WENDERHOLME
 
 
 WENDEEHOLME 
 
 A STORY OF 
 LANCASHIEE AND YOEKSHIEE 
 
 BY 
 
 PHILIP GILBERT HAMERTON 
 
 AUTHOR OF *A PAINTER'S CAMP,' ETO. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. L 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 MDCCCLXIX 
 
 The, right oj Translation is reserved
 
 H ilw 
 
 TO AN OLD LADY IN 
 ^ YORKSHIRE, 
 
 ^s^ Although, when you last came to see me, you 
 
 4 "were quite an eminent pedestrian, and rode 
 
 <Swith '}ne on muleback in Savoy, and walked on 
 
 i^ glaciers, and jumped with a skipping- rope to 
 
 please the children, and would, no doubt, hav^ 
 
 •^ waltzed if there had beeiz a7ty dancing — and 
 
 )'^ although your hair was abundant and brown, 
 
 \ and, contrarily to the custom of the present age, 
 
 'was the product of the head which it adorned 
 
 — yott are an old lady, so far as seventy years 
 "^can make you one, 
 ^ And you remember a time when the country 
 
 in which this story is placed was quite different 
 ^from what it is to-day — when the old proprietors 
 
 lived in their halls undisturbed by modern inno- 
 
 d 
 
 vation, and neither enriched by building-leases 
 
 1 VOL. I. A
 
 2 DEDICATION. 
 
 nor humiliated by the rivalry of the great man- 
 ufacturers. You have seen wonderful changes 
 come to pass — the valleys filled with towns, and 
 the towns connected by railways, and the fields 
 covered with suburban villas. You have seen 
 people become richer and more refined, though 
 perhaps less merry, than they used to be, till the 
 simple, U7ipretending life of the poorer gentlefolks 
 of the past has become an almost incredible tradi- 
 tion ; and we hear with wonder how some young 
 ladies, of ancient lineage and honourable station 
 in society, went to balls in open spring-carts, and 
 how their fathers made merry on home-brewed 
 ale after dinner-parties at one p.m. 
 
 This story is fixed at a more recent date, 
 within the writer s 7nemory and experience. 
 Whilst writing a certain portion of it, his 
 thoughts turned constantly to you, in the time 
 of your sickjtess and pain ; and now he begs 
 you to accept the dedication of it, dear old lady, 
 with kisses of dutiful affection.
 
 P E E F A C E. 
 
 It was at the suggestion of an experienced, yet 
 perhaps too hopeful, friend, that the present writer, 
 who for some years has been more accustomed 
 to critical than imaginative composition, ven- 
 tured to attempt a work of fiction. The desire 
 to do so was, however, by no means new to 
 him ; but it had always been restrained by the 
 conviction, that whilst no branch of literature 
 allures aspirants by such apparent facility as 
 the novel, there is not one which makes such 
 large claims on an author's general powers, and 
 upon his knowledge of men and things. Hence 
 it seemed more prudent to defer any projects of 
 this kind until middle life ; but, in the mean- 
 while, they gave a zest to observation, and an 
 interest in things generally, which, it is natural
 
 4 PREFACE. 
 
 to suppose, may have helped to prepare the 
 writer for his task. 
 
 A dramatist, or teller of stories, needs a 
 quality which is not so necessary to men in 
 other occupations, and which might sometimes 
 even be detrimental to their activity — namely, 
 the widest tolerance, and even sympathy, which 
 may be compatible with the rectitude of the 
 moral standard. He needs this tolerance, be- 
 cause without it he could not speak with justice 
 of various orders of men — for you can never 
 have the patience to study any man accurately 
 if you have a bitter prejudice against him. 
 Thus, in English novels, French characters are 
 usually not studies but caricatures, and vice 
 versa; in many aristocratic novels the middle 
 class is treated with a mixture of ridicule and 
 contempt ; whilst in novels which emanate from 
 the middle class itself, or at least from the lower 
 section of it, it is difficult to meet with a recog- 
 nisable portrait of a gentleman. The fences 
 which separate class from class, sect from sect, 
 nation from nation, are so high, so solid, and so 
 strong, that nothing short of a resolute deter-
 
 PREFACE. 5 
 
 mination, or very peculiar circumstances of birth, 
 can get through them, or over them. But the 
 novelist must get over them, and when once he 
 has done so, it is likely that he will see some- 
 thing to approve of — something that attracts his 
 sympathy — in men whom the boundary lines of 
 society have set apart as his natural enemies. 
 He may have his moments of misanthropy, but 
 he will always be meeting with some visible 
 and undeniable fact in actual life that will not 
 allow him to be a misanthropist for long. He 
 hated some nation or class, but on coming to 
 know it better he' sees some admirable traits 
 which cast, as it were, a spoonful of alkali into 
 the acid vial of his wrath. He despised some 
 old woman because she was stingy ; but finding 
 out afterwards that she has been denying her- 
 self to save for poor nephews and nieces, he 
 discovered that stinginess might possibly be a 
 virtue. He scorned some Papist for believing 
 too much, some doubter for believing too little ; 
 but on a nearer view found out that the Papist 
 was by no means wanting either in information or 
 common-sense, and that the sceptic had a sense
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 of honour so delicate that there really was no 
 occasion to lock up the silver spoons when he 
 came into the house. Nay, I have even heard 
 of a Frenchman who convinced himself, by per- 
 sonal observation of our national manners and 
 customs, that it is not the invariable practice of 
 all Englishwomen to get drunk nightly on ardent 
 spirits ; and such is the progress of tolerant and 
 just feeling due to an increased intercourse be- 
 tween the two nations, that instances might be 
 cited of women in our own country who are 
 now willing to admit that, under favourable 
 circumstances, a Frenchwoman may possibly 
 be virtuous. 
 
 The reader is respectfully requested to extend 
 a similar indulgence to several characters in this 
 book who may not happen to live, as it were, under 
 the same mental or social latitude and longitude 
 as himself; and if he should ever feel disposed 
 to quarrel with them for not being precisely such 
 as he is, let me submit to his consideration the 
 following wise saying which was actually uttered 
 by a poor but intelligent old woman in Lanca- 
 shire : " It takes a deal o' sorts to make a world.''
 
 WENDERHOLME 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 So Jim went forth to meet them with a lantern, 
 and old Sarah kept the supper warm. 
 
 Most women in Sarah's position would have 
 had the consolation of a talk with some neigh- 
 bour, who during the interval of waiting might 
 have helped her to watch the jugged hare, and 
 enlivened her with the most recent news of the 
 locality ; but as it happened that Twistle Farm, 
 where she now reigned as housekeeper to Mr 
 Isaac Ogden, a very well-to-do, middle-aged 
 widower, was at least three miles from the near- 
 est house, old Sarah was often condemned to 
 hours of complete loneliness. How a farm- 
 house could be so entirely isolated as this was,
 
 8 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 requires a few words of explanation. Mr Ogden, 
 for reasons with which the reader will become 
 acquainted in due time, and in conformity with 
 the provisions of a then recent Act of Parliament, 
 had taken a fancy to enclose about thirty acres 
 of land in the middle of a very extensive moor 
 that belonged to his own family, and of which, 
 in consequence of his habits as a sportsman, he 
 knew every recognisable spot. The objects which 
 he sought — and he had the strongest possible 
 reasons for seeking them — were solitude and 
 health, and as much of a total revolution in his 
 habits of life as might be attained without entirely 
 severing himself from the neighbouring valleys, 
 where all his friends lived, and to which he was 
 bound by the cords of a local attachment stronger, 
 perhaps, than even he himself was aware of. 
 Having chosen a place very precisely suited to his 
 own needs, and therefore, as was natural, not so 
 well suited to the needs of men less exceptionally 
 situated, and who severely criticised his taste, 
 Isaac Ogden built a small but substantial house, 
 with a barn attached to it, and stabling for three 
 horses and as many cows. As pecuniary prbfit did 
 not enter into his calculation, he had no intention 
 of selling farm-produce in any other shape than 
 that of living animals, and both cows and horses
 
 WENDERHOLME. 9 
 
 were kept simply for the use of the little house- 
 hold. When, as would occasionally happen, 
 there was a considerable superfluity of milk, it 
 was always absorbed by a kennel of four pointers, 
 and the prosperous inhabitant of the pigsty. 
 
 Old Sarah was too much accustomed to the 
 place to feel any serious apprehension about the 
 safety of her master, when, as on the present 
 occasion, he had to come home in the dark. Be- 
 sides, although the night was of the murkiest, it 
 was only just ten o'clock, and there is a superstition 
 about hours which more or less strongly affects all 
 of us, and from which a woman in Sarah's position 
 was not likely to be exempt. From dusk till^ 
 ten, however dark it is, there is nothing very 
 terrible about the darkness, and the conscious- 
 ness that people are sitting cosily round cheerful 
 fires encourages and supports us ; but when the 
 world's human inhabitants are hushed in sleep, 
 and darkness reigns not only on the external 
 world but even in the abodes of men, there is 
 something awful in the universality of it. If old 
 Sarah had been accustomed to read for her amuse- 
 ment, she would have found the accomplishment 
 of great value in her present situation; but, 
 though not altogether ignorant of letters, she 
 found it more convenient to do her reading by
 
 10 • WENDERHOLME. 
 
 deputy ; and her fellow-servant Jim, who read 
 the Manchester paper when his master had done 
 with it, kept her acquainted with the principal 
 events of the day — events which she estimated 
 in the following order : first the thunderstorms, 
 then the murders, and finally, the robberies and 
 accidents. 
 
 Poor Sarah in her solitude had, however, a 
 consolation which a tyrannical conventionalism 
 denies to women of higher social position, but 
 which many of our male readers will fully appre- 
 ciate. And now as Jim is gone, and she cannot 
 see a plate or a pan in all the bright kitchen that 
 offends even an eye so critical as hers, she takes 
 down from the chimney-piece an oval leaden box, 
 with a massive lid crowned with the resemblance 
 of a man's head in a night-cap, and having 
 selected a clean tobacco-pipe of white clay with 
 a stem more than two feet long, fills it in a lei- 
 surely manner, and sits down to smoke — not in 
 any common chair, but in a sort of episcopal 
 throne of polished oak, on the softest of cushions, 
 under an oaken canopy, and with tall oak back 
 and sides — an invention, in this case at least, not 
 designed with any view to the maintenance of 
 dignity, but simply as the best of all imaginable 
 precautions against draughts. It had been a
 
 WENDERHOLME. 11 
 
 present to old Sarah from her master's mother, an 
 elderly but remarkable woman, whose acquaint- 
 ance we shall make in due time, and who had 
 thought it the most likely means of warding off 
 some rheumatic or neuralgic pains in the shoul- 
 ders and back of the neck from which the poor 
 woman had been a sufferer, and which, it was 
 thought, might be brought on by her habit of 
 sitting with her back to the kitchen-door that 
 opened to the east, and never altogether excluded 
 the bitter wind which blows from that quarter 
 of the compass. Mrs Ogden had carried her 
 kindness so far as to make the cushion with her 
 own hands : the upper side of it was composed, 
 of small hexagonal patches of various very rich 
 old silks, with a sort of star of black velvet in 
 the middle ; and the lining was one piece of the 
 most brilliant scarlet cloth. 
 
 Whilst Sarah was sitting in this chair of state, 
 indulging in a luxury usually denied to her sex, 
 and thus practically asserting the rights of woman 
 at a time when they were less openly advocated 
 than now, her fellow-servant Jim Henderson was 
 making the best of his way with a lantern down 
 a narrow, stony cart-track, not yet worthy of 
 the name of a road, which led over the wild 
 moor, and finally lost itself on the slope of one
 
 12 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 of the minor hills or buttresses of the high coun- 
 try of the heather. The turf here was much 
 more smooth and grassy than in the upper region ; 
 and an experienced carter, by taking his vehicle 
 to the right or left as occasion required, could 
 keep its two wheels tolerably level with each 
 other, notwithstanding the general steepness of 
 the extensive slope. As there Avere no bogs in 
 this part of the country, it was not thought 
 necessary to mark out a regular track, and the 
 inhabitants of the Twistle Farm seldom crossed 
 the moor precisely at the same place. Jim Hen- 
 derson felt therefore considerable uncertainty 
 about finding his master here, and would pro- 
 bably have waited where the heather ceased to 
 grow, if he had not heard in the distance the 
 bark of a dog, and shortly afterwards the rapid 
 gallop of hoofs upon the turf 
 
 And out of the darkness, on the trackless, deso- 
 late moor, came a little boy of eight or nine years 
 old, riding the roughest of all possible Highland 
 ponies, and followed by an enormous mastiff : the 
 biggest dog, the smallest horse, and the most 
 juvenile rider that ever crossed a wild country 
 after dark. 
 
 " Master Jacob, Master Jacob,'' said Jim Hen- 
 derson, "if your father has stopped at th' Ked
 
 WENDERHOLME. 13 
 
 Lion, as I guess he has done, you shouldn't have 
 come up here by yoursel' of a dark neet ; you 
 should ave stopped at Milend with your grand- 
 mother." 
 
 But little Jacob, exhilarated with his gallop, 
 only laughed at Jim's fears, and said he liked 
 riding after dark, and knew the way well enough ; 
 besides, what was there to be afraid of? He 
 didn't believe in ghosts, and as for robbers, let 
 them catch him, that was all ; he should like to 
 see them try — wouldn't old Tiger tear them to 
 pieces first ! Just then Jacob reined up his little 
 pony and added, " Jim, have you a long candle 
 in that lantern ; have you enough to last half an 
 hour?" 
 
 " Plenty to see us up to Twistle Farm.'^ 
 
 " I say, Jim, let us go back a bit ; I've lost 
 something." 
 
 " Lost summat. Master Jacob ; well, an' who's 
 to find it all over a moor like this of a neet ? 
 We mun go home now, an' come a' seekin' i' th' 
 mornin' by broad dayleet : an' what is it as yau'n 
 lost. Master Jacob ?" 
 
 " Father's silver-topped whip that he lent me ; 
 and if he comes back early to-morrow morning, 
 and finds it out, he'll nearly kill me for it." 
 
 As might be expected, the search for the whip
 
 14 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 was fruitless, and little Jacob came home with his 
 friend Jim in a state of considerable anxiety about 
 it. Six months before, the loss of his father's 
 whip would have troubled him very little, but the 
 father he had then and the father he had now 
 could scarcely be considered the same person. 
 Mr Isaac Ogden had become highly irritable of 
 late, and the effects of the change were painfully 
 felt by every member of the little household, the 
 very dogs themselves not excepted. 
 
 It was rather a relief, perhaps, to old Sarah and 
 Jim that their master had not returned that night. 
 It is true that Sarah feared him little for herself, but 
 she had been living, during the past three months, 
 in a state of much anxiety about the boy. And 
 now, having served the jugged hare in the par- 
 lour, as carefully and neatly as if Mr Ogden had 
 been there instead of the child, and filled his little 
 silver tankard with small beer, she took the liberty 
 of sitting down near the door, and made several 
 very minute inquiries about the lost whip, in 
 answer to which little Jacob, who had admired 
 and coveted it too often not to know every detail, 
 gave her as clear a description as he could. 
 
 The next morning the sun rose brightly on the 
 beautiful solitude of Twistle Farm. The situation 
 of the house had been chosen rather with a view
 
 WENDERHOLME. 15 
 
 to retirement than for extent of prospect, and it 
 was hidden in a little dell, surrounded by large 
 masses of grey rock. The abundance of pure 
 spring-water had been one of the chief reasons 
 that had induced Mr Ogden to establish himself 
 here ; and he had been able, at a very moderate 
 expense, to reclaim a considerable extent of pas- 
 ture-land in the bottom of the valley, and, by 
 closing the exit of a small streafti, to add a minia- 
 ture lake to the already numerous beauties of the 
 place. Here some large rocks came down to the 
 water's edge, and a few enormous blocks were 
 more than half submerged. This lake was Mr 
 Ogden's especial fancy and pride. He was an ex- 
 cellent swimmer and an accomplished skater, so 
 that the water had other charms for him than the 
 already considerable ones of its picturesque beauty, 
 being as useful to him (perhaps one might say as 
 necessary) as a table to a billiard - player, or a 
 smooth Jawn to an amateur of croquet. 
 
 It was unfortunate that Mr Ogden did not add 
 some taste for architecture to these other pure and 
 healthy tastes of his, but if he had any faculties 
 of the artistic kind, they lay dormant to the end 
 of his life. The house at Twistle was simply a 
 small farmhouse, utterly devoid not only of every 
 pretension to architectural beauty, but even of
 
 16 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 those more valgar pretensions which may be gene- 
 ralised under the epithet " genteel." It did not 
 even contain a dining-room or a drawing-room, 
 and the reception-rooms were limited to a single 
 parlour, with a very ordinary carpet on its deal 
 floor, and a set of the commonest mahogany fur- 
 niture. In the way of fine art, its only adorn- 
 ments were the portraits of some favourite 
 horses and dogs, executed in oil by a gentle- 
 man who visited the locality from time to time, 
 and had the shrewdness to take out his pay rather 
 in the shape of long visits and ample potations 
 than in the more tangible form of money, so that 
 if he stayed long and consumed largely, his charges 
 at least were moderate, and his em23loyers never 
 accurately knew how much his masterpieces had 
 cost them. 
 
 No sooner had Master Jacob finished his break- 
 fast of porridge and milk than he ran o& to the 
 stable and saddled Jerry, and rode as fast as he 
 could to seek for the fatal whip. Mr Ogden, it is 
 true, had stayed at the Eed Lion in order to drink 
 deeply with his friends, but Jacob well knew by 
 former experience that however much his father 
 might have drunk the nio^ht before, he would set 
 off homewards early in the morning — for Isaac 
 Ogden was one of those men who are proud of
 
 WENDERHOLME. 17 
 
 their morning fresliness ; and, indeed, he had suc- 
 ceeded in persuading himself that the excesses of 
 the night did little harm if they left no visible 
 traces the next day. So it happened that within 
 a few minutes of the time of Jacob's departure 
 from the Twistle Farm, his father mounted at the 
 Eed Lion Inn at Shayton, and rode leisurely as far 
 as the toll-gate, where the pavement ceased, and 
 he put his horse to a brisk trot. 
 
