B h H H 4 ft w « : fl g N H i» H fe < 3 THE PARISH CLERK. BY THE AUTHOR OF " PETER PRIGGINS.' ) EDITED BY THEODOEE HOOK, ESQ. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON : HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1841. LONDON : P. 3HOBERI., JON., 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET, PRINTER TO H.R.H, PRINCE ALBERT. I THE \ PARISH CLERK. CHAPTER XXXV. THE LIEUTENANT'S TALE. For three years after the events just recorded, nothing worthy of mention occurred either in the Borough of Buyemup, at the Grove, or the mill at Tide-End. The Messrs. Hardword during this interval carried on a successful traffic through the agency of Burghly and Coldblood, whose in- terests seemed to be more closely united than they had been previously to the disappearance of Mr. Ebenezer Brief. At Yew-Tree Lodge these three years had passed away without any event happening to disturb the happiness and tranquillity of its in^ VOL. III. B 2 THE PARISH CLERK. habitants. The boys Harry and Mac Alister still attended the lectures of Dr. Placid, and made considerable progress in their studies. Little Harriette, also, profited by the lessons of her mother, whose health was nearly restored, and of her kind friend the parson's wife. Andrew Poore was a frequent visiter at the Lodge, and was the same kind-hearted, good-natured soul as when first introduced to the reader. The only change observable in him was that he was still more pedantic in manner, and more positive in exacting from everyone a "more correct" use of words than society required. Mrs. Poore was constantly engaged in mending the clothes and manners of her numerous progeny, and only deserted that employment to spend a few hours now and then with her friend Mrs. Thorogood, who became daily more attached to her. Thorogood himself was more at home than usual, employed in improving his farm and the breed of south-down sheep, in which he was zealously assisted by his foreman and bailiff, Will Souter. Though his fears of impending dangers were lessened considerably, they were not altogether dismissed. A system of watch- fulness was still carried on, though not so rigid as formerly. THE PARISH CLERK. 3 Among the favourite recreations of his youth- ful days, J have alluded to Dr. Placid's love for rowing and sailing on the water. His vivid de- scriptions of the matches he had been engaged in, the pleasures of victory, and the consolations under defeat of " winning next time," had made a deep impression upon the minds and imagina- tions of his pupils. They longed to pull an oar, and to see a boat of their own, guided by their own skill, " Walk the waters like a thing of life." They mentioned their wishes to Mr. Thorogood, who readily consented to their hiring a boat, upon the condition that they should take Dr. Placid and a skilful boatman with them. The Doctor was delighted at the notion, and would have appeared in a suitable sailor's dress upon the joyful occasion, had not he found upon attempting to try on his old college nauticals that they would not fit him. Either he had grown very lusty, or the blue cloth had shrunk in a most \mseam\y manner. He, therefore, put on a good face and his old black suit, and with his pupils walked over to Seatown, where he hired a boat of Old John Layton, and the ser- vices of his son, the present John. b2 4 THE PARISH CLERK. As far as sailing about and fishing for mackarel and trawling went, this boat did very well. For rowing it was far too heavy, and no lighter boat, except the little tubs used for rowing off fr6m the beach, could be obtained. The Doctor re- gretted this deeply, as he wished to ascertain whether increasing years had thwarted his skill in working on the thwarts of a rowing-boat. He had serious thoughts of having one built ex- pressly for the purpose, and had almost made up his mind to order one from Cowes, when a cir- cumstance happened which relieved him from the expensive necessity. Mr. Wilson, the lieutenant in command at the Tide-end station-house, had observed the boys and their tutor frequently sailing and fishing about the mouth of the harbour, and had, upon more than one occasion, offered them all the hos- pitality within his means. Mr. Thorogood, in return, invited him to the Lodge, and was so much pleased with his manners and conver- sation, that he unhesitatingly gave him a ge- neral invitation to his table, and permitted his son and little Mac to go over to see him at Tide- end. The Doctor was delighted, as he knew that Wilson had a neat six-oared cutter at his com- THE PARISH CLERK. 5 mand. He accompanied the boys on their first visit to the station-house, and, without any cir- cumlocution, told the Lieutenant he should like to have a pull. The boat was immediately manned, and the Doctor took the stroke oar. Wilson steered, and Harry and Mac sat by his side in the stern- sheets. " Give way, my men," said Wilson, as the boat grated off the shingle : " Away flew the light bark," under the powerful strokes of the crew. The Doctor worked manfully for a mile or so, but, from corpulency, his wind and strength both failed him. The oar, too, without a button, slipped through the thowl-pins, and, after catch- ing several crabs, and tumbling over the thwart twice, he willing exchanged seats with the Lieu- tenant, and, with the tiller in one hand, and his handkerchief to remove the perspiration from his face in the other, steered back for the shore. The unwonted exertion and the profuse per- spiration into which he had been thrown, checked, probably, by the wind as he sat in the steerage, brought on a severe attack of lumbago. An- drew Poore put on a blister, and an embargo upon all future attempts at rowing. The latter 6 THE PARISH CLERK. might not have operated as well as the former application, had he not informed Mrs. Placid of the cause of her husband's ailments. She posi- tively forbade the Doctor's attempting any such dangerous and disabling exercise again. The boys, however, during their tutor's con- finement, passed the greater portion of their time at the Tide-end station with Lieutenant Wilson, and, under his tuition and his men's, soon became expert rowers. Burghly, too, who frequently met them there, being, as the reader may recollect, on good terms with the officer, took a great fancy to them, and lent them his little canoe, and instructed them in the art of fishing for flat fish and smelts, which abounded in the river. Mrs. Thorogood was not quite satisfied with this mode of employing their time, and little Harriette objected to it most decidedly, as she could not share in her playfellow's amusements. Thorogood, however, overcame the objections of both of them, by explaining to them that the boys were now of an age when they ought to acquire a knowledge of manly exercises, and leave off childish sports. Wilson had been many years in the navy, and during the war had seen a great deal of services, THE PARISH CLERK. / and received several wounds. He had not, how- ever, received promotion. He wanted patronage, and all he could obtain as a reward for his ser- vices was the appointment to a coast-guard lieu- tenancy. His health having suffered from wounds and climates, he was stationed at Tide-end, in- stead of some of the bleaker and more exposed situations on the open coast. Hour after hour would Harry and little Mac Alister Poore sit by his side and listen to his tales of the ocean. As he described to them, in the homely but powerful language of a seaman fond of his profession, the awful terrors of a storm or a fire at sea, the dangers of a cutting- out party, or the excitements of a general en- gagement, they lost not a word of his " won- d'rous tale, 1 ' but locked it up in the storehouse of their memory, and at night, ere sleep found time to visit their wearied limbs, recounted the tales to each other, and commented upon them as long as they could keep awake. At their earnest request, Mr. Thorogood al- lowed Davy Diggs to make each of them a suit of the nautical dress. They were not a little proud when they appeared, for the first time, in the " true blue" jacket and trousers. Their black neckerchiefs were carelessly but neatly 8 THE PARISH CLERK. knotted over their striped shirts, and with a low- crowned straw hat on each of their heads, they strutted or rather u roiled" down to Tide-end to astonish their friend, the Lieutenant. The doctor's recovery from his rheumatism and consequent ability to resume his duties as tutor, might have withdrawn the boys from their constant association with Wilson, and changed the current of their future destinies, had not an event occurred which bound Mr. Thorogood to him more closely than ever. The river which runs up to Tide-end is at all times much frequented by sea-birds and wild fowl of all descriptions. Wilson frequently amused himself by carrying a gun with him ; and when chance brought him within distance of a fowl, he shot it and carried it home for his dinner. Upon one occasion, when the boys were going out with him, they begged of him to take his gun with him and shew them how to use it. He reluctantly consented, because he thought that Mr. Thorogood might object to it. The boys, however, begged so hard that he could not find in his heart to refuse them. After rowing about for some time, Harry drew his attention to a solitary cur — a species of duck THE PARISH CLERK. 9 more easily approachable than others, which was within shot. Wilson raised his gun, fired it, and the bird, after a few convulsions, lay on the water. " Pull, men, pull," said Harry, clapping his hands with glee. The men pulled for the spot, steered by Wilson. The boat had so much way upon her that it passed over the bird — and little Harry, afraid of losing his prize, jumped into the stern and grasped at it as it swept under him. He overreached himself, fell headlong into the tide, which was fast running out, and disappeared instantly. Mac screamed with alarm, and the moment his friend appeared on the surface again, though he could not swim and the boat had shot a-head some 'distance, he sprang over the gunwale be- fore Wilson could prevent him. " Throw him an oar, 1 ' shouted the Lieutenant, " and give way larboard side ; pull for your lives. Starboard side — easy all !" The men obeyed. Mac rose to the surface and seized the oar thrown to him, and, just as the boat passed over the spot where Harry Thorogood had sunk for the second time, Wilson sprang over the side and returned from a deep u5 10 THE PARISH CLERK. dive with the almost lifeless body of the boy in his hands. The crew of the boat quickly got the Lieu- tenant and the boys on board, and rowed speedily back to the station. Harry soon recovered the effects of his rashness after the application of a little weak spirits and water, and Master Mac, after crying over his half-drowned friend as though his heart would break, was rewarded for his temerity in risking his own life to save his friend's, by the applauses and well-meant but injudicious caresses of the boat's crew. Wilson accompanied the boys home, and told Mr. Thorogood all that had occurred. He was not actuated in so doing by any wish of receiving his thanks for having saved his son's life. His object was to screen the boys from blame, and to represent Mac's bravery in its proper Jight. Thorogood, however, shook him heartily by the hand, and, with tears in his eyes, called down Heaven's blessing upon him for having preserved his son from a watery grave. The boys them- selves, seeing their two friends in tears — for the Lieutenant was so excited that he could not help shedding tears when he saw Mr. Thorogood weep — fell into each other's arms, and gave way to so loud a burst of, grief, as called Mrs. Thoro- good and little Harrie'tte to the spot. THE PARISH CLERK. 11 The dripping dresses of the children and the Lieutenant convinced the ladies that the three had narrowly escaped drowning, and they joined their tears and sobs to those of the sorrowing and sobbing quartette. As soon as the violence of their grief had sub- sided, and every thing had been fully explained to Mrs. Thorogood, she endeavoured to persuade her husband that she had " always told him it would come to that," and not to let the boys go on the water any more. Mr. Thorogood adopted a'wiser plan, for, after the boys had been put to bed, and visited and dosed by Andrew Poore, who merely gave them some hot gruel with a little white wine in it, he begged as a favour of Wilson that he would confer an additional kindness upon him by teach- ing the boys to swim. " / can do that," exclaimed Dr. Placid, who, having been informed of the accident, had hur- ried down to the Lodge to offer his assistance. " I can swim like a cork, dive, turn summer- sets and float on my back. I should like " w Indeed, my dear, you will do no such thing," said Mrs. Placid. " No more lumbagos, if you please ; you forget your age, Dr. Placid ; you are not so strong as you were. ' 12 THE PARISH CLERK. " Lumbago ! age ! not so strong as I was ! look here, marm, 1 ' shouted Placid, " see this coal-box ? rather heavy, eh ? there ! — wheugh !" whistled the Doctor, as he suddenly dropped the weighty box and applied his hands to his loins. He then sank into a chair and exclaimed, " Ah ! oh ! you're quite right, Mrs. P., I am getting old." " Beg pardon," said Andrew Poore, who had just entered the room and heard the exclama- tion, " but would it not be more correct to say older f The progress of age, you know, is com- parative and — — — — " " Pshaw 1" said Mr. Thorogood, " pray let us not have any of your pedantic observations, but tell us how the boys are going on.'" " Oh ! very well indeed," said Andrew. " Poor little dears," said Mrs. Thorogood, wiping the tears from her eyes, w they must be in a violent state of alarm." " Beg pardon," said Andrew, "but it would be much more correct to say, ' in a violent state of perspiration.' 11 Wilson, having exchanged his wet clothes for a suit of dry ones, with which Mr. Thorogood supplied him, consented to remain to dinner with his host and the party assembled. After THE PARISH CLERK. 13 dinner, when the ladies had retired, an arrange- ment was made that the boys should bathe every morning during the summer months, which were just commencing, with Wilson, who kindly un- dertook to teach them to swim. Though they attended Dr. Placid's lectures as usual, after their return from the river, the Doctor soon discovered that the boys did not listen to him with so much delight as formerly. He could not, for some time, find out the reason of their sudden distaste for the classics. At last, upon their getting to the battle of Salamis, in their Herodotus, and the boat-race in Virgil, they got up the passages which related to naval affairs with so much zeal, and translated them with so much gusto, that he had a shrewd suspicion that their inclinations tended strongly to the sea. Upon questioning them, they told him, unre- servedly, that the narratives of Wilson and his men had had such an influence upon their minds that they should prefer a sailor's life to any other. Dr. Placid, at their request, agreed to mention their wishes to Mr. Thorogood. He was, at first, grieved at the bent their inclinations had taken, as it would deprive him of their company, 14 THE PARISH CLERK. of which he was beginning to feel the comfort and value. He afterwards agreed to yield to their wishes, and let them try a profession, of which he thought they would soon tire when they found themselves subjected to the disci- pline and duties of the service. In his consent Andrew Poore readily joined. Mrs. Thorogood and Mrs. Poore were, of course, very much against the plan. They dreaded the navy, as most mammas do, because they expected their children would return — if they ever did return — most accomplished little scapegraces, with their heads full of mischief, and their mouths of naughty words. They yielded at length to the representations of Wilson, the arguments of the doctor, and the entreaties of the boys. Mr. Thorogood's inte- rest with the party in power was considerable. He commanded ten votes for the county, besides his own. His application to the proper quarter was immediately and politely attended to. The boys were both appointed to a frigate, just sail- ing for the Mediterranean, and ordered to report themselves on board in one month from the time the answer to their application was received. Wilson was instructed by Mr. Thorogood to superintend their outfit, and to spare no expense I THE PARISH CLERK. 15 in providing for their comforts. Andrew Poore wished to pay for his son's clothes and neces- saries ; but to this Mr. Thorogood would not listen. He had, he said, adopted him ; and, though Andrew Poore was making a considera- ble income by his profession, he had a large family to provide for. Andrew made no further opposition, but drew his hand across his eyes, and shook his patron with it afterwards, who was not surprised to feel it moistened with a tear of gratitude. As the time approached for the boys leaving, they were not so joyful as they expected to be. Both seemed to think of a thousand little things they should leave behind them with regret, which they never thought of before. There were their ponies and their dogs, their flowers and their trees, their shells and the little bowers they had erected. Then there were the fowls and ducks, which fed out of their hands ; and the tame lamb, which Will Souter had given them. The keeper, too, had their partridges and pheasants, which came at their call. The pea- cock strutted up to the window more frequently than usual for his meal, and the trout in the brook came out from under the archway of the bridge to rise at the worms and bread-crumbs 16 THE PARISH CLERK. as they threw them to them over the parapet. The leaving of these caused them deep regret ; but, to leave the little Harriette, who did not fail to remind them of these their favourites all day long, caused them the deepest regret. Holding her brother by one hand, and the companion — the loved companion of her child- hood — by the other, with tiie tears streaming down her fair cheeks, she led them to every scene of their innocent sports and amusements, and bade them say farewell to all, as though they were never to see them again. This was done for several days ; but, on the day before their departure, each scene — each favourite — was visited again and again. In vain did her brother and friend endeavour to console her for their absence by promising to bring her home shells of bright hues, and birds of brilliant plu- mage, from the sunny shores they were about to visit. — She replied only by tears and kisses, and fears that she should never see them again. Harriette, wearied with her walks with her companions, and worn out by her fears and tears, fell asleep — before she awoke in the morning, they had left their peaceful homes to " go down to the sea in ships." THE PARISH CLERK. 17 CHAPTER XXXVI. THE LIEUTENANT'S TALE. About twelve months after the departure of Harry Thorogood and Mac Alister Poore, from whom several letters, expressive of their delight in the profession they had chosen, had been re- ceived by their parents, Burghly, the Tide-ender, was seated by the fire in his little parlour that looked down the river towards the harbour's mouth. He was clad in deep mourning. By his side, on the table, lay a pair of black gloves and his hat, round which was twisted a crape hatband. The traces of recent tears were on his cheeks, for he had just returned from the burial of his mother, whose remains had been that day depo- sited in the yard of Seatown church, of which vil- lage she was a native. He had not sat very long before Grist, who was also in mourning, came in to tell him that 18 THE PARISH CLERK. Sanderson, the skipper of the Venturer, was waiting without, desiring to speak to him. " I cannot and will not see him now," said Burghly. " He says he must see you before he trips his anchor," said Grist. " Coldblood told him you had some private instructions to give him, which were of great importance." " Coldblood ? My curses on him ! What cares he about a man's feelings or affections ! He fancies that every one, like himself, thinks more of gold than of the dearest ties. Tell Sanderson not to sail before daylight; and I will come aboard the Venturer, and deliver my instructions before that period arrives. I can- not see him now." Grist, seeing from his master's manner that expostulation would be useless, quitted the room ; and Burghly, looking from the parlour-window, in a few minutes afterwards saw the Venturer's boat drop down with the tide, with the skipper in the stern. . " What avails it sitting here and snivelling over the poor, kind old woman !" said the Tide- ender, after a time — " my sobs and tears won't bring her back again. I would give many of my yet remaining days — if many yet remain to THE PARISH CLERK. 19 me — to recall much that is past, to recompense her for the many hours of care and anxiety I have caused her. But it's all of no use, now. To business, then, and drown thought in exer- tion." He threw off his coat and waistcoat, and, putting on his miller's frock, raised a trap in the passage and went down to the stores, where he busied himself in stowing away the crop of the Venturer, which had been brought in on the previous night. He had put every tub and package in its place, ready for transmission to the Marsh- house, as soon as an opportunity presented it- self, and was busily engaged with his books, in which he entered the articles placed in his cus- tody, as a check between the skipper and his employers, when the well-known signal at the door drew his attention. "Who's there?" " Grist," answered a voice. " What now ? The sign," said Burghly. " Wind north and by east," replied the same voice. Burghly rose and undid the bolts to admit Grist. " Here's Old Parchment just come alongside 20 THE PARISH CLERK. in a boat from the Marsh-house, and says he must see you immediately. He seems not a little upset about something, and his one eye flashes like lightning," said Grist. Before the word's were out of Grist's mouth, the lawyer, Mr. Callus Coldblood, who knew his way well and had followed closely on Grist's heels, entered the stores, the inner door of which had been left open. " Leave this place," said the lawyer to Grist. " I wish to speak to Mr. Burghly in private." Grist looked at his master, and, not receiving any orders to the contrary from him, obeyed, and closed the inner door behind him. " So, sirrah !" said Callus, after listening to the retiring footsteps of the miller's man until he thought him out of hearing — " So, sirrah ! not satisfied with having committed forgery, smuggled, and cheated, you must add to the list of your crimes by robbing me — me, your benefactor — who could have hanged you long since ; and leading me to suppose my late clerk and partner, Ebenezer Brief, the guilty party !" Burghly, who was seated with his back to the door, and had not risen at Coldblood's entrance, did not reply at first ; but, pointing with his THE PARISH CLERK. 21 pen to a seat, opposite to himself and facing the door, intimated to the lawyer to take it. Coldblood did so ; and turned the lantern, which was placed on the table, and by which Burghly had been writing, so that it threw its principal light on the Tide-ender's face. Burghly quietly restored it to its original place, and said, in a quiet, calm tone — " Mr. Coldblood, I am not just now in a humour to be jested with. I am not many hours returned from seeing my poor mother's coffin deposited in its grave." " A grave likely to be opened again soon to receive the body of her worthless son," said Coldblood, " if the law will allow it to receive Christian burial/ 1 " I told you before," said Burghly, more im- petuously, " that I was not in a humour to be jested with. Explain your meaning instantly, or leave the stores before I thrust you out." " You ! dare to thrust me out of my own pre- mises?" said Callus, in a low sneering tone. " Your premises ?" said Burghly, feigning amazement, " have you the title deeds ?" " No, scoundrel ! I have not. They were stolen from me with other and more valuable papers," replied Callus. 22 THE PARISH CLERK. " Among them, I trust," said Burghly, smiling, " were certain notes which might have implicated certain parties in the crime, and subjected them to the penalties of forgery." " Villain !" screamed the lawyer, " you are detected — read that." The Tide-ender took a letter from the table — a barrel with two or three boats thwarts laid upon it — on which Callus had thrown it, and, opening, read as follows : — "Sir, " I have, at length, through an acci- dent, found a means of communicating with you. A boy on board the Venturer will convey this into your hands. I have wronged you, but not to the extent you have been led to suppose. 1 had, too, a motive for wronging you, robbing you you may call it, if you please, which you will the better understand when you know that I am the boy whom, as a mere child, you placed in the office of Getemoffe — your own son, and born in lawful wedlock. You may wonder how this secret came to my knowledge ; but when I tell you that my intimacy with London thieves taught me how to procure access to all your secret papers, your wonder will cease. I had THE PARISH CLERK. 23 keys to all your drawers, and used them to coun- teract your plans, enrich myself, and avenge my mother's and my own wrongs. It was I who gave information of all your contrivances to evade the officers, and for that information I got well paid. By me the smith was bribed to lame the chaise-horse between Chichester and Hasle- mere. By me the officers were taught to find your valuable parcels of lace in the spots so in- judiciously pointed out in the letters of your em- ployers the Hardwords. Had all my plans suc- ceeded, I should have been a wealthy man, and possessed of such secrets as would have enabled me to hang you — my father, and the man who robbed me, Burghly, the Tide-ender, whose secrets I was well paid to discover. He entrapped me in the attempt, robbed me of the keys that opened all your drawers, and of what was to me more valuable still — the certificate of your mar- riage with my mother. I have been kept in close confinement on board the smuggler ever since Burghly placed me there under Sander- son's care, and have never been suffered to land, except in his company in a foreign land. Acci- dent, as I said before, the having had it in my power to render the bearer an essential service, has enabled me to forward this to you. Burghly, 24 THE PARISH CLERK. if he has not destroyed them, has all your papers, your deeds, your vouchers, and your gold. If you have half the resolution I believe you to have, you will recover them, and hang the thief. " Your son, " Ebenezer Brief, alias Coldblood." " Well, sirrah ?" said the lawyer, when Burghly had read the letter, and, folding it up, was in the act of restoring it to him, " what say you to that ?" "True to the letter," said the Tide-ender, coolly, "he is your own son, as the certificate I have by me proves, and certainly did betray all our secrets, as he boasts. I had long suspected him, and found him out at last, though you be- lieved him so faithful to your interests/' " You have the papers, the certificate, the gold still ?" asked Callus. " All, every thing, even the bills you induced me to forge Gregory's name upon, before you had him in your power," said Burghly coolly. " And you will restore them to their rightful owner?" said Callus. " Yes, of course, and render myself amenable to the laws of the land," said Burghly; "very likely." THE PARISH CLERK. 25 " You shall give them up, sirrah !" shouted the lawyer. " Never," replied Burghly. " You refuse, then ?" screamed Callus. " Decidedly," said Burghly. "Your blood be on your own head, then !" said Callus, as he drew a pistol, and pointed it at the Tide-ender, who kicked the barrel which formed his table with such force as to overthrow his assailant. In his fall the pistol was dis- charged, and the ball lodged in the brain of Grist, who had been listening at the door, sus- pecting the lawyer meditated mischief, and was just entering the stores to succour his master. Coldblood, with a vile execration, drew a se- cond pistol from his pocket, but, before he could cock it, a blow from Burghly's hand, which had grasped one of the thwarts, laid him a corpse on the floor. The Tide-ender stood horror-struck at the sudden and unmeditated crime he had com- mitted, and sadly grieved at the loss of his faithful friend and servant. He examined both the bodies to see if any life remained in either, but the ball and the blow had both proved fatal. He sat down for some minutes thinking upon what had best be done in the emergency. Sud- VOL. III. C '26 THE PARISH CLERK. denly he seemed to have made up hi? mind : he left the stores, closing the entrances as cautiously as possible, and went to the wall by means of the stepping-stones, to see if the boat which brought the lawyer was still there. Nothing, however, was to be seen on the side of the mill, opposite to the Marsh-house. He went round the mill by the sluices, to see if any thing beto- kened alarm at the station. All was quiet, and he was convinced that the report of the pistol had been drowned by the noise of the waters, or smothered in the depths of the vaults. For some hours afterwards, Burghly was em- ployed in removing both the bodies into his own bedroom, and obliterating the stains of blood in the stores. He raised the hearth-stone from its place, abstracted the gold and moneys it con- tained, but left most of the papers within the secret recess. The evening was already closing when he left the mill to go to the stables. Luna, hearing her master's step, winnied for her corn. Burghly approached and patted her. The mare fondled him, and rubbed her muzzle against his face, as had been her wont. The Tide-ender answered the caresses of his favourite, and for seme time hesitated to put into execution the plan he had meditated for her death. Time, THE PARISH CLERK. 27 however, passed rapidly. The halter was fixed with a slip-knot round her throat, a sudden jerk drew it tightly round her, and as she fell to the ground a groan proclaimed that the experiment had succeeded in ridding the faithful animal of her life, without much pain and suffering. Burghly stood to view her last struggle with tearful eyes, and then returned to the mill. It was now nearly dark. The tide was run- ning rapidly down. Burghly drew the sluices as usual, and the rush of waters was distinctly heard at the station. The Tide-ender was seen by one of the men making fast the running bridge after the sluices were drawn. About nine o'clock that same evening, Mr. Thorogood, who had been entertaining Wilson and Dr. Placid at dinner, and amusing them by reading the boys' letters from the Mediterranean, proposed walking down to the station to see a map which the Lieutenant had there, on which he could point out the exact spot where the frigate lay when the letter was despatched. The ladies objected to the proposal, particu- larly Mrs. Placid, who had not forgotten the Doctor's lumbago. Andrew Poore, however, who came in while the propriety of the pro- ceeding was in dispute, pronounced the evening c 2 23 THE PARISH CLERK. to be so dry as not to endanger the person of the Doctor. He also agreed to accompany the trio in their walk, and the party set out, pro- mising to return as quickly as possible to supper. The night was very dark, though the heavens were bright with stars. A crisp frost was on the ground. The trees too, which were just budding, and some — the earlier kinds — which had already put forth their leaves, were covered with a brilliant spray, which was shaken off upon our travellers as the breeze passed through their branches. " Poore, 1 ' said Mr. Thorogood, as they reached the gate of Oakapple Common • opposite the Grove, " if it were not so cold and frosty, this would remind me of the night when my farm and outbuildings were on fire.' 1 " I wonder," said Dr. Placid, " what has be- come of the former tenant and proprietor of the j rove. " Hung, most likely, by this time, 11 said Wilson. " Beg pardon," said Andrew, " but would not hanged be more correct?" " Pish !" said the squire, " here is the very spot where I saw the three men standing, as I hastened home that night. There, through that gap, I heard their voices and saw their figures THE PARISH CLERK. 29 as distinctly as I now see that light which ap- pears to be at your station-house, Wilson, at this moment." " Signals out, I suppose," said Dr. Placid. " Beg pardon," said Andrew, " but a fire or light can't be oat when it's in. Would it not be more correct to say " " Steady all," said Wilson, interrupting the apothecary, and taking his bearings as well as the darkness would allow him; "that light is not at my signal house, nor is it one of our signals. It is too much to the left, and, if 1 mistake not, by bringing the Marsh-house in a line with Buyemup steeple, you will see that it is at the mill." " Burghly and his allies at some of their tricks, perhaps," said the squire. " No," said Wilson. " The Venturer was oft* the harbour's mouth last night, and I believe landed her tubs in safety. That river bids de- fiance to us, and unless something is done to — " " Look," shouted Dr. Placid, '* surely that is more than a light ; the mill must be on fire.'" The whole party, who had not moved from the gap during the dialogue, saw what at first ap- peared to be a light no bigger than a lantern's gradually grow into a fearful and distinct flame. 30 THE PARISH CLERK. In a few seconds, by its glare, they could see the mill, the stables, and granaries ; the banks, the sluices, and at last the station-house, fully developed. "By heavens!" shouted all, "the mill at Tide-end is on fire." " Let us summon the lawyer," said Andrew Poore. " Report says the mill is his property." Dr. Placid rushed to the Grove, and a servant who answered the bell told him that Mr. Callus Coldblood had not returned from the borough, though the carriage had been sent for him at the usual hour. When Dr. Placid returned with this informa- tion, he found that his friends had passed through the gap at which they had been standing when he left them. By the aid of the flames, which were rapidly increasing, he saw them crossing the fields in a direction for the Mill. He hur- ried after them, and, with difficulty, overtook them before they had cleared the next hedgerow. He, probably, would not have done so then had not the singular rapidity with which the flames increased and spread over the whole mass of building in a short space of time detained them. " On — forward as quickly as possible," said the squire, springing over the hedge. " Burghly THE PARISH CLERK. SI did all he could to save my property ; the least I can do is to try to save his." A quarter of an hour's running brought the Lieutenant and Mr. Thorogood to the causeway. Andrew Poore and the Doctor followed as fast as they could, but, being deficient in speed, or, as in the case of the parson, oppressed with inward fat, they could not arrive by some minutes as soon as their precursors. When they did arrive, they found Wilson surrounded by his men, who all agreed in corroborating their own opinion as to the extraordinary and unusual speed with which the fire had spread. " Over with the bridge, Burghly,' 1 shouted Wilson, in tones that might have been easily heard at the Mill, in spite of the roar and dash of the waters. " What, hoh ! there ! Miller ! over with the bridge ; friends are nigh !" No response was heard. No living being was in sight. '* By Heaven ! he sleeps and will be burnt, 1 ' said Thorogood. " What hoh there ! — shout, men, shout for your lives," said Wilson. " Now, all together." A shout was raised by all, including the Doctor and Andrew, but still no one appeared. *' Again, my men, once more — now, hilloh-ah ! ah !— hilloh-ah !— oh !" 32 THE PARISH CLERK. This last shout was responded to, but not in the way they expected. The flames flashed more brilliantly than before, were carried up higher into the firmament, where they flickered a few seconds, and, after a report that seemed to rend the air and astounded every one who heard it, subsided with the fragments of what had been the mill of Tide-end. THE PARISH CLERK. 33 CHAPTER XXXVII. THE LIEUTENANT'S TALE. When the din caused by the explosion had subsided, Wilson and the party from the Lodge, who escaped unhurt from the falling stones ami beams, ran towards the cutter which was moored off the station-house. They rowed for the scene of destruction, and succeeded in landing on the wharf. They found the mill itself and the gra- neries totally destroyed. The stables only still remained standing. On examining them, they found Burghly's mare, Luna, lying in her stall dead and stiff. No vestige of any human being could he discovered about the premises : they concluded that the miller and his man had perished in the flames, or by the explosion. Whilst they were examining the blackened vaults, which had been used as the stores^ a party from the Marsh-house, who had crossed, attracted by the fire, joined them. One of these was the man who had rowed Mr. Callus Cold- c 5 34 THE PARISH CLERK. blood across in the afternoon. He mentioned the circumstance, and said that he was to receive a signal, by means of a light from the hollow tube, to cross again to convey the lawyer back in the evening : he had waited until he was tired, and, concluding his employer did not in- tend to return that night, had joined his com- panions in the tap. As none of the windows of the mill looked towards the Marsh-house, the fire had not been observed until it burst through the roof, and was speedily followed by the ex- plosion. To the inquiry whether Burghly and his man were at the mill when he landed Coldblood, the man answered that they were, as he had con- versed with Grist, who told him that his master was within, and annoyed at being interrupted by visiters on the day of his mother's burial. Shortly after Wilson's boat returned from the mill, a crowd of persons arrived from the borough, where the noise of the explosion had been heard, and the brilliancy of the flames distinctly seen. Among them were the clerks of Coldblood, who explained to Mr. Thorogood that their master left home in the afternoon, and had not been seen or heard of since. As the crowd had no means of gaining access to the spot on which the mill THE PARISH CLERK. 35 stood, they soon, with the exception of a few daring fellows who crossed by means of the sluices, returned to Buyemup. Mr. Thorogood, with his friends, hastened home as quickly as possible, to relieve the fears of the ladies at the Lodge. For many days following the events at Tide- end, the little borough of Buyemup was in a fer- ment. Nothing was talked of but the provi- dential destruction of the lawyer and his smug- gling ally, the miller. The Grove was visited daily by hundreds, and its outside closely exa- mined, as if its walls could tell the fate of its owner. Becky, too, realized a little fortune by allowing the curious, " for the small charge of half-a-crown," to view the offices and residence of the immolated lawyer. That excellent and well-written paper, the " Sussex Express," was crammed with valuable articles on the subject ; and Mr. Bibulus, his spouse, and Betty the waitress, reaped a golden harvest from parties who came from a distance to view the scene of the " awful event." But I must leave the reader to employ his, or her, imagination in conceiving the interest which the report excited. It certainly " made a noise in the world." 36 THE PARISH CLERK. Imagination having done its duty, let us change the scene. " Sanderson,"" said Burghly, from his canoe or phooting-punt, as she lay alongside of the Ven- turer, " hand me down a marling- spike, and take these traps on board." A chest and two or three bundles were quickly handed aft and deposited in the skipper's cabin. Burghly took the instrument for which he had asked, and drove it through the bottom of the canoe in three or four places, and, as she filled, he caught hold of the man-ropes, and lightly sprang on the deck. The canoe filled and sank. " What now ?" inquired Sanderson, " are you pursued ?" " No," replied Burghly, " but I mean to cross with you this trip. Up with her anchor, and I will explain all.'" The Venturer was soon under weigh, and when every sail was set and nothing remained to be looked to, the skipper approached Burghly, who was leaning over the taffrail, and asked him if he would go below to supper. " Wait an instant, 1 ' said Burghly ; " do you see any thing in the direction of the mill ?" "Yes," said Sanderson, '* I see a light in the parlour and bedroom windows." THE PARISH CLERK. 37 " Watch it," said Burghly. " By heavens ! it spreads," cried Sanderson ; " every room in the place is illuminated ; see, Burghly, it bursts through the roof— the mill is on fire !" u I feared as much,'" said Burghly. if There are several tubs of powder as well as spirits in the stores ; if the fire reaches them, farewell to Tide -end." " Look ! look !" shouted the crew, " the flames stream upwards — higher than ever — hark V The explosion took place as we have before described it, and was succeeded by an intense darkness. "Below ! below !" said Burghly, " all is over — below, and receive my instructions ; the last instructions I received from Mr. Coldblood." The skipper waited a few seconds before he obeyed the Tide-ender. The Venturer rounded the headland at the mouth of the harbour, and the spot where the mill had once stood was hidden from his view. He descended the com- panion, and found Burghly seated at the cabin- table with some papers before him, which he was perusing by the light of a lamp, which was suspended from the beam. He did not attempt to interrupt him, but threw himself upon his 38 THE PARISH CLERK. mattress, which was placed in a berth on one side of the cabin. When Burghly had cast his eyes over all the papers, he put them together and tied them up. He then begged of Sanderson a glass of spirits and water and a crust of bread, or a biscuit, and said he should retire for the night. Sanderson supplied him with what he asked for, when he found that his offer of a better supper was declined, and, resigning his cabin and berth to him, went up upon deck. Burghly took a portion of biscuit and a little weak Hollands and water, and retired to his berth. He did not sleep, but he lay quiet, re- volving many thoughts in his mind, until the morning's sun threw its rays through the sky- light of his cabin. He then rose, and, looking haggard and de- jected, appeared upon deck. He paced back- wards and forwards without noticing any one, until Sanderson left his berth and joined him. They shook hands, but not a word was spoken. After a few hurried turns upon deck, Burghly went below, signing to the skipper to follow him. " Is Brief still on board ?" inquired Burghly. " Certainly, he has never quitted the ship, except across the water, or spoken to a soul that THE PARISH CLERK. 