Ex Libris 
 C. K. OGDEN 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 1'^
 
 \ . ,-. - 
 
 & 
 
 V 
 
 LEGENDARY TALES. 
 
 V=;^2=^
 
 " Not too wise to despise old Legends." 
 
 Charles Lamb.
 
 ^ 
 
 
 KN'OTV THYSELF. 
 
 Pntfe 41 .
 
 /3,//Jf/ 
 
 H^r^U iKj^ 
 
 )iM,fi 
 
 EGENDARY 
 
 ALES. 
 
 BY MRS. ALFRED GATTY. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " PARABLES FROM 
 NATURE," ETC. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY PHIZ. 
 
 r 
 
 . < LONDON: 
 
 BELL AND DALDY, 186, FLEET STREET. 
 
 1858.
 
 m 
 
 in iz 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 A Legend of Sologne 1 
 
 The Hundredth Birthday 91 
 
 The Treasure-seeker 147 
 
 ,-< 
 
 _ V-- •i^^ z.^ ii_ fi-^ >_i»
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 HAD a curious adventure one 
 Christmas, an adventure which 
 influenced my fate for life, and 
 which I really think worth re- 
 
 cording;. 
 
 It happened a few days before Christmas- 
 eve. The weather was very gloomy and cold, 
 and on the evening in question I paced up and 
 down the large old library for nearly an hour 
 after my solitary dinner, in a rather dull and 
 quarrelsome state of mind. 
 
 It sounds ridiculous to say so, but I was out 
 of humour about an old proverb. 
 
 Not that a man always really knows what 
 he is out' of humour about, even when he fan- 
 cies he does. 
 
 B
 
 2 A LEGEND OF SOLOQNE. 
 
 Sometimes it is simply owing to indigestion ; 
 but sometimes to the awakened OTawinjjs of an 
 ill-satisfied conscience. It behoves the suflercr 
 to look closely into the matter, for the reme- 
 dies for the two complaints are not the same. 
 
 We all of us, I suspect, however, find it 
 easiest, in such eases, to lay hold upon some 
 trumpery little grievance, and make it the 
 scape-goat of our unpleasant condition ; and, 
 perhaps, this may have been my resource on 
 the evening I speak of. We shall see. 
 
 There was nothing in the room I was in — 
 its condition or contents — to account for any 
 uncomfortable sensations. A cheerful fire was 
 blazing in the grate : my favourite dog and cat 
 were lying before it, rejoicing in the warmth it 
 sent out; and as for the library itself, there 
 was not such a collection of books in all the 
 country round, as I very well knew. 
 
 They had been brought together from all 
 quarters of the world by my father, who had 
 been a great traveller in his youth ; and there 
 were volumes in almost every language under 
 the sun.
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. O 
 
 Iceland and China, Russia and Armenia, 
 had each theii" representatives on my shelves. 
 Old Troubadour poetry sat side by side ■with 
 the Eddas of Scandinavian mythology ; the 
 folio Celtic dictionary stood up boldly by that 
 of Persia; and the Italian Classics shone out 
 among them all, with a delicate, ghost-like 
 appearance, in their livery of vellum and gold. 
 
 Truly it was a library to be proud of, and 
 old associations had turned my pride into love. 
 But the books did me no good that night ; so 
 many of them (all the grammars and diction- 
 aries at any rate) contained old proverbs, and 
 I was sick of proverbs, and could scarcely have 
 listened to a maxim by Confucius with patience. 
 
 Nor was this to be wondered at, for it is 
 seldom an agreeable thing to have to alter 
 one's opinion ; and I, who had been a pro- 
 found admirer of those supposed concentrations 
 of wisdom all my life, naturally felt mortified 
 at having had a peep at the other side of the 
 question. 
 
 And yet every question has its two sides. 
 A proverb is an excellent thing in its way.
 
 4 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 Full of ■nisclom, — but the -wisdom is limited. 
 Full of observation, — but the observation is 
 often one-sided. Nothing, therefore, is more 
 liable to be misused ; and a genuine proverb- 
 monger — he who chills off your enthusiasm by 
 a tame truism, and stops rational conversation 
 by a platitude — is a pest to civilized society. 
 
 But then, again, look at the Russian pea- 
 sant, (ah ! the old Russ Grammar had taught 
 me how prolific the country was in proverbs ;) 
 what an interesting fact it is, if, as modern 
 accounts testify, he can philosophize away his 
 griefs by an axiom, and guide his conduct in 
 life by some witty generalization, rather than 
 by the impulses of selfishness or petulance. 
 The ill-used serf, who consoles himself for his 
 wrongs by reflecting. Who knows Iiow often the 
 carpet was beaten? is a man to whom words 
 have become living things, and the practical 
 character of whose faith we should not do 
 amiss to imitate. 
 
 Proverbs, then, are valuable or ridiculous, 
 according to their use. But, besides this, they 
 vary in the depth of their wisdom ; and woe
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. O 
 
 betide the blunderer who takes the result of 
 some superficial observation for a solemn and 
 universal truth. 
 
 On the morning of the day of my adventure 
 I had been to a neighbouring town on busi- 
 ness; and, after it was over, decided to ride 
 forward a few miles further, and visit a mar- 
 ried brother, who rejoiced in the possession of 
 several children. 
 
 To make myself particularly acceptable, I 
 went to a toy-shop, and purchased, for my 
 eldest and still favourite little niece Clara, a 
 magnetic swan, pleasing myself, as I trotted 
 along the frosty road, by thinking of the large 
 astonished eyes I should see, and the scream of 
 joyous amazement I should hear, on exhibiting 
 my treasure. 
 
 " None but fools wonder," — so runs the old 
 proverb, — mused I to myself as I rode along. 
 But oh, happy childhood! around which the 
 gift of wondering still lingers, without the dis- 
 grace of its folly; without the shame of an 
 ignorance T.inbefitting thy years ! 
 
 Yes, reader, I said thus to myself, and.
 
 6 A LEGEND OF SOLOONE. 
 
 growing sentimental at the tlioxiglit, wished 
 myself a child, to be so easily pleased ; wished 
 that I, too, could wonder at a magic swan 
 from a toy-shop, and voted the wisdom dearly 
 paid for, which deprives the grown man of the 
 luxury of surprise, and substitutes for the sweet 
 delusions which make earth a paradise, a cold 
 acquaintance Avith facts. 
 
 The early dinner was going on Avhcn I ar- 
 rived ; but after it was over I sent for a bowl 
 filled with water, took the child on my knee, 
 (she was about five years old,) floated the glit- 
 tering swan, and attracted it, first here, then 
 there, bv the magical stick. But — alas for 
 my disappointment ! — the little maiden's eyes 
 opened no wider than usual, and the only 
 sounds that broke from her ruddy lips were, 
 " How its back shines, Uncle Richard!" (It 
 was made of painted tin.) " Let it come to 
 me !" and, as she spoke, she held out a crumb 
 of biscuit to it, in her dainty fingers. 
 
 " It will not come to your fingers, little 
 puss, nor to biscuit," cried I, thinking to rouse 
 the dormant faculties into exertion.
 
 
 TOO TOrXO TO WONDER. 
 
 Page 6 .
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 7 
 
 " Oil then," -was her ready answer, " it likes 
 the stick best! come along, swan!" and she 
 took the stick from my hand, and drew the 
 swan about from side to side, laughing merrily 
 at the fun ; — and that was all ! 
 
 Clearly my little castle had tumbled to the 
 ground, with its out-houses of reflections into 
 the bargain, and the proverb was buried in the 
 ruins ! 
 
 With her faculties but just opening on the 
 world, in almost total ignorance of the laws 
 of nature and the fitness of things, how could 
 wonder be expected from that child? A mi- 
 racle would not have surprised her. Why 
 should it ? How could it ? 
 
 It is an affair of years to teach the ranging 
 spirit of the human creature the boundaries 
 and barriers of possible and impossible, even in 
 this narrow sphere of its earthly abode. 
 
 Possible and impossible ! Mere conventional 
 phrases, referring always to the previously 
 ascertained facts of limited senses, and an esta- 
 blished course of events. 
 
 " You are coming on Christmas-eve, little
 
 8 A LEGEXD OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 Clara, remember," said I, as I kissed her and 
 got up to depart. " Bring the swan if you 
 like, and mind you don't forget." 
 
 "Oh, I cant forget, Uncle Richard," cried 
 she, hugging me round the neck ; " I think of 
 it all day long. I like to come so much ; but 
 I wish you didn't live alone ! " 
 
 I hurried away ; said I did not like to be 
 out late, the evenings were so cold ; and can- 
 tered hastily back to my solitary home. 
 
 But my lesson was not over. 
 
 On my return I busied myself (it may have 
 been to drive away thought) in rearranging 
 some portfolios of prints, and got my old ser- 
 vant James to bring a duster and assist me. 
 
 Now James was a Yorkshireman, — and 
 Yorkshiremen always seem firm adherers to 
 the old proverb, that " None but fools won- 
 der ;" for there is no surprising them, even in 
 their most unguarded moments, into an ex- 
 pression of astonishment and admiration. 
 
 James was carefully laying one print on the 
 top of another, Avhen I observed him linger for
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOQNE. 9 
 
 a second or two over one, which represented 
 the leaning tower of Pisa. 
 
 It was a magnificent enffravinsr. I had 
 brought it from Italy myself. I glanced at 
 James's fixed eye, and an amused idea came 
 over me, that at last I should catch a York- 
 shireman wondering. 
 
 The man's father had been a mason. 
 
 " Of course," thought I, " he really is sur- 
 prised at the extraordinary construction of that 
 tower." 
 
 " James ! " said I. 
 
 " Sir ! " was his answer, looking up. 
 
 " I'm glad to see you noticing that print. 
 Did you ever see anything so remarkable as 
 that tower ? It is one of the most celebrated 
 buildings in the world." 
 
 James's eye returned to the engraving for a: 
 moment, and then he commenced adjusting 
 the four corners of the sheet with praiseworthy 
 nicety, but his only reply to my remarks was, 
 
 " It may be cilibrated, but its creeuk'd how- 
 iver!"
 
 10 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 Well, well ! Where a knowledge of the laws 
 of gravitation was necessary to wonder, was it 
 reasonable to expect wonder from James? To 
 his unmathematical mind there were no limits 
 to the possible slope of a building. The lean- 
 ing tower of Pisa was to him crookedness, and 
 nothing more. 
 
 " It is certainly as I thought," groaned I to 
 myself. " The old proverb is rotten at the 
 core. It is only the wise who wonder, for it is 
 only the wise who know where the earthly 
 possible ends." 
 
 We finished the arrangement of the portfolio 
 in silence; and then followed the dressing hour, 
 and then the brief solitary meal, and then the 
 lonely winter evening, which, on this occasion, 
 neither my books nor my living favourites 
 seemed capable of enlivening. At last I began 
 to discover that the longer I walked up and 
 down, and thought, the more irritated I be- 
 came; so I resolved to think no more, and 
 going up to a shelf whereon reposed a some- 
 what desultory set of books which I rarely 
 looked at, I took out the first volume that
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 11 
 
 came to hand, retreated to my arm-chair by 
 the fire, placed a lamp on the small table at 
 my side, patted the dog, stroked the cat, leant 
 back in my chair, and opened my book. 
 " Come weal, come woe," exclaimed I, " this 
 is my amusement for the night ; and there 
 never was a book written yet out of which 
 something might not be gleaned." 
 
 (Which is true, good reader — even if the 
 lesson be merely this, that thou shouldst never 
 thyself be tempted to write such another !) 
 
 Well, but the book in mv hand was an old 
 " Time's Telescope" for the year 1828, and, as 
 I turned over the pages, one little interest after 
 another took possession of my mind. Here 
 was a curious bit of folk lore — there was a 
 peep into natural history. In one place the 
 coming of the cuckoo was recorded; and 
 thence my heart wandered off into the thoughts 
 of Spring, when all inanimate creation seems 
 struggling after language and utterance; and 
 thence back again to the melancholy Autumn, 
 enlivened^' nevertheless, by one cheering sound 
 — the note of the friendly robin ; a music all
 
 12 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 the more toucliing that it comes when other 
 voices of hope have died away. 
 
 But I had resolved against dreamy medita- 
 tions ; so I turned to my book again, and read 
 on, till the tales of Christmas Customs com- 
 pletely roused my attention 5 and then, all at 
 once, — 
 
 " Well, here is something completely new !" 
 exclaimed I to myself. 
 
 For there I found recorded that there was a 
 district in France, named Sologne, in which, 
 for the space of twelve hours in every year, all 
 domestic animals, to wit, dogs, cats, horses, 
 cows, pigs, &c. became possessed of the faculty 
 of speech : — the precise anniversary of the sin- 
 gular gift commencing at midnight of Christ- 
 mas-eve, and terminating at mid-day of Christ- 
 mas-day itself. 
 
 " Something completely new!" I repeated, 
 as I laid the book on my knee, with my thumb 
 in the place. 
 
 On which the other side of my brain (I am 
 a believer in the Dualistic theory, of course; for
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 13 
 
 how else can a man ever talk to himself?) ob- 
 served, " There is nothing new under the sun." 
 On which I got very angry, and uttered the 
 ejaculation, " Humbug ! " But King Solomon 
 has said it; and so, good reader, let us con- 
 sider the matter coolly over. 
 
 What, if the solid materials of the earth be 
 but the same as they were at its creation, and 
 therefore fresh combinations and ajiplications 
 of them cannot be called new in an absolute 
 sense, are they not new, to all intents and pur- 
 poses, when they have not been known, or, at 
 all events, not been made available before ? 
 Nay, further, there are quantities of even long 
 existent facts and things still unknown to 
 quantities of people ; and is not everything a 
 new thins: to him who hears it for the first 
 time? Objectively, if not subjectively, new. 
 New, that is, to him who hears it, even if not 
 new in itself. Do not let us calumniate King 
 Solomon, nor misapply his sayings. 
 
 That argumentative side of my brain was 
 decidedly wrong ; do you not think so ?
 
 14 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 Assuredly, to me ^ho had never heard of 
 the Sologne Legend before, it was, to all in- 
 tents and purposes, new. 
 
 For you, good readers, I dare not affirm 
 whether it will be new or not. To some, of 
 course, it may not, but to others I think it 
 must ; which I am all the more inclined to be- 
 lieve, because the " Time's Telescope" has been 
 long ago laid aside to make way for better and 
 more modern instruments; and its ingenious 
 editor has long been the victim of that death 
 which he wrote a quarto volume to prove was 
 by no means an incurable disease.* 
 
 With all his ingenuity, however, Mr. Whiter 
 made but a foolish remark respecting the con- 
 versation of the animals in the French district 
 of Sologne ; for, said he, " we are not told in 
 what language they converse." 
 
 As if there could be any doubt about it ! As 
 if an animal only permitted to talk in one day 
 out of 365 would not be certain to use that 
 particular form of speech which he had listened 
 to during the other 364 ! 
 
 * « The Disease of Death." By the Eev, Walter Whiter.
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOQNE. 15 
 
 Besides which, these conversational powers 
 of theirs are permitted as a sort of moral 
 lesson for the benefit of their masters and mis- 
 tresses; for at those times the creatures discuss 
 aloud the treatment they have received from 
 those with whom they live, and praise or con- 
 demn them accordingly. 
 
 Happy for those masters and mistresses in 
 the district of Sologne who, in the course of 
 the year, have borne in mind that a good man 
 is merciful to his beast, and have acted accord- 
 ingly ! 
 
 While I was reading that passage in the old 
 " Time's Telescope" I was lying back in my 
 easy chair, with the cat on my knee, for the 
 old sandy rogue had jumped up a very few 
 minutes after I seated myself, and the dog — 
 a fine white and brown German poodle — was 
 at my feet, with his nose reclining on my shoe. 
 
 And here it is as well to confess, once for 
 all, that I had been rather a peculiar man all 
 my life. That is to say, I was an eldest son, 
 but did not very much care about it; had 
 fretted, to almost a morbid extent, about my
 
 16 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 father's death ; had, perhaps, got unsettled 
 with travelling abroad for several years : cer- 
 tainly had never married, as had been expected 
 of me, and never, for the life of me, could 
 make out -what the usual run of young ladies 
 were made of, any more than in the old nur- 
 sery days, when I was taught that they were 
 compounded of — 
 
 " Sugar and spice, and all that's nice, 
 
 And that's what little girls are made of, made of." 
 
 Do what I would, they were always insepa- 
 rably connected in my mind with that foolish 
 rhyme, even after both they and I were grown 
 up. 
 
 " Sugar and spice, and all that's nice," they 
 still seemed ; but somehow the sugar and spice 
 were never to my taste. 
 
 My life was a lonely one therefore ; and 
 those frequent travelling absences, which year 
 by year I was tempted into, disturbed the 
 natural attachment I ought to have had to 
 home. Inheriting decided literary tastes, I 
 found in the variety of interests brought before 
 me abroad, not only a more agreeable excite-
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 17 
 
 ment, but, as I thought, a more improving oc- 
 cupation of the mind, than the tame routine of 
 country life could afford. I talked of " vege- 
 tating" when I was asked to settle ; and even 
 when the pleasure of restlessness flagged, and 
 I felt myself sighing for I knew not what, I 
 somehow or other failed to attribute my disap- 
 pointment to its right source. 
 
 Not that I neglected the more obvious duties 
 of my position, be it remarked, whether as 
 landlord or Christian. No farms were more 
 flourishing or more liberally managed than 
 those on my estate j no schools were better 
 conducted or better supported than those in my 
 village ; no clergyman was more respected or 
 assisted than the excellent man who, for many 
 months of every year, preached to my empty 
 pew; my purse was as open to him, and to 
 my housekeeper, under his superintendence, as 
 to myself; — and when positive duties are ful- 
 filled, thought I, surely I am at liberty in 
 minor points to please myself! 
 
 So please myself I did, and wandered half 
 over the world with that fine, intelligent Ger- 
 
 c
 
 18 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 man poodle by my side, from whom I never 
 would part — for the heart, oh reader, must 
 have its objects of love ; and ray passion for 
 ■what are called '^ dumb creatures" was the 
 salient point of my character. 
 
 There was one season of the year, however, 
 at which I made a point of throwing all pecu- 
 liarities overboard, and living for and with 
 other people — and that was Christmas-time. I 
 had no sisters, but I had three brothers, 
 several cousins, and many friends ; and not 
 one of them all was ever nejjlected or forn-otten 
 when mv invitations went out for a familv 
 gathering at the old ancestral hall. I did it 
 the first year after my father's death because I 
 thought it right, and afterwards because I 
 liked it ; and I got to like it more and more. 
 Indeed, I will whisper to you, good reader, in 
 confidence, that during the summer preceding 
 my tale, I had caught myself, while contem- 
 plating Athens from the Hill of Mars — yea ! 
 while actually repeating aloud (I was alone 
 except my dog) part of the magnificent address 
 of St. Paul to the men of science and learn-
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 19 
 
 ing below ; while, I say, actually repeating that 
 — I had caught myself recollecting, involunta- 
 rily and with a sudden gush of ecstasy, the 
 festivities I hoped to enjoy in the coming 
 Christmas at home ! 
 
 HoAv Athens and Mars' Hill could brinsr 
 such a thing to my mind, I don't know; but 
 the reference to St. Paul had, perhaps, touched 
 the spring of Scripture recollections, and so of 
 that most blessed of all its memorial seasons. 
 
 Having said thus much, you will now un- 
 derstand that while I leant back that evening: 
 in my chair, reading about the Legend of So- 
 logne, my house was all alive with Christmas 
 preparations. The invitations had been sent 
 out, and were accepted ; young folks and old 
 folks — all Avere coming; brothers and sisters, 
 nieces, nephews, <;ousins, and all ! 
 
 And the mincemeat was made, and materials 
 for plum-puddings were prepared, and yule 
 logs and yule candles were bespoken ; and 
 morris-dancers, skilled in the sword dance, 
 were hired to surprise the company in the 
 middle of the ball on Christmas-eve — a haj)py
 
 20 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 device, which occurred to me first, I verily be- 
 lieve, while my eyes were wandering round the 
 friezes of the Parthenon. 
 
 And I really, as a lover and studier of dumb 
 animals, could almost have imagined my pets, 
 one and all, had some secret intimation of an 
 approaching time of festivity. The parrots in 
 the hall grew more noisy every day, and piped 
 and shrieked as if they were inviting the com- 
 pany into the house themselves ; the very raven 
 in the yard said, " all right," oftener than 
 usual, although it was his favourite phrase; 
 and the doo; and cat hunji about me closer than 
 ever, as if they feared a rival in my love. 
 
 A rival ? — What ! allow a faithful old friend's 
 nose to be put out of joint for anybody or any- 
 thing ? Never ! never ! as I had assured them 
 again and again in our pleasant little colloquies 
 together, when there had been rubbish talked 
 about my settling, as the family called it. Not 
 but what I had now and then thought about 
 that " settling" myself, especially since the 
 Christmas before this eventful one, when the 
 young folks had insisted on my asking that
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 21 
 
 charming ■ ; but that has nothing to do with 
 
 my present story ; though, of course, to please 
 them and to meet them, I did ask her at last. 
 
 So there I was in my chair that evening, 
 with the cat on my knee, the dog at my feet, a 
 couple of parrots in the hall, the " Time's Tel- 
 escope" in my hand, and the Legend of So- 
 logne in my head. Modern French maps do 
 not generally acknowledge the district ; but it 
 lies between the Loire and the Cher, and once 
 formed a portion of the Comte de Blois, as old 
 descriptions prove. 
 
 " What a country ! What a place for you 
 and me to live in together, my old dog ! " cried 
 I, raising myself gently up, so as not to disturb 
 puss any more than could be helped. 
 
 Mop wagged his tail approvingly, as well he 
 might ; for never master in Sologne was more 
 considerate for his beasts than I had been. 
 " Ah, Mop, Mop!" pursued I; "if we could 
 but understand each other, and the Legend of 
 Sologne were but a reality, what a life of 
 friendship "we might begin ! " 
 
 There I paused; for there was something
 
 22 A LEGEND OF SOLOGXE. 
 
 painful ill tlie thought. But soon I sjioke 
 again, and asked him, poor brute, what he 
 would say of me on Christnaas-eve, were we to 
 go and spend it in Sologne ! 
 
 Mop's tail continued to wag; and then I 
 stroked the sandy cat, and coaxingly made the 
 same inquiry of her. 
 
 But puss behaved as pussies are apt to do 
 every now and then, when you least expect it ; 
 — she laid hold of my hand between her teeth, 
 and wagged a very ominous tail. 
 
 " You can't mean that, puss!" expostulated 
 I ; but puss uttered a low growl, and bit more 
 decidedly ; on which I slapped her head, and, 
 dismissing her from my knee, cried out, " A 
 fis for the district of Solo":ne !" 
 
 It was in vain that I said so, however ; for 
 the more I thought of the legend, the more I 
 wished it was true, and wished to be in that 
 favoured reo;ion at twelve o'clock on the night 
 of the Christmas-eve so near at hand, listening 
 to the dogs and cats conversing pleasantly to- 
 gether of their betters. 
 
 There is not a viler habit in the world than
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 23 
 
 day-dreaming, good reader. I recommend you 
 never to give way to it. That I have given 
 way to it myself is precisely the reason why I 
 am qualified to advise you not to do the same. 
 
 As an old woman once said, who had been 
 reproaching her neighbour for a fault she also 
 had committed, " It's because I've done it my- 
 self that I know how wrong it is !" 
 
 But there was some allowance to be made 
 for me that evening. I was out of sorts, as 
 vou know, from some cause or other. I had 
 been thrown back on myself over the swan — 
 over silly little Clara's finding fault with my 
 living alone, which for her, at any rate, was so 
 nice, as I thought — with the stupidity of James 
 — and, in short, it seemed to me that I was 
 always being thrown back on myself, and that 
 nobody cared much about me except the poor 
 dumb brutes, who, more affectionate than man, 
 could, at any rate, appreciate kindness. 
 
 So I must be excused for indulging in day- 
 dreamspfa happier state of things. 
 
 " At least for once in my life"— mused I, as 
 I leant back again in my chair — " At least for
 
 24 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 once in ray life, if that legend could be real- 
 ized, I should know what it was to hear my 
 praises spoken by voices of unmixed love and 
 gratitude. Love! — gratitude! — ay! and per- 
 haps an admiration, which creatures who vote 
 themselves more rational, have not the dis- 
 crimination to bestow ! At least for once I 
 should taste the pleasure of listening to the 
 outpourings of honest affection, unchecked b}' 
 the trammels of conventional life. Poor crea- 
 tures ! What would they not say of me?" 
 continued I, becoming quite sentimental at the 
 very idea of the scene. 
 
 " Look at our dear master ! " one would ex- 
 claim to another. " Was ever any one com- 
 parable to him for tender kindness, and gene- 
 rous consideration for the feelings of every one 
 around him?" 
 
 " Surely not," would be the enthusiastic 
 reply. " What a lot is ours, to live with such 
 a man ! How different from that of many of 
 our race, who are exposed to the whims and 
 tempers of a house full of children, and a mis- 
 tress the victim of preciseness 1"
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 25 
 
 " Ah, there is indeed a point," would chime 
 in a third. "And it is all the more remark- 
 able, because I had fancied, every now and 
 then, that had it not been for his solicitude for 
 us ... . but no matter what I fancied. Yet 
 what sacrifices a noble heart is capable of 
 making ! Can we ever love him enough ?" 
 
 " Ay, and independently of his treatment of 
 us," would some one continue, " what a supe- 
 rior creature he is ! No one can look in his 
 face and not see it. Intellect is stamped on his 
 brow; decision traced on his mouth. How 
 noble his mien as he traverses his paternal 
 halls in solitary thought ! Ah ! where can one 
 be found fit to appreciate and share those 
 thoughts ? Superior to all others of his age, he 
 is, indeed, as he well may feel, no fit compa- 
 nion for them. Unspoilt by his position — in- 
 capable of degrading himself to the frivolities 
 of a foolish world — surely, if ever perfection 
 
 It was yeally too much. Overpowered by 
 the scene I had conjured up before the mental 
 eye, I started up in my chair — a sudden deter-
 
 26 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 mination having come into my head — and, laid 
 my hand on the bell. 
 
 Up jumped the dog at the same moment. 
 
 " Shall we go, Mop ? " cried I, in a state of 
 considerable excitement. " Table-turning is 
 true ; spirit-rapping is true ; everything strange 
 is true in these times ; and, at any rate, we can 
 go and see." 
 
 Mop did not speak, as I half expected him 
 to do ; but he sat up on his hind legs, looked 
 in my face — as only a dog can look — and 
 whined. I seized his paw and shook it. " It 
 shall be so !" I exclaimed, and violently rang 
 the bell. 
 
 The Avhole household was soon in confusion, 
 and the old housekeeper's dignity was lost in 
 indignant surprise. 
 
 Going to France, indeed ! Why master had 
 taken leave of his senses to think of such a 
 thing. Mr. James might say what he pleased, 
 but she wouldn't believe it till she heard it 
 from his own lips. 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir!" — (in a voice between 
 deference and dictation) — " James tells me
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 27 
 
 you're going off to France ; but do you know, 
 sir, that the Christmas mincemeat is made?" 
 
 " I do, Mrs. Jones." 
 
 " And the pudding is everything but boiled, 
 sir." 
 
 " I know it, Mrs. Jones." 
 
 " And the young gentlemen is all a-coming 
 with their papas and mammas, and the young 
 ladies too" (emphasis there). 
 
 I bowed acquiescence with closed eyes, re- 
 clining in my chair. 
 
 " And the blue room has been done up 
 entirely new, with chintz and fresh china, for 
 the pretty yoimg lady that looked so pale last 
 year when she went away." 
 
 " You presume, Jones," cried I. 
 
 " I don't mean no offence, sir," she whim- 
 pered out, wiping her tearful eyes with the 
 corner of her muslin apron. " But," continued 
 she, in a half sob, " if you be bent upon going 
 away, sir, so strangely, will you please to tell 
 me what I 'am to do with the beef, and — and — 
 and (that was evidently the sorest point of all) 
 the sweet things?"
 
 28 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 " Throw them," answered I, indignantly, 
 
 " to the ■ I was going to say, dogs, Mrs. 
 
 Jones. But (in a softened tone) on consider- 
 ation, you can't do that ; for I'm going to take 
 them with me." 
 
 " Going to take the dogs with you !" shouted 
 Mrs. Jones, in a paroxysm of amazement. 
 
 " Yes, Jones. Tell James about it, if you 
 please." 
 
 " What, all of them, sir ?" asked she. 
 " Yes; all of them, Jones;" (I had several 
 yard-dogs besides Mop.) 
 
 " Anything else, sir?" asked Mrs. Jones, in 
 despair ; and I felt, though I did not see, for I 
 resolutely kept my eyes shut, that she was 
 gazing at me with basilisk earnestness and 
 genuine alarm. 
 
 " Yes, Jones, the cat," was my answer to 
 her inquiry. 
 
 " You'll take the cat, sir ? " . . . 
 This was almost a shriek. 
 '' The cat, and the dogs, and the parrots, and 
 the horse, — no, not the horse, for he can't sit 
 in the parlour ; but the raven, decidedly. The
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 29 
 
 whole of them, in fact, Mrs. Jones,— and your- 
 self into the bargain," added I, satirically, " if 
 you don't bestir yourself to facilitate my 
 wishes ! " 
 
 " Oh, its my duty to conform, sir, in all 
 things; and I hope I know my duty," was 
 Mrs. Jones's impressive remark, as she hur- 
 ried from the room (banging the door not 
 very gently behind her), and retreated to 
 the servants' hall, where James had much 
 ado to recover her from a fit of kicking hys- 
 teria. 
 
 I heard the distant sounds of the hysteric 
 scream even through the closed doors. 
 
 " All this arises," mused I to myself, " from 
 my retaining a London domestic in my service. 
 She allows herself to be surprised : it may be a 
 proof of an intelligent mind, but it certainly is 
 extremely inconvenient. I wish she were more 
 like James; he was neither excited nor asto- 
 nished at receiving my orders. Merely said, 
 " Yes, sir; very good, sir. At Avhat hour do 
 you propose to start?" 
 
 I was a little discomposed, nevertheless, by
 
 30 A LEGEND OF SOLOGXE. 
 
 Mrs. Jones's view of the subject. I certainly 
 had asked all my younger brothers and sisters, 
 and their children, to come and spend Christ- 
 mas with me, as usual. It was true, also, that 
 I had ordered in a princely supply of provi- 
 sions ; and, as Mrs. Jones said, I had had the 
 blue room furnished with new chintz and china 
 (the shepherd and shepherdess smiling at each 
 other on the mantel-piece were Dresden ware) 
 expressly for that undoubtedly charming girl, 
 whom {this time without solicitation from the 
 young folks, who were so fond of her) I had 
 invited to join our family party. But, on sober 
 reflection, I was not thoroughly satisfied about 
 that young person. I had not forgotten her 
 shaking her head one day during her visit last 
 year, and remarking that cats were treacherous 
 beasts. 
 
 Treacherous, indeed ! — as if that was a qua- 
 lity confined to cats ! 
 
 Neither had I forgotten catching her eye, on 
 one of those stormy winter evenings she spent 
 here, when I had been to the town for a new 
 song for her, and came home soaked with
 
 A LEGEND OP SOLOGNE. 31 
 
 snow. Yes ! I caught her eye glancing both 
 at me and the dog-. 
 
 Yet, what had she to do with it, supposing I 
 did let my poodle dirty the Turkey carpet on a 
 snowy, winter night ? The dog was my friend 
 —my faithful, long-tried, affectionate friend. 
 
 Why should she look askance at his wet 
 feet, as if an insensible Turkey carpet were the 
 more valuable thing of the two ? And of course 
 it was that she was thinking of, when I put the 
 song into her hands, and she gave us both that 
 uneasy, distressed glance. 
 
 " No, indeed ! " continued I, still communing 
 with myself " I am not satisfied about that 
 young person at all. She sings like no one 
 else, it is true j she is kinder to those children 
 than anyone else, I am aware. Clara actually 
 dotes on her ; and she pats my poor Mop" now 
 and then, when I am by — for civility's sake, I 
 suppose — and even plays at cork-mouse, now 
 and then, with the treacherous, treacherous 
 cat! Oh, that there Avere no more treachery 
 in the world than what lies in the vagaries of 
 a cat!
 
 32 A LEGEND OF SOLOQNE. 
 
 " But I will not lay myself open to the risk 
 of deception. I will go to Sologne, and ex- 
 change the doubtful blandishments of the hu- 
 man race for the straightforward praise and 
 love of those who never speak but in the voice 
 of honest, simple truth." 
 
 And so it came to pass, gentle reader, that 
 before another morning had fairly dawned I 
 was on my road to the district of Sologne, with 
 my dog, my cat, my parrots, my raven, and 
 the faithful, unwondering James; leaving far 
 behind me the miserable Mrs. Jones, drowned 
 in tears and expostulations — yet somewhat 
 consoled by my having conceded the point of 
 the yard-dogs, and left them with her for com- 
 fort and protection. 
 
 It was my whim to have the animals with 
 me; so, scorning railways, it was in a close 
 carriage with four horses that we dashed along 
 from stage to stage to the coast. 
 
 And, oh ! what a journey it was ! Mop 
 barked in the rumble behind, with James, 
 nearly the whole of the time. The cat kept up 
 a restless and incessant scratching and clawing
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 33 
 
 against the sides of her hamper at my feet — 
 mewing every now and then for milk; of 
 which (with an amiability I afterwards shud- 
 dered to recollect) I had stowed away a bottle- 
 full in one of the pockets of the carriage, think- 
 ing thereby to soothe her excitable nerves. 
 
 On the seat by my side, in a huge cage, the 
 two parrots maintained for a time an asto- 
 nished silence; but, after their minds became 
 more accustomed to the unusual motion, they 
 balanced themselves rockingly on their perches, 
 or allowed themselves to swing to and fro in 
 the cradle above, perpetrating occasionally the 
 most piercing and unmeaning shrieks. And, 
 while suffering torments from these combined 
 annoyances, I could hear the raven, in his 
 prison on the box, uttering from time to time 
 (and always at the most unpropitious mo- 
 ments) his monotonous " all right ! " 
 
 How we made the passage across the chan- 
 nel; how we got through the hands of the 
 douaniers; how we endured the diligence, and 
 how the diligence endured us, I will not offer 
 to relate. 
 
 D
 
 34 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 A confused recollection of screaming and 
 swearing, quarrelling and barking, bad French 
 and worse manners, on the top of which for 
 ever rose the raven's ill-judged " all right," is 
 all that remains to me of that period. 
 
 Suffice it to say, that about twenty-four 
 
 hours before Christmas-eve of 18 , I found 
 
 myself in a romantic village in the district of 
 Sologne, in as decent lodgings as the place 
 afforded. 
 
 If a Yorkshireman cannot, by virtue of his 
 birth, be surprised, he is not thereby debarred 
 from grumbling ; and I should scarcely exag- 
 gerate, were I to record that, amid the various 
 noises by wliich I was surrounded, James's 
 growling was about the most prominent. 
 
 It was like a peal of low thunder — going on 
 all day long — never finding vent in an explo- 
 sive burst, but keeping up a perpetual worry. 
 
 In his opinion the place was wrong, the 
 people were wrong, the manners were wrong, 
 the language was wrong, and the cooking was 
 wrong ! 
 
 Yet, to watch his gloomy face, glaring about
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 35 
 
 in the midst of smiles and shrugs, bows and 
 gestures of polite interest, a spectator would 
 have thought that it was James who was wrong. 
 
 At last he let fly a word or two at the pretty 
 grisette, which I did not think it consistent 
 with my dignity to permit. 
 
 " James," said I, " I must request you not 
 to swear at any of the servants in this house. 
 They mean extremely well, I am sure." 
 
 " If they do, sir," muttered James, " it is 
 impossible for me to find it out." 
 
 " Ay, ay, James ; but your ignorance of the 
 language is no fault of theirs." 
 
 " Perhaps not, sir," replied James ; " but 
 you'll take warning from the month, sii', if you 
 please ! " 
 
 " For once in your life, you are excited, 
 James," was my answer. " Take away the 
 coffee-tray, and leave me now. When you are 
 more rational ." 
 
 " Me more rational ? " interrupted James, 
 in a voice of startling loudness, and staring me 
 full in the face, unabashed by the ungrammati- 
 cal pronoun.
 
 36 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 For a second or two we gazed at each other 
 in silence, and then I felt an odd sensation 
 stealing over my eyes. 
 
 " Leave me, James," murmured I ; " take 
 away the cofFee-tray, and you can go to bed. 
 I shall not want you any more to-night ! " 
 
 James obeyed. 
 
 I got up and locked the door. I threw my- 
 self into a chair. Was this, then, the beginning 
 of my felicity in the district of Sologne ? Had 
 I come all this distance from home, to quarrel 
 with a faithful servant, and on Christmas-eve, 
 of all days in the year ? — Christmas-eve ! when 
 even I had been wont to break up vain medi- 
 tations, and let the heart loose to kindness and 
 enjoyment. 
 
 I covered my face with my hands ; but I 
 could not shut out the visions that passed be- 
 fore me in grim array, like the ghosts that 
 visited Kins: Richard in his tent. 
 
 Before me stole the form of the favourite 
 little niece, the darling Clara of her uncle's 
 heart, with the big tears of disappointment 
 rolling over her pretty cheeks ; and others fol-
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 37 
 
 lowed. Jovial boys, with the clasped hands of 
 amazement ; ruddy children ready for fun, but 
 with handkerchiefs at their eyes, wiping away 
 their bitter regret. 
 
