 
 " I am happy to make your acquaintance, Sir, and let me 
 hope, that our acquaintance, now formed for the first time, may
 
 40 THE WANDERER. 
 
 be of long duration," said the gentleman; " but we must con- 
 verse in private. The fact is, it is not generally known that I 
 am about to publish a new paper, Sir. It is an arduous task, 
 Sir ; one that requires a great deal of consideration, and in- 
 volves vast interests; but, Sir, humanity requires it; the retro- 
 grading social and political condition of the country which no 
 person holding sentiments of universal philanthropy can view 
 without dismay demands it, Sir, and I am resolved to make 
 the hazardous venture ; aye, Sir, and if necessary, not only to 
 spend my whole time, and my whole talent, and the whole 
 amount of my pecuniary resources, but to sacrifice myself on 
 the altar of patriotism, sooner than relinquish the long cherished 
 idea of starting in this great city one honest, fearless, independ- 
 ent journal, which shall be the mouth-piece of the people, and 
 the exponent of the true principles of liberty, patriotism, and 
 philanthropy. But please to follow me up stairs to my own 
 room, Sir, where we can talk the matter over quietly and 
 come to a mutual understanding, and I hope to satisfactory- 
 terms." 
 
 Charles followed the portly gentleman to his room on the 
 second floor, wondering greatly why he had spoken so loudly 
 and with such vehemence if he wished to keep the matter a 
 secret from the other members of the household, who could 
 have hardly helped hearing all he had said, and somewhat 
 scandalized at the thought that in the great city of New York, 
 where there were several newspapers, there should be such 
 urgent necessity for one honest, fearless, independent journal, 
 that should be conducted under the guidance of truly liberal, 
 patriotic, and philanthropic principles : for of course, the infer- 
 ence to be drawn was, that among those which existed, there 
 were none possessing those sterling qualities.
 
 A MODERN PHILANTHROPIST. 41 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 In which the principles that govern a true Philanthropist are explained, if 
 the reader chooses to accept the explanation. 
 
 MR. AMOS BIGGIN was a philanthropist, not, perhaps, accord- 
 ing to the ordinary acceptation of that much misunderstood 
 noun-substantive, but a philanthropist in the broadest sense. 
 Mr. Amos Biggin had never been known to give away a cent 
 to a beggar, or to assist any individual in distress, whether the 
 case was a deserving one or not. Even had he been a rich 
 man, which he was not, being himself often very much in need 
 of money for necessary purposes, he would not have expended 
 a shilling for the relief of individual distress. He held to the 
 belief that it was necessary to the well-being of society that 
 there should be a proportionate amount of misery and poverty 
 in the world, and that to endeavor to ameliorate the condition 
 of the poor was to fly directly in the face of Providence. Provi- 
 dence, he was used to say, had willed it so, and if Providence 
 wished it otherwise, Providence could change the face of things 
 when it chose. Poverty was like salt, very nauseous in itself, 
 but very grateful when used to flavor other food. The best 
 cooked viands would be tasteless without that condiment, and 
 in like manner, the utmost wealth would fail to gratify its 
 owner, if he were unable to contrast his abundance with the 
 necessities of others. But inasmuch as regarded general pa- 
 naceas for the universal benefit of the human race, Mr. Amos 
 Biggin was a man of large grasp of mind a true philanthro-
 
 42 THE WANDERER. 
 
 pist. Had he flourished twenty or thirty years later, he would 
 have been just the man to take a prominent position in the 
 " vote yourself a farm" movement, or to have originated the 
 benevolent idea of the gift lotteries. The gold pen gift socie- 
 ty would have thrown him into ecstacies. The magnificent 
 project of placing a gold pen into the hands of every man, 
 woman and child in the United States, at the cost of one dollar 
 each, and the chance of obtaining a gift, besides, ranging in 
 value from a magnificent brown stone dwelling house, with 
 stabling, outhouses, and all necessary conveniences, to a bundle 
 of dried, sweet-scented herbs done up in painted paper, would 
 have set him wild with excitement. To have presided at the 
 head of such a society, and to have received the gold dollars, 
 as he handed out the gold pens, would have been to him the 
 height of human felicity. " Ah !" he would have thought to 
 himself, as he dealt out the thin pieces of glittering metal, and 
 heard the rustling of the crisp bank paper or the ring of the 
 sonorous coin, that he received in exchange, " ah ! what glo- 
 rious thoughts shall permeate throughout the universe when 
 every man, woman and child in the land shall with these gold 
 pens give tangible form to the secret aspirations of their souls ! 
 Henceforward no "mute, inglorious Miltons shall rest un- 
 known, and if Cromwells are still guiltless of their country's 
 blood, they shall freely spill their country's ink." But un- 
 fortunately for Mr. Amos Biggin, he lived thirty years ago, 
 before these grand ideas were fully developed, still he had 
 tried his hand in various philanthropic movements of a similar 
 kind, though perhaps less lofty in their flight, as the reader 
 will in due time perceive. 
 
 " Mr. Dalton," said Mr. Biggin, when the two gentlemen 
 were seated in the private apartment of the latter, which apart- 
 ment, by the way, was by no means calculated to impress the 
 visitor very favorably in regard to the pecuniary prospects of 
 the owner, for it was evident that either from motives of ec- 
 centricity or economy, Mr. Biggin's apartment served him for
 
 A MODERN PHILANTHROPIST. 43 
 
 bedroom, and parlor and all, and was not over large at that. 
 " Mr. Dalton, you have called upon me to obtain an engage- 
 ment on the new paper I propose to start ?" 
 
 Charles intimated that such was his object ; indeed, the ques- 
 tion was quite unnecessary on the part of Mr. Biggin; and 
 was merely put by way of opening the subject. 
 
 " You are aware of the qualifications that I deem necessary 1" 
 continued that gentleman. 
 
 Charles said that he was perfectly aware of the qualifications 
 demanded in the advertisement ; but, he observed, he was 
 afraid that if they were indispensable, that further conversation 
 would be needless, for he didn't understand German and had 
 but a slight knowledge of Spanish. 
 
 "A mere trivial matter," said Mr. Biggin, carelessly, 
 " you understand French 1" 
 
 " Yes, French and Italian." 
 
 " Good very good ; and you have a tolerable acquaintance 
 with European affairs political, social, and so forth ?" 
 
 Charles intimated that he was tolerably well read in Euro- 
 pean history, ancient and modern, and that having travelled 
 considerably on the continent, he thought he might venture 
 to say that he was as well acquainted with European affairs 
 socially and politically, as most men who had not had occasion 
 to make the subject their special study. 
 
 " Again very good,'' observed Mr. Biggin. " And of 
 course you are a ready and facile writer ?" 
 
 Charles intimated again, that he had been accustomed to 
 original composition from his boyhood upwards, and had no 
 doubt that by dint of a little practice he would find no difficulty 
 on that score. 
 
 " Then if we can agree upon certain other points, such as 
 salary and political principles, and so forth, we may consider 
 the matter settled," answered Mr. Biggin ; " but before I 
 proceed further, let me explain to you my motive in starting 
 a new paper. You are aware, sir, that we are on the eve of 
 a general election 1"
 
 44 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Indeed," replied Charles. " I understood that the general 
 election was to take place in November next. This is January. 
 And it is not until March of next year that the new President, 
 whoever he may be, will take his seat." 
 
 " Exactly so. When I said we were on the eve of a general 
 election, I meant that the active members of the body politic, 
 the men who guide the people in their choice of a fitting can- 
 didate, or in other words, who feel the pulses of the public, 
 and have control of the secret strings which set the political 
 machinery in motion, are now actively but secretly bestirring 
 themselves, and it has struck me that an honest, independent, 
 and incorruptible organ of public opinion is especially needed 
 at this critical period." 
 
 " I should have thought, sir," said Charles, " seeing that each 
 of the two great parties has its especial advocate in this city, 
 and I presume in every other city in the Union, that there 
 would be hardly room for a new newspaper, especially as inde- 
 pendently of the leading journals, there are others already in 
 the arena of politics, and ready, I imagine, when the occasion 
 calls for it to take an active part therein." 
 
 " The very reason, sir, that a new paper should be started. 
 Among all the journals of this city there does not exist one 
 truly honest, independent sheet. The writers for the press, 
 sir, are all actuated by the love of gain sordid gain, either in 
 the shape of money or place. There is not one among them 
 Mho would do what it is especially the province and privilege 
 of a journalist to do, be ready to sacrifice himself, if need be, 
 for the happiness, the prosperity, and the liberties of the 
 people. What political principles do you affect, Mr. Dalton ?" 
 
 " I am but recently arrived in this country, sir, as I informed 
 you in the letter I sent to the Mirror office, and have, of course, 
 attached myself as yet to no political party." 
 
 "Ah ! I am glad to hear that ; you will be all the more capable 
 of writing fearlessly and independently respecting all parties." 
 
 " May I ask, sir," said Charles, " whether you belong to the 
 Whig or Democratic party ?"
 
 A MODERN PHILANTHROPIST. 45 
 
 " I belong, sir, to that party among my countrymen who 
 are in favor of the widest liberty, the most perfect independence, 
 and the purest philanthropy. I shall hold myself aloof from 
 party while the preliminary arrangements are making for the 
 coming contest. I shall feel my way, sir, shrewdly and cau- 
 tiously, giving a hit here and a cut there, as I see occasion for 
 it, and when the moment arrives for prompt action, I shall 
 throw my weight, and that of the independent party to whom 
 I at present look for support, in behalf of that party which 
 appears most likely to suit the requirements of the times." 
 
 Mr. Biggin might as well have said in behalf of that party 
 which would pay the best, or that seemed most likely to step 
 in and win, for, in spite of his circumlocution and pompous 
 declamation, Charles possessed sufficient sagacity to perceive 
 that the only object of this man in starting a newspaper was to 
 take advantage of the excitement anticipated during the forth- 
 coming election, and to make money by pandering to the pre- 
 judices of politicians of either side, who, in the hope of sharing 
 some of the spoils of office, would make use of any means 
 whatever that promised to bring them into notice. He, how- 
 ever, said nothing, and Mr. Biggin resumed : 
 
 K My paper, oar paper, I should say, for the journal will be 
 started by a subscription raised by a society of independent 
 gentlemen, who have done me the honor of selecting me for its 
 editor, on the first day of February next. It will be called The 
 Trumpeter of Freedom, a noble name, indicative, I trust of the 
 generous purpose that will give it birth, and of the noble end 
 its projectors have in view. I feel satisfied that in you I shall 
 find a willing and able assistant. What salary shall you ex- 
 pect ] I shall be able to offer but a very moderate amount at 
 first, and if the paper succeed, as I have no doubt it will, the 
 salary shall be raised accordingly." 
 
 " I should wish to have my duties specially defined before 
 I speak of salary," said Charles. 
 
 " Your duties, sir, will not be onerous, although they will be
 
 46 THE WANDERER. 
 
 such as will keep you actively employed. I will give the tone 
 to all the political articles, and, as a general thing, will write 
 the leaders. You will collect the general news, attend to the 
 literary department, write the puffs, the critiques, I mean, and 
 do the foreign correspondence and attend to everything else 
 that may be necessary." 
 
 "A pretty arduous task, take it altogether," said Charles; 
 " but there is one thing I do not exactly comprehend? What 
 do you allude to when you speak of doing the foreign corre- 
 spondence ?" 
 
 " Why, you see, Mr. Dalton," explained Mr. Biggin, " all 
 the leading journals throughout the country publish a foreign 
 correspondent's letter, some of them several, once a month or 
 so, when the packet arrives with the European mails. Now, 
 our paper cannot afford to pay the high remuneration de- 
 manded by foreign correspondents, so you will be expected to 
 read the foreign papers when they arrive, and dish up a letter 
 on such occasions ; do you take ? That was my object in 
 advertising for a gentleman conversant with the languages 
 of continental Europe." 
 
 " I understand you, sir," said Charles, smiling at what to 
 him appeared the absurdity of such a procedure. " To do all 
 this will require a great deal of time and attention, but I shall 
 leave the salary to you, only trusting that it will be as liberal 
 as the paper can afford." 
 
 " Humph 1" ejaculated Mr. Biggin, after remaining silent 
 for some moments. " I have observed that we shall start poor, 
 very poor ; I should say that to commence with mind, 1 say, 
 only to commence with six dollars a week, will be as much as 
 we can conscientiously afford." 
 
 Charles had expected that Mr. Biggin would name at least 
 twice that sum, and he staggered at the offer that was made. 
 
 " Six dollars a week, sir !" he exclaimed. " That will be 
 quite inadequate to the decent support of myself and my 
 wife."
 
 A MODERN PHILANTHROPIST. 47 
 
 " I do not think we can afford more," said Mr. Biggin ; 
 but seeing the hesitation of the young man, and believing that 
 he had found in him a man of education and talent well suited 
 to his purposes, he increased the munificent offer to seven dol- 
 lars. 
 
 Charles still demurred, in the hope of obtaining a reason- 
 able salary, although he really would have accepted the first 
 offer rather than have refused the situation. Fortunately, 
 however, Mr. Biggin was not aware of what was passing in 
 his mind, and finally the offer was raised to nine dollars per 
 week, and the arrangement settled. 
 
 Charles Dalton returned home in high glee to inform his 
 wife of his good fortune and to receive her congratulations as 
 the assistant editor of The Trumpeter of Freedom that was on 
 the following week to sound its notes of defiance in the ears 
 of the sordid trucklers to mammon and political sycophancy, 
 and to rejoice the hearts of the truly independent and liberty- 
 loving citizens of New- York. 
 
 It was but a few weeks after he had commenced his engage- 
 ment on The Trumpeter of Freedom that my hero was ushered 
 into the world.
 
 48 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 In which Mr Dolton'a unhappy career is brought to a premature close. 
 
 MR. D ALTON continued to labor at his multifarious duties in 
 the office of the Trumpeter of Freedom ; working early and 
 late, generally leaving home at ten in the forenoon and not 
 returning until long past midnight, when the last item was set 
 up by the compositors, the forms locked up and the paper dis- 
 patched to the press room. His labors were indeed more mul- 
 tifarious than he had even anticipated, for Mr. Biggin scarcely 
 ever wrote a line for the paper. His duties were chiefly con- 
 fined to mingling with politicians of that class which was will- 
 ing to listen to the arguments of a man of his description, and 
 whose only object in becoming politicians at all, was to wriggle 
 themselves into some petty official position, and in occasionally 
 taking a tour into the country, for the purpose of "stump 
 speaking" as it is technically termed. For this work he was 
 specially adapted, since he had for several years been in the prac- 
 tice of travelling through the country in various vocations, 
 pompously advocating the several schemes in which he had 
 engaged in the endeavor to push his fortune. He was of little 
 assistance to Mr. Dalton when he did condescend to write, for his 
 acquaintance with Lindlay Murray was very limited, and it in- 
 volved more irksome labor to correct his declamations and his 
 defamatory leaders than it required to write an original article. 
 
 Months passed away, but the promised increase of salary 
 was as far off as ever. In fact the paper was only supported 
 by temporary and not very honorable expedients, and was
 
 A BRIEF CAREER. 49 
 
 never, in fact, in a position to render an increase of salary 
 probable. At length the month of November arrived : Mr. 
 Biggin had a few months before decided as to the party 
 in whose favor he would throw the weight of his influence ; 
 but it happened to be the weaker side, and when this was dis- 
 covered it was too late to retreat. 
 
 The election came off, the candidates whose names graced the 
 head of the leading column of the Trumpeter of Freedom were 
 defeated, and the following week that tremendous organ of 
 liberty and independence blew it last blast, and thenceforward 
 subsided into silence and oblivion. 
 
 Mr. Dalton was again thrown upon his resources, which 
 were a little more available than they had been at the com- 
 mencement of the year. His connection with the press, obscure 
 as it was, had however, introduced him to some of the writers 
 for the leading journals of the city, and in a short time he pro- 
 cured an engagement on one of these ; but he had never been 
 trained as a reporter, his habits of life, notwithstanding the 
 severe schooling he had had, were still against him, and he was 
 soon informed that his services were no longer needed. From 
 that time, for the space of two years, he struggled 'with innu- 
 merable difficulties, sometimes obtaining temporary employ- 
 ment in an office, or a store, but most of the time out of em- 
 ployment, and plunged with his family into the deepest pover- 
 ty ; his health at length began to give way beneath the joint 
 influences of mental anxiety, disappointed hope, and privation, 
 and he must soon have succumbed beneath the weight of his 
 difficulties, when a gleam of sunshine broke upon his cloudy 
 prospects, and decided him upon changing his views. 
 
 One day a letter was received from London in which he 
 was informed that two hundred pounds, the remnant of an in- 
 heritance which once promised to make him the possessor of 
 thousands, awaited him, and that bills of exchange to that 
 amount were deposited in the hands of a banker in New York. 
 He should now have returned to England, for he lacked the 
 4
 
 50 THE WANDERER. 
 
 energy necessary to success in a young country. But his 
 pride forbade him to return, a disappointed man, and to take 
 up a position at home inferior to that which he considered to 
 be his birth-right, and he took it into his head that he would try 
 his chances in the country and become a farmer. 
 
 He purchased a few acres of land in the State of Ohio, and 
 removed thither with his wife and child. 
 
 It was a wild wooded tract of land, which he had purchased 
 on the recommendation of a speculator, without having even 
 visited the property until the purchase money had been paid. 
 It required the remainder of his small stock of capital and some 
 credit besides, to purchase stock and agricultural implements, 
 and in ill health and without possessing the slightest qualifica- 
 tion for his novel duties he undertook to become a farmer. 
 
 The result may be anticipated. In the course of a few years 
 his little property was mortgaged to its full value ; in another 
 year these mortgages were foreclosed. Every thing passed 
 away from him except a small strip of swamp land on the bank 
 of a river, which nobody would purchase, and poor Charles 
 Dalton, reduced to utter destitution, took his losses so much 
 to heart, that he died in a few months of grief, leaving his 
 widow and child, but for the charity of some kind-hearted 
 people who had taken pity on them, houseless and friendless in 
 a strange land. 
 
 Broken in spirits and in health, Mrs. Dalton's only desire, 
 now that her husband was removed from her, was to return 
 with her child, now a fine boy of eight years of age, to her 
 friends in England. 
 
 She wrote to her late husband's sister, Mrs. Ashley, who 
 had married a dissenting minister, stating her destitute and 
 deplorable condition, and throwing herself upon her sympathy 
 although she knew that she too was struggling hard with pov- 
 erty. 
 
 She had corresponded regularly with her relatives in Eng- 
 land, but Mr. Dalton's pride had prevented either him or his
 
 A BRIEF CAREER. 51 
 
 wife from making known to their relatives their condition in 
 America. All that had been written had breathed hope, and 
 hinted at future success, though hope had long ceased to exist 
 in the hearts of the writers.
 
 52 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Which treats of Family Matters, and introduces the reader to some new 
 acquaintances. 
 
 THE father of Charles Dalton, Gerald Dalton, Esq., of Dai- 
 ton Hall, Cumberland, had died suddenly from the effects 
 of a fall from his horse, while hunting, only a few months prior 
 to the period at which this history commences. 
 
 Up to the day of his death he was considered to be a man 
 of large property. He was the representative of an ancient 
 family, whose members had for many generations held a promi- 
 nent position in the county, and Mr. Dalton had at the 
 age of thirty inherited from his father a handsome estate, giv- 
 ing him an unincumbered rent-roll of three thousand pounds 
 per annum. But the young man had deviated from the course 
 of his forefathers ; he had been educated at Harrow and at 
 Oxford, and had at these places acquired habits of extrava- 
 gance which required an income twice as large to support. 
 The consequence was, that he soon became embarrassed, and 
 was compelled to resort to ruinous measures to raise a larger 
 income than his estate brought him. 
 
 The property was not entailed, and he had no difficulty in 
 mortgaging it piecemeal, and obtaining in this manner all the 
 money his extravagancies required. Nay, so obliging were 
 his creditors, that they bound themselves to supply him with 
 the funds he needed without stint, and without letting the mat- 
 ter be known to any one until after his death, when of course 
 they would be enabled to foreclose the mortgages and dismem- 
 ber the estate.
 
 FAMILY MATTERS 53 
 
 It is not likely that Gerald Dal ton when he first fell into 
 the clutches of the money-lenders thought of the ruin that was 
 sure to follow. 
 
 He was not an ill-meaning man, and, at first would have 
 been shocked at the thought of the ruin that he was bringing 
 upon his family. But, the fact is, he was a careless man, who 
 never gave the matter a serious thought at all until it was too 
 late to hope to recover himself, and then, when years began to 
 crowd upon him, and he was driven to think, he consoled him- 
 self with the unctious proverb, " sufficient for the day is the 
 evil thereof," which proverb, by the way, he grossly perverted, 
 as many others are apt to do. 
 
 His wife died a few years after his marriage, and the con- 
 sequence of his criminal weakness and thoughtlessness was, 
 that his two children, his son Charles, with whose unfortunate 
 career the reader is already acquainted, and his daughter Ellen, 
 grew up in"T!hmplete ignorance of the distracted condition of 
 their father's affairs. 
 
 Educated in thex^xpectation of enjoying affluence, and foolish- 
 ly indulged in the gratification of every extravagant whim of 
 the moment, their distress may be conceived, when in due 
 time the will of thrfir deceased father was read to them and 
 they discovered that, although the whole of the property was 
 left to them, it was so involved that the estate would be brought 
 to the hammer for the benefit of the creditors, and they were 
 in reality paupers. 
 
 Only a few weeks before Gerald Dalton's death, his son 
 Charles married an amiable and accomplished young lady to 
 whom he had been attached from early boyhood ; but she was 
 an orphan, and though of highly respectable parentage, de- 
 pendent solely upon a miserly uncle. Gerald Dalton, probably 
 with a foreshadowing of the ruin that awaited his son's hopes, 
 had strongly opposed the intimacy of his son Charles and Mary 
 Allen ; indeed, he had positively refused to give his consent to 
 their union and they had at last recourse to a clandestine
 
 54 THE WANDERER. 
 
 marriage. The uncle of Mary was cognizant of his niece's 
 marriage, and he had not opposed it. Nay, he rather urged it 
 upon the youthful couple, since it relieved him from the ex- 
 pense he incurred in the support of his niece, and he felt grati- 
 fied at the idea of her forming a union with the son and heir of 
 the reputed wealthy Squire Dalton, of Dalton Hall. 
 
 Ellen Dalton was likewise aware of the step her brother 
 had taken ; but she had encouraged him in so doing, and had 
 kept his secret. 
 
 In this, she had a fellow feeling, for she had been for several 
 years betrothed to a young man named Edward Ashley, who 
 was pursuing his studies at a Dissenting College near London, 
 with the view of entering the ministry. Gerald Dalton, in all 
 likelihood, opposed this union on similar grounds to those 
 which led to his opposition to his son's choice, viz. the want of 
 fortune on the part of the young man. Still he never had the 
 moral courage to state his reasons to his children, and when 
 his death occurred, Ellen was still unmarried, although she was 
 three years older than her brother Charles. 
 
 When the ruinous condition of Gerald Dalton's affairs 
 became known, Ellen wrote to her lover, explaining unreserved- 
 ly her altered position and generously offering to relieve him 
 from his engagement. 
 
 " My poor father is dead, dear Edward," she wrote, " and 
 he has left his affairs in the utmost confusion. My brother 
 Charles and I, are beggars, and though I am still, and shall 
 remain as devotedly attached to you as ever ; though it would 
 break my heart to hear that you had wedded another, and 
 though I shall ever remain unmarried, for I can never transfer* 
 my love to another, nor give my hand to one whom I cannot 
 love, I cannot expect you to blight your prospects by uniting 
 yourself with one who would be a clog to y\ur hopes of ad- 
 vancement. Dear Edward, you know how often we have con- 
 versed together upon the subject of your poverty, and how we 
 have fondly and hopefully looked forward to the day when
 
 FAMILY MATTERS. 55 
 
 my poor father, would, as I always believed he would, at last 
 perceiving as he must have done the firmness of my attach- 
 ment, give his consent to our union, and how we have laid out 
 our plans for the future, when the weath which I believed 
 would one day be mine, would be yours also. 
 
 " They were happy dreams, dear Edward, but they have fled 
 forever. And yet, I cannot, I dare not, reproach my poor 
 father's memory. 
 
 " Charles and Mary are going to America. Mary, you 
 know, came into possession of a small sum of money left her 
 by her father, for a marriage portion. It is very little ; but 
 Charles hopes that with proper economy, he can make it suffice 
 until he can obtain literary employment, (that is his object) in 
 the United States. I am going with them ; and though I 
 should like to\ee you once more before I leave England, per- 
 haps it were better that we should not meet again. The meet- 
 ing would be toov sorrowful, the parting too painful. God 
 bless you, dear Edv^ard; though I shall be separated from you 
 by several leagues of ocean, my heart will still be with you, 
 my prayers daily offered up for you, my good wishes, alas ! 
 they are all I have to bestow, ever exercised in your behalf. 
 Shall I not have yours in return ?" 
 
 I feel, 1 know, that we shall meet again at some future day 
 but no, I will not raise hopes that must meet with disap- 
 pointment, and whose nonfulfilment would plunge me into 
 despair 
 
 " I cannot trust myself to write more ; my eyes are dimmed, 
 and the paper is blotted with my tears 
 
 " Again God for ever bless you, Edward, may every success 
 attend your endeavors. That happiness may await you here 
 and hereafter is the heartfelt prayer of 
 
 Your ever affectionate 
 
 EIXKN." 
 
 This letter was duly received by Edward Ashley, and the 
 result was that he immediately obtained leave of absence from
 
 56 THE WANDERER. 
 
 4iis studies at Hackney College, and hurried down to Cumber- 
 land. 
 
 Ellen and he held an interview, and in one month after- 
 wards they were married. 
 
 The young man returned with his wife to London, and short- 
 ly afterwards accepted a call from an Independent Congregation 
 in a certain town in the county of Kent which I shall call Her- 
 rington, and became the pastor of Zion Chapel mthat town at a 
 salary of sixty pounds a year. 
 
 During the years that Charles Dalton had spent in America, 
 Mrs. Ashley had brought her husband four children, the young- 
 est of whom were twins. He had also taken into his house, out 
 of pure charity, the little orphan daughter of a former brother 
 student, and still his paltry stipend had not been increased. 
 
 His wife was now in ill health, and he had received a demand 
 for the immediate and prompt payment of certain bills, on the 
 same day that he received the letter acquainting him with the 
 death of his unfortunate brother-in-law, and the destitution of his 
 sister-in-law and her child, who had been named I have omit- 
 ted to mention this hitherto after his grandfather, Gerald 
 Dalton. 
 
 It was Saturday evening, and he was sitting in his study 
 busily engaged, or seeming to be engaged, in the preparation 
 of his sermon for the ensuing Sabbath morning, when the post- 
 man knocked at the door. 
 
 By his side, on the table at which he was writing, lay a pile 
 of manuscript, lined and interlined after a fashion that showed 
 that whatever might have been the worthy gentleman's usual 
 facility of composition, he must have found great difficulty on 
 that particular evening in concentrating his ideas. 
 
 He started when he heard the knock at the door, and listened 
 attentively. He was in the act of rising from his seat, when 
 the study door was opened, and a blowzy country girl, evi- 
 dently a " maid-of-all-work," presented herself. 
 
 " Who is that, Sarah T' he asked, without waiting for the
 
 FAMILY MATTERS. 57 
 
 girl to declare her errand. "Is it Doctor Knight 1 ? How is 
 your mistress now ?" 
 
 Without immediately replying to his questions, the girl 
 handed him a letter bearing the American postmark, and said : 
 
 " The postman be a waiting, sir. He says the letter is two- 
 and-four pence." Then, as if just recollecting the questions her 
 master had asked, she added : 
 
 " Dr. Knight corned in when I opened the door for the 
 postman, and nurse says misses aint no worse." 
 
 "Dear me! bless me! a letter from America in Mary's 
 handwriting, with a black seal !" exclaimed Mr. Ashley. 
 " What can have happened ? Little Gerald dead, perhaps. 
 You say Dge4or Knight has come, Sarah, and your mistress is 
 no worse, eh ?"\ 
 
 " Please sir, thVpostman be waiting for the money. Two 
 and four pence," repeated the girl. 
 
 Mr. Ashley took from a drawer the amount demanded, and 
 handed it to the servant, breathing a sigh as he did so, how- 
 ever, as if regretting the expenditure of money for such a pur- 
 pose. 
 
 He had laid the letter on the table without opening it. 
 
 " My poor sermon," he muttered with a sigh, " it's useless 
 for me to try any longer, I cannot write to-night, I must preach 
 an old sermon to-morrow morning, come what will of it, al- 
 though I shall be sure to be told of it by Deacon Milton. I 
 can't help it, my poor brains are wool-gathering to-night." 
 
 So it seemed, for he appeared already to have forgotten that 
 he had received the letter. 
 
 In another moment his glance fell upon it. He smiled at 
 his abstraction, and again took it in his hand, but the smile 
 changed to a look of perplexity and dread as his eye again 
 encountered the ominous black seal. 
 
 With a shaking hand he opened the letter and commenced 
 to read it, but he had scarcely read the first half dozen lines 
 before he stopped and gave utterance to an exclamation of 
 surprise and grief.
 
 68 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " God bless me! poor Mary !" he exclaimed. " How shock- 
 ing ! how very shocking !" Then endeavoring to nerve him- 
 self to the task, he read the letter to the end, and putting it 
 aside, sat for some moments absorbed in deep and painful 
 thought. 
 
 His reveries were interrupted by the entrance of Doctor 
 Knight 
 
 "Ah! how do you do this evening, Doctor?" he asked. 
 " How have you left my wife ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Ashley is by no means alarmingly ill ; she is labor- 
 ing under one of those nervous attacks to which she has been 
 for some time subject, but you must prevail upon her to take 
 more rest, or her disorder will become chronic. She must 
 live generously and take plenty of exercise. In a day or two 
 she will get over the present attack, and if she follows my 
 advice, I think I can guarantee her from future attacks of the 
 disorder." 
 
 "Yes, yes; true, Doctor, true, Mrs. Ashley is too much 
 confined to the house; too much hurried ; the twins are a sore 
 burden to her, but she must take more rest. I will see to it 
 that she does," said Mr. Ashley, abstractedly. 
 
 " I observe you are engaged to-night, Mr. Ashley, and I will 
 not trespass further upon your time," said the doctor, glanc- 
 ing at the paper and writing materials upon the table. I wish 
 you good evening, and do not alarm yourself about Mrs. 
 Ashley." 
 
 The doctor took his leave, and Mr. Ashley again took up 
 the letter and read it. He then glanced at the old-fashioned 
 clock which stood in one corner of the room. It was past ten 
 o'clock. He rose and put aside his manuscript, and drawing 
 his chair towards the fire, he sat down to muse over his pre- 
 sent and future prospects, and upon the unexpected additional 
 responsibility that now devolved upon him. 
 
 Unconsciously, yet as if by force of habit, his eye rested for 
 a moment on a file of papers upon the mantel-piece, consisting
 
 FAMILY MATTERS. 69 
 
 for the most part of unpaid accounts. The sight of these 
 changed for a time the current of his thoughts. 
 
 "It is impossible," he soliloquized, "that things can go on 
 thus much longer. I have exhausted the patience of my cred- 
 itors, and they will give me no longer time. The two hundred 
 pounds Ellen received from her late father's executors, I had 
 hoped to have set aside for some future object. It is her 
 money, not mine, and has remained untouched in the bank for 
 years. Now, when I find it absolutely necessary to withdraw 
 it, there comes this additional claim upon me, for poor Mary 
 and the boy must be sent for, and it will cost at least fifty or 
 sixty pounds to bring them home. Then there will be another 
 cpjjstant drain upon me, and to keep out of debt will be impos- 
 sible. Sixty pounds a year cannot be made to supply my 
 family even witlr- the commonest necessaries, and my profes- 
 sion obliges me to make an appearance of respectability at 
 least. If I apply to the vestry again for an increase of salary, 
 I shall be refused ; there are plenty to be found who will take 
 my place for that salary. If I tell them that I cannot support 
 my family without incurring debt, I shall be blamed severely ; 
 the very profession to which I belong will be brought up to 
 bear witness against my extravagance. My extravagance !" 
 and the poor man smiled bitterly as he repeated the word. 
 " Then Knight insists upon Ellen's taking more rest, and so she 
 ought, and shall, but in that case who is to see after the house- 
 hold affairs ?" 
 
 He took down the bill-file and turned over the accounts. 
 " Seventy-five pounds eight shillings and four pence half- 
 penny !" he said, after having summed up the total. " Very 
 little of Ellen's money will remain when these bills are paid 
 and I have sent Mary the money she requires. Then there is 
 Knight's account, but he will not be pressing." 
 
 Wearied alike in mind and body, he fell asleep in his chair, 
 and a whimsical fancy flitted through his dreaming brain, sug- 
 gested, perhaps, by the remarkable manner in which his family
 
 60 THE WANDERER. 
 
 had increased within the last year. His wife had during this 
 period given birth to twins ; he had received into his family 
 the little daughter of a deceased friend, and now his brother's 
 widow and child had claimed his protection ; somehow or 
 other in the fanciful vagaries of sleep he associated these latter 
 with the tw^ns, and dreamed that twins of all ages and both 
 sexes were gamboling around him, and climbing his knee and 
 clinging to the back of his chair, while he and his wife were 
 devising schemes for their support, and for the support of 
 fresh couplets that by some unaccountable means still kept 
 coming, but at last human ingenuity was at fault, and he 
 thought that he and they were left to perish with cold and 
 hunger. He shuddered at the thought of the fate that awaited 
 them, and awoke to the discovery that the candles and fire had 
 both burned out, and that the latter portion of his dream had 
 been occasioned by a nightmare caused by the uneasy posi- 
 tion into which he had fallen in his chair, and by the cold air 
 of the blustering March night which had penetrated through 
 the chinks of the window and chilled him to the bone. 
 
 He rose and felt his way through the darkness to the bed- 
 room, where his wife was sleeping soundly, and he did not 
 awaken her. 
 
 Quietly as possible he undressed and got into bed, so wea- 
 ried, that despite the agitation of his mind and the thought 
 of the many troubles the day had brought him, he was soon 
 asleep.
 
 A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 61 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Treats of various matters in connection with Mr. Ashley's position, and re- 
 lates how it was arranged that Mrs. Dalton should return to England. 
 
 MR. ASHLEY awoke the next morning much refreshed, and 
 with his mind less clouded and oppressed with anxieties than 
 when he retired to rest on the previous night. 
 
 His wife was already awake and much better in health than 
 she had been for several days. It was the Sabbath morning, 
 and he strove for the time being to forget his cares. He did 
 not tell his wife that he had received the letter from Mrs. 
 Dalton. He feared that, in her present weak condition the 
 too sudden and unexpected intelligence of her brother's death 
 might be productive of evil consequences and he therefore re- 
 solved to break the news to her in the course of the evening, 
 after the labors of the day were over. 
 
 That Sabbath morning Mr. Ashley preached a sermon he had 
 preached a year before. It was, in his opinion, one of his 
 best, and certainly a better one than he could have written 
 tinder the depressing influences of the past week. But as he 
 had anticipated, Deacon Milton, the chief pillar of Zion Chapel 
 and the wealthiest member of the congregation, and several 
 other members, recollected to have heard the same sermon 
 preached before. They took umbrage at this, and a committee 
 was appointed to wait upon the minister during the ensuing 
 week and remonstrate with him upon the enormity of which he 
 had been guilty. 
 
 The afternoon service passed off satisfactorily and in the
 
 62 THE WANDERER. 
 
 evening, Mrs. Ashley still improving in health, her husband 
 thought it advisable to acquaint her with the sad news he had 
 heard from abroad. 
 
 He thought it a good opportunity after the children had 
 been put to bed to introduce the subject by some remarks 
 in relation to his family and after he had bestowed a paternal 
 kiss upon the twins who were carried to bed by the servant- 
 maid, he observed carelessly : 
 
 " We have a large family already growing up around us, 
 Ellen ; a couple more would fill up the circle of our small 
 table." 
 
 Now, Mrs. Ashley was a kind-hearted, amiable woman, as 
 the reader already knows; she had perhaps fewer weak- 
 nesses than usually fall to the lot of humanity. She was as 
 kind to the little orphan her husband had adopted as to her 
 own children, and had she possessed the means would have 
 permitted no one to suffer distress that it lay in her power to 
 relieve. But she had one sore point ; it was the twins. On 
 the occasion of their birth, a year before, Mr. Ashley had in- 
 cautiously made some regretful allusion, half jocularly, and 
 half earnestly, to the rapid increase of his responsibilities, 
 which allusion had been carried to the ears of his wife by a 
 tittle-tattling nurse, and the lady had never entirely forgotten 
 or forgiven it. It had rankled in her bosom ever since, and 
 whenever any allusion was made to her family increase she 
 resented it. On the present occasion, Mr. Ashley having but 
 that moment caressed the twins, the allusion to an increase 
 of two to the family circle was particularly mal apropos. What 
 else could he allude to but twins 1 
 
 " It is really too bad of you, Edward," she replied, " to be 
 continually harping upon those dear babies. You seem to re- 
 gret the occurrence of an event which most fathers would, and 
 all ought to be proud of. I believe you actually begin to regard 
 the poor children with dislike." 
 
 "My dear Ellen," replied Mr. Ashley, observing that his
 
 A LETTLR FROM ABROAD. 63 
 
 wife was greatly annoyed at his remark, " You misunderstand 
 me entirely. I was not thinking at the moment I spoke of our 
 own dear children. God knows that I should care not how 
 many olive branches were gathered around my table, if I had 
 the means of supporting them. No, Ellen, I repeat, I was not 
 then thinking of our own children, but of the half orphan child 
 of one nearly related to us, who, poor thing, has a claim upon 
 us, which, poor as we are, we cannot deny." 
 
 " Of whom are you speaking, Edward ?" said Mrs. Ashley 
 " surely no relative of ours has died lately. 
 
 " Death has laid his hand upon one near and dear to us both, 
 Ellen," solemnly replied Mr. Ashley. " I have received a letter 
 from America which contains some sad news." 
 
 " Nothing has happened to my brother or Mary ?" said Mrs. 
 Ashley in a voice of alarm. 
 
 " Mary writes that she is in low spirits but does not say she 
 is in bad health," replied Mr. Ashley 
 
 The child" 
 
 " Is well," interrupted Mr. Ashley. 
 
 He said no more, but the saddened tone of his voice satis- 
 fied his wife of that which her fears had not permitted her to 
 ask. 
 
 " I know all, Edward," she said, " my brother Charles is 
 dead." 
 
 She turned pale and Mr. Ashley thought she was about to 
 faint ; but she recovered herself and in a voice trembling with 
 agitation begged her husband to tell her all she was able to 
 listen to him. 
 
 Without speaking he placed the letter in her hands, and un- 
 falteringly she read it through to the end ; then folding it and 
 returning it to her husband, she said : 
 
 " I understand your allusion now, Edward. Mary and the 
 child must come to us." She was about to add something 
 further, but her fortitude failed her, and murmuring " Charles, 
 my poor, dear brother Charles," she burst into tears.
 
 64 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Mr. Ashley permitted her to weep freely without making 
 any effort to repress her emotions. He knew that it was bet- 
 ter that her distressed feelings should find full vent in tears, 
 and in the course of a few minutes she dried her eyes, and 
 again addressing herself to her husband she said 
 " This is sad news, Edward." 
 
 " Sad news, indeed, Ellen." 
 
 "And poor Mary is in poverty in a strange land." 
 
 " In poverty, but let us hope not in utter destitution," re- 
 turned her husband. "Mary writes, as you perceive, in the 
 most touching terms of the kindness and sympathy she has met 
 with, especially from the American ladies who knew her hus- 
 band, and who have been her neighbors for a long time. She 
 says that they were indefatigable in their kindness to poor 
 Charles during his last sickness." 
 
 " God bless them, for their kindness to poor Charles," 
 said Mrs. Ashley, again giving way to tears. 
 
 " Calm yourself, Ellen," said Mr. Ashley, " endeavor to com- 
 pose yourself, my dear. We have both decided that Mary 
 and the boy must come to us, for I knew what your decision 
 would be before I told you the sad news." 
 
 " You haye not written to her ?" sobbed his wife. 
 
 " No, Ellen. I only received the letter yesterday and I do 
 not yet know when the next mail will be made up for America, 
 besides it is necessary that we should arrange matters together 
 before I write. You are aware from the letter that Mary has 
 no funds to enable her to return." 
 
 " We must send her money," impulsively replied Mr. Ash- 
 ley. 
 
 Her husband smiled sadly, and she understood the mean- 
 ing of the smile. 
 
 " You would infer that we have no money ourselves, Ed- 
 ward, but there are the two hundred pounds that were paid 
 over to me out of the remnant of my poor father's estate. We 
 can send her that. That will be sufficient."
 
 A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 65 
 
 " Less than that amount will be sufficient, I hope," returned 
 Mrs. Ashley. " It grieves me sorely, Ellen, to touch that money 
 which I had hoped to set apart for you and the children in case 
 anything should happen to me, but you know, for we spoke of 
 the matter the other day, that necessity will compel us to with- 
 draw a portion of the money for the payment of debts una- 
 voidably incurred." 
 
 " I know, Edward. How much will be required for that 
 purpose ?" 
 
 " One hundred pounds will be more than sufficient for the 
 present," replied Mr. Ashley, but he sighed inwardly as he 
 spoke, for he knew not what would be necessary in the future 
 which loomed so darkly. 
 
 "And then there will be one hundred still to send to Mary." 
 
 "Mary writes that she merely needs money enough to pay 
 the price of her passage and that of her child to England," 
 said Mr. Ashley. " She says that the sale of her effects will 
 pay her outstanding debts and provide her with sufficient funds 
 to reach New York. I think sixty pounds will be sufficient to 
 provide her a comfortable passage home in one of the packet 
 ships ; less might do, but of course she must take passage in 
 a good ship." 
 
 " Of course, Edward," returned his wife. 
 
 " Then we will consider that matter settled. To-morrow I 
 will make the necessary inquiries and write to Mary, transmit- 
 ting the money as soon as possible. You had better write too, 
 Ellen." 
 
 " I will," replied Mrs. Ashley. 
 
 "And now, my dear, you had better retire to rest and 
 endeavor, if you can, to banish this sad subject from your 
 mind." 
 
 In a few minutes Mrs. Ashley left the parlor and sought her 
 chamber, leaving her husband seated by the fire deeply 
 absorbed in thought. 
 
 Neither of them had said a word in relation to the destitute 
 5
 
 66 THE WANDERER. 
 
 condition in which Charles Dalton had left his wife and child. 
 As I have said, they had been led to believe that he was doing 
 well in his adopted country, and the news of his poverty was 
 quite unexpected to them. Both Mr. Ashley and his wife 
 were aware that America offered opportunities to the ener- 
 getic and industrious that were not easily to be found in Eng- 
 land, provided that their energy and industry were rightly 
 directed. They were aware, too, of the peculiar failings of 
 Charles Dalton's character, and perhaps both suspected the 
 cause of his want of success, but at present they were silent 
 on the subject. Respect for a beloved brother now no more, 
 kept their tongues sealed from any expression of their thoughts. 
 
 During the week Mr. Ashley wrote to the banker who had 
 the little legacy of his wife's in his possession, and the money 
 was transmitted to him. His pressing debts were paid forth- 
 with, and inquiry having been made as to the cost of a passage 
 from America to England, and sixty pounds found to be more 
 than would be necessary, Mr. Ashley and his wife both wrote 
 to Mary Dalton, and bills of exchange on New- York for that 
 amount were transmitted for her use. 
 
 The poor minister and his wife now found themselves once 
 more free from pressing debt; Doctor Knight still visited Mrs. 
 Ashley, and there was a bill of long standing due to him, but 
 they knew that he would not press for its settlement. Indeed, 
 he was aware of the impoverished condition of Mr. Ashley's 
 affairs, and in an off-hand yet delicate manner had hinted that 
 he was in no hurry for his money. Yet of the two hundred 
 pounds, little more than forty now remained, and to the weight 
 of care which hung like a millstone upon the shoulders of the 
 poor pastor was about to be added the support of his sister-in- 
 law and his nephew. Indeed, he had need for the exercise of 
 all his faith and trust in Providence ! 
 
 Fresh trials also beset him during this momentous week. 
 He was taken sorely to task for his remissness, as they termed 
 it, by the deacons of his church. It was in vain that he
 
 A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 67 
 
 pleaded in excuse his many cares and troubles, the illness of 
 his wife, and the news that he had received of his brother-in- 
 law's death. His pecuniary troubles he did not attempt to 
 plead in extenuation, for he knew that to imply that he was 
 not sufficiently repaid for his clerical labors would only lead to 
 recrimination on the part of the zealous devotees of Zion Cha- 
 pel. He was told that a minister of the Gospel should detach 
 his mind from earthly cares, which were only sent in order to 
 purify his soul and render him better fitted for the duties of 
 his sacred calling. The Pharisees ! It would have been well 
 had they been burthened with the load of care they treated so 
 lightly when borne by anotner, and compelled to support in 
 respectability a wife and family on sixty pounds a year ; but 
 then they were not ministers of the Gospel, and therefore 
 might, in such a case, murmur as much as they pleased. 
 
 Mr. Ashley was in fact bluntly informed that unless he 
 pleased the elders of his congregation better, they would be 
 compelled to dispense with his services ; there were others 
 who would willingly undertake his duties for the salary that he 
 received. 
 
 Had the minister been a single man, or had he possessed any 
 other means of support, he would have cared little for these 
 threats, and would have thrown up his charge in disgust, but 
 he was crushed and humbled, borne down to the earth with 
 trouble, and he dared not retort. Let no one blame him for 
 this submission who has not himself felt the crushing burden 
 of dependence. 
 
 One only friend he had save Doctor Knight, and that friend 
 was the vicar of the parish. He was not a rich man, but his 
 income was sufficient for his necessities. He was a man of 
 education, as was Mr. Ashley, and he deeply sympathized 
 with his brother preacher, though he belonged to a different 
 persuasion. But they differed little in sentiment. Both 
 believed that it mattered little as to the peculiar form of wor- 
 ship, if the spirit of. devotion were right, and Mr. Ashley,
 
 68 THE WANDERER. 
 
 when he first entertained the idea of entering the ministry, had 
 inclined to the doctrines of the Established Church. It was 
 the want of an Oxford or Cambridge degree which alone had 
 restrained him and obliged him to turn his attention to the 
 Independent persuasion.
 
 THE WELCOME HOME. 69 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Gerald Dalton falls in with a fellow-countryman in the stage, on his journey 
 to Kent, and what comes of the meeting. 'Mrs. Dalton is welcomed 
 home by her sister. 
 
 IT is unnecessary to comment upon the feelings of Mrs. Dal- 
 ton when she received the sympathizing letters from her brother 
 and sister, and when knowing them to be poor, and burdened 
 with many cares, she found them respond so generously to 
 her appeal. 
 
 A passage had been pre-engaged for her in England by her 
 brother-in-law, and it was necessary that she should hasten 
 immediately to New- York, for the vessel in which her passage 
 was taken had but to discharge her cargo and take in another 
 already waiting for her, and then to sail directly for Liverpool 
 again. 
 
 Yet when the time came that she was to quit, perhaps for- 
 ever, the land which had so long been her home, which 
 notwithstanding the trouble she had experienced since she had 
 set foot upon its soil, she had learned to love only second to 
 the land of her birth, and which, had her husband lived and 
 prospered, she might have learned, in time, to love and cherish 
 as fondly as her native soil, she found that she could not bid 
 it farewell without a pang of regret. Nay, more, she then felt 
 that its soil was hallowed to her memory forever, for beneath 
 it lay the remains 01" her deceased and beloved, though unfor- 
 tunate husband doubly beloved, in consequence of his misfor- 
 tunes. The thought of returning to her friends had cheered
 
 70 THE WANDERER. 
 
 her sad, solitary heart, during the earliest days of her young 
 widowhood, yet now, she felt that if she had the means of living 
 in her adopted country, in the land in which was her husband's 
 grave, and in which her child was born, she would still have 
 remained near the spot where she had met the last expiring 
 look of love from the partner of her joys and sorrows, had 
 received his dying embrace, and had seen his body consigned 
 to the grave. The kind friends, too, who had sympathized 
 with and comforted her in her afflictions, she could not leave 
 them without regret and a longing desire to see them again. 
 But fortunately for her, perhaps, there was little time to spend 
 in brooding over the past or thinking of the future. The ship 
 was waiting her in New-York, and thither it was necessary for 
 her immediately to proceed. A hasty good-by to all was all 
 she could give, and with mutual good wishes, the widow and 
 those whom in her affliction she had found to be true friends, 
 were parted forever in this world. 
 
 Six weeks after she left her late husband's home in Ohio, 
 Mrs. Dalton and her son arrived at Liverpool. 
 
 Mr. Ashley, regardless for once of the rebukes of the leading 
 members of his congregation, had hastened to Liverpool to 
 meet his sister-in-law as soon as he saw the arrival of the vessel 
 announced in the newspapers. Sorely as the expense cramped 
 him, he had written to an hotel-keeper in Liverpool to meet 
 her on board the ship on his arrival and convey her to his 
 house, and the third day after her arrival, he himself met her 
 there. 
 
 The meeting was a sorrowful one on both sides. Both felt it 
 to be so, though both endeavored as much as possible to dis- 
 guise their feelings and assume an appearance of cheerfulness 
 they could not feel. 
 
 Mr. Ashley could not afford time or money for any delay at 
 the great seaport, and on the following morning the party 
 started for the minister's humble home. 
 
 In that day railroads were unknown, and Mr. Ashley, the
 
 THE WELCOME HOME. 71 
 
 widow and her little son, travelled inside the stage, the fourth 
 seat of which was occupied by a stranger. Jt was scarcely 
 daylight when the coach drove out of the hotel yard and rat- 
 tled over the rough paving stones of dirty, busy Liverpool ; 
 but as they advanced into the country, the spirits of the widow, 
 which had been low enough at starting, began to revive as she 
 gazed wistfully on the bright green herbage and the lovely 
 domestic scenery of her native land. 
 
 " Now for the first time, I feel that I am in England again," 
 she said, her eyes sparkling with an animation to which she 
 had long been a stranger. They were the first words that had 
 been spoken since the stage had left the noisy town. 
 
 "May I ask if you have come from the United States, 
 madam 1 ?" said the stranger, looking up from the folds of his 
 cloak, which had hitherto been drawn over his face. 
 
 " I have, sir," was the reply. 
 
 " I thought as much," continued the stranger. " You are 
 an Englishwoman, I perceive. I am an American myself, but at 
 present I am residing in Liverpool." 
 
 The stranger now relapsed into silence, but he did not again 
 enfold his features in the folds of his ample travelling cloak. 
 On the contrary, he appeared to gaze with delight upon the 
 ever changing scenery. He was a tall, spare, gentlemanly- 
 looking man, with a keen dark eye, and hair also dark, although 
 slightly grizzled, apparently from the effects of care and anx- 
 iety rather than from age, for his years could not much have 
 exceeded thirty. 
 
 Again Mrs. Dalton made some remark upon the beauty of 
 the scenery. 
 
 The stranger answered her. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " your island can boast of lovely scenery ; 
 no one will deny that ; but you will excuse me for asking, 
 since you have resided in the United States, if you have seen 
 nothing to admire in the scenery there ?" 
 
 "Much, very much," replied Mrs. Dalton. "The country
 
 72 THE WANDERER. 
 
 is very different from this, but it possesses a beauty peculiarly 
 its own." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you acknowledge that, madam," said 
 the gentleman, "for to tell the truth, I am too much accus- 
 tomed to hear your countrymen speak in a tone of supercili- 
 ousness of the United States. Not that I care much about it, 
 for I am too proud of the growing greatness of my native 
 land to feel anything but contempt for those who traduce it, 
 but it is not pleasant to listen to such remarks, especially 
 when one knows them to be false." 
 
 " Few would make such remarks who have lived long in 
 America," observed Mrs. Ashley. 
 
 "There I am sorry to differ with you," returned the gentle- 
 man ; " few of the educated gentlemen of England would make 
 them, but unfortunately, the Englishmen who in these days 
 visit America are of a class that represent their country but 
 very indifferently. Nothing is good enough for them. Every- 
 thing is better and finer in England, though if that be the case, 
 what on earth leads them to visit a country they affect to 
 despise so much? You must have observed this feeling amongst 
 those of your countrymen whom you may have met in the 
 United States." 
 
 " I was seldom thrown in the way of English people during 
 the whole period I resided in America," answered Mrs. Dai- 
 ton. " The last four or five years I have spent in Ohio, and I 
 believe there are few of my countrymen settled there, not at 
 least in the part of the State in which I resided." 
 
 " In Ohio !" exclaimed the gentleman ; " that is my native 
 State. You have lived there, you say, four or five years. 
 This little boy here," looking towards Gerald, who was listen- 
 ing earnestly to the conversation, "is perhaps a countryman of 
 mine ; that is to say, if you resided long in America before 
 you went to Ohio ?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir, little Gerald was born in the city of New York." 
 
 " Let me welcome you to England, my fine little fellow,"
 
 THE WELCOME HOME. 73 
 
 said the gentleman, taking Gerald's hand, and patting his cheek. 
 " And at the same time introduce myself as your fellow coun- 
 tryman. My name is Brower, George Brower. What is 
 yours ?" 
 
 " Gerald Dalton," replied the boy. 
 
 " Gerald Dalton Dalton, from Ohio ?" exclaimed the gen- 
 tleman. " May I ask you, Ma'am," addressing Mrs. Dalton 
 " if your husband bought the farm on the road to Port William, 
 about ten miles from Cincinnati, now I should think five years 
 ago or thereabouts ?" 
 
 " He did, Sir," replied the widow. 
 
 " Then I was once slightly acquainted with him. I come 
 from Cincinnati, myself, and my father owns a farm about four 
 miles distant from your husband's. I don't know how he gets 
 on ; well, I hope. But you will excuse me for saying that he 
 made a very sorry bargain when he bought that land. It's the 
 worst on the line of the river for miles." 
 
 " My husband is dead, Sir," said Mr. Dalton, " and the farm 
 belongs to me no longer." 
 
 " Dear me, Madam !" exclaimed the gentleman. " Pardon 
 me for my rudeness. I was foolish not to have perceived that 
 you are in mourning ; but I would not have intentionally hurt 
 your feelings." 
 
 The excuse was readily accepted by the widow, for, in truth, 
 there was no cause for offence ; but the stranger had touched 
 a tender spot in her breast, and she remained silent. 
 
 With ready tact he changed the subject, and addressed him- 
 self to Mr. Ashley, displaying so much intelligence, cheerful- 
 ness, and good-humor, that very shortly Mrs. Dalton again joined 
 in the conversation, and before another hour had passed all 
 were talking again of America, and Mrs. Dalton had related 
 how the farm came to be sold. 
 
 " At present," observed Mr. Brower, " the purchaser has 
 got a bad bargain ; but, believe me, it will not prove so in the 
 end. It is a pity for the sake of my little Gerald that your
 
 74 THE WANDERER. 
 
 husband could not have held it. As farming land it will never 
 be worth anything ; but one of these days it will be among the 
 most valuable property in the State." 
 
 "All was sold," said Mrs. Dal ton, " for less than my husband 
 paid for it, with the exception of a strip bordering close on the 
 river, that no one would buy." 
 
 " And that is still yours ?" exclaimed Mr. Brower with ani- 
 mation. 
 
 " It is," replied the widow. " No one, I fancy will be in 
 haste to dispossess me of it." 
 
 " Be not too sure of that," said Mr. Brower, " Have you the 
 title deeds in your possession ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir, they are among my late husband's papers." 
 
 " One question more. Had your husband taken out his na- 
 turalization papers ? Was he a citizen of the United States 
 when he died ?" 
 
 " He was. He became a citizen two years- before his death.' 1 
 
 " All right then," exclaimed Mr. Brower. " Keep fast hold 
 of the deed, for the sake of your boy. That piece of swamp 
 that you now believe worthless, as it in fact is, will one day be 
 worth twice the value of the rest of the property. Why Gerald, 
 my little countryman, you will one day become a rich Ameri- 
 can citizen. It may be many years before that happens ; but 
 the day will come, as sure as my name is Brower, and youra 
 is Gerald Dalton, my fine little fellow. But I see we are ap- 
 proaching Derby, I alight there. Here is my card, Sir," ad- 
 dressing Mr. Ashley, and handing him a card. "lam the 
 agent for a mercantile house in Cincinnati, and I reside in Liv- 
 erpool. I shall be happy to see you there, should you visit 
 the town again. I am going to write to Cincinnati next mail, 
 and I will direct my brother to keep a look out after that piece 
 of swamp land. If it were not yours, madam, I could wish 
 it were mine." 
 
 Mr. Ashley exchanged cards with the American. The 
 stage stopped to change horses at Derby, and the traveller
 
 THE WELCOME HOME. 75 
 
 alighted, gaily bidding his late fellow travellers good-bye, and 
 shouting aloud from the door of the hotel, " Good-bye, Gerald, 
 my boy," as the stage rattled swiftly away. 
 
 " What do you think of our late companion's notion respect- 
 ing that bit of land you have been conversing about, Mary ?" 
 inquired Mr. Ashley. 
 
 "The American people are ever sanguine," answered the 
 widow. " I do not place much faith in his prophecy." 
 
 " He seems to be a well informed man, and very gentleman- 
 ly and frank in his manners," observed her brother-in-law. 
 
 " Most Americans of his class are," replied the widow ; " far 
 more intelligent and gentlemanly than the same class in Eng- 
 land. I have said no more than the truth ; there is indeed 
 much to admire in the United States and in its people. Nor 
 was he far wrong in the estimation of too many of the English 
 who visit the United States." 
 
 " It is a pity that such foolish prejudices should exist," said 
 Mr. Ashley. " I should much like to visit America." 
 
 " And you would be much pleased with all you saw there," 
 returned the widow. "Poor Charles had much to contend 
 with ; had he in early life been trained to labor and to depend 
 upon his own exertions, things would have been very different 
 with him, poor fellow ! but it was no fault of his. Both he and 
 I had much to unlearn and much to learn when we first set 
 foot on American soil. We were both at fault, and poor 
 Charles bitterly paid the penalty of his mistake/' 
 
 The conversation ceased, and both Mr. Ashley and the 
 widow sat silently, occupied with their own thoughts, only occa- 
 sionally interrupted by the childish prattle of little Gerald. 
 
 Several times the stage stopped to change horses, and at 
 last, as night drew on, the passengers all removed into another 
 stage. It was a long weary journey from Liverpool to the 
 town in which Mr. Ashley resided, and they travelled all night, 
 little Gerald sleeping soundly in his mother's lap, and Mr. 
 Ashley and the widow sleeping and waking by fits and starts
 
 76 THE WANDERER. 
 
 as people do sleep and wake in stages. The daylight seemed 
 as if it would never re-appear; but it came at last, displaying 
 in all its fresh spring verdure the sweet scenery of the county 
 of Kent, and by ten o'clock the stage entered Herrington. Mr. 
 Ashley was once more at home, and a fresh sorrow, not un- 
 mingled with joy, awaited the widow in meeting the only sister 
 of her late beloved husband. 
 
 A few minutes' walk from the coach office, took the travellers 
 to the minister's humble abode, where Mrs. Ashley, who was 
 expecting her husband's return, had everything prepared in 
 her power to give them a hearty welcome. 
 
 Little Gerald was introduced to his cousins and the little 
 orphan guest of the household, and the first joy and grief of the 
 meeting over, and every one refreshed with a homely but 
 plentiful breakfast, the ladies retired to talk and perchance to 
 weep over times gone by, and Gerald was taken by his cousins 
 to inspect their toys and treasures, while Mr. Ashley, tired as 
 he was with his long journey, was obliged to forego his much 
 needed rest, for the present, and to set hard to work to redeem, 
 his lost time, and endeavor to satisfy the rigid exactions of 
 the leading members and elders of his flock.
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 77 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Showing who prove to be friends in time of trouble, and attesting to the 
 truth of the old adage, "A friend in need IB a friend indeed." 
 
 MR. ASHLEY certainly had sufficient on his hands, for in addi- 
 tion to his clerical duties, the task devolved upon him of edu- 
 cating his two sons, Frederick and Henry, (the twins were 
 girls, and, as I have observed, still infants,) Alice Thornton, 
 the orphan child alluded to in the foregoing chapter, and little 
 Gerald Dalton, his nephew, for he was quite unable to pay for 
 their tuition elsewhere. Frederick, the elder son of Mr. Ash. 
 ley, was about the age of Gerald, as also was Alice Thornton ; 
 Henry was two years younger, but still old enough to require 
 the attention of a preceptor, and all the overburdened minis- 
 ter's spare time was occupied in teaching these children ; but 
 otherwise, the arrival of his nephew and sister-in-law did not 
 impose upon him the additional burden he had anticipated, 
 since Mrs. Dalton, by her skill and industry as a needlewoman, 
 was soon able to support herself and her child, though she still 
 remained beneath the roof of her brother-in-law. 
 
 Two years passed away, during which period the difficulties 
 already hinted at as occurring between Mr. Ashley and the 
 leading members of his congregation greatly increased. The 
 minister was a patient, much-enduring, long-suffering man ; 
 in all reasonable things he endeavored to conform as much as 
 possible to the wishes of others ; but patience has its limits j 
 and his deacons at length became so capricious, and at the 
 same time so exacting, that the long smothered discontent on
 
 78 THE WANDERER. 
 
 both sides broke out into open warfare, and one Sabbath morn- 
 ing Mr. Ashley announced his resignation from the pulpit, 
 greatly to the astonishment of Deacon Milton, who had no 
 idea that it was possible for the harassed pastor to take so 
 decided, and, as he thought, so desperate a step, and greatly to 
 the regret of many of the poorer members of the chapel, who 
 had taken no part in the various controversies between the 
 minister and the deacons, and who only knew the former as a 
 good and zealous pastor, and a kind hearted man, ever ready 
 to offer his sympathy in the hour of trouble, though he had 
 nothing else to give. 
 
 The deacons, in obedience to the general desire of the con- 
 gregation, endeavored to induce the minister to change his 
 mind ; they even, after finding all other attempts fail, offered 
 to increase his salary to seventy pounds a year, in their opinion 
 a munificent mark of generosity, but the offer had come too 
 late, and Mr. Ashley courteously but positively declined to 
 continue in the exercise of the duties of his sacred office. 
 
 He had not arrived at this determination without due con- 
 sideration. He had advised with Dr. Knight and Mr. Pearce, 
 the vicar of the parish, the only friends with whom he could 
 advise, and he had resolved upon opening a school for boarders 
 and day scholars, in the belief that he should find the profes- 
 sion of a schoolmaster at least as remunerative as that from 
 which he was about to retire. There was, to be sure, another 
 boarding and day school in the town, a long established, 
 highly respectable school, with three or four tutors, besides 
 the principal, to which most of the well-to-do residents and 
 the town was but small sent their children. Still Mr. Ash- 
 ley believed there was room for another academy, and if there 
 were not day scholars enough to make it pay, why should he 
 not succeed in obtaining boarders from a distance, as well as 
 Mr. Clarke, the other -school master? 
 
 So in a short time a house was rented with the necessary 
 accommodations, in front of which a sign-board was put up
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 79 
 
 with the words " PROSPECT HOUSE CLASSICAL AND COMMER- 
 CIAL ACADEMY" painted upon it in big letters, and circulars 
 were distributed freely, which informed the townspeople and 
 strangers that at Prospect House Academy, young gentlemen 
 could be instructed in the ordinary branches of English educa- 
 tion at a moderate cost, and for certain extra charges enume- 
 rated, in Mathematics, Algebra, Astronomy, and the Use of 
 the Globes, Drawing, Latin, Greek, and the Modern Lan- 
 guages. A few young gentlemen, also, could be received as 
 boarders for the sum of twenty-five pounds per annum, paid 
 quarterly in advance, every attention being paid to their com- 
 fort by Mrs. Ashley, &c. &c. 
 
 But alas ! fortune seemed to frown upon Mr. Ashley in all 
 nis undertakings ; very few of the children of the townspeople 
 came to his school, and these not the children of the more re- 
 spectable class ; and as to parents at a distance, they remained 
 perfectly indifferent to the fact that board and tuition in the 
 English language and all the comforts of a home were offered 
 their children by the proprietor of Prospect House Classical 
 and Commercial Academy. 
 
 The inevitable result was, that after two years of desperate 
 struggle, Mr. Ashley was arrested for debt, while in London 
 during the vacation, endeavoring to borrow money, and con- 
 signed to the Fleet Prison. 
 
 This was a dreadful blow to his unhappy wife and family, 
 though the children were still too young to feel the whole 
 weight of its severity. Things took their usual course. An 
 inventory was taken of the furniture and effects of the bank- 
 rupt, and Mrs. Ashley removed with the children into humbler 
 lodgings, to which, however, her sister and niece did not accom- 
 pany her, Mrs. Dalton having taken separate lodgings for her- 
 self and Gerald, who was now a fine boy of twelve years old, 
 and also relieving Mrs. Ashley of the charge of Alice Thornton. 
 
 There was great commotion in the little town when the bank- 
 ruptcy of Mr. Ashley became generally known. It was astonish-
 
 80 THE WANDERER. 
 
 ing to learn how often the event had been mentally predicted, al- 
 though until it occurred, no one had ever breathed the predic- 
 tion to his neighbor ; and equally astonishing was it to learn 
 to how many different causes the misfortune was attributed. 
 
 " I knew it would come to this when Mr. Ashley resigned 
 his charge over Zion Chapel," observed Mr. Milton to a neigh- 
 bor whom he met while taking his morning walk on the pier. 
 "*' When people grow proud and stiff-necked, and greedy of 
 riches, they are sure to meet with a fall. It'll be a desperate 
 blow to the family. He'll never recover it." 
 
 " Don't bear too hard on the poor man, now he's fell into 
 misfortune," was the reply of the person addressed, an honest 
 farmer, who was personally unacquainted with the minister, 
 but who sympathized with him and his family in their trouble. 
 "And the poor wife and children," he continued, " what'll 
 they do 1" 
 
 " Do as best they can," returned the deacon, " when folks 
 go beyond their means, they deserve to suffer. There was 
 aller's too much pride about Ashley, and now he's reaping its 
 fruits." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! in prison," said the farmer. " But, you say, 
 they must do as best they can. What means of support have 
 they 1 You know they musn't starve" 
 
 " Oh, they won't starve ; if I thought that likely, why, I'd 
 try and get up a small subscription for them myself, though 
 they have no claim on me or any of us, since Ashley left Zion 
 Chapel. Mr. Pearce, and Dr. Knight I have been told sent 
 Mrs. Ashley some money, as a loan. I have no doubt that such 
 is the case." 
 
 " Well, I'm glad to hear that at any rate," returned the 
 farmer. " And he, the minister as was, he'll get his sartiiicate 
 I s'pose," 
 
 u Oh aye in a month or so. Meanwhile a little confine- 
 ment won't do him any harm. It'll humble him and his 
 family, and teach 'em to know their places better in future,**
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 81 
 
 replied Deacon Milton, as he turned away in the direction of 
 his house. 
 
 Mr. Clarke had predicted, so he said, the very day that he 
 heard Mr. Ashley was about opening a rival Academy, that his 
 presumption would meet with a check. He to think of suc- 
 ceeding in establishing a school ! It was only a source of won- 
 der to Mr. Clarke that he had not failed sooner. " He ought 
 to," added that worthy and conscientious man " for it's down- 
 right robbery for a man to try to keep afloat when he feels 
 himself sinking all the time." 
 
 Various other reasons were given to account for the mis- 
 fortunes of the poor schoolmaster ; but the general belief 
 amongst the gossips was that he was one of those unhappy 
 men whom Fortune constantly plays football with, and conse- 
 quently it was useless to sympathize with him, and would be 
 foolish to endeavor to assist him. This last opinion, being a 
 very satisfactory one, inasmuch as it saved a great deal of pain, 
 and trouble, was pretty generally accepted, and amidst these 
 conflicting opinions Mrs. Ashley and the children might have 
 starved or gone to the parish poor-house, but for the kindness 
 of the vicar and the doctor, both of whom visited the family, 
 and afforded them such temporary assistance as they stood in 
 need of. 
 
 They had, however, still another friend, who was willing to 
 serve them in his humble way, and this was Jemmy Milton, 
 the brother of the deacon. This man had been a sailor, but 
 had retired from the sea some years before on the occasion of 
 his receiving a legacy left by an older brother, whose life had 
 also been spent at sea, and who had accumulated a handsome 
 competency. There were, however, certain restrictions im- 
 posed upon Jemmy MiU.on by his brother's will. The greater 
 portions of this brother's wealth had been bequeathed to deacon 
 Thomas Milton, who was possessed besides of considerable 
 property. Jemmy only came into the possession of a small 
 annuity of fifty pounds, which was left in the possession of 
 6
 
 gg THE WANDERER. 
 
 the deacon, to be by him applied in the manner he thought 
 most advisable for the younger brother's benefit. For some 
 time Jemmy had received it in quarterly payments, and as he 
 still owned a fishing boat, and earned some money as a fisher- 
 man, he managed to maintain himself as decently as he cared 
 to do ; but within a year or two, Jemmy had prevailed Upon 
 his brother to change the method he had originally adopted. 
 
 The fact is, unjust as it may seem, there was reason in the 
 unequal distribution of his property by the oldest brother, 
 Kichard Milton. He knew that his brother Thomas, niggardly 
 as he was by nature, would not allow Jemmy to suffer from 
 want ; and he knew also, that if Jemmy had a thousand pounds 
 a year to spend, he would spend it all recklessly, and feel the 
 pressure of want before the year was ended Jemmy was 
 content, nay proud, to earn his living as a fisherman, although 
 he had ceased to go long voyages to sea as a sailor. The fifty 
 pounds a year was pocket-money for the purchase of luxuries. 
 Had it been five times fifty, Jemmy would not have worked 
 as a fisherman ; would not ha>e been half so happy and con- 
 tented as he was, and would have spent foolishly the larger 
 sum, while he husbanded the smaller one, with, for him, some 
 degree of caution. 
 
 Having formed a resolve, that as long as he was able his 
 labor should supply him with the actual necessaries of life, he 
 was just as fully resolved not to earn any more than sufficed 
 to procure these necessaries, but he found, after a fair trial, 
 that the quarters came round slowly, and that when they did 
 come, and he received his usual quarterly pittance of twelve 
 pounds ten shillings, the next payment was at a date so 
 far distant that he was pretty sure to be out of pocket money 
 long before it arrived. It would have been just the same had 
 the quarterly allowance been doubled or trebled. So Jemmy 
 hit upon a novel scheme. One day, when he was in the act of 
 receiving his little pittance from the hands of his brother, the 
 following conversation took place between them.
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 83 
 
 " Now Jemmy," said the deacon, " try and take care of that 
 money. A little spent to-day and a little to-morrow, and so 
 forth, and it will last well enough till next quarter. 1 will take 
 care of it for you if you like, and you can get it from me just 
 as you fancy." Jemmy looked at the money as it lay on the 
 table before him. He gave an extra twist to the chew of pig- 
 tail tobacco he held in his mouth, scratched his head and 
 seemed half inclined to close with his brother's proposal ; but 
 the prospect of the forthcoming jollification was too much for 
 his prudence, and he swept the money into his hand, and thrust it 
 into his pocket. 
 
 " I'll tell ye what, Tummas," he said, " I must take the 
 money as it is this time, I can't 'conomize this bout, but for the 
 future I'd like to sail on another tack. D'ye see twelve pound 
 ten's a heap of money to spend It's a short homeward bound 
 v'yage While I've got it to spend, I'll spend it like a man ; 
 but, if so be, as I hadn't got so much to spend, why I couldn't 
 spend it, in coorse, and the odds is, I should be just as well 
 satisfied." 
 
 "Just so, Jemmy," replied the deacon, "just so, now suppose 
 from this time I give you the money monthly, or weekly, if 
 you like, what do you say to that ?" 
 
 " That it's very sensible; but it won't do no ways" an- 
 swered Jemmy. " It comes to this, I feels the want of a jolli- 
 fication at sartain times, and I wants money to carry it out, 
 and enough money to carry it out properly too, but not so 
 much as this here. Now I wants you to pay me a shilling 
 a day, soger's pay, Tummas, till the quarter comes round, and 
 then I'll take the balance. I shall allus have money in my 
 purse to buy my porter and bacca then, and something to go 
 on a spree with at the end of the quarter, as usual." 
 
 The deacon, after vainly endeavoring to induce his brother 
 to make some wiser arrangement, consented at length, to Jem- 
 my's proposition, and from that time forward Jemmy re- 
 ceived and spent his shilling a day, and had his quarterly pay- 
 ment reduced to eight pounds.
 
 84 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Deacon Milton often attempted to give his "brother moral 
 advice ; but it was entirely thrown away upon him, for Jemmy 
 with all his simplicity, was shrewd enough to read his brother's 
 character perfectly, and to know that on the score of morality, 
 it would scarcely compare favorably with his own for he was 
 no debauchee nor was given to any vice. His money was 
 not spent in drink or dissipation, but rather flung away foolishly, 
 given to every one that asked for it, so long as he had a penny- 
 remaining to give. 
 
 With the boys of the town Jemmy Milton was an universal 
 favorite. He was always ready to join them in their amuse- 
 ments ; to take them out to sea in his boat ; to build and rig 
 toy ships for them, and to spin yarns of such absorbing in- 
 terest to his youthful auditors, that they would listen greedily 
 to them for hours together. 
 
 Gerald Dalton, who was a boy of a courageous and generous 
 disposition, was especially a favorite of the old fisherman's. 
 He had often accompanied him home to assist in the construc- 
 tion of some new toy, or to teach the boy how to rig a ship 
 properly, and he was among the few who really sympathized 
 with the unfortunate uncle of his favorite. 
 
 A day or two after Mrs. Dalton had removed to her new 
 lodgings, Jernmy met Gerald and Alice, walking on the beach. 
 
 Evincing a delicacy of feeling that few would have suspected 
 him of possessing, the rough old fisherman hesitated to approach 
 them for some moments, for fear they should think he wished 
 to pry into the secrets of the misfortune that had befallen them ; 
 but, at length, upbraiding his own folly, he advanced towards 
 them, and observed that he had not seen Gerald for several 
 days. " We have moved, Jemmy," said Gerald. " Alice and 
 1 don't live with Aunt Ashley, now." 
 
 " No ! where do you live, then ?" 
 
 Gerald gave him the information he asked for, and he de- 
 sired the boy to tell his mother that Jemmy Milton was coming 
 to call upon her that evening.
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 85 
 
 " Oh, do, Jemmy, do," cried Gerald and Alice, in a breath, 
 " Won't we be glad, and" added Gerald, " You'll tell mother 
 the funny tale about the Alligators, won't you. She's so dull 
 sometimes. It'll make her laugh won't it, Alice ? ;> 
 
 "Your mother's dull, is she?" said the old fisherman, "well, 
 well, stormy weather comes upon us all times. It can't be 
 helped, and ' what can't be coored must be endoor'd,' as the 
 copy book says. But, tell her to cheer up bravely, and all '11 
 come out right in the end." 
 
 Gerald promised to deliver the message to his mother, and 
 walked homeward with the little girl. 
 
 " Now what an old fool I be, to send sich a message as that, 
 arter all," said the old man, as he stood watching the children. 
 " She'll think, the Widow Dalton will no, no, she won't be 
 quite so silly as that, nuther," he continued, after a pause, slap- 
 ping his leg with the palm of his hard hand, and chuckling heait- 
 ily at some ridiculous fancy. " She won't be quite so silly as 
 to think I means anything improper, sich as makin up luv an 
 old weather beaten chap like me, to sich a young widder as she 
 be. She'll have more gumption than that comes to ; but how 
 the dickens I'm to get over it, I don't know. Mebby, I'd bet- 
 ter have gone to Mrs. Ashley at oncet ; but its ork'ard bisness 
 very ork'ard business, any how." 
 
 Mrs. Dalton certainly was surprised at the intimation that 
 she was to expect a visit from Jemmy Milton that evening. 
 She could not conceive what it was the old fisherman whom 
 she had never spoken to and whom she only knew as the bro- 
 ther of Deacon Milton, could want with her. However, not 
 being able to conceive what he could want, she thought no more 
 about it until the time appointed by Jemmy arrived. 
 
 He was true to the minute, and after having sent up his name 
 ty the woman of the house who opened the door to him, he 
 was at the request of Mrs Dalton, shown up stairs. 
 
 " I hope you're well well, marm," he said, as he entered the 
 room, first giving his trowsers a hitch, and then bowing in
 
 86 THE WANDERER. 
 
 sailor fashion, and jerking alarmingly at the forelock of his 
 hair. 
 
 " Your name is Milton, Sir, Mr. James Milton," said the 
 widow. 
 
 " Jemmy Milton, or plain Jemmy, at your sarvice, marm," 
 replied the old fisherman, with another awkward bow, and an- 
 other pull at the unfortunate forelock. 
 
 " Pray, be seated, Sir, I am glad to see you." 
 
 "I am glad to hear that, marm," said the old man. "Be- 
 cause, d'ye see, I somehow thought as I might be intrudin'." 
 
 " By no means. My little boy " 
 
 " And a right smart boy he is, marm," interrupted Jemmy. 
 
 " My little boy," continued the widow, " has told me that 
 you wished to see me on business this evening. May I ask 
 what it is about ?" 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure," returned the old man. " That's 
 comin' right to the pint at oncet. That saves a great deal of 
 trouble. But " and he looked at the children, and whispered 
 in a voice, however, sufficiently loud for them to hear, " I 
 shouldn't like, marm, to speak right afore the children. It's 
 a delicate subject as I've come about." 
 
 Much surprised at the old man's remarks, Mrs. Dalton re- 
 quested the children to retire to the bedroom, the only other 
 apartment she possessed, and after Jemmy had thrice vainly 
 attempted to clear his throat, for he spoke in a hoarser voice 
 than usual, he proceeded to explain the object of his unexpected 
 call. 
 
 "You see, marm," he said, "I'm only a rough seafarin' man 
 laid up in ordinary, as I may say ; but I know'd Mr. Ashley, 
 marm, and I respects him. Darned if I don't!" he exclaimed 
 with emphasis, dashing his hat upon the floor to give greater 
 force to the expression. " And I think he ain't been kindly 
 dealt with by my brother, Deacon Tummas. " He's fell into 
 misfortin, marm, and I respects a man as falls into misfortin' 
 and bears it like a man as I knows he does. Now, I'm
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 8t 
 
 oomin to the pint, and you'll excuse me when I say, as it was 
 quarter day yesterday, and I've got a little matter o' money, 
 which I ain't got any use for whatsomever, and which I should 
 like some keerful body to keep for me, to use, you know, and 
 pay me some day, when I wants it, which won't be p'raps for 
 a year or more. D'ye see, marm. I'm beginning to think 
 as I ought to lay by something, altho' I'm as hearty as ever I 
 was for the matter o' that." 
 
 Jemmy hauled out the eight pounds he had that morning 
 received from the Deacon, and laying the gold on the table, 
 seemed to be awaiting Mrs. Dalton's reply. But the widow 
 did not speak ; she new not what to make of the old fisherman's 
 remarks. She knew him to be an eccentric character, and had 
 heard that he was profuse in the expenditure of the little money 
 that fell into his possession, and she had an inkling of his object, 
 still she scarcely knew what to reply. 
 
 Observing her silence the old man resumed : 
 
 " I see, marm, as you don't rightly understand me, and no 
 wonder. A man ain't to be understood when he don't speak 
 out plain, to the purpose, as a man ought to do. To come 
 right to the pint then, I wish you to give this here small matter 
 o' money as a loan to Mrs. Ashley. Don't tell her who lent 
 it her : say, please, that a friend sent it who respects her hus- 
 band, and I wish it wur more there" 
 
 Jemmy emphasized this last word, as if it had eased his 
 mind of a troublesome load, and Mrs. Dalton, as she looked 
 at him, could not help admiring the generosity of character 
 that beamed in his eye. The weather-beaten old man looked 
 positively handsome. 
 
 " Mrs. Ashley," she said, after a pause, " has met with many 
 kind friends in her trouble. Mr. Pearce and Dr. Kinght have 
 been very kind to her. I feel your kindness much ; but excuse 
 me, Mr. Milton, you are not rich. You will have need of this 
 money."
 
 88 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Not at all, ttiarm, not at all," replied the old fisherman. 
 " I can allus earn my living while God gives me strength, and 
 independent, of that, I has my shilling a day, for baccy and 
 drink, and this here sum of eight pounds every quarter. More 
 by token, my brother Tummas, close as he is, wouldn't let me 
 want, if my old hulk should give way and lay me up in ordi- 
 nary. You see I didn't like to make the offer, direct, myself 
 to Mrs. Ashley, seeing as I didn't know her, so I thought it 'd 
 be more delicate like to make it through you." 
 
 Observing that Mrs. Dalton still hesitated, he added : 
 " Supposing you don't take the money, it 'ill do me no good, 
 nor nobody no good. I shall go down to the boathouse, under 
 the cliff, and treat all the boatmen and may be they'll lose a 
 day's work in consekence." 
 
 " I will accept your kind offer in behalf of my sister, Mf. 
 Milton," said Mrs. Dalton, " but you must permit me to tell 
 her to whom she is indebted." 
 
 " Not at all, not at all," said Jemmy. " Say a friend of her 
 husband's, and a friend of the minister's, that's all. And now, 
 marm, I wish you good evening." And without waiting for 
 further acknowledgments, the old fisherman left the room. 
 
 The generous donation of the honest old fisherman was of 
 essential service to Mrs. Ashley, who, with all the kindness of 
 the few friends who sympathized with her husband's misfortunes, 
 found it difficult to get along with her large family, thus left 
 so dependent solely upon her exertions. 
 
 It was not long, however, before her husband was restored 
 to her. He found little difficulty in getting his certificate, for 
 it was proved in court that his bankruptcy had been caused 
 by misfortunes over which he had no control, and he was dis- 
 charged. Some friends likewise assisted him with a trifling i 
 loan, and he returned to his family, with the intention of open- 
 ing a school in a village on the sea coast, a few miles distant 
 from Herrington. It was a small watering place to which he
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 89 
 
 retired, much frequented in summer on account of its excellent 
 advantages for sea-bathing, and he thought here there was a 
 probability of success. 
 
 Thither he removed with his wife and children, leaving Mrs. 
 Dalton and her son and Alice Thornton in the town, where for 
 some years she had earned a living, poor enough, it is true, but 
 still a living for herself and her boy, with her needle.
 
 90 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Contains some account of Herrington and its inhabitants, and tells how Gerald 
 Dolton mode up his mind to leave home and seek his fortune. 
 
 IT was not the best situation for a high spirited boy of 
 twelve years old to be placed in, that in which Gerald Dalton 
 was placed in now. Debarred by his mother's want of means 
 from the advantages of a regular school education, for Mr. 
 Ashley had removed too far off for him to attend his school 
 any longer, he was dependent for such instruction, as she had 
 time to give, upon his mother ; but she had but little leisure 
 during the day-time to bestow upon him, and the consequence 
 was, that, although a well-disposed boy, much of the time that 
 ought to have been employed in study was spent in wandering 
 abroad, and though in obedience to his mother's wishes, he 
 kept himself aloof from the vicious boys of the neighborhood, 
 such a training as this, for a boy of his years, necessarily led 
 to a love of roaming and a disaffection to steady, settled pur- 
 suits, calculated to have a bad influence over him when, after a 
 lapse of a year or two more, he should commence to earn his 
 own living and to learn to depend upon his own exertions. 
 
 A great portion of his time was spent upon the sea beach, 
 watching the operations of the sailors, boatmen, and fishermen, 
 or listening to their marvelous yarns Jemmy Milton standing 
 pre-eminent as a narrator of wonderful stories. Nothing, in fact, 
 was too stupendously marvelous to cause Jemmy to hesitate. 
 Whether in his younger years he had read Gulliver's travels,
 
 HERRINGTON AS IT WAS. 91 
 
 and Baron Munchausen's adventures, and the History of Robin- 
 son Crusoe, and mingled the whole together and thought over 
 them until he believed them true, and himself to have been an 
 actor in the wonderful adventures through which these heroes 
 passed, or whether his marvelous stories were the product of 
 his own imagination, aided by a recollection of the scenes he had 
 witnessed during a long and adventurous ocean career, I cannot 
 say , but it is certain that Jemmy had become so habituated to 
 dealing in the marvelous, that he actually believed what he 
 said, and told his stories with so much sententious gravity, 
 never allowing a muscle of his face to relax, although the listen- 
 ers were convulsed with laughter, that to the boys in Herrington 
 he was a living story-book, always full of new fairy tales and 
 wonderful adventures by sea and land, infinitely more amusing 
 than any printed story-book they had ever read, while over- 
 grown men listened to him with wonder and admiration ; but 
 then, with the few exceptions that always go to prove the rule, 
 the inhabitants of Herrington were not remarkable for refine- 
 ment or intelligence. 
 
 Steam and the electric telegraph have done great wonders 
 for Herrington, which is now a thriving seaport and a fashion- 
 able watering place, possessing several admirably appointed 
 hotels, elegant streets and piers, and numerous villas situated 
 on the summit of its lofty cliff, affording a glorious view of the 
 straits, and on fine, clear days, of the French Coast opposite, 
 at a distance of some twenty -five or thirty miles. It is now, in 
 fact, the chief outlet to the continent, and the first place that the 
 continental visitor sets foot on visiting England. Where in 
 former days lay the Dutch galliot, discharging its cargo of 
 cheese and eggs, direct from Holland, or the single-masted 
 " hoy," waiting to convey passengers to the channel ports, may 
 now be seen the packet steamers, just returned from or just 
 about to depart for Boulogne, freighted with passengers of all ranks 
 of life, and the bustle now observable upon the quays, would 
 have astonished the inhabitants of Herrington of the past gen-
 
 92 THE WANDERER. 
 
 eration. The Dutch galliots, with their quaint crews and odd 
 cargoes, may still be seen ; but the modest, humble hoy, has 
 gone the way of the old stage coach, and is now among the 
 things that were. 
 