39 could talk his native tongue, since you brought him aboard and explained to us the treachery he had been guilty of towards us," said Sanderson. Burghly smiled, and begged that Brief might be allowed to come to him in the cabin, as he had something of importance to communicate to him. In a few minutes Brief appeared, looking fatter, paler, but more unctuous than ever. He started with surprise when he saw the miller, but merely said or rather grunted out, "Humph l 11 " Sanderson,' 1 said Burghly, " my communi- cation with Mr. Brief must be private. My orders are that you make all sail for the island. When our interview is over, I will explain to you more fully our plans." Sanderson left the cabin. Burghly rose, and carefully locked the door. Brief was evidently alarmed, and looked as if he would burst the bulkheads rather than be left alone with his old enemy. " Sit down, sit down," said the Tide-ender, " you need not fear me. I am here with no un- friendly intentions." " Humph !" said Brief as he obeyed. Burghly seated himself opposite to him ; and, after surveying him for some time, and spread- ing several papers on the table, he spoke thus — 40 THE PARISH CLERK. " Ebenezer Brief, you swore to me, by all you professed to hold sacred, that you would not at- tempt to leave this vessel, or communicate with any person, by word or writing, until I released you from your vow. Have you done so?" " Humph ! Ye — es," said Brief, hesitating. " With whom, and by what agent, did you communicate ?" inquired Burghly. Brief fidgeted on his seat, but, at length, mustering courage enough to reply, said — " Won't name agent — wrote to Coldblood. Kill me outright — better than being shut up in the fore-cabin — there !" " And your letter to Coldblood was to — " " Get you hanged — now, kill me at once — all over then," said Brief, looking more cadaverous than usual, and closing his eyes. " Kill you, fool ! one victim's enough. I tell you I do not mean to injure you,"" said Burghly. Ebenezer opened his eyes with a groan and a " Humph." " Listen to me calmly — as calmly as your cowardly heart will allow you," said Burghly. " Would you willingly exchange your prison here in this ship, for liberty, riches, and a sta- tion in society ?" THE PARISH CLERK. 41 " Humph ! yes ; can't be a doubt about it — the conditions ?" inquired Brief. " They shall be stated," said Burghly. " You claim to be a son of the late Callus Cold- blood?" " The late ! Is he dead, then ?" asked Brief. " Dead. Killed ; but, unwittingly, by my hand," said Burghly, sighing. " Your letter brought his fate upon him ; and it was, per- haps, for the best. I have ridded the world of a rogue, and saved hundreds from being ruined by his vile machinations." "Dead? hah! hah!" whispered Brief. A laugh — a diabolical grin — appeared on his usually immoveable features. " Dead ? da . No, no, no — won't curse him. Ah ! ah ! ah !" " By your unseemly joy at his death," said Burghly, " I presume he has wronged you deeply." " Wronged ? ah ! ah ! ah ! — ah ! ah ! ah ! But dead? dead — sure he's dead?" inquired Ebenezer, rising from his seat, and approaching closely to Burghly. " Dead, and his body blown into fragments so minute that it will never be found," whis- pered Burghly. Brief sank back on his seat, covered his face 42 THE PARISH CLERK. with his hands, and, for some minutes, sobbed convulsively. Burghly did not attempt to interrupt his grief or joy, whichever it was that caused his sobbing, or offer him any consolation for some time ; at length he said — " Come, cheer up, man ! never grieve for him." " Him ! My mother — my poor mother. Villain !" said Ebenezer, as he ground his teeth together, and thrust forward his foot, as if spurning some loathsome object. " How did he die? Tell me." Burghly gave a simple narrative of the facts as they occurred. He added, that, after due consideration, he had made up his mind to leave the country for ever, and to destroy the mill, with all the evidence it contained of the dreadful deeds perpetrated within its walls, by setting fire to it, and blowing it to atoms by means of the powder in the stores, of which there happened at the time to be an unusual quantity. " Life for life — life for life — deserved it, a villain — though he was my father," said Brief, after listening to the sad tale, without attempt- ing to interrupt it by question or remark. " Before we proceed any further," said the THE PARISH CLERK. 43 Tide-ender, " I must be put in possession of those facts relating to yourself which enable you to claim the villain, Colclblood, for your father." Ebenezer attempted to recount the history of his life. After a short trial, which resembled the mode of giving the multum in parvo news iii a country hebdomadal newspaper, by omitting all the pronouns, personal, possessive, and de- monstrative, for brevity's sake, he said — " Can't speak — never could — words won't come. Sheet paper — pen and ink — leave alone — lock in — done in an hour — write fast — been used to it." The Tide-ender understood enough of these concise directions to know that he wished to be supplied with writing materials, and to be left alone. He called the skipper, who furnished him with what he wanted, and returned to the deck with Burghly, after he had securely fastened Brief in the cabin. I shall still continue to call him by this familiar name, though he clearly proved his claim to that of Coldblood, as his narrative will show. I shall take the liberty of telling his tale for him, by putting it in the third person, instead of the first ; not having the original document in my possession. 44 THE PARISH CLERK. In the fields, near to what is now called King's Cross, but which was of yore called Battle Bridge — the antiquarians must tell you why — dwelt a man, called Ebenezer King. He had been in business as a master-carpenter ; but misfortunes came thickly upon him, and, at fifty years of age, he found himself a journeyman, and a widower, with only one child, out of seven, re- maining alive. He worked at home, at the bench, all the day ; and, in the evening, to add to his scanty wages, was employed as a scene- shifter at one of the theatres — an engagement he procured through one of his former work- men. His cottage being too large for himself and his daughter, he let off an upstair's room, at a trifling weekly rent. When his daughter Mary was about fifteen years of age, and this room was without a tenant, a young man about twenty-one years of age, who stated that his health was suffering from confinement in the city, where he was employed as a writer in a lawyer's office, offered to take it. The walk he said to and from office would do him good. The only preliminary required was a week's rent in advance. Callus Coldblood paid the three shillings, and on the following day brought THE PARISH CLERK. 45 his scanty wardrobe, and took possession of his lodgings. An intimacy soon sprung up between the lodger and Mary King, which on her part soon ripened in a warmer feeling than friendship. The nightly absence of King at the theatre gave the young people opportunities of being alone together, which they would not have had if his avocations had not detained him from home during the only hours Coldblood could be away from his duties. Of Mary's evident partiality, and these dan- gerous opportunities, Callus tried to take an undue and ungenerous advantage. Mary, how- ever, resolutely and successfully resisted all his attempts to ruin her. Callus, being fully bent on succeeding by some means or other, proposed to marry her. Mary readily accepted his pro- posal, provided her father would give his con- sent. Callus trumped up such an ingenious tale about the certain ruin it would entail upon him if his employers and his parents heard of his being married before he was " out of his arti- cles," that the poor girl, having no one to con- sult, and being strictly forbidden by her lover to reveal the matter to her father before six months had expired, when he should have " served his time," consented to a secret marriage. 46 THE PARISn CLERK. The banns were put up in St. Pancras church ; and, as few heard, among a list of thirty couples aspiring to the matrimonial noose, and no one knew the names of " Callus Coldblood, bachelor, and Mary King, spinster, both of this parish," no one told the parson that he saw any "just cause or impediment why they should not be joined together." A brother clerk of the bride- groom's gave away the bride, and with the parish clerk " witnessed " the ceremony. At the end of the six months, Mrs. Coldblood's situation induced her to press for the disclosure of her marriage to her father. Callus resorted to several subterfuges to induce his wife to defer it, which she with the cunning, or rather wisdom, given to women to protect their weakness, saw through and exposed. Finding all his false- hoods detected, he boldly told her that he had been already married before he was united to her, and actually brought an abandoned creature to claim him as her husband. The wretch acted her part so well, and Coldblood pleaded so ear- nestly, that she would not expose him to death on the gallows, or transportation, that Mary ac- tually believed the tale, and, woman- like, re- solved to shield the man she loved, at the risk of losing her own reputation, and her father's love and esteem. THE PARISH CLERK. 47 When King discovered that his daughter was likely soon to become a mother, he taxed her with it. She did not deny it, but, with tears and prayers for his mercy and forgiveness, firmly refused to name the father of her unborn child. Instead of going to the theatre that night, King stayed at home, and, having locked his daughter in her room, packed up the clothes of Callus Coldblood, and awaited his return from office. He taxed him on his entrance with having seduced his daughter, which he did not attempt to deny, but smiled, and tried to pass it off as a joke. The justly-incensed father knocked him down, and, throwing himself upon him, would, probably, have killed him, had not Mary, who heard the scuffle, forced open her door, and rushed down stairs. King released Callus, kicked him out of his doors, and threw his bundle after him. From the injuries received in this scuffle, Callus lost one of his eyes, after an illness of some weeks' duration. Had King shown any sympathy with his daughter's grief, instead of treating her with uncalled-for severity, she, probably, would have told him of her marriage, and much misery might have been saved to all parties. He spurned her from his feet, however, where she had sunk upon 48 THE PARISH CLERK. her knees, and, bidding her return to her room, fastened the door more effectually upon her. In the morning when she arose she found the fastenings removed from her door. She came down stairs. The tools used by her father in his trade were all gone, and she never saw him more. THE PARISH CLERK. 49 CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE LIEUTENANT'S TALE. But for the kindness of a poor neighbour — for the poor people are kinder to one another than people generally give them credit for — Mary must have died. She had a few pounds by her, but her illness consequent upon the birth of her child, whom she named Ebenezer after her poor father, required more attention and care than her limited means could command. When she was able to do so, she wrote to Cal- lus, but received no answer. As soon as she could walk, and long before she ought to have done so, she, with her babe in her arms, made her toilsome way along the New and City Roads to the office where Coldblood had served his time. Trembling and exhausted, she reached the door. She inquired for Mr. Coldblood, and was in- VOL. Ill, D 50 THE PARISH CLERK. formed that he had left the firm, and no one knew where he was gone. This unexpected blow was nearly fatal. She fell on the steps, and was carried into the dwell- ing-house by the servant. The child in her arms told the housekeeper the history of her wrongs, and, upon Mary's being closely questioned, as, indeed, she was, she might have told all, but the fear of hanging or transporting the wretch who had deceived her kept her silent. The clerks subscribed a small sum to pay for a coach for her, and she reached her miserable home in safety. That home she was soon forced to leave. Her furniture was sold to pay the rent ; all but the bed on which she and her in- fant lay, and a chair, and table. These she con- veyed to a wretched lodging, and endeavoured to support herself and child by her needle — I say endeavoured, for she could not do it. One shilling a day was all she could earn. Out of this small sum she had to pay her rent, feed her- self and child, and find clothes for both. One night, after her babe was asleep in bed, she was going, as usual, to take home her work. She had eaten nothing that day but a mouthful of bread, and drank a little water ; her child's bread and milk had deprived her of her last THE PARISH CLERK. 51 penny. A man dressed as a gentleman met and accosted her. She repulsed an attempted rude- ness with disdain. He entered into conversation with her, listened to her tale, and suggested to her a common but disgraceful mode of earning money for her child. He treated her with wine ; her stomach and head were weakened by ex- haustion. She yielded to his importunities, or rather to his arguments, and believed she was acting a noble and motherly part to her child by so doing. Ladies of England, you, who know not what the sufferings of those who ply their needles for you are, you may shudder at this, and despise poor Mary King. If the reports of those who know London well are to be believed, hun- dreds of your sex who work for the Mantalinis of the West are reduced to this degradation to eke out a scanty subsistence, and many a fair hand that " tries on " your elegant dresses has, probably, been held in the lustful grasp of your brothers and male associates the night before. The shame of these poor creatures is concealed from their parents and friends, and their late re- turn to their homes excused under the plea of " working over hours " for their over-paid em- ployers. d 2 52 THE PARISH CLERK. Year after year did poor Mary toil on without hearing from either her husband or her father. With the little money she could obtain she placed her child at a school, and had him taught to read and write. The poor child was either naturally taciturn, or his mother's griefs checked his prattle, for he was scarcely ever heard to talk. At ten years of age she got him, through the kindness of a neighbour — an occasional waiter at hotels and lodging-houses — a place as footboy in an alley in the City. The house was let out in lodgings to gentlemen who were in business at offices in the neighbourhood. Little Ebby was active and quick, and, more- over, very quiet ; his tongue was never heard . He quickly became a favourite, and one day a short, stoutish gentleman, who wore a green shade over one of his eyes, took particular notice of him and inquired his name. " Ebenezer," said the boy. " Well, what else ?" inquired the gentleman. " Don't know." " What's your father's name ?" " Not got one." "Dead perhaps," inquired the lodger. " Don't know. Never knew him," replied the boy. THE PARISH CLERK. 53 "What's your mother's name?" " Never heard it. The neighbours call her Needlewoman, 11 said Ebby. " Can you write, my little man ?" " Oh ! yes," said Ebby. " Take this pen and show me how you can write," said the lodger, putting one into his little hands. Ebenezer wrote a very fair specimen of his own name and present address. The lodger looked at it, told him he was satisfied, and if be liked to "better himself," he could put him into a law- yer's office, where he might get on if he worked hard. * The boy readily accepted the offer ; and, on the following day, was placed by his own father in the outer office of Mr. Getemoffe, the Thieves' Attorney. Mary, when she heard from her child the de- scription of the man who had been so kind to him, went to the lodging-house in the City to thank him for his kindness, having some sus- picions that, from the description, it might prove to be her own husband. The landlady told her that the gentleman who had merely slept there for one night in the bed of one of her lodgers had left for the country, and she did not know his, name, or whither he was gone. 54 THE PARISH CLERK. Mary inquired if she might speak to the gen- tleman whose bed the kind friend had occupied, but she was told that he had also left on the preceding day. Ebenezer had a hard place and no pay. He was found in victuals and lodging, but his mother was forced to provide him with clothes and washing. Mary would have inquired of his present employers who the person was who re- commended her son to them, but she had a vague fear of ruining her son's prospects, if he was discovered to be the illegitimate son of a woman whose character would not bear too close an inspection. She, therefore, restrained her curiosity, and rejoiced in his being so well placed. It will be needless, I trust, to remind the reader that Ebenezer — who acquired the surname of Brief from the waggery of his brother clerks, who so designated him from his habitual taciturnity — was, in after years, despatched from London to serve as clerk to his former patron, Mr. Callus Coldblood. His mother would have been informed of this removal, had not her son, for some years previous, avoided his parent, who was seriously alarmed at the asso- ciates he was repeatedly seen with, and to whom THE PARISH CLERK. 55 the peculiar nature of the business of GetemoftVs offices introduced him. She expostulated with him on the dangers of his keeping company with low thieves so strongly that they quarrelled, and did not meet for some time. When Deale and Rose water, the Bow Street officers, came down to Buyemup to seek for and apprehend Gregory of the Grove and the Hunter, who had foolishly taken an active part in a poli- tical conspiracy, which ended in murder and the hanging of two of their associates, Ebenezer quickly recognized one of them, and treated him, as we have seen, at the expense of his master; and, being suddenly interrupted, hid him in the cellar until Callus was gone to bed. Ebenezer had not behaved " on the square" to his employer Getemoffe ; and, from the skill he had acquired in London, had obtained keys to all his new employers' drawers and doors. He was making a pretty little harvest out of him by giving information of his mode of landing con- traband goods for the advantage of himself, the Hardwords, and the Tide-ender. Thinking that his mother would be glad to hear of his success, he sent her up by the officer a letter to tell her where he was, and enclosed her a £%0 note — a part of his reward for " be- traying his master." 56 THE PARISH CLERK. The evening before this letter arrived, poor Mary was, as usual, carrying home her work. She crossed the New Road, and took the nearest path along Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, to the abode of her employer, near Leicester Fields. As she proceeded, she heard a noise as of many voices in contention, and saw a crowd assembled round a female and a man. The watchman of the beat sprung his rattle, and was quickly joined by those of the neighbouring beats. Mary crossed over on the other side to avoid the crowd ; and when she came opposite to where the crowd was assembled, she, out of a natural curiosity, stopped to listen and ascertain the cause of the disturbance. Both the man and the wonan appeared to be intoxicated, and were mutually accusing each other of robbery. The watchmen took them both into custody, and, before Mary was aware of their intention, dragged them quickly across the street to where she was standing. The woman, seeing her — the only female present — mingling unwillingly among the crowd, suddenly shrieked out to her to come and help her to " floor the beaks." Mary would have escaped ; but the woman, bursting from the hands of the watchmen, seized THE PARISH CLERK. 57 her by the arm, and, in spite of her resistance, forced her along with her. Mary might have appealed successfully to the watchmen and bystanders, and have been re- leased from her unpleasant and unsought im- prisonment, had not she been induced to accom- pany the intoxicated female from a glimpse which she caught of her face from one of those dull " lights of other days," a parish oil-lamp. She had certainly seen the face before, and she fancied under very peculiar circumstances. The examination before the constable of the night was very short ; the man and woman were both dismissed, as it was proved that neither of them had lost any property, and both had enough money about them to treat the constables. When the parties were dismissed, Mary, who in the female had recognized the person — then a slim girl, now a large, overgrown, lusty woman — who had come before her and stated herself to be Coldblood's wedded wife, followed her out, and asked her if she would take some refresh- ment. They went together to a public- house in the neighbourhood, and, after some time, Mary re- minded her of what had taken place years ago. The woman remembered it well, and laughed at d 5 58 THE PARISH CLERK. Mary for being so easily taken in ; explaining to her that the whole was a hoax, for which she had been well paid by a man whose name she did not even know, until he informed her of it for the purpose of deceiving his wife. Mary was horror-struck at the vile trickery by which she had been induced to render her- self and father miserable, and her child an ob- ject of derision. She left her companion, who allowed her to go very unwillingly, and took home her work. She was returning with the miserable pittance she had earned, and was crossing one of the streets on her way home, when a carriage sud- denly came round the corner, and the horses knocked her down. The wheels went over her legs, and fractured one of them severely. She was carried to the Middlesex Hospital, where Deale, the officer, found her with some difficulty. He gave her her son's letter, and she had barely strength left to communicate to him that Ebenezer Brief was the son of the very man, Callus Coldblood, with whom he was living as managing clerk. Deale, like a kind-hearted man, and a clever officer, obtained every document necessary to prove these facts ; and transmitted them to THE PARISH CLERK. 59 Ebenezer on the very day that his mother ex- pired in the hospital. Ebenezer had injured Callus Coldblood too deeply not to hate him intensely. The know- ledge of his mother's wrongs urged him to in- jure him still deeper, and his intention was to keep the whole business a secret until he had enriched himself at his father's expense ; and, when he had effected his ruin, which he hoped to do by disclosing the secrets of the mill, to make himself known to him, and leave him and the country for ever. How his plans were frustrated the reader knows. When Brief had concluded writing his papers, he called to Burghly through the skylight, who unlocked the cabin-door, locked it again, and read the manuscript. After he had read it, he took several papers out of his pocket, and, selecting one parcel, gave it to Ebenezer. " Now mark me," said he, " Mr. Brief, or Mr. Coldblood, whichever you are pleased to be called, I have unwittingly, and in my own de- fence, killed your father. Here are all the papers — the publication of the banns — the cer- tificate of your parent's marriage —your bap- 60 THE PARISH CLERK. tism, which it seems your mother did not fail to have entered correctly — the evidence of the woman who was employed and succeeded in imposing on your mother. These will enable you, with other evidence you can procure from living witnesses, to substantiate your claim to the money and estates — gotten how they may have been — of your late father." " Humph !" said Brief, " what's the price?" " Silence !" said Burghly, " and listen to me We are sailing hence, after touching at Guernsey, for St. Maloes and Havre. At the latter place I shall take a berth for America. On the night I, with your false keys, obtained access to your father's papers and money, I carried off, with the aid of poor Grist, 3000 guineas in gold." u Humph !" said Brief, " correct to a guinea." " Here are notes to that amount that are mine — mine by honest dealing. I will give you the notes, and take the gold with me to a clime where they will avail me more than a bundle of ' Abraham Newlands.' You shall return, as soon as I am off safely for the New World, to Buyemup, and take possession of your own. I will write to Mr. Thorogood, whom you will find a sensible and just man, a true and full ac- count of every transaction. That will exonerate THE PARISH CLERK. 61 you from the charge of robbing your employer and partner, and myself, I trust, from the crime of murder." " Humph !" said Ebenezer, actually crying — " take the gold — notes too." " No," said Burghly, " I have enough of my own. Though I do not think you would betray me — me, who am doing all I can to make resti- tution for the wrongs I have done you — you must consent to remain in close confinement in this vessel until I am on board the American. Then Sanderson shall have orders to give you your freedom." " Gladly— gladly— " said Brief. " Lock me up directly." " Stop," said Burghly ; " examine your pa- pers to see that they are all correct — one of im- portance missing might affect your claim." Ebenezer looked them over cautiously, and saw that every paper of importance was in the bundle. " Now tell me," said Burghly, " how you gained access to Tide-end, the night when poor Grist entrapped you, and what was your ob- ject?" " By the sluices— saw Grist do it — to find out the secret stores — sell you for a price," said Ebenezer. 62 THE PARISH CLERK. " The account, then, you gave to Coldblood in your letter which reached him, and proved his death-warrant, was strictly true ?" " True to the letter," said Ebenezer. " I did not think," said Burghly, " that any one but myself and my faithful Grist could have done it." " Nothing that a man can't do, if he's been brought up in a thieves 1 attorney's office," re- plied Brief, sighing at the unusual length of his speech. " Now then to the fore-cabin for two short days and a night, and then for England and riches. And hark ye, Brief, recollect there's ah old adage about ill-gotten wealth, see you prove it untrue. I may visit England again." " Bye," said Brief, "if a thousand or two — " M No ; I have enough, and more than enough," said Burghly, " we will make our formal parting under ' the gridiron,' the ensign of freedom in the other world." Brief, with tears in his eyes, but a joyful countenance, followed Sanderson to the fore- cabin, where he had passed many wretched days, and was locked up as usual. " Skipper," said Burghly, " we must touch at St. Pierre, and deliver these letters and this THE PARISH CLERK. 63 money to HardworcTs agents. Then for St. Maloes and Havre. There I wish to be put on board an American liner. It must be one out- ward bound, and about to up anchor. There you shall receive fuller instructions." The Venturer made a quick voyage, touched at Guernsey and St. Maloes, and ran along the coast to Havre-de-Grace. From information obtained at the former port, " the Washington " was known to be ready for sea on the day they arrived. The Tide-ender took leave of Brief after giving him some few messages, and with Sanderson boarded the Washington, which was lying at the quay, near the harbour's mouth. He soon came to terms for his passage, and at a signal his luggage was brought on board by the mate, who returned to the Venturer. " Sanderson," said Burghly, " now farewell. Success attend you in every thing. You know I am leaving you for ever ; ask me no questions why or wherefore. Brief, whom you will release when I sail from this place, has my orders to ac- quaint you with every particular which causes me to leave my native land. Treat him kindly, attend to his orders, and he will reward you. Farewell." The Tide-ender and Sanderson shook hands 64- THE PARISH CLERK. with averted faces; and, ere all was snug on board the Venturer, the Washington's anchor was apeak, and in less than an hour she had cleared the narrow entrance of the " harbour of Grace," and was on her path over the wide ocean for another land. THE PARISH CLERK. . 65 CHAPTER XXXIX. THE LIEUTENANT'S TALE. The Venturer, for the first time since she had been built, rigged, and found in every thing, re- turned to England in ballast. Sanderson, not dreading the supervision of his friends at the station-house, boldly floated up the Tide-end river with the tide, and dropped anchor just off the Marsh-house. Ebenezer Brief, who had been released from confinement as soon as the Washington had cleared the Seine's mouth, and treated as a gen- tleman by his former jailers, landed at the wharf. A few words from the skipper induced that worthy and accommodating individual, the land- lord of the Marsh-house, to send to the borough of Buyemup, for the only " poshay " kept by Mr. Bibulus of the Bell. 66 THE PARISH CLERK. Brief, with Sanderson, was placed inside, and the luggage of the former secured on the roof. These arrangements concluded, the chaise lite- rally rattled off. Mr. Litigious Graspem ascertained from the postboy that the chaise was ordered to bring somebody from the Marsh-house. As he had no very serious duties to attend to, having already broken two or three little dirty boys' backs for playing at marbles and pegtop on the pavement, he grounded his staff, and waited resolutely and patiently opposite the gateway of the Bell Inn, to see the parties for whom " the yellow " was hired. Before an hour had elapsed, which seemed a much longer sixty minutes to him than usual, for not one of the corporation passed to whom he had to touch his cocked-hat, and all the little dirty boys had " cut away " to the outskirts of his district, the chaise rattled up to the inn. While Betty, assisted by Boots and the ostler, was endeavouring to open the rusty fastenings of the door, and let down the steps, Graspem ex- amined the contents of the vehicle. He gave his cocked-hat a thump to fix it firmly on his head, wetted the palm of his right hand with his tongue, and grasped his staff of office firmly by THE PARISH CLERK. 67 the middle. The moment Mr. Brief landed on the pitching-stones, he found himself, or rather the collar of his coat, seized firmly by the left hand of the beadle of Buyemup. " What now ?" said Brief; " hands off." " By virtue of a stattye granted to the wus- shipful the mayor, bailiffs, and burgesses of this burrer, by James the fust, king, defender of the faith and all that, I apprehend the body of Ebe- nezer Brief, and sacks the dubs for a reward," shouted Litigious, hurrying over the preamble as fast as he could. " Loose your hold, you fool !" said Sanderson. " I shan't I" replied Litigious, looking magni- ficent. " Hold on another instant, and I'll knock you down," said the skipper, putting a very large brown fist within an inch of the beadle's nose. " Aid and assist, in the name of the king !" said Graspem, releasing his prisoner and spring- ing back a few yards. M Ass !" said Brief, and went into the inn. " Hooray !" shouted the little dirty boys, who had " chivied" the chaise up the town. Graspem knocked down the two nearest him with his staff, and walked at a majestic but hur- ried pace to the house of the mayor. 68 THE PARISH CLERK. " Your wusship, in virtue of a statty, &c, &C,"" said Graspem, prefacing his speech, as usual, " I capterd the body of Ebenezer Brief, and he called me an ass." " Then go back and call him another," re- plied the mayor, who was busily engaged in serving out two ounces of Twankay. " I've been assaulted, rescued, and lost the re- ward. Rescue, I look upon it, is a mayor's matter," said Graspem, disgusted. " Do your dooty, Mr. Mayor, or else mandamus and quo warranto will be the matter." " Titus, my son," said the mayor, looking a little alarmed, and snipping off the twine of his parcel on a little bit of broken iron behind him, " get Burns's Justice, and look out rescue." " Bring his wusship's best coat and hat,"" said the beadle. Titus, thinking that the beadle, who had been many years in practice, knew more of corporate matters than his father, who was now in office, attended to his suggestions, and brought the new coat and best beaver. The mayor put them on, and, having tilled the fourpence three far- things for the Twankay, followed Graspem to the Bell, where a crowd — a large crowd for so small a borough — was already assembled. THE PARISH CLERK. C9 " Make way there for his wusship !*' shouted Graspem. " A fig for his wusship 1" screamed a little dirty wag ; at which all the rest of the crowd laughed, and for which Litigious would have knocked him down, had not the urchin vanished. During the absence of the beadle, Brief and Sanderson had entered the little parlour of the inn, followed by Mrs. Bibulus, and Betty the chambermaid, " Know me — eh ?" said Brief. "Lawks! yes, in course, Mr. Brief," said Betty. " Hold your sarcy tongue, slut," said her mis- tress. "Speak," said Brief to Sanderson, "I can't — too long." Sanderson begged that the horses might not be taken out until it could be ascertained whe- ther Mr. Thorogood was in town, or at the Lodge, as they wished to see him immediately. " Lawks !" said Betty, " he's down at Doctor Poore's now, and his horse is in our stables." Boots was sent with a short note from Brief. Mr. Thorogood hurried up to the Bell, and ar- rived there in time to read the communications of the Tide-ender, and congratulate Brief on his 70 THE PARISH CLERK. good fortune in escaping a charge of felony, and succeeding to a large property, before the door was flung open to its fullest extent by the beadle, who ushered in the mayor, and then stationed himself inside the room to keep out all intruders. " Leave the room, Graspem,' 1 said Mr. Thoro- good. "By virtue of a statty, &c, &c, &c., 1 ' began Graspem. " Skipper, kick him," said Brief. Sanderson approached with a calcitratory look, but the beadle vanished before he could reach him. Mr. Thorogood told the mayor — who supplied him with groceries — that the events which im- plicated Mr. Brief in the crime of felony had been so satisfactorily explained to him that he would be answerable for his appearance at any time. The mayor, without asking if " any thing more in his way was wanted," returned to his more profitable duties. Graspem was so indignant at the treatment he had met with that he did not injure the spine of one little dirty boy that night, but allowed them to break the byelaws of the borough with impunity. After some consultation with Mr. Thorogood, Brief and Sanderson again entered " the yellow," THE PARISH CLERK. 71 and left Buyemup for the Lodge. What passed there no one in the borough knew, except one gentleman, a respectable lawyer, and Andrew Poore. The house and offices of the late Mr. Callus Coldblood were sold. Becky was told to call at the bank quarterly for £20. The furni- ture and other effects, including the horses and carriages at the Grove, were disposed of by public auction, and the house itself was advertised to be let. Brief and Sanderson dined, slept, and break- fasted next morning at the Lodge ; and when the tide served, the Venturer dropped down the river with the skipper and the late managing clerk on board of her, and came to an anchor off Bognor. There she lay two days, with a broom made fast to her mast head, and on the third was gladly pui'chased — for her qualities were known and appreciated — by John Layton, of the fisherman's return, at Seatown. Brief and Sanderson, her late skipper, left by coach for London. The crew " spliced the main brace" for a week or ten days after their departure ; and, as they treated every body that chose to be treated, declared that " the devil was not half so black as he was painted j" the inter- pretation of which was left to the treatees. 72 THE PARISH CLERK. We must follow Brief and Sanderson to the great metropolis. The very smoke and air (?) of the modern Babylon seemed to act as double dis- tilled volatile, or spirits of hartshorn, on the spirits of the former. They stimulated him so highly that he actually said, " We'll put up at the Crosskeys, where they have good accommo- dation for travellers — well -aired beds, and the choicest wines and spirits," without an hiatus. At the gateway of the Crosskeys, on the fol- lowing morning, stood a hackney coach, shortly after the hour of breakfast in the city. Into it stepped Brief and the skipper, who were slowly conveyed to the shop of Messrs. Hard- word, which was at the western end of the town. There Jarvy was ordered to wait. He did so, and had a comfortable three hours' snooze, earn- ing money all the time, while sundry accounts, vouchers, and moneys, were being arranged, ex- amined, and handed over from the great lace- men to the representative of the late Mr. Callus Coldblood. Jarvy was then roused from his dreams, and an order given him to drive to " the Bank." On his arrival, he was paid unhesitatingly the sum he charged, and was discharged, grumbling of course at having got more than double his THE PARISH CLERK. 73 fare, and vexed with himself for not having asked more. When "the fare" left the transfer-office, a stander-by might have seen Sanderson shake his companion heartily by the hand, and dash away some little moisture which hung to his eyelashes. He might also have heard him say, " Bless you ! you've made a man of me ; and missus and the young uns is provided for — found for life, and no more risk of boarding to make a seizure." But then standers-by, as every whist-player knows, have no right to say a word of what they hear or see, unless called upon by all parties to do so. At two o'clock in the afternoon of the same day, in a private room of the aforesaid hotel, the Crosskeys, might have been seen a table " laid for four," and, having four pewter pots of porter so disposed that one graced each cor- ner of the table. " Humph !" said Brief, pulling out his watch, "time's up — not here — something else up — eh?" " Make it two," said the skipper, " and pipe to dinner." The words had scarcely passed his lips, when the door opened, and two men, with very red VOL. III. E 74 THE PARISH CLERK. faces, still redder neckcloths and waistcoats, covered with blue coats and brass buttons, ter- minating in drabs and top-boots, entered the room. Without saying a word, they nodded their heads simultaneously, and, taking off two very broad-brimmed and shallow-crowned hats, deposited them in a corner near two very large ashen sticks, with a hook to them. "Humph!" said Brief. " Deale, how do? Rosewater, how's your person ? late — skipper 1 — all upon the square — close as cowcumber-bed in a frost." " Vy, yer see, ve was both on us engaged and could n't get avay no hows," said the offi- cers, as usual, together. "Business, eh? work to be done!" said Brief. " Solomon Sniggs prigged a gen'eman's reader, and vouldn't come ven he was vanted — that's all — rek'vired the darbies," replied both at once. The waiter brought in a large dish, and when the quartette were seated, the cover was re- moved, and there appeared the favourite delicacy — '• beefsteaks and highnons." This was re- plenished over and over again, as at the Bell at Buyemup. Indeed, the only difference in the ar- THE PARISH CLERK. 75 rangements there and in London, was that in- stead of addressing the waiter as " my hangel," as they had celestialized Betty, the officers gave a sharp rap on the table, and pointed with their knives at the dishes or pewters — a signal which the waiter seemed perfectly to understand. Not one word was spoken at dinner by any of the party, save by Sanderson, who seemed disposed to be loquacious at first. Finding that he only lost time, and let his savoury viands get cold, and influenced, probably, by the con- tagious taciturnity of his friends, he soon fol- lowed their example, and finished his meal as silently as if he had been at a shilling ordinary in the cave of Trophonius. After dinner the cloth was removed, and the table quickly covered with liquors and pipes. "Spattoons," said Deale and Rosewater. Those useful articles having been brought in — " Give us the office," said the previous speakers, simultaneously, " ve may be van ted for vork." " Humph !" commenced Brief, " that is father — dead — and — humph! can't do it — never could — Sanderson, tell all about it." The skipper, after recording all the events e2 76 THE PARISH CLERK. with which the reader is acquainted, and by which Brief had clearly proved himself heir to, and come into the possession of, the properties of his father, and late principal and partner, Mr. Coldblood, informed the officers that he was anxious, if possible, to restore Gregory of the Grove and his huntsman Zach Bluff to liberty. The difficulties at Guernsey might easily be overcome, provided they ran no risk, by returning to England, of being taken up and punished for having taken a part in the foolish and ill-con- trived act of treason of which they had been guilty, and which had led to a reward being offered for their capture. "Vy, yer see," was the duet played by both officers, "all that ere's blown over, and pervided Brief stands 'ansum, ve'll make it all right." Brief, without savin": more than his usual " Humph !" took out a nute-case, and put a bank note for i?100 into the hands of each of the officers. Deale and Rosewater both looked at the signature and the watermark and, nodding approvingly, deposited their " reward " in a black greasy leathern pocket-book. "Do?" inquired Brief. " Right as a trivet," said both officers. Little was said, though much was drunk by all THE PARISH CLERK. 