 Brothers and sisters shaking their heads in 
 pity and surprise; and last, not least in love, 
 that charming girl for whose sake I had in- 
 vested in a shepherd and shepherdess of Dres- 
 den wal'e. Her face was very pale ! paler 
 even than when she left the happy Christmas 
 party at my house the year before. 
 
 " This will never do," cried I, getting up 
 and pacing the room. " All right ! " shouted 
 the raven in the corner; and the parrots 
 shrieked consent; while an echo of James's 
 "Me more rational?" seemed to resound in 
 my ears. 
 
 But I held my senses together as well as I 
 could. " The hour — the midnight hour of 
 Christmas-eve — will soon be here," thought I, 
 
 and then • "All right!" repeated the 
 
 raven once more. 
 
 Now I had always been, as a farmer's wife 
 once described it, " very fond of hearing the
 
 38 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 pool- dumb things talk ;" but I will confess 
 that, on the present occasion, I heartily wished 
 their dumbness would become real — until the 
 time came when the rational element should be 
 introduced into their conversation, and I might 
 be spared the annoyance of random shrieks 
 and mistakes. 
 
 As long as I continued to pace the room, 
 however, the creatures continued excited, and 
 I was fain at last to return to my chair. 
 
 I took out my watch and laid it on the table. 
 Five minutes to — four minutes to — three — 
 two — one — twelve o'clock itself! I scarcely 
 breathed. The dog and cat were on the rug ; 
 the parrots and raven had been silent since I 
 sat down. The cat roused up first; she un- 
 coiled herself from her sleeping, ball-like posi- 
 tion, and, sitting up, began to blink her eyes : 
 as she moved, her tail happening to touch the 
 nose of the poodle, he lifted uj) his head, 
 opened his eyes, and looked at her. 
 
 " A good year to you, Mrs. Puss ! " cried 
 he, in the coolest manner possible. I drew a 
 long breath. " It is coming now," cried I to
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 39 
 
 myself. " My dear, dear animals, I shall be 
 rewarded at last for all my care of you, and all 
 my love of you, and all the sacrifices I have 
 made for you, you grateful, beloved creatures!" 
 These thoughts were the affair of a moment as 
 I listened for puss's reply. 
 
 " The same to you, Mr. Mop ! " That was 
 all she said. 
 
 " You are recovered from the effects of the 
 journey, ma'am, I hope," observed he. 
 
 " I wish I could say I was, sir," replied she, 
 with a convulsive twitch of the tip of her tail. 
 " But I am not. This strange vagary of our 
 master's of leaving a comfortable home has 
 not suited me at all. But some people have 
 no consideration for the feelings of others, so 
 long as their own whims are gratified." (An- 
 other twitch of the tail.) 
 
 I started up in my chair, and was on the 
 point of exclaiming — 
 
 " You treacherous and ungrateful cat !" but, 
 on second thoughts, I sat down again, resolved 
 to hear them out. 
 
 " I am sorry you are annoyed by our poor
 
 40 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE, 
 
 master's freak of fancy to bring us here," re- 
 marked the poodle ; " but I don't suppose he 
 meant it ill, poor man !" 
 
 [Poor man .' — This from a favourite dog. It 
 was almost more than I could bear.) 
 
 •* Perhaps not," was the reply, in a cold, 
 offensive tone ; " I set it down to his igno- 
 
 rance." 
 
 " Exactly so," cried Mop. " And for my 
 own part I confess I always like a change. As 
 long as there is plenty of bustle and confusion 
 I am contented." 
 
 " You were not confined in a hamper on the 
 road, sir, I think," suggested Puss. 
 
 " I was not, ma'am. The extra conveni- 
 ence of a private bed was not allowed to me 
 as to you ; and you ought to feel it a com- 
 pliment. As also those saucers of milk 
 which you received from time to time on the 
 road." 
 
 " Milk was not mu.ch to the purpose, but 
 only an insult to my feelings, when liberty was 
 what I wanted," was the cat's indignant reply. 
 " But this is always the way in which selfish
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 41 
 
 people deceive themselves. They will not 
 allow you to have what you really want, and 
 then make a favour of giving you something 
 you don't care about." 
 
 " Bravo, Puss ! " shouted the raven ; coming 
 forward from the recess in the window, by 
 several long, well-measured hops, along the 
 carpet. 
 
 " A good year to you all," added he, " and 
 pleasant recollections of the past one." 
 
 " The same from us," snarled a very nasal 
 voice from the cage in the corner. " We can't 
 come any nearer, but we can talk all the 
 same." And here the parrots each performed 
 a little crack, which sounded like a pop-gun, 
 with their bills, and then rubbed them noisily 
 against the wires of the cage. 
 
 "So, so! we're all of us favoured alike?" 
 cried the raven. " Well ! its a great privilege ! 
 Who speaks next ?" 
 
 " Yourself, I should think," replied the cat, 
 " as you think it a privilege." 
 
 " Whidfi^ you do not then, madam ? " in- 
 quired the raven.
 
 42 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 " Certainly not, sir," was the answer ; " our 
 simple, significant signs are a thousand times 
 better. Talking appears to me a very incon- 
 venient and round-about way of making one's 
 feelings known. A miserable makeshift ! " 
 
 " In what possible instance?" inquired the 
 solemn raven. 
 
 " In one very near home, Mr. Raven," 
 answered the cat. " For example, we Avill 
 suppose that I am angry — a quite possible 
 event." 
 
 " Decidedly so, madam," observed Mop, 
 with a polite bow. 
 
 " With our master, perhaps, for scratching 
 my ears when I am dosing. Well ! I twitch 
 my tail — and he instantly knows what I mean. 
 He knows that I don't like what he is doing. 
 My tail tells him so, without any wasted 
 energy or lost time. If he perseveres in his 
 obnoxious treatment, I growl ; if he still per- 
 severes, I bite. Now look at your talker, who 
 has no tail to twitch, and who is unable to 
 growl; see what waste of breath— see what 
 labour of the tongue it costs him to explain the
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 43 
 
 three degrees of dislike, which my three simple 
 actions expressed at once. Bah ! I call your 
 privilege a dull and wearisome makeshift." 
 
 " Bravo, Puss ! " cried the raven once more. 
 
 " But / cannot join you in the bravo," 
 snarled the nasal voice from the cao-e. " To 
 talk is the privilege of the superior few — their 
 privilege and their joy." 
 
 " Our master is not one of the superior few, 
 then," tittered the poodle. 
 
 " How so ?" asked the raven ; '' he is gifted 
 with the power of speech." 
 
 '■^ Ay ! But uses it as little as he can help," 
 rejoined Mop. '■'■ Look at his solitary life at 
 home ; always musing and moping by himself. 
 Silence, silence, silence ! — unless when that 
 stupid Mrs. Jones comes in to ask him what 
 he will have for dinner. 'A mutton chop, if 
 you please, Mrs. Jones.' Fancy being able to 
 talk, and saying nothing better than * a mutton 
 chop, if you please, Mrs. Jones,' in the course 
 of a whole evening ! or, perhaps, ' James, 
 bring the candles;' and then silence, silence, 
 silence— as before."
 
 44 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested the raven, " people 
 get tired of talking at last. Perhaps he has 
 talked himself out." 
 
 " Hem ! — I don't exactly think that," mused 
 the dog. " Last Christmas, for instance, "when 
 those children and that pretty young lady 
 came, there was no end of talking and jumping 
 about. Oh ! it was a pleasant time ! They 
 played with me all day long." 
 
 " Society has its advantages, no doubt," ob- 
 served the cat. " My cousin at the rectory 
 has often told me that the young ladies there 
 never fail to give her a saucer of new milk 
 every evening at their own tea-time. I like 
 the idea of those little attentions; they are 
 graceful and thoughtful." 
 
 " Ay ! those are the delicate compliments 
 that only occur to a lady's mind ! " exclaimed 
 Mop, almost sentimentally. " I shall never 
 forget the bones that pretty young lady put by 
 for me after luncheon last Christmas. Dear 
 me! what could induce our poor master to 
 leave home just now, and forego the only 
 enjoyment of the year ? "
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 45 
 
 " What, indeed !" echoed every voice in the 
 room. 
 
 " You forget," sneered the cat, " that it was 
 to give us the privilege of talking !" 
 
 There was a bitter irony in her tone. 
 
 " I should have preferred the bones and the 
 fun," exclaimed the dog. 
 
 " And I the milk," cried the cat. 
 
 "And I the noise," shrieked the parrot. 
 " That empty, silent hall— I hate it !" 
 
 " Why does not our master marry ? " in- 
 quired the raven. " That would put all right, 
 would it not, and make the house more cheer- 
 ful at once?" 
 
 "Bravo, Raven!" shouted all; "a wiser 
 suggestion could not have been made." 
 
 "Ah!" cried the flattered bird; " ought I 
 to have lived the greater part of a century for 
 nothing? My dear friends, I have seen all 
 sorts of experiments tried, but I never yet saw 
 an old bachelor who did not become selfish — 
 nay, with, one or two rare exceptions, I never 
 saw a man remain a bachelor except from 
 selfish motives."
 
 46 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 t( 
 
 You are severe, sir," remarked the puss. 
 " May not a love of solitude — " 
 
 " — A dislike of interference, ma'am," inter- 
 rupted the bird ; 
 
 " — Or a devotion to habits of study ;" 
 
 " — To habits of self-indulgence, ma'am," 
 once more interrupted the raven. 
 
 " Well, sir, I will not contradict you fur- 
 ther," observed the cat. " You have the 
 advantage in age and experience, and should 
 know; and, I confess, I incline to think with 
 you. In these solitary lives, these studious 
 absorbed habits, this shrinking from commu- 
 nion with others, there is, perhaps, a vast deal 
 more of secret vanity than the people are 
 aware of themselves. And, besides, without 
 being personally devoted to the gambols of 
 children, who are often very tormenting in 
 their merriment, I do feel that, by leading such 
 a life of desolate solitude, our master is depriv- 
 ing us of many pleasures and much happiness 
 that is our absolute due, as he has taken us 
 under his care. They are what we should have 
 anywhere else, are they not ? "
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 47 
 
 " Splendid !" shouted the parrots. 
 
 " Painfully true," cried Mop. " When I 
 think of the sports of the jovial young crea- 
 tures last year, my indignation rises at our 
 master's treatment of us in withholdino- from 
 us the joys of such natural amusements." 
 
 " Tyranny ! " shrieked the parrots, in their 
 most nasal twang. " We hate the dismal, 
 silent hall, where there is nothing to scream at 
 worth the pains." 
 
 " And I hate the dull stable-yard with no 
 coaches and carriages driving in and out. No 
 horses neighing and stamping, no coachmens' 
 whips cracking. Alas, for the glorious days of 
 the inn he bought me from !" 
 
 " Miserable wretches that we are to be 
 brought here to talk ! " shouted the poodle, 
 waxing more indignant than any of them. 
 " What have we got to say, but that he gives 
 us food in order to keep us about him for his 
 own comfort and pleasure ? Look how useful 
 — nay, how indispensable — we are to him ! 
 What evenings would he spend were it not for 
 myself and the cat, who stay with him to
 
 48 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 divert his detestable solitude ? Is he anticipa- 
 ting thanks for his selfish kindness ? What can 
 the old fellow mean? And, above all, what 
 avails our having the privilege of talking un- 
 less we can force him to hear and learn the 
 lesson of his own defects ? " 
 
 " Thinking himself a complete wise-acre all 
 the time, too," pursued the cat. " A poor de- 
 luded, useless creature that he is, who keeps 
 everybody about him discontented and gloomy, 
 and votes himself the greatest man in the 
 world,— a paragon of perfection! A helpless 
 beino", living in solitary conceit, and destined 
 to die childless and friendless, and be for- 
 gotten, as if he had never existed! I only 
 
 wish he could know our opinion ! " 
 
 " He does know it," shrieked I, in a voice of 
 thunder, springing up from my seat, and catch- 
 ing up a stick in my hand. " He does know 
 it, and has heard you, you ignorant, imperti- 
 nent brutes, on whom he has lavished his kind- 
 ness, only to meet with this base return !" . . . 
 But, as I spoke, all sorts of noises began to 
 resound in my ear, and a sort of general con-
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 49 
 
 fusion rose around me. The incensed poodle 
 howled and barked alternately ; and the par- 
 rots, uttering the most piercing shrieks, burst 
 the door of their cage and flew at my face. 
 
 Defending myself as well as I could from 
 them, amidst the uproar of noise which sur- 
 rounded me, and seemed ever on the increase, 
 I found, to my horror, the raven flapping his 
 wings over my eyes, and blinding my sight ; 
 while the cat was struggling Avith her claws 
 upon my chest, mewing like some unearthly 
 demon from the infernal pit. 
 
 I struggled, fought, and kicked; but my 
 arms became suddenly powerless. I could hit 
 neither dog, cat, raven, or parrots — all eluded 
 my blows. The claws seemed at my heart ; 
 the parrot's beak came close to my eyeballs ; — 
 " Clara ! — Mary ! " — I attempted to exclaim in 
 the delirium of despair — but was unable to 
 articulate. ..... 
 
 And then 
 
 '' Did you call, sir ? " murmured a trembling 
 voice in my ear, which, in spite of its agitation, 
 seemed very familiar to me. 
 
 E
 
 50 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 " What am I about ? — where — heavens ! — 
 where am I ? — Mrs. Jones ! good gracious ! 
 how is this ? You — here ? " 
 
 " You'll excuse me, I hope, Mr. Richard ;" 
 — and, to my amazement, it was, indeed, Mrs. 
 Jones who spoke — " I was passing along the 
 hall, sir, and all at once I fancied I heard your 
 voice calling for help. Dear me ! it has flus- 
 tered me, Mr Richard. (She always called me 
 Mr. Richard, as she had been used to do in m> 
 father's lifetime, when she got agitated.) So 
 I stepped in, fearing you might not be very 
 well — and, indeed, Mr. Richard, I'm afraid 
 you're not." 
 
 The good old soul was close by my chair; 
 I rubbed my eyes and looked at her. Then I 
 laid hold of her hand. 
 
 "Is it really you, Jones?" murmured I. 
 " Don't be alarmed." 
 
 But she was alarmed, and quaked all over. 
 
 " Shake hands, Jones, if it is you ! " I con- 
 tinued. 
 
 She did so, with the accompaniment of a 
 stifled sob.
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 51 
 
 "Am I really here?" was my next inquiry; 
 half musing, as I held her hand. 
 
 " Oh dear, Master Richard ! " she now broke 
 out, shaking her head, while tears rolled over 
 her face. 
 
 " Is the cat here ?" asked I. 
 
 An agitated sotto-voce muttered, "The brute !" 
 and then Mrs. Jones, after looking round, 
 made audible answer — 
 
 " The cat's all right, sir." 
 
 "Where, Mrs. Jones?" 
 
 " Under the table, sir." 
 
 " What is she doing?" 
 
 " Licking her paws, sir," stammered the 
 poor old soul, hardly able to get the words out, 
 for she now seriously thought I was wandering 
 in my mind. 
 
 " Jones ! " murmured I. 
 
 " Master Richard ! " was her response. 
 
 " Is — is — the raven in the room ?" 
 
 " Oh, Master Richard ! do ye, do ye go to 
 bed, sir. Fm sure you're not well." 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " cried I, " don't be alarmed ; 
 only just tell me — is the raven here ? "
 
 52 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 " Surely not," cried she. " He never was 
 in here in his life ; and I heard him, not twenty 
 minutes since, saying * all right,' in the yard." 
 
 "Then it must have been a dream!" ex- 
 claimed I ; and breathing a heavy sigh of re- 
 lief, I released Jones's hand, and leant back 
 again in my chair. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 « Jones ! " 
 
 " Sir ! " (still weeping.) 
 
 " Suppose you were to fetch me a little sal- 
 volatile, or something cordial — a stomachic 
 cordial, Jones. I have not been quite well, 
 and have evidently been asleep and dream- 
 ing." 
 
 Jones brightened up and darted away, and I 
 began to think the affair over. And I soon 
 recollected quite distinctly the events of the 
 evening. My irritable state — the reading about 
 Sologne — and then that fatal day-dreaming, 
 in which I had pleased myself by imagining all 
 the flattering things my domestic animals would 
 say of me, if they could talk. 
 
 Oh, reader ! If you had but seen the blush
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 53 
 
 of shame that rose to my cheeks, as I recalled 
 the ridiculous rhodomontade of self-laudation I 
 had indulged in, you would have been cured of 
 day-dreaming for life — at any rate about your- 
 self! The rest was easily explained. I had, 
 of course, fallen asleep in the midst of my folly, 
 and dreamt what followed. 
 
 " There can be no doubt about the dualistic 
 theory of the brain," was my next thought. 
 " Before I fell asleep, one side of my brain was 
 actively prepossessed in my own favour ; in its 
 estimation I was the wisest and best of men. 
 But after I fell asleep the other side took up 
 the tale ; and oh, what a different lesson it has 
 taught me !" 
 
 "Or perhaps" — (and here I sighed) — " per- 
 haps the sleeping thoughts were but the voice 
 of conscience, which, when awake, I had not 
 the courage to attend to. And thus it may be 
 that occasionally, to dreaming men, many un- 
 welcome truths may be made known, which 
 they turn from in the more active state of 
 waking volition. 
 
 Oh ! to think of my having, in that waking
 
 54 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 state, voted myself the nearest possible ap- 
 proach to perfection ! 
 
 Oh ! the profound humiliation of such a 
 mistake ! 
 
 Mrs. Jones re-entered the room, ere long, 
 with a cup in her hand. Now I knew that 
 her store-closet contained, by my orders, all 
 manner of cordials for old sick folk, and so, 
 without the slightest hesitation, I took the cup 
 from her, and drank off its contents at a 
 draught. 
 
 But the next instant I was spitting and sput- 
 tering in disgust. 
 
 *' Why, its Gregory's powder, I do believe, 
 Jones," shouted I. 
 
 " Don't be angry, please. Master Richard," 
 cried she ; " don't ye be angry, please. Its 
 all my fault." 
 
 " Of course it is !" pursued I ; " what on 
 earth could make you think I wanted such 
 filthy stuff?" 
 
 " Oh, never mind the mixture, sir ! pray 
 don't ! it'll put you all right directly. I meant 
 it was all my fault if you've been dreaming."
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 55 
 
 " How SO?" I asked, completely sobered 
 and awakened by my dose, 
 
 " Well, Mr. Richard, you'd ordered a mutton 
 chop for dinner, and when I came to look, 
 there wasn't such a thing in the house ; but 
 there was that beautiful little porker we killed 
 last week, and I thought it Avould be such a 
 nice change, and sent you up a pork chop in- 
 stead of a mutton one — (you did'nt notice the 
 fried parsley, I suppose, sir?) — but I'm very 
 sorry and beg your pardon, sir ; indeed I 
 do!" 
 
 If I had had any superstitious megrims left, 
 they must all have vanished at this matter-of- 
 fact explanation. 
 
 Ay, ay, ay ! — and so who knows but what 
 that pleasant change of a pork chop may not 
 have had something to do with my after-dinner 
 irritability, as well as my dream. But only 
 something — come, come ! I will not lose the 
 benefit of the lesson I have learnt. 
 
 My next proceeding was to clap Mrs. Jones 
 on the back. The fact was she had been my 
 nurse in her young days. Then married — then
 
 56 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 lost her husband — and finally settled in the 
 family as confidential housekeeper. I had a 
 right to be free and friendly "vvith Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " Never you mind, old lady," cried I ; " we'll 
 have a happy Christmas yet, in spite of the 
 pork and the dream. But remember, Jones ! 
 you must not give either me or Miss Mary 
 pork chops without our leave, that's all ! " 
 
 " Eh, dear master Richard ! what has come 
 to you ? " cried she, half smiles and half tears. 
 " Was I likely, sir, to offer Miss Mary pork 
 chops?" 
 
 In a moment I felt mv mistake, and the 
 tinge on my cheeks betrayed me again. But I 
 carried it off". " Jones," said I, benignantly, 
 " make yourself easy ! I forgive everything ; 
 pork chop — di-eam — Gregory's powder and 
 all!" 
 
 " Ah!" cried Jones, recommencing the la- 
 chrymose, " it does so remind me of old times, 
 sir ; it quite takes my breath away." 
 
 My first sensation here was to stop the long 
 story I feared was impending. 
 
 But what, then — was my new lesson against
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 51 
 
 selfishness to be thrown away ? Assuredly not. 
 The old soul had been seriously alarmed for 
 me ; and in the lull after excitement, the old 
 scenes and long-forgotten days of her own 
 youth and my childhood had started up before 
 her. 
 
 " Let her have her way, and her simple bit 
 of comfort; listen to her," said an inward 
 voice ; and whether it came from that censo- 
 rious side of my brain, or from conscience, I 
 obeyed. 
 
 " What were you thinking of, Jones?" asked 
 I, kindly. 
 
 " Oh ! it was when you was a dear little 
 boy, with curls all down your back, Master 
 Richard, and I was your nursery-maid. Your 
 poor mamma had gone out for the day, and 
 she trusted you to me. And we had some nice 
 fresh pork for dinner (it was just about Christ- 
 mas-time, as it might be now), and I gave you 
 a bit as a treat, and a lot of apple-sauce, and 
 you was -so pleased ; — you was, indeed. Master 
 Richard. And you had a mincepie, too, and 
 currant wine ; and then in the niglit you was
 
 58 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 took SO feverish and ill, and Missus asked what 
 you'd had for dinner, and I told her (for I 
 always spoke true), and she wasn't angiy, no 
 more than you are now, ' But,' says she, 
 ' never you give my boy pork any more, nurse.' 
 And I never did till to-day ; and I do feel it so 
 wrong, for she was such a good dear lady, and 
 so kind to me ! " 
 
 The poor old woman was glad of an excuse 
 for weeping after her fright on my behalf, and 
 she found it in this tale. 
 
 And I, too, was silenced. It is sometimes 
 difficult to a grown-up man to believe that he 
 ever was a child — ever was the tender, glossy- 
 haired darling of a mother's love. To a soli- 
 tary man it is especially difficult. But this 
 story brought the reality so vividly around 
 me, that I seemed transported back at once 
 into a time when domestic love, with all its 
 cares and self-sacrifices, and tender pleasures 
 and rewards, were gathered around this hearth 
 — where I now sat a lonely man, who prided 
 himself on having nothing to do but to please 
 himself! . . .
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 59 
 
 I cannot say the contrast increased my good 
 opinion of myself. 
 
 " Jones," said I, after a short pause, " you 
 have nothing to reproach yourself with ; I mean 
 to give up these after-dinner naps, and then it 
 won't signify whether I eat pork or not. One 
 gets into very selfish and lazy ways with living 
 so much alone." 
 
 I threw this out as a feeler, to trace, if I 
 could, what her views might be on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 *' Well, sir," was the answer ; ''a gentle- 
 man like you has nothing to do, of course, but 
 to please himself; (I winced involuntarily;) but 
 certainly when a-body's not alone, but has got 
 other people to talk to and care about, it 
 brings them a deal more knowledge and plea- 
 sure." 
 
 Knowledge and pleasure ! the two great ob- 
 jects of human efibrt. What a strange idea of 
 Jones's! ' 
 
 I laughed, and told her to go and send me 
 candles, and tea, and to be sure and put a 
 saucer of new milk on the tray — for the cat.
 
 GO A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 Jones eyed me suspiciously for a moment ; 
 but my calm face satisfied her that it was only 
 " one of master's whims ;" and when the im- 
 perturbable James arrived with the tray, he 
 made a point of being astonished at nothing — 
 as usual; but with his own hands placed the 
 saucer of milk on the carpet, called " puss, 
 puss, puss," three times, with the gravity of a 
 judge, and when she commenced lapping, with 
 her tail high in air, he left the room, as com- 
 posedly as if feeding the cat had always formed 
 a part of his official duties. In glancing round 
 the room before I retired to bed on that event- 
 ful night, I perceived in one corner of the rug 
 the old volume of " Time's Telescope," which 
 had fallen from my hands in sleep, and lifting 
 it up with a sensation of respect, I replaced it 
 carefully on the shelves. 
 
 And there it is yet, though more than one 
 Christmas has come and gone since that I write 
 of; but instead of the old cardboard cover, 
 adorned with the woodcut of icy December 
 leading a goat, which then formed its exterior, 
 a handsome morocco binding encloses in its
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 61 
 
 crimson protection the Legend of the District 
 of Sologne. 
 
 It is surely no unworthy feeling which 
 prompts us to a feeling of tenderness for even 
 the inanimate objects, which so often in life 
 turn the course of a career, or rouse up some 
 feeling in the soul which never sleeps again. 
 
 While we are hankering after wonders, and 
 seeking signs from heaven, or we will not be 
 satisfied or taught — lo ! some flower opening 
 at our feet, or some song of a bird in the air, 
 or some passage in a book we have taken up 
 out of mere idleness, opens the dull, sealed 
 heart, and we are led out of darkness into light, 
 and arise strengthened, but humbled at the 
 same time. And let not the earthly instru- 
 ment, insignificant though it may be, be des- 
 pised which has thus created an epoch in life. 
 
 But I am fond of relics, good reader, and 
 would fain justify the taste. To me they seem 
 affecting endeavours of the human creature to 
 hold fast from perishing the fleeting events of 
 life. 
 
 With what thankfulness I laid my head on
 
 C2 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 my home pillow that night I will not attempt 
 to describe. 
 
 No ! I had not been quite the fool my dream 
 had made me ; foolish as I had been. No ! I 
 had not run away from a comfortable home at 
 the blessed Christmas-time, disappointing every 
 one that loved me, and making a laughing- 
 stock of myself into the bargain ! No ! I had 
 not deprived myself of the chance of seeing, 
 once again, that kind and lovely face which 
 had gone about my dingy old home last year, 
 reflecting light and happiness in all directions. 
 .... No ! my dog and cat — happily for me — 
 could not talk ! .... I had much to be thank- 
 ful for, indeed ! 
 
 The morning of the day preceding Christ- 
 mas-day dawned at last, and I was up betimes. 
 But though my spirits rose many times to a 
 mirthful elation at the thought of what So- 
 logne would have been, and what my home 
 was ; though I laughed with good old Jones, 
 and even tried to elicit a smile from James; 
 though I fed the raven in the stable-yard, and 
 listened with an amusement unknown before to
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 63 
 
 his everlasting " All right ! " though I every 
 now and then hugged myself to ecstasy and 
 hope; yet, believe me, oh reader, that day 
 was to me a day of most serious thought 
 also ! 
 
 I summoned up all my past life and theories 
 in review before me ; all my secret opinions of 
 myself; all my avowed opinions of others. I 
 sifted motives, and investigated excuses; and 
 though I do not dare to say how much I found 
 to alter and condemn, I will yet confess to you 
 that the reflections of that day caused me to 
 take a new view, both of the responsibilities 
 and happiness of life. 
 
 The last thing that I did before coming in 
 for the evening was the one, perhaps, the most 
 foreign to my habits and nature ; — I went reso- 
 lutely into the village, to stroll about among 
 the cottages, and wish fhe inhabitants a merry 
 Christmas and a happy new year ! 
 
 It cost me an efibrt, for I had not accus- 
 tomed myself to the thing, and shrunk at all 
 times from personal notice. The good will of 
 the poor I had endeavoured to secure by libe-
 
 G4 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 ralitv ; but intercourse with them had not been 
 what I had considered " in my way." 
 
 Oh, that miserable little subterfuge for evad- 
 ing a duty ! But I had done with excuses 
 now; so I made the effort and went, filling 
 my pockets with Christmas-boxes, and endea- 
 vouring to screw myself up to be agreeable. 
 
 But all screwing efforts were unnecessary, as 
 I found when I got there. What was honestly 
 well meant was well received ; and the only 
 difficulty I had, was not to be displeased or 
 disheartened by the rather rough lessons that 
 were bestowed, even in the midst of the good 
 reception. 
 
 Not quite as harshly expressed, perhaps, as 
 those I listened to in my dream, but quite sig- 
 nificant enough to undeceive any supposed 
 model of perfection. (Oh, the fool I had been 
 that night !) When I observed to one man 
 that I felt I had been to blame in not coming 
 personally among them oftener than I had 
 done, 
 
 " There's a many besides yourself thinks 
 that," was his uncompromising reply.
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 65 
 
 " Your mother never turned her face from 
 any poor man," remarked an old woman of 
 eighty, who had once been a servant in the 
 family. " Ay, its a sore thing to lose a friend 
 when a-body's old and lonely ! But the Lord's 
 sufficient — the Lord's sufficient for all ! " 
 
 Old and young, young and old, who is in- 
 sensible to the comfort and gratification of in- 
 tercourse with an acknowledged superior ? 
 Who is not benefited by the chastening influ- 
 ence of having to look up and be humble ? Or, 
 again, who does not like to be listened to, as 
 well as merely remembered in charity ? 
 
 I think I never was so disgusted with any- 
 thing in my life as with the new view, thus 
 opened, of my morbid fastidiousness; a ten- 
 dency of mind which, like day-dreaming about 
 oneself, ought decidedly to be discouraged. 
 
 " Oh, L^ncle Richard ! dear darling Uncle 
 Richard ! " was the greeting that welcomed 
 me at the hall door on my return; and the 
 sweetest little face that ever smiled upon a 
 bachelor uncle sprang up for a kiss, while the 
 childish arms closed round my rough great 
 
 F
 
 66 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 coat. " Oh, we're all so happy, we don't 
 know what to do ! " was her next remark, after 
 our loving salutations were over. 
 
 . . . Oh, the mercy of not being at Sologne ! 
 Fancy having balked this warm little heart of 
 its joy! . . . 
 
 I pressed forward into the hall, where I was 
 surrounded and welcomed at once. It seemed 
 quite odd, though, that they did not congratu- 
 late me on my escape, for I had seen all their 
 faces in my dream. 
 
 But on second thoughts I was glad they did 
 not know what an unutterable fool I had been, 
 though only in a dream. 
 
 Nor did I feel this less vividly when the 
 mist of crowding faces cleared up, so that I 
 could distinguish the one for whose gratifica- 
 tion I had purchased the smiling shepherd and 
 shepherdess of Dresden ware. 
 
 Well ! she had looked pale, it is true, when she 
 went away last year, but not now when Clara 
 pulled her forward to shake hands with me. 
 
 . . . Oh, the madness if I could have been, 
 and had been in Sologne ! . . .
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 67 
 
 My spirits varied wonderfully in the course 
 of the evening in spite of my happiness. I did 
 my best to please everyone, and to be pleased ; 
 but every now and then the grave reflections 
 returned, and I was uneasy — I knew not why. 
 
 Nay, at one time, as we sat round the crack- 
 ling fire after dinner, and I heard everybody 
 talking, laughing, and joking, a fit of the 
 deepest gloom took possession of me. I had 
 brought all these people together, it was true, 
 and they were very happy ; but, oh bitter 
 thought ! they were happy without me. My 
 actual presence was not necessary to the enjoy- 
 ment of any one of them — scarcely that child 
 excepted. I was not one in any of their links. 
 My frequent and long absences had never 
 fretted them — my eternal absence, even, would 
 not do so for long. The grave might close 
 above me, and no great gap would be occa- 
 sioned. I was, indeed, a solitary, unloved — 
 ah ! perhaps unloveable — being, who might, as 
 the creatures of my dream had expressed it, 
 " die in solitary conceit, and be forgotten as if 
 I had never existed."' " Not in solitary con-
 
 68 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 ceit though, now," was my concluding thought ; 
 " it will be in solitary humility at any rate ! " 
 
 Here my reflections were interrupted. 
 
 " Dear Uncle Richard," whispered a sweet 
 voune voice, " vou musn't frown so ! What 
 are you thinking about ? " 
 
 " Little puss, don't you see the Ogre in the 
 fire ?" cried I, pointing to the blazing log. 
 
 " Uncle Richard, shall I tell you why you 
 were not at home when we came to-day?" 
 
 I couldn't think what she was after. 
 
 " No," said I ; " don't you tell me, because 
 I will tell you. I was very busy." 
 
 Clara shook her head. " I don't call that 
 being busy," said she. 
 
 *' I don't think you know what you are talk- 
 ing about," said I. 
 
 I had a nervous apprehension of Clara's 
 childish remarks about myself; and all the 
 more so, because that sweet cousin Mary of 
 hers was sitting on the other side of her, and 
 could not help hearing what we said. 
 
 '* Yes, I do know what I'm talking about 
 though," persisted she ; " for when the post-
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 69 
 
 man came for the letters he told Mrs. Jones 
 you were going all over the village, wishing 
 everybody a merry Christmas and a happy 
 new year. And that wasn't being busy, that 
 was being kind. Busy is all about books, and 
 papers, and stupid things." 
 
 I tried hard to stop the child. 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense, Clara ! don't tell any 
 tales about gossiping postmen. Come, let us 
 have a game at cross questions and crooked 
 answers." 
 
 Perverse little monkey ! the opposition only 
 provoked her to go on. " But I must tell 
 about it first," cried she, " for Mrs. Jones, 
 when she heard it, called out so loud, ' Lor, 
 you don't say so ! poor Master ! ' and Cousin 
 Mary was astonished too, and said" — (here 
 she checked herself suddenly and turned round) 
 — " Why do you pull my frock. Cousin 
 Mary ? there's no secret : she said — " 
 
 But here a soft hand was laid on her lips. 
 Clara's frolic, however, was beyond control, 
 and she talked behind her closed mouth — " I 
 will tell; why shouldn't I?"— till I felt my
 
 70 A LEGEND OF SOLOONE. 
 
 own face redden with emotion, and, by one 
 brief glance at Cousin Mary, saw that she also 
 was suffused, and had almost tears in those 
 kind eyes. 
 
 " Clara," said I, seriously, " don't be a 
 foolish, rude child. Don't repeat what any- 
 body has said, who does not wish it to be re- 
 peated. People say many things by accident 
 they may wish forgotten the next moment." 
 
 I stopped abruptly ; a painful sensation over- 
 powered me. 
 
 A brief awkward pause follow'ed, while 
 Clara, silenced and abashed, got up on my 
 knee, and laid her head on my shoulder. I 
 soon found out that she was crying. " Little 
 puss," said I, " no one is vexed or angry. I'm 
 sure / am not, and I don't think Cousin Mary 
 can be unkind." . 
 
 I did not dare to look at her though, while I 
 said it. 
 
 But the next minute she leant across to the 
 child, and with a half-smile whispered, " There's 
 so little to tell, Clara, dear, I had rather you 
 told it now, and then your Uncle will see what
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 71 
 
 a fuss we've made about nothing. Tell him, 
 there's a good girl ! " 
 
 " It was only," murmured the subdued little 
 one in my ear, " that Cousin Mary said you 
 were a dear, good, kind uncle, and she hoped 
 I loved you very much, and so I do." As she 
 said this she shed another tear or two, and 
 then laughed, and held out her arms to Cousin 
 Mary to be taken back into favour. 
 
 " Good, kind uncle were nnj words, Clara," 
 observed Cousin Mary, as she stooped over her 
 favourite, with some little embarrassment of 
 manner. 
 
 " / like Clara's version best," said I, in a 
 low but still not absolutely inaudible voice ; 
 and Cousin Mary did not speak again. 
 
 This by-play of ours had not attracted any 
 attention, and soon afterwards games and sports 
 were proposed and joyously entered into ; and 
 then the sword-dancers arrived, (true to their 
 appointment,) while the young folks were dan- 
 cing in the hall, creating a great surprise, 
 and beins: the acknowled";ed treat of the even- 
 ing.
 
 72 A LEGEND OF SOLOQNE. 
 
 It was a pretty sight, in good truth, to see 
 them so gaily masquerading in the old hall, 
 with their bows and streamers of coloured 
 ribbons flying in all directions ; looked down 
 upon by the grim faces of departed ancestors, 
 watched by the smiling ones of young children, 
 and admired by the steady, grown-up specta- 
 tors as they stood round, observing the won- 
 derful varieties and ingenious manoeuvres of 
 that curious, old-fashioned dance. 
 
 I took advantage of the excited attention 
 and noise to slip round the room to Cousin 
 Mary. " One moment ! " said I ; "do forgive 
 me ! I was vexed at Clara's nonsense in talking 
 of my visit to the village. Insincerity is not 
 one of my numerous faults ; so I want to con- 
 fess to you that I have not been accustomed to 
 do this sort of thoughtful thing, and you were 
 perfectly justified in being surprised." 
 
 Poor Cousin Mary looked quite puzzled by 
 my confidential communication, and stammered 
 out something about my not having got into 
 the habit, perhaps, of going among the poor. 
 
 " I have never got into the habit of thinking
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 73 
 
 enough of the feelings of others, I am afraid," 
 was my rejoinder. 
 
 " That is not what I meant," exclaimed she, 
 warmly. 
 
 " But it is what I know," was my answer. 
 " I have learnt some wholesome truths during 
 the last four-and-twenty hours, Cousin Mary — 
 (do forgive me, I had Clara in my head !) — 
 and I know now that I have been leading a 
 very selfish life." 
 
 " Not in great things," interrupted she, 
 energetically, as if she had been defending a 
 friend. 
 
 " Well, but in small." 
 
 She coloured. 
 
 " You cannot deny it." 
 
 She never attempted to do so ; and I added, 
 " I had no idea, till lately, of the danger 
 of living alone. Surrounded by one's own 
 thoughts and habits, without reference to other 
 people, one becomes self-deceived and self- 
 devoted, without knowing it." 
 
 Here a hand was laid on my shoulder, and 
 one of my brothers said —
 
 74 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 " The morris-dancers have finished, Dick ; 
 let us send tlie children to bed, and begin the 
 grown-up ball." 
 
 " By all means." And after glancing round 
 at Mary with a significant — " we are encrasied 
 for the first dance," I left her to the care of 
 my brother, and hurried away to make the 
 necessary arrangements. 
 