 Yet Herrington boasts of great antiquity, and according to 
 its inhabitants, once possessed seven churches, and streets and 
 houses, stretching far out where now flows the sea, which accord- 
 ing to ancient legend has encroached upon miles of land, and 
 undermined and crumbled vast masses of the huge cliffs, the 
 remnants of which, while they seem to bid defiance to its fur- 
 ther encroachments, still to this day suffer from its never ceas- 
 ing process of undermining ; but the men of Herrington, 
 
 " Grown wiser than of yore, 
 
 Build rearward now, who seaward built before." 
 
 At the period of which I write, and for many years before, the 
 ostensible occupation of the greater portion of its inhabitants 
 had been that of fishing and curing red herrings. From this 
 latter occupation, probably, was derived its euphonious designa- 
 tion. But the real occupation of the people, " and that in which 
 they took the most delight," was smuggling. For several gen- 
 erations the Herringtonians had been smugglers, root and 
 branch. The wealthy residents, and there were several pos- 
 sessed of considerable wealth, had made their fortunes by con- 
 traband trade and then retired from the profession. The 
 mayor, and the members of the corporation, the town clerk, 
 and the parish clerk, the beadle, the town crier and the very 
 watchmen, had been or were all more or less concerned in this 
 nefarious occupation. Probably there was not a resident of 
 the place, excepting the vicar, and the dissenting minister, and 
 the doctor, and the schoolmaster, that had not been more or 
 less a smuggler. As to the lawyer, the only lawyer v the town 
 boasted, he was well known to be the most successful smuggler 
 of the lot. Smuggling was, however, on the wane. The vigil- 
 ance exercised by the officers of the coast-guard, had rendered 
 it more perilous and less profitable than of old, and the wealthy
 
 A LEARNED CORPORATION. 93 
 
 few who had retired from the business now professed to look 
 upon it with holy horror. 
 
 This occupation, carried on for years, and looked upon as the 
 natural destiny of a Herringtonian, although it had in some 
 respects rendered them shrewd, brave, and sharp-witted, had not 
 been favorable to the progress of education, and probably a 
 body of people more ignorant of " book-learning," as they con 
 temptuously expressed themselves when speaking of education, 
 was not to be found in Great Britain. It is a well known his- 
 torical fact, that towards the close of the last century, the 
 Board of Admiralty in London, sent orders to the mayors of 
 all the channel ports to whitewash the land marks in order to 
 render them more readily recognizable to mariners. Herring- 
 ton church, perched high upon the cliffs, was a well known 
 land mark, and the mayor of Herrington received an order to 
 the same effect as his compeers. His worship was overpow- 
 ered with conflicting emotions of delight and consternation. 
 Arrant smuggler as he had been, he was elated at the idea of 
 receiving a communication in his official capacity from tho 
 Board of Admiralty ; but the matter was one of too great im- 
 portance, in his estimation, to be decided upon without holding 
 a consultation with his civic advisers. . The corporation was 
 forthwith assembled to hold a special meeting in the Town 
 Hall, and in a flutter of agitation the mayor handed the official 
 letter to the town clerk, to read. " Eeading and writing coming 
 by nature, and being no gift of fortune," as honest Dogberry 
 hath it, was not one of his worship's qualifications. 
 
 The document was read, or rather spelled through by the 
 clerk. 
 
 " We must appropriate a sum of money to this purpose 
 immediately," said the mayor, when the clerk had finished the 
 reading, looking round with conscious dignity upon the assem- 
 bled civic officers. 
 
 " May it please your worship," said an old alderman, rising
 
 94 THE WANDERER. 
 
 from his seat, " there is more room for discussion and reflec- 
 tion in this order than your worship perceives." 
 
 " Ha ! what is that ]" said the mayor. " To me it seems 
 clear enough. What say you, gentlemen?" addressing the 
 remainder of the Board. 
 
 " Has your worship observed," continued the alderman, 
 " that their gracious lordships have not said what color the 
 church is to be whitewashed ?" 
 
 " No," responded half a dozen voices. " We must send to 
 London for further explanation before we proceed. Their 
 lordships have evidently forgot to state what color the church 
 is to be whitewashed." 
 
 The mayor was convinced. He marveled that he had not 
 noticed the omission before, but it might be a mistake of their 
 own. The clerk was ordered to read the document again. No, 
 there was no mention of the color, and forthwith the clerk was 
 directed to draw out a letter of inquiry, to which the mayor 
 and aldermen each affixed " +, his mark," requesting the neces- 
 sary instructions, to which it is presumed a reply was duly re- 
 ceived, for in process of time the church was whitew&shed. 
 
 A story also is told of the Herringtonians, to the effect, 
 that fearful of contagion, once upon a time, when the small-pox 
 was raging violently in a neighboring village, they stretched 
 fishing nets around the town to keep out the horrible disease ; 
 but this story is not so well authenticated as the latter, and 
 many persons incline to believe that it is a malicious libel 
 cast upon the Herringtonians by some of their envious 
 neighbors. 
 
 Encounters between the coast-guardmen and the smugglers 
 were by no means of rare occurrence, nor were the magis- 
 trates at all prompt in rendering their official aid to the officers 
 of the government in these instances ; for, although they pro- 
 fessed to frown upon the offence against the laws, even those 
 who no longer traded in contraband themselves could not dis- 
 possess themselves of the fellow feeling that makes us won-
 
 A LEARNED CORPORATION. 95 
 
 drous kind towards certain sins of others. It was not an un- 
 common sight to witness a stalwart smuggler, who had been 
 captured, led to prison between a file of coast-guard men with 
 their officers at their head, all with their swords drawn to be 
 in readiness to oppose any attempt at rescue that might be 
 made, and that but for these precautions, would have been 
 made ; and as the prisoner passed haughtily aiong the streets, 
 carelessly smoking his pipe while surrounded by his captors, 
 windows would be thrown up, sometimes those of the houses 
 of the magistrates, and fair ladies would wave their handker- 
 chiefs in sympathy with the shouts of the populace, encouraging 
 the offender against the laws, and bidding him be of good 
 cheer. 
 
 It was in the midst of such a population as this that Gerald 
 Dal ton lived from the age of eight to fourteen years, and dur- 
 ing the last two years of this period he was free from the salu- 
 tary restraints that would have been imposed upon him had he 
 regularly frequented a school. 
 
 However, the anxious care of his mother preserved him 
 from the effects of many of the evil influences that might other- 
 wise have operated dangerously upon his young mind. 
 
 That which she most dreaded was the effects of his com- 
 panionship with boys of his own age, who, not subjected to the 
 moral restraints, nor influenced by the teachings her own boy 
 found at home, might counteract her endeavors; and she en- 
 deavored, as much as possible, to render his home, and the 
 society he found there, attractive to him. 
 
 In this effort, she in a great measure succeeded, and his 
 evenings were generally spent at home, where he was some- 
 times engaged in study, and sometimes in reading aloud to his 
 mother and Alice Thornton. 
 
 Gerald, however, had formed a strong attachment to Jemmy 
 Mi 1 ton, and he was never so happy as when he could catch tho 
 old fisherman alone, mending his nets or repairing his boats, 
 and entice him to talk of the strange scenes he had witnessed
 
 96 THE WANDERER. 
 
 and the perilous adventures he had passed through on the 
 ocean and in foreign lands. Though he was sometimes a little 
 staggered by the fabulous tone of Jemmy's yarns, he generally 
 received them as truth, and often wished that he could witness 
 such strange sights and dare such perils. 
 
 Setting aside the glaring improbability of Jemmy's stories, 
 they were neither dangerous nor immoral. Indeed, in his wild- 
 est flights of imagination, it would appear that he endeavored 
 to convey some moral to his listeners, and the kind-hearted 
 though eccentric old man was never so happy himself as when 
 he had a happy group of children round him and witnessed the 
 delight they derived from hearing him tell his wondrous stories. 
 
 Thus two years passed away, and Gerald Dal ton and Alice 
 Thornton were each fourteen years old. Gerald, although he 
 had missed the educational advantages possessed by boys more 
 favored by fortune than he had been, was a well informed lad. 
 Mrs. Dalton was a lady of superior education, although re- 
 duced in circumstances, as the reader is aware ; and in some 
 respects, perhaps Gerald had profited more by his home in- 
 structions than he would have done at school, and he had ac- 
 quired a refinement of manner from the constant society of 
 his mother and Alice, which most favorably distinguished him 
 from the generality of the town boys. 
 
 It was now time that he should be bound apprentice to some 
 trade or profession, or go into some office in which be could 
 learn to maintain himself, and the knowledge of this and tho 
 difficulty of finding a place suitable for him was a great source 
 of anxiety and trouble to Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 Gerald had a taste for drawing, and it was his mother's de- 
 sire that he should make it useful to him, as it would be if he 
 were to become an engraver, and although the boy was willing 
 to follow her wishes, his own fancy leaned to some more adven- 
 turous life, he cared little what, provided it gave occupation to 
 his daring spirit. But his mother shrunk from the thought of 
 this ; and yet, to place him in the office of a merchant, or
 
 GOODADVICE. 97 
 
 the shop of a tradesman, would require a fee beyond her 
 means. She resolved at length, after much thought, to con- 
 sult with Doctor Knight and the vicar upon the subject. 
 
 One day Gerald had, as usual, when he had a leisure hour 
 to spare from the studies to which Mrs. Dal ton kept him con- 
 fined as closely as she thought advisable, strolled down to the 
 beach in the hope of meeting with Jemmy Milton. He found 
 the old man in the boat-house mending his nets, and whistling 
 merrily the tune of an old sea-song. A mug of beer stood on 
 a bench by his side, on which also lay his pipe. 
 
 " Ah, Gerald, my boy," said he, as the youth entered the 
 boat-house, " so you've come to have a chat with old Jemmy, 
 have ye. Well, sit down, take care of the pipe though, don't 
 break that. There, that'll do. Well, what's the news at home ?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied Gerald, who appeared to be in lower 
 spirits than usual. The old fisherman observed this. 
 
 " Why, Gerry, boy," he said, "you seem dull and mopish 
 to-day. You're not sick, eh 1" 
 
 " No," replied the youth, "I'm pretty well, Jemmy." 
 
 " Then you should never be down-hearted. I hold it a sin 
 and a shame to be downhearted, in God's world, where there 
 is so much to enjoy, if anybody only takes the right view of 
 things. If it storms to-day, why what's the odds, it's more like 
 to be sunshine to-morrow. No good ever comes o'mopin." 
 And the old man sung in a cheerful voice, a snatch of a song 
 as was his habit often in the midst of a conversation. 
 
 " Then away with melancholy while time is on the wing, 
 We can't prevent its flying, so let's merrily, cherrily sing 
 Fal la." 
 
 " There's good sound sense in that 'ere ditty, Master Gerald, 
 if the world only knowed it," he said, as he ceased singing. 
 
 " I am not down-hearted without a cause," replied Gerald. 
 
 " V/hy, what's the matter, boy ?" asked the old man ; " you 
 said there was nothing the matter at home. Folks all well and 
 hearty, eh 1 ?" 
 7
 
 98 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Yes, mother is well, and so is Alice ; and so were Uncle 
 Ashley's folks when last we heard from them. But, Jemmy, 
 I'm fourteen years old to-day, and it's high time that I ceased 
 to be a burden to my mother. Alice maintains herself by 
 sewing ; but here am I, a great lazy fellow of fourteen, without 
 anything to do that will bring me in a penny, or relieve my 
 mother of the charge of supporting me. I ought to maintain 
 her now, not she me." 
 
 " There's some truth in that, Master Gerald," thoughtfully 
 observed the old fisherman. 
 
 " I'd go to sea, or go and seek my fortune somewhere or 
 other, if mother would give her consent," continued Gerald. 
 " By George, I'm almost inclined to go away from home se- 
 cretly. Mother would forgive me, I know, when she came to 
 know that my object was to assist her and myself at the same 
 time." 
 
 " Not go away from home agin your mother's wish, Master 
 Gerald ?" said the old man. 
 
 " Why, what do women know as to what a man ought to 
 do ? and I ought to be a man now," said the boy, impatiently. 
 "It would be better for myself; better for mother and," he 
 added, after a pause, " better for Alice." 
 
 " Master Gerald," said the old man, gravely, " I'm sorry to 
 hear you talk that a ways. 1 never had a wife, or I should 
 p'raps have been a better and a happier man. I should have 
 had a wife if I had followed the advice of my mother; but I 
 was headstrong, and went a long v'yage to sea agin her wish. 
 She wished me to stay in the coastin' trade and marry poor 
 Jane, who's dead and gone years and years ago. They heerd 
 as I was lost, and Jane, agin her will, poor thing, married some- 
 body else. I came back, and she took it so much to heart that 
 she'd been and gone, and married a man as she didn't care for, 
 while I was living, that she broke her heart. I vowed arter that 
 as I'd never marry, and I didn't. But Gerald, take an old man's 
 advice as has seen the world and is old enough to be your
 
 GOOD ADVICE. 99 
 
 grandfather. Never speak contemptuous of women. No man 
 ever spoke contemptuous of women without his havin' a bad 
 heart as well as a bad head. God made 'em to be our help- 
 mates, boy. He made 'em to be man's earthly support, his 
 encouragement in trials, his comfort in sorrow and affliction, 
 his nurse in sickness, his earliest teacher, his last friend, his 
 mother, his sister, his wife. And without mother, sister or 
 wife, what would man be ? Sister or wife, wus luck, I never 
 had ; but I had a mother, boy, and if she war alive now, or if 
 I had been blessed with a wife or sister, mayhap Jemmy 
 Milton wouldn't be the poor unfortunit old vagabone he is 
 now." 
 
 The old man's voice had trembled with suppressed emotion 
 as he spoke, and now, for some minutes, he remained silent, 
 and when he again spoke, it was to repeat his voice of warning. 
 
 "Master Gerald, whatever you do, don't go agin your 
 mother." 
 
 " Nor will I, Jemmy," replied the youth. " I never enter- 
 tained such a thought ; but I wish I had some friend who could 
 persuade mother that it were better for herself, as well as for 
 me, that I should be endeavoring now to make my own way 
 in the world." 
 
 '' Well, there is sense hi that ; there is sense in that," re- 
 peated the old fisherman. " Suppose, now, you should get 
 your uncle to speak to her. He's a clever man, Mr. Ashley. 
 I've a great opinion on him myself. S'pose you was to go 
 over now to Sandgate and ax him to come over to Herrington 
 and give Mrs. Dalton a bit of his mind." 
 
 " I have thought of that, Jemmy," replied Gerald, " but I 
 don't think Uncle Ashley would be of much use; Cousin Fred- 
 erick is as old as I am, and he's at home yet." 
 
 " Ay, to be sure, to be sure," returned the old man. " Still 
 I've lived long enough to know as two heads is wiser- nor one. 
 Mr. Ashley and your mother mought put their heads together 
 and summat mought come out o't."
 
 100 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Well, then," said Gerald, " I will go over to Sandgate one 
 day next week, and speak to uncle." 
 
 " And if nought comes, o' that, Gerald, you mought speak to 
 Mr. Pearce, the parson, up at the vicarage, you know, or to 
 Dr. Knight. Both of 'em are real gentlemen, and friends of 
 your mother. I would speak to her myself, but the words of 
 an old wagabone like me wouldn't go for much." 
 
 Gerald coincided with Jemmy's opinion as far as regarded 
 the assertion that his advice would not be such as his mother 
 would be prone to listen to ; not that he or his mother thought 
 the honest, eccentric old fisherman a vagabondj but anything 
 that Jemmy might suggest would, as Gerald well knew, be of 
 a nature to frighten his mother into the belief that he was urg- 
 ing her son into just the reckless course of adventure she 
 wished him to avoid. 
 
 " Now, I'm goin' to launch my boat, Gerald, boy, and exam- 
 ine the nets I laid last night in the creek," said Jemmy, rising 
 up and putting his tools in the locker. " S'pose you lend me a 
 hand, and mayhap, if I've luck, I'll give ye some fish to take 
 home." 
 
 Nothing could have been more agreeable to Gerald than such 
 a proposition as this. He consented with alacrity, and for the 
 present, the subject of conversation was dropped.
 
 A. VISIT TO LONDON. 101 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 In which it is shown that misfortune still presses upon Mr. Ashley; but he 
 meets with a friend in the hour of need, and goes to London. Showing 
 further how Gerald Dalton accompanied him thither. 
 
 MR. ASHLEY had not succeeded so well as he had anticipat- 
 ed in Sandgate ; true, it was a snug little watering place enough, 
 and during the summer season was tolerably well supplied 
 with visitors, and the visitors brought children with them ; all 
 this was very fine, but the children came for pleasure and re- 
 creation as well as their parents, and did not go to Mr. Ashley's 
 school. With the exception of the few hotels and boarding- 
 house keepers, the villagers were all fishermen, smugglers, coast 
 guardsmen, or petty shopkeepers, all of a class that did not 
 care for the education of their children, or if they did, could 
 not afford to pay for it, while the children of the aforesaid hotel 
 and boarding-house keepers, were weekly boarders at Mr. 
 Clarke's school at Herrington. Mr. Ashley's success at Sand- 
 gate was limited to the patronage of some half dozen of his 
 former Herrington friends, who sent their children as weekly 
 boarders to Sandgate, and so got them educated for nothing, 
 and boarded for nothing into the bargain, since they paid for 
 neither. 
 
 Gerald Dalton walked out to his uncle Ashley's, as he had 
 intimated to the old fisherman, and after relating his troubles, 
 asked Mr. Ashley's advice. 
 
 " Upon my word, Gerald," was the reply, " I scarcely know 
 what to advise. You are right, quite right, not to wish, at
 
 102 THE WANDERER. 
 
 your age, to be longer a burden to your mother ; It is time, 
 too, that Frederick should be doing something for himself, 
 and he is anxious to do something, poor fellow ! but I am ut- 
 terly unable to do any thing for him." 
 
 " Cousin Fred might help you, uncle, in the school," inter- 
 posed Gerald, " I only wish I could help my mother with her 
 work." 
 
 Mr. Ashley smiled mournfully. 
 
 " The school, Gerald," he replied, " does not suffice to furnish 
 me with employment : but come, I am going, over to Herring- 
 ton this afternoon to see Mr. Pearce. Suppose you walk over 
 with me if you have rested yourself sufficiently, and ask his ad- 
 vice. Mr. Pearce has often spoken favorably of you to me. 
 He may suggest something." 
 
 Gerald willingly complied, and the uncle and nephew sat 
 out together. 
 
 The object of Mr. Ashley in calling upon the Vicar, was to 
 hold further conversation respecting a matter which had here- 
 tofore been discussed between them. 
 
 Ever since the former had resigned the pastoral care of Zion 
 Chapel, he had entertained a desire to unite himself with the 
 Established Church ; in fact his ambition was to become a min- 
 ister of that persuasion : but there stood in his path an insur- 
 mountable barrier, he had not received a university education, 
 and this additional one, he had no family or church influence 
 to aid him. Mr. Pearce, however, desirous of assisting him 
 as far as lay in his power, had exerted his influence to obtain 
 for him an appointment as chaplain to one of the colonies ; not, be 
 it said, wih much hope of success, for he was well aware of 
 the difficulties that interposed themselves in the way of his ob- 
 taining even this by no means covetable preferment, even if 
 he could succeed in getting ordained to holy orders ; but the 
 vicar had written to one of his friends, who had spoken of the 
 matter to one of the bishops, and as soon as the vicar received 
 the letter notifying him of this, he had sent for Mr. Ashley to 
 call at the parsonage house at his earliest leisure.
 
 THE SCHOOL A FAILURE. 103 
 
 The few miles between Sandgate and Herrmgton being a 
 pleasant walk along the margin of the cliffs, were soon passed 
 over, and within a couple of hours from leaving Sandgate, Mr. 
 Ashley and his nephew reached the vicarage. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Mr. Ashley," said the vicar, when 
 his visitors were ushered into his presence by the servant ; 
 ' and you too, Gerald. Pray be seated. Why, what a tall 
 boy you are growing. Do you go to school at Sandgate ?" 
 
 " No sir," replied Gerald ; " I have been over to see uncle, 
 and we walked back from Sandgate together." 
 
 " Well then, you will both need some refreshment after your 
 walk, and then your uncle and I will have a little talk together 
 and meanwhile, you can go and amuse yourself in the garden." 
 
 Refreshments were ordered, and soon brought in, and a 
 variety of common-place subjects filled up the conversation 
 until they had been partaken of, when Gerald left the room, 
 and Mr. Pearce at once broached the subject on account of 
 which he had sent for Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " How does the school succeed, Mr. Ashley ?" he asked, by 
 way of preliminary. "Any prospect of an increase ?" 
 
 " Indeed, no sir," replied Mr. Ashley ; " I shall be compel- 
 led to give it up. It is useless endeavoring to carry it on 
 longer. I find it impossible to make both ends meet. In fact, 
 I am getting unavoidably into debt, and my prospects grow 
 every day more gloomy." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that, very sorry," said the kind-hearted 
 vicar ; " however, let us talk of other matters. I have received 
 a letter from a friend of mine, a member of Parliament, who 
 is acquainted with the Bishop of . He has interested him- 
 self, through my representations in your behalf. A meeting is 
 shortly to take place. Let me see this is Saturday a meeting 
 will be held this very day fortnight at Exeter Hall in Lon- 
 don, which will be attended by several of the dignified clergy, 
 to take into consideration the qualifications of the various can- 
 didates for the appointment of chaplain to three or four gov-
 
 104 THE WANDERER 
 
 ernment establishments ; one, the most eligible, I mean as 
 regards the climate, is in Newfoundland ; the others are on 
 the coast of Africa. Your application, sent through me, will 
 be taken into consideration among the rest ; but I do not wish 
 to raise high expectations. Some of the candidates have been 
 already ordained, and others have not the impediments to con- 
 tend with in getting ordained that you will meet with. Still, 
 I should not like you to miss the chance, and even if you should 
 not succeed in this matter, there are several schools to be or- 
 ganized by the government, to one of which, I think, in the 
 event of your failing in your principal object, you may suc- 
 ceed in getting an appointment. But it will be necessary for 
 you to be present on the occasion. Can you go up to London 
 during the week after next ?" 
 
 "The school will be no hindrance," replied Mr. Ashley, 
 " since I shall close it next Saturday ; but" he hesitated, and 
 the vicar, suspecting the cause of his hesitation, observed: 
 
 " You will excuse me, I know, Mr. Ashley, for speaking so 
 freely ; you would observe that you have not funds sufficient 
 to bear the expenses of the journey ?" 
 
 " You have surmised correctly," said Mr. Ashley, the color 
 mounting to his forehead. 
 
 "And I have met the difficulty," continued the vicar. " There 
 is a society in London you may have heard of it the object 
 of which is to afford relief to gentlemen of your class who 
 have unavoidably, and through no fault of their own, fallen 
 into poverty. I have obtained for you the sum of thirty 
 pounds through the friend of whom I have spoken, and do 
 not think that in doing this your delicacy has been wounded. 
 Except to the committee appointed to examine into the merits 
 of the cases presented to them, your name and circumstances 
 are unknown." 
 
 Mr. Ashley grasped the worthy vicar's hand, and with tears 
 in his eyes thanked him for his generous interference in his 
 behalf.
 
 A BOY'S ANXIETY. 105 
 
 " Well, well, we will say no more about that," said the 
 vicar. " I am only glad that I have had the opportunity of 
 serving you. I suppose, now, there will be nothing to prevent 
 you from being at Exeter Hall at the time appointed for the 
 several candidates to meet 1 ?" 
 
 "Nothing," returned Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Then we will say nothing further about the matter at pre- 
 sent. By the way," he added suddenly, with the object of 
 changing the conversation, "I have quite forgotten to ask 
 after your family. How are Mrs. Ashley and the children ?" 
 
 " They are all quite well at present, though my wife is still 
 subject to frequent attacks of illness," replied Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that," returned the vicar. " Let me 
 see, Frederick is the name of your oldest boy ; I have not 
 seen him for some time ; he must be about the age of Gerald, 
 is he not ?" 
 
 " Nearly the same age ; both have passed their fourteenth 
 year. It is time that Frederick was learning some business. 
 It is wrong for a man in-my circumstances, with a family like 
 mine to support, to keep the boy at home so long ; but what 
 am I to do ?" 
 
 " Very true very true," said the vicar ; " but if you go 
 abroad, you would of course like the boy to go with you, and 
 I have no doubt he will be either useful to you there, or some- 
 thing eligible for him will offer itself. Here comes Gerald. 
 What does Mrs. Dalton intend to do with that lad? He is a 
 fine intelligent little fellow." 
 
 " Poor woman," said Mr. Ashley, " she is in the same pre- 
 dicament with myself. She does not know what to do with 
 him ; and the boy himself is anxious to be no longer a burthen 
 to her. He would soon settle the question himself if he could 
 have his own way ; and, I believe, would go to sea, for he is 
 an fd venturous youth ; but he is his mother's only child, and 
 she cannot bear the idea of his leaving her to engage in such 
 a perilous avocation. In fact, the boy walked out to Sandgate 
 to-day to advise with me upon the subject."
 
 106 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Gerald now entered the room, and the vicar, addressing him, 
 said : 
 
 " So Gerald, your uncle tells me you want to be doing some- 
 thing for yourself, eh ?" 
 
 " Yes sir," replied the boy. " If I were in America, I know 
 I should find plenty to do, young as I am." 
 
 " You are an American by birth, I believe ?" said the vicar. 
 
 " Yes sir," answered the boy, proudly, " I am a citizen of 
 the United States ; leastwise, I shall be when I'm twenty-one. 
 I shall go to America then." 
 
 The clergyman smiled. "You show, at all events, that you 
 have within you something of the independence of spirit that 
 I have heard attributed to your countrymen," he said. " Your 
 father died in America ; did he not ?" 
 
 " Yes sir." 
 
 " Yes, poor fellow !" interposed Mr. Ashley, " he did not 
 find there the El Dorado he had pictured before he left Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " I know the reason of that," said the boy ; " I have heard 
 my mother speak of it. But I should act differently. My 
 father was not educated as I have been." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, Gerald," answered Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " I have no doubt that he is," said the vicar ; " but tell me 
 Gerald, what would you do if you had your own way ?" 
 
 " Anything that is honest, that would enable me to earn my 
 own living and assist my mother, sir." 
 
 " Bravely answered, my good boy. Always adhere to that 
 resolve ' Anything that is honest.' But what business or pro- 
 fession would you prefer ?" 
 
 " I should like to go to sea, very well ; but better still to 
 travel in foreign countries ; to go all over the world," replied 
 Gerald. 
 
 " Rather an ambitious desire, my boy," said the clergyman, 
 smiling at the reply ; " but what does your mother think is best 
 adapted for you ?"
 
 A BOY'S ANXIETY. 107 
 
 " She would like me to learn to be an engraver, if she had 
 money enough to apprentice me," said the boy. " I should 
 like that pretty well myself, for I like drawing." 
 
 " Would you like" to be employed at a picture-dealer's, in 
 London ?" 
 
 " Oh ! very much ! I should so like to go to London, sir." 
 
 " And your mother, would she be willing to let you go to 
 London?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, I am sure she would, if she had means to send 
 me there." 
 
 " Well, then, when you go home to-night, tell her that I will 
 call in to see her to-morrow, and we'll talk the matter over. 
 I have a friend in London, a picture-dealer, who, I think, would 
 take you into his employ upon my recommendation. And as 
 to the means of getting there, we'll try and manage that." 
 
 Gerald thanked the clergyman, and soon afterwards his un- 
 cle and he wished him good-night, and quitted the vicarage. Mr. 
 Ashley returned home to his family, building chateaux en Es- 
 pagne, to which he was too much addicted, and already having 
 succeeded, in imagination, in the realization of his hopes ; while 
 Gerald was overjoyed at the prospect of getting a situation, and 
 of going to London. 
 
 On the following morning Mr. Pearce called upon the widow 
 who had already been informed by her son of the topic of 
 conversation between him and the vicar the previous evening, 
 and although she was sorrowful at the thought of separation 
 from her boy, as is natural to all mothers, she was grateful to 
 the worthy clergyman for the interest he had taken in her be- 
 half. Mr. Pearce had brought Doctor Knight with him, and 
 after it had been settled that Gerald should go to London, he 
 said : 
 
 " And now, Gerald, I promised you a Christmas box, which 
 I have not yet given you. Here are two sovereigns ; they 
 will pay your fare to London, and leave you some pocket 
 money besides. I only hope that you will make a proper use
 
 108 THE WANDERER. 
 
 of it, and that you will strive to give satisfaction to your em 
 ployer." 
 
 " And I will add another sovereign," said the doctor, pre- 
 senting the boy with the coin. 
 
 Gerald proudly pocketed the coins and returned his thanks 
 to the donor, while the widow was profuse in her expressions 
 of gratitude. 
 
 " Now," said the vicar, " your uncle, Mr. Ashley, intends to 
 visit London in the course of a fortnight. Do you think you 
 can get ready in time to accompany him ? Let us hear what 
 your mother says." 
 
 Mrs. Dal ton thought she could make all necessary prepara- 
 tions by the time specified, and expressed herself to that effect, 
 and shortly afterwards the two gentlemen took leave. 
 
 It was a pretty hard task for the widow to prepare for her 
 son's approaching departure, for though it had been her plea- 
 sure and her pride, restricted as were her means, to clothe 
 him respectably at all times, he necessarily required many new 
 garments, which her funds were little able to supply. Never- 
 theless, by dint of economizing and setting aside for the time 
 being the anticipated purchase of various articles she had in 
 tended to have procured for herself, and aided by Alice Thorn 
 ton, in carefully repairing and altering old garments, she man 
 aged to make up for her boy a respectable wardrobe, or at 
 least to provide him with sufficient clothing to serve him for 
 some months. Perhaps it was well that her time was fully 
 occupied in this employment. Had she been idle, she might 
 have felt more deeply her son's approaching departure. Thus 
 it is that what we consider our misfortune often proves our 
 greatest blessing. And as to Gerald, like most boys of his age 
 about to leave home for the first time, his mind was too much 
 occupied with hopeful anticipations of the future, to allow of its 
 lodging much regret for the present, much as he was attached to 
 his mother. 
 
 The day previous to that on which he was to leave home, he 
 gain met Jemmy Milton on the beach. Gerald and Alice had
 
 GOOD ADVICE. 109 
 
 walked out together, leaving Mrs. Dalton to pack up her son's 
 clothing. The widow had desired them so to do. She 
 wished to be for a few hours, on this last day, alone with her 
 own thoughts, to collect her mind, and to think over a thousand 
 things that she wished to speak of when she and Gerald should 
 be alone that last evening at home and perhaps to pray that 
 her fatherless boy might be protected and guided, now that he 
 was going forth into the world, by Him who has promised to 
 be a father to the orphan, and a husband to the widow. 
 
 Gerald and Alice were in serious conversation when they 
 saw the old fisherman. It was the first time that they, young 
 children as they were, had held serious conversation together. 
 
 The old man came out of his favorite retreat, the boat-house, 
 to meet them. 
 
 " Ah, Master Gerald," he said, " What's this I hear ? So 
 you are going away to Lunnun ?" 
 
 " Yes, Jemmy," replied the boy, " I was coming with Alice, 
 here, to tell you. I did'nt know that you were aware of it." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said the old man ; " old Jemmy hears everything 
 that's going on ; but what be going to do in Lunnun, Master 
 Gerald ? It's an awful place for a youngster to drift into." 
 
 " I hardly know myself," replied Gerald. " I am going to a 
 friend of Mr. Pearce's, who has promised, through his recom- 
 mendation, to take me in his employ. He is a picture-dealer, 
 or something of that sort, I believe." 
 
 " Ha ! a picture-dealer. Well, no doubt if so be as Mr. 
 Pearce got you the berth, it's all right ; though for the matter 
 o' that, I've heered as pain tin's a mighty onsartain trade ; but 
 you allers had a notion of paintin', I will say that. Do you 
 recollect the beautiful pictur' of the Herrington hoy agoin' 
 spankin' down channel colored, too, like natur." 
 
 " Yes," said Alice, laughing, " he showed me that picture ; 
 the hull was of a sky blue color, and the sails yellow, and braced 
 different ways, while the position of the red vane showed that 
 she was sailing with a square foresail, right against the wind."
 
 110 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " For all tha f , it was a real handsome pictur'," said the old 
 man, " and I've got it at home pasted up over the chimbly- 
 piece ever since. Master Gerald explained as how it was done 
 in perspective, as he called it, and that was how the cutter came 
 to be sailin' agin the wind." 
 
 " Never mind my picture," said Gerald, laughing, yet seem- 
 ingly a trifle annoyed at Alice's criticism, " and as to my talent 
 for painting, I don't suppose it would be called into request at 
 a picture-dealers, even if I possessed any talent of that kind." 
 
 "Well, come and sit down, both of ye, in the old boat- 
 house," said the old man. " Mayhap it will be a long time be- 
 fore we meet here again ; but I shall think of you often, and, 
 haply, you won't forget Jemmy Milton ?" 
 
 " I hope not," said Gerald. " You and I have always been 
 good friends. As soon as I get any money I shall send you 
 something from London to remember me by." 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself about that, Master Gerald," said 
 the old fisherman, " but think of your mother, boy, and send 
 her all the money you can spare; that will be the best way for 
 you to get rid on it. Miss Alice won't forget you, nuther, I 
 warrant will you, Miss?" 
 
 Alice did not reply ; she looked serious and thoughtful ; the 
 arch merriment which had led her to criticise Gerald's vaunted 
 picture of the cutter, had vanished, and she was evidently 
 grieved at the idea of parting from him. 
 
 They were now seated on the bench in the boat-house, and 
 Jemmy had lighted his pipe, after having taken a drink from a 
 mug of beer which stood on a rude table near him. 
 
 " Lunnun's a wonderful place," said he, after having smoked 
 for a short time in silence. " I have been there myself, though I 
 didn't go much into the city 'cept over to St. Paul's, and once 
 to the moniment. I spent most of my time there in Rad- 
 cliffe Highway and Wapping. There's heaps of bad company 
 and curious company in Lunnun, boy heaps on 'em. You'll 
 be tempted to drink. Take an old man's advice, and don't give
 
 MARVELOUS ADVENTURES. HI 
 
 way to drink," and the old man took another swig at the beer 
 as he spoke. " Drink is the ruin of half the young men," he 
 continued ; " don't get the taste of it, boy. I once fell into a 
 pot o' beer, and I took to drink arterwards, and never did no 
 good for myself." 
 
 " You once fell into a pot of beer !" cried Gerald, as he and 
 Alice looked at the old man with astonishment. Gerald was 
 used to Jemmy's marvellous stories, but this assertion eclipsed 
 all he had heard. 
 
 " Aye, but I wasn't so stout at that time as I am now," said 
 the old man, thoughtfully. 
 
 " I should think not," said Gerald, laughing, as he scanned 
 the burly proportions of the old fisherman. "You would 
 have some trouble to get into a beer barrel now." 
 
 " For all that, boy, laugh as you may, I once fell headfore- 
 most into a pot o' beer, and this is how it came about. D'ye 
 see, I was then a youngster much about your age. It was my 
 third v'yage to sea. We were bound from Liverpool to Aus- 
 tral y, and the ship was a crossing the Indian Ocean, when thick 
 weather came on, and the skipper couldn't take an observation 
 of the sun for a whole week. We had lost our reckoning and 
 didn't know where we were adriftin' to. By-and-by it came on 
 to blow great guns the hardest gale ever I see, and I have seen 
 and weathered many on 'em. For three days we tossed about, 
 losing all our sails and springing all our spars, every moment 
 expectin' to go down to Davy Jones' locker. The bulwarks 
 were gone and so were the boats, and every-thing that the sea 
 could sweep from the decks, and still there seemed no sign of 
 the gale's abatin'. At last there came a lull, and then suddenly 
 the wind chopped round and blowed ten times harder than ever 
 from the opposite quarter. The ship came up in the wind, 
 broached to and careened over on her beam ends. The skipper 
 shouted to cut away the masts ; but he'd hardly got the words 
 out of his mouth when a terrible sea burst over the deck and 
 swept every living being from the wreck. Down, down, I
 
 112 THE WANDERER. 
 
 went, fathoms deep into the dark water. I soon lost all con- 
 sciousness, for I don't recollect rising to the surface, but when 
 I came to I found myself floating on a spare mizzen topmast 
 spar, to which I was clinging might and main. Nothing of the 
 wreck was to be seen, 'cept here and there a broken spar toss- 
 ing madly up and down upon the water. The gale, howsom- 
 ever, had spent itself, and the wind begun to grow less violent, 
 though the sea was still so rough that I had enough to do to 
 hold on to the spar. Night came on, and with it no hope of 
 relief. I gave myself up for lost, but all that long, dreary 
 night I clung like grim death to the spar. At last daylight 
 came. It was nearly calm, and the sea was much smoother. I 
 looked around in hopes of seeing some of my shipmates ; but 
 nothing, now, not even a piece of wreck was to be seen. I 
 strained my eyes into the horizon in hopes of seeing land, and 
 at last I thought I did see a speck in the distance, which might 
 be land, or might be only a cloud. I fixed my gaze upon it, and 
 as the sun rose higher in the horizon, I discovered, to my great 
 joy, that it was land, and in another hour I found that I was 
 slowly drifting towards it. By noon I had got so close to it 
 that I could distinguish the outline of the shore and of the di- 
 vision in the mountain range that formed the back-ground. The 
 current now begun to set in rapidly, and I drifted nearer at the 
 rate of three knots an hour, at least, and by night-fall the spar 
 to which I was clinging drifted on shore. I was so weak that I 
 could scarcely disengage myself from it, and I was sorely bruised 
 as it jerked me to and fro on the beach ; but at last I got clear, 
 and crawled up high beyond the beach, and took shelter under a 
 strange tree, which was for all the world like a weed, with its 
 green stem and its broad leaf on the top ; but it was full 
 twenty feet high, and the leaf lopped down almost to the ground, 
 and made a very comfortable shade. I was wet and hungry, 
 but withal so fatigued that I soon fell asleep. When I woke, 
 the sun was again high in the heavens, my clothes had dried 
 upon me, and the warmth of the sun was very agreeable
 
 MARVELOUS ADVENTURES. H3 
 
 but my limbs were so stiff that I could hardly move. I 
 made shift, however, to crawl about and look for something to 
 eat. For a long time I was unsuccessful, though as my limbs 
 grew less stiff from exercise, I must have wandered several 
 miles into the country. What amazed me was to see how big 
 the trees were a thousand times as tall as that which I had 
 slept under during the night, which was only a mere plant in 
 comparison. They were so lofty that I could scarcely distin- 
 guish the uppermost branches. I saw a lot of large round 
 bodies lying about under one of those monstrous trees, of the 
 shape and color of nuts, but big enough to lodge half a dozen 
 men inside. Presently a monstrous animal, shaped like a 
 squirrel, came bounding past me with one of these large round 
 things in his mouth. He saw me, and seemed to be frightened 
 of me, little as I was compared with him, for he dropped the 
 thing he had in his mouth, and scrambled up one of the mon- 
 strous trees. I was so desperately hungry that I dared risk 
 anything, and I walked up and examined the thing he had let 
 fall from his mouth. Sure enough it was a nut which he had 
 cracked, and there was meat enough inside to serve a dozen 
 men for a week. I soon eat a hole in it big enough to effect a 
 lodging, and there 1 staid for a week, making the nut-shell serve 
 me for my lodging, while the kernel supplied me with food. 
 Water I had in plenty, for several large rivers, as I thought, 
 flowed in every direction around me. I afterwards learnt thai 
 they were streamlets, created by the drops of water which 
 trickled from some rocks near by. 
 
 " One day, while 1 was still lost in amazement at all I saw in 
 this strange country, I saw a great thing in the shape of a man, 
 but as big as a mountain, coming towards me. I was fright- 
 ened, and crept into my nut-shell, which by this time was get- 
 ting pretty hollow, for I had consumed the greater portion of 
 the meat. On he came, however, so close that I feared his next 
 step would crush the nut-shell and me with it into atoms. 
 
 " I made a desperate spring to avoid the threatened danger,
 
 114 THE WANDERER. 
 
 and 'lighted on his foot, from which I crawled up to his stock- 
 ing. He wore knee breeches, and I clung easily to the stock- 
 ings, which were made of stuff like worsted, but as coarse as 
 a cable, and the strands as far apart as the ratlins of a ship's 
 rigging. I was afraid of being shook off as he walked, so I 
 crawled and crawled up until I got hold of the tail of his coat 
 and at last I slid down into one of his pockets, where I lay 
 pretty comibrtable, but dreadfully frightened. Away he walked 
 with me, making tremendous stride at every step till I could 
 hear him talking in a voice like thunder to some other person 
 who was speaking quite as loud. I guessed by this that he 
 had got home, and think's I to myself ' Jemmy Milton, my 
 lad, you've got into a fix. S'pose this here mountain should 
 take it into his head to sit down. He'd squash you like a 
 pumpkin. So I crawls up out of the pocket, mounts up his 
 back to his shoulder, and without his observing me, slides down 
 his arm and hides myself in the big cuff of his sleeve. By and 
 by he calls for a pot of beer " 
 
 " Did he speak English, Jemmy ?" said Gerald. 
 
 " To be sure he did," replied the old man. " What other 
 lingo would you have him speak ?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Gerald, " only I thought it odd that 
 English should be spoken so far away from England." 
 
 " Don't they speak English in Ameriky, where you were 
 born ?" said Jemmy. " Everybody speaks English but Injun 
 savages, and them outlandish Frenchmen ; and they'd speak 
 English if they could, but they ain't got savey enough." 
 
 " Go on with your story, Mr. Milton," said Alice, " never 
 mind Gerald." 
 
 "I will, Miss, but Master Gerald, you mustn't interrupt 
 me again with sich silly questions. As I was a sayin' he roars 
 out for a pot o' beer, and it was set on the table afore him. 
 He stretched out his hand to take hold of it to take a drink 
 and jerks me right out of his sleeve and I falls plump, head 
 foremost right into the pot.
 
 MARVELOUS ADVENTURES. 115 
 
 " You may be sure I made a splutter. I'd narrowly escaped 
 being drowned in salt water, and I didn't fancy being drowned 
 and suffocated besides in a pot o' beer. 
 
 " He heard me a struggling and splashing and down he puts 
 the pot and raps out a big oath, crying out what on earth's this 
 here in the beer a pesky cockroach, I do believe. Sally, 
 says he, you've left the bung out of the barrel. 
 
 " No I ain t, father," says another voice, not quite so loud as 
 the old man's, and a mighty deal softer and puttier, and when 
 I heard it I know'd as it was Sally as spoke, and that Sally 
 was the old chap's daughter. 
 
 " He puts his finger into the beer, and draws me out, and 
 when he and Sally seed what I was, my eyes ! you should 
 have heerd the screaches of surprise they give. 
 
 " Why, I declare, it's a little man, father !" says she. 
 
 " By George, so it is," says the old man. " Where in the 
 world can he have come from ?" 
 
 " I came from England," says I, shaking myself and splut- 
 tering, for I was half choked with the beer. 
 
 " And where th 's England ?" says the old man, 
 
 swearing an oath which I won't repeat. 
 
 " Yes, where's England," says the girl, " I never heerd tell 
 of it in my jography." So I up and told 'em where England 
 was, and how 1 had got shipwrecked and had drifted ashore on 
 a log, and lived a week in a nutshell, and the old man told 
 Sally to call her mother, and then I had to tell my story over 
 again, and then strangers came in and I told it again and again 
 ever so many times, and they wanted to know all about the 
 countries where the little people lived, and I told them all I 
 knew ; but they didn't believe me, I know. They said as I 
 was a lusus natural, or summat like that, but I wouldn't deny 
 my country and I stuck to it that I was an Englishman. Well 
 I lived there a year or more and saw many strange sights, and 
 might have lived there till now ; but I had built me a little 
 boat, just big enough for me to manage cleverly. And I used
 
 116 THE WANDERER. 
 
 to go out to sea in it for my own amusement, and one day 
 when I was out fishing for shrimps, which were about as big 
 as a large salmon, a gale of wind came on, and I was blown off 
 the shore, and should have starved to death, but two days after- 
 wards a ship hove in sight, and they saw my signal and bore 
 down to me and took me aboard. I told them all about the 
 strange country I had lived in, and the big men and women, but 
 they wouldn't believe me. Howsomever /couldn't help that, and 
 I didn't care. The ship was homeward bound from China, and 
 I came to England on board of her, and landed at Bristol. I 
 never met with any body since as had been in that country, 
 but I once read of a skipper named Gulliver, or some sich 
 name, who had been cast away on an island where the people 
 was monstrous big, and I ain't got no doubt as it was the same 
 place." 
 
 " Have you no idea whereabouts in the world that country 
 lies," said Alice. 
 
 " No, Miss, not in the least. We was shipwrecked in the 
 Injun Seas, but the ship had been blown leagues out of the 
 regular track of navigation." 
 
 " I never read of such a country in geography, nor heard of 
 its being laid down in any chart," said Alice, demurely, pre 
 tending to believe the old man's yarn. 
 
 " Nor I, Miss," he replied ; " but jographys aint always to 
 be trusted to, and charts is very imperfect; but I got a liking 
 for beer through that accident, and what I wants to pint out 
 is, that it's dangerous to take the first taste of strong drink ; 
 you mayn't like it at first no more nor I did when I fell into 
 the pot of beer, but you gets into the habit of drinking it, and 
 it sticks to you through life : there's the moral of my story." 
 
 " Well," said Gerald, " I am glad you have enlightened me 
 in regard to that, for I should never have discovered otherwise 
 that your yarn had a moral." 
 
 " It has, and a right good one too," said the old fisherman ; 
 and then he added abruptly : " When do you go up to Lunnun, 
 Master Gerald?"
 
 DEPARTURE FROM HOME. 117 
 
 " To-morrow, Jemmy," was the reply. 
 
 " What, so soon ?" 
 
 " Yes, and that reminds me that Alice and I must be going 
 home. So I shall wish you good-bye, Jemmy. I shall write 
 to Alice, and she will sometimes read part of the letters to 
 you. You will see that I shall not forget you." 
 
 "Are you a going to take a cat with you to Lunnun?" 
 asked the old man. 
 
 "A cat ! for what ?" said Gerald. 
 
 "Because I read once in a history that a poor boy went 
 to Lunnun, and all the wealth he had was a cat, and he came 
 to be rich through that cat, and to be thrice Lord Mayor of 
 Lunnun." 
 
 " Whittington, you mean," said Alice. 
 
 "Aye, Whittington ; that was the name. He heard Bow Bells 
 
 say : 
 
 "Turn agin Whittington, 
 Thrice Lord Mayor of Lunnnn." 
 
 " You take my advice, Master Gerald, and when you hear them 
 ere Bow bells, you say, ' Turn agin Whittington, thrice Lord 
 Mayor of Lunnun.' Mayhap then you will come to be Lord 
 Mayor yourself same as Whittington did." 
 
 " I hope such good luck will befall me," said Gerald, laugh- 
 ing, "but I fear not. However, Jemmy, I shall recollect 
 your advice." 
 
 " Do, boy, do," said the old man as he shook the youth's 
 hand. " You start by the coach to-morrow, you say ? I shall 
 be at the coach-office to see you off. Good-bye, and God bless 
 you." 
 
 Alice and Gerald walked slowly homewards, talking earn- 
 estly together. Now for the first time they felt the full force 
 of the attachment they bore each other, now when they were 
 about to part for a long time perhaps forever. So it is 
 with us all. We seldom feel the real value of a friend, even 
 the full strength of the love we bear to those closer and dearer
 
 118 THE WANDERER. 
 
 than mere friends, till fortune bids us part from them. They 
 exacted many promises from each other, and agreed to write 
 by every opportunity ; but in those days postage was expen- 
 sive far beyond their means to pay and they could not 
 hope that their correspondence would be very frequent. 
 
 That last evening at home, Gerald spent in private with his 
 mother ; even Alice was not permitted to intrude upon that 
 privacy. Nor will I attempt to penetrate into it. A mother's 
 parting with an only son, and that mother a widow, is of too 
 sacred a nature to be rashly intruded upon or lightly spoken 
 of. It was late very late, far beyond Mrs. Dalton's usual 
 hour of retiring to rest, when she and Gerald retired to their 
 own rooms that night. 
 
 The family was up betimes in the morning, for the coach 
 started at nine o'clock, and Mr. Ashley was to call for his 
 nephew at eight o'clock. They were seated at the breakfast 
 table when he came ; but little had been partaken of by any 
 one ; Mrs. Dalton and Alice, and even Gerald himself, were 
 each and all too low-spirited to eat much that morning. 
 
 Mr. Ashley was invited to join them at the table, but he 
 said that he had breakfasted with his family before leaving 
 Sandgate, and as they had some distance to walk to the coach- 
 office, it was time they were starting. 
 
 Gerald was quite ready, and his mother and Alice said they 
 would accompany him to the office. 
 
 The coach was nearly ready to start when they arrived. It 
 was as well. It is always better to allow of short time for 
 leave-taking. Jemmy Milton was waiting also to bid his 
 young friend farewell and see him off. He held a small parcel 
 in his hand, and as they approached, he came forward to meet 
 them. 
 
 " Good morning, Ma'am," he said to Mrs. Dalton. " So 
 Master Gerald's off to Lunnun to seek his fortune ; well, let's 
 hope it'll be a happy one ; nothing like hoping, Ma'am ; the 
 man as tries and hopes, and if he fails, tries and hopes agin,
 
 DEPARTURE FROM HOME. H9 
 
 is the man to get forard in the world, whether by sea or land ; 
 and Master Gerald's one of that sort, or I'm much mistaken. 
 I've brought a trifling gift for you, Gerald, lad. It aint much, 
 but something as may be useful and sarve to make you re- 
 member the old man by. Arter you was gone, yesterday, 
 from the old boat-house you'll remember the old boat-house, 
 Master Gerald I casts about to think what I could give you 
 for a keepsake, and at last, arter thinking first of one thing and 
 then of another, I hits upon a ditty bag ; here it be ; it's one 
 as I used to keep for extraordinary occasions when I followed 
 the sea. Thinks I, that there ditty bag's jist the thing for Mas- 
 ter Gerald, now he's a going away from home ; if it aint orna- 
 mental, it's useful. See here ; it's well stocked with sail needles 
 jjd tarred twine, and a palm and every thing useful ; and be- 
 sides them, I've put in a marling-spike and a fid, as I made 
 myself out of a bit of fancy wood I picked up while on a voy- 
 age to the South Seas. When you set to work to use this here 
 ditty bag, Gerald my boy. you'll think of the old sailor now 
 laid up in ordinary like the old commodore as the song says : 
 
 " The bullet and the gout 
 Had so knocked his hull about, 
 That he never more was fit for sea." 
 
 Gerald thanked the honest old man, and received the to him 
 useless gift, but it was all Jemmy possessed to show his good 
 will. 
 
 And now the coachman came out of the hotel, the guard re- 
 quested the passengers to take their seats, and he and the 
 coachman mounted to their places. There were hurried words, 
 and earnest looks of affection, and tearful eyes. The guard 
 shouted, "All right." The coachman smacked his whip, and 
 the well groomed, impatient horses sprang forward eagerly, 
 glad to find themselves in motion. The coach rattled over the 
 pebbled street, and the passers by looked up with admiration 
 as it dashed proudly along, while from the uplifted windows
 
 120 THE WANDERER. 
 
 of many a house, salutations and smiles were interchanged be- 
 tween the smart servant maids and the coachman and guards, 
 and soon the rumbling of the wheels and the sound of the 
 horses' hoofs grew more and more indistinct as the coach 
 passed from the rough pavement on to the smooth country 
 road. Another minute, and it was out of sight, and the hoofs 
 of the prancing steeds and the rumbling of the wheels was 
 heard no longer, and a sorrowful group that had waited in the 
 street gazing after the coach with straining and tearful eyes to 
 the last moment, turned away, and departed slowly and thought 
 fully, and tearfully homeward.
 
 THE JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 JThe journey to London, and what befel Mr. Ashley and Gerald in the great 
 metropolis. 
 
 MERRILY the coach proceeded on its way when the smooth, 
 level high-road was gained and the cobble-stones of dirty, 
 gloomy Herrington were left behind. Away she went, borne 
 onward by four spanking chestnuts, which seemed to enjoy 
 equally with the coachman, the speed at which they were 
 driven. The high road for several miles skirted the cliffs, af- 
 fording a glorious view of the channel, the water glistening like 
 molten silver in the bright rays of the morning sun, and the 
 numerous vessels that dotted its surface looking from the heights 
 like toy boats in a miniature sea. The guard sounded his 
 bugle in a cheerful tune, for it was truly inspiriting, that rapid 
 drive, in the early morning, and the coachman whistled an accom- 
 paniment to the music. Shakespeare's cliff was just visible in the 
 distance, and some of the passengers, for the coach was loaded 
 outside, discoursed in learned criticism on the crag, made im- 
 mortal by the genius of the poet, and before long, Gerald, who 
 had felt somewhat low-spirited when Herrington had faded in 
 the distance, soon recovered the cheerfulness natural to boy- 
 hood under almost any circumstances. 
 
 It was a novelty to him a glorious novelty this rapid 
 travel on the top of a stage-coach. Often, when he had watched 
 it pass him on the road this very stage he had envied the 
 passengers seated on the roof, and thought that he would soon- 
 er have occupied a position there than have been seated on a 
 6
 
 ]22 THE WANDERER. 
 
 throne ; and the coachman, so spruce in his attire, so conscious 
 of power, as he held the reins, and guided the movements of 
 the spirited steed he had often thought a stage-coachman's life, 
 careless, jovial, and free, must be the happiest in the world. 
 And now he was seated behind the coachman, and in his turn 
 looking with conscious pride upon the slowly traveling pedes- 
 trians as they passed on their way. Herrington was behind him, 
 and he had parted from his mother and from Alice for the first 
 time, perhaps for a very, very long time ; but London, mighty 
 London, with its mysterious wealth and grandeur, was before 
 him, and the sorrows of the past hour were already forgotten 
 in the bright anticipations of the future. How he admired the 
 beautiful scenery ; the stage was passing so rapidly that the trees 
 and hedges and farm-houses and barns seemed to be flying from 
 them. It was a glorious living panorama. Seen and enjoyed 
 for the first time, it was a pleasure to be remembered for a 
 lifetime. Oh ! how different from the still more rapid, but 
 far less exhilarating travel by rail, in these more utilitarian 
 days. We cannot deny that we have gained much by the pro- 
 gress of science and the inventions of more modern times, but 
 we have lost not a little, too. 
 
 Willingly would Gerald have entered into conversation with 
 his uncle, who was seated beside him on the front seat behind 
 the box, but Mr. Ashley was in little mood to converse, and 
 short answers were all he could obtain in reply to his questions. 
 
 Mr. Ashley had enough to think of. Under happier auspices 
 he might, and doubtless would, have enjoyed the scenery 
 through which he was passing, although, perhaps, not with the 
 fresh, boyish delight of his nephew ; but he was thinking of the 
 ordeal that he had to undergo on his arrival in London, and of 
 his dreary prospects at home ; and of the success that might 
 visit him in the future, and of the awful presence of the bishop, 
 before whom he might be called to speak, and alternately hop- 
 ing, and doubting, and fearing, he had little inclination to go 
 into extacies over the, even to him, unwonted excitement of a 
 stage-coach ride.
 
 THE JOURNEY TO LONDON. 123 
 
 At Canterbury, the gentleman who had occupied the box- 
 seat beside the coachman, from Herrington, alighted, and when 
 the stage had changed horses and again started on its journey, 
 the coachman sa't alone in the post of honor. 
 
 He was a happy, jovial, kind-hearted fellow, as were all 
 stage-coachmen of the race gone-by, and he had noticed the 
 bright, intelligent countenance of the lad, and in the absence of 
 a better faze he thought the boy might as well occupy the vacant 
 seat by his side ; so, after proceeding a mile or two, he leaned 
 back, and addressing Gerald, said : 
 
 " You seem lonesome,, like, young gentleman : p'raps you'd 
 like to come and sit aside of me ; if, so, crawl over and take 
 the box seat and welcome." 
 
 Gerald looked at his uncle, as if to ask permission, and ob- 
 serving in his countenance no sign of disapproval, he lost no 
 time in accepting the proffered invitation, and was soon busily 
 occupied in conversation with the coachman. 
 
 " And so you are going to London ?" said this functionary, 
 after the youth had been for a few minutes seated by his side. 
 
 " Yes," answered Gerald. 
 
 " For the first time ?" 
 
 " Yes," again. 
 
 " On a visit, maybe ; have friends there ?" 
 
 " Not exactly on a visit," said Gerald. 
 
 " On business then ; though a young gentleman like you can 
 hardly be going up to London on business. Going to school, 
 p'raps ?" 
 
 " No," said Gerald, " I am not going to school." 
 
 " To be sure not. I might ha' knowed that," said the coach- 
 man ; " boys don't go to London to school. Going home from 
 school ?" 
 
 " Nor going home from school, neither," replied Gerald, " I'm 
 going to a situation in London." 
 
 " Going to a situation in London, eh? Going to begin the 
 world on your own account. Well, I've taken many young-
 
 124 THE WANDERER. 
 
 sters up to London in my time who was going to begin the 
 world on their own account, and I've brought some of 'em 
 back again after years had passed. Some on 'em have done 
 well, some havn't. If it wouldn't be rude, I'd* ask what situa- 
 tion you was going to T' 
 
 " I have no objections to tell you," said Gerald. " I'm go- 
 ing to a picture-dealer's, in a place they call Bloomsbury, in 
 London." 
 
 " I know the place," returned the coachman. " A nice place 
 enough. A good deal of business done in Bloomsbury. Pic- 
 tur'-dealer's I should think a very good trade, too. Gent be- 
 hind, your father ?" 
 
 " My uncle," said Gerald. 
 
 " Seems down in the mouth," observed the coachman, giving 
 a cautious glance behind. 
 
 " He's going to London on important business," said Gerald ; 
 " that, perhaps, makes him more thoughtful than usual." 
 
 " Where do you intend to put up in London ?" asked the 
 coachman. 
 
 "I'm sure I can't say," said Gerald; "wherever the coach 
 stops, I suppose." 
 
 " The coach stops at the Blue Boar, Holborn. Capital inn. 
 Can't do better than put up there," said the coachman. " I al- 
 ways stay there myself good grub and capital ale they keep." 
 
 The conversation, after this introduction of queries and re- 
 plies the coachman's curiosity being, apparently, satisfied 
 grew more general, although Gerald, of his own free will, re- 
 lated his history from his earliest recollections, and launched 
 out into the expression of several hopeful anticipations for the 
 future. And the coachman, hi return for this confidence, 
 pointed out the various gentlemen's seats they passed on their 
 journey, and related the history of their families, in which he 
 appeared to be perfectly well posted. 
 
 " So you was born in Ameriky V said he, after some time. 
 
 " Yes," replied Gerald.
 
 THE JOURNEY TO LONDON. 125 
 
 "Great country, that, I've heard: you don't remember, 
 much of it, though ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I do," said Gerald, " I was eight years old when 
 I left, you know. I hope to return there some day." 
 
 " I've heard of many that have done well there," said the 
 coachman. " Provided I was out of a place here, I don't know 
 that I shouldn't like to go America myself. I do hear talk 
 of some new fangled notions of doing away with the pike roads 
 and driving carriages by steam. I don't believe none of it, 
 the thing's impossible ; but if it should be the case, coachmen 
 and bosses 'd be used up, and guards, too, for the matter of 
 that ; but I hope they'll last my time, at any rate." 
 
 From this subject the conversation diverged upon America, 
 and the coachman was very curious in learning from Gerald 
 all he knew or could recollect having seen of the land of his 
 birth, and by the time they reached Milton, where they stopped 
 to dine, they were as well acquainted and as friendly as if 
 they had known each other for years. 
 
 On leaving Milton, a passenger paid the extra fare for the 
 box seat, and Gerald, of course, though to the mutual regret 
 of himself and his new friend, was compelled to resume his 
 seat beside his uncle. 
 
 It was but a journey of seventy-two miles from Herrington 
 to London, and the stage reached the metropolis at a tolerably 
 early hour in the evening, and as Gerald had been informed, 
 stopped at the yard of the Blue Boar Inn, where his uncle and 
 he proposed to stay for the night, and after a comfortable sup- 
 per they both retired to rest. 
 
 Both lay for a long time awake, though their mutual wake- 
 fulness was owing to very different causes. Mr. Ashley was 
 nervously anticipating the visit to Exeter Hall on the follow- 
 ing day. Gerald, although somewhat curious regarding his 
 future employer, and anxious to know what duties he would 
 be required to perform, was mainly occupied in anticipating 
 the expected marvels that were to greet his vision on the
 
 126 THE WANDERER, 
 
 following morning, when London would be revealed to him in 
 all its glory. It was dusk when the coach reached the great 
 metropolis that evening, and he had had but an indistinct 
 view of crowds of people, hurrying to and fro, and brilliantly 
 lighted shops, which the coach had rattled past so swiftly that 
 his curiosity was only whetted instead of being gratified. He 
 thought, too, of his mother, and Alice, and wondered whether 
 they were thinking of him, and how long it would be before 
 he should see them again, and then his heart became sad, and 
 his spirits sunk ; but these were but fleeting regrets, and again 
 and again, with all the buoyancy of youth, his thoughts revert- 
 ed to the anticipated pleasures of the morrow. 
 
 At length both he and his uncle fell asleep, and slept so 
 soundly after the unaccustomed fatigues of the day, that it was 
 a late hour in the morning before either awoke, so late in fact, 
 that Mr. Ashley was obliged to hurry through his breakfast 
 in order to prepare himself to attend the meeting at Exeter 
 Hall, and to forego the idea of accompanying his nephew to 
 Bloomsbury as had been his intention, and Gerald, after pack- 
 ing up a change of clothing in a bundle which he carried under 
 his arm (leaving his trunk at the hotel to be sent after him) 
 set forth to search out his new home. He had the directions 
 on a card " MR. HOFFMANN, PICTURE DEALER, AUCTIONEER, 
 AND GENERAL AGENT. BROAD ST, BLOOMSBURY." He believed 
 that he should have no difficulty in finding the place, and if he 
 should meet with any, he would only, in his wanderings, see 
 more of London. Rut a change had come over the face of the 
 city since a few hours before, when on rising from his bed he 
 had run to the window and looked into the streets. Then, al- 
 though the sun was not shining very brightly, the morning was 
 clear and crowds of people were hurrying to and fro imparting 
 a cheerfulness to the prospect and an aspect of bustling activity 
 new to the youth familiar only with the dulness of a small 
 country town. Within a few hours one of those dense, yellow 
 fogs, peculiar to London, had risen and enshrouded the city in
 
 THE JOURNEY TO LONDON. 12f 
 
 :>bscurity : there was still the same hurry and bustle, indeed 
 it appeared to have increased, for the noise of the carts and 
 carriages, unseen till close at hand, the oaths of the diivers 
 as their vehicles, in spite of all their caution, came into frequent 
 collision, the lights in the shops glaring unnaturally through 
 the greasy vapor, and the shadowy forms of the pedestrians as 
 they loomed up suddenly, like monstrous spectres, and the 
 next moment jostled each other on the side walk, added to the 
 seeming confusion to the eye of a stranger from the country, 
 visiting the city for the first time. Gerald asked a waiter in 
 the hotel, which was the most direct way to Broad street, and 
 having received the information he required, he started forth 
 intending to take his time and look about him as he went. 
 There was, however, little to be seen, except in the shop win- 
 dows ; but those often arrested the boy's attention, and caused 
 him to stop and admire the showy goods displayed therein un- 
 til some fresh display again induced him to stop. By and by 
 the fog lifted a little and his attention was so taken up with the 
 novelty of the scene, that he quite forgot the directions given 
 him at the hotel. 
 
 " Trudging along, unknowing what he sought, 
 And whistling as he went for want of thought," 
 
 he walked on for at least a couple of hours, and until his legs 
 begun to grow weary. Then, for the first time, the idea struck 
 him that he must be very near his destination, or else must 
 have wandered far out of his way. 
 
 He spoke to the first good-natured looking person he met, 
 and asked how far he was from Broad St., Bloomsbury. 
 
 " Broad Street, Bloomsbury," repeated the person questioned. 
 " You are a long way from it, my boy and going quite in the 
 contrary direction. Where have you come from 1" 
 
 " From the Blue Boar Inn, Holborn," said Gerald. 
 
 " Why, my little man, you've come a long way out of the
 
 128 THE WANDERER. 
 
 wray. This is St. Martin's Lane. You must turn back and 
 retrace your steps. You're a stranger to London ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Gerald. 
 
 " So I should think," said the man. " You should have 
 asked your way before you got so far wrong, ray lad. How- 
 aver, I'll put you right, as well as I can," and he gave him the 
 accessary directions, advising him, however, to make fresh in- 
 quiries every now and then, to make sure he was going the 
 right way. 
 
 Gerald was beginning to feel hungry, however, and he 
 thought he would stop at the first decent looking public house 
 he came to and get something to eat. He still had one of his 
 sovereigns unchanged, and a few shillings besides, saved out of 
 his coach-fare, and he soon found a house, respectable enough 
 in appearance, yet not so stylish as to give him the impression 
 that the charge would be beyond his means. 
 
 He walked in, and stepping up to the bar, asked if he could 
 have some bread and cheese. 
 
 " To be sure," said the landlord ; " in one minute, sir. Please 
 to walk into the parlor. What shall I send you in to drink 
 ale or porter ?" 
 
 The boy was unused to drink spirituous liquors of any kind, 
 yet he felt so tired, and so much in need of refreshment, that 
 he thought a glass of ale would do him no harm. " Fine Bur- 
 ton ale on draught" was painted in gory letters inside the bar. 
 He had often heard of Burton ale, and thought he should 
 like to taste it; so, regardless of the moral of Jemmy Mil- 
 ton's marvelous story, he ordered a glass of that generous 
 liquor. 
 
 It was soon brought to him, accompanied with a roll and a 
 large slice of Cheshire cheese, and he quickly set to work to 
 satisfy his appetite. 
 
 There were three or four gentlemanly looking men in the 
 parlor to which he had been shown, who were amusing them- 
 selves at a bagatelle board, and after a short time one oi
 
 A FOG, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 129 
 
 them left his companions and seated himself by Gerald's side. 
 " You are from the country, young gentleman ?" said he, ad- 
 dressing the boy. 
 
 " Yes sir," was the reply. 
 
 " So I thought ; you have not the appearance of a London 
 boy ; besides, you have a bundle with you. What part of the 
 country do you come from "?" 
 
 " From Kent," replied Gerald. 
 
 " Ah, from Kent, eh ? I'm well acquainted with Kent. Do 
 you come from the sea coast ?" 
 
 " From Herrington," said Gerald. 
 
 " Indeed ! I have friends there ; perhaps you are acquainted 
 
 with them. Do you know Mr. , what is the name now 
 
 it's at my tongue's end Mr. 
 
 " I am acquainted with Mr. Pierce, the vicar, and with Doc- 
 tor Knight," said Gerald. 
 
 " The very man. How could I have forgotten the name. 
 Mr. Pearce is an old friend of mine, and so is Doctor Knight. 
 I think I have met you at Mr. Pearce's, but, for the life of me 
 I can't recal your name." 
 
 " My name is Gerald Dalton." 
 
 " Gerald Dalton ! is it possible ? How strange that we 
 should have met here. Why I know your father as well " 
 
 "My father is dead," interrupted Gerald. "He died in 
 America several years ago. I have an uncle who used to live 
 in Herrington, but he is in London now." 
 
 " To be sure. How stupid of me it is your uncle I mean. 
 He is in London, is he ? I should like to see him. Martin," 
 addressing one of the gentlemen at the bagatelle table, "this 
 is a nephew of our friend Dalton, of Herrington." 
 
 "My uncle's name is Ashley," said Gerald. 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Ashley I meant. Your name's Dalton, you 
 see, and I confound the two. But come, your glass is empty, 
 I perceive. Take another glass of ale with me, for old acquain- 
 tance sake. You'll join us, Martin 1 W T aiter, three glasses 
 of ale here." Q
 
 130 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " I had rather not take any more ale, thank you," said 
 Gerald. 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! another glass of ale with an old friend won't 
 hurt you. You might drink a gallon of this ale, and be none 
 the worse for it." 
 
 Gerald's long walk through the streets of London had made 
 him very thirsty, and after some further demur, he allowed 
 himself to be persuaded. The ale was brought by the waiter, 
 and the boy drew his purse from his pocket to pay for the re- 
 freshment he had called for at the bar, disclosing, as he did so, 
 the sovereign among the loose silver. ' i?< 
 
 The strangers grew more friendly. 
 
 " The young gentleman doesn't recollect us, Martin," said 
 the one who had first addressed Gerald. " Strange, isn't it T' 
 
 " When were you in Herrington ?" asked Gerald. 
 
 " When was it ? Let me see about a year ago, wasn't it, 
 Martin ? We put up at the King's Arms Inn. We visited 
 Mr. Pearce several times, and it was there I met you with your 
 father your uncle, I mean." 
 
 " I don't recollect having been at Mr. Pearce's with my un- 
 cle at any time, at least until a few days before I left; but it 
 may be so." 
 
 " Of course ; it must be so, or how should I have recognized 
 you as soon as you entered the room ?" 
 
 Had Gerald thought, he might have recollected that he was 
 not recognized until he himself had told his name ; but the ale, 
 a gallon of which might be drunk without any one feeling the 
 worse for it, had already begun to affect him ; not so much, 
 however, from its own natural potency as from the effects of a 
 certain powder which, unperceived by him, had been put into 
 his glass by one of his new friends. He answered at random 
 a variety of questions that were put to him ; related the cause 
 of his visit to London ; talked a great Jeal of nonsense ; dozed 
 off, and awoke with a start ; again dozed and awoke, and at last 
 fell fast asleep with his head on the table. * * * He felt a rough
 
 LONDON EXPERIENCES. 131 
 
 hand tugging at the collar of his jacket, and a rude voice called 
 out: 
 
 " Come youngster, are you going to sleep here all night ? 
 We're going to shut up. You must be jogging. Come," and 
 again the rough hand tugged at his collar. 
 
 He looked up ; his head was aching dreadfully, and there 
 seemed to be a fog before his eyes. The lamp was burning 
 feebly, and shedding a sickly light over the room ; but 
 the light seemed to float in a cloud of mist, and there was a 
 ring round it which danced up and down, and dazzled the boy's 
 lyes as he gazed vacantly at it. 
 
 " Come, are you going to get up ?" repeated the rude voice. 
 
 " Yes, yes. Where am I ?" said Gerald. 
 
 " Come, that won't do ; that's a pretty go. Where are you ? 
 Why, you're in the parlor of the Red Lion, and you've been a 
 snorin like vinking for the last three hours, till you've drove 
 everybody out o' the house. Come, jog don't be a falling 
 asleep again." 
 
 " What's o'clock ?" said Gerald. " Oh, how my head aches !" 
 
 " No vender ; you shouldn't get drunk. Vy, it's past twelve 
 o'clock, and time you was home. Come, are you going ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Gerald, looking vacantly around him. " Where 
 where's my bundle ?" 
 
 " How should I know ?" said the waiter ; " you didn't bring 
 no bundle here as I knows on." 
 
 " But I did," said the boy, pressing his hand upon his heated 
 forehead. It was lying here beside me when I fell asleep. I've 
 been robbed." 
 
 " Hush that now ; hush that," said the man ; "don't go for 
 to say you've been robbed here. The Red Lion won't stand 
 that, no how. You'd better pay for the half gallon of ale you 
 ordered." 
 
 " I ordered no ale, only one glass that I paid for," said Gerald 
 " I did not finish the second glass the gentleman called for ; par! 
 of it stands here now."
 
 132 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Well, that's a pretty how-d'ye-do," said the waiter ; " first 
 you've been robbed ; then you refuses to pay for the ale you 
 ordered. Here, come out and talk to the landlord ; he'll soon 
 put you to rights," and again seizing the boy by the collar of 
 his jacket, he dragged him into the bar room, where the land- 
 lord was still standing behind the bar. 
 
 " Here's a chap," said the waiter, " who says as he's been 
 robbed in this house, and he refuses to pay his bill." 
 
 " What do you mean by that, you young scamp ?" cried the 
 landlord. "How much is it, Tom?" 
 
 " Four-and-six for ale, and two and-six for sandwiches ordered 
 for the coves as left just now afore I waked this chap up seven 
 shillings in all." 
 
 " You'd better pay it afore I call the watch," said the land- 
 lord. 
 
 Poor Gerald, dreadfully frightened at this threat, put his hand 
 into his pocket to find his purse. It was gone; everything 
 that his pocket had contained was gone, and he was penniless. 
 
 " My purse has been stolen, and the bundle I had with me 
 besides," he said. 
 
 " Oh, you're a deep one !" said the landlord. " Take care 
 what you say ; don't go too far, or I'll have you arrested for 
 making false charges and injuring the character of my house. 
 Be off with you at once. There, turn him out, Tom, and lock 
 the door. The young vagabond ain't got no money to pay his 
 score," and in spite of his remonstrances, Gerald was violently 
 thrust into the street, and the door locked upon him. 
 
 The heavy fog had turned to rain, and but for the oil lamps 
 the night would have been dark as pitch ; as it was, they but 
 served to make the dreariness visible. The streets were de 
 serted, except by a few benighted pedestrians who hurried past 
 with their great coats closely buttoned and the collars turned 
 up, and these hurried by, taking no heed of the boy's eager 
 inquiries how far it was to the Blue Boar, Holborn, at which 
 hostelry he hoped to find his uncle, who he knew would be 
 anxiously expecting him.
 
 LONDON EXPERIENCES. 133 
 
 Drenched with rain, and so sick and stupefied that he thought 
 not whither he was going, or what he was doing ; only desirous 
 of finding some shelter where he could lie down and rest and 
 sleep till morning, poor Gerald wandered bewildered along the 
 dark, dirty, dismal streets. He was parched with a consuming 
 thirst ; had a house of any kind been open ; had only a light 
 appeared in a window telling that somebody was astir within, 
 he would have knocked at the door and asked for a drink of 
 water ; but there was none. At last he came in his wander- 
 ings to a public house at which horses were accustomed to 
 bait. A horse-trough was before the house, and he drank 
 greedily from it, and then, slightly refreshed, looked around 
 him for some place where he could obtain shelter from the 
 rain and rest till morning. 
 
 There was a stable yard in the rear of the inn, and several 
 carts were standing beneath the shelter of a thatched roof. Into 
 one of these he crept and lay down to sleep, but he had not 
 rested long before he found his limbs grow so stiff that he was 
 afraid if he remained there till daylight he would be crippled. 
 Again he sallied forth into the dark streets, but he had been 
 seen by a watchman, who advanced towards him and collared 
 him. 
 
 " Hallo, youngster !" said he, " what are you doing here this 
 time o' night, lurking about the inn-yard, eh ?" 
 
 Gerald, his teeth chattering and his limbs trembling with 
 cold, endeavored to tell his story. 
 
 " A likely tale, that," said the guardian of the night ; " a 
 very pretty story to tell ; but it won't do. You want a lodg- 
 ing for the night, eh ? Well, I'll find you a lodging for the 
 night, and, perhaps, for a go 3d many nights. Come along," 
 and, still retaining hold of the boy's collar, he dragged, rather 
 than led him, through the streets, until they reached a dark, 
 gloomy building, the doors and windows of which were secured 
 by stout iron bars. 
 
 The watchman rang the night-bell ; there was a rattling of
 
 134 THE WANDERER. 
 
 bolts and chains, and then the door swang slowly, creaking on 
 ts hinges, and Gerald was dragged into a room paved with 
 stone and garnished with handcuffs. 
 
 " Halloa ! who have you here, Martin ?" said the porter. 
 4 What young thief is that ?" 
 
 " A sneak as I catched comin' out of the Bell and Dragon 
 ooachyard," replied the man addressed. " Is Mr. Jenkins in ?" 
 
 "Ay, I fancy he's in the private office. I seed him there 
 awhile ago." 
 
 "Many in quod to-night?" asked the watchman. 
 
 " A tolerable many ; the night's stormy, and they always 
 comes in pretty thick such nights." 
 
 " Well, tell Mr. Jenkins as I've got a prisoner here as I 
 want him to examine, afore he goes to the cells." 
 
 The porter disappeared in the private office, but shortly re- 
 turned in company with the sergeant of the watch, who had 
 been designated as Mr. Jenkins. The said Mr. Jenkins was a 
 young man, of rather a jaunty aspect, who did not seem to be 
 particularly pleased at being roused from the comfortable snooze 
 in which he had been indulging. 
 
 " What's the charge, Martin ?" he demanded in a surly 
 voice. 
 
 "I found this here young feller a skulking round the yard of 
 the Bell and Dragon, sir, and took him into custody accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 "What was he doing?" 
 
 " He was a skulking about the yard in a burglarious fashion, 
 sir, and couldn't give no account of hisself." 
 
 " Ha ! he looks like a young thief have you searched his 
 person ?" said the sergeant. 
 
 " No sir, not yet ; mebby he has got the tools about him, 
 though." 
 
 " Well, we'll see," said the sergeant ; " come, youngster, 
 empty out your pockets, and let's see." 
 
 The demand was a vain one ; poor Gerald turned his pock- 
 ets inside out j there was nothing in them.
 
 LONDON EXPERIENCES. 135 
 
 " Oh, he's sly," said the watchman ; " he's dropped the tools 
 when he seed me a comin' to grab him. He's a cute un, he is ; 
 anybody can see that." 
 
 "Search him thoroughly, and see that he has nothing con- 
 cealed upon his person." said the sergeant. " Pull off your 
 boots, youngster. Come, no whimpering, or it 'ill be the worse 
 for you." 
 
 Gerald pulled off his boots, his coat, and his vest, at the 
 command of the sergeant, but all their scrutiny was to no pur- 
 pose, nothing could be found upon him. 
 
 " Let's hear what you've got to say for yourself," said the 
 sergeant, addressing the boy, after the fruitless search had been, 
 concluded. 
 
 Gerald repeated the story he had already told the watchman. 
 " So you think I believe that, do you ]" said the sergeant. " No, 
 no, my boy. I'm too well used to deal with such chaps as 
 you. You want a lodging, eh? Well, I'll find you a lodging 
 free gratis to-night, and to-morrow, and perhaps you'll get 
 handsomely furnished lodgings for some months to come meat 
 and drink provided at the expense of the city, nothing at all to 
 do for it but just to step up and down on the tread-mill. Nice 
 pleasant exercise, with a job now and then at picking oakum, 
 by way of change. Take him down to the cells, and lock him 
 up till morning,*' addressing the porter. " Come, be off, no 
 blubbering, and see, if anybody else comes in, you just lock 
 'em up till daylight, Nixon, and don't trouble me again, unless 
 it's something very particular." 
 
 The sergeant returned to the private office, and Gerald was 
 led by the porter of the watch-house along a narrow damp 
 passage, and down a flight of dismal stone steps, and then along 
 another passage, with cells on either side, and into one of the 
 furthest of these he was thrust, the key was turned upon him, 
 and he was left in utter darkness : but not alone ; heavy snor- 
 ing betrayed to him the fact that he had more than one com- 
 panion in misery, but, whoever they were, they had not
 
 136 THE WANDERER. 
 
 been roused by his entrance into the foul den, and though Ger- 
 ald shuddered when he heard the click of the heavy lock and 
 the clank of the rusty bolts, as they were drawn by his jailor, 
 he was so wearied in body and mind that he, too, was soon 
 asleep, and happily oblivious of his wretched condition. 
 
 When he awoke, with his bones chafed and sore from lying 
 upon the rude bench which had served him for a couch, the fee- 
 ble rays of daylight were just struggling in through the grated 
 bars of the cell, making its desolation visible. His compan- 
 ions in wretchedness, a man as he now saw by the dim light 
 past middle age, and a youth about twenty years old, were 
 still sleeping, but from their restless tossing to and fro on their 
 hard resting-place, it was evident that they would soon awake. 
 Gerald, as he looked at their repulsive features, dreaded the 
 moment when they should awake and realize the fact that 
 another occupant had shared their cell during the night. Both 
 were squalid in appearance, and meanly dressed, and the head 
 of the elder prisoner, whose hat had fallen off in his sleep, was 
 perfectly bald, or, rather, closely shaven, for the better conve- 
 nience of disguising himself with a wig. His features were 
 coarse and singularly ferocious, and the general expression of 
 his countenance was not improved by a stubbly beard of three 
 or four days' growth, growing high up on his cheek-bones. 
 The younger man was not so ugly ; but vice and dissipation, 
 had already stamped his visage with their indelible marks. 
 
 Presently the elder prisoner stretched his arms above his 
 head, and yawning frightfully, opened his eyes, at the same 
 time pushing the younger man, who was sleeping by his side, 
 and with an oath bidding him rise. 
 
 Both lazily sat up on the bench and then for the first time 
 saw their fellow prisoner, whose general aspect, with his clothes 
 soiled and dried upon him, was in few respects much better 
 than theirs. 
 
 " Hillo ! who the dickens have we here?" said the elder 
 prisoner, making a mock eye-glass with the thumb and fore-
 
 LONDON EXPERIENCES. 137 
 
 finger of his left hand, and peering through it. " An interlop- 
 er during the night, eh ? Ho, youngster, what are you in for ? 
 You're a stranger. What lay are you on ?" 
 
 Gerald told his story in as few words as possible, and ex- 
 pressed a hope that he would soon be released from the cell 
 and taken before a magistrate, when he felt assured he should 
 be permitted to go free. 
 
 " Gammon !" exclaimed the younger of his companions. 
 " Stash that. You can't come that ere move over us. Don't 
 sneak, but say at once what dodge you're in for ?" 
 
 Gerald was too shocked to reply, and his two companions 
 commenced talking to him in their jargon ; but finding he 
 would not or could not understand them, they cursed him for 
 a sneak, and busied themselves with talking over their own 
 affairs and making various conjectures relative to their chances 
 of escape when brought up before the " beak," as they termed 
 the magistrate. 
 
 Happily for Gerald a great portion of the jargon in which this 
 conversation was carried on was unintelligible to him, and in 
 the course of an hour the cell door was opened and the pris- 
 oners were ordered to go up stairs and prepare to join a pro- 
 cession composed of the tenants of the adjoining cells to march 
 to the Guildhall, and appear before the sitting magistrate. 
 
 Poor Gerald had now to submit to the indignity of being 
 handcuffed to a youth of about his own age, and then, in com 
 pany with some twenty others, to parade through the streets 
 to the court of justice. His companions of the past night were 
 both committed to take their trial for burglary and marched 
 off to Newgate prison, and then Gerald was called upon. 
 
 " What charge is against this boy ?" asked the magistrate. 
 
 " I found him, please your worship," said the watchman who 
 had arrested him, " skulking suspiciously about the stable yard 
 of the Bell and Dragon, and he couldn't give no account of him. 
 self, so I took him into custody." 
 
 " Did you find any property upon him ?" inquired the ma 
 gistrate.
 
 138 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " No, your worship. He told a cock and bull story, as how 
 he'd been robbed at a public house, which he didn't know the 
 name of, nor the street, which was suspicious, so I took him to 
 the watch house for a vagrant." 
 
 "What have you got to say for yourself, my lad ?" said the 
 magistrate, addressing Gerald. " How came you to be wan- 
 dering about the streets at midnight, without any apparent 
 object ?" 
 
 Again Gerald told his story, and this time to a better pur- 
 pose. The magistrate listened attentively and scrutinized him 
 closely while he was speaking, and when he had concluded, 
 said : 
 
 " I think, my boy, that you are telling the truth. I hope 
 so, at least, and I shall discharge you and direct one of the 
 officers of the court to accompany you to the Blue Boar, where 
 you say your uncle is staying, but let this be a warning to you 
 not to fall again into bad company. You can go, and you, 
 officer," addressing a man who stood near, " accompany him 
 to the inn at which his uncle is stopping." 
 
 Gerald thanked the magistrate and left the Guildhall in 
 company with the officer, and in the course of half an hour, 
 found himself at the inn and in the presence of his uncle, who 
 had been to Broad street early that morning to see him, and 
 learning that nothing had been heard of him there, had become 
 greatly alarmed concerning him, and had conjured up all sorts 
 of terrible fancies. He was so glad to see him that he forgot 
 to scold him, and Gerald, after changing his clothing and mak 
 ing a hearty breakfast, retired to his bedroom to rest himself 
 after the fatigues of the last eventful twenty-four hours. 
 
 Mr. Ashley, who had again to appear at Exeter Hall that 
 day, extorted a promise from his nephew that he would not 
 leave the inn till his return, when he would accompany him to 
 Broad-street, and having done this, he started for the Hall. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when he returned, in excellent 
 spirits, for thanks to the exertions of his friends, his application
 
 LONDON EXPERIENCES. 139 
 
 had been successful, not certainly to the full extent of his hopes, 
 for he had been informed by the bishop that there were insu- 
 perable objections to his being ordained as a minister of the 
 Established Church, the chief of which were the want of an Uni- 
 versity education, (although he had learnt quite as much Greek 
 and Latin, and Theology, at Hackney college, as he could have 
 learnt at Oxford or Cambridge,) and the fact of his once having 
 occupied the position of a dissenting minister. However, to oblige 
 his good friend the member of Parliament, the bishop had 
 stretched a point, and had promised him the appointment of 
 Teacher Superintendent over the new Mission School in the 
 island of Ceylon, and he was to sail for that distant island with 
 his family in two months from that day. 
 
