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THE 
 
 REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 
53p ttft same ©tutor. 
 
 Crown Svo, cloth, price os. 
 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 
 OP 
 
 MARK RUTHERFORD, 
 
 Dissenting Minister. 
 [Out of Print.) 
 
 Crovon Svo, cloth, price 5s. 
 
 MARK RUTHERFORD'S 
 
 DELIVERANCE: 
 
 Being the Second Part of his Autobiography, 
 
 LONDON : 
 TRUBNER & CO., LUDGATE HILL. 
 
C^jue^ 
 
 
 THE 
 
 REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 
 
 BY 
 
 MAKE EUTHEEFOED. ps^d 
 
 EDITED BY HIS FRIEND, 
 
 EEUBEN SHAPCOTT. 
 
 i J : 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 TRUBNER & CO., LUDGATE HILL. 
 
 1887. 
 
 [All rights reserved.} 
 
155 
 
 Co. $4 jfc> 
 
 "Battantvnc -£>re«3 
 
 PA1.LANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 "•/ 
 
 • • • •• 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. THE WORLD OUTSIDE 3 
 
 II. OUTSIDE PIKE STREET 2/ 
 
 III. THE THEATRE 41 
 
 IV. A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE 54. 
 
 V. THE HORIZON WIDENS 63 
 
 VI. TEA A LA MODE $2 
 
 VII. JEPHTHAH 94 
 
 VIII. UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE . . . ■ . 10S 
 
 IX. A STRAIN ON THE CABLE . . . . . 120 
 
 X. DISINTEGRATION BV DEGREES . . . .142 
 
 XL POLITICS AND PAULINE 1 57 
 
 XII. ONE BODY AND ONE SPIRIT 1 69 
 
 XIII. TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS . . . .176 
 
 XIV. THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY : THE SIXTH FORM 
 
 THEREOF I9S 
 
 XV. END OF THE BEGINNING 220 
 
 XVI. COWFOLD 230 
 
 XVII. WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF THY SLEEP? 
 
 YET A LITTLE SLEEP 25 1 
 
 XVIII. A RELIGIOUS PICNIC 262 
 
 XIX. "THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS LIKE UNTO 
 
 LEAVEN" 275 
 
 MQQQOQ 
 
Vlll 
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 XX. THE REVEREND THOMAS BROAD'S EXPOSITION 
 
 OF ROMANS VIII. 7 282 
 
 XXI. THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT .... 293 
 
 XXII. THE ORACLE WARNS— AFTER THE EVENT . . 299 
 
 XXIII. FURTHER DEVELOPMENT 312 
 
 XXIV. "I CAME NOT TO SEND PEACE, BUT A SWORD" 323 
 
 XXV. "AND A MAN'S FOES SHALL BE THEY OF HIS 
 
 OWN HOUSEHOLD" 348 
 
 XXVI. A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION . . . 361 
 
 XXVII. MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING— LATIMER 
 
 CHAPEL 374 
 
" Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum, 
 Tendimus in Latium ; sedes ubi fata quietas 
 Ostendunt. Illic fas regna resurgere Trojae. 
 Durate, et vosmet rebus servate secundis." 
 
 — Virgil. 
 
 " By diuers casis, sere parrellis and sufferance 
 Unto Itaill we ettill (aim) quhare destanye 
 Has schap (shaped) for vs ane rest and quiet harbrye 
 Fredestinatis thare Troye sail ryse agane. 
 Be stout on prosper fortoun to retnane." 
 
 — Gaicin Douglas's translation. 
 
THE . .,.,,, 
 
 REVOLUTION IN TAMER'S LANE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 
 
 The 20th April 1814, an almost cloudless, per- 
 fectly sunny day, saw all London astir. On that 
 dav Lewis the Eighteenth was to come from 
 Hartwell in triumph, summoned by France to the 
 throne of his ancestors. London had not enjoyed 
 too much gaiety that year. It was the year of 
 the great frost. Nothing like it had been known 
 in the memory of man. In the west of England, 
 where snow is rare, roads were impassable and 
 mails could not be delivered. Four dead men were 
 dug out of a deep drift about ten miles west of 
 Exeter. Even at Plymouth, close to the soft 
 south-western ocean, the average depth of the fall 
 was twenty inches, and there was no other way 
 
4 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 of getting eastwards than by pack-horses. The 
 Great North Eoad was completely blocked, and 
 there was a barricade over it near Godmanchester 
 of from six to ten feet high. The Oxford coach 
 was buried. Some passengers inside were rescued 
 wifcM great, difficulty, and their lives were barely 
 saved. The Solway Firth at Workington resembled 
 the Arctic Sea, and the Thames was so completely 
 frozen over between Blackfriars and London Bridges 
 that people were able, not only to walk across, 
 but to erect booths on the ice. Coals, of course, 
 rose to famine prices in London, as it was then 
 dependent solely upon water-carriage for its supply. 
 The Father of his people, the Prince Eegent, was 
 much moved by the general distress of " a large 
 and meritorious class of industrious persons," as he 
 called them, and issued a circular to all Lords 
 Lieutenant ordering them to provide all practi- 
 cable means for removing obstructions from the 
 highways. 
 
 However, on this 20th April the London mob 
 forgot the frost, forgot the quartern loaf and the 
 national debt, and turned out for a holiday, 
 inspired thereto, not so much by Lewis the 
 Eighteenth as by the warmth and brilliant sky. 
 There are two factors in all human bliss — an object 
 and the subject. The object may be a trifle, but 
 
THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 5 
 
 the condition of the subject is most important 
 Turn a man out with his digestion in perfect 
 order, with the spring in the air and in his veins, 
 and he will cheer anything, any Lewis, Lord 
 Liverpool, dog, cat, or rat who may cross his 
 path. Xot that this is intended as a sufficient 
 explanation of the Bourbon reception. Far from 
 it ; but it does mitigate it a trifle. At eleven 
 o'clock in the forenoon two troops of the Oxford 
 Blues drew up at Kilburn turnpike to await the 
 sacred arrival. The Prince Regent himself went 
 as far as Stanmore to meet his August Brother. 
 When the August Brother reached the village, the 
 excited inhabitants thereof took the horses out 
 of the carriage and drew him through the street. 
 The Prince, standing at the door of the principal 
 inn, was in readiness to salute him, and this he did 
 by embracing him ! There have been some remark- 
 able embraces in history. Joseph fell on Israel's 
 neck, and Israel said unto Joseph, " Now let me 
 die, since I have seen thy face : " Paul, after preach- 
 ing at Ephesus, calling the elders of the Church 
 to witness that, for the space of three years, he 
 ceased not to warn every one night and day 
 with tears, kneeled down and prayed, so that they 
 all wept sore and fell on his neck : Romeo took 
 a last embrace of Juliet in the vault, and sealed 
 
6 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 the doors of breath with. a righteous kiss: Penelope 
 embraced Ulysses, who was welcome to her as land 
 is welcome to shipwrecked swimmers escaping from 
 the grey sea-water — there have, we say, been some 
 remarkable embraces on this earth since time began, 
 but none more remarkable than that on the steps 
 of the Abercorn Arms. The Divine couple then 
 drove in solemn procession to town. From the Park 
 corner for three-quarters of a mile or so was a 
 line of private carriages, filled with most fashion- 
 able people, the ladies all standing on the seats. 
 The French royalist flag waved everywhere. All 
 along the Kilburn Eoad, then thinly lined with 
 houses, it was triumphant, and even the trees 
 were decorated with it. Arriving by way of Cum- 
 berland Gate at Piccadilly, Lewis was escorted, 
 amidst uproarious rejoicing, to Grillon's Hotel in 
 Albemarle Street. There, in reply to an address 
 from the Prince, he " ascribed, under Providence," 
 to His Eoyal Highness and the British people his 
 present blissful condition ; and soon afterwards, 
 being extremely tired, went to bed. This was 
 on a Wednesday. The next day, Thursday, his 
 Sacred Majesty, or Most Christian Majesty, as he 
 was then called, was solemnly made a Knight of 
 the Garter, the Bishops of Salisbury and Winchester 
 assisting. On Friday he received the Corporation 
 
THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 7 
 
 of London, and on Saturday the 23d he prepared 
 to take his departure. There was a great crowd 
 in the street when he came out of the hotel, and 
 immense applause ; the mob crying out, " God 
 bless your Majesty ! " as if they owed him all they 
 had, and even their lives. It was very touching, 
 people thought at the time, and so it was. Is 
 there anything more touching than the waste of 
 human loyalty and love ? As we read the history 
 of the Highlands or a story of Jacobite loyalty 
 such as that of Cooper's Admiral Bluewater, dear 
 to boys, we sadden that destiny should decree 
 that in a world in which piety is not too plentiful 
 it should run so pitifully to waste, and that men 
 and women should weep hot tears and break their 
 hearts over bran-stuffing and wax. 
 
 Amidst the hooray ing multitude that Saturday 
 April morning was one man at least, Zachariah 
 Coleman by name, who did not hooray, and did 
 not lift his hat even when the Sacred Majesty 
 appeared on the hotel steps. He was a smallish, 
 thin-faced, lean creature in workman's clothes ; 
 his complexion was white, blanched by office air, 
 and his hands were black with printer's ink. 
 
 " Off with your tile, you b — y Corsican ! " ex- 
 claimed a roaring voice behind him. Zachariah 
 turned round, and found the request came from 
 
8 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 a drayman weighing about eighteen stone ; but the 
 tile was not removed. In an instant it was sent 
 ilying to the other side of the road, where it was 
 trodden on, picked up, and passed forward in the air 
 amidst laughter and jeers, till it was finally lost. 
 
 Zachariah was not pugnacious, and could not 
 very well be so in the presence of his huge 
 antagonist ; but he was no coward, and not seeing 
 for the moment that his hat had hopelessly gone, 
 he turned round savagely, and laying hold of the 
 drayman, said — 
 
 " You ruffian, give it me back ; if I am a Corsican, 
 are you an Englishman ? " 
 
 " Take that for your b — y beaver," said the 
 other, and dealt him a blow with the list right in 
 his face, which staggered and stupefied him, cover- 
 ing him with blood. 
 
 The bystanders, observing the disparity between 
 the two men, instantly took Zachariah's side, and 
 called out " Shame, shame ! " Nor did they confine 
 themselves to ejaculations, for a young fellow of 
 about eight and twenty, well dressed, with a bottle- 
 green coat of broadcloth, buttoned close, stepped up 
 to the drayman. 
 
 " Knock my tile off, beer-barrel." 
 
 The drayman instantly responded by a clutch 
 at it, but before he could touch it he had an awful 
 
THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 9 
 
 cut across the lips, delivered with such scientific 
 accuracy from the left shoulder that it was clear 
 it came from a disciple of Jackson or Tom Cribb. 
 The crowd now became intensely delighted and 
 excited, and a cry of " A ring, a ring ! " was raised. 
 The drayman, blind with rage, let out with his 
 right arm with force enough to fell an ox, but the 
 stroke was most artistically parried, and the response 
 was another fearful gash over the right eye. By 
 this time the patriot had had enough, and declined 
 to continue the contest. His foe, too, seemed to 
 have no desire for any further display of his 
 powers, and retired smilingly, edging his way to the 
 pavement, where he found poor Zachariah almost 
 helpless. 
 
 " Hulloa, my republican friend, d — n it, that's 
 a nasty lick you've got, and from one of the people 
 too ; that makes it harder to bear, eh ? Never 
 mind, he's worse off than you are." 
 
 Zachariah thanked him as well as he could for 
 defending him. 
 
 " Not a word ; haven't got a scratch myself. 
 Come along with me ; " and he dragged him along 
 Piccadilly into a public-house in Swallow Street, 
 where apparently he was well known. Water was 
 called for ; Zachariah was sponged, the wound 
 strapped up, some brandy given him, and the 
 
io THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 stranger, ordering a hackney coach, told the driver 
 to take the gentleman home. 
 
 "Wait a bit," he called, as the coach drove off. 
 " You may feel faint ; I'll go home with you," and 
 in a moment he was by Zachariah's side. The 
 coach found its way slowly through the streets to 
 some lodgings in Clerkenwell. It was well the 
 stranger did go, for his companion on arrival was 
 hardly able to crawl upstairs or give a coherent 
 account to his wife of what had happened. 
 
 Zachariah Coleman, working man, printer, was 
 in April 1814 about thirty years old. He was 
 employed in a jobbing office in the city, where he 
 was compositor and pressman as well. He had 
 been married in January 1 8 1 4 to a woman a year 
 younger than himself, who attended the meeting- 
 house at Hackney, whither he went on the Sunday. 
 He was a Dissenter in religion, and a fierce Eadical 
 in politics, as many of the Dissenters in that day 
 were. He was not a ranter or revivalist, but what 
 was called a moderate Calvinist ; that is to say, 
 he held to Calvinism as his undoubted creed, but 
 when it came to the push in actual practice he 
 modified it. In this respect he was inconsistent; 
 but who is there who is not ? His theology 
 probably had no more gaps in it than that of the 
 latest and most enlightened preacher who denies 
 
THE WORLD OUTSIDE. n 
 
 miracles and affirms the Universal Benevolence. 
 His present biographer, from intimate acquaintance 
 with the class to which Zachariah belonged, takes 
 this opportunity to protest against the general as- 
 sumption that the Calvinists of that day, or of any 
 day, arrived at their belief by putting out their 
 eyes and accepting blindly the authority of St. Paul 
 or anybody else. It may be questioned, indeed, 
 whether any religious body has ever stood so dis- 
 tinctly upon the understanding, and has used its 
 intellect with such rigorous activity, as the Puritans 
 from whom Zachariah was a genuine descendant. 
 Even if Calvinism had been carved on tables of stone 
 and handed down from heaven by the Almighty 
 Hand, it w T ould not have lived if it had not been 
 found to agree more or less with the facts, and it was 
 because it was a deduction from what nobody can 
 help seeing that it was so vital, the Epistle to the 
 Romans serving as the inspired confirmation of an 
 experience. Zachariah was a great reader of all 
 kinds of books — a lover especially of Bunyan and 
 Milton ; as logical in his politics as in his religion ; 
 and he defended the execution of Charles the First 
 on the ground that the people had just as much 
 right to put a king to death as a judge had to order 
 the execution of any other criminal. 
 
 The courtship between Zachariah and the lady 
 
12 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 who became his "wife had been short, for there 
 could be no mistake, as they had known one another 
 so long. She was black-haired, with a perfectly 
 oval face, always dressed with the most scrupulous 
 neatness, and with a certain plain tightness which 
 Zachariah admired. She had exquisitely white and 
 perfect teeth, a pale, clear complexion, and the 
 reputation of being a most sensible woman. She 
 was not a beauty, but she was good-looking ; the 
 weak points in her face being her eyes, which 
 were mere inexpressive optic organs, and her mouth, 
 which, when shut, seemed too much shut, just as if 
 it were compressed by an effort of the will or by a 
 spring. These, however, Zachariah thought minor 
 matters, if, indeed, he ever noticed them. " The 
 great thing was, that she was " — sometimes this 
 and sometimes that — and so it was settled. Un- 
 fortunately in marriage it is so difficult to be sure 
 of what the great thing is, and what the little 
 thing is, the little thing becoming so frightfully big 
 afterwards ! Theologically, Mrs. Zachariah was as 
 strict as her husband, and more so, as far as out- 
 ward observance went, for her strictness was not 
 tempered by those secular interests which to him 
 were so dear. She read little or nothing- — nothing, 
 indeed, on week-days, and even the Morning 
 Chronicle, which Zachariah occasionally borrowed, 
 
THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 13 
 
 was folded up when he had done with it, and 
 put under the tea-caddy till it was returned. On 
 Sundays she took up a book in the afternoon, but 
 she carefully prepared herself for the operation as 
 though it were a sacramental service. When the 
 dinner-things were washed up, when the hearth 
 was swept and the kettle on the fire, having put 
 on her best Sunday dress, it was her custom to 
 go to the window 7 — always to the window, never to 
 the fire — where she would open Boston's Fourfold 
 State and hold it up in front of her with both 
 hands. This, however, did not last long, for on the 
 arrival of the milkman the volume was replaced, 
 and it was necessary to make preparations for tea. 
 
 The hackney coach drove up to the house in 
 Eosoman Street where Zachariah dwelt on the first 
 floor. He was too weak to go upstairs by himself, 
 and he and his friend therefore walked into the 
 front room together. It was in complete order, 
 although it was so early in the morning. Everything 
 was dusted ; even the lower fire-bar had not a speck 
 of ashes on it, and on the hob already was a sauce- 
 pan in which Mrs. Coleman proposed to cook the 
 one o'clock dinner. On the wall were portraits of 
 Sir Francis Burdett, Major Cartwright, and the 
 mezzotint engraving of Sadler's Bunvan. Two black 
 silhouettes — one of Zachariah and the other of his 
 
i 4 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 wife — were suspended on each side of the mantel- 
 piece. 
 
 Mrs. Coleman was busily engaged in the bedroom, 
 but hearing the footsteps, she immediately entered. 
 She was slightly taken aback at seeing Zachariah in 
 such a plight, and uttered a little scream, but the 
 bottle-green stranger, making her a profound bow, 
 arrested her. 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear madam, there is nothing 
 seriously the matter. Your husband has had the 
 misfortune to be the victim of a most blackguardly 
 assault ; but I am sure that, under your care, he 
 will be all right in a day or two ; and, with your 
 permission, I take my leave." 
 
 Mrs. Coleman was irritated. The first emotion 
 was not sympathy. Absolutely the first was annoy- 
 ance at being seen without proper notice by such a 
 fine-looking gentleman. She had, however, no real 
 cause for vexation under this head. She had tied 
 a white handkerchief over her hair, fastening it 
 under her chin, as her manner was when doing her 
 morning's work, and she had on her white apron ; 
 but she was trim and faultless, and the white hand- 
 kerchief did but set off her black hair and marble 
 complexion. Her second emotion, too, was not sym- 
 pathy. Zachariah was at home at the wrong time. 
 Her ordinary household arrangements were upset. 
 
THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 15 
 
 He might possibly be ill, and then there would be 
 a mess and confusion. The thought of sickness was 
 intolerable to her, because it " put everything out." 
 Eising up at the back of these two emotions came, 
 haltingly, a third when she looked her husband in 
 the face. She could not help it, and she did really 
 pity him. 
 
 " I am sure it is very kind of you," she replied. 
 
 Zachariah had as yet spoken no word, nor had 
 she moved towards him. The stranger was de- 
 parting. 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Zachariah, " you have not told me 
 your name. I am too faint to say how much I 
 owe you for your protection and kindness." 
 
 " Nonsense. My name is Maitland — Major Mait- 
 land, 1 A Albany. Good-bye." 
 
 He was at the top of the stairs, when he turned 
 round, and looking at Mrs. Coleman, observed mus- 
 ingly, " I think I'll send my doctor, and, if you 
 will permit me, will call in a day or two." 
 
 She thanked him ; he took her hand, politely 
 pressed it to his lips, and rode off in the coach 
 which had been waiting for him. 
 
 " What has happened, my dear ? Tell me all about 
 it," she inquired as she went back into the parlour, 
 with just the least colour on her cheek, and per- 
 ceptibly a little happier than she was five minutes 
 
1 6 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 before. She did nothing more than put her hand 
 on his shoulder, but he brightened immediately. 
 He told her the tale, and when it was over desired 
 to lie down and to have some tea. 
 
 Emotion number two returned to Mrs. Coleman 
 immediately. Tea at that time, the things having 
 been all cleared away and washed up ! She did not, 
 however, like openly to object, but she did go so 
 far as to suggest that perhaps cold water would be 
 better, as there might be inflammation. Zachariah, 
 although he was accustomed to srive wav, bested 
 
 O O K ' CIO 
 
 for tea ; and it was made ready, but not with water 
 boiled there. She would not again put the copper 
 kettle on the fire, as it was just cleaned, but she 
 asked to be allowed to use that which belonged 
 to the neighbour downstairs who kept the shop. 
 The tea-things were replaced when Zachariah had 
 finished, and his wife returned to her duties, leav- 
 ing him sitting in the straight-backed Windsor- 
 chair, looking into the grate and feeling very 
 miserable. 
 
 In the afternoon Eosoman Street was startled to 
 see a grand carriage stop at Zachariah's door, and 
 out stepped the grand doctor, who, after some little 
 hesitation and inquiry, made his way upstairs. 
 Having examined our friend, he pronounced him 
 free from all mortal or even serious injury — it was 
 
THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 17 
 
 a case of contusion and shaken nerves, which 
 required a little alterative medicine, and on the 
 day after to-morrow the patient, although bruised 
 and sore in the mouth, might go back to work. 
 
 The next morning he was better, but neverthe- 
 less he was depressed. It was now three months 
 since his wedding-day, and the pomp and beauty of 
 the sunrise, gold and scarlet bars with intermediate 
 lakes of softest blue, had been obscured by leaden 
 clouds, which showed no break and let loose a cold 
 drizzling rain. How was it ? He often asked himself 
 that question, but could obtain no satisfactory answer. 
 Had anything changed ? Was his wife anything 
 which he did not know her to be three months a£jo ? 
 Certainly not. He could not accuse her of passing 
 herself off upon him with false pretences. What 
 she had always represented herself to be she was 
 now. There she stood, precisely as she stood twelve 
 months ago, when he asked her to become his 
 wife, and he thought when she said "yes" that no 
 man was more blessed than he. It was, he feared, 
 true he did not love her, nor she him ; but why 
 could not they have found that out before ? What 
 a cruel destiny was this which drew a veil before 
 his eyes and led him blindfold over the precipice ! 
 He at first thought, when his joy began to ebb 
 in February or March, that it would rise again, 
 
iS THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 and that lie would see matters in a different light ; 
 but the spring was here, and the tide had not 
 turned. It never would turn now, and he became 
 at last aware of the sad truth — the saddest a man 
 can know — that he had missed the great delight of 
 existence. His chance had come, and had gone. 
 Henceforth all that was said and suns; about love 
 and home would find no echo in him. He was 
 paralysed, dead in half of his soul, and would have 
 to exist with the other half as well he could. 
 He had done no wrong : he had done his best ; 
 he had not sold himself to the flesh or the devil, 
 and, Calvinist as he was, he was tempted at times 
 to question the justice of such a punishment. If 
 he put his finger in the fire and got burnt, he 
 was able to bow to the wisdom which taught him 
 in that plain way that he was not to put his finger 
 in the fire. But wherein lay the beneficence of 
 visiting a simple mistake — one which he could not 
 avoid — with a curse worse than the Jewish curse of 
 excommunication — "the anathema wherewith Joshua 
 cursed Jericho ; the curse which Elisha laid upon 
 the children ; all the curses which are written in 
 the law. Cursed be he by day, and cursed be he 
 by night: cursed be he in sleeping, and cursed be 
 he in waking : cursed in going out, and cursed in 
 coming in." Neither the wretched victim nor the 
 
THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 19 
 
 world at large was any better for such a visita- 
 tion, for it was neither remedial nor monitor}'. 
 Ah, so it is ! The murderer is hung at Newgate, 
 and if he himself is not improved by the process, 
 perhaps a few wicked people are frightened; but 
 men and women are put to a worse death every day 
 by slow strangulation which endures for a lifetime, 
 and, as far as we can see, no lesson is learned by 
 anybody, and no good is done. 
 
 Zachariah, however, did not give way to despair, 
 for he was not a man to despair. His religion was 
 a part of himself. He had immortality before him, 
 in which he thanked God there was no marrying 
 nor giving in marriage. This doctrine, however, 
 did not live in him as the other dogmas of his 
 creed, for it was not one in which his intellect had 
 such a share. On the other hand, predestination 
 was dear to him. God knew him as closely as He 
 knew the angel next His throne, and had marked 
 out his course with as much concern as that of the 
 seraph. What God's purposes were he did not know. 
 He took a sort of sullen pride in not knowing, and 
 he marched along, footsore and wounded, in obedi- 
 ence to the orders of his great Chief. Only thirty 
 years old, and only three months a husband, he had 
 already learned renunciation. There was to be no 
 joy in life ? Then he would be satisfied if it were 
 
20 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 tolerable, and lie strove to dismiss all his dreams 
 and do his best with what lay before him. Oh my 
 hero ! Perhaps somewhere or other — let us hope 
 it is true — a book is kept in which human worth 
 is duly appraised, and in that book, if such a 
 volume there be, we shall find that the divinest 
 heroism is not that of the man who, holding life 
 cheap, puts his back against a wall, and is shot 
 by Government soldiers, assured that he will live 
 ever afterwards as a martyr and saint : a diviner 
 heroism is that of the poor printer, who, in dingy, 
 smoky Eosoman Street, Clerkenwell, with forty years 
 before him, determined to live through them, as far 
 as he could, without a murmur, although there was 
 to be no pleasure in them. A diviner heroism is 
 this, but a shade diviner still, and divinest of all, is 
 that of him who can in these days do what Zachariah 
 did, and without Zachariah's faith. 
 
 The next evening, just as Zachariah and his wife 
 were sitting down to tea, there was a tap at the 
 door, and in walked Major Maitland. He was 
 now in full afternoon costume, and, if not dandyish, 
 was undeniably well dressed. Making a profound 
 bow to Mrs. Coleman, he advanced to the fireplace 
 and instantly shook hands with Zachariah. 
 
 "Well, my republican, you are better, although 
 the beery loyalist has left his mark upon you." 
 
THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 21 
 
 " Certainty, much better ; but where I should 
 have been, sir, if it had not been for you I don't 
 know." 
 
 " Ah, well ; it was an absolute pleasure to me to 
 teach the blackguard that cheering a Bourbon costs 
 something. My God, though, a man must be a 
 fool who has to be taught that ! I wonder what it 
 has cost us. Why, I see you've got my friend, 
 Major Cartwright, up there." 
 
 Zachariah and his wife started a moment at 
 what they considered the profane introduction of 
 God's name ; but it was not exactly swearing, and 
 Major Maitland's relationship to them was remark- 
 able. They were therefore silent. 
 
 "A true friend of the people," continued Mait- 
 land, " is Major Cartwright ; but he does not go 
 quite far enough to please me." 
 
 "As for the people so-called," quoth Zachariah, 
 " I doubt whether they are worth saving. Look 
 at the mob we saw the day before yesterday. I 
 think not of the people. But there is a people, 
 even in these days of Ahab, whose feet may yet be 
 on the necks of their enemies." 
 
 "Why, you are an aristocrat," said Maitland, 
 smiling ; " only you want to abolish the present 
 aristocracy and give us another. You must not 
 judge us by what you saw in Piccadilly, and while 
 
22 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 you are still smarting from that smasher on vour 
 eye. London, I grant you, is not, and never was, 
 a fair specimen. But, even in London, you must 
 not be deceived. You don't know its real temper ; 
 and then, as to not being worth saving — why, the 
 worse men are the more they want saving. How- 
 ever, we are both agreed about this — crew, Liver- 
 pool, the Prince Eegent, and his friends." A strong 
 word was about to escape before "crew," but the 
 Major saw that he was in a house where it would 
 be out of place. " I wish you'd join our Friends 
 of the People. We want two or three determined 
 fellows like you. We are all safe." 
 
 " What are the ' Friends of the People ? ' " 
 
 " Oh, it's a club of — a — good fellows who meet 
 twice a week for a little talk about affairs. Come 
 with me next Friday and see." 
 
 Zachariah hesitated a moment, and then con- 
 sented. 
 
 " All right ; I'll fetch you." He was going away, 
 and picked up from the table a book he had brought 
 with him. 
 
 " By the way, you will not be at work till to- 
 morrow. I'll leave you this to amuse you. It has 
 not been out long. Thirteen thousand copies were 
 sold the first day. It is the Corsair — Byron's 
 Corsair. My God, it is poetry and no mistake ! 
 
THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 23 
 
 Not exactly, perhaps, in your line ; but you are a 
 man of sense, and if that doesn't make your heart 
 leap in you, I'm much mistaken. Lord Byron is 
 a neighbour of mine in the Albany. I know him 
 by sight. I've waited a whole livelong morning 
 at my window to see him go out. So much the 
 more fool you, you'll say. Ah, well, wait till you 
 have read the Corsair" 
 
 The Major shook hands. Mrs. Coleman, who 
 had been totally silent during the interview, except- 
 ing when she asked him if he would join in a cup 
 of tea — an offer most gracefully declined — followed 
 him to the top of the stairs. As before, he kissed her 
 hand, made her a profound bow, and was off. When 
 she came back into the room the faint flush on the 
 cheek was repeated, and there was the same unusual 
 little rippling overflow of kindness to her husband. 
 
 In the evening Zachariah took up the book. 
 Byron was not, indeed, in his line. He took no 
 interest in him, although, like every other English- 
 man, he had heard much about him. He had 
 passed on his way to Albemarle Street the entrance 
 to the Albany. Byron was lying there asleep, but 
 Zachariah, although he knew he was within fifty 
 yards of him, felt no emotion whatever. This was 
 remarkable, for Byron's influence, even in 18 14, 
 was singular, beyond that of all predecessors and 
 
24 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNERS LANE. 
 
 successors, in the wideness of its range. He was 
 read by everybody. Men and women who were 
 accessible to no other poetry were accessible to his, 
 and old sea-captains, merchants, tradesmen, clerks, 
 tailors, milliners, as well as the best judges in the 
 land, repeated his verses by the page. 
 
 Mrs. Coleman, having cleared away the tea-things, 
 sat knitting till half-past six. It was prayer-meeting 
 night, and she never missed going. Zachariah gene- 
 rally accompanied her, but he was not quite present- 
 able, and stayed at home. He went on with the 
 Corsair, and as he read his heart warmed, and he 
 unconsciously found himself declaiming several of 
 the most glowing and eloquent lines aloud. He 
 was by nature a poet; essentially so, for he loved 
 everything which lifted him above what is com- 
 monplace. Isaiah, Milton, a storm, a revolution, 
 a great passion — with these he was at home ; and 
 his education, mainly on the Old Testament, con- 
 tributed greatly to the development both of the 
 strength and weakness of his character. For such 
 as he are weak as well as strong ; weak in the 
 absence of the innumerable little sympathies and 
 worldlinesses which make life delightful, and but 
 too apt to despise and tread upon those gentle 
 flowers which are as really here as the sun and the 
 stars, and are nearer to us. Zachariah found in the 
 
THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 25 
 
 Corsair exactly what answered to his own inmost 
 self, down to its very depths. The lofty style, the 
 scorn of what is mean and base, the courage — root 
 of all virtue — that dares and evermore dares in the 
 very last extremity, the love of the illimitable, of 
 freedom, and the cadences like the fall of waves on 
 a sea-shore were attractive to him beyond measure. 
 More than this, there was Love. His own love was 
 a failure, and yet it was impossible for him to 
 indulge for a moment his imagination elsewhere. 
 The difference between him and his wife might 
 have risen to absolute aversion, and yet no wander- 
 ing fancy would ever have been encouraged towards 
 any woman living. But when he came to Medora's 
 
 son?;- 
 
 " Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells, 
 Lonely and lost to light for evermore, 
 Save when to thine my heart responsive swells, 
 Then trembles into silence as before." 
 
 and more particularly the second verse — 
 
 " There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp 
 
 Burns the slow flame, eternal — but unseen ; 
 Which not the darkness of despair can damp, 
 Though vain its ray as it had never been." 
 
 love again asserted itself. It was not love for 
 a person ; perhaps it was hardly love so much 
 as the capacity for love. Whatever it may be, 
 
26 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 henceforth this is what love will be in him, and 
 it will be fully maintained, though it knows no 
 actual object. It will manifest itself in suppressed 
 force, seeking: for exit in a thousand directions ; 
 sometimes grotesque perhaps, but always force. It 
 will give energy to expression, vitality to his ad- 
 miration of the beautiful, devotion to his worship, 
 enthusiasm to his zeal for freedom. More than 
 this, it will not make his private life unbearable by 
 contrast ; rather the reverse. The vision of Medora 
 will not intensify the shadow over Eosoman Street, 
 Clerkenwell, but will soften it. 
 
( 27 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OUTSIDE PIKE STREET. 
 
 Ox the Friday evening the Major called for Zacha- 
 riah. He had not yet returned, but his wife was 
 at home. The tea-things were ready, the kettle 
 was on the hob, and she sat knitting at the window. 
 Her visitor knocked at the door ; she rose, and he 
 entered. This time he was a little less formal, for 
 after making his bow he shook her hand. She too 
 was not quite so stiff, and begged him to be seated. 
 
 " Upon my word, madam," he began, " if I were 
 as well looked after as Mr. Coleman, I doubt if I 
 should be so anxious as he is to change the existing 
 order of things. You would think there is some 
 excuse for me if you were to see the misery and 
 privation of my lodgings. Nobody cares a straw, 
 and as for dust and dirt, they would drive you 
 distracted." 
 
 Mrs. Zachariah smiled, and shifted one of her 
 little white-stockinged feet over the other. She 
 
2S THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 had on the neatest of sandals, with black ribbons, 
 which crossed over the instep. It was one of 
 Zachariah's weak points, she considered, that he did 
 not seem to care sufficiently for cleanliness, and 
 when he came in he would sometimes put his black 
 hand, before he had washed, on the white tea-cloth, 
 or on the back of a chair, and leave behind him a 
 patch of printer's ink. It was bad enough to be 
 obliged always to wipe the door-handles. 
 
 " I do my best ; but as for dirt, you cannot be so 
 badly off in the Albany as we are in Clerkenwell. 
 Clerkenwell is very disagreeable, but we are obliged 
 to live here." 
 
 " If Clerkenwell is so bad, all the more honour 
 to you for your triumph." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know about honour ; my husband 
 says it is simply my nature." 
 
 " Nature ! All the better. I could never live 
 with anybody who was always trying and trying 
 and struggling. I believe in Nature. Don't you ? " 
 
 This was an abstract inquiry beyond Mrs. Zacha- 
 riah's scope. " It is some people's nature to like to 
 be tidy," she contented herself with observing ; " and 
 others do not care for it." 
 
 " Oh, perhaps it is because I am a soldier, and 
 accustomed to order, that I care for it above every- 
 thing." 
 
OUTSIDE PIKE STREET. 29 
 
 Mrs. Zacliariali started for a moment. She re- 
 flected. She had forgotten it — that she was talking 
 to an officer in His Majesty's service. 
 
 " Have you seen much fighting, sir ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, for the matter of that, I 'have had my 
 share. I was at Talavera, and suffer a good deal 
 now in damp weather, from having slept so much 
 in the open air." 
 
 " Dear me, that is very hard ! My husband is 
 rheumatic, and finds Tarver's embrocation do him 
 more good than anything. Will you try it if I 
 give you some ? " 
 
 " With profound gratitude." Mrs. Coleman filled 
 an empty bottle, took a piece of folded brown paper 
 out of the fireplace cupboard, untied a coil of twine, 
 made up a compact little parcel, and gave it to the 
 Major. 
 
 " A thousand thanks. If faith now can really 
 cure, I shall be well in a week." 
 
 Mrs. Zachariah smiled again. 
 
 " Are you Dissenters ? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 " Yes. Independents." 
 
 " I am not surprised. Ever since Cromwell's 
 days you have always been on the side of liberty ; 
 but are you strict — I don't know exactly what to 
 call it — go to the prayer-meetings — and so on ? " 
 
 " We are both members of the church, and Mr. 
 
30 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Coleman is a deacon,'*' replied Mrs. Zachariah, with 
 a gravity not hitherto observable. 
 
 She looked out of the window, and saw him 
 coming down the street. She placed the kettle 
 nearer the fire, put the tea in the teapot, and 
 sat down again. He came upstairs, went straight 
 into his bedroom, cleaned himself as much as pos- 
 sible, changed his coat, and entered. The Major, 
 being pressed, consented to take tea, and Mrs. 
 Zachariah was a cheerful and even talkative hostess, 
 to the surprise of at least one member of the com- 
 pany. She sat next to her husband, and the Major 
 sat opposite. Three silver spoons and silver sugar- 
 tongs had been put on the table. Ordinarily the 
 spoons were pewter. Zachariah, fond of sugar, was 
 in the habit of taking it with his fingers — a prac- 
 tice to which Mrs. Zachariah strongly objected, and 
 with some reason. It was dirty, and as his hands 
 were none of the whitest, the neighbouring lumps 
 became soiled, and acquired a flavour which did not 
 add to their sweetness. She had told him of it a 
 score of times ; but he did not amend, and seemed 
 to think her particularity rather a vice than a 
 virtue. So it is that, as love gilds all defects, lack 
 of love sees nothing but defect in what is truly 
 estimable. Notwithstanding the sugar-tongs, Zacha- 
 riah — excusable, perhaps, this time, considering the 
 
OUTSIDE PIKE STREET. 31 
 
 warmth of the speech he was making against the 
 late war — pushed them aside, and helped himself 
 after the usual fashion. A cloud came over Mrs. 
 Zachariah's face ; she compressed her lips in down- 
 right anger, pushed the tongs towards him with 
 a rattle, and trod on his foot at the same time. His 
 oration came to an end ; he looked round, became 
 confused, and was suddenly silent ; but the Major 
 gallantly came to the rescue by jumping up to 
 prevent Mrs. Zachariah from moving in order to 
 put more water on the tea. 
 
 " Excuse me, pray;" but as he had risen somewhat 
 suddenly to reach the kettle, he caught the table- 
 cloth on his knee, and in a moment his cup and 
 saucer and the plate were on the floor in twenty 
 pieces, and the tea running all over the carpet. 
 Zachariah looked at his wife, and expected to see 
 her half frantic. But no ; though it was her best 
 china, she stopped the Major's apologies, and assured 
 him, with something almost like laughter, that it 
 was not of the slightest consequence. " Tea doesn't 
 stain ; I hope it has not gone on your coat ; " and pro- 
 ducing a duster from the cupboard, the evil, save 
 the loss of the crockery, was remedied in a couple of 
 minutes. 
 
 At half-past seven o'clock the Major and 
 Zachariah departed. They walked across the top 
 
32 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 of Hatton Garden, and so onwards till they came 
 to Red Lion Street. Entering a low passage at the 
 side of a small public-house, they went up some 
 stairs, and found themselves opposite a door, which 
 was locked. The Major gave three taps and then 
 paused. A moment afterwards he tapped again 
 twice ; the lock was turned, and he was admitted. 
 Zachariah found himself in a spacious kind of loft. 
 There was a table running down the middle, and 
 round it were seated about a dozen men, most of 
 whom were smoking and drinking beer. They 
 welcomed the Major with rappings, and he moved 
 towards the empty chair at the head of the board. 
 
 " You're late, chairman/' said one. 
 
 " Been to fetch a new comrade." 
 
 " Is that the cove ? He looks all right. Here's 
 your health, guv'nor, and d — n all tyrants." With 
 that he took a pull at the beer. 
 
 " Swear him," said the Major. 
 
 A disagreeable-looking man with a big round 
 nose, small red eyes, unshaven face, and slightly un- 
 steady voice, rose, laid down his pipe, and beckoned 
 to Zachariah, who advanced towards him. 
 
 The Secretary — for he it was — produced a memo- 
 randum book, and began with a stutter — 
 
 " In the sacred name of" 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Zachariah, " I don't swear." 
 
OUTSIDE PIKE STREET. 33 
 
 " That will do," shouted the Major across a 
 hubbub which arose — " religious. I'll answer for 
 him : let him sign ; that's enough." 
 
 " You are, answerable," growled the Secretary ; 
 " if he's a d — d spy we'll have his blood, that's 
 all, and yours too, Major." The Major took no 
 notice, and Zachariah put his name in the book, the 
 roll of the Red Lion Friends of the People. 
 
 " Business, Mr. Secretary — the last minutes." 
 
 The minutes were read, and an adjourned debate 
 was then renewed on a motion to organise public 
 meetings to petition in favour of Parliamentary 
 Reform. The reader must understand that poli- 
 tics in those days were somewhat different from 
 the politics of fifty or sixty years later. Bread was 
 thirteenpence a quartern loaf; the national debt, 
 with a much smaller population, was what it is 
 now; everything was taxed, and wages were very 
 low. But what was most galling was the fact that 
 the misery, the taxes, and the debt had been 
 accumulated, not by the will of the people, but 
 by a corrupt House of Commons, the property of 
 boroughmongers, for the sake of supporting the 
 Bourbons directly, but indirectly and chiefly the 
 House of Hanover and the hated aristocracy. There 
 was also a scandalous list of jobs and pensions. 
 Years afterwards, when the Government was forced 
 
 c 
 
34 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 to look into abuses, the Reverend Thomas Thurlow, 
 to take one example amongst others, was awarded, as 
 compensation for the loss of his two offices, Patentee 
 of Bankrupts and Keeper of Hanaper, the modest 
 allowance annually until his death of jQi 1,380, 14s. 
 6d. The men and women of that time, although 
 there were scarcely any newspapers, were not fools, 
 and there was not a Nottingham weaver who put 
 a morsel of bread in his hungry belly who did 
 not know that two morsels might have gone there 
 if there were no impost on foreign corn to main- 
 tain rents, and if there were no interest to pay on 
 money borrowed to keep these scared kings and 
 lords safe in their palaces and parks. Opinion at 
 the Red Lion Friends of the People Club was much 
 divided. Some were for demonstrations and agita- 
 tion, whilst others were for physical force. The 
 discussion went on irregularly amidst much tumult. 
 
 " How long would they have waited over the 
 water if they had done nothing but jaw ? They 
 met together and tore down the Bastile, and that's 
 what we must do." 
 
 " That may be true," said a small white-faced man 
 who neither smoked nor drank, "but what followed ? 
 You don't do anything really till you've reasoned it 
 out." 
 
 " It's my belief, parson," retorted the other, " that 
 
OUTSIDE PIKE STREET. 35 
 
 you are in a d — d funk. This is not the place for 
 Methodists." 
 
 " Order, order!" shouted the chairman. 
 
 " I am not a Methodist," quietly replied the other ; 
 " unless you mean by Methodist a man who fears 
 God and loves his Saviour. I am not ashamed to 
 own that, and I am none the worse for it as far as 
 I know. As for being a coward, we shall see." 
 
 The Secretary meanwhile had gone on with his 
 beer. Despite his notorious failing, he had been 
 chosen for the post because in his sober moments 
 he was quick with his pen. He was not a working 
 man ; nay, it was said he had been at Oxford. His 
 present profession was that of attorney's clerk. He 
 got up and began a harangue about Brutus. 
 
 " There's one way of dealing with tyrants — the 
 old way, Mr. Chairman. Death to them all, say I ; 
 the short cut ; none of your palaver ; what's the use 
 of palavering?" 
 
 He was a little shaky, took hold of the rail of his 
 chair, and as he sat down broke his pipe. 
 
 Some slight applause followed ; but the majority 
 were either against him, or thought it better to be 
 silent. 
 
 The discussion continued irregularly, and Zacha- 
 riah noticed that about half-a-dozen of those pre- 
 sent took no part in it. At about ten o'clock the 
 
36 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 chairman declared the meeting at an end ; and it was 
 quite time he did so, for the smoke and the drink 
 had done their work. 
 
 As Zachariah came out, a man stood by his side 
 whom he had scarcely noticed during the evening. 
 He was evidently a shoemaker. There was a smell 
 of leather about him, and his hands and face were 
 grimy. He had a slightly turned-up nose, smallish 
 eyes, half hidden under very black eyebrows, and his 
 lips were thin and straight. His voice was exceed- 
 ingly high-pitched, and had something creaking in 
 it like the sound of an ill-greased axle. He spoke 
 with emphasis, but not quite like an Englishman, 
 was fond of alliteration, and often, in the middle of 
 a sentence, paused to search for a word which 
 pleased him. Having found it, the remainder of 
 the sentence was poised and cast from him like a 
 dart. His style was a curious mixture of foreign 
 imperfection and rhetoric — a rhetoric, however, by 
 no means affected. It might have been so in 
 another person, but it was not so in him. 
 
 " Going east ? " said he. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " If you want company, I'll walk with you. 
 What do you think of the Friends ? " 
 
 Zachariah, it will be borne in mind, although he 
 was a Democrat, had never really seen the world. 
 
OUTSIDE PIKE STREET. 37 
 
 He belonged to a religious sect. He believed in the 
 people, it is true, but it was a people of Cromwellian 
 Independents. He purposely avoided the company 
 of men who used profane language, and never in 
 his life entered a tavern. He did not know what 
 the masses really were ; for although he worked with 
 his hands, printers were rather a superior set of 
 fellows, and his was an old-established shop which 
 took the best of its class. When brought actually 
 into contact with swearers and drunkards as patriots 
 and reformers he was more than a little shocked. 
 
 " Not much," quoth he. 
 
 " Not worse than our virtuous substitute for a 
 sovereign ? " 
 
 " No, certainly." 
 
 " You object to giving them votes, but is not 
 the opinion of the silliest as good as that of Lord 
 Sidmouth ? " 
 
 "That's no reason for giving them votes." 
 
 " I should like to behold the experiment of a 
 new form of misgovernment. If we are to be 
 eternally enslaved to fools and swindlers, why not a 
 change ? We have had regal misrule and aristo- 
 cratic swindling long enough." 
 
 " Seriously, my friend," he continued, " study that 
 immortal charter, the Declaration of the Rights of 
 Man." 
 
38 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 He stopped in the street, and with an oratorical 
 air repeated the well-known lines, u Men are born 
 and always continue free, and equal in respect of 
 their rights. . . . Every citizen has a right, either 
 by himself or by his representative, to a free voice 
 in determining the necessity of public contributions, 
 the appropriation of them, and their amount, mode 
 of assessment, and duration." He knew them by 
 heart. " It is the truth," he continued ; " you must 
 come to that, unless you believe in the Divine 
 appointment of dynasties. There is no logical re- 
 pose between Lord Liverpool and the Declaration. 
 What is the real difference between him and you ? 
 None but a question of degree. He does not believe 
 in absolute monarchy, and stays at this point. You 
 go a little lower. You are both alike. How dare 
 you say, ' My brother, I am more honest and more 
 religious than you ; pay me half-a-crown and I will 
 spend it for your welfare ' ? You cannot tell me 
 that. You know I should have a right to reject 
 you. I refuse to be coerced. I prefer freedom to 
 -—felicity." 
 
 Zachariah was puzzled. He was not one of those 
 persons who can see no escape from an argument 
 and yet are not convinced ; one of those happy 
 creatures to whom the operations of the intellect are 
 a joke — who, if they are shown that the three angles 
 
OUTSIDE PIKE STREET. 39 
 
 of a triangle are equal to two right angles, decline 
 to disprove it, but act as if they were but one. To 
 Zachariah the appeal " Where will you stop ? " was 
 generally successful. If his understanding told him 
 he could not stop, he went on. And yet it so often 
 happens that if we do go on we are dissatisfied ; we 
 cannot doubt each successive step, but we doubt the 
 conclusion. We arrive serenely at the end, and lo ! 
 it is an absurdity which common sense, as we call 
 it, demolishes with scoffs and laughter. 
 
 They had walked down to Holborn in order 
 to avoid the rather dangerous quarter of Gray's 
 Inn Lane. Presently they were overtaken by the 
 Secretary, staggering under more liquor. He did 
 not recognise them, and rolled on. The shoemaker 
 instantly detached himself from Zachariah and fol- 
 lowed the drunken official. He was about to turn 
 into a public-house, when his friend came up to 
 him softly, abstracted a book which was sticking 
 out of his pocket, laid hold of him by the arm, and 
 marched off with him across the street and through 
 Great Turnstile. 
 
 Sunday came, and Zachariah and his wife attended 
 the services at Pike Street Meeting-house, conducted 
 by that worthy servant of God, the Reverend Thomas 
 Bradshaw. He was at that time preaching a series 
 of sermons on the Gospel Covenant, and he en- 
 
4 o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 larged upon the distinction between those with 
 whom the covenant was made and those with whom 
 there was none, save of judgment. The poorest and 
 the weakest, if they were sons of God, were more 
 blessed than the strongest who were not. These 
 were nothing ; " they should go out like the smoke 
 of a candle with an ill favour ; whereas the weak 
 and simple ones are upholden, and go from strength 
 to strength, and increase with the increasings of 
 God." Zachariah was rather confused by what had 
 happened during the week, and his mind, especi- 
 ally during the long prayer, wandered a good deal, 
 much to his discomfort. 
 
( 41 ) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE THEATRE. 
 
 Major Maitland was very fond of the theatre, and 
 as he had grown fond of Zachariah, and frequently 
 called at his house, sometimes on business and 
 sometimes for pleasure, he often asked his friend to 
 accompany him. But for a long time he held out. 
 The theatre and dancing in I 8 1 4 were an abomina- 
 tion to the Independents. Since I 8 1 4 they have 
 advanced, and consequently they not only go to 
 plays and dance like other Christians, but the freer, 
 less prejudiced, and more enlightened encourage 
 the ballet, spend their holidays in Paris, and study 
 French character there. Zachariah, however, had a 
 side open to literature, and though he had never 
 seen a play acted, he read plays. He read Shake- 
 speare, and had often thought how wonderful one of 
 his dramas must be on the stage. So it fell out 
 that at last he yielded, and it was arranged that 
 Mrs. and Mr. Coleman should go with the Major to 
 
42 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Drury Lane to see the great Edmund Kean in 
 " Othello." The day was fixed, and Mrs. Coleman 
 was busy for a long time beforehand in furbishing 
 up and altering her wedding-dress, so that she 
 might make a decent figure. She was all excite- 
 ment, and as happy as she could well be. For 
 months Zachariah had not known her to be so 
 communicative. She seemed to take an interest in 
 politics ; she discussed with him the report that 
 Bonaparte was mad, and Zachariah, on his part, told 
 her what had happened to him during the day, and 
 what he had read in the newspapers. The Prince 
 Regent had been to Oxford, and verses had been com- 
 posed in his honour. Mr. Bosanquet had recited to 
 the Prince an ode, or something of the kind, and had 
 ventured, after dilating on the enormous services ren- 
 dered by kiugs in general to the community during 
 the last twenty years, to warn them — 
 
 " But ye yourselves must bow : your praise be given 
 To Him, the Lord of lords, your King in heaven." 
 
 And Mrs. Zachariah, with a smile and unwonted wit, 
 wondered whether Mr. Bosanquet would not be pro- 
 secuted for such treasonable sentiments. Zachariali 
 hardly knew what to make of his wife's gaiety, but 
 he was glad. He thought that perhaps he was 
 answerable for her silence and coldness, and he 
 
THE THEATRE. 43 
 
 determined at all costs to try and amend, and, 
 however weary he might be when he came home 
 at night, that he would speak and get her to 
 speak too. 
 
 The eventful evening arrived. Zachariah was to 
 get away as early as he could ; the Major was to 
 call at about six. After Zachariah had washed and 
 dressed, they were to take a hackney coach together. 
 At the appointed hour the Major appeared, and 
 found Mrs. Zachariah already in her best clothes 
 and tea ready. She was charming — finished from 
 the uttermost hair on her head to the sole of her 
 slipper — and the dove-coloured, somewhat Quaker- 
 ish tint of her wedding-gown suited her admirably. 
 Quarter-past six came, but there was no Zachariah, 
 and she thought she would make the tea, as he was 
 never long over his meals. Half-past six, and he 
 was not there. The two now sat down, and began 
 to listen to every sound. The coach was ordered 
 at a quarter to seven. 
 
 " What shall we do ? " said the Major. " I cannot 
 send you on and wait for him." 
 
 " No. How vexing it is ! It is just like " 
 
 and she stopped. 
 
 " We must stay where we are, I suppose ; it is 
 rather a pity to miss being there when Kean first 
 comes on." 
 
44 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 She was in a fretful agony of impatience. She 
 rose and looked out of the window, thought she 
 heard somebody on the stairs, went outside on the 
 landing, returned, walked up and down, and mentally 
 cursed her husband, not profanely — she dared not do 
 that — but with curses none the less intense. Poor 
 man! he had been kept by a job he had to finish. 
 She might have thought this possible, and, in fact, 
 did think it possible ; but it made no difference in 
 the hatred which she permitted to rise against him. 
 At last her animosity relaxed, and she began to 
 regard him with more composure, and even with 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Had you not better go, and leave me here, 
 so that we may follow ? I do not know what has 
 happened, and I am sure he would be so sorry if 
 you were to be disappointed." 
 
 She turned her eyes anxiously towards the Major. 
 
 " That will never do. You know nothing about 
 the theatre. No ! no ! " 
 
 She paused and stamped her little foot, and 
 looked again out of the window. 
 
 The coachman knocked at the door, and when she 
 went down asked her how long he had to wait. 
 
 She came back, and throwing herself on a chair, 
 fairly gave way to her mortification, and cried out, 
 " It is too bad — too bad ! — it is, really." 
 
THE THEATRE. 45 
 
 " I'll tell you what," replied the Major. " Do you 
 mind coming with me ? We will leave one of the 
 tickets which I have bought, and we can add a 
 message that he is to follow, and that we will keep 
 his place for him. Put on your bonnet at once, 
 and I will scribble a line to him." 
 
 Mrs. Zachariah did not see any other course 
 open ; her wrath once more disappeared, and in 
 another moment she was busy before the looking- 
 glass. The note was written, and pinned to the 
 ticket, both being stuck on the mantelpiece in 
 a conspicuous place, so that Zachariah might see 
 them directly he arrived. In exuberant spirits she 
 added in her own hand, " Make as much haste as 
 you can, my dear," and subscribed her initials. It 
 was a tremendously hot afternoon, and, what with 
 the fire and the weather and the tea, the air was 
 very oppressive. She threw the bottom sash open 
 a little wider therefore, and the two rolled off 
 to Drury Lane. As the door slammed behind 
 them, the draught caught the ticket and note, 
 and in a moment they were in the flames and 
 consumed. 
 
 Ten minutes afterwards in came Zachariah. He 
 had run all the way, and was dripping with per- 
 spiration. He rushed upstairs, but there was 
 nobody. He stared round him, looked at the plates, 
 
4 5 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 saw that two had been there, rushed down again, 
 and asked the woman in the shop — 
 
 " Has Mrs. Coleman left any message ? " 
 " No. She went off with that gentleman that 
 comes here now and then ; but she never said 
 nothing to me," and Zachariah thought he saw 
 something like a grin on her face. 
 
 It may be as well to say that he never dreamed 
 of any real injury done to him by his wife, and, 
 in truth, the Major was incapable of doing him 
 any. He was gay, unorthodox, a man who went 
 about in the world, romantic, republican, but he 
 never would have condescended to seduce a woman, 
 and least of all a woman belonging to a friend. 
 He paid women whom he admired all kinds of 
 attentions, but they were nothing more than the 
 gallantry of the age. Although they were nothing, 
 however, to him, they were a good deal more than 
 nothing to Mrs. Zachariah. The symbolism of an 
 act varies much, and what may be mere sport to 
 one is sin in another. The Major's easy manners 
 and very free courtesy were innocent so far as he 
 was concerned ; but when his rigid, religious com- 
 panion in the hackney coach felt them sweet, and 
 was better pleased with them than she had ever 
 been with her husband's caresses, she sinned, and 
 she knew that she sinned. 
 