 And now, whilst he is riding fast along the 
 turnpike road, let us see what manner of man he 
 is. Forty years old, we should guess, or there- 
 abouts, and in the enjoyment of the most robust 
 health; a tall, well-made, well-dressed man, 
 greatly admired in this neighbourhood for the 
 qualities best appreciated here. If we say that 
 his health is robust, we speak as ordinary observers ; 
 but a gig is meeting him now, whose driver, being 
 a doctor accustomed to look rather deeper than we 
 do, sees evidence in signs that escape us. The 
 Doctor is one of the most intelligent men in a 
 neighbourhood where good brains are as plentiful 
 as full purses, and the range of his acquired 
 information is not small ; so that if I were asked 
 whether I would rather pass an evening with 
 Dr Bardly or with the richest magnate in the 
 parish, I should certainly prefer the Doctor s rum 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 and tobacco, seasoned with his witty and well- 
 informed conversation, to the best claret and 
 havannahs without it. And yet, if I am to re- 
 port his talk quite faithfully, the refined and edu- 
 cated reader will scarcely respect the Doctor so 
 much as I do ; and I shall have the utmost diffi- 
 culty in persuading him that the object of my 
 admiration not only deserves it for his natural 
 abilities and the worth of his character, but even 
 for his culture and attainments. He is still an 
 eao'er and enthusiastic student of nature : his 
 anatomy, so far from having been forgotten, has 
 been followed with such quiet and persevering 
 enthusiasm, that he is now (without being dis- 
 posed to make any display of his knowledge) one 
 of the best comparative anatomists of his time. 
 He is also an enthusiastic botanist, and has missed 
 few opportunities of acquainting himself with the 
 geology of the interesting district where he lives, 
 and which he often traverses alone in his gig in 
 all imaginable directions. Let us add, that with- 
 out being an artist he is an excellent scientific 
 draughtsman ; and without being a man of much 
 literary taste or attainment, a hard and resolute 
 reader of philosophical works, and a man keenly 
 alive to the intellectual as well as political move- 
 ments of his time. And yet, gentle and edu-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 19 
 
 cated reader ! this in aster of masses of knowledge 
 far greater than most of us ever attain, could not 
 conquer, or did not care about conquering, the 
 most ordinary difficulties of English speech ! He 
 wrote the language as correctly as any of us, but 
 in speaking he committed sins of aspiration and 
 other crimes of almost equal magnitude. For 
 example, take the single word often. Since 
 " often '^ means many times, Dr Bardly seems to 
 have thought it necessary to put an s after it to 
 indicate repetition or plurality, and since he pre- 
 fixed a sonorous li to it for emphasis, the word, in 
 the Doctor's vocabulary, became hoftens; and I am 
 ashamed to say that till the day of his death her 
 never pronounced it in any other manner. 
 
 And Mr Isaac Ogden, though he had ten 
 thousand pounds, and was the elder brother of the 
 most prosperous manufacturer in Shayton, and 
 generally admired, as I have said, for qualities 
 esteemed in that township, did not think it neces- 
 sary, either, to speak pure English every day of 
 the week, though he was perfectly well able to 
 do so on due occasion. He was like the thrifty 
 housewives of Shayton, who are amply provided 
 with the most admirable table-linen, and teapots 
 of massive silver, but who would feel that all their 
 character for good management was imperilled if
 
 20 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 these things were made use of on ordinary days. 
 The truth is that nobody in the whole township of 
 Shayton except the clergyman, and a few young 
 ladies who considered themselves models of re- 
 finement, ever thought of such a thing as speak- 
 ing unprovincial English in the ordinary inter- 
 course of life, and it would have been condemned 
 as affectation if they had attempted it. When 
 the eldest Miss Hanby, the attorney's daughter, 
 came home from an elegant finishing school in 
 London, and talked about her " aant,'' her father 
 lost all patience, and exclaimed, " aant, aant — she 
 used bein' thy liant /" 
 
 So when the Doctor met Mr Ogden that morn- 
 ing, he said, " Well, an' what an yau bin up to ; 
 nought 'at's reet, I reckon ? " 
 
 And Mr Isaac Ogden answered, " Doctor, when 
 I want ye I'st send for ye ; an' Tst answer none 
 o' your impidint queshtions till such time as I give 
 ye authority to ask 'em." 
 
 But the Doctor, though the Lancashire habit of 
 banter was too strong in him to permit any more 
 serious opening to a conversation, was really 
 anxious about his friend Mr Ogden, and would 
 not let him ofi" so easily. " Have ye getten yer 
 breakfast yet, Isaac Ogden ?" said the Doctor; and 
 Mr Ogden admitted that he had not.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 21 
 
 On this Dr Bardly put on an expression of most 
 extraordinary seriousness, and looking very hard 
 at his friend, shook his head, and muttered, " I 
 thought as mich." 
 
 " What sayn ye 1 " said Ogden, half irritated. 
 
 " I say," answered Bardly, once more looking 
 full in Ogden s face — " I say that when they'n 
 spiled ther stummucks wi' gin -an -water, an' 
 weakened their digeshtion, they'll ho/tens go 
 'bout breakfast. 
 
 Now of all the terrible things, as Dr Bardly 
 perfectly well knew, that could be said to an in- 
 habitant of Shay ton, this accusation of not being 
 able to eat a breakfast was the most terrible. AH 
 the men in the place were more or less given to 
 drink ; and the most moderate and exemplary of 
 them — men who were cited as models of absti- 
 nence — would in any other part of England be 
 looked upon as topers, or in a fair way of becom- 
 ing so. Even the Doctor himself, in addition to 
 a glass of strong ale whenever he felt the least 
 disposition to be thirsty, and a glass of port wine 
 at the house of every well-to-do patient he visited, 
 never failed to conclude his day with a couple of 
 stiff tumblers of rum -and- water. And yet the 
 Doctor was considered so very temperate, and in 
 his own opinion was such a shining example of
 
 22 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 self-denial, that whilst he saw the beams in other 
 men's eyes, there was not even a mote in his own. 
 And, indeed, in Shayton such love of creature- 
 comforts as the good Doctor permitted himself 
 was comparatively a very small mote ; for such 
 was the tremendous prevalence of drinking in 
 Shayton, that out of twenty adult male inhabit- 
 ants, fifteen either died of delirium treraens, or 
 were only saved from that otherwise inevitable 
 fate by the interposition of some other and more 
 creditable malady. Now there is always a cer- 
 tain stage in the life of a drunkard at which his 
 appetite begins to be visibly enfeebled, and this 
 shows itself most plainly at the morning meal. 
 Hence the men of Shayton were always anxious 
 to prove to their wives and sisters that, whatever 
 might have been their excesses, they were still 
 perfectly competent to eat a hearty breakfast ; 
 and in order to demonstrate this in the most 
 undeniable manner, they were wont to stuff 
 themselves till nature revolted, and the very act 
 of swallowing became an impossibility. If the 
 most temperate of Frenchmen had visited Shay- 
 ton, he would have been looked upon as a lost 
 being, unless he could have so far overcome his 
 national habits as to swallow three greasy muffins, 
 two eggs, a few slices of cold ham, and two large
 
 WENDERHOLME. 23: 
 
 Clips of execrable coffee at eight o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 When the Doctor had delivered his last shot, 
 he gave his reins a shake, and the wheels of his 
 gig made three revolutions. Then they suddenly 
 came to a standstill, and the Doctor looked round 
 at his friend, adding, " Wei], if you reckon as you 
 can eat anything, come and breakfast wi' me, 
 then ; it'll be just ready about now, an' th' eggs 
 is sure to be fresh." Under other circumstances 
 a refusal might have been possible, but after that 
 taunt about inability to eat a breakfast, the Doctor 
 well knew that a refusal was not possible. So 
 Mr Oo^den trotted alono;side the g-io- as far as the 
 Doctor's house. 
 
 That house, it must be admitted, was not situ- 
 ated very pleasantly. There was a large mill just 
 in front of it, on the opposite side of the street — 
 a brick building, six storeys high, with sixty win- 
 dows in its monotonous facade, and a general 
 coating of soot. The top of the chimney was 
 just visible from the street, and it poured forth 
 such masses of opaque black smoke that the sky 
 was often obscured by it ; and there fell a steady 
 rain of black specks, blackening the greasy slime 
 on the slippery stone pavement, and covering all 
 the leaves of the poor little trees in the Doctor's
 
 24 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 small garden with a noxious coat inimical to their 
 vegetable respiration. Few plants, indeed, could 
 live there, and for miles round Shayton they 
 struggled and suffered; but the Doctor himself 
 had become, from habit, perfectly indifferent to 
 the neighbourhood of the mill, and had even got 
 a sort of liking for its unceasing and monotonous 
 hum. Being a confirmed old bachelor, he found 
 room enough in his house for all his favourite 
 studies ; and, after having made sure of the place 
 by purchase, had laid out two or three hundred 
 pounds in arranging it to his liking. The whole 
 of the garret was a museum of comparative anat- 
 omy : one room contained a herbarium, which 
 included specimens of every known plant in the 
 district ; and another held the Doctor s library, 
 chiefly consisting of scientific and philosophical 
 works. He had no drawing-room, and what was 
 called the dining-room was simply a general sit- 
 ting-room or parlour. Here Mr Ogden found a 
 breakfast-table very neatly arranged, and awaiting 
 only the arrival of the master. 
 
 As Dr Bardly had to see a patient in the sur- 
 gery, Martha, his old housekeeper, who knew Mr 
 Ogden very well, brought him the Manchester 
 paper. The only news in it which in any way con- 
 cerns the reader of these pages was the following :
 
 WENDERHOLME. 25 
 
 " The Militia. — It is believed that the twen- 
 tieth regiment of Eoyal Lancashire Militia, whose 
 headquarters are fixed at Sootythorn, will be 
 commanded by John Stanburne, Esq. of Wender- 
 holme Hall, in Yorkshire. Mr Stanburne is the 
 representative of one of the most ancient families 
 in the county, and although a young man, has 
 had some military experience as an infantry 
 officer. The appointment is generally approved 
 of" 
 
 Under the heading " Haut Ton," which words, 
 to many readers inexplicably mysterious, were 
 entwined with a wreath in which rose, shamrock, 
 and thistle were ingeniously combined, appeared 
 another paragraph concerning Mr Stanburne. 
 
 " Colonel and Lady Helena Stanburne are 
 entertaining the Earl and Countess of Adisham 
 and a select party at Wenderholme Hall." 
 
 This latter paragraph, copied from the ' Morn- 
 ing Post,' was the confirmation of the former. 
 
 Now although Shayton was essentially a demo- 
 cratic and industrial place, and although nobody 
 in the whole community had a pedigree — for even 
 the Ogdens had been working men two genera- 
 tions back, and the oldest families in the town- 
 ship were those of two or three very small yeomen 
 proprietors — still they took an interest in the
 
 26 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 doings of the great world, and Mr Isaac did not 
 fail to read the above paragraphs about Mr Stan- 
 burne of Wenderholme, or Wendrum as it was 
 generally pronounced. In fact, although Wen- 
 derholme Hall was in another county, and at least 
 twenty-nine miles from Shayton by the highroad 
 (which followed the level of the valley, and was 
 therefore very circuitous), still in a certain sense 
 Mr Stanburne was Mr Ogden's very next neigh- 
 bour, for not a single house intervened between 
 Twistle Farm on the Lancashire side of the moor, 
 and Wenderholme on the Yorkshire side — nothing 
 but a rolling expanse of heathery highland, in- 
 habited by innumerable grouse. 
 
 The first thing Dr BardLy was disposed to talk 
 about that morning at breakfast did not, however, 
 relate either to Mr John Stanburne or the Lady 
 Helena Basenthorpe his wife, or her august parents, 
 the Earl and Countess of Adisham. It is true that 
 Mr Ogden attempted to start a conversation in 
 this direction, but the attempt was a signal fail- 
 ure, for Dr Bardly, as he poked the fire energeti- 
 cally, turned round in the very middle of the 
 operation and said, '"' Mr Ogden, I reckon we Ve 
 got something to talk over together 'at's nearer to 
 us than Wendrum 'all." And no sooner were the 
 two seated than the Doctor began his attack.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 27 
 
 " I could like very well to know where Isaac 
 Ogclen made a beast of liimself last night." 
 
 " I wish doctors could mind their own busi- 
 ness," said Ogden. " Whenever I want you I'll 
 send for you ; but it isn't civil to talk to me like 
 that in your own ^ouse.'^ 
 
 " Civil ! who talks about bein' civil ? I didn't 
 ax you 'ere to be civil to ye ! I want to know 
 how many glasses you drank last night at th' Eed 
 Lion, and what sort o' stuff it was. Martha ! " 
 — here entered the old housekeeper with another 
 muffin — " step over to th' Eed Lion an' ask 
 James Hardcastle how many glasses Mr Ogden 
 drank last night, and what sort of spirits he took.". 
 
 Martha was too much accustomed to her mas- 
 ter's ways to feel any astonishment at this order, 
 and set off immediately to the Eed Lion. Neither 
 host nor guest spoke a syllable till she put her 
 head in at the door and said laconically, " Brandy- 
 and- water 'ot, fourteen glasses." 
 
 " Now if you go on in this way, Mr Isaac 
 Ogden," said the Doctor, in perfectly good Eng- 
 lish, " you will shortly be very seriously ill — very 
 seriously ill ; you will have an attack of delirium 
 tremens ; and in your present condition, the ner- 
 vous system being evidently shattered, it is quite 
 possible that you might not recover from such an
 
 28 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 attack." Then, without leaving his victim time 
 for a rejoinder, he added, " How's little Jacob V 
 
 " Little Jacob's all right," answered Mr Ogden, 
 sulkily. 
 
 " Poor little lad," said the Doctor ; *' he's a fine 
 little lad — it's a pity he should have such a 
 father." 
 
 " Nay, now, Bardly, whatever you may say 
 again' me an' my ways, you cannot say I'm a bad 
 father. I do all I can for th' lad, an' always 'ave 
 done. He's as fond of me as other little lads are 
 o' their mothers. I'm both father an' mother to 
 him, an' I set more store on him than he knows 
 on." Here Isaac Ogden's face flushed with a not 
 unmanly emotion, and there was just a percep- 
 tible moisture in his eye. The paternal affection, 
 which was the best side of his nature, had been 
 fully roused, and gave him firm ground on which 
 to resist the attacks of his terrible friend. But 
 the Doctor, who was by far the more keenly per- 
 ceptive man of the two, had just done what he 
 wished with Ogden, and now came the final 
 assault. 
 
 " I don't say you may not be a good father to 
 the lad now, but it isn't likely that you'll be so 
 very long. If you go on drinkin' you'll become 
 hirritable, an' when there's anv morbid hirrita-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 29 
 
 bility, there's hoftens a very great impatience of 
 chilther. I shouldn t like to see any child as Fd 
 a fancy for shut up in a 'ouse with a drunkard, 
 an' little Jacob's one o' my special favourites. 
 By the by, here's a bit of a present I bought for 
 him the other day in Manchester; it's a small 
 silver hunting-horn for him to let you know 
 where he is when he's out ramblin' on the moor. 
 He'll be able to answer that great bell o' yours 
 that you ring at dinner-time." The horn was a 
 plain little one of pure silver, with the inscription, 
 " Jacob Ogden, Twistle Farm, from his friend, A. 
 Bardly." 
 
 The French say that little presents keep up 
 friendship, and the Doctor had rather a habit of 
 making little presents. As soon as this one had 
 been sufficiently admired, the donor recurred to 
 his serious purpose, and became both scientific 
 and philosophical. The tone of banter and scold- 
 ing was cast aside, and he gravely showed how 
 easily deterioration of character might be brought 
 about by purely physical causes. The chief sub- 
 ject of his discourse was " morl)id hirritability;" 
 but although the letter h was used in such a man- 
 ner as to deprive Dr Bardly of all claim to the 
 title of " gentleman " (as the word is understood 
 in polite society), the substance of his talk was
 
 30 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 full of knowledge, and its intention was full of 
 kindness. He had spoken the truth in avowing 
 an affection for little Jacob ; but he might have 
 declared with equal truth, if such a declaration 
 had been compatible with the external rudeness 
 of his habitual behaviour, that he loved not only 
 the little boy but his erring and misguided father. 
 Abel Bardly was the best and sincerest friend 
 that Isaac Ogden ever possessed, and for the last 
 six months he had been grievously anxious about 
 him. There had been a time of similar anxiety 
 about four years previously, as the reader will 
 shortly gather from the lips of Mr Ogden him- 
 self 
 
 How marvellous it is, that heaven-sent instinct 
 of confession ! Not only Eoman Catholic ladies, 
 but men and women of every religion, and of no 
 religion, have some confessor to whom it is a re- 
 lief to speak with frankness about the errors that 
 oppress the mind. Dr Bardly was quite ac- 
 customed to this office of father-confessor, and 
 many a time did he, figuratively speaking, enter 
 the confessional, and close the door, and listen 
 patiently to the poor whisperer at the lattice. 
 Men and women who would have shrunk from 
 the tonsured priest as from some black and noxi- 
 ous animal, and who would not even have sought
 
 WENDEHHOLME. 31 
 
 out a Protestant clergyman for any admitted 
 purpose of the kind, went into Dr Bardly's 
 confessional quite unliesitatingly. And very 
 queer and terrible things did he hear therein 
 sometimes. 
 
 "Doctor," said Isaac Odgen, "it's a terrible 
 place, is Shayton, especially for anybody that's 
 fond o' company. You know well enough how 
 bad I were four or five year sin', but it wasn't 
 so much because I were fond o' liquor ; I never 
 drank by my own self, same as Seth Schofield 'at 
 empties his bottle o' brandy every night by his 
 own fireside, with no better company than his 
 newspaper. But there were two or three chaps 
 i' Shayton at that time as were rare good com- 
 pany, an' we used to meet together at th' Ked 
 Lion of a night, an' sit laughin' an' talkin' till 
 midnight, an' one says, 'Let's 'ave another glass;' 
 an' another says, * Come, Ogden, fill up again, lad;' 
 an' another says, ' He's nobbut gettin' on slowly, 
 isn't Ogden?' so I filled up an' filled up so as not 
 to be behindhand. An' then, when I'd getten 
 into th' habit on't, I grew to be as bad as any on 
 'em ; and at last, like a fool as I were, I come to 
 take a pride in it, for I reckoned I could carry 
 more b'out showin' it than any other chap i' Shay- 
 ton. And t'other chaps egged me on, an' made
 
 32 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 bets about me, how mucli I could stand. An' one 
 time, when I was partner with my l)rother Jacob 
 in our concern, I'd made a bet as I'd drink a 
 bottle o' brandy, an' go an' pay our 'ands, and 
 never make a mistake; but Jacob saw well enough 
 as I'd taken too much, and after I'd made two or 
 three slips, he shoves me o' one side, and says, 
 * Isaac, ril pay our 'ands to-night.' So, like a 
 drunken fool as I was, I got into a passion, and, 
 as he wouldn't let me go on, I struck him, and 
 twenty or thirty chaps saw me do it. After this 
 Jacob said nothing, but he got me somehow into 
 th' back countin'-house, and turned the key on 
 me, an' I made such a noise as were fit to deafen 
 anybody, an' if th' door hadn't been a strong un, 
 I s'd 'ave kicked it i' bits. They didn't let me 
 out again till th' mill was empty, and Jacob 'ad 
 gone home to mother at Milend. You recollect 
 I didn't live with my mother and Jacob, so I went 
 to my own house, cursin' and swearin'. I were 
 i' bed the next mornin' when Jacob marches right 
 up to th' bedside, and says, ' Isaac, I'll gi' thee ten 
 thousand poundt to be shut on thee.' I said, ' It'll 
 be right, Jacob ; ' an' 'torney Hanby drew up a 
 deed, and I never went to th' mill any more." 
 