 Ay! we opened the "grown-up" ball that 
 night, Mary and I ; and, though not much of a 
 dancer, I floated about in the mysterious mazes 
 in a sort of ecstasy. 
 
 But all things come to an end. Not only 
 the dance ended, but another partner came, 
 and claimed Mary's hand, and I was left to 
 myself. 
 
 For a few moments I stood in a reverie after 
 she was carried off", and then a voice spoke 
 close at my elbow, " What a pretty girl Mary 
 is, isn't she?" 
 
 It was my youngest brother ; a capital 
 fellow in his way, but a bit of a gossip. He 
 lived in the same neighbourhood as Mary's 
 family, and knew them well.
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 75 
 
 " Her mother," he began, in a confidential 
 whisper, — " (a great manager, you know,) — is 
 in a state of immense excitement just now. 
 
 Young Lord , who has lately come of 
 
 age and settled in our country, has been over- 
 head-and-ears for some time, and some people 
 say that they are engaged. He's off on a tour 
 in Italy at present, or you wouldn't have got 
 them here. I don't know whether the report's 
 true or not, but the old lady's delighted at its 
 beinw said." 
 
 " Really !" was all I could utter; but I did 
 utter it. 
 
 " Its a splendid match for her," continued 
 my brother; " for though the girl's well 
 enough, there's nothing about her to have 
 attracted his attention." 
 
 " Of course not," was my conventional an- 
 swer. " He, of course, is a " 
 
 " Handsome, splendid-looking fellow as you 
 ever saw, and in the Guards — lots of money 
 and full of fun. Not much in him, between 
 ourselves — not much sense in the family : but 
 he's young ; and if he marries Mary, she'll 
 make him everything he ought to be ! "
 
 76 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 " And the young lady herself ?— Devoted, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " Oh, hang ' devoted,' and all that kind of 
 thing !" cried my brother, laughing. " If she 
 likes him well enough to marry him, it will be 
 all-sufficient both for her mother and herself.'"' 
 
 " Oh, of course ! " said I, again. " But 
 now do you go back to the dancers, my good 
 fellow. They'll miss you dreadfully, and I 
 have some orders to give about supper." 
 
 In this manner I got rid of him, and luckily 
 had an order or two to give. But after they 
 were given I did not return to the gaily-lit hall 
 and the dancing. No! I went out into the 
 cold, frosty night air, and communed once 
 more with myself. 
 
 I knew the young man. This treasure of a 
 lord — I had met him abroad. He was a hand- 
 some, good-natured lad; nothing worse and 
 nothing better. « Oh, miserable fatality ! " 
 said I to myself, " to have been permitted to 
 raise this cup of joy to my lips, only to have it 
 dashed down again— and by such a hand ! " 
 
 " Miserable ninny !" exclaimed the other side
 
 TIIF, GVIF. 
 
 Ftuje 7C
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 77 
 
 of my brain ; " if you valued the young lady 
 so much, why have you not looked after her a 
 little better ? Haven't you been kicking your 
 heels in a foreign country, staring at Athens 
 and all sorts of useless places, and leaving this 
 young lord to be devoted to your Mary ? Your 
 Mary, indeed ! Have you had the ineffable 
 vanity to suppose that your few days' civility to 
 her last year has left an indelible impression on 
 her heart? You, with your books, and your 
 gloom, and conceit, against my lord's hand- 
 some face, and devotion, and fun ! Why, there's 
 scarcely a girl in all England who can be ex- 
 pected to hold out against a handsome face, 
 and devotion, and fun! Did you expect a 
 pretty creature like her to sit waiting all this 
 time to know whether you would choose to 
 come out of your grandeur and absurdity, and 
 then be ready to drop into your mouth at the 
 first moment you opened it?" 
 
 " It is all right — all right!" exclaimed my 
 humbled self. " I have behaved like a fool, and 
 must abide the consequences. But I will not 
 behave like a brute too; I will be contented
 
 78 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 that she shall be happy her own way." There 
 came a choking in my throat at this doughty 
 resolve. 
 
 But the other side of my brain said, " Come, 
 that's sensible at last." And dreading: further 
 thought on the subject, I went back into the 
 ball-room as hastily as I had deserted it. 
 
 There are few things a man cannot do when 
 he has resolutely made up his mind; and 
 although I Avalked about and talked for the 
 rest of the evening like one in a dream, I be- 
 lieve that I conducted myself with the utmost 
 propriety, and even made myself agi-eeable. 
 To Mary I was absolutely paternal in my 
 manner. Put myself mentally into the posi- 
 tion of her grandfather, giving her away to the 
 handsome young lord in the Guards, and ques- 
 tioned myself as to how I should really feel on 
 the occasion. In the meantime I danced with 
 her half the evening ; sat by her side at supper ; 
 and at last, in a long tete-a-tete we had in a 
 corner, confided to her the whole history of my 
 dream. And why not? There was no need 
 for shyness or reserve now that she was a sort
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 79 
 
 of engaged person. I half saw the coronet 
 worked in the corner of her handkerchief as it 
 lay on her lap. The flowery M certainly took 
 that form. 
 
 So she listened to the story with really con- 
 siderable interest, and turned pale and red 
 several times during the course of the details. 
 The tears even stood in her eyes when I told 
 her of Mrs. Jones's tale about me as a little 
 boy, and how strange I had felt at the thought 
 of that lonely, dull, gloomy house ever having 
 been the scene of domestic love, and cheerful- 
 ness, and young enjoyment. 
 
 She said she could not think the old place 
 looked so dull and gloomy. There was no 
 necessity either for its being lonely, and its 
 ancient ancestral look only made it so much 
 the more interesting in the eyes of anybody of 
 any sentiment. Besides, places had but little 
 to do with the happiness of their inhabitants ; 
 there could' be domestic love and cheerfulness 
 in a hovel for the matter of that. 
 
 '' A pretty sentiment — very ! and true for 
 those that like it," was my answer ; and some
 
 80 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 bitter spirit prompted me to add, " But do- 
 mestic love and eheeriulness have double 
 charms, have they not? in a lordly house like 
 Lancelot Towers, with a coroneted hall-door." 
 
 — " You wretch ! " whispered the combative 
 side of my brain, as soon as the words had 
 escaped my lips. 
 
 " I have been a brute after all ! " was my 
 miserable self-admission. — 
 
 Mary had turned deadly white as I spoke, 
 and I thought for a moment she would have 
 fainted ; but she rallied with an effort, rose up, 
 left me abruptly, and went to her mother. 
 
 The evening came to a close shortly after 
 that, and I went to bed in a tumult of varied 
 feelings. 
 
 I attributed her agitation to the fact that her 
 engagement to the young lord was true, and in 
 that case my observations had been a wanton 
 insult. 
 
 Mv brain and I were more than half the 
 night expostulating with each other; but I 
 gave in at last. Everything was against me. 
 I had no one but myself to blame, and I took
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 81 
 
 refuge finally in humility, and tears, and 
 prayer. Reader ! we have all to come back 
 to the condition of little children before we can 
 enter the Kingdom of Heaven ; and so I found 
 it on that bitter night of suffering and self-re- 
 proach. 
 
 Christmas-day rose bright with sunshine, 
 in spite of cold ; but it shone on a very wan 
 face at the head of the table, for the master 
 of the house had not slept much. There was 
 another pale face present, besides his, and the 
 old joke went round about the roses brought 
 by sleep before midnight, and the evil effects of 
 late hours, &c. &c. 
 
 I, however, could not smile about it. To 
 have insulted that gentle, unoffending- sirl in 
 my own house ! To have hurt her feelinffs on 
 the most tender of all points, and now to be- 
 hold her at her tormentor's table, looking so 
 meek, and sad, and uncomplaining, and on 
 Christmas-day too :— it was horrible to think 
 of my heartless selfishness and cruelty ! 
 
 There was no contest between the two sides 
 of my brain now. Both agreed that I was a 
 
 G
 
 82 A LEGEND OF SOLOQNE. 
 
 villain, for whom hanging was almost too plea- 
 sant an end ! 
 
 The breakfast went on, as breakfasts will do, 
 in spite of sadness in the hearts of tliose who sit 
 around it ; and before it was over, the postboy 
 arrived, and letters and newspapers crackled 
 on every side, which I was glad of, for I was 
 in no humour for talking. I was longing to 
 seize the earliest opportunity I could find of 
 apologizing— heart and soul— to that lovely 
 Cousin Mary, whose eye I tremblingly avoided 
 as far as I could. 
 
 Suddenly I heard my brother make a gurg- 
 ling sound of surprise. He had a cup of tea at 
 his lips, but had not yet taken his eyes off the 
 newspaper, which his other hand held up. 
 
 The noise was something between an " oh" 
 and a gulp, and every one looked up. He 
 burst into a laugh for explanation, and said 
 there was nothing amiss, but that nobody could 
 ever look into the list of " Births, Deaths, and 
 Marriages," without seeing something to sur- 
 prise them ! 
 
 It was a proposition no one presumed to
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 83 
 
 dispute, and he went on with his tea ; Mary, 
 who was near him, drawing the paper to her- 
 self, as soon as he laid it down. 
 
 " True woman after all," mused I to myself. 
 " Curious about births, deaths, and marriages. 
 I wish my mind could be diverted as easily !" 
 
 " Oh ! but then," murmured my other half, 
 jeeringly, '' you, you know, are a model of " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! I retract. Miserable crea- 
 ture that I am ! what will cure me ? She, pro- 
 bably, has friends about whom she is inter- 
 ested; and I— am still a wretch !" 
 
 At this juncture I was startled by the voice 
 of Mary herself. It was so unusually lively 
 and energetic, it would have aroused anybody 
 — even those quite indifferent about what she 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, mamma ! " were the words ; 
 " who do you think is married?" 
 
 I looked up myself at this violent outburst 
 of interest, and beheld Mary, with her eyes full 
 of a curious expression of triumph and fun, and 
 her cheeks full of colour, glancing earnestly, 
 but mischievously, as I thought, at her mother.
 
 84 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 The mother met the glance with one of her 
 own, in which there was a shade of uneasiness 
 mixed with attempted indifference. " How 
 can I tell, my dear? I never could guess at 
 marriages in my life. Who can? People do 
 the strangest things when you least expect 
 it." 
 
 " Its our friend Lord , mamma ! " per- 
 sisted Mary ; " married in Italy, to the young 
 and lovely, and only daughter of a noble and 
 accomplished duke. An affaire de cceur on 
 both sides. Here is a long account. What an 
 ornament she will be to Lancelot Towers !" 
 
 Thus rambled on the bright-eyed Mary, in 
 order, perhaps, to give her mother time to 
 recover the blow. My brother stared at her in 
 astonishment, and as if trying whether he 
 could not detect some lurking disappointment 
 through her apparent amusement. 
 
 But there was no possibility of mistaking 
 the case. 
 
 For some reason or other she was evidently 
 delighted. Several people wondered why. 
 As for myself I set my teeth together, com-
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 85 
 
 pressed my lips, and looked violently at the 
 plates. 
 
 When would that everlasting breakfast be 
 over? And alas, what a confusion of mind I 
 was in to go to church ! 
 
 " My brain will burst," thought I, " if I do 
 not speak to her before we go ; and then, if 
 disappointed, I will go and seek for resignation 
 where only it can be found." 
 
 It was no such easy matter, however, to 
 dodge for a young lady who was going to 
 " get ready" for church! and I missed aim 
 several times ; but at last — oh happiness ! — I 
 heard her slip down stairs alone, and step 
 along the hall. She patted the dog as she 
 passed him on the mat, and, uttering two or 
 three gentle " Mops," coaxed him to accom- 
 pany her; and they slipt through the glass 
 doors together, like a couple of truants, out, 
 in that frosty sunshine, on to the terrace that 
 stretched along the garden-side of the house. 
 
 I was by her side in two seconds afterwards ; 
 approaching, however, as composedly as I 
 could, to conceal the tumult within.
 
 86 A LEGEND OF SOLOONE. 
 
 But she started at sight of me — started, and 
 laughed, and looked convicted of having — 
 taken my dog for a walk ! " I have got Mop 
 to come out with me," she began ; while Mop 
 stood wagging his tail at her mere mention of 
 his name. 
 
 And then I burst out, for time was precious, 
 " Cousin Mary — one word. All England does 
 not contain a greater barbarian than I have 
 been!" 
 
 Cousin Mary looked at me with a wonder- 
 ing expression of regret ; the triumphant smile 
 passed from her face ; only a sorrowful cloud 
 remained. 
 
 "Why do you say such strange things?" 
 she asked, stooping down to pat the dog. 
 
 " Last night," cried T, " I behaved so ill, so 
 rudely, so unfeelingly — thinking, as I did, 
 what turns out not to be true, and I have been 
 longing to apologize." 
 
 " There is no need," said the poor girl, on 
 the point of turning away. 
 
 What a fool I Mas ! talking about myself and 
 my misconduct, and not getting an inch further.
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 87 
 
 But I stopt her as she turned. I laid my 
 hand on her arm, and I think the very touch 
 of her unlocked my heart at once. 
 
 It was a strange tale I poured out. Such a 
 mixture of love and repentance ; such a muddle 
 between my own unworthiness of her, and 
 nobody else being able to appreciate her half 
 as well ; such a jumble of modesty and preten- 
 sion; protestations of regret for the past, and 
 promises of hope for the future, as was never 
 heard before ! 
 
 My family had often hinted that I was too 
 much of a scholar to be fluent in conversation ; 
 but, oh, dear me ! let me have a subject that 
 interests me, and try me if I cannot talk ! 
 
 At all events I talked now, and to some 
 purpose. I talked, till every other subject and 
 confession merged in the one overpowering de- 
 claration of my unalterable love ; till Mary's 
 hand lay in mine, and she looked up at me 
 with a face of joyful trust and tenderness, 
 which years cannot efface from my mind; till 
 Mary's voice uttered the blessed words which 
 told of her love, and the little tale of her hopes
 
 88 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 and fears, which were all ended now : for now 
 she knew, and she thanked God for it, that she 
 had a friend to love her for life. 
 
 The church bells seemed to get louder and 
 louder, and we feared we were already missed ; 
 but Mop was our excuse ; and with much fuss 
 and ceremony we hurried him into the house, 
 with an order to guard it till our return. 
 
 People are so accustomed to idle about for 
 the last few minutes before church, that I do 
 not think any one wondered either at our 
 having walked on the garden-side of the house, 
 at our commotion about Mop, or at our faces. 
 For, indeed, what was to be seen on them but 
 peaceful delight ? 
 
 And thus, dear reader, the happy Christmas- 
 morning had that year its double festival for 
 us. We went to church that day affianced for 
 life ; and on every anniversary since we have 
 lived the happy hour over again. 
 
 And at last Mary became my wife, and the 
 old ancestral hall never looked gloomy again ; 
 and I had my own links when we all met round 
 the Christmas-hearth.
 
 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 89 
 
 I made my peace, too, with old proverbs ; 
 for, in the first place, I triumphed over James's 
 imperturbability, and caught him wondering 
 at my wedding; nor am I sure that his asto- 
 nishment at my giving up my liberty is yet 
 over : and, in the second place, I found it 
 written, that " A virtuous woman is a crown to 
 her husband," and that " her price is far above 
 rubies." 
 
 As regards the former part of my life, Mary 
 never will allow that it was altogether useless 
 and thrown away ; for she makes me tell her 
 long stories of foreign lands, till I feel like a 
 retired Baron Munchausen, especially when 
 Clara is with us, who pretends to believe that I 
 invent it all as I go on. Nor do I think the 
 little monkey had, for a long time, any definite 
 idea of what foreign lands might be, in spite 
 of geography lessons and maps. 
 
 When she was still but a little girl she 
 asked me, one day why I travelled about so 
 much when I was ^oung. We three were sit- 
 ting over the fire, and I looked first at Mary 
 and then at her, and said —
 
 90 A LEGEND OF SOLOGNE. 
 
 " Because, Clara, I had nothing to do in 
 those days but to please myself." 
 
 " How nice that must have been!" exclaimed 
 Clara. " Were you not immensely happy 
 Uncle Richard?" 
 
 To which I answered firmly, "No;" and 
 then there was a pause, till she asked again — 
 
 " What have you to do now, Uncle Rich- 
 ard?" 
 
 I answered, " Now I have to please my 
 
 Wife!" 
 
 "And do you like that better?" inquired 
 
 the child. 
 
 To which I answered, " Yes." 
 
 And we had all a hearty laugh together.
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 HERE she picked up the notion — 
 who put it into her head — nobody 
 could ever find out ; but, poor old 
 lady, there it was ! She quite be- 
 lieved that, if she had the good fortune to live 
 to be a hundred years old, she might dine with 
 the Queen ! — might go up to London to the 
 palace, sit at her Majesty's table, and, in virtue 
 of her extraordinary age, be one of her Majesty's 
 guests ! 
 
 She said somebody had told her so; that 
 everlasting somebody, who is always saying 
 something; which no one else knows anvthing 
 about, and who can never be identified with 
 any living individual whatever.
 
 92 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 She was the gem of the village, decidedly, 
 was old Widow Cocker. Such a pair of glitter- 
 ing dark-brown eyes could scarcely be matched 
 in all the country round ; and, long after her 
 hair had turned grey, her eyebrows were as 
 black as they had been in her earliest youth. 
 What a glance hers must have been in those 
 days, one scarcely dared to think ! And it was 
 always whispered that " Lyddy" had once had 
 what they called " a temper of her own." 
 
 It very likely was so, but the evil spirit was 
 subdued at last. She had had much struggling 
 and many trials in life ; but she had bowed her 
 strong; will to the will of God, and in her old 
 age was quiet, subdued, and kind. 
 
 Poor old lady ! her Christian name was Lydia, 
 but the neighbours called her " Lyddy" to the 
 last; and at ninety-eight she could boast that 
 she was the oldest woman in the parish; and 
 that was just about the time when she became 
 possessed by the curious idea I spoke of; and, 
 as she sat smoking her pipe over the bit of fire 
 at night, before she went to bed, she used to 
 wonder to herself whether it might " please the
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 93 
 
 Lord" that she should live to be a hundred 
 years old ! 
 
 Ninety-eight is a great age to live to ; and, 
 although Widow Cocker retained the use of her 
 faculties to a remarkable extent, that is to say, 
 she could hear, see, and take cognizance of 
 passing events, as well as many of her much 
 younger neighbours, nevertheless she was sub- 
 ject, from time to time, to a hazy and confused 
 condition of mind, which, had it lasted, must 
 have ended in imbecility and helplessness. But 
 the fits of puzzling and dreaminess used to 
 pass off, like clouds from the sky ; and, perhaps 
 after giving her up one day as hopelessly sunk 
 into dotage, you Avould find her on the next an 
 intelligent and very acute old woman. 
 
 She had had what she called " as good as 
 twelve children" in her day, and had " buried 
 seven of them," that proportion being by no 
 means an uncommon one among the poor ; and, 
 as for the rest, she would, if you chose to listen, 
 tell you all their names, and what had become 
 of each, with moral reflections upon their fate 
 in life, as edifying as a homily to listen to.
 
 94 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 There was that " Jack," for instance, the old 
 man of nearly sixty who now lived with her, 
 " he were a wild lad, were he, in his youth," 
 was her account, one day, to the parson's wife ; 
 " his father could do nought wi' him, and he 
 was off if I spoke a word. Bless you, ma'am," 
 cried she, " he were out day and neet, neet and 
 day, after all the idling lads o' the place. And 
 he took up wi' a trolloping lass he met wi' at a 
 fair ; and they put up their banns and got wed ; 
 and we heard no more of them, till he come 
 back one day years after ; and I shouldn't have 
 known him if he hadn't said who he was, he 
 looked like nothing but his grandfather, such 
 an old weary look ; when he comes in he says, 
 says he, ' Mother, I'm sorry, and I'd like to see 
 my father, and tell him so.' ' Your father's 
 dead,' says I ; for, you see, ma'am," continued 
 the old woman, " he'd been dead two year then, 
 and I was alone. But you should have seen 
 his face when I tell'd him ! He went as white 
 as a sheet ; and well he might, for it's too late to 
 ask pardon when a body's in their grave. But 
 the Lord had had His hand over him, and
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 95 
 
 brought him very low, to make him know his- 
 self, that was certain ; for the lass was dead too, 
 and they'd only reared one child ; and, you see 
 ma'am, he had to come back at last, to beg 
 his bread of his poor old mother that he'd been 
 used to jeer at. Ah, the Lord knows His own 
 time ! It's twenty-two years come Michaelmas, 
 and we've lived together ever since, me and 
 him." 
 
 Such was the story of her son Jack, as she 
 told it herself, and it was a story with a very 
 good moral; for every one in the village knew 
 that Jack was a changed man after he came 
 back and lived with his mother. A quiet 
 worker; thankful for any employment the 
 farmers would give him ; a dutiful son, and a 
 kind father ; and so, at last, he got such a good 
 character, that he was never out of work, and, 
 even in his old age, was employed in light 
 jobs that brought in something. 
 
 Son Jack did nothing but smile and shake 
 his head, if ever he heard his mother say any- 
 thing about that dining with the Queen ; but, 
 as the old lady viewed him still in the light of
 
 96 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 a child, liis doubts did not disturb her serenity 
 at all. " What should Jack know about it, 
 poor lad?" was her consoling thought; and, 
 as to the granddaughter Betsy — the one 
 reared child of poor Jack's family — she sided 
 with her grandmother altogether, and had a 
 quite satisfactory faith in the future dinner, 
 provided only the condition of her grandmo- 
 ther's living long enough could be secured. 
 And, in furtherance of this desirable end, the 
 good-hearted girl did all she could — nursed her 
 grandmother up, and coaxed her up too ; often 
 dispelling a gloomy fit, or cheering a sick 
 one, by the favourite joke that grandmother 
 must take care of herself for the Queen's 
 dinner. 
 
 " Do you really think, Lyddy," asked the 
 parson's wife one day, " that you should like 
 to dine with the Queen?" 
 
 Lyddy thought a bit. " I don't see why I 
 shouldn't, ma'am. Folks can behave their- 
 sens onywhere." 
 
 Mrs. Tresham assented to the imdeniable 
 fact, not a little touched by the simple, self-
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 97 
 
 possessed idea — so true in its real meaning — 
 that, if a person did but " behave themselves 
 seemly," they need not fear to encounter any 
 company. 
 
 " But its a long way to go, Lyddy." 
 
 " Ay, ma'am ! " answered the old woman, 
 " and I wouldn't like to stop yonder ; I would 
 like to die at home." 
 
 Here a more sober fit made Lyddy silent for 
 a time ; though she soon returned to the old 
 idea, and continued, " But, you see, there's my 
 son, and he could come for me and fetch me 
 back." 
 
 Mrs. Tresham opposed her no further ; for, 
 indeed, what object was there in attempting 
 to dispel the little illusion of the widow's ex- 
 treme old age ? 
 
 She listened to her son's Bible chapter 
 every evening as devoutly, and said her prayer 
 as humbly, as if no such thing as dining with 
 the Queen had ever been suggested to her. 
 It interfered with no duty, and in no way 
 injured her mind. It was only a brilliant, 
 mysterious vision, which lightened up her old 
 
 H
 
 98 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 heart, now and then, with a sense of cheerful 
 expectation; and, to say the truth, I believe 
 that the thought of the Queen's dinner helped to 
 prolong, as well as soothe, Lyddy Cocker's life. 
 
 Her birthday fell on Christmas-day — a fact 
 which always afforded her particular gratifica- 
 tion. She used to say, " Whose-ever birthday 
 was not kept, hers always was, and always 
 would be." And on every Christmas-eve, as 
 it came round, Betsy had to walk up to the 
 Vicarage grounds to beg for holly, and other 
 evergreens, for grandmother's cottage-windows 
 — nay, and for the inside of the cottage too — 
 for Mrs. Tresham was very kind, and so were 
 the young ladies; and there was always a 
 green wreath made, in .honour of her birthday, 
 for Lyddy to hang up over her mantel-piece; 
 if, indeed, she would not, as the yearly joke 
 suggested, wear it on her own head. 
 
 " Now, Lyddy, let me put it on your head 
 this year, at least," cried the youngest miss 
 Tresham, a girl of ten years old, who had 
 walked down the village on the old lady's 
 ninety-ninth birthday to see the decorated cot-
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 99 
 
 tage. " Next year, you know, you won't be 
 here. You'll be gone up to see the Queen ; so 
 wear the wreath this year, do, there's a good 
 Lyddy!" 
 
 But " good Lyddy" was not to be per- 
 suaded. She caught the twinkle in little Tre- 
 sham's eye, and entered into the joke ; but 
 defended herself resolutely. 
 
 " It won't do, miss," said she. " Its all 
 very well for a cap such as your mamma 
 wears, but it won't look well on a thick thing 
 like mine ; if it had been net I might have 
 thought about it. Now, Miss Grace, you'll 
 be kind, I know, and hang it up on the nail 
 over the mantel-piece. There, to be sure ! what 
 a beautiful thing it is ! and the red berries do 
 look handsome, indeed ! I wish I could get 
 to church, and see them all over the pillars; 
 but my time for church is over ! " And here 
 Widow Cocker sighed rather sadly, folded her 
 hands on her white apron, and sat for a minute 
 or two, absorbed in thought. 
 
 The good little Tresham repressed the joke 
 that rose in her mind, as to how poor Lyddy
 
 100 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 •was to go lip to London next year to the 
 Queen, if she could not get to church now ; 
 and even offered to come and read the Psalms 
 to her after church, if she liked, and tell her 
 who had been there, and what the sermon had 
 been about ; and so they parted. 
 
 Grace Tresham was a particular friend of 
 the old Widow's, and was well acquainted with 
 one of her little peculiarities, which partly sug- 
 gested the proposition of visiting her after 
 church. She was seized, from time to time, by 
 the oddest fits of curiosity as to what the 
 people of the neighbourhood were about, and 
 how their fate in life was developing. Not 
 that she had any of the spirit of scandal and 
 mischief-making about her ; but she liked to 
 know the most minute particulars of her friends, 
 and especially of those above herself in condi- 
 tion of life. 
 
 And, on this eventful day, Grace had such a 
 piece of news to impart, that it required the 
 utmost resolution not to let it out at once. 
 Lyddy's kind friend and frequent visitor, the 
 curate, Mr. Westwood, was going to be mar-
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 101 
 
 ried; and that morning the fact was allowed 
 to be known to the children at the Vicarage. 
 But the little girl was not certain whether 
 she miijht extend the information to Widow 
 Cocker ; so she waited to ask leave, promising 
 herself a great treat in communicating it, should 
 permission be granted. 
 
 Nor was she disappointed; so, having told 
 her tale, she sat laughing and delighted at the 
 astonishment and remarks which the news eli- 
 cited from the inquisitive old lady. 
 
 "Nay, for sure, I am glad, miss!" cried 
 Lyddy ; " for he's a young man I've always 
 respected very much. Such a noisf, steady, 
 well-behaved young man ; not like some of 
 your flighty, foolish folk. Comes in here, now 
 and then, and sits him down wi' me, as pleasant 
 as oivt. Hasn't a word to say for himself, that 
 he hasn't! Going to be married! Well, I'm 
 glad, indeed — if you're sure its a suitable young 
 lady, miss ? " And here Lyddy stretched out 
 her hand to Grace Tresham, and fixed her 
 dark, inquiring eyes on the little girl's face. 
 " Do ye know her, miss?"
 
 102 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 " Oh yes, Lyddy, she's a very nice young 
 lady I think." 
 
 " She's noist too, is she, miss ? Well, that's 
 well ! And you think she's suitable for him ? 
 You see folks should be suitable, so that they 
 may live tolerable pleasant together when they 
 have got wed ! And friends is agreeable, too, I 
 suppose, miss, are they? Dear me, there's 
 nothing like a good wife, after all ; there isn't, 
 indeed! Folks finds it out at last. He'll be 
 leaving then, I suppose, presently, miss ? Well, 
 I wish him well, I'm sure. He's a noist, harm- 
 less young man as I ever see !" 
 
 Grace was by this time in a state of uncon- 
 trollable amusement ; but the old lady looked 
 on her merriment as the most natural thing in 
 the world, and begged her to step in another 
 day, and tell her how matters progressed with 
 the lovers, and when it was to be. " For," said 
 she in conclusion, " he's a young man I shall 
 always respect for his quiet behaviour." 
 
 " Burnham-in-the-Fields," where Widow 
 Cocker resided, was one of those lovely agricul- 
 tural villages, which look like a rustic paradise
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 103 
 
 to the traveller as he passes through. The large 
 elms round the churchyard, the ancient church 
 itself, with its bells hung outside, the village 
 green with the sycamore in the middle, the 
 cottages, some of them thatched, and with old- 
 fashioned wooden beams crossing the white- 
 wash, diamond-wise, and all the place having 
 the air of being well looked after, formed a 
 scene thoroughly agreeable to the eye and taste. 
 How far human nature is influenced, or its 
 heart-sicknesses modified by such surroundings, 
 is another question. They perhaps have less 
 effect than the casual spectator might, in his 
 ardent admiration, be tempted to suppose. To 
 some minds the monotony, even of peace, is 
 irritating and vexatious; and many a youth, 
 born and bred in Burnham-in-the-Fields, was 
 glad to leave it for the rougher, but more ener- 
 getic and stirring life of the distant towns. Such 
 a one often returned, it is true, to die in the old 
 place (as was the case with Widow Cocker's 
 wild son Jack) ; but those individuals had passed 
 the ordeal of their lives elsewhere, and, by the 
 time they came back, their spirit was better
 
 104 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 attempered to the quiet serenity of the spot, 
 than during the heat and excitement of youth. 
 
 Widow Cocker herself was not a native of 
 the village, but came from one of those distant 
 towns where a large manufactory of hosiery 
 was carried on; and where her husband had 
 met with her on one of the loitering expeditions 
 from home in which the youths of Burnham- 
 in-the-Fields now and then indulged; and 
 w^hence he had the pride of bringing home the 
 brightest eyed and most lively of hard-working 
 girls as his wife. 
 
 The energy of her early life, and a better 
 education, accounted for her superiority in in- 
 telligence to most of the women in the village ; 
 and certainly the fact made her an especial 
 favourite with the Tresham family. It also, in 
 a great measure, explained her curiosity and 
 interest about people and events beyond the 
 limit of her own confined home. Her mind 
 took naturally a wider range than was there 
 afforded, owing to the associations of her 
 youth ; and Lydia Cocker had at one time 
 possessed considerable conversational powers.
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 105 
 
 Mrs. Tresliam had always taken pleasure in 
 having, what she called, a long talk with her 
 every now and then ; and, when there were no 
 clouds over her memory and mind, was wont 
 even yet to declare that she learnt something 
 every time she went to see her; while to the 
 children, of course, Lyddy and her peculiarities 
 were a never-failing source of amusement. 
 
 During the summer that succeeded her ninety- 
 ninth bi]-thday the poor old lady had two or 
 three fits of illness, which threatened more than 
 once to bring her to her last resting-place ; but, 
 through the doctor's careful skill, and the good 
 nourishment furnished by Mrs. Tresham, she 
 rallied again; and another autumn came, a 
 season of such remarkable warmth and beauty 
 as had not been remembered for years. How 
 everything glowed under its influence ! How it 
 lit up the cottage gardens with rich hollyhock 
 bloom, and made the hearts of the thoughtful 
 rejoice at the sight of the abundant harvest 
 spread out upon the fields ! 
 
 But there was a strange rumour afloat just 
 then ; a rumour which threatened to disturb all
 
 106 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 the comfort of the place. It was said that a 
 comet was to appear towards the end of that 
 month (August), which would destroy the world; 
 and there were some among the farmers who 
 even began to demur as to the proj^riety of 
 getting in their corn. They didn't see of what 
 use it would be, they said, and they might as 
 well save the expense ! forgetting that the use 
 of saving money was quite as doubtful as that 
 of laying up food. 
 
 Mr. Westwood was seated in his study one 
 morning, very busy over his books and writing, 
 when a tap came at the door, after which it 
 opened gently, and Grace Tresham stood before 
 him. Now I have called it Mr. Westwood's 
 study, because, although he was still a bachelor 
 in lodgings, his " parlour," as the landlady 
 would have considered it, was to all intents and 
 purposes, and especially, a study ; the room of 
 a studious and scholarly man. Extensive sets 
 of book-shelves made for use, not ornament, 
 filled up each side of an old-fashioned farm- 
 house fire-place. A pianoforte stretched along 
 in one direction, and an old oak cabinet adorned
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 107 
 
 another of the sides, along which also smaller 
 shelves for books were edged in here and there ; 
 while the window-seats below the stone-mul- 
 lioned latticed windows, were half covered with 
 cameras, mathematical instruments, and ma- 
 chinery of various kinds, among which Grace 
 Tresham dared not sit down, though it was her 
 favourite place whenever a corner of it could 
 be found vacant, because the vine looked in at 
 the window, and the scent from Mr. Westwood's 
 flower-beds was, as she said, always so nice ! 
 
 " Well, little Grace, what do you want?" 
 asked Mr. Westwood, while his face gradually 
 relaxed out of a rather stern look into a smile. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Westwood, old Lyddy is quite 
 frightened about the comet, and wants to know 
 whether you think it will hurt us, or not ? So 
 I have come to ask." 
 
 Mr. Westwood looked two or three times at 
 Grace from under his eyebrows, then got up, 
 removed the camera and a box or two, and 
 made room for the little girl on her favourite 
 window-seat. 
 
 " What do you think about the comet your- 
 self, Grace?"
 
 108 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Grace. " Papa's 
 away, you know, and I don't think mamma 
 knows much about comets ; and — and — Lyddy 
 Cocker is very much afraid of them, Mr. West- 
 wood." 
 
 " And Grace Tresham too— a little !" said 
 Mr. Westwood, making an attempt at a saga- 
 cious frown. " Come ! we will visit Lyddy 
 together." Mr. Westwood shut up his books, 
 shoved his papers hastily away, and took up 
 his hat ; and the two sallied forth together, the 
 little girl quite as ready at accommodating her- 
 self to Mr. Westwood's ways as to those of old 
 Lyddy. 
 
 " Did you ever count up to a thousand, 
 Grace ?" asked Mr. Westwood, as they passed 
 down the garden walk. 
 
 " No never, I never got so far," answered 
 Grace. " I got as far as 450 one day, and I 
 was so tired, and out of breath, I could not go 
 on." 
 
 " Very well. Then you did not get quite as 
 far as half-a-thousand, Grace." 
 
 " No, I kiiow, Mr. Westwood."
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 109 
 
 " How much bigger than a comet do you 
 suppose the earth is, Grace ? " 
 
 " I clid'nt know it was bijijger at all. I 
 
 oo 
 
 thoug-ht comets Avere immense things. Is the 
 
 '& 
 
 earth bigger, really?" 
 
 " A hundred thousand times at least," said 
 Mr. Westwood in measured tones, and stopping 
 to eye Grace Tresham as if he would eat her up. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Westwood !" exclaimed she ; and 
 then, seeing a lurking smile in his eye, she 
 added : — 
 
 " But it isn't true, is it?" 
 
 " Quite true, Grace." 
 
 They walked on a little further, and then she 
 
 said : — 
 
 " But there's its tail. You forgot its tail !" 
 " The great astronomer Herschel," replied 
 Mr. Westwood, " was once looking through a 
 telescope at a comet, and discovered a cluster 
 of stars of the sixteenth magnitude through the 
 heart ofif^f Now, stars of the sixteenth magni- 
 tude are small stars, and a very moderate fog 
 would hide them completely from our sight. 
 The thickest part of a comet is therefore very
 
 110 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 slight and unsubstantial in texture, compared 
 with even our clouds ; and as to its tail, Grace, 
 it is only a gauzy kind of mist, and never shines 
 out in its full splendour until it has passed the 
 sun, and received its rays upon it." 
 
 " I don't think Lyddy need be afraid," said 
 Grace. 
 
 " Certainly not, Grace. Do you think your 
 brother could knock over a cannon-ball with a 
 pea from his popgun?" 
 
 Grace laughed. 
 
 " Of course not. Well! The earth is the 
 cannon-ball, and the popgun-pea is the comet, — 
 and now here we are at Lyddy Cocker's door." 
 
 Lyddy was all in a fuss. Feverishly timid ; 
 pious, although confused ; she was at one mo- 
 ment unable to care very much whether the 
 comet was coming or not, and in the next re- 
 peating and believing all the foolish forebo- 
 dings which she had gathered from her neigh- 
 bours; and in such a mood reasoning was 
 almost useless. 
 
 She said, " She didn't see that it mattered 
 much which way a body went, if they were 
 ready. Everything must come to an end at
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. Ill 
 
 last ; and of course it would be the world's time 
 some day, for those that lived to see it. She 
 reckoned nothing of the woman that had jumped 
 into the draw-well, however, to be out of the 
 way. For her part, she shouldn't take the 
 trouble to do anything of the sort. She should 
 make her bed, and buy her bit of tea as usual, 
 though she knew she might, very likely, be cut 
 off in the midst of drinking itj" and so on. 
 After which there followed a pause ; and then 
 she turned to Mr. Westwood, and asked, seri- 
 ously, what he thought ? 
 
 Mr. Westwood adapted his answer to her 
 condition, as well as he could; and, by great 
 gentleness and patience, contrived at last to 
 gain her attention, while he explained that, 
 without a miracle, it might be considered an 
 impossibility that a comet should destroy the 
 earth ; and that the Almighty had no need to 
 work a miracle, through a comet, to effect an 
 object Avbich could be done in a thousand other 
 ways. 
 
 Besides, there was no symptom at present, 
 he suggested, that the fulness of time' was yet 
 come. There was a promise that the earth
 
 112 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 should one day be " full of the knowledge of 
 the Lord as the waters cover the seas;" and, 
 assuredly, that condition of things had not yet 
 arrived. 
 