THE THEATRE. 47 
 
 What curiously composite creatures we are ! 
 Zackariah for a moment was half pleased, for she 
 had now clearly wronged him. The next moment, 
 however, he was wretched. He took up the teapot ; 
 it was empty ; the tea-caddy was locked up. It was 
 a mere trifle, but, as he said to himself, the merest 
 trifles are important if they are significant. He 
 brooded, therefore, over the empty teapot and locked 
 tea-caddy for fully five minutes. She had not only 
 gone without him, but had forgotten him. At 
 the end of the five minutes teapot and tea-caddy 
 had swollen to enormous dimensions and had 
 become the basis of large generalisations. " I 
 would rather," he exclaimed, " be condemned to 
 be led out and hung if I knew one human soul 
 would love me for a week beforehand and honour 
 me afterwards, than live half a century and be 
 nothing to any living creature." Presently, how- 
 ever, it occurred to him that, although in the 
 abstract this might be true, yet at that particular 
 moment he was a fool ; and he made the best of 
 his way to Drury Lane. He managed to find 
 his way into the gallery just as Kean came on 
 the stage in the second scene of the first act. 
 Far down below him, through the misty air, he 
 thought he could see his wife and the Major ; but 
 he was in an instant arrested by the play. It was 
 
4 8 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 all new to him ; the huge building, the thousands 
 of excited, eager faces, the lights, and the scenery. 
 He had not listened, moreover, to a dozen sentences 
 from the great actor before he had forgotten himself 
 and was in Venice, absorbed in the fortunes of 
 the Moor. What a blessing is this for which we 
 have to thank the playwright and his interpreters, 
 to be able to step out of the dingy, dreary London 
 streets, with all their wretched corrosive cares, and 
 at least for three hours to be swayed by nobler 
 passions. For three hours the little petty self, 
 with all its mean surroundings, withdraws : we 
 breathe a different atmosphere, we are jealous, 
 glad, weep, laugh, with Shakespeare's jealousy, 
 gladness, tears, and laughter ! What priggishness, 
 too, is that which objects to Shakespeare on a 
 stage because no acting can realise the ideal 
 formed by solitary reading ! Are we really sure 
 of it ? Are we really sure that Garrick or Kean 
 or Siddons, with all their genius and study, fall 
 short of a lazy dream in an arm-chair ! Kean had 
 not only a thousand things to tell Zachariah — mean- 
 ings in innumerable passages which had before been 
 overlooked — but he gave the character of Othello 
 such vivid distinctness that it might almost be 
 called a creation. He was exactly the kind of actor, 
 moreover, to impress him. He was great, grand, 
 
THE THEATRE. 49 
 
 passionate, overwhelming with a like emotion the 
 apprentice and the critic. Everybody after lis- 
 tening to a play or reading a book uses it when 
 he comes to himself again to fill his own pitcher, 
 and the Cyprus tragedy lent itself to Zachariah 
 as an illustration of his own Clerkenwell sorrows 
 and as a gospel for them, although his were so 
 different from those of the Moor. Why did he 
 so easily suspect Desdemona ? Is it not im- 
 probable that a man with any faith in woman, and 
 such a woman, should proceed to murder on such 
 evidence ? If Othello had reflected for a moment, 
 he would have seen that everything might have 
 been explained. Why did he not question, sift, 
 examine, before taking such tremendous revenge ? — 
 and for the moment the story seemed unnatural. 
 But then he considered again that men and women, 
 if they do not murder one another, do actually, in 
 everyday life, for no reason wdiatever, come to 
 wrong conclusions about each other ; utterly and 
 to the end of their lives misconstrue and lose each 
 other. Nay, it seems to be a kind of luxury to 
 them to believe that those who could and would 
 love them are false to them. We make haste to 
 doubt the divinest fidelity ; we drive the dagger 
 into each other, and we smother the Desdemona 
 who would have been the light of life to us, not 
 
 D 
 
50 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 because of any deadly difference or grievous injury, 
 but because we idly and wilfully reject. 
 The tale, evermore, is — 
 
 " Of one whose hand, 
 Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away 
 Richer than all his tribe." 
 
 So said Zachariah to himself as he came out into 
 Drury Lane and walked eastwards. His wife and 
 the Major were back before him. The Major did 
 not wait, but returned at once to Albany Street, 
 leaving Mrs. Coleman to sit up for her husband. 
 He was not hurrying himself, and could not free 
 himself from the crowd so easilv as those who left 
 
 u 
 
 from below. The consequence was that he was a 
 full half-hour behind her, and she was not particu- 
 larly pleased at having been kept so long out of her 
 bed. When she let him in all that she said was, 
 " Oh, here you are at last," and immediately retired. 
 Strange to say she forgot all about family worship 
 — never before omitted, however late it might be. 
 If she had taken the trouble to ask him whether 
 he had seen her message and the ticket so 
 much might have been cleared up. Of course he, 
 too, ought to have spoken to her ; it was the natural 
 thing to do, and it was extraordinary that he did 
 not. But he let her go ; she knelt down by her 
 bed, prayed her prayer to her God, and in five 
 
THE THEATRE. 51 
 
 minutes was asleep. Zachariah ten minutes after- 
 wards prayed his prayer to his God, and lay down, 
 but not to sleep. No sooner was his head on 
 his pillow than the play was before his eyes, and 
 Othello, Desdemona, and Iago moved and spoke 
 again for hours. Then came the thoughts with 
 which he had left the theatre and the revulsion on 
 reaching home. Burning with excitement at what 
 was a discovery to him, he had entered his house 
 with even an enthusiasm for his wife, and an impa- 
 tient desire to try upon her the experiment which he 
 thought would reveal so much to him and make him 
 wealthy for ever. But when she met him he was 
 struck dumb. He was shut up again in his old 
 prison, and what was so hopeful three hours before 
 was all vanity. So he struggled through the short 
 nio-ht, and, as soon as he could, rose and went out. 
 This was a frequent practice, and his wife was not 
 surprised when she woke to find he had gone. She 
 was in the best of spirits again, and when he 
 returned, after offering him the usual morning 
 greeting, she inquired at once in what part of the 
 theatre he was, and why he had not used the ticket. 
 " We waited for you till the last moment ; we 
 should have been too late if we had stayed an 
 instant longer, and I made sure you would come 
 directly." 
 
52 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 " Ticket — what ticket ? I saw no ticket ? " 
 
 " We left it on the mantelpiece, and there was a 
 message with it." 
 
 His face brightened, but he said nothing. A 
 rush of blood rose to his head ; he moved towards 
 her and kissed her. 
 
 " What a wretch you must have thought me ! " 
 she said half laughingly, as she instantly smoothed 
 her hair again, which he had ruffled. " But what 
 has become of the ticket ? " 
 
 " Fell in the fire most likely ; the window was open 
 when I came in, and the draught blew the picture 
 over the mantelpiece nearly off its hook." 
 
 The breakfast was the happiest meal they had 
 had for months. Zachariah did his best to over- 
 come his natural indisposition to talk. Except when 
 he was very much excited, he always found conver- 
 sation with his wife too difficult on any save the 
 most commonplace topics, although he was eloquent 
 enough in company which suited him. She listened 
 to him, recalling with great pleasure the events of 
 the preceding evening. She was even affectionate 
 — affectionate for her — and playfully patted his 
 shoulder as he went out, warning him not to be so 
 late again. What was the cause of her gaiety ? 
 Was she thinking improperly of the Major ? No. 
 
THE THEATRE. 53 
 
 If she had gone with Zachariah alone to the theatre 
 would she have been so cheerful ? No. Did she 
 reallv think she loved her husband better? Yes. 
 The human heart, even the heart of Mrs. Coleman, 
 is beyond our analysis. 
 
( 54 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 The Friends of the People continued their meetings, 
 and Zachariah attended regularly, although, after 
 about three months' experience, he began to doubt 
 whether any advance was being made. The imme- 
 diate subject of discussion now was a projected meet- 
 ing in Spitalfields, and each branch of the Society 
 was to organise its own contingent. All this was 
 perfectly harmless. There was a good deal of wild 
 talk occasionally ; but it mostly came from Mr. 
 Secretary, especially when he had had his beer. 
 One evening he had taken more than enough, and 
 was decidedly staggering as he walked down Lamb's 
 Conduit Street homewards. Zachariah was at some 
 distance, and in front of him, in close converse, were 
 his shoemaking friend, the Major, and a third man 
 whom he could not recognise. The Secretary swayed 
 himself across Holborn and into Chancery Lane, 
 the others following. Presently they came up to 
 
A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE. 55 
 
 him, passed him, and turned off to the left, leaving 
 him to continue his troubled voyage southwards. 
 The night air, however, was a little too much for 
 him, and when he got to Fleet Street he was under 
 the necessity of supporting himself against a wall. 
 He became more and more seditious as he became 
 more and more muddled, so that at last he attracted 
 the attention of a constable, who laid hold of him 
 and locked him up for the night. In the morning 
 he was very much surprised to find himself in a 
 cell, feeling very miserable, charged with being 
 drunk and disorderly, and, what was ten times 
 worse, with uttering blasphemy against the Prince 
 Regent. It may as well be mentioned here that 
 the greatest precautions had been taken to prevent 
 any knowledge by the authorities of the proceedings 
 of the Friends of the People. The Habeas Corpus 
 Act was not yet suspended, but the times were 
 exceedingly dangerous. The Friends, therefore, 
 never left in a body nor by the same door. Watch 
 was always kept with the utmost strictness, not 
 only on the stairs, but from a window which 
 commanded the street. No written summons was 
 ever sent to attend any meeting, ordinary or extra- 
 ordinary. Mr. Secretary, therefore, was much dis- 
 concerted when he found that his pockets were 
 emptied of all his official documents. He languished 
 
56 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNERS LANE. 
 
 in his cell till about twelve o'clock, very sick and 
 very anxious, when he was put into a cab, and, to 
 his great surprise, instead of being taken to a 
 police court, was carried to Whitehall. There he 
 was introduced to an elderly gentleman, who sat 
 at the head of a long table covered with green 
 cloth. A younger man, apparently a clerk, sat 
 at a smaller table by the fire and wrote, seeming 
 to take no notice whatever of what was going on. 
 Mr. Secretary expected to hear something about 
 transportation, and to be denounced as an enemy 
 of the human race ; but he was pleasantly dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 " Sorry to see a respectable person like you in 
 such a position." 
 
 Mr. Secretary wondered how the gentleman knew 
 he was respectable ; but was silent. He was not 
 now in an eloquent or seditious humour. 
 
 " You may imagine that we know you, or we 
 should not have taken the trouble to bring you here. 
 We should merely have had you committed for 
 trial." 
 
 The Secretary thought of his empty pockets. In 
 truth it was the Major who had emptied them before 
 he crossed Holborn ; but of course he suspected the 
 constable. 
 
 "You must be aware that you have exposed 
 
A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE. 57 
 
 yourself to heavy penalties. I prefer, however, to 
 think of you as a well-meaning but misguided per- 
 son. What good do you think you can do ? I can 
 assure you that the Government are fully aware 
 of the distress which prevails, and will do all they 
 can to alleviate it. If you have any grievances, 
 why not seek their redress by legitimate and con- 
 stitutional means ? " 
 
 The Secretary was flattered. He had never been 
 brought face to face with one of the governing 
 classes before. He looked round ; everything was 
 so quiet, so pacific ; there were no fetters nor 
 thumbscrews ; the sun was lighting up the park ; 
 children were playing in it, and the necessity for a 
 revolution was not on that particular spot quite 
 apparent. 
 
 A messenger now entered carrying some sand- 
 wiches and a little decanter of wine on a tray, 
 covered with the whitest of cloths. 
 
 " It struck me," continued the official, taking a 
 sandwich and pouring out a glass of wine, " when I 
 heard of your arrest, that I should like myself to 
 have a talk with you. We really are most loth to 
 proceed to extremities, and you have, I understand, 
 a wife and children. I need not tell you what we 
 could do with you if we liked. Now, just consider, 
 my friend. I don't want you to give up one single 
 
58 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 principle ; but is it worth your while to be sent 
 to jail and to have your home broken up merely 
 because you want to achieve your object in the 
 wrong way, and in a foolish way ? Keep your prin- 
 ciples ; we do not object ; but don't go out into the 
 road with them. And you, as an intelligent man, 
 must see that you will not get what you desire by 
 violence so soon as you will by lawful methods. Is 
 the difference between us worth such a price as you 
 will have to pay ? " 
 
 The Secretary hesitated ; he could not speak ; he 
 was very faint and nervous. 
 
 " Ah, you've had nothing to eat, I daresay." 
 
 The bell was rung, and was answered imme- 
 diately. 
 
 " Bring some bread and cheese and beer." 
 
 The bread and cheese and beer were brought. 
 
 " Sit down there and have something ; I will 
 go on with my work, and we will finish our talk 
 afterwards." 
 
 The Secretary could not eat much bread and 
 cheese, but he drank the beer greedily. 
 
 When he had finished the clerk left the room. 
 The Commissioner — for he was one of the Commis- 
 sioners of His Majesty's Treasury — followed him 
 to the door, closed it, not without satisfying 
 himself that the constable was at his post out- 
 
A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE. 59 
 
 side, returned to his seat, opened his drawer, saw 
 that a pistol and five guineas were there, and then 
 began — 
 
 " Now, look here, my dear sir, let me speak 
 plainly with you and come to an understanding. 
 We have made inquiries about you ; we believe 
 you to be a good sort of fellow, and we are not 
 going to prosecute you. We do hope, however, that, 
 should you hear anything which is — well — really 
 treasonable, you will let us know. Treason, I am sure, 
 is as dreadful to you as it is to me. The Govern- 
 ment, as I said before, are most desirous of helping 
 those who really deserve it ; and to prove this, as I 
 understand you are out of work, just accept that 
 little trifle." 
 
 The guineas were handed to Mr. Secretary, who 
 looked at them doubtfully. With the beer his 
 conscience had returned, and he broke out — 
 
 " If you want me to be a d — d spy, d — d if 
 I do ! " 
 
 The Commissioner was not in the least dis- 
 concerted. 
 
 " Spy, my man ! — who mentioned the word ? The 
 money was offered because you haven't got a sixpence. 
 Haven't I told you you are not required to give up 
 a single principle ? Have I asked you to denounce a 
 single companion ? All I have requested you to do, 
 
60 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 as an honest citizen, is to give me a hint if you 
 hear of anything which would be as perilous to you 
 as to me." 
 
 The Secretary after his brief explosion felt 
 flaccid. He was subject to violent oscillations, and 
 he looked at the five guineas again. He was very 
 weak — weak naturally, and weaker through a long 
 course of alcohol. He was, therefore, prone to 
 obscure, crooked, silly devices, at any rate when he 
 was sober. Half drunk he was very bold ; but 
 when he had no liquor inside him he could not do 
 what was straight. He had not strength sufficient, 
 if two courses were open, to cast aside the one for 
 which there were the fewer and less conclusive 
 reasons, and to take the proper path, as if no other 
 were before him. A sane, strong person is not the 
 prey of reasons : a person like Mr. Secretary can 
 never free himself from them, and after he has 
 arrived at some kind of a determination is still 
 uncertain and harks back. With the roar of the 
 flames of the Cities of the Plain in his ears he stops, 
 and is half afraid that it was his duty after all to 
 stay and try and put them out. The Secretary, there- 
 fore, pondered again. The money was given on 
 no condition that was worth anything. For aught 
 he knew, the Commissioner had his books and 
 papers already. He could take the guineas and be 
 
A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE. 61 
 
 jusfc as free as he was before. He could even give 
 a part of it to the funds of the Friends. There 
 obtruded, moreover, visions of Newgate, and his 
 hands slowly crept to the coins. 
 
 " I am a Radical, sir, and I don't mind who 
 knows it." 
 
 " Nothing penal in that. Every man has a 
 right to his own political creed." 
 
 The fingers crept closer and touched the gold. 
 
 " If I thought you wanted to bribe me, I'd rot 
 before I had anything to do with you." 
 
 The Commissioner smiled. There was no neces- 
 sity to say anything more, for the guineas were 
 disappearing, and finally, though slowly, chinked 
 down into Mr. Secretary's pocket. 
 
 The Commissioner held out his hand. 
 
 The Secretary before he took it looked loftier 
 than ever. 
 
 " I hope you understand me, sir, clearly." 
 
 " I do understand you clearly." 
 
 The Secretary shook the hand ; the Commissioner 
 went with him to the door. 
 
 " Show this gentleman downstairs." 
 
 The constable, without a look of surprise, went 
 downstairs, and Mr. Secretary found himself in the 
 street. 
 
 Mr. Commissioner drank another glass of wine, 
 
62 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 and then pencilled something in a little memorandum 
 book, which he put under the pistol. The drawer 
 had two locks, and he carefully locked both with 
 two little keys attached to a ribbon which he wore 
 round his neck. 
 
( 63 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE HORIZON WIDENS. 
 
 Jean Caillaud, shoemaker, whom we have met 
 before, commonly called John Kaylow, friend of the 
 Major and member of the Society of the Friends of 
 the People, was by birth a Frenchman. He had 
 originally come to this country in 1795, bringing 
 with him a daughter, Pauline, about four or five years 
 old. Why he came nobody knew, nor did anybody 
 know who was the mother of the child. He soon ob- 
 tained plenty of employment, for he was an admir- 
 able workman, and learned to speak English well. 
 Pauline naturally spoke both English and French. 
 Her education was accomplished with some difficulty, 
 though it was not such a task as it might have been, 
 because Jean's occupation kept him at home ; his 
 house being in one of the streets in that complication 
 of little alleys and thoroughfares to most Londoners 
 utterly unknown ; within the sound of St. Bride's 
 nevertheless, and lving about a hundred vards north 
 
64 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 of Fleet Street. If the explorer goes up a court 
 nearly opposite Bouverie Street, he will emerge from 
 a covered ditch into one that is open, about six 
 feet wide. Presently the ditch ends in another 
 and wider ditch running east and west. The 
 western one turns northward, and then westward 
 again, roofs itself over, squeezes itself till it be- 
 comes little less than a rectangular pipe, and finally 
 discharges itself under an oil and colourman's 
 house in Fetter Lane. The eastern arm, strange to 
 say, suddenly expands, and one side of it, for no 
 earthly reason, is set back with an open space in 
 front of it, partitioned by low palings. Imme- 
 diately beyond, as if in a fit of sudden contrition 
 for such extravagance, the passage or gutter con- 
 tracts itself to its very narrowest, and, diving under 
 a printing office, shows itself in Shoe Lane. The 
 houses in these trenches were not by any means 
 of the worst kind. In the aforesaid expansion they 
 were even genteel, or at any rate aspired to be so, 
 and each had its own brass knocker and kept its 
 iront-door shut with decent sobriety and reticence. 
 On the top floor of one of these tenements lodged 
 Jean Caillaud and Pauline. They had three rooms 
 between them ; one was Jean's bedchamber, one 
 Pauline's, and one was workroom and living-room, 
 where Jean made ball-slippers and light goods — this 
 
THE HORIZON WIDENS. 65 
 
 being his branch of the trade — and Pauline helped 
 him. The workroom faced the north, and was exactly 
 on a level with an innumerable multitude of red 
 chimney-pots pouring forth stinking smoke which, 
 for the six winter months, generally darkened the 
 air during the whole day. But occasionally Nature 
 resumed her rights, and it was possible to feel that 
 sky, stars, sun, and moon still existed, and were 
 not blotted out by the obscurations of what is 
 called civilised life. There came, occasionally, 
 wild nights in October or November, with a gale 
 from the south-west, and then, when almost every- 
 body had gone to bed and the fires were out, the 
 clouds, illuminated by the moon, rushed across 
 the heavens, and the Great Bear hung over the 
 dismal waste of smutty tiles with the same solem- 
 nity with which it hangs over the mountain, the 
 sea, or the desert. Early in the morning, too, in 
 summer, between three and four o'clock in June, 
 there were sights to be seen worth seeing:. The 
 distance was clear for miles, and the heights of 
 Highgate were visible, proclaiming the gospel of 
 a beyond and beyond even to Kent's Court, and 
 that its immediate surroundings were mercifully 
 not infinite. The light made even the nearest bit 
 of soot-grimed, twisted, rotten brickwork beautiful, 
 and occasionally, but at very rare intervals, the 
 
 E 
 
66 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 odour of London was vanquished, and a genuine 
 breath from the Brixton fields was able to find its 
 way uncontaminated across the river. Jean and 
 Pauline were, on the whole, fond of the court. They 
 often thought they would prefer the country, and 
 talked about it ; but it is very much to be doubted, 
 if they had been placed in Devonshire, whether they 
 would not have turned back uneasily after a time to 
 their garret. They both liked the excitement of 
 the city, and the feeling that they were so near to 
 everything that was stirring in men's minds. The 
 long stretch of lonely sea-shore is all very well, very 
 beautiful, and, maybe, very instructive to many 
 people ; but to most persons half-an-hour's rational 
 conversation is much more profitable. Pauline was 
 not a particularly beautiful girl. Her hair was 
 black, and, although there was a great deal of it, 
 it was coarse and untidy. Her complexion was 
 sallow — not as clear as it might be — and under- 
 neath the cheek-bones there were slight depres- 
 sions. She had grown up without an attachment, 
 so far as her father knew, and indeed so far 
 as she knew. She had one redeeming virtue — 
 redeeming especially to Jean, who was with her 
 alone so much. She had an intellect, and it was 
 one which sought for constant expression ; conse- 
 quently she was never dull. If she was dull, she 
 
THE HORIZON WIDENS. 67 
 
 was ill. She had none of that horrible mental 
 constriction which makes some English women so 
 insupportably tedious. The last thing she read, 
 the last thing she thought, came out with vivacity 
 and force, and she did not need the stimulus of a 
 great excitement to reveal what was in her. Livino- 
 as she did at work side by side with her father all 
 day, she knew all his thoughts and read all his 
 books. Neither of them ever went to church. They 
 were not atheists, nor had they entirely pushed 
 aside the religious questions which torment men's 
 minds. They believed in what they called a 
 Supreme Being, whom they thought to be just and 
 good ; but they went no further. They were 
 revolutionary, and when Jean joined the Friends 
 of the People, he and the Major and one other man 
 became a kind of interior secret committee, which 
 really directed the affairs of the branch. Com- 
 panions they had none, except the Major and one 
 or two compatriots ; but they were drawn to Zacha- 
 riah, and Zachariah was drawn to them, very soon 
 after he became a member of the Society. The 
 first time he went to Kent's Court with Jean was 
 one night after a meeting. The two walked home 
 together, and Zachariah turned in for an hour, as 
 it was but ten o'clock. There had been a errand 
 thanksgiving at St. Paul's that day, The Prince 
 
68 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Regent had returned thanks to Almighty God for 
 the restoration of peace. The Houses of Parlia- 
 ment were there, with the Foreign Ambassadors, 
 the City Corporation, the Duke of Wellington, 
 Field-Marshal Blucher, peeresses, and society gene- 
 rally. The Royal Dukes, Sussex, Kent, York, and 
 Gloucester, were each drawn by six horses and 
 escorted by a separate party of the Guards. It took 
 eight horses to drag the Prince himself to divine 
 service, and he too was encompassed by soldiers. 
 Arrived at the cathedral, he was marshalled to a 
 kind of pew surmounted by a lofty crimson-and- 
 gold canopy. There he sat alone, worshipped his 
 Creator, and listened to a sermon by the Bishop of 
 Chester. Neither Jean nor Pauline troubled them- 
 selves to go out, and indeed it would not have been 
 of much use if they had tried ; for it was by no 
 means certain that Almighty God, who had been so 
 kind as to get rid of Napoleon, would not permit 
 a row in the streets. Consequently, every avenue 
 which led to the line of the procession was strictly 
 blocked. They heard the music from a distance, 
 and although they both hated Bonaparte, it had not 
 a pleasant sound in their ears. It was the sound 
 of triumph over Frenchmen, and, furthermore, with 
 all their dislike to the tyrant, they were proud of 
 his genius. 
 
THE HORIZON WIDENS. 69 
 
 Walking towards Clerkenwell that evening, the 
 streets being clear, save for a n amber of drunken 
 men and women, who were testifying to the ortho- 
 doxy of their religious and political faith by rolling 
 about the kennel in various stages of intoxication, 
 Jean pressed Zachariah to go upstairs with him. 
 Pauline had prepared supper for herself and her 
 father, and a very frugal meal it was, for neither of 
 them could drink beer nor spirits, and they could 
 not afford wine. Pauline and Zachariah were duly 
 introduced, and Zachariah looked round him. The 
 room was not dirty, but it was extremely unlike his 
 own. Shoemaking implements and unfinished jobs 
 lay here and there without being " put away." An 
 old sofa served as a seat, and on it were a pair of 
 lasts, a bit of a French newspaper, and a plateful of 
 small onions and lettuce, which could not find a 
 place on the little table. Zachariah, upstairs in 
 Rosoman Street, had often felt just as if he were in 
 his Sunday clothes and new boots. He never could 
 make out what was the reason for it. There are 
 some houses in which we are always uncomfortable. 
 Our freedom is fettered, and we can no more take 
 our ease in them than in a glass and china shop. 
 We breathe with a sense of oppression, and the 
 surroundings are like repellent chevaux de frise. 
 Zachariah had no such feeling here. There was 
 
70 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 disorder, it is true; but, on the other hand, there 
 was no polished tea-caddy to stare at him and claim 
 equal rights against him, defying him to disturb it. 
 He was asked to sit upon the sofa, and in so doing 
 upset the plateful of salad upon the floor. Pauline 
 smiled, was down upon her knees in an instant, 
 before he could prevent her, picked up the vege- 
 tables and put them back again. To tell the truth, 
 they were rather dirty ; and she, therefore, washed 
 them in a hand-basin. Zachariah asked her if she 
 had been out that day. 
 
 " I ? — to go with the Lord Mayor and bless the 
 good God for giving us back Louis Bourbon? No, 
 Mr. Coleman ; if the good God did give us Louis 
 back again, I wouldn't bless Him for it, and I don't 
 think He had much to do with it. So there were 
 two reasons why I didn't go." 
 
 Zachariah was a little puzzled, a little shocked, 
 and a little out of his element. 
 
 " I thought you might have gone to see the pro- 
 cession and hear the music." 
 
 " I hate processions. Whenever I see one, and 
 am squeezed and trampled on just because those 
 fine people may ride by, I am humiliated and 
 miserable. As for the music, I hate that too. 
 It is all alike, and might as well be done by 
 machinery. Come, you are eating nothing. "What 
 
THE HORIZON WIDENS. 71 
 
 conspiracy have you and my father hatched to- 
 night ? " 
 
 " Conspiracy ! " said Jean. " Who are the con- 
 spirators ? Not we. The conspirators are those 
 thieves who have been to St. Paul's." 
 
 " To give thanks," said Pauline. " If I were up 
 there in the sky, shouldn't I laugh at them. How 
 comical it is ! Did they give thanks for Austerlitz 
 or Jena ? " 
 
 " That's about the worst of it," replied Jean. 
 " It is one vast plot to make the people believe lies. 
 I shouldn't so much mind their robbing the country 
 of its money to keep themselves comfortable, but 
 what is the meaning of their Te Deums 1 I tell you 
 again " — and he repeated the words with much 
 emphasis — " it is a vast plot to make men believe 
 a lie. I abhor them for that ten times more than 
 for taking my money to replace Louis." 
 
 " Oh," resumed Pauline, " if I were only up in 
 the sky for an hour, I would have thundered and 
 lightened on them just as they got to the top 
 of Ludgate Hill, and scattered a score or so of 
 them. I wonder if they would have thanked 
 Providence for their escape ? father, such a 
 joke ! The Major told me the other day of an old 
 gentleman he knew who was riding along in his 
 carriage. A fireball fell and killed the coachman. 
 
72 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 The old gentleman, talking about it afterwards, said 
 that "providentially it struck the box-seat." 
 
 Zachariah, although a firm believer in his faith, 
 and not a coward, was tempted to be silent. He 
 was heavy and slow in action, and this kind of com- 
 pany was strange to him. Furthermore, Pauline 
 was not an open enemy, and, notwithstanding her 
 little blasphemies, she was attractive. But then he 
 remembered with shame that he was ordered to 
 testify to the truth wherever he might be, and 
 unable to find anything of his own by which he 
 could express himself, a text of the Bible came 
 into his mind, and, half to himself, he repeated it 
 aloud — 
 
 " I form the light and create darkness : I make 
 peace and create evil : I the Lord do all these 
 things." 
 
 " What is that ? " said Jean. " Repeat it." 
 
 Zachariah slowly repeated it. He had intended 
 to add to it something which might satisfy 
 his conscience and rebuke Pauline, but he could 
 not. 
 
 " Whence is that ? " said Jean. 
 
 "From the Bible; give me one and I will show 
 it to you." 
 
 There was no English Bible in the house. It 
 was a book not much used ; but Pauline presently 
 
THE HORIZON WIDENS. 73 
 
 produced a French version, and Jean read the pas- 
 sage — " Qui forme la lumiere, et qui crde les Unebres, 
 qui fait la paix et qui cre'e Vadversite ; c'est moi, 
 fEternel, qui fais toutes les choses la." 
 
 Pauline bent over her father and read it again. 
 
 " ' Qui cree Vadversite']''* she said. " Do you 
 believe that ? " 
 
 " If it is there I do," said Zachariah. 
 
 " Well, I don't." 
 
 " What's adversity to hell-fire ? If He made 
 hell-fire, why not adversity ? Besides, if He did 
 not, who did ? " 
 
 " Don't know a bit, and don't mean to bother 
 myself about it." 
 
 " Right ! " broke in Jean — " right, my child j 
 bother — that is a good word. Don't bother yourself 
 about anything when — bothering will not benefit. 
 There is so much in the world which will — bear 
 a botheration out of which some profit will arise. 
 Now, then, clear the room, and let Zachariah see 
 your art." 
 
 The plates and dishes were all put in a heap and 
 the table pushed aside. Pauline retired for a few 
 moments, and presently came back in a short dress 
 of black velvet, which reached about half-way down 
 from the knee to the ankle. It was trimmed with 
 red : she had stuck a red artificial flower in her 
 
74 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 hair, and had on a pair of red stockings with danc- 
 ing slippers probably of her own make. Over her 
 shoulders was a light gauzy shawl. Her father took 
 his station in a corner, and motioned to Zachariah 
 to compress himself into another. By dint of some 
 little management and piling up the chairs, an 
 unoccupied space of about twelve feet square was 
 obtained. Pauline began dancing, her father accom- 
 panying her with an oboe. It was a very curious 
 performance. It was nothing like ordinary opera- 
 dancing, and equally unlike any movement ever 
 seen at a ball. It was a series of graceful evolu- 
 tions with the shaw], which was flung, now on one 
 shoulder and now on the other, each movement 
 exquisitely resolving itself, with the most perfect 
 ease, into the one following, and designed apparently 
 to show the capacity of a beautiful figure for poetic 
 expression. Wave fell into wave along every line 
 of her body, and occasionally a posture was arrested, 
 to pass away in an instant into some new combina- 
 tion. There was no definite character in the dance 
 beyond mere beauty. It was melody for melody's 
 sake. A remarkable change, too, came over the face 
 of the performer. She looked serious ; but it was 
 not a seriousness produced by any strain. It was 
 rather the calm which is found on the face of the 
 statue of a goddess. In none of her attitudes was 
 
THE HORIZON WIDENS. 75 
 
 there a trace of coquettishness, although some were 
 most attractive. One in particular was so. She held 
 a corner of the shawl high above her with her right 
 hand, and her right foot was advanced so as to show 
 her whole frame extended, excepting the neck ; the 
 head being bent downwards and sideways. 
 
 Suddenly Jean ceased ; Pauline threw the shawl 
 over both her shoulders, made a profound curtsey, 
 and retired ; but in five minutes she was back 
 again in her ordinary clothes. Zachariah was in 
 sore confusion. He had never seen anything of 
 the kind before. He had been brought up in 
 a school which would have considered such an 
 exhibition as the work of the devil. He was dis- 
 tressed too to find that the old Adam was still 
 so strong within him that he detected a secret 
 pleasure in what he had seen. He would have 
 liked to have got up and denounced Jean and 
 Pauline, but somehow he could not. His great 
 great grandfather would have done it, beyond a 
 doubt, but Zachariah sat still. 
 
 " Do you ever perform in public ? " he asked. 
 
 " No. I was taught when I was very young ; 
 but I have never danced except to please father and 
 his friends." 
 
 This was a relief, and some kind of an excuse. 
 He felt not quite such a reprobate ; but again 
 
76 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 he reflected that when he was looking at her he 
 did not know that she was not in a theatre every 
 night in the week. He expected that Jean would 
 offer some further explanation of the unusual ac- 
 complishment which his daughter had acquired ; but 
 he was silent, and Zachariah rose to depart, for it 
 was eleven o'clock. Jean apparently was a little 
 restless at the absence of approval on Zachariah's 
 part, and at last he said abruptly — 
 
 " What do you think of her ? " 
 
 Zachariah hesitated, and Pauline came to the 
 rescue. 
 
 " Father, what a shame ! Don't put him in such 
 an awkward position." 
 
 " It was very wonderful," stammered Zacha- 
 riah, " but we are not used to that kind of 
 thing." 
 
 " Who are the 'we'?" said Pauline. " Ah, of 
 course you are Puritans. I am a — what do you 
 call it ? — a daughter — no, that isn't it — a child 
 of the devil. I won't have that, though. My 
 father isn't the devil. Even you wouldn't say 
 that, Mr. Coleman. Ah, I have no business to 
 joke, you look so solemn ; you think my tricks 
 are satanic ; but what was it in your book l cest 
 moi VJSternel, qui fais toutes les choses la' ? " and 
 as Zachariah advanced to the door she made him 
 
THE HORIZON WIDENS. 77 
 
 a bow with a grace which no lady of quality could 
 have surpassed. 
 
 He walked home with many unusual thoughts. 
 It was the first time he had ever been in the 
 company of a woman of any liveliness of tempera- 
 ment, and with an intellect which was on equal 
 terms with that of a man. In his own Calvinistic 
 Dissenting society, the pious women who were 
 members of the church took little or no interest 
 in the mental life of their husbands. They read 
 no books, knew nothing of politics, were astonish- 
 ingly ignorant, and lived in their household duties. 
 To be with a woman who could stand up against 
 him was a new experience. Here was a girl 
 to whom every thought her father possessed was 
 familiar ! 
 
 But there was another experience. From his 
 youth upwards he had been trained with every 
 weapon in the chapel armoury, and yet he now 
 found himself as powerless as the merest novice 
 to prevent the very sinful occupation of dwelling 
 upon every attitude of Pauline, and outlining 
 every one of her limbs. Do what he might. 
 her image was for ever before his eyes, and re- 
 constructed itself after every attempt to abolish 
 it, just as a reflected image in a pool slowly but 
 inevitably gathers itself together again after each 
 
78 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 disturbance of the water. When he got home, he 
 found, to his surprise, that his wife was still sitting 
 up. She had been to the weekly prayer-meeting, 
 and was not in a very pleasant temper. She was not 
 spiteful, but unusually frigid. She felt herself to 
 be better than her husband, and she asked him if 
 he could not arrange in future that his political 
 meeting's might not interfere with his religious 
 duties. 
 
 " Your absence, too, was noticed, and Mrs. Carver 
 asked me how it was that Mr. Coleman could let 
 me go home alone. She offered to tell Mr. Carver 
 to come home with me ; but I refused." 
 
 Delightfully generous of Mrs. Carver ! That was 
 the sort of kindness for which she and many of her 
 Pike Street friends were so distinguished ; and Mrs. 
 Coleman not only felt it deeply, but was glad of the 
 opportunity of letting Mr. Coleman know how good 
 the Carvers were. 
 
 It was late, but Mrs. Coleman produced the 
 Bible. Zachariah opened it rather mechanically. 
 They were going regularly through it at family 
 worship, and had got into Numbers. The portion 
 for that evening was part of the 26th chapter: "And 
 these are they that were numbered of the Levites 
 after their families : of Gershon, the family of the 
 Gershonites : of Kohath, the family of the Kohathites: 
 
THE HORIZON WIDENS. 79 
 
 of Merari, the family of the Merarites," &c. &c. 
 Zachariah, having read about a dozen verses, knelt 
 down and prayed ; but, alas ! even in his prayer he 
 saw Pauline's red stockings. 
 
 The next morning his wife was more pleasant, and 
 even talkative, — talkative, that is to say, for her. 
 Something had struck her. 
 
 " My dear," quoth she as they sat at breakfast, 
 " what a pity it is that the Major is not a converted 
 character ! " 
 
 Zachariah could not but think so too. 
 
 " I have been wondering if we could get him 
 to attend our chapel. Who knows ? — some word 
 might go to his heart which might be as the seed 
 sown on good ground." 
 
 "Have you tried to convert him yourself?" 
 
 " Oh no, Zachariah ! I don't think that would be 
 quite proper." 
 
 She screwed up her lips a little, and then, looking 
 down at her knees very demurely, smoothed her apron. 
 
 " Why not, my dear ? Surely it is our duty to 
 testify to the belief that is in us. Poor Christiana, 
 left alone, says, as you will remember, ' neigh- 
 bour, knew you but as much as I do, I doubt not 
 but that you would go with me.' " 
 
 " Ah, yes, that was all very well then." She again 
 smoothed her apron. " Besides, you know," she 
 
8o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 added suddenly, " there were no public means of 
 grace in the City of Destruction. Have you said 
 anything to the Major ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 She did not push her advantage, and the un- 
 pleasant fact again stood before Zachariah's eyes, as 
 it had stood a hundred times before them lately, that 
 when he had been with sinners he had been just 
 what they were, barring the use of profane language. 
 What had he done for his Master with the Major, with 
 Jean, and with Pauline? — and the awful figure of the 
 Crucified seemed to rise before him and rebuke him. 
 He was wretched : he had resolved over and over 
 again to break out against those who belonged to the 
 world, to abjure them and all their works. Somehow 
 or other, though, he had not done it. 
 
 " Suppose," said Mrs. Zachariah, " we were to 
 ask the Major here on Sunday afternoon to tea, and 
 to chapel afterwards." 
 
 " Certainly." He was rather pleased with the 
 proposition. He would be able to bear witness in 
 this way at any rate to the truth. 
 
 " Perhaps we might at the same time ask Jean 
 Caillaud, his friend. Would to God " — his wife 
 started — " would to God," he exclaimed fervently, 
 that these men could be brought into the Church 
 of Christ ! " 
 
THE HORIZON WIDENS. Si 
 
 u To be sure. Ask Mr. Caillaud, then, too." 
 
 " If we do, we must ask his daughter also ; he 
 would not go out without her." 
 
 " I was not aware he had a daughter. You 
 never told me anything about her." 
 
 " I never saw her till the other evening." 
 
 " I don't know anything of her. She is a 
 foreigner too. I hope she is a respectable young 
 person." 
 
 " I know very little ; but she is more English 
 than foreign. Jean has been here a good many 
 years, and she came over when she was quite young. 
 I think she must come." 
 
 " Yery well." And so it was settled. 
 
 Zachariah that night vowed to his Eedeemer that, 
 come what might, he would never again give Him 
 occasion to look at him with averted face and ask if 
 he was ashamed of Him. The text rang in his ears : 
 " WJwsoever therefore shall be ashamed of me and of my 
 ivords in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him 
 also shall the Son of man he ashamed, when He cometh 
 in the glory of His Father with the holy angels." 
 
( 82 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TEA A LA MODE. 
 
 Sunday afternoon came. It was the strangest party. 
 Pauline, on being introduced to Mrs. Coleman, made 
 a profound curtsey, which Mrs. Coleman returned by 
 an inclination of her head, as if she consented to 
 recognise Pauline, but to go no further. Tea was 
 served early, as chapel began at half-past six. Mrs. 
 Coleman, although it was Sunday, was very busy. 
 She had made hot buttered toast, and she had bought 
 some muffins, but had appeased her conscience by 
 telling the boy that she would not pay for them till 
 Monday. The milk was always obtained on the 
 same terms. She also purchased some water-cresses ; 
 but the water-cress man demanded prompt cash 
 settlement, and she was in a strait. At last the 
 desire for the water-cresses prevailed, and she said — 
 
 " How much ? " 
 
 " Three-halfpence." 
 
 " Now, mind I give you twopence for yourself — 
 
TEA A LA MODE. 83 
 
 mind I give it you. I do not approve of buying 
 and selling on Sunday. We will settle about the 
 other ha'porth another time." 
 
 " All right, ma'am ; if you like it that way, it's 
 no odds to me ; " and Mrs. Coleman went her way 
 upstairs really believing that she had prevented the 
 commission of a crime. 
 
 Let those of us cast the stone who can take oath 
 that in their own morality there is no casuistry. 
 Probably ours is worse than hers, because hers was 
 traditional and ours is self-manufactured. 
 
 Everything being at last in order, Mrs. Coleman, 
 looking rather warm, but still very neat and very 
 charming, sat at the head of the table, with her 
 back to the fireplace ; the Major was on her right, 
 Jean on her left, Pauline next to him, and opposite 
 to her Zachariah. Zachariah and his wife believed 
 in asking a blessing on their food ; but, curiously 
 enough, in 1 8 1 4, even amongst the strictest sort, 
 it had come to be the custom not to ask it at break- 
 fast or tea, but only at dinner ; although breakfast 
 and tea in those days certainly needed a blessing 
 as much as dinner, for they were substantial meals. 
 An exception was made in favour of public tea- 
 meetings. At a public tea-meeting a blessing was 
 always asked and a hymn was always sung. 
 
 For some time nothing remarkable was said. 
 
84 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 The weather was very hot, and Mrs. Coleman com- 
 plained. It had been necessary to keep up a fire 
 for the sake of the kettle. The Major promptly 
 responded to her confession of faintness by opening 
 the window wider, by getting a shawl to put over 
 the back of her chair ; and these little attentions 
 she rewarded by smiles and particular watchful- 
 ness over his plate and cup. At last he and Jean 
 fell to talking about the jubilee which was to 
 take place on the first of the next month to cele- 
 brate the centenary of the " accession of the illus- 
 trious family of Brunswick to the throne " — so ran 
 the public notice. There was to be a grand display 
 in the parks, a sham naval action on the Serpentine, 
 and a balloon ascent. 
 
 " Are you going, Caillaud ? " said the Major. " It 
 will be a holiday." 
 
 " We," cried Pauline — " we ! I should think not. 
 We go to rejoice over your House of Brunswick ; and 
 it is to be the anniversary of your battle of the 
 Nile too ! We go ! No, no." 
 
 " What's your objection to the House of Bruns- 
 wick ? And as for the battle of the Nile, you are 
 no friend to Napoleon." So replied the Major, who 
 always took a pleasure in exciting Pauline. 
 
 " The House of Brunswick ! Why should we 
 thank God for them ; thank God for the stupidest 
 
TEA A LA MODE. 85 
 
 race that ever sat upon a throne ; thank God for 
 stupidity — and in a king. Major ? God, the Maker 
 of the sun and stars — to call upon the nation to 
 bless Him for your Prince Kegent. As for the Nile, 
 I am, as you say, no friend to Napoleon, but I am 
 French. It is horrible to me to think — I saw him 
 the other day — that your Brunswick Prince is in 
 London and Napoleon is in Elba." 
 
 " God, after all," said the Major, laughing, " is 
 not so hostile to stupidity, then, as you suppose." 
 
 " Ah ! don't plague me, Major ; that's what you 
 are always trying to do. I'm not going to thank 
 the Supreme for the Brunswicks. I don't believe 
 He wanted them here." 
 
 Pauline's religion was full of the most lament- 
 able inconsistencies, which the Major was very fond 
 of exposing, but without much effect, and her faith 
 was restored after every assault with wonderful 
 celerity. By way of excuse for her we may be per- 
 mitted to say that a perfectly consistent, unassail- 
 able creed, in which conclusion follows from premiss 
 in unimpeachable order, is impossible. We cannot 
 construct such a creed about any man or woman 
 we know, and least of all about the universe. 
 We acknowledge opposites which we have no 
 power to bring together ; and Pauline, although she 
 knew nothing of philosophy, may not have been 
 
86 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 completely wrong with lier Supreme who hated 
 the Brunswicks and nevertheless sanctioned Carlton 
 House. 
 
 Pauline surprised Mrs. Zachariah considerably. 
 A woman, and more particularly a young woman, 
 even supposing her to be quite orthodox, who 
 behaved in that style amongst the members of 
 Pike Street would have been like a wild seagull 
 in a farm-yard of peaceful, clucking, brown-speckled 
 fowls. All the chapel maidens and matrons, of 
 course, were serious ; but their seriousness was 
 decent and in order. Mrs. Coleman was therefore 
 scandalised, nervous, and dumb. Jean, as his 
 manner was when his daughter expressed herself 
 strongly, was also silent. His love for her was 
 a consuming, hungry fire. It utterly extinguished 
 all trace, not merely of selfishness, but of self, in 
 him, and he was perfectly content, when Pauline 
 spoke well, to remain quiet, and not allow a word 
 of his to disturb the effect which he thought she 
 ought to produce. 
 
 The Major, as a man of the world, thought the 
 conversation was becoming a little too metaphysical, 
 and asked Mrs. Coleman gaily if she would like to 
 see the fete,. 
 
 " Really, I hardly know what to say. I suppose " 
 — and this was said with a peculiar acidity — " there 
 
TEA A LA MODE. 87 
 
 is nothing wrong in it ? Zachariah, my dear, would 
 you like to go ? " 
 
 Zachariak did not reply. His thoughts were 
 elsewhere. But at last the spirit moved in 
 him — 
 
 " Miss Pauline, your Supreme Being won't help 
 you very far. There is no light save in God's 
 Holy Word. God hath concluded them all in 
 unbelief that He might have mercy upon all As 
 by one man's disobedience many were made sin- 
 ners, so by the obedience of One shall many be 
 made righteous. That is the explanation ; that 
 is the gospel. God allows all this wickedness 
 that His own glory may be manifested thereby, 
 and his own love in sending Jesus Christ to 
 save us : that, as sin hath reigned unto death, 
 even so might grace reign through righteous- 
 ness unto eternal life by Jesus Christ our Lord. 
 Do you ask me why does God wink at the crimes 
 of kings and murderers ? What if God, willing to 
 show His wrath, and to make His power known, 
 endured with much long-suffering the vessels of 
 wrath fitted to destruction, and that He might 
 make known the riches of his glory on the vessels 
 of mercy which he had afore prepared unto glory, 
 even us whom he hath called ? Miss Pauline, the 
 mere light of human reason will never save you 
 
88 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 or give you peace. Unless you believe God's Word 
 you are lost ; lost here and hereafter ; lost here 
 even, for until you believe it you wander in a 
 fog of ever-deepening confusion. All is dark and 
 inexplicable." 
 
 Being very much excited, he used largely the 
 words of St. Paul, and not his own. How clear 
 it all seemed to him, how indisputable ! Childish 
 association and years of unquestioning repetition 
 gave an absolute certainty to what was almost 
 unmeaning to other people. 
 
 Mrs. Zachariah, although she had expressed a 
 strong desire for the Major's conversion, and was. 
 the only other representative of the chapel present, 
 was very fidgety and uncomfortable during this 
 speech. She had an exquisite art, which she some- 
 times practised, of dropping her husband, or rather 
 bringing him down. So, when there was a pause, 
 everybody being moved at least by his earnestness, 
 she said — 
 
 " My dear, will you take any more tea ? " 
 
 He was looking on the table-cloth, with his head 
 on his hands, and did not answer. 
 
 " Major Maitland, may I give you some more 
 tea ? " 
 
 " No, thank you." The Major too was impressed — 
 more impressed than the lady who sat next to him ? 
 
TEA A LA MODE. 89 
 
 and she felt rebuffed and annoyed. To Pauline, 
 Zachariah had spoken Hebrew ; but his passion 
 was human, and her heart leapt out to meet him, 
 although she knew not what answer to make. 
 Her father was in the same position ; but the 
 Major's case was a little different. He had cer- 
 tainly at some time or other read the Epistle to 
 the Komans, and some expressions were not en- 
 tirely unfamiliar to him. 
 
 " i Vessels of wrath fitted to destruction ! ' — a 
 strong and noble phrase. Who are your vessels of 
 wrath, Coleman ? " 
 
 Caillaud and Pauline saw a little light, but it was 
 speedily eclipsed again. 
 
 " The unregenerate." 
 
 " Who are they ? " 
 
 " Those whom God has not called." 
 
 " Castlereagh, Liverpool, Sidmouth, and the rest 
 of the gang, for example ? " 
 
 Zachariah felt that the moment had come. 
 
 " Yes, yes^; but not only they. More than they. 
 God help me if I deny the Cross of Christ — all of 
 us into whose hearts God's grace has not been 
 poured — we, you, all of us, if we have not been 
 born of the Spirit and redeemed by the sacrifice 
 of His Son." 
 
 Zachariah put in the " us " and the " we," it will 
 
90 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 be observed. It was a concession to blunt the 
 sharpness of that dreadful dividing-line. 
 
 " We ? Not yourself, Caillaud, and Pauline ? " 
 
 He could not face the question. Something within 
 him said that he ought to have gone further ; 
 that he ought to have singled out the Major, 
 Caillaud, and Pauline ; held them fast, looked 
 straight into their eyes, and told them each one 
 there and then that they were in the bonds of 
 iniquity, sold unto Satan, and in danger of hell-fire. 
 But, alas ! he was at least a century and a half too 
 late. He struggled, wrestled, self against self, and 
 failed, not through want of courage, but because 
 he wanted a deeper conviction. The system was 
 still the same, even to its smallest details, but the 
 application had become difficult. The application, 
 indeed, was a good deal left to the sinner himself. 
 That was the difference. Phrases had been in- 
 vented or discovered which served to express modern 
 hesitation to bring the accepted doctrine into 
 actual, direct, week-day practice. It was in that 
 way that it was gradually bled into impotence. 
 One of these phrases came into his mind. It was 
 from his favourite author — 
 
 " ' Who art thou that judgest ? ' It is not for 
 me, Major Maitland." 
 
 Ah, but, Zachariah, do you not remember that 
 
TEA A LA MODE. 91 
 
 Paul is not speaking of those who deny the 
 Lord, but of the weak in faith ; of differences in 
 eating and drinking, and the observation of days ? 
 Whether he remembered it or not, he could say no 
 more. Caillaud, the Major, Pauline, condemned to 
 the everlasting consequences of the wrath of the 
 Almighty ! He could not pronounce such a sen- 
 tence, and yet his conscience whispered that just 
 for want of the last nail in a sure place what he had 
 built would come tumbling to the ground. During 
 the conversation the time had stolen away, and, to 
 their horror, Zachariah and his wife discovered that 
 it was a quarter-past six. He hastily informed his 
 guests that he had hoped they would attend him to 
 his chapel. Would they go? The Major consented. 
 He had nothing particular on hand, but Caillaud and 
 Pauline refused. Zachariah was particularly urgent 
 that these two should accompany him, but they 
 were steadfast, for all set religious performances 
 were hateful to them. 
 
 " No, Coleman, no more ; I know what it all 
 means." 
 
 " And I," added Pauline, " cannot sit still with 
 so many respectable people ; I never could. I have 
 been to church, and always felt impelled to do 
 something peculiar in it which would have made 
 them turn me out. I cannot, too, endure preaching. 
 
92 THE KEVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 I cannot tolerate that man up in the pulpit looking 
 down over all the people — so wise and so self- 
 satisfied. I want to pull him out and say, i Here, 
 you, sir, come here and let me see if you can tell 
 me two or three things I want to know/ Then, 
 Mr. Coleman, I am never well in a great building, 
 especially in a church ; I have such a weight upon 
 my head, as if the roof were resting on it." 
 
 He looked mournfully at her, but there was 
 no time to remonstrate. Mrs. Zachariah was ready, 
 in her Sunday best of sober bluish cloud-colour. 
 Although it was her Sunday best, there was not a 
 single thread of finery on it, and there was not 
 a single crease nor spot. She bade Caillaud and 
 Pauline good-bye with much cheerfulness, and tripped 
 downstairs. The Major had preceded her, but Zacha- 
 riah lingered for a moment with the other two. 
 
 " Come, my dear, make haste, we shall be so late." 
 
 " Go on with the Major ; I shall catch you in a 
 moment ; I walk faster than you. I must close the 
 window a trifle, and take two or three of the coals 
 off the fire." 
 
 Caillaud and Pauline lingered too. The three 
 were infinitely nearer to one another than they knew. 
 Zachariah thought he was so far, and yet he was so 
 close. The man rose up behind the Calvinist, and 
 reached out arms to touch and embrace his friends. 
 
TEA A LA MODE. 93 
 
 <l Good-bye, Caillaud ; good-bye, Pauline ! May 
 God in His mercy bless and save you. God bless 
 
 you ! " 
 
 Caillaud looked steadfastly at him for a moment, 
 and then, in his half-forgotten French fashion, threw 
 his arms round his neck, and the two remained 
 for a moment locked together, Pauline standing by 
 herself apart. She came forward, took Zachariah's 
 hand, when it was free, in both her own, held her 
 head back a little, as if for clearness of survey, and 
 said slowly, " God bless you, Mr. Coleman." She 
 then went downstairs. Her father followed her, and 
 Zachariah went after his wife and the Major, whom, 
 however, he did not overtake till he reached the 
 chapel door, where they were both waiting for him. 
 
( 94 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 JEPHTHAH. 
 
 The Beverend Thomas Bradshaw, of Pike Street 
 Meeting-House, was not a descendant from Brad- 
 shaw the regicide, but claimed that he belonged 
 to the same family. He was in 1 8 1 4 about fifty 
 years old, and minister of one of the most important 
 churches in the eastern part of London. He was 
 tall and spare, and showed his height in the pulpit, 
 for he always spoke without a note and used a 
 small Bible, which he held close to his eyes. He 
 was a good classical scholar, and he understood 
 Hebrew, too, as well as few men in that day under- 
 stood it. He had a commanding figure, ruled his 
 church like a despot ; had a crowded congregation, 
 of which the larger portion was masculine ; and 
 believed in predestination and the final persever- 
 ance of the saints. He was rather unequal in 
 his discourses, for he had a tendency to moodiness, 
 and, at times, even to hypochondria. When this 
 temper was upon him he was combative or melan- 
 
JEPHTHAH. 95 
 
 choly ; and sometimes, to the disgust of many who 
 came from all parts of London to listen to him, he did 
 not preach in the proper sense of the word, but read 
 a chapter, made a comment or two upon it, caused 
 a hymn to be sung, and then dismissed his con- 
 gregation with the briefest of prayers. Although he 
 took no active part in politics, he was republican 
 through and through, and never hesitated for a 
 moment in those degenerate days to say what he 
 thought about any scandal. In this respect he dif- 
 fered from his fellow-ministers, who, under the pre- 
 tence of increasing zeal for religion, had daily fewer 
 and fewer points of contact with the world outside. 
 Mr. Bradshaw had been married when he was about 
 thirty ; but his wife died in giving birth to a 
 daughter, who also died ; and for twenty years he 
 had been a widower, with no thought of changing 
 his condition. He was understood to have peculiar 
 opinions about second marriages, although he kept 
 them very much to himself. One thing, however, 
 was known, that for a twelvemonth after the death 
 of his wife he was away from England, and that he 
 came back an altered man to his people in Bed- 
 fordshire, where at that time he was settled. His 
 discourses were remarkably strong, and of a kind 
 seldom, or indeed never, heard now. They taxed 
 the whole mental powers of his audience, and were 
 
96 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 utterly unlike the simple stuff which became fashion- 
 able with the Evangelistic movement. Many of them, 
 taken down by some of his hearers, survive in manu- 
 script to the present clay. They will not, as a rule, 
 bear printing, because the assumption on which they 
 rest is not now assumed ; but if it be granted, they 
 are unanswerable ; and it is curious that every now 
 and then, although they are never for a moment 
 anything else than a strict deduction from what we 
 in the latter half of the century consider unproven 
 or even false, they express themselves in the same 
 terms as the newest philosophy. Occasionally too, 
 more particularly when he sets himself the task of 
 getting into the interior of a Bible character, he is 
 intensely dramatic, and what are shadows to the 
 careless reader become living human beings, with 
 the reddest of blood visible under their skin. 
 
 On this particular evening Mr. Bradshaw took 
 the story of Jephthah's daughter : — " The Spirit 
 of the Lord came upon Jephthah." Here is an 
 abstract of his discourse. " It was the Spirit ot 
 the Lord, notwithstanding what happened. I beg 
 you also to note that there is a mistranslation in 
 our version. The Hebrew has it, c Then it shall 
 be, that whosoever ' — not whatsoever — £ cometh forth 
 of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return 
 in peace from the children of Amnion, shall surely 
 
JEPHTHAH. 97 
 
 be the Lord's, and I will offer him ' — not it — ' up for 
 
 a burnt-offering.' Nevertheless I believe my text — 
 
 it was the Spirit of the Lord. This Hebrew soldier 
 
 was the son of a harlot. He was driven by his 
 
 brethren out of his father's house. Ammon made 
 
 war upon Israel, and in their distress the elders of 
 
 Israel went to fetch Jephthah. Mark, my friends, 
 
 God's election. The children of the lawful wife are 
 
 passed by, and the child of the harlot is chosen. 
 
 Jephthah forgets his grievances and becomes captain 
 
 of the host. Ammon is over against him. Jephthah's 
 
 rash vow — this is sometimes called. I say it is 
 
 not a rash vow. It may be rash to those who have 
 
 never been brought to extremity by the children 
 
 of Ammon — to those who have not cared whether 
 
 Ammon or Christ wins. Men and women sitting 
 
 here in comfortable pews" — this was said with a 
 
 kind of snarl — " may talk of Jephthah's rash vow. 
 
 God be with them, what do they know of the 
 
 struggles of such a soul ? It does not say so 
 
 directly in the Bible, but we are led to infer it, 
 
 that Jephthah was successful because of his vow. 
 