 "I can recollect well enough when you dis- 
 solved partnership," said the Doctor, " but I didn't
 
 WENDERHOLME. S3 
 
 exactly know the circumstances." This, we are 
 sorry to say, was a downright lie on the part of 
 the worthy Doctor, who, like every other inhabi- 
 tant of Shayton, was minutely familiar with all 
 the details j ust narrated. Nor did the remainder 
 of Mr Ogden's confession contain anything new 
 to his host, as indeed it was very unlikely that 
 it should, considering that the two had been on 
 terms of intimacy during the whole of the period 
 over which the narrative extends. And perhaps 
 if Mr Isaac Ogden had been quite sincere with 
 himself, he would have admitted that he was 
 himself aware of the Doctor s clear knowledge on 
 these points, and of the uselessness of his com- 
 munication, so far as his hearer was concerned ; 
 but he felt the great need of talking about his 
 past life, and Dr Bardly kindly encouraged him 
 in this from the belief that it might affect his 
 future. So Mr Ogden proceeded as follows : — 
 " If a man takes to drinking when he's got a 
 business to look after, there's always a fair chance 
 for him so long as he sticks to it; but if he leaves 
 it, or if the business leaves him, and he's nothing 
 before him but an idle life, then he's almost sure 
 to get worse and worse. My brother Jacob did 
 well for himself, and perhaps he did well for th' 
 concern, when he got shut of me, but he didn't 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 34 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 do SO well for his brother Isaac. He gave me 
 money enough — my share in the business was 
 scarcely worth seven thousand, and he offered me 
 ten — but he left me to go to the devil, and didn't 
 speak to me for six months. My mother came 
 many a time, but by bad luck I was always either 
 out o' th' 'ouse or else drunk, and I wouldn't go 
 to Milend upo' 'count o' Jacob. This lasted till 
 I had that go o' blue-devils, an' when I came 
 round I swore I'd mend an' seek out th' loneliest 
 spot within ten mile o' Shayton, and build my- 
 self a house there, and teach my little lad to read 
 and write myself. So I fixed on Twistle, bein' 
 the loneliest spot I could find ; and as soon as I 
 were busy about buildin' an' drainin' and makin' 
 that bit of a fish-pond, I got both steadier i' my 
 habits and better in 'ealth. But now that th' 
 place is quite finished, I'm often very dull and 
 lonely, and that's why I come down to Shayton, 
 and see a bit o' company at th' Eed Lion." 
 
 In this simple language did Isaac Ogden nar- 
 rate a very noble struggle against sin. He had 
 fled for safety to the wilderness, he had built 
 himself a new dwelling whose virgin purity was 
 defiled by no evil associations, and he had firmly 
 resolved to lead a new life therein, and win for 
 himself tranquillity and peace. The little estate
 
 WENDERHOLME. 35 
 
 that he had won from the uncultivated moorland 
 was to be a sacred refuge ; and in building the 
 wall that enclosed it, and divided its sweet ver- 
 dure from the rough heather and frowning crags 
 around it, Ogden was not merely erecting a wall 
 of grey sandstone, but at the same time spiritu- 
 ally building fortifications about his home. His 
 firmest resolution had been this, that within the 
 precincts of Twistle Farm he would always be per- 
 fectly sober ; and, to do him justice, this resolu- 
 tion had been kept quite faithfully, even to the 
 present hour. But although, so long as the im- 
 provements about the place, or rather the very 
 creation of it as a dwelling-place, had occupied* 
 him, he had stayed there week after week in the 
 utmost apparent discomfort, yet in a condition of 
 happiness to him quite novel and delicious, his 
 absences became more frequent when all was 
 finished ; and although he earnestly tried to avoid 
 old habits, they gradually resumed their hold upon 
 him, and now possessed him almost as absolutely 
 as before, with the single difi'erence that he kept 
 sober at Twistle Farm. He would go to Man- 
 chester and besot himself for a whole week to- 
 gether in the hotel that he frequented, and where 
 he was only too well known and too obediently 
 served. He would be often seen of an evening in
 
 36 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 the parlour of the Keel Lion at Shayton, and the 
 landlord now actually kept a bedroom exclusively 
 for his use. The very rigidity of the law that he 
 had made about never drinking at the Twistle 
 Farm made the state of his nervous system almost 
 intolerable to him when there ; and the sweet 
 solitude, which was to have been a refuge from all 
 but the pleasantest and most innocuous cares, had 
 become a hell of unsatisfied cravings, that always 
 lay in wait for him when he went there, and 
 gnawed his vitals till he fled from them to the 
 coarse orgies of the alehouse. Still it was some- 
 thing to have defended the citadel of this one 
 resolution, not to drink in his own house ; and the 
 Doctor praised him for it, and encouraged him. 
 
 " It seems to me," added Dr Bardly, " that you 
 want a little better society than such as we have 
 i' Shayton. It's a miserable spot for any man 
 with time on his 'ands. Now, as you saw just 
 now in that Manchester paper, they're startin' the 
 militia, and there's to be a regiment at Sooty- 
 thorn, under John Stanburne of Wendrum. I 
 know John Stanburne, and I knew his father 
 before him ; and when they start these regiments 
 they're hoftens rather short o' hofficers ; so as I'm 
 to be surgeon to Stanburne's regiment, I've no 
 doubt I could get you a leaftenancy. What d'ye
 
 WENDERHOLME. 37 
 
 say, Ogden, to bein' a leaftenant ? It's my opinion 
 it 'uld be about the best thing for you. You re 
 far too much by yourself up at Twistle, and 
 Shayton folk are worth nothing at all for a chap 
 like you." 
 
 So it was decided that Mr Bardly was to ask 
 Colonel Stanburne for a leaftenaiicj, and that 
 Isaac Ogden would accept the commission if it 
 were offered to him.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 When Isaac Ogclen told the history of his back- 
 slidings to the Doctor, he omitted to mention the 
 cause which first made him pass the bounds of 
 what in Shayton was held to be moderation. He 
 had always ''liked his glass," and drunk quite 
 freely of all the intoxicating compounds known to 
 the inhabitants of the place, but this in a young 
 man living at Shayton was held to be as natural 
 and right as for horses and cows to go to the 
 water-trough ; so that mothers who had lost their 
 sons, and widows who had lost their husbands, by 
 the universal enemy, delirium tremens, would, 
 nevertheless, have felt the utmost difficulty in 
 tolerating anything approaching teetotalism under 
 their roofs ; and would terminate the most touch- 
 ing lamentations for the dead, and the sagest re- 
 flections on the fearful consequences of excess, by 
 inviting the hearer in the most pressing manner "to
 
 WENDERHOLME. 89 
 
 mix himself another glass of brandy-and- water," 
 or whatever he had been drinking. In case of 
 refusal, the hospitable moralist would put on an 
 indescribably dolorous expression of countenance, 
 and say, " Eh well, willn't ye now ? it'll do you no 
 'arm !" For there was always a theory in Shay- 
 ton that alcohol administered in private houses, 
 and by way of hospitality, was perfectly innocu- 
 ous ; the truly poisonous and destructive alcohol 
 being that retailed at the Eed Lion, the White 
 Hart, and other similar places of entertainment. 
 
 There was also another theory firmly held by 
 all the womankind at Shayton, that so long as a 
 man ate heartily of their puddings and pies and 
 sweet-stuff generally, he dwelt in safety. This 
 may partly have arisen from self-love, for we are 
 always inclined to be indulgent to those who 
 appreciate the products of our skill ; and since all 
 the above-mentioned sweet-stuff in Shayton was 
 fabricated by the ladies in their own houses, and 
 a professional confectioner, if such a being had 
 ventured to establish himself in the place, must 
 have died of hunger after eating up his own 
 stock-in-trade, it naturally followed that such of 
 the male inhabitants as were willing to consume 
 home-made dainties of a sugary description, were 
 looked upon with favour and indulgence, and con-
 
 40 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 sidered to give evidence of a healthy and unvi- 
 tiated taste. And, indeed, although the eating of 
 such pastry did not perhaps prove so much in 
 favour of the palate as the fair pie-makers be- 
 lieved, there can be no doubt that it was clear 
 evidence of a powerful digestion, for that pastry 
 had a weight and solidity in harmony with our 
 national character. There was nothing of French 
 frivolity in it : it reminded the eater of British 
 iron and British oak, and the granite of our 
 northern hills. 
 
 So long as his wife had lived, Isaac Ogden 
 gave all possible proofs of his moderation. He 
 hardly ever entered an alehouse, and though he 
 drank freely enough at home, and in the houses 
 of all his friends and acquaintance, he w^as hardly 
 ever seen to be intoxicated. He had a splendid 
 appetite — he ate heavy breakfasts with quite a 
 natural manner, as if the accomplishment of that 
 surprising feat were nothing to him ; and by this 
 means, and a large consumption of pastry in the 
 middle of the day, he won the esteem of all who 
 met him at table. But after his wife's death, 
 as the evenings were terribly sad for him, and he 
 did not know how to pass them alone in the 
 house that for four swift years had been bright- 
 ened by her dear presence, he first went to see
 
 WENDERHOLME. 41 
 
 his friends in their own houses, and then gradu- 
 ally got into the way of meeting a certain set or 
 clique of them at the tavern. The distance that 
 separated his former habit of free drinking from 
 the habit of positive drunkenness was not phy- 
 sically and materially a very wide one, though 
 morally it was immeasurable. He had been 
 living for years, like all the most moderate men 
 in Shayton, in a state of alcoholic stimulation — 
 at least, from ten a.m. till bed-time ; and though 
 this condition did not often betray itself to out- 
 ward observers, it was not the less a preparation 
 of the whole system for the more advanced stage 
 of recognised intemperance. It is no doubt per^ 
 fectly true, as millions of living examples prove, 
 that moderate indulgence is absolutely innocuous 
 to a sound and healthy constitution ; but Mr 
 Ogden's habits at the most temperate period of 
 his life would scarcely have been thought moder- 
 ate anywhere else than in Shayton, and can only 
 have been considered so there by the effect of an 
 overpowering comparison with the incredible ex- 
 cesses of his neighbours. Vermilion itself may 
 be made to look not so very red by surrounding 
 it with the blinding flames of scarlet ; and a man 
 in Shayton was seldom looked upon as a drinker 
 until he had been seen to reel down the pub-
 
 42 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 lie street in a state of helpless and speechless 
 inebriety. 
 
 Of Isaac Ogden's affectionate and sincerely- 
 lamented wife there is little to be said in this 
 history. She was the daughter of a farmer in a 
 distant part of Yorkshire — a sort of gentleman 
 farmer who had given his girls what was con- 
 sidered to be an education ; and, indeed, to do 
 them justice, they were quite as well educated, 
 and had as gentle manners, as the daughters of 
 the smaller gentry. This young lady had come 
 to stay at Shayton, on a visit to the parson who 
 had formerly been vicar of her native village, and 
 she had won Isaac Ogden's heart from the very be- 
 ginning of their acquaintance. Though a farmer s 
 daughter, her health was not really robust, and 
 she depended for existence, much more than she 
 or her friends suspected, on the pure air of the 
 open country, and the routine of healthy occupa- 
 tion. Transplanted to the smoke-burdened at- 
 mosphere of Shayton, and having exchanged the 
 peace of her father's fields for a house with a 
 wretched little garden surrounded on all sides 
 by roaring cotton-mills, poor Alice speedily lost 
 her bloom, and her frail life ended itself a day 
 or two after the third anniversary of her mar- 
 riage. She had had two children : the elder.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 43 
 
 our friend little Jacob, had been easily reared, 
 and enjoyed perfect health ; but the second, 
 owing probably to the enfeebled constitution of 
 the mother, was a poor weak little thing, and 
 they lost it. Since his wife's death, Mr Ogden 
 had had very little intercourse with her family. 
 He had gone on one occasion to stay a few days 
 at their house in Yorkshire, but the rumour of 
 his unfortunate habits had preceded him, and 
 was only too fully confirmed by his conduct 
 under his father -in -lawn's roof. He had his 
 weeks of excess, and his weeks of comparative 
 moderation, and the week that he spent at 
 Eatherby was unluckily one of the former. 
 Every day he got up in a state of nervous ill- 
 humour and ungraciousness, so that it was posi- 
 tively disagreeable to sit with him at breakfast ; 
 but by dinner-time it was still worse, for then 
 he was drunk and dogmatic — laying down the 
 law upon all sorts of rural matters that he did 
 not understand, and keenly wounding the feel- 
 ings of the whole family by speaking about their 
 poor Alice in a manner that seemed coldly con- 
 temptuous. The truth was that he adored her 
 memory, and would have given his right hand to 
 hear her dear voice again, if only for one hour ; 
 but these better feelings were hidden in his own
 
 44 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 breast; and as, during the lifetime of his wife, 
 he had acquired the deplorable habit of speaking 
 contemptuously of women to his friends, and 
 making no exception in her favour, the habit 
 now revived with him when he was drunk, 
 and he said things which, to people who did 
 not see very much of him, conveyed a most 
 erroneous impression of his sentiments. Like 
 many other people in Shayton, he had a stupid, 
 love of banter, not much controlled by delicacy 
 or good taste ; and when he left Eatherby, it was 
 resolved that all intercourse with him should be 
 at an end. 
 
 Another local peculiarity of character is that 
 of cherishing feelings of all kinds for a much 
 longer time than any feeling lasts in a metro- 
 polis. A coolness, sufficient to chill intercourse 
 between families without putting an end to it, 
 has been known to last consciously for forty 
 years in Shayton, and to be continued afterwards 
 from habit and tradition; but in justice to the 
 inhabitants of the place it is right to add that 
 better feelings are equally permanent, and that 
 a stranger w^ho had visited the neighbourhood 
 at the age of twenty, and made a favourable 
 impression there as a well-behaved and good- 
 looking young man, might, if chance led him to
 
 WENDERHOLME. 45 
 
 revisit Shayton at sixty, fully count upon a kind 
 reception on the strength of his former success. 
 The sympathies of the Shayton people were of 
 very limited range, and consequently stronger 
 and more enduring than the scattered interests 
 of larger societies ; and so also were their hatreds 
 and antipathies. Their temper was at the same 
 time perfectly faithful and perfectly unconciliat- 
 ing. Their friendships lasted for generations — 
 lasted, in short, until violently shattered by some 
 catastrophe ; but, once broken, neither party ever 
 made the least advance towards cementing them 
 afresh, and the degree of separation established 
 by the accident itself remained permanent. Like 
 two cliffs once united, but which, separated by 
 some violent convulsion of nature, gaze at each 
 other for ever across a wide chasm without 
 advancing or receding an inch from their respec- 
 tive positions, except so far as the slow operation 
 of rain and frost may insensibly widen the inter- 
 val between them — two Shayton households, 
 once divided by a quarrel, remained in sight of 
 each other year after year without the slightest 
 advance on either part to a reconciliation, and 
 without any conscious widening of the breach, 
 though time no doubt was wearing it year by 
 year. The breach between the two brothers.
 
 46 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 Isaac and Jacob Ogden, had been established on 
 that fatal day when Isaac struck Jacob at the 
 mill; and after the dissolution of partnership, 
 each of the brothers cast his eye, as it were, 
 across the chasm, and measured the breadth of 
 it as a fact henceforth inevitable. Men of 
 another temper might have felt uneasy about 
 the chasm, and anxious to fill it up or hide it 
 from their own eyes ; but these brothers felt 
 no such uneasiness, and were not in the least 
 anxious to conceal it under false appearances. 
 It was not understood to be necessary that in- 
 tercourse between them should cease ; and it 
 did not cease, but it took, and kept, a new 
 and peculiar character. Jacob lived with his 
 mother at Milend, and Isaac went there from 
 time to time, but it was understood that the 
 visit was to his mother, except on those occasions 
 when Isaac wished to consult his brother about 
 his money matters, when Jacob always listened 
 very attentively, and gave the best advice he 
 could. The most marked change in their in- 
 tercourse was that they were now scrupulously 
 civil to each other, whereas in the old brotherly 
 days there had been much mutual criticism, often 
 bitterly severe. For instance, in those other 
 times, if Isaac had got drunk, Jacob abused
 
 WENDERHOLME. 47 
 
 liim for it with unrestrained energy ; but since 
 their quarrel, Jacob was as reticent on that sub- 
 ject as if he had been educated in habits of 
 delicacy and tact. When they met in the street 
 before the quarrel, Jacob would often say, — 
 
 " Now, Isaac, con ta walk reight '? " 
 
 And Isaac, by no means offended at the allusion 
 to his failing, would answer by an insinuation that 
 Jacob acted the unmanly part of his mother's 
 darling. 
 
 " Has thy mother given thee a treacle butter- 
 cake 1 " 
 
 All banter of this kind, as well as all frank 
 and earnest remonstrance, was for ever at an end^ 
 between the brothers ; and when they met in the 
 street, even at the very door of the Ked Lion, 
 there was no allusion to Isaac's failing, and Jacob 
 was in no danger of being saluted as "Milend 
 pet." The brief colloquy was usually as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 " Well, Jacob, and 'ow's mother this mornin'1" 
 
 " She's quite well, thank ye, Isaac ; and 'ow's 
 little Jacob 1 " 
 
 " Very well, thank ye.". 
 
 We have seen that Isaac's occasional visits to 
 Milend were supposed to be intended exclusively 
 for his mother, except when he wanted Jacob's
 
 48 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 advice on matters affecting his interests; and 
 therefore Jacob never went to his brother's house 
 at all. He did not even go to see the new build- 
 ing at Twistle Farm, and, though he shot over a 
 moor within a mile of the place, scrupulously 
 avoided visiting it. An extensive moor in that 
 region had belonged to the two brothers in com- 
 mon, or at least had been so considered by them; 
 but after the quarrel a line of separation between 
 their properties, which had before legally existed, 
 ceased to be a legal fiction, and was recognised as 
 a frontier. Isaac, of course, when he built Twistle 
 Farm, took care that it should be at some distance 
 from the boundary ; and as the brothers shot no 
 longer together, Jacob had never visited his 
 brother's hermitage. Their mother went to 
 Twistle occasionally, perhaps once in three 
 months, but had never been induced to sleep 
 there, for she had a firm belief that if she left 
 Mil end for one night, Jacob would be sure to 
 need her. 
 