 He had touched the right chord. This in- 
 ternal evidence, as it were, did more than the 
 most convincing scientific demonstration could 
 have done ; and the clouds seemed to pass off 
 the good old creature's mind, as she reflected 
 that " the Lord would assuredly perfect His 
 work, and call in the heathen to His fold." 
 Well, she should drink her tea in peace now, 
 and think no more of the comet. Not but 
 what she knew a body might be taken at tea, 
 or at any other time,, whether there was a 
 comet or not ! So she would bless the Lord, 
 and try to be found ready. 
 
 Nevertheless, she had, during the next two 
 or three weeks, slight returns of the comet 
 fever; but they passed off; for her grand- 
 daughter Betsv, who had been hid behind the 
 little pantry door all the time Mr. Westwood 
 was there, smothering down her tears and 
 fright, alid listening with a desperate anxiety
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 113 
 
 to every word he said, was now of invaluable 
 use in reminding her grandmother of all Mr. 
 Westwood's opinions, and confirming them by 
 her own settled convictions. 
 
 But, between the comet and Mr. Westwood's 
 marriage, which took place soon after the day 
 appointed by the comet-seers for the destruc- 
 tion of the Avorld, (and it was even reported 
 that Mr. Westwood had wished to fix the 
 event for that very day itself, in order to re- 
 assure the farmers,) the season passed away 
 with rather an unusual share of amusement and 
 excitement 5 and folks began to think that 
 Widow Cocker would really see her hundredth 
 birthday, in spite of her poorly fits and loss of 
 strength. 
 
 As time went on, however, she began to take 
 a great dislike to any little joke from the 
 neighbours about dining with the Queen ; and 
 even Betsy discovered that grandmother didn't 
 like it to be talked about. 
 
 Grandmother made all her preparations, 
 however, by degrees ; that is, she got Betsy to 
 
 I
 
 114 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 make them; but it was all done quietly and 
 gravely, and when Jack was out of the way. 
 
 There was a chints gown with a white 
 gi-ound, and stripes down it, in a long running 
 pattern of bunches of flowers looped up with 
 ribbons; she had had it ever since she was 
 married; and as it was kept put by for those 
 grand occasions that came so seldom, it had 
 rarely seen the light. This was exactly the 
 thing. There was a best cap too ; and Mrs. 
 Tresham made her a present of lace against 
 her next birthday ; and that exactly suited for 
 the new border, which Betsy made up and 
 arranged with an admirable taste, and was 
 rewarded by grandmother telling her " she was 
 the handiest lass i' all the place ! " And there 
 was a pair of thick-soled shoes, which were 
 just what was wanted, and which had rarely 
 been used, because her time was over for any- 
 thing but slippers. The only difficulty that 
 remained was the bonnet ; and that continued 
 a difficulty long after the rest of the things had 
 been deposited in readiness in the old oak chest 
 under the bed.
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 115 
 
 And, now and then, she would talk over 
 
 what was to be done about the bonnet to Betsy, 
 
 when nobody else was by ; but Grace Tresham 
 
 overheard a word or two about it, when she 
 
 had knocked at the door one day, and nobody 
 
 said, " Come in." And, very soon after that, 
 
 the Doctor called, and told Widow Cocker to 
 
 send Betsy to his house, as his wife had got a 
 
 little Christmas-box for the Widow herself; 
 
 and, when it arrived, it proved to be a bonnet, 
 
 that would have tempted any old lady to go 
 
 out and show herself, if she possibly could. 
 
 Lyddy shed a few tears over it, though neither 
 
 Betsy nor her father could guess why. But at 
 
 last she laid her head on the table, and fairly 
 
 sobbed ; after which she looked up, and told 
 
 them not to mind ; but the sight of the nice 
 
 bonnet put her in mind of the times when she 
 
 was young and hearty, and as lively as any of 
 
 them ; and could take her walk to the church, 
 
 and out in the fields afterwards, and see the 
 
 folks stirring about, and be happy " from morn 
 
 to neet." " For I was a very happy lass once, 
 
 Betsy," said she ; " very happy, and, may be,
 
 116 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 thoughtless, too. But the Lord's brought me 
 round, dear, you see, as He brings everybody 
 round that's willing to be led His way ; and 
 now I'm a weak infant in His hand. His 
 blessed will be done ! Now put me the bonnet 
 by, Betsy, there's a good girl ; and make me 
 and Jack our cup of tea ; and when Jack's 
 read me his chapter I'll go to bed, and God 
 bless you all." 
 
 It was about October Avhen Lyddy's prepa- 
 rations were thus completed by the arrival of 
 the bonnet ; and, after that, she never disturbed 
 herself further ^on the subject, nor mentioned it 
 again, except once, when she confided to Mrs. 
 Tresham what her expectations were. 
 
 She thought there would perhaps be several 
 other old women of about the same age as her- 
 self, and that they would dine in some beautiful 
 great place " to theirsens," as she worded it, 
 with servants to wait upon them. But her 
 chief idea on the subject, and the one in which 
 she took most delight, was, that before they be- 
 gan dinner, the Queen herself, all covered with 
 jewels and beautiful things, " like what they
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY, 117 
 
 speak about in the book of Revelations," would 
 stand at the head of the table, and say grace. 
 
 That was in her mind the leading feature of 
 the whole affair ; and she used to wonder to her- 
 self, she said, as she lay in bed awake in the 
 night, what words the Queen would use, and 
 whether she should be able to understand them. 
 Sometimes she was afraid she mightn't. " Other 
 sometimes" she felt sure she should, " because 
 you know, ma'am," said she, " God speaks to 
 us all in the same lansj-uao'e in the Bible, and 
 the Queen perhaps praj^s to God in the same 
 sort of words that I do mysen, and so she 
 wouldn't use hard ones in a grace." 
 
 The old widow's health revived considerablv 
 as the cold weather drew on. The doctor's 
 strengthening physic, or something, had had a 
 great effect on her ; for she picked up her good 
 looks, was very cheerful, and it was very rarely 
 that she had any hazy overcloudings of mind ; 
 and when Mr. Westwood and his bride called 
 upon her, about three weeks before Christmas, 
 he told her she had grown young again to be 
 introduced to his wife. Truly she was all
 
 118 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 smiles and gratitude at the compliment of the 
 call, and not a little pleased, too, to be able to 
 judge, from her own observation, of the merits of 
 the young lady. 
 
 Then, too, she had the pleasure of being satis- 
 fied -with her friend's choice, for she told Grace 
 Tresham, afterwards, " she thought they seemed 
 a noist kind of match, and would do very well 
 together, for they called each other * dear,' 
 several times, and seemed very comfortable in- 
 deed. But surely, she would have been a very 
 queer lady that couldn't have lived comfortable 
 with him; she spoke as she'd found, he was 
 such a quiet, well-behaved young man." 
 
 A green Christmas, it is said, makes a full 
 churchyard. If the converse be true, there 
 would be but few funerals in the neighbourhood 
 for some time. Snow began to fall the second 
 week in December; and, a hard frost setting 
 in, it lay on the ground from day to day, added 
 to by each succeeding fall, till at last the streets 
 and lanes were hard compact white roads, al- 
 most fitted for sledge driving, and as easy to 
 walk upon as when there was no snow at all.
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 119 
 
 Widow Cocker's house was one of a set of 
 cottages clown a lane, suiTOunded by a garden 
 enclosure, and with a walk in front of the doors, 
 which went the whole length, and overlooked 
 the road. Mrs. Tresham was walking down the 
 lane a few days before Christmas-day, and, to 
 her great surprise but real pleasure, beheld, as 
 she passed, old Lyddy Cocker tottering, by the 
 aid of a stick, up and doAvn the garden-walk, 
 and apparently enjoying the effort. A sudden 
 thought instantly struck her, and, going through 
 the little gate at the bottom of some steps that 
 led up to the gardens, she joined Lyddy in her 
 feeble walk, and fell into talk with her. 
 
 " Lyddy," said she, after a few words of con- 
 gratulation and inquiry, " I've something to 
 propose to you." " It must be in the house, 
 then," was the old woman's answer ; " for, now 
 I'm come out, everything seems so new and 
 fresh, 1 can think of nothing else but what I 
 see. Bless you ! I'm just like a child, ma'am, 
 pleased wi' owt:" so saying, she led the way 
 indoors. 
 
 " No bad thing either, Lyddy," said Mrs.
 
 120 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Tresham ; " we've all to be children, at last, in 
 spirit and humility." 
 
 " You say well, ma'am," returned Lyddy, 
 " and its a good job when we come to it with- 
 out struggling hard first." 
 
 This subject never failed to bring some pain- 
 ful recollections to the old woman's mind. 
 Doubtless, the high spirit that gleamed from 
 those dark eyes had known what it was to con- 
 test. It had not been given to her to pass 
 through the valley of humility without en- 
 countering the Apollyon of the heart. But, if 
 she had conquered, what mattered it now? 
 
 " You seem so nicely, Lyddy," said Mrs. 
 Tresham after she had sat down, " and the 
 weather is so bright and cheering, I have been 
 thinking that if I were to send my chair for 
 you — a new chair Mr. Tresham has just got for 
 me to go about in when I am not very well — 
 you might really come up to the Vicarage, and 
 pay me a visit. What do you say ? Grace 
 would be delighted." 
 
 Poor Lj'ddy really did not know what to 
 say, she was so overpowered with doubt of
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 121 
 
 being able, and yet so much pleased at the 
 suggestion. 
 
 " Don't ye, ma'am, don't ye," cried she, 
 " I'll think about it a bit: you're very good, 
 but I should be in evei-ybody's way. Dear, 
 dear, no! I couldn't think of giving the trouble." 
 
 Such objections were soon got over ; and then 
 the question arose, when should it be ? any fine 
 day, it couldn't matter which, all days were 
 good alike, if she were but able to come. But, 
 after a pause, the old woman looked up at Mrs. 
 Tresham and said, that if such a thing could 
 be, and she really were able, she would like of 
 all things to be inside the church again once 
 more, before she died. She would like to see 
 her husband's grave too, and then hear the 
 ministers once more, " if Mrs. Tresham thought 
 such a poor old body as she was, could be got 
 in without disturbing other folk." 
 
 There was no fear about that ; but Mrs. Tre- 
 sham was startled by the suggestion, rather 
 dreading the possible effect of the excitement 
 on the old woman's mind. Lyddy, however, 
 was as calm as she was earnest, and it was a
 
 122 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 jrreat satisfaction to find that the little hallu- 
 cination respecting dining with the Queen was 
 no longer present to her thoughts. 
 
 Nor was this a bad opportunity, Mrs. Tre- 
 sham thought, of breaking through it alto- 
 gether; and so she proposed to Lyddy, that 
 her visit should take place on the following 
 Friday, which was Christmas-day that year. 
 No allusion was made to its being the birthday, 
 and Mrs. Tresham avoided recalling the idea. 
 Contn-atulations about that could come at a 
 proper time and place, and a hint to the good 
 girl Betsy prevented her making any allusions 
 to what had been anticipated; and Mrs. Tre- 
 sham left Widow Cocker, rejoicing in the little 
 accident which had led her steps down the lane ; 
 for it struck her that this new and realizable 
 prospect would create a happy diversion in the 
 old lady's mind, and prevent her regretting the 
 failure of her more magnificent visions. 
 
 It was a very merry Christmas-time that 
 year; for, the weather being unusually fine, 
 the troops of mummers and other similar sports 
 perambulated the country, without any hind-
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 123 
 
 ranee from wet ; and made the neighbourhood 
 gay with music and fun. The waits, too, were 
 about early and late ; but Grace Tresham had 
 heard a good deal more of them than old Widow 
 Cocker had, who assured her little friend, in 
 excuse for her dulness or sleepiness, that she 
 had slept with her deaf ear upwards that 
 night. 
 
 It was the greatest possible pleasure to Grace 
 to be allowed to accompany the carriage to 
 Widow Cocker's on Christmas morning, and 
 fetch her to church; and the child's friendly 
 jokes seemed to make the whole matter easy to 
 the old woman herself. All manner of wrap- 
 pages were sent with the carriage, and Widow 
 Cocker never knew how she got into it, or how 
 she was covered up, or anything about it, till 
 she felt herself all at once going along as easy, 
 she said, as if she was sitting in her own arm- 
 chair ! She never felt anything noisier in her 
 life ! Grace and Betsy, between them, had 
 managed it altogether. Betsy took care that 
 the old lady was ready and waiting, and Grace 
 and she bundled her up, and lifted her into the
 
 124 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 carriage, without the least hesitation, and cer- 
 tainly without any opposition on Lyddy's part, 
 who, with a smile on her face, " 'livered herself 
 up," as she afterwards described it, and let 
 them do what they liked with her. How 
 should she know what to do herself? She had 
 never been in a carriage befoi-e ! 
 
 Jack drew the carriage along the snowy 
 road, and as they were proceeding along, Grace 
 fell back a little behind it, and asked Betsy 
 how she had managed her grandmother that 
 morning, and whether she had said anything 
 about dining with the Queen ? 
 
 " Not a word, miss," was Betsy's answer. 
 " She has not named it for weeks ; but, not 
 long after your mamma was here the other day, 
 and invited her, she seemed to rouse up from a 
 fit of thinking as she sat over the fire, and she 
 called to me : ' Betsy, are all the things ready ?' 
 I didn't speak for a second, for I wasn't sure 
 what she meant ; and then she said, ' I mean 
 the things we put by in the chest.' 
 
 " ' Yes, grandmother,' I said, ' they're all 
 right j' for I knew they were, you know, miss.
 
 
 
 
 
 THE CENTENARIAN. 
 
 Page 121.
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 125 
 
 ' Then,' says she, ' Betsy, lass, we'll have them 
 out to-morrow, and hang them to the fire, and 
 they'll be ready for me against Mrs. Tresham's 
 carriage comes on Christmas-day.' So I knew 
 by that that she had left off thinking about the 
 Queen ; and the next day we got out the chest, 
 and hung everything by the fire ; and she has 
 never spoken a word since, but about going to 
 church once again, and seeing grandfather's 
 grave, and hearing all the prayers again ; and I 
 never saw her so happy in my life before," said 
 Betsy in conclusion. 
 
 Grace was very glad, and nodded and smiled 
 at old Lyddy after this explanation ; and then 
 she helped to pull the carriage along, and from 
 time to time made the old woman smile by her 
 youthful spirits ; for even when she did not 
 know the cause, there was something in the 
 happiness of the child which cheered her up. 
 
 In this manner they reached the churchyard 
 gates, when Grace Tresham left them ; but 
 they were allowed to go through in the little 
 carriage, so that Jack was able to take his 
 mother to a spot whence she could see with
 
 126 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 ease the graves of her young family and hus- 
 band. 
 
 The tears rolled over Jack's hard cheeks, 
 and Betsy cried because she was sorry for 
 grandmother, and sorry for them ; but old 
 Lyddy herself showed no emotion whatever. 
 
 She looked fixedly at the spot for a few 
 seconds, and then, of herself, proposed moving 
 on. " I shall be a deal better in t' church than 
 here. Jack," said she, composedly; and, " a 
 deal better, indeed!" she kept murmuring, till 
 they reached the porch. 
 
 At all times there is something saddening 
 mixed with the sweetness of fidfilled wishes ; 
 for never, till then, do we realize their insuffi- 
 ciency to make us as happy as we have ex- 
 pected. 
 
 Often and often in her declining age, since 
 the power of walking so far had been denied 
 her, had that poor old widow sighed for one 
 glance at those graves ; year by year had she 
 longed to see the beautiful Christmas decora- 
 tions adorning the pillars of the village church ; 
 for, owing, perhaps, to the connection from
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 127 
 
 childhood upwards of that sight with her own 
 birthday, it had always been to her a charmed 
 recollection. 
 
 And here she was at last, once more; and 
 yonder, yonder, and yonder, round the church, 
 and down the aisles, drooped the dark festoons 
 of yew and glossy laurel-branches ; while the 
 holly, with its bright red berries, shone out 
 amidst the other evergreens, the undoubted 
 glory of them all. 
 
 Ay, there they were, and here was she, who 
 had but just now looked at her husband's and 
 childrens' graves, and must so soon be laid by 
 their side, and who was once more come to 
 celebrate her birthday in one of the congrega- 
 tions of Christ — and oh, how vain everything 
 earthly, however lovely and beautiful, was, and 
 seemed, after all ! 
 
 Widow Cocker could not reason out the 
 conclusion : but she came to it throuo-h her 
 feelings involuntarily, and almost unknown to 
 herself. She had turned away from the graves, 
 for there was nothing there to call forth her 
 emotions now ; she was going to them, and
 
 128 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 had long ago ceased to wish that they should 
 come to her. And now she turned away 
 equally even from the beautiful sight in the 
 church, which she had so long wished to see. 
 
 For the trembling immortal on the verge of 
 the grave and its mighty change, even the ten- 
 derest and sweetest earthly feelings are trifles 
 light as air. There are greater things at stake, 
 and this the heart feels, even when no argu- 
 ment has convinced the mind. 
 
 But a light came over her spirit at last, 
 when once more, after the long, unavoidable 
 absence, she listened to the solemn words with 
 which the services of the Church open — words, 
 which hold out the promise of peace and 
 mercy to the whole repenting world; and 
 which, thanks to Mrs. Tresham's carefully 
 chosen position, and Mr. Westwood's clear 
 reading, she was able to distinguish. 
 
 If some tears stole over the old, worn-out 
 cheek then, they were tears of hope and thanks- 
 giving. Here was no allusion to perishable 
 earthly joys ; no painful comparisons suggested 
 between past and present. Age, infirmity,
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 129 
 
 sickness itself, as well as youth, and health, 
 and strength, shared in the promise here held 
 out; for it was a promise that led the soul 
 forward to the thoug^ht of its future everlastino- 
 state. 
 
 Both Betsy and her father feared lest 
 Widow Cocker's strength should fail her, if 
 she attempted to stay for the Holy Communion, 
 after morning service was over ; but there was 
 no persuading her to leave the church. She 
 had been used to stay before, she said. Mr. 
 Westwood had given her the Sacrament at 
 home every year, and she would like to receive 
 it now in church. She was very happy if they 
 would let her be, and let her sit where she was. 
 She could sit as well there as anywhere else, 
 and she would not attempt to do more. 
 
 And so it came about that she received the 
 Sacrament of the Lord's Supper; Jack and 
 Betsy leading her to the communion rails, 
 where, just for that short space of time, she 
 knelt. 
 
 She was very much exhausted, certainly, 
 after reaching the Vicarage, even although the 
 
 K
 
 130 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 little carriage fetched her through the church- 
 yard and garden walks ; hut, after a little care- 
 ful treatment hy Mrs. Tresham, she rallied, 
 and was quite herself again in her best fashion, 
 listening to all Miss Grace's bantering, (who 
 amused herself by examining the curious flower 
 n-roups on the chintz gown,) with a real old 
 woman's smile of pleasure. 
 
 " They have such spirits, ma'am, you see, 
 these young things," said she, turning to Mrs. 
 Tresham, who was disposed to expostulate at 
 Grace's jokes. " It does one good to be 
 among them, I always think. Miss Grace and 
 I know each other well, too, now, and I like 
 to hear anything she has a mind to say." 
 
 To Lyddy's eye the large high kitchen at 
 Mr. Tresham's was a very imposing place; 
 and I am not sure that her mind had stretched 
 itself to anything much grander, even in her 
 visions of regal state. And if there were no 
 jewels and shining stones, like the descriptions 
 in the chapters of Revelations, there were sun- 
 dry bunches of evergreens hung up among the 
 bright tins and pans that glimmer round a well-
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 131 
 
 arranrjed kitchen ; and these had an excellent 
 effect. 
 
 There was, too, suspended from the middle 
 of the ceiling, what was called the mistletoe- 
 bough, but which was, in reality, a mixture of 
 mistletoe with all other evergreens, and deco- 
 rated with oranges and apples. 
 
 I must not tell of all Grace's pretended 
 endeavours to persuade her old friend, and 
 Betsy too, that this huge manufactured ball 
 was, possibly, an orange-tree ; nor how Betsy 
 tried to keep from laughing with all her might, 
 but at last fairly broke out in spite of herself, 
 and felt desperately ashamed of her rudeness, 
 till Miss Grace put an orange into her hand, 
 as well as into Lyddy's, and told her she liked 
 to hear her laugh, which set her at ease again. 
 
 But it was all very kind and pleasant, and 
 passed the time away till the dinner was set on 
 the table, at which Lyddy was comfortably 
 seated, with her son on one side and her grand- 
 daughter on the other, when Mr. Tresham, 
 who happened to be in the kitchen just then 
 talking to them, said, " I will say grace for you
 
 132 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 to-day ;" and, in an audible voice, every word 
 of which was music to Lyddy's ears, offered up 
 from the head of the table a simple prayer of 
 thanksgiving, which she could thoroughly un- 
 derstand. Lyddy had forgotten the Queen; 
 and yet, somehow or other, what was taking 
 place reminded her of " something like it that 
 had happened before, or else of something she 
 had been thinking about." She confided as 
 much to Betsy after dinner. " Dear me, 
 Betsy!" said she, "when I heard Mr. Tre- 
 sham standing up for grace, I thought I'd seen 
 it all before ; but its nobbut an old wife's fancy, 
 I suppose." 
 
 The poor old lady had enjoyed the dining 
 there verv much, though she ate but morsels of 
 the good things placed before her ; and after- 
 wards passed a very happy afternoon over the 
 kitchen fire, while the family were engaged, 
 arid the servants busy in various directions. 
 At last, just before the time Mrs. Tresham had 
 wisely appointed for her return, Grace came 
 and fetched her to the dining-room, where a 
 little wine was given her, and, in a quiet way,
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 133 
 
 they all drank her health, and alluded to her 
 great age. Mr. Tresham spoke very kindly 
 to her, and she thanked him, and said she 
 esteemed it a great favour to have been able to 
 go to church again, and on such a day. Her 
 voice sank as she spoke, and they would not 
 suffer her to talk more, for she was evidentlv 
 ■weary. 
 
 Once more, therefore, Grace and Betsy 
 packed her up, and she remained passive in her 
 hands till she found herself in the carriage 
 again. Then, looking up, she saw Mrs. Tre- 
 sham close at hand, and said, in a half inau- 
 dible voice, " Eh, you have been good, ma'am, 
 and its been a blessed day, and I thank you ! " 
 
 Mrs. Tresham nodded and smiled, and the 
 little carriage bore away its burden to the cot- 
 tage in the lane. 
 
 They got her in, and set her down by the 
 fireside in her old armchair, Avith the cushion 
 Miss Grace had worked ; and she seemed quite 
 pleased, saying, " Thank ye, thank ye, dears ! " 
 in a low voice, several times. Betsy thought 
 her sadly tired, and set about making her a
 
 134 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 cup of tea, glancing at the old lady from time 
 to time, as she sat watching intently the burn- 
 ing up of the little bit of fire on which the 
 kettle was placed. Her head and shoulders 
 were bent down, and her hands were on her 
 knees — an attitude very common to her — when 
 suddenly, she turned round quite sharply, 
 looked up at her granddaughter, and said, " I 
 told you so, and nobody believed me !" 
 
 Something in the tone of her voice made 
 Betsv start. 
 
 " Grandmother, dear, what is it ? " cried she. 
 
 "Didn't I fell you so?" she exclaimed, 
 testily. " I always knew I should dine with 
 the Queen to-day. Folks will believe now, I 
 suppose;" and she smoothed down the folds 
 of the chintz dress. " But it was grander than 
 I thought!" 
 
 " She's wandering, father; what shall we 
 do?" cried Betsy, much distressed. 
 
 The simple restorative of the cup of tea was 
 resorted to ; but, after a few spoonsful, the old 
 widow turned away from it in dislike, and leant 
 back in her chair. 

 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 135 
 
 " Nothing more," whispered she, " nothing 
 more ! you saw I took it on my knees." 
 
 " Yes, mother," said Jack, Avho became un- 
 easy at her manner, " in church you know, in the 
 house of God, that's where you've been to-day." 
 
 " God's everywhere," was the old woman's 
 rejoinder. " Here, now, perhaps." 
 
 " With his saints," answered Jack, in a tone 
 of love and respect. 
 
 " With repenting sinners," she whispered, as 
 she felt about for her son's arm, that she might 
 lay her hand upon it. 
 
 " Mother !" said Jack after a pause, and she 
 repeated his name in reply. 
 
 " Jack !" 
 
 " Don't ye say any more about the Queen, 
 please. You're tired, and don't know. It's 
 Mrs. Tresham, and all of them there, you've 
 been with, and had your dinner. Have your 
 pipe, and go to bed now, and sleep it off." 
 
 " Ay, I've been a long way," replied the 
 old woman, rousing up, and apparently having 
 heard only the last part of the sentence. " It's 
 time I was at rest, indeed !"
 
 136 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 But she sank back again in the chair as she 
 spoke, and presently murmured for her grand- 
 daughter. 
 
 " Betsy, lass ! it's all over now. I got up 
 to the dinner, as I thought, and heard the grace. 
 Try and think of the grace ! ' The Lord make 
 us truly thankful.' It's well the Queen re- 
 members it, too !" 
 
 A long pause followed, for old Lyddy had 
 shut her eyes; and Betsy and her father con- 
 sulted what was to be done. Old Jack was 
 getting very nervous. He suggested trying 
 her with her favourite pipe. It would soothe, 
 and perhaps set her to sleep. Betsy agreed, 
 and thev lit it and brought it to her. 
 
 She looked at them out of her dark eyes, but 
 the look was wandering and confused; and 
 when at last her eyes fixed on the pipe, and she 
 gathered Avhat they meant, shp shook her head, 
 and made a sign that she would go to bed. 
 
 Poor old Widow Cocker. This was the re- 
 action after the excitement and fatigue of the 
 day; but they hoped all would be well after 
 she got to sleep. She sufi"ered herself to be un-
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY, 137 
 
 dressed, and laid down without a word of re- 
 mark, beyond a whispered " thank God/' as 
 her head sank on the pillow. Betsy and her 
 father watched her for more than ten minutes, 
 and satisfied themselves that she had really 
 dropt asleep. This was so far well ; but there 
 \vas too much irregularity about her breathing 
 for them to lay aside anxiety. 
 
 " Make up the fire," said Jack ; " I'll sit me 
 down here ;" and he seated himself in the chair 
 by his mother's bed. The girl made a cup of 
 tea for them both; and after that nearly an 
 hour* elapsed. 
 
 " How is she breathing now, father?" asked 
 Betsy, getting up softly and approaching Jack. 
 
 " I don't hear it so uneasy as I did," answered 
 he, in the same tone : " Listen, lass." 
 
 Betsy stooped to listen, but at that moment 
 there was a movement of the clothes. Old 
 Lyddy was certainly waking. She moved her 
 head, opened her eyes, and looked at them 
 both. She was fearfully pale, and her breathing 
 was very hard ; but all the confused look was 
 gone. "Is this my hundredth birthday?"
 
 138 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 murmured she. They told her, « Yes." " No 
 more nonsense, dear," were her next half audible 
 Avords, and the dark eyes even yet sought the 
 face of her son. 
 
 " Better still," came next : " It's to the Lord 
 — Himself— I'm going ;" then followed a short 
 pause, and then a whispered, " I hope" — and 
 then she closed her eyes, and all was silent 
 again. 
 
 It was but too evident that some fatal change 
 had come over the poor old widow. 
 
 For some time past she had been kept up by 
 
 « 
 
 the little excitements of hope and expectation ; 
 
 and the actual pleasure of the day, so long 
 
 looked forward to, proved the drop that caused 
 
 the brimming cup to overflow. Old Widow 
 
 Cocker was dying. Betsy ran out to find 
 
 some neighbour to fetch the doctor to the sick 
 
 woman, for Jack would not leave his mother 
 
 for an instant. He watched, rather than heard, 
 
 the laboured breathing ; and made a last simple 
 
 effort to obtain relief. He re-lit once more the 
 
 favourite pipe, and brought it to the bed. '' Try 
 
 it, mother dear," he entreated, as, with the fond
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 139 
 
 hope of success, he pressed it to her lips. She 
 seemed to know what he wished, for she opened 
 her lips, and made the effort, while Jack put 
 his arm under the pillow, and so lifted her 
 gently up. 
 
 But it was in vain ; all power of using it 
 was gone. For an instant the closed eyes re- 
 opened. It was only to cast a last kind look 
 on her son. When Betsy returned, she found 
 her father sobbing on the chair by his mother's 
 bed, with the pipe in his hand. " She cannot 
 draw, Betsy," he exclaimed ; " she's tried, and 
 she cannot draw. She must be dying now !"' 
 
 She was indeed, or rather was she not dead 
 already ? Ever since her son withdrew his arm 
 from the pillow all had been still, and no one 
 ever knew at wdiat moment the spirit passed 
 away from the old worn-out frame. 
 
 On a less foundation than this, I doubt not, 
 many a legend has arisen, and become the talk 
 of the country side. Should any one therefore 
 be told, that in the village of Burnham-in-the- 
 Fields it is commonly believed that, whenever 
 there is a Queen upon the throne, any old
 
 140 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Avoman who lives to be a hundred years old 
 will dine with her, as Lyddy Cocker did, he 
 need not feel surprized ; for there were many 
 people at the time, who, when they heard 
 of the old widow's sudden death, shook their 
 heads, and hinted that it was no wonder; 
 vaguely implying that they really believed she 
 had in some mysterious manner been as good as 
 her word. To suo:si;est to the individuals of this 
 turn of thought, that the old lady had actually 
 been seen at church, was mere waste of time. 
 " Of course, people thought she had been seen 
 there, or at the Vicarage, or somewhere, or else 
 she would have been looked for," was the reply; 
 but the question was, whether the real Widow 
 Cocker had not in the meantime carried out 
 her intentions, and just come back in time, as 
 she had always said she should wish to do, to 
 die! 
 
 But there was no end to the mysteries over 
 Widow Cocker's death. The doctor had been 
 out when he was sent for that evening, and was 
 out all night. As he was riding home down 
 the lane next morning, one of Widow Cocker's
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 141 
 
 neighbours, who was cleaning the steps by the 
 garden-gate, stopped in her work ; and, getting 
 up from her knees, gave him the information 
 of the event of the previous night. Naturally, 
 he expressed surprise and regret, and made a 
 few inquiries. 
 
 " It wanted just three minutes to nine," was 
 the account he received in a subdued and solemn 
 voice, " and I was standing at the doorstead, 
 looking out at the snow, when all at once I 
 heard the biggest noise in Lyddy's house, just 
 as if some heavy thing or other had tumbled 
 off the bed on to the floor. I went all of a chill 
 in an instant, and you may think what my 
 feelings was, when the next minute who should 
 I see but Betsy running — I didn't know then 
 she was seekng for somebody to fetch the 
 doctor. ' Eh, lass,' says I, ' what's amiss ? ' 
 ' Grandmother's ill,' says she. * 111,' says I, 
 * and you leaving her ! Why, for anything 
 you know, she's dead ! I heard a noise like 
 I don't know what just now, as if some one 
 had dropt off the bed on to the floor.' " 
 
 " You don't mean to say she really had done
 
 142 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 SO?" interrupted the doctor, aghast at the 
 idea. 
 
 " Oh dear, no," replied the neighbour very 
 stiffly, and with a most mysterious shake of the 
 head. 
 
 " Then what on earth was the noise?" per- 
 sisted the doctor rather angrily, for he had no 
 time to waste over nonsense. 
 
 " It's not for me to say," replied the neigh- 
 bour, taking up the scouring-stone, and prepar- 
 ing to kneel down and resume her w^ork. " Of 
 course it was something consarning her death." 
 
 This was the tale of the neighbour on one 
 side. But the neighbour on the other was not 
 the less favoured with supernatural indications 
 than herself. 
 
 " They hadn't much need to come and tell 
 me Lyddy was dying," remarked she, impres- 
 sively ; " I could have judged it before they got 
 to the door ! " 
 
 " How was that?" inquired I, to whom the 
 account was given. 
 
 " Well, ma'am, it was a very cold night, its 
 true, and our George had gone to bed, and the
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 143 
 
 children were in bed too, and I was ready for 
 bed myself, for the fire had gone out, and there 
 was nothing to sit up for. But, after I got up- 
 stairs, I bethought me that my good man had 
 set his boots outside o'the doorstead when he 
 came home, and that he hadn't fetched them 
 in ; so I slipt down stairs again, and unfastened 
 the door — and its true, ma'am, I assure you — 
 as I opened it there passed by me — the swiftest, 
 sweetest hush! — and I knew directly that some- 
 thing had happened as surely as if I'd heard it 
 in words ; and, when the neighbour came in to 
 tell me she was dead, I said, ' Of course ! ' as 
 if I'd known it all along. Ah, poor old body ! 
 she was often in and out here, when she was 
 able to move about better, and she knew the 
 way well ! " 
 
 Here my friend heaved a sigh, but, on very 
 slight encouragement, started afresh. " There's 
 a deal of talk astir about her havinc: been at 
 church, and up at the Vicarage that day ; but 
 I don't know what's to be said about it. I 
 wasn't at church myself, certainly, to see, and 
 people that did see ought to know. But I
 
 144 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 know what poor old Lyddy talked about, and 
 intended, and there's stranger things happens, 
 that anybody knows anything of!" 
 
 The surprising age to which Lydia Cocker 
 had lived, and the no less surprising manner in 
 which she retained her faculties, together with 
 the fact that she was a stranger by birth, and 
 had borne away the palm for years, in the 
 village of her adoption, both for beauty and an 
 amount of energetic intelligence, by no means 
 common in the district, may account, in some 
 measure, for the mysterious reports which got 
 abroad respecting her death. She had never 
 been thoroughly one of themselves. 
 
 But, besides this, a belief in the supernatural 
 is one of the instincts of our Nature ; and, 
 wherever least regulated by clearly defined 
 notions of Faith, it is most apt to break out in 
 absurd and capricious developments. Hence, 
 among the ignorant and ill-conducted we may 
 find a man who would break the command- 
 ments without the slightest apprehension — 
 timid, nevertheless, at the notion of crossing a 
 churchyard at night, or sitting alone with a
 
 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 145 
 
 corpse ; nay, ready to believe the most rhodo- 
 montade tales of a spiritual visitation, made 
 without an object, and leading to no result but 
 that of causing people to stare. The great God 
 of heaven and earth does not so trifle with His 
 creatures; but, so long as the marvel is irre- 
 gular, and not in the Bible, such people as I 
 have described are open-mouthed to take it in, 
 and exercise an amount of Faith, of which all 
 we can say is, that it is a pity it is not directed 
 to those Gospel doctrines which have for their 
 aim the purification of our moral nature, and 
 the providing us with a sure ground of hope in 
 time of need. 
 
 Grace Tresham wept over the grave of her 
 old friend, and the tears stood in Mrs. Tresham's 
 eyes too, as she listened to Betsy's account of 
 her death, and the hope and comfort which 
 had accompanied it. It was well, indeed, for 
 the old Vv^idow that the long trials of her fiery 
 spirit ended so sweetly and peacefully ; that 
 the years of submission to God's will in life 
 had prepared her to accept His guidance with 
 childlike trust, wherever it might lead : yea, 
 
 L
 
 146 THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 even when it led through the valley of the 
 shadow of death. 
 
 And oh ! happy for her it was, that when, in 
 the short lightness before death, the innocent 
 hallucination which had cheered the years of 
 her weak old age departed, it was succeeded 
 by a brighter vision, and a more exalted hope ; 
 that although the poor old Widow went not, on 
 her hundredth birthday, to the Palace of an 
 earthly Queen, she closed her eyes that night 
 in her humble cottage, trusting to awake to 
 consciousness in " a house not made of hands, 
 eternal in the Heavens," in the presence of the 
 King of kings, the God of the fatherless and 
 the widow. .,
 
 m- 
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 A LEGEND OF BONNEVAL. 
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 " Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth." 
 
 HEN ^sop's cock found the pre- 
 cious stone on the dunghill, he 
 turned it over with contempt, and 
 pursued his search for something' 
 more suited to his own particular wants and 
 •wishes ; and, by doing so, he proved himself to 
 be a treasure-seeker of the wisest and most phi- 
 losophical description. 
 
 Some people may be disposed to quibble at 
 this conclusion, and to argue that it was only 
 in consequence of the cock's ignorance, and 
 lower standard of requirements, that he pre- 
 ferred the barley-corn to the diamond. He
 
 148 THE TREAyURE-SEEKER. 
 
 was incapable, (they would say,) from his infe- 
 riority, of appreciating the greater intrinsic 
 worth of the gem. 
 
 It would be a gi-and thing if people knew 
 what they meant when they used such high- 
 sounding phrases as " intrinsic worth ! " We 
 speak of the " intrinsic worth" of a diamond, 
 as if it was the acknowledged fact of the uni- 
 verse; whereas we, temporary travellers in a 
 a world which we are merely passing through, 
 mean nothing but its value in a particular 
 money-market, where a certain quantity of gold 
 would be given in exchange for it. 
 
 Take it to the islands of the south seas, 
 where, what we should' be disposed to call 
 trumpery little shells, would be offered as its 
 equivalent; and then you can sit down and 
 meditate to some purpose on the intrinsic worth 
 of a gem. On your return home the shells 
 would probably fetch only a few pence, and 
 you, if you had agreed to the exchange, would 
 find yourself very much in the position of Hans 
 in Luck, when he had, by much ingenuity, 
 converted his bar of gold into a grindstone;
 
 INTRODUCTION. 149 
 
 only you would not be, I fear, quite so con- 
 tented as the hero of the German tale. 
 