 ' The Lord delivered them into his hands.' He 
 
 would not have done it if He had been displeased 
 
 with the ' rash vow ' " (another snarl). " He smote 
 
 them from Aroer even till thou come to Minnith. 
 
 Ah, but what follows ? The Omnipotent and 
 
 G 
 
9 8 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Omniscient might have ordered it, surely, that a 
 
 slave might have met Jephthah. Why, in His mercy 
 
 did He not do it ? Who are we that we should 
 
 question what He did ? But if we may not inquire 
 
 too closely into His designs, it is permitted us, 
 
 my friends, when His reason accords with ours, to 
 
 try and show it. Jephthah had played for a great 
 
 stake. Ought the Almighty — let us speak it with 
 
 reverence — to have let him off with an ox, or even 
 
 with a serf? I say that if we are to conquer 
 
 Amnion we must pay for it, and we ought to pay 
 
 for it. Yes, and perhaps God wanted the girl — 
 
 who can tell ? Jephthah comes back in triumph. 
 
 Let me read the passage to you : — c Behold his 
 
 daughter came out to meet him with timbrels and 
 
 with dances : and she was his only child : beside 
 
 her he had neither son nor daughter. And it came 
 
 to pass, when he saw her, that he rent his clothes, 
 
 and said, Alas, my daughter ! thou hast brought 
 
 me very low, and thou art one of them that trouble 
 
 me : for I have opened my mouth unto the Lord, 
 
 and I cannot go back.' Now, you read poetry, I dare 
 
 say — what you call poetry. I say in all of it — all, at 
 
 least, I have seen — nothing comes up to that. ' She 
 
 vms his only child : beside her he had neither son nor 
 
 daughter' " — (Mr. Bradshaw's voice broke a little as 
 
 he went over the words again with great deliberation 
 
JEPHTIIAH. 99 
 
 and infinite pathos.) — "The inspired writer leaves 
 the fact just as it stands, and is content. Inspira- 
 tion itself can do nothing to make it more touching 
 than it is in its own bare nakedness. There is no 
 thought in Jephthah of recantation, nor in the 
 maiden of revolt, but nevertheless he has his own 
 sorrow. He is brought very low. God does not 
 rebuke him for his grief. He knows well enough, 
 my dear friends, the nature which He took upon 
 Himself — nay, are we not the breath of His nostrils, 
 created in His image ? He does not anywhere, there- 
 fore, I say, forbid that we should even break our 
 hearts over those we love and lose. She asks for 
 two months by herself upon the mountains before her 
 death. What a time for him ! At the end of the 
 two months God held him still to his vow ; he did 
 not shrink ; she submitted, and was slain. But you 
 will want me to tell you in conclusion where the 
 gospel is in all this. Gospel ! I say that the 
 blessed gospel is in the Old Testament as well 
 as in the New. I say that the Word of God is 
 one, and that His message is here this night for 
 you and me, as distinctly as it is at the end of the 
 sacred volume. Observe, as I have told you before, 
 that Jephthah is the son of the harlot. He hath 
 mercy on whom He will have mercy. He calls 
 them His people who are not His people ; and He 
 
ioo THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 calls her beloved which was not beloved. God at 
 any rate is no stickler for hereditary rights. More- 
 over, it does not follow because you, my hearers, 
 have God-fearing parents that God has elected 
 you. He may have chosen, instead of you, instead 
 of me, the wretchedest creature outside, whose rags 
 we will not touch. But to what did God elect 
 Jephthah ? To a respectable, easy, decent exist- 
 ence, with money at interest, regular meals, sleep 
 after them, and unbroken rest at night ? He elected 
 him to that tremendous oath and that tremen- 
 dous penalty. He elected him to the agony he 
 endured while she was away upon the hills ! That 
 is God's election ; an election to the cross and to the 
 cry, l Eli, Eli, lama Sabachthani.' l Yes,' you will say, 
 but He elected him to the victory over Ammon.' 
 Doubtless He did ; but what cared Jephthah for his 
 victory over Ammon when she came to meet him, 
 or, indeed, for the rest of his life ? What is a 
 victory, what are triumphal arches and the praise 
 of all creation, to a lonely man ? Be sure, if God 
 elects you, He elects you to suffering. Whom He 
 loveth He chasteneth, and His stripes are not play- 
 work. Ammon will not be conquered unless your 
 heart be well nigh broken. I tell 3-ou, too, as 
 Christ's minister, that you are not to direct your 
 course according to your own desires. You are not 
 
JEPHTHATI. ioi 
 
 to say, c I will give up this and that so that I may 
 be saved.' Did not St. Paul wish himself accursed 
 from Christ for his brethren ? If God should com- 
 mand you to go down to the bottomless pit in 
 fulfilment of His blessed designs, it is your place to 
 go. Out with self — I was about to say this damned 
 self; and if Israel calls, if Christ calls, take not a 
 sheep or ox — that is easy enough — but take your 
 choicest possession, take your own heart, your own 
 blood, your very self, to the altar." 
 
 During the sermon the Major was much excited. 
 Apart altogether from the effect of the actual words 
 spoken, Mr. Bradshaw had a singular and con- 
 tagious power over men. The three, Mrs. Coleman, 
 the Major, and Zachariah, came out together. Mrs. 
 Zachariah stayed behind in the lobby for some female 
 friend to whom she wished to speak about a Sunda}— 
 school tea-meeting which was to take place that week. 
 The other two stood aside, ill at ease, amongst the 
 crowd pressing out into the street. Presently Mrs. 
 Coleman found her friend, whom she at once in- 
 formed that Major Maitland and her husband were 
 waiting for her, and that therefore she had not a 
 moment to spare. That little triumph accomplished, 
 she had nothing of importance to say about the tea 
 meeting, and rejoined her party with great good- 
 humour. She walked between the Major and 
 
io? THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Zachariah, and at once asked the Major how he 
 " enjoyed the service." The phrase was very un- 
 pleasant to Zachariah, but he was silent. 
 
 " Well, ma'am," said the Major, " Mr. Bradshaw is 
 a very remarkable man. It is a long time since 
 any speaker stirred me as he did. He is a born 
 orator, if ever there was one." 
 
 " I could have wished," said Zachariah, " as you 
 are not often in chapel, that his sermon had been 
 founded on some passage in the New Testament 
 which would have given him the opportunity of 
 more simply expounding the gospel of Christ." 
 
 " He could not have been better, I should think. 
 He went to my heart, though it is rather a difficult 
 passage in the case of a man about town like me ; 
 and I tell you what, Coleman, he made me determine 
 I would read the Bible again. What a story that 
 is!" 
 
 " Major, I thank God if you will read it ; and not 
 for the stories in it, save as all are part of one story 
 — the story of God's redeeming mercy." 
 
 The Major made no reply, for the word was 
 unwinged. 
 
 Mrs. Zachariah was silent, but when they came 
 to their door both she and her husband pressed him 
 to come in. He refused, however ; he would stroll 
 homeward, he said, and have a smoke as he went. 
 
JEPHTHAII. 103 
 
 " He touched me, Coleman, lie did. I thought, 
 between you and me " — and he spoke softly — " I had 
 not now got such a tender place ; I thought it was 
 all healed over long ago. I cannot come in. You'll 
 excuse me. Yes, 111 just wander back to Piccadilly. 
 I could not talk.'*' 
 
 They parted, and Zachariah and his wife went 
 upstairs. Their supper was soon ready. 
 
 " Jane," he said slowly, " I did not receive much 
 assistance from you in my endeavours to bring our 
 friends to a knowledge of the truth. I thought that, 
 as you desired the attempt, you would have helped 
 me a little." 
 
 " There is a reason for everything ; and what 
 is more, I do not consider it right to take upon 
 myself what belongs to a minister. It may do more 
 harm than good." 
 
 " Take upon yourself what belongs to a minister ! 
 My dear Jane, is nobody but a minister to bear 
 witness for the Master ? " 
 
 "Of course I did not mean to say that; you 
 know I did not. Why do you catch at my words ? 
 Perhaps, if you had not been quite so forward. 
 Mr. Caillaud and his daughter might have gone to 
 chapel." 
 
 After supper, and when he was alone, Zachariah 
 sat for some time without moving. He presently 
 
104 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 rose and opened the Bible again, which lay on the 
 table — the Bible which belonged to his father — and 
 turned to the fly-leaf on which was written the 
 family history. There was the record of his father's 
 marriage, dated on the day of the event. There 
 was the record of his own birth. There was the 
 record of his mother's death, still in his father's 
 writing, but in an altered hand, the letters not so 
 distinct, and the strokes crooked and formed with 
 difficulty. There was the record of Zachariah's 
 own marriage. A cloud of shapeless, inarticulate 
 sentiment obscured the man's eyes and brain. He 
 could not define what he felt, but he did feel. He 
 could not bear it, and he shut the book, opening it 
 again at the Twenty-second Psalm — the one which 
 the disciples of Jesus called to mind on the night of 
 the crucifixion. It was one which Mr. Bradshaw 
 often read, and Zachariah had noted in it a few 
 corrections made in the translation : — 
 
 " My God, my God, why hast Thou forsalccii me ? 
 . . . Our fathers trusted in Thee; they trusted, and 
 TJwu didst deliver them. . . . JJe not far from me ; 
 for trouble is near ; for there is none to help. . . . 
 Be Thou not far from me, Lord: my strength, 
 haste Thee to help me. . . . Save me from the lion's 
 mouth: and from the horns of the wild oxen Thou, 
 hast answered me." 
 
JEPHTHAII. 105 
 
 "From the horns of the wild oxen" — that cor- 
 rection had often been precious to Zachariah. 
 When at the point of being pinned to the ground 
 — so he understood it — help had arisen ; risen up 
 from the earth, and might again arise. It was 
 upon the first part of the text he dwelt now. It 
 came upon him with fearful distinctness that he 
 was alone — that he could never hope for sympathy 
 from his wife as long as he lived. Mr. Bradshaw's 
 words that evening recurred to him. God's purpose 
 in choosing to smite Jephthah in that way was 
 partly intelligible, and, after all, Jephthah was 
 elected to redeem his country too. But what 
 could be God's purpose in electing one of His 
 servants to indifference and absence of affection 
 where he had a right to expect it ? Could anybody 
 be better for not being loved ? Even Zachariah 
 could not think it possible. But Mr. Bradshaw's 
 words again recurred. Who was he that he should 
 question Qpd's designs ? It might be part of the 
 Divine design that he, Zachariah Coleman, should 
 not be made better by anything. It might be part 
 of that design, part of the fulfilment of a plan 
 devised by the Infinite One, that he should be 
 broken, nay, perhaps not saved. Mr. Bradshaw's 
 doctrine that night was nothing; new. Zachariah 
 had believed from his childhood, or had thought he 
 
106 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 believed, that the potter had power over the clay — of 
 the same lamp to make one vessel unto honour, 
 and another unto dishonour ; and that the thing- 
 formed unto dishonour could not reply and say to 
 him that formed it, ' Why hast thou made me thus ? ' 
 Nevertheless, to believe it generally was one thing ; 
 to believe it as a truth for him was another. Dark- 
 ness, the darkness as of the crucifixion night, seemed 
 over and around him. Poor wretch ! he thought 
 he was struggling with his weakness ; but he was 
 in reality struggling against his own strength. 
 Why had God so decreed ? Do what he could, 
 that fatal why, the protest of his reason, asserted 
 itself; and yet he cursed himself for permitting it, 
 believing it to be a sin. He walked about his 
 room for some relief. He looked out of the window. 
 It was getting late ; the sky was clearing, as it does 
 in London at that hour, and he saw the stars. 
 There was nothing to help him there. They 
 mocked him rather with their imperturbable, obsti- 
 nate stillness. At last he turned round, fell upon 
 his knees, and poured out himself before his Maker, 
 entreating Him for light. He rose from the ground, 
 looked again out of the window, and the first Hush 
 of the morning was just visible. Light was coming 
 to the world in obedience to the Divine command, 
 but not to him. He was exhausted, and crept into 
 
JEPHTHAH. 107 
 
 his bedroom, undressing without candle, and without 
 a sound. For a few minutes he thought he should 
 never sleep again, save in his grave ; but an unseen 
 Hand presently touched him, and he knew nothing 
 till he was awakened by the broad day streaming' 
 over him. 
 
( ioS ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE. 
 
 In December 1814a steamboat was set in motion 
 on the Limehouse Canal, the Lord Mayor and 
 other distinguished persons being on board. In 
 the same month Joanna Southcott died. She had 
 announced that on the 19th October she was to be 
 delivered of the Prince of Peace, although she was 
 then sixty years old. Thousands of persons believed 
 her, and a cradle was made. The Prince of Peace did 
 not arrive, and in a little more than two months poor 
 Joanna had departed, the cause of her departure hav- 
 ing been certified as dropsy. Death did not diminish 
 the number of her disciples, for they took refuge 
 in the hope of her resurrection. " The arm of the 
 Lord is not shortened," they truly affirmed ; and even 
 to this day there are people who are waiting for 
 the fulfilment of Joanna's prophecies and the appear- 
 ance of the " second Shiloh." Zachariah had been 
 frequently twitted in joke by his profane companions 
 
UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE. 109 
 
 in the printing office upon Lis supposed belief in 
 the delusion. It was their delight to assume that 
 all the " pious ones," as they called them, were alike ; 
 and on the morning of the 30th of December, the 
 day after Joanna expired, they were more than 
 usually tormenting. Zachariah did not remonstrate. 
 In his conscientious eagerness to bear witness for 
 his Master, he had often tried his hand upon his 
 mates ; but he had never had the smallest success, 
 and had now desisted. Moreover, his thoughts 
 were that morning with his comrades, the Friends 
 of the People. He hummed to himself the lines 
 from Lara — 
 
 " "Within that land was many a malcontent, 
 Who cursed the tyranny to which he bent ; 
 That soil full many a wringing despot saw, 
 Who worked his wantonness in form of law ; 
 Long war without and frequent broil within 
 Had made a path for blood and giant sin. " 
 
 The last meeting had been unusually exciting. 
 Differences of opinion had arisen as to future pro- 
 cedure, many of the members, the Secretary included, 
 advocating action ; but what they understood by it is 
 very difficult to say. A special call had been made 
 for that night, and Zachariah was in a difficultv. 
 His native sternness and detestation of kings and 
 their ministers would have led him almost to any 
 
no THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 length ; but he had a sober head on his shoulders. 
 So had the Major, and so had Caillaud. Conse- 
 quently they held back, and insisted, before stirring 
 a step towards actual revolution, that there should 
 be some fair chance of support and success. The 
 Major in particular warned them of the necessity 
 of drill ; and plainly told them also that, not only 
 were the middle classes all against them, but their 
 own class was hostile. This was perfectly true, 
 although it was a truth so unpleasant that he had 
 to endure some very strong language, and even hints 
 of treason. No wonder ; for it is undoubtedly very 
 bitter to be obliged to believe that the men whom we 
 want to help do not themselves wish to be helped. 
 To work hard for those who will thank us, to head 
 a majority against oppressors, is a brave thing ; but 
 far more honour is due to the Maitlands, Caillauds, 
 Colemans, and others of that stamp ,who strove 
 for thirty years from the outbreak of the French 
 revolution onwards not merely to rend the chains of 
 the prisoners, but had to achieve the more difficult 
 task of convincing them that they would be happier 
 if they were free. These heroes are forgotten, or 
 nearly so. Who remembers the poor creatures 
 who met in the early mornings on the Lancashire 
 moors or were shot by the yeomanry ? They sleep 
 in graves over which stands no tombstone, or 
 
UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE. 1 1 1 
 
 probably their bodies have been carted away to 
 make room for a railway which has been driven 
 through their resting-place. They saw the truth 
 before those whom the world delights to honour 
 as its political redeemers ; but they have perished 
 utterly from our recollection, and will never be 
 mentioned in history. Will there ever be a great 
 Day of Assize when a just judgment shall be 
 pronounced ; when all the impostors who have 
 been crowned for what they did not deserve will 
 be stripped, and the Divine word will be heard 
 calling upon the faithful to inherit the Kingdom, 
 — who, when "I was an hungered gave me meat, 
 when I was thirsty gave me drink ; when I was 
 a stranger took me in ; when I was naked visited 
 me ; when I was in prison came unto me " ? 
 Never ! It was a dream of an enthusiastic Galilean 
 youth, and let us not desire that it may ever 
 come true. Let us rather gladly consent to be 
 crushed into indistinguishable dust, with no hope 
 of record : rejoicing only if some infinitesimal 
 portion of the good work may be achieved by 
 our obliteration, and content to be remembered 
 only in that anthem which in the future it will 
 be ordained shall be sung in our religious services 
 in honour of all holy apostles and martyrs who 
 have left no name. 
 
ii2 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 The night before the special meeting a gentleman 
 in a blue cloak, and with a cigar in his mouth, 
 sauntered past the entrance to Carter's Eents, where 
 Mr. Secretary lived. It was getting late, but he 
 was evidently not in a hurry, and seemed to enjoy 
 the coolness of the air, for presently he turned and 
 walked past the entrance again. He took out his 
 watch — it was a quarter to eleven o'clock — and he 
 cursed Mr. Secretary and the beer-shops which had 
 probably detained him. A constable came by, but 
 never showed himself in the least degree inquisitive ; 
 although it was odd that anybody should select 
 Carter's Eents for a stroll. Presently Mr. Secretary 
 came in sight, a trifle, but not much, the worse for 
 liquor. It was odd, also, that he took no notice of 
 the blue cloak and cigar, but went straight to his own 
 lodging. The other, after a few moments, followed ; 
 and it was a third time odd that he should find the 
 door unbolted and go upstairs. All this, we say, 
 would have been strange to a spectator, but it was 
 not so to these three persons. Presently the one 
 first named found himself in Mr. Secretary's some- 
 what squalid room. He then stood disclosed as 
 the assistant whom the Secretary had first seen at 
 Whitehall sitting in the Commissioner's office. This 
 was not the second nor third interview which had 
 taken place since then. 
 
UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE. 113 
 
 " Well, Mr. Hardy, what do you want here to- 
 night ? " 
 
 " Well, my friend, you know, I suppose. How 
 goes the game ? " 
 
 " D — n me if I do know. If you think I am 
 going to split, you are very much mistaken." 
 
 " Split ! Who wants you to split ? Why, there's 
 nothing to split about. I can tell you just as much 
 as you can tell me." 
 
 " Why do you come here then ? " 
 
 " For the pleasure of seeing you, and to " 
 
 Mr. Hardy put his hand carelessly in his pocket, a 
 movement which was followed by a metallic jingle 
 — "and just to — to — explain one or two little 
 matters." 
 
 The Secretary observed that he was very tired. 
 
 " Are you ? I believe I am tired too." 
 
 Mr. Hardy took out a little case - bottle with 
 brandy in it, and the Secretary, without saying a 
 word, produced two mugs and a jug of water. The 
 brandy was mixed by Mr. Hardy ; but his share 
 of the spirit differed from that assigned to his 
 friend. 
 
 " Split ! " he continued ; " no, I should think not. 
 But we want you to help us. The Major and one or 
 two more had better be kept out of harm's way for 
 a little while ; and we propose not to hurt them, 
 
 H 
 
ii4 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 but to take care of them a bit, you understand ? And 
 if, the next time, he and the others will be there — 
 we have been looking for the Major for three or 
 four days, but he is not to be found in his old 
 quarters — we will just give them a call. When 
 will you have your next meeting ? They will all be 
 handv then." 
 
 " You can find that out without my help. It's 
 to-morrow." 
 
 u Ah ! I suppose you've had a stormy discussion. 
 I hope your moderate counsels prevailed." 
 
 Mr. Secretary winked and gave his head a twist 
 on one side, as if he meant thereby to say, " You 
 don't catch me." 
 
 " It's a pity," continued Mr. Hardy, taking no 
 notice, " that some men are always for rushiug into 
 extremities. Why don't they try and redress their 
 grievances, if they have any, in the legitimate way 
 which you yourself propose — by petition ? " 
 
 It so happened that a couple of hours before, Mr. 
 Secretary having been somewhat noisy and insub- 
 ordinate, the Major had been obliged to rule him 
 out of order and request his silence. The insult — 
 for so he considered it — was rankling in him. 
 
 " Because," he replied, " we have amongst us 
 two or three d — d conceited, stuck-up fools, who 
 think they are going to ride over us. By God, 
 
UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE. 115 
 
 the}' are mistaken though ! They are the chaps 
 who do all the mischief. Not that I'd say anything 
 against them — no, notwithstanding I stand up 
 against them." 
 
 " Do all the mischief — yes, you've just hit it. I 
 do believe that if it were not for these fellows the 
 others would be quiet enough." 
 
 The Secretary took a little more brandy and 
 water. The sense of wrong within him was like an 
 open wound, and the brandy inflamed it. He also 
 be^an to think that it would not be a bad thing 
 for him if he could seclude the Major, Caillaud, and 
 Zachariah for a season. Zachariah in particular 
 he mortally hated. 
 
 " What some of these fine folks would like to do, 
 you see, Mr. Hardy, is to persuade ns poor devils 
 to get up the row, while they direct it. Direct 
 it, that's their word ; but we're not going to be 
 humbugged. " 
 
 " Too wide awake, I should say." 
 
 " I should say so too. We are to be told off for 
 the Bank of England, and they are to show it to us 
 at the other end of Cheapside." 
 
 " Bank of England," said Mr. Hardy, laughing ; 
 " that's a joke. You might run your heads a long 
 while against that before you get in. You don't 
 drink vour brand v and water." 
 
n6 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 The Secretary took another gulp. " And he's a 
 military man — a military man — a military man." 
 He was getting rather stupid now, and repeated the 
 phrase each of the three times with increasing un- 
 steadiness, but also with increasing contempt. 
 
 Mr. Hardy took out his watch. It was getting 
 on towards midnight. " Good-bye ; glad to see you 
 all right/' and he turned to leave. There was a 
 jingling of coin again, and when he had left Mr. 
 Secretary took up the five sovereigns which had 
 found their way to the table and put them in his 
 pocket. His visitor picked his way downstairs. 
 The constable was still pacing up and down Carter's 
 Rents, but again did not seem to observe him, and 
 he walked meditatively to Jermyn Street. He was 
 at his office by half-past nine, and his chief was 
 only half-an-hour later. 
 
 The Major had thought it prudent to change his 
 address ; and, furthermore, it was the object of the 
 Government to make his arrest, with that of his 
 colleagues, at the place of meeting, not only to save 
 trouble, but because it would look better. Mr. 
 Hardy had found out, therefore, all he wanted to 
 know, and was enabled to confirm his opinion that 
 the Major was the head of the conspiracy. 
 
 But underneath Mr. Secretary's mine was a 
 deeper mine ; for as the Major sat at breakfast the 
 
UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE. 117 
 
 next morning a note came for him, the messenger 
 leaving directly he delivered it to the servant. It was 
 very brief: — "No meeting to-night. Warn all ex- 
 cept the Secretary, who has already been acquainted." 
 There was no signature, aud he did not know the 
 handwriting. He reflected for a little while, and 
 then determined to consult Caillaud and Coleman, 
 who were his informal Cabinet. He had no diffi- 
 culty in finding Coleman, but the Caillauds were not 
 at home, and it was agreed that postponement could 
 do no harm. A message was therefore left at 
 Caillaud's house and one was sent to every one of the 
 members, but two or three could not be discovered. 
 Meanwhile Mr. Secretary, who, strange to say, had 
 not been acquainted, had been a little overcome by 
 Mr. Hardy's brandy on the top of the beer he had 
 taken beforehand, and woke in the morning very 
 miserable. Finding the five guineas in his pocket, 
 he was tempted to a public -house hard by, in order 
 that he might cool his stomach and raise his spirits 
 with a draught or two of ale. He remained there 
 a little too long, and on reaching home was obliged 
 to go to bed again. He woke about six, and then 
 it came into his still somewhat confused brain that 
 he had to attend the meeting. At half-past seven 
 he accordiugly took his departure. Meanwhile 
 the Major and Zachariah had determined to post 
 
nS THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 themselves in Red Lion Street, to intercept those of 
 their comrades with whom they had not been able 
 to communicate, and also to see what was going 
 to happen. At a quarter to eight the Secretary 
 turned out of Holborn, and when he came a little 
 nearer, Zachariah saw that at a distance of fifty 
 yards there was a constable following him. He 
 came on slowly until he was abreast of a narrow 
 court j when suddenly there was a pistol-shot, and he 
 was dead on the pavement. Zachariah's first im- 
 pulse was to rush forward, but he saw the constable 
 running, followed by others, and he discerned in an 
 instant that to attempt to assist would lead to his 
 own arrest and do no good. He managed, however, 
 to reach the Major, and for two or three moments 
 they stood stock-still on the edge of the pavement 
 struck with amazement. Presently a woman passed 
 them with a thick veil over her face. 
 
 " Home," she said ; " don't stay here like fools. 
 Pack up your things and be off. You'll be in prison 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Be off! " gasped Zachariah ; " be off! — where ? " 
 
 " Anywhere," and she had gone. 
 
 The constables, after putting the corpse in a 
 hackney coach, proceeded to the room ; but it was 
 dark and empty. They had no directions to do 
 anything more that night, and returned to Bow 
 
UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE. 119 
 
 Street. The next morning, however, as soon as' it 
 was light, a Secretary of State's warrant, backed by 
 sufficient force, was presented at the lodgings of 
 Caillaud and Zachariah. The birds had flown, and 
 not a soul could tell what had become of them. 
 In Zachariah's street, which was rather a Radical 
 quarter, the official inquiries were not answered 
 politely, and one of the constables received on the 
 top of his head an old pail with slops in it. The 
 minutest investigation failed to discover to whom 
 the pail belonged. 
 
( 120 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A STRAIN OX THE CABLE. 
 
 Bow Street was completely at fault, and never dis- 
 covered the secret of that assassination. It was 
 clear that neither the Major nor Coleman were the 
 murderers, as they had been noticed at some dis- 
 tance from the spot where the Secretary fell by 
 several persons who described them accurately. Nor 
 was Caillaud suspected, as the constable testified 
 that he passed him on the opposite side of the 
 street as he followed the Secretary. The only con- 
 clusion, according to Bow Street, which was free 
 from all doubt was, that whoever did the deed was 
 a committee consisting of a single member. A 
 reward of ^500 did not bring forward anybody 
 who knew anything about the business. As for 
 Caillaud, his daughter, and the Major, the next 
 morning saw them far on the way to Dover, and 
 eventually they arrived at Paris in safety. Zacha- 
 riah, when he reached home, found his wife gone. 
 
A STRAIN ON THE CABLE. 121 
 
 A note lay for him there, probably from the same 
 hand which warned the Major, telling him not to 
 lose an instant, but to join in Islington one of the 
 mails to Manchester. His wife would start that night 
 from St. Martin's le Grand by a coach which went 
 by another road. He was always prompt, and in 
 five minutes he was out of the house. The fare was 
 carefully folded by his unknown friend in the letter. 
 He just managed, as directed, to secure a place, not 
 by the regular Manchester mail, but by one which 
 went through Barnet and stopped to take up pas- 
 sengers at the " Angel." He climbed upon the 
 roof, and presently was travelling rapidly through 
 Holloway and Highgate. He found, to his relief, 
 that nobody had heard of the murder, and he was 
 left pretty much to his own reflections. His first 
 thoughts were an attempt to unravel the mystery. 
 Why was it so sudden ? Why had no word nor 
 hint of what was intended reached him ? He could 
 not guess. In those days the clubs were so beset 
 with spies that frequently the most important 
 resolutions were taken by one man, who confided in 
 nobody. It was winter, but fortunately Zachariah 
 was well wrapped up. He journeyed on, hour after 
 hour, in a state of mazed bewilderment, one thought 
 tumbling over another, and when morning broke 
 over the flats he had not advanced a single step in 
 
122 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 the determination of his future path. Nothing is 
 more painful to a man of any energy than the 
 inability to put things in order in himself — to place 
 before himself what he has to do, and arrange the 
 means for doing it. To be the passive victim of a 
 rushing stream of disconnected impressions is torture, 
 especially if the emergency be urgent. So when 
 the sun came up Zachariah began to be ashamed 
 of himself that the night had passed in these 
 idiotic moonings, which had left him just where he 
 was, and he tried to settle what he was to do when 
 he reached Manchester. He did not know a soul ; 
 but he could conjecture why he was advised to go 
 thither. It was a disaffected town, and Friends of 
 the People were very strong there. His first duty 
 was to get a lodging, his second to get work, and 
 his third to find out a minister of God under whom 
 he could worship. He put this last, not because 
 it was the least important, but because he had 
 the most time to decide upon it. At about ten 
 o'clock at night he came to his journey's end, and to 
 his joy saw his wife waiting for him. They went 
 at once to a small inn hard by, and Mrs. Coleman 
 began to overwhelm him with interrogation ; but 
 he quietly suggested that not a syllable should be 
 spoken till they had had some rest, and that they 
 should swallow their supper and go to bed. In the 
 
A STRAIN ON THE CABLE. 123 
 
 morning Zachariah rose and looked out of the 
 window. He saw nothing but a small backyard 
 in which some miserable, scrao-o-v fowls were 
 crouching under a cart to protect themselves 
 from the rain, which was falling heavily through 
 the dim, smoky air. His spirits sank. He had 
 no fear of apprehension or prosecution, but the 
 prospect before him was depressing. Although he 
 was a poor man, he had not been accustomed to 
 oscillations of fortune, and he was in an utterly 
 strange place, with five pounds in his pocket, and 
 nothing to do. 
 
 He was, however, resolved not to yield, and 
 thought it best to begin with his wife before she 
 could besfin with him. 
 
 " Now, my dear, tell me what has happened, who 
 sent you here, and what kind of a journey you have 
 had." 
 
 " Mr. Bradshaw came about seven o'clock, and 
 told me the Government was about to suppress the 
 Friends of the People ; that you did not know it ; 
 that I must go to Manchester; that you would 
 come after me ; and that a message would be left for 
 you. He took me to the coach, and paid for me." 
 
 " Mr. Bradshaw ! Did he tell you anything 
 more r 
 
 " No ; except that he did not think we should 
 
124 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 be pursued, and that he would send our things after 
 us when he knew where we were." 
 
 " You have not heard anything more, then ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You haven't heard that the Secretary was shot ? " 
 
 " Shot ! Oh dear ! Zachariah, what will become 
 of us ? " 
 
 Her husband then told her what he knew, she 
 listening with great eagerness and in silence. 
 
 " Zachariah, what will become of us ? " she 
 broke out again. 
 
 " There is no reason to worry yourself, Jane ; 
 it is perfectly easy for me to prove my innocence. 
 It is better for us, however, to stay here for a time. 
 The Government won't go any farther with us ; they 
 will search for the murderer — that's all." 
 
 " Why, then, are we sent here and the others 
 are let alone ? I suppose the Major is not 
 here ? " 
 
 " I cannot say." 
 
 " To think I should ever come to this ; I haven't 
 got a rag with me beyond what I have on. I 
 haven't got any clean things ; a nice sort of creature 
 I am to go out of doors. And it all had nothing to 
 do with us." 
 
 " Nothing to do with us ! My dear Jane, do 
 you mean that we are not to help other people, but 
 
A STRAIN ON THE CABLE. 125 
 
 sit at home and enjoy ourselves ? Besides, if you 
 thought it wrong, why did you not say so before ? " 
 
 " How was I to know what you were doing. You 
 never told me anything ; you never do. One thing 
 I do know is, that we shall starve, and I suppose I 
 shall have to go about and beg. I haven't even 
 another pair of shoes or stockings to my feet." 
 
 Zachariah pondered for a moment. His first 
 impulse was something very different ; but at last 
 he rose, went up to his wife, kissed her softly on the 
 forehead, and said — 
 
 " Never mind, my dear ; courage, you will have 
 your clothes next week. Come with me and look 
 out for a lodging." 
 
 Mrs. Zachariah, however, shook herself free — not 
 violently, but still decidedly — from his caresses. 
 
 " Most likely seized by the Government. Look 
 for a lodging ! That's just like you ! How can I 
 go out in this pouring rain ? " 
 
 Zachariah, lately at any rate, had ceased to expect 
 much affection in his wife for him ; but he thought 
 she was sensible, and equal to any complexity of 
 circumstances, or even to disaster. He thought 
 this, not on any positive evidence ; but he concluded, 
 somewhat absurdly, that her coldness meant common 
 sense and capacity for facing trouble courageously 
 and with deliberation. He had now to find out 
 
126 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 liis mistake, and to learn that the absence of emotion 
 neither proves, nor is even a ground for suspecting, 
 any good whatever of a person ; that, on the con- 
 trary, it is a ground for suspecting weakness, and 
 possibly imbecility. 
 
 Mrs. Coleman refused to go out, and after break- 
 fast Zachariah went by himself, having first in- 
 quired what was a likely quarter. As he wandered 
 along much that had been before him again and 
 again once more recurred to him. He had been 
 overtaken by calamity, and he had not heard from 
 his wife one single expression of sympathy, nor had 
 he received one single idea which could help him. 
 She had thought of nothing but herself, and even 
 of herself not reasonably. She was not the help- 
 meet which he felt he had a right to expect. He 
 could have endured any defect, so it seemed, if only 
 he could have had love : he could have endured the 
 want of love if only he could have had a counsellor. 
 But he had neither, and he rebelled, questioning 
 the justice of his lot. Then he fell into the old 
 familiar controversy with himself, and it was curi- 
 ously characteristic of him that, as he paced those 
 dismal Manchester pavements, all their gloom dis- 
 appeared as he re-argued the universal problem of 
 which his case was an example. He admitted the 
 unquestionable right of the Almighty to damn three 
 
A STRAIN ON THE CABLE. 127 
 
 parts of creation to eternal hell if so He willed ; 
 why not, then, one sinner like Zachariah Coleman 
 to a weary pilgrimage for thirty or forty years ? 
 He rebuked himself when he found that he had all 
 his life assented so easily to the doctrine of God's 
 absolute authority in the election and disposal of 
 the creatures He had made, and yet that he 
 revolted when God touched him, and awarded him 
 a punishment which, in comparison with the eter- 
 nal loss of His presence, was as nothing. At last 
 — and here, through his religion, he came down to 
 the only consolation possible for him — he said to 
 himself, " Thus hath He decreed ; it is foolish to 
 struggle against His ordinances ; we can but submit." 
 " A poor gospel," says his critic. Poor ! — yes, it may 
 be ; but it is the gospel according to Job, and any 
 other is a mere mirage. "Doth the hawk fly by 
 thy wisdom and stretch her wings towards the 
 south ? " Confess ignorance and the folly of in- 
 surrection, and there is a chance that even the 
 irremediable will be somewhat mitigated. Poor ! — 
 yes ; but it is genuine ; and this at least must be 
 said for Puritanism, that of all the theologies and 
 philosophies it is the most honest in its recognition 
 of the facts ; the most real, if we penetrate to the 
 heart of it, in the remedy which it offers. 
 
 He found two small furnished rooms which would 
 
128 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 answer his purpose till his own furniture should 
 arrive, and he and his wife took possession that 
 same morning. He then wrote to his landlord in 
 London — a man whom he knew he could trust — and 
 directed him to send his goods. For the present, 
 although he had no fear whatever of any prosecution, 
 he thought fit to adopt a feigned name, with which 
 we need not trouble ourselves. In the afternoon he 
 sallied out to seek employment. The weather had 
 cleared, but Mrs. Coleman still refused to accom- 
 pany him, and she occupied herself moodily with 
 setting the place to rights, as she called it, although, 
 as it happened, it was particularly neat and clean. 
 There was not so much printing done in Man- 
 chester then as now, and Zachariah had no success. 
 He came home about seven o'clock, weary and 
 disheartened. His wife was one of those women 
 who under misfortune show all that is worst in 
 them, as many women in misfortune show all that 
 is best. 
 
 " You might have been sure you would get 
 nothing to do here. If, as you say, there is no 
 danger, why did you not stay in London ? " 
 
 " You know all about it, my dear ; we were 
 warned to come." 
 
 " Yes, but why in such a hurry ? Why didn't 
 you stop to think ? " 
 
A STRAIN ON THE CABLE. 129 
 
 " It is all very well to say so now, but there were 
 only a few minutes in which to decide. Besides, 
 when I got home I found you gone." 
 
 Mrs. Zachariah conveniently took no notice of the 
 last part of this remark, which, of course, settled the 
 whole question, but continued — 
 
 " Ah, well, I suppose it's all right ; but I'm sure 
 we shall starve ; I am convinced we shall. Oh ! 
 I wish my poor dear mother were alive ! I have 
 no home to go to. What will become of us ? " 
 
 He lost his patience a little. 
 
 u Jane," he said, " what is our religion worth 
 if it does not support us in times like these ? Does 
 it not teach us to bow to God's will ? Surely we, 
 who have had such advantages, ought to behave 
 under our trials better than those who have been 
 brought up like heathens. God will not leave us. 
 Don't you remember Mr. Bradshaw's sermon upon 
 the passage through the Red Sea. When the 
 Israelites were brought down to the very shore 
 with nothing but destruction before them, a way 
 was opened. What did Mr. Bradshaw bid us 
 observe ? The Egyptians were close behind — so 
 close that the Israelites saw them ; the sea was 
 in front. The road was not made till the enemy 
 was upon them, and then the waters were divided 
 and became a wall unto them on their right hand 
 
i 3 o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 and on their left; the very waters, Mr. Bradshaw 
 remarked, which before were their terror. God, too, 
 might have sent them a different way ; no doubt 
 He might, but He chose that way." 
 
 " Zachariah, I heard Mr. Bradshaw as well as 
 yourself; I am a member of the church just as much 
 as you are, and I don't think it becoming of you 
 to preach to me as if you were a minister." Her 
 voice rose and became shriller as she went on. 
 " I will not stand it. Who are you that you should 
 talk to me so ? — bad enough to bring me down 
 here to die, without treating me as if I were an 
 unconverted character. Oh ! if I had but a home 
 to go to ! " and she covered her face with her apron 
 and became hysterical. 
 
 What a revelation ! By this time he had looked 
 often into the soul of the woman whom he had 
 chosen — the woman with whom he was to be for 
 ever in this world, and had discovered that there 
 was nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing which 
 answered anything in himself with a smile of re- 
 cognition ; but he now looked again, and found 
 something worse than emptiness. He found lurking 
 in the obscure darkness a reptile with cruel fangs, 
 which at any moment might turn upon him when 
 he was at his weakest and least able to defend 
 himself. He had that in him by nature which 
 
A STRAIN ON THE CABLE. 131 
 
 would have prompted him to desperate deeds. He 
 could have flung himself from her with a curse, or 
 even have killed himself in order to escape from 
 his difficulty. But whatever there was in him 
 originally had been changed. Upon the wild 
 stem had been grafted a nobler slip, which drew 
 all its sap from the old root, but had civilised 
 and sweetened its acrid juices. He leaned over 
 his wife, caressed her, gave her water, and restored 
 her. 
 
 " God knows," he said, " I did not mean to preach 
 to you. God in heaven knows I need that somebody 
 should preach to me." He knelt down before her 
 as she remained leaning back in the chair, and he 
 repeated the Lord's Prayer. " Give us this day our 
 daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive 
 them that trespass against us" But will it be be- 
 lieved that as he rose from his knees, before he 
 had actually straightened his limbs, two lines from 
 the Corsair flashed into his mind, not particularly 
 apposite, but there they were — 
 
 " She rose — she sprung — she clung to his embrace 
 Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face ? " 
 
 Whence had they descended ? He was troubled at 
 their sudden intrusion, and he went silently to the 
 window, moodily gazing into the street. His wife, 
 
U2 
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 left to herself, recovered, and prepared supper. 
 There was no reconciliation, at least on her side. 
 She was not capable of reconciliation. Her temper 
 exhausted itself gradually. With her the storm 
 never broke up nobly and with magnificent forget- 
 fulness into clear spaces of azure, with the singing 
 of birds and with hot sunshine turning into diamonds 
 every remaining drop of the deluge which had 
 threatened ruin ; the change was always rather to 
 a uniformly obscured sky and a cold drizzle which 
 lasted all day. 
 
 The next morning he renewed his quest. He 
 was away all day long, but he had no success. He 
 was now getting very anxious. He was expecting 
 his furniture, which he had directed to be sent to the 
 inn where they had first stayed, and he would have 
 to pay for the carriage. His landlord had insisted on 
 a week's rent beforehand, so that, putting aside the 
 sum for the carrier, he had now two pounds left. 
 He thought of appealing to his friends ; but he had 
 a great horror of asking for charity, and could not 
 bring himself to do it. The third, fourth, and fifth 
 day passed, with no result. On the seventh day he 
 found that his goods had come ; but he decided not 
 to move, as it meant expense. He took away a 
 chest of clothes, and remained where he was. By 
 way of recoil from the older doctrine that suffering 
 
A STRAIN ON THE CABLE. 133 
 
 does men good, it has been said that it does no 
 good. Both statements are true, and both untrue. 
 Many it merely brutalises. Half the crime of the 
 world is caused by suffering, and half its virtues 
 are due to happiness. Nevertheless suffering, actual 
 personal suffering, is the mother of innumerable 
 beneficial experiences, and unless we are so weak 
 that we yield and break, it extracts from us genuine 
 answers to many questions which, without it, we 
 either do not put to ourselves, or if they are asked, 
 are turned aside with traditional replies. A man 
 who is strong and survives can hardly pace the 
 pavements of a city for days searching for em- 
 ployment, his pocket every day becoming lighter, 
 without feeling in after life that he is richer by 
 something which all the universities in the world 
 could not have given him. The most dramatic of 
 poets cannot imagine, even afar off, what such a man 
 feels and thinks, especially if his temperament be 
 nervous and foreboding. How foreign, hard, repel- 
 lent, are the streets in which he is a stranger, alone 
 amidst a crowd of people all intent upon their own 
 occupation, whilst he has none ! At noon, when 
 business is at its height, he, with nothing to do, sits 
 down on a seat in an open place, or, may be, on 
 the doorstep of an empty house, unties the little 
 parcel he has brought with him and eats his dry 
 
134 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 bread. He casts up in his mind the shops he has 
 visited ; he reflects that he has taken all the more 
 promising first, and that not more than two or three 
 are left. He thinks of the vast waste of the city 
 all round him ; its miles of houses ; and he has a 
 more vivid sense of abandonment than if he were 
 on a plank in the middle of the Atlantic. To- 
 wards the end of the afternoon the pressure in the 
 offices and banks increases ; the clerks hurry hither 
 and thither ; he has no share whatever in the ex- 
 citement ; he is an intrusion. He lingers about 
 aimlessly, and presently the great tide turns out- 
 wards and flows towards the suburbs. Every 
 vehicle which passes him is crowded with happy 
 folk who have earned their living and are going 
 home. He has earned nothing. Let anybody who 
 wants to test the strength of the stalk of carle 
 hemp in him try it by the wringing strain of a day 
 thus spent ! How humiliating are the repulses he 
 encounters ! Most employers to whom a request is 
 made for something to do prefer to treat it as a 
 petition for alms, and answer accordingly. They 
 understand what is wanted before a word is spoken, 
 and bawl out " No ! Shut the door after you." One 
 man to whom Zachariah applied was opening his 
 letters. For a moment he did not pay the slightest 
 attention, but as Zachariah continued waiting, he 
 
A STRAIN ON THE CABLE. i* 
 
 33 
 
 shouted with an oath, " What do you stand staring 
 there for ? Be off ! " There was once a time when 
 Zachariah would have stood up against the wretch ; 
 but he could not do it now, and he retreated in 
 silence. Nevertheless, when he got out into the 
 street he felt as if he could have rushed back 
 and gripped the brute's throat till he had squeezed 
 the soul out of his carcass. Those of us who have 
 craved unsuccessfully for permission to do what the 
 Maker of us all has fitted us to do alone under- 
 stand how revolutions are generated. Talk about the 
 atrocities of the Revolution ! All the atrocities of 
 the democracy heaped together ever since the world 
 began would not equal, if we had any gauge by 
 which to measure them, the atrocities perpetrated 
 in a week upon the poor, simply because they are 
 poor ; and the marvel rather is, not that there is 
 every now and then a September massacre at which 
 all the world shrieks, but that such horrors are so 
 infrequent. Again, I say, let no man judge com- 
 munist or anarchist till he has asked for leave to 
 work, and a " Damn your eyes ! " has rung in his 
 ears. 
 
 Zachariah had some self-respect ; he was cared 
 for by God, and in God's Book was a registered 
 decree concerning him. These men treated him as 
 if he were not a person, an individual soul, but as an 
 
136 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 atom of a mass to be swept out anywhere, into the 
 gutter — into the river. He was staggered for a 
 time. Hundreds and thousands of human beings 
 swarmed past him, and he could not help saying to 
 himself as he looked up to the grey sky, "Is it true, 
 then ? Does God really know anything about me ? 
 Are we not born by the million every week, like 
 spawn, and crushed out of existence like spawn ? 
 Is not humanity the commonest and cheapest thing 
 in the world ?" But as yet his faith was unshaken, 
 and he repelled the doubt as a temptation of Satan. 
 Blessed is the man who can assign promptly every- 
 thing which is not in harmony with himself to a 
 devil, and so get rid of it. The pitiful case is that 
 of the distracted mortal who knows not what is 
 the degree of authority which his thoughts and im- 
 pulses possess ; who is constantly bewildered by con- 
 trary messages, and has no evidence as to their 
 authenticity. Zachariah had his rule still ; the 
 suggestion in the street was tried by it ; found 
 to be false ; was labelled accordingly, and he was 
 relieved. 
 
 The dread of the real, obvious danger was 
 not so horrible as a vague, shapeless fear which 
 haunted him. It was a coward enemy, for it seized 
 him when he was most tired and most depressed. 
 What is that nameless terror ? Is it a momentary 
 
A STRAIN ON THE CABLE. 137 
 
 revelation of the infinite abyss which surrounds 
 us ; from the sight of which we are mercifully pro- 
 tected by a painted vapour, by an illusion ; that 
 unspeakable darkness which we all of us know to 
 exist, but which we hypocritically deny, and deter- 
 mine never to confess to one another ? Here again, 
 however, Zachariah had his advantage over others. 
 He had his precedent. He remembered that quag- 
 mire in the immortal Progress, into which, if 
 even a good man falls, he can find no bottom ; 
 he remembered that gloom so profound " that oft- 
 times, when he lifted up his foot to set forward, 
 he knew not where or upon what he should set 
 it next ; " he remembered the flame and smoke, 
 the sparks and hideous noises, the things that 
 cared not for Christian's sword, so that he was 
 forced to betake himself to another weapon called 
 All-prayer ; he remembered how that Christian 
 " was so confounded that he did not know his own 
 voice ; " he remembered the voice of a man as 
 going before, saying, " Though I walk through the 
 valley of the shadow of death, I will fear none ill, for 
 Thou art with me" Lastly, he remembered that 
 by-and-by the day broke, and Christian cried, " He 
 hath turned the shadow of death into the morning." 
 He remembered all this ; he could connect his 
 trouble with the trouble of others ; he could give 
 
138 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 it a place in the dispensation of tilings, and could 
 therefore lift himself above it. 
 
 He had now been in Manchester a fortnight, and 
 his little store had dwindled down to five shillings. 
 It was Saturday night. On the Sunday, as his last 
 chance, he meant to write to Mr. Bradshaw. He 
 went out on the Sunday morning, and had persuaded 
 his wife to accompany him. They entered the first 
 place of worship they saw. It was a Methodist 
 chapel, and the preacher was Arminian in the 
 extreme. It was the first time Zachariah had ever 
 been present at a Methodist service. The congrega- 
 tion sang with much fervour, and during the prayer, 
 which was very long, they broke in upon it with 
 ejaculations of their own, such as, " Hear him, 
 Lord ! " — " Lord, have mercy on us ! " 
 
 The preacher spoke a broad Lancashire dialect, 
 and was very dramatic. He pictured God's efforts 
 to save a soul. Under the pulpit ledge was the 
 imaginary bottomless pit of this world — not of the 
 next. He leaned over and pretended to be drawing 
 the soul up with a cord. " He comes, he comes ! " 
 he cried ; " God be praised he is safe ! " and he landed 
 him on the Bible. The congregation gave a great 
 groan of relief. " There he is on the Rock of Ages ! 
 No, no, he slips ; the Devil has him ! " The preacher 
 tried to rescue him. " He is gone — gone ! " and he 
 
A STRAIN ON THE CABLE. 139 
 
 bent over the pulpit in agony. The people almost 
 shrieked. " Gone — gone ! " he said again with 
 most moving pathos, and was still for a moment. 
 Then gathering himself up, he solemnly repeated 
 the terrible verses : — " For it is impossible for those 
 who were once enlightened, and have tasted of 
 the heavenly gift, and were made partakers of the 
 Holy Ghost, and have tasted the good word of God, 
 and the powers of the world to come, if they shall fall 
 away, to renew them again unto repentance ; seeing 
 they crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, 
 and put Him to an open shame." Zachariah knew 
 that text well. Round it had raged the polemics 
 of ages. Mr. Bradshaw had never referred to it 
 but once, and all the elder members of his congre- 
 gation were eager in the extreme to hear what he 
 had to say about it. He boldly declared that it had 
 nothing to do with the elect. He was compelled 
 to do so. Following his master, Calvin, he made 
 it apply to outsiders. The elect, says Calvin, are 
 beyond the risk of fatal fall. But " I deny," he 
 goes on to say, that " there is any reason why God 
 may not bestow even on the reprobate a taste of 
 His favour ; may irradiate their minds with some 
 scintillations of His light ; may touch them with 
 some sense of His goodness ; may somehow engrave 
 His word on their minds." Horrible, most horrible, 
 
140 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 we scream, that the Almighty should thus play 
 with those whom He means to destroy ; but let us 
 once more remember that these men did not idly 
 believe in such cruelty. They were forced into their 
 belief by the demands of their understanding, and 
 their assent was more meritorious than the weak pro- 
 tests of so-called enlightenment. Zachariah, pon- 
 dering absently on what he had heard, was passing 
 out of the chapel when a hand was gently laid on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " Ah, friend, what are you doing here ? " 
 He turned round and recognised William Ogden, 
 who had been sent by the Hampden Club in Man- 
 chester some six months before as a delegate to the 
 Friends of the People in London. The two walked 
 some distance together, and Zachariah gave him the 
 history of the last three weeks. With the murder 
 he was, of course, acquainted. Ogden was a letter- 
 press printer, and when he heard that Zachariah 
 was in such straits, he said that he thought he 
 might perhaps find him a job for the present, and 
 told him to come to his office on the following 
 morning. Zachariah's heart rejoiced that his bread 
 would not fail, but he characteristically rejoiced 
 even more at this signal proof that his trust in 
 his God was justified. When he reached home he 
 
A STRAIN ON THE CABLE. 141 
 
 proposed to his wife that they should at once kneel 
 down and thank God for His mercy. 
 
 " Of course, Zachariah ; but you are not yet sure 
 you will get anything. I will take off my things 
 directly." 
 
 " Need you wait to take off your things, my dear ? " 
 " Really, Zachariah, you do make such strange 
 remarks sometimes. I need not wait ; but I am 
 sure it will be more becoming, and it will give you 
 an opportunity to think over what you are going 
 to say." 
 
 Accordingly Mrs. Coleman retired for about five 
 minutes. On her return she observed that it was 
 the time for regular family prayer, and she produced 
 the Bible. Zachariah had indeed had the oppor- 
 tunity to think, and he had thought very rapidly. 
 The mere opening of the sacred Book, however, 
 always acted as a spell, and when its heavy lids 
 fell down on either side the room cleared itself of 
 all haunting, intrusive evil spirits. He read the 
 seventeenth chapter of Exodus, the story of the 
 water brought out of the rock ; and he thanked 
 the Almighty with great earnestness for the favour 
 shown him, never once expressing a doubt that he 
 would not be successful. He was not mistaken, for 
 Ogclen had a place for him, just as good and just 
 as permanent as the one he had left in London. 
 
( M2 ) 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES. 
 
 We must now advance a little more rapidly. It 
 was in the beginning of 1 8 I 5 that Zachariah found 
 himself settled in Manchester. That eventful year 
 passed without any external change, so far as he 
 was concerned. He became a member of the 
 Hampden Club, to which Ogden and Bamford be- 
 longed ; but he heard nothing of Maitland nor of 
 Caillaud. He had a letter now and then from Mr. 
 Bradshaw, and it was a sore trial to him that no- 
 body could be found in Manchester to take the place 
 of that worthy man of God. He could not attach 
 himself definitively to any church in the town, and 
 the habit grew upon him of wandering into this or 
 the other chapel as his fancy led him. His comrades 
 often met on Sunday evenings. At first he would 
 not go ; but he was afterwards persuaded to do so. 
 The reasons which induced him to alter his mind 
 were, in the first place, the piety, methodistic most 
 
DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES. 143 
 
 of it, which was then mixed up with politics ; and 
 secondly, a growing fierceness of temper, which made 
 the cause of the people a religion. From 1 8 16 
 downwards it may be questioned whether he would 
 not have felt himself more akin with any of his 
 democratic friends, who were really in earnest 
 over the great struggle, than with a sleek half-Tory 
 professor of the gospel, however orthodox he might 
 have been. In 1 8 1 6 the situation of the working 
 classes had become almost intolerable. Towards the 
 end of the year wheat rose to 103s. a quarter, and 
 incendiarism was common all over England. A 
 sense of insecurity and terror took possession of 
 everybody. Secret outrages, especially fires by night, 
 chill the courage of the bravest, as those know 
 well enough who have lived in an agricultural 
 county, when, just before going to bed, great lights 
 are seen on the horizon ; when men and women 
 collect on bridges or on hill-tops, asking " Where 
 is it ? " and when fire-engines tearing through the 
 streets arrive useless at their journey's end be- 
 cause the hose has been cut. One evening in 
 November 1 8 1 6 Zachariah was walking home to his 
 lodgings. A special meeting of the club had been 
 called for the following Sunday to consider a pro- 
 posal made for a march of the unemployed upon 
 London. Three persons passed him — two men and 
 
144 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 a woman — who turned round and looked at him and 
 then went on. He did not recognise them, but he 
 noticed that they stopped opposite a window, and 
 as he came up they looked at him again. He could 
 not be mistaken ; they were the Major, Caillaud, and 
 his daughter. The most joyous recognition followed, 
 and Zachariah insisted on their going home with 
 him. It often happens that we become increasingly 
 intimate with one another even when we are shut 
 out from all intercourse. Zachariah had not seen the 
 Major nor Caillaud nor Pauline for two years, and 
 not a single thought had been interchanged. Never- 
 theless he was much nearer and dearer to them than 
 he was before. He had unconsciously moved on a line 
 rapidly sweeping round into parallelism with theirs. 
 The relationship between himself and his wife during 
 those two years had become, not openly hostile, it is 
 true, but it was neutral. Long ago he had given 
 up the habit of talking to her about politics, the 
 thing which lay nearest to his heart just then. The 
 pumping effort of bringing out a single sentence in 
 her presence on any abstract topic was incredible, 
 and so he learned at last to come home, though his 
 heart and mind were full to bursting, and say 
 nothing more to her than that he had seen her 
 friend Mrs. Sykes, or bought his tea at a different 
 shop. On the other hand, the revolutionary litera- 
 
DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES. 145 
 
 ture of the time, and more particularly Byron, 
 increasingly interested him. The very wildness and 
 remoteness of Byron's romance was just what suited 
 him. It is all very well for the happy and well-to- 
 do to talk scornfully of poetic sentimentality. Those 
 to whom a natural outlet for their affection is denied 
 know better. They instinctively turn to books 
 which are the farthest removed from commonplace 
 and are in a sense unreal. Not to the prosperous 
 man, a dweller in beautiful scenery, well married to 
 an intelligent wife, is Byron precious, but to the poor 
 wretch, say some City clerk, with an aspiration 
 beyond his desk, who has two rooms in Camberwell ; 
 and who before he knew what he was doing made 
 a marriage — well — which was a mistake, but who 
 is able to turn to that island in a summer sea, 
 where dwells Kaled, his mistress — Kaled, the Dark 
 Page disguised as a man, who watches her beloved 
 dying :— 
 
 " Who nothing fears, nor feels, nor heeds, nor sees, 
 Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees ; 
 Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim, 
 Held all the light that shone on earth for him.' 3 
 
 When they came indoors, and Mrs. Zachariah 
 heard on the stairs the tramp of other feet besides 
 those of her husband, she prepared herself to be 
 put out of temper. Not that she could ever be 
 
 K 
 
146 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 really surprised. She was not one of those persons 
 who keep a house orderly for the sake of appear- 
 ances. She would have been just the same if she 
 had been living alone, shipwrecked on a solitary 
 island in the Pacific. She was the born natural 
 enemy of dirt, dust, untidiness, and of every kind of 
 irregularity, as the cat is the born natural enemy 
 of the mouse. The sight of dirt, in fact, gave her 
 a quiet kind of delight, because she foresaw the 
 pleasure of annihilating it. Irregularity was just 
 as hateful to her. She could not sit still if one 
 ornament on the mantelpiece looked one way and 
 the other another way, and she would have risen 
 from her deathbed, if she could have done so, to 
 put a chair straight. She was not, therefore, 
 aggrieved in expectancy because she was not fit to 
 be seen. It was rather because she resented any 
 interruption of domestic order of which she had not 
 been previously forewarned. As it happened, how- 
 ever, the Major came first, and striding into the 
 room, he shook her hand with considerable fervour 
 and kissed it gallantly. Her gathering ill-temper 
 disappeared with the promptitude of a flash. It 
 was a muddy night ; the Major had not carefully 
 wiped his boots, and the footmarks were all over the 
 floor. She saw them, but they were nothing. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Coleman, how are you ? What 
 
DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES. 147 
 
 a blessing to be here again in your comfortable 
 quarters." 
 
