Ordered hy 
 
 V/^/./^//V./s/v^>/</s/«/s#./V./s/ 
 
 :^^ 
 
 ,/s/^/S/s/s/s/s/v^^ 
 
 Allowed for Reading /J^ 
 
 v:. 
 
 
 nXEMBERS' NAMES. 
 
 RECEIVED. 
 
 2:1 
 
 FORWARDED. 
 
 Rev. W. A . Wasney 
 Rev. R. Upton 
 Miss Roundell 
 Rev, M, Barnard.. 
 
 Rev. A. Lister .... 
 
 Mr. CoultJmrst /^ /^' 
 
 Mr. W. Clui:>pindale^^^^-^ 
 
 
 3/r. Sidyrvick 
 
 Mr. J . Sidywick. 
 Miss Wasney y 
 
 ^^//' 
 
 A 
 
 3^^' 
 
 
 y 
 
 o-'/^'w 
 
 ^/ 
 
 X-''^^^^, 
 
 Secretary for the Year.
 
 ^— >-^ 
 
 I. The number of members not to exceed twelve, to be chosen 
 iinaDimoDsly; and each to pay to the secretary upon bis admis- 
 sion two Guineas, and afterwards one Guinea by the first day of 
 March in every year. 
 
 IT. Each member to order books annually not exceeding two 
 Guinea,', nor less then thirty-five Shillings in value, and to 
 transmit to the secretary, by the 17th day of March, the names 
 of the. books he fixes upon ; but to have the option of ordering 
 books to about half the amount only in March, and the remain- 
 der by the 17(h day of the ensuing September. A fine of five 
 Shillings to be paid for every omission. 
 
 III. Two members may order a boolp, prset of books, to the 
 amount of their joint subscriptions. 
 
 IV. Each book or set ofbooksof the price of two Guineas and 
 under, shall be annually put up for sale by the secretary at half- 
 price ; and books above that value at two-thirds the price. The 
 members, who ordered the books, to take them at those prices, 
 if there be no bidder. 
 
 V. Every member of the society to be secretary in turn, 
 either in person, or by proxy. 
 
 VI. Each member to read the bonks, he orders, first — to fix 
 the time to be allowed for reading them, which in no case shall 
 exceed a month, and to limit himself to that time. Two days 
 to be allowed for forwarding the books. 
 
 VII. Every member to insert in each book, or in the first vo- 
 lume of each set, the day on which he receives, and the day on 
 which be forwards it; and for every omission to pay a fine of 
 Six- pence: and the fine for keeping books too long to be Six- 
 pence per day, which may be ascertained by the dates. 
 
 VIII. The secretary to order the books by the 23d days of 
 March and September, and to give directions to the bookseller, 
 to whom be shall send them. 
 
 IX. Every member who shall not be present at the annual 
 meeting, shall be fined ten Shillings and Six-pence, unless his 
 excuse shall be approved of by the the members present. 
 
 X. Theannnal meeting for disposing of the books and settling 
 the accounts, to be held the first Tuesday after the 20tb of August. 
 
 XI. No more than six days allowed for reading a Review, 
 including the time for forwarding. 
 
 (K' 
 
 TASKER, PRXNTER, SKIP90N.
 
 MY GRANDMOTHER'S GUESTS 
 
 AND 
 
 THEIR TALKS.
 
 LI B RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U NIVER51TY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 
 V.I
 
 M 
 
 Y GRANDMOTHER'S GUESTS 
 
 AND 
 
 THEIR TALES. 
 
 BY HENRY SL1NG8BY. 
 
 " 1 should be, sir, the mertjest here. 
 But that 1 have ne'er a story of my own 
 Worth telUng at this time. 
 
 The Maid's Tragedy. 
 
 JN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JAMES R0B1]\S AND CO. IVY LANK, PATEllNOSTER ROW 
 
 AND JOSJiPlI ROBINS, JUN. AND <J0. LOWER 
 ORMOND QUAY, DUBLIN. 
 
 1825.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/mygrandmothersgu01slin
 
 2^3 
 V.I 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^'i 
 
 Cv 
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^ BeforeI introduce my * Grandmother and 
 
 her Guests' to my readers I feel myself under an 
 indispensable obligation to explain the acci- 
 dents — for they were purely accidents — by which 
 I became one of the party. I had spent the 
 latter part of the year in the city of Paris, and, 
 in the beginning of November, had set out on 
 my way home, with the intention of passing a 
 merry Christmas in merry England. I went 
 from Paris to Havre-de-Grace, induced by the 
 assurance which I had received from an old ac- 
 quaintance that there were convenient, safe, and 
 regular packets sailing every day thence to 
 
 '^ Southampton. I was tired of passing by Calais ; 
 I had been the same wg^y so often, and I hated 
 Calais and Dover so cordially, (who does not ?) 
 that I was the more glad to try the passage from 
 Havre to Southampton. The result taught me.
 
 11 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 by that process which makes a certain descrip- 
 tion of persons wise, that it is better to 
 
 ' bear those ills we have. 
 
 Than fly to others which we know not of.* 
 
 If Calais is bad, Havre is worse ; and, although 
 
 Dover is detestable, Southampton is But 
 
 I anticipate. 
 
 I reached Havre in the middle of the day, and, 
 having taken up my quarters at M. Prudhomme's 
 hotel, I sauntered out for the purpose of in- 
 quiring about the packets. I found upon the 
 quay, at a shed which was called an office, and vs^as 
 stuck over with bills printed in immense letters, 
 and decorated with engravings of steam-packets 
 nearly as large as the life, an intimation that " The 
 Swiftsure, Captain Gull," sailed every morning 
 at ten o'clock. 1 had no reason to doubt the 
 veracity of the placard which announced this ; 
 but, to make assurance double sure, I thought it 
 would be prudent to make some inquiries of a 
 stout ugly man, in the dress of a sailor, and with 
 the manners and appearance of a stage-coach- 
 man, who seemed to be the director of the 
 packet-office. I am not a very stanch disciple 
 of the physiognomists, but I must own that I am 
 influenced so much by appearances as often to 
 conclude for or against a man's honesty by his 
 " complement externe." When I first saw this 
 packet-agent I thought he was a rogue — " and 
 now I know it." I asked the amphibious monster
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ill 
 
 whether the steam-packet would sail on the fol- 
 lowing morning. He assured me that it would ; 
 that it never varied a moment in the time of its 
 starting ; that Captain Gull " never waited for 
 nothing." A tall, thin, sallow-faced Frenchman, 
 with large rings in his ears, whiskers like hearth- 
 brooms, and a glazed hat, like nothing in Heaven 
 or earth but itself, stood by and vouched for the 
 truth of all that was said by the Englishman, 
 who called monsieur his " pardner." 
 
 It was impossible not to believe what two such 
 persons asserted with so much vehemence, and I 
 quitted the quay in the expectation that on the 
 following morning I was to embark for England. 
 I passed the day as well as one does usually in 
 places like Havre ; that is to say, very listlessly 
 and uncomfortably. I dined, and strolled, and 
 looked at the ships, and saw the sun set, and re- 
 turned to my hotel, sipped my coffee, read myself 
 fast asleep with a French sentimental novel, and 
 woke only to undress, that I might continue my 
 slumbers. There was a coffee-room at M. Prud- 
 homme's ; and there were, I understood, some 
 Englishmen in, it ; but I am shy of making ac- 
 quaintances, particularly with my own country- 
 men. I once travelled with a gentlemaii, who 
 had all the appearance of a soldier, as far as 
 whiskers and a braided surtout, and a swagger- 
 ing air and a loud voice, could go. He was 
 called Monsieur Le Capitaine by all the waiters at 
 a2
 
 IV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 all the inns ; and yet, to my horror and surprise, 
 I saw this individual captain doing the honours 
 of a linen-draper's shop in Fleet Street shortly 
 after ray return to England. I was once be- 
 trayed into the only spare seat in a diligence, all 
 the others of which were occupied by the family 
 of an opulent stock-broker ; and found myself 
 invested with the honorable, but not easy, office 
 of Dragoman to the whole party. These and 
 similar accidents have made me resolve never to 
 know an Englishman abroad, and it was in pur- 
 suance of this resolution that I now kept ray own 
 room. 
 
 On the following morning I dispatched ray 
 breakfast with more than usual rapidity. As 
 I like to be punctual, all my luggage was care- 
 fully embarked on the wheelbarrow of M. Le 
 Commissionaire ; and I was exchanging the 
 parting civilities with the fat Madame Prud- 
 homme as the carillmi from the bell-tower in 
 Havre announced that it wanted a quarter of an 
 hour to ten o'clock. I proceeded leisurely to the 
 quay in that comfortable tranquil mood which a 
 man enjoys when he has before him the imme- 
 diate prospect of regaining a home which he 
 loves, and which a temporary absence has made 
 still more dear to him. 
 
 I reached the quay, but saw no appearance of 
 a steam-boat. Several persons were stand ing 
 about, who were evidently waiting for the pur-
 
 IMTRODUCTION. V 
 
 poSe of embarking. The shed which was called 
 an office was closely shut up ; the marine mon- 
 ster, whom I had seen on the preceding day, was 
 to be seen no more ; and his thin partner seemed 
 to have melted ♦' into thin air." The placards 
 remained on the wall, still asserting with dumb 
 eloquence that the packet would sail at ten 
 o'clock, although no packet was in sight, and 
 although all the clocks in Havre were striking at 
 once, and seeming to unite their forces to give 
 the direct contradiction to these faithless post- 
 ing-bills. Half an hour elapsed ; still the agent 
 was not to be found— still his French associate 
 did not make his appearance—still no steam- 
 boat was to be seen, save the counterfeit resem- 
 blance which the black wood-cut on the wall 
 presented. The people who were waiting grew 
 angry, and talked loud ; but this did not mend 
 the matter. Every body was making inquiries 
 w^hich nobody could answer. At length I got 
 very tired of the scene, and, vexed at my dis- 
 appointment, I ordered the commissionaire back 
 again to the hotel. There I learnt what I might 
 have known before, if I had not been too lazy to 
 inquire, that, of all the uncertain things in the 
 world, nothing was so particularly uncertain as 
 the coming or going of the Swiftsure. 
 
 It was impossible not to feel very much vexed, 
 but it was wholly useless to express one's vexa- 
 tion ; and, as the agent wisely kept out of the
 
 VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 way, there was nobody upon whom to vent 
 one's ire. The morning passed away ; and the 
 hope which I still entertained of the speedy 
 arrival of the boat prevented my resolving upon 
 any other means of proceeding to England. At 
 length the agent made his appearance, and pre- 
 tended to have received intelligence that the 
 Swiftsure had been prevented from sailing from 
 Southampton by some accident, but he was sure 
 she would arrive at night, and sail again the 
 following morning. After the disappointment I 
 had already experienced I did not rely greatly 
 upon this promise, but I thought it would at 
 least be worth while to wait until the evening. 
 
 At midnight the Swiftsure arrived. She had 
 sailed from Southampton two days before ; but, 
 one of her wheels having broken, the passengers 
 had the enjoyment of passing the whole of two 
 nights on board, and would perhaps have re- 
 mained there until this time but for the assist- 
 ance of a small coasting vessel which perceived 
 their distress, and, on coming up, was engaged 
 by Captain Gull to tow his boat to Havre. I 
 shall never forget the appearance which the 
 Swiftsure 's company exhibited on coming ashore : 
 all the powers of description — at least all those 
 I possess — would fail in the attempt to convey a 
 notion of the wretchedness of the poor people who 
 nov^ landed, unwashed, ill, and famished, for there 
 was little or nothing to eat on board. They all
 
 INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 swore solemnly and devoutly, as their feet touched 
 the shore, that nothing in the world should ever 
 again induce them to enter a steam-boat— a vow 
 which, like those made by Catholic sailors in a 
 storm, is, or is not, kept as circumstances may 
 happen to influence the swearer. 
 
 The arrival of the boat did not improve my 
 prospect a jot ; it was impossible for her to sail 
 again within any reasonable period, because the 
 necessary repairs would occupy several days — 
 perhaps weeks. The skipper of the little coaster, 
 which had brought in the Swiftsure, thought this 
 was an excellent opportunity for him to make 
 some money ; so he announced immediately that 
 *' the fast- sailing and spacious packet (so he 
 called his dirty little vessel), the Blue-Eyed 
 Maid, would sail for Southampton at six o'clock 
 on the following morning." He promised to carry 
 his passengers across in less time than the steam- 
 boat performed the voyage, and had the modesty 
 only to charge half as much more for the 
 fare. In a moment of desperation I agreed with 
 him — so strong was my desire to reach England. 
 I had no particular reason for this anxiety ; but 
 it is a feeling common, I believe, to all men, that, 
 the nearer one approaches home, the stronger 
 becomes its power of attraction ; and the dif- 
 ficulties must be great indeed which prevent a 
 man from completing a journey once begun, 
 when its end is his home.
 
 VMl INTilODUCTiON. 
 
 On the following morning I embarked on board 
 the Blue- Eyed Maid ; and the little captain, true 
 to his word, set sail at the hour he had promised. 
 I found a company on board small in numbers, 
 but still too large with reference to the capacity 
 of the Blue-Eyed Maid. They had all, I sup- 
 pose, been induced, as well as myself, though 
 probably for more forcible reasons, to encounter 
 the inconveniences of sailing in so small a 
 vessel, by the hope of reaching England sooner 
 than in any other conveyance. Among these 
 persons there was only one whom 1 had the 
 honour of knowing. It was Mr. Tims, a very 
 honest, innocent, disagreeable person, who, as he 
 now did me the favour to inform me, had lately, 
 for the first time in his life, broken the chain 
 which had bound him to London, and visited 
 foreign parts. 
 
 Tims, without having a single vice that I was 
 able to discover in the not very long nor inti- 
 mate acquaintance I had with him, but, on the 
 contrary, being always ready to do kind things 
 for every body, was the most thorough-paced 
 cockney, in all the force of that phrase, that I 
 ever met with. His natural goodness of heart 
 led him to look on the most favorable side of 
 every thing ; but he had such a sentimental 
 twist, and was so given to prosing, that, with the 
 best wishes in the world for his welfare, you 
 could not help adding one that he might enjoy
 
 INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 all his felicity in some place where you could 
 never again set eyes on him. 
 
 His person was tall and awkward, his face 
 reasonably ugly and blanket- coloured, his dress 
 at once precise and slovenly, his cravat as large 
 as a table-cloth, and tied on bandage-fashion, 
 looking as if it was intended not for the de- 
 coration but the protection of his person, and 
 arranged rather by the hands of his surgeon than 
 his valet. He was, notwithstanding, considered, 
 in the city, as a genteel person ; and had a 
 great talent (and to him a very useful one) of 
 making some people believe, by the formality 
 of his manners and the solemn length of his 
 stories, that he had brains in his head. 
 
 Tims was of, what the fourth-rate blue stock- 
 ings would call, a ** literary turn." I have even 
 heard that he once wrote poetry, but I am unwill- 
 ing to believe any thing so injurious to his 
 character, until I shall have better authority for 
 it. Of his love (the ancients called it by another 
 name " more Scottish 2Lnd less nice") for scribbling, 
 I was, however, now destined to endure a suf- 
 ficient proof. His large leaden eye dilated when 
 he saw me ; and, by the unusual alacrity of his 
 manner, I am inclined to believe that he was, as 
 he said, very glad to see me. After the first 
 greetings were over, I saw that his bosom 
 labored with some mighty burden, of which he 
 wanted to deliver himself. I thought he had
 
 X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 been smuggling, and that his uneasy postures 
 and constrained manner were owing to the stuff- 
 ing of contraband goods with which he had 
 lined his outward habiliments. He looked at 
 me as suspiciously as if I had been a custom- 
 house officer ; and I began to fear that he was 
 meditating some proposal to me to fill my boots 
 with gloves, or to put a lace veil into my cravat; 
 or to wear, by way of under waistcoat, some 
 yards of French silk ; all of which I had resolved 
 peremptorily to decline. I am no friend to 
 smuggling ; and, as I have a great objection to 
 being handled by custom-house officers, I always 
 take care, by not carrying a scrap of smuggled 
 goods, to be in a condition to knock down with- 
 out the least ceremony the first of that fraternity 
 who puts a finger upon me ; a practice which I 
 particularly recommend to all my friends. You 
 can punish this sort of vermin in no way so 
 severely as by not attempting to smuggle, and 
 in no way so justly as by beating them without 
 mercy. 
 
 But Tims was no smuggler ; the throes which 
 distended his bosom proceeded not from con- 
 traband goods, but from the struggle between a 
 consciousness of his merit and the modesty of 
 his temper. Ke wanted, as I soon learned, to tell 
 me that he had written an account of his travels ; 
 but not, he said, with a view of publishing tliem. 
 No ; the public was capricious, the critics in-
 
 INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 solent and unfeeling ; and, although he was 
 ardently devoted to intellectual pursuits, he had 
 no intention to make literature his profession. 
 He had written a short account in the shape of 
 letters to his wife — Mrs. Tims — a charming 
 woman, to whom he should have great pleasure 
 in introducing me, and so forth. 
 
 I began to shudder at the exordium ; but as 
 he proceeded I felt the fit increase, and my con- 
 sternation was at its height when Tims proposed 
 to read his journal to me. What could I do ? 
 He was one of the best men in the world, although 
 he was one of the greatest bores. I thought that 
 I might at least let him begin, and trust to some 
 fortunate accident for an interruption which 
 should relieve me. I signified my assent with 
 as much composure as I could assume, and 
 calmly resigned myself to my fate. 
 
 ** Do you know I have only been away a 
 month ?" said Tims. 
 
 " Indeed !" I replied. 
 
 '* Yes, upon my honour, it's a fact/' rejoined 
 Tims, in great delight at my supposed surprise ; 
 " and I think you will say, when you hear all I 
 have seen, that I have not let the grass grow 
 under my feet." 
 
 I could not help ejaculating mentally " I wish 
 the grass were now growing under your feet, 
 or even over your grave, in some pleasant church- 
 yard a hundred miles hence." But my doom was
 
 Xll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 fixed. Tims produced from his pocket a neat 
 little book, bound in red morocco, with gilt 
 leaves, in which he had written, in a round school- 
 master-like hand, the account of his " Travels in 
 the Netherlands." Sentiment was Tims's forte, 
 and his powers of description he believed to be 
 of a superior order. If any body doubts that he 
 was right, I wish them to read the first passage 
 of his " Travels," which is as follows : — 
 
 *' Started from the Custom-House Stairs at a 
 quarter past nine, A.M. with a cloudless sky, 
 portending fine weather. A bright sun spread 
 his w^arm and joyous beams around. The rains 
 of the previous day had cleared the atmosphere, 
 and the whole heavens shone propitiously upon 
 us. I had no sooner stepped on the Talbot's 
 deck than the restlessness of change from one 
 element to another ceased : the business of em- 
 barking, with all its anxious preparations, was 
 at an end, and I seemed by the transition to be 
 at once absolved from every earthly trouble." 
 " You see the pun in the last line," said Tims ; 
 " I think it is rather happy, eh ?" 
 
 1 bowed assent. 
 
 '• I like," he continued, " to give an air of light- 
 ness, a sort of jocund freshness, to my descrip- 
 tions, by the introduction of such little sallies." 
 
 But the tender parts of Tims's travels were to 
 my thinking the most delightful, or, to use his 
 own phrase, the most ** strikingly interesting."
 
 INTRODUCTION. XlU 
 
 T select the following instance from among many 
 of a similar description ; and I should like to see 
 any thing at once equally touching and sportive 
 with this. 
 
 Tired of the monotony of sitting on deck, 
 Tims says, *' [ began to reconnoitre the packet, 
 and first of all went to the lower regions of the 
 ' smoky devil.' (It was not often that Tims went 
 such lengths.) Ah, my dearest Nell, how this 
 brought to my fond memory thy prattling tongue ! 
 and various were the incidents now concurring 
 to confirm the words — (* If you have tears, prepare 
 to shed them now !') — thou hast so often and so 
 correctly sung— 
 
 " Oh ! what a row, what a rumpus, and a rioting, 
 All those endure, you may be sure, who go to sea !" 
 
 Tims's description of the steam-engine is vivid, 
 but a little wild : I think he was frightened, for 
 he says the " men were like devils, and the fires 
 like Mount Etna." Poor Tims ! I believe he 
 had about as correct a notion of his infernal 
 majesty as of the Sicilian volcano. He returned 
 quickly to the deck ; and here occurs a passage 
 which I think one of the happiest in his little 
 volume, and such as could not be paralleled by 
 any thing in Sterne's so often praised *' Senti- 
 mental Journey." 
 
 " I hastened back to a safer element, and 
 soup-ht, between ' the waters above and the 
 waters below,' some one of my own species to
 
 XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 smooth my passage over the dread deep. Upon 
 whom should my searching eye fix itself but 
 Mr. Wiggins, of Pentonville ! Time and distance 
 were now happily beguiled. We met as if we had 
 appeared after a joyful resurrection * * * *. 
 How delightful is companionship I how it softens 
 the asperities of a rough journeying through life, 
 and shortens and sweetens the way ! The mind, 
 occupied in social converse, loses the taste of 
 those imaginary bitters, and the mind's eye those 
 unwelcome frowns, which fear and suspicion too 
 often produce." 
 
 Wiggins's astonishment at seeing the moon 
 rise is told in exquisite style. *' At this period," 
 says Tims, *' the grand luminary of night arose 
 majestically out of the bed of the ocean. My 
 friend, Mr. Wiggins, who suffered no object to 
 pass his scrutiny, was so struck with its novel 
 appearance as eagerly to inquire its nature and 
 end. He first held it to be a beacon to guide 
 poor mariners on their dubious course ; but, as 
 she spread her full red face, intersected with 
 streaks of broken a,nd fleeting clouds, he con- 
 jured this light of our way into a ' ship on fire ^ to 
 our no small wonderins: amusement." He must 
 have been a nice man, this same Wiggins, to 
 travel with ! but, of all things in the world, I 
 should never have taken him for a conjurer. The 
 description of the moon's red-streaked face is not 
 less new than happy.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 So far I had endured Tims's travels with tole- 
 rable equaiiiaiity ; but at length a chance, which 
 I can hardly regret, compelled me to break ofF. 
 He had chronicled, among other things, the effect 
 which the motion of a ship at sea usually pro- 
 duces upon persons not accustomed to it, and 
 had recorded the most minute details of his in- 
 disposition. *' I felt symptoms, &c/' he said, 
 " and accordingly lashed myself to the railing of 
 the deck, secured my head with a nightcap and 
 my hat by a handkerchief, tucked my cloak 
 
 round my legs, and philosophically dis -." 
 
 But no ! I must not abuse the good nature of my 
 readers in Tims's fashion. It is enough to say, 
 so lively was his account of this scene, that, 
 although an old sailor, it produced a very un- 
 pleasant effect upon me, and I quitted him 
 abruptly. He made some attempts to renew his 
 lecture, but 1 excused myself. 
 
 A slight breeze had brought us out of the port 
 of Havre, but in about an hour it died away to 
 almost nothing, and we made little way. Noon, 
 evening, came on; the sun set, and still Havre was 
 in sight. The complaints against the wind were 
 loud and frequent ; and prayers that a breeze 
 would spring up not less so. As the night ad- 
 vanced these wishes were complied with to the 
 letter : a breeze did sprung up, which soon 
 increased to a hard gale ; but, unfortunately for 
 us, it blew from the north-east. The sea soon
 
 XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 became rough enough to alarm every body on 
 board ; and when the captain told them, without 
 ceremony, that with such a wind it would be 
 impossible to make Southampton, the murmurs 
 of the passengers now increased to downright 
 abuse. In bad French, and worse English, 
 they attacked the captain ; and he, although 
 so used to hard words and hard weather as not 
 to mind either of them too much, could not 
 endure this mixture of noise. He got quite out 
 of temper. " Where are we going tlien, if we 
 are not going to Southampton, captain V said 
 a fat old man, who had the appearance of a 
 butcher retired from trade, and who, with his 
 wife and daughter, had been making what he 
 called a tower on the Continent ; — '' where are 
 we going?" 
 
 " To Davy Jones, for aught I know, if this 
 'ere wind blows as I expect it will," replied the 
 captain. '* But come, now," he added, finding 
 that any milder method of persuasion had no 
 effect upon his noisy passengers, " I'll tell you 
 how the matter stands. We have as good a 
 chance of being foundered in a dark night and 
 a heavy sea like this as any body would desire. 
 There's only two men and a boy beside myself to 
 work the vessel, and that it's impossible to do 
 while you stand about me making all this noise. 
 Now if the women don't go below, and if the 
 men don't sit or lie down on deck, and hold
 
 INTRODUCTION. XVll 
 
 their tongues, why you may all sink together, for 
 
 I'll be if I move a hand !" This appeal had 
 
 the desired eflPect ; the captain's hearers were all 
 too much frightened, and knew too well how 
 entirely they lay at his mercy, to offer any objec- 
 tion. The ladies hastened into the small cabin^ 
 and the men put themselves out of the way as 
 well as they could. The wind continued to blow 
 with unabated violence ; but the ship, though 
 small, being taught, and well built for the rough 
 and dangerous channel in which we were sailing, 
 there was little real danger. 
 
 The captain, when he had got rid of his im- 
 portunate and unreasonable passengers, recovered 
 his good temper, and, in answer to my questions, 
 told me we were proceeding rapidly towards the 
 coast of Devonshire ; and that, although it was 
 impossible to reach Southampton, he had little 
 doubt that we should be able to land on the fol- 
 lowing day. 
 
 I was not sorry to hear this ; because, even 
 though I should run the risk of being thought a 
 coward, 1 must confess that the prospect of being 
 drowned at sea is not one which I could con- 
 template with any satisfaction. I know that 
 death will come when it will come, and that it is 
 idle to make faces at it ; but, for my own indi- 
 vidual taste, I should prefer to meet it any 
 where but at sea. The night of which I am now 
 speaking was one in which it would be as dis-
 
 XVni INTRODUCTION. 
 
 agreeable to drown as any I ever beheld. The 
 sky was not dark, but black ; pitchy — almost 
 palpable — darkness covered us all about. The 
 only light I could see was from the curling tops 
 of the billows as they were lashed by the loud 
 wind, and the blazing sheets of flame which the 
 ship's keel threw off on each side as she ploughed 
 the uneven sea. The dashing of the waves, the 
 hoarse angry voice of the storm, were alone to be 
 heard, and were, indeed, so loud, as to preclude 
 the possibility of any other sounds from being 
 audible. My imagination, excited by the terror 
 and darkness which reigned around me, increased 
 even the actual horror of the scene. As the 
 wind blew with loud boisterous roar over our 
 heads, and screamed and whistled through the 
 cordao-e and masts — for not an inch of canvass 
 was spread — I could have fancied that it was 
 like the wild chase in Biirger's ballad ; and that 
 the screams and sobs of the victim were heard 
 occasionally through the hoarse yelling and bark- 
 ing of the pursuers. The ship kept on her way ; 
 and, irregular and uncertain as it was, still she 
 proceeded with great rapidity. The morning at 
 length broke upon the night of horror which we 
 had passed; and, as soon as it was sufficiently 
 light to discern objects, the captain told me that 
 we were, as he had thought we should be, off 
 the coast of Devonshire. As the sun rose, the 
 violence of the wind gradually decreased ; and
 
 INTRODUCTION. XIX 
 
 when, soon afterwards, the little town of Sid- 
 mouth was in sight, the captain said he could 
 safely land us there. 
 
 The passengers now came upon deck ; and, 
 when they learnt that they were to go on shore 
 at a distance of one hundred and sixty miles 
 from London, instead of about seventy-five as 
 they had expected, their complaints were re- 
 newed ; and, as they found there was no imme- 
 diate danger of drowning, they abused the cap- 
 tain with all the force and variety of which their 
 rhetoric was capable. After the night he had 
 passed their angry reproaches were to his ears as 
 mild as the whispers of evening zephyrs, and he 
 seemed to care just as much for them. I looked 
 about for Tims, intending to suggest to him that 
 this night's adventure would make a glorious 
 finish to his journal — but he was not to be found. 
 I saw something red, which was jammed into the 
 space between the mast and the water-cask on 
 the deck ; and, upon drawing it out, I found it 
 was Tims's journal. I now, for the first time, be- 
 came alarmed respecting him. I asked the cap- 
 tain ; but he could tell me nothing about him. I 
 had every part of the vessel searched, but in 
 vain. We were obliged to adopt the conviction 
 that poor Tims had been carried overboard, and 
 that the noise of the storm had prevented us 
 from hearing his cries. I looked upon his journal 
 now with very different feelings ; and, as it was 
 b2
 
 XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the last memorial of the ill-fated traveller, I 
 carefully dried it, that I might have the melan- 
 choly satisfaction of returning it to his discon- 
 solate widow ; — a task which I have since per- 
 formed. 
 
 At about noon we reached Sidmouth, and were 
 put ashore to my infinite content. I was not 
 sorry, now that the danger was over, for the 
 chance which had conducted me into this part of 
 the country, because my grandmother lived in 
 the village of Woodville^ only five miles distant 
 from Sidmouth ; and I had thus an opportunity, 
 of which I was glad to avail myself, of paying a 
 long-promised visit. I put myself, therefore, with 
 as little delay as possible, into a chaise, and, as 
 the clock struck five, I was entering the avenue 
 which led to my grandmother's house. 
 
 I found that" My Grandmother and her Guests" 
 had just sate down to dinner, and, exercising the 
 freedom which the nearness of my connexion 
 authorized, I entered the dining-parlour without 
 hesitation ; and, after greeting the old lady, took 
 my seat in a company, all of whom I knew, and 
 with whom the reader shall be acquainted anon. 
 While 1 ate my soup I explained, in few words, 
 the chances which had driven me to Woodville. 
 The suddenness of my arrival did not cause my 
 welcome to be less warm : my grandmother con- 
 gratulated me on my escape, and in making the 
 number of her guests an even one. She hated
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXI 
 
 to see an odd number at her table. For my own 
 part I enjoyed the quiet and comfort of my pre- 
 sent quarters in proportion to the contrast which 
 they presented to the inconvenience and danger 
 in the midst of which I had passed the night ; and 
 announced my intention of spending this day 
 and the following at Woodville, after which I 
 resolved to proceed to town.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 My grandmother, gentle reader — for I think it 
 high time that you should know something about 
 her — was, at the period of which I speak, just en- 
 tering her seventieth year. She was of a com- 
 manding figure ; and the effect which time had 
 produced upon her person was rather to give it a 
 venerable air than to characterize it by any of 
 those marks of feebleness which are common to old 
 age. Her face had possessed considerable beauty ; 
 and her features were of that regular description, 
 that, even at the advanced period of life to which 
 she had attained, they were, and are, extremely 
 agreeable. She had been for many years a widow ; 
 and the necessity of superintending the education 
 and establishment of her children, which, at her 
 husband's death, devolved upon her, had drawn 
 out the powers of her mind, and given to it a cha- 
 racter of more than usual energy. She was very 
 fond of society, particularly that of young people ; 
 and, for very natural reasons, preferred that of 
 the younger members of her own family to any
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXlll 
 
 other. On the present occasion she had several 
 of them among her guests, and the others were 
 old and valued friends. In describing; them I 
 shall begin with the former ; and, in the first place, 
 with Elizabeth Mowbray. 
 
 She was the only child of the old lady's favorite 
 daughter, who had died in India, and was her 
 grandmother's constant companion. She was just 
 eighteen years of age ; her figure was of the most 
 perfect symmetry ; and the linished beauty of her 
 face was rendered still more remarkable by the 
 frankness and the girlish simplicity which cha- 
 racterized it. I never yet saw a human countenance 
 in which there was so much of perfect innocence 
 mixed up with so much real beauty. She had been 
 carefully educated b}'^ my grandmother ; and from 
 this circumstance, or perhaps from that hereditary 
 resemblance which sometimes prevails in the 
 minds as well as in the features of persons of the 
 same blood, she was very much like the old lady 
 in the qualities of her temper and intellect. The 
 freshness and vivacity natural to her youth made 
 of course a striking difference between them, but 
 it was the only one that I could ever discover. 
 
 My uncle Hugh was my grandmother's eldest 
 son. He had served for more than five-and- 
 twenty years in the navy, from which he had at 
 length retired ; and, having attained the rank of 
 post-captain, had taken up his abode with his 
 mother, to enjoy during the remainder of his life
 
 XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 such repose as the gout and his numerous wounds 
 would allow him. He was as much of a mere 
 seaman as I ever knew. From early childhood 
 he had been attached to his profession, and the 
 dangers and trouble which he had undergone in 
 it only served to endear it to him the more. He 
 had been so long in the habit of contemplating 
 it as the only thing in the world worth the 
 notice of a rational man, that his thoughts and 
 words had all imbibed a marine flavour. Every 
 thing he said or did " suffered a sea-change ;" 
 and, ready as he was upon all occasions to defer 
 to my grandmother, and to obey her requests, 
 she could not succeed in prevailing upon him to 
 discard his nautical phrases. When, after repeat- 
 ed trials, she was convinced of the utter imprac- 
 ticability of her attempts to reform her son's 
 " cacology," she gave them up, and he was 
 allowed to indulge, as far as he pleased, in that 
 which had become more familiar to him than his 
 mother tongue, with no other interruption than 
 a little occasional quizzing from Elizabeth, who 
 delighted in making him try to explain the 
 meaning of some of his expressions. I say try 
 to explain ; for, such is the inexplicabilis vis of nau- 
 tical phraseology, that any attempt to render its 
 meaning, by words in ordinary use, would be 
 wholly ineffectual. Notwithstanding his odd 
 fafon de purler, he was as good-hearted and as 
 brave an Englishman as ever stepped a quarter-
 
 INTRODUCTION, XXV 
 
 deck. He had distinguished himself upon many 
 occasions when hard fighting was in request, and 
 had been wounded so often that he used to say- 
 he did not think there was a single beam in his 
 hulk of the same material that he had been 
 launched with. He knew nothing of the world, 
 although he had coasted the whole habitable 
 globe ; and, if he had been compelled to mingle 
 with general society, he would have been as 
 much at a loss as a South-sea islander. No man 
 was ever so easily imposed upon, or so entirely 
 simple in every thing not connected with his 
 own profession. 
 
 Harry Beville stood in the same degree of 
 relationship to my grandmother as Elizabeth and 
 myself. He was the eldest son of a daughter of 
 my grandmother's. His father was an eminent 
 and opulent merchant ; and Harry, having begun 
 his education at Harrow, and finished it at Trinity 
 College, Cambridge, was now pursuing the pro- 
 fession of the law. It would, perhaps, be more 
 germain to the matter to say that he was sup- 
 posed to be pursuing it ; for, like all other law 
 students who are not impelled to apply them- 
 selves by some real and urgent necessity, his con- 
 nexion with the law was merely nominal. His 
 father's wealth, and the amount of his own al- 
 lowance, precluded Harry from feeling any such 
 necessity ; and, his taste leading him to very dif- 
 ferent pursuits, he followed them without hesita-
 
 XXVI iNTRODUCTION. 
 
 tion. Still, however, he lived in chambers ; and, to 
 keep up appearances, he had several shelves filled 
 with law books, with no part of which, excepting 
 the titles, had he the slightest acquaintance. 
 He made his appearance in hall just often enough 
 to keep his terms ; but he was never rash enough 
 to taste the tough meat, and bad wine, which are 
 provided there for the purpose of qualifying men 
 to fill the highest legal offices. He was the pupil 
 of an eminent special pleader, who was supposed 
 to monopolize ail the learning in that particular 
 branch of science to which he had devoted him- 
 self; and who took only eighteen pupils ; — a re- 
 markable instance of moderation, when it is con- 
 sidered that this number was more than six times 
 as many as his chamber could accommodate I 
 Harry Beville was one 
 
 Among the blest, the chosen few, 
 (Blest if their happiness they knew,)* 
 Who for three hundred guineas paid 
 To this great master of the trade, 
 Had at his rooms, by special favour, 
 His leave to use their best endeavor. 
 By drawing pleas, from nine till four, 
 To earn him twice three hundred more ; 
 And, after dinner, might repair 
 To 'foresaid rooms, and then, and there, 
 , llsid foresaid leave, from, five till ten. 
 
 To draw th' aforesaid pleas again. 
 
 Harry was soon disgusted with this calling ; 
 and not less so with the eminent j)leader wiio 
 
 * Sua si bona nerint. Vikg.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXVll 
 
 taught it. He luund that what was dignified 
 with the name of science was mere chicanery ; 
 and that the master of it was a pedant and a 
 sot, whose only merit (if merit it b .) was, that he 
 understood the juggling he professed in all its 
 most minute ramifications. The course of his 
 own studies had so much refined his taste and en- 
 larged his mind, that he could not condescend to 
 the drudgery and nonsense of the pursuit to 
 which he was invited, and he therefore left the 
 great special pleader to console himself as well 
 as he might for the loss of his pupil ; a matter 
 not so difficult, since he left with him also the 
 fee, with which, by a legal fiction, that learned 
 pundit was supposed to be remunerated for the 
 wisdom he communicated to his scholars. 
 
 In compliance with the wishes of his father, 
 who thouci:ht that every man should have some 
 definite occupation in society, Harry continued 
 to live in chambers, and intended, in the fulness 
 of time, to be called to the bar, although he had 
 shaken hands with the law as a profession for 
 ever. 
 
 Upon his return from a hasty tour, which he 
 had made through Italy and part of Germany, he 
 saw Elizabeth for the first time since she had 
 reached womanhood. He was at once captivated 
 by her charms, and proposed to pay his addresses 
 to her, which, after reasonable hesitation, was 
 granted with the consent of my grandmother.
 
 XXVIU INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Harry was now in the height of his wooing, and 
 the lapse of a few months was to unite him to 
 Elizabeth for ever. 
 
 The person* I have described were such of 
 ray own family as composed My Grandmother's 
 Guests on this occasion, with the addition of 
 myself. I have not any thing to say of the 
 latter individual which I think it worth while 
 to trouble the reader with. I do not know much 
 good, and I cannot be expected to say much evil, 
 of him : I will therefore let him pass, and pro- 
 ceed to the other guests. 
 
 Mr. Evelyn was the curate of the parish, and 
 discharged its duties in the place of the Rev. 
 Dr. Doublechin, who had found that the air of 
 Woodville did not agree with him, and had there- 
 fore gone back to Cambridge to enjoy its pure 
 air, and to follow the temperate habits which 
 the heads of houses are known to practise. The 
 parishioners of Woodville had every reason to 
 rejoice in this decision of the reverend doctor. 
 The simplicity of Mr. Evelyn's manners, the 
 piety of his life, and the useful and unostenta- 
 tious way in which he discharged his holy func- 
 tion, made every body revere and love him. Al- 
 though the stipend which Dr. Doublechin paid 
 him for discharging the whole duty of the living 
 amounted to no more than one-tenth of that 
 whicli he himself received for doing nothing, it 
 was enough for all the curate's wants. The
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXIX 
 
 necessaries of life at Woodville were always 
 plentiful and cheap, and Mr. Evelyn's wishes did 
 not stray far beyond them. His income enabled 
 him to assist the poverty of some of his needy 
 parishioners ; and to add, by occasional pur- 
 chases, to his library — the only luxury in which 
 he indulged. He was my grandmother's prime 
 minister upon all important occasions ; his advice 
 was usually adopted, and his assistance required 
 to put in execution all those charitable labours 
 in which the old lady spent so much of her time 
 and her money. 
 
 The apothecary of the village was another of 
 my grandmother's council upon all such occa- 
 sions, and her guest at present. Mr. Burton was 
 a thin sickly gentleman, who looked more like a 
 patient than a medical man ; but he was a very 
 good and useful member of the little community 
 in which he lived, and enjoyed a large share of 
 my grandmother's esteem. 
 
 The only person remaining undescribed was 
 Marmaduke Wharton, gentleman, and an at- 
 torney of his majesty's Court of King's Bench. 
 He managed my grandmother's property, re- 
 ceived her rents, let her farms, and, conducted all 
 the other necessary operations with skill, dili- 
 gence, and punctuality. He was a perfect jewel 
 of an attorney for honesty and dispatch ; but he 
 was in every other respect a great oddity. He 
 had an unconquerable passion for local antiqui-
 
 XXX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ties : the vestiges of a supposed Roman camp, a 
 Runic inscription on an old stone, pieces of rusty 
 armour, or even less worthy discoveries of the 
 spoils of antiquity, were objects of as fervent 
 adoration to him as the relics of martvrs to the 
 devotees of the Romish church. He would 
 spend whole days in visiting places which were 
 believed to have been the scene of some feat of 
 olden times. Mr. Burton, who was glad of an 
 opportunity of returning some of the jokes which 
 the attorney was fond of letting off at him, 
 used to say that he was like one of the Seven 
 Sleepers, or like Rip Van Winkle in GeofFry 
 Crayon's story ; and that, after having lain for 
 many years entranced, he busied himself, on 
 his awakening, to find out the spots which had 
 formerly been familiar to him. I never knew 
 a keener antiquary than Mr. Wharton ; a tole- 
 rably plausible story of a monument, or an 
 inscription, would, at any time, induce him 
 to make a day's journey in the hope of being 
 able to decipher it ; and, acute as he was in the 
 ordinary business of life, he was very easily de- 
 ceived when once his love for antiquities was 
 aroused. His library was a very singular one : 
 it contained a numerous, and, as far as their 
 pecuniary worth alone was considered, a very 
 valuable collection of books. The rarest county 
 histories, the earliest editions of the works of 
 celebrated antiquaries, the chronicles and other
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxxi 
 
 fkbulous liistories of England, were spread in 
 rich profusion over his shelves. His books were 
 collected as some old ladies collect china— not 
 because it is beautiful or useful, but because it is 
 rare and old. Modern literature he despised, or, 
 at least, disregarded ; and I have no doubt, if it 
 were fairly put to him, he would confess that old 
 Stow, and Anthony a Wood, and Thomas Hearne, 
 were, in his estimation, greater men than Chaucer, 
 Shakspeare, and Pope. His very figure was of 
 other times ; his dress of a fashion that had been 
 long past ; and his v^hole appearance very much 
 like that of a Vvell-preserved antiquity. Such, 
 gentle readers, were My Grandmother and her 
 Guests. 
 
 The old lady was a great lover of story-telling. 
 She had a large collection of the best novels and 
 romances, as well of ancient as of modern times, 
 and was excellently acquainted with the whole 
 history of fiction. My earliest recollection fur- 
 nishes me with nothing so delightful as her 
 stories ; and in many a time of doubt my conduct 
 has been influenced by some precept, some 
 axiomatic truth, which was hidden in the unpre- 
 suming tales with which she has fed my childish 
 ears. 
 
 After dinner we adjourned to her drawing- 
 room, which was as little like a modern drawing- 
 room as any thing you can imagine. It was a
 
 XXXll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 lofty chamber, wainscoted with oak, which time 
 had made black, and the labours of the stout- 
 armed housemaids had caused to shine with a 
 very reasonable polish. The portrait of my 
 grandfather, in a suit of flowered velvet, with a 
 coal-black peruke, and holding in his hand a 
 scroll, purporting to be a turnpike act, by carry- 
 ing which in parliameno he had gained himself 
 a deathless reputation, hung over the fire-place. 
 Another, representing my grandmother, in the 
 dress of a shepherdess, with a crook in one hand, 
 and the other resting gently on the head of a lamb, 
 while her own head was bent over her shoulder 
 with a truly Arcadian languish, hung at the op- 
 posite side of the room. Two antique sofas broke 
 the uniformity of the heavy but comfortable arm- 
 chairs which were ranged about the room ; and a 
 massy cabinet, elaborately carved, and exempli- 
 fying the notions which were entertained of fine 
 taste in furniture a century and a half ago, Jield 
 my grandmother's books. A blazing fire diffused 
 fight and heat throughout this old-fashioned 
 chamber, and gave it a feeling of comfort and 
 enjoyment which I have vainly tried to find in 
 more magnificent apartments. 
 
 In this room we assembled ; and, the duties of 
 the tea-table having been discharged with all 
 possible excellence and gracefulness by Elizabeth, 
 (for my grandmother, among her other fright-
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXlll 
 
 All old-fashioned ways, chose to have the tea 
 always made in her presence,) the old lady claim- 
 ed our attention. 
 
 " As every body knows my fondness for hear- 
 ing stories," said my grandmother, *' I shall not 
 attempt any apology for the proposal I am about 
 to make to you. It is, that each of us in turn 
 shall tell a tale. I know there are none of you 
 present who will feel it difficult to do this ; and, 
 unless I am very much mistaken, we shall find it 
 as agreeable a method of passing the time as any 
 that can be devised. But, first, let me ask if any 
 one has a better proposal to make." 
 
 '' You used to be fond of whist, madam," I said, 
 although I knew the old lady never played, ex- 
 cepting when she was, as it were, dragooned into 
 it ; but I should have been glad to negative the 
 proposal, which I feared would fall very heavily 
 on me when it should be my turn to comply 
 with it. 
 
 *' You mistake, indeed," said ray grandmother ; 
 ** I never play at whist, nor at any other game of 
 cards, but to please my neighbour, poor old Mrs. 
 Dunny, who is too deaf to listen to my stories." 
 
 *' If she were dumb too," said the attorney^ 
 " instead of its being, as it would in every other 
 person, an infirmity, it would appear a virtue in 
 her. There is no old woman within twenty miles 
 who propagates more scandal than Mrs. Dunny,
 
 XXXIV 3NTR0DVCT10N. 
 
 If she can't, hear stones, she can tell them : they 
 are not so amusing nor so harmless as yours, 
 madam ; and, in point of veracity, the ' History 
 of the Seven Champions of Christendom' is a 
 grave history compared with them." 
 
 '* Come, come, Mr. Wharton, you must not say 
 such things of poor Mrs. Dunny," cried my 
 grandmother, " or we shall think she is not the 
 only person who spreads scandal. I won't hear 
 any thing said against her in her absence ; nor 
 will I even consent that the ' History of the 
 Seven Champions,' for which I have a profound 
 respect, shall be praised at her expense. You 
 must not say that behind her back which you 
 would not repeat to her face." 
 
 " Why," replied the attorney, " I might do 
 that very safely ; for, unless I had one of the 
 captain's ship-trumpets, she could not hear me. 
 But, since you will have it so, Mrs. Dunny shall 
 be a model of truth and good nature." 
 
 " But all this," said my grandmother, '' is not 
 an answer to my proposal, but an interruption 
 which that good-for-nothing Henry Slingsby has 
 created for some sinister end of his own. Si- 
 lence," she said, shaking her finger authorita- 
 tively at me, as I was going to protest my inno- 
 cence — " I know your tricks of old." This I 
 felt was very true ; so I thought it best to bow to 
 her answer, and to hold my tongue.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXV 
 
 " Is my proposal agreed to, then ?" asked the 
 old lady again. " Nobody objects, and therefore 
 I presume every body is content." 
 
 *' Then we shall have a sort of * Decameron' in 
 little," said Harry Beville. '' What a pity that 
 there are not just ten of us, and that we are not 
 all going to stay here ten days ! Oh, if there was 
 but a plague raging in England I" 
 
 " I know no greater plague at this moment 
 than yourself, Harry," said my grandmother, 
 " for reminding us of the 'Decameron.' The re- 
 collection of that immortal collection — that 
 masterpiece of human wit and ingenuity, which 
 defies, as it ever has defied, all attempts at imi- 
 tation — fills me with despair. I declare I am 
 afraid now to say another word in favour of my 
 project." 
 
 '* Since when is it, sir," said Elizabeth, with a 
 provoking gravity, *' that you graduated in the 
 ancient and honorable society of Dampers?" 
 
 " Really," said Harry, " I beg pardon with the 
 greatest humility : I did not imagine that a 
 simple allusion to Boccaccio — an allusion, too 
 which, as it seems to me, was perfectly natural — 
 could have had the effect which you attribute to 
 it. I as little thought that it could have fright- 
 ened my grandmother, as that she or you, or I, 
 or any body here, could think of imitatino^ the 
 great master of modern tales. Not but that I 
 repeat we might make a little * Decameron' of our 
 c2
 
 XXXVl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 own ; I mean a sort of private ' Decameron/ not 
 one which shall go down to posterity, but simply 
 to serve for our own amusement." 
 
 " Well, say nothing more of your mischievous 
 contre terns, Harry," said my grandmother ; ** but 
 let us proceed." 
 
