m t f ? 3™iS3 002fe0221 2 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from LYRASIS members and Sloan Foundation http://www.archive.org/details/josephrushbrookoOOmarr THE NOVELS OF CAPTAIN MARRYAT EDITED BY R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON This Edition of Captain Marry a? s Novels, made exclusively for members of the NEW YORK YACHT CLUB is strictly limited to one hundred copies. " m €^%i^t2<^L-*~QPaj Copy No. / O PRINTED FOR H. A. VAN HEW, Esq. NEW YORK YACHT CLUB EDITION JOSEPH RUSHBROOK OR THE POACHER BY CAPTAIN MARRY AT NEW YORK CROSCUP AND COMPANY MDCCCXCVI Contents . PAGE Chapter i . < I Chapter ii > 7 Chapter hi i3 Chapter iv 17 Chapter v 2 3 Chapter vi 27 Chapter vii 34 Chapter vhi 37 Chapter ix 40 Chapter x 47 Chapter xi 55 Chapter xii 61 Chapter xiii 64 Chapter xiv 73 Chapter xv 79 Chapter xvi 90 Chapter xvii 93 Chapter xvih 99 Chapter xix 104 Chapter xx 108 Chapter xxi "3 Chapter xxii . a 118 Chapter xxiii „ a 4 132 VI Contents PAGE Chapter xxiv . « , I4O Chapter xxv . 145 Chapter xxvi . X 54 Chapter xxvii . 165 Chapter xxviii . . . I 7 8 Chapter xxix - . . , I96 Chapter xxx . 202 Chapter xxxi . . . 207 Chapter xxxii . 212 Chapter xxxiii . 215 Chapter xxxiv . 224 Chapter xxxv .. 234 Chapter xxxvi , 24O Chapter xxxvii . „ , , 246 Chapter xxxviii . . , 2 53 Chapter xxxix . . 260 Chapter xl , 266 Chapter xli . 272 Chapter xlh «, 278 Chapter xliii . 281 Chapter xliv . , 298 Chapter xlv . . , 308 Chapter xlvi . • . < 3*7 Chapter xlvii . « . 321 Chapter xltiii • , 326 Chapter xlix . . . , 332 Chapter l * « , 336 List of Etchings The only reply was the flash and report of the gun Frontispiece PAGE "It's no use coming down, Nancy, I tell you" . 135 " do you observe the extreme beauty of that passage?" 2o4 Both Mrs Phillips and Mr Small perceived how matters stood . . . » 260 I was continually attended by Miriam * .290 " Murder's the matter, my jewel " . . . 327 Drawn and Etched by J. Ayton Symington. rti Prefatory Note JOSEPH Rushbrook first appeared as a serial in the Era newspaper, and subsequently in three volumes, under the title of The Poacher ; brought out at the publisher's expense, the author receiving two-thirds of the profits, and ^400 in anticipation of them. Captain Marryat was abused for condescending to write in a newspaper by some contributor to Eraser's Magazine, to whom he made the following reply (partially quoted in the general introduction to this edition) : " In your critique upon Mr Ainsworth's Tower of London, you have expressed an opinion that, as an author, I have shown a want of self-respect in contributing the tale of The Poacher to this weekly paper. I will quote your words before I reply : — "'If writing monthly fragments threatened to deteriorate Mr Ainsworth's productions, what must be the result of this hebdomadal habit ? Captain Marryat, we are sorry to see, has taken to the same line. Both these popular authors may rely upon our warning, that they will live to see their laurels fade unless they more carefully cultivate a spirit of self-respect. That which was venial in a miserable starveling of Grub Street is perfectly disgusting in the ex- travagantly paid novelists of these days— the caressed of generous booksellers. Mr Ainsworth and Captain Marryat ought to disdain such pit iful peddling. Let them eschew it without delay.' " In other portions of your critique you have stated that the serial system is detrimental to the reputation of authors, inasmuch as they are too apt to wait to the last moment and write in a hurry. I take up this single point first, that x Prefatory Note I may dismiss it at once, as far as regards myself, by observing that, whether I appear hebdomadally or monthly, my writings, such as they are, will be no better or worse than if they first appeared in three volumes. I am too old a sailor to venture into action without plenty of powder and shot in the locker ; the two first volumes of this tale were written before one number appeared in the Era, and the remainder is now completed. " You are not the only party who has ventured to make the remark to me that they considered it was infra dig. that I should write in a weekly newspaper j but you certainly are the first who has ventured to pronounce it as perfectly disgusting and as pitiful peddling. Had it not been for such unqualified harsh terms, I probably should have made no reply to your observations. "If I understand rightly the term pit iful peddling, it would intimate that I had been induced by a larger sum than is usually offered for contributing to monthly periodicals to write for a weekly paper. If such is your impression you are very much in error ; for I now assert, and, were it worth the trouble, could easily establish, that the very contrary is the case ; and that, had I considered my own interests, I should have allowed The Poacher to have made its appearance in Mr Bentley's Miscellany, or Mr Colburn's New Monthly Magazine. " In the paragraph which I have quoted there is an im- plication on your part which I cannot pass over without comment. You appear to set up a standard of precedency and rank in literature, founded upon the rarity or frequency of an author's appearing before the public, the scale descending from the ' caressed of generous publishers,' to the ' starveling of Grub Street,' — the former, by your implication, constituting the aristocracy, and the latter the profanum vulgus of the quill. Now, although it is a fact that the larger and nobler animals of creation produce but slowly, while the lesser, such as rabbits, rats and mice, are remarkable for their fecundity, I do not think that the comparison will hold good as to the breeding of brains 5 ■ Prefatory Note xi and to prove it, let us examine — if this argument by implication of yours is good — at what grades upon the scale it would place the writers of the present day. " My lady — anybody — produces a novel but once a year ; of course she must be superior, nay, twice as good as Hook or James, whose conceptions are twice as rapid, twelve times better than the contributors to Blackivood, your own, or other monthly periodicals ; fifty-two times superior to the hebdomadal editors of the Examiner and Spectator, and three hundred and thirteen times to be preferred to the talented writers in the Times and other daily newspapers. You will find very few who will agree with you in this j indeed, I doubt if you would exactly approve of your own position in the scale which you have yourself laid down, You will agree with me that the great end of literature is to instruct and amuse, to make mankind wiser and better. If, therefore, an author writes with this end in view, and succeeds, you must admit that the greater is his circulation the more valuable are his labours. "Who are those, may I ask, who most require instruction, and I may add, amusement ? Are they not those who cannot afford to purchase the expensive literature of the present day, not even to delight themselves with the spirited pages of your magazine ? I do not pretend to compare my efforts with the concentrated talent exhibited monthly in your pages, but if I do reach the mass, and you do not, in spite of my inferiority I become the more useful of the two. " You assert it is beneath me to write for a weekly news- paper, taken in chiefly by the taverns frequented by the lower classes, and perused mainly by the mechanics and labourers of the country ; in short, that it is infra dig. in me to write for the poor man. I feel quite the contrary, and I would rather write for the instruction, or even the amusement of the poor than for the amusement of the rich ; and I would sooner raise a smile or create an interest in the honest mechanic or agricultural labourer who re- quires relaxation, than I would contribute to dispel the x Prefatory Note I may dismiss it at once, as far as regards myself, by observing that, whether I appear hebdomadally or monthly, my writings, such as they are, will be no better or worse than if they first appeared in three volumes. I am too old a sailor to venture into action without plenty of powder and shot in the locker ; the two first volumes of this tale were written before one number appeared in the Era, and the remainder is now completed. " You are not the only party who has ventured to make the remark to me that they considered it was infra dig. that I should write in a weekly newspaper j but you certainly are the first who has ventured to pronounce it as perfectly disgusting and as pitiful peddling. Had it not been for such unqualified harsh terms, I probably should have made no reply to your observations. "If I understand rightly the term pitiful peddling, it would intimate that I had been induced by a larger sum than is usually offered for contributing to monthly periodicals to write for a weekly paper. If such is your impression you are very much in error ; for I now assert, and, were it worth the trouble, could easily establish, that the very contrary is the case ; and that, had I considered my own interests, I should have allowed The Poacher to have made its appearance in Mr Bentley's Miscellany, or Mr Colburn's New Monthly Magazine. " In the paragraph which I have quoted there is an im- plication on your part which I cannot pass over without comment. You appear to set up a standard of precedency and rank in literature, founded upon the rarity or frequency of an author's appearing before the public, the scale descending from the ' caressed of generous publishers,' to the ' starveling of Grub Street,' — the former, by your implication, constituting the aristocracy, and the latter the profanum vulgus of the quill. Now, although it is a fact that the larger and nobler animals of creation produce but slowly, while the lesser, such as rabbits, rats and mice, are remarkable for their fecundity, I do not think that the comparison will hold good as to the breeding of brains 5 Prefatory Note xi and to prove it, let us examine — if this argument by implication of yours is good — at what grades upon the scale it would place the writers of the present day. " My lady — anybody — produces a novel but once a year j of course she must be superior, nay, twice as good as Hook or James, whose conceptions are twice as rapid, twelve times better than the contributors to Blackwood, your own, or other monthly periodicals ; fifty-two times superior to the hebdomadal editors of the Examiner and Spectator, and three hundred and thirteen times to be preferred to the talented writers in the Times and other daily newspapers. You will find very few who will agree with you in this ; indeed, I doubt if you would exactly approve of your own position in the scale which you have yourself laid down, You will agree with me that the great end of literature is to instruct and amuse, to make mankind wiser and better. If, therefore, an author writes with this end in view, and succeeds, you must admit that the greater is his circulation the more valuable are his labours. "Who are those, may I ask, who most require instruction, and I may add, amusement ? Are they not those who cannot afford to purchase the expensive literature of the present day, not even to delight themselves with the spirited pages of your magazine ? I do not pretend to compare my efforts with the concentrated talent exhibited monthly in your pages, but if I do reach the mass, and you do not, in spite of my inferiority I become the more useful of the two. " You assert it is beneath me to write for a weekly news- paper, taken in chiefly by the taverns frequented by the lower classes, and perused mainly by the mechanics and labourers of the country ; in short, that it is infra dig. in me to write for the poor man. I feel quite the contrary, and I would rather write for the instruction, or even the amusement of the poor than for the amusement of the rich ; and I would sooner raise a smile or create an interest in the honest mechanic or agricultural labourer who re- quires relaxation, than I would contribute to dispel the xii Prefatory Note ennui of those who loll on their couches and wonder in their idleness what they shall do next. Is the rich man only to be amused ? are mirth and laughter to be made a luxury, confined to the upper classes, and denied to the honest and hard-working artisan ? " I have latterly given my aid to cheap literature, and I consider that the most decided step which I have taken is the insertion of this tale in a weekly newspaper, by which means it will be widely disseminated among the lower classes, who, until lately (and the chief credit of the change is due to Mr Dickens), had hardly an idea of such re- creation. " In a moral point of view, I hold that I am right. We are educating the lower classes ; generations have sprung up who can read and write : and may I enquire what it is that they have to read in the way of amusement ?— for I speak not of the Bible, which is for private examina- tion. They have scarcely anything but the weekly news- papers, and, as they cannot command amusement, they prefer those which create the most excitement ; and this I believe to be the cause of the great circulation of the Weekly Dispatch, which has but too well succeeded in demoralising the public, in creating disaffection and ill- will towards the government, and assisting the nefarious views of demagogues and chartists. It is certain that men would rather laugh than cry — would rather be amused than rendered gloomy and discontented — would sooner dwell upon the joys or sorrows of others in a tale of fiction than brood over their own supposed wrongs. If I put good and wholesome food (and, as I trust, sound moral) before the lower classes, they will eventually eschew that which is coarse and disgusting, which is only resorted to because no better is supplied. Our weekly newspapers are at present little better than records of immorality and crime, and the effect which arises from having no other matter to read and comment upon is of serious injury to the morality of the country. So prone is our nature to evil, that the very exposition of dark deeds occasions more Prefatory Note xiii dark deeds to be perpetrated, and the weekly recitals of murders and stabbing, of insurrection, of bloodshed, and incendiarism, habituate those who have nothing to direct their attention from them to the deeds themselves, until they no longer appear to them formidable or revolting. "Fear God and honour the king" is a maxim inculcated to the youth of this country, and grows up with them : but if a man, week after week, and year after year, has naught to listen to but scoffs at religion, attacks upon church and clergy, treasonable outcries against the govern- ment, aristocracy, and monarchy itself, his best feelings are gradually warped ; the lessons of his youth are looked upon as fallacies ; without religion to guide him, loyalty to cheer him, and patriotism to exalt him, he becomes as a vessel without a rudder, at the mercy of every wind that blows ; easily persuaded to do wrong, and to find out too late the error which he has committed ; from a peace- ful, industrious, and contented man, he becomes gloomy, morose and discontented — a bad father and a worse husband — a misery to himself and dangerous to others. " I consider, therefore, that in writing for the amusement and instruction of the poor, I am doing that which has but been too much neglected — that I am serving my country, and you surely will agree with me that to do so is not infra dig. in the proudest Englishman ; and, as a Conservative, you should commend rather than stigmatise my endeavours in the manner which you have so hastily done. " Neither do I consider that the patrons of our expensive literature have any cause of complaint at the step which I have taken. When I have ministered to the wants of the humbler classes, I can wash my hands and face, put on clean linen, and make my appearance in the three aristocratic volumes which you consider as necessary to my self-respect. It will then be quite time enough to be caressed by generous publishers ! I What a splendid metaphor that is of yours ! How hope-inspiring ! for it refers, of course, to futurity. The golden era of literature xiv Prefatory Note approaches. Mercury, so long presiding over us, is at once unshipped from his pedestal ; the great Jove himself becomes our patron, and, to follow up your magnificent conception, authors in future are, I presume, like other Danaes, to await the descent of whichever Jupiter shall come down with the most plentiful ' shower of gold ! ' What a delightful, transporting vision for a pitiful, peddling, positively disgusting, self-constituted starveling of Grub Street, and his fraternity. I think I see an author now, his pen arrested in its progress, his eyes cast up to the ceiling, waiting for the appearance of his celestial descendant, totally indifferent as to whether it be Murray, Colburn, Bentley, the Siamese Juncta, Saunders and Otley, Whittaker, Chappell, or Tegg. Nay, so far from dreading, welcoming the near approach of that comet of Paternoster Row, the long-tailed firm of Longman, Orme, Longman, Brown, Rees, Longman and Company. " Caressed by generous publishers ! ! Truly, I may say that such a metaphor I never met afore. Authors must no longer write to their publishers in plain unvarnished language to inform them that they have books, like razors, to sell ; but, refined by your tuition, despatch a perfumed billet-doux with — ' My dear Colburn, or my dear Bentley -, are you inclined to caress me ? if so, come immediately, yours ever.' "Such a communication from many of our fair authoresses will, I have no doubt, be well received ; and I think I see Mr Bentley impatiently pulling on his boots, or Mr Colburn rubbing his hands with delight, till the carriage comes to the door; or Mr Longman, senior, with truly paternal solicitude, forbidding the disappointed Thomas or William from responding in person to the dangerous communication. " But a want of more time and space compels me to finish my prologue. The curtain rises, and once more the hebdomadal little Joey appears upon the scene." Edgar Allen Poe, in a foolishly scornful notice of The Poacher (" The Literati "), maintains that Furness, the Prefatory Note xv schoolmaster, is an "imitation of Fagin," and that "a second plagiarism is feebly attempted in the character of one Nancy, a trull, who is based upon the Nancy of Oliver Twist." He admits that " it has the merit of a homely and not unnatural simplicity of style, and is not destitute of pathos ; " but declares that " there are twenty young men of his acquaintance who make no pretension to literary ability, yet who could produce a better book in a week." More honest critics will give The Poacher a good position among domestic novels of adventure, in which class its author has made several successful attempts. The Poacher is here reprinted from the first edition in three volumes, Longman, Orme, Brown, Green and Co. 1 841. The Rencontre, always hitherto bound with this novel, has now been included in Olla Podrida. R. B. J. Joseph Rushbrook; OR, The Poacher Chapter I In which there is more ale than argument. It was on a blusterous windy night in the early part of November, 1812, that three men were on the high road near to the little village of Grassford, in the south of Devonshire. The moon was nearly at the full, but the wild scud, and occasionally the more opaque clouds, passed over it in such rapid succession, that it was rarely, and but for a moment or two, that the landscape was thrown into light and shadow ; and the wind, which was keen and piercing, bent and waved the leafless branches of the trees which were ranged along the hedge-rows, between which the road had been formed. The three individuals to whom we have referred, appeared all of them to have been indulging too freely in the ale which was sold at the public-house about half-a-mile from the village, and from which they had just departed. Two of them, however, comparatively speaking, sober, were assisting home, by their joint efforts, the third, who, supported between them, could with difficulty use his legs. Thus did they continue on ;. J.R. A 2 Joseph Rushbrook; or, the two swayed first on the one side of the road and then on the other by the weight of the third, whom they almost carried between them. At last they arrived at a bridge built over one of those impetuous streams so common in the county, when, as if by mutual under- standing, for it was without speaking, the two more sober deposited the body of the third against the parapet of the bridge, and then for some time were silently occupied in recovering their breath. One of the two who remained leaning on the parapet by the side of their almost lifeless companion was a man of about forty years of age, tall and slender, dressed in a worn-out black coat, and a pair of trousers much too short for him, the original colour of which it would have been difficult to have surmised ; a sort of clerical hat, equally the worse for wear, was on his head. Although his habiliments were mean, still there was something about his appearance which told of better days, and of having moved in a different sphere in society, and such had been the case. Some years before he had been the head of a grammar school with a comfortable income, but a habit of drinking had been his ruin ; and he was now the preceptor of the village of Grassford, and gained his livelihood by instructing the children of the cottagers for the small modicum of twopence a head per week. This unfortunate propensity to liquor remained with him ; and he no sooner received his weekly stipend than he hastened to drown his cares, and the recollection of his former position, at the ale-house which they had just quitted. The second personage whom we shall introduce, was not of a corresponding height with the other ; he was broad, square-chested, and short — dressed in knee- breeches, leggings, and laced boots — his coat being of a thick fustian, and cut short like a shooting-jacket ; his profession was that of a pedlar. " It's odd to me," said the pedlar, at last breaking silence as he looked down upon the drunken man who laid at his feet, " why ale should take a man off his The Poacher 3 legs ; they say hat liquor gets into the head, not the feet." "Well!" replied the schoolmaster, who was much more inebriated than the pedlar, " there's argument even in that ; and, you see, the perpendicular deviation must arise from the head being too heavy — that's clear 5 and then, you see, the feet, from the centre of gravity being destroyed, become too light ; and if you put that and that together, why, a man can't stand — you understand my demonstration ? " " It was heavy wet, that ale, and so I suppose it's all right," replied the pedlar ; " but still ale an't poured into the head or into the feet of a man, but into the internals, which are right in the middle of a man — so, how you make out your case, Mr Furness ? " " Why ! Byres, you talk of the residuum." " Never said a word about it ; and, as I stand here, never even heard the word before." " Perhaps not j the residuum is, you see, Byres, what is left." " If that's residguim, I didn't mean to say a word about it — there was none left, for you drained the pot." " Good Byres, you have never been to college, that's clear. Now, observe, when a man pours down into his stomach a certain quantity of liquor, the spirituous or lighter part ascends to his head, and that makes his head heavy. Do you understand ? " " No ; what's light can't make things heavy." " Can't it ? — you know nothing about the matter. Have you not a proof before you ? " replied the school- master, reeling and catching hold of the parapet for support, " Look at that unfortunate man, who has yielded to excess." " Very true ! I see that he's drunk, but I want to know how it is that he got drunk ? " " By drinking." " That I knew before." " Then why ask more questions ? Had we not better 4 Joseph Rushbrook; or, proceed, and take him home to his expectant and unhappy wife ? 'Tis a sad, sad thing, that a man should ' put an enemy into his mouth to steal away his brains.' " "Half a pint will do that with Rushbrook," replied the pedlar j " they say that he was wounded on his head, and that half his brains are gone already, and that's why he has a pension." " Yes, seventeen pounds a-year ; paid quarterly, with- out deduction, and only to walk four miles to get it," replied Furness; "yet how misplaced is the liberality on the part of the government. Does he work ? No ; he does nothing but drink and lie in bed all day, while I must be up early and remain late, teaching the young idea at two- pence per week. Friend Byres, ' mercy is not itself which oft looks so.' Now, it is my opinion that it would be a kindness to this poor wretch if we were to toss him, as he now is, over the bridge into the rushing stream — it would end all his troubles." '.' And save us the trouble of getting him home," replied Byres, who determined to humour his more in- ebriated companion. "Well, Mr Furness, I've no objec- tion." " Why should he live ? Is he not a sinecurist — one of the locusts who fatten on the sweat and blood of the people, as the Sunday paper says ? don't you remember my reading it this morning ? " "Very true, Master Furness j what d'ye say then? shall we over with him ? " "We must think a little," replied the schoolmaster, who put his hand up to his chin, and remained silent for a minute or two. "No," resumed he at last, "on second thoughts I cannot do it. He halves his beer with me. No pension — no beer, that's a self-evident proposition and conclusion. It were ingratitude on my part, and I cannot consent to your proposal," continued the schoolmaster ; " nay, more, I will defend him against your murderous intentions to the very last." "Why, Master Furness, you must be somewhat the The Poacher 5 worse for liquor yourself, it was your proposal to throw him over the bridge, not mine." " Take care what you say," replied the schoolmaster j " would you accuse me of murder or intent to murder ?" " No, not by no means — only you proposed heaving him over the bridge ; I will say that." " Friend Byres, it's my opinion you'll say anything but your prayers j but in your present state I overlook it. Let us go on, or I shall have two men to carry home instead of one. Come, now, take one of his arms, while I take the other, and raise him up. It is but a quarter of a mile to the cottage." Byres, who, as we observed, was by far the most sober of the two, did not think it worth while to reply to the pedagogue. After a few staggers on the part of the latter, their comrade was raised up and led away between them. The drunken man appeared to be so far aware of what was going on that he moved his legs mechanically, and in a short time they arrived at the cottage door, which the pedagogue struck with his fist so as to make it rattle on its hinges. The door was opened by a tall handsome woman, holding a candle in her hand. " I thought so," said she, shaking her head, " the old story ; now, he will be ill all night, and not get up till noon. What a weary life it is with a drunken husband ! Bring him in, and thank you kindly for your trouble." " It has been hard work and hot work," observed the schoolmaster, sitting down in a chair, after they had placed their comrade on the bed. "Indeed, and it must be," replied the wife. "Will you have a drop of small beer, Mr Furness ? " " Yes, if you please, and so will Mr Byres too. What a pity it is your good man will not keep to small beer ! " " Yes, indeed," replied the wife, who went into the back premises, and soon returned with a quart mug of beer. 6 Joseph Rushbrook; or, The schoolmaster emptied half the mug, and then handed it to the pedlar. " And my little friend Joey, fast asleep, I'll warrant ? " " Yes, poor child, and so should I have been by this time ; the clock has gone twelve." "Well, Mrs Rushbrook, I wish you a good-night. Come, Mr Byres, Mrs Rushbrook must want to be in bed." " Good-night, Mr Furness, and good-night, sir, and many thanks." The schoolmaster and pedlar quitted the cottage. Mrs Rushbrook, after having watched them for a minute, carefully closed the door. " They're gone now," said she, as she returned to her husband. What would have created much astonishment could anybody else have witnessed it, as soon as his wife had spoken, Rushbrook immediately sprung upon his feet, a fine-looking man, six feet in height, very erect in his bearing — and proved to be perfectly sober. " Jane, my dear," said he, " there never was such a night ; but I must be quick, and lose no time. Is my gun ready ? " " Everything's ready ; Joey is lying down on his bed, but all ready dressed, and he awakes in a minute." " Call him, then, for there is no time to lose. That drunken fool, Furness, proposed throwing me over the bridge. It was lucky for them that they did not try it, or I should have been obliged to settle them both, that they might tell no tales. Where's Mum ? " " In the wash-house. I'll bring him and Joey directly." The wife left the room, while Rushbrook took down his gun and ammunition, and prepared himself for his ex- pedition. In a minute or two a shepherd's dog, which had been released from the wash-house, made his appear- ance, and quietly laid down close to his master's feet ; it was soon followed by Mrs R., accompanied by Joey, a thin meagre-looking boy of about twelve years old, very The Poacher 7 small for his age, but apparently as active as a cat, and with energy corresponding. No one would have thought he had been roused from his sleep ; there was no yawning or weariness of motion — on the contrary, his large eye was as bright as an eagle's, as he quietly although quickly provided himself with a sack, which he threw over his shoulders, and a coil of line, which he held in his hand, waiting until his father was ready to start. The wife put out the lights, softly opened the cottage-door, looked well round, and then returned to her husband, who, giving a low whistle as a summons to Joey and the dog, walked out of the door. Not a word was spoken — the door was softly shut to — and the trio crept stealthily away. Chapter II In which the hero of the tale is formally introduced. Before we proceed with our narrative, perhaps it will be better to explain what may appear very strange to the reader. Joseph Rushbrook, who has just left the cottage with his son and his dog, was born in the village in which he was then residing. During his younger days, some forty years previous to his present introduction to the reader, the law was not so severe or the measures taken against poachers so strong as they were at the period of which we write. In his youth he had been very fond of carrying a gun — as his father had been before him — but he never was discovered ; and after having poached for many years and gained a perfect knowledge of the country for miles round, he was per- suaded, in a fit of semi-intoxication, at a neighbouring fair, to enlist in a marching regiment. He had not been more than three months at the depot when he was ordered out to India, where he remained eleven years before he was recalled. He had scarcely been six months in England when the exigency of the war demanded the services of 8 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, the regiment in the Mediterranean, where he remained for twelve years, and having received a severe wound in the head, he was then pensioned off and discharged. He resolved to return to his native village, and settle down quietly, hoping by moderate labour and his pension to gain a comfortable living. On his return he was hardly known ; many had emigrated to a foreign clime j many had been transported for offences against the laws, particularly for the offence of poaching, and as most of his former allies had been so employed, he found himself almost a stranger where he expected to meet with friends. The property also about the village had changed hands. People recollected Squire So and So, and the Baronet, but now their lands were held by wealthy manufacturers or retired merchants. All was new to Joe Rushbrook, and he felt himself anywhere but at home. Jane Ashley, a very beautiful young woman, who was in service at the Hall, the mansion appertaining to the adjacent pro- perty, and the daughter of one of his earliest friends who had been transported for poaching, was almost the only one who could talk to him after his absence of twenty- four years ; not that she knew the people at the time, for she was then an infant, but she had grown up with them after Joe had left, and could narrate anecdotes of them and what had been their eventual destinies. Jane having been the daughter of a man who had been transported for poaching, was to Joe a sort of recommendation, and it ended in his taking her for his wife. They had not been long settled in their cottage before Joe's former propensities returned ; in fact, he could not be idle, he had carried a musket too long, and had lived such a life of excitement in the service of his country, that he found it impossible to exist without shooting at something. All his former love of poaching came strong upon him, and his wife, so far from checking him, encouraged him in his feelings. The consequence was, that two years after his marriage Joe Rushbrook was the most determined poacher in the county. Although often suspected, he The Poacher 9 had never been detected ; one great cause of this was his appearing to be such a drunkard, a plan hit upon by his wife, who had observed that drunken men were not suspected of being poachers. This scheme had therefore been hit upon, and very successfully j for proving before a magistrate that a man was carried home dead drunk and speechless at midnight, was quite as good an alibi as could be brought forward. Joe Rushbrook had, therefore, the credit of being a worthless, drunken fellow, who lived upon his pension and what his wife could earn ; but no one had an idea that he was not only earning his livelihood, but laying by money from his successful night-labours. Not that Joe did not like a drop occasionally; on the contrary, he would sometimes drink freely — but, generally speaking, the wounds in his head were complained of, and he would, if the wind was fresh and set in the right quarter, contrive to be carried home on the night in which he had most work to do. Such was the case, as we have represented in the first chapter. Little Joey, who, as the reader may anticipate, will be our future hero, was born the first year after the marriage, and was their only child. He was a quiet, thoughtful, reflective boy for his years — and had imbibed his father's love of walking out on a dark night to an extraordinary degree ; it was strange to see how much prudence there was, mingled with the love of adventure, in this lad. True it is, his father had trained him early, first to examine the snares and conceal the game, which a little shrimp like Joey could do, without being suspected to be otherwise employed than in picking blackberries. Before he was seven years old, Joey could set a springe as well as his father, and was well versed in all the mystery and art of unlawful taking of game. Indeed, he was very valuable to his father, and could do what his father could not have ventured upon without exciting suspicion. It was, perhaps, from his constant vigils, that the little boy was so small in size ; at all events, his diminutive size was the cause of there being no suspicion io Joseph Rushbrook; or, attached to him. Joey went very regularly to the day- school of Mr Furness ; and, although often up the best part of the night, he was one of the best and most diligent of the scholars. No one could have supposed that the little fair-haired, quiet-looking boy, who was so busy with his books or his writing, could have been out half the night on a perilous excursion, for such it was at the time we are speaking of. It need hardly be observed that Joey had learned one important lesson, which was to be silent — not even Mum, the dog, who could not speak, was more secret or more faithful. It is astonishing how much the nature and disposition of a child may be altered by early tuition. Let a child be always with its nurse, even under the guidance of a mother, regularly brought up as children usually are, and it will continue to be a child, and even childish after childhood is gone. But take the same child, put it by degrees in situations of peril, requiring thought and obser- vation beyond its years, accustom it to nightly vigils, and to watching, and to hold its tongue, and it is astonishing how the mind of that child, however much its body may suffer, will develop itself so as to meet the demand upon it. Thus it is with lads who are sent early to sea, and thus it was with little Joey. He was a man in some points, although a child in others. He would play with his companions, laugh as loudly as the others, but still he would never breathe a hint of what was his father's employment. He went to church every Sunday, as did his father and mother — for they considered that poaching was no crime, although punished as such by the laws, and he, of course, considered it no crime, as he only did what his father and mother wished. Let it not be thought, therefore, that the morals of our little hero were affected by his father's profession, for such was not the case. Having entered into this necessary explanation, we will now proceed. No band of North American Indians could have observed a better trail than that kept by our little party. Rushbrook walked first, followed by our hero and The Poacher 1 1 the dog Mum. Not a word was spoken ; they continued their route over grass-lands and ploughed-fields, keeping in the shade of the hedge-rows ; if Rushbrook stopped for a while to reconnoitre, so did Joey, and so did Mum, at their relative distances, until the march was resumed. For three miles and a half did they thus continue, until they arrived at a thick cover. The wind whistled through the branches of the bare trees, chiefly oak and ash; the cold damp fog was now stationary, and shrouded them as they proceeded cautiously by the beaten track in the cover, until they had passed through it, and arrived on the other side, where the cottage of a gamekeeper was situated. A feeble light was burning, and shone through the diamond- paned windows. Rushbrook walked out clear of the cover, and held up his hand to ascertain precisely the direction of the wind. Having satisfied himself, he retreated into the cover in a direction so as to be exactly to leeward of the keeper's house, that the noise of the report of his gun might not be heard. Having cleared the hedge, he lowered his gun, so as to bring the barrel within two or three inches of the ground, and walked slowly and cautiously through the brushwood, followed as before by Joey and Mum. After about a quarter of a mile's walk, a rattling of metal was heard, and they stopped short : it was the barrel of the fowling-piece which had brushed one of the wires attached to a spring-gun, set for the benefit of poachers. Rushbrook lifted up his left hand, as a sign to Joey not to move, and following the wire, by continually rattling his barrel against it, he eventually arrived at the gun itself, opened the pan, threw out all the priming, leaving it with the pan open, so that it could not go off, in case they fell in with another of the wires. Rushbrook then proceeded to business j for he well knew that the gun would be set where the pheasants were most accus- tomed to roost j he put a small charge of powder in his fowling-piece, that, being so near, he might not shatter the birds, and because the noise of the report would be much less j walking under an oak tree he soon discovered 12 Joseph Rushbrook; or, the round black masses which the bodies of the roosting pheasants presented between him and the sky, and raising his piece, he fired ; a heavy bound on the earth near his feet followed the discharge, Joey then slipped forward and put the pheasant into his bag ; another and another shot, and every shot brought an increase to Joey's load. Seventeen were already .in it when Mum gave a low growl. This was the signal for people being near. Rushbrook snapped his finger ; the dog came forward to his side and stood motionless, with ears and tail erect. In a minute's time was heard the rustling of branches as the party forced their way through the underwood. Rush- brook stood still, waiting the signal from Mum, for the dog had been taught, if the parties advancing had another dog with them, always to raise his fore-feet up to Rush- brook's knees, but not otherwise ; Mum made no such sign, and then Rushbrook laid down in the brushwood, his motions being closely followed by his son and his dog. Voices in whispers were now heard, and the forms of two men with guns were to be seen not four yards from where they were lying. " Somewhere about here, I'll swear," said one. " Yes, I think so ; but it may be further on — the wind has brought down the sound." — "Very true, let's follow them, and they may fall back upon the spring-gun." The parties then advanced into the cover, and were soon out of sight ; after a time, Rushbrook held his ear to the wind, and, satisfied that all was safe, moved homewards, and arrived without further adventure, having relieved Joey of the heavy sack as soon as they were in the open fields. At three o'clock in the morning he tapped at the back door of the cottage. Jane opened it, and the spoils of the night having been put away in a secret place, they were all soon in bed and fast asleep. The Poacher 13 Chapter III Train a child in the way he should go, and he will not depart from it. It is an old saying, that " if there were no receivers there would be no thieves," and it would have been of very little use for Rushbrook to take the game if he had not had the means of disposing of it. In this point, Byres, the pedlar, was a valuable accessory. Byres was a radical knave, who did not admire hard work. At first he took up the profession of bricklayer's labourer, one that is of a nature only affording occasional work and moderate wages. He did this that he might apply to the parish for relief and do nothing for the major portion of the year. But even a few months' work would not suit him, and subsequently he gained his sustenance by carrying on his head a large basket of crockery, and disposing of his wares among the cottagers. At last he took out a pedlar's licence — perhaps one of the most dangerous permits ever allowed by a government, and which has been the cause of much of the ill-will and discontent fomented among the lower classes. Latterly, the cheapness of printing and easiness of circulation have rendered the profession of less consequence — twenty years ago the village ale- houses were not provided with newspapers ; it was an expense never thought of; the men went to drink their beer and talk over the news of the vicinity, and if there was a disturbance in any other portion of the United Kingdom, the fact was only gained by rumour, and that vaguely and long after it had taken place. But when the pedlar Byres made his appearance, which he at last did, weekly or oftener, as it might happen, there was a great change ; he was the party who supplied information, and, in consequence, he was always welcome, and looked upon as an oracle ; the best seat near the fire was reserved for him, and having deposited his pack upon the table or in a corner he would then produce the Propeller, or some 1 4 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, other publication full of treason and blasphemy, and read it aloud for the benefit of the labourers assembled. A few months were more than sufficient to produce the most serious effects : — men who had worked cheerfully through the day, and retired to bed satisfied with their lot and thankful that work was to be obtained, now remained at the public-house, canvassing