 Sanguine as usual, Mr. Ashley thought not of the difficulties 
 that still lay in his way : of the expenses he should have to in- 
 cur, though his passage out to the colony would be paid by 
 the Society, nor of the distance from home of his place of 
 destination. India was to him a land of wealth and promise, 
 and his fancy pictured his young family happily provided for 
 by fortune in that distant land. 
 
 It was too late to go to Broad-street with his nephew that 
 evening ; besides he had to write home to his wife and to Mr. 
 Pearce, though he was too much excited with his success to do 
 either properly, so the visit to the picture dealer's was deferred 
 until the following morning.
 
 140 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Which relates how Mr. Ashley went to Ceylon, and treats of a mystery here- 
 after to be explained. 
 
 As soon as they had taken breakfast the next morning, Mr. 
 Ashley and Gerald set out for the picture-dealer's in Broad- 
 street, Bloomsbury, Gerald taking his trunk with him, it, as 
 well as his pocket, being much lightened in consequence of the 
 mishap that attended his first day's ramble in London. Mr. 
 Ashley, having hired a hackney coach, they soon reached their 
 destination, and Gerald was kindly welcomed by Mr. Hoffmann. 
 
 It was a strange place in which he found himself. Mr. Hoff- 
 mann had been called a picture-dealer by Mr. Pe^rce, and so he 
 was, truly ; but he was a dealer in almost evS^hing under 
 the sun besides. His long, dark, gloomy shop contained a 
 heterogeneous collection, such as could be found in no other 
 place but just such a shop, in London. And the proprietor, 
 eccentric in manners and appearance, was just the personage 
 one would have pictured as the owner of such a singular col- 
 lection of goods. Mr. Hoffmann was verging towards his sev- 
 entieth year, but was hale and hearty as a man of fifty. He 
 still adhered scrupulously to the costume of the day when he 
 was a young man. A cocked hat, a long skirted coat with wide 
 cuffs, a waistcoat, the flaps of which reached nearly to his knee, 
 knee-breeches, black worsted stockings, and square-toed shoes 
 with immense silver buckles, completed his attire. Hair pow 
 der he had banished, as appertaining to the frivolity of youth,
 
 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. Ul 
 
 but he still cherished with pride a queue or pigtail, tightly 
 rolled up in black silk ribbon, and sometimes very greasy in 
 appearance. He was of German descent, as his name implied, 
 but his grandfather had settled in England early in life, and 
 therefore all traces of the German, except the patronymic, had 
 departed from the grandson. 
 
 He had commenced life as an auctioneer, but had soon given 
 up the trade of selling other people's goods, alone, and taken to 
 buying and selling anything and everything by which he thought 
 he could turn an honest penny. His shop and the extensive 
 warerooms beyond, did contain several pictures of great value, 
 but these were swallowed up and lost to sight in the collection 
 of household and other furniture, which, with ancient armor, 
 hardware and china vases, fire-arms and swords and daggers, 
 from the slender blade and ornamented hilt of the officer's side 
 arm, to the heavy, rusty Andrew Ferrara, from the Turkish 
 cimetar to the Malay cresse fashioned in Birmingham. Nor 
 were musical instruments wanting, from the old-fashioned spin- 
 nett and harpsichord to the modern piano-forte, from the fife 
 to the kettle-drum. In fact, there were few things that could 
 be named that could not be found in Mr. Hoffmann's collection, 
 and not a day passed that he did not attend some auction and 
 add still to his strange miscellany. The wonder only was, 
 what he did with them ; to whom he sold them again ; who 
 could purchase from such a collection of oddities ! For sell 
 them he did, to a certainty ; aye, and make money by the 
 transaction, too ; for Mr. Hoffmann was a wealthy man. 
 
 Mr. Ashley shortly took leave of his nephew, he being anx- 
 ious to return home to Sandgate and make preparations for the 
 day of his departure for the East, when he would shake the 
 dust from his shoes upon Sandgate and Herrington, which had 
 been fraught with so much inhospitality to him and his ; and 
 the remaining portion of the day Gerald spent in looking 
 around the store and seeking to make himself acquainted with 
 its singular and miscellaneous contents.
 
 142 THE WANDERER. 
 
 The next morning he was informed of the nature of the du- 
 ties required of him, which were chiefly confined to taking 
 charge of the shop while Mr. Hoffmann was out seeking to in- 
 crease his store, and keeping the more valuable articles free 
 from dust and dirt. He had little or nothing to do with pic- 
 tures or paintings, as he had anticipated, and as may be sup- 
 posed, was not too well satisfied with his employment ; but he 
 did his duty faithfully, and succeeded in gaining the confidence 
 of his employer, and better still, in gaining the favor of the old 
 lady, his wife, who, having no children of her own living, be- 
 came much attached to the boy. 
 
 In this employment Gerald remained for three years, only 
 once during that period paying a brief visit to his mother and 
 Alice Thornton, at Herrington, 
 
 A few months prior to this visit a stranger, apparently about 
 forty years of age, gentlemanly in manners and appearance, 
 and sunburnt, as if he had spent a portion of his life beneath 
 the burning sun of a tropical clime, arrived in Herrington, and * 
 put up at the King's Arms, then the principal hotel in the town. 
 
 The morning after his arrival he called upon the vicar, and 
 made various inquiries respecting Alice Thornton. There was 
 something in his manner that did not altogether satisfy the 
 vicar, but he brought a letter from Mr. Ashley, whom he had 
 met in Ceylon, and who, although he had found many unex- 
 pected drawbacks, was, it appeared, tolerably well satisfied with 
 his position abroad, in which letter the stranger, Mr. Crad- 
 dock, was highly spoken of; consequently, the vicar freely 
 gave him such information as he required, and as lay in his 
 power to give. He, however, advised him to call upon Mrs. 
 Dalton, with whom Miss Thornton was still residing, where he 
 could learn more from her respecting the young lady than it 
 was in his power to tell. 
 
 This Mr. Craddock promised to do, and left the vicarage 
 with, as Mr. Pearce supposed, the intention of calling upon 
 Mrs. Dalton. But that evening Alice, who had been out walk-
 
 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 143 
 
 ing upon the cliffs, did not return home, and the stranger had 
 on that afternoon paid his bill at the King's Arms, and stating 
 that unexpected business called him to London, had hurriedly 
 taken his departure. 
 
 The Widow Dalton was greatly disturbed at the strange dis- 
 appearance of Alice, whom she loved as a daughter. The gen- 
 eral belief, when her absence became known in the town, was 
 that she had fallen from the cliff, and the beach and brushwood 
 was searched for miles, but no traces of her could be found. 
 Then, after the lapse of a few days, some of the coast-guards- 
 men recollected that they had seen a young woman, answering 
 Alice's appearance, walking with a gentleman on the cliff. They 
 had turned off into the highroad, and shortly afterwards 
 the sound of carriage-wheels was heard and people shook their 
 heads and said that Alice had been forcibly abducted by the 
 strange, foreign-looking gentleman who had stopped at the 
 King's Arms, and had been spirited off to London or to for- 
 eign parts. Nay, some went so far &s to say they believed the 
 stranger was the " gentleman in black," unmentionable by his 
 proper name to ears polite, and that Alice had met with a more 
 terrible fate. 
 
 Mr. Pearce called upon Mrs. Dalton, and related the conver- 
 sation he had held with the stranger, and he alone came to the 
 more sensible conclusion that no harm was intended the young 
 lady, but that probably the stranger was a relative, who had 
 some urgent reason for his conduct. 
 
 However, he advertised for the young lady in vain, and at 
 last both he and the widow came to the conclusion to write to 
 Mr. Ashley at Ceylon, and learn, if possible, who this Mr. 
 Craddock was, that had been so intimate with him abroad, and 
 also whether Alice had any relations living that Mr. Ashley 
 was aware of. It would, of course, be many months before an 
 answer could be received from Mr. Ashley, but it appeared to 
 be the only resource left to Mrs. Dalton. No one grieved 
 more at this sudden and strange disappearance of Miss Thorn
 
 144 THE WANDERER. 
 
 ton than Gerald, who had, until latterly unknown to himself, 
 nourished a secret attachment for the playmate of his child- 
 hood. 
 
 He believed that she had been carried away by the stranger, 
 who had made so brief a sojourn in Herrington, and though he 
 had no idea to what part of the world she had been carried, if, 
 indeed, she were not still in England, he cherished the Quixotic 
 idea of setting out in search of her, if, when the expected letter 
 arrived from Ceylon, Mr. Ashley furnished no information re- 
 garding her. 
 
 The duties which Gerald was called upon to perform in Mr. 
 Hoffmann's warehouse of miscellanies, were not such as suited 
 his ambition, although he endeavored to please, and succeeded, in 
 performing them satisfactorily. He longed for a wider sphere of 
 action, a greater scope for the development of his adventurous 
 nature, but how to escape from the irksome drudgery to which 
 he was subjected, he knew not ; and still he did not wish to 
 leave England until news should come from Mr. Ashley, in 
 India. 
 
 During his late visit to Herrington he had been sorely 
 troubled to witness the failure in his mother's health. The con- 
 finement necessary in the arduous employment in which she 
 was engaged, had undermined her constitution, always delicate, 
 and it was evident to him that her life depended upon her ces- 
 sation from the irksome and incessant toil at her needle, to 
 which she was subjected. 
 
 Gerald was now in the eighteenth year of his age, and he 
 looked fully three years older, and yet he had no power to ren- 
 der her any assistance. His board and lodging, and a sufficient 
 pittance to enable himself to provide himself with clothing, 
 was all that he earned at the warehouse. Nor did he perceive 
 any immediate prospect of bettering his position. Before he 
 could enter upon the study of any congenial and remunerative 
 profession, a large fee would be demanded of him, and then 
 several years of severe study would be necessary before he
 
 A CHANGE OF ABODE. U5 
 
 could earn anything for himself. He was naturally interested 
 in the land of his birth, and when he read or heard of the suc- 
 cess which attends industry in ihe United States, he earnestly 
 longed to return thither and try his own fortune in that young 
 and energetic country. To be sure, his father's endeavors 
 while there had failed ; but the boy, born in poverty and tu- 
 tored in early life to privation, and in the knowledge that his 
 success in life must depend upon his own exertions, knew per- 
 fectly well the rock upon which the hopes and endeavors of his 
 father had split. Could he go back to America with his mother, 
 he believed he would soon be enabled by his own exertions to 
 maintain himself and his parent in comfort, and so relieve her 
 from all further labor. Had he been quite alone in the world, 
 he would have worked his passage to America, and trusted to 
 his own energies for support, when he reached the El Dorado 
 of his youthful imagination. Had his mother been well in 
 health, or even provided with some less irksome means of ob- 
 taining her living, he would have sought from her permission to 
 go and seek his fortune, in the hope of soon being able to send 
 for her to rejoin him ; but in the present precarious condition 
 of her health he dared not think further of the matter. 
 
 He spoke to the vicar, who was still very friendly, on thf 
 subject, and Mr. Pearce promised to assist him in his plans. 
 
 " Your mother has been carefully nurtured and well-educatea, 
 Gerald," he said, when the youth introduced the subject, " per- 
 haps if I caused an advertisement to be put in the London 
 Times, she might obtain a situation as governess. At all events, 
 there is no harm in trying." 
 
 " I would willingly do so, but I have not the means," was 
 Gerald's reply. " i know that advertising is very expensive." 
 
 " You speak truly, it is so," said the vicar ; " but I have no 
 objection to lend you the trifle that will be required ; some day 
 you will be enabled to repay me, I know, and if not " 
 
 " If I live you shall be repaid, sir," interrupted Gerald. " I 
 can never forget your kindness." 
 10
 
 146 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Don't mention that, my boy," replied the vicar. " I know 
 you are grateful, and that is enough ; but don't be too san- 
 guine ; there are so many persons seeking situations of a simi- 
 lar description ; and then, in some of these situations, the labor 
 required is even greater and more irksome than that in which 
 your mother is now engaged, and the remuneration a mere 
 pittance. But we will see what can be done. How long do 
 you remain here ?" 
 
 " I have permission from Mr. Hoffmann to stay a month, sir ; 
 I have been home a week to day." 
 
 " Very well ; you needn't say anything to your mother ; I 
 will write an advertisement out and send it for insertion, to 
 London, to-morrow." 
 
 Gerald thanked the worthy clergyman, and after conversing 
 for some time on other matters, returned home. 
 
 The advertisement was duly forwarded, and inserted for a 
 week, and at the expiration of that time, three answers were 
 received by Mr. Pearce ; but, as he had anticipated, not one of 
 them was suitable. They required the possession, by the ad- 
 vertiser, of every conceivable accomplishment, and demanded, 
 also, the control of her whole time ; insisted, in fact, that for 
 less than the wages of an upper servant, she should perform 
 the joint duties of a servant and a governess. Out of the 
 three, there was not one that could have been chosen in prefer- 
 ence to another. 
 
 Dr. Knight, who was attending the widow professionally, and 
 who delicately insisted, for friendship's sake, in giving advice 
 and sending medicine gratuitously, was privy to the endeavors 
 the vicar was making to serve her, and he called at the vicar- 
 age one morning, for the express purpose of seeing Mr. Pearce, 
 upon the subject. 
 
 " Young Dalton," said he, after having informed the vicar of 
 the object of his visit, " has told me that you have been unsuc- 
 cessful in your endeavors to obtain a suitable situation for his 
 mother, as a governess. Poor boy ! he looks very crest-fallen 
 about it."
 
 A CHANGE OF ABODE. 147 
 
 "Yes," said the vicar. "The advertisement has been an- 
 swered, but the situations that offer themselves are not such as 
 would suit. They would entail severer toil than she has to 
 perform at present. And yet something ought to be done for 
 her. I have not seen her for some time past ; but I called af- 
 ter Gerald told me of her failing health, and was really shocked 
 at her altered appearance. What do you think of her case, 
 doctor ?" 
 
 " She is very unwell," replied Doctor Knight, " and if she 
 remains here she will not live another year. The air of the 
 sea coast is too keen for her." 
 
 " She is not, I trust, dangerously ill T' said the vicar. 
 
 " Not exactly so at present," returned the doctor. " Change 
 of air and change in her mode of life may do wonders; but 
 she is not strong, and will scarcely live to wear gray hairs on 
 her head." 
 
 " Has she no friends at all, who, if they were aware of her 
 condition, would be willing to serve her ?" said the clergyman. 
 
 " I never heard Mr. Ashley say anything in relation to her, ex- 
 cept that she was his sister-in law, and that her husband died in 
 America." 
 
 "You were intimate, I believe, with Mrs. Ashley's family 
 before her marriage V 
 
 " Not very intimate," replied the doctor, " but I was slightly 
 acquainted with Mr. Dalton Squire Dalton, as he was called. 
 I was studying medicine at the time, and once attended a party 
 given at Dalton Hall. Mr. Dalton was then supposed to be 
 a wealthy man. His son, who subsequently married the pres- 
 ent Widow Dalton a very worthy, excellent young man he 
 was was then at college. The old gentleman died completely 
 bankrupt soon afterwards, and in the course of time I heard 
 that young Dalton had married a poor but amiable and highly 
 accomplished girl, who was dependant upon a miserly churl of 
 an uncle, and that Miss Dalton had married a young and pen- 
 niless dissenting minister. That was all I knew about the fami- 
 ly until I came to Herrington to practice my profession, when.
 
 148 THE WANDERER. 
 
 through my former slight intimacy with Mrs. Ashley, I became 
 acquainted with her husband. From him I heard that the old 
 miser had been glad enough to get his ward off his hands the 
 marriage, I believe, was clandestine and had shortly after- 
 wards married his housekeeper a low-minded, vulgar woman 
 and dying a year or two afterwards, he left her the whole of 
 his property. She married a second time, and left that part of 
 the country so I suppose it would be useless to seek assist- 
 ance from her, even if we knew where she is to be found. She 
 had, for interested motives, always disliked the young lady ; 
 and as to Mr. Ashley's relatives, they all forsook her, when, 
 after her father's death, she married her present husband." 
 
 " Poor thing !" exclaimed the vicar. " Then, I suppose, we 
 needn't look for any assistance from them T' 
 
 " I fear not," returned the doctor. " But I am forgetting my 
 object in making this call. Looking over the London Times 
 yesterday, I saw this advertisement, and I thought that possi- 
 bly it might suit Mrs. Dalton, though it is nothing to boast of;" 
 and taking the paper from his coat^pocket, he handed it to the 
 vicar, who read as follows : 
 
 " The rector of a parish in the county of Huntingdon, who 
 has established, at his own expense, a boys' and girls' school in 
 the village in which his church is located, is desirous of secur- 
 ing the services of a competent school-mistress for the latter 
 school. He would be happy to make an engagement with a 
 widow lady who had become reduced in circumstances, but has 
 had the advantages of a good education. The duties will be 
 light, and of course the tuition will be confined to common 
 English education, plain sewing, &c., but the advertiser would 
 give the preference to a person superior to the ordinary run of 
 village school- mi stresses. The salary will be 30 a year, 
 house, coal, and candle free. Address the Rev. Wm. Davis, 
 Morley's Hotel, Charing Cross, for one week, stating qualifica- 
 tions, and giving proper references. None other than persons 
 of acknowledged piety need apply."
 
 A CHANGE OF ABODE. 149 
 
 " The very thing," said the vicar, when he read the adver- 
 tisement. " I know Mr. Davis by reputation. . He is a most 
 worthy man, and possessing an independent income of his 
 own, he devotes the whole of his income from the rector- 
 ship to charitable purposes. I will write to him immediately. 
 Mrs. Dalton is exactly fitted for the situation." 
 
 " Of what parish has he the charge ?" asked the doctor. 
 
 " Let me think," said the vicar. " Abbot, ah! Abbotsford, in 
 Huntingdonshire, that's the place ; but we must write to Mor- 
 ley's Hotel, in London, you know." 
 
 " Of course," returned the doctor, "and then we must devise 
 some method of transporting the widow there." 
 
 "You forget that we don't know that we shall succeed yet," 
 said the vicar, smiling at the doctor's impetuosity. 
 
 " To be sure, so I did. I took the thing for granted, seeing 
 you so earnest," replied the doctor ; " but if you do succeed, 
 I'm not a rich man, as you know, but I'll willingly advance the 
 money she will need to carry her there." 
 
 " Only half, my good friend," said the vicar, grasping the 
 doctor's hand, "only half; I'll bear my share." 
 
 " Be it so, then," returned the doctor. 
 
 "And we can say," continued the vicar, "that we lend her 
 the money, and that her son will repay us some day, as he will, 
 you know, if it ever lies in his power." 
 
 "Exactly," said the doctor ; " Mrs. Dalton is very sensitive, 
 and it won't do to hurt her feelings." 
 
 " Certainly not," returned the vicar ; " but now, I think, I'd 
 better write at once, in time for the mail which leaves to-night." 
 
 " I think so," said the doctor, and so it was arranged, and 
 shortly after the doctor took his leave. 
 
 In three days the vicar received a letter from Mr. Davis in 
 reply to his own. It was satisfactory in every particular. 
 "The recommendation of Mr. Pearce," wrote Mr. Davis, " was 
 all that could be required." And, moreover, both the vicar 
 and the doctor were relieved from the expense their benevolence
 
 150 THE WANDERER. 
 
 was about to entail upon them, Mr. Davis voluntarily taking 
 it upon himself to defray the expenses of bringing the widow 
 to Abbotsford, where she was expected in a fortnight. 
 
 This was just the space of time that yet remained to Gerald 
 in Herrington, and the same day that the letter was received 
 fnom Mr. Davis, the vicar and the doctor called together at 
 Mrs. Dalton's lodgings, and told her the good, though unex- 
 pected news, for Gerald had received strict injunctions not to 
 mention to his mother anything about the advertisement, lest 
 expectations should be raised which would not be realized. 
 
 The prospect of the removal from Herrington and the keen 
 sea air, to a quiet village in one of the midland counties, was 
 very grateful to the widow. She could not sufficiently express 
 her thanks to the kind friends who had so generously and dis- 
 interestedly interfered in her behalf, and her obligations to the 
 vicar were further increased by his writing to Mr. Hoffman 
 and obtaining permission for her son to accompany her on her 
 jonrney and see her quietly settled at Abbotsford. Gerald had 
 several interviews with his old friend, Jemmy Milton, during 
 his stay at Herrington. The few years that had passed over 
 the old man's head since Gerald left for London, had made no 
 perceptible difference in his appearance. He was as loquacious 
 as ever, and as fond of the marvellous. Poor as he was, he 
 took the world lightly, and envied no man. But a great change 
 had come over his brother, the Deacon. He had lost his wife 
 and his only son, and was now a lonely, wretched old man, 
 feeble in health, and more querulous than ever, while his ava- 
 rice had grown upon him to such an extent that wealthy as he 
 was, he was said to deny himself the commonest necessaries of 
 life. 
 
 " I am going away to-morrow, Jemmy," said Gerald, the day 
 before Mrs. Daltonwas to leave for Abbotsford. He had met 
 the old man on the beach, and knowing well that nothing would 
 please him better, he added : 
 
 " I'll take a sail in your boat this afternoon, Jemmy. It may 
 be long before I have another opportunity."
 
 A CHANGE OF ABODE. 151 
 
 " With all my heart, Master Gerald," was the old fisher- 
 man's reply. " It's just what I was a going to ax you to do. 
 But Lor' bless ye, don't say you'll never have another oppor- 
 tunity. We'll have a plenty of sails together, yet, please 
 God. But where are you a going to, back to Lunnun ?" 
 
 " After I have seen my mother safely lodged in Abbotsford, 
 Jemmy." 
 
 " Then you be agoing with her 1 I'm main glad o' that. 
 She'd feel awful lonesome like going alone, by herself." 
 
 " It's very kind of my employer to grant me permission," 
 said Gerald, " and still kinder on the part of Mr. Pearce that 
 he wrote to him to ask it." 
 
 " Aye, Gerald, my boy ; he's a good man, the parson. I 
 wish there was a many like him and Doctor Knight, and that 
 all had lots of money. What a mighty sight of good they'd 
 do." 
 
 " No doubt they would, Jemmy," said Gerald. " You're 
 right there ; but it's strange that those who have the inclination 
 to do the most good with money, are seldom blessed with a 
 superabundance of it." 
 
 " Strange it is," returned the old fisherman ; " but depend 
 upon it it's all right. Sarcumstances alters cases, and often- 
 times a man who's got a heart as soft as a soaked sea-biscuit 
 while he's poor, grows to be as hard as a grindstone when he 
 gets rich. W^hy, I know'd a skipper once who sailed in the 
 Portugal trade. He was as good-hearted a man as ever trod 
 a deck, and he used to complain of the grub the owners put 
 aboard for the men afore the mast, and to send 'em small stores 
 out of his own private stock, and he'd never let a chap want a 
 chaw of 'bacca while he'd got a roll of pig-tail or a stick of 
 nigger-head left himself; but bym-by an old uncle of his'n 
 chanced to die and leave him a brig of his own, and he turned 
 out arter'ards to be one of the skinniest old villains as ever 
 sent a ship to sea badly found. No, master Gerald, don't 
 grumble at the ways o' Providence, but leave it to its own ac-
 
 152 THE WANDERER. 
 
 tions. It's the poor you'll find, as is the best friends and has 
 the feelingest hearts for the poor." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, Jemmy," replied Gerald ; " but 
 somehow or other it upsets my philosophy." 
 
 " Then let philosophy alone, boy," said the old man, " and 
 take to observation, while you wait for experience, and when 
 you gets to be as old as I be, you'll find as Providence was 
 right and philosophy wrong. But how do you like Lunnun "? 
 Of course you've seed Wapping and Radcliffe Highway, and 
 Limehouse and Poplar, and all them parts 1 Ah ! many's the 
 jolly spree I've had there." 
 
 " I have only once or twice visited the places you speak of," 
 said Gerald ; " and I can't say they impressed me very favora- 
 bly when I did visit them." 
 
 " No !" exclaimed Jemmy, evidently very much surprised at 
 what he considered Gerald's want of taste. " But you've been 
 to the top of the monument and inside St. Paul's cathedral !" 
 
 " Yes, I have," said Gerald. 
 
 " AncUthere was summit to see there ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly they are worth a visit from a stranger, but I 
 am busily occupied in quite a distant part of the city, and du- 
 ring the three years I have been in London have had little op- 
 portunity for sight-seeing, and little money to spend when I 
 had opportunity." 
 
 " What sort of business are you employed in, may I ask ]" 
 said Jemmy. 
 
 " I am employed in a warehouse, buying, selling, and arrang- 
 ing rubbish of all kinds," replied Gerald. 
 
 " Do you like that sort of work ?" asked Jemmy. 
 
 " Like it ! I'm as sick and tired of it as I can well be," re- 
 plied Gerald. " If it wasn't for my mother's sake, I'd run away 
 and go to sea, or go to America, where I was born, if I could, 
 and try my fortune there." 
 
 " The sea's a hard life," said the old man ; " but I can't 
 blame you, boy. It comes hard to a lad of spirit to be wast-
 
 A SEA YARN, WITH A MORAL. 153 
 
 ing his time behind a counter. And then there's fresh air and 
 grand sights to be seen on the ocean, after all. But you're 
 right, boy, you're right, to think of the old woman. Don't go 
 agin her, Gerry, if you wants to have luck in this world, and 
 to mount up'ards when your time comes." 
 
 "I wish I could emigrate with my mother to the United 
 States," said Gerald, in reply. 
 
 " Aye, that's a mighty fine country," said Jemmy ; "I've been 
 on that coast. That's where the sea-sarpent cruises about." 
 
 "The sea-serpent! What is that ?" asked Gerald. 
 
 "A great fish, half eel, half sarpent," replied Jemmy, "only 
 a monstrous sight bigger than any whale as ever spouted." 
 
 " Did you ever come across it ?" inquired Gerald, anticipat- 
 ing one of the old man's yarns. 
 
 " Aye, did I ?" returned the old fisherman ; " and I'd sooner 
 fall in with an enemy's line of battle ship, or encounter the 
 heaviest gale that ever blowed, than fall in with the sea-sarpent 
 agin." 
 
 " How was it ?" asked Gerald. 
 
 " Why, d'ye see, I was second mate aboard one of the smart- 
 est little schooners that ever traded between Halifax and New 
 York. I'd been in her three v'yages, and on the fourth, when 
 we had been three days at sea from Halifax, and was every 
 moment expecting to -see land, for we'd had a spanking run, 
 just as night came on, it fell calm, and the skipper took 
 to swearing so awful that we thought some harm 'd come of it 
 afore morning, and so there did. About eight bells, it being 
 my morning watch, I'd just relieved the chief mate, and was. 
 leaning over the taffrail, watching the schooner, as she heaved 
 up and down on the water, for there was a great swell on, when 
 I sees the cat's-paws astarn. I know'd as a breeze was a comin', 
 and I went down and called the skipper. Up he comes in a 
 minute, but not so fast as the breeze com'd up astarn. 
 
 " ' Set all sail,' he shouts ; ' I'l drive her into port or into 
 h 1, if the d 1's after me before the day's out.'
 
 154 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " You see, he'd a cargo of shingles aboard, that he expected 
 to get a good market for, for there was a demand for them in 
 the States, and four other vessels was a coming up only a few 
 day's sail astarn, likewise with shingles aboard. 
 
 " The breeze freshened up, as if the d 1 had heard him, and 
 was going to give us a taste of his power, and by the time the 
 sails were trimmed we were spanking along full eight knots an 
 hour, when, just as daylight began to glimmer in the sky, the 
 man at the wheel says to me 
 
 " ' You'd better look out, mate, that's a squall working up 
 to leeward.' 
 
 " I looked toward the direction he pointed out, and there, 
 sure enough, was a cloud rising, as black as thunder, and rush- 
 ing towards us like a whirlwind. 
 
 " ' Let go the tops'l haliards,' I shouted out, without waiting 
 for the skipper to give the order. 
 
 " ' Keep all fast,' says he ; ' don't stir tack or sheet, if it 
 blows the d 1 himself and all his imps.' But he'd scarce got 
 the words out of his mouth when down comes the squall, takes 
 the schooner all aback, carries away our sails clean out of the 
 bolt ropes, like as if they were so much tinder, and whips the 
 foremast overboard as if it had been a reed snapped asunder. 
 Afore we had time to clear the wreck, the squall had passed 
 over, and the ship lay again almost becalmed on the water. 
 
 " ' There's a Jonah aboard this here craft,' says the skipper, 
 * and I wish with all my heart he was in the whale's belly. 
 We've lost our chance of a good market for the shingles now,' 
 . and he set to a swearin' agin as if he was possessed. 
 
 " ' Land ho !' calls out a man from the mast-head. 
 
 " ' Where away V cries the skipper. 
 
 " ' Dead to leeward,' says the man. 
 
 " ' Dead to leeward be ,' says the skipper, in a towerin' 
 
 passion. ' There aint no land within a thousand miles in that 
 quarter.' 
 
 " But sure enough there was a long, low, blqck ledge of rock,
 
 A SEA YARN, WITH A MORAL. 155 
 
 apparently, stretching away for miles, the near point of it close 
 to us, and we drifting right upon it, for our rigging was ham- 
 pered, and we had no command of the schooner's helm. Pre- 
 sently, the skipper shouts out 
 
 " ' That aint no land, or my name ain't Peters, one or t'other, 
 savs he, and we all looked and seed the thing, whatever it was, 
 through the glimmer for it warnt yet full daylight a rearin' 
 up its monstrous head and a openin' its jaws wide enough to 
 swallow down a hogshead without making two gulps, while far 
 away its body was a writhin' like a snake, and the fins was a 
 movin' in all directions, like as if it was mad with fury. 
 
 " ' That's the sea sarpent !' cries a chap from Nantucket, 
 who'd seed the monster once afore, and before any one had 
 time to speak another word, he struck us with as much force as 
 if we'd run on a rock, staving in our larboard bulwarks and 
 knocking everything adrift on the deck. 
 
 " Presently we shoved off, and found the schooner was filling 
 with water. We had just time to take to the boats and get 
 clear of the wreck when she went down, head foremost, for we 
 had pig iron ballast aboard, and the shingles warn't no use to 
 keep her afloat. All the time there was the sea sarpent bobbin' 
 and writhin' away at a distance ; but it didn't come in chase of 
 us, as we feared, and fortunately it had fallen quite calm agin, 
 so we pulled away with all our might to give it a clear berth. 
 After a while we mustered the hands to see whether any one 
 was a missing, and, sure as fate, the skipper wasn't to be found ; 
 he was gone, with all his sins upon his head. 
 
 " We were picked up by a brig that came in hail about night- 
 fall, and carried into New York, and that's how 1 came to see 
 the sea sarpent." 
 
 " It might have been a sunken rock, not laid down in the 
 charts, that you struck the edge of," said Gerald. " I have read 
 of such things." 
 
 " So folks always says, who won't believe in special provi- 
 dences,'' said Jemmy. " The skipper of the brig said he had
 
 156 THE WANDERER. 
 
 passed a shelve of rock, with seaweed growing upon it, early 
 in the morning, and he would have it that was what we thought 
 was the sea sarpent." 
 
 " Most likely it was, Jemmy," said Gerald. 
 
 " No, Master Gerald, no. It was the sea serpent as sure as 
 I'm Jemmy Milton, and the moral of the story is, " don't call 
 on the old 'un to help you, or p'raps he'll take you at your 
 word, and come when you don't want him." 
 
 " A moral, as usual to your yarns, Jemmy," replied Gerald. 
 
 " To be sure," said the old fisherman ; " if there warn't a 
 moral to be larnt, how came the skipper to be the only man as 
 was lost ?" 
 
 They were now approaching the pier, and shortly after they 
 landed, and Gerald, bidding the honest old man farewell, re 
 turned home to prepare for his journey on the morrow. 
 
 He found Dr. Knight and the vicar at the house, both of whom, 
 notwithstanding the generosity of Mr. Davis, insisted upon 
 forcing a small sum of money on the widow, to be paid by 
 Gerald at some future day, and the vicar promised, should he 
 receive a letter from Mr. Ashley, giving any information re- 
 specting Alice Thornton, to let Gerald and Mrs. Dalton know 
 immediately. 
 
 The two gentlemen soon left them, after kind wishes had 
 been mutually expressed, and everything having been arranged 
 for the journey in the morning, Mrs. Dalton and Gerald retired 
 for the night. 
 
 At an early hour on the following day they were on their 
 way to the widow's new home at Abbotsford, at which place 
 they arrived after a day and a night's travel. Mrs. Dalton was 
 kindly received by the rector, and lodged with her son in his 
 house, until her cottage was ready for her. Gerald remained 
 just long enough to see his mother comfortably installed in her 
 new residence, and then he returned to his employer in London.
 
 DISCONTENT. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Descriptive of Gerald's feelings when he returned to London. Also of what 
 Mr. Ashley wrote from Ceylon. And of a bright ray which shed a light 
 over Gerald's gloomy prospects. 
 
 MORE moodily than ever did Gerald return to his duties in 
 London after having seen his mother comfortably settled at 
 Abbottsford. 
 
 Several times during his visit he had drawn his conver- 
 sation with her to the subject of going abroad, for, as he 
 told her, he felt that without influential friends to aid him and 
 push him forward in England, he would be bowed down to 
 years, if not to a lifetime of drudgery. America, his native 
 land, was the land of his hopes, and there he wished to go ; 
 alone and unaided, if he could find no one to assist him for- 
 ward ; and he built up flattering anticipations of the day, not 
 far distant, when he should be enabled to send for his mother 
 to rejoin him there, and live with her in a position of compara- 
 tive affluence, such as she had been a stranger to since the 
 hapless hour when she had first quitted her native shores. 
 But Mrs. Dalton lent an unwilling ear to his persuasions. 
 Knowing, as she did, the causes of the ill-success of her hus- 
 band in the United States, she still shrunk from "the idea of 
 her more energetic son going there alone and unbefriended, nor 
 would she listen to his expressed desire to seek his fortune 
 elsewhere. Only one concession could Gerald obtain; it was 
 this : She would have no objection to his going abroad, though
 
 158 THE WANDERER. 
 
 she would rather that, while she lived, he remained in Eng- 
 land, provided he went in some ostensible situation. If he 
 could procure that, she promised to give her consent ; other- 
 wise, she charged him, with tears in her eyes, not to leave her, 
 and Gerald, quite overcome at the sight of her grief, promised 
 that he would not. 
 
 On one occasion Gerald introduced the subject of Mr. Brow- 
 er's conversation in the stage-coach during the journey from 
 Liverpool to Derby, which had made such an impression upon 
 his memory at the time, young as he was, that he had never 
 forgotten it. But Mrs. Dalton treated the matter lightly. 
 She had once, some years before, written a letter, unknown 
 to her friends, to the address of that gentleman in Liverpool, 
 and receiving no reply, (Mr. Brower, in fact, had returned to 
 the United States,) she had arrived at the conclusion that what 
 he had said in regard to the probable future value of the waste 
 land, the title-deed of which she still held, was merely one 
 of the sanguine dreams in which she knew that Ameri 
 cans were apt to indulge. Gerald said he should write to Gin 
 cinnati. He could do so, if he pleased, was Mrs. Dalton's 
 reply, bnt it would be useless ; and Gerald did not write. 
 
 Four months passed away without any material change. At 
 the expiration of that period, Gerald received a letter from Mr. 
 Pearce, inclosing one bearing the Ceylon post-mark from Mr. 
 Ashley. 
 
 Gerald eagerly opened it, hoping that it might contain some 
 news of Alice Thornton, whose image, since her singular disap- 
 pearance, as it was supposed with the mysterious stranger, 
 though others thought she had fallen accidentally from the per- 
 pendicular cliffs into the sea beneath, had ever been present to 
 his memory ; or at least hoping that it would furnish some ac- 
 count of her parentage, for neither he nor Mrs. Dalton knew 
 more than that she was the daughter of a fellow-student of Mr. 
 Ashley's, whom he had protected since her father's decease. 
 
 The letter was addressed to Gerald. (It appeared that a
 
 A LETTER FROM CEYLON. 159 
 
 packet had been received from Mr. Ashley containing letters 
 for Mr. Pearce, Dr. Knight, and Mrs. Dalton and her son.) It 
 ran as follows : 
 
 " COLTTMBO, CEYLON, January 7th, 18 . 
 " MY DEAR NEPHEW : 
 
 " I duly received the letters sent out on board the Bucking- 
 ham, East Indiaman, and was, with my family, delighted to hear 
 from you. Although we know that many changes may have 
 taken place since the letters we receive four months after they 
 were written were penned, still, for the time being, their perusal 
 seems to unite us together again. None can know, but those 
 who are separated by so many thousand leagues of ocean, how 
 fondly we gaze upon the well-known hand-writing, and how we 
 treasure every kind expression every proof that we are not 
 forgotten by those, still so dear to us, whom we have so long 
 parted from. It is only after we have read them and talked 
 over them again and again, that we recollect that amidst the 
 continual changes that are occurring, things may be very differ- 
 ent at the time we read from what they were when our friends 
 wrote. Let us hope, however, that at least matters have not 
 changed for the worse, and comfort ourselves with the know- 
 ledge that there is a kind Providence watching over us all, 
 and that whatever occurs, we are in its care, and under its 
 guidance. 
 
 " 1 have learned with great pleasure that you are so happily 
 situated in London " 
 
 " Happily situated !" thought Gerald, as he read the above 
 paragraph ; " he wouldn't say so if he knew how I detest stick- 
 ing day after day in this dull shop." But he read on. 
 
 " I am also glad to hear that your mother, and yourself and 
 all my kind friends in Herrington were well at the date of 
 the writing. My earnest hope, and that of your aunt and 
 cousins, is, that you still remain so. 
 
 "We are very comfortable here. It is a delightful place to
 
 160 THE WANDERER. 
 
 reside in. If we had only our friends in England with us, we 
 should be quite contented to spend the remainder of our lives 
 here. We are living in a very pretty and commodious ' bun- 
 galow,' (that, Gerald, is the name they give to what you 
 would term a villa in England.) Our place is about three 
 miles from the city of Columbo. I am at the head of a Gov- 
 ernment school establishment, and I have about two hundred 
 native children, boys and girls, to instruct. Of course, I am 
 assisted by several teachers, only two of whom are English ; 
 the others are native Cingalese; but they make excellent 
 instructors, and the children are, generally speaking, very apt 
 and docile. All are, at least nominally, Christians. I have 
 almost perfectly mastered the Cingalese language, which is by 
 no means difficult to attain by careful study. Your cousins, 
 Frederick and Henry, both speak it well enough to converse 
 with ease with the natives, though many of these speak Eng- 
 lish intelligibly, and all the children in the school learn Eng- 
 lish. Your aunt, however, does not succeed at all in acquiring 
 the Cingalese language, and she has consequently great diffi- 
 culty in managing the servants. 
 
 " By the way, speaking of Frederick and Henry they are 
 grown to be quite young men now I must tell you that they 
 have become quite adepts at hunting, not hares and rabbits, 
 and foxes, and the small game you hunt in England, but elks 
 and wild boars, with which the country abounds. Frederick 
 has been once at an elephant hunt, and though the sport is 
 somewhat dangerous, he was highly delighted with the excur- 
 sion, which enabled him to see a great deal of the beautiful 
 country. I have a promise from the bishop to procure Fred- 
 erick, who has been studying medicine out here, an appoint 
 ment as assistant surgeon on board one of the East India Com 
 pany's cruisers. He is delighted with the prospect. Henry 
 assists me in the school. The girls are quite well, and growing 
 nicely. All your cousins, with their mother, unite with me in 
 sending you the kindest regards. I must not forget to inform
 
 A LETTER FROM CEYLON. 161 
 
 you that you have two other cousins, twins, both girls, born 
 since we have lived here. My little Cingalese pets, I call 
 them." 
 
 Gerald could not forbear a smile as he thought how the 
 very few little disagreements that used to occur between his 
 uncle and aunt were generally on account of his aunt's jealousy 
 respecting the first pair of twins. But since now their circum- 
 stances appeared changed for the better, he thought, perhaps, 
 the cause of that needless jealousy on the part of his aunt was 
 removed, and again he resumed his reading. 
 
 " One subject mentioned in Mr. Pearce's letter pained me 
 and all of us sadly. You, of course, know that I allude to the 
 disappearance of poor little Alice. Mr. Pearce wrote me the 
 particulars, and spoke of a gentleman who is suspected to have 
 been in some mysterious way instrumental in her abduction. 
 That gentleman was a Mr. Craddock. 
 
 " He never directly told me so, and yet I have some reason 
 to believe that he has been an officer in the Indian army. He 
 has friends or relations in the United States or Canada, and 
 talked of visiting them after he had visited England. He 
 spoke several times of Mr. Thornton, Alice's father, my old 
 college chum at Hackney, and said he had known him as a 
 boy, and had been much attached to him, but having quitted 
 England for America at an early age, and subsequently re- 
 sided in India, they had never met after their schoolboy days. 
 He knew, however, that poor Thornton had married, and that 
 his wife had died : also, that he had left a daughter in my 
 charge. 
 
 " He had seen my name mentioned as having been appointed 
 to this school, in one of the Calcutta newspapers, and that, he 
 said, was the reason that he visited Ceylon before he returned 
 to England. He thought that the daughter of his old school- 
 fellow might perhaps have come to Ceylon with my family, 
 and he much wished to see her. He made many enquiries re- 
 specting her, and that was the way I came to give him a letter 
 11
 
 162 THE WANDERER. 
 
 of introduction to Mr. Pearce. I thought he might wish to 
 serve poor little Alice, and I had reason to believe that he 
 was a man of considerable wealth. In manners and appear- 
 ance, he was thoroughly a gentleman, and a man apparently 
 of education and of great intelligence. He had evidently trav- 
 elled much, and talked, after visiting America, of returning 
 again to the East Indies. I had some suspicion that he was a 
 relative of Alice's, and once I asked him the question. 
 
 "He replied evasively, and I made no further inquiry. 
 These several circumstances lead me strongly to suspect that 
 he is in fact privy to Alice's disappearance, and that the poor 
 child did not meet with any fatal accident, as Mr. Pearce par- 
 tially hints might have been the case. I trust it is so, and 
 that we shall hear of our dear little girl again, for I do not 
 think, from the appearance of Mr. Craddock, that he is a man 
 who would harm the child. There is some mystery in the 
 matter which time will perhaps disclose. Let us hope, at least, 
 that it will. 
 
 " I have written Mr. Pearce more fully in relation to these 
 matters. He asked for some information regarding Mr. Thorn- 
 ton. I have none to furnish him with beyond the facts I have 
 already stated to you. I don't think poor Thornton had any 
 relations in England. His wife was a Spanish lady from the 
 island of Cuba, and she died shortly after Alice was born, and 
 poor Thornton, who died when Alice was only three years 
 old, left her, on his death-bed, to my care. I promised him 
 faithfully that she should be to me as a daughter, and I feel 
 that I am to blame in having parted with her, although under 
 the circumstances it was unavoidable. 
 
 " Let me hope, however, that when next I hear from you, 
 you may have heard some good tidings of the dear lost one, or 
 that she has been restored to you ; that hope is all that is left. 
 
 " I have written you a long letter, my dear nephew, and 
 must now close. I have been writing to your mother, and Mr. 
 Pearce and yourself, the greater portion of this day.
 
 RUMINATIONS. 163 
 
 " God bless you, Gerald. I could wish that you and your 
 mother were out here with us. You are doubtless contented 
 at home ; but there are opportunities out here for young men, 
 far superior to those to be found in England, especially if they 
 have no patronage to advance their interests. 
 " Believe me ever, 
 
 " Your affectionate uncle, 
 
 " WILLIAM ASHLEY." 
 
 Gerald read this letter amid a variety of conflicting feelings. 
 He was glad to hear that his uncle and the family were so 
 happily situated in their far off home in the Cinnamon Isle : 
 but it was with impatient regret that he read that portion of 
 the letter which alluded to his supposed happiness and content- 
 ment in England. He heard with feelings akin to jealousy of 
 his cousin's promised appointment in the East India Company's 
 navy, and it was with deep sorrow, not however unmixed with 
 hope, that he read the part which alluded to Alice Thornton. 
 But the information respecting Mr. Craddock, while it dis- 
 abused his mind of the suspicions he had partially entertained, 
 that some dreadful accident had befallen her, seemed to render 
 her disappearance a matter of greater mystery than ever. He 
 now had not the slightest doubt that she had been carried away 
 by Mr. Craddock ; but why the affair had been effected so se- 
 cretly ; why Alice had not come home and informed her 
 friends ; or rather why Mr. Craddock had not done so, and 
 given some reason for his strange action towards her, was a 
 mystery he could not fathom. Again, the letter gave no clue 
 whatever to the whereabouts of Mr. Craddock. He might be 
 in Canada, or the United States, or perhaps in Cuba, or he 
 might have returned to the East Indies ! 
 
 Poor Gerald ! he was more in a maze, and more discontent- 
 ed and wretched than ever. 
 
 At length a gleam of hope shed its bright rays over his 
 prospects. Mr. Hoffmann, who was really greatly attached to
 
 164 THE WANDERER. 
 
 the youth, was well aware, although Gerald had never com- 
 plained in his hearing and had always striven to appear cheer- 
 ful and contented, that he longed for some more active em- 
 ployment. Mr. Hoffmann was, as the reader is well aware, a 
 somewhat eccentric individual. One of his characteristics was 
 that he never appeared to take any active interest in any one. 
 He blamed severely when blame was merited, but it was a 
 maxim with him never to praise any one for doing their duty. 
 That he considered every body was bound to do, and although 
 he had written to Mr. Pearce in high terms of Gerald's con- 
 duct, the only means the young man possessed of knowing that 
 his employer was satisfied with his behavior, beyond what the 
 vicar had intimated to him was, that he seldom or never found 
 fault with him. 
 
 He had some strange speculative fancies, and was forever 
 contriving some novel scheme to advance his fortunes, and 
 it was a singular proof of his tact and foresight that amidst the 
 multiplicity of his business he rarely failed in any thing he un- 
 dertook. 
 
 One evening about three months after Gerald had received 
 the letter from his uncle, just as he had put up the shutters 
 and was about closing the shop for the night, Mr. Hoffmann 
 told him that he wished to see him in his library, an old fash- 
 ioned apartment, which he dignified by that name, and in 
 which he had collected, as a stranger would have thought, all 
 the old, odd volumes that he could pick up at the old book- 
 stores, or in the auction rooms of London. 
 
 Gerald promised to attend, and a few minutes after, won- 
 dering what could be the cause of the unwonted summons, he 
 went up stairs to the apartment, and tapping at the door was 
 requested to come in. 
 
 Mr. Hoffmann was seated at a table with an old lamp before 
 him, a relic of ancient times that he had picked up somewhere 
 in the course of his perigrinations, and which might have been 
 manufactured for some monkish cloister in the Middle Ages.
 
 A GLEAM OF HOPE. 165 
 
 He was busily examining a file of papers, seemingly accounts of 
 sales and similar documents. 
 
 " Ah ! it's you ? take a seat, Gerald," he said, as the young 
 man entered. 
 
 Gerald did as he was requested. For some minutes the 
 old gentleman continued his examination of the file of papers ; 
 then folding them up methodically, and carefully laying them 
 aside, he said bluntly, " Gerald, you are not satisfied with your 
 situation here." 
 
 " Really, sir," stammered the young man, " I-I-T " 
 
 " Don't prevaricate, sir ; there is nothing I detest so much 
 as prevarication," said the old gentleman. " Above all things 
 I like candor. I have observed for a long time past, nay, 1 may 
 say, ever since the first year that you came here, that the situa- 
 tion you hold in my employ is one that is distasteful to you." 
 
 " I could certainly wish for some more active employment, 
 sir," said Gerald ; "I could wish also for some employment in 
 which I could do something for my mother ; but I can con- 
 scientiously say that since I have been in your employ I have 
 done my duty as far as lay in my power." 
 
 " Yes, yes," returned the old gentleman ; " you have done 
 your duty, and it was your duty to do it. I have no fault to 
 find with you for that, neither do you deserve any praise for 
 it. We are all sent into the world to do our duty towards 
 each other you have done yours towards me ; it is now my 
 turn to do mine towards you." 
 
 Gerald sat silent, not knowing indeed how to reply, and 
 greatly wondering what the old gentleman meant. 
 
 Mr. Hoffmann continued : 
 
 " I say it is now my turn to do my duty towards you. You 
 are quite right in wishing to assist your mother now, at your 
 time of life. That is a very material part of your duty ; you 
 might have done so before I might have put you in the way 
 of doing so, but to no good purpose while you were so young. 
 You never would have got forward in the world if you had 
 been left to yourself at too early an age.
 
 166 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Now you have been thoroughly trained in my shop. You 
 have had to stick close to a business that you did not fancy, 
 and to bear confinement, because as a boy who had his own 
 fortune to carve out in the world, it was your duty to bear with 
 that which was distasteful to you, if by so doing you could 
 serve the interests of your employers and gain friends that 
 might be of service to you thereafter." 
 
 " I am grateful for the good opinion you have of me, sir," 
 said Gerald. 
 
 " I did not say that I had any special good opinion of you," 
 continued the old gentleman. " You have done your duty so 
 far, and I hope you will continue to do it as faithfully through- 
 out your life. You want more active employment, and if I 
 don't mistake you will have no objection to see a little of the 
 world outside of smoky London. I want the services of an 
 active, trustworthy young man to go abroad. Are you willing 
 to accept the offer I am about to make to you ? If so, the mat- 
 ter is settled." 
 
 Gerald's heart leaped to his throat at the idea of going 
 abroad, whither, he cared little. He thought of his mother at 
 Abbottsford ; but then he recollected that she had promised to 
 give her consent, should he at any time meet with a situation 
 of responsibility and trust. 
 
 " I think I am willing and ready to accept any offer you may 
 make me, sir," he replied ; " but you have not yet told me 
 what it is you have in view." 
 
 " No ! to be sure. I have not. I was forgetting my duty, 
 young man, in hurrying on so fast. Well, then, the matter I 
 have in view is this. I have, as you know, a large collection of 
 old and valuable engravings and paintings, and a variety of 
 knick knacks of various descriptions, which I have been inform- 
 ed will sell to great advantage in the East Indies, where there 
 is a demand now for such things. I was thinking of sending 
 them there. My friend, Mr. Grimsby, the tobacconist, also 
 has been talking to me about the feasibility of establishing an
 
 A GLEAM OF HOPE. 167 
 
 agency in Calcutta for the sale of his celebrated eye snuff. 
 You know he has agencies in almost every part of the world. 
 I have spoken to him concerning you, and he is desirous of 
 entrusting you with the task. Another friend of mine is also 
 about to send a large quantity of hardware to the East Indies, 
 and I have talked with several gentlemen besides who are send- 
 ing goods out in the same ship, about employing you as super- 
 cargo. Would you like to undertake the responsibility?" 
 
 " I can never be sufficiently grateful," replied Gerald, who 
 was quite elated at the prospect opened to him. 
 
 " There is nothing to be gratefhl for," returned the old gen- 
 tleman. " You have a certain duty entrusted to you, and you 
 will oblige us in doing it properly, to the best of your ability, as 
 we shall oblige you by sending you out in charge of our goods." 
 
 " I shall certainly do all that lies in my power to serve you," 
 said Gerald, " and I most cheerfully accept your offer." 
 
 " Well, then," said the old gentleman, " we will consider the 
 matter settled. I knew very well, beforehand, that you would 
 jump at the offer, and engaged another shopman in your place. 
 You can run down to Abbottsford and see your mother, if you 
 like. Start to-morrow if you can get ready. The ship sails 
 in three weeks ; you must be back in a fortnight from to-mor- 
 row, and then direct all your attention to your new duties." 
 
 Gerald assured the old gentleman that he should be ready to 
 start for Abbottsford on the following morning, and thus be 
 the bearer in his own person, to his mother, of his rising pros- 
 pects ; and Mr. Hoffmann, considering in his off-hand way that 
 all the preliminaries had been settled, closed the interview. 
 
 Gerald retired to his room ; but not to sleep. His thoughts 
 were too much occupied with the prospect, so long and so 
 earnestly desired, that had now so strangely opened to him ; 
 bright visions of the future passed rapidly before him, while at 
 the same time thoughts of his mother and of the way in which 
 she would receive the, to him, gratifying intelligence, would 
 recur to his mind ; but he flattered himself that the first regret 
 over, she would rejoice with him over his good fortune.
 
 168 THE WANDERER. 
 
 It ws far in the night ere he closed his eyes, and then he 
 dreamed of startling and perilous adventures in the East ; of 
 Vishnoo and Bramah, and the Car of Juggernaut, and Hindoo 
 temples and cinnamon groves ; and of all the marvels of the 
 "Arabian Nights," and of tiger and elephant hunts in Ceylon, 
 and of all he had read or heard of the land of gorgeous ro- 
 mance the rich and gorgeous land of the East. And yet 
 when he awoke in the morning, so restless had been his slum- 
 bers, that it still wanted an hour to his usual time of rising. 
 
 He sprang from his bed and commenced to make prepara- 
 tions for his journey to Abbottsford. He was soon ready, and 
 after having partaken of a hasty breakfast, he bade a temporary 
 farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Hoffmann, and with a light heart 
 walked to the coach office and was soon being borne towards 
 Huntingdonshire as rapidly as four horses could carry him. 
 
 It was late in the evening when he reached St. Ives, from 
 which place he had to walk the distance of two miles to 
 Abbottsford, at which place he arrived just as Mrs. Dalton 
 was preparing to retire to rest. She was overjoyed to see her 
 son. The visit was of course quite unexpected, and after the 
 first mutual congratulations were over, Gerald lost no time in 
 acquainting her with the object of his visit, and of his antici- 
 pated departure for India. Sorely as Mrs. Dalton grieved at 
 the idea of his leaving her, and tempting the dangers of the sea 
 and the perils of a foreign clime dangers and perils much 
 exaggerated by her too vivid imagination she had too much 
 good sense to raise any objections to a course which promised 
 to be of so much advantage to her son, and indeed to her also, 
 for Mr. Hoffmann, before Gerald's departure in the morning, 
 had informed him that his salary would be liberal, so she 
 gladly yet tearfully gave her full consent. Lon~ after the 
 widow's usual hour of retiring, did she and Gerald sit in earn- 
 est conversation that night, and the hour of midnight had 
 passed away before the widow and her son retired to rest. 
 
 On the following morning, Gerald wrote to his friend the
 
 RISING PROSPECTS. 169 
 
 Vicar of Herrington, and to Dr. Knight, to inform them 
 of his good fortune ; and he also wrote a few lines to his 
 old friend and companion, Jemmy Milton, whom he was well 
 aware would be as happy to hear of his rising prospects, and 
 especially that he was going to see the world a favorite ex- 
 pression of the old fisherman's as was he himself. 
 
 Letters in reply were duly received from Dr. Knight and 
 the Vicar, congratulating the young man on his prospects, and 
 also a letter from Jemmy Milton ; but this last being a curi- 
 osity in its way, shall occupy a place in the following chapter.
 
 170 THE WANDERER 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Jemmy Milton gives Gerald some good advice in a letter. And Gerald 
 takes possession of an invoice of rare and curious merchandise, to do the 
 best he can therewith. 
 
 JEMMY MILTON'S letter was written on a sheet of superfine 
 Bath post-paper, gilt-edged ; but the glories of the white smooth 
 sheet were somewhat dimmed by the awkward, square method 
 which had been adopted in folding it, and by the sprawling seal 
 of pitch, stamped with a thumb mark ; nevertheless, it was 
 with no little gratification that Gerald received this proof of 
 his old favorite's regard for him, for he knew that nothing but 
 the strongest feeling of friendship could have put the idea of 
 sending a letter into Jemmy's head. 
 
 The letter was not dated. Jemmy probably did not think 
 it worth while to bother himself with such trifling convention- 
 alities as dates, but commenced at once in the most approved 
 and time-honored style of syntax, to wit : 
 
 " DEAR GERA.LD : 
 
 " This comes hopping to find you well, as it leaves me at 
 present. I have got a chum, Tom Fletcher, as you are ac- 
 quainted with, seeing as you've often met him in the boat- 
 house 'long o' me, to write this here letter, cos it's so long 
 since I tuk a pen in my hands, never since I larned down 
 strokes and hooks and hangers at dame's school, that writing 
 'ud come arkard to me now ; besides, my fingers is grow'd too 
 stiff; but Tom can write like schoolmaster. He would make me 
 put this in, thof 1 didn't want to, Master Gerald. I heered yes-
 
 A LETTER FROM HERRINGTON. 171 
 
 terday from Mr. Pearce, who I met a walking on the pier, as 
 how you was a going to the Injees to seek your fortin. Good 
 luck to you, my boy, and I hope you'll find it, as I ain't got no 
 doubt as you will, if you seeks it arter the right fashion, and 
 follers the advice as you've had larnt you by the vicar, and 
 your mother and me. Jemmy don't know where Injee is, see- 
 ing that he has never been there any more than me ; but it's 
 a long way off, no doubt maybe in China may be 'tother 
 side of 'Merrica ; but wheresomever it be, I know as it's a 
 mighty fine place, full of goold, diamonds and precious stones, 
 for we've read that 'ere in a book called ' Tales of Genius ;'* 
 but there's rocks, and shoals and quicksands to be met with 
 on the way, and many a fine lad's been wrecked on 'em for 
 want o' keeping a bright look out. Above all, Gerald, my boy 
 don't be tempted by the marmaids ; you've come to an age, 
 now, when you're like to be 'tacted by the syringes ;} avoid 
 'em, boy ; take an old man's advice and give 'em a wide berth, 
 as a good skipper would a lee shore on a dark night, though 
 there's syringes on shore as well as at sea. They are the 
 strange women that King Soloman speaks on in the Book of 
 Proverbs, who have cast down many wounded, and I have seen 
 many strong men slain by 'em. Sarch the Scripturs for that 
 'ere text, Gerald, my boy. When you gets to Injee, maybe 
 you'll larn summat of poor little Alice. The vicar tells me as 
 how Mr. Ashley ain't seed nought on her, and don't know the 
 genelman in black as tuk her away. In old times there used to 
 live lots o' giants and ogres, and wizards as used to run away 
 with beautiful maids and keep 'em in captivity till some ad- 
 venturous knight like Jack the Giant Killer or King Arthur of 
 the Round Table conquered 'em and restored the maiden to her 
 friends, when in coorse the gallant knight married the lady, 
 and they had a reglar jolly time on't. I've read that 'ere in 
 books as long ago as I can recollect, and I oncet had a book as 
 
 
 
 * " Tales of the Genii," I presume the old man meant, 
 f " Sirens," probably.
 
 172 THE WANDERER. 
 
 told how there was lashions of these ogres in Injee. Maybe 
 the breed ain't all dead yet, and it's resarved for you to de- 
 liver Alice from the enchanter. I'm thinkin' you won't mind 
 the penalty of splicing the lass for your trouble. Jemmy Mil- 
 ton wishes me to present his best respects to your mother, 
 and I'm glad to lam from the vicar that she is so nicely set- 
 tled in Abbottsford, where the vicar says she is gone to. 
 
 " Mayhap you'd like to hear some'at about the old place, 
 seeing it'll p'raps be many years afore you see it agin and 
 then I and Tom, too, will p'raps have shipped on our last v'yage to 
 etarnity. Last Monday was quarter day, and as usual we had 
 a jolly time arter I drew my quarter's pay from my brother, 
 the deacon, and what d'ye think, Gerald ; they got up a sur- 
 prise for me while I was gone up to get the rhino. I knows 
 as how Tom Fletcher was at the head of it. Cos it's just like 
 him. I was'nt though ; it was a reglar round robin among us 
 all ; but Jemmy will have it so, and insists upon my writing it 
 down. He'll spell through the letter arterards, so in it goes : 
 they'd been and guv the old boat-house a fresh coat of coal tar, 
 and painted the door and winder frames green, and put in a 
 new bench and two new stools. I hardly know'd the old place 
 agin, it looked so comfortable and cosy, and Tom Fletcher 
 stood a keg of hollands hisself I did ; thafs true ; and didn't 
 we have a merry night on't ! We got so happy talkin of old 
 times ; and you was'nt forgotten, Gerald, nor your uncle, nor 
 your mother, that it being late afore the keg's was empty, we 
 reckoned as we would'nt go home till morning, and so we slept 
 in the boat-house, and when we woke up in the morning, we 
 was all layin under the table and about the floor, in all sorts 
 o' ruin attitoodes. Gerald, my boy, let me give you one more 
 piece of advice, in which Tom Fletcher jines so I do, with all 
 my heart : don't give way to drink when you gets to Injce ; 
 I'm told they drinks awful there, and poisons theirselves with 
 liquor and then lays it to the climate ; recollect the yarn I 
 oncet told you, that had the moral at the tail end on't, you know.
 
 A REACTION. 173 
 
 My brother, the deacon, is a growiu' more miserly than ever. 
 He half starves hisself so as to save his money ; though what 
 he's agoin' to do with it I don't know, since when he dies he 
 baiu't got chick nor child to leave it to. God bless you, Gerald ; 
 and pilot you safe over the stormy ocean and bring you safe 
 back home agin so no more at present from your old friend, 
 JEMMY MILTON, X his mark. 
 
 TOM FLETCHER." 
 
 Gerald was much amused with this letter, although he found 
 some difficulty in deciphering it, as much on account of the false 
 orthography as from the ambiguous phraseology. He wrote 
 a reply, assuring the old man that he should strive not to for- 
 get him nor his teachings, and should take especial care to avoid 
 being seduced by the siren voices of the mermaids he might 
 fall in with on his voyage. He also replied to the letters he 
 had received from his other friends at Herrington, and wrote to 
 his uncle informing him that he was about to visit the East 
 Indies, and as it was optionable with him to return home on 
 board any vessel he pleased if he found that it wouldn't occupy 
 too much of his time, he should visit Columbo. 
 
 Time, on the occasion of such a visit as this that Gerald had 
 paid his mother, always flies swiftly : the fortnight soon ex- 
 pired, and greatly to his mother's grief, though she strove to 
 hide it, and indeed to his own deep regret when the hour of 
 parting came, Gerald returned to London. 
 
 On his arrival at Broad street, he discovered that, as is usual- 
 ly the case, the vessel would not sail at the time appointed, and 
 that it would be at least three weeks before her lading would 
 be completed. However, this was little time enough for him 
 to make himself acquainted with the duties that would be re- 
 quired of him, of which, to say the truth, he knew very little. 
 
 Just at this time, the East India Company had opened a new 
 territory, as they had often done before, have done since, and 
 will do again, so long as an inch of ground remains in the pos-
 
 If4 THE WANDERER. 
 
 session of the Native Rajahs. Joshua was the first filibuster 
 on record, who felt himself constrained to fulfil a " manifest 
 destiny ;" but he has been improved upon since, and by none 
 of his imitators with greater effect than by the Honorable East 
 India Company, which is perpetually finding itself called upon 
 to conquer the natives surrounding its broad lands, and teach 
 them the blessings of civilization and religion, thereby adding 
 by this good work greatly to its own influence, wealth and pros- 
 perity. 
 
 There had been a time of severe commercial distress in 
 India, but the crisis had passed away, and with the acquisition 
 of new territory a reaction had taken place, and speculation 
 was rife. The mania had reached England, and merchants and 
 tradesmen of every class were looking towards the East, with 
 all the eagerness that in later years they have looked towards 
 California and South Australia. Every body who had any 
 business that could be extended abroad, was sending goods and 
 establishing agencies in India. 
 
 Mr. Hoffmann, like most London tradesmen, belonged to a 
 club, composed of tradesmen like himself, or rather he and a 
 dozen others of his class were accustomed to meet together 
 nightly in the back parlor of a snug public house, and there to 
 talk over business and politics, while they smoked their pipes 
 and sipped their hot brandy and water. 
 
 Naturally enough, a short time before Mr. Hoffmann had 
 spoken to Gerald relative to going abroad, the conversation at 
 one of these nightly meetings had turned upon India, and the 
 opportunities that offered themselves of making money there. 
 
 " I should'nt mind sending out a venture," said one, laying 
 aside his long clay pipe, and looking solemnly round at the 
 company, "provided I knew how to manage it. I should think 
 a dozen cases or so of English pickles and hams, and such like 
 articles would sell well just now. The officers, you see, will 
 be going with their families to the new territory, and they will 
 be glad to purchase such luxuries, and pay a high price for them 
 too, I'll be bound."
 
 THE CLUB SMOKING-ROOM. 175 
 
 " No doubt of it, neighbor Feldwick, no doubt of it," ob- 
 served Mr. Grimsby, the 'celebrated tobacconist and snuff 
 manufacturer, addressing his friend who had first spoken, who 
 was in the " Oil and Italian" line. " And I have a great idea 
 that my eye snuff would make me a small fortune, if I could 
 establish an agency in India. The Opthalmia, I understand, is 
 very prevalent in the sandy plains of the East. I've had 
 serious thoughts of attempting such a thing." 
 
 " Cheap, gay calicoes are in great request amongst the half 
 naked savages of newly opened territories, I have been told," 
 chimed in a Manchester warehouseman. " The market is dull 
 here just now, and I have several cases of unsaleable goods in 
 my warehouse. I should'nt wonder if I made a good job by 
 sending them to India. Might perhaps establish a permanent 
 trade there." 
 
 Several others spoke to a like purport. Mr. Hoffmann had 
 said nothing ; but he had continued smoking sagely, and was 
 thinking deeply. He had several boxes of copper plates of old 
 engravings, and books upon books of old engravings taken from 
 the copper plates, which he had picked up at the sale of the 
 effects of a virtuoso several years before, and these had been 
 lying unsaleable and lumbering up his store-rooms ever since. 
 He might, he thought, dispose of them in India. No doubt 
 the officers and civilians about to establish themselves in the 
 new territory would like to carry with them reminiscences of 
 the arts and refinements of home : besides he had many other 
 articles useless in London, which might be disposed of ad- 
 vantageously abroad. 
 
 The whole party, having given expression to these sentiments, 
 sat for some time smoking in solemn silence. This silence was 
 at length broken by Mr. Grimsby : 
 
 " I will, by George," he said, striking his fist upon the table, 
 with a force that set all the glasses ringing. 
 
 " And so will I," said Mr. Feldwick, the Oil and Italian 
 warehouseman, accompanying the assertion with a similar 
 forcible demonstration.
 
 176 THE WANDERER. 
 
 "Gentlemen," observed Mr. Hoffmann he was the only 
 person present who had not hitherto spoken " I should like to 
 join you. We may make up a venture between us ; but there 
 is one requisite that you seem to have forgotten." 
 
 " What is that ?" cried half a dozen at once. 
 
 " We shall want somebody to look after our joint stock. If 
 we ship it to India without having made this provision, among 
 the vast quantity of goods going there just now it will stand a 
 chance of being overlooked ; at any rate it is not likely to be 
 disposed of to advantage. Besides, if any among us think of 
 establishing agencies abroad, some one must be deputed to act 
 in such transactions." 
 
 " To be sure ; you are quite right, neighbor Hoffmann," said 
 the tobacconist ; " but who can we get. Do you know of any 
 suitable person ? A young man, for instance, who will under- 
 take the duties of a supercargo, cheap ?" 
 
 " I think I do," returned Mr. Hoffmann. " You know my 
 young man, Gerald Dalton, friend Grimsby ? The lad has a 
 great desire to go abroad, and he is a good lad, and may be 
 trusted." 
 
 " And he will be reasonable as to salary 1" said Mr. Grimsby. 
 
 " Yes, perfectly so. We will give him a small commission 
 on the sales, and a trifle of salary besides. What do you say 
 gentlemen, to our clubbing a venture, and sending Gerald out 
 with it ?" said Mr. Hoffmann, addressing his friends around 
 the table, all of whom had been listening attentively to the con- 
 versation that had passed between him and Mr. Grimsby. 
 
 " I like the idea, for one," said the Manchester warehouse- 
 man. 
 
 " And I," said another, and another, and before the party 
 separated that night it was arranged that each should contrib- 
 ute a portion of a common " venture," to be placed under the 
 care of Gerald Dalton, by him to be sold in the East Indies 
 to the best advantage. 
 
 In a very few days after this arrangement the goods to be
 
 A CONCLUSION ARRIVED AT. Iff 
 
 sent were picked out and packed, and it having been ascer 
 tained that the Seringapatam Indiaman would sail in a few 
 weeks for Calcutta and that she yet had room for a considera- 
 ble amount of cargo, sufficient freight accommodation was 
 secured on board her; and then Mr. Hoffmann, who was well 
 aware that Gerald would be glad of the opportunity that 
 would be thus afforded him of seeing the world, spoke to him 
 on the subject in the manner I have heretofore related. 
 
 The period that had yet to elapse before the Indiaman was 
 to sail, was spent by Gerald in making himself acquainted, as 
 far as lay in his power, with the nature of a supercargo's du- 
 ties. He did not fear that he would find them very difficult, 
 still he had little or no notion of trade, and it was his earnest 
 desire to render a satisfactory account to his employers on his 
 return. 
 
 It had been settled that he was to receive a small per cent- 
 age on the sales that should be made, and a salary of fifty pounds 
 and his passage out to India and back again secured. Twenty 
 pounds out of the fifty he resolved should go to his mother ; the 
 other thirty he would probably have ample necessity for himself. 
 In addition to this, if he were very successful in his undertak- 
 ing, he was to receive a bonus, according to the liberality of 
 his employers, at the termination of the voyage. 
 
 Twenty pounds were paid him in advance, to aid in supply- 
 ing his outfit. 
 
 It was a curiously heterogeneous collection of goods that he 
 found himself in charge of when the day of shipment arrived : 
 perhaps never supercargo before had been placed in charge of 
 a more singular selection of marketables, or unmarketables, 
 as the venture might prove, and the articles were invoiced 
 at almost fabulous prices, so sanguine were the senders of the 
 demand for goods of all kinds that would exist in India. 
 
 The following is a copy of the invoice that was presented to 
 the young man, after the goods had all been shipped. 
 
 12
 
 178 THE WANDERER. 
 
 From Mr. Grimsby : 
 
 . s. d. 
 Six tin-water proof cases of eye snuff, 50 Ibs. in 
 
 each case, 7s. 6d. per pound. 112 10 
 
 Value in London, retail price, ------ 48 
 
 From Messrs. Feldwick &; Co : 
 
 Five cwt. Parmesan Cheese, 2s. 6d. per pound - - 70 
 Value in London, retail, -------- 33 10 6 
 
 Fifty cases English pickles assorted, 6 doz. in a case, 
 
 18s. per doz. 270 
 
 Retail price in London, --------135 
 
 Sundries in the oil and Italian line. - ... - 420 
 
 Retail London value, -- 300 
 
 From Mr. Atkins, Manchester warehouseman : 
 Six boxes bed curtain chintz, dandylion and sun 
 flower pattern, very gay ; containing in all, one 
 hundred and twenty pieces of thirty yards each, 
 
 1 10s per piece. ---- 10 
 
 Value in Manchester, wholesale, --- - - 90 10 
 Sixty cases of calicoes, various large and gay pat- 
 terns, each case containing forty pieces of twen- 
 ty yards each, 20s. per piece, ------ 2,400 
 
 Value in Manchester, -- - 1,700 
 
 From Mr. Dawson, Ironmonger and General 
 Dealer in Hardware : 
 
 One bundle containing sixty spades, 5s. each, - - 15 
 One do. containing one hundred rakes, 4s. each - - 20 
 One do. containing one hundred hatchets, 5s. each - 25 
 
 One case clasp, and penknives, - -164 10 
 
 One do. hammers, gimlets, and screwdrivers - - 67 
 
 Estimated English wholesale value, - - - - 135 
 
 From Mr. Dobbs, Crockery dealer : 
 
 Six crates assorted Staffordshire ware, - - - - 131 
 
 English value, 100
 
 A EARE INVOICE OF GOODS. 
 
 (It was rumored that English crockery and China 
 was superseding the use of that imported into India 
 from the Celestial Empire.) 
 
 From Mr. Hoffmann, Auctioneer, Picture dealer, 
 
 General Warehouseman, &c., &c. 
 
 Two Cremona violins one cracked, the other 
 
 much battered, 60 guineas each. 120 
 
 Inestimably valuable to amateurs. Useless to 
 professionals. Unsaleable in England. 
 
 Six banjoes a novel and delightful instrument im- 
 ported from America, 3 guineas each. - - - - 18 
 Not yet introduced into musical circles in Eng- 
 land. Value unknown. 
 
 One suit of ancient armor complete all but the vizor, 
 in tolerably good preservation. Supposed to 
 belong to the time of Edward the Third. - - - 25 
 Unsaleable, having lain in Mr. Hoffman's ware- 
 rooms for twenty years. 
 
 Six tin cases of plated bottle corks labelled " Sher- 
 ry," "Port," "Rum," "Brandy," "Holland," 
 &c., &c., each case containing twenty dozen as- 
 sorted --------- . . . - 120 
 
 Value in England not generally known, as the 
 article is old fashioned. 
 
 Ten Turkish Scimeters, very old-fashioned and cu- 
 rious, 20s. each. -.-.--.---10 
 Unsaleable in London, but supposed likely to 
 be in demand in India. 
 
 One harpsichord, 60 
 
 Out of date in England ; therefore unsaleable. 
 
 One Spinnett ------- 5 10 
 
 Out of date, consequently unsaleable in London. 
 
 Three hundred and fifty old engravings, duplicates 
 assorted, from pictures by the great masters. - - 350
 
 180 THE WANDERER 
 
 Very valuable to virtuosos, but no bids for sev- 
 eral years. 
 
 One hundred copperplates of said engravings. - - 150 
 Battered and only valuable as old copper in Lon- 
 don. 
 
 " Queer articles of merchandise, some of them," muttered 
 Gerald to himself as he read over the invoice. " But I sup- 
 pose they : ll find a ready sale in India, or they wouldn't send 
 them out. Let me see," and he cast up the separate invoices. 
 (Of course the estimated value in London was not known to 
 him.) " Mr. Grimsby, 112 10s.," marking the amount down 
 in pencil on the margin of the invoice. "A small venture that 
 of old Grimsby's ; but eye-snuff enough, I should think, to 
 supply the East Indies with the article for a quarter of a cen- 
 tury ; but then the old chap counts on getting an agency for 
 the whole East established. Well, we'll see. What next ?" 
 Again he summed up. 
 
 " Messrs. Feldwick & Co., 760. That's something more 
 respectable, but a droll assortment. What the mischief can 
 they want with so many clasp-knives in India ? They must be 
 quite out of the article. Ha ! Atkins, 2,580," marking down 
 the amount. " That's something like. Then there's old Daw- 
 son, 291 10s. ; moderate again. And Dobbs, 131 ; still 
 more moderate. Then comes Mr. Hoffmann. What's he 
 sent, I wonder ? Good gracious !" he exclaimed, looking over 
 the articles enumerated, "what on earth will they do with 
 them in India ? I suppose, though, it's all right 866 8s. 
 That amounts, in toto" adding up, " to 4,741 8s., and my dis- 
 count, 7 per cent, on the sales, provided I don't get higher 
 prices than they are invoiced at, which I ought certainly to do, 
 will amount to 330, and 30 to receive when I return, 
 for salary, 360 ; quite a fortune ! Hurrah ! Why, I shall 
 be a rich man all at once. Won't I go down to Abbottsford 
 and make mother all right ? And then, if I should fall in with 
 Alice, or hear anything of her ! It would be glorious !"
 
 REVERIES. 181 
 
 He sat for some time thinking of the past and dreaming of 
 the future, till suddenly recollecting that it was getting late, 
 and he had to be up betimes in the morning to meet Mr. Hoff- 
 mann, and had several letters to write to his friends, as the 
 mail was to leave Calcutta on the following Thursday. (It was 
 now Monday) he rose from his reverie, and taking his candle, 
 retired to rest.
 
 182 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 In which it is told how Gerald went to India, and what occurred during 
 the voyage, and after he arrived at Calcutta. Also details of many other 
 interesting incidents. 
 
 ALL was now ready for sea on board the Seringapatam East 
 Indiaman. The ship had hauled out of the East India dock, 
 and lay in the stream opposite Blackwall, awaiting the cap- 
 tain's return from the city, and passengers and seamen were 
 hurrying on board, Laving, as is ever the case, waited till the 
 last moment. 
 
 Gerald had written his last letters home, for a long time, at 
 any rate, and had requested that the replies to these letters 
 might be addressed to him at the ship's consignees at Calcutta, 
 at the same time promising himself to write thence. The day 
 before, he had held his parting interview with Mr. Hoffmann, 
 and was now busily occupied in arranging the narrow state- 
 room that he was to occupy during the voyage. This was not 
 a very difficult task, inasmuch as there was room for nothing 
 but a small trunk, besides the state-room furniture, consisting 
 of a fixture bed-place, a camp stool, and a ledge with a hole in 
 it for the reception of a ewer and basin : so this task com- 
 pleted, he went on deck to escape the confusion in the cabin, 
 though there was little to gain by the movement, for the deck 
 was equally as crowded, and equally as much confusion reigned 
 there. He, however, walked aft to the taff'rail, so as to be as 
 far out of the way as possible, and gazed with curiosity upon
 
 THE SEA VOYAGE. 183 
 
 the busy scene, wondering if it were possible that things could 
 ever be arranged and put in order, and then thinking of his 
 mother, and wondering if she then were thinking of him, and 
 wishing that he possessed only for an hour the magic carpet of 
 Arabian story that carried its fortunate possessor whither- 
 soever he wished the instant the wish was formed that he 
 might again see her before he sailed. 
 
 Soon after the captain and pilot came on board together, the 
 anchor was hove up : all persons that belonged ashore were 
 ordered to leave the vessel : the steam-tug was lashed along- 
 side, and the Seringapatam, with her decks still in a state of 
 apparently inextricable confusion for if a ship were to remain 
 in port a month after she was ready for sea, the decks never 
 would be otherwise was towed out to the mouth of the river. 
 
 Gerald remained on deck till dark, and then sought his state- 
 room, for he had little appetite for the first meal at sea, which 
 was hurriedly prepared by the steward for such as were desir- 
 ous of partaking of it, and lying down with his clothes on, in 
 spite of the many thoughts that crowded themselves upon his 
 mind, was soon asleep. 
 
 When he awoke in the morning, he knew by the rolling mo- 
 tion of the vessel that she had passed beyond the mouth of the 
 river, and was now fairly at sea in the channel. A slight sen- 
 sation of nausea at the stomach, occasioned by the unaccus- 
 tomed motion and the close smell of the cabin, caused him to 
 hasten on deck to breathe the fresh air. 
 
 A miraculous change had taken place during the night. The 
 dirty lumbered decks were cleaned, and everything was in its 
 place, while the decks just washed down by the morning watch, 
 were as clean as the floor of an uncarpeted drawing-room. 
 The wind was fair, and the ship was sailing fully eight miles 
 an hour, the steam-tug having cast adrift from her three or 
 four hours before. They were rapidly passing the coast, and 
 Gerald, who soon recovered from his temporary sensation of 
 nausea, inquired of the officer of the deck what part of the 
 coast it was they saw.
 
 184 THE WANDERER. 
 
 "The North Foreland," replied the mate. " That town you 
 see there a little ahead, to leeward, is Ramsgate." 
 
 " When shall we reach the South Foreland ?" inquired 
 Gerald. 
 
 " In the course of a couple of hours, if this breeze holds, as 
 it seems likely to do," returned the mate, " we shall be off 
 Dover. That point there looming up ahead is the South Fore- 
 land." 
 
 Gerald looked towards the point of land indicated by the 
 mate with great interest. With the coast from Dover to Her- 
 rington he was well acquainted, the latter town being but a few 
 miles distant from the former, and he resolved not to retire 
 from deck until Herrington was passed. He mentioned to the 
 mate that his boyhood had been spent in Herrington, and beg- 
 ged him to tell him when they approached it. 
 
 " I will have you called when we reach Dover," said the 
 mate ; " meanwhile as the bell is ringing for breakfast, you had 
 better go down to the cabin. You will have plenty of time 
 to get your breakfast." 
 
 Gerald, who had eaten nothing the evening before and whose 
 appetite had returned while breathing the sea air, thought this 
 very good advice, and descended into the cabin to take his first 
 meal on board the Indiaman. 
 
 There was a poor account of passengers at the table, although 
 he had observed on the previous evening that all the state rooms 
 were occupied ; but many were already sea sick, and others 
 fatigued with their exertions the day before, had not felt in- 
 clined to get up to breakfast. 
 
 In half an hour Gerald was again on deck. 
 
 " We are passing the South Foreland now," said the mate, as 
 he stepped upon the poop deck. " That's Dover you see there 
 on the starboard bow. Take the spyglass and you will be able 
 to see the Castle quite plainly ; in another hour or less we shall 
 be abreast of it." 
 
 In the course of that period the town of Dover was passed,
 
 THE SEA YOYAGE 185 
 
 and Gerald watched with breathless interest the line of 
 coast, every inch of which he knew from that town to Herring- 
 ton the church of which that church which the reader will 
 recollect had once been whitewashed by order of the Board of 
 Admiralty he could already discover, perched high, seeming- 
 ly, upon the very verge of the cliff. Soon the vessel was 
 abreast of the church, and then the town of Herrington, and 
 the parsonage house of the good old vicar, situated near the 
 church, were distinctly visible. 
 
 He could even see the people walking on the cliffs, and he 
 pleased his fancy by imagining that one figure, walking on the 
 cliff near the church, was Mr. Pearce, who he knew was fond 
 of strolling in that spot and watching the vessels passing be- 
 neath. He recollected every thing that had befallen him in 
 Herrington. He recognized the favorite haunts where he had 
 been wont to stroll with Alice, and he fancied he could even 
 discover among the numerous huts on the beach the famous 
 boat-house of his old friend, Jemmy Milton and he wondered 
 whether the quaint old man was on the beach watching the In- 
 diaman as she sailed swiftly by. 
 
 But the wind began to freshen and the motion of the vessel 
 to grow more violent, and Gerald, used though he had been to 
 sail out in Jemmy's fishing boat, began to feel a strange sensa- 
 tion in his stomach, and shortly became so sick that he was glad 
 to retire to his state-room. 
 
 The breeze remained favorable for several days, and the 
 Seringapatam made a rapid passage down channel and through 
 the Bay of Biscay, where stormy weather and adverse winds de- 
 tained her for a week ; but the weather again clearing up and 
 the wind veering round to the Northward, the ship again made 
 rapid headway, and the latitude of the North East Trades was 
 reached in a wonderfully short time after leaving port. 
 
 Gerald had quite recovered from his sea sickness before the 
 vessel was well clear of the channel, but the Trade winds were 
 reached before the majority of the passengers showed them-
 
 186 THE WANDERER. 
 
 selves upon deck ; but after this period every body seemed 
 happy ; the regrets at leaving home were forgotten, and the 
 future beamed cheerfully before them. 
 
 The passengers on board the Seringapatam being in no way 
 connected with my story, I shall pass them over very cursorily. 
 They comprised the customary class of passengers to be found 
 on board an outward bound Indiaman. There were two young 
 ladies, East Indians by birth, being the daughters of a resident 
 Judge, who had been at school at Brighton, and now, under the 
 charge of a governess, were returning to India to their parents ; 
 there was an elderly young lady, going to India, it was said, 
 to visit her brother, who held an appointment in the Com- 
 pany's service ; perhaps this was true, but the first mate, 
 who was a bit of a wag, informed Gerald that he thought it was 
 not altogether sisterly affection that had prompted her to 
 undertake the voyage. He believed that she was going 
 out in the hope of catching a husband, in the shape of some 
 jaundiced, liver-diseased official of the Company, whose yellow 
 gold would compensate for his yellow skin the elderly young 
 lady having reached some years before, the age when ladies are 
 laid on the shelf and labelled " un marriageable" in England. 
 The mate furthermore said he had never made a voyage that 
 one or two ladies of her class had not gone out as passengers, 
 and what is more the chances were more than even that they 
 succeeded in bringing down their game. There was a bilious 
 looking major returning from a three years' furlough, and two 
 young cadets from the Cadet's College at Croydon, who, fresh 
 colored and full of life, spirit and hope, were going out to India 
 to become in time as yellow and bilious as the major. There 
 was a chaplain and his wife going to join the garrison at Cawn- 
 pore, and a young doctor going to Calcutta to take the post of 
 assistant surgeon in the garrison of Fort William ; these, with 
 Gerald, comprised the list of passengers on board the Seringa- 
 patam. 
 
 Nothing worth recording happened on the passage the ves- 
 sel met with the usual share of fair and foul weather j fell iu
 
 ARRIVAL AT CALCUTTA. 187 
 
 with a gale off the Cape of Good Hope ; went into Table Bay 
 to replenish her supply of water and to obtain fresh provisions, 
 and in seventy-six days after passing the Land's End entered 
 the mouth of the Hooghly River, and came to an anchor at 
 Diamond Harbor the same day. Thence the passengers took 
 passage in a steamer for the city of Calcutta, the ship being of 
 too heavy a draught of water to pass over the William's and 
 Mary flats, further up the river. 
 