77 the party, until the clock struck seven. San- derson then rose and left his friends, after shaking each of them heartily by the hand, in return for which he received a shake of their hands. They continued smoking and drinking while he mounted the Portsmouth mail, on his road to Stoke's Bay, where the Clairvoyant was lying, waiting for orders from her reputed owners, the Messrs. Hardword and Co. Brief had no motive whatever for procuring the release of Gregory and Bluff beyond the promise he had given the Tide-ender before they parted. He knew nothing, or but little of them, and the little he did know was not of such a na- ture as to induce him to stretch out a helping hand to save them. Burghly's motives might have been traced, perhaps, to a sort of vague feeling, that the man who had come into possession of Coldblood's large property, ought in justice to spend a por- tion of it in relieving the distresses of a person from whom a great deal of it had been acquired. This feeling might have been aided by a recol- lection of his intimacy with Gregory and Bluff in former days. Whatever his reasons were, he was bent upon having his wishes complied with, and Brief felt so grateful to him for putting him -78 THE PARISH CLERK. into possession of so much property, that he was determined to comply with them. Sanderson was not a very willing agent in the business, as from what he had seen and heard of Gregory and his friend, he thought that society at large would be greatly benefited if they were never permitted to go at large any more. Sincere regard for his old friend Burghly, with whom he had been for many years on the best terms, and gratitude to Brief, who had ge- nerously released him from his dangerous trade, by " making a man of him for life," induced him to cross to the islands once more, and ne- gociate matters for their release. On one condition only, and upon that Burghly laid great stress — they were to be freed. It was that they were to bind themselves never to visit the county of Sussex again. The forfei- ture, if they broke their bond, was to be the one half of the annuity which Brief agreed to allow them for their lives, namely, £200 per annum ; upon which they might, if they chose, live com- fortably and respectably. Sanderson reached Portsmouth in safety, and, taking a boat at the common hard, was rowed up Gosport Creek towards Anglesea, whence a few steps brought him to Stoke's Bay. THE PARISH CLERK. 79 The Clairvoyant lay off from the beach about half a mile. Sanderson's hail was distinctly heard, and a boat sent on shore for him. As soon as he was on board, and had explained his purpose to his brother skipper, the anchor was weighed, the sails hoisted, and the Isle of Wight soon left behind them. The breeze was favourable, the little vessel flew through the water, and ere another sun set the town of St. Pierre, with its rows of houses one above another, lay immediately before them. Sanderson went ashore, and learned from the host of " the fleur de lis " that the Grover and Hunter had been tried, condemned, and sen- tenced "to be transported to England," and that they had sailed on the morning previous to his arrival. The Clairvoyant put back again, and was seen in a few days afterwards with "the broom," the signal she was for sale, made fast to her mast-head. Sanderson settled down with his wife near Seatown, and ploughed a few acres of land, in- stead of the furrows of the ocean, an example that was followed by the skipper of the Clair- voyant. 80 THE PARISH CLERK. CHAPTER XL. THE LIEUTENANT'S TALE. Some years after the events recorded in the last chapter took place, three young persons might have been seen walking, or rather loung- ing, on the sandy beach near Seatown. Two of the party were young men, dressed in the naval uniform of midshipmen. The third was a young lady, who bore so near a resemblance to one of her companions, that no stranger would have hesitated in calling her his sister. Harry Thorogood had grown up into a fine, handsome man. His features were regular — his nose aquiline — his mouth small, with the upper lip short ; indeed, so short as to display a fine pearly set of teeth, whenever he spoke or smiled. Dark, arched brows, and long lashes, protected a pair of hazel eyes, that had proved too attractive to more than one of the fairest of THE PARISH CLERK. 81 Italy's fair daughters. Over a brow, expansive and projecting, his dark hair clustered in natural curls. Feminize this description, reader, and you see Harriette, his sister — as fair and lovely a girl as you would wish to see — your own. Mac Alister Poore, on whose arm she was leaning, while her brother amused himself with jerking stones into the sea, or at the ox-birds as they ran in miniature coveys before him, was somewhat taller and fairer than his friend. He would have been pronounced handsome in the absence of Harry — though the high cheek- bones, which he inherited " frae the north, 1 " might have been objected to by the ladies of the south. His broad chest and shoulders, lonfj arms, and flattened hips, gave tokens of great strength. While Harry whistled, sang, and jerked away with a hearty good- will, Mac and Harriette walked slowly by each other's side, without ex- changing a syllable. A sigh, now and then, mingled with the warm breeze that came off the ocean — and, though both looked very melan- choly, they were far from feeling so. Had Harry been less amused by his sports, and more attentive to his sister and friend, it is possible that much that had passed between them might e 5 82 THE PARISH CLERK. have been left unsaid. As it was, without be- traying to the reader how it had been done, I may venture to let him, or her, into the secret that Mac Alister Poore had taken advantage of her brother's inattention to let his sister know that he had loved her for years, and could not sail again without informing her of that impor- tant fact. Harriette — it may have been wrong — was greatly pleased to hear it, and frankly told him so. A few whispers and a few blushes told Mac that his love was returned. Is not this enough to account for their silence during the remainder of their walk ? " To-morrow, Miss Thorogood," said Mac, « j » " Harriette, now, if you please, dear Mac," said the lady, looking up in his face slyly, and blushing a little. " Dear Harriette," said the gentleman, look- ing as if he would have kissed the lips that ut- tered these words, if they had been quite alone, and giving the arm that rested on his a hard squeeze against his side — " to-morrow we leave you for a short time. Before I go I shall ven- ture to lay my feelings towards you before your parents, and ask them to sanction the love we mutually feel." THE PARISH CLERK. 83 " Do, dear Mac," said Harriette, " and rely upon it they will not hesitate to accept as a son one whom they have long loved and esteemed as a friend." " I think it would have been more honour- able," said Mac, " considering the difference of our rank and fortune, had I asked their consent before I ventured to make known my sentiments to you, dear Harriette. I am one of a large family — without fortune — without rank in so- ciety. You are the only daughter of a rich, country gentleman, and your hand would have been sought by many wealthier and more worthy men than myself. I have acted wrong — but somehow — my going away to distant seas on the morrow — the opportunity, and — I — I — " " Could not help communicating a secret which I, and, I believe, my kind parents had discovered long since, 1 ' said Harriette. " You have behaved very ill in not explaining yourself sooner. Had you quitted England without doing so, I am sure you would have left three unhappy hearts behind you." Mac could not but feel delighted at this as- surance. He, however, expressed an additional fear lest his own parents, whom he justly loved and esteemed, should think he had acted clan- 84 THE PARISH CLERK. destinely and dishonourably to his friends and benefactors. While Harriette was endeavouring to set his too sensitive mind at ease on that subject, her brother came up, and, looking first at Harriette and then at his friend, burst out into a loud laugh, and begged to know " if any thing more serious than the blue peter flying at the main, as a signal to part company, had occurred to make them both look so sentimentally mise- rable." Harriette, blushing deeply, bade them wait there while she ran and hailed the pony-car- riage, which was waiting for them at the cliff. " Well, Mac !" said Harry, " when that sail's out of sight, and that sigh has wafted her to her h a ven — for it's powerful enough to propel a big- ger craft — perhaps you'll tell me why you look so sorrowful. What's in the wind ?" " My dear Harry," said Mac, " I am afraid I have not been fair and above-board with you. I ought to have told you that I — " " Loved yonder dear girl, and have been telling her what she and all of us knew long before. Do you think I have quietly let you make violent love with your eyes and your sighs, during our three months' stay on shore, without feeling that THE PARISH CLERK. 85 your attentions were acceptable to my sister and my parents ? As to myself, my boy, shake hands — I gladly hail you as a brother, though it did not require Harriette's consent to be your's, which I see you have gained, to unite us more closely together," said Harry, tendering his hand to his friend, which was warmly pressed, and not relinquished until the pony- chaise came in sight. A look from the brother convinced the sister that her short absence, as she intended it should, had been seized as a favourable opportunity for ex- plaining " how matters stood." Harry drove — as sailors generally do — as fast as the ponies could gallop. Mac and Harriette thought he drove too fast by half, and the Lodge was reached before above two squeezes of the hand could be effected — but then they lasted all the way. Dinner-time was nearly approaching ; but Harriette, instead of hurrying to her own room, sought her mother's, and, flinging herself upon her dear bosom, told her, without any hesitation, but with a little demureness, that Mr. Mac Alister Poore had owned he loved her dearly, and that she had allowed their feelings to be reciprocal. Mrs. Thorogood kissed her child, and bade her go dress for dinner, and rely on her parents' gra- 86 THE PARISH CLERK. tification at an event they had expected with pleasure. Harriette wept, of course — women always do when they are either vexed or pleased. Mr. Thorogood was industriously doing his best to destroy a dock-root of extraordinary magnitude with his paddle, just as the first dinner-bell sounded from the Lodge. He had just succeeded in uprooting the noisome weed, and was raising himself from his task, when he saw Mac Alister Poore standing before him. " Well, Mac, my boy — not yet rigged out for dinner ? Come along — we shall keep the ladies waiting. See, I have just destroyed an intruder on my property — a mean rascal, who has thrust himself into a rich soil, where his betters ought to be," said Thorogood, pointing to the dock- plant. " And in the same manner you would feel inclined, dear sir— and you would be justified — to extirpate every and any worthless plant that dared to fix its roots in your rich domain," said Mac — looking as if the casual observation of his friend was meant to apply to him, and his pre- tensions to thehand of the rich man's daughter. " Eh ? what — what is the matter, Mac ? — grown sentimental and sensitive over a dock- leaf?" THE PARISH CLERK. 87 " Pardon me, my kind friend," said Mac, " but your observation seemed to me so just a rebuke to myself that I can hardly find courage to reveal — a — a — that i,s, I fear I have been acting the part of that dock, and intruding where I had no business — no right — I — " " Speak out like a man, like a sailor, Mac ; you know me for a friend. A little gay on shore, perhaps, and no shot in the locker ? Well, my purse is your's — so — " " No, no, my dear sir, you are mistaken — thanks all the same — but Harriette — Miss Tho- rogood, I mean — we have been to Seatown — walking on the beach, and — and — " said Mac, stammering very sadly — and — and — " Seen a great many gulls, I fancy," said the squire, smiling. "In short, sir, I — that is, she — we were going to part to-morrow — so I — acted like a rascal. I told her I loved her, and she — I as- sure you I — she — " " Was very glad to hear it," said the squire, " and so am I. If I had not wished you to be- come my son-in-law, I should not have allowed such a good-looking, deserving fellow to be so much with my daughter. There's my hand, Mac Alister — she's your own." 88 THE PARISH CLERK. " Beg pardon ! but wouldn't it be more correct to say she shall be your own," said An- drew Poore, who had heard the latter part of the dialogue unobserved, and was shedding large globules of joy — " is, you know — " " Pshaw! my dear Andrew — come in to dinner, give your future daughter-in-law a kiss, and keep the lecture on grammatical pro- prieties for our grandchildren," said Thorogood, shaking Poore and his son by their hands, and, looking happily lachrymose, he led them to- wards the Lodge. A livelier party never met. Mac and Karriette had to support and resist a great many attacks from all quarters, but they bore them very well ; especially as Mrs. Poore had been sent for, and made her appearance with Matilda, who took Harry's attention from the turtle-doves, as he called the lovers, and fixed it on herself, until the evening rubber called him from her side, and enabled her to congra- tulate her dearest friend and her brother upon their happiness. "What are trumps?" inquired Harriette, wishing to do the cool and unconcerned, as she stood behind her brother's chair. " Hearts, of course," said Harry, winking significantly. THE PARISH CLERK. 80 " I play the knave, then," said Mac. This innocent remark, coupled with what they knew of poor Mac's feelings before his disclosure of his love, caused the squire and Harry to burst into a loud laugh. Mac looked and felt uncom- fortable. Harriette put an end to his distress by taking a card from the father's hand, and saying, " the queen takes the knave and wins the trick." The cards were thrown aside, a family circle formed, and an arrangement made, that, as soon as Mac Alister Poore had passed, and got his lieutenantey — for which Mr. Thorogood's parliamentary interest was to be exerted — Miss Thorogood was to be united by Dr. Placid (who was now suffering from lumbago — the result of some unwarranted liberty with his backbone in athletics) to the playmate and friend of her youth. The middies left their home for the West Indies on the following morning, amidst the smiles and tears of their families. On the same morning, after the departure of his son and future son-in-law, Mr. Thorogood walked to the parsonage, to inquire after the health of the rector of Oakapple. He found him swathed in flannels, with a large fomentation of scalded hops applied to his loins ; the anticipated effects 90 THE PARISH CLERK. * of which he was endeavouring to promote by walking rapidly up and down his room, and essaying at each turn to jump over a footstool. The idea of the pain he should suffer, if he suc- ceeded, perhaps did as much towards causing a profuse perspiration as if the leap had been taken. After chatting with the doctor, and informing him that his services, as " a splicer" — I use the seamen's phrase — would be wanted as soon as the cruise to the Western Indies was over, Thorogood left him, with a smile and a hint not to fancy his thews and sinews could answer the calls upon them so often and so largely as in his younger days. " Pooh !" said Placid — " strong as ever." " My dear!" said Mrs. P., " I am sure you are not. Mr. Thorogood's advice is excellent — follow it." As the squire returned, he met his keeper, who begged to say a few words to him. Mr. Thorogood told him to say what he wished, as he was in no hurry. " The poarchers is about agin, measter," said the keeper — " I've found lots of woires about of late ; and, as a proof of it, Oive got- ten a letter here, which, as I can't read un, THE PARISH CLERK. 91 and Will Souter can, but says it mought be 'tended for you, I hopes you'll 'vestigate it yourself." The squire took a crumpled piece of paper, and read as follows : — " Kipper at the Loge — kip yur ise open. Thems abrod as mens misshuf — don't go to West Wood to-nite. " a frend." " Go to the West Wood, by all means, to- night," said the squire, smiling, as he returned the letter ; " but take some able-bodied, reso- lute fellows with you, in case you should be at- tacked. I believe the letter to be a mere hoax, to try your courage ; but it is best to be pre- pared." " You mought be right, and you mought be wrong, measter," said the keeper ; " but Oi have a notion that, while Oi gowes to West Wood, the poarchers meyans to gwo to East Wood. Howvever, I'll gwo to bwoth, and then I'se sure to be roight." " Well, do so," said his master ; " but mind and take sufficient strength with you." " Dang 'em, in open day, Oi could whap 'em all," said the keeper — " but this noight- work is rather a different thing." 92 THE PARISH CLERK. Mr. Thorogood went to his farming opera- tions, and agreed with Will Souter, who ac- companied him, that some of the neighbours were making an experiment on the keeper's courage. Soon after nightfall the keeper came to Will's house, and, instead of requiring his assistance, declared he should only take the under-keeper with him. Will, believing that a joke only was implied in the note, after trying to alarm the keeper — for fun — told him to be sure and take all the farm-servants with him, and to send to him if he wanted any additional help. The keeper looked indignant at the jocularity of the bailiff, and left him. Will, after his departure, could not help feeling a little alarm lest what he had fancied was a joke might prove to be serious. He went several times to the door of his cottage, and listened. All was still. Not a noise was to be heard, except the distant dashinofs of the breakers on the beach at Sea- town, as the tide rolled them to the shore. He did not feel fatigued or inclined to go to bed. He lighted up an extra pipe — filled an extra glass of hollands grog — and read " the Sussex Express," until the striking of the "shorthours" began to remind him that it was time to retire THE PARISH CLERK. 93 for the night, if he meant to be up in time for the workmen in the morning. He took his candle, and went up stairs. As he was undressing, he fancied he heard a shout and the barking of a dog. He opened the case- ment, and heard several shots fired in the direc- tion of the East Wood. All was still for a few seconds ; and then the shouts and voices, as of men in altercation, were distinctly heard. Will resumed his clothes, and, seizing his pis- tols, hurried off to the spot. It was the nearest covert to the Lodge, and therefore was more strictly and more successfully preserved than the other woods on the estate. Only two fields separated it from the bailiff's cottage. Before, however, Will could reach it, he met the under- keeper, who could scarcely stagger along ; and was so confused by a violent blow on the head, from the but of a gun, that he was unable at first to recognize Will. As soon as he was made sensible that he had met a friend, he told the bailiff that the keeper had found a party shoot- ing in the East Wood, and, instead of retiring for assistance when he found they were so nu- merous, had ventured in amongst them, and had been so severely beaten that he, the under- keeper, who had also been attacked, but not so violently, believed he was dead. 94 THE PARISH CLERK. Souter, with great difficulty, induced the man to return with him to the spot where the keeper had been left. The calling of him a coward, and threatening to tell his master if he refused, induced him to accompany him to the spot. They shouted as loudly as they could, to make the poachers believe that aid was at hand, and found the keeper alone, lying on his back, and, as it appeared, quite dead. His dogs — two trusty retrievers — lay by his side, shot all to pieces . With great difficulty , Will and the under- keeper carried the body to the bailiff's house. While Will employed himself in examining his wounds, and trying every thing he could think of for his recovery, he sent the trembling assis- tant to the Lodge, to rouse Mr. Thorogood, and tell him what had occurred. Fortunately for the safety of the keeper, An- drew Poore had been beguiled into an unusually late rubber by the squire and his friends. He was just getting into his buggy, on his return to Buyemup, when the news of the keeper's dangerous state was brought to the Lodge. With the squire, who sprung into his buggy, he drove quickly to the spot, followed on foot by the rest of the party and the under-keeper. Will's applications, which consisted princi- THE PARISH CLERK. 95 pally of spirits, exhibited externally and inter- nally, had so far succeeded as to elicit a few groans and convulsions from the wounded man. These were enough to show that life was not extinct. Andrew, by the aid of his lancet, and an additional stimulus obtained from a phial which he always carried with him, brought the keeper to himself, and enabled him to tell the astonished squire and his friends that he had been attacked and severely beaten about the head by Gregory of the Grove and Zachary Bluff, his hunter ; whose voices and figures he distinctly recognized among the eight or ten men who had assailed him and shot his dogs. He had fired on the party, but with what result he could not tell. Andrew would not allow him to say more that night, but caused him to be put to bed, and sat beside him, tending him with as great care as if he had been a lord. 96 THE PARISH CLERK. CHAPTER XLI. THE LIEUTENANT'S TALE. On his return to the Lodge, Mr. Thorogood parted with his friends and sought his bed, whither Mrs. Thorogood had retired some hours before, as she never risked her health by waiting " until the rubber was over." She knew that the tl last" rubber often led to several more last rubbers, and withdrew with her daughter, leaving her husband and his friends to enjoy themselves as long as they felt inclined. He accounted for his absence from the house, of which his wife was informed by the alarmed servants, by telling her that some poachers had been destroying the game in the East Wood ; and that the keeper, in the dis- charge of his duty, had been beaten severely. Of course he did not mention the names of Gregory of the Grove and his ally, the Hunter, for fear of causing his lady to share in the alarm THE PARISH CLERK. 97 at the Grover's return, which he experienced himself in no ordinary degree. He had sin- cerely hoped and trusted never to see, or hear of, these vindictive and vulgar fellows again. A hope and trust which he was justified in en- tertaining, as he doubted not that Ebenezer Brief had acted up to the instructions given him by Burghly, the Tide-ender ; and settled an annuity on Gregory, on condition he never visited Sussex again. He passed a restless night, and, early in the morning, visited Sou- ter's cottage, to learn the state of his keeper. Andrew Poore satisfied him that the wounded man would soon recover ; as the blows, though dealt with the intent to deprive him of life, had fortunately fallen on a skull of more than or- dinary strength and thickness. He gave the bailiff full instructions how to treat his patient, and returned with his master to the Lodge. There, instead of sitting quietly down to a comfortable breakfast, he found that his ser- vices were in immediate request. He was summoned to attend upon Mrs. Tho- rogood, and found her suffering from a violent fit of hysterics. Her daughter was sitting by her side, unable to assist her mother, from the state of alarm into which her fearful state had VOL. III. p 98 THE PARISH CLERK. thrown her, and which was not diminished by the communications of the foolish girl, who had been the cause of her mistress's fit, and the inability of her daughter to render her any aid. Poor Patty, the ladies' maid, had, it ap- peared, formed an attachment to the keeper, whose comely looks had made a deep impres- sion upon her tender heart. When she heard that he had been wounded by the poachers, she resolved to ascertain the extent of his danger by a personal inspection, in spite of all her fellow-servants could say about the indelicacy and impropriety of such a proceeding. Will Souter, when she arrived at his cottage, and was quietly going up stairs to the room where her lover lay, put in his veto, in accor- dance with the strict orders of Andrew Poore, that his patient was not to be disturbed or al- lowed to talk on any account. Patty was very indignant, and vented her anger more in sobs and tears than in words. She cast several reproachful looks at the bailiff, but, finding him " above proof" to all her at- tempts to delude him from his duties, she changed her plan of operations, and went to the cottage where the under-keeper lodged. From THE PARISH CLERK. 99 him she learnt all that had passed, and a great deal more, which his overcharged imagination invented. She rushed back, with her eyes full of tears, and her mind full of horrors, and told her mistresses that Gregory of the Grove, and Zach the Hunter, had been bravely prevented, by the keeper and his assistant, from setting fire to the Lodge, and putting all its inhabitants to a lingering and cruel death. Mrs. Thorogood, who, although much im- proved in bodily health and strength, had never quite overcome the shock she had received from the previous attacks of these desperate and dan- gerous men. She had lived in a perpetual state of apprehension lest they should return to her neighbourhood; and now believed, from Patty's statement, that the period had at length arrived when their plans of vengeance, for the treat- ment they had received from the squire, were to be put into execution. She told her daughter that she had no doubt the statement she had heard was perfectly true ; and that their lives, as well as their property, were at stake. In vain did Harriette, on whose infant mind the previous frightful events had left but a slight impression, endeavour to argue the point, and convince her mother that much f 2 100 THE PARISH CLERK. might be exaggerated. Mrs. Thorogood yielded to her fears, and the dread of secret assassina- tion or open violence grew so intense that it brought on one of her old attacks, which ter- minated in a violent convulsive fit. Mr. Tho- rogood was very angry with poor Patty, for her inconsiderate conduct in communicating the particulars of the affair to her mistress. Her distress, however, and evident wish to re- pair the injuries she had unwittingly inflicted, disarmed him of his anger, and prevented his issuing an order for her immediate expulsion from the Lodge, which he was upon the point of doing. Whilst Andrew was engaged in attending to Mrs. Thorogood, the squire rode over to Buy- emup, whither he had summoned his friends, who were his guests on the previous night, and the rest of the neighbouring magistrates, to meet him. He was resolved to investigate so serious a matter as closely as possible, in order to rid himself and his family of their justly ex- cited fears, and the neighbourhood of so dan- gerous a gang. Betty prepared the assembly-room at the Bell for " the counties," and told Mr. Litigious Graspem, who wished officiously and officially THE PARISH CLERK. 101 to intrude before his time, " to go and look arter the little dirty boys and his wusship the mayor." Mr. Muddler, as a matter of course, being the " only barrither on the Lentil" took the chair ; or rather, put his leg on the chair, and tapped his topped boot, which protected it, with his whip. Nothing of importance was elicited from the parties examined. The keeper himself could not attend. The assistant was too much alarmed to give any thing like a clear and consistent statement of what had passed. He said, and believed, that they had been attacked by twenty or thirty men, and been shot at by several of them. Who they were he could not tell, as they were all huddled together ; and he, after being shot through and through, as he thought, had been felled to the ground and left for dead. Will Souter could only repeat what has been stated before, in which Mr. Thorogood corrobo- rated him. Muddler said, " It wath exthremely thur- prithing that thuth a cathe thould arithe near a plathe were a justithe lived, who had been a barrither — a practithing barrither," but could give no " nothon how a dithcovery of the guilty partieth could be enthured." 10ii THE PARISH CLERK. The meeting broke up, and the magistrates agreed to assemble again on the following day, and to exert themselves in the meanwhile to obtain evidence which might lead to the appre- hension of the offenders. When Muddler had left the room with his brother justices, Wilson, who was still lieu- tenant in command of the station at Tide-end, which, since the destruction of the mill, had been nearly a sinecure, came up to Mr. Thoro- good. After shaking hands with him, he told him that several bold attempts at landing goods had lately been made at the Marsh-house, and that several suspicious characters had been seen about that very suspicious and justly suspected public-house. It was impossible for either Mr. Thorogood or the lieutenant, whose persons were so well known, to make inquiries of the respectable landlord of the Marsh-house, or any of his myrmidons, with any chance of success. After many doubts as to the best plan of ascertaining what was going on there, and who were its recent frequenters, Will Souter, who feared nothing — but ghosts, of whom every Sussex man dwelling near the coast then stood in dread — agreed, or rather volunteered, to go down to the Marsh-house that night, in dis- THE PARISH CLERK. 103 guise, and to use his best endeavours to act the dangerous part of a spy in the enemy's camp. To this Mr. Thorogood made such strong ob- jections, on the ground of his unwillingness to expose so faithful a servant as his bailiff had proved himself to certain death, that the plan was nearly being abandoned. Wilson, however, who was anxious to rid his friend, the squire, of his apprehensions of future danger, and to learn what was passing at the Marsh-house, offered to land one of his own men — who had just joined, and was unknown to any of the smugglers in the neighbourhood ; and was, moreover, a smart, active fellow — with Will, in his own boat, after dark. He also promised to keep his boat un- seen and within hail, should any danger offer itself requiring immediate aid. To these arrangements, and Will's earnest entreaties, the squire at length gave his con- sent. They were just parting — Will to procure a disguise, and the squire to return to the Lodge —when the door was flung open, and Mr. Liti- gious Graspem, resisting the attempts of Betty, who " held on" by the lappets of his beefsteak- collared coat, to prevent hira, entered the room and told them — " That by virtue of a statty, granted to the 104 THE PARISH CLERK. mayor, bailiffs, and burgesses of the borough of Buyemup, by James the fust, king, &c, &c, the mayor wanted to know if their wosships had any orders for him." " We are quite out of greaves for the dogs," said Will, very innocently. " Tell his worship to send a cake of greaves over to the Lodge,"" said the squire, who, with the lieutenant, indulged in a hearty laugh, at the expense of Will and the grocer, who was " doing a bit of corporate dignity," greatly to the official annoyance of the officious beadle. He, nevertheless, carried the order, and received his worship's thanks for so doing. When the time arrived for Souter to put into execution his plan for visiting the Marsh-house, he donned his disguise ; and so completely was his appearance changed, that even his master failed to recognize, in the travelling pedlar be- fore him, his own bailiff, until he heard him speak. Wilson was ready with his boat when Will reached the station. The oars were muf- fled, and the lieutenant and his crew dressed in white jackets, in order that they might not be heard or seen from the opposite side. As they crossed, Will succeeded in persuading the lieu- tenant that it would be much safer and less sus- THE PARISH CLERK. 105 picious for him to go into the house by himself, in his assumed character, than it would be if he were accompanied by a sailor, who might, by some unguarded observation, betray the whole plan, and bring upon them the vengeance of the smugglers, whom he expected to find there. The boat was backed alongside the wharf, in order that, the moment Will came out and sprang into her, the men, who sat with their ' oars in the rowlocks, might be ready to pull off" out of danger. Will entered the taproom, and found the land- lord, to whom he was not personally known, sit- ting with two men, dressed in fishermen's garbs, whom he recognized as villagers from Seatown, and whom he knew to be frequently engaged in landing goods. He laid his pack on the ground, said he was very tired, and called for a glass of grog. The landlord supplied him with it, and then returned to his seat and resumed his conversation with his former customers in a low tone of voice. Will could only catch a few of their words, though he listened attentively. The few re- marks he did hear convinced him that they were talking over the attack upon his master's keeper. He drank his grog, and then threw himself back f5 106 THE PARISH CLERK. in the corner of the settle, and feigned to be asleep. The plan seemed likely to succeed ; for, after a little time, the party spoke in louder tones, and he heard one of them say — " D n, what vools they must be to risk every thing for the zake of a vew veasants and hares." " Ay, ay," replied the landlord, " their em- ployers would lose two lusty vellows if they were taken and scragged, as they would be zure to be ; for they do tell I that the keeper must die, for all the pottercarrier brought him round a bit." " Tom Badely's crippled for loife," said the other — " his arm will never load a gun again." " Where have they stowed him?" inquired the landlord. " Zach and Gregory took he aboard with they, when 'em went off during the noight — they laid off until it was nearly loight, waiting for two more o' the crew, but they did n't come aboard," said the first speaker. " Ay, the captain wanted we to take the trip for they — but no more tub- work for we, except on shore, where one has a chance to cut and run," said the other. " But what could make them take to poarching THE PARISH CLERK. 107 again ?" asked the landlord. " I thought they'd a done with that, long since — and to go to the Lodge, above all places, where they must have been knowan if they'd been cotched." " There was a trap laid, I vancy, to get the zquire out to pay off zonivi old zcores — as vor the geame, they did not care vor that, beyont annoy- ing of the zquire," said the first speaker. " They owed the keeper a grudge, too," said the other, " and they've paid he off." " Ay," said the landlord, " they'll come here once too often, and the hangman will have the job he ought to have had years ago. No one cares to take the Grove, for they do zay the housekeeper's ghost, as was vound dead, do haunt the pleace ; and zome do zay lights have been zeen in her room lately." " Likely enow," said one of the men j " vor Gregory and Zach have been there more than once, to zearch for some peapers, as they thought old Lawyer Coldblood moight have left behind un ; but wherever he went he took all his peapers wi'un." " I never could quoite make out that business," said the landlord. " There's no doubt that the lawyer, who went to the mill that noight from this, was blown up wi it and the Tide-ender ; 108 THE PARISH CLERK. but how Ebenezer Brief knew of it and came back just in the nick o' time to claim his money and 'states I never could quoite meake out." " He was a cute chap that," said one of the men . "Ay, too cute by half," said the landlord. " Poor Burghly always zuspected it was he as spoilt several trips by giving the office to the customhouse men." The conversation was changed after some few remarks, which did not give Will any further insight into the business which he was anxious to investigate. He allowed them to talk a little longer, and then, rousing himself, asked what he had to pay, and said he must get on to Buy- em up that night. When he had paid the score, he was asked by one of the men what he had in his pack. He opened it, and showed them a few waistcoats and shoes, and some clasp-knives, and pressed them to purchase. They declined doing so ; and, as soon as he had closed his pack, he left the house, followed by the landlord, who whispered to him that he could let him have a little tea and tobacco very cheap if he wanted any. Will told him he could not deal then, but would call another day, when he was going inland. The THE PARISH CLERK. 109 landlord returned to the door, and Will walked on as far as the road that led to Buyemup, when he turned, and made his way round the hedge, to the spot where the boat was lying. As they crossed, he told Wilson that he had heard enough to convince him that the Grover and Hunter were among the parties who had attacked the keepers. When they reached the station, they did not find Mr. Thorogood there, as they expected, and, as soon as Will had changed his clothes, Wilson, who had placed his men for the night, walked up with him to the Lodge. They found that the increased and now dan- gerous illness of Mrs. Thorogood had prevented the squire's going down to the station. The fits had recurred with frightful rapidity, and with greater violence each time. Andrew Poore was apprehensive that, if the severe remedies he had applied failed to relieve her, death would soon put an end to her sufferings. Harriette, who heard him express his fears, was so much affected at the thoughts of losing her mother, that her father could not leave her, but remained to offer her every comfort in the power of one to bestow who wanted a comforter and consoler himself. 110 THE PARISH CLERK. Under these distressing circumstances, Will did not think of communicating with his master on the subject of his discoveries, and was about to retire to his own cottage with the lieutenant, when Mr. Thorogood came into the room, and told them that his wife was better, and that the medicines seemed to have taken the desired effect. Will then recounted all that he had heard ; and the following morning it was determined upon that the investigation should be resumed by summoning the two fishermen, with Tom Badely's wife from Seatown, and visiting the Grove to see if any signs of recent occupation were visible. Mrs. Thorogood passed a quiet night under the influence of powerful anodynes, and in the morning, while Souter went to Sea- town with the summonses for the parties whose evidence they wished to obtain, Wilson and the squire proceeded to examine the Grove. It had been shut up, and entirely deserted for some years ; it now presented a miserable appear- ance. Every thing about it looked ruinous and desolate ; for after it had been advertised and offered at a very low rent, without any one's thinking of taking it, the garden had been suffered to grow into a wilderness, and the THE PARISH CLERK. Ill stable-yard was covered with long dank grass. The interior smelt damp and musty, the paper was falling from the walls, and the rain had penetrated the roof, and left dark-green marks on the ceilings of the upper rooms. The woman, who had been put in to take care of it, had given up her office, as she declared she saw such sights and heard such noises that she could not sleep in it any longer. It soon got the reputa- tion of being a haunted house, and was carefully avoided by every one after nightfall. With great difficulty the squire opened the outer door. The lock seemed to have been tampered with, and there were marks as if in- struments had been used to unlock and lock it again. On the stones in the passage, which were green from mildew, the prints of footsteps were quite plain. These led to the door of what was called the housekeeper's room ; the lock had been knocked off, and was lying on the ground near it. On opening the door, the shutters were found to be unbarred, and, on throwing them open, two or three garments be- longing to seamen were seen lying on the ground in one corner, and on the rusty hob of the grate was a small bit of candle and a tinder-box. Several other of the interior doors were found 112 THE PARISH CLERK. opened ; some had had the locks forced off, and others had been picked by instruments, one of which, a small iron hook, was found in the lock. Wilson and the squire left every thing as they had found it, and closed the outer door. Will soon after returned with Tom Badely's wife, who could say nothing more of her husband but that he was gone from home somewhere, and would say nothing about the Grover and Zach ; as she knew that it might be dangerous to her husband and herself to do so. The two fishermen were not to be found ; and the account given of their absence was that the}' were gone in their boats to Bognor rocks for periwinkles. The woman was dismissed upon promising to attend again when called for ; and Will was ordered to watch for the return of the fishermen, and bring them up for examination. Before their return, however, Harriette was motherless, and her father a widower. In one of the fits, which had returned more violently than ever after the effects of the anodyne were over, she had expired in the arms of her husband and child. THE PARISH CLERK. 113 -5 CHAPTER XLII. THE LIEUTENANT'S TALE. " Come, bear a hand, you landlubbers, said the captain of a small cutter, which lay off shore in a small bay, which I, for convenience, shall call Shell-fish Bay, to two men who were lying on their backs in a small cavern, and smoking two very short and dirty pipes. " Bear a hand, I say ! — you don't earn your wages, and if you don't look a little livelier, your berths on board the Fly-by-night will soon be filled by two better men." One of the men thus addressed turned to his companion, and said : — " If times was as they used to be, Oi should zay knock un down, Zach — but d — n it, we must obey un, or starve, or zomething worse. 1 ' 44 Ay, ay, mate," replied Zach, " if every 114 THE PARISH CLERK. body had their own, you mought lay and zmoke vor ever — but up, and to work ; vor there's zum- mut in the wind." " D — n the wind and the water too, I zay I' 1 cried Gregory, whom my reader will be pleased or displeased, as his fancy may be, to recognize in the speaker — " I wish the zhip, and every soul aboard on her, may go to the bottom of the zea next trip. I'm zick o 1 loife, and would as leif be hanged at once, as be ordered about as we be." " Come, come, 'zquire, none o' that — none o' that — it may come sooner than you think for. It's a vearful thing to be y eaten up by the vishes, and to have one's bones washed ashore all zeparate loik," said Zach, shuddering at the bare idea. Further conversation between the parties was prevented by the captain and several men, who entered the cave, and commenced binding four tubs of spirits together in such a manner that they might conveniently be slung over a horse's back and carried across the country. The cavern, in which the preparations for running a crop inland were going on, was situated in the bight of the bay, which I have called Shell-fish Bay, about fifteen miles from THE PARISH CLERK. 