 "■ Permit me, my dear madam, for one moment 
 to attempt to set myself right with you. I do 
 think you are unnecessarily wroth with me. It 
 is true that we are deficient in many things to 
 complete our resemblance to the party of Floren- 
 tine ladies and gentlemen. In the first place 
 there is the plague ; — that I confess we have not, 
 nor is it very probable in this salubrious air of 
 Devonshire that we are likely to be accommo- 
 dated with it ; but then, surely, this is a defi 
 ciency which we can make up our minds to bear. 
 For the rest, we must try to supply by the force 
 of imagination whatever is wanting in reality. 
 We have not the palagio in which Messer Gio- 
 vanni establishes his story-tellers ; but then we 
 have a snug old English country-house, which, 
 at this season of the year, is, to my particular taste, 
 infinitely preferable, i will not make any com- 
 parison between the company of which I have the 
 honour to make one, and that of the ' Decameron :* 
 first, because I am one of it; and, secondly, be- 
 cause I had not the good fortune to know Signora 
 Pampiuea and Signer Dioneo, and the rest of 
 them ; but I cannot help observing that there is
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXVll 
 
 one manifest advantage on our side ; — we are here, 
 and they are no more. Then the place in which 
 our stories are to be told is, it is true, somewhat 
 different, but not therefore to be despised. We do 
 not sit in a pleasant shady meadow, where the 
 sun's beams cannot enter, and where a gentle fresh 
 wind blows ; nor can we sit down upon the grass ; 
 but your drawing-room, my good grandmother, is 
 better than all the meadows in Arcadia for this 
 weather ; your blazing fire an excellent substi- 
 tute for the sun ; and your sofa a better seat than 
 the grass. We do not hear the * shrill cicala' 
 among the olive-trees ; but we hear the chirp 
 of the cricket on the hearth. As far, therefore, 
 as the mere accessaries are concerned, I think 
 we are as well off as the party whom the plague 
 drove from Florence. The resemblance, in other 
 respects, is, perhaps, more close. A proposal 
 has been made by you that each shall tell a tale 
 in turn ; and every body is willing di dire una sua 
 novelletta. So far, at least — and I did not mean 
 to carry it any farther — 1 have made out the re- 
 semblance ; and I hope I have freed myself from 
 the censure wliich you were, I think, somewhat 
 hasty in passing upon me." 
 
 ** I was only shocked, my dear Harry," replied 
 my grandmother, " that you should think of 
 comparing our humble efforts with the immortal 
 tales of Boccaccio." 
 
 •* But no such madness ever entered u»y head.
 
 XXXVIU INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I assure you," replied Harry. " To convince 
 you, however, my dear madam, that I bear your 
 reproof in good part, I will now propose that you 
 shall be crowned queen of the evening, and that 
 the story-telling shall proceed under your di- 
 rection." 
 
 *' By no means," said my grandmother ; ** we 
 will have no royal authority on this occasion ; 
 ours shall be a republic, and the common voice 
 shall in all cases decide. I will not assume an 
 authority which I might find burdensome to 
 execute." 
 
 ** How, then, shall we begin ?" asked Harry. 
 
 *• By the decree of Destiny," said my grand- 
 mother : " we will draw lots, and the order in 
 which we are to proceed shall be regulated by 
 the numbers which fall to us." ' 
 
 The old lady then prepared papers of equal 
 size, on each of which a number was written ; 
 and, having folded them up, they were deposited 
 in her work-box, which was cleared out for the 
 occasion. Mr. Burton then handed them about 
 to each person present ; and, the choice having 
 been made, the papers were opened. 
 
 Number one had fallen to the share of Mr. 
 Wharton, and my grandmother called upon him 
 to fulfil the conditions without delay. 
 
 The old gentleman began to utter all those 
 ordinary excuses which are made by persons 
 under similar circumstances. He declared lie
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXxix 
 
 knew no stones ; he had no taste for such sub- 
 jects ; his reading had never been sufficiently 
 among works of imagination 
 
 " I think, sir," said Harry Beville, interrupting 
 him, " you showed me a curious copy of the 
 ^ History of Matthew Paris/ the other day." 
 
 *' Yes," said Mr. Wharton, " you may well 
 say a curious copy : there are not three such in 
 the kingdom." 
 
 " And pray in what class of writers do you 
 rank him ?" 
 
 *' In that of historians, certainly," said the 
 attorney, with great gravity. 
 
 " Then, instead of the story which we have a 
 right to exact from you, 1 think I may venture to 
 offer, in the name of the company, to let you off 
 for one of the histories, as you call them, of 
 Matthew Paris. If they be histories, I would 
 never wish to read romances any more." 
 
 *' Well, then," said the attorney, *' since needs 
 must be, I shall endeavor to comply with the rule 
 which has been laid down ; but without going 
 so far back as Matthew Paris, whom, notwith- 
 standing your sneer, Mr. Beville, I still hold to 
 be the prince of British historians." 
 
 ** He shall be every thing you like to call him 
 if you will but begin," replied Harry. 
 
 " Attend, then," said the old gentleman, '' to a 
 story which, although it is not of so remote an 
 .antiquity, is not less true than the relations con-
 
 Xl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 tained in the Historia Major of the renowned 
 Monk of St. Albans." 
 
 " A solemn intimation, indeed !" cried Harry ; 
 " then we must believe it whether it seems fea- 
 sible or no.'' 
 
 The attorney, without deigning to notice this 
 sceptical insinuation, composed himself in his 
 chair, and began the following tale.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 Sir Roger de Calverley's Ghost 
 
 Hours of Peril 
 
 Mftlghcrita Spoletina 
 
 The old Grey Cloak 
 
 The Feast of Lanterns 
 
 Page I 
 
 69 
 
 129 
 
 147 
 239 
 
 VOL. n. 
 
 The Magie Mirror 
 
 Le Mort a Tue les Vivans 
 
 Lady Arabella Stuart 
 
 The Knight and the Diaour 
 
 1 
 107 
 129 
 163
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEYS GHOST, 
 
 Clfte ?tatog^t'0 Cale* 
 
 Your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has doae 
 little better than played the Jack with us. 
 
 This thing of darkness 
 
 I acknowledge mine. The Tempest.
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY'S GHOST. 
 
 The little village of Calverley, about six miles 
 from the town of Leeds, is one of the most beau- 
 tiful and picturesque that can be found in the 
 west riding of Yorkshire. The whole of the 
 riding may, indeed, challenge competition, for 
 the richness and variety of its scenery, with any 
 place of similar extent in the kingdom ; and, 
 among the many charming spots which it con- 
 tains, Calverley is entitled to the pre-eminence. 
 The road from Leeds to this village is pretty, 
 even now ; but, at the time to which this tale re- 
 lates, it was infinitely more so. Calverley Wood, 
 which the necessities of subsequent proprietors 
 have reduced to very modest dimensions, extend- 
 ed in the seventeenth century for nearly four miles 
 towards the town of Leeds. The river Aire ran 
 through a part of it, and bounded its extremity, 
 where a large wooden bridge was thrown over it. 
 
 VOL. I. B 2^
 
 4 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY S GHOST. 
 
 There is not a child (not to say an old woman) 
 in the neighborhood but knows — and, if you 
 should doubt the fact, will swear — that this wood 
 is haunted by the ghost of Sir Roger de Cal- 
 verley,* who was pressed to death in the reign of 
 Edward IV. in consequence of his refusing to 
 plead to an indictment against him for murdering 
 two of his children. Some of what lawyers call 
 the " ancient people" have even seen the ghost 
 with their own proper eyes, and all the inha- 
 bitants know somebody who has seen it. The 
 story goes, besides, that the hours of the spectre's 
 appearance are between twelve and one o'clock 
 at midnight; and that he will leap behind the 
 traveller as he passes through the wood, and ride 
 on the horse's crupper to the next running stream. 
 
 That the ghost did once appear, and act in 
 the odd manner here imputed to him, cannot be 
 doubted ; because the facts, as they are detailed 
 in the following history, are as true as any story 
 that ever was told. 
 
 The whole of the domain on which the village 
 of Calverley now stands, and the wood just men- 
 tioned, as well as a noble mansion called Cal- 
 verley House, the very ruins of which have dis- 
 
 * In order to prevent mistakes, I feel it necessary to assure the 
 reader that this Sir Roger de Calverley and the ' Spectator's' vene- 
 rable friend are of totally different families, notwithstanding the 
 similarity of their names. The attorney, who at first had some 
 doubts upon the subject, told me he bad taken great pain* to ascer- 
 tain the fact.
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY S GHOST. O 
 
 appeared, were in the beginning of the civil wars 
 the property of the Vavasour family. Soon after 
 the commencement of the troubles Sir ^alph 
 Vavasour died, and left the honours and the 
 estates of his ancient house to be supported by 
 his only son. 
 
 Sir Edward Vavasour was of a temper wholly 
 unfitted for the times in which it was his lot to 
 live. He had availed himself of all the advan- 
 tages which his rank and fortune afforded him ; 
 and, after being carefully educated at home, had 
 passed several years in France with his maternal 
 relations, who were of one of the first families in 
 that country. His mind was highly cultivated, 
 and all his habits were of that polished and re- 
 fined kind which can only be acquired by a resi- 
 dence in courts, and the society of enlightened 
 and noble persons. On his return to England 
 he was soon acknowledged to be among the chief 
 ornaments of the British nobility. The king dis- 
 tinguished him by his favour ; and the winning 
 suavity of the youthful baronet's manners, added 
 to his accomplishments and personal advantages, 
 made him an universal favorite with the inha- 
 bitants of the court. 
 
 He had married, shortly before his fatlier's 
 death, the Lady Margaret Butler, a distant rela- 
 tion of the Earl of Newcastle ; and this union 
 cemented that intimate friendship which a con-
 
 6 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEYS GHOST. 
 
 geniality of taste had already formed between 
 Sir Edward and that gallant nobleman. 
 
 The state of the times obliged him to retire to 
 Yorkshire, as well to take possession of his 
 paternal estates as to repress by his presence 
 some of the disorders which were beginning to 
 manifest themselves. The influence which a 
 landlord then possessed over his tenantry could 
 not be loosened by any very sudden process, 
 because it was the consequence of numerous and 
 almost paternal kindnesses on the part of the 
 superior, which the inferiors duly appreciated ; 
 and it was then no less the desire than it must 
 always be the interest of both parties to support 
 each other. Owing to this feeling on the part of 
 his tenants, the district in which Sir Edward 
 resided was comparatively tranquil ; and he re- 
 mained at Calverley for some years, a quiet, but 
 not an indifferent, spectator of the events which 
 took place, and without finding any occasion to 
 take an active part in the contest, which raged 
 around without reaching him. 
 
 The pernicious contagion of example did, at 
 length, however, reach Calverley; and Sir Edward 
 saw with great pain that he had no alternative 
 but to take up arms against the parliamentary 
 power, whose object (however just might be the 
 pretences on which they had set out) now seemed 
 to be the establishment of a tyranny at least as
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 7 
 
 hateful as that of the worst kings. Sir Edward 
 was full of that true and fervent courage which 
 springs from a perfect rectitude of principle and 
 reason, but he was nevertheless reluctant to be- 
 come a soldier. After the description which has 
 been given of his character, it will be seen that 
 fear (a sensation to which, indeed, he was a 
 total stranger) had no share in causing this disin- 
 clination ; but it was induced because he felt he 
 could be more usefully, if not more honorably, em- 
 ployed than in making w^ar, and because nothing 
 but the most stern and unyielding necessity could 
 justify the shedding of blood in such a cause as 
 that which now divided the kingdom, and had 
 broken asunder the most holy and kindly bonds 
 of humanity and of society. Driven, however, 
 to adopt a course which he regretted, he was no 
 sooner convinced that it was at once impera 
 tive and inevitable than he proceeded to enter 
 upon it with the utmost alacrity. He raised a 
 troop of his own tenantry, and, taking an affec- 
 tionate leave of his mother, of his beautiful young- 
 wife, and of two lovely children, who had been 
 added to crown his matrimonial felicity, he placed 
 himself at the head of his retainers, and joined 
 the standard of his friend, who was now the 
 Marquis of Newcastle. 
 
 His activity and skill were of the greatest 
 service to the royal cause, and had the effect of 
 exposing him in proportion to the hatred of the
 
 8 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY*S GHaST. 
 
 Opposite faction. Military rank was oftered to 
 him repeatedly, and was as often refused without 
 the least hesitation. His reply to the king him- 
 self, and to his friend the marquis, was always 
 the same. He had joined the army because he 
 felt it was his duty to support the state, which 
 he saw in danger. The post of a mere volunteer 
 afforded him as good an opportunity of dis- 
 charging this duty as he could look for in a 
 much higher rank, and he felt that a simple com- 
 mand was most consistent with his character as 
 a country gentleman. There were, besides, a 
 sufficient number of aspirants for promotion ; and 
 he might, perhaps, have thought that his openly 
 declining to increase the number would teach 
 some of them to moderate their pretensions : 
 but, although he had no other command than 
 that of captain of his own company, his achieve- 
 ments had been of such a nature as to attract 
 the attention of the enemy no less than of his 
 own party. In the northern counties of England 
 his name was well known ; and, great as was the 
 reputation of the Marquis of Newcastle's forces, 
 he was confessed on all hands to be one of its 
 chief ornaments. 
 
 Up to the period of the battle of Marston 
 Moor the cause of the king seemed in a pros- 
 perous condition. The event of that conflict, 
 however, gave a blow to the royal interests which 
 they never afterwards recovered. Prince Rupert
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GK03T. 9 
 
 not only insisted upon giving the enemy battle, 
 contrary to the opinion and advice of the Mar- 
 quis of Newcastle ; but he persisted in so ungra- 
 cious a manner, and so entirely took the command 
 out of the hands of the marquis, that, even if the 
 issue had been less disastrous than it was, the 
 latter nobleman never could again have endured 
 to bear arms in a cause which should place him 
 under the orders of the rash German prince. 
 
 It is not necessary to detail the course of that 
 unlucky fight, which, after seeming to incline in 
 favour of either side, at length terminated in the 
 total defeat of the king's troops. It is well 
 known that, notwithstanding the discontent for 
 which the Marquis of Newcastle had so much 
 cause, he, and the force under his command, sig- 
 nalized themselves by deeds of the most deter- 
 mined valour ; that they bore the whole weight 
 of the enemy's attack ; that they more than once 
 turned the tide of the battle ; and that, if they 
 had been allowed to follow up the advantages 
 which they had gained, the defeat of the parlia- 
 mentary forces would have been certain and sig- 
 nal. The rashness of Prince Rupert led him into 
 an absurd pursuit of one division of the enemy ; 
 while his envy of the marquis's superior abilities 
 forbade his surrendering to him any part of the 
 direction of the battle. The consequence was 
 that the close of the day found the much larger 
 part of the king's troops irretrievably beaten ; and
 
 10 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 
 
 Prince Rupert then retreated with his horse, and 
 such of the infantry as chose -to follow him, within 
 the walls of the city of York. The dead bodies of 
 the Marquis of Newcastle's regiments marked the 
 position which they had taken up in the begin- 
 ning of the fight, and from which death in its 
 most overwhelming shape had not been able to 
 force them. 
 
 The Marquis of Newcastle, his staff, and a few 
 of his officers, who, being well mounted, were able 
 to accompany him, retreated also to York when 
 the face of the fight had become so desperate that 
 to stay any longer was wholly unavailing. Sir 
 Edward Vavasour fell early in the action ; the 
 most painful search was made for his body on 
 the following day, by the orders of the Marquis 
 of Newcastle, but in vain. A few days afterwards 
 some of his servants v/ere sent by his mother, 
 who had influence enough to obtain permission 
 of the parliamentary commander for this purpose ; 
 but their endeavours to discover their master 
 amidst the disgfiured slain were equally fruitless. 
 
 Besides the mischief, which a discomfiture like 
 the loss of such a fight as this must always occa- 
 sion to the cause of the party upon which it falls, 
 the secession of the Marquis of Newcastle was 
 no less injurious to the king. The marquis, 
 very soon after the battle, expressed his inten- 
 tion of quitting a country, which, he said, he was 
 convinced he could not save, but which he still
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 11 
 
 loved too well to witness its falling a prey to the 
 ruin which must necessarily ensue. He withdrew 
 with the small number of his adherents who re- 
 mained ; and, escorted by a single troop of horse, 
 he went to Scarborough, where he embarked on 
 board a ship of his own, and sailed for Hamburgh. 
 
 The affliction of the family at Calverley may 
 be better imagined than described at the news of 
 the defeat at Marston Moor, and the death of 
 Sir Edward. All the ordinary forms of mourning 
 were adopted ; search was made, as we have al- 
 ready said, for the body of the baronet ; and this 
 proving unsuccessful, the old Lady Vavasour, who 
 was a woman of uncommon energy, and whose 
 conduct had secured for her the respect even of 
 such of her neighbours as had espoused the oppo- 
 site party, procured, without much difficulty, per- 
 mission for herself, her daughter-in-law, the chil- 
 dren, and her servants, to repair to Hull, where 
 she had engaged a vessel to carry her to France, 
 her native country. 
 
 It now becomes necessary to impart a secret, 
 which, if the Roundheads had been acquainted 
 with, would have thwarted the dowager lady's 
 plans, and somewhat have frustrated the events 
 of this history. Sir Edward Vavasour was not 
 dead. It is true that he had fallen at Marston ; 
 and it is no less true that nothinor would have 
 induced him to quit the field alive, if he had been 
 in a situation to act for himself.
 
 12 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOSf. 
 
 At the moment, however, that he fell, a gentle- 
 man who was devotedly attached to him, and 
 who had always an unlucky habit of interfering 
 in the concerns of other people^ happened to be 
 close by him. This was Sir William D'Avenant, 
 who, from having been, in the * piping times of 
 peace,' merely an idle courtier and poet, had now 
 become a soldier of some renown ; and, being an 
 adherent and retainer of the marquis, he was 
 intrusted with a nominally important command, 
 which somebody else executed for him. He 
 loved Sir Edward with the warmest and most 
 disinterested affection ; they were sworn bro- 
 thers : in their less busy times they had capped 
 verses at court, and once clubbed a masque at a 
 royal entertainment. The knight's duty ought 
 to have kept him in York on that day : but his 
 busy propensities led him to Marston Moor ; 
 and, when there, his inclination induced him to 
 fight near Sir Edward Vavasour. 
 
 Sir William's courage was of a companionable 
 quality ; he could never fight until some one would 
 set him the example : by himself, he said, he felt 
 like one line in a couplet, in want of another to 
 rhyme vnih. He confessed he was so indolent, 
 that, upon some occasions, he would rather be 
 kicked than fight single-handed ; yet, such was 
 the sociability of his temper, that, side by side 
 with a real fighting man, he Vvould lay on like one 
 of the Knights of the Rouad Table. Me had been
 
 SIR ROGER T)E CALVERLEY's GHOST. 13 
 
 mauling aUthe parliamentarians who came within 
 his reach with true poetical fervour, bestowing 
 along with each blow some quaint imprecation 
 or odd nickname upon his adversary, to the great 
 amusement of the soldiers near him, with all of 
 whom he was a great favorite. Not one of the 
 rogues that he smote but he had a jest or a 
 sarcasm for ; and he had been cracking skulls 
 and jokes until his strength and his wit were 
 considerably impaired. The conviction that the 
 day was decidedly going against his party came 
 at the same moment that he found himself making 
 a short blow and a bad pun. At this instant, 
 too, he saw his friend Sir Edward go down from 
 a blow dealt to him by a rawboned butcher of 
 Tadcaster, who was a captain in the parlia- 
 mentary army. 
 
 " Knave !" he cried, as he spurred his horse 
 against this ruffian, " thou shalt no more shed 
 the blood of man nor of beast !" and, rising in his 
 stirrups, he cleft the savage giant's head nearly 
 asunder, and brought him down to the ground. 
 " Thus," he continued, *' do I revenge my friend, 
 and many a score of honest sheep and oxen." 
 
 At this moment a vigorous charge drove back 
 the enemy ; and Sir William, whose courage, now 
 that his friend was not able to back it with his 
 example, began to flag, and, like Acres', to " ooze 
 out at his fingers' ends," thought it was an ad- 
 mirable opportunity to return to York, and to
 
 carry the prostrate Sir Edward with him, where 
 his wounds might be tended, if indeed (which he 
 very much doubted) medical skill could avail 
 them. 
 
 With the assistance of an old soldier, of whose 
 life this was the last kind action, (for a random 
 shot from a Roundhead blacksmith's petronel sent 
 him soon afterwards into the kingdom of the 
 ghosts,) he placed Sir Edward, now nearly insen- 
 sible, before him on his horse, and set off at a 
 round pace towards York. He soon found, how- 
 ever, that it was hopeless to attempt to reach 
 the city, for a party of the enemy's horse lay be- 
 fore him. To his still greater mortification he 
 saw that he was observed by them : turning, 
 therefore, his horse's head round, he spurred 
 without sparing, and fairly fled away, not know- 
 ing nor caring whither, so that he might distance 
 them. 
 
 In this he succeeded, for the foes were at that 
 moment much too busily employed to think of pur- 
 suing him very far. He proved on this occasion 
 the truth of his favorite saying, that his greatest 
 talent consisted in running away ; and, after half 
 an hour's riding, he had completely distanced the 
 soldiers who endeavored to take him, and had 
 blown his horse. Night was now drawing in : 
 he alighted from the charger, and, loosening his 
 girths, he asked Sir Edward what he thought it 
 would be the best to do.
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 15 
 
 The baronet was too much exhausted with the 
 pain of his wounds and the loss of blood to 
 answer at any length ; but he contrived to ex- 
 press his opinion, that, if by any means they 
 could reach Calverley, it would be better to do 
 so, since all hopes of returning to York were 
 cut off. 
 
 *' Zounds !" cried the knight, " that's easier 
 talked of than done, my dear Sir Edward. Poor 
 Hamlet, here, whom I so named in honour of my 
 godfather, Shakspeare, and because his black 
 hide looks in as deep mourning as the Danish 
 prince's suit of sables, is blowing like a smith's 
 forge. What sayest thou, lad?" he continued, 
 apostrophizing the steed, and patting his neck, 
 ** canst thou carry us a dozen miles before supper- 
 time ? Thoult try, I warrant." 
 
 He walked by the horse's side for some time, 
 until the animal had pretty well recovered his 
 wind ; and, then mounting him again, they pro- 
 ceeded at a sharp pace by a cross road, which 
 Sir Edward was able to describe to his com- 
 panion, in the direction of Calverley. 
 
 Within about five miles of Calverley Sir Wil- 
 liam perceived a man before him, mounted on a 
 stout gelding. To accost him he knew was 
 dangerous ; but to pass him without doing so 
 might engender suspicions^ which could scarcely 
 be less injurious in his present condition. He 
 therefore boldly rode up, and civilly saluted him.
 
 16 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY*S GHOST. 
 
 " Whither goest thou, friend ?" asked the 
 stranger, in the snuffling tone adopted by the 
 Puritans of that day. 
 
 Sir William found that the stranger, though not 
 drunk, was what is courteously called " rather 
 disguised in liquor :" he also knew instantly of 
 what description of person he must be, and that 
 he had every thing to fear from him if he should 
 discover who he was. He therefore replied that 
 he was a clothier going to Leeds, and that his 
 companion, who rode before him, had been 
 thrown from his own horse, and was so much 
 hurt that he could not keep his saddle without 
 assistance. 
 
 " Art thou a friend to the cause ?" asked the 
 stranger. 
 
 " With all my heart," replied Sir William ; al- 
 though he was quite sure that the stranger spoke 
 of a very different cause from that to which he 
 meant his own equivocal answer to reply. 
 
 " Thou hast a passport from Sir Edward 
 Fairfax, then, to travel this road ?" said the 
 stranger. 
 
 " I have," replied Sir William, to whom a 
 round lie never cost an effort ; and who, as far 
 as his invention could stretch, was never without 
 a passport. 
 
 " I have authority to inspect it," said the 
 stranger ; " and, when we come nigh unto the 
 house of reception, called by the ungodly the
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 17 
 
 Fighting Cocks, about a mile hence, thou shalt 
 produce it before me, that mine eyes may see the 
 truth of thy ways." 
 
 « Willingly," said Sir William ; *' but I pri- 
 thee, sir, tell me who it is that this dark night 
 has brought me acquainted with." 
 
 " I am Ananias Fats," replied the other, '* an 
 unworthy servant of the Lord : I minister the 
 word of the Most High, and fight his battles with 
 the arm of flesh when need is, seeing that I am, 
 besides, a captain of Hewson's regiment." 
 
 " We must cut his throat," whispered Sir Wil- 
 liam to his companion. " Art thou that holy 
 man," he added aloud, and with a conventicle 
 twang — " art thou he, whose pious exhortations 
 do arouse the lost people, and whose speech stirs 
 up their sleeping zeal, even as the trumpet rouseth 
 the war-horse ?" 
 
 " Yea, verily, I am that unworthy vessel," re- 
 plied Brother Fats. 
 
 " And how do thy labours prosper ?" asked 
 Sir William in a similar tone. ** Do the people 
 of this land hearken unto thy council, and give 
 ear to thy pious inspirations ?" 
 
 " Deaf! deaf!" replied the other, who thought 
 he had fallen in with one of his own stamp. 
 " Were it not that the arm of flesh is strong, 
 and that I can smite those who will not be per- 
 suaded, this place would be little better than a 
 howling wilderness. Lo ! there are many who 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 
 
 do shut up their ears and close their understand- 
 ings against the council of my lips." 
 
 " Ignorant and deluded people ! But they are 
 of the baser and more brutish class, I must be- 
 lieve." 
 
 *' Not always, for there is a stiff-necked gene- 
 ration even among those who have horses and 
 chariots, and whose treasuries are filled with 
 silver and brass." 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! who are such blind and deaf 
 wretches ? who are they that, like the adder^ are 
 deaf to the voice of the chancier, charm he never 
 so wisely ?" 
 
 '' There be many such, my brother ; and, among 
 others, there is the malignant Lady Vavasour." 
 Here Sir Edward made an impatient movement, 
 which D'Avenant repressed. " I am now," con- 
 tinued the Puritan, " on my road, to try once 
 more if I can open her eyes to the sinfulness of 
 her ways, and prevail upon her to bring back to 
 his duty her wilful son, who has taken up arms 
 for the man whom he calls king." 
 
 " Here's a crop-eared villain !" whispered 
 D' Avenant. " But how," he pursued aloud, " do 
 you gain admission to her ladyship ?" 
 
 " The Parliament's arms are too strong to brook 
 denial, and I have their authority for what I do ; 
 so that, albeit her ladyship loveth not the holy 
 ones, I do, nevertheless, purpose to sojourn be- 
 neath her roof for many days. It is, as I have
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 19 
 
 been told by Brother Goggle, a goodly dwelling ; 
 and the cook is a man cunning in his art, and much 
 skilled in the science of the flesh-pots of Egypt. 
 1 shall tarry there, for it is the duty of the saints 
 to feed upon the substance of the unrighteous." 
 
 While the communicative Ananias, under the 
 influence of certain potations of ale, was telling 
 his new acquaintance what he meant to do, the 
 latter held a short colloquy in whispers with the 
 baronet. The result of their conference was very 
 soon put into practice. Sir William pulled up 
 his horse, and alighted under the pretence that 
 he had cast a shoe. Ananias checked his beast 
 also ; and, before he had time to say a word, he 
 found himself unhorsed and prostrate, with his 
 false friend's knee on his breast, and his pistol at 
 his throat. 
 
 "If you speak or stir, you Roundhead villain,'* 
 cried Sir William, "this moment is your last. 
 !Now, where is the commission you told me of?*' 
 
 Ananias was one of those amiable men who are 
 never fond of fighting, although they often talk 
 of it ; and he was not so drunk but that he knew 
 two men against one were odds, particularly when 
 the one man is on the broad of his back, with a 
 loaded pistol only half an inch from his throat. 
 
 " Spare my life, gentle cavalier," said the 
 prostrate Puritan. " Let me live, and you shall 
 have all I possess." 
 
 " If you had as many lives as are in Plutarch 
 o2
 
 20 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 
 
 I would not spare one of them, unless, in the 
 first place, you give me the commission," re- 
 peated Sir William. " Where is it, thou wicked 
 Ananias ?" 
 
 " In my saddle-bags," replied Ananias. 
 
 " Clap them on our horse, Sir Edward," said 
 the knight to his companion, who, notwithstand- 
 ing his weakness, had alighted, and now imme- 
 diately transferred the bags to Hamlet's back. 
 
 " And now," said Sir William to the Puritan, 
 " if I should spare thy forfeit life, and give thee 
 another chance with the old one to save thy soul, 
 wilt thou take thyself away from this neigh- 
 borhood ? for I swear to thee, upon the word of 
 one that hates all Puritans as much as he hates 
 the great devil, who is the father of them and 
 thee, that, if thou art found within thirty miles 
 of this place for the next month, I will spoil thy 
 exhortations for ever. Dost thou promise to 
 obey ?" 
 
 *' Yea, verily, I do, perforce." 
 
 " And without any of those cozening double- 
 meaning reservations for wiiich thy brotherhood 
 have become so famous ?" 
 
 " So thou wilt spare my life, I promise," said 
 the elder. 
 
 " Why, then, I think I will spare thee, not for 
 any love of thee, but because I hate the blood of 
 all thy race so much that I would not even let it 
 out when I can avoid it. But give me thy
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 21 
 
 sword," he said, as he loosened the sword-belt 
 of the elder, and handed the weapon to Sir Ed- 
 ward ; " and I think, too," he added, '' I will have 
 thee change clothes with me." 
 
 He loosed his grasp a little, and helped the 
 Roundhead to rise, but still kept his pistol near 
 enough to make an impression on him. 
 
 " Now, then," he said, *' unfrock, and speedily ! 
 * It is a naughty night to swim in,' but thou must 
 strip. Be quick, Ananias ; thou wert never be- 
 fore honored with such a valet de cliambre. Come, 
 thy cloak and band, and the rest of the sheep's 
 clothing in vv^hich thou dost ensconce thy wolf's 
 body. Come quickly !" and he added a blow 
 with the flat side of his sword, to quicken the 
 tardy operations of the elder, who, with many 
 wry faces and great reluctance, did his bidding. 
 Sir William then transferred his pistol to Sir 
 Edward, with a particular request that, if the 
 Puritan evinced the least symptoms of treachery 
 or refractoriness, he would be so obliging as to 
 shoot him through the head without hesitation or 
 ceremony. 
 
 Sir Edward promised ; and the knight stripped 
 ofl' his own uniform with great dispatch, making 
 Ananias put it on, while he assumed his garb. 
 
 When the exchange was completed. Sir Wil- 
 liam pinioned Ananias's arms, and helped him 
 upon his horse ; after which he tied his legs very 
 effectually beneath the animal's belly.
 
 22 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 
 
 He then went to the road-side, and, cutting up 
 a stout thistle, he carefully tied it under the tail 
 of the elder's steed. 
 
 " There !" he said, " Ananias ; as I have pre- 
 vented thee from smiting thy charger's sides with 
 thy spurs, I have provided for thy rapid journey 
 by putting a goad to his tail ; and, as the beast 
 looks to have mettle, I warrant that he will not 
 shortly slacken his pace." 
 
 As he finished speaking he gave the horse a smart 
 blow, at which he set off in a gallop ; and the 
 incessant motion of the thistle, which at every 
 bound struck against his flanks, soon increased 
 his pace, to the terror of Ananias, who went off 
 like Mazeppa on his wild horse. 
 
 " Away ! away ! and on they dash — 
 Torrents less rapid, and less rash." 
 
 The elder's journey was not very long : the 
 horse, maddened by the constant stinging in 
 his rear, kept on with unabated speed until he 
 reached a vidette of the pai^liamentary army, 
 placed about ten miles short of York. The 
 horse, attracted by the light of the soldiers' fire, 
 bounded towards it : the guards, seeing a man in 
 the royal uniform riding up to them^ betook 
 themselves to their arms ; and, before Ananias, 
 who was breathless with fright, could make him- 
 self understood, he was shot through the head by 
 a particular friend and townsman of his own. 
 Tribulation Holdfast, v/ho had quitted his trade
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 23 
 
 of a cobbler to become a corporal in Cromwell's 
 regiment. Ananias and he had been companions 
 in wickedness from their boyhood upward, and 
 had both taken to the thriving trade of hypocrisy 
 just at that time when every body who knew 
 them predicted that the gallows must be their 
 inevitable fate. They had both been poachers 
 and deer-stealers : Tribulation had a habit of 
 squinting, and was always reckoned a crack shot 
 by night, or at other improper and unseason- 
 able times ; but his skill was never advantageous 
 to the rest of the world, excepting on this occa- 
 sion. When he examined, by the fire-light, the 
 face of his prey, he was astonished to find his old 
 friend Ananias, and still more so to see him 
 bound hand and foot, and in the uniform of the 
 Marquis of Newcastle's regiment. He was, how- 
 ever, sure that there was a mistake in some 
 quarter or other ; and, to put an end to any need- 
 less inquiries, which might turn out unpleasantly 
 for himself, he, with the assistance of his com- 
 rades, dug a hasty grave, in which the carcass 
 and the memory of Ananias Fats were buried 
 together. 
 
 Sir William D'Avenant knew nothing--and, if 
 he had, he would have cared as little— about the 
 rogue he had thus sent headlong to meet his 
 fate. Sir Edward — who, faint and exhausted as 
 he was, had not teen able to refrain from laughter 
 at the manner in which D'Avenant had stripped
 
 24 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 
 
 the Puritan, and then dismissed him — now asked 
 bis friend what he purposed doing. 
 
 ** I do intend, with your honour's permis- 
 sion," he replied, " to present myself at Calverley 
 Hall in the venerable character of Ananias Fats. 
 It would be something dangerous, as well to the 
 good ladies there as to our own insignificant 
 throats, to appear in our proper persons at this 
 juncture : I propose, therefore, to go first, and 
 sound the place ; after which I will return to you, 
 and effect your entry. Do you approve of this ?" 
 
 " Do as you will — your ingenuity and discre- 
 tion are the best qualities in the world to rely 
 upon in danger ; and, just now, I am really so 
 much exhausted that I am "wholly incapable of 
 any exertion." 
 
 *' No matter, gentle cavalier ; I will personate 
 this zealous brother so to the life, that, if you 
 could see me, you would be fain to cry out, 
 with FalstaflP's hostess, * Oh rare ! he doth it 
 as like one of these harlotry players as I ever 
 see.' 
 
 I believe," he continued, as they rode onwards, 
 " that I was born under an acting planet : the 
 theatre seems to be my destiny ; and, unless 
 these pestilent Puritans should succeed in root- 
 ing out, as they threaten to do, the drama from 
 this nation, I believe I shall take up with poetry 
 and the stage at last. All this comes of having 
 a dramatist for my godfather : if any other than
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 25 
 
 gentle Will Shakspeare had held me over the 
 font, I might have escaped so beggarly a lot ; 
 but, hang Care ! I would not exchange such a 
 sponsor for a better — even if the world ever saw a 
 better, which I doubt." 
 
 They now approached Calverley Hall, and, 
 by Sir Edward's directions, rode through the 
 park to a small summer-house, which stood at 
 the end of the garden. Here the poet assisted 
 his friend to alight ; and, having bestowed him 
 safely upon a couch, he turned his horse into the 
 carriage road, and trotted up at a smart pace to 
 the great entrance. After rapping for some time 
 with the butt-end of his pistol at the door, he 
 heard steps proceeding along the spacious hall ; 
 and soon afterwards a small wicket in the door 
 was opened, and he saw the white head of old 
 Gervase, the butler, peeping through it. 
 
 ** How now ? who knocks here at this time 
 o'night?" was asked from within. 
 
 *• Verily, one of the brethren, who seeketh to 
 commune with the Lady Vavasour," replied the 
 knight, in the tone of the character he had as- 
 sumed. 
 
 ** Then, my brother, you must come to-mor- 
 row," replied the servant with an ill-tempered 
 scorn, which raised him highly in Sir William's 
 opinion. *' My lady sees neither brother nor 
 sister to-night." 
 
 •* Man, thou art uncivil," said Sir William ;
 
 26 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 
 
 ** I have General Fairfaxes commission to enter 
 this dwelling." 
 
 " This is not General Fairfax's house, but my 
 master's. Sir Edv*^ard Vavasour ; and, unless you 
 have his commission, you enter not here." A 
 good deal of grumbling about " crop-eared cant- 
 ing thieves" followed, which v/as not quite dis- 
 tinct. 
 
 " Do you then resist ? and must I use force ?" 
 
 " You must do just as you like, only I tell you 
 that I have a firelock here ; and Ralph, the gar- 
 dener, has gotten another, which he'll fire from 
 the other side of the house when he hears mine ; 
 and, this pitch dark night, we can neither of us 
 tell one o' the brethren, as you call yourself, from 
 a housebreaker ; so, unless thy hide be bullet- 
 proof, 'ware making any disturbance here." 
 
 Sir William heard the old fellow winding up 
 the lock of his piece ; and, when he had finished, 
 the iron-shod butt of it rung upon the stone 
 floor of the hall. He began to think that his 
 masquerading might turn out seriously, so he 
 alighted, and approached the door. 
 
 " Gervase," he said, in a lower tone, and in his 
 natural way of speaking, " if you love your master, 
 open instantly. I am alone — you have nought to 
 fear." 
 
 " Body o' me, though," cried the old butler, 
 to whom the voice was familiar, *' that can- 
 not be one of the brethren 1 Let us look at thy
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 27 
 
 face, man ;" and he held his candle up to the 
 wicket. 
 
 " Lord love your honour, I know you by your 
 nose," cried Gervase, as he hastened to undo 
 the heavy fastenings of the door, and to admit 
 Sir William. 
 
 In a few words the knight explained to him 
 the necessity there was for keeping Sir Edward's 
 arrival secret, lest, as he feared, after the defeat 
 at Marston, the whole country should fall into the 
 hands of the parliamentarians, and in that case 
 his life would be hardly safe. For this purpose 
 he told the butler that he intended to keep up the 
 character of the Puritan whose clothes he wore ; 
 and that, with the exception of himself and the 
 ladies, he wished no one in the house to know 
 him but as Brother Ananias Fats. He then bade 
 him accompany him to the little pavilion, whence 
 they carried Sir Edward into the house unper- 
 ceived, most of the servants being at this time 
 in bed. Sir William, after havino- seen Hamlet 
 safely stabled, desired to be announced to the 
 ladies. 
 
 Their anxiety to know the result of a battle, 
 in which Sir Edward was certain to be engaged, 
 had prevented them from retiring to rest ; and, 
 although it was now near midnight, and of course 
 long past the hour at which even ladies of qua- 
 lity in those times sought their pillows, the 
 Ladies Vavasour were still up. Tlie dowager
 
 28 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 
 
 lady was employed in working at a tapestry 
 frame, in which she was assisted by a pretty 
 black-eyed girl, an attendant, somewhat above 
 the degree of a servant. The Lady Margaret had 
 been reading aloud the Countess of Pembroke's 
 'Arcadia,' and was just arriving at the termina- 
 tion of the tragic story of Argalus and Parthenia. 
 The progress tow^ards a perfection of style, 
 which our language has made since the period 
 when this delightful romance was written, pre- 
 vents us in a great measure from relishing the 
 quaintness of its expressions ; but, in spite of 
 this disadvantage, it would be impossible to 
 deny to it as a whole, and to this episode in par- 
 ticular, the possession of very powerful pathos. 
 
 The Lady Vavasour had read the account of 
 the death of Argalus, and the sequel, showing 
 how the poor heart-stricken Parthenia, carried 
 by her grief beyond the bounds of reason and 
 the customs of her sex, had put on the armour of 
 a w^arrior, and, calling herself the Knight of the 
 Tomb, defied, in this disguise, the gallant Am- 
 phialus, by whose hand her lover had fallen. 
 Her taunts and insults provoked Amphialus, 
 who would willingly have spared her, to inflict 
 a mortal wound upon her neck ; when, upon 
 alighting to see the face of his unknown and 
 discourteous antagonist, he discovered, to his 
 orief and horror, that she w^as a w^oman. 
 
 '' The head-piece was no sooner off, but that
 
 SIR KOGER DE CALVERLEY^S GHOST. 29 
 
 there fell about the shoulders of the overcome 
 knight the treasure of faire golden haire, which, 
 with the face (soone known by the badge of ex- 
 cellency), witnessed that it was Parthenia, the 
 unfortunately vertuous wife of Argalus ; her 
 beauty then, even in despight of the passed 
 sorrow or coraming death, assuring all beholders 
 that it was nothing short of perfection. For her 
 exceeding faire eyes having, with continuall 
 weeping, gotten a little rednes about them ; her 
 roundy sweetly-swelling lips a little trembling, 
 as though they kisst their neighbour Death ; in 
 her cheeks the whitenesse, striving by little and 
 little to get upon the rosinesse of them ; her 
 neck (a neck, indeed, of alabaster) displaying 
 the wound, which, with most dainty bloud, 
 laboured to drown his own beauties ; so, as here 
 was a river of purest red, there an iland of per- 
 fittest white, each giving lustre to the other, with 
 the sweet countenance (God knows) full of an 
 unaffected languishing. Though these things to 
 a grossly conceiving sense might seem disgra- 
 cious, yet, indeed, were they but apparelling 
 beauty in a new fashion, which (all looking upon 
 through the spectacles of pity) did even increase 
 the lines of her natural fairnesse ; so as Amphialus 
 was astonished with grief, compassion, and shame, 
 detesting his fortune, that made him unfortunate 
 in victory." 
 
 This tale had excited abundance of tears from
 
 30 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 
 
 the two ladies, whose anxiety for Sir Edward's fate 
 made them full of sympathy for the fabled woes 
 of the personages of the romance ; while the 
 black-eyed Dorothy — whose heart had yet expe- 
 rienced so few sorrows of its own that her tears 
 were always ready to start for those of others, 
 either real or imaginary — wept until she could 
 hardly see her needle. 
 
 This melancholy party was disturbed by the 
 entrance of Gervase, who announced Master 
 Ananias Fats, to the astonishment and dis- 
 pleasure of the ladies. They could not conceive 
 what had induced the butler to depart from the 
 ceremonious respect with which he usually ap- 
 proached them, and more particularly in favour of 
 a man bearing such a name. 
 
 There was, however, no time to chide, for 
 Ananias entered close upon Gervase's heel, and, 
 with the insolent awkwardness which distin- 
 oTiished the Puritans of the time, he advanced 
 towards the old lady, keeping his hat on, and 
 saluting her in no other way than with a long 
 drawling sigh, partaking somewhat of the mixed 
 nature of a groan and a snuffle. 
 
 The old lady drew herself up with all the 
 dignity she could command ; and, if looks had 
 the power to slay, hers would have pierced the 
 pseudo Ananias through and through. 
 
 Sir William, however, looked at her without 
 changing the affected gravity of his countenance.
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 31 
 
 " Sister," he said, "if thou art she whom men call 
 the Lady Vavasour, I would speak with thee." 
 
 *' I am the dowager Lady Vavasour." 
 
 '* Hum ! Dismiss the maiden." 
 
 *' I can have no conversation with thee which 
 she as well as all the rest of my household may 
 not hear." 
 
 " Sister, be not obstinate ; — again I say unto 
 thee, dismiss the maiden." 
 
 " I have no other reply to make to your in- 
 solence but to request you will speedily do your 
 errand, (unwelcome, whatever it may be,) and 
 that you relieve me from this intrusion." 
 
 *' Sister, thou art — a woman." He added, in a 
 lower tone, '' II faut cpCelle nous qnitte ; les nou- 
 velles dontje snis charges ne sont que pour vous et 
 Madamer 
 
 The old lady was more astonished than ever at 
 hearing the Puritan speak in French. She saw im- 
 mediately that there must be some mystery ; and 
 now she could account for the abruptness of the 
 entrance of Gervase, who, she did not doubt, was 
 acquainted with it. She therefore told Dorothy, 
 whose large black eyes were rolling about in 
 utter astonishment, to retire. 
 
 As soon as the girl was gone Sir William untied 
 the string of his high-crowned hat, and, his hair 
 falling about his shoulders, he appeared in his 
 own shape — that of an old and valued ac- 
 quaintance. He related the fatal event of the
 
 32 SIR ROGER J3E CALVERLEy's GHOST. 
 
 fight at Marston ; the destruction of the Marquis 
 of Newcastle's regiments ; the ill fortune of Sir 
 Edward ; and shortly touched upon the manner 
 of his escape. This recital, short as it was, was 
 interrupted by the anxious inquiries of the tender 
 and affectionate Lady Margaret, who, when she 
 learnt that her husband was in the house, insisted 
 on being led to him instantly. Sir William 
 moderated her impatience as well as he could ; 
 he assured her that Sir Edward was in no danger, 
 although his wounds would render him incapable 
 of any exertion for several days to come : but 
 that which had the most weight with her was his 
 representation of the peril to which her husband's 
 life might be exposed if it should be known that 
 he was at Calverley. A council was held as to 
 the best place of lodging the wounded baronet at 
 once safely and commodiously. It was soon de- 
 cided that he should occupy two small chambers 
 which formed part of a suite of rooms, and from 
 which a secret staircase led into a little pavilion 
 in the garden : this staircase was seldom opened, 
 and known only to the old servants ; and the 
 entrance to the rooms with which it was con- 
 nected, being in the wainscot, might be easily 
 concealed by a couch, or any other piece of fur- 
 niture. The preparations were soon made, and 
 before morning Sir Edward was safely installed 
 in his new quarters, and under the care of his 
 fond wife and mother. Here he lived for nearly
 
 SIR rogeh de calverley's ghost. 33 
 
 a month : he was able to take exercise at night in 
 the grounds and in the adjoining wood, and the 
 days were passed in the most agreeable manner. 
 His wounds, which their numbers alone rendered 
 formidable, were nearly well ; and he now began 
 to think what steps should be taken for the future. 
 To stay in England seemed useless to the king*s 
 cause, and dangerous not only to himself, but to 
 those who were far dearer to him than him- 
 self. The example the Marquis of Newcastle 
 had set him of quitting the kingdom, which, if 
 he had been alone, he would not have followed, 
 now seemed the best course for him to pursue, 
 and to this the persuasions of his mother and his 
 wife also strongly inclined hira. The dissensions, 
 and, as it sometimes appeared to him, the devoted 
 follies of the royal party, were hardly less dis- 
 gusting than the falsehood and villainy of the 
 parliament. At length he resolved to adopt this 
 measure. The news of his death had long been 
 received at Calverley,and was universally believed 
 by all but those who were in the secret. The ser- 
 vants had been all put into mourning, and pre- 
 parations made for the departure of the ladies and 
 the children to France. Permission was obtained 
 without much difficulty, because the prospect of 
 so fat a sequestration as the estate at Calverley 
 was too enticing to permit the members of the 
 council to throw any obstacle in the way of it. 
 Sir William D'Avenant liked so well the cha- 
 
 VOL. 1. D
 
 34 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 
 
 racter of the Puritan that he continued to keep it 
 up, and he had even the audacity to travel to 
 Hull under the name of Fats, notwithstanding 
 the possibility which he believed might exist 
 of his meeting the real owner of that dignified 
 appellation. Our readers know that such a pos- 
 sibility was, to say the least, a very remote one ; 
 but Sir William, who was not so sure of that fact, 
 had resolved, in case he should meet him, to out- 
 face the brother; and he did not doubt that, after 
 a whole fortnight's practice, he should be enabled 
 to beat him even at his own weapons. 
 
 He went to Hull for the purpose of engaging a 
 vessel to carry the Lady Vavasour and her house- 
 hold to France, and had the good fortune to light 
 upon an honest fellow, who commanded a smug- 
 gling lugger, and who hated the parliament so 
 much that it was with difficulty D'Avenant could 
 get him to treat with a person of his appearance. 
 Having, however, invited him to the inn at which 
 he lodged, he made so favorable an impression 
 upon the skipper as to overcome all his scruples, 
 although he did it at the expense of a head-ache, 
 the consequence of keeping the seaman in coun- 
 tenance while he discussed a huge can of a com- 
 position, that he called rumbo, and which he 
 mixed with his own hand. By the time they were 
 at the bottom of their beverage, the skipper, drunk 
 as he was, was satisfied that D'Avenant was no 
 more a Puritan than himself, and he promised to
 
 SIE ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 35 
 
 hold himself ready for sea as soon as he should re- 
 ceive orders. Gamblers and smugglers and thieves 
 are all honorable men, and scrupulously observant 
 of their promises when it suits their interest to be 
 so : of such men it may be truly said that their 
 words are better than their bonds ; and as, in this 
 instance. Master Roger Blurt could get nothing 
 by breaking his engagement, he stood to it like 
 a stout fellow. 
 
 Upon Sir William*s return to Calverley the 
 preparations for the removal were set about with 
 the greatest diligence; and, in the course of a 
 very few days, the chief part of what was intend- 
 ed to be taken away was carried down to Hull. 
 The other arrangements were also completed, and 
 it was settled that at the close of the day the 
 ladies should depart in a carriage, under the 
 escort of old Gervase and another servant, and 
 accompanied by Brother Ananias, who had con- 
 descendingly promised to see them embark. 
 