 Gerald and the other passengers who had not been in India 
 before, admired the novelty of the scenery as they sailed past 
 it ; sometimes seeming, in the tortuous windings, to be enclosed 
 on a lake, encompassed on all sides by a tangled forest of im- 
 penetrable jungle, and then, suddenly emerging by an outlet 
 only visible when they were close to it, the scene would open 
 upon a native Hindoo village, with its grotesque temples dedi- 
 cated to the worship of Vishnoo or Bramah, each surrounded 
 by a railed enclosure in which grazed perfectly at his ease pro- 
 vided for for life and honored as a god, the sacred bull. At 
 night the steamer came to an anchor, and then when all else 
 was still might be heard the shrill bark of the jackal, or the 
 hideous shriek of the hyena, roaming the jungle for their prey, 
 and the sharp cry of the owl and night eagle engaged in tho 
 same predatory occupation. By noon the next day the far famed 
 Garden Reach, where are situated the " bungalos,'' or villas 
 of the wealthy merchants and high officials of the government, 
 with their sloping lawns richly ornamented with tropical shrub- 
 bery and brilliant flowers, reaching to the water's edge, was in 
 sight, with the Botanical Garden on the other hand and in 
 another hour the steamer was at anchor near Chand-paul Ghaut 
 and the City of Palaces, the proud, queen city of British India 
 lay open to the curious and admiring gaze of the strangers from 
 a far distant shore. 
 
 The passengers were soon landed in one of the numerous 
 dingie wallahs, or small canoes manned by Lascars, who ply for 
 fares with unceasing pertinacity, and who manage their fragile 
 6
 
 188 THE WANDERER. 
 
 barks with admirable dexterity, and Gerald seeing all the other 
 passengers leaving, asked the captain's advice as to how he 
 should act. 
 
 " Have you no letters of introduction ?" asked the capt&in 
 in a tone of surprise. 
 
 "No," answered Gerald. 
 
 " That's bad very foolish indeed ; you can't go to an hotel. 
 Nobody does here who has any regard for his own position. 
 If it were known that you did so, you would injure your pros- 
 pects immediately. However, since it is so, you can't do bet- 
 ter than accompany me to my consignee's house. I'll vouch 
 for you, and you'll get a bed for the night, and for a week if 
 you like ; but you'll want a servant." 
 
 " A servant !'' said Gerald, somewhat alarmed at the thought 
 of the expense such an appendage would entail. 
 
 " Of course,*' said the captain, " Every one must have his 
 body servant here." 
 
 " How much will it cost ?" said Gerald. 
 
 " Oh, a mere trifle, half a rupee a day will hire a first class 
 one, and the beggars find themselves." 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed Gerald, considerably relieved. 
 
 " Here, Lall," said the captain, addressing a tall, handsome 
 Hindoo who stood near and whom he appeared to recognize. 
 " You want Sahib, eh ?" 
 
 " Achah Sahib," (yes master) replied the Hindoo, whose 
 forehead was ornamented with a red and white streak to mark 
 his caste. 
 
 "Then here's a Sahib wants to hire you," continued the 
 captain, "How much wages you ask, eh?" 
 
 " Me first rate fellow ; hab plenty, too much cAiV," (recom- 
 mendations) replied the man. 
 
 " Confound your chits, and as to your being a good fellow, I 
 suppose you're about on a par with the rest. However," turn- 
 ing to Gerald, " I know the fellow, so you had best engage him. 
 How much do you ask a month ?" again addressing the man. 
 
 Twenty-five rupees, my price," said the Hindoo.
 
 ARRIVAL AT CALCUTTA. 189 
 
 Twenty-five d s," exclaimed the captain. " This Sahib 
 
 '11 give you twelve rupees a month ; now say if you're willing 
 to hire, if not be off with you." 
 
 "Me take," said the Hindoo, submissively, and forthwith 
 he was installed in Gerald's service, while he should remain in 
 Calcutta. 
 
 " Now the dingie wallah's alongside, let's go ashore," said 
 the captain. " By the way, you'd better take half a dozen 
 changes of clothing with you. You'll need 'em, unless you 
 mean to come on board again early in the morning." 
 
 Gerald contented himself with three shirts and the like num- 
 ber of pairs of white trowsers, and putting them into his car- 
 pet bag, stepped into his boat, and was soon landed on the es- 
 planade just at the time the equipages of the merchants, offi- 
 cers of government, and wealthy natives were arriving filled 
 with occupants about to take their customary evening promen- 
 ade. The young man thought as he gazed at the handsome 
 vehicles and the gaily attired occupants, that he had never wit 
 nessed so magnificent a sight, the varied dresses of the Par 
 see, Hindoo, Musselman, and Armenian merchants, adding a 
 never ceasing variety to the brilliant scene ; but he had little 
 time to admire the ever changing diorama ; the captain was 
 in a hurry to reach the residence of his consignee, and they 
 walked rapidly along the Cheringhee Road until they came to a 
 spacious house, which the captain informed Gerald was the resi- 
 dence of Mr. Thompson, the merchant to whom the greater 
 portion of his cargo was consigned. 
 
 Gerald was astonished at the size of the house, and the 
 troops of servants clad in white dresses, who received the cap- 
 tain and himself as if they had been persons of the highest 
 dignity, and through the rank formed by the bowing groups, 
 they passed to the apartment in which they were received by 
 the merchant, to whom the captain introduced his young com- 
 panion. 
 
 The young man was kindly received and the circumstance?
 
 190 THE 'WANDERER. 
 
 of his visit having been explained, he was hospitably pressed 
 to make his home at Mr. Thompson's house, as long as it was 
 convenient to him, and in the course of the evening, Gerald 
 having partially explained to the merchant the nature of the 
 merchandise entrusted to his care, the latter gave him the 
 names of two or three native merchants, who would be most 
 likely to do business with him. " But," he said, " I am very 
 sorry that I cannot afford you much encouragement, young 
 gentleman. I really can't understand what possesses the peo- 
 ple at home. Our markets are overstocked with goods of 
 every description, already. Indeed they have been so for the 
 last three months, ever since the first returns from England 
 after the news had reached there of the reaction that has taken 
 place in business. However, if your merchandise is first class 
 as they say here, A No. 1, you may perhaps get a fair price." 
 
 Gerald was greatly disappointed with this intelligence ; but 
 having resolved to do his best for his employers, and thinking 
 it the wisest plan to lose no time, lest, as ships were almost 
 daily arriving, matters might become still more unfavorable, 
 he hired a palankeen next morning, and guided by his Hindoo 
 servant, proceeded to the residence of M. De Sylva, a native 
 Portuguese merchant who, he had been informed was one of 
 the most substantial and trustworthy of the class of mer- 
 chants with whom it would be necessary for him to deal. 
 
 Mr. De Sylva resided on the confines of the native town, but 
 half an hour's brisk ride in the palankeen borne by two stout 
 coolies carried him to the merchant's residence. 
 
 It was situated near the bazaar, and the locality presented 
 much the appearance that Chatham street, New York, or Mon 
 mouth street, London, would present, were these choice He- 
 brew localities transplanted to a tropical clime, and invested 
 with the peculiarities incidental to an oriental city. Merchan- 
 dise of every conceivable description was openly exposed for 
 sale, and the passers-by were urged and persuaded to purchase 
 with a degree of pertinacity unknown even in the localities 
 alluded to.
 
 THE PORTUGUESE MERCHANT. 191 
 
 One of the largest of these shops was occupied by Mr. De 
 Sylva. The merchant was at home, and Gerald having intro- 
 duced himself, told the nature of his business, and further- 
 more, informed the merchant that he had been recommended 
 to apply to him by Mr. Thompson. Mr. De Sylva was all 
 anxiety to see the goods, and urgent in his protestations that 
 he would pay a higher price and deal more honestly by the 
 seller than any of his fellow -merchants. He was a small man, 
 nearly as darkly complexioned as a Hindoo, but possessing 
 regular European features, and an almost effeminate expres- 
 sion of countenance ; yet those who regarded him attentively, 
 might readily perceive the cunning of the paltry peddler in 
 the sharp yet cautious expression of his eye. He spoke Eng- 
 lish fluently. 
 
 " When shall you have your merchandise ready ?" he asked 
 of Gerald. 
 
 " In the course of a day or two," the young man replied. 
 " The captain says he shall commence discharging as soon as 
 the ship is towed up to the city. That will be to-morrow, and 
 next day I hope to have my goods landed, and after they have 
 passed the Custom House, I presume there will be no further 
 difficulty." 
 
 " None at all, sir," said Mr. De Sylva. " Have you a copy 
 of the invoice, that I may look it over ' 
 
 " I have but the original copy," said Gerald, " and that, it 
 will be necessary for me to show at the Custom House ; but I will 
 make another copy this evening, and bring it you to-morrow." 
 
 " Do s )," said the merchant. " I am sorry you have it not 
 with you to-day, in order that I might lose no time in ascer- 
 taining in what manner I may best dispose of the goods. In 
 case 1 should not be able to purchase the whole, I might show 
 the invoice to my fellow-merchants, and what does not suit me 
 may suit them." 
 
 " I am greatly obliged to you," said Gerald. 
 
 " By-the-bye, shall you stop on board the Indiaman ?" 
 asked Mr. De Sylva.
 
 192 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " No," replied Gerald. " For the present, Mr. Thompson 
 has kindly offered me a home at his house ; but I cannot long 
 trespass upon his hospitality." 
 
 " Why not come and stay with me ?" said Mr. De Sylva. 
 " J have a large house and half a dozen rooms at your service, 
 and my servants are your own. As we are about to do busi- 
 ness together, it is but fair that you should take up your abode 
 at my house. It is the custom of the country," he smilingly 
 added after a pause. 
 
 Gerald thought it would be more desirable were he to accept 
 the invitation so freely given. He naturally felt that he was 
 intruding upon Mr. Thompson, and as it was the custom of 
 the country for those with whom one was doing business to 
 play the part of a host, he readily consented to Mr. De Sylva'a 
 proposal. 
 
 In the course of the day, notwithstanding the consignee 
 pressed him to remain, assuring him that he was not inconve- 
 niencing himself nor his family in the slightest degree, Gerald 
 removed his few effects to the house of the Portuguese mer- 
 chant, and took up his abode there, and in the cool of the even- 
 ing, Mr. De Sylva offered to take him out in his buggy to ride 
 on the esplanade. 
 
 " You have no private venture of your own besides the mer- 
 chandise entrusted to your care ?" said the merchant, interroga- 
 tively, in the course of the drive. 
 
 "Not exactly," replied the young man ; " at least nothing of 
 consequence. I have a case of dried bullock's tongues, some 
 three hundred or so, that's all." 
 
 This case of tongues had been purchased at a bargain by Mr. 
 Hoffmann, two days prior to the sailing of the Seringapatam, 
 and had been presented by him to Gerald for his own private 
 benefit, Mr. Hoffmann telling him that as they would probably 
 be considered a rare delicacy in Calcutta, he ought to get at 
 least half a guinea apiece for them. 
 
 " Bullock's tongues !" exclaimed Mr. De Sylva. " If it was
 
 BUSINESS ARRANGEMENTS. 193 
 
 not your own special venture, I could put you in a way to 
 make more of them than you can do by selling them." 
 
 " In what manner ?" asked Gerald. " If I can in any way 
 benefit my employers, I will not allow my own interests to 
 stand in the way of doing so." 
 
 '' By giving them away, or, at any rate, by so disposing 
 of a portion of them. They will be considered a great deli- 
 cacy here, and a little well considered liberality opens men's 
 hearts. I should advise you to make a present of a few to 
 each of the merchants whom I will point out to you, and whom 
 I consider likely to deal with you, for you know that I, although 
 a merchant, am likewise a commission agent for others, and it 
 is only by the exercise of the latter profession that I can hope 
 to dispose of all your merchandise for you, though I will take 
 a large portion, it is likely, upon my own account." 
 
 " I shall be happy to place the entire stock at your service, 
 Mr. De Sylva," said Gerald, "reserving only half a dozen 
 which I intend to give to Mr. Thompson, and another half 
 dozen that I shall present to the captain of the Seringapatam." 
 
 "A hundred or so will be sufficient," said the merchant, 
 " and the remainder, after we have both served our turn, as I 
 trust we shall do, I will gladly purchase from you at a fair 
 market price." 
 
 Gerald readily consented to this arrangement, and the buggy 
 was drawing up at Mr. De Sylva's residence ; he and Mr. De 
 Sylva alighted and entered the dwelling. 
 
 Dinner was ready, and the Portuguese merchant played the 
 host to admiration. His hospitality appeared to be unbounded, 
 and Gerald congratulated himself on having fallen in with so 
 honest and gentlemanly a man. 
 
 After dinner Mr. De Sylva observed that they might as well, 
 to prevent mistakes, ratify the verbal agreement that had pass- 
 ed between them, and Gerald consenting, an agreement was 
 drawn out and mutually signed, to the effect that Gerald Dai- 
 ton, agent for Mr. Hoffmann and others, did appoint Carlos De 
 13
 
 194 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Sylva, merchant of Calcutta, sole agent for the sale of the mer- 
 chandise belonging to the aforesaid Hoffmann and others, now 
 on board the Seringapatam East Indiaman from London, and 
 lying at anchor in the port of Calcutta. And this matter 
 settled, the gentlemen lighted their cigars and adjourned to the 
 verandah, to smoke and chat and enjoy the cool air of the 
 evening. 
 
 In a day or two the goods in charge of Gerald were 
 landed, and taken to the Custom House, whither he himself 
 also proceeded to hasten them through the necessary forms to 
 be observed before the heterogeneous merchandise composing 
 the venture, from the sale of which such extraordinary profit 
 was anticipated, was free to enter the Calcutta market. 
 
 Gerald was somewhat annoyed at the mysterious nods and 
 smiles that passed between the Hindoo clerks, and at the 
 seemingly facetious remarks that they made, occasioning an 
 interchange of knowing glances ; but as he could not understand 
 the language in which these remarks were uttered, he remained 
 in ignorance of the cause of this singular facetiousness on their 
 part. 
 
 However, they were accommodating enough to pass the 
 goods without giving any unnecessary trouble, and glad to have 
 got through this difficulty, Gerald lost no time in hiring a bul- 
 lock cart to convey his treasures to Mr. De Sylva's bazaar, as 
 he had been directed ; hiring at the same time a palankeen and 
 bearers in which he accompanied the cart to the bazaar. 
 
 He found Mr. De Sylva anxiously looking out for him, and 
 by the merchant's direction the goods were unloaded from the 
 cart, and placed in the store. 
 
 " Now, my good friend," said the merchant, " suppose we 
 take some slight refreshment ; the day is very sultry, and you 
 must be fatigued. Brandy pawnee lao," (bring brandy and 
 water) he added, speaking to a servant. 
 
 " I thank you," said Gerald, " but I am afraid to drink spirits 
 so early in the day."
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 195 
 
 " A glass of claret then 1 Bring claret, too." 
 
 " I have no objection to that," said Gerald, " for I feel the 
 heat excessive and am very thirsty/' 
 
 The merchant helped himself to brandy and water, and the 
 young man to claret ; and having rested himself, Gerald ex- 
 pressed a desire to proceed at once to business. 
 
 " I have brought you a copy of my invoice," he said. " Yes- 
 terday I gave you some idea of the merchandise I have under 
 my charge ; perhaps you will look over the invoice and con- 
 sider what can be done, meanwhile I will see the goods unpack 
 ed," and leaving the merchant sitting in the verandah of his 
 house, Gerald went into the store to superintend the opening 
 of the cases. 
 
 He returned in a short time and inquired of the merchant 
 whether he would like to go with him and examine the goods. 
 
 Mr. De Sylva assented, and they went back to the store to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Rather a curious assortment of goods you have, Mr. Dai- 
 ton," said the merchant, looking alternately at the invoice he 
 held in his hand and at the cases before him, and occasionally 
 lifting out and examining a portion of their contents. 
 
 " Saleable, I hope ?" said Gerald, interrogatively. 
 
 " I hope so. We will do the best we can with them ; but, 
 my dear sir, they are invoiced at a very high figure. Eye 
 snuff! what sort of snuff is that?" he said inquiringly. 
 
 " That's really more than I can tell you till the cases are 
 opened,'' said Gerald, "although now I think of it, I believe I 
 have a sample package in my trunk. I know, however, that it 
 has long had an immense sale in England." 
 
 " Hem !" muttered the merchant, running over the contents 
 of the invoice " Parmesan cheese very good ; I have no 
 doubt that will do. Pickles," shaking his head. " A mistake, 
 sir ; English pickles have a slow sale here. We have so many 
 varieties of our own ; besides the market is overstocked. 
 What's this oh ! curtain chintz ; that may do. Calicoes.
 
 196 THE WANDERER. 
 
 spades, rakes, hatchets ah! I perceive, in these crates, eh? 
 Well, very good, they'll find a ready sale in the Native Bazaar. 
 Crockery hem ! What's this 1 Two two " 
 
 " Two cremona violins," explained Gerald, looking over the 
 merchant's shoulder at the invoice. 
 
 " Hem ! and ban ah ! banjos. What are they ?" 
 
 "Some kind of musical instrument. A new invention, I 
 think." 
 
 " Ha ! One harpsichord ; one spinnett " 
 
 " You know what they are ?" said Gerald. 
 
 " Not exactly," returned the merchant. " A new kind of 
 instrument ?" 
 
 " By no means," replied the young man, " old enough in 
 all conscience ; but the gentleman who sent them thought they 
 might sell to advantage in India." 
 
 " Bottle corks, labelled ; Turkish cimeters ; engravings ; 
 copper plates ; one suit of ancient armor complete, except the 
 visor !" continued the merchant. " Why, my good sir, this last 
 assortment is a singular one indeed. I am afraid it will not 
 be a very profitable speculation to the owner." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that," said Gerald, " for he is a good 
 friend of mine. I should regret that he should be a loser by 
 my coming to India. How do you intend to dispose of them 1 
 What do you propose to purchase yourself 1 ?" he continued 
 after a pause, observing that Mr. De Sylva remained silent. 
 
 "I would take the hardware and cutlery," said the mer- 
 chant ; " but there is too much of the latter for my purposes. 
 I should advise you to permit me to dispose of the whole lot 
 of goods by auction, and I will buy in what I want ; but you 
 have invoiced them far too high, indeed. To sell them, any of 
 them, indeed, at any thing like the prices in the invoice, you 
 would have to store them for months, paying high storage the 
 meanwhile ; though it may go at auction, it can scarcely be 
 sold in any other way." 
 
 " I will think about it," said Gerald in a tone of disappoint-
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 197 
 
 ment. " I have to go on board the Seringapatam this afternoon, 
 and on my way I will call on Mr. Thompson and ask his ad- 
 vice. Meanwhile I will leave you to examine the goods more 
 closely after they are unpacked," and wishing the merchant 
 good day, and promising to return in the evening, he ordered 
 his servant to call the bearers, who had lain themselves down 
 on the matting in the outer office to sleep coolie fashion. He 
 then got into the palankeen and requested his servant to direct the 
 bearers to stop at Mr. Thompson's house in the Cheringhee 
 Road. 
 
 Arrived there, he requested to see the consignee, and on be- 
 ing introduced to him, related the adventures of the morn- 
 ing, expressing his disappointment at the appearance of things, 
 and concluded by asking his advice how to act. 
 
 " Have you the invoice with you ?" asked the merchant. 
 
 " It is here," said the young man, drawing the original in- 
 voice from his pocket. 
 
 The merchant took it, and glancing over the contents, 
 said : 
 
 " I must observe, young gentleman, that the parties who 
 selected these goods could have had little knowledge of the 
 description of goods most suitable for this country ; and it is 
 no fault of yours, but the prices at which the articles are in- 
 voiced are positively outrageous. I should advise you to do 
 as Mr. De Sylva proposes, and let the goods be sold by auction 
 as soon as possible.' 
 
 " By auction !" exclaimed Gerald, catching his breath as 
 his high flown anticipations of obtaining a liberal per centage 
 for his own share vanished. " I shall obtain but a very low 
 price for the goods at auction 1" 
 
 " Perhaps you will do better than by selling them in any 
 other way," replied the merchant. " We dispose of immense 
 quantities of goods in that manner here, and sometimes obtain 
 very good prices. I have sold entire cargoes by auction." 
 
 " Is Mr. De Sylva a good man to trust the sale to ?" in-
 
 198 THE -WANDERER. 
 
 quired the young man, his opinion of the Portuguese merchant 
 having undergone considerable modification, on account of his 
 manner that morning. 
 
 " Quite as good a man as you can find among his class," re- 
 plied Mr. Thompson. " These Portuguese merchants are a 
 sorry set ; but they are necessary. In your case you have no 
 alternative but to trust to him. You must look sharp after 
 him ; but he has a better reputation than most of his class." 
 
 " Suppose I leave the goods in store for future sale ?" said 
 Gerald. 
 
 " They would in that case probably remain there until they 
 had to be sold by auction to pay for the storage," replied the 
 merchant. " If you take my advice, you will dispose of them 
 as soon as possible ; you may not do so very badly after 
 all." 
 
 Gerald thanked the merchant for the information he had 
 given him, and descending to the street, entered the palankeen 
 and went on board the vessel, where a portion of his luggage 
 still remained. 
 
 Descending to the cabin, he entered his state-room, and un- 
 locking his writing-desk, took out the letter of instructions Mr. 
 Hoffmann had placed in his hands the day the vessel sailed 
 from London, and read it carefully. 
 
 In it he was instructed to sell at all hazards ; to get as high 
 prices as possible, but to sell ; and if he thought it advisable, 
 provided he could obtain the assistance of some competent per- 
 son to direct him in the choice of goods, he was left at liberty 
 to invest the returns from the " venture" in the purchase of 
 such articles as would command a sale in England. 
 
 "Sell at all hazards !" he muttered. "As they say in New 
 York, ' 1 guess I'm sold.' Well, I suppose I had better follow 
 Mr. Thompson's advice. What on earth induced them to send 
 out such a pack of rubbish ? It would serve them right if 1 
 were to turn the tables upon them. I've a good mind to invest 
 the proceeds in maize or some such stuff, or to send home a
 
 A NATIVE AUCTION SALE. 199 
 
 cargo of monkeys. However, it's no use grieving over a bad 
 job. I'll go back to De Sylva, and tell him to dispose of them 
 to the best advantage he can, and trust to chance." 
 
 Having thus made up his mind, he went on shore, and re- 
 turning to the residence of the Portuguese merchant, told 
 him that he should leave everything in his hands. 
 
 " There will be a great auction sale in the native bazaar to- 
 morrow," said the merchant. " If you are agreeable, I will 
 send the goods there, and we'll have them put up at once, the 
 first thing, as soon as the auction commences." 
 
 "As you think best," replied the young man, carelessly. 
 
 At an early hour on the following morning, Gerald went to 
 the bazaar. His merchandise was already there, and as his 
 only desire now was to get rid of it as quickly as possible, he 
 was glad to learn from Mr. De Sylva, who handed him a list 
 filled with hieroglyphics that he could make neither head nor 
 tail of, that the sale of his goods would commence the auction. 
 
 He looked cursorily around at the throng of persons assem- 
 bled ; it was a motley crew, comprising Mussulmen, Hindoos 
 of every caste, Parsees, Jews, Armenians, Chinese, and, as he 
 thought, representatives of every Oriental nation or tribe ; but 
 not a single European was present. The confusion of tongues 
 could not have been greater at the Tower of Babel. Every- 
 body was vociferating loudly, either in their own peculiar lan- 
 guage, or in the native Bengalee common to them all ; but of 
 course not a word was intelligible to the young man. 
 
 " They are going to begin. How would you like the goods 
 put up ]" said Mr. De Sylva. 
 
 " Just as you please," replied Gerald. 
 
 " You have no choice 1 There is nothing you would wish to 
 dispose of in preference to the rest of the goods ?" 
 
 " No," was the reply, " I can't understand a word that's said ; 
 and I don't understand your system of selling. So, go ahead, 
 and do the best you can." 
 
 The goods were brought forward and put up promiscuous-
 
 200 THE WANDERER. 
 
 ly, and to Gerald's great delight, they appeared to go off tol- 
 erably well. At all events they were sold with great rapidity. 
 There was much merriment, in which the young man could not 
 help joining, although he could not understand the jokes that 
 passed, when the elegant and well selected assortment of Mr. 
 Hoffman was exhibited. The bottle-corks were cast aside with 
 contempt ; but a Chinese bid readily for the banjos, and also 
 bought the eye snuff, and an old Bramin bought both the vio- 
 lins ; the harpsichord was sold to an Armenian, and the Spin- 
 ette to a Jew, who also purchased the engravings and copper- 
 plates. The suit of armor stuck for a long time, and when 
 the bids did commence, they appeared to be very slow ; but 
 at length this also was knocked down to the Chinese, and M. 
 de Sylva then descended from his rostrum, and with a smile 
 informed the young man that the sale of his goods was con- 
 cluded. 
 
 " How much has the entire lot brought ?" he inquired. 
 
 " That I cannot tell you just now, the sale has been so mixed 
 up. I have bought in a good many things myself. We will 
 arrange all that hereafter. Shall we retire or would you like 
 to stay and watch the proceedings ?" 
 
 " I have seen enough," said Gerald. 
 
 " Then we will leave," and the Portuguese, and the young 
 men retired together from the bazaar. 
 
 " By the by," observed Gerald, " the tongues I did not no- 
 tice that you put up the tongues." 
 
 ** I have reserved them for myself," said the merchant. " I 
 shall offer you six rupees apiece for the hundred that remain." 
 
 *' How much is that equivalent to ?" 
 
 " To twelve shillings of English money." 
 
 " Why that is more than they are invoiced at," said Gerald, 
 in a tone of surprise. 
 
 u Yes, I wish you had more of them. I would give you the 
 same price for them." 
 
 " And only one hundred was leil out of the three hundred 
 contained in the package ?"
 
 A NATIVE AUCTION SALE. 201 
 
 " Only one hundred. You know you consented to my giv- 
 ing away a quantity of them. I distributed them among the 
 merchants you saw at the Bazaar. It was a famous thought 
 and went a great way towards putting them in good humor. 
 You saw how readily they bid for your merchandise. Then 
 there were six that you wished to be reserved for your friend 
 the consignee, and six for the captain of the Seringapatam." 
 
 " Well, it can't be helped," said the young man, but he 
 thought to himself, " it seems that the very articles that I could 
 have sold to advantage, I have foolishly disposed of in another 
 way. A pretty kettle offish I've made of it, any way." 
 
 " It will take me some time to arrange the particulars of the 
 sale," said the merchant when they had reached his residence. 
 * You were saying that you wished to establish an agency for 
 the sale of eye snuff in the city. I saw Whampooa, the Chi- 
 nese merchant leave the Bazaar. He bought most of the snuff 
 suppose you see him. He speaks English. I don't think 
 you will do any thing that way ; but he may be willing to 
 make some arrangement. I will give you "his directions. He 
 lives in the Dobie Tollah. Your servant will know the place, 
 and when you return in the evening, we will settle up matters 
 in regard to the sale." 
 
 Gerald consented to this arrangement, and desiring his ser- 
 vant to hire a palankeen, he took with him the presents he had 
 reserved for the consignee and the captain, intending to deliver 
 them after he had called upon the Chinese merchant, and set 
 out for Whampooa's residence. 
 9*
 
 202 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIK 
 
 Which tells of the result of the auction sale, and what happened afterwards, 
 and also shows that justice is awake to her interests in India OH well as in 
 Europe and America. 
 
 GERALD found Whampooa, the Chinese merchant, busily en- 
 gaged in examining his new purchases, which he had already 
 removed from the Bazaar to his store. 
 
 He was taking the suit of armor to pieces, several of his 
 Chinese friends watching the operation with looks of unequivo- 
 cal astonishment. They looked at the young man with an ex- 
 pression of mingled wonder and dismay, and he was soon satis- 
 fied from their questions that they believed the armor to be 
 the image of one of the Englishmen's gods, and they expressed 
 a sort of superstitious horror at the idea of his having sold it 
 and afterwards come to witness its desecration by the hands of 
 strangers. What the Chinese ware going to do with it Gerald 
 could not conceive. 
 
 The whole party was indulging freely in the eye snuff, its 
 pungency causing the tears to run down their cheeks as they in- 
 cessantly snuffed large pinches of the fragrant mixture ; but 
 when the young man explained his errand to the merchant, and 
 he in turn explained it to his friends, the whole group burst 
 into uncontrollable laughter, and the snuff getting into their 
 eyes and down their throats, a ludicrous scene of coughing, 
 spitting, and swearing heartily, in approved Chinese, ensued, 
 which looked so irresistibly comical that Gerald could not 
 longer maintain his gravity, and greatly to the indignation of 
 the party, he in his turn laughed louder than the rest.
 
 RETURNS OF THE AUCTION SALE. 203 
 
 Quiet being at length restored, Whampooa explained to him 
 that his friends were amused at the idea of establishing an 
 agency for the sale of eye snuff in Calcutta, when he had pur- 
 chased enough of the mixture to last for a life time. Gerald 
 had already spoken to the consignee on the subject, and he had 
 given him no encouragement, so, after hearing what the Chinese 
 merchant had to say, he arrived at the conclusion that this 
 scheme was also a failure, and he resolved to trouble himself 
 no more about it. 
 
 He left the store, and after taking a ride through the city for 
 an hour and looking about him, he returned to the residence of 
 the Portuguese merchant, who, having made up the accounts 
 of the sale, was ready to receive him. 
 
 " I hope, Mr. Dalton, you will be satisfied," he said, when 
 the young man entered the store. " We have not quite come 
 up to the invoice prices, but I think we have done pretty well. 
 Pray sit down and let us examine the accounts together." 
 
 " How much is the sum total ?" said Gerald. 
 
 " Seven thousand four hundred and twenty-seven rupees, paid 
 in cash. Deducting my commission, it leaves you seven thou- 
 sand two hundred and nineteen rupees." 
 
 " That is in English money !" 
 
 " About seven hundred and twenty pounds !" explained the 
 merchant. 
 
 " How much ?" said the young man, in a tone of such angry 
 astonishment that the merchant started in his seat. 
 
 " About seven hundred and twenty pounds," he repeated. 
 
 " Do you know the sum total of the invoice ?" sternly de- 
 manded the young man. 
 
 " Assuredly," replied Mr. De Sylva, who had recovered from 
 his momentary alarm, and looking at the invoice which was on 
 the table before him, he read : " Four thousand seven hundred 
 and forty-one pounds." 
 
 "And yet," thundered Gerald, "you have the assurance to 
 tell me that we have done pretty well. Why you have not
 
 204 THE WANDERER. 
 
 sold the goods for one-sixth of the invoice prices. I have been 
 swindled, grossly swindled." 
 
 " Hush, hush, young gentleman," coolly replied the mer- 
 chant. " You must not use such language as that. It will not 
 do here. Did I not warn you that much of the merchandise 
 was unsaleable, and that all was badly selected." 
 
 " I do not deny that," said Gerald, " but to dispose of it for 
 such a contemptible price as this ; it is too bad." 
 
 " Have I not your written order to dispose of your mer- 
 chandise by auction, at the earliest opportunity, for such prices 
 as I could obtain ?" 
 
 Gerald could not deny this, so he remained silent. 
 
 " If you are dissatisfied," continued the merchant, " I am 
 quite ready to return you the goods I have purchased on my 
 own account, after deducting a fair sum for my trouble." 
 
 This offer Gerald felt was adding insult to injury ; but he 
 was aware that he had been too precipitate, and that he could 
 not help himself. As to taking back the portion of the mer- 
 chandise in the possession of the Portuguese, that he knew 
 would be folly ; he had nowhere to store it ; knew not how to 
 dispose of it, and would only suffer greater loss. 
 
 " It's done and can't be helped," he said, " though I have a 
 poor account to render to my employers. Let me see how the 
 goods have been disposed of, at any rate, in order that I may 
 know how to divide the miserable receipts, and apportion the 
 proper share to each." 
 
 " That, I fear, will be impossible," said the merchant. 
 
 " How impossible ]" 
 
 " Because no single article has been sold separately. Those 
 who have purchased bid for the goods in lots ; for instance, 
 here is Ram Chowdah, lot No. 4, two fiddles, 1 box cutlery, 2 
 pieces of calicoes, 6 cases of eye snuff, and 1 case of pickles 97 
 rupees. How can I possibly tell what was the individual 
 amount paid for any one article, or any one description of 
 articles ?"
 
 A TROPICAL RAIN-STORM. 205 
 
 Gerald was perfectly confounded ; he knew not what to do, 
 or say and for some minutes he sat the very image of per- 
 plexity. At length rousing himself, he requested Mr. De Sylva 
 to pay him over the amount due him. 
 
 " With pleasure," said the merchant ; " seven thousand two 
 hundred and nineteen rupees, and six hundred rupees being the 
 sum I offered for the package of one hundred tongues, will be 
 seven thousand eight hundred and nineteen rupees. Here is 
 the money ; I had it counted out for you, in notes on the Bank 
 of Calcutta, before you returned. Will you please to sign this 
 receipt ?" 
 
 Gerald did so, and putting the money into his pocket book, 
 bade the merchant good day ; and calling his servant, procured 
 a palankeen and desired to be taken to the ghaut at which the Se- 
 ringapatam lay moored, being resolved to remain no longer the 
 guest of a man who had, as he felt, so shamefully deceived him. 
 
 It was late in the evening and quite dark before he arrived 
 at the ghaut, and dismissed the palankeen bearers ; the clouds 
 had been gathering overhead during his journey from the 
 Portuguese merchant's store, and there was every symptom of 
 an approaching storm. 
 
 Lall, the servant, was evidently uneasy and anxious to get 
 under shelter ; but Gerald, who had never yet experienced a 
 tempest in the tropical latitudes, treated the matter lightly and 
 walked leisurely and in deep thought along the wharf to the 
 landing place where he expected to find a native passage boat 
 in which he could get on board the ship. 
 
 " Hurry, Sahib, hurry ; rain come," said Lall, and while he 
 spoke, the first great, warning drops began to fall. Gerald cast 
 a glance upwards, and even his inexperienced eye could dis- 
 cover sufficient warning of the coming storm in the jetty black- 
 ness of the sky, and in the oppressive atmosphere. He quicken- 
 ed his steps, and on reaching the landing called loudly to the 
 dingie wallahs, whom he could hear vociferating sharply at a 
 short distance from the ghaut where a number of dingies were 
 lying at anchor; but he received no response.
 
 206 THE WANDERER. 
 
 By this time the wind had risen, and the rain began to fall 
 rapidly ; in another minute it was pouring in torrents, ap- 
 parently a continuous stream of water let down from the sluice- 
 gates of the heavens with a force, inconceivable to those who 
 have not witnessed such a deluge. 
 
 Lall united his voice with that of his master and shouted 
 loudly in Bengalee for a boat, but still there was no response 
 to the call. The dingie wallahs, at another time troublesomely 
 pertinacious in their endeavors to procure passengers, had shel- 
 tered themselves from the rain in the small cabins of their 
 fragile boats, and cared not to encounter the storm. 
 
 " By George ! this will never do ; I'm as wet as if I had been 
 standing up to my neck in water, already," said Gerald". " Lall, 
 we must seize one of those dingies, and pull on board our- 
 selves.'* 
 
 " How can get 'em, Sahib," said the servant, his teeth chat- 
 tering with fright and cold. 
 
 " There is one we can spring on board of further down the 
 ghaut," said Gerald ; " the stern is close in shore. I could see 
 it quite plain through the last flash of lightning." 
 
 They bent their steps in the direction Gerald had pointed 
 out, the young man taking the lead himself, and the servant 
 almost paralyzed with fright, tremblingly following his mas- 
 ter. It was only a few yards distant, yet the rain was so blind- 
 ing, and the night so dark the darkness seeming to deepen 
 after every successive vivid flash of lightning, that they found 
 great difficulty in reaching the spot. However, having succeeded, 
 Gerald sprang on board, and the Hindoo followed him, falling 
 over the stern-post of the dingie in the attempt, and grazing his 
 shins so severely that he yelled with agony. The dingie-wal- 
 lahs heard them, and protested wrathfully against the seizure 
 of the boat ; but Gerald did not heed them, and they did not 
 offer to come out from their shelter. Gerald, assisted by the 
 Hindoo servant, soon succeeded in weighing the light anchor, 
 and then each taking a paddle, a few strokes brought them
 
 SEIZING A BOAT. 207 
 
 alongside the ship, which lay at no great distance from the 
 wharf. Gerald and the servant stepped on the accommoda- 
 tion ladder, and soon reached the deck, leaving the dingie to 
 drift from alongside. 
 
 The dingie-wallahs, however, although they had allowed the 
 boat to be unmoored, and had made no resistance when it was 
 paddled away from the ghaut, had no idea of leaving the ship 
 without receiving the boat hire, and scarcely had Gerald and 
 his servant reached the deck before three naked, athletic fel- 
 lows followed them, and with loud vociferations and threaten- 
 ing gestures, demanded their pay. 
 
 " I shan't give you a single piece," said Gerald, when the 
 servant had interpreted the demand made upon his purse. 
 " You refused to put me on board the ship, and you may get 
 your pay the best way you can." 
 
 The head man among them approached, apparently with the 
 intention of laying violent hands upon him, which, Gerald per- 
 ceiving, avoided by a dexterous movement, and closing with 
 him, hurled him over the ship's side into the water. The 
 others, seeing the fate of their leader, descended rapidly into 
 the boat, which still lay alongside, and their companion having 
 scrambled on board, they paddled rapidly towards shore, vocif- 
 erating loudly and threateningly the whole distance. 
 
 "They gib Sahib too much trouble to-morrow," said the 
 servant. 
 
 " Pooh !" exclaimed Gerald ; " let them do what they like. 
 " It was their duty to paddle us on board, and as they refused to 
 do so, we were justified in taking the boat." 
 
 The rain was still descending in torrents, and all the crew 
 were under shelter ; even the anchor watch were not to be 
 seen. 
 
 Gerald walked into the cuddy, and, after some time, suc- 
 ceeded in rousing the steward ; a light was procured, and he 
 and the servant proceeded to change their drenched clothing. 
 
 When the young man took off his thin linen jacket, he
 
 208 THE WANDERER. 
 
 thought for the first time of his money, and putting his hand 
 into his pocket, he drew forth his pocket-book thoroughly satu- 
 rated, and on opening, found all his bank notes reduced 
 apparently to the consistence of pulp. To have attempted 
 to separate them would have been to destroy them altogether, 
 if indeed they were not already valueless. There was no 
 help for it but to lay them aside till morning, and then to 
 endeavor to dry them in the sun, and separate them, if pos- 
 sible. 
 
 Vexed as he was, Gerald was so fatigued with the excite- 
 ments, and disappointments and mishaps of the day, that he 
 flung himself on the mattress in his state-room, where he soon 
 forgot all his troubles in sleep. The servant followed the 
 example of his master, and both slept soundly till morning- 
 Gerald's first thought, on waking in the morning, was about 
 his money. It was a melancholy sight to look at ; but after 
 an hour's exposure to the sun, the mass of pulp was perfectly 
 dry, and with the assistance of the steward, he proceeded to 
 separate it: this was a difficult, and for some time, appa- 
 rently, a hopeless task ; but at length, with great care and 
 patience, they succeeded in detaching the notes with tolerable 
 success, although three or four, amounting in value to nearly 
 two hundred rupees, were completely destroyed, and valueless, 
 and a great number were so disfigured that the young man 
 thought it advisable to go with them immediately to the bank 
 and get them exchanged. 
 
 He was just on the point of stepping over the ship's side to 
 go on shore, when a police boat came alongside and a native 
 officer stepped on board, accompanied by a dingie wallah, who 
 pointed out Gerald to the policeman, upon which the latter 
 handed the young man a warrant from a magistrate charging 
 him with illegally seizing a dingie, loosing it from its moor- 
 ings against the wish of its owner, and paddling it alongside 
 the ship, and subsequently casting it adrift, after refusing to 
 pay the boatman ; furthermore, with offering violence to the
 
 JUSTICE IN INDIA. 209 
 
 said boatmen and forcibly throwing one man overboard, there 
 by bruising and otherwise injuring him him severely and en- 
 dangering his life. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to accompany the officer to the 
 police court, where the magistrate was then sitting. 
 
 " What is this charge ?" said the magistrate, when the young 
 man was brought before him. 
 
 The officer explained, and the dingie wallah whose arm was 
 bandaged and who pretended to be in great pain, added his com- 
 plaint. 
 
 '' This is a very serious affair, young man," said the magis- 
 trate. " Do you wish an interpreter to explain the charge 
 made by the dingie wallah ?" 
 
 " No, sir," replied Gerald, " I did seize the boat and I con- 
 fess to throwing the man overboard, after he had assaulted me." 
 
 " But you refused him payment for the use of his dingie 
 after having taken it against the will of the crew." 
 
 " I did, sir, and I will explain the reason why I did so," and 
 Gerald then told a straightforward story to the magistrate, 
 explaining the whole affair. " You had some cause to feel an- 
 noyed, young man," said the magistrate when he had conclud- 
 ed his story, " but that gave you no right to act as you did. 
 At that late hour of the night the boatmen were not compelled 
 by law to let their boat out for hire, and your subsequent con- 
 duct on board the ship is altogether unjustifiable. The natives 
 must be protected. You will pay a fine of fifty rupees to the 
 court, fifty rupees more for seizing the dingie unlawfully, and 
 one hundred rupees to the man you have injured. In addition 
 to this, the expenses of the warrant and the fee to the officer 
 who made the arrest will amount to ten rupees. You must 
 pay two hundred and ten rupees or go to jail for two months." 
 
 Gerald paid the money without saying a word and left the 
 Court. He then proceeded to the bank, and after much diffi- 
 culty, many objections being made, he succeeded in chang- 
 ing the money he had left, reduced now by four hundred rupees, 
 14
 
 210 THE WANDERER. 
 
 two hundred having been mulcted by the court, and two hun- 
 dred more having been utterly destroyed by the rain. 
 
 He then returned on board the ship in no very amiable frame 
 of mind, and seating himself at the table in the cabin, com- 
 menced to write to Mr. Hoffmann in relation to the ill-starred 
 " venture," as follows : 
 
 "On board the ship Seringapatam t 
 
 Calcutta harbor, June 1st, 18 
 " William Hoffmann Esq. 
 
 Dear Sir : I arrived safely at this port, a few days since : I left 
 the ship at Diamond Harbor, in company with the captain and 
 passengers, the vessel drawing too much water to allow of her 
 crossing the flats, between that port and the city. However, 
 she was speedily lightened of a portion of her cargo, and towed 
 up to the city on the following day. I lost no time in making 
 inquiry with respect to the best method of disposing of the 
 merchandise entrusted to my charge. The captain introduced 
 me to his consignee, and this gentleman advised me to dispose 
 of the goods to a native merchant named De Sylva. I imme- 
 diately sought out this person, and after having introduced 
 myself to him, and stated the nature of my business, request- 
 ed to know if he were willing to become a purchaser. He 
 recommended a sale by auction a method of disposing of 
 goods very prevalent here. Having confidence in his integrity 
 for which too ready confidence you will doubtless blame me 
 severely I assented to his proposals, and signed an agreement 
 to that effect. When however, he looked over the invoice and 
 read the description of the goods he pronounced the greater 
 portion unsaleable, except at a ruinous loss. Not knowing how 
 to act, I again had recourse to the consignee, Mr. Thompson, 
 also referring him to the invoice. His opinion was the same 
 as Mr. De Sylva's. He recommended me to allow Mr. De Syl- 
 va to dispose of them at the Very earliest opportunity, cheering 
 me with the information that goods sold by auction sometimes 
 brought high prices. Accordingly I left the matter in De Syl-
 
 LETTERS FOR HOME. 811 
 
 va's hands. A native auction sale was to come off the next 
 day, and it was arranged that my merchandise should be first 
 brought to the hammer, and knocked down to the highest bid- 
 der. 
 
 " It sold readily. It was knocked down with a vengeance, 
 and you and I and all of us were sold with the goods. 
 
 ' I am almost afraid to furnish you with the results of the 
 sale, but it is necessary that I should do so. Your goods, in 
 toto, were invoiced at 4741 8s., which in the currency of this 
 country may be estimated at about 47,000 rupees. The en- 
 tire bill, the little venture you were kind enough to present me 
 with in the bargain, was sold for 7819 rupees, or about 781 
 leaving a trifling balance against us of 3,960, or thereabouts. 
 You may think I am writing flippantly ; but I grow reckless 
 when I think of the sacrifice, and cannot help it. The worst of 
 it is, 1 have been told, since the goods were sold, that taking 
 into consideration the peculiar character and the quality of the 
 assortment, they went off very favorably ! The fact is that a 
 gross mistake was made in selecting the articles. Nearly all 
 are almost unmarketable here, and those which are not, the 
 market is already glutted with. The case of preserved tongues 
 would have sold at a higher rate than it was invoiced at ; but I 
 made a gross blunder in giving most of the tongues away, in or- 
 der, as I was led to anticipate, that the other merchandise would 
 sell more favorably. A pretty mess I have made of it, as you 
 will perceive. This, however, is not all. Out of the gross 
 proceeds there is yet 40 to be deducted, I having had to pay 
 20, or 200 rupees for kicking a rascally Coolie overboard, 
 and 20 more having been ruined in consequence of the money 
 which was paid in bills, having got wet in a rain storm, which 
 came near drowning me, and which nearly rendered the whole 
 of the paper trash valueless. One hundred rupees I shall re- 
 tain for my own use. You must perceive that this is necessary, 
 for I cannot leave myself utterly penniless in a strange land. 
 The residue, amounting to 731, I shall transmit to London
 
 212 THE WANDERER. 
 
 "by means of a bill of exchange. With regard to the division 
 of this sum, all I can say is, that it must be left to your own 
 judgment. The sale was effected in such a complicated manner 
 (and I, not knowing a word of the language was unable to in- 
 terfere) that it is quite out of the question for me to give any 
 idea as to the amount received for any one package fiddles 
 and eye-snuff, spades, and calicoes, pictures and pickles, hard- 
 ware and crockery, were all jumbled together in picturesque 
 confusion. What your particular articles sold for, I cannot 
 therefore say, but I believe for very little. The natives have 
 no idea of the fine arts, though the banjos appeared to tickle 
 the fancy of the Chinaman who bought them. This fellow also 
 bought most of the eye-snuff, and the suit of armor, in one lot, 
 I was told, and De Sylva says that the fellow is going to make 
 a god a goss, I believe they call it out of the armor. I 
 called upon him, after the sale, in order to try to establish an 
 agency here for Mr. Grimsby, but he laughed at the idea, and 
 said there was enough snuff here now, to last for a quarter of 
 a century. So that endeavor fell through. 
 
 " Independently of the bad selection that was made, you 
 labored under a great mistake in believing that there was a 
 great demand for goods here. There is nothing of the kind. 
 Most of the articles sent out from England, can be purchased 
 here for less than they can be bought in London ; and as to 
 investing the money I have received in goods, that may find a 
 sale in England, to tell the plain truth, I am afraid if I at- 
 tempt such a thing, I shall make another blunder. I know 
 that you will all be very angry, but I have done the best I 
 could, and cannot help the result. 
 
 " I shall not return home in the Seringapatam, but I have not 
 yet decided what I shall do ; indeed I scarcely know what I 
 can do. Should I ever be in a position to indemnify you for 
 the losses you have sustained, you will, perhaps see me again ; 
 if not, I shall probably never return to England. 
 
 " I should like you to write to me, at all events ; and if you
 
 LETTERS FOR HOME. 213 
 
 direct the letter to the care of Mr. Thompson, merchant, &c., 
 Cheringhee Road, wherever I may be, it will reach me, as I 
 shall leave directions with him to forward it to me. 
 
 " Deeply regretting the result of this unfortunate transaction, 
 I subscribe myself, dear sir, 
 
 Still very respectfully, yours, 
 
 GERALD DALTON." 
 
 Having finished this task, Gerald applied himself to writing 
 a letter to his mother, in which he briefly informed her of the 
 result of his adventure, and told her that he had resolved to 
 remain abroad for some time, in hopes of retrieving this mis- 
 fortune. He begged her not to grieve on his account, since he 
 hoped that all would be well in the end, and, assuring her of 
 his unalterable respect and affection, he promised faithfully to 
 write again, and let her know where he was, and what he was 
 doing, as soon as he himself arrived at any conclusion. In a 
 postscript, he requested her to let him know whether anything 
 had yet been heard of or from Alice intimating further, that 
 if such were the case, it would have a tendency to hasten his 
 return. 
 
 He also wrote to the vicar, giving him a brief account of 
 his proceedings ; and then hastening on shore, he went to the 
 bank, and procured a bill of exchange on London, for the 
 amount mentioned in Mr. Hoffmann's letter. After which, 
 having deposited his letters in the post-office, he strolled list- 
 lessly along the streets, attended by his servant, in the direc- 
 tion of the esplanade, pondering as he walked, upon his pros- 
 pects, and endeavoring to come to some conclusion regarding 
 his future proceedings. 
 
 " The world was all before him where to choose," 
 And " Providence his (only) guide."
 
 214 
 
 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A very short chapter, which shows how pride sometimes overcomes right 
 and reason, and severs its possessor from all that he holds most dear. 
 
 WHILK strolling along the esplanade, gazing listlessly upon 
 the river and its motley show of vessels of every description, 
 and of every nation, from the heavy English East Indiaman to 
 the picturesque Malay prou, Gerald met, accidentally, Captain 
 King, of the Seringapatam. 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Dal ton," was the captain's exclamation : " glad 
 to see you ; why your thoughts appear to be wool-gathering ; 
 what is it so earnestly engages your attention on that particu- 
 lar spot on the river upon which your eyes have been fixed so 
 attentively for the last five minutes ?" 
 
 " Nothing, captain, nothing," replied the young man. " My 
 thoughts, as you say, were wool-gathering just then ; I'm think- 
 ing what I shall do next." 
 
 " How do you mean !" 
 
 " I mean where will be my next destination." 
 
 " Why, you will of course return to London with me on 
 board the Seringapatam." 
 
 " No," replied Gerald ; " I have made up my mind not to 
 return to England, just now." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh !" said the captain ; " you are disheartened at 
 the failure of the 'venture' you had in your charge." 
 
 " You have heard then," said Gerald, " of the ridiculous 
 sacrifice I have been compelled to make 1" 
 
 " Yes, I heard of it just now, from Mr. Thompson, but I
 
 A FRESH RESOLVE. 215 
 
 could have told you as much during the passage out. I once 
 got sight of your invoice, and I knew as soon as I read it, that 
 your venture would prove a failure ; but it's no fault of yours. 
 It serves the simpletons right who dispatched you with such a 
 pack of rubbish." 
 
 "Why did you not warn me of the result?" asked the 
 young man. 
 
 "There was no occasion to do so. It would have dis- 
 couraged you, and answered no purpose. ' Sufficient for the 
 day is the evil thereof/ is a text I've often heard my old 
 mother repeat, and it's a maxim I generally allow to guide 
 me. But it's folly for you to take the matter so much to 
 heart. You've done the best you could do ; it's no use sighing 
 over what can't be helped. Cheer up, forget all about it, and 
 make your home aboard the ship, 'till we sail, and then return 
 with me to London." 
 
 " No," replied Gerald, "my mind is made up on that point. 
 I shall not go back to the drudgery of the shop again, I pro- 
 mise you." 
 
 " A wilful man must have his way," said the captain : 
 "however, what do you intend doing?" 
 
 " That I don't know yet," replied Gerald. " I have been 
 thinking of going to Ceylon. I have relations there ; the diffi- 
 culty is to find a ship that's going to that island." 
 
 " Ships occasionally sail for Ceylon from here," replied the 
 captain, " and if you can wait long enough, as you have friends 
 in Ceylon, and will not return to England, I don't know that 
 it isn't the wisest thing you can do ; but you'll find the pas- 
 sage-money come pretty high." 
 
 " I know that," said Gerald ; " but that doesn't trouble me 
 much. I have very little money, but I'll work my passage, 
 some way or other ; get a berth as steward, or assist the cook, 
 or anything that comes to hand." 
 
 "You'll not find that very agreeable," said the captain, 
 * i particularly as you haven't been used to it ; but if that be 
 your resolve, I think I can manage the matter for you. The
 
 216 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Firefly is going to sail in the course of next week for Borneo 
 and the Phillipine Islands, and on her return, she will sail for 
 Trincomallee. At what part of the island do your relatives 
 reside ?" . 
 
 " At Colombo," said Gerald. 
 
 " Ah, that's on the western side. However, you can easily 
 get to Colombo from Trincomallee. Would you like to go 
 the voyage ?" 
 
 " I should like nothing better," responded Gerald. 
 
 " Well, then, I know the owners and the captain, and if you 
 have no objections to take the berth of steward, though I warn 
 you, you won't fancy it, I think I can procure it for you." 
 
 " I will accept it, gladly," responded the young man. 
 
 " Go aboard the ship, then, and sleep to-night, I shall be 
 aboard after tiffin to-morrow ; meanwhile I'll see the owners 
 and the captain, and when you meet me again, I'll let you 
 know what success I have met with." 
 
 Gerald thanked the captain, and the latter excusing himself, 
 by saying that he had to meet the consignee, left the young 
 man to enjoy his walk and his ruminations alone. 
 
 It was not customary for any person but the mates and the 
 crew to live on board the ship, in port, but Gerald was very 
 glad to embrace the captain's offer. He did not choose to 
 quarter himself any longer on Mr. De Sylva, and he felt a 
 degree of repugnance to trespassing on the hospitality of the 
 consignee, and yet his stock of money was insufficient to enable 
 him to maintain himself at even the wretched apologies for 
 hotels that were then to be found in Calcutta, kept by natives 
 of the lowest class, and frequented only by sailors out of em- 
 ployment He strolled about till nightfall, and then hired a 
 boat and went on board the Seringapatam, having in the first 
 place, greatly to the regret of the native servant he had en- 
 gaged, paid him his wages, and discharged him. 
 
 At the appointed hour the next morning, the captain came 
 on board.
 
 A NEW ENGAGEMENT. 217 
 
 " I have seen the owners of the Firefly," he said, address- 
 ing Gerald, as soon as he saw him ; " and the captain, too. 
 The owners make no objection, and the captain is willing to 
 receive you as his steward. The vessel sails this day week, 
 and you can go on board and commence duty at once, if you 
 choose. The vessel, however, returns to Calcutta before sail- 
 ing for Ceylon." 
 
 " I don't care for that," said Gerald. " How long does the 
 captain expect to be absent on this cruise ?" 
 
 " Probably six, eight, or ten months. It's impossible to 
 say, as he is going on a trading voyage among the islands." 
 " That's all the better," said Gerald ; " I have written letters 
 to England, and I expect answers to arrive at Calcutta in the 
 course of eight months. I will join the Firefly to-morrow." 
 
 " As you please," responded the captain ; " but think once 
 again before you make the engagement, whether you had bet- 
 ter not return to England with me." 
 
 " As I have told you before, my mind is made up on that 
 point," said Gerald. 
 
 The captain turned away to give some directions to the chief 
 mate relating to the ship, and Gerald descended to the cabin 
 to pack up his clothes, and prepare for his new situation. 
 
 The next day he joined the brig Firefly, signed articles, and 
 his name was duly enrolled in the list of the crew, which con- 
 sisted chiefly of Lascars and Malays ; and the week afterwards 
 the vessel sailed for Borneo, Gerald having left directions with 
 Mr. Thompson to receive any letters that might arrive for him 
 from England, and to retain them until the return of the Fire- 
 fly to Calcutta. 
 
 It was not without feelings of regret, after all, that the 
 young man passed the Seringapatam, in the brig, as the latter 
 was being towed down the river. It was like placing a gulf 
 between himself and his mother, over which it might be long 
 ere he could cross which he might never cross again. It was 
 separating the last link which bound him to home for Eng- 
 10
 
 218 THE WANDERER. 
 
 land was home to him, although it was not his native land. 
 He thought, too, of Alice, and what little prospect there was 
 of his seeing her again ; but his pride was too great to allow 
 of his returning home, unsuccessful ; and though he knew that 
 he was acting wrong, he felt that the die was cast, and now he 
 was a wanderer indeed.
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 219 
 
 CHAPTERXIX. 
 
 Which relates to Alice Thornton, and lifts the veil, without however, ex- 
 plaining the cause of her mysterious disappearance from Herrington. 
 
 LEAVING Gerald to purse his wandering course, I will make a 
 retrograde movement and bring back my story to the date of 
 Alice Thornton's disappearance from Herrington. 
 
 As the reader is aware, she was strolling along the pathway 
 on the cliffs on the day in question, and was just thinking of 
 returning homewards, when she heard footsteps behind her, 
 and looking back, she saw a gentleman approaching her. She 
 stepped aside in order to give him room to pass ; but he 
 slackened his pace and addressing her, asked if her name was 
 not Alice Thornton. 
 
 " Yes, sir," she replied, surprised at the question being put 
 to her by a person she had never before seen, and somewhat 
 alarmed, although the stranger's appearance was gentlemanly 
 and his manner respectful. 
 
 " I thought so from your strong resemblance to your mo- 
 ther," continued the stranger, " You don't know me 1 How 
 is it possible you should, poor child ?" he added, " when you 
 have never before seen me ? Did you ever hear your father 
 speak of your uncle, your mother's brother ? I am he." 
 
 " I have not," replied Alice. " My father died when I was 
 little more than an infant, and my mother I don't recollect." 
 
 " True, true," said the stranger, " but you know what was 
 your mother's maiden name ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, it was Craddock, I believe. I don't know that I
 
 220 THE WANDERER. 
 
 was ever told so, but I have a locket that belonged to my mother 
 It is all I possess as a memento of her, and Craddock is en- 
 graved upon it." 
 
 " It contains two locks of hair, plaited together," said the 
 stranger. " Will you permit me to see it ? Have you it with 
 you ?" 
 
 Alice hesitated for some moments. She knew the stranger 
 could employ force in that lonely place, if he chose : but his 
 manner was so respectful, his appearance so engaging, that she 
 did not fear this, and yet she hesitated to draw forth the lock- 
 et and show it to a total stranger. 
 
 The gentleman observed this hesitation. "You think me 
 rude. I appear so," he said, " in making such a request : do 
 as you please, I shall not urge the matter ; but as I have told 
 you, I am your uncle and the brother of your deceased mother. 
 The hair in that locket consists of mine and hers." 
 
 Alice drew forth the locket and unfastening the ribbon by 
 which it was attached to her neck, placed it in the stranger's 
 hands. 
 
 He took it, and touching the spring, gazed long upon the relic 
 within : " Poor Alice !" he said, with visible emotion, as, clasp- 
 ing the trinket again he restored it to the young lady. 
 
 " I have called upon the vicar of this parish, to-day," he 
 continued, after a pause. " I brought a letter to him from Mr. 
 Ashley with whom you lived after your father's death." 
 
 " Have you lately come from India ?" said Alice, interested 
 in what the stranger had said, and asking a question for the 
 first time. 
 
 " I have. It is just five months ago since I left Colombo, 
 where Mr. Ashley is now settled." 
 
 " Was he well ? and his family, were they all well ?" said 
 Alice. 
 
 " All well, and very comfortably settled when I saw them," 
 replied the stranger. 
 
 They had turned off from the narrow path on the cliff and 
 were now approaching the high road to Dover.
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 221 
 
 " You are fond of walking, I think," returned the gentleman. 
 "You have yet a long walk before you, to Herrington." 
 
 " Only about two miles," replied Alice. u It is nothing. I 
 am accustomed to walking." 
 
 " Nevertheless, a ride would not perhaps be unacceptable. 
 I have a carriage in waiting close by, which I quitted half an 
 hour ago to look at the view from the cliff. If you choose we 
 will return to Herrington together." 
 
 Half afraid of she knew not what, and yet unwilling to re- 
 fuse the invitation given in so kind a manner, Alice hesitating- 
 ly allowed the stranger to assist her into the carriage, which 
 they had now reached, and which she observed was a post- 
 chaise. The gentleman followed, and the post-boy mounting 
 his horse, they started off in the direction of Herrington : but 
 instead of turning off when they reached the by -lane which 
 led to Herrington, the post-boy continued to follow the high 
 road. 
 
 Sometime elapsed before Alice discovered the mistake, as 
 she supposed, the gentleman having kept her in conversation : 
 but at length she remarked that they had passed the by-lane, 
 and were going in the opposite direction from Herrington. 
 
 " I know it, Alice," replied the gentleman. " You will allow 
 me to call you Alice, I hope, for you are my niece, and will 
 be to me henceforward, I trust, a daughter. I am going to 
 Dover." 
 
 " I must return to Herrington," said the young lady, much 
 alarmed. " Mrs. Dalton will be expecting me, and will be 
 alarmed at my absence. Permit me to alight here, or if you 
 are indeed my uncle, return with me to Herrington, and call 
 on Mrs. Dalton. She will be glad to see you." 
 
 " Not to-night, Alice. You must go with me to Dover. 
 There are reasons for my acting thus, which by and by will be 
 explained to you, and which will be satisfactory.'' 
 
 " I must return to Herrington," said Alice. " It is cruel, un- 
 mannerly, ungentlemanly to deceive me thus." and as she spoke 
 hse endeavored to unfasten the door of the post-chaise.
 
 222 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Alice," said the gentleman, arresting her hand, " are you 
 mad ? If you were to spring from the carriage while it is go- 
 ing at this rapid pace, you would kill yourself instantly. No 
 harm is intended you. On the contrary I intend to do you a 
 service for which you will one day be grateful. You cannot 
 must not leave the carriage or escape from me. I have re- 
 turned from India expressly to find you, and a fortune depends 
 upon my endeavors. I will tell you this much, Alice, you are 
 an heiress." 
 
 The young lady looked wildly round. She saw that escape 
 was hopeless. They might ride for miles on that country road 
 at that hour, without meeting with any one able to render her 
 assistance if she were to call for it, or if her cries could 
 be heard. She trembled with fear and agitation, alternately 
 threatening and imploring, and at length did what most young 
 ladies in her situation would have done, burst into a passion 
 of tears. 
 
 Her uncle, Mr. Craddock, for such he, in fact, was, spoke to 
 her kindly, and tried every means to console her, but in vain. 
 Her only hope was in making her escape, and throwing her- 
 self on the protection of the first person she met when the 
 carriage should stop at Dover. 
 
 But the town was reached and the post chaise rattled along 
 the streets, past the hotels, and down to the pieis, at which 
 the French packet was lying. Here it stopped, and the post- 
 boy alighted and opened the door, Mr. Craddock having in the 
 meantime warned his niece that resistance would be useless. 
 
 He alighted from the vehicle and held out his hand to assist 
 the young lady in her descent She also alighted and looking 
 around saw only the crowd of seamen and laborers putting the 
 last packages of luggage on board the packet which was just 
 about to sail. All were too busy to heed her had she called upon 
 them to do so ; there was too much confusion and noise had she 
 attempted to call, to allow of her voice being heard. Mr. 
 Craddock guarded her very closely, as he led her on board the
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 223 
 
 vessel ; but his precaution was needless ; before she reached 
 the deck he felt her weight fall heavily upon his arm the poor 
 girl had fainted. He appeared to have anticipated this, for he 
 remarked to the captain of the packet as he bore her tenderly 
 across the deck and into the cabin, that this was the sick lady 
 for whom he had engaged a passage to Calais, the day before, 
 and he requested that functionary to lead him to the most 
 comfortable cabin that was disengaged. 
 
 The captain and crew, waiters and servants, were all French, 
 as were the majority of the passengers, and Alice after having 
 been carried to the cabin was attended by a French steward- 
 ess, whose care, assisted by the attentions of Mr. Craddock, 
 soon restored her to consciousness. Her uncle remained with 
 her for a couple of hours, during which period the packet had 
 put to sea. He urged her by every persuasion he thought like- 
 ly to console her, to calm her unavailing grief, assuring her 
 again and again, that it was for her welfare he was acting ; but 
 at length, growing weary of his useless efforts, he left her in 
 charge of the stewardess and went upon deck. 
 
 The woman's countenance and actions showed that she sus- 
 pected something was wrong ; but Mr. Craddock had quieted 
 any scruples of conscience she might have felt with the present 
 of a heavy fee ; and even had she been inclined or able to serve 
 the young lady, communication was impossible, since neither 
 she nor Alice understood a word of each other's language. 
 However, she was kind and attentive even officiously so- 
 and Alice after weeping in silence for hours at length wept 
 herself to sleep. 
 
 When she awoke in the morning the packet, which had 
 " lain to " during a greater portion of the night, in consequence 
 of the foggy weather, was being moored alongside the pier at 
 Calais. 
 
 The first act on the part of Mr. Craddock after having procured 
 an apartment and ordered breakfast to be prepared at the 
 Hotel d'Angleterre, was to procure a supply of such necessary
 
 224 THE WANDERER. 
 
 articles of clothing, as Alice needed to secure her comfort during 
 the remainder of the journey that lay before her, of which 
 Calais was only the first stage. These articles were procured 
 without regard to expense, and after breakfast Mr. Craddock, 
 who seemed anxious to exert every effort to reconcile his 
 niece to her abduction from home, proposed a walk round the 
 town, at the same time he placed a well-filled purse in her 
 hands, telling her not to spare the money, but to purchase any- 
 thing that pleased her fancy, regardless of the cost. Alice 
 refused the purse but accepted the clothing, which she really 
 needed, since, as the reader is aware, she had been carried from 
 home with no articles of attire beyond what she put on for an 
 afternoon's walk ; besides, the dress she wore was not of a ma- 
 terial that corresponded with the gentlemanly habiliments of 
 her uncle. This fact at this time, probably troubled Alice 
 very little ; but doubtless it had its weight with Mr. Craddock. 
 
 The young lady begged for permission to write to Mrs. 
 Dalton, and to let her know the circumstances connected with 
 her disappearance ; OB at least to let her know that she was 
 alive and well and that no accident had befallen her. But this 
 petition was peremptorily refused. It would serve no purpose 
 he said. It would only cause greater anxiety. By and by 
 she should write, when they had reached their journey's end, 
 but not now. 
 
 After dinner the diligence was to start for Paris. Mr. Crad- 
 dock had engaged the coupe for himself and his neice, and be- 
 fore nightfall they were several leagues on their way to the 
 French capital. Amiens was reached in time for breakfast on 
 the following morning, and in the evening the diligence entered 
 the porte St. Denis and the travellers were in Paris. 
 
 Mr. Craddock remained at the capital several weeks, in 
 order to afford his young charge every opportunity of visiting 
 the most attractive sights. The Louvre L'Eglise de la Made- 
 line Pere la Chaise the Luxembourg Versailles every- 
 thing that was worth visiting in the city and its environs was
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 225 
 
 visited, and Mr. Craddock, who spoke the language perfectly, 
 and who had once resided for some months in Paris, proved 
 himself a valuable and interesting cicerone. His manner was 
 so uniformly kind to his niece, and his desire to please her so 
 apparent, that the young lady gradually resumed her custo- 
 mary cheerfulness, and learnt to take pleasure in her uncle's 
 society, although she still continued to beseech him to allow 
 her to write to Mrs. Dalton, telling him that if she were allowed 
 that privilege, she would be quite contented to remain with 
 him ; but to all her requests and remonstrances, in relation to 
 the subject, he turned a deaf ear, merely telling her that by- 
 and-by she should do so, but not now he had reasons that he 
 would one day explain for his actions. Neither had he yet 
 informed her of the cause which had led him to act so myste- 
 riously in carrying her from her home. All she was told was, 
 that she was an heiress, but that peculiar circumstances in re- 
 lation to t;he wealth that would one day be her's, required this 
 secrecy. 
 
 At length they left Paris for Orleans, at which place Mr. 
 Craddock informed his niece he intended to leave her at school 
 for a year or two, while he went abroad upon urgent business. 
 
 " You know, Alice," he said, " that your education has ne- 
 cessarily been limited. When I say this, I mean that you 
 have not been taught those accomplishments which will be es- 
 sential to you in the social position in which you will hereafter 
 be required to move. So far as regards a plain, substantial, 
 useful education, Mrs. Dalton has done her part well. One 
 day you shall have the pleasure of recompensing her for her 
 care and affection." 
 
 Whenever any allusion was made to Mrs. Dalton, Alice was 
 always deeply affected. Her uncle told her that she ought to 
 strive to conquer this feeling. Mrs. Dalton, as well as Mr. 
 Ashley, had been kind to her, he said ; they had been very 
 kind, and merited her warmest gratitude, but they were not iu 
 any way related to her, and she must strive to form new and 
 closer attachments. 15
 
 226 THE WANDERER. 
 
 She often thought of Gerald, and wondered whether he 
 thought so much of her, and whether he lamented her mys- 
 terious disappearance. " Is he still in London," she would 
 ask herself, " or has he returned again to Herrington ? Shall 
 I ever see him again ?" but she had never mentioned his name 
 to Mr. Craddock. 
 
 Gerald had given her a miniature of himself the day before 
 he left Herrington for London : it was a cheap thing 1 enough, 
 and had been taken in the United States when he was about 
 four years of age. If it had been like him then, it bore very 
 little resemblance to him as Alice had last seen him ; still she 
 cherished the trifle, and always wore it in her bosom. 
 
 One day, while she was still in Paris, her uncle came unex- 
 pectedly into the room in which she was seated. She held the 
 miniature in her hand, and was gazing at it earnestly so 
 earnestly, that she was not aware of his approach until he stood 
 behind her chair. A tear had fallen from her eyelid, and par- 
 tially obscured the portrait. It was the first time her uncle 
 had seen it, and after standing behind the chair for a few mo- 
 ments, he said : 
 
 " What have you there, my love, that so interests you ? 
 whose portrait is that ?" 
 
 Until he spoke, Alice % had been unaware of his presence. 
 She started, blushed, and replied that it was a miniature of 
 Mrs. Dalton's son, Gerald. 
 
 A frown, such as she had never before seen upon her uncle's 
 face, corrugated his brow, and he turned pale with anger. 
 " Give it to me," he said " I insist upon your casting away 
 such silly baubles give it to me, instantly." Alice was 
 frightened, and starting from her chair, and confronting her 
 uncle, she looked up in his face, holding her breath, her face as 
 pale with affright as his with passion. 
 
 Perceiving her terror, and fearing he had gone too far, and 
 had undone that which he had been for weeks attempting to do 
 to gain her confidence and affection, he said, in a milder tone :
 
 A SECRET DISCOVERED. 22t 
 
 " I am not angry, Alice ; but you know, my love, that I wish 
 you to forget these people ; but you can keep the bauble if you 
 choose, only do not, for appearance sake, wear it round your 
 neck. Let me see it, if you please." 
 
 Alice took the ribbon to which it is confined, from her neck, 
 and handed him the miniature. 
 
 " A child, a mere child," he said, after looking at it. " I 
 knew that Mrs. Dalton had a son in London, but he is much 
 older than this." " Yes, uncle," said Alice ; " he is about the 
 same age as I am. That portrait was taken in America, when 
 he was a child." 
 
 " I have never spoken to you, Alice, of Mrs. Dalton's son," 
 said her uncle, " because I thought you were almost a stranger 
 to him, and could have no interest in him ; besides, I did not 
 wish to keep alive these old recollections which your present 
 prospects call upon you to obliterate from your memory. The 
 boy went to London a long time ago, did he not ?" 
 
 " Only a few months since, uncle," said Alice. " He gave 
 me this as a keepsake, when he was about to leave Herring- 
 ton." 
 
 " And you have worn it round your neck ever since ?" said 
 Mr. Craddock, with difficulty restraining his anger. 
 
 Yes, uncle." 
 
 " My love, you must lay it aside ; keep it if you like, but 
 do not wear it about you any longer. It is foolish and im- 
 proper quite unbecoming. He is no relative of yours, and 
 probably you will never meet him again. Should you meet, it 
 will be in a social position so entirely different to that which you 
 held mutually when you last saw each other, that intimacy would 
 be no longer proper. Oblige me in this matter, and I will re- 
 place the paltry trinket with something far more valuable." 
 
 Fearful of her uncle's anger, and feeling she was altogether 
 in his power, Alice consented to place the miniature in her 
 drawer. Her uncle kissed her, and that same day presented 
 her with a miniature of a handsome boy, set in brilliants.
 
 228 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " There," he said, " I have kept my promise ; wear that. 
 Some day you may meet the original." 
 
 " Who is it, uncle," asked she. 
 
 " Never mind now," he replied smiling. " I have much to 
 explain to you by and by. When we do come to an explana- 
 tion, you shall know who that miniature represents." 
 
 Nothing further was said upon the subject at that time. 
 The costly gift occupied the place of Gerald's miniature round 
 Alice's neck ; but her uncle might not have been so well sat- 
 isfied as he appeared to be, had he been present in her little 
 bed-room when she retired for the night, and seen with what 
 affection the discarded miniature was taken from its secret 
 hiding-place, and kissed, and wept over, and with what care- 
 lessness, nay, almost contempt the costly locket he had pre- 
 sented her with was thrown off, without a look being deigned 
 at the miniature, and yet it represented a beautiful dark com- 
 plexioned, curly headed boy, much handsomer than Gerald. 
 
 However; while seated in the coupe of the diligence, on their 
 way to Orleans, Mr. Craddock carelessly renewed the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " What is the name of this boy of Mrs. Dalton's ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Gerald, uncle." 
 
 " And I suppose you interchanged souvenirs with Master 
 Gerald when he gave you that trinket I saw you with the other 
 day?" 
 
 " I gave him a sixpence with a hole in it, it was all I had to 
 give," said Alice. 
 
 " And both of you promised to keep these souvenirs a3 
 long as you lived, I'll be bound." 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Alice, innocently. 
 
 " I thought so," replied her uncle, smiling, " I warrant that 
 Gerald's sixpence was spent for cakes or candy before he had 
 been a week in London, though. Well, boys and girls will do 
 such things : but you must forget all about him now, as he 
 has doubtless long forgotten you."
 
 THE ABDUCTION. 229 
 
 Alice did not reply. She did not believe that Gerald had 
 forgotten her, but she did not wish to offend her uncle, and 
 with an adroitness beyond her years, she changed the subject 
 of conversation, and Gerald's name was not again mention- 
 ed. 
 
 The journey to Orleans occupied two days, and on arriving 
 at that beautiful city, Mr. Craddock engaged handsome apart- 
 ments at a hotel for himself and his niece ; and in the course 
 of the following week, placed her at school, in a convent, near 
 the city, at which the daughters of some of the most wealthy 
 families in the province were receiving their education. He 
 desired that she should be taught music, dancing, French, 
 Italian, embroidery and all the lighter and more fashionable 
 accomplishments, paying a very high price for her tuition, in. 
 advance. He should be absent, he said for a year, at least, 
 probably more ; but if he did remain longer away, the sum 
 necessary for another year's tuition should be promptly for- 
 warded. No expense was to be spared, and his niece 
 was to have the utmost care and attention paid to her. None 
 of the young ladies were allowed to go beyond the convent 
 grounds, unless sent for by their parents, nor was any com- 
 munication permitted with any person outside the convent. 
 Mr. Craddock was very peremptory in his orders that his 
 niece should not be allowed to send any letters to any one. 
 " She is an orphan," he said to the Superior, " and has no friends 
 with whom I wish her to communicate. You will see that my 
 wishes in this respect, are strictly adhered to "?" 
 
 The promise was readily given : indeed, the Superior said 
 that no letters were allowed to be written by the young ladies 
 except to their parents, and then the contents of these letters 
 were subjected to an examination by herself. 
 
 " That is all I require," he replied. " Do your duty to- 
 wards the child and you shall have no cause to repent having 
 done so." 
 
 Before parting with his niece Mr. Craddock presented her
 
 230 THE WANDERER. 
 
 with a most liberal allowance of pocket money, bidding her 
 not to spare it, when, as was the case at certain seasons, female 
 peddlers were admitted within the convent grounds, for the 
 gratification of the young ladies. Alice was very anxious to 
 know where her uncle was going ; but all the information she 
 could obtain from him was very vague. " It is more than I 
 can say myself, my love," he said. " To the West Indies first, 
 and then perhaps to the United States. If I return direct 
 from there you will see me here in twelve months from now. 
 But it is not improbable that I may go to India again, in which 
 case, I shall be absent for a much longer period : but you will 
 be well provided for, be this as it may." 
 
 Alice was sorry to part with her uncle, for she was friendless 
 in the world, and he had used every endeavor to gain her af- 
 fections, and in no instance had thwarted her wishes since the 
 day he had carried her from home, except in refusing to allow 
 her to correspond with Mrs. Dal ton, and on the occasion when 
 he discovered in her possession the portrait of Gerald Dalton. 
 
 He was twelve months absent, and during that period she 
 was a splendid prisoner within the walls of the convent : still she 
 was not unhappy. She enjoyed the society of young ladies of 
 her own age, had every opportunity afforded her to progress 
 in a variety of pleasing studies, and the grounds of the con- 
 vent were spacious, well planted and supplied with everything 
 requisite to the health and amusement of the pupils. Only 
 two things troubled her. She still sighed for an opportunity 
 of writing to Mrs. Dalton, and still cherished the recollection of 
 Gerald, and longed to know whether n3 cherished as fond and 
 faithful a recollection of her.
 
 NEWS FKOM AMERICA. 231 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 In which the scene is changed, and some strange things occur after a 
 strange fashion. 
 
 AGAIN I change the locality of my story. Five years had 
 elapsed since the conversation, recorded in one of the early 
 chapters of this narrative, had taken place between Mrs. Dai- 
 ton and Mr. Brower in the stage-coach, on their journey from 
 Liverpool to Derby, on the occasion of that lady's return to 
 England from the United States, when that gentlemen went 
 back to America with the intention of permanently residing 
 there. 
 
 He had written according to promise, to his brother at Cin- 
 cinnati, a few weeks after he had given the promise ; but, little 
 notice had been taken of his inquiries respecting the piece of 
 waste land that still remained the property of Mrs. Dalton. 
 His brother had merely said, " The land you speak of, George, 
 is really of no value whatever, I would not have it as a gift. 
 You are sanguine in your anticipations of its future value. It 
 may become so, as we advance in our internal improvements ; 
 but I see no reason at present, to believe that it will be worth 
 the trifling taxes levied upon it, in our time or that of the 
 widow," and Mr. Brower had read the letter, and thought no 
 more about it. But when he returned to the United States 
 and went to Cincinnati, his native city, he saw ample reasons 
 to believe that his anticipations would be realized sooner even 
 than he expected. Cincinnati was growing rapidly in size and
 
 232 THE WANDERER. 
 
 wealth. It had already acquired the proud appellation of the 
 " Queen city of the west." Canals were being constructed, 
 and already railroads that would intersect the State in all di- 
 rections were seen in the dim perspective. Before he had 
 resided at home two years, he saw enough to convince him 
 that it would be a profitable investment were he to make the 
 widow a handsome offer for the land, even if it should be idle 
 for years. He accordingly wrote to Mr. Ashley's address in 
 Herrington, which he still retained in his possession, inclosing 
 a letter for Mrs. Dalton, in which he honestly told her what 
 he thought of the property, and asked if she were inclined to 
 sell it. "I know not," he wrote, "whether you or your son 
 have any idea of returning to America. If you have I would 
 not advise you to dispose of this property. But if not, I will 
 willingly purchase it from you at a price fully equal to that 
 which your late husband paid for his whole farm. For two or 
 three years yet, it will be no value to me ; perhaps for longer. 
 It may be ten years before it is valuable ; but the day will come 
 when it will be rented for wharfage and storage purposes, and 
 it will return a handsome income to its possessor. I am wil- 
 ling at once, to take it off your hands. At the same time I 
 will inform you that it is believed that the owner is dead, as no 
 claim has been made upon it for years ; the barn that stood 
 upon it has been sold to pay the arrears of taxes, and several 
 squatters having settled upon it laborers on the canal the 
 State will probably shortly lay claim to it ; of course, by prov- 
 ing your title deed, you can at any time reclaim it ; but to 
 save expense and trouble, if you decide not to sell, I would 
 recommend you to empower me to hold it in your name. 
 Please advise with me at your earliest convenience remember 
 me to my little namesake a tolerably big namesake I pre- 
 sume he has grown to be now, and believe me 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 GEORGE BKOWIE."
 
 NEWS FROM AMERICA. 233 
 
 This letter reached England some time after Mr. Ashley had 
 sailed for Ceylon ; and after having been returned to the dead 
 letter office, in London, and lying there for a long time, it was 
 on the point of being returned to the writer, when by some 
 means Mr. Ashley's address became known, and it was mailed 
 to the East Indies, but it was again delayed, having, through 
 some blunder, been sent to Singapore instead of Ceylon. It 
 was returned to England, and again re-mailed to Colombo, and 
 finally received by Mr. Ashley, nearly three years after it was 
 written, and encumbered with postage charges to a very large 
 amount. Even then he knew nothing of the contents of Mrs. 
 Dalton's letter, the envelope in which it was enclosed merely 
 instructing him to forward the letter to Mrs. Dalton's address, 
 and stating that it came from Gerald Brower. Mr. Ashley 
 puzzled his brains for some time in the endeavor to recollect 
 who Gerald Brower was ; and at length recalled to mind his 
 fellow-passenger in the stage-coach, some years previous. All 
 that remained to him was to re-mail the letter again to Mrs. 
 Dalton, who did not receive it until Gerald had sailed for 
 India. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Brower having received no reply to his let- 
 ter, either from Mr. Ashley or the widow, or her son, sup- 
 posed them to be dead, or removed, as was the case, to some 
 other locality, and he had acted in the matter upon his own 
 responsibility. Having informed the proper authorities of all 
 that he knew in relation to the owners of the property, and 
 stated that he believed them to be dead he had rented it of 
 the State, which held it in trust for the rightful owner. The 
 canal which passed near it was already nearly completed, and 
 storehouses and wharves were already in the course of erection 
 upon it. It already paid a handsome rental, and bade fair in 
 the course of a few years more to become very valuable prop- 
 erty. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton, upon the receipt of the letter, wrote to Mr. 
 Brower, thanking him for the trouble he had taken, but de-
 
 234 THE WANDERER. 
 
 clining to give any decisive answer until she had advised with 
 her son, who, she wrote, was in the East Indies, but whom she 
 expected home in the course of six or eight months. 
 
 Greatly to her surprise and gratification, she received a 
 second letter from Mr. Brower, in the course of three months, 
 enclosing a bill of exchange for the value of the rents already 
 received by the State, and asking her for a power of attorney, 
 by which he might act in her behalf for the future. His anti- 
 cipations, he wrote, promised to be more than realized, and he 
 no longer advised her, since her son was living, to dispose of 
 the property. His request was thankfully complied with by 
 the widow, who looked forward now with more anxiety than 
 ever to her son's return from abroad. It was but a short time 
 after this that she received a letter from him, informing her of 
 the unfortunate result of his visit to Calcutta, and of his inten- 
 tions to remain for some time in the East Indies. 
 
 She wrote to him, immediately urging his return, telling 
 him at the same time that she had heard from Mr. Brower, 
 and had some good news to communicate to him when she saw 
 him. She was silent with regard to its character, for she knew 
 Gerald's impetuous disposition, and was fearful if she told him 
 all, that he would take it into his head to go to America before 
 he returned home to her. Her over caution defeated itself, 
 as will be seen hereafter. 
 
 Shortly after this she also received a letter in the well re- 
 membered handwriting of Alice Thornton. It bore no date, 
 but was stamped with the Paris post-mark, and ran as follows: 
 
 " At length, dear Mrs. Dalton, I have received permission 
 to write to you, and inform you that I am still in the land of 
 the living. You will have thought me ungrateful to one, who 
 has been to me as a second mother. You will still think me 
 ungrateful, but believe me, when I say, that it has been no fault 
 of mine that I have not written before. It is no fault of mine 
 that I write as I am writing now. I have been for more than 
 twelve months at school in the interior of this country, during
 
 A MYSTERIOUS LETTER. 235 
 
 which period I have had no communication with any one out- 
 side the institution in which I have received my education. 
 It is only at my urgent request before leaving France for 
 another country, which I am not permitted to name, that 1 
 have obtained permission to write at all ; and now I am writing 
 under the eye of a relative, who will read my letter before 1 
 seal it indeed, it is partly from his dictation that I am writing. 
 Some day he tells me you shall know all, but not now. It is 
 only within the last month, since I have left school, that the 
 causes which led to my removal from your charge have been 
 explained to me ; still do not think that I am unhappy, or that 
 beyond my inability to write to you before, I have any cause 
 to complain. I am indeed rich in this world's goods, or at 
 least I shall be, in the course of time, if I live. Meanwhile, I 
 am abundantly supplied with money, in proof of which I in- 
 close you the accompanying trifle, which I am promised shall 
 be transmitted to you, annually. I shall probably write to you 
 again, but I am not permitted to give you any clue to my place 
 of residence. It is useless to reply to this letter, as I shall 
 have left Paris before you receive this. 
 
 " I send this letter enclosed to Mr. Pearce's address. You 
 many have removed from your former place of residence. He, 
 most likely, is still residing at the vicarage ; indeed I am in- 
 formed that such is the case. 
 
 " Believe me, dear Mrs. Dalton, still as ever, 
 
 Your affectionate child, 
 ALICE THORNTON." 
 
 The trifle enclosed in the letter was a fifty pound Bank of 
 England note. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton read the letter again and again, with the utmost 
 interest : but although she was delighted to know that Alice 
 still lived, it was with feelings of the deepest regret that she 
 heard from her own hand that she would probably never see 
 her again. So far from explaining the mystery connected with
 
 236 THE WANDERER. 
 
 her disappearance, the letter only rendered it deeper, and left 
 not a hope of future explanation. 
 
 Another thing also distressed the widow. Alice had made no 
 inquiries after Gerald. She had not even mentioned his name ! 
 
 Mrs. Dalton was not of course aware that she had been for- 
 bidden to do so, and knowing how deeply Gerald had mourned 
 her loss and how fondly he still loved her, she thought this 
 apparently purposed omission heartless and cruel. She re- 
 solved to say nothing to Gerald about it until his return, far- 
 ther than to inform him in her next letter of the fact that 
 Alice was still alive and had written to her.
 