the conduct of government, and leaving their resort satisfied in their own minds that they were ill-used, harshly treated, and in bitter bondage. If they met their superiors, those very parties to whom they were indebted for employment, there was no respect shown to them as formerly— or if so, it was sullen and forced acknowledgment. The church was gradually deserted — the appearance of the pastor was no longer a signal for every hat to be lifted from the head ; on the contrary, boys of sixteen or seventeen years of age would lean against the church, or the walls of the churchyard, with their hands in both pockets, and a sort of leer upon their faces, as though they defied the pastor on his appearance — and there would they remain outside during the service, meeting, unquailed and without blushing, his eyes, cast upon them as he came out again. Such was the state of things in the village of Grassford in one year after the pedlar had added it to his continual rounds — and Byres was a great favourite, for he procured for the women what they commissioned him to obtain — supplied the girls with ribbons and gewgaws — and trusted to a considerable extent. His reappearance was always anxiously looked for ; he lived scot-free at the public- house, for he brought so much custom, and was the occasion of the drinking of so much ale — that the landlord considered his coming as a god-send. His box of ware was well supplied in the summer months, for the fine weather was the time for the wearing of gay ribbons ; but in the winter he travelled more to receive orders, or to carry away the game supplied to him by the poachers, with whom he was in league. Had his box been examined during the shooting season, it would have been found The Poacher 15 loaded with pheasants, not with trinkets and ribbons. It need hardly be observed after this, that Byres was the party who took off the hands of Rushbrook all the game which he procured, and which he had notice to call for before daylight, generally the second morning after it had been obtained ; for Rushbrook was too cautious to trust Byres with his secret, that of never going out of a night without having previously pretended intoxica- tion, and having suffered himself to be led or carried home. Our readers will acknowledge that little Joey was placed in a very dangerous position; it is true that he was not aware that he was doing wrong in assisting his father ; nevertheless, being a reflective boy, it did some- times occur to him that it was odd that what was right should be done so secretly ; and he attempted to make out how it was that the birds that flew about everywhere, and appeared to belong to everyone, might not be shot in the open day. He knew that the laws forbade it ; but he inquired of himself why such laws should be. Joey had heard but one side of the question, and was therefore puzzled. It was fortunate for him that the pastor of the parish, although he did not reside in it, did at least once a week call in at Mr F.'s school, and examine the boy. Mr Furness, who was always sober during the school hours, was very proud of these visits, and used to point out little Joey as his most promising scholar. This induced the pastor to take more immediate notice of our hero, and the commendation which he received, and the advice that was bestowed upon him, was probably the great cause why Joey did attend assiduously to his lessons, which his otherwise vagrant life would have disinclined him to do, and also kept a character for honesty and good principle, which he really deserved. Indeed, his father and mother, setting aside poaching, and the secrecy resorted to in consequence, were by no means bad examples in the ordinary course of life ; they did to their neighbours as they would be done by, were 1 6 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, fair and honest in their dealings, and invariably inculcated probity and a regard to truth on their son. This may appear anomalous to many of our readers, but there are many strange anomalies in this world. It may therefore be stated, in a very few words, that although our little hero had every chance of eventually following the road to ruin, yet, up to the present time, he had not entered it. Such was the life led by little Joey for three years subsequent to our introduction of him to the reader; every day he became more useful to his father ; latterly he had not attended school but in the forenoon, for, as we have before observed, Joey could, from his diminutive size and unsuspicious appearance, do much that his father would not have ventured to attempt. He was as well versed in the art of snaring as his father, and sauntering like a child about the fields and hedge-rows, would examine his nooses, take out the game, and hide it till he could bring it home. Sometimes he would go out at night attended only by Mum, and the dog would invariably give him mute notice, by simply standing with his ears and tail erect, when the keepers had discovered the snares, and were lying in wait for the poacher, to lay hold of him when he came to ascertain his success. Even in such a case, Joey very often would not retreat, but crawling on his stomach, would arrive at the snare, and take out the animal without the keepers perceiving him, for their eyes were invariably directed to the horizon, watching the appearance of some stout figure of a man, while Joey crawled along bearing away the prize unseen. At other times, Joey would reap a rich harvest in the broad day, by means of his favourite game-cock. Having put on the animal his steel spurs, he would plunge into the thickest of the cover, and selecting some small spot of cleared ground for the combat, would throw down his gallant bird, and conceal himself in the brushwood •, the game-cock would immediately crow, and his challenge was immediately answered by the pugnacious male pheasant, who flew down to meet him : the combat was short, for The Poacher 17 the pheasant was soon pierced with the sharp steel of his adversary, and as one antagonist fell dead, again would the game-cock crow, and his challenge be accepted by another. In an hour or two the small arena was a field of blood ; Joey would creep forward, put his victorious cock into his bag together with his many dead adversaries, and watch an opportunity for a safe retreat. Such was the employment of our hero, and although suspicion had often been attached to his father, none had an idea that there had been a violation of the laws on the part of the son, when an event took place which changed our hero's destiny. Chapter IV In which the author has endeavoured, with all his power, to suit the present taste of the public. We have said that Byres was the receiver of the game obtained by Rushbrook. It so happened, that in these accounts Byres had not adhered to his duty towards his neighbour ; in fact, he attempted to over-reach, but with- out success, and from that time Byres became Rushbrook's determined, but secret, enemy. Some months had passed since their disagreement, and there was a mutual mistrust (as both men were equally revengeful in their tempers), when they happened to meet late on a Saturday night at the ale-house, which was their usual resort. Furness the schoolmaster was there ; he and many others had already drunk too much j all were boisterous and noisy. A few of the wives of those drinking were waiting patiently and sorrowfully outside, their arms folded in their aprons as a defence against the cold, watching for their husbands to come out, that they might coax them home before the major part of the week's earnings had been spent in liquor. Byres had the paper in his hand — he had taken it from the schoolmaster, who was too far gone to read J.R. B 1 8 Joseph Rushbrook; or, it, and was declaiming loudly against all governments, monarchy, and laws — when a stranger entered the tap- room where they were all assembled. Rushbrook was at the time sitting down, intending quietly to take a pint and walk home, as he had too much respect for the Sabbath to follow his profession of poacher on the morning of that day : he did not intend, therefore, to resort to his usual custom of pretending to be intoxicated j but when the stranger came in, to his great surprise he observed a glance of recognition between him and Byres, after which they appeared as if they were perfect strangers. Rushbrook watched them carefully, but so as not to let them perceive he was so doing, when a beckon from the stranger to Byres was again made. Byres continued to read the paper and to harangue, but at the same time took an opportunity of making a signal in reply. There was something in the stranger's appearance which told Rush- brook that he was employed as a keeper, or something in that way, for we often single out our enemies by instinct. That there was mischief in the wind Rushbrook felt sure, and his heart misgave him — the more so, as occasionally the eyes of both were turned towards him. After a little reflection, Rushbrook determined to feign intoxication, as he had so often done before : he called for another pint, for some time talked very loud, and at last laid his head on the table ; after a time he lifted it up again, drank more, and then fell back on the bench. By degrees the company thinned, until there was no one left but the schoolmaster, the pedlar, and the stranger. The school- master, as usual, offered to assist the pedlar in helping Rushbrook to his cottage ; but Byres replied that he was busy, and that he need not wait for Rushbrook ; the friend he had with him would assist him in taking home the drunken man. The schoolmaster reeled home, leaving the two together. They sat down on the bench, not far from Rushbrook, who appeared to them to be in the last stage of inebriety. Their conversation was easily overheard. The pedlar stated that he had watched several nights, but The Poacher 19 never could find when Rushbrook left his cottage, but he had traced the boy more than once ; that R. had promised to have game ready for him on Tuesday, and would go out on Monday night for it. In short, Rushbrook discovered that Byres was about to betray him to the man, whom, in the course of their conversation, he found out to be a gamekeeper newly hired by the lord of the manor. After a while they broke up, Byres having promised to join the keeper in his expedition and to assist in securing his former ally. Having made these arrangements, they then took hold of Rushbrook by the arms, and shaking him to rouse him as much as they could, they led him home to the cottage, and left him in charge of his wife. As soon as the door was closed, Rushbrook's long repressed anger could no longer be restrained : he started on his feet, and striking his fist on the table so as to terrify his wife, swore that the pedlar should pay dear for his peaching. Upon his wife's demanding an explanation, Rushbrook, in a few hurried sentences, explained the whole. Jane, how- ever she might agree with him in his indignation, like all women, shuddered at the thought of shedding blood ; she persuaded her husband to go to bed ; he consented, but he slept not — he had but one feeling, which was, vengeance towards the traitor. When revenge enters into the breast of a man who has lived peaceably at home, fiercely as he may be impelled by the passion, he stops short at the idea of shedding blood. But when a man who had, like Rushbrook, served so long in the army, witnessed such scenes of carnage, and so often passed his bayonet through his adversary's body, is roused up by this fatal passion, the death of a fellow-creature becomes a matter of indifference provided he can gratify his feelings. Thus it was with Rushbrook, who, before he rose on the morning of that Sabbath, in which, had he gone to church, he could have so often requested his trespasses might be forgiven, as he " forgave them who trespassed against him," — had made up his mind that nothing short of the pedlar's death would satisfy him. At breakfast, he appeared to listen to his 20 Joseph Rushbrook; or, wife's entreaties, and promised to do the pedlar no harm ; and told her, that instead of going out on the Monday night, as he had promised, he should go out on that very night, and by that means evade the snare laid for him. Jane persuaded him not to go out at all ; but this Rush- brook would not consent to. He told her that he was determined to show them that he was not to be driven ofF his beat, and would make Byres believe on Tuesday night that he had been out on the Monday night. Rushbrook's object was to have a meeting with Byres, if possible, alone, to tax him with his treachery, and then to take the summary Vengeance. Aware that Byres slept at the ale-house, he went down there a little before dark, and told him that he intended going out on that night ; that it would be better if, instead of coming on Tuesday, he were to meet him at a corner of one of the covers, which he described, at an hour agreed upon, when he would make over to him the game which he might have procured. Byres, who saw in this an excellent and easy method of trapping Rushbrook, consented to it ? intending to inform the keeper, so that he should meet Rushbrook. The time of meeting was arranged for two o'clock in the morning. Rushbrook was certain that Byres would leave the ale-house an hour or two before the time proposed, which would be more than sufficient for his giving information to the keeper. He, therefore, remained quietly at home till twelve o'clock, when he loaded his gun and went out without Joey or the dog. His wife, perceiving this, was convinced that he had not gone out with the intention to poach, but was pursuing his scheme of revenge. She watched him after he left the cottage, and observed that he had gone down in the direction of the ale-house, and she was afraid that there would be mischief between him and Byres, and she wakened Joey, desiring him to follow and watch his father, and do all he could to prevent it. Her communication was made in such a hurried manner, that it was difficult for Joey to know what he was to do, except to watch his The Poachei 21 father's motions and see what took place. This Joey perfectly understood, and he was off in an instant, followed, ;as usual, by Mum, and taking with him his sack. Our hero crept softly down the pathway, in the direction of the ale-house. The night was dark, for the moon did not rise until two or three hours before the morning broke, and it was bitter cold j but to darkness and cold Joey had been accustomed, and although not seen himself, there was no object could move without being scanned by his clear vision. He gained a hedge close to the ale-house ; Mum wanted to go on, by which Joey knew that his father must be lurking somewhere near to him — he pressed the dog down with his hand, crouched himself, and watched. In a few minutes a dark figure was perceived by Joey to emerge from the ale-house, and walk hastily over a turnip-field behind the premises j it had gained about half over, when another form, which Joey recognised as his father's, stealthily followed after the first. Joey waited a little time, and was then, with Mum, on the steps of both ; for a mile and a half each party kept at their relative distances until they came near a furze bottom, which was about six hundred yards from the cover ; then the steps of Rushbrook were quickened, and those of Joey in proprotion ; the con- sequence was, that the three parties rapidly neared each other. Byres, for it was he who had quitted the ale-house, walked along leisurely, having no suspicion that he was followed. Rushbrook was now within fifteen yards of the pedlar, and Joey at even less distance from his father, when he heard the lock of his father's gun click, as he cocked it. " Father," said Joey, not over loud, " don't " "Who's there ? " cried the pedlar, turning round. The only reply was the flash and report of the gun, and the pedlar dropped among the furze. " Oh, father ! father ! what have you done ? " exclaimed Joey, coming up to him. " You here, Joey ! " said Rushbrook ; " why are you here?" 22 Joseph Rushbrook; or, " Mother sent me," replied Joey. " To be evidence against me," replied his father, mi wrath. " Oh no ! to stop you. What have you done, father ? " "What I almost wish I had not done now," replied he mournfully ; " but it is done, and — " " And what, father ? " "I am a murderer, I suppose," replied Rushbrook* " He would have 'peached, Joey — have had me transported, to work in chains for the rest of my days, merely for taking a few pheasants. Let us go home ; " but Rushbrook did not move, although he proposed so doing. He leant upon his gun, with his eyes fixed in the direction where Byres had fallen. Joey stood by him — for nearly ten minutes not a word was spoken. At last Rushbrook said — " Joey, my boy, I've killed many a man in my time, and I have thought nothing of it ; I slept as sound as ever the next night. But then, you see, I was a soldier, and it was my trade, and I could look on the man I had killed without feeling sorrow or shame ; but I can't upon this man, Joey. He was my enemy ; but — I've murdered him — I feel it now. Go up to him, boy — you are not afraid to meet him — and see if he be dead." Joey, although, generally speaking, fear was a stranger to him, did, however, feel afraid ; his hands had often been dyed with the blood of a hare or of a bird, but he had not yet seen death in his fellow-creatures. He advanced slowly and tremulously through the dark towards the furze-bush in which the body laid ; Mum followed, raising first one paw and pausing, then the other, and as they came to the body, the dog raised his head and gave such a mournful howl, that it induced our hero to start back again. After a time Joey recovered himself, and again advanced to the body. He leant over it, he could distin- guish but the form j he listened, and not the slightest The Poacher 23 breathing was to be heard ; he whispered the pedlar's name, but there was no reply ; he put his hand upon his breast, and removed it reeking with warm blood. " Father, he must be dead, quite dead," whispered Joey, who returned trembling. " What shall we do ? " " We must go home," replied Rushbrook ; " this is a bad night's work ; " and without exchanging another word until their arrival, Rushbrook and Joey proceeded back to the cottage, followed by Mum. Chapter V The sins of the father are visited upon the child. Jane had remained in a state of great anxiety during her husband's absence, watching and listening to every sound ; every five minutes raising the latch of the door, and look- ing out, hoping to see him return. As the time went on, her alarm increased ; she laid her head down on the table and wept j she could find no consolation, no alleviation of her anxiety ; she dropped down on her knees and prayed. She was still appealing to the Most High, when a blow on the door announced her husband's return. There was a sulken gloom over his countenance as he entered: he threw his gun carelessly on one side, so that it fell, and rattled against the paved floor j and this one act was to her ominous of evil. He sat down without speaking ; falling back in the chair, and lifting his eyes up to the rafters above, he appeared to be in deep thought, and unconscious of her presence. " What has happened ? " inquired his wife, trembling, as she laid her hand on his shoulder. " Don't speak to me now," was the reply. "Joey," said the frightened woman in a whisper, " what has he done ? " Joey answered not, but raised his hand, red with the blood which was now dried upon it. 24 Joseph Rushbrook; or, Jane uttered a faint cry, dropped on her knees, and covered her face, while Joey walked into the back kitchen, and busied himself in removing the traces of the dark deed. A quarter of an hour had elapsed — Joey had returned, and taken his seat upon his low stool, and not a word had been exchanged. There certainly is a foretaste of the future punishment which awaits crime ; for how dreadful were the feelings of those who were now sitting down in the cottage ! Rushbrook was evidently stupefied from excess of feeling ; first, the strong excitement which had urged him to the deed j and now from the re-action, the prostration of mental power which had succeeded it. Jane dreaded the present and the future — whichever way she turned her eyes the gibbet was before her — the clanking of chains in her ears j in her vision of the future, scorn, misery, and remorse — she felt only for her husband. Joey, poor boy, he felt for both. Even the dog showed, as he looked up into Joey's face, that he was aware that a foul deed had been done. The silence, which it appeared none would venture to break, was at last dissolved by the clock of the village church striking two. They all started up — it was a warning — it reminded them of the bell tolling for the dead — of time and of eternity ; but time present quickly effaced for the moment other ideas ; yes, it was time to act ; in four hours more it would be daylight, and the blood of the murdered man would appeal to his fellow-men for vengeance. The sun would light them to the deed of darkness — the body would be brought home — the magistrates would assemble — and who would be the party suspected ? " Merciful heaven ! " exclaimed Jane, " what can be done?" ** There is no proof," muttered Rushbrook. " Yes, there is," observed Joey, " I left my bag there, when I stooped down to — " " Silence ! " cried Rushbrook, " Yes," continued he The Poacher 25 bitterly to his wife, " this is your doing, you must send the boy after me, and now there will be evidence against me ; I shall owe my death to you." " Oh, say not so ! say not so ! " replied Jane, falling down on her knees, and weeping bitterly as she buried her face in his lap ; " but there is yet time," cried she, starting up, " Joey can go and fetch the bag. You will, Joey : won't you, dear ? you are not afraid — you are Innocent." "Better leave it where it is, mother," replied Joey, calmly. Rushbrook looked up at his son with surprise, Jane caught him by the arm; she felt convinced the boy had some reason for what he said — probably some plan that would ward off suspicion — yet how could that be ? it was evidence against them ; and after looking earnestly at the boy's face, she dropped his arm. " Why so, Joey ? " said she, with apparent calmness. " Because," replied Joey, " I have been thinking about it all this time ; I am innocent, and therefore I do not mind if they suppose me guilty. The bag is known to be mine — the gun I must throw in a ditch two fields off. You must give me some money, if you have any ; if not, I must go without it ; but there is no time to be lost ; I must be off and away from here in ten minutes ; to- morrow ask everyone if they have seen or heard of me, because I have left the house some time during the night. I shall have a good start before that ; besides they may not find the pedlar for a day or two perhaps ; at all events, not till some time after I am gone ; and then you see, mother, the bag which is found by him, and the gun in the ditch, will make them think it is me who killed him ; but they will not be able to make out whether I killed him by accident, and ran away from fear, or whether I did it on purpose. So now, mother, that's my plan, for it will save father." " And I shall never see you again, my child ! " replied his mother. 26 Joseph Rushbrook; or, " That's as may be. You may go away from here after a time, mother, when the thing has blown over. Come, mother, there is no time to lose." " Rushbrook, what say you — what think you ? " said Jane to her husband. " Why, Jane, at all events, the boy must have left us, for you see, I told Byres, and I've no doubt but he told the keeper, if he met him, that I should bring Joey with me. I did it to deceive him ; and, as sure as I sit here, they will have that boy up as evidence against his father." " To be sure they will," cried Joey ; " and what could I do ? I dare not — I don't think I could — tell a lie ; and yet I would not 'peach upon father, neither What can I do — but be out of the way ? " " That's the truth — away with you, then, my boy, and take a father's blessing with you — a guilty father's, it is true ; God forgive me. Jane, give him all the money you have \ lose not a moment ; quick, woman, quick." And Rushbrook appeared to be in an agony. Jane hastened to the cupboard, opened a small box, and poured the contents into the hands of Joey. " Farewell, my boy," said Rushbrook j " your father thanks you." " Heaven preserve you, my child," cried Jane, embracing him, as the tears rained down her cheeks. " You will write — no ! you must not — mercy ! — mercy ! — I shall never see him again ! " — and the mother fainted on the floor. The tears rose in our hero's eyes as he beheld the con- dition of his poor mother. Once more he grasped his father's hand j and then, catching up the gun, he went out at the back door, and driving back the dog, who would have followed him, made over the fields as fast as his legs could carry him. The Poacher 27 Chapter VI The world before him, where to choose. We have no doubt but many of our readers have occasion- ally, when on a journey, come to where the road divides into two, forking out in different directions, and, the road being new to them, have not known which of the two branches they ought to take. This happens, as it often does in a novel, to be our case just now. Shall we follow little Joey, or his father and mother — that is the question. We believe that when a road does thus divide, the widest of the two branches is generally selected, as being sup- posed to be the continuation of the high road. We shall ourselves act upon that principle ; and, as the hero of the tale is of more consequence than characters accessory, we shall follow up the fortunes of little Joey. As soon as our hero had deposited the gun so that it might be easily dis- covered by any one passing by, he darted into the high road, and went off with all the speed that he was capable of, and it was not yet light when he found himself at least ten miles from his native village. As the day dawned, he quitted the high road, and took to the fields, keeping a parallel course, so as to still increase his distance ; it was not until he had made fifteen miles, that, finding himself exhausted, he sat down to recover himself. From the time that he had left the cottage until the present, Joey had had but one overwhelming idea in his head, which was, to escape from pursuit, and by his absence to save his father from suspicion ; but now that he had effected that purpose, and was in a state of quiescence, other thoughts rushed upon his mind. First, the scenes of the last few hours presented themselves in rapid array before him — he thought of the dead man, and he looked at his hand to ascertain if the bloody marks had been effaced ; and then he thought of his poor mother's state when he quitted the cottage, and the remembrance made him weep. 28 Joseph Rushbrook; or, bitterly; his own position came next upon him, — a boy, twelve years of age, adrift upon the world — how was he to live — what was he to do ? This reminded him that his mother had given him money; he put his hand into his pocket, and pulled it out to ascertain what he possessed. He had ^1, l6s. ; to him a large sum, and it was all in silver. As he became more composed, he began to reflect upon what he had better do ; where should he go to ? — London. It was a long way, he knew, but the farther he was away from home, the better. Besides, he had heard much of London, and that every one got employment there. Joey resolved that he would go to London ; he knew that he had taken the right road so far, and having made up his mind, he rose up, and proceeded. He knew that, if possible, he must not allow himself to be seen on the road for a day or two, and he was puzzled how he was to get food, which he already felt would be very accept- able ; and then, what account was he to give of himself, if questioned ? Such were the cogitations of our little hero as he wended his way till he came to a river, which was too deep and rapid for him to attempt to ford — he was obliged to return to the high road to cross the bridge. He looked around him before he climbed over the low stone wall, and perceiving nobody, he jumped on the footpath, and proceeded to the bridge, where he suddenly faced an old woman with a basket of brown cakes, something like gingerbread. Taken by surprise, and hardly knowing what to say, he inquired if a cart had passed that way ? " Yes, child, but it must be a good mile a-head of you,'* said the old woman, " and you must walk fast to overtake it." " I have had no breakfast yet, and I am hungry ; do you sell your cakes ? " " Yes, child, what else do I make them for ? three a penny, and cheap too." Joey felt in his pocket until he had selected a sixpence, and pulling it out, desired the old woman to give him cakes for it, and, taking the pile in his hand, he set off as fast as The Poacher 29 he could. As soon as he was out of sight, he again made his way into the fields, and breakfasted upon half his store. He then continued his journey until nearly one o'clock, when, tired out with his exertions, as soon as he had finished the remainder of his cakes, he laid down under a rick of corn and fell fast asleep, having made twenty miles since he started. In his hurry to escape pursuit, and the many thoughts which occupied his brain, Joey had made no observation on the weather ; if he had, he probably would have looked after some more secure shelter than the lee-side of a haystack. He slept soundly, and he had not been asleep more than an hour, when the wind changed, and the snow fell fast ; nevertheless, Joey slept on, and probably never would have awakened more, had it not been that a shepherd and his dog were returning home in the evening, and happened to pass close to the haystack. By this time Joey had been covered with a layer of snow, half an inch deep, and had it not been for the dog, who went up to where he laid, and commenced pawing the snow off him, he would have been passed by undiscovered by the shepherd, who, after some trouble, succeeded in rousing our hero from his torpor, and half dragging, half lifting him, contrived to lead him across one or two fields, until they arrived at a blacksmith's shop, in a small village, before Joey could have been said to have recovered his scattered senses. Two hours more sleep, and there would have been no further history to give of our little hero. He was dragged to the forge, the fire of which glowed under the force of the bellows, and by degrees, as the warmth reached him, he was restored to self-possession. To the inquiries made as to who he was, and from where he came, he now answered as he had before arranged in his mind. His father and mother were a long way before him ; he was going to London, but having been tired, he had fallen asleep under the haystack, and he was afraid that if he went not on to London directly, he never might find his father and mother again. 3 Mary ? " " We are not far from Maidstone ; it is on our right, but it will be as well not to go through so large a town so near to Gravesend. Besides, some of the soldiers may know me. As soon as we come to a good place, where we can find a drink of water, we will sit down and rest ourselves." About a mile further on they came to a small rivulet, which crossed the road. " This will do, Joey," said Nancy ; " now we'll sit down." It was then daylight ; they took their seats on their bundles as soon as they had drank from the stream. " Now, Joey," said Mary (as we shall call her for the future), " let us see what money we have. Mrs Chopper put all she had in my hands ; poor, good old woman, bless her ! Count it, Joey, it is yours." " No, Mary, she gave it for both of us." " Never mind ; do you keep it ; for you see, Joey, it The Poacher 167 might happen that you might have to run off at a moment's warning, and it would not do for you to be without money." " If I was to run off at a minute's warning, I should then take it all with me, and it would not do for you to be left without any money, Mary ; so we must halve it between us, although we will always make one purse." " Well, be it so ; for if you were robbed, or I were robbed, on the way, the other might escape." They then divided the money, Joey putting his share into his pocket, and tying it in with a string. Mary dropped hers down into the usual deposit of women for bank-notes and billets-doux. As soon as this matter had been arranged, Mary opened her bundle, and took out a handkerchief, which she put on her shoulders ; combed out the ringlets which she had worn, and dressed her hair flat on her temples ; removed the gay ribbons from her bonnet, and substituted some plain brown in their stead. " There," says she j " now, Joey, don't I look more respectable ? " " You do look more neat and more " " — More modest, you would say, Joey. Well, and I hope in future to become what I look. But I look more fit to be your sister, Joey, for I have been thinking we had better pass off as brother and sister to avoid questioning. We must make out some story to agree in. Who shall we say that we are (as we dare not say who we really are) ? I am looking out for service, and so are you, that's very clear j father and mother are both dead ; father was a baker. That's all true, as far as relates to me : and as you are my brother, why you must take my father and mother. It's no very great story after all." " But it won't do to say we came from Gravesend." " No ; we need not say that, and yet tell no story j the village we passed through last night was Wrotham, so we came from thence." 1 68 Joseph Rushbrook; or, " But where do you think of going, Mary ? " " A good way farther off yet j at all events, before we look out for service, we will get into another county. Now, if you are ready, we will go on, Joey, and look out for some breakfast, and then I shall be able to change my gown for a quieter one." In half-an-hour they arrived at a village, and went into a public-house. Mary went upstairs and changed her dress ; and now that she had completed her arrangements, she looked a very pretty, modest young woman, and none could have supposed that the day before she had been flaunting in the street of a seafaring town. Inquiries were made, as might be supposed, and Mary replied that she was going to service, and that her brother was escorting her. They had their breakfast, and, after resting two hours, they proceeded on their journey. For some days they travelled more deliberately, until they found themselves in the village of Manstone, in Dorsetshire, where they, as usual, put up at an humble public-house. Here Mary told a different story ; she had been disappointed in a situation, and they intended to go back to their native town. The landlady of the hotel was prepossessed in favour of such a very pretty girl as Mary, as well as with the appearance of Joey, who, although in his sailor's dress, was very superior in carriage and manners to a boy in his supposed station in life, and she said, that if they would remain there a few days, she would try to procure them some situation. The third day after their arrival she informed Mary that she had heard of a situation as under- housemaid at the squire's, about a mile off, if she would like to take it, and Mary gladly consented. Mrs Der- borough sent up word, and received orders for Mary to make her appearance, and Mary accordingly went up to the hall, accompanied by Joey. When she arrived there, and made known her business, she was desired to wait in the servants'-hall until she was sent for. In about a quarter of an hour she was summoned, and, leaving Joey The Poacher 169 in the hall, she went up to see the lady of the house, who inquired whether she had ever been out at service before, and if she had a good character. Mary replied that she had never been out at service, and that she had no character at all (which, by-the-bye, was very true). The lady of the house smiled at this apparently naive answer from so very modest-looking and pretty a girl, and asked who her parents were. To this question Mary's answer was ready, and she further added, that she had left home in search of a place, and had been disappointed j that her father and mother were dead, but her brother was down below, and had escorted her ; and that Mrs Chopper was an old friend of her mother's, and could answer as to her character. The lady was prepossessed by Mary's appearance, by the report of Mrs Derborough, and by the respectability of her brother travelling with her, and agreed to try her ; but at the same time said she must have Mrs Chopper's address, that she might write to her ; but, the place being vacant, she might come to-morrow morning ; her wages were named and immediately accepted, and thus did Mary obtain her situation. People say you cannot be too particular when you choose servants ; and, to a certain degree, this is true ; but this extreme caution, however selfishness and prudence may dictate it, is but too often the cause of servants, who have committed an error and have in consequence been refused a character, being driven to destitution and misery, when they had a full intention, and would have, had they been permitted, redeemed their transgression. Mary was resolved to be a good and honest girl. Had the lady of the house been very particular, and had others to whom she might afterwards have applied been the same, all her good intentions might have been frustrated, and she might have been driven to despair, if not to her former evil courses. It is perhaps fortunate that everybody in the world is not so particular as your very good people, and 1 70 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, that there is an occasional loophole by which those who have erred are permitted to return to virtue. Mary left the room delighted with her success, and went down to Joey in the servants'-hall. The servants soon found out from Mary that she was coming to the house, and one of the men chucked her under the chin and told her she was a very pretty girl. Mary drew back, and Joey immediately resented the liberty, stating that he would not allow any man to insult his sister; for Joey was wise enough to see that he could not do a better thing to serve Mary. The servant was insolent in return and threatened to chastise Joey, and ordered him to leave the house. The women took our hero's part. The house-keeper came down at the time, and, hearing the cause of the dispute, was angry with the footman ; the butler took the side of the footman; and the end of it was, that the voices were at the highest pitch, when the bell rang, and the men being obliged to answer it, the women were for the time left in possession of the field. " "What is that noise below ? " inquired the master of the house. "It is a boy, sir — the brother, I believe, of the girl who has come as under-housemaid, who has been making a disturbance." "Desire him to leave the house instantly." "Yes, sir," replied the butler, who went down to enforce the order. Little did the master of the house imagine that in giving that order he was turning out of the house his own son ; for the squire was no other than Mr Austin. Little did the inconsolable Mrs Austin fancy that her dear, lamented boy was at that moment under the same roof with her, and being driven out of it by her menials ; but such was the case. So Joey and Mary quitted the hall, and bent their way back to the village-inn. "Well, Mary," said Joey, "I am very glad that you have found a situation." " And so I am very thankful indeed, Joey," replied she, The Poacher 171 " and only hope that you will be able to get one somewhere about here also, and then we may occasionally see some- thing of one another." " No, Mary," replied Joey, " I shall not look for a situa- tion about here ; the only reason I had for wishing it was, that I might see you ; but that will be impossible now." "Why so?" " Do you think that I will ever put my foot into that house again, after the manner I was treated to-day ? Never." "I was afraid so," replied Mary, mournfully. "No, Mary. I am happy that you are provided for; I can seek my own fortune, and I will write to you and let you know what I do ; and you will write to me, Mary, won't you ? " " It will be the greatest pleasure that will be left to me, Joey ; for I love you as dearly as if you were my own brother." The next day our hero and Mary parted with many tears on her side, and much sorrow on his. Joey refused to take more of the money than what he had in his possession, but promised, in case of need, to apply to Mary, who said that she would hoard up everything for him, and she kept her word. Joey, having escorted Mary to the hall-lodge, remained at the inn till the next morning, and then set off once more on his travels. Our hero started at break of day, and had walked, by a western road, from Manstone, about six miles, when he met two men coming towards him. They were most miserably clad, neither of them had shoes or stockings ; one had only a waistcoat and a pair of trousers, with a sack on his back ; the other had a pair of blue trousers, torn to ribbons, a Guernsey frock, and a tarpaulin hat ; they appeared what they represented themselves to be, when they demanded charity — two wrecked seamen, who were travelling to a northern port to obtain employment; but had these fellows been questioned by a sailor, he would soon have discovered, by their total ignorance of anything 172 Joseph Rushbrook; or, nautical, that they were impostors. Perhaps there is no plan more successful than this, which is now carried on to an enormous extent by a set of rogues and depredators, who occasionally request charity, but too often extort it, and add to their spoils by robbing and plundering every- thing in their way. It is impossible for people in this country to ascertain the truth of the assertions of these vagabonds, and it appears unfeeling to refuse assistance to a poor seaman who has lost his all ; even the cottager offers his mite, and thus do they levy upon the public to an extent which is scarcely credible ; but it should be known that, in all cases of shipwreck, sailors are now invariably relieved and decently clothed, and supplied with the means of travelling to obtain employment ; and, whenever a man appeals for charity in a half-naked state, he is invariably an impostor or a worthless scoundrel. The two men were talking loud and laughing when they approached our hero. As soon as they came near, they looked hard at him, and stopped right before him, so as to block up the footpath. " Hilloah, my little sailor ! where are you bound to ? " said one to Joey, who had his common sailor's dress on. " And, I say, what have you got in that bundle ? " said the other ; " and how are you off for brads ? haven't you something to spare for brother seamen ? Come, feel in your pockets ; or shall I feel for you ? " Joey did not much like this exordium ; he replied, step- ping into the road at the same time — " I've no money, and the bundle contains my clothes." " Come, come," said the first, " you're not going to get off that way j if you don't wish your brains beaten out, you'll just hand over that bundle for me to examine ; " and so saying, the man stepped into the road towards Joey, who continued to retreat to the opposite side. There was no footpath at the side of the road to which Joey retreated, but a very thick quick-set hedge, much too strong for any man to force his way through. Joey per- The Poacher 173 ceived this, and as the man came at him to seize his bundle, he contrived, by a great effort, to swing it over the hedge into the field on the other side. The man, exasperated at this measure on the part of our hero, ran to seize him ; but Joey dodged under him, and ran away down the road for a few yards, where he picked up a heavy stone for his defence, and there remained, prepared to defend himself, and not lose his bundle if he could help it. " You get hold of him, Bill, while I go round for the bundle," said the man who had followed across the road, and he immediately set off to find the gate, or some entrance into the field, while the other man made after Joey. Our hero retreated at full speed : the man followed, but could not keep pace with our hero, as the road was newly gravelled, and he had no shoes. Joey, perceiving this, slackened his pace, and when the man was close to him, turned short round, and aiming the stone with great pre- cision, hit him on the forehead, and the fellow fell down senseless. In the meantime, the other miscreant had taken the road in the opposite direction to look for the gate, and Joey, now rid of his assailant, perceived, that in the hedge opposite to the part of the road where he now stood, there was a gap which he could get through. He scrambled into the field, and ran for his bundle ; the other man, who had been delayed, the gate being locked, and fenced with thorns, had but just gained the field when Joey had his bundle in his possession. Our hero caught it up, and ran like lightning to the gap ; tossed over his bundle, and followed it, while the man was still a hundred yards from him. Once more in the high road, Joey took to his heels, and having run about two hundred yards, he looked back to ascertain if he was pursued, and perceived the man standing over his comrade, who was lying where he had fallen. Satisfied that he was now safe, Joey pursued his journey at a less rapid rate, although he continued to look back every minute, just by way of precaution ; but the fellows, although they would not lose an opportunity of what appeared such an easy robbery, had their own 1 74 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, reasons for continuing their journey, and getting away from that part of the country. Our hero pursued his way for two miles, looking out for some water by the wayside to quench his thirst, when he observed in the distance that there was something lying on the roadside. As he came nearer he made it out to be a man prostrate on the grass, apparently asleep, and a few yards from where the man lay was a knife-grinder's wheel, and a few other articles in the use of a travelling tinker j a fire nearly extinct was throwing up a tiny column of smoke, and a saucepan, which appeared to have been upset, was lying beside it. There was something in the scene before him which created a suspicion in the mind of our hero that all was not right ; so, instead of passing on, he walked right up to where the man lay, and soon dis- covered that his face and dress were bloody. Joey knelt down by the side of him, and found that he was senseless, but breathing heavily. Joey untied the handkerchief which was round his neck, and which was apparently very tight, and almost immediately afterwards the man appeared relieved and opened his eyes. After a little time he con- trived to utter one word — " Water ! " and Joey, taking up ,the empty saucepan, proceeded in search of it. He soon found some and brought it back. The tinker had greatly recovered during his absence, and as soon as he had drank the water, sat upright. "Don't leave me, boy," said the tinker; "I feel very faint." " I will stay by you as long as I can be of any use to you," replied Joey ; " what has happened ? " " Robbed and almost murdered ! " replied the man, with a groan. " Was it by those two rascals without shoes and stock- ings, who attempted to rob me ? " inquired Joey. " Yes ; the same, I've no doubt. I must lie down for a time, my head is so bad," replied the man, dropping back upon the grass. In a few minutes the exhausted man fell asleep, and The Poacher 175 Joey remained sitting by his side for nearly two hours. At last, his new companion awoke, raised himself up, and, dipping his handkerchief into the saucepan of water, washed the blood from his head and face. "This might have been worse, my little fellow," said he to Joey, after he had wiped his face ; " one of these rascals nearly throttled me, he pulled my handkerchief so tight. Well, this is a wicked world, this, to take away a fellow-creature's life for thirteen-pence halfpenny, for that was all the money they found in my pocket. I thought an itinerant tinker was safe from highway robbery, at all events. Did you not say that they attacked you, or did I dream it ? " " I did say so ; it was no dream.