 " Really, Major Maitland, it is very good of you 
 to say so. I am very glad to see you again. Where 
 have you been ? I thought we had lost you for 
 ever." 
 
 Caillaud and his daughter had followed. They 
 bowed to her formally, and she begged them to be 
 seated. 
 
 " Then, my dear madam," continued the Major, 
 laughing, " you must have thought me dead. You 
 might have known that if I had not been dead I 
 must have come back." 
 
 She coloured just a trifle, but made no reply 
 further than to invite all the company to have 
 supper. 
 
 Zachariah was somewhat surprised. He did not 
 know what sort of a supper it could be ; but he was 
 silent. She asked Pauline to take off her bonnet, 
 and then proceeded to lay the cloth. For five minutes, 
 or perhaps ten minutes, she disappeared, and then 
 there came, not only bread and cheese, but cold 
 ham, a plentiful supply of beer, and, more wonder- 
 ful still, a small cold beefsteak pie. Everything 
 was produced as easily as if it had been the ordi- 
 nary fare, and Zachariah was astonished at his wife's 
 equality to the emergency. Whence she obtained 
 
i 4 8 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 the ham and beefsteak pie he could not conjecture. 
 She apologised for having nothing hot ; would have 
 had something better if she had known, &c. &c, 
 and then sat down at the head of the table. The 
 Major sat on her right, Pauline next to him, and 
 opposite to Pauline, Caillaud and Zachariah. Their 
 hostess immediately began to ask questions about 
 the events of that fatal night when they all left 
 London. The Major, however, interposed, and said 
 that it would perhaps be better if nothing was 
 said upon that subject. 
 
 " A dismal topic," he observed ; " talking about 
 it can do no good, and I for one don't want to 
 be upset by thinking about it just before I go 
 to bed." 
 
 " At least," said Zachariah, " you can tell us why 
 you are in Manchester ? " 
 
 " Certainly," replied the Major. " In the first 
 place, Paris is not quite so pleasant as it used to 
 be ; London, too, is not attractive ; and we thought 
 that, on the whole, Manchester was to be preferred. 
 Moreover, a good deal will have to be done during 
 the next twelvemonth, and Manchester will do it. 
 You will hear all about it when your club meets 
 next time." 
 
 " You've been in Paris ? " said Mrs. Zachariah. 
 " Isn't it very wicked ? " 
 
DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES. 149 
 
 " Well, that depends on what you call wicked." 
 
 " Surely there cannot be two opinions on that 
 point," 
 
 " It does seem so ; and yet when you live abroad 
 you find that things which are made a great deal 
 of here are not thought so much of there ; and, 
 what is very curious, they think other things 
 very wrong there of which we take no account 
 here." 
 
 " Is that because they are not Christians ? " 
 
 " Oh dear no ; I am speaking of good Christian 
 people ; at least so I take them to be. And really, 
 when you come to consider it, we all of us make a 
 great fuss about our own little bit of virtue, and 
 undervalue the rest — I cannot tell upon whose 
 authority." 
 
 " But are they not, Major, dreadfully immoral in 
 France ? " 
 
 Pauline leaned over her plate and looked Mrs. 
 Coleman straight in the face. 
 
 " Mrs. Coleman, you are English ; you " 
 
 Her father put up his hand ; he foresaw what 
 was coming, and that upon this subject Pauline 
 would have defied all the rules of hospitality. So 
 he replied calmly, but with the calm of suppressed 
 force — 
 
 " Mrs. Coleman, as my daughter says, you are 
 
150 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 English ; you are excusable. I will not dispute 
 with you j but I will tell you a little story." 
 
 " Will you not take some more beer, Mr. Caillaud, 
 before you begin ? " 
 
 " No, thank you, madam, I have finished." 
 
 Caillaud pushed away his plate, on which three 
 parts of what was given him, including all the ham, 
 remained untouched, and began — his Gallicisms and 
 broken English have been corrected in the version 
 now before the reader : — 
 
 " In 1790 a young man named Dupin was living 
 in Paris, in the house of his father, who was a 
 banker there. The Dupins were rich, and the son 
 kept a mistress, a girl named Victorine. Dupin 
 the younger had developed into one of the worst of 
 men. He was strictly correct in all his dealings, 
 sober, guilty of none of the riotous excesses which 
 often distinguish youth at that age, and most 
 attentive to business ; but he was utterly self-re- 
 garding, hard, and emotionless. What could have 
 induced Victorine to love him I do not know ; but 
 love him she did, and her love, instead of being a 
 folly, was her glory. If love were always to be 
 in proportion to desert, measured out in strictest 
 and justest huckstering conformity therewith, what 
 a poor thing it would be ! The love at least of a 
 woman is as the love of the Supreme Himself, and 
 
DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES. 151 
 
 just as magnificent. Victorine was faithful to Dupin ; 
 and poor and handsome as she was, never wronged 
 him by a loose look. Well, Du pin's father said his 
 son must marry, and the son saw how reasonable 
 and how necessary the proposal was. He did marry, 
 and he cut himself adrift from Victorine without the 
 least compunction, allowing her a small sum weekly, 
 iu sufficient to keep her. There was no scene when 
 they parted, for his determination was communicated 
 to her by letter. Three months afterwards she had 
 a child of whom he was the father. Did she quietly 
 take the money and say nothing ? Did she tear up 
 the letter in a frenzy and return him the frag- 
 ments ? She did neither. She wrote to him and 
 told him that she would not touch his gold. She 
 would never forget him, but she could not be be- 
 holden to him now for a crust of bread. She had 
 done no wrong hitherto — so she said, Mrs. Cole- 
 man ; I only repeat her words — they are not mine. 
 But to live on him after he had left her would be 
 a mortal crime. So they separated, a victim she 
 — both victims, I may say — to this cursed thing 
 we call Society. One of the conditions on which 
 the money was to have been given was, that she 
 should never again recognise him in any way 
 whatever. This half of the bargain she faithfully 
 observed. For some months she was alone, trying 
 
152 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 to keep herself and her child, but at last she 
 was taken up by a working stone-mason named 
 Legouve. In 1793 came the Terror, and the 
 Dupins were denounced and thrown into the 
 Luxembourg. Legouve was one of the Committee 
 of Public Safety. It came to the recollection of 
 the younger Dupin as he lay expecting death that 
 he had heard that the girl Victorine had gone to 
 live with Legouve, and a ray of light dawned on 
 him in his dungeon. He commissioned his wife to 
 call on Victorine and implore her to help them. 
 She did so. Ah, that was a wonderful sight — so 
 like the Eevolution ! Madame Dupin, in her silks 
 and satins, had often passed the ragged Victorine in 
 the streets, and, of course, had never taken the 
 slightest notice of her. Now Madame was kneeling 
 to her ! Eespectability was in the dust before that 
 which was not by any means respectable ; the legiti- 
 mate before the illegitimate ! Oh, it was, I say, a 
 wonderful sight in Victorine's wretched garret ! She 
 was touched with pity, and, furthermore, the memory 
 of her old days with Dupin and her love for him 
 revived. Legouve was frightfully jealous, and she 
 knew that if she pleaded Dupin's cause before him 
 she would make matters worse. A sudden thought 
 struck her. She went to Couthon and demanded 
 an audience. 
 
a i 
 
 DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES. 153 
 
 ' Couthon,' she said, c are the Dupins to die ? ' 
 ' Yes, to-morrow.' 
 Dupin the younger is the father of my child.' 
 
 " ' And he has deserted you, and you hate him. 
 He shall die/ 
 
 " ' Pardon me, I do not hate him.' 
 
 " ' Ah, you love him still ; but that is no reason 
 why he should be spared, my pretty one. We must 
 do our duty. They are plotters against the Republic, 
 and must go.' 
 
 " ' Couthon, they must live. Consider ; shall that 
 man ascend the scaffold with the thought in his 
 heart that I could have rescued him, and that I did 
 not ; that I have had my revenge ? Besides, what 
 will be said ? — that the Republic uses justice to 
 satisfy private vengeance. All the women in my 
 quarter know who I am.' 
 
 " ' That is a fancy.' 
 
 " ' Fancy ! Is it a fancy to murder Dupin's wife — 
 murder all that is good in her — murder the belief in 
 her for ever that there is such a thing as generosity ? 
 You do not wish to kill the soul ? That is the way 
 with tyrants, but not with the Republic' 
 
 " Thus Victorine strove with Couthon, and he at 
 last yielded. Dupin and his father were released 
 that night, and before daybreak they were all out 
 of Paris and safe. In the mornings Lesmive found 
 
 o o 
 
154 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 that tliey were liberated, and on asking Couthon the 
 reason, was answered with a smile that they had an 
 eloquent advocate. Victorine had warned Couthon 
 not to mention her name, and he kept his promise ; 
 but Legouve conjectured but too truly. He went 
 home, and in a furious rage taxed Victorine with 
 infidelity to him, in favour of the man who had 
 abandoned her. He would not listen to her, and 
 thrust her from him with curses. I say nothing 
 more about her history. I will only say this, that 
 Pauline is that child who was born to her after 
 Dupin left her. I say it because I am so proud 
 that Pauline has had such a mother ! " 
 
 " Pauline her daughter ! " said Zachariah. " I 
 thought she was your daughter." 
 
 " She is my daughter : I became her father." 
 
 Everybody was silent. 
 
 " Ah, you say nothing," said Caillaud ; " I am not 
 surprised. You are astonished. Well may you be 
 so that such a creature should ever have lived. 
 What would Jesus Christ have said to her ? " 
 
 The company soon afterwards rose to go. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mrs. Coleman," said the Major in 
 his careless way ; "I am glad to find Manchester 
 does not disagree with you. At least, I should 
 think it does not." 
 
 " Oh no, Major Maitland, I like it quite as well 
 
DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES. 155 
 
 as London. Mind, you promise to come again soon 
 — very soon." 
 
 The Major had gone downstairs first. She had 
 followed him to the first landing, and then returned 
 to bid Pauline and Caillaud good-bye. She stood 
 like a statue while Pauline put on her hat. 
 
 " Good-night, madam," said Caillaud, slightly 
 bowing. 
 
 " Good-night, madam," said Pauline, not bowing 
 in the least. 
 
 " Good-night," she replied, without relaxing her 
 rigidity. 
 
 As soon as they were in the street Pauline said, 
 " Father, I abhor that woman. If she lives she will 
 kill her husband." 
 
 Mrs. Coleman, on the other hand, at the same 
 moment said, " Zachariah, Pauline and Caillaud 
 cannot come to this house asrain." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Why not, Zachariah ? I am astonished at you ! 
 The child of a woman who lived in open sin ! " 
 
 He made no reply. Years ago not a doubt 
 would have crossed his mind. That a member of 
 Mr. Bradshaw's church could receive such people 
 as Caillaud and Pauline would have seemed impos- 
 sible. Nevertheless, neither Caillaud nor Pauline 
 were now repugnant to him ; nor did he feel that any 
 
156 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 soundless gulf separated them from him, although, 
 so far as he knew, his opinions had undergone no 
 change. 
 
 Mrs. Coleman forbore to pursue the subject, for 
 her thoughts went off upon another theme, and she 
 was inwardly wondering whether the Major would 
 ever invite her to the theatre again. Just as she 
 was going to sleep, the figure of the Major hover- 
 ing before her eyes, she suddenly bethought herself 
 that Pauline, if not handsome, was attractive. She 
 started, and lay awake for an hour. When she rose 
 in the morning the same thought again presented 
 itself, to dwell with her henceforwards, and to 
 gnaw her continually like vitriol. 
 
( i57 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 POLITICS AND PAULINE. 
 
 Soon after this visit debates arose in Zacliariah's 
 club which afterwards ended in the famous march 
 of the Blanketeers, as they were called. Matters 
 were becoming very serious, and the Government 
 was thoroughly alarmed, as well it might be, at the 
 discontent which was manifest all over the country. 
 The Prince Regent was insulted as he went to open 
 Parliament, and the windows of his carriage were 
 broken. It was thought, and with some reason, 
 that the army could not be trusted. One thing 
 is certain, that the reformers found their way into 
 the barracks at Knightsbridge and had lunch there 
 at the expense of the soldiers, who discussed 
 Hone's pamphlets and roared with laughter over 
 the Political Litany. The Prince Regent commu- 
 nicated to both Houses certain papers, and recom- 
 mended that they should at once be taken into 
 consideration. They contained evidence, so the 
 
158 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 royal message asserted, of treasonable combinations 
 "to alienate the affections of His Majesty's subjects 
 from His Majesty's person and Government," &c. 
 Secret committees were appointed to consider them 
 both by Lords and Commons, and in about a fort- 
 night they made their reports. The text was the 
 Spitalfielcls meeting of the preceding 2d of Decem- 
 ber. A mob had made it an excuse to march 
 through the city and plunder some shops. Some of 
 the charges brought against the clubs by the Lords' 
 Committee do not now seem so very appalling. 
 One was, that they were agitating for universal 
 suffrage and annual Parliaments — " projects," say 
 the Committee, " which evidently involve, not any 
 qualified or partial change, but a total subversion 
 of the British constitution." Another charge was 
 the advocacy of " parochial partnership in land, 
 on the principle that the landholders are not pro- 
 prietors in chief; that they are but stewards of 
 the public ; that the land is the people's farm ; 
 that landed monopoly is contrary to the spirit of 
 Christianity, and destructive of the independence 
 and morality of mankind." The Reform party 
 in Parliament endeavoured to prove that the 
 country was in no real danger, and that the 
 singularly harsh measures proposed were altogether 
 unnecessary. That was true. There was nothing 
 
POLITICS AND PAULINE. 159 
 
 to be feared, because there was no organisation ; 
 but nevertheless, especially in the manufacturing 
 towns, the suffering was fearful and the hatred of 
 the Government most bitter. What is so lament- 
 able in the history of those times is the undis- 
 ciplined wildness and feebleness of the attempts 
 made by the people to better themselves. Nothing 
 is more saddening than the spectacle of a huge 
 mass of humanity goaded, writhing, starving, and 
 yet so ignorant that it cannot choose capable 
 leaders, cannot obey them if perchance it gets 
 them, and does not even know how to name 
 its wrongs. The governing classes are apt to 
 mistake the absurdity of the manner in which 
 a popular demand expresses itself for absurdity 
 of the demand itself; but in truth the absurdity 
 of the expression makes the demand more note- 
 worthy and terrible. Bamford, when he came to 
 London in the beginning of 1 8 1 7, records the 
 impression which the clubs made upon him. He 
 went to several, and found them all alike ; " each 
 " man with his porter-pot before him and a pipe 
 " in his mouth ; many speaking at once, more talkers 
 " than thinkers ; more speakers than listeners. Pre- 
 " sently ' Order ' would be called, and comparative 
 " silence would ensue ; a speaker, stranger or citi- 
 " zen, would be announced with much courtesy and 
 
160 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 " compliment. c Hear, hear, hear ' would follow, with 
 " clapping of hands and knocking of knuckles on the 
 " tables, till the half- pints danced ; then a speech, 
 " with compliments to some brother orator or popular 
 " statesman ; next a resolution in favour of Parlia- 
 " mentary Reform, and a speech to second it ; an 
 " amendment on some minor point would follow ; a 
 " seconding of that ; a breach of order by some indi- 
 " vidual of warm temperament ; half a dozen would 
 " rise to set him right ; a dozen to put them down ; 
 " and the vociferation and gesticulation would become 
 " loud and confounding." 
 
 The Manchester clubs had set their hearts 
 upon an expedition to London — thousands strong ; 
 each man with a blanket to protect him and a 
 petition in his hand. The discussion on this 
 project was long and eager. The Major, Caillaud, 
 and Zachariah steadfastly opposed it ; not because 
 of its hardihood, but because of its folly. They 
 were outvoted ; but they conceived themselves 
 loyally bound to make it a success. Zachariah 
 and Caillaud were not of much use in organisa- 
 tion, and the whole burden fell upon the Major. 
 Externally gay, and to most persons justifying 
 the charge of frivolity, he was really nothing of 
 the kind when he had once settled down to the 
 work he was born to do. His levity was the 
 
POLITICS AND PAULINE. 161 
 
 mere idle sport of a mind unattached and seeking 
 its own proper object. He was like a cat, which 
 will play with a ball or its own tail in the 
 sunshine, but if a mouse or a bird crosses its 
 path will fasten on it with sudden ferocity. He 
 wrought like a slave during the two months be- 
 fore the eventful ioth March I 8 17, and well nigh 
 broke his heart over the business. Everything 
 had to be done subterraneously ; for though the 
 Habeas Corpus Act was not yet suspended, pre- 
 parations for what looked like war were perilous. 
 But this was not the greatest difficulty. He 
 pleaded for dictatorial powers, and at once found 
 he had made himself suspected thereby. He was 
 told bluntly that working men did not mean to 
 exchange one despot for another, and that they 
 were just as good as he was. Any other man 
 would have thrown up his commission in disgust, 
 but not so Major Maitland. He persevered un- 
 flaggingly, although a sub-committee had been 
 appointed to act with him and check his proceed- 
 ings. The secretary of this very sub-committee, 
 who was also treasurer, was one of the causes 
 of the failure of the enterprise, for when the 
 march began neither he nor the funds with which 
 he had been entrusted could be found. After 
 the club meetings in the evening there was often 
 
162 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 an adjournment to Caillaud's lodgings, where the 
 Major, Zachariah, Caillaud, and Pauline sat up 
 till close upon midnight. One evening there was 
 an informal conference of this kind prior to the 
 club meeting on the following night. The Major 
 was not present, for he was engaged in making 
 some arrangements for the commissariat on the 
 march. He had always insisted on it that they 
 were indispensable, and he had been bitterly 
 opposed the week before by some of his brethren, 
 who were in favour of extempore foraging which 
 looked very much like plunder. He carried his 
 point, notwithstanding some sarcastic abuse and 
 insinuations of half-heartedness, which had touched 
 also Caillaud and Zachariah, who supported him. 
 Zachariah was much depressed. 
 
 " Mr. Coleman, you are dull," said Pauline. 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 " Dull ! — that's not exactly the word. I was 
 thinking of to-morrow." 
 
 « Ah ! I thought so. Well ? " 
 
 Zachariah hesitated a little. " Is it worth all 
 the trouble ? " at last he said, an old familiar doubt 
 recurring to him — " Is it worth all the trouble to 
 save them ? W^hat are they ? — and, after all, what 
 can we do for them ? Suppose we succeed, and a 
 hundred thousand creatures like those who black- 
 
POLITICS AND PAULINE. 163 
 
 guarded us last week get votes, and get their taxes 
 reduced, and get all they want, what then ? " 
 
 Pauline broke in with all the eagerness of a woman 
 
 who is struck with an idea — " Stop, stop, Mr. 
 
 Coleman. Here is the mistake you make. Grant 
 
 it all — grant your achievement is ridiculously small 
 
 — is it not worth the sacrifice of two or three like you 
 
 and me to accomplish it ? That is our error. We 
 
 think ourselves of such mighty importance. The 
 
 question is, whether we are of such importance, and 
 
 whether the progress of the world one inch will 
 
 not be cheaply purchased by the annihilation of a 
 
 score of us. You believe in what you call salva- 
 
 vation ! You would struggle and die to save a soul ; 
 
 but in reality you can never save a man ; you must 
 
 be content to struggle and die to save a little bit 
 
 of him — to prevent one habit from descending to 
 
 his children. You won't save him wholly, but you 
 
 may arrest the propagation of an evil trick, and so 
 
 improve a trifle — just a trifle — whole generations to 
 
 come. Besides, I don't believe what you will do is 
 
 nothing. ' Give a hundred thousand blackguard 
 
 creatures votes ' — well, that is something. You are 
 
 disappointed they do not at once become converted 
 
 and all go to chapel. That is not the way of the 
 
 Supreme. Your hundred thousand get votes, and 
 
 perhaps are none the better, and die as they were 
 
1 64 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNERS LANE. 
 
 before they had votes. But the Supreme has a 
 million, or millions, of years before Him." 
 
 Zachariah was silent. Fond of dialectic, he gene- 
 rally strove to present the other side ; but he felt 
 no disposition to do so now, and he tried rather to 
 connect what she had said with something which 
 he already believed. 
 
 " True," he said at last ; " true, or true in part. 
 What are we ? — what are we ? " and so Pauline's 
 philosophy seemed to reconcile itself with one of his 
 favourite dogmas, but it had not quite the same 
 meaning which it had for him ten years ago. 
 
 " Besides," said Caillaud, " we hate Liverpool and 
 all his crew. When I think of that speech at the 
 opening of Parliament I become violent. There it 
 is ; I have stuck it up over the mantelpiece — 
 
 " Deeply as I lament the pressure of these evils upon 
 the country, I am sensible that they are of a nature 
 not to admit of an immediate remedy. But whilst I 
 observe with peculiar satisfaction the fortitude with 
 which so many privations have been borne , and the 
 active benevolence which has been employed to mitigate 
 them, I am persuaded that the great sources of our 
 national prosperity arc essentially unimpaired ; and I 
 entertain a confident expectation that the native energy 
 of the country will at no distant period surmount all 
 the difficulties in which we arc involved." 
 
POLITICS AND PAULINE. 165 
 
 " My God," continued Caillaud, " I could drive a 
 knife into the heart of the man who thus talks ! " 
 
 " No murder, Caillaud," said Zachariah. 
 
 " Well, no. What is it but a word ? Let us say 
 sacrifice. Do you call the death of your Charles a 
 murder ? No ; and the reason why you do not is 
 what ? Not that it was decreed by a Court. There 
 have been many murders decreed by Courts according 
 to law. Was not the death of your Jesus Christ a 
 murder ? Murder means death for base, selfish 
 ends. What said Jesus — that He came to send a 
 sword ? Of course He did. Every idea is a sword. 
 What a God He was ! He was the first who ever 
 cared for the people — for the real people, the poor, 
 the ignorant, the fools, the weak-minded, the slaves. 
 The Greeks and Romans thought nothing of these. 
 I salute thee, thou Son of the People ! " and 
 Caillaud took down a little crucifix which, strange 
 to say, always hung in his room, and reverently 
 inclined himself to it. " A child of the people," he 
 continued, " in everything, simple, foolish, wise, 
 ragged, Divine, martyred Hero." 
 
 Zachariah was not astonished at this melodramatic 
 display, for he knew Caillaud well ; and although 
 this was a little more theatrical than anything he 
 had ever seen before, it was not out of keeping with 
 his friend's character. Nor was it insincere, for 
 
166 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Cailiaud was not an Englishman. Moreover, there 
 is often more insincerity in purposely lowering 
 the expression beneath the thought, and denying 
 the thought thereby, than in a little exaggeration. 
 Zachariah, although he was a Briton, had no liking 
 for that hypocrisy which takes a pride in reducing 
 the extraordinary to the commonplace, and in forcing 
 ?.n ignoble form upon that which is highest. The 
 conversation went no further. At last Cailiaud 
 said — 
 
 " Come, Pauline, a tune ; we have not had one 
 for a long time." 
 
 Pauline smiled, and went into her little room. 
 Meanwhile her father removed chairs and table, 
 piling them one on another so as to leave a clear 
 space. He and Zachariah crouched into the recess 
 by the fireplace. Pauline entered in the selfsame 
 short black dress trimmed with red, with the red 
 artificial flower, wearing the same red stockings 
 and dancing-slippers, but without the shawl. The 
 performance this time was not quite what it was 
 when Zachariah had seen it in London. Between 
 herself and the corner where Zachariah and her father 
 were seated she now had an imaginary partner, 
 before whom she advanced, receded, bowed, displayed 
 herself in the most exquisitely graceful attitudes, 
 never once overstepping the mark, and yet show- 
 
POLITICS AND PAULINE. 167 
 
 ing every limb and line to the utmost advantage. 
 Zachariah, as before, followed every movement with 
 eager — shall we say with hungry eyes ? He was 
 so unused to exhibitions of this kind that their 
 grace was not, as it should have been, their only 
 charm ; for, as we before observed, in his chapel 
 circle even ordinary dancing was a thing prohibited. 
 The severity of manners to which he had been 
 accustomed tended to produce an effect the very 
 opposite to that which was designed ; for it can 
 hardly be doubted that if it were the custom in 
 England for women to conceal the face, a glimpse of 
 an eye or a nose would excite unpleasant thoughts. 
 The dance came to an end, and as it was getting 
 late Zachariah rose. 
 
 " Stop," said Caillaud. " It is agreed that if 
 they persist on this march, one or the other of us 
 goes too. The Major will be sure to go. Which 
 shall it be, you or me ? " 
 
 " We 'will draw lots." 
 
 " Good." And Zachariah departed, Pauline laugh- 
 ingly making him one of her costume curtseys. 
 He was very awkward. He never knew how to 
 conduct himself becomingly, or even with good 
 manners, on commonplace occasions. When he 
 was excited in argument he was completely equal 
 to the best company, and he would have held his 
 
1 68 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 own on level terms at a Duke's dinner-party, pro- 
 vided only the conversation were interesting. But 
 when he was not intellectually excited he was lub- 
 berly. He did not know what response to make to 
 Pauline's graceful adieu, and retreated sheepishly. 
 When he got home he found his wife waiting for 
 him. The supper was cleared away, and, as usual, 
 she was reading, or pretending to be reading, the 
 Bible. 
 
 " You have had supper, of course ? " There was a 
 peculiar tone in the " of course," as if she meant to 
 imply not merely that it was late, but that he had 
 preferred to have it with somebody else. 
 
 " I do not want any." 
 
 " Then we had better have prayers." 
 
( i69 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ONE BODY AND ONE SPIRIT. 
 
 Next week Zachariah found it necessary to con- 
 sult with Caillaud again. The Major was to be 
 there. The intended meeting was announced to 
 Mrs. Coleman by her husband at breakfast on the 
 day before, and he informed her that he should 
 probably be late, and that no supper need be kept 
 for him. 
 
 " Why do you never meet here, Zachariah ? Why 
 must it always be at Caillaud's ? " • 
 
 " Did you not say that they should not come to 
 this house agfain ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I meant I did not want to see them 
 as friends. On business there is no reason why 
 Caillaud should not come." 
 
 " I cannot draw the line." 
 
 " Zachariah, do you mean to call unconverted 
 infidels your friends ? " 
 
 They were his friends — he felt they were — and 
 
170 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 they were dear to him ; but he was hardly able as 
 yet to confess it, even to himself. 
 
 " It will not do," he said. " Besides, Caillaud 
 will be sure to bring his daughter." 
 
 " She will not be so bold as to come if she 
 is not asked. Do I go with you anywhere except 
 when I am asked ? " 
 
 " She has always been used to go out with her 
 father wherever he goes. She knows all his affairs, 
 and is very useful to him." 
 
 " So it seems. She must be very useful. Well, 
 if it must be so, and it is on business, invite 
 her too." 
 
 " I think still it will be better at Caillaud' s ; 
 there is more room. There would be five of us." 
 
 " How do you make five ? " 
 
 " There is the Major. And why, by the way, do 
 you object to Caillaud and Pauline more than the 
 Major ? He is not converted." 
 
 " There is plenty of room here. I didn't say 
 I didn't object to the Major. Besides, there is 
 a difference between French infidels and English 
 people, even if they are not church members. But 
 I see how it is. You want to go there, and you 
 will go. I am of no use to you. You care nothing 
 for me. You can talk to such dreadful creatures 
 as Caillaud and that woman who lives with him, 
 
ONE BODY AND ONE SPIRIT. 171 
 
 and you never talk to me. Oh, I wish Mr. Brad- 
 shaw were here, or I were back again at home ! 
 What would Mr. Bradshaw say ? " 
 
 Mrs. Coleman covered her face in her hands. 
 
 Zachariah felt no pity. His anger was roused. 
 He was able to say hard things at times, and there 
 was even a touch of brutality in him. 
 
 " Whose fault is it that I do not talk to you ? 
 When did I ever get any help from you ? What 
 do you understand about what concerns me, and 
 when have you ever tried to understand anything ? 
 Your home is no home to me. My life is blasted, 
 and it might have been different. The meeting 
 shall not be here, and I will do as I please." 
 
 He went out of the room in a rage, and downstairs 
 into the street, going straight to his work. It is a 
 terrible moment when the first bitter quarrel takes 
 place, and when hatred, even .if it be hatred for the 
 moment only, first finds expression. That moment 
 can never be recalled ! Is it ever really forgotten, 
 or really forgiven ? Some of us can call to mind a 
 word, just one word, spoken twenty, thirty, forty, 
 fifty years ago, which rings in our ears even to-day 
 as distinctly as when it was uttered, and forces 
 the blood into the head as it did then. When 
 Zachariah returned that night he and his wife spoke 
 to each other as if nothing had happened, but they 
 
172 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNERS LANE. 
 
 spoke only about indifferent things. The next day 
 Mrs. Coleman wondered whether, after all, he would 
 repent ; but the evening came, and she waited and 
 waited in vain. The poor woman for hours and 
 hours had thought one thought, and one thought 
 only, until at last she could bear it no longer. At 
 about eight o'clock she rose, put on her cloak, and 
 went out of doors. She made straight for Caillaud's 
 house. It was cold, and the sky was clear at 
 intervals, with masses of clouds sweeping over the 
 nearly full moon. What she was to do when she 
 got to Caillaud's had not entered her head. She 
 came to the door and stopped. It had just begun 
 to rain heavily. The sitting-room was on the 
 ground-floor, abutting on the pavement. The blind 
 was drawn down, but not closely, and she could 
 see inside. Caillaud, Pauline, and Zachariah were 
 there, but not the Major. Caillaud was sitting by 
 the fireside ; her husband and Pauline were talk- 
 ing earnestly across the table. Apparently both of 
 them were much interested, and his face was lighted 
 up as she never saw it when he was with her. She 
 was fascinated, and could not move. It was a dull, 
 lonely street, and nobody was to be seen that wet 
 night. She had no protection from the weather 
 but her cloak, and in ten minutes, as the rain came 
 down more and more heavily, she was wet through 
 
ONE BODY AND ONE SPIRIT. 173 
 
 and shivering from head to foot — she who was 
 usually so careful, so precise, so singularly averse 
 from anything like disorder. Still she watched — 
 watched every movement of those two — every smile, 
 every gesture ; and when Caillaud went out of the 
 room, perhaps to fetch something, she watched with 
 increasing and self-forgetting intensity. She had 
 not heard footsteps approaching. The wind had 
 risen ; the storm was ever fiercer and fiercer, and 
 the feverish energy which poured itself into her eyes 
 had drained and deadened every other sense. 
 
 " Well, my good woman, what do you want ? " 
 
 She turned with a start, and it was the Major ! 
 
 " Mrs. Coleman ! Good God ! what are you doing 
 here ? You are soaked. Why don't you come in ? " 
 
 " Oh no, Major Maitland ; indeed I cannot. I — I 
 had been out, and I had just stopped a moment. I 
 didn't know it was going to rain." 
 
 "But I say you are dripping. Come in and see 
 your husband ; he will go with you." 
 
 " Oh no, Major, please don't ; please don't men- 
 tion it to him ; oh no, please don't ; he would be 
 very vexed. I shall be all right ; I will go on at 
 once and dry myself." 
 
 " You cannot go alone. I will see you as far as 
 your house. Here, take my coat and put it over your 
 shoulders." 
 
174 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 The Major took off a heavy cloak with capes, 
 wrapped it round her, drew her arm through his, 
 and they went to her lodgings. She forgot Zacha- 
 riah, Caillaud, and Pauline. When they arrived 
 she returned the cloak and thanked him. She 
 dared not ask him upstairs, and he made no offer 
 to stay. 
 
 " Please say nothing to my husband ; promise 
 you will not. He would be in such a way if he 
 thought I had been out ; but I could not help it." 
 
 " Oh, certainly not, Mrs. Coleman, if you wish it ; 
 though I am sure he wouldn't, he couldn't be angry 
 with you." 
 
 She lingered as he took the coat. 
 
 " Come inside and put it on, Major Maitland ; 
 why, it is you who are dripping now. You will not 
 wear that over your sopped clothes. Cannot I lend 
 you something ? Won't you have something hot to 
 drink ? " 
 
 " No, thank you ; I think not ; it is not so bad 
 as all that." 
 
 He shook hands with her and had gone. 
 
 She went upstairs into her dark room. The 
 fire was out. She lighted no candle, but sat down 
 just as she was, put her head on the table, and 
 sobbed as if her heart would break. She was verv 
 seldom overcome by emotion of this kind, and used to 
 
ONE BODY AND ONE SPIRIT. 175 
 
 be proud that she had never once in her life fainted, 
 and was not given to hysterics. Checked at last 
 by a deadly shivering which came over her, she took 
 off her wet garments, threw them over a chair, and 
 crept into bed, revolving in her mind the explana- 
 tion which she could give to her husband. When 
 she saw him, and he inquired about her clothes, 
 she offered some trifling excuse, which seemed 
 very readily to satisfy him, for he made scarcely any 
 reply, and was soon asleep. This time it was her 
 turn to lie awake, and the morning found her rest- 
 less, and with every symptom of a serious illness 
 approaching. 
 
( 176 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 
 
 Neither Mrs. Coleman nor her husband thought it 
 anything worse than a feverish cold, and he went to 
 his work. It was a club night, the night on which 
 the final arrangements for the march were to be 
 made, and he did not like to be away. His wife 
 was to lie in bed ; but a woman in the house offered 
 to wait upon her and bring what little food she 
 wanted. It was settled at the club that the Major 
 should accompany the expedition, and Zachariah 
 and Caillaud having drawn lots, the lot fell upon 
 Caillaud. A last attempt was made to dissuade the 
 majority from the undertaking ; but it had been 
 made before, not only by our three friends, but by 
 other Lancashire societies, and had failed. The 
 only effect its renewal had now was a disagreeable 
 and groundless insinuation which was unendurable. 
 On his return from the meeting Zachariah was 
 alarmed. His wife was in great pain, and had taken 
 
TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 177 
 
 next to nothing all day. Late as it was, he went 
 
 for a doctor, who would give no opinion as to the 
 
 nature of the disease then, but merely ordered her 
 
 some kind of sedative mixture, which happily gave 
 
 her a little sleep. Zachariah was a working man 
 
 and a poor man. Occasionally it does happen that 
 
 a working man and a poor man has nerves, and 
 
 never does his poverty appear so hateful to him as 
 
 when he has sickness in his house. 
 
 The mere discomforts of poverty are bad enough — 
 
 the hung-er and cold of it — but worse than all is the 
 
 impossibility of being decently ill, or decently dying, 
 
 or of paying any attention to those who take it into 
 
 their heads to be ill or to die. A man tolerably 
 
 well off can at least get his wife some help when she 
 
 is laid up, and when she is near her end can remain 
 
 with her to take her last kiss and blessing. Not 
 
 so the bricklayer's labourer. If his wife is in bed. 
 
 he must depend upon charity for medicine and 
 
 attendance. And although he knows he will never 
 
 see her again, he is forced away to the job on 
 
 which he is employed ; for if he does not go he will 
 
 lose it, and must apply to the parish for a funeral. 
 
 Happily the poor are not slow to help one another. 
 
 The present writer has known women who have to 
 
 toil hard all day long, sit up night after night 
 
 with their neighbours, and watch them with the 
 
 M 
 
178 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 most tender care. Zachariah found it so in his case. 
 A fellow lodger, the mother of half a dozen children, 
 a woman against whom the Colemans had conceived 
 a prejudice, and whom they had avoided, came for- 
 ward and modestly asked Zachariah if she might 
 " look after " Mrs. Coleman while he was away. He 
 thought for a moment of sundry harsh things which 
 he had said about her, and then a well-known 
 parable came into his mind about a certain Sama- 
 ritan, and he could have hugged her with joy for 
 her offer. 
 
 Mrs. Carter was one of those healthy, somewhat 
 red-faced, gay creatures whom nothing represses. 
 She was never melancholy with those who were 
 suffering ; not because she had no sympathy — for 
 she was profoundly sympathetic — but because she 
 was unsubduable. Her pulse was quick, and her 
 heart so sound that her blood, rich and strong — 
 blood with never a taint in it — renewed every 
 moment every fibre of her brain. Her very presence 
 to those who were desponding was a magnetic charm, 
 and she could put to flight legions of hypochon- 
 driacal fancies with a cheery word. Critics said 
 she ruled her husband ; but what husband would not 
 rejoice in being so ruled ? He came home weary, 
 and he did not want to rule. He wanted to be 
 directed, and he gladly saw the reins in the hands 
 
TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 179 
 
 of his " missus,'' of whom he was justly proud. 
 She conducted all the conversation ; she spent his 
 money, and even bought him his own clothes ; and 
 although she said a sharp thing or two now and 
 then, she never really quarrelled with him. The 
 eldest of her six children was only twelve years old, 
 and she was not over methodical, so that her apart- 
 ments were rather confused and disorderly. She 
 was not, however, dirty, and would not tolerate dirt 
 even in her boys, to whom, by the way, she adminis- 
 tered very short and sharp corrections sometimes. 
 If they came to the table with grimy paws, the 
 first intimation they had that their mother noticed 
 it was a rap on the knuckles with the handle of a 
 knife which sent the bread and butter flying out of 
 their fingers. She read no books, and, what was 
 odd in those days, did not go to chapel or church ; 
 but she had her " opinions," as she called them, 
 upon everything which was stirring in the world, 
 and never was behindhand in the news. She 
 was really happier when she found that she had to 
 look after Mrs. Coleman. She. bustled about, taking- 
 directions from the doctor — not without some scepti- 
 cism, for she had notions of her own on the subject 
 of disease — and going up and down stairs continually 
 to see how her patient was getting on. It was 
 curious that although she was a heavy woman she 
 
180 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LAXE. 
 
 was so active. She was always on her legs from 
 morning to night, and never seemed fatigued. Indeed 
 when she sat still she was rather uncomfortable ; and 
 this was her weak point, for her restlessness interfered 
 with sewing and mending, which she abominated. 
 
 The time for the march was close at hand. The 
 Habeas Corpus Act had meanwhile been suspended, 
 and every reformer had to walk very warily. Ogden, 
 in whose office it will be remembered that Zachariah 
 was engaged, had issued a handbill informing all 
 the inhabitants of Manchester and. its neighbour- 
 hood that on the ioth March a meeting would be 
 held near St. Peter's Church of those persons who 
 had determined to carry their petitions to London. 
 Zachariah, going to his shop, as usual, on the 
 morning of the ioth — a Monday — was astonished 
 to find that Ogden was arrested and in prison. 
 
 We must, however, for a time, follow the fortunes 
 of Caillaud and the Major on that day. The}* were 
 both astir at five o'clock, and joined one another at 
 the club. All the members were to assemble there 
 at seven. Never was the Major more despondent. 
 As for organisation, there was none, and every pro- 
 posal he had made had been thwarted. He saw well 
 enough, as a soldier, that ten times the enthusiasm 
 at his command would never carry a hundred men 
 to London in that cold weather, and that if twenty 
 
TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 181 
 
 thousand started, the number would be the diffi- 
 culty. The Yeomanry cavalry were under orders to 
 oppose them, and what could an undisciplined mob 
 do against a semi-military force ? The end of it 
 would be the prompt dispersion of the pilgrims 
 and the discredit of the cause. Nevertheless, both 
 he and Caillaud had determined not to desert it. 
 The absence of all preparations on the part of these 
 poor Blanketeers was, in truth, very touching, as it 
 showed the innocent confidence which they had in 
 the justice of their contention. Their avowed object 
 was to present a petition personally to the Prince 
 Regent, that they might " undeceive " him ; as if 
 such a thing were possible, or, being possible, 
 would be of the slightest service. The whole 
 country would rise and help. them; their journey 
 would be a triumphal procession ; they were not a 
 hostile army ; the women would come to the doors 
 and offer them bread and milk ; they would reach 
 London ; Lord Liverpool would resign ; and they 
 would come back to Manchester with banners flying, 
 having saved their country. At nine o'clock the 
 club was in St. Peter's Fields, and a kind of plat- 
 form had been erected, from which an address was 
 to be given. Caillaud and the Major were down 
 below. Both of them were aghast at what thev 
 saw. Thousands of men were present with whom 
 
182 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 they were unacquainted, who had been attracted 
 by Ogden's proclamation ; some with coats ; others 
 without coats ; some with sticks ; some with peti- 
 tions ; but most of them with blankets, which they 
 had rolled up like knapsacks. The Major's heart 
 sank within him. What on earth could he do ? 
 Nothing except accompany them and try to prevent 
 collision with the troops. The magistrates were 
 distracted by no doubts whatever. They read the 
 Eiot Act ; although there was no riot, nor the 
 semblance of one, and forthwith surrounded the 
 platform and carried off every one on it to prison. 
 The crowd was then chased by the soldiers and 
 special constables till all power of combination was 
 at an end. About three hundred, however, were 
 collected, and found their way to Ardwick Green. 
 They had been joined by others on their route, and 
 the Major informally reviewed his men. Never, 
 surely, was there such a regiment ! never, surely, did 
 any regiment go on such an errand ! Ragged many 
 of them ; ignorant all ; fanatical, penniless, they 
 determined, in spite of all arguments, to proceed. 
 He pointed out that if they could be so easily 
 scattered when they 'were thousands strong, every 
 one of them would be cut down or captured 
 before they were twenty miles on the road. He 
 was answered as before with contempt and sus- 
 
TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 183 
 
 picions of cowardice. A Methodist, half-starved, 
 grey-haired, with black rings round his eyes and a 
 yellow face, harangued them. 
 
 " My friends," he said, " we have been told to go 
 back ; that we are too few to accomplish the task to 
 which we have set ourselves. What said the Lord 
 unto Gideon, Judges vii. : ' The people that are with 
 thee are too many for me to give the Midianites 
 into their hands, lest Israel vaunt themselves against 
 me, saying, Mine own hand hath saved me ? Now, 
 therefore go to, proclaim in the ears of the people, 
 saying, Whosoever is fearful and afraid, let him 
 depart and return early from mount Gilead.' Well, 
 twenty-two thousand went back, and at last Gideon 
 had only the three hundred who lapped the water. 
 By those three hundred Israel was saved from the 
 Midianites. Our thousands have left us ; but we 
 shall triumph. It may be the Lord's will that 
 more should depart. It may be that there are yet 
 too many. I say, then, in the words of Gideon, 
 c Whosoever is fearful and afraid, let him return.' 
 Is there anybody?" (Loud shouts answered "None.") 
 " The Lord is with us," continued the speaker — 
 " the sword of the Lord and of Gideon ! " Every 
 one shouted again. 
 
 Respectable Manchester was frightened when the 
 Blanketeers met, and laughed them to scorn when 
 
1S4 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 they were dispersed. No wonder at the laughter ! 
 What could be more absurd ? And yet, when we call 
 to mind the thing then on the throne ; the thing that 
 gave £i 8ofor an evening coat, and incurred enormous 
 debts, while his people were perishing ; the thing 
 that drank and lied and whored ; the thing that 
 never did nor said nor thought anything that was not 
 utterly brutish and contemptible — when we think 
 that the thing was a monarch, Heaven-ordained, so 
 it was said, on which side does the absurdity really 
 lie ? Of a truth, not only is the wisdom of this 
 world foolishness, as it ever was, but that which 
 to this world is foolishness is adjudged wisdom by 
 the Eternal Arbiter. The Blanketeers, shivering on 
 Ardwick Green, the weavers who afterwards drilled 
 on the Lancashire moors, and were hung according 
 to law, or killed at Peterloo, are less ridiculous than 
 those who hung or sabred them, less ridiculous than 
 the Crimean Avar and numberless dignified events in 
 human history, the united achievements of the sove- 
 reigns and ministries of Europe. 
 
 The route of the three hundred was towards Stock- 
 port ; but when they reached the bridge they found it 
 occupied by the Yeomanry and a troop of the Life 
 Guards. To attempt to force a passage was impos- 
 sible ; but numbers threw themselves into the river, 
 and so crossed. The soldiers then withdrew into 
 
TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 185 
 
 Stockport town, and the bridge was left open to the 
 main body. When they got into the street on the 
 other side the soldiers and police dashed at them, 
 and arrested everybody whom they could catch. The 
 Major was foremost in the crowd, endeavouring to 
 preserve some sort of discipline, and one of the 
 Yeomanry, suspecting him to be a leader, rode up 
 to him, and, leaning from his horse, collared him. 
 He was unarmed ; but he was a powerful man, and 
 wrenched himself free. The soldier drew his sword, 
 and although Caillaud was close by, and attempted 
 to parry the blow with a stick, the Major lay a dead 
 man on the ground. The next moment, however, 
 the soldier himself was dead — dead from a pistol-shot 
 fired by Caillaud, who was instantly seized, handed 
 over to a guard, and marched off with a score of 
 others to Manchester jail. A remnant only of the 
 Blanketeers escaped from Stockport, and a smaller 
 remnant got to Macclesfield. There there was no 
 shelter for them, and many of them lay in the 
 streets all night. When the morning dawned only 
 twenty went on into Staffordshire, and these shortly 
 afterwards separated, and wandered back to Man- 
 chester. The sword of Gideon was, alas ! not 
 the sword of the Lord, and aching hearts in that 
 bitter March weather felt that there was something- 
 worse than the cold to be borne as they struggled 
 
1 86 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 homewards. Others, amongst whom was our Metho- 
 dist orator, were not discouraged. It is a poor 
 religion which makes no provision for disaster, and 
 even for apparently final failure. The test of faith is 
 its power under defeat, and these silly God-fearing 
 souls argued to themselves that their Master's time 
 was not their time ; that perhaps they were being 
 punished for their sins, and that when it pleased 
 Him they would triumph. Essentially right they 
 were, right in every particular, excepting, perhaps, 
 that it was not for their own sins that this sore 
 visitation came upon them. Visitation for sin it 
 was certainly, but a visitation for the sins of others 
 — such is the way of Providence, and has been ever 
 since the world began, much to the amazement of 
 many reflective persons. Thou hast laid on Him 
 the iniquity of us all, and Jesus is crucified rather 
 than the Scribes and Pharisees ! Yet could we 
 really wish it otherwise? Would it have been 
 better in the end that Caiaphas and the elders 
 should have been nailed upon Calvary, and Jesus 
 die at a good old age, crowned with honour ? It 
 was not yet God's time in I 8 1 7, but God's time was 
 helped forward, as it generally is, by this anticipa- 
 tion of it. It is a commonplace that a premature 
 outbreak puts back the hands of the clock and is a 
 blunder. Nine times out of ten this is untrue, and 
 
TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 187 
 
 a revolt instantaneously quenched in blood is not 
 merely the precursor, but the direct progenitor of 
 success. 
 
 We will spend no time over the death of Major 
 Maitland. The tragic interest, as one of our 
 greatest masters has said, lies not with the corpse but 
 with the mourners ; and we turn back to Zachariah. 
 Ogden's office was shut. On the night after the 
 breakdown at Stockport a note in pencil was left 
 at Zachariah's house, in Pauline's handwriting. It 
 was very short : — " Fly for your life — they will have 
 you to-night. — P." 
 
 Fly for his life ! But how could he fly, with his 
 wife in bed and with no work before him ? Would 
 it not be base to leave her ? Then it occurred to 
 him that if he were taken and imprisoned, he would 
 be altogether incapable of helping her. He deter- 
 mined to speak to Mrs. Carter. He showed her 
 the note, and she was troubled with no hesitation 
 of any kind. 
 
 " My good man," she said, " you be off this 
 minute. That's what you've got to do. Never mind 
 your wife ; I'll see after her. Expense ? Lord, 
 Mr. Coleman, what's that ? She don't eat much. 
 Besides, we'll settle all about that afterwards." 
 
 Zachariah hesitated. 
 
 " Now don't stand shilly-shallying and a-thinking 
 
iSS THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 and a-thinking. — that never did anybody any good. 
 I can't a-bear a man as thinks and thinks when 
 there's anything to be done as plain as the nose in 
 his face. Where's your bag ? " 
 
 Mrs. Carter was out of the room in an instant, 
 and in ten minutes came back with a change of 
 clothes. 
 
 " Now, let us know where you are ; but don't send 
 your letters here. You write to my sister ; there's 
 her address. You needn't go up there ; your wife's 
 asleep. I'll bid her good-bye for you. Take my 
 advice — get out of this county somewhere, and get 
 out of Manchester to-nio-ht." 
 
 " I must go upstairs to get some money," and 
 Zachariah stole into his bedroom to take half a 
 little hoard which was in a desk there. His wife, 
 as Mrs. Carter had said, was asleep. He went to 
 her bedside and looked at her. She was pale and 
 worn. Lying there unconscious, all the defects which 
 had separated him from her vanished. In sleep and 
 death the divine element of which we are com- 
 pounded reappears, and we cease to hate or criticise ; 
 we can only weep or pray. He looked and looked 
 again. The hours of first love and courtship passed 
 before him ; lie remembered what she was to him 
 then, and he thought that perhaps the fault, after 
 all, might have been on his side, and that he had 
 
TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 1S9 
 
 perhaps not tried to understand her. He thought of 
 her loneliness — taken away by him into a land of 
 strangers — and now he was about to desert her ; he 
 thought, too, that she also was one of God's children 
 just as much as he was ; perhaps more so. The tears 
 rilled his eyes, although he was a hard, strong man not 
 used to tears, and something rose in his throat and 
 almost choked him. He was about to embrace her ; 
 but he dared not disturb her. He knelt down at the 
 foot of the bed, and in an agony besought his God 
 to have mercy on him. " God have mercy on me ! 
 God have mercy on her ! " That was all he could 
 say — nothing else, although he had been used to 
 praying habitually. His face was upon her feet, 
 as she lay stretched out there, and he softly un- 
 covered one of them, so gently that she could not 
 perceive it. Spotlessly white it was, and once upon 
 a time she was so attractive to him because she was 
 so exquisitely scrupulous ! He bent his lips over it, 
 kissed it — she stirred, but did not wake ; a great 
 cry almost broke from him, but he stifled it and 
 rose. There was a knock at the door, and he 
 started. It was Mrs. Carter. 
 
 u Come," she said as he went out, " you have been 
 here long enough. Poor dear man ! — there, there — of 
 course it's hard to bear — poor dear man ! " — and the 
 
1 9 o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 good creature put her hand affectionately on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I don't know how it is," she continued, wiping 
 her eyes with her apron, " I can't a-bear to see a 
 man cry. It always upsets me. My husband ain't 
 done it above once or twice in his life, and, Lord, 
 I'd sooner a cried myself all night long. Good-bye, 
 my dear, good-bye, good-bye; God bless you! It 
 will all come right." 
 
 In another minute Zachariah was out of doors. It 
 was dark, and getting late. The cold air revived him, 
 but he could not for some time come to any deter- 
 mination as to what he ought to do next. He was 
 not well acquainted with the country round Man- 
 chester, and he could not decide to what point of 
 the compass it would be safest to bend his steps. At 
 last he remembered that at any rate he must escape 
 from the town boundaries, and get a night's lodging 
 somewhere outside them. With the morning some 
 light would possibly dawn upon him. 
 
 Pauline's warning was well-timed, for the con- 
 stables made a descent upon Caillaud's lodgings as 
 soon as they got him into jail, and thence proceeded 
 to Coleman's. They insisted on a search, and Mrs. 
 Carter gave them a bit of her mind, for they went 
 into every room of the house, and even into Mrs. 
 Coleman's bedroom. 
 
TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 191 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is, Mi*. Nadin," she said, 
 turning towards the notorious chief constable, " if 
 God A'rni^hty had to settle who was to be hun^r 
 in Manchester, it wouldn't be any of them poor 
 Blanketeers. Wouldn't you like to strip the clothes 
 off the bed ? That would be just in your line." 
 
 " Hold your damned tongue ! " quoth Mr. Nadin ; 
 but, nevertheless, seeing his men grinning and a little 
 ashamed of themselves, he ordered them back. 
 
 Meanwhile Zachariah pursued his way north- 
 westward unchallenged, and at last came to a roadr 
 side inn, which he thought looked safe. He walked 
 in, and found half a dozen decent-looking men 
 sitting round a fire and smoking. One of them 
 was a parson, and another was one of the parish 
 overseers. It was about half-past ten, and they 
 were not merry, but a trifle boozy and stupid. 
 Zachariah called for a pint of beer and some bread 
 and cheese, and asked if he could have a bed. The 
 man who served him didn't know ; but would go 
 and see. Presently the overseer was beckoned out 
 of the room, and the man came back again and 
 informed Zachariah that there was no bed for him, 
 and that he had better make haste with his supper, 
 as the house would close at eleven. In a minute or 
 two the door opened again, and a poor, emaciated 
 weaver entered and asked the overseer for some 
 
192 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 help. His wife, he said, was down with the fever ; 
 he had no work ; he had had no victuals all day, 
 and he and his family were starving. He was 
 evidently known to the company. 
 
 " Ah," said the overseer, " no work, and the fever, 
 and starving ; that's what they always say. I'll bet 
 a sovereign you've been after them Blanketeers." 
 
 " It's a judgment on you," observed the parson. 
 " You and your like go setting class against class ; 
 you never come near the church, and then you 
 wonder God Almighty punishes you." 
 
 " You can come on your knees to us when it 
 suits you, and you'd burn my rick to-morrow," said 
 a third. 
 
 " There's a lot of fever amongst 'em down my 
 way," said another, whose voice was rather thick, 
 " and a damned lot of expense they are, too, for 
 physic and funerals. It's my belief that they catch 
 it out of spite." 
 
 " Aren't you going to give me nothing ? " said the 
 man. " There isn't a mouthful of food in the place, 
 and the wife may be dead before the morning." 
 
 " Well, what do you say, parson ? " said the 
 overseer. 
 
 " I say we've got quite enough to do to help 
 those who deserve help," he replied, "and that it's 
 flying in the face of Providence to interfere with its 
 
TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 193 
 
 judgment." With that he knocked the ashes out of 
 his pipe, and took a great gulp of his brandy-and- 
 water. 
 
 There was an echo of assent. 
 
 " God have mercy on me ! " said the man, as he 
 sat down on the form by the table. Zachariah 
 touched him gently, and pushed the plate and jug 
 to him. He looked at Zachariah, and without say- 
 ing a word, devoured it greedily. He just had 
 time to finish, for the landlord, entering the room, 
 roughly ordered them to turn out. Out they went 
 accordingly. 
 
 " The Lord in heaven curse them ! " exclaimed 
 Zachariah's companion when they were in the road. 
 "I could have ripped 'em up, every one of 'em. 
 My wife is in bed with her wits a-wandering, and 
 there a'nt a lump of coal, nor a crumb of bread, 
 nor a farthing in the house." 
 
 " Hush, my friend, cursing is of no use." 
 
 " Ah ! it's all very well to talk ; you've got 
 money, maybe." 
 
 " Not much. I too have no work, no lodging, and 
 I'm driven away from home. Here's half of what's left." 
 
 " What a sinner I am ! " said the other. " You 
 
 wouldn't think it, to hear me go on as I did, but I 
 
 am a Methodist. The last two or three days, though, 
 
 I've been like a raving madman. That's the worst 
 
 N 
 
194 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 of it. Starvation has brought the devil into me. 
 I'm not a-going to take all that though, master ; I'll 
 take some of it ; and if ever I prayed to the Throne 
 of Grace in my life, I'll pray for you. Who are 
 you ? "Where are you going ? " 
 
 Zachariah felt that he could safely trust him, and 
 told him what had happened. 
 
 " I haven't got a bit of straw myself on which 
 to put you ; but you come along with me." 
 