 A livery suit had been provided for Sir Edward 
 exactly like that of the servant who was to at- 
 tend the carriage with Gervase ; and it had been 
 settled that he should make the first part of 
 the journey in the carriage, and that the party 
 should not set out until late in the day, in order 
 to shun observation. They were to cross the 
 bridge at the end of Calverley Wood, and then to 
 take a road by which they should avoid the town 
 of Leeds, where the greatest, or rather the only, 
 D 2
 
 36 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY'S GHOST. 
 
 danger awaited them. After travelling all night, 
 the servant, a trusty lad, the son of one of Sir 
 Edward's tenants, was to be dismissed, and the 
 baronet to take his character and his place. Re- 
 lays had been provided on the road, and the whole 
 journey was to be made without stopping any 
 longer than might be wholly unavoidable. 
 
 Wo plan could have been more cleverly ar- 
 ranged; but it is the fate of all human plans to 
 be subject to accidents, which traverse and baffle 
 them. As poor Burns sung, 
 
 *' Tlie best-laid sdiemes o' mice and men 
 
 Gang afta-glej ;" 
 
 and those of the junto at Calverley were not ex- 
 empt from this common lot. 
 
 On the day fixed for the departure they were 
 sitting after dinner, and the conversation had 
 taken a melancholy tone, which was probably oc- 
 casioned by their being about to quit a spot 
 around which all their best affections were enr 
 twined : the prospect, too, of going to another and 
 a foreign country, perhaps for ever, under all the 
 disadvantages of exile, and exposed to innume- 
 rable privations so hai'd to bear by persons who 
 had, until this time, lived in almost unlimited opu- 
 lence, was not very cheering. If it had not been 
 for the charm (oftentimes deceitful, but, even at 
 the worst, still a charm) which Hope throws about 
 the human heart in its saddest moods, the sorrow 
 of the inmates of Calverley would have beeu
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 37 
 
 greater; but they thought of their return, and 
 this mitigated their regret at being compelled to 
 depart. 
 
 Sir William D'Avenant, whose cheerfulness and 
 vivacity were never to be subdued, drew a glow- 
 ing picture of the delight with which they would 
 greet Calverley when a short residence abroad 
 had made them duly appreciate its beauties, which 
 he said they were far from doing at present. — 
 Then he talked of France, whither they were 
 going; he described the gaiety and brilliancy of 
 the French court, until he even made the gentle 
 Lady Margaret think it might be as well to see it. 
 He spoke to the old lady of the stately dignity 
 and decorous etiquette which prevailed there — of 
 the respect with which the aristocracy was treated 
 by the people — until she believed that,if she could 
 come back when she liked, she should have plea- 
 sure in visiting again a country which she had not 
 seen since her childhood, and which was the native 
 land of her ancestors. He praised the chivalrous 
 and gallant spirit of the youth of France, and 
 talked of the superior refinement and grace which 
 pervaded the higher orders of the nation, until the 
 baronet was persuaded that it was better to live 
 in France, until quiet should be restored to Eng- 
 land, than to stay losing his time and his labour 
 in fighting the Roundheads. Sir William had 
 even made Dorothy, who was sitting in a bay win- 
 dow, think that there was nothing so dreadful in
 
 38 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 
 
 going to France, when Gervase entered with a 
 look of considerable alarm, and put an end to his 
 harangue. 
 
 " Away, away, your honour, to your hiding- 
 place ! Here 's a troop of the cursed Club men 
 coming up the avenue, and God knows what may 
 be their purpose." 
 
 In a moment the baronet retired to his cham- 
 ber : the entrance was carefully closed, and the 
 party had resumed their places, when the leader 
 of the party, whom Gervase had descried, entered 
 the room in which they were sitting. 
 
 This man was well known to the Lady Vava- 
 sour, and to all the household. He was by trade 
 a miller, and lived at a short distance from Leeds. 
 In his youth he had been one of the most trouble- 
 some blackguards that the county could produce ; 
 the terror of the quiet people of his own rank, 
 and universally hated. He had been often whip- 
 ped and imprisoned, and once narrowly escaped 
 hanging ; for which good luck he was indebted 
 to the late Sir Ralph, who took pity of his tender 
 years. Having reached the age of forty, he on a 
 sudden became marvellously pious, and, by a con- 
 sequence then quite in the usual course, he also 
 became a resolute rebel. The habits of his former 
 life, perhaps, led him to join the Club men rather 
 than the regularly organized forces of the par- 
 liament. They had more of a bucaniering com- 
 mission ; and, unless they were belied, they did
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 39 
 
 not care which side they plundered, so that they 
 did but plunder. 
 
 The qualifications of Sampson Ryder could 
 not be overlooked in such a society ; he soon pro- 
 cured a command, and was the dread of the whole 
 county. The inhabitants of Calverley had long 
 expected to suffer from his attacks ; but he had 
 kept aloof from them in a very singular manner, 
 and had, on all occasions, shown an inclination to 
 be as civil as the brutality of his nature would 
 allow of. Rascal as he was, he could not but re- 
 member that the late Sir Ralph*s intercession 
 alone had saved him from the gallows : the old 
 baronet had, besides, been a kind and considerate 
 landlord to Sampson and his father, and he could 
 not quite bring his mind to tlie commission of 
 any outrage on the Calverley family. His coming 
 on the present occasion was not of his own 
 choice, but in consequence of an order from Fair- 
 fax, who had sent him to see the house cleared, 
 and had given him, besides, particular direc- 
 tions to take care that no persons should accom- 
 pany the ladies but such as had already received 
 permission. This injunction was rather the result 
 of that jealous policy which the general always 
 pursued than of any suspicion that the suite of 
 the Calverley family would contain any of the 
 royalist fugitives ; and of the existence of Sir Ed- 
 ward he had not the most distant notion. Ryder 
 had also been directed to leave a guard at the hall.
 
 40 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GMOST. 
 
 and to place the rest of his men at a barrier called 
 Bradford Gate, about a quarter of a mile from the 
 side of the bridge nearest to Calverley. This 
 barrier had been strengthened in order to pre- 
 vent any hostile approach, of which Fairfax said 
 he had received some intimation. 
 
 Sampson Ryder, upon his entrance, made a bow, 
 in which his mingled arrogance and awkwardness 
 were displayed in a very amusing manner. He 
 then advanced to the old lady, and, with an air 
 which partook of trembling as well as swagger- 
 ing, he told her that part of his errand which 
 related to her own departure. The good old lady 
 made no reply; but, thinking that at this critical 
 moment the example of those Catholics who offer 
 a candle to a certain black gentleman, not en- 
 rolled among the saints of the calendar, might be 
 advantageously followed, she ordered refresh- 
 ments to be provided for Master Ryder, and 
 withdrew, leaving him in the hands of the Reve- 
 rend Ananias Fats. 
 
 The supposed Puritan immediately began to 
 engage the leader of the Club men in conversa- 
 tion, for the purpose as well of gaining time as to 
 enable him to find out the character of the man, 
 in order to turn it to some account. The latter 
 was, however, no such easy matter ; he found that 
 his companion was as stupid and as hard-headed 
 a ruffian as ever was employed to do mischief: 
 he listened to the canting harangue with which
 
 SIR ItOGER DE CALVERLEY*S GHOSt. 41 
 
 Sir William, in his assumed character, regaled 
 him, but neither seemed to understand nor to care 
 for it, busying himself in the mean time with long 
 and frequent draughts out of a blackjack well 
 filled with ale, and cutting enormous slices from 
 a piece of cold beef which stood beside it. He, 
 however, found leisure in the mean time to ex- 
 plain to the supposed elder, at greater length than 
 he had communicated to the lady, the exact te- 
 nour of his order from Fairfax. 
 
 Sir William was greatly perplexed at this un- 
 toward event, which, as it seemed, must neces- 
 sarily overturn all the plans they had formed for 
 Sir Edward's escape, and would even place him 
 in great danger of falling into the hands of the 
 enemy. The time was fast approaching at which 
 the departure of the ladies and their suite was to 
 take place ; and the person of Sir Edward was so 
 well known to Ryder, and perhaps to many of his 
 troop, that it would be madness to think that 
 any such disguise as they were furnished with 
 could effectually conceal him. There was not a 
 moment to lose, and Sir William was absolutely 
 at his wits' end for a scheme to rescue his friend 
 from the perilous plight in which he was now 
 placed. 
 
 He quitted the room for the purpose of hold- 
 ing a short council with the ladies, when, as he 
 crossed the passage, he met Dorothy, the waiting- 
 maid.
 
 42 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 
 
 " What shall we do, sir ?" cried the poor girl, 
 who had been weeping heartily, for she thought 
 that her master's discovery v;as certain : ** it will 
 be impossible to deceive that brute Ryder and his 
 wicked companions. I wish, with all my heart, 
 that one of the ghosts he is so much afraid of 
 would carry him away." 
 
 "What ghosts ? Dorothy," asked Sir William. 
 
 " Oh, sir, he believes in all manner of ghosts, 
 and is as much afraid of them as a little child at 
 a nursery tale." 
 
 " Is he, indeed ?" exclaimed Sir William, who 
 saw through this hint an assailable point in 
 the Club man, on which he thought he might 
 make a successful attack. " You are quite sure of 
 this, Dorothy?" 
 
 " Quite sure, your honour ; why he believea 
 that Calverley Wood is haunted by Sir Roger's 
 ghost to this day." 
 
 " That is the only respectable part of his cha- 
 racter that I have yet been able to discover," re- 
 plied Sir William, as he hastened back to the 
 room in which he had left the Roundhead. 
 
 He again attempted to engage the miller in 
 conversation ; and, thanks to the ale which the 
 latter had drunk, he did so with a little better 
 success. 
 
 " Brother," said Sir William with a deep groan, 
 and at the same moment turning up his eyes until 
 nothing but the white of them was to be seen—
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY^S GHOST. 43 
 
 " brother, we live in dreadful times ! Not only 
 does the wickedness of man vex the righteous of 
 the land, but the great enemy himself roams about 
 unchained among us !" 
 
 At the moment when Sir William had began to 
 speak Ryder had stuck a large piece of bread, 
 wedge-shaped, and weighing a quarter of a pound, 
 into his enormous mouth ; and, such was the im- 
 pression made upon him by the knight's speech, 
 that he sate with his mouth and eyes wide open, 
 and the bread fixed as if it was never to move 
 again. Sir William saw he had made a hit, and 
 went on. 
 
 " Yea, my brother, the devil himself is come 
 amongst us, and roars and roams about, seeking 
 whom he may devour," 
 
 ** The Lord preserve us !" ejaculated Ryder, as 
 soon as he had extricated the crust from his pon- 
 derous jaws, " dost mean that th' oud one him- 
 self is on earth ?" 
 
 "As surely he is, my brother, as that thou 
 and I are sinners — and, what is more, he has 
 become a cavalier, and has taken the king's 
 side." 
 
 "Why how do'st know, man," cried Ryder, who 
 trembled in every joint. 
 
 " Has not the news reached thee, then ?" asked 
 Sir William, affecting some surprise : " hast thou 
 not heard of this malignant enemy, whom men 
 call Prince Rupert ?" 
 
 " No; only that he 's a Jarman prince without
 
 44 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOSr. 
 
 land or money, and that he comes here to fight 
 for so much of ours as ever he can get." 
 
 " He is the devil's prime agent, and works by 
 the assistance of hell, to the discomfort of the 
 saints." 
 
 " Oh Lord !" exclaimed the Club man. 
 
 " Did you ever see him ?" asked the knight. 
 
 '* Yes," replied Ryder. 
 
 " Well, and did you not think he looked as if 
 he dealt with the devil ?" 
 
 " I think he has a wild kind of an outlandish 
 look." 
 
 '* The fires of hell burn in his eyes ; he sits in 
 his quarters reading at night without a candle. 
 And did you ever see the great black dog which 
 constantly goes about with him?" 
 
 ** Oh yes, often ; and once tried to shoot it." 
 
 ** But could not?" 
 
 Ryder shook his head. 
 
 " No wonder, for that black dog is the devil in- 
 carnate — the foul fiend himself."* Have you heord 
 what he did at Marston Moor?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 ** Why, the prince was unhorsed, and lying 
 in the midst of a band of our soldiers, who, if he 
 
 * In the old Duchess of Orleans' " Memoirs of the Regency" 
 she has, among a thousand other very odd and amusing things, the 
 following: — " I have heard it said that in England the people used 
 to take my late uncle Rupert for a sorcerer, and his large black dog 
 for the devil ; for this reason, when he joined the army, and attacked 
 the enemy, whole regiments fled before him." The latter fact is 
 perhapij the most questionable part of the story.
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 45 
 
 were not really a fiend, would soon have made an 
 end of him; when suddenly this black dog burst 
 in among them, and, taking the prince up in his 
 mouth, threw him, as easily as a fox would throw 
 a turkey, across his back, and carried him off. The 
 soldiers of Cromwell's troop say they struck at 
 the dog repeatedly, but their swords either fell 
 short or sounded upon his black hide like ham- 
 mers upon an anvil, and made as little impression. 
 He carried his burden off safely; and, in less 
 than five minutes, the prince was mounted again, 
 and renewed the charge." 
 
 " Oh Lord, oh Lord !" cried Ryder, as he wiped 
 away the large drops which terror had wrung 
 from his forehead, " what is to become of the 
 holy cause if our enemies have the aid of Satan? 
 I fear no man alive, be he prince or Jarman, or 
 cavalier, or what not ; but I can't fight Old 
 Scratch." 
 
 " Trust to thy own righteous acts, and the 
 prayers of the saints." 
 
 " Pray for me then, holy Sir, for I had rather 
 trust to thy prayers than my own righteousness ; 
 of which, sinner as I am, it becomes me not to 
 
 For once in his life Sampson Ryder told the 
 truth. Sir William saw that he had gained a cer- 
 tain ascendency over him, which he believed 
 would be quite enough for his purpose. His chief 
 object now was to prevent the departure of the
 
 46 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 
 
 miller before night-fall, when he trusted that he 
 should be able, by some means or other, to secure 
 Sir Edward's passage through the barrier, which 
 was guarded by Ryder's men. He, therefore, 
 continued to invent a thousand other lies, all as 
 frightful as that of Prince Rupert and his black 
 dog. and all concerning the devil in person, until 
 he found he had the miller completely in his 
 hands. 
 
 The day had now nearly closed in, and Ryder 
 was impatient to depart, telling his reverend 
 friend plainly that he did not like to ride through 
 Calverley Wood after dark if he could avoid it. 
 
 " But in my company," said the supposed 
 Ananias, " what can you have to fear ? I defy 
 the evil one and all his legions : trust on me, my 
 son, and fear nothing." 
 
 Ryder, as may be guessed, was as credulous 
 and superstitious on this point as he was fierce 
 and unassailable on any other ; and he acquiesced 
 in all that Brother Fats suggested. Sir Wil- 
 liam was not a man to lose any of the advantages 
 which were thus presented to him, and he found 
 little difficulty in inducing the Club man to stay. 
 He left him for a short time while he went to 
 Lady Vavasour, and informed her of the plan he 
 meant to pursue. He enjoined her, in the first 
 place, to commence the preparations for her de- 
 parture without manifesting the least concern to 
 the people about the house. He promised that he
 
 SIR ROGER DK CALVERLEY's GHOST. 47 
 
 would do all in his power to ensure the escape of 
 Sir Edward ; and he had already done so much that 
 she could not doubt his zeal or his ability. He 
 begged her, besides, to pursueher journey, with- 
 out stopping, to the first stage, which had been pre- 
 viously fixed upon, and which was about twelve 
 miles off. This being arranged, he went into the 
 chamber of Sir Edward, to whom he explained 
 all that he had gathered from the Club man. 
 
 *' There is nothing," he said, *' to be done with 
 this ruffian but by frightening him ; I advise you, 
 therefore, to steal out by the garden-gate, and 
 make the best of your way to the wood. We 
 must needs pass through it in our way from this 
 place. I will contrive so that Ryder shall be my 
 compagno7i de voyage, and shall have much mistook 
 my man if I do not make him aid our project in 
 some way or other. I mean to frighten him with 
 the old story about Sir Roger de Calverley ; do 
 you take care to be near the road, and contrive 
 by some signal to let me know you are within 
 hearing ; you must then keep very close to us : 
 you will know the miller by his white coat ; he 
 rides a very stout gelding, which can carry two 
 for a few miles as well as need be. When I shall 
 say * Loup on' for the third time, you must 
 jump up behind the miller, and spur his horse as 
 hard as you can, while you gripe him tightly. If 
 the worst comes to the worst, and the villain 
 should not be so much frightened as I reckon
 
 48 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 
 
 upon, you must put a stop to his resistance by 
 killing him; but, as the county is full of his 
 friends, this would, at all events, be dangerous, 
 and I hope will not be necessary. If, however, 
 it should, you must do any thing but shoot him, 
 for that will make a noise, and ruin all. Now 
 God be with you!" he said, squeezing his friend's 
 hand ; " away to the garden-gate ; keep near the 
 path in the wood ; and remember, the third time 
 that I shall say * Loup on,' you must be en 
 croupe" 
 
 Sir William then returned to his companion, 
 whom he found recovered from his panic, and 
 giving directions to his men. Five of them Ryder 
 ordered to remain at Calverley Hall, to take 
 charge of and keep the place ; the others he dis- 
 missed to return and take up their posts in the 
 house near the barrier by the bridge, through 
 which they were to suffer no persons, whether 
 friend or foe, to go over after he, Ryder, and 
 the reverend elder, Ananias Fats, should have 
 passed. "And, hark ye," said he to his lieutenant, 
 '' let none of the men get drunk ; — and don't stop 
 me to ask the watchword as I pass : 'zounds, 
 they ought to know my coat if the night were as 
 dark as Christmas. Let me and the reverend 
 brother pass ; you can make no mistake with his 
 black and my white coat ; and, if the parliament 
 itself should come, let no one else pass Bradford 
 Gate until daylight."
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 49 
 
 The fellow made an ugly bow, by which he 
 meant to express that he understood, and should 
 obey, his commander's bidding ; and then mount- 
 ing, he got his company into such order as they 
 were capable of, and set off at a quick pace to- 
 wards the gate alluded to. The carriage was 
 soon afterwards brought round to the hall-door, 
 and every thing was ready for departure. The 
 two ladies bade farewell to the ancient building 
 in which they had both enjoyed so much happi- 
 ness, and with abundance of tears, which were 
 rather shed for the peril in which they knew Sir 
 Edward to stand than because they were about 
 to quit Calverley, they began their journey. 
 
 Ryder would now have set off also ; but the 
 worthy and reverend elder, drawing him back by 
 the arm into the hall in which they had before 
 been sitting, told him he had a word or two for 
 his private ear. When they entered he pointed 
 to a seat ; and, taking one himself, " My brother," 
 he said, " these benighted sinners, dark as they 
 are in the ways of their own conceit, have never- 
 theless certain worldly knowledge, which the truly 
 righteous — such as thou and I, brother— need not 
 disdain to profit by. During my sojourn here I 
 have discovered that within these walls there is 
 a small parcel of a curious and ancient wine ; a 
 wine indeed so ancient that it ought not to tarry 
 longer without drinking, and it can never be better 
 drunk than at the present moment." 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 
 
 Ryder was afraid of spirits— but not of wine ; 
 he had aheady drunk enough to give him an in- 
 clination for drinking more, and he needed little 
 pressing to fall into the proposition. The re- 
 verend Ananias went to a cupboard in the hall, 
 and produced from its recesses two cobwebbed 
 long-necked flasks, the tops of which were cover- 
 ed with that faded green wax which is a thousand 
 times more delightful to the eye of a real con- 
 noisseur than the (zrugo that covers the rarest 
 coins of antiquarian treasure. 
 
 The Club man, although he had never seen such 
 things before, had an instinctive veneration for 
 bottles like these ; and " the divinity that stirred 
 within them'* exercised its influence even over 
 so insensible a clod as he was. The seeming Ana- 
 nias produced a corkscrew, with which he released 
 the cork from its imprisonment of many years ; 
 and the wine, as if rejoicing at its freedom, emit- 
 ted a perfume to which wild flowers and spring 
 mornings are only secondary in the scale of 
 deliciousness. 
 
 Sampson Ryder snuffed up with eagerness and 
 delight the rich and unwonted scent which now 
 reached his olfactory nerves. He already en- 
 joyed it in anticipation; but, when Ananias 
 poured out a bumper of the sparkling liquor, the 
 miller seized it, and, swallowing it at long gulps, 
 his delight knew no bounds : he swore it was the 
 only liquor that a freeman and a soldier ought to
 
 drink, and declared he was willing to fight up to 
 his knees in the blood of cavaliers for such a 
 beverage. Sir William encouraged this temper ; 
 and, by the fascinations of his conversation, which 
 he possessed the rare and valuable faculty of 
 adapting to the characters of various persons, he 
 kept Ryder talking and drinking with him until 
 the night had completely set in, and the Club man, 
 though not absolutely drunk, was reasonably 
 stupid. 
 
 Brother Ananias now pretended to be in a great 
 hurry to depart, and threw out some obscure 
 hints of having been directed by high authority 
 to watch the Calverley family to the coast, by 
 which insinuations he increased his own import- 
 ance in the mind of his besotted companion, and 
 effectually avoided suspicion. The horses were 
 ordered ; and the travellers mounting, Ryder upon 
 his own gelding, and Ananias upon a stout hack- 
 ney belonging to Sir Edward, they manfully took 
 the road. 
 
 As soon as they were at a short distance from 
 the hall the false Puritan began to lead the dis- 
 course towards the subject of supernatural appear- 
 ances. This was much to the vexation and 
 discomfort of Sampson, who did not, however, 
 like to show his terror, or to affront the worthy 
 gentleman who had introduced him to a sample 
 of such Burgundy as had induced him to form 
 the pious resolve of returning on the following 
 E 2 
 
 ^?!;lT.OF^UiHOlS
 
 52 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 
 
 day to Calverley, for the purpose of appropri- 
 ating to himself all that he could find in the 
 cellars. *" 
 
 Sir William went on, therefore, unchecked in his 
 stories about ghosts and devils, and brought the 
 discourse, by an easy transition, from goblins in 
 general to that which was universally believed to 
 haunt Calverley Wood. ** You know, of course/' 
 he said to his companion, " the history of Sir 
 Roger de Calverley." 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied Ryder eagerly, in the hope 
 that his acquiescence might have the effect of di- 
 verting the conversation from this topic. 
 
 Sir William looked narrowly around him, for 
 they had now arrived at the thickest part of the 
 wood, through which their path lay. He perceived 
 a figure behind him, which he immediately guess- 
 ed to be that of Sir Edward : he waved his hand, 
 unseen by his companion, and saw that his signal 
 was returned : satisfied on this point, he resumed 
 the subject of the ghost. 
 
 " Then," he said, " if you know the history of 
 Sir Roger de Calverley, you know all about 
 Loup on." 
 
 * We must state here, for the satisfaction of our readers, that 
 when, at a subsequent period, he did venture upon this design, he 
 was miserably thwarted ; for all the doors of the choicest cellars 
 had been so carefully bricked up, that, not, being in possession of 
 the private marks, by which alone they could be discovered, he 
 was unable to find them, and the wine remained safe in its hiding- 
 place.
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 53 
 
 " No, I don't," said Ryder, whose curiosity was 
 as great as his superstition. 
 
 " No !" exclaimed Ananias in seeming surprise: 
 " then I must tell you that Sir Roger de Calver- 
 ley was, as you are aw^are, some centuries ago, the 
 possessor of this estate. He was a brave and 
 generous man ; had served gallantly in the wars 
 abroad ; and lived afterwards on his own patri- 
 mony, as an English knight should do, making 
 himself and his tenantry happy and contented. 
 He was married to a lady who was as beautiful 
 and good as he was brave and honest ; and for 
 some years they lived in uninterrupted felicity. 
 They had three children, who added to their hap- 
 piness ; and, if experience did not daily show us 
 that it is the lot of mortality to have bitterness 
 mingled in their sweetest draughts, it should have 
 seemed that this couple were beyond the reach of 
 misfortune. A storm of misery was, however, 
 about to burst over their heads, and to involve 
 them in ruin." 
 
 " Well, I know the whole story," cried Ryder, 
 with a little of impatience in his tone. 
 
 " No, you do not," replied Ananias ; '* let me 
 proceed, for the best part of it is in the sequel. 
 Sir Roger had one fault, and a grievous one it 
 was ; but it was one which often accompanies the 
 .best natures. He was inconceivably jealous ; and, 
 although the virtue and propriety of his wife had 
 hitherto given him no reason to indulge in it, he
 
 o4 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 
 
 was himself aware that, if it once should take 
 possession of his bosom, he should not be able 
 to control it. It sometimes happens that the 
 dread one has of doing any particular thing leads 
 one to do it ; and so it was in this instance. This 
 does not happen, it is true, to sound minds ; but 
 very passionate minds are never very sound ones. 
 From constantly thinking of jealousy. Sir Roger 
 became jealous, and watched his innocent and 
 light-hearted wife with an intenseness which was 
 of itself an evident mark of insanity. A spark was 
 only necessary to cause the explosion of the fierce 
 contents of his heart ; and, by her ill fortune, his 
 wife furnished this. One day, at dinner, the fond 
 father was caressing one of his children, while he 
 kept a wolfs eye on the mother; although, 
 perhaps, he loved her no less at this moment than 
 he had ever done. She, in the lightness of her 
 heart, and with a wish to divert the moody tem- 
 per of her husband, which had long caused her 
 great anxiety, said to him jestingly, * I wonder 
 how so grim-looking a father could have so fair 
 a child.' In a moment the demon raged within Sir 
 Roger's bosom: he became ungovernably mad ; 
 and, rising from the table, he roared to his terri- 
 fied wife, * You confess it then, adulteress ! you 
 confirm my worst suspicions ! all my happiness 
 is demolished at once, and hell is broke loose upon 
 earth. But I will be revenged,' he cried — * I 
 will be the dupe and wittol no longer ;' and, seizing
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY'S GHOST. 00 
 
 one of the knives on the table, he plunged it into 
 the bosom of the child he had been caressing the 
 moment before. The mother, horror-stricken, 
 caught the other child in her arms, and fled away : 
 Sir Roger followed her; and, as she entered her 
 chamber, tore the infant from her arms, and it 
 soon fell another victim to his blind fury. The 
 lady threw herself under the bed which stood in 
 the room ; but even this retreat afforded her no 
 shelter from the madness of her husband. He 
 drew his sword, with which he thrust at her 
 several times ; and, at length, believing he had 
 dispatched her, he went down to the stables and 
 saddled a horse, for the purpose of finishing the 
 extermination of his family by the slaughter of 
 his eldest son, then at a school about ten miles 
 distant. An old servant of the house, who had 
 witnessed, but could not prevent, these horrors, 
 rode off at the same time ; and, passing his master 
 on the road, arrived at the school in time to give 
 notice of his intention, and to save the child. 
 Sir Roger was immediately apprehended, and 
 carried to London ; when he was brought to trial 
 for the murder of his children. Upon being ar- 
 raigned he refused to plead, and was, therefore, 
 condemned to the dreadful sufferance of the peine 
 forte et dure. Do you know what that is 1" 
 
 ** Not exactly," replied Ryder. 
 
 " Why, then," said Sir William, " it is this: when 
 a prisoner, arraigned of a felony, refuses to an-
 
 56 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 
 
 swer to his arraignment, the Court orders ' that 
 he be remanded to the prison from whence he 
 came, and put into a low dark chamber, and there 
 laid upon his back on the floor — naked, unless 
 where decency forbids ; that there be placed upon 
 his body as great a weight of iron as he could 
 bear— and more; that he have no sustenance, 
 save only, on the first day, thre« morsels of the 
 worst bread; and, on the second day, three 
 draughts of standing water that should be nearest 
 to the prison-door; and that he should not eat 
 on the same day that he drank, nor drink on the 
 same day that he ate; and that he should be 
 without any litter or other thing under him ; and 
 that one arm should be drawn to one quarter of 
 the room with a cord, and the other to another ; 
 and that his feet should be used in the same 
 manner ; and that in this situation he should re- 
 main until he answered.'* 
 
 "And all this Sir Roger endured, being resolved 
 to expiate in his death, as far as he could, the 
 wrong he had done to his family. If he had 
 pleaded, he must of necessity have been tried ; 
 and his wife and his servants would have been 
 compelled to give evidence against him. This 
 dreadful pain he was resolved to spare them. Be- 
 
 * The attorney had carefully gathered the very words of the 
 sentence, by which this frightful torture was directed, from the 
 old law-books, in which it is mentioned j and thought, as probably 
 the readers will think, that they added an extraordinary dash of 
 honor to his tale.
 
 SIR KOGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 
 
 57 
 
 sides which, if he had been convicted, (and there 
 could be no doubt that he would have been,) his 
 lands would have been forfeit to the king, and his 
 heir a beggar: to avoid this, therefore, he re- 
 'mained mute, and was treated in the manner I 
 have described to you. Being a man of prodi- 
 gious strength, and able to bear great fatigue, it 
 was several days before a period was put to his 
 sufferings : at length, worn out by the acuteness 
 of his pain, and by the tardiness with which Death 
 approached him, he called out, after being silent 
 ever since his apprehension, ' If there be a York- 
 shireman in the room, for the love of Christ, let 
 him Imp 07z;' meaning that he should thereby in- 
 crease the weight on his breast, and put an end 
 to his misery." 
 
 '* Well, mon," said Ryder, who had been listen- 
 ing to hear some new incident in the story which 
 he had not known before, " all this I had heard 
 sin' I were as high as a cabbage-stalk.'* 
 
 " But have you heard, also," said Sir William, 
 who had now got to that part of the wood which 
 he judged fittest for his purpose, and which was 
 near the end of it—" have you heard, also, that 
 the ghost of Sir Roger still haunts this wood ?" 
 
 " 'Marcy's sake, don't talk so hollow," stam- 
 mered the Club man, while his teeth rattled audi- 
 bly together : " don't ye talk about the ghosts at 
 all," he added, whispering, " for how can'st tell 
 who be listening to thee ?"
 
 58 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY*S GHOST. 
 
 *' Fear naught," replied Sir William, " but here 
 it is that his ghost does really walk — here in this 
 very wood ; and I have heard many a traveller say 
 that he has seen him— nay, more, that he some- 
 times mounts behind them, and gallops with them 
 to the river, where he quits them ; for the spirits 
 of hell, you know, cannot cross a running stream. 
 The only danger, besides the fright, from such a 
 visitation, is, lest the traveller should be induced 
 to break silence : then the ghost would have 
 power to dash him from his saddle, and perhaps 
 to kill him." 
 
 " I wish to my heart that we were upon the 
 bridge," said Ryder, whose terrors increased not- 
 withstanding all his efforts to control them. 
 
 •' He comes," continued Sir William, " in the 
 shape of a tall man. — What's that? Oh, nothing 
 but the white stem of a birch. — Sir Roger comes 
 in the shape of a tall man; and, before the 
 traveller is aware, he leaps on to the horse's 
 crupper, calling out, in a voice as solemn and hol- 
 low as if it issued from a deep grave, Loup on." 
 
 At this moment the exclamation of Sir Wil- 
 liam was echoed by another voice immediately 
 behind the travellers — *' Loup on" sounded in the 
 ears of the horror-stricken miller ; and, before he 
 could have looked round, even if he had dared to 
 do so, he felt his arms tightly grasped by those 
 of some being who was mounted behind him. 
 The Club man uttered a low groan ; but, between
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY's GHOST. 59 
 
 terror and intoxication, was perfectly incapable of 
 exertion, much less of resistance. The horse, 
 either terrified at the supernatural load which he 
 bore, or, as our readers, whom we have been com- 
 pelled to let into the secret, may think was the 
 more likely, influenced by the spurs of the new 
 comer, set off at a smart gallop, which soon brought 
 them (for Sir William kept up at the same speed) 
 to the gate where Ryder's men were posted. The 
 night was dark ; but the Club men, who were on 
 guard, knew their leader's white coat, and, ex- 
 pecting the elder to be in his company, they did 
 not offer to stop the travellers, and merely uttered 
 a surly " Good night." 
 
 " The captain is riding his old pace to-night,'* 
 said one of the Roundheads. 
 
 " He rides as if the devil were behind him," 
 said another. 
 
 " Belike he is," said the first ; "and I wish he 
 may stick to 'un :" for the captain was not too 
 much beloved in his own troop. They then 
 closed the gate. 
 
 In the mean time the travellers kept on at 
 speed. Ryder was more than half- inclined to cry 
 out as he passed the gate ; but the caution of 
 the elder came across him, and his tongue clave 
 to the roof of his mouth. Trembling with fear, 
 and almost sinking from the rough grasp of the 
 demon who held him, he saw with delight that 
 they were approaching the bridge. It was a rude
 
 60 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 
 
 wooden structure, with a rail on one side only. 
 The stream beneath was rapid, but not very deep. 
 " Now/' thought the frightened Club man, " these 
 horrors will have an end ;" but he was again de- 
 ceived ; his horse's fore feet thundered upon the 
 bridge ; and at the same moment a loud and 
 dreadful voice roared in his ear " Loup off!" He 
 could bear no more ; his strength and his senses 
 yielded at this last blow, as dreadful as it was un- 
 expected ; the hot breath of the fiend behind 
 seemed to have blasted his very soul ; and he 
 sunk powerless into the arms of his tormentor. 
 The latter, shifting the hold he had upon him, and 
 checking the horse as he directed it nearer to the 
 edge of the water, loosened Sampson's large body 
 from the saddle, and, with a slight twist, tumbled 
 him on to the bridge, whence he rolled into 
 the stream. The cold water, and the terror of 
 drowning, soon roused him from his imaginary 
 fears : he swam to the bank, and got safely 
 landed. Long before this, however, the sound of 
 his horse's hoofs had died away, and the noise 
 of the fiend's mad gallop had given place to the 
 total stillness of the night. 
 
 *' I shall be sorry if he is drowned," said the 
 ghost of Sir Roger to his companion. 
 
 " No fear of that," replied the other, '' unless 
 the proverb fails him : his gallows destiny is a 
 better preservative from drowning than the best 
 boat that ever was built."
 
 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEy's GHOST. 61 
 
 Half an hour's riding brought them within 
 sight of the place where the carriage had stopped. 
 Sir Edward now dismounted, and turned loose 
 the Club man's horse, which was tolerably blown : 
 he then proceeded on foot to the little inn, where 
 he found his mother and his wife, and relieved 
 them from the agony of suspense in which they 
 had been until assured of his safety. The horses 
 were brought out : Sir Edward mounted in his 
 capacity of servant, and Sir William took his 
 place in the carriage. They proceeded without 
 delay towards Hull, which place they reached 
 without any further accident; and, immediately 
 embarking on board the boat which Sir William 
 had engaged, were landed, after a prosperous 
 voyage of two days, at the port of Boulogne, and 
 found a refuge in the chateau of the elder Lady 
 Vavasour's brother until the Restoration enabled 
 them to return to Calverley. 
 
 Ryder, on getting out of the river, made the 
 best of his way back to the guard at the gate, 
 and with the assistance of his men was put to 
 bed, J, when' his fright and his ducking soon 
 brought on a fever, which would perhaps have 
 killed him, but that the lives of such people seem 
 always to be charmed. When he recovered he 
 told the story of his being assailed in the wood 
 by the ghost of old Sir Roger, who mounted be- 
 hind his horse. He made some trifling additions 
 in his own favour j such as that when they came
 
 62 SIR ROGER DE CALVERLEY'S GHOST. 
 
 to the river he threw himself into it, to escape 
 from the ghost ; and that he saw the demon seize 
 the elder, Ananias Fats, and vanish with him in a 
 cloud of fire and smoke. He told this so often 
 that he at length believed it himself; and, as 
 the reverend Brother Fats was never afterwards 
 heard of, there was nobody to contradict him. 
 To this day nothing is more religiously believed 
 by the inhabitants of the neighborhood than 
 that old Sir Roger's ghost haunts Calverley 
 Wood, and will leap on the crupper of any 
 traveller who shall be rash enough to pass it 
 between midnight and cock-crowing.
 
 When the attorney had finislied there were 
 various opinions respecting the merit of his 
 
 story. 
 
 My grandmother said she expected to have 
 had a real ghost, and that she loved a real ghost 
 of all things. 
 
 Elizabeth said there was no love in it, and that 
 a story without love was good for nothing in the 
 world. 
 
 Many other things were said, and still more 
 would have been said, but that it was suggested 
 that the apothecary, to whom the second lot had 
 fallen, ought now to begin his tale. 
 
 The apothecary was a tall thin gentlemanly 
 person, of about the age of fifty. He was cer- 
 tainly the thinnest man that I ever remember to 
 have seen in the enjoyment of health.^' His life 
 had been of that restless unsatisfactory descrip- 
 
 * The attorney, who (although an attorney) was a great wag ia 
 his way, used to tell a story about the poor Doctor's spare figure, 
 which he thought was a masterpiece of fun. Divested of all 
 the ornaments with which the attorney's fancy had decked it, the 
 tale was that a country fellow who came to fetch the apothecary 
 to attend his wife was shown into a room, and requested to wait 
 there until the doctor should be disengaged. It happened that in 
 the same room stood a wooden caSe, in which was a skeleton j 
 and the lout, with that curious disposition which is not uncommon
 
 64 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 tion which makes a man wise at the expense of 
 almost all the comforts which people in general 
 think are best worth living for. At the death of 
 his father, which happened before his twentieth 
 year, he received a very slender fortune : this 
 was soon dissipated in the necessary expenses of 
 his profession, and the unnecessary, but, to young 
 and inexperienced medical students, unavoidable 
 expenses of living in London ; and, when he had 
 completed his studies and examinations, and had 
 procured a license from the worshipful company of 
 Apothecaries and the Royal College of Surgeons 
 to kill on his own account, he made the agreeable 
 discovery that he might exclaim, with Jaffier, 
 " Now am I not worth a ducat." 
 
 This was a fatal blow to the projects which he 
 had long formed, and upon which his happiness 
 depended. A fervent attachment, the growth of 
 years, subsisted between him and a beautiful 
 and amiable girl of his native village. She was 
 
 among people of his condition, opened the door of the case, for the 
 purpose of seeing what it contained. A single glance was enough 
 for him, and he ran out of the room, all the small share of sense that 
 he possessed being frightened out of him. When he recovered 
 himself he returned, and, while standing at the door, the apothecary 
 made his appearance. The countryman's terrors were renewed ^ 
 and, seizing a pitchfork which stood by, he held it out, while he 
 trembled in every limb. "What ails the fellow"?" asked the 
 apothecary, who saw his alarm, but could not guess at its cause, 
 " Don't thee come near me," cried the clown — " Don't thee come 
 near, or I'll break thy dry bones. Dost think I don't know thee, 
 Master SkiUinton, for all t'hast gotten thy clothes on!"
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 65 
 
 wholly without fortune ; but this consideration was 
 no bar to the arrangements of the lovers for their 
 future happiness, while he thought that he pos- 
 sessed sufficient, at least, to begin the world. The 
 conviction of his own poverty, however, caused 
 the young man to see the affair in a different light. 
 He could bear personal privations, but he could 
 not endure that the woman whom he loved far 
 better than himself should be exposed to the in- 
 conveniences and hardships which he, with too 
 much reason, dreaded might attend their mar- 
 riage. 1 think he was mistaken— and I think 
 that every man who should act in the same way 
 under similar circumstances would be mistaken. 
 It is more like timidity than delicacy to shrink 
 from such dangers ; and it is unwise to expect 
 that there can be any felicity in this world be- 
 neath which sorrow or danger does not lurk. 
 " Tis dangerous," as Hotspur has it, " to take a 
 cold, to sleep, to drink ; but, out of this nettle, 
 danger, we pluck the flower, safety." The poor 
 fellow, however, was very young, and this is all 
 that can be said for it: he bade his weeping love 
 farewell, and went to the East Indies to seek 
 fortune by a short cut. Like many other persons, 
 who take short cuts, he missed the road ; and, 
 at the end of four years, returned to his native 
 village not much more rich, but a great deal 
 wiser, than he had left it. 
 
 His absence had caused more unhappiness to 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 
 
 MY GRANDMOTHERS GUESTS. 
 
 his Lucy than all the fancied misfortunes he had 
 dreaded could have brought with them in theij 
 worst shapes. Anxiety, and " hope delayed, 
 which maketh the heart sick," and the want of 
 that fond and faithful bosom on which the poor 
 girl had always before relied, and where all her 
 fears and doubts had been wont to find rest and 
 consolation, had preyed upon a constitution 
 naturally delicate. Mental sorrow had induced 
 corporeal disease, and a consumption had preyed 
 upon her heart like a canker-worm in a rose ; 
 while her beauty became even more striking and 
 touching than before. A very few weeks after 
 his arrival, it was his misery to yield up to the 
 cold grave that lovely form which he thought 
 would have graced his marriage bed ; and to part 
 for ever with her on whom, with an unchangeable 
 constancy, he had doted for years, and in whom 
 every affection of his heart was centred. 
 
 The shock was too great for human strength to 
 bear ; a fever ensued, and he lay for weeks in deli- 
 rium, and balanced as it were on the edge of the 
 grave, in which all his happiness lay buried. At 
 length he recovered ; but the strength and tone of 
 his constitution, already injured by the exertions 
 he had made abroad, were broken for ever. He 
 went to India again, and passed many years in 
 various foreign countries — no one knew exactly 
 where, for he was not very communicative on the 
 subject. When he returned to the village, after an
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 67 
 
 absence of twenty years, he had got rid of that 
 melancholy which oppressed him before, and a 
 placid cheerfulness had taken its place. He prac- 
 tised his profession rather for the sake of having 
 something to do than in the hope of profit, of 
 which he had no need, his fortunes having im- 
 proved in his travels so much as to have ensured 
 him a moderate competence. He administered his 
 assistance to such as required it, and was paid, 
 upon the average, by about one patient in ten. 
 He had not, I believe, much money to give 
 away ; but he did more good than many richer 
 men, in assuaging the misery of the poor people 
 around him. 
 
 He was a great favorite with all our coterie, 
 and particularly with my grandmother : she pitied 
 his sufferings, of the details of which I believe 
 she knew more than any other person ; and she 
 loved him, besides, for the gentleness of his man- 
 ners and goodness of his heart, and — because he 
 could tell stories. He would sometimes describe 
 to us the countries he had visited ; and I remem- 
 ber I thought the horrors he related were worth 
 all that I heard besides. He was a great hand at 
 describing a tiger-hunt ; and the glories of the 
 nabob's courts, at several of which he had been, 
 beat the Arabian Nights hollow in my mind. 
 The tale which he had now to tell was, however, 
 of a more quiet kind ; and he began without 
 delay. 
 
 f2
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 Ef^t ^potji^mrs*^ ^ale* 
 
 Thou Shalt tell 
 
 How thou escaped'st the watch. 
 
 Antonio and Mellida.
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 I WAS on my way from Calais to Paris; and, 
 as I fancied that I was in great haste to arrive at 
 the latter city, I resolved to encounter the wea- 
 ther, although it looked with rather a threatening 
 aspect upon^ne, and the month of October had 
 just begun. It did not fall within my plans to 
 travel post ; and, if I chose, I could give you a 
 thousand reasons for it, all of which your good 
 breeding must make you at least seem to believe. 
 I prefer, however, to tell the truth ; and, without 
 sheltering m^yself behind the ordinary excuses 
 of the incivility of postilions and the ennui of 
 travelling alone, I tell you fairly that the cheap- 
 ness of the Diligence prices mainly recommended 
 it to me. The weather was gloomy; but M. le 
 Conducteur was persuasive, and I listened with 
 a too-yielding credulity (which amiable facility 
 of my temper has led me into many a scrape
 
 72 HOURS OF PERILc 
 
 before) to his oaths and promises " that it would 
 not, could not, and should not, rain for the forty- 
 eight hours next to ensue." So, like a gull as I 
 was, I consented to occupy the only vacant seat 
 (sur Vimperiale) of the top of the diligence, which, 
 for my sins, had no caliche. 
 
 But there is no faith in man — if ever there 
 was, it has flown away, with a multitude of other 
 good things, to Heaven ; — even a conducteur can- 
 not be trusted ; for all the assertions of him 
 under whose guidance it was now my fortune to 
 journey were faithless. 
 
 Soon after leaving Montreuil, where we dined, 
 it began to rain, and continued in that mild in- 
 sinuating manner wliich softens the external sur- 
 face of your coat, and prepares it for the resolute 
 shower which is in reserve to accomplish your 
 thorough drenching. 
 
 " It cannot last long," said the conducteur; 
 and he displayed an umbrella as large as a tent, 
 made of a sort of dark chintz stuff, formerly, he 
 assured me, (and I believed him,) " la robe de sa 
 grande maman /" 
 
 The rain, however, continued with the most 
 uncivil perseverance to contradict him ; and a 
 westerly wind helped to give him the lie — in his 
 teeth. Still the conducteur smoked his pipe ; 
 and, while the wet was by slow degrees making 
 the whole of his artificial integuments like a 
 sponge, (for his umbrella was any thing but a
 
 HOURS or PERIL. 73 
 
 paraphiie,) he chanted one and the same song — 
 I saw him buy it in the morning at Calais — the 
 burden of which was 
 
 " Dis done, trompeur, Yen souviens tu?" 
 
 I got angry with the rain — tired with the song — 
 sDrry that I, too, had not a pipe — and still more 
 sorry that I had taken so exposed a seat. The 
 prospect of passing several more hours in the 
 same situation was as gloomy as the night itself j 
 and I knew, besides, that I could not do so with 
 safety as regarded my health. 
 
 " This" — said I to myself, in the tone and tem- 
 per of a man who has done a silly thing, and has 
 no one else to blame for it — ** this comes of your 
 wise economy, and your no less wise haste. I 
 never knew any body in such a hurry to save 
 their time and their money who did not eventu- 
 ally manage to lose both." 
 
 To quarrel with myself, I recollected, could do 
 no good ; so I resolved, imprimis, not to be ill 
 tempered, and, in the next place, to stop at the 
 first house of entertainment where a bed, or at 
 least a shelter, could be obtained. 
 
 In lialf an hour after I had formed my deter- 
 nation I found we were entering the old city of 
 Abbeville, the pointed gables and tall roofs of 
 whose houses were dimly seen by the street 
 lamps, of which there were about three in a 
 quarter of a mile. The post here is, luckily, 
 also an inn ; and 1 resolved to shelter myself
 
 /4 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 under the Toison D'or, instead of sleeping a la 
 signe de la Lurie, even if there had been a moon, 
 which there was not. 
 
 When I announced this determination to M, 
 le Conducteur I saw that I had lowered myself 
 ill his estimation : he thought me before, as he 
 said, tin hon enfant — one who did not care for the 
 rain. He was sorry to lose my company, for we 
 had been great friends. It was not often (he did 
 me the honour to say) that he met a gentleman 
 who could so well appreciate the enthusiasm 
 with which he told the story of his campaigns, 
 which he did exactly three times in every week 
 to any one who would listen to him. He believed 
 I too was a miiUaire ; ^' and you know, monsieur," 
 said he, " ce qui ce ressemble se recherche, comme 
 disait le diable au charbonnier." 
 
 I resisted his eloquent appeals, and reconciled 
 him as well as I could to his disappointment by 
 paying his fee for the whole journey. I told 
 him, too, that I was unwell ; I reminded him of 
 his promise that it should not rain ; and sang him 
 liis own song — 
 
 " Dis done, trompeur, t'en souviens tu V 
 
 This restored him to good humour ; he was not 
 proof against the charms of song. We drank a 
 glass of brandy together, and parted— he to his 
 post, and I, after having supplied myself with a 
 dry dressing-gown from my sac de nait, to a good 
 tire in the parlour of the hotel.
 
 HOURS or PERIL. 
 
 This room was already occupied by a French 
 gentleman, who, upon mine hostess's intmiation 
 that I was wet, and that there was no other fire 
 then lighted, with the politeness common to his 
 countrymen, requested I would do him the favour 
 to share his apartment with him. I am not so slow 
 as some men in making acquaintances ; I found 
 M. Montmorin a well-bred and sensible gentle- 
 man, full of information, willing to impart it, and 
 able to do so in a very agreeable manner: we 
 wasted no time, therefore, in looking shy and 
 sulky at each other, but were more intimate, and 
 less reserved, in five minutes, than some English- 
 men, who still have a great esteem for each other, 
 would have been in twice as many years. 
 
 It is true I discovered also that my companion 
 was a medical man, but I believe there is no 
 free-masonry in physic; at all events I am sure it 
 did not help our intimacy a jot, for we talked 
 very little about it, and, as if by mutual con- 
 sent, all physic was, on this occasion, *' thrown 
 to the dogs." 
 