** " And how did a little midge like you escape ? " Joey gave the tinker a detail of what had occurred. " Cleverly done, boy, and kindly done now to come to my help, and to remain by me. I was going down the road, and as you have come down, I presume we are going the same way," replied the tinker. "Do you feel strong enough to walk now?*' " Yes, I think I can ; but there's the grindstone." " O, I'll wheel that for you." " Do, that's a good boy, for I tremble very much, and it would be too heavy for me now." Joey fixed his bundle with the saucepan, etc., upon the knife-grinder's wheel, and rolled it along the road, followed by the tinker, until they came to a small hamlet, about two miles from the spot from which they had started ; they halted when they were fifty yards from the first cottage, and the tinker, having selected a dry place under the hedge, said, " I must stop here a little while." Joey, who had heard the tinker say that the men had robbed him of thirteen-pence halfpenny, imagined that he was destitute, and as he wished to proceed on his way, he took out two shillings, and held them out to the man, saying, " This will keep you till you can earn some more. Good-bye now ; I must go on." i y6 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, The tinker looked at Joey. " You're a kind-hearted lad, at all events, and a clever, bold one, if I mistake not," said he; "put up your money, nevertheless, for I do not want any. I have plenty, if they had only known where to look for it." Joey was examining his new companion during the time that he was speaking to him. There was a free and independent bearing about the man, and a refinement of manner and speech very different from what might be expected from one in so humble a situation. The tinker perceived this scrutiny, and, after meeting our hero's glance, said, " Well, what are you thinking of now ? " " I was thinking that you have not always been a tinker." "And I fancy that you have not always been a sailor, my young master : but, however, oblige me by going into the village and getting some breakfast for us. I will pay you the money when you return, and then we can talk a little." Joey went into the village, and finding a small chandler's shop, bought some bread and cheese, and a large mug which held a quart of beer, both of which he also pur- chased, and then went back to the tinker. As soon as they had made their breakfast, Joey rose up and said — " I must go on now ; I hope you'll find yourself better to-morrow." " Are you in a very great hurry, my lad ? " inquired the tinker. "I want to find some employment," replied Joey; " and, therefore, I must look for it." " Tell me what employment you want. What can you do?" " I don't exactly know ; I have been keeping accounts for a person." " Then you are a scholar, and not a seafaring person ? " " I am not a sailor, if you mean that ; but I have been on the river." "Well, if you wish to get employment, as I know this The Poacher 177 country well and a great many people, I think I may help you. At all events, a few days can make no difference ; for you see, my boy, to-morrow I shall be able to work, and then, I'll answer for it, I'll find meat and drink for both of us ; so, what do you say ? Suppose you stay with me, and we'll travel together for a few days, and when I have found work that will suit you, then we can part?" " I will, if you wish it," replied Joey. " Then that's agreed," said the tinker ; "I should like to do you a good turn before we part, and I hope I shall be able ; at all events, if you stay with me a little while I will learn you a trade which will serve you when all others fail." " What, to mend kettles and to grind knives ? " " Exactly ; and, depend upon it, if you would be sure of gaining your livelihood, you will choose a profession which will not depend upon the caprice of others, or upon patronage. Kettles, my boy, will wear out, knives will get blunt, and therefore, for a good trade, give me, * kettles to mend, knives to grind.' I've tried many trades, and there is none that suits me so well. And now that we've had our breakfast, we may just as well look out for lodgings for the night, for I suppose you would not like the heavens for your canopy, which I very often prefer. Now, put yourself to the wheel, and I'll try my old quarters." The knife-grinder walked into the village, followed by Joey, who rolled the wheel, until they stopped at a cottage, where he was immediately recognised and welcomed : Joey was ordered to put the wheel under a shed, and then followed the tinker into the cottage. The latter told his story, which created a good deal of surprise and indignation, and then complained of his head and retired to lie down, while Joey amused himself with the children. They ate and slept there that night, the people refusing to take anything for their reception. The next day the tinker was quite recovered, and having J.R. M 178 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, mended a kettle and ground three or four knives for his hostess, he set ofF again, followed by Joey, who rolled the wheel. Chapter XXVIII On the science of tinkering and the art of writing despatches. They had proceeded about two miles when the tinker said, " Come, my lad, let us sit down now, and rest ourselves a bit, for it is past noon, and you must be tired with shoving that wheel along ; I would have taken it from you before this, but the fact is, I'm rather stiff yet about the head and shoulders ; I feel it more than I thought I should j here's a nice spot ; I like to sit down under a tree not too well covered with leaves, like this ash ; I like to see the sunshine playing here and there upon the green grass, shifting its spots, as the leaves are rustled by the wind. Now, let us lie down here, and not care a fig for the world. I am a philosopher ; do you know that ? " " I don't exactly know what it means 5 a very clever, good man — is it not ? " " Well, not exactly ; a man may be a philosopher with- out being very good, or without being very clever. A philosopher is a man who never frets about anything, cares about nothing, is contented with a little, and don't envy any one who appears better off than himself; at least that is my school of philosophy. You stare, boy, to hear a tinker talk in this way — I perceive that j but, you must know that I am a tinker by choice ; and I have tried many other professions before, all of which have disgusted me." " What other professions have you been ? " " I have been — let me see — I almost forget ; but I'll begin at the beginning. My father was a gentleman, and, until I was fourteen years old, I was a gentleman, or the son of one j then he died, and that profession was over, The Poacher 179 for he left nothing ; my mother married again, and left me ; she left me at school, and the master kept me there for a year, in hopes of being paid ; but, hearing nothing of my mother, and not knowing what to do with me, he at last (for he was a kind man) installed me as under usher of the school; for, you see, my education had been good, and I was well qualified for the situation, as far as capability went ; it was rather a bathos, though, to sink from a gentleman's son to an under usher ; but I was not a philosopher at that time. I handed the toast to the master and mistress, the head ushers and parlour boarders, but was not allowed any myself; I taught Latin and Greek, and English Grammar, to the little boys, who made faces at me, and put crooked pins on the bottom of my chair ; I walked at the head of the string when they went out for an airing, and walked upstairs the last when it was time to go to bed. I had all the drudgery, and none of the comforts ; I was up first, and held answerable for all deficiencies ; I had to examine all their nasty little trousers, and hold weekly conversation with the botcher, as to the possibility of repairs ; to run out if a hen cackled, that the boys should not get the egg ; to wipe the noses of my mistress's children, and carry them if they roared ; to pay for all broken glass, if I could not discover the culprit ; to account for all bad smells, for all noise, and for all ink spilled ; to make all the pens, and to keep one hundred boys silent and attentive at church : for all which, with deductions, I received ^40 a-year, and found my own washing. I stayed two years, during which time I contrived to save about jQ6\ and with that, one fine morning, I set off on my travels, fully satisfied that, come what would, I could not change for the worse." " Then you were about in the position that I'm in now," said Joey, laughing. " Yes, thereabouts ; only a little older, I should imagine. I set off with good hopes, but soon found that nobody wanted educated people — they were a complete drug. At last I obtained a situation as waiter at a 180 Joseph Rushbrook; or, posting-house on the road, where I ran along all day long to the tinkling of bells, with hot brandy-and-water ever under my nose ; I answered all the bells, but the head- waiter took all the money. However, I made acquaintances there ; and at last obtained a situation as clerk to a corn- chandler, where I kept the books ; but he failed, and then I was handed over to the miller, and covered with flour for the whole time I was in his service. I stayed there till I had an offer from a coal-merchant (that was going from white to black) ; but, however, it was a better place. Then, by mere chance, I obtained the situation of clerk on board of a fourteen-gun brig, and cruised in the Channel for six months ; but, as I found that there was no chance of being a purser, and as I hated the confinement and discipline of a man-of-war, I cut and run as soon as I obtained my pay. Then I was shopman at a draper's, which was abominable, for if the customers would not buy the goods, I got all the blame ; besides, I had to clean my master's boots and my mistress's shoes, and dine in the kitchen on scraps, with a slip-shod, squinting girl, who made love to me. Then I was a warehouseman ; but they soon tacked on to it the office of light porter, and I had to carry weights enough to break my back. At last I obtained a situation as foreman, in a tinman and cutler's shop, and by being constantly sent into the work-shop I learnt something of the trade ; I had made up my mind not to remain much longer, and I paid attention, receiving now and then a lesson from the workmen, till I found that I could do very well ; for, you see, it's a very simple sort of business, after all." " But still a travelling tinker is not so respectable as being in any of the situations you were in before," replied Joey. " There I must beg your pardon, my good lad ; I had often serious thoughts upon the subject, and I argued as follows : — What is the best profession in this world of ours ? — That of a gentleman j for a gentleman does not work, he has liberty to go where he pleases, he is not controlled, and is his own master. Many a man considers The Poacher 181 himself a gentleman who has not the indispensables that must complete the profession. A clerk in the Treasury, or public offices, considers himself a gentleman ; and so he is by birth, but not by profession ; for he is not his own master, but is as much tied down to his desk as the clerk in a banker's counting-house, or in shop. A gentleman by profession must be his own master, and independent ; and how few there are in this world who can say so ! Soldiers and sailors are obliged to obey orders, and therefore I do not put them down as perfect gentlemen, according to my ideas of what a gentleman should be. I doubt whether the Prime Minister can be considered a gentleman until after he is turned out of office. Do you understand me, boy ? " " O, yes, I understand what you mean by a gentleman ; I recollect reading a story of a negro who came to this country, and who said that the pig was the only gentleman in the country, for he was the only living being who did not work." " The negro was not far wrong," resumed the tinker. *' "Well, after thinking a long while, I came to the decision that, as I could not be a perfect gentleman, I would be the nearest thing to it that was possible ; and I considered that the most enviable situation was that of a traveller tinker. I learned enough of the trade, saved money to purchase a knife-grinder's wheel, and here I have been in this capacity for nearly ten years." " And do you hold to the opinion that you formed ? " "I do ; for, look you, work I must ; therefore, the only question was, to take up the work that was lightest and paid best ; I know no trade where you can gain so much with so little capital and so little labour. Then, I am not controlled by any living being ; I have my liberty and independence ; I go where I please, stop where I please, work when I please, and idle when I please ; and never know what it is to want a night's lodging. Show me any other profession which can say the same ! I might be better clothed — I might be considered more respect- 182 Joseph Rushbrook; or, able ; but I am a philosopher, and despise all that ; I earn as much as I want, and do very little work for it. I can grind knives and scissors and mend kettles enough in one day to provide for a whole week •, for instance, I can grind a knife in two minutes, for which I receive two- pence. Now, allowing that I work twelve hours in the day, at the rate of one penny per minute, I should earn jT% per day, which, deducting Sundays, is ^939 a-year. Put that against £40 a-year, as a drudge to a school, or confined to a desk in a shop, or any other profession, and you see how lucrative mine is in proportion. Then I am under no control ; not ordered here or there, like a general or admiral ; not attacked in the House of Commons or Lords, like a prime minister j on the contrary, half- a-day's work out of the seven is all I require ; and I therefore assert that my profession is nearer to that of a gentleman than any other that I know of." " It may be as you style it, but you don't look much like one," replied Joey, laughing. " That's prejudice ; my clothes keep me as warm as if they were of the best materials, and quite new. I enjoy my victuals quite as much as a well-dressed gentleman does — perhaps more ; I can indulge in my own thoughts ^ I have leisure to read all my favourite authors, and can afford to purchase new books. Besides, as I must work a little, it is pleasant to feel that I am always in request and respected by those who employ me." " Respected ! on what account ? " " Because I am always wanted, and therefore always welcome. It is the little things of this life which annoy, not the great ; and a kettle that won't hold water, or a knife that won't cut, are always objects of execration - y and as people heap their anathemas upon the kettle and the knife, so do they long for my return, and when I come they are glad to see me, glad to pay me, and glad to find that their knives are sharp, and their kettles, thrown on one side, are useful again, at a trifling charge. I add to people's comforts j I become necessary to every poor The Poacher 183 person in the cottages ; and therefore they like me and respect me. And, indeed, if it is only considered how many oaths and execrations are used when a person is hacking and sawing away with a knife which will not cut, and how by my wheel I do away with the cause of crime, I think that a travelling tinker may be considered, as to his moral influence upon society, more important than any parson in his pulpit. You observe that I have not rendered the profession degrading by marriage, as many do." " How do you mean ? " " I hold that, whatever may be the means of a gentle- man, he must be considered to lose the most precious advantage appertaining to his profession when he marries ; for he loses his liberty, and can no longer be said to be under no control. It is very well for other professions to marry, as the world must be peopled ; but a gentleman never should. It is true he may contrive to leave his clog at home, but then he pays dear for a useless and galling appendage ; but, in my situation as a travelling tinker, I could not have done so ; I must have dragged my clog after me through the mud and mire, and have had a very different reception than what I have at present." "Why so?" " Why, a man may stroll about the country by himself — find lodging and entertainment for himself-, but not so if he had a wife in rags, and two or three dirty children at his heels. A single man, in every stage of society, if he pays his own way, more easily finds admission than a married one — that is, because the women regulate it ; and although they will receive him as a tinker, they invariably object to his wife, who is considered and stigmatised as the tinker's trull. No, that would not do — a wife would detract from my respectability, and add very much to my cares." " But have you no home, then, anywhere ? " " Why, yes, I have, like all single men on the pave, as the French say — just a sort of ' chambers ' to keep my property in, which will accumulate in spite of me." 184 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, " Where are they ? " " In Dudstone, to which place I am now going. I have a room for £6 a-year ; and the woman in the house takes charge of everything during my absence. And now, my boy, what is your name ? " " Joey Atherton," replied our hero, who had made up his mind to take the surname of his adopted sister, Nancy. " Well, Joey, do you agree with me that my profession is a good one, and are you willing to learn it ? If so, I will teach you." " I shall be very glad to learn it, because it may one day be useful ; but I am not sure that I should like to follow it." " You will probably change your opinion ; at all events, give it a fair trial. In a month or so you will have the theory of it by heart, and then we will come to the practice." " How do you mean ? " " It's of no use your attempting anything till you're well grounded in the theory of the art, which you will gain by using your eyes. All you have to do at first is to look on ; watch me when I grind a knife or a pair of scissors ; be attentive when you see me soldering a pot, or putting a patch upon a kettle ; see how I turn my hand when I'm grinding, how I beat out the iron when I mend ; and learn how to heat the tools when I solder. In a month you will know how things are to be done in theory, and after that we shall come to the practice. One only thing, in the way of practice, must you enter upon at once, and that is turning the wheel with your foot ; for you must learn to do it so mechanically, that you are not aware that you are doing it, otherwise you cannot devote your whole attention to the scissors or knife in your hand." " And do you really like your present life, then, wander- ing about from place to place ? " " To be sure I do. I am my own master ; go where I like ; stop where I like ; pay no taxes or rates j I still retain The Poacher 185 all the gentleman except the dress, which I can resume when I please. Besides, mine is a philanthropic profession ; I go about doing good, and I've the means of resenting an affront like a despot." " As how ? " " Why, you see, we travellers never interfere in each other's beats ; mine is a circuit of many miles of country, and at the rate I travel it is somewhat about three months until I am at the same place again ; they must wait for me if they want their jobs done, for they cannot get any one else. In one village they played me a trick one Saturday night when all the men were at the ale-house, and the consequence was, I cut the village for a year ; and there never was such a village full of old kettles and blunt knives in consequence. However, they sent me a deputation, hoping I would forget what had passed, and I pardoned them." " What is your name ? " inquired Joey. " Augustus Spikeman. My father was Augustus Spikeman, Esq. ; I was Master Augustus Spikeman, and now I'm Spikeman, the tinker ; so now we'll go on again. I have nearly come to the end of my beat ; in two days we shall be at Dudstone, where I have my room, and where we shall probably remain for some days before we start again." In the afternoon they arrived at a small hamlet, where they supped and slept. Spikeman was very busy till noon grinding and repairing ; they then continued their journey, and on the second day, having waited outside the town till it was dusk, Spikeman left his wheel in the charge of the landlord of a small ale-house, to whom he appeared well- known, then walked with Joey to the house in which he had a room, and led him upstairs to his apartments. When our hero entered the chamber of Spikeman, he was very much surprised to find it was spacious, light, and airy, and very clean. A large bed was in one corner ; a sofa, mahogany table, chest of drawers, and chairs, composed the furniture ; there was a good-sized looking-glass over the chimney-piece, and several shelves of books round the 1 86 Joseph Rushbrook; or, room. Desiring Joey to sit down and take a book, Spike- man rang for water, shaved off his beard, which had grown nearly half an inch long, washed himself, and then put on clean linen, and a very neat suit of clothes. When he was completely dressed, Joey could hardly believe that it was the same person. Upon Joey expressing his astonish- ment, Spikeman replied, " You see, my lad, there is no one in this town who knows what my real profession is. I always go out and return at dusk, and the travelling tinker is not recognised j not that I care for it so much, only other people do, and I respect their prejudices. They know that I am in the ironmongery line, and that is all ; so I always make it a rule to enjoy myself after my circuit, and live like a gentleman till part of my money is gone, and then I set out again. I am acquainted with a good many highly respectable people in this town, and that is the reason why I said I could be of service to you. Have you any better clothes ? " " Yes ; much better." " Then dress yourself in them, and keep those you wear for our travels." Joey did as he was requested, and Spikeman then pro- posed that they should make a call at a friend's, where he would introduce our hero as his nephew. They set off, and soon came to the front of a neat-looking house, at the door of which Spikeman rapped. The door was opened by one of the daughters of the house, who, on seeing him, cried out, " Dear me, Mr Spikeman, is this you ? Why, where have you been all this while ? " " About the country for orders, Miss Amelia ; " replied Spikeman ; " business must be attended to." " Well, come in ; mother will be glad to see you," replied the girl, at the same time opening the door of the sitting-room for them to enter. " Mr Spikeman, as I live ! " exclaimed another girl, jumping up, and seizing his hand. " Well, Mr Spikeman, it's an age since we have seen you," said the mother, " so now sit down and tell us all The Poacher 187 the news ; and, Ophelia, my love, get tea ready ; and who is it you have with you, Mr Spikeman ? " " My little nephew, madam ; he is about to enter into the mysteries of the cutlery trade." " Indeed ! well, I suppose, as you are looking out for a successor, you soon intend to retire from business and take a wife, Mr Spikeman ? " " Why, I suppose it will be my fate one of these days," replied Spikeman ; " but that's an affair that requires some consideration." " Very true, Mr Spikeman, it is a serious affair," replied the old lady ; " and I can assure you that neither my Ophelia nor Amelia should marry a man, with my con- sent, without I was convinced the gentleman considered it a very serious affair. It makes or mars a man, as the saying is." "Well, Miss Ophelia, have you read all the books I lent you the last time I was here ? " " Yes, that they have, both of them," replied the old lady ; " they are so fond of poetry." " But we've often wished that you were here to read to us," replied Miss Amelia, " you do read so beautifully ; will you read to us after tea ? " " Certainly, with much pleasure." Miss Ophelia now entered with the tea-tray ; she and her sister then went into the kitchen to make some toast, and to see to the kettle boiling, while Mr Spikeman con- tinued in conversation with the mother. Mrs James was the widow of a draper in the town, who had, at his death, left her sufficient to live quietly and respectably with her daughters, who were both very good, amiable girls ; and, it must be acknowledged, neither of them unwilling to listen to the addresses of Mr Spikeman, had he been so inclined ; but they began to think that Mr Spikeman was not a marrying man, which, as the reader must know by this time, was the fact. The evening passed very pleasantly. Mr Spikeman took a volume of poetry, and, as Miss Ophelia had said, 1 88 Joseph Rushbrook; or, he did read very beautifully : so much so, that Joey was in admiration, for he had never yet known the power produced by good reading. At ten o'clock they took their leave, and returned to Spikeman's domicile. As soon as they were upstairs, and candles lighted, Spikeman sat down on the sofa. " You see, Joey," said he, " that it is necessary not to mention the knife-grinder's wheel, as it would make a difference in my reception. All gentlemen do not gain their livelihood as honestly as I do; but, still, prejudices are not to be overcome. You did me a kind act, and I wished to return it ; I could not do so without letting you into this little secret, but I have seen enough of you to think you can be trusted." " I should hope so," replied Joey ; " I have learnt caution, young as I am." " That I have perceived already, and therefore I have said enough on the subject. I have but one bed, and you must sleep with me, as you did on our travels." The next morning the old woman of the house brought up their breakfast. Spikeman lived in a very comfortable way, very different to what he did as a travelling tinker ; and he really appeared to Joey to be, with the exception of his conversation, which was always superior, a very different person from what he was when Joey first fell in with him. For many days they remained at Dudstone, visiting at different houses, and were always well received. " You appear so well known, and so well liked in this town," observed Joey; "I wonder you do not set up a business, particularly as you say you have money in the bank." " If I did, Joey, I should no longer be happy, no longer be my own master, and do as I please ; in fact, I should no longer be the gentleman, that is, the gentleman by profession, as near as I can be one — the man who has his liberty, and enjoys it. No, no, boy ; I have tried almost everything, and have come to my own conclusions. Have you been reading the book I gave you ? " The Poacher 189 " Yes ; I have nearly finished it." " I am glad to see that you like reading. Nothing so much improves or enlarges the mind. You must never let a day pass without reading two or three hours, and when we travel again, and are alone by the wayside, we will read together ; I will choose some books on purpose." " I should like very much to write to my sister Mary," said Joey. " Do so, and tell her that you have employment ; " but do not say exactly how. There is paper and pens in the drawer. Stop, I will find them for you." Spikeman went to the drawer, and when taking out the pens and paper, laid hold of some manuscript writing. " By-the-bye," said he, laughing, " I told you, Joey, that I had been a captain's clerk on board the Weasel, a fourteen-gun brig ; I wrote the captain's despatches for him ; and here are two of them of which I kept copies, that I might laugh over them occasionally. I wrote all his letters ; for he was no great penman in the first place, and had a very great confusion of ideas in the second. He certainly was in- debted to me, as you will acknowledge, when you hear what I read and tell you. I served under him, cruising in the Channel ; and I flatter myself that it was entirely through my writings that he got his promotion. He is now Captain Alcibiades Ajax Boggs, and all through me. We were cruising off the coast of France, close in to Ushant, where we perceived a fleet of small vessels, called chasse-marees (coasting luggers), laden with wine, coming round ; and, as we did not know of any batteries there- abouts, we ran in to attempt a capture. We cut off three of them ; but just as we had compelled them, by firing broadsides into them, to lower their sails, a battery, which our commander did not know anything of, opened fire upon us, and before we could get out of range, which we did as soon as we could, one shot came in on deck, and cut the topsail halyard's fall, at the very time that the men were hoisting the sail (for we had been shaking another 1 90 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, reef out), and the rope being divided, as the men were hauling upon it, of course they all tumbled on the deck, one over the other. The other shot struck our foremast, and chipped off a large slice, besides cutting away one of the shrouds, and the signal halyards. Now, you do not know enough about ships to understand that there was very little harm done, or that the coasting vessels were very small, with only three or four men on board of each of them ; it therefore required some little management to make a flaming despatch. But I did it — only listen, now — I have begun in the true Nelson style. « ( TQ THE SECRETARY OF THE ADMIRALTY. " ' Sir, — It has pleased the Great Disposer to grant a decided victory to his Majesty's arms, through the efforts of the vessel which I have the honour to command. On the 23rd day of August last, Ushant then bearing S. "W. f West, wind W., distant from three to four leagues, perceived an enemy's fleet, of three-masted vessels rounding the point, with the hopes, I presume, of gaining the port of Cher- burg. Convinced that I should have every support from the gallant officers and true British tars under my com- mand, I immediately bore down to the attack ; the move- ments of the enemy fully proved that they were astounded at the boldness of the manoeuvre, and instead of keeping their line, they soon separated, and sheer'd off in different directions, so as to receive the support of their batteries.' " You see, Joey, I have said three-masted vessels, which implies ships, although, as in this case, they were only small coasting luggers. " ' In half an hour we were sufficiently close to the main body to open our fire, and broadside after broadside were poured in, answered by the batteries on the coast, with unerring aim. Notwithstanding the unequal contest, I have the pleasure of informing you, that in less than half an hour we succeeded in capturing three of the The Poacher 191 vessels (named as per margin), and finding nothing more could be done for the honour of his Majesty's arms, as soon as we could take possession, I considered it my duty to haul off from the incessant and galling fire of the batteries. " ' In this well-fought and successful contest, I trust that the British flag has not been tarnished. What the enemy's loss may have been it is impossible to say ; they acknowledge themselves, however, that it has been severe.' " " But, did the enemy lose any men ? " demanded Joey. " Not one ; but you observe I do not say loss of life, although the Admiralty may think I refer to it — that's not my fault. But I was perfectly correct in saying the enemy's loss was great ; for the poor devils who were in the chasse-marees, when they were brought on board, wrung their hands, and said, that they had lost their all. Now, what loss can be greater than all? " ' His Majesty's vessel is much injured in her spars and rigging from the precision of the enemy's fire ; her lower rigging — running rigging — being cut away, her foremast severely wounded, and, I regret to add, severely injured in the hull ; but, such was the activity of the officers and men, that, with the exception of the foremast, which will require the services of the dock-yard, in twenty-four hours we were ready to resume the contest. I am happy to say, that, although we have many men hurt, we have none killed ; and I trust that, under the care of the surgeon, they will, most of them, be soon able to resume their duty.'" " But you had no men wounded ? " interrupted Joey. " None wounded ! I don't say wounded, I only say hurt. Didn't a dozen of the men, who were hoisting the main-topsail when the fall was cut away, all tumble back- wards on deck ? And do you think they were not hurt by the fall ? — Of course, they were j besides, one man nearly had his finger jammed off, and another burnt his hand by putting too much powder to the touch-hole of his carronade. So I continue : — 192 Joseph Rushbrook; or, " * It now becomes my duty to point out to their Lordships the very meritorious conduct of Mr John Smith, an old and deserving officer, Mr James Hammond, Mr Cross, and Mr Byfleet ; indeed, I may say that all the officers under my command vied in their exertions for the honour of the British flag.' " You see the commander had quarrelled with some of his officers at that time, and would not mention them. I tried all I could to persuade him, but he was obstinate. '" ' I have the honour to return a list of casualties and the names of the vessels taken, and have the honour to be, Sir, your obedient servant, " * Alcibiades Ajax Boggs. " ' Report of killed and wounded on board of his Majesty's brig Weasel, in the action of the 23rd of August : — Killed, none j wounds and contusions, John Potts, William Smith, Thomas Snaggs, William Walker, and Peter Potter, able seamen ; John Hobbs, Timothy Stout, and Walter Pye, marines. " ' Return of vessels captured in the action of the 23rd of August, by his Majesty's brig Weasel : — Notre Dame de Misericorde, de La Rochelle ; Le Vengeur de Bordeaux ; VEtoile du Matin, de Charente. (Signed) " ' Alcibiades Ajax Boggs. " ' Commander.' " " Well, I'm sure, if you had not told me otherwise, I should have thought it had been a very hard fight." " That's what they did at the Admiralty, and just what we wanted j but now I come to my other despatch, which obtained the rank for my captain j and upon which I plume myself not a little. You must know, that when cruising in the Channel, in a thick fog, and not keeping a very sharp look-out, we ran foul of a French privateer. It was about nine o'clock in the evening, and we had very few hands on deck, and those on deck were most of them, if not all, asleep. We came bang against one another, and The Poacher 193 carried away both spars and yards ; and the privateer, who was by far the most alert after the accident happened, cut away a good deal of our rigging, and got clear of us before our men could be got up from below. Had they been on the look-out, they might have boarded us to a certainty, for all was confusion and amazement ; but they cleared themselves and got off before our men could get up and run to their guns. She was out of sight im- mediately, from the thickness of the fog ; however, we fired several broadsides in the direction we supposed she might be ; and there was an end to the matter. Altogether,, as you perceive, it was not a very creditable affair." "Why, no," replied Joey ; " I don't see how you could make much out of that." " Well, if you can't see, now you shall hear : — « 1 TQ THE SECRETARY OF THE ADMIRALTY. " ' Sir, — I have the honour to acquaint you that, on the night of the loth November, cruising in the Channel, with the wind from S. E., and foggy, a large vessel hove in sight on our weather bow.' " You see, I didn't say we perceived a vessel, for that would not have been correct. " * As she evidently did not perceive us, we continued our course towards her ; the men were summoned to their quarters, and, in a very short time, were ready to uphold the honour of the English flag. The first collision between the two vessels was dreadful ; but she contrived to disengage herself, and we were therefore prevented carrying her by boarding. After repeated broadsides, to which, in her disabled and confused state, she could make no return, she gradually increased her distance ; still, she had remained in our hands, a proud trophy — I say, still she had been a proud trophy — had not the unequal collision' — (it was a very unequal collision, for she was a much smaller vessel than we were) — ' carried away our fore-yard, cat-head, fore-top-gallant mast, jibboom, and J.R. N j 94 Joseph Rushbrook • or, dolphin-striker, and rendered us, from the state of our rigging, a mere wreck. Favoured by the thick fog and darkness of the night, I regret that, after all our efforts, she contrived to escape, and the spoils of victory were wrested from us after all our strenuous exertions in our country's cause. "'When all performed their duty in so exemplary a manner, it would be unfair, and, indeed, invidious, to particularise j still, I cannot refrain from mentioning the good conduct of Mr Smith, my first lieutenant ; Mr Bowles, my second lieutenant ; Mr Chabb, my worthy master ; Mr Jones and Mr James, master's mates ; Messrs Hall, Small, Ball, and Pall, midshipmen ; and Messrs Sweet and Sharp, volunteers. I also received every assistance from Mr Grulf, the purser, who offered his services, and I cannot omit the conduct of Mr Spikeman, clerk. I am also highly indebted to the attention and care shown by Mr Thorn, surgeon, who is so well supported in his duties by Mr Green, assistant surgeon, of this ship. The activity of Mr Bruce, the boatswain, was deserving of the highest encomiums ; and it would be an act of injustice not to notice the zeal of Mr Bile, the carpenter, and Mr Sponge, gunner of the ship. James Anderson, quarter-master, received a severe contusion, but is now doing well ; I trust I shall not be considered presumptuous in recommending him to a boatswain's warrant. " I am happy to say that our casualties, owing to the extreme panic of the enemy, are very few. I have the honour to be, sir, your very obedient and humble servant, " ' Alcibiades Ajax Boggs. " * Wounded — Very severely, James Anderson, quarter- master. Contusions — John Peters, able seaman ; James Morrison, marine -, Thomas Snowball, captain's cook.' " There, now ; that I consider a very capital letter ; no Frenchman, not even an American, could have made out a better case. The Admiralty were satisfied that something very gallant had been done, although the fog made it The Poacher 195 appear not quite so clear as it might have been j and the consequence was, that my commander received his pro- motion. There, now write your letter, and tell your sister that she must answer it as soon as possible, as you are going out with me for orders in three or four days, and shall be absent for three months." Joey wrote a long letter to Mary ; he stated the adven- ture with the two scoundrels who would have robbed him, his afterwards falling in with a gentleman who dealt in cutlery, and his being taken into his service ; and, as Spikeman had told him, requested her to answer directly, as he was about to set off on a circuit with his master, which would occasion his absence for three months. Mary's reply came before Joey's departure. She stated that she was comfortable and happy, that her mistress was very kind to her, but that she felt that the work was rather too much ; however, she would do her duty to her employers. There was much good advice to Joey, much affectionate feeling, occasional