 As Isaac Ogden had all the character of a 
 native of Shayton, it was of course impossible for 
 him to attempt any closer companionship with 
 his brother, or any renewal of intercourse with 
 the family of his wife. He had few relations on 
 his own side, and most of these were poor people.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 49 
 
 operatives in cotton-factories, or small farmers in 
 the country. There was no false shame about 
 the Ogdens, and they acknowledged these relation- 
 ships, inviting some of their very poorest kins- 
 folk annually to Mil end, and feeding them sub- 
 stantially with roast-beef. But it will be under- 
 stood, without imputing any foolish pride to Mr 
 Isaac Ogden, that he found little pleasure in in- 
 tercourse with these relations. He had, it is 
 true, but little culture of any kind, yet the little 
 he possessed was enough to create a difference 
 between him and these poor people, wide enough 
 to make much intercourse between them irksome 
 to both parties. And besides, the mere posses- 
 sion of a certain degree of wealth had abeady 
 separated the Ogdens of Milend from those 
 branches of the same family which had remained 
 in poverty. Various sums of money had been 
 lent and not repaid, or slowly repaid in uncertain 
 and irregular instalments, so that the sense of 
 inequality, already strong in the presence of the 
 substantial comforts of Milend, was still further 
 increased by a feeling of obligation. To do the 
 Ogdens justice, it was not in their nature (or 
 in the customs of Shayton) to treat poor rela- 
 tions unkindly, but it is difficult to maintain 
 agreeable intercourse with people who have little 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 to talk about but their perpetual struggles for 
 existence, especially when one has an uneasy 
 feeling: that these struo^o^les would cease to be 
 necessary if one could only resolve to sign a few 
 annual cheques. In justice to Mr Isaac particu- 
 larly, it may be added that old Sarah, his house- 
 keeper, was a relation of his, and not a very dis- 
 tant one, and that both he and she regarded her 
 situation as permanent on that account. He 
 would have made it easier for her by giving her 
 the help of a young servant woman or girl ; but 
 as old Sarah was still remarkably vigorous, and 
 much too proud to accept wages without fully 
 earning them, she would not hear of such an 
 addition to the establishment, and worked far 
 harder than she need have done to satisfy the 
 most sensitive conscience. 
 
 It will be seen, from the foregoing pages, that 
 Mr Isaac Ogden was in a very isolated position, 
 and therefore peculiarly exposed to the tempta- 
 tions of such convivial meetings as might be 
 enjoyed in the parlour of the Eed Lion. He 
 might, it is true, have cultivated the society of 
 Mr Prigiey, the clergyman of Sha}^on, at whose 
 house he had met Miss Alice Wheatley before he 
 married her; but the truth is that such inter- 
 course as had subsisted between the clergyman
 
 WENDERHOLME. 51 
 
 and Mr Isaac had been entirely due to the pre- 
 sence of Miss Alice at the parsonage in the first 
 instance, and afterwards, during her life, to the 
 interest which she felt in the family of Mr Prig- 
 ley, who knew all about Eatherby and its inhabi- 
 tants. Though Mr Isaac during his bachelor 
 days had gone to church to please his mother, 
 and had been rewarded for his regular attendance 
 by the pleasure of seeing Miss Alice in the 
 clergyman's pew, and by the brief years of hap- 
 piness which followed, it must be confessed that 
 Mr Prigley's long sermons had but little attrac- 
 tion for him, and that he had become irregular 
 as a church-goer even during the lifetime of- 
 his wife, and since her death had ceased going 
 there altogether. He never went near the par- 
 sonage now, and Mr Prigley, with that discretion 
 which is one of the characteristics of the Anglican 
 clergy, and which, whether due to timidity or 
 tact, certainly makes them more agreeable mem- 
 bers of society than pastors who speak in season 
 and out of season, never attempted by counsel 
 or reproof to bring back Mr Isaac Ogden to his 
 spiritual fold. Little Jacob, whose spiritual wel- 
 fare was especially cared for by his grandmother, 
 was taken to Milend every Saturday, and released 
 only on Monday morning, after due attendance 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 iiNiVFRSITf OF ILUNOK
 
 52 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 at both morning and afternoon service in Shayton 
 chnreli, and a sermon in the evening which he 
 read aloud to his grandmother, after which he 
 repeated his catechism and a collect. 
 
 It was an immemorial custom in Shayton for 
 families to restrict themselves to a very few 
 Christian names, usually taken from the Old Tes- 
 tament, and these were repeated, generation after 
 generation, from a feeling of respect to parents, 
 very laudable in itself, but not always convenient 
 in its consequences. Thus in the family of the 
 Ogdens, the eldest son was always called Isaac, 
 and the second Jacob, so that if they had had 
 a pedigree, the heralds would almost have been 
 driven to the expedient of putting numbers after 
 these names — as we say Henry YIIL or Louis XIV. 
 The Isaac Ogden who appears in this history may 
 have been, if collateral Isaacs in other branches 
 were taken into account, perhaps Isaac the for- 
 tieth — indeed, the tombstones in Shayton church- 
 yard recorded a number of Isaac Ogdens that 
 was perfectly bewildering. Even the living Isaac 
 Ogdens were numerous enough to puzzle any 
 new-comer ; and a postman who had not been ac- 
 customed to the place, but was sent there from 
 Eochdale, solemnly declared that " he wished all 
 them Hisaac Hogdens was deead, every one on
 
 WENDERHOLME. 53 
 
 'em, nobbut just about five or six, an' tlien tliere'd 
 be less botlier about t' letters." This wish may 
 seem hard and unchristian— it may appear, to read- 
 ers' who have had no experience in the delivery 
 of letters, that to desire the death of a fellow- 
 creature merely because he happened to be called 
 Isaac Ogden, implied a fearful degree of natural 
 malevolence ; but the business of a postman cul- 
 tivates an eagerness to get rid of letters, w^hereof 
 the lay mind has no adequate conception ; and 
 when a bachelor Isaac Ogden got a letter from 
 an affectionate wife, or an Isaac Ogden, who never 
 owed a penny, received a pressing dun from an 
 impatient and exasperated creditor, these epistles 
 were returned upon the postman's hands, and he 
 became morbidly anxious to get rid of them, or 
 " shut on 'em," as he himself expressed it. Some 
 annoying mistakes of this kind had occurred in 
 reference to our Mr Isaac Ogden at the time when 
 he was engaged to Miss Alice Wheatley, whose 
 first affectionate letter from her father's house at 
 Eatherby had not only miscarried, but actually 
 been opened and read by several Isaac Ogdens in 
 Shayton and its vicinity ; for poor Miss Alice, in 
 the flurry of directing her first epistle to her lover, 
 had quite forgotten to put the name of the house 
 where he then lived. This was particularly an-
 
 54 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 noying to Mr Ogden, who had wished to keep his 
 engagement secret, in order to avoid as long as 
 possible the banter of his friends ; and he sware 
 in his wrath that there were far too many Isaac 
 Ogdens in the world, and that, however many 
 sons he had, he would never add to their number. 
 This declaration was regarded by his mother, and 
 by the public opinion of the elder generation gen- 
 erally, as little better than a profession of atheism ; 
 and when our little friend Jacob was christened 
 in Shayton church, it was believed that the mis- 
 guided father would not have the hardihood to 
 maintain his resolution in so sacred a place. He 
 had, however, the courage to resist the name of 
 Isaac, though it was pressed upon him with pain- 
 ful earnestness ; but he did not dare to offend 
 tradition so far as to resist that of Jacob also, 
 though the objections to it were in truth equally 
 cogent. 
 
 On his retirement to Twistle Farm, Mr Ogden 
 determined, at least for the present, to educate his 
 child himself. And so it was that, at the age of 
 nine, little Jacob was rather less advanced than 
 some other boys of his age. He had not begun 
 Latin yet, but, on the other hand, he read Eng- 
 lish easily and with avidity, and wrote a very 
 clear and legible hand. His friend the Doctor,
 
 WENDERHOLME. 55 
 
 who rode up to Twistle Farm very often (for he 
 liked the fresh moorland air, and enjoyed a chat 
 with Mr Ogden and the child), used to examine 
 little Jacob, and bring him amusing books, so that 
 his young friend had already several shelves in 
 his bedroom which were filled with instructive 
 histories and pleasant tales. The youthful stu- 
 dent had felt offended one day at Milend, when 
 a matronly friend of his grandmother had asked 
 whether he could read. 
 
 "He can read well enough," said his grand- 
 mother. 
 
 " Well, an what can he read "l can he read i' 
 th' Bible '? " • 
 
 The restriction of Jacob's reading powers to 
 one book offended him. Could he not read all 
 English books at sight, or the newspaper, or any- 
 thing ? Indeed, few people in Shay ton, except the 
 Doctor, read as much as the little boy at Twistle 
 Farm ; and when his uncle at Milend discovered 
 one day what an appetite for reading the child 
 had, he was not altogether pleased, and asked 
 whether he could " cast accounts." Finding him 
 rather weak in the elementary practice of arith- 
 metic, uncle Jacob made him ** do sums " when- 
 ever he had an opportunity. Arithmetic (or 
 " arethmitic," as uncle Jacob pronounced it) was
 
 56 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 at Milend considered a far higher attainment than 
 the profoundest knowledge of literature ; and, in- 
 deed, if the rank of studies is to be estimated by 
 their influence on the purse, there can be no doubt 
 that the Milend folks were right. Without in- 
 tending a pun (for this would be a poor one), 
 uncle Jacob had never found anything so inter- 
 esting as interest, and the annual estimate which 
 he made of the increase of his fortune brought 
 home to his mind a more intense sense of the de- 
 lightfulness of addition than any schoolboy ever 
 experienced. But arithmetic, like every other 
 human pursuit, has its painful or unpleasant 
 side, and uncle Jacob regarded subtraction and 
 division with an indescribable horror and dread. 
 Subtraction, in his vivid though far from poet- 
 ical imagination, never meant anything less seri- 
 ous than losses in the cotton trade ; and division 
 evoked alarming visions of a wife and eight chil- 
 dren dividing his profits amongst them. Indeed 
 he never looked upon arithmetic in the abstract, 
 but saw it in the successes of the prosperous and 
 the failures of the unfortunate — in the accumula- 
 tions of rich and successful bachelors like himself, 
 and the impoverishment of struggling mortals, for 
 whom there was no increase save in the number 
 of their children. And this concrete conception
 
 WENDERHOLME. 57 
 
 of arithmetic lie endeavoured to communicate to 
 little Jacob, who, in consequence of his uncle's 
 teaching, already possessed the theory of getting 
 rich, and was so far advanced in the practice of 
 it that, by keeping the gifts of his kind patrons 
 and friends, he had nearly twenty pounds in the 
 savings bank.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Mrs Ogden, at the time wlieii our story com- 
 mences, was not much above sixty, but had 
 reached an appearance of old age, though a very 
 vigorous old age, which she kept without percep- 
 tible alteration for very many years afterwards. 
 Her character will develop itself sufficiently in 
 the course of the present narrative to need no 
 description Jiere ; but she had some outward 
 peculiarities which it may be well to enumerate. 
 She is in the kitchen at Milend, making a 
 potato -pie, or at least preparing the paste for 
 one. Whilst she deliberately presses the rolling- 
 pin, and whilst the sheet of paste becomes wider 
 and thinner under the pressure of it as it travels 
 over the soft white surface, we perceive that Mrs 
 Ogden's arms, which are bare nearly to the elbow, 
 are strong and muscular yet, but not rounded into 
 any form that suggests reminiscences of beauty.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 59 
 
 There is a squareness and a rigidity in the back 
 and chest, which are evidences rather of strength 
 of body and a resolute character than of grace. 
 The visage, too, can never have been pretty, 
 though it must in earlier life have possessed the 
 attractiveness of health ; indeed, although its 
 early bloom is of course by this time altogether 
 lost, there remains a firmness in the fleshy parts 
 of it enough to prove that the possessor is as yet 
 untouched by the insidious advances of decay. 
 The cheeks are prominent, and the jaw is power- 
 ful ; but although the forehead is high, it suggests 
 no ideas of intellectual development, and seems 
 rather to have grown merely as a fine vegetable-' 
 marrow grows, than to have been developed by 
 any exercise of thought. The nose is slightly 
 aquiline in outline, but too large and thick ; the 
 lips, on the contrary, are thin and pale, and would 
 be out of harmony with the whole face if the eyes 
 did not so accurately and curiously correspond 
 with them. Those eyes are of an exceedingly 
 light grey, rather inclining to blue, and the mind 
 looks out from them in what, to a superficial ob- 
 server, might seem a frank and direct way; but a 
 closer analyst of character might not be so readily 
 satisfied with a first impression, and might fancy 
 he detected some shade of possible insincerity or
 
 60 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 power of dissimulation. The hair seems rather 
 scanty, and is worn close to the face • it is grey, 
 of that peculiar kind which results from a mix- 
 ture of very fair hairs with perfectly white ones. 
 We can only see a little of it, however, on account 
 of the cap. 
 
 Although Mrs Ogden is hard at work in her 
 kitchen, making a potato -pie, and although it is 
 not yet ten o'clock in the morning, she is dressed 
 in what in any other person would be considered 
 rather an extravagant manner, and in a manner 
 certainly incongruous with her present occupation. 
 It is a theory of hers that she is so exquisitely 
 neat in all she does, that for her there is no dan- 
 ger in wearing any dress she chooses, either in her 
 kitchen or elsewhere ; and as she has naturally 
 a love for handsome clothes, and an aversion to 
 changing her dress in the middle of the day, she 
 comes down-stairs at five o'clock in the morning 
 as if she had just dressed to receive a small dinner- 
 party. The clothes that she wears just now have 
 in fact done duty at past dinner-parties, and are 
 quite magnificent enough for a lady at the head 
 of her table, cutting potato-pies instead of fabri- 
 cating them, if only they were a little less shabby, 
 and somewhat more in harmony with the prevail- 
 ing fashion. Her dress is a fine flowered satin,
 
 WENDERHOLME. 61 
 
 which a punster would at once acknowledge in a 
 double sense if he saw the farinaceous scatterings 
 which just now adorn it; and her cap is so splendid 
 in ribbons that no writer of the male sex could 
 aspire to describe it adequately. She wears an 
 enormous cameo brooch, and a long gold chain 
 whose fancy links are interrupted or connected 
 by little glittering octagonal bars, like the bright 
 glass bugles in her head-dress. The pattern of 
 her satin is occasionally obscured by spots of 
 grease, notwithstanding Mrs Ogden's theory that 
 she is too neat and careful to incur any risk of 
 such accidents. One day her son Isaac had ven- 
 tured to call his mother s attention to these spots^ 
 and to express an opinion that it might perhaps 
 be as well to have two servants instead of one, 
 and resign practical kitchen-work ; or else that, if 
 she ivould be a servant herself, she ought to dress 
 like one, and not expose her fine things to injury; 
 but Mr Isaac Ogden received such an answer as 
 gave him no encouragement to renew his remon- 
 strances on a subject so delicate. " My dresses," 
 said Mrs Ogden, " are paid for out of my own 
 money, and I shall wear them when I like and 
 where I like. If ever my son is applied to to 
 pay my bills for me, he may try to teach me 
 economy, but Fm 'appy to say that I'm not de-
 
 62 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 pendent upon him either for what I eat or for 
 what I drink, or for anything that I put on/^ 
 The other brother, who lived under the same roof 
 with Mrs Ogden, and saw her every day, had 
 a closer instinctive feeling of what might and 
 might not be said to her, and would as soon have 
 thought of suggesting any abdication, however 
 temporary, of her splendours, as of suggesting to 
 Queen Victoria that she might manage w^ithout 
 the luxuries of her station. 
 
 When the potato-pie stood ready for the oven, 
 with an elegant little chimney in the middle and 
 various ornaments of paste upon the crust, Mrs 
 Ogden made another quantity of paste, and pro- 
 ceeded to the confection of a roly-poly pudding. 
 She was proud of her roly-polies, and, indeed, of 
 everything she made or did ; but her roly-polies 
 were really good, for as her pride was here more 
 especially concerned, she economised nothing, and 
 was especially liberal in preserves. She had friends 
 in a warm and fertile corner of Yorkshire who were 
 rich in apricots, and sent every year to Milend 
 several large pots of the most delicious apricot 
 preserve, and she kept this exclusively for roly- 
 polies, and had won thereby a great fame and 
 reputation in Shay ton, where apricot -puddings 
 were by no means of everyday occurrence.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 63 
 
 The judicious reader may here criticise Mrs 
 Ogden, or find fault with the author, because she 
 makes potato -pie and a roly-poly on the same 
 day. Was there not rather too much paste for one 
 dinner — baked paste that roofed over the savoury 
 contents of the pie-dish, and boiled paste that en- 
 closed in its ample folds the golden lusciousness 
 of those Yorkshire apricots '? Some reflection of 
 this kind may arise in the mind of Jacob Ogden 
 when he comes back from the mill to his dinner. 
 He may possibly think that for to-day the pie 
 might have been advantageously replaced by a 
 beefsteak, but he is too wise not to keep all such 
 
 reflections within his own breast. No such doubts 
 
 • 
 
 or perplexities will ever disturb his mother, simply 
 because she is convinced that no man can eat too 
 much of her pastry. Other people's pastry one 
 might easily get too much of, but that is difierent. 
 And there is a special reason for the pudding 
 to-day. Little Jacob is expected at dinner-time, 
 and little Jacob loves pudding, especially apricot 
 roly-poly. His grandmother, not a very afiec- 
 tionate woman by nature, is, nevertheless, dotingly 
 fond of the lad, and always makes a little feast to 
 welcome him and celebrate his coming. On ordi- 
 nary days they never have any dessert at Milend, 
 but as soon as dinner is over, uncle Jacob hastily
 
 64 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 jumps up and goes to the cupboard where the 
 decanters are kept, pours himself two glasses of 
 port, and swallows them one after the other, 
 standing, after which he is off again to the mill. 
 When little Jacob comes, what a diflference ! There 
 is a splendid dessert of gingerbread, nuts, apples, 
 and fruits glaces ; there are stately decanters of 
 port and sherry, with a bottle of sparkling elder- 
 flower wine in the middle, and champagne-glasses 
 to drink it from. There is plenty of real cham- 
 pagne in the cellars, but this home-made vintage 
 is considered better for little Jacob, who feels no 
 other eflect from it than an almost irresistible 
 sleepiness. He likes to see the sparkling bubbles 
 rise ; and, indeed, few beverages are prettier or 
 pleasanter to the taste than Mrs Ogden's elder- 
 flower wine. It is as clear as crystal, and sparkles 
 like the most brilliant wit. 
 