 No ! there is, in point of fact, no greater in- 
 trinsic worth in the diamond than in the bar- 
 ley-corn. Nay, that which serves as an article 
 of food may justly claim to have the advantage 
 over a useless bauble, the value of which lies 
 solely in the value we set upon it. Of " in- 
 trinsic worth" there is no question whatever. 
 
 Having thus defended iEsop's cock from the 
 charge of inferiority in judgment, I proceed to 
 more general remarks. 
 
 Very few things in this life have any intrinsic 
 worth ; so few, that it is generally only a delu- 
 sion we practise upon ourselves when we use 
 the phrase. The standard of nominal value is 
 regulated by our wants, wishes, and even 
 whims ; and, as the variety of those is endless, 
 so is the difference of opinion endless as to the 
 value of the treasures of life. 
 
 That we are all, however, treasure-seekers in 
 our way, there can be no manner of doubt. 
 Every man hns his own little circle of interests 
 and excitements — undivulged, in many cases,
 
 150 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 to even his nearest and dearest. Every man 
 has his own little castle in the air, to which he 
 is constantly travelling on the soothing wings 
 of fancy, when the world around him becomes 
 flat or annoying. Every man has his favourite 
 train of thought, his more particularly che- 
 rished hope, his secret aspiration, his idea of 
 the possible perfection of life. 
 
 " Every beloved object," says Novalis, " is 
 the centre of a paradise." Oh, that we would 
 all take heed that the centre of our respective 
 paradises held a treasure worthy of the name ! 
 Worthy of all the interest, and excitement, and 
 love, and worship, and seeking, we bestow 
 upon it ! 
 
 Whatever may be thought generally of the 
 wisdom of our old friend the cock's judgment 
 in his selection of a treasure, all will admit that 
 it was, undoubtedly, a wise one for a cock ; and 
 the cock, therefore, had at any rate the great 
 merit of knowing what was of real value to 
 himself; of not being diverted from his search 
 by a conventional delusion ; and of persevering 
 to the end.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 151 
 
 Can as much be said of the mass of rational 
 beings ? It is to be feared not. 
 
 There is treasure-seeking, it is true, as I said, 
 in all directions ; but the things which we con- 
 sider as such, and the modes by which we seek 
 to obtain them, are as different as light is from 
 darkness; and — 
 
 " How distant oft the thing we dote on most, 
 From that for which we dote — felicity ! " 
 
 What delusions we pass through ; what blun- 
 ders we commit ; what follies we disgrace our- 
 selves by, before we set up (if, indeed, we ever 
 do), as a centre of our paradise of secret 
 thought and enjoyment, anything deserving the 
 worship of an immortal creature ! 
 
 But again, among those who have rightly 
 selected their treasure, how many are apt to 
 fall short of the cock's wisdom in their mode of 
 pursuing it ? Knowing what is of real value to 
 themselves, they (unlike him) are but too often 
 diverted from their search by conventional de- 
 lusions, or fail of persevering to the end. 
 
 A^as, that it should be so ! and alas, too, if 
 such persons should fancy themselves above
 
 152 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 takint; a lesson from the humble creature of 
 whom we have spoken ! — of lookiu<; into life, 
 and seeing, that, even where the object is a 
 mistaken one, there is a merit, worthy all com- 
 mendation, in the searching diligently till we 
 have found what we believe to be essential to 
 our happiness. 
 
 It is reported that, in a sister isle, there is an 
 organized society for heiress-hunting ; that is 
 to say, for obtaining a fortune through the 
 medium of a matrimonial alliance. 
 
 A club of gentlemen, who have set before 
 themselves a rich wife as the great desideratum 
 of life, subscribe a trifle each, annually, to de- 
 fray the expenses of a yearly journey of one of 
 their guild (chosen by lot) to certain celebrated 
 watering-places in England, where he may lay 
 siege to the heart and purse of any young lady 
 who may be visiting in the neighbourhood, 
 (like himself,) in a nominal search of health 
 and a little change. 
 
 This is earnest treasure-seeking, but of a 
 complicated kind ; involving the risk of losing 
 as much comfort in one way as is gained in an-
 
 INTRODUCTION. 153 
 
 other. But the fraternity alluded to have, it 
 is to be presumed, weighed all the costs. They 
 are prepared to throw a shawl over a hump, if 
 the riches cannot be had without one ; or to 
 escape an ungenial temper by resorting to their 
 club, should that unhappy defect be the inevit- 
 able accompaniment of the coin. 
 
 And here, whatever we may think of the 
 object these men have in view, or of the means 
 they use to secure it, there can be no doubt that 
 they, like the cock, have the merit of having 
 decided on what they want, and of working 
 resolutely, and undiverted by conventional opi- 
 nions, to that end. 
 
 More cannot be expected from life than that 
 a man should ascertain what is essential to his 
 individual happiness, pursue it with unremitting 
 zeal, and obtain it if he can. 
 
 Only let him beware that he does not build 
 up so admirable a structure upon a loose foun- 
 dation ! Only let him examine beforehand, lest 
 he should grasp success and disappointment 
 together ! 
 
 In olden times, some centuries ago, when a
 
 154 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 superstitious religion made general superstition 
 a still more common thing than it is at present; 
 when neither prince nor peasant saw any reason 
 why the charms of the necromancer should not 
 prevail as well as the charms of the priest; 
 when the miracles worked by pictures and 
 relics, which men were required to believe, 
 made them credulous of the possibility of any- 
 thing they wished to believe, — treasure-seeking, 
 of a very material and tangible sort, was in 
 vogue, and in some cases became a perfect 
 rage. * 
 
 Offering all the irresistible attractions of a 
 short cut to fame and fortune, it was equally 
 acce{)table to the discontented man who had 
 failed in other ways, and to the idle youth who 
 had no fancy for any occupation which in- 
 volved mental or bodily labour. And the pur- 
 suit, when once indulged in, possessed a morbid 
 fascination for its victims, which soon (like that 
 of gambling) bade defiance to reason and the 
 results of experience, and fed upon the excite- 
 ment of even disappointment itself. 
 
 This sort of treasure-seeking, born as it was
 
 INTRODUCTION. 155 
 
 of superstition, was fostered by the old traditions 
 and legendary" beliefs which from time to time 
 crept into currency, no one could exactly say 
 how. 
 
 Few facts in the natural history of the human 
 race are more interesting and satisfactory than 
 its inveterate belief in the supernatural. Through 
 all the horrors and abominations of savage pagan 
 creeds, the one consolatory feature remains, that 
 men of all races and ages have a conviction, 
 amounting to instinct, of a something beyond 
 this world, to be hoped for, feared, and wor- 
 shipped. 
 
 Philosophers may endeavour, as they please, 
 to reason out the delusion ; and the dissolute 
 liver may try to laugh down those established 
 moral laws which are built upon a creed that 
 demands sobriety and honesty of life. But it 
 is all in vain. Crush down the instinct in one 
 corner, and it rises up with proportionate force 
 in another. Discard religion, and superstition 
 will rise in her place, and rule with a rod of iron 
 terror ; for nature will not be baulked of her 
 rights ; and the already half-immortal creature.
 
 156 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 though fettered by its earthly tabernacle, must 
 have something to believe. 
 
 Observe the working of this fact at the present 
 day, and in cases where you would least expect 
 to find it at all. See the philosopher, who 
 reasoned himself long ago out of all faith in the 
 Gospel, succumbing, without a moment's hesi- 
 tation, to the spiritual pretensions of some soiree- 
 giving ladv, with a coterie of miraculouslv-en- 
 dowed mediums. 
 
 See the man who would argue and dispute 
 about the possibility of Christ's coming again 
 to judge the world, believing that his own great 
 grandfather's spirit has returned from its resting- 
 place to have a chat with him through the leg 
 of a mahogany dinner-table ! 
 
 See the village drunkard come reeling home 
 to his wife, in terror, and half-sobered for once, 
 because, in returning from his midnight orgies, 
 he has seen something which has made known 
 to him that one of his family is about to die ! 
 
 " If it be nobbut thee, it'll be a rare good 
 job," is the wife's cordial salutation. 
 
 " Thou's wrang there, woman," is the re-
 
 INTRODUCTION. 157 
 
 joinder. " It's not to be me. I nobbut wish 
 I was as sure it wad be thee .'" 
 
 See this man, who lives without the fear of 
 God, and yet trembles before a shadow ! See 
 him who has no knowledge of a future state, 
 yet believes that a special summons to death 
 has been revealed to him ! . . . . 
 
 But let us be thankful that it is so ; let us be 
 thankful that when a man has either reasoned 
 or sinned himself out of religion, superstition is 
 ever near at hand to keep his head out of the 
 mire of materialism. 
 
 Believe something beyond this world we all 
 must, and do. Let us hope that, now and 
 then, superstition may lead her votaries back to 
 a purer and more rational faith. 
 
 In the town of Bonneval in France, a place 
 situated on the river Loir (not la Loire, but le 
 Loir, a branch of it), a strange legend at one 
 time prevailed ; a legend of treasure-seeking in 
 its most distinctive form. It purported that 
 all hidden treasures could be discovered in 
 Bonneval, and its surrounding neighbourhood, 
 by any one who should search for them at the
 
 158 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 time wlien the priest was reading the Genealogy 
 during the performance of the midnight mass 
 on Christmas-eve. 
 
 All things considered, it was a well-devised 
 legend ; for the period named was so brief, that 
 any failures in attempts built upon it, could 
 easily be attributed to the fact that the magical 
 time had been anticipated or passed over before 
 the spot had been reached ; or that some saint 
 had counteracted the charm in consequence of 
 the seeker's having deserted the service of the 
 temple in favour of that of Mammon. Also, to 
 the credit of the times be it spoken, there were 
 but a few, and those very reckless spirits, who 
 would have dared to forsake the Church in the 
 midst of so solemn a service, on so worldly a 
 pretence ; and if any did so, and failed in their 
 object, they were sure to keep their failure to 
 themselves. 
 
 Whilst, therefore, this semi-religious legend 
 seemed to countenance the treasure-seeking of 
 the day, of which designing men made a very 
 profitable business, there was but little danger 
 of its bringing the pursuit into discredit by 
 numerous disappointments.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 159 
 
 But the adventure of one treasure-seeker of 
 the district of Bonneval I am going to put 
 upon record, and my readers must make their 
 own conclusions upon its result. Whether they 
 will consider it a success or a failure will de- 
 pend on the tone of their own mind, and on the 
 nature of their views of life. 
 
 To give another turn to ^Esop's fable, it must 
 be remembered that sometimes when we are 
 looking for a barley-corn, we may chance to 
 come upon a precious stone. 
 
 God is often more merciful to us than we are 
 to ourselves. 
 
 Bonneval is now a manufacturing town, and 
 its old monastery of Benedictine monks was 
 long ago converted into a corn-market. It 
 figures on the ancient map of the once extensive 
 " Comte de Blois," as a border town of that 
 delicious region of France, so rich in forests 
 and rivers, so prolific in grain, which included 
 within its limits several towns of historical in- 
 terest and importance, as Blois and Romoran- 
 tin ; but more especially Chatcaudun, which was 
 so celebrated for its pure keen air, and the still
 
 160 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 keener wits of its inhabitants, that it originated 
 a proverb, " He comes from Chateaudun, he 
 understands with half-a-word." * 
 
 " I said more especially Chateaudun," be- 
 cause that town is more connected with the 
 fate of the treasure-seeker of Bonneval than 
 the others I have named. 
 
 Outwardly remarkable for its beautiful posi- 
 tion, being situated on the side of an eminence, 
 in a valley surrounded by hills, both it and the 
 territory round it, were renowned in olden times 
 for several mysterious peculiarities, besides that 
 of the wit of its inhabitants. On one side of 
 the town, for instance (towards the north), all 
 the vines that were planted produced verjuice 
 from their grapes instead of wine : but, though 
 the historian records not on what occasion this 
 misfortune commenced, he leaves us to suppose 
 that it was a visitation, and had not always 
 been the case. 
 
 Again, there was formerly near Chateaudun 
 a fountain, named the fountain " des Jalans," 
 which, according as its Avaters rose or fell, pre- 
 
 * H est de Chateaudun, U entend a demy mot.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 161 
 
 saged favourable or unfavourable seasons for 
 the country, " et eela est si assure," quotli the 
 chronicler, " que ces vilains hommes, qui font 
 leur felicite de la misere publique, reglent 
 I'employ de leurs deniers en 1 'achat des bleds, 
 sur le pied de I'etat ou se trouve cette fontaine." * 
 
 In another quarter we find a marshy river, 
 " La Conie," whose waters are augmented neither 
 by snow or rain in winter, but, contrary to other 
 rivers, swell and increase during the heats of 
 summer ; and if ever this stream overflows its 
 banks (which it does but seldom), fatal ex- 
 perience has proved that the event is a sure 
 presage of famine, pestilence, or war ! 
 
 Our readers will not care to investigate further 
 the superstitions of Chateaudun ; but neither 
 will they wonder at them, when they hear that 
 it was the birthplace of a celebrated French 
 astrologer and physician, Florent de Villiers, 
 who, it is Aot unreasonable to conjecture, may 
 have bequeathed to his native town some of the 
 traditions we have described ; as he died in all 
 the ardour of astrological fame, having publicly 
 
 * Histoire de Blois, p. 219. 
 M
 
 162 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 taught the science, and been honoured by the 
 visits of royalty itself.* 
 
 A remarkable natural curiosity of the place 
 remains to be noticed. A vast subterranean 
 vault, commonly called " The Gulf," which 
 appears to have been formed by Nature for the 
 preservation of the town from certain inunda- 
 tions of the river, with which it is occasionally 
 threatened in the winter, during heavy rains 
 and storms. As it is, the waters, finding in 
 that huge receptacle a natural and congenial 
 outlet for their abundance, give but little dis- 
 turbance to the peaceful inhabitants of Cha- 
 teaudun. 
 
 These matters have been touched upon, as 
 bearing on the tale that follows. 
 
 * Charles VIII.
 
 THE TEEASUEE-SEEKEE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF BONNEVAL. 
 
 SHOULD'NT have known you, 
 Mr. Adrian !" said the old woman. 
 " A nurse not know her foster- 
 chikl, after only a two years' ab- 
 sence, Christine?" answered the young man. 
 "Incredible!" 
 
 " But you're so altered, sir," continued 
 Christine, as she bustled to take away a wet 
 travelling cloak, and hang it over a chair to 
 dry. 
 
 " It must be for the better then, luckily," 
 observed the young man, gaily. " I, you 
 know, nurse, couldn't change for the worse." 
 " I know no such thing, Mr. Adrian," re-
 
 164 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 plied Christine, stopping in her walk across the 
 brick floor. " How shoiild I ?" 
 
 " Because I was everything bad and ugly 
 before I went away. You surely don't mean 
 to tell me I'm come back worse and uglier 
 still?" 
 
 There was a slight bitterness, only too per- 
 ceptible, in the tone of the joke. 
 
 " / never said you were ugly," responded 
 old Christine. 
 
 '■'■ No ; but one did, who ought to be a better 
 judge than you," remarked Adrian. 
 
 " Mr. Adrian," said Christine, coming close 
 up to the chair on which the young man was 
 sitting, in front of a wood-fire that was piled 
 up on the hearth ; " don't be bringing up what 
 your mother has said to jest at. You have no 
 need to mind it, of course, for she was never 
 much of a mother to you ; but don't make a 
 jest of it, for it makes me angry to hear it." 
 
 " I have not had to be reproved often for 
 too much jesting, Christine!" remarked the 
 youth, sadly. 
 
 The old woman had been moving away, but
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 165 
 
 she stopped short when she heard this observa- 
 tion ; fixed her eyes on her foster-chikl, and 
 looked more than half disposed to cry. 
 
 " Bad and ugly ! " murmured she, as she 
 gazed on Adrian's open face and manly figure 
 with pride and affection. " They must be 
 fools who think it. But never mind ! you've 
 grown ruddy and well," she added, " and it 
 does one's heart good to see you ! " 
 
 "Change of air, nurse !" cried Adrian, turn- 
 ing from the fire to meet the old woman's gaze. 
 " Ay ! but you look so pleasant and happy 
 too !" added she. 
 
 " Change of company, that," responded 
 Adrian, with a smile. " There's nothing like 
 getting away fx*om home for being made much 
 of, nurse! You shall go with me next time, 
 and try." 
 
 " You've found friends, then ?" asked Chris- 
 tine, with eager interest ; and now, as she spoke, 
 she sat down so as to face her foster-child. 
 
 " Plenty ! " answered he ; laying a stress on 
 the word, and returning her anxious look of 
 inquiry with a steady one of assurance.
 
 166 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 " Thank God for that ! " exclaimed the old 
 woman, warmly ; and there was a pause, which 
 was broken by the j'oung man. 
 
 " I can't face them to-night, Christine — can 
 you shelter me here?" 
 
 A pleasant assent was the answer ; although 
 in the same breath the old woman lamented 
 her want of proper accommodation — a regret 
 which Adrian cut short at once. 
 
 " No apologies, Christine ! " cried he ; " or 
 I shall think I am not welcome, and run away. 
 But come ! its settled now, so sit still awhile, 
 and tell me more about my people. My bro- 
 ther is really at Chateau dun, you say?" 
 
 A shake of the head and a dismal " Ay ! " 
 was Christine's only answer. 
 
 " Did he never take to the business at all, 
 after I left them two years ago?" 
 
 " Only for a few months, Mr. Adrian. Just 
 for that short time it seemed to be going on as 
 usual; but then, all at once, he grew restless 
 and idle, and the next thing I heard was, that 
 he had put it all into the hands of an agent, 
 and was gone."
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 167 
 
 "And have you heard how he passes his 
 time at Chateaudun ? " inquired Adrian. " Has 
 he any occupation, any real business ? Does he 
 do anything?" 
 
 " I should be sorry to say he did," answered 
 Christine, gravely. " From all I can learn it's 
 all flash and gaiety from one day to another, 
 and has been ever since he Avent." 
 
 " But how then ;" and here Adrian 
 
 stopped short, and looked Christine in the 
 face. 
 
 " Ay, I know, I know ! " responded Chris- 
 tine, rocking her head backwards and forwards. 
 " Why, any fool may see what it must all come 
 to ! When your poor dear father's money is 
 gone, and nothing has been added to it, they'll 
 all be finished up together. Just that ! Oh, 
 Mr. Adrian!" added the old woman, with 
 tears in her eyes, and laying her hand on her 
 foster-child's arm ; " you do say, don't you ? 
 that you have found friends, and are doing well 
 yourself; tell me again, dear heart, do ! You 
 won't be mixed up in this mess any way ?" 
 
 " Never fear for me," answered Adrian ; " I
 
 168 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 have been willing to labour, and God has sent 
 me work." 
 
 "And will you tell me then, sir?" cried 
 Christine, troubled, and evidently puzzled also; 
 " will you tell me what can have brought you 
 back ? You can help nothing here. They 
 hav'nt loved you, nor treated you like a son or 
 a brother ; they scorned your advice when you 
 gave it; they almost bade you begone about 
 your business. What has brought you back, 
 to be troubled by theirs ? " 
 
 " The thought of my father, Christine," was 
 Adrian's answer. 
 
 Christine was silent, but shook her head sor- 
 rowfully, as if not satisfied yet. 
 
 " It was on his death-bed," continued Adrian, 
 " that he charged my brother to take care of 
 his — 02<r— mother, remember; and it has come 
 across me again and again, since I have been 
 away, that if Claude should forget, what would 
 become of her ? The duty is binding upon me 
 as well as him." 
 
 Christine continued to shake her head sor- 
 rowfully, and Adrian added —
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 169 
 
 " And what is becoming of her, Christine !" 
 but less as a question than an ejaculation. 
 
 " She's troubled, it's true," observed Chris- 
 tine ; " at least that's my belief; but she'll let 
 no one know her heart, and so what good can 
 be done ? She pretends all's well, and talks of 
 what great things Mr. Claude is to do some of 
 these fine days, but nobody knows when. How 
 this great lord, and that grand lady, say he's 
 the handsomest, and most accomplished young 
 
 ft 
 
 man that's ever been seen or known in Cha- 
 teaudun; and, meanwhile, everybody here is 
 asking where the money's coming from that 
 buys the grand clothes and horses the young 
 man wants ; and where the money's going to, 
 that old Mr. Genest laboured all his life to get 
 together into a nice little business for his twin 
 sons. Ah ! it makes an old woman's heart 
 break to look on, and be forced to sit still !" 
 
 Adrian Genest — for such was the young 
 man's name — sat gazing before him for a time 
 in silence, after the conclusion of his foster- 
 mother's speech. Then suddenly looking up 
 again, he said —
 
 170 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 " One other thing, Christine. The Notary's 
 daughter — that bright, loving Mathilde?" . . . 
 
 " Nay, Tvhere's the use of asking after her, 
 Mr. Adrian ! " cried Christine, bitterly. " Any 
 one may guess- how that -nould end, without 
 asking — poor lass ! " 
 
 The old woman said no more. 
 
 " He has deserted her, then ! " exclaimed 
 Adrian, impetuously, and rising from his seat. 
 " I feared as much ! " M 
 
 " You might have been certain of it at once," ™ 
 replied Christine. " But observe me, sir, that's 
 where his sins will find hira out some day, 
 though he does'nt think so now. He has loved 
 her years and years, and she's put many a 
 blessed thought into his heart, if he had but 
 held them fast; and he loves her still — I'm 
 certain he does — though word has come, again 
 and again, of his marriage that is to be with a 
 lady of the Court that visits at Chateaudun at ' 
 her father's house." 
 
 " Downright nonsense !" exclaimed Adrian, 
 pacing impatiently over the cottage-floor. " My 
 brother is handsome enough, and taking enough.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 171 
 
 for US country folk, who see nothing hetter, 
 and know but little of the great world. But 
 Court ladies are not so keen in running after 
 country birds, I suspect, however well they 
 may look in their own woods. What a fool 
 my brother must be making of himself!" 
 added he; and with this observation he re- 
 sumed his seat. 
 
 " I wonder whether Miss Mathilde ever 
 thinks so too !" ejaculated Christine. " She 
 seems sad enough at times it's true, but at other 
 times there's a look about her as if she had got 
 beyond trouble, and knew more than we any of 
 us did." 
 
 " And so she does, I'll be bound," said 
 Adrian, gravely ; " for she knows how to bear 
 trouble with courage, as well as Christian sub- 
 mission. There was not such another girl in 
 Bonneval, v/lien I left it, as Mathilde de Tessier. 
 "Well ! I will say it once more. My brother 
 has made a fool of himself, to exchanixe the 
 Bonneval Notary's daughter against the gayest 
 lady of the land !" 
 
 There was an uneasy anxiety in the glance
 
 172 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 with which Christine now looked up at Adrian ; 
 but he only laughed, when he divined her 
 thoughts. 
 
 " It's only a free heart that can praise as 
 warmly as I have done," cried he. " Never 
 fear for me, Christine, I am safe." 
 
 The tone of the young man's voice seemed to 
 reassure Christine, for she soon after left Adrian 
 to his own meditations, while she went to pre- 
 pare a little chamber for his night's rest. 
 
 Adrian Genest was, as the conversation just 
 given will have partially made known to our 
 readers, one of the twin sons of a merchant of 
 Bonneval in France, who had amassed a com- 
 fortable fortune, by steady industry, and an in- 
 telligence never diverted from whatever object 
 he had in view. 
 
 He had married a lady of Chateaudun, of 
 higher connections than his own, but of very 
 inferior sense ; who brought to the manufactur- 
 ing town of Bonneval a good many foolish fine 
 notions with her pretty face, and who was the 
 most injudicious of mothers. 
 
 As the two boys grew up, she betrayed a
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 173 
 
 marked difference of feelino; towards them. 
 Claiide, whose refined beauty, graceful figure, 
 and precocious manners, were the theme of her 
 constant admiration ; she idolized with a fond- 
 ness as unjust and injudicious as it was injurious 
 to its object ; for the petted child turned quickly 
 into the wilful boy, and the wilful boy into a 
 headstrong and conceited youth, who, in the 
 natural course of things, tyrannized over his 
 mother as well as everybody else. In fact he 
 believed at last what he had been so perj)etually 
 taught, namely, that he was a great deal too 
 good for the station of life in which God had 
 placed him, and that he should certainly some 
 day (exactly how, he never attempted to define) 
 astonish the world, soar into some more elevated 
 sphere, and leave his admiring friends and re- 
 latives far behind him. 
 
 Adrian, meanwhile, with rough homely fea- 
 tures, and an odd bluntness of manner, the 
 result of natural shyness, took a quite secondary 
 position in the house, and was contented to do 
 so. Nobody ever surmised that that heavy 
 brow, out of proportion as it was with the
 
 174 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 features below it, might possibly indicate a 
 steady power of mind, of which the contour of 
 an Apollo would have given no hope. He was 
 judged superficially, and found wanting ac- 
 cordingly. He was snubbed, found fault with, 
 and laughed at ; and, justly or unjustly, had to 
 endure it all, and make the best of it, for there 
 was no second court of appeal. Happily for 
 himself, he went on learning and bearing, with- 
 out a murmur ; and, while never for a moment 
 questioning the superiority of the much-preferred 
 brother, he was attaining it himself through 
 sheer hard work and modesty. It was a whole- 
 some, if not an agreeable training. 
 
 Of all this the Bonneval Merchant himself 
 knew nothing. He was taciturn and reserved 
 at all times : far too busy by day to inquire 
 what went on, and too little energetic at nierht 
 to notice how the two boys were growino- up 
 together, and how their mother was, without 
 intending it, doing her best to ruin them both. 
 
 Before they had completed their education — 
 Claude under the tutorship of a distant relative 
 of Mdme. Genest's, who had taken refuge in
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 175 
 
 Bonneval from the storms of a blundering life, 
 and was now the chief notary of the place, and 
 Adrian in the school of the Benedictine Monas- 
 tery, under the care of an old friend of his 
 father's, who had adopted the religious life — 
 the Bonneval merchant, M. Genest, suddenly 
 died! 
 
 The event fell like a thunderbolt into the 
 house, where everybody was off their guard. 
 Mdme. Genest murmured out the strange but 
 expz-essive idea, that " nothing seemed to be 
 ready for M. Genest's death." It was the only 
 remarkable thing she had ever said in her life, 
 and she did not herself know how remarkable 
 it was. It never struck her what a comment it 
 was upon the " rising early, and late taking rest," 
 that the most important event of life should have 
 been the one least remembered, and provided 
 against. Nothing was ready indeed; no one was 
 prepared for so great a bereavement. Mdme. 
 Genest, who had never known care or labour 
 before, had now her full share of both. But 
 she managed to conduct the business, by the 
 help of an agent, until her boys were able to
 
 176 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 undertake it for themselves; after which she 
 resigned it into their hands, in the confident 
 hope that now at last her trouhles and trials 
 were over, and that she shonld reap the fruits 
 of them in a declining age of leisure and com- 
 fort, under the affectionate care of both her sons. 
 
 Never did a calculation fall wider of the 
 mark ! The two boys, thanks to the mother's 
 folly on the one hand, and the friendly monk's 
 wisdom on the other, came together in partner- 
 ship, as incongi'uous in dispositions, and as 
 opposed in views and piinciples as light and 
 darkness. 
 
 Adrian, patient and resolutely industrious, 
 thoughtful, too, and judicious, was content to 
 labour in the field before him, waiting God's 
 blessing on the work, and perfectly contented 
 with it. 
 
 Claude, indulged and irritable, hampered, 
 even through his quickness and ability, by a 
 sensation that the necessary drudgery was un- 
 worthy of his exalted powers, was soon sick of 
 the concern, and everlastingly hankering after 
 some wild speculation or delusive scheme, by
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 177 
 
 which he might make a short cut to fame and 
 fortune. In vain Adrian expostulated, protested, 
 advised, and even besought. His despised 
 brother's superior sagacity was ahiiost more 
 galling to Claude than anything else ; and after 
 contriving to make every one around him dis- 
 turbed and miserable, he one day threatened to 
 draw out his share of property from the concern, 
 quit the neighbourhood altogether, and leave 
 Adrian and his mother to manage for themselves 
 as best they could. 
 
 A more ridiculous threat, or one less likely 
 to be carried into execution, was never uttered ; 
 but Mdme. Genest affected to believe it, and 
 burst into a storm of indio:nation and grief. 
 She threw all the blame upon the unfortunate 
 Adrian, heaped a torrent of abuse upon his head 
 for perpetually opposing his brother in all his 
 wishes, for rendering his life wretched, and for 
 driving him from the place. She would listen 
 to no explanation, and hear no defence ; and in- 
 tent upon the sole object of showing favour to 
 Claude, in order to induce him to remain at 
 Bonneval, she sacrificed truth, justice, and even 
 
 N
 
 178 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 her own convictions, to her irrational and cruel 
 preference. 
 
 Little had Mdme. Genest dreamt, all her life, 
 of the heart and spirit she was trifling with, when 
 she heaped one injustice upon another on the 
 head of her son Adrian ; neither did she intend 
 any other result to arise from her present vio- 
 lent outbreak, than that Claude should resume 
 his business as before. 
 
 But the vouno; man Adrian, wnth cultivated 
 faculties, firm character, and a strong sense of 
 right and wrong, was no longer only a shy, 
 ugly boy, who could be dragged hither and 
 thither, at a moment's notice, by her absolute 
 will. 
 
 On the following morning he had done w^iat 
 his brother had threatened to do — he had left 
 the place. 
 
 A kind but remonstrating letter to his mo- 
 ther set forth his reasons, and consigned her to 
 his brother's care and love. He intrusted the 
 guardianship of his share of the property to the 
 Benedictine monk, but left it in the hands of 
 his mother and brother for the benefit of the
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 179 
 
 firm. He took nothing with him but the half- 
 yearly allowance Avhich was allotted by agree- 
 ment to himself and his brother for casual 
 expenses ; and with this, and a letter of intro- 
 duction from the monastery to a merchant's 
 house in Blois, he left Bonne val for an indefi- 
 nite period. 
 
 His unannounced return, at the end of two 
 years, was the result of the bitter anxiety he 
 felt for his mother, distrusting, as he did, his 
 brother's selfish habits and frivolity. 
 
 And he came back, as Ave have seen, to find 
 his apprehensions fully realized. Claude was 
 still at Chateaudun ; although when he first in- 
 sisted on going there, soon after Adrian's de- 
 parture, it had been stipulated that he should 
 return at the end of a few months, at latest. 
 But the months had rolled on to far more now 
 than even a year, and he was there yet, im- 
 mersed ill gaiety, and careless of everything 
 but what is vulgarly called " cutting a good 
 figure in the world,"— the most miserably un- 
 real of all objects which a man sets before him- 
 self as desirable.
 
 180 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 He only made himself remembered, from 
 time to time, at home, by demands for money : 
 demands which his Aveak-minded mother first 
 refused, and then granted, as regularly as the 
 occasions arose. 
 
 Truly Adrian had subject enough for medi- 
 tation, as he sat over his foster-mother's fire, 
 and thought over the past and the future ! 
 
 The fact of his ovrn success and prosperity, 
 with the friends to whom the Benedictine 
 monk had introduced him, shrunk into insig- 
 nificance when he thought of his mother's 
 disappointed hopes, his brother's restless life, 
 and the probable ruin of the property gathered 
 toGrether with so much labour and care. 
 
 " Nurse!" said he, mournfully, when Chris- 
 tine returned from her prej)arations, " I begin 
 to wonder with you, what I can have come 
 here for, and I think the best thing I can do 
 will be to go back again whence I came. If 
 my mother is still so infatuated, I can do her 
 no good; and the brother who scorned me at 
 Bonneval will do so still more at Chateaudun. 
 As to my share in the property, they may take
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 181 
 
 it and Avelcome ; it will defer tlieir own misery 
 for a few months more at any rate ; and I liave 
 every prospect before me of earning a fortune 
 for myself. It is too true — Adrian Genest is 
 neither useful nor beloved among his family 
 and natural friends. I will sleep here to-night, 
 and to-morrow return to Blois. I am neither 
 wanted, nor wished for, at home." 
 
 With these words the unhappy young man 
 crossed his arms on the table and buried his 
 face in them, as if to shut himself out from 
 every siijht and sound. 
 
 Christine Salviati, with whom the ugly twin 
 Adrian had been put to nurse in his infancy, 
 was one of those rare instances of natural re- 
 finement and good sense, which one is tempted 
 to think could scarcely have been improved 
 upon by a higher education, inasmuch as that 
 might possibly have taken away a portion of 
 the simplicity of character, which formed so 
 charming a substratum to all her other good 
 qualities. She had loved her little nursling 
 with the most intense affection ; her own black- 
 eyed Zamet was not dearer in her eyes than the
 
 182 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 despised offspring of the Bonneval merchant ; 
 and the more his own mother neglected and ill- 
 treated him, the more warmly did Christine 
 endeavour, by all the simple means in her 
 power, to soften the child's fate to himself. 
 
 Nor did her efforts stop at mere kindness and 
 affection. In her humble way she acted coun- 
 sellor and spiritual teacher to the forlorn little 
 boy. 
 
 " Pray to God and do your duty. Master 
 Adrian," she would say, " and never give a 
 wrong word in return for one, and you'll see 
 they'll all love you at last. Any way, you'll be 
 pleasing God, and that's the only thing that's 
 worth caring about in this world." " Who 
 knows," was another of her remarks, " but what, 
 if you hadn't bad these little bits of crossings 
 and thwartings to keep you down, you might 
 have been a wilful bad boy, without a bit of 
 grace or hiimility about you, and getting into 
 all manner of evil ways ! Any how, it's God's 
 will that it should be as it is, so it's sure to be 
 for the best." 
 
 The Benedictine monk may in after years
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 183 
 
 have worded the instruction better, when Adrian 
 confided his sorrows to his ear ; but the teach- 
 ing could scarcely have gone beyond that of the 
 simple old nurse. 
 
 Christine's husband had been a Maltese cou- 
 rier — one of those vividly intelligent foreigners 
 who seem gifted by nature with the art of adapt- 
 ing themselves to all characters, and making 
 themselves useful in all situations of life ; and 
 his union with the quietly sensible, placid, blue- 
 eyed Christine, may be considered one of those 
 marriages of contrast which are supposed to be 
 so supremely happy. 
 
 In this case it was very fairly so; but the 
 happiness ended only too soon, and Christine 
 Avas left a widow Avith an only son. She was 
 comfortably provided for, however ; for Zamet 
 the elder had laid by a little independence, and 
 his widow was thereby enabled to pass the re- 
 mainder of her days without the anxiety of 
 personal toil. 
 
 Still fair and fresh looking, and possessing a 
 youthful vitality of mind, surprising at her age, 
 Christine stood over her troubled foster-son.
 
 184 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 counselling with herself what suggestions to 
 offer. 
 
 But the ease was beyond her powers, and she 
 felt it to be so. 
 
 " I can't tell which way to think or advise 
 to-night, sir," observed she, at last ; " but per- 
 haps when we've slept upon it, and prayed upon 
 it, we may see a little clearer." 
 
 Almost involuntarily, and as if he had still 
 been a child, Adrian Genest obeyed this sum- 
 mons to break up the conference; and after 
 offering his cheek to Christine for a friendly 
 kiss, he bade her good-night, and retired to rest 
 in the little chamber she had prepared. 
 
 The frost had now continued for weeks, and 
 it was close upon Christmas. Adrian Genest 
 had been attracted back to his home at this 
 particular moment, in some measure, perhaps, 
 from the old recollections of this cheerful season 
 of the gathering of friends. If ever he would 
 be welcome to his mother and that one bro- 
 ther, surely it would be now. 
 
 So, at least, perhaps, he had almost uncon-
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 185 
 
 sciously felt when he decided on leaving Blois ; 
 but it was wonderful how these hopeful emo- 
 tions subsided as he approached the time of the 
 experiment. Waking in his foster-mother's 
 cottage on the bitterly cold morning that sue- 
 ceeded his journey — watching as he did the 
 dusty snow adding its daily mite to the already 
 heavily - laden roofs — a corresponding chill 
 seemed to seize on his imagination, and his 
 strongest sensation was an impatient desire to 
 get away as quickly as he could. 
 
 Welcomed ? when, where, should he ever be 
 welcomed? Not now, not here, certainly. From 
 his little pallet he watched the tiny flakes as 
 they drizzled lazily down through the dark still 
 atmosphere, and thought of his mother, and 
 what she would say — nay, perhaps, rather of 
 what she would not say — until an absolute dread 
 came over him, lest she should hear of his pre- 
 sence in Bonneval, and insist on an interview. 
 
 Truly, though he had slept upon it, and prayed 
 upon it, the way seemed no clearer than before ! 
 No course seemed open but a hasty purposeless 
 return ; and under this impression he rose, and
 
 186 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 dressed as quickly as he could. The very ex- 
 ertion refreshed him ; and after he had found 
 his way along the passage to Christine's " best 
 parlour," where she had warned him he was 
 to breakfast, he had a pleasant little friendly 
 joke ready for her ear. 
 
 Little did he expect, as he opened the door of 
 the room, to find it occupied by the pretty 
 daughter of the notary to whom his brother was 
 affianced ! 
 
 "Adrian ! "— " Mathilde ! "—were the startled 
 greetings exchanged betwixt them, and then the 
 surprise of both was succeeded by a shade of 
 annoyance, for both felt a wish that they had 
 not thus met. 
 
 Neither of them, however, lost their presence 
 of mind. Mathilde even less so than her com- 
 panion, and she relieved his embarrassment by 
 addressing him frankly at once. 
 
 " You are surprized at seeing me here, and, I 
 fear, are annoyed by my presence?" 
 