 They walked together for about half a mile, till 
 they came to a barn. There was a haystack close 
 by, and they dragged some of the dry hay into it. 
 
 " You'd better be away from these parts afore it's 
 light, and, if you take my advice, Liverpool is the 
 best place for you." 
 
 He was right. Liverpool was a large town, and, 
 what was of more consequence, it was not so re- 
 volutionary as Manchester, and the search there 
 for the suspected was not so strict. The road was 
 explained, so far as Zachariah's friend knew it, and 
 they parted. 
 
 Zachariah slept but little, and at four o'clock, with 
 a bright moon, he started. He met with no par- 
 ticular adventure, and in the evening found himself 
 once more in a wilderness of. strange streets, with 
 no outlook, face to face with the Red Sea. Happy 
 is the man who, if he is to have an experience of 
 
TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 195 
 
 this kind, is trained to it when young, and is not 
 suddenly brought to it after a life of security. 
 Zachariah, although he was desponding, could now 
 say he had been in the same straits before, and had 
 survived. That is the consolation of all consolations 
 to us. We have actually touched and handled the 
 skeleton, and after all we have not been struck 
 dead.* 
 
 " socii, neque enim ignari sumus ante malorum, 
 passi graviora, dabit Deus his qnoque finem. 
 Vos et Scyllaeam rabiem penitusque sonantes 
 Accestis scopulos ; vos et Cyclopia saxa 
 Experti. Revocate animos, moestumque timorem 
 Mittite ; forsan et hsec olim meminisse juvabit." 
 
 * " ze (ye) my feris (companions) and deir freyndis, quod he, 
 Of bywent perillis not ignorant ben we, 
 Ze have sustenit gretir dangeris unkend, 
 Like as hereof God sail make sone ane end : 
 The rage of Silla, that huge sweste (whirlpool) in the se 
 Ze have eschapit and passit eik (each) have ze : 
 The euer (pot) routand (roaring) Caribdis rokkis fell 
 The craggis quhare monstruous Cyclopes dwell : 
 Ze are expert : pluk up zour harts, I zou pray, 
 This dolorous drede expell and do away. 
 Sum tyme hereon to think may help perchance." 
 
 — Gawin Douglas. 
 " Endure and conquer ! Jove will soon dispose, 
 To future good, our past and present woes. 
 With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried ; 
 Th' inhuman Cyclops, and his den defied. 
 What greater ills hereafter can you bear ? 
 Resume your courage, and dismiss your care. 
 An hour will come, with pleasure to relate 
 Your sorrows past, as benefits of fate." 
 
 — Dryden. 
 
196 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 He wandered down to the water and saw a ship 
 cleared for some port across the Atlantic. A long- 
 ing seized him to go with her. Over the sea, — 
 he thought there he would be at rest. So we 
 all think, and as we watch the vessels dropping 
 below the horizon in the sunset cloud, we imagine 
 them bound with a happy crew to islands of 
 the blest, the truth being that the cloud is a 
 storm, and the destined port is as commonplace 
 and full of misery as the one they have left. 
 Zachariah, however, did not suffer himself to dream. 
 He went diligently and systematically to work ; 
 but this time all his efforts were fruitless. He 
 called on every printing office he could find, and 
 there was not one which wanted a hand, or saw any 
 prospect of wanting one. He thought of trying the 
 river-side ; but he stood no chance there, as he 
 had never been accustomed to carry heavy weights. 
 His money was running short, and at last, when 
 evening came on the third day, and he was faint 
 with fatigue, his heart sank. He was ill, too, and 
 sickness began to cloud his brain. As the power 
 of internal resistance diminishes, the circumstance 
 of the external world presses on us like the air 
 upon an exhausted glass ball, and finally crushes 
 us. It saddened him, too, to think, as it has saddened 
 thousands before him, that the fight which he fought 
 
TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS. 197 
 
 and the death which, perhaps, was in front of him 
 were so mean. Ophelia dies ; Juliet dies, and we 
 fancy that their fate, although terrible, is more en- 
 viable than that of a pauper who drops undrama- 
 tically on London stones. He came to his lodging 
 at the close of the third day, wet, tired, hungry, 
 and with a headache. There was nobody to suggest 
 anything to him or offer him anything. He went 
 to bed, and a thousand images, uncontrolled, rushed 
 backwards and forwards before him. He became 
 excited, so that he could not rest, and after walking 
 about his room till nearly daylight, turned into bed 
 again. When morning had fairly arrived he tried 
 to rise, but he was beaten. He lay still till about 
 eleven, and then the woman who kept the lodging- 
 house appeared and asked him if he was going to 
 stay all day where he was. He told her he was 
 very bad ; but she went away without a word, and 
 he saw nothing more of her. Towards night he 
 became worse and finally delirious. 
 
( 198 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY: THE SIXTH FORM 
 THEREOF. 
 
 When Zachariah came to himself he was in a 
 large, long, whitewashed room, with twenty beds 
 or more in it. A woman in a greyish check dress 
 was standing near him. 
 
 " Where am I ? " he said. 
 
 " Where are yer ? " she said; "why, in the workus 
 infirmary, to be sure, with me a-looking after yer. 
 Where would yer be ? " 
 
 Zachariah relapsed and was still. The next 
 time he opened his eyes the woman had left 
 him. It was true he was in the workhouse, and 
 a workhouse then was not what it is now. 
 Who can possibly describe what it was ? Who 
 can possibly convey to anybody who has not 
 known what it was by actual imprisonment in it 
 any adequate sense of its gloom ; of the utter, 
 callous, brutal indifference of the so-called nurses ; 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY. 199 
 
 of the neglect of the poor patients by those who 
 were paid to attend to them ; of the absence of 
 even common decency ; of the desperate persistent 
 attempts made by everybody concerned to impress 
 upon the wretched mortals who were brought there 
 that they were chargeable to the parish and put 
 there for form's sake, prior to being shovelled into 
 a hole in the adjoining churchyard ? The infir- 
 mary nurses were taken from the other side of 
 the building — sometimes for very strange reasons. 
 The master appointed them, and was not bound to 
 account to anybody for his preferences. One woman 
 had given him much trouble. She was a stout, lazy 
 brute, who had no business in the House, and who 
 went in and out just as she liked. One day some- 
 thing displeased her, and she attacked him with such 
 fury and suddenness that he would have been a dead 
 man in a few minutes if she had not been pulled 
 off. But he dared not report her. She knew too 
 much about him, and she was moved a few days 
 afterwards to look after the sick. She it was 
 who spoke to Zachariah. She, however, was not by 
 any means the worst. Worse than her were the old, 
 degraded, sodden, gin-drinking hags, who had all 
 their lives breathed pauper air and pauper contami- 
 nation ; women with not one single vestige of their 
 Maker's hand left upon them, and incapable, even 
 
200 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 under the greatest provocation, of any human 
 emotion ; who would see a dying mother call upon 
 Christ, or cry for her husband and children, and 
 would swear at her and try to smother her into 
 silence. As for the doctor, he was hired at the 
 lowest possible rate, and was allowed a certain sum 
 for drugs. It was utterly insufficient to provide 
 anything except the very commonest physic ; and 
 what could he do in the midst of such a system, 
 even if he had been inclined to do anything ? He 
 accordingly did next to nothing ; walked through 
 the wards, and left his patients pretty much to Pro- 
 vidence. They were robbed even of their food. 
 They were not much to be pitied for being robbed 
 of the stimulants, for every drop, including the " port 
 wine," was obtained by the directors from those of 
 their number or from their friends who were in 
 the trade, and it was mostly poisonous. Death is 
 always terrible — terrible on the battlefield; terrible 
 in a sinking ship ; terrible to the exile — but the 
 present writer, who has seen Death in the " House " 
 of years gone by, cannot imagine that he can ever be 
 so distinctively the King of Terrors as he was there. 
 The thought that thousands and thousands of human 
 beings, some of them tender-hearted, have had to 
 face him there is more horrifying than the thought 
 of French soldiers freezing in their blood on the 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY. 201 
 
 Borodino, or of Inquisitional tortures. It is one of 
 those thoughts which ought not to be thought — a 
 thought to be suppressed, for it leads to atheism, or 
 even something worse than mere denial of a God. 
 Thank Heaven that the present generation of the 
 poor has been relieved at least of one argument in 
 favour of the creed that the world is governed by 
 the devil ! Thank Heaven that the modern hospital, 
 with its sisters gently nurtured, devoted to their duty 
 with that pious earnestness which is a true religion, 
 has supplied some evidence of a Theocracy. 
 
 Zachariah looked round again. There was an 
 old male attendant near him. He had on a brown 
 rough coat with brass buttons, and shoes which 
 were much too big for him. They were supplied in 
 sizes, and never fitted. The old men always took 
 those that were too large. They had as their 
 place of exercise a paved courtyard surrounded by 
 high brick walls, and they all collected on the sunny 
 side, and walked up and down there, making a 
 clapping noise with their feet as the shoes slipped 
 off their heels. This sound was characteristic of 
 the whole building. It was to be heard everywhere. 
 
 " You've been very bad," said the old man, " but 
 you'll get better now ; it a'nt many as get better 
 here." 
 
 He was a poor-looking, half-fed creature, with a 
 
202 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 cadaverous face. He had the special, workhouse, 
 bloodless aspect — just as if he had lived on nothing 
 stronger than gruel and had never smelt fresh air. 
 The air, by the way, of those wards was something 
 peculiar. It had no distinctive odour — that is to 
 say, no odour which was specially this or that ; but it 
 had one that bore the same relation to ordinary 
 odours which well-ground London mud bears to ordi- 
 nary colours. The old man's face, too, had nothing 
 distinctive in it. The only thing certainly predicable 
 of him was, that nothing could be predicated of 
 him. He was neither selfish nor generous; neither a 
 liar nor truthful ; neither believed anything, nor dis- 
 believed anything ; was neither good nor bad ; had 
 no hope hereafter, nor any doubt. 
 
 " Who are you ? " said Zachariah. 
 
 " Well, that a'nt easy to say. I does odd jobs 
 here as the nurses don't do, and I gets a little 
 extra ration." 
 
 " How long have I been here ? " 
 
 " About a fortnight." 
 
 Zachariah was too weak to say anything more, 
 and fell asleep again. Next day he was better, and 
 he then thought of his wife ; he thought of Caillaud, 
 the Major, and Pauline ; but he had no power to 
 reflect connectedly. He was in that miserable con- 
 dition in which objects present themselves in a 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY. 203 
 
 tumbling crowd, one following the other with in- 
 conceivable rapidity, the brain possessing no power 
 to disentangle the chaos. He could not detach the 
 condition of his wife, for example, and determine 
 what ought to be done ; he could not even bring 
 himself to decide if it would be best to let her know 
 where he was. No sooner did he try to turn his 
 attention to her, even for a moment, than the Major 
 came before him, and then his other friends, and 
 then the workhouse and the dread of death there. 
 Mercifully he went to sleep again, and after another 
 long night's rest he was much stronger. He was 
 able now — first sign of restored power — to settle 
 that he ought before everything to communicate 
 with Mrs. Carter, and he inquired of the old man 
 if he could write. 
 
 " Oh yes, I can write," said he, and something 
 like a gleam of light passed over his countenance at 
 being asked to practise an art almost forgotten in 
 those walls. 
 
 A letter was accordingly written to Mrs. Carter, 
 at her sister's address, telling her briefly what had 
 happened, but that she was not to be alarmed, as the 
 writer was rapidly recovering. He was able to sign 
 his name ; but when the letter was finished, he re- 
 flected that he had not got a coin in his pocket with 
 which to pay the postage. One of the institutions 
 
2o 4 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 of the workhouse was, however, a kind of pawn- 
 shop kept by one of the under-masters, as they were 
 called, and Zachariah got a shilling advanced on 
 a pocket-knife. The letter, therefore, was duly 
 despatched, and he gave his secretary a penny for 
 his trouble. This led to a little further intimacy, 
 and Zachariah asked him how he came there. 
 
 " I don't know," he replied. " I was born in 
 the country, and when I was fourteen, my father 
 apprenticed me to the watchmaking. He was well 
 off — my father was — and when I was out of my 
 time he set me up in business in Liverpool. It 
 was a business as had been established some time 
 — a fairish business it was. But when I came to 
 Liverpool I felt dull." 
 
 " What do you mean by dull ? Stupid ? " 
 " No, not exactly that. You know what dull 
 means, don't you? — low-spirited like — got nothing to 
 talk about. Well, I can't tell how ib come about, 
 but I was always dull, and have been so ever since. 
 I got married soon after I was settled. My wife 
 was a good sort of woman, but she wasn't cheerful, 
 and she wasn't very strong. Somehow the business 
 fell off. Customers as used to come didn't come, 
 and I got no new ones. I did my work pretty well ; 
 but still, for all that, things went down and down 
 by degrees. I never could make out why, except 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY. 205 
 
 that people liked to be talked to, and I had nothing 
 particular to say to any of them when they came in. 
 The shop, too, ought to have been painted more often, 
 and I ought to have had something in the window, 
 but, as I say, I was always dull, and my wife wasn't 
 strong. At last I was obliged to give up and go to 
 journey-work ; but when I got old I couldn't see, 
 and was put in here." 
 
 " But," said Zachariah, " is that all ? Why, you 
 are nearly seventy years old. You must have some- 
 thing more to tell me." 
 
 " No. I don't know as I have ; that seems 
 about all." 
 
 " But what became of your father ? He was 
 well off. What became of his money when he 
 died ? " 
 
 " I'd had my share." 
 
 " Had you no brothers nor sisters to help 
 you ? - 
 
 " Yes, I had some." 
 
 " Did they let you come here ? " 
 
 " Why, you see, as I've told you before, I was 
 dull, and my wife wasn't strong. They never came 
 much to see me. It was my fault ; I never had 
 nothing to say to them." 
 
 " Had you no children ? " 
 
 " Yes, I had a son aud daughter." 
 
206 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 " Are they alive now ? " 
 
 u Yes — both of them ; at least I haven't heard as 
 they are dead." 
 
 " And able to keep themselves ? " 
 
 " They used to be." 
 
 " And do you mean that your son and daughter 
 let you go to the workhouse ? " 
 
 The old man was a little disturbed, and for a 
 moment some slight sign of nervous excitement 
 revealed itself in his lustreless eyes. 
 
 " I haven't seen anything of 'em for years." 
 
 " Did you quarrel ? " 
 
 " No, we didn't quarrel ; but they left off visit- 
 ing us. They both of them married, and went out 
 a good bit, and were gayer than we were. We 
 used to ask them, and then they'd look in some- 
 times ; but never except when they were asked, 
 and always seemed to wish to get away. We never 
 had nothing to show anybody, nor nothing to give 
 anybody ; for we didn't drink, and I never smoked. 
 They went away too, both of them, from Liverpool, 
 somewhere towards London." 
 
 " But when you broke down didn't you inform 
 them ? " 
 
 " No. I hadn't heard anything of them for so 
 long. I thought I might as well get into the 
 House. It will do very well." 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY. 207 
 
 " Didn't you know anybody belonging to your 
 church or chapel ? " 
 
 " Well, we went to church ; but when the busi- 
 ness dropped we left off going, for nothing much 
 seemed to come of it, and nobody ever spoke to us." 
 
 " Wouldn't you like to get out of this place ? " 
 
 " No — I don't know as I should now ; I shouldn't 
 know what to do, and it won't last long." 
 
 " How old are you ? " 
 
 " Sixty-five." 
 
 It puzzled Zachariah that the man's story of his 
 life was so short — all told in five minutes. 
 
 " But did you never have any adventures ? Did 
 you never hear about anything, or see anybody worth 
 remembering ? Tell me all about yourself. We've 
 got nothing to do." 
 
 " I don't recollect anything particular after I 
 came to Liverpool. Things seemed to go on pretty 
 much in the same way." 
 
 " But you got married, and your wife died ? " 
 
 " Yes — I got married, and she died." 
 
 " What was your wife's name ? " 
 
 " Her name was Jenkins ; she was the daughter 
 of the saddler that lived next door." 
 
 " Couldn't her friends have helped you ? " 
 
 " After she died they had nothing more to do 
 with me." 
 
208 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 " And you really cannot tell me any more ? " 
 
 " No — how can I ? What more is there to tell ? 
 It's all alike." 
 
 The old pauper was called away, and went 
 shuffling along to the door, leaving Zachariah to 
 his meditations. 
 
 Another day passed, and he was lying half asleep 
 when a visitor was announced, and close upon the 
 announcement stood before him — who should it be ? 
 — no other than Mrs. Carter, out of breath, radiant, 
 healthy, impetuous. 
 
 " God bless the poor dear man ! " she burst out ; 
 " to think of finding you here, and not to have told 
 us before. But I suppose you couldn't. Directly 
 as I got your letter off I came, and here I am, you 
 see." 
 
 Her presence was like the south-west wind and 
 sunlight after long north-easterly gloom and frost. 
 Astonishing is that happy power which some people 
 possess which enables them at once to dispel de- 
 pression and even disease. A woman like Mrs. 
 Carter comes into a house where there is misery 
 and darkness ; where the sufferer is possessed by 
 demons ; unnameable apprehensions, which thicken 
 his blood and make him cry for death, and they 
 retreat precipitately, as their brethren were fabled to 
 retreat at the sign of the cross. No man who is so 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY. 209 
 
 blessed as to have a friend with that magnetic force 
 in him need disbelieve in much of what is recorded 
 as miraculous. Zachariah felt as if a draught of 
 good wine had been poured down his throat. But 
 he instantlv asked — 
 
 4/ 
 
 " How is my wife ? " 
 
 " She is all right ; but you mustn't bother about 
 her. You must come out at once. You mustn't 
 go back to Manchester just yet — not as they'd care 
 much about you now ; Nadin's got plenty of work 
 to do, and wouldn't concern himself about you — 
 but you aren't well enough, and are better away. 
 Now, look here — I'll tell you what I've been and 
 done. I've got a cousin living here in Liverpool, 
 as good a soul as ever lived. I goes to her and 
 tells her you must stay there." 
 
 " But how can I ? Just think of the trouble and 
 expense. I don't know her." 
 
 " Lord a mercy, there you are again — trouble 
 and expense ! What trouble will you be ? And 
 as for expense, one would think you'd been living 
 like a Lord Mayor to hear you talk. What are 
 we made for if not to help one another ? " 
 
 " I can't walk ; and shouldn't I be obliged to get 
 the doctor's permission ? " 
 
 " Walk ! Of course you can't. And what did 
 my husband say to me before I started ? Says he, 
 
 
 
210 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 ' You'll have to get a conveyance to take him.' 
 ' Leave me alone for that,' says I ; l although right 
 you are.' And I says to my cousin's husband, who 
 drives a hackney coach, 'Just you drop down and 
 carry him home. It won't be ten minutes out of 
 your time.' So he'll be here in about a quarter of 
 an hour. As for the doctor, I understand as much 
 about you as he does, and, doctor or no doctor, 
 you won't sleep in this bed to-night. I'll go and 
 tell the head nurse or master, or somebody or the 
 other, that you are off. You just put on your 
 clothes." 
 
 In a short time she returned, found Zachariah 
 dressed, wrapped him round in shawls and rugs, 
 helped him downstairs, put him into the coach, and 
 brought him to her cousin's. It was a little house, 
 in a long uniform street; but a good deal of pains 
 had been taken with it to make it something special. 
 There were two bedroom windows in front, on the 
 upper storey, and each one had flowers outside. The 
 ilower-pots were prevented from falling off the ledge 
 by a lattice-work wrought in the centre into a little 
 gate — an actual little gate. What purpose it was in- 
 tended to answer is a mystery ; but being there, the 
 owner of the ilower-pots unfastened it every morning 
 when the sill was dusted, and removed them through 
 it, although lifting them would have been a much 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY, 211 
 
 simpler operation. There were flowers in the 
 sitting-room downstairs too ; but they were inside, 
 as the window was flush with the pavement. This 
 sitting-room was never used except on Sundays. 
 It was about nine feet square, and it had in it a 
 cupboard on either side of the fireplace, a black 
 horse-hair sofa alongside the wall on the right-hand 
 side of the door, red curtains, a black horse-hair 
 arm-chair, three other chairs to match, a little round 
 table, two large shells, a framed sampler on the 
 wall representing first the letters of the alphabet, 
 then the figures I, 2, 3, &c, and, finally, a very 
 blue Jesus talking to a very red woman of Samaria 
 on a very yellow well — underneath, the inscription 
 and date, " Margaret Curtin, 10th March 1785." 
 The only other decorations — for pictures were dear 
 in those days — were two silhouettes, male and female, 
 one at each corner of the sampler, and two earthen- 
 ware dogs which sat eternally looking at one 
 another on the top of one of the cupboards. On 
 the cupboard farthest away from the window was a 
 large Bible with pictures in it and notes, and, strange 
 to say, a copy of Ferguson's Astronomy and a hand- 
 some quarto edition in three volumes of Cook's 
 First Voyage. Everything was as neat and clean as 
 it could possibly be ; but Mr. and Mrs. Hocking had 
 no children, and had saved a little money. 
 
212 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Into tins apartment Zachariah was brought. There 
 was a fire burning, though it was not cold, and on the 
 table, covered with a perfectly white cloth, stood a 
 basin of broth, with some toast, a little brandy in a 
 wine-glass, a jug of water, and a tumbler. The books, 
 including the Bible, had apparently not been read 
 much, and were probably an heirloom. As Zacha- 
 riah began to recover strength he read the Ferguson. 
 It was the first time he had ever thought seriously 
 of Astronomy, and it opened a new world to him. 
 His religion had centred all his thoughts upon the 
 earth as the theatre of the history of the universe, 
 and although he knew theoretically that it was but 
 a subordinate planet, he had not realised that it was 
 so. For him, practically, this little globe had been 
 the principal object of the Creator's attention. 
 Ferguson told him also, to his amazement, that the 
 earth moved in a resisting medium, and that one day 
 it would surely fall into the sun. That day would 
 be the end of the world, and of everything in it. He 
 learned something about the magnitude of the planets 
 and the distances of the fixed stars, and noted that 
 his author, pious as he is, cannot admit that planets 
 or stars were created for the sake of man. He dwelt 
 upon these facts, more especially upon the first, till 
 the ground seemed to disappear under his feet, 
 and he fell into that strange condition in which 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY. 213 
 
 people in earthquake countries are said to be when 
 their houses begin to tremble. We may laugh, and 
 call him a fool to be disturbed by a forecast of what 
 is not going to happen for millions of years ; but 
 he was not a fool. He was one of those unhappy 
 creatures whom an idea has power to shake, and 
 almost to overmaster. Ferguson was a Christian, 
 and the thought of the destruction of our present 
 dwelling-place, with every particle of life on it, 
 did not trouble him. He had his refuse in 
 Revelation. Zachariah too was a Christian, but 
 the muscles of his Christianity were — now at any 
 rate, whatever they may once have been — not firm 
 enough to strangle this new terror. His super- 
 natural heaven had receded into shadow ; he was 
 giddy, and did not know where he was. He did 
 not feel to their full extent the tremendous conse- 
 quences of this new doctrine, and the shock which 
 it has given to so much philosophy and so many 
 theories, but he felt quite enough, and wished he 
 had never opened the volume. There are many 
 truths, no doubt, which we are not robust enough 
 to bear. In the main it is correct that the only 
 way to conquer is boldly to face every fact, how- 
 ever horrible it may seem to be, and think, and 
 think, till we pass it and come to a higher fact ; 
 but often we are too weak, and perish in the 
 
2i 4 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 attempt. As we lie prostrate, we curse the day 
 on which our eyes were opened, and we cry in 
 despair that it would have been better for us to 
 have been born oxen or swine than men. It 
 is an experience, I suppose, not new that in 
 certain diseased conditions some single fear may 
 fasten on the wretched victim so that he is almost 
 beside himself. He is unaware that this fear in 
 itself is of no importance, for it is nothing but 
 an index of ill health, which might find expres- 
 sion in a hundred other ways. He is uncon- 
 scious of the ill health except through his fancy, 
 and regards it as an intellectual result. It is an 
 affliction worse ten thousand times than any direct 
 physical pain which ends in pain. Zachariah could 
 not but admit that he was still physically weak ; 
 he had every reason, therefore, for supposing that 
 his mental agony was connected with his sickness, 
 but he could not brine: himself to believe that 
 it was so, and he wrestled with his nightmares 
 and argued with them as though they were mere 
 logical inferences. However, he began to get 
 better, and forthwith other matters occupied his 
 mind. His difficulty was not fairly slain, pierced 
 through the midst by some heaven-directed arrow, 
 but it was evaded and forgotten. Health, sweet 
 blood, unimpeded action of the heart, are the divine 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY. 215 
 
 narcotics which put to sleep these enemies to our 
 peace and enable us to pass happily through life. 
 Without these blessings a man need not stir three 
 steps without finding a foe able to give him his 
 death-stroke. 
 
 Zachariah longed to see his wife again ; but he 
 could not bring her to Liverpool until he had some 
 work to do. At last the day came when he was 
 able to say that he was once more earning his living, 
 and one evening when he reached home she was there 
 too. Mrs. Carter had herself brought her to Liverpool, 
 but had gone back again to Manchester at once, as she 
 could not stay the night. When he first set eyes on 
 his wife he was astonished at the change in her. She 
 was whiter, if possible, than ever, thin in the face, 
 dark-ringed about the eyes, and very weak. But 
 otherwise she was what she had always been. The 
 hair was just as smooth, everything about her just 
 as spotlessly clean and unruffled, and she sat as she 
 always did, rather upright and straight, as if she 
 preferred the discomfort of a somewhat rigid position 
 to the greater discomfort of disarranging her gown. 
 Zachariah had much to say. During the whole of 
 the four hours before bedtime he did not once feel 
 that drying-up of conversation which used to be so 
 painful to him. It is true she herself said little or 
 nothing, but that was of no moment. She was 
 
216 THE KEVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 strengthless, aud lie did not expect her to talk. So 
 long as lie could speak he was happy. The next 
 morning came, and with it came Hope, as it usually 
 came to him in the morning, and he kissed her 
 with passionate fervour as he went out, rejoicing 
 to think that, although she was so feeble, she was 
 recovering ; that he could once more look forward, 
 as in earlier days, to the evening, and forgetting 
 every cloud which had ever come between them. 
 Alas ! when the night of that very day came he 
 found his little store exhausted, and he and the 
 companion of his life sat together for a quarter of 
 an hour or more without speaking a word. He 
 proposed reading a book, and took up the Ferguson, 
 thinking he could extract from it something which 
 might interest her ; but she was so irresponsive, and 
 evidently cared so little for it, that he ceased. It 
 was but eight o'clock, and how to fill up the time 
 he did not know. At last he said he would just 
 take a turn outside and look at the weather. He 
 went out and stood under the stars of which he had 
 been reading. The meeting, after such a separa- 
 tion, was scarcely twenty-four hours old, and yet 
 he felt once more the old weariness and the old 
 inability to profit by her society or care for it. 
 He wished, or half wished, that there might have 
 existed such differences between them that thev could 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY. 217 
 
 have totally disregarded or even hated one another. 
 The futility, however, of any raving was soon per- 
 fectly clear to him. He might as well have strained 
 at a chain which held him fast by the leg, and he 
 therefore strove to quiet himself. He came back, 
 after being absent longer than he intended, and 
 found she was upstairs. He sat down and medi- 
 tated again, but came to no conclusion, for no 
 conclusion was possible. 
 
 The next evening, after they had sat dumb for 
 some moments, he said, " My dear, you don't seem 
 well." 
 
 " I am not well, as you know. You yourself 
 don't seem well." 
 
 He felt suddenly as if he would have liked to 
 throw himself on his knees before her, and to have 
 it all out with her ; to say to her all he had said 
 to himself; to expose all his misery to her; to try 
 to find out whether she still loved him ; to break 
 or thaw the shell of ice which seemed to have 
 frozen round her. But he could not do it. He 
 was on the point of doing it, when he looked at her 
 face, and there was something in it which stopped 
 him. No such confidence was possible, and he went 
 back into himself again. 
 
 " Shall I read to you ? " 
 
 " Yes, if vou like." 
 
21 S THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 " What shall I read ? " 
 
 " I don't care ; anything you please." 
 
 " Shall it be Cook's Voyages ? " 
 
 "I have just said I really do not care." 
 
 He took down the Cook's Voyages ; but after 
 about ten minutes he could not go on, and he put 
 it back in its place. 
 
 " Caillaud's trial is to to.ke place next week," he 
 observed after a long pause. 
 
 " Horrible man!" she exclaimed, with a sudden 
 increase of energy. " I understand that it was in 
 defending him Major Maitland lost his life." 
 
 " My dear, you are quite wrong. He was de- 
 fending Major Maitland, and shot the soldier who 
 killed him." 
 
 " Quite wrong, am I ? Of course I am quite 
 wrong ! " 
 
 " I was at headquarters, you remember." 
 
 " Yes, you were ; but you were not near Major 
 Maitland." 
 
 Zachariah raised his eyes ; he thought he de- 
 tected, he was sure he detected in the tone of this 
 sentence a distinct sneer. 
 
 " I was not with Major Maitland ; my duties 
 called me elsewhere ; but I am more likely to know 
 what happened than any gossiping outsider." 
 
 " I don't believe in your foreign infidels." 
 
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY. 219 
 
 " My foreign infidels ! You have no right to call 
 them my infidels, if you mean that I am one. But 
 let me tell you again you are mistaken. Besides, 
 supposing you are right, I don't see why he should 
 be a horrible man. He will probably be executed 
 for what he did." 
 
 " It was he and that daughter of his who dragged 
 you and the Major, into all this trouble." 
 
 " On the contrary, Caillaud, as well as myself and 
 the Major, did all we could to prevent the march. 
 You must admit I understand what I am talking 
 about. I was at every meeting." 
 
 " As usual, nothing I say is right. It was to 
 be expected that you would take the part of the 
 Caillauds." 
 
 Zachariah did not reply. It was supper- time ; 
 the chapter from the Bible was duly read, the 
 prayer duly prayed, and husband and wife after- 
 wards once more, each in turn, silently at the 
 bedside, with more or less of sincerity or pathos, 
 sought Him who was the Maker of both. It 
 struck Zachariah during his devotions — a rather 
 unwelcome interruption — that his wife as well 
 as himself was in close communication with the 
 Almighty. 
 
( 220 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 END OF THE BEGINNING. 
 
 The trial took place at Lancaster. Zachariah was 
 sorely tempted to go ; but, in the first place, lie had 
 no money, and, in the second place, he feared arrest. 
 Not that he would have cared two pins if he had 
 been put into jail ; but he could not abandon his 
 wife. He was perfectly certain what the result 
 would be, but nevertheless, on the day when the 
 news was due, he could not rest. There was a mail 
 coach which ran from Lancaster to Liverpool, starting 
 from Lancaster in the afternoon and reaching Liver- 
 pool between eleven and twelve at night. He went 
 out about that time and loitered about the coach- 
 office as if he were waiting for a friend. Presently 
 he heard the wheels and the rapid trot of the 
 horses. His heart failed him, and he could almost 
 have fainted. 
 
 " What's the news ? " said the clerk to the coach- 
 man. 
 
END OF THE BEGINNING. 221 
 
 " All the whole d — d lot convicted, and one of 
 'em going to be hung." 
 
 " One of them hung ! Which one is that ? " 
 
 " Why, him as killed the soldier, of course — the 
 Frenchman." 
 
 " A d — d good job too," replied the clerk. " I 
 
 should like to serve every Frenchman in the 
 
 country the same way." 
 
 Zachariah could not listen any longer, but went 
 home, and all night long a continuous series of 
 fearful images passed before his eyes — condemned 
 cells, ropes, gallows, and the actual fall of the 
 victim, down to the contortion of his muscles. He 
 made up his mind on the following day that he 
 would see Caillaud before he died, and he told his 
 wife he was going. She was silent for a moment, 
 and then she said — 
 
 " You will do as you like, I suppose ; but I 
 cannot see what is the use of it. You can do no 
 good ; you will lose your place here ; it will cost 
 you something ; and when you get there you may 
 have to stop there." 
 
 Zachariah could not restrain himself. 
 
 " Good God ! " he cried, " you hear that one of 
 my best friends is about to be hung, and you sit 
 there like a statue — not a single word of sympathy 
 or horror — you care no more than a stone. Use of 
 
222 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 going ! I tell you I will go if I starve, or have to 
 rot in jail all rny lifetime. Furthermore, I will go 
 this instant." 
 
 He went out of the room in a rage, rammed a few 
 things into a bag, and was out of the house in ten 
 minutes. He was excusably unjust to his wife — 
 excusably, because he could not help thinking that 
 she was hard, and even cruel. Yet really she was 
 not so, or if she was, she was not necessarily so, 
 for injustice, not only to others, but to ourselves, 
 is always begotten by a false relationship. There 
 were multitudes of men in the world, worse than 
 Zachariah, with whom she would have been, not 
 only happier, but better. He, poor man, with all 
 his virtues, stimulated and developed all that was 
 disagreeable in her. 
 
 He was in no mood to rest, and walked on all 
 that night. Amidst all his troubles he could not 
 help being struck with the solemn, silent procession 
 overhead. It was perfectly clear — so clear that the 
 heavens were not a surface, but a depth, and the stars 
 of a lesser magnitude were so numerous and brilliant 
 that they obscured the forms of the greater constel- 
 lations. Presently the first hint of day appeared 
 in the east. We must remember that this was the 
 year 1 8 1 7, before, so it is commonly supposed, men 
 knew what it was properly to admire a cloud or a 
 
END OF THE BEGINNING. 223 
 
 rock. Zachariah was not, therefore, on a level with 
 the most ordinary subscriber to a modern circulating 
 library. Nevertheless he could not help noticing — 
 we will say he did no more — the wonderful, the 
 sacredly beautiful drama which noiselessly displayed 
 itself before him. Over in the east the intense 
 deep blue of the sky softened a little. Then the 
 trees in that quarter began to contrast themselves 
 against the background and reveal their distinguish- 
 ing shapes. Swiftly, and yet with, such even velocity 
 that in no one minute did there seem to be any pro- 
 gress compared with the minute preceding, the dark- 
 ness was thinned, and resolved itself overhead into 
 pure sapphire, shaded into yellow below and in front 
 of him, while in the west it was still almost black. 
 The grassy floor of the meadows now showed its 
 colour, grey green, with the dew lying on it, and 
 in the glimmer under the hedge might be discerned 
 a hare or two stirring. Star by star disappeared, 
 until none were left, save Venus, shining like a 
 lamp till the very moment almost when the sun's 
 disc touched the horizon. Half a dozen larks 
 mounted aud poured forth that ecstasy which no 
 bird but the lark can translate. More amazing 
 than the loveliness of scene, sound, and scent around 
 him was the sense of irresistible movement. He 
 stopped to watch it, for it grew so rapid that he 
 
224 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 could almost detect definite pulsations. Throb 
 followed throb every second with increasing force, 
 and in a moment more a burning speck of gold was 
 visible, and behold it was day ! He slowly turned 
 his eyes away and walked onwards. 
 
 Lancaster was reached on the second evening 
 after he left Liverpool. He could not travel fast 
 nor long together, for he was not yet completely 
 strong. He secured a bed in a low part of the 
 town, at a public-house, and on the morning of the 
 third day presented himself at the prison door. 
 After some formalities he was admitted, and taken 
 by a warder along a corridor with whitewashed 
 walls to the condemned cell where Caillaud lay. 
 The warder looked through a grating, and said to 
 Zachariah that a visitor was already there. Two 
 were not allowed at a time, but he would tell the 
 prisoner that somebody was waiting for him. 
 
 " Let's see, what's your name ? " said the warder. 
 
 Then it suddenly struck him that he had been 
 fool enough, in the excitement of entering the 
 prison, to sign his real name in the book. There 
 was no help for it now, and he repeated that it 
 was Coleman. 
 
 " Ah yes, Coleman," echoed the man, in a manner 
 which was significant. 
 
 "Who is the other visitor?" said Zachariah. 
 
END OF THE BEGINNING. 225 
 
 "It is his daughter/' 
 
 His first thought was to ask to be let in, but his 
 next was, that it would be profanity to disturb the 
 intercourse of father and child, and he was silent. 
 However, he had been announced, and Caillaud 
 appeared at the grating begging permission for his 
 friend to enter. It was at first refused ; but pre- 
 sently something seemed to strike the jailer, for 
 he relented with a smile. 
 
 " You won't want to come again ? " he observed 
 interrogatively. 
 
 " No ; that is to say, I think not." 
 
 " No ; that is to say, I think not," he repeated 
 slowly, word for word, adding, " I shall have to stay 
 with you while you are together." 
 
 Zachariah entered, the warder locking the door 
 behind him, and seating himself on the edge of the 
 bedstead, where he remained during the whole of the 
 interview, jingling his keys and perfectly unmoved. 
 
 The three friends spoke not a word for nearly 
 five minutes. Zachariah was never suddenly equal 
 to any occasion which made any great demands 
 upon him. It often made him miserable that it was 
 so. Here he was, in the presence of one whom 
 he had so much loved, and who was about to leave 
 him for ever, and he had nothing to say. That 
 could have been endured could he but have felt and 
 
226 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 showed his feeling, could he but have cast himself 
 upon his neck and wept over him, but he was 
 numbed and apparently immovable. It was Cail- 
 laud who first broke the silence. 
 
 " It appears I shall have to console you rather 
 than you me ; believe me, I care no more about 
 dying, as mere dying, than I do about walking 
 across this room. There are two things which 
 disturb me — the apprehension of some pain, and 
 bidding good-bye to Pauline and you, and two or 
 three more." 
 
 There was, after all, but just a touch needed to 
 break up Zachariah and melt him. 
 
 " You are happier than I," he cried. " Your 
 work is at an end. No more care for things done or 
 undone; you are discharged, and nobly discharged, 
 with honour. But as for me ! " 
 
 " With honour ! " and Caillaud smiled. " To be 
 hung like a forger of bank-notes — not even to 
 be shot — and then to be forgotten. Forgotten 
 utterly ! This does not happen to be one of those 
 revolutions which men remember." 
 
 " No ! men will not remember," said Pauline, 
 
 with an elevation of voice and manner almost 
 
 oratorical. " Men will not remember, but there 
 
 is a memory in the world which forgets nothing." 
 
 " Do you know," said Caillaud, " I have always 
 
END OF THE BEGINNING. 227 
 
 loved adventure, and at times I look forward to 
 death with curiosity and interest, just as if I were 
 going to a foreign country." 
 
 " Tell me," said Zachariah, " if there is anything 
 I can do." 
 
 " Nothing. I would ask you to see that Pauline 
 comes to no harm, but she can take care of herself. 
 I have nothing to give you in parting. They have 
 taken everything from me." 
 
 " What a brute I am ! I shall never see you 
 again, and I cannot speak," sobbed Zachariah. 
 
 " Speak ! What need is there of speaking ? 
 What is there which can be said at such a time ? 
 To tell you the truth, Coleman, I hardly cared 
 about having you here. I did not want to imperil 
 the calm which is now happily upon me ; we all of 
 us have something unaccountable and uncontrollable 
 in us, and I do not know how soon it may wake in me. 
 But I did wish to see you, in order that your mind 
 might be at peace about me. Come, good-bye ! " 
 
 Caillaud put his hand on Zachariah's shoulder. 
 
 " This will not do," he said. " For my sake 
 forbear. I can face what I have to go through 
 next Monday if I am not shaken. Come, Pauline, 
 you too, my child, must leave me for a bit." 
 
 Zachariah looked at Pauline, who rose and threw 
 her shawl over her shoulders. Her lips were tightly 
 
228 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 shut, but she was herself. The warder opened the 
 door. Zachariah took his friend's hand, held it for 
 a moment, and then threw his arms round his neck. 
 There is a pathos in parting which the mere loss 
 through absence does not explain. We all of us 
 feel it, even if there is to be a meeting again in 
 a few months, and we are overcome by incompre- 
 hensible emotion when we turn back down the 
 pier, unable any longer to discern the waving of 
 the handkerchief, or when the railway train turns 
 the curve in the cutting and leaves us standing on 
 the platform. Infinitely pathetic, therefore, is the 
 moment when we separate for ever. 
 
 Caillaud was unsettled for an instant, and then, 
 slowly untwining the embrace, he made a sign to 
 Pauline, who took Zachariah's hand and led him 
 outside ; the heavy well-oiled bolt of the lock 
 shooting back under the key with a smooth strong 
 thud behind them. She walked down the corridor 
 alone, not noticing that he had not followed her, 
 and had just passed out of sight when an officer 
 stepped up to him and said — 
 
 " Your name is Coleman ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Sorry to hear it. My name is Nadin. You 
 know me, I think. You must consider yourself my 
 prisoner." 
 
END OF THE BEGINNING. 229 
 
 Zacliariali was in prison for two years. He 
 
 had not been there three months when his wife 
 died. 
 
 Let us now look forward to 1 8 2 1 ; let us walk 
 down one of the new streets just beginning to 
 stretch northwards from Pentonville ; let us stop 
 opposite a little house, with a little palisade in front, 
 enclosing a little garden five and twenty feet long 
 and fifteen feet broad ; let us peep through the 
 chink between the blind and the window. We see 
 Zachariah and Pauline. Another year passes ; we 
 peep through the same chink again. A cradle is 
 there, in which lies Marie Pauline Coleman ; but 
 where is the mother ? She is not there, and the 
 father alone sits watching the child. 
 
( 2 3 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 COWFOLD. 
 
 Cowfold, half village, half town, lies about three 
 miles to the west of the great North Road from 
 London to York. As you go from London, about 
 fifty miles from the Post-Office in St. Martin's le 
 Grand — the fiftieth milestone is just beyond the 
 turning — you will see a hand-post with three arms 
 on it ; on one is written in large letters, " To 
 London ; " on the second, in equally large letters, 
 " To York ; " and on the third, in small italic letters, 
 " To Cowfold." Two or three years before the 
 events narrated in the following chapters took place 
 — that is to say, about twenty years after the death 
 of Zachariah's second wife— a hundred coaches a day 
 rolled past that hand-post, and about two miles 
 beyond it was a huge inn, with stables like cavalry 
 barracks, where horses were changed. No coach 
 went through Cowfold. When the inhabitants 
 wished to go northwards or southwards the} 7 walked 
 
COWFOLD. 231 
 
 or drove to the junction, and waited on the little 
 grassy triangle till a coach came by which had room 
 for them. When they returned they were deposited 
 at the same spot, and the passengers who were 
 o-oino- through from London to York or Scotland, 
 or who were coming up to London, always seemed 
 to despise people who were taken up or who were 
 left by the roadside there. 
 
 There was, perhaps, some reason for this con- 
 tempt. The North Eoad was at that time one of 
 the finest roads in the world, broad, hard-metalled, 
 and sound in the wettest weather. That which led 
 to Cowfold was under the control of the parish, and 
 in winter-time was very bad indeed. When you 
 looked down it it seemed as if it led nowhere, and 
 indeed the inhabitants of the town were completely 
 shut oft' from any close communication with the 
 outer world. How strange it was to emerge from 
 the end of the lane and to see those wonderful 
 words, " To London," " To York " ! What an open- 
 ing into infinity ! Boys of a slightly imaginative 
 turn of mind — for there were boys with imagination 
 even in Cowfold — would, on a holiday, trudge the 
 three miles eastward merely to get to the post and 
 enjoy the romance of those mysterious fingers. No 
 wonder ; for the excitement begotten by the long 
 stretch of the road — London at one end, York at 
 
232 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 the other — by the sight of the Star, Rover, Eclijjse, 
 or Times racing along at twelve miles an hour, and 
 by the inscriptions on them, was worth a whole 
 afternoon's cricket or wandering in the fields. 
 Cowfold itself supplied no such stimulus. The only 
 thing like it was the mail-cart, which every evening 
 took the letters from the post-office, disappeared 
 into the dark, nobody could tell whither, and 
 brought letters in the morning, nobody could tell 
 whence, before the inhabitants were out of bed. 
 There was a vague belief that it went about fifteen 
 miles and " caught " something somewhere ; but 
 nobody knew for certain, except the postmistress 
 and the mail-cart driver, who were always remark- 
 ably reticent on the point. The driver was dressed 
 in red, carried a long horn slung at the side of the 
 cart, and was popularly believed also to have pistols 
 with him. He never accosted anybody ; sat on a 
 solitary perch just big enough for him ; swayed 
 always backwards and forwards a little in a melan- 
 choly fashion as he rode ; was never seen during 
 the day-time, and was not, in any proper sense, a 
 Cowfold person. 
 
 Cowfold had four streets, or, more correctly, only 
 two, which crossed one another at right angles in 
 the middle of the town, and formed there a kind 
 of square or open place, in which, on Saturdays, a 
 
COWFOLD. 233 
 
 market was held. The " Angel " was in this square, 
 and the shops grouped themselves round it. In the 
 centre was a large pump with a great leaden spout 
 that had a hole bored in it at the side. By stopping 
 up the mouth of the spout with the hand it was 
 possible through this hole to get a good drink, if a 
 friend was willing to work the handle; and as the 
 square was a public playground, the pump did good 
 service, especially amongst the boys, all of whom 
 preferred it greatly to a commonplace mug. On 
 Sundays it was invariably chained up ; for although 
 it was no breach of the Sabbath to use the pump 
 in the backyard, the line was drawn there, and it 
 would have been voted by nine-tenths of Cowfold 
 as decidedly immoral to get water from the one out- 
 side. The shops were a draper's, a grocers, an 
 ironmonger's, a butcher's, and a baker's. All these 
 were regular shops, with shop-windows, and were 
 within sight of one another. There were also other 
 houses where things were sold ; but these were mere 
 dwelling-houses, and were at the poorer and more 
 remote ends of Cowfold. None of the regular shops 
 aforesaid were strictly what they professed to be. 
 Each of them diverged towards the " general." 
 The draper sold boots and shoes ; the grocer sold 
 drugs, stationery, horse and cow medicines, and 
 sheep ointment ; and the ironmonger dealt in 
 
234 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 crockery. Even the butcher was more than a 
 butcher, for he was never to be seen at his chop- 
 ping-block, and his wife did all the retail work. 
 He himself was in the "jobbing" line, and was 
 always jogging about in a cart, in the hind part of 
 which, covered with a net, was a calf or a couple of 
 pigs. Three out of the four streets ran out in 
 cottages ; but one was more aristocratic. This was 
 Church Street, which contained the church and the 
 parsonage. It also had in it four red brick houses, 
 each surrounded with large gardens. In one lived 
 a brewer who had a brewery in Cowfold, and owned 
 a dozen beer-shops in the neighbourhood; another 
 was a seminary for young ladies ; in the third lived 
 the doctor ; and in the fourth old Mr. and Mrs. 
 Muston, who had no children, had been there for 
 fifty years ; and this, so far as Cowfold was aware, 
 was all their history. Mr. and Mrs. Muston and 
 the seminary were the main strength of the church. 
 To be sure the doctor and the landlord of the 
 " Angel " professed devotion to the Establishment, 
 but they were never inside the church, except just 
 now and then, and were charitably excused because 
 of their peculiar . calling. The rest of Cowfold 
 was Dissenting or " went nowhere." There were 
 three chapels ; one the chapel, orthodox, Indepen- 
 dent, holding about seven hundred persons, and 
 
COWFOLD. 235 
 
 more particularly to be described presently ; the 
 second Wesleyan, new, stuccoed, with grained doors 
 and cast-iron railing ; the third, strict Baptist, 
 ultra-Calvinistic, Antinomian according to the other 
 sects, dark, down an alley, mean, surrounded by a 
 small long-grassed graveyard, and named Zoar in 
 large letters over the long window in front. The 
 " went nowhere " class was apparently not very 
 considerable. On Sunday morning at twelve o'clock 
 Cowfold looked as if it had been swept clean. It 
 was only by comparison between the total number 
 of church-goers and chapel-goers and the total 
 population that it could be believed that there was 
 anybody absent from the means of grace ; but if 
 a view could have been taken of the back premises 
 an explanation would have been discovered. Men 
 and women " did up their gardens," or found, for 
 a variety of reasons, that they were forced to stay 
 at home. In the evening they grew bolder, and 
 strolled through the meadows. It is, however, only 
 fair to respectable Cowfold to say that it knew 
 nothing of these creatures, except by employing 
 them on week-days. 
 
 With regard to the TVesleyan Chapel, nothing 
 much need be said. Its creed was imported, and 
 it had no roots in the town. The Church disliked 
 it because it was Dissenting, and the Dissenters 
 
236 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 disliked it because it was half-Church, and, above 
 all, Tory. It was supported mainly by the brewer, 
 who was drawn thither for many reasons, one of 
 which was political. Another was, that he was 
 not in trade, and although he objected to be 
 confounded with his neighbours who stood behind 
 counters, the church did not altogether suit him, 
 because there Mr. and Mrs. Muston and the 
 seminary stood in his way. Lastly, as he owned 
 beer-shops, supplied liquor which was a proverb 
 throughout the county, and did a somewhat doubt- 
 ful business according to the more pious of the 
 Cowfold Christians, he preferred to be accredited 
 as a religious person by Methodism than by any 
 other sect, the stamp of Methodism standing out 
 in somewhat higher relief. 
 
 As for Zoar, it was a place apart. Its minister 
 was a big, large-jawed, heavy- eyed man, who lived 
 in a little cottage hard by. His wife was a very 
 plain-looking person, who wore even on Sundays 
 a cotton gown without any ornament, and who 
 took her husband's arm as they walked down the 
 lane to the chapel. The Independent minister, 
 the Wesleyan minister, and, of course, the rector 
 had nothing to do with the minister of Zoar. This 
 was not because of any heresy or difference of 
 doctrine, but because ho was a poor man and poor 
 
COAVFOLD. 237 
 
 persons sat under him. Nevertheless he was not 
 in any way a characteristic Calvinist. The Cal- 
 vinistic creed was stuck in him as in a lump of fat, 
 and had no organising influence upon him what- 
 ever. He had no weight in Cowfold, took part 
 in none of its affairs, and his ministrations were 
 confined to about fifty sullen, half stupid, wholly 
 ignorant people who found in the Zoar services 
 something sleepier and requiring less mental exer- 
 tion than they found elsewhere ; although it must 
 be said that the demands made upon the intellect 
 in none of the places of worship were very exten- 
 sive. There was a small endowment attached 
 to Zoar, and on this, with the garden and house 
 rent free, the minister lived. Once now and 
 then — perhaps once in every three or four years — 
 there was a baptism in Zoar, and at such times 
 it was crowded. The children of the congregation, 
 as a rule, fell away from it as they grew up ; 
 but occasionally a girl remained faithful and was 
 formally admitted to its communion. In front of 
 the pulpit was an open space usually covered ; but 
 the boards could be taken up, and then a large 
 kind of tank was disclosed, which was filled with 
 water when the ceremony was performed. After 
 hymns had been sung the minister weht down 
 into the water, and the candidate appeared dressed 
 
23S THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 in a long white robe very much like a night-gown. 
 The dear sister, during a short address, stood on 
 the brink of the tank for a few moments, and then 
 descended into it beside the minister, who, taking 
 her by the neck and round the waist, ducked her 
 fairly and completely. She emerged, and walked 
 dripping into the vestry, where it was always said 
 that hot brandy and water was ready. 
 
 Many of us have felt that we would give all our 
 books if we could but see with our own eyes how a 
 single day was passed by a single ancient Jewish, 
 Greek, or Roman family ; how the house was opened 
 in the morning ; how the meals were prepared ; 
 what was said ; how the husband, wife, and children 
 went about their work ; what clothes they w T ore, 
 and what were their amusements. Would that the 
 present historian could do as much for Cowfold ! 
 Would that he could bring back one blue summer 
 morning, one afternoon and evening, and reproduce 
 exactly what happened in Cowfold Square, in one 
 of the Cowfold shops, in one of the Cowfold parlours, 
 and in one Cowfold brain and heart. Could this 
 be done with strictest accuracy, a book would be 
 written, although Cowfold was not Athens, Rome, 
 nor Jerusalem, which would live for many many 
 years longer than much of the literature of this 
 century. But, alas! the preliminary image in the 
 
COWFOLD. 239 
 
 mind of the writer is faint enough, and when he 
 comes to trace it, the pencil swerves and goes oft' 
 into something utterly unlike it. An attempt, how- 
 ever, to show what the waking hours in Cowfold 
 Square were like may not be out of place. The 
 shopkeeper came into his shop at half-past seven, 
 about half an hour after the shutters had been 
 taken down by his apprentice. At eight o'clock 
 breakfast was ready ; but before breakfast there was 
 family worship, and a chapter was read from the 
 Bible, followed by an extempore prayer from the 
 head of the household. If the master happened to 
 be absent, it was not considered proper that the 
 mistress should pray extempore, and she used a 
 book of " Family Devotions." A very solid break- 
 fast followed, and business began. It was very 
 slow, but it was very human — much more so than 
 business at the present day in the City. Every 
 customer had something to say beyond his own 
 immediate errand, and the shop was the place 
 where everything touching Cowfold interests was 
 abundantly discussed. Cowfold, too, did much trade 
 in the country round it. Most of the inhabi- 
 tants kept a gig, and two or three times, perhaps, 
 in a week a journey somewhere or other was 
 necessary which was not in the least like a journey 
 in a railway train. Debts in the villages were 
 
2 4 o THE INVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 collected by the creditor in person, who called and 
 invited his debtors to a most substantial dinner at 
 the inn. At one o'clock Cowfold dined. Between 
 one and two nobody was to be seen in the streets, 
 and the - doors were either fastened or a bell was 
 put upon them. After dinner the same duties 
 returned in the shop ; but inside the house dinner 
 was the turning-point of the day. When the 
 " things were washed up," servant and mistress 
 began to smarten themselves, and disappearing 
 into their bedrooms, emerged at four, to make pre- 
 parations for tea, the meal most enjoyed in all Cow- 
 fold. If any spark of wit slept in any Cowfoldian, 
 male or female, it appeared then. No invitations 
 to dinner were ever heard of; but tea was the op- 
 portunity for hospitality, especially amongst women. 
 The minister, when he visited, invariably came to 
 tea. The news circulated at tea, and, in fact, at 
 tea between five and six, Cowfold, if its intellect 
 could have been measured by a properly con- 
 structed gauge, would have been found many 
 degrees higher in the scale than at any other hour. 
 (< ranted that the conversation was personal, trivial, 
 and even scandalous, it was in a measure philo- 
 sophical. Cowfold, though it knew nothing, or 
 next to nothing, of abstractions, took immense 
 interest in the creatures in which thev were 
 
COWFOLD. 241 
 
 embodied. It would have turned a deaf ear to 
 any debate on the nature of ethical obligation ; 
 but it was very keen indeed in apportioning blame 
 to its neighbours who had sinned, and in decid- 
 ing how far they had gone wrong. Cowfold, in 
 other words, believed that flesh and blood, and 
 not ideas, are the school and the religion for most 
 of us, and that we learn a language by the examples 
 rather than by the rules. The young scholar 
 fresh from his study is impatient at what he con- 
 siders the unprofitable gossip about the people round 
 the corner ; but when he gets older he sees that 
 often it is much better than his books, and that 
 distinctions are expressed by a washerwoman, if 
 the objects to be distinguished eat and drink and 
 sleep, which he would find it difficult to mike with 
 his symbols. Moreover, the little Cowfold clubs 
 and parties understood what they were saying, and 
 so far had an advantage over the clubs and parties 
 which, since the days of penny newspapers, now dis- 
 cuss in Cowfold the designs of Russia, the gradua- 
 tion of the Income Tax, or the merits and demerits 
 of the administration. The Cowfold horizon has now 
 been widened, to use the phrase of an enlightened 
 gentleman who came down and lectured there on 
 the criminality of the advertisement duty ; but 
 unfortunately the eyes remain the same. Cowfold 
 
 Q 
 
242 
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 now looks abroad, and is very eloquent upon the 
 fog in the distance, and the objects it thinks it sees 
 therein ; but, alas ! what it has gained in inclusive 
 breadth it has lost in definition. Politics, however, 
 were not unknown in Cowfold ; for before 1832 it 
 was a borough, and after 1832 it was one of the 
 principal polling-places for the county. Neverthe- 
 less it was only on the eve of an election that any- 
 body dabbled in them, and even then they were 
 very rudimentary. The science to most of the 
 voters meant nothing more than a preference of 
 blue to yellow, or yellow to blue ; and women had 
 nothing whatever to do with it, excepting that 
 wives always, of course, took their husbands' colours. 
 Politics, too, as a rule, were not mentioned in private 
 houses. They were mostly reserved for the " Angel," 
 and for the brandies and water and pipes which 
 collected there in the evening. 
 