 We sat for some hours chatting, discussing 
 the supper, and a bottle of excellent Burgundy— 
 egad, I think we emptied three— until we thought 
 it expedient to retire to our bed-rooms. Among 
 other topics, on which we talked, the French 
 revolution was, of course, not forgotten ; and 
 M. Montmorin gave me an account of his own 
 escape during that reign of terror, which, it will
 
 76 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 be confessed, was so perilous, that he might be 
 justified in calling it one of the most interesting 
 events of his life. I shall repeat it as nearly as 
 I can in his own words : — 
 
 "At the beginning of the French revolution," 
 he said, '' I was a student of surgery in the first 
 class at the Anatomical College of Paris : my 
 family lived in a distant province, and I had 
 come to the metropolis, as other young men of 
 similar pursuits did, first to acquire the know- 
 ledge necessary for practising the medical pro- 
 fession, and then to push my fortune in it as well 
 as I should be able. 
 
 " The events of the revolution rendered Paris, 
 dangerous as it was, a safer place for me than 
 any other in France ; and I thought I should 
 better escape the consequence of the disturbances, 
 which I hated on all accounts, and had resolved 
 not to interfere in, by quietly pursuing my pro- 
 fession there. I therefore began to practise; but 
 my patients were those who were only useful to 
 me for the opportunities they afforded me of 
 gaining a more intimate and familiar knowledge 
 of diseases. They consisted entirely of persons 
 among the poorer classes of the people ; and, 
 although my services were gratuitous, as well 
 because they were unable to pay as because I 
 was unqualified to receive fees, I acquired among 
 them a sort of reputation, and a good deal of 
 employment.
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 77 
 
 *' I was one day quitting the college, when T 
 was met by one of the Smirs de la Charitt, by 
 whom my fame had been a good deal spread 
 among such folks as needed her aid and mine. 
 
 ** Sister Bathilde was a pious, clever, indefa- 
 tigable, ugly old woman, who went about to the 
 houses of the lowest members of the community, 
 nursing and praying with the sick, and soliciting 
 the charity of good Christians for such as were in 
 need of it. She had long distinguished me with her 
 especial patronage, because she found that I was 
 always ready to attend her calls, having, indeed, 
 no other occupation, and being led by a zeal 
 natural enough to a young man. She now be- 
 sought me to visit with her instantly one of her 
 unfortunate clients ; and, without waiting to give 
 me particulars, led me to the more remote end 
 of the Rue St. Honore, where, after turning down 
 a long passage, we ascended a staircase, and 
 stopped only when we reached the sixth story. 
 Sister Bathilde knocked at the door ; but, re- 
 ceiving no answer, she opened it, and ushered 
 me into a room which presented a deplorable 
 scene of misery and want. I was tolerably well 
 acquainted with the wretchedness which dwelt 
 in the garrets of Paris ; and, although I had never 
 beheld any scene of greater horror than was now 
 before me, I was not so much surprised at it as 
 many other persons might have been. 
 
 " On a wretched bed on the floor lay the
 
 78 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 corpse of an old man, whose emaciated figure 
 and rigid features made him look like the per- 
 sonification of Famine. A young woman, clothed 
 in scanty rags, lay across the body in a faint- 
 ing fit. It was impossible, notwithstanding the 
 horror of the scene, not to be struck with the 
 elegance of the female's figure : it was rather 
 above the middle size, and seemed to me, who 
 am in the habit of looking at human forms with 
 a critical eye, to be a specimen of the most fault- 
 less symmetry that Nature ever formed. Her face 
 could not be seen, for it was buried in the bosom 
 of the corpse ; and her long black tresses hung 
 down her half-covered shoulder. 
 
 " 'Blessed virgin !' cried Sister Bathilde, * they 
 are both dead !' 
 
 " I approached the bodies, and, discovering 
 that the female was alive, removed her to another 
 pallet, even more miserable than that which bore 
 the dead body, and, by the application of such 
 remedies as I had about me, speedily restored 
 her to existence, though not to a consciousness 
 of her situation. She was suffering under a typhus 
 fever in its most alarming stage, and, as soon as 
 she was able to breathe freely, broke out into a 
 fit of the most frightful delirium. The poor 
 sister, terrified, but not deterred from the duties 
 of her pious office, continued to weep and to 
 tremble, while she repeated prayers as fast as she 
 dropped tears.
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 79 
 
 " At my request she procured the assistance 
 of the occupants of the apartment below, who 
 were only one degree less poor than those 
 above them ; and they readily assisted to take 
 charge of the furious maniac, while I went to 
 procure medicines, and to provide for the re- 
 moval of the dead body. The latter is an affair 
 speedily performed in Paris, and was decently 
 accomplished before I returned with the potion, 
 which had so happy an effect that the wretched 
 girl soon after fell into a profound sleep. Sister 
 Bathilde expressed her intention of remaining 
 with her until she should be better, or until her 
 sorrows should be ended by death ; and, after 
 leaving money to provide for the patient's imme- 
 diate wants, I retired. 
 
 " On the next day I again visited my patient, 
 and found her fever somewhat abated, and the 
 fury of her madness entirely subsided, although 
 her mind was still incapable of comprehending 
 her situation. 
 
 *' I had made some inquiries of the locataires of 
 the neighboring apartments, who told me that 
 they knew very little of the young woman, owing 
 to the secluded manner in which she had always 
 lived, shunning their intercourse, and declining 
 all the civilities which they had offered her. She 
 was called, they said, Mademoiselle Aubry, and 
 was one of the dancers at the Opera House. — 
 She had lived here for some months with her
 
 80 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 father, the old man who had just died, until, liap- 
 pening by accident to sprain her ankle, she had 
 been unable to attend to her theatrical duties. 
 This accident having deprived her of her only 
 means of support, as the neighbours believed, 
 they thought that the anxiety which it occasion- 
 ed had brought on her fever ; and that famine, or 
 rather, perhaps, the want of such food as was 
 necessary for his situation, had caused the death 
 of her aged parent. 
 
 " At this period of my life I was by no means 
 rich ; but the allowance made to me for my ex- 
 penses in Paris was an ample one, and, as I was 
 far from extravagant, I was enabled occasionally 
 to spare some of it. The fate of this unfortunate 
 young woman had interested me greatly, and I 
 continued to supply Sister Bathilde with the 
 small sums which were necessary for her poor 
 patient until her strength was restored. The good 
 sister watched her with a mother's care, and 
 mitigated, as well as she could, Madempiselle 
 Aubry's grief and horror, when, upon her return 
 to reason, she learnt that her father had been 
 buried three weeks. Her more violent sorrow, 
 however, speedily settled into a wild stern me- 
 lancholy. She did not weep— she uttered no 
 lamentations— she would sit for hours together 
 with her eyes fixed, and her lips moving with 
 the rapidity of speech, but emitting no sound ; 
 while the convulsive throes of her bosom indi-
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 81 
 
 cated the passionate storm that raged within it. 
 Sister Bathilde told me she thought her patient's 
 mind still wandered — an opinion which I soon 
 discovered was too true. She, however, reco- 
 vered her bodily health, and then resmned her 
 duties at the theatre. 
 
 " One day, when she called to thank me for 
 the services I had rendered her, and which the 
 good sister had much overrated, I could not help 
 expressing some surprise at finding a person of 
 her appearance (for she had been evidently well 
 and expensively educated, and was highly ac- 
 complished) in her present situation. 
 
 " ' Sir,' she replied, * the time has been when 
 to relate the story of my shame and sorrow would 
 have been impossible to me ; but I am now daily 
 learning to forget to feel. The world is worse 
 than a blank to me ; I have proved all its worst 
 inflictions ; and, although they have broken my 
 heart, and, I fear,' putting her hand upon her 
 head, as if it was the seat of great pain, * unset- 
 tled my reason, I now only wait, despairing as I 
 am, for an opportunity to retaliate.' 
 
 " She said this in a way which convinced me 
 that she was still under the influence of mental 
 disease. 
 
 " Recovering herself, however, she told me, 
 with an astonishing calmness, that she was the 
 only daughter of a merchant of Lyons, who, left 
 a widower soon after her birth, had employed the 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 whole of the leisure which his avocations allowed 
 in superintending the education of this child, in 
 whom all his affection was bound up. Among 
 the professors of the new doctrines of the Fhilo- 
 sophes, at Lyons, was a distant relative of M. 
 Aubry, a young man of fortune, whose name was 
 Mainvielle. To a handsome figure this person 
 added very agreeable manners, and, under a 
 pleasing exterior, concealed one of the basest 
 hearts that the school of modern philosophy ever 
 formed. This young man, whose visits had been 
 encouraged by M. Aubry because he admired 
 his talents, succeeded in gaining the affections 
 of the beautiful Adelaide ; and when afterwards 
 her father found it necessary to forbid Main- 
 vielle his house, on account of his open and 
 horrid profligacy, she for the first time discovered 
 that she loved him with all the intensity of an 
 early attachment, and a heart filled with the most 
 fiery impulses. It is needless to describe a pas- 
 sion, the most remarkable character of which 
 is, that, while it magnifies and heightens every 
 praiseworthy quality, it spreads an impenetrable 
 veil over the defects of its object. Adelaide 
 knew Mainvielle's faults, but she fondly ima- 
 gined they were the faults of youth and an im- 
 petuous temper. She believed that her gentle'' 
 influence, her persuasions, her advice, would 
 make Mainvielle all that even her father could 
 wish him to be. This error, so common to vir-
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 83 
 
 tuoiis females, and which springs from their in- 
 experience and ignorance of the nature of vice, 
 was the rock on which her happiness was wreck- 
 ed. She imagined that she could wipe away the 
 few faults which prevented others from loving 
 her Mainvielle as she thought they ought to 
 love him ; and she cherished in her bosom a 
 serpent, whose venom withered her every hope 
 
 of joy. 
 
 " Nothing could be more false than her rea- 
 soning ; but she loved — and who ever loved and 
 reasoned wisely at the same time ? She yielded 
 to the impulses of her own heart and to the per- 
 suasions of Mainvielle : she eloped with him ; 
 was deserted in a few months ; and reached her 
 father's house in a state of frantic despair, just 
 time enough to learn that his ruin had come upon 
 the heels of her own. 
 
 *' M. Aubry's commercial speculations were 
 upon an extensive scale, and of an intricate 
 nature ; his personal and active exertions were 
 necessary to their success ; and, as he was un- 
 able to make those exertions, in consequence of 
 the overwhelming grief which his daughter's flight 
 had occasioned, he became in a few months a 
 bankrupt and a beggar. The wretched parent 
 left the city, which had witnessed his prosperity, 
 still, as he imagined, rich enough in the posses- 
 sion of his pardoned repentant child, and in the 
 hopes of assistance from friends in Paris, who 
 g2
 
 84 HOURS OF TERIL. 
 
 had, over and over again, importuned him to per- 
 mit them to make some return for the services 
 which in his prosperity he had rendered them. 
 On his arrival he found (as all men find) that his 
 friends, by some accident or other, were well 
 furnished with reasons that could not be gain- 
 said why they should not relieve him. When 
 he had exhausted his last hope, and was without 
 the food which was necessary to sustain life, 
 Adelaide procured it by becoming "^ figurante at 
 the Opera House ; and upon the scanty earnings 
 of this degrading labour she and her father lived 
 until the accident which I have mentioned dis- 
 qualified her for further exertion, 
 
 " When she had finished her story I expressed 
 the compassion which I very sincerely felt for 
 her griefs ; and offered my services, feeble as 
 they were, to remove her from the employment 
 she had taken up to one better adapted to her 
 talents and accomplishments. 
 
 " ' I thank you, sir,' she said, * no less for the 
 benefits I have already received than for those 
 which you now offer me : I am obliged to except 
 you (and I confess that I am ungrateful enough 
 to regret that I must do so) from the hatred 
 which I bear to your whole sex— I had almost 
 said the whole race : I do thank you as much as 
 I can, but I decline your offer. The profession 
 which I now follow supplies all my wants ; and, 
 while it makes me independent of the world, it
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 85 
 
 also insulates me from it. This is the only con- 
 sideration that reconciles me to my fate. If I 
 owed any thing to society, if the smallest obli- 
 gation could be claimed from me, I should feel 
 myself really humbled. But the world spurns 
 me, and I am thankful for it. I am happy to be 
 proscribed : I rejoice that doors are shut against 
 me, for these things justify my hatred. I live now 
 only for vengeance : the day approaches when 
 Reason shall fix her throne upon the earth ; when 
 Freedom shall arise a new phoenix from the pro- 
 fane ashes of monarchs and palaces ; when Jus- 
 tice shall be the universal law, and obedience to 
 its decrees the compact by which the people 
 shall be held together. Before that day shall 
 arrive Mainvielle's perjured soul will be the prey 
 of the legioned fiends who wait to snatch it, and 
 my father's ghost shall be appeased !' 
 
 " While she uttered this rhapsody she was 
 convulsed with passion, and appeared uncon- 
 scious of all that was passing around her : having 
 finished it, she sunk into a chair — in a few mi- 
 nutes became more composed — and soon after- 
 wards left me. I saw that she was incurably 
 mad, and I perceived that the spirit of the times 
 had infected her with its most poisonous influ- 
 ence. For many months after this I saw nothing 
 of her ; though I learned that she had become 
 one of the first dancers at the Opera, and that
 
 86 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 she had appeared in public as the leader of a 
 band of fanatics, who called themselves the Dis- 
 ciples of Liberty, while she personated the god- 
 dess : she was said also to possess great influence 
 with a certain class of the people, and to be 
 countenanced by the Conventional Assembly. 
 During all this time, however, excepting when 
 she was upon the stage or in public, she was 
 wrapped in a moody melancholy, and shunned 
 conversation of every kind, issuing her decrees 
 to the mad mob who followed her in an obscure 
 and oracular style, which was the more admired 
 by them the less they understood it. 
 
 " Now it was that the events occurred which 
 placed my life in great jeopardy. A relation, 
 who bore the same name with me, had taken an 
 active part in the insurrection of La Vendee ; 
 and, although I had been living in Paris for four 
 years the quiet life of a student, interfering in no 
 way with the politics of the times, the mere cir- 
 cumstance of my cousin being in arms was 
 thought sufficient to justify my denouncement 
 to the Committee of Public Safety. To be tried 
 and to be executed were now the same thing, for 
 this was just at the period when the Jacobins 
 had triumphed over the Brissotine party ; and the 
 former considered the most sanguinary measures 
 as the safest for themselves, simply because they 
 were the most destructive to their enemies. I
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 87 
 
 was apprized of my ill fortune only time enough 
 to escape out of my window while the soldiers 
 who were in search of me entered the house. 
 
 " I ran, without knowing whither, through 
 several streets ; and fearing, as I approached the 
 Opera House, that I might be pursued, I turned 
 into the dark shadow of that lofty building, 
 where I entered a passage, and stood concealed, 
 to ascertain whether I was followed. 
 
 ** I had not been there a minute when some 
 one coming out ran against me. I begged pardon, 
 and as soon as I spoke the voice of Adelaide ex- 
 claimed 'Ah ! is it you, M. Montmorin V 
 
 " In a few words I conjured her to be silent, 
 and told her the reason of my being there. With- 
 out saying a word, she loosened a large cloak in 
 which she was wrapped, and, throwing it around 
 me, led me to the door, where a coach was wait- 
 ing. On her appearing the carriage was opened : 
 we both entered it without a word being spoken, 
 and were driven to her house, where we alight- 
 ed, and, concealing my face in the cloak as she 
 bade me, I ascended the stairs with her. 
 
 " We entered a saloon on the first story, which 
 was splendidly furnished, but in such a manner as 
 strongly marked the spirit of those extraordinary 
 times. The various articles — rich, and even 
 gorgeous, as they were — had the appearance of 
 having been brought from twenty different places. 
 The hangings were of velvet, but those of one
 
 88 
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 side of the room were different from those of the 
 other ; the tables, couches, and chairs, had never 
 been associated until they came together in that 
 chamber : in short, every thing spoke of plunder 
 and extravagance, and would have filled me with 
 astonishment, but that I knew too well the ex- 
 cesses which had been practised by the leaders 
 of the revolutionary factions, with whom, as I 
 have said, I had heard that Mademoiselle Aubry 
 was connected. 
 
 " Whatever her faults were, I am convinced 
 they were the consequences of the cruel treat- 
 ment she had experienced, and of the sorrows 
 which had unsettled her reason. At all times, 
 even when she was most composed, there was a 
 wild glare in her eyes which spoke the unsettled 
 and tortured state of her mind ; and she would oc- 
 casionally fall into fits of abstraction, so profound 
 as to render her wholly insensible to external 
 objects. In all her actions I saw unquestionable 
 proofs of insanity ; and I could hardly congra- 
 tulate myself on having escaped the danger in 
 which I had just been placed, since I had only 
 changed it for so insufficient a protection as she 
 could afford me. 
 
 " We began to converse on the subject of my 
 affairs ; and here she astonished me by the ac- 
 curacy and interest with which she inquired into 
 the most minute particulars of my conduct, 
 and the affairs of my family, in order to ascer-
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 89 
 
 tain exactly upon what grounds the suspicions 
 under which I had fallen were founded. The 
 distraction I had before observed was now no 
 longer apparent, although her eyes had still the 
 same wild, but brilliant, glare. She wrote in a 
 pocket-book all such details as she thought 
 necessary ; and, this being finished, she said — 
 
 *' ' I rejoice to find that there is not the slightest 
 ground for the accusation that you are an enemy 
 to freedom and a new state of society : but your 
 danger is not therefore removed. At this mo- 
 ment to be suspected is to be guilty. The com- 
 mittees act upon a rigorous and a hateful, but, 
 surrounded as they are by enemies of all sorts, 
 perhaps a necessary policy : they order the exe- 
 cution of every body brought befoi4 them ; and 
 their sole object seems to be that the guillotine 
 shall be hourly exercised. Your only safety, 
 therefore, is in lying hidden until the means can 
 be provided for your quitting Paris. How those 
 means are to be accomplished I cannot even 
 guess at present ; but a short period will, most 
 probably, in these times, make some change. 
 At all events here you must remain, where you 
 will be in perfect concealment, and therefore in 
 perfect safety/ 
 
 " I was by no means so entirely convinced of 
 my safety ; but I thanked her. 
 
 " * We have no time to lose,' she said, inter-
 
 90 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 rupting me : ' I must now install you in your 
 new abode.' 
 
 ** I followed her into a boudoir which adjoined 
 the saloon where we had been sitting. She 
 pushed aside a chaise longue w^hich stood against 
 the wall, and, pressing against one of the painted 
 panels of the little chamber, it opened upon a 
 small escalier derobe, which led to the entre sol, 
 or floor between the rooms on the basement and 
 the first floor. We descended, and I found it 
 consisted of two apartments of the same size as 
 the rooms above, but with the ceilings very low, 
 as they must necessarily be from the construction 
 of the chambers. They were comfortably fur- 
 nished, and admirably adapted for the purposes 
 of concealment, having no other entrance than 
 that from the boudoir. 
 
 " ' Here,' she said, ' you must be contented to 
 remain until I can arrange for your departure. 
 My servant, in whose fidelity I can wholly con- 
 fide, shall wait upon you, and I will visit you as 
 often as I can spare time from the employments 
 and duties which press upon me. I can assure 
 you,' she added, * that I am much changed from 
 what I was when you knew me last ; and that, 
 instead of being the friendless and destitute 
 wretch whom your humanity saved from famine 
 and disease, the fortunes and even the lives of 
 thousands are in my hands. Would to Heaven !'
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 9* 
 
 she said, with a mournful and emphatic gesture, 
 ' that I had been called to some other destiny ; 
 but we are all the creatures of fate. Be satisfied 
 of this, at least, that your life is much more valu- 
 able to me than my own, and that I will preserve 
 you at the price of every thing most dear to me.' 
 '' Soon after this she left me, and ascended to 
 her own apartments. Her servant regularly at- 
 tended me, supplied all my wants, brought me 
 books which her mistress sent, and did every 
 thing to render my imprisonment as light as pos- 
 sible. Mademoiselle Aubry, too, came and sate 
 with me occasionally for a short time : her con- 
 versation, with respect to the strange commotions 
 which then shook Paris to its centre, and which 
 changed with the rapidity of lightning, and al- 
 most as destructively, was always so ambiguous, 
 that I fancied at first it was an affectation, for the 
 purpose of impressing me with a notion of her 
 importance. I had reason afterwards to know 
 that I was mistaken, and that she was really 
 deeply concerned in the plots of the party which 
 had just then obtained the ascendency. Our con- 
 versations never terminated without her having 
 in the course of them made some allusion to 
 Mainvielle, her seducer, and the cause of her 
 own misery and shame and of her father's death ; 
 and she did not scruple to avow to me that she 
 would pursue him to the grave. Remonstrance 
 or advice on this point were equally vam : she
 
 92 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 listened to me, but it was always with a fixed 
 purpose not to be swayed by what I said, and 
 with the desperate resolution of madness. 
 
 ** Under the protection of such a person, you 
 may imagine that I was not very tranquil. At 
 first my seclusion was endurable ; I read, wrote, 
 walked about my chamber, and got through the 
 first day pretty well. I felt that, irksome as this 
 mode of life was, still, as it was life, I ought to 
 be satisfied ; and the thoughts of the guillotine 
 helped to reconcile me to it. I began to seek for 
 amusement without my chamber, and found it in 
 watching the crowds of persons, of all descrip- 
 tions, whom, at every hour of the day, I saw 
 crowding into a mean-looking house opposite. 
 I was strictly prohibited from taking down the 
 blinds of my windows ; but I was at liberty to 
 avail myself of the opportunity they afforded me 
 of looking through, which in this instance was 
 quite enough for my purpose. 
 
 " For a long time I was puzzled with endeavor- 
 ing to guess what common cause could bring 
 together so many persons of different appearance. 
 Among them I saw ladies, probably of rank, cer- 
 tainly of respectability, as well as the women of 
 the markets; priests and advocates, as well as 
 artisans and sans culottes ; in short, every variety 
 of character that the city of Paris could then 
 produce, and such as were upon no other occa- 
 sion ever found in the same place. They all
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 93 
 
 approached the house with a solemn and anxious 
 air ; the passage was soon filled, and the visitants 
 took their places en queue in the street, advancing, 
 as their predecessors retreated, slowly and at 
 short intervals. As they went away their appear- 
 ance was still more remarkable : some of them 
 seemed to be plunged in the deepest melancholy ; 
 others bustled off with alacrity and evident satis- 
 faction. 
 
 " At length I learnt from the servant the oc- 
 cupation of the person who attracted all these 
 visitors, and my wonder was considerably di- 
 minished. He was a fortune-teller, and one 
 who exercised an astonishing influence over the 
 minds of people of all conditions. I now ob- 
 served with still greater minuteness, and found 
 that my window commanded a view of an apart- 
 ment which I had not noticed before, and in 
 which M. Martin (for such was the appellation of 
 this renowned Magus) received the crowds who 
 came to consult him. 
 
 *' The prophet was as unpromising a person 
 in his appearance as can be imagined : he had 
 none of the qualifications which one should 
 think indispensable for carrying on with success 
 such an imposture as he had got up ; on the 
 contrary, he was a wretched-looking little man, 
 whose lower extremities were so crippled, either 
 by the effect of disease or by some natural de- 
 fect, that he was obliged to use two crutches
 
 94 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 with which he dragged his mishapen carcass to 
 various parts of his chamber, as might be ne- 
 cessary. He received his visitors sitting in a 
 large chair, and having a table before him, upon 
 which was spread a large geographical chart; 
 and he held in his hands a pack of cards. Nothing 
 could exceed the gravity with which he put 
 questions to his visitors, and who, on their part, 
 were all in that sort of consternation which suited 
 his purpose admirably. When he had obtained 
 from them such particulars as he judged neces- 
 sary to enable him to expound their destiny, he 
 began to shuffle his cards with great rapidity, and 
 to consult his chart. When he had passed a few 
 minutes in this manner, accompanying his man- 
 oeuvres with a thousand extravagant grimaces, 
 he would mutter the result of his speculations to 
 his clients, and send them away, some full of de- 
 light, others in despair, but none of them doubt- 
 ing the veracity of his predictions. 
 
 " When I inquired of Mademoiselle Aubry, on 
 her next visit, respecting this singular person, 
 she told me that he was, beyond all question, a 
 great impostor, but that, like many other im- 
 postors, he had now so long practised his decep- 
 tions that he was himself deceived, and believed 
 very firmly in the truth of his prognostications. 
 
 " * But,' I said, * I am astonished that the public 
 authorities, who pretend to be averse to every 
 thing which is not rational, and, as they call it.
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 95 
 
 philosophical, can permit such barefaced jug- 
 srlino;/ 
 
 " ' Nor would they permit it/ she replied, ' but 
 that it is useful to their own designs. This man 
 serves them as a spy, and as a spy of the most 
 valuable kind, for he is himself not aware of the 
 assistance he renders them. In a room beyond 
 that in which you can see him receive his vi- 
 sitors, and separated from it by a very thin par- 
 tition, is an agent of the police, who takes down 
 in a register the names of the persons who come 
 to consult M. Martin, and such particula-rs as 
 their conference with him may elicit. This re- 
 gister is afterwards carefully inspected, and has 
 often been the means of discovering secrets of 
 the utmost importance ; and which, but for this, 
 would never have been unravelled. Martin, al- 
 though perfectly uneducated, is a man of great 
 acuteness : he possesses in an eminent degree 
 the art of penetrating the characters of persons ; 
 and, while he fancies that he can predict desti- 
 nies, he often provokes them by the informations 
 which he makes his visitors give against them- 
 selves.' 
 
 " * But still,' I said, * I cannot help being in- 
 finitely surprised that so many persons should 
 be found who will suffer themselves to become 
 the dupes of so gross an impostor/ 
 
 " ' It is one of the consequences of these most 
 singular times. The terror which reigns through-
 
 96 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 out the country, and particularly in Paris, has 
 paralysed even the firmest minds, and rendered 
 them all open to superstitious influences. Five 
 years ago Martin's trade would not have pro- 
 cured him bread, and, probably, would have in- 
 troduced him to the Bicetre : now it enables him 
 to keep a handsome equipage, and makes him 
 courted by all conditions of people.' 
 
 *' ' And upon what subjects,' I asked, ' is he 
 principally consulted ?' 
 
 " ' Upon every one that you can imagine to be 
 interesting to any description of persons. They 
 come to him to inquire about lost and stolen 
 goods — marriages, and affairs of gallantry — the 
 guillotine — in short, upon all subjects indiscri- 
 minately ; and, although his predictions are, I 
 dare say, equally valuable upon all, it is upon 
 questions of robbery that he piques himself 
 most/ 
 
 " ' And for what reason?' I asked. 
 
 '^ ' Because he has been most successful in re- 
 solving such questions. It is true he always 
 requires some time to deliberate upon these sub- 
 jects, and makes his inquirers repeat their visits ; 
 but, ultimately, he generally succeeds in point- 
 ing out to them the means of recovering their 
 property, or, at least, of bringing the offenders to 
 justice.' 
 
 " * And how is he enabled to effect this V 
 
 *' * By means of the police, who, upon the first
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 97 
 
 application of the persons that have been robbed, 
 set about making inquiries ; and, when they 
 have discovered the culprits, they leave to Mar- 
 tin the credit of giving the necessary informa- 
 tion, which at once saves them the trouble of 
 prosecutions, and keeps their valuable agent in 
 perfect good humour.' 
 
 " When Mademoiselle Aubry left me, I con- 
 tinued to observe the conjurer's proceedings, 
 and, with the explanation she had given me, I 
 was no longer at a loss to account for the strange 
 concourse of people which I saw hourly about 
 his dwelling. From what I have since learnt, I 
 have no doubt that this man was one of the most 
 powerful agents in bringing about the various 
 changes of the Revolution, by the constant and 
 correct information which he furnished to the 
 ruling parties and to the police. 
 
 " The time, however, began to pass very hea- 
 vily with me, and the irksomeness of my confine- 
 ment seemed daily to increase. I endeavored to 
 divert my mind from the melancholy thoughts 
 which pressed upon it with an intolerable weight, 
 but the effort was almost in vain : I became rest- 
 less and nervous ; I could not sleep, my appetite 
 failed, and I lost all interest in looking at the 
 fortune-teller and his clients. The rooms seemed 
 to have become too small and too low for respi- 
 ration, and I felt constantly as if I was in danger 
 of suffocation. I began to compare the danger I 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 ran of losing my life with the pain of staying 
 longer in this place, which, though it contained 
 every accommodation, was more hateful to me 
 than the worst prison. At length I could en- 
 dure it no longer, and I resolved, at all hazards, 
 to quit it. 
 
 *' When I reflect upon the sensations I then 
 experienced, I am filled with astonishment at 
 them, and can only account for them on the 
 score of the nervous excitement which my danger 
 had produced. I had often before remained, for 
 the purpose of study, in rooms neither so airy 
 nor so convenient as these, without experiencing 
 any such pain : but now death seemed prefer- 
 able to the anxiety and confinement I endured. 
 The absence of Mademoiselle Aubry for three 
 days deprived me of the only solace which light- 
 ened my dreariness, and confirmed me in the re- 
 solution which I had formed. I was only anxious 
 that my flight should not involve her in any dan- 
 ger ; and, night having come, I removed the fast- 
 ening of my window, and dropped into the street 
 without any noise, and, as I believed, unper- 
 ceived. I went immediately to the garden of the 
 Thuilleries, where I passed the night in one of 
 the trees. As soon as the morning arrived I 
 went in search of a friend, on whose assistance I 
 knew I could rely. As I approached the house 
 in which he lived I was struck by the altered ap- 
 pearance it exhibited. I mounted the staircase
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 99 
 
 hesitatingly, and filled with a fatal presentiment. 
 It had usually been remarkable for the cleanli- 
 ness and propriety with which it was kept, but 
 it was now strewed with the most filthy and 
 disgusting objects. I approached a door which 
 was half open, and saw, in the room to which 
 it led, a ruffian, with the bonnet rouge on his 
 head, employed in mending an old shoe, and 
 sitting upon the couch of my friend. I looked 
 over the door, and saw inscribed in ill-shaped 
 letters, and with chalk, ' Le Citoyen Rodier, 
 SavetierJ I could no longer doubt the horrible 
 truth; my friend had fallen beneath the guillo- 
 tine ; and the citizen whom I saw pursuing his 
 avocation of a cobbler had taken possession of his 
 apartments. I turned away sickening and dis- 
 gusted, and bent my steps towards another part 
 of the city ; but none of the persons whom I went 
 in search of could be found. Most of them had 
 fallen victims to the horrors of the times ; and 
 such as were fortunate enough to escape had 
 saved their lives by flight. These disappoint- 
 ments filled me with despair, and increased the 
 recklessness I before felt as to my own fate. I 
 spent the whole day in wandering about, and to- 
 wards nightfall, being exhausted with fatigue and 
 anxiety, I crossed over to the Cite, where I en- 
 tered a cabaret commonly resorted to by the 
 charcoal-porters of the neighborhood. I took 
 my seat with as unconcerned au air as I could 
 h2
 
 100 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 put on, and, calling for some wine, I began to 
 contemplate the persons who sat about me, and 
 whose numbers continued to increase. Their cha- 
 racters and conversation were such as at any other 
 time would have amused me; but now my spirits 
 were broken with care and anxiety. 
 
 '' When I had been here about a quarter of an 
 hour a person entered, who seemed to command 
 universal respect from the ruffians by whom I 
 was surrounded. The new-comer wore the uni- 
 form of an officer of the National Guard : he had . 
 a large cocked-hat, with a tri-coloured cockade 
 in it, and a sash of the same kind round his 
 waist. A brace of heavy pistols were stuck into 
 this sash, and a long sword hung by his side. 
 As I looked at him I recognised him to be a man 
 who had lived in the neighborhood of my lodg- 
 ings, and who had been an industrious locksmith 
 until the Revolution furnished him with another 
 and a better trade. His name was Le Franc : he 
 was an uncommonly powerful man, and had the 
 reputation of being one of the most resolute fel- 
 lows in his quarter. He looked round with an 
 air of superior impudence, slightly returning the 
 greetings of the persons present, all of whom 
 seemed to know him. He fixed his eyes upon 
 me, and slightly touched his hat, which saluta- 
 tion I returned. He then came up to me, and, 
 filling a glass with my wine, he held it out. 1 
 did not know whether he was a friend or a foe ;
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 101 
 
 but I judged it unwise to refuse the proifered 
 civility. We touched glasses. 
 
 ** * Vive la Republique!' said he. 
 
 " * Vive la Republique T I replied, and the toast 
 was immediately drunk with great fervour by the 
 whole of the company. 
 
 " Le Franc took his seat by my side; and a 
 story, which his arrival had interrupted, was re- 
 sumed by a little ragged vivacious vagabond, 
 who called himself a professor of music, and who 
 seemed delighted that he had permission to pro- 
 ceed: 
 
 " ' You all know, citizens, that the stupid old 
 bigot, the curate of St. Sulpice, has refused to take 
 the national oath. Not, however, content with 
 this, he had determined to make his refusal public ; 
 and, in the hope of becoming a martyr, he an- 
 nounced his intention of doing so in the church 
 this day. Of course crowds of people were 
 drawn to see so imprudent and mad a piece of 
 foolery ; and the crazy old calotin had a full au- 
 dience, and as fair a prospect of getting his brains 
 knocked out as any old gentleman could desire ; 
 for among the congregation were many of our 
 friends armed, and who had gone for the pur- 
 pose of preventing any disturbance of the public 
 tranquillity by killing whoever should attempt it. 
 The old curate mounted the pulpit with a very 
 imposing air, and thundered away with a most 
 frightful sermon about the other world, and that
 
 102 
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 warm part of it which he plainly told us we were 
 all destined to inhabit. As he found the people 
 bore this pretty well, and only laughed at him, he 
 began to quit his theology, and to touch upon 
 politics. He commenced a long diatribe against 
 the National Assembly, and became so abusive 
 that it was too much for his hearers ; they began 
 to murmur, and at last to break out into loud 
 threats. The poor curate turned pale, and a 
 great outrage would perhaps have been com- 
 mitted but for a happy thought which just then 
 suggested itself to me. Yes, citizens, it was I 
 who prevented the holy curate from being made 
 a martyr, and changed the indignation of the 
 whole assembly into merriment ! And how do 
 you think I did it ? You would never guess, so 
 ril tell you. I stole into the organ-loft, and, just 
 as the tumult was getting at its height, I struck 
 up Ca Ira as loud as ever I could play it. In a 
 moment the face of things was changed : the 
 lively air rang through the old vaulted roofs, 
 which had never echoed to such a tune before ; 
 and every body was filled with good humour and 
 patriotism. Some wag called out ** Room for a 
 dance !" Immediately every citizen present got 
 himself a partner, and the church looked like 
 a Turkish mosque filled with dancing dervises. 
 The poor old curate was choused out of his mar- 
 tyrdom, and laughed at instead of being killed. 
 Every body went home in good humour; and.
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 103 
 
 without being vain, I think I am entitled to some 
 praise for the ingenious and novel manner in 
 which I preserved the peace of the nation/ 
 
 " A loud shout of applause followed the tat- 
 tered musician's recital, and he received the com- 
 pliments and congratulations of every body pre- 
 sent. 
 
 '* Le Franc took this opportunity of addressing 
 
 himself in a whisper to me. 
 
 '* ' I have had a long search after you,' he said, 
 ' and in pretty company I find you at last.' 
 
 " * I did not want you to search for me,' I re- 
 plied, ' and it cannot concern you in what com- 
 pany you find me. Surely you mistake me for 
 some other person.' 
 
 " ' No, I do not,' he replied, ' and, unless you 
 speak lower, our friends here will know you as 
 well as I do. This is no place for explanation ; 
 but, as we can't go out immediately, I'll let you 
 into the characters of some of these gentlemen 
 whose society you have chosen.' 
 
 " I had every inclination in the world to knock 
 down my familiar acquaintance ; but, besides 
 that he was very much bigger and stronger than 
 I, (and these are, in all conscience, reasons 
 enough for. not indulging such an inclination,) 
 the consequence would have been certain death 
 to me from the people about us : I therefore lis- 
 tened to him as he went on. 
 " * You see that ruftian with the beard, who
 
 104 
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 sits under the lamp yonder — Do you know who 
 he is?' 
 
 ** I replied that I did not. 
 " * That is the celebrated executioner — the 
 owner of rasoir national, as he facetiously calls it. 
 He has great need of a razor himself, as you may 
 perceive by the length of his beard ; and I know 
 of none that would suit him so well as his own. 
 He was formerly a slave in Morocco, where he 
 rendered himself infinitely agreeable to the em- 
 peror, who is said to take great delight in seeing 
 five or six heads cut oflf every morning before 
 breakfast,^ for his own particular amusement. 
 There it was that our friend suffered his beard to 
 grow, of which he is now so proud. To an aspiring 
 mind like his the petty pleasures of such a court 
 as that of Morocco could not be satisfactory, 
 and his merit and his destiny have led him to 
 Paris, where, instead of six heads, he daily takes 
 them off by dozens. You perceive the remark- 
 able colour of his beard : that is produced by the 
 blood of his victims, with which he carefully 
 stains it ; and so well pleased is he with this dis- 
 tinction, that he was seen at Versailles, lately, 
 to draw his cloak up about his mouth, to prevent 
 the rain from washing what he thinks an ho- 
 norable mark from his filthy beard. He is a 
 great joker in his way, and sometimes tells his 
 victims on the scaffold that he will trouble them 
 to " put their heads out of his little window," and
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. iQ.J 
 
 calls the office he performs " a patriotic tore- 
 shortening." I see you are somewhat disgusted 
 with him ; so look at the tall man opposite to 
 him ; who is dressed literally in the costume of 
 the saus culottes, but whose profusion of dirty 
 linen forms a singlar contrast to his nakedness 
 in every other respect. Shall I tell you where he 
 got his shirt? — A few days ago the church of 
 St. Genevieve was plundered, and he carried off 
 for his own share the surplices worn by the cho- 
 risters, which he has had transformed into these 
 necessary articles of dress, and he now wears 
 shirts for the first time in his life. That ferocious- 
 looking woman, who wears a priest's robe by way 
 of gown, is his companion, and shared in the 
 plunder, part of which you now see. The little 
 red-nosed man who is talking to her, and who is 
 so drunk that he cannot speak intelligibly, was 
 formerly a priest; but, when the Revolution broke 
 out, his dissolute propensities and his fear of 
 death made him turn patriot. He has counte- 
 nanced and instigated more atrocities than, per- 
 haps, any other private person in Paris. He has 
 great influence with the lower order of the people, 
 and particularly with the gentler sex, for he has 
 a vulgar forcible style of talking, to which his 
 habitual drunkenness adds great onction. That tall 
 lean man at the other table, whose scraggy neck 
 looks as if it invited our bearded friend's national 
 razor, was a member of the Icurntd profession.
 
 106 HOURS OF PERIL, 
 
 and notorious for the length and duhiess of his 
 speeches : he was called, in the courts Vavocat 
 de sept heures^ because his harangues were of an 
 almost interminable length. He is one of the 
 orators of the communes now, and gains his forty 
 sous a day by making speeches in favour of 
 patriotism and the guillotine/ At this moment 
 the room was thrown into confusion by a fight 
 which ensued between the gentleman with the 
 shirt and the drunken priest. Le Franc rose sud- 
 denly, and said ' I think I have told you enough 
 about these worthy persons ; and now let us retire, 
 which we can do without being noticed.' 
 
 "We immediately quitted the cabaret, and, 
 as soon as we had reached a part of the street 
 where no one was passing, Le Franc said ^ I have 
 authority to arrest you.' 
 
 *' * I am sorry to hear it,' I replied, * but, if 
 you will do so, you must ; I have no means of 
 resisting you, and, probably, if I had, resistance 
 would be of no use.' 
 
 ^' ' Let us suppose I should not,' said he ; * what 
 is to become of you ? — How can you remain con- 
 cealed in this place?' 
 
 " * Really, I know not,' I said, despairingly. 
 
 " ' Look yonder,' said Le Franc, pointing. 
 
 " My eyes followed the direction of his finger, 
 and I saw a building, through the windows of 
 which lights were visible. 
 
 " * There,' he continued, * the Committee of
 
 107 
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. ^^" 
 
 Public Safety is at this moment sitting ; and, it" 1 
 should carry you thither, your existence would 
 not be so long as that of the candles which are 
 now burning/ 
 
 " ' Well/ I said, in the tone and with the feel- 
 ing of perfect despair, ' I can die but once/ 
 
 " * Nothing is more true than that/ he replied ; 
 'all mankind agree that we can die but once ; but 
 there is a great difference of opinion respecting 
 the time when that event shall take place. But 
 now, helpless as you are, tell me, what madness 
 has induced you thus to provoke your fate?— 
 why did you leave that asylum in which you were 
 at least secure V 
 
 " ' I was tired of my prison/ I replied. 
 " ' That I can believe ; but I don't think you 
 will like any better to be guillotined.' 
 
 *' This was true, and I could not now deny 
 
 it. 
 
 *' ' Come,' continued Le Franc, ' I have pro- 
 mised to aid your escape, and I will keep my pro- 
 mise if I can : all that I have said was but for the 
 purpose of showing you the actual extent of your 
 danger, and punishing you a little for the trouble 
 you have given me in looking for you all the 
 day/ 
 
 " ' And pray,' I said, * since we are friends, may 
 I ask you to what it is that I am indebted for 
 the interest you have taken in me?' • 
 
 '' * To your being the friend of Mademoiselle
 
 108 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 Aubry/ he replied, 'who has preserved my life, 
 and for whom there is nothing that I would not 
 attempt/ 
 
 *' * And how did she discover that I had left 
 my chamber so soon V I asked. 
 
 " ' Really, he said, ' yoxxr question gives me a 
 great opinion of your simplicity. Did you sup- 
 pose that any thing done, or even thought about, 
 by you or by any one else in this town, can escape 
 the lynx eyes of M. Martin, your late neighbour? 
 He sent intelligence of your escape to Mademoi- 
 selle Aubry, and she immediately engaged me in 
 your pursuit.' 
 
 *' * Well, and even now,' I said, * I am not sure 
 that, with all your good intentions, you can effect 
 my escape from Paris.' 
 
 *' * Nor am I,' he replied ; ' but I will do so if I 
 can. To tell you the truth, I am heartily sick of 
 affairs here, and shall be very glad to change the 
 scene myself. I have procured a commission to 
 raise two companies of volunteers, who are to 
 march for Mentz on this day se'nnight. If we 
 can manage to conceal you until then, I can 
 enrol you in my troop, and you can go with us to 
 the frontier : once there, you may do as you like ; 
 desert, if you can and choose, or take up the 
 trade of a soldier, and fight against the real 
 enemies of France ; for, however you may dis- 
 like the revolutionists, I am sure you cannot love 
 the invaders much.' .
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 109 
 
 " To this I readily assented, and told Le Franc 
 that I should willingly join his ranks. 
 
 '' ' So far, then, all is well/ he replied ; 'but 
 where to hide you in the mean time ? — You can't 
 return to Mademoiselle Aubry's house : that 
 would not be safe ; and it would, moreover, place 
 us too much in the power of that old conjuring 
 cheat, Martin, who, between ourselves, is as great 
 a rascal as any in Paris ; and that you may 
 imagine, after the gentlemen you have just left, 
 is saying a great deal for him. I have it/ he 
 added, after a short pause ; * I know a man who 
 will conceal you. Follow me ; but, first of all, let 
 me make you like an honest man and a citizen.' 
 He then produced a large tri-coloured cockade, 
 which he fastened into my hat as we walked 
 on. 
 
 *' We went towards the Barriere de VEtoile, and, 
 turning just before we reached it, we entered the 
 house of a man who supplied a large part of the 
 city with milk. Le Franc introduced me to him as 
 a Jacobin, who had narrowly escaped assassina- 
 tion by some of the agents of the Brissotines. 
 
 " * It is necessary,' he added, ' that Monsieur 
 should remain concealed for a short time, until 
 the leaders of that accursed faction shall be 
 guillotined, when their adherents will be too 
 much occupied in looking after their own lives 
 to attempt those of other people.' 
 
 '' Le Nain, the milkman, had the most un-
 
 110 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 bounded veneration for Le Franc, whom he 
 took to be the greatest man and the warmest 
 patriot in France : he therefore readily promised 
 his co-operation, and installed me with great 
 ceremony and secrecy in a granary so well filled, 
 excepting in a space of about four feet square, 
 which he cleared out for me, that it would have 
 defied all search. Le Franc then left me, and 
 here I passed seven days of torment, compared 
 to which death, I am sure, would have been pre- 
 ferable ; and, but for that contemptible love of 
 life which ' sicklies o'er ' our best and wisest re- 
 solutions, I should have embraced my fate. The 
 confinement, and the apprehension I was under, 
 excited again that nervous irritability, under 
 which I had before suffered, to such a degree, 
 that the slightest voices not only alarmed, but 
 actually pained me. That I had some reason to 
 fear you will believe when 1 tell you that twice 
 were my friend the milkman's premises searched 
 for persons denounced by the Committee of 
 Public Safety ; and once, when the soldiers en- 
 tered the very granary in which I was hidden, a 
 bayonet was thrust through one of the trusses in 
 such a manner that the point passed within an 
 inch of my temples. To move would have been 
 to betray myself and to involve Le Nain in cer- 
 tain destruction : the first I would not have hesi- 
 tated to do ; but, coward as I was, I could not 
 think of the latter without exciting a feeling
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. Ill 
 
 strong enough even to overcome my terror. I 
 therefore lay still, and the soldiers soon quitted 
 the granary. My friendly host had taken as 
 much care of me as if I had been the veriest 
 Jacobin that ever cut an honest man's throat. He 
 brought me provisions at night, and used to let 
 me walk up and down his kitchen for a quarter 
 of an hour at a time : to have done so for a 
 longer period, or in a more open place, might 
 have betrayed us both. He had done me a thou- 
 sand little kindnesses, which showed the man's 
 heart was naturally good ; and, if ill luck would 
 have had it so, the bayonet must e'en have gone 
 into my throat before I could have brought so 
 good a fellow into a scrape. 
 
 '' At length the morning of the eighth day 
 arrived, when, if my safety were not secured, I 
 knew that my release would at all events be cer- 
 tain. Le Franc came to me early with a face 
 full of alarm. 
 
 '' ' We shall be ruined,' said he ; ' when the vo- 
 lunteers are drawn out this morning, they will be 
 inspected by three of the deputies. They suspect 
 that you are still in Paris, and they are resolved 
 not to give you a chance of escaping. Your 
 name, and those of two others, will be called out, 
 and you will be marched from the parade to the 
 Place du Carousel, where you will be guillotined 
 without a moment's delay,— provided,' he added
 
 112 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 after a short pause, ' we cannot deceive them 
 But you do not seem frightened* 
 
 " ' No/ I said, ' I am frightened at nothing 
 but a longer suspense.' 
 
 " ' Good !* said he ; ' that desperate courage is 
 of the right sort— come along !' He had pro- 
 vided me with a jacket, a military cap, (into 
 which he stuck the cockade he had given me 
 on a former occasion,) a musket, and a bayonet, 
 all of which he made me assume. When we got 
 out he put on an important strut, drew his 
 sword, and, making me fall behind, he marched 
 up to the barracks, which were formed in a sort 
 of court-yard, near the entrance of Les Champs 
 Elyseesj whistling La Carmagnole with great 
 fervour. 
 
 " When we reached the gate the sentinel who 
 was upon duty had laid down his musket, and 
 was fastening his shoe. Le Franc had been pray- 
 ing, if he ever prayed, for some cause of quarrel 
 with this sentinel ; and no sooner did he perceive 
 the breach of discipline which the unlucky fac- 
 tionnaire was committing, than he darted at him, 
 and. accompanying a dreadful kick with a smart 
 blow from the flat of his sword, he tumbled the 
 poor rogue prostrate on the ground, and literally 
 made him bite the dust. With a thousand im- 
 precations and threats he told him to fall into 
 the ranks; and the soldier, knowing his captain's
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 113 
 
 humour too well to disobey, seized his musket, 
 and joined the volunteers who were drawn up in 
 the court-yard. 
 
 " * Take his place,' said Le Franc to me aloud ; 
 and he added, in a lower tone, ' when the de- 
 puties enter, keep your eyes upon your shoe- 
 buckles, and cover your face with your musket as 
 you present arms,' 
 
 " I took my post at his bidding, and now felt 
 none of the fear which had overcome me in the 
 granary ; for there was a clear sky above me, I 
 had a weapon in my hand, and I knew that, if I 
 must die, I should, at least, not die the death of 
 a dog, nor alone. 
 