recurrence to past scenes, and thankfulness that she was no longer a disgrace to her parents and her sex ; it was an humble, grateful, contrite, and affectionate effusion, which did honour to poor Mary, and proved that she was sincere in her assertions of con- tinuing in the right path, and dotingly attached to our hero. Joey read it over and over again, and shed tears of pleasure as he recalled the scenes which had passed. Poor Joey had lost his father and mother, as he supposed, for ever ; and it was soothing to the boy's feelings to know that there were some people in the world who loved him ; and he remained for hours thinking of Mary, Mrs Chopper, and his good and kind friends, the M'Shanes. Two days after the receipt of Mary's letter, Spikeman and Joey went to the houses of their various acquaintances and bade them adieu, announcing their intention to set off on the circuit. Spikeman paid up everything, and put away many articles in his room which had been taken out for use. Joey and he then put on their travelling garments, and, waiting till it was dusk, locked the chambers and set 196 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, off to the little public-house, where the knife-grinder's wheel had been deposited. Spikeman had taken the pre- caution to smudge and dirty his face, and Joey, at his request, had done the same. When they entered the public-house, the landlord greeted Spikeman warmly, and asked him what he had been about. Spikeman replied that, as usual, he had been to see his old mother, and now he must roll his grindstone a bit. After drinking a pot of beer at the kitchen-fire, they retired to bed •, and the next morning, at daylight, they once more proceeded on their travels. Chapter XXIX In which the tinker falls in love with a lady of high degree. For many months Spikeman and our hero travelled together, during which time Joey had learned to grind a knife or a pair of scissors as well as Spikeman himself, and took most of the work off his hands ; they suited each other, and passed their time most pleasantly, indulging themselves every day with a few hours' repose and reading on the wayside. One afternoon, when it was very sultry, they had stopped and ensconced themselves in a shady copse by the side of the road, not far from an old mansion, which stood on an eminence, when Spikeman said, "Joey, I think we are intruding here ; and, if so, may be forcibly expelled, which will not be pleasant ; so roll the wheel in, out of sight, and then we may indulge in a siesta, which, during this heat, will be very agreeable." " What's a siesta ? " said Joey. " A siesta is a nap in the middle of the day, universally resorted to by the Spaniards, Italians, and, indeed, by all the inhabitants of hot climates ; with respectable people it , is called a siesta, but with a travelling tinker it must be, I suppose, called a snooze." The Poacher 197 " Well, then, a snooze let it be," said Joey, taking his seat on the turf by Spikeman, in a reclining position. They had not yet composed themselves to sleep, when they heard a female voice singing at a little distance. The voice evidently proceeded from the pleasure-grounds which were between them and the mansion. " Hush ! " said Spikeman, putting up his finger, as he raised himself on his elbow. The party evidently advanced nearer to them, and carolled, in very beautiful tones, the song of Ariel — " Where the bee sucks, there lurk I, In the cowslip's bell I lie," etc. " Heigho ! " exclaimed a soft voice, after the song had been finished ; " I wish I could creep into a cowslip bell. Miss Araminta, you are not coming down the walk yet; it appears you are in no hurry, so I'll begin my new book." After this soliloquy there was silence. Spikeman made a sign to Joey to remain still, and then, creeping on his hands and knees, by degrees arrived as far as he could venture to the other side of the copse. In a minute or two another footstep was heard coming down the gravel walk, and soon afterwards another voice. " Well, Melissa, did you think I never would come ? I could not help it. Uncle would have me rub his foot a little." " Ay, there's the rub," replied the first young lady. " Well, it was a sacrifice of friendship at the altar of humanity. Poor papa ! I wish I could rub his foot for him ; but I always do it to a quadrille tune, and he always says I rub it too hard ; I only follow the music." " Yes, and so does he ; for you sometimes set him a-dancing, you giddy girl." " I am not fit for a nurse, and that's the fact, Araminta. I can feel for him, but I cannot sit still a minute ; that you know. Poor mamma was a great loss ; and, when she died, 1 98 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, I don't know what I should have done if it hadn't been for my dear cousin Araminta." " Nay, you are very useful in your way ; for you play and sing to him, and that soothes him." " Yes, I do it with pleasure, for I can do but little else ; but, Araminta, my singing is that of a caged bird ; I must sing where they hang my cage. O, how I wish I had been a man ! " " I believe that there never was a woman yet, who has not, at one time in her life, said the same thing, however mild and quiet she may have been in disposition. But, as we cannot, why " " Why, the next thing is to wish to be a man's wife, Araminta ; is it not ? " "It is natural, I suppose, to wish so," replied Araminta; " but I seldom think about it. I must first see the man I can love before I think about marrying." " And now, tell me, Araminta, what kind of man do you think you could fancy ? " " I should like him to be steady, generous, brave, and handsome ; of unexceptionable family, with plenty of money ; that's all." " O, that's all ! I admire your ' that's all.' You are not very likely to meet with your match, I'm afraid. If he's steady, he is not very likely to be very generous ; and if to those two qualifications you tack on birth, wealth, beauty, and bravery, I think your 'that's all' is very misplaced. Now I have other ideas." "Pray let me have them, Melissa." " I do not want my husband to be very handsome, but I wish him to be full of fire and energy ; a man that — in fact, a man that could keep me in tolerable order. I do not care about his having money, as I have plenty in my own possession to bestow on any man I love : but he must be of good education — very fond of reading — romantic not a little — and his extraction must be, however poor, respect- able — that is, his parents must not have been tradespeople. You know I prefer riding a spirited horse to a quiet one ; The Poacher 199 and, if I were to marry, I should like a husband who would give me some trouble to manage j I think I would master him." " So have many thought before you, Melissa, but they have been mistaken." " Yes, because they have attempted it by meekness and submission, thinking to disarm by that method. It never will do, any more than getting into a passion. When a man gives up his liberty, he does made a great sacrifice — that I'm sure of — and a woman should prevent him feeling that he is chained to her." " And how would you manage that ? " said Araminta. "By being infinite in my variety, always cheerful, and instead of permitting him to stay at home, pinned to my apron-string, order him out away from me, join his amuse- ments, and always have people in the house that he liked, so as to avoid being too much tete-a-tete. The caged bird ever wants to escape ; open the doors and let him take a flight, and he will come back of his own accord. Of course, I am supposing my gentleman to be naturally good- hearted and good-tempered. Sooner than marry what you call a steady, sober man, I'd run away with a captain of a privateer. And, one thing more, Araminta, I never would, passionately, distractedly fond as I might be, acknowledge to my husband the extent of my devotion and affection for him. I would always have him to suppose that I could still love him better than what I yet did — in short, that there was more to be gained ; for, depend upon it, when a man is assured that he has nothing more to gain, his atten- tions are over. You can't expect a man to chase nothing, you know." " You are a wild girl, Melissa ; I only hope you will marry well." "I hope I shall; but I can tell you this, that, if I do make a mistake, at all events, my husband will find that he has made a mistake also. There's a little lurking devil in me, which, if roused up by bad treatment, would, I expect, make me more than a match for him. I'm almost 2oo Joseph Rushbrook ; or, sorry that I've so much money of my own, for I suspect every man who says anything pretty to me • and there are but few in this world who would scorn to marry for money." " I believe so, Melissa; but your person would be quite sufficient without fortune." " Thanks, coz. ; for a woman, that's very handsome of you. And so now we will begin our new book." Miss Melissa now commenced reading ; and Spikeman, who had not yet seen the faces of the two young ladies, crept softly nearer to the side of the copse, so as to enable him to satisfy his curiosity. In this position he remained nearly an hour, when the book was closed, and the young ladies returned to the house, Melissa again singing as she went. " Joey," said Spikeman, " I did not think that there was such a woman in existence as that girl ; she is just the idea that I have formed of what a woman ought to be ; I must find out who she is ; I am in love with her, and " " Mean to make her a tinker's bride," replied Joey, laughing. "Joey, I shall certainly knock you down, if you apply that term to her. Come, let us go to the village, it is close at hand." As soon as they arrived at the village, Spikeman went into the ale-house. During the remainder of the day, he was in a brown study, and Joey amused himself with a book. At nine o'clock the company had all quitted the tap-room, and then Spikeman entered into conversation with the hostess. In the course of conversation, she informed him that the mansion belonged to Squire Mathews, who had formerly been a great manufacturer, and who had purchased the place ; that the old gentleman had long suffered from the gout, and saw no company, which was very bad for the village ; that Miss Melissa was his daughter, and he had a son, who was with his regiment in India, and, it was said, not on very good terms with his father j that The Poacher 201 the old gentleman was violent and choleric because he was always in pain, but that every one spoke well of Miss Melissa and Miss Araminta, her cousin, who were both very kind to the poor people. Having obtained these particulars, Spikeman went to bed ; he slept little that night, as Joey, who was his bedfellow, could vouch for : for he allowed Joey no sleep either, turning and twisting round in the bed every two minutes. The next morning they arose early and proceeded on their way. " Joey," said Spikeman, after an hour's silence, " I have been thinking a great deal last night." " So I suppose, for you certainly were not sleeping." " No, I could not sleep j the fact is, Joey, I am determined to have that girl, Miss Mathews, if I can ; a bold attempt for a tinker, you will say, but not for a gentleman born as I was. I thought I never should care for a woman ; but there is a current in the affairs of men. I shall now drift with the current, and if it leads to fortune, so much the better ; if not, he who dares greatly, does greatly. I feel convinced that I should make her a good husband, and it shall not be my fault if I do not gain her." " Do you mean to propose in form with your foot on your wheel ? " " No, saucebox, I don't ; but I mean to turn my knife- grinder's wheel into a wheel of fortune ; and, with your help, I will do so." " You are sure of my help, if you are serious," replied Joey ; " but how you are to manage I cannot comprehend." " I have already made out a programme, although the interweaving of the plot is not yet decided upon j but I must get to the next town as fast as I can, as I must make preparations." On arrival, they took up humble quarters as usual ; and then Spikeman went to a stationer's, and told them that he had got a commission to execute for a lady. He bought sealing-wax, a glass seal, with " Esperance " as a motto, gilt-edged note-paper, and several other requisites in the 202 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, stationery line, and ordered them to be packed up carefully, that he might not soil them ; he then purchased scented soap, a hair-brush, and other articles for the toilet ; and having obtained all these requisites, he added to them one or two pair of common beaver gloves, and then went to the barber's to get his hair cut. " I am all ready now, Joey," said he, when he returned to the ale-house ; " and to-morrow we retrace our steps." " What ! back to the village ? " " Yes *, and where we shall remain some time perhaps." On reaching the village next morning, Spikeman hired a bedroom, and, leaving Joey to work the grindstone, remained in his apartments. When Joey returned in the evening, he found Spikeman had been very busy with the soap, and had restored his hands to something like their proper colour ; he had also shaved himself, and washed his hair clean and brushed it well. " You see, Joey, I have commenced operations already : I shall soon be prepared to act the part of the gentleman who has turned tinker to gain the love of a fair lady of high degree." " I wish you success ; but what are your plans ? " " That you will find out to-morrow morning \ now we must go to bed." Chapter XXX Plotting, reading, and writing. Spikeman was up early the next morning. When they had breakfasted, he desired Joey to go for the knife- grinder's wheel, and follow him. As soon as they were clear of the village, Spikeman said, " It will not do to remain at the village ; there's a cottage half a mile down the road, where they once gave me a lodging ; we must try if we can get it now." When they arrived at the cottage, Spikeman made a very The Poacher 203 satisfactory bargain for board and lodging for a few days, stating that they charged so much at the village ale-house that he could not afford to stay there, and that he expected to have a good job at Squire Mathews's, up at the mansion-house. As soon as this arrangement was com- pleted, they returned back to the copse near to the mansion- house, Joey rolling the knife-grinder's wheel. " You see, Joey," said Spikeman, " the first thing necessary will be to stimulate curiosity ; we may have to wait a day or two before the opportunity may occur, but, if necessary, I will wait a month. That Miss Mathews will very often be found on the seat by the copse, either alone or with her cousin, I take to be certain, as all ladies have their favourite retreats. I do not intend that they should see me yet ; I must make an impression first. Now, leave the wheel on the outside, and come with me ; do not speak." As soon as they were in the copse, Spikeman recon- noitred very carefully, to ascertain if either of the young ladies were on the bench, and finding no one there, he returned to Joey. " They cannot come without our hearing their foot- steps," said Spikeman ; " so now we must wait here patiently." Spikeman threw himself down on the turf in front of the copse, and Joey followed his example. " Come, Joey, we may as well read a little to pass away the time ; I have brought two volumes of Byron with me." For half an hour they were thus occupied, when they heard the voice of Miss Mathews singing as before as she came down the walk. Spikeman rose and peeped through the foliage. " She is alone," said he, " which is just what I wished. Now, Joey, I am going to read to you aloud." Spikeman then began to read in the masterly style which we have before referred to : — " ' I loved, and was beloved again ; They tell me, Sir, you never knew 204 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, Those gentle frailties : if 'tis true, I shorten all my joys and pain, To you 'twould seem absurd as vain: But all now are not born to reign, Or o'er their passions, or as you There, o'er themselves and nations too. I am, or rather was, a Prince, A chief of thousands, and could lead Them on when each would foremost bleed, But would not o'er myself assume The like control. But to resume : I loved, and was beloved again ; In sooth it is a happy doom — But yet where happiness ends in pain.' " I am afraid that is but too true, my dear boy," said Spikeman, laying down the book ; " Shakespeare has most truly said, ' The course of true love never did run smooth.' Nay, he cannot be said to be original in that idea, for Horace and most of the Greek and Latin poets have said much the same thing before him j however, let us go on again— " ' We met in secret, and the hour Which led me to my lady's bower Was fiery expectation's dower ; The days and nights were nothing — all Except the hour which doth recall In the long lapse from youth to age, No other like itself.' " Do you observe the extreme beauty of that passage ? " said Spikeman. " Yes," said Joey, " it is very beautiful." " You would more feel the power of it, my dear boy, if you were in love, but your time is not yet come ; but I am afraid we must leave off now, for I expect letters of consequence by the post, and it is useless, I fear, waiting here. Come, put the book by, and let us take up the wheel of my sad fortunes." Spikeman and Joey rose on their feet. Joey went to the knife-grinder's wheel, and Spikeman followed him without looking back ; he heard a rustling, nevertheless, The Poacher 205 among the bushes, which announced to him that his manoeuvre had succeeded ; and, as soon as he was about fifty yards from the road, he took the wheel from Joey, desiring him to look back, as if accidentally. Joey did so, and saw Miss Mathews following them with her eyes. " That will do," observed Spikeman ; " her curiosity is excited, and that is all I wish." What Spikeman said was correct. Araminta joined Miss Mathews shortly after Spikeman and Joey had gone away. " My dear Araminta," said Melissa, " such an adventure! I can hardly credit my senses." " Why, what is the matter, dear cousin ? " Do you see that man and boy, with a knife-grinder's wheel, just in sight now ? " "Yes, to be sure I do ; but what of them ? Have they been insolent ? " " Insolent ! they never saw me ; they had no idea that I was here. I heard voices as I came down the walk, so I moved softly, and when I gained the seat, there was some- body reading poetry so beautifully ; I never heard any one read with such correct emphasis and clear pronunciation. And then he stopped, and talked to the boy about the Greek and Latin poets, and quoted Shakspeare. There must be some mystery." "Well, but if there is, what has that to do with the travelling tinkers ? " "What! why it was the travelling tinker himself, dearest ; but he cannot be a tinker ; for I heard him say that he expected letters of consequence, and no travelling tinker could do that." " Why, no ; I doubt if most of them can read at all." " Now, I would give my little finger to know who that person is." " Did you see his face ?" " No ; he never turned this way ; the boy did when they were some distance off. It's very strange." "What was he reading ? " 206 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, " I don't know ; it was very beautiful. I wonder if he will ever come this way again ! if he does " " Well, Melissa, and if he does ? " " My scissors want grinding very badly j they won't cut a bit." " Why, Melissa, you don't mean to fall ia love with a tinker ? " said Araminta, laughing. "He is no tinker, I'm surej but why is he disguised? I should like to know." "Well, but I came out to tell you that your father wants you. Come along." The two young ladies then returned to the house, but the mystery of the morning was broached more than once, and canvassed in every possible way. Spikeman, as soon as he had returned to the cottage, took out his writing materials to concoct an epistle. After some time in correcting, he made out a fair copy, which he read to Joey. " * I tremble lest at the first moment you cast your eyes over the page, you throw it away without deigning to peruse it ; and yet there is nothing in it which could raise a blush on the cheek of a modest maiden. If it be a crime to have seen you by chance, to have watched you by stealth, to consider hallowed every spot you visit — nay, more, if it be a crime to worship at the shrine of beauty and of innocence, or, to speak more boldly, to adore you — then am I guilty. You will ask, why I resort to a clandestine step. Simply, because, when I discovered your name and birth, I felt assured that an ancient feud between the two families, to which nor you nor I were parties, would bar an introduction to your father's house. You would ask me who I am. A gentleman, I trust, by birth and education ; a poor one, I grant j and you have made me poorer, for you have robbed me of more than wealth — my peace of mind and my happiness. I feel that I am presumptuous and bold ; but forgive me. Your eyes tell me you are too kind, too good, to give unnecessary pain ; and if you knew how much I have already suffered, The Poacher 207 you would not oppress further a man who was happy until he saw you. Pardon me, therefore, my boldness, and excuse the means I have taken of placing this communication before you.' "That will do, I think," said Spikeman ; "and now, Joey, we will go out and take a walk, and I will give you your directions." Chapter XXXI In which the plot thickens. The next day our hero, having received the letter with his instructions, went with the wheel down to the copse near to the mansion-house. Here he remained quietly until he heard Miss Melissa coming down the gravel-walk ; he waited till she had time to gain her seat, and then, leaving his wheel outside, he walked round the copse until he came to her. She raised her eyes from her book when she saw him. " If you please, miss, have you any scissors or knives for me to grind ? " said Joey, bowing with his hat in his hand. Miss Mathews looked earnestly at Joey. "Who are you?" said she at last; "are you the boy who was on this road with a knife-grinder and his wheel yesterday afternoon ? " " Yes, madam, we came this way," replied Joey, bowing again very politely. "Is he your father ? " " No, madam, he is my uncle ; he is not married." " Your uncle. Well, I have a pair of scissors to grind, and I will go for them ; you may bring your wheel in here, as I wish to see how you grind." " Certainly, miss, with the greatest pleasure." Joey brought in his wheel, and observing that Miss Mathews had left her book on the seat, he opened it at 208 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, the marked page and slipped the letter in ; and scarcely had done so, when he perceived Miss Mathews and her cousin coming towards him. " Here are the scissors ; mind you make them cut well." " I will do my best, miss," replied Joey, who immediately set to work. " Have you been long at this trade ? " said Miss Mathews. "No, miss, not very long." " And your uncle, has he been long at it ? " Joey hesitated on purpose. "Why, I really don't know exactly how long." " Why is your uncle not with you ? " "He was obliged to go to town, miss — that is, to a town at some distance from here — on business." " Why, what business can a tinker have ? " inquired Araminta. "I suppose he wanted some soft solder, miss j he requires a great deal." " Can you write and read, boy ?" inquired Melissa. "Me, miss! how should I know how to write and read ? " replied Joey, looking up. " Have you been much about here ? " " Yes, miss, a good deal ; uncle seems to like this part •, We never were so long before. The scissors are done now, miss, and they will cut very well. Uncle was in hopes of getting some work at the mansion-house when he came back." " Can your uncle write and read ? " " I believe he can a little, miss." " What do I owe you for the scissors ? " " Nothing, miss, if you please ; I had rather not take anything from you." " And why not from me ? " " Because I never worked for so pretty a lady before. Wish you good-morning, ladies," said Joey, taking up his wheel and rolling it away. The Poacher 209 " Well, Araminta, what do you think now ? That's no knife-grinder's boy ; he is as well-bred and polite as any lad I ever saw." *' I suspect that he is a little story-teller, saying that he could not write and read," Araminta replied. " And so do I ; what made him in such a hurry to go away ? " " I suppose he did not like our questions. I wonder whether the uncle will come. Well, Melissa, I must not quit your father just now, so I must leave you with your book ; " and, so saying, Araminta took her way to the house. Miss Mathews was in a reverie for some minutes ; Joey's behaviour had puzzled her almost as much as what she had overheard the day before. At last she opened the book, and, to her great astonishment, beheld the letter. She started — looked at it — it was addressed to her. She demurred at first whether she should open it. It must have been put there by the tinker's boy — it was evidently no tinker's letter ; it must be a love-letter, and she ought not to read it. There was something, however, so very charming in the whole romance of the affair, if it should turn out, as she suspected, that the tinker should prove a gentleman who had fallen in love with her and had assumed the disguise. Melissa wanted an excuse to herself for opening the letter. At last she said to herself, "Who knows but what it may be a petition from some poor person or another who is in distress ? I ought to read it at all events." Had it proved to be a petition, Miss Melissa would have been terribly disappointed. " It certainly is very respect- ful," thought Melissa, after she had read it, " but I cannot reply to it j that would never do. There certainly is nothing I can take offence at. It must be the tinker him- self, I am sure of that ; but still he does not say so. Well, I don't know, but I feel very anxious as to what this will come to. O, it can come to nothing, for I cannot love a man I have never seen, and I would not admit a J.R. o 12 1 o Joseph Rushbrook ; or, stranger to an interview ; that's quite decided. I must show the letter to Araminta. Shall I ? I don't know, she is so particular, so steady, and would be talking of propriety, and prudence ; it would vex her so, and put her quite in a fever, she would be so unhappy ; no, it would be cruel to say anything to her, she would fret so about it ; I won't tell her until I think it absolutely necessary. It is a very gentlemanlike hand, and elegant language too ; but still I'm not going to carry on a secret correspondence with a tinker. It must be the tinker. What an odd thing altogether ! What can his name be ? An old family quarrel, too. Why it's a Romeo and Juliet affair, only Romeo's a tinker. Well, one mask is as good as another. He acknowledges himself poor, I like that of him, there's something so honest in it. Well, after all, it will be a little amusement to a poor girl like me, shut up from year's ^nd to year's end, with opodeldocs always in my nose •, so I will see what the end of it may be," thought Melissa, rising from her seat to go into the house, and putting the letter into her pocket. Joey went back to Spikeman and reported pro- gress. " That's all I wish, Joey," said Spikeman ; " now you must not go there to-morrow ; we must let it work a little ; if she is at all interested in the letter, she will be impatient to know more." Spikeman was right. Melissa looked up' and down the road very often during the next day, and was rather silent during the evening. The second day after, Joey, having received his instructions, set off, with his knife- grinder's wheel, for the mansion-house. When he went round the copse where the bench was, he found Miss Mathews there. " I beg your pardon, miss, but do you think there is any work at the house ? " "Come here, sir," said Melissa, assuming a very dignified air. " Yes, miss," said Joey, walking slowly to her. The Poacher 211 " Now, tell me the truth, and I will reward you with half-a-crown." " Yes, miss." " Did you not put this letter in my book the day before yesterday ? " " Letter, miss ! what letter ? " " Don't you deny it, for you know you did ; and if you don't tell me the truth, my father is a magistrate, and I'll have you punished." " I was told not to tell," replied Joey, pretending to be frightened. " But you must tell ; yes, and tell me immediately." " I hope you are not angry, miss." " No ; not if you tell the truth." " I don't exactly know, miss, but a gentleman " " What gentleman ? " " A gentleman that came to uncle, miss." " A gentleman that came to your uncle ; well, go on." " I suppose he wrote the letter, but I'm not sure ; and uncle gave me the letter to put it where you might see it." " O, then, a gentleman, you say, gave your uncle this letter, and your uncle gave it to you to bring to me. Is that it ? " "Uncle gave me the letter, but I dare say uncle will tell you all about it, and who the gentleman was." " Is your uncle come back ? " " He comes back to-night, madam." " You're sure your uncle did not write the letter ? " " La, miss ! uncle write such a letter as that — and to a lady like you — that would be odd ! " " Very odd, indeed ! " replied Miss Melissa, who re- mained a minute or two in thought. " Well, my lad," said she at last, " I must and will know who has had the boldness to write this letter to me ; and as your uncle knows, you will bring him here to-morrow, that I may inquire about it ; and let him take care that he tells the truth." 212 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, " Yes, miss ; I will tell him as soon as he comes home. I hope you are not angry with me, miss ; I did not think there was any harm in putting into the book such a nice clean letter as that." " No, I am not angry with you ; your uncle is more to blame ; I shall expect him to-morrow about this time. You may go now." Chapter XXXII In which the tinker makes love. Joey made his obeisance, and departed as if he was frightened. Miss Melissa watched him : at last she thought, " Tinker or no tinker ? that is the question. No tinker, for a cool hundred, as my father would say ; for, no tinker's boy, no tinker, and that is no tinker's boy. How clever of him to say that the letter was given him by a gentleman ! Now I can send to him to interrogate him, and have an interview without any offence to my feelings ; and if he is disguised, as I feel confident that he is, I shall soon discover it." Miss Melissa Mathews did not sleep that night; and at the time appointed she was sitting on the bench with all the assumed dignity of a newly-made magistrate. Spikeman and Joey were not long before they made their appearance. Spikeman was particularly clean and neat, although he took care to wear the outward appearance of a tinker j his hands were, by continual washing in hot water, very white, and he had paid every attention to his person, except in wearing his rough and sullied clothes. " My boy tells me, miss, that you wish to speak to me," said Spikeman, assuming the air of a vulgar man. "I did, friend," said Melissa, after looking at Spike- man for a few minutes j " a letter has been brought here clandestinely, and your boy confesses that he received it from you ; now, I wish to know how you came by it." The Poacher 213 " Boy, go away to a distance," said Spikeman, very angrily; "if you can't keep one secret, at alJ events you shall not hear any more." Joey retreated, as had been arranged between them. " Well, madam, or miss (I suppose, miss)," said Spike- man, " that letter was written by a gentleman that loves the very ground you tread upon." " And he requested it to be delivered to me ? " "He did, miss; and if you knew, as I do, how he loves you, you would not be surprised at his taking so bold a step." "lam surprised at your taking so bold a step, Tinker, as to send it by your boy." " It was a long while before I would venture, miss ; but when he had told me what he did, I really could not help doing so ; for I pitied him, and so would you, if you knew all." " And, pray, what did he tell you ? " " He told me, miss," said Spikeman, who had gradually assumed his own manner of speaking, " that he had ever rejected the thoughts of matrimony — that he rose up every morning thanking Heaven that he was free and inde- pendent — that he had scorned the idea of ever being captivated with the charms of a woman ; but that one day he had by chance passed down this road, and had heard you singing as you were coming down to repose on this bench. Captivated by your voice, curiosity induced him to conceal himself in the copse behind us, and from thence he had a view of your person ; nay, miss, he told me more, that he had played the eavesdropper, and heard all your conversation, free and unconstrained as it was from the supposition that you were alone ; he heard you express your sentiments and opinions, and finding that there was on this earth what, in his scepticism, he thought never to exist — youth, beauty, talent, principle, and family, all united in one person — he had bowed at the shrine, and had become a silent and unseen worshipper." Spikeman stopped speaking. 214 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, " Then, it appears that this gentleman, as you style him, has been guilty of the ungentlemanly practice of listening to private conversation — no very great recom- mendation." " Such was not his intention at first ; he was seduced to it by you. Do not blame him for that — now that I have seen you, I cannot ; but, miss, he told me more. He said that he felt that he was unworthy of you, and had not a competence to offer you, even if he could obtain your favour ; that he discovered that there was a cause which prevented his gaining an introduction to your family ; in fact, that he was hopeless and despairing. He had hovered near you for a long time, for he could not leave the air you breathed j and, at last, that he had resolved to set his life upon the die and stake the hazard. Could I refuse him, miss ? He is of an old family, but not wealthy ; he is a gentleman by birth and education, and therefore I did not think I was doing so very wrong in giving him the chance, trifling as it might be. I beg your pardon, madam, if I have offended ; and any message you may have to deliver to him, harsh as it may be — nay, even if it should be his death — it shall be faithfully and truly delivered." "When shall you see him, Master Tinker?" said Melissa, very gravely. " In a week he will be here, he said, not before." " Considering he is so much in love, he takes his time," replied Melissa " Well, Master Tinker, you may tell him from me that I've no answer to give him. It is quite ridiculous, as well as highly improper, that I should receive a letter or answer one from a person whom I never saw. I admit his letter to be respectful, or I should have sent a much harsher message." " Your commands shall be obeyed, miss ; that is, if you cannot be persuaded to see him for one minute." " Most certainly not ; I see no gentleman who is not received at my father's house, and properly presented to me. It may be the custom among people in your station The Poacher 215 of life, Master Tinker, but not in mine ; and, as for your- self, I recommend you not to attempt to bring another letter." " I must request your pardon for my fault, miss ; may I ask, after I have seen the poor young gentleman, am I to report to you what takes place ? " " Yes, if it is to assure me that I shall be no more troubled with his addresses." " You shall be obeyed, miss," continued Spikeman ; then, changing his tone and air, he said, " I beg your pardon, have you any knives or scissors to grind ? " " No," replied Melissa, jumping up from her seat, and walking towards the house to conceal her mirth. Shortly afterwards she turned round to look if Spikeman was gone ; he had remained near the seat with his eyes following her footsteps. " I could love that man," thought Melissa, as she walked on. " What an eye he has, and what eloquence ! I shall run away with a tinker, I do believe ; but it is my destiny. Why does he say a week, a whole week ? But how easy to see through his disguise ! He had the stamp of a gentleman upon him. Dear me, I wonder how this is to end ! I must not tell Araminta yet ; she would be fldgetted out of her wits. How foolish of me ! I quite forgot to ask the name of this gentleman. FU not forget it next time." Chapter XXXIII Well done, tinker. " It is beyond my hopes, Joey," said Spikeman, as they went back to the cottage ; " she knows well enough that I was pleading for myself and not for another, and she has said quite as much as my most sanguine wishes could desire 5 in fact, she has given me permission to come again, and report the result of her message to the non-existent gentleman, which is equal to an assignation. I have no 2 1 6 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, doubt now I shall ultimately succeed, and I must make my preparations ; I told her that I should not be able to deliver her message for a week, and she did not like the delay, that was clear; it will all work in my favour; a week's expectation will ripen the fruit more than daily meetings. I must leave this to-night ; but you may as well stay here, for you can be of no use to me." " Where are you going then ? " " First to Dudstone, to take my money out of the bank ; I have a good sum, sufficient to carry me on for many months after our marriage, if I do marry her. I shall change my dress at Dudstone, of course, and then start for London by mail, and fit myself out with a most fashionable wardrobe, and et-ceteras, come down again to Cobhurst, the town we were in the other day, with my portmanteau, and from thence return here in my tinker's clothes to resume operations. You must not go near her during my absence." " Certainly not ; shall I go out at all ? " " No, not with the wheel ; you might meet her on the road, and she would be putting questions to you." That evening Spikeman set off, and was absent for five days, when he again made his appearance early in the morning. Joey had remained almost altogether indoors, and had taken that opportunity of writing to Mary. He wrote on the day after Spikeman's departure, as it would give ample time for an answer before his return ; but Joey received no reply to his letter. "I am all prepared now, my boy," said Spikeman, whose appearance was considerably improved by the various little personal arrangements which he had gone through during the time he was in London. *' I have my money in my pockets, my portmanteau at Cobhurst, and now it depends upon the rapidity of my success when the day is to come that I make the knife-grinder's wheel over to you. I will go down now, but without you this time." Spikeman set off with his wheel, and soon arrived at The Poacher 217 the usual place of meeting; Miss Mathews, from the window, had perceived him coming down the road; she waited a quarter of an hour before she made her appear- ance ; had not she had her eyes on the hands of the timepiece, and knew that it was only a quarter of an hour, she could have sworn that it had been two hours at least. Poor girl ! she had during this week run over every circumstance connected with the meeting at least a thousand times ; every word that had been exchanged had been engraven on her memory, and, without her knowledge almost, her heart had imperceptibly received the impression. She walked down reading her book very attentively until she arrived at the bench. "Any knives or scissors to grind, ma'am?" asked Spikeman, respectfully coming forward. " You here again, Master Tinker ! Why, I had quite forgot all about you." (Heaven preserve us ! how innocent girls will sometimes tell fibs out of modesty !) "It were well for others, Miss Mathews, if their memory were equally treacherous," rejoined Spikeman. " And why so, pray ? " " I speak of the gentleman to whom you sent the message." " And what was his reply to you ? " "He acknowledged, Miss Mathews, the madness of his communication to you, the impossibility of your giving him an answer, and of your admitting him to your presence. He admired the prudence of your conduct, but, unfortunately, his admiration only increased his love. He requested me to say that he will write no more." " He has done wisely, and I am satisfied." " I would I could say as much for him, Miss Mathews ; for it is my opinion that his very existence is now so bound up with the possession of you, that if he does not succeed he cannot exist/' " That is not my fault," replied Melissa, with her eyes cast down. 218 Joseph Ruslibrook; or, " No, it is not. Still, Miss Mathews, when it is con- sidered that this man had abjured, I may say had almost despised women, it is no small triumph to you, or homage from him, that you have made him feel the power of your sex." " It is his just punishment for having despised us." "Perhaps so; yet if we were all punished for our misdeeds, as Shakespeare says, who should escape whipping ? " " Pray, Master Tinker, where did you learn to quote Shakespeare ? " " Where I learnt much more. I was not always a travelling tinker." " So I presumed before this. And pray how came you to be one ? " "Miss Mathews, if the truth must be told, it arose from an unfortunate attachment." " I have read in the olden poets that love would turn a god into a man ; but I never heard of its making him a tinker," replied Melissa, smiling. " The immortal Jove did not hesitate to conceal his thunderbolts when he deigned to love ; and Cupid but too often has recourse to the aid of Proteus to secure success. We have, therefore, no mean warrantry." " And who was the lady of thy love, good Master Tinker ? " " She was, Miss Mathews, like you in everything. She was as beautiful, as intelligent, as honest, as proud, and, unfortunately, she was, like you, as obdurate, which reminds me of the unfortunate gentleman whose emissary I now am. In his madness he requested me— yes, Miss Mathews, me — a poor tinker — to woo you for him ; to say to you all that he would have said had he been admitted to your presence ; to plead for him ; to kneel for him at your feet, and entreat you to have some compassion for one whose only misfortune was to love — whose only fault was to be poor. What could I say, Miss Mathews — what could I reply to a person in his state of despera- The Poacher 219 tion ? To reason with him, to argue with him, had been useless j I could only soothe him by making such a promise, provided that I was permitted to do it. Tell me, Miss Mathews, have I your permission to make the attempt ? " " First, Mr Tinker, I should wish to know the name of this gentleman." "I promised not to mention it, Miss Mathews, but I can evade the promise. I have a book which belongs to him in my pocket, on the inside of which are the arms of his family, with his father's name underneath them." Spikeman presented the book. Melissa read the name, and then laid it on the bench, without saying a word. " And now, Miss Mathews, as I have shown you that the gentleman has no wish to conceal who he is, may I venture to hope that you will permit me to plead occasionally, when I may see you, in his behalf ? " "I know not what to say, Master Tinker ; I consider it a measure fraught with some danger both to the gentleman and to myself. You have quoted Shakespeare, allow me now to do the same — ' Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the affairs and offices of love, Therefore, all hearts, use your own tongues.' You observe, Master Tinker, that there is the danger of your pleading for yourself, and not for your client ; and there is also the danger of my being insensibly moved to listen to the addresses of a tinker. Now, only reflect upon the awful consequences," continued Melissa, smiling. " I pledge you my honour, Miss Mathews, that I will only plead for the person whose name you have read in the book, and that you shall never be humiliated by the importunities of a mender of pots and pans." " You pledge the honour of a tinker ; what may that be worth ? " " A tinker that has the honour of conversing with 220 Joseph Rush brook ; or, Miss Mathews has an honour that cannot be too highly appreciated." " Well, that is very polite for a mender of old kettles, but the schoolmaster is abroad, which, I presume, accounts for such strange anomalies as our present conversation. I must now wish you good morning." " When may I have the honour of again presenting myself in behalf of the poor gentleman ? " " I can really make no appointments with tinkers," replied Melissa ; " if you personate that young man, you must be content to wait for days or months to catch a glimpse of the hem of my garment ; to bay the moon and bless the stars, and I do not know what else. It is, in short, catch me when you can ; and now, farewell, good Master Tinker," replied Melissa, leaving her own book, and taking the one Spikeman had put into her hand, which she carried with her to the house. It was all up with Miss Melissa Mathews, that was clear. We shall pass over a fortnight, during which Spikeman, at first every other day, and subsequently every day or evening, had a meeting with Melissa, in every one of which he pleaded his cause in the third person. Joey began to be very tired of this affair, as he remained idle during the whole time, when one morning Spikeman told him that he must go down to the meeting-place without the wheel, and tell Miss Mathews his uncle, the tinker, was ill, and not able to come that evening. Joey received his instructions, and went down im- mediately. Miss Mathews was not to be seen, and Joey, to avoid observation, hid himself in the copse, awaiting her arrival. At last she came, accompanied by Araminta, her cousin. As soon as they had taken their seats on the bench, Araminta commenced : " My dear Melissa, I could not speak to you in the house on account of your father, but Simpson has told me this morning that she thought it her duty to state to me, that you have been seen, not only in the day-time, but late in the evening, walking and talking with a strange-looking man. I have thought The Poacher 221 it very odd that you should not have mentioned this mysterious person to me lately, but I do think it most strange that you should have been so imprudent. Now, tell me everything that has happened, or I must really make it known to your father." " And have me locked up for months ; that's very kind of you, Araminta," replied Melissa. "But consider what you have been doing, Melissa. Who is this man ? * " A travelling tinker, who brought me a letter from a gentleman who has been so silly as to fall in love with me." " And what steps have you taken, cousin ? " "Postively refused to receive a letter, or to see the gentleman.