 To return. After tea the master went back once 
 more to his counter, and the shutters were put 
 up at eight. From eight to nine was an hour 
 of which no account can be given. The lights 
 were left burning in the shops, and the neighbour 
 across the way looked in, and remained talking 
 till his supper was ready. Supper at nine, 
 generally hot, was an institution never omitted, 
 and, like tea, was convivial ; but the conviviality 
 
COWFOLD. 243 
 
 was of a distinctly lower order. Everybody had 
 whisky, gin, or brandy afterwards, and every male 
 person who was of age smoked. There was, as a 
 rule, no excess, but the remarks were apt to be dis- 
 connected and woolly ; and the wife, who never had 
 grog for herself, but always sipped her husband's, 
 went to sleep. Eleven o'clock saw all Cowfold in 
 bed, and disturbed only by such dreams as were 
 begotten of the previous • liver and bacon and 
 alcohol. 
 
 There were no villains amongst that portion of 
 the inhabitants with which this history principally 
 concerns itself, nor was a single adventure of any 
 kind ever known to happen beyond the adventures 
 of being born, getting married, falling sick, and 
 dying, with now and then an accident from a gig. 
 Consequently it might be thought that there was no 
 romance in Cowfold. There could not be a greater 
 mistake. The history of every boy or girl of 
 ordinary make is one of robbery, murder, imprison- 
 ment, death sentence, filing of chains, scaling of 
 prison walls, recapture, scaffold, reprieve, poison, 
 and pistols ; the difference between such a history 
 and that in the authorised versions being merely 
 circumstantial. The garden of Eden, the murder 
 of Cain, the deluge, the salvation of Noah, the 
 exodus from Egypt, David and Bathsheba, with 
 
244 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 the murder of Uriah, the Assyrian invasion, the 
 Incarnation, the Atonement, and the Resurrection 
 from the Dead ; to say nothing of the Decline and 
 Fall of the Roman Empire, the tragedy of Count 
 Cenci, the execution of Mary Queen of Scots, the 
 Inquisition in Spain, and Revolt of the Netherlands, 
 all happened in Cowfold, as well as elsewhere, and 
 were perhaps more interesting there because they 
 could be studied in detail and the records were 
 authentic. 
 
 Church Street, Cowfold — that is to say, the street 
 in which the church stood — was tolerably broad, 
 going east and west, so that the sun shone full 
 on the white window-frames and red brick of 
 Mr. Muston's house, in which everything seemed 
 to sleep in eternal calm. On the opposite side was 
 the seminary, also red brick and white paint, facing 
 the north ; but, to make amends, the garden had a 
 southern aspect, and the back of the house was 
 covered with a huge magnolia whose edges curled 
 round to the western side, so that it could be seen 
 by wayfarers. It was a sight not to be forgotten — 
 the red brick, the white paint, the July sun, the 
 magnolia leaves, the flanking elms on the east high 
 above the chimneys, the glimpse of the acre of lawn 
 through the great gates when they happened to 
 
COWFOLD. 245 
 
 be open, the peace, so profound, of summer noon ! 
 How lovely it looks as it hovers unsteadily before 
 the eye, seen through the transfiguring haze of so 
 many years ! It was really, there is no doubt 
 about it, handsomer than the stuccoed villa which 
 stares at us over the way ; but yet, if Cowfold 
 Church Street, red brick, white paint, elms, lawn, 
 and midsummer repose could be restored at the 
 present moment, would it be exactly what the vision 
 of it is ? What is this magic gift which even for 
 the humblest of us paints and frames these enchant- 
 ing pictures ? It is nothing less than the genius 
 which is common to humanity. If we are not able 
 to draw or model, we possess the power to select, 
 group, and clothe with an ideal grace, which is 
 the very soul of art, and every man and woman, 
 every bush, nay, every cabbage, cup, and saucer, 
 provided only it be not actually before us, becomes 
 part of a divine picture. Would that we could do 
 with the present what we do with the past ! We 
 can do something if we try. 
 
 At the end of Church Street came the vicarage, 
 and then the churchyard, with the church. Beyond 
 was the park, which half embraced Cowfold, for it 
 was possible to enter it not only from Church 
 Street, but from North Street, which ran at right 
 
246 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 angles to it. The Hall was not much. It was a 
 large plain stone mansion, built in the earlier part 
 of the eighteenth century : but in front of the main 
 entrance was a double row of limes stretching for 
 a quarter of a mile, and the whole of the park 
 was broken up into soft swelling hills, from whose 
 tops, owing to the flatness of the country round, an 
 almost immeasurable distance could be seen, gradu- 
 ally losing itself in deepening mist of tenderest 
 blue. The park, too, was not rigidly circumscribed. 
 Public roads led through it. It melted on two 
 or three sides into cultivated fields, and even the 
 private garden of the Hall seemed a part of it ; 
 for there was nothing between them but a kind 
 of grassy ditch and an almost invisible fence. The 
 domain of Cowfold Hall was the glory of Cow- 
 fold and the pride of its inhabitants. The modern 
 love of scenery was not known in Cowfold, and 
 still less was that worship of landscape and nature 
 known which, as before observed, is peculiar to the 
 generation born under the influence of "Wordsworth. 
 We have learnt, however, from Zachariah that even 
 before Wordsworth's days people were sometimes 
 touched by dawn or sunset. The morning cheered, 
 the moon lent pathos and sentiment, and the 
 stars awoke unanswerable interrogations in Cow- 
 
COWFOLD. 247 
 
 fold, although it knew no poetry, save Dr. Watts, 
 Pollok's Course of 2 y ime, and here and there a little 
 of Cowper. Under the avenue, too, whose slender 
 columns, in triple rows on either side, rose to an 
 immense height, and met in a roof overhead with 
 all the grace of cathedral stone, and without its 
 superincumbent weight and imprisonment — a roof 
 that was not impervious to the sunlight, but let it 
 pass and fall in quivering flakes on the ground — 
 Cowfold generally took off its hat, partly, no doubt, 
 because the place was cool, but also as an act of 
 homage. Here and in the woods adjoining youths 
 and maidens for three hundred years had walked 
 and made love, for, though the existing house was 
 new, it stood on the site of a far older building- 
 Dead men and women, lord and churl, gone to 
 indistinguishable dust, or even beyond that — gone, 
 perhaps, into vapour and gas, which had been 
 blown to New Zealand, and become men and 
 women again — had burned with passion here, and 
 vowed a union which was to last beyond the 
 Judgment Day. They wept here, quarrelled here, 
 rushed again' into one another's arms here, swore 
 to one another here, when Henry the Eighth was 
 king; and they wept here, quarrelled here, em- 
 braced here, swore here, in exactly the same mad 
 
2 4 S THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 fashion, when William the Fourth sat upon the 
 throne. Half-way up the avenue was a stone 
 pillar commanding a gentle descent, one way to the 
 Hall, and the other way to the lodge. It set forth 
 the anguish of a former lord of the time of Queen 
 Anne, who had lost his wife when she was twenty- 
 six years old. She was beneath him in rank, 
 but very beautiful, and his affection for her had 
 fought with and triumphed over the cruel opposi- 
 tion of father, mother, and relations, who had ether 
 designs. He had made enemies of them all ; but 
 he won his wife, and, casting her in the scale, 
 father, mother, and friends were as gossamer. She 
 died two years after the wedding — to the very day. 
 Eich in her love, he had never taken a thought 
 to propitiate anybody, nor to make friends with 
 the Mammon of Unrighteousness, and when she 
 suddenly departed, he turned round and found 
 himself alone. So far from knocking at men's 
 doors, he more fiercely hated those who now, 
 touched with pity, would gladly have welcomed 
 him. He broke from them all, lived his own life, 
 was reputed to be a freethinker, and when he came 
 to his estate, a long long while afterwards, he put 
 up the obelisk, and recorded in Latin how Death, 
 the foul adulterer, had ravished his sweet bride 
 
COWFOLD. 249 
 
 — the coward Death whom no man could chal- 
 lenge — and that the inconsolable bridegroom had 
 erected this monument in memory of her match- 
 less virtues. That was all : no blessed resurrec- 
 tion nor trust in the Saviour. The Reverend John 
 Broad, minister of Tanner's Lane Chapel, when 
 he brought visitors here, regularly translated the 
 epitaph. He was not very good at Latin, but he 
 had somehow found out its meaning. He always 
 observed that it was not classic, and consequently 
 not easy to render. He pointed out, too, as a 
 further curiosity, which somewhat increased the 
 difficulty to any ordinary person, that V was used 
 for U, and I for J. He never, as might be 
 expected, omitted to enlarge upon the omission of 
 any reference to the Atoning Blood and the Life to 
 Come, and remarked how the poor man's sufferings 
 would have been entirely " assuaged " — a favourite 
 word with Mr. Broad — if he had believed in those 
 " remedies." At the same time Mr. Broad dwelt 
 upon the " associations " of the avenue, which, he 
 thought, added much to its natural " attractiveness." 
 Cowfold thought so too, and welcomed the words 
 as exactly expressing what it felt. John Broad 
 and Cowfold were right, and more right, perhaps, 
 than they knew. The draper's young man who 
 walked through the park with his arm round his 
 
250 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNERS LANE. 
 
 young woman's waist looked up at the obelisk, re- 
 peated its story, and became more serious. Thus 
 it came to pass that the old lord's love lived 
 again somewhat in the apprentice, and that which 
 to the apprentice seemed most particularly himself 
 was a little bit of the self of the Queen Anne's 
 earl long since asleep in the vault under Cowfold 
 Church. 
 
( 251 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF THY SLEEP ? 
 YET A LITTLE SLEEP. 
 
 The Reverend John Broad was minister of 
 Tanner's Lane Chapel, or, more properly, Meeting- 
 house, a three-gabled building, with the date 1688 
 upon it, which stood in a short street leading out of 
 North Street. Why it was called Tanner's Lane 
 nobody knew ; for not in the memory of man had 
 any tanner carried on his trade there. There was 
 nothing of any consequence in it but the meeting- 
 house, and when people said Tanner's Lane this was 
 what they meant. There were about seven hundred 
 and fifty sittings in it, and on Sundays it was 
 tolerably full, for it was attended by large numbers 
 of people from the surrounding villages, who came 
 in gigs and carts, and brought their dinners with 
 them, which they ate in the vestry. It was, in fact, 
 the centre of the Dissenting activitv for a whole 
 district. It had small affiliated meeting-houses in 
 places like Sheepgate, Hackston Green, and Bull's 
 
252 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Cross, in which service was held on Sunday evening 
 by the deacons of Tanner's Lane, or by some of the 
 young men whom Mr. Broad prepared to be mission- 
 aries. For a great many years the congregation 
 had apparently undergone no change in character ; 
 but the uniformity was only apparent. The fervid 
 piety of Cowper's time and of the Evangelical 
 revival was a thing almost of the past. The 
 Reverend John Broad was certainly not of the 
 Revival type. He was a big, gross-feeding, heavy 
 person with heavy ox-face and large mouth, who 
 might have been bad enough for anything if nature 
 had ordained that he should have been born in 
 a hovel at Sheepgate or in the Black Country. 
 As it happened, his father was a woollen draper, 
 and John was brought up to the trade as a youth ; 
 got tired of it, thought he might do something 
 more respectable ; went to a Dissenting College ; 
 took charge of a little chapel in Buckingham- 
 shire ; married early ; was removed to Tanner's 
 Lane, and became a preacher of the Gospel. He 
 was moderate in all of what he called his 
 " views ; " neither ultra- Calvinist nor Arminian ; 
 not rigid upon Baptism, and certainly much un- 
 like his lean and fervid predecessor, the Reverend 
 James Harden, M.A., who was educated at Cam- 
 bridge ; threw up all his chances there when he 
 
V 
 
 WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF SLEEP? 
 
 -dj 
 
 became convinced of sin ; cast in his lot with the 
 Independents, and wrestled even unto blood with 
 the world, the flesh, and the devil in Cowfold for 
 thirty years, till he was gathered to his rest. A 
 fiery, ardent, untamable soul was Harden's, bold 
 and uncompromising. He never scrupled to tell 
 anybody what he thought, and would send an arrow 
 sharp and swift through any iniquity, no matter 
 where it might couch. He absolutely ruled Cow- 
 fold, hated by many, beloved by many, feared by 
 all — a genuine soldier of the Cross. Mr. Broad very 
 much preferred the indirect mode of doing good, 
 and if he thought a brother had done wrong, 
 contented himself with praying in private for him. 
 He was, however, not a hypocrite, that is to say, 
 not an ordinary novel or stage hypocrite. There is 
 no such thing as a human being simply hypocritical 
 or simply sincere. We are all hypocrites, more or 
 less, in every word and every action, and, what is 
 more, in every thought. It is a question simply of 
 degree. Furthermore, there are degrees of natural 
 capacity for sincerity, and Mr. Broad was probably 
 as sincere as his build of soul and body allowed him 
 to be. Certainly no doubt as to the truth of what 
 he preached ever crossed his mind. He could not 
 doubt, for there was no doubt in the air ; and yet he 
 could not believe as Harden believed, for neither 
 
t 
 254 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 was Hardens belief now in the air. Nor was Mr. 
 Broad a criminal in any sense. He was upright, on 
 the whole, in all his transactions, although a little 
 greedy and hard, people thought, when the trustees 
 proposed to remit to widow Oakfield, on her husband's 
 death, half the rent of a small field belonging to the 
 meeting-house, and contributing a modest sum to 
 Mr. Broad's revenue. He objected. Widow Oakfield 
 was poor ; but then she did not belong to Tanner's 
 Lane, and was said to have relations who could help 
 her. Mr. Broad loved his wife decentlv, brought 
 up his children decently, and not the slightest 
 breath of scandal ever tarnished his well-polished 
 reputation. On some points he was most particular, 
 and no young woman who came to him with her 
 experience before she was admitted into the church 
 was ever seen by him alone. Always was a deacon 
 present, and all Cowfold admitted that the minister 
 was most discreet. Another recommendation, too, 
 was that he was temperate in his drink. He was 
 not so in his meat. Supper was his great meal, and 
 he would then consume beef, ham, or sausages, hot 
 potatoes, mixed pickles, fruit pies, bread, cheese, and 
 celery in quantities which were remarkable even in 
 those days ; but he never drank anything but beer — 
 a pint at dinner and a pint at supper. 
 
 On one Monday afternoon in July 1840 Mr. 
 
WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF SLEEP? 255 
 
 and Mrs. Broad sat at tea in the study. This was 
 Mr. Broad's habit on Monday afternoon. On that 
 day, after the three sermons on the Sunday, he always 
 professed himself " Mondayish." The morning was 
 given over to calling in the town ; when he had 
 dined he slept in his large leathern chair ; and 
 at five husband and wife had tea by themselves. 
 Thomas, the eldest son, and his two younger sisters, 
 Priscilla and Tryphosa, aged seventeen and fifteen, 
 were sent to the dining-room. Mr. Broad never 
 omitted this custom of spending an hour and a half 
 on Monday with Mrs. Broad. It gave them an 
 opportunity of talking over the affairs of the con- 
 gregation, and it added to Mr. Broad's importance 
 with the missionary students, because they saw how 
 great were the weight and fatigue of the pastoral 
 office. 
 
 A flock like that which was shepherded by Mr. 
 Broad required some management. Mrs. Broad took 
 the women, and Mr. Broad the men ; but Mrs. 
 Broad was not a very able tactician. She was a 
 Flavel by birth, and came from a distant part of the 
 country. Her father was a Dissenting minister ; 
 but he was Dr. Flavel, with a great chapel in a 
 great town. Consequently she gave herself airs, 
 and occasionally let fall, to the great displeasure 
 of the Cowfold ladies, words which implied some 
 
256 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 disparagement of Cowfold. She was a shortish, 
 stout, upright little woman, who used a large fan and 
 spoke with an accent strange to the Midlands. She 
 was not a great help to the minister, because she 
 was not sufficiently flexible and insinuating for her 
 position ; but nevertheless they always worked to- 
 gether, and she followed as well as she could the 
 directions of her astuter husband, who, considering 
 his bovine cast, was endowed with quite a preter- 
 natural sagacity in the secular business of his 
 profession. 
 
 On this particular afternoon, however, the subject 
 of the conversation was not the congregation, but 
 young Thomas Broad, aged eighteen, the exact, and 
 almost ridiculously exact, counterpart of his father. 
 He had never been allowed to go to school, but 
 had been taught at home. There was only one day- 
 school in Cowfold, and his mother objected to the 
 " mixture." She had been heard to say as much, 
 and Cowfold resented this too, and the Cowfold 
 youths resented it by holding Tommy Broad in 
 extreme contempt. He had never been properly a 
 boy, for he could play at no boyish games ; had 
 a tallowy, unpleasant complexion, went for formal 
 walks, and carried gloves. But though in a sense 
 incompletely developed, he was not incompletely 
 developed in another direction. He was at what 
 
WHEN ^YILT THOU ARISE OUT OF SLEEP? 257 
 
 is called an awkward age, and both father and 
 mother had detected in him an alarming tendency 
 to enjoy the society of young women — a tendency 
 much stimulated by his unnatural mode of life. 
 Thomas was already a member of the church and 
 was a teacher in the Sunday-school ; but his 
 mother was uneasy, for a serious attachment be- 
 tween Thomas and anybody in the town would 
 have been very distasteful to her. The tea having 
 been poured out, and Mr. Broad having fairly settled 
 down upon the buttered toast and radishes, Mrs. 
 Broad began — 
 
 " Have you thought anything more about Thomas, 
 my dear ? " 
 
 Being a minister's son, he was never called Tom 
 by either papa or mamma. 
 
 " Yes, my love ; but it is very difficult to know 
 how to proceed judiciously in such a case." 
 
 " Mrs. Allen asked me, last Wednesday, when he 
 was going to leave home, and I told her we had 
 not made up our minds. She said that her brother 
 in Birmingham wanted a youth in his office, but my 
 answer was directly that we had quite determined 
 that Thomas should not enter into any trade.'"' 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 " That she was not surprised, for she hardly 
 
 thought Thomas was fitted for it." 
 
 R 
 
258 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 The minister looked grave and perplexed, for Mr. 
 Allen was in trade, and was a deacon. Mrs. Broad 
 proceeded — 
 
 w I am quite sure Thomas ought to be a minister ; 
 and I am quite sure, too, he ought to leave Cowfold 
 and go to college." 
 
 " Don't you think this event might be procrasti- 
 nated ; the expense would be considerable." 
 
 " Well, my dear, Fanny Allen came here to tea 
 the day before yesterday. When she went away 
 she could not find her clogs. I was on the landing, 
 and saw what happened, though they did not think 
 it. Fanny's brother was waiting outside. Priscilla 
 had gone somewhere for the moment — I don't know 
 where — and Tryphosa was upstairs. Thomas said he 
 would look for the clogs, and presently I saw him 
 fastening them for her. Then he walked with her 
 down the garden. I just went into the front bed- 
 room and looked. It was not very dark, and, — well, 
 
 I may be mistaken, but I do believe " The rest 
 
 of the sentence was wanting. Mrs. Broad stopped 
 at this point. She felt it was more becoming to do 
 so. She shifted on her chair with a fidgety motion, 
 threw her head back a little, looked up at the 
 portrait of Dr. Flavel in gown and bands which 
 hung over the fireplace, straightened her gown 
 upon her knees, and pushed it forward over her feet 
 
WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF SLEEP? 259 
 
 so as to cover them altogether — a mute protest 
 against the impropriety of the scene she had partly 
 described. Mr. Broad inwardly would have liked 
 her to go on ; but he always wore his white necker- 
 chief, except when he was in bed, and he was still 
 the Keverend John Broad, although nobody but his 
 wife was with him. He therefore refrained, but 
 after a while slowly observed — 
 
 " Thomas has not made much progress in syste- 
 matic theology." 
 
 " They do not require much on admission, do 
 they ? He knows the outlines, and I am sure the 
 committee will recollect my father and be glad to 
 get Thomas. I have heard that the social position 
 of the candidates is not what it used to be, and 
 that they wish to obtain some of a superior stamp, 
 who ultimately may be found adapted to metro- 
 politan churches." 
 
 " One of the questions last year, my dear, was 
 upon the office of the Comforter, and you remember 
 Josiah Collins was remanded. I hardly think 
 Thomas is sufficiently instructed on that subject at 
 present; and there are others. On the whole, it 
 is preferable that he should not go till September 
 twelvemonths." 
 
 " His personal piety would have weight." 
 
 " Undoubtedly." 
 
26o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 There was a pause, and Mrs. Broad then con- 
 tinued — 
 
 " Well, my dear, you know best ; but what about 
 Fanny ? I shall not ask her again. How very 
 forward, and indeed altogether " Another stop- 
 page, another twitch at her gown, with another 
 fidget on the chair, the eyes going up to Dr. 
 Flavel's bands as before. " In our house too — to 
 put herself in Thomas's way ! " 
 
 Ah ! Mrs. Broad, are you sure Thomas did not 
 go out of his way — even in your house, that 
 eminently respectable, eminently orthodox residence 
 — even Thomas, your Samuel, who had been granted 
 to the Lord, and who, to use his own words when 
 his written religious autobiography was read at the 
 church-meeting, being the child of pious parents, 
 and of many prayers, had never been exposed to 
 those assaults of the enemy of souls which beset 
 ordinary young men, and consequently had not 
 undergone a sudden conversion ? 
 
 " But," observed Mr. Broad, leaning back in his 
 easy-chair, and half covering his face with his great 
 broad fat hand, " we shall offend the Aliens if Fanny 
 does not come, and we shall injure the cause." 
 
 " Has George Allen, Fanny's brother, prayed at 
 the prayer-meeting yet ? He was admitted two 
 months ago." 
 
WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF SLEEP? 261 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then ask his father to let him pray ; and we 
 need not invite Fanny till Thomas has left." 
 
 The papa objected that perhaps Thomas might 
 go to the Aliens', bnt the mamma, with Dr. Flavel's 
 bands before her, assured him that Thomas would do 
 nothing: of the kind. So it was settled that Mr. Broad 
 should call at the Aliens' to-morrow, and suggest that 
 George should " engage " on the following Thurs- 
 day. This, it was confidently hoped, would prevent 
 any suspicion on their part that Fanny had been 
 put aside. Of course, once having begun, George 
 would be regularly on the list. 
 
( 262 ) 
 
 CHAPTEK XVIII. 
 
 A RELIGIOUS PICNIC . 
 
 Occasionally, in the summer months, Tanner's Lane 
 indulged in a picnic ; that is to say, the principal 
 members of the congregation, with their wives and 
 children, had an early dinner, and went in gigs and 
 four-wheel chaises to Shott Woods, taking hampers 
 of bread, cake, jam, butter, ham, and other eatables 
 with them. At Shott Woods, in a small green space 
 under an immense oak, a fire was lighted and tea 
 was prepared. Mr. Broad and his family always 
 joined the party. These were the days when 
 Dissenters had no set amusements, and the enter- 
 tainment at Shott mainly consisted in getting the 
 sticks for the fire, fetching the water, and waiting 
 on one another ; the waiting being particularly 
 pleasant to the younger people. Dancing, of course, 
 was not thought of. In 1 840 it may safely be 
 said that there were not twenty Independent fami- 
 lies in Great Britain in which it would have been 
 
A EELIGIOUS PICNIC. 263 
 
 tolerated, and, moreover, none but the rich learned 
 to dance. No dancing-master ever came into Cow- 
 fold ; there was no music-master there ; no concert 
 was ever given ; and Cowfold, in fact, never " saw 
 nor heard anything," to use a modern phrase, save a 
 travelling menagerie with a brass band. What an 
 existence ! How did they live ? It is certain, how- 
 ever, that they did live, and, on the whole, enjoyed 
 their life. 
 
 The picnics were generally on a Monday, as a 
 kind of compliment to Mr. Broad, who was sup- 
 posed to need rest and change on Monday, and who 
 was also supposed not to be able to spare the time 
 on any other day. About a month after the con- 
 versation recorded in the previous chapter Tanner's 
 Lane was jogging along to Shott on one of its 
 excursions. It was a brilliant, blazing afternoon 
 towards the end of August. The corn stood in 
 shocks, and a week with that sun would see it all 
 stacked. There was no dreary suburb round Cow- 
 fold, neither town nor country, to shut out country 
 influences. The fields came up to the gardens and 
 orchards at the back of half the houses, and flowed 
 irregularly, like an inundation, into the angles of 
 the streets. As you walked past the great gate of 
 the " Angel " yard you could see the meadow at the 
 bottom belonging to Hundred Acres. Consequently 
 
264 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 all Cowfold took an interest in agriculture, and knew 
 a good deal about it. Every shopkeeper was half a 
 farmer, and understood the points of a pig or a 
 horse. Cowfold was not a town properly speaking, 
 but the country a little thickened and congested. 
 The conversation turned upon the crops, and more 
 particularly upon turnips and drainage, both of 
 them a new importation. Hitherto all the parishes 
 round had no drainage whatever, excepting along 
 the bottoms of the ridges, and the now familiar red 
 pipes had just made their appearance on a farm 
 belonging to a stranger to those parts — a young 
 fellow from Norfolk. Everybody was sceptical, and 
 called him a fool. Everybody wanted to know how 
 water was going to get through fifteen inches of 
 heavy land when it would lie for two days where a 
 horse trod. However, the pipes went in, and it so 
 happened that the first wet day after they were 
 laid was a Sunday. The congregation in Shott 
 Church was very restless, although the sermon was 
 unusually short. One by one they crept out, and 
 presently they were followed by the parson. All of 
 them had collected in the pouring rain and were 
 watching the outfall in the ditches. To their un- 
 speakable amazement the pipes were all running ! 
 Shott scratched its head and was utterly bewildered. 
 A new idea in a brain not accustomed to the in- 
 
A RELIGIOUS PICNIC. 265 
 
 vasion of ideas produces a disturbance like a revolu- 
 tion. It causes giddiness almost as bad as that of 
 a fit, and an extremely unpleasant sensation of 
 having: been whirled round and turned head over 
 heels. It was the beginning of new things in Shott, 
 the beginning of a break-down in its traditions ; a 
 belief in something outside the ordinary parochial 
 uniformities was forced into the skull of every man, 
 woman, and child by the evidence of the senses ; and 
 when other beliefs asked, in the course of time, for 
 admittance, they found the entrance easier than it 
 would have been otherwise. 
 
 The elderly occupants of the Tanner's Lane gigs 
 and chaises talked exclusively upon these and other 
 cognate topics. The sons and daughters talked 
 about other things utterly unworthy of any record 
 in a serious history. Delightful their chatter was 
 to them. What does it signify to eighteen years 
 what is said on such an afternoon by seventeen 
 years, when seventeen years is in a charming white 
 muslin dress, with the prettiest hat ? Words are 
 of importance between me and you, who care little 
 or nothing for one another. But there is a thrice 
 blessed time when words are nothing. The real 
 word is that which is not uttered. We may be 
 silent, or we may be eloquent with nonsense or 
 sense — it is all one. So it was between George 
 
266 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Allen and Miss Priscilla Broad, who at the present 
 moment were sitting next to one another. George 
 was a broad, hearty, sandy-haired, sanguine-faced 
 young fellow of one and twenty, eldest son of the 
 ironmonger. His education had been that of the 
 middle classes of those days. Leaving school at 
 fourteen, he had been apprenticed to his father for 
 seven years, and had worked at the forge down the 
 backyard before coming into the front shop. On 
 week-days he generally wore a waistcoat with sleeves 
 and a black apron. He was never dirty ; in fact, 
 he was rather particular as to neatness and cleanli- 
 ness ; but he was always a little dingy and iron- 
 coloured, as retail ironmongers are apt to be. He 
 was now in charge of the business under his father ; 
 stood behind the counter ; weighed nails ; examined 
 locks brought for repair ; went to the different 
 houses in Cowfold with a man under him to look 
 at boiler-pipes, the man wearing a cap and George 
 a tall hat. He had a hard, healthy, honest life, 
 was up at six o'clock in the morning, ate well, and 
 slept well. He was always permitted by his father 
 to go on these excursions, and, in fact, they could 
 not have been a success without him. If anything 
 went wrong he was always the man to set it right. 
 If a horse became restive, George was invariably the 
 one to jump out, and nobody else thought of stirring. 
 
A RELIGIOUS PICNIC. 267 
 
 He had good expectations. The house in which 
 the Aliens lived was their own. Mr. Allen did a 
 thriving trade, not only in Cowfold, but in all the 
 country round, and particularly among the village 
 blacksmiths, to whom he sold iron. He had steadily 
 saved money, and had enlarged the original little 
 back parlour into a room which would hold com- 
 fortably a tea-party of ten or a dozen. 
 
 Miss Priscilla Broad was framed after a different 
 model. Her face was not much unlike that of one 
 of those women of the Restoration so familiar to us 
 in half a hundred pictures. Not that Restoration 
 levity and Restoration manners were chargeable to 
 Miss Priscilla. She never forgot her parentage ; 
 but there were the same kind of prettiness, the 
 same sideways look, the same simper about the lips, 
 and there were the same flat uuilluminated eyes. 
 She had darkish brown hair, which fell in rather 
 formal curls on her shoulder, and she was commonly 
 thought to be " delicate." Like her sister and 
 brother, she had never been to school, on account 
 of the " mixture," but had been taught by her 
 mother. Her accomplishments included Scripture 
 and English history, arithmetic, geography, the use 
 of the globes, and dates. She had a very difficult 
 part to play in Cowfold, for she was obliged to visit 
 freely all Tanner's Lane, but at the same time to 
 
268 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 hold herself above it and not to form any exclusive 
 friendships. These would have been most injudi- 
 cious, because, in the first place, they would have 
 excited jealousy, and, in the next place, the minister's 
 daughter could not be expected to be very intimate 
 with anybody belonging to the congregation. She 
 was not particularly popular with the majority, and 
 was even thought to be just a bit of a fool. 
 But what could she have been with such sur- 
 roundings ? The time had passed when religion 
 could be talked on week-days, and the present time, 
 when ministers' children learn French, German, 
 and Latin, and read selected plays of Shakespeare, 
 had not come. Miss Priscilla Broad found it very 
 difficult, also, to steer her course properly amongst 
 the young men in Cowfold. Mrs. Broad would not 
 have permitted any one of them for a moment to 
 dream of an alliance with her family. As soon 
 might a Princess of the Blood Royal unite herself 
 with an ordinary knight. Miss Broad, however, as 
 her resources within herself were not particularly 
 strong, thought about little or nothing else than 
 ensnaring the hearts of the younger Cowfold males 
 — that is to say, the hearts which were converted ; 
 and yet she encouraged none of them, save by a 
 general acceptance of little attentions, by little 
 mincing smiles, and little mincing speeches. 
 
A RELIGIOUS PICNIC. 269 
 
 u Such a beautiful day," said George, " and such 
 pleasant company ! " 
 
 "Keally, Mr. Allen, don't you think it would 
 have been pleasanter for you in front ? " 
 
 " What did you say, my dear ? " came imme- 
 diately from her mother, the ever-watchful dragon 
 just before them. She forthwith turned a little 
 round, for the sun was on her left hand, and with 
 her right eye kept Priscilla well in view for the 
 rest of the journey. 
 
 In the chaise behind pretty much the same story 
 was told, but with a difference. In the back part 
 were Mr. Thomas Broad and Miss Fanny Allen. 
 The arrangement which brought these two together 
 was most objectionable to Mrs. Broad; but un- 
 fortunately she was a little late in starting, and 
 it was made before she arrived. She could not, 
 without insulting the Aliens, have it altered ; but 
 she consoled herself by vowing that it should not 
 stand on the return journey in the dusk. Miss 
 Fanny was nattered that the minister's son should 
 be by her side, and the minister's son was not 
 in the least deterred from playing with Miss Fanny 
 by the weight of responsibility which oppressed and 
 checked his sister. He did not laugh much ; he 
 had not a nature for wholesome laughter, but he 
 chuckled, lengthened his lips, half shut his eyes ; 
 
270 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 asked his companion whether the rail did not hurt 
 her, put his arm on the top, so that she might 
 lean against it, and talked in a manner which even 
 she would have considered a little silly and a 
 little odd, if his position, that of a student for 
 the ministry, had not surrounded him with such a 
 halo of glory. 
 
 Presently Shott Woods were reached ; the parcels 
 and hampers were unpacked, the fire was lit, the 
 tea prepared, and the pastor asked a blessing. 
 Everybody sat on the grass, save the reverend 
 gentleman and his wife, who had chairs which 
 had been brought on purpose. It would not have 
 been considered proper that Mr. or Mrs. Broad 
 should sit upon the grass, and indeed physically 
 it would have been inconvenient to Mr. Broad to 
 do so. He ate his ham in considerable quantities, 
 adding thereto much plumcake, and excusing him- 
 self on the ground that the ride had given him 
 an appetite. The meal being over, grace was said, 
 and the victuals that were left were repacked. 
 About an hour remained before the return journey 
 began. This was usually passed in sauntering 
 about or in walking to the springs, a mile away, 
 down one of the grass drives. Mrs. Broad never 
 for a moment lost sight of Thomas, and pressed 
 him as much as possible into her service ; but 
 
A RELIGIOUS PICNIC. 271 
 
 when Mrs. Allen announced that the young people 
 had all determined to go to the springs, Mrs. Broad 
 could not hold out. Accordingly off they started, 
 under strict orders to be back by eight. They 
 mixed themselves up pretty indiscriminately as 
 they left their seniors ; but after a while certain 
 affinities displayed themselves, George being found 
 with Priscilla, for example, and Thomas with Fanny. 
 The party kept together ; but Thomas and Fanny 
 lagged somewhat till they came to a little opening 
 in the underwood, which Thomas said was a short 
 cut, and he pressed her to try it with him. She 
 agreed, and they slipped out of sight nearly, but 
 not quite, unobserved. Thomas professed himself 
 afraid Fanny might be tired, and offered his arm. 
 She again consented, not without a nutter, and so 
 they reached a clearing with three or four paths 
 branching from it. Thomas was puzzled, aad as 
 for Fanny, she knew nothing. To add to their 
 perplexity some drops of rain were felt. She was 
 a little frightened, and was anxious to try one of 
 the most likely tracks which looked, she thought, 
 as if it went to the springs, where they could take 
 shelter in the cottage with the others. Thomas, 
 however, was doubtful, and proposed that they 
 should stand up in a shed which had been used 
 for faggot-making. The rain, which now came 
 
272 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 down heavily, enforced his arguments, and she felt 
 obliged to stay till the shower had ceased. 
 
 " Only think, Fanny," he said, " to be here alone 
 with you ! " 
 
 He called her Fanny now : he had always called 
 her Miss Allen before. 
 
 "Yes," said she, not knowing what answer to 
 make. 
 
 " You are cold," he added, with a little trembling 
 in his voice and a little more light than usual 
 in his eyes. 
 
 " Oh no, I am not cold." 
 
 " I know you are," and he took her hand ; " why, 
 it is quite cold." 
 
 " Oh dear no, Mr. Thomas, it is really not cold," 
 and she made a movement to withdraw it, but it 
 remained. 
 
 The touch of the hand caused his voice to shake 
 a little more than before. 
 
 " I say you are cold ; come a little closer to 
 me. What will your mamma say if you catch a 
 chill? " and he drew Fanny a little nearer to him. 
 The thick blood now drove through him with in- 
 creasing speed ; everything seemed in a mist, and 
 a little perspiration was on his forehead. His 
 arm found its way round Fanny's waist, and he 
 pressed her closer and closer to him till his hot lips 
 
A RELIGIOUS PICNIC. 273 
 
 were upon her cheek. She made two or three 
 futile attempts to release herself; but she might 
 as well have striven with that brazen, red-hot 
 idol who was made to clasp his victims to death. 
 She was frightened and screamed, when suddenly 
 a strong man's voice was heard calling " Fanny, 
 Fanny." It was her brother. Knowing that she 
 and Thomas had no umbrellas, he had brought 
 them a couple. 
 
 " But, Fanny," he cried, " did I not hear you 
 scream ? What was the matter ? " 
 
 " Nothing," hastily interposed Thomas ; " she 
 thought she saw it lighten." Fanny looked at 
 Thomas for a moment; but she was scared and 
 bewildered, and held her peace. 
 
 The three went down to the rendezvous together, 
 where the rest of the party had already assembled. 
 Mrs. Broad had been very uneasy when she found 
 that Thomas and Fanny were the only absentees, 
 and she had urged George the moment she saw 
 him to look for his sister without a moment's delay. 
 The excuse of the rain was given and accepted ; 
 but Mrs. Broad felt convinced from Fanny's forward 
 look that she had once more thrown herself in the 
 way of her beloved child, her dedicate Samuel. 
 She was increasingly anxious that he should go to 
 college, and his papa promised at once to transmit 
 
274 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE.; 
 
 the application. Meanwhile, in the few days left 
 before the examination, he undertook to improve 
 Thomas where he was weakest, that is to say, in 
 Systematic Theology, and more particularly in the 
 doctrine of the Comforter. 
 
( 275 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS LIKE UNTO LEAVEN." 
 
 Mr. Isaac Allen, Fanny's father, was an ardent 
 Whig in politics — what in later years would have 
 been called a Radical. He had been apprenticed 
 in London, and had attended Mr. Bradshaw's minis- 
 trations there. He was the chosen friend of Zacha- 
 riah Coleman ; but although he loved Zachariah, he 
 had held but little intercourse with him during his 
 first marriage. There were family reasons for the 
 estrangement, due principally to a quarrel between 
 Mrs. Isaac and the first Mrs. Zachariah. But after 
 Mrs. Zachariah died and her husband had suffered 
 so much Isaac was drawn to him again. He was 
 proud of him as a martyr for a good cause, and he 
 often saw him when he went to London on business. 
 It was in consequence of these London visits 
 that books appeared on the little book-shelf in 
 Cowfold Square which were to be found nowhere 
 
276 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 else in the town, at any rate not in the Dissenting 
 portion of it. It was a little bookcase, it is true, 
 for people in country places were not great readers 
 in those days ; but Sir Walter Scott was there, and 
 upstairs in Mr. Allen's room there was Byron — not 
 an uncut copy, but one well used both by husband 
 and wife. Mrs. Allen was not a particularly robust 
 woman, although she was energetic. Often, with- 
 out warning, she would not make her appearance 
 till twelve or one o'clock in the day, and would 
 have her fire alight in her bedroom and take her 
 breakfast in bed. It was well understood when she 
 was not at the table with the others that the house 
 was to be kept quiet. After a cup of tea — nothing 
 more — she rose and sat reading for a good two 
 hours. It was not that she was particularly unwell 
 — she simply needed rest. Every now and then 
 retreat from the world and perfect isolation were a 
 necessity to her. If she forced herself to come down- 
 stairs when she ought to be by herself she became 
 really ill. Occasionally the fire was alight in the 
 evening, too, and she would be off the moment tea 
 was over, Isaac frequently joining her then, although 
 he never remained with her in the morning. She 
 was almost sure to escape, on the day following any 
 excitement or undue worry about household affairs. 
 She knew Sir Walter Scott from end to end, and 
 
THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN LIKE LEAVEN. 277 
 
 as few people knew him. He had been to her, 
 and to her husband too, what he can only be to 
 people leading a dull life far from the world. He 
 had broken up its monotony and created a new 
 universe ! He had introduced them into a royal 
 society of noble friends. He had added to the 
 ordinary motives which prompted Cowfold action a 
 thousand higher motives. Then there was the charm 
 of the magician, so sanative, so blessed, felt directly 
 any volume of that glorious number was opened. 
 Kenihvorth or Rcdgauntlet was taken down, and 
 the reader was at once in another country and in 
 another age, transported as if by some Arabian 
 charm away from Cowfold cares. If anywhere in 
 another world the blessings which men have con- 
 ferred here are taken into account in distributing 
 reward, surely the choicest in the store of the Most 
 High will be reserved for His servant Scott ! It 
 may be said of others that they have made the 
 world wise or rich, but of him it must be said that 
 he, more than all, has made, the world happier — wiser 
 too, wiser through its happiness. 
 
 Of the influence of Byron nothing more need be 
 said here, because so much has been said before. 
 It may seem strange that the deacon of a Dissenting 
 chapel and his wife could read him, and could continue 
 to wait upon the ministrations of the Reverend 
 
278 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 John Broad ; but I am only stating a fact. Mrs. 
 Allen could repeat page after page of Chilcle Harold, 
 and yet she went diligently to Tanner's Lane. 
 Part of what was read exhaled in the almost 
 republican politics of the Allen household ; but it 
 had also its effect in another direction, and it was 
 always felt by the Broads that the Aliens were 
 questionable members of the flock. They were 
 gathered into the fold on Sunday, and had the 
 genuine J. B. on their wool, but there was a cross 
 in them. There was nothing which could be 
 urged against them. No word of heresy ever 
 escaped them, no symptom of disbelief was ever 
 seen, and yet Mr. Broad often desired exceedingly 
 that they were different, was never at ease with 
 them, and in his heart of hearts bitterly hated them. 
 After all that can be said by way of explanation, 
 there was much in this concealed animosity of Mr. 
 Broad which was unaccountable. It was concealed, 
 because he was far too worldly-wise to show it 
 openly ; but it was none the less intense. Indeed, 
 it was so intense as to be almost inconsistent with 
 Mr. Broad's cast of character, and his biographer is 
 at a loss to find the precise point where it naturally 
 connects itself with the main stem from which 
 branch off the rest of his virtues and vices. How- 
 ever, there it was, and perhaps some shrewder 
 
THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN LIKE LEAVEN. 279 
 
 psychologist may be able to explain how such a 
 passion could be begotten in a nature otherwise so 
 somnolent. 
 
 For this literary leaven in the Aliens' household, 
 as we have said, Zachariah was answerable. Mrs. 
 Allen loved him as she loved her father, and he 
 wrote to her long letters, through which travelled 
 into Cowfold Square all the thought of the Revolu- 
 tion. He never went to Cowfold himself, nor could 
 he ever be persuaded to let little Pauline go. She 
 had been frequently invited, but he always declined 
 the invitation courteously, on the ground that he 
 could not spare her. The fame of her beauty and 
 abilities had, however, reached Cowfold, and so it 
 came to pass that when Mr. Thomas Broad, junior, 
 being duly instructed in the doctrine of the Com- 
 forter, entered the Dissenting College in London, 
 he determined that at the first opportunity he would 
 call and see her. He had been privately warned 
 both by his father and mother that he was on no 
 account to visit this particular friend of the Aliens, 
 firstly, because Zachariah was reputed to be " in- 
 clined towards infidelity," and secondly, because, 
 summing up the whole argument, he was not " con- 
 sidered respectable." 
 
 " Of course, my dear, you know his history," 
 quoth Mrs. Broad, " and it would very much 
 
280 THE REV OLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 interfere with your usefulness if you were to be 
 intimate with him." 
 
 Little Pauline had by this time grown to be a 
 woman, or very nearly one. She had, as in nine 
 times, perhaps, out of ten is the case, inherited 
 her temperament from her mother. She had also 
 inherited something more, for she was like her in 
 face. She had the same luxuriantly dark hair — 
 a wonder to behold when it was let down over 
 her shoulders — the same grey eyes, the same 
 singularly erect attitude, and lips which, although 
 they were not tight and screwed up, were always 
 set with decision. But her distinguishing peculiarity 
 was her inherited vivacity, which was perfectly 
 natural, but frequently exposed her — just as it did 
 her mother — to the charge of being theatrical. The 
 criticism was as unjust in her case as in that of 
 her mother, if by being theatrical we mean being 
 unreal. The unreal person is the half-alive, languid 
 person. Pauline felt what she said, and acted it 
 in every gesture. Her precious promptitude of ex- 
 pression made her invaluable as a companion to her 
 father. He was English all over and all through ; 
 hypochondriacal, with a strong tendency to self- 
 involution and self-absorption. She was only half 
 English, or rather altogether French, and when 
 he came home in the evening he often felt as if 
 
THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN LIKE LEAVEN. 281 
 
 some heavy obstruction in his brain and about 
 his heart were suddenly dissolved. She and her 
 mother were like Hercules in the house of Admetus. 
 Before Hercules has promised to rescue Alcestis we 
 feel that the darkness has disappeared. Pauline 
 was loved by her father with intense passion. When 
 she was a little child, and he was left alone with 
 a bitter sense of wrong, a feeling that he had more 
 than his proper share of life's misery, his heart was 
 closed, and he cared for no friendship. But the 
 man's nature could not be thus thwarted, and 
 gradually it poured itself out in full flood — denied 
 exit elsewhere — at this one small point. He 
 rejoiced to find that he had not stiffened into 
 death, and he often went up to her bedside as 
 she lay asleep, and the tears came, and he thanked 
 God, not only for her, but for his tears. He 
 could not afford to bring her up like a lady, but 
 he did his best to give her a good education. 
 He was very anxious that she should learn French, 
 and as she was wonderfully quick at languages, she 
 managed in a very short time to speak it fluently. 
 
( 282 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE REVEREND THOMAS BROAD'S EXPOSITION OF 
 ROMANS VIII. 7. 
 
 Such was the Coleman household when Mr. 
 Thomas Broad called one fine Monday afternoon 
 about three months after he had been at college. 
 He had preached his first sermon on the Sunday 
 before, in a village about twelve miles from London 
 in a north-easterly direction, somewhere in the flat 
 regions of Essex. Mr. Thomas was in unusually 
 good humour, for he had not broken down, and 
 thought he had crowned himself with glory. The 
 trial, to be sure, was not very severe. The so- 
 called chapel was the downstairs living-room of a 
 cottage holding at a squeeze about five-and-twenty 
 people. Nevertheless, there was a desk at one 
 corner, with two candles on either side, and Mr. 
 Thomas was actually, for the first time, elevated 
 above an audience. It consisted of the wheelwright 
 and his wife, both very old, half a dozen labourers, 
 
THOMAS BROAD'S EXPOSITION. 28 
 
 with their wives, and two or three children. The 
 old wheelwright, as he was in business, was called 
 the " principal support of the cause." The " cause," 
 however, was not particularly prosperous, nor its 
 supporters enthusiastic. It was " supplied " always 
 by a succession of first-year's students, who made 
 their experiments on the corpus vile here. Spiritual 
 teaching, spiritual guidance, these poor peasants 
 had none, and when the Monday came they went to 
 their work in the marshes and elsewhere, and lived 
 their blind lives under grey skies, with nothing left 
 in them of the Sunday, save the recollection of 
 a certain routine performed which might one day 
 save them from some disaster with which flames 
 and brimstone had something to do. It was not, 
 however, a reality to them. Neither the future nor 
 the past was real to them ; no spiritual existence 
 was real ; nothing, in fact, save the most stimulant 
 sensation. Once upon a time, a man, looking 
 towards the celestial city, saw " the reflection of the 
 sun upon the city (for the city was of pure gold), so 
 exceeding glorious that he could not as yet with 
 open face behold it, save through an instrument made 
 for that purpose ; " but Mr. Thomas Broad and his 
 hearers needed no smoked glass now to prevent 
 injury to their eyes. Mr. Thomas had put on a 
 white neckerchief, had mounted the desk, and had 
 
2S4 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 spoken for three-quarters of an hour from the text, 
 c: The carnal mind is at enmity with God." He had 
 received during the last three weeks his first lectures 
 on the " Scheme of Salvation," and his discourse 
 was a reproduction of his notes thereon. The wheel- 
 wright and his wife, and the six labourers with 
 their wives, listened as oxen might listen, wandered 
 home along the lanes heavy-footed like oxen, with 
 heads towards the ground, and went heavily to bed. 
 The elder student who had accompanied Mr. Thomas 
 informed him that, on the whole, he had acquitted 
 himself very well, but that it would be better, 
 perhaps, in future to be a little simpler, and avoid 
 what " may be called the metaphysics of Redemption." 
 
 " No doubt," said he, " they are very attractive, 
 and of enormous importance. There is no objection 
 to expound them before a cultivated congregation in 
 London ; but in the villages we cannot be too plain — 
 that, at least, is my experience. Simply tell them 
 we are all sinners, and deserve damnation. God 
 sent His Son into the world. If we believe in 
 Him we shall be saved ; if not, we shall be lost. 
 There is no mystery in that ; everybody can under- 
 stand it ; and people are never weary of hearing the 
 old old gospel." 
 
 Mr. Thomas was well contented with himself, as 
 we have said, when he knocked at Zachariah's door. 
 
THOMAS BKOAD'S EXPOSITION. 285 
 
 It was opened by Pauline. He took off his hat and 
 smiled. 
 
 " My name is Broad. I come from Cowfold, and 
 know the Aliens very well. I am now living in 
 London, and having heard of you so often, I thought 
 I should like to call." 
 
 " Pray come in," she said ; " I am very glad to 
 see you. I wish my father were here." 
 
 He was shown into the little front room, and 
 after some inquiries about his relations Pauline 
 asked him where was his abode in London. 
 
 " At the Independent College. I am studying 
 for the ministry." 
 
 Pauline was not quite sure what " the ministry " 
 meant ; but as Mr. Thomas had yesterday's white 
 tie round his neck — he always " dirtied out " 
 the Sunday's neckerchief on Monday, and wore a 
 black one on the other weekda} T s — she guessed his 
 occupation. 
 
 " Dear me ! you must be tired with walking so 
 far." 
 
 " Oh no, not tired with walking ; but the fact is 
 I am a little Mondayish." 
 
 " A little what ? " 
 
 Mr. Thomas giggled a little. " Ah, you young 
 ladies, of course, don't know what that means. I 
 had to conduct a service in the country yesterday, 
 
286 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 and am rather fatigued. I am generally so on 
 Mondays, and I always relax on that day." This, 
 it is to be remembered, was his first Monday. 
 
 Pauline regretted very much that she had no 
 wine in the house ; neither had they any beer. 
 They were not total abstainers, but nothing of the 
 kind was kept in their small store-closet. 
 
 '" Oh, thank you ; never mind." He took a bottle 
 of smelling-salts from the mantelpiece and smelt it. 
 The conversation flagged a little. Pauline sat at 
 the window, and Mr. Thomas at the table. At 
 last he observed — 
 
 " Are you alone all day ? " 
 
 " Generally, except on Sunday. Father does not 
 get home till late." 
 
 " Dear me ! And you are not dull nor afraid ? " 
 " Dull or afraid ! Why ? " 
 
 " Oh, well," he sniggered, " dull — why, youug 
 ladies, you know, usually like society. • At least," and 
 he laughed a little greasy laugh at his wit, " we 
 like theirs. And then — afraid — well, if my sister 
 were so attractive " — he looked to see if this pretty 
 compliment was effective — " I should not like her 
 to be without anybody in the house." 
 
 Pauline became impatient. She rose. " When 
 you come again," she said, " I hope my father will 
 be here." 
 
THOMAS BROAD'S EXPOSITION. 287 
 
 Mr. Thomas rose too. He had begun to feel 
 awkward. For want of something better to say, 
 he asked whose was the portrait over the mantel- 
 piece. 
 
 " Major Cartwright." 
 
 " Major Cartwright ! Dear me, is that Major 
 Cartwright ? ' ; He had never heard of him before, 
 but he did not like to profess ignorance of a 
 Major. 
 
 " And this likeness of this young gentleman ? " 
 he inquired, looking at Pauline sideways, with an 
 odious simper on his lips. " Nobody I know, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " My father when he was one-and-twenty." She 
 moved towards the door. Mr. Thomas closed his 
 fat eyes till they became almost slits, simpered still 
 more effectively, as he thought, trusted he might 
 have the pleasure of calling again, and departed. 
 
 Pauline returned, opened the window and door 
 for ten minutes, and went upstairs. When she 
 saw her father she told him briefly that she had 
 entertained a visitor, and expressed her utter loath- 
 ing of him in terms so strong that he was obliged 
 to check her. He did not want a quarrel with any 
 of Isaac's friends. 
 
 Mr. Thomas, having returned to the college, 
 did not delay to communicate by mysterious hints 
 
288 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 to his colleagues that he was on visiting terms 
 with a most delightfully charming person, and 
 sunned himself deliciously in their bantering 
 congratulations. About three weeks afterwards he 
 thought he might safely repeat his visit ; but he 
 was in a difficulty. He was not quite so stupid as 
 not to see that, the next time he went, it ought 
 to be when her father was present, and yet he 
 preferred his absence. At last he determined he 
 would go about tea-time. He was quite sure that 
 Mr. Coleman would not have returned then ; but 
 he could assume that he had, and would propose to 
 wait for him. He therefore duly presented himself 
 at half-past five. 
 
 " Good evening, Miss Coleman. Is your father 
 at home ? " 
 
 " No, not yet," replied Pauline, holding the door 
 doubtingly. 
 
 " Oh, I am so sorry ; " and, to Pauline's surprise, 
 he entered without any further ceremony. She 
 hardly knew what to do ; but she followed him as 
 he walked into the room, where she had just laid 
 the tea-things and put the bread and butter on the 
 table. 
 
 " Oh, tea ! " he cried. " Dear me, it would be 
 very rude of me to ask myself to tea, and yet, do 
 you know, Miss Coleman, I can hardly help it." 
 
THOMAS BROADS EXPOSITION. 289 
 
 " I am afraid ray father will not be here till 
 eight." 
 
 He sat down. 
 
 " That is very unfortunate. You will tell him I 
 came on purpose to see him." 
 
 Pauline hesitated whether she should or should 
 not inform Mr. Thomas that his presence was dis- 
 agreeable, but her father's caution recurred to her, 
 and she poured out a cup for her visitor. 
 
 It was one of his peculiarities that tea, of which 
 he took enormous quantities, made him garrulous, 
 and he expatiated much upon his college. By 
 degrees, however, he became silent, and as he was 
 sitting with his face to the window, he shifted his 
 chair to the opposite side, under the pretence that 
 the light dazzled his eyes. Pauline shifted too, 
 apparently to make room for him, but really to 
 get farther from him. 
 
 " Do people generally say that you take after 
 your mother ? " he said. 
 
 " I believe I am like my mother in many things." 
 
 Another pause. He became fidgety; the half 
 smile, half grin which he almost perpetually wore 
 passed altogether from his face, and he looked 
 uncomfortable and dangerous. Pauline felt him to 
 be so, and resolved that, come what might, he 
 should never set foot in the house again. 
 
 T 
 
290 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 " You have such black hair," he observed. 
 
 She rose to take away the tea-thiugs. 
 
 " I am afraid," said she, " that I must go out ; 
 I have one or two commissions to execute." 
 
 He remained seated, and observed that surely 
 she would not go out alone. 
 
 " Why not ? " and having collected the tea- 
 things, she was on the point of leaving. He then 
 rose, and she bade him good-bye. He held out his 
 hand, and she took it in hers, but he did not let it 
 go, and having pulled it upwards with much force, 
 kissed it. He still held it, and before the astonished 
 Pauline knew what he was doing his arm was round 
 her waist. At that moment the little front gate 
 swung back. Nobody was there ; but the Reverend 
 Thomas was alarmed, and in an instant she had 
 freed herself, and had placed the table between 
 them. 
 
 " What do you mean, you Gadarene pig, you 
 scoundrel, by insulting a stranger in this way ? " 
 she cried. "Away ! My father will know what to 
 do with you." 
 
 "Oh, if yoa please, Miss Coleman, pray say 
 nothing about it, pray do not mention i,t to your 
 father; I do not know what the consequences will 
 be ; I really meant nothing ; I really did not " — 
 which was entirely true. 
 
THOMAS BROAD'S EXPOSITION. 291 
 
 " You who propose to teach religion to people ! 
 I ought to stop you ; but no, I will not be dragged 
 into the mud." 
 
 A sudden thought struck her. He was shaky, 
 and was holding on by the table. " I will be silent," 
 she cried — what a relief it was to him to hear her say 
 that ! — " but I will mark you," and before he could 
 comprehend what she was doing she had seized a 
 little pair of scissors which lay near her, had caught 
 his wrist, and had scored a deep cross on the back 
 of the hand. The blood burst out, and she threw 
 him a handkerchief. 
 