 THE TRADING VOYAGE 23f 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Misrepresentations and their results. The evil effects of false pride again 
 exemplified. 
 
 GERALD was absent for nine months on the voyage amongst 
 the Islands of the Indian Archipelago. During this period 
 he visited Borneo, the Phillipine Islands, Singapore, Pulo 
 Penang, and a score of islands of lesser note. Had his mind 
 been easy in relation to matters at home, the voyage, notwith- 
 standing the menial situation he held, would have been an in- 
 teresting one to him. In many respects it was so after all. 
 He had shown himself active and willing, and it soon becoming 
 apparent that he had received a better education than usually 
 falls to the lot of common seamen, his captain who was not 
 overstocked with education himself, released him from much 
 of the menial drudgery which he would otherwise have been 
 compelled to perform, and appointed him to duties of impor- 
 tance and trust, especially when the brig was at anchor or ly- 
 ing off the islands. He had called at Borneo for the purpose of 
 purchasing wild horses for sale in the Phillipines, and Gerald 
 was generally deputed to exercise the office of ship's clerk 
 and to keep an account of the expenditures and of the amount 
 of the sales that were made, and in this duty he acquitted 
 himself so well that at the expiration of the voyage, on the 
 return of the brig to Calcutta, the owners, on the captain's re- 
 commendation, presented him with a considerable addition to 
 his wages, and offered him the situation of supercargo during 
 the next voyage to Ceylon. It was Gerald's intention to re- 
 main for some time with his uncle at Colombo, provided that
 
 238 THE WANDERER. 
 
 he found himself well received, and he represented this to the 
 owners and received their permission to leave the brig at Trin- 
 comallee, and to proceed thence to Colombo. His wages, 
 with the compliment he had received and the commission he 
 hoped to make on arriving at Ceylon, would place him in pos- 
 session of a considerable sum of money and he was gratified to 
 think that, at any rate, he would not visit his relatives as a 
 beggar, intruding upon their hospitality. 
 
 His great anxiety, however, on returning to Calcutta, had 
 relation to the letters he expected to find awaiting him there, 
 and he lost no time in calling upon Mr. Thompson and asking 
 if any letters had been received. 
 
 There were three ; one from Mr. Hoffmann, one from his 
 mother, and one from the Vicar of Herrington. 
 
 It was with a beating heart that he opened the second letter j 
 but its contents threw him into an agony of grief and rage. 
 
 Mrs. Dal ton had received a letter from Mr. Hoffmann, be- 
 fore she had written to her son, and it was evident to Gerald 
 that the unfortunate results which had attended the sale of the 
 merchandise entrusted to his charge, had been grossly misrepre- 
 sented to his mother. 
 
 The letter was couched in affectionate language, and he 
 was earnestly entreated to return home, when all, she said, 
 would be forgotten and forgiven. She was sorry that he had 
 been led astray, but she hoped he had not intentionally done 
 wrong. She believed that he had been duped by designing 
 persons, and so had yielded to a temptation that he could have 
 strength to resist in future ; and she thought if he were to 
 write a penitent letter to Mr. Hoffmann, he would look over 
 what was passed and could not be recalled, although she heard 
 that his friends had suffered a heavy pecuniary loss. The letter 
 concluded with earnestly entreating him for his mother's sake, 
 to recollect the lessons he had received from her in his child- 
 hood, and the prayers he had been taught to repeat at his 
 mother's knee ; and she begged him earnestly to pray that
 
 LETTERS FROM HOME. 239 
 
 henceforward he might be enabled to resist temptation or to 
 fly from its first approach but erring or penitent, he was as- 
 sured that he still possessed, and would ever continue to pos- 
 sess his mother's fondest affection. 
 
 Gerald fairly gnashed his teeth with rage and distress when 
 he had finished the perusal of this letter. " All will be forgot- 
 ten and forgiven !" he said. " This from my mother. A 
 curse fall on those who have endeavored to turn her against 
 me. The fools ! they were alone to blame in sending out such 
 a lot of trash, and in greedily affixing such absurd prices to 
 their useless merchandise. I did my best, God knows, and if 
 I failed, it was through no fault that I could avoid, except that 
 of placing too much confidence in their judgment, and in De 
 Sylva's probity. 
 
 " But this letter has fixed me in my resolve. I will not re- 
 turn home, until I have brought them, aye, and my mother 
 too, to confess that I have been grievously wronged." 
 
 He had scarely patience to read Mr. Hoffmann's letter. It 
 was full of recriminations, and not only charged him indirectly 
 with having sold the goods at higher prices than he had ren- 
 dered an account of, and of making use of the money for his own 
 purposes ; also, with writing with a degree of levity and 
 flippancy, after having so recklessly robbed those whose chief 
 motive had been to befriend him and advance his interest. It 
 was signed by every one of the persons whose goods had been 
 entrusted to his care. 
 
 Mr. Pierce's letter, like that written by his mother, was 
 couched in a strain of mingled warning, commiseration and re- 
 gret, having evidently been penned rather in sorrow than in 
 anger that wounded the feelings of the young man far more 
 than the angry and reproachful letter of Mr. Hoffmann had 
 done. He shed tears over these letters, and would perhaps 
 have returned home, as they urged him to do, had not the 
 bitter invective of Mr. Hoffmann excited his anger to such a 
 degree that when his thoughts again recurred to it, he strove
 
 240 THE WANDERER. 
 
 to banish from his mind every feeling of regret, and almost 
 felt inclined, since his actions had been so misinterpreted, to 
 give his late employer some good cause for condemnation : 
 better thoughts, however, happily prevailed over his first feel- 
 ings of pride and passion, although he was more than ever de- 
 termined to become an alien to his home until those who had 
 judged him wrongfully, freely acknowledged their injustice. 
 
 The only reply he deigned to Mr. Hoffmann was to obtain 
 from the Portuguese merchant an account of the sale, in Hin- 
 doostane, and to transmit it without further explanation than 
 the insulting statement that he had sent him a bill of the prices 
 obtained for the goods, and he and his friends might make the 
 best they could of it. 
 
 To the vicar and his mother he wrote briefly, and with some 
 bitterness of feeling, though he said that he believed they had 
 been misled by the false representations of Mr. Hoffmann, and 
 he informed the latter that she probably would not see him 
 again until she was satisfied that he had been harshly treated 
 and unjustly suspected. 
 
 It would have been well, if amidst the bitter and vindictive 
 feelings of pride and obstinancy which agitated his bosom, he 
 had recollected the advice of honest Jemmy Milton, given him 
 on the beach, on the occasion of his first visit to Herrington, 
 after he had quitted that town to go to the situation procured 
 for him in London : " Don't go agin your mother, Gerry, if 
 you wants to have luck in this world, and to mount up'ards 
 when your time comes." 
 
 Having again requested Mr. Thompson to retain any letters 
 that he might receive for him, until he sent directions where 
 they were to be forwarded, he sailed as supercargo on board 
 the Firefly, for Trincomallee.
 
 THE EXPLANATION. 241 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 In which Mr. Craddock makes a long and strange explanation, which Alice 
 listens to patiently, with what resalt will be seen hereafter. 
 
 SOME eighteen months after Alice Thornton had been abducted 
 from Herrington, a middle-aged gentleman, and a young lady, 
 who might well have passed for eighteen years of age, but who 
 was in reality nearly twenty, were seated, one evening, in the 
 verandah of one of the graceful country seats that are scattered 
 along the coast in the vicinity of Havana, in the Island of Cuba. 
 The villa was situated in the centre of a delightful sugar plan- 
 tation, which covered a hundred cdbalkrias of land. The 
 grounds immediately surrounding the dwelling were planted 
 with shrubbery and with ornamental trees, among which, the 
 royal palm, the oreod oxia regia of Humboldt, was conspicuous; 
 its fresh, glossy green leaves contrasted beautifully with its 
 whitish-brown trunk ; orange and lemon trees, whose rich sweet- 
 scented blossoms filled the atmosphere with their grateful per- 
 fume, and flowers of every variety, in bud and blossom, gave 
 additional beauty and sweetness to the landscape. The coo] 
 evening breeze was blowing gently from seaward, and waft- 
 ing the perfume of the flowers into the verandah, the view from 
 which was so gloriously beautiful, that the young lady uttered 
 an involuntary exclamation of delight. 
 
 The gentleman, who had for some minutes been observing 
 her in silence, appeared pleased with this evidence of admira- 
 tion on the part of his youthful companion. 
 
 " It is, indeed, beautiful, Alice," he said ; " and all this broad 
 land will one day be yours." 
 16
 
 242 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Mine, uncle ! " exclaimed the young lady. 
 
 " Yes, Alice, yours, on the day that you complete your 
 twenty-first year, provided you do not, in one respect, thwart 
 my wishes." 
 
 Alice made no reply, although Mr. Craddock waited some 
 moments in expectation ; but, at length, he continued : 
 
 " I promised you, my love, when I took you from the con- 
 vent school, at Orleans, that when we arrived in Cuba, I would 
 explain the causes which led me to seek you out in England, 
 and more fully to take such an interest in your welfare. Of 
 course, as your uncle, your mother's only brother, there was a 
 natural cause existing to some extent ; but you must be well 
 aware that I have had other reasons, or I should not have adopt- 
 ed so singular a method of carrying out my views. We 
 have been now three weeks in Cuba. In the course of a 
 few days I expect your cousin, George, to arrive from Jamaica. 
 I sent for him the day after we landed, and I will, this evening, 
 relate to you, if you please, the history of your family, of 
 which, in consequence of the early death of your parents, you 
 appear to have remained ignorant." 
 
 Still Alice remained silent. She appeared to dread the story, 
 which she was yet so anxious to hear. 
 
 Mr. Craddock seemed to consider her silence a token of 
 consent, and thus continued : 
 
 " You are not aware that your mother was born on this 
 Island?" 
 
 " No sir," said Alice, greatly surprised. " I was not aware 
 of that." 
 
 " Of course not. How should you have known, if your 
 former friends in England never knew anything of your mother's 
 family ? It was foolish of me to ask you the question. Such, 
 however, was the case ; she was several years younger than I, 
 and was born here shortly after I came here with my father 
 and mother from Ireland. 
 
 " Your father, I knew when a boy ; he having also came
 
 THE EXPLANATION. 243 
 
 here with his parents from England about the same time. His 
 father and mine were engaged by the Cuban Government as 
 Surveyors and Civil Engineers ; but Mr. Thornton died of 
 yellow fever, and his wife followed him to the grave, dying of 
 the same terrible disease, within a year from the death of her 
 husband. My father and mother took him into the family 
 after the death of his parents, and he and I were educated to- 
 gether here, until, at the age of fourteen, we both went to Eng- 
 land, he to a grammar school, and I to the Cadet's College at 
 Croydon. My father, who had some influence with the East 
 India Company's Directors, having procured me the promise 
 of a military appointment in the East India Company's service. 
 At the age of sixteen, I left England for the East Indies, and 
 did not again return to England until the period I met with you 
 at Herrington. 
 
 " Your father after he quitted school, when eighteen years of 
 age, returned to Cuba, and resided there a year. He had suc- 
 ceeded in gaining the affections of your mother, my sister : 
 but her parents being opposed to their union, they were mar- 
 ried clandestinely. Henry Thornton, your father, having 
 secretly followed Alice, your mother, to Jamaica, whither she 
 had gone on a visit to some friends, and there he succeeded ha 
 getting the marriage ceremony performed. 
 
 " Your grandfather was greatly irritated when he heard of 
 this act of disobedience on the part of his daughter. He re- 
 fused to receive or even to see the newly married pair, and 
 declared his intention of discarding his daughter. All your 
 grandmother's endeavors to bring about a reconciliation, 
 although she was herself opposed to the match, were of no 
 avail, and your father and mother sailed for England ; your 
 father, who was always seriously inclined, intending to study 
 at one of the colleges with a view of becoming a minister of 
 the gospel. He had 500 which had been left him by his 
 mother, and this sum constituted his whole fortune. 
 
 " Shortly after their arrival in England, your were bora,
 
 244 THE WANDERER. 
 
 and within a few months your mother died. She had been 
 much grieved with the anger of her father ; this grief, no 
 doubt hastened her death. 
 
 " Your father died when you were about three years of age, 
 and Mr. Ashley, who had been his fellow student at college, 
 but who had married and taken holy orders, adopted you into 
 his family. From that period until I took you from England 
 you, I presume, recollect all that occurred. 
 
 " Your mother had frequently written to her parents, but 
 her letters had not been answered. After her death your 
 father wrote them the sad intelligence, and to this letter he 
 received a reply, requesting him to send you to Cuba, and on 
 his compliance with this request, promising to provide com- 
 fortably for him ; but otherwise declining any further corres- 
 pondence. 
 
 " From that date no more letters passed between them. 
 
 " My parents, your grandfather and grandmother, wished me 
 to wed the daughter of a neighboring planter ; and after I 
 had been son\e years in India, I received a letter requesting 
 me to obtain a furlough, and return home and marry this 
 young lady. 
 
 '' The letter reached me too late. I had already married the 
 daughter of one of the captains of the regiment to which I 
 belonged. I had known Donna Julia, my affiancee, on this is- 
 land, when a girl, and I knew that it had been the wish of the 
 parents of both of us that we should be married when we ar- 
 rived at the proper age ; but I had never cared for her, though 
 she was a beautiful and amiable girl, nor, I believe had she cared 
 for me probably because we had been always told that we 
 were to marry each other. Still had I not fallen in with the lady 
 whom I married, I should not have opposed the wishes of my 
 parents. 
 
 " My father was very much exasperated when he heard that 
 his designs for his children had again been thwarted. He was 
 a man of very irritable temper, and he wrote me a letter tell
 
 THE EXPLANATION. 245 
 
 ing me that he had altogether cast me off and erased my name 
 from his will. 
 
 " I was sorry for this, not, however, in a pecuniary point of 
 view, for I was young then and careless of money ; besides I 
 was rising in my profession, and my father-in-law was a man 
 of considerable wealth ; but I deeply regretted having offend- 
 ed my parents, although I would not have undone what was done, 
 even if I had possessed the power. I wrote to my father and 
 mother expressing my sorrow, and begging to be restored to 
 favor ; but I received no reply ; before the letter reached them 
 both had died. The executor of the estate, however, wrote to 
 inform me that my name had been erased from the will, and 
 the name of Alice Thornton, the daughter of Henry Thornton 
 and Alice Craddock substituted in its place as sole heir. He 
 endeavored to console me, however, by informing me that the 
 title to the property was contested by the heirs of a former 
 possessor, and that a long course of litigation would ensue, and 
 that in all probability the result would be the loss of the 
 estate to my family. 
 
 " Several years elapsed, during which period your Cousin 
 George was born. I continued to take an interest in whatever 
 occurred in Cuba, and occasionally received the Havana news- 
 papers, in which, from time to time, at long intervals, I read 
 the tedious proceedings of the legal contest between my father's 
 executor and the rival claimants. 
 
 *' At last, a short time before I quitted India, to my surprise 
 I received a newspaper from which I learnt that the claim had 
 been decided in favor of the heirs of Mr. Craddock. The will 
 was published, and an advertisement inserted calling for infor- 
 mation of Alice Thornton, grand-daughter of William and Alice 
 Craddock, formerly of Dublin, Ireland, and subsequently of 
 Regla, in the Island of Cuba, and of William Craddock, of the 
 Hon. Company's service, son of the aforesaid William and 
 Alice Craddock, supposed to be in the East Indies. 
 
 " The Will I read carefully. It was to the following effect. 
 To wit:
 
 246 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " The property, consisting of this estate and another of equal 
 value on the south side of the island, was left to Alice Thorn- 
 ton and her heirs forever ; provided, In the case of William. 
 Craddock having male issue living, the said Alice Thornton 
 wedded one of the said male issue. In case of her refusal or 
 decease, the property was to fall to the said William Craddock 
 personally." 
 
 " I knew that you, my love, had been adopted by Mr. Ash- 
 ley, and some short time before this I had read in the Bengal 
 newspapers of Mr. Ashley's appointment to an Educational 
 post in Ceylon. 
 
 " My term of service in India had expired, and my wife hav- 
 ing died some years before, I had sent my son George to Ja- 
 maica to receive his education, as I have friends there, and hav- 
 ing no ties to bind me to India, I had resolved to return to 
 England and send for my son to rejoin me from Jamaica. 
 This welcome and unexpected intelligence however altered my 
 plans, and 1 went to Ceylon to seek for you. I found Mr. Ash- 
 ley and heard from him that you were residing at Herrington, 
 in England, with one Mrs. Dalton. Mr. Ashley was very 
 eager in his inquiries as to the cause of my anxiety regarding 
 you, but I had no desire to give him all the information he 
 sought, and in some respects I plead guilty to having misled 
 him. I however, returned to England and you know the rest. 
 
 " My object in acting as I have done I need scarely explain 
 further. I heard from Mr. Ashley that Mrs. Dalton had a 
 son about your own age, and I feared the consequences of your 
 being together, knowing how much depended upon your 
 marriage with your cousin George, and I feared there might be 
 delay and difficulty if I sought Mrs. Dalton and demanded that 
 you should be given up to my guardianship. 
 
 " Again, I wished you to be entirely separated from your 
 former friends, and I think, now I have explained my motives, 
 you will confess that I was right.
 
 THE EXPLANATION. 247 
 
 " I was glad to find that you never mentioned the name of 
 Mrs. Dalton's son. 
 
 " Only once I was annoyed at seeing in your possession a 
 miniature which he had given you. You know that I replaced 
 it with another the portrait of your Cousin George. I hope 
 that the silly bauble I complained of has long ago been des- 
 troyed and forgotten. In a few days you will see the original 
 of the miniature you have since worn. 
 
 " I forgot to say that while you were at school in France, I 
 visited Cuba and obtained possession of the will and saw that 
 everything was settled. It is your fault if on your twenty-first 
 birth-day, you do not inherit the beautiful estate upon which 
 we now reside ; but it is growing late, my love, and the night 
 air is somewhat chilly, and you are not yet accustomed to the 
 climate. You had better retire to rest. Good night and pleas- 
 ant dreams attend your slumbers." 
 
 Mr. Craddock rose from his seat, and lighting a cigar, com- 
 menced pacing leisurely up and down the verandah, and 
 Alice, wishing her uncle good night, acceded to his request 
 and retired to her apartment.
 
 248 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. j 
 
 In which the reader obtains some inkling of the motive* which actuated 
 Mr. Craddock, and in which Alice and her cousin came to A mutual under- 
 standing. Showing also what was the result. 
 
 " MY uncle speaks kindly and disinterestedly," soliloquized 
 Alice, as she laid aside the miniature she had withdrawn from 
 its hiding-place, and carefully locked the drawer ; " still I can- 
 not understand his motives. Surely it is a singular disinterest- 
 edness which would lead him to urge me to consent to marry 
 my cousin, whom I have not yet seen, when, by my refusal, he 
 would secure the whole estate to himself. What need of this 
 secrecy if the Will be worded as he says it is ? I shall displease 
 him, and I know, though he is usually so kind to me, he is ter- 
 rible in his anger ; but I will ask to see this Will. He cannot 
 refuse me that permission It is my right ; and then I shall 
 know better how to act. As to my cousin George, he is hand- 
 some, if the miniature my uncle gave me, resembles him ; and 
 he is said to be amiable and intelligent, but I know I shall hate 
 him, notwithstanding. My uncle can have no legal authority 
 over me, and he shall not force me to marry against my incli 
 nation." 
 
 She sat for hours deeply absorbed in thought; then un 
 dressed, and got into bed, and fatigued as she had been with 
 the unwonted exertions of the previous day, during which, in 
 company with her uncle, she had ridden over the plantation, and 
 extended the jaunt far into the interior of the island, she soon 
 fell asleep, but her slumbers were disturbed and restless her
 
 THE COUSIN'S ARRIVAL. 249 
 
 dreams took the color of her wakeful thought. She was again 
 in England, walking on the sea-beach, near Herrington, with 
 Gerald again standing in the court-yard of the inn, bidding 
 him farewell, as the stage drove away from the yard again she 
 passed through the agonies of mind consequent upon her abduc- 
 tion from her friends she was again on board the Calais packet 
 in Paris in the convent school at Orleans ; yet amidst all 
 these changing visions, her cousin George and her uncle were 
 present, urging her to consent to a union, against which her 
 heart revolted. 
 
 Then a change came over the spirit of her dream. She saw 
 before her an old trunk, which a strong curiosity prompted her 
 to open and to examine the contents, but it was locked, and 
 the key was not to be found. She tried all the keys she had 
 in her possession, and the last one on the bunch fitted the lock. 
 She opened the trunk, and there lay the Will. She was about 
 to reach forth her hand to take it, when suddenly her uncle 
 appeared, and in a voice of thunder, ordered her to replace it, 
 and close the trunk. She started and looked up in his face ; 
 there was the same fearful scowl on his visage, that only once 
 or twice she had seen, yet which had struck terror to her heart. 
 He laid his hand upon her shoulder, as if about to drag her 
 away forcibly. She screamed, and awoke to find her French 
 maid standing by the bed-side. It was her touch which had 
 awakened her. 
 
 " Levez vous ma'mselle," said the young woman, who was 
 accustomed to make very free with her mistress. " II est tres 
 tard, le dejeuner est servi." 
 
 " Quelle heure est il, done ? Minette," said Alice, springing 
 out of bed. 
 
 " II est sept heure, ma'mselle, mais vous paraissez indispose 
 ce matin. Est-ce que vous n'avez pas bien dormi, vous ?" 
 
 " Pas trop bien Minette, j'ai fait des reves affreux. Je crains 
 de m'etre trop fatigue, hier, mais dites a mon oncle que je de- 
 scendrais toute de suite."
 
 250 THE WANDERER 
 
 Minette quitted the chamber to carry the message to Mr. 
 Craddock, who was impatiently waiting at the breakfast table 
 for his niece's appearance, and Alice having hastily made her 
 morning toilet, shortly joined her uncle, who was, as usual, all 
 courtesy and attention. He did not make any allusion to the 
 conversation of the previous evening, and Alice had been so 
 terrified with her dream, that she did not dare to introduce the 
 subject of the Will, as she had resolved to do, before she slept. 
 
 After breakfast, her uncle proposed a ride in a different di- 
 rection from that they had taken the day before. To this 
 arrangement Alice willingly consented, and on their return, 
 Mr. Craddock exerted himself to find other amusements for 
 her. Thus, with reading, music, and conversation, the time 
 would have passed pleasantly enough had not Alice been pos- 
 sessed with a foreboding that some trouble was hanging over, 
 which might descend at any moment, and she dreaded, while 
 she anxiously looked for the arrival of her cousin from Jamaica. 
 
 A few mornings after, she was again awakened from her 
 slumbers by Minette, whose countenance sufficiently expressed 
 that she was the bearer of what she thought would be welcome 
 intelligence. 
 
 " Ma'mselle does not know that a surprise awaits her, en 
 bas," she said, in the odd mixture of French and English, 
 which she was accustomed -to use when she imagined she was 
 speaking the latter language " all same comme un natif," as 
 she was used to say. 
 
 " No, Mioette ; what is it ?" inquired Alice. 
 
 " Mam'selle's cousin, George, has arriv6. Ah ! he is so fine, 
 un si bel homme ; but ma'mselle is not overjoyed." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am very glad, Minette," said Alice, though her 
 pale face denied her words. 
 
 " Haste, then, et vous habillez vous ma'mselle, Mr. Crad- 
 dock et votre cousin, await le dejeuner." 
 
 " I will soon attend them, Minette. You can tell them so. 
 I shall not need any assistance to dress."
 
 THE COUSIN'S ARRIVAL. 251 
 
 Minette went down stairs with her message, and was soon 
 followed by Alice, who, on tapping nervously at the door of 
 the breakfast-room, was received by her uncle, and presented 
 to the cousin, of whom she had heard so much. 
 
 The young man rose from his seat, and advancing, took his 
 cousin's hand; at the same time expressing his pleasure in 
 seeing her. 
 
 He was a remarkably handsome youth of about the same 
 age as Alice, and had she met him under any other circum- 
 stances, she could scarcely have helped being pleased with 
 him, but now her expressions of pleasure were constrained, 
 and she was so nervous that it was with difficulty she could 
 maintain the appearance of satisfaction that she felt herself 
 called upon to assume. 
 
 She would have recognized him any where from his resem- 
 blance to the miniature, although he was now a young man, 
 and that was the portrait of a child ; but there were the same 
 earnest dark eyes, and black curling hair, and oval contour of 
 visage, and the same clear olive complexion which he had in- 
 herited from his mother who was of Creole descent, Captain 
 Fortesque having married into a Hindoo family of high caste, 
 and considerable wealth, that had embraced Christianity. 
 
 After breakfast Mr. Craddock proposed that the young peo- 
 ple should ride out together, and that Alice should enact the 
 part of cicerone to her cousin, as he had business of importance 
 on hand which would require his attention at home. 
 
 Alice could not well have objected even had she been desi- 
 rous of so doing, and together they rode over the plantation. 
 During the ride she found that her cousin's good qualities had not 
 been misrepresented. He was refined, intelligent, and conver- 
 sationable, and, so far as she could judge, appeared to possess 
 an excellent disposition. They both returned from their ride 
 in good spirits, and Mr. Craddock, who watched his niece nar- 
 rowly though cautiously, appeared to be perfectly satisfied with 
 his experiment in bringing them together. From that period,
 
 252 THE WANDERER. 
 
 for the month George remained at home, he always accompa- 
 nied her in her rambles, and assisted in her amusements and re- 
 creations within doors. Mr. Craddock although he occasionally 
 joined the party, still professing to be closely engaged in busi- 
 ness. 
 
 At the end of this period George Craddock was to return for 
 twelve months to Jamaica. After breakfast the day before his 
 departure from Cuba, his father desired him to attend him to 
 his study. 
 
 " I trust you will be able to dispense with your customary 
 jaunt this morning, Alice," he said, smilingly addressing his 
 niece. " You know George leaves us to-morrow, and I have 
 some little affairs of business to arrange with him." 
 
 Alice willingly assented, and Mr. Craddock and his son ad- 
 journed to the study, leaving the young lady in the breakfast 
 saloon. 
 
 " George," said Mr. Craddock, when they were seated in the 
 study, " you return to-morrow to Jamaica for twelve months, and 
 at the end of that period you will come back to remain here. It 
 is my wish that you should marry and settle down on the es- 
 tate. Have you any objection to make to this arrangement 7" 
 
 " None, whatever, sir," replied the young man, " provided 
 the lady whom I marry shall be one of my own choosing." 
 
 " Then," said Mr. Craddock, " I think there is no difficulty 
 to be anticipated. You have been much in the company of 
 your cousin Alice since you have been here, and from what I 
 have observed I have no reason to believe that she is distasteful 
 to you. She is the young lady whom I hope to see your wife 
 as soon as you have both obtained your majority. What say 
 you to this arrangement ?'' 
 
 The young man made no reply. 
 
 " Answer me, George," continued his father, observing his 
 son's hesitation. " Have you any objection to make to my 
 proposition ?" 
 
 "The young lady, herself, may object, sir," replied the 
 youth.
 
 A STORMY INTERVIEW 253 
 
 " That is not to the point, George. Although if that be all 
 I do not think there is much probability of it. You, I pre- 
 sume, have no objection. I therefore shall myself speak to 
 Alice, in your presence, this afternoon, and shall then leave 
 you together. I shall consider the matter settled. This is all 
 that I wished to speak to you about. You can now go and 
 rejoin Alice. After dinner I will see you both together." 
 
 " I beg, sir," said George, " that you will not introduce the 
 subject before Alice. At least, not in my presence." 
 
 " And pray, why not, sir?" said Mr. Craddock. 
 
 ' Because, father, we have already spoken of it." 
 
 " Oh ho !" exclaimed Mr. Craddock in high glee, " you have 
 been beforehand with me, eh ? Well I might have anticipated 
 that, and I am glad of it. It will save a great deal of trouble ; 
 but I don't see why I should be debarred from a knowledge 
 of the arrangements that you young folks have arrived at." 
 
 " We have not made any arrangements, sir," said the young 
 man, much embarrassed. 
 
 " Well, then, so much the more reason, George, that I should 
 assist you and give my sanction to your engagement. I do 
 not particularly desire that you shall be married before you 
 have reached the age of twenty -one ; but still, if you are both 
 agreeable, I will not interpose any obstacle to a more speedy 
 union." 
 
 " You mistake me sir," said the young man, " We have en- 
 tered into no engagements, nor have we thought of anything of 
 the kind." 
 
 " What do you mean, then, sir, by saying that you have 
 conferred together upon the subject ?" inquired Mr. Craddock 
 in an angry tone. " You sir, I presume," he continued sar- 
 castically, " have no prior engagement ? and the young lady I 
 think I can answer for myself." 
 
 u Father,'' said the young man, " since I have been here I 
 have spent much of my time with my cousin Alice, and I ac- 
 knowledge to have seen much to admire, much to love in her
 
 254 THE WANDERER. 
 
 character and disposition. I have admired her and should per- 
 haps have learnt to love her, had she not intimated to me one 
 day the second day we spent in each other's company when 
 I playfully introduced the subject of marriage, that her affec- 
 tions were already engaged. She said it might seem like bold- 
 ness on so short an intimacy as ours to make such a confession 
 but she had particular reasons for so doing, and I then informed 
 her that I too entertained a partiality for a young lady whom 
 I had met in Jamaica." 
 
 " Upon my word, sir," said Mr. Craddock, " this is a very 
 pretty mutual confession, and who pray, is the young lady of 
 whom you speak?" 
 
 " Miss Mary Barton, sir, the daughter of the Deputy Com- 
 missary General at Kingston." 
 
 " Indeed ! and you have proposed to her ?" 
 
 " No sir, I have seen her but a few times and might have 
 transferred my partiality to my cousin Alice, had she not con- 
 fided to me what she had done. As regards Miss Barton and 
 myself, I should not have thought seriously of asking her hand 
 without first informing you." 
 
 " Very dutiful, indeed, sir ! but permit me to ask you one 
 more question. What is the name of the gentleman to whom 
 your cousin Alice has engaged her affections ?" 
 
 " Father, I cannot reply to that question. It would neither 
 be honorable nor delicate in me to do so." 
 
 " But I know who he is," said Mr. Craddock, in a towering 
 passion. " His name is Gerald Dalton. A paltry tradesman's 
 apprentice in London a beggar, and worse for aught I know ; 
 but she shall never see him again if I have to shut her xip in a 
 convent for life ; and you, sir, discard all idea of marrying 
 this Mary Barton whoever she be. It is my wish, my de- 
 mand that you wed your cousin Alice Thornton, and if 
 I am disobeyed, you know me well enough to fear my anger. 
 I shall disown you as my son and not one dollar of my prop- 
 erty shall ever be yours. You shall become a beggar, sir, a
 
 A STORMY INTERVIEW. 255 
 
 beggar, spurned from your father's door, if you venture near 
 to ask an alms " 
 
 " I hope, sir," said the youth, his indignation aroused by this 
 tirade of passionate abuse, " that I have ability and energy 
 enough to earn my own living, even if I were visited with the 
 severe displeasure you threaten, and if such should not be the 
 case I would not seek charity at the door of my father's 
 house." 
 
 " Silence, sir," thundered Mr. Craddock, " leave my presence 
 and think over what I have said, and when you have come to a 
 wiser conclusion we will speak of this matter again. Mean- 
 while, I will deal with this disobedient girl." 
 
 The young man left the room without replying, and Mr. 
 Craddock shortly after rang for the attendance of a servant, 
 whom he ordered to request Miss Thornton's immediate at- 
 tendance in the study. 
 
 Alice, who had entertained some suspicion of the cause of 
 the private interview between her uncle and cousin, received 
 this message with ill disguised alarm. 
 
 " Where is Senor George ?" she demanded of the servant in 
 the best Spanish she could master. 
 
 " Jo no se' Senorita,'' replied the negro. " He has just left 
 Senor Craddock's room. The Senor wishes to see the Senorita 
 immediately." 
 
 Alice obeyed the mandate and went immediately to the 
 study. . 
 
 " Come in," said Mr. Craddock, in answer to her faltering 
 tap at the door. The dark frown was on his brow when the 
 young lady entered ; but he endeavored to assume his usual 
 suavity of manner, as he rose and offered her a chair. 
 
 " I have sent for you Alice, my love," he said, " to ask an 
 explanation of a conversation which, I am informed by my 
 son George, took place between you and he a day or two after 
 his arrival from Jamaica." 
 
 "I do not know, uncle, to what you particularly refer,"
 
 256 THE WANDERER. 
 
 tremblingly replied the young lady, " we have discoursed on 
 so many and such different subjects." 
 
 " Alice," said Mr. Craddock, sternly, " this is subterfuge on 
 your part. You well know to what conversation I allude. 
 We have spoken together upon the subject ere now. How- 
 ever, since your bashfulness perhaps, prompts you to pretend 
 ignorance, I will explain that to which I refer. It was a con- 
 versation relative to some special engagement you had made, 
 with a view hereafter to matrimony. Rather a delicate sub- 
 ject, allow me to inform you, to be the theme of conversation 
 between two young people like you and George.'' 
 
 " I cannot explain, uncle, indeed," replied the young lady. 
 " But a few words were said by either of us, and my cousin it 
 appears, has informed you of their import ?" 
 
 " He has, Miss," said Mr. Craddock, losing his assumed 
 patience and good temper. " I only sent for you that I might 
 have his words corroborated from your own lips. I know 
 perfectly well who the person is to whom you alluded. It is 
 that beggar Gerald Dalton, with whom you had the misfortune 
 to be brought up in early life, before I rescued you from 
 your low associations in Herrington. I have been led to hope 
 that your good sense had long ago led you to forget them, and 
 him. When I permitted you to write to Mrs. Dalton, and to 
 send her a bank note, I trusted that henceforward all commu- 
 nication between you would cease except the annual gift which 
 1 promised you you should transmit her. Since, however, 
 you have thus abused my generosity, I shall withdraw that 
 favor. You know that I wish you to marry your cousin. You 
 are aware of the benefits that will accrue to yourself by so 
 doing ; and I am resolved, on my part, that my wishes shall 
 be carried out, or I will take other measures that will punish 
 you for your contumacy and prevent you from ever again see- 
 ing or even holding communication with any of the low-bred set 
 who have gained such an ascendancy over you. George leaves 
 for Jamaica to-morrow. I give you till then to make up youi
 
 A STORMY INTERVIEW. 251 
 
 mind ; after that I shall decide for myself, and my decision 
 will be irrevocable." 
 
 " Uncle," said Alice, finally, " my decision is already made, 
 and my cousin George, whom I highly esteem, is aware of it. 
 It is needless for me to explain it to you since you already 
 know to what I allude." 
 
 " Think over what I have just said, Alice," continued Mr. 
 Craddock, striving to control his rising passion. " Perhaps 
 to-morrow your good sense will induce you to change your 
 mind. Think of your loss of fortune ; of the indigence that 
 awaits you if you continue to oppose my wishes for your wel- 
 fare ; and then let me know, if you still continue to cherish 
 affection for one who has doubtless, ere this, forgotten that 
 you ever existed. You have your choice, fortune and happi- 
 ness, and my favor, or my repudiation, and poverty, and 
 wretchedness " or, dropping his voice, " what is perhaps still 
 less endurable life-long seclusion." 
 
 " Uncle," replied Alice, gaining courage from despair, " you 
 have told me of a Will, dictated by relatives whom I never 
 saw nor heard of, until their names were mentioned by you, 
 who have made me the heiress to a large fortune if I consent 
 to arrangements, which I might once perhaps have been in- 
 duced to consent to, but which I never can consent to now. If 
 I fail to comply with the requirements of this Will, I have been 
 told that my cousin George and you will be the gainers. Why, 
 then, do you urge this matter upon me 1 You have carried me 
 away from those whom as a child I learnt to love. You have 
 denied me the poor consolation of communicating with them. 
 Only once have I been permitted to let them know that I am 
 still living. I have never seen this Will. If it be in your pos- 
 session, permit me to peruse it, and if it really demand such 
 a sacrifice on my part, I am willing to make it, and you and 
 George can lawfully claim the estate. Why seek to coerce 
 me thus, when it is to your beneft, that I should disavow 
 openly my intention of fulfilling its requirements. Again, I 
 17
 
 258 THE WANDERER. 
 
 say, let me read the Will and I will cancel my right to any 
 portion of the property, and gladly return to England." 
 
 " And to poverty and the home of a London shopman," 
 sneeringly replied Mr. Craddock. 
 
 "To poverty if necessary," replied Alice ; " but this need not 
 be. Gerald Dalton possesses energy and spirit, and is not 
 destitute of education. His lot need not necessarily be one 
 of poverty." 
 
 " Very romantic indeed !" said Mr. Craddock ; " but you 
 forget that in England, a lad like Gerald, of humble birth, has 
 little opportunity of making his way in the world. As to 
 your modest request to read the Will, I plainly tell you, I shall 
 refuse it. ' I have the Will in my possession. Whatever be 
 my object in forcing you into the possession of fortune to my 
 detriment, I shall not explain to you. As your natural 
 guardian, for you have no relatives but George and myself 
 living, your are wholly in my power, and that you must have 
 known long ago. However, you will think better of this con- 
 tumacy. I will not hear another word now. To-morrow I 
 shall expect your reply ; and the result, whether it involve 
 your happiness or misery, will depend upon your own good 
 sense. For the present I wish you good -day." 
 
 Alice rose, and quitting the room, retired to her own apart- 
 ment, where she spent the remainder of the day, until sum- 
 moned to the dinner table, where she met her uncle and cousin. 
 Mr. Craddock had entirely effaced all semblance of ill-humor. 
 His conduct was as kind and courteous as ever ; but as soon 
 as the meal was finished, he retired, saying with a smile, " I 
 shall leave you two young people to amuse each other this 
 evening. I have some matters on hand which require my at- 
 tention." 
 
 The subject of conversation between Alice and her cousin 
 during the evening naturally turned upon the stormy inter- 
 views with Mr. Craddock in the morning. The young man 
 frankly promised to support his cousin's cause, against his
 
 SEPARATION. 259 
 
 father, and Alice resolved that whatever might be the conse- 
 quence, she would not swerve from her resolve. 
 
 On the morrow, only a few hours before the vessel on board 
 of which George's passage to Kingston was taken, and ready 
 to leave the port of Havana, Mr. Craddock held an interview 
 with his son and niece together. Both adhered to their ex- 
 pressed resolution of the previous day. Mr. Craddock flew 
 into a towering rage ; but his passion was of no avail in shak- 
 ing the resolve of his son and niece. Alice bade her cousin a 
 kindly farewell j but the excitement of the past two days had 
 been too much for her, and she became so unwell that her 
 maid was summoned to assist her to her room ; and Mr, 
 Craddock accompanied his son to the schooner. 
 
 " George," he said, after they had reached the vessel, " I 
 leave you here. You have my command to forego any further 
 communication with the young lady of whom you spoke to me 
 the other day. I have no doubt you will hereafter think better 
 of wha f / 1 have said. You have a twelve-month before you. I 
 am content to wait that time. If then Alice changes her mind 
 will you promise to comply with my wishes V 
 
 " If my cousin, sir, freely and of her own accord alters her 
 resolution, and is willing to accept me, as a suitor, I will ; but 
 without her free consent be obtained, I will make no promise." 
 
 " Be it so, obstinate boy," said Mr. Craddock, as he shook 
 hands with his son and wished him a pleasant passage. He 
 waited on the quay till the schooner was underweigh and then 
 returned homewards. 
 
 " It will go hard," he muttered to himself, as he turned 
 away, " if I cannot before a twelvemonth passes by, control 
 that stubborn girl to my will. I have been too easy with her 
 hitherto." 
 
 For several days Alice remained seriously unwell, and dur- 
 ing this period her uncle was assiduous in his attentions. All 
 his former kindness of manner returned, and he never once 
 made allusion to the cause of their estrangement ; but it was
 
 260 THE WANDERER. 
 
 the calm which precedes a tempest. Soon after she was re- 
 stored to her accustomed health, she was again subjected to 
 persecution and urged to comply with her uncle's desires, and 
 on her repeated refusals to alter her resolve, she was treated 
 with a degree of harshness to which she had been hitherto a 
 stranger. Four months of the twelve months' probation passed 
 by and Mr. Craddock had been unable to gain a single point. 
 He now came to a desperate resolution. Alice had for three 
 months been forbidden to leave the house or to hold commu- 
 nication with any one but her maid Minette. Mr. Craddock 
 now engaged a passage to France for himself, his niece, and 
 her maid without informing Alice of his intentions. She knew 
 nothing of the contemplated voyage until the day before the 
 vessel was to sail for Havre de Grace, when her uncle came to 
 her room and ordered her to prepare for a voyage to Europe. 
 
 "A voyage to Europe, uncle? Where are we going?" she 
 asked, a faint gleam of hope arising in her mind that her un- 
 cle had relented and was going to return her to her friends in 
 England. 
 
 " To France to Orleans, where you were at school, some 
 months since," was the reply. 
 
 "Am I to remain there ?" she asked. 
 
 " That you will know when you arrive in France," was the 
 reply. " We sail to-morrow, so you have little time enough 
 to get ready." 
 
 Although this sudden proposition for departure astonished 
 Alice, any change from her late monotonous life was welcome ; 
 besides even in France, she would be nearer the friends she so 
 ardently longed to see again. Minette was overjoyed at the 
 prospect of returning to her own country, and both she and her 
 mistress set to work with alacrity in making the busy prepa- 
 rations necessary on so short a notice. At the cost of a night's 
 rest all was in readiness on the following morning, and before 
 sunset on that day they had passed the Moro Castle, and were 
 on their way to Europe.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY. 261 
 
 In less than six weeks the vessel entered the port of Havre, 
 and Mr. Craddock immediately set out for Paris without al- 
 lowing his niece a days' rest at Havre, to recruit after the fa- 
 tigues of the voyage. 
 
 At Paris, greatly to the regret both of Alice and Minette, 
 the latter was discharged, Mr. Craddock informing her that 
 her young mistress would have no longer occasion for her ser- 
 vices, and two days after Alice was once more in the city of 
 Orleans. Without even stopping here at a hotel, beyond the 
 time necessary to obtain a meal and make the necessary changes 
 of attire after the rapid journey from Havre, for they had rest- 
 ed but a few hours in Paris, Mr. Craddock hired a fiacre and 
 proceeded to the convent where Alice had formerly been placed 
 at school. Arrived there, he had a long and secret interview 
 with the superior, at the conclusion of which, Alice was sum- 
 moned and informed that she was again placed as a boarder in 
 the convent. 
 
 " I shall remain for three months in Paris, Alice," he said 
 to his niece. " If before that time expires you change your 
 mind and are willing to conform to my wishes, the Superior 
 will let me know, and I will come immediately and take you 
 back to Havana. After that you will never quit the convent. 
 You now know the alternative that awaits you. If you are 
 not capable of acting with a due regard for your own welfare 
 it is well that others should act for you. Farewell, and let 
 me hope that better thoughts will prevail over your perverse- 
 ness and obstinacy of disposition." 
 
 Alice was overcome with terror. She had fainted hi the 
 arms of one of the attendants and had not heard her uncle's 
 concluding words. He hastily left the room, as if fearful of 
 trusting to his own strength of purpose, and after holding an- 
 other long conversation with the superior he quitted the con- 
 vent and before nightfall was on his way to the French capital.
 
 262 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 In which the hero of the story is found to have made a more successful voy- 
 age. He visits old friends and receives more good advice, which partially 
 meets the usual fate of good advice, and accepts the offer of a novel situa- 
 tion. 
 
 GERALD'S voyage to Ceylon was a successful one. He had 
 acquired a knowledge of business in the hard school of expe- 
 rience, and he was acting in behalf of men who were themselves 
 experienced in their own peculiar business matters. His trip 
 on board the Firefly was in every way successful. The goods 
 under his charge were profitably disposed of at Trincomale, 
 and according to previous arrangement he left the ship there 
 to proceed to Colombo, where his uncle Ashley and his family 
 resided. He had, as the reader is aware, more in view than the 
 single object of visiting his uncle's family. He still entertained 
 the hope, that the stranger who was believed to have abducted 
 Alice Thornton from her home, and who had visited Colombo, 
 as it appeared, with the sole object of obtaining information of 
 her, was some relative of hers and that by this time Mr. Ash- 
 ley might have heard either from him or from Alice. Per- 
 haps, he thought, as this person, according to my uncle's letter, 
 had some idea of again visiting India, he may have returned, tak- 
 ing Alice with him. I may find her at my uncle's house. With 
 this lively hope animating him, he set about the preparations 
 for his journey with an alacrity and cheerfulness to which, 
 since he had received the harshly written letters from Eng- 
 land, relating to his disastrous business speculations in Cal 
 cutta, he had been a stranger.
 
 THE TRIP TO CEYLON. 263 
 
 He had a sufficient supply of money at his command, and he 
 determined to make the journey overland, although the dis- 
 tance was full two hundred miles, and even then he would be 
 compelled to travel, and he would have to cross a lofty and 
 difficult mountain range ; but one of his objects was to visit 
 the famous Adam's Peak, and he was not to be deterred by 
 trifling obstacles from undertaking a journey which promised 
 to abound in incident and hardy adventure. 
 
 Kollar was his first resting-place, and thence he proceeded to 
 Kandy, the ancient capital of the once independent kingdom 
 of that name. From this city, which he found little more than 
 a heap of ruins, retaining few vestiges of its former populous- 
 ness and wealth, he proceeded on the direct route towards the 
 chain of mountains of which Adam's Peak is the crowning point 
 and the centre. The journey was a tedious and harassing one, 
 but the tedium was relieved with chasing the novel and noble 
 game which was to be found by beating about, under the direc- 
 tion of the native guides, at every one of the numerous resting- 
 places. Finally, after several days' journey, through forest 
 and jungle, and across swamps and morasses, occasionally ob- 
 taining a trifling relief from the fatigue of foot travel, or the 
 scarcely less fatiguing and still more wearisome travel by ox 
 wagon by sailing in a canoe down one or other of the numer- 
 ous narrow and shallow rivers that intersect the country in 
 every direction he reached the peak, and resting at the base 
 for a day to recover from the fatigue of the previous travel, he 
 spent another day in ascending and descending the mountain, 
 and enjoying the splendid view from the summit ; and this feat 
 accomplished, the remaining portion of the journey to Colombo 
 was much less fatiguing, the roads as they approached that 
 capital becoming gradually better and more commodious for 
 travelling. Twenty-four hours after leaving the peak, the bas- 
 tions of the city were in view, and the young man felt his heart 
 leap with joy at the prospect of again seeing the friends from 
 whom he had been so long separated.
 
 264 THE WANDERER. 
 
 His uncle had received no intimation of the visit, nor did he 
 know in what direction from the city the Mission school, of 
 which he had the charge, was situated. However, this was a 
 matter of small moment, as he had no doubt he could readily 
 find Mr. Ashley by making inquiry when he entered the city. 
 He was even saved this trouble, for on reaching the pettah, or 
 inner town, almost the first thing that attracted his attention 
 was a crowd of Europeans coming out of a building, which he 
 was informed was the public library, that day opened for the 
 first time. It struck him that it was not improbable that his 
 uncle might be amongst this crowd, and he advanced towards 
 it. He was correct in his judgment. Mr. Ashley, looking some- 
 what yellow in complexion, but otherwise little changed since 
 Gerald had parted with him in London, more than three years 
 before, was coming down the steps of the building just as he 
 reached it, and behind him was a youth whom Gerald had no 
 difficulty in recognizing as his cousin Henry. He advanced 
 towards them, and taking his uncle by the hand, asked him 
 after his health. 
 
 "Thank you, sir, I'm pretty well," replied Mr. Ashley, 
 " but you have the advantage of me. I really cannot recall 
 your name, though, it strikes me that I have seen your fea- 
 tures somewhere before." 
 
 " Why, it's Cousin Gerald Dalton, father," said Henry Ash- 
 ley, advancing and shaking the young man heartily by the 
 hand. 
 
 " Gerald ! what, Gerald Dalton !" exclaimed Mr. Ashley. 
 " Dear me Gerald Dalton. Why, who would have thought 
 of seeing you here ? Welcome, welcome, my boy. I never 
 should have known you. Bless me ! how you have grown, 
 and so changed too, so stout and brown, and in a sailor's dress. 
 We see so many sailors here, that I took you for the mate of 
 one of the ships in port." 
 
 " I knew Gerald, the moment I saw him," said Henry. 
 
 "Well, never mind," continued Mr. Ashley, " we are going
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VISIT. 265 
 
 home to dine. My bungalow is a mile or so beyond the sub- 
 urbs of the city. You must come with us, and enlighten us as 
 we walk as to how you came to drop down so unexpectedly 
 in our midst. How surprised and delighted your aunt will be 
 to see you." 
 
 "Are my aunt and cousins all well?" said Gerald. 
 
 " All quite well. The climate really agrees with us famous- 
 ly. You know your aunt was very subject to nervous attacks 
 at home, in England. She has quite got over them now. Nev- 
 er has had a day's sickness since she has been here, and, by the 
 bye, you will have two new cousins whom you have not yet 
 seen twins, and as pretty a pair of little girls as ever were 
 seen." 
 
 " You spoke of them, sir, in your letter respecting the stran- 
 ger who visited you to make inquires respecting Alice Thorn- 
 ton." 
 
 " Ay, I dare say I did ; but I had forgotten. They were 
 born, I recollect now, sometime before I wrote that letter ; but 
 you remind me of Alice, poor, dear child ! I hope you have 
 received some intelligence of her or from her before this 1" 
 
 " None, sir," replied Gerald, " not a word. I was in hopes 
 that you might have heard of her." 
 
 " No, Gerald, no. I have heard nothing. Poor child ! I 
 ought not to have left her in England. I should have brought 
 her to Ceylon with me. I feel that I have grievously failed in 
 the fulfilment of my promise given to her father on his death- 
 bed ; but I acted for the best." 
 
 They walked on for some time in silence, Mr. Ashley think- 
 ing of the probable fate of Alice, and Gerald keenly disappoint- 
 ed in his hope of at least hearing something of her from his 
 uncle, though that hope had rested on a fragile foundation. 
 
 Henry Ashley was the first to break the silence and inter- 
 rupt the painful current of thought. 
 
 " You have not yet told us, Gerald, how you came to find 
 us out in this out-of-the-way part of the world," he said. Thus 
 12
 
 266 THE WANDERER. 
 
 reminded of his mission, Gerald briefly recapitulated his ad- 
 ventures since leaving home, omitting, however, for the pres- 
 ent, the unfortunate, though somewhat ludicrous result of his 
 first adventure in Calcutta. " But where is Frederick ? you 
 have said nothing about my cousin Frederick," he said, when 
 he had concluded his story. 
 
 " Do you see that cruizer lying out there in the harbor, with 
 the pendant flying at the main-royal mast head ?" said Henry 
 pointing in the direction of the vessel. 
 
 " Yes," replied Gerald. 
 
 " Frederick is on board of her. She is a new frigate belong- 
 ing to the East India Company, and Fred, has just got an appoint- 
 ment as Assistant Surgeon in the service. He has already 
 been one cruize on board the Goa brig and has lately been re- 
 moved to the frigate. We expect him at home to-night. But 
 have you embraced the professsion of a sailor ? One would 
 think so to look at your rig." 
 
 " Not exactly so," replied Gerald, " though for anything I 
 know, at present, I may do so ; but I will relate my adventures 
 more fully when we get home and I have had something to eat, 
 for I am really quite hungry as well as tired, after my jour- 
 ney. It is no trifle to undertake to travel overland from Trin- 
 comale." 
 
 " Not when you are unused to travelling in the jungle, and 
 through the forest," replied Henry ; " but we don't think much 
 of the trip here ; however, here we are nearly home. You see 
 that pile of buildings, there, to the left, jnst beyond that grove 
 of cinnamon trees : that's the mission school, and the house be- 
 yond, standing amidst the plantation is our bungalow, and a 
 very pretty place you'll say it is when you get there and have 
 rested yourself and had time to look about you." 
 
 " You intend to remain with us for some time, Gerald, of 
 course f ' said Mr Ashley. " A visitor from so great a distance 
 must not pay a mere passing visit." 
 
 "That will depend upon circumstances," replied Gerald.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 267 
 
 *' I have no immediate engagement, nor have I determined ex- 
 actly what to do. I wish to visit the United States ; but I 
 shall in the first place return to Calcutta." 
 
 " Well, then, if your time is your own," said Mr. Ashley 
 " you can surely spare us a portion of it, after so long a sepa- 
 ration ; but here we are close home ; the cinnamon grove con- 
 ceals the school-house now, but you can hear the hum of the 
 children's voices, and here, I declare, is your aunt and little 
 Emma with her, coming to meet us. They have seen us from 
 the house, and have been wondering, no doubt, who the stran- 
 ger is accompanying us. How surprised your aunt will be 
 when she finds out who it is." 
 
 Mrs. Ashley had now approached close to the party. 
 
 " I have brought a stranger from England, to share our hos- 
 pitality, my dear,'' said Mr. Ashley, presenting Gerald to his 
 wife. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, sir," said Mrs. Ashley, extending 
 her hand to the young man. " Any person from England is 
 welcome and doubly so when he brings intelligence of the 
 friends we have left behind us. Are you from our part of the 
 country from Kent, sir? Why, bless me ! it can't be possi- 
 ble. Yes, it is Gerald Dalton. Why, Gerald, my dear, who 
 would have thought of seeing you out here ?" and the affection- 
 ate little woman embraced him as ardently as if he had 
 been one of her own children restored to her after a long ab- 
 sence. 
 
 Eager inquiries were again made after absent friends, al- 
 though Gerald could furnish little information on that score 
 since he had been very little in Herrington since Mr. Ashley 
 had left, and again the mysterious disappearance of Alice 
 Thornton was the subject of regretful comment. 
 
 However, dinner was served and waiting the return of Mr. 
 Ashley and his son from the city, and soon all were seated at 
 the meal, to which Gerald did ample justice. 
 
 " You will take up your abode with us, of course," said
 
 268 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley while dinner was progressing. " Where have yon 
 left your luggage ?" 
 
 " At the hotel at the entrance of the inner town," replied 
 Gerald. " Of course I intended to put up here, if you had room 
 for me, and I left orders to have it sent to your residence. 
 You see that I was determined that you should be my hosts 
 for one night whether you had accommodations or not," he laugh- 
 ingly added. 
 
 " Quite right. Where else should you put up while we have 
 a roof to shelter you," answered Mrs. Ashley. " Mr. Ashley 
 is going to send the bullock cart to the city to bring home 
 some marketing this afternoon, and the driver can call at the 
 hotel for your effects. If you trust to their being sent on, you 
 may wait a week." 
 
 "At the end of which period, I expect to be on my way 
 back to Calcutta," said Gerald. 
 
 " Nonsense. Who would ever think of paying so short a 
 visit as that. You must stop with us a month at least," said 
 Mr. Ashley. " Besides there is no ship now in port bound 
 to Calcutta. Frederick will be up here in the course of an 
 hour or so and he will be rejoiced to see his old playmate." 
 
 " That he will, indeed," observed Mrs. Ashley. " How well 
 he looks in his uniform," she added, with a mother's pride. 
 
 " You'll stay with us a month, won't you, Gerald ?" said 
 Henry. 
 
 " Since as it seems you are determined to insist upon it," 
 said Gerald, " and as I may perhaps have letters sent on here 
 from Calcutta in the course of that time, I suppose I must con- 
 sent." 
 
 " Well, then that matter is arranged," said Mrs Ashley, " so 
 we'll say no more on the subject. Now, if you like, I will 
 show you to a room, which you can appropriate to yourself. 
 Probably you may wish to rest awhile, and we will call you 
 when Frederick comes." 
 
 Gerald readily assented to this arrangement, and having
 
 PLEASANT ARRANGEMENTS. 269 
 
 been shown to an apartment and provided with a change of 
 linen clothing, till his luggage should arrive, he threw himself 
 upon the cool, cane lounge, and soon fell asleep. Towards 
 sunset he was awakened by his cousin Henry who ran into the 
 room to tell him that Frederick had come and was extremely 
 anxious to see him. He quickly roused himself and making a 
 rapid toilet, joined his uncle and cousins in the verandah. 
 Frederick had grown so tall and looked so different to the boy 
 he had known him, in his naval uniform, that Gerald confessed 
 he would not have recognized him so readily as he had his 
 brother Henry, and he almost envied him his good fortune 
 when he saw him looking so manly and handsome. Mrs. Ash- 
 ley soon joined the party and the evening was spent in talking 
 of home and old friends, and in listening to a more detailed 
 account of Gerald's adventures, and in speculation as to the 
 fate of Alice, to whom all the family had been greatly attached. 
 
 The Mysore, the new frigate to which Frederick was at- 
 tached, was going to remain in port for four or five weeks, when 
 she was bound to Bombay, and as there was a greater proba- 
 bility of Gerald's finding a vessel bound to Calcutta at Bom- 
 bay than at Colombo, where he might wait for months, the 
 young surgeon pressed his cousin to remain until the frigate 
 sailed, and take passage with him. 
 
 " I would have no objection to go to Bombay," replied 
 Gerald, " provided, in the meantime, no vessel sails for Cal- 
 cutta; but the Company's cruizers do not carry passengers, 
 and I cannot get any appointment on board a vessel of that 
 description." 
 
 " I think I can manage that," replied Mr. Ashley. " The 
 captain of the frigate is a friend of mine, and at my request, 
 will, I have no doubt, gladly give you a passage." 
 
 " And you can mess in the ward room, with the officers," 
 said Frederick. " You will find them a capital set of fellows." 
 
 " If you think it can be managed, I am agreeable," said Gerald, 
 " and shall be greatly obliged to you, for I should like to visit 
 
 X-
 
 270 THE WANDERER 
 
 Bombay. If seems," he added, "that my every wish is to be 
 anticipated." 
 
 " We don't often have visits from our relatives in England," 
 said Mrs. Ashley. "We must make the most of them when 
 they do come." 
 
 The next morning Gerald was shown around the Mission, 
 and he afterwards accompanied Mr. Ashley and his cousin 
 Frederick on board the Mysore, where he was introduced to 
 the commander and an offer of a passage to Bombay freely 
 tendered. The crew were all in good health, and as Frederick 
 in consequence had very light duties to perform, the command- 
 er, at the further request of Mr. Ashley, readily gave him leave 
 of absence for a fortnight on account of the arrival of his rela- 
 tive from England, and it was arranged that a series of athlet- 
 ic amusements, peculiar to the island should be gotten up for 
 Gerald's entertainment. Elk and wild boar hunts were devised, 
 and if practicable it was resolved that Gerald should witness 
 an elephant hunt before he left. 
 
 All these arrangements were successfully carried out, and 
 the time passed away agreeably, the evenings, when it was not 
 necessary for the enthusiastic huntsmen to encamp out all 
 night, being spent in conversation at home, where Gerald suc- 
 ceeded in making himself an established favorite with his youn- 
 ger cousins, the duplicate twins. 
 
 When narrating his adventures since leaving Herrington, 
 the young man had refrained from making any allusion to 
 the letters he had received from Mr. Hoffmann and his mother 
 and the vicar in reply to his account of the sale of the goods. 
 But one day while walking out with his uncle, neither of his 
 cousins being present, he spoke of those letters and stated his 
 intention not to return home until of their own accord his 
 friends had expressed regret for their conduct and for the ex- 
 pressions they had made use of when -writing to him. 
 
 " You are acting wrongfiilly, Gerald," said Mr. Ashley, 
 when he had listened to his nephew's explanation and exculpa-
 
 GOOD ADVICE. 2U 
 
 tion of his own conduct. " I have no doubt that you feel keen- 
 ly the misinterpretation that has been put upon your action in 
 this matter. I truly believe that you did the best you could 
 for your employers ; and you know that we all have laughed 
 over the description of the collection of oddities that your friends 
 sent out to India for sale. It is only a wonder to me that you 
 disposed of many of the goods in any way whatever ; but by 
 remaining abroad you give Mr. Hoffmann and his friends rea- 
 son to believe that they are justified in condemning you. You 
 can procure a letter from the consignee of the Seringapatam, 
 who, you say, told you that the goods were unsaleable, which 
 will go a long way towards exculpating you, and you can show 
 that letter yourself to Mr. Hoffmann, and convince him that he 
 has done you injustice. If he is a reasonable man, he will 
 readily confess that he has considered your conduct rashly, and 
 will be sufficiently punished for his injustice towards you, in 
 feeling that he has wronged you. I do not attempt to palliate 
 his conduct in misrepresenting you to your mother and your . 
 friends at Herrington ; but you are yourself committing a 
 grievous wrong, a wrong that you will one day deeply regret 
 having committed, in allowing your indignation to fall upon 
 the vicar and upon your mother. They have been misled, and 
 as you say their letters were written in sorrow not in anger, 
 you are obstinately maintaining a false position by your pre- 
 sent conduct, when a proper course of action would soon rein- 
 state you in the good opinion of all. Be guided by me and 
 act as I have advised you. How long is it since you have 
 written to your mother ?" 
 
 " After I returned from the islands, I then wrote in reply to 
 letters I found awaiting me in Calcutta, sir," replied Gerald. 
 
 " Then write to her again from this place ; tell her that you 
 are sorry for the harsh expressions you permitted to escape 
 from your pen in the moment of indignation, and promise to 
 return home as soon as convenient. Remember, Gerald, she 
 has no one but you to care for in this world, since poor Alice
 
 272 THE WANDERER. 
 
 has been taken from her, and Alice could never have been to 
 her what you are and ever must be while she lives. Beg her 
 to forgive your petulance and passion, and I promise you, you 
 will feel happier when you have done this ; and when you 
 return to Calcutta, obtain a justification of your conduct from 
 responsible persons there, and write to Mr. Hoffmann. You 
 need not humble yourself in doing this, but if he be a man of 
 correct feeling your letter will humble him, and when he sees 
 you again he will readily acknowledge his injustice and be more 
 desirous of serving you than before you left England." 
 
 " I will follow your advice in regard to my mother, uncle," 
 said Gerald, who had been much affected with the first portion 
 of his uncle's remarks, " but," and his voice changed its tremu- 
 lous tone, to one of deep and scornful indignation, " to Mr. 
 Hoffmann I will not write again until he shall first freely ac- 
 knowledge the gross wrong he has done me. I could sooner 
 pardon his abusive letter to me than his base conduct in en- 
 deavoring to represent my conduct in a false light to my 
 mother and to Mr. Pearce." 
 
 " He did not know he was doing so in the heat of his anger 
 at having suffered such a loss, Gerald," mildly replied Mr. 
 Ashley. 
 
 " He suffer loss, in the trash ! the unsaleable rubbish he placed 
 in my charge !" cried Gerald, "he was more than paid by his 
 share of the paltry remittance I sent home." 
 
 " But others did through him, if he did not, Gerald," said 
 Mr. Ashley, " and he himself no doubt fancied that he had also 
 suffered with them." 
 
 "Then let him of his own accord discover that he was 
 wrong," said the young man. " I have resolved never to write 
 to him again until he writes to beg my pardon for the wrong 
 he has done me." 
 
 " You will regret this obstinacy and pride, Gerald." 
 
 " I cannot help it, uncle. I will not humble myself to that 
 man nor to his associates. I will write to-morrow to my mo-
 
 THE DELAYED LETTE'R. 213 
 
 ther and dispatch the letter by the next mail that loaves this 
 place for England. I acknowledge that I have acted hastily and 
 unkindly in condemning her and I am sorry that I sent it; but 
 write to Mr. Hoffmann ! never /" 
 
 Mr. Ashley forbore to press the subject further, and on the 
 following day Gerald wrote to his mother a long letter, full of 
 expressions of affection and kindness, and though he did not 
 promise to return home immediately, he said that he would 
 write by every opportunity. He begged her to forgive any 
 unkind expression she might have discovered in his last lettei*, 
 for he had scarcely knew what he had written, his mind at the 
 time of writing had been so agitated, and he enclosed in the 
 letter a draft for 20, out of the profits of his late successful 
 voyage from Calcutta to Ceylon, as a proof that he was doing 
 well, and of his desire that she should share his good fortune. 
 
 This duty done, he acknowledged to his uncle that he felt 
 his mind relieved of half its burden. 
 
 The day was now nearly at hand on which the Mysore was 
 to sail for Bombay, and yet, although one mail had arrived 
 from Bengal, he had received no letters from the consignee, 
 whom he had directed to send to Colombo any letters that he 
 might receive from England, directed to Gerald Dalton. But 
 on the morning on which the frigate got underweigh, a second 
 mail arrived, bringing the letter from Mrs. Dalton, containing 
 information of the brief letter she had received from Alice and 
 also informing her son that she had heard from Mr. Brower. 
 This letter as the reader is already aware should have reached 
 Gerald sooner, but various causes had united to delay its ear- 
 lier arrival at its destination. 
 
 This letter Gerald did not receive until the frigate had left 
 the port of Colombo, the mail having been brought on board 
 by the pilot, consequently Mr. Ashley was ignorant of its 
 tenor. 
 
 It had, however, the opposite effect to that which the widow 
 had hoped for. " I would go to the United States and see this 
 18
 
 274 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Mr. Brower at the earliest opportunity," he said, after having 
 read the letter to his cousin, " but I have an idea that this man 
 whoever he be, who has obtained this strange control over 
 Alice intends to bring her out to India. He expressed some 
 intention of returning here, to your father, you recollect. I 
 shall therefore remain here longer than I anticipated. I will 
 find Alice if possible, and if my endeavors are fruitless, I will 
 then visit the United States, and return thence to England, 
 and mother and I will go back to America and settle there." 
 
 The young surgeon was of the same opinion as his cousin, 
 respecting Alice, although he said Gerald's chance of discov- 
 ering her was a very feeble one. There was, he said, no satis- 
 factory proof that the person who had assumed the strange 
 guardianship over her would return to India. Still the remark 
 he had made to Mr. Ashley led to that inference. 
 
 Gerald, on the arrival of the Mysore at Bombay, wrote to 
 his mother again, informing her of his resolution, and giving 
 her his reasons for having formed it. 
 
 The Captain's clerk of the Mysore had died on the passage 
 from Colombo to Bombay, and on the arrival of the frigate at 
 the latter port, the Captain offered the situation to Gerald. 
 The offer was readily accepted, and thus the young man found 
 himself duly enrolled as one of the crew of the Company's 
 cruizer.
 
 VISIT TO SINGAPORE. 15 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Showing how the noble Dane was right when he said, " There are more 
 things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than e'er were dreamed of in our 
 philosophy." 
 
 AFTER lying a few weeks in the port of Bombay, and having 
 been on a short cruise up the Persian Gulf, the captain of the 
 Mysore received orders to sail for the Yellow Sea. This order 
 was received with joy by all on board, fur officers and crew 
 were alike tired of lying in a port possessing so few fascinations 
 as Bombay. Gerald was delighted at the prospect of a change 
 of scene although his present post afforded him little opportu- 
 nity of hearing of Alice or her self-constituted guardian, even 
 if he should have returned to India, and have brought her with 
 him. Another matter occasioned the young man no little an- 
 noyance. He knew not .how he should get possession of the 
 letter which he expected to arrive in the course of a few 
 months from his mother in reply to that which he had written 
 her from Colombo. He had requested it to be directed to 
 him, in the care of his uncle Ashley, anticipating the return of 
 the frigate to Ceylon, and this voyage of indefinite duration, 
 to the coast of China rendered the receipt of letters from any 
 part of the world very uncertain. His only resource was to 
 wait with patience until the cruise should expire, when the My- 
 sore would either return to Colombo, or sail for some port 
 from which he could communicate with Mr. Ashley and request 
 his letters to be forwarded to him. 
 
 In due time the frigate reached her cruising ground and there 
 sailing and countersailing, backwards and forwards along the 
 Chinese coast, sometimes stretching off to the Phillipine or
 
 276 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Loo Choo Islands, occasionally going into some minor port on 
 the coast, the Mysore remained on the station for two months : 
 that short period appearing to have lengthened itself into two 
 years, so speedily did the crew tire of their new cruising ground 
 and long to return to some more hospitable station ; sucli strange 
 beings are sailors and so prone to tire of that which but a 
 short time before they looked forward to with delight. 
 
 It was therefore with no little gratification that in falling iu 
 with the commodore's ship of the squadron, off Canton, they 
 heard orders given to sail for Singapore and there await fresh 
 orders from Bombay. 
 
 Communication could be readily had at Singapore -with 
 Bombay, Calcutta, Colombo, or any other part of the East 
 Indies, still from the nature of the orders he had received, the 
 captain of the frigate had every reason to expect a long deten- 
 tion in the harbor of that beautiful and thriving dependency. 
 
 The island was reached within a fortnight after the vessel's 
 prow had been turned westward. The officers freely visited 
 the shore and partook of the hospitalities of the merchants on 
 the island, and the crew were allowed shore-leave at stated in- 
 tervals, those remaining on board being employed in refitting 
 and tarring the rigging and painting the ship, which had suf- 
 fered severely from the tempestuous weather so often encoun- 
 tered in the Yellow sea. 
 
 The business alacrity everywhere visible on shore, the many 
 attractive rides and drives over the island, the frequency of the 
 entertainments given by the merchants and dignitaries, and the 
 lively scene in the harbor, where lay vessels of every European 
 commercial nation, and Chinese junks in almost countless num- 
 bers ; the abundance and cheapness of fresh fruits and vegeta 
 bles, and the delightful climate of this little tropical paradise, 
 rendered the change from the solitary cruise from which they 
 had lately returned doubly grateful, and every one on board 
 participated in the general feeling of gladness. 
 
 Gerald immediately upon the ship's arrival had written to
 
 VISIT TO SINGAPORE 277 
 
 his uncle, at Colombo, and to Mr. Thompson, at Calcutta, re- 
 questing that any letters that might be awaiting him should be 
 forwarded to him at Singapore, and this task accomplished, he 
 entered freely into the pleasures of the hour, and endeavored 
 to nerve himself with patience to await the long time that must 
 yet elapse before he could hear from his friends. 
 
 In spite of all his endeavors a singular presentiment of some 
 coming evil haunted him to such a degree that he could not 
 shake it off. His situation as captain's clerk relieved him from 
 the duty of keeping the customary anchor-watch while in port, 
 but he generally remained up during the first watch, convers- 
 ing with the officer in charge of the deck, for if he retired early 
 to rest, the strange foreboding of approaching evil which 
 occupied his mind, led to frightful dreams which seemed still 
 further to increase the gloomy impressions which surrounded 
 his waking hours, when not actively employed. He spoke to 
 his cousin on the subject but Frederick merely endeavored to 
 laugh him out of his gloomy conceits. 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! my dear fellow," he would say, " you are 
 suffering under a slight attack of hypochondria. You should 
 take more exercise. Your occupation of quill driving is too 
 sedentary. You must not permit your mind to brood over 
 silly fancies. You are too anxious about those letters you are 
 expecting. I have not heard from home since we left Colom- 
 bo, and yet I do not worry myself about things I cannot help. 
 In the course of a few days we shall hear from Ceylon and Cal- 
 cutta too, and then I warrant you'll find everything right." 
 
 " I trust so," Gerald would reply. 
 
 " Then think so. It's never any use foreboding evil. It's 
 bad enough when it comes ; but all the lighter for coming 
 without being anticipated. The anticipation is generally worse 
 than the reality." And so Gerald endeavored to school him- 
 self to think, but still all his efforts were fruitless, and he grew 
 more desponding every day, as the time drew near when a 
 reply might be expected to the letter he had despatched to his 
 Uncle Ashley.
 
 278 THE WANDERER. 
 
 One day the officers of the Mysore gave a party on board 
 to the merchants and their ladies. Everything had passed off 
 pleasantly, and Gerald, who had joined in the dance several 
 times during the evening, felt his spirits much revived. It 
 was near midnight when the guests left the frigate, and after 
 they had gone Gerald walked the deck for some time, smoking 
 a cigar and talking with his cousin. 
 
 " 1 think you were right, Fred," he said, " when you told 
 me, the other day, that I did not take sufficient exercise. I 
 feel better to-night than I have done for a long time, not that 
 my bodily health is improved, for it is always good ; but I 
 have taken a great deal of violent exercise to-night, and I feel 
 much more cheerful than I have done since we entered this 
 port." 
 
 " Of course you do," returned Frederick. " You wanted 
 exercise, nothing more. You were beginning to feel a little 
 home-sick. I have felt so myself at times ; but now, take my 
 advice, and don't overdo the thing. Go below and turn in at 
 once, and to-morrow you'll find yourself quite another being." 
 
 The young men descended to the wardroom together, and 
 Frederick retired to his hammock ; but Gerald, not feeling 
 sleepy, seated himself on a stool, opened his chest, and taking 
 out a book, commenced reading. The book he had chosen out 
 of the few that the chest contained, was a volume of the Pil- 
 grim's Progress, which had been given him by his mother a 
 day or two before he had left Abbottsford for London. It was 
 among the latest souvenirs from her that he possessed. 
 
 On the fly leaf his name was witten in her hand-writing, 
 and beneath was a quotation from Cowpcr her favorite 
 poet. 
 
 Gerald's eye on opening the volume chanced to fall upon 
 this verse : 
 
 " Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours 
 When playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers."
 
 VISIONS AND DREAMS. 219 
 
 " The violet, the pink and jessamine, 
 I pricked them into paper with a pin." 
 
 (" And thou was't happier than myself, the while 
 Would softly speak, and stroke my head and smile ") 
 
 " Could those few pleasant hours again appear, 
 
 Might one wish bring them : Would I wish them here 1" 
 
 " I would not trust my heart the dear delight 
 Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might." 
 
 " But no : What here we call our life is such 
 So little to be loved, and those so much." 
 
 " That I should ill requite thee to constrain, 
 Thy unbound spirit into bonds again." 
 
 Gerald, at Mrs. Dalton's request, had read this entire poem 
 of Cowper's, " On the Receipt of his Mother's Picture," during 
 the afternoon of the day on which she had presented him with 
 this little memento, and when placing the book in his hands 
 before he retired to rest, she said : 
 
 ' Gerald, in a few days you will be on the ocean, bound to 
 a distant country. I sincerely hope we shall meet again, my 
 son ; but, perhaps, it may not be. If not if before you return 
 to England I shall have passed into the tomb, and if the disem- 
 bodied spirit be permitted to watch over the welfare of those 
 whom they have loved on earth, my spirit will be ever hovering 
 around you, Gerald, until yours rejoins mine in a better world. 
 It is a gloomy fancy that has possessed me this evening, Gerald ; 
 lowness of spirits, occasioned by your approaching departure 
 and my own poor health, I suspect has been the cause of it, 
 and I will try to overcome it : but, Gerald, I have written a 
 stanza from the poem you read aloud to-day in the fly leaf of 
 this book, and should I be removed hence before we meet 
 again, when your eyes read those lines, cease to grieve for me, 
 but rather believe that I am happier in heaven than I have 
 been here, and am only waiting, to complete my happiness, for 
 you to rejoin me."
 
 280 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " You must not give way to these melancholy feelings, 
 mother," answered Gerald. " I shall not be very long absent ; 
 the probability is, that I shall see you again, sooner than if t 
 were going to remain in London. You are much improved in 
 health since you have resided at Abbottsford, and when I return 
 to England, I hope to find your health completly restored." 
 
 Gerald had never opened this book from the day he left 
 England until now, and as he read the lines and recalled the 
 conversation to which they had given rise, his heart smote him 
 for the disregard he had paid to his mother's entreaties to re- 
 turn to England as soon as possible. He thought of the unkind 
 letter he had written from Calcutta, and again he seemed to 
 hear his Uncle Ashley's warning voice saying, " Gerald, you 
 will one day deeply sorrow for having allowed your indigna- 
 tion to fall upon your mother." 
 
 Instead of reading the volume, a strange fascination, that he 
 could not withstand, fixed his gaze upon these lines, traced by 
 his mother's hand. 
 
 How long he sat in this position, he declared, subsequently, 
 that he did not know : hours must have passed, although they 
 seemed but minutes. He was still gazing upon the page, when 
 the lines grew indistinct, as if some shadow had passed ovn- 
 them. The fascination that had fixed his gaze was gone, and 
 raising his head, he endeavored to discover the cause of the 
 shadow which had suddenly obscured the page. Before him 
 was a thin yet palpable mist, in the midst of which he fancied 
 he could discern the shadowy outline of a human form. Ho 
 was again fascinated, and was unable to withdraw his gaze; tho 
 mist slowly dissolved, and the figure grew more distinct. Soon 
 he could plainly distinguish the form of his mother, clad in a 
 plain white robe, that might have been a shroud, and then the 
 features became visible, at first shadowy and indistinct, then 
 more and more clearly defined, until the mist had entirely dis- 
 appeared, and his mother's figure stood erect before him, ono 
 hand pointing upwards, the other with the fore finger out-
 
 VISIONS AND DREAMS. 281 
 
 stretched, pointing to the open page of the volume upon his 
 knee. The features were those of his mother as he had last 
 seen her, but the face was pale and death-like, and the ex- 
 pression of the countenance was sad and sorrowful, yet beaming 
 with love and pity. Soon as he gazed, essaying to speak, yet 
 unable to give utterance to a "word the expression of the 
 countenance changed to one of thankfulness and gratitude a 
 sweet, gentle smile, lighted up the pale face, and he heard his 
 mothei's well-remembered voice, saying, as her finger still 
 pointed to the page " Remember, Gerald, remember ! " and 
 in a moment the figure vanished from his sight. 
 
 He started like one awaking from a frightful dream. It was 
 not long past midnight, when he had seated himself in the 
 cabin, but the faint glimmer of day was beaming in through the 
 skylight, and the solitary lamp, by the light of which he had 
 intended to read, was flickering feebly in the socket. His 
 brow was bathed in a cold, clammy sweat, and his frame shud- 
 dered with cold. He could hear the deep breathing of the 
 other occupants of the wardroom, all were yet sleeping 
 soundly. At first, he thought he had been sleeping and 
 dreaming himself, but still he sat upright, with the chest-lid 
 open before him, and the open volume lying upon his knee, iu 
 exactly the same position in which he had placed it hours 
 before. Had he stirred a single inch, it must have fallen to 
 the floor ; besides, the impression left of his mother's figure 
 and features, and the sound of her warning voice, and the 
 gentle smile which had succeeded the first mournful gaze was 
 all too vivid to have been effected by a dream. For some 
 moments he still felt the spell upon him ; then he rose, placed 
 the book in the chest, closed the lid, extinguished the last faint 
 glimmer of the flickering lamp, and threw himself, dressed as 
 he was, into his hammock. A strange sense of weariness op- 
 pressed him, and he was soon asleep. Then he dreamed in- 
 deed. He was home again, in Abbottsford ; he had alighted 
 from the stage, at the corner of the lane, which led to the vil-
 
 282 THE WANDERER. 
 
 lage from the high road, and with a joyous heart trudged gaily 
 on, intending to give his mother a happy surprise, for she knew 
 not of his coming. And now the village was in sight ; he could 
 see the turret of the little village church peeping over the horse- 
 chestnut trees, which surrounded and shaded the sacred struc- 
 ture. The birds were chirping sweetly amidst the budding 
 foliage of the trees and hedges, for it was the season of early 
 spring, when nature puts forth her gayest garments. Suddenly 
 the deep toll of the church-bell struck solemnly upon his car ; 
 his gaiety and joyousness had fled. He hurried on, until he 
 met with a villager one whose features he seemed to recol- 
 lect, and yet whose name he could not recall. With the strange 
 inconsistency of a dream the figure and features seemed to be 
 those of Mr. Pearce then of Jemmy Milton then of his uncle 
 Ashley. Again the bell tolled mournfully, and approaching 
 the village, he asked the cause of this death-peal. 
 
 " Mrs. Dalton died last night," replied the person addressed. 
 
 A faint sickness came over the young man, and he felt as if 
 he would have fallen to the earth ; but recovering himself, he 
 turned to ask further questions the stranger had vanished. 
 
 Again the scene changed ; he was still at Abbottsford, but 
 the beautiful spring morning had passed away, and the wind 
 blew keen and chill, whistling dolefully through the young 
 leaves on the trees, a fitting accompaniment to the mournful 
 sound of the church bell which was still tolling. The sky above 
 was gloomy and lowering, and people passed by him hurriedly, 
 their eyes cast sadly upon the ground. All were hastening in 
 one direction, and in that direction he turned his steps. It led 
 him into the church-yard, and just as he entered the gate, a 
 mournful procession was leaving the church. A coffin covered 
 with a pall, and preceded by a clergyman in his black gown, 
 was carried between four bearers, the pall supported by school 
 children. Two and two together, several adults, male and 
 female, clad in sombre garments, followed immediately behind ; 
 and then, also, two and two together, followed the children of
 
 VISIONS AND DREAMS. 283 
 
 the neighboring parish school, clad in white garments, with 
 black sashes round their waists. Some were weeping; all 
 wore a look of sadness as they slowly passed on towards an 
 open grave at some short distance from the church, and situ- 
 ated deep in the shadow of the chestnut grove. The clergyman 
 halted at the head of the grave, and read the burial service, 
 and anon the voices of the children who stood around burst 
 forth in a mournful chant. Then the coffin was lowered into 
 the grave. He heard the hollow rattle of the earth as it was 
 cast upon the coffin by the grave-digger, and the solemn tone 
 of the clergyman's voice as he repeated the words : 
 
 "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." 
 
 He had stood spell bound during the ceremony ; when all was 
 over, he found words to speak, and turned to ask a question 
 of some one of the mourners, but all had vanished except the 
 sexton. He stood alone with him. 
 
 " Whose funeral is this ?" he asked. 
 
 " Where have you come from that you do not know?" was 
 the reply. "'Tis Mrs. Dalton's, the village schoolmistress's. 
 Ah ! poor thing, she was a good body, and sorely she sor- 
 rowed that her son was not by her to close her dying eyes." 
 
 "I am Gerald Dalton !" he replied, and the man seized him 
 firmly by the shoulder. He struggled to extricate himself, and 
 awoke to find Frederick Ashley standing by the side of his 
 hammock, shaking him roughly. 
 
 "Are you going to lie in your hammock all day long ?" he 
 cried. " It's nearly seven bells. Breakfast will be ready 
 directly, and hammocks have been piped up long ago. Come, 
 rouse up. We have arranged a party to go and see a tiger 
 hunt ; the brutes have swam over from the main land, and 
 have been playing the d 1 with the Chinese laborers on the 
 plantations; the merchants have collected a lot 01 coolies, and 
 are going to turn out en masse foi the hunt. Come, make 
 haste, or you will be too late."
 
 284 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Gerald sprang from his hammock, performed his ablutions, 
 changed his clothes, and sat down to the breakfast-table, but he 
 was unable to eat a mouthful. 
 
 "Why, Gerald, what ails you this morning?" asked Fred- 
 erick. " You look as pale as the ghost in Hamlet, and only 
 last night you were boasting of being so well." 
 
 " I am not sick," replied Gerald, " but I have no appetite 
 this morning, and don't care for any breakfast." 
 
 " The very way to get sick in this climate, not to eat in the 
 morning," said Frederick, helping himself to another roll. 
 " But you'll soon have an appetite if you join the hunt to-day. 
 We are going to take provisions with us." 
 
 " 1 must beg to be excused from joining you," said Gerald. 
 
 "Pooh! What nonsense. You've got into your old tan- 
 trums again, I see. Come, I'm your medical adviser, and I 
 insist upon your joining us for the benefit of your health. We 
 go to-day up to Mr. Morley's plantations, and wait there till 
 night-fall, when the tigers come out of the jungle, and then we 
 shall set out in chase. We shall have a grand and exciting 
 time of it." 
 
 Again Gerald begged to be excused, and his cousin, noticing 
 his agitation, forbore to press him further ; but after breakfast, 
 when the party had gone on deck, he stepped up to him and 
 kindly inquired what ailed him. Gerald for some time refused 
 to explain, but at length he yielded to his cousin's pressing 
 questions, and relating the singular waking vision of the previ- 
 ous night, and the subsequent equally singular dreams. 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear fellow," said Frederick, " waking vi- 
 sions, indeed ! that was a dream as well as the others. You 
 are allowing yourself to become the victim of a morbid imagin- 
 ation, Gerald, and you must shake off these fancies, or you will 
 become a confirmed hypochondriac." 
 
 " It could not have been a dream," said Gerald, "the im- 
 pression it left left was too vivid, it was not like those other 
 dreams which followed ; besides I could not have slept for
 
 FOREBODINGS. 285 
 
 hours with an open volume lying on my knee and myself sit- 
 ting upright, without any support, on a camp-stool. The 
 thing's impossible." 
 
 " Not at all impossible," said Frederick, " we can sleep in 
 strange attitudes sometimes. Why, I've slept on horseback 
 while out hunting in Ceylon, before now, and held the reins 
 and guided the horse as cleverly as if I had been broad awake." 
 
 " What is the day of the month ?" asked Gerald. 
 
 " The 18th of March," replied Frederick. 
 
 " And at what hour does the daylight begin to appear in the 
 morning ?" 
 
 " About six o'clock." 
 
 "I shall note the day of the month down," said Gerald. " I am 
 certain that I saw something more than a mere dream last 
 night." 
 
 " Well, I see you won't be convinced, and an obstinate man 
 and you are a deuced obstinate chap, you know, Gerald 
 must have his own way, as the old adage says. After all, 
 Hamlet was right when he said "There is more in Heaven 
 and Earth, Horatio, than e'er was dreamed of in our philoso- 
 phy," but you are fretting now about letters from England 
 when you know it is only about four months since you wrote 
 to your mother from Colombo, and she can scarcely have done 
 more than received the letter yet, certainly there has not been 
 time for you to receive a reply to it." 
 