115 Seatown. It was nearer to the Hampshire coast, and was flanked on either side by a very lofty and overhanging cliff. The water was so deep under these beetling rocks, that a vessel of heavy tonnage could ride there in safety. On the ex- treme point of one of the cliffs stood what had been a hermitage, erected, it was said, in the dark ages by some wealthy landholder, as an abode for a monk from the neighbouring mo- nastery, whose sole occupation was to offer up prayers for the safety of those whose business was on the mighty deep. It had fallen into ruin, for men, as they grew wiser, placed more dependence on sound timbers than they did on the toe-nails and bones of the saint to whom the hermitage was dedicated, and for which they had to pay a much higher price than a timid modern voyager gives for a child's caul. Whether the relics, which the monk dispensed " for a consideration," had lost their virtues, or opposition relic- shops had been opened along the coast, cannot now be ascertained. It is certain that the monks of the monastery of St. found the hermitage of St. -'s head an unprofitable speculation, and left it and the passing seamen to take care of themselves. The endowment was of course diverted, to procure 116 THE PARISH CLERK. more pleasing occupations than sleeping in a chapel distant five miles from the nearest farm- house. In after ages, the monastery was bestowed upon some lucky court favourite, and the Her- mitage was given up as a receptacle for govern- ment stores, and its " pure gothic" hidden by a small building which was used as a coast guard station. " Now, my men," said the captain or skip- per of the Fly-by-night, when the occupations in which they had been engaged were completed, " no one leaves this cave till midnight. Every thing is ready for hoisting the cargo over the cliffs and running away with it. Caution, how- ever, is requisite, as we have no longer to deal with the easy and lazy lubber who had the care of " the head.' 1 He is removed, and his place filled by a younger but a much sharper hand. Young Poore is not likely to sleep over his duty, so be on the alert. Recollect no violence is to be used, unless we are driven to it. Our object is to get the crop into the hands of those who have been sent for it by our employers, and to get on board as quickly as possible. They may search the Fly-by-night as closely as they please, for her hold is as clean swept as a shop-floor on a Monday morning." THE PARISH CLERK. 117 "Poore!" said Gregory, "who and what is this new man as you do zeem to stand in vear on ?" " He's a son of old Doctor Poore, of Buyemup. The old man's as good a creature as ever breathed, and they say the son's like him. He has just been appointed to this station, through the interest of Squire Thorogood at the Lodge, and is going to marry his daughter. The mo- ther you know died there a few years ago. Though his duty is to see that we pay duty upon our cargo, which we mean to run duty-free, I wish him luck, and a large family,' 1 replied the captain. Several others of the men assembled in the cave, and who either belonged to or knew the neighbourhood well, corroborated the skipper's account. Gregory said nothing more, nor did he ask any further questions, but retired to his former post alongside Zach, after listening to all that was said. They smoked and drank, and con- ' versed by themselves, unheeded by the rest of the party. I must now request the reader to accompany me to Yew-tree Lodge. " Harriette, my love ! my own ! I must now 118 TIIE TARISH CLERK. quit you. Duty calls me away. A few hours more and we meet again only to part when the Great Being whom w 7 e both adore wills it, and then to meet again never to be severed. Adieu. May angels guard you !" " Nay, go not yet, my dear Mac, it is early ; your duty cannot call you hence so soon," said Harriette, fondly hanging on the arm of Mac Alister Poore. " It is early, love ; but Harry and Wilson have insisted on my giving them a seat at my table, and a share of my last bachelor's dinner, ,, said Mac. " Nay, if so, pray go and use your last day of liberty, but don't abuse it. Recollect, you have duties to perform, and duties that may be at- tended with danger," said Harriette. " One kiss, love, the last that Mac Alister Poore will ever, I trust, imprint on the lips of Harriette Thorogood," said the sailor, as he pressed his lips to those of her whom he loved best in the world, and to whom he was to be united on the following morning. How long the kiss lasted I need not tell the reader. It was interrupted by Andrew Poore, who popped out from behind a laurel, and said, " Beg pardon, but would it not be more correct THE PARISH CLERK. 119 to wait till Doctor Placid has made up the ma- trimonial prescription ?" "My dear father," said Mac, "pray don't be absurd." " Dear Doctor," said Harriette, blushing, " pray say nothing about it. Mac is going to leave us, and I — that is — he — we thought " " That the prescription should be tasted be- fore it was taken — eh ?" said Andrew ; " but, come, Harry and the Lieutenant are waiting for Mac. The squire and I are not to be invited, as the party at the Hermitage is to be confined to bachelors." Thorogood and Andrew shook hands with the trio as they parted from them, and bade them not to exceed, as happiness needed no additional sti- mulant from the bottle. Harry and Wilson said laughingly that the poor Benedict ought to be allowed to enjoy himself for the last time, and rode on, followed by Mac, who delayed a little to give his parent and friend the needless assu- rance that nothing on his part should occasion them the slightest uneasiness. I have said that the station called the " Head" or " the Hermitage," to which Mac had been appointed through the interest of his friend and patron, Mr. Thorogood, was distant from Sea- 120 THE PARISH CLERK. town about fifteen miles. It was about the same distance from the Lodge. The road to it lay along the cliffs, or rather the downs which are edged by the cliffs. For the first few miles they rode on laughing and talking — Harry and Wil- son joking about Mac's having to sail under pet- ticoat government, and other matters which they considered relevant to the occasion, and Mac casting the witticisms aside as his vessel had used to cast aside the harmless billows with her bows. As they neared the Head, however, they remarked several men, mostly in pairs, with horses harnessed in a peculiar manner, who evi- dently avoided them as they approached. " There is work cut out for me to-night, I suspect," said Mac. " There is a crop to be run, rely upon it. See, those horses are fur- nished with slings ready to carry off the tubs. The Fly-by-night came in the bay last night, and, when my men boarded her, she had landed her cargo. We are well prepared, however, and I shall not shew fight unless violence is offered, which, from the skipper's character, who is a native of Buyemup, and a cautious and humane man, is not likely to be the case." " Seize, if you can," said Wilson ; u the bride may like a little good tea or lace ; but don't put THE PARISH CLERK. 121 yourself out of the way to harm the fellows. They think that they are justified in cheating the revenue, and you will not be thanked by the government for using leaden arguments to con- vince them that they are wrong." " Let them make the marriage trip a profit- able one,' 1 said Harry, " and keep a sharper look out afterwards. Harriette will expect a little indulgence on the occasion of her wedding to the importers of Valenciennes lace and white Parisian kid gloves." " Duty, my friends, duty, recollect ; but, un- less Fm imperatively called upon to interfere, rely on it my thoughts are too full of the happi- ness that awaits me to-morrow to leave room for planning how to entrap a few poor smugglers. Forward, gentlemen !" said Mac, "my cook has hoisted the signal, ' dinner is ready.' " A smart gallop of a quarter of an hour brought them to the station-house at St. 's Head. A plain dinner and a little very excellent claret paved the way for a cigar and the etceteras. As they sat over this innocent amusement, against which most people whose stomachs cannot sto- mach it rail most vehemently, Wilson began tu boast of his skill in pistol-shooting. " Try your skill," said Poore ; " there hang VOL. HI. G 122 THE PARISH CLERK. over the fireplace three brace of as good barkers as the government stores can supply, all ready primed and loaded. The window is open, and yonder, at about twelve paces, stands an old thorn, the only vegetable production higher than a mushroom in the neighbourhood; try your hand at its gnarled and knotted stem." Wilson took a deliberate aim at the mark, but left no mark upon it. He tried another with the same result. " Confound the claret or the cigar, my hand is not steady. Do you, who never miss, Harry, try your luck," said Wilson, handing him the third pistol. Harry, who never was known to miss, fired twice without success, and, smiling as awkwardly as a man does when he feels inclined to cry from being annoyed, sat down, and said the thorn was, as report said, enchanted. Mac took the fifth pistol, and fired without saying a word to either of his friends. He shot not at the thorn, but at a heap of sand which had been thrown up beside it. He observed that no impression was made upon it, and, after sustaining the jokes of his companions about the unsteadiness of his usually very steady hand, he locked up the sixth and only remaining weapon in his desk. THE PARISH CLERK. 123 As soon as his guests had departed, he opened his desk, and examined the pistol. He found it charged, but with powder only. The ball had, as he suspected, been withdrawn. He summoned his men round him, and told them of the fact of his having seen parties about the downs who were evidently intending to con- vey the successfully landed cargo of the Fly-by- night inland, and ordered every hand to be on the alert. He then dismissed all of them but the man who was next to himself in command. To him he mentioned the withdrawal of the bullets from the pistols, and inquired of him whether any stranger had been at the station. When he found from him that no one had been there, he feared that some undue influence had been exerted over one or more of his men, and that some desperate undertaking was on the point of being attempted. He loaded the pis- tols with his own hands, and, instead of going to bed and trusting his duties to his deputy, as on ordinary occasions, placed a brace of them in the belt by which his cutlass was fastened round him, and went to see that all his men were at their posts and vigilant. He conversed a few minutes with each of them, and left the last of the men with whom g2 124- THE PARISH CLERK. he had been speaking about ten minutes before twelve o'clock. All was then quite quiet, and not a sight nor a sound had occurred to confirm the suspicions entertained of running a crop in- land. On the following morning, at eight o'clock, Dr. Placid was walking across Oakapple Com- mon, brandishing his bamboo, and endeavouring to hide, by rapid motion, the crippling effects of his now habitual lumbago. He had promised to meet the bridal party at the Lodge, and to ride with the bridegroom and his future father-in- law to the church, and to return afterwards to breakfast. He found Harriette neatly dressed in white, and all the parties, concerned and not concerned in the wedding business, but the most important person, the man to be married. Nine o'clock struck, and every body, instead of being surprised, began to be anxious and alarmed. Every excuse that could he thought of was sug- gested to exonerate the tardy lover from blame. At length Harriette grew nervous and pale. Ma- tilda Poore, the bridesmaid, led her from the room, followed by Andrew, who thought that she might require his assistance. Mr. Thorogood and the other gentlemen thought it might be as well lo send a messenger to meet and hurry Mac THE PARISH CLERK. 125 Alister, or, in case of not meeting him, to ride on to the station, and ascertain the cause of his mysterious absence. Just as this arrangement had been determined upon, Will Souter came into the room with his face so ghastly pale, and his look so horror- stricken, that Mr. Thorogood immediately con- ceived that something more than usually fright- ful had occurred. " Speak out, Will," said he ; " let us know the worst at once." Poor Souter sank into a chair, and, placing his clasped hands before his eyes, sobbed and groaned without being able to articulate. " Speak out, man," said Harry, laying his hand on his shoulder, and giving vent to his words in a cheerful tone. " If Mac has had a tumble from his horse from urging him along a little too fast, out with it." " My dear, dear master!" sobbed out Will, convulsively. " If I am dear to you," said the squire, " show your attachment by telling me the worst at once. Is Mr.Poore ill, or hurt?" " Dead — dead — murdered !" said Will, as he fell on the floor, insensible. While the rest of the party were occupied 126 THE PARISH CLERK. with the bailiff, Doctor Placid went out of the room and into the servants' hall — there he saw, from the appearance of the assembled domestics, that the news was already known. Among them was the keeper, who was busily engaged in sprinkling the fainting Patty, now his be- trothed, with copious applications of water. Calling him aside from his duty on his future bride, the doctor asked him how the news of Mac Alister's fate had reached the Lodge. The keeper pointed to a man whom the rector had not observed before, and who was dressed in a seaman's garb, and appeared to be greatly af- fected by the news he had brought. Patty, the moment she had sufficiently reco- vered, in spite of the lesson she had had on a previous occasion, ran up stairs and communi- cated the sad tidings of Mac Alister's death to her young mistress and Matilda Poore. Mr. and Mrs. Poore had left the bride and brides- maid only a few minutes before, for the purpose of joining the others of the party below. The effect of the girl's rash and hasty communica- tion may be imagined. Both Harriette and Matilda fainted ; and Patty, alarmed at the result of her imprudence, screamed and rang the bell as loudly as she could for assistance. THE PARISH CLERK. 127 While Andrew Poore and his lady were engaged in recovering their young friend and daughter, the seaman, who was one of the station-men at St. — — 's head, was taken into the parlour by Dr. Placid, and examined by him and the rest of the party. His account was briefly this — Soon after midnight, this same man, whose station was nearest to the bay, and not far from an opening that looked towards the cabin, fancied he heard a noise as of many men calling from below to others who replied to them from above. It was too dark for him to recognize any object distinctly, but he also fancied that he saw a large party of men, with horses, on the top of the cliff opposite to him. He went into and across the gulley which divides the cliffs, and, on nearing the spot where he had noticed the objects of his suspicions, saw a large crowd busily engaged in hauling up tubs by means of a tackle, and slinging them over the horses. Each horse, as soon as it was laden, was hurried off inland by the man who held it. He then returned as quickly as possible to report what he had seen. The men were soon collected by the firing of a pistol, and proceeded in a body to the spot. They reached it, how- 128 THE PARISH CLERK. ever, too late. The job was completed, and no signs remained of the manner in which the tubs had been handed up the cliffs. Mac Alister seemed to think that the man must have been mistaken, and had fancied all that he had re- ported. He returned, and ordered the men to their several stations again, giving them a strict charge lo keep a sharp look-out, and apprise him if any thing occurred to alarm them or ex- cite suspicion. None of them had occasion to give any alarm, and, when they left their posts to return to the station-house, after it was broad daylight, they supposed that their lieutenant was sound asleep in his apartments, which were at the further end of the barrack-like building, and a little detached from their own rooms. The lieutenant had ordered the man, who acted as his servant, to call him at six o'clock. When that hour struck, he roused the maid, and told her to call her master. She returned, in a few minutes, to say — that Captain Poore, as she called him, was not in his room, and that his bed had not been slept in. He was surprised and alarmed at this information, which he immedi- ately communicated to the other men who were standing about the station-house, waiting for their breakfasts. THE PARISH CLERK. 129 They dispersed in different directions, along the cliffs, to search for their commander; but returned again, having seen nothing whatever but the Fly-by-night trip her anchor and stand across for the other side. The coxswain said that it was possible that Mac Alister had gone over to the Lodge, instead of retiring to bed ; but this seemed too improbable to the others, who said that he would not have done so with- out informing some one of his intention, espe- cially as it was likely his services would be re- quired. The maid- servant, too, who was present, said that the clothes — a new uniform, in which her master meant to be married — were still lying where he had placed them the night before. She urged them to make a further search, which they readily did. It was useless, they knew, to examine the cliffs again, as they were com- pletely bare, for miles round, of any shrub or tree that could hide an object as large as a man. They, therefore, descended the gulley, and took each a different direction, to search among the rocks below the beetling cliffs. Scarcely ten minutes had elapsed before the man, who brought the tidings to Will Souter and the keeper, sum- g5 130 THE PARISH CLERK. moned the rest to him by loud and repeated shouts. When they reached the spot, which was about a quarter of a mile beyond the cavern, and about half a mile from the station-house, they found the body of the lieutenant, lying on its back, among some rugged rocks, partially covered with sea-ore, and just above the reach of high- water mark. Had it fallen a little more than fifty paces above this spot, it must have fallen into deep water, and would, probably, have been carried off by the tide and never found. While his comrades carried the body to the station, the man who had found it mounted his poor master's horse, and hastened as quickly as his fears of being thrown from the animal would allow him to the Lodge, to communicate the dis- tressing tidings. To give a faithful description of all that passed at the Lodge during that miserable day would be impossible. A scene of greater misery was never witnessed. Over it I shall draw a curtain, and briefly sum up the results of the shocking occurrence which occasioned it. The inquest which was held on the body, and upon which all the principal persons in the neighbourhood were summoned as jurors, in- THE PARISH CLERK. 131 eluding Mr. Muddler, who of course proposed himself as foreman, terminated in a verdict ot " Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown." A surgeon from Chichester — for poor Andrew, the father of the murdered man, independently of his paternal feelings, was too much engaged with Harriette and his daughter to attend, gave his evidence so confidently as to convince the jury and every one, that death had been caused by the blow of some heavy weapon upon the temple, the bones of which were fractured. This could not have been caused by the fall from the cliff upon the rocks, as the body was found upon its back — a position from which it was clear it had not moved. There were no marks of a struggle on the cliff above, which was of so peculiar a character that had two or more men met with any resistance in throwing a person over, they must have been precipitated headlong with him. The short green turf sloped down so suddenly towards the edge of the cliff, that few persons would have ventured down it except on their hands and knees. Mr. Thorogood and his son supposed that their wretchedness could receive no addition. In this they were deceived. The same night • 132 THE PARISH CLERK. that terminated the inquest on the bridegroom, brought forth an event that called for another on the bride. Harriette was found dead in her bed by Patty, who professed to sit up with her as nurse, but who had slept soundly all the night. The phial containing laudanum, of which she was to give her mistress a few drops if she appeared restless and disturbed, was found empty. The jury, in mercy to the already lacerated feelings of the family, gave it as their opinion that death had been caused by a mistake in taking an overdose of a sleeping draught. Two men of Seatown, who allowed that they, with many others, had assisted in carrying the tubs inland on the night of the murder, were apprehended, and, as the assizes were near at hand, were tried, as accessories to the deed, at Lewes. Nothing, however, could be elicited from the numerous witnesses that were ex- amined, to criminate the men, and they were acquitted. I could write to a great length of the excite- ment caused, not only at Seatown and in the immediate neighbourhood of Oakapple, by these events, but in the counties around. I shall not do so, but leave it to the imagination of my readers. THE PARISH CLERK. 133 This excitement was not a little increased by an event which occurred within a week after the trial, and about a month after the murder of the lieutenant. One of the severest storms that ever visited the coast caused the wrecks of many vessels ; indeed, of all that had not foreseen its approach, and put into some friendly harbour. The coast opposite " the Hermitage" was strewed with wreck, and exactly opposite the spot where Mac Alister Poore's body was found, two corpses were picked up lying near the stern of a small vessel which bore the name of '* The Fly-by- night." The bodies were recognised as those of Gregory of the Grove and Zachary Bluff, his Huntsman. The mystery of the murder was never re- vealed. Mr. Thorogood sold the Lodge, and with his son Harry, who retired from the navy, left England for America. A letter received by Andrew Poore, who, out of affection for his wife, had caused her brother Gregory's remains to be buried respectably, will explain to the reader the final destination of the squire, and the fate of more than one important character in this my little history. After giving a long detail of their voyage, 134 THE PARISH CLERK. and subsequent travels in search of a settlement, the letter was continued thus : — " Soon after we arrived at Michigan, I heard of an estate to be sold, which, from its highly cultivated state, and the comfortable house built upon it, I thought would suit me. I hired horses for myself and Harry, and rode over to see it. I was so much pleased with it, that I immediately closed with its proprietor. Hearing that I had a respectable neighbour in a miller who lived about a mile below, and wishing to ask his assistance in conveying furniture and other necessaries to my new abode, I walked to his house. Judge of my surprise, when in the owner of the Nook-stream mill I discovered Burghly, the Tide-ender. He received me with great courtesy and kindness, and seemed pleased to have me for a neighbour again. He is a wealthy man, and looked up to by all around as one of the most upright men and the cleverest justice of the peace in that part of the country. He has a wife and five children, who seem to adore him. He told me that he had had a visit from Ebenezer Brief, who had got into some scrape in London, by dabbling in South Sea stock, or some other swindling transaction, in order to make his ample fortune larger, and THE PARISH CLERK. 135 had been forced to quit his native land with the risk of being taken up for a rogue, and with a very small sum of his original property left. The little that was left did not avail him long ; he was found frozen to death in some uncleared ground which he insisted on crossing to his lodging when in a state of inebriety, brought on by his old attachment to tobacco and spirits, both of which he found too cheap in this country to be used in moderation. " And now, Andrew, if Matilda can make up her mind to pass the remainder of her days so far from the land of her birth, Harry, my boy, who loves her as she deserves to be loved, will leave me here to prepare for the reception of himself and his bride, who shall find a second father and a sincere friend in one whose greatest pleasure consisted in the friendship he felt for her own father." This arrangement Andrew thought could not be " more correct," and Mrs. Poore, though grieved to lose her daughter's society, knew too much of that daughter's secret wishes to offer the slightest opposition to it. Of the other characters of my little story, I have but little to add. Mr. Muddler, "the only barrither on the bentb," w r as not elected 136 THE PARISH CLERK. chairman of the Quarter Sessions, and said he was " dithguthted, and would dithmith the dutieth of a justith from his mind for ever." Mr. Litigious Graspem lost his office and his liberty for breaking a little dirty boy's head with his staff; he was tried for the assault and fined. Not having the wherewithal to pay, he was committed to prison, and carried down the streets of Buyemup in a cart amidst the '* hoo- rays" of every little dirty boy in the town. Poor Patty was married to the keeper ; and Will Souter, who had saved money enough to purchase a small farm, part of the property of the Lodge, gave away the bride, and presided at the marriage-feast. He humanely took old Becky, whose annuity was missing at the bank, to live with him as housekeeper. Deale and Rosewater fortunately died in the course of nature, before the introduction of the new police force, and thus escaped being turned loose upon the world, as manv of their brethren were. THE PARISH CLERK. 137 CHAPTER XLIII. THE TREASURE-FINDER. My reader is not to suppose that the tale con- jointly furnished by Lieutenant Strong, Davy Diggs, and my landlord, or, more poetically, " mine host," was completed in one night. Tout au contraire. It consumed several nights and several bottles of grog, ere it was brought to its conclusion. I might have followed the laudable example set me in " The Arabian Nights," with which my earlier days were enchanted, and divided the tale into many parts, introducing the remarks of the three parties above named, which were elicited by my inquiries as the tale pro- gressed. I have not done so, as I remember me well that I was so annoyed and disgusted at "the breaks" in the adventures which befel 138 THE PARISH CLERK. Haroun Alraschid and his vizier, that I avenged myself upon the author of them by skipping them, and thus " keeping the even tenor of my way " through them without interruption. No tale, or tail, in my opinion, is benefitted by being disjointed or abbreviated, excepting those with which the vertebras of spaniels and terriers are terminated; as the little thief observed when he could not escape the eye of the judge at the bar of the Old Bailey, '* I never could abear a short dock." I prefer the natural xmcurtailed switch of the wild Arabian, to the tobacco-pipe stump of the modern racer. But I will not en- tail upon myself the annoyance of my reader by pursuing the further detail of my opinions upon caudalities. Davy Diggs, to whom I paid my visits daily, grew daily more communicative, and more amusing to me. My health, too, which was completely restored by the invigorating breezes of the sea, enabled me to enjoy my walks and his remarks more fully than I had done on my first arrival at Seatown. Many anecdotes with which his fluent tongue and fertile memory sup- THE PARISH CLERK. 139 plied me, might be recorded for the amusement of my reader. The length to which my last tale was necessarily extended, warns me, however, that the usual limits of 3 vols., 8vo., are so far trenched upon as to compel me to confine myself to the relation of one which will, perhaps, in- terest the reader as much as any of the others. I confess, nevertheless, that I have a difficulty in selecting this one tale from several that enter- tained and interested me much. " Davy," said I one Sunday, after all the con- gregation had left the church and churchyard, where they always lingered to exchange a few kind words with the parson, and, perhaps, to thank him for. his excellent sermon, " Davy, you have made, as usual, a sad blunder or two to- day." '* As how?" inquired Davy, embracing my- self and the empty church in one convolution of his sharp eyes. "Why," said I, "in the Psalms, the sixth verse of the eighty-third, you read ' JEdommities, yEsmallities, and Mobbities,*' which you know ought to be read " 140 THE PARISH CLERK. " Yees, yees, no doubt, but that's noigh enow. Seatown folk understand oi very well, 1 ' said Davy, blushing, however, at the rebuke. " And then," I continued, " when you told the congregation there would be no service this evening, you committed yourself and the rector too/' " As how, pray ?" asked Davy, amazed, as his looks implied. " Your notice ran thus," -said I. " This is to gi notuss there won't be no suvviss here this ar- ternon, becos parson's going a fishing in the next parish." " Well,"" said Davy, " parson told oi so 'fore church." " Officiating, Davy," said I. " Officiating, not fishing. The bishop would not be pleased to hear of one of his clergy going fishing on a Sunday." Davy made a clever defence, which will hardly bear repeating in these fastidious times, when the slightest jocular allusion to serious matters is accounted blasphemy. Suffice it to say it was grounded on the employments of some of the THE PARISH CLERK. 141 apostles. The reader's imagination will supply the gist of his argument. The skill with which Davy generally managed to defend himself was never more manifest than on one occasion. The present incumbent, irri- tated at hearing his clerk read in his fine melo- dious tones : — u Jeball, Amon, and Almanac, three Philistines with them that are tired," took great pains to make him perfect in the responses by hearing him pronounce all the hard words which occurred in the Psalms of the day, be- fore they went into church. Davy read well and accurately for some weeks, but at length re- turned to his former careless method of making a shot at the proper names. On being expostulated with, he coolly replied : — " One on us must read better than t'other, or there wouldn't be no difference 'twixt parson and clerk, so i" gives in to you. Besides, the sort o' reading as you taught me would not do here. The p'rishoners told oi if oi didn't gi in, and read in the old stoyle loike, as they wouldn't come to hear oi, so oi dropped it." One more blunder which my friend committed 142 THE PARISH CLERK. I must record, and, then begging my reader's pardon for detaining him to listen to Davy's failings, I will proceed more modoque meo to my tale. The immediate successor to Doctor High- priest, who held the living of Seatown in the time of my first story of Squire Leatherbreeches and his hopeful cubs Esau and Jacob, was a young gentleman fresh from the University, who had been greatly addicted to horse-racing in his early days. When he was ordained, he wisely but with difficulty resolved to throw his betting- book into the fire, and eschewed Newmarket, Epsom, and Ascot. Temptation at a distance is easily resisted ; which may account for the firm- ness displayed by the new incumbent. A ready means of gratifying his old propensities occurred, and his resolution failed him. The officers of a regiment quartered in the neighbourhood got up a race to " come off " on the sands at Worthing. The young parson could not resist the attraction, and he told Davy to give out to the congregation that he should not have an evening service, explaining to him in confidence THE PARISH CLERK. 143 his reasons for wishing to get to Worthing that afternoon. His horror may be imagined when he heard Davy, as he was in the vestry ex- changing his surplice for his gown, announce to the congregation, in loud sonorous notes : — " This is to gi' notuss no suvviss here this ar- ternoon, becos measter meyans to get to Worth- ing to-night, to be in good toime for reayces to- morrow morning." He mounted the pulpit, blushing and feeling very miserable; indeed, so miserable that he would not have been able to get through his sermon, had not Davy dissipated his unpleasant feelings by working away more vigorously than usual on the " grinstun or g an ." But, to return to Mr. Diggs, and my conver- sation with him upon the Sunday when he com- mitted the '* fishing " blunder which I have re- corded. " Come, Davy, as your duties are over for the day, you shall dine with me at John Layton's, and afterwards tell me the story of the man who was lucky enough to find a large sum of money 11 144) THE PARISH CLERK. said I, as Davy was locking the outer door of the church. " Much obliged," replied Davy, u but oi al- ways dine with the parson on Zundays." " Well, but he is going out to do duty in the adjoining parish," said I. "He won't teake his dinner wi' un," said Davy, " and I never break through old customs. 11 " You can join me, then, after dinner," said I. "Certainly," said Davy : "the servants and oi have only a point of ale a-piece, and that's zoon zettled. But, avore you do hear the story of Tobias Listless's good vortin, you mun zee his tombstone." Suspecting that Davy had garnished this tomb with some of his " s'pulchral po'try," and not wishing to offend his vanity by refusing to read his effusion, I followed him to the eastern end of the church. Under the large arched window which surmounted the communion-table, I saw a small tablet resting against, rather than let into, the wall. It told how Tobias Listless lay there, and gave such information of his age and virtues as will not interest the reader until he THE PARISH CLERK. 145 has read his little history. Beneath the inscrip- tion, and almost hidden by the long and rank grass, was Davy's effort in verse, which he him- self prized very highly. It ran thus : — '* Here Lyes The Body Of Tobias Listless, Who Departed This Life, Aged 62. Some Folks May Doubt and Think It Very Funny, But He Was Carried Off By,Finding Too Much Monny." I with some difficulty deciphered these words, and, when I had deciphered them, did not bestow upon them the laudations which Davy by his looks showed that he expected I should do. He made no remark, however, but tore away the long grass, so as to admit the passers-by to see his verses, and to admire them, no doubt more than I had done. I walked down to tfje Fisherman's Return, and soon after I had ended the plain but excel- lent dinner provided for myself and her family by mine hostess, Davy Diggs joined us. As the afternoon was gloriously bright we ad- journed to the large porch. When the table was covered with the usual requisites for " cloud VOL. III. H li(> THE PARISH CLERK. compelling,"" and manufacturing strong winds from strong waters, Davy began his tale, which I shall translate into plain language, and tell for him. THE PARISH CLERK. 147 CHAPTER XLIV. THE TREASURE-FINDER. Upon the flourishing farm, now rented by " Varmer Vield," as the natives call Farmer Field, lived one Tobias Listless. He held it at a very moderate rent, under one of the family of the Leatherbreeches. The soil, though flinty and shallow, did not prove itself ungrateful, but re- warded his careful tillage, and the bountiful supplies of nutriment with which he covered it, by yielding him more than an average yearly crop. As corn was dear, and he had but little to pay for labour, he soon accumulated, what was considered in Seatown, a very large sum of money. He worked hard himself, and made his sons, two active young fellows, work still harder. His prudent helpmate and her daughter, Mary, h 2 148 THE PARISH CLERK. the youngest of the family, managed the dairy and all the duties of the home department with rigid attention to the rules of domestic economy. The more money Tobias, or Toby, as he was called, acquired, the more he longed for. He never took any pleasure himself, and he thought it quite needless for his children to share in the amusements of the other young persons about them, except on Sundays. Then, after they had, done what was absolutely necessary about the farm, they were allowed to go to church, or to spend the day just as they pleased. This indulgence, however, was at length de- nied them. Toby thought that fifty- two days in every year ought not to be wasted, and that much might be done on a Sunday to add to the store he had already heaped up. The young men at first expostulated against, and might probably have succeeded in convincing their parent of, the impropriety of desecrating the day set apart for more serious duties, and of the necessity of a little rest from their labour, had not the rector, who was rather a trouble- some man, interfered in the matter. He very THE PARISH CLERK. 149 injudiciously denounced Toby, as a sabbath - breaker and a yearner after the things which perish, from his pulpit Sunday after Sunday, in- stead of expostulating with him in private. This not only irritated the father, but also provoked his children ; who, " to spite the parson," worked harder than ever on the Sundays, and felt a sort of pride in relinquishing the sports and pastimes in which they had previously been used to take a part. The harder Toby and his sons worked, the louder did the rector preach against them. If he wanted an example of a man travelling the broad and easy road to destruction, he always selected Tobias Listless. Toby, therefore, was regarded by the rest of the flock as a lost sheep. He was at first looked coldly upon, and eventu- ally shunned by every one who had any preten- sions to decency of conduct. Toby cared for none of these things, but went on adding guinea to guinea, without regretting the loss of his neighbours' good opinion. He did not even mention the rector's name ; but, when his children alluded to him, he joined them 150 THE PARISH CLERK. in the curses they never failed to heap upon the head of the " meddling yogI.' 1 His sons did not take matters quite so easily. They availed themselves of every opportunity ft that presented itself of abusing the parson be- fore his parishioners. Though injudicious in his public denouncement of the errors of his flock, the rector was so kind and liberal in his charities that he was much liked by the majority of his parish. He did not therefore want persons to defend him against the violence and abuse of Toby's family. The disputes, which arose in the accusation and defence of the rector, often led to blows, and to such a disturbance in the parish as required the interference of the squire, in his office of justice of the peace, to quell it. After one riot, attended by more serious results than the preceding, the squire called upon Tobias, with the rector, for the purpose of ex- plaining to him the sinfulness and impropriety of his proceedings, and of reconciling him to his pastor. Tobias, who was just sitting down to his din- ner, saw them coming across the courtyard to- THE PARISH CLERK, 151 wards his door. He suspected the errand upon which they had come, and ordered one of his sons to lock and bar the entrance. The squire turned the handle, expecting to find the access to his tenant's parlour as easy as usual, and was surprised to find the door firmly closed against him. He knocked several times with increasing vigour, but no notice was taken of his noisy applications for admission for some time. At length, the casement window was thrown open with a sudden and violent jerk, and Tobias, with a voice and countenance indicative of rage and displeasure, demanded what they wanted. The squire explained the object of his visit as briefly as he could, and begged to be admitted. Tobias asked him if he owed him any rent ; to which the squire replied in the negative. " Then," said Tobias, " when I do want thee I'll zend vor thee." The squire, surprised and irritated at the un- usual and unwarranted conduct of his tenant, grew angry. After rating him soundly on the rudeness of his behaviour to himself, and on the 152 THE TARISH CLERK. bad example he set to the parish, by neglecting his church and breaking the sabbath, he told him plainly that he should not allow him to remain on his farm as a tenant. " Thee mun wait till lease be out," said To- bias, snapping his fingers. " I'se zeven year to run yet, and then I shall ha' yearned money enow not to care a dom vor thee nor thy varm neyther." "Really," said the rector, who seemed shocked at the man's insolence, "really this is too bad. What do you expect — ?" " Dom thee, Mr. Parson," shouted Tobias, shaking his fist and gnashing his teeth like a maniac, " dom thee, I zay. Thee hast made I the laughingstock of the village. To thee I owe that the vinger o 1 scorn be pointed at me. I owe thee no tithe, and never do thee zet thy voot on my premises again, lest zomething bad do come on't." All further remonstrance was prevented by Tobias's shutting and fastening the window. The squire and the rector could do nothing but retreat, expressing their mutual regret that THE PARISH CLERK. 