 " Take that and be gone ! " 
 
 He was so amazed and terrified, not only at the 
 sight of the blood, but at her extraordinary be- 
 haviour, that he turned ghastly white. The pain, 
 however, recalled him to his senses ; he rolled the 
 handkerchief over the wound, twisted his own 
 round it too, for the red stain came through 
 Pauline's cambric, and departed. The account 
 current in the college was, that he had torn himself 
 ao-ainst a nail in a fence. The accident was a little 
 inconvenient on the following Sunday, when he had 
 to preach at Hogsbridge Corner ; but as he repro- 
 duced the sermon on the carnal mind, which he 
 knew pretty well by heart, he was not nervous. 
 He had made it much simpler, in accordance with 
 
292 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNERS LANE. 
 
 the advice given on a former occasion. He had 
 struck out the metaphysics and had put in a new 
 head — " Neither indeed can be." " The apostle did 
 not merely state a fact that the carnal mind was 
 not subject to the law of God ; he said, ' Neither 
 indeed can be.' Mark, my brethren, the force of 
 the neither can!' 
 
( 293 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE WISDOM OF THE SERrENT. 
 
 George Allen meanwhile, at Cowfold, languished in 
 love with Priscilla Broad, who was now a comely girl 
 of eighteen. Mrs. Broad had, of course, discovered 
 what was in the wind, and her pride suffered a 
 severe shock. She had destined Priscilla, as the 
 daughter of a Flavel, for a London minister, and 
 that she should marry a tradesman was intolerable. 
 Worse still, a tradesman in Cowfold ! What would 
 become of their influence in the town, she continually 
 argued with Mr. Broad, if they became connected 
 with a member of their congregation ? She thought 
 it would be a serious hindrance to their usefulness. 
 But Mr. Broad was not so sure, although he hated 
 the Aliens ; and Priscilla, somehow or other, was not 
 so sure, for, despite her mother's constant hints about 
 their vulgarity, she not infrequently discovered that 
 something was wanted from the shop, and bought 
 it herself. 
 
294 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNERS LANE. 
 
 One Monday afternoon, Mr. Broad having thrown 
 the silk handkerchief off his face and bestirred him- 
 self at the sight of the radishes, watercresses, tea, 
 and hot buttered toast, thus addressed his wife — 
 
 " My love, I am not altogether inclined to dis- 
 countenance the attentions which George pays to 
 Priscilla. There are so many circumstances to be 
 taken into account." 
 
 "It is a great trouble to me, John, and I really 
 think, if anything of the kind were to happen, at 
 least you would have to seek another cause. Just 
 consider the position in which I should stand to- 
 wards Mrs. Allen. Besides, I am sure it will 
 interfere with your duties here if we are obliged 
 to take notice of the Aliens more than of other 
 people in the town." 
 
 " To seek for another cause, my love ? That is 
 a very grave matter at my time of life. You re- 
 member, too, that there is an endowment here." 
 
 " Quite so ; and that is the more reason why we 
 should not permit the attachment." 
 
 " But, my love, as I observed, there are so many 
 circumstances to be taken into account. You know 
 as well as I do in what aspect I view the Aliens, 
 and what my sentiments with regard to them are 
 — personally, that is to say, and not as minister of 
 the gospel. Perhaps Providence, my dear, intends 
 
THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT. 295 
 
 this opportunity as a means whereby the emotions 
 of my poor sinful nature — emotions which may have 
 been uncharitable — may be converted into brotherly 
 love. Then we must recollect that Isaac is a pro- 
 minent member of the church and a deacon. Thirdly, 
 in all probability, if we do not permit Priscilla to 
 marry George, offence will be taken, and they 
 may withdraw their subscription, which, I believe, 
 comes altogether to twenty pounds per annum. 
 Fourthly, the Aliens have been blessed with an 
 unusual share of worldly prosperity, and George is 
 about to become a partner. Fifthly and lastly " — 
 Mr. Broad had acquired a habit of dividing his most 
 ordinary conversation into heads — " it is by no means 
 improbable that I may need a co-pastor before long, 
 and we shall secure the Aliens' powerful influence 
 in favour of Thomas." 
 
 Mrs. Broad felt the full force of these arguments. 
 
 " I should think," she added, " that George, 
 after marriage, cannot live at the shop." 
 
 " No, that will not be possible ; they must take a 
 private house." 
 
 So it was agreed, without any reference to the 
 question whether Priscilla and George cared for one 
 another, that no opposition should be offered. The 
 Aliens themselves, father and mother, were by no 
 means so eager for the honour of the match as Mrs. 
 
296 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Broad supposed them to be, for Mrs. Isaac, par- 
 ticularly proud of her husband, and a little proud 
 of their comfortable business and their comfort- 
 able property, was not dazzled by the Flavel 
 
 ancestrv. 
 
 1/ 
 
 When George formally asked permission of Mr. 
 Broad to sanction his addresses, a meeting between 
 the parents became necessary, and Mrs. Broad called 
 on Mrs. Allen. She was asked into the dining-room 
 at the back of the shop. At that time, at any rate 
 in Cowfold, the drawing-room, which was upstairs, 
 was an inaccessible sanctuary, save on Sunday and on 
 high tea-party days. Mrs. Broad looked round at the 
 solid mahogany furniture ; cast her eyes on the port 
 and sherry standing on the sideboard, in accordance 
 with Cowfold custom ; observed that not a single 
 thing in the room was worn or shabby ; that 
 everything was dusted with absolute nicety, for the 
 Aliens kept two servants ; and became a little 
 reconciled to her lot. 
 
 Mrs. Allen presently appeared in her black silk 
 dress, with her gold watch hanging in front, and 
 saluted the minister's wife with the usual good- 
 humoured, slightly democratic freedom which always 
 annoyed Mrs. Broad. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Allen," began Mrs. Broad, " I 
 have called to announce to you a surprising piece of 
 
THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT. 297 
 
 intelligence, although I dare say you know it all. 
 Your son George has asked Mr. Broad to be allowed 
 to consider himself as Priscilla's suitor. We have 
 discussed the matter together, and I have come to 
 know what your views are. I may say that we had 
 destined — hoped — that — er — Priscilla would find her 
 sphere as a minister's wife in the metropolis ; but it 
 is best, perhaps, to follow the leadings of Providence." 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Broad, I must say I was a little 
 bit disappointed myself — to tell you the plain truth ; 
 but it is of no use to contradict young people in 
 love with one another." 
 
 Mrs. Broad was astonished. Disappointed ! But 
 she remembered her husband's admonitions. So she 
 contented herself with an insinuation. 
 
 "What I meant, my dear Mrs. Allen, was that, 
 as the Flavels have been a ministerial family for so 
 long, it would have been gratifying to me, of course, 
 if Priscilla had bestowed herself upon — upon some- 
 body occupying the same position." 
 
 " That is just what my mother used to say. I 
 was a Burton, you remember. They were large 
 tanners in Northamptonshire, and she did not like 
 my going to a shop. But you know, Mrs. Broad, 
 you had better be in a shop and have plenty of 
 everything, and not have to pinch and screw, than 
 have a brass knocker on your door, and not be able 
 
298 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. . 
 
 to pay for the clothes you wear. That's my belief 
 at any rate." 
 
 The dart entered Mrs. Broad's soul. She remem- 
 bered some " procrastination " — to use her husband's 
 favourite word — in settling a draper's bill, even when 
 it was diminished by the pew rent, and she wondered 
 if Mrs. Allen knew the facts. Of course she did ; 
 all Cowfold knew every fact connected with every- 
 body in the town. She discerned it was best to 
 retreat. 
 
 " I wished to tell you, Mrs. Allen, that we do 
 not intend to offer the least objection " — she thought 
 that perhaps a little professional unction might re- 
 duce her antagonist — " and I am sure I pray that 
 God will bless their union." 
 
 " As I said before, Mrs. Broad, neither shall we 
 object. We shall let George do as he likes. He 
 is a real good boy, worth a princess, and if he 
 chooses to have Miss Broad, we sha'n't hinder him. 
 She will always be welcome here, and it will be a con- 
 solation to you to know she will never want any- 
 thing." Mrs. Allen shook her silk dress out a little, 
 and offered Mrs. Broad a glass of wine. Her feel- 
 ings were a little flustered, and she needed support, 
 but she refused. 
 
 " No, thank you, Mrs. Allen. I must be going." 
 
( 299 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE ORACLE WARNS — AFTER THE EVENT. 
 
 It is no part of my business to tell the story of the 
 love-making between George and Priscilla. Such 
 stories have been told too often. Every weakness 
 in her was translated by George into some par- 
 ticularly attractive virtue. He saw nothing, heard 
 nothing, which was not to her advantage. Once, 
 indeed, when he was writing the letter that was for 
 ever to decide his destiny, it crossed his mind that 
 this was an epoch — a parting of the ways — and he 
 hesitated as he folded it up. But no warning voice 
 was heard ; nothing smote him ; he was doing what 
 he believed to be best ; he was allowed to go on 
 without a single remonstrant sign. The messen- 
 ger was despatched, and his fate was sealed. His 
 mother and father had held anxious debate. ' They 
 believed Priscilla to be silly, and the question was 
 whether they should tell George so. The more they 
 reflected on the affair the less they liked it ; but it 
 
300 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 was agreed that they could do nothing, and that to 
 dissuade their son would only embitter him against 
 them. 
 
 " Perhaps," said Mrs. Allen, " when she has a 
 family she will be better." 
 
 Mrs. Allen had a belief that children cured a 
 woman of many follies. 
 
 Nevertheless the mother could not refrain, when 
 she had to talk to George about his engagement, 
 from " letting out " just a word. 
 
 " I hope you will be happy, my dear boy. 
 The great thing is not to have a fool for a wife. 
 There has never, to my knowledge, been a woman 
 amongst the Burtons or the Aliens who was a 
 fool." 
 
 George felt nothing at the time, for he suspected 
 nothing: : but the words somehow remained with 
 him, and reappeared later on in black intensity like 
 invisible writing under heat. 
 
 So they were married, and went to live in a 
 cottage, small, but very respectable, in the Shott 
 Road. For the first six months both were in bliss. 
 Priscilla was constantly backwards and forwards to 
 her mother, who took upon herself at once the 
 whole direction of her affairs ; but there was no 
 rupture with the Aliens, for, whatever her other 
 faults might be, Priscilla was not given to making 
 
THE ORACLE WARNS— AFTER THE EVENT. 301 
 
 quarrels, and there was little or no bitterness or 
 evil temper in her. George came home after his 
 work was over at the shop, and sometimes went out 
 to supper with his wife, or read to her the news- 
 paper, which came once a week. Like his father, 
 he was an ardent politician, and, from the very 
 beginning of the struggle, an enthusiastic Free 
 Trader. The Free Trade creed was, indeed, the cause 
 of serious embarrassment, for not only were the 
 customers agricultural and Protectionist, but the 
 deacons at Tanners Lane, being nearly all either 
 farmers or connected with the land, were also 
 Protectionist, and Mr. Broad had a hard time of 
 it. For himself, he expressed no opinion ; but once, 
 at a deacons' meeting, when it looked as if some 
 controversy would arise, he begged Brother Allen 
 to remember that, though we might be wise as 
 serpents, we were also commanded to be harmless 
 as doves. There was a small charity connected 
 with the chapel, which was distributed, not in 
 money, but in bread, and Brother Allen, not being 
 able to contain himself, had let fall a word or 
 two about the price of bread which would have 
 raised a storm, if Mr. Broad had not poured on 
 the troubled waters that oil of which he was a perfect 
 reservoir. 
 
 George did his best to instruct his wife in the 
 
3 o2 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'-S LANE. 
 
 merits of the controversy, and when he found 
 anything in his newspaper, read it aloud to 
 her. 
 
 " You see, Priscilla," he said one evening, " it 
 stands to reason that if foreign corn pays a duty, 
 the price of every quarter grown here is raised, 
 and this increased price goes into the farmer's 
 or landlord's pocket. Why should I, or why should 
 my men, pay twopence more for every loaf to bay 
 Miss Wootton a piano ? " 
 
 " Really, George, do you mean to say that they 
 are going to buy Miss Wootton a piano ? " 
 
 " My dear, I said that when they buy a loaf 
 of bread twopence out of it goes to buy Miss 
 Wootton's piano ! " repeated George, laying an em- 
 phasis on every word. " I did not mean, of course, 
 that they put their twopences in her pocket ? 
 The point is, that the duty enables Wootton to get 
 more for his corn." 
 
 " Well," said Priscilla triumphantly, " I can 
 tell you she is not going to have a piano. She's 
 going to have a little organ instead, because she 
 can play tunes better on an organ, and it's more 
 suitable for her ; so there's an end of that." 
 
 " It doesn't matter whether it is an organ or 
 piano," said George ; " the principle is the same." 
 
 " Well, but you said a piano ; I don't think the 
 
THE ORACLE WARNS— AFTER THE EVENT. 303 
 
 principle is the same. If I were she I would sooner 
 have the piano." 
 
 A shade of perplexed trouble crossed George's 
 face, and some creases appeared in his forehead ; 
 but he smoothed them away and laid down his 
 paper. 
 
 " Priscilla, put away your work for a moment 
 and just listen." 
 
 Priscilla was making something in the shape of 
 netting by means of pins and a long loop which was 
 fastened under her foot. 
 
 " I can listen, George ; there is no occasion to 
 put it away." 
 
 " Well then," he answered, placing both his 
 elbows on the table, and resting his face upon them, 
 " all corn which comes into this country pays a 
 duty — that you understand. Consequently it cannot 
 be sold here for less than sixty shillings a quarter. 
 Of course, if that is the case, English wheat is kept 
 up to a higher price than it would fetch if there 
 were no duty. Therefore bread is, as I calculate, 
 about twopence a loaf dearer than it ought to be. 
 And whv should it be ? That's what I want to 
 know." 
 
 " I believe," said Priscilla, " we might save a 
 good bit by baking at home." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; but never mind that now. You 
 
3 o 4 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 know that foreign corn pays a duty ? You do 
 know that ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Priscilla, because there was nothing 
 else to be said. 
 
 " Well, then, you must see that, if that be so, 
 farmers can obtain a higher price for English corn." 
 
 Poor Priscilla really did her best to comprehend. 
 She stopped her knitting for a moment, put her 
 knitting-pin to her lips, and answered very slowly 
 and solemnly, " Ye-es." 
 
 " Ah ; but I know when you say ' Ye-es ' like 
 that you do not understand." 
 
 "I do understand," she retorted, with a little 
 asperity. 
 
 " Well then, repeat it, and let us see." 
 
 " No, I shall not." 
 
 " Dear Priscilla, I am not vexed ; but I only 
 wanted to make it quite plain to you. The duty on 
 foreign corn is a tax in favour of the farmer, or 
 perhaps the landlord, just as distinctly as if the 
 tax-collector carried the coin from our till and gave 
 it them." 
 
 " Of course it is quite plain," she responded, 
 making a bold stroke for her life. " Of course it 
 is quite plain we are taxed " — George's face grew 
 bright, for he thought the truth had dawned upon 
 her — " because the farmers have to pay the duty on 
 foreign corn." 
 
THE ORACLE WARNS— AFTER THE EVENT. 305 
 
 He took up his newspaper, held it open so as 
 to cover his face, was silent for a few minutes, 
 and then, pulling out his watch, declared it was 
 time to go to bed. She gathered up her netting, 
 looked at him doubtfully as she passed, and went 
 upstairs. 
 
 The roof of George's house had a kind of depres- 
 sion or well in the middle of it, whence ran a rain- 
 water pipe, which passed down inside, and so, under 
 the floor, to the soft-water cistern. A bad piece of 
 construction, thought he, and he wished, if he could 
 have done so, to improve it ; but there was no way 
 of altering it without pulling the whole place to 
 pieces. One day, a very short time after the talk 
 about Free Trade, a fearful storm of rain broke over 
 Cowfold, and he was startled by Ellen, his servant, 
 running into the shop and telling him that the 
 staircase was flooded, and missis wanted him at 
 once. He put on his coat and was off in a moment. 
 When he got there Priscilla met him at the door 
 crying, and in a great fright. The well up aloft 
 was full of water, and it was pouring in torrents 
 through the little window. It had gone through 
 the floor of the bedroom and into the dining-room, 
 pulling down with it about half the ceiling, which 
 lay in a horrid mess upon the dining table and the 
 carpet. George saw in an instant what was the 
 
 U 
 
306 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 matter. He ran up the steps to the well, pulled 
 out a quantity of straw and dirt which blocked up 
 the entrance to the pipe ; the water disappeared in 
 two minutes, and all further danger was arrested. 
 
 " Why on earth," he cried, in half a passion, 
 " did not you think to clear away the rubbish, 
 instead of wasting your time in sending for me ? 
 It ought to have entered into anybody's head to do 
 such a simple thing as that." 
 
 " How was I to know ? " replied Mrs. George. " I 
 am not an ironmonger. What have I to do with 
 pipes ? You shouldn't have had such a thing." 
 
 Ellen stood looking at the wreck. 
 
 " We don't want you," said George savagely ; " go 
 into the kitchen," and he shut the dining-room 
 door. There the husband and wife stood face to 
 face with one another, with the drip, drip, drip 
 still proceeding, the ruined plaster, and the spoilt 
 furniture. 
 
 " I don't care," he broke out, " one brass farthing 
 for it all ; but what I do care for is that you should 
 not have had the sense to unstop that pipe." 
 
 She said nothing, but cried bitterly. At last 
 she sat down and sobbed out, " George, George, 
 you are in a rage with me ; you are tired of me ; 
 you are disappointed with me. Oh ! what shall 
 I do, what shall I do ? " Poor child ! her pretty 
 
THE ORACLE WARNS-AFTER THE EVENT. 307 
 
 curls fell over her face as she covered it with her 
 long white hands. George was touched with pity 
 in an instant, and his arms were round her neck. 
 He kissed her fervently, and besought her not 
 to think anything of what he had said. He took 
 out his handkerchief, wiped her eyes tenderly, 
 lifted one of her arms and put it round his neck 
 as he pulled a chair towards him and sat down 
 beside her. Nothing she loved like caresses ! 
 She knew what their import was, though she 
 could not follow his economical logic, and she 
 clung to him, and buried her face on his shoulder. 
 At that moment, as he drew her heavy brown 
 tresses over him, smothered his eyes and mouth 
 in them, and then looked down through them on 
 the white, sweet beauty they shadowed, he forgot 
 or overlooked everything, and was once more com- 
 pletely happy. 
 
 Suddenly she released herself. " What shall we 
 do to-night, George, the bedroom will be so damp ? " 
 
 He recovered himself, and admitted that they 
 could not sleep there. There was the spare bed- 
 room ; but the wet had come in there too. 
 
 " I will sleep at father's, and you sleep at home 
 too. We will have fires alight, and we shall be 
 dry enough to-morrow. You be off now, my dear; 
 I will see about it all." 
 
3o8 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 So George had the fires alight, got in a man 
 to help him, and they swept and scoured and aired 
 till it was dark. In a day or two the plasterer 
 could mend the ceiling. 
 
 Priscilla had left, and, excepting the servant, 
 who was upstairs, George was alone. He looked 
 round, walked about — what was it ? Was he tired ? 
 It could not be that ; he was never tired. He left 
 as soon as he could and went back to the shop. 
 After telling the tale of the calamity which had be- 
 fallen him he announced — it was now supper-time — 
 that he was going to stay all night. Mother, father, 
 and sister were delighted to have him — " It looked 
 like old times again ; " but George was not in 
 much of a mood for talking, and at ten o'clock 
 went upstairs ; his early departure being, of course, 
 set down to the worry he had gone through. He 
 turned into bed. Generally speaking he thought 
 no more of sleep than he did of breathing ; it came 
 as naturally as the air into his lungs ; but what 
 was this new experience ? Half an hour, an hour 
 after he had lain down he was still awake, and 
 worse than awake ; for his thoughts were of a 
 different cast from his waking thoughts ; fearful 
 forebodings ; a horror of great darkness. He rose 
 and bathed his head in cold water, and lay down 
 again ; but it was of no use, and he walked about 
 
THE ORACLE WARNS— AFTER THE EVENT. 309 
 
 his room. What an epoch is the first sleepless 
 night — the night when the first wrench has been 
 given us by the Destinies to loosen us from the 
 love of life ; when we have first said to ourselves 
 that there are worse things than death ! 
 
 George's father always slept well, but the mother 
 stirred at the slightest sound. She heard her boy 
 on the other side of the wall pacing to and fro, 
 and she slipped out of bed, put on her dressing- 
 gown, and went to listen. Presently she knocked 
 gently. 
 
 " George, my dear, aren't you well ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother ; nothing the matter." 
 
 " Let me in." 
 
 He let her in, and sat down. The moon shone 
 brightly, and there was no need for any other 
 light. 
 
 The mother came and sat beside her child. 
 
 " George, my dear, there is something on your 
 mind ? What is it ? — tell me." 
 
 " Nothing, mother ; nothing indeed." 
 
 She answered by taking his cold hand in both 
 her own and putting it on her lap. Presently he 
 disengaged himself and went to the window. She 
 sat still for a moment, and followed him. She 
 looked up in his face ; the moonlight was full 
 upon it ; there was no moisture in his eyes, but 
 
3 io THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 his lips quivered. She led him away, and got 
 him to sit down again, taking his hand as before, 
 but speaking no word. Suddenly, without warn- 
 ing, his head was on his mother's bosom, and 
 he was weeping as if his heart would break. 
 Another first experience to him and to her ; the 
 first time he had ever wept since he was a child 
 and cried over a fall or because it was dark. She 
 supported that heavy head with the arm which 
 had carried him before he could walk alone ; she 
 kissed him, and her tears flowed with his ; but still 
 she was silent. There was no reason why she should 
 make further inquiry ; she knew it all. By them- 
 selves there they remained till he became a little 
 calmer, and then he begged her to leave him. She 
 wished to stay, but he would not permit it, and 
 she withdrew. When she reached her bedroom 
 her husband was still asleep, and although she 
 feared to wake him, she could no longer contain 
 herself, and falling on her knees with her face 
 in the bedclothes, so that she might not be heard, 
 she cried to her Maker to have mercy on her child. 
 She was not a woman much given to religious 
 exercises, but she prayed that night such a prayer 
 as had not been prayed in Tanner's Lane since its 
 foundation was laid. For this cause shall a man 
 leave father and mother and cleave to his wife ? 
 
THE ORACLE WARNS— AFTER THE EVENT. 311 
 
 Ah yes ! lie does leave them ; but in his heart does 
 he never go back ? And if he never does, does his 
 mother ever leave him ? 
 
 In the morning Mrs. Allen was a little pale, 
 and was asked by her husband if she was unwell, 
 but she held her peace. George too rose, went 
 about his work, and in the afternoon walked up to 
 the cottage to meet his wife there. She was bright 
 and smiling, and had a thousand things to tell 
 him about what her mamma said, and how mamma 
 hoped that the nasty pipe would be altered and 
 never ought to have been there ; and how she was 
 coming after tea to talk to him, and how she her- 
 self, Priscilla, had got a plan. 
 
 " What is it ? " said George. 
 
 " Why, I would put a grating, or something, over 
 the pipe, so that it shouldn't get stopped up." 
 
 " But if the grating got stopped up that would 
 be just as bad." 
 
 " Well then, I wouldn't have a well there at all. 
 Why don't you cover it over ? " 
 
 " But what are you to do with the window ? You 
 cannot block out the light." 
 
 So Priscilla's " plans," as she called them, were 
 nothing. And though George had a plan which 
 he thought might answer, he did not consult her 
 about it. 
 
( 312 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 FURTHER DEVELOPMENT. 
 
 Six months afterwards Priscilla was about to give 
 birth to her first-born. At Mrs. Allen's earnest 
 request, old nurse Barton had been engaged, who 
 nursed Mrs. Allen when George came into the 
 world, and loved him like her own child. As a 
 counterpoise, Mrs. Broad, who had desired a nurse 
 from a distance whom she knew, installed herself 
 with Priscilla. Nurse Barton had a great dislike 
 to Mrs. Broad, although she attended Mr. Broad's 
 ministrations at Tanner's Lane. She was not a 
 member of the church, and never could be got 
 to propose herself for membership. There was, in 
 fact, a slight flavour of Paganism about her. She 
 was considered to belong to the " world," and it 
 was only her age and undoubted skill which saved 
 her practice amongst the Tanner's Lane ladies. 
 There was a rival in the town ; but she was a 
 
FURTHER DEVELOPMENT. 313 
 
 younger woman, and never went out to any of the 
 respectable houses, save when Mrs. Barton was not 
 available. 
 
 The child was safely born, and as soon as nurse 
 Barton could be spared for an hour or two she 
 went to Mrs. Allen, whom she found alone. The 
 good woman then gave Mrs. Allen her opinions, 
 which, by the way, she always gave with perfect 
 frankness. 
 
 " Thank the Lord-i-mercy this 'ere job, Mrs. 
 Allen, is near at an end. If it 'adn't been my dear 
 boy George's wife, never would I have set foot in 
 that 'ouse." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Why not ? Now, Mrs. Allen, you know as well 
 as I do. To see that there Mrs. Broad! She 
 might 'ave ordered me about ; that wouldn't a been 
 nothin' ; but to see 'er a orderin' 'im, and a ridin' 
 on 'im like a wooden rockin'-'orse, and with no 
 more feelin' ! A nasty, prancin', 'igh-'eaded creatur'. 
 Thinks I to myself often and often, if things was 
 different I'd let yer know, that I would ; but I 'eld 
 my tong. It 'ud a been wuss for us all, p'r'aps, if 
 I 'adn't." 
 
 " I should think so," said Mrs. Allen ; " re- 
 member she is the minister's wife." 
 
 " Minister's wife ! " repeated Mrs. Barton, and 
 
314 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 with much scorn. " And then them children of 
 hern. Lord be praised I never brought such things 
 as them into the world. That was her fine nuss as 
 she must get down from London ; and pretty crea- 
 turs they are ! " 
 
 " Hush, hush ; George has one of them, and she is 
 mine." 
 
 " I can't 'elp it, ma'am, I must speak out. I say 
 as he ought to 'ave married somebody better nor 
 'er ; though I don't mind a tellin' of yer she's 
 the best of the lot. Why did the Lord in heaven, 
 as sent Jesus Christ to die for our souls, let my 
 George 'ave such a woman as that ? What poor silly 
 creaturs we all are ! " and the old woman, bending 
 her head down, shook it mournfully and rubbed her 
 knees with her hand. She was thinking of him as 
 he lay in her lap years and years ago, and ponder- 
 ing, in her disconnected, incoherent way, over the 
 mysteries which are mysteries to us as much as 
 to her. 
 
 Mrs. Broad, who was in constant attendance upon 
 Priscilla, at the very earliest moment pronounced 
 the baby a Flavel, and made haste to tell father and 
 mother so. There was no mistaking a refinement, 
 so to say, in the features and an expression in the 
 eye. George, of course, was nearly banished for a 
 time, and was much with his father and mother. 
 
FURTHER DEVELOPMENT. 315 
 
 At length, however, the hour arrived when the 
 nurse took her departure, and, Mrs. Broad having 
 also somewhat retired, he began to see a little more 
 of his wife ; but it was very little. She was alto- 
 gether shut up in maternal cares — closed round, 
 apparently, from the whole world. He was not 
 altogether displeased, but he did at times think 
 that she might give him a moment now and then, 
 especially as he was greatly interested in the com- 
 ing county election. It was rather too early in 
 the day for a Free Trader to stand as a candi- 
 date, but two Whigs, of whom they had great 
 hopes, had been put up, and both George and his 
 father were most energetic in canvassing and on 
 committees. 
 
 Mr. Broad had decided not to vote. He did not 
 deny that his sympathies were not with the Tories, 
 but as a minister of religion it would be better for 
 him to remain neutral. This annoyed the Aliens 
 and damaged their cause. At a meeting held by 
 the Tories one of the speakers called upon the 
 audience to observe that all the respectable people, 
 with very few exceptions, were on their side. 
 " Why," cried he, " I'll bet you, my friends, all 
 Lombard Street to a china orange that they don't 
 get even the Dissenting parson to vote for the 
 Kadicals. Of course he won't, and why ? Just 
 
316 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 because he's a cut above his congregation, and 
 knows a little more than they do, and belongs to 
 the intelligent classes." 
 
 George bethought himself that perhaps he might 
 do something through Priscilla to influence her 
 mother, and he determined to speak to her about 
 it. He came home one evening after attending a 
 committee, and found supper ready. Priscilla was 
 downstairs, sitting with the door open. 
 
 " Hadn't we better shut the door ? " said George ; 
 " it is rather cold." 
 
 " No, no, George ; I shouldn't hear the baby." 
 
 " But Ellen is upstairs." 
 
 " Yes ; but then she might go to sleep." 
 
 " My dear," began George, " I wish your father 
 could be got to vote straight. You see that by not 
 doing so he goes against all the principles of the Inde- 
 pendents. Ever since they have been in existence 
 they have always stood up for freedom, and we are 
 having the large yellow flag worked with the 
 words, ' Civil and Religious Liberty.' It will be 
 a bad thing for us if he holds aloof. I cannot 
 understand," he continued, getting eloquent, " how 
 a Dissenting minister can make up his mind not 
 to vote against a party which has been answer- 
 able for all the oppression and all the wrongs in 
 English history, and for all our useless wars, and 
 
FURTHER DEVELOPMENT. 317 
 
 actually persecuted his predecessors in this very 
 meeting-house in which he now preaches. Besides, 
 to say nothing about the past, just look at what we 
 have before us now. The Tories are the most bitter 
 opponents of Free Trade. I can't tell you how I feel 
 about it, and I do think that if you were to speak 
 to your mother she would perhaps induce him to 
 change his mind." 
 
 It was a long time since he had said so much all 
 at once to his wife. 
 
 " George, George, I am sure he's awake ! " and she 
 was off out of the room in an instant. Presently 
 she returned. 
 
 " Mamma came here this afternoon and brought 
 his hood — a new one — such a lovely hood ! — and 
 she says he looks more than ever like a Flavel 
 in it." 
 
 " I don't believe you listened to a word of what I 
 was saying." 
 
 " Oh yes, I did ; you always think I don't listen ; 
 but I can listen to you and watch for him too." 
 
 " What did I say ? " 
 
 " Never mind, I know." 
 
 " I cannot understand," he said sullenly, and 
 diverted for a moment from his subject, " why 
 mamma should be always telling you he is a Flavel." 
 
 " Well, really, George, why shouldn't she ? 
 
3 i8 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Tryphosa said tlie other day that if you were to 
 take away grandpapa Flavel's wig and bands from 
 the picture in the Evangelical Magazine he would 
 be just like him." 
 
 " It seems to me," replied George, " that if 
 there's any nonsense going about the town, it 
 always comes to you. People don't talk such rub- 
 bish to me." 
 
 What the effect of this speech might have been 
 cannot be told, for at this moment the baby did 
 really cry, and Priscilla departed hastily for the 
 night. She never spoke to her mother about 
 the election, for, as George suspected, she had 
 not paid the slightest attention to him; and as 
 to exchanging with her mother a single word 
 upon such a subject as politics, or upon any 
 other subject which was in any way impersonal — 
 she never did such a thing in her life. 
 
 It was the uniform practice of the Reverend John 
 Broad to walk down the main street of Cowfold on 
 Monday morning, and to interchange a few words 
 with any of his congregation whom he might hap- 
 pen to meet. This pastoral perambulation not only 
 added importance to him, and made him a figure in 
 Cowfold, but, coming always on Monday, served to 
 give people some notion of a preoccupation during 
 the other days of the week which was forbidden, for 
 
FURTHER DEVELOPMENT. 319 
 
 mental reasons, on the day after Sunday. On this 
 particular Monday Mr. Broad was passing Mr. Allen's 
 shop, and seeing father and son there, went in. 
 Mr. Allen himself was at a desk which stood near 
 the window, and George was at the counter, in a 
 black apron, weighing nails. 
 
 After an unimportant remark or two about the 
 weather, Mr. Allen began in a cheery tone, so as to 
 prevent offence — 
 
 " Mr. Broad, we are sorry we cannot persuade 
 you to vote for the good cause." 
 
 Mr. Broad's large mouth lengthened itself and 
 his little eyes had an unpleasant light in them. 
 
 " Brother Allen, I have made this matter the 
 subject of much meditation, and I may even say of 
 prayer, and I have come to the conclusion it will be 
 better for me to occupy a neutral position." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Broad ? You cannot doubt on 
 which side the right lies." 
 
 " No ; but then there are so many things to be 
 considered, so many responsibilities ; and my first 
 care, you see, must be the ministerial office and the 
 church which Providence has placed in my charge." 
 
 "But, Mr. Broad, there are only two or three of 
 them who are Tory." 
 
 " Only old Bushel and another farmer or two," 
 interrupted George. 
 
3 2o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Mr. Broad looked severely at George, but did not 
 condescend to answer him. 
 
 " Those two or three, Brother Allen, require con- 
 sideration as much as ourselves. Brother Bushel 
 is, I may say, a pillar of the cause, a most faithful 
 follower of the Lord ; and what are political questions 
 compared with that ? How could I justify myself 
 if my liberty were to become a stumbling-block to 
 my brother. The house of God without Brother 
 Bushel to give out the hymns on Sunday would, 
 I am sure, not be the same house of God to any 
 of us." 
 
 " But, Mr. Broad, do you think he will be so silly 
 as to be offended because you exercise the same 
 right which he claims for himself? " 
 
 " Ah, Brother Allen — offended ! You remember, 
 no doubt, the text, ( Wherefore, if meat make my 
 brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world 
 standeth.' " 
 
 It is a very good thing to have at one's elbow 
 a Bible of rules for our guidance ; but unfortu- 
 nately we relieve ourselves very often of the most 
 necessary inquiry whether the rule applies to the 
 particular case in hand. Mr. Allen had the greatest 
 possible respect for St. Paul, but he felt sure the 
 apostle was where he had no business to be just 
 at that particular moment. George also saw the 
 
FURTHER DEVELOPMENT. 321 
 
 irrelevance of the quotation, and discerned exactly 
 where it did not fit. 
 
 " Mr. Broad, I am sure I don't pretend to know 
 what St. Paul thought as well as you do — of course 
 not — but do you think that voting is like eating 
 meat ? Is it not a duty to express our convictions 
 on such questions as those now before the country ? 
 It didn't much matter whether a man ate meat 
 which had been offered to an idol or not, but it does 
 matter how we are governed." 
 
 Mr. Broad turned round on George, and smiled 
 with a smile which was certainly not a sign of 
 affection, but otherwise did not notice him. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Broad," continued Mr. Allen, " all I 
 can say is, I regret it ; and I am sure you will 
 excuse me if I also say that we too deserve some 
 consideration. You forget that your refusal to 
 declare yourself may be a stumbling-block to us." 
 
 " I hope not, I hope not. George, how is 
 Priscilla, and how is her child ? Are they both 
 quite well ? " and with a pontifical benediction the 
 minister moved away. When he got home he con- 
 sulted the oracle ; not on his knees, but sitting 
 in his arm-chair; that is to say, Mrs. Broad at 
 the Monday afternoon tea, and she relieved his 
 anxiety. There was no fear of any secession on the 
 part of the Aliens, connected as they were with 
 
 x 
 
322 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 them through Priscilla. On the other hand, Brother 
 Bushel, although he gave out the hymns, had 
 already had a quarrel with the singing pew because 
 they would not more frequently perform a tune with 
 a solo for the double bass, which he always accom- 
 panied with his own bass voice, and Mr. Broad had 
 found it difficult to restore peace ; the flute and 
 clarionet justly urging that they never had solos, 
 and why the double bass, who only played from ear, 
 and not half as many notes as they played, should 
 be allowed to show off they didn't know. Mr. 
 Bushel, too, contributed ten pounds a year to the 
 cause, and Piddingfold Green Chapel was but a mile 
 farther off from him than Cowfold. There were allies 
 of the Aliens in Tanner's Lane, no doubt ; but none 
 of them would be likely to desert so long as the 
 Aliens themselves remained. Therefore Providence 
 seemed to point out to Mr. and Mrs. Broad that 
 their course was clear. 
 
( 3?3 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 " I CAME NOT TO SEND PEACE, BUT A SWORD." 
 
 Mr. Allen, having business in London, determined 
 to go on Saturday, and spend the next day with 
 Zachariah. Although he always called on his old 
 friend whenever he could do so, he was not often 
 away from home on a Sunday. He also resolved 
 to take George with him. Accordingly on Satur- 
 day morning they were up early and caught a 
 coach on the North Road. The coaches by this 
 time had fallen off considerably, for the Birmingham 
 railway was open, and there was even some talk 
 of a branch through Cowfold ; but there were still 
 perhaps a dozen, which ran to places a good way 
 east of the line. Father and son dismounted at 
 the " George and Blue Boar," where they were to 
 sleep. Sunday was to be spent with the Colemans, 
 whom George had seen before, but very seldom ; 
 never, indeed, since he was a boy. 
 
324 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Zachariah still went to Pike Street Chapel, but 
 only in the morning to hear Mr. Bradshaw, who 
 was now an old man, and could not preach twice. 
 On that particular Sunday on which Zachariah, 
 Pauline, Mr. Allen, and George heard him he took 
 for his text the thirteenth verse of the twelfth 
 chapter of Deuteronomy : " Take heed to thyself 
 that thou offer not thy burnt offerings in every 
 place thou seest." He put down his spectacles 
 after he had read these words, for he never used 
 a note, and said — " If your religion doesn't help 
 you, it is no religion for you ; you had better 
 be without it. I don't mean if it doesn't help 
 you to a knowledge of a future life or of the way 
 to heaven. Everybody will say his religion does 
 that. What I do mean is, that the sign of a 
 true religion — true for you, is this — Does it assist 
 you to bear your own private difficulties ? — does 
 it really ? — not the difficulties of the schools and 
 theology, but those of the parlour and counting- 
 house ; ay, difficulties most difficult, those witli 
 persons nearest to you ? . . . Everybody ought 
 to have his own religion. In one sense we are 
 all disciples of Christ, but nevertheless each man 
 has troubles peculiar to himself, and it is absurd 
 to expect that any book system will be sufficient 
 for each one of us at all points. You must make 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 325 
 
 your own religion, and it is only what you make 
 yourself which will be of any use to you. Don't 
 be disturbed if you find it is not of much use 
 to other persons. Stick to it yourself if it is really 
 your own, a bit of yourself. There are, however, 
 in the Book of God universal truths, and the 
 wonderful thing about them is, that they are at 
 the same time more particularly adapted to you 
 and me and all our innermost wants than any- 
 thing we can discover for ourselves. That is the 
 miracle of inspiration. For thousands and thou- 
 sands of years some of the sayings here have 
 comforted those who have well nigh despaired in 
 the desert of the world. The wisdom of millions of 
 apostles, of heroes, of martyrs, of poor field labourers, 
 of solitary widows, of orphans, of the destitute, 
 of men driven to their last extremity, has been 
 the wisdom of this volume — not their own, and 
 yet most truly theirs. . . . Here is a word for 
 us this morning : ' Take heed to thyself that thou 
 offer not thy onrnt offerings in every place thou 
 seest.' Ah, what a word it is ! You and I are 
 not idolaters, and there is no danger of our being 
 so. For you and me this is not a warning against 
 idolatry. What is it for us then ? Keserve your- 
 self ; discriminate in your worship. Keserve your- 
 self, I say ; but what is the implication ? What 
 
326 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 says the next verse ? ' In the place which the Lord 
 shall choose ; ' that is to say, keep your worship 
 for the Highest. Do not squander yourself, but, 
 on the other hand, before the shrine of the 
 Lord offer all your love and adoration. What a 
 practical application this has ! . . . I desire to 
 come a little closer to you. What are the con- 
 sequences of not obeying this Divine law ? You 
 will not be struck dead nor excommunicated, you 
 will be simply disappointed. Your burnt offering- 
 will receive no answer ; you will not be blessed 
 through it ; you will come to see that you have 
 been pouring forth your treasure, and something 
 worse, your heart's blood — not the blood of cattle — 
 before that which is no God — a nothing, in fact. 
 ' Vanity of vanities/ you will cry, ' all is vanity.' 
 My young friends, young men and young women, 
 you are particularly prone to go wrong in this 
 matter. You not only lay your possessions but 
 yourselves on altars by the roadside." 
 
 It was the first time George had ever heard 
 anything from any public speaker which came 
 home to him, and he wondered if Mr. Bradshaw 
 knew his history. He interpreted the discourse 
 after his own way, and Priscilla was ever before 
 him. 
 
 They came back to the little house, and sat down 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 327 
 
 to dinner in the little front room. There were por- 
 traits on the walls — nothing else but portraits — 
 and the collection at first sight was inconsistent. 
 Major Cartwright was still there ; there were also 
 Byron, Bunyan, Scott, Paine, Burns, Mr. Bradshaw, 
 and Kousseau. It was closely expressive of its 
 owners. Zachariah and Pauline were private per- 
 sons ; they were, happily for thern, committed to 
 nothing, and were not subsidised by their repu- 
 tations to defend a system. ' They were conse- 
 quently free to think at large, and if they admired 
 both Bunyan and Rousseau, they were at liberty to 
 do so. Zachariah, in a measure, and a very large 
 measure, had remained faithful to his earliest beliefs — 
 who is there that does not ? — and although they had 
 been modified, they were still there ; and he listened 
 to Mr. Bradshaw with the faith of thirty years ago. 
 He also believed in a good many things he had 
 learned without him, and perhaps the old and the 
 new were not so discordant as at first sight 
 they might have seemed to be. He was not, in 
 fact, despite all his love of logic, the " yes or 
 no" from which most people cannot escape, but 
 a " yes and no ; " not immorally and through lack 
 of resolution, but by reason of an original receptivity 
 and the circumstances of his training. If he had 
 been merelv a student the case would have been 
 
328 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 different ; but lie was not a student. He was a 
 journeyman printer ; and hard work lias a ten- 
 dency to demolish the distinctions of dialectics. He 
 had also been to school outside his shop, and had 
 learned many lessons, often confusing and apparently 
 contradictory. Blanketeer marches ; his first wife ; 
 the workhouse ; imprisonment ; his second wife ; 
 the little Pauline, had each come to him with its 
 own special message, and the net result was a 
 character, but a character disappointing to persons 
 who prefer men and women of linear magnitude to 
 those of three dimensions. 
 
 After dinner the conversation turned upon poli- 
 tics, and Mr. Allen described his interview with Mr. 
 Broad, regretting that the movement in the district 
 round Cowfold would receive no countenance from 
 the minister of the very sect which ought to be its 
 chief support. 
 
 " A sad falling off," said Zachariah, " from the 
 days, even in my time, when the Dissenters were 
 the insurrectionary class. Mr. Bradshaw, last 
 Sunday, after his sermon, shut his Bible, and told 
 the people that he did not now interfere much in 
 political matters ; but he felt he should not be 
 doing his duty if he did not tell those whom he 
 taught which way they ouglit to vote, and that what 
 he had preached to them for so many years would 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 329 
 
 be poor stuff if it did not compel them into a 
 protest against taxing the poor for the sake of the 
 rich." 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Allen ; " but then Broad 
 never has taught what Bradshaw teaches ; he never 
 seems to me to see anything clearly ; at least he 
 never makes me see anything clearly ; the whole 
 world is in a fog to him." 
 
 " From what I have heard of Mr. Broad," said 
 Pauline, " I should think the explanation of him 
 is very simple ; he is a hypocrite — an ordinary 
 hypocrite. What is the use of going out of the 
 way to seek for explanations of such commonplace 
 persons ? " 
 
 " Pauline, Pauline," cried Zachariah, " you surely 
 forget, my child, in whose company you are ! " 
 
 " Oh, as for that," said George, "Miss Coleman 
 needn't mind me. I haven't married Mr. Broad, 
 and my father is quite right. For that matter, I 
 believe Miss Coleman is right too." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Allen, " it is rather strong to 
 say a man is an ordinary hypocrite, and it is not 
 easy to prove it." 
 
 " Not easy to prove it," said Pauline, shifting a 
 little in her chair and looking straight at Mr. Allen, 
 with great earnestness ; " hypocrisy is the one thing 
 easiest to prove. I can tell whether a man is a 
 
330 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 hypocrite before I know anything else about him. 
 I may not for a long time be able to say what else 
 he may be, but before he speaks, almost, I can 
 detect whether he is sincere." 
 
 " You women," said Zachariah with a smile, " or 
 you girls rather, are so positive. Just as though 
 the world were divided like the goats and the sheep 
 in the gospel. That is a passage that I never could 
 quite understand. I never, hardly, see a pure breed 
 either of goat or sheep. I never see anybody who 
 deserves to go straight to heaven or who deserves 
 to go straight to hell. When the judgment-day 
 comes it will be a difficult task. Why, Pauline, my 
 dear, I am a humbug myself." 
 
 "■Ah well, I have heard all that before; but, never- 
 theless, what I say is true. Some men, using speech 
 as God meant men to use it, are liars, and some are 
 not. Of course not entirely so, nor at all times. 
 We cannot speak mere truth ; we are not made to 
 speak it. For all that you are not a liar." 
 
 " Anyhow, I shall go on," said Mr. Allen. " We 
 shall have a desperate fight, and shall most likely 
 lose ; but no Tory shall sit for our county if I can 
 help it." 
 
 " Of course you will go on," said Zachariah. " So 
 shall I go on. We are to have a meeting in Clerken- 
 well to-morrow night, although, to tell you the truth, 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 331 
 
 I don't feel exactly the interest in the struggle which 
 I did in those of five-and-twenty years ago, when 
 we had to whisper our treasons to one another in 
 locked rooms and put sentries at the doors. You 
 know nothing about those times, George." 
 
 " I wish I had," said George with an unusual 
 passion, which surprised his father and caused 
 Pauline to lift her eyes from the table and look at 
 him. " I only wish I had. I can't speak as father 
 can, and I often say to myself I should like to take 
 myself off to some foreign country where men get 
 shot for what they call conspiracy. If I knew such 
 a country I half believe I would go to-morrow." 
 
 " Which means," said Pauline, " that there would 
 be an end of you and your services. If you care any- 
 thing for a cause, you can do something better than 
 get shot for it ; and if you want martyrdom, there is 
 a nobler martyrdom than death. The Christians who 
 were trundled in barrels with spikes in them deserve 
 higher honour than those who died in a moment, 
 before they could recant. The highest form of mar- 
 tyrdom, though, is not even living for the sake of a 
 cause, but living without one, merely because it is 
 your duty to live. If you are called upon to testify to 
 a great truth, it is easy to sing in flames. Yes, yes, 
 Mr. George, the saints whom I would canonise are 
 not martyrs for a cause, but those who have none." 
 
JJ' 
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 George thought that what Pauline said — just as 
 he had thought of Mr. Bradshaw's sermon — seemed 
 to be said for him ; and yet what did she know about 
 him ? Nothing. He was silent. All were silent, 
 for it is difficult to follow anybody who pitches the 
 conversation at so high a level ; and Zachariah, who 
 alone could have maintained it, was dreaming over 
 his lost Pauline and gazing on the sacred pictures 
 which were hung in the chamber of his heart. 
 Just at that moment he was looking at the one of 
 his wife as a girl ; the room in which he was sitting 
 had gone ; he was in the court near Fleet Street ; 
 she had cleared the space for the dance ; she had 
 begun, and he was watching her with all the passion 
 of his youth. The conversation gradually turned 
 to something more indifferent, and the company 
 broke up. 
 
 On the Monday George and his father went home. 
 It is very depressing, after being with people who 
 have been at their best, and with whom we have 
 been at our best, to descend upon ordinary exist- 
 ence. George felt it particularly as he stood in the 
 shop on Tuesday morning and reflected that for 
 the whole of that day — for his father was out — he 
 should probably not say nor hear a word for which 
 he cared a single straw. But there was to be an 
 election meeting that evening, and Mr. Allen was to 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 333 
 
 speak, and George, of course, must be there. The 
 evening came, and the room at the Mechanics' 
 Institute which had just been established in/ Cow- 
 fold was crowded. Admission was not by ticket, so 
 that, though the Whigs had convened it, there was a 
 strong muster of the enemy. Mr. Allen moved the 
 first resolution in a stirring speech, which was con- 
 stitutionally interrupted with appeals to him to go 
 home and questions about a grey mare — " Hovj about 
 old Pinfold's grey mare ? " — which seemed conclusive 
 and humorous to the last degree. Old Pinfold was 
 a well-known character in Cowfold, horse-dealer, 
 pig-jobber, attendant at races, with no definite 
 occupation, and the grey mare was an animal which 
 he managed to impose upon Mr. Allen, who sued 
 him and lost. When Mr. Allen's resolution had 
 been duly seconded, one Rogers, a publican, got up 
 and said he had something to say. There was in- 
 describable confusion, some crying, "Turn him out ; " 
 others " Pitch into 'em, Bill." Bill Rogers was well 
 known as the funny man in Cowfold, a half-drunken 
 buffoon, whose wit, such as it was, was retailed all 
 over the place ; a man who was specially pleased if 
 he could be present in any assembly collected for 
 any serious purpose and turn it into ridicule. He 
 got upon a chair, not far from where George sat, but 
 refused to go upon the platform. "No, thank yer, my 
 
334 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 friends, I'm best down here ; up there's the place for 
 the gentlefolk, the clever uns, them as buy grey 
 mares " — (roars of laughter) — " but, Mr. Chairman, 
 with your permission " — and here Bill put his hat 
 upon his chest and made a most profound bow to 
 the chair 3 which caused more laughter — " there is 
 just one question I should like to ask — not about 
 the grey mare, sir " — (roars of laughter again) — " but 
 I see a young gentleman here beknown to us all " — 
 (pointing to George) — " and I should just like to ask 
 him, does his mother-in-law — not his mother, you 
 observe, sir — does his mother-in-law know he's out?" 
 Once more there was an explosion, for Mr. Broad's 
 refusal to take part in the contest was generally 
 ascribed to Mrs. Broad. George sat still for a 
 moment, hardly realising his position, and then the 
 blood rose to his head ; he crashed across the forms, 
 and before the grin had settled into smoothness 
 on Bill's half-intoxicated features there was a grip 
 like that of a giant on his greasy coat collar ; he 
 was dragged amidst shouts and blows to the door, 
 George nothing heeding, and dismissed with such 
 energy that he fell prostrate on the pavement. 
 His friends had in vain attempted to stop George's 
 wrathful progress ; but they were in a minority. 
 
 Next Saturday a report of the scene appeared 
 in the county newspaper, giving full particulars, 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 355 
 
 considerably exaggerated ; and Mr. Broad read all 
 about it to Mrs. Broad on Saturday afternoon, in 
 the interval between the preparation of his two 
 sermons. He had heard the story on the following 
 day; but here was an authentic account in print. 
 Mrs, Broad was of opinion that it was shocking ; 
 so vulgar, so low ; her poor dear Priscilla, and so 
 forth. Mr. Broad's sullen animosity was so much 
 stimulated that it had overcome his customary cir- 
 cumspection, and on the Sunday evening he preached 
 from the text, " Pure religion and undefiled before 
 God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless 
 and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself 
 unspotted from the world." Mr. Broad remarked 
 that the Apostle James made no mention here of the 
 scheme of redemption ; not because that was not the 
 chief part of religion, but because he was consider- 
 ing religion in the aspect — he was very fond of this 
 word " aspect" — which it presented to those outside 
 the Church. He called upon his hearers to reflect 
 with him for a few moments, in the first place, upon 
 what religion was not ; secondly, upon what it was ; 
 and thirdly, he would invite their attention to a 
 few practical conclusions. He observed that religion 
 did not consist in vain strife upon earthly matters, 
 which only tended towards divisions in the Body of 
 Christ. " At such a time as this, my brethren, it is 
 
336 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 important for us to remember that these disputes, 
 especially if they are conducted with unseemly heat, 
 are detrimental to the interests of the soul and 
 give occasion to the enemy to blaspheme." When 
 Mr. Broad came to the secondly, and to that sub- 
 division of it which dealt with freedom from worldly 
 spots, he repeated the words with some emphasis, 
 " ' Unspotted from the world.' Thiuk, my friends, of 
 what this involves. Spots ! The world spots and 
 stains ! We are not called upon to withdraw our- 
 selves from the world — the apostle does not say 
 that — but to keep ourselves unspotted, uncontami- 
 nated, he appears to mean, by worldly influence. 
 The word unspotted in the original bears that inter- 
 pretation — uncontaminated. Therefore, though we 
 must be in the world, we are not to be of the world, 
 but to set an example to it. In the world ! Yes, 
 my brethren, we must necessarily be in the world ; 
 that is the condition imposed upon us by the Divine 
 Providence, because we are in a state of probation ; 
 we are so constituted, with a body, and with fleshly 
 appetites, that we must be in the world ; but we must 
 be separate from it and its controversies, which are 
 so unimportant compared with our eternal welfare." 
 Mr. Bushel sat on high at his desk, where he 
 gave out the hymns, and coughed every now and 
 then, and looked straight at the pew where the 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 337 
 
 Aliens and George sat. Mr. Busliel knew well 
 enough that, although he was just as ardent on the 
 other side, the sermon was not meant for him, and 
 not one of Mr. Broad's remarks touched him. He 
 thought only of the Aliens, and rejoiced inwardly. 
 George walked home with Priscilla in silence. At 
 supper-time he suddenly said — 
 
 " I think your father might have found something- 
 better to do than preach at me." 
 
 Priscilla was shocked. She had never heard a 
 criticism on her father before. 
 
 " Eeally, George, what are you thinking of to 
 talk in that way about a sermon, and on a Sunday 
 night too ? " 
 
 " He did preach at me ; and if he has anything 
 to say against me, why doesn't he come and say it 
 here or at the shop ? " 
 
 " George, this is dreadful ! Besides, mamma 
 did come and talk to me." 
 
 " What has that got to do with it ? Well, what 
 did your mother say ? " 
 
 " Why, she told me all about this meeting, and 
 how you fought a man and nearly killed him, and 
 you a member at Tanner's Lane, and how yon 
 oughtn't to have been there at all, and what Mr. 
 Bushel was going to do." 
 
 " Oughtn't to have been there at all ? Why not ? 
 
 Y 
 
338 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 I don't believe you know any more than this table 
 why I was there." 
 
 " Oh yes, I do. You never tell me anything, 
 but Mrs. Bushel told me. You want to get them 
 all turned out of their farms." 
 
 " Bosh ! There you are again ! — the pains I took 
 the other night again to make you comprehend 
 what Free Trade meant. I knew you didn't under- 
 stand a word about it ; and if you did understand, 
 you wouldn't believe me. You never take any 
 notice of anything I say ; but if Mrs. Bushel or any 
 other blockhead tells you anything, you believe that 
 directly." 
 
 Priscilla's eyes filled ; she took out her hand- 
 kerchief, and went upstairs. George sat still for 
 a while, and then followed her. He found her sitting 
 by the baby's cradle, her head on her hands and 
 sobbing. It touched him beyond measure to see 
 how she retreated to her child ; he went to her ; 
 his anger was once more forgotten, and once more 
 he was reconciled with kisses and self-humiliation. 
 The next morning, however, as he went to the square, 
 the conversation of the night before returned to 
 him. " What does it all mean ? " he cried to him- 
 self. " Would to God it were either one thing or 
 another ! I could be happy if I really cared for her ; 
 and if I hated her downright, I could endure it like 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 339 
 
 any other calamity which cannot be altered ; but this 
 is more than I can bear ! " 
 
 The Aliens, father and mother, held anxious 
 debate whether they should take any notice of the 
 attack by their pastor, and in the end determined 
 to do nothing. They considered, and rightly con- 
 sidered, that any action on their part would only 
 make George's position more difficult, and he was the 
 first person to be considered. 
 
 Next Saturday there was some business to be done 
 in London, and George went, this time by himself. 
 On the Sunday morning he called on the Cplemans, 
 and found Zachariah at home, but Pauline away. 
 Mr. Bradshaw, too, was not to preach that day. It 
 was wet, and Zachariah and George sat and talked, 
 first about the election, and then about other indif- 
 ferent subjects. Conversation — even of the best, and 
 between two friends — is poor work when one of the 
 two suffers from some secret sorrow which he cannot 
 reveal, and George grew weary. Zachariah knew 
 what was th'e matter with him, and had known it 
 for a long while, but was too tender to hint his know- 
 ledge. Nevertheless, remembering his own history, 
 he pitied the poor boy exceedingly. He loved him 
 as his own child, for his father's sake, and loved him 
 all the more for an experience so nearly resembling 
 another which he recollected too well. 
 
34Q THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 " How is it Mr. Bradsliaw is not preaching to- 
 day ? " said George. 
 
 " He is ill ; I am afraid lie is breaking up ; and 
 latterly he has been worried by the small attacks 
 made upon him by people who are afraid to say 
 anything distinctly." 
 
 " What kind of attacks ? " 
 
 " Well, they insinuate that he is Arian." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 Zachariah explained the case as well as he could, 
 and George was much interested. 
 