 " Le Franc inspected his rascals with the air of 
 a general, dealing curses and blows about with 
 admirable profusion. The deputies soon after- 
 wards approached : one of them was a butcher, 
 whom I had attended in the Hotel Dieu when 
 he had been stabbed by his wife in a domestic 
 broil : he looked at me, but, fortunately, did not 
 recognise me, and passed on. Then the oath of 
 allegiance to the republic was administered ; and, 
 this done, the names of the three victims, my own 
 being one, were called over. Two of them an- 
 swered, were marched out of the ranks, and led to 
 execution. The deputies complimented Le Franc 
 on his zeal, and the appearance of his volunteers ; 
 and at length I was relieved from the horror of 
 my situation by hearing the order to march 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 114 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 given. Le Franc gave some directions to the 
 soldier he had kicked, and at tlie same time 
 winked at me. I understood him, and, as the 
 troops filed out of the gate, I took the place of 
 the sentinel in the ranks, and he resumed his 
 post. 
 
 "As we approached the barrier I saw a crowd 
 of women, at whose appearance, under any other 
 circumstances than those in which I found 
 myself, I must have laughed. My countrymen, 
 upon too many occasions, prove the justice of the 
 bitter reproach which Voltaire has cast upon 
 them ; and even in their most serious enormities 
 they display full as much of the monkey as of the 
 tiger. These women were all, or nearly all, of the 
 very lowest part of the community. The market 
 porters, and those women who go about the 
 streets picking out with crooked nails the un- 
 regarded trifles which lie in the kennels, stood 
 among them, ragged, squalid, and filthy. Pots- 
 sardes and Les Dames des Halles were there also, 
 making an odd contrast with their vulgar finery 
 to the not less ostentatious wretchedness of the 
 others ; and common prostitutes, and inexplicable 
 wretches of all kinds, who were as much a dis- 
 grace to human nature as to the sex to which 
 they belonged, made up the number. Nearly all 
 of them were stained with the wet blood of some 
 recent execution, and their appearance was at 
 once horrible and ridiculous.
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 115 
 
 *' When we came nearer I saw that Mademoi- 
 selle Aubry was at their head : she was thinly 
 dressed in a theatrical costume, bearing a lance 
 in her hand, on the top of which was the bonnet 
 rouge. She represented the goddess Liberty, and 
 awaited the volunteers at the gate, to animate 
 their courage. As we passed she began a revolu- 
 tionary song, to which the women of her party 
 and the soldiers sang a chorus. The latter, I re- 
 member, was in these words : 
 
 * Vous, qui faites tant de victimes, 
 Enemis de l'egalit6, 
 Recevez le prix de vos crimes ; 
 Et nous aurons la liberte.' 
 
 " While she was singing she threw a branch of 
 poplar at Le Franc, and tossed to each of the 
 soldiers smaller twigs from a basket which one 
 of the women held. When I came up to her she 
 stuck a sprig in the button-hole of my coat, at 
 the same time thrusting something into my 
 bosom, and accompanying this with a significant 
 gesture, by which she enjoined my silence. I 
 obeyed; for to have spoken to, or to have ap- 
 peared to recognise her, would, at this moment, 
 have been highly dangerous ; and, after the narrow 
 escapes I had lately experienced, I had just begun 
 to think that my life was worth preserving. I 
 therefore passed quickly on : we marched from 
 Paris, and this was the last time I ever saw her. 
 i2
 
 116 
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 
 
 When we halted I found an opportunity of ex- 
 amining what she had given me : it was a small 
 purse, containing ten louis d'or, and a note to 
 this effect : 
 
 ^ The two objects which alone bound me to 
 existence are accomplished ;— I am revenged, 
 and you are saved. The traitor Mainvielle ex- 
 pired on the scaffold this morning in my sight : — 
 the hand with which I write is still wet with his 
 blood. You are at liberty — may you be happy ! 
 I have but to die ; and, dying, I beseech you to 
 forget 'Adelaide; 
 
 " Mainvielle, with the rest of the Brissotines, 
 had been that day led to execution. I learned 
 that soon after our departure Mademoiselle Aubry 
 was taken ill, and that a violent fever removed 
 her, in a few days, from a world which had long 
 been to her only a scene of grief and horror. I 
 served for three years in the army as a private and 
 a sa non-commissioned officer, during which time 
 Le Franc died in my arms in the field of battle. 
 The enemy were then driven beyond the frontier, 
 and, tranquillity being restored to France, I return- 
 ed to Paris. I there began to practise as a physi- 
 cian, which I have done ever since with tolerable 
 success ; and you may believe me when I tell 
 you that I never reflect, without the most lively 
 gratitude and wonder, upon the chance which
 
 HOURS OF PERIL. 117 
 
 saved me from the fate of so many of my comi- 
 trymen." 
 
 Soon after M. Montmorin had concluded his 
 tale we rang for our chamber candles, and, after 
 breakfasting together the next morning, we bade 
 each other farewell.
 
 It was now Harry Beville's turn to tell a tale ; 
 and, as soon as the compliments which it was 
 thought to deserve had been paid to the apothe- 
 cary's story, Harry was called upon to begin. 
 
 He had been out of the room a short time 
 before, and, on his return, I perceived that he 
 brought with him one of those little ugly books 
 which are often found on the shelves of an anti- 
 quary. It was bound in vellum, with red edges 
 to the leaves, and the covers were held together 
 with two massy and curiously chased clasps. I 
 never in the whole course of my life sav7 a more 
 unpromising looking book. If I had not known 
 the particular bent of Harry's reading I should 
 have thought that it was a collection of ho- 
 milies, or a treatise on divinity by one of the 
 fathers, so solemn and grave an air had this little 
 book. 
 
 My cousin Harry, however, soon put an end to 
 the conjectures I was endeavoring to form. 
 
 " When it was first proposed," he said, " to tell 
 tales, I recollected that I had in my sac a collec- 
 tion of some of the most amusing that have ever 
 fallen in my way ; and I must confess that I have 
 indulged in such reading more, perhaps, than I 
 ought to have done^ and certainly much more to
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 119 
 
 my amusement than to my profit. You, my 
 dear grandmother," he added, turning to the old 
 lady, *' will forgive me for preferring Boccaccio 
 to the * Statutes at Large,' although you never 
 read one of the latter ; wherefore, as the Prince 
 of Denmark has it, ' is your estate the more gra- 
 cious !' and, although you know nothing of the 
 charms of legal pursuits, you will believe that 
 they are not so captivating as wholly to engross 
 one's attention." 
 
 " I never knew you at a loss for some pretence 
 to excuse that vagrant temper which leads you 
 from the studies you ought to pursue to those 
 more agreeable, but less useful ones, by which 
 you will never gain a straw. — But, come, let us 
 know to what this apologetic exordium tends." 
 
 " I assure you, my dear madam," he replied, 
 " that I bow with as much humility as gratitude 
 to your reproof. I will not even stop to remind 
 you of the story my mother tells of an old lady 
 who once set fire to her night-cap when she was 
 reading in her bed-room, after all the family be- 
 sides had gone to rest. I will not even insinuate 
 that there is only one person who wears such 
 high-crowned night-caps as could by any possi- 
 bility catch fire. I will" 
 
 " You are an ungracious boy," said the old 
 lady, reddening a little ; (for the story of the 
 high-crowned caps always made her somewhat 
 angry, if, indeed, so kind and gentle a temper as
 
 120 MY gkandmother's guests, 
 
 liers ever felt what can properly be called anger;) 
 " but, come," she added, recovering her good 
 humour in an instant, and laughing as she patted 
 Harry's cheek, ^' let us know what you are going 
 to extract from that old-fashioned little book." 
 
 *' Well, then," said Harry, *' this volume con- 
 tains the tales of (to my thinking) one of the 
 most amusing of the numerous host of Italian 
 novelists — I mean the worthy Giovan Francesco 
 Straparola. I know that he is not held in the 
 greatest reputation by some of the critics, and 
 it may be true that many of his best stories are 
 not original ; but his manner of relating them is 
 very delightful. I am sure I should be the most 
 ungrateful soul alive if I did not pay him all the 
 encomiums I think he deserves ; for, whether ori- 
 ginal or not, I have enjoyed his tales as much as 
 those of any of his cotemporaries, always except- 
 ing that great master and prince of story-tellers, 
 the inimitable Boccaccio. Straparola calls his 
 collection * Tredici Piacevolhsime Notti,' and well 
 is it worthy of that title. It has enabled me to 
 pass several nights in the highest degree place- 
 volmente, when they would otherwise have been 
 dreary enough. He is, besides, the great father 
 of those fairy tales vvhich the French authors 
 poured out in such abundance, and which first 
 began to appear about a century after the publi- 
 cation of this volume. You are none of you 
 smitten with the true bibliomania, or I could
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 121 
 
 command your veneration by merely showing 
 you my book, and could make you fall down 
 with as much alacrity and veneration as good 
 Catholics feel at the sight of an indubitable relic 
 of some of the early saints of their Church. Our 
 good friend the attorney is an antiquary in his 
 way, but then his are all local attachments ; he 
 loves topographical antiquities alone, and, I dare 
 say, would as soon have one of the editions of 
 1664 as this, the real editio princeps, of which I 
 am the fortunate and enviable possessor." 
 
 " You guess quite rightly," said the attorney ; 
 " but, although I don't value the date of the book, 
 I should like to know what it contains." 
 
 ** So should we all," said Elizabeth, " and Han y 
 may keep his speech for some other occasion." 
 
 " I knew you had not the true relish for the 
 real beauties of antiquity," said Harry •, who did 
 not like to be stopped in his harangue. Almost 
 every possessor of a rare book, or indeed of any 
 other article, becomes eloquent in its praise ; and 
 the first edition of ihe ' Piacevolissime Notti' was cer- 
 tainly both valuable and rare, as Harry had been 
 convinced by the price which a knowing book- 
 dealer of London had made him pay for it. 
 
 " Leaving, however, the merits of my acquisi- 
 tion," he continued, " I must describe to you the 
 manner in which Straparola introduces his stories, 
 and which, I think, is not the least agreeable part 
 of his book.
 
 122 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 " He alludes to the misfortunes of civil com- 
 motion and unsuccessful warfare, by which Otta- 
 viano Maria Sforza, Duke of Milan, was driven 
 from that principality, and compelled to take 
 refuge in Lodi. The duke*s daughter, Lucretia, 
 the widow of Giovanni Francesco Gonzaga, of 
 the house of Mantua, hastened to the place of 
 her father's retirement, to alleviate, by her filial 
 affection, the sorrows of his declining years, and 
 of the reverses to which he was exposed. ^ 
 
 " The illustrious exile, finding that at Lodi he 
 was not safe from the malicious practices of his 
 enemies, collected together such wealth in jewels 
 and money as he had been able to save from the 
 wreck of his fortune, and went to Venice with 
 his daughter, to whom, as she was a widow, and 
 without children, her place of residence was 
 wholly indifferent, provided that it enabled her 
 to discharge her duty to her parent. 
 
 ''After residing in the city of Venice, for a short 
 time, in the house of the renowned Ferriere Bel- 
 tramo, a gentleman not less remarkable for his 
 high and ancient lineage than for his personal 
 valour, his courtesy, and his honorable mind, the 
 duke found a palazzo on the neighboring island 
 of Murano, which was exactly suited for himself 
 and his family. The situation of this mansion 
 was the most agreeable that can be imagined. 
 It was entirely surrounded by gardens, laid out 
 in exquisite taste, and plentifully stocked with the
 
 MY (;RANDMOTHER's GUCSTfJ. 123 
 
 rich and various fruit-trees and llowers which 
 abound in that genial climate. Numerous foun- 
 tains, which were always playing, cooled the air ; 
 and the incessant and harmonious noise of the 
 falling: waters fell like a wild low music on the 
 senses. Statues of rare workmanship were ju- 
 diciously placed in the grove, and added to the 
 delusions of the enchanting spot by seeming to 
 people it with the old Arcadian deities, of which 
 it might have been the worthy abode. 
 
 '' The palazzo was of most spacious dimensions ; 
 it contained a magnificent hall and lofty and 
 elegant chambers, and was approached by a very 
 beautiful marble staircase. Among its other ad- 
 vantages was an extensive balcony, from which 
 the prospect was of the most picturesque and 
 agreeable description : it commanded the whole 
 of the gardens, a view of the bright blue sea 
 beyond, and the scene was terminated by the 
 stupendous city of Venice, which reposed in 
 calm majesty on the ocean, while its towers and 
 spires seemed to seek the heavens. 
 
 " To this charming residence the fugitive duke 
 repaired with his daughter and the whole of his 
 establishment, and in its delightful retirement for- 
 got the sorrows with the cares of sovereignty. 
 
 " The Lady Lucretia, by whose persuasions her 
 father had been chiefly induced to make the 
 purchase of this place^ found nothing in it more 
 delightful than the balcony I have just men-
 
 124 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 tioned. Here she used to sit in the morning and 
 in the evening of every day, enjoying the cool 
 breezes, which at those times brought health and 
 freshness from the waves of the Adriatic, and 
 viewing the delightful and ever-varying prospect 
 which the sea afforded her. 
 
 *' By way of passing her time more agreeably, 
 as well as for the purpose of forming such an 
 establishment as befitted her state (having been 
 deserted by those ladies who, in her more bril- 
 liant fortunes, had vowed to devote themselves to 
 her for ever,) she engaged ten young ladies, 
 fair, virtuous, and witty, to be her companions. 
 
 *' Messer Giovan himself says that it would 
 take up too much time if he should recount all 
 the charms of these personages, and he there- 
 fore gives only a very short sketch of each of 
 them : I shall, however, spare you even his cata- 
 logue of their beauties, begging you, at the same 
 time, to believe that each of them was very rich in 
 personal as well as in mental accomplishments. 
 There were also two matronly ladies, whose 
 good sense and good counsel were to govern their 
 more youthful companions. 
 
 ** To this agreeable and elegant society, says 
 Straparola, many noble and learned gentlemen 
 resorted ; among whom were 11 Casal Bolognese, 
 but I declare to you I don't know who my 
 author means by this person, although he de- 
 scribes him further as the kiu*r of Enoland's
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 125 
 
 ambassador; the learned Pietro Bembo, after- 
 wards the cardinal, but who, at this period, was 
 only the commander of the Knights of St. John 
 of Jerusalem at Rhodes ; the Vangelista of the 
 citizens of Milan, a very able man, and one pos- 
 sessing great weight with the seignory of Venice. 
 Bernardo Capello, a renowned versifier, was also 
 a frequent visitor ; together with the amoroso 
 Antonio Bembo ; the amiable Benedetto Trivi- 
 giano ; the facetious Antonio Molino, or, as he 
 was sometimes called, Burchiello ; the courtly 
 Ferier Beltramo ; and many other gentlemen, 
 whose names I cannot tell you, because the 
 Italian says it would be tedious (noioso) to re- 
 count them ; and therefore he leaves them out. 
 
 ''These gentlemen and ladies were in the 
 practice of making themselves agreeable to each 
 'Other, and of consuming the evenings in various 
 amusements, such as dancing, lively conver- 
 sation, music, and singing ; beguiled by which 
 sports the fleeting hours glided rapidly away. 
 
 *' One evening, when there remained but few 
 of those days preceding the carnival, which in 
 Italy are wholly devoted to pleasure, the Lady 
 Lucretia commanded, under pain of incurring her 
 displeasure, that the whole of the company then 
 present, and which consisted of the persons I 
 have named, should meet again in the balcony 
 on the following evening, in order to hear, and 
 to obey, if they saw fit, a proposition which she
 
 126 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 intended to submit to them for passing all the 
 evenings between that day and the carnival. 
 Every one, of course, promised to attend ; and all 
 of them kept their promise, as people are apt to 
 do when it suits exactly with their inclination. 
 
 " The signora then proposed, in a short, elo- 
 quent, and lady-like speech, which was delivered 
 with such a winning gravity that it ensured, 
 without commanding, obedience, that the order 
 of the evening's entertainments should be as 
 follows : — In the first place there was to be a 
 dance ; afterwards five of the ladies should sing 
 in concert some canzonet of their own compo- 
 sition ; and, this being finished, that they should 
 each of them tell a story — the order of their 
 narrations to be determined by lot : that at the 
 end of every story should be given an enigma, 
 to be guessed at by the whole company ; and, 
 this disposed of, that they should all retire to 
 rest. 
 
 " The lady's proposal was carried unanimous- 
 ly, and, as we should say now, by acclamation : a 
 gold vase was then brought, at the sight of 
 which, I am sure, my dear grandmother's work- 
 box would blush ; and, the lots having been de- 
 posited in it, that which bore the first number 
 was drawn by the blooming Lauretta. She was 
 crowned with a garland of laurel, as the queen 
 of the sports, and after a dance the story-telling 
 began.
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 127 
 
 " Among these stories is that which I now 
 propose to read to you, in compliance with the 
 law v/hich has been agreed to by all present; 
 and I must be permitted to add that this story 
 appears to me to be not only original, but in the 
 highest degree pathetic. It tells of the fate of 
 two lovers, and of' an instance of savage inhu- 
 manity, which was unfortunately too common to 
 excite surprise, and still less horror, in the coun- 
 try and at the time when it was perpetrated. It 
 is, perhaps, impossible to ascertain, and certainly 
 it is not worth while to inquire, whether the story 
 of Hero and Leander formed any part of the 
 foundation of this tale. Its termination is far 
 more tragical than that of the Greek poem, and 
 the incidents which are introduced add to its 
 interest, as I think, in a very remarkable degree. 
 I shall read it exactly as I find it in the text, 
 preserving the meaning of the Italian as nearly 
 as possible, and of course neither adding to nor 
 diminishing it myself. The style you will find, 
 like that of all Straparola's countrymen and co- 
 temporaries, simple and severe, without any 
 other ornaments than the pathos of the story 
 furnishes. Some of those who may hear it may 
 dissent from the uncivil and injurious things 
 which are said, in the beginning of the story, 
 against a passion which every body bows to, and 
 some have no reason to quarrel with. In order 
 to bring my friend Straparola off, I must there-
 
 128 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 fore explain that the story which I am about 
 to read is one of a series, the object of which is 
 to show the miserable consequences which Love 
 brings upon his votaries, and that the author 
 tells it with the amiable intention of guarding 
 his readers ao-ainst the fatal effects of that 
 passion." 
 
 Harry then opened his book, and began to 
 read.
 
 MALGHERITA SPOLETINA, 
 
 rSe ^tutrenf^ €alr. 
 
 If slie loved rashly, her life paid for wrong— 
 A heavy price must all pay who thus err 
 In some shape ; let none think to fly tlie danger, 
 For soon or late Love is his own avenger. 
 
 Don Ji'A 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 MALGHERITA SPOLETINA. 
 
 [Malgherita Spoletina falls in love with Theo- 
 dore, and, swimming across an arm of the sea 
 by night to visit him, is discovered by her 
 brothers, who afterwards deceive her by set- 
 ting up a light, and thus draw her into the 
 main ocean, where she is most unhappily 
 drowned. — Le Notti di Straparola, Nott. VII. 
 Fav. 2.] 
 
 Love, as I find it very judiciously described 
 by the wisest men, is nothing more than an irra- 
 tional desire springing from a violent passion ; and 
 this passion is induced in the human heart by 
 too warm imaginations. Its disastrous conse- 
 quences are the waste of worldly riches, the con- 
 sumption of life and strength, the deprivation of 
 K 2
 
 132 MALGHERITA SPOLETINA. 
 
 intellect, and the loss of liberty. There is in it 
 neither reason nor regularity, nor stability. It 
 is the parent of many vices, a scourge to young 
 hearts, and death to old ones ; and seldom or 
 never does it lead to a good and happy termina- 
 tion. This was particularly remarkable in the 
 case of a young lady of the house of Spoletina, 
 who, under the influence of this fatal power, most 
 unhappily and prematurely ended her existence. 
 Ragusa, most worthy ladies, is a very famous 
 city of Dalmatia : it is seated on the sea-shore, 
 and at a short distance from it is an island called 
 L'Isola di Mezo, upon which stands a strong and 
 well-furnished castle. Between Ragusa and this 
 castle there is a dry and barren rock, of very 
 small dimensions, on which nothing is to be seen 
 but a miserable hovel, scarcely serving to keep 
 out the weather. The inconvenience and insalu- 
 brity of this rock were such, that no person could 
 be found to inhabit it but a young monk, who 
 was called Theodore. He was a devout and holy 
 man, and kept a small shrine of the Blessed Virgin 
 in his cabin, whither the sailors and fishermen of 
 the surrounding places used to bring their scanty 
 offerings. Theodore lived on this rock, employed 
 in prayer and pious mortifications. He was so 
 wholly destitute that he had not the means of 
 supporting existence ; and he used to visit alter- 
 nately Ragusa and the island of Mezo, to solicit 
 charity.
 
 MALGHERITA SPOLETINA. 133 
 
 It happened that one day, when Theodore had 
 gone to the latter place to seek his daily bread 
 by begging, according to his ordinary custom, a 
 circumstance befell him such as he could never 
 have expected. A young and beautiful maiden, 
 whose name was Malgherita, saw him, and, being 
 struck with his person, which was manly and ele- 
 gant, and with the wretchedness of his condition, 
 which was enough to move the pity of any tender 
 heart, she became enamoured of him, and thought 
 it was unfit that so charming a young man as he 
 seemed in her eyes should spend his days in sor- 
 row and solitude. The fair Malgherita suffered 
 these thoughts to take possession of her bosom 
 so entirely, that she thought of nothing but 
 Theodore by night or by day. 
 
 He, who as yet knew nothing of the impres- 
 sion he had made, continued to carry on his ne- 
 cessary trade of begging, and often went, among 
 other places, to Malgherita's house to implore 
 charity. 
 
 Malgherita, upon all these occasions, gave him 
 alms, although she did not dare to discover the 
 passion she felt for him. 
 
 But Love, who soon becomes the tyrant of all 
 who put on his seemingly gentle yoke, urged her 
 to disclose her affection, and prompted her to 
 address Theodore in the following manner : 
 
 " Theodore, my brother, and the only joy of 
 my heart, so strong is the passion which con-
 
 134 MALGHERITA SPOLETINA. 
 
 sumes me, that, unless you take pity on me, my 
 life will soon be at an end. I can resist it no 
 longer ; and if, therefore, you would not cause my 
 death, tell me that your love for me equals mine 
 for you/' 
 
 A burst of bitter and scalding tears followed 
 this passionate declaration. 
 
 Theodore, who had never imagined that he was 
 likely to inspire any one with love, was thunder- 
 struck at this news, and remained mute with 
 astonishment. He, however, soon recovered 
 himself, and, replying to the lady, he displayed 
 as much ardour as she herself had expressed. 
 There were, however, so many obstacles in the 
 way of their indulging their passion, that he was 
 full of despair, and he represented them forcibly, 
 and with great sorrow, to the maiden. 
 
 She, who was of a lively invention, replied — 
 
 " Do not doubt, my love, but that I will show 
 you a way by which we shall overcome all the 
 difficulties which beset us. It shall be thus: — 
 At the fourth hour of the night you shall set up a 
 light in the window of your cabin, and, as soon 
 as I see it, I will hasten to join you." 
 
 " But how is that possible?" said Theodore. 
 " How can you, a timid and tender girl, pass 
 across the sea ? You know that neither you nor I 
 have a boat ; and you know, too, that, if we had, 
 so rapid is the current between this island and the 
 rock on which I dwell, that the attempt to row
 
 MALGHKRITA SPOLETINA. 135 
 
 across would probably cost your life, and must 
 certainly be discovered." 
 
 " Fear not," she replied ; " leave the whole 
 affair to me, and I will find a way of coming to 
 you without putting my life or my honour in 
 peril, and without the smallest danger to you. 
 When you put up the light I will plunge into the 
 sea, and swim over to your rock. This I can do 
 with great ease, and without the possibility of 
 being discovered." 
 
 " Indeed," cried Theodore, " you mistake the 
 dangers which you will have to encounter. Your 
 strength is not sufficient to hold out so great a 
 distance ; you will fail, and die in the attempt." 
 
 " I am not afraid," she replied, " and I am bent 
 upon doing it. I know my own strength, and I 
 can swim like a fish." 
 
 Theodore endeavored to dissuade the maiden 
 from a resolution which he thought little better 
 than madness ; but in vain. He was at length 
 obliged to promise that he would comply with 
 her directions ; and they then parted. 
 
 The night being come, he set up the light as 
 she had directed him ; and, preparing every thing 
 for her reception, he went to the edge of the rock 
 to wait her coming. 
 
 As soon as Malgherita saw the light, for which 
 she had been waiting in all the anxiety of that 
 passion which absorbed her whole soul, she began 
 to put her resolution in practice. She divested
 
 136 MALOHKRITA SPOLETINA. 
 
 herself of the greater part of her clothes, retain- 
 ing only such a garment as would not impede 
 the motion of her limbs in swimming, and then, 
 plunging into the sea, she boldly breasted its 
 tide. She had not overrated her expertness in 
 this exercise, for which the women of Dalmatia 
 are famous, and in less than a quarter of an 
 hour she reached the rock. 
 
 Theodore received her in his arms, and bore 
 her to his humble dwelling, where, kneeling be- 
 fore the Virgin's shrine, they implored her bless- 
 ing. In the sight of Heaven, and accompanying 
 their oath with the solemnities prescribed by 
 their religion, they swore to be true to each other 
 while their lives should endure. 
 
 No human eye witnessed this marriage: the 
 stars of Heaven alone looked on, and the favor- 
 ing darkness wrapped the wedded lovers from 
 the sight of the world. 
 
 Before the dawn they tore themselves from 
 each other's arms, and Malgherita went back to 
 the castle on the island as she had left it, and 
 reached her chamber undiscovered. As often as 
 the close of the day came did she again swim to 
 the barren rock, which was now a paradise to 
 her; and here she passed the long nights in the 
 society of her beloved Theodore. 
 
 At length it happened that, as she was swim- 
 ming to the rock one night, a fog arose, which 
 prevented her from seeing the light quite clearly.
 
 MALGHERITA SPOLETINA. 137 
 
 and drove her out of her course, so that she was 
 seen by some fishermen, who were pursuing their 
 occupation. At first they took her for a large fish ; 
 but, looking more closely, they found she was a 
 woman, and they then watched her until she 
 reached the rock, where they saw her land, and 
 enter Theodore's cabin. This, however, did not 
 diminish their astonishment. They staid near the 
 rock until she returned ; and then, marking the 
 course she took homeward, they rowed after her, 
 and, in spite of all her precautions, they disco- 
 vered who she was. 
 
 These poor fellows at first had no intention of 
 betraying the secret with which they had thus ac- 
 cidentally become acquainted ; but afterwards, 
 when they came to discuss the matter, and to 
 think of the disgrace which must ultimately be 
 brought upon a respectable family if it were not 
 put a stop to, as well as of the nightly peril in 
 which the young girl's life was placed, they re- 
 solved they would disclose all that they knew. 
 They therefore went to the house of Malgherita, 
 and, asking to see her brothers, the fishermen 
 told the young men every particular that they 
 had seen. 
 
 The brothers heard this fatal intelligence with 
 great emotion. At first they could not believe it, 
 and proposed, before they gave credit to it, that 
 they should have the evidence of their own eyes ; 
 but, after examining again the fishermen, and
 
 138 MALGHERITA SPOLETINA. 
 
 making inquiries in their own house, they were 
 too well convinced of its truth in all respects. 
 They then consulted together as to the best 
 means of putting their unhappy sister to death 
 without delay, but in such a manner as to con- 
 ceal the disgrace which she had brought upon 
 their name. At length they agreed upon an ex- 
 pedient, which was immediately put in execu- 
 tion. 
 
 The youngest of the three brothers at night- 
 fall got into a boat, and rowed quickly, and as if 
 clandestinely, to the rock where Theodore dwelt. 
 When he arrived there he told the hermit who he 
 was, and besought him to give him a lodging for 
 the night, alleging, as a reason for his request, 
 that he had been engaged in an affair which had 
 terminated unfortunately ; that, for the share he 
 had taken in it, his life was forfeited to the laws of 
 the land ; and that, if he should be seized, he must 
 inevitably die. 
 
 Theodore, who was delighted with an oppor- 
 tunity of being useful to a brother of Malghe- 
 rita's, received him with the utmost cordiality. 
 He put before him the best fare his hovel afford- 
 ed, and sat up the whole of the night conversing 
 with him. 
 
 In the mean time, and while the younger bro- 
 ther wholly occupied the attention of Theodore, 
 the other two, as soon as the night had quite 
 closed in, went out of their house secretly, and.
 
 MALGHERITA SPOLETINA. 139 
 
 embarking on board a small sailing-boat, having 
 first provided themselves with a torch, they di- 
 rected their course towards the rock. When 
 they reached it they made fast the boat, and 
 then fixed the light they had brought with them 
 to the top of the mast in such a manner that it 
 was sure to be seen by their hapless sister, whom 
 they had left on the island of Mezo. 
 
 Their design succeeded ; — the courageous girl, 
 as soon as she saw the accustomed sisfnal of the 
 light, threw herself boldly into the sea, and swam 
 towards it. 
 
 The brothers, upon hearing the noise which 
 Malgherita's swimming made in the water, 
 loosened their boat, and, taking up their oars, 
 they rowed slowly and silently from the rock to- 
 wards the main sea, the light still being fixed up 
 against the mast. 
 
 The luckless girl, who, owing to the darkness 
 of the night, could see nothing but the light, 
 which to her had always, hitherto, been a favor- 
 ing as well as a guiding star, followed it without 
 hesitation, and did not perceive that it changed 
 its place. The brothers, in the mean time, never 
 ceased to row on ; and their vessel proceeded as 
 steadily and as fatally as the f(k>tsteps of Death. 
 At length, having arrived at the deep ocean, they 
 on a sudden extinguished the torch. 
 
 Malgherita, when she lost sight of the lights 
 was in utter confusion and despair : she did not
 
 140 MALGHERITA SPOLETINA. 
 
 know where she was, or what she could do ; her 
 strength began to fail, from the long exercise she 
 had taken ^ and, finding she was far beyond the 
 reach of any human help, she abandoned herself 
 to her evil destiny, and her delicate body was 
 swallowed up, like a wrecked vessel, by the re- 
 morseless and devouring sea. 
 
 The elder brothers, satisfied with the result of, 
 their savage scheme, returned home to the island. 
 The youngest, when the day appeared, repeated 
 his thanks to Theodore for the asylum he had 
 afforded him, and departed soon afterwards. 
 The news was spread about, first through the 
 castle, and afterwards all over the island, that 
 Malgherita Spoletina was nowhere to be found. 
 The hypocritical and sanguinary brothers affected 
 to be greatly afflicted at this event, which they 
 had themselves caused, and at which they were 
 infinitely rejoiced. 
 
 On the third day after this most unhappy lady's 
 fatal death her body was cast by the sea upon 
 Theodore's rock. The wretched man was walk- 
 ing along the narrow shore, meditating, and en- 
 deavoring to guess what fatal accident had de- 
 prived him of his tender Malgherita, when her 
 dead body was washed to his feet. The mo- 
 ment his eyes fell upon it he recognised it, and 
 his horror was so great as almost to deprive him 
 of life. 
 
 At length, summoning up his courage as well
 
 MALGHERITA SPOLETINA. 141 
 
 as he was able, he took hold of the inanimate 
 body, and drew it out of the water, and carried it 
 into his hovel. His grief now became uncon- 
 trollable ; he cast himself upon the corpse, and 
 kissed the pale lips, lamenting and mourning, 
 while the rapid tears fell from his eyes upon her 
 heavenly bosom, as white— and now as cold — as 
 the mountain snow. He called upon her in vain, 
 and the echo of his desolate abode repeated his 
 passionate exclamations. 
 
 When his grief (by being indulged unchecked) 
 had spent itself, he thought of the necessity of 
 performing the last rites of sepulture to his be- 
 loved Malgherita. He took the spade with which 
 he usually labored in his little garden, and dug 
 a grave near his hovel : then, with many tears, he 
 closed those eyes and that mouth — once his great- 
 est joy and pride, now dimmed and cold in 
 death — and made a garland of roses and violets, 
 which he put upon her head. This being done, 
 he kissed her for the last time, laid her in the 
 grave and covered her with earth.
 
 *' There," said Harry, as he closed his book, 
 •* my story is at an end ; and I see, by the redness 
 of some of the eyes about me, that it has had 
 its usual effect." 
 
 *' It is a very melancholy, but, at the same time, 
 I think, a very disagreeable story," said Elizabeth. 
 
 ** I think so too," said the attorney; "and, 
 although I have no objection to people's in- 
 dulging their feelings in any way they like, I am 
 almost vexed at seeing them cry at this tale." 
 
 *' Why so ?" asked Harry. 
 
 " Because I think that neither Malgherita nor 
 Theodore, in their own characters, ought to 
 excite one's sympathy. The one is a bold virago ; 
 and the other is a rogue and vagabond, who lives 
 on a rock for the purpose of extorting money 
 fi'om charitably-disposed persons. The young 
 lady falls in love with him in a manner perfectly 
 unheard of, and swims to him every night in such 
 a way as is at least improbable, if not something 
 more." 
 
 "Oh! if it is only the improbability you com- 
 plain of, I should not value your objections in 
 this respect so highly as I do in general. You for- 
 get that the scene is laid at a time when tlie man-
 
 MY GRANDMOTHER S GUESTS. 143 
 
 ners and customs of society were very different 
 from those of the present day ; and Dalmatia, you 
 know, was not a very refined place. But, though 
 manners change, human beings and human pas- 
 sions remain still the same. You do not object to 
 the improbability of the tale of Hero and Leander ; 
 and yet the strait at Ragusa, where the action of 
 my story passes, is much narrower than the Helles- 
 pont; while my lady has only to swim half of that 
 diminished distance. But the real ground of your 
 objection, I believe, is the homeliness of the cha- 
 racters : this I take to be the great art of the story- 
 teller. He has been able, out of very rude ma- 
 terials, to make a tale which draws the tears from 
 any one who hears it, and has continued to do so 
 for now nearly three hundred years. Even you 
 can't deny that I saw you steal the back of your 
 hand across your eyes, towards the end of the 
 story ; and they look a little watery even now." 
 
 " Pshaw !" said the attorney^ " I have a bad 
 cold." 
 
 " No matter," said Harry, " I maintain that 
 the plot is a good plot. A modern romance- 
 writer, with a dash of his pen, would so dress up 
 the hero and the heroine, that you should confess 
 they were quite delightful people : even Eliza- 
 beth herself would not have a word to say 
 against them ; and you, who now abuse, would 
 be the first to pity and praise them. I con- 
 tend again that this tale contains the mate-
 
 144 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 rials for one of the most affecting and powerful 
 tales of star-crossed passion that ever I read in 
 my life ; and for this reason I am obliged to vin- 
 dicate my little friend in the vellum binding." 
 
 '* It is, as you say, Harry," interposed my grand- 
 mother, " a very pathetic story ; and, although I by 
 no means agree with you in the very warm praises 
 you have lavished upon Straparola — whose works 
 I know very well, though I have not so rare an 
 edition as you have been boasting of — I am ready 
 to confess that this tale alone would exempt him 
 from the censures he often deserves. The last part 
 is exquisitely touching ; I mean from Theodore's 
 discovering the body of his mistress — his lamenta- 
 tions over her — the incident of his preparing her 
 grave — his closing her eyes and mouth— his 
 making a garland of violets and roses, and then 
 kissing her as he lays the body in the grave and 
 covers it — are as powerful and as moving as any I 
 remember, excepting, perhaps, the catastrophe of 
 the old ballad of the ' Children in the Wood.'— 
 But, however, to leave this for a moment, let me 
 ask you, Harry, if you really mean to offer this 
 as your story." 
 
 *' Oh, certainly I do," replied Harry ; *' and I 
 shall not be quite certain, until I have heard the 
 whole company out, that it is not the best we 
 shall have." 
 
 " We will not lose time in debating this point," 
 said my grandmother ; '* but I shall at once put it
 
 My grandmotuer^s guests. 145 
 
 to the vote whether to read a story from a book 
 can be called a compliance with the regulations 
 we have all agreed to." 
 
 '* By no means/' cried every one present ; for 
 the prospect of making Harry tell two stories in- 
 stead of one was universally agreeable. 
 
 It was in vain that he remonstrated upon the 
 ground that a translation was as good as an origi- 
 nal story : he was unanimously condemned, and 
 his judges were too much interested in the doom 
 to relax a jot of their sentence. 
 
 *' As you are not quite ready to begin, perhaps," 
 said my grandmother, " and as it is my turn next, 
 I will go on; and in the mean time you may pre- 
 pare. I cannot, however, resist this opportunity 
 of pointing out to you another illustration of a 
 maxim I have often endeavored to enforce upon 
 you — that * lazy folks always take the most 
 pains.' " 
 
 The old lady then began as follows : — 
 
 VOL. 1.
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 Mv ^tmt!imomv*0 cal^* 
 
 My cloake it was a very good cloake, 
 
 Itt hath beene always true to the weare ; 
 
 But now it is not worth a groat — 
 I have had it four-and-forty yeare. 
 
 Old S()N( 
 
 l2
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 The bells of the little city of Birling did not 
 ring every day, nor upon any but really import- 
 ant occasions. The cause which produced so 
 merry a peal from them at the period when this 
 tale begins was nothing less than the election 
 of a new magistrate. 
 
 M. Wiesel, upon whom the civic promotion 
 had just been conferred, was a practitioner of the 
 law, and had, by the regularity of his conduct 
 for some years, commanded the respect of his 
 fellow-citizens. The moment had at length 
 arrived when he was to reap the reward of his 
 meritorious exertions, and to receive an un- 
 equivocal mark of the esteem of his neighbours, 
 by being elected a member of the senatorial body 
 by which the affairs of the city were governed. 
 It is true Birling was one of the very smallest 
 cities of one of the very smallest provinces of
 
 150 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 Germany : but still it was a city, and its senate 
 was composed of real senators ; and as it is 
 something to be a senator of a city, though it be 
 never so small a one, the advocate was highly de- 
 lighted at this accession to his consequence. 
 
 The choice of the council had just been 
 announced, and the worthy burgher who had the 
 custody of the bell-tower had set his myrmidons 
 to work, in anticipation of the bounty of the new 
 senator, whose success he thus loudly published 
 to the world, or, to speak at once more modestly 
 and more properly, to the good folks of the city 
 of Birling. The council was breaking up ; and 
 the steps of the town-hall were covered by the 
 worthy politicians of the burgh, who, according 
 to their various opinions or interests, approved 
 or censured the election of their superiors. 
 
 M. Wiesel went home in that sort of com- 
 fortable good temper which, when their wishes 
 are accomplished, is apt to be generated even 
 in the minds of men who are not always ami- 
 able. He announced his new rank to his 
 gentle and handsome wife with more urbanity 
 than he was wont to display. Before she had 
 time either to reply or to congratulate him upon 
 this event, which was only agreeable to her 
 because she saw that it gave him pleasure, the 
 town-clerk entered the room. 
 
 Waldau was one of the kindest and most sin- 
 gle-hearted creatures in the whole world. He
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK, 151 
 
 had been M. Wiesel's schoolfellow, and had lived 
 with him, from the days of their boyhood to the 
 present time, on terms of the strictest and most 
 familiar acquaintance. Now, however, that M. 
 Wiesel had become a senator, while he remained 
 only a town-clerk, poor Waldau thought that 
 affairs were very much altered. He knew too 
 well what belonged to the dignity of the office to 
 fail in any of the respect which was due to a 
 senator; and he approached him to pay, in 
 what he considered the most polite and proper 
 manner, his congratulations to his new su- 
 perior. 
 
 " How d'ye do, Waldau?" said the senator, 
 with a patronising air. 
 
 Waldau replied with a speech which he had 
 prepared for the occasion, the half of which, at 
 least, was composed of law terms and technical 
 phrases. 
 
 " And after all this, Waldau," said M. Wiesel, 
 " sit down, and let us taste some wine. Com- 
 mendations, as my father used to say, make one's 
 throat insufferably dry." 
 
 *' Many thanks to you," replied Waldau, " but 
 at present I must decline your hospitality : time 
 presses ; to-morrow, at day-break, ante liicem, I 
 must away to the residenz, whither I am sent on 
 business for the city. Will i/our ivorship honour 
 me with any orders or commissions ?" 
 
 " Of orders, Waldau, it will be time enougrh
 
 152 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 to think when I shall have taken my seat as a 
 senator, and shall have a right to give them : and 
 as to commissions, I think I will not trouble you 
 vrith any; for though they seem, when they are 
 undertaken, as light as feathers, I know they 
 prove as heavy as lead when they come to be 
 executed." 
 
 *' But not between old friends, as we are," said 
 Waldau, whose newly-excited respect was wear- 
 ing off in the warmth of conversation ; " no fear 
 that any thing which may serve you can prove 
 burdensome to me." 
 
 " Well then," replied the senator, " since you 
 offer so kindly, I think I will trouble you with a 
 letter, which you will oblige me by delivering 
 personally. You are an intelligent person, ray 
 dear Waldau ; and you will be able to read in the 
 eyes of my brother, to whom this letter is ad- 
 dressed, the answer which he may make to it." 
 
 " Your brother ! What, Maurice ? — is Maurice 
 then alive?" asked the town-clerk, in a joyful 
 tone. 
 
 " He is alive," replied Wiesel, coldly ; " and, 
 what is more, he is now living at the residenz. 
 This same Maurice, of whom we have heard no- 
 thing for ten years past, and whom we all 
 thought lay buried in the depths of the ocean, 
 has suddenly come to life — roused, I suppose, by 
 the news of his father's death. He has written 
 to me a long letter full of complaints ; the bur-
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 153 
 
 den of which is, that he is in great distress, and 
 wants money. Now I know the world too well 
 not to see that under this seeming petition for 
 assistance is couched a real claim for what he 
 thinks himself entitled to under a distribution of 
 his father's estate. To this I have to reply, ' It is 
 true, Maurice, that our father is dead, but he has 
 left nothing behind him : it is true that he was 
 thought to possess some property, but, unfor- 
 tunately, I know not where to find it. Perhaps 
 his habitual distrust may have induced him to 
 conceal it, and his death, which was sudden, pre- 
 vented him from disclosing; the secret of its 
 hiding-place. At all events, Maurice this is a 
 piece of very ill fortune for both of us, and more 
 particularly for you, unless you have reformed 
 your conduct.' In short, Waldau, I have ex- 
 plained to Maurice that our father's death has 
 left me, as well as himself, no richer than we were 
 before ; and, for his further satisfaction, I have en- 
 closed him copies of the documents relating to the 
 affair. There they are — the probate, the letters 
 testamentary, the inventory, and all the rest, with 
 which you are as well acquainted as I, or, per- 
 haps, still better, for some of them are in your 
 own handwriting." 
 
 '* My hand played me false," said Waldau, *' if 
 it wrote aught that could give pain to poor 
 Maurice ; but yours, senator ! yours will not 
 add to his affliction. Come, F know you are a
 
 154 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 strict man ; I know that you respect and practise 
 forms upon all proper occasions ; but I know, too, 
 that you have a kind heart. If you have thought 
 it necessary to lay before your brother a regular 
 statement of your father's testamentary aflFairs, 
 I am sure you have added some words of con- 
 solation — something affectionate, by way of post- 
 script. Come, is it not so, senator ?" 
 
 M. Wiesel shook his head. 
 
 " Why, zounds, man ! then," said Waldau, for- 
 getting, in the warmth of his heart, the dignity of 
 his old friend, " you would not have me the 
 bearer of such a letter to your brother — to poor 
 Maurice. Your brother ! he's my brother as 
 well. Did we not grow up together ? have we 
 not laughed together, cried together, learnt our 
 lessons together, played truant together, and 
 been flogged together ? — nay, more, have we not 
 been flogged for each other ?" 
 
 The town- clerk's voice faltered, and his eyes 
 filled with tears, as the memory of his youthful 
 friendship for poor Maurice came into his mind, 
 along with a thousand other tender recollections. 
 
 Madame Wiesel, who had at first smiled at 
 Waldau's vehemence, now wept also. Maurice 
 had always been her favorite; the severity of his 
 father, the old M. Wiesel, had driven him from 
 home, in consequence of some youthful irregu- 
 larities, neither so many nor so heinous as to 
 deprive him of the affection of his friends, in
 
 ' THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 155 
 
 which number were included all the young peo- 
 ple of the town. Madame's heart was stored with 
 kindly feelings, and the unlucky but good- 
 hearted Maurice had ever been one of the few 
 persons whom she warmly loved. 
 
 To conceal her emotion, and to give a turn to 
 the conversation, which had now become rather 
 painful, and was on a subject which had already 
 occasioned more than one domestic difference 
 between herself and her husband, she asked 
 Waldau how he meant to travel. 
 
 Waldau was not sorry to change the subject; 
 and, as he knew of what stern and cold materials 
 the senator's heart was made, he regretted that his 
 feelings had betrayed him into any emotion. 
 '' Yonder," said he, with an ironical gravity, 
 " stands my travelling chariot ;" and he pointed to 
 the post-house which stood opposite to the 
 window, and in the front of which was a long 
 covered waggon. " That is the conveyance, at 
 once swift and convenient, by which I am to 
 perform my journey to the residenz. You smile : 
 why, surely, you would not have me travel post — 
 me, whose poverty is at least as well known as 
 my name — when the senators themselves do not 
 indulge in the luxury of posting. Besides, I am 
 going on an errand which requires a modest 
 style of travelling. My business is to procure 
 the reduction of a tax which our miserable town 
 cannot afford to pay."
 
 156 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 " That same poverty seems indeed to be the 
 common lot of us all. But you, my poor Wal- 
 dau, are still more to be pitied, on account of the 
 large family of relations who depend entirely 
 on you for support; and, now that your pro- 
 posed marriage with the councillor's niece is 
 broken off" 
 
 " Ah ! no more of that, I beseech you, dear 
 Madame : spare my feelings. To be jilted is a 
 man's fate, but he does not like always to be told 
 of it. I am forgetting her very rapidly, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " That's easily said, Waldau," cried the se- 
 nator, " and I don't blame you for putting a 
 good face upon your disappointment ; but I think 
 you won't forget her fortune so soon as the 
 fickle fair." As he spoke he looked rather ma- 
 liciously at Waldau's threadbare coat, some of 
 the buttons of which had been as faithless as his 
 mistress, and had deserted it. The poor town- 
 clerk's coat was, in fact, one of that sort at which 
 every man who wears a better has a prescriptive 
 right to sneer. 
 
 Madame interposed her gentle voice. " Dear 
 Waldau," said she, " I hope your travelling dress 
 is thicker and better than this : the north wind, 
 which has just set in from the mountains, will 
 cut through a coat like yours." 
 
 " Really," replied Waldau, " I don't mind, 
 among friends, confessing the scantiness of my
 
 > THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 157 
 
 wardrobe ; and, to tell the truth, this is the only 
 eoat I have in the world. I had a cloak, but I 
 have given it to my poor old grandmother, who is 
 confined to her arm-chair with the rheumatism, 
 and who stood in great need of something warm 
 to wrap her old bones in. Egad, I am going to 
 set off in a plight almost as bare as in that which 
 the prodigal son returned." 
 
 Waldau said this with an attempt at a smile, 
 but it was hardly a successful one. It goes 
 against the grain sadly to cut jokes at the ex- 
 pense of one's own and only coat ; and, truth to 
 tell, Waldau's was a coat which would not bear 
 joking in such weather. It might do well enough 
 to excite a laugh in the summer, if it had been 
 seen in the serviceable employment of scaring 
 the crows from a corn-field ; but enveloping a 
 human body at mid-winter, in one of the coldest 
 parts of Germany, Heaven knows it was enough 
 to make one's teeth chatter to look at it. 
 
 There was nothing of which Waldau stood more 
 in need at this moment than a cloak : Madame 
 Wiesel thought so too. 
 
 ** Dear Philip,'^ she said to her husband, in a 
 persuasive tone, " pray lend him your cloak." 
 
 '* Indeed you must excuse me," replied the 
 senator ; *' the north wind will spare me no more 
 than it will our friend. There is an old cloak of 
 my father's somewhere up stairs, which I will go 
 and seek \ for, if he goes to Felsenbourg without
 
 158 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 some better covering, he will be petrified by the 
 time he reaches the residenz ; and, instead of pro- 
 curing the remission of our taxes, he will be shut 
 up in the museum as a curiosity." 
 
 "This old mantle," he continued, addressing 
 Waldau, " is warm and large ; and although it is 
 not very smart, and has a great many patches, 
 you will find it keep out the cold, perhaps, better 
 than a more showy one. When you have done 
 with it at Felsenbourg, give it to Maurice in my 
 name ; it may be useful to him, and in any event, 
 its patches and homeliness will remind him of his 
 father's wise parsimony, and may serve as a 
 wholesome lesson to him." 
 