153 their visit of peace had thus terminated in an open declaration of hostilities on the part of Tobias. By the good advice of the squire, no further allusion to his tenant's conduct was made from the pulpit, and the parishioners were induced to abstain from all arguments and disputes with any of his family. Peace was thus restored, and remained for some time uninterrupted. To- bias took especial pride in paying and demand- ing a receipt for his rent and his tithes before twelve o'clock of the day on which they became due, and refusing to partake of the little feast which was prepared for the payers on those occasions. One Sunday, about two years after the squire's unsuccessful attempt to reconcile Tobias to the clergyman, an event took place which had a re- markable effect on the politics of Seatown. As he, Toby, and his sons were busily engaged in sowing a piece of barley — for it was about the beginning of April — they saw that a large crowd was collected in the open space at the upper end of the village, where the remains of h5 154 THE PARISH CLERK. a cross still stood. A large tree, protected from the sea-breezes by the neighbouring buildings, overshadowed the ruined cross and the parish pound, which was erected close by its side. This was the favourite lounging-place for all the idlers of the village. The tree afforded them shelter from the rain and the sun. The steps of the cross offered those who preferred it a seat, and the rails of the pound presented others, who chose to remain standing with something to lean against. Thither, therefore, with their pipes in their mouths, the amphibious inhabitants of Seatown were wont to repair. There they spent their idle moments, exchanged the few ideas they could muster among them, and talked over their fishing and smuggling adventures. The assemblage of a crowd at this spot would not have attracted the attention of Toby and his respectable sons had it not been larger than usual, and accompanied by such a noise of shout- ings, screamings, and laughings, as was never before heard on the sabbath in the orderly and quiet village of Seatown. Toby wondered what could be the cause of THE PARISH CLERK. 155 the disturbance, but went on sowing his barley. The uproar, however, increased to such a height that he at last sent one of his sons to ascertain the cause of it. He returned, and told his father that it was caused by a ranting preacher, who, having adopted the stone cross as his pulpit, was trying to convince the inhabitants of Seatown of the error of their ways. This he had done in such plain and offensive language as called forth their indignation, and they had succeeded in driving him away by their shouts and yells. " Dom the canting thief!" said Toby; " zarved un right ; they ought to a ducked un " — a sen- timent in which his sons cordially agreed with him. On the following Sunday, the Ranter, not daunted by the opposition he had experienced on his previous visit, again took his position on the upper step of the cross. He pulled a book from his pocket, and gave out a hymn, which he sang with more fervour than melody, accom- panied by the inharmonious hootings, scream- ings, and hissings of the crowd which was soon assembled about him. 156 THE PARISH CLERK. He finished the hymn, and, after removing the perspiration from his forehead with his handker- chief, took out a small bible, and named the text from which he meant to lecture. This was the signal for a more vigorous attack. Instead of howls, groans, and hisses, mud, apples, and rotten eggs were resorted to. The preacher per- severed for some time, indeed until he had nearly finished his discourse, but was eventually driven from his post by a large Swedish turnip, which was aimed at him by the powerful hand of Tobias Listless, and took effect upon his nose, whence such torrents of blood flowed as effectu- ally checked the torrents of eloquence that had been issuing from his lips. He descended from his pulpit, and went to a small pond near, to soak his handkerchief in it, in order to remove the blood from his face, and to check the haemor- rhage. Tobias and his sons followed him, and, before he was aware of their intention, seized him by his arms and legs, and hurled him into the midst of the pool. For this feat the crowd cheered them, and they returned home, on better terms with their neighbours than they had been for some time. THE PARISH CLERK. 157 No one expected that the ranter would venture to put in another appearance after the injuries he had sustained. In this they were deceived, if not disappointed. On the following Sunday there he was again, singing away as if no oppo- sition had been made to his attempts at convert- ing his persecutors. He was with difficulty driven from his vantage ground, but was at last carried off by Abel Listless, Toby's eldest son, who forced his head between the preacher's legs, and thus removed him from the village. As he was thus borne along, a mark for the scoff and derision of his enemies, he told Abel that " he delighted in persecution as became a saint, and should hold forth again and again, until the darkness in which the inhabitants of Seatown were involved should vanish under the rays of the light which his lamp should give forth." Abel mentioned his determination to the crowd, who hit upon a plan which they thought would effectually prevent his outpourings being heard. Toby kept a large number of pigs, and, on the Saturday night, though ravenous and grunting 158 THE PARISH CLERK. for their food, they were allowed to retire sup- perless to their beds. On the Sunday morning, when the ranter, as good as his word, took his station upon the steps of the cross, and began to sing his opening hymn, Toby with his sons, each armed with a corn-measure, in which they rattled some beans, marched up to the spot, fol- lowed by all the hungry hogs they could muster. Such a din has seldom been heard ; the grunt- ing of the nearly starved and ravenous animals alone was enough to drown the most powerful voice. But it was " aided and abetted " by the discordant yells of the mob, who were excited to compete with the noisy swine by the preacher, who remained at his post, expounding his text, and turning up his eyes, as if nothing unusual was going on. The rage of the multitude at his coolness, and the failure of their experiment to silence him, would probably have vented itself in a manner injurious to the enthusiast, had not the squire and the rector, who had been informed of what was going on, appeared upon the scene, attended by Davy Diggs, in his office of parish constable. THE PARISH CLERK. 159 Toby and his sons rattled their bean-measures, and withdrew the hogs as soon as the trio hove in sight, and many of the crowd, unwilling to be seen by the squire and the parson in the act of rioting on a Sunday, slunk off to their houses. The ranter, instead of giving over his preach- ing when he saw two respectably dressed persons coming to his rescue, attended by the constable, whose office was denoted by his staff, redoubled his exertions, and loudly declaimed against those who bore the sword of justice in vain, and those who, like the sons of Eli, took an unfair share of the offerings. " Woe ! woe ! woe !" shouted the ranter. " Ay, whoah ! whoah ! whoah ! *' responded Davy, " as they do zay to the horses when they do want 'em to stop — and I'll stop thee. Aint thee a pratty vellow to be a circumventing of people in this way ? Come out ont, I do tell thee." " I will resist thee ! I will resist thee ! " screamed the ranter, " even as thy namesake, the son of Jesse, did resist the man of great stature, the Philistine." 160 THE PARISH CLERK. Davy raised his hand to seize the opposition preacher by the collar, and was knocked down by a powerful and well-directed blow of the ranter's book, which lighted on his scull. Davy rose quickly, and gave his opponent a smart blow across the shins with his staff of office, and while he stooped to rub them, made him his captive without further resistance. " Hurrah ! " shouted the few of the crowd who remained. u Well done, Davy ! Well fought, Amen !" The squire addressed a few words to them, and begged them to retire peacefully to their homes, which they did the more readily as they thought that the preacher would be sure to be sent to prison. They knew the strong feeling which then existed in the breast of most people against itinerant preachers, and thought that the rector would not fail to do his best to persuade the squire to visit a man who had opposed him in his own parish with the heaviest penalties which the law could inflict. As the squire, with the rector by his side, led the way to the hall, followed by Davy and his THE PARISH CLERK. 161 prisoner, the latter began to preach again. He had scarcely commenced, however, when Davy, whose hand was firmly fixed within his shirt- collar, gave his knuckles a twist. This operation contracted the collar so much, that the breath, much less the words, could scarcely escape from his prisoner's windpipe. The moment the grasp was relaxed, the preacher attempted to speak, but Davy gave an extra squeeze, which stopped the words, and brought a deep blue tinge into the features of his prisoner, and made him look as if he were being choked. When they arrived at the hall, the preacher, on being called upon to give an account of him- self, launched out into a violent tirade against the church, its ministers, tithes, and rates, for which Davy felt very much inclined to knock him down. He refused to say who he was, or where he came from, and told the squire, who offered to release him upon his promising not to inter- rupt the peace of the village by preaching in it again, that " he should raise up his voice in the streets every Lord's day, until he had convinced the people of the error of their ways, and taught 162 THE PARISH CLERK. them where to seek for the true manna in the wilderness wherein they were wandering." The squire, thinking that a few hours 1 con- finement, and the dread of a prison, would bring the man to a sense of his folly and danger in creating a disturbance on the Sabbath, told Davy Diggs to lock him up in the saddle-room for the night, and to see that he was supplied with re- quisite food. The rector interceded, and begged that he might be allowed to go at large. The preacher declined his interference in his behalf, and in- sisted on being, " like Paul, thrust into prison by the heathen." Davy, fearful lest the merciful pleadings of his master should operate on the kindness of the squire, hurried his prisoner off, and put him into the saddle-room. He then locked the door of it, and put the key into his pocket. He knew that he could not escape, as the only opening from the room, except the door, was a small window above it, which opened only wide enough to admit the passage of a cat. Davy went with the rector to church for the THE PARISH CLERK. 163 afternoon service, and, on his return, proceeded to visit his prisoner, and to carry him some pro- visions, as the squire had ordered him. He ob- tained some bread and meat from the pantry, and was surprised to find none of the servants in the house. His surprise was greatly increased when he went into the stable-yard, for there stood the housekeeper, butler, footmen, game- keeper, huntsman, whipper-in, cook, scullion- wench, and all the maids — in short, the whole establishment, men and boys — listening with mock gravity to his prisoner, who was expound- ing to them from the small aperture above the door of his prison-house. Davy was so disgusted that he took a ham- bone from the basket of provisions, and hurled it at the preacher. Crash went the glass, and the expounder and his audience disappeared. 164 THE PARISH CLERK. CHAPTER XLV. THE TREASURE-FINDER. On the following morning, the preacher, in- stead of being humbled by his confinement, was quite outrageous. He insulted the squire and the rector in the grossest manner, though the latter, in his presence, used every argument he could think of to induce the former to allow his prisoner to go at large. It is needless to repeat the language of this person, who boasted of having received grace above measure, and instructions to go forth and convert his brethren in the flesh. It was made up of the jargon of his species, and gave more offence than the plain every-day slang of the idle vagabond, by a disgusting commixture of Scripture phrases with the grossest abuse and ribaldry. THE PARISH CLERK. 165' After consulting with the rector upon the best course of proceeding, the squire fined the ranter for the assault on the constable, Davy. As he had not wherewith to pay the fine, he was committed to prison. He refused to walk to the place of confinement, and was carried over in a cart. Davy Diggs sat by his side, and was very greatly annoyed by his singing a series of hymns, alluding to his captive state, all along the road, and to the very gates of the prison, in the presence of a tail of snobs who accompanied him on his way. The parishioners of Seatown were all rejoiced at the strong measures resorted to by the squire, for putting a stop to the disturbances which were likely to occur every Sabbath-da} 7 , from the persevering though mistaken zeal of the in- truder. Nothing more would, perhaps, have been thought about the man, had not the rector, very unwisely, made his indecent interference with his flock the subject of his discourse on the fol- lowing Sunday. He did not confine himself to a violent tirade against the ranters in general, 166 THE PARISH CLERK. and to this energetic specimen of the breed in particular, but launched out into a severe and unwarrantable abuse of every denomination of Christians that differed from the established church, either in doctrine or practice. Though the rector's flock was as orthodox and as much attached to the church as most country congregations, still they thought his censures against all who differed from himself and themselves too sweeping and severe. Some too had relatives and friends among the Wes- leyans and other dissenters, and did not exactly relish being told that they were doomed to per- dition, because they did not go to church. The sermon was consequently much canvassed, and the parish became divided in their opinions upon it. Some espoused the rector's cause violently, and said he had only erred in not going far enough. Others, on the contrary, thought he had gone too far, and shown a de. gree of illiberality of which they had thought hirn incapable. Tobias Listless, though he did not hear the sermon itself, as he was busy at harrow on th<* THE PARISH CLERK. 167 day of its delivery, heard many of the remarks made upon it. As he fancied himself aggrieved by the rector, in consequence of the public re- marks he had made against himself from the pulpit, he unhesitatingly joined that side which condemned the parson. He not only abused him on every occasion, but, thinking to annoy him as much as possible, he went over to the gaol, paid the fine out of his own pocket, and liberated the ranter. Even this was not enough. He brought him over to Seatown in his market- cart, and paraded him up and down the village, and especially before the rectory windows. He invited him to his house, and gave him permis- sion to use one of his vacant barns as a chapel on the following- Sunday. In order that he might not be compelled to preach to the rafters and thatch only, Toby in- vited all those who objected to the rector's ser- mon, to come and hear the preacher's defence of himself. Thinking that this alone might not be a sufficient inducement to them to accept his invitation, he announced his intention of pro- viding the wherewithal to amuse the stomach 168 THE PARISH CLERK. as well as the ears of the assembly. He went to a great expense for eatables and drinkables, and all to " spite the parson." A large party of the lower orders was col- lected ; and as the meat was good, the beer strong, and the preacher confined his eloquence chiefly to the shamefulness of taxes, tithes, and church-rates, the bigotry of the rector of Sea- town, and the shabby way in which poor curates were paid, while non-resident rectors and vicars wallowed in luxuries and did nothing, he gained a great many converts. Not a little influence is gained by this kind of preacher, from the fact of his using language, and talking in a tongue understanded of the people. Thus, from the pig-headedness of an ill-conditioned, unbelieving miser, as Tobias Listless was, were the seeds of dissent sown in the minds of the hitherto peace- able and undivided parishioners of Seatown. Tobias might have been satisfied with this opposition to the rector, and have been detened from proceeding in it by the expense, an.', the interruption to his Sunday's work, had not his foeman, as he called the rector, proclaimed from THE PARISH CLERK. JC9 his pulpit that "he and all who attended the preachings of the ranter were excommunicated — beyond the pale of the church — brands re- served for the burning; and threatened to use the strong arm of the law to thrust them forth from the Zoar in which they had taken refuge." Toby, in consequence, extended his invitations and enlarged his banquets. Multitudes flocked to the barn, to have their ears and their palates tickled at the same time. The church was nearly deserted, except by the better orders ; and the rector was at length convinced by the squire, and by the results of his preaching, that his zeal had carried him too far. It was too late, however, to retrieve the error, as the language of the ranter was pleasing to the itching ears of his auditors, and the pleasure with which they listened to his abuse of the sleek and surpliced regular clergy, and the powers that be, was in- creased by the liberal supplies of creature-com- forts provided for them by Tobias, Sunday after Sunday — and all to " spite the parson." Before I proceed farther in my tale, it will be as well to give the reader an insight into the VOL. III. I 170 THE PARISH CLERK. character of the preacher who caused these un- happy dissentions in the village. Jehalelel Junks — for such was the euphonious title borne by the ranter — had been a journey- man shoemaker in London. He worked hard all the day, and gained large wages, which he spent at night at a political club, of which he was chairman. He was looked upon as a power- ful speaker, especially when he was properly wetted, when he gave his majesty's ministers such a ivelting as their extravagant expenditure of the hard-earned tax-money of the working classes richly deserved — as he said. For some eighteen months his popularity was uninterrupted and unsurpassed. His eloquence flowed as fluently out of his mouth as his favou- rite fluid — gin and water — flowed into it. Many of the very finest speeches against the conve- niency and rascality of boroughmongery, which were delivered in the tap, or rather club -room of " the Patriot's Home/' might have (and pro- bably did) served as " models for all the rest" of the powerful harangues uttered in " another place" upon the same momentous subject. Alas ! THE PARISH CLERK. 171 power and place cannot be long held by any in- dividual without exciting the envy and ambition of others. Though Jehalelel was admired by all, he was hated by some, who thought he arro- gated too much to himself. No one dared to attack him as long as his rhetorical powers were undiminished by the powers of Geneva ; but a when his faculties became obscured, and his tongue faltered, under the influence of accumu- lated tumblers, even the weakest speaker in the club " wentered to differ from him on that 'ere pint." On such occasions, Junks usually turned up his nose and rapped the table violently with the president's hammer, hiccupping out, "Order! order ! chair ! chair ! " As his potations increased, his power dimi- nished. He was taken home to his lodgings, one night, so " tightly sewed up," as he, in Crispinian terms, designated a state of drunken oblivion, that he was not aware of a motion having been made and carried, that " Jehalelel Junks is not a fitting and proper person to pre- side over this here club, and that a more properer be elected. 1 ' i2 172 THE PARISH CLERK. When he visited the club, on the following night, there was but one vacant chair, and that at the very bottom of the table, to the left of the vice-chairman. His chair — the chair par ex- cellence — w r as filled, and well filled too, by a very fat tailor, who had often annoyed him by " wentering ha hoppisite hopinion" to his own. The hammer — that he had used to aid his knock-down arguments, and to preserve order and arrangement in debate — was being wielded by the hand of one who had never before handled any thing more imposing than a goose. Junks stood amazed and horror-struck — he eyed the whole party with inquiring looks, but no eye was raised respondingly. Every optic was timorously directed to the surface of the deal club-room table. As a body — the club was prepared to oppose his pretensions — but not in- dividually. Junks walked majestically up to the tailor, and, throwing aside the lapels of his coat, put his hands into the pockets of his w r aistcoat, and said — " Come out of that 'ere." THE PARISH CLERK. 173 The tailor did not make any reply, but, taking his pipe out of his mouth, pointed with its ta- pering tube to a paper which was wafered up over the mantelpiece. " What's it all about?" inquired Jehalelel. " Read ! — Read !— Read !" shouted the club, rapping the table simultaneously. " Mr. Secretary," said Junks, " read the standing order." The secretary tremblingly obeyed, and with difficulty convinced Mr. Junks that he was no longer chairman of the " Anti-Aristocratical Club of Patriots." Junks turned up his nose, and told them " they were a set of d — d sneaking, paltry, cowardly, Tory willains," and left the room. " Stop !" shouted the chairman — " you ain't paid up your score." Junks either did not or would not hear this ungentle and ungentlemanly hint, but hurried past the bar without saying " good bye" to the landlord. For several evenings Jehalelel was at a loss how to spend his time and his money. He tried 174 THE PARISH CLERK. several other houses where politics were the order of the night — but, after paying his foot- ing, he found that he could not gain the footing he aimed at among his new associates, who did not properly appreciate his peculiar style of eloquence, though they told him he, perhaps, " might do after a bit." Disgusted with politics, Junks took to, what he was pleased to term, religion. Within a few doors of his master's shop was a conventicle, where, in his younger and unconverted days, Junks had been wont to display his powers as a practical joker. In the midst of the preacher's most pathetic touches, when the old women were making ready to squeeze out a tear, a flight of sparrows or pigeons, released from the hand of Jehalelel and his friends, would flutter into the chapel and fan out the muttons with their wings. At other times, the whole assembly were set a-sneezing by a spoonful of Cayenne pepper, strewed upon a red hot fire-shovel, pre- viously placed in a pew ; and once the congre- gation, upon leaving chapel, were precipitated over a small cord, firmly fastened, ankle-high, to each of the outer doorposts. - THE PARISH CLERK. 175 To this conventicle Junks now betook him- self, and, from a patient hearer, soon became a convert and powerful speaker. It suited him exactly — as he found, as soon as his discourse was ended, some one, generally a female, was waiting to invite him to her house, to take a little refreshment after his great exertions in the good cause. Junks loved a hot supper, and, as he supped and sipped, did not care a flea- bite for the disgusted looks of the husband of his invitress. The wife, he knew, though the weaker vessel, was generally the most resolute in having the management of matters. Junks was not a bad-looking man, and was possessed of a pair of shoulders and calves that an Irish chairman — that now-exterminated race — might have envied. He was, consequently, a favourite with the fair sex, and the males hated him cor- dially. Jehalelel received a great many presents, and made a great many female converts. Among the rest, his own mistress, after listening to his powerful arguments, in the absence of her hus- band, agreed to go to chapel and hear him 176 THE PARISH CLERK. " expound." Whether his eloquence or his good looks prevailed is uncertain, but he soon gained such an ascendency over her that her husband's cupboard, cellar, and wardrobe were completely at his disposal. The other ladies who had previously shared the favours of his company were indignant at his deserting their little suppers ; and when they discovered that the evenings — formerly devoted to them in their turns— were entirely devoted to his master's wife, they took care to utter such little scandalous innuendoes, and have them conveyed to his ears, as made the master first uncomfortable, next suspicious, and finally jealous of his foreman, who carried on the business for him in his ab- sence. What really occurred to raise such a passion in the breast of the master-shoemaker was never accurately known ; but he was seen one night, about twelve o'clock, kicking his foreman, the pious Jehalelel, as energetically and as hard as he could, all the way down the street, while his wife cried — and cried " Watch ! watch !" at the door. THE PARISH CLERK. 177 Jehalelel was never seen in that neighbour- hood again. In several parts of the country, which he visited after his calcitratory expulsion from his employer's house, he met with great success as a shoemaker, but did not gain many converts by his preaching. He directed his attention, as usual, to the women ; but he generally found that he was encroaching on a brother preacher's manor — or manner, whichever the reader pleases — and was warned off, as he could not show a certificate of good behaviour from his former hearers. Politics were at a discount. The country was too much occupied in celebrating victory after victory, won by land and sea, to listen to demagogues or patriots. The Tories were un- turnoutable, and the volunteers volunteered to turn out for them in greater numbers every day. Pugnacity was at a premium. Scarlet cloths were looking up — and, as the fighting doctors said, the scarlet fever was endemic, and conse- quently very catching. After wandering from place to place, Jehalelel i5 178 THE PARISH CLERK. reached Buyemup and applied for work, which, being a first-rate hand, he readily obtained. He tried every public in the borough in succes- sion, in hopes of finding a nest of patriots. He found an old nest or two, but the birds had de- serted them j the eggs were all addled, and there was not a young patriot to be found for him to pluck. He then made an experiment in his " sacred calling," as he called it ; but the only chapel in the place was occupied by a respectable Wes- leyan, who differed so little from the church, ex- cept in minor matters, as to induce him to adopt a plan whereby his own congregation might at- tend the church, and his chapel too, if they pleased. He was a Tory too, which Junks thought a good and sufficient reason for not explaining to him his own political views as a safe introduction to his pulpit. The Tories are notoriously illiberal (I ought to say were, for where do you find a Tory now ?) and Junks had often experienced their illiberality, as he said. One case of oppression, which he always quoted in proof of his assertions of the tyranny THE PARISH CLERK. ] 79 and overbearing conduct of the Tories — ab uno disce omnes — was this. Junks, in his early days, quarrelled with his fellow- workmen, or rather they quarrelled with him ; he talked so much about taxation and bloody sponges, wherewith the national debt was to be wiped out of England's slate, that they could not attend to their work. When he solemnly prophecied a speedy end to tyranny and taxation, their wax-ends were suspended in hopeful amazement so long that they could not be drawn through the perforations already provided for them. They lost at least nine pence per week by his rhetorical flourishes. They, consequently, resolved to get rid of him, or strike work. It did not occur to them to strike him, for, as I have said, he was a muscular man. The way they managed was this. They, one day, secreted a new pair of best double-channelled pumps in his coat pocket, just before he left off work. As soon as he had donned his coat, and had reached " the Patriot's Home" to take the chair, in- formation of the supposed robbery was given to his master. Junks was taken up, and locked up 180 THE TARISH CLERK. for the night ; and next morning he was u had up" before the magistrate at Hall. His worship was a church and king man, as all magistrates were in those days, and had a very proper respect for the dignities with which he was invested. He loved to hear himself talk, and was notorious for arriving at very odd con- clusions from the premises laid down and granted. After hearing the case against the prisoner, which was conclusive, as the goods were found upon him, he took out his pocket-handkerchief, wiped his spectacles carefully amidst an awful silence, and addressed him thus: — '' Prisoner at the bar ! — humph ! — you are a well-grown young man, especially for a cobbler, and you ought to be defending your country as a sojer. You are blessed beyond measure with health and strength, instead of which you go about Lunnun purloining of other people's pro- perty. I shall commit you." " You've committed yourself, 1 ' said Junks. " Make out his mittimus," said his wor- ship ; " he's going to be guilty of contempt of court. ' THE PARISH CLERK. l8l Jehalelel would have been tried and found guilty if the men who had played him the trick had not repented of it and owned it to their em- ployer. When the cause came on for trial, no prosecutor appeared, and Junks was dismissed, more inveterately opposed to tyranny and judi- cial functionaries than ever. Having no chance of getting into a chapel as a preacher, Jehalelel thought of enlightening the natives of Buyemup by holding forth in the market-place. He borrowed a nine-gallon cask of his landlord, and placed it in the centre of the square. He had no sooner mounted it and pulled out his hymn-book, than he was down again. Litigious Graspem, then in his full power, had tight hold of his coat-tail, and carried him off and the temporary pulpit with him, to " the mayor for the time being," who released him upon a promise of not offending again, but de- tained the nine-gallon cask as a forfeiture to the crown, and a very convenient vessel to hold some orange wine which his wife had just brewed. Junks shook the dust of the borough from his 182 THE PARISH CLERK. shoes, and tried the villages around. In none did he meet with success, until his cause was espoused by Tobias Listless, to " spite the par- son''* of Seatown. THE PARISH CLERK. 183 CHAPTER XLVI. THE TREASURE-FINDER. Having given this very brief account of the life and opinions of Jehalelel Junks, let us see to what events his introduction into the family of Tobias Listless led. Acting upon the same plan, which he had hitherto found most successful, of making a strong impression upon the favour and affection of his female hearers, Jehalelel laid siege to Mrs. Listless's heart. She, poor woman, was pleased with the attentions of a man whom she looked upon not only as a very clever person, but one who was designed to conduct herself and family on the road to happiness hereafter. She accordingly, in the simplicity of her heart, favoured his plans so far as to give him 184- THE PARISH CLERK. the best room in the house, and furnish him with every thing to render him happy and com- fortable. As she was neither young nor handsome, Jehalelel was quite satisfied with this proof of her affection. He confined his attentions to her, as she thought, paying her great deference, and instilling into her mind his views upon religious matters. As she could read, which was not the case with most of his congregation, he marked out certain passages for her, and recommended her to take her book to her chamber, and there ponder them over in private. This she readily did, as soon as the duties of the dairy and of providing and putting away the dinner were over, leaving him below to talk seriously to her daughter, Mary, and to smoke his pipe. This conduct would be deemed injudicious by most people, as Mary was very pretty, and Junks, as I have said, a personable person. Mrs. Listless, however, was so simple and ignorant of all worldly matters, except making cheese, butter, and bacon, that she saw nothing wrong, nothing dangerous in leaving her daughter alone THE PARISH CLERK. 185 with so pious a person as Mr. Jehalelel Junks. She believed, indeed, that his conversation would be of essential service to her. Junks improved the occasion. He and Mary- were alone for an hour or two every afternoon ; for her mother was, as we have seen, engaged in her room doing her daily task, and her father and brothers were out in the field, attending to the duties of the farm. By what means Junks gained the affections of the girl I will not record ; nor the style of language which he used to persuade her of his superior sanctity, and of her exceeding happi- ness in being beloved by one so favoured as him- self. She believed all he said, not only without hesitation, but with the fullest faith and reliance on his words. She readily agreed to keep their mutual affection a secret from her family and friends until he should tell her when the proper season had arrived fur disclosing it, and request- ing their sanction and consent to their union. Junks's proposals to the lady were, in this case, what is termed honourable. He had ascer- tained, not only that Tobias was wealthy, but 186 THE PARISH CLERK. that he kept his wealth by him in good solid golden coin, called guineas. He did not ex- change them for bank-notes, nor trust them to a banker. All this he had learnt from the mother, but had never even alluded to it to the daughter. He meant, therefore, to marry Mary, provided a certain number of the said golden guineas were assigned over to her as a marriage portion ; if not, the absence of the " dot," as the French call it, would put a full stop to his proceedings in the honourable line. Having thus secured the females of Tobias's household, let us see what progress Jehalelel made with the males. Old Toby, having in the first instance pa- tronized the ranter merely "to spite the par- son," had not calculated upon having to be responsible for his bed and board for any long period. As to benefitting by his preaching, he never dreamed of such a thing. His money had always been the sole object of his adoration. As to another world, he had never thought about it. He was very well contented with this — as long as he could make money in it. THE PARISH CLERK. 187 u Extremes," as the proverb says, " often meet." Tobias, from being an wwthinker, if I may invent a word, and an unbeliever, became a thinker and a sincere believer. He was not converted by the preaching and arguments of his visiter; but hearing the Scriptures quoted, and such very different interpretations put upon some passages of them to what he had heard in his younger days, he was induced to read them, and to think upon them. Though the conclu- sions at which he arrived were not such as would have been approved of either by the rector of Seatown or his rival, the ranter, he admitted certain convictions into his breast, and in acting upon those convictions was zealous and sincere. What his views were it is needless here to say. A work of this sort is not a suitable vehicle for theological subjects. Suffice it to say, they led him to neglect worldly matters entirely. He left the management of his farm to his sons, and wandered about on the beach, either reading or pondering over what he had read. At other times he would shut himself up in a room by himself, and scarcely leave it 188 THE PARISH CLERK. even to take the food necessary to support nature. As he still attended in the barn when Junius expounded on the Sunday, and still allowed his wife to prepare refreshments for the assembly, Jehalelel made use of his conversion, which ap- peared extraordinary to every one, as a strong proof of his powers of persuasion. He quoted him as an example so often that every body began to believe him a preacher of superior talent and unbounded eloquence. This belief might have induced others to yield to his powers of persuasion, had not Tobias one day, to the great amazement of his wife and family and the congregated listeners, and to the no small an- noyance of Jehalelel, risen, after the sermon was ended, and refuted every argument which the preacher had used. He expounded his own views, and supported them with such a body of texts as perfectly amazed his hearers, and dis- missed them to their homes fully convinced that he had received some miraculous aid in the ac- quirement of the knowledge he had displayed. The effect produced by this sudden outpour- THE PARISH CLERK. 189 ing of his views, on his own family and Jeha- lelel, were astounding. The ranter, to use a vulgar term, was dumb-founded. He was beaten at his own weapons. Mrs. Listless was too much amazed to speak or think — so she fainted. Mary, who believed Jehalelel to be all-perfect, fell upon his neck, sobbing, and calling her father by many not reputable names. Abel and John, his younger brother, thought that the old man was mad, and told him so. Tobias left the barn, and sought the retirement of his chamber, without exchanging a word with any one of them. Soon, however, he began to argue with Jeha- lelel, his wife and daughter. Their views were as widely different as possible ; therefore, it was not likely that either party would be con- vinced by the other. Argument was gradually exchanged for reproach, which, on the part of Junks, soon degenerated into abuse. The hitherto peaceable and quiet home of Tobias was altered into an arena of contention and open hostility. The two young men, Abel and John, were much annoyed at these disputes, 190 THE PARISH CLERK. which made them wretched and uncomfortable within doors. They absented themselves as much as possible, and even entertained serious thoughts of requesting their father to furnish them with the means of taking another farm in the neighbourhood, which was then vacant. They were prevented, however, by Tobias, who told them that as he believed that he was called upon to give up all and follow his new profes- sion, he had given up the remainder of the lease into the squire's hands, and should live upon what he had saved up, after purchasing a small cottage — a freehold — adjoining, and building a chapel, in which he should dissemi- nate his own peculiar doctrines. Abel and John applied to the squire, and found that he had gladly relieved their father from complying with the terms of his lease. They entreated him to let them work out the remainder of the term ; but Mr. Leatherbreeches was too glad to get rid altogether of a family which had caused such a disturbance in the village, to listen to their proposal for one moment. THE PARISH CLERK. 191 The young men returned home, and a scene of violence followed, such as had never before been exhibited in Seatown. Mutual accusations and recriminations were almost attended by blows. Jehalalel interfered to prevent the father from cursing his sons, and the young men from laying violent hands on their parent. By the aid of their mother and sister he succeeded, but they left their home that night without leaving behind them any means of discovering the place of their destination. What became of them eventually, we shall see in the sequel. Ere the period arrived for Tobias to quit his farm and take possession of his little freehold cot- tage adjoining, he gave notice to Jehalelel that he could not accommodate him any longer, and that he must look out for another residence. This did not at all surprise the ranter, who could only account for his having been permitted to remain an inmate in the family so long by supposing either that his host had been too deeply engaged in his " new views" to think of him, or that Mrs. Listless had interposed in his behalf. 192 THE PARISH CLERK. This announcement, however, convinced him that he had no time to spare for putting into execution a plan he had long been meditating upon. Mary was so completely his own, that he did not anticipate the least opposition from her. He explained to her his intentions, and, as he expected, she readily agreed to forward his plans. To her mother he did not communicate anything, but relied upon a stratagem he had long con- trived in his own mind to deceive her. At night, when Tobias had retired to bed, Je- halelel mentioned to Mrs. Listless an intention of going over to Chichester in the morning, to purchase some books which he wished to obtain for her perusal. He said that he had thought of walking over, but as the distance was consider- able, and the weather hot, he would venture to ask for the loan of their light market-cart. So slight a favour as this was readily granted, and Mary begged that she might be allowed to go with Mr. Junks, as she wished to make some purchases in the town. This also was acceded to. It was agreed that they should start very early in the morning, and return in time for dinner. THE PARISH CLERK. 193 Until dinner-time arrived on the following day, Mrs. Listless felt no anxiety about her daughter and her friend the preacher. When the meal, however, was over, of which she had eaten alone, as Tobias was, as usual, absent and wandering on the beach, she began to fear that some accident might have happened to them. She did not feel seriously alarmed, until the time for supper had arrived, and, with it, her husband. He did not notice the absence of Jehalelel and his daughter, until his wife ex- pressed to him her surprise at their long ab- sence, and her fears at some accident having befallen them. Tobias listened to her fears and anxieties without attempting to allay, or even to alleviate them. He ate his meal without saying a word, and retired to bed, or rather to his bedroom, where he usually passed some two hours in reading, or in walking the floor to and fro, meditating on what he had read during the day. As it was now midsummer — for scarcely three months had elapsed from the arrival of Jehalelel VOL. III. K 194 THE PARISH CLERK. Junks in Seatown — and the supper-hour was eight o'clock, Mrs. Listless seated herself at a window which commanded, on one side, a view of the road by which she expected her daughter to arrive ; and, on the other, of the sea — the glorious, open sea. The sun was just setting, and shed his rays so brightly over the smooth surface of the ocean, that its deep emerald tint was exchanged for hues of the brightest gold. Whether this resemblance to the metal which all men covet, some more, some less, struck Mrs. Listless, I cannot say. Something, however, brought to her mind the guineas which her hus- band had consumed his early days in accumu- lating. She had done her best to add to the store by being rigidly economical in household matters. She wondered how many of these guineas had been expended in the purchase of the freehold in which they were to live for the future, and whether her husband had yet paid for it. Then she thought of the golden tresses of her fair daughter. Mary ; next, she turned her mind to those feelings which she thought more valuable than gold, and for which she was in- THE PARISH CLERK. 