 But we are anticipating everything ; we have 
 jumped from the very fabrication of the roly-poly 
 to the sparkling of the elder-flower, of that elder- 
 flower which never sparkled at Milend, and 
 should not have done so in this narrative, until 
 the pudding had been fully disposed of. The 
 reader may, however, take that for granted, and 
 feel perfectly satisfied that little Jacob has done 
 his duty to the pudding, as he is now doing it to
 
 WENDERHOLME. 65 
 
 the nuts and wine. He has a fancy for putting 
 his kernels into the wine-glass, and fishing them 
 out with a spoon, and is so occupied just now, 
 whilst grandmother and uncle Jacob sit patiently 
 looking on. 
 
 " Jerry likes nuts," says little Jacob ; " I wonder 
 if he likes wine too."" 
 
 " It would be a good thing," said Mrs Ogden, 
 with her slow and distinct pronunciation — " it 
 would be a good thing if young men would take 
 example by their 'orses, and drink nothing but 
 water." 
 
 " Nay, nay, mother," said uncle Jacob, " you 
 wouldn't wish to see our lad a teetotaller." 
 
 " I see no 'arm in bein' a teetotaller, and I see a 
 good deal of 'arm that's brought on with drinking 
 spirits. I wish the lad's father was a teetotaller. 
 But come " (to little Jacob), *' you'll 'ave another 
 glass of elder-flower. Well, willn't ye now? 
 Then 'ave a glass of port ; it'll do you no 'arm." 
 
 Mrs Ogden's admiration for teetotalism was 
 entirely theoretical. She approved of it in the 
 abstract and in the distance, but she could not 
 endure to sit at table with a man who did not take 
 his glass like the rest ; the nonconformity to cus- 
 tom irritated her. There was a curate at Shayton 
 who thought it his duty to be a teetotaller in 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 order to give weight to his arguments against the 
 evil habit of the place, and the curate dined occa- 
 sionally at Milend without relaxing from the 
 rigidity of his rule. Mrs Ogden was always put 
 out by his empty wine-glass and the pure water 
 in his tumbler, and she let him have no peace; so 
 that for some time past he had declined her invi- 
 tations, and only dropped in to tea, taking care 
 to escape before spirits and glasses were brought 
 forth from the cupboard, where they lay in wait 
 for him. The reader need therefore be under no 
 apprehensions that little Jacob was likely to be 
 educated in the chilly principles of teetotalism ; or 
 at least he may rest assured that however much 
 its principles might be extolled in his presence, 
 the practice of it would neither be enforced nor 
 even tolerated. 
 
 " I say, I wish my son Isaac was a teetotaller. 
 I hear tell of his coming to Shayton time after 
 time without ever so much as looking at Milend. 
 Wasn't your father in the town on Tuesday ? I 
 know he was, I was told so by those that saw him ; 
 and if he was in the town, what was to hinder 
 him from coming to Milend to his tea ? Did he 
 come down by himself, or did you come with him, 
 Jacob r 
 
 "I came with him, grandmother."
 
 WENDERHOLME. 67 
 
 " Well, and why didn't you come here, my lad ? 
 You know you're always welcome." 
 
 " Father had his tea at the Eed Lion. Well, 
 it wasn't exactly tea, for he drank ale to it ; but 
 I had tea with him, and we'd a lobster." 
 
 " I wish he wouldn't do so." 
 
 " Why, mother," said uncle Jacob, " I see no 
 great 'arm in drinking a pint of ale and eating a 
 lobster; and if he didn't come to Milend, most 
 likely he'd somebody to see ; very likely one of 
 his tenants belonging to that row of cottages he 
 bought. I wish he hadn't bought 'em; he'll have 
 more bother with 'em than they're worth." 
 
 " But what did he do keeping a young boy like 
 little Jacob at the Eed Lion ? Why couldn't he 
 send him here ? The lad knows the way, I reckon." 
 Then to her grandson — " What time was it when 
 you both went home to Twistle Farm ? " 
 
 "We didn't go home together, grandmother. 
 Father was in the parlour at the Eed Lion, and 
 left me behind the bar, where we had had our tea, 
 till about eight o'clock, when he sent a message 
 that I was to go home by myself. So I went 
 home on Jerry, and father stopped all night at 
 the Eed Lion." 
 
 " Why, it was after dark, child ! and there was 
 no moon ! "
 
 68 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 " Fm not afraid of being out in the dark, grand- 
 mother ; I don't believe in ghosts." 
 
 " What, hasn't th' child sense enough to be 
 frightened in the dark ? If he doesn't believe in 
 ghosts at his age, it's a bad sign ; but he's got 
 a father that believes in nothing at all, for he 
 never goes to church ; and there's that horrid 
 Dr Bardly " 
 
 " He isn't horrid, grandmother," replied little 
 Jacob, with much spirit; "he's very jolly, and 
 gives me things, and I love him ; he gave me a 
 silver horn." 
 
 Now Dr Bardly 's reputation for orthodoxy in 
 Shayton was greatly inferior to his renown as a 
 medical practitioner ; but as the inhabitants had 
 both Mr Prigiey and his curate, as well as several 
 Dissenting ministers, to watch over the interests 
 of their souls, they had no objection to allow Mr 
 Bardly to keep their stomachs in order; at least so 
 far as was compatible with the freest indulgence 
 in good living. His bad name for heterodoxy had 
 been made worse by his favourite studies. He was 
 an anatomist, and therefore was supposed to be- 
 lieve in brains rather than souls ; and a geologist, 
 therefore he assigned an unscriptural antiquity to 
 the earth. In addition to this, he was believed to 
 have been, at least on one occasion, a cannibal. A
 
 WENDERHOLME. 69 
 
 curious case of brain-disease had occurred amongst 
 his patients, and when the child that was afflicted 
 with it died, the Doctor removed the brain and 
 took it home with him in his gig, wrapped up in 
 a handkerchief and a newspaper, that he might 
 study it afterwards at leisure. On his arrival he 
 found another patient waiting for him, in whose 
 case he was also specially interested, and quite 
 forgot the little parcel in the gig ; but Martha, 
 his servant, found it, and taking it to be calf's 
 brains, of which the Doctor was immoderately fond 
 . . . The reader imagines the rest. He did not 
 study those brains at his leisure, but he digested 
 them, with the help of an extra glass of toddy, 
 excusable under the circumstances. Some doctors 
 would have taken an emetic, and others, perhaps, 
 would not have needed one ; but Dr Bardly saw 
 no reason for disturbing his internal economy, 
 and simply observed that although the dish had 
 been excellent, it was scarcely a compensation for 
 the hour of pleasant study he had anticipated. 
 Though the laugh was against himself, Dr Bardly 
 could not help telling the story to his friends, and 
 Martha made it at least equally public amongst 
 her own class; so that everybody in the neighbour- 
 hood had heard it, and finally it appeared in the 
 newspapers.
 
 70 WENDEKHOLME. 
 
 " Fm sure it's that Dr Bardly/' said Mrs Ogden, 
 " that's ruined our Isaac." 
 
 " Why, mother, Bardly's one o'th soberest men 
 in Shayton ; and being a doctor beside, he isn't 
 likely to encourage Isaac i' bad 'abits." 
 
 " I wish Isaac weren't so fond on him. He 
 sets more store by Dr Bardly, and by all that he 
 says, than by any one else in the place. He likes 
 him better than Mr Prigley. I've heard him say 
 so, sittin' at this very table. I wish he liked Mr 
 Prigley better, and would visit with him a little. 
 He'd get nothing but good at the parsonage ; 
 whereas they tell me — and no doubt it's true — • 
 that there's all sorts of wicked things in Dr 
 Bardly's museum, and many a bad book in his 
 library. I think I shall ask Mr Prigley just to 
 set ceremony on one side, and go and call upon 
 Isaac up at Twistle Farm ; no doubt he would be 
 kind enough to do so." 
 
 "It would be of no use, mother, except to 
 Prigley 's appetite, that might be a bit sharpened 
 with a walk up to Twistle ; but supposin' he got 
 there, and found Isaac at 'ome, Isaac 'ud be as 
 civil as civil, and he'd ax Prigley to stop his 
 dinner; and Prigley 'ud no more dare to open 
 his mouth about Isaac's goin's on than our sar- 
 vant lass 'ud ventur to tell you as you put too
 
 WENDERHOLME. 71 
 
 mich salt i' a potato-pie. It's poor folk as par- 
 sons talks to ; they willn't talk to a chap wi' ten 
 thousand pound till he axes 'em, except in a 
 general way in a pulpit." 
 
 " Well, Jacob, if Mr Prigley were only just to 
 go and renew his acquaintance with our Isaac, it 
 would be so much gained, and it might lead to 
 his amendment." 
 
 "Mother, I dont think he needs so much 
 amendment. Isaac's right enough. I believe 
 he's always sober up at Twistle ; isn't he, little 
 un?" 
 
 Little Jacob, thus appealed to, assented, but in 
 rather a doubtful and reserved manner, as if some- 
 thing remained behind which he had not courage 
 to say. His grandmother observed this. 
 
 " Now, my lad, tell me the whole truth. It 
 can do your father no 'arm — nothing but good — 
 to let us know all about what he does. Your 
 father is my son, and I've a right to know all 
 about him. I'm very anxious, and 'ave been, ever 
 since I knew that he was goin' again to the Eed 
 Lion. I 'oped he'd given that up altogether. 
 You must tell me — I insist upon it." 
 
 Little Jacob said nothing, but began to cry. 
 
 " Nay, nay, lad," said his uncle, " a great felly 
 like thee should never skrike. Thy grandmother
 
 72 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 means nout. Mother, you're a bit hard upon th' 
 lad ; it isn't fair to force a child to be witness 
 again' it own father." With this uncle Jacob rose 
 and left the room, for it was time for him to 
 go to the mill ; and then Mrs Ogden rose from 
 her chair, and with the stiff stately walk that 
 was habitual to her, and that she never could lay 
 aside even under strong emotion, approached her 
 grandson, and, bending over him, gave him one 
 kiss on the forehead. This kiss, be it observed, 
 was a very exceptional event. Jacob always 
 kissed his grandmother when he came to Milend; 
 but she was invariably passive, though it was plain 
 that the ceremony was agreeable to her, from a 
 certain softness that spread over her features, and 
 which differed from their habitual expression. So 
 when Jacob felt the old lady's lips upon his fore- 
 head, a thrill of tenderness ran through his little 
 heart, and he sobbed harder than ever. 
 
 Mrs Ogden drew a chair close to his, and, put- 
 ting her hand on his brow so as to turn his face 
 a little upwards that she might look well into 
 it, said, " Come now, little un, tell granny all 
 about it." 
 
 What the kiss had begun, the word " granny " 
 fully accomplished. Little Jacob dried his eyes 
 and resolved to tell his sorrows. The poor child
 
 WENDERHOLME. 73 
 
 had not very much to say, and at his age — though 
 the power of narrating incidents or occurrences is 
 already developed, except that such narratives 
 are more frequently imaginative than accurate — 
 that of explaining the sorrows and distresses of 
 the mind is not yet developed at all, though these 
 distresses may be felt most acutely. A woman, 
 ill used by her husband, will pour floods of nar- 
 rative and complaint in the ear of her confidential 
 friend — she will expatiate for hours on the delin- 
 quencies of the monster to whom a cruel fate has 
 bound her — she will subject all he has said and 
 all that he has done to the most careful and 
 severe analysis — and by processes of elaborate 
 induction, not only arrive infallibly at his most 
 secret thoughts, but even discover motives and 
 intentions of which he himself is not in the least 
 aware. But a child that is ill used by its father 
 cannot ascertain for itself the boundary that sepa- 
 rates a just parental authority from tyranny; and 
 though it feels that life is embittered for it by the 
 fear of a capricious and unaccountable power, it 
 cannot make plain to a third person in what the 
 tyranny precisely consists. For tyranny does 
 not consist in the infliction of suffering, however 
 severe, if the punishment is inflicted by rule, and 
 is proportionate to the offence ; and the child's
 
 74 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 great difficulty is that he is unable to prove the 
 capriciousness of his tyrant. If an Oriental des- 
 pot cuts off a slave's ear in a rage, it is the act of 
 a tyrant; but if a man has his head cut off because 
 he has, after due trial, been found guilty of mur- 
 der, and judicially condemned in conformity to the 
 laws of his country, we do not call that tyranny. 
 Now, when a child complains of ill-usage, he has 
 not the art to select instances of pure tyranny 
 alone, and does not know how to present them in 
 a sufficiently odious light, but is just as likely, in 
 the confusion of his ideas, and under the general 
 sense of indignation and revolt, to mention some 
 instance in which he has not suffered from an act 
 of tyranny at all, but has merely incurred punish- 
 ment for some fault. And this is exactly what 
 happened in the present instance. 
 
 "Grandmother," said little Jacob, "father is 
 so — so " 
 
 " So what, my lad '? " 
 
 " Well, he beats me, grandmother ! " 
 
 Now Mrs Ogden, though she loved Jacob as 
 strongly as her nature permitted, by no means 
 wished to see him entirely exempt from corporal 
 punishment. She knew, on the authority of Scrip- 
 ture, that it was good for children to be beaten, 
 that the rod was a salutary thing; and she at once
 
 WENDERHOLME. 75 
 
 concluded that little Jacob had been punished for 
 some fault which in her own code would have 
 deserved such punishment, and would have drawn 
 it down upon her own sons when they were of 
 his age. So she was neither astonished nor in- 
 dignant, and asked, merely by way of continuing 
 the conversation, — 
 
 " And when did he beat thee, child '? " 
 
 If Jacob had been an artful advocate of his 
 own cause, he would have cited one of those in- 
 stances, unhappily too numerous during the last 
 few months, when he had been severely punished 
 on the slightest possible pretexts, or even with- 
 out any pretext whatever; but as recent even1;3 
 occupy the largest space in our recollection, and 
 as all troubles diminish by a sort of perspective 
 according to the length of time that has hap- 
 pened since their occurrence, Jacob, of course, 
 instanced a beating that he had received that 
 very morning, and of which certain portions of 
 his bodily frame, by their uncommon stiffness 
 and soreness, still kept up the most lively re- 
 membrance. 
 
 " He beat me this morning, grandmother." 
 
 " And what for ? " 
 
 " Because I spilt some ink on my new trowsers 
 that I'd put on to come to Milend."
 
 76 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 " Well, then, my lad, all I can say is that you 
 deserved it, and should take better care. Do you 
 think that your father is to buy good trowsers for 
 you to spill ink upon them the very first time 
 you put them on ? You'll soon come to ruin at 
 that rate. Little boys should learn to take care 
 of their things ; your uncle Jacob was as kerfle ''' 
 as possible of his things ; indeed he was the ker- 
 flest boy I ever saw in all my life, and I wish you 
 could take after him. It's a very great thing is 
 kerfleness. There's people as thinks that when 
 they've worn t their money upon a thing, it's no 
 use lookin' after it, and mindin' it, because the 
 money's all worn and gone, and so they pay no 
 heed to their things when once they've got them. 
 And what's the consequence? They find that 
 they have to be renewed, that new ones must 
 be bought when the old ones ought to have been 
 quite good yet; and so they spend and spend, 
 when they might spare and have everything just 
 as decent, if they could only learn a little kerfle- 
 ness." 
 
 After this lecture Mrs Ogden slowly rose from 
 her seat and proceeded to put the decanters into 
 a triangular cupboard that occupied a corner of 
 the room. In due course of time the apples, the 
 
 * Careful. f Spent.
 
 WENDEEHOLME. 77 
 
 gingerbread, and the nuts alike disappeared in its 
 capacious recesses, and were hidden from little 
 Jacob's eyes by folding-doors of dark mahogany, 
 polished till they resembled mirrors, and reflected 
 the window wdth its glimpse of dull grey sky. 
 After this Mrs Ogden went into the kitchen to 
 look after some household affairs, and her grand- 
 son went to the stable to see Jerry, and to make 
 the acquaintance of some puppies which had 
 recently come into the world, but were as yet too 
 blind to have formed any opinion of its beauties.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mrs Ogden's desire to bring about a renewal of 
 the acquaintance between ber son Isaac and Mr 
 Prigley was not an unwise one, even if consid- 
 ered independently of his religious interests. Mr 
 Prigley, though by no means a man of first-rate 
 culture or capacity, was still the only gentleman 
 in Shayton — the only man in the place who reso- 
 lutely kept himself up to the standard, of the 
 outer world, and refused to adopt the local 
 dialect and manners. No doubt our friend the 
 Doctor was in a certain special sense a gentleman, 
 and much more than a gentleman — he was a man 
 of high attainment, and had an excellent heart. 
 But, so far from desiring to rise above the out- 
 ward ideal of the locality, he took a perverse 
 pleasure in remaining a little below it. His lan- 
 guage was a shade more provincial than that of 
 the neighbouring manufacturers, and his manners
 
 WENDERHOLME. 79 
 
 somewhat more rugged and abrupt than theirs. 
 Perhaps he secretly enjoyed the contrast between 
 the commonplace exterior which he affected, and 
 the elaborate intellectual culture which he knew 
 himself to possess. He resembled the house he 
 lived in, which was, as to its exterior, so perfectly 
 commonplace that every one would pass it with- 
 out notice^ yet which contained greater intel- 
 lectual riches, and more abundant material for 
 reflection, than all the other houses in Shayton 
 put together. Therefore, if I say that Mr Prigley 
 was the only gentleman in the place, I mean 
 externally — in language and manner. If wealth 
 be the standard adopted, the best gentleman in 
 Shayton was a certain cotton-spinner, who had 
 just reached his quarter-of-a-million, and had six 
 illegitimate children, to whom he never gave 
 one farthing — and a first cousin, a paralytic old 
 woman, in a state of utter destitution. If know- 
 ledge is the standard, who can be compared to 
 our friend the Doctor ? And if moral worth be 
 the standard of true gentlemanhood, as perhaps 
 it may be in the eyes of the angels in heaven, 
 then the best gentleman in Shayton was a poor, 
 pale operative, denying clothes to his back and 
 food to his belly, that he might keep a lot of poor 
 children who had no claim upon him except that
 
 80 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 their father had helped him ten years ago, and 
 received, in consequence, a solemn promise on 
 his deathbed that his little ones should not be 
 forsaken. 
 