 " Impossible ! " answered Adrian, " I can 
 never be otherwise than glad to see you ; but I 
 cannot help wishing that we could have met in
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 187 
 
 circumstances that would have allowed you to 
 regard me as a relative and friend, rather than 
 as a stranger whose brother has done so much 
 to hurt your feelings, and of whom, and whose 
 family and name, you must, indeed, be weary." 
 
 " Adrian Genest ! " said Mathilde, in a tone 
 of dignified sweetness, " do not let us waste 
 time in useless words. There can be no ques- 
 tion of weariness while a hope remains of doing 
 good. Let us speak together henceforth and 
 for ever as friends who have one common in- 
 terest at heart. I believe," added she, with 
 the slightest possible hesitation in her manner, 
 " that I am speaking to one who will not mis- 
 understand my motives, but who can appreciate 
 and understand my feelings." 
 
 Matliilde's was a character of that pure and 
 self-reliant kind of which perfect candour is a 
 necessary development, and in this case it pre- 
 vented the embarrassment which must otherwise 
 have arisen from her avowing a continued in- 
 terest in the career of a lover who seemed to be 
 indifferent to her claims upon him. She opened, 
 therefore, at once, her confidence to Adrian,
 
 188 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 assuring liiin tliat she Avas convinced of his 
 brother's real goodness of heart, through all his 
 errors, let others dispute it as they pleased. 
 That he liad been all his life warped, mis- 
 guided, and carried away by false views instilled 
 into him by those who might easily have di- 
 rected him aright, she had every reason to 
 know. That, by God's blessing, it might be pos- 
 sible to reclaim him, she could not for a moment 
 doubt. And that a crisis of his fate was ap- 
 proaching, in which something might be actively 
 done, she had good reason to suspect. Even of 
 his continued attachment to herself she enter- 
 tained no doubt, notwithstanding the reports of 
 his approaching marriage. 
 
 " He cannot help loving me," exclaimed she, 
 with a kindling eye and firm enthusiasm. " He 
 can find no second Mathilde, I know ! Old and 
 young at the same moment, from the indepen- 
 dent solitude of my motherless life, I have been 
 counsellor, friend, father, mother, all to him 
 at once, in the midst of my love ; and what has 
 passed between us he can never forget." 
 
 She paused a moment, and then added, grave-
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 189 
 
 ly : "I do not think that such bonds are easily 
 broken. This, however, is but a secondary 
 consideration. Folly of the wildest kind, if not 
 ruin and danger, are before him nowj and 
 something must be done." 
 
 Adrian, considerably alarmed, pressed for an 
 explanation, and Mathilde proceeded : — 
 
 " Claude was in Bonneval, yesterday." 
 
 " Returned then?" exclaimed Adrian. "And 
 I, too, at the same moment. — How strange. — 
 And you met?" 
 
 " Nay, nay," answered Mathilde, shaking 
 her head ; " he came over on weightier business 
 than to seek me out ! An incredibly large sum 
 of money, far larger than he had ever drawn 
 out before, he demanded, and finally insisted on 
 having, in spite of tears and prayers and the 
 bitterest remonstrances on the part of his mise- 
 rable mother. Forced into submission to his 
 will, she gave her authority at last, and he ob- 
 tained the money. But — " and here again 
 Mathilde hesitated, and looked anxiously into 
 Adrian's face, — " the property is so reduced by 
 these incessant drains, that very little more re-
 
 190 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 mains than the original third share which be- 
 longs to you. The agent came last night to my 
 father to warn him of what was approaching, 
 in the vain hope, perhaps, that something could 
 be done — through me: — to influence Claude. 
 He wished also to know where you could be 
 found. 
 
 " It was too late last night," continued Ma- 
 thilde, " to make any effort ; but my father's 
 first idea this morning was, that I should visit 
 your foster-mother, from whom I might hope, 
 at any rate, to learn Avhither you had gone. 
 And now you understand my unexpected ap- 
 pearance here. It is wonderful that I should 
 have found you yourself." 
 
 Adrian got up and paced the room for a few 
 seconds. Then he stopped short before Ma- 
 thilde, and spoke : — 
 
 " It is all very easily settled," said he. 
 " Every farthing of what was mine shall be 
 theirs, only it must be secured in such a manner 
 that even my mother cannot totally ruin herself 
 and him, by allowing it to be squandered in 
 folly. Your father, perhaps, can be trusted in 
 this?"
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 191 
 
 " Ay, ay," answered Mathilde, mechanically, 
 but she turned upon Adrian a countenance over- 
 flowing with emotion. 
 
 " And you, Adrian ?" said she. 
 
 " Am on the road to earn my own fortune — 
 a competency, at any rate — by patient labour 
 and industry. God's appointed road to happi- 
 ness on earth, Mathilde ! But come ! " con- 
 tinued he, " this is no such serious matter, after 
 all ! I breathe freely again ; nay, I am twice 
 myself, now I know that I am available for 
 good to those whom nature, at any rate, has 
 bound closely enough to my heart ! Look, 
 Mathilde ! / will believe all you believe of my 
 brother, and look forward to a happy day for 
 us all, when necessity has compelled him to lay 
 aside folly, and better teachings have roused 
 
 up all the good in his heart ." 
 
 But here Adrian checked himself suddenlv ; 
 for Matiuide's face, instead of brightening, was 
 becoming more and more overshadowed by 
 signs of unmistakable distress. 
 
 "Why, Mathilde, are you not satisfied?" 
 cried he, wondering. " What more can pos- 
 sibly be done ? "
 
 192 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 " Nothing, as regards the money," answered 
 she. 
 
 " Is there anything else, then ? Have you 
 not told me all?" 
 
 Mathilde shook her head. 
 
 " No ! The most difficult part remains be- 
 hind." 
 
 " His awakening to higher views of life, 
 then ; is that it ? Oh, Mathilde, these changes 
 are in the hand of God ! " 
 
 " Not that, not that," murmured Mathilde ; 
 " but he has fallen into the power of impostors." 
 
 " Impostors ! " exclaimed Adrian. " Of 
 what sort?" 
 
 " Astrologers, diviners, treasure-finders, I 
 fear. My father met him in the town yester- 
 day, and he boasted to him of the learning and 
 wonderful gifts of one of his new friends. Ah ! 
 my father has had but too much reason to 
 detest the very mention of the juggling race. 
 He warned Claude, but it was evidently in 
 vain." 
 
 " But my brother," remarked Adrian, " was 
 a person whom I never considered even
 
 I 
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 193 
 
 well, well," he added, " I, who was brought 
 up in a religious house, had far greater advan- 
 tages, of course. What I mean is, Claude's 
 temperament, or habit, was certainly not that 
 of ready belief." 
 
 " An unsettled faith, and imperfect moral 
 practice, — is not that the very soil in which 
 superstition most easily takes root?" asked 
 Mathilde. " Besides," added she, " I, who 
 knew your brother well, knew that with him it 
 had always been so." 
 
 Mathilde looked sad, indeed, as she spoke. 
 Old recollections of fruitless arguments, and 
 vain endeavours to guide the credulous spirit to 
 revelation instead of fancy, had crowded upon 
 her heart. 
 
 At this juncture Christine broke in upon 
 their conference, and Mathilde asked anxiously 
 of her, " Have you found your son ?" 
 
 " Ay ; just on the point of starting though," 
 answered Christine, with scarcely recovered 
 breath ; and then turning to Adrian, she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " See, sir ! the way is plain enough at last, 
 
 o
 
 194 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 and there is much to be done: for it wasn't 
 only after the money that Mr. Claude came 
 yesterday. No, no ! " cried she, sitting down 
 and rocking herself sadly to and fro ; " he was 
 after the treasure-seeking as well." Both Adrian 
 and Mathilde uttered an exclamation of sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Dear hearts," pursued Christine, " you 
 perhaps never heard of it ; but it is an old belief 
 here, that all hidden treasures may be found in 
 this town, and in all the country round, by 
 him who looks for them while the priest is 
 reading the Genealogy of the blessed Saviour 
 at the midnight mass on Christmas-eve ; and, 
 depend upon it, it is that that Mr. Claude is 
 after now ; and it was about that that he came 
 over yesterday, as well as the money. He was 
 at twenty places during the day, making in- 
 quiries and obtaining particulars of how it was 
 to be done. He wanted, too, to find some one, 
 if he could, who had ever tried it; and folks 
 sent him from one old body to another with all 
 manner of tales, and without giving him much 
 satisfaction at last. But even if there's nobody 
 
 I
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 195 
 
 alive who has found it to be true, everybody 
 among the superstitious folk here believe it, 
 just the same as if they had touched the trea- 
 sure themselves. They told him, too, of many 
 places in the neighbourhood where he might 
 try. Every one was forward enough with 
 advice ; but they say he only laughed at them, 
 and vowed that if he ever looked for treasure, 
 he should take very good care to be sure it was 
 there before he began !" 
 
 It was perplexing information enough. To 
 Adrian it seemed quite probable that his bro- 
 ther's inquiries had been directed to no specific 
 end, except that of making himself thoroughly 
 acquainted with one of the many curious tra- 
 ditionary beliefs of his native town. But Ma- 
 thilde thought far otherAvise. All the more 
 so, perhaps, because it had come to her ears, 
 from the agent's information to her father, that 
 Claude had boasted to the formei-, that he should 
 soon cease to be indebted to his mother's forced 
 liberality for his comfort j had bantered him, 
 also, on the slow Bonneval process of accumu- 
 lation, and hinted that the prodigal son might
 
 196 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 live to read them all a lesson on money-getting 
 before he had done ! 
 
 It was possible, certainly, that these bragging 
 inuendos might have referred to Claude's pro- 
 posed marriage with a lady of rank and for- 
 tune ; but Mathilde deprecated so earnestly 
 their making sure of this, that the little coterie 
 decided upon taking some practical measures 
 for discovering what Claude was really about, 
 and whether he was indeed being inveigled 
 into any act of mad folly by the unprincipled 
 set with whom he had associated of late. 
 
 The wise forethought of Mathilde, in taking 
 measures to secure, if possible, the services of 
 Christine's son Zamet, was now warmly appre- 
 ciated by Adrian, who knew his value well. 
 
 Zamet the younger was, in point of fact, the 
 acute Maltese courier over again. Had the 
 same keen eye and quick intelligence ; the 
 same vice-like determination of purpose; an 
 equal aptitude tor association with his fellows ; 
 and a considerably greater amount of scholar- 
 ship. 
 
 Besides the nominal business of hair-cutting
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 197 
 
 in its various odd ramifications, for which he 
 had opened a well-conducted establishment, he 
 was himself employed, from time to time, con- 
 fidentially, in various departments of business, 
 where skill, trustworthiness, and secresy, were 
 essential. Not unfrequently he travelled for 
 some of the rich merchants of the place, who 
 had some delicate matter in hand which re- 
 quired a keener eye and more tact than usual. 
 And a vague belief also prevailed in Bonneval, 
 although the fact had never been proved, that 
 Zamet was a secret agent of the police of the 
 place. The imperturbability, in spite of the 
 good nature, with which Zamet met all in- 
 quiries, stultified everyone who thought to find 
 him out ; and happily he had united himself to 
 a Bonneval maiden, who, under a much more 
 lively manner, proved as skilful in the art of 
 mystification as himself. 
 
 Mathilde had, indeed, reason to rejoice that 
 Christine had succeeded in findinti^ her son at 
 home on the present occasion ; for on a journey 
 of secret investigation, who was so fit to be sent 
 as Zamet Salviati ?
 
 198 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 It was soon decided that he should proceed 
 at once to Chateaudun, and occupy himself in 
 discovering what Claude was about, and, if 
 possible, what his new associate was about too ; 
 for if implicated together in any plot, it was 
 sure to be one in which the young man was to 
 be the victim, and not the gainer. 
 
 Zamct stood before Adrian wliile the orders 
 were being given, upright, as if he had been 
 a soldier all his life. The dark, steady eye 
 turned first on one speaker, then on another, 
 the mind evidently accompanying every glance ; 
 and, like the firmly knit, compact little figure, 
 apparently prepared to carry through reso- 
 lutely whatever he might undertake. When 
 everything M'as settled, Adrian, who was gazing 
 with no small admiration at the little barber, and 
 rather meditating on his character, observed — 
 
 " And, of course, you will not let anyone 
 suspect that you have been sent." 
 
 Zamet gave one of his keen, steady glances 
 at Adrian for a second ; but then his whole face 
 relaxed into a smile, which few would have 
 guessed him capable of wearing. 
 
 " Monsieur ! " said he, with a low, defe-
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 199 
 
 rential bow, half joke, half earnest, " T go to 
 Chateaudiin to-day in my peculiar capacity : 
 hair-cutter — hair-dresser — dentist — anything 
 you please. Letters of recommendation are 
 scarcely necessary if I may be allowed to make 
 use of the names of my friends." 
 
 Here he bowed once more, as if about to 
 depart, but then hesitated for a moment, and 
 said — 
 
 " I have but one apprehension. Will this 
 young gentleman (bowing to Adrian) retain 
 his patience till I either return or send word 
 of what is to be done ? " 
 
 Adrian rose from his chair and laughed. 
 This plan, chiefly of Mathilde's devising, that 
 Zamet should precede him to Chateaudun, was 
 by no means to his taste, and he was not free 
 from some secret intentions of followinfj close 
 on his ambassador's heels. 
 
 " The young gentleman's eye is restless," 
 pursued Zamet; " but he might prevent the 
 possibility of fathoming what is going on, were 
 he to betray himself and openly ask. As a 
 favour to Mile. Mathilde, perhaps he will for- 
 bear, and await my news."
 
 200 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 Zamet seemed to think this suggestion unan- 
 swerable, for he now made his bow of departure 
 in reality ; joked at Christine's parting injunc- 
 tion to take care of himself ; first patted, and 
 then kissed her on both cheeks ; and finally left 
 his employers to their conjectures, and the pa- 
 tient awaital of his return. 
 
 Mathilda, carefully enveloped in cloaks and 
 furs, was escorted home to her father's home 
 by Adrian, who, leaving her there, proceeded 
 to the Benedictine Monastery, where he had 
 passed all the happier hours of his early life. 
 
 He dared not visit his mother ; and, under 
 present circumstances, was glad to spare her the 
 anxiety of vague information. 
 
 The town of Chateaudun, as seen afar off", is 
 always an object of admiration and interest. 
 Its ancient castle, situated on a hill, and rising 
 above the rest of the buildings by which it is 
 surrounded, is at once imposing and picturesque ; 
 while river, woods, and landscape, seen through 
 the translucent atmosphere peculiar to the place.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 201 
 
 strike on the traveller's eye as he approaches, 
 producing no common emotions of delight. 
 
 Zamet Salviati, as he trotted along the Bon- 
 neval road on a pony hired for the occasion, 
 had something else to think about, one would 
 imagine, than pretty scenery ; and he was, 
 moreover, well acquainted with the place, for it 
 was in Chateaudun he had served his appren- 
 ticeship to that profession of hair-dressing which 
 he was pleased to boast of as his own. 
 
 Nevertheless, he slackened his pace for a few 
 minutes when he came to that point of the road 
 which brought the town into sight, and studied 
 the scene for awhile, with apparently geogra- 
 phical accuracy ; after which he resumed a more 
 rapid pace, and, after half an hour's good riding, 
 reached and passed the old-fashioned gates, and 
 was presently lost in the winding mazes of the 
 high, narrow streets. 
 
 Late on that same afternoon, a well-dressed 
 and noble-looking young man was hastily cross- 
 ing a square, in what may be considered the 
 west-end quarter of Chateaudun, when he was 
 met face to face by a stranger, who made him
 
 202 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 SO low a bow that it was almost impossible to 
 pass by without noticing it. 
 
 The young man, whose attention was thus 
 suddenly attracted, gave a slight start at first, 
 then stared with some hauteur at the stranger ; 
 but, not recognizing him, was about to move 
 forward with a frown, when the stranger bowed 
 again, more deeply even than before, and this 
 time with a smile on his face, which claimed a 
 recognition, at any rate on one side. 
 
 " I have no recollection," — began the young 
 man thus detained. 
 
 " Pardon, Monsieur," interrupted the stran- 
 ger, with another bow, " it is not probable that 
 you should be able to rccal the humble hair- 
 dresser of your native town. Nevertheless, 
 Monsieur, you will forgive me for saying you 
 yourself cannot be so easily forgotten !" 
 
 The profound air of deference, assumed by 
 the stranger, seemed acceptable to the young 
 man, for the frown which had previously over- 
 clouded his features relaxed slightly, and he 
 said carelessly : " You are a Bonneval man, 
 then? Ought I to remember you, I wonder?"
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 203 
 
 " The son of Christine Salviati," said Zamet, 
 with anothei- profound bow. 
 
 " Oh, of course, I recollect now !" was the 
 rejoinder. " I was at your place often enough, 
 but yourself I have not seen for years." 
 
 Here the young man, who was, in fact, 
 Claude Genest, seemed determined to pass on ; 
 but old Christine's son, for he it was, was not 
 to be parted with so easily. 
 
 " I was indeed so unfortunate more than 
 once," persisted he, still maintaining his position 
 in front of Claude ; " but, by a happy accident, 
 I am more favoured now. A happy accident, 
 Monsieur, does more for a man sometimes than 
 a lifetime of labour and waiting !" 
 
 Zamet bowed as he concluded this maxim, 
 and then looked up with a smile to Claude, as 
 if claiming assent. 
 
 Claude caught his keen eye for a moment, 
 and then broke out into a loud unaccountable 
 laugh. 
 
 " Monsieur will pardon me for informing 
 him," remarked Zamet, in the blandest possible 
 voice, " that I have been a great traveller since
 
 204 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 the days when Monsieur resided at Bonneval ; 
 and I have seen a great deal of life and art. 
 Life and art are unknown in a town like mine," 
 continued he, shrugging his shoulders in a sort 
 of mock despair ; after which sentiment (which 
 provoked another laugh from Claude) he added : 
 
 " Will Monsieur permit me, for once, at 
 least, in my career, to exercise my skill in his 
 behalf?" 
 
 Claude, half impatient, half amused, at his 
 townsman's meek-mannered pertinacity, and a 
 little piqued also by the character of his obser- 
 vations, gave a hasty consent, named the hour 
 and pointed out the house (which indeed was 
 in sight) where he had rooms ; and Zamet, with 
 murmured expressions of the profoundest grati- 
 tude, bowed himself out of sight. 
 
 When Claude reached the door of his house, 
 he did not go in, but passed it and walked 
 forward. After turning down several streets in 
 succession, he came to a very narrow and dis- 
 reputable looking one, where his dress and ap- 
 pearance looked a good deal out of place. 
 
 He stopped, however, before a small, narrow
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 205 
 
 red brick building, which stood a little back 
 from the rest. After waiting a few seconds, he 
 was cautiously admitted through the half-opened 
 door, into a low chamber, where a very ill- 
 favoured, middle-aged man, sat surrounded by 
 various huge books, and a vast display of 
 quadrants, skulls, divining rods, crystals, and 
 other necromantic paraphernalia. 
 
 As Claude stood iu the dirty, low-roofed 
 abode of dishonest pretence, it was a pity to 
 behold him. So young, so handsome, so cap- 
 able of better things, so comparatively, if only 
 comparatively, innocent and honest, — what com- 
 munity had that bright, hope-surrounded youth 
 with the merciless old pretender before him ? 
 What indeed, but that he had set up, for pur- 
 suit, as treasures of life, objects degrading to his 
 nature and real requirements. Verily he was 
 sci'atching on a dunghill for that which could 
 never prove food. And all this that he might 
 seem something he was not, obtain notoriety 
 without honourable fame, and riches without re- 
 spectable toil. In such a struggle the child of 
 light had need to ask help of the son of darkness !
 
 206 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 Claude and the astrologer, for a so-called 
 astrologer he was, exchanged glances, and then 
 Claude asked in a voice which made an effort 
 to be resolute — 
 
 " To what conclusion have you come?" 
 
 The astrologer stretched his arm over the 
 folio before him, and answered, with the solem- 
 nity due to his profession — 
 
 " My conclusions are independent of my will, 
 they arc, therefore, not liable to change from 
 change of purpose." 
 
 " Absolutely then," exclaimed Claude, with 
 uncontrollable impatience, " I will pay nothing 
 till I see the treasure before me !" 
 
 " Absolutely, then, young man," replied the 
 astrologer, Mith contemptuous calmness, " you 
 may find the treasure for yourself!" And, so 
 saying, he affected to resume his perusal of the 
 book. 
 
 Claude's brow contracted, till the lines made 
 deep furrows of shadow on his face. He hesi- 
 tated, too, for several seconds, still standing 
 opposite the table, for he was not asked to sit 
 down. At length he turned abruptly away.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 207 
 
 " Adieu, Signer Gentili ! " said he. 
 
 " Au revoir, Monsieur Genest ! " was the 
 astrologer's unmoved rejoinder ; and in a second 
 or two after, Claude had left the house. 
 
 The astrologer knew his man, however, and 
 had calculated justly. Before many minutes 
 were over, the youth returned, and re-entered 
 the room. 
 
 " You take advantage of my necessities ! " 
 was his first observation. "You know that I 
 am in a strait — dai*e not recede, and cannot go 
 on as I am. But we will have a compromise, 
 Gentili ! You shall accompany me to the trea- 
 sure-vaults yourself; your plans confuse my 
 head." 
 
 " I repeat to you, young man," cried the 
 astrologer, stretching out the long fingers of 
 his open hand to Claude with the palm ex- 
 posed, " it is not in my power, even were we 
 now in the treasure-vaults together, to give you 
 the exact information you need, until you have 
 made the sacrifice of a portion of your present 
 trumpery wealth, to obtain the vast boon held 
 out to you. What ! do you suppose that a dis-
 
 208 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 covery like that, which it has cost the learning 
 of years to attain to, is to be laid hold of by 
 you without a moment of labour or care, and 
 without leaving to the discoverer any better- 
 ensured reward than an empty promise ? Pre- 
 posterous idea ! " concluded Gentili, affecting a 
 just indignation. 
 
 Claude was evidently subdued. 
 
 " But we can compromise the matter, Gen- 
 tili," he remarked. " You shall accompany 
 me to the vaults. I will take with me the sum 
 you demand, and as soon as ever you can point 
 out to me, even at arms-length, the rock, in 
 some part of which the treasure lies, I will 
 pour the money into your other hand." 
 
 Gentili got up, and paced his narrow room 
 in thought. 
 
 "The whole sum?" inquired he, sternly, 
 stopping suddenly short, and facing Claude. 
 
 " The whole sum !" repeated Claude. " The 
 last relics of a fortune, not my own ; which I 
 must replace by another, or die ! " 
 
 A storm of distress seemed to be rising in the 
 young man's breast as he spoke, but the astro- 
 loger only laughed.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 209 
 
 " If ingenuity of mind would build up for- 
 tunes, Monsieur Genest," said he — " and at 
 times it will — you are destined to die a Croesus. 
 It is written, perhaps. Well, be it so ! On 
 those conditions I will accompany you to the 
 vaults." 
 
 " It is settled, then, once for all?" rejoined 
 Claude, in an inquiring tone. 
 
 " Once for all, " repeated the astrologer ; 
 " but there must be no Chapel-work if I am to 
 be with you, remember ! " 
 
 " But how, then, are we to ascertain the 
 time ? " inquired Claude, impatiently ; for with 
 a strange inconsistency of feeling he had re- 
 solved to attend, at any rate, the opening of the 
 midnight mass on Christmas-eve, at one of the 
 Churches. 
 
 " It is settled !" said the astrologer, with that 
 solemn importance he assumed now and then 
 as part of his character, and the deluded Claude 
 asked no more. But he was vexed, and disap- 
 pointed, and exclaimed at last — 
 
 " There is something then which you dare 
 not face, Gentili !
 
 210 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 " Care not, may be a better word than dare 
 not, Mr. Genest !" sneered the astrologer, with 
 indifference. " I will have no fellowship with 
 mummeries, young man ! " 
 
 The child of lig-ht shrank abashed before the 
 strenffth of the son of darkness, and half envied 
 the freedom of his soul ! 
 
 The astrologer now showed sjTnptoms of 
 wishing to be alone, and the youth submitted 
 with an almost mechanical deference, and de- 
 parted. 
 
 Priest-ridden ? Oh, no ! Ridden by his own 
 follies and vanity ; by the cowardly weak- 
 mindedness of a guilty heart ; by the super- 
 stitious credulousness which almost invariably 
 takes possession of the soul in which religious 
 faith and moral practice are wanting. 
 
 Siffnor Gentili congratulated himself not a 
 little, after Claude's departure, on the skill with 
 which he had, as he thought, brought matters 
 into a train for a favourable conclusion to him- 
 self; his sole object being to extract as much 
 money from his young dupe as he possibly 
 could, and then make an abrupt departure, and 
 leave him to his fate.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 211 
 
 He had already obtained sums of money 
 from him, at various times, on one pretence or 
 another, during an acquaintance — of which a 
 slight sketch is necessary, in order to account 
 for the influence he exercised over the unhappy 
 young man at the present moment. But no- 
 thing that he had done before bore any com- 
 parison with what he was now attempting. 
 Hitherto he had been contented with compara- 
 tively small gains ; but on this occasion, which 
 was necessarily to be the crowning act of this 
 Chateaudun drama, he had raised his demands 
 in proportion to his pretences, and flattered 
 himself with the pleasing thought — if all went 
 right — of leaving Chateaudun, a wealthy man ! 
 
 Signor Gentili — alias, I know not how many 
 other names and titles — was one of those pro- 
 fessors of supernatural powers who were wont 
 to adopt the very sagacious plan of travelling 
 about, without any stationary home or fixed 
 name. 
 
 The Signor Gentili — of high Italian descent.
 
 212 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 but reduced circumstances — of Chateaudun, had 
 flourished in Paris, perhaps, or in Vienna, 
 during the previous year, as a totally different 
 personage. He could be a gambler in one 
 place, a simple-minded conjuror in another; 
 and in all, secretly, for the elite, he was the 
 " wise man" who could be referred to — under 
 favour of rather exorbitant remuneration— for 
 the explanation of mysteries, the discovery of 
 lost goods and hidden treasures, and the fore- 
 telling of future events. 
 
 At Chateaudun, where he apprehended no 
 open interference with these higher pretensions, 
 he sat down for a time in his necromantic cha- 
 racter — hinting, obscurely, at having become 
 possessed of many of the secrets and valuable 
 books of the celebrated Florent de Yilliers, the 
 Chateaudun astrologer ; and, as the latter 
 years of that worthy's life had been spent in a 
 distant town, no one could venture to dispute 
 the statements Gentili made on the subject, or 
 question the validity of the signature of de Vil- 
 liers, accompanied by cabalistic signs, which 
 he occasionally displayed to a favoured few, on
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 213 
 
 the fly-leaves of some of his oldest and most 
 imposing-looking books. 
 
 " He who will gain his point, and has but a 
 tongue, will gain it assuredly;" and so it 
 proved with Signor Gentili. What he gave 
 himself out for, people believed him to be; 
 and it was even reported that fair and beautiful 
 women had been seen soiling their delicate feet 
 on the stones of his dirty street, to gain a clue 
 to their fate in life, or learn, beforehand, the 
 issue of some passionate love. 
 
 With such a reputation as he soon obtained, 
 it was no wonder that Claude Genest, in dislike 
 and despair of all honourable means of furnish- 
 ing the wherewithal to continue his extrava- 
 gant and assumptive mode of life, eagerly 
 sought him out ; hoping, through such a man, 
 in some indefinite way, to make that short cut 
 to fame and fortune which would, as he 
 thought, ensure his happiness for ever. 
 
 And the astrologer, on his part, had seldom 
 found a more favourable subject on whom to 
 practise his arts. 
 
 Men of his description usually become keen
 
 214 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 observers of human nature ; and, constantly on 
 the look out for weak points of character, are 
 not slow in discovering them. 
 
 Claude's vanity, weak credulousness, and 
 want of steady principle, were salient points, 
 which no one could fail to observe ; and the 
 astrologer made the most of them, working 
 carefully upon all. 
 
 He discovered that young Genest, about 
 whose family he took care to make inquiries, 
 was very desirous of dismissing the Bonneval 
 merchant-connection from his thoughts as much 
 as possible, and of dwelling on the family de- 
 scent which he inherited from his mother. 
 
 Among some of those maternal ancestors of 
 whom he was wont to talk, was one Robert of 
 Blois, a man who, in his day, had acquired a 
 sufficient amount of notoriety to be chronicled 
 in the pages of history. He had been the 
 twelfth Abbot of Marmoutier, and had been 
 permitted by the Pope to wear a mitre; but 
 by far the most striking points of his history, 
 according to old records, were his excessive 
 personal beauty, and his skill in accumulating 
 riches for the benefit of the monastery.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 215 
 
 Of the old Abbot's beauty Claude did con- 
 sider himself a fair representative, and he only- 
 wished he might be able one day to follow in 
 his steps in that other characteristic point — his 
 skill in heaping up the good things of this 
 world. 
 
 No sooner had Gentili heard this favourite 
 tale of the rich Robert of Blois from his young 
 descendant, than he built up his plans accord- 
 ingly ; and, affecting to be much struck with 
 the coincidences of similarity between the two, 
 hinted that he had good reason for supposing 
 there was a hidden meaning in the fact; re- 
 quested to be allowed to draw out the scheme 
 of Claude's nativity, and to forecast the events 
 he suspected were yet in store for him. 
 
 The young man consented with tremulous 
 eagerness ; and, having furnished the necessary 
 particulars, awaited the issue of the astrologer's 
 cogitations and calculations, with an anxiety 
 which it would be difficult to describe. 
 
 The result came, at last, in a very unexpected 
 manner. Late one evening, a few months be- 
 fore my story opens, Signor Gentili honoured 
 Claude Genest by a visit at his house.
 
 216 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 He appeared greatly perturbed in mind, and 
 expressed, in broken sentences, his uncertainty 
 as to whether Claude would have the strength 
 of nerve to avail himself of the good fortune 
 now so evidently within his reach ; and, after a 
 preamble, which worked up the young man's 
 curiosity, anxiety, and hope, to an almost in- 
 supportable pitch, he proceeded to inform him 
 that, in the first place, so far from Robert de 
 Blois having accumulated riches solely for the 
 benefit of the monastery, he had both inherited 
 and amassed together vast sums of money of 
 which the monks of Marmoutier knew nothing 
 whatever. His influence among the great and 
 rich had been immense. The doors of the pow- 
 erful are seldom closed, Gentili hinted, against 
 the claims of a prepossessing appearance, and 
 high descent ; and the odour of sanctity which 
 his high office threw around him gave a power 
 into his hands which he had not failed to use. 
 
 It was at one time his intention — Gentili 
 could prove, he said — to obtain a dispensation 
 to quit the religious life, and resume his posi- 
 ti,on in the world, as a man of fortune and con-
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 217 
 
 dition ; with which view he had secreted, in 
 various parts of the country, huge sums of 
 money, of which to possess himself when the 
 oppoz'tunity for using them arose. 
 
 Had Claude been very susceptible on the 
 subject of his ancestor's reputation, he would 
 not have very much liked this account of Ro- 
 bert de Blois. But he was wonderfully indif- 
 ferent to everything but what related to him- 
 self. 
 
 To corroborate his statement, Gentili pro- 
 duced a well-worn missal, which had come into 
 his possession, he said, at the time when he had 
 purchased a portion of the library of Florent de 
 Villiers ; and on the fly-leaf of which was to 
 be seen, in faded characters, the signature of 
 Robert de Blois. Below the signature was 
 some secret writing, which the astrologer as- 
 sured Claude it had cost him weeks to deci- 
 pher, but of which he had at last discovered 
 the key. This he produced, and Claude read 
 the writing for himself, which was to the fol- 
 lowing effect : — 
 
 " In case of a dispensation for family rea-
 
 218 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 sons, and for returning into the world as head 
 of an illustrious race ;" and then followed the 
 names of certain places in which hoards of trea- 
 sures were secreted, and among them stood 
 " Chateaudun vaults, under the garden ; " after 
 which were placed the figures of a sum of 
 money, so vast and unexpected, that Claude 
 started up from his chair as if struck by an 
 electric shock. 
 
 Gentili laid his hand on his arm, and chid 
 him bitterly for his childish impetuosity; and 
 the humbled victim sat down to listen once 
 more, " The lord of the second house fortu- 
 nately placed in the ascendant" (as the astro- 
 loger worded it), in Claude's own horoscope, 
 clearly foretold that he was to " attain great 
 riches without much labour, in a manner unex- 
 pectedly ; " while a horary question, drawn up 
 for the date of the Abbot's death, and asking 
 what was to become of his accumulated riches, 
 showed that a great portion of them was des- 
 tined to fall into the hands of a collateral de- 
 scendant of his family ; that no one else could 
 succeed in obtaining them ; but that he should
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 219 
 
 be raised through them to an eminence little 
 short of that of the Abbot himself. 
 
 Claude's brain went round with excitement 
 as he listened, and looked, and tried to examine 
 for himself the proofs, writings, books, and 
 astrological figures, which Gentili laid in abun- 
 dance before him. 
 
 " Judge for yourself," was his incessant 
 cry, laying his hand on the two astrological 
 schemes, and explaining their bearings on the 
 subject, in the jargon of the science, till Claude's 
 confusion was complete. 
 
 The old missal was the only thing he felt 
 clearly to comprehend, and on that he fastened 
 with avidity ; purchased it from his friend at a 
 heavy price, and paid him scarcely less hand- 
 somely for his scientific labours. 
 
 And even now the mighty business was but 
 just begun. Satisfied, as Gentili affected to be, 
 that Claude was that descendant of Robert de 
 Blois who was to become possessed of his 
 hoarded riches, the spot of concealment re- 
 mained still to be ascertained, and the question 
 had to be asked as to the propitious moment 
 for the search.
 
 220 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 But, according to Gentili, the resources of 
 his art were inexhaustible; and there seemed, 
 indeed, every appearance of their being so, as 
 long as Claude could supply the worldly means 
 necessary for propitiating the stars. 
 
 As to the spot of concealment, after several 
 long and unnecessary rambles about Chateau- 
 dun to look for " vaults under a garden," Gen- 
 tili had one day an inspiration that what was 
 meant was " The Gulf," — the subterranean 
 cavern which was visible through a chasm in 
 the grounds of the Franciscan Monastery, and 
 which was known to extend for at least a 
 quarter of a mile under the town. 
 
 The entrance to this singular natural excava- 
 tion was over some rocks by the river, at a spot 
 by no means difficult of access, near the outskirts 
 of the town ; and Claude and the astrologer 
 having visited it together by daylight, came to 
 the conclusion that no doubt could be enter- 
 tained on the subject of its being the spot indi- 
 cated by Robert de Blois ; after which nothing 
 remained but for the necromancer to exercise 
 his art as treasure-finder, question the stars for
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 221 
 
 a favourable moment for the search, and point 
 out, in the wild accumulation of rock, the pre- 
 cise spot where the treasure lay. 
 
 To effect such portentous results, Signor 
 Gentili shut himself up, and refused to see 
 Claude under any pretence whatever. He 
 must work out the difficulties alone ! 
 
 When he announced himself as prepared, and 
 Claude, who had lived meanwhile in a fever of 
 excitement and uncertainty, was permitted to 
 visit him again, he stated, with the most solemn 
 effrontery, that he had obtained a plan of the 
 cavern, and was prepared to point out the rock 
 in which an opening had been made to receive 
 the treasure, and which had since been filled up 
 by a stone, which a very slight exertion would 
 remove ; but the precise position of which he 
 was not permitted to know until the sacrifice had 
 been made, by a descendant of Robert de Blois, 
 of a very large sum of actual money, in return 
 for the prize held out. Claude fell from ecstasy 
 to despair. He had not the money to give for 
 that or any other purpose just then. His drains 
 on the family fund, often renewed as they were,
 
 222 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 only produced cash in detail. The hu^e amount 
 which the necromancer demanded it would be 
 impossible to obtain. 
 
 But Signer Gentili was inexorable, nay fierce, 
 now he had enclosed his victim in his toils. 
 He taunted Claude with irresolute baseness, 
 with living under false appearances of wealth, 
 when in reality he had the spirit of a beggar 
 in his heart. In a fine outburst of wrath he 
 declared, that he assuredly was not the descend- 
 ant of Robert de Blois who was destined to 
 realize the treasures he had left. Had he no 
 brother of nobler heart than himself, who would 
 come forward and be willing to earn the prize ? 
 The astrologer had made sufficient inquiries, 
 privately, to be aware that this suggestion was 
 a home-thrust of the bitterest character, and 
 Claude crouched beneath the blow. 
 
 He then enlarged, with eloquent pathos, on 
 his own labours, mental and bodily, to obtain 
 the knowledge for which Claude so meanly 
 grudged the just remuneration ; contrasted his 
 own life of strained nerves, and spiritual visita- 
 tion, with the idle follies of dissipation in which
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 223 
 
 Claude wasted hour after hour, and day after 
 day ; twitted him, mockingly, with the folly of 
 his aspiring after the hand of the lovely daughter 
 of the Viscount Delaroche, when he had not a 
 sixpence to settle on his bride ! 
 
 In short, by the time Gentili had exhausted 
 invectives, the miserable Claude succumbed. 
 He, who had tyrannized over mother, brother, 
 and friends, and was prepared to do so yet, 
 bent down his neck to the yoke of an insolent 
 deceiver, and allowed himself to be trampled 
 upon, and persuaded to add wrong to wrong. 
 
 On the following morning he made his cruel 
 expedition to Bonneval : that expedition during 
 which, partly by entreaties, partly by menaces, 
 he persuaded his mother to give her authority 
 for his drawing out the unreasonable sum the 
 astrologer demanded, from the fast diminishins: 
 fortunes of the house. But, coldly selfish as he 
 appeared altogether to others, and was prac- 
 tically, he did not carry through that last un- 
 principled transaction without the most cutting 
 upbraidings of conscience, and even personal 
 suffering.
 