195 debted to the hypocritical suggestions of the companion of her fair child. These thoughts led her to balance in her heart the advantages and disadvantages of his intimacy in the family. On the one hand, herself and her daughter had been, as she fondly hoped and believed, rescued from spiritual danger by the persua- sive arguments of Jehalelel : on the other hand, the family was at variance — a household divided against itself. Her sons had left the home of their childhood, and were as vagabonds on the face of the earth, and perhaps begging their bread, or earning a living by more dis- reputable and dangerous means. Her husband, too, had virtually broken the bond of union be- tween them, and was little better in her opinion than a demented heretic. Still she thought that the balance was in her favour. She respected Jehalelel, and loved her daughter dearly. But where were these two human beings on whom in this world all her affections were fixed? Had there been an echo in Seatown, not of Irish extraction, it would have answered. where ? k2 196 THE PARISH CLERK. The inquiry was answered more speedily than satisfactorily, not by Echo, but by a stable-boy, who drove up to the door, in the light market- cart belonging to Tobias Listless. The noise of the wheels attracted the notice of Mrs. List- less ; and, as she did not see her daughter and the preacher in the vehicle, she rushed out, alarmed, and inquired of the boy where they where. " Where's who? " said the boy, leaping to the ground. " My daughter and Mr. Junks ! " said Mrs. Listless. " Never was interdooced to nayther on 'em," said the boy. " Some shocking accident ! oh ! dear ! some shocking accident must have happened ! " screamed the anxious mother, wringing her hands. "Yes, mum, very shocking," said the boy. " The man as left the cart at our house went off without wiping out the chalks, and master hopes you'll do it for he — two breakfastesses, hay and corn for the horse, and what you will for my bringing him over in the cart." THE PARISH CLERK. 197 " Where is the man, as you call him?" in- quired Mrs. Listless. "Went off with a young 'oman, who corned with him, as soon as they'd a eat the two break- fastesses," replied the boy : " and master, know- ing as it was your horse and cart, and as there was no orders for racking up for the night, ordered I to drive un home, and here un is." Tobias, aroused in the midst of his exercises by the screams of his wife and the loud tones of the stable-boy, came down to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. His wife briefly explained to him the cause of her alarm, and so far roused his feelings as to induce him to question the boy more closely. Nothing, however, could be elicited from him, except that his master had told him that some man had brought some young woman over, early in the morning, in Mr. Tobias's cart, and had left the house directly after they had breakfasted. They had forgotten to pay for their meal, or to leave any instructions about the horse, and so his master had thought it best to send it home. Tobias paid the demand for the breakfasts, 198 THE PARISH CLERK. and satisfied the boy for his trouble. He then put the horse and cart into their usual re- ceptacles, and returned into the house, intend- ing to communicate to his wife a shrewd sus- picion that had entered his head the moment the cart had been brought back without the party who had borrowed it — namely, that Je- halelel Junks had prevailed upon his daughter Mary to elope with him, and become his wife clandestinely ; in order that he might get pos- session of her dowry and her person. I put dowry first — for Toby had formed a pretty accurate notion of the preacher's cha- racter. He entered the parlour, expecting to find his wife indulging in all the " luxury of woe." In this he was deceived ; she was not in the par- lour, where he had left her. He sought her in the kitchen ; but found her not. He shouted out to her ; but received no answer. He then went up stairs to her room — a room that she had occupied ever since "his views" had led him to believe that the believing husband ought to live separately from the unbelieving wife — THE PARISH CLERK. 199 but the room was vacant. He sought his own chamber — the chamber where, for many years, he had cherished his wife and his money as his most valuable effects. There he found her, lying on the floor in a fit, at the foot of the bureau, in which all his gold — the hard-earned produce of his toil — had always been kept. The escritoire was open, and — empty. The treachery of his daughter, and the vil- lany of the man whom he had fed and clothed, became suddenly as apparent to him as it had done to the quicker suspicions of his wife, upon whose mind the truth had glanced the moment the vehicle returned without her religious friend and her daughter. As soon as Mrs. Listless recovered from her swoon, the bureau was carefully examined. The whole amount of their savings, above eight hundred guineas, was gone. Tobias and his wife were beggars. They had nothing left but the little freehold cottage, and a coppice at- tached to it, for which he had fortunately paid when he purchased it, and the furniture of the farmhouse, which they were to quit on the fol- 200 THE PARISH CLERK. lowing day. The stock and implements of husbandry had been already disposed of to the incoming tenant, and paid for. On searching the room of their daughter, all her clothes worth being removed were gone. Jehalelel had provided himself with a wardrobe from the borrowed clothes of his familiar friend. " Jehovah jireh — the Lord will provide," said Tobias, as he fell weeping upon his wife's neck. THE PARISH CLERK. 201 CHAPTER XLVII. THE TREASURE-FINDER. As soon as Tobias, with his wife, had removed into his cottage, he selected the little furniture requisite for their domestic uses. The rest he disposed of ; and, with the produce of the sale, he hesitated for some time whether he should buy a horse and cart, and earn a, livelihood by- carrying fish, seaweed, and the few faggots he might be able to cut in his little nut-wood cop- pice — or purchase a share in a boat, and return to his former occupation of fishing. The reader will be pleased to recollect that every body in Seatown, save and except Davy Diggs, and, perhaps, the parson, was amphibious ; and, whatever other trade he pursued, united to that trade the employment of fisherman and gene- rally of smuggler. k5 202 THE PARISH CLERK. A boat was usually purchased by the joint contributions of three men. One of these held two shares and the command of the vessel. The two others had one share each, and formed the crew. The proceeds of their expeditions were divided among them in these proportions : — the captain took one half; and the crew, or thirds- men, as they were called, one fourth each. Tobias, rightly considering that his age was too far advanced to allow him to expose himself with impunity to the hardships of a seaman's life, resolved to adopt the alternative of pur- chasing a horse and cart. His successor at the farm, pitying his changed circumstances — for all in the parish were acquainted with the roguery practised upon him by the preacher whom he had received and cherished in his house — sold him back his own market-cart and horse, at a smaller sum than he had given for it, a few days before. The squire and the rector offered their services to assist him, but Tobias rejected them with scorn. He was, though humbled by his sudden poverty, still spiritually proud, and, as he fancied, rich in spiritual things. THE PARISH CLERK. 2013 That he grieved for the loss of his daughter is true ; and more, perhaps, for the loss of his hard-earned gold. But the loss of what he tried to think dross, did not affect him so much as it would have done before he entertained an opi- nion that he was inspired for the purpose of bringing the darkened minds of his neighbours into the same enlightened state as his own. He could not afford to build the chapel which he had intended to erect in the rear of his cottage He, however, was determined to discharge the duties which he firmly believed he had been especially commanded to perform. His wife, who was deeply grieved at the loss of her daughter, and at the treachery of her favoured friend, Jehalelel, did all she could to prevent her husband carrying into execution the plan he announced to her of preaching in the streets and highways every Lord's day. She believed him to be doctrinally wrong, and almost mad, because he differed in toto from herself in his religious views. Tobias rejected her advice, spurned her en- dearments, and despised her arguments. He 204 THE PARISH CLERK. had successfully combated with and overthrown the false teacher who had instructed her. He had been commended by the crowd assembled to hear his enemy ; and he felt assured that the same men who had applauded his rhetoric in bis prosperity would listen to him as reverently and attentively — perhaps more so — now that he was in adversity. On the sabbath following his taking possession of his humble home, he took his station on the steps of the village cross. He mounted those very same stones from which but three short months before he had assisted in insultingly forcing the man who had been the instrument uf his conversion from heathenism to, what he was pleased to call, the purest light of the Gospel. A crowd, of course, was soon collected. He exerted all his energies — he stated his argu- ments in plain but forcible language, and main- tained them by proofs and texts poured forth with correctness of chapter and verse, and with the greatest volubility. What was the impres- sion which he made ? The very men and women, THE PARISH CLERK. 205 especially the latter, who had for weeks eaten of his bread and drank of his cup — who had been his loudest applauders — now exchanged looks and smiles, and shrugged their shoulders, as if they deemed him either mad or foolish. One by one they fell away, and left him to preach to the elm tree and the parish pound. They did not insult him openly, either in word or deed ; but secretly called him an " old vool, for not minding his own business." Tobias was hurt, deeply hurt, by this cruel disappointment of all his hopes. He had fondly attributed to his eloquence the effects he ought to have assigned to his creature-comforts. Had he still been able to furnish them with provisions, as before, no doubt his preachings would have been received with the same deference and at- tention by his former hearers. He did not in- form his wife of his failure, but retired to the sea- shore to prepare a more powerful appeal for the following Sunday. She, however, heard of the reception which he had met with, and tried all in her power to dissuade him from renewing his attempts at converting the ungrateful mul- titude. 206 THE PARISH CLERK. Tobias was not to be dissuaded. The more she tried to convince him of the difference of preaching as a poor man and as a, compara- tively, rich man, the more he would not be con- vinced of it. He mounted his pulpit — the stone cross — on the following Sunday, and was greeted with shouts of derision. He left off his dis- course, and was followed home by the children of the village, who jumped and hallooed around him, and called him " Mad Toby, the Ranter." On the third Sunday — for he still persevered — the jeers of the crowd instigated a few of the most disorderly of the village to put in practise the same arts against himself as he had practised against his former friend Junks. He was pelted, spat upon, hustled and driven to his home, with threats of being ducked and sent to prison, if he attempted to preach again. Toby was disgusted with the ingratitude of his hearers ; but he bore their insults without resenting them further than by abusing them as benighted heathens, and uttering whispered anathemas against them. He did not renew his preachings, but kept himself aloof from every THE PARISH CLERK. 207 one — even his wife. He sought the shore during the day, and at night resorted to his solitary pillow. She, poor woman, although the money ob- tained from the sale of their furniture was not yet exhausted, for their expenses were but trifling, foresaw that the time must shortly arrive when their little means would be expended. As her husband did not seem inclined to work, and the horse was fast consuming the little grass that still remained in the little orchard beside their cot, she was resolved to put forth her energies, and gain a something to enable her to support herself and her husband. She harnessed Dump- ling to the cart, and took her station with others on the day which followed this good resolve, at the place where the lobsters, crabs, and other fish were brought to be weighed out and carried away. She was saluted by scoffs and jeerings on all sides, and reproached with her folly in being duped by a ranting preacher, and losing her children and her property through listening to the ravings of a designing knave, who had sue- 208 THE PARISH CLERK. ceeded in making herself a beggar, her daughter a , and her husband a lunatic. All this she bore patiently, and entreated the weighers to let her purchase a small portion of the fish brought on shore to convey to the nearest market. Her request was refused, and the re- fusal attempted to be justified upon the plea that, in their prosperity, both she and her husband had always turned a deaf ear to all who had called on them for succour in their distress. This plea she could not answer ; for, until the reception of the preacher, to u spite the parson, 51 they had never been given to hospitality, and had always turned the beggar from their gate. She turned her horse's head from the place and left the spot, with a conviction that poverty henceforth must be her lot in life. As soon as she was clear of the crowd, she shed the bitter tears ot hopelessness. She was aroused from her miserable state of abstraction by Dumpling's shying at something beside the road. She turned her eyes, and saw an old woman sitting by the wayside, dressed in an old but cleanly red cloak, in whom she recog- THE PARISH CLERK. 209 nised an old fishwife, whose name was Margaret Dawson. She was more commonly called Mar- gery Daw — especially by the children — probably from the habit she had acquired of swaying her body backwards and forwards, as she sat in the sunniest nooks she could find — a motion that accorded with their sport called see-saw ; to which the name they gave her was generally attached as a rhyme without any reason. Margery was now quite blind. All her other senses seemed, as they are in such cases, to be more acute. She knew every one by their step, their voice, or even by their dress, if she could lay her hands upon it. She was treated with great respect by all the villagers, who pitied her for her bereavements, and looked upon her as a prophetess rather than a witch. It will be necessary, for the proper understand- ing of my little tale, to give a short account of her history. The annals of the poor are seldom chronicled, though the poet tells us small beer is. Pauper est ? anathema sit. This reply seems to be the natural answer to the inquiry in this our sea- 210 THE PARISH CLERK. girt isle ; where, to our shame be it said, money and eloquence are profusely lavished on the imaginary ills of the squaws and squatters of some distant region, while the real sufferings of our own poor never pump up tears enough in a large assembly to wet one very thin cambric handkerchief, however affectingly they may be represented. I must say that I want an anti- bilious pill, whenever I hear of some great over- rich manufacturer, who has gained his wealth from the wasted forms and decayed constitutions of the children of the soil, mounting the platform of some public meeting to promote the welfare of our " black brethren ;" and after soft-soaping some oily missionaries who stand smirking by his side, announcing his intention of giving i?500 in support of the "good cause," amidst the plaudits of a set of emasculate males and maudlin females. I always fancy I seethe same fellow applying the billy-roller, in " propria per- sona" in his own shop — but these remarks will be called impertinent to my tale ; therefore I will suppress my bile and my remarks together. Edward Dawson, the husband of Margaret, THE PARISH CLERK. 211 was one of the boldest fishermen and — I must own it — smugglers in Seatown. He was a powerfully-built, handsome fellow, and was ad- mired by all the girls of the village. He selected Margaret from the rest of his admirers, mar- ried her, and proved a faithful and kind partner to her. Six fine boys blessed their union in as many years. Margaret was the envied mother of as handsome and daring a little crew as ever dabbled in the waves, or climbed the cliffs for eggs and sea-birds. To say she loved her hus- band and children would be using too mild a term — she doated on them, she adored them. Her only fear was that she should lose one of them and go mad. Night and morning did she fall on her knees, and pray that such a calamity might be averted from her. What befel herself, provided her husband and children were un- scathed, she cared not. She toiled for their little comforts without murmuring, and a smile of satisfaction from them was an ample reward for all her labours. As the boys grew up, they all followed their 212 THE PARISH CLERK. father's trade, and took to the sea. Many a tem- pestuous night, whilst they were abroad upon the waves pursuing their dangerous employment, did poor Margaret spend in alternate tears and prayers for their safety. Many a time did she wrap her cloak around her, and hurry to the beach to strain her eyes over the boisterous bil- lows, in the vain hope of seeing the little boat which held all she held dear approach its haven in safety. They returned, and all her tears were dried up, all her sufferings forgotten. Year after year passed away. Her Edward and herself were growing old. Her sons had sprung up into men, and were thinking of mar- rying. They had saved a little, and might have saved more, but that they were possessed of " open hands, " that could not clutch and close upon a few coins when their neighbours and friends needed them. One stormy evening, as they all sat together round their cheerful fire, and were congratulat- ing each other upon having deferred their inten- tion of crossing to the Islands on so boisterous a night, a sound, recognised as soon as heard THE PARISH CLERK. 213 by all who go down to the sea in ships or live near the coast, reached their ears. The report of a gun — the signal of a ship in distress — came booming over the waters. " Hearken, boys I" said Edward. A minute elapsed, and the awful report was heard again. Edward sprang to his feet, and opened the door of his cottage. A third report was more distinctly heard. " Up, boys— to the beach ! — bring all the dry firewood you can carry. Margery, wench, put on your cloak and bring a lantern. We will at least let them know they are heard," said Ed- ward, as he rushed towards the shore. He was soon followed by his own family and by several of his brother-fishermen, whom the sound of the distress -signals had warned of danger being near them. A fire was kindled on the point of the highest clifF as quickly as the rain and blustering wind would allow of. Every eye was strained to dis- cover the precise situation of the vessel ; but, except when a flame from their own beacon 214 THE TARISH CLERK. blazed up higher than usual, no object could be seen at even a few yards 1 distance, and the dark- ness was so intense that the brightest blaze could not show them the object of their anxiety. " She sees our signal," shouted Edward, " for she has ceased to fire." " May she not have gone down?" inquired Margaret, who stood at his side. " I trust not," said Edward. "If she has seen our fire, and only made the opening of the bay, though she may go to pieces, the poor fel- lows can easily take to the boats, or swim ashore. If she is on the Sunken Rocks, God help them ! He alone can : for with the wind where it is, no boat nor human being can live in the breakers." " G — d help them !" prayed Margaret j " for how often have I fancied you and our sons, Ed- ward, in the same distressing situation !" Every one who joined the assembled group brought additional firewood, which was heaped on as soon as it was brought. The flames crackled and mounted fiercely, but still they did not afford sufficient light to the eyes of these prac- tised seamen, to ascertain with correctness the THE PARISH CLERK. 215 situation of the ship. " There she is — I see her," said one, pointing westward. " No, that's not her," said a second, " that's only the wreck of the old Dutchman, where the sea always breaks if there's half a gale. There she lies away there, to the east." u That," said a third, " is only the wash of the waves against the point — I've watched it often enow." Many contradictory opinions were given. Ed- ward listened to none of them, but went below on the beach to try if, by getting underneath the light, he could get a clearer view of distant objects. H°. returned without success, and could give no advice beyond ordering the beacon- fire to be kept up, in order that if the boats or men were making for the shore they might be directed to a safe landing-place. The storm, instead of abating, increased. The wind blew more violently, the rain fell in tor- rents. The fire gained sufficient strength to resist the quenching effects of the weather, and around it the crowded seamen and their wives stood undaunted, awaiting the result of their experiment. 216 the parish Clerk. " A gun again !" shouted some one, as a dis- tant noise reached their ears. " No — no gun," said Edward, " that is Heaven's artillery — see from yonder black spot the lightning flashes — hark ! " A clap of thunder followed, which loudly proclaimed that the storm was only just begin- ning. Flash followed flash in rapid succession, and, as the thunder increased in loudness, the wind partially ceased, though the rain fell in heavier torrents. " Heaven help them !" was the only sound heard between the awful roars of the thunder. Suddenly the lightning gleamed more vividly than ever. The whole sky seemed on fire, and so intense was the brightness, that the whole crowd of seamen shouted together, as they saw the object of their anxiety lying on her side on the rocks — " See, see ! there she is !" " Ay, and the crew in her rigging, 1 ' said Ed- ward Dawson. "I'll save them, or perish. The boat, boys, the boat !" Margaret flung herself on the shoulders of her husband, and begged him not to risk the danger. THE PARISH CLERK. 217 " Danger, wench!" said Edward; "who thinks of danger to save a seaman in distress ?" '* Think of me — think of our children !" said Margaret. " If we were now as those poor fellows are," said Edward, " what wouldst say to those who stood calmly by, and saw us perish without giving us a helping hand ?" " Go — go — and Heaven help you !" said Margaret. The boat was speedily launched into the sheltered waters of the bay. Edward and his six sons jumped into her, amidst the good wishes of their friends. Margaret watched them, and prayed that the lightning might increase in intensity, so that she might see them to the wreck. Her prayer was partially heard — the lightning did increase in intensity, but she did not see them reach the wreck. The same flash, that showed to her friends around her the boat capsized as she entered the breakers, deprived Margaret of her senses, and eventually of her sight. She was blinded, a widow, and childless, in one and the same moment. VOL. III. L 218 THE PARISH CLERK. Though there were no poor-law unions in those days, Margaret never knew want. Her sad fate was widely spread, and the hand of Charity was never closed against her. Her mind, however, was affected, and the super- stitious inhabitants of Seatown gave to its wan- derings the character of what the Scotch term second sight. No voyage, no journey, was un- dertaken, no speculation was entered upon, without Margaret Dawson being first consulted on its probable result. THE PARISH CLERK. 219 CHAPTER XLVIII. THE TREASURE-FINDER. I have said that as Mrs. Listless returned from her unsuccessful journey to the weighing- house, her horse, Dumpling, coming unexpec- tedly upon poor old Margery Dawson, shyed. Horses, as well as men, sometimes shy at the poor. Margery arose, and, in humble tones, ex- pressed her sorrow that " Tobias's wife should have been exposed to any risk from coming suddenly upon the poor old fish-wife. She hoped that she was not seriously alarmed — but she knew no accident had happened." " None, Margery, none," said Mrs. Listless ; " I was only a little frightened. But how did you know who it was whom your sudden ap- pearance startled ?" l2 220 THE PARISH CLERK. " How did I know? Do you ask that?" said Margery, turning up the balls of her sightless eyes towards the face of the questioner. " How did I know ? — Since the awful night that robbed me of my precious eyesight, and, what was still more precious to me, my husband and my boys — it seems to me that a wider expanse has been opened to me. Before that sad, sad shock I saw but as others see — trees, houses, fields, and the dread, the awful ocean. Now I see, or seem to see, what others cannot see. I see my Edward, I see my boys — I see them in happiness. I seem to hear them tell me the time will shortly come when I shall join them in the pleasant green caverns of the deep — never, never more to leave them." " It must be a great happiness to you, Mar- gery," said Mrs. Listless, not knowing exactly what to say. " It is — it is — great happiness," said Mar- gery. " But happiness in this world is a cup, in whose contents are mingled strange bitters, and they are not always found at the bottom of the goblet. You, Mary Listless, you have been THE PARISH CLERK. 221 wealthy — you have been the object of envy to your poorer neighbours, from whom you with- held much that you might have given, and never missed it. What are you now ? Your cup of life is scarcely half-drained — but you already taste its bitter ingredients. Like myself, you are husbandless — for Tobias has left your bed. You are childless — for your sons are upon the ocean ; and your daughter, the apple of your eye, has given her fair person and your fair gold to a villain. You are sightless, too, like me, or you would not have been so blind as not to see through the shallow artifices of a canting hypocrite." " Nay, nay," said Mrs. Listless. " Ay, ay — again and again do I say it ; and ere long — ere I, perhaps, am in my grave — you will own it." " Well ! good day, Margery," said Mrs. List- less, turning to leave her. " I have but little now to offer you ; but, if ever you need, the little I have you shall share. 11 " Ay," said Margery, " I have always found the hand of the poor more open than the hand 222 THE PARISH CLERK. of the rich ; though the penny of the labourer is a more liberal gift than the pound of his em- ployer. But, hear me, before you leave me. Some account me mad — I may be so. Others say that I see into futurity — but of this I doubt ; and yet I have predicted what has turned out true. It may be I dreamed it, or it may be I argued from what has happened before." " You told us true about the Lesters being hanged," said Mrs. Listless. " I did— I did," said Margery; " but it needed not more than human foresight to fore- tell that — the river of dissipation ends in rocks, against which all who hurry down its current must eventually be dashed. 1 ' " You also warned us of the fate of the cutter which crossed to Jersey, and never reached her port. 11 "I did — for she was ill-found and worse manned," said Margery. " A drunken skipper and a lawless crew are safe subjects for evil prophecy." " Good day, then," said Mrs. Listless. " Nay — go not yet. I must say what I seem to know of you and your's," said Margery. THE PARISH CLERK. 223 "Not now — not now," said Mrs. Listless; who, in common with the people of Seatown, dreaded the prophecies of the poor blind widow. " Not now — to-morrow — another day." *' To-morrow !— another day !" said Margery, as she kept a firm hold on the horse's bridle, which she had seized. " To-morrow ! What mortal dares talk of to-morrow. My husband — my children — put off their voyage until to- mojTow — and where were they on that morrow ? Cold, stark corpses. To-morrow ! — ah ! ah ! Listen to me now. I bear you no ill- tidings, though I see adversity before you. Your heart- strings will be strained, but they will not burst. Your eyes will be tearful, but your tears will be wiped away. The former partner of your bed — your now deserted bed — will return to it again. He will find him that shall remove the film from before his eyes. He will, as our first parents did, toil and labour to earn his meals by the sweat of his brow — he will eat the bread of carefulness, and late take rest — but all in vain. For a season nothing will prosper in his hands. When you shall be plunged in the lowest depths 224 THE PARISH CLERK. of despair, think of me — though I be dead or alive, think of me, and think of these my words : Foolish is the man who deserts his own hearth- stone when adversity bears hard upon him ; for, beneath the embers of his own grate, consolation may be found. Good day." Margaret Dawson sank back into her seat by the roadside, and Mrs. Listless drove to her humble home, pondering on the words she had heard. As soon as she reached it she found a letter, which had been brought over by a neighbour ; for in those days a post-office was not established in the village. She knew the writing of her daughter, and though any other person might have found some difficulty in deciphering it, she had but little ; as she had taught her to write herself. She tore it open — easily, for it was only slightly wafered, and read these words : — " Dere muther " i am well an appy an am a marred 1 oman. My usband is kind an luven an sess i mustnt sa mor at presen but that i am yur fexunit dauter Mary junks. THE PARISH CLERK. 225 we are not livin in London so its of no use yur ritin to me ther, dere — dere muther — do forvif me." Poor Mrs. Listless read this letter over and over again. She kissed it — she shed bitter tears over it ; and, had she known where, in the wide city of London, to find her child, would have dis- regarded the hint in the postscript, and have written immediately to beg her to return to her home, and leave the man whom she now be- lieved to be a rogue, and who, she doubted not, had imposed upon her poor child by some pre- tended ceremony, to make her believe herself a married woman. She saw clearly that the letter had been written under the eyes of Mr. Junks, and that poor Mary had not been allowed to express her sentiments fully or freely. Tobias, on his return from wandering on the beach, read the letter, but made no comment upon it ; a tear or two trickled down his cheek as he thrust his supper from him, and left the room. His wife, as she sat sobbing in her chair, heard him pacing the floor above for some hours, and retired to her deserted bed to weep for her m 5 226 THE PARISH CLERK. lost child. It is a merciful dispensation that, however much our mind is disposed to resist the influence of sleep, our body compels us to sub- mit to it. Be we happy, or be we wretched, the anodyne must be taken at last, however unwil- ling we may be to swallow the Lethaean draught. Mrs. Listless, in the midst of her sorrows for the fate which she believed had fallen to her daughter's lot, fell asleep ; she submitted to that dreamy kind of slumber, into which, if he is suddenly roused from it, a person is not conscious of having fallen. The picture she had drawn of her child's destiny was still painfully presented to her, though in colours that grew gradually fainter and fainter j at last they were so obscure and so oddly intermingled, that the scene faded from her view, a few deep-drawn sighs escaped her, and she slept. She had not slept long before she was roused by a sound caused by the raising of the latch of her room door. She listened, and heard the well-known tread of her husband as he entered the apartment. He approached the bed, and putting aside the curtain so as to allow the dim THE PARISH CLERK. 227 light of a summer's night to show him his wife's features, threw himself on his knees by her side, and uttered a long prayer, invoking blessings upon her, and asking forgiveness for himself for having been deluded into neglecting her, and driving his children from his home : deluded — not by others — but by his own erroneous and confined views of scripture. His wife, though she distinctly heard every word he uttered, knew not how to act. She feared that his mind was wandering, though she hoped that something might have occurred, unknown to herself, to change the course of the opinions and conduct he had for some time adopted. When, however, he was concluding his prayers, she heard his voice choked by violent hysteric sobbings. The feelings of the wife subdued the woman, and she threw her arms about his neck, and mingled her tears with his. Morning found them still weeping, but happier than they had been for some weeks. Tobias, instead of resorting to the beach, as usual, and there passing his day in dreamy speculations on mystic subjects, employed him- 228 THE PARISH CLERK. self in his garden, which, from neglect, was almost choked with weeds and wild flowers. His wife, after discharging the duties of the home department indoors, joined him, and as- sisted him in reducing the wilderness into some- thing like order and neatness. While they were busily engaged in this occu- pation, the squire and the rector came up, and stopped to exchange the usual courtesies with them. They were pleased to find that Tobias, instead of sneering at and insulting them as had been his custom of late, received and returned, their salutations with respect. They were pass- ing on without saying more than is usually said about the weather and other usuals when persons meet for a moment, when Tobias re- quested the rector to grant him a little time for converse on serious matters when he should be at leisure. The rector readily complied with his request, and fixed the following morning for the interview. Tobias went, and, to the rector's surprise, confessed that he had so completely lost himself in the mazes of controversy that he was anxious THE PARISH CLERK. 229 to have recourse to his assistance to direct him back again into the right road. The rector was a kind-hearted, clever person, though, as we have seen, a little too zealous at times, and apt to be indiscreet in the excess of his zeal. He listened with patience to all that Tobias had to say, and then used his best en- deavours to ease him of all his doubts, and point out to him the errors into which he had fallen. I will not explain these doubts and errors, nor narrate the arguments which were used to refute them. It will be enough to say that the rector succeeded in winning Tobias back again to his church, after several interviews, and by the aid of books, which he lent to him, and begged him to peruse after his daily work was ended. After having thus rendered him easy and com- fortable in higher matters, the rector wished to make Tobias's mind easy about worldly concerns, and offered him a small loan. This he respect- fully but firmly refused. He said he had brought his poverty upon himself by his folly 230 THE PARISH CLERK. and obstinacy, and ought to suffer for it. He and his wife both worked hard and lived hard ; they were objects of mirth, if not of scorn, to all the boys in the village, who hooted at them as they passed by, and called to them to ask them " when they meant to preach again," " how their daughter was that run off with the ranting parson," and " whether their sons that ran away were hanged yet." These questions gave Tobias and his wife great uneasiness, though they did not show it by replying to them. They bore these insults patiently in public, but when at home and alone shed bitter tears at the loss of their children, and at the possibility of their being separated from them for ever. This was a grievous thought to Tobias, but, grievous as it was, there was another thought that was still more so. He had clearly seen the error of his ways in dissenting from that church, of which he had been a member, though an unworthy one, from his youth. He had again returned into her bosom, but he could not heal the wounds that he himself had made THE PARISH CLERK. 231 in the minds of others, who had been induced to dissent by his advice and example. Though Junks had deserted his flock, and left them to return or not, as they pleased, to their former fold, they were not disposed to do so; their minds had been poisoned against the rector and the church, and they felt no inclination to seek an antidote to the poison. At Tobias's arguments, if they listened to them, which they seldom did, they jeered and scoffed, and called him a turn- coat, and many still harder names, which he himself had taught them to make use of. They built a sort of chapel, and advertised for a preacher. One was readily found, and thus a considerable number in the parish were severed from communion with the church for ever. This it was that grieved Tobias to the heart : this made him believe that he must fail in suc- ceeding in all that he undertook. He certainly was unlucky. He had lost his cow and his pigs ; for they died of a distemper that was prevalent in the neighbourhood. His potatoes rotted in the ground, because he had no time to remove them from the pit. His little 232 THE PARISH CLERK. stock of fagots was burnt, by his wife's accident- ally throwing some live wood-ashes too near to them. Still he had his horse and cart ; and, by collecting seaweeds and burning them, he made enough to live upon by carrying them to the neighbouring towns for lye. He also got many little jobs as a carrier. His wife assisted him in collecting, drying, and burning the seaweed. She also, in his absence, did her best to add to their little gains, by pick- ing up the bones of the cuttle fish which were washed ashore, and which then brought a pretty good price at the chemists' shops. To this she added the profits which, though small, she gained from shrimping and searching for crab- lets, wilks, periwinkles, and other shellfish which the receding tides left among the rocks. Still their main dependence was on the cart, and Dumpling who drew it. As long as they remained to them they felt that they should never want. Dumpling, therefore, was an object of especial care and attention, and fared better than his master and mistress. One day, after her husband had started with THE PARISH CLERK. 233 his horse and cart to Chichester with such a load as would render his journey profitable, Mrs. Listless took her net and the wicker basket in which her prey was to be deposited, and went down to the beach to try her luck at shrimping. As she passed down the road which leads by ** the Fisherman's Return," and between two low cliffs to the shore, she saw the well-known red cloak and crutched stick of old Margery Dawson, who had seated herself in a nook in one of the cliffs to enjoy the rays of the morning sun. She would have turned out of her path to avoid her — for she dreaded her — but the diffi- culty of gaining the beach without going round a considerable distance, or clambering down the mouldering cliffs, forbade her doing so. She, therefore, endeavoured to pass her without at- tracting her notice by walking as noiselessly as she could. Old Margaret's ears were not to be so easily deceived. Long ere she came opposite to her, she caught the sounds of Mrs. Listless's foot- steps. She raised her head, and inclined her 234 THE PARISH CLERK. face towards the sounds. Mrs. Listless stopped, and would have turned back. "Come on — come on — whoever you are," said Margery, swaying her body backwards and forwards, as was her wont. " Come on ; what woman, for it is a woman's footfall I hear, can fear aught from the poor blind and bereaved old fish- wife ! " " 'Deed, Margery," said Mrs. Listless, " I only feared to disturb you. I thought, perhaps, you slept." " Slept ! " said Margery, in tones of amaze- ment. " Sleep never visits me ; at least not the sleep that I used to have before all I loved were buried in the waves — a sight that God in his mercy spared me by making me blind. I never sleep ; for, by day or night, the scene, though I saw it not, is ever before me. The upturned boat, the manful struggles of my Edward and my boys to mount and conquer the fierce waves that soon swallowed them up in their might — I never sleep." " 'Deed, Margery, you are to be pitied," said Mrs. Listless, stepping by her ; " but you should try and think of something else." THE PARISH CLERK. 235 " Pass me not — stay but an instant," said Margery. " I do think of much that I should not think of, could I see as others do, and work and toil to earn my livelihood. I think of others more than of myself, and often think that I am not worse off than they are." " It's a great happiness that,' 1 said Mrs. Listless. "Happiness? Where is it to be found?" said Margery. " Are you happy ?" " Yes, Margery, yes ; for though we are poor we have enough. With my husband restored to me, and no ill news of my children, I am com- fortable, if not happy," said Mrs. Listless, as she made another attempt to pass on her way. " Stay yet a moment," said Margery, rising, " stay. I told you that your husband would be restored to you, that he would meet with one who should clear the film of error from his eyes. Said I not truly ? It has come to pass. I said also that he should rise early and late, take rest, and eat the bread of carefulness — that it should be all in vain — that for a season nothing should prosper in his hands. Ask yourself whether £36 THE PARISH CLERK. this is not true ; but wait until the morrow ere you tell me. Now pass on, but bear a good heart, and all will be well yet." When Mrs. Listless returned from an unsuc- cessful search for fish, she saw that the spot where Margaret had been sitting was vacant. She reached her home just as her husband was being carried into the door — his thigh was broken. The horse had been frightened, and fallen over a seawall into the water, and been carried away by the tide, together with the cart. Tobias, in trying to stop him, had been thrown down, and his thigh broken by the violence of his fall. THE PARISH CLERK. 