 M.Wiesel, having finished this tirade, quitted 
 the room to look for the cloak which had in- 
 spired him. 
 
 Waldau did not attempt to conceal from 
 Madame Wiesel the pain which her husband's 
 inhuman behaviour to his brother had occasioned 
 to him. 
 
 ** The senator is wrong, indeed," he said ; " and 
 if Maurice had no more consideration he might 
 give him some trouble. I don't wish to vex you, 
 Mary — God forbid that I should ; but I assure 
 you that this case of your father-in-law's property 
 comes under that description which the Romans 
 call the Res Mancipi; and the learned Cornelius 
 Bynkershoeck, the flower of juris-consults, ex- 
 pressly lays down in his treatise * De Origine Juris*
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 159 
 
 in support of which he also quotes Cap. LXX. of 
 
 the Digest * De Heredibus,' that" 
 
 Madame interrupted his learned harangue, of 
 which she knew she could not comprehend a 
 word, even though Bynkershoeck himself had 
 come to explain it to her. " Never mind, Waldau," 
 she said— '* never mind the law of the case ; but 
 let me beg of you to communicate to Maurice the 
 news of his brother's unkindness in as gentle a 
 manner as you can. I beseech you to console 
 him as much as possible. Poor Maurice! tell 
 him that my hands are tied— that I can do nothing 
 but weep over his fate, and pray for him." 
 
 « I will tell him so," replied Waldau, '' and I 
 warrant the news of thy kindness and good wishes 
 will do him more good than his brother's bru- 
 tality will do him harm. He must be altered in- 
 deed if the loss of fortune can make him un- 
 happy." 
 
 The senator entered with the cloak, which 
 Waldau received very thankfully, notwithstand- 
 ing its odd fashion and party-coloured appear- 
 ance. He then bade adieu to M. Wiesel and 
 his good wife, and retired to prepare for his de- 
 parture. 
 
 The next morning, at day-break, Waldau de- 
 posited himself in the clumsy vehicle, which, for 
 want of abetter, was to carry him to Felsenbourg, 
 the seat of the administration of the province. 
 This carriage was a covered waggon, heavy and
 
 l60 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 incommodious, compared to which even a French 
 diligence, odious as that is, was a desirable con- 
 veyance. It was more commonly used for the car- 
 riage of merchandise than of human beings ; and 
 on the present occasion Waldau found that his 
 only fellow-passengers consisted of huge and 
 heavy packages. The waggon was hghted by 
 a narrow opening, at the end towards the horses. 
 Two antique curtains of oiled leather, and the 
 body of the driver, closed up this aperture, and 
 let in only so much air as was absolutely neces- 
 sary for respiration. Waldau was a spare man, 
 and very sensible of cold : he had, besides, a great 
 aversion to bad tobacco ; and the driver had a 
 pipe, nearly as large as his boot, filled with some 
 of the- most detestable quality of that most de- 
 testable weed, the fume of which the wind drove 
 pitilessly into the face of the town-clerk of Bir- 
 ling. He, however, stretched himself upon the lug- 
 gage with which the waggon was filled, and soon 
 fell into a profound sleep, from which neither the 
 roughness of the road, nor the occasional stoppnig 
 of the waggon when the driver paused to vary the 
 dryness of his pipe with a schnapp, awakened him. 
 At length a sudden jolt, which was followed 
 by a storm of hard knocks on his back and sides, 
 effectually aroused poor Waldau. He found him- 
 self dreadfully bruised, and nearly smothered 
 among the boxes and packages. He called as 
 loud us he could, and was with some difficulty
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 161 
 
 extricated by the driver and his companion from 
 his painful situation. It seemed that the thick- 
 falling snow had so effectually blinded the driver, 
 that he had not been aware of a deep rut in the 
 road, by which one of the wheels was caught, and 
 the waggon thus overturned. When Waldau was 
 drawn from the heap in which he lay buried, he 
 found himself so stiffened and hurt by the hard 
 blows he had endured as to be unable to take any 
 active part in setting the waggon on its wheels 
 again. This task was, however, after some time, 
 effected by the others, who helped Waldau to re- 
 sume his place ; after which the rest of the jour- 
 ney was completed without any further accident. 
 When they arrived at Felsenbourg, Waldau, 
 although he suffered a good deal from the effects 
 of his upset, was so anxious to embrace his old 
 friend, that he had no sooner deposited his slen- 
 der baggage at the sign of" The City of Birling" 
 than he repaired to the Hotel Felsenbourg, where, 
 as he learnt by the direction on the letter, he was 
 to find the unlucky Maurice. 
 
 The evening was somewhat advanced; and the 
 streets of the town, very different from those of 
 his own quiet little place of abode, were filled 
 with passengers on foot and in carriages. Waldau 
 at length found out the place to which he had 
 been directed, and saw written, above a very well 
 lighted portico, " The Felsenbourg Palace." He 
 entered with timidity and hesitation, looking 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 about for some one who would inform him in 
 what part of so vast an edifice he might find the 
 very humble individual he was in search of. 
 While he was thus employed a young man pass- 
 ing by him attracted all his attention. There 
 was quite light enough for him to see that this 
 person was dressed in a most splendid manner. 
 He wore a court dress, glittering with lace and 
 embroidery ; and in his hand he held an elegant 
 hat, decorated with a large white plume. The 
 town-clerk drew himself up to let this superb 
 personage pass, when, by the half glance which 
 his awe permitted him to steal at him, he recog- 
 nised, to his astonishment, the banished son ! his 
 own friend of former times ! — in short, Maurice ! 
 
 Waldau was overcome with surprise. He could 
 not believe his eyes ; — he thought he was under 
 the influence of some illusion. He attempted to 
 speak, but the sound died upon his lips ; and all 
 that he could do was to stand open-mouthed, 
 gazing after the receding apparition which had 
 thus suddenly crossed his path, and which made 
 him doubt the evidence of his senses. 
 
 He soon recovered himself, but continued to 
 gaze at the figure as it passed along the extensive 
 colonnade, under the lamps of which the glitter- 
 ing of the dress and the waving of the white 
 plume made it still visible. At this moment a 
 little man dressed in black passed, and Waldau 
 advanced with an air of desperate resolution to
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 163 
 
 ascertain whether he had really been deceived or 
 not. 
 
 " My good sir," he said, half breathless, " will 
 you do me the favour to tell me who is the gen- 
 tleman just entering yonder door at the end of 
 the colonnade ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the little man ; " that is 
 M. Wiesel." 
 
 " Is it, indeed, M. Wiesel? But tell me, sir, 
 for heaven's sake, in what character is he here 
 to=night." 
 
 " In a very important character, I assure you, 
 sir," replied the little man, making a grave bow ; 
 no less than that of the prince's confidant and 
 chief favorite." 
 
 Waldau was now more surprised than ever ; 
 and so rapt was he in his astonishment that he 
 did not perceive that the little man, from whom 
 he meant to ask a thousand other questions, had 
 disappeared. His delight at the prosperity of his 
 friend transported him beyond measure, and he 
 burst into a sort of ecstacy, exclaiming, in a tone 
 something like that of Don Quixote when he 
 made his first sally into the plain of Montiel, 
 " O fortunate Birling ! thrice-blessed city ! I see 
 Prosperity and Plenty directing their flight to- 
 wards thee !. The favours of the coMxiy gratia regumt 
 honour, renown, and distinction among the cities 
 of the land, will be thy lot. The horn of abundance 
 will be poured out within thy walls. From the 
 m2
 
 164 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 confines of thy narrow tomb look out, thou in- 
 flexible father, and see that he whom thou didst 
 exile from thy roof is become the ornament of 
 thy family — stirpis decorum ! Inexorable brother, 
 come hither, and look upon this new Joseph ! re- 
 peat, with thy cruel prototypes, ' Behold, he whom 
 we banished is now sitting on the right hand of 
 the prince!' Gentle, amiable Mary, what joy 
 will be thine ! Heaven has listened to thy prayers. 
 And ye, my friends and fellow-citizens ! ye also 
 shall rejoice ; for he whom you have bewailed is 
 returned, and you shall share in his glory ! " 
 
 After this very emphatic soliloquy, in which 
 the town-clerk of Birling unburdened himself of 
 the feelinors which labored in his bosom, he felt 
 considerably relieved, and hastened to his inn, 
 where he wrote the following letter to his friend, 
 the elder Wiesel : — 
 
 *' I have but two words to say to you, senator ; 
 but they are words of gold — news of price. Your 
 brother is the prince's confidant and chief fa- 
 vorite. You may believe what I say; for, al- 
 though my bones ache with bruises, as though I 
 had been pounded in a mortar, I am (thanks be 
 to Heaven !) compos mentis. I say to you again 
 that he is the prince's favorite. I can't tell you 
 how this has been brought about, but I have seen 
 himself, with my own eyes, solus cum solo, covered 
 with gold and diamonds. Notwithstanding his 
 dignity, he appeared just as cheerful and good-
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 165 
 
 tempered as when we were all three together at 
 school, enjoying in equal shares the rod of our 
 old master, who has, ere this, I trust, received his 
 reward in the lower part of the other world, and 
 to whom nothing can be at once so much of a 
 privation and a punishment as to dwell in a hot^ 
 ^ow-less pit. You see, worthy senator, a good heart 
 does not change with the variations of fortune — 
 
 * Vixit gabiis ut vixit in agro.' 
 
 * In courts, as in a cot, his life the same.' 
 
 ** Juvenal was right — and so was Madame 
 Wiesel, whose hands I most respectfully kiss — 
 assuring you, senator, that I am 
 
 ** Your most faithful friend and servant, 
 
 " Gottfried Waldau." 
 
 Waldau thought this was an occasion on which 
 no expense should be spared, and he therefore 
 dispatched his letter by an express before he 
 went to bed. 
 
 After the excitement occasioned by the recent 
 events had in some measure subsided, and the 
 leisure of repose, as well as the warmth of the 
 bed, enabled him to think of himself, he began 
 to feel the effects of his fall, which he had 
 scarcely had time before to attend to. He was 
 seized with a violent pain in his loins, and tor- 
 mented with a fever, which prevented him from 
 sleeping during the whole of the night, and thus 
 deprived him of all the glowing dreams to which
 
 166 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 his meeting with' the noble Maurice must have 
 given birth. In the morning he found himself 
 so unwell that he was compelled to send for a 
 physician. The good Waldau was chagrined at 
 this piece of ill fortune, less on account of his 
 own sufferings than for the attack which the ex- 
 pense attending his illness must necessarily make 
 upon his very slender purse. When, however, 
 he thought of Maurice, he became in some mea- 
 sure tranquillized ; and he immediately set about 
 writing to his old schoolfellow in a style which 
 he thought well adapted to the occasion, and 
 very courtly, carefully putting the title of Excel- 
 lency at the head of his epistle, that Maurice 
 might see he had a proper notion of the manner 
 in which things should be done. " A decent and 
 becoming humility," said he to himself, as he 
 rounded his respectful periods, " is never out of 
 season in that place called a court — the air of 
 which is very unfavorable to the memory of its 
 inhabitants, and where the sight of an old friend 
 is often less agreeable than that of a new valet." 
 In the mean time Waldau's other letter was on 
 its way to Birling, which place it reached at a 
 moment when the senator Wiesel was employed 
 in the amusing and lively occupation of walking 
 up and down his room, and making the sand with 
 which the floor was covered (as was the univer- 
 sal custom in that part of Germany) creak and 
 grate under his steps. Now and then he broke
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 167 
 
 silence, but it was merely for the purpose of in- 
 dulging his causeless ill temper against his patient 
 wife, who sat quietly at work at one end of the 
 room, and who was too much accustomed to his 
 unjust reproofs to suffer them to make any im- 
 pression upon her. This matrimonial amusement 
 was interrupted by the servant's entrance, who 
 announced that a courier from the residenz had 
 arrived, and desired to speak with the senator. 
 The man was admitted, and, advancing towards 
 M. Wiesel, handed him the dispatch. After 
 turning it round, and over and over again, to find 
 the mark by which the payment of the postage 
 was indicated, and without which the senator 
 never opened any letters, he asked the express 
 if he had received nothing besides the packet. 
 
 " No," replied the man, *' nothing but orders 
 to make haste hither, and to take four florins of 
 you for my pains/' 
 
 Wiesel at first intended to give back the par- 
 cel to the messenger, not choosing to run the 
 risk of so costly an affair, which might, after all, 
 be worth nothing ; but the man's assurance that 
 he had been told by the writer that its contents 
 were of the highest importance at length induced 
 him to break the seal. 
 
 His wife looked earnestly at him as he perused 
 the letter : at first his eyebrows were contracted, 
 and his forehead drawn into deep wrinkles ; soon, 
 however, his features relaxed, and he looked
 
 168 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 better pleased. He approached Madame, and 
 handed the letter to her without saying any 
 thing. As she read it the tears rapidly coursed 
 dovm her glowing cheeks, and her eyes were 
 raised to that Heaven by which her prayers had 
 been heard. 
 
 " Take a pen," said Wiesel, *' and answer this 
 letter;" my hand trembles too much to permit 
 me to write." 
 
 She hesitated ; but, as her husband insisted, 
 Madame Wiesel did as he bade her. The reply 
 was short, and was dictated by M. Wiesel : it 
 announced to the town-clerk his intention to set 
 off immediately for the residenz, and begged him 
 to get a lodging ready at the inn where he was 
 himself staying. 
 
 While Madame was writing, the senator had 
 resumed his walk up and down the chamber, in 
 visible agitation. Ill humour, embarrassment, 
 and constraint, by turns tortured him : on a sud- 
 den he put his hand to his head, as an idea struck 
 him." 
 
 ** That unlucky letter," he cried ; *' what is to 
 be done if my brother has seen it ? and, perhaps, 
 Waldau may have given it to him." 
 
 *' Do you mean your own answer to his let- 
 ter ?" asked Madame. 
 
 " Yes,'' he replied ; " what other can I mean 
 but the answer to that Judas-like letter, which he 
 wrote only to betray me into a refusal of his re-
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 169 
 
 quest ? I would lay a hundred to one that Wal- 
 dau, wise as he is, has been fool enough to give 
 it him ; and this newly-made grand gentleman, 
 Maurice, who only wants an excuse to break off 
 our connexion, will leap for joy at the pretext 
 which it will afford him." 
 
 The answer was now delivered to the messen- 
 ger, together with the four florins, and he was 
 sent off. 
 
 The senator then took his hat and cane, and 
 repaired to a coffee-house, where he was in the 
 habit of passing his evenings. 
 
 In this social spot about a dozen of the in- 
 habitants of the city were in the invariable prac- 
 tice of assembling nightly around an immense 
 stove, where they contrived, notwithstanding that 
 an earthen substance of some sort was constantly 
 between their lips, either in the shape of a long 
 Nuremberg pipe, stuffed with real Kanaster, or a 
 large pot filled with Brunswick beer, to discuss 
 at great length, and very learnedly, all the latest 
 news of the province ; the strangers who had 
 come to the city ; the difference between the 
 temperature of former winters and that under 
 which they at present shivered ; with an infinity 
 of subjects equally interesting and important. 
 In general Wiesel played the first fiddle in all 
 these deliberations ; and, upon political subjects 
 in particular, his decrees were looked upon as 
 absolute. On the present occasion, however,
 
 170 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 to the great astonishment of the honorable and 
 intelligent assembly, he took no part in their 
 grave discussions. 
 
 One of the principal members of this respect- 
 able club was an old lieutenant, who had lived 
 at Birling ever since his age and infirmities had 
 compelled him to quit the army — a period of 
 nearly fifteen years. His chief reason for fixing 
 his abode in this city was the moderate price of 
 all the necessaries of life ; and he could in no 
 other have made the two-and-twenty florins per 
 month, which his half pay produced for him, 
 go so far, or contribute so effectually to his 
 otium cum dignitate. With the exception of 
 the trifling stakes at a game of chess, which he 
 won daily, or rather nightly, of M. Wiesel, these 
 two-and-twenty florins per month were his sole 
 support. The practice of beating Wiesel at 
 chess had given the latter a high opinion of his 
 parts ; and he was on all difficult occasions glad 
 to avail himself of the old soldier's advice. The 
 senator now endeavored to discover his faithful 
 counsellor through the dense vapour, which con- 
 cealed him, like one of Homer's deities, in its 
 fragrant cloud. 
 
 " My dear captain," said Wiesel, when at 
 length he had puffed away with his hat so much 
 smoke as enabled him to identify the soldier's 
 red nose — " my dear captain," (for at Birling, as 
 well as in some other places, half-pay lieutenants
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 171 
 
 are in courtesy called captains,) " you have lived 
 at the residenz, where, as I have heard you say, 
 you have still some relations. You must there- 
 fore know better than any other person who are 
 the people in credit at court. I beg you will do 
 me the favour to read this letter, which I have 
 received from our town-clerk. Tell me what you 
 think of it. Have the miracles he relates really 
 happened? or is he, do you think, only a crazy 
 fool ? For my own part, I confess, I am quite be- 
 wildered." 
 
 The retired warrior, whose literary talents had 
 never been much exercised — and talents, like 
 other bright things, will grow rusty for want of 
 use — drew his spectacles from the bottom of his 
 pocket, and, after wiping them slowly and care- 
 fully, he placed them on his nose, and set him- 
 self to decipher Waldau's epistle. After a quarter 
 of an hour had been consumed in this manner, 
 he returned it to the senator, exclaiming, " By 
 my soul, sir, but that's very surprising !" 
 
 At this exclamation the party round the stove 
 rose up in a body, and remained with their eyes 
 fixed, and their mouths wide open — symptoms 
 which, even in Germany, express the highest de- 
 gree of astonishment. 
 
 " Gently, gently, my good friend," said Wie- 
 sel ; " I beseech you not to let this get abroad — 
 whisper to me only what you think of it." 
 
 '* What I think of it !" said the soldier, whis-
 
 172 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 pering into the ear of Wiesel in a tone louder 
 than that of his exclamation — " Egad, sir, what 
 I think of it is, that your brother has made him- 
 self master of the place, and that you must follow 
 him through the breach. Since Waldau writes 
 so, who can doubt it ? I remember, besides, to 
 have heard that our prince, who is a great lover 
 of the arts, has collected in his travels I can't 
 tell you how many artists of every description — 
 painters, poets, players, musicians, dancers ; and 
 that he gives them all sorts of encouragement. 
 Your brother is, perhaps, among them. At all 
 events you must not be sleeping here, when you 
 ought to be active elsewhere. Go, hasten to join 
 him, and follow up the attack while there is 
 time." 
 
 The senator thanked the brave lieutenant^ 
 whose advice he said he would follow; and pro- 
 mised, moreover, that his brother's influence, as 
 far as he could direct it, should be at his friend's 
 command. 
 
 Two hours had not elapsed from the time of 
 this interview when the unusual sound of a posti- 
 lion's horn was heard through the quiet streets 
 of Birling. A post caliche passed rapidly through 
 them, in which were the senator and his wife, on 
 their way to the residenz. 
 
 Waldau had not dispatched his letter to the 
 prince's favorite more than half an hour when he 
 heard a rap at the door of his chamber. He was
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 173 
 
 Still in bed ; but, even if he had been dressed, the 
 stiffness which had attended his fall would have 
 disabled him from rising to open the door. 
 
 " Come in !" he cried ; and a moment after 
 Maurice stood in his own proper person at the 
 foot of his bed. 
 
 His appearance was very different from that of 
 the preceding day : there was neither lace nor 
 any other ornament on his clothes, nor did any 
 thing in his habit denote in the smallest degree 
 the dignity of his station. He wore a simple 
 walking-dress, not distinguishable from that of 
 the commonest order of citizens. 
 
 The town-clerk of Birling rose up in his bed 
 with a great effort, and attempted to bow : but the 
 attempt was in vain ; the nerves of his back re- 
 belled against any such exertion in their present 
 stiffened condition. 
 
 " Well," cried Maurice, as he eagerly embraced 
 his old friend, " once more do we meet. The 
 sight of thee, dear Waldau, recalls to me the re- 
 collection of those happy days of carelessness and 
 gaiety, when all our sorrows passed like light 
 clouds over our young hearts, and made as little 
 impression on them. But you are silent, man. Is 
 this your welcome to an old crony and school- 
 fellow after so many years' absence ? Are you 
 going to revenge upon me all the wicked pranks 
 I have played on you, and against the remem- 
 brance of which (to use one of your own favorite
 
 174 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 law phrases) I hoped I might now plead a limi- 
 tation ? I thought that length of time had been a 
 bar to your action." 
 
 " It is, it is, indeed," said the sick man ; 
 " they are remembered no longer. Prescripta et 
 ohlita; and may Heaven punish me if at this 
 moment I experience any other feelings towards 
 you but those of respect and deference, to 
 which" 
 
 " Come, come, Waldau 5" cried Maurice, " leave 
 off your joking, and let us talk seriously. Your 
 request for money, my dear fellow, has mortified 
 me excessively, because I am in no situation to 
 comply with it. As to your other request, I have 
 laughed at it till my sides ached. You wish me to 
 introduce you to the minister, and to procure for 
 you a reduction of the tax on our native city. 
 Tell me now, in sober sadness, whom you take me 
 for." 
 
 " Whom do I take you for ? Gracious Heaven !" 
 cried the town-clerk, cursing in his heart all cour- 
 tiers, and their intrepid assurance, " who should 
 I take you for but for the prince's chosen friend, 
 the prime favorite, which is better than being 
 prime minister : — hand and glove with the chief 
 ruler, as the report goes every where, urhi et orbi?'* 
 
 " My poor friend," said Maurice in a consola- 
 tory tone, *' you are worse than I expected to 
 find you. It is the fever, my dear Waldau, that 
 has filled your poor head with these odd fancies."
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 175 
 
 " Oh, yes !" replied Waldau, sarcastically, but 
 cut to the heart's core by what he thought was 
 an attempt to extinguish at once all the hopes he 
 had entertained of Maurice's aid ; " certainly, you 
 are quite right — it is the fever, and these notions 
 are illusions, agri somnia. It was under the influ- 
 ence of the fever that I thought I saw you last 
 night, as you strutted through the colonnade at 
 the Felsenbourg palace in your way to the court. 
 It was one of those cheats which an inflamed brain 
 puts upon us that made me think I saw you glit- 
 tering in lace and jewels, gemmis atque auro,'' 
 
 '* You sav/ me going to court !" 
 
 *' Yes, you, the prince's chief favorite." 
 
 " The prince's favorite ! My dear Waldau, am 
 I to laugh or to weep at these extravagances V* 
 
 " Auri sacra fames, the thirst of wealth will 
 soon render you incapable of the one and the 
 other." 
 
 " How can you have thus deceived yourself?" 
 
 " It's all very well : and the little man in black 
 he deceived himself too ; he was under the in- 
 fluence of a fever." 
 
 " What little man in black ?" 
 
 " Why the little man who followed the superb 
 and glittering Wiesel along the porticos of the 
 palace." 
 
 " Ah, now I perceive what you mean," said 
 Maurice ; and, all his anxiety about his friend's 
 sanity being removed, he burst into so immode-
 
 176 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 rate a fit of laughter as prevented him from con- 
 tinuing his speech. When he recovered he said 
 " Now I know what it is that has thus deceived 
 you ; and I find once more in you the good, 
 simple, honest-hearted Waldau. I a courtier ! I 
 a favorite ! Ah, my dear old friend, you will 
 laugh with me now, in spite of your fever, when 
 I tell you that I am one of a company of players 
 at this moment engaged to act in the hotel of the 
 old Count de Felsenbourg. Yesterday I per- 
 sonated, for the first time, the character of the 
 Coiifidant in a new play ; and the grave man in 
 black, whose authority you have so solemnly 
 quoted, is the tailor to our company. He had 
 been just fitting me with a noble coat of scarlet 
 serge, covered with Mannheim tinsel, and an in- 
 numerable quantity of spangles. To this simple 
 circumstance I find I am indebted for your very 
 pompous epistle, and for the unlooked-for respect 
 with which you have been so good as to greet 
 me. Now, dear Waldau, are you satisfied of 
 what shreds and patches my Excellence/ is made 
 up ? There is only one thing which causes me 
 to regret laying down the title with which your 
 kindness has invested me —that is, that I shall 
 not be able to do you much good with the 
 minister." 
 
 " God help me !" cried Waldau, clasping his 
 hands, and looking most ruefully, '' are you 
 really a player ?"
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 177 
 
 " Indeed I am, and, as I flatter myself, not one 
 of the worst." 
 
 " Then I am utterly undone. Your brother, 
 the senator, will kill me at least." 
 
 Waldau*s terror put an end to the mirth in 
 which Maurice continued to indulge. He asked 
 what caused his fear ; and learnt from him that, 
 in his haste to make M. Philip Wiesel a partaker 
 of his brother's good fortune, he had written to 
 him ; and how great reason he had, therefore, to 
 dread his rage, when he should discover the mis- 
 take. The disappointment and the fright toge- 
 ther so hampered the poor town-clerk that his 
 fever became much worse, and he was really very 
 ill. Maurice staid with him, and rendered him 
 all the assistance in his power. As he was hand- 
 ing something to the sick man from the table, his 
 eye fell upon the letter which his brother had 
 addressed to him. He opened it, and grieved to 
 find from its contents that this brother was still 
 the same unkind and unfeeling person as he had 
 always been. His last hope had been bottomed 
 upon the funds which he did not doubt he 
 should receive at his father's death. They now 
 failed him, and he was reduced to despair. He 
 was loaded with debts, the payment of which it 
 was impossible any longer to postpone. 
 
 " Poor Louisa !" he cried — " my promised hap- 
 piness — all — all driven away by this one blow! 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 Waldau," he said, turning to him, " for God's 
 sake say something consoling to me !" 
 
 Poor Waldau was, however, too much in want 
 of consolation himself, and suffering too much 
 pain, to have any comfortable things to say to 
 his friend, and they both abandoned themselves 
 to their melancholy thoughts. 
 
 The fair Louisa, whose name Maurice had just 
 uttered, was one of the prettiest and most vir- 
 tuous girls that ever adorned a station infinitely 
 below her merits. She was the support — almost 
 the guardian angel — of an infirm mother and of 
 two young sisters, for whom she procured the 
 means of existence by the labour of her own 
 hands. The obscure five-pair-of-stairs' room, 
 which she occupied v/ith her family, was very 
 near to that of the player, and this threw them 
 frequently in the way of each other. The young 
 girl's innocence, her simple candour, and the 
 boyish good humour of Maurice, brought about 
 a sort of intimacy between them. This intimacy 
 soon ripened into a more tender feeling, and 
 nothing could be more natural than that it should 
 do so. Poverty has at least this one advantage, 
 (and as it is, perhaps, the only one, it should not 
 be forgotten,) that it does away with a thousand 
 forms and ceremonies which are always in the 
 way of one's happiness, and with which the more 
 opulent conditions of society are stuck full. Wie-
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 179 
 
 sel was received into the bosom of this interest- 
 ing family, and soon looked upon as their most assi- 
 duous and indispensable friend, although he had no 
 other letter of recommendation than his poverty. 
 Louisa, who, the more she saw him, was the more 
 deeply charmed with his disposition and manners, 
 did not hesitate to avow the affection she felt for 
 him. One evening, after they had been to the play 
 together,— and a theatrical representation is al- 
 ways a main help to a lover's avowal of his pas- 
 sion, because it inspires him with eloquence, and 
 softens his mistress's heart;— one evening, upon 
 their return from the play, in which Maurice had 
 been received (to use the phrase of the play- 
 bills) with the most unbounded applause, he told 
 his love to the gentle Louisa, and begged her to 
 reward his passion by uniting her destiny to his. 
 
 The beautiful girl, with an amiable and sen- 
 sible frankness which accompanied all that she 
 did, told him she had but one objection, and 
 that was, the narrowness of their circumstances ; 
 and that this forbade either of them to think of 
 marrying until their fortunes should be bettered. 
 
 Maurice, sanguine as he was, could not parry 
 this objection. He was silenced, and the lovers 
 could only swear eternal fidelity and affection to 
 each other. Hope and Love sealed the vows 
 which they plighted ; their hearts were so com- 
 pletely intoxicated with the joyful sentiment 
 which filled them, and so perfect was their reli- 
 n2
 
 180 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 ance upon the kindness of Providence, that they 
 already fancied they could discern a bright and 
 glowing prospect of future felicity through the 
 clouds which lowered about them. Alas! the 
 letter which Maurice had just read overturned in 
 a moment all the castles in the air which he had 
 been so carefully building. 
 
 Poor Maurice staid with his sick friend, and, 
 notwithstanding the dejection of his spirits, he 
 endeavored to amuse Waldau until the evening, 
 when his duties called him to the theatre. Before 
 he departed he had procured an old nurse to take 
 his place. Waldau was a little better as Maurice 
 approached his bed to bid him farewell. The 
 complaints of the old woman about the weather, 
 as she went to the fire to dry her cloak, which 
 the thickly-falling snow had wetted through, 
 reached Waldau's ears, and reminded him of the 
 cloak he had brought with him. He now begged 
 Maurice to put it on, and backed his persuasion 
 by assuring him that his brother had intended it 
 for him. 
 
 " A present from my brother !" cried Maurice. 
 
 " Not so much a present as a restitution of 
 what is your own, and I fear it is the only one he 
 may be inclined to make you. Never mind, it 
 will keep out the weather ; and besides, which 
 will make you value it the more, it was your 
 father's. In that very mantle, on his return from 
 a long journey, he yielded up his last breath."
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 181 
 
 Waldau's words brought to the mind of Mau- 
 rice the recollection of his father. The tears 
 started into his eyes as he looked round the 
 chamber, and saw the cloak hanging on a chair- 
 back. He remembered that father, venerable at all 
 times, and severe as he had been occasionally ; but 
 Maurice forgot at this moment all, save his parent's 
 kindness and his own duty. He experienced the 
 feeling, at once affecting and consolatory, which 
 comes across one's heart, when, in the midst of 
 sorrow, the recollection of a dear respected being, 
 over whom the tomb has closed for ever, rises to 
 dne's mind. Every tinge of bitterness was purged 
 away from it; and Maurice could have fancied, as 
 he looked at the old well-remembered garment, 
 that the form of his aged parent still filled it, 
 and stretched, as he pronounced upon him a pa- 
 ternal bene4iction, the same arms which had once 
 driven him from his home. With a bursting 
 heart he reverently kissed the cloak, and, putting 
 it on his shoulders, he walked out. 
 
 The quivering light of a feeble lamp threw its 
 rays on the old nurse, whom fatigue, and the 
 perfect tranquillity which prevailed in the warm 
 room, soon drew to sleep. The town-clerk was 
 kept awake by pain as well as by mental anxiety, 
 and had no other occupation than to gaze upon the 
 bare walls of the dismal abode to which he was 
 confined. The perfect stillness of sound and mo- 
 tion which reigned throughout the chamber was
 
 182 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 undisturbed, save by the palsied trembling of the 
 old crone's head, which threw a shaking shadow 
 on the curtains of the bed, and the monotonous 
 snoring which marked her profound repose. 
 
 Waldau's disposition was eminently national : 
 nothing suited him better than a life of perfect 
 tranquillity, and as little noise as possible. The 
 scene before him, therefore, was entirely to his 
 taste, and perhaps he was not so much mistaken 
 in his choice as some folks may be ready to 
 imagine. 
 
 "What are the advantages,'' said he to himself, 
 *' of a more active life ? On one side hopes arise 
 which always end in disappointment ; — on the 
 other calumnies and undeserved injuries destroy 
 one's best enjoyments. Is it not better, then, to 
 repose far from tumult, beyond the reach of any 
 injuries of mankind and the weather ?" 
 
 But it is not worth while to repeat all that the 
 town-clerk said to himself, because the sudden 
 entrance of the senator put an abrupt termination 
 to his soliloquy. 
 
 •' What a frightful winter this is !" said he, as 
 he entered ; *' shall we never again be warm in 
 this accursed climate V and he raked together the 
 nearly exhausted ashes of the fire. '* But, Wal- 
 dau, how did you manage to hurt yourself? — 
 Never mind, you can tell me all about that at 
 some other time, when we are more at leisure. 
 But, in the first place, let me know, have you
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 183^ 
 
 seen my brother? Who could ever have inm- 
 gined? — who could have supposed? — Well, but 
 have you seen him?" 
 
 •* He has but this moment quitted me," replied 
 Waldau. 
 
 "Is it possible?" said the senator; "and is 
 Maurice then well disposed towards us ? is he 
 kind and alFable?" 
 
 " He is as honest and as good a fellow as ever 
 you knew." 
 
 " Did I not say so ?" cried Madame Wiesel. 
 
 " I shall not be in too great a hurry to believe 
 it, however/' said the senator : " he is a courtier, 
 and of course he is externally polite. But, Wal- 
 dau, I hope I need not ask you whether you have 
 given him the letter which I wrote in such 
 haste." 
 
 '* Oh, no," replied Waldau j " it lies here upon 
 the table." 
 
 Wiesel approached the spot which Waldau 
 pointed out : — he looked in vain for the letter. 
 ** Search your pockets, Waldau/' he said ; " you 
 must have it there :" and, without waiting, he set 
 about rummaging the pockets of the town-clerk's 
 clothes, which were lying near his bed. 
 
 " It is possible," said Waldau, in great agita- 
 tion, " that it may have fallen into your brother's 
 hands." 
 
 ** Good Heaven ! and can you lie there 
 quietly while you utter so dreadful a suppo-
 
 184 THE OLD GREY CLOAK, 
 
 sition ? A thousand curses upon you ! He 
 
 has read it, and is filled with rage at its contents. 
 I shall go mad." 
 
 ** Be quiet," said Waldau ; " don't put yourself 
 in so great a passion. It is of no consequence." 
 
 " Not in a passion ! of no consequence ! I tell 
 you, sir, it is of the very last consequence, and 
 
 that I must immediately go and" Without 
 
 waiting to finish his speech, the senator rushed 
 out of the room and into the street, which, not- 
 withstanding the heavy snow-storm that raged, 
 he was traversing at a rapid pace, before the 
 town-clerk had recovered from the astonishment 
 that his transport had excited, or had time to 
 explain to him the discovery he had but recently 
 hit upon. 
 
 The senator of Birling was so much out of 
 breath with the exertion he had made, that, when 
 he arrived at the Hotel de Felsenbourg, he was 
 hardly able to articulate. He managed, however, 
 to explain to the porter that he wished to speak 
 to M. Wiesel. 
 
 '* He is now in the theatre," replied the man. 
 
 ** Then I must go to the theatre," said Mr. 
 Philip ; ** I must see him without loss of time ;" 
 and he hastened onwards to the place pointed 
 out to him by the porter. 
 
 On this evening a tragedy was represented, 
 which was in the very zenith of its popularity. 
 It was the William Tell of Schiller. The house
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 185 
 
 was crowded to the ceiling. The box-keeper 
 told the senator, in answer to his inquiries, that 
 there was but one box unoccupied, which, being 
 very near to the stage, had been rejected by every 
 one who came with no other intention than to 
 see the performance. Mr. Philip, however, had 
 no objection to it on this account, because he 
 was not too fond of the drama at any time ; and, 
 upon the present occasion particularly, his ob- 
 ject was only to meet with his brother. He was 
 therefore glad to get this seat, which commanded 
 a good view of the whole house. His eyes were 
 anxiously directed to each of the boxes which 
 seemed to contain distinguished personages ; but 
 he could not discern his brother in any one of 
 them. He was surprised at this, although it was 
 occasioned by one of the simplest and most satis- 
 factory reasons in the world,— Maurice was then 
 behind the scenes, preparing for his entrance on 
 the stage. 
 
 At length the curtain was drawn up. The 
 scene represented a wild mountainous country -, 
 and the feeble light, and the noise of the rustling 
 wind, conveyed to the audience the impression 
 that a storm was then raging. The senator was 
 a very sagacious personage at Birling, but he 
 was not in the habit of seeing and comprehend- 
 ing dramatic spectacles ; and a certain feeling of 
 terror took possession of him. The flashes of 
 ignited rosin, which mimicked the flushes of
 
 186 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 lightning, filled him with apprehension ; and, be- 
 fore he had recovered the effect of the first impres- 
 sion which the scene had made on him, his atten- 
 tion was absorbed by the sight of a figure, which 
 was only dimly visible by the uncertain and fitful 
 blazes of the storm. As he gazed at it he trem- 
 bled — his hair stood erect — his nerves quivered — 
 his whole frame was convulsed. The figure ad- 
 vanced ; and to his surprise and horror he recog- 
 nised in it his own father. It was too exact and 
 faithful a representation of his aged parent to ad- 
 mit of a doubt. There stood the venerable man, 
 just as he had appeared the moment before he 
 was seized with a fit of apoplexy on his return 
 from a journey ; of which attack he expired in the 
 arms of his son. The same old grey cloak was 
 wrapped about him, his features were precisely 
 the same, and the same white hairs and beard ex- 
 cited once again the respect and veneration 
 of his son. He looked at it almost petrified with 
 horror, while, to add to his confusion, the phan- 
 tom advanced, and, fixing its stern eyes upon him, 
 in thrilling accents charged him with having de- 
 frauded his brother of his birthright. 
 
 Remorse and terror froze Philip's heart within 
 his bosom : he could bear no more, but rushed 
 out of the box in perfect distraction. He ran 
 along the corridors, and precipitately entered an- 
 other box, the door of which he found open. 
 Two young ladies were sitting in it, to whom he
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 1B7 
 
 apologized somewhat incoherently for his intru- 
 sion, and begged, at the same time, that he might 
 be permitted to retain the seat he had taken with 
 so little ceremony. This was readily accorded 
 him ; and the appearance of the lights, no less 
 than the amiable cheerfulness of his young com- 
 panions, soon restored his self-possession. He 
 saw the adventure of the stage in its proper light, 
 and believed that he had been terrilied only by 
 an accidental resemblance, and by the novelty of 
 the spectacle. By way of making a favorable 
 impression on the ladies, he mentioned the name 
 of his brother, who, he thought, as the prince's 
 favorite, must be known to all the world. The 
 effect of this was perfectly magical, and answered 
 his warmest expectations. The ladies were Louisa 
 and one of her young acquaintances. She looked 
 at him with a charming smile as she asked— 
 " Are you, sir, the brother of that M. Wiesel 
 who is so generally admired and applauded V 
 
 A loud military symphony prevented the se- 
 nator from giving any lengthened explanation ; 
 and he said merely, " Yes, madame, I am his 
 brother." 
 
 The play proceeded; and Louisa, who was 
 very naturally desirous to make herself agreeable 
 to her future brother-in-law, turning round, said 
 to him—" It is very provoking that they have 
 given him so bad a part. You will, however, see
 
 188 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 that he will make it very striking, inferior as 
 it is.'' 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Mr. Philip, leaning 
 forward, and in some confusion j for, as he spoke, 
 he saw the object of his recent terror again ap- 
 pear on the stage at the head of a troop of Helve- 
 tian mountaineers. He wore the old grey cloak 
 no longer, but was clad in the ancient picturesque 
 costume of the period at which the scene of the 
 drama was laid. 
 
 " There," said Louisa, pointing to Maurice — for 
 it was he — " do you not recognise him ? And 
 here you will find his name," she said, handing 
 him a bill, in which he read " Conrad Hunn, one 
 of the conspirators, M. Wiesel. " 
 
 This was too much for any man, even if he 
 should happen to be a senator, to bear. Mr. Philip 
 was now more distressed than ever at the supposed 
 apparition of his father. He leant back against 
 a pillar of the box in a most unenviable frame of 
 mind. All the visions that he had indulged in 
 were demolished at one blow :— the wealth, the 
 place, the dignities, which he had, as it were, in 
 his very grasp, were melted into thin air j — all 
 had fled away, " like the baseless fabric of a 
 vision," and the spell was dissolved by the mere 
 appearance of the Conspirator Conrad Hunn ! 
 Confusion, and a rage which bordered on despair, 
 took possession of his soul as the truth flashed
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 189 
 
 Upon him. He quitted Louisa and her com- 
 panion with no less abruptness than he had joined 
 them, and rushed through the streets (now almost 
 deserted) in a state of indescribable anger. The 
 cold night-blast howled in his ears, and its sharp 
 whispers sounded to him like the suggestions of 
 an evil spirit. They could not be those of a good 
 one, for they seemed to insinuate that he could do 
 nothing more discreet or meritorious than to kill 
 the poor town-clerk out of hand, who had, how- 
 ever innocently, been the cause of all this mis- 
 take. 
 
 Madame Wiesel had remained, on her hus- 
 band's abrupt departure, at the bedside of the 
 invalid Waldau. Her assiduous kindness, and, 
 perhaps, not less her amiable and gentle man- 
 ners, had done so much towards Waldau's re- 
 covery, that upon the physician's return he ex- 
 pressed his surprise at the amendment of his 
 patient, and, after prescribing some slight potion, 
 withdrew. 
 
 He had scarcely disappeared when Maurice 
 entered. The joy with which he met his sister- 
 in-law was rapturous and mutual. She had been 
 the companion of his earliest and happiest years ; 
 and time, and the intimate connexion which her 
 marriage with his brother had formed, had ce- 
 mented their attachment. 
 
 " Then," said Maurice, after the first congra- 
 tulations were over, " I was not mistaken ; it
 
 190 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 was my brother whom I saw this evening at the 
 theatre, and who looked at me, I am sorry to 
 say, as if he would have eaten me." 
 
 " But what did he say to you, Maurice ?" asked 
 Madame Wiesel. 
 
 " He did not say any thing," replied Maurice. 
 " When I quitted Waldau this afternoon I was 
 in low spirits, and rather agitated. I went to the 
 theatre, where I had to play a character well 
 adapted to the temper of my mind. In a scene 
 which represented a storm I had to deliver a 
 speech, in which there is this sentence : 
 
 ' Has he not foully wronged his father's son ? 
 Does he not, even now, with false pretence 
 And most unnatural fraud, retain that wealth 
 Which justice, and the country's righteous laws. 
 Have made his brother's V 
 
 " Just as I pronounced these words I perceived, 
 in a box close to the stage, a person who was 
 looking at me very earnestly. I could not mis- 
 take his features, although it is so long since we 
 met. My heart told me it was my brother, and 
 prompted me to rush into his arms ; but circum- 
 stances forbade, and his look, too, made me 
 fear for the reception I might meet with. At 
 length (but not without considerable difficulty) I 
 overcame the feelings which oppressed me ; and 
 as soon as the act was over I went to look for 
 Philip, but he had quitted the theatre." 
 
 " Come, come," said Waldau, *^ let us hope that
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 191 
 
 all will turn out for the best. Your veins are 
 filled with the same blood ; — the bond of frater- 
 nal affection may be loosened, but cannot be 
 broken. He is your senior, Maurice ; submit, I 
 implore you, to what he may require : besides 
 which he is, as perhaps you do not know, a se- 
 nator ; and, whatever you may think, I can tell 
 you he has the law on his side. Take example by 
 the patience and forbearance which Mary always 
 displays." 
 
 Maurice needed none of Waldau's exhorta- 
 tions; for to contend with his brother was the 
 last thing in the world he could have been pre- 
 vailed on to do. He turned round to his sister- 
 in-law, and, once more embracing her, he put on 
 his cloak, as he went out to the apothecary's shop, 
 to procure the necessary ingredients for the pre- 
 scription which the physician had left. 
 
 As he entered the shop his attention was par- 
 ticularly attracted by an old woman, who w-as 
 going in at the same moment. She was bent 
 almost double with age, and her eyes, which 
 were of a singular brightness, were fixed upon 
 him. He was too much busied with the errand 
 that brought him thither to think long of the 
 old woman, and applied immediately to one of 
 the persons in the shop for the articles he wanted. 
 He was, however, obliged to look round, for the 
 old crone had taken hold of the top of his 
 grey cloak, and was passing her hand slowly and
 
 192 THE OLD GREY GLOAK. 
 
 earnestly over the almost threadbare plush of 
 which the collar was made. 
 
 '* Don't stir, child," said she, as Maurice drew 
 back for the purpose of putting an end to a fa- 
 miliarity which he did not like. 
 
 " What do you see on my cloak, my good old 
 woman V he asked ; *' there are no insects at this 
 time of the year." 
 
 Maurice looked, as he spoke, at the old woman, 
 whose shrivelled and discoloured features formed 
 a strong contrast to the benevolent vivacity 
 which seemed to animate them, and which made 
 her look like one of the subjects of Gerard 
 Douw's best pictures. 
 
 " Is it a spider that you have found in the 
 cloak?" asked the apothecary. "I hope it is, 
 for that is a certain prognostic of riches to the 
 person who wears it. It is, indeed :" he added, 
 as Maurice shrugged his shoulders incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 The old woman laughed, but said nothing ; and 
 went away with the purchase she had made. 
 Maurice, having also dispatched his business, 
 quitted the shop. As he passed along the street 
 he heard a voice behind him, which he recognised 
 for that of the old woman. 
 
 " Hist ! — young man, I have a neighbour, an 
 old clothes' man : your cloak is just such a thing 
 as he would like to buy ; — will you part with it ?" 
 
 " Go along, you old witch," replied Maurice,
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 193 
 
 " and sell yourself to him, if you have such an 
 inclination to make bargains." 
 
 ** Why, what can you see in such a rag to be 
 fond of it ?" 
 " Rag or not, I have a value for it." 
 " But, at least, yon must confess it is not for 
 its beauty that you wish to keep it." 
 
 " Why then, if you must know, you inquisitive 
 old woman, it is because this cloak is all that I 
 have left of my father's property." 
 
 *' Your father's ! — ah, my child, you do well to 
 honour his memory ; for any one can tell you are 
 his own son : you are like him in every feature, 
 only that there is a good-tempered smile at the 
 corner of your mouth, which he never had." 
 
 *' Yes, yes, he had the same smile once, but 
 the troubles of the world had worn it away." 
 
 " Say, rather, that time had done so ; time, 
 that does so much mischief. T am sure I have 
 reason to complain of it, for, if it had heaped 
 threescore years less on my old head, you would 
 not let me be standing, exposed to the driving- 
 snow, here in the street. Oh, no ! you would 
 long ere this have flung your cloak over my 
 
 shoulders. " 
 
 " Go along, you old gipsy ; with such nymphs 
 as you one is in no danger of temptation." 
 
 " Never mind, my child ; 1 cannot say much 
 for your complaisance, though I like your frank- 
 ness, and will reward it." 
 
 VOL, I. O
 
 194 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 " You may keep your reward to yourself; I 
 assure you I don't want it.'' 
 
 ** How naturally that word want comes out of 
 a man's mouth when his head is filled with 
 thinking of it !" 
 
 " Who are you, old hag ?" cried Maurice, pull- 
 ing her, half angry and half in jest, under a lamp 
 which was just by. 
 
 *' There is nothing in my wrinkled face to repay 
 the pains you are taking to look at it, my child : 
 perhaps, however, my advice may be more ser- 
 viceable to you. Listen to me then ; — get home 
 and go into your chamber ; fasten the door after 
 you ; and, having done so, rip open the collar of 
 your cloak : when you have done all this, go 
 down upon your knees, and pray to Heaven to 
 grant you wisdom." The old woman hobbled 
 away as she uttered the last words, leaving Mau- 
 rice not a little astonished. 
 
 He put his hand to the collar of the cloak, and 
 felt a rustling, as if there was some paper within 
 it. He hastened home, and recounted the par- 
 ticulars of his adventure with the old woman to 
 Madame Wiesel and Waldau. 
 
 " Good Heavens !" cried Waldau, clapping his 
 hand upon his forehead — " I have it ! —It must 
 be so ! — Don't you remember, Mary, the eternal 
 fears and jealousies which used to torment your 
 father about his money, and which all the keys 
 and coffers in the world could not quiet? It
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 195 
 
 would be the most natural thing imaginable for 
 such a man to convert his money into paper, 
 which he could so easily conceal. I have no 
 doubt that the old woman whom Maurice met 
 was in the secret— some old hostess, or house- 
 keeper, or something of that kind— and that she 
 knew the old gentleman used his cloak as a 
 strong box. He was a better hand at amassing 
 ducats than managing a needle ; and he must 
 needs have had recourse to some female assist- 
 ance. You know it was immediately upon his 
 return from one of his journeys that he died so 
 suddenly. Make haste, Mary, and rip open the 
 collar ; there are scissors in my bag. No scruples, 
 Maurice ; the money is y ours pi^oprio jure" 
 
 Madame Wiesel took the cloak, and exclaimed, 
 joyfully, " that she was sure she felt papers within 
 the lining," At this moment Maurice got up : 
 " Do you not hear a noise?'' he said : " there is 
 a confusion of voices rushing like a torrent 
 towards us." 
 
 " There is, indeed, a tumult," said Waldau. 
 " Why do you tremble so, Mary ? — Go out, Mau- 
 rice, and see what it is." 
 