 " No, but still I cannot help this strange foreboding that has 
 come across my mind." 
 
 " And which is the cause of nightmares and frightful dreams, 
 and indigestion, and loss of appetite, and evils of all sorts. 
 Come," he added, after a pause, observing Gerald's irresolu- 
 tion, " you must join us to-day. The exercise and excitement 
 will shake off these gloomy fancies," and Gerald at length suf- 
 fered himself to be persuaded, and promised to join the party.
 
 286 THE WANDERER 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Which announces the death of Deacon Milton, and tells how Jemmy Milton 
 came into possession of a " fortune." How he was sought after in mar- 
 riage by antiquated spinsters and disconsolate widdys. How all was in 
 vain, and how Jemmy made his will and smoked his pipe in peace iu the 
 boat-house. 
 
 MATTERS of trifling moment to the world, agitate a small 
 community. If Herrington had been swallowed up by an earth- 
 quake, or what would have been more probable, had that 
 insignificant little seaport been swallowed up by the ever-en- 
 croaching sea, and forever blotted out from the world, the map 
 of Europe would have needed no modification, and even the 
 map of the small island of Great Britain would have required 
 little perceptible alteration, and yet, during the brief period in 
 the course of this narrative that has been occupied in the de- 
 scription of events that occurred in distant localities, a circum- 
 stance had occurred in. Herrington which had very much 
 excited the little community and had been food for the gossips 
 and a matter of grave speculation to the sages and of the town. 
 Deacon Milton, its wealthiest, and one of its oldest inhabitants, 
 had died, full of years and honors, " deeply lamented by all 
 the residents of the borough of which he had so long been a 
 prominent and influential member," so said the minister of 
 Zion chapel, who filled the post, once occupied by Mr. Ashley, 
 when he preached the funeral sermon on the following sabbath. 
 
 " So old Thomas Milton has dropped off at last ; well, he was 
 a close fisted old fellow ; but it seems as if one of the props 
 of the town had fallen, we have been so used to see him taking
 
 DEATH OF THE DEACON. 287 
 
 his -walk as regular as clock-work, from his house to the Town- 
 Hall. He was a man of substance. I wonder who'll get the old 
 fellow's money ; not that ne'er-do-well brother of his, surety,' ' 
 said the majority of the towns-people who had no particular 
 interest in the chapel of which he had been the wealthiest 
 member, and, " so old deacon Milton's gone, I wonder who'll 
 get his money ; he must have left a pretty penny behind him ;" 
 echoed a hundred gossips, over the tea-table, the day that the 
 tidings had gone forth that old Deacon Milton was no more. 
 
 Jemmy Milton, the old sailor and fisherman was, so far as 
 was known, his only living relative, consequently, the only per- 
 son who had any natural claim to his late brother's wealth ; but, 
 few persons thought that the deacon had left his property un- 
 restrictedly to his brother. There had never existed any 
 fraternity of feeling between them, and beyond an ordinary 
 recognition, a nod of the head, and a brief good-day when they 
 met, they had held no intercourse with each other, excepting 
 on the occasions when Jemmy went to the deacon's house, 
 four times a year, to receive his quarterly dole of salary. The 
 leading members of the chapel thought a large portion of his 
 money would be found to be left to the chapel, some of them 
 thought that they might themselves come in for an individual 
 share as a token of the long friendship that had existed 
 between them and the deceased. Others believed it not 
 unlikely, now that the deacon could no longer enjoy the con- 
 templation of the wealth he was too niggardly to spend, even 
 for his own comfort and gratification, that he had bequeathed 
 at least some portion of it to the public charities of the town, 
 or to the poor among the congregation of his own chapel, or, 
 perchance, to the endowment of some beneficent institution 
 that might be a lasting monument to his memory these were 
 the charitably inclined ; others said that the ghost of the de- 
 ceased deacon would haunt the town if the money were thus 
 scattered that he had amassed with so much pains and hoarded 
 with so much care, and hinted that it would be discovered,
 
 288 THE WANDERER. 
 
 when his will came to be examined, that he had devised some 
 scheme to carry his treasure with him to the tomb, or, at least, 
 had given directions that it should be expended in the erection 
 of a splendid monument over his grave. These were the de- 
 cidedly uncharitable. 
 
 All these, calculations, however, were doomed to disappoint- 
 ment. It was soon known that the vicar of the parish, with 
 whom the deacon had never been on terms of close intimacy, 
 was the executor of the deceased, and that Jemmy Milton was 
 the sole legatee. With the exception of Dr. Knight's fee for his 
 medical services, calculated to the utmost degree of nicety, for 
 the deacon had preserved his faculties unimpaired until a few 
 hours before his death, and had only probably sent for the 
 vicar the day before it occurred, and five pounds bequeathed 
 to the vicar, for the purchase of a new gown, as some compen- 
 sation for his trouble in accepting the office of executor all 
 the property was bequeathed, without restriction, to his brother, 
 and thus Jemmy Milton found himself in the unexpected 
 possession often thousand pounds sterling a mint of wealth 
 in the eyes of the good people of Herrington. 
 
 Much and grievous disappointment was felt at this natural 
 and just disposal of his property by the deacon, and no little in- 
 dignation was openly expressed by those who had hoped to 
 profit by the death of the deceased miser, whose memory was 
 now most sorely traduced by those who had most fawned upon 
 him, while living. 
 
 The matter, however, after having been the main topic of 
 conversation and the chief source of gossip for a season, passed 
 at length into oblivion, and with it, the deacon himself, who, 
 living as he had lived in Herrington, had left no real friend to 
 jno urn his loss no widow or orphan to bless and revere his 
 memory. 
 
 This sudden accession to wealth was the source of great 
 trouble to Jemmy Milton. The deacon's property was nearly 
 all in ready money. He had amassed his fortune, in the first
 
 JEMMY VISITS LONDON. 289 
 
 instance, by smuggling, in which nefarious profession he had 
 been very successful in early life, and he had, subsequently, 
 increased it by lending out small sums at usurious interest to 
 the needy among the townspeople and the farmers in the 
 vicinity ; but, in his later years, he had grown so cautious and 
 so fond of retaining his money in his own possession, that he 
 had called in his loans, and deposited the money in an iron 
 safe, set into the wall in the bedroom in which he slept, the 
 key of which was tied to a string worn round his neck. No 
 one in the town, however, was aware of this, he had managed 
 his affairs with so much secrecy ; and, although it was known 
 that he had withdrawn his money from the Herrington bank, 
 he had managed to cause it to be generally believed that he 
 had deposited it, for greater security, in a bank in London. 
 To London the money had been transmitted, by the advice of 
 the vicar, shortly after the deacon's death, and, after the funeral 
 had taken place, Jemmy, clad for the first time in his life, in 
 a new suit of black broadcloth, had gone himself up to London 
 as he said, to look about him a bit, and traverse his old cruis- 
 ing ground, Ratcliffe Highway and Wapping, and work off the 
 melancholy, for the old deacon, though his brother had never en- 
 couraged any fraternal feeling, had been his brother still, and he 
 was now, as he said, an old hulk, left quite alone in the world. 
 
 However, Jemmy soon returned from London and took up 
 his quarters at his former lodgings, the cottage of a middle 
 aged widow left with a large family of children, her husband 
 having been drowned at sea two or three years before the dea- 
 con's decease. Jemmy had lived with the family, the widow's 
 husband having been an old shipmate of his, for several years, 
 and after the husband's death he had still continued to reside 
 with the widow. 
 
 Immediately upon his return from London he had doffed his 
 
 mourning suit, merely reserving the crape around his hat, and 
 
 had resumed his old, seaman's garb, for, as he said, in that 
 
 " long toggery," he felt like a craft whose backstays had been set 
 
 19
 
 290 THE WANDERER. 
 
 up too taut, and that consequently jerked terrible hard in steering. 
 
 A few days after his return to Herrington he called upon 
 Mr. Pearce, at the vicarage. At the vicar's request he was 
 shown by the servant who admitted him, into the study. 
 
 " Ha ! Mr. Milton," said the vicar, " how are you to-day ? 
 I thought you were in London. I had no idea that you would 
 return so soon. But take a seat, my old friend, take a seat," 
 and he handed a chair to his visitor. 
 
 " Thank'ee sir," replied Jemmy taking the proffered seat, 
 " I am quite well, and I hope you are the same. I came back 
 from Lunnun near a week ago. Couldn't find any pleasure 
 there, sir, Wapping and Ratcliffe highway ain't what they 
 used to be, but I beg pardon, sir. You'll excuse this 'ere tog- 
 gery as I've got on, but I could'nt stand that 'ere swaller-tail 
 any longer. I was like as if I was in the bilboes, when I wore 
 it. Mayhap I should have enjoyed myself better in Lunnun 
 if I'd ha' gone up there in Christian-like toggery, axing your 
 pardon for speakin' so bold." 
 
 " Not at all, not at all, Mr. Milton," said the vicar, " every 
 one has a perfect right to dress as he pleases, and it is only 
 natural that you should feel most at ease in the attire to which 
 you have been accustomed all your life." 
 
 " I should like, Mr. Pearce," said the old man, " that you'd 
 call me Jemmy. It's the name as I've been used to, and like 
 the old duds, it seems to fit me best. I hardly know who the 
 folks mean when they 'dresses me as Mr. Milton." 
 
 " Jemmy, then, if you please," said the vicar, " although I 
 believe I have generally addressed you as Mr. Milton.'* 
 
 " To be sure, sir, you have, and I didn't mind it from you in 
 old times, seeing as you was the reverend. But every one calls 
 me so now. It's Mister Milton here, and Mister Milton there, 
 till I'm well a nigh crazed. But I've taken the liberty of callin' 
 to ask some advice of you, sir." 
 
 " What is it, Jemmy, since so I must designate you ?" said 
 the vicar. " I shall be happy, I'm sure, to afford you any ad 
 vice to the best of my ability."
 
 THE VICAR'S ADVICE. 291 
 
 " It's about this here money that my brother left me, sir," 
 said Jemmy, " it's a great trouble to me, sir." 
 
 " It is a talent entrusted to your care which it is your duty 
 to put out at interest," replied the vicar. 
 
 " That's what ever body tells me," said Jemmy. " Mister 
 Milton," says they, " You should put that there money out to 
 good interest, and one advises this, and t'other that, till I'm 
 a'most crazed. Lor' bless you, sir, axin' your pardon, there's 
 more than I can spend, without puttin' it out to interest, if I 
 was to live to be as old again as I am now." 
 
 " You mistake me, my friend," smilingly replied the vicar. 
 "Although the advice given is still good in a worldly point of 
 view. When I spoke of putting the talent entrusted to your 
 care out at interest, I meant that it was your duty so to use 
 it, as to benefit your less fortunate fellow creatures, and so 
 obtain hereafter the reward that is promised to those who as- 
 sist the sick and needy for the love they bear to him who gave 
 them their abundance." 
 
 " You talk reasonable, sir, in that, but it puts me out of pa- 
 tience to hear folks tellin' on me, to make the most of my 
 money, as if money was every thing to an old man like me, 
 who has lived on fifty pounds a year and thought it wealth. 
 Besides Jemmy Milton ain't such a fool as not to see, as these 
 folks has their own ends to sarve." 
 
 " What have you thought of doing, Jemmy ? How have 
 you concluded to dispose of your recently acquired wealth ?" 
 asked the vicar. 
 
 " Why, sir, I'm an old man, and can't reasonably expect 
 my worn out timbers to hang together many years longer. I 
 can't think of changing my mode of living, for I shouldn't be 
 happy any other way. I have been thinking, sir, 1 ought to 
 make a will." 
 
 "And a very good thought too, Jemmy," said the vicar. 
 " By-the-by, what is your age T' 
 
 " Does your reverence know what age they put on my bro- 
 ther's coffin ?" asked Jemmy.
 
 292 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Seventy-two years and nine months, I believe," replied the 
 vicar. 
 
 " Well then, I've always heerd that I was four years younger 
 than Tummas. That makes me to be " 
 
 " Sixty -eight years old," said the vicar. 
 
 "'Xactly, sir ; very good. Now a man as has seed hard- 
 ships, and is sixty-eight years old, can't expect to live many 
 years longer. I feels old age a creepin' over me now. The 
 rheaumatis' troubles o' nights, and I feels aches and pains in 
 my limbs, specially in the great toe as got frost-bit, and was 
 amputated when I was on board a North Sea whaler twenty- 
 five years ago. That ere great toe troubles me terrible, sir." 
 
 " I hope you'll live to see many more years yet, Jemmy," 
 said the vicar, smiling at the old man's singular conceit. 
 'You're a hale, hearty man for one of your years; still, it is 
 a prudent thought of yours to make your will while in sound 
 health of body and mind. When do you think of setting about 
 it ? I shall be happy to afford you any assistance you may 
 require." 
 
 "There's a many as advises me agin it, sir," continued 
 Jemmy. "They says that when a man makes his will, it's a 
 sure sign as he's a goin' to slip off the hooks ; 'specially the 
 widdies and old maids goes agin it. I was a talkin' about it 
 over at my lodgings the night arter I come from Lunnun, and 
 Peggy Nelson, she as I boards with, had axed six or seven 
 women-folk of her acquaintance, to tea to meet me and welcome 
 me home agin, as she said. After tea, they all begins to pitch 
 into me about my money, and to 'gratulate me, as they 
 says, on comin' into the deacon's fortun'. Says I, ' yes, it's a 
 great sight of money for an old man to fall alongside of, and 
 I'm thinking as I ought to make a will.' 
 
 " ' Lauks,' says they, all at a time, ' I hope you'll remember 
 your old friends then, Mister Milton V And then, says one, 
 ' To think of Mister Milton a calling of hisself an old man, 
 Peggy, when I warrant me there's many a young 'ooman as 'ud
 
 JEMMY ON MATRIMONY. 293 
 
 be glad to set up her cap at him sooner than at half the men. 
 as calls theirselves young, let alone the widdies,' says she; 
 and then chimes in another, ' For my part, I never fancy a 
 man when he's too young.' She was an old maid, precious 
 near as old as I be, and she says, ' I allers turned my face agin 
 very young men, and I've had a many offers. No, no, give me 
 a sober, steady man, in the prime of life' squintin' awful at 
 me 'one as has got over the follies of youth, and as is a good 
 purvider.' 
 
 " After they wor all gone, Peggy Nelson fetched out a bottle 
 of holland's, and brewed a couple of glasses of hot toddy, and, 
 says she, 'Mister Milton' she always called me Jemmy afore, 
 and I knowed as how summut was commin' 'Mister Milton,' 
 says she, 'them folks as is gone talks a good deal of non- 
 sense ; but, Lor' bless ye, they means nought. Still,' says 
 she, sittin' up closer alongside of me, " there be some truth in 
 what they says. You're a man of substance now,' says she, 
 ' and you'll find the need of somebody to nuss you, and take 
 care on ye, and make you comfortable, though I don't say any- 
 thing agin my neighbors, but I can't say as I think any of them 
 would be the woman as 'ud make you a good wife ;' and then 
 she sipped her toddy, and axed me if mine was sweet enough, 
 and pressed me to drink it up and have some more; and when 
 she'd mixed me the second glass, she sits for some time silent, 
 squintin' at me now and then, and a droppin' of her eyes when 
 I chanced to look at her, like a young gal of sixteen. At last, 
 she says : 
 
 " ' It was terr'bl dull when you was up there at Lunnun, Mr 
 Milton.' 
 
 " ' I wish, Peggy, you'd call me Jemmy, as is my nat'ral 
 name,' says L 
 
 " ' It's the name I love to call you by,' says she, ' but I 
 thought, now you'd come into a fortun', as it would be disre- 
 spectful-like ; but since you wishes it, I will call you Jemmy. 
 It was terr'bl* dull when you was up at Lunnun, Jemmy,' she 
 repeats, a winkin' at me agin.
 
 294 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " ' I found it dull,' I says ; ' I was main glad to get home 
 agin, Peggy.' 
 
 "'No ! Was you, now?' says she. 'Well, and it's aston- 
 ishin' how the children took on after ye. ' When'll feyther 
 come back, mammy ?' says little Molly. And, ' I shall be so 
 glad to see feyther agin,' says Bobby. You know they all call 
 you feyther, Jemmy ?' a winkin' at me agin 'for you was 
 always so good to them ; just as kind as their own poor 
 feyther,' and Peggy put her apron to her eyes and begun to 
 rub 'em till they got as red as if she'd a been peelin' ingyens ; 
 but she soon put it down agin, and goes on ; ' you was always 
 a bringin' on 'em apples and shrimps and perrywinkles,' says 
 she; 'and your face was always so smiling and good-natured, 
 that you reminded me of my own good man that's dead and 
 buried in his salt sea grave,' and up went the apron agin. ' He 
 was a good man,' says she, ' and please God, while he lived, 
 I made him a good wife, and we had a large and interestin' 
 family of children. Ah ! Jemmy Milton, it ain't till a body's 
 been married and is left a disconsolate widdy, that they feels 
 what was the happiness of a married life,' and she began a 
 winkin' at me worser than ever. 
 
 " Howsomever, I said nought that night, and when I refused 
 to have any more toddy, she got up and bid me good night, 
 as affectionate like, as if I was a goin' to be drownded myself 
 the next day. 
 
 " When I got to my own room and turned in, I says to my- 
 self, ' Jemmy Milton,' says I, ' there's materomony in this 
 here drift of wind ; them old maids and disconsolate widdys 
 didn't come to tea last night without some reason of their own ; 
 and Peggy Nelson wasn't a talkin' about the children, and of 
 my bein' like a feyther to 'em and a winkin' at me, and a wipin' 
 her eyes with her apron, for nought. Now, Jemmy, don't you 
 be a driftin' into materomony at your age, like a ship 'ithout 
 a pilot, that's lost her steerage-way, after having lived true to 
 poor Jane's memory so long.' And then I began to think as
 
 THE OLD MAN'S WILL. 295 
 
 it was terr'ble lonesome-like lying in bed alone, and how I'd 
 read in the bible, that David, when he got old, got a young 
 wife to keep him warm, and take care on him ; and thinks I, I'll 
 call on the vicar in the morning and ax him, and take his advice 
 on the subject, but I felt too bashful-like, and I put off calling ; 
 but the next day and the next, I had to submit to the same 
 persecution, 'till I got fidgetty, and to think that a wife wouldn't 
 be such a bad thing, after all, and Peggy's a good-looking woman 
 for her years, and made a good wife to Jack Nelson, so at last 
 I made up my mind to ask your reverence's advice about ma- 
 teromony and the makin' on a will." 
 
 The vicar had listened patiently to Jemmy's long story with- 
 out speaking a word, though he occasionally smiled at some 
 odd conceit of the narrator's ; but when he had concluded, he 
 said : 
 
 " With respect to the subject of matrimony, Jemmy, I have 
 nothing to say, though if you insist upon my advice, I should 
 say, since you have lived so long single, at your age I think 
 you would be running a great risk in taking a wife. These 
 ladies, it seems, never pressed you thus before; it is your 
 money that is the temptation now." 
 
 " To be sure it is, sir," said Jemmy, " axing your pardon 
 for interrupting you, sir ; and I'll still remain true to my poor 
 Jane's memory. But about the will, sir ?" 
 
 " I was about to say in regard to that subject," resumed the 
 vicar, " that I think it will be a very sensible action on your 
 part. If I were in your place, I would set about it imme- 
 diately." 
 
 " So I will, then," said Jemmy ; " but there won't be any 
 need of calling in a lawyer ?" 
 
 " Not necessarily, so that the will is drawn out and signed 
 in the presence of witnesses, although, to be sure that no errors 
 are made, it might be as well to get a lawyer to draw out the 
 document." 
 
 " It'll be so plain, I shall make no errors, sir," said Jemmy,
 
 296 THE WANDERER 
 
 " and I'll do without a lawyer, if possible : I never liked 'em, 
 at sea nor ashore the breed's bad ; a sea-lawyer is a curse 
 aboard of a ship." 
 
 " I presume you can do without," said the vicar, smiling at 
 the old man's prejudices. 
 
 " Can't it be done at once, sir ?" asked Jemmy. 
 
 " I suppose so," answered the vicar. " Have you the prem 
 ises drawn out ? " 
 
 '' I don't know what you mean, sir ?" replied the old man ; 
 " but if you'd be kind enough to write down what I say, I'll be 
 obliged to you, and you can be the witness." 
 
 " We shall require another, I believe," rejoined the vicar, 
 " though I am so ignorant of the necessary forms, that I cannot 
 be sure that such is the case." 
 
 " Draw it out, and I'll get Doctor Knight to call with me to- 
 morrow, and sign it," said Jemmy. 
 
 " I will, if you require it," said the vicar, and taking a quire 
 of paper from his desk, and his pen in his hand, he wrote at 
 Jemmy's dictation, making his own amendments to the style 
 and syntax, as follows : 
 
 " On the 20th day of May, in the year of out Lord 18 , 
 
 " I, James Milton, of the parish of Herrington, in the coun- 
 ty of Kent, mariner, being of sound health in body and mind, 
 do hereby make my will and testament, and give and bequeath 
 my property as follows : 
 
 I bequeath to my well-beloved friend, Gerald Dalton, late 
 of Herrington, son of Charles and Mary Dalton, the sum of 
 Five Thousand pounds, to him and his heirs forever, or in case 
 of his decease, I give the same sum of five thousand pounds to 
 Mary Dalton, the mother of the said Gerald Dalton, or in case 
 of her decease, to William Ashley, formerly of Herrington, 
 and now of Ceylon, in the East Indies. 
 
 " I also give and bequeath the interest of the sum of one 
 thousand pounds to supply once, each and every quarter of a 
 year, a supper to those messmates who have united with me
 
 STEERS CLEAR OF THE WIDDER. 297 
 
 at the old boathouse on Herrington beach, known as Jemmy 
 Milton's boat-house, at the same period for a series of years 
 past, so long as they shall live, and at their death, I desire 
 that the money shall be equally divided amongst the survivors 
 of their several widows and children. 
 
 " I furthermore give and bequeath the interest of the sum of 
 two hundred pounds, forever, to be employed in keeping the 
 aforesaid boat-house in good repair, externally and internally. 
 
 " I give and bequeath to the corporation of Herrington the in- 
 terest of the sum of two thousand pounds, forever, to be ex- 
 pended in the purchase of coals and blankets for six poor 
 widows, to be distributed at the season of Christmas every 
 year, by the vicar of the Parish of Herrington, according to 
 his judgment. 
 
 " And the residue of my property at the period of my death 
 after sufficient shall be deducted therefrom to provide a plain 
 funeral, I desire shall be divided amongst the poor widows of 
 seamen of the parish of Herrington. 
 
 " Given at the vicarage of the parish of Herrington, at the 
 date above-mentioned. 
 
 JAMES MILTON + His mark. 
 
 -TTT., ) THOMAS PEAROE, Vicar, 
 
 Witnesses, > .-, v ' ,, .-.' 
 
 ' ) CHARLES KNIGHT, M. D. 
 
 (The last written signature was affixed on the following day, 
 Jemmy having brought Dr. Knight to the vicarage, for the 
 purpose.) 
 
 " I am afraid we have made a bungling affair of this, Jem- 
 my," said the vicar after he had read it aloud to the old fish- 
 erman, " but I fancy it will be as binding as if it were con- 
 structed in a more technical style." 
 
 " I wish I could get you to accept some bequest, sir," said 
 Jemmy, he having repeatedly urged the matter while the vicar 
 was writing. 
 
 " No, Jemmy, I thank you," said the vicar, "I have enough
 
 298 THE WANDERER. 
 
 for myself and would rather not. Let the will stand as it is." 
 "Very well, sir, if you insist upon it," replied the old man. 
 " I will now bid you good day, and thank'ee for your trouble, 
 and 1 think I'll make short work of that 'ere trap to catch me 
 in the bonds o' matermony, but Peggy Nelson'll be mortial 
 angry." 
 
 " Good day, Jemmy," replied the vicar, and the old man 
 left the parsonage. 
 
 Many months passed away before Jemmy was allowed any 
 peace at least so he averred by the antiquated spinsters and 
 disconsolate " widdys," who were eager to entice him into 
 their toils, but he proved obdurate and resisted all their bland- 
 ishments, and at last they gave up the idea of bringing him to 
 their feet, and Jemmy was allowed to smoke his pipe and 
 drink his beer in peace in his favorite retreat at the old boat- 
 house on Herrington beach.
 
 THE FRENCH SOUBRETTE. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Explaining how Minette manages to procure an interview with Alice, at the 
 Convent at Orleans, and showing the result of the interview. 
 
 MINETTE, the waiting-maid of Alice Thornton, whom Mr. 
 Craddock had discharged in Paris, after his return with his niece 
 from Cuba, had been engaged after Alice had left the convent 
 school, expressly to attend her during the voyage to the West 
 Indies. She was a native of the French capital, and had passed 
 through various grades, from a singing girl in the street, to a 
 flower vender, and thence to become a children's " bonne" Her 
 agreeable and intelligent appearance had attracted the notice 
 of Mr. Craddock, and he had offered her good wages to accom- 
 pany his niece. It had required some persuasion on the part 
 of Mr. Craddock to induce Minette to leave her dear Paris, 
 but ambition at length prevailed over inclination, and Minette 
 found herself promoted to the post of ladies' maid, the acme of 
 her ambition, until, in the course of a few years more she 
 should marry some student or painter from the Quartier Latin, 
 and settle down as a married woman, for life. Nor was this 
 latter altogether a vague idea on the part of the newly-pro- 
 moted eoubrette. She had already une affaire de la cceur on 
 hand, which promised to ripen into marriage, the object of her 
 admiration being a young artist, who was copying at the Louvre, 
 and living and working cheerfully on, in the hope of one day 
 securing fame, fortune, and Minette ; and when the young 
 soubrette had engaged to attend Ma'mselle Alice, she had been 
 partly tempted to undertake the voyage and forego the delights 
 of Paris for a season, in hopes that the wages she would save
 
 300 THE WANDERER. 
 
 would help to forward the happy consummation to which both 
 she and Armand both looked forward with much impatience 
 and not a little anxiety. 
 
 Minette possessed most of the virtues and frailties of her 
 class. She was capable of strong attachment to those who 
 treated her kindly, and at the same time prone to resent, with- 
 out particular regard to the means she employed, any slight 
 that she believed she had received. She had become much at- 
 tached to Alice, who, perhaps, for want of any other female 
 friend to converse with, had made her her confidant. During 
 her residence at the convent school, Alice had acquired a fair 
 acquaintance with the French language, nothing else being 
 spoken by her teachers and daily companions, and from subse- 
 quently conversing in that language with Minette during the 
 passage to the West Indies, she had learned to speak it with tol- 
 erable fluency. The most shrewd and cautious often overreach 
 themselves, and Mr. Craddock was little aware that in engaging 
 this humble French waiting-maid, he was opening the way to 
 the eventual discovery and overthrow of his scheme of aggran- 
 disement. It had never struck him, singular as it may appear, 
 that Alice would ever make a confidant of her maid, or that a 
 simple soubrette could, by any possible means, defeat the object 
 of his ambition. 
 
 Minette was glad to return home to la belle France, yet she 
 would willingly have remained for a longer period in the ser- 
 vice of her young mistress ; the object of her service was not 
 yet attained ; her purse had not yet acquired the plethoric ful- 
 ness that she wished to see. She had heard enough of Alice's 
 history to suspect that something was wrong, though, as Alice 
 herself was ignorant of the real object of her uncle, the waiting- 
 maid, of course, could not, with all her shrewdness, divine the 
 cause of his actions. She knew, however, that Ma'mselle Alice 
 had been sent to school at a convent, in Orleans, and that she 
 was not permitted to correspond with her former friends. She 
 knew that Alice cherished a secret affection, and this excited
 
 THE FRENCH SOTJBRETTE. 301 
 
 her sympathies, and she saw, on parting with her young mis- 
 tress, that she was overpowered by some secret grief, and she 
 earnestly inquired its cause. Mr. Craddock was present, and 
 in no gentle mood at the time. He reproved her harshly for 
 what he called impertinent curiosity, and told her that as he 
 had paid her her wages, she might depart as soon as pos- 
 sible ; neither he nor Miss Alice had further occasion for her 
 services. 
 
 Minette stole one glance at Alice. The sad smile of fare- 
 well on her lips, while the tears filled her eyes, touched the 
 heart of the soubrette, and the harsh words of Mr. Craddock had 
 deeply wounded her pride. She smiled at Alice in return a 
 smile full of deep meaning and then haughtily throwing back 
 her head, she retreated from the room with the stately step of a 
 duchess. 
 
 " Ha !" she exclaimed, as soon as she was out of hearing, 
 " Quelle hauteur, sur la part de cet Monsieur Craddock, je suis 
 pauvre, ha! Je ne besoin pas que les gages. Cest assez, 
 ma'mselle sera venge." 
 
 Minette lost no time in seeking out Armand. He had been 
 successful, and was elated with pride. He had painted a pic- 
 ture which had gained the prize at the last distribution. This 
 success had procured him several orders, and he had earned 
 since Minette had quitted Paris what appeared to him a large 
 sum of money. He urged upon her their immediate union. 
 
 " Not so fast, mon cker Armand" replied Minette, submit- 
 ting herself, however, with a good grace to her lover's caresses. 
 " You have yet a task to accomplish ; that done, I will be your 
 wife." 
 
 " What is that "?" demanded Armand in great surprise. 
 
 Minette related what had passed when she parted from her 
 young mistress. 
 
 " The poor child is betrayed, Armand," she said. " I know 
 not ; she knows not whither she is going ; but she has been to 
 the convent school at Orleans. I believe her gros bete cTun
 
 302 THE WANDERER. 
 
 oncle is going to carry her thither again ; perhaps to immure 
 her forever in the convent, so that she shall never marry him 
 she loves. Think of that, Armand. Is it not terrible ?" 
 
 " But what can I do, Minette ?" said Armand, who by no 
 means fancied the idea of deferring their union until he had 
 accomplished the seemingly hopeless and Quixotic task of de- 
 livering a young lady from a convent. " 1 cannot release the 
 poor lady." 
 
 "Ah, Armand, comme vous etes nigaud!" said Minette, 
 playfully patting her lover's cheek. " Who said, mon petit, 
 that you were to deliver the young lady from the convent? 
 Mon dieu! I don't know that she is going there. I have only 
 my suspicions. You must learn, Armand." 
 
 " But how, Minette ?" 
 
 "The thing is simple. We will wait awhile. 1 already 
 know, however, that Monsieur has taken two places in the dili- 
 gence for Orleans to-night. That strengthens my suspicions. 
 In the course of a week, you will accompany me to that city. 
 You have that pretty painting of the holy family nearly 
 finished?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Armand, glancing at the picture on his easel, 
 and wondering what that had to do with the question at issue. 
 
 " Ma foil Armand, you must give me that picture as a last 
 gift for my sister." 
 
 " Que diable ! I don't understand," said Armand. " What, 
 give you my picture which will bring me two hundred francs ?" 
 
 "And I am not worth that sacrifice ?" said Minette, pouting 
 prettily. 
 
 " Yes, and a thousand more," said Armand ; " but what will 
 that effect?" 
 
 " We will go together to Orleans, Armand, you and I, and 
 I will go to the convent and learn from the porteress, by 
 means of a trifling bribe, whether a young lady answering the 
 description of Ma'mselle Alice, who was formerly at school 
 there, has returned."
 
 THE FRENCH SOUBRETTE 303 
 
 "And then ?" said Armand. 
 
 " Why then, I will take the picture and ask to see the supe- 
 rior. I shall be admitted. I will then say that I have called 
 to see my sister for the last time before she takes the veil, and 
 wish to give, in her name, this picture of the holy family to the 
 convent. It is superb, Armand. You will one day be a great 
 painter," continued Minette with well-directed flattery. "And 
 the offer will be accepted ; for the sake of obtaining the picture, 
 I shall be permitted to see McSmselle? 
 
 " And what object will that effect ?" said Armand, still unde- 
 cided. 
 
 " I will learn what are the names of her friends in England. 
 A whisper will tell me, and I shall recollect well. I am quick 
 at such things. Ma'mselle never told me yet, for fear of her 
 uncle. She will tell me now, if things be as I fear, and then 
 you, Armand, who are so clever, and can do everything, shall 
 write to her friends to her lover, perhaps, and he will be so 
 rejoiced, he will pay you more than two hundred francs for the 
 loss of your picture." 
 
 This last suggestion was cleverly thrown in by the shrewd 
 soubrette, and went somewhat to reconcile Armand to the loss 
 of his painting. After considerable demur, he suffered him- 
 self to be persuaded by his mistress, and consented to the ar- 
 rangement, although he still asserted that he considered it an 
 absurd scheme. 
 
 However, the painting was finished, and a week after this 
 conversation, Minette and her lover were in the city of Orleans. 
 
 Minette soon ascertained that her suspicions were correct, 
 and that Alice was in the convent, and by the promise of 
 another bribe to the porteress, she obtained permission to call 
 again on the following day, when the porteress promised to 
 introduce her to the superior. 
 
 Minette was there at the hour appointed, and after waiting 
 for a short time, was presented to the superior. She carried 
 the painting, set in a neat frame, and carefully wrapped in can- 
 vas, under her arm.
 
 304 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " What do you wish to say to me, ma ckere?" demanded 
 the superior. 
 
 " I have called, madame" said Minette, " to beg permission 
 to bid adieu to my sister Alice, who came last week to this 
 convent. You will not refuse me, Madame? I shall then 
 never see her again." 
 
 " The young lady Alice, who will soon change the name 
 she has been known by in the world, has no sister, I have been 
 informed," said the superior. 
 
 " No, madame," said Minette with admirable presence of 
 mind, recovering herself from the blunder she saw she had 
 made, " I am not her sister, madame, but we have been friends, 
 and I love her as a sister. I was far away, in Paris, when she 
 came here, and I have come all the way to see her once more- 
 You will not refuse me that little pleasure, Madame ?" 
 
 " It is against the rules," replied the superior, who, how- 
 ever, was touched by the proof of affection that had induced a 
 young girl to travel all the way from Paris to see her friend 
 once again. The asceticism of the convent had not altogether 
 destroyed, though it had deadened the sympathies of her 
 woman's heart. However, she still hesitated. " What have 
 you there V she asked sharply, and with some degree of suspi- 
 cion in her tone. 
 
 " A picture," said Minette, undoing the parcel, " which I 
 have to offer to Madame, on behalf of my sister Alice, as you 
 will permit me still to call her." 
 
 " It is very beautiful !" said the Superior, admiring the 
 painting, which Minette had taken from its covering and ex- 
 posed in a good light, " and I thank you, my good girl ; but, 
 1 forgot, Sister Alice is English and you are French. How 
 came you to be acquainted with her ?" 
 
 " i and Alice have travelled much together, madame," re- 
 plied Minette. " It is no reason because our countries are dif- 
 ferent that we should not be friends and sisters." 
 
 " Bien /" replied the Superior, " I will break through the
 
 THE FRENCH SOUBRETTE. 305 
 
 regulations for once. You shall see sister Alice, but it must 
 be in my presence." 
 
 " I am content," replied Minette. 
 
 The Superior summoned an attendant and in the course of 
 a few minutes Alice appeared. The moment she saw Minette 
 she rushed into her arms. All distinction of social position 
 was forgotten in her joy at seeing a friendly and sympathizing 
 face again. 
 
 The Superior was overcome by this exhibition of feeling. 
 She relaxed her severity of countenance, saying : 
 
 " You can walk together on the parterre, in front of the hall, 
 my children, and I will remain here ; then you must bid each 
 other farewell." 
 
 This was more than Minette had dared to hope. The two 
 went into the garden, and Minette hastily explained to Alice 
 the object of her visit. " You must tell me now what you 
 have so often feared to tell ; you will have no other opportunity," 
 she said. 
 
 They saw that their movements were closely watched by the 
 jealous superior, and Alice strove hard to render the name 
 and address of Mr. Pearce familiar to the lips of Minette, but 
 the case appeared almost a hopeless one to her French organs 
 of articulation. At length Minette observed that the superi- 
 or's back was turned : 
 
 " Write, Mam'selle," she said huriedly, " here is pencil and 
 paper. I came provided for all emergencies." And Alice 
 hastily and tremblingly wrote the address, " Kev. Mr. Pearce 
 Herrington vicarage." 
 
 " That is all I can do," she said, handing the slip of paper 
 to her humble friend. 
 
 " And it is enough, if this Monsieur be living," said Minette. 
 " Adieu, I see the Superior is beckoning to us ; the half hour 
 is expired ; be of good courage, mam'selle, you shall soon, 
 plait a Dieu ! be delivered from this place." 
 
 Adieus were interchanged, and soon Minette was again be- 
 20
 
 306 THE WANDERER. 
 
 yond the convent walls. Fearful of discovery she and Armand 
 set out that night for Paris, and on their arrival there Armand 
 at the dictation of his mistress wrote a letter in French to Mr. 
 Pearce explaining all that it lay in Minette's power to explain. 
 The letter was duly received, and read by the vicar with the 
 utmost amazement and indignation. He immediately wrote 
 to .Gerald, enclosing a copy of the French letter, expressing 
 his opinion that some fraud had been or was about to be per- 
 petrated, and his belief that the letter was authentic. Gerald's 
 address was still at the Cheringhee Road, Calcutta, and thither 
 the letter was directed to him, and a duplicate was also sent to 
 Mr. Ashley in case the young man should have left Calcutta, 
 and have visited Colombo, which Mr. Pearce did not consider 
 at all improbable.
 
 LONG-EXPECTED LETTERS 807 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Melancholy news and its results. 
 
 LETTERS came at last from Colombo and Calcutta, but there 
 was no news from England, and Gerald's despondency increased 
 notwithstanding the endeavors of his cousin to cheer him. 
 
 " Why give way to this anxiety, Gerald T' he said, " you 
 know the old adage, ' No news is good news.' Had anything 
 serious occurred you would have been written to by some one 
 or other. But your last letter has little more than reached 
 home. Cheer up, you will get a reply to it in good time and 
 all will be well." 
 
 And Gerald was fain to confess, that he had no reason to 
 give for his despondency beyond the impression left on his 
 mind by the singular dream he had dreamed, shortly after the 
 frigate had cast anchor in the port of Singapore and the 
 waking vision, as he still persisted in terming it, which had 
 preceded it. He endeavored to drive away his melancholy, 
 by entering into all the amusements of his brother officers with 
 alacrity ; but the effort was a vain one. If he succeeded 
 during the day in banishing these forebodings of evil from his 
 mind, they returned at night with redoubled intensity, and 
 he was glad, when, at the expiration of another month, orders 
 were received for the frigate to proceed to Bombay, and, sub- 
 sequently, to cruise in the Arabian Sea. He thought that any 
 change were preferable, that by calling his attention to fresh 
 scenes, might serve to dispel the gloom that burthened his 
 spirits.
 
 308 THE WANDERER. 
 
 For five months the frigate remained in the Bombay station, 
 and then returned to Colombo. 
 
 As soon as was practicable, after the vessel was brought to 
 an anchor, Frederick and Gerald obtained permission from the 
 Captain to go on shore and visit their friends. 
 
 Letters were now awaiting Gerald. He started with horror 
 on perceiving that the superscription on both was in the hand- 
 writing of the vicar of Herrington, and that both were sealed 
 with black wax, and staggered back to the cane sofa from which 
 he had risen when the letters were handed to him by his uncle, 
 as if he had been shot. The letters had fallen from his hand, 
 and were picked up from the floor and re-presented to him by 
 his cousin, Henry. 
 
 " Read them," he gasped, addressing his uncle, " I dare 
 not." 
 
 Mr. Ashley received them from him, and broke the seals. 
 The first one opened was from Mr. Pearce, enclosing a copy 
 of the letter received from Armand, the lover of Minette, with 
 a few words of comment from the vicar himself. A brief 
 postscript at the bottom of the page explained the cause of the 
 black seal. 
 
 " Since this was written," wrote the vicar, " I have received 
 sad news from Abottsford. Your mother is no more. I was 
 about to dispatch this letter to the post, when I received in- 
 telligence of her death. I shall detain it a few days, until I 
 hear further from the Rev. Mr. Davis, who has promised to 
 write me, at greater length." 
 
 The second letter was also from the vicar, and furnished a 
 brief acccount of the details received from the Rector of Ab- 
 bottsford, following which, was some other information of a 
 nature calculated greatly to interest the young man. 
 
 Mr. Ashley read both these letters in silence ; but from the 
 expression of his countenance, Gerald readily divined the nature 
 of the communications. 
 
 " I am sorry to say that these letters bring sad intelligence
 
 SAD NEWS FROM HOME. 309 
 
 from home, Gerald," he observed, making an effort to control 
 his own agitation. " Your poor mother is dead " 
 
 " I knew it I knew it," replied Gerald, and turning to 
 Frederick, who stood by, he said almost fiercely : " Was I not 
 forewarned of this 1 ? Will you now deny that I was not 
 wide awake when I saw that vision V 
 
 Frederick made no reply. He was himself too much shock- 
 ed to speak. 
 
 Mr. Ashley was about to place the letters again in his 
 nephew's hand ; but Gerald motioned him back. 
 
 " Not now, uncle ;" he said, " please, not just now. Will 
 you lay them on the table I will read them another time 
 another time." 
 
 He spoke so wildly, and his countenance had assumed so 
 strange an expression that Mr. Ashley became alarmed. 
 
 " You are ill, Gerald," he said, kindly, " the shock has been 
 too much for you ; but, there is other news contained in these 
 letters which you will be glad to learn." 
 
 " Not now, uncle ; not now," repeated Gerald, " I will soon 
 retire to my room, and read the letters alone Frederick 
 Henry will you bring me a glass of water, I feel faint." 
 
 His cousins hastened to comply with his request ; but before 
 the water was brought, he had fainted, and lay in a state of 
 unconsciousness on the sofa. 
 
 " Poor fellow !'' exclaimed Mrs. Ashley, as she untied his 
 cravat, and, assisted by her husband, endeavored to restore 
 him to himself. " It is a dreadful blow, indeed." She applied 
 the customary restoratives, and in a few minutes the young 
 man opened his eyes and glared wildly around him. Mrs. 
 Ashley put the glass of water to his lips and he drank it 
 greedily. Then passing his hand over his brow, as one bewil- 
 dered, or who has awakened from a frightful dream, he said, 
 " Ha ! I recollect now my mother is dead, you say I knew 
 it I knew it, months ago, yes, months ago." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ashley were alarmed j they thought his reason
 
 310 THE WANDERER. 
 
 had become unsettled. He again fixed his gaze upon his 
 cousin, Frederick, in a manner so peculiar, that they looked at 
 the young man for an explanation, when Gerald suddenly 
 cried ; " Answer me one question, uncle when did this hap- 
 pen ; when did my mother die ?" 
 
 "Shortly before midnight on the 17th of March," replied 
 Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Frederick," said Gerald, " you recollect I told you it was 
 at six o'clock on the morning of the 18th of March just at the 
 break of day, when the vision vanished, and I became conscious 
 that I had sat for hours, in fact, during the whole night before 
 my chest in the Cabin. That was the exact hour of my mo- 
 ther's death, allowing for the difference of time between Eng- 
 land and Singapore. I will go to my room, now," he contin- 
 ued, " if you will assist me there ; I feel so weak. I will take 
 these letters with me and read them, alone, by and by." 
 
 Mr. Ashley and his son assisted him to the room, and offered 
 to stay with him but he declined the offer. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," he said in reply to their expressions 
 of fear lest he might again be taken ill. " I shall not faint 
 again. It was the effect of the shock received so suddenly. 
 I would rather be left quite alone." 
 
 His request was acceded to; but Mr. Ashley, before he 
 left him, informed him that one of the letters contained some 
 interesting information relating to Alice Thornton. 
 
 For a moment his eye brightened and his animation appeared 
 to be restored ; but he speedily relapsed and reiterated his de- 
 sire to be left alone. 
 
 When Mr. Ashley and Frederick returned to the apartment 
 in which they had left Mrs. Ashley and Henry, he explained 
 to the astonished group the cause of the strange observations 
 that his cousin Gerald had made, and related the particulars 
 of the singular vision that had occurred to him in the harbor of 
 Singapore. 
 
 *' It is indeed a strange coincidence," observed Mr. Ashley.
 
 THE RECTOR'S LETTER. 311 
 
 u I have heard of such things, but never before had any evi- 
 dence of their actually occurring." 
 
 The unexpected intelligence of Mrs. Dalton's death, shed a 
 gloom over the whole family and deteriorated from the delight 
 they would have otherwise experienced on hearing that news 
 had been received of Alice Thornton, though, in fact, Mr. Ash- 
 ley was ignorant of the nature of the intelligence ; the copy of 
 Armand's letter, having been directed to Gerald, was of course 
 left unread by Mr. Ashley, who only gained his knowledge 
 from the inference he drew from the allusions made to the 
 subject by Mr. Pearce in the envelope. It was a sorrowful 
 evening to all and a sad damp to the pleasure that the visit 
 of the young men would otherwise have afforded, although Mr. 
 and Mrs. Ashley had anticipated bad news when the letters 
 with the black seals had been received. 
 
 They sat up far beyond their usual hour of retiring, talking 
 over the subject and recalling to mind the latest conversations 
 they had held with the deceased, before quitting England. 
 
 Poor Gerald passed a sleepless night : he sat in his room for 
 an hour before he had courage to peruse the letters ; but he 
 summoned resolution at last. The letter from the vicar having 
 special allusion to Mrs. Dalton's death, supplied the young 
 man with the information received from Mr. Davis, who had 
 written to the effect that Mrs. Dalton had been for a long time 
 ailing, but that her death occurred very suddenly, she having 
 been confined to her bed but for a day or two. Latterly, he 
 wrote, she had expressed great anxiety with respect to her son, 
 whom she had not heard from for a long time. She feared 
 that he was sick ; perhaps that he had died in a foreign land, 
 with no one near him to soothe his last moments, and to listen 
 to his dying words. The day before her death, her mind wan- 
 dered considerably, and in these moments of unconsciousness, 
 she talked of him incessantly, sometimes tenderly upbraiding 
 him for not writing ; sometimes talking to him, as if he were 
 present, and lavishing endearing epithets upon him ; while at
 
 312 THE WANDERER. 
 
 other times she addressed him earnestly and sorrowfully, as 
 if she feared alike for his spiritual and bodily welfare. Only 
 an hour or two before her death, the postman of the village 
 had arrived with the mails, and a letter was brought to the 
 rectory bearing the East India post mark. Mr. Davis at 
 once surmised that it was from Gerald, and he had himself 
 been the bearer of it to the dying woman. A messenger ar- 
 rived at the rectory at the very moment he was leaving the 
 house, requesting his immediate attendance. It was not until 
 then that he was aware that her end was so nigh at hand. When, 
 he reached the little cottage in which she lived, the doctor in- 
 formed him that he had only just arrived in time to see his pa- 
 tient alive. Consciousness had returned, and she was talking 
 sensibly with those around her. The moment he entered the 
 sick chamber, the dying woman appeared to divine the object 
 of his visit. 
 
 " You bring me news of my boy, of Gerald ?" she said 
 interrogatively. " I feel that it is so. God has heard my prayers 
 and a letter has arrived from my boy ; I shall again hear 
 of him before I close my eyes forever to this world." 
 
 Mr. Davis wrote that he could in no way account for this 
 singular presentiment, as the dying woman could have had no 
 knowledge of the postman's arrival, since he came at very ir- 
 regular periods, much less could she have known that the East 
 India mail had reached England, or that he had received a let- 
 ter from her son. 
 
 He had made no remark at the time, but had taken the let- 
 ter from his pocket and placed it in her hand ; subsequently, 
 however, he learned from the young woman who attended 
 her, that suddenly rousing herself from a condition of stupor 
 into which she had fallen, talking wildly to her son, as if he 
 had been present, she said : " it is so ; my boy has not forgot- 
 ten me. Send for Mr. Davis ; tell him to hasten, for I have 
 not long to live." A messenger had been immediately dis- 
 patched, and had met the clergyman as he was leaving the 
 rectory.
 
 THE DYING MOTHER. 313 
 
 The wasted fingers of the dying woman moved nervously as 
 she strove to break the seal. " I cannot I cannot," she said, 
 letting the letter fall from her hand. " Pray open the letter 
 and read it for me " she added, addressing the rector, in 
 faltering accents, gasping at each word for breath. " Quick 
 quick I have but a few moments to spare ; I am summoned 
 even now." 
 
 The clergyman hastened to obey. He read the letter aloud, 
 but the senses of the dying woman were already failing her. 
 " Louder," she murmured feebly ; " louder closer to my ear. 
 Let me not lose a word ;" and bending his head to her ear 
 as closely as possible, the clergyman again commenced the let- 
 ter, and read it to the end. " Thank you thank you," she 
 murmured. " Thank God ! Now pray with me, I have but a 
 few moments left." 
 
 The clergyman knelt in prayer with all present, and when 
 he rose from his knees, consciousness had again fled from the 
 dying woman. She lived yet for an hour, but made no sign or 
 motion 'till a few moments before the spirit departed from her. 
 Then a smile of love and tenderness passed across her wan fea- 
 tures, and feebly raising her head, she stretched out her thin 
 fore-finger and uttered the word " Remember." The hand fell 
 heavily upon the bed, and her spirit had flown to the eternal 
 world. 
 
 The clergyman, after eulogizing the character and speaking 
 of the many Christian virtues of the deceased, furthermore 
 wrote that he had taken measures to provide for the funeral, 
 and that Mrs. Dalton had expressed a desire, a short time 
 before her death, to be interred in one particularly secluded 
 spot in the village church-yard, and that he should see that her 
 wish was carried out. 
 
 He would, he added, place a tomb-stone over the grave, at 
 his own expense, but he had thought, that in the event of her 
 son returning to England, the young man would wish to per- 
 form himself this act of filial pity ; he, therefore, should leave
 
 814 THE WANDERER. 
 
 that undone for the present, until he heard from the young man 
 in question. 
 
 In the latter portion of the letter, Gerald found some intelli- 
 gence, which under other circumstances would have given him 
 pleasure, but which now only increased his distress and added 
 to his bitterness of feeling. It was to the effect that Mr. Hoff- 
 mann had received his second letter from India, and had seen the 
 captain of the Seringapatam, and that he was now satisfied that 
 he had judged the young man too hastily. He asked his for- 
 giveness for what had passed, and urged him to return home. 
 
 " Yes," said Gerald, bitterly : " Return home, now. It is 
 your injustice that has led to all this misery. I shall never 
 return home again." 
 
 He laid the letter aside, and opened that from the vicar re- 
 lating to Alice. The letter from Armand had been copied in 
 the original language. Gerald was a very poor French scholar, 
 but with some difficulty, he managed to gather its purport. His 
 plans were altered. " Yes," he muttered, " I will return to 
 England, and find Alice, if she be living, and avenge her wrongs. 
 She is all I care to live for now. And then we will go to Ame- 
 rica together ; I am weary of England, of India, of all the world ; 
 but my native land shall be my future home." 
 
 The information contained in this last letter seemed to dis- 
 tract his thoughts, in some degree, from the sad intelligence 
 contained in the former one, although he now blamed himself 
 severely for giving way to the obstinacy and pride which had 
 led him to remain in India. " Had I subdued that," he said, 
 " I should probably have myself closed my mother's dying 
 eyes." 
 
 Morning dawned, and found him still sleepless ; but weary 
 Nature at length gave way, and he fell into an uneasy slumber, 
 from which an hour afterwards he was awakened by the voice 
 of Mrs. Ashley, who came to ask how he had passed the night, 
 and to condole with him upon his loss. At her earnest per- 
 suasion, he descended with her, and joined the family at the
 
 A NEW RESOLVE 315 
 
 breakfast table, where he expressed to his uncle his intention 
 of immediately returning to England, if by any means he could 
 quit the frigate on so short a notice. 
 
 "I don't think you will find any difficulty in doing that," 
 said Frederick. " My father will explain to the captain your 
 object in desiring to return, and I have no doubt he will give 
 his consent readily." 
 
 That same day the captain's consent was obtained, and the 
 young man tendered his resignation, as a matter of form. A 
 vessel was then in port, taking in a cargo for Bombay, to which 
 port Gerald resolved to go, as thence he would be sure to find 
 vessels at all seasons bound to England, and in the course of a 
 week he was on his way thither, and almost immediately after 
 his arrival, he took passage on board a vessel bound to Liver- 
 pool.
 
 316 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Gerald arrives at Liverpool, and proceeds to Herrington. His interview 
 with the vicar. More news of Alice. Gerald's plans. A voyage to Cuba. 
 
 . THE bark Laurel, on board which Gerald had sailed from 
 Bombay, arrived at Liverpool after a favorable passage of 
 ninety days, and, allowing himself no time for rest, the young 
 man immediately took the railroad cars, then but a few years 
 in operation, for London, whence he proceeded by stage to 
 Herrington, and on the very night of his arrival at th'e latter 
 place, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, he walked to 
 the vicarage to seek Mr. Pearce. 
 
 The vicar was reading in his parlor, when the servant an- 
 nounced the young man's presence. 
 
 " Mr. Gerald Dalton, from India, is waiting in the hall, and 
 wishes to see you, sir." 
 
 " Bless me !" exclaimed the vicar, closing his book and 
 starting from his chair. " Show him up directly, Thomas. 
 Stay, I'll go myself. Who'd have thought it ? What a sur- 
 prise ! Gerald come back !" and giving vent to a dozen simi- 
 lar ejaculations, the worthy vicar hurried down stairs and met 
 Gerald in the hall. 
 
 " Welcome back, Mr. Dalton ! Welcome back, Gerald !'* 
 he said, seizing the young man's extended hand, and shaking it 
 warmly and vigorously, giving one of those hearty shakes that 
 tell one more plainly than words can express, that the welcome 
 extended is a heartfelt one. " Come up stairs, my boy ; 
 come up stairs. When did you arrive? Why didn't you 
 write and let me know that you were coming ? Bless me \
 
 EXPLANATIONS. 317 
 
 who'd have thought of seeing you to-night ? And how stout 
 you've got ; and so brown, I should scarcely have known you. 
 Take a seat ; take a seat. No apologies." (Gerald had apolo- 
 gized for his dusty, travel-soiled appearance.) 
 
 And the young man took the proffered seat, and after asking 
 several questions and replying to various inquiries, at once 
 broached the main object of his visit. 
 
 " I need scarcely explain, sir," he said, " that the reason of 
 my leaving India so soon after I received your letter, has been 
 to prosecute inquiries respecting Miss Alice Thornton. Have 
 you heard any further news of her ?" 
 
 " I have received two letters since, from the young French, 
 man," replied the vicar, " and I really begin to believe that 
 there has been some extraordinary foul play at work, more 
 especially as Dr. Knight paid a flying visit to Paris a month 
 or two since with the express object of seeing the young man. 
 He is an artist, and the doctor says appears to be a very 
 worthy, intelligent young fellow. He also saw the young 
 woman, Minette, who asserts that she served Alice in the capa- 
 city of waiting-maid in the island of Cuba, and she appears to 
 be a very decent young female, with all the sprightliness and 
 energy of purpose peculiar to a French girl, when her interest 
 is excited in some special object." 
 
 "And this man, Mr. Craddock, what of him, sir ? Has any- 
 thing been heard of him "?" 
 
 " Yes ; Doctor Knight saw him in Paris, but did not make 
 himself known ; and Minette writes in her last letter, received 
 only a few weeks since, that he is still in that city." 
 
 " Has anything transpired, sir, that can furnish a clue to his 
 motive in thus persecuting Miss Thornton ?" asked Gerald. 
 
 " There it is," continued the vicar ; " the letters from Ar- 
 mand are so ambiguous in style. The writer evidently knows 
 little or nothing about the matter himself; indeed, he and the 
 young woman both said as much to Dr. Knight, that one 
 scarcely knows what steps to take. All we can be certain of
 
 318 THE WANDERER. 
 
 is, that the poor young lady has suffered persecution. I have 
 no doubt some pecuniary matter is involved and she is now, 
 and has been for some time past, immured in a convent, near 
 Orleans. I have no doubt," continued the vicar, with a Pro- 
 testant clergyman's holy horror, at the bare thought, " that 
 Mr. Craddock's purpose is, if she refuse to consent to some 
 arrangement or other, which we are all ignorant of, to compel 
 her eventually to take the veil. Minette, the waiting-woman, 
 however, has given a slight inkling of the cause of this perse- 
 cution : She says that she thinks she is not certain but she 
 thinks, that Mr. Craddock, who is her uncle, as I informed 
 you in my letter, wishes to force her to consent to marry his 
 son her cousin." 
 
 " But," said Gerald, " is there no possibility of taking im- 
 mediate measures to procure her release ? Can it be possible 
 that a young English girl can be lawfully carried off and im- 
 mured in a jail, for it is little better nay, in some respects 
 much worse !" 
 
 " I fear not," replied the vicar, " unless we have some good 
 grounds for our interference. You see this Mr. Craddock 
 is her uncle, her only known relative living, and Alice, yet 
 wanting some months of her majority, he is in fact, her natural 
 guardian, so I have reason to believe the law would render it. 
 By interfering too rashly, we might fail in our object alto- 
 gether." 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimed Gerald, " Is there no clue that 
 we can weave a plan of action upon ? Is the poor girl to re- 
 main subject to the tyranny of this man ?" 
 
 " I think there is, Gerald," continued the vicar, " but it will 
 require time, and involve considerable expense and trouble 
 
 " I have sufficient money, sir," interrupted Gerald, "to 
 serve me a year, and trouble as regards this matter, I shall not 
 heed ; but time is the mischief while we are wasting time, 
 this man may force Alice into his views ; but, I beg your par-
 
 THE DECISION. 319 
 
 don what is the clue to the cause of this infamous coercion, of 
 which you speak ?" 
 
 " It is this," replied the vicar, " I have observed that there 
 :s good reason to believe that the object of the persecu- 
 tion is of a pecuniary nature. I don't see what other motive 
 Mr. Craddock could have in seeking to coerce his niece. Now, 
 listen ; he took the young lady to Cuba, and there, according 
 to the French waiting-maid, endeavored to force her to wed 
 his son. Minette also says, thereby corroborating the impres- 
 sion of Mr. Ashley, that Alice has told her more than once, 
 that her mother was a native of Cuba, though of English parent- 
 age. The plantation upon which Mr. Craddock resided in 
 Cuba, is said to be a very extensive and valuable estate ; put- 
 ting these things together, I am led to the conclusion, that the 
 property, of right, belongs to Alice, and that by obtaining his 
 niece's consent to marry her cousin, Mr. Craddock hopes to 
 bring the estate into his own or at least into his son's posses- 
 sion. I can see no other motive for the persecution, and I 
 think the argument I have advanced is a plausible one." 
 
 " I think so too, sir," said Gerald, eagerly ; " but how to act 
 in such a case, that is the question. I will go myself to Cuba." 
 
 "That is exactly what I was going to propose," said the 
 vicar ; " but you must see your way clearly first. The Cuban 
 government is a very jealous one ; one ill-advised step might 
 spoil all. I have been speaking to Knight upon the subject, 
 and he agrees with me that some one interested in the young 
 lady ought to go to Cuba, and probe the subject to the bottom ; 
 but Mr. Craddock must remain in ignorance of any such action 
 having been taken. You are the best person to go ; but you 
 will require letters of introduction and vouchers of respecta- 
 bility. Now Knight is acquainted with one of the members of 
 a Spanish mercantile firm in Liverpool, and the house has a 
 branch at Havana. He can procure you letters from his friend 
 to the partners in Cuba, and they will advise you how to act 
 when you arrive there. I believe that there is a will leaving
 
 820 THE WANDERER. 
 
 this property to Alice from one of her maternal relatives, and 
 that her uncle has unlawfully obtained possession of it, with the 
 object of accomplishing certain ends of his own. I am not 
 sure that this is the case ; but you will allow that circumstan- 
 ces point that way." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," eagerly replied Gerald, jumping at once to 
 the conclusion he had arrived at, in his usual sanguine man- 
 ner. 
 
 The vicar smiled at the young man's impetuosity : 
 
 " Don't be too sanguine, Gerald," he said, " we may be all 
 wrong ; but to-morrow morning we will see Dr. Knight to- 
 gether, and arrange the matter, I trust, satisfactorily." 
 
 The conversation then took another turn and Gerald spoke 
 of his mother, and of the remorse he had felt and still contin- 
 ued to feel at his wilful, obstinate conduct. 
 
 Whatever Mr. Pearce might have thought, he " forbore to 
 chide," rather endeavoring to console the young man, by speak- 
 ing of the consolation Mrs. Dal ton experienced in her dying 
 hour, from the letter which had so opportunely arrived. 
 
 This was touching a tender chord in Gerald's breast. It 
 brought to his recollection the singular vision he had seen, and 
 he related the circumstances to the vicar. 
 
 " It was indeed strange," said the latter, when he had heard 
 the story. " I have, however, heard of such things, though it 
 is impossible to explain them satisfactorily. It would seem to 
 be conclusive that there is a subtle magnetic attraction by which 
 we are sometimes enabled to hold spiritual communion together, 
 altogether independent of the body ; but these things are be- 
 yond our feeble comprehension ; perhaps, after tall, it was but 
 a dream, although the coincidence was singular. Are you 
 going down to Abbottsford ? " 
 
 " Not now," replied the young man. " The visit would un- 
 nerve me, and render me unfit for the task I have to perform. 
 I must visit the grave of my mother alone, with my mind free 
 from any other anxiety. When I return from Cuba, I shall
 
 OLD FRIENDS. 821 
 
 go thither and render the last service to her memory which I 
 have hitherto been unable to perform. But it is growing very 
 late, and 1 am keeping you up beyond your usual hour of re- 
 tiring. I will now wish you good night, and to-morrow I will 
 see you again." 
 
 "Whj not remain here to-night? I have a spare bed at 
 your service.'' 
 
 " I thank you," replied Gerald, " but my luggage is at the 
 King's Arms, and as you perceive, I have not yet made any 
 alteration in my attire, I was so anxious to see you. I had bet- 
 ter return to the inn to-night." 
 
 " As you please," replied the vicar. " If you are resolved 
 to go, good night" 
 
 " By the by," said Gerald, as he took his hat from the table 
 near him. " I had almost forgotten to inquire after my old 
 friend Jemmy Milton. I hope the old man is well." 
 
 " Quite well, only that he is beginning to feel the infirmities 
 of age. By the way, I have some news to tell you in relation 
 to old Jemmy. The deacon, his brother is dead, and the old 
 man has come into possession of his property. There is some- 
 thing too, having relation to you, which will surprise you when 
 you hear it, but I shall defer the explanation till to-morrow. 
 Again, good night." 
 
 " Good night, sir," returned Gerald, as he quitted the room. 
 A few minutes walk carried him to the hotel, and fatigued with 
 the travel toil of the day, and the excitement he had passed 
 through, he retired to his chamber and was soon asleep. 
 
 The next day he repeated his visit to the vicarage, and met 
 Dr. Knight there, according to appointment. Annand's letters 
 were read and re-read, and the doctor repeated the conversa- 
 tion he had held with the young Frenchman and Minette. 
 Comparing one with the other, there remained little doubt in 
 the mind of any one of the party that the surmise of the vicar 
 would prove to be correct, and it was decided that Gerald 
 should sail immediately for the West Indies. The young man 
 21
 
 322 THE WANDERER. 
 
 wished to visit Paris and see Armand and Minette himself, but 
 he was overruled by his friends, who feared that something 
 might occur to excite the suspicions of Mr. Craddock, who 
 might learn by some means that he was in Paris, and take 
 measures to defeat his object. 
 
 Dr. Knight promised to procure the letters of introduction 
 that had been alluded to the night before, and wrote immediately 
 to Liverpool with that object. Gerald dined at the vicarage 
 with Mr. Pearce and the Doctor, and after dinner set out to 
 pay a visit to Jemmy Milton, whose generosity towards him- 
 self, he had heard during dinner. He found the old man, as 
 he had expected, seated in the boathouse. He looked as hale 
 and hearty as ever, smoking his pipe and gazing upon the sea, 
 dotted with vessels of every description, passing through the 
 narrow channel. Jemmy was overjoyed to see his favorite 
 once more. 
 
 " Gerald," he said, after the first warm salutations were over, 
 this here does my old eyes good. I never expected to see you 
 again on this yarth. I'm near up to the full three score and ten, 
 and shall soon be into the period when the days is ' full of 
 trouble and sorrow ; ' but I'm passin' away comfortable, and 
 my blessin's is more than I desarve. The old hulk lives on 
 while the young is taken off. Your mother, Gerald, was con- 
 siderable younger than me, and it was only reasonable to ex- 
 pect that my glass 'ud run down afore her'n ; but Providence 
 has willed it otherwise, and nobody has any right to complain ; 
 but I was mortal sorry to hear on the good lady's death. Times 
 has changed, Gerald, since you left home. You've heerd, 
 I s'pose, as I've come into the deacon's money ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Gerald, " Mr. Pearce told me to-day, and 
 he also informed me of your intended generosity towards me ; 
 but I cannot consent to accept it, Jemmy. It would not be 
 right." 
 
 " Why not ?" said the old man. " I've n'ary chick nor 
 child to leave it to, and the vicar tells me how news has been
 
 OLD FRIENDS. 323 
 
 heerd of Miss Alice, poor little thing ! You'll want money, 
 Gerald, when you and she comes together. I won't hear a 
 word agin the legacy, as they calls it. It's my business, and 
 nobody has a right to gainsay me. But you'll be a goin' arter 
 Alice, Gerald, and mayhap a little matter o' money 'ud be sar- 
 viceable now ; say the word, lad, and it's your'n at any time. 
 I ain't no use for 't, and Jemmy Milton ain't the man to keep 
 his friends a waitin' for dead men's shoes." 
 
 " I thank you sincerely, Jemmy," replied Gerald, " but I 
 have money enough at present for my purposes. I am going 
 to sail shortly for Cuba, where I hope to be able to clear up 
 the mystery that has so long surrounded this strange affair. I 
 trust I shall succeed, and that ere long Alice and I may to- 
 gether thank you for the interest you have ever expressed in 
 our behalf." 
 
 "But the legacy, Gerald," said the old man, earnestly; 
 " you won't deny an old man's wish, and refuse the rhino when 
 I'm dead and gone "?" 
 
 " I should be foolish to do so, if you so much desire it, and 
 have no nearer and dearer friend to whom to leave it," said 
 Gerald. " If I am satisfied such is the case," he added, smil- 
 ing, " I shan't object ; but I hope it will be many years before 
 I am called upon to accept it." 
 
 "That's spoken like yourself, Gerald. You've eased my 
 mind of a load, boy. I'd have been shocking cut up if you'd 
 have continued to refuse. As to living very many years, it 
 can't be expected in the course of natur. Howsumever, my 
 health is tolerable good yet, and I should like to live long 
 enough to see you and Miss Alice spliced, and then I shall feel 
 ready to slip my cable at any moment that the word's passed 
 from aloft." 
 
 Gerald remained until late conversing with the old man, and 
 then, after walking with him to his lodgings, returned to the 
 inn. 
 
 In the course of a few days, Dr. Knight received letters from
 
 324 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Liverpool, offering to assist him in any possible way, and 
 Gerald started for Liverpool, where he received letters of in- 
 troduction to the house of Hornby & Co. of Havana, the firm 
 being requested therein to assist him to the extent of their ca- 
 pability. Within a week, he was on his way to Cuba. 
 
 The passage was a short and favorable one, and on his arri- 
 val at Havana, he called immediately upon the Messrs. Hornby, 
 and presented his letters. 
 
 " I recollect something of this matter," said the senior part- 
 ner of the firm, when, after he had read the letters of introduc- 
 tion, Gerald explained the object of his voyage. " It created 
 at the time some little excitement and suspicion, the departure 
 of Mr. Craddock was so sudden and unexpected, and during his 
 stay here, the young lady, his niece, was kept in such seclu- 
 sion ; that is to say, she was not permitted to make the ac- 
 quaintance of any of the European or American ladies residing 
 here. But if it be as you suspect, we shall need to act with 
 caution." 
 
 " What would you advise?" said Gerald. 
 
 "I would insert a cautiously worded advertisement in the 
 Gazette, stating that an interview is requested with the late ex- 
 ecutor of the Craddock estates ; I don't know who the man is ; 
 but the property, I know, has been for some years in litigation, 
 and the case was at last decided in favor of Craddock. What 
 was the tenor of the will, I never heard." 
 
 "And if I by this means discover the executor?" 
 
 " Then I would state the case clearly to him, explaining the 
 method employed to abduct the young lady, and the suspicions 
 to which this conduct has given rise, and I would demand a 
 sight of the will. You had better assume a lofty, authoritative 
 tone ; it will serve you here. And before you take any steps 
 in the matter, I will introduce you to some of the high officials 
 of the government, with whom I am acquainted. Should you 
 afterwards discover the person you seek, I will get one of these 
 gentlemen to accompany you to his residence. Do you speak 
 Spanish?"
 
 THE PLOT LAID OUT. 825 
 
 " No," replied the young man. 
 
 " Then I will also accompany you in the capacity of inter- 
 preter ; but we are reckoning without our host. We must 
 first lay the train properly. Dine with me to-night, the in- 
 tendant will be at my house. I will manage to introduce the 
 subject, and get matters into a proper shape, and to-morrow 
 insert the advertisement." 
 
 Gerald accepted the invitation, and thanking the merchant 
 for his kindness, left the office, and set out for a stroll through 
 the city. 
 
 In the evening, he met the intendant and one or two other 
 officers, at the residence of the merchant, and after dinner, Mr, 
 Hornby introduced the subject, and so managed to interest 
 his Cuban friends, that they consented, for a consideration, as 
 was pretty broadly hinted, to assist the young man in his en- 
 deavors, if their assistance should be required. 
 
 The next day a notice appeared in the Havana Gazette, call- 
 ing for information respecting the executor of the estate of the 
 late William Craddock, Esq., of Regla, and in the event of that 
 gentleman's being still in Cuba, asking for an interview, which 
 would result to his advantage. 
 
 A reply was inserted in the same journal in a few days, 
 stating that the gentleman in question, Senor Alvero, was re- 
 siding on a plantation, near St. Eugenio, and that he would be in 
 the city of Havana at the commencement of the ensuing week, 
 when he would grant the interview demanded. 
 
 Thus far, all worked well, and Gerald waited with impatience 
 for the day that would bring about the promised interview.
 
 826 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 The interview with the executor, showing how he fell into the snare laid 
 for him, and how Mr. Craddock consented to the release of hie niece from 
 the convent He returns to England. 
 
 THE interview with Sefior Alvero took place a few days af- 
 terwards. The senor was greatly surprised when he discovered 
 the object for which he had been summoned ; perhaps he had 
 received a douceur from Mr. Craddock ; perhaps he had made 
 a trifle on his own private account by pandering to that gentle- 
 man's desires. At all events, it was very evident that he ex- 
 pected he had been sought for for a very different purpose ; but 
 the trap had been laid so adroitly, that before he discovered it, 
 he had involved himself beyond possibility of retraction. 
 
 On notifying his arrival at Havana to Mr. Hornby, by whom 
 the advertisement had been signed, he was asked to meet a party 
 at dinner, at that gentleman's house. The subject of the late 
 Oaddock litigation was introduced, in the presence of three or 
 four of the city authorities, the conversation being in Spanish, 
 in order that they might bear a part. 
 
 " It is a fine estate, that of the Craddock's, at Regla," ob- 
 served Mr. Hornby, to one of the Spanish officers. 
 
 " Yes," returned the person addressed, who had been 
 schooled in the affair on hand, " you were the executor, I be- 
 lieve," addressing Senor Alvero. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the senor. 
 
 " It was decided in favor of the Craddocks, after a long course 
 of litigation, I believe," continued his interlocutor. 
 
 " Yes," again replied Sefior Alvero.
 
 THE SNARE LAID. 321 
 
 " And the grand-daughter of the old gentleman comes into 
 the entire property, if she can be found, I understand?" said 
 Mr. Hornby. 
 
 " Yes, if she can be found," replied Senor Alvero ; " but 
 otherwise it goes to a grandson, who is now, I understand, a 
 student, in Kingston, Jamaica." 
 
 " I wonder who that young lady was that old Mr. Craddock's 
 son brought here a few months since 1 She was very beautiful, 
 I have heard the senoritas say, although he kept her secluded 
 from the society of her own sex," said Mr. Hornby. 
 
 " Yes, and then decamped with her so suddenly," observed 
 the officer, who had opened the conversation. " I have often, 
 thought she was his niece, the grandson of the viejo. Do you 
 know, Senor Alvero ?" 
 
 The Senor by this time appeared to suspect that he was be- 
 ing led into some trap. He returned an evasive answer, and 
 the conversation took another turn, and towards ten o'clock, 
 the party separated, leaving Mr. Hornby, Gerald and Senor 
 Alvero, alone. 
 
 Then, Mr. Hornby speaking for Gerald, whose ignorance of 
 the Spanish language rendered him impotent to act on the oc- 
 casion, seriously re-introduced the subject. 
 
 " You have promptly replied to the advertisement I caused 
 to be inserted in the Gazette, Senor Alvero," he said, " You 
 were the executor of Mr. Craddock, and, of course, are ac- 
 quainted with the contents of the documents in question. 
 Have you any objection to state their nature as nearly as you 
 can recollect 1 or, perhaps you have the will in your posses- 
 sion ?" 
 
 " I have it no longer, I surrendered it to Mr. Craddock, the 
 son of the testator," replied Senor Alvero. 
 
 " But were you satisfied that he was the legatee ?" inquired 
 Mr. Hornby. 
 
 " In case the grand-daughter of the testator could not be dis- 
 covered, his son was,'' replied Senor Alvero.
 
 328 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " But are you satisfied that proper and sufficient search has 
 been made for the rightful heir ?" continued Mr. Hornby. " Do 
 you know who the young lady was who was lately in Cuba, 
 residing on the Regla property with him, whom it was cur- 
 rently reported, he wished his son a fine young man, George 
 Craddock to marry. She might be the heiress in question.'' 
 
 " I know not why you are questioning me in this manner," 
 said Senor Alvero, growing angry. " The heiress could not be 
 found ; the son of Senor Craddock was the next heir in succes- 
 sion ; his father claimed the title, and I, in duty bound, sur- 
 rendered the will. Is this all that was required of me by the 
 notice that appeared in the Gazette "?" 
 
 " Not exactly all," said Mr. Hornby. " We demand the 
 privilege of reading the will, in behalf of Miss Alice Craddock, 
 the rightful heiress, whose present location we know, and 
 whom we can produce when the occasion demands it." 
 
 " By what right do you dare to question me thus "?" repeated 
 Seiior Alvero, in an angry tone of voice. " I have told you 
 that I have surrendered the will to Mr. Craddock, by default, 
 the rightful heir not appearing." 
 
 " We have a right which you will soon acknowledge, Senor," 
 replied Mr. Hornby. " And you had no right to surrender 
 your executorship over the estate of Mr. Craddock, as we can 
 prove, if you force us so to do ; but, it will be to your advan- 
 tage to act honestly." 
 
 " You threaten me," returned Senor Alvero. " I shall not 
 reply." 
 
 " Senor," said Mr. Hornby ; " let us understand each other 
 you recollect that you confessed to-night, in the presence of 
 more than one officer of the Government, that Miss Alice 
 Thornton was the rightful heiress to the estates you now con- 
 fess to have surrendered to Mr. Craddock, her uncle. We 
 have your own word for this ; reflect, in what an unfortunate 
 position you will be placed, if we are compelled again to resort 
 to law, which we shall assuredly do, if we cannot otherwise 
 obtain satisfaction ?"
 
 THE WILL. 329 
 
 Sefior Alvero remained silent, and Mr. Hornby continued : 
 ** We mean you no harm, Senor Alvero ; you have doubtless 
 been the dupe of Mr. Oaddock. It is your duty now to ex- 
 pose the fraud of which I have no doubt he has been guilty. 
 Your honesty shall be rewarded, and all that is passed shall be 
 forgotten, so far as it concerns you. If you still persist in 
 your present position, we shall hold you guilty, and the result 
 will be your own fault." 
 
 Senor Alvero began to perceive that his deception had been 
 brought to light by some means unknown to him. The fact 
 that he was in the dark in this respect increased his alarm * 
 and he recollected that he had laid himself open to the autho- 
 rities by his incautious remarks. Again, he had shrewdness 
 enough to perceive that no harm was intended him, if he 
 changed his tactics and supported the right cause, and, after a 
 pause of some duration, he confessed that he had, he believed, 
 been misled by Mr. Craddock's representations, and that he be- 
 lieved that gentleman had sinister motives in concealing the 
 existence of Alice. 
 
 Mr. Hornby now related what he had heard from Gerald 
 concerning Alice Thornton, and said that she was in France, 
 and could and would be produced to make her claim good to 
 the property ; " and now," he added, in conclusion, " we per- 
 fectly understand each other. You have not given up the ori- 
 ginal will '? produce it, and you shall find it to your interest in 
 the end." 
 
 Senor Alvero confessed that he had surrendered only a copy 
 of the will to Mr. Craddock, taking credit to himself for retain- 
 ing the original, in the belief that Mr. Craddock was deceiving 
 him, although, he observed, he made so good a claim in behalf 
 of his son, that he felt himself justified in acting as he had done. 
 
 " Then the original will we shall see to-morrow,'' said Mr. 
 Hornby. 
 
 " Not to-morrow, it is impossible. It is in my strong box, 
 at home, at St. Eugenio ; but I will send for it and produce it 
 in the course of a few days."
 
 330 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Be it so, then," said Mr. Hornby. " Recollect," he added, 
 in a stern tone of voice, " we understand each other, and I shall 
 allow of no further subterfuge." 
 
 " De muy buena gana" (with all my heart,) returned Sefior 
 Alvero, as bidding his host good night, he prepared to return 
 to his hotel. 
 
 " We have managed this affair skilfully, Mr. Dalton," said 
 Mr. Hornby, when Senor Alvero had departed. " I have no 
 doubt whatever, that this fellow has been perfectly cognizant 
 all throughout of a fraud having been perpetrated in this case ; 
 but it is as well to humor him, and profess ignorance, while, at 
 the same time we hold a proper check over him. However, I 
 congratulate you upon your success, and have no doubt that 
 you will perfectly succeed in your undertaking." 
 
 Senor Alvero knew that he was watched by the police, and 
 on the appointed day he was faithful to his word. The original 
 will arrived from St. Eugenio, and was produced and read by 
 Gerald and Mr. Hornby. The fraudulent intentions of Mr. 
 Craddock were at once made manifest. He had stated the 
 contents falsely to Alice. The estates of the late Mr. Crad- 
 dock were left to her as the sole heiress, only in case of her 
 death to descend to the heirs of Mr. Craddock. Knowing that 
 she was living, he had endeavored to promote a marriage with 
 his son, in order that the ownership of the property might de- 
 volve upon himself, or his own family. 
 
 Gerald demanded and obtained a fair copy of the will, legally 
 executed and properly attested in court, and armed, as he was, 
 with full power to overthrow the falsehood and wrong perpe- 
 trated by Mr. Craddock, lost no time in returning to England. 
 
 He learnt from Mr. Pearce, on arriving at Herrington, that 
 another letter had been received from Armand. Minette had 
 made the cause of Alice her own ; and what will an intriguing 
 French woman not accomplish, when her heart is set upon 
 gaining some end? By some means or other, Minette had 
 managed to obtain a knowledge of all that was passing in the
 
 THE RESOLVE. 331 
 
 convent at Orleans, and had set Armand to track Mr. Crad- 
 dock's every movement in Paris. He had written, to inform 
 Mr. Pearce, that Ma'mselle Alice's term of probation had 
 nearly expired, and that Minette feared,' that unless relief were 
 afforded, she would soon be compelled to take the veil, and be 
 forever secluded in the convent. The original three months 
 test promised by Mr. Craddock had been long extended, but 
 his patience appeared to be wearied at last, and he, himself, was 
 intending to leave Paris for Havana, in the course of a few 
 weeks. 
 
 There was no time to be lost. The letter had already been 
 a week in the possession of the vicar, and yet there existed 
 much difficulty in managing the affair. 
 
 A bold course was the only one to pursue, and Gerald, ac- 
 companied by Doctor Knight, immediately set out for the 
 French capital, resolved to seek out Armand, and from him 
 discover where Mr. Craddock was to be found, and confronting 
 him, to boldly prove his falsehood, and demand from him, as 
 the only price of secrecy, the instant release of Alice, and the 
 restoration of her rights. 
 
 Gerald had Armand's address in the Quartier St. Antoine, 
 and the young man was soon found, seated at his easel, busily 
 occupied in painting, while Minette was employed in setting 
 his studio (which comprised bedroom and parlor, and all) in 
 neat array. 
 
 She blushed and withdrew when the strangers entered, and 
 Armand explained that though, as yet, she was not his wife, 
 she was good enough to come every day and perform the same 
 kind office. He expressed a perfect willingness to show his 
 visitors where Mr. Craddock could be found, and, in reply to 
 an expression of curiosity on the part of Dr. Knight, how 
 Minette could obtain such correct information regarding what 
 occurred in the seclusion of the convent, he shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, and replied "Ma foil Nothing is impossible to a 
 woman. She has made friends with the porteress and obtains
 
 332 THE WANDERER. 
 
 it from her ; but how, I cannot say. She keeps her plans a 
 secret from me, except when she dictates what I shall write ; 
 Mais diable ! Messieurs, I wish this matter were settled satis- 
 factorily, for, until it is, the little coquine swears she will not 
 marry me." 
 
 Mr. Craddook resided at an hotel in the Rue Richelieu, and 
 thither, guided by Armand, the travellers proceeded, and re- 
 quested the commissionaire to direct them to his rooms, and to 
 announce the arrival of two gentlemen from England. 
 
 They were readily admitted, although Mr. Craddock's coun- 
 tenance expressed considerable disgust and suspicion. How- 
 ever, he requested them to be seated, and asked the nature of 
 their business with him. 
 
 " My name is Gerald Dalton," said Gerald, frankly, " and 
 we have called to make inquiries respecting Alice Thornton." 
 
 " And pray, young sir," said Mr. Craddock. " What is your 
 business with Miss Thornton, or if you have business with her, 
 what reason have you to imagine that I know where she may 
 be?" 
 
 The cool effrontery of this reply, temporarily disconcerted 
 the young man, while Dr. Knight listened with perfect aston- 
 ishment ; but Gerald quickly recovered himself, and replied : 
 
 " This gentleman and I, and others in England and elsewhere, 
 have ample evidence to prove that you abducted the young 
 lady from England, and have since retained her almost a close 
 prisoner." 
 
 " And if I have," said Mr. Craddock, " who dares gainsay 
 my right to do so ? Am I not her uncle ; her only living re- 
 lative, with the exception of my son, her cousin, and, conse- 
 sequently, her natural guardian ]" 
 
 " I do not know," replied Gerald, " that the fact of your 
 being her uncle, gives you the right to take her forciby from 
 the guardian to whose care she was entrusted by her father on 
 his death-bed, or from those to whom he transferred his guar- 
 dianship when about to leave England. It is for the law to
 
 THE ACCUSATIONS. 333 
 
 gettle that, and also to test your right to property which be- 
 longs to her, by her grandfather's will." 
 
 " Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Craddock, "you are bold, young sir; 
 pray, what do you know of a will, and who gave you or your 
 friends the right to pry into matters that do not concern you 1" 
 
 " We shall see," returned Gerald, making a preconcerted 
 signal for Armand to enter. 
 
 "Who is this fellow that is engaged with you in this 
 trumped-up conspiracy to obtain money from me, no doubt 7" 
 said Mr Craddock, sarcastically, glancing contemptuously at 
 the paint-soiled blouse and untrimmed beard of the artist. 
 
 " I will shortly explain, Monsieur," replied Armand, exas- 
 perated at this taunt. " Monsieur recollects, perhaps, Ma'm- 
 selle Minette, who was waiting-maid to Miss Alice, in Cuba. 
 She was curtly and rudely dismissed from the service of Ma- 
 dame Alice, by Monsieur, on his return to Paris, when Madame 
 was sent to be immured in a convent. Ha ! Ma'mselle Mi- 
 nette swore revenge and a French soubrette knows how to 
 obtain it. I have letters here to prove all I have asserted." 
 
 Excited to passion that he could no longer control, Mr. 
 Craddock rose from his seat and was about to rush upon Ar- 
 mand, and expel him from the room, when he was interrupted 
 by Gerald, who said : 
 
 " Calm yourself and control your temper, Mr. Craddock, 
 you are the uncle of Alice, and for her sake no harm shall be- 
 fal you, if you will render her the justice that is due. Nay, 
 
 do not threaten " (Mr. Craddock had commenced to reply, 
 
 in a blustering, threatening tone.) " There is a certain will in 
 the custody of Senor Alvero of Havana, the executor of the 
 estate of the late Mr. Craddock of which I have in my posses- 
 sion a faithful copy, sworn to and attested in the Cuban Courts 
 which has been wrongfully taken possession of by you and 
 of which you have made a fraudulent use. I have just return- 
 ed from Havana, whither I went with the express object of dis- 
 covering the frauds that I and others learnt through Alice's
 
 334 THE WANDERER. 
 
 waiting-maid, Minette, and this young man, had been practiced 
 upon the young lady, by you, her self-constituted guardian. I 
 have learnt that which would consign you to prison for life ; 
 but release Alice from the Convent, and forego your unjust 
 claims, and, for her sake, I will be forever silent on this sub- 
 ject." 
 