** *' Then why does the man come again ? " " To know if we have any knives or scissors to grind." " Come, come, Melissa, this is ridiculous. All the servants are talking about it j and you know how servants talk. Why do you continue to see this fellow ? " " Because he amuses me, and it is so stupid of him." " If that is your only reason, you can have no objection to see him no more, now that scandal is abroad. Will you promise me that you will not ? Recollect, dear Melissa, how imprudent and how unmaidenly it is." " Why, you don't think that I am going to elope with a tinker, do you, cousin ? " " I should think not ; nevertheless, a tinker is no companion for Miss Mathews, dear cousin. Melissa, you have been most imprudent. How far you have told me the truth I know not ; but this I must tell you, if you do not promise me to give up this disgraceful acquaintance, I will immediately acquaint my uncle." "I will not be forced into any promise, Araminta," replied Melissa, indignantly. " Well, then, I will not hurry you into it. I will give you forty-eight hours to reply, and if by that time your own good sense does not point out your indiscretion, I certainly will make it known to your father; that is 222 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, decided." So saying, Araminta rose from the bench and walked towards the house. " Eight-and-forty hours," said Melissa, thoughtfully; " it must be decided by that time." Joey, who had wit enough to perceive how matters stood, made up his mind not to deliver his message. He knew that Spikeman was well, and presumed that his staying away was to make Miss Mathews more impatient to see him. Melissa remained on the bench in deep thought ; at last Joey went up to her. " You here, my boy ! what have you come for ? " said Melissa. " I was strolling this way, madam." " Come here ; I want you to tell me the truth ; indeed, it is useless to attempt to deceive me. Is that person your uncle ? " " No, miss, he is not." " I knew that. Is he not the person who wrote the letter, and a gentleman in disguise ? Answer me that question, and then I have a message to him which will make him happy." " He is a gentleman, miss." " And his name is Spikeman ; is it not ? " " Yes, miss, it is." "Will he be here this evening? This is no time for trifling." " If you want him, miss, I am sure he will." " Tell him to be sure and come, and not in disguise," said Melissa, bursting into tears. " That's no use, my die is cast," continued she, talking to herself. Joey remained by her side until she removed her hands from her face. " Why do you wait ? " " At what hour, miss, shall he come ? " said Joey. " As soon as it is dusk. Leave me, boy, and do not forget." Joey hastened to Spikeman, and narrated what he had seen and heard, with the message of Melissa. " My dear boy ! you have helped me to happiness," said The Poacher 223 Spikeman. " She shed tears, did she ? Poor thing ! I trust they will be the last she shall shed. I must be off to Cobhurst at once. Meet me at dark at the copse, for I shall want to speak to you." Spikeman set off for the town as fast as he could, with his bundle on his head. When half-way he went into a field and changed his clothes, discarding his tinker's dress for ever, throwing it into a ditch for the benefit of the finder. He then went into the town to his rooms, dressed himself in a fashionable suit, arranged his portmanteau, and ordered a chaise to be ready at the door at a certain time, so as to arrive at the village before dusk. After he had passed through the village, he ordered the post-boy to stop about fifty yards on the other side of the copse, and, getting out, desired him to remain till he returned. Joey was already there, and soon afterwards Miss M. made her appearance, coming down the walk in a hurried manner, in her shawl and bonnet. As soon as she gained the bench, Spikeman was at her feet ; he told her he knew what had passed between her and her cousin ; that he could not, would not part with her; he now came without disguise to repeat what he had so often said to her, that he loved and adored her, and that his life should be devoted to make her happy. Melissa wept, entreated, refused, and half consented ; Spikeman led her away from the bench towards the road, she still refusing, yet still advancing, until they came to the door of the chaise. Joey let down the steps ; Melissa, half fainting and half resisting, was put in, Spikeman followed, and the door was closed by Joey. " Stop a moment, boy," said Spikeman. "Here, Joey, take this." As Spikeman put a packet into our hero's hand, Melissa clasped her hands, and cried, " Yes — yes ! stop, do stop, and let me out ; I cannot go, indeed I cannot." " There's lights coming down the gravel walk," said Joey; "they are running fast." " Drive on, boy, as fast as you can," said Spikeman. 224 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, " Oh, yes ! drive on," cried Melissa, sinking into her lover's arms. Off went the chaise, leaving Joey on the road with the packet in his hands ; our hero turned round and perceived the lights close to him, and, not exactly wishing to be interrogated, he set off as fast as he could, and never checked his speed until he arrived at the cottage where he and Spikeman had taken up their quarters. Chapter XXXIV A very long chapter, necessary to fetch up the remainder of the convoy. As it was late that night, Joey did not open the packet delivered to him from Spikeman until he arose the next morning, which he did very early, as he thought it very likely that he might be apprehended, if he was not off in good time. The packet contained a key, ^20 in money, and a paper, with the following letter ;■— " My dear Boy, — As we must now part, at least for some time, I have left you money sufficient to set you up for the present ; I have enclosed a memorandum, by which I make over to you the knife-grinder's wheel, and all the furniture, books, etc., that are in my rooms at Dudstone, the key of which is also enclosed. I should recommend your going there and taking immediate possession, and as soon as I have time I shall write to the woman of the house, to inform her of the contents of the memorandum •, and I will also write to you, and let you know how I get on. Of course you will now do as you please; at all events I have taught you a profession, and have given you the means of following it. I only hope, if you do, that some day you may able to retire from business as success- fully as I have done. You will, of course, write to me occasionally, after you know where I am. Depend upon The Poacher 225 it there is no profession so near to that of a gentleman as that of a travelling tinker. " Yours ever truly, " Augustus Spikeman. " N.B. There is some money in the old place to pay the bill at the cottage." Our hero considered that he could not do better than follow the advice of Spikeman. He first wrote a few lines to Mary, requesting that she would send her answer to Dudstone ; and then, having settled with the hostess, he set off with his knife-grinder's wheel on his return home to what were now his apartments. As he was not anxious to make money, he did not delay on his road, and on the fifth day he found himself at the door of the ale-house near to Dudstone, where he had before left the wheel. Joey thought it advisable to do so now, telling the land- lord that Spikeman had requested him so to do ; and as soon as it was dusk our hero proceeded to the town, and knocked at the door of the house in which were Spike- man's apartments. He informed the landlady that Spike- man would not in all probability return, and had sent him to take possession, showing her the key. The dame was satisfied, and Joey went upstairs. As soon as he had lighted the candle, and fairly installed himself, our hero threw himself down on the sofa, and began to reflect. It is pleasant to have property of our own, and Joey never had had any before ; it was satisfactory to look at the furniture, bed, and books, and say, " AH this is mine* Joey felt this, as it is to be presumed everybody would in the same position, and for some time he continued looking round and round at his property. Having satisfied himself with a review of it externally, he next proceeded to open all the drawers, the chests, etc. There were many articles in them which Joey did not expect to find, such aa a store of sheets, table linen, and all Spikeman's clothes, which he had discarded when he went up to London, some silver spoons, and a variety of little odds and ends ' y in short, Spikeman had left our hero everything as it j.r. p 226 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, stood. Joey put his money away, and then went to bed, and slept as serenely as the largest landed proprietor in the kingdom. When he awoke next morning, our hero began to reflect upon what he should do. He was not of Spikeman's opinion that a travelling tinker was the next thing to a gentleman, nor did he much like the idea of rolling the wheel about all his life; nevertheless, he agreed with Spikeman that it was a trade by which he could earn his livelihood, and if he could do no better, it would -always be a resource. As soon as he had taken his break- fast, he sat down and wrote to Mary, acquainting her with all that had taken place, and stating what his own feelings were upon his future prospects. Having finished his letter, he dressed himself neatly, and went out to call upon the widow James. Miss Ophelia and Miss Amelia -were both at home. "Well, Master Atherton, how do you do? and pray where is Mr Spikeman ? " said both the girls in a breath. " He is a long way from this ! " replied Joey. " A long way from this ! Why, has he not come back with you ? " " No ; and I believe he will not come back any more. I am come, as his agent, to take possession of his property." " Why, what has happened ?" " A very sad accident," replied our hero, shaking his head ; « he fell " " Fell ! " exclaimed the two girls in a breath. " Yes, fell in love, and is married." " Well now ! " exclaimed Miss Ophelia, " only to think ! " Miss Amelia said nothing. " And so he is really married ? " " Yes ; and he has given up business." " He did seem in a great hurry when he last came here," observed Amelia. " And what are you going to do ? " " I am not going to follow his example just yet," replied Joey. The Poacher 227 " I suppose not ; but what are you going to do ? " replied Ophelia. " I shall wait here for his orders ; I expect to hear from him. Whether I am to remain in this part of the country, or sell off and join him, or look out for some other business, I hardly know ; I think myself I shall look out for something else 5 I don't like the cutlery line and travelling for orders. How is your mamma, Miss Ophelia ? " " She is very well, and has gone to market. Well, I never did expect to hear of Mr Spikeman being married ! Who is he married to, Joseph ? " " To a very beautiful young lady, daughter of Squire Mathews, with a large fortune." " Yes, men always look for money now-a-days," said Amelia. "I must go now," said Joey, getting up 5 "I have some calls and some inquiries to make. Good morning, young ladies." It must be acknowledged that the two Misses James were not quite so cordial towards Joey as they were formerly ; but unmarried girls do not like to hear of their old acquaintances marrying anybody save themselves. There is not only a flirt the less, but a chance the less in consequence ; and it should be remarked, that there were very few beaux at Dudstone. Our hero was some days at Dudstone before he received a letter from Spikeman, who informed him that he had arrived safely at Gretna (indeed, there was no male relation of the family to pursue him), and the silken bands of Hymen had been made more secure by the iron rivets of the blacksmith ; that three days after he had written a letter to his wife's father, informing him that he had done him the honour of marrying his daughter ; that he could not exactly say when he could find time to come to the mansion and pay him a visit, but that he would as soon as he conveniently could ; that he begged that the room prepared for them upon their arrival might have a large dressing-room attached to it, as he 2,28 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, could not dispense with that convenience ; that he was not aware whether Mr Mathews was inclined to part with the mansion and property, but, as his wife had declared that she would prefer living there to anywhere else, he had not any objection to purchase it of Mr Mathews, if they could come to terms ; hoped his gout was better, and was his " very faithfully, Augustus Spikeman." Melissa wrote a few lines to Araminta, begging her, as a favour, not to attempt to palliate her conduct, but to rail against her incessantly, as it would be the surest method of bringing affairs to an amicable settlement. To her father she wrote only these few words : — " My Dear Papa, — You will be glad to hear that I am married. Augustus says that, if I behave well, he will come and see you soon. Dear papa, your dutiful child, " Melissa Spikeman." That the letters of Spikeman and Melissa put the old gentleman in no small degree of rage, may be conceived ; but nothing could be more judicious than the plan Spikeman had acted upon. It is useless to plead to a man who is irritated with constant gout ; he only becomes more despotic and more unyielding. Had Araminta attempted to soften his indignation, it would have been equally fruitless j but the compliance with the request of her cousin, of continually railing against her, had the effect intended. The vituperation of Araminta left him nothing to say ; there was no opposition to direct his anathemas against ; there was no coaxing or wheedling on the part of the offenders for him to repulse ; and when Araminta pressed the old gentleman to vow that Melissa should never enter the doors again, he accused her of being influenced by interested motives, threw a basin at her head, and wrote an epistle requesting Melissa to come and take his blessing. Araminta refused to attend her uncle after this insult, and the old gentleman became still more anxious for the return of his daughter, as he was The Poacher 229 now left entirely to the caprice of his servants. Araminta gave Melissa an account of what had passed, and entreated her to come at once. She did so, and a general reconcilia- tion took place. Mr Mathews, finding his new son-in-law very indifferent to pecuniary matters, insisted upon making over to his wife an estate in Herefordshire, which, with Melissa's own fortune, rendered them in most affluent circumstances. Spikeman requested Joey to write to him now and then, and that, if he required assistance, he would apply for it; but still advised him to follow up the profession of travelling tinker as being the most in- dependent. Our hero had hardly time to digest the contents of Spikeman's letter when he received a large packet from Mary, accounting for her not having replied to him before, in consequence of her absence from the Hall. She had three weeks before received a letter written for Mrs Chopper, acquainting her that Mrs Chopper was so very ill that it was not thought possible that she could recover, having an abscess in the liver which threatened to break internally, and requesting Mary to obtain leave to come to Gravesend, if she possibly could, as Mrs Chopper wished to see her before she died. Great as was Mary's repug- nance to revisit Gravesend, she felt that the obligations she was under to Mrs Chopper were too great for her to hesitate; and showing the letter to Mrs Austin, and stating at the same time that she considered Mrs Chopper as more than a mother to her, she obtained the leave which she re- quested, and set off for Gravesend. It was with feelings of deep shame and humiliation that poor Mary walked down the main street of the town, casting her eyes up fearfully to the scenes of her former life. She was very plainly attired, and had a thick veil over her face, so that nobody recognised her ; she arrived at the door of Mrs Chopper's abode, ascended the stairs, and was once more in the room out of which she had quitted Gravesend to lead a new life ; and most conscien- tiously had she fulfilled her resolution, as the reader must 230 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, be aware of. Mrs Chopper was in bed and slumbering when Mary softly opened the door ; the signs of approach- ing death were on her countenance — her large round form had wasted away — her fingers were now taper and blood- less •, Mary would not have recognised her had she fallen in with her under other circumstances. An old woman was in attendance ; she rose up when Mary entered, imagining that it was some kind lady come to visit the sick woman. Mary sat down by the side of the bed, and motioned to the old woman that she might go out, and then she raised her veil and waited till the sufferer roused. Mary had snuffed the candle twice that she might see sufficiently to read the Prayer Book which she had taken up, when Mrs Chopper opened her eyes. " How very kind of you, ma'am ! " said Mrs Chopper j " and where is Miss ? My eyes are dimmer every day." " It is me, Mary — Nancy, that was ! " " And so it is ! O Nancy, now I shall die in peace \ I thought at first it was the kind lady who comes every day to read and to pray with me. Dear Nancy, how glad I am to see you ! And how do you do ? And how is poor Peter ? " " Quite well when I heard from him last, my dear Mrs Chopper." " You don't know, Nancy, what a comfort it is to me to see you looking as you do, so good and so innocent ; and when I think it was by my humble means that you were put in the way of becoming so, I feel as if I had done one good act, and that perhaps my sins may be forgiven me. " God will reward you, Mrs Chopper ; I said so at the time, and I feel it now," replied Mary, the tears rolling down her cheeks ; " J trust by your means, and with strength from above, I shall continue in the same path, so that one sinner may be saved." " Bless you, Nancy ! — You never were a bad girl in heart : I always said so. And where is Peter now ? " The Poacher 231 " Going about the country earning his bread ; poor, but happy." " Well, Nancy, it will soon be over with me ; I may die in a second, they tell me, or I may live for three or four days ; but I sent for you that I might put my house in order. There are only two people that I care for upon earth — that is, you and my poor Peter ; and all I have I mean to leave between you. I have signed a paper already, in case you could not come, but now that you are come I will tell you all I wish ; but give me some of that drink first." Mary having read the directions on the label, poured out a wine-glass of the mixture, and gave it to Mrs Chopper, who swallowed it, and then proceeded, taking a paper from under her pillow — *' Nancy ! this is the paper I told you of. I have about £700 in the bank, which is all that I have saved in twenty-two years ; but it has been honestly made. I have, perhaps, much more owing to me, but I do not want it to be collected. Poor sailors have no money to spare, and I release them all. You will see me buried, Nancy, and tell poor Peter how I loved him, and I have left my account books, with my bad debts and good debts, to him. I am sure he would like to have them, for he knows the history of every sum-total, and he will look over them, and think of me. You can sell this furniture ; but the wherry you must give to William ; he is not very honest, but he has a large family to keep. Do what you like, dearest, about what is here ; perhaps my clothes would be useful to his wife ; they are not fit for you. There's a good deal of money in the upper drawer j it will pay for my funeral and the doctor. I believe that is all now ; but do tell poor Peter how I loved him. Poor fellow, I have been cheated ever since he left; but that's no matter. Now, Nancy dear, read to me a little. I have so longed to have you by my bed-side to read to me, and pray for me ! I want to hear you pray before I die. It will make me happy to hear you pray, and see that kind face looking up to heaven, as it was always meant to do." 232 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, Poor Mary burst into tears. After a few minutes she became more composed, and, dropping down on her knees by the side of the bed, she opened the Prayer Book, and complied with the request of Mrs Chopper ; and as she fervently poured forth her supplication, occasionally her voice faltered, and she would stop to brush away the tears which dimmed her sight. She was still so occupied when the door of the room was gently opened, and a lady, with a girl about fourteen or fifteen years old, quietly entered the room. Mary did not perceive them until they also had knelt down. She finished the prayer, rose, and, with a short curtsey, retired from the side of the bed. Although not recognised herself by the lady, Mary immediately remembered Mrs Phillips and her daughter Emma, having, as we have before observed, been at one time in Mrs Phillips's service. " This is the young woman whom you so wished to see, Mrs Chopper, is it not?" said Mrs Phillips. "lam not surprised at your longing for her, for she appears well suited for a companion in such an hour ; and, alas ! how few there are ! Sit down, I request," continued Mrs Phillips, turning to Mary. "How do you find yourself to-day, Mrs Chopper?" " Sinking fast, dear madam, but not unwilling to go, since I have seen Nancy, and heard of my poor Peter : he wrote to Nancy a short time ago. Nancy, don't forget my love to Peter." Emma Phillips, who had now grown tall and thin, immediately went up to Mary, and said, "Peter was the little boy who was with Mrs Chopper ; I met him on the road when he first came to Gravesend, did I not ? " " Yes, miss, you did," replied Mary. " He used to come to our house sometimes, and very often to meet me as I walked home from school. I never could imagine what became of him, for he disappeared all at once without saying good-bye." " He was obliged to go away, miss. It was not his fault j he was a very good boy, and is so still." The Poacher 233 " Then pray remember me to him, and tell him that I often think of him." "I will, Miss Phillips, and he will be very happy to hear that you have said so." " How did you know that my name was Phillips ? O, I suppose poor Mrs Chopper told you before we came ?" Mrs Phillips had now read some time to Mrs Chopper, and this put an end to the conversation between Mary and Emma Phillips. It was not resumed. As soon as the reading was over, Mrs Phillips and her daughter took their leave. Mary made up a bed for herself by the side of Mrs Chopper's. About the middle of the night, she was roused by a gurgling kind of noise ; she hastened to the bed-side, and found that Mrs Chopper was suffocating. Mary called in the old woman to her aid, but it was useless, the abscess had burst, and in a few seconds all was over ; and Mary, struggling with emotion, closed the eyes of her old friend, and offered up a prayer for her departed spirit. The remainder of the night was passed in solemn meditation and a renewal of those vows which the poor girl had hitherto so scrupulously adhered to, and which the death-bed scene was so well fitted to encourage ; but Mary felt that she had her duties towards others to discharge, and did not give way to useless and unavailing sorrow. It was her duty to return as soon as possible to her indulgent mistress, and the next morning she was busy in making the necessary arrangements. On the third day Mary attended the funeral of her old friend, the bills were all paid, and having selected some articles which she wished to retain as a remembrance, she resolved to make over to William, the waterman, not only the wherry, but all the stock in hand, furniture, and clothes of Mrs Chopper. This would enable him and his wife to set up in business themselves and provide for their family. Mary knew that she had no right to do so without Joey's consent, but of this she felt she was sure •, having so done, she had nothing more to do but 2 34 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, to see the lawyer who had drawn up the will, and having gone through the necessary forms, she received an order on the county bank nearest to the Hall for the money, which, with what was left in the drawers, after paying every demand, accounted to more than ^Qloo. She thought it was her duty to call upon Mrs Phillips before she went away, out of gratitude for her kindness to Mrs Chopper ; and as she had not been recognised, she had no scruple in so doing. She was kindly received, and blushed at the praise bestowed upon her. As she was going away, Emma Phillips followed her out, and putting into her hand a silver pencil-case, requested she would " give it to Peter as a remembrance of his little friend, Emma." The next day Mary arrived at the Hall, first communicated to Mrs Austin what had occurred, and then, having received our hero's two last epistles, sat down to write the packet containing all the intelligence we have made known, and ended by requesting Joey to set off with his knife-grinder's wheel, and come to the village near to the Hall, that he might receive his share of Mrs Chopper's money, the silver pencil-case, and the warm greeting of his adopted sister. Joey was not long in deciding. He resolved that he would go to Mary ; and having locked up his apartments, he once more resumed his wheel, and was soon on his way to Dorsetshire. Chapter XXXV A retrospect, that the parties may all start fair again. We must now leave our hero on his way to the Hall, while we acquaint our readers with the movements of other parties connected with our history. A correspondence had been kept up between O'Donahue and M'Shane. O'Donahue had succeeded in obtaining the pardon of the Emperor, and employment in the Russian army, in which he had rapidly risen to the rank of general. Five or six The Poacher 235 years had elapsed since he had married, and both O'Donahue and his wife were anxious to visit England ; a letter at last came, announcing that he had obtained leave of absence from the Emperor, and would, in all probability, arrive in the ensuing spring. During this period M'Shane had continued at his old quarters, Mrs M'Shane still carrying on the business, which every year became more lucrative j so much so, indeed, that her husband had for some time thought very seriously of retiring altogether, as they had already amassed a large sum, when M'Shane received the letter from O'Donahue, announcing that in a few months he would arrive in England. Major M'Shane, who was very far from being satisfied with his negative position in society, pressed the matter more earnestly to his wife, who, although she was perfectly content with her own position, did not oppose his entreaties. M'Shane found that after disposing of the good-will of the business, and the house, they would have a clear ^30,000, which he considered more than enough for their wants, unencumbered as they were with children. Let it not be supposed that M'Shane had ceased in his inquiries after our hero ; on the contrary, he had resorted to all that his invention could suggest to trace him out, but, as the reader must be aware, without success. Both M'Shane and his wife mourned his loss, as if they had been bereaved of their own child j they still indulged the idea that some day he would re-appear, but when, they could not surmise. M'Shane had not only searched for our hero, but had traced his father with as little success, and he had now made up his mind that he should see no more of Joey, if he ever did see him again, until after the death of his father, when there would no longer be any occasion for secrecy. Our hero and his fate were a con- tinual source of conversation between M'Shane and his wife ; but latterly, after not having heard of him for more than five years, the subject had not been so often re- newed. As soon as M'Shane had wound up his affairs, i$6 Joseph Rushbrook; or, and taken his leave of the eating-house, he looked out for an estate in the country, resolving to lay out two-thirds of his money in land, and leave the remainder in the funds. After about three months' search, he found a property which suited him, and, as it so happened, about six miles from the domains held by Mr Austin He had taken possession and furnished it. As a retired officer in the army he was well received ; and if Mrs M'Shane was sometimes laughed at for her housekeeper-like appearance, still her sweetness of temper and unassuming behaviour soon won her friends, and M'Shane found himself in a very short time comfortable and happy. The O'Donahues were expected to arrive very shortly, and M'Shane had now a domicile fit for the reception of his old friend, who had promised to pay him a visit as soon as he arrived. Of the Austins little more can be said that has not been said already. Austin was a miserable, unhappy man j his cup of bliss — for he had every means of procuring all that this world considers as bliss, being in possession of station, wealth, and respect — was poisoned by the one heavy crime which passion had urged him to commit, and which was now a source of hourly and unavailing repentance. His son, who should have inherited his wealth, was lost to him, and he dared not mention that he was in existence. Every day Austin became more nervous and irritable, more exclusive and averse to society ; he trembled at shadows, and his strong constitution was rapidly giving way to the heavy weight on his conscience. He could not sleep with- out opiates, and he dreaded to sleep lest he should reveal everything of the past in his slumbers. Each year added to the irascibility of his temper, and the harshness with which he treated his servants and his unhappy wife. His chief amusement was hunting, and he rode in so reckless a manner, that people often thought that he was anxious to break his neck. Perhaps he was. Mrs Austin was much to be pitied ; she knew how much her husband suffered ; how the worm gnawed within ; and, having that knowledge, she submitted to all his harshness, pity- The Poacher 237 ing him instead of condemning him ; but her life was still more embittered by the loss of her child, and many were the bitter tears which she would shed when alone, for she dared not in her husband's presence, as he would have taken them as a reproof to himself. Her whole soul yearned after our hero, and that one feeling rendered her indifferent, not only to all the worldly advantages by which she was surrounded, but to the unkindness and hard-heartedness of her husband. Mary, who had entered her service as kitchen-maid, was very soon a favourite, and had been advanced to the situation of Mrs Austin's own attendant. Mrs Austin considered her a treasure, and she daily became more partial to and more confidential with her. Such was the state of affairs, when one morn- ing, as Austin was riding to cover, a gentleman of the neighbourhood said to him in the course of conversa- tion — " By-the-bye, Austin, have you heard that you have a new neighbour ? " " What ! on the Frampton estate, I suppose ? I heard that it had been sold." ** Yes ; I have seen him. He is one of your profession — a lively, amusing sort of Irish major; gentlemanlike, nevertheless. The wife not very high bred, but very fat, and very good-humoured, and amusing from her downright simpleness of heart. You will call upon them, I presume ? " " O, of course," replied Austin. " What is his name, did you say ? " " Major M'Shane, formerly of the 53rd regiment, I believe." Had a bullet passed through the heart of Austin he could not have received a more sudden shock, and the start which he made from his saddle attracted the notice of his companion. *' What's the matter, Austin, you look pale, you are not well ? " " No," replied Austin, recollecting himself, " I am not ; 238 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, one of those twinges from an old wound in the breast came on. I shall be better directly." Austin stopped his horse, and put his hand to his heart. His companion rode up and remained near him. " It is worse than usual ; I thought it was coming on last night 5 I fear that I must go home." " Shall I go with you ? " "O no; I must not spoil your sport. I am better now a great deal, it is going off fast. Come, let us proceed, or we shall be too late at cover." Austin had resolved to conquer his feelings. His friend had no suspicion, it is true; but, when we are guilty, we imagine that everybody suspects us. They rode a few minutes in silence. " "Well, I am glad that you did not go home," observed his friend ; " for you will meet your new neighbour ; he has subscribed to the pack, and they say he is well mounted ; we shall see how he rides." Austin made no reply ; but, after riding on a few yards further, he pulled up, saying that the pain was coming on again, and that he could not proceed. His companion expressed his sorrow at Austin's indisposition, and they separated. Austin immediately returned home, dismounted his horse, and hastened to his private sitting-room. Mrs Austin, who had seen him return and could not imagine the cause, went in to her husband. " What is the matter, my dear ? " said Mrs Austin. " Matter ! " replied Austin, bitterly, pacing up and down the room ; " heaven and hell conspire against us ! " " Dear Austin, don't talk in that way. What has happened ? " " Something which will compel me, I expect, to remain a prisoner in my own house, or lead to something un- pleasant. We must not stay here." Austin then threw himself down on a sofa, and was silent. At last the persuasions and endearments of his wife overcame his humour. He told her that M'Shane The Poacher 239 was the major of his regiment when he was a private ; that he would inevitably recognise him ; and that, if nothing else occurred from M'Shane's knowledge of his former name, at all events the general supposition of his having been an officer in the army would be contradicted, and it would lower him in the estimation of the county gentlemen. " It is indeed a very annoying circumstance, my dear Austin ; but are you sure that he would, after so long a period, recognise the private soldier in the gentleman of fortune ? " M As sure as I sit here," replied Austin, gloomily ; " I wish I were dead." "Don't say so, dear Austin, it makes me miserable." " I never am otherwise," replied Austin, clasping his hands. " God forgive me ; I have sinned, but have I not been punished ? " " You have, indeed ; and as repentance is availing, my dear husband, you will receive God's mercy." "The greatest boon, the greatest mercy would be death," replied the unhappy man ; " I envy the pedlar." Mrs Austin wept. Her husband, irritated at tears, which, to him, seemed to imply reproach, sternly ordered her to leave the room. That Austin repented bitterly of the crime which he had committed is not to be doubted ; but it was not with the subdued soul of a Christian. His pride was continually struggling within him, and was not yet conquered ; this it was that made him alternately self-condemning and irascible, and it was the continual warfare in his soul which was undermining his constitution. Austin sent for medical advice for his supposed com- plaint. The country practitioner, who could discover nothing, pronounced it to be an affection of the heart. He was not far wrong; and Mr Austin's illness was generally promulgated. Cards and calls were the con- sequence, and Austin kept himself a close but impatient prisoner in his own house. His hunters remained in the 240 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, stables, his dogs in the kennel, and every one intimated that Mr Austin was labouring under a disease from which he would not recover. At first this was extremely irk- some to Austin, and he was very impatient ; but gradually he became reconciled, and even preferred his sedentary and solitary existence. Books were his chief amusement, but nothing could minister to a mind diseased, or drive out the rooted memory of the brain. Austin became more morose and misanthropic every day, and at last would permit no one to come near him but his valet and his wife. Such was the position of his parents, when Joey was proceeding to their abode. Chapter XXXVI Our hero falls in with an old acquaintance, and is not very much delighted. We left our hero rolling his knife-grinder's wheel towards his father's house. It must be confessed that he did it very unwillingly. He was never very fond of it at any time ; but, since he had taken possession of Spikeman's property, and had received from Mary the intelligence that he was worth £350 more, he had taken a positive aversion to it. It retarded his movements, and it was hard work when he had not to get his livelihood by it. More than once he thought of rolling it into a horse-pond, and leaving it below low-water mark ; but then he thought it a sort of protection against inquiry, and against assault, for it told of poverty and honest employment ; so Joey rolled on, but not with any feelings of regard towards his companion. How many castles did our hero build as he went along the road ! The sum of money left to him appeared to be enormous. He planned and planned again ; and, like most people, at the close of the day, he was just as undetermined as at the commencement. Nevertheless, The Poacher 241 he was very happy, as people always are, in anticipation ; unfortunately, more so than when they grasp what they have been seeking. Time rolled on, as well as the grind- stone, and at last Joey found himself at the ale-house where he and Mary had put up previously to her obtaining a situation at the Hall. He immediately wrote a letter to her, acquainting her with his arrival. He would have taken the letter himself, only he recollected the treatment he had received, and found another messenger in the butcher's boy, who was going up to the Hall for orders. The answer returned by the same party was, that Mary would come down and see him that evening. When Mary came down Joey was astonished at the improvement in her appearance. She looked much younger than she did when they had parted, and her dress was so very different, that our hero could with difficulty imagine that it was the same person who had been his companion from Gravesend. The careless air and manner had disappeared ; there was a retenue — a dignity about her which astonished him ; and he felt a sort of respect mingled with his regard for her, of which he could not divest himself. But, if she looked younger (as may well be imagined) from her change of life, she also looked more sedate, except when she smiled, or when occasionally, but very rarely, her merry laughter reminded him of the careless, good-tempered Nancy of former times. That the greeting was warm need hardly be said. It was the greeting of a sister and younger brother who loved each other dearly. " You are very much grown, Joey," said Mary. " Dear boy, how happy I am to see you ! " " And you, Mary, you're younger in the face, but older in your manners. Are you as happy in your situation as you have told me in your letters ? " " Quite happy ; more happy than ever I deserve to be, my dear boy •, and now tell me, Joey, what do you think of doing? You have now the means of establishing yourself." " Yes, I have been thinking of it ; but I don't know what to do." J.R- Q, 242 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, " Well, you must look out, and do not be in too great a hurry. Recollect, Joey, that if anything offers which you have any reason to believe will suit you, you shall have my money as well as your own." " Nay, Mary, why should I take that ? " " Because, as it is of no use to me, it must be idle ; besides, you know, if you succeed, you will be able to pay me interest for it ; so I shall gain as well as you. You must not refuse your sister, my dear boy." " Dear Mary, how I wish we could live in the same house ! " " That cannot be now, Joey ; you are above my situation at the Hall, even allowing that you would ever enter it." " That I never will, if I can help it ; not that I feel angry now, but I like to be independent." " Of course you do." " And as for that grindstone, I hate the sight of it ; it has made Spikeman's fortune, but it never shall make mine." " You don't agree, then, with your former companion," rejoined Mary, " that a tinker's is the nearest profession to that of a gentleman which you know of." " I certainly do not," replied our hero ; " and as soon as I can get rid of it I will ; I have rolled it here, but I will not roll it much farther. I only wish I knew where to g°- " I have something in my pocket which puts me in mind of a piece of news which I received the other day, since my return. First, let me give you what I have in my pocket " — and Mary pulled out the pencil-case sent to Joey by Emma