 Maurice went out, and returned almost imme- 
 diately, pale and out of breath. Before, how- 
 ever, the cause of his sudden agitation is ex- 
 plained, it will be necessary to go back a little. 
 
 When Philip rushed out from the Felsenbourg 
 hotel he was almost in a state of desperation. 
 o2
 
 196 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 He could not dismiss from his memory the ter- 
 rific phantom of the stage : an invisible power 
 prompted him to restore to his brother a share of 
 the four thousand florins which he had found 
 among his father's effects at the old gentleman's 
 death. It seemed in vain that he resisted ; and 
 his conscience, which had too often and too long 
 lain asleep, would not now be quieted. 
 
 Philip, as is commonly the practice with men 
 suffering unusual agitation, sought to overcome 
 the violence of his feelings by the rapidity of 
 his movements. He was striding along, not 
 knowing whither he went, when his evil destiny, 
 or his distraction, led him to the edge of the 
 canal, which was at this time thinly frozen over ; 
 but so much so, that it appeared, by the dim light 
 which then prevailed, like a solid surface. The 
 wretched man, at the first step, plunged beneath 
 the ice. He was quickly drawn out by some 
 persons who happened to be passing. He 
 breathed still ; but he had only time to say 
 where he was dwelling, when he expired, death- 
 stricken by the sudden cold of the water, and 
 went to answer for his sins before a tribunal 
 where justice is tempered with the most tender 
 mercy. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the grief 
 and horror of the party at the inn when the pale 
 cold corpse of Philip was brought in. Notwith- 
 standing the slender claims which the deceased
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 197 
 
 had upon their sympathy and affection, nothing 
 but the best and most amiable points of his cha- 
 racter were now recollected, and they bewailed 
 his loss as if he had been all that he ought to 
 have been. 
 
 Among the disasters of this night, too, the loss 
 of the cloak, about which so much expectation 
 had been roused, was not the least. It had been 
 carried off, as was thought, by one of the many 
 persons who pressed into the room when Philip's 
 body was brought in. Maurice made the most 
 diligent search for it in every part of the city, 
 but all his inquiries and his offers of reward 
 were alike in vain. 
 
 Madame Wiesel returned to Birling, accom- 
 panied by Waldau. Soon after her arrival there 
 Maurice received from her a packet, containing 
 a very considerable share of the property which 
 her husband had left. This generosity delighted, 
 but did not astonish, Maurice. He immediately 
 disposed of the larger part of the money in pay- 
 ment of his numerous debts. Relieved of this 
 burden, by which one of the chief obstacles 
 which lay in the way of his marriage with Louisa 
 was removed, he saw once more revived the 
 dawn of that happiness which he had before 
 feared was forever annihilated. 
 
 It almost always happens, in the affairs of this 
 world, that, when a man's ill luck gets a sudden 
 check, it seems to grow tired of pursuing him.
 
 198 
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 and lets him enjoy, undisturbed, all the good 
 fortune which may fall to his share. Thus it 
 was with Maurice, whose affairs, revived by his 
 sister-in-law's generosity, now looked up, and 
 went on rather prosperously. He was anxious to 
 return to Birling, where he proposed to establish 
 himself; but he had resolved not to revisit his 
 household gods until he could crown them with 
 myrtles ; or, in plain language, until he could 
 carry his dear Louisa home as his bride. 
 
 His diligence and good fortune, in little more 
 than a year, enabled him to do this ; and, about 
 a month after his mourning for his brother had 
 expired, the next ensuing Sunday was fixed 
 upon for his marriage. 
 
 Weddings, like some other things, never come 
 alone : Waldau, the simple honest-hearted Wal- 
 dau, had been making himself as agreeable as 
 he could to the good widow Wiesel, and had 
 prevailed upon her to give him her hand on the 
 same day that should unite Louisa to Maurice. 
 The double wedding was celebrated with that 
 frank and sincere, though somewhat rude jo- 
 viality, which distinguished the times when folks 
 were less refined, but not a jot less happy, than 
 they are now. An old crystal cup, which had 
 been for ages a chief instrument in all the merry- 
 makings of the Wiesel family, went briskly 
 about, and was by turns filled with sparkling 
 Johannisberg or the perfumed Wertheimer ; for
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 199 
 
 the unsocial practice of every drinker having a 
 separate glass had not then reached the remote 
 city of Birling. 
 
 In the evening a dance crowned the festivities 
 of the day. Maurice displayed on his finger 
 a valuable ring which the prince had given as a 
 testimony of the admiration which his talents 
 had excited in playing Don Carlos before him. 
 If his highness had seen him on this occasion, 
 he would have given him a pension ; for the smiles 
 of his Louisa excited him beyond all that he had 
 felt before, and he played his part on this occa- 
 sion a thousand times better than ever he had 
 done, and looked as full of grace and nobleness 
 as the Infanta himself. His gaiety seemed to 
 diffuse itself throughout the company ; and the 
 laughter of himself and his guests was as loud as 
 the music. Waldau was just about to lead off a 
 dance with Louisa, and Mary and Maurice had 
 taken their places next to them, when Maurice 
 felt his sister-in-law's hand tremble as he held it 
 within his own. 
 
 "What is the matter with you, Mary?" he 
 asked ; " what has terrified you ? what is it that 
 you are looking at ?" 
 
 " Do you not see, Maurice," she replied, look- 
 ing towards the door. 
 
 " No," he said, " I see nothing." 
 <* Yonder— standing in the door-way — and 
 wrapped in your father's cloak.''
 
 200 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 Maurice looked again, and saw in a moment 
 that the object which had attracted his sister's 
 notice was the same old woman whom he had 
 met with in the apothecary's shop at Felsenbourg. 
 She wore the very grey cloak which had disappear- 
 ed in so unaccountable a manner. He ran to her 
 immediately, and drew her into the middle of the 
 room. 
 
 •* Who are you, old witch ?" he cried, shaking 
 her gently ; " what do you do with this cloak ? 
 and what brings you here ?. Speak quickly." 
 
 '* You ask me so many questions at once !" said 
 the old woman, laughing at him, and shaking her 
 palsied head. '* It is your lucky star that brings 
 me here. As to the cloak — that is my own, for 
 I bought it." 
 
 Maurice looked at her, and thought that the 
 old woman had found the cloak and the money 
 which it contained, and that now she was come 
 to make a merit of restoring to him such part as 
 she chose. 
 
 The old woman seemed to guess at the thoughts 
 which passed through his head. " Giddy boy 
 that you are," she said, '* why did you despise 
 my advice ? Why did you so carelessly throw 
 away this precious cloak ? I found it one day 
 hanging in the shop of my neighbour, the old 
 clothes' man, who told me he bought it of a 
 porter. But, pray, tell me what you think would 
 have become of the bills, to the amount of twenty
 
 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 201 
 
 thousand florins, which were sewed up in the col- 
 lar, if I had not bought them and it for the exor- 
 bitant price of three crowns ? There," she added, 
 handing a packet to him at the same time that 
 she threw off the cloak, *' take them ; and thank 
 Heaven that your father's nurse has lived to re- 
 store his property to you." 
 
 " Were you, then, my father's nurse ?" 
 
 " Yes, my child, I was ; but it is a long while 
 ago, and we can talk about that when you have 
 nothing else to do. Be grateful to Heaven ; be 
 virtuous, and you will always be protected by 
 Providence. Be a good husband — and now go 
 on with your dancing." 
 
 " It is old Christina !" cried Waldau, who had 
 drawn near. 
 
 ** Yes, it is, indeed, old Christina," said the old 
 woman, laughing at him^ — *' old enough to re- 
 member your vows of eternal constancy to the 
 councillor's niece. Oh tie, Waldau !" 
 
 " Don't blame him," said Maurice ; " the love 
 which he now professes is returned, and the other, 
 you know, was not." 
 
 " May Heaven bless you, my children!" ex- 
 claimed the old woman. ** But, come, I don't 
 mean to quit you any more — that is, if you will 
 spare me a corner somewhere among you j and 
 I can tell you I have not lived so long without 
 scraping up something towards boiling the pot." 
 
 ** Oh !" cried Mary, with that amiable warmth
 
 202 THE OLD GREY CLOAK. 
 
 which was her character, and making a place for 
 the old woman to sit down, " you shall never 
 quit us." 
 
 In a very few days old Christina was a member 
 of the family, and seemed as much at home as if 
 she had never lived any where else. The two 
 couples lived in the same house, and looked 
 upon her as a sort of common grandmother. 
 Their happiness was of that pure and uninter- 
 rupted kind which springs from the practice of 
 the virtues of humble life. Piety, innocence, 
 and goodness, marked their career, and their days 
 had passed in a peaceful uniformity, when, about 
 a year after her sudden appearance, old Christina 
 one morning opened the door of Maurice's room, 
 and stood wrapped up in the same grey cloak, 
 and in the same attitude, as on the evening of his 
 wedding-day. He opened his arms to embrace 
 her. 
 
 *' Gently, gently," she said, pushing him away. 
 
 " What have you got for me now ?'* he asked, 
 seeing she was holding something very care- 
 fully under her cloak. 
 
 " Look !" said she, opening it ; and she pre- 
 sented to the overjoyed parent the son and heir 
 which his Louisa had just brought him.
 
 My grandmother's story being finished, she 
 said — 
 
 " Now, then, my dear Harry, as your last effort 
 has been unanimously decided to be insufficient — 
 a coup manque— yow. must try again, and we shall 
 all listen patiently to your story." 
 
 ** Yes, Harry," said Elizabeth ; " and mind that 
 it is your own — not any of your Italian friends', 
 if you please. We look for it out of your own 
 head, and not from any old-fashioned little 
 book." 
 
 "Your expectations, dear Elizabeth," replied 
 Harry, " are, like those of a great many other 
 ladies, somewhat unreasonable ; and my exer- 
 tions, like those of many other gentlemen, will, 
 I fear, fall short of satisfying them. It is, I 
 know, quite in vain for me to appeal against the 
 sentence which has been pronounced upon me, 
 and it is therefore useless to complain of it ; but 
 remember that I do always solemnly protest 
 against its injustice." 
 
 ** You shall have the full benefit of your pro- 
 test," said the attorney ; ** and you are enough of 
 a lawyer to know what that is." 
 
 " It is exactly what one lawyer may expect
 
 204 
 
 to receive from the hands of another — nothing. 
 But you, my dear Elizabeth, seem more unrea- 
 sonable than any other of our friends here, for 
 you ask me to tell you a story out of my own 
 head. Do you remember, my love, that the world 
 has now been created something more than five 
 thousand years, and that all its various succes- 
 sions of inhabitants have been employed in tell- 
 ing stories during the whole of that period ? and 
 yet can you ask me to tell a new one ? In the 
 name of every thing that is fair — I don't mean 
 pretty, but honest— is such a request to be com- 
 plied with ? And yet, I think, I might undertake 
 to do so if you would promise to show me one 
 story, properly called original, that has been writ- 
 ten since you began to read stories. I would 
 not be understood to say that they are a jot the 
 less admirable for not having this quality ; and, 
 even if I thought they were, it would not answer 
 my present purpose to broach any such doctrine. 
 Human nature has nothing new in it : the com- 
 binations of accident have been exhausted ; and, 
 as stories are only representations of human na- 
 ture and its accidents, you see it is impossible that 
 there should be any thing strictly new produced 
 from them. If they can be made agreeable, 
 surely that will be enough; and I hope, with the 
 indulgence of my friends, to give my story this 
 quality. At all events, it will serve to pass away 
 the rest of our evening as well as emother."
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 205 
 
 *' It might, perhaps, do so, if you would begin 
 it," said my grandmother ; " but you are always 
 playing some trick or other to put off the moment 
 of commencement." 
 
 *' For once," my dear madam," replied Harry, 
 '* I am innocent of the charge you bring against 
 me, because it is not I who am to begin." 
 
 ** Oh, I beg your pardon, indeed it is," was 
 uttered from nearly every body present. 
 
 *' Patience, my good friends and gentle cou- 
 sins—patience for a moment, and hear me ex- 
 plain. I am very desirous not again to incur 
 your censure ; but the truth is that I cannot at 
 this moment recollect any thing that will satisfy 
 you and restore my credit, which seems to have 
 fallen unaccountably, and, as I think, unde- 
 servedly, in your estimation. I am literally in the 
 case of Mr. Canning's needy Knife-grinder, and 
 may truly say, 
 
 ' Story ! Lord bless you ! I have none to tell you.' " 
 
 '• This will not do, Harry," said every body 
 again. 
 
 *' Not so fast," said Harry ; " I only ask a re- 
 spite until to-morrow; and, in the mean time, I have 
 prevailed upon my uncle, whose turn comes next 
 to mine, to tell his story instead of me." 
 
 " Oh, that is a different thing !" was exclaim- 
 ed ; and the proposed substitute seemed to give 
 universal satisfaction. 
 
 " Yes," said my uncle, disposing his gouty foot
 
 206 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 upon the cushion, " Harry was making signals of 
 distress ; so I spoke with him. He told me he'd 
 never a yarn ready to splice on to madam's 
 (meaning my grandmother) ; and so I promised 
 to overhaul my log for him, and to see whether I 
 couldn't stand his friend." 
 
 " Oh, dear uncle," cried Elizabeth, ** I shall be 
 delighted : I never heard you tell a story." 
 
 " That's a mistake, my love. You've heard 
 
 me tell how I was cast away off the coast of Coro- 
 mandel ; and you've heard me tell about the blue 
 lights that we saw on the shrouds the night that 
 Admiral Duncan died ; and" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I've heard you tell an innumerable 
 quantity of little anecdotes like those ; but then, 
 uncle, I thought they were all true." 
 
 "True, you jade! so they are; true to the 
 letter." 
 
 ** Well, but now, uncle, you are going to tell 
 us a s^oTy, and nobody will value that the more 
 for its veracity ; although, if it prove as amusing 
 as the shipwreck and the blue lights, I have no 
 objection to its being as true as they are." 
 
 " You are a jade, and have always some sly 
 manoeuvre for bamboozling your old cripple of 
 an uncle ; but I won't forgive you this time un- 
 less you come and kiss me." 
 
 Elizabeth immediately hastened to the veteran's 
 arms, and kissed him with all the ardour and 
 affection of her character.
 
 MY GRANDMOTHER*S (iUESTS. 207 
 
 " When you [have finished your embraces,'* 
 said my grandmother, '^ perhaps, Hugh, you will 
 let us have your story." 
 
 " With all my heart, mother," replied the cap- 
 tain ; " but, first of all, if you please, I must tell 
 you how I came by it. It isn't mine, and I scorn 
 to sail under false colours. It's a story, though, 
 which you never heard before ; and, although I 
 did'nt make it, I knew the man that did. The 
 goods are of the right sort ; and, though they are 
 brought in by a different ship from the owner's, 
 that's nothing at all to you. This tale, then, 
 which I am now going to begin, was written by an 
 old schoolfellow and messmate of mine. You 
 knew Charley Russell, mother?" turning to my 
 grandmother. 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied the old lady — " you mean 
 the poor boy whom you enticed, or who enticed 
 you, to run away from school." 
 
 " The very same-— a light-haired curly-headed 
 chap. Ah ! it might be very wrong to run away 
 from school, and I dare say it was ; but I only 
 wish, mother, you'd ever been for half a year to 
 Scourge's grammar-school, and then you'd see how 
 you would like being flogged every day, whether 
 you deserved it or no." 
 
 " I'm very much obliged to you, Hugh," said 
 my grandmother; " but, without any such pain- 
 ful experience, I am quite ready to believe that 
 you were very cruelly treated. But you know it
 
 208 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 was your own fault, for you never complained to 
 any of us." 
 
 *' No," said the captain, " I scorned to com- 
 plain ; and I thought it was better to break old 
 Scourge's head, and to run away." 
 
 " And were you so naughty, uncle, as to run 
 away from school T asked Elizabeth. 
 
 " Why, yes, I was so naughty, as you call it, 
 my dear ; and I'll just tell you how it happened. 
 Old Scourge was uncommonly fond of a nasty 
 book which I hated : he called it the * Latin 
 Grammar,' and he wanted to make me learn it. 
 Well, he wasn't the first that tried to do the 
 same thing ; but he had no better luck than other 
 folks. I wasn't more than twelve years old 
 when I went aboard his ship — his school, I 
 mean — and he tried me for a whole year, but I 
 could'nt or wouldn't (hang me if I know which) 
 learn a word. Then he took to beating it into 
 me ; and every morning, before breakfast, he 
 used to give me a regular starting if I couldn't 
 say the lesson. I did not like the starting, 
 but then I knew my head wasn't built to carry 
 such a cargo as he wanted to put aboard of it ; 
 and I thought it was as well not to lose my time ; 
 so I made up my mind not to learn a word. 
 Well, he went on flogging for a good while, until 
 we both of us got tired ; but I was tired first. I 
 had been reading the '■ Adventures of Robinson 
 Crusoe, of York, Mariner,' and took a main
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 209 
 
 liking to the sea. Charley Russell, who was an 
 orphan, and at the same school, had a notion of a 
 similar kind ; and Charley and I used to lay our 
 heads together, and plot about deserting and 
 going to sea. Well, after talking about it a great 
 many times, at length we agreed to do it, and a 
 morning was fixed. Charley proposed to set off 
 before the other boys got up : but I couldn't 
 bring myself to leave old Scourge without thank- 
 ing him for all the good turns he had done me ; 
 so I persuaded Charley to go by himself, and to 
 wait for me at a village about five miles from the 
 school. The morning came, and we had made 
 up a bundle containing our joint stock, which 
 was not very large. I let my messmate down 
 into the garden by the sheets of our bed, and 
 then dropped the bundle. He set off unper- 
 ceived ; and, when I had thrown an old shoe after 
 him for luck, I crept back to bed, and lay there 
 till the bell rung;. When I went down there was 
 the old story over again : Scourge wanted me to 
 decline (as he called it) something about Domi- 
 nus, Domini, and I had resolved to decline it alto- 
 gether. He made signals to me to unbutton: — 
 
 I told him I'd see him . No, I did not say 
 
 that; but I told him I wouldn't. He came down 
 from the quarter-deck, where he always stood in 
 the morning, and was going to bear down upon me. 
 1 saw his manoeuvres; and, just as he came, I 
 laid hold of the leaden inkstand that belonged to 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 our mess, and heaved it with all my might point 
 blank at his head. It not only hit him, but, to 
 my astonishment, brought him down. I didn't 
 stay to ask if he was hurt, but leaped out of the 
 window, which I had taken the precaution to 
 have wide open ; — and this was my first step into 
 the world. 
 
 " I need not tell you that I ran ; for, when I 
 saw the blood and the ink streamino; down old 
 Scourge's face, I thought, to be sure, that I must 
 have killed him. I kept on at full speed ; and, as 
 my legs and my lungs were both rather better then 
 than they are now, I soon joined Charley Russell, 
 whom I found waiting for me at our rendezvous. 
 
 " The account which I gave him of my en- 
 gagement with Scourge made him think we had 
 better set off as soon as possible ; and, the ' Liver- 
 pool Fly Coach' coming up soon afterwards, 
 we got births aboard of her, and went on to 
 Liverpool. 
 
 " There was a fair-spoken squinting sort of a 
 fellow on deck alongside of us, who contrived, in 
 the twinkling of one of his own eyes, to learn 
 that we were two youngsters who wanted to go 
 on board a ship. We told him some long story 
 about our parents being dead, and so on : and he 
 believed just as much of it as was true ; and 
 that was no great matter, you may guess. How- 
 ever, he said he thought he could get us a birth, 
 and began to talk about the delights of a sailor's
 
 211 
 
 life, and beating the French, and getting to be a 
 captain of a ship, and having one's fortune made 
 by prize-money, and other like rigmaroles, until 
 we were both stark mad to be aboard. 
 
 " By his advice we went to lodge at the sign 
 of the 'Admiral Benbow,' in Crooked Billet Lane, 
 which, if you know the town of Liverpool, you'll 
 be sure is neither so pleasant nor so genteel as 
 Grosvenor Square, in London. Here he intro- 
 duced us to an ill-looking fellow, with a wooden 
 leg, whom he called Captain Sprit, and who, he 
 said, was commander of the ' Lovely Sally,' a fine 
 merchant vessel. The moment I set my eyes on 
 this fellow, I thought, young as I was, that he 
 must be a rascal. He wore a greasy cocked hat ; 
 his coat had belonged to a naval officer, but had 
 suffered in the hands of some of the Jews who had 
 owned it before it came to our new friend's turn to 
 mount it, and it enjoyed now but a very scanty 
 share of its original lace ; a pair of mariner's can- 
 vass trowsers, made as large as a petticoat, and 
 reaching to his knees — light blue worsted stock- 
 ings, with red clocks — and a pair of pewter 
 buckles, nearly as large as gridirons, stuck into 
 shoes that might have fitted an elephant — com- 
 posed the costume of this captain, as he chose to 
 entitle himself. His nose was in shape like a thick 
 mushroom, broad and flat, and spread over his 
 face : its colour was a deep tawny red ; but it was 
 so variegated with lumps and pimples, of purple, 
 p2
 
 212 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 green, and yellow, that it looked for all the world 
 like a bunch of withered flowers. He was beetle- 
 browed, and wore a black patch over his left eye. 
 His mouth was like a fish's ; and one of his 
 cheeks was constantly filled with an enormous 
 quid of tobacco. An ancient silver brooch fast- 
 ened his shirt-collar ; and, as he wore no handker- 
 chief, his ugly bull's throat, very rarely, and, at 
 the best, very imperfectly shaved, was always ex- 
 posed. His legs were as ill matched as can be 
 imagined : for one of them was as bandy as a 
 hoop ; the other svas made of a stout perpen- 
 dicular piece of timber, which supplied the place 
 of the deficient limb. He was one of the most 
 powerful men I ever saw ; and the loss of his 
 leg seemed hardly to have impaired his strength. 
 
 *' When he entered the room in which we were 
 sitting he stared impudently at each of us ; and, 
 after he had satisfied himself with looking, he 
 roared out ' What cheer, messmates V 
 
 " I was quite at a loss what reply to make to 
 this salutation ; but I believed that he was some 
 great naval officer at least, for impudence has a 
 kind of imposing effect upon every body, to say 
 nothing of two such lads as Charley Russell 
 and I. 
 
 " Charley had the gift of the gab ; so he got up, 
 and made a low bow and a long speech, telling 
 the captain how he wished to enter the navy. 
 
 *' ' Belike you do, brother,' said the captain.
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 213 
 
 as soon as Charley had made an end of his pa- 
 laver — * Belike you do ; but let me just over- 
 haul you a bit, and see what you can do. Have 
 you ever been aboard ship V 
 '* * No/ said Charley. 
 
 *' * Why, then, mayhap, you can't neither hand 
 nor reef, nor steer.' 
 
 '^ We were obliged again to confess we could 
 not. 
 
 ** * Nor I dare say you can't splice a rope, nor 
 raise a perpendicular.' 
 
 " We knew just as much about finding the 
 longitude as of doing any one of the things the 
 captain asked us about. I felt that we were 
 confoundedly gravelled ; so I stepped up to him, 
 and said it was true we couldn't do much, 
 but that we were very young, and willing to 
 learn. 
 
 " * Well said, mate !' cried the old boy ; ^ and, 
 if I was to larn you, I dare say you might 
 make a taught fellow. But you would be of no 
 use on board a king's ship now ; — they wouldn't 
 have you at a gift.' 
 
 " This was disheartening, and seemed to be a 
 death-blow to our hopes. Charley and I looked 
 ruefully at each other ; and I was still more 
 frightened than Charley, because 1 thought I dis- 
 cerned a distant prospect of being hanged in 
 case I should be caught ; for that I had killed 
 old Scourge I never dreamt of doubting.
 
 214 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 '* The captain was a cunning old thief, and saw 
 our embarrassment, of which he was not slow in 
 taking advantage. 
 
 " ' Now,' said he, ' if you'd like a trip to the 
 West Indies, in as pretty a ship as ever danced 
 over the salt sea ocean, I could accommodate 
 you.' 
 
 ** I looked at Charley, and saw by the glisten- 
 ing of his eyes that he was delighted with this 
 proposal. All that we wished for was to go to 
 sea ; and we did not care much as to the manner, 
 simply because we knew nothing at all about 
 the affair. 
 
 " ' Many's the fine young fellow that I've made 
 a good sailor of,' continued the captain ; ^ and, if 
 so be you like to try a spell along with me, you'll 
 have an opportunity of learning the craft of sea- 
 manship ; whereby you may come to be a 
 captain or an admiral, according as you be- 
 have.' 
 
 *' For my part, when I heard the old rogue 
 talk in this strain, I thought he was my guardian 
 angel, who had taken this shape to put me in 
 the way of happiness and fortune. Charley was 
 not less sanguine ; and, to make a long story 
 short, we fell into the net that was spread for us. 
 The captain called for a can of flip, and made 
 us drink with him, sorely against our wills ; but, 
 as he said no one could ever be a sailor that 
 wouldn't toss off his can like a man, we complied.
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 215 
 
 ** When we had taken as much of this stuff as 
 he thought sufficient for his purpose he called 
 for some brandy, and, filling a glass for each of 
 us, ' Now, lads/ he said, * Fll teach you the first 
 thing a seaman larns ; that is, to splice the 
 main brace. — Do as I do ;' and he swallowed the 
 contents of his glass at a single gulp. 
 
 *' We obeyed him without hesitation, and this 
 finished our business. We were as completely 
 drunk as any two youngsters in Christendom, 
 The captain then produced some papers, which he 
 told us contained an engagement to sail with 
 him to the West Indies, and he asked us to sign 
 them. If we had been sober, we should not, I 
 dare say, have refused ; and, drunk as we were, 
 we signed without looking at the papers, and 
 without hesitation. 
 
 " * Now boys,' said the captain, * I recommend 
 you to turn in to your births, and take a snooze : 
 I'll come and pipe you out of your hammocks 
 betimes to-morrow ; and then aboard the Lovely 
 Sally, and hey for the West Indies !' After this 
 advice he squeezed our hands in his horny palm, 
 which was very like a bear's foot, and bade us 
 good night. 
 
 " We got to bed as well as we could, and the 
 next morning each of us awoke with a horrible 
 head-ache. The thoughts, however, of the new 
 life that we were about to begin, were so delight- 
 ful to our boyish fancies, that we cared little for
 
 216 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 this inconvenience ; and, after breakfasting with 
 our new friend, we went aboard the * Lovely 
 Sally/ 
 
 " Notwithstanding our inclination to view 
 every thing in the best light, we couldn't help 
 thinking the ship was very small, and, by the 
 side of some of the vessels we saw in the port, a 
 very shabby-looking concern. We had little time, 
 however, now to reflect upon this, or any thing 
 else, as the preparations for getting the ship out, 
 and for sailing, gave us sufficient employment. 
 A fresh breeze sprung up, and we soon lost sight 
 of the shore. 
 
 " The ship's crew consisted of six men, besides 
 our old friend of the preceding night, and a lank 
 ill-looking person, who seemed to have a supreme 
 authority on board. He ordered every body 
 about; and, on his telling me to do something 
 I didn't like, I, who was never fond of control, 
 told him I wouldn't. 
 
 " He burst out immediately into a furious 
 passion, and swore all kinds of sea oaths at me ; 
 threatening to be athwart my quarter if I didn't 
 obey him. The captain was standing by, and I 
 appealed to him. 
 
 '*' Captain,' I said, 'am I to do whatever this 
 fellow tells me V 
 
 " * Fellow, brother ! Egad you'd better not call 
 him fellow. I'm the captain, it's true : but he's a 
 bigger man than me ; he's the admiral.' As he
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 217 
 
 said this the old villain thrust his tongue into 
 the cheek that was not filled with tobacco, and 
 winked at the tall man, who laughed aloud, and, 
 swearing at me worse than before, said, if I didn't 
 obey him, ' he'd make every beam in my body 
 crack/ 
 
 '* I was taken all aback in a moment, and began 
 to suspect we had been trepanned. I thought it 
 was better to take his advice, particularly when 
 I saw the admiral, as he called him, grasp his 
 cudgel resolutely; and so I did as I was bid. I 
 then went in search of Charley; and, upon im- 
 parting my suspicions to him, I found that he had 
 formed a similar opinion. To our further asto- 
 nishment we made for the shore on the close of 
 the same day ; and as soon as the night had set 
 in, and the corn, which appeared to form our 
 cargo, had been removed, a quantity of barrels 
 were taken from under it, and were lowered into a 
 boat, in which the admiral, with all the crew, ex- 
 cepting the old captain, placed themselves, and 
 rowed away. I then began to ask the old fellow 
 what this meant, and why we didn't keep on 
 our course for the West Indies. 
 
 " * West Indies !' said he ; — * oh, don't be in a 
 hurry ; you're young yet, and have plenty of 
 time to go to the West Indies before you die.' 
 
 ** * Yes,' I said ; ' but you know we engaged to 
 go to the West Indies.' 
 
 ** * 1 tell you what, brother,' said he, ' you're a
 
 218 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 likely lad, and I'll let you into a secret. We 
 an't going to the West Indies at all ; and, if you 
 take my advice, you'll do your work, and hold 
 your tongue. This here Lovely Sally is a little 
 coaster, and you're apprenticed to the owner of 
 her for seven years : that's the owner that's gone 
 ashore, and I'm no more a captain than you are ; 
 and we do a trifle of smuggling when we can, 
 wherewith the captain has now gone ashore to 
 land some brandy ; and we were mainly in want 
 of two boys, whereby I bound you apprentice to 
 the owner ; and now, whether you like it or no, 
 you must stay.' 
 
 '* My rage at this news, and at the coolness 
 with which the old ruffian told it to me, almost 
 choked me. But I was obliged to swallow my 
 anger ; I had not an inkstand at hand, and, if I 
 had, his head was harder, and he was bigger, than 
 old Scourge ; besides, I could not jump out of 
 window and run away. I could'nt say a word, 
 but turned into my hammock, where Charley 
 and I cried bitterly, and vowed vengeance, until 
 we went to sleep. 
 
 " Every succeeding hour proved the truth of 
 what the old rascal had told me, and we gave 
 ourselves up for lost. The treatment we ex- 
 perienced from the villains on board was such as 
 I won't detail, because Madam there doesn't like 
 to hear of it; but you may fancy it was bad 
 when I tell you that I thought old Scourge's
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 219 
 
 birch was a mere pastime to it. I found that 
 we had got amongst a crew of free traders, who, 
 under the pretence of carrying corn along the 
 coast, supplied all sorts of contraband and run 
 goods to smugglers on shore, in various parts of 
 the kingdom. 
 
 " For nearly a year this went on, and during 
 the whole of the time we had not the most dis- 
 tant chance of escaping. Whenever the ship went 
 into port we were kept on deck, and generally 
 down below. The owner never staid long-er than 
 was absolutely necessary, and seemed at no time 
 so safe or so happy as when he was away from 
 the English coast, for which I dare swear he had 
 many good reasons. To write to our friends was 
 impossible ; and any attempt to remonstrate 
 met with a kick or a starting from the lank 
 owner, and some blackguard jests from old Sprit. 
 " In the mean time Charley and I learnt some- 
 thing of the business of a ship ; and, as we were 
 always ready to console each other in our diffi- 
 culties, things were not so bad as they might 
 have been. At length our fate was changed, 
 but not much for the better. 
 
 " One morning, when we were standing off 
 Guernsey, a sail hove in sight, which was be- 
 lieved to be a French privateer; and, as our 
 owner hated those gentry worse than any thing 
 in the world, excepting the king's cutters, we pre- 
 pared to escape from her as fast as possible. This
 
 220 
 
 was, however, soon found to be impracticable ; 
 and a consultation was held between the owner 
 and the crew, in which, of course, neither Charley 
 nor I had any share, as to what should be done. 
 
 " The privateer gained upon us ; and, as we 
 did not slacken sail, she sent a shot right 
 through our bows. Like a thoughtless brat, as I 
 was, I thought this was the beginning of some 
 good fun ; and, calling Charley, we went below, 
 where there was a large old swivel gun, that had 
 long been dismounted. This gun we carefully 
 loaded with nails and bolts, and whatever else 
 we could find ; and, mounting it on a chest and 
 table, and pointing it through the cabin window, 
 we resolved to have a slap at the Frenchman, who 
 was now coming down upon us very fast. 
 
 ** If the fellows on deck had had any notion 
 of what we were doing, they would, most likely, 
 have been foul of us in a minute; but they were 
 too busy in thinking of the chance they stood of 
 being carried into a French prison and of losing 
 the cargo — which was very valuable — to bestow 
 a thought upon us. 
 
 '^ The privateer was now very near to us ; and 
 the captain of her was standing on deck, ready to 
 take possession of his prize. Close by him stood 
 one of those grotesque persons who are never 
 to be seen but on board French ships ; and who, 
 although he was dressed in other respects like a 
 sailor, wore an immensely fine powdered periwig.
 
 MY grandmother's CxUESTS. 221 
 
 '' ' Let us have a slap at the man in the wig,' 
 said Charley, as he pointed the old gun towards 
 him. 
 
 " ' With all my heart/ said I ; and, every thing 
 being ready, I clapped the match to the touch-hole. 
 
 '* The gun went ofF, and one of the bolts with 
 which it was loaded damaged the wig at which 
 it was aimed, by carrying away one half of it, 
 and a great part of the wearer's head. This I 
 learnt afterwards, for the charge was so great 
 that the gun burst, and knocked Charley and 
 me down upon the cabin floor, where we lay 
 senseless, and did not recover until the ' Lovely 
 Sally' was in the possession of the Frenchmen. 
 The most disastrous consequence of our firing 
 did not end here : the captain of the privateer 
 came on board of us ; and, exasperated at the 
 loss of his officer, (for the gentleman in the wig 
 was his lieutenant,) having ascertained who 
 was the commander of our ship, he walked 
 coolly up to the lank owner, and discharged 
 a brace of bullets through his head. This 
 being done, he asked who had fired the gun ; and 
 he was told by the crew that it had gone off by 
 accident in the cabin ; and, as a proof of it, he 
 was shown Charley and myself, where we were 
 lying stunned by the bursting of the gun. He 
 believed this story, and contented himself with 
 putting the whole of us in irons ; and then, re- 
 moving us on board his own ship, he carried us.
 
 222 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 in the course of the next day, to the port of 
 Cherbourg. 
 
 " Every one of the * Lovely Sally's' crew, 
 excepting Charley and I, were full of sor- 
 row at this disaster. We could not see any 
 reason to grieve at changing a prison on shore 
 for a prison at sea ; but, on the contrary, we were 
 rather glad of it. Our light-heartedness gave 
 great offence to our messmates ; and this, of 
 course, increased our mirth. Their authority 
 was at an end, and we didn't care a rope's end 
 for all of them put together. 
 
 " ' You unnatural young dog/ said old Sprit to 
 me, * you haven't a drop of English blood in your 
 veins, or you'd cry your eyes out at going to be 
 made a slave of by these here wooden-shoed frog- 
 eating mounseers.' 
 
 " * Captain Sprit,' said I, ' do you know who 
 shot the Frenchman with a wig ?' 
 
 "'Yes, I do, you mischievous young .' He 
 
 said something disrespectful of you, madam," said 
 the captain, gravely, as he turned to my grand- 
 mother, " which I must not repeat. 
 
 " * Well, then,' I said, ' you know. Captain 
 Sprit, the Lovely Sally is yours no longer, 
 and I'm nobody's 'prentice j and, since I've killed 
 one man, I don't mind trying to kill another if he 
 gives me cause.' 
 
 " The captain opened his one eye as wide as 
 two, and looked perfectly astonished. I saw,
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 223 
 
 however, that my hint had raised me in his esti- 
 mation. 'You devil's imp,' he said, 'you've 
 larnt summat since I saw you first at the Ad- 
 miral Benbow.' 
 
 " ' Yes, captain,' I said ; ' and, if my learning 
 shouldn't be to your taste, thank the man that 
 taught me,' 
 
 " * And is this all the reward I'm to get, you 
 swab V 
 
 " ' Good words, captain,' said I ; ' nobody's 
 afraid of you now, and you'd better be friends.' 
 
 "* Friends V said he ; ' I'm the best friend you 
 ever had : — give us your hand, and let's stand by 
 each other.' 
 
 " I shook hands with the old rogue, whose 
 vjrhimsicality made me like him in spite of the 
 trick he had played us ; and who, to do him 
 justice, had saved me from many a starting at the 
 hands of our friend who had been lately shot. 
 We were upon a much better understanding by 
 the time we landed ; and, by way of cement- 
 ing our friendship, I suppose, accident decreed 
 that we should be locked up in the same dungeon 
 in the prison of Cherbourg. 
 
 *' None but those persons who have been in a 
 French prison can form any notion of its horrors. 
 I shall not distress you by telling all the miseries 
 we endured, but leave you to guess at them 
 when you know that we were as wretched as hard 
 labour, little food, and that of the worst descrip-
 
 224 
 
 MY GRANDMOTHER S GUESTS. 
 
 tion, and very scanty clothing in a bitter hard 
 winter, could make us. We resolved to escape if 
 we could; and since Charley and I, after some 
 months' imprisonment, had learnt so much 
 French that we could speak it, as we thought, 
 like the natives, we soon contrived to put our 
 plan in execution. 
 
 " A man with a wooden leg, and, moreover, 
 with the very conspicuous mark of a patch over 
 one eye, is an awkward companion in a flight ; 
 but we couldn't leave old Sprit behind us. He 
 was lowered down first from the prison window : 
 Charley followed him ; I was last. We cleared 
 the town, and got into the open country un- 
 perceived. 
 
 " Old Sprit puffed and hobbled as well as he 
 could ; but he soon made signals, and called to 
 us * to heave to.' 
 
 " * I say, lads,' he cried, * this here '11 never do. 
 My timbers are so crank, and this jury leg of 
 mine is such a bad 'un to sail with, that I'll be 
 
 d d if I can keep my course. If so be as how 
 
 you can't ship me aboard summat, we must part 
 cable : you can cut and run, whereby I shall be 
 cotch'd, and taken back again.' 
 
 " If you hated a man ever so," said my uncle, 
 stopping in his narration, " I defy you to live 
 with him in a French prison, and afterwards to 
 try to escape for your life together, but you 
 must feel your heart softened a good deal towards
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 225 
 
 him. This old Sprit was, perhaps, as great a 
 rogue as ever was not hanged, and had done us 
 the worst turn we had ever experienced ; and 
 yet, may I be shot if we could have left him in 
 such a stress ! 
 
 " * Haul in your lee brace, captain,' said I, 
 * and let's come to an anchor under yon tree, 
 where we can hold a council of war.' We there 
 debated what was to be done, and how we should 
 get any good by the step we had taken. Sprit's 
 advice was to steal the first horses we could find, 
 and make way as fast as possible from this 
 neighbourhood to some point further up the 
 coast. There, he thought, we should be able to 
 get a boat by night, and take the chance of 
 reaching England. I had no great notion of the 
 practicability of this scheme; but I had none 
 better to propose, and after a short rest we pursued 
 our journey. Old Sprit's single eye was as good 
 as many another man's pair, and he soon spied 
 two horses in a field. We made them ours in a style 
 that did credit to the land of our birth, * canny 
 Yorkshire.' Charley and I mounted one, and 
 old Sprit the other ; and, by dint of cudgelling 
 the beasts, we had made before day-break, as we 
 thought, a pretty good voyage. Of course we 
 did not keep the main road, but stuck to the 
 cross ways and the fields. When the sun got 
 up we thought it was not prudent to keep on, 
 and, the beasts being jaded, we turned them loose, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 
 
 to find the way home as well as they could, while 
 we went into a thick wood to rest, and to hide 
 ourselves until night. 
 
 ** We had not eaten since supper-time the night 
 before, and the short commons in a French 
 prison is the best whet to a man's appetite that 
 ever was invented. Old Sprit had only one quid, 
 which he offered to part with us ; but we had not 
 then acquired a relish for tobacco. We lay 
 grumbling until evening, when our hunger was 
 so great that we resolved to run all risks to get 
 food, and we set off for a small town which we 
 had discovered at about two miles distant. We 
 hadn't a coin of any description ; but this did not 
 discourage us. 
 
 " ' If so be as we are obligated,' said Sprit, * you 
 know we must bilk the landlord unless he'll take 
 our words for the money when the ship's paid ; 
 wherewith,' he added, with a chuckle, ' I think 
 he'll have to wait for a blue moon. But never mind 
 that, my hearts ! When a man's hungry he must 
 eat, or else how's he to keep his hulk afloat ? and 1 
 know I won't go without my mess while I can 
 get one of these mounseers to sarve it out to me.' 
 ** We entered the town, and made our way to a 
 decent, but humble, sort of cabaret, where Char- 
 ley, who talked French better than either of us, 
 called for something to eat. There were several 
 persons in the room, who looked at us, I thought, 
 rather suspectingly.
 
 227 
 
 " The landlady asked where we came from. — 
 Charley replied ' that we were Germans, and, 
 having been bred to the watchmaking trade, we 
 were on our way to Geneva, in search of employ- 
 ment/ This account, which Charley rattled off 
 very glibly, seemed to be believed, and some 
 soup was set upon our table, at which we fell to 
 most vigorously. 
 
 ** Sprit, who had stood staring all the while the 
 colloquy was going on between the landlady and 
 Charley, asked me what they said ; and I ex- 
 plained to him the meaning of the conversation. 
 
 " ' Come,' says he, ' that's a good-un, how- 
 somever. So the old bum-boat woman takes me 
 for a Jarman ! Love my heart, what fools these 
 here mounseers be^ good Lord !' and the old fel- 
 low chuckled again at what he thought the 
 egregious folly of the landlady. 
 
 " We ate the soup, and some cold meat which 
 was brought in after it, in a manner that asto- 
 nished our hostess. Old Sprit made himself en- 
 tirely happy with a brandy-bottle ; and at every 
 gulp (and they were pretty numerous) abused^the 
 wine, which he said was worse than the purser's 
 small beer. Our feast being ended, we began 
 to talk about the expediency of effecting a retreat, 
 and the way in which it should be managed, 
 when an accident happened which put an end 
 to our anxiety on this score. 
 q2
 
 228 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 " Sprit was sitting with his face to the door, 
 and I was opposite to him. On a sudden I saw 
 his extraordinary phiz undergo a remarkable al- 
 teration. He stared, and screwed up his mouth, 
 while his hand grasped the knife he had been 
 eating with. Before I could ask him what was 
 the matter, he growled out, in a low tone, ' Shiver 
 my timbers if we an't boarded !' 
 
 " I looked round, and saw three soldiers stand- 
 ing in the door-way, with their muskets pointed 
 towards us. At each of the windows was an- 
 other ; and they all cried at once * Ji has les 
 armes I' meaning, I suppose, old Sprit's knife. 
 
 " ' Put down the knife, captain,' I said. 
 
 " * I suppose I must,' said he : * we can't cut 
 and run, so we must strike.' 
 
 " We learnt afterwards that some person in 
 the room heard and understood Sprit's English, 
 and gave information against us. 
 
 '* The soldiers, who entered immediately, bound 
 us, and we marched off. I consoled myself with 
 the reflection that this had happened after instead 
 of before dinner ; and old Sprit was delighted 
 at coming away without paying the ' old bum- 
 boat woman, who took him for a Jarman.' Vanity 
 was not often to be found in the old man's list 
 of weaknesses ; but he had a great contempt for 
 all the people in the world excepting Englishmen ; 
 and he could not help adding ' as if I didn't look
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 229 
 
 another guess thing from a d d foreigner' — 
 
 the latter appellation being, in his notion, the 
 most contemptuous that the language afforded. 
 
 " We were marched to the little sea-port of 
 Biche, which was the nearest place, and confined 
 for several days in the prison of the fort. The 
 commandant, however, was a good-tempered man, 
 who liked to be surrounded by a great many ser- 
 vants ; and as he saw we could answer his pur- 
 pose in this way, while he would have nothing to 
 pay us, and as our escape he thought was nearly 
 impossible, he used to employ us in all sorts of 
 work. Among other duties, as we were known 
 to be sailors, we were made to row his boat, with 
 some of his own people, when he went out upon 
 litlte pleasure excursions, of which he was very 
 fond. Old Sprit's skill in steering and managing 
 the boat gave him a high place in the favour of 
 the commandant, and he soon came to be in- 
 trusted with the helm. 
 
 " Things might have been worse with us : we 
 were tolerably well fed, and not too much worked ; 
 but we were prisoners, and this went sadly 
 against our stomachs. 
 
 *' The old fellow came to me one day, and, 
 leading me into a quiet corner, where we could 
 not be overheard, asked me ' if I'd like to lend a 
 hand at escaping.' I replied ' that I would wil- 
 lingly, and run all chances.' 
 
 " * Why, my master,' said he, * you must run
 
 230 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 chances ; for, if we don't escape, I think they'll 
 make us slip our wind : because why ? we can't 
 try without hurting the mounseers a little.' 
 
 " ' Well,' I said, ' what is your plan?' 
 
 " ' Why,' said he, * I've told Charley already, 
 and he agrees, and would have come with me ; 
 but we three must not be seen consorting to- 
 gether. My scheme is as this here : we're a going- 
 out to-day for a sail in the commandant's yawl. 
 The old governor won't go ; but young master 
 Varment, his nephew, has set his heart upon 
 a sail, and Captain Jerry Dean is to go with 
 him. You and two of the captain's men are to 
 go for to row the boat back, 'cause the wind 
 blows off shore. Now you see, mate, there's 
 three of us, and four^ of the mounseers ; and its 
 
 d d hard if we can't lick 'em. You're only 
 
 boys, it's true ; but then you're taught little fel- 
 lows, and I've had the handling of you, which 
 isn't the same as if you'd been larnt by another. 
 When I was not so old as you I was rated on the 
 ship's books, and fit like a man.' 
 
 " ' Well, captain,' said I, interrupting him, ^ so 
 will I fight like a man, if I have a chance,' 
 
 " ' Well said, my chicken !' said the old fellow, 
 slapping my back. ' Now here it is, look ye ! — 
 I've got two brace of pistols out of the gover- 
 nor's gun-room. Charley's got one— there's an- 
 other for you — and the others I'll keep in my own 
 breeches pockets for when time shall sarve.
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 231 
 
 Well — we'll go aboard. I shall be at the helm, 
 and the captain and mounseer will be any where 
 they like, and you'll have the other two frog- 
 eaters on the thwarts before you and Charley. 
 rU steer 'em right away from land ; and, if this 
 breeze lasts, we shan't be long making a good 
 course. Then, when they want to come back, we 
 must hoist our colours. Do you take care of the 
 two men ; and, if I don't sarve out the masters, 
 my name a'nt Sprit : only, when you see me fall 
 to, do you go to work ; and if I get the boat 
 once in my hands, and this here wind blows, we'll 
 be ashore in Old England before four-and-twenty 
 
 hours are gone, or else I'm d d out in my 
 
 reckoning.' 
 
 " I can't say this was a very certain or satis- 
 factory prospect to me ; but the wish to escape 
 was so strong, that I would have run even greater 
 risks ; and the pistols Sprit had stolen were a 
 great comfort to me. 
 
 *' We went on board just in the manner direct- 
 ed by the old fellow. Monsieur Valmont and 
 Captain Girardin were two of the greatest cox- 
 combs I ever knew. One of their friends met 
 them just as they were about to embark, and was 
 strongly pressed to accompany them, but he 
 refused. 
 
 " ' Mais moil braved said he to the captain, 
 * how can you trust yourself with these English 
 prisoners V
 
 232 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 " The captain put his hand to his sword, and, 
 with a look of ineffable conceit, said * he felt 
 himself quite safe under the protection of that 
 good friend : besides,' he said, ' don't you observe, 
 mon cher, that these English prisoners consist only 
 of an old man with a wooden leg, and two little 
 boys V 
 
 " His persuasions were in vain ; and, the friend 
 positively refusing to accompany him, we set sail. 
 
 '* It was a delightful morning, and we had 
 gone about two leagues from the shore, when 
 Monsieur Valmont wished to put back. The 
 captain opposed this ; and a dispute about the 
 distance from land ensued. The captain told me 
 to ask Sprit how far it was, which I did ; and he 
 gravely answered ' that we were about half a 
 league distant.' The captain then approached the 
 old fellow, and began to talk the little English he 
 knew, of which Sprit didn't understand a word, 
 but kept answering ' Anan, mounseer,' and ' Ay, 
 ay, sir,' to every observation and question. 
 
 " * Keep your eye upon the weather-gage, and 
 look out for squalls,' he said to me, in an under 
 tone, by which I knew he was about to prepare 
 for action. 
 
 " The dispute between Monsieur Valmont 
 and the captain was continued with all the vehe- 
 mence and gesticulation which Frenchmen use in 
 talking about trifles. The captain swore that the 
 shore was so near that he could swim to it.
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 233 
 
 "^What does he say?' asked Sprit, as the 
 captain was standing close by him, looking 
 through a glass. 
 