 224 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 And strangely enough, it happened that a 
 word dropped in derision from his mother in 
 her despair, to the effect that he had better 
 repair his fortune by seeking for treasures on 
 Christmas-eve, recalled to his mind the old Bon- 
 neval legend, which he, (at all times a lover of 
 the marvellous,) had been well acquainted with 
 in his youth. Hence had ai-isen the feverish 
 inquiries he had made in Bonneval, of which 
 Christine had heard a far from exaggerated 
 account : and as he rode back to Chateaudun, 
 in the evening, the idea crossed his mind that, 
 by the aid of that legend, he perhaps should be 
 able to dispense with the services of the astro- 
 loger altogether, and restore at once to his 
 mother the ruinous sum he had forced from 
 her hands. 
 
 It was not a grateful feeling that prompted 
 this notion ; but Claude had not been in the 
 habit of being grateful. The fact was, that the 
 scene in which he had played so evil a part at 
 Bonneval had roused up his long slumbering 
 compunctions into a more active state than 
 usual ; the sight of the old place, too, recalled
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 225 
 
 gentler thoughts than he had dared to indulge 
 in since he had left it to make his fortune in 
 Chateaudun ; and a strange, unlooked-for wish 
 arose several times to his mind, that he could 
 throw the astrologer, Chateaudun, his new so- 
 cial position, even Viscount Delaroche's lovely 
 daughter (whom he was courting assiduously, 
 and not unsuccessfully, in the character of a 
 man of fortune), overboard, and return to the 
 place and the life he had so much despised : to 
 that mother whom he had so much insulted and 
 injured : and to that brother whom he had driven 
 from his home, but whom he now felt that lie 
 would go the world over to find, "and restore to 
 his proper place ! Of Mathilde he dared not to 
 think at all. 
 
 But in the gloom and solitude of his chamber 
 that night, after spending a few distracted hours 
 at a gay ball, all the miserable weakness, con- 
 sequent upon his leading a thoroughly unsatis- 
 factory life, returned upon him as strongly as 
 ever. How, during the brief period indicated 
 by the legend, should he ever find time to 
 traverse, alone and unaided, those vaults from 
 
 Q
 
 226 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 end to end, and so come upon the one precise 
 spot where the presence of the treasure would 
 be made irresistibly known ? 
 
 No ! whether he liked it or not, he must take 
 the astrologer into his counsels ; for his enslaved 
 mind had lost the spirit of self-reliance, and 
 courage is for the morally strong. Claude was 
 weak ; and, had he owned the truth to himself, 
 durst not have ventured into those vaults alone 
 at midnight, for the treasures of a hundred 
 Roberts de Blois ! 
 
 He sought Gentili out, therefore, as usual ; 
 but the two men were playing a game one against 
 the other now, whether they knew it or not. 
 Claude had purchased the sum of money at too 
 severe a cost to part with it lightly; and re- 
 jected at once all notion of paying it away 
 before he had found its substitute in the vaults ; 
 while, on the other hand, Gentili's original in- 
 tention had, of course, been to quit the place at 
 once, on the receipt of the money, long before 
 Claude could return from his midnight expedi- 
 tion, to upbraid him with its want of success. 
 
 It was difficult to reconcile these very con-
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 227 
 
 tradictory views ; but the schemers came to a 
 compromise at last, as has been told. Gentili 
 agreed to accompany Claude to the vaults, on 
 condition that, as soon as he could point out 
 the treasure-rock as in sight, the purchase- 
 money of the supernatural discovery of the 
 precise spot where it lay was to be put into his 
 hand. 
 
 Very unwillingly, it must be owned, had 
 he yielded to a plan which involved him in 
 so much more trouble and risk than the pay- 
 ment beforehand would have done ; and never 
 had he disliked the young fool, his victim, so 
 thoroughly, as when he found him so unex- 
 pectedly obstinate. But there was no remedy. 
 He wanted the money, and must run some risk 
 to obtain it ; and then, once in the vaults and 
 with Claude's money in his pocket, he must 
 trust to the chapter of accidents as to how he 
 should get away. Not that he intended to 
 trust to the chapter of accidents only. He had 
 matched himself mentally against Claude upon 
 the subject of strength and activity of body, at 
 the moment when he was consenting to the
 
 228 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 obnoxious arrangements ; and, if he did not 
 feel sufficiently satisfied on the subject of per- 
 sonal prowess, it was easy enough to add a 
 dagger to the implements with which he would 
 naturally provide himself in his character of 
 treasure-seeker. 
 
 Claude, meanwhile, who, after his visit to 
 Bonneval, had insisted on the experiment being 
 made on the night of Christmas-eve, felt him- 
 self less beholden to the astrologer than he had 
 been before he had remembered the legend ; 
 and, with the feeling of needing him less, there 
 arose in his mind emotions of distrust which he 
 scarcely acknowledged even to himself, but 
 which alone could account for his determined 
 pertinacity in refusing the payment of the 
 money, and for the care with which he, too, 
 added weapons of defence to the tools which 
 he had prepared for his visit to the vaults. 
 
 Such were the secret feelings towards each 
 other of these two nominal friends ; and such 
 the preparations which they made for their 
 treasure-seeking together in the vaults of Cha- 
 teaudun !
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 229 
 
 Claude, however, finished his evening in a 
 scene which served to divert his thoughts en- 
 tirely from such disagreeable subjects. In the 
 brilliant saloons of the Viscount Delaroche's 
 house, which were opened that night to a large 
 and gay assembly, he was little likely to be 
 thinking of his poverty, his future prospects, or 
 of a low astrologer. Verily he had acted the 
 young man of fortune and pretension so long, 
 that, when he was well got up for the occasion, 
 he almost believed himself to be what he pre- 
 tended. 
 
 And his appearance that night was no less 
 attractive than usual. Nay, Zamet's skill ia 
 hairdressing, to which the young man had re- 
 sigrned himself for a loungincr half hour, much 
 to his own amusement, had produced a de- 
 cidedly piquant effect. 
 
 Oh, those scenes of life, where everything 
 is so unreal, so superficial, and so unsatisfac- 
 tory ! where there is so much acting, with- 
 out the amusement of the stage ; and so much 
 labour, without any of the results of toil : — 
 what madness must seize upon the mind be-
 
 230 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 fore a reasonable being can crave after such 
 contemptible excitement, as if it were one of 
 the deepest enjoyments of life ! 
 
 Meanwhile, the astrologer, unrobed and re- 
 duced to a mere mortal man, both in body and 
 spirit, packed up the greater part of his far from 
 extensive belongings, and then sat down to 
 meditate, not without some anxiety, as to the 
 possible issue of the treasure-seeking on the 
 morrow. 
 
 The third person of the Chateaudun drama 
 was decidedly the best satisfied of the three. 
 Zamet, as he emerged into the street, after his 
 interview with Claude, was conscious of having 
 made the most of his opportunity and time. 
 
 It was past eleven o'clock at night, and still 
 no intelligence had reached Bonneval of Zamet 
 or his proceedings ; and Adrian and Christine 
 sat almost silently over her hearth, secretly 
 Avondering whether it would not be wiser to 
 give up further expectation for the night, and 
 trust to the morrow for news or Zamet's ap- 
 pearance.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 231 
 
 But while they were thus thinking, a noise 
 was heard outside the house, and a knocking 
 at the door at last announced an arrival. 
 
 The man who now entered was a stranger 
 from Chateaudun, and had had some difficulty, 
 on reaching Bonneval, in making out the abode 
 of the old nurse. He brought a letter from 
 Zamet to Adrian, and one to Christine, which 
 charged her to provide him with some sort of 
 accommodation for the night. 
 
 The letter was pithy enough, and seemed to 
 the anxious Adrian to give more orders than 
 information. It announced that he had satis- 
 fied himself of there being a plot for the fol- 
 lowing night, which must be counter-plotted 
 with determination ; that a half hour he had 
 spent with Claude had convinced him that that 
 young gentleman, as he called him, was at 
 once duped and distrustful ; and he (Zamet) 
 made it his urgent entreaty that Adrian, the 
 Benedictine Monk, the Notary, and — if he 
 might be permitted to suggest as much for Mr. 
 Claude's sake — Mademoiselle Mathilde, also, 
 should repair to Chateaudun on the following 
 day.
 
 232 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 The messenger would direct them, Zamet 
 proceeded to say, to the inn facing the river, 
 where he would be in readiness to receive them 
 about noon. 
 
 Adrian turned the letter over many times, as 
 people are wont to do, who would fain, if pos- 
 sible, extract a something, by gazing, out of the 
 insensible paper before them. But it was in 
 vain : — there was a plot ; but of what sort, or 
 what extent of danger, they must wait till to- 
 morrow to know. 
 
 Adrian and Christine looked at each other ; 
 but neither could devise or divine anything 
 beyond the simple statement. 
 
 " One thing I do know," said the old woman, 
 at last, " and it's a great comfort, Mr. Adrian. 
 You may trust Zamet as if he was yourself." 
 
 " A great deal more confidently !" answered 
 Adrian, good-naturedly. " An anxious heart 
 has seldom a cool head." 
 
 When Adrian repaired to the notary's house 
 the next morning, he had some misgivings as to 
 whether M. de Tessier would fall into Zamet's 
 singular plan, that he and Mile. Mathilde should
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 233 
 
 proceed at once to Chat^audun. But the old 
 gentleman consented at once, and with a ready 
 alacrity which surprised them all. So, in due 
 time, and after suitable preparations had been 
 made, the little party found themselves on the 
 road which Zamet had traversed the day before. 
 
 The notary furnished both a horse and mule 
 for the occasion, and busied himself in procuring 
 from a neighbour a suitable steed for Adrian ; 
 the accomplishment of which feat seemed to 
 afford him unqualified satisfaction. 
 
 In fact, it was evident that M. de Tessier en- 
 tered upon the day's work before them with the 
 keenest relish ; and many an anxious moment 
 was spared the young folks, as they journeyed 
 onward, by his opening out into conversation, 
 and beguiling their thoughts with strange stories 
 of his own youth and adventures. 
 
 He told of disappointed ambition, and out- 
 manoeuvred schemes ; admitting, with infinite 
 naivete, that he had committed one blunder on 
 the top of another all through life, whenever he 
 attempted to do anything startlingly advan- 
 tageous to his fortunes and position.
 
 234 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 " Whenever I thought to be particularly 
 worldly-wise, my friend," remarked he to Adrian, 
 " I was baffled by rogues who were more 
 worldly-wise still, and had not, as I always had, 
 to a certain extent, scruples. There is no com- 
 promising in life between right and wrong, I 
 am satisfied now," added he ; " a man who is 
 led astray to a certain amount of wrong, but 
 yet has scruples about the how much, has no 
 success in either this world or the next. It is 
 not fair that he should have. The man of 
 principle, who refuses to do wrong at all, and 
 the man of no scruples, who will do anything 
 to gain his object, are the only ones who have 
 a right to succeed. Own, young man, that I am 
 correct." 
 
 Adrian did, indeed, give his assent ; but the 
 conversation would soon have flas^fjed, had not 
 the notary resumed it. 
 
 " Your brother Claude, Monsieur, is a man 
 of scruples, and can never succeed in the road 
 of wrong any more than myself. He thinks to 
 make a compromise, — so did I, — but we must 
 wake him out of the delusion."
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 235 
 
 Interested as Adrian was, it was difficult to 
 reply to such remarks ; but he ventured at last 
 to ask the notary what had been his opinion of 
 Claude's character, when he was his pupil. 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed the old man, " that is a 
 tender point, indeed! Mathilde knows — Ma- 
 thilde, you will bear me witness how often, for 
 the last few years, I have regretted the profitless 
 intercourse betwixt myself and Claude Genest. 
 As for his scholarly attainments, that was all 
 well enough ; but I could not be troubled with 
 his wilfulness. I ought to have corrected his 
 follies and guided his mind, but I was satisfied 
 with cramming his head; for the oth^', sooth 
 to say, seemed a Herculean task. Monsieur, 
 in my conduct in this matter I added another 
 blunder to the heaped-up blunders of my life. 
 When the results became manifest, I would 
 have retraced my steps if possible ; but the 
 young man was beyond pupilage then, and 
 resented my interference ! I have much to re- 
 proach myself with. I hoped once, indeed, that 
 my daughter's influence was destined to ac- 
 complish what I had left undone; but there,
 
 236 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 also, I have been doomed to disappointment. 
 Now another hope dawns on me, namely, that 
 if I can help to save the lad in a crisis of danger 
 from the hands of rogues, I may be able at last 
 to insinuate my philosophy into his heart ! 
 And another thing !" pursued the notary, look- 
 ing round with almost youthful ardour at them 
 all ; " I have been baffled by rogues all my 
 life, my friends ! and if I can aid in baffling a 
 rogue to-night, it will shed such a lustre over 
 my broken fortunes, as will light up my already 
 contented old age with a gleam of actual de- 
 light." 
 
 In the energy of the thought, the notary 
 spurred forward his horse to a quicker pace, 
 and said no more till the little party stopped, as 
 travellers so often do, at that turn of the road 
 which brought the beautiful town of Chateau- 
 dun first into sight. 
 
 Zamet, meanwhile, was waiting to receive his 
 friends on their arrival at the inn, and, rather 
 to their surprise, met them with a face absolutely 
 radiant with satisfaction. He ushered them 
 gaily into their temporary abode, introduced
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 237 
 
 tliem to the notice of the landlord, and subse- 
 quently escorted them himself to the rooms 
 which he had arranged for their accommoda- 
 tion, and where every comfort which the place 
 afforded was provided for the notary's fair 
 daughter. 
 
 As a matter of course, every one expressed 
 gratification, although the thing seemed too 
 trifling to be worth such a display of interest. 
 But when the exhibition was over, and the 
 landlord had bowed himself away, Zamet gently 
 closed the door, and, standing with his back to 
 it, remarked, with that very bright smile upon 
 his face which it occasionally wore — 
 
 " My information is now complete, gentle- 
 men ! Within the last two hours I have been 
 so fortunate as to discover the very spot which 
 Mr. Claude and the astrologer are to visit to- 
 night, and — as my mother anticipated — at a 
 moment when they ought to be engaged in 
 saying their prayers. Pardon, gentlemen ! I 
 am smiling to think there will be more visitors 
 to the magical spot than those two treasure- 
 seekers expect ! With deference to you, gen-
 
 238 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 tlemen," added Zamet, with a bow, " such is 
 my plan: that we surprise them, and see fair 
 play done between man and man." 
 
 There was something so cheering in Zamet's 
 tone, that it seemed to dispel the anxious feel- 
 ings of even Adrian and Mathilde. As for the 
 notary, he rubbed his hands with satisfaction, 
 and became more excited with delight than 
 ever ; made Zamet sit down with them, and 
 took the most prominent part in inquiring into 
 the proposed operations of the night, clapping 
 the little Maltese, from time to time, on the 
 back, in token of energetic approbation of his 
 views. 
 
 The one point which, until that morning, 
 Zamet had not been able to clear up, was where 
 the treasure-seeking was to take place; and 
 although he was prepared for the troublesome 
 office of watching and following, when the 
 time came, it was an inconvenient plan, and he 
 resolved to make a last effort to get at more 
 complete information. Accordingly, he called 
 at an early hour that morning at Claude's 
 lodgings, professed an anxious wish for a brief
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 239 
 
 interview with Monsieur before he returned to 
 Bonneval, and was finally admitted to the 
 young man's presence, who submitted himself 
 again to Zamet's professional skill, heartily 
 glad of the half hour's diversion afforded him 
 by the piquant conversation of the odd little 
 barber. " I became now," said Zamet, (de- 
 scribing the scene to his friends at the inn,) 
 " very great and enthusiastic on the beauties 
 and wonders of Chateaudun ; professed to have 
 become enchanted with the place, and to have 
 thoughts of settling there : asked Monsieur if 
 he had yet visited the magical fountain of Les 
 Jalans, or strolled along the banks of La Conie, 
 the overflow of whose waters presaged war, 
 pestilence, or famine ; and expressed amaze- 
 ment at his indifference on subjects of such 
 deep and perplexing importance. Monsieur 
 defended himself warmly then ; and in the 
 most energetic manner asserted an interest far 
 exceeding my own. Gentlemen," continued 
 Zamet, " I tried him on every point I could 
 think of — and I thought I knew the place 
 pretty well; I named several ruined buildings
 
 240 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 in the neighbourhood ; also several of the most 
 ancient monasteries of the town ; for it is chiefly 
 about such places as those there are reports of 
 treasures being hidden : but nothing seemed to 
 touch him particularly till I asked him if he 
 had been into the garden of the Franciscan 
 monks, and looked down into ' The Gulf/ as it 
 is called, which runs under one side of the town. 
 Then, gentlemen, I felt him absolutely start 
 under my hands, but he did not at first speak. 
 
 " ' Ah, Monsieur ! ' cried I, ' that is a place, 
 indeed! To me it looks like the pit of hell 
 itself!' 
 
 " * What nonsense for a man like you to 
 talk ! ' exclaimed Mr. Claude, at once ; and 
 almost angry, as I thought. ' What is it but 
 a subterranean vault? There are plenty of 
 others like it, no doubt. Any place looks dark 
 when you look down at it from a height : — that 
 is all.' 
 
 " ' Doubtless, Monsieur, it is nothing else, as 
 you justly remark ; but the appearance from 
 above, which creates that odd sensation,' cried 
 I ; * seen from below, by those walking in it, it
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 241 
 
 would doubtless appear common-place enough, 
 like any other vault of similar character.' 
 
 " ' Not so common-place, perhaps,' remarked 
 Mr. Claude, between his teeth ; but I doubted 
 if the observation was meant for my ear. 
 
 " * A wonderful natural curiosity, indeed ! ' 
 I went on, as if I had been meditating all the 
 time. 
 
 " ' Indeed ! ' exclaimed Mr. Claude, very 
 eagerly, and turning round so as to observe my 
 face. But he saw nothing but a blank look, 
 of which he could make nothinof. 
 
 " ' Undoubtedly, Monsieur,' was my calm 
 reply, * Every one knows that, who knows 
 anything of Chateaudun.' 
 
 " * Knows what?' asked Mr. Claude, with 
 so wild an eagerness, I was cut to the heart to 
 think of his misguided folly ; but 1 put on a 
 smile to reassure him. 
 
 " * Pardon, Monsieur !' cried I. * I thought 
 everyone knew it was the outlet for the waters 
 of the river in times of threatened inundation.' 
 Mr. Claude's countenance fell from its excite- 
 ment in an instant, and he turned away with 
 
 R
 
 242 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 an almost impatient — ' oh !' after which, I found 
 I could command his attention no longer. Yet,. 
 before we parted, he commented on the severity 
 of the frost, and remarked, with a laugh, that 
 The Gulf was not of much use to anybody in 
 such a weather as the present. 
 
 " Now then, gentlemen," pursued Zamet, " I 
 had little doubt that it was in the vaults of 
 Chateaudun the treasure was to be sought ; 
 but, to assure myself of the fact, I afterwards 
 called, in the character of a country lad, on the 
 astrologer — of whose friendship with Mr. Claude 
 you were, Monsieur de Tessier, rightly informed. 
 " I gave myself out as a young man wanting 
 a little money to marry upon, and professed 
 myself determined to try the country legend of 
 treasure -seekinsf during midnight mass on 
 Christmas-eve. 
 
 " The astrologer eyed me very suspiciously at 
 first; but my stupid, unintelligent manner soon 
 undeceived him. I said, ' I will pay you what 
 I can to tell me where to go to.' Here I held 
 out some money, which the rascal took as un- 
 scrupulously as if he could have looked through
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 243 
 
 fate! 'Shall I go to so and so?' said I, 
 naming a lonely ruin a quarter of a mile off, 
 ' or to The Gulf? There must be plenty of trea- 
 sure in The Gulf, I should think ; it's such a 
 secret place.' 
 
 " ' No more treasure there than in your own 
 head/ was the astrologer's polite reply, in a 
 fever, as it seemed, of wrath. ' You may as 
 well deliver yourself over to the Evil One at 
 once,' cried he, ' as go there during midnight 
 mass. At your peril go near it, young fool. 
 Remember ! ' He then affected to perform 
 certain signs, and examine the pages of his 
 book ; after which he wrote something on 
 paper, and presented it to me. I stared at it, 
 and shook my head. He snatched the paper 
 impatiently from me, and then gave me verbal 
 instructions as to the exact spot in the lonely 
 ruin, where I should find what I sought. I 
 listened, open-mouthed, and bowed with grati- 
 tude at the conclusion, grinning at him with 
 mock delight. 
 
 " As I was withdrawing, after making my 
 countryfied bow, I caught one more furtive
 
 244 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 glance of suspicion in the corner of his eye. 
 Pretending to check myself at the door, there- 
 fore, I came back to him, and, with a loutish 
 bow and smile, assured him that if I succeeded 
 I would bring him back another sum of money 
 equal to that which I had just paid. I think 
 this folly quite satisfied him, for he now waved 
 me away without betraying any further doubt." 
 
 There was a pause after Zamet had con- 
 cluded. Mathilde was the first to break it. 
 
 " Does the frost continue, Zamet?" inquired 
 she. 
 
 " For the present, yes," was Zamet's reply. 
 
 The rest of the party began at once to dis- 
 cuss the proceedings in prospect. The chief 
 opening to the subterranean vault lay, as Zamet 
 told them, not above a quarter of a mile from 
 where they were. 
 
 It was called the river-entrance to The Gulf, 
 and consisted, for a certain way, of a rocky 
 plateau, level with the bank of the river-side. 
 After a couple of hundred yards or so, however, 
 this plateau ended altogether, and a confused 
 mass of rocks, like the broken wall of a cascade.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 245 
 
 led down from it to the depths of a cavern, 
 which, even when viewed thus near, had a most 
 terrific and gloomj^ appearance. 
 
 Here it was, indeed, that the river Loir, 
 when accidentally swollen, turned aside, and 
 poured in its mass of superfluous waters, where 
 none could be injured by their flow. But, 
 although Zamet was aware of this general fact, 
 from having, during his apprenticeship in Cha- 
 teaudun in his youth, become generally well 
 acquainted with the place, even he was scarcely 
 alive to all the merits or dangers of The Gulf. 
 
 It was only in those cases — rare enough, it is 
 true, but still from time to time occurring— in 
 which some sudden change in the weather, 
 such as very violent rains in the hills, or rapid 
 thaws, brought the river down, breast-high, at 
 once to the valley, (as occurs occasionally with 
 our own north-country streams,) that the pro- 
 tection aff"orded to the town by that vault could 
 be fully appreciated. 
 
 Then it was that in its gloomy bosom, in the 
 midst of a silence quite profound, a sudden 
 tumult, as of thunder, would be heard ; then it
 
 246 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 was that the mute, subterranean caverns echoed 
 madly to the crash of a waterfall, formed by 
 the impetuous course of the swollen torrent over 
 that broken wall of rock. A roar which never 
 ceased, until The Gulf, filled up to the level of 
 the river itself, looked like another branch of 
 its waters, rather than a temporary outlet for 
 its abundance. 
 
 To this entrance, at all common seasons, the 
 access, although scrambling in character, was 
 easy enough ; and here it was, of course, that 
 the astrologer and Claude proposed entering 
 the mysterious receptacle ; for the only other 
 opening to it was that afforded by the yawning 
 chasm in the garden of the Franciscan monks, 
 where a rope and basket were the sole means 
 by which the vault itself could be reached. 
 
 To wait for the midnight hour, and then 
 follow in the footsteps of the astrologer and 
 Claude to their destination, was, of course, the 
 plot of the evening ; for that the whole of this 
 pretended treasure-seeking was a nefarious 
 scheme, on the part of the former, to extract 
 money from the deluded youth, no one could
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 247 
 
 doubt ; though exactly how his plans were laid, 
 it was impossible to detect. 
 
 To pursue him, therefore, and watch the issue 
 of the affair ; prevent villany if attempted, and 
 expose roguery if possible, thereby rescuing 
 Claude from his present state of blind delusion, 
 was the object which the little band of conspira- 
 tors had at heart ; and, in the meantime, after 
 deciding on the general plan of operations, 
 Zamet busied himself in procuring refreshments, 
 while the notary and Adrian strolled out to 
 examine the entrance of The Gulf. 
 
 Immediately after their departure, Mathilde 
 summoned the active little Maltese to her side. 
 
 " Zamet," said she, " I do not wish unneces- 
 sarily to alarm Mr. Adrian, nor indeed, for my 
 own sake, to forecast improbable evils ; but in 
 all your schemes for to-night, there is one event, 
 I fear, you are not provided against !" Ma- 
 thilde's face was deadly pale as she spoke. 
 
 " And that is. Mademoiselle?" inquired he. 
 
 " The river, Zamet; — if a sudden change in 
 the weather should occur," replied Mathilde; 
 but she spoke witli difficulty, for she hardly
 
 248 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 liked to admit to her own mind the possibility 
 of the terrible danger which, in the course of 
 Zamet's conversation, had occurred to her. 
 
 " There is no appearance of any alteration 
 in the weather, Mademoiselle," answered Zamet, 
 with grave composure. " Nevertheless, it is a 
 poor wisdom that does not provide against all 
 accidents. Moreover, Mademoiselle, as it is 
 you who have named the subject, let me tell 
 you all. I myself have fancied, once or twice 
 to-day, an altered sound in the wind, and hence 
 have been induced to make some other in- 
 quiries, besides those connected with the trea- 
 sure-seeking. Our landlord has a strong boat 
 at our service, which can bear any amount of 
 hard usage, and although all entry by such 
 means into the vault is out of the question until 
 the water has risen to the level of the river, it 
 would be then possible, though at some little 
 risk I own, to push off the boat into the deep 
 stream, when it would go readily enough along 
 the vaults." 
 
 " And the return, Zamet ? " mused Mathilde, 
 anxiously.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 249 
 
 " Could not be managed, Mademoiselle, 
 against the torrent; but I should depend on 
 other means for escape." 
 
 Mathilde was too much confused to con- 
 jecture how. 
 
 " A party of friends, stationed by the chasm 
 in the garden of the Franciscan monks, could 
 contrive the rescue by a basket and ropes, 
 Mademoiselle, should it be necessary ; but this 
 is providing beforehand indeed ! Yet Mr. 
 Adrian's friend, the Benedictine monk : I 
 hoped he would have accompanied you here." 
 
 " He is still expected," was Mathilde's reply. 
 
 " He would be the very person to conduct 
 that part of the business, in case of such an 
 emergency," observed Zamet. " But you are 
 satisfied, are you not. Mademoiselle, that even 
 this improbable event is, in a manner, provided 
 against ? " 
 
 " I am," replied the poor girl ; almost shud- 
 dering to find that the evil had been contem- 
 plated as possible by others. 
 
 " It was for your sake only. Mademoiselle," 
 pursued Zamet, " that I made no mention of
 
 250 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 this part of my preparations. I wished to spare 
 you unnecessary anxiety." 
 
 " It was kindly meant," replied Mathilde ; 
 " and now remember, Zamet ! should that hap- 
 pen, / go with you in the boat !" Zamet's face 
 betokened some strong forthcoming expostula- 
 tion, but Mathilde stretched out her hand with a 
 gesture commanding silence. " I will hear no 
 objections," said she, firmly, " so make none. 
 I will hope with you that we may not be tried, 
 but, if we are, I must be among those who go 
 to save him !" 
 
 There was a determination in her tone, which 
 Zamet respected too much to oppose. He 
 bowed profoundly, and, resuming his previous 
 occupations, left the devoted Mathilde to the 
 communings of her own heart. 
 
 Ere long, however, the arrival of the Bene- 
 dictine monk. Father Ulric, roused her from her 
 somewhat painful reverie. 
 
 To this old friend of the Genests, and indeed 
 of her own family also, she confided at once 
 her fears and determination ; and, to her un- 
 utterable delight. Father Ulric confirmed her in
 
 THE TKEASURE-SEEKER. 251 
 
 her views, instead of opposing them with argu- 
 ments of prudence and reason. 
 
 " Thei'e are seasons in hfe, daughter," he 
 said, " in which all the common rules of life 
 fail ; seasons in which all the usages, and forms, 
 and conventionalities must be thrown aside, as 
 matters of the supremest indifference. The 
 struggle here is to rescue a deluded man from 
 perils, both of body and soul. I am not willing 
 to underrate the influence which your sudden 
 and unexpected appearance, in such a place, at 
 such a moment, may have upon such a mis- 
 guided, rather than naturally depraved, mind, 
 I am, perhaps, more inclined to oveijudge its 
 probable effects than you yourself may be; but, 
 whatever may be the result, you, secure in the 
 purity of your intentions, can have nothing to 
 regret !" 
 
 Mathilde knelt at the feet of the monk, pray- 
 ing in tears for a blessing on those intentions, 
 inasmuch as they were unsullied by a single 
 feeling which could make them unacceptable 
 in the sight of Him who alone can judge the 
 heart. The return of the explorers soon followed.
 
 252 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 They had found the entrance exactly as Zamet 
 had described it, and the notary's spirit of ad- 
 venture had by this time so infected Adrian, 
 that the whole party sat down to their afternoon 
 meal with a cheerfulness which their adventure 
 seemed at one time very unlikely to permit. 
 Mathilde then retired to rest for awhile, to pre- 
 pare herself for the toils of the night ; while 
 Adrian, Father Uhic, the notary, and Zamet 
 discussed the minor points of consideration, 
 secured flambeaux and weapons, and talked 
 over the fatal, though remote, possibility of a 
 rising of the river ; and, by the aid of the man 
 whom Zamet had previously employed as mes- 
 sensrer, and who was a servant about the inn, 
 every precaution was taken, and every possible 
 want forestalled. 
 
 The Benedictine monk was not to accompany 
 them into the vaults, but to remain near the en- 
 trance with the servant in question, so as to be 
 prepared against that fearful contingency, by 
 which Mathilde's mind seemed haunted. 
 
 And thus they planned wisely and well 
 enoucrh, for creatures who could not foresee the
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 253 
 
 future, and then sat down to await with calm 
 composure the time of action. Whoever had 
 looked into that little room that night, and seen 
 those four men, sitting silently together, each 
 one absorbed in his own particular thoughts, 
 would have wondered what solemn expectation 
 was hanging over them. 
 
 That they were anticipating something there 
 could be no doubt, for from time to time a 
 glance was cast at the hands of a watch which 
 was laid upon the table with its face upwards. 
 
 At last the Benedictine monk, after looking 
 at it, rose suddenly, and said : " My children, 
 let us pray !" And all knelt down while he, who 
 had been the friend of Jean du Temps' children, 
 and was imbued with some of those enlightened 
 views which, at a few periods of French history, 
 insinuated themselves into the hearts even of 
 those who continued their allegiance to the 
 Romish Church, offered up a brief, earnest 
 prayer in their common tongue, for a blessing 
 on the undertaking before them.
 
 254 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 If beautiful music, magnificent architecture, 
 splendid decorations, and the faultless carrying 
 out of ceremonial worship, could do much to- 
 wards making a man pious, keeping him holy, 
 or preserving him from sin, what saints the 
 Popes of Rome would have been ! . . . . 
 
 After this remark, I shall not be misunder- 
 stood when I say, that the service of the mid- 
 night mass on the Vigil of the Nativity, as 
 carried out by the Church of Rome, is, in some 
 respects, one of the most imposing and effective 
 of religious ceremonies. 
 
 Those who have honestly asked themselves 
 what the utmost perfection of gorgeous ritual 
 and pageantry has accomplished in the spot 
 where it has reigned supreme for centuries, 
 and as honestly answered the question from the 
 pages of history, cannot be suspected of that 
 fatal mistake of expecting more from externals 
 than externals have ever had power to effect. 
 
 Measured at their right value, they ai'e, in- 
 deed, soothing and refreshing accessories to 
 devotion ; but (happily for us, if we trust too 
 much to them) while we are seeking to impress
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 255 
 
 the heart by turning our very confession of sin 
 into a melody, and elevating penitence itself 
 into a graceful and attractive act, God takes us 
 into His own hands, and leads us by a very 
 different road to Himself! Carries us up by His 
 Spirit into the wilderness of some bitter grief; 
 brings us face to face with the diseases that 
 infest the hovel; desolates us by that death 
 which reduces kings and beggars to one level ; 
 makes us for once, in our vain, contemptible 
 lives, forget or disregard appearances alto- 
 gether; and forces us, by the reality of a 
 misery which has penetrated marrow and 
 bones, to cry aloud in earnest (no matter in 
 what language, or how unmusically) for that 
 grace which alone can convert the soul. 
 
 Assuredly, I cannot be misunderstood now, 
 when I repeat that the service of the midnight 
 mass on Christmas-eve is a most impressive 
 spectacle. The solemn hour at which it is held 
 — the torch-light — the procession of richly-clad 
 priests — the rolling magnificence of the music 
 — the wafted incense — the conffreaation burst- 
 ing forth into the noble hymn " Adeste fidelcs "
 
 256 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 — coupled with the thought of what it is that 
 is thus commemorated — render those houi's the 
 most interesting, perhaps, in the whole year. 
 
 Shutting our eyes resolutely to any painted 
 image of the lowly Mother of our Lord, decked 
 out in fine silk dresses and earthly jewels, as 
 also to the little doll-like Christ-child, so evi- 
 dently fresh from the toy-shop, and looking so 
 silly in its bed of artificial flowers, we can with 
 pleasure give ourselves up to the devotional 
 emotions produced by rites otherwise so well 
 carried out, and made so delightful by the 
 attractions of sights and sounds. 
 
 In an obscure corner of the royal abbey of 
 the Magdalene, at Chateaudun, on the Christ- 
 mas-eve of our tale, there stood, for a brief 
 period, the figure of a young and noble-looking 
 youth, watching, with eager interest, the pre- 
 parations for the service of the midnight mass. 
 
 He had carefully placed himself in a position 
 where no light from the torches of those busied 
 about the chapel could be thrown on his face, 
 nor did anyone remark him, when, after falling 
 on his knees in a sort of irresolute agony for a
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 257 
 
 few seconds, he rushed out of the sacred building 
 as if pursued. 
 
 Half an hour afterwards he was in company 
 with the astrologer Gentili, and, laden with 
 pickaxe and torch, was stumbling down the 
 craggy entrance that led into the subterranean 
 gulf; for the young man was Claude Genest. 
 
 The treasure-seekers did not waste many 
 words upon each other at first. The road was 
 rough and slippery, and there was that in each 
 of their hearts towards the other which did not 
 encourage friendly intercourse. 
 
 But at last Claude Genest, who was fore- 
 most, stopped short. " Here is wet at the 
 bottom of the vault in some places, Gentili," 
 observed he. " Is there a more equable tem- 
 perature in these depths than in the outer air, 
 so that the frost is less severe ? " 
 
 Gentili went gloomily on, considerably puz- 
 zled for an answer. He suggested, however, 
 that he had fancied the cold not quite so intense 
 outside as it had been of late, but it was pos- 
 sible Mr. Genest's suggestion might be correct. 
 The real truth was, that Signer Gentili's head 
 
 s
 
 258 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 was too full of other matters for him to be 
 troubling himself about the wet at the bottom 
 of The Gulf! 
 
 The nearer he approached the decisive mo- 
 ment, wlien he must break loose from his dupe 
 the more perplexed he became. The conscious- 
 ness of guilt is no great strengthener of the 
 nerves ; and although he had felt tolerably 
 satisfied when he had mentally measured his 
 bodily strength with Claude's in his own little 
 parlour, that confidence had failed more than 
 once of late ; and especially since Claude's 
 obstinacy had displayed an unsuspected phase 
 of character in him. 
 
 What, if this, in some respects, soft-headed 
 youth, should, nevertheless, in a moment of 
 emergency, and when roused up by a sense of 
 having been wronged, turn upon him like an 
 irritated lion on its prey ? 
 
 Well, well ! Gentili settled within himself, 
 that when once the money was in his grasp, 
 he must sneak, not fight himself, away. 
 
 On they proceeded for some time, and until 
 Gentili saw in the distance, by a gleam of
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 259 
 
 moonlight which struck down into the vaults 
 from above, that they were approaching the 
 chasm which opened into The Gulf from the 
 garden of the Franciscan friars. 
 
 " There ! " exclaimed he, " down that open- 
 ing, in compliance with your wishes, hangs the 
 bell that is to warn us of the sacred moment 
 proposed by your Bonneval legend ! Great is 
 your faith, young man, and great was the pay 
 demanded by the young rascal whom I have 
 hired to warn us of the appointed hour. That, 
 however," added he, somewhat surlily, " I 
 must leave to you to settle ! " 
 
 Claude Genest laughed that strange unac- 
 countable laugh of his, at this announcement 
 from Gentili, adding, that he would pay him 
 twice over if he proved true to his office, and 
 rang the bell that hung suspended from the 
 chasm into the vaults, as long as the mysterious 
 period of discovery lasted. 
 
 Another silence followed, till Claude, an- 
 noyed by stumbling in the wet, proposed that 
 they should climb on some of those ledges of 
 rock, which, on one side of The Gulf, formed a
 
 260 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 series of two or three pathways of different 
 heights — the other side being a precipitous cliff. 
 
 Gentili made no opposition, but followed as 
 before, while Claude clambered up to the 
 highest ledge, which scarcely admitted room 
 for his standing upright ; descending, therefore, 
 to the one immediately below, he skirted along 
 it for a time, and till they were nearly opposite 
 the chasm before described. Here the subter- 
 ranean vault branched off for a considerable 
 distance, sideways, so that there was a choice 
 of roads for the treasure-seekers. Either they 
 could turn along the side branch, or pursue 
 their way onwards, beyond the chasm, towards 
 the further extremity of the cavern. 
 