 The living of Shayton was a very meagre one, 
 and Mr Prigley had great difficulty in keeping 
 himself above water ; but there is more satisfac- 
 tion in struggling with the difficulties of open and 
 avowed poverty than in maintaining deceitful ap- 
 pearances, and Mr Prigley had long since ceased 
 to think about appearances at all. The only lux- 
 ury they clung to at the parsonage was a degree 
 of cleanliness considerably beyond the ideal pre- 
 valent in Shayton; and their washings were con- 
 sidered extravagant, and were no doubt heavier 
 than the narrow income warranted. Uncle Jacob 
 used to say that Mr Prigley could not possibly 
 know the luxury of a clean shirt, because he 
 never felt the delightfulness of the transition 
 from a thoroughly dirty one; but Mr Prigley 
 considered clean linen so pleasant in itself as 
 to be beyond the necessity for contrast. In his 
 earlier life he had been a fine swimmer, and 
 passionately fond of that amusement, but there 
 Avas not a place within many miles of Shayton 
 where he could indulge in it. The love of cold 
 water remained with him, however, and he tubbed
 
 WENDERHOLME. 81 
 
 himself, winter and summer, with heroic regular- 
 ity. He had heard of the pond at Twistle Farm, 
 and during the whole of the last summer had 
 longed to go and bathe in it ; but as Mr Ogden 
 never came near the parsonage, a feeling of 
 delicacy had always restrained him. 
 
 Soap anditvater are cheap, and therefore rich 
 people are apt to conclude that " people may 
 always be clean ; " but when a family is poor, 
 and there are five children besides the parents, it 
 is found in practice that if the household is to be 
 kept up to any strict rule of cleanliness it must 
 be at the cost of considerable sacrifices. The 
 Prigleys could no doubt have managed this mor^ 
 easily if their residence had been situated in the 
 pure air of an agricultural neighbourhood ; but in 
 a manufacturing town or large village like Shay- 
 ton, where a number of tall chimneys are continu- 
 ally filling the air with black smoke that descends 
 in solid specks of carbon like a perpetual rain, 
 this taste of theirs was found to be an expensive 
 one. Now it had happened some time ago that 
 the carpets showed grievous signs of wear, and in 
 fact were so full of holes as to be positively dan- 
 gerous. They had been patched and mended 
 over and over again, and an ingenious seamstress 
 employed by Mrs Prigley, and much valued by 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 lier, had darned them with variously- coloured 
 wools in continuation of the original patterns, 
 so that (unless on close inspection) the repairs 
 were not very evident. Now, however, both Mrs 
 Prigiey and the seamstress, notwithstanding all 
 their ingenuity and skill, had reluctantly come 
 to the conclusion that to repair the carpets in 
 their present advanced stage of decay it would 
 be necessary to darn nothing less than the whole 
 area of them, and Mrs Prigiey declared that she 
 would rather manufacture new ones with her 
 knitting-needles. But if buying carpets was out 
 of the question, so it was not less out of the ques- 
 tion for Mrs Prigiey to fabricate objects of luxury, 
 since her whole time was taken up by matters of 
 pressing necessity — indeed the poor lady could 
 only just keep up with the ceaseless accumula- 
 tions of things that wanted mending ; and when- 
 ever she was unwell for a day or two, and unable 
 to work, there rose such a heap of them as made 
 her very heart sink. In this perplexity about the 
 carpets, nature was left to take her course, and 
 the carpets were abandoned to their fate, but still 
 left upon the floors ; for how were they ever to be 
 replaced ? By a most unfortunate coincidence, 
 Mr Prigiey discovered about the same time that 
 his shirts, though apparently very sound and
 
 WENDERHOLME. 83 
 
 handsome sliirts indeed, had become deplorably 
 weak in the tissue ; for if, in dressing himself in 
 a hnrrj, his hand did not just happen to hit the 
 orifice of the sleeve, it passed through the fabric 
 of the shirt itself, and that with so little difficulty 
 that he was scarcely aware of any impediment ; 
 whilst if once the hem were severed, the imme- 
 diate consequence was a rent more than a foot 
 long. Poor Mrs Prigley had mended these pa- 
 tiently for a while ; but one day, after marvelling 
 how it happened that her husband had become so 
 violent in his treatment of his linen, she tried the 
 strength of it herself, and, to use her own expres- 
 sive phrase, " it came in two like a sheet of wel> 
 paper/' It was characteristic of the Prigleys that 
 they determined to renew the linen at once, and 
 to abandon carpets for ever. 
 
 Sha3rton is not in France, and to do without 
 carpets in Shayton amounts to a confession of 
 what, in the middle class, is looked upon as a 
 pitiable destitution. Mr Prigley did not care 
 much about this ; but his wife was more sensi- 
 tive to public opinion, and, long after that heroic 
 resolution had been taken, hesitated to put it in 
 execution. Day after day the ragged remnants 
 remained upon the floor, and still did Mrs Prigley 
 procrastinate. Her husband used to say, " Well,
 
 84 WENDEEHOLME. 
 
 Sally, aren't the carpets taken up yet ? I thought 
 our parsonage was to have adopted French fash- 
 ions by this time, and that the dining-room was 
 to have been a salle d manger, and the drawing- 
 room a salon, and the parson s study the cabinet 
 de monsieur. You needn't think the house will 
 look wretched without carpets ; the floors are 
 very good, and I'll stain them like dark oak, and 
 rub some linseed-oil into them, and they'll look as 
 well as a French parquet." But though the reso- 
 lution had been taken in theory, the great step 
 from theory to practice seemed very difficult to 
 Mrs Prigley, and her old patched carpets, even 
 with the holes in them, were dearer to her than 
 any bare boards ever could be, however disguised 
 by Mr Prigley's oak- stain and linseed- oil. So 
 they remained day after day. 
 
 Whilst things were in this condition at the 
 parsonage, the conversation took place at Milend 
 which we have narrated in the preceding chap- 
 ter ; and as soon as Mrs Ogden had seen things 
 straight in the kitchen, she " bethought her," as 
 she would have herself expressed it, that it might 
 be a step towards intercourse between Isaac Og- 
 den and the clergyman if she could make little 
 Jacob take a fancy to the parsonage. There was 
 a little boy there nearly his own age, and as Jacob
 
 WENDERHOLME. 85 
 
 was far too much isolated, the acquaintance would 
 be equally desirable for him. The idea was by 
 no means new to her ; indeed she had long been 
 anxious to find suitable playmates for her grand- 
 son, a matter of which Isaac did not sufficiently 
 perceive the importance ; and she had often in- 
 tended to take steps in this direction, but had 
 been constantly deterred by the feelings of dis- 
 like to Mr Prigley, which both her sons did not 
 hesitate to express. What had Mr Prigley done 
 to them that they should never be able to speak 
 of him without a shade of very perceptible aver- 
 sion or contempt 1 They had no definite accusa- 
 tion to make against him ; they did not attempt 
 to justify their antipathy, but the antipathy did 
 not disguise itself In an agricultural district the 
 relations between the parson and the squire are 
 often cordial; in a manufacturing district the 
 relations between the parson and the millowners 
 are usually less intimate, and have more the char- 
 acter of accidental neighbourship than of natural 
 alliance. It is difficult for the poorer clergy not 
 to feel a little unconscious jealousy of the enor- 
 mous incomes netted by men whose education 
 has been confined to writing and arithmetic; and, 
 on the other hand, it is equally difficult for the 
 cotton-spinner, whose signature is a very lamp of
 
 86 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 Aladdin, not to feel slightly jealous of the social 
 and intellectual (or at least educational) superior- 
 ities of a class of men who in many instances are 
 actually struggling for the very necessaries of life. 
 The contrast between the temporal and spiritual 
 powers is seen here in its very strongest and 
 crudest form ; but the violence of it is greatly 
 mitigated when (as frequently happens in the 
 rising generation of manufacturers) the industrial 
 chief is a highly educated man, and when the 
 clergyman has sufficient private fortune, or a suf- 
 ficiently comfortable benefice, to relieve him from 
 painful comparisons. 
 
 The intercourse between Milend and the par- 
 sonage had been so infrequent that Mrs Prigley 
 was quite astonished when Betty, the maid-of-all- 
 work, announced Mrs Ogden as she pushed open 
 the door of the sitting-room. But she was much 
 more astonished when Mrs Ogden, instead of 
 quietly advancing in her somewhat stifi" and for- 
 mal manner, fell forward on the floor with out- 
 stretched arms and a shriek. Mrs Prigley shrieked 
 too, little Jacob tried manfully to lift up his 
 grandmother, and poor Betty, not knowing what 
 to say under circumstances so unexpected, but 
 vaguely feeling that she was likely to incur 
 blame, and might possibly (though in some man-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 87 
 
 ner not yet clear to her) deserve it, begged Mrs 
 Ogden's pardon. Mr Prigley was busy writing a 
 sermon in his study, or rather learning one by 
 Jieart that he had written, for he was supposed to 
 preach extempore; and being suddenly inter- 
 ripted in the midst of what seemed to him an 
 UQcommonly eloquent passage on the spread of 
 infidelity, rushed to the scene of the accident in 
 a state of great mental confusion, which for some 
 seconds prevented him from recognising Mrs 
 Ogden, or Mrs Ogden's bonnet, for the lady's face 
 was not visible to him as he stood amazed in 
 the doorway. "Bless me !" thought Mr Prigley, 
 " here's a woman in a fit!" And then came a dim 
 and somewhat unchristian feeling that women 
 liable to fits need not just come and have them 
 in the parlour at the parsonage. " It's Mrs 
 Ogden, love," said Mrs Prigley ; " and, oh dear, 
 I am so sorry 1 " 
 
 By the united efibrts of the parson and his 
 wife, joined to those of Betty and little Jacob, 
 Mrs Ogden was placed upon the sofa, and Mr 
 Prigley went to fetch some brandy from the 
 dining-room. On his way to the door the cause 
 of the accident became apparent to him in the 
 shape of a yawning rent in the carpet, which was 
 dragged up in great folds and creases several
 
 88 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 inclies high. He had no time to do justice to the 
 subject now, and so refrained from making any- 
 observation ; but he fully resolved that, whether 
 Mrs Prigley liked it or not, all ragged old carpets 
 should disappear from the parsonage as soon as 
 Mrs Ogden could be got out of it. When Mts 
 Prigley saw the hole in her turn, she was over- 
 whelmed with a sense of culpability, and fdt 
 herself to be little better than a murderess. 
 
 " Betty, run and fetch Dr Bardly as fast ss 
 ever you can.'' 
 
 " Please let me go," said little Jacob ; " I can 
 run faster than she can." 
 
 So little Jacob bounded out of the parsonage, 
 and ran down the main street of Shayton like 
 a hare before the hounds. Some dirty little boys 
 that were playing at marbles saw him pass, and 
 called out after him, and so raised a hue and 
 cry that was taken up by a straggling popula- 
 tion of juveniles. At last half-a-dozen of them 
 closed the path before him, and when he tried 
 to make his way through the ranks of the ene- 
 my, our hero dealt several very hearty blows 
 with his small fists, which were returned with 
 equal heartiness ; and indeed so irritated did 
 the little mob become, that little Jacob would 
 have had his legs variegated by kicks from their
 
 WENDERHOLME. 89 
 
 heavy clogs if a powerful ally had not come to 
 his assistance. 
 
 It happened that the battle took place just 
 before Susy TattersalFs shop, which, as everybody 
 in Shayton knows very well (though some stran- 
 gers in London and elsewhere may not be aware of 
 the fact), is in the main street of the village just 
 before you turn up to the Doctor's. Susy is a 
 strong woman yet ; but at the date of the present 
 narrative she was an uncommonly powerful one, 
 and loved and hated as energetically as she drove 
 the scouring-stone alonor her sanded floor, or wruns^ 
 out her check aprons on the washing-day. Her 
 trade was of a miscellaneous description. She 
 sold the Manchester papers ; she sold shilling 
 novels, and religious biographies, and atheistic 
 pamphlets, and pious tracts ; she sold sugar- 
 plums and children's toys, including whips of 
 various descriptions, with whistles and without 
 whistles. She dealt in tarts also. One of her 
 most regular patrons was Master Jacob, who had 
 lots of pocket-money (more than was good for 
 him), and seldom failed to look in at Susy's when 
 he passed that way. The woman had had a little 
 son exactly of Jacob's age, but the child was 
 dead ; and every time Susy saw little Jacob, the 
 maternal heart within her said that her own
 
 90 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 Isaiah would have been "about such another" 
 if he had lived ; so she often kissed our young 
 hero, who rather wondered at these attentions, 
 to which, however, he had no objection, as they 
 were usually followed by gratuitous sugar-plums 
 and tarts. And when the lad's back was turned, 
 and Susy was left alone in her shop, the check 
 apron would go up to the corners of her eyes, and 
 the next customer would wonder what had been 
 the matter. So when the scuffle took place at 
 Susy's door she rushed out, and perceiving that her 
 favourite was surrounded by enemies, threw her- 
 self valiantly into the thick of the combat, open- 
 ing a way with her big red arms, and scattering 
 her foes to the right hand and to the left. The 
 little dirty urchins had all of them a great awe of 
 Susy, and vanished before this stalwart maintainer 
 of the right. She drew little Jacob into her sanc- 
 tuary of tarts and lollipops, and questioned him 
 in rather an overwhelming manner. So soon as 
 she had gathered that Mrs Ogden had fallen 
 down in the parlour at the parsonage, and that 
 her young friend had been sent to fetch the doc- 
 tor, she set off with him to Dr Bardly's house. 
 Martha opened the door. 
 
 " Eh, Susy ! what are you comed about ? is 
 somebody noan weel?'' and then perceiving Master
 
 WENDERHOLME. 91 
 
 Jacob, " What ! is there summat wrong at Milend 
 or up at Twistle Farm ? " 
 
 Without giving Jacob any time to answer, Susy 
 Tattersall whispered in a grave and breathless 
 manner, " Its Mistress Ogden ; who's"''' fa'en dewn 
 r a fitt at th' parsonage, an' who's 'appen deead 
 by neaw." 
 
 Whilst the Doctor and little Jacob are going to 
 Mr Prigley's — the Doctor walking as fast as he can 
 and asking questions, his young friend running 
 by his side and doing what he can to answer 
 them — Susy stops to have a little chat with 
 Martha, and then goes back to her shop, where, 
 to her confusion, five customers are waiting for 
 her. It is very natural that, by way of apology 
 for her absence, she should narrate what she 
 knew of Mrs Ogden's accident, with her own 
 comments. Soon afterwards Mr Isaac rode into 
 Shay ton, and just as he was turning into the yard 
 at the Eed Lion, one of his tenants, who stood 
 bareheaded in the doorway with a long clay pipe 
 in his mouth, came suddenly forward, beckoned, 
 and in a grave low tone, with an expression of 
 much sympathy, communicated the news that 
 
 * " Who " means she in Lancashire. The reader is requested 
 to remember this, as Susy would hardly ever say " she " under 
 any circumstances.
 
 92 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 Mrs Ogden had just had a fit of apoplexy at the 
 parsonage, and that Dr Bardly was with her, 
 but that it was believed life was not yet quite 
 extinct. About the same time his brother Jacob 
 at the mill received the news that Mrs Ogden had 
 had a severe fall at Mr Prigley's, and that she had 
 broken her arm, but that Dr Bardly had set it, 
 and she was doing as well as could be expected. 
 
 Neither of the brothers had been at the par- 
 sonage for years, and it was about the last house 
 in Shayton where they would willingly have pre- 
 sented themselves ; but fits of apoplexy and bro- 
 ken arms are serious things under all circum- 
 stances, and especially when they happen to one^s 
 old mother, so of course there could be no hesita- 
 tion about going to the parsonage now. Isaac 
 galloped thither as fast as his black mare could 
 carry him, and left her to graze at leisure on Mr 
 Prigley's lawn, whilst he thundered at the door 
 with the end of his riding-whip, for there was no 
 knocker, and he was too excited to find the bell. 
 Just as the door was opened Mr Jacob came up, 
 so the two brothers entered at the same time. 
 
 The scene in the parlour struck both of them 
 with unspeakable astonishment. There was Mrs 
 Ogden in an easy - chair, sitting as if nothing 
 were the matter with her ; whilst Dr Bardly was
 
 WENDERHOLME. 93 
 
 telling one of his stories, and the parson was 
 standing with his back to the fire, and laughing 
 much more heartily than a man utterly destitute 
 of capital has any right to do. The parson had 
 a professional disapproval of Dr Bardly because 
 he would not come to church, and especially, per- 
 haps, because on the very rare occasions when he 
 did present himself there, he always contrived to 
 be called out in time to escape the sermon ; but 
 he enjoyed the Doctor's company more than he 
 would have been willing to confess, and had 
 warmly seconded Mrs Prigley's proposal that, 
 since Mrs Ogden, in consequence of her accident, 
 was supposed to need the restoration of " tea and 
 something to it," the Doctor should stay tea also. 
 The arrival of Isaac and Jacob gave a new turn 
 to the matter, and promised an addition to the 
 small-tea party already organised. After the first 
 moment of surprise at seeing their mother in life 
 and health, with whole bones and no traces of 
 her supposed attack of apoplexy, they told what 
 rumours were already abroad in Shayton ; and as 
 Betty was sent to buy a crab for tea, Mr Prigley 
 suggested that she might as well call at Susy 
 Tattersairs and at the Eed Lion, and give a true 
 account of the matter. So, what with the false 
 rumours, and the more accurate narrative that
 
 94 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 was sent after tliem, Mrs Ogclen became the 
 general subject of conversation in Shay ton ; and 
 the next Sunday when she went to church all 
 the people stared at her with uncommon interest 
 and perseverance. Poor Mrs Prigley was troubled 
 throughout the service by an unpleasant conscious- 
 ness that the majority of the worshippers must 
 know by this time that there were holes in the 
 carpets at the parsonage. 
 
 It was rather stiff and awkward just at first 
 for Isaac and Jacob when they found themselves 
 actually in the parson s house, and forced to stop 
 there to tea out of filial attention to their mother; 
 but it is wonderful how soon Mr Prigley contrived 
 to get them over these difficulties. He resolved 
 to take advantage of his opportunity, and warm 
 up an acquaintance that might be of eminent 
 service in certain secret projects of his. Shay ton 
 church was a dreary old building of the latest 
 and most debased Tudor architecture. There 
 were pillars to separate the nave from the 
 aisles ; but these pillars supported no arches, 
 and flat beams rested upon them the whole length 
 of the edifice. The windows were just like the 
 windows in all the old farmhouses about Shayton, 
 being divided by mullions into four or five lights 
 of equal height, with arched tops to them. The
 
 WENDERHOLME. 95 
 
 communion-table was in a hole nnder the organ, 
 with a small window over it just like the others, 
 except that a Shayton glazier had put into it 
 some bits of yellow and blue glass that remained 
 to him after setting up a coloured staircase and 
 passage window in a cotton-spinner's new house. 
 The pulpit stood in the middle of the church in 
 three steps or stages — the lowest for the clerk, 
 the second for reading the service from the prayer- 
 book, and the third and loftiest for the preaching 
 of those sermons in which Mr Prigley supposed 
 himself especially to excel. There was but one 
 gas-lamp for the clerk, and one for the reading of 
 the service ; but there were two for the preaching 
 — more, it may be presumed, to throw light upon 
 the orator's face than upon his manuscript, which, 
 having been learnt by heart, was left in the study 
 at the parsonage, and not generally believed to 
 exist. 
 