 " * He says he could swim ashore/ I replied. 
 
 *' ^ Does he?' said the old fellow ; and with the 
 rapidity of lightning he seized the captain in his 
 arms, as a nurse would a child, and tossed him 
 overboard, exclaiming, at the same moment, 
 
 * Why then, d n his eyes, let him go and try ! 
 
 Jack's alive !' he shouted, as he threw down mon- 
 sieur, and put his wooden leg upon him, by way 
 of checking his motions — the sight of his pis- 
 tols, in the mean time, operating upon the French- 
 man's nerves. 
 
 " Charley and I had not been idle. The two 
 French sailors were on the thwart before us, and 
 it took little trouble to pull them on their backs. 
 The sight of our pistols, and the defenceless 
 posture to which we had reduced them, prevented 
 the fellows from offering any resistance, and they 
 only cried for mercy. 
 
 *' Sprit tied Monsieur Valmont hand and foot, 
 and afterwards relieved us of our charge by per- 
 forming the same office for the sailors. He then 
 seized the helm again, and, putting the boat before 
 the wind, which luckily continued favorable, he 
 made good his promise, by carrying us in safety 
 to Port St. Pierre, in Guernsey. We brought 
 Monsieur Valmont and the two sailors to Eng- 
 land, where they were detained for a short time.
 
 234 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 till a change of prisoners was effected. What 
 became of the captain I really can't tell : — 
 perhaps he did swim ashore — perhaps he was 
 picked up — perhaps But that's all the for- 
 tune of war. 
 
 " I went home and found that I was supposed 
 to be dead, and that the mourning'my friends had 
 worn for me had long expired. My liking for the sea 
 still remaining very strong, my relations thought 
 it wasn't worth while to oppose my inclinations ; 
 and to my great joy Charley Russell and I were 
 both appointed midshipmen on board the Cata- 
 maran sloop of war. We sailed together for 
 seven years. He was a kind-hearted lad — brave 
 as a lion when fighting was the word, but a little 
 of a spoony, as we sailors thought, at all other 
 times. He didn't like grog nor tobacco, and 
 was as lazy as a negro except when he was 
 obliged to work. He was too fond of book-learn- 
 ing to make a thorough seaman : old Scourge 
 had spoilt him. 
 
 *' He was loved by every body on board, not- 
 withstanding he had a little dash of the milk-and- 
 water in his composition. In any body but 
 Charley this would have been unbearable ; but 
 somehow or other, he made every soul in the 
 ship, from the captain down to the mess-boy, his 
 stanch friend, and any of them would have 
 gone to the devil for him : and yet, with all his 
 mildness, Charley was as fond of a joke as any
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 235 
 
 man. He used to delight in humbugging the 
 chaplain, and thought he played him a trick by 
 putting a double dose of rum into his grog ; but. 
 Lord love you ! the parson enjoyed that joke ; 
 and, if it would have given Charley any satisfac- 
 tion, he might have made his reverence's grog all 
 rum, without ever giving him offence. 
 
 " Well, you see Charley was given to writing 
 and reading ; and, when he lost his number" 
 
 " Lost what, uncle ?" said Elizabeth. 
 
 *^ Lost his number, my love," replied the cap- 
 tain with great gravity. 
 
 *' But do, pray, tell us what losing his number 
 means." 
 
 " Why it means that he died, to be sure. I 
 thought every body knew what a man's losing his 
 number meant." 
 
 " But to die, you know, uncle, is to lose one's 
 life, not one's number," said Elizabeth, who knew 
 very well what the old gentleman meant, but 
 who was delighted at any opportunity of getting 
 him into a definition, at which, it must be con- 
 fessed, he was never very brilliant. 
 
 " Yes, my love, so it is; — but it's a great pity 
 you don't understand these things ; though, I 
 declare, I don't know how you should. Well, 
 ask and learn ; that's the way to know, to be sure. 
 Why you see, Elizabeth, each of the men belong- 
 ing to a mess have a number, and their portions
 
 236 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 are served out to them according to those num- 
 bers ; so, if a man should lose his number, why 
 he'd lose his mess, and that's a thing he never 
 could do while he had breath : therefore, you 
 see, losing his number is, as you say, just the 
 same thing as losing his life. In short, my 
 love, it means the same as sticking his spoon in 
 the wall." 
 
 ''Well, and why does he stick his spoon in 
 the wall?" 
 
 "Why because he can't help it," said the 
 captain, with a loud laugh at his niece's igno- 
 rance, and perfectly unconscious that every body 
 present was enjoying the manner in which the 
 arch girl was drawing him out. 
 
 " But pray do explain to us, uncle, about 
 sticking a spoon in the wall." 
 
 " You must be rather thick-headed, I do think, 
 love," said the captain, '' not to understand that. 
 You see, when a man's mess is served out to him, 
 he whips his spoon out of his pocket, and falls to 
 without delay. After this explanation, I suppose 
 I need not tell you that, while a man has any 
 thing to do in this world, he would never think 
 of parting with his spoon. Now d'ye under- 
 stand it?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; and thank you for the trouble you 
 have taken, uncle." 
 
 " 1 think," said Harry, " it is as ingenious a pe-
 
 MY grandmother's GUESTS. 237 
 
 riphrasis for a man's giving up the ghost as ever 
 I heard.'' 
 
 " I wish you'd talk English, Harry," said the 
 captain ; " because, when you give us that out- 
 landish stuff, how can I tell whether you are not 
 saying something disrespectful about our sea 
 phrases ? and that is a thing which, you know, 
 I would not allow." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," said Harry, " I admire them so 
 much, and am, besides, so grateful to you for the 
 kind manner in which you have taken my turn, 
 that I should be very sorry to offend either. What 
 I said was very respectful." 
 
 " Likely," said the captain, who was soon 
 pacified. " But this story that I'm going to give 
 you was written by poor Charley Russell, and 
 found among his papers after he died. Charley 
 had no relations at all that ever I heard of; so, 
 as I was his messmate, I took charge of all he 
 had, and this among the rest. Poor fellow ! he 
 was shot right through the head on the glorious 
 1st of June, and fell into my arms. He died 
 without a moment's pain, as well as I can guess. 
 But, come, I'm chattering instead of giving you 
 the story. Now silence — I am going to begin : 
 but, first of all, I should tell you that I believe 
 Charley picked this story up, or the main part, 
 from an old French priest, who in his youth had 
 been a kind of missionary among the Chinese ;
 
 238 MY grandmother's guests. 
 
 and, although Charley used to believe every v^ord 
 the old fellovjrtold him, I must own that I didn't; 
 and I think some part of this story mayn't be 
 quite so true as it should be ; but, such as it is, 
 here you have it." 
 
 The captain then produced his manuscript, and 
 began to read.
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 MV! ^ntW^ SbU>VV!i 
 
 Upon the 15tli of the first moon (Yun Seaou) the flower- 
 paiuted lanterns shine through the whole night. 
 
 Lalla.Rookh.
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS 
 
 About three thousand eight hundred years 
 before the vulgar era of the creation of the world 
 the celestial empire of China was governed by 
 Xo Fi. He was, though a young man, of great 
 wisdom; his face and figure were of the rarest 
 beauty ; and so prodigious was his strength, that 
 he could break iron with the mere force of his 
 arm — or his courtiers lied. He was a kind and 
 generous ruler over his people, and was univer- 
 sally beloved. He had one failing, and but one — 
 though that was of such a nature that it not un- 
 frequently led him into the commission of im- 
 prudences which his virtue and his good sense 
 would equally have forbidden — he was too apt 
 to yield to the impulses of his passion, and to 
 suffer his reason to slumber. His palace dis- 
 played such a collection of splendour and de- 
 light as surpasses the cold imaginations of peo- 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 pie born in this degenerate age. The floors were 
 of beaten silver, over which were spread carpets 
 of the richest fabric ; the walls were built of 
 aromatic woods, and the most costly silks and 
 muslins hung against them in profuse drapery. 
 Perfumes, so exquisite that they elevated the 
 senses beyond the earth and its impurities, form- 
 ed the atmosphere of this delightful abode. His 
 haram was filled with the most enchanting 
 beauties : from every part of the globe the fairest 
 women had been collected, and here their con- 
 centrated charms crowned all the other fascina- 
 tions of this earthly paradise. From morning to 
 night the songs of these charmers whiled away 
 the lingering hours, and even midnight was made 
 radiant by their beauties. Here, then, joy and 
 pleasure reigned in an eternal variety. 
 
 The young king's education had been super- 
 intended by the principal of the bonzes, a man 
 to whom all the secrets of nature were perfectly 
 familiar : the elements were at his command, and 
 all the spirits which people them did his bidding 
 like household slaves. He beheld with much 
 anxiety the devotions of the young monarch to 
 these enervating luxuries ; and stiil more was he 
 disturbed at the irascibility of his constitution. 
 He remonstrated with him upon his indolence, 
 and the unlimited indulgence of his passions: 
 but youth is deaf to reason ; and the ladies of the 
 seraglio told him that the bonze was an old fool.
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 243 
 
 The king coincided in the judgment of the ladies ; 
 and the bonze was dismissed from the court, with 
 a civil intimation that his presence was no longer 
 welcome. The old gentleman had, moreover, 
 become unpopular from his having discounte- 
 nanced a cruel, and_, as it turned out, a disastrous 
 war with a neighbouring nation ; the only pre- 
 tence for which was the manner in which each of 
 the belligerent parties wore their hair, and which 
 the other thought was damnable and heretical. 
 The bonze had been so indiscreet as to say 
 " that it was better for the people to consent to 
 cut off their hair than to provoke the chance of 
 their foes cutting off their heads ;" and for this 
 saying he had fallen, as it must be confessed he 
 deserved to do, into very just and general odium. 
 The old man retired to his sanctuary a little sur- 
 prised, but with as grave a visage as his philo- 
 sophy would permit him to assume. The prince 
 continued to lead the same life of enjoyment; 
 and, in the recesses of his seraglio, soon forgot 
 the bonze, his advice, and the obligations he was 
 under to him. 
 
 One morning he strolled into the magnificent 
 gardens which surrounded his palace, and where 
 art had been so luxuriantly employed that the 
 seasons were subdued to its will. The fruits of 
 autumn loaded the branches in the summer, and 
 the richest flowers of the spring blossomed 
 throughout the year. Upon one of the loveliest 
 r2
 
 244 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 of this garden's banks reclined a female form ; 
 and the king, supposing it to be one of the 
 ladies of his haram, approached, designing to sur- 
 prise her with the bliss of his presence ; when, to 
 his astonishment, he found that it was a person 
 unknown to him. 
 
 She slept : — he leaned over her with breathless 
 delight; for she surpassed all that he had yet 
 beheld of female beauty. Her light locks sported 
 in the soft morning breeze ; her cheek lay, as she 
 slept, upon a blushing flower, which, though of 
 the rarest beauty, was yet inferior to her breathing 
 charms. Her mouth, half opened, displayed 
 teeth which put to shame all his oriental trea- 
 sures for brilliancy, and exceeded the most de- 
 licate ivory in whiteness : a soft smile played 
 upon her features, and spoke the serenity of her 
 soul. 
 
 The prince hung over her delighted and ena- 
 moured : he stooped down, and, with the air of 
 a man whose very caresses were somewhat of 
 a condescension, he was about to imprint 
 a kiss upon the rosy half-open lips, when an 
 ugly withered hand was interposed, and he had 
 barely time to prevent the intended kiss being 
 bestowed upon it. He started, and beheld a 
 dwarfish old woman, with a face of the most 
 hideous description, to which a mixed expression 
 of malice and cunning gave a disgusting appear- 
 ance, and rendered the ugliness of her features
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 245 
 
 still more revolting. The very few teeth which 
 time had spared to her stuck out, and showed 
 like discoloured fangs upon her withered lower 
 lip ; her hand, which had so nearly received an 
 honour never intended for it, was more like the 
 paw of a beast than any thing human, and long 
 nails, like the talons of a bird, adorned it. Her 
 figure was diminitive ; her back curved, and 
 rising above her shoulders. She was dressed 
 in an odd garb of black cloth, upon which many 
 fantastic symbols were depicted. The anger 
 which the prince felt disposed to give way to 
 was checked by a sense of awe as he regarded 
 this strange unearthly figure, 
 
 '' Mighty father of the earth !" cried she, with 
 a most reverend and humble inclination of her 
 deformed body, " this sleeping maiden is my 
 slave : no mortal has yet tasted the honey of her 
 virgin lip ; nor shall any one in this realm, where 
 property is held sacred under the laws of a just 
 monarch." 
 
 **What price will purchase her?" cried the 
 infatuated youth. 
 
 " Fifty thousand purses of gold/* replied the 
 crone. 
 
 " Then she is mine !" exclaimed the king, in 
 transport, as he caught her in his arms, and was 
 about to complete his first purpose, when the 
 grasp of the withered hand again prevented him. 
 
 " The purses !" said the old woman.
 
 246 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 "They shall be paid to you." 
 
 " I trust not a debtor's memory ; you may 
 forget." 
 
 " I have said it," cried the king, in anger. 
 
 " But do it," rejoined the importunate old 
 woman. 
 
 " Beldame, begone !" said the sovereign, taking 
 oif a ring: " give this to my treasurer, who will 
 pay you." 
 
 " The purses !" repeated the old lady, rejecting 
 his ring. 
 
 The king, carried away by his passion, made 
 a blow at her, which would probably have de- 
 molished her ; but, to his surprise, he struck only 
 the empty air; whilst the hag, standing at his 
 opposite ear, roared again " The purses !" He 
 struck again, but still as vainly as before ; and 
 when, exhausted with rage and his exertions, he 
 threw himself into a seat, the elastic beldame re- 
 peated in a whisper " The purses !" 
 
 " Come with me, then," said the king, rising, 
 and hurrying into the palace, while the hag hob- 
 bled after him. 
 
 The monarch summoned his treasurer, who, 
 accompanied by twenty porters and fifty thousand 
 purses, appeared with that rapidity which his 
 well-known impetuosity had rendered habitual. 
 He ordered the gold to be delivered to the old 
 woman, who, receiving it in her lap, was about to 
 speak, when, his patience being utterly exhausted
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 247 
 
 by the coolness of her demeanour, he very un- 
 gallantly ordered her to be kicked forth. 
 
 The treasurer, his porters, and forty black 
 eunuchs, proceeded with the velocity of lightning 
 to execute his commands : sixty-one feet were 
 raised in attitude to kick ; and in that attitude 
 did they remain, frigid and fixed. The king 
 found himself under the influence of some resist- 
 less power, and attempted, but in vain, to do that 
 which he had ordered his attendants to perform. 
 His limbs refused their office, and he foamed 
 with rage ; while the beldame, with a provoking 
 indifference, went on to count her purses. 
 
 When she had done she took the treasurer's 
 staff of office out of his hand, and, having made a 
 solemn obeisance to the king, and kissed her 
 hand to the treasurer, she seated herself on it 
 very gracefully, saddlewise, and soared out of an 
 open window into the air. As she disappeared 
 the kickers recovered the use of their legs, and 
 gave instant proof of it by running with all ex- 
 pedition, and wild with terror, out of the hall. 
 
 The king was too much occupied with the 
 thought of his charming purchase to dwell upon 
 this mark of disrespect, but rushed back to the 
 bank where he had left her lying. She was still in 
 the same posture ; and, the witch being no longer 
 at hand, he imprinted an ardent kiss upon the 
 lovely lips which had so much fascinated him. 
 
 He started back, for he found they were as
 
 248 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 cold as marble, and that the beautiful form was 
 inanimate as a corpse. Indeed, but for the grace- 
 fulness and ease of her posture, he would have 
 thought she was really dead : no respiration 
 heaved her bosom, whiter than that of a swan. 
 He laid a rose-leaf upon her lips, but it moved 
 not ; he clasped her in his arms, and embraced 
 only a cold substance. The prince saw that he 
 was the dupe of some magical delusion, and he 
 heaped loud and bitter curses upon the authors 
 of it. 
 
 When he had recovered from the first pa- 
 roxysm of his rage he ordered his attendants to 
 carry the fair inanimate to the haram. Here she 
 was laid upon a couch, and the distracted prince 
 hung over her in despair. Days passed, and he 
 still remained in the same spot, watching in vain 
 for her awaking. 
 
 At length he observed, upon the belt of the 
 girdle which bound her gauze robe, some cha- 
 racters which he could not comprehend. He in- 
 stantly summoned all the wise men of the realm, 
 the bonzes and mandarins, with the philosophers 
 of all kinds, to decipher them. They met, and 
 were puzzled ; and, as none of them knew any 
 thing of the matter, they hazarded various opi- 
 nions, and then abused each other for their con- 
 jectures. This was the practice with all of them 
 but the chief mandarin, who said he doubted, 
 and would take time to consider ] by which pru-
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 249 
 
 dent proceeding he saved himself from the 
 shame of exposing his ignorance. 
 
 At length the emperor was told of a devotee of 
 singular piety and mortification of life, who tra- 
 velled from town to town in a sort of open sedan 
 chair, the seat of which was filled with sharp 
 nails, on which he constantly sate for the good 
 of the souls of the faithful ; and, in return for this 
 sacrifice, he implored the charity of the righteous. 
 To him every thing was said to be known ; and 
 his piety, it was believed, had drawn down inspira- 
 tion. He was consulted ; and, after hearing the 
 conflicting opinions of the wise men, and shaking 
 his head at each, he read with great fluency the 
 inscription, which he rendered into an exhorta- 
 tion to the emperor to sit upon a board covered 
 with sharp nails. Nothing but the reputation of 
 the sanctity of a particular part of this gentle- 
 man's person prevented the emperor from treating 
 him as he would have treated the old woman who 
 rode away with the treasurer's staff of office ; but 
 some ill fate seemed always to frustrate his 
 majesty's kicking propensities, and the devotee 
 was suffered to depart unhurt. 
 
 The king dismissed his councillors, and at 
 length thought of his early tutor, the bonze, 
 whose knowledge, he believed, was greater than 
 that of all his kingdom. He immediately sent 
 for him, and implored him, by the affection he 
 had formerly manifested, to extricate him from
 
 250 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 the misery into which his passion had plunged 
 him. 
 
 After examining the characters, the bonze said, 
 with an undisturbed air, " Potent and beloved 
 monarch, the inscription contains the same cau- 
 tion which I formerly ventured to give your 
 majesty, and for which I was so unhappy as to 
 incur your displeasure ; — to repeat it would be to 
 increase the weight of your anger." 
 
 " But is there no way," cried the monarch, 
 " of awaking the maiden ?" 
 
 " Yes,'' replied the bonze, *' but it is fraught 
 with peril to your gracious person." 
 
 " Tell it me, nevertheless," answered the 
 prince, 
 
 *' If your majesty will favour me with your 
 royal commands under your own seal, and an 
 unqualified pardon to me for whatever conse- 
 quences may ensue, I will obey : otherwise I am 
 silent." 
 
 The king did not hesitate to comply with 
 these conditions, and by his direction the state 
 lawyers prepared a warrant for the bonze's disclo- 
 sure of the secret ; which, as they were compelled 
 to avoid all useless repetitions, was perfectly 
 explicit : and in this respect, perhaps, it is the 
 only legal document made since the beginning of 
 the world which does not admit of two interpre- 
 tations. When it was sealed the bonze read as 
 follows :— ** Beware of the storm of passion !—
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 251 
 
 The sleeper will awake when the knot which con- 
 fines her hair shall be unbound :— but pause; 
 for, the first time thine eyes, Xo Fi, shall 
 behold the light of day, after the enchantment 
 shall be dissolved, thou wilt be deprived of thy 
 
 throne." 
 
 The king's hand was stretched out to unloose 
 the fatal knot, when the bonze arrested it, and 
 the chief mandarin urged the necessity of delibe- 
 ration ; but the king vowed he would lose life 
 and power rather than forego the possession of 
 that beauty which alone could make them en- 
 durable. 
 
 The chief mandarin, who was versed in all the 
 subtilties of the law, and who had a great talent 
 at making any plain and obvious words bear a 
 meaning very different from that which they were 
 intended to convey, thought some method might 
 be adopted of evading the prediction, or of avert- 
 ing it until the means of appeasing the powers 
 by whom it was wrought should have been hit 
 upon. It was by acting constantly upon this 
 principle that he had attained the first rank in 
 his profession ; and he had made his fame and 
 his fortune solely by his skill in delay. 
 
 " For example," said he, " if the emperor 
 should have his palace and gardens lighted with 
 lamps, and exclude the beams of the sun" 
 
 The king threw himself upon the necks of the 
 mandarin and the bonze, calling them his fathers
 
 252 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 and preservers. The chief mandarin had a fa- 
 cility in shedding tears — so he wept for joy; but 
 the bonze only shook his head, for he was a phi- 
 losopher. 
 
 Orders were immediately issued for the pre- 
 paration of a palace which should exclude the 
 light of heaven, and in which the soft blaze of 
 aromatic lamps should shed a more beautiful 
 illumination than that of the sun. In the empire 
 of China, at this time, the will of the monarch 
 was promptly followed by its execution. This 
 was the golden age for kings ; but it has passed 
 away, and does not now seem likely to return 
 in China, or in any other places. 
 
 A costly pavilion was stretched over a beau- 
 tiful garden: instead of windows, the most ex- 
 quisite paintings were placed round the saloon, 
 which presented a panoramic view of a fairy 
 country ; and the lamp-light aided a delusion 
 which was so strong as to mock every sense but 
 that of touch. 
 
 As soon as it was completed the enamoured 
 monarch ordered the sleeping beauty to be carried 
 thither, and, rushing with all the impetuosity 
 which ardent love could add — if, indeed, any 
 thing could add to his inflammable temperament 
 — he eagerly embraced her. After gazing for a 
 moment he unbound her beautiful tresses : her 
 eye-lids slowly opened, animation seemed to 
 return to her frame, and with it her beauty
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 253 
 
 faded like a dream. Her eyes turned green ; 
 her nose, which was before of the most de- 
 licate beauty, sank flattened to her cheeks, 
 which were as suddenly puffed out ; her ivory 
 teeth became black and uneven ; while the 
 once rich jetty locks, in the curls of which his 
 fingers still played, were as red as a fox's tail ! 
 Xo Fi turned away enraged and disgusted, when 
 a loud laugh was heard through the slender walls 
 of the pavilion, and he recognised the infernal 
 chuckle of the old hag who had thus duped him. 
 Without casting another look upon the altered 
 maiden, who could no longer be called dear to 
 him but in the light of a purchase, he rushed 
 out, resolved to tear the witch limb-meal. By 
 dint of his prodigious strength he dashed down 
 the frail partition, and soon found himself in the 
 garden. 
 
 He looked round for the old woman, but in 
 vain : he thought he beheld her ugly form gliding 
 behind a thicket, and he darted towards it : in 
 his anger he tore down the clustering blossoms, 
 but his search was useless ; she was not there, 
 though her discordant voice still rang in his 
 ear. 
 
 While he was employed in demolishing the 
 arbour of roses in this fruitless search the chief 
 gardener came up, and saluted him with a smart 
 blow from a spade which he carried, crying out, 
 at the same moment, '' Cursed slave ! what has
 
 254 THE TEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 induced thee thus to destroy my roses, and the 
 emperor's favorite tree ?" 
 
 The king turned upon him, and, seizing the 
 poor gardener by the neck and one leg, was 
 about to hurl him away with as much ease as a 
 man would lift a dog, when, his eye happening to 
 fall upon the sleeve of his dress, he found him- 
 self in the garb of the lowest order of his people. 
 He stopped, as if struck by lightning, and, letting 
 the trembling wretch fall, he remained in stupid 
 amazement. He looked around, but beheld 
 nothing save the gardens, and the palace in the 
 distance ; — no traces of the pavilion were to be 
 seen. He examined his person, which seemed 
 strangely altered for the worse : his hands were 
 hard and discoloured ; his legs, once the envy of 
 all his courtiers, and the admiration of all his 
 ladies, were wickedly bandy. He put his hand to 
 his beard, and found, instead of that grateful 
 cluster of descending curls which formerly de- 
 corated it, only a few harsh bristles. 
 
 It is impossible to say how long he might have 
 remained in the state of stupor, into which these 
 afflicting discoveries had plunged him, but for 
 the return of the gardener. This cunning rogue, 
 as soon as he was extricated from the grasp of 
 the metamorphosed monarch, picked himself slily 
 up, and withdrew gently until out of his reach, 
 when he set off in a full run to fetch the guard. 
 He told them, as well as his fright and the state
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 255 
 
 of his lungs would permit, how he had caught a 
 vagaboud tearing down the king's roses, who had 
 answered his remonstrance by threatening to mur- 
 der him. The guard arrived, and, without cere- 
 mony seizing the mighty monarch, by dint of haul- 
 ing and kicking his sacred, but changed person, 
 soon dragged him to the gate, out of which they 
 pushed him. He raved, swore he was their 
 sovereign, and threatened them with death by 
 unheard-of lingering tortures, for which they 
 first repaid him with blows, but at which they 
 afterwards laughed. The king's rage continued, 
 and it was increased by perceiving that, in spite 
 of all his exertions, he continued to utter his 
 menaces and reproaches in the most vulgar dia- 
 lect of China. 
 
 At length, when he had nearly exhausted him- 
 self, and the joke began to seem somewhat too 
 long for the guards, a porter came up, who cried 
 out, " Well met, Fong ! thy wife has been seeking 
 thee ; and, as thou didst not come home to thy 
 morning's meal, she has prepared a breakfast of 
 bamboo for thee." 
 
 The king stared, but said nothing ; he could 
 not believe that the threat of a wife and a bam- 
 boo had any relation to him. 
 
 "Who is this fellow ?" cried one of the guards 
 to the porter. 
 
 " Don't you know poor Fong ?" was the reply :
 
 256 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 " he is a silly fellow, who has got a shrew for a 
 wife, as his sore bones and empty belly often 
 testify; eh, Fong?" 
 
 Poor King Fong made no reply, bu t, with a 
 mind distracted between grief and amazement, he 
 turned away, amidst the shouts of the soldiery. 
 As he wandered slowly away he observed a little 
 bustling woman before him, who was nearly as 
 broad as she was long, clad in the coarsest gar- 
 ments ; and her sleeve, being tucked up to the 
 shoulder, exposed her muscular arm, which was, 
 in point of dimension, much more like a man's 
 thigh than any thing else. At the end of it her 
 ox-fist clutched a piece of bamboo, the sight of 
 which filled the late king with an anxiety almost 
 amounting to terror, for which he could not ac- 
 count. A sudden turn of the street brought 
 them opposite to each other : no sooner did the 
 little woman behold him than her small red eyes 
 twinkled with new fires. 
 
 " Idle dog!" cried she, "there you are, eh?" 
 accompanying each monosyllable with a stroke 
 of her baton, as an orator beats the table for the 
 purpose of giving effect to his eloquence. 
 
 Fong, who had not been long enough married 
 to endure such discipline, seized her arm, and en- 
 deavored to wrest the stick from her; but he 
 midit as well have endeavored to overthrow a 
 bull: the double-jointed quean set her knee
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 257 
 
 against his leg, and, giving him at the same time 
 an adroit twist, laid him upon his back : she 
 then knelt upon the pit of his stomach, and, 
 having, as it must be allowed, somewhat the best 
 of the fight, she continued the beating, which 
 his intractability had interrupted, occasionally 
 ceasing her blows, and applying her rhetoric. 
 
 The lady was gifted with uncommon volubility, 
 and rated him soundly for deserting his family 
 and idling away his time. When she had talked 
 to a certain pitch she cried ; then fell to beating 
 him ; and then rated him again ; ending every re- 
 proach, and enforcing every blow, with " And 
 then to fly into a passion ! that's the worst, and 
 what, you know, I hate. How often have I told 
 you, Fong, that I hate people who are passion- 
 ate ? How many scrapes has it already led you 
 into ! It may be the cause of your death some 
 day, and then what is to become of me and your 
 poor children V And here she wept again; but 
 in a few minutes, resuming the bamboo exercise, 
 she added, " But FU cure you of your passionate 
 tricks, or Fll know the reason on't." 
 
 At length, tired with her eloquence and ex- 
 ertion, she raised herself from poor Fong's chest, 
 upon which she had been sitting like a night- 
 mare, and assisted him to rise. He was so much 
 exhausted with the discipline he had undergone, 
 and the change to which he found himself sub- 
 jected, that he was incapable of resistance, and 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 THE FEAST OF LAKTERNS. 
 
 was led by his little new wife to a small hovel in 
 the neighbourhood, where he found five ragged 
 children, who honored him with the tender ap- 
 pellation of father. His wife, who seemed to 
 relax somewhat of her severity, set before him 
 food of the coarsest kind, which she invited him 
 to eat, hinting at the same time, according to the 
 custom of some wives, that it was much more 
 than he deserved. He fell to, for the events of 
 the morning had not deprived him of appetite ; 
 and, having finished, his wife pointed to a load 
 which stood before the door, and bade him carry 
 it to the house of a certain merchant, at the 
 other end of the city. He demurred ; indeed he 
 swore he would not cany it, his courage return- 
 ing now that his hunger was appeased ; when his 
 wife, holding up the bamboo, said, *' What ! you're 
 going to be in a passion again, are you ?" Fong 
 took the hint and the burden, and carried the 
 latter whither he was bid. 
 
 He soon discovered that his new trade was 
 that of a porter ; and as his food, and the treat- 
 ment he met with from his strong-armed wife, 
 depended upon his diligence, he continued to 
 labour in this vocation until he was tolerably 
 used to it. It would be tedious to relate all the 
 passionate airs he gave himself, and all the 
 beatings his wife gave him in recompense for 
 them. He found, however, that she was indus- 
 trious and affectionate, and he became by degrees
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 259 
 
 fond of her too. " Misery acquaints a man with 
 strange bedfellows ;" and as poor Fong was no 
 longer powerful, and in point of beauty was even 
 inferior to his little wife, he embraced her and his 
 fate with as good a grace as he could, and, in 
 the course of two years, found that his family, 
 instead of five, consisted of seven children. He 
 continued his labours, and discovered that hard 
 work and hard fare had altered the fiery nature 
 of his constitution so much, that even his wife's 
 remonstrances had become less frequent, and his 
 acquaintance with the bamboo was now merely a 
 distant one. 
 
 It has been said truly enough by a Chinese 
 philosopher, and the saying has been adopted by 
 the sages of other polite nations, *' that there is 
 no state so humble as not to have its grievances, 
 anxieties, and dijfficulties, equal in number and 
 in weight to those which burden the highest con- 
 dition of society." It is the lot of humanity ; 
 and the porter Fong was not exempt from it any 
 more than the potent Xo Fi had been. Fong 
 was delighted, as a father must be, at the increase 
 of his family ; but he was as miserable too as a 
 father must be when he made the discovery that 
 his utmost exertions could not provide them with 
 bread. 
 
 Children are naturally noisy ; and, when there 
 is nothing to stop their mouths with, the noise 
 becomes reasonable enough on their parts, but 
 s2
 
 260 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 infinitely vexatious to those who are obliged to 
 hear them ; and Fong was exactly in this latter 
 predicament. 
 
 Their necessities gave rise to many consulta- 
 tions between Fong and his wife. The little 
 woman was not of an unkind temper; and, al- 
 though she had an excellent knack of handling 
 the bamboo, she was not so unreasonable as to 
 exercise it because poor Fong's unremitting 
 labour failed to produce enough to supply his 
 family with food. She rather set about dis- 
 covering some means of remedying the evil 
 which beset them. She considered and rejected 
 a thousand different projects which suggested 
 themselves to her ; but, at length, she hit upon 
 one to which she saw no objection ; and, although 
 she anticipated some on the part of her husband, 
 she did not doubt that she should be able to 
 remove his scruples. 
 
 Notwithstanding the vigilance of the chief 
 mandarin, a system of corruption prevailed in the 
 execution of justice, by which wealthy malefac- 
 tors were enabled to evade the punishment which 
 the laws had provided for their offences. When 
 such persons as these were condemned to the 
 bastinado, they were in the habit of procuring 
 some needy wretches, who would rather endure 
 any pain than that of poverty, to undergo, in- 
 stead of them, the stripes they had been ordered 
 to receive.
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 261 
 
 By an understanding with the officers of 
 justice this was not difficult to be managed ; but, 
 as men do not like to be bastinadoed if they 
 can avoid it, the substitutes were scarce, and 
 these vicarious criminals commanded a high 
 price in the market. Fong's wife thought of 
 this, and saw at once the means of providing for 
 her starving children. 
 
 It happened that, at this time, Yam Quam, a 
 notorious peculator, who was at least as rich as 
 he was wicked, had been condemned by the 
 supreme court of judicature to several days of 
 successive scourging, for the good of his soul, 
 and for the sake of example to all the rest of the 
 people within the dominions. 
 
 The government of China was a humane and 
 paternal one ; and, having a great aversion to 
 shedding the blood even of criminals who de- 
 served death, they preferred sentencing them to 
 a punishment which, if they happened to survive, 
 (and that they should do so was pretty nearly im- 
 possible,) made them better during the remainder 
 of their lives. 
 
 Yam Quam had been sentenced to four suc- 
 cessive doses of the bastinado, in the humane 
 belief that he could not survive the second ; for, 
 when the bastinado is administered in good 
 earnest, it is likely enough to prove mortal. 
 Three of these four days of discipline had aheady 
 passed; and as, of his three substitutes, two had
 
 262 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 died, and the third had every prospect of remain- 
 ing a cripple during the rest of his life, Yam 
 Quam found it not a little difficult to provide a 
 fourth, and his offers were immense. Fong's 
 wife learnt this ; and, having bargained with the 
 criminal himself to furnish a substitute for twenty 
 purses, she came home to tell her husband 
 of it. 
 
 Fong was horror-stricken at the mention of 
 her proposal, and in plain Chinese told her that 
 nothing should induce him to ratify the bargain 
 she had made. 
 
 Mrs. Fong burst into a flood of tears — the 
 approved custom for married ladies who wish to 
 carry a difficult point ; and, with a multitude of 
 tender reproaches, besought him not to 4iesitate 
 at any sacrifice to prevent his dear children from 
 dying of starvation. 
 
 Fong was as good a father — and so he told his 
 wife — as any in China. There was nothing, in 
 reason, he would not do for his children's sake ; 
 but he could not make up his mind to provoke 
 his death — and a death which was as horrible as 
 it was certain — by the means his wife proposed. 
 
 Mrs. Fong redoubled her persuasions, and 
 Fong's refusal acquired, if possible, a more de- 
 termined tone. At length Mrs. F. who was not a 
 woman to be trifled v/ith when she had set her 
 mind on any thing, told Fong he must. *' If it's 
 the beating alone you dread, Fong," said she
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 263 
 
 rising, and drawing from its recess her own 
 bamboo, which, from long disuse, was covered 
 with cobwebs, '* you will not avoid that by 
 your refusal, for I flatter myself that I can strike 
 as hard a blow as any executioner in our celestial 
 empire ; and I swear by Cham Ti, (a solemn 
 oath !) that you shall know no respite from my 
 bamboo until my children have bread. So now, 
 Fong, you may choose whether you will be 
 beaten by me and get nothing for it, or be beaten 
 by the officers and have twenty purses." 
 
 This was a new way of putting the case — a 
 style of reasoning against which Fong had nothing 
 to say. He knew Mrs. F. was not a woman to 
 be trifled with, and he knew too that she was 
 every way capable of keeping her word. He saw 
 that it was his fate to die of a beating ; and he 
 thought, therefore, he might as well ensure his 
 children bread as be killed gratis. After a little 
 further discussion, for the purpose of keeping up 
 his marital dignity, and to save himself from the 
 appearance of being influenced by his wife's 
 bamboo, he acquiesced, and set about preparing 
 for his martyrdom. 
 
 Just at this moment, however, an old bonze, 
 who directed the spiritual affairs of the Fong 
 family, came into their cottage. He had heard 
 some part of the altercation between Fong and 
 his wife by listening at the key-hole — a com- 
 mon practice with his reverence ; and, wishing to
 
 264 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 be further satisfied, he entered the hoveL In 
 answer to his inquiries, Mrs. F. who had nothing 
 to conceal from so pious a man and so good a 
 friend, told him the dreadful straits to which they 
 were reduced, and the expedient they had just 
 hit upon for extricating themselves. 
 
 The bonze looked wise ; and, after rubbing his 
 hand several times round his head — a practice 
 which in China implies profound thought — he 
 told them he could suggest an expedient, which, 
 without any of the inconveniences which Fong 
 so much dreaded, presented equal pecuniary ad- 
 vantages. The couple listened with the utmost 
 attention to the good man while he explained 
 to them that on the next day a solemn festival 
 was to be celebrated, at a sacred spot, about a 
 league distant from the city, by the bonzes of 
 the college to which he belonged, in honour of the 
 god Tien Tchu ; and that he wanted a person who 
 would stand on the top of a machine, which was 
 erected for this purpose, and remain there in 
 sight of the people during the whole day. For 
 this service, trifling as it seemed to be, he was 
 ready, he said, to give Fong as much money as 
 was offered by Yam Quam to undergo his bas- 
 tinado. 
 
 Fong was overjoyed at this offer, and embraced 
 it without hesitation. The little woman was 
 ready to go out of her wits for joy when the 
 bonze gave her one purse as earnest of his inten-
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 265 
 
 tions, and she flew to procure bread with it for 
 her famishing children. Fong promised to be 
 with the bonze by day-break, and they parted 
 mutually satisfied with each other. 
 
 On the following morning, Fong, after a good 
 breakfast, which the bonze's purse enabled him 
 to procure, took an affectionate leave of his wife 
 and children, and set off to keep his promise, 
 like a punctual man as he was. The bonze re- 
 ceived him, and conducted him to the top of the 
 machine, where there were several robust bonzes, 
 to whom Fong was introduced. A robe was pro- 
 duced, which he was desired to put on, and with 
 the assistance of the bonzes he did so. They 
 were most assiduous in their attentions to him in 
 tying and buttoning the clothes he was to wear ; 
 and he was exhausting his eloquence in thanks^ 
 when he found that on their suddenly drawing 
 one string of the robe, with which all the others 
 were connected, his limbs were effectually con- 
 fined. A lofty cap, decorated with jewels, was 
 put upon his head, and tied under his chin ; im- 
 mediately after which latter cp ration he found 
 he was entirely gagged, and could not open his 
 mouth. He could, therefore, neither move hand 
 nor foot, nor tongue. Being thus effectually ren- 
 dered helpless, he was immediately taken up in 
 the arms of the bonzes, and carried to a part of 
 the machine whence he could see the immense 
 crowd of people assembled below, but his face
 
 266 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 alone was visible to them : then the bonzes 
 bound him to a post, so as to keep him in one 
 position, and left him. 
 
 Fong began to suspect some treachery ; but his 
 terror and his grief can only be imagined when 
 he heard the old bonze, who had made the bar- 
 gain with him on the preceding day, begin to 
 preach a sermon to the people, in the course of 
 which he told them that the person they saw on 
 the machine was a nobleman, who had been 
 chosen, from among innumerable aspirants for the 
 same honour, to sacrifice himself to the god Tien 
 Tchu. This nobleman, he said, would, at the 
 seventh hour, throw himself headlong from the 
 top of the machine into the deep and rapid tor- 
 rent which rolled at the bottom of the hill ; and 
 would then be received by the spirits of the 
 flood, and conducted to the gardens of Lao, 
 where he would enjoy everlasting life and hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Fong made a thousand efforts to get loose; 
 and it would have been an evil hour for the old 
 bonze if he had succeeded. The rogues who had 
 brought him thither, and who stood behind him 
 screened by the machine from the view of the 
 people, recommended him to be quiet, promising 
 him consolingly that the sermon of the old bonze 
 should be fulfilled so far as the throwing him 
 headlong into the river. This increased his 
 agony, and his face underwent a thousand fright-
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 267 
 
 ful contortions, which the people who saw him 
 took for so many proofs of his zeal, and of the 
 earnestness of his devotion. 
 
 While this farce was playing the chief man- 
 darin came past. He was a great observer of 
 religious forms ; but, as he did not happen to be 
 a disciple of Tien Tchu, and as he had a spite 
 against the priests of this deity, he stopped his 
 retinue to see what was going on. 
 
 He listened to the bonze's sermon, and looked 
 at the object of it, in whose rolling eyes and 
 frantic look he thought he discovered something- 
 very extraordinary. He asked the bonze what was 
 the name of this devoted nobleman ; and the bonze 
 replied that it was against the principles of his 
 religion to disclose his name. 
 
 "Well, then," said the mandarin, "let him 
 come down ; I will ask him myself." 
 
 " Call him down," said the bonze, " and see if 
 he will come." 
 
 The mandarin did call him ; but Fong did not 
 obey his summons, for the best reason in the 
 world — he was tied hand and foot. He did all he 
 could — he grinned most dreadfully. 
 
 Luckily for the poor fellow, that which was 
 said to be the chief mandarin's greatest weakness 
 saved his life. His lordship began to doubt; 
 and, his doubts turning upon the point whether 
 all the bonzes were not great rogues, he sent up 
 some of his own officers to examine into the affair.
 
 268 THE FEA&T OF LANTERNS. 
 
 They soon discovered the manner in wliich Fong 
 was bound, and the reason of his silence ; and, 
 releasing him, they brought him before the 
 mandarin. 
 
 Fong's answers soon disclosed the whole 
 mystery ; and the mandarin, who, when he did 
 decide a cause, did it in such a manner as to make 
 an impression, decreed, in the first place, that 
 the twenty purses should be paid to Fong ; and, 
 this being done, he directed that all the bonzes 
 concerned in this trick should be immediately 
 thrown from the top of the machine into the 
 river, and recommended to the protection of 
 the spirits of the flood, who, if they were not 
 impostors, would, of course, preserve their lives. 
 This sentence was immediately carried into exe- 
 cution, to the satisfaction of the populace, who, 
 as they expected to see only one man leap into 
 the river, were agreeably disappointed at finding 
 ten jumpers. They praised the equity and 
 sagacity of the chief mandarin to the skies, 
 and went home delighted that their laws and 
 liberties were under the protection of so wise 
 and virtuous a magistrate. 
 
 Fong, rejoicing at his escape, and at the ac- 
 quisition of the purses, slipped away from the 
 crowd of persons who congratulated him, and set 
 oft by a near cut towards the city, intending to 
 surprise his wife with the news. He found, how- 
 ever, that the exertions of the day, and his
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 269 
 
 fright, had so much fatigued him, that some 
 repose was necessary ; and he was devoured too 
 by a burning thirst. 
 
 On his road he passed a small pleasure-garden, 
 and, looking through a latticed door, he saw a 
 fountain throwing up its sparkling waters beneath 
 the cool shade of a luxuriant tree. As nobody 
 appeared at hand, he entered without ceremony, 
 and, having quenched his thirst in the refreshing 
 stream, he lay down in a thicket, when he soon 
 fell into a deep slumber. 
 
 He was awoke after some time by a slight 
 noise, which, upon raising his head, he found 
 was occasioned by the passage near him of a 
 person who was borne in a sedan by two slaves. 
 They put him down near the place of Fong*s 
 retreat, which was so completely a concealment, 
 that the position in which he lay prevented him 
 from being seen. He, however, recognised, in 
 the person borne, the devotee who sat upon 
 nails, and who, when he had been a king, pre- 
 tended to decipher the characters which had 
 been the cause of all his misfortunes. 
 
 The slaves having retired, the devotee very 
 coolly got up from his nailed seat, and proceeded 
 to undress for the purpose of bathing ; but in 
 doing this he discovered the whole secret of his 
 sanctity, for Fong perceived that the thin linen 
 drawers in which he was clad werfe lined with a 
 piece of buffalo's hide, which so firmly resisted
 
 270 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 the effect of the nails, that he sat as much 
 unhurt as if he had been upon a bed of roses. 
 The rogue, after bathing, dressed himself in a 
 splendid robe, which he produced from his chair ; 
 and having taken from the same place a con- 
 siderable sum of money, raised from the offer- 
 ings of the pious in the course of the day, he 
 spread it upon the ground, and sat down to 
 count it. 
 
 A troop of young girls were now seen, hasten- 
 ing down a walk of the garden in a dance, the 
 measure of which they marked by a song. — 
 They saluted the pious anchorite with all the 
 blandishments of mercenary affection ; and Fong 
 soon discovered that they composed the haram 
 of this hypocrite, who retired hither to solace 
 himself after the fatigues of his feigned mor- 
 tification. He pursued the dance of his female 
 companions with as much alacrity as they, and 
 was soon lost sight of in the flowery thickets of 
 the garden ; while Fong, who feared that some 
 unlucky bastinado might be in store for him if 
 he were discovered, crawled from his hiding- 
 place, and, gaining the gate, pursued his road 
 towards the city. 
 
 As he wandered along, reflecting upon the 
 hypocrisy of the rogue he had left behind, he 
 could not avoid contrasting his own present with 
 his former condition. 
 
 " And if I had been still a monarch," he said,
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 271 
 
 and smiled, *' I should, upon the discovery of 
 this imposture, have indulged in a fit of passion, 
 and ordered his head off ; but I thank the gods 
 that, in all my misfortunes, I have at least sub- 
 dued that w^eakness — I am no longer a passionate 
 man." 
 
 As he uttered this soliloquy he looked up, 
 and beheld the old woman who had sold him the 
 sleeping fair. 
 
 ** Another old acquaintance !'' said he. 
 
 The witch, courtesying before him, presented 
 him with the identical treasurer's staff of office 
 upon which she had flown away from him, and 
 said " Will it please you to ride ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied Fong, smiling ; and, taking 
 the staff from her hand, he strode across it. No 
 sooner had he spoken than he felt himself 
 ascending ; and, after sailing in the air for a short 
 space, the staff made a descent towards the 
 palace, where it entered an open window of the 
 state chamber, and deposited Fong upon the 
 regal couch. To his utter amazement, he found 
 too that his person had during this flight under- 
 gone another change, and that he was now re- 
 stored to his pristine condition of royalty. His 
 attendants entering, he learned that he had lain 
 in a trance for three days; and, shortly after,, 
 the bonze, prostrating himself before the throne, 
 implored his pardon for the delusion he had 
 practised upon him by means of a dream.
 
 272 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 '' Then we have no wife ?" cried the monarcli. 
 
 " None," replied the bonze. 
 
 " And are we a king again ?" 
 
 " As you have ever been/' continued the phi- 
 losopher ; *' but, fearing that your impetuosity 
 would cause some formidable evil, I have taken 
 this means of discharging the duty I vowed to 
 your deceased father, and of teaching your ma- 
 jesty a lesson which I hope you will never forget." 
 
 " By the bamboo of my late little wife, I never 
 will !" replied the monarch. 
 
 He then gave orders that a solemn festival 
 should be proclaimed, at which every house and 
 every garden should be illuminated with coloured 
 lamps and lanterns, in commemoration of these 
 strange events, and in some degree emblemati- 
 cal of his own illuminated pavilion in the gardens 
 of the palace. 
 
 The bonze presented the king with a real slave, 
 of beauty equal to hers of whom he had dreamed, 
 and no foul witch interfered to mar his happiness. 
 He sought out the dervis, and, having ascer- 
 tained that part of the dream which related to 
 this impostor to be correct, he only punished 
 him by confiscating his haram and pleasure- 
 gardens, and taking away his buffalo-skin, which 
 latter pointed mark of his displeasure he thought 
 sufficient. 
 
 Although he knew that his obligations to the 
 chief mandarin were merely visionary, yet he
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 273 
 
 had been so thoroughly frightened with the pros- 
 pect of his jump into the torrent, from which, in 
 his dream, this minister had saved him, that he 
 always treated him with profound respect, and 
 loaded him with honours, to which, notwithstand- 
 ing his habit of doubting., the virtue and wisdom 
 of the Mandarin fully entitled him. 
 
 The remainder of the reign of Ko Fi was pros- 
 perous, and extended to an uncommon length, 
 equally honorable to himself and beneficial to his 
 people. 
 
 Annually, on the return of the day on which 
 he awoke from his trance, he had the festival 
 which he had ordered on that occasion repeated. 
 The memory of it did not die with him, but it 
 has been perpetuated during the last nine thou- 
 sand six hundred and one years, and will pro- 
 bably be continued as long as the world exists. 
 Such was the origin of The Feast of Lanterns. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Ul^ 
 
 " Well, uncle/' said Elizabeth, " it is a very 
 pretty story, but I wonder at hearing you say 
 you do not believe it to be true." 
 
 " Oh, my love," replied the veteran, " it may 
 be true or it may not ; all I can say for it is that 
 it happened a long while ago, and a great way 
 off; and, if any body likes to believe it, I don't 
 know any harm it can do." 
 
 Supper was now announced, and the story- 
 telling for this evening was concluded. 
 
 END OF VOLUME I. 
 
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