 " Now, Gentili, for your skill ! " exclaimed 
 Claude, turning round to his companion. " Is 
 it onwards, or sideways, we must go ? Surely, 
 by this time, you must have some notion of the 
 spot!" 
 
 Gentili had difficulty in not betraying his 
 embarrassment, and would almost have sacri- 
 ficed the money in prospect, to be out of this 
 detestable and perplexing mess. Rallying him-
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 261 
 
 self, and assuming, as well as he could, his 
 dictatorial manner, however, he stretched out 
 his arm towards the side branch of the vault, 
 and shouted, " Yonder, yonder, yonder !" as if 
 a sudden inspiration had seized him. Then, 
 pressing forward, he took the lead himself, and 
 hurried on. As they proceeded they could 
 perceive, by holding their torches aloft, that 
 the deep side-vault was terminated by a circular 
 wall of rocks, broken into a thousand fantastic 
 shapes. On reaching this, Gentili selected a 
 small platform for a sort of resting-place, and 
 showed signs of commencing his necromantic 
 operations, for which, in case of need, he had 
 taken care to provide himself with ample means. 
 Drawing from his breast the parchment on 
 which was elaborated a horary question re- 
 specting the discovery of the treasure, and pro- 
 ducing a compass from his pocket, he informed 
 Claude that, the ascending sign being Taurus, 
 it was absolutely essential that their search 
 should be south and by east, which was, as he 
 pointed out, the direction in which they now 
 stood.
 
 262 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 He had a volume to refer to, in corroboration 
 of tiiis assertion, and took infinite trouble to 
 place the whole matter before Claude, that he 
 might be satisfied of the rules under which 
 they were working ; and Claude, who was be- 
 coming a little distracted between his confidence 
 in the dicta of the legend, and the science of 
 Gentili, examined the astrological figure and 
 the references with the most interested atten- 
 tion, as if resolved to arrive at the truth. 
 
 All was clearly as Gentili said; and this, 
 therefore, and no other, was the direction in 
 which they must search. 
 
 " Now then," pursued the astrologer, (who 
 was beginning to wonder when the bell would 
 ring, and what he must do when it did,) " ob- 
 serve here, my son : — Jupiter in the fourth 
 house, and in trine aspect to the sun : — a sign, 
 beyond contradiction, that the treasure found 
 will be in part, at least, gold. Here also, in 
 this other place, you may notice the planet 
 Mercury himself, whose sextile aspect with 
 Jupiter betokens jewels also, and other rich 
 effects."
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 263 
 
 A great deal more such stuff as tins he dealt 
 out to Claude, proving also, in a manner which 
 certainly did not admit of counter-proof, that 
 t/iis was the spot, and that the hour was close 
 at hand when the secret would be made known, 
 and the vast hoards of wealth secreted by Ro- 
 bert de Blois placed in the hands of his for- 
 tunate descendant. 
 
 Muttering some unintelligible words, he now 
 drew figures on the rock with his divining rod; 
 and then, taking up the pickaxe, struck several 
 heavy blows on the stone, ordering Claude to 
 do the same. 
 
 Of this, however, and of the noise which 
 ensued, echoed as it was around, Claude grew 
 weary, and spared his blows, that he might the 
 more readily catch the first sounds of the bell, 
 on which, every now and then, he felt more 
 inclined to depend than on Gentili's necro- 
 mantic powers. 
 
 Gentili, meanwhile, excited and uneasy, 
 plunged into the cant of his trade, and shouted 
 out certain incantations of spirits, which he 
 knew by rote, as confidently as if he believed
 
 204 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 that " Bokim," or some other of the evil ones, 
 whom he invokeil, could, in reality, come to 
 his assistance ; and, observing the agitation 
 into which these cries threw Claude, he men- 
 tally determined to pursue that line yet further; 
 involve his victim in a confusion of terror, and 
 take advantage of it to obtain his money, and 
 then escape from the place. 
 
 The idea was an admirable one ; and, as the 
 rascally old astrologer had brought with him 
 gums, incense, and other ingredients for fumi- 
 gation, he now described with them a sort of 
 magic circle around Claude, and setting fire to 
 them, recommenced his outcries for spiritual 
 assistance, striking the rocks, from time to 
 time, to increase the uproar. 
 
 Claude, half stifled by the fumes, stood in 
 the midst of the circle as if paralyzed ; follow- 
 ing Gentili's gestures with his eyes, and listen- 
 ing to his incantations, till he trembled from 
 head to foot. 
 
 Watching this moment with eyes of greedy 
 delight, Gentili burst through the circle, and 
 seized Claude violently ))v the arm. 
 
 i
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 265 
 
 " By the mysteries of the deep !" he shouted ; 
 " by the flames of Banal ! by the power of the 
 east, and the silence of the night ! by the holy 
 rites of Hecate ! — yonder, yonder, yonder, is 
 the treasure ! " 
 
 As he spoke he touched a mass of rock with 
 the divining-rod. 
 
 " And now," added he, " for the sacrifice ! 
 The coin, the base coin — in exchange for the 
 fortune of a king ! " 
 
 He waved his rod over Claude's head, who 
 was fast becoming giddy; and who now me- 
 chanically emptied his pockets of that large 
 sum of money which he had obtained from his 
 mother's property. The astrologer seized it, 
 but with perhaps almost too great a show of 
 avidity ; for while looking stealthily round, as 
 if to take advantage of the next moment for 
 flight, he found himself, very unexpectedly, in 
 the grasp of Claude. 
 
 " Take up your pickaxe ! " exclaimed the 
 young man, with a sudden, sober determination 
 of manner which startled his companion. 
 
 *' Take up your pickaxe, and lay the first
 
 266 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 stroke on the magical spot yourself; you said a 
 very slight effort would remove the stone that 
 hid the entrance." 
 
 " There is a spirit in the way," muttered 
 Gentili, between his teeth, " whom your stepping 
 from the circle has disturbed !" 
 
 " Exorcise him back to hell, then !" exclaimed 
 Claude, indignantly ; " you have my money, 
 Gentili, and more than ever was mine ! Strike 
 the first blow for the recovery of my fortunes, 
 or I will send you after those you have in- 
 voked !" 
 
 Gentili, execrating Claude's strength of grasp, 
 and still more his outbreak of passion, to the 
 bottom of his heart, took up the pickaxe as de- 
 sired, and struck a heavy blow on the rock ; 
 while Claude stood by, with his own pickaxe 
 raised aloft in the air ; and, had it not been for 
 this, there is no saying in what direction the 
 astrologer might not have struck the second 
 time. Time and opportunity make other villains 
 besides thieves, and on this occasion it was 
 possible that Gentili might, in his despair, have 
 added murder to a long catalogue of crimes.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 2G7 
 
 But the treasure-seekers were here suddenly- 
 interrupted ; for all at once a sound, loud and 
 appalling as the prolonged roar of artillery, or 
 the crash of thunder when it breaks over the 
 traveller's head as if the heavens above him 
 had opened, was heard through The Gulf. 
 
 " The fiends have answered you ! " cried 
 Claude at once ; " the Lord deliver me from 
 them, and you, and from this hour of horror !" 
 
 With these words he sank on his knees, and 
 wrung his hands in despair. 
 
 " Impotent fool !" shouted the astrologer, as 
 he caught up his torch, and rushed along the 
 side-vault, under some faint suspicion of the 
 terrible truth, which burst upon him when he 
 reached the corner whence they had turned 
 aside. 
 
 All along the hollow bottom of The Gulf 
 which they had traversed so securely before, 
 there poured now a torrent of water, which no 
 human power could contend against, and which, 
 swelling, as if by magic, in its course, threat- 
 ened soon to deluge every inch of the cavern in 
 which they were thus miserably caught. A
 
 2G8 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 sudden thaw had taken place, and the river 
 had come down in irresistible floods ! 
 
 Gentili's outcry, when he first took in the 
 full sense of the danger, and saw that escape 
 was impossible, was an absolute shriek of agony ; 
 and it was answered by an exclamation of 
 despair from Claude, who had followed him 
 and just reached his side. " Merciful heaven ! 
 the river ! we are lost ! " cried he. 
 
 Gentili turned at the sound, and, throwing 
 Ills torch on the upper ledge, seized on Claude 
 by the neck, and, in the madness of his half- 
 delirious wrath, strove to hurl him to the ground. 
 
 " Fool ! unutterable fool! dupe! dog! this is 
 your doing !" he muttered, as, half breathless, 
 he struggled with the young man, who, power- 
 ful from his youth, was, however, more than a 
 match for him. 
 
 He had had the advantage, it is true, in the 
 onset, by the suddenness of his attack ; but 
 Claude, who seemed just now to be awaking 
 out of the dream of a lifetime, succeeded at last 
 in extricating his throat from Gentili's clutch, 
 and then the day was his OAvn.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 269 
 
 With his hand again upon the astrologer's 
 arm, he held him tightly pressed against the 
 rock, and pointed with the torch in the other, to 
 the rapidly increasing waters. 
 
 " We are doomed, old man," cried he, in 
 tones which had acquired depth and intensity 
 from their despair ; " we are doomed ! what is 
 there left to fight about ? if I am dupe and fool, 
 what are you but villain and deceiver ? We are 
 like the thieves in the Gospel. We are suffering 
 justly and for our sins. Shout Amen to the 
 confession, liar and cheat as you are, before 
 you die ! " 
 
 Gentili struggled and gnashed his teeth, glar- 
 ing at Claude with an eye that was ferocious in 
 its hate. Even in the extremity of his own 
 danger, Claude was appalled by this revelation 
 of the character of the man in whom he had 
 trusted. 
 
 He let go his arm ; but as soon as it was free, 
 Gentili thrust it into his bosom, and, when he 
 drew it out again, Claude saw the glai*e of his 
 torch fall on the steel of a dagger. 
 
 Instantaneously the young man had backed
 
 270 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 a couple of paces, and levelled a pistol at the 
 astrologer's head. 
 
 Gentili gave a yell of disappointed rage, and 
 flung his dagger into the torrent. 
 
 " Climb to the upper ledge, old man," said 
 Claude, with unnatural calmness, when he ob- 
 served that the waters were washing over their 
 feet. " It is justly and for our sins that we are 
 suffering here ! Justly and for our sins ! " he 
 kept murmuring as the astrologer obeyed his 
 suggestion, and he himself followed after. 
 
 "Will you not pray, Gentili?" continued 
 Claude. " Will you die like a beast ?" 
 
 The astrologer, as he sat crouched on the 
 ledge opposite Claude, who still kept the pistol 
 in his hand, answered by a volley of impreca- 
 tions, which made the young man's blood run 
 cold in his veins. 
 
 Accusing Claude of being the cause of their 
 horrible end, by his immeasurable folly in 
 crediting any man's pretensions to supernatural 
 power, and avowing unscrupulously his own 
 motive for the deceptions he had practised, the 
 astrologer flung all the responsibility and blame
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 271 
 
 in Claude's teeth, and loaded him with curses 
 and abuse. 
 
 In an agony of heart, which arose far more 
 from the retrospect of a misguided life, termin- 
 ating in such a manner, in such a pursuit, at 
 such a moment, and with such a man, than 
 from any cowardly fear of death, Claude 
 Genest, shutting his ears as well as he could to 
 the blasphemies and reproaches of his compa- 
 nion, strove to pray for them both. 
 
 At this moment the ringing of the bell, which 
 hung suspended down the chasm, and which 
 was to have been the signal for the commence- 
 ment of the treasure-seeking, was heard dis- 
 tinctly through the tumult of the rushing water; 
 and immediately afterwards a voice was distin- 
 guished, distant as it was. 
 
 " Claude Genest, pray and hope ! Claude 
 Genest, pray and hope ! " was repeated again 
 and again. 
 
 " There is life yonder," shouted the astro- 
 loger; and, wild to be the first to take ad- 
 vantage of what seemed some profFerred means 
 of escape, he sprang from the ledge into the
 
 272 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 water, before the no less startled Claude had 
 time to observe or prevent his intention. 
 
 He hoped (although no swimmer) to get 
 across the stream, and reach the bell, which 
 was suspended by a rope ; under some indefinite 
 idea of being drawn up by the speaker above. 
 And, for the narrow space across the bed of the 
 vault, he did indeed contrive to keep himself 
 afloat, and, by gaining a momentary footing on 
 the broken rock-work on the opposite side of 
 The Gulf, he was enabled to make one spring 
 at the bell. 
 
 But the rope to which it was attached being 
 very slightly secured above, gave way at once 
 with his heavy weight, and rope, bell, and 
 astrologer fell back into the torrent together ! 
 
 Such was the miserable end of Signer Gen- 
 tili ; for whether it was that his body was kept 
 down by the heavy bags of silver, in which 
 Claude's payment to him had been made, or 
 that he got entangled with bell-rope and bell, 
 certain it is that from that gloomy cavern-bed 
 he rose no more. 
 
 Claude, meanwhile, had called after his
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 273 
 
 wretched companion, in horror at his mad at- 
 tempt. He stretched the necromantic pole 
 after him into the darkness, promising him 
 every help he could give, but in vain. And 
 when no answer was returned, and no sound 
 came to his ear, but the continued flow of the 
 river, the young man ceased from further efforts ; 
 and, sitting down once more on the upper ledge 
 of rock, in a spot Avhich faced towards the en- 
 trance of The Gulf, he strove to prepare himself 
 for that death which seemed to be inevitable, in 
 spite of the words which had followed the 
 ringing of the bell. 
 
 Of them more than one solution offered itself 
 to his thoughts. They had indeed, perhaps, 
 indicated help, of which the astrologer had by 
 this time availed himself; but the heart of 
 Claude Genest had ceased to i-ebel, and he 
 murmured to himself the bitter reflection, that 
 such a man as Gentili was even less prepared 
 for death than himself. 
 
 But, might not those words have been a 
 supernatural announcement, permitted in mercy, 
 to throw a gleam of comfort round the dying 
 
 T
 
 274 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 in the parting hour? Ay! perhaps even for 
 him, who had, in this eleventh hour of a wasted 
 life, tried to pray, there might be hope in the 
 boundless mercy of the Most High ! 
 
 Or perhaps, — alas and alas ! — those sounds 
 migrht have been but the hallucination of an 
 over-excited brain ! Either from the unnatural 
 compression of the air, owing to the sudden 
 access of water into those pent-up vaults, or 
 from mere mental emotion, Claude began to 
 feel that everything around him, and all that 
 was happening, was taking the sensation of a 
 dream. 
 
 The past and present, too, seemed to be 
 blending into each other, in a strange and in- 
 comprehensible manner. His weeping, remon- 
 strating mother at Bonneval was as vividly 
 before him now, as the astrologer had been on 
 the ledge of rock but a few minutes ago. 
 Adrian's expostulations were sounding in his 
 ears, mingled with the death-boding rush of the 
 water ; and Mathilde's gentle counsels, earnest 
 love, and sweet unforgotten smile, returned 
 upon him, with all the freshness of present
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 275 
 
 reality, though bitterly mixed with a sense of 
 having done wrong to her and all — ay, all ! 
 
 A squandered lifetime ; a love which he had 
 thrown cruelly back on itself, though he had 
 never ceased to prize it : a mother insulted and 
 driven to poverty : a brother vilified and exiled 
 from home : oh ! what could be the stake for 
 which he had thrown away so much possible 
 happiness, and done so much actual evil ? 
 
 — Verily, the honour, and glory, and comfort, 
 and joy of a life of vain pretence ! — 
 
 " Justly and for our sins !" were the words 
 that, from time to time, broke from the wretched 
 Claude, as these visions of his past life pressed 
 more and more on his brain, while the waters 
 swelled higher and higher. Even the upper- 
 most ledge could not protect him much longer, 
 and there was no outlet, no hope ; for against 
 the heavy torrent that set along the vault no 
 unpractised limbs could struggle. 
 
 With a last heart-wrung ejaculation for mercy, 
 he covered up his face with his hands, and bent 
 it down on his knees. 
 
 At that instant a bell from the chasm sounded
 
 276 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 again, and the voice said : " Claude Genest, 
 hope and pray ! " 
 
 Claude started up, but only to sink down 
 again the next moment. " I am mad!" was 
 his terrible cry ; yet he stared before him with 
 all the energy of a rational man. 
 
 For in the distance, towards the entrance of 
 the vault, a bright light seemed suddenly to be 
 spreading over water and rock. Oh, those 
 maddening visions ! Claude pressed his hand 
 to his brow, as if to dispel them by an effort of 
 mind ; but in vain ! 
 
 In the midst of the light which appeared to 
 illuminate the scene, as if with the blaze of 
 torches, a boat seemed swiftly approaching 
 through the cavern. Nearer, rapidly nearer, 
 borne on by the torrent, it came. Now one 
 crag, now another, as it dashed along, caught 
 the gleam of the lights it carried ; and in it 
 human forms could be distinguished ; and, 
 among those human forms — oh, misery ! what 
 could it be but a vision? — there appeared those 
 dear ones who had haunted the last remorseful 
 reflections of Claude Genest !
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 277 
 
 He gazed, till sight seemed deserting his eyes, 
 and hearing to forsake him. 
 
 " My brother ! Mathilde ! " he strove to 
 articulate, but his tongue refused its office. 
 
 He stretched out his languid arms to the 
 vision, and — mockery beyond all other ! — Ma- 
 thilde herself seemed to rise in the boat, and 
 stretch out her own to him in answer. 
 
 " She is dead, and has come to take me to 
 mercy !" was Claude's last conscious thought. 
 
 The perils of the night could not be consi- 
 dered as really over until the adventurous little 
 boat-party, who had so happily succeeded in 
 rescuing the insensible Claude, had made the 
 ascent of the chasm in safety, by means of a 
 small litter, let down by ropes, the management 
 of which was entrusted to the Benedictine 
 monk, and the friendly assistance he might 
 obtain from the Franciscan friars. 
 
 It was a well-devised plan, however — thanks 
 to Zamet's ingenuity ; and being -vvell-conducted
 
 278 THE TREASURE-SEEKER, 
 
 by Father Ulric, and well-supported by his 
 friends in the monastery, it proved successful. 
 
 Yet the party below, who knew that their 
 very lives depended on the care and skill of 
 those in the garden, might well be excused in 
 feeling some little anxiety, when, after having 
 drifted down the stream to the chasm, they 
 reached the spot destined for the experiment. 
 
 Zamet insisted on being the first to test the 
 safety of the contrivance, and prepared himself 
 to do so, while the notary steadied the boat 
 against the current (the violence of which was 
 subsiding), by using his oar as a pole, and 
 Adrian watched for a favouring projection of 
 rock, which he might lay hold of, thereby to 
 retain the boat in its proper position. 
 
 Meanwhile, Claude lay on the clothing pro- 
 vided by Mathilde's care, totally unconscious 
 of all that was passing, even though Mathilde 
 was trying to chafe his cold hands into warmth 
 between her own, and although many a tear 
 fell from her eyes upon his pallid face. 
 
 He had been found still sitting on the rock, 
 when the boat reached the spot ; still straining
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 279 
 
 liis eyes after the supposed vision ; but he had 
 neither spoken nor moved since. 
 
 Mathilde was satisfied, however, when, after 
 he had been lifted down to her by the notary 
 and Adrian, she observed his weary eyes close. 
 She trusted to time, and the strength of youth, 
 to restore him further. 
 
 For the astrologer they had called in vain, 
 and had finally given him up in despair. 
 
 A few hailing shouts to those above were 
 quickly answered with hearty delight; the 
 litter was carefully let down, and in a few 
 minutes more Zamet was ascending, slowly but 
 securely, through the air. 
 
 The experiment having been successful, no 
 further fears were entertained ; and Claude and 
 Mathilde were in succession received to the 
 welcome greetings of their friends in the garden. 
 
 While their transit was accomplishing, the 
 notary, who was still paddling against the 
 stream with his oar, suddenly struck against 
 something, which gave way under his touch. 
 
 " Adrian Genest ! " cried he, hastily, " change 
 places, and strike here ! "
 
 280 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 Adrian complied ; and he, too, struck against 
 a substance below. 
 
 " The astrologer's body!" was his involun- 
 tary exclamation ; and he at once proceeded, 
 by dint of repeated efforts, to haul up from the 
 bed of the vault, what proved, indeed, to be 
 the dead body of Gentili. 
 
 Laden with money, entangled with bell-rope 
 and bell, there had been no chance for the 
 wretched man when he once went down, and 
 he had perished without a word or a struggle. 
 
 "Christian burial!" observed the notary, 
 with the utmost composure, as he arranged the 
 corpse for the litter. " It is permitted to man 
 to punish in this world, but never to judge for 
 the next, Mr. Genest. Do you agree with me?" 
 
 " To the uttermost," answered Adrian, who 
 had not beheld, unmoved, the inanimate form 
 of the man who had perished in an adventure in 
 which his brother was equally implicated. " If 
 our guilt is measured by our opportunities, (and 
 what else can measure it ?) many of the first in 
 their own estimation will be last hereafter." 
 
 " Ay, ay ! " continued the notary, warmly.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 281 
 
 " If the mifjlitv works which have been done 
 in some cases, had been done here also — who 
 knows but what this man might have repented, 
 long ago, in sackcloth and ashes ? However, 
 it befits us best to deal only with generals, Mr. 
 Genest ! Such men as these have learning, 
 which is a double curse to them. Here lies 
 one strangled, as it were, with ill-gotten gold. 
 Your brother's silver has been the ruin of his 
 body — of his soul let us say nothing. Cover 
 him up, Adrian ; the litter is descending." 
 
 " Judge leniently of those who have not 
 been guided aright in their youth, M. de Tes- 
 sier ! " cried Adrian, as the notary was lifting 
 the corpse upon the litter, and preparing to 
 accompany it himself; for Adrian had insisted 
 on being the last to leave the spot which had 
 so nearly proved the grave of his brother. 
 
 " Who has greater reason to do so than I 
 have?" cried the notary, as the litter began to 
 ascend; and he added, while yet within hear- 
 ing, " Mr. Genest, I know what you mean, 
 and feel as you would wish ! " 
 
 Adrian was, indeed, endeavouring to claim,
 
 282 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 at the hands of Mathilcle's father, a merciful 
 consideration for the errors of his brother. 
 
 Awkward as it was for the last of the party 
 to spring into the litter unassisted, Adrian's 
 agility easily surmounted the difficulty, and the 
 whole party were soon housed under the roof 
 of the Franciscan monastery. Nor lev the 
 reader be startled at this fact, for it does not 
 stand alone. 
 
 There was once a noble English gentlewoman 
 who left her home, during the Peninsular war, 
 to join her husband, whom she had heard of as 
 ill and wounded in Spain. She underwent 
 several perilous adventures, and saw some 
 strange sights. On one occasion she crept 
 under the legs of her husband's horse while the 
 regiment was crossing a bridge of boats, in 
 order to escape observation, for the women had 
 been forbidden to pass ; and it is said that the 
 great Duke turned as blind an eye as Lord 
 Nelson's, to the romantic and daring action. 
 At another time she watched a battle from an 
 eminence, and saw, or thought she saw, her 
 husband's grey horse struggling in the fight. 
 
 1
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 283 
 
 But there was one particular occasion, on 
 which this dauntless lady arrived at night at the 
 gates of a Spanish monastery, with her husband 
 and cousin, both wounded, and borne along by 
 two or three soldiers. 
 
 They knocked for admittance and help, which 
 were readily granted to the men ; but when the 
 old friars saw, by the flare of their lights, that 
 there was a lady of the party, they protested 
 against her entrance. She made known her 
 relationship, but in vain. Routine was in- 
 exorable. No woman could be admitted within 
 those gates. " Madam, the laws of our order 
 forbid it ! " cried they. 
 
 "Gentlemen, the laws of war allow it!" 
 was her answer, as with consummate dignity, 
 yet womanly gentleness, she stepped over the 
 threshold, and entered the forbidden abode. 
 
 Not another objection was made ; the deed 
 had been done, and cordiality never went be- 
 yond that which the English officer and his 
 ■wife met with in the monastery of Spanish 
 friars. 
 
 It was under some such pressure as this —
 
 284 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 that is, the perilous exigency of the case— that 
 the Franciscan monks were induced to include 
 Mathilde among the chilled and drenched night- 
 wanderers whom they now received under their 
 roof; and their medical skill was of no small 
 service to Claude, whose whole system had 
 received a violent shock, the result of which 
 could not at first be determined. Mathilde 
 herself was compelled to retire, and submit to a 
 wisely chosen treatment ; while the Benedictine 
 monk and Adrian watched, in turns, by the sick 
 man's bed. 
 
 Father Ulric was with his patient alone, when 
 the first symptoms of a return to consciousness 
 appeared, and him he recognized immediately ; 
 after a time connecting him, although at first 
 in a confused way, with the adventures of the 
 night, and making a thousand feverish inquiries 
 as to what had happened. A medicine adminis- 
 tered by the monk soothed by degrees his 
 excited state, and, after another hour or two's 
 rest, the clouds cleared away from his brain ; to 
 be succeeded only, however, by the most bitter 
 feelings of self-reproach and remorse.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 285 
 
 But the remorse led to repentance, and he 
 now, for the first time for many a long year, 
 opened his whole heart in genuine uncompro- 
 mising confession ; and afterwards heard from 
 the Benedictine monk the true history of his 
 almost miraculous rescue. 
 
 It is easy, comparatively, no doubt, to repent 
 on a bed of illness ; but it is not every one who 
 does it even there. Claude Genest, however, 
 did. Everything had conspired to impress him ; 
 and under such very remarkable circumstances 
 as those by which he had been surrounded, 
 during the previous four-and-twenty hours, it 
 was almost impossible that he should not receive 
 a lesson for life. 
 
 Of Mathilde he did not definitely speak ; but 
 Father Ulric discover/sd that he was aware of 
 her presence in the boat with his biother ; and 
 by and bye he requested to see them all. 
 
 It was a strange meeting. Claude was too 
 much overwhelmed to speak ; but when Adrian 
 and Mathilde approached his bed, he took a 
 hand of each of theirs between his own, and, 
 grasping them fervently together, bent his lips
 
 286 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 over them, as if in the act of invoking some 
 particular blessing. Mathilde involuntarily 
 drew back, and in the next instant the brothers 
 were in each other's arms. 
 
 And Claude, hanging on the neck of the 
 injured Adrian, who M-ept over him tears of the 
 most devoted affection, was conscious of no 
 emotions but those of the deepest contrition and 
 love ; no, not even although he believed, at that 
 moment, that his brother had become possessed 
 of the only treasure in the world whose value 
 he had never mistaken, though practically 
 he had rejected it — Mathilde's love ! Claude 
 Genest's repentance was certainly sincere ! 
 
 Hours passed on in which repose was again 
 enjoined, and in which the young man neither 
 spoke nor moved : but, during that period, 
 many a mental struggle took place, of which 
 record is only taken there, where the secrets of 
 all hearts are registered. 
 
 Mathilde and Adrian ! was it not his duty to 
 rejoice in their happiness? How better could 
 he make amends for his life of cruel self-wor- 
 ship ! His mother, too ! was there not an
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 287 
 
 obvious obligation there, for had he not to com- 
 pensate for the wanton ingratitude of the past ? 
 
 " Bitter," says the great Italian poet, " is the 
 ascent and descent of another man's stairs." 
 Bitterer still the steps by which we retrace the 
 pathways of sin ! 
 
 Evil suggestions represented to the troubled 
 youth the weary insipidity of such a life as re- 
 pentance must carry him back to at Bonneval. 
 There would be the talk of neighbours; the 
 contempt of nominal friends at Chateaudun ; 
 the painful sinking in position, pretension, ap- 
 pearance, everything ! 
 
 Had Claude Genest lent a favourable ear to 
 such considerations, all the controlling events of 
 the past night would have worked together for 
 him in vain. But he had passed through the 
 valley of the shadow of death ; and it was won- 
 derful by what a different standard he now 
 measured the value of the so-called pains and 
 pleasures of life. 
 
 " Father Ulric !" said he at last, when the 
 shades of another evening had darkened the 
 chamber.
 
 288 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 " I am here," answered the Benedictine monk, 
 approaching the pallet of Claude, and sitting 
 down by him. 
 
 " Tell them, as soon as you can. Father," said 
 Claude, " that they need not be troubled about 
 what I shall do hereafter, if I live. I have 
 but one wish. To return to Bonneval, and 
 work to repair the evil I have done. Leave 
 me the hope that I may, even yet, live to make 
 my mother's old age happy. For the rest, re- 
 member, that, as nothing now is mine, I must, 
 for the present at any rate, work as a servant, 
 rather than as a partner." 
 
 He paused to take breath, and Father Ulric 
 whispered words of comfort and approval, 
 which — oh, wonderful change ! — were accepted 
 by Claude with gratitude, instead of the con- 
 temptuous ridicule he would have felt so short 
 a time ago. Ere long he spoke again — 
 
 " Father, are Adrian and Mathilde yet mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 " My son !" exclaimed the Benedictine monk, 
 almost starting with surprise. But he con- 
 trolled himself instantlv, and answered calmly
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 289 
 
 to Claude's rei3etition of the question :— " They 
 are not." 
 
 " Let me confess to you/' pursued Claude, in 
 a low voice, and stretching out his arm till his 
 hand touched that of the monk, " I have had 
 but one real struggle since I was laid repenting 
 on this bed, and even that is over now, and I 
 am at peace. Stoop down to me, and listen." 
 Father Ulric bent down, and Claude proceeded: 
 
 " The giving up a life of folly and insincerity 
 is nothing; the return to the position I so 
 wrongly despised is nothing; the prospect of 
 labour and self-denial is nothing ; the contempt 
 and ridicule of the world is nothing : but there 
 was one thing Avhich I had prized at its right 
 value all through my vain career, and even 
 when I affected to despise it.— Mathilde's love ! 
 Father ! I own it too late, but it was woven 
 into my heart's core !" 
 
 Here Claude turned his head away from the 
 monk, and was silent for several seconds, but 
 presently he resumed in a low voice : — 
 
 " I guessed their love first when I saw them 
 together in the boat, and knew it was true when 
 
 u
 
 290 THE TRKASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 • 
 
 they came to me here. Most righteously have 
 I forfeited what T threw away as valueless ■when 
 possessed ! Righteous, too, is the judgment 
 which has given her to one so worthy of her. 
 And, Father ! hold me up that you may see 
 I am in earnest ! Father, I never loved my 
 hrother so fondlv in mv life as when I embraced 
 him, helieving him to be Mathilde's husband. 
 See how I am striving to test my own sincerity, 
 and — and — lay me down again I Pray for me, 
 that mv strength fail not." 
 
 Father Ulric laid his patient down ; but he 
 did not undeceive him. 
 
 Many days, nay weeks, elapsed before it was 
 considered safe to remove Claude Genest to his 
 home ; and during that time the notary, and 
 Mathilde, and even Adrian, returned to Bonne- 
 val ; for the Benedictine monk insisted on being 
 the one to nurse the rescued young man through 
 the feverish illness which followed the night of 
 excitement and terror. 
 
 Much could be effected, for soul as well as 
 body, he thought, in the days of languid re- 
 covery, and he was anxious, moreover, to gain
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 291 
 
 a little further insight into the character of one 
 for whose fate he had become deeply interested. 
 
 Happily, there appeared to be no backsliding 
 in Claude's good intentions, at any rate ; and 
 that was all that could be judged of for the 
 present. 
 
 Gradually as he recovered, too, he became 
 more and more impatient to get back to his 
 family and home ; where Adrian, having re- 
 stored the rescued money to the firm, and ex- 
 plained Claude's intentions to his mother, had 
 paved the way for a happy welcome and return, 
 
 " My son," said Father Ulric, when at last 
 the day and hour had come when he and 
 Claude had approached on foot within sight of 
 Bonneval, " I have something yet to reveal 
 to you." 
 
 Claude, whose thoughts had, at sight of the 
 place, gone back with painful self-reproach to 
 the recollection of his last evil journey there, 
 turned round with a saddened aspect to his 
 friend. 
 
 "You are troubled, Claude Genest!" cried 
 the monk, startled by a sudden apprehension.
 
 292 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 " For the past ; not for the jjresent, Father," 
 exclaimed Claude, earnestly. " My heart is 
 with them all already." 
 
 " Yet stay," continued the reassured monk ; 
 " I have purposely concealed something from 
 you : not undeceived you, that is to say, upon 
 a point very near your heart. Claude Genesl ! 
 I wished you to struggle manfully through the 
 hardest trial of life. Self-abnegation, and the 
 resignation of what is Justly dear. The lesson is 
 over now, and I trust has been learnt for ever." 
 
 " You speak in riddles," was Claude's answer, 
 as a half smile broke over his face. And, 
 in truth, with his own heart, full to overflowing, 
 he could not follow the train of thought in- 
 dicated by the good old monk. 
 
 Father Ulric smiled in return. " Well, then, 
 hear it in plain words. You are expecting to 
 meet to-night your brother Adrian and Ma- 
 thilde de Tessier. Do not be deceived about 
 them. They have never loved each other as 
 you supposed." 
 
 Claude stood motionless, and gasped fpr 
 breath.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 293 
 
 ** And tliey are not — " stammered lie. 
 
 " Married ? No, nor ever will be," replied 
 the monk. 
 
 A flash of joy passed for a moment over 
 Claude's face; but in the next, clouds of 
 wretchedness seemed to gather over it. 
 
 " Let me go back to Chateaudun," he ex- 
 claimed in a voice of unutterable distress ; " the 
 sins of my life lie heavy on me; but to see 
 Mathilde unfettered, and forbear to love her, is, 
 I think, more than I am able to go through." 
 
 Father Ulric made no answer; and after a 
 few seconds Claude had recovered his com- 
 posure. 
 
 *■" I have spoken nonsense and folly," he 
 murmured, in a subdued voice. " We can 
 bear anything we are called upon to bear, — by 
 submission ! Let us go on. Father." 
 
 And on they went. 
 
 That last trial was, however, spared to Claude 
 Genest. He had to work his way by patient 
 labour, it is true, to an honourable reputation 
 and respectable position ; and, in doing so, he 
 had to brave the ridicule of some, and the evil
 
 294 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 tongues of others, and, what was more difficult 
 still, to resist the pleadings of an indolence 
 which habit had made but too agreeable. But 
 through all these struggles he had never to 
 bewail any change of feeling in Mathilde de 
 Tessier. 
 
 Adrian returned at once to Blois, where his 
 prospects were too bright to be resigned ; and, 
 by so doing, he forced the control of the family 
 property into the hands of Claude, whose vigi- 
 lant management and earnest efforts, kept alive 
 as they were by a desire to repair the injuries 
 his folly had inflicted, availed, at last, to restore 
 prosperity to the house of Genest. 
 
 And one day (I will not say how long after- 
 wards) Adrian Genest came back, as a welcome 
 visitor to his mother's house, to be present at 
 the marriage of Claude with Mathilde ; a long 
 deferred, but at last permitted event. 
 
 He was sitting in his room in the evening, in 
 company with his old friend, and foster-brother, 
 Zamet Salviati ; and, as might be expected, 
 they were holding occasional discourse together. 
 
 " Monsieur ! " observed Zamet, at last, ♦* I
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 295 
 
 have been remarkably successful with your hair 
 this evening." 
 
 " So much the better," replied Adrian. " It 
 is an important occasion, remember ; and, al- 
 though my own lady-love is far away in the 
 noble town of Blois, I shall be glad not to 
 appear at this great family event in the character 
 of the ugly twin." 
 
 " Monsieur has too good a heart to be ugly," 
 remarked Zamet, with a smile. 
 
 " Flattery, Zamet, from one foster-brother to 
 another ? This is wasted trouble, indeed ! " 
 
 " Monsieur will learn, some day, that what 
 he calls flattery is, in reality, the truest phi- 
 losophy," returned Zamet. " There is always 
 a soul beyond the features, and this is a thousand 
 times more expressive than they are. Ah, Mr. 
 Adrian, there was no handsomeness about your 
 brother while his heart was clouded over by 
 folly, and that miserable Gentili was leading 
 him to evil ! But look. Monsieur; — this evening 
 reminds me of the one on which I dressed Mr. 
 Claude's hair at Chateaudun : — and what I want 
 to know is, did it never strike you that, after all.
 
 296 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 the legend of our native town was fully accom- 
 plished on that Christmas-eve?" 
 
 " Never ! how could it?" exclaimed Adrian, 
 really at a loss to imagine what Zamet could 
 possibly mean. 
 
 " Nevertheless, Monsieur, it is true. Your 
 brother found a treasure that night in the 
 vaults of Chateaudun, during the reading of 
 the midnight mass." 
 
 " Surely not," answered Adrian, somewhat 
 abstractedly. " The astrologer found the trea- 
 sure, perhaps — if ill-gotten wealth is a treasure 
 — and lost his life for his pains. But my bro- 
 ther—no ! " 
 
 " Not the treasure he was looking for, I 
 quite admit. Monsieur. We are all of us apt 
 to search for the wrong thing now and then ; 
 but sometimes, when we are looking for rubbish, 
 a real treasure is sent to us, whether we deserve 
 it or not." 
 
 " True enough, Zamet. You are philoso- 
 phizing now, at any rate, I see. But although 
 you and I may consider an altered mind a 
 treasure to one who has been misled, it will not
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 297 
 
 serve as an example of a fulfilled legend, I 
 fear." 
 
 " Monsieur has not caught my meaning, 
 even yet ! " exclaimed Zamet. " Mr. Claude 
 found a real, actual treasure in the vaults of 
 Chateaudun that night." 
 
 " Why, what ?" asked the puzzled Adrian. 
 
 " Madeinoiselle Mathilde /" answered Zamet, 
 with his most impressive bow. 
 
 ^1^'^'" 
 
 THE END. 
 
 CHANCERY LANE.
 
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