 Mr. Craddock had changed color several times while Gerald 
 was speaking, with mingled rage and fear ; but, he felt that the 
 young man was speaking the truth in regard to the investiga- 
 tions he had made, and he knew that he had been guilty of a 
 heinous crime. He calmed his passion and said : 
 
 " I confess that I have done wrong ; but my original object 
 was to benefit my niece, but the vengeance of Providence 
 has overtaken me. I was about to return to Cuba. I 
 shall now go to India. I will send to the Superior of 
 the convent and give orders for the release of Alice, and shall 
 then quit the country never to return." 
 
 " That is all that I ask," replied Gerald ; but Dr. Knight, 
 who had not yet spoken, now interposed. 
 
 " This must be done immediately, or we shall take other 
 measures " 
 
 " I will write now," said Mr. Craddock, thoroughly subdued, 
 and in the presence of his visitors he wrote the letter, giving 
 it to them unsealed. 
 
 " That is sufficient," said Gerald, after reading it. " Mr. 
 Craddock, I wish you good day," and accompanied by the 
 young Frenchman, the doctor and Gerald quitted the hotel, 
 and that evening set out for Orleans, where the letter was pre- 
 sented at the convent, and within an hour Alice Thornton was 
 freed from, her restraint and heartily congratulated by Dr. 
 Knight and Gerald. 
 
 The poor girl, who had so long considered her escape hope- 
 less, was overpowered with joy and gratitude. As soon as 
 the first transports of her delight were over, she inquired after 
 her former friends, Mrs. Dalton, the Ashley's, and the vicar,
 
 THE RETURN. 335 
 
 nor was old Jemmy Milton forgotten. She was deeply affect- 
 ed on hearing from Gerald of the death of his mother ; but her 
 joy at escaping from the convent was so great, that she soon 
 dried the tears she shed on hearing of the decease of her second 
 mother, as she styled Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 She had a thousand questions to ask and a thousand to reply 
 to, and the relation of all that had befallen each since they had 
 bid each other farewell in Herrington, was matter for conver- 
 sation until they landed at Dover, to which place they travelled 
 with all possible rapidity, and there hiring a carriage found 
 themselves in the course of two hours at the entrance to the 
 vicarage of Herrington.
 
 THE WANDERER 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 fn which the reader is conducted over a good deal of ground, and in which 
 Love, Courtship and Matrimony are all introduced. Some readeis may 
 think better late than never. 
 
 THE newly arrived party were warmly welcomed by the 
 vicar who had seen the chaise coming up the lane which led to 
 the vicarage. Alice, especially, although he declared that he 
 could scarcely recognize her as the same little Alice whom he 
 had so often met on the beach or on the path which led along 
 the cliffs, was congratulated upon her happy return and on the 
 good fortune that awaited her in Cuba. " Although," said the 
 vicar with a sly smile, for the good man liked a joke now and 
 then, " I shouldn't wonder if you are looking forward with 
 greater pleasure to the consummation of a still greater happi- 
 ness, eh, Gerald ?" addressing the young man, " What do you 
 think T 
 
 Gerald smiled and looked fondly at Alice, and Alice cast 
 down her eyes, almost shrouding them beneath their long dark 
 fringes, and blushed, and so replied to the vicar's query in the 
 most satisfactory manner. 
 
 A few days were passed pleasantly enough in visiting old 
 friends in Herrington, Jemmy Milton, to be sure, not being for- 
 gotten. The old man was rejoiced to see her again, and made 
 her sit down in the boathouse and recount to him all that had 
 happened to her since her abrupt departure from Herrington. 
 
 " It does me good," he said, " to hear your sweet voice agin, 
 Miss Alice. It is a cheersome sound to my old ears. It is 
 like the south wind blowing softly through a ship's cordage 
 after a blustering nor'wester, and wafting the good ship home- 
 ward, and recalling to mind the memory of those we left be-
 
 COURTSHIP. 33t 
 
 hind us, and who we hope are waiting to welcome our return. 
 So your voice, Miss Alice, minds me of old times when you 
 and Gerald were boy and girl, and I was not so old and stiff 
 as I have become during the year or two past." 
 
 The old man, too, hazarded his jokes upon the future 
 union of the young couple. He insisted upon purchasing a 
 valuable necklace for Alice, which he made her promise to 
 wear on the day of her wedding, which he very shrewdly took 
 for a settled affair, and would have insisted upon Alice's being 
 measured at a jeweller's for a wedding ring, only Gerald, to 
 whom he communicated his intentions, managed after much 
 difficulty to persuade him that that would not be exactly the 
 thing. 
 
 They were very happy wandering together over the cliffs, 
 or on the beach, Alice and Gerald ; but the latter felt that he 
 had duties to perform, and he was at last fain to leave her for 
 a time to the care of the vicar, while he paid a visit to Abbotts- 
 ford and to London. 
 
 Mr. Pearce and he had held several private conversations 
 together. On one of these occasions, he had informed the vicar 
 that he had obtained Alice's consent to their speedy union, and 
 the conversation had turned upon their future prospects. 
 
 " It is my intention to reside in the United States," said 
 Gerald, in reply to a question put to him by the vicar. " I 
 have intimated this to Alice, and she is willing to go with me 
 thither ; and it will be necessary that we both go to Cuba and 
 arrange matters relating to the property belonging to her on 
 that island." 
 
 " You are doubly fortunate, Gerald," replied the vicar, " in 
 finding Alice to be an heiress." 
 
 " I suppose I am," said Gerald. " Indeed, it would be folly 
 for me to pretend otherwise ; but, although I still feel a deli- 
 cacy with respect to that legacy of Jemmy Milton's, I should 
 have felt unpleasantly in marrying Alice, poor as I would 
 otherwise be." 
 22
 
 338 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " That would be false delicacy, my young friend," replied 
 the vicar, "if you love each other. You have health and 
 strength, and the ability to earn your own living ; besides, you 
 intend to go to America. It is not improbable that the estate 
 I have heard your mother speak of may be of value." 
 
 " A mere chimera, I fear," replied Gerald. " I have heard 
 something about it through a letter I received in India from 
 my poor mother ; but I could not properly understand the sub- 
 ject. However, I shall of course make proper inquiry when 
 I reach the United States.' 7 
 
 " You say you are going to set out for Abbottsford the day 
 after to-morrow ?" 
 
 " Yes sir, and I shall visit London and see Mr. Hoffmann 
 before I return to Abbottsford.'' 
 
 " Of course Alice will remain here with me the while ?" 
 
 " I was going to propose that, sir," said Gerald. " I thank 
 you for the offer. Alice is like a sister to me now. She has 
 no other protector, and yet I could not well have taken her to 
 Abbottsford ; besides, I wish to go there alone" 
 
 On the day mentioned, the young man bade Alice a tempo- 
 rary good-by, and set out for the village in Northamptonshire 
 where his mother had died. Notwithstanding the happy pros- 
 pects that were now opened to him, the young man felt sad 
 and melancholy during the progress of this journey. He re- 
 called to mind the last time he had travelled over that road 
 then he was accompanying his mother to her new abode and 
 how many times since, aye, even when in India, he had made 
 up his mind to remain for some time abroad, he had pictured 
 to himself the time when he should return and pass along that 
 same road with a buoyant heart, eager to meet her again. He 
 had never thought that the next time he travelled that road, it 
 would be to visit his mother's grave. 
 
 The little quiet village was reached after two days' travel, 
 and when he alighted at the " ride-away," as the lane was 
 called which led to the village, for Abbottsford did not stand
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 339 
 
 on the high road, he recalled the vivid impression of his dream, 
 when he had in fancy passed along this lane listening to the toll- 
 ing of the village church bell which announced his mother's 
 death, and her funeral. But the bell was not tolling now, al- 
 though, as in the dream, the leaves were green upon the trees, 
 and the sunbeams were shining brightly on the green sward, 
 and the cattle were lazily reposing in the shade, and the birds 
 were warbling sweetly amidst the branches and in the hedge- 
 rows. 
 
 In half an hour's walk he had reached the parsonage, where 
 he intended to call and introduce himself to Mr. Davis, the 
 rector. 
 
 He found that gentleman at home, and on hearing the errand 
 upon which the young man had come, the clergyman kindly 
 welcomed him to the village. 
 
 Eefreshments were placed before him, and after he had par 
 taken of them, the rector related to him many circumstances 
 attending his mother's death. 
 
 " She was very anxious about you for a long time before 
 her last illness," said the clergyman, " and looked eagerly for 
 a letter by every mail that arrived from India. I shall never 
 forget the look of anxiety she gave me when I entered her 
 chamber bearing with me the letter I had but a few moments 
 before received, nor the eagerness with which she stretched out 
 her wasted hand to receive the prize. She was too feeble to 
 read it ; her eye-sight had already failed her ; but, I read the 
 letter aloud, close to her ear, and her countenance changed to 
 an expression so happy, so thankful, that health appeared sud- 
 denly to have been restored to her ; but she soon relapsed 
 into a state of unconsciousness from which she never perfectly 
 revived, although the happy expression rested upon her features 
 to the last. She held the letter I had given into her hand 
 after reading it, closely clasped to her bosom and I have no 
 doubt, her last earthly thoughts were of you. Only a few 
 moments before her death, rousing herself as if from a stupor,
 
 340 THE WANDERER. 
 
 she asked me to kneel and pray to let her hear me pray for 
 you she wished to die, she feebly whispered while that prayer 
 was passing from my lips, and so she died. She spoke but 
 once again and these last words were, " Remember, Gerald, 
 remember !" The right hand was outstretched and the finger 
 pomted as if in warning, and so it remained, stiffened in death, 
 after the breath had passed from her. It was with difficulty 
 we could relax its rigidity ; the letter she clasped so closely 
 to her bosom, we buried with her. She was followed to the 
 grave by a great number of the villagers and all the school 
 children, and deeply and sincerely lamented by all who had 
 known her. What little property she died possessed of I hold 
 in trust for you. I wrote to Mr. Pearce, stating many of these 
 facts, and, I presume, you have heard them from him ; but, I 
 thought it would be a mournful gratification to you to listen to 
 them from the lips of one who watched her last moments, and 
 closed her eyes in death." 
 
 Gerald was much affected during this recital; and Mr. 
 Davis perceiving his emotion, remained for some time silent. 
 At length he inquired whether he should conduct the young 
 man to the secluded spot in the church-yard where his mother's 
 grave was situated ; " A simple mound of turf marks the 
 spot," he added, " I would gladly have erected a tomb-stone 
 at the head of the grave, but I thought it better to leave that 
 mournful duty to you, for I anticipated your speedy return, 
 when you should hear the sad intelligence." 
 
 " If you will describe the spot to me, I will thank you," re- 
 plied Gerald ; " but I would rather visit the grave alone." 
 " You can see the spot but not the mound itself, from my study 
 window," said the rector, rising and advancing towards a low 
 window which looked out upon a neat lawn overspread with 
 ornamental shrubs, and from which the church-yard could be 
 seen beyond ; the group of horse-chestnuts with the tall, slen- 
 der pointed spire, peeping out above the dark green foliage 
 forming a beautiful and a fitting background to the prospect.
 
 THE CHURCH-YARD. 341 
 
 ** You see that clump of yew and cedars of Lebanon, there 
 to the right, just beyond where the chestnut trees grow thick- 
 est," said he, directing Gerald's attention to the spot with his 
 outstretched finger. " It is there beyond the largest yew. 
 The mound is right beneath its shade. You cannot mistake it, 
 for it is the only grave there. The spot was chosen by your 
 mother on her death-bed. She was fond of walking in the 
 church-yard sometimes, and, there used to be a rustic seat 
 there where she would sit in the summer evenings and read. 
 That is removed now and the grave-mound marks the exact 
 spot where it stood." 
 
 Gerald thanked the clergyman, and saying he had no doubt 
 he would readily find the spot he was in search of, he took his 
 hat and went on his melancholy quest. 
 
 The grave was found with ease and there seated on the 
 green mound where his mother had spent so many hours, he 
 remained until twilight came on, and the rector growing anx- 
 ious in consequence of his non-appearance, went in search of 
 him, and invited him to return to the house. 
 
 What were the young man's thoughts during these hours of 
 meditation perhaps, of prayer, he never disclosed. 
 
 He remained at Abbottsford a week and, at the expiration 
 of that period, a tomb-stone that had been ordered the day 
 after his arrival, from the neighboring town, was brought to 
 the village and planted above the lowly grave. It was a tomb- 
 stone neat and plain, as befitted the secluded country church- 
 yard and fashioned out of the purest white marble that could 
 be procured fitting emblem as the young man thought, of the 
 virtues of her whose humble sepulchre it adorned. 
 
 It was a bright summer's morning when the tombstone was 
 fixed at the head of the grass-grown mound above the grave. 
 Daisies and butter-cups and cowslips covered the sod, and grew 
 thickly around the spot, in whose petals yet glistened the dia- 
 mond drops of morning dew ; and as Gerald gazed upon these 
 flowers springing up from the rich dank earth of the graveyard,
 
 342 THE WANDERER. 
 
 he thought they blossomed as a lively token to man, that out 
 of corruption shall spring immortality, and that death is but 
 the portal to a brighter and an eternal life. 
 
 A single plain inscription was traced upon the smooth white 
 surface of the marble. It was this : 
 
 "SACKED 
 
 TO 
 THE MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 MY MOTHER." 
 
 The day following that on which the tombstone had been 
 placed in its position, Gerald bade farewell to the friendly rec- 
 tor, and took his departure for London, where he visited the 
 old well-remembered store in Broad Street, Bloomsbury, and 
 saw Mr. Hoffmann. The old gentleman received him with 
 kindness, and expressed regret for the harshness of his conduct. 
 
 The young man, at another time, might have received this 
 acknowledgment with some show of the pride and hauteur pe- 
 culiar to his disposition ; but he had just returned from a scene 
 calculated to chasten his spirit, and to subdue his pride and 
 obstinacy of character. He accepted the proffered hand of the 
 really honest, good-hearted old auctioneer, and expressed regret 
 in his turn for the petulance of his conduct and the flippant 
 tone of the letters he had written announcing his failure. 
 
 " Well, well," said the old gentleman, " we were all wrong 
 we all failed in some degree in that patience and proper regard 
 for the feelings of each other, which is one of the chief duties 
 of man. We were a pack of old noodles too I see it now 
 to send out such a pack of trumpery ; and Gerald, I think you 
 were a litlle hasty in getting rid of it." 
 
 " The loss you sustained, if ever I am able to do so, I will 
 repay you, each and all," said Gerald. 
 
 " No, no," replied Mr. Hoffmann " no need for that no 
 need for that, you suffered loss, too ; of course you did ; and
 
 VISIT TO LONDON 1 . 343 
 
 we were able to lose the money, though it troubled us some at 
 the time, but it didn't ruin us, Gerald it didn't ruin us," and 
 the old gentleman chuckled at the thought, probably, of the 
 comfortable condition of his finances ; but Gerald insisted that 
 if ever it should be in his power, he would refund the money 
 lost, and the old gentleman ended the dispute, by saying : 
 
 " Well, well -pay it, if you insist upon it ; we shan't refuse 
 the money, I dare say ; but don't consider it a debt until you 
 are able to repay it. What, by the way, are you going to do 
 with yourself, now ?" 
 
 " I am shortly going to the United States," replied the young 
 man. " You know New York is my native place, and I have 
 resolved to visit it again, with the intention of making it, or 
 rather with making some part of the country, my future home. 
 My mother is dead," he added, in a saddened tone of voice, 
 " and I have no particular tie to bind me to England." 
 
 " Aye," said the old gentleman, " I heard of your mother's 
 death while you were abroad, and though I was not acquainted 
 with her, I was much grieved ; but as you are going abroad 
 again, suppose we were to make up a venture ?" 
 
 " No, thank you," replied Gerald, laughing, " I should think 
 you have had enough of that I have, at all events." 
 
 " Well, then, dine with us to-day, and spend the evening ; 
 the old lady '11 find you a spare bed somewhere." 
 
 " I will accept your invitation to dinner," returned the young 
 man, " but I cannot remain during the evening ; I have much 
 yet to do in London, considering the time I have to do it in, 
 for I intend to set out, on my return to Herrington, to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 " As you please," replied Mr. Hoffmann. " If you feel it to 
 be your duty, it is quite right for you to refuse, and so manage 
 your business as to be ready to return home at the appointed 
 time." 
 
 Gerald dined with his former employer ; and during that 
 evening and the following morning, transacted what business
 
 344 THE WANDERER. 
 
 he had to do, which was very little after all ; and at eight o'clock 
 in the evening was seated in the stage, and on his way back to 
 Herrington, and to Alice. 
 
 Soon after his return there were evident signs of the ap- 
 proach of some grand event. The quiet vicarage was almost 
 turned inside out. Perhaps never had such strange doings 
 been enacted there before. Such bales of muslin, and parcels 
 of silk and satin, and such a passing to from the house of 
 the tidy, smart-looking dressmakers and milliners, and the 
 housekeeper was so busy and assumed such an air of import- 
 ance, that people began to wonder what could be the matter 
 at the vicarage, and to imagine all kinds of strange and silly 
 things. " The vicar is going to marry his housekeeper, I'se 
 warrant," said the old dames of the town over their bohea. 
 " Marry come up with her for a stuck up thing. Why I've 
 suspicioned it for a long time, such ogling in church, and he a 
 clargy, too, and she an old maid, and as to good looks, I'd be 
 ashamed if I warn't no better lookin' nor she." 
 
 And " Lawks no ! he, he, he ! Becky Sanford good looking !" 
 tittered a lot of old dames in chorus, " I'd break all the lookin' 
 glasses I came across if I were as ugly as Becky Sandford." 
 
 And so the news got abroad that the vicar was going to be 
 married, and some doubted and some believed, and some thought 
 it was none of their business whether he got married or not, 
 and others though it was their business, any how. 
 
 But all this anxiety was set at rest on the morning of the 
 ensuing Sabbath, when the Rev. Mr. Pearce publicly published 
 the bans of marriage between Gerald Dal ton and Alice Thorn- 
 ton, both of Herrington, in the county of Kent, and on the 
 third Sunday morning from this, after morning service, a 
 young man with pride and satisfaction depicted in his face, 
 albeit, a slight nervous tremor occasionally betrayed the pre- 
 sence of some unwonted emotion, and a young lady clad in pure 
 white and fair herself as the white garments she wore, save 
 where the roses blushed in her cheeks, stood at the altar in
 
 HOI FOB THE WEST. 345 
 
 Herrington church and wers united by the Rev. Mr. Pearce 
 in the holy bonds of matrimony, and an old sailor stood near 
 with such delight expressed in his visage, that every moment 
 a looker on might have thought that he was about to give it 
 some uproarious expression. The old sailor gave away the 
 bride and when the ceremony was over imprinted a fatherly 
 kiss on her fair cheek. The sailor was Jemmy Milton, and it 
 was Gerald Dalton who quitted the church a happy husband, 
 but Alice Thornton returned no more. A fair blushing girl 
 of little more than twenty summers rested fondly upon the 
 arm of the young man ; and it was Alice Thornton's features 
 and expression that she wore, but it was not she. It was Alice 
 Dalton Gerald's blooming bride. 
 
 They set out for a brief tour through France on the follow- 
 ing day, and while in Paris visited Armand and Minette and 
 found them happily married. 
 
 The services these had rendered Alice were not forgotten. 
 They had formerly been rewarded ; but now Alice having suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining from the lawyer who had been employed 
 after her return to England to manage any intricacies that 
 might disarrange her affairs, permission to draw for what mo- 
 ney she required they were made happy quite rich they 
 thought, with a really generous present. 
 
 After a two months' ramble, the young couple returned to 
 England, and immediately commenced preparations for the 
 projected voyage to America. 
 
 The island of Cuba was their first destination, Gerald and 
 indeed Alice likewise being anxious to have all matters connect- 
 ed with the Cuban estates properly settled, and they were 
 soon ready for the voyage. 
 
 The vessel on board of which their passage was engaged was 
 to sail from Liverpool, and to that port they set out to join her, 
 after having bid adieu to their friends, and promised to write 
 and let them know how they prospered in the New World. 
 
 Three months from the date of their marriage, Gerald and 
 Alice were on their way to the West Indies.
 
 346 THE WANDERER 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Which treats of various matters, showing how Gerald and Alice visited Cu- 
 ba, and arranged matters to their own satisfaction, and afterwards went to 
 New York, where Gerald met with some old acquaintances in name. How 
 he visited Ohio, and returned to New York, leaving matters in abeyance 
 which the next and concluding chapter will set to rights. 
 
 THE Minerva brig, on board which Gerald and his young 
 wife had sailed for Havana, arrived duly in port, after having 
 made an ordinary passage out. Letters had been dispatched 
 beforehand to announce their coming, and Mr. Hornby, whose 
 friendship had been so serviceable to Gerald on the occasion 
 of his former visit, received them at his house with true West 
 Indian hospitality. They found no difficulty now in proving old 
 Mr. Craddock's will. Senor Alvero was all smiles and obse- 
 quiousness, and Mr. Hornby was perfectly conversant 
 with the method whereby the Cuban authorities, who might 
 have opposed the succession, or at least caused a great deal of 
 trouble, and thrown obstacles in the way, could be managed 
 so as to be led with the utmost docility, so the matter was easily 
 settled with the assistance of a few golden compliments, and 
 Alice was put in possession of the title deeds of the Craddock 
 estates without any opposition being made, and as both she 
 and her husband were, of course, ignorant of the management of 
 a West Indian plantation, Senor Alvero who, ladrone as he 
 was, was quite as trustworthy as most of his class, was, at 
 Mr. Hornby's suggestion, retained in the position of overseer, 
 to which he had been appointed by Mr Craddock. 
 
 Alice's cousin George, who was still in Jamaica, heard through
 
 VISIT FROM GEORGE CRADDOCK. 34f 
 
 the newspapers of the arrival of Gerald and Alice at Havana, 
 and also of the circumstances which had induced to his cousin's 
 return. He had been no party to his father's attempt at fraud, 
 having never entertained a doubt of the correctness of Mr. 
 Craddock's statements in relation to the clauses of the will ; 
 still he felt that something of the obloquy, necessarily, though 
 undeservedly, rested upon him, and he resolved to visit his 
 cousin at Regla and wipe off any stain that, in the opinion of 
 her husband, might rest upon his character, by asking from his 
 cousin's own lips an explanation of his conduct during her for- 
 mer sojourn on the estate. 
 
 He arrived at Eegla about a month after Gerald and his wife 
 had landed at Havana, and was kindly received by them. 
 Alice, in fact, had told her husband of his generous behavior, 
 and his fears that his conduct might be misinterpreted were 
 unfounded, Gerald was not only ready but eager to give him 
 a cordial reception and a generous welcome, and he was pressed 
 to take up his abode with them while he remained. 
 
 " I will gladly do so," he replied, " but my stay will be but 
 short. I received a letter from my father written in Paris, 
 about a fortnight since, requesting me to go to the United 
 States, and thence take passage to India. He will meet me 
 there, having long before this sailed for Calcutta. My father 
 made no allusion whatever to his niece, nor did he say why he 
 was not again coming to the West Indies ; but in order to in- 
 duce me the more promptly to accede to his wishes, he hinted 
 that as I had formerly mentioned to him that I had an " attach- 
 ment " in Jamaica, I had his consent to marry the young lady 
 and carry her with me to Calcutta. I couldn't understand the 
 cause of this sudden alteration in his views, until I read the 
 newspaper gossip in relation to these Cuban plantations. I 
 was exceedingly mortified, and you will acknowledge with 
 good reason, the more especially as the old commissary Gen 
 eral, the father of my fiance for I have been pushing mat- 
 ters hard since my return from Cuba, and have obtained the
 
 348 THE WANDERER. 
 
 young lady's promise to marry me read the story in the 
 papers, and demanded an explanation, and the young lady her- 
 self refused to see me. 
 
 " I told the old gentleman the whole story, and he was so 
 pleased with my candor, as he expressed himself, that he shook 
 hands with me and said that he thought better of me than ever, 
 that I had acted quite right, and should immediately have an 
 interview with his daughter." 
 
 " I trust," said Alice, " that you have had no difficulty in 
 that quarter." 
 
 " A little, at first, I must confess. Miss Barton readily over- 
 looked everything the gossiping newspapers had said, except- 
 ing the allusions to the beauty of the young heiress, whom I, 
 forsooth, (so it was hinted) had been trying to win." 
 
 Alice smiled, and said that she hoped her cousin had satis- 
 fied Miss Barton of the falsity of these statements. 
 
 " Well, I did, after a while," replied George, smiling in his 
 turn. " A little to your detriment, my fair coz. All is fair, 
 they say, in love and war, and I plead guilty to a little subter- 
 fuge, and obliquity of expression. I told her you were a 
 perfect fright, an uncouth, red-faced English girl, whose sole at- 
 traction was your money bags, and that I never, for one mo- 
 ment entertained a particle of affection for you, for if I had 
 demonstrated the slightest partiality, you would have jumped 
 into my arms, and " 
 
 " Stop, stop," said Alice, laughing heartily, and placing her 
 hand upon her cousin's mouth, " you call this a trifling obli- 
 quity of expression, eh, sir? Why, it's downright falsehood, 
 and you know it. You ought to be made to do penance in a 
 white sheet. Gerald ought to call you out. Who ever 
 heard of such audacity ? However, since I am married and 
 my ugliness is no longer in the market, seeking a purchaser, 
 into whose arms to jump, I forgive you this once, and go so 
 far in my generosity as to hope that your pleading was success- 
 ful."
 
 DEPARTURE FROM CU2?A. 349 
 
 " So successful," replied George, " that we are to be married 
 on my return to Kingston, and in the course of a few weks we 
 shall be on our way tc Calcutta. What my father intends 
 doing there I don't know. Probably nothing. I know him to 
 be in possession of a handsome fortune, and this knowledge 
 increases my surprise at his action in relation to this Cuban 
 property. He has lived for many years in India. All his 
 friends are there, and I suppose he intends to spend the re- 
 mainder of his days in that country.'* 
 
 " Do you think it likely that you will remain ?" inquired 
 Gerald. 
 
 " That I cannot say. My father has influence there, and can 
 no doubt, procure me a good appointment, and both Mary and 
 I look forward to the voyage, and Mary is in extacies at the 
 idea of seeing a distant country of which she has heard and 
 read so much." 
 
 George very much enjoyed his visit, and he and Gerald laid 
 the foundation of a friendship, which has never been broken. 
 
 But the day was at hand on which he was to set out on his 
 return to Jamaica, and to meet his expectant fiancee, and with 
 mutual good wishes and expressions of friendship, they parted. 
 
 Gerald was now growing anxious to visit the United States. 
 The recollections of early boyhood which shed a golden halo 
 upon the localities wherein that early boyhood had been spent, 
 aided not a little by all that he had heard and read of the rapid 
 progress of the land in which he had drawn his first breath, had 
 determined him, now that he was enabled to gratify his often 
 expressed wish, to visit America, to make the United States 
 his future home ; besides, he had business there which might 
 prove of importance, and he wished, consequently, to visit 
 Cincinnati, where his father's farm had been located, and to see 
 this Mr. Brower, whom he recollected as his fellow-passenger 
 in the Liverpool stage, and of whom his mother had written in 
 one of her last letters to him when in India. 
 
 Preparations were accordingly made for the passage to New
 
 350 THE WANDERER. 
 
 York, and very soon after George Craddock sailed for Jamaica 
 Gerald and his wife were on their way to the United States. 
 
 During the passage Gerald related to Alice his own faint re- 
 collections of his native land, and all that he recollected having 
 heard from his mother, at different times, of his father's hard 
 experience there. With the names of Mr. Biggin and Mr. 
 Jenkins, the publisher, he was quite familiar, his mother had 
 often spoken of his father's connection with the " Trumpeter of 
 Freedom" and of the oddities of its proprietor and editor, and 
 also of Mr. Dalton's interview with the publisher, who would 
 not listen to him because he had not a European reputation. 
 Washington Irving's works and Cooper's novels, and Bancroft's 
 and Prescott's histories, and the speeches of Calhoun, and Clay 
 and Webster, had been eulogized in England, and their names 
 become household words and, on one occasion, when Gerald 
 was reading aloud to his mother, in her little sitting-room at 
 Herrington, one of the then newly published works of the first- 
 named author, with whose praises the newspapers and reviews 
 of England were ringing, Mrs. Dalton had smilingly mentioned 
 to Gerald the fact, of the publisher's stating to his father, that 
 this young man would never acquire a European reputation. 
 
 " I should like to see these people," said the young man, 
 to Alice, " but several years have passed away since then, and 
 they may be no longer living." 
 
 It was a fine bright morning in June, when the schooner, on 
 board which they had taken passage, arrived in the Bay of New 
 York, the extraordinary beauty of which drew many an excla- 
 mation of delight from both. The sun shone gloriously and the 
 still waters of the bay reflected his beams with dazzling bright- 
 ness. The sloping shores, green and thickly wooded, and 
 studded with villas and farm-houses and small villages, formed 
 a beautiful frame-work to the nautical landscape and the 
 countless vessels, of all sorts and sizes, from the magnificent 
 " liner" to the North river sloop, impressed the beholder with 
 a grand idea of the wealth and of the unlimited commerce of 
 the country.
 
 GERALD ILLUSTRATES A SUBJECT. 351 
 
 " Yours is indeed a glorious country," said Alice in a whis- 
 per, pressing her husband's hand, " I shall readily become an 
 American too, Gerald ; but, you will not forget, that your 
 mother and father were English, and that the bones of the for- 
 mer lie beneath English soil ?" 
 
 " No," said Gerald, earnestly, " and it would be well if it 
 were more generally remembered by others whose English 
 ancestry is more remote, that the bones of their forefathers lie 
 mouldering in English graves, and that English men and 
 women would recollect, too, that their children have peopled 
 this great and growing country, and that every instance of its 
 progress reflects honor upon England. The people of both 
 countries are to blame when any source of difficulty arises be- 
 tween them. Having naturally an almost equal affection and 
 admiration for both countries, I have often read with disgust 
 the tirades in the English newspapers against the United States, 
 written, as it would appear, with no other object than to 
 keep alive a feeling of distrust and jealousy that must be in- 
 jurious to their mutual interest. I have seldom had an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing an American newspaper; but, I have been told 
 that they are equally to blame. I shall soon know whether this 
 be true or not. I hope not ; for it appears to me to be one of 
 the foolishest things on earth for two such nations as England 
 and the United States to seek out, as it were, causes of quarrel, 
 when united in indissoluble friendship they might do so much 
 for the happiness and prosperity of the whole world." 
 
 "Whence arises this feeling of jealousy?" inquired Alice. 
 
 " It is hard to say," replied her husband ; " but you know, 
 Alice, that the most difficult quarrels to heal, are those which 
 occur between different branches of the same family. I will 
 illustrate the subject after a homely fashion. An old couple 
 having a larger family than they can conveniently maintain at 
 home, send them to a distant farm, which they stock for them, 
 and the cultivation of which they superintend, while the children 
 are yet too young to manage for themselves. This is all very
 
 352 THE WANDERER. 
 
 well ; but by and by, the children grow up to manhood, and 
 fancy that they can manage their own affairs more satisfacto- 
 rily for themselves than their parents can for them. All they 
 want is to do this, and they are still willing to be subject, after 
 an independent fashion, to the old folks at home ; but the old 
 folks being rather a meddlesome couple, fond of arranging every 
 other family's affairs to their own liking, as a matter of course 
 get into a great many scrapes and quarrels ; to get the more 
 easily out of which, they call upon their children, who are doing 
 very comfortably on their distant farm, to help them, by selling 
 a large portion of their produce. They object to this since the 
 quarrels which have involved their parents have been none of 
 their seeking still they say, if you will place us on an equality 
 with yourselves, we will do what is reasonable in the matter. 
 This assumption of even partial independence affronts the old 
 folks, who contend that the farm is theirs, and that the children 
 are only there on sufferance. 
 
 " But," reply the children, " see how we have improved it. 
 We found it a waste, and before long it will be richer than the 
 old homestead." 
 
 " Who helped you to do so ? " ask the old folks. 
 
 " You, at first," reply the children, " and we feel grateful for 
 your aid ; " but latterly we begin to discover that it is you that 
 are receiving aid from us, even to the robbing of our own fa- 
 milies. We are willing to do the thing that's right, but there 
 is such a thing as asking too much." 
 
 " Parents cannot ask too much of their children," say the old 
 couple. 
 
 " But," reply the children, " you should recollect we are not 
 all children of yours. We have received a considerable ac- 
 cession of young folks from other families that have no con- 
 nection with you ; and then some of our younger brothers ran 
 away from home and joined us, because you used them so 
 harshly, and insisted upon their going to the Established Church 
 on Sunday, when they wanted to go to Meeting. You surely
 
 GERALD ILLUSTRATES A SUBJECT. 353 
 
 have no claim upon these ; besides, we have married among 
 these cousins and these visitors from other families, and have 
 children of our own growing up, who, having never seen their 
 grandparents, can't be expected to have any very strong attach- 
 ment to them at least, not so strong an attachment, as to be 
 willing to supply them with the food they require themselves, 
 for though we are thriving finely, we are young yet, and have 
 not been able to lay up money in our coffers as you have, and 
 it really requires our utmost efforts at present to support our 
 own families. 
 
 " This was reasonable argument enough, but the old folks 
 were obstinate, and wouldn't listen to it, but said they'd take, 
 by force, what they couldn't get for love ; and the spirit of the 
 young people was roused at this, and they dared them to come 
 on the farm at their peril. But they treated this threat with 
 contempt, and did come and behaved very cruelly, not at all 
 like parents ought to behave burning down hay-ricks and the 
 stores of grain that the children had laid aside for a rainy day, 
 and doing all the mischief they could. The children, however, 
 resisted with all their might, and some of the children of a 
 neighbor of the old couple, with whom they had been quarrel- 
 ling all their lives, came over to the farm and took the part of 
 the young people; and after a long struggle they finally com- 
 pelled the old folks to go back to the old homestead and promise 
 never to interfere any more with the management of the farm. 
 
 " After some time, things on the farm were put to rights 
 again, and the farm thrived more than ever, and the old people 
 benefited by the change. They were better off than ever, by 
 exchanging goods with the young people, although a lawyer, 
 named Burke, whom they had consulted during the quarrel, 
 had told them that the loss of the farm would prove the sunset 
 of the old homestead. When they saw this, they became pretty 
 good friends again, until, some years after, another quarrel oc- 
 curred in consequence of the old couple insisting upon searching 
 the young people's farm wagons in which they carried their 
 23
 
 354 THE WANDERER. 
 
 goods to market, under the pretence that they had kidnapped 
 some of the younger branches of the old people's family, and 
 concealed them among the produce. This second quarrel was 
 settled after a short time, and since then they have rubbed 
 along pretty comfortably together, and would continue to do 
 so, if certain quarrelsome members of both branches of the 
 family, who, generally speaking, have no interests at stake, did 
 not persist in endeavoring to set them by the ears, merely for 
 the sake of their own aggrandisement. More than once they 
 have nearly succeeded in doing so, but the good sense of the 
 more respectable and responsible members of both families, 
 who are beginning to think that it is to their mutual interest 
 to be friendly together, and to aid and assist one another, since 
 the old people having laid by a good stock of money, and valu- 
 able household goods, can exchange these commodities with the 
 young people's farm produce, and both be gainers by the trans- 
 fer. Some people think, that if anything really serious should 
 happen to either branch of the family such for instance as a 
 combination of other families to crush their rights and liberties 
 they would immediately unite and punish the offenders ; and 
 one thing is pretty certain, that united, they would be more 
 than a match for any combination that could be brought against 
 them. But you see, my love, how difficult it is to heal breaches 
 that have occurred in a family." 
 
 While Alice had been an amused listener to Gerald's illus- 
 tration, the schooner had arrived opposite the city, and came to 
 an anchor. They took leave of the captain of the vessel and 
 went on shore as soon as possible, and Gerald hiring a car- 
 riage, requested the driver to carry them to the Astor House 
 
 After partaking of dinner and resting themselves, Gerald pro- 
 posed a walk in Broadway. 
 
 Alice readily assented to this proposition, and they set out 
 together. Alice was delighted with all she saw. 
 
 " Everybody, almost, appears well dressed, and well off," 
 she said, "but yet everybody looks so earnest and thoughtful;
 
 BROADWAY. 855 
 
 every gentleman at least that it is painful to observe the ex- 
 pression of their countenances ; and how they are hurrying along 
 the street ! Surely some great calamity must have occurred." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Gerald, smiling at her observation, " Every- 
 body wears that expression here, especially in business hours ; 
 I was too young to notice it when here before, but I have heard 
 my mother and others speak of it." 
 
 " But what is the cause ?" asked Alice. 
 
 "It is difficult to say. An eager anxiety to make money, 
 some assert. For my part, I think there are other causes, 
 though these may have led to that result. The people of this 
 country, when it was first settled, had much to contend with, 
 and it required all their energies to combat the obstacles they 
 encountered ; consequently the ancestors, even of the men of 
 the present generation, had little time to spare for recreation. 
 They made their business a recreation, and the result has been 
 that this restless seeking after business has descended to their 
 children. The country has progressed in an unprecedented a 
 wonderful manner ; but it is a young country yet. Perhaps 
 by-and-by this constant eagerness may give way to a less 
 fatiguing and exciting, and 1 must acknowledge a more sensible 
 method of doing business. But what do you think of the 
 ladies ?" 
 
 "They are almost universally pretty, and dressed magnifi- 
 cently too magnificently, I think, for good taste." 
 
 "And yet," said Gerald, smiling, " 1 warrant before you have 
 been here six months, you will be as eager to be in the fashion 
 as anybody. I declare, I am almost ashamed to walk with you, 
 you look so dowdy-like." 
 
 " For shame !" said Alice, playfully tapping her husband's 
 arm with her parasol. "If you think so, you have your 
 remedy ; go into that linen-draper's shop and buy me that hand- 
 some shawl, and then I shall look as fine as your own country- 
 women." 
 
 " There !" said Gerald, " was I not right 1 You haven't been
 
 356 THE WANDERER. 
 
 three hours in America till you begin to catch the contagion. 
 But you will be laughed at if you speak of a linen-draper's 
 shop. The term here is dry goods store." 
 
 " Well, any term you please," said Alice ; " but you shall 
 not think to get off that way ; you shall buy me that shawl as 
 an atonement for your impertinence." 
 
 They entered the store, and Gerald purchased the article in 
 question. When they came out of the store, Gerald asked his 
 wife what she thought of Broadway. 
 
 " It is a very beautiful thoroughfare," she replied, " and 
 very gay, almost as gay, though after a very different style, as 
 the Boulevards of Paris, and a great deal more bustling ; but 
 that may be because it is so much narrower. Many of the 
 buildings, too, are really magnificent, and when the street is 
 finished, it will be one of the handsomest I have ever seen ; but 
 some of the houses are old and out of character." 
 
 " When the street is finished !" said Gerald, laughing, " I 
 don't recollect much about it myself, but I believe it was about 
 as nearly finished, at least this portion of it, when I was here 
 before, thirteen years ago, as it is now, and about as far finished 
 now as it ever will be." 
 
 " Why," said Alice, " I thought from the piles of brick lay- 
 ing about, and the timber stretching across the causeway, that 
 it was a newly opened thoroughfare, and that these old houses 
 had stood on the old line of street ; it's not one or two new 
 buildings that I see going up, but one here and there, as far as 
 the eye can reach ; and then these heaps of packing cases and 
 goods on the pavement, are they not waiting to be carried in by 
 persons who have recently moved here ?" 
 
 "Not at all," said Gerald; "the street pavement is con- 
 sidered part of the legitimate store, and this constant scram- 
 bling over piles of lumber and all sorts of obstacles, and dodg- 
 ing occasionally out into the street, at the risk of being run 
 over by the omnibusses, is supposed by the city authorities to 
 impart vigor to the limbs of the citizens, and to inspire them 
 with confidence and disregard of danger."
 
 BROADWAY. 857 
 
 Alice looked up into her husband's face to see if he were jok- 
 ing or not, and noticing her looks, he continued : 
 
 " The very quality that I have just alluded to, the constant 
 eagerness to have something better than one's neighbors, leads 
 to this continual change in the aspect of things. I have been 
 told that Americans leaving New York for a year or two have 
 found things so changed on their return, that they have failed 
 to recognize the localities they formerly knew well. They have 
 found not only houses built where vacant lots stood before, and 
 houses so altered and improved that the character of the street 
 has undergone a change, but new streets and thoroughfares 
 opened as miraculously, as it appears to the returned citizen, 
 as if the genii of Aladdin's lamp had been summoned to do 
 the work. So with Broadway ; it is built anew every few years, 
 and ten to one the most magnificent structures you now admire 
 will in a few years give place to others to gratify the whim 
 or extravagance perchance of some new owner, for property 
 here is continually changing hands. However, I am proud of 
 my native city." 
 
 "And you have good reason to be so," returned Alice. 
 " There is something inspiring in this very eagerness after nov- 
 elty, and this continual change with all its inconveniences ; and 
 then," she added, laughing, " this mingling of old and new 
 houses, and this varied style of architecture, is so perfectly 
 democratic. That old house there, which appears aged enough 
 to be a relic of the Revolution, seems to say to its proud neigh 
 bor, ' I have as good a right to stand on Broadway as you.' " 
 
 They rambled about, examining, admiring and criticising all 
 they saw, until Alice began to feel weary, when they returned 
 to the hotel. 
 
 That evening, Gerald, who had preserved Mr. Brown's ad- 
 dress, wrote to him and informed him of his intended visit to 
 Cincinnati, but said that he should await his reply in New York, 
 as he should not leave the city for a week or two. 
 
 Gerald and his wife took frequent walks in all parts of the
 
 358 THE WANDERER 
 
 city worth seeing, and made several excursions in its vicinity, 
 and Gerald often took a stroll through the streets alone, 
 when Alice was tired, or disinclined to join him. 
 
 On one of these occasions he stopped before a book store 
 in a narrow street, and stood carelessly examining the titles 
 of the volumes exposed for sale in the window. Happening 
 to cast his eye upwards, towards the sign over the door, he 
 read the inscription, "Albert Jenkins, Bookseller and Publisher." 
 
 " Can this be the person," he thought, " of whom I have so 
 often heard my mother speak ?" 
 
 He resolved to satisfy himself, and walking into the store, 
 asked for a copy of Irving's Knickerbocker. 
 
 " I have not got it in the store, sir," replied a grey-headed, 
 spectacled old gentleman, who was seated at a desk at the 
 farther end of the store, and who came forward as he spoke. 
 " You will find it at Mr. Irving's publisher, Mr. Putnam." 
 
 " It's of no consequence," replied Gerald, " I ain a stranger 
 here, stopping at the Astor House, and merely want a book 
 for my wife to read. Have you any of Cooper's novels ?" 
 
 " All of them, sir. Which do you want?" 
 
 " Give me the latest one that has been published. I have read 
 all the early ones in England. Cooper has a great name there." 
 
 "Are you an Englishman ?" carelessly asked the bookseller, 
 apparently merely for the sake of saying something. 
 
 "No, I was born in New York; but, I have been for many 
 years abroad, and I must acknowledge that 1 have felt some 
 pride when I have heard the genius of my countrymen eulogized 
 in other lands. Formerly a European reputation was required ; 
 now, it is not necessary, for the sale of an American book." 
 
 " No, sir, no," said the bookseller with a sigh, (he was evi- 
 dently one of the olden school who regret the progress of the 
 times.) "No, sir, I have here," pointing to his shelves, "a 
 large collection of the old standard authors, sir, Shakspeare, 
 Addison, Fielding, Smollett, Mrs. Radcliffe, Miss Porter, and 
 a host of others. I used to sell them freely, now they are sel- 
 dom asked for. The trade has changed sir, sadly changed, and
 
 BEHIND THE AGE. 859 
 
 there is little or no demand for any but American books. As 
 you say sir, nobody stops to inquire now, if an author has 
 achieved a European reputation." 
 
 " If they gain an American one, I should think they hardly 
 need such, although it is almost sure to follow." 
 
 " Still, sir, I cannot but consider it a sad falling off. It has 
 caused a vast change to take place in the publishing trade. 
 Formerly there were only a few of us ; now, publishers are to 
 be found in shoals, and most of the old houses are unheard of, 
 they no longer exist." 
 
 Seeing that the old gentleman was inclined to be chatty, 
 Gerald, after having purchased and paid for a couple of vol- 
 umes, continued the conversation, by asking the bookseller if 
 he had been long in the business. 
 
 " More than thirty-five years," he replied, " I am getting 
 very old now, and merely remain in business, for the sake of 
 amusement. I sell but little and publish nothing at all. Young 
 houses have sprung up into collossal magnitude, that were un- 
 heard of when I commenced business. There is the Harpers' 
 establishment, twenty years ago it did not exist now, more 
 books are published by that firm, than are published by any 
 other house in America, and few in Europe exceed them in the 
 number and variety of their publications. If they go on thus 
 much longer, they will be the greatest publishers in the world. I 
 could name many others. It is a sad state of things, sir, a sad 
 state of things." 
 
 Not being exactly able to view this state of things in the 
 light they were seen by Mr. Jenkins, or even thoroughly to 
 comprehend the old gentleman's meaning, Gerald was about to 
 wish him good-day and leave the store, when the idea struck 
 him to make inquiry respecting Mr. Biggin. 
 
 " By-the-by," said he, " do you know a person of the name 
 of Biggin a newspaper man, who, many years ago, pub- 
 lished the " Trumpeter of Freedom ?" 
 
 "Mr. Biggin Mr. Amos Biggin, I presume you mean,"
 
 360 THE WANDERER. 
 
 said Mr. Jenkins. " He has published several newspapers 
 which have had but a brief existence, and has been engaged in 
 various descriptions of business. I don't know what he is now 
 engaged in he has been an unfortunate man, sir very unfor- 
 tunate. But here is the directory, perhaps you will find his 
 name there." 
 
 Gerald took the volume and looked along the pages " B," 
 until he found the name he sought. There it was, " Amos 
 Biggin Bowery Office of the Gift Penwiper Society." 
 
 " Have you found the name, sir," inquired the bookseller. 
 
 "Yes; here it is, 'Amos Biggin, Office of the Gift Pen- 
 wiper Society Bowery.' What is the meaning of a Gift 
 pen-wiper society ?" 
 
 " Ah ! I recollect now, I might have recollected sooner," said 
 the bookseller, " Yes, I heard that Biggin had started that 
 speculation. He is President of the Society, I believe. It is a 
 description of Mutual Benefit Society, which has sprung up of 
 late years, by the aid of which on purchasing a trifling article, 
 the purchaser has a chance of receiving a valuable return for 
 his money, in the shape of some gift. Sometimes, I am told, 
 receiving an article of great value." 
 
 "Thank you," said Gerald, "My father was acquainted 
 with the gentleman, and I should like to see him," and wishing 
 the bookseller good-day, he walked out of the store. 
 
 Gaining the Bowery, Gerald had no difficulty in finding the 
 Gift Establishment, for he had hardly entered the thorough- 
 fare, before he saw opposite him, on the other side of the 
 street, the name of Amos Biggin, in flaunting gold letters, head- 
 ing a black board with gilded letters, setting forth the advan- 
 tages that would accrue to all who invested two shillings in the 
 purchase of a pen-wiper, the corners of the board being deco- 
 rated with immense parti-colored pen-wipers, and the board 
 itself being set in a frame-work of pen-wipers of smaller dimen- 
 sions. 
 
 Crossing the street, he entered the store, when a portly gen
 
 VISIT TO MR. BIGGIN. 361 
 
 tleman, of pompous aspect and florid countenance, although 
 beginning to show signs of age in his wrinkled brow and 
 shrunken mouth, advanced to the counter and inquired his 
 business, at the same time pushing towards him a heap of 
 colored pen-wipers, as if to choose from. 
 
 " Mr. Amos Biggin, I presume ?" said Gerald, disregarding 
 the merchandise before him. 
 
 " The same, at your service," replied the individual addressed. 
 
 " You at one time published a newspaper, entitled the 
 Trumpeter of Freedom .?" 
 
 " I did sir, many years ago. Let me see, it must be now 
 eighteen or nineteen years since the Trumpeter of Freedom 
 burst up. I have published several newspapers since then 
 sir. You may have heard of the ' Denouncer? and the ' Dem 
 ocratic Thunderer.' I had the honor to start both those sheets, 
 sir; but they burst up, too. The envy of the monopolizing 
 sheets, sir, proved too much for them. There was not, I am 
 sorry to say, sufficient independence on the part of the public 
 to enable me to carry out my views, or I would have shown 
 to the world my idea of a good newspaper. But the public, 
 sir, the public, always looking to the present and regardless of 
 the welfare of posterity, wanted the news that my availabilities 
 would not allow of my procuring, and they bought the venial 
 sheets, and allowed my independent, patriotic journal to fall 
 to the ground. But, may I inquire your name, sir, and the 
 cause of your taking an interest in the by-gone Trumpeter of 
 Freedom /' . 
 
 " My name is Dal ton Gerald Dal ton, and my father was 
 associated with you on the Trumpeter of Freedom. , I have 
 been abroad for many years and just now, seeing your name 
 in the directory, I thought I would call, not exactly for old ac- 
 quaintance sake, since I don't know that I ever saw you ; but 
 still for the sake of old recollections. I was born during the 
 period my father was associated with you on that journal." 
 
 " Indeed, I am glad to see you, sir," said Mr. Biggin. " Pray 
 16
 
 362 THE WANDERER. 
 
 take a seat. Now you mention the name, I recollect your 
 father well a most excellent gentleman. Still living and 
 prospering, I hope. And I recollect, too the circumstance of 
 your birth. Spoilt a most excellent leader of mine, sir. It 
 came out not only misspelt, but full of ridiculous grammatical 
 errors the printer's, of course I always left the revision of 
 my articles to your father. I had full confidence in him, sel- 
 dom found occasion to find fault with him ; but the misfortune 
 had a bad effect upon the paper very bad. The editor of 
 the " Raven," a scurrilous opposition sheet, started for a pal- 
 try election purpose, had the vandalism to publish in his vile 
 journal, a card purporting to be sent in by your father, say- 
 ing that his wife having given birth to a son, he, the sub-editor 
 of the Trumpeter, had been unable to attend to the revision of 
 the principal editor's leaders, and that consequently, he hoped 
 the public would excuse the bad grammar and abominable 
 spelling. But that's gone by, now, sir. How is your father ?" 
 
 " My father has been dead many years," replied Gerald, 
 " and I have been abroad since I was eight years of age. I am 
 glad to see you doing so apparently prosperous a business, 
 though, to judge from appearances " 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Dalton," replied Mr. Biggin, " appearances are 
 deceitful. You see in me, sir, as I often said to your lamented 
 father, an ill-used man. One whose purposes have been misun- 
 derstood, and whose endeavors to ameliorate the condition of his 
 fellow creatures, have all proved miserable failures. I have 
 tried several things besides newspaper publishing. I have 
 been a biologist, and have endeavored to reconcile the antipa- 
 thies of mind and matter. I have been in the spirit line and 
 endeavored to inculcate a taste for good genuine liquors among 
 my countrymen, but in vain ; I burst up, and I have been in 
 the spiritual line ; an humble preacher at one time, at another, 
 a teacher of the mysteries of spiritualism ; but I failed in all, 
 was called an impostor, a charlatan, a toe-rapper, everything 
 that is abusive.
 
 THE WORLD'S INGRATITUDE. 363 
 
 " But in this present occupation ?" said Gerald. 
 
 " In this occupation, sir, every intelligent man would conceive 
 there was a fair field for success. What can be grander than 
 its conception 1 Where a nobler union of the humble and the 
 magnificent than is to be found in the object of this society ? 
 Think, sir, of a pen-wiper and a brown stone mansion in the 
 Fifth avenue, or a pen-wiper and a farm of one hundred acres 
 of land among the Rocky Mountains, or a pen-wiper and a pair 
 of splendid bays, and a neat buggy behind them ! Reason 
 quails in making the comparison, and yet the penwiper is as 
 useful in its way as either of the other things mentioned. The 
 main object of my life has been to leave the name behind me 
 when I am laid in the grave, of a benefactor to my fellow men. 
 I should wish parents to lead their prattling children to my 
 lowly tomb and to say, ' look, my children, and weep ! beneath 
 that stone lie the mortal remains of Amos Biggin, the great 
 philanthropist, and the benefactor of his species. Weep over 
 his grave and go and follow his example, and lie in such a 
 grave when you die.' But, alas ! the fates have been against 
 me and if any child follows my example, such is the wicked- 
 ness of the world, that very likely he would die without hav- 
 ing any grave to lie in at all." 
 
 " You have been unfortunate, indeed," said Gerald. 
 
 " You may well say so," continued Mr. Biggin. " Bank- 
 rupt in purse, and bowed with years, I still sought to gain 
 what had been the aim of my life, the esteem of my fellow men. 
 Casting about how I should accomplish this end, in the ruined 
 state of my finances, the glorious idea of the penwiper struck 
 me. What innumerable garments are ruined annually, I said 
 to myself, in consequence of the abominable and slovenly prac- 
 tice of wiping pens on coat-tails. How many gross of steel 
 pens are corroded before their time by the negligence of those 
 who never wipe the ink from their pens at all. How many 
 innocent children's mouths are cankered by the practice of 
 sucking the ink from their pens at school. Similar thoughts
 
 364 THE WANDERER. 
 
 crowded upon my imagination, and I resolved to dispose 
 of penwipers in such a manner that the use of them should 
 become general. 
 
 " Old clothes," I said, M will supply the cloth, and old clothes 
 are cheap, and by making the pen-wipers parti-colored, I shall 
 instil, by the judicious arrangement of these colors, a love of 
 the beautiful in the juvenile bosom. The magnificent idea of a 
 Gift Society flashed upon me like a clap of thunder I mean a 
 streak of lightning and I drew out a prospectus a glorious 
 idea, sir. Here is one" handing a paper to Gerald from a 
 heap that lay on the counter " read it at your leisure. You 
 will see that by expending the small sum of two shillings in 
 the purchase of a pen- wiper, the purchaser has a chance when 
 pen-wipers are sold to the number of one million a very small 
 calculation, you will perceive, out of the twenty-two millions 
 comprising our population of obtaining something of value 
 ranging from one dollar to twenty thousand dollars from a 
 smelling-bottle to a brown stone mansion with out-houses and all 
 necessary conveniences, situated in the most fashionable part 
 of the city. You will see that I have made the following cal- 
 culation. One million quarters amount to two hundred and 
 fifty thousand dollars. Out of this sum I propose to expend 
 two hundred thousand dollars in gifts, only reserving to my- 
 self the paltry sum of fifty thousand dollars, out of which I pay 
 all the expenses. The idea is a grand one ; and yet, sir, would 
 you can you credit it, the public is so blind to its own inter- 
 ests that I have not sold a dozen pen-wipers in more than two 
 months that the society has been established ? Only two of 
 these have I been paid the stipulated price for ; they were pur- 
 chased by a countryman who was seeing the city ; the others 
 I sold to children for a cent apiece. I am disgusted with human 
 nature, and would sell the entire stock at the same rate, for 
 quarter day is drawing near, and I haye not wherewith to pay 
 the first quarter's rent." 
 
 Gerald duly sympathized with the unfortunate Amos Big-
 
 VISIT TO OHIO. 365 
 
 gin, and lamented the blindness of the public, and then having 
 invested a dollar in the purchase of four red, white and green 
 pen-wipers, quitted the store. This was the last he saw of 
 Amos Biggin, although he heard some time after that he was 
 again endeavoring to establish a campaign newspaper, the Gold 
 Pen Association, consisting of Amos Biggin himself, who was 
 president, board of directors, secretary and clerks in his own 
 person, having, to use Mr. Biggin's own terms, " burst up," pay- 
 ing something less than a mill on the dollar. 
 
 Gerald's letter to Mr. Brower led to a visit from that gen- 
 tleman himself. He expressed great satisfaction at seeing his 
 young stage-coach acquaintance, and recalled to his recollec- 
 tion his prophecy that the piece of swamp land would one day 
 be valuable property. 
 
 " It is so now," he said, " and will become still more valu- 
 able. But you must go with me to Ohio and see it, and take 
 Mrs. Dalton with you." 
 
 This arrangement was agreed upon, and after Mr. Brower 
 had transacted the other business which had called him to New 
 York, Gerald and his wife set out with him for Ohio. He 
 found that his late father's farm had been situated near where 
 now one of the finest canals in the state was being cut, and the 
 piece of swamp land that no one thought it worth while to 
 take as a gift, now of itself afforded a considerable income. 
 Mr. Brower had built warehouses upon it, and it was settled 
 in a manner satisfactory to all parties, that Mr. Brower should 
 continue to rent it of Gerald. He did not understand the busi- 
 ness in which it would be necessary to engage if he had decided 
 to hold it himself, nor would it have been right to dislodge 
 Mr. Brower after all he had effected ; besides, Gerald knew 
 that he would be required to make frequent visits to Cuba to 
 look after his wife's interests there. So, after making a tour 
 of the state, and extending their tour in various other direc- 
 tions, he and Alice returned to New York, with the intention 
 of remaining in that city until they had decided in what part 
 of the country to settle.
 
 366 THE WANDERER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Conclusion, which treats of various matters, each necessary to the winding 
 up of the Story, and which, the author hopes, wiuds up everything to the 
 satisfaction of the reader. 
 
 SOME time elapsed before Gerald Dalton and Alice decided 
 upon the locality wherein they should reside. At length, Ger- 
 ald purchased a villa in New Hampshire, the beautiful scenery 
 with which the neighborhood abounded, having made his wife, 
 as she expressed herself, " in love with the spot." Thither they 
 removed and resided, Gerald turning his attention to amateur 
 farming for amusement, although he was frequently obliged to 
 visit Cuba, and, during the course of five years, paid two visits 
 to England. On one of the visits Alice accompanied him, and 
 two or three times before she had any offspring to engage her 
 attention at home, she went with him to Cuba, in two instances 
 remaining in that country during its delightful winter season. 
 
 Of course when Gerald went to England, he always visited 
 his friends at Herrington, which was beginning to rise out of 
 its squalor, and promised to be, what it now is, the chief port 
 of outlet to France. A short time after his first visit, Jemrny 
 Milton paid the debt of nature, at the age of seventy-one. The 
 vicar wrote to Gerald, informing him of the death of his old 
 friend, and, it was on the receipt of this letter that he again re- 
 solved to visit England. Indeed, Mr. Pearce urged the visit, 
 in order that he might be present when the will of the old 
 sailor was read. 
 
 From the vicar's lips he heard the following account of the 
 last days of his old and attached friend.
 
 A VISIT TO HERRINGTON. 361 
 
 " Jemmy had been failing for some months," said the vicar 
 to Gerald, the day after his arrival at Herrington, when both 
 gentleman were seated in the study at the vicarage, " but for a 
 couple of weeks before he died his infirmities increased rapidly. 
 He suffered no pain ; in fact labored under no illness, except- 
 ing that he felt an occasional twinge of rheumatism ; but ap- 
 peared to be slowly dying of old age. About a week before 
 his death he became so weak that the crutches which he had 
 made use of for some time were no longer of any service to 
 him, and he had to be supported every fine day to the old 
 boat-house on the beach, to which favorite resort he persisted 
 in going to the last. He was very fond of sitting and enjoy- 
 ing his pipe, while his landlady's daughter, of whom he was 
 very fond, read to him from the bible, and from tracts and 
 other books I supplied her with, and there, in the old boat- 
 house, would he sit, till the sun went down, and some of the 
 fishermen returning from their daily labors, assisted him home. 
 
 " One day, the very day on which he died, little Molly Nel- 
 son came in a great hurry to the vicarage and requested to see 
 me, and when I sent for her to the study, she said, that Jemmy 
 Milton had sent his compliments and wished to see the vicar 
 as soon as convenient. She is a very nice well-spoken, well- 
 behaved girl this Molly Nelson, and she acquitted herself of her 
 errand very prettily. I have been speaking to my house- 
 keeper about taking her into my service. 
 
 " Is Jemmy Milton any worse to-day, my dear ?" I asked. 
 
 " No, your reverence," she replied, " I don't think he's any 
 worse ; but, when I was going to read to him, as usual, after 
 John Molson had led him to the boat-house, he told me to go 
 up directly to the vicarage and ask you to call and see him* 
 He said he had something very particular to talk to you 
 about." 
 
 " I was writing my sermon for the next sabbath at the time ; 
 but I laid my books and manuscript aside, and went at once 
 with the child to the beach.
 
 368 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " When we reached the boat-house, Jemmy was sitting on 
 the bench inside, smoking his pipe as usual. An open bible 
 was lying on the table before him and he had his spectacles on 
 and appeared to be attentively reading its pages ; but he closed 
 the book when I entered, saying : 
 
 " I've been a tryin' to read a chapter to myself, while Molly 
 was away to the vicarage for you, but I didn't make much 
 headway. I never was a very easy reader, and now my eye- 
 sight is so bad, that I cannot see one word from another." 
 
 " I looked earnestly at the old man, but I did not observe 
 any change since I had seen him last only a few days before. 
 
 " Shall I read a chapter to you, Jemmy, or will you hear 
 Molly read ?" said I, " She reads very nicely." 
 
 " Molly shall read to me, presently," he replied, " She is a 
 good girl, and very attentive to me ; but, first of all, I want to 
 talk to you, alone, sir. Here, Molly," he said, " here's a shil- 
 ling for you, and go and take a walk and buy something for 
 yourself and come back, like a good girl, in half an hour, and 
 read to me." 
 
 " As soon as the little girl had gone out the old man turned 
 his face towards me, and speaking very seriously, inquired 
 whether I was a believer in dreams. 
 
 " No," I answered, " dreams are mere vagaries of the ima- 
 gination, and they are generally caused by the recollection 
 during sleep of some event that has passed, and are tinged by 
 what our thoughts have been engaged upon during the day. 
 When they come true, the truths they may appear to have 
 foretold have usually been the result of circumstances we had 
 a previous knowledge of and which were likely to lead to some 
 particular result. The result would naturally have been the 
 same whether we dreamed it or not." 
 
 " You talk very larned upon the subject," 'he replied ; " but 
 I had a strange dream last night, which I fancy has a moral in 
 it, and I made bold to send for your reverence, to ax your 
 opinion consarnin' it."
 
 THE VICAR'S THEORY. 369 
 
 " I have no objection to hear it, Jemmy," I replied ; " but 
 you should not let such things trouble your mind, dreams, as 
 I have told you, are idle vageries" 
 
 " I scarcely agree with you, sir," interrupted Gerald ; " you 
 have heard of the dream if indeed it were only a dream 
 which occurred to me at the very time of my mother's death." 
 
 " I have," replied the vicar, " and my theory has not been 
 altered in the slightest degree after hearing it. It was a singu- 
 lar and startling coincidence, I grant, but your thoughts had for 
 a long time been centered upon your mother and the village of 
 Abbottsford, where you had last seen her. You knew that she 
 was in failing health, and your conscience, as you have told 
 me, was constantly reproaching you for remaining so long 
 absent from her. That very night you had, for the first time, 
 opened a volume she had presented you with but a short time 
 before you parted from her. You had read therein a quota- 
 tion from Cowper, in her handwriting, written at the time she 
 presented you with the book you have told me that she beg- 
 ged you to remember the conversation that had previously taken 
 place your brain was fevered with the brood ings of your 
 imagination, and your mind agitated with these recollections 
 thus suddenly forced upon you in the stillness of the night and 
 when you insensibly fell asleep, you dreamed the dream that 
 you fancied to be a waking vision. Even the word ' remember,' 
 which you thought you heard from your mother's lips, and the 
 fact of her uttering that word immediately before she died, leads 
 me to no other conclusion. You had recalled that word to your 
 memory that night. She, perhaps, was thinking of the time 
 when she presented you with the volume, and at that very 
 moment she drew her last breath. As to the dream which fol- 
 lowed after you had lain yourself down in your hammock, that 
 was but the sequel of the first, ft was a remarkable coincidence, 
 I repeat, nothing more." 
 
 Gerald was incredulous, but he did not reply, and the vicar 
 continued his relation. 
 24
 
 370 THE WANDERER. 
 
 *' Jemmy went on to tell me the nature of the dream that 
 troubled his mind. 
 
 " I thought," said he, " I was sitting in the old boathouse, as 
 usual ; the sun was about setting, and the sea was all sparkling 
 with gold and silver as it reflected his rays. Presently, while 
 I was looking at the water and admiring the beauty of the 
 scene, I seed a large ship suddenly bearin' down channel under 
 all sail. She looked like a man-o'-war with all her canvas 
 set. Her canvas was as white as snow, and her hull as clean 
 and bright as if she'd just left the dockyard. While I was a-set- 
 tin', wondering what ship she was, and how she came there, all 
 of a sudden like for I never seed her a-comin', she 'peared all 
 at on'ct and where she was bound, she threw her maintops'l 
 aback, and a boat was lowered from her, and a crew got 
 into the boat and pulled right for the shore, opposite the boat- 
 house. I know'd then they was man-o'-war's men by the 
 reg'lar sweep of the oars. 
 
 "The boat grounded on the shore, just byyonder where 
 that yawl is a lyin', and the old man pointed to a yawl hauled 
 up on the beach, high and dry, as he spoke ; and the cox'sn', as 
 I thought for there didn't seem to be no other officer on 
 board sprang out on the beach, and came walking right up 
 tow'rds me. 
 
 " As he came near, I seed as his toggery was all white and 
 shinin' such as a cox'n don't often wear and says I to my- 
 self, " that's some officer in disguise he can't blind an old 
 hand like me for you know, your reverence, I've often seen 
 officers disguise themselves in seamen's toggery. Charley 
 Paget, when on the South-sea station, often used to do so, at 
 Valparaiso ; but, I thinks, ' what can he be a wantin' with me P 
 When he got within a few yards of the boathouse, he put a 
 bo'swin's whistle to his lips, and piped a reg'lar call. ' Hallo !' 
 I shouts, out o' mere force o' habit. 
 
 " ' Jemmy Milton, ahoy !' he sings out in return ; ' your roll's 
 called aboard yonder barky.' "
 
 THE SAILOR'S DREAM. 371 
 
 " By this time he'd got close up to the boathouse, and I saw 
 his features was those of Bill Huntley, as used to be maintop- 
 man aboard the Alert brig-o'-war when I was folk's'1-man. He 
 and 1 were chums, and a man and a seaman every inch was 
 Bill, and always serious and fond of talkin' of religious things. 
 I wondered to see him actin' the guy in that fine toggery, and 
 I was agoin' to tell him so, when upon lookin' closer at him, . 
 though his features was just like Bill's, he looked so young and 
 spruce, that I thought I was mistaken, for Bill was an old man 
 when I sailed with him, and this chap didn't look over twenty, 
 and then, when he came near, the white jacket and trousers he 
 wore, shone so bright, that I could hardly keep my eyes upon 
 'em they dazzled so. 
 
 " ' Hillo ! Jemmy Milton,' says he, ' don't you know your 
 old shipmate, Bill Huntley ?' 
 
 '"Then I know'd it was him; and I told him that I knew 
 him afore, but thought I was mistaken on account of his fine 
 clothes ; for them, Bill,' says I, ' ain't such slops as a main-top- 
 man, or even a coxs'n sports.' 
 
 " ' Them's the garments,' says he, " as every seaman aboard 
 yonder bark wears, and your name's down on the roll call. 
 You're shipped A. B., and must go right aboard.' 
 
 " ' You'll tell an old chum first,' says I, ' where you're 
 bound, and what's the name of the ship, and who the skipper is!' 
 
 " ' To be sure, old shipmate,' says he. ' The ship's name is 
 the Dreadnought, and the captain's name is Christian, and 
 we're bound to Etarnity.' 
 
 " ' I never heard of such a port as that,' says I, not knowin' 
 'xactly what he meant. ' Where's it laid down in the charts?' 
 
 " 'It ain't laid down in no arthly chart,' says he, in reply. 
 ' Our skipper guides us by the aid of a good conscience ; and 
 this here book,' says he, laying his hand on that 'dentical 
 Bible ' this here book's our 'pitome of navigation. But,' says 
 he, ' you must bear a hand aboard ; the captain won't wait ; 
 he's hove aback a purpose for you, and sent me to fetch
 
 372 THE WANDERER. 
 
 you. I've been lookin' out for you a long time, Jemmy; ever 
 since I shipped aboard the craft myself, and that's a year ago 
 and more.' 
 
 " ' Well,' says I, ' if so be as it must be so, I s'pose it must. 
 What's the usage aboard?' 
 
 "'First rate,' says he. .'No purser's rations; no fatigue 
 exercise. Watch and watch, and all friendship and kindness 
 among both officers and men.' 
 
 " ' I'm your man then,' says I, for something seemed to tell 
 me as I must go. ' But what about my kit ? I can't go aboard 
 among such a smart ship's company as that in this here guise V 
 
 " ' You'll have shinin' garments sarved out when you get's 
 aboard,' says he, ' and when you puts 'em on, you'll look as 
 young as I do. We're all hale and hearty aboard yon craft.' 
 
 " I jumps up to go with him when I hears this, and wakes 
 and finds that I'd got my legs out o' bed, and was sitting right 
 straight up. I had to call Tommy Nelson to tuck me up in bed 
 again. ' Now, your reverence, don't you think as there's a 
 meanin' and a moral in that dream V 
 
 " ' The dream has no particular meaning,' said I. ' You had 
 been listening yesterday to Molly reading some of those tracts 
 I gave her, written for seamen, and had thought over them 
 in your sleep, and mixed them up with some fanciful vagaries, 
 that's all.' 
 
 " ' For all that,' he replied, ' I think, sir, as it has both a 
 meanin' and a moral.' 
 
 " ' I b'lieve as its a summons to call me to t'other world. 
 Howsomever, I thank you for listenin' to me so patiently, and 
 p'r'aps you'll read me a chapter till Molly comes back ?' 
 
 " I did as he desired, and having read, at his own request, 
 the 107th Psalm, always a favorite chapter with the old man, 
 I left him, as my sermon was only half written, and I was anx- 
 ious to finish it. 
 
 " I had scarcely been an hour at home when Molly Nelson 
 again called, bringing me the intelligence of Jemmy Milton's
 
 DEATH OP JEMMY MILTON. 373 
 
 death. It appeared that shortly after I left him, the girl re- 
 turned, and he asked her again to read the chapter I had just 
 read to him. When she had finished it, she asked him if she 
 should read another ; but receiving no reply, she raised her 
 head and saw that he was sitting upright and stiff in his chair. 
 She was frightened, and called to a fisherman who was near 
 by, who, going into the boat-house, found the old man 
 dead." 
 
 " It was a strange presentiment of death," said Gerald. 
 
 " Yes," replied the vicar, thoughtfully. 
 
 The day after this conversation took place, the will was 
 read, and its requirements strictly complied with. To this 
 day the old boat-house on Herrington beach is kept in good 
 repair. At Christmas time six poor widows are still recipi- 
 ents of Jemmy Milton's post-mortem bounty ; but the ancient 
 messmates of old Jemmy, who for some years annually met to 
 celebrate the anniversary of his death, have themselves all 
 dropped into the grave, and the thousand pounds, the in- 
 terest of which was annually expended for that purpose, has 
 long since been divided amongst their widows and children. 
 
 Jemmy wished to be buried on the beach beneath the cliff, 
 and had expressed this wish to the vicar, but the desire was 
 overruled, the clergyman objecting to it because the sea beach 
 was not consecrated ground. He lies in Herrington church- 
 yard, and a plain head-stone alone marks the spot where lie 
 interred the mortal remains of one of the kindest hearted and 
 most single minded of God's creatures, for the old man had 
 requested that no inscription, not even his name, should be 
 carved upon his tomb-stone. 
 
 Peace to thy rest, good, kindly, honest Jemmy, and honor 
 to thy memory. The evil that men do lives after them, so 
 has written England's chiefest bard. If this be true indeed 
 and if it be true also, that the good that men have done lies 
 buried with their bones, then little lives of thee, even in the 
 memory of those who knew thee best. But if oblivion does
 
 374 THE WANDERER. 
 
 not rest always, nor perhaps so often as the great card supposed, 
 over the sepulchres of honest men, whether they ranked them 
 high amongst the world's dignitaries, or were humble and low- 
 ly, even as thou wert, then hast thou a living memory, there, 
 where thou wert known and loved, and years will pass away, 
 and years again, and still the widow's and the orphan's eye, 
 whom thou befriended in thy life, shall drop the tear of kindly 
 recollection o'er thy grave. 
 
 Gerald, shortly after this conversation, quitted Herrington, 
 nor did he ever meet the worthy vicar again. Two years after 
 old Jemmy Milton's death, Mr. Pearce was gathered to his 
 fathers. He had lived a long and useful life and his death was 
 lamented and felt to be a calamity by all the inhabitants of 
 the parish whose spiritual welfare he had cared for so long and 
 with such earnest zeal. 
 
 Dr. Knight, for aught I know, still lives ; but if so, he must 
 be a very aged man ; may be, he has also passed into the grave 
 and in him the poor have lost a friend who cannot be readily 
 replaced. 
 
 Mr. Ashley still conducts the mission school at Colombo ; 
 but he has long since retired from the active duties of the 
 school, his place being supplied by his second son Henry. 
 Frederick Ashley has obtained the grade of full surgeon in 
 the East India Company's service, and when last heard from 
 was expecting to be appointed Superintendent of the Naval 
 Hospital at Madras. Rumor also said that on the day that he 
 received that appointment, he was to lead to the altar the ac- 
 complished daughter of a Madras judge, but this may be only 
 an idle rumor. The younger children of Mr. Ashley, all girls, 
 are growing up to be fine young women, and promise to be 
 very pretty. So wrote Frederick to Gerald. If this be not a 
 brother's partiality, and they really are pretty, they will not 
 be long without eligible admirers in India. Mrs. Ashley, at 
 last accounts was still living and in tolerably good health, al- 
 though beginning to feel the infirmities of age. 
 
 Two years after George Craddock's marriage with Mary
 
 OUR ELDEST BOY. 375 
 
 Barton, he wrote to Gerald, from Calcutta. His father, he 
 wrote, had just received the appointment of Resident at Ban- 
 galore, and he and his wife were going to remove thither with 
 him. George furthermore wrote that it was not likely his 
 father would ever leave India again, nor should he leave the 
 country while his father lived. 
 
 Mr. Hoffmann lived to be a very old man. He attended 
 the club regularly every evening until within a few weeks of 
 his death. It is not thought that he ever sent a " venture 
 abroad again, on speculation ; but he often told the joke against 
 himself about Gerald's bad luck. He was quite partial to re- 
 peating it, and thought it a most capital story, at which no one 
 laughed more heartily than himself. But the old man has now 
 been dead several years. 
 
 It was on the 21st of February, just twenty-four years, all 
 but one day, since Gerald Dalton had opened his eyes to this 
 world, amidst all the din and tumult of a New York celebra- 
 tion of the anniversary of Washington's birth-day that Gerald 
 and Alice were seated by the fire in the parlor of their snug villa 
 in New Hampshire. A fine little boy of three or four weeks 
 old, only, was nestling on Alice's bosom. His mother looked 
 delicate, but the bloom of health was returning to her cheek 
 and her eyes sparkled with love and happiness as she gazed 
 alternately at the infant in her arms and at her husband, whose 
 arm encircled her waist. 
 
 " To-morrow is the anniversary of "Washington's birth-day," 
 said Gerald, after gazing for some moments abstractedly at the 
 fire sparkling in the grate. 
 
 " And your birth-day, dear Gerald," said Alice. 
 
 " Yes, and suppose since the boy would come into the world 
 some weeks before his father's and Washington's birth-day that 
 we have him christened to-morrow, and call him George Wash- 
 ington Dalton. What do you think of that, for a name, Alice?" 
 
 " I like Gerald better," she replied, pressing her husband's 
 hand.
 
 3t6 THE WANDERER. 
 
 " Then let it be Gerald Washington if you like." 
 
 " As you please," said Alice. 
 
 " Then it is settled, and I hope he'll turn out to be as good 
 a man as his namesake." 
 
 " Which namesake, Washington or his father ?" said Alice, 
 smiling. 
 
 " As both his namesakes then, Madame sauce-box," replied 
 Gerald. " I am glad to see the roses returning to your cheek, 
 my love," he added, " for I really ought to go to Cuba ; Alvero's 
 last letter urged a speedy visit. If that offer to dispose of the 
 Reg] a estate be an advantageous one, we would do well to 
 accept it and close the bargain." 
 
 " Certainly," said Alice, " I hope our boy will not be such 
 a wanderer as you You wandered over half the world before 
 we were married, and I think you have been wandering from 
 home ever since." 
 
 " On business only, love,'' said Gerald, kissing the cheek of 
 his wife, " I could always wish you to accompany me, but this 
 time of course, it is impossible. But if we can sell our Cuban 
 property, we can invest the money here to better advantage, 
 and I shall not be so often called from home." 
 
 " Then I sincerely hope you will sell it," said Alice, earnest- 
 ly, " I am content to remain here j but I like to have you 
 always with me." 
 
 " And you do not wish again to return to England ?" 
 
 " No, my husband's home is mine Where he is there would 
 I be also." 
 
 " ou like America as well as England ?" said Gerald. 
 
 " Better, dearest, I have known greater happiness since I 
 have been here than I ever knew before." 
 
 " Then, Alice, I will go once again to Cuba, and manage to 
 dispose of the estates, even if we have to suffer some little loss, 
 and when I return, you shall never have occasion again to taunt 
 me with being a wanderer from home and you." 
 
 More than ten years have elapsed since the birth of Gerald
 
 SETTLED DOWN. 3ft 
 
 and Alice Dalton's eldest boy and six other children, boys 
 and girls, all now living, all healthy and hearty have blessed 
 their union. The Cuban property was sold, and the proceeds 
 of the sale invested in American securities, from which, to- 
 gether with the rent from the Ohio property, and the in- 
 terest of the legacy bequeathed by Jemmy Milton, Gerald 
 enjoys an ample income. He is devoted to farming, and 'has 
 introduced several improvements in agriculture which his 
 neighbors have followed with success. Once, since he sold the 
 Cuban estates, he has been again to Europe and then Alice 
 and the oldest boy accompanied him in his tour on the conti- 
 nent; but, he has now settled down for life so he says and 
 has resolved to make his own homestead, or at the furthest, his 
 own country the boundary of his wanderings. 
 
 THE END.
 
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 KATE O'DONOGHUE. A Tale of Ireland. By Charles Lever. Com- 
 plete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents ; or an edition 
 on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 HORACE TEMPLETON. By Charles Lever. This is Lever's New 
 Book. Complete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents ; or 
 an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 HARRY LORREQUER. By Charles Lever, author of the above seven 
 works. Complete in one octavo volume of 402 pages. Price Fifty 
 cents ; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price 
 One Dollar. 
 
 VALENTINE VOX. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF VALENTINE 
 VOX, the Ventriloquist. By Henry Cockton. One of the most 
 humorous books ever published. Price Fifty cents ; or an edition on 
 finer paper, bound in cloth. Price One Dollar. 
 
 PERCY EFFINGHAM. By Henry Cockton, author of " Valentine Vox, 
 the Ventriloquist." One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 
 
 TEN THOUSAND A YEAR. By Samuel C. Warren. With Portraits 
 of Snap, Quirk, Gammon, and Tittlebat Titmouse, Esq. Two large 
 octavo vols., of 547 pages. Price One Dollar; or an edition on finer 
 paper, bound in cloth, $1,50. 
 
 CHARLES J. PETERSON'S WORKS. 
 
 KATE AYLESFORD. A story of the Refugees. One of the most popu- 
 lar books ever printed. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, 
 Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, gilt Price $1 25. 
 
 CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR. A Naval Story of the War of 1812. 
 First and Second Series. Being the complete work, unabridged. By 
 Charles J. Peterson. 228 octavo pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 GRACE DUDLEY; OR, ARNOLD AT SARATOGA. By Charles J. 
 Peterson. Illustrated. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE VALLEY FARM; OR, the AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN OR- 
 PHAN. A companion to Jane Eyre. Price 25 cents.
 
 BOOKS FOR EVERYBODY AT GREATLY REDUCED RATES. 
 
 PUBLISHED AND *F.OE SALE BY 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, 
 
 No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philad'a. 
 
 IN THIS CATALOGUE WILL BE FOUND THE LATEST 
 
 AND BEST WORKS BY THE MOST POPULAR AND 
 
 CELEBRATED WRITERS IN THE WORLD. 
 
 AMONG WHICH WILL BE FOUND 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS'S, MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S, SLR E. L. 
 BULWER'S, G. P. R. JAMES'S, ELLEN PICKERING'S, CAPTAIN 
 MARRYATT'S, MRS. GREY'S, T. S. ARTHUR'S, CHARLES LEVER'S, 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS', W. HARRISON AINSWORTH'S, DISRA- 
 ELI'S, THACKERAY'S, SAMUEL WARREN'S, EMERSON BEN- 
 NETT'S, GEORGE LIPPARD'S, REYNOLDS', C. J. PETERSON'S, 
 PETERSON'S HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS, HENRY COCK- 
 TON'S, EUGENE SUE'S, GEORGE SANDS', CURRER BELL'S, 
 AND ALL THE OTHER BEST AUTHORS IN THE WORLD. 
 
 best way is to look through the Catalogue, and see what 
 books are in it. You will all be amply repaid for your trouble. 
 
 SPECIAL NOTICE TO EVERYBODY. Any person whatever in thii 
 country, wishing any of the works in this Catalogue, on resitting the price 
 of the ones they wish, in a letter, directed to T. B. Peterson, No. 102 
 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, shall have them sent hy return of mail, to 
 any place in the United States, free of postage. This is a splendid offer, 
 as any one can get books to the most remote place in the country, for tho 
 regular price sold in the large cities, free of postage, on sending for them. 
 
 ^SJ- All orders thankfully received and filled with despatch, and sent 
 by return of mail, or express, or stage, or in any other way the person 
 ordering may direct Booksellers, News Agents, Pedlars, and all others 
 (applied with any works published in the world, at the lowest rates. 
 
 ?- Any Book published, or advertised by any one, can be had here. 
 
 J&f" Agents, Pedlars, Canvassers, Booksellers, News Agents, Ac., 
 throughout the country, who wish to make money on a small capital, would 
 do well to address the undersigned, who will furnish a complete outfit for 
 a comparatively small amount. Send by all means, for whatever books you 
 may wish, to the Publishing and Bookselling Establishment of 
 
 (1) T. B. PETERSON, No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.
 
 T. B. PETERSON 
 
 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, 
 
 HAS JUST PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE 
 
 STEREOTYPE EDITIONS OP THE FOLLOWING WORKS, 
 
 Which will be found to be the Best and Latest Publications, by the 
 Most Popular and Celebrated Writers in the World. 
 
 Every work published for Sale here, either at Wholesale or Eetail. 
 
 All Books in this Catalogue will be sent to any one to any place, per mail, 
 
 free of pottage, on receipt of the price. 
 
 MRS. SOUTHWORTH'S Celebrated WORKS. 
 
 With a beautiful Illustration in each volume. 
 
 RETRIBUTION. A TALE OF PASSION. By Mrs. Emma D. B. BT. 
 
 Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One 
 
 Dollar; or bound in one volume, clotb, for $1.25. 
 INDIA. THE PEARL OP PEARL RIVER. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. 
 
 Southworth. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover. Price One 
 
 Dollar; or bound in one .volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 THE MISSING BRIDE; OR, MIRIAM THE AVENGER, By Mrs. 
 
 Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. 
 
 Price One- Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 THE LOST HEIRESS. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Being 
 a work of powerful interest. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. 
 Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 THE WIPE'S VICTORY; AND NINE OTHER NOUVELLETTES. 
 By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper 
 cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 THE CURSE OF CLIFTON. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 
 Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in 
 one volume, cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER, By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 
 Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar ; or bound in 
 one volume, cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE DESERTED WIFE. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Com- 
 plete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one 
 volume, cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE INITIALS. A LOVE STORY OF MODERN LIFE. Byadaugh. 
 ter of the celebrated Lord Erskine, formerly Lord High Chancellor of 
 England. It will be read for generations to come, and rank by the side 
 of Sir Walter Scott's celebrated novels. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, clotb, for $1.25. 
 
 The whole of the above are also published in a very fine style, bound 
 fat fall Crimson, gilt edges, gilt sides, fall gilt backs, etc., and make very 
 elegant and beautiful presentation books. Price Two Dollars a copy. 
 (2,
 
 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 3 
 CHARLES DICKENS' WORKS. 
 
 The best and most popular in the world. Ten different editions. No 
 
 Library can be complete without a Sett of these Works. 
 
 Eeprinted from the Author's last Editions. 
 
 " PETERSON'S" is the only complete and uniform edition of Charlea 
 Dickens' works published in America; they are reprinted from the original 
 London editions, and are now the only edition published in this country. 
 No library, either public or private, can be complete without having in it 
 a complete sett of the works of this, the greatest of all living authors. 
 Every family should possess a sett of one of the editions. The cheap 
 edition is complete in Twelve Volumes, paper cover; either or all of which 
 can be had separately. Price Fifty cents each. The following are their 
 names. 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD, DICKENS' NEW STORIES. Con- 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, taining The Seven Poor Travellers. 
 
 PICKWICK PAPERS, Nine New Stories by the Christmas 
 
 DOMBEY AND SON, Fire. Hard Times. Liwie Leigh. 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, The Miner's Daughters, etc, 
 
 BARNABY RUDGE, CHRISTMAS STORIES. Contain- 
 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, ing A Christmas CaroL The 
 
 SKETCHES BY "BOZ," Chimes. Cricket on the Hearth. 
 
 OLIVER TWIST Battle of Life. Haunted Man, and 
 
 BLEAK HOUSE, Pictures from Italy. 
 
 A complete sett of the above edition, twelve volumes in all, will be sent 
 to any one to any place, free of pottag*, for Five Dollars. 
 