Phillips, " There, you know already who that is from." " Yes, and I shall value it very much, for she was a dear, kind little creature ; and when I was very, very miserable, she comforted me." "Well, Joey, Miss Phillips requested me to write when I came back, as she wished to hear that I had arrived safe The Poacher 243 at the Hall. It was very kind of her, and I did so, of course. Since that I have received a letter from her, stat- ing that her grandmother is dead, and that her mother is going to quit Gravesend for Portsmouth, to reside with her brother, who is now a widower." " I will go to Portsmouth," replied our hero. " I was thinking that, as her brother is a navy-agent, and Mrs Phillips is interested about you, you could not do better. If anything turns up, then you will have good advice, and your money is not so likely to be thrown away. I think, therefore, you had better go to Portsmouth, and try your fortune." " I am very glad you have mentioned this, Mary, for, till now, one place was as indifferent to me as another ; but now it is otherwise, and to Portsmouth I will certainly go." Our hero remained two or three days longer at the village, during which time Mary was with him every even- ing, and once she obtained leave to go to the banker's about her money. She then turned over to Joey's account the sum due to him, and arrangements were made with the bank so that Joey could draw his capital out whenever he pleased. After which our hero took leave of Mary, pro- mising to correspond more freely than before ; and once more putting the strap of his knife-grinder's wheel over his shoulders, he set ofF on his journey to Portsmouth. Joey had not gained two miles from the village when he asked himself the question, " What shall I do with my grindstone ? " He did not like to leave it on the road ; he did not know to whom he could give it away. He rolled it on for about six miles farther, and then, quite tired, he resolved to follow the plan formerly adopted by Spikeman, and repose a little upon the turf on the road-side. The sun was very warm, and after a time Joey retreated to the other side of the hedge, which was shaded ; and, having taken his bundle from the side of the wheel where it hung, he first made his dinner of the provender he had brought with him, and then, laying his head on the bundle, was 244 Joseph Rushbrook; or, soon in a sound sleep, from which he was awakened by hearing voices on the other side of the hedge. He turned round, and perceived two men on the side of the road, close to his knife-grinder's wheel. They were in their shirts and trousers only, and sitting down on the turf. " It would be a very good plan," observed one of them ; " we should then travel without suspicion." " Yes ; if we could get off with it without being dis- covered. Where can the owner of it be ? " ""Well, I dare say he is away upon some business or another, and has left the wheel here till he comes back. Now, suppose we were to take it — how should we manage " Why, we cannot go along this road with it. We must get over the gates and hedges till we get across the country into another road ; and then, by travelling all night, we might be quite clear." " Yes, and then we should do well ; for even if our description as deserters was sent out from Portsmouth, we should be considered as travelling tinkers, and there would be no suspicion." "Well, I'm ready for it. If we can only get it off the road, and conceal it till night, we may then easily manage it. But first let's see if the fellow it belongs to may not be somewhere about here." As the man said this he rose up and turned his face towards the hedge, and our hero immediately perceived that it was his old acquaintance, Furness, the schoolmaster and marine. What to do he hardly knew. At last he perceived Furness advancing towards the gate of the field, which was close to where he was lying, and, as escape was impossible, our hero covered his face with his arms, and pretended to be fast asleep. He soon heard a " Hush ! " given, as a signal to the other man, and, after a while, footsteps close to him. Joey pretended to snore loudly, and a whispering then took place. At last he heard Furness say — The Poacher 245 " Do you watch by him while I wheel away the grind- stone." " But, if he wakes, what shall I do ? " " Brain him with that big stone. If he does not wake up when I am past the second field follow me." That our hero had no inclination to wake after this notice may be easily imagined ; he heard the gate opened, and the wheel trundled away, much to his delight, as Furness was the party who had it in charge ; and Joey continued to snore hard, until at last he heard the departing footsteps of Furness's comrade, who had watched him. He thought it prudent to continue motionless for some time longer, to give them time to be well away from him, and then he gradually turned round and looked in the direction in which they had gone ; he could see nothing of them, and it was not until he had risen up, and climbed up on the gate, that he perceived them two or three fields off, running away at a rapid pace. Thanking heaven that he had escaped the danger that he was in, and delighted with the loss of his property, our hero recommenced his journey with his bundle over his shoulder, and before night he was safe outside one of the stages, which took him to a town from which there was another which would carry him to Portsmouth, at which sea-port he arrived the next evening without further adventure. As our hero sat on the outside of the coach and reflected upon his last adventure, the more he felt he had reason to congratulate himself. That Furness had deserted from the Marine Barracks at Portsmouth was evident ; and if he had not, that he would have recognised Joey some time or other was almost certain. Now, he felt sure that he was safe at Portsmouth, as it would be the last place at which Furness would make his appearance ; and he also felt that his knife-grinder's wheel, in supplying Furness with the ostensible means of livelihood, and thereby preventing his being taken up as a deserter, had proved the best friend to him, and could not have been disposed of better. Another piece of good fortune was his having secured his bundle 246 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, and money ; for had he left it with the wheel, it would have, of course, shared its fate. " Besides," thought Joey, " if I should chance to fall in with Furness again, and he attempts to approach me, I can threaten to have him taken as a deserter, and this may deter him from so doing." It was with a grateful heart that our hero laid his head upon his pillow, in the humble inn at which he had taken up his quarters. Chapter XXXVII In which our hero returns to his former employment, but on a grander scale ot" operation. Our hero had received from Mary the name and address of Mrs Phillips's brother, and, on inquiry, found that he was known by everybody. Joey dressed himself in his best suit, and presented himself at the door about ten o'clock in the morning as Joseph O'Donahue, the name which he had taken when he went to Gravesend, and by which name he had been known to Mrs Phillips and her daughter Emma, when he made occasional visits to their house. He was admitted, and found himself once more in company with his friend Emma, who was now fast growing up into womanhood. After the first congratulations and inquiries, he stated his intentions in coming down to Portsmouth, and their assistance was immediately promised. They then requested a detail of his adventures since he quitted Gravesend, of which Joey told everything that he safely could -, passing over his meeting with Furness by simply stating that while he was asleep his knife-grinder's wheel had been stolen by two men, and that when he awoke he dared not offer any opposition. Mrs Phillips and her daughter both knew that there was some mystery about our hero which had induced him to come to and also to leave Gravesend ; but, being assured by Mary and The Poacher 247 himself that he was not to blame, they did not press him to say more than he wished ; and, as soon as he finished his history, they proposed introducing him to Mr Small, the brother of Mrs Phillips, in whose house they were then residing, and who was then in his office. " But perhaps, mamma, it will be better to wait till to-morrow, and in the meantime you will be able to tell my uncle all about Joey," observed Emma. " I think it will be better, my dear," replied Mrs Phillips ; " but there is Marianne's tap at the door, for the second time ; she wants me downstairs, so I must leave you for a little while ; but you need not go away, O'Donahue ; I will be back soon." Mrs Phillips left the room, and our hero found himself alone with Emma. " You have grown very much, Joey," said Emma ; " and so have I too, they tell me." " Yes, you have indeed," replied Joey •, " you are no longer the little girl who comforted me when I was so unhappy. Do you recollect that day ? " " Yes, indeed I do, as if it were but yesterday. But you have never told me why you lead so wandering a life ; you won't trust me." " I would trust you with anything but that which is not mine to trust, as I told you four years ago ; it is not my secret ; as soon as I can I will tell you everything ; but I hope not to lead a wandering life any longer, for I have come down here to settle, if I can." " What made you think of coming down here ? " asked Emma. " Because you were here ; Mary told me so. I have not yet thanked you for your present, but I have not forgotten your kindness in thinking of a poor boy like me, when he was far away ; here it is," continued Joey, taking out the pencil-case, " and I have loved it dearly," added he, kissing it, " ever since I have had it in my possession. I very often have taken it out and thought of you." " Now you are so rich a man, you should give me 248 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, something to keep for your sake," replied Emma, " and I will be very careful of it, for old acquaintance' sake." " What can I offer to you ? you are a young lady ; I would give you all I had in the world, if I dared, but " " When I first saw you," rejoined Emma, " you were dressed as a young gentleman." " Yes, I was," replied Joey, with a sigh ; and, as the observation of Emma recalled to his mind the kindness of the M'Shanes, he passed his hand across his eyes to brush away a tear or two that started. " I did not mean to make you unhappy," said Emma, taking our hero's hand. " I am sure you did not," replied Joey, smiling. " Yes, I was then as you say ; but recollect that lately I have been a knife-grinder." " Well, you know, your friend said, that it was the nearest thing to a gentleman ; and now I hope you will be quite a gentleman again." "Not a gentleman, for I must turn to some business or another," replied Joey. " I did not mean an idle gentleman ; I meant a respect- able profession," said Emma. " My uncle is a very odd man, but very good-hearted ; you must not mind his way towards you. He is very fond of mamma and me, and I have no doubt will interest himself about you, and see that your money is not thrown away. Perhaps you would like to set up a bumboat on your own account ? " added Emma, laughing. " No, I thank you ; I had enough of that. Poor Mrs Chopper ! what a kind creature she was ! I'm sure I ought to be very grateful to her for thinking of me as she did." " I believe," said Emma, " that she was a very good woman, and so does mamma. Recollect, Joey, when you speak to my uncle, you must not contradict him." " I am sure I shall not," replied Joey ; " why should The Poacher 249 I contradict a person so far my superior in years and everything else ? " " Certainly not ; and as he is fond of argument, you had better give up to him at once ; and, indeed," continued Emma, laughing, " everybody else does in the end. I hope you will find a nice situation, and that we shall see a great deal of you." " I am sure I do," replied Joey, " for I have no friends that I may see, except you. How I wish that you did know everything ! " A silence ensued between the young people, which was not interrupted until by the appearance of Mrs Phillips, who had seen Mr Small, and had made an engagement for our hero to present himself at nine o'clock on the following morning, after which communication our hero took his leave. He amused himself during the remainder of that day in walking over the town, which at that time presented a most bustling appearance, as an expedition was fitting out ; the streets were crowded with officers of the army, navy, and marines, in their uniforms ; soldiers and sailors, more or less tipsy j flaunting ribbons and gaudy colours, and every variety of noise was to be heard that could be well imagined, from the quacking of a duck, with its head out of the basket in which it was confined to be taken on board, to the martial music, the rolling of the drums, and the occasional salutes of artillery, to let the world know that some great man had put his foot on board of a ship, or had again deigned to tread upon terra jirma. All was bustle and excitement, hurrying, jostling, cursing, and swearing ; and Joey found himself, by the manner in which he was shoved about right and left, to be in the way of everybody. At the time appointed our hero made his appearance at the door, and, having given his name, was asked into the counting-house of the establishment, where sat Mr Small and his factotum, Mr Sleek. It may be as well here to describe the persons and peculiarities of these two gentle- men. 250 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, Mr Small certainly did not accord with his name, for he was a man full six feet high, and stout in proportion ; he was in face extremely plain, with a turned-up nose ; but, at the same time, there was a lurking good-humour in his countenance, and a twinkle in his eye, which immediately prepossessed you, and in a few minutes you forgot that he was not well-favoured. Mr Small was very fond of an argument and a joke, and he had such a forcible way of maintaining his argument when he happened to be near you, that, as Emma had told our hero, few people after a time ventured to contradict him. This mode of argument was nothing more than digging the hard knuckles of his large hand into the ribs of his opponent — we should rather say gradually gimleting, as it were, a hole in your side, as he heated in his illustrations. He was the last person in the world in his disposition to inflict pain, even upon an insect — and yet, from this habit, no one perhaps gave more, or appeared to do so with more malice, as his countenance was radiant with good-humour, at the very time when his knuckles were taking away your breath. What made it worse, was, that he had a knack of seizing the coat lappet with the other hand, so that escape was difficult ; and when he had exhausted all his reasoning, he would follow it up with a pressure of his knuckles under the fifth rib, saying, " Now you feel the force of my argument, don't you ? " Everybody did, and no one would oppose him unless the table was between them. It was much the same with his jokes : he would utter them, and then, with a loud laugh, and the insidious insertion of his knuckles, say, "Do you take that, eh ? " Mr Sleek had also his peculiarity, and was not an agreeable person to argue with, for he had learnt to argue from his many years' constant companion- ship with the head of the firm. Mr Sleek was a spare man, deeply pock-marked in the face, and with a very large mouth ; and, when speaking, he sputtered to such a degree, that a quarter of an hour's conversation with him was as good as a shower-bath. At long range Mr Sleek could beat his superior out of the field ; but, if Mr Small The Poacher 251 approached once to close quarters, Mr Sleek gave in immediately. The captains of the navy used to assert that this fibbing enforcement of his truths, on the part of Small, was quite contrary to all the rules of modern warfare, and never would stand it, unless they required an advance of money ; and then, by submitting to a certain quantity of digs in the ribs in proportion to the unreasonableness of their demand, they usually obtained their object •, as they said, he " knuckled down" in the end. As for Mr Sleek, although the best man in the world, he was their abhor- rence ; he was nothing but a watering-pot, and they were not plants which required his aid to add to their vigour. Mr Sleek, even in the largest company, invariably found himself alone, and could never imagine why. Still he was an important personage ; and when stock is to be got on board in a hurry, officers in his Majesty's service do not care about a little spray. Mr Small was, as we have observed, a navy-agent — that is to say, he was a general provider of the officers and captains of his Majesty's service. He obtained their agency on any captures which they might send in, or he cashed their bills, advanced them money, supplied them with their wine, and every variety of stock which might be required ; and in consequence was reported to be accumulating a fortune. As is usually the case, he kept open house for the captains who were his clients, and occasionally invited the junior officers to the hospitalities of his table, so that Mrs Phillips and Emma were of great use to him, and had quite sufficient to do in superintending such an establish- ment. Having thus made our readers better acquainted with our new characters, we shall proceed. " Well, young man, I've heard all about you from my sister. So you wish to leave off vagabondising, do you ? " " Yes, sir," replied Joey. " How old are you ? can you keep books ? " "I am seventeen, and have kept books," replied our hero, in innocence ; for he considered Mrs Chopper's day- books to come under that denomination. 252 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, " And you have some money — how much ? " Joey replied that he had so much of his own, and that his sister had so much more. " Seven hundred pounds ; eh, youngster ? I began business with ^100 less ; and here I am. Money breeds money ; do you understand that ? " and here Joey received a knuckle in his ribs, which almost took his breath away, but which he bore without flinching, as he presumed it was a mark of good-will. "What can we do with this lad, Sleek?" said Mr Small ; " and what can we do with his money ? " " Let him stay in the counting-house here for a week," replied Mr Sleek, " and we shall see what he can do ; and, as for his money, it will be as safe here as in a country bank, until we know how to employ it, and we can allow 5 per cent, for it." All this was said in a shower of spray, which induced Joey to wipe his face with his pocket- handkerchief. " Yes, I think that will do for the present," rejoined Mr Small ; " but you observe, Sleek, that this young lad has very powerful interest, and we shall be expected to do something for him, or we shall have the worst of it. You understand that ? " continued he, giving Joey a knuckle again. " The ladies ! no standing against them ! " Joey thought that there was no standing such digs in the ribs, but he said nothing. " I leave him to you, Sleek. I must be off to call upon Captain James. See to the lad's food and lodging. There's an order from the gun-room of the HecateP So saying, Mr Small departed. Mr Sleek asked our hero where he was stopping : re- commended him another lodging close to the house, with directions how to proceed, and what arrangements to make ; told him to haste as much as he could, and then come back to the counting-house. In a couple of hours our hero was back again. " Look on this list ; do you understand it ? " said Mr Sleek to Joey ; " it is sea-stock for the Hecate, which sails The Poacher 2 53 in a day or two. If I send a porter with you to the people we deal with, would you be able to get all these things which are marked with a cross ? the wine and the others we have here." Joey looked over it, and was quite at home ; it was only bumboating on a large scale. " O, yes j and I know the prices of all these things," replied he ; "I have been used to the supplying of ships at Gravesend." " Why then," said Mr Sleek, " you are the very person I want ; for I have not time to attend to out-door work now." The porter was sent for, and our hero soon executed his task, not only with a precision, but with a rapidity, that was highly satisfactory to Mr Sleek. As soon as the articles were all collected, Joey asked whether he should take them on board — " I understand the work, Mr Sleek, and not even an egg shall be broke, I promise you." The second part of the commission was executed with the same precision by our hero, who returned with a receipt of every article having been delivered safe and in good condition ; Mr Sleek was delighted with our hero, and told Mr Small so when they met in the evening. Mr Sleek's opinion was given in the presence of Mrs Phillips and Emma, who exchanged glances of satisfaction at Joey's fortunate debut. Chapter XXXVIII In which the wheel of fortune turns a spoke or two in favour of our hero. If we were to analyse the feelings of our hero towards Emma Phillips, we should hardly be warranted in saying that he was in love with her, although at seventeen years young men are very apt to be, or so to fancy themselves. The difference in their positions was so great, that although our hero would, in his dreams, often fancy himself on most intimate terms with his kind little patroness, in his 254 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, waking thoughts she was more an object of adoration and respect — a being to whom he was most ardently and devotedly attached — one whose friendship and kindness had so wrought upon his best feelings that he would have thought it no sacrifice to die for her ; but, the idea of ever being closer allied to her than he now was had not yet entered into his imagination ; all he ever thought was, that if ever he united himself to any female for life, the party selected must be like Emma Phillips ; or, if not, he would remain single. All his endeavours were to prove himself worthy of her patronage, and to be rewarded by her smiles of encouragement when they met. She was the loadstar which guided him on to his path of duty, and, stimulated by his wishes to find favour in her sight, Joey never relaxed in his exertions ; naturally active and methodical, he was indefatigable, and gave the greatest satisfaction to Mr Sleek, who found more than half the labour taken off his hands ; and, further, that if Joey once said a thing should be done, it was not only well done, but done to the very time that was stipulated for its completion. Joey cared not for meals, or anything of that kind, and often went without his dinner. "Sleek," said Small, one day, "that poor boy will be starved." "It's not my fault, sir; he won't go to his dinner if there is anything to do •, and as there is always something to do, it is as clear as the day that he can get no dinner. I wish he was living in the house altogether, and came to his meals with us, after the work was done ; it would be very advantageous, and much time saved." " Time is money, Sleek. Time saved is money saved ; and therefore, he is worthy of his food. It shall be so. Do you see to it." Thus, in about two months after his arrival, Joey found himself installed in a nice little bedroom, and living at the table of his patron, not only constantly in company with the naval officers, but, what was of more value to him in the company of Mrs Phillips and Emma. The Poacher 255 We must pass over more than a year, during which time our hero became a person of some importance. He was a great favourite with the naval captains, as his punctuality and rapidity corresponded with their ideas of doing business ; and it was constantly said to Mr Sleek or to Mr Small, " Let O'Donahue and I settle the matter, and all will go right." Mr Small had already established him at a salary of ^150 per annum, besides his living in the house, and our hero was comfortable and happy. He was well known to all the officers, from his being constantly on board of their ships, and was a great favourite. Joey soon discovered that Emma had a fancy for natural curiosities ; and as he boarded almost every man-of-war which came into the port, he soon filled her room with a variety of shells and of birds, which he procured for her. These were presents which he could make and which she could accept, and not a week passed without our hero adding something to her museum of live and dead objects. Indeed, Emma was now grown up, and was paid such attention to by the officers who frequented her uncle's house (not only on account of her beauty, but on account of the expectation that her uncle, who was without children, would give her a handsome fortune), that some emotions of jealousy, of which he was hardly conscious, would occasionally give severe pain to our hero. Perhaps, as his fortunes rose, so did his hopes ; certain it is, that sometimes he was very grave. Emma was too clear-sighted not to perceive the cause, and hastened, by her little attentions, to remove the feeling ; not that she had any definite ideas upon the subject any more than Joey, but she could not bear to see him look unhappy. Such was the state of things, when one day Mr Small said to Joey, as he was busy copying an order into the books, " O'Donahue, I have been laying out some of your money for you." " Indeed, sir ! I'm very much obliged to you." " Yes ; there was a large stock of claret sold at auction 256 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, to-day ; it was good, and went cheap. I have purchased to the amount of £600 on your account. You may bottle and bin it here, and sell it as you can. If you don't like the bargain I'll take it off your hands." " I am very grateful to you, sir," replied Joey, who knew the kindness of the act, which, in two months, more than doubled his capital ; and, as he was permitted to continue the business on his own account, he was very soon in a position amounting to independence, the French wine business being ever afterwards considered as ex- clusively belonging to our hero. One morning, as Joey happened to be in the counting- house by himself, which was rather an unusual occurrence, a midshipman came in. Joey remembered him very well, as he had been often there before. " Good morning, Mr O'Donahue," said the midshipman. " Is Mr Small within ?' " No, he is not ; can I do anything for you ? " " Yes, if you can tell me how I am to persuade Mr Small to advance me a little money upon my pay, you can do something for me." " I never heard of such an application before," replied Joey, smiling. " No, that I venture you did not, and it requires all the impudence of a midshipman to make such a one ; but the fact is, Mr O'Donahue, I am a mate with ^40 a-year, and upon that I have continued to assist my poor old mother up to the present. She now requires ^10 in consequence of illness, and I have not a farthing. I will repay it if I live, that is certain j but I have little hopes of obtaining it, and nothing but my affection for the old lady would induce me to risk the mortification of a refusal. It's true enough that ' he who goes a borrowing goes a sorrowing.' " "I fear it is ; but I will so far assist you as to let you know what your only chance is. State your case to Mr Small as you have to me to-day, and then stand close to him while he answers ; if he puts his knuckles into your ribs to enforce his arguments, don't shrink, and then wait the result without interrupting him." The Poacher 257 "Well, I'd do more than that for the old lady," replied the poor midshipman, as Mr Small made his appearance. The midshipman told his story in very few words, and Mr Small heard him without interruption. When he had finished, Mr Small commenced — " You see, my man, you ask me to do what no navy- agent ever did before — to lend upon a promise to pay, and that promise to pay from a midshipman. In the first place, I have only the promise without the security ; that's one point, do you observe (a punch with the knuckles) ? And then the promise to pay depends whether you are in the country or not. Again, if you have the money, you may not have the inclination to pay ; that's another point (then came another sharp impression into the ribs of the middy). Then, again, it is not even personal security, as you may be drowned, shot, blown up, or taken out of the world before any pay is due to you ; and by your death you would be unable to pay, if so inclined ; there's a third point (and there was a third dig, which the middy stood boldly up against). Insure your life you cannot, for you have no money ; you, therefore, require me to lend my money upon no security whatever; for even allowing that you would pay if you could, yet your death might prevent it ; there's another point (and the knuckles again penetrated into the midshipman's side, who felt the torture increasing as hope was departing). But," continued Mr Small, who was evidently much pleased with his own ratiocination, " there is another point not yet touched upon, which is, that as good Christians, we must sometimes lend money upon no security, or even give it away, for so are we commanded ; and, therefore, Mr O'Donahue, you will tell Mr Sleek to let him have the money ; there's the last and best point of all, eh?" wound up Mr Small, with a thumping blow upon the ribs of the middy that almost took away his breath. We give this as a specimen of Mr Small's style of practical and theoretical logic combined. " The admiral, sir, is coming down the street," said Sleek, entering, " and I think he is coming here." J.R. R 258 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, Mr Small, who did not venture to chop logic with admirals, but was excessively polite to such great people, went out to receive the admiral, hat in hand. " Now, Mr Small," said the admiral, " the counting- house for business, if you please. I have very unexpected orders to leave Portsmouth. I must save the next tide, if possible. The ships will be ready, for I know what our navy can do when required ; but, as you know, I have not one atom of stock on board. The flood-tide has made almost an hour, and we must sail at the first of the ebb, as twelve hours' delay may be most serious. Now, tell me — here is the list of what is required ; boats will be ready and men in plenty to get it on board ; — can you get it ready by that time ? " " By that time, Sir William ! " replied Small, looking over the tremendous catalogue. " It's now eleven o'clock ; can it all be down by four o'clock — that is the latest I can give you ? " " Impossible, Sir William." " It is of the greatest importance that we sail at five o'clock ; the fact is, I must and will ; but it's hard that I must starve for a whole cruise." "Indeed, Sir William," said Mr Small, "if it were possible •, but two cows, so many sheep, hay, and every- thing to be got from the country ; we never could manage it. To-morrow morning, perhaps." "Well, Mr Small, I have appointed no prize-agent yet ; had you obliged me " Our hero now stepped forward and ran over the list. " Can you inform me, sir," said he to the flag-captain, " whether the Zenobia or Orestes sail with the squadron ? " " No, they do not," was the reply. "I beg your pardon, Mr Small," said Joey, "but I do think we can accomplish this with a little arrangement." " Indeed ! " cried Sir William. "Yes, Sir William; if you would immediately make the signals for two boats to come on shore, with steady crews to assist me, I promise it shall be done." The Poacher 259 "Well said, O'Donahue ! " cried the captain; "we are all right now, admiral ; if he says it shall be done, it will be done." " May I depend upon you, Mr O'Donahue ?" " Yes, Sir William ; everything shall be as you wish." "Well, Mr Small, if your young man keeps his word, you shall be my prize-agent. Good morning to you." "How could you promise?" cried Small, addressing our hero, when the admiral and suite had left the counting- house. " Because I can perform, sir," replied Joey ; " I have the cows and sheep for the Zenobia and Orestes, as well as the fodder, all ready in the town ; we can get others for them to-morrow, and I know where to lay my hands on everything else." " Well, that's lucky ! but there is no time to be lost." Our hero, with his usual promptitude and activity, kept his promise j and, as Mr Small said, it was lucky, for the prize-agency, in a few months afterwards, proved worth to him nearly ^5 o0 °' It is not to be supposed that Joey neglected his corre- spondence either with Mary or Spikeman, although with the latter it was not so frequent. Mary wrote to him every month ; she had not many subjects to enter upon, chiefly replying to Joey's communications, and con- gratulating him upon his success. Indeed, now that our hero had been nearly four years with Mr Small, he might be said to be a very rising and independent person. His capital, which had increased very considerably, had been thrown into the business, and he was now a junior partner, instead of a clerk, and had long enjoyed the full confidence both of his superior and of Mr Sleek, who now entrusted him with almost everything. In short, Joey was in the fair way to competence and distinction. 260 Joseph Rushbrook; or, Chapter XXXIX A chapter of infinite variety, containing agony, law, love, quarrelling, and suicide. It may be a subject of interest on the part of the reader to inquire what were the relative positions of Emma Phillips and our hero, now that four years had passed, during which time he had been continually in her company, and gradually, as he rose in importance, removing the distance that was between them. We have only to reply, that the consequences natural to such a case did ensue. Every year their intimacy increased — every year added to the hopes of our hero, who now no longer looked upon an alliance with Emma as impossible j yet he still never felt sufficient confidence in himself or his fortunes to intimate such a thought to her ; indeed, from a long habit of veneration and respect, he was in the position of a subject before a queen who feels a partiality towards him ; he dared not give vent to his thoughts, and it remained for her to have the unfeminine task of intimating to him that he might venture. But, although to outward appearance there was nothing but respect and feelings of gratitude on his part, and condescension and amiability on hers, there was a rapid adhesion going on within. Their interviews were more restrained, their words more selected ; for both parties felt how strong were the feelings which they would repress ; they were both pensive, silent, and distant — would talk unconnectedly, running from one subject to another, attempting to be lively and unconcerned when they were most inclined to be otherwise, and not daring to scrutinise too minutely their own feelings when they found themselves alone ; but what they would fain conceal from themselves their very attempts to conceal made known to other people who were standing by. Both Mrs Phillips and Mr Small perceived how matters stood, and, had they had any objections, would have immediately The Poacher 261 no longer permitted them to be in contact : but they had no objections ; for our hero had long won the hearts of both mother and uncle, and they awaited quietly the time which should arrive when the young parties should no longer conceal their feelings for each other. It was when affairs were between our hero and Emma Phillips as we have just stated, that a circumstance took place which, for a time, embittered all our hero's happiness. He was walking down High-street, when he perceived a file of marines marching towards him with two men between them handcuffed, evidently deserters who had been taken up. A feeling of alarm pervaded our hero ; he had a presentiment which induced him to go into a perfumer's shop and to remain there, so as to have a view of the faces of the deserters as they passed along without their being able to see him. His forebodings were correct ; one of them was his old enemy and persecutor, Fnrness, the schoolmaster. Had a dagger been plunged into Joey's bosom the sensation could not have been more painful than what he felt when he once more found himself so near to his dreaded denouncer. For a short time he remained so transfixed that the woman who was attending in the shop asked whether she should bring him a glass of water. This inquiry made him recollect himself, and, complaining of a sudden pain in the side, he sat down, and took the water when it was brought ; but he went home in despair, quite forgetting the business which brought him out, and retired to his own room that he might collect his thoughts. "What was he to do ? This man had been brought back to the barracks; he would be tried and punished, and afterwards be set at liberty. How was it possible that he could always avoid him, or escape being recognised ? and how little chance had he of escape from Furness's searching eye ! Could he bribe him ? Yes, he could now ; he was rich enough ; but, if he did, one bribe would only be followed up by a demand for another, and a threat of denouncement if he refused. Flight appeared 262 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, his only chance ; but, to leave his present position — to leave Emma — it was impossible. Our hero did not leave his room for the remainder of the day, but retired early to bed that he might cogitate, for sleep he could not. After a night of misery, the effects of which were too visibly marked in his countenance on the ensuing morning, Joey determined to make some inquiries relative to what the fate of Furness might be ; and, having made up his mind, he accosted a sergeant of marines, with whom he had a slight acquaintance, and whom he fell in with in the streets. He observed to him, that he perceived they had deserters brought in yesterday, and inquired from what ship they had deserted, or from the barracks. The sergeant replied that they had deserted from the Niobe frigate, and had committed theft previous to desertion ; that they would remain in con- finement at the barracks till the Niobe arrived, and that then they would be tried by a court-martial, and, without doubt, for the double offence, would go through the fleet. Joey wished the sergeant good morning, and passed on in his way home. His altered appearance had attracted the notice of not only his partners, but of Mrs Phillips, and had caused much distress to the latter. Our hero remained the whole day in the counting-house, apparently unconcerned, but in reality thinking, over and over again, his former thoughts. At last he made up his mind that he would wait the issue of the court-martial before he took any decided steps ; indeed, what to do he knew not. "We leave the reader to guess the state of mind in which Joey remained for a fortnight previous to the return of the Niobe frigate from a Channel cruise. Two days after her arrival, the signal was made for a court-martial ; the sentence was well known before night ; it was, that the culprits were to go through the fleet on the ensuing day. This was, however, no consolation to our hero ; he did not feel animosity against Furness, so much as he did dread of him ; he did not want his punishment, but his The Poacher 263 absence, and security against future annoyance. It was about nine o'clock on the next morning, when the punish- ment was to take place, that Joey came down from his own room ; he had been thinking all night, and had decided that he had no other resource but to quit Ports- mouth, Emma, and his fair prospects for ever ; he had resolved so to do, to make this sacrifice ; it was a bitter conclusion to arrive at, but it had been come to. His haggard countenance, when he made his appearance at the breakfast-table, shocked Mrs Phillips and Emma, but they made no remarks ; the breakfast was passed over in silence, and soon afterwards our hero found himself alone with Emma, who immediately went to him, and with tears in her eyes, said, "What is the matter with you ? you look so ill, you alarm us all, and you make me quite miserable." "lam afraid, Miss Phillips " " Miss Phillips ! " replied Emma. " I beg your pardon ; but, Emma, I am afraid that I must leave you." " Leave us ! " " Yes, leave you and Portsmouth for ever, perhaps." " Why, what has occurred ? " " I cannot, dare not tell ; will you so far oblige me to say nothing at present ; but you recollect that I was obliged to leave Gravesend on a sudden." " I recollect you did, but why I know not j only Mary said that it was not your fault." " I trust it was not so ; but it was my misfortune. Emma, I am almost distracted; I have not slept for weeks; but pray, believe me, when I say, that I have done no wrong ; indeed " " We are interrupted," said Emma, hurriedly ; " there is somebody coming up stairs." She had hardly time to remove a few feet from our hero, when Captain B , of the Niobe, entered the room. " Good morning, Miss Phillips, I hope you are well j 264 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, I just looked in for a moment before I go to the Admiral's office ; we have had a catastrophe on board the Niobe, which I must report immediately." " Indeed," replied Emma ; " nothing very serious, I hope." " Why no, only rid of a blackguard not worth hanging; one of the marines, who was to have gone round the fleet this morning, when he went to the fore part of the ship under the sentry's charge, leaped overboard, and drowned himself." " What was his name, Captain B ? " inquired Joey, seizing him by the arm. " His name — why, how can that interest you, O'Donahue ? Well, if you wish to know, it was Furness." " I am very sorry for him," replied our hero. " I knew him once when he was in better circumstances, that is all ; " and Joey, no longer daring to trust himself with others, quitted the room, and went to his own apartment. As soon as he was there he knelt down and returned thanks, not for the death of Furness, but for the removal of the load which had so oppressed his mind. In an hour his relief was so great that he felt himself sufficiently composed to go downstairs ; he went into the drawing- room to find Emma, but she was not there. He longed to have some explanation with her, but it was not until the next day that he had an opportunity. " I hardly know what to say to you," said our hero, " or how to explain my conduct of yesterday." " It certainly appeared very strange, especially to Captain B , who told me that he thought you were mad." " I care little what he thinks, but I care much what you think, Emma ; and I must now tell you what, perhaps, this man's death may permit me to do. That he has been most strangely connected with my life is most true ; he it was who knew me, and who would, if he could, have put me in a situation in which I must either have suffered myself The Poacher 265 to be thought guilty of a crime which I am incapable of, or — let it suffice to say — have done, to exculpate myself, what I trust I never would have done, or ever will do. I can say no more than that, without betraying a secret which I am bound to keep, and the keeping of which may still prove my own destruction. When you first saw me on the wayside, Emma, it was this man who forced me from a happy home to wander about the world ; it was the re-appearance of this man, and his recognition of me, that induced me to quit Gravesend so suddenly. I again met him, and avoided him, when he was deserting ; and I trusted that, as he had deserted, I could be certain of living safely in this town without meeting with him. It was his re-appearance here, as a deserter taken up, which put me in that state of agony which you have seen me in for these last three weeks ; and it was the knowledge that, after his punishment, he would be again free, and