 Now Mr Prigley had become inoculated with 
 the passion for Gothic architecture ; and the poor 
 old church of Shayton, though it sheltered the 
 inhabitants well enough in their comfortable old 
 pews, seemed to him a base and degraded sort of 
 edifice, unfit for the celebration of public worship. 
 He therefore nourished schemes of reform ; and 
 when he had nothing particular to do, especially
 
 96 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 during the singing of the hymns, he could not 
 help looking up at the flat ceiling and down along 
 the pew - partitioned floor, and thinking what 
 might be done with the old building — how it 
 would look, for instance, if those octagon pillars 
 that supported those hateful longitudinal beams 
 were crowned with beautiful Gothic arches sup- 
 porting a lofty clerestory above ; and how the 
 organ, instead of standing just over the com- 
 munion-table, and preventing the possibility of 
 a creditable east window, might be removed to 
 the west end, to the inconvenience, it is true, of 
 all the richest people in the township, who held 
 pews in a gallery at that end of the church, but 
 to the general advancement of correct and ortho- 
 dox principles. Once the organ removed, a mag- 
 nificent east window might gleam gorgeously over 
 the renovated altar, and Shay ton church might 
 become worthy of its incumbent. 
 
 Mr Prigley was far too wise a man to talk openly 
 of these daring schemes to the Shay ton people, 
 who had no more idea, as they were sitting com- 
 fortably in the corners of their baize-lined, high- 
 backed pews, what was going on in their parson's 
 head than had the poor doomed old edifice itself. 
 To announce such plans in all their revolutionary 
 magnitude would have been the most efiectual
 
 WENDERHOLME. 97 
 
 way to hinder them from ever being realised. 
 Mr Prigley determined to emulate the wisdom of 
 the serpent, and proceed with crafty and deep- 
 laid policy. For at least twelve months he had 
 been anxiously watching his opportunity, and 
 now that opportunity had come. It could be 
 proved, on the authority of a local carpenter 
 and a local slater — who, it is to be feared, were 
 scarcely more disinterested than the clergyman 
 himself — that there were rotten beams in the old 
 oak roof of the church, and that the slating was 
 generally in such a bad condition that the rain 
 came freely through it. Large patches of damp 
 could be pointed to on the ceiling; and indeed 
 more than one member of the congregation had 
 amused himself, during sermon-time, in remark- 
 ing in these patches a curious resemblance to the 
 map of Europe. There was the great mass of 
 Continental country, there were the Scandinavian 
 and Iberian peninsulas, there was the Italian boot, 
 there were even some neighbouring patches which, 
 by a stretch of imagination, might be supposed to 
 stand for the British Islands. From this inter- 
 esting map, to the great delight of Mr Prigley, 
 distilled in wet weather large drops of water, that 
 fell with a blobbing sound audible over the whole 
 church. All that Mr Prigley regretted was that 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 these drops chose to fall on the free seats of the 
 poor, rather than into those cosy square partitions 
 where sat the wealthy cotton-spinners and their 
 wives. One old pauper, for instance, sat habit- 
 ually in a place where the largest drop always 
 regularly fell. The first time that it descended 
 on his poor bald pate he had been much startled, 
 and some little boys in a neighbouring pew had 
 set up an audible titter ; but the old man simply 
 took out his pocket-handkerchief — a dark-brown 
 cotton one with white spots — and laid it, all nicely 
 folded as it was, on the summit of his occiput, 
 where, with remarkable steadiness, he ever after- 
 wards maintained it. If that large persistent drop 
 would but have fallen on Mrs Ogden's gorgeous 
 bonnet, it would have been worth twenty pounds 
 to Mr Prigley's meditated subscription. 
 
 Now the bare fact, divested of the mercantile 
 exaggerations of the carpenter and slater, and of 
 Mr Prigley's politic ones, was simply this : The 
 oak timber of the roof was for the most part per- 
 fectly sound ; and as to those beams which were 
 not quite sound, they were still more than equal 
 to the service required of them, having been made 
 originally about four times as thick as they needed 
 to have been. Supposing, however, that it were 
 necessary, which it was not, to take out the par-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 99 
 
 tially-decayed beams and replace them, that was 
 not a very serious matter ; and as for the slating, 
 the slates themselves were good, and by simply 
 removing them and putting them on again with 
 new laths, a perfect repair might be effected. Mr 
 Prigley felt that he had a very difficult part to 
 play ; he might work upon the fears of the ladies 
 by representing the roof as positively dangerous, 
 and had indeed already so much alarmed two old 
 maids, the Miss Hewicks, that they sat in church 
 in trembling expectation that the roof would fall 
 in upon them, yet dared not absent themselves, 
 from a dread of public opinion. In this state the 
 Miss Hewicks might be considered ripe for sub- 
 scribing, and were in fact ready to give any 
 amount within their pecuniary means. But it 
 was not so easy to alarm a set of hard-headed 
 cotton-spinners, who were only too well acquainted 
 with the repairing of roofs, having whole acres of 
 roofs of their own ; and herein lay Mr Prigley 's 
 great difficulty. If he had simply desired to put 
 Shayton church into a state of thorough repair, 
 nothing in the world would have been easier — he 
 would have got together the necessary subscrip- 
 tions in the course of a morning, at any time, by 
 simply calling at five or six counting-houses ; but 
 his projects, as we know, were much more ambi-
 
 100 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 tious, and the difficulty was so to arrange matters 
 that out of these repairs to the roof should spring, 
 as it were by a natural and seemingly inevitable 
 growth, the fair fabric of his dreams. 
 
 And now, as he saw, by unhoped-for good-luck, 
 these three rich Ogdens in his own parlour, it 
 became Mr Prigley's earnest wish to keep them 
 there as long as possible, and cultivate their ac- 
 quaintance, and see whether there was not some 
 vulnerable place in those hard practical minds of 
 theirs. As for the Doctor, he scarcely hoped to 
 get any money out of him ; he had preached at 
 him over and over again, and though the Doctor 
 only laughed and took care to keep out of the 
 way of these sermons, it was scarcely to be ex- 
 pected that he should render good for evil — money 
 for hard language. Nobody in Shayton precisely 
 knew what the Doctor's opinions were; but wdien 
 Mr Prigley was writing his most energetic on- 
 slaughts on the infidel, it is certain that the type 
 in the parson's mind had the Doctor's portly 
 body and plain Socratic face. 
 
 Mrs Prigley had rather hesitated about asking 
 the man to stay tea at the parsonage, for her 
 husband freely expressed his opinion of him in 
 privacy, and when in a theological frame of mind, 
 spoke of him with much the same aversion that
 
 WENDERHOLME. 101 
 
 Mrs Prigley herself felt for rats and toads and 
 spiders. And as she looked upon the Doctors 
 face, it seemed to her at first the face of the typi- 
 cal "bad man/' in whose existence she firmly- 
 believed. The human race, at the parsonage, was 
 divided into sheep and goats, and Dr Bardly 
 was amongst the goats. Was he not evidently a 
 goat '? Had not nature herself stamped his bad- 
 ness on his visage ? His very way of laughing 
 had something suspicious about it ; he seemed 
 always to be thinking more than he chose to 
 express. What was he thinking ? There seemed 
 to be something doubtful and wrong even about 
 his very whiskers, but Mrs Prigley could not defii^e 
 it, neither can we. On the contrary, they were 
 respectable and very commonplace grey whis- 
 kers, shaped like mutton-chops, and no doubt 
 they would have seemed only natural to Mrs 
 Prigley if they had been more frequently seen 
 in Shayton Church. 
 
 It may appear to some critics that in narrating 
 the arrival of Isaac and Jacob at the parsonage, 
 we passed too rapidly to that digression about 
 the church-roof, and, perhaps, even that we had 
 forgotten to describe the moving scene which 
 must have taken place when two affectionate 
 sons, who had heard the most terrible accounts
 
 102 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 of their mother's condition, found her in health 
 and safety. But the fact is that there was hardly 
 anything to tell. Isaac said, " Why, mother ! " and 
 Jacob muttered, " Her arm's non brokken ; " and 
 there was no further display of sentiment of any 
 kind. The writer regrets this, but it is not his 
 fault. If Isaac and Jacob had been Frenchmen, 
 and their mother leur mere, then there would 
 have been a scene worth dwelling upon. There 
 would have been kisses, and tears, and huggings, 
 and interjections ! But Isaac and Jacob had not 
 kissed their mother since they left school, and 
 how were they to begin now, in the presence of 
 Mr and Mrs Prigley and the Doctor ? 
 
 The young woman who did the "marvellous 
 work of the house," as a great writer called it 
 (and indeed it was marvellous how one pair of 
 red rough hands could ever get through it all), 
 had rather exceeded her commission about the 
 crab. Mrs Prigley had told her to get a crab if 
 she could, and "mind it was a fine one;'' so as 
 there did not happen to be one of those gigantic 
 monsters in Shay ton that day which Betty had 
 wonderingly beheld in the fish-market at Man- 
 chester, and which had ever since been to her a 
 crab-ideal, she purchased three of somewhat in- 
 ferior bulk, which contained, nevertheless, large
 
 WENDEEHOLME. 103 
 
 quantities of nutriment in tlieir broad bodies, and 
 great terrible-looking nippers. Company at the 
 parsonage was a very rare event, for Mr Prigley 
 saw little, in a social way, of the neighbouring 
 manufacturers ; and though the Miss Hewicks 
 came to tea from time to time, they were but 
 ladies, and ladies too of small appetite, so that 
 Betty had no data for the capacity of large 
 gentlemen like the Ogdens and the Doctor, and 
 therefore exaggerated it in her too active imag- 
 ination. Mrs Prigley quitted her guests a little 
 before tea-time to superintend the arrangements 
 for the feast, and to forward them by her own 
 exertions; and when she saw the three great crabs 
 she scolded Betty, and yet felt a secret satisfac- 
 tion in being able to display such a plentiful pro- 
 vision without having to account for it to her own 
 conscience. 
 
 Indeed it was a very pleasant-looking tea-table 
 altogether. Mrs Prigley, who was a Miss Stan- 
 burne of Byfield, a branch of the Stanburnes of 
 Wenderholme, possessed a little ancestral plate, a 
 remnant, after much subdivision, of the magnifi- 
 cence of her ancestors. She had a teapot and a 
 coffeepot, and a very quaint and curious cream- 
 jug; she also possessed a pair of silver candle- 
 sticks, of a later date, representing Corinthian
 
 104 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 columns, and the candles stood in round holes 
 in their graceful acanthus-leaved capitals. Many 
 clergymen can display articles of contemporary 
 manufacture bearing the most flattering inscrip- 
 tions, but Mr Prigley had never received any 
 testimonials, and, so long as he remained in Shay- 
 ton, was not in the least likely to enrich his table 
 with silver of that kind, Mrs Prigley, whilst ap- 
 parently listening with respectful attention to Mrs 
 Osden's account of a sick cow of hers (in which 
 Mrs Ogden seemed to consider that she herself, 
 and not the suffering animal, was the proper ob- 
 ject of sympathy), had in fact been debating in 
 her own mind whether she ought to display her 
 plate on a mere chance occasion like the present ; 
 but the common metal teapot was bulged and 
 shabby, and the thistle in electro-plate, which had 
 once decorated its lid, had long since been lost by 
 one of the children, who had fancied it as a play- 
 thing. The two brass candlesticks were scarcely 
 more presentable ; indeed one of them would no 
 longer stand upright, and Mrs Prigley had neglect- 
 ed to have it repaired, as one candle sufficed in 
 ordinary times ; and when her husband wrote at 
 night, he used a tin bed-candlestick resembling a 
 frying pan, with a tin column, not of the Corinth- 
 ian order, sticking up in the middle of it, and
 
 WENDERHOLME. 105 
 
 awkwardly preventing those culinary services to 
 which the utensil seemed naturally destined. As 
 these things were not presentable before company, 
 Mrs Prigley decided to bring forth her silver, but 
 in justice to her it is necessary to say that she 
 would have preferred something between the two, 
 as more fitted to the occasion. For similar reasons 
 was displayed a set of old china, of whose value 
 the owner herself was ignorant ; and so indeed 
 would have been the present writer, if he had not 
 recognised Mrs Prigley's old cups and saucers in 
 Jacquemart's ' Histoire de la Porcelaine.' 
 
 The splendour of Mrs Prigley's tea-table struck 
 Mrs Ogden with a degree of surprise which she 
 had not art enough to conceal, for the manners 
 and customs of Shayton had never inculcated any 
 kind of reticence as essential to the ideal of good- 
 breeding. The guests had scarcely taken their 
 places round this brilliant and festive board when 
 Mrs Ogden said, — 
 
 "YouVe got some very \indsome silver, Mrs 
 Prigley. Pd no idea you'd got such 'andsome 
 silver. Those candlesticks are taller than any 
 we've got at Milend." 
 
 A slight shade of annoyance passed across the 
 countenance of the hostess as she answered, " It 
 came from Wenderholme ; there's not much of it
 
 106 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 except what is on the table ; there were six of us 
 to divide it amongst." 
 
 " Those are the Stanburne arms on the teapot," 
 said the Doctor ; " I've hoftens noticed them at 
 Wendrum 'all. They have them all up and 
 down. Young Stanburne's very fond of his coat 
 of arms, but he's a right to be proud of it, for it's 
 a very old one. He's quite a near relation of 
 yours, isn't he, Mrs Prigley '? " 
 
 *' My father and his grandfather were brothers, 
 but there was a coolness between them on account 
 of a small estate in Yorkshire, which each thought 
 he'd a right to, and they had a lawsuit. My 
 father lost it, and never went to Wenderholme 
 again ; and they never came from Wenderholme 
 to Byfield. When my uncle Eeginald died, my 
 father was not even asked to the funeral, but they 
 sent him gloves and a hatband." 
 
 *' Have you never been at Wenderholme, Mrs 
 Prigley?" said Isaac. 
 
 " Never ! I've often thought I should like to see 
 it, just once ; it's said to be a beautiful place, and 
 I should like to see the house my poor father was 
 born in." 
 
 " Why, it's quite close to Shay ton, a great deal 
 nearer than anybody would think. It isn't much 
 more than twelve or fourteen miles off, and my
 
 WENDERHOLME. 107 
 
 house at Twistle is within nine miles of Wender- 
 holme, if you go across the moor. There is not a 
 single building of any kind between. But it's 
 thirty miles to Wenderholme by the turnpike. 
 You have to go through Sooty thorn.'^ 
 
 '' It's a very nice estate/' said uncle Jacob; and, 
 to do him justice, he was an excellent judge of 
 estates, and possessed a great fund of information 
 concerning all the desirable properties in the 
 neighbourhood, for he made it his business to 
 acquire this sort of knowledge beforehand, in case 
 such properties should fall into the market. So 
 that when uncle Jacob said an estate was " very 
 nice," you may be sure it was so. 
 
 " There are about two thousand acres of good 
 land at Wendrum," he continued, " all in a ring- 
 fence, and a very large moor behind the house, 
 with the best shooting anywhere in the whole 
 country. Our moors join up to Mr Stanburne's, 
 and if the whole were put together, it would be a 
 grand shooting." 
 
 *' That is," said Mr Prigley, rather maliciously, 
 " if Mr Stanburne were to buy your moor, I sup- 
 pose. Perhaps he might feel inclined to do so if 
 you wished to sell." 
 
 Mrs Ogden could not endure to hear of selling 
 property, even in the most remote and hypo-
 
 108 WENDEEHOLME. 
 
 thetical manner. Her back was generally as 
 straight as a stone wall, but it became, if possible, 
 straighter and stifFer, as, with a slight toss of the 
 head, she spoke as follows : — 
 
 " We don't use selling property, Mr Prigley ; 
 we're not sellers, we are buyers.'' 
 
 These Avords were uttered slowly, deliberately, 
 and with the utmost distinctness, so that it was 
 not possible for any one present to misunderstand 
 the lady's intention. She evidently considered 
 buying to be the nobler function of the two, as 
 implying increase, and selling to be a compara- 
 tively degrading operation — a confession of poverty 
 and embarrassment. This feeling was very strong, 
 not only in Shay ton, but for many miles round 
 it, and instances frequently occurred of owners 
 who clung to certain properties against their pe- 
 cuniary interest, from a dread of it being said of 
 them that they had sold land. There are coun- 
 tries where this prejudice has no existence, and 
 where a rich man sells land without hesitation 
 when he sees a more desirable investment for his 
 money; but in Shay ton a man was married to his 
 estate or his estates (for in this matter polygamy 
 was allowed) ; and though the law, after a certain 
 tedious and expensive process, technically called 
 conveyancing, permitted divorce, public opinion 
 did not permit it.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 109 
 
 Mr Prigley restored the harmony of the even- 
 ing by admitting that the people who sold land 
 were generally the old landowners, and those 
 who bought it were usually in trade — not a very 
 novel or profound observation, but it soothed 
 the wounded pride of Mrs Ogden, and at the 
 same time flattered a shade of jealousy of the old 
 aristocracy which coexisted with much genuine 
 sympathy and respect. 
 
 ** But we shouldn't say Mister Stanburne 
 now," observed the Doctor ; " he's Colonel Stan- 
 burne." 
 
 " Do militia officers keep their titles when not 
 on duty "? '' asked Mr Isaac. 
 
 " Colonels always do," said the Doctor, " but 
 captains don't, in a general way, though there are 
 some places where it is the custom to call 'em 
 captain all the year round. In the old militia 
 times there was a Captain Blackstone in Shayton. 
 You remember him well enough, Mrs Ogden, but 
 he died before Mr Prigley came to the place. 
 He was only a militia officer, but everybody 
 captained him. I suppose Mr Isaac here will be 
 Captain Ogden some of these days." 
 