237 CHAPTER XLIX THE TREASURE-FINDER. I must now leave the wounded Tobias and his wife in their wretchedness ; wretchedness that was alleviated by those whom, in the days of his prosperity, he had been used to abuse and vituperate as aristocrats and bigots — the squire and the rector. Through their bounty, his broken limb was set by the most skilful surgeon in the neighbourhood ; and those little delicacies which the sick require, but the poor sick can seldom obtain, were liberally furnished from the Hall and the Rectory. Need I say that, in the altered state of mind of Tobias, these favours were received with gratitude ? I trow not. I must change the scene, from the quiet village of Seatown to the bustling streets of the modern 238 THE PARISH CLERK. Babylon — the great Metropolis. In theatrical parlance — the wings- and pair of flats which were intended to suggest the idea of trees, cottages, and other ruralities, with a young curates hopes — a church in the distance, must be exchanged or shifted for others representing a London street, or, more accurately and play- bill-ically speaking, a " street in London." At the corner of one of the numerous lanes which run from the Strand down to the river's edge, and up which toil sundry very large horses, with their long tails tied up in knots, dragging behind them heavily loaded wains filled with " best Wallsends," might be seen a quiet-look- ing house, consisting of three stories, with one window on each floor. On the door was a very dingy brass plate, on which was was written in large capitals, J. JUNKS, CONSULTING SURGEON. At the corner stood an ill-dressed half-starved- looking individual, who, with the most liberal feelings, supplied all the passers-by with waste- paper gratis. He did not merely tender his THE PARISH CLERK. 239 favours, but absolutely thrust them upon you, for a salary of ninepence a day. He certainly earned his wages, for never was a mortal more zealous in the discharge of his duty. He dis- tributed, not by quires, but by reams and bundles. What became of the bills he did not care, so that he could only get persons to extend their hands and receive them. He had done his duty. Those recipients who did condescend to peruse them, ought to have been highly delighted to think that, among the vast body of medical prac- titioners in London, there was one who really knew his profession : one who, despising the usual routine of practice, and a reliance on the contents of the Pharmacopoeia, had, by hard study, discovered one drug which was an anti- dote to all the ills to which human flesh is heir — a panacea for every ailment, from a cut finger up to elephantiasis. These were the contents of the document, printed on thin, soft paper, with a view to com- fort and economy — 240 THE PARISH CLERK. REFORM YOUR DOCTORS' BILLS. " Salus ante mores." — Corn: Nep: " What's health? what's riches? If a sick body's in your breeches?" Hudibras. Jehalelel Junks, having viewed with in- dignation and abhorrence the gullibility of the freemen of Great Briton, whereby they suffer theirselves to be grosely imposed on by a set of ignorami calling theirselves fizishons, sur- gions, and apothecarys, undertakes to thwart their scemes for robbing the community by giving his advice and attendunce GRATIS. Having de- voted all his life to the heeling art, he has dis- covered, by deep thort and intense study, an in- nokshus drug, which not only cures all disorders, but restores the aged to yuth again ; and enables a man or woman, boy or girl, to livejast as long as they pleases. It is a vegetable substance, col- lected at great risk and expence, by the natives of India, at the bottom of the river Nile. One box gives immediate releef. A second purifies the blud ; and, after taking twenty, the pashunt ff.els nothing. To aid the TILLS, J. J. has THE PARISH CLERK. 241 made an OINTMENT of the same salubrus herb, collected from the bottom of the Nile ; and also a LOTION. No diseese was ever knowd to resist the combined forces of this WONDERFULL DIS- COVERY. Sold only by the PROPRIETOR, at No. 1550, in the Strand. The pills, in boxes, at %$. 9d. and 4?s. 6d. (containing three boxes in one) ; and family boxes at lis. duty INCLUDED ! The OINTMENT at the same (DUTY INCLUDED ! !) The LOTION, in bottles, at the same (DUTY IN- CLUDED ! ! !) Each box and bottle are labelled with Jehalelel Junks, in red ink. None OTHER ISN'T GENUIN. N. B. Attendunce from 10 till 4, daily. A private door down the court, with a lamp in the passage. The GREATEST MISTERY OB- SERVED ! ! ! Jehalelel Junks had certainly been brought up to the art of heeling shoes and boots, but I question whether he meant to perpetrate a pun when he ventured to inform the public of the fact in his bills. In the art of healing he cer- VOL. III. M 242 THE PARISH CLERK. tainly had never been educated. How he ven- tured to " risk his reputation at the mortar s mouth," by undertaking to mend bodies instead of soles, will of course surprise my reader. I will endeavour to explain the matter. When Jehalelel escaped from Seatown with the pretty Mary Listless, and, what he regarded more, some 800 golden guineas and a com- fortable wardrobe, in which he contrived to con- ceal a few silver spoons and a tankard, he journeyed to London as speedily as possible, but by a circuitous route, and under a feigned name. He did not think that Tobias would care much about the loss of his daughter. He even be- lieved he would feel grateful to him for having carried her off. But he had carried off with her what few men like to be eased of — the hard- earned savings of a life of labour. These, he thought, Tobias would try by every means to recover ; and, not wishing to refund them, Je- halelel resolved to use every caution to retain them in his own possession. He reached London in safety, and took a small lodging in a court in the city, where he THE PARISH CLERK. 243 remained for nearly a month, never venturing out until after it was dark. Mary submitted cheerfully to this confinement, irksome as it was to her who had been used to breathe the pure air of the ocean. Junks told her it was abso- lutely necessary, and she submitted without a murmur. After dark, Jehalelel left Mary, under the pretence of going out on business. He did not venture to go to his old haunts, but visited the public -houses in the neighbourhood of his lodg- ings, and enjoyed his pipe and politics, to an hour that gradually grew later and later, until at length the morning's sun generally lighted him to his bed. Mary thought it very odd that his business should detain him so late every night ; and that, when he did return home, he should be so tired and wearied with his work as to be scarcely able to reel to bed, or articulate distinctly. That he was fatigued she could not doubt, as he fell asleep the moment he managed to get into bed, and snored most awfully. She did not, however, suspect the real state m 2 244 THE PARISH CLERK. of the case, nor expostulate with him upon it, except on the score of injuring his health by such unremitting toil, at such unhealthy hours. When, however, he grew bold enough to face the broad light of day, and left her the moment the morning meal was over, absenting himself all the day as well as the greater part of the night, and returning home more stupified than ever, she began to be a little suspicious that all was not going on as it should be. Her suspicions were confirmed by her land- lady — a decent sort of woman, who, to support herself in her widowhood, took in washing, for which her habitation was admirably calculated, as her house had a flat roof, and she could dry the linen nicely amidst the blacks and smoke of the neighbouring chimneys. When Jehalelel offered to take Mrs. Sudkins's first-floor for himself and his wife, the widow was rather suspicious that wife was an alias for something else. Mary was very young, and looked still younger than she was, and quite young enough to be Mr. Junks's daughter. There was an air of simplicity, too, about her THE PARISH CLERK. 245 that made her look just the sort of person that a hypocritical, designing man, like Junks, could gull and take advantage of. Mrs. Sudkins was confirmed in her views by observing that " the plain gold ring" was not upon the wedding- finger of the fair Mary. She asked just double the sum for her lodgings which she usually de- manded. Her demand was complied with, and a week's rent paid in advance. The morality of Flatiron Court was not so rigid as to blind Mrs. Sudkins to her own interests, and she installed Mr. and Mrs. Junks in her apartments. Her neighbours threw out all manner of hints, inju- rious to the widow's reputation; but she righted herself in their eyes by assuring them that her lodgers were man and wife, for she had seen the register in black and white, with the parson's signaytur to it. This was a clencher. Though Mrs. Sudkins, by this " little per- version of the truth," had satisfied her neigh- bours, she was not satisfied herself. She wished, Pandora-like, to examine the affair to the very bottom. She watched Mary as a cat does a mouse, and was prepared to spring upon her, 246 THE PARISH CLERK. and, as she expressed it, " clapperclaw her" the very first time she emerged from her retreat. She was disappointed, however ; for, when Junks went out at night, he turned the key of his room- door, and put it into his own pocket, having a shrewd insight into his landlady's designs. When Junks found courage enough to ven- ture out in the morning, he either thought it too bad to lock Mary up by day as well as night, or else he grew careless, and did not care at all about his real situation, with regard to Mary, being found out. He left her at liberty to go abroad or stay at home, as she pleased. She, however, being afraid to go out by herself, in such a dangerous place as she had been taught to believe London was, kept closely to her room. Mrs. Sudkins was determined to establish an intimacy. She began her plans by making Mary little presents of polonij -sausages, tripe, cow- heels, and other little dainties much estimated by herself. These broke the ice, and, when she thought the hole was large enough, she ventured to plunge into the waters of stratagem by in- viting Mary to take a dish of tea with her. THE PARISH CLERK. 247 Mary would rather have declined the invitation, but she was afraid to say no; and Junks was at the public, so that she could not consult him on the matter. Mrs. Sudkins got tea, toast, and " every thing comfortable ;" and, to aid her attempts in gain- ing her visiter's confidence, she added, as a chasse, a little medicine- bottle full of her own favourite liqueur — cinnamon and cloves — with a very little gin in it. " It was," she said, " sich an excellent anecdote for the lomon- collies." Poor Mary enjoyed her meal, and, though she did not much relish, was stimulated by, the cordial. Mrs. Sudkins persevered in supplying her with additional drams, assuring her " it was the most innocentest and most harmlessest licker as ever couldn't be, r) until she had brought her to the point when she knew her heart and her mouth would be opened simultaneously. " Never was in Lunnun before, mum, I thinks ? " " Never," replied Mary. " Never was out of Sussex in my life." 248 THE PARISH CLERK. " Well ! ow hodd ! Oh ! you comes from Sussex, eh ? Was you married hin Sussex, dear?" " I am not married yet" said Mary. "Well!— ow hodd!' 1 said Mrs. Judkins, bristling up, " you hought not to have hexposed yourself hon me has ha married 'oman ven you isn't sich." " I shall be soon," said Mary, " as soon as Jehalelel has arranged every thing ; he is busy, very busy, at present, and has not time to get married. 11 " Poor hinnocent I" exclaimed Mrs. Sud- kins, turning her eyes and the bottom of the bottle up to the ceiling, " Vat wicked creturs men his V Mary was alarmed, and begged the widow to explain her meaning. " Vy, you knows, hin course, hor you hought to know, my dear, that Junks, your man, (Mary started) you can't call 'im usband yet, dear — spends hall is days and nights hat ' the Dustman's Delight,' ha werry 'spectable ouse round the corner ?" THE PARISH CLERK. 249 " Surely not," said Mary, " he tells me—" " Stuff, dear. Hi knows hit for ha fack. Hi hallays gets my cordil my hown self for fear they should commit hadultery with hit. Ven- hever hi goes hin, vich his sometimes has hoften has six or seven times a day, there hi sees Mr. Junks hin the parlour, with the rest o' the gentlemen has huses the ouse, drinking and 'splaining to the company has Bonypart's the best friend Hengland hever ad. Then you must know, dearest — has he never comes ome without is little at hon — no ?" Mary shook her head, and Mrs. Sudkins ap- plied the corner of her apron to her eyes, and said, sobbingly, " Veil 1 ow hodd ! poor hinno- cent." She then left this exclamation to operate upon the patient Mary, while she went to the Dustman's Delight to get a fresh supply of cordial, and bring back a report of Mr. Junks's proceedings. " There e vas, has hi 'spected," said Mrs. Sudkins, on her return, " hi vouldn't put up with hit — that's vat hi vouldn't — hi'd let im know vat's vat — ha deceitful deceiver." m 5 250 THE PARISH CLERK. Poor Mary, wrought upon by the well-acted kindness of the widow, revealed to her, in the course of the evening, every particular of her birth, parentage, and education, with the cir- cumstances that led to her intimacy with Jehalelel and her elopement to London — nothing did she hide from her new friend, excepting the very important fact that she was not the only valu- able with which Jehalelel had eloped. What the advice was which the widow gave her in return for her confidence, we shall see by its results by and by. We must now go to the Dustman's Delight, and take a view of Mr. Junks and his sayings and doings. In a little parlour, exactly opposite the bar of this public-house, after six o'clock every evening, a certain set of men — workmen they then sub- mitted to be called, though now offence is taken at the term, and operative is substituted for it. Though they did not call themselves a club, they were such to all intents and purposes. They were governed by a set of rules and regulations, and had a small common stock to supply them with newspapers and magazines, which all ad- THE PARISH CLERK. 2ol vocated the cause of cheap bread and democracy. On one side of the fireplace was the chair of the president, raised a little above the common height of chairs to distinguish it as such. This however was a silly waste of two inches of ma- hogany, as it was the only chair in the room. The members took their seats on the benches, which were fixed to the walls round the room. Before the president was placed a high candle- stick, which had most probably been the property of some church-plunderer of the days of the protectorate. It had never been altered since it was removed from the altar, because it was of brass. Had it been silver, it would doubtless have been crucibled long since. The individual who occupied the chair and sat before the candlestick, and had done so without intermission every night for twenty years, was a short, thin, cadaverous-looking man, dressed in a very plain suit of black. He wore a narrow white kerchief round his neck, and a caxon-wig upon his head. He said little or nothing himself, but listened to and promoted the oratory of his friends with winks and blinks, and loud applications of his hammer to the table 252 THE PARISH CLERK. whenever the company grew too energetic or quarrelsome. No one knew exactly who or what he was. He entered the room regularly at six o'clock — called for his ale — for he never drank spirits — and drank the company's health, first generally as a body, then particularly as indi- viduals. He paid his reckoning before he left the house, and, on Christmas-day, always left ten shillings for two bowls of punch, to be drunk by the company. His name was Snargums, and he called himself an independent man : the company called him a gentleman. Jehalelel Junks, by means of liberal dona- tions of punch and other deleterious but delicious compounds, had succeeded in getting a place on the bench next to Mr. Snargums. He courted him assiduously, though he wished he was dead, or disabled from leaving home, in order that he himself might be elected to the president's chair and the brass candlestick. He was disgusted at his sickly appearance, because it was appear- ance only. He hated him for his abstemiousness, and was half resolved to poison the one pint of ale in which he indulged nightly, as the only chance of getting rid of him. THE PARISH CLERK. 253 On the evening when Mrs. Sudkins was en- gaged in pumping Mary, or, as she called it, "washing hall the hinformation hout hon er," Junks was more energetic than usual. A trades- man, who did not know their politics, had by chance joined the regular customers of the Dustman's Delight. He was not only not an admirer of Napoleon, bloody-sponges, and anti- corn law measures, but had loyally joined the volunteers, and meant to do his duty in case of an invasion of the French, which was hourly expected. He was rather annoyed at finding himself in a nest of rebels, and would have retired without declaring his sentiments, had he not been point- edly called upon to drink d n to all kings and tax-imposing aristocrats. This he declined doing, and very foolishly undertook to argue the case, and prove the whole party wrong. He certainly beat all the rest cleverly ; but when Jehalelel rose and entered the arena with him, he stood no chance whatever. Instead of argu- ing with him, Junks abused him, and called him everything but a gentleman. He went so 254 THE PARISH CLERK. far as to put his hand towards the stranger's nose, and threatened to wring it out of his face, but w r as prevented from putting his threat into execution by the rap of the president's ham- mer and a knock-down blow from the volunteer, who looked round at the rest of the democracy assembled, as if to single out any one who felt disposed to test his loyalty. No one offered to stir, and Mr. Snargums, without saying a word, kept up so loud and continuous a clatter with his hammer, that the landlord came in and persuaded the stranger to retire before Jehalelel could extricate himself from the table under which he had fallen. Junks was violent and abusive for the re- mainder of the evening. He was a degraded man. Not all the sympathy and applause his friends had to bestow could appease his irri- tated feelings. He tried to quarrel with them, but they would not be quarrelled with. They agreed to every thing he advanced. This irri- tated him the more, and after drinking more than usual he staggered home in disgust, with his right eye already discoloured by the blow ad- THE PARISH CLERK. 255 ministered by " the British volunteer." " Veil, ow hodd !" said Mrs. Sudkins, to Mary, as he came to the door, " hif ere hisn't your usband, leastways has honght to be, come ome hearly for vonce ; cut hup to bed has fast has you can, and hi'll keep im hat the door long henough for you to get hin to bed." Mary obeyed, and hurried into bed, while Jehalelel worked him- self into a greater rage than he was before, at finding the door bolted against him, and access denied him. He knocked, kicked, and hal- looed, until he awoke the watchman and every- body in Flatiron Court. Then, Mrs. Sudkins, with her cap de nuit upon it, put her head out- side her parlour, withdrew the bolt, and ob- served, " Veil, ow hodd ! hif the door hant bolted." Jehalelel d d her for something very doggedly, and walked up stairs. Mary was by this time too much frightened to interrogate him, as she had intended, on the subject of making her an honest woman, according to his promise. She merely said, " You are not so late to-night. I am glad you are come home." 256 THE PARISH CLERK. " Late ! — glad !" said Jehalelel, " and what the devil is it to you, d — n you !" " Oh !" screamed Mary, " don't swear — you that are so powerful a preacher." "Preacher — ah! ah! I preached to some purpose : I got your wise father's money ; and you and the preaching may go to the devil together ! ' ' Poor Mary burst into tears, and then re- minded him of the immediate necessity of making her his wife in order to save her cha- racter. " Don't blubber there, you fool — wife, in- deed ! You are my wife now, as much as ever you will be ; and, as to character, d — n cha- racter, so as you are happy and comfortable !" " Jehalelel!" said Mary, taking courage at the wanton insults offered her, " I fear I have been deceived ; you are not only a hypocrite, but a villain." "Be quiet, woman," said Junks; "don't irritate me, or you may suffer for it." Mary disregarded this advice, and, as the widow had urged her to do, told him her THE PARISH CLERK. 257 opinion of him very plainly and at full length. Junks knocked her down on the pillow with the heel of his shoe, and went off to sleep quite tranquilly, in spite of her sobs and groans. 258 THE PARISH CLERK. CHAPTER L. THE TREASURE-FINDER. Mary passed a sleepless night. Her thoughts were fully employed in deciding how she should act in the morning. She doubted whether she should rise before Jehalelel was awake, and escape from him to her father and mother, or make his ill-treatment of her known, and apply for redress to the strong arm of the law. At first she was fully resolved to adopt one or other of these plans, but the real affection she enter- tained for her seducer deterred her from adopt- ing the former, and a woman's pride forbade her resorting to the latter. She at length de- termined to say nothing at all about it to any one, but to trust to the brute's generosity to fulfil all his promises to her. THE PARISH CLERK. 259 When Jehalelel woke in the morning, he felt his face stiff and uncomfortable. He found that with all his endeavours he could only unclose one of his eyes. He put his hand to the one which would not open, and found it very sore and very much swollen. He turned in bed and looked at Mary, who pretended to be asleep, and saw that one of her eyes was discoloured and much swollen too. He weighed this curious coincidence in his mind, and tried to recollect the occurrences of the past night in order to account for it. Had they quarrelled? had they fought ? he could not say. He had a faint notion of having had a set-to with somebody, but he thought it had been with a male antagonist. " Let me see," said he to himself; "I went to the ' Dustman's Delight 1 at ten in the morn- ing. I had only three quarterns before dinner. After dinner I had my pipe, and not above six or seven glasses before the members came in. Let me see — ah ! now I recollect — a stranger came in and we had an argument, and I knocked the aristocrat down. No — no — that wasn't it — he knocked me down and ran away — the 260 THE PARISH CLERK. rascal. Well, what happened next? I had not about eight or nine glasses more, and went home. Did I let myself in ? Did I put myself to bed? Eh? — behanged if I can tell. I wonder how Mary got that awful black eye. I'll ask her. Hem ! Mary, are you awake, dear?" "Yes," said Mary, counterfeiting a natural yawn. " I'm afraid, my dear, you've had a fall or a blow." " Yes," said Mary, hesitating, " I've had a fall-out with you, and you gave me a blow." " Accidentally, of course," said Jehalelel. "I'm afraid not," said Mary. "It was done intentionally. You used me very ill last night, but, you were — were — " < ' Well ! what ? eh ! Why don't you speak ?" said Junks. " I can't," said Mary. " To say that so powerful a preacher was — drunk; I — I — can't." " I was drunk, Mary ; I won't deny it. I was irritated ; and I always get drunk when THE PARISH CLERK. 261 I'm irritated. It makes me hot in the mouth. But drop the preacher, if you please. I have. It don't answer. But I'm sorry I hurt you" said Jehalelel, embracing Mary. Mary was easily cajoled, and she shed plen- tiful tears of forgiveness and love on his bo- som ; and after giving free vent to her tears, she ventured to say, " And you'll marry me, love, before I become a mother ? " " No. That's against my principles, I might say our principles ; for an abhorrence of the tyrannical thraldom of marriage, and an at- tachment to the unrestricted indulgence of our affections, is a sentiment that has already gained favour in the eyes of the only source of power — the people — Mr. President ! France has set us a glorious example." Mr. Junks, fancying he was about to ha- rangue the frequenters of the " Dustman's De- light," was sitting up in bed, and growing energetic, when he was recalled to his real situation by the bitter sobs of Mary. "D— n it, don't be a fool!" said he. "I can't marry you. It's against the true principles 262 THE TARISH CLERK. of liberty, and I won't. But don't fret, you shall be happy and comfortable, and you may write home to your mother ! ' ' "But," said Mary, "Mrs. Sudkins says if you don't make an honest woman of me I shall be a scorn and reproach to all my sex." " Oh ! Mrs. Sudkins told you this, did she ? When, pray?" Mary was too open and candid to conceal any thing from Junks, so she related explicitly ail that had passed on the previous evening. "D — n her," said Junks, "we must leave this ! That woman has been so used to pump- ing all her life, that she'll pump out all about the gold and other valuables." After a slight exposition of his new prin- ciples over the breakfast-table, Mr. Junks went out and purchased a sheet of paper, and other requisites for writing, and dictated to Mary while she penned the letter to her mother which the reader has seen. He then took it from her to put it into the post, and left her, taking great care to lock the door after him, and put the key in his pocket. THE PARISH CLERK. 26*3 Mrs. Sudkins heard this operation performed, and, as soon as Junks had left the house, ex- claimed, "Veil! ow hodd ! " and went up to Mary's door, at which she knocked. Mary had been forbidden to hold any further intercourse with the widow, so she did not reply. Mrs. Sudkins augmented the force of her applications, but, finding they were useless, said again, u Veil ! ow hodd !" and walked slowly down stairs, cher- ishing a virtuous resolution in her bosom to give her lodgers immediate " notice to quit," because they were unmarried, and because they would not let her into all their secrets. Jehalelel Junks merely took one quartern as he passed the " Dustman's Delight,' 1 in his way from Flatiron Court, and proceeded to look out for fresh lodgings. Every passenger he met stared at his discoloured eye, but he did not care for that ; he was rather pleased at it, as he thought it a sufficient disguise to prevent his being recognised by his former intimates, in case they should meet him. He walked boldly on, and examined the windows, right and left, for Lodgings to let," but without success. Town a 264 THE TARISH CLERK. must have been full, as no lodgings were empty. Just as he was turning the corner of Water Lane into Thames Street he heard the slow, toilsome rumbling of a hackney-coach, and then a violent scream, and a loud cry of " Pull up ! the man's killed." He rushed forward, and, pushing through a crowd, saw a human being weltering, not in his blood, but in the dirty kennel beside the curbstone. The jarvey, whose horses had knocked the man down, had backed just in time to save him from further injury. Junks seized the unfortunate by the collar, and raised him on his legs. He could not dis- tinguish the features for the mass of mud which obscured them ; but in the voice which returned him thanks for the assistance he had rendered him he recognised the tones of the president of the " Dustman's Delight/' Mr. Snargums. He found his way through the crowd, and was about to drag his friend into the nearest wine- vaults, to administer the only dose he ever took himself to the injured man, when Snargums requested him to convey him home, as he lived close by. About three doors up Water Lane, THE PARISH CLERK. Z65 Snargums, still followed by the crowd, of course, who wished to see the last of the man " what had an accident," opened the door of a small private house, and locked it upon himself and Jehalelel. The crowd waited outside about half an hour, and then, satisfied that no more was to be seen, went about their various occu- pations. " There," said Snargums, when he had changed his dress, and cleansed his face and ft hands from the odoriferous mud of Thames Street — " There you are, Mr. Junks, the object of my everlasting gratitude. I might have escaped from the feet of horses, but not from the hands of men. I should have been robbed of every sixpence I had about me, and I had a large sum." " It's wrong," said Jehalelel, " to carry much money about you in the streets of Lon- don. I never do." " That's the case with a great many,' 1 said Snargums, smiling ; " because they have not much to carry. But I was going to pay for four tons of aloes, two tons of sulphate of potash, VOL. Ill N 266 THE PARISH CLERK. and one ton of gamboge. I always pay on de- livery." u Aloes — potash — gamboge ! — why, they are doctors' stuff, ain't they ? " inquired Junks. " Right there," said Snargums. " I'll let you into a secret, you deserve it, and you can't injure me now; I've made my fortune, and after I've disposed of the next lot of pills mean to give up. Do you know who I am?" " President of the Dustman's Delight," replied Junks. " That's of an evening, after six o'clock," said Snargums, flourishing the hammer-hand presidentially. " In the morning I'm the great unknown pillula saint aria, don't you see ?" " Can't say I do," said Junks. " Why, I'm the man that invented that invaluable pill, which, after taking twenty or thirty boxes, never fails to put an end to every disease one way or another. Do you see?" said Snargums, smiling. " I think I begin to see," said Junks, wink- ing ; " kill or cure, eh ?" " Exactly," continued Snargums, feeling THE PARISH CLERK. 267 communicative for the only time in his life. " I have spent some thousands in walking adver- tizers and hand-bills, and worn hundreds of pairs of shoes off my feet by walking to every chemist's shop in, and within five miles of, the metropolis, to order my own pills." " I don't exactly see how that answered," said Jehalelel. " No ! why look here : I go to a shop, and ask for two dozen boxes of the pillula salutaria. The man says, ' We don't keep them, sir.' I look surprised, and the man looks as if he wants an explanation. I satisfy him by telling him that they are recommended by all the faculty, and have wrought so many cures that nobody ought to be without them. He offers to procure them for me, and I promise to call for them next day, which of course I don't do — my object is to sell, not to purchase. I've been very liberal in my orders, I can tell you," said Snargums, chuck- ling and rubbing his hands as if he was rolling pills. " But," said Junks, " don't they return the n2 268 THE PARISH CLERK. pills, and don't they know you again when they come to purchase them?" " Know me, indeed ! I should rather think not ;" said Snargums ; "just sit down for two minutes, and I'll be with you again." Junks obeyed, and in less than the time spe- cified tlie door was opened by a man who looked like a quaker by his dress. He raised himself on his toes, and when he came to the ground again told Junks, in the peculiar friendly nasal twang, that " Friend Snargums would be with him anon." Junks bowed, and said, " Very well, he was in no hurry." The Quaker advanced close to the window, that Junks might examine him by the light. Jehalelel stared for some time, and then Snar- gums, for it was himself, burst out into a most unquakerlike laugh. " There, you see," said Snargums, "that's how I manage ; come with me." Junks followed him into a back room, and Snargums opened a closet, in which were ar- ranged several dresses for different characters. THE PARISH CLERK. 269 The whole collection would have been valuable as theatrical properties. There were suitable costumes for countrymen, footmen, clergymen, doctors, Jews, in short, for every rank and pro- fession. After displaying these seriatim, Snar- ' gums imitated the different styles of speaking of the different characters so admirably as to convince his listener that he could pass for any one of them as well as he had done for a Quaker. " There's one of your questions answered," said Snargums ; " now for the other. When they come to me at the manufactory, a small place at the back of this house, entrance by another door, open from nine till four, I allow a heavy per centage for profit, upon the con- dition that the goods are bought out and out — ready money, and no tick. They think they've a good bargain, buy and pay ; and some of them do sell a great many in England. Others ship them off to the West Indies, for cheap physic for the blacks ; but what becomes of them I don't care — I've found it answer very well." ^70 THE PARISH CLERK. Junks looked at his new friend admiringly, and a little enviously. Snargums observed it, and said, " Envy me, eh ? Like to try your hand at it ?" " Why," said Junks, " if you would take in a partner, I have a small sum by me, and should have no objection to join you." " No !" said Snargums, positively, "no. I told you I was going to give it up altogether ; but I'll tell you what I'll do : I've a nice little house in the Strand — you shall take it. Set up openly in the doctoring line; hire a walking advertizer ; I'll sell you my recipe for the pilhda salutaria cheap, upon condition you don't betray the secret, or call it by the same name. I'll let you into all the tricks of the trade, and depend upon it, if you can humbug your pa- tients well, your fortune's made. Advice gratis — pills plentifully exhibited — ointments and lotions freely applied externally — luck in one cure, and you need not pull off your hat to the king's physician — hurrah !" Snargums twiddled his fingers as if rolling up a bolus, and danced with delight. THE PARISH CLERK. 271 Junks did not seem so overjoyed as his friend ; he smiled, but qualified the smile by a mournful shake of the head. " Eh ? what ? won't you ? what is the mat- ter?" inquired Snargums, looking amazed. " I can't talk apothecary's talk," said Junks. " Pooh ! pooh ! what does that matter ! you can shake your head I see, and look unutter- ables, I've no doubt ; the pills will do the rest." " But, then, I can't make pills," said Junks. " Easy enough — I'll teach you — little dab of aloes, a sprinkling of salts, with a small lump of gamboge : rub them up together, and roll them out, then twiddle them between your fingers — so ; never mind exact proportions in each pill — what does it matter ? the patient is to take the whole boxful in time, so he's sure of the proper dose at last. You'll soon get into it ; I'm so handy at it that I can twiddle a pill in each hand while I read the newspapers." "I'll try," said Jehalelel ; " but I'm afraid I shall poison somebody." "So do the regulars, as they call them," said Snargums. " It can't be helped now and 272 THE PARISH CLERK. then ; but if you are ' had up' for a case of manslaughter, subpcena two doctors who are known to be bitter rivals, and if one swears your pills are poisonous, the other will declare them to be invaluable and harmless to the smallest infant. Judge and jury won't be able to reconcile this contradictory evidence, and you'll be acquitted — honourably acquitted, and your pills advertized in all the papers for no- thing. It would be worth while to poison a person on purpose." "I've made up my mind — I will try," said Junks. " Come along, then," said Snargums, "we will go and view the premises : here's the key of the house, so come along by the back-way to avoid the vagabonds who may be looking out for ' the man what fell in the kennel.' " Junks followed Snargums through several dark passages, the doors of which were carefully locked behind them, to the place where the pillula salutaria had been so successfully manu- factured. " There," said Snargums, lifting a small THE PARISH CLERK. 273 trap-door, and shewing a sort of cellar below : " There's a snug spot, admirably calculated for business; how nice it smells !" " Heugh !" said Junks, shuddering at the noisome stench, " shut it down, and open the door, or I shall be ill." " 111 — oh ! ah ! I recollect I was a little queer at first, but you'll get to love it at last, when you are used to it ; your pills will be well gilded, and that will put the taste and smell out." When they had inspected the house in the Strand, the bargain was made. Junks took a lease for fourteen years, at £50 per annum ; and gave £200 for the recipe of the pills, Snar- gums undertaking to teach him how to make them up, and to draw up the MS. of the hand- bills. Upon Jehalelel expressing a wish to get into the house that very night, to avoid the impertinences of Mrs. Sudkins and the neighbourhood of Flat- iron Court, Snargums took him to a neighbouring broker, and two rooms were soon ready for his reception. They then retired to an eating-house, n5 274 THE PARISH CLERK. and thence, at six o'clock, to the " Dustman's Delight," for the last time. " I wish," said Junks, in a whisper to his friend, " you would give me your recipe, for being satisfied with one pint of ale." " Give ! — give a recipe ? no, its part of my trade ; I'll sell it you for a guinea," said Snar- gums. " There it is — now," said Jehalelel, putting his ear close to Snargum's lips, " now V* Snargums pocketed the guinea, after ringing it on the table, and whispered distinctly, " Chew opium." When the friends parted for the night, Junks, who had kept himself perfectly sober, called a coach to the end of Flatiron Court, and paying Mrs. Sudkins a week's rent to compensate for not hav ing received notice, put Mary and all his valuables into the vehicle, and drove off', much to the widow's annoyance, who was dis- gusted at not being able to show her virtuous indignation by turning them out. She consoled herself by exclaiming, "Veil, ow hodd!" and telling her neighbours " has she couldn't habear THE PARISH CLERK. 275 to ave er ouse disseminated with no sich goins hon." Mary was pleased with the exchange of a dim, dingy, dirty court for a fine open street, as 6he thought the Strand of those days. She anticipated great pleasure from looking out of the windows, and seeing the coaches and the company passing along. She expressed as much to Mr. Junks ; but that tyrrannical gentleman strictly prohibited any such indulgence for fear of accidents. Mary reluctantly promised to comply. On the following morning, Snargums called, to give his first lesson in pill-manufacturing, and brought with him a waggon containing a large stock of the ingredients necessary for the purpose, which Junks was to " take to 1 ' at cost price. Half an hour sufficed to make the pupil an adept in the art of compounding and twid- dling up bolusses. The MSS. of the bills were drawn up, a printer and walking- advertiser recommended. Mr. Snargums then offered to give his new friend a dinner in the City. The offer was 276 THE PARISH CLERK. readily accepted. A coach was called, and the driver ordered to go to Water Lane. There Snargums got out, and begging Junks to wait, returned in five minutes, dressed as a doctor in divinity, with a large bundle in his hand, and told Jarvey, in a feigned voice, to drive to Rat- cliff Highway. In the coach he again changed his dress for that of a river pilot, and told Junks he only did so for fun. " Here, 1 ' said Snargums, "here's the fare. You pay the coachman. Til pop out at this door, he'll open the other. You call stop, and take the things into ' the Ship ;' there's the house." Junks did as he was bid. Snargums was out like a shot. " Vere's the t'other gentleman," inquired Jarvey, looking inside the coach, and even under the seats for him. " Here am I," said Snargums, in the doctor of divinity's voice, from the passage of " the Ship," where he could not be seen. " Veil, I never seed him get out. Howsom- dever, summat's up as I ain't down to. But I've got my fare, and it's no business of mine," said Jarvey, as he jogged off. THE PARISH CLERK. 277 After a most excellent dinner, and a bottle of wine, for which Snargums paid, he requested Junks to accompany him to the water-side. Junks did so, and when he had hailed a boat, Snargums wished him good bye. " The truth is," said he, " I'm in a scrape. Two infants — twins — fine children — pillula salu- taria — inflammation very violent. I've said enough. Don't betray me ; my passage is taken —West Indies— good bye." The boat was pushed off the land, and so was Junks, who stood in the way of the water- men so long, doubting whether he hadn't been done, that they were forced to remove him forcibly. Junks had only one glass, and went home to bed. 278 THE PARISH CLERK. CHAPTER LI. THE TREASURE-FINDER. Junks, though alarmed by the elopement of his friend Snargums, and the cause of it, resolved to get some interest for the principle he had vested in the goodwill and drugs. He got the handbills printed, and whilst his employe dis- tributed them, he sat in his consulting room, which he had fitted up with a few human bones, and other remnants of mortality, manipulating the drugs into pills as per recipe, and manu- facturing ointment and lotions sufficient, as he thought, to last for a month. In this he was deceived. His first patient was a man suffering from sore legs — the result of over-application to the good things of this THE PARISH CLERK. 279 life, and an entire neglect of exercise. One box of pills and a little ointment made him much better ; the second enabled him to walk about in comfort, and the third perfectly cured him. In his gratitude to his curer, he put his case in the paper at his own expense. Jehalelel's fame was established. He made money as fast as he could make pills. His doors were besieged, and many a poor wretch, who could scarcely find money enough to purchase a meal of victuals, contrived to scrape two ano\ ninepence together to buy a box of " Junks's pills." He hired a newspaper penny-a-liner to write him a pamphlet, on the virtues of his wonderful discovery. It was pre- faced by a portrait of himself, with an enormous excrescence on one cheek, which had been en- tirely removed by taking two thousand boxes of the pills made from the miraculous vegetable gathered at the bottom of the Nile, assisted by five hundred boxes of the therapeutic ointment. This had a wonderful sale, because the medical men abused it in other pamphlets as a mass of lies, fraud, and ignorance. His patients in- creased daily, and Junks began to think that he 280 THE PARISH CLERK. really was, by good luck, a very clever fellow, and a " real blessing" to the human race. Mary did not know of his great success. She was aware that he was busily engaged all the day, from nine till four, in seeing people in the back parlour, and in selling them medicines; but she had no notion of the rapidity with which he was making money. It was not a part of his plan to let her into his secret. She was kept closely to the rear of the house, and never allowed to go out, except to buy necessaries for the house, of which she did all the drudgery. She saw but little of Jehalelel ; for, after the hours for giving advice gratis were past, he left home, and did not return till late at night, or, rather, early in the morning, in a state of in- toxication. Mary expostulated with him once or twice, and was most liberally abused for interfering with his proceedings. She ventured a third time, and, though she pleaded her " interesting situation," was severely beaten by the affec- tionate Jehalelelel. She threatened to leave him, to expose him, to exhibit the marks of his brutality in a court of justice j for which Jeha- THE PARISH CLERK. 