likely to meet with me when walking about here, which resolved me to quit Portsmouth, as I said to you yesterday morning. Can you, therefore, be surprised at my emotion when I heard that he was removed, and that there was now no necessity for my quitting my kind patrons and you?" " Certainly, after this explanation, I cannot be surprised at your emotion ; but what does surprise me, Mr O'Donahue, is that you should have a secret of such importance that it cannot be revealed, and which has made you tremble at the recognition of that man, when at the same time you declare your innocence. Did innocence and mystery ever walk hand in hand ? " " Your addressing me as Mr O'Donahue, Miss Phillips, has pointed out to me the impropriety I have been guilty of in making use of your Christian name. I thought that that confidence which you placed in me when as a mere boy I told you exactly what I now repeat, that the secret was not my own, would not have been now so cruelly withdrawn. I have never varied in my tale, and I can honestly say that I have never felt degraded when I have 266 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, admitted that I have a mystery connected with me ; nay, if it should please Heaven that I have the option given me to suffer in my own person, or reveal the secret in ques- tion, I trust that I shall submit to my fate with constancy, and be supported in my misfortune by the conviction of my innocence. I feel that I was not wrong in the com- munication that I made to you yesterday morning, that I must leave this place. I came here because you were living here — you to whom I felt so devoted for your kindness and sympathy when I was poor and friendless ; now that I am otherwise, you are pleased to withdraw not only your good-will but your confidence in me ; and as the spell is broken which has drawn me to this spot, I repeat, that as soon as I can, with justice to my patrons, I shall withdraw myself from your presence." Our hero's voice faltered before he had finished speaking ; and then turning away slowly, without looking up, he quitted the room. Chapter XL In which our hero tries change of air. The reader will observe that there has been a little altercation at the end of the last chapter. Emma Phillips was guilty of letting drop a received truism* or rather a metaphor, which offended our hero. " Did innocence and mystery ever walk hand in hand ? " If Emma had put that question to us, we, from our knowledge of the world, should have replied, " Yes, very often, my dear Miss Phillips." But Emma was wrong, not only in her metaphor, but in the time of her making it. Why did she do so ? Ah ! that is a puzzling question to answer j we can only say, at our imminent risk, when this narrative shall be perused by the other sex, that we have made the discovery that women are not perfect ; that the very best of the sex are full of contradiction, and that Emma was a woman. The Poacher 267 That women very often are more endowed than the generality of men we are ready to admit ; and their cause has been taken up by Lady Morgan, Mrs Jamieson, and many others, who can write much better than we can. When we say their cause, we mean the right of equality they would claim with our sex, and not subjection to it. Reading my Lady Morgan the other day, which, next to conversing with her, is one of the greatest treats we know of, we began to speculate upon what were the causes which had subjected woman to man ; in other words, how was it that man had got the upper hand, and kept it ? That women's minds were not inferior to men's, we were forced to admit j that their aptitude for cultivation is often greater, was not to be denied. As to the assertion that man makes laws, or that his frame is of more robust material, it is no argument, as a revolt on the part of the other sex would soon do away with such advantage ; and men brought up as nursery-maids would soon succumb to women who were accustomed to athletic sports from their youth up- wards. After a great deal of cogitation we came to the conclusion, that there is a great difference between the action in the minds of men and women ; the machinery of the latter being more complex than that of our own sex. A man's mind is his despot ; it works but by one single action ; it has one ruling principle — one propelling power to which all is subservient. This power or passion (dis- guised and dormant as it may be in feeble minds) is the only one which propels him on ; this primum mobile, as it may be termed, is ambition, or, in other words, self-love ; everything is sacrificed to it. Now, as in proportion as a machine is simple so is it strong in its action — so in proportion that a machine is complex, it becomes weak ; and if we analyse a woman's mind, we shall find that her inferiority arises from the simple fact, that there are so many wheels within wheels working in it, so many compensating balances (if we may use the term, and we use it to her honour), that, although usually more right-minded than man, her strength of action is lost, and 268 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, has become feeble by the time that her decision has been made. What will a man allow to stand in the way of his ambition — love ? no — friendship ? no — he will sacrifice the best qualities, and, which is more difficult, make the worst that are in his disposition subservient to it. He moves only one great principle, one propelling power — and the action being single, it is strong in proportion. But will a woman's mind decide in this way ? Will she sacrifice to ambition, love or friendship, or natural ties ? No ; in her mind the claims of each are, generally speaking, fairly balanced — and the quotient, after the calculation has been worked out, although correct, is small. Our argument, after all, only goes to prove that women, abstractedly taken, have more principle, more conscience, and better regulated minds than men — which is true if — if they could always go correct as timekeepers j but the more complex the machine, the more difficult it is to keep it in order, the more likely it is to be out of repair, and its movements to be disarranged by a trifling shock, which would have no effect upon one of such simple and powerful construction as that in our own sex. Not only do they often go wrong, but sometimes the serious shocks which they are liable to in this world will put them in a state which is past all repair. We have no doubt that by this time the reader will say, " Never mind women's minds, but mind your own business." We left Emma in the drawing-room, rather astonished at our hero's long speech, and still more by his (for the first time during their acquaintance) venturing to breathe a contrary opinion to her own sweet self. Emma Phillips, although she pouted a little, and the colour had mounted to her temples, nevertheless looked very lovely as she pensively reclined on the sofa. Rebuked by him who had always been so attentive, so submissive — her creature as it were — she was mortified, as every pretty woman is, at any loss of power — any symptoms of rebellion on the part of a liege vassal ; and then she taxed herself, had she done wrong ? She had said " Innocence and zss> The Poacher 2,69 mystery did not walk hand in hand." Was not that true ? She felt that it was true, and her own opinion was cor- roborated by others, for she had read it in some book, either in Burke, or Rochefoucault, or some great author. Miss Phillips bit the tip of her nail and thought again. Yes, she saw how it was ; our hero had risen in the world, was independent, and was well received in society ; he was no longer the little Joey of Gravesend ; he was now a person of some consequence, and he was a very ungrateful fellow ; but the world was full of ingratitude ; still she did think better of our hero ; she certainly did. Well ; at all events she could prove to him that — what, — she did not exactly know. Thus ended cogitation the second, after which came another series. What had our hero said — what had he accused her of? that she no longer bestowed on him her confidence placed in him for many years. This was true j but were not the relative positions, was not the case different ? Should he now retain any secret from her ? — there should be no secrets between them. There again there was a full stop before the sentence was complete. After a little more reflection, her own generous mind pointed out to her that she had been in the wrong ; and that our hero had cause to be offended with her; and she made up her mind to make reparation the first time that they should be alone. Having come to this resolution, she dismissed the pre- vious question, and began to think about the secret itself, and what it possibly could be, and how she wished she knew what it was, all of which was very natural. In the meantime our hero had made up his mind to leave Ports- mouth, for a time at all events. This quarrel with Emma, if such it might be considered, had made him very miser- able, and the anxiety he had lately suffered had seriously affected his health. We believe that there never was anybody in this world who had grown to man's or woman's estate, and had mixed with the world, who could afterwards say that they were at any time perfectly happy ; or who, having said 270 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, so, did not find that the reverse was the case a moment or two after the words were out of their mouth. " There is always something," as a good lady said to us ; and so there always is, and always will be. The removal of Furness was naturally a great relief to the mind of our hero ; he then felt as if all his difficulties were surmounted, and that he had no longer any fear of the consequences which might ensue from his father's crime. He would now, he thought, be able to walk boldly through the world without recognition, and he had built castles enough to form a metropolis when his rupture with Emma broke the magic mirror through which he had scanned futurity. When most buoyant with hope, he found the truth of the good lady's saying — " There is always some- thing." After remaining in his room for an hour, Joey went down to the counting-house, where he found Mr Small and Mr Sleek both at work, for their labours had increased since Joey had so much neglected business. "Well, my good friend, how do you find yourself?" said Mr Small. "Very far from well, sir. I feel that I cannot attend to business," replied Joey, " and I am quite ashamed of myself. I was thinking that, if you have no objection to allow me a couple of months' leave of absence, change of air would be very serviceable to me. I have something to do at Dudstone, which I have put off ever since I came to Portsmouth." " I think change of air will be very serviceable to you, my dear fellow," replied Mr Small ; " but what business you can have at Dudstone I cannot imagine." " Simply this — I locked up my apartments, leaving my furniture, books, and linen, when I went away more than four years ago, and have never found time to look after them." " Well, they must want dusting by this time, O'Donahue, so look after them, if you please ; but I think looking after your health is of more consequence, so you have my full The Poacher 271 consent to take a holiday, and remain away three months, if necessary, till you are perfectly re-established." " And you have mine," added Mr Sleek, " and I will do your work while you are away." Our hero thanked his senior partners for their kind com- pliance with his wishes, and stated his intention of starting the next morning by the early coach, and then left the counting-house to make preparations for his journey. Joey joined the party, which was numerous, at dinner. It was not until they were in the drawing-room after dinner that Mr Small had an opportunity of communicating to Mrs Phillips what were our hero's intentions. Mrs Phillips con- sidered it a very advisable measure, as Joey had evidently suffered very much lately ; probably over-exertion might have been the cause, and relaxation would effect the cure. Emma, who was sitting by her mother, turned pale ; she had not imagined that our hero would have followed up his expressed intentions of the morning, and she asked Mr Small if he knew when O'Donahue would leave Ports- mouth. The reply was, that he had taken his place on the early coach of the next morning ; and Emma fell back on the sofa, and did not say anything more. When the company had all left, Mrs Phillips rose, and lighted a chamber candlestick to go to bed, and Emma followed the motions of her mother. Mrs Phillips shook hands with our hero, wishing him a great deal of pleasure, and that he would return quite restored in health. Emma, who found that all chance of an interview with our hero was gone, mustered up courage enough to extend her hand, and say, — " I hope your absence will be productive of health and happiness to you, Mr O'Donahue," and then followed her mother. Joey, who was in no humour for conversation, then bade farewell to Mr Small and Mr Sleek, and, before Emma had risen from not a very refreshing night's rest, he was two stages on his way from Portsmouth. i"]2 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, Chapter XLI In which our hero has his head turned the wrong way. Although it may be very proper, when an offence has been offered us, to show that we feel the injury, it often happens that we act too much upon impulse and carry measures to extremities ; and this our hero felt as the coach wheeled him along, every second increasing his distance from Emma Phillips ; twenty times he was inclined to take a post-chaise and return, but the inconsistency would have been so glaring, that shame prevented him ; so he went on until he reached the metropolis, and on arriving there, having nothing better to do, he went to bed. The next day he booked himself for the following day's coach to Manstone, and having so done, he thought he would reconnoitre the domicile of Major and Mrs M'Shane, and, now that Furness was no longer to be dreaded, make his existence known to them. He went to Holborn accord- ingly, and found the shop in the same place, with the usual enticing odour sent forth from the grating which gave light and air to the kitchen ; but he perceived that there was no longer the name of M'Shane on the private door, and enter- ing the coffee-room, and looking towards the spot where Mrs M'Shane usually stood carving the joint, he discovered a person similarly employed whose face was unknown to him ; in fact, it could not be Mrs M'Shane, as it was a man. Our hero went up to him, and inquired if the M'Shanes still carried on the business, and was told that they had sold it some time back. His next inquiry, as to what had become of them, produced an "I don't know," with some symptoms of impatience at being interrupted. Under such circumstances, our hero had nothing more to do but either to sit down and eat beef or to quit the premises. He pre- ferred the latter, and was once more at the hotel, where he dedicated the remainder of the day to thinking of his old friends, as fate had debarred him from seeing them. ■ ■■■■ The Poacher 273 The next morning Joey set off by the coach, and arrived at Manstone a little before dusk. He remained at the principal inn in the village, called the Austin Arms, in honour of the property in the immediate vicinity ; and, having looked at the various quarterings of arms that the sign-board contained, without the slightest idea that they appertained to himself, he ordered supper, and looking out of the window of the first floor, discovered, at no great distance down the one street which composed the village, the small ale-house where he had before met Mary. Our hero no longer felt the pride of poverty ; he had resented the treatment he had received at the Hall when friendless, but, now that he was otherwise, he had overcome the feeling, and had resolved to go up to the Hall on the following day, and ask for Mary. He was now well dressed, and with all the appearance and manners of a gentleman ; and, moreover, he had been so accustomed to respect from servants, that he had no idea of being treated otherwise. The next morning, therefore, he walked up to the Hall, and, knocking at the door, as soon as it was opened he told the well-powdered domestics that he wished to speak a few words to Miss Atherton, if she still lived with Mrs Austin. His appearance was considered by these gentlemen in waiting as sufficient to induce them to show him into a parlour, and to send for Mary, who in a few minutes came down to him, and embraced him tenderly. "I should hardly have known you, my dear boy," said she, as the tears glistened in her eyes ; " you have grown quite a man. I cannot imagine, as you now stand before me, that you could have been the little Joey that was living at Mrs Chopper's." "We are indebted to that good woman for our pros- perity," replied Joey. " Do you know, Mary, that your money has multiplied so fast that I almost wish that you would take it away, lest by some accident it should be lost ? I have brought you an account." " Let me have an account of yourself, my dear brother," J.R. S 274 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, replied Mary •, " I have no want of money ; I am here well and happy." " So you must have been, for you look as young and handsome as when I last saw you, Mary. How is your mistress ? " "She is well, and would, I think, be happy, if it were not for the strange disease of Mr Austin, who secludes himself entirely, and will not even go outside of the park gates. He has become more overbearing and haughty than ever, and several of the servants have quitted within the last few months." "I have no wish to meet him, dear Mary, after what passed when I was here before ; I will not put up with insolence from any man, even in his own house," replied our hero. " Do not speak so loud, his study is next to us, and that door leads to it," replied Mary ; " he would not say anything to you, but he would find fault with me. " Then you had better come to see me at the Austin Arms, where I am stopping." "I will come this evening," replied Mary. At this moment the door which led to the study was opened, and a voice was heard — " Mary, I wish you would take your sweethearts to a more convenient distance." Joey heard the harsh, hollow voice, but recognised it not ; he would not turn round to look at Mr Austin, but remained with his back to him, and the door closed again with a bang. "Well," observed Joey, "that is a pretty fair specimen of what he is, at all events. Why did you not say I was your brother ? " " Because it was better to say nothing," replied Mary, " he will not come in again." "Well, I shall leave you now," said Joey, "and wait till the evening ; you will be certain to come ! " " O yes, I certainly shall," replied Mary. " Hush ! I •■ --" The Poacher 275 hear my mistress with Mr Austin. I wish you could see her, you would like her very much." The outer door of the study was closed to, and then the door of the room in which they were conversing was opened, but it was shut again immediately. " Who was that ? " said our hero, who had not turned round to ascertain. " Mrs Austin ; she just looked in, and seeing I was engaged, she only nodded to me to say that she wanted me, I presume, and then went away again," replied Mary. " You had better go now, and I will be sure to come in the evening." Our hero quitted the Hall j he had evidently been in the presence of his father and mother without knowing it, and all because he happened on both occasions to have his face turned in a wrong direction, and he left the house as unconscious as he went in. As soon as our hero had left the Hall, Mary repaired to her mistress. "Do you want me, madam?" said Mary, as she went to her mistress. "No, Mary, not particularly, but Mr Austin sent for me ; he was annoyed at your having a strange person in the house, and desired me to send him away." " It was my brother, madam," replied Mary. " Your brother ! I am very sorry, Mary, but you know how nervous Mr Austin is, and there is no reasoning against nerves. I should have liked to have seen your brother very much ; if I recollect rightly, you told me he was doing very well at Portsmouth, is he not ? " " Yes, madam ; he is now a partner in one of the first houses there." "Why, Mary, he will soon have you to keep his own house, I presume, and I shall lose you ; indeed, you are more fit for such a situation than your present one, so I must not regret it if you do." "He has no idea of taking a house, madam," replied Mary, " nor have I any of quitting you ; your place is quite good enough for me. I promised to go down and 2,76 Joseph Rushbrook; or, meet him this evening, with your permission, at the Austin Arms." " Certainly," replied Mrs Austin, and then the con- versation dropped. Our hero remained at the inn two days, a portion of which Mary passed with him, and then he set off for Dudstone ; he did not make Mary a confidante of his attachment to Emma Phillips, although he imparted to her the death of Furness, and the relief it had afforded him, promising to return to see her before he went back to Portsmouth. Joey once more set off on his travels, and without incident arrived at the good old town of Dudstone, where he put up at the Commercial Hotel ; his only object was to ascertain the condition of his lodgings ; for the first two years he had sent the rent of the room to the old woman to whom the house belonged, but latterly no application had been made for it, although his address had been given ; and, occupied by other business more important, our hero had quite forgotten the affair, or if he did occasionally recall it to his memory, it was soon dismissed again. His key he had brought with him, and he now proceeded to the house and knocked at the door, surmising that the old woman was possibly dead, and his property probably disposed of; the first part of the surmise was disproved by the old woman coming to the door ; she did not recognise our hero, and it was not until he produced the key of his room that she was convinced that he was the lawful owner of its contents. She told him she could not write herself, and that the party who had written to Portsmouth for her was dead, and that she felt sure he would come back at some time and settle with her ; and, moreover, she was afraid that the furniture would be much injured by having been shut up so long, which was not only very likely, but proved to be the case when the door was opened ; she also said that she could have made money for him, had he allowed her to let the lodgings furnished, as she had had several applications. The Poacher 277 Our hero walked into his apartment, which certainly had a very mothy and mouldy appearance. As soon as a fire had been lighted, he collected all that he wanted to retain for himself, the books, plate, and some other articles, which he valued for Spikeman's sake, and as old re- miniscences, and putting them up in a chest, requested that it might be sent to the inn ; and then, upon reflection, he thought he could do no better with the remainder than to make them a present to the old woman, which he did, after paying up her arrears of rent, and by so doing made one person, for the time, superlatively happy, which is something worth doing in this chequered world of ours. Joey, as soon as he had returned to the inn, sat down to write to Spikeman, and also to Mr Small at Portsmouth, and having posted his letters, as he did not quit Dudstone until the next morning, he resolved to pay a visit to his former acquaintances, Miss Amelia and Miss Ophelia. His knock at the door was answered by Miss Amelia as usual, but with only one arm unoccupied, a baby being in the other, and the squalling in the little parlour gave further evidence of matrimony. Our hero was obliged to introduce himself, as he was stared at as an utter stranger ; he was then immediately welcomed, and re- quested to walk into the parlour. In a few minutes the whole of the family history was communicated. The old lady had been dead three years, and at her death the young ladies found themselves in possession of one thousand pounds each. This thousand pounds proved to them that husbands were to be had even at Dudstone and its vicinity. Miss Amelia had been married more than two years, to a master-builder, who had plenty of occupation, not so much in building new houses at Dudstone as in repairing the old ones, and they were doing well, and had two children. Her sister had married a young farmer, and she could see her money every day in the shape of bullocks and sheep upon the farm ; they also were doing well. Joey remained an hour ; Mrs Potts was very anxious that he should remain longer, 278 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, and give her his opinion of her husband ; but this Joey declined, and, desiring to be kindly remembered to her sister, took his leave, and the next morning was on his way to London. Chapter XLII Very pleasant correspondence. As soon as Joey arrived at the metropolis, he went to the correspondent of the house at Portsmouth to enquire for letters. He found one of the greatest interest from Mr Small, who after some preliminaries relative to the business, and certain commissions for him to transact in town, pro- ceeded as follows : — " Your health has been a source of great anxiety to us all, not only in the counting-house, but in the drawing- room ; the cause of your illness was ascribed to over- exertion in your duties, and it must be admitted, that until you were ill, there was no relaxation on your part ; but we have reason to suppose that there have been other causes which may have occasioned your rapid change from activity and cheerfulness to such a total prostration of body and mind. You may feel grieved when I tell you that Emma has been very unwell since you left, and the cause of her illness is beyond the skill of Mr Taylor, our medical man. She has, however, confided so much to her mother as to let us know that you are the party who has been the chief occasion of it. She has acknowledged that she has not behaved well to you, and has not done you justice ; and I really believe that it is this conviction which is the chief ground of her altered state of health. I certainly have been too much in the counting-house to know what has been going on in the parlour, but I think that you ought to know us better than to suppose that we The Poacher 279 should not in every point be most anxious for your happi- ness, and your being constantly with us. That Emma blames herself, is certain j that she is very amiable, is equally so ; your return would give us the greatest satis- faction. I hardly need say I love my niece, and am anxious for her happiness j I love you, my dear friend, and am equally anxious for yours ; and I do trust, that any trifling disagreement between you (for surely you must be on intimate terms to quarrel, and for her to feel the quarrel so severely) will be speedily overcome. From what her mother says, I think that her affections are seriously engaged (I treat you with the confidence I am sure you deserve), and I am sure that there is no one upon whom I would so willingly bestow my niece ; or, as I find by questioning, no one to whom Mrs Phillips would so willingly entrust her daughter. If, then, I am right in my supposition, you will be received with open arms by all, not even excepting Emma — she has no coquetry in her composition. Like all the rest of us, she has her faults ; but if she has her faults, she is not too proud to acknow- ledge them, and that you will allow when you read the enclosed, which she has requested me to send to you, and at the same time desired me to read it first. I trust this communication will accelerate your recovery, and that we shall soon see you again. At all events, answer my letter, and if I am in error, let me know, that I may undeceive others." The enclosure from Emma was then opened by our hero : it was in few words : — "My dear friend, — On reflection, I consider that I have treated you unjustly; I intended to tell you so, if I had had an opportunity before you quitted us so hastily. My fault has preyed upon my mind ever since, and I cannot lose this first opportunity of requesting your forgiveness, and hoping that when we meet we shall be on the same 280 Joseph Rushbrook; or, friendly terms that we always had been previous to my unfortunate ebullition of temper. " Yours truly, " Emma." That this letter was a source of unqualified delight to our hero, may be easily imagined. He was at once told by the uncle, and certainly Emma did not leave him to suppose to the contrary, that he might aspire and obtain her hand. Our hero could not reply to it by return of post. If distress had occasioned his illness, joy now prostrated him still more ; and he was compelled to return to his bed ; but he was happy, almost too happy, and he slept at last, and he dreamt such visions as only can be conjured up by those who have in anticipation every wish of their heart gratified. The next day he replied to Mr Small's, acknowledging, with frankness, his feelings to- wards his niece, which a sense of his own humble origin and unworthiness had prevented him from venturing to disclose, and requesting him to use his influence in his favour, as he dared not speak himself, until he had received such assurance of his unmerited good fortune as might encourage him so to do. To Emma his reply was in few words ; he thanked her for her continued good opinion of him, the idea of having lost which had made him very miserable, assuring her that he was ashamed of the petulance which he had shown, and that it was for him to have asked pardon, and not one who had behaved so kindly, and protected him for so long a period ; that he felt much better already, and hoped to be able to shorten the time of absence which had been demanded by him and kindly granted by his patrons. Having concluded and despatched these epistles, our hero determined that he would take a stroll about the metropolis. The Poacher 281 Chapter XLIII A very long chapter, with a very long story, which could not well be cut in half. A man may walk a long while in the city of London without having any definite object, and yet be amused, for there are few occupations more pleasant, more instructive, or more contemplative, than looking into the shop- windows ; you pay a shilling to see an exhibition, whereas in this instance you have the advantage of seeing many without paying a farthing, provided that you look after your pocket-handkerchief. Thus was our hero amused : at one shop he discovered that very gay shawls were to be purchased for one pound, Bandanas at gj-. yd., and soiled Irish linen remarkably cheap 5 at another he saw a row of watches, from humble silver at £2, los., to gold and enamelled at twelve or fourteen guineas, all warranted to go well ; at another he discovered that furs were at half- price, because nobody wore them in the summer. He proceeded farther, and came to where there was a quantity of oil-paintings exposed for sale, pointing out to the passer-by, that pictures of that description were those which he ought not to buy. A print-shop gave him an idea of the merits of composition and design shown by the various masters ; and as he could not transport himself to the Vatican, it was quite as well to see what the Vatican contained ; his thoughts were on Rome and her former glories. A tobacconist's transported him to the State of Virginia, where many had been transported in former days. A grocer's wafted him still farther to the West Indies and the negroes, and from these, as if by magic, to the Spice Islands and their aromatic groves. But an old curiosity- shop, with bronzes, china, marqueterie, point-lace, and armour, embraced at once a few centuries ; and he thought of the feudal times, the fifteenth century, the belle of former days, the amber-headed cane and snuff-box of the 282 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, beaux who sought her smiles — all gone, all dust ; the workmanship of the times, even portions of their dresses, still existing — everything less perishable than man. Our hero proceeded on, his thoughts wandering as he wandered himself, when his attention was attracted by one of those placards, the breed of which appears to have been very much improved of late, as they get larger and larger every day j what they will end in there is no saying, unless it be in placards without end. This placard intimated that there was a masquerade at Vauxhall on that evening, besides fireworks, waterworks, and anything but good works. Our hero had heard of Vauxhall, and his curiosity was excited, and he resolved that he would pass away the evening in, what was at that time, a rather fashionable resort. It was half-past six, and time to go, so he directed his steps over Westminster-bridge, and, having only lost three minutes in peeping through the balustrades at the barges and wherries proceeding up and down the river, after asking his way three times, he found himself at the entrance, and, paying his admission, walked in. There was a goodly sprinkling of company, but not many masks ; there was a man clad in brass armour, who stood quite motionless, for the armour was so heavy that he could hardly bear the weight of it. He must have suffered very great inconvenience on such a warm night, but people stared at him as they passed by, and he was more than repaid by the attention which he attracted ; so he stood and suffered on. There were about twenty-five clowns in their motley dresses, seven or eight pantaloons, three devils, and perhaps forty or fifty dominoes. Joey soon found himself close to the orchestra, which was a blaze of light, and he listened very attentively to a lady in ostrich feathers, who was pouring out a bravura, which was quite unintelligible to the audience, while the gentlemen behind her, in their cocked hats, accompanied her voice. He was leaning against one of the trees, and receiving, without knowing it, the drippings of a leaky lamp upon his coat, The Poacher 283 when two men came up and stopped on the other side of the trunk of the tree, and one said to the other — " I tell you, Joseph, she is here, and with the Christian. Manasseh traced her by the driver of the coach. She will never return to her father's house if we do not discover her this night " "What! will she become a Meshumed — an apostate!" exclaimed the other ; " I would see her in her grave first ! Holy Father ! the daughter of a rabbi to bring such disgrace upon her family ! Truly our sins, and the sins of our forefathers, have brought this evil upon our house. If I meet him here I will stab him to the heart ! " " Lemaan Hashetn I for the sake of thy holy name, my son, think of what you say ; you must not be so rash. Alas ! alas ! but we are mixed with the heathens. She must be concealed in one of the Moabitish garments," continued the elder of the two personages, whom our hero had of course ascertained to be of the house of Israel. " Manasseh tells me that he has discovered, from another quarter, that the Christian had procured a domino, black, with the sleeves slashed with white. That will be a distinguishing mark ; and if we see that dress we must then follow, and if a female is with it, it must be thy sister Miriam." " I will search now, and meet you here in half an hour," replied the younger of the two. " Joseph, my son, we do not part ; I cannot trust you in your anger, and you have weapons with you, I know ; we must go together. Rooch Hakodesh ! may the Holy Spirit guide us, and the daughter of our house be restored, for she is now my heart's bitterness, and my soul's sorrow ! " "Let me but discover the Gatu — the infidel !" replied the son, following the father ; and our hero observed him put his hand into his breast and half unsheath a poniard. Joey easily comprehended how the matter stood ; a Jewish maiden had met by assignation or had been run 284 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, away with by some young man, and the father and son were in pursuit to recover the daughter. "That is all very well," thought our hero ; "but although they may very properly wish to prevent the marriage, I do not much like the cold steel which the young Israelite had in his hand. If I do meet with the party, at all events I will give him warning ; " and Joey, having made this resolution, turned away from the orchestra and went down the covered way, which led to what are usually termed the dark walks ; he had just arrived at the commencement of them, when he perceived coming towards him two dominoes, the shorter hanging on the arm of the taller so as to assure him that they were male and female. "When they came to within ten yards of the lighted walk, they turned abruptly, and then Joey per- ceived that the taller had white slashed sleeves to his domino. "There they are," thought our hero \ "well, it's not safe for them to walk here, for a murder might be com- mitted without much chance of the party being found out. I will give them a hint at all events ; " and Joey followed the couple so as to overtake them by degrees. As he walked softly, and they were in earnest conversation, his approach was not heeded until within a few feet of them, when the taller domino turned impatiently round, as if to inquire what the intruder meant. " You are watched, and in danger, sir, if you are the party I think you are," said Joey, going up to him, and speaking in a low voice. " Who are you," replied the domino, " that gives this notice ? " " A perfect stranger to you, even if your mask was removed, sir ; but I happened to overhear a conversation relative to a person in a domino such as you wear. I may be mistaken, and, if so, there is no harm done ; " and our hero turned away. " Stop him, dear Henry," said a soft female voice. " I fear that there is danger : he can have told you but from kindness." The Poacher 285 The person in the domino immediately followed Joey, and accosted him, apologising for his apparent rudeness at receiving his communication, which he ascribed to the suddenness with which it was given, and requested, as a favour, that our hero would inform him why he had thought it necessary. " I will tell you, certainly ; not that I interfere with other people's concerns ; but when I saw that one of them had a poniard " " A poniard ! " exclaimed the female, who had now joined them. " Yes," replied Joey ; " and appeared determined to Use it. In one word, madam, is your name Miriam ? If so, what I heard concerns you ; if not, it does not, and I need say no more." " Sir, it does concern her," replied the domino j " and I will thank you to proceed." Our hero then stated briefly what he had overheard, and that the parties were then in pursuit of them. " We are lost ! " exclaimed the young woman. " We shall never escape from the gardens ! What must we do ? My brother in his wrath is as a lion's whelp." " I care little for myself," replied the domino. " I could defend myself; but, if we meet, I shall lose you. Your father would tear you away while I was engaged with your brother." " At all events, sir, I should recommend your not re- maining in these dark walks," replied our hero, " now that you are aware of what may take place." " And yet, if we go into the lighted part of the gardens, they will soon discover us, now that they have, as it appears, gained a knowledge of my dress." " Then put it off," said Joey. " But they know my person even better," rejoined the domino. " Your conduct, sir, has been so kind, that perhaps you would be inclined to assist us ? " Our hero was in love himself, and, of course, felt sympathy for others in the same predicament; so he 286 Joseph Rushbrook; or, replied that, if he could be of service, they might com- mand him. " Then, Miriam, dear, what I propose is this j will you put yourself under the protection of this stranger ? I think you risk nothing, for he has proved that he is kind. You may then, without fear of detection, pass through the gardens, and be conducted by him to a place of safety. I will remain here for half-an-hour ; should your father and brother meet me, although they may recognise my dress, yet, not having you with me, there will be no grounds for any attack being made, and I will, after a time, return home." " And what is to become of me ! " exclaimed the terrified girl. " You must send this gentleman to my address to- morrow morning, and he will acquaint me where you are. I am giving you a great deal of trouble, sir ; but at the same time I show my confidence ; I trust it will not in- terfere with your other engagements." " Your confidence is, I trust, not misplaced, sir," replied our hero; "and I am just now an idle man. I promise you, if this young lady will venture to trust herself with a perfect stranger, that I will do your request. I have no mask on, madam ; do you think you can trust me ? " " I think I can, sir ; indeed, I must do so, or there will be shedding of blood ; but Henry, they are coming ; I know them, see, right up the walk ! " Joey turned round, and perceived the two persons whose conversation he had overheard. "It is them, sir," said he to the gentleman in the domino ; " leave us and walk back farther into the dark part. I must take her away on my arm, and pass them boldly. • Come, sir, quick ! " Our hero immediately took the young Jewess on his arm and walked towards the father and brother. He felt her trembling like an aspen as they came close to them, and was fearful that her legs would fail her. As they passed, the face of our hero was severely scrutinised by the dark The Poacher 287 eyes of the Israelites. Joey returned their stare, and pro- ceeded on his way ; and after they had separated some paces from the father and brother, he whispered to the maiden, " You are safe now." Joey conducted his charge through the gardens, and when he arrived at the entrance, he called a coach and put the lady in. " Where shall he drive to ? " inquired our hero. " I don't know ; say anywhere, so that we are away from this ! " Joey ordered the man to drive to the hotel where he had taken up his abode, for he knew not where else to go- On his arrival he left the young lady in the coach, while he went in to prepare the landlady for her appear- ance. He stated that he had rescued her from a very perilous situation, and that he would feel much obliged to his hostess if she would take charge of the young person until she could be restored to her friends on the ensuing morning. People like to be consulted, and to appear of importance. The fat old lady, who had bridled up at the very mention of the introduction of a lady in a domino, as soon as she heard that the party was to be placed under her protection, relaxed her compressed features, and graciously consented. Our hero having consigned over his charge, whose face he had not yet seen, immediately retired to his own apart- ment. The next morning, about nine o'clock, he sent to inquire after the health of his protegee, and was answered by a request that he would pay her a visit. When he entered the room he found her alone. She was dressed somewhat in the Oriental style, and he was not a little surprised at her extreme beauty. Her stature was rather above the middle size ; she was exquisitely formed ; and her ankles, hands, and feet, were models of perfection. She was indeed one of the most exquisite specimens of the Jewish nation, and that is quite sufficient for her por- trait. She rose as he entered, and coloured deeply as she saluted him. Our hero, who perceived her confusion, 288 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, hastened to assure her that he was ready to obey any order she might be pleased to give him, and trusted that she had not been too much annoyed with her very un- pleasant position. " I am more obliged to you, sir, than I can well express," replied