 COMPLETE LIBRARY EDITION. 
 
 In FIVE large octavo volumes, with a Portrait, on Steel, of Charles 
 Dickens, containing over Four Thousand very large pages, handsomely 
 printed, and bound in various styles. 
 Volume 1 contains Pickwick Papers and Curiosity Shop. 
 
 " 2 do. Oliver Twist, Sketches by " Bos," and Barnaby Rudge. 
 
 " 3 do. Nicholas Nickleby and Martin Chusslewit. 
 
 " 4 do. David Copperfield, Dombey and Son, Christmas Stories, 
 
 and Pictures from Italy. 
 
 * 5 do. Bleak House, and Dickens' New Stories. Containing 
 The Seven Poor Travellers. Nine New Stories 
 by the Christmas Fire. Hard Times. Liizie 
 Leigh. The Miner's Daughters, and Fortune 
 Wildred, etc. 
 
 Pliee of a complete sett Bound in Black cloth, full gilt back, $7 50 
 
 icarlet cleth, extra, 8 50 
 " " " library sheep, 9 00 
 
 " " " half turkey morocco, 11 00 
 
 MM half ca if; antique, 15 <H 
 
 Illuttrated Edition *' ducribtd on next page. '
 
 4 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF DICKENS' WORKS. 
 
 This edition is printed on very thick and fine white paper, and is pro- 
 fusely illustrated, with all the original illustrations by Cruikshank, Alfred 
 Crowquill, Phiz, etc., from the original London edition, on copper, steel, 
 and wood. Each volume contains a novel complete, and may be had in 
 complete setts, beautifully bound in cloth, for Eighteen Dollars for thfl 
 ett in twelve volumes, or any volume will be sold separately, as follows: 
 
 BLE/ K HOUSE, Price, $1 50 
 PICKWICK PAPERS, 1 50 
 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 1 50 
 OLIVER TWIST, 1 50 
 
 SKETCHES BY "BOZ," 1 50 
 BARNABY RUDGE, 1 50 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, $1 50 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 1 60 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD, 1 50 
 DOMBEY AND SON, 1 50 
 
 CHRISTMAS STORIES, 1 50 
 DICKENS' NEW STORIES, 1 60 
 
 Price of a complete sett of the Illustrated Edition, in twelve 
 
 vols., in black cloth, gilt back, $18,00 
 
 Price of a complete sett of the Illustrated Edition, in twelve 
 
 vols., in full law library sheep, $24,00 
 
 Price of a complete sett of the Illustrated edition, in twelve 
 
 vols., in half turkey Morocco, $27,00 
 
 Price of a complete sett of the Illustrated Edition, in twelve 
 
 vols., in half calf, antique, $36,00 
 
 A.II eulnequent tcorka l>y Clmrlet Dickens will be issued in uniform style with 
 all the previous ten different editions. 
 
 CAPTAIN MARRYATT'S WORKS. 
 
 Either of which can be had separately. Price of all except the four last 
 ' 25 cents each. They are printed on the finest white paper, and each 
 forms one large octavo volume, complete in itself. 
 
 PETER SIMPLE. NAVAL OFFICER. 
 
 JACOB FAITHFUL. PIRATE AND THREE CUTTERS. 
 
 THE PHANTOM SHIP. SNARLEYYOW ; or, the Dog-Fiend. 
 
 MIDSHIPMAN EASY. PERCIVAL KEENE. Prico 50 cts. 
 
 KING'S OWN. POOR JACK. Price 50 cents. 
 
 NEWTON FORSTER. SEA KING. 200 pages. Price 50 
 
 JAPHET IN SEARCH OF cents. 
 
 A FATHER. VALERIE. His last NoveL Price 
 
 PACHA OF MANY TALES. 60 cents. 
 
 ELLEN PICKERING'S NOVELS. 
 
 Either of which can be had separately. Prico 25 cents each. They arc 
 printed on the finest white paper, and each forms one large octavo volume, 
 complete in itself, neatly bound in a strong paper cover. 
 
 THE ORPHAN NIECE. THE HEIRESS. 
 
 KATE WALSINGHAM. PRINCE AND PEDLER. 
 
 THE POOR COUSIN. MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ELLEN WAREHAM. THE FRIGHT. 
 
 THE QUIET HUSBAND. NAN DARRELL. 
 
 WHO SHALL BE HEIR? THE SQUIRE. 
 
 THE SECRET FOB. THE EXPECTANT. 
 
 AGNES. SERLE. THE GRUMBLER. 50 cU.
 
 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S WORKS. 
 
 COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; OR, THE JOYS AND SORROWS 
 OF AMERICAN LIFE. With a Portrait of the Author. Complete 
 in two large volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one 
 volume, cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE. With illustrations. Com- 
 plete in two large volumes, paper cover, 600 pages, price One Dollar, 
 or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. Com- 
 plete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one 
 volume, cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 ROBERT GRAHAM. The Sequel to, and continuation of Linda. Be- 
 ing the last book but one that Mrs. Hentz wrote prior to her death. 
 Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or 
 bound in one volume, cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 BENA ; OR, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tale of Real Life. Complete in two 
 volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one rolume, 
 cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 MARCUS WARLAND ; OR, THE LONG MOSS SPRING. A Tale of 
 the South. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, 
 or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE ; and other Stories. Complete in two vol. 
 umes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth 
 gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 EOLINE ; OR, MAGNOLIA VALE. Complete in two volumes, paper 
 cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1 25. 
 
 THE BANISHED SON; and other Stories. Complete in two volumes, 
 paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1 25. 
 
 HELEN AND ARTHUR. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price 
 One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1 25. 
 
 The whole of the above are also published in a very fine style, bound 
 in the very best and most elegant and substantial manner, in full Crimson, 
 with beautifully gilt edges, full gilt sides, gilt backs, etc., etc., making 
 them the best and most acceptable books for presentation at the price, 
 published in the country. Price of either one in this style, Two Dollars. 
 
 T. S. ARTHUR'S WORKS. 
 
 Either of which can be had separately. Price 25 cents each. They are 
 the most moral, popular and entertaining in the world. There are m 
 better books to place in the hands of the young. All will profit by them. 
 
 YEAR AFTER MARRIAGE. TRIAL AND TRIUMPH. 
 
 THE DIVORCED WIFE. THE ORPHAN CHILDREN. 
 
 THE BANKER'S WIFE. THE DEBTOR'S DAUGHTER 
 
 PRIDE AND PRUDENCE. INSUBORDINATION. 
 
 CECILIA HOWARD. LUCY SANDFORD. 
 
 MARY MORETON. AGNES, or the Possessed. 
 
 LOVE IN A COTTAGE. THE TWO BRIDES. 
 
 LOVE IN HIGH LIFE. THE IRON RULE. 
 
 THE TWO MERCHANTS. THE OLD ASTROLOGER. 
 
 LADY AT I19ME. THE SEAMSTRESS.
 
 6 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 CHARLES LEVER'S NOVELS. 
 
 CHARLES O'MALLEY, the Irish Drapoon. By Charles Lever. Co.n- 
 plete in one large octavo volume of 324 pages. Price Fifty cents ; or 
 an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One 
 Dollar. 
 
 THE KNIGHT OP GWYNNE. A tale of the time of the Union. By 
 Charles Lever. Complete in one fine octavo volume. Price Fifty 
 cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. 
 Price One Dollar. 
 
 JACK HINTON, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever. Complete in one 
 large octavo volume of 400 pages. Price Fifty cents ; or an edition 
 on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 TOM BURKE OF OURS. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large 
 octavo volume of 300 pages. Price Fifty cents ; or an edition oa 
 finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 ARTHUR LEARY. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octavo 
 volume. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in 
 cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 KATE O'DONOGHUE. A Tale of Ireland. By Charles Lever. Com- 
 plete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents ; or an edition 
 on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 HORACE TEMPLETON. By Charles Lever. This is Lever's Now 
 Book. Complete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents ; or 
 an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 HARRY LORREQUER. By Charles Lever, author of the above seven 
 works. Complete in one octavo volume of 402 pages. Price Fifty 
 cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price 
 One Dollar. 
 
 VALENTINE VOX. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF VALENTINE 
 VOX, the Ventriloquist. By Henry Cockton. One of the most 
 humorous books ever published. Price Fifty cents ; or an edition on 
 finer paper, bound in cloth. Price One Dollar. 
 
 PERCY EFFINGH AM. By Henry Cockton, author of " Valentine Vox, 
 the Ventriloquist." One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 
 
 TEN THOUSAND A YEAR. By Samuel C. Warren. With Portraits 
 of Snap, Quirk, Gammon, and Tittlebat Titmouse, Esq. Two largo 
 octavo vols., of 547 pages. Price One Dollar; or an edition on Cier 
 paper, bound in cloth, $1,50. 
 
 CHARLES J. PETERSON'S WORKS, 
 
 KATE AYLESFORD. A story of the Refugees. One of the most popu- 
 lar books ever printed. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover. 
 Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, gilt. Price $1 25. 
 
 CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR. A Naval Story of the War of 1812. 
 First and Second Series. Being the complete work, unabridged. By 
 Charles J. Peterson. 228 octavo pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 ttRACE DUDLEY; OR, ARNOLD AT SARATOGA. By Charles J. 
 Peterson. Illustrated. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE VALLEY FARM; OR, the AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN OR- 
 PHAN. A companion to Jane Eyre. Price 25 cents.
 
 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 7 
 EUGENE SUE'S NOVELS. 
 
 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS; AND GEROLSTEIN, the Sequel to it 
 By Eugene Sue, author of the "Wandering Jew," and the greatest 
 work ever written. With illustrations. Complete in two large volumes, 
 octavo. Price One Dollar. 
 
 TEE ILLUSTRATED WANDERING JEW. By Eugene Sue. With 
 87 large illustrations. Two large octavo volumes. Price One Dollar. 
 
 THE FEMALE BLUEBEARD ; or, the Woman with many Husbands. 
 By Eugene Sue. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 FIRST LOVE. A Story of the Heart. By Eugene Sue. Price Twenty, 
 five cents. 
 
 WOMAN'S LOVE. A Novel. By Eugene Sue. Illustrated. Price 
 Twenty-five cents. 
 
 MAN-OF-WAR'S-MAN. A Tale of the Sea. By Eugene Sue. Prica 
 Twenty-five cents. 
 
 RAOUL DE SURVILLE ; or, the Times of Napoleon Bonaparte in,1810 
 Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 SIR E. L. BULWER'S NOVELS. 
 
 FALKLAND. A Novel. By Sir E. L. Bulwer, author of "Tho Roue, 
 " Oxonians," etc. One volume, octavo. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE ROUE; OR THE HAZARDS OF WOMEN. Price 25 cents. 
 THE OXONIANS. A Sequel to the Roue. Price 25 cents. 
 CALDERON THE COURTIER. By Bulwer. Price 12J cents. 
 
 MRS, GREY'S NOVELS. 
 
 Either of which can be had separately. Price 25 cents each. They t 
 printed on the finest white paper, and each forms one large octavo volume, 
 complete in itself, neatly bound in a strong paper cover. 
 
 DUKE AND THE COUSIN. THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 
 
 GIPSY'S DAUGHTER. THE OLD DOWER HOUSE. 
 
 BELLE OF THE FAMILY. HYACINTHE. 
 
 SYBIL LENNARD. ALICE SEYMOUR. 
 
 THE LITTLE WIFE. HARRY MONK. 
 
 MANOEUVRING MOTHER. MARY SEAHAM. 250 pager. 
 LENA CAMERON ; or, the Four Price 50 cents. 
 
 Sisters. PASSION AND PRINCIPLE 
 THE BARONET'S DAUGHTERS. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 GEOBGE W. M. REYNOLD'S WORKS. 
 
 THE NECROMANCER. A Romance of the times of Henry the Eighth. 
 By G. W. M. Reynolds. One large volume. Price 75 cents. 
 
 THE PARRICIDE ; OR, THE YOUTH'S CAREER IN CRIME. By 
 G. W. M. Reynolds. Full of beautiful illustrations. Price 50 cents. 
 
 LIFE IN PARIS; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF ALFRED DE ROSANN 
 IN THE METROPOLIS OF FRANCE. By G. W. M. Reynold* 
 Full of Engravings. Price 50 cents.
 
 8 T. B. PETERSON'S IIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 AINSWORTH'S WORKS. 
 
 JACK SHEPPARD. PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 JACK SHEPPARD, the most noted burglar, robber, and jail breaker, 
 that ever lived. Embellished with Thirty-nine, full page, spirited 
 Illustrations, designed and engraved in the finest style of art, by 
 George Cruikshank, Esq., of London. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED TOWER OF LONDON. With 100 splendid engravings. 
 This is beyond all doubt one of the most interesting works ever 
 published in the known world, and can be read and re-read with 
 pleasure and satisfaction by everybody. We advise all persons to 
 get it and read it. Two volumes, octavo. Price One Dollar. 
 
 PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF GUY FAWKES, The 
 Chief of the Gunpowder Treason. The Bloody Tower, etc. Illustrated. 
 By William Harrison Ainsworth. 200 pages. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 THE STAR CHAMBER. An Historical Romance. By W. Harrison 
 Ainsworth. With 17 large full page illustrations. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE PICTORIAL OLD ST. PAUL'S. By William Harrison Ainsworth. 
 Full of Illustrations. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF QUEEN ANNE. By William 
 Harrison Ainsworth. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF THE STUARTS. By Ainsworth. 
 Being one of the most interesting Historical Romances ever written. 
 One large volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 DICK TURPIN. ILLUSTRATED LIFE OF DICK TURPIN, the 
 Highwayman, Burglar, Murderer, etc. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 HENRY THOMAS. LIFE OF HARRY THOMAS, the Western Burglar 
 and Murderer. Full of Engravings. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 DESPERADOES. ILLUSTRATED LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 THE DESPERADOES OF THE NEW WORLD. Full of engravings. 
 Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 NINON DE L'ENCLOS. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF NINON 
 DE L'ENCLOS, with her Letters on Love, Courtship and Marriage. 
 Illustrated. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE PICTORIAL NEWGATE CALENDAR ; or the Chronicles of Crime. 
 Beautifully illustrated with Fifteen Engravings. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF DAVY CROCKETT. 
 Written by himself. Beautifully illustrated. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ARTHUR SPRING, the murderer of 
 Mrs. Ellen Lynch and Mrs. Honora Shaw, with a complete history of 
 bis life and misdeeds, from the time of his birth until he was hung. 
 Illustrated with portraits. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 JACK ADAMS. PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF JACK 
 ADAMS; the celebrated Sailor and Mutineer. By Captain Chamier, 
 author of " The Spitfire." Full of illustrations. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 GRACE O'MALLEY. PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 GRACE O'MALLEY. By William H. Maxwell, author of Wild 
 Sporta in the West." Price Fifty cents. 
 
 THE PIRATE'S SON. A Sea Novel of great interest Full of beautiful 
 illustrations. Price Twenty-five cents.
 
 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 9 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS' WORKS. 
 
 THE IRON MASK, OR THE FEATS ANl) ADVENTURES OP 
 RAOULE DE BRAGELONNE. Being the conclusion of "The 
 Three Guardsmen," "Twenty Years After," and " Bragelonne." By 
 Alexandra Dumas. Complete in two large volumes, of 420 octavo 
 pages, with beautifully Illustrated Covers, Portraits, and Engravings. 
 Price One Dollar. 
 
 LOUISE LA VALLIERE; OR THE SECOND SERIES AND FINAL 
 END OF THE IRON MASK. By Alexandre Dumas. This work 
 is the final end of " The Three Guardsmen," " Twenty Years After," 
 "Brageloune," and "The Iron Mask," and is of far more interesting 
 and absorbing interest, than any of its predecessors. Complete in 
 two large octavo volumes of over 400 pages, printed on the best of 
 paper, beautifully illustrated. It also contains correct Portraits of 
 " Louise La Valliere," and " The Hero of the Iron Mask." Price One 
 Dollar. 
 
 THE MEMOIRS OF A PHYSICIAN; OR THE SECRET HISTORY OF 
 LOUIS THE FIFTEENTH. By Alexandre Dumas. It is beautifully 
 embellished with thirty engravings, which illustrate the principal 
 scenes and characters of the different heroines throughout the work. 
 Complete in two large octavo volumes. Price One Dollar. 
 
 THE QUEEN'S NECKLACE : OR THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE 
 COURT OF LOUIS THE SIXTEENTH. A Sequel to the Memoirs 
 of a Physician. By Alexandre Dumas. It is beautifully illustrated 
 with portraits of the heroines of the work. Complete in two large 
 octavo volumes of over 400 pages. Price One Dollar. 
 
 SIX YEARS LATER; OR THE TAKING OF THE BASTILE. By 
 Alexandre Dumas. Being the continuation of " The Queen's Neck- 
 lace; or the Secret History of the Court of Louis the Sixteenth," and 
 "Memoirs of a Physician." Complete in one large octavo volume. 
 Price Seventy-five cents. 
 
 COUNTESS DE CHARNY; OR THE FALL OF THE FRENCH 
 MONARCHY. By Alexandre Dumas. This work is the final con- 
 clusion of the "Memoirs of a Physician," "The Queen's Necklace," 
 and " Six Years Later, or Taking of the Bastile." All persons who 
 have not read Dumas in this, his greatest and most instructive pro- 
 duction, should begin at once, and no pleasure will be found so 
 agreeable, and nothing in novel form so useful and absorbing. Com- 
 plete in two volumes, beautifully illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 DIANA OF MERIDOR; THE LADY OF MONSOREAU ; or France in 
 the Sixteenth Century. By Alexandre Dumas. An Historical Ro- 
 mance. Complete in two large octavo volumes of 538 pages, with 
 numerous illustrative engravings. Price One Dollar. 
 
 ISABEL OF BAVARIA; or the Chronicles of France for the reign of 
 Charles the Sixth. Complete in one fine octavo volume of 211 pages, 
 printed on the finest white paper. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 EDMOND DANTES. Being the sequel to Dumas' celebrated novel of 
 the Count of Monte Cristo. With elegant illustrations. Complete in 
 one large octavo volume of over 200 pages. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 THE CORSICAN BROTHERS. This work has already been dramatized, 
 and is now played in all the theatres of Europe and in this country, 
 and it is exciting an extraordinary interest. Price Twenty -ave cenU.
 
 10 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS' WORKS. 
 
 SKETCHES IN FRANCE. By Alexandra Dumas. It is as good ft 
 book as Thackeray's Sketches in Ireland. Dumas never wrote a 
 better book. It is the most delightful book of the season. Price 
 Fifty cents. 
 
 GENEVIEVE, OR THE CHEVALIER OF THE MAISON ROUGH. 
 By Alexandre Dumas. An Historical Romance of the French Rero- 
 lution. Complete in one large octavo volume of over 200 pages, 
 with numerous illustrative engravings. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 GEORGE LIPPARD'S WORKS. 
 
 WASHINGTON AND HIS GENERALS; or, Legends of the American 
 Revolution. Complete in two large octavo volumes of 538 pages, 
 printed on the finest white paper. Price One Dollar. 
 
 THE QUAKER CITY; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. A Romance of 
 Philadelphia Life, Mystery and Crime. Illustrated with numerous 
 Engravings. Complete in two large octavo volumes of 500 pages. 
 Price One Dollar. 
 
 THE LADYE OF ALBARONE; or, the Poison Goblet. A Romance of 
 the Dark Ages. Lippard's Last Work, and never before published. 
 Complete in one large octavo volume. Price Seventy-five cents. 
 
 PAUL ARDENHEIM ; the Monk of Wissahickon. A Romance of the 
 Revolution. Illustrated with numerous engravings. Complete in 
 two large octavo volumes, of nearly 600 pages. Price One Dollar. 
 
 BLANCHE OF BRANDYWINE ; or, September the Eleventh, 1777. A 
 Romance of the Poetry, Legends, and History of the Battle of Brandy- 
 wine. It makes a large octavo volume of 350 pages, printed on the 
 finest white paper. Price Seventy-five cents. 
 
 LEGENDS OF MEXICO; or, Battles of General Zachary Taylor, late 
 President of the United States. Complete in one octavo volume of 
 128 pages. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE NAZARENE; or, the Last of the Washingtons. A Revelation of 
 Philadelphia, New York, and Washington, in the year 1844. Com- 
 plete in one volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 B. D'lSRAELTS NOVELS. 
 
 VIVIAN GREY. By B. D'Israeli, M. P. Complete in one largo octavo 
 volume of 225 pages. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 THE YOUNG DUKE; or the younger days of George the Fourth. By 
 B. D'Israeli, M. P. One octavo volume. Price Thirty-eight cents. 
 
 VENETIA; or, Lord Byron and his Daughter. By B. D'Israoli, M. P. 
 Complete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 HENRIETTA TEMPLE. A Love Story. By B. D'Israeli, M. P. Com- 
 plete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 CONTARINA FLEMING. An Autobiography. By B. D'Israeli, M. P. 
 One volume, octavo. Price Thirty-eight cents. 
 
 MIRIAM ALROY. A Romance of the Twelfth Century. By B. D'Israeli, 
 M. P. One volume octavo. Price Thirty-eight cente.
 
 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. U 
 EMERSON BENNETT'S WORKS. 
 
 CLARA MORELAND. This is a powerfully written romance. The 
 characters are boldly drawn, the plot striking, the incidents replete 
 with thrilling interest, and the language and descriptions natural and 
 graphic, as are all of Mr. Bennett's Works. 336 pages. Price 50 
 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in cloth, gilt. 
 
 VIOLA; OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR SOUTH-WEST. Com. 
 plete in one large volume. Price 50 cents in paper cover, or 75 cento 
 in cloth, gilt. 
 
 THE FORGED WILL. Complete in one large volume, of over 300 
 pages, paper cover, price 50 cents; or bound in cloth, gilt, price $1 00. 
 
 KATE CLARENDON; OR, NECROMANCY IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 Price 50 cents in paper cover, or 75 cents in cloth, gilt. 
 
 BRIDE OF THE WILDERNESS. Complete in one large volume. 
 Price 50 cents in paper cover, or 75 cents in cloth, gilt. 
 
 THE PIONEER'S DAUGHTER; nnd THE UNKNOWN COUNTESS. 
 By Emerson Bennett. Price 50 cents. 
 
 HEIRESS OF BELLEFONTE ; and WALDE-WARREN. A Tale of 
 Circumstantial Evidence. By Emerson Bennett. Price 50 cents. 
 
 ELLEN NORBURY; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF AN ORPHAN. 
 Complete in one large volume, price 50 cents in paper cover, or iu 
 cloth gilt, $1 00. 
 
 MISS LESLIE'S NEW COOK BOOK. 
 
 MISS LESLIE'S NEW RECEIPTS FOR COOKING. Comprising new 
 and approved methods of preparing all kinds of soups, fish, oysters, 
 terrapins, turtle, vegetables, meats, poultry, g*me, sauces, pickles, 
 sweet meats, cakes, pies, puddings, confectionery, rice, Indian meal 
 preparations of all kinds, domestic liquors, jmrfumery, remedies, 
 laundry-work, needle-work, letters, additional receipts, etc. Also, 
 list of articles suited to go together for breakfasts, dinners, and sup- 
 pers, and much useful information and many miscellaneous subjects 
 connected with general house-wifery. It is an elegantly printed duo- 
 decimo volume of 520 pages; and in it there will be found One Thon- 
 sand and Eleven new Receipts all useful some ornamental and all 
 invaluable to every lady, miss, or family in the world. This work has 
 had a very extensive sale, and many thousand copies have been sold, 
 and the demand is increasing yearly, being the most complete work 
 of the kind published in the world, and also the latest and best, as, 
 in addition to Cookery, its receipts for making cakes and confec- 
 tionery are unequalled by any other work extant. New edition, en- 
 larged and improved, and handsomely bound. Price One Dollar a 
 copy only. This is the only new Cook Book by Miss Leslie. 
 
 GEORGE SANDS' WORKS. 
 
 FIRST AND TRUE LOVE. A True Love Story. By George Sand, 
 author of " Consuelo," " Indiana," etc. It is one of the most charm- 
 ing and interesting works ever published. Illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 INDIANA. By George Sand, author of " First and True Love," etc. 
 A very bewitching and interesting work. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE CORSAIR. A Venetian Tale. Price 25 cents.
 
 12 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS 
 
 HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. 
 WITH ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS BY BARLEY AND OTHERS, 
 
 AND BEAUTIFULLY ILLUMINATED COVERS. 
 
 We have just published new and beautiful editions of the following 
 HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. They are published in the best 
 possible style, full of original Illustrations, by Darley, descriptive of all Sho 
 best scenes in each work, with Illuminated Covers, with new and beautiful 
 designs on each, and are printed on the finest and best of white paper. 
 There are no works to compare with them in point of wit and humor, in 
 the whole world. The price of each work is Fifty cents only. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING ARE THE NAMES OF THE WORKS. 
 
 MAJOR JONES' COURTSHIP: detailed, with other Scenes, Incidents, 
 and Adventures, in a Series of Letters, by himself. With Thirteen 
 Illustrations from designs by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 DRAMA IN POKERVILLE: the Bench and Bar of Jurytown, and 
 other Stories. By "Everpoint," (J. M. Field, of the St. Louis 
 Reveille.) With Illustrations from designs by Darley. Fifty cents. 
 
 CHARCOAL SKETCHES ; or, Scenes in the Metropolis. By Joseph C. 
 Neal, author of " Peter Ploddy," " Misfortunes of Peter Faber," etc. 
 With Illustrations. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 YANKEE AMONGST THE MERMAIDS, and other Waggeries and 
 Vagaries, iiy W. E. Burton, Comedian. With Illustrations by 
 Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 MISFORTUNES OF PETER FABER, and other Sketches. By the 
 author of "Chnrcoal Sketches." With Illustrations by Darley and 
 others. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 MAJOR JONES' SKETCHES OF TRAVEL, comprising the Scenes, 
 Incidents, and Adventures in his Tour from Georgia to Canada. 
 With Eight Illustrations from Designs by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 STREAKS OF SQUATTER LIFE, and Far AVest Scenes. A Series of 
 humorous Sketches, descriptive of Incidents and Character in the 
 Wild West. By the author of " Major Jones' Courtship," " Swallow- 
 ing Oysters Alive," etc. With Illustrations from designs by Darley, 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 
 QUARTER RACE IN KENTUCKY, AND OTHER STORIES. By 
 W. T. Porter, Esq., of the New York Spirit of the Times. With 
 Eight Illustrations and designs by Darley. Complete in one volume. 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 
 SIMON SUGGS. ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN SIMON SUGGS, late 
 of the Tallapoosa Volunteers, together with "Taking the Census," 
 and other Alabama Sketches. By a Country Editor. With a Portrait 
 from Life, and Nine other Illustrations by Darley. Price Fifty cents 
 
 HIVAL BELLES. By J. B. Jones, author of "Wild Western Scenes,* 1 
 etc. This is a very humorous and entertaining work, and one th , 
 will be recommended by all after reading it. Price Fifty cents.
 
 T. B. PETEESON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 13 
 HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. 
 
 YANKEE TARNS AND YANKEE LETTERS. By Sam Slick, aliaa 
 Judge Haiiburton. Full of the drollest humor that has ever emanated 
 from the pen of any author. Every page will set you in a roar. 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF COL. VANDERBOMB, AND THE 
 EXPLOITS OF HIS PRIVATE SECRETARY. By J. B. Jones, 
 author of " The Rival Belles," " Wild Western Scenes," etc. Prie 
 Fifty cents. 
 
 BIG BEAR OF ARKANSAS, and other Sketches, illustrative of Charac- 
 ters and Incidents in the South and South-West. Edited by Wm. T. 
 Porter. With Illustrations by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 MAJOR JONES' CHRONICLES OF PINEVILLE; embracing Sketches 
 of Georgia Scenes, Incidents, and Characters. By the author of 
 "Major Jones' Courtship," etc. With Illustrations by Darley. Price 
 Fifty cents. 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF PERCIVAL MABERRY. By J. H. 
 Ingraham. It will interest and please everybody. All who enjoy a 
 good laugh should get it at once. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 FRANK FORESTER'S QUORNDON HOUNDS; or, A Virginian at 
 Melton Mowbray. By H. W. Herbert, Esq. With Illustrations. 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 
 PICKINGS FROM THE PORTFOLIO OF THE REPORTER OF THE 
 "NEW ORLEANS PICAYUNE." Comprising Sketches of the 
 Eastern Yankee, the Western Hoosier, and such others as make up 
 society in the great Metropolis of the South. With Illustrations by 
 Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 FRANK FORESTER'S SHOOTING BOX. By the author of "The 
 Quorndon Hounds," " The Deer Stalkers," etc. With Illustrations by 
 Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 STRAY SUBJECTS ARRESTED AND BOUND OVER; being the 
 Fugitive Offspring of the " Old Un" and the " Young Un," that have 
 been " Laying Around Loose," and are now "tied up" for fast keep- 
 ing. With Illustrations by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 FRANK FORESTER'S DEER STALKERS ; a Tale of Circumstantial 
 evidence. By the author of "My Shooting Box," "The Quorndon 
 Hounds," etc. With Illustrations. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN FARRAGO. By Hon. H. H. Bracken- 
 ridge. For Sixteen years one of the Judges of the Supreme Court of 
 the State of Pennsylvania. With Illustrations from designs by Darley. 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 
 THE CHARMS OF PARIS; or, Sketches of Travel and Adventures by 
 Night and Day, of a Gentleman of Fortune and Leisure. From hi 
 private journal. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 PETER PLODDY, and other oddities. By the author of "Charcoal 
 Sketches," "Peter Faber," Ac. With Illustrations from original 
 designs, by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 WIDOW RUGBY'S HUSBAND, a Night at the Ugly Man's, and other 
 Tales of Alabama. By author of " Simon Suggs." With original 
 Illustrations. Price Fifty cents.
 
 14 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. 
 
 MAJOR -0'REGAN'S ADVENTURES. By Hon. H. H. Brackenridge. 
 With Illustrations by Parley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 SOL. SMITH ; THEATRICAL APPRENTICESHIP AND ANECDOTAL 
 RECOLLECTIONS* OF SOL. SMITH, Esq., Comedian, Lawyer, 
 etc. Illustrated by Darley. Containing Early Scenes, Wanderiags 
 in the West, Cincinnati in Early Life, etc. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 SOL. SMITH'S NEW BOOK; THE THEATRICAL JOURNEY-WORK 
 AND ANECDOTAL RECOLLECTIONS OF SOL. SMITH, Esq., 
 with a portrait of Sol. Smith. It comprises a Sketch of the second 
 Seven years of his professional life, together with some Sketches of 
 Adventure in after years. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 POLLY PEABLOSSOM'S WEDDING, and other Tales. By the author 
 of "Major Jones' Courtship," " Streaks of Squatter Life," etc. Price 
 Fifty cents. 
 
 FRANK FORESTER'S WARWICK WOODLANDS; or, Things as 
 they were Twenty Years Ago. By the author of " The Quorndon 
 Hounds," "My Shooting Box," "The Deer Stalkers," etc. With 
 Illustrations, illuminated. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 LOUISIANA SWAMP DOCTOR. By Madison Tensas, M. D., Ex. V. P. 
 M. S. U. Ky. Author of " Cupping on the Sternum." With Illustra- 
 tions by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 NEW ORLEANS SKETCH BOOK, by "Stahl," author of the "Port- 
 folio of a Southern Medical Student." With Illustrations from 
 designs by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 FRENCH, GERMAN, SPANISH, LATIN, AND 
 ITALIAN LANGUAGES. 
 
 Any person unacquainted with either of the above languages, can, with 
 the aid of these works, be enabled to read, write and speak the language of 
 either, without the aid of a teacher or any oral instruction whatever, pro- 
 vided they pay strict attention to the instructions laid down in each book, 
 and that nothing shall be passed over, without a thorough investigation 
 of the subject it involves : by doing which ihof will be able to tpeak, read 
 or write either language, at their will and pleasure. Either of these works 
 is invaluable to any persons wishing to learn these languages, and are 
 worth to any one One Hundred times their cost. These works have 
 already run through several large editions in this country, for no person 
 ever buys one without recommending it to his friends. 
 
 FRENCH WITHOUT A MASTER. In Six Easy Lessons. 
 GERMAN WITHOUT A MASTER. In Six Easy Lessons. 
 SPANISH WITHOUT A MASTER. In Four Easy Lessons. 
 ITALIAN WITHOUT A MASTER. In Five Easy Lessons. 
 LATIN WITHOUT A MASTER. In Six Easy Lessons. 
 
 Price of either of the above Works, separate, 25 cents each or the 
 whole five may be had for One Dollar, and will be sent free of pottagt to 
 any one on their remitting that amount to the publisher, in a letter.
 
 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 15 
 WORKS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 FLIRTATIONS IN AMERICA; OR HIGH LIFE IN NEW YORK. A 
 capital book. 285 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 DON QUIXOTTE. ILLUSTRATED LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 DON QUIXOTTE DE LA MANCHA, and his Squire Sancho Panza, 
 with all the original notes. 300 pages. Price 75 cents. 
 
 WILD SPORTS IN THE WEST. By W. H. Maxwell, author of Pio- 
 toriul Life and Adventures of Grace O'Malley." Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE ROMISH CONFESSIONAL ; or, the Auricular Confession and Spi- 
 ritual direction of the Romish Church. Its History, Consequences, 
 and policy of the Jesuits. By M. Michelet. Price 50 cents. 
 
 GENEVRA ; or, the History of a Portrait. By Miss Fairfield, one of the 
 best writers in America. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 WILD OATS SOWN ABROAD ; OR, ON AND OFF SOUNDINGS. It 
 is the Private Journal of a Gentleman of Leisure and Education, and 
 of a highly cultivated mind, in making the tour of Europe. It shows 
 up all the High and Low Life to be found in all the fashionable re- 
 orts in Paris. Price 50 cents in paper cover, or 75 cents in cloth, gilt. 
 
 SALATHIEL ; OR, THE WANDERING JEW. By Rev. George Croly. 
 One of the best and most world-wide celebrated books that has ever 
 been printed. Price 50 cents. 
 
 LLORENTE'S HISTORY OF THE INQUISITION IN SPAIN. Only 
 edition published in this country. Price 50 cents ; or handsomely 
 bound in muslin, gilt, price 75 cents. 
 
 DR. HOLLICK'S NEW BOOK. ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY, 
 with a, large dissected plate of the Human Figure, colored to Life. 
 By the celebrated Dr. Hollick, author of " The Family Physician," 
 " Origin of Life," etc. Price One Dollar. 
 
 DR. HOLLICK'S FAMILY PHYSICIAN; OR, THE TRUE ART OF 
 HEALING THE SICK. A book that should be in the house of 
 every family. It is a perfect treasure. Price 25 cents. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF THREE CITIES. Boston, New York, and Philadel- 
 phia. Revealing the secrets of society in these various cities. All 
 should read it. By A. J. H. Duganne. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 RED INDIANS OF NEWFOUNDLAND. A beautifully illustrated In- 
 dian Story, by the author of the " Prairie Bird." Price 50 cents. 
 
 HARRIS'S ADVENTURES IN AFRICA. This book is a rich treat. 
 Two volumes. Price One Dollar, or handsomely bound, $1 50. 
 
 THE PETREL; OR, LOVE ON THE OCEAN. A sea novel equal to the 
 best. By Admiral Fisher. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 ARISTOCRACY, OR LIFE AMONG THE "UPPER TEN." A true 
 novel of fashionable life. By J. A. Nunes, Esq. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE CABIN AND PARLOR. By J. Thornton Randolph. It is 
 beautifully illustrated. Price 50 cents in paper cover ; or a finer edi- 
 tion, printed on thicker and better paper, and handsomely bound in 
 muslin, gilt, is published for One Dollar. 
 
 LIFE IN THE SOUTH. A companion to " Uncle Tom's Cabin." Br 
 C. H. Wiley. Beautifully illustrated from original designs by Bar 
 ley. Price 50 cents.
 
 16 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 WORKS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 SKETCHES IN IRELAND. By William M. Thackeray, author of 
 "Vanity Fair," "History of Pcndennis," etc. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE ROMAN TRAITOR; OR, THE DAYS OF CATALINE AND 
 CICERO. By Henry William Herbert. This is one of the most 
 powerful Roman stories in the English language, and is of itself suffi- 
 cient to stamp the writer as a powerful man. Complete in two large 
 ..volumes, of over 250 pages each, paper cover, price One Dollar, or 
 bound in one volume, cloth, for $1 25. 
 
 THE LADY'S WORK-TABLE BOOK. Full of plates, designs, diagrams, 
 and illustrations to learn all kinds of needlework. A work every 
 Lady should possess. Price 50 cents in paper cover; or bound in 
 crimson cloth, gilt, for 75 cents. 
 
 THE COQUETTE. One of the best books ever written. One volume, oc- 
 tavo, over 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 WHITEFRIARS ; OR, THE DAYS OF CHARLES THE SECOND. An 
 Historical Romance. Splendidly illustrated with original designs, by 
 Chapin. It is the best historical romance published for years. Price 
 50 cents. 
 
 WHITEHALL ; OR, THE TIMES OF OLIVER CROMWELL. By the 
 author of " Whitefriars." It is a work which, for just popularity and 
 intensity of interest, has not been equalled since the publication of 
 " Waverly." Beautifully illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE SPITFIRE. A Nautical Romance. By Captain Chamier, author 
 of " Life and Adventures of Jack Adams." Illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 TJNCLE TOM'S CABIN AS IT IS. One large volume, illustrated, 
 bound in cloth. Price $1 25. 
 
 FATHER CLEMENT. By Grace Kennady, author of "Dunallen," 
 " Abbey of Innismoyle," etc. A beautiful book. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE ABBEY OF INNISMOYLE. By Grace Kennady, author of "Fa- 
 ther Clement." Equal to any of her former works. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE FORTUNE HUNTER ; a novel of New Yonc society, Upper and 
 Lower Tenaom. By Mrs. Anna Cora Mowatt. Price 38 cents. 
 
 POCKET LIBRARY OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE. New and enlarged 
 edition, with numerous engravings. Twenty thousand copies sold. 
 We have never seen a volume embracing any thing like the sam 
 quantity of useful matter. The work is really a treasure. It should 
 speedily find its way into every family. It also contains a large and 
 entirely new Map of the United States, with full page portraits of 
 the Presidents of the United States, from Washington until the pre- 
 sent time, executed in the finest style of the art. Price 50 cents a 
 copy only. 
 
 HENRY CLAY'S PORTRAIT. Nagle's correct, full length Mezzotinto 
 Portrait, and only true likeness ever published of the distinguished 
 Statesman. Engraved by Sartain. Size, 22 by 30 inches. Price 
 $1 00 a copy only. Originally sold at $5 00 a copy. 
 
 THE MISER'S HEIR; OR, THE YOUNG MILLIONAIRE. A story 
 of a Guardian and bis Ward. A prize novel. By P. H. Myers, "author 
 of the " Emigrant Squire." Price 50 cents in paper cover, or 75 cent* 
 in cloth, gilt.
 
 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 17 
 WORKS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 THE TWO LOVERS. A Domestic Story. It iJ a highly interesting lid 
 companionable book, conspicuous for its purity of sentiment its 
 graphic and vigorous style its truthful delineations of character- 
 and deep arid powerful interest of its plot. Price 38 cents. 
 
 ARRAH NEIL. A novel by G. P. R. James. Price 50 cents* 
 
 SIEGE OF LONDONDERRY. A History of the Siege of Londonderry, 
 and Defence of Enniskillen, in 1688 uA 1089, by tho Rev. John 
 Graham. Price 37 cents. 
 
 VICTIMS OF AMUSEMENTS. By Martha Clark, and dedicated by the 
 author to the Sabbath Schools of the land. One vol., cloth, 38 cents. 
 
 FREAKS OF FORTUNE ; or, The Life and Adventures of Ned Lorn. 
 By the author of " Wild Western Scenes." One volume, cloth. Prica 
 One Dollar. , 
 
 WORKS AT TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH. 
 
 GENTLEMAN'S SCIENCE OF ETIQUETTE, AND GUIDE TO SO- 
 CIETY. By Count Alfred D'Orsay With a portrait of Count D'Or- 
 say. Price 25 cents. 
 
 LADIES' SCIENCE OF ETIQUETTE. By Countess de Calabrella, with 
 her full-length portrait. Price 25 cents. 
 
 ELLA STRATFORD ; OR, THE ORPHAN CHILD. By tho Countess 
 of Blessiugton. A charming and entertaining work. Price 25 cents. 
 
 GHOST STORIES. Full of illustrations. Being a Wonderful Book. 
 Price 25 cents. 
 
 ADMIRAL'S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Marsh, author of " Ravens- 
 cliffe." One volume, octavo. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE MONK. A Romance. By Matthew G. Lewis, Esq., M. P. All 
 should read it. Price 25 cents. 
 
 DIARY OF A PHYSICIAN. Second Scries. By S. C. Warren, author 
 of " Ten Thousand a Year." Illustrated. Price 25 cents. 
 
 ABEDNEGO, THE MONEY LENDER. By Mrs. Gore. Price 25 cents. 
 
 MADISON'S EXPOSITION OF THE AWFUL CEREMONIES OP 
 ODD FELLOWSHIP, with 20 plates. Price 25 cents. 
 
 GLIDDON'S ANCIENT EGYPT, HER MONUMENTS, HIEROGLY- 
 PHICS, HISTORY, ETC. Full of plates. Price 25 cents. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL FRENCH GIRL; or the Daughter of Monsieur Fon- 
 tanbleu. Price 25 cents. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF BEDLAM; OR, ANNALS OF THE LONDON MAD- 
 HOUSE. Price 25 cento. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. A Story of the Heart. By Grace Aguilar, author of 
 " Home Influence," " Mother's Recompense," etc. Prico 25 cents. 
 
 EVA ST. GLAIR; AND OTHER TALES. By G. P. R. James, Esq., 
 author of " Richelieu." Price 25 cents. 
 
 AGNES GREY; AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. By the author of "Jan 
 Eyre," "Shirley," etc. Price 25 eets. 
 
 BELL BRANDON, AND THE WITHERED FIG TREE. By P. Hamii. 
 ton Myers. A Three Hundred Dollar prize novel. Price 25 certs.
 
 18 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 WORKS AT TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH. 
 
 KNOWLSOX'S COMPLETE CATTLE, OR COW DOCTOR. Whoever 
 owns a cow should have this book. Price 25 cents. 
 
 EN^WLSONJS COMPLETE FARRIER, OR HORSE DOCTOR. Al 
 ibat own a horse should possess this work. Price 25 cents. 
 
 Tlltf COMPLETE KITCHEN AND FRUIT GARDENER, FOR POPU- 
 IAR AND GENERAL USE. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE COMPLETE FLORIST; OR FLOWER GARDENER. The U 
 in the world. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE EMIGRANT SQUIRE. By author of " Cell Brandon." 25 cenU. 
 
 PHILIP IN SEARCH OF A WIFE. By the author of " Kate in Search 
 of a Husband." Price 25 cents. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF A CONVEKT. By a noted Methodist Preacher. Price 
 
 25 cunts. 
 
 THE ORPHAN SISTERS. It is a tnle such as Miss Austen might have 
 been proud of, and Goldsmith would not have disowned. It ia well 
 told, and excites a strong interest. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE DEFORMED. One of the best novels ever written, and THE 
 CHARITY SISTER. By Hon. Mrs. Norton. Price 25 cents. 
 
 LIFE IN NEW YORK. IN DOORS AND OUT OF DOORS. By the 
 late William Burns. Illustrated by Forty Engravings. Price 25 cents. 
 
 JENNY AMBROSE ; OR, LIFE IN THE EASTERN STATES. An ex- 
 cellent book. Price 25 cents. 
 
 MORETON HALL; OR, THE SPIRITS OF THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 A Tale founded on Facts. Price 25 cents. 
 
 RODY THE ROVER; OR THE RIBBON MAN. An Irish Tale. By 
 William Carlcton. One volume, octavo. Price 25 cents. 
 
 AMERICA'S MISSION. By Rev. Charles Wadsworth. Price 25 cents. 
 POLITICS IN RELIGION. By Rev. Charles Wadsworth. Price 12i cts. 
 
 Professor LIEBIG'S Works on Chemistry. 
 
 AGRICULTURAL CHEMISTRY. Chemistry in its application to Agri- 
 culture and Physiology. Price Twenty-five cento. 
 
 ANIMAL CHEMISTRY. Chemistry in its application to Physiology and 
 Pathology. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 FAMILIAR LETTERS ON CHEMISTRY, and its relations to Commerce, 
 Physiology and Agriculture. 
 
 THE POTATO DISEASE. Researches into the motion of the Juices in 
 the animal body. 
 
 CHEMISTRY AND PHYSICS IN RELATION TO PHYSIOLOGY 
 AND PATHOLOGY. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON also publishes a complete edition of Professor 
 Liebig's works on Chemistry, comprising the whole of the above. They 
 are bound in one large royal octavo volumi, in Muslin gilt Price for the 
 complete works bound in one volume, Oue Dollar and Fifty cents. Thf 
 three last are uot published separately from the bound volume.
 
 T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 19 
 EXCELLENT SHILLING BOOKS. 
 
 THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS. By Charles Dickens. Price 12} eta. 
 THE SCHOOLBOY, AND OTHER STORIES. By Dickey. 12} cents. 
 SISTER ROSE. By Charles Dickens. Price 12} cents. 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL. By Charles Dickens. Price 12$ cents. 
 
 LIZZIE LEIGH, AND THE MINER'S DAUGHTERS. By Charles 
 Dickens. Price 12} cents. 
 
 THE CHIMES. By Charles Dickens. Price 12* cents. 
 
 THE CRICKET ON,- THE HEARTH. B/ Charles Dickens. Price 12} cts. 
 
 BATTLE OP LIFE. By Charles Dickens. Price 12} cents. 
 
 HAUNTED MAN; AND THE GHOST'S BARGAIN. By Charles 
 Dickens. Price 12} cents. 
 
 THE YELLOW MASK. From Dickens' Household Words. Price 12i cts. 
 A WIFE'S STORY. From Dickens' Household Words. Price 12} cts. 
 MOTHER AND STEPMOTHER. By Dickens. Price 12} cents. 
 
 ODD FELLOWSHIP EXPOSED. With all the Signs, Grips, Pass-words, 
 etc. Illustrated. Price 12} cents. 
 
 MORMONISM EXPOSED. Full of EngraT^gs, and Portraits of the 
 Twelve Apostles. Price 12} cents. 
 
 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF THE REV. JOHN N. MAFFIT; with his 
 Portrait. Price 12} cents. 
 
 REV. ALBERT BARNES ON THE MAINE ^IQUOR LAW. THE 
 THRONE OF INIQUITY; or, sustaining Evil by Law. A discourse 
 in behalf of a law prohibiting the traffic in intoxicating drinks. 
 Price 12} cents. 
 
 WOMAN. DISCOURSE ON WOMAN. HER SPHERE, DUTIES, 
 ETC. By Lucretia Mott. Price 12} cents. 
 
 EUCHRE. THE GAME OF EUCHRE, AND ITS LAWS. By a mem- 
 ber of the Euchre Club of Philadelphia of Thirty Years' standing. 
 Price 12} cents. 
 
 DR. BERG'S ANSWER TO ARCHBISHOP HUGHES. Price 12} cents. 
 DR. BERG'S LECTURE ON THE JESUITS. Price 12} cents. 
 
 FRESH FRUITS AND VEGETABLES all the Your round, at Summer 
 prices, and how to obtain and have them, with full directions. 12} cents. 
 
 T. B. PKTERSON'S Wholesale <fc Retail Cheap Book, Masra- 
 
 xliie, Newspaper, Publishing and Bookselling Kn t hi ixh- 
 
 ment, is at No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia: 
 
 From which place he will supply all orders for any books at all, no matter by whom 
 published, in advance of all others, and at publishers' lowest cash prices. He rw 
 pectl'ully invites Country Merchants, Booksellers, 1'edlars, Canvassers, Agents, tb 
 Trade, Strangers in the City, and the public gi-nerally, to call and examine big ex- 
 tensive collection of all kinds of publication!, where they will be sure to find a.i tt 
 test, latest, anil cheapest wurks published in this country or elsewhere, for sale very low.
 
 THE ROMAN TRAITOR; 
 
 OR, THE DAYS OP 
 
 . CICERO, CATO AND CATALINE, 
 BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, 
 
 AUTHOR OP " CROMWELL," " THE BROTHERS," ETC. 
 
 BEAD THE FOLLOWING OPINIONS OF THE PKESS ABOUT IT. 
 
 From the Philadelphia Saturday Courier, of Sept. 10th, 1853. 
 
 " This historical romanoe is the moat powerfully wrought work which the indomitable 
 genius of the author has ever produced; and is amply sufficient of itself to stump the 
 writer as a powerful man. The startling schemes and plots which preceded the over- 
 throw of the great Roman Republic, afford ample scope for his well-practised pen, and 
 we may add he has not only been fortunate in producing a work of such masterly pre- 
 tensions, hut Mr. Herbert is equally so in the good taste, energy, and tact of his enter- 
 prising publisher. The book is admirably brought out, and altogether may be set down 
 as one of Peterson's ' great hits' in literature." 
 
 From, the Philadelphia Daily Pennsyhanian, of Sept. 6th, 1853. 
 "The author has made one of his happiest efforts, and given in this volume a tale 
 which will stand the test of the most rigid criticism, and be read by all lovers of litera- 
 ture that embodies the true, the thrilling, the powerful, and the sublime. In fact, we 
 would have thought it impossible to produce such a tale of the Republic in these latter 
 days ; but here we have it Sergius Cataline, Cethegus, Cassius, and the rest of that 
 dark band of conspirators, are here displayed in their true portraits. Those who have 
 read ' Sallust* with care, will recognize the truthful portraiture at a glance, and see the 
 heroes of deep and treacherous villainy dressed out in their proper devil-doing character. 
 On the other hand, we have Cicero, the orator and true friend of the Commonwealth 
 of Rome. We have also his noble co temporaries and coadjutors, all in this volume. 
 Would that space permitted for a more extended notice, but we are compelled to forbear. 
 Ono thing is certain if this book contained nothing more than the story of Paullus 
 Arvina, it would be a tale of thrilling interest." 
 
 From the Cleveland, Ohio, True Democrat, of Sept. 8th, 1853. 
 
 " Those who have perused the former works of this distinguished author, will not 
 fall to procure this book It is a thrilling romance, and the characters brm'irht for- 
 ward, and the interest with which they are constantly invested, will insure for it a 
 great run." 
 
 From the Philadelphia City Item, of Sept. 10th, 1853. 
 
 "The Roman Traitor demands earnest commendation. It is a powerful production 
 perhaps the highest effort of the brilliant and successful author. A thorough historian 
 and a careful thinker, he is well qualified to write learnedly of any period of the world's 
 history. The book is published in tasteful style, and will adorn the ceutre-taUu." 
 
 From the Boston Evening Transcript, of Sept. 6th, 1853. 
 
 " This Is a powerfully written tale, filled with the thrilling incidents which have made 
 the period of which it speaks one of the darkest in the history of the Roman Republic 
 The lovers of excitement will find in its pages ample food to gratify a taste for the darkei 
 phases of life's drama." 
 
 From the Philadelphia Sunday Dispatch, of Sept. 4//j, 1853. 
 
 " Cataline's conspiracy has been selected by Mr. Herbert as the subject of this story 
 Taking the historical incidents as recorded by the most authentic authors, he has wover 
 around them a net-work of incident, love and romance, which is stirring and exciting 
 The faithful manner in which the author has adhered to history, and tbo graphic style 
 ic which his descriptions abound, stamp this as one of the most excellent of his many 
 rnccessful novels." 
 
 Price for the complete work, In two volumes, in paper cover, One Dollar only ; or a 
 finer edition, printed on thicker and better paper, and handsomely bound in one volume 
 muslin, gilt, is published for One Dollar and Twenty-five Cents. 
 
 Copies of either edition of the work will be sent to any person at all, to any part of 
 the United States, free of postage, on their remitting the price of the edition they wish 
 to the publisher, in a lotter, post-paid. Published and for sale by 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, 
 82 No. 10 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia*
 
 the Notices of the Press below.~i 
 
 BY EMERSON BENNETT. 
 
 Price Fifty Cents in Paper Cover ; or, One Dollar in Cloth, Gilt. 
 
 READ THE FOLLOWING OPINIONS OF THE PEESS. 
 
 " This Is decidedly the best novel Mr. Bennett has written. He tells his story well, 
 and while leading the reader over the prairies of Texas into the haunts of the wild 
 Indians, or among the equally savage bands of lawless men, that once were the terror 
 of that country ; he presents the remarkable transitions in the fortunes of his hero, in 
 a manner which, though often startling, are yet within the bounds of probability. Ilia 
 dialogue is good, growing easily out of the situation and condition of the interlocutors, 
 and presenting occasionally, especially in response, an epigrammatic poise, that is 
 worthy of all praise. The plot abounds with adventure, and presents many scenes of 
 (tartling interest, while the denouement is such as to amply satisfy the most fastidious 
 reader"* ideas of poetical justice. We would add a few words of praise for the excellent 
 tyle in which this book is gotten up. It is well printed on good paper, and bound in a 
 mannu.- to correspond with the quality of its typography." Arthur 1 ! Home Gazette. 
 
 "This is the best of Mr. Bennett's books. It is a brilliant and thrilling production, 
 and will particularly interest all who love to read of life in the West and South-West. 
 A love story runs through the volume, lending grace and finish to it. Mr. Peterson baa 
 issued the book in very handsome style; the type is new and of honest size, the binding 
 is strong and pretty, the paper is firm and white, and the embellishments are eminently 
 creditable. Clara Moreland should command a large sale." Philadelphia City Item. 
 
 " On looking more carefully through this racy, spirited narrative of thrilling scenes 
 and well-told adventures, we meet with beauties that escape a casual observation. Mr. 
 Bennett is a kt-en discoverer of character, and paints his portraits so true to nature aa 
 to carry the reader with him through all his wild wanderings and with unabated 
 interest. The author of 'Clara Moreland' takes rank among the most popular Ameri- 
 can novelists, and aided by the great energy of his publisher is fasl becoming a general 
 favorite." McMacJdn's Model Saturday Charier. 
 
 " Emerson Bennett has written some very creditable productions. This is one of his 
 longest, and is well received. Mr. Bennett is a favorite author with Western readers. 
 It is illustrated and well printed." Philadelphia Dollar Newspaper. 
 
 " It is a tale of wild border life and exciting incident, bustle, and turmoil." Phila- 
 delphia North American. 
 
 " Mr. Bennett is, in some measure, a new man in this section of the universe, and, as 
 such, our reading public are bound to give him a cordial greeting, not only for this, but 
 for the sake of that wide-spread popularity which he has achieved in the mighty West, 
 and more especially for the intrinsic excellence that distinguishes his glowing, brilliant 
 productions, of which 'Clara Moreland' may be pronounced the best." Philadelphia. 
 Saturday Courier. 
 
 'This work is of the most exciting character, and will be enjoyed by all who have a 
 cultivated taste." lialtimrrre Sun. 
 
 ' The scone of this interesting Romance lies in Texas before or during the late war 
 with Mexico. It is written with a great deal of spirit ; it abounds in stirring incidents 
 and adventures, has a good love-plot interwoven with it, and is in many respects a 
 faithful representation of Life in the Far South-West. Mr. Bennett is destined to great 
 popularity, especially at the South and West. His publisher has issued this book in a 
 very handsome style." Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. 
 
 " This is a thrilling story of frontier life, full of incident, and graphically sketched. 
 It is published in a good style." Philadelphia Public Ledger. 
 
 " This is a spirited narrative of stirring scenes, by Emerson Bennett. Those who love 
 daring adventure and hair-breadth escapes will find it an engaging hook." Detroit, 
 Mich., Paper. 
 
 "It is a thrilling narrative of South-Western adventure, illustrated by numerous 
 engravings." Detroit, Jtlich., Paper. 
 
 "It is a wordrous story of thrilling adventures and hair-breadth escapes, the scene 
 of which is laid in the South-West. The book is illustrated with engravings rep/esent- 
 ing some of the exciting events narrated by the writer." Detroit, Mich., Paper. 
 
 " It is a work replete with stirring adventure. Romance, incident, and accident, ar 
 Wended together so as to form a highly interesting work of 334 pages." New York 
 Picayune. 
 
 Published and for salo by T. B. PETERSON, 
 
 n No. 103 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia*
 
 VIOLA; 
 
 on, 
 
 ADVENTURES IN THE FAR SOUTH-WEST. 
 
 BY EMERSON BENNETT, 
 
 At'TlIOR OF "CLARA MORELAND," "FORGED WILL," "KATE CLARENDON," 
 "BKIDE OF THE WILDERNESS," " WALDE-WARREN," " PIONEER'S DAUGH- 
 TER," ETC., ETC. 
 
 BEAD THE FOLLOWING OPINIONS OF THE PRESS: 
 
 " We have perused this work with gome attention, and do not hesitate to pronounce 
 it one of the very bent productions of the talented author. The scenes are laid in Texas, 
 Mid the adjoining frontier. There is not a page that doe* not glow with thrilling anil 
 interesting incident, and will well repay the reader for the time occupied in perusing it 
 The characters are most admirably drawn, and are perfectly natural throughout. We 
 have derived so much gratification from the perusal of this charming novel, that we are 
 anxious to make our readers share it with us; and, at the same time, to recommend it 
 to be read by all persons who are fond of romantic adventures. Mr. Bennett is a spi- 
 rited and vigorous writer, and bis works deserve to be generally read ; not only because 
 they are well written, bat that they are, in most part, taken from events connected 
 with the history of our own country, from which much valuable information is derived, 
 and should, therefore, have a double claim upon our preference, over those works whore 
 the incidents are gleaned from the romantic legends of old castles, and foreign climes. 
 The book is printed on fine paper, and is in every way got up in a style highly creditable 
 to the enterprising publisher." 
 
 " It is a spirited tale of frontier life, of which ' Clara Moreland' is the sequel and 
 conclusion. Mr. Bennett seems to delight in that field of action and adventure, when 
 Cooper won his laurels ; and which is perhaps the most captivating to the general mind 
 of all the walks of fiction. There has been, fo far, we think, a steady improvement in 
 his style and stories; and his popularity, as a necessary consequence, has boon and is in- 
 creasing. One great secret of the popularity of these out-door novels, as we may cull 
 them, is that there is a freshness and simplicity of the open air and natural world alxmt 
 them free from the closeness, intensity and artificiality of the gas-ligbfcd world ro- 
 Tealed in works that treat of the vices and dissipations of large cities." Philadelphia 
 Saturday Evening Post. 
 
 " This is one of ihe best productions of Mr. Bennett The scenes are in and near 
 Texas. Kvery page glows with thrilling interest, and the characters are well drawn and 
 sustained. An interesting love plot runs through the book, which gives a faithful re- 
 presentation of life in the far South-West Mr. Peterson has issued VIOLA in his usual 
 neat style, and it is destine'! to have a great run." Clinton Tribune. 
 
 " We have received the above work and found time to give it an examination. The 
 scenes are laid mostly in Texas, and pictured with all the vividness for which the au- 
 thor is so celebrated. Those who are particularly fond of wild and romantic adventures 
 may safely calculate upon finding ' Viola' suited to their taste. It is well written and 
 handsomely printed." Daily Journal, Chicago, III. 
 
 " It is a very interesting book. The scenes of this most exciting and interesting Ro- 
 mance are found in Texas before and during the late Mexican war. It is written with 
 much spirit and pathos, and abounds in stirring incidents and adventures, and has an 
 interesting and romantic love-plot interwoven with it; and is a faithful representation 
 of ' Life in the Far South-West.' The author of ' VIOLA,' will rank among the most 
 popular of American Novelists, and aided by the great energy and enterprise of his pub- 
 lisher, T. B. Peterson, in last becoming a general favorite." Gazrttt, Khinebeck, JN'. Y 
 
 "This thrilling and interesting novel equal to anything the celebrated author ever 
 wrote has been issued in a fifty cent volume; ai.J we would advise every one who 
 wants to get the value of his money, to get the book. Bennett's works are the most in- 
 teresting of any now published." Western Emporium, GermanUnan, Ohio. 
 
 THIS BEAUTIFUL AND CELEBRATED WORK is published complete in one largs 
 Yotarue of near 300 pages, paper cover, price FIFTY CENTS ; or the work is handsomely 
 bound in one volume, cloth, gilt, price SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS. 
 
 Copies of either edition of the above work will b sent to any person at all, to any 
 part of the United States, free of postage, on their remitting the price of the edition they 
 wish, to th publisher, in a letter, post-paid. Published and for Sale by 
 
 T. D. PETERSON, 
 No. 10/3 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia,
 
 THE FORGED WILL. 
 
 BY EMERSON BENNETT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " CLARA MORELAND," " VIOLA," " PIONEEK'8 DAUGHTBB," ETO 
 
 THIS CELEBRATED AND BEAUTIFUL WoRK is published complete In one large 
 rolume, of over 300 pages, paper cover, price FIFTY CENTS ; or the work is handsomely 
 bound in one volume, cloth, gilt, price ONE DOLLAR. 
 
 ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND COPIES OF THE FORGED WILL I will he sold in 
 short time, and it will have a run and popularity second only to Uncle Tom's Cabin. 
 The Press everywhere are unanimous in its praise, as being one of the most powerfully 
 written works in the language. 
 
 THE FORGED WILL is truly a celebrated work. It has been running through 
 the columns of the Philadelphia Dollar Newspaper, where it has been appearing for ten 
 weeks, and has proved itself to be one of the most popular nonvelettes that has ever 
 appeared in the columns of any newspaper in this country. Before the fourth paper ap- 
 peared, the back numbers, (although several thousand extra Of the three former numbers 
 were printed,) could not be obtained at any price, and the publishers of the paper 
 were forced to issue a Supplement sheet of the first three papers of it, for new subscribers 
 to their paper, which induced the publisher to make an arrangement with the popular 
 author to bring it out in a beautiful style for the thousands that wish it in book form. 
 If Emerson Bennett had never written his many delightful and thrilling stories of 
 border life, of prairie scenes, and Indian warfare, this new story of the ' FORGED WILL' 
 vonld have placed his name on the record as one of the best of American novelists. The 
 scenes, principally, of this most captivating novel, are laid in the city of New York ; and 
 most glowingly the author pictures to us how the guilty may, for a time, escape the 
 justice of the law, but only to feel the heavy hand of retribution sooner or later ; how 
 Tice may, for a time, triumph over virtue, but only for a time ; how crime may lie con- 
 cealed, until its very security breeds exposure ; how true virtue gives way to no temp- 
 tation, but bears the ills of life with patience, hoping for a better day, and rejoices 
 triumphant in the end. In short, from base hypocrisy he tears the veil that hides its 
 huge deformity, and gives a true picture of life as it exists in the crowded city. We do 
 cordially recommend this book for its excellent moral. It is one that should be circulated, 
 for it must do good. 
 
 Price for the complete work, in one volume, in paper cover, Fifty Cents only ; or a 
 finer edition, printed on thicker and better paper, and handsomely bound hi one volume, 
 muslin, gilt, is published for One Dollar. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON also publishes the following works by Emerson Bennett, either or 
 all of which will be sent by mail, free of postage, to any one, on receipt of the price! 
 annexed to them. All should send for one or more of them at once. No one will ever 
 regret the money sent. 
 
 CLi ARA MOREIj AND ; or, Adventures in the Far South-West. By Emerson 
 Bennett, author of the "The Forged Will," "Viola," etc. This has proved to be one 
 of the most popular and powerful nouvelettes ever written in America, 336 pages. 1'rie* 
 Fifty Cents in paper covers, or ONE DOLLAR in cloth, gilt. 
 
 THE lIOBf EER'S DAUGHTER. By Emerson Bennett, author of " Cl*r 
 Moreland," ' Forged Will," etc. Price 50 cents. 
 
 WAIiDE-WARREN, a Tale 01 Circumstantial Evidence. By Emerson Ben- 
 nett, author of " Viola," " Pioneer's Daughter," etc. Price 25 cents. 
 
 \ IOL. A ; or, Adventures in the Far South-West. 3y Emerson Bennett, author of 
 "The Pioneer's Daughter," " Walde- Warren," etc. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Copies of either edition of the above works will be sent to any person at all, to any 
 part of the United States, free of postage, on their remitting the price of the edition they 
 wish, to the publisher, in a letter, post paid. Published and for Sale bv 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, 
 No. 103 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.
 
 mm 
 
 ON AND OFF SOUNDINGS, 
 
 A NEW AND EXQUISITELY ORIGINAL WORK. 
 
 Have you read it? If not, then do so. 
 Price Fifty Cents in Paper ; or Seventy Five Cents in Cloth. 
 
 Wild Oats Sown Abroad is a splendid work. It is the Private Journal 
 of a Gentleman of Leisure and Education, and of a highly cultivated mind, 
 in making the Tour of Europe. It is having a sale unprecedented in the 
 annals of literature, for nothing equal to it in spiciness, vivacity, and real 
 scenes and observations in daily travel, has ever appeared from the press. 
 
 TABLE OP CONTENTS OF THIS EXTRAORDINARY WORK. 
 
 Opening the Journal. A View In Lyons Abel ard and Heloise. 
 
 Ad venture in search of Ruin. Avignon Petrarch and Scenes on the Road. 
 
 Parting Tribute to Love. Laura. 
 
 Three Desperate Days ! Our First Ruin. 
 
 The Poetry of Sea-Sickness. The Unconscious Blessing. 
 
 The Red Flannel Night-Cap. A Crash and Wreck. 
 
 A Ship by Moonlight. The Railroad of Life. 
 
 Arrival in London. A Night Adventure. 
 
 The Parks of London. " The Gods take care of Hey, Presto ! Change I 
 
 Poet's Corner, Westminster Cato." The Death Scene of Cleo- 
 
 Abbey. The Triumphs of Neptune. patra. 
 
 England's Monuments. The Marquisi's Foot An Eulogy on Tuscany. 
 
 Madame Tussaud's Wax Beauties of'Naples Bay. A Real Claude Sunset 
 
 Works. Natural History of the Laz- Tasso and Byron. 
 
 The "Beauties" of Hamp- zaroni The'Shocking Team I 
 
 ton Court The True Venus. Floatiugs in Venice. 
 
 Love and Philosophy. Love and Devotion. The Venetian Girls. 
 
 u Love's Labor Loat" The Mortality of Pompeii. The Bell-Crowned Hat I 
 
 A Peep at " The Shades." Procession of the Host 
 fhe Modern " Aspasia." The Ascent of Vesuvius. 
 Noble Plea for Matrimony. The Mountain Emetic, 
 flie Lily on the Shore. The Human Projectile. 
 
 English Mother and Amen- The City of the Soul. 
 
 can Daughter. The Coup de Main, 
 
 fhe " Maid of Normandie." Night in the Coliseum I 
 
 The " Tug of War." 
 
 " There they are, by Jove I" 
 
 The Raven-Haired One I 
 
 Heaven and Hell I 
 
 The " Hamlet" of Sculpture. 
 
 The Modern Susannah. 
 
 An Effecting Scene. 
 ' Paris est un Artist." 
 fhe Guillotine. 
 ' Give us Another !" 
 Post Mortem Reflections. 
 Fashionable Criticism. 
 
 Catholicity Considered. 
 Power Passing Away I 
 Byron Among the Ruins. 
 A Gossip with the Artiste. 
 Speaking Gems. 
 " Weep for Adonis !" 
 
 Whiskey Punch and Logic. The Lady and the God. 
 
 The " Lion's Mouth." 
 The "Bridge of Sighs!" 
 A Subterranean Fete 1 
 Byron and Moore in Venice, 
 Diana and Endymion. 
 The Pinch of Snuff. 
 The Kock-Crystal Coffin! 
 Eccentricity of Art. 
 Thoughts in a Monastery. 
 The Lake of Como. 
 Immortal Drummer Boy. 
 Wit, and its Reward 1 
 The Cold Bath. 
 Here we are I" 
 
 Shylock asks for Justice !" The Science of I'salmistry. The Mountain Expose. 
 
 The "Last Kose of Sum- 
 mer." 
 
 "Sour Grapes." 
 
 A Ramble about Tivoli. 
 
 Illumination of St. Peter's. Wakinz the Echoes. 
 
 The " Niobe of Nations." Watching the Avalanche. 
 
 A Ghostly Scene! A Beautiful Incident 
 
 "Honisoitquimn.1 ypense." A Shot with the Long Bow. 
 
 A " Ball" without Music. Mt. Blanc and a full stop. 
 
 "Lorctte" nnd "Grisette," 
 
 Kissing Day. 
 
 The Tattoo. 
 
 The Masked Ball. 
 
 The Incognita. 
 
 The Charms of Paris. 
 
 Changing Horses. 
 
 Price for the complete work, in paper cover, Fifty cents a copy only; or 
 handsomely bound in muslin, gilt, for Seventy-Five cents. 
 
 Copies of either edition of the work will be sent to any person at all, to 
 any pirt of the United States, free of postage, on their remitting the price 
 of the edition they wish, to the publisher, in a letter, post paid. 
 
 Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSON, 
 
 10-2 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.
 
 DUODECIMO EDITION 
 
 OP THE COMPLETE WOEKS OP 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED WITH OVER FIVE HUNDRED STEEL 
 AND WOOD ILLUSTRATIONS, MAZING IT THE MOST BEAU- 
 TIFUL EDITION IN THE WORLD. 
 
 Rejwinted from the original London Editions and published by 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, 102 Chestnut Street, Philad'a. 
 
 This edition of Dickens' Works will supply a vacuum, that has 
 long existed, in an edition which shall combine the advantages 
 of portable size, large and readable type, and uniformity with 
 other standard English authors. It has been stereotyped from 
 new, large faced, Long Primer Type, leaded, and cast expressly for 
 this series of books ; and the edition will make, when published 
 complete, one of the most beautiful Setts of Works ever issued in 
 this or any other country. 
 
 " Pickwick Papers," " Nicholas Nickleby," " Oliver Twist," 
 "David Copperfield," "Bleak House," and " Little Dorrit," already 
 published, will be found, on examination, to be printed on thick and 
 the best and finest of white paper, made expressly for this series of 
 books, and each of the future works will be profusely illustrated in 
 the same style and manner as those now published, with all the ori- 
 ginal illustrations by Cruikshank, Crowquill, Phiz, &c., from the 
 original London editions, engraved in the finest style of the art on 
 Steel and Wood, by the best artists, so as to make them the most 
 effective. Each work contains between forty and fifty Engravings, 
 illustrating the best scenes in it, and is contained in two volumes, 
 beautifully bound in cloth. Price One Dollar and Twenty-five Cents 
 a Volume. The other volumes of all the other works of Charles 
 Dickens will follow in the same style, two volumes being published 
 on the first of each month, until all are published, and the whole se- 
 ries, containing "Little Dorrit" also, will be published complete in 
 twenty-four volumes. 
 
 This series of books have been gotten up at an immense outlay of 
 capital, but the publisher trusts that a discriminating public will 
 
 (23)
 
 JiXlV DUODECIMO EDITION OF DICKENS' WORKS. 
 
 repay him for the outlay, by a generous purchase of the different 
 volumes as they appear. All he asks is for the public to examine 
 them, and he is confident they will exclaim with one voice, that they 
 are the handsomest, and cheapest, and best illustrated Sett of Works 
 of the kind ever gotten up in this country. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING ARE NOW PUBLISHED. 
 
 Pickwick Papers. Two vols., cloth, Price per sett, $2 50 
 
 *' " scarlet, full gilt, sides, edges, 4 00 
 
 " " half calf, antique, or gilt,... 5 00 
 
 Nicholas Niokleby. Two vols., cloth, 2 50 
 
 " scarlet, full gilt, sides, edges, 4 00 
 
 " half calf, antique, or gilt,.. 5 00 
 
 David Copperfield. Two vols., cloth, 2 50 
 
 " scarlet, full gilt, sides, edges, 4 00 
 
 " half calf, antique, or gilt,.. 5 00 
 
 Oliver Twist. Two volumes, cloth,, 250 
 
 " " " scarlet, full gilt, sides, edges,. 4 00 
 
 " " half calf, antique, or gilt 5 00 
 
 Bleak House. Two volumes, cloth, 2 50 
 
 " " " " scarlet, full gilt, sides, edges,. 4 00 
 
 half calf, antique, or gilt 5 00 
 
 Little Dorrit. One volume, cloth, 1 25 
 
 scarlet, full gilt, sides, edges,. 2 00 
 " half calf, antique, or gilt, 2 50 
 
 THE FOLLOWING ONES ARE IN PRESS. 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop. Dombey and Son. Martin Chuzzlewit. 
 Christmas Stories. Barnaby Rudge. Sketches by Boz, 
 and Dickens' New Stories. 
 
 Two volumes of which will be published in all of the above va- 
 rious styles, on the first of each month, until the whole series u 
 complete. 

 
 "THE WATCHMAN!" 
 
 o 
 
 I 
 
 
 w 
 S 
 
 O 
 W 
 
 W 
 
 AN INTERESTING AND MORAL 
 
 TALE OF DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 . One volume, cloth, 91*25 or tivo volumes, paper cover, 91*00. 
 
 "And let ni not be wear* in well doing, *~.r in dne season we (hall reap if we faint not." 
 READ THE FOLLOWING OPINIONS OF THE PRESS : 
 
 TFIE WATCHMA V ia designed to subserve a good nurpr.se, and it will, doubtless, effect its objesl. Tk* 
 character, are skillfully drawn and are remarkably life-like, and the plot of the tale ia of the most mUrettbw 
 <is<Ti{ttion. The moral it inculcates is, that event-tat success awaits the efforts of those who earnestly strive to 4a 
 their duty to God and man. This book will be a fitting companion to the popular story of " The Lamplighter." 
 Adin-nlf, York, Pen* 
 
 TUB WAfi;HMAV. This work is deservedly popular. The reader finds in their pages sympathies of 'th 
 rl.^st nature, f<.rmi..i: (lowers for his path through fife's weary journey. ' The Watchman" is safely esooaeed 
 niraiust any IIH.-K by critics. Its pas* deal i:. truth. It pictures life a* it is, and inctilca'ea useful lessons. The 
 young man wb * past has ten boisterous : whose present is full of chaos and cram, and whose reruns appears 
 rloonir with dark nrabodwn. mav lejim a less .n of contentment from its pages Adcertiirr, Auburn, .Y. Y. 
 
 ThK WATCHMAN This bo..k is of a kindred character with * The Lamplighter "a volume which 
 
 and admired. The characters are all well drawn, and the 
 adventure, nd is pervaded by a healthy moral VXM. It 
 ling public. Troy Budytt. 
 
 iii.'iy tuld. It abound* in incident 
 cannot fail of lueniing with great lucceat with th 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, Publisher, No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.
 
 A. NEW BOOK by the AUTHOB OF " THE "WATCHMAN " &o 
 
 fHE^WANDERERT. 
 
 A TALK OF LIFE'S VICISSITUDES. 
 
 S 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE WATCHMAN," 
 
 One volume, cloth, SI. '-25 ; or two volumes, paper cover, 91*00. 
 
 T onboun<l<l popularity nf tuit freataathor't famou WATCH*!* a* jutied ni in pabli Mng in immaa 
 dltlon ; for we know tKt this b .ok nvut huve eren a larger aal* than that .-.elebratcd book, of which orer 40,060 
 O'piet were a-ld in the country alone. It is a tale of real LIU erery incident having come under the author 1 ! 
 own ubMrration. It ucrowifd with circnmntoncet of ths mol vivid and ttartllng inlerotu 111 ly!e it lirely 
 and 1U icntimenU parity iUelf. Tb " Witch man" ha, b-n re-piiblitbed by two hone in England, and ha* 
 very where lwn reoirad with the high-it UudalKm. Urdjr ahuuld be forwarded at once, u at to enaure a 
 earlj |>ply ul Uiu ]Hjpuliir wurk.
 
 PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 Complete in one large Octavo volume of over 200 pages. Price Fifty 
 
 Embellished with full page, spirited Illustrations, designed by Stephens, and engraved in 
 the finest style of art, by Heeler. Jt \i the only complete anil Una-bridged edition of the Life of j 
 Davy Orockett, ever published in the United States. Copies of it will be sent to any one to any. 
 place, free of postage, on their remitting Fifty Cents to the Publisher for a copy. 
 
 Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSON, 
 
 23 No. 102 Chesnut Street, Philadelphia.
 
 LIFE IN THE SOUTH. 
 
 A COMPANION TO 
 
 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. 
 
 Complete in one large Octavo volume of 200 pages. Price, Fifty Cents. 
 
 Embellished with fourteen full page, spirited Illustrations, designed by Barley, and engraved 
 in the finest style of art, and printed on the finest tinted plate paper. Copies of it will be sent 
 to any one to any place, free of postage, on their remitting Fifty Cents to the publisher for a 
 copy. Published and for Me by 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, 
 No. 10a Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.
 
 GREATJNDUCEMENTS FORL857. 
 
 lf6w~IS THE TUMOE^TO i MAKE 
 
 AGAZINE 
 
 THE BEST AND CHEAPEST IN THE WORLD FOR LADIES. 
 
 This popular Maptazine, already the cheapest and best Monthly of its kind in the World, 
 trill be gre.illy improved fur 18;i7. It will contain 900 pages of double-column reading 
 matter; from twenty to thirty Steel Plates; and Pirn Hundred Wood Engravings: which 
 U proportionately more than any periodical, of any price, ever yet gave. 
 
 ITS THRILLING ORIGINAL STORIES 
 
 Are pronounced by the newspaper press, the best published anywhere. The editors are Mrs. 
 Ann S. Stephens, author of ' The Old Homestead," " Fashion and Famine," and Charles 
 J. Peterson, author of -'Mabel," "Kate Aylesford," "The Valley Farm,'* etc. They are 
 Hssisted by a corps of original contributors, such as no lady's Magazine ever had. Mrs. 
 K. D. K. N. Southworth, author of "The Lost Heiress," "Retribution," etc., etc., is en- 
 
 aged to write a nouvelletto lor 1S57. Alice Gary, Virginia F. Townsend, Caroline J4. 
 airfield, Hetty Uolyoke, K. W. Dewees, Ella Kodman, Carry Stanley, Clara Moreton, 
 Ellen Ashton. etc., etc.. will also contribute regularly. New talent is continually being 
 added, regardless of expense, so as to keep ' Peterson's Magazine" unapproachable in 
 merit. Morality and virtue are always inculcated. . 
 
 Its Colored Fashion Plates in Advance. 
 
 gg^" It is the only Magazine whose Fashion Plates can be relied on. JigJ 
 
 Each number contains a Fashion Plate, engraved on Steel, colored a la mode, and of 
 unrivalled beauty. The Paris, London, Philadelphia, and New York Fashions are de- 
 Mrilx-d, at length, each month. Every number also contains a dozen or more New Styles, 
 engraved on Wood. Also, a Pattern, from which a Press, Mantilla, or Child's Costume, 
 can be cut, without the aid of a mautua-maker, so that each number, in this way, will 
 tat* a year's subscription. 
 
 Its superb MEZZOTINTS, and other STEEL ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 Its Illustrations excel those of any other Magazine, each number containing a superb 
 Steel Engraving, either mezzotint or line, besides the Fashion Plate; and, in addition, nu- 
 merous other Engravings, Wood Cuts, Patterns, etc., etc. The Engravings, at the end 
 of the year, alone are worth the subscription price. 
 
 PATTERNS FOR CROTCHET, NEEDLEWORK, ETC, 
 
 In th> greatest profusion, are given in every number, with instructions how to work them 
 also, Patterns in Embroidery, Inserting, Kroiderie Anglaise, Netting, Lace-making, etc., 
 etc. Also, Patterns ibr Sleeves. Collars, and Chemisettes; Patterns in l-.ead-work, Hair- 
 work, Shell-work; Handkerchief Corners ; Names for Marking and Initials. A piece of 
 new and fashionable Music is also published every month On the whole, it is the mott 
 complete Ladies' Magazine in the World. TRT IT Foa 0>s YEAR. 
 
 TERMS: ALWAYS iv ADVANCE. 
 
 One copy for One Year, $2 00 Eight copies for One Year, . .$10 00 
 
 Three copies for One Year,.. 5 00 Twelve copies for One year,. 15 00 
 Five copies for One Year, ... 7 50 Sixteen copies for One Year, 20 00 
 
 Thtve, Five, Eight, or more Copies, make a Club. To every person getting up a Club 
 at the above prices, and remitting the money, we will give gratis, "The Garland of Art," 
 containing 50 Steel Plates; or u Mrs. Widdifield's Cock Hook,'' the only real cook book ever 
 yet publii-hed; or a volume of " Peterson" for 18o6. For a Club of Twelve, an extra copy 
 of the Magazine for 1S57 will be given, if preferred. For a Club of Sixteen, an extra copy 
 and "The Garland" in addition. 
 
 Add,-*,, pun-paid, CHARLES J. PETERSON, 
 
 No. 103 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
 JB5" Specimens sent, gratuitously, if written for, post-paid. 
 
 JBSr All Postmasters constituted Agents; but any person is authorized to pet up a Club. 
 &ff- In remitting, when the sum is large, a draft should be procured, thu cost of which 
 Bay be (MKictoU from the uiv ::;;;
 
 T. B. PETERSON'S 
 
 WHOLESALE AND RETAIL 
 Cheap Book, Magazine, Newspaper, Publishing 
 
 and Bookselling Establishment, is at 
 No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON has the satisfaction to announce to the public, that he has removed 
 to the new and spacious BROWN STONE BUILDING, NO. 102 CHESTNUT BTRKBT. 
 just completed by the city authorities on the Girard Estate, known us the most centra? 
 and I'i'st situation In the city of Philadelphia. As it is the Model Hook Store of the 
 Country, we will describe it: It is the largest, most spacious, and best arranged Ketuil 
 and Wholesale Cheap Book and Publishing Establishment in the United States. It is 
 built, by the Girard Estate, of Connecticut sand-stone, In a richly ornamental style. 
 The whole front of the lower story, except that taken up by the doorway, is occupied by 
 two large plate glass windows, a single plate to each window, costing together over three 
 thousand dollars. On entering and looking up, you find above you a ceiling sixteen 
 teet high ; while, on gazing before, you perceive a vista of One Hundred and Fifty-Seven 
 feet. The retail counters extend back for eighty feet, and, being double, afford counter- 
 room of One Hundred and Sixty feet in length. There is alwo over Three Thousand f net 
 of thelviny in the retail part of the. store alone. This part is devoted to the retail busi- 
 ness, and as it is the most spacious in the country, furnishes also the best and largest 
 assortment of all kinds of books to be found in the country. It is fitted up in the most 
 superb .style; the shelvings are all painted in Florence white, with gilded cornices fur 
 the book shelves. 
 
 Behind the retail part of the store, at about ninety feet from the entrance, is th 
 counting-room, twenty feet square, railed neatly off, and surmounted by a most beauti- 
 ful dome of stained glass. In the rear of thu il the wholesale and packing department, 
 extending a further distance of about sixty feet, with desks and packing counters for the 
 establishment, etc., etc. All goods are received and shipped from the back of the store, 
 having a fine avenue on the side of Girard Bank for the purpose, leading out to Third 
 r- tree t. BO as not to interfere with and block up the front of the store on Chestnut Street. 
 The cellar, of the entire depth of the store, is filled with printed copies of .Mr. Peterson's 
 own publications, printed from his own stereotype plates, of which be generally keeps 
 on band an edition of a thousand each, making a stock, of his own publications aloiiu, 
 of over three hundred thousand volumes, constantly on band. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON is warranted in saying, that he is able to offer such inducement* 
 to the Trade, and all others, to favor him with their orders, as cannot bo excelled by any 
 book establishment in the country. In proof of this, T. I!. I'KTKKSvX begs leave to 
 refer to his great facilities of getting stock of all kinds, his dealing direct with all the 
 Publishing Houses in the country, and also to his own long list of Publications, consisting 
 of the best and most popular productions of the most talented authors of the United 
 Status and Great liritain, and to his very extensive stock, embracing every work, new or 
 old, published in the United States. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON will bo most happy to supply all orders for any books at all, no 
 matter by whom published, in advance of all others, and at publishers' lowest csh 
 prices, lie respectfully invites Country Merchants, Booksellers, Pedlars, Canvassers, 
 Agents, the Trade, Strangers in the city, and the public generally, to call and exiniiino 
 his extensive collection of cheap and standard publications of all kinds, comprising a 
 most magnificent collection of CHEAP BOOKS, MAGAZINES, NOVELS, STANDARD 
 nd POPULAR WORKS of all kinds, BIJ1LES, PRAYER HOOKS, ANNUALS, <11KT 
 BOOKS, ILLUSTRATED WORKS, ALBUMS and JUVENILE WOKK3 of all kinds, 
 GAMES of all kinds, to suit all ages, tastes, etc., which he it* selling to his customers 
 and the public at much lower prices than they can be purchased elsewhere. Being lo- 
 cated at No. 102 CHESTNUT Street, the great thoroughfare of the city, and BUYING 
 his tock outright in large quantities, and not stilling on commission, he can and will 
 fell them on such terms as will defy all competition. Call and examine our stock, you 
 ill find it to be the best, largest and cheapest in the city; and you will also be cure to 
 1nd all the bext, lattst, pofiular, atul c/teupeist wvrkt published in this country or r'-^ 
 rhere, for sale at the lowest prices. 
 
 49- Call in person and examine our stock, or send your orders ly nail direct, to tnt 
 QfcUCAP BOOKSELLING and PUBLISHING ESTABLISHMENT of 
 
 T. B. PETERSOX, 
 
 J Mo. 1O Chestnut Street, PUlladelpUi*