281 lelel beat her still more cruelly, and shut her up in her room. Poor Mary thought that her misery was at its height. She was despised, abused, and ill- treated, by the man whom she still loved. Could any addition be made to her wretchedness? She thought it impossible. She was shortly convinced of the possibility of a very serious addition. The time of her accouchement arrived, and a fine little boy was born to her. Jehalelel came home drunk as usual, but Mary could not resist sending for him to her room, to show him the "little pledge" of their mutual affection. He told the nurse, with a vocabulary of oaths and naughty words, not fit to be repeated, that the b of a mother and the squalling brat might go to together for all he cared. This very nearly broke the poor girl's heart, for the nurse was very correct, and indignantly emphatic in the delivery of his cruel message. Still she attributed his brutality to his intoxica- tion, and trusted that when his reason should be restored to him in the morning, he would visit her and caress her child. In this she was deceived. 282 THE PARISH CLERK. Mr. Junks did not volunteer to visit her j and when the nurse was sent to summon him, he re- plied, "he was too busy, and could not find time." At this unfeeling reply, Mary shed bitter tears, and pressed her infant to her bosom as the only comfort left to her. The fact of Jehalelel's having transferred his affections from her — if ever he had felt any affec- tion for her — to another woman, was shortly afterwards communicated to her by the officious nurse. Mary refused to believe the report. Guileless herself, she could not credit the guilt of others, without positive proof. She took the first opportunity of mentioning what had been told her, to Mr. Junks himself. He did not even pretend to deny the truth of it. He rather gloried in it, and thought he was doing a laudable act, by acting up to the liberal principles which he professed. He ascertained from Mary that the nurse was the person who had communicated the fact to her ; and, though he pretended not to be angry with her for so doing, he found some pretence or other to turn her out of his house the same evening, and THE PARISH CLERK. 283 told Mary that she was quite strong enough to look after the infant and herself too. Ill as she was, Mary's spirit was roused, and she told Mr. Junks plainly, that she should leave him and return home as soon as she was able to do so. He made no reply to her, but left the room, and locked the door after him. He did not wish her to return to her friends, as he thought her father might trouble him by a prosecution for the loss of his daughter's services, and for the recovery of the gold and other valuables with which he absconded. He hired an old woman to do the work of the house, and conveyed all her meals to Mary himself. Thus she was kept a close prisoner, and had no comfort left her but her child. The woman with whom Junks now associated was inferior to his deserted Mary, not only in beauty, but in every ofher respect. She had been one of the corps cle ballet at a theatre, and was the cast-off" mistress of the principal come- dian. She had consulted Junks professionally, and, finding that he was able and willing to sup- ply her with money a discretion, soon yielded to 284 THE PARISH CLERK. his solicitations, and consented to occupy lodg- ings which he furnished for her in the neighbour- hood, and obtained a complete mastery over him. He gave way to all her caprices, submitted to her ill-temper, and gratified her most extrava- gant wishes. In short, she tyrannised over him as much as he did over the patient Mary. Jehalelel was in hopes that, as Mr. Snargums had been obliged to levant to the West Indies, he should occupy the house in the Strand — the depot for the pills, unguents, and lotions- rent-free : but, at the expiration of the half-year, he was disagreeably undeceived. He was waited upon by a resolute-looking lawyer, who produced a power of attorney, properly drawn up, autho- rising him to collect the rents due to the absent inventor of the pillula salutaria. Junks had not wherewith to pay, having handed all his cash to his friend that very morning. He had a week's grace given him, and a broad hint that if the amount due was not forthcoming at the end of that time, he would be troubled for sundry additional sums, by way of "costs of suit." Jehalelel, finding that his inamorata THE PARISH CLERK. 283 would not refund, worked away at pill-grinding, and raised the necessary sum. So infatuated was he with, or, perhaps, so completely in the power of, the danseuse, that he did not complain of her — certainly not to her — for refusing him the means of settling with Mr. Snargums's agent on the spot. In this unhappy state I must leave poor Mary, and the despicable author of her misery, for the present, to return to her parents at Seatown. Tobias Listless had so far recovered from his accident as to be able to go out on crutches. He was still unable to do any thing towards earning the wherewith to support himself and his wife. She had tried every means to gain a little livelihood, but had failed. Had it not been for the rector and the squire, they would have suffered severely, nay, have been almost starved. Tobias, being thoroughly convinced that the rector was a sincere friend to him, and de- termined to resort to some means of gaining a livelihood, consulted him on the subject. The rector suggested to him the probability of suc- ceeding as a baker, in which trade his wife was 286 THE PARISH CLERK. well suited to aid him. Tobias wondered that the notion had not occurred to him before, and resolved to take the parson's advice. But what was he to do for an oven and a stock of flour ? The rector offered to advance him a certain sum. This, Tobias, who thought he had been too heavy a burden to him already, respectfully and firmly refused. The rector understood his feel- ings, and, to relieve him of additional obliga- tion, told him he could give him security for the amount advanced, if he pleased, by giving him a mortgage on the cottage and coppice attached to it, or he might raise a small sum by mort- gaging it to any one else. Tobias gladly assented to the plan, and a sum was raised sufficient to set them up in their new trade. The squire became the mortgagee, and advanced the money, knowing that the rector could ill afford to spare such a sum from his limited income, on which there were so many other calls. In the evening of the day preceding the one on which the workmen were to commence build- ing the oven, and when Tobias had so far ad- THE PARISH CLERK. 287 vanced in his recovery as to be able to walk with a stick, he sat with his wife, and talked over with her all the events which had happened to them in the last twelve months. He expressed his sorrow at having reduced her from a state of comparative opulence to poverty; having driven her sons from their home, and exposed their only daughter to the machinations of a crafty villain ; who, under the guise of religion, had intruded into his family, and robbed him of his money and his children. Mrs. Listless — as women, that is, wives— do, relieved her husband of the blame by taking the greatest part of it on herself. She allowed that she had been imposed upon by the specious- ness of Junks, the ranting preacher, but held herself responsible for the elopement of her daughter, and the loss of their wealth. As they thus sat, endeavouring to console each other by each exonerating the other from blame, they were startled by a sudden and loud knock at the front door. They wondered who it could be, and why the person, whoever it was, had not opened the door and come in ; for in those 2S8 THE PARISH CLERK. days the doors of the cottagers — indeed of the farmers — were only fastened by the latch, and any one might enter who pleased. The knock was repeated loudsr than before, and Mrs. List- less opened the door, inquiring who was there. " The blind and bereaved — theold fish wife," replied Margaret Dawson ; " you bade me, if I were in need, apply to you — to you, who in your prosperity denied relief to every one ; I am come to beg your aid, not for myself, but for one who needs it more than I do." " Come in, Margery, come in," said Mrs. Listless, taking her by the hand and leading her. " We have but little to spare, but of that little any one who needs it shall partake. We have nearly lost our all." " Said I not such would be your fate ?" said Margery ; " said 1 not that nought would prosper in your hands ?" " You did, Margery, and your words have proved true," said Tobias : " our children — where are they ? gone — left us in our distress. Even the dwelling, beneath whose roof you stand, is no longer our own : but for the kindness of THE PARISH CLERK. 289 those I once reviled, I might have been penni- less, and a parish pauper." " Said I not that it would be so ? did I not bid you cling to your own roof even when things came to the worst ? I told you that beneath the embers of your own grate you would find con- solation. You will find, I spoke truly." " No doubt, no doubt, Margery," said Mrs. Listless, " our lot has been hard to bear, though Providence has been kinder than we deserve ; and blessings may be yet in store for us. Our children may return ; and then, if guilt has not been laid to their charge, all will be well. But you came for aid ; what is it you want ?" " One that Tobias led astray by his preaching- lies dangerously ill at my hut," said Margaret ; " he requires more support in his sickness than I can afford to procure him — meat and wine— for he has wandered far, and is weak from want of nourishment." " Have you applied to our charitable rector and the squire ?" asked Tobias. " No ; he will not allow me to do," said Mar- VOL. III. ° 290 THE PARISH CLERK. garet ; " he thinks he has offended them, and is too proud to apply to them for relief." "Whoever he be," said Tobias, putting a guinea into the widow's hand, " give him this, and bid him humble himself, and ask forgiveness of those whom he has insulted." " I will," said Margaret. " I go to procure him what he stands in need of; but, before I go, let me tell you what I seem to have been warned to tell you. The clouds of adversity that have lately shaded your path will shortly vanish. The bright sun of prosperity will soon dawn again. Misery will give place to happiness. Let not the good seed sown in the days of your affliction perish from neglect and want of nurture when that affliction is removed — when your mourning is turned into joy." Margaret Dawson left them to think over the consoling words which she had spoken. The old couple fell on their knees, and uttered a prayer to Heaven to aid them in their distress. They then retired to bed in a happier tone of mind than they had enjoyed for months pre- vious. THE PARISH CLERK. 291 In the morning, the workmen commenced pulling down one side of the room in which Tobias and his wife usually sat, in order to build the oven that was to be the source of their future support. It was necessary to remove the fire-place, in order to get an easier access to the oven's mouth. When the men were gone to their breakfast, and Tobias was left alone, for his wife was gone to the beach to pick up a little wood, he fell back in his arm-chair, from which he had been overlooking the workmen. The aperture in the wall, the loosened bricks, and the workmen's tools lying around him, brought to his mind a dream that he had had on the pre- vious night. He dreamed that he was sitting on the very spot, and in the same chair as he was now sitting in. He was thinking deeply and painfully on his past life, and looking forward to an old e of lameness and want. While he was involved in these wretched imaginings, he thought that he saw the figure of a man, dressed in a hat and flowing feathers, with his hair hanging down his back in rich full curls. He wore a short puce- o2 292 THE PARISH CLERK. coloured cloak, lined with pink silk, a doublet and hose of the same. His feet were protected by a pair of riding boots, which were furnished with large spurs, apparently of silver ; and at his side hung a long Spanish rapier. Tobias thought that he drew this sword, and beckoned with his left hand to some one who stood with- out. The signal was obeyed by three men, dressed as the soldiers of Cromwell's time are represented ; but, instead of carrying arms in their hands, they had mattocks, spades, and crow- bars. The gentleman pointed with his rapier to the walls of the room, and to the fire-place, and the men fell to work immediately and began pulling down the wall. The officer watched every brick as it was removed from its place, and seemed to be urging his men to hasten their work, pointing continually to the hearth-stone, which could not be removed until the wall, part of which rested on the end of it, was cleared away. When this was done, Tobias thought that the officer sheathed his rapier, and, seizing the crowbar from one of the men, proceeded to raise the stone himself. THE PARISH CLERK. 2$3 He lifted it sufficiently to show several earthen vessels, called crocks, all of them filled with large gold coin as big as crown pieces. He was about to move the stone from its place, when " the bird of morning announced the approach of day," or, in plain English, the cock crew, and the four ghosts vanished, carrying their tools with them, and the room was restored to its former and usual state. Tobias Listless recollected all this as perfectly as if it was then before his eyes. He drew his chair nearer to the fire-place. He looked at the hearthstone for some minutes, and then tapped it with his stick. It seemed to return a sound, as if there were a hollow beneath it. An odd undefinable sensation was felt in his throat, as if his heart was an inch or two higher in his pericardium than it ought to have been. He snatched at a pickaxe that lay near him, and, in a fit of trembling and alarm, for which he could not account, fixed one of the points beneath the stone and raised it. To his great surprise, for he was much weakened by his long confinement, the stone yielded to his efforts He stooped down, and, placing his fingers underneath it, 294 THE PARISH CLERK. raised it from its bed. He dropped it, how- ever, immediately, and carefully covered the crevices with rubbish, so that it might not ap- pear to have been moved. He then threw him- self back in his chair, clasped his hands over his eyes, while tears of joy trickled through his fingers. He had seen six large crocks full of gold pieces ; they were all his own ; he was no longer poor. The workmen returned, and To- bias watched the progress of their labour in an agony of mind inconceivable. He feared and trembled lest they should discover and claim a share of his treasure. Mrs. Listless, after collecting a few chips, was about to return home, when it occurred to her that it would be but neighbourly to call at Mar- gery's hut, and inquire after the health of the sick man, for whom Margery had sought assist- ance the night before. As she raised the latch, and was on the point of entering the cottage, she was arrested by the voice of Margaret Daw- son. " Enter not — enter not," she cried, "this is the house of death. The young man is gone to his last account, and has left that infection be- THE PARISH CLERK. 295 hind him which will soon make me its victim. The fever already burns in my veins ; and, ere another sun rises, I shall be numbered with those that have gone hence and are no more seen." Mrs. Listless was greatly shocked. Though alarmed at catching the disorder, she would nevertheless have entered the hut and assisted the poor widow. She offered to do so — to send for a doctor and the rector. " No," said Margery, " no — all human aid I feel — I know would be vain. I wish not to live — I go to join my Edward and my boys. I would die in peace — die unseen by any eye but one, who knoweth how I have prayed, earnestly prayed for this hour to come ; and you — haste you home — what I have predicted is already being accomplished — you will be ,rich — use your riches rightly, and you will be happy. Said I not that you would be so, and that I might live to see it ? Said I not rightly ? Farewell !" Mrs. Listless was quite confounded, both by the sudden illness of Margery, and at her words, which she could not at all comprehend. She 296 THE PARISH CLERK. left her basket of chips in her little front garden, and, without waiting to tell her husband, hurried to the rectory with the tidings of Margery's danger. A messenger was immediately sent for a medical man, who pronounced the fever to be the worst form of typhus. Poor Margaret Daw- son died as she had predicted, before the mor- row's sun rose. THE PARISH CLERK. 297 CHAPTER LII. THE TREASURE-FINDER. Mrs. Listless, when she returned home, could not imagine what ailed her hushand. He sat in his arm-chair, with his eyes fixed upon the earth. He never removed them, except to take a furtive glance at the workmen, whose faces he thought bore an air of suspicion. To the information of poor Margery's illness he made no reply, beyond " Thank God, we shall never want !" Tobias also refused to eat when dinner-time came. He said he could not, he had lost his ap- petite. He tried to pray internally, but his thoughts wandered to his treasures. He won- dered how much the value of them was. He laid all manner of plans for their safe removal. o5 298 THE PARISH CLERK. He thought of all sorts of contrivances to account to the world — his world — Seatown, for becoming suddenly possessed of money again. He longed to communicate his good fortune to his wife ; but, before he could find courage to do so, for he feared in her joy she would betray the secret to somebody, dinner-time had passed, and the men had returned to their labour. Before the evening came they had completed so much of the building as to render it necessary to replace the bricks in the interior. This would have ren- dered it difficult for Tobias to remove the. hearth- stone and get at hi6 treasure. He told them to leave off for the night, and gave them each a trifle to spend at the " Fisherman's Return." When they were gone, Tobias told his wife to lock all the doors, and bar them securely, and then return to him, as he had something import- ant to disclose to her. " Lock and bar the doors?" inquired Mrs. Listless, amazed, and thinking her husband was a little wrong in the head. She had suspected as much from his very odd way of proceeding THE PARISH CLERK. 299 during the day, and this very unusual order con- finned her in her opinion. " Ay — lock — bar— bolt them — make them so secure that no one may intrude. Fasten the outer gates, that no ear may hear what I have to tell you, no eye see what I have to show you," said Tobias, speaking scarcely " above his breath." " Tobias, Tobias, are you ill ?" said Mrs. Listless. " 111 — no — no — not ill — but I— my heart is too full — go — go and do as I tell you, and pre- pare to be surprised— to be astonished. Poor Margery ! she spoke truly — but, there — go — go and fasten every door — lock, bar, and bolt them securely," whispered Tobias, looking round him at the door and window, as if suspecting that some one was listening. Mrs. Listless fastened the house lis securely as the few bolts and locks would admit of, and re- turned to her husband, fearing, and at the same time hoping, she knew not what ; but the men- tion of Margery's name reminded her of the words she had uttered in the morning, and she 300 THE PARISH CLERK. thought it was possible that her husband had heard good news of her sons ; they might be re- turning, having earned money enough during their short absence to render the old age and remaining years of their parents happy and com- fortable. Mary might be coming back, and Mr. Junks might intend to restore the money he had carried off. A hundred things might have happened, of which she had never dreamed. '* Is all quite safe ?"" said Tobias. " All," said his wife ; " every door is fas- tened." " Then close the shutters," said Tobias, " and hang a sheet or something before them, that no one may see into the room." " See ? — pray what are they to see that we need be ashamed of? — I never — " " Silence, woman, silence, and do as I bid you, 1 ' said Tobias ; " I would not have another eye see what you are about to see, for all the wealth we are possessed of." "Wealth? we? — where — how — Tobias, are you mad?" said Mrs. Listless. " I am not mad, woman, but do as I tell you THE PARISH CLERK. 301 — close every chink — every cranny, and you shall see that which does make men mad : gold — wench — gold — there, make haste !" Mrs. Listless did not hesitate any longer, but spread a counterpane before the window-shutters as speedily as she could, though her hands trem- bled so that she could scarcely perform her task. She did, however ; and when she had brought a lighted candle — " Now," said Tobias, " give me yonder mattock, and help me to remove this hearth-stone. " It was speedily and easily re- moved ; and Mrs. Listless, as soon as she saw the earthen vessels and their rioh contents, dropped the light and fell down fainting. Her husband rubbed her hands, and used every means to restore her ; for a time his exertions were fruit- less ; but at length she began to breathe freely, and then laughed and cried alternately, so loudly that Tobias feared she would alarm their neigh- bours, and that some one would come to demand the cause of her cries, and so discover his treasure. At last, however, the hysterical convulsions ceased, and, after falling on her husband's neck, SOS THE PARISH CLERK. and enjoying a relief-giving burst of tears, she became calm enough to light the candle again, and assist Tobias in removing the crocks and counting the coins. There were six of the earthen vessels made of hard unglazed red ware, in shape like a small pitcher without a handle ; in place of the handle, apiece of leather had been fixed over the mouth and fastened round the neck ; but time and the heat of the hearth-stone had rendered it so brittle that it broke, the mo- ment it was touched, and crumbled to pieces between the fingers. Each of these six crocks contained 100 coins ; but what the value of them was, neither of them could tell. They were about the size of crowns, but not so thick. After the crocks were removed, and the coins counted, Tobias told his wife to fill the space below the hearth with rubbish. The stone was then replaced, and they felt more secure. But what was to be done next ? How were they to hide the coins for the present, and how were they to get them exchanged for the money of the day? Many plans were thought of, but all were given up as objectionable in some respect or THE PARISH CLERK. 803 other. Mrs. Listless suggested the propriety of revealing the matter to the parson or the squire, and asking their advice on the subject, but Tobias had a notion that a lord of the manor had a right and title to every thing found within the manoralty, and would not consent that any one should share the secret until every coin was changed into the current coin of the realm. The crocks were carefully broken into small pieces, and mixed with the fragments of bricks that were strewed about the room. The coins were put into canvass bags, and the bags into the ticking of the bed on which they slept. These arrangements completed, they went to bed, but not to sleep. The hours that are generally dedi- cated by weary mortals to the worship of Mor- pheus or Somnus were passed by these disciples of Plutus in contriving a means o£ converting their treasure into a serviceable shape. At last, they agreed to go to London by a vessel that belonged to John Layton, which was used by one of his sons for carrying the stones from Portland or Swanage Bay to any of the ports along the coast. She was then lying off 804 THE PARISH CLERK. Pagham Harbour, bound for London, and would sail the following day. They easily obtained a passage on board her, and accounted for their sudden voyage by saying that they had received information that their daughter was in London with Mr. Junks, and that they wished to see her, and reclaim what property they could from the preacher. Tobias and his wife wrapped about 100 of the coins in two belts, one of which they each fas- tened round their persons and under their clothes. The remainder was buried, in the dead of the night, in a hole which Mrs. Listless dug in the garden, and covered over with some manure which had been lying there for some months. They arrived safely, and, after a speedy voyage, though it appeared tedious to them, in the port of London, and took up their abode in the house that young Layton himself frequented. What was to be done next ? Neither Tobias nor his wife had ever been in London before. They were afraid to ask any questions about a goldsmith, or a buyer of old coins, for fear of being asked what they could possibly want with THE PARISH CLERK. 305 such a person. They took one gold piece out of one of the belts, and made up their minds to walk out the next day, and seek for a shop at a distant part of the town. Tobias being too lame to walk very far, hired a boat, and told the waterman to row them a mile up the river, and land them near to Charing- Cross, which was almost the only place in London that Tobias knew by name, and that from having in his pos- session a picture of the statue which stands there. They were landed at Hungerford Stairs, and, as soon as they reached the Strand, Tobias, in- stead of going to view the statue of Charles the First, turned to the right and peered into every window he passed to find a goldsmith's shop. He had not proceeded very far, when, at the corner of a lane, leading to the river^ he saw a small shop, the window of which was protected by bars of iron, the interstices being filled with a strong wire netting. This protection seemed necessary, for, in the window, were several bowls of wood, filled with gold and silver coins of every nation and every age of the world. Mingled with these were fragments of seals, chains, and 306 THE PARISH CLERK. other ornaments. Against the centre pane hung a small card, which informed the public that " old gold and silver was bought or exchanged" within. Tobias and his wife entered. On the opposite side of a wide counter, which was fenced off by a high palisading (if I may use that word) of wire-work, through a small aperture in which coins and other valuables could be passed withi- out there being room for a hand to pass with them, stood a little sickly-looking man, who was weighing some tarnished gold and silver lace. Tobias handed over his coin, and begged to know how much the goldsmith would give him for it. The man examined and weighed it, and then pronounced it to be a gold Jacobus, and worth about three pounds sterling. Tobias was in a violent perspiration. All his suspicions and fears were banished. The coins were golden, and were worth more than he sup- posed. He was indeed rich. He told the gold- smith he had several of the same sort — a hoard of one of his ancestors, which he had been un- willing to part with until he was compelled to THE PARISH CLERK. 307 do so. The man told him, if he would bring them to him, and they were in as good a state of preservation as this was, he would purchase all of them at three pounds each. Poor Tobias told him he would bring all he had on the following day ; but Mrs. Listless was in such a hurry to convert the ancient into modern coin, that she told the goldsmith that they had them then under their clothes, for fear of being robbed ; and that, if he could let them have the use of a bed-room, where they could undress, he might have them at once. The man readily assented, and showed them into a back room up- stairs. While Tobias went down with the coins to get them changed, he left his wife to finish her toilette. When she had done so, and went to the window to give the last finishing touch to her homely cap and bonnet, before the glass that hung there, she cast her eyes across the court, and, to her great astonishment, beheld her daugh- ter — her Mary, sitting at a window opposite, ca- ressing a fine little child, who was crowing and springing about in her arms. 308 THE PARISH CLERK. Mrs. Listless leaned against the wall for sup- port — she felt ill and faint — when she recovered, she knocked with her knuckles against the glass, to attract her child's notice; but she did not hear, or hearing, did not heed the noise. Mrs. Listless then threw up the window, and called — nay, shrieked — out " Mary ! Mary !" Mary heard the cry — knew the voice — she put down the child, opened the window, and stood gazing on her mother — parting the ringlets on her forehead, as if she feared they should obstruct the view of her loved, her deserted parent. They tried to converse across the court ; but the noise of passing vehicles, and the cries of the child, prevented their words being distinctly heard. Mary pointed to the door below — the door " with a lamp in the passage," and closed the window. Mrs. Listless hurried down stairs, and, with^- out informing her husband of what or whom she had seen, inquired of the goldsmith who lived at the opposite corner of the lane. " Mr. Junks, mum. You have, doubtless, heard of Junks's celebrated pills?" said the man. THE PARISH CLERK. 309 "Eh? what?— who?" said Tobias, who was just buttoning up the value of his Jacobuses in his pocket. "Who? — Junks? Did you say Junks? What is his christening name?" " Rather an odd one," said the man. " Je- halelel — but the man at the corner will give you a bill, containing all particulars." " That's the rascal — come along," said Tobias. " Ay, come along," said Mrs. Listless — " I know it's him, for I've seen Mary — come along." At the corner stood the walking- advertizer, distributing his bills as industriously as ever. Tobias thrust his proffered bill aside, and asked where Junks's door was. The man pointed to it. The outer door stood open, and, by the light of " the lamp in the passage," Tobias saw the words — " Consulting-room. Hours, from 9 till 4. Ring the bell." He did so. A spring was touched, and Jehalelel Junks discovered, dressed in black, with an enormous white tie round his neck, sitting at a table, covered with pill-boxes, unguents, and bottles of lotion. " You scoundrel — you villain — where's my money ?" said Tobias. 310 THE PARISH CLERK. " You good-for-nothing, soul-destroying, de- ceitful man — where's my daughter?" said his wife. Jehalelel was at first taken aback. He turned very pale — as pale as his grog-discoloured face would allow him to turn — and, if he could have reached the door, would have bolted. As there was no chance of escaping, he was determined to brazen it out. He put out his hand, and, with a faint smile, said — " Ah ! my much- respected father-in-law — is it you?" " Where's my money ?" said Tobias, reject- ing the offer of his hand. " Ah !" said Jehalelel, sighing — " gone — all gone — my late wife, poor thing ! long illness — physicians and all that." " What? where is Mary?" said Mrs. List- less. " Dead ! " whispered Junks, and wiped his eyes with a white cambric. " Dead ! why I saw her — spoke to her from over the way, not five minutes ago," said Mrs. Listless. " When I said dead," said Jehalelel, speaking THE PARISH CLERK* 311 in mournful accents, and in a low tone — "I meant dead to the world — purpuraX fever — affected the brain — you understand? Mad — been in confinement for months, upon my ho- nour." " I must see her, poor girl," said Mrs. List- less. " She can't be so very bad, for she knew me in a moment." " No, my dear mother-in-law," said Junks, " you cannot — must not see her. You would be shocked — the meeting would be attended with unpleasant consequences." " I must and ivill see her," said Tobias. " I don't believe a word the villain says." Tobias, without waiting to argue the matter any further, left the consulting-room, and seized the knocker of the inner-door ; with which he commenced such a clatter as soon brought the old woman to answer it. Tobias pushed by her, followed by his wife, and they would have pro- ceeded up-stairs, had not Jehalelel, who was de- termined that they should not see Mary, and learn all his ill-treatment of her, prevented them. After in vain trying to dissuade them 312 THE PARISH CLERK. from seeing her, and to persuade them to call again the next day, when she would be prepared for their visit, and more calm, he fairly, or rather unfairly, turned them both out of doors. Tobias and his wife did not b.ear this rough usage quietly, but raised such a clamour that a crowd was soon collected round them. Jeha- lelel very coolly told those nearest to him, that the cause of the disturbance was, that the poor old man and woman whom they saw had been cured by him when in a state of raving mad- ness ; and, though he had told them of the con- sequences, would not take any more of his pills. " They are gone off again, you see, worse than ever, and fancy I have taken away their daugh- ter. Ifs a sad case." The crowd collected drew the attention of two young men, dressed in sailor's clothes, who were coming up from the river. They stopped to in- quire what was the cause of the crowd, when the younger observed to the elder — " Why, I say, Abel, as sure as I'm higher than a handspike, that's the ranting fellow there on the step as bedevilled father, and set him on a-preaching." THE PARISH CLERK. 313 " Make way there, 1 ' shouted Abel — " Hilloa. preacher ! I've got a speak of you at last." Mrs. Listless heard the voice, and, in a few seconds, was in her sons' arms ; to whom she explained, as rapidly as possible, that Jehalelel had run off with Mary and all their money, and would not let them see her. " Come along, Jack," said Abel, as he gave his mother into his father's care. " Come along, my boy ; we'll soon have her out to the old folks." Mr. Junks offered as much opposition as he could, but the two young men dragged him into the street, and, running in at the door where the old woman still stood listening to what was going on, were up the stairs in a few seconds, shouting Mary ! Mary ! She answered them, and' told them her door was locked. A few minutes sufficed to get rid of that difficulty, and Mary found herself in the arms of her brothers, and soon afterwards had the delight of embracing her parents. To them she revealed, as concisely as she could, all that VOL. III. P 314 THE PARISH CLERK. had happened to her. She begged, and easily obtained, their forgiveness for leaving them. Tobias was determined to prosecute Mr. Junks for robbery. Abel and John were fully bent on taking the law into their own hands, and beating him to a jelly on the spot. Mary begged and entreated of them to take her away, and not to expose her to shame by bringing the matter be- fore the public. Tobias and his wife, with re- luctance, yielded to her wishes ; but her brothers were determined that he should not escape their vengeance. They ran down stairs, and would have put their threats into execution, had not Jehalelel prudently withdrawn himself from the scene of action, suspecting that his treatment of Mary might involve him in some unpleasant consequences. Mary, with her infant, and her clothes, was removed at once, and, on the following day, the whole family returned to Seatown. Abel and John were able to accompany them, as they had a month's leave while the merchant-ship, aboard which they had entered when they left home, was being refitted. THE PARISH CLERK. 315 Tobias, to account for his being in possession of ready money, gave out that he had recovered the greater portion of the money which had been carried off by his daughter's husband — for, to save her credit, she was called Mrs. Junks; this was readily believed. He did not inform his sons or his daughter of his treasure ; but, when they returned to London, after their leave had expired, dug up the remainder of it, and invented some excuse for accompanying them. He readily exchanged the Jacobuses at the same shop, and took the opportunity of in- quiring after Mr. Junks. He was glad to hear that he was in prison for manslaughter, having killed a young woman by administering an over- dose of the pills from the bottom of the Nile. What became of Jehalelel, eventually, was never known. The last time he was seen and recognized was in the character of a street- sweeper, at the bottom of Holborn Hill. Tobias returned home, and shortly after died ; whether from the excitement of his journeys, and the events that had resulted from them, or, p 2 31 6 THE PARISH CLERK. as Davy would have it, from joy at having found so large a treasure, cannot be known. After his death, Mrs. Listless mentioned the fact of finding the treasure to her daughter. Mary, under a strict charge of secresy, revealed it to a young friend, and so it became known to the whole village. And so ends the little story of the Treasure- Finder. THE PARISH CLERK. 317 CHAPTER LIII. FINALE IN DOUBLE D FLAT. The double D, reader, who is laid flat, is my — I hope I may say our — friend, Davy Diggs. Some years after my sojourn at Seatown, in the humble but hospitable abode of John Lay- ton, I went down into Sussex to pay a long-pro- mised visit to an old college-friend and chum. His parsonage was not more than fifteen or six- teen miles from the Fisherman's Return ; and as he kept " rather a spicy tit," as he would have called his gelding in his collegiate days, I bor- rowed it, and rode over to renew my acquaint- ance with several whom I had left with regret in the peaceful village of Seatown. A race had arisen, however, " that knew not Joseph." Death had been discharging his dole- 318 THE PARISH CLERK. ful duty. A Layton still reigned despotically over the little public, but not the Layton, who had been wont to " Brew the grog and light the fragrant weed" for and with me. Amongst other signs of change, the sign of the inn had been changed, and, in the place of the enigmatical painting I have described, was suspended a board which gave no room for speculation, but plainly stated in printed charac- ters the name by which the house was called. Of course my first inquiry was u is Davy Diggs still living ?" The answer, though I ex- pected it, came chillingly to my heart — " he has been dead some years.*" By dint of cross-examination, I elicited the particulars of " the last sad scene that ended his strange eventful history" from my informant. Davy, it appeared, after my departure, lost his old favourite retriever, " Bo'sun," the rheumatic, purblind, deaf Newfoundland dog. He supplied his place with a puppy, the gift of the squire, and, in his endeavours to train him up in the way a dog should go, he spent most of his nights, and what portions of his days he could spare from THE PARISH CLERK. 319 his other duties, in dabbling about the marshes amongst snipes and wild ducks. Though no- thing could damp his ardour, the fens damped his clothes ; and though, in his earlier days, Davy despised damp clothes, he found that his old age, unlike a patent mackintosh, was not warranted to resist the wet. Davy was attacked by agues and by rheumatism, which his perse- vering and frequent applications to the little Dutch bottle of Hollands served only to exaspe- rate. He would not have a doctor because he said " he knowed how to physic a dog, and hu- mans only wanted to be physicked a little milder on the same plan." He tried one of his favourite recipes internally, which carried off — not u the ills his human flesh was heir to " — but Davy Diggs himself. His successor in the office of parish clerk found his duties disagreeable at first. He could not give satisfaction either to the parson or his flock. They missed the fine sonorous tones of Davy in the responses, and the " Grinstun or- gan" seemed to have lost its " largo." The little Sunday-school boys and girls munched ap- 320 THE PARISH CLERK. pies and cracked nuts with impunity, now that the every-way-at-once-ish eyes and the withy wand of their former master were removed. The church had lost an ornament. As Davy had decorated the tombs of all who had gone before him with specimens or " s'pul- chral po'try," I was curious to ascertain if his mantle had descended upon his successor, and enabled him to record Mr. Diggs's virtues in " uneven numbers." I sought the " ivy-mantled tower" of Seatown church, and just at its base, and not far from the " yew-tree's shade/ 1 I dis- covered the spot where rested, and still I trust rest, the remains of my humble friend. Davy, though improvident in worldly matters gene- rally, had proved himself provident ere he left the world. Just before his death, he put a small piece of paper into the hands of the clergyman, his master, and whispered a request that its con- tents might be attended to. The rector, thinking it contained his last will and testament, grasped the dying man's hand, and assured him that his wishes should be complied with. A smile of sa- tisfaction passed over the features of Davy, and, THE PARISH CLERK. 321 with a gentle sigh, he died. The parson opened the paper, and found u Revered sur plis to Hav this wrut On My grav wen ime gon. " Reader Dont Stop nor Shed no tears For i Was parish clerk For 60 years If i lived On i Could Not Now as Then Say to The parson's Prares A loud Amen." This last effusion of Davy Diggs may still be seen by the curious in epitaphs in Seatown churchyard. THE END. LONDON : F.SHOISERt.,JUN.,51, ROPKRT STREET, HAYMARKKT, PRINTER TO H. R. H. PRIXCE ALBERT. University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. 000 245 579 8 jH ^I^A'iV* r-'i W «. i.' > • 'Ato©* 'ImJHW Pi!;""'." I'' j >#Mi f:M3tt1 $A#r ?&*«.: ■ 'A ' ' A/ * ' •- -'-* ' . . EpfflS ■ p •4SX9RZ%fl "SnWiW- $|;&* Unive] Soi Li ., - J» 2} -A 1 i; - » ^jjSia