she, " by your kind consideration in putting me into the charge of the landlady of the house ; that one act assured me that I was in the hands of a gentleman and man of honour. All I have to request of you now is, that you will call at No. — , in Berkeley-square, and inform Mr S of what you have kindly done for me. You will probably hear from him the cause of the strange position in which you found us and relieved us from." As our hero had nothing to reply, he wrote down the address and took his leave, immediately proceeding to the house of Mr S ; but as he was walking up Berkeley- street, he was encountered by two men, whom he immediately recognised as the father and brother of the young Israelite ; the brother fixed his keen eye upon our hero, and appeared to recognise him ; at all events, as our hero passed them, they turned round and followed him, and he heard the brother say, " He was with her," or something to that purport. Our hero did not, however, consider that it was advisable to wait until they were away before he knocked at the door, as he felt convinced that they were on the watch, and that any delay would not obtain the end. He knocked, and was immediately admitted. He found Mr S pacing the room up and down in great anxiety, the breakfast remaining on the table untouched. He warmly greeted the arrival of our hero. Joey, as soon as he had informed him of what he had done, and in whose hands he had placed the young lady, stated the circumstance of the father and brother being outside on the watch, and that he thought that they had recognised him. " That is nothing more than what I expected," replied Mr S •, " but I trust easily to evade them ; they are not aware that the back of this house communicates with The Poacher 289 the stables belonging to it in the mews, and we can go out by that way without their perceiving us. I've so many thanks to offer you, sir, for your kind interference in our behalf, that I hardly know how to express them ; to one thing you are most certainly entitled, and I should prove but little my sincerity if I did not immediately give it you ; that is my confidence, and a knowledge of the parties whom you have assisted, and the circumstances attending this strange affair. The young lady, sir, is, as you know, a Jewess by birth, and the daughter of the rabbi, a man of great wealth and high ancestry, for certainly Jews can claim the latter higher than any other nation upon earth j I am myself a man of fortune, as it is usually termed, at all events with sufficient to indulge any woman I should take as my wife with every luxury that can be reasonably demanded. I mention this to corroborate my assertion, that it was not her father's wealth which has been my inducement. I made the acquaintance of the father and daughter when I was travelling on the continent ; he was on his way to England, when his carriage broke down in a difficult pass on the mountains, and they would have been left on the road for the night if I had not fortunately come up in time, and, being alone, was able to convey them to the next town. I have always had a great respect for the Jewish nation. I consider that every true Christian should have ; but I will not enter upon that point now. It was probably my showing such a feeling, and my being well versed in their history, which was the occasion of an inter- course of two days ripening into a regard for one another ; and we parted with sincere wishes that we might meet again in this country. At the time I speak of, which was about three years ago, his daughter Miriam was, compara- tively speaking, a child, and certainly not at that period, or indeed for some time after our meeting again in England, did it ever come into my ideas that I should ever feel any- thing for her but good-will ; but circumstances, and her father's confidence in me, threw us much together. She has no mother. After a time, I found myself growing J.R. T 290 Joseph Rushbrook; or, attached to her, and I taxed myself, and reflected on the consequences. I was aware how very severe the Jewish laws were upon the subject of any of their family uniting themselves to a Christian. That it was not only considered that the party concerned was dishonoured before the nation, but that the whole family became vile, and were denied the usual burial rites. Perhaps you are aware that if a Jew embraces Christianity, the same disgrace is heaped upon the relations. With this knowledge, I determined to con- quer my feelings for Miriam, and of course I no longer went to her father's house ; it would have been cruel to put my friend (for such he certainly was) in such a position ; the more so, as, being a rabbi, he would have to denounce himself and his own children. " My absence was, however, the cause of great annoy- ance to the father. He sought me, and I was so pressed by him to return, that I had no choice, unless I confessed my reasons, which I did not like to do. I therefore visited the house as before, although not so frequently, and continually found myself in company with Miriam, and, her father being constantly summoned away to the duties of his office, but too often alone. I therefore resolved that I would once more set off on my travels, as the only means by which I could act honourably, and get rid of the feeling which was obtaining such a mastery over me. I went to the house to state my intention, and at the same time bid them farewell ; when, ascending the stairs, I slipped and sprained my ankle so severely, that I could not put my foot to the ground. This decided our fate, and I was not only domiciled for a week in the house, but, as I lay on the sofa, was continually attended by Miriam. Her father would not hear of my removal, but declared that my accident was a judgment against me for my rash intention. " That Miriam showed her regard for me in every way that a modest maiden could do, is certain. I did, however, make one last struggle ; I did not deny my feelings towards her, but I pointed out to her the consequences which The Poacher 291 would ensue, -which it was my duty as a friend, and her duty as a daughter, to prevent. She heard me in silence and in tears, and then quitted the room. " The next day she appeared to have recovered her composure, and entered freely into general conversation, and, after a time, referred to the rites of their Church. By degrees she brought up the subject of Christianity ; she demanded the reasons and authority for our belief; in short, she induced me to enter warmly into the subject, and to prove, to the best of my ability, that the true Messiah had already come. This conversation she took a pleasure in renewing, during my stay in the house ; and as I considered that the subject was one that diverted our attention from the one I wished to avoid, I was not sorry to enter upon it, although I had not the least idea of converting her to our faith. " Such was the state of affairs when I quitted the house, and again seriously thought of removing myself from so much temptation, when her brother Joseph arrived from Madrid, where he had been staying with an uncle for some years, and his return was the occasion of a jubilee, at which I could not refuse to appear. He is a fine young man, very intelligent and well-informed, but of a very irascible disposition ; and his long residence in Spain has probably given him those ideas of retaliation which are almost unknown in this country. He conceived a very strong friendship for me, and I certainly was equally pleased with him, for he is full of talent, although he is revengeful, proud of. his lineage, and holding to the tenets of his faith with all the obstinacy of a Pharisee. Indeed it is strange that he could ever become so partial to a Christian, respecting as he does the rabbinical doctrines held forth to the Jewish people, and which it must be admitted have been inculcated, in consequence of the unwearied and unjustifiable persecution of the tribes for centuries, by those who call themselves Christians, but whose practice has been at open variance with the precepts of the founder of their faith. However, so it was. Joseph 292 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, conceived a great regard for me, was continually at my house, and compelled me but too often to visit at his father's. At last I made up my mind that I would leave the country for a time, and was actively preparing, intend- ing to go without saying a word to them, when I found myself one morning alone with Miriam. She walked up to me as I was sitting on the couch ; I motioned to her to sit by me, but she stood before me with a stately air, fixing upon me her dark gazelle-like eyes. " 'Do you,' said she, in a slow and solemn tone of voice, ' do you remember the conversation which we had upon our respective creeds ? Do you recollect how you pointed out to me your authorities and your reasons for your faith, and your sincere belief that the Messiah had already come ?' " ' I do, Miriam,' replied I ; ' but not with any view to interfere with your non-belief; it was only to uphold by argument my own.' " ' I do not say nay to that ; I believe you,' said Miriam; ' nevertheless, I have that in my vest which, if it was known to my father or brother, would cause them to dash me to the earth, and to curse me in the name of the great Jehovah ; ' and she pulled out of her vest a small copy of the New Testament. ' This is the book of your creed ; I have searched and compared it with our own ; I have found the authorities ; I have read the words of the Jews who have narrated the history and the deeds of Jesus of Nazareth, and — I am a Christian? " It may appear strange, but I assure you, sir, you cannot imagine the pain I felt when Miriam thus acknow- ledged herself a convert to our faith ; to say to her that I was sorry for it would have argued little for my Christian belief; but when I reflected upon the pain and disgrace it would bring upon her family, and that I should be the cause, I was dreadfully shocked. I could only reply, ' Miriam, I wish that we had never met ! ' " ' I know what your feelings are but too well,' replied she ; f but we have met, and what is done cannot be undone. I, too, when I think of my relations, am torn The Poacher 293 with anxiety and distress ; but what is now my duty ? If I am, and I declare, not only by the great Jehovah, but by the crucified Messiah, that I am, a sincere believer in your creed, must I shrink — must I conceal it on account of my father and my brother ? Does not He say, " Leave all and follow Me ? " Must I not add my feeble voice in acknowledgment of the truth, if I am to consider myself a Christian ? Must not my avowal be public ? Yes, it must be, and it shall be ! Can you blame me ? ' " ' Oh, no ! I dare not blame you ; ' replied I, ' I only regret that religious differences should so mar the little happiness permitted to us in this world, and that neither Jew nor Christian will admit what our Saviour has dis- tinctly declared — that there is no difference between the Jew and the Greek or Gentile. I see much misery in this, and I cannot help regretting deeply that I shall be considered as the cause of it, and be upbraided with ingratitude.' " ' You did your duty,' replied Miriam. ' I have been converted by your having so done. Now I have my duty to do. I am aware of the pain it will occasion my father, my relations, and the whole of our tribe ; but if they suffer, shall I not suffer more ? Thrust out from my father's door ; loaded with curses and execrations ; not one Jew permitted to offer me an asylum, not even to give me a morsel of bread, or a drop of water j a wanderer and an outcast ! Such must be my fate.' " ' Not so, Miriam ; if your tribe desert you ' " ' Stop one moment,' interrupted Miriam ; t do you recollect the conversation you had with me before we entered into the subject of our relative creeds ? Do you remember what you then said ; and was it true, or was it merely as an excuse ? ' " ' It was as true, Miriam, as I stand here. I have loved you long and devotedly. I have tried to conquer the passion, on account of the misery your marriage with a Christian would have occasioned your relations ; but if you persist in avowing your new faith, the misery will be equally incurred; and, therefore, I am doubly bound, 294 Joseph Rushbrook; or, not only by my love, but because I have, by converting you, put you in such a dreadful position, to offer you not only an asylum, but, if you will accept them, my heart and hand.' " Miriam folded her arms across her breast, and knelt down, with her eyes fixed upon the floor. ' I can only answer in the words of Ruth,' replied she, in a low voice and trembling lips. I hardly need observe, that after this interview the affair was decided, — the great difficulty was to get her out of the house •, for you must have been inside of one of the houses of a Jew of rank to be aware of their arrangements. It was impossible that Miriam could be absent an hour without being missed ; and to go out by herself without being seen was equally difficult. Her cousin is married to a Jew, who keeps the masquerade paraphernalia and costumes in Tavistock-street, and she sometimes accompanies her father and brother there, and, as usual, goes up to her cousin in the women's apartment, while her male relations remain below. We therefore hit upon this plan : That on the first masquerade-night at Vauxhall she should persuade her father and brother to go with her to her cousin's ; that I should be close by in a coach, and, after she had gone in, I was to drive up as the other customers do, and obtain two dominoes, and then wait while she escaped from the women's apart- ment, and came downstairs to the street door, where I was to put her in the coach, and drive off to Vauxhall. You may inquire why we went to Vauxhall. Because, as but few minutes would elapse before she would be missed, it would have been almost impossible to have removed her without being discovered, for I was well known to the people. You recollect that Manasseh, who was in the shop, informed them that my domino was slashed with white in the sleeves ; he knew me when I obtained the dominoes. Had I not been aware of the violence of the brother, I should have cared little had he followed me to my house, or any other place he might have traced me to ; but his temper is such that his sister The Poacher 295 would certainly have been sacrificed to his rage and fury, as you may imagine from what you have seen and heard. I considered, therefore, that if we once became mixed with the crowd of masks and dominoes at Vauxhall, I should elude them, and all trace of us be lost. I believe, now, that I have made you acquainted with every cir- cumstance, and trust that you will still afford me your valuable assistance." " Most certainly," replied our hero ; "I am in duty bound. I cannot help thinking that they have recognised me as the party conducting her out of the dark walk. Did you meet them afterwards ? " 1 ' No," rejoined Mr S ; "I allowed them to walk about without coming up to me, for some time, and then when they were down at the farthest end, I made all haste and took a coach home, before they could possibly come up with me, allowing that they did recognise me, which I do not think they did until they perceived me hastening away at a distance." " What, then, are your present intentions ? " inquired our hero. " I wish you to return with me to your hotel," replied Mr S ; " I will then take a chaise, and leave for Scotland as fast as four horses can carry us, and unite my- self to Miriam ; and, as soon as I can, I shall leave the country, which will be the best step to allow their rage and indignation to cool." " I think your plan is good," replied Joey, " and I am at your service." In a few minutes Mr S and our hero went out by the back way into the mews, and, as soon as they came to a stand, took a coach and drove to the hotel. They had not, however, been in company with Miriam more than five minutes, when the waiter entered the room in great alarm, stating that two gentlemen were forcing their way upstairs, in spite of the landlord and others who were endeavouring to prevent them. The fact was, that 296 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, our hero and Mr S had been perceived by Joseph and his father, as they came out of the mews, and they had immediately followed them, taking a coach at the same stand, and desiring the coachman to follow the one our hero and Mr S had gone into. The waiter had hardly time to make the communication before the door was forced open, and the man was so terrified that he retreated behind our hero and Mr S , into whose arms Miriam had thrown herself for protection The father and brother did not, however, enter without resistance on the part of the landlord and waiters, who followed, remonstrating and checking them ; but Joseph broke from them with his dagger drawn ; it was wrenched from him by our hero, who dashed forward. The enraged Israelite then caught up a heavy bronze clock which was on the sideboard, and crying out, " This for the Gaw and the Meshumed ! " (the infidel and the apostate), he hurled it at them with all his strength j it missed the parties it was intended for, but striking the waiter who had retreated behind them, fractured his skull, and he fell senseless upon the floor. Upon this outrage the landlord and his assistants rushed upon Joseph and his father ; the police were sent for, and after a desperate resistance the Israelites were taken away to the police-office, leaving Mr S and Miriam at liberty. Our hero was, however, requested by the police to attend at the examination, and, of course, could not refuse. The whole party had been a quarter of an hour waiting until another case was disposed of, before the magistrate could attend to them, when the surgeon came in and acquainted them that the unfortunate waiter had expired. The depositions were taken down, and both father and son were committed, and Joey and some others bound over to appear as witnesses. In about two hours our hero was enabled to return to the hotel, where he found that Mr S had left a note for him, stating that he considered it advisable to start immediately, lest they should require his attendance at the police-court, and he - -- - ■ ■ " The Poacher 297 should be delayed, which would give time to the relations of Miriam to take up the question ; he had, therefore, set off, and would write to him as soon as he possibly could. This affair made some noise, and appeared in all the news- papers, and our hero therefore sat down and wrote a detailed account of the whole transaction (as communicated to him by Mr S ), which he despatched to Portsmouth. He made inquiries, and found that the sessions would come on in a fortnight, and that the grand jury would sit in a few days. He therefore made up his mind that he would not think of returning to Portsmouth until the trial was over, and in his next letter he made known his intentions, and then set off for Richmond, where he had been advised to remain for a short time, as being more favourable to an invalid than the confined atmosphere of London. Our hero found amusement in rowing about in a wherry, up and down the river, and replying to the letters received from Mary, and from Portsmouth. He also received a letter from Mr S , informing him of his marriage, and requesting that as soon as the trial was over he would write to him. Our hero's health also was nearly re- established, when he was informed that his attendance was required at the court to give his evidence in the case of manslaughter found by the grand jury against Joseph, the brother of Miriam. He arrived in town and attended the court on the following day, when the trial was to take place. A short time after the cause came on he was placed in the witness- box. At the time that he gave his depositions before the magistrate he had not thought about his name having been changed ; but now that he was sworn, and had declared he would tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, when the counsel asked him if his name was not Joseph O'Donahue, our hero replied that it was Joseph Rushbrook. " Your deposition says Joseph O'Donahue. How is this ? Have you an alias, like many others, sir ? " inquired the counsel. 298 Joseph Rushbrook; or, " My real name is Rushbrook, but I have been called O'Donahue for some time," replied our hero. This reply was the occasion of the opposite counsel making some very severe remarks ; but the evidence of our hero was taken, and was indeed considered very favourable to the prisoner, as Joey stated that he was convinced the blow was never intended for the un- fortunate waiter, but for Mr S . After about an hour's examination our hero was dismissed, and, in case that he might be recalled, returned as directed to the room where the witnesses were assembled. Chapter XLIV In which the tide of fortune turns against our hero. As soon as Joey had been dismissed from the witness-box he returned to the room in which the other witnesses were assembled, with melancholy forebodings that his real name having been given in open court would lead to some disaster. He had not been there long before a peace- officer came in, and said to him — " Step this way, if you please, sir ; I have something to say to you." Joey went with him outside the door, when the peace- officer, looking at him full in the face, said, " Your name is Joseph Rushbrook ; you said so in the witness-box ? " " Yes," replied Joey, " that is my true name." " Why did you change it ? " demanded the officer. " I had reasons," replied our hero. " Yes, and I'll tell you the reasons," rejoined the other ; " you were concerned in a murder some years ago ; a reward was offered for your apprehension, and you absconded from justice. I see that you are the person ; your face tells me so. You are my prisoner. Now, come away quietly, sir ; it is of no use for you to resist, and you will only be worse treated." The Poacher 299 Joey's heart had almost ceased to beat when the constable addressed him ; he felt that denial was useless, and that the time was now come when either he or his father must suffer : he, therefore, made no reply, but quietly followed the peace-officer, who, holding him by the arm, called a coach, into which he ordered Joey to enter, and, following him, directed the coachman to drive to the police-office. As soon as the magistrate had been acquainted by the officer who the party was whom he had taken into custody, he first pointed out to our hero that he had better not say anything which might criminate himself, and then asked him if his name was Joseph Rushbrook. Joey replied that it was. " Have you anything to say that might prevent my com- mitting you on the charge of murder ? " demanded the magistrate. " Nothing, except that I am not guilty," replied Joey. "I have had the warrant out against him these seven years, or thereabouts, but he escaped me," observed the peace-officer ; "he was but a lad then." " He must have been a child, to judge by his present appearance," observed the magistrate, who was making out the committal. " I now perfectly recollect the affair." The officer received the committal, and in half an hour our hero was locked up with felons of every description. His blood ran cold when he found himself enclosed within the massive walls ; and, as soon as the gaoler had left him alone, he shuddered and covered his face with his hands. Our hero had, however, the greatest of all consolations to support him — the consciousness of his innocence; but when he called to mind how happy and prosperous he had lately been, when he thought of Emma,— and that now all his fair prospects and fondest anticipations were thrown to the ground, it is not surprising that for a short time he wept in his solitude and silence. To whom should he make known his situation ? Alas ! it would too soon be known ; and would not every one, even Emma, shrink 300 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, from a supposed murderer ? No ! there was one who would not — one on whose truth he could depend ; Mary would not desert him, even now ; he would write to her, and acquaint her with his situation. Our hero having made up his mind so to do, obtained paper and ink from the gaoler when he came into his cell, which he did in about two hours after he had been locked up. Joey wrote to Mary, stating his position in few words, and that the next morning he was to be taken down to Exeter to await his trial, and expressed a wish, if possible, that she would come there to see him ; and, giving a guinea to the turn- key, requested him to forward the letter. " It shall go safe enough, young master," replied the man. " Now, do you know, yours is one of the strangest cases which ever came to my knowledge ? " continued the man ; " we've been talking about it among ourselves ; why, the first warrant for your apprehension was out more than eight years ago ; and, to look at you now, you cannot be more than seventeen or eighteen." " Yes, I am," replied Joey ; " I am twenty-two." " Then don't you tell anybody else that, and I will for- get it. You see youth goes a great way in court ; and they will see that you must have been quite a child when the deed was done — for I suppose by the evidence there is no doubt of that — and it won't be a hanging matter, that you may be certain of ; you'll cross the water, that's all ; so keep up your spirits, and look as young as you can." Mary received the letter on the following day, and was in the deepest distress at its contents. She was still weeping over it, her work had been thrown down at her feet, when Mrs Austin came into the dressing-room where she was sittting. " What is the matter, Mary ? " said Mrs Austin. "I have received a letter from my brother, madam," replied Mary ; " he is in the greatest distress ; and I must beg you to let me go to him immediately." " Your brother, Mary ! what difficulty is he in ? " asked Mrs Austin. The Poacher 301 Mary did not reply, but wept more. " Mary, if your brother is in distress, I certainly will not refuse your going to him ; but you should tell me what his distress is, or how shall I be able to advise or help you ? Is it very serious ? " " He is in prison, madam." " In prison for debt, I suppose ? " " No, madam, on a charge of murder, which he is not guilty of." " Murder ! " exclaimed Mrs Austin, " and not guilty ! Why — when — and where did this murder take place ? " "Many years ago, madam, when he was quite a child." " How very strange ! " thought Mrs Austin, panting for breath, and dropping into a chair. " But where, Mary ? " " Down in Devonshire, madam, at Grassford." Mrs Austin fell senseless from her chair. Mary, very much surprised, hastened to her assistance, and, after a time, succeeded in restoring her, and leading her to the sofa. For some time Mrs Austin remained with her face buried in the cushions, while Mary stood over her. At last Mrs Austin looked up, and laying her hand upon Mary's arm, said, in a solemn tone — " Mary, do not deceive me, you say that that boy is your brother — tell me, is not that false ? I am sure that it is. Answer me, Mary." " He is not my born brother, madam, but I love him as one," replied Mary. " Again answer me truly, Mary, if you have any regard for me. You know his real name, what is it ? " "Joseph Rushbrook, madam," replied Mary, weeping. " I was certain of it ! " replied Mrs Austin, bursting into tears, " I knew it ! the blow has come at last ! God have mercy on me ! What can be done ? " And again Mrs Austin abandoned herself to bitter grief. Mary was in amazement ; how Mrs Austin should know anything of Joey's history, and why she should be in such distress, was to her a complete mystery j she remained for 3ll deed has embittered his whole life — he never has been happy since, and never will be until he is in heaven." " Oh, what a happy relief it would be to him ! " replied Mary, musing. " I wish that I was, if such wish is not sinful." " Mary, you must not add to my distress by talking in that manner ; I want your support and consolation now." " You have a right to demand everything of me, madam," replied Mary, "and I will do my best, I will indeed; I have often felt this before, and I thank God for it ; it will make me more humble." The fever continued for many days, during which time Mr Austin was attended solely by his wife and Mary ; the latter had written to our hero, stating the cause of her absence from him in so trying a period, and had received an answer, stating that he had received from very good authority the information that he was not likely to leave the country for some weeks, and requesting that Mary would remain with his mother until his father's dangerous illness was decided one way or the other ; he stated that he should be perfectly satisfied if he only saw her once before his departure, to arrange with her relative to her affairs, and to give her legal authority to act for him, previous to his removal from the country. He told her that he had perceived an advertisement in the London papers, evidently put in by his friends at Portsmouth, offering a handsome reward to anyone who could give any account of him — and that he was fearful that some of those who were at the trial would read it, and make known his position ; he begged Mary to write to him every day if possible, if it were only a few lines, and sent his devoted love to his mother. Mary complied with all our hero's requests, and every day a few lines were despatched ; and it was now ascertained by the other domestics, and by them made generally known, that a daily correspondence was kept up with a prisoner in Exeter gaol, which added still more mystery and interest in the state of Mr Austin. Many were the calls and cards left at the Hall, and if we were to J.R. Y 2,3% Joseph Rushbrook ; or, inquire whether curiosity or condolence was the motive of those who went there, we are afraid that the cause would, in most cases, have proved to have been the former. Among others, O'Donahue and M'Shane did not fail to send every day, waiting for the time when they could persuade Austin to do justice to his own child. The crisis, as predicted by the medical attendants, at last arrived, and Mr Austin recovered his reason, but, at the same time, all hopes of his again rising from his bed were given over. This intelligence was communicated to his wife, who wept and wished, but dared not utter what she wished ; Mary, however, took an opportunity, when Mrs Austin had quitted the room, to tell Mr Austin, who was in such a feeble state that he could hardly speak, that the time would soon come when he would be summoned before a higher tribunal, and conjured him by the hopes he had of forgiveness, now that the world was fading away before his eyes, to put away all pride, and to do that justice to" his son which our hero's noble conduct towards him demanded — to make a confession either in writing or in presence of witnesses, before he died — which would prove the innocence of his only child, the heir to the property and the name. There was a struggle, and a long one, in the proud heart of Mr Austin before he could consent to this act of justice. Mary had pointed out the propriety of it early in the morning, and it was not until late in the evening, after having remained in silence and with his eyes closed for the whole day, that Austin made a sign to his wife to bend down to him, and desired her in a half-whisper to send for a magistrate. His request was immediately attended to ; and in an hour the summons was answered by one with whom Austin had been on good terms. Austin made his deposition in few words, and was sup- ported by Mary while he signed the paper. It was done ; and when she would have removed the pen from his fingers, she found that it was still held fast, and that his head had fallen back ; the conflict between his pride and The Poacher 339 this act of duty had been too overpowering for him in his weak condition, and Mr Austin was dead before the ink of his signature had time to dry. The gentleman who had been summoned in his capacity of magistrate thought it advisable to remove from the scene of distress without attempting to communicate with Mrs Austin in her present distress. He had been in conversa- tion with O'Donahue and M'Shane at the time that he was summoned, and Mr Austin's illness and the various reports abroad had been there canvassed. O'Donahue and M'Shane had reserved the secret ; but when their friend was sent for, anticipating that some such result would take place, they requested him to return to them from the Hall ; he did so, and acquainted them with what had passed. " There's no time to lose, then," said M'Shane ; " I will, if you please, take a copy of this deposition." O'Donahue entered into a brief narrative of the circum- stances and the behaviour of our hero ; and, as soon as the copy of the deposition had been attested by the magistrate, he and M'Shane ordered horses, and set off for London. They knocked up Mr Trevor at his private house in the middle of the night, and put the document into his hands. " Well, Major M'Shane, I would gladly have risen from a sick bed to have had this paper put into my hands ; we must call upon the Secretary of State to-morrow, and I have no doubt but that the poor lad will be speedily re- leased, take possession of his property, and be an honour to the county." " An honour to old England," replied M'Shane ; " but I shall now wish you good-night." M'Shane, before he went to bed, immediately wrote a letter to Mrs Austin, acquainting her with what he had done, and the intentions of Mr Trevor, sending it by express ; he simply stated the facts, without any com- ments. But we must now return to Portsmouth. The advertise- ment of Mr Small did not escape the keen eye of the 34° Joseph Rushbrook; or, police-constable who had arrested our hero — as the reader must recollect the arrest was made so quietly that no one was aware of the circumstance, and as the reward of ^ioo would be a very handsome addition to the £200 which he had already received — the man immediately set off for Portsmouth on the outside of the coach, and went to Mr Small, where he found him in the counting-house with Mr Sleek. He soon introduced himself, and his business with them j and such was Mr Small's impatience that he immediately signed a cheque for the amount, and handed it to the police-officer, who then bluntly told him that our hero had been tried for murder, and sentenced to trans- portation, his real name being Rushbrook, and not O'Donahue. This was a heavy blow to Mr Small ; having obtained all the particulars from the police-constable, he dismissed him, and was for some time in consultation with Mr Sleek ; and as it would be impossible long to withhold the facts, it was thought advisable that Mrs Phillips and Emma should become acquainted with them immediately, the more so as Emma had acknowledged that there was a mystery about our hero, a portion of which she was acquainted with. Mrs Phillips was the first party to whom the intelligence was communicated, and she was greatly distressed. It was some time before she could decide upon whether Emma, in her weak state, should be made acquainted with the melancholy tidings, but as she had suffered so much from suspense, it was at last considered advisable that the communication should be made. It was done as cautiously as possible ; Emma was not so shocked as they supposed she would have been at the intelligence. " I have been prepared for this, or something like this," replied she, weeping in her mother's arms, " but I cannot believe that he has done the deed ; he told me that he did not, when he was a child ; he has asserted it since. Mother, I must — I will go and see him." " See him, my child ! he is confined in gaol." The Poacher 341 "Do not refuse me, mother, you know not what I feel — you know not — I never knew myself till now how much I loved him. See him I must and will. Dearest mother, if you value my life, if you would not drive reason from its seat, do not refuse me." Mrs Phillips found that it was in vain to argue, and consulted with Mr Small, who at length (after having in vain remonstrated with Emma) decided that her request should be granted, and that very day he accompanied his niece, travelling all night, until they arrived at Exeter. In the meantime Mrs Austin had remained in a state of great distress ; her husband lay dead ; she believed that he had confessed his guilt, but to what extent she did not know, for neither she nor Mary had heard what passed between him and the magistrate. She had no one but Mary to confide in or to console, no one to advise with or to consult. She thought of sending for the magistrate, but it would appear indecorous, and she was all anxiety and doubt. The letter from M'Shane, which arrived the next afternoon, relieved her at once ; she felt that her boy was safe. "Mary, dear, read this; he is safe," exclaimed she; " God of heaven, accept a mother's grateful tears." " Cannot you spare me, madam ? " replied Mary, re- turning the letter, " Spare you. Oh, yes ! quick, Mary, lose not a moment, go to him, and take this letter with you. My dear, dear child." Mary did not wait a second command ; she sent for post- horses, and in half an hour was on her way to Exeter ; travelling with as much speed as Emma and her uncle, she arrived there but a few hours after them. Our hero had been anxiously awaiting for Mary's daily communication, the post time had passed, and it had not arrived. Pale and haggard from long confinement and distress of mind, he was pacing up and down, when the bolts were turned, and Emma, supported by her uncle, entered the cell. At the sight of her, our hero uttered a 342 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, cry, and staggered against the wall ; he appeared to have lost his usual self-control. " Oh," said he, " this might have been spared me, I have not deserved this punishment. Emma, hear me. As I hope for future happiness, I am innocent ; I am — I am, indeed — ," and he fell senseless on the pavement. Mr Small raised him up and put him on the bed ; after a time he revived, and remained where he had been laid, sobbing convulsively. As soon as he became more composed, Emma, who had been sitting by him, the tears coursing each other down her pale cheeks, addressed him in a calm voice. " I feel — I am sure that you are innocent, or I should not have been here." " Bless you for that, Emma, bless you ; those few words of yours have given me more consolation than you can imagine. Is it nothing to be treated as a felon, to be disgraced, to be banished to a distant country, and that at the very time that I was full of happiness, prosperous, and anticipating ? — (but I cannot dwell upon that). Is it not hard to bear, Emma ? and what could support me, but the consciousness of my own innocence, and the assurance that she whom I love so, and whom I now lose for ever, still believes me so ? Yes, it is a balm ; a consolation ; and I will now submit to the will of Heaven." Emma burst into years, leaning her face on our hero's shoulders. After a time she replied, " And am I not to be pitied ? Is it nothing to love tenderly, devotedly, madly — to have given my heart, my whole thoughts, my existence to one object — (why should I conceal it now ? ) — to have been dwelling upon visions of futurity so pleasing, so delightful, all passing away as a dream, and leaving a sad reality like this ? Make me one promise ; you will not refuse Emma — who knelt by your side when you first met her, she who is kneeling before you now ? " " I dare not, Emma, for my heart tells me that you The Poacher 343 would propose a step which must not be you must leave me now, and for ever." " For ever ! for ever ! " cried Emma, springing on her feet. " No ! no ! — uncle, he says I am to leave him for ever ! Who is that ? " continued the frantic girl. " Mary ! yes, 'tis ! Mary, he says I must leave him for ever ! " (It was Mary who had just come into the cell.) " Must I, Mary ? " "No — no!" replied Mary, "not so! he is saved, and his innocence is established ; he is yours for ever ! " We shall not attempt to describe the scene which we could not do justice to. We must allow the day to pass away ; during which Emma and our hero, Mr Small and Mary, were sitting together ; tears of misery wiped away — tears of joy still flowing and glistening with the radiance of intermingled smiles. The next morning M'Shane and O'Donahue arrived, the Secretary of State had given immediate orders for our hero's release, and they had brought the document with them. The following day they were all en route, Emma and her uncle to Portsmouth, where they anxiously awaited the arrival of our hero as soon as he had performed his duty to his parents. We must allow the reader to suppose the joy of Mrs Austin in once more holding her child in her embrace, and the smiles and happiness of Mary at his triumphant acquittal ; the wondering of the domestics, the scandal and rumour of the neighbourhood. Three days sufficed to make all known, and by that time Joey was looked upon as the hero of a novel. On the fourth day he accompanied the remains of his father as chief mourner. The funeral was quiet without being mean ; there was no attendance, no carriages of the neighbouring gentry followed. Our hero was quite alone and unsupported j but when the cere- mony was over, the want of respect shown to the memory of his father was more than atoned for by the kindness and consideration shown towards the son, who was warmly, 344 Joseph Rushbrook ; or, yet delicately, welcomed as the future proprietor of the Hall. 1 hree months passed away, and there was a great crowd before the house of Mr Small, navy-agent, at Portsmouth. There was a large company assembled, the O'Donahues, the M'Shanes, the Spikemans, and many others. Mrs Austin was there, looking ten years younger ; and Mary was attending her at the toilet, both of them half smiles, half tears, for it was the morning of our hero's wedding- day. Mr Small strutted about in white smalls, and Mr Sleek spluttered over everybody. The procession went to the church, and soon after the ceremony, one couple of the party set off for the Hall ; where the others went is of no consequence. We have now wound up the history of little Joey Rush- brook, the poacher. We have only to add, that the character of our hero was not the worse as he grew older, and was the father of a family. The Hall was celebrated for hospitality, for the amiability of its possessors, and the art which they possessed of making other people happy. Mary remained with them more as a confidant than as a servant •, indeed, she had so much money, that she received several offers of marriage, which she invariably refused, observing with the true humbleness of a contrite heart, that she was undeserving of any honest, good man. Everybody else, even those who knew her history, thought otherwise ; but Mary continued firm in her resolution. As for all the rest of the personages introduced into these pages, they passed through life with an average portion of happiness, which is all that can be expected. In, conclusion, we have only one remark to make. In this story we have shown how a young lad, who com- menced his career with poaching, ultimately became a gentleman of ^7000 a year ; but we must remind our youthful readers, that it does not follow that every one who commences with poaching is to have the same good fortune. We advise them, therefore, not to attempt it, as they may find that instead of ^7000 a year, they may stand a The Poacher 345 chance of going to where our hero very narrowly escaped from being sent ; this is, to a certain portion of her Majesty's dominions beyond the seas, latterly termed Australia, but more generally known by the appellation of Botany Bay. THE END. PRINTED BY TURNBULL AND SPEARS, EDINBURGH. (y ■i ijtj:!w;i| :i