 " Arian or not, I tell you one thing, Mr. Coleman, 
 that Mr. Bradsliaw, whenever I have heard him, 
 seems to help me as Mr. Broad never does. I never 
 think about what Mr. Broad says except when I am 
 in chapel, and sometimes not then." 
 
 " Bradsliaw speaks from himself. He said a 
 thing last Sunday which stuck by me, and would 
 have pleased a country lad like you more than it 
 did three parts of his congregation, who are not 
 so familiar with country life as he is. He told us 
 he was out for a holiday, and saw some men hoeing 
 in a field — ' Hoeing the charlock,' he said to him- 
 self; but when he came nearer he found they were 
 hoeing turnips — hoeing up the poor plants them- 
 selves, which lay dying all around ; hoeing them 
 up to let the other plants have room to grow. 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 341 
 
 " I have known men," added Zachariah after a 
 pause, " from whose life so much — all love, for 
 example — has been cut out ; and the effect has 
 been, not ruin, but a growth in other directions 
 which we should never have seen without it." 
 
 Zachariah took down a little book from his shelf, 
 and wrote George's name in it. 
 
 " There, my boy, it is not much to look at, but 
 I know nothing better, and keep it always in your 
 pocket. It is the Imitation of Christ. You will 
 find a good deal in it which will suit you, and you 
 will say, as I have said a thousand times over it, that 
 other people may write of science or philosophy, 
 but this man writes about me" 
 
 He put it on the table, and George opened it at 
 the sentence, "He that can best tell how to suffer 
 will best keep himself in peace. Tliat man is con- 
 queror of himself, and lord of the world, the friend 
 of Christ, and the heir of heaven!' He turned over 
 the leaves again — " He to whom the Eternal Word 
 speakcth is delivered from a world of unnecessary 
 conceptions." Zachariah bent his head near him and 
 gently expounded the texts. As the exposition 
 grew George's heart dilated, and he was carried 
 beyond his troubles. It was the birth in him — even 
 in him, a Cowfold ironmonger, not a scholar by 
 any means — of what philosophers call the idea, that 
 
342 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Incarnation which has ever been our Kedemption. 
 He said nothing to Zachariah about his own affairs, 
 nor did Zachariah, as before observed, say anything 
 to him ; but the two knew one another, and felt 
 that they knew one another as intimately as if 
 George had imparted to his friend the minutest 
 details of his unhappiness with his wife. 
 
 Towards the end of the afternoon Pauline re- 
 turned, and inquired how the battle went in 
 Cowfold. 
 
 " I am afraid we shall be beaten. Sometimes I 
 don't seem to care much about it." 
 
 " Don't care ! Why not ? " 
 
 " Oh, we talk and talk, father and I, and some~ 
 how people's minds are made up without talking, 
 and nobody ever changes. When we have our meet- 
 ings, who is it who comes ? Does Bushel come ? 
 Not a bit of it. We only get our own set." 
 
 " Well," said Zachariah, the old man's repub- 
 lican and revolutionary ardour returning, " this is 
 about the only struggle in which I have felt much 
 interest of late years. I should like to have cheap 
 bread, and what is more, I should like to deprive 
 the landlords of that bit of the price which makes 
 the bread dear. I agree with you, my boy. Endless 
 discussion is all very well — forms ' public opinion,' 
 they say ; but I wish a stop could be put to it 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 343 
 
 when it has come round to where it began ; that 
 one side could say to the other, ' You have heard 
 all our logic, and we have heard all yours ; now 
 then, let us settle it. Who is the strongest and 
 best drilled ? ' I believe in insurrection. Ever- 
 lasting debate — and it is not genuine debate, for 
 nobody really ranges himself alongside his enemy's 
 strongest points — demoralises us all. It encourages 
 all sorts of sophistry, becomes mere manoeuvring, 
 and saps people's faith in the truth. In half 
 an hour, if two persons were to sit opposite 
 one another, they could muster every single rea- 
 son for and against Free Trade. What is the 
 use of going on after that ? Moreover, insurrection 
 strengthens the belief of men in the right. A 
 man who voluntarily incurs the risk of being- 
 shot believes ever afterwards, if he escapes, a little 
 more earnestly than he did before. i W ho is on 
 the Lord's side, let him come unto me,' says the 
 flag. Insurrection strengthens, too, the faith of 
 others. When a company of poor men meet to- 
 gether and declare that things have got to such a 
 pass that they will either kill their enemies or die 
 themselves, the world then thinks there must, after 
 all, be some difference between right and wrong." 
 
 " Father, that is all past now. We must settle 
 our quarrels in the appointed way. Don't say 
 
344 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 anything to discourage Mr. Allen. Besides, people 
 are not so immovable as you think. How they 
 alter I don't know ; but they do alter. There is 
 a much larger minority in favour of Free Trade 
 than there was ten years ago." 
 
 " All past now, is it ? You will see one of these 
 days." 
 
 It was time for tea, and Pauline left to get the 
 tea-things. In the evening they strolled out for 
 a walk through Barnsbury and up Maiden Lane, 
 then a real and pretty lane stretching north- 
 westwards through hedges to Highgate. After 
 they had gone a few hundred yards Zachariah 
 went back ; he had forgotten something, and George 
 and Pauline walked on slowly together. The street 
 was crowded, for it was just about church time, 
 but on the opposite side of the road George saw 
 somebody whom he knew, but who took no notice 
 of him. 
 
 " How odd ! " he said to Pauline ; " that is Tom 
 Broad ! "What is he doing here, I wonder ? " 
 
 Pauline made no answer, and at that moment 
 Zachariah rejoined them. 
 
 The reason for Mr. Thomas Broad's appearance 
 in that quarter will be best explained by the 
 following letter, which he had received the day 
 before from his father : — 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 345 
 
 " My dear Thomas, — I was very glad to hear 
 of your success at Mr. Martin's chapel, at Hackney, 
 on Sunday afternoon. Although it was nothing 
 more than an afternoon service, you must remember 
 that it is the first invitation to a metropolitan 
 pulpit which you have received. It would be as 
 well if you were to call on Mr. Martin at your 
 earliest convenience, and also on Mr. Chandler, 
 in Leather Lane, whom you mentioned to me, and 
 who, I believe, is a prominent deacon. The choice 
 of your subject was judicious, although it is not 
 so easy to fix the character of a discourse for the 
 afternoon as for the morning or evening. ' / will 
 give Mm a white stone' is a text I have used 
 myself with great profit. A young minister, I 
 need hardly say, my dear Thomas, ought to con- 
 fine himself to what is generally accepted, and not 
 to particularise. For this reason he should avoid 
 not only all disputed topics, but, as far as possible, 
 all reference to particular offences. I always my- 
 self doubted the wisdom, for example, of sermons 
 against covetousness, or worldliness, or hypocrisy. 
 Let us follow our Lord and Master, and warn our 
 hearers against sin, and leave the application to 
 the Holy Spirit. I only mention this matter now 
 because I have found two or three young students 
 
346 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 err in this direction, and the error, I am sure, 
 militates against their usefulness. 
 
 " Your dear mamma and Tryphosa are both quite 
 well. Not so Priscilla'. I grieve to say she is not 
 well. George's conduct lately has been very strange. 
 I am afraid that he will be a trouble, not only 
 to us, but to the Church of Christ. Both he and 
 his father have kindled strife amongst us in this 
 unhappy election contest, from which, as a minister 
 of God's Word, I have held aloof. For one or two 
 Sundays the Aliens have absented themselves 
 from Divine service in the evening, and we know 
 that there has been no sickness in the house. I 
 feel certain that before long they will withdraw 
 their subscription. I have good reason to believe 
 that their friend, Mr. Coleman, exercises a very 
 baleful influence upon them. However, God's will 
 be done ! These are the trials which His servants 
 who minister to His flock must expect. Good-bye, 
 my dear Thomas. Mamma and Tryphosa send 
 their love. Give diligence to make your calling and 
 election sure. — Your affectionate father, 
 
 " John Broad. 
 
 " P.S. — It will be as well, perhaps, if you 
 can ascertain whether the Aliens visit the Cole- 
 mans, and more particularly if George goes there. 
 
NOT PEACE, BUT A SWORD. 347 
 
 The Coleman household consists, I believe, of a 
 father and daughter. You will remember that 
 Coleman has been a convict, and, I have heard, has 
 tendencies towards infidelity. Priscilla informs me 
 that Mr. Allen and George will be in London to- 
 morrow ; but she does not know what they are going 
 to do there. You will doubtless be able to obtain 
 the information I desire, and on future occasions I 
 will also advise you when either George or his father 
 is in the metropolis." 
 
 Mr. Thomas Broad had his own reasons for 
 complying with his father's request. He hated 
 the Colemans and George with as much active 
 
 o 
 
 malignity as was possible to his heavy unctuous 
 nature. Why he should hate the Colemans is 
 intelligible, and his hatred to George can also be 
 explained, partly through sympathy between father 
 and son, and partly because the hatred of a person 
 like Thomas Broad to a person like George Allen 
 needs no explanation. 
 
( 34S ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 '•AND A MAN'S FOES SHALL BE THEY OF HIS OWN 
 HOUSEHOLD." 
 
 The county polling day meanwhile drew near, and 
 with its approach party spirit rose and the mutual 
 exasperation of both sides increased. George and 
 his father were out every evening at the Insti- 
 tute or canvassing, and George's first attempts at 
 public speaking were a success. At length the day 
 dawned which was to decide their fate. Cowfold 
 was the polling station for a large district, and 
 both sides fully recognised its importance. The 
 Democratic colour was orange, and the Tory was 
 purple. Everybody wore rosettes, and bands of 
 music went about the town, carrying flags and 
 banners, which had such an effect upon the 
 Cowfold population, more particularly upon that 
 portion of it which knew nothing whatever of the 
 questions at issue, that the mere sound of the 
 instruments or sight of a bit of bunting tied to 
 
 D O 
 
A MAN'S FOES. 349 
 
 a pole was sufficient to enable them to dare a 
 broken bead, or even death. Beer may have been 
 partly the cause of this peculiar mental condition, 
 but not entirely, for sober persons felt the con- 
 tagion. We may laugh at it if we please, and 
 no doubt it is evidence of the weakness of human 
 nature ; but, like much more evidence of the same 
 order, it is double-voiced, and testifies also to our 
 strength. 
 
 Priscilla was staying that night with her mother. 
 Mr. Broad's house, at the end of the town, was 
 very quiet, and George did not care to leave her 
 alone with the servant. Those were the days when 
 the state of the poll was published every hour, and 
 as Cowfold lay near the centre of the county, a very 
 fair opinion could be formed of the progress of the 
 voting. By three o'clock it was known that up to 
 eleven parties were neck and neck, and the excite- 
 ment grew more and more intense. Every public- 
 house in Cowfold was free, and soon after dinner- 
 time there was not a single person in the place who 
 was ever drunk before who had not found it neces- 
 sary to get drunk then in order to support the strain 
 on his nerves. Four o'clock came, and the polling- 
 booth was shut ; the numbers were made up, and 
 the two committees now anxiously awaited the news 
 from the outlying districts. The general impression 
 
35o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 seemed to be that tlie popular candidate would win 
 by about a dozen, and by eight o'clock a crowd had 
 assembled before the " Cross Keys " to give due 
 welcome to the desired announcement. Ten o'clock 
 came, and the mob began to get impatient and 
 unruly. Then there was a stir and a roar, and the 
 whole assemblage rushed off to the " Angel," in the 
 square. On the balcony was a huge placard, with 
 the purple hero at the top — 1837 — anc ^ below 
 was the orange favourite, in small and ignominious 
 figures — I 83 I. Bushel stood at the open window 
 waving his hat, apparently half frantic. Just under- 
 neath him was a smaller crowd of the purple faction, 
 who were cheering and bawling with all their might 
 as the enemy came in sight. In an instant the 
 conflict had begun. The purple banners were the 
 first objects of attack, and disappeared, every one 
 of them, in less than five minutes, under foot. 
 Seen from one of the upper storeys of the houses, 
 the square looked like a great pot full of boiling 
 confusion. By degrees the wearers of purple 
 were driven hard against the " Angel " yard-gates, 
 which opened to receive them ; some who were not 
 successful in securing admittance escaping, with 
 bloody heads, down the side lane, and so out across 
 the fields. There was great difficulty in shutting 
 the gates again ; but the " Angel " hostlers appeared 
 
A MAN'S FOES. 351 
 
 on the scene with pitchforks and other weapons, 
 which caused an ebb of the tide for a moment. 
 They managed in the nick of time to swing the 
 gates together, and the heavy wooden bar was 
 thrown across them. The orange party was now 
 triumphant, but very unhappy, because it was able 
 to do no further mischief. Suddenly Bushel was 
 seen again at the window, and, as it was afterwards 
 averred, made some insulting gesture. A stone 
 was the prompt response, and in five minutes there 
 was not a whole pane of glass left in the front 
 of the building. " Have old Bushel out ! Smoke 
 'em out ! " was shouted, and a rush followed towards 
 the door. But the insurgents had no siege train 
 for such a fortress, and the sight of two or three 
 fowling-pieces somewhat damped their courage. 
 They therefore turned off, wrecked the brewer's 
 house, and forced the " Angel " tap, which was 
 separated from the main building. The spirit- 
 casks were broached, and men turned the gin and 
 brandy taps into their mouths without waiting for 
 glasses. Many of them, especially those who first 
 entered, were at once overcome and dropped, lying 
 about in the room and in the gutter perfectly 
 insensible. The remainder, who could only drink 
 what was left, became more and more riotous, 
 and a general sack of all purple property was 
 
JS* 
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 imminent. Mr. Allen was at the " Cross Keys," 
 but George was at home, and as he watched the 
 scene he saw the mob take a kind of lurch and 
 sway along the street which led to Mr. Broad's. 
 He thought he heard Mr. Broad's name, and in an 
 instant he had buttoned up his coat, taken the 
 heaviest stick he could find, and was off. He had 
 the greatest difficulty in forcing his way, and he 
 did not reach the front of the crowd till it was 
 opposite Mr. Broad's and the destruction of the 
 windows had begun. He leaped over the iron railing, 
 and presented himself at the gate with the orange 
 rosette on his coat and the stick in his right hand. 
 He was just in time, for yells of " Psalm-singing 
 old hypocrite ! " were already in the air, and the 
 fence was being stormed. George administered to 
 the foremost ruffian a blow on the shoulder which 
 felled him on the path outside, and then, standing 
 on the low brick wall on which the railings rested, 
 showed his rosette, brandished his club, and made 
 some kind of inarticulate expostulation, which, 
 happily for him and Mr. Broad, was received with 
 cheers. Whether taken by itself it would have 
 been effectual or not cannot be said, for just at 
 that moment a more powerful auxiliary appeared. 
 When the " Angel " was abandoned the imprisoned 
 garrison, amongst whom were one or two county 
 
A MAN'S FOES. 353 
 
 magistrates, held a brief consultation. They or- 
 ganised their forces and marched out, the well-to- 
 do folk in front and abreast, armed with bludgeons, 
 the " Angel " dependents and about fifty more of 
 the refugees coming in the rear, every garden and 
 stable weapon of offence being distributed amongst 
 them. They had the advantage, of course, of being 
 sober. They advanced at a run, and their tramp 
 was heard just as George was beginning to try the 
 effect of his eloquence. Panic and scattering flight 
 at once followed, not, however, before some dozen or 
 so of the fugitives had recovered what little sense 
 they ever had by virtue of sundry hard knocks on 
 their skulls and a dozen more or so had been 
 captured. By twelve o'clock Cowfold was quiet and 
 peaceable. Citizens were left to wonder how their 
 town, lying usually so sleepily still, like a farmyard 
 on a summer Sunday afternoon, could ever transform 
 itself after this fashion. Men unknown and never 
 before seen seemed suddenly to spring out of the 
 earth, and as suddenly to disappear. Who were 
 they ? Respectable Cowfold, which thought it knew 
 everybody in the place, could not tell. There 
 was no sign of their existence on the next day. 
 People gathered together and looked at the mischief 
 wrought the night before, and talked everlastingly 
 about it ; but the doers of it had vanished, rapt away 
 
354 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 apparently into an invisible world. On Sunday 
 next, at one o'clock, Cowfold Square, save for a few 
 windows not yet mended, looked just as it always 
 looked ; that is to say, not a soul was visible in it, 
 and the pump was, as usual, chained. 
 
 The band of rescuers had passed George as he 
 stood in the garden, and when they had gone he 
 knocked at the door. It was a long time before 
 anybody came, but at last it was partly opened, just 
 as far as the chain would permit, and the Reverend 
 John Broad, looking very white and with a candle 
 in his hand, appeared. 
 
 " It is I, George, Mr. Broad. Please tell me how 
 Priscilla is, and — how you all are after your fright. 
 I will not come in if you are all well." 
 
 " No, Mr. George, you will not come in. I little 
 thought that a member of Tanner's Lane Church, 
 and my daughter's husband, would associate himself 
 with such disgraceful proceedings as those we have 
 witnessed this evening." 
 
 " But, Mr. Broad, you are quite mistaken. I was 
 not with the mob. I came here as soon as I could 
 to protect you." 
 
 Mr. Broad, terrified and wrathful, had, however, 
 disappeared, and George heard the bolts drawn. 
 He was beside himself with passion, and knocked 
 again and again, but there was no answer. He was 
 
A MAN'S FOES. 355 
 
 inclined to try and break open the door at first or 
 seek an entrance through a window, but he thought 
 of Priscilla, and desisted. 
 
 He was turning homewards, when he reflected 
 that it would be useless to attempt to go to sleep, 
 and he wandered out into the country towards 
 Piddingfold, pondering over many things. The 
 reaction of that night had been too severe. His 
 ardour was again almost entirely quenched when he 
 saw the men for whom he had worked, and who 
 professed themselves his supporters, filthily drunk. 
 A noble sentence, however, from the Idler came into 
 his mind — his mother had a copy of the Idler in her 
 bedroom, and read and re-read it, and oftentimes 
 quoted it to her husband and her son — " He that 
 has improved the virtue or advanced the happiness 
 of one fellow-creature . . . may be contented with 
 his own performance; and, with respect to mortals 
 like himself may demand, like Augustus, to be 
 dismissed at his departure with applause." He re- 
 flected that he, an ironmonger's son, was not born 
 to save the world, and if the great Dr. Johnson 
 could say what he did, with how little ought not a 
 humble Cowfold tradesman to be satisfied ! We all 
 of us have too vast a conception of the duty which 
 Providence has imposed upon us ; and one great 
 service which modern geology and astronomy have 
 
356 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 rendered is the abatement of the fever by which 
 earnest people are so often consumed. But George's 
 meditations all through that night were in the main 
 about his wife, and as soon as he reached his shop 
 in the morning, the first thing he did was to write 
 a note to her telling her to come home. This she 
 did, although her mother and father objected, and 
 George found her there at dinner-time. She looked 
 pale and careworn, but this, of course, was set down 
 to fright. She was unusually quiet, and George for- 
 bore to say anything about her father's behaviour. 
 He dreaded rather to open the subject ; he could 
 not tell to what it might lead. Priscilla knew all 
 about George's repulse from her father's door, and 
 George could tell she knew it. 
 
 His father and he had determined that Cowfold 
 would not be a pleasant place for them on the follow- 
 ing Sunday, and that business, moreover, demanded 
 their presence in London. Thither, accordingly, they 
 went on the Saturday, as usual; and Priscilla natu- 
 rally communicating their intention to her mother, 
 Mr. Thomas Broad received an epistle from his 
 father something like one we have already read, but 
 still more imperative in its orders that the dutiful 
 son should see whether the Aliens made Zachariah's 
 house their headquarters. That they did not sleep 
 there was well known, but it was believed they had 
 
A MAN'S FOES. 357 
 
 constant intercourse with that unregenerate person, 
 a disciple of Voltaire, as the Reverend John Broad 
 firmly believed, and it would be " advantageous to 
 possess accumulated evidence of the fact." Priscilla 
 knew that they lodged always at the " George and 
 Blue Boar ; " but how they spent their time on 
 Sunday she did not know. There was also a post- 
 script, this time with a new import : — 
 
 " It has been reported that Coleman's daughter 
 is a young female not without a certain degree of 
 attractiveness. It may perhaps, my dear Thomas, 
 be some day of service to me and to the church if 
 you were to inform me whether you have observed 
 any tendencies towards familiarity between George 
 and this person. I need not at the present 
 moment give you my reasons for this inquiry. 
 It will be sufficient to say that I have nothing 
 more in view than the welfare of the flock 
 which Divine Providence has committed to my 
 charge." 
 
 Mr. Thomas did his duty, and a letter was 
 received by his father on the following Tuesday, 
 which was carefully locked up in the drawer in 
 which the sermons were preserved. 
 
 The next day — that is to say, on Wednesday — 
 George was at work, as usual, when his little 
 maid came to say that her mistress was very bad, 
 
358 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 and would he go home directly ? She had been 
 unwell for some days, but it was not thought that 
 there was anything serious the matter with her. 
 George followed the girl at once, and found Priscilla 
 in bed with a violent headache and very feverish. 
 The doctor came, and pronounced it a case of " low 
 fever," a disease well enough known in Cowfold. 
 Let us make the dismal story as brief as pos- 
 sible. Nurse Barton, hearing of her " dear boy's " 
 trouble, presented herself uninvited that evening 
 at ten o'clock, and insisted that George should 
 not sit up. She remained in the house, notwith- 
 standing Mrs. Broad's assurances that she really 
 was not wanted, and watched over Priscilla till the 
 end came. 
 
 About a week afterwards, just when Priscilla 
 seemed to be getting a little better — she had been 
 delirious, but her senses had returned — and Mrs. 
 Allen, who had been in the house all day, had 
 departed, a change for the worse took place, and 
 the doctor was summoned. George, sitting in the 
 parlour alone, heard nurse Barton come down- 
 stairs. 
 
 " My dear boy," she said as she entered, " God 
 in His mercy strengthen you in this trial as He 
 has laid upon you, but I thought I'd just come 
 and tell you myself. The doctor wor a-comin', 
 
A MAN'S FOES. 359 
 
 but I said ' No ; my boy shall hear it from me.' 
 I don't think as your wife will get better ; she 
 don't seem to pull herself up a bit. She a'nt got 
 no strength no more than a fly. You'd better see 
 her, I think." 
 
 " Who is there ? " 
 
 " Her mother and the doctor." 
 
 " Can't you get rid of them ? " 
 
 " All right, my dear. I must stay with you 
 both, but you won't mind me — God bless you ! " 
 and the old woman put her arms round George's 
 neck and kissed him tenderly. 
 
 She returned, and presently she redeemed her 
 promise, for she actually got Mrs. Broad away. 
 At first she was obstinate, but Priscilla whis- 
 pered that she wished to see her husband alone, 
 and the doctor took upon himself to warn Mrs. 
 Broad that resistance on her part might be 
 dangerous. She then retreated with him, and 
 George found himself by the bedside. His wife 
 was so prostrate that she was hardly able to make 
 herself heard, but she lifted up her finger and 
 made a sign that he should bend his head down 
 to hers. He bent it down, and her damp brown 
 hair — the beautiful brown hair he had loved so — 
 lay on his forehead, and its scent was all about 
 him once more. 
 
3 6o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 " George, my dear," she just breathed out, " I am 
 a poor silly girl, but I always loved you." 
 
 He stopped her instantly with his kisses, but 
 Death had stopped her too. He recoiled for a 
 moment, and with a sudden scream, " God, she's 
 gone ! " he fell into the arms of his nurse, who stood 
 behind him. 
 
( 36i ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION. 
 
 Three months passed, during which the Aliens' 
 pew was vacant at Tanner's Lane. George re- 
 mained at home with his only child, or was at his 
 mother's, or, shocking to relate, was in the fields, 
 but not at chapel ; nor were any of his family 
 there. During the whole of those three months 
 one image was for ever before his eyes. What 
 self- accusations ! Of what injustice had he not been 
 guilty ? Little things, at the time unnoticed, turns 
 of her head, smiles, the fall of her hair — oh, that 
 sweet sweet brown hair ! — all came back to him, and 
 were as real before him as the garden wall. He 
 thought of her lying in her grave — she whom he 
 had caressed — of what was going on down there, 
 under the turf, and he feared he should go mad. 
 Where was she ? Gone, for ever gone — gone 
 before he had been able to make her understand 
 
362 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 how much lie really loved her, and so send her to 
 sleep in peace. But was she not in heaven? 
 Would he not see her again? He did not know. 
 Strange to say, but true, he, a member of Tanner's 
 Lane Church, who had never read a sceptical book 
 in his life, was obliged to confess, perhaps not 
 consciously, but none the less actually, he did not 
 know. 
 
 In those dark three months the gospel according 
 to Tanner's Lane did nothing for him, and he was 
 cast forth to wrestle with his sufferings alone. It 
 is surely a terrible charge to bring against a reli- 
 gious system, that in the conflict which has to be 
 waged by every son of Adam with disease, misfor- 
 tune, death, the believers in it are provided with 
 neither armour nor weapons. Surely a real religion, 
 handed down from century to century, ought to 
 have accumulated a store of consolatory truths which 
 will be of some help to us in time of need. If it 
 can tell us nothing, it we cannot face a single 
 disaster any the better for it, and if we never dream 
 of turning to it when we are in distress, of what 
 value is it ? There is one religious teacher, how- 
 ever, which seldom fails those who are in health, 
 and, at last, did not fail him. He was helped by 
 no priest and by no philosophy ; but Nature helped 
 
A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION. 363 
 
 him, the beneficent Power which heals the burn or 
 scar and covers it with new skin. 
 
 At the end of the three months the Eeverend 
 John Broad received a brief note from Mr. Allen 
 announcing that their pew at the chapel could be 
 considered vacant, and that the subscription would 
 be discontinued. Within a week Mr. Broad invited 
 Brother Bushel, Brother Wainwright the cart- 
 builder and blacksmith, and Brother Scott on the 
 auctioneer, to a private meeting at his own house. 
 In a short speech Mr. Broad said that he had 
 sought a preliminary conference with them to lay 
 before them the relationship in which the Aliens 
 stood to the church in Tanner's Lane. They had 
 formally ceased to attend his ministrations, but of 
 course, as yet, they remained on the church books. 
 It was a matter which he, as the minister of the 
 flock, felt could not any longer be overlooked. He 
 would say nothing of the part which the Aliens had 
 taken in the late unhappy controversies which had 
 distracted the town, excepting that he considered 
 they had displayed a heat and animosity inconsistent 
 with their professions and detrimental to the best 
 interests of the cause. 
 
 "I agree with that, Mr. Broad," interrupted Mr. 
 Bushel ; " and I may say that, as you know, if you 
 had done nothing, / should ; for how any member 
 
364 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 of the — gospel — could live in — and go on — peace and 
 harmony with all men in the Church of Christ, I, at 
 least — that's my opinion." Mr. Bushel was short- 
 necked, and shook his head always while he was 
 talking, apparently in order to disengage his mean- 
 ing, which consequently issued in broken fragments. 
 Mr. Broad resumed — " I may, however, observe 
 that George Allen was in company with the intoxi- 
 cated mob which devastated Cowfold ; and although 
 he has asserted that he merely endeavoured to con- 
 trol its excesses — and such appears to be the view 
 taken by the civil authorities who have prosecuted 
 the perpetrators of the outrages — we, as members, 
 my dear brethren, of Christ's Body, have to be guided 
 by other considerations. While upon this subject 
 of George Allen, I may say, with as much delicacy 
 as is permissible to a faithful minister of God's holy 
 Word, that I fear George has been — a — h'm — what 
 shall I say ? — at least led astray by an unhappy 
 intimacy with a female residing in the metropolis 
 who is an infidel. I have no doubt in my own 
 mind that the knowledge of this fact accelerated the 
 departure of my dear daughter, whose sorrow was 
 of a twofold character — sorrow, in the first place, 
 with regard to her husband's unfaithfulness, causing 
 her thereby much personal affliction, which, how- 
 ever, endureth but for a moment, for she now 
 
A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION. 365 
 
 inherits a far more exceeding weight of glory " — 
 Mr. Broad's week-day and extempore quotations from 
 the Bible were always rather muddled — " and, in 
 the second place, sorrow for her husband's soul. I 
 think we have distinct evidence of this intimacy, 
 which I shall be able to produce at the proper 
 moment. We have all observed, too, that whilst 
 the Aliens have not latterly attended Divine Service 
 at Tanner's Lane, they have not seceded to another 
 place of worship. Finally, and by way of conclusion, 
 let me remark that I have wrestled long with the 
 Lord to know what was my duty towards these apos- 
 tates and towards the Church of Christ. I con- 
 sidered at first I ought to remonstrate privately with 
 Mr. Allen ; but, alas ! he has shown a recalcitrant 
 disposition whenever I have attempted to approach 
 him. I have consulted Brother Bushel on the sub- 
 ject ; indeed, I may say that Brother Bushel had 
 previously intimated to me the necessity of taking 
 some steps in the matter, and had assured me that 
 he could not any longer occupy the prominent 
 position which he now occupies in the church — so 
 much, I may say, to our own edification and advan- 
 tage — if something were not done. We think, 
 therefore, that the church should be privately con- 
 voked for deliberation. Brother Wainwright, what 
 counsel have you to give ? " 
 
366 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Brother Wainwright always had a heavy account 
 with Brother Bushel. He was a little man, with 
 a little round head covered with straggling hair, 
 which came over his forehead. He sat with his hat 
 between his knees, looked into it, scratched his 
 head, and said with a jerk, " Oi agree with Brother 
 Bushel." 
 
 " Brother Scotton, what do you say ? " 
 Brother Scotton was a Cowfold man, tall and 
 thin, superintendent of the Sunday-school, and to 
 a considerable extent independent of village cus- 
 tom. He was not only an auctioneer, but a land 
 surveyor ; he also yalued furniture, and when there 
 were any houses to be let, drew up agreements, 
 made inventories, and had even been known to pre- 
 pare' leases. There was always, therefore, a legal 
 flavour about him, and he prided himself on his 
 distant professional relationship to full-blown attor- 
 neyhood. It was tacitly understood in Cowfold 
 that his opinion in certain cases was at least 
 equal to that of Mortimer, Wake, Collins & Mor- 
 timer, who acted as solicitors for half the county. 
 Mr. Scotton, too, represented Cowfold urban in- 
 telligence as against agricultural rusticity ; and 
 another point in his favour was, that he had an 
 office — no shop — with a wire blind in the window 
 
A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION. 3 r 7 
 
 with the words, " Scotton, Land Agent, Auctioneer, 
 and Appraiser," painted on it. On Mr. Broad's 
 present appeal for his verdict, he put himself in a 
 meditative attitude, stretched out his legs to their 
 full length, threw his head back, took his lower 
 lip in his left hand, pulled up his legs again, bent 
 forward, put his hands on his knees, and looked 
 sideways at Mr. Broad. 
 
 " I suppose that Mr. Allen and his son will have 
 the charges communicated to them, Mr. Broad, and 
 be summoned to attend the meeting ? " 
 " What do you say, Brother Bushel ? " 
 "Don't see no use in it. All very well them 
 lawyers " — a snap at Scotton — " come and argyfy — 
 I hate argyfying, I do myself — never seed no good 
 on it. Get rid of a man — I do. c Sickly sheep 
 infects the flock and pisons all the rest.' ' These 
 last words formed part of a hymn of which Brother 
 Bushel was very fond. 
 
 " What do you say, Brother Wainwright ? " 
 Brother Wainwright, although he could do 
 nothing but agree with Brother Bushel, and never 
 did anything but agree with him, preferred to make 
 a show of reflection. He again looked in his hat, 
 shut his mouth fast ; again scratched his head ; 
 ao-ain shook it a little, and with another jerk, as if 
 announcing a conclusion at which he had arrived 
 
3 68 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 with great certainty, but after a severe mental 
 effort, he said — 
 
 " Oi go with Brother Bushel, Oi do." 
 
 " Well," said Scotton, extending his legs again 
 and gazing at the ceiling, " I must nevertheless be 
 permitted to adhere " 
 
 " Adhere," interrupted Bushel. " What's the use 
 of talking like that ? You always adhere — what for 
 I should like to know." 
 
 Scotton went on with dignity, not noticing the 
 attack — 
 
 " Adhere, I was about to say, Mr. Broad, to my 
 previously expressed opinion. I am not at all sure 
 that the Aliens have not a legal status, and that 
 an action would not lie if we proceeded without 
 due formalities. Tanner's Lane, you must recol- 
 lect, is in a peculiar position, and there is an 
 endowment." 
 
 Mr. Scotton had this advantage over Cowfold 
 generally, that if he knew nothing about the law 
 himself, excepting so far as bids at a sale were 
 concerned, Cowfold knew less, and the mention of 
 the endowment somewhat disturbed Mr. Broad's 
 mind. 
 
 " Brother Bushel is no doubt quite justified in 
 his anxiety to avoid discussion, which will in all 
 probability lead to no useful result ; but, on the 
 
A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION. 369 
 
 other hand, it will be aa well, perhaps, to proceed 
 with caution." 
 
 " Well," ejaculated Bushel, " do as yer like ; 
 you'll see you'll get in an argyfication and a mess, 
 you take my word on it." 
 
 " Suppose," said Mr. Broad, his face shining as 
 he spoke, " we hit upon a third course, the via 
 media, you know, Brother Scotton " — (Brother 
 Scotton nodded approvingly, as much as to say, " I 
 know ; but how about Bushel ? ") — " the via media, 
 and have a friendly meeting of the most influential 
 members of the church — a majority — and determine 
 upon a course of action, which we can afterwards 
 ratify at the formal meeting, at which the Aliens 
 will be present. "We shall in this way, it seems to 
 me, prevent much debate, and practically arrive at 
 a conclusion beforehand." 
 
 " Yes," said Scotton, very slowly. " I don't see, 
 at the present moment, any particular objection ; 
 but I should not like to commit myself." 
 
 " How does it strike you, Brother Bushel ? " 
 
 " Arter that, I suppose Scotton ull want some 
 
 sort of a dockyment sent. I'm agin all dockyments. 
 
 Why, what'll Allen do ? Take it over to Collins 
 
 — Mortimer — stamp it, ten -and -sixpenny stamp. 
 
 What will yer do then ? " 
 
 " No, Brother Bushel ; I apprehend that it will 
 
 2 A 
 
37o THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 be my duty as pastor to write to the Aliens a 
 simple letter — a simple pastoral letter — announcing 
 that a church meeting will be convened at a certain 
 hour in the vestry, to consider some statements — 
 charges — naming them — not going into unnecessary 
 detail, and requesting their attendance." 
 
 " That's better ; that wouldn't be a dockyment, 
 I s'pose ; and yet praps he might stamp that. 
 Resolution arterwards. Time they were out of it. 
 Come on, Wainwright, gettin' dark." 
 
 " Well then, we agree," said Mr. Broad — " hap- 
 pily agree ; and I trust that the Lord will yet 
 prosper His Zion, and heal the breaches thereof. 
 Will any of you take any refreshments before you 
 go ? Will you, Brother Bushel ? " 
 
 Brother Bushel did not believe in Mr. Broad's 
 refreshments, save those which were spiritual, and 
 declined them with some abruptness, preferring 
 much a glass of hot brown brandy and water at 
 the inn where his horse was. Brother Wainwright 
 would have taken anything, but was bound to 
 follow Brother Bushel, who was about to give him 
 a lift homewards ; and Brother Scotton was a tee- 
 totaller, one of the first who was converted to 
 total abstinence in Cowfold, and just a trifle sus- 
 pected at Tanner's Lane, and by Bushel in particular, 
 on that account. Water-drinking was not a heresy 
 
 
A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION. 371 
 
 to which any definite objection could be raised ; 
 but Tanner's Lane always felt that if once a man 
 differed so far from his fellows as not to drink 
 beer and spirits, there was no knowing where the 
 division might end. " It was the thin end of the 
 wedge," Mr. Broad observed confidentially to Bushel 
 once when the subject was mentioned. 
 
 The preliminary meeting, therefore, was held, 
 and Mr. Broad having communicated the charges 
 against the Aliens — absenting themselves from 
 public worship, disturbance of the peace of the 
 church, intercourse with infidel associates, and 
 finally, so far as George was concerned, " ques- 
 tionable behaviour," as Mr. Broad delicately put 
 it, " with an infidel female " — it was determined 
 to call them to account. There was some difference 
 of opinion, however. It was thought by some that 
 all reference to the election, direct or indirect, 
 should be avoided, for the majority in Tanner's 
 Lane was certainly not Tory. But Brother Bushel 
 seemed to consider this the head and front of the 
 offence, and declared that if this were not part 
 of the indictment he would resign. He also was 
 opposed to giving the Aliens any information before- 
 hand, and, if he had been allowed to have his own 
 way, would not have permitted them to attend. He 
 would have them " cut off," he said, " there and 
 
372 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 then, summararlilly." He got into great difficulties 
 with this last word, and before he could get rid of it 
 had to shake his head several times. Others thought 
 it would be dangerous to act in this style ; and there 
 seemed no chance of any agreement, until Mr. Broad 
 once more " healed the incipient division " by pro- 
 posing another via media, which was carried. It 
 was determined that there should be only an allusion 
 to the political charge. It was to be subsidiary. In 
 fact, it was not to be a political charge at all, but 
 a moral charge, although, as Mr. Broad privately 
 explained to Brother Bushel, it would come to the 
 same thing in the end. Then Mr. Broad, as he had 
 suggested at an earlier stage, was himself to write a 
 letter to the Aliens, stating in " general terms " the 
 dissatisfaction felt by the church and its minister 
 with them, and requesting their appearance in the 
 vestry on the day named. Brother Scotton was 
 still malcontent, but as he was in a minority he 
 held his peace. He resolved, however, on his own 
 account, to acquaint the Aliens with what had 
 happened, and prepare them. They were no par- 
 ticular friends of his, but Bushel also was no 
 particular friend, and his auctioneering trade had 
 at least educated him, in the disputes amongst 
 buyers, to hold the scales of justice a little more 
 evenly than they were held by Bushel's hands. 
 
A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION. 373 
 
 Neither George nor his father were much dis- 
 turbed by any of the items in Scotton's informa- 
 tion, nor by Mr. Broad's letter, save the reference 
 to Pauline. It is true it was very remote, but the 
 meaning, especially after Scotton's explanation, was 
 obvious, and George was in a fury which his father 
 found it very difficult to repress. For himself 
 George did not care, but he did care that Pauline's 
 name should not be dragged into the wretched 
 squabble. Father and son both agreed that the 
 case should be laid before Zachariah ; but when 
 Mr. Allen came back from London he merely 
 said, in answer to George's inquiries, that Zachariah 
 and himself were in perfect accord, and that at 
 the meeting George was not to interfere. 
 
( 374 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING — LATIMER 
 CHAPEL. 
 
 The eventful evening at last arrived. It had been 
 announced from the pulpit on the Sunday before 
 that a special meeting of the church would be held 
 on the following Wednesday to consider certain 
 questions of discipline — nothing more — as it was 
 not thought proper before the general congregation 
 to introduce matters with which the church alone 
 was qualified to deal. Everybody, however, knew 
 what was intended, and when Wednesday night 
 came the vestry was crowded. Mr. Broad sat in a 
 seat slightly elevated at the end of the room, with a 
 desk before him. On his right hand was Brother 
 Bushel, on the left was Brother Scotton, and on the 
 front bench were Brother Wainwright and a few of 
 the more important members, amongst whom was 
 Thomas Broad, who, although it was a week-day, 
 was in full ministerial costume ; that is to say, he 
 
MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING. 375 
 
 wore his black — not pepper-and-salt — trousers and 
 a white neckerchief. Mr. Allen and George were at 
 the back of the room. There were no women there, 
 for although women were members as well as men, 
 it was always an understood thing at Tanner's Lane 
 that they were to take no part in the business of 
 the community. Seven o'clock having struck, Mr. 
 Broad rose and said, " Let us pray." He prayed 
 for about ten minutes, and besought the Almighty 
 to shed abroad His Holy Spirit upon them for their 
 guidance. As the chosen people had been brought 
 through the wilderness*and delivered from the mani- 
 fold perils therein, so God, he hoped, would lead 
 His flock then assembled through the dangers which 
 encompassed them. Oh that they might be wise 
 as serpents and harmless as doves ! Might they 
 for ever cleave to the faith once delivered to the 
 saints ! Might they never be led astray to doubt 
 the efficacy of the Blood of the Atonement once 
 offered by the Son of God ! Might they, through 
 their Saviour's merits, secure at last an entrance into 
 those mansions where all the saints of God, those 
 faithful souls whom He had elected as His own, 
 of His own eternal foreknowledge, would abide for 
 ever, in full fruition of the joys promised in His 
 Word. 
 
 The prayer over, Mr. Broad rose and said that 
 
376 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 lie was there that night to discharge a most painful 
 duty — one which, if he had taken counsel with flesh 
 and blood, he would most gladly have avoided. But 
 he was a humble servant of their common Lord and 
 Master. It behoved him to cease not to warn every 
 one night and day ; to remember that the Holy 
 Ghost had made him an overseer to feed the church 
 of God which He had purchased with His precious 
 blood. He had done nothing in this matter with- 
 out constant recurrence to the footstool of grace, 
 and he had also consulted with some of his dear 
 brethren in Christ whom he saw near him. They 
 would have observed that Brother Allen and his 
 family had for some time absented themselves from 
 the means of grace. He should have said nothing 
 upon this point if they had joined any other Christian 
 community. If even they had attended the Estab- 
 lished Church, he would have been silent, for he was 
 free to confess that in other religious bodies besides 
 their own God had faithful servants who held fast 
 to the fundamental doctrines of His Book. But it 
 was notorious, alas ! that his dear brother had gone 
 nowhere ! In the face of the apostolic command 
 not to forsake the assembling of themselves together, 
 what could they do but suspect that his dear 
 brothers belief had been undermined — sapped, he 
 would say ? But to that point he would return 
 
MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING. 377 
 
 presently. Then, again, they were all familiar with 
 the circumstances attending the late political con- 
 test in the county. He knew that many of his 
 dear brethren differed one from another concerning 
 matters relating to this world, although they were 
 all, blessed be God, one in Christ, members of His 
 Body. He himself had thought it better to follow, 
 as far as he could, the example of his Lord and 
 Master to render unto Csesar the things that are 
 Caesar's, and to lead a quiet and peaceable life in all 
 godliness and honesty. He would not for a moment, 
 however, condemn any who differed from him in 
 carnal policy. But his dear Brother Allen and his 
 son had overstepped the line ; and, considering this 
 was a mixed church, he was of opinion that they 
 should have acted — what should he say ? — with more 
 Christian consideration. More than this, Mr. George 
 Allen was known to have abetted an unruly mob, 
 a position highly unbecoming, he might say, to 
 one occupying the position of member at Tanner's 
 Lane. But he might, perhaps, be permitted to dwell 
 for a moment on another point. His dear Brother 
 Allen and his son had — there was no doubt of it — con- 
 sorted with infidels, one of whom had been convicted 
 by the laws of his country — a convict — and it was 
 through their instrumentality that his brethren 
 had been led to wander from the fold. This was 
 
378 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 the secret of the calamity which had overtaken the 
 church. Wolves, he would say — yes, wolves, grievous 
 wolves — had entered in, not sparing the flock. Let 
 them consider what an Infidel was ! It meant a 
 man who denied his Maker, Revelation, a life beyond 
 the grave, and who made awful jests upon the Holy 
 Scriptures ! He had evidence that in this miser- 
 able household there was a portrait of that dread- 
 ful blasphemer Voltaire, who on his deathbed cried 
 out in vain for that salvation which he had so 
 impiously refused, and amidst shrieks of despair, 
 which chilled with terror those who stood by him, 
 was carried off by the Enemy of Souls to the lake 
 that burneth with brimstone, where their worm 
 dieth not and the fire is not quenched. — (Sensation.) 
 (This was a famous paragraph in one of Mr. Broad's 
 sermons preached on great occasions, and particularly 
 when he supplied a metropolitan pulpit. The story 
 had been contradicted twice in the county paper by 
 a Frenchman, a retired teacher of his native language, 
 who had somehow heard of the insult offered to his 
 great countryman, and a copy of the contradiction 
 had been sent to Mr. Broad. He was content with 
 observing that its author was a Frenchman, and 
 therefore probably an atheist, " with no consciousness 
 of moral obligation." Voltaire's diabolic disappear- 
 ance continued, therefore, to be one of Mr. Broad's 
 
MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING. 379 
 
 most striking effects.) — This was a subject of great 
 delicacy. They knew how closely related he was to 
 Brother Allen through that dear saint now in glory. 
 He did not — he could not — (Mr. Broad seemed to be 
 affected) — allude in any detail to what had happened; 
 but still it was his duty to point out that Mr. 
 George Allen had been in constant intercourse with 
 a female in an infidel family — yes, before his wife's 
 death he had been seen with her alone ! Alone 
 with an infidel female ! He only hoped that the 
 knowledge of this fact did not accelerate the depar- 
 ture of his blessed daughter — daughter in the flesh 
 and daughter in Christ. He could not measure the 
 extent of that intercourse ; the Searcher of hearts 
 alone could do that, save the parties concerned ; 
 but, of course, as she was an unbeliever, they must 
 fear the worst. For himself, he had felt that this 
 was the root of everything. They would judge for 
 themselves how fervently he must have appealed to 
 the Mercy-seat, considering his position and relation- 
 ship with his dear brother, before he had seen his 
 way to take the present course ; but at last God had 
 revealed Himself to him, and he now committed the 
 case to them. Might God have mercy on them, 
 and His Spirit lead them. 
 
 Mr. Allen and George had scarcely restrained 
 themselves, and George, notwithstanding his father's 
 
380 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 injunction, leapt up before the concluding sentences 
 were out of Mr. Broad's mouth. Mr. Scotton, how- 
 ever, rose, and Mr. Allen pulled George down. 
 Mr. Scotton wished to say just one word. They 
 could not, he was sure, overestimate the gravity of 
 the situation. They were called together upon a 
 most solemn occasion. Their worthy pastor had 
 spoken as a minister of the gospel. He, Mr. 
 Scotton, as a layman, wished just to remind them 
 that they were exercising judicial functions, — 
 (Brother Bushel fidgeted and got very red) — and 
 that it was necessary they should proceed in proper 
 order. With regard to two of the charges, the 
 evidence was fully before them ; that is to say, 
 absence from public worship and what might 
 perhaps be thought want of consideration for the 
 peace of the church. — (" Praps," grunted Bushel 
 — " praps indeed.") — But with regard to the third 
 charge, the evidence was not before them, and as 
 this was the most important of the three, he would 
 suggest before going any further that they should 
 hear what Mr. Broad could produce. 
 
 Brother Bushel objected. It was very seldom 
 indeed that he offered any remarks in public ; but 
 this time he could not refrain, and introduced him- 
 self at follows — 
 
 " Brother Scotton says ' praps.' I don't say 
 
MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING. 381 
 
 ' praps,' when people go settin' class agin class. 
 Praps nobody's windows was broke ! Evidence ! 
 Hasn't our minister told us George Allen has been 
 to London ? He wouldn't tell us an untruth. Due 
 respec', Brother Scotton — no lawyering — none of 
 that — of them functions — 'specially when it's infidels 
 and ricks may be afire — aught I know." 
 
 Mr. Broad interposed. He quite understood 
 Brother Bushel's ardour for the truth, but he was 
 prepared to produce some simple corroboration of 
 what he had affirmed, which would, he thought, 
 satisfy Brother Scotton and the brethren generally. 
 " Thomas," quoth Mr. Broad, " will you please step 
 forward and sav what you know ? " 
 
 Mr. Thomas thereupon advanced to the table, 
 and said it would ill become him to expatiate on 
 the present occasion. He would confine himself to 
 obeying the mandate of his father. He then re- 
 ported that he had been led to visit the Colemans 
 at first as friends of the Aliens, and not knowing 
 their devilish tendencies. God had, however, he 
 hoped, mercifully protected him. If it had not been 
 for God's grace, where might he not have been that 
 day ? It was true that they were disciples of the 
 French sceptic ; his likeness was on the walls ; his 
 books were on the bookshelves ! Mr. George Allen 
 had been in the habit of associating not only with 
 
382 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Mr. Coleman, but with the daughter, and with the 
 daughter alone ! as had already been stated. She 
 was also an infidel — more so, perhaps, than her 
 father ; and Satan had a way, as they all knew, of 
 instilling the deadly poison so seductively that un- 
 wary souls were often lost, lost, lost beyond recall, 
 before they could truly be said to be aware of it. 
 He wished, therefore, that evening to confess again, 
 as, indeed, he had just confessed before, that by grace 
 he had been saved. It is not of him that willeth, nor 
 of him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy. 
 He trembled to think how near he himself had been 
 to the pit of destruction, lured by the devices of the 
 great Enemy of Souls ; but praise be to God he had 
 been saved, not through his own merits, but through 
 the merits of his Redeemer. 
 
 Mr. Broad purred with pleasure during this 
 oration, and looked round on the audience for their 
 approval. 
 
 Mr. Allen was now completely quieted. The speech 
 had acted like a charm. He rose immediately — 
 
 " Mr. Broad," he said deliberately, but with 
 much emphasis — you might have heard a pin drop 
 — " the value of the testimony just given depends 
 upon the character of the witness. May I ask him 
 to explain how he came oy that scar on the hack of 
 his hand ? " 
 
MR BROADS LAST CHURCH MEETING. 383 
 
 Mr. Allen remained standing. There was no sign 
 of an answer. He sat down for a moment, but 
 still there was no movement. He rose again — 
 
 " Mr. Broad, as there is no reply, will you permit 
 me to give the explanation ? " 
 
 Mr. Thomas Broad then slowly erected himself 
 near the table at which his father was sitting. 
 He held on by it hard, and gulped down half a 
 glass of water which was there. His tallowy face 
 looked more tallowy than ever, and his voice 
 shook most unpleasantly as he was just heard to 
 say that he did not know with what object the 
 question was put — that it — that it — seemed — seemed 
 irrel — irrelev — and these were the last syllables ever 
 heard from the lips of Mr. Thomas in Tanner's 
 Lane, for he dropped into his seat and apparently 
 fainted. There was great confusion while his re- 
 covery was attempted. He was conveyed into the 
 chapel, more water was given him, smelling-salts 
 applied, and in due time he regained his senses ; but 
 his father, on his return to the vestry, announced 
 that after what had happened the meeting had 
 perhaps better be adjourned. He felt it impossible 
 to go any further just then. Tanner's Lane Church, 
 therefore, departed, much musing, and was never 
 again summoned on that business. Mr. Allen had 
 some thoughts of demanding another meeting and 
 
384 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 a formal acquittal, but the pastor was suddenly- 
 struck with paralysis, and although he lingered for 
 nearly two years, he preached no more. So it came 
 to pass that George and his father are on the church 
 books till this day. There was, of course, endless 
 gossip as to the meaning of Mr. Allen's appeal. 
 Whether George ever knew what it was is more 
 than I can say, but it is certain that Cowfold never 
 knew. Mr. Allen always resolutely repelled all 
 questions, saying that it would be time enough to 
 go further when he was next attacked. The Broads, 
 mother and daughter, asserted that no doubt 
 Thomas had a mark upon the back of his hand, but 
 that it had been caused by a nail in a fence, and 
 that he had fainted through indisposition. This 
 theory, however, was obviously ridiculous, for Mr. 
 Allen's reference had no meaning if Thomas had 
 met with a simple accident. Mrs. Broad saw that 
 her son's explanation, greatly as she trusted him, 
 was weak, and at last Thomas, with Christian com- 
 punction, admitted that the fence was the palings 
 of the College garden, over which he had once 
 clambered when he was too late for admittance at 
 the College gates. This was true. Mr. Thomas, 
 on the very evening of his interview with Pauline, 
 had obtained admission over the palings, had been 
 detected, and there had been an inquiry by the 
 
MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING. 385 
 
 authorities ; but the scar, as we know, had another 
 origin. Mrs. Broad was compelled to circulate this 
 story, and accompanied it with many apologies and 
 much regret. It was the sorrow of her life, she 
 said ; but, at the same time, she must add that her 
 son was delayed by no fault of his. The President 
 had investigated the matter, and had contented 
 himself with a reprimand. Her friends would 
 understand that Thomas would prefer, under the 
 circumstances, not to visit Cowfold again, and, 
 considering her dear husband's sickness, she could 
 not advise that the prosecution of the Aliens should 
 be pressed. 
 
 Cowfold, however, was not satisfied. Mr. Allen 
 would not, as a man of the world, have thought 
 so much of such an indiscretion. Why was Mr. 
 Thomas late ? Cowfold could not endure simple 
 suspense of judgment. Any theory, however wild, 
 is more tolerable than a confession that the facts 
 are not sufficient for a decision, and the common 
 opinion, corroborated, it was declared, by surest 
 testimony, was that Mr. Thomas had been to the 
 theatre. There was not a tittle of evidence to 
 support this story, but everybody was certain it was 
 true. Everybody repeated it, and constant repetition 
 will harden the loosest hearsay into a creed far more 
 unshakable than faith in the law of gravity. 
 
 2 B 
 
J 
 
 86 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 Just before Mr. Broad's last illness, the secession 
 of the Aliens was imitated by about twenty of the 
 younger members of the congregation, who met 
 together on Sunday, under Mr. Allen's guidance, 
 and worshipped by themselves, each of them in 
 turn making some attempt at an exposition of the 
 Bible and a short address. By the time Mr. Broad 
 died Tanner's Lane had sunk very low ; but when 
 his successor was chosen the seceders exercised their 
 rights, and were strong enough to elect a student 
 fresh from college, who had taken an M.A. degree at 
 the University of London. He preached his first 
 sermon from the text, " I am crucified with Christ," 
 and told his hearers, with fluent self-confidence, that 
 salvation meant perfect sympathy with Christ — " Not 
 I, but Christ liveth in me ; " that the office of Christ 
 was not to reconcile God to man, but man to God ; 
 and this is effected in proportion as Christ dwells in 
 us, bringing us more and more into harmony with 
 the Divine. The Atonement is indeed the central 
 doctrine, the pivot of Christianity, but it is an atone- 
 ment, a making of one mind. To which Tanner's 
 Lane listened with much wonderment, and not 
 without uncomfortable mental disturbance, the elder 
 members complaining particularly that this was not 
 the simple gospel, and that the trumpet gave an 
 uncertain sound. But the opposition gradually 
 
MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING. 387 
 
 died out ; the meeting-house was rebuilt, and called 
 Latimer Chapel. The afternoon service was dropped 
 and turned into a service for the Sunday-school 
 children ; an organ was bought and a choir trained ; 
 the minister gave week-day lectures on secular 
 subjects, and became a trustee of the Cowfold 
 charity schools, recently enlarged under a new 
 scheme. He brought home a wife one day who 
 could read German ; he joined the County Archseo- 
 logical Society, and wrote a paper on the discoveries 
 made when the railway station was built on what 
 was supposed to be an ancient British encampment. 
 For Cowfold was to become an important junction 
 on the new line to the north, and Mr. Bushel's 
 death had been accelerated by vexation through 
 seeing a survey carried across his own fields. 
 
 As for Mrs. Broad and Tryphosa, they left Cow- 
 fold and went into Lancashire, to be near uncle 
 Flavel. George, notwithstanding the new doctrine 
 in Latimer Chapel and the improvement in the 
 Cowfold atmosphere, was restless, and before the 
 revolution just described was completed, had been 
 entirely overcome with a desire to emigrate with 
 his child. His father and mother not only did 
 not oppose, but decided to accompany him. Mr. 
 Allen had saved money, and though he and his 
 wife were getting on in years, there was nothing 
 
388 THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE. 
 
 in either of them of that subsidence into indifferent 
 sloth which is the great mistake of advancing age. 
 Both were keen in their desire to know the last 
 new thing, eager to recognise the last new truth, 
 forgetful of the past, dwelling in the present, and, 
 consequently, they remained young. They were 
 younger, at any rate, just now than George ; and 
 it was his, not exactly melancholy, but lack of 
 zest for life which mainly induced them so readily 
 to assent to his plans. One bright June morning, 
 therefore, saw them, with their children, on the 
 deck of the Liverpool vessel which was to take 
 them to America. Oh day of days when, after years 
 of limitation, monotony, and embarrassment, we see 
 it all behind us, and face a new future with an 
 illimitable prospect ! George once more felt his 
 bosom's lord sit lightly on his throne ; once more 
 felt that the sunlight and blue sky were able to 
 cheer him. So they went away to the West, and 
 we take leave of them. 
 
 What became of Zachariah and Pauline? At 
 present I do not know. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON. 
 
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