 " I was not aware you intended to join the 
 militia, Mr Isaac," said the clergyman. " I am 
 very glad to hear it. It will be a pleasant change
 
 110 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 for you. Since you left business you must often 
 be at a loss for occupation/^ 
 
 " I've had plenty to do until a year or two 
 since in getting Twistle Farm into order. It's a 
 wild place, but IVe improved it a good deal, and 
 it amused me. I sometimes wish it were all to 
 be done over again. A man is never so happy 
 as when he's very busy about carrying out his 
 own plans." 
 
 " You made a fine pond there, didn't you V 
 said Mr Prigley, who always had a hankering 
 after this pond, and was resolved to improve his 
 opportunity. 
 
 " Yes, I need a small sheet of water. It is of 
 use to me nearly the whole year round. I swim 
 in it in summer, I skate on it in winter, and in 
 the spring and autumn I can sail about on it in 
 a little boat, though there is not much room for 
 tacking, and the pond is too much in a hollow to 
 have any regular wind." 
 
 *' Ah ! when the aquatic passion exists in any 
 strong form," said the aquatic Mr Prigley, "it 
 will have its exercise, even though on a small 
 scale. One of the great privations to me in 
 Shay ton is that I never get any swimming." 
 
 " My pond is very much at your service," said 
 Mr Isaac, politely. " I am sorry that it is so far
 
 WENDERHOLME. Ill 
 
 off, but one cannot send it down to Shayton in a 
 cart, as one might send a shower-bath." 
 
 Mrs Ogden was much pleased to see her scheme 
 realising itself so naturally, without any ingerence 
 of her own, and only regretted that it was not the 
 height of summer, in order that Mr Prigley might 
 set off for Twistle Farm the very next morning. 
 However enthusiastic he might be about swim- 
 ming, he could scarcely be expected to explore the 
 too cool recesses of the Twistle pond in the month 
 of November — at least for purposes of enjoyment; 
 and Mrs Ogden was not Papist enough to encour- 
 age the good man in anything approaching to a 
 mortification of the flesh. 
 
 But Mr Prigley relieved her mind by asserting 
 in a very emphatic manner that nothing would 
 give him greater pleasure than to see the pond at 
 any time of the year, and that his aquatic passion, 
 like that of Mr Isaac, took various forms, and 
 adapted itself to the season. Mrs Prigley 's coun- 
 tenance began to wear an expression of uneasi- 
 ness, if not positive alarm, for she had hitherto 
 congratulated herself on the very circumstance 
 which her lord regretted — namely, the absence of 
 deep water in the valley of Shayton. There was 
 nothing but a little brook, which in any other 
 reofion would have clothed itself with all the love-
 
 112 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 liness of sliady alder, and graceful birch, and broad 
 fern, and blue hyacinth, and trailing pedlar's 
 basket, and a thousand other charms and beauties 
 too long to enumerate, but which in the Shayton 
 valley happened to pass close to the works of an 
 extensive calico-printer, where the refuse of the 
 dyes that made the calico lovely and desirable in 
 the eyes of drapers and their customers produced 
 quite an opposite effect on the poor brook, so that 
 no fish could live in it, and scarcely even the 
 thirstiest of cows would drink of it until it had 
 purified itself by a long pilgrimage, and diluted 
 its dark waters by admixture with the clearer 
 tributaries which joined it. 
 
 Little Jacob had been admitted to the ceremony 
 of tea, and had been a model of good behaviour, 
 being " seen and not heard," which in Shayton 
 comprised the whole code of etiquette for youth 
 when in the presence of its seniors and superiors. 
 Luckily for our young friend, he sat between the 
 Doctor and the hostess, who took such good care 
 of him that by the time the feast was over he was 
 aware, by certain feelings of tightness and disten- 
 sion in a particular region, tliat the necessities of 
 nature were more than satisfied, although,* like 
 Vitellius, he had still quite appetite enough for 
 another equally copious repast if only he had
 
 WENDERHOLME. 113 
 
 known where to put it. If Sancho Panza had had 
 an equally indulgent physician at his side, one 
 of the best scenes in Don Quixote could never 
 have been written, for Dr Bardly never hindered 
 his little neighbour, but, on the other hand, 
 actually encouraged him to do his utmost, and 
 mentally amused himself by enumerating the 
 pieces of tea-cake and buttered toast, and the 
 helpings to crab and potted meat, and the large 
 spoonfuls of raspberry-jam, which our hero silently 
 absorbed. The Doctor, perhaps, acted faithfully 
 by little Jacob, for if nature had not intended boys 
 of his age to accomplish prodigies in eating, she 
 would surely never have endowed them with such 
 vast desires ; and little Jacob suffered no worse 
 results from his present excesses than the uncom- 
 fortable tightness already alluded to, which, as his 
 vigorous digestion operated, soon gave place to 
 sensations of comparative elasticity and relief 
 
 The parson s children had not been admitted 
 to witness and partake of the splendour of the 
 festival, but had had their own tea — or rather, if 
 the truth must be told, their meal of porridge and 
 milk — in a nursery up -stairs. They had been 
 accustomed to tea in the evening, but of late the 
 oatmeal -porridge which had always been their 
 breakfast had been repeated at tea-time also, as 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 the Prigleys found themselves compelled to mea- 
 sures of still stricter economy. People must be 
 fond of oatmeal -porridge to eat it with pleasure 
 seven hundred times a -year; and whenever a 
 change did come, the children at the parsonage 
 relished it with a keenness of gastronomic enjoy- 
 ment which the most refined epicure might envy, 
 and which he probably never experienced. The 
 decoction which in England is supposed to possess 
 the flavour of coffee, and which no foreigner can 
 swallow without mingled astonishment and horror, 
 seemed to these children a drink of exquisite 
 delicacy, though something of its delightfulness 
 may, it is true, be attributed to the treacle with 
 which Mrs Prigley liberally sweetened it. They 
 cared much less for tea, which seemed to them 
 comparatively thin and poor; and such tea as these 
 children tasted, rendered opaque by a cloud of 
 blue milk, was certainly not likely either to injure 
 the nervous system or exhilarate it. 
 
 Little Jacob was conducted to the nursery, 
 where he found his young friends in a state of 
 excited expectation. It was understood that this 
 was to be a magic-lantern night. Papa possessed 
 one, which he kept locked up in his study, and 
 displayed only on rare occasions. Mrs Ogden and 
 uncle Jacob were entreated to spend the evening.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 115 
 
 and accepted ; but Mr Isaac, who began to feel 
 the necessity for alcohol and tobacco, of which 
 there were no signs at the parsonage, resolved to 
 make his escape, which he did under pretext that 
 old Sarah would be sitting up for him at Twistle, 
 and that the road was long. So he rode off on 
 his mare, which had been duly cared for in Mr 
 Prigley's empty stable, and transferred her in the 
 space of ten minutes to the stable at the Eed Lion 
 transferring himself at the same time to the par- 
 lour in that house of entertainment — a place redo- 
 lent with the odours his nostrils best appreciated. 
 Here he would have remained till he was put to 
 bed, if the worthy Doctor had not (only too well), 
 known where to find him, and invited him to 
 smoke his pipe and drink a glass in his own house ; 
 for the Doctor, as we have said, was neither in 
 practice nor precept a teetotaller. 
 
 As the magic lantern was supposed to be dis- 
 played for the amusement of little Jacob, his 
 grandmother and uncle might partake of the plea- 
 sure without any sacrifice of their dignity as 
 grown-up people; and they found the entertain- 
 ment quite interesting and delightful, though the 
 only delight they acknowledged consisted in wit- 
 nessing that of the children. There were five 
 little Prigleys, and it is a curious fact that the
 
 116 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 parson^s children were the only ones in the whole 
 parish that did not bear Biblical names. All the 
 other households in Shayton sought their names 
 in the Old Testament, and had a special predilec- 
 tion for the most ancient and patriarchal ones ; but 
 the parson's boys were called Henry and William 
 and Eichard, and his girls Edith and Constance 
 — not one of which names are to be found any- 
 where in Holy Scripture, either in the Old Tes- 
 tament or the New. 
 
 When Mr Prigley had displayed all the slides 
 of his magic lantern, the children returned to the 
 nursery, and the parson made an attempt to 
 sound Mr Jacob Ogden on the subject of archi- 
 tecture by showing him a book of engravings, in 
 which all the English varieties of ecclesiastical 
 Gothic were amply described and illustrated. 
 But Mr Prigley 's efforts only resulted in bring- 
 ing home to his mind the discouraging convic- 
 tion that his visitor was in a state of total 
 darkness on this subject. Architecture was not 
 his business, and he felt under no obligation to 
 burden his memory with the, to him, over-subtle 
 and fanciful differences between Early English, 
 and Decorated, and Perpendicular. The only 
 architecture that he really loved and understood 
 was that of an extensive cotton-mill, with eighty
 
 WENDERHOLME. Il7 
 
 windows on a side, all exactly alike, and a tall 
 chimney for a tower ; and such a mill was to 
 his feeling a finer sight, and a sight that awak- 
 ened more earnest interest and enthusiasm, than 
 all these churches and cathedrals in Mr Prigley's 
 elaborate engravings. The parson was not a 
 man of cultivated taste; he had that supersti- 
 tious veneration for Gothic of all kinds which 
 accepts all authentic Gothic as admirable, and 
 cannot discriminate between the good, and the 
 middling, and the positively bad artists who 
 designed the cathedrals of the middle ages ; nor 
 was his knowledge very accurate or extensive. 
 But Mr Prigley differed radically and essentiall]; 
 from his guest, and from every other man in 
 Shayton, in having the idea of the beautiful, 
 and some enthusiasm for it. Even the Doctor 
 had not the slightest tincture of this passion, 
 but devoted himself wholly to the pursuit of 
 scientific truth. What Mr Jacob Ogden cared 
 for may be told in a future chapter.
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 About a month later in the year, when Decem- 
 ber reigned in all its dreariness over Shayton, 
 and the wild moors were sprinkled with a thin 
 scattering of snow, little Jacob began to be very 
 miserable. 
 
 His grandmother had gone to stay a fortnight 
 with some old friends of hers beyond Manches- 
 ter, and his father had declared that for the next 
 two Sundays he should remain at Twistle, and 
 not "go bothering his uncle at Milend." Mr 
 Prigley had walked up to the farm, and kindly 
 offered to receive little Jacob at the parsonage 
 during Mrs Ogden's absence ; but Mr Isaac had 
 declined the proposal rather curtly, and, as Mr 
 Prigley thought, in a manner that did not suffi- 
 ciently acknowledge the kindness of his inten- 
 tion. Indeed the clergyman had not been quite 
 satisfied with his reception; for although Mr
 
 WENDERHOLME. 119 
 
 Isaac had shown him the pond, and given him 
 something to eat, there had been, Mr Prigley 
 tliought, symptoms of secret annoyance or sup- 
 pressed irritation. Little Jacob's loneliness was 
 rendered still more complete by the continued 
 absence of his friend the Doctor, who, in conse- 
 quence of a disease then very prevalent in the 
 reighbourhood, found his whole time absorbed 
 ])j pressing professional duties, so that the 
 claims of friendship, and even the anxious in- 
 terest which he took in Mr Isaac's moral and 
 physical condition, had for the time to be con- 
 sidered in abeyance. We have already observed 
 that Mr Jacob Ogden of Milend never came 
 to Twistle Farm at all, so that his absence was 
 a matter of course ; and as he was not in the 
 habit of writing any letters except about 
 business, there was an entire cessation of inter- 
 course with Milend. 
 
 It had been a part of Mr Isaac's plan of re- 
 formation not to keep spirits of any kind at the 
 farm, but he had quite enough ale and wine to 
 get drunk upon in case his resolution gave way. 
 He had received such a lecture from the Doctor 
 after that evening at the parsonage as had 
 thoroughly frightened him. He had been told, 
 with the most serious air that a doctor knows
 
 120 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 how to assume, that his nervous system was 
 already shattered, that his stomach was fasc 
 becoming worthless, and that if he continued 
 his present habits, his life would terminate in 
 eighteen months. Communications of this kird 
 are never agreeable, but they are especially diffi- 
 cult to bear with equanimity when the object 
 of them has lost much of the combative and 
 recuperative powers which belong to a mind in 
 health ; and the Doctor's terrible sermon pro- 
 duced in Mr Isaac not a manly strength of 
 purpose that subdues and surmounts evil, and 
 passes victoriously beyond it, but an abject 
 terror of its consequences, and especially a ner- 
 vous dread of the Eed Lion. He would enter 
 that place no more, he was firmly resolved 
 upon that. He would stay quietly at Twistle 
 Farm and occupy himself — he would try to 
 read — he had often regretted that business and 
 pleasure had together prevented him from cul- 
 tivating his mind by reading, and now that 
 the opportunity was come, he would seize it 
 and make the most of it. He would qualify 
 himself to direct little Jacob's studies, at least 
 so far as English literature went. As for Latin, 
 the little he ever knew had been forgotten many 
 years ago, but he might learn enough to judge
 
 WENDERHOLME. 121 
 
 of his boy's progress, and perhaps help him a 
 little. He knew no modern language, and had 
 not even that pretension to read French which is 
 so common in England, and which is more inju- 
 rious to the character of the nation than perfect 
 ignorance, whilst it is equally unprofitable to its 
 intellect. If Mr Isaac were an ignorant man, 
 he had at least the great advantage of clearly 
 knowing that he was so, but it might not even 
 yet be too late to improve himself. Had he not 
 perfect leisure ? could he not study six hours 
 a-day if he were so minded ? This would be 
 better than destroying himself in eighteen months 
 in the parlour at the Eed Lion. 
 
 There were not many books at Twistle, but 
 there tvere books. Mr Isaac differed from his 
 brother Jacob, and from the other men in Shay- 
 ton, in having long felt a hankering after various 
 kinds of knowledge, though he had never pos- 
 sessed the leisure or the resolution to acquire 
 it. There was a bookseller s shop in St Ann's 
 Square, in Manchester, which he used to pass 
 when he was in the cotton business on his way 
 from the Exchange to a certain oyster -shop 
 where it was his custom to refresh himself, and 
 he had been occasionally tempted to make pur- 
 chases — amongst the rest, the works of Charles
 
 122 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 Dickens and Sir Walter Scott, and the * En- 
 cyclopaedia Britannica/ He had also bought 
 Macaulay's ' History of England/ and subscribed 
 to a library edition of the British poets in forty 
 volumes, and a biographical work containing 
 lives of eminent Englishmen, scarcely less volu- 
 minous. These, with several minor purchases, 
 constituted the whole collection — which, though 
 not extensive, had hitherto much more than 
 sufficed for the moderate wants of its possessor. 
 He had read all the works of Dickens, having 
 been enticed thereto by the pleasant merriment 
 in ' Pickwick ; ' but the Waverley Novels had 
 proved less attractive, and the forty volumes 
 of British poets reposed uncut upon the shelf 
 which they adorned. Even Macaulay's His- 
 tory, though certainly not less readable than 
 any novel, had not yet been honoured with a 
 first perusal ; and as Mr Ogden kept his books 
 in a bookcase with glass doors, the copy was 
 still technically a new one. 
 
 He resolved now that all these books should 
 be read, all except perhaps the 'Encyclopaedia 
 Britannica,' for Mr Ogden was not then aware 
 of the fact, which a successful man has recently 
 communicated to his species, that a steady read- 
 ing of that work according to its alphabetical
 
 WENDERHOLME. 123 
 
 arrangement may be a road to fortune, though 
 it must be admitted to be an arduous one. He 
 would begin with Macaulay's History, and he 
 did begin one evening in the parlour at Twistle 
 Farm after Sarah had removed the tea-things. 
 He took down the first volume, and began to 
 cut the leaves ; then he read a page or two, but 
 in spite of the lucid and engaging style of the 
 historian, he felt a difficulty in fixing his atten- 
 tion — the difficulty common to all who are not 
 accustomed to reading, and which in Mr Ogden s 
 case was perhaps augmented by the peculiar 
 condition of his nervous system. So he read 
 the page over again, but could not compel ^ his 
 mind to follow the ideas of the author ; it woidd 
 wander to matters of everyday interest and 
 habit, and then there came an unutterable sense 
 of blankness and dulness, and a craving — yes, 
 an all but irresistible craving — for the stimulus 
 of drink. There could be no harm in drinking a 
 glass of wine — everybody, even ladies, might do 
 that — and he had always allowed himself wine 
 at Twistle Farm. He would see whether there 
 was any in the decanters. What ! not a drop ? 
 No port in the port decanter, and in the sherry 
 decanter nothing but a shallow stratum of liquid 
 which would not fill a glass, and was not worth
 
 124 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 drinking. He would go and fill both decanters 
 himself : there ought always to be wine ready 
 in case any one should come. Mr Prigley might 
 walk up any day, or the Doctor might come, and 
 he always liked a glass or two of port. 
 
 There was a nice little cellar at Twistle Farm, 
 for no inhabitant of Shayton ever neglects that 
 when he builds himself a new house, and Mr 
 Ogden had wine in it to the value of four or five 
 hundred pounds. Some friends of his near Man- 
 chester, who came to see him in the shooting 
 season and help him to kill his grouse, were 
 connoisseurs in port, and he had been careful to 
 " lay down " a quantity of the finest he could 
 get. He was less delicate in the gratification of 
 his own palate, and contented himself with a 
 compound of no particular vintage, which had 
 the advantage of being exceedingly strong, and 
 therefore allowed a sort of disguised dram-drink- 
 ing. It need therefore excite little surprise in 
 the mind of the reader to be informed that when 
 Mr Isaac had drunk a few glasses of this port of 
 his, the nervous system began to feel more com- 
 fortable, and at the same time tempted him to a 
 still warmer appreciation of the qualities of the 
 beverage. His mind was clearer and brighter, 
 and he read Macaulay with a sort of interest,
 
 WENDERHOLME. 125 
 
 whicli, perhaps, is as much as most authors may- 
 hope for or expect ; that is, his mind kept up a 
 sort of double action, following the words of the 
 historian, and even grasping the meaning of his 
 sentences, and feeling their literary power, whilst 
 at the same tim.e it ran upon many subjects of 
 personal concern which could not be altogether 
 excluded or suppressed. Mr Ogden was not very 
 delicate in any of his tastes, but it seemed to him, 
 nevertheless, that clay tobacco-pipes consorted 
 better with gin-and- water than with the juice of 
 the grape ; and he took from a cupboard in the 
 corner a large box of full-flavoured havaimahs, 
 which, like the expensive port in the cellar, he 
 kept for the gratification of his friends. 
 
 Now, although the first five or six glasses had 
 indeed done no more than give a beneficial stimu- 
 lus to Mr Ogden's brain, it is not to be inferred, 
 as Mr Ogden himself appeared to infer, that the 
 continuation of the process would be equally 
 salutary. He went on, however, reading and 
 sipping, at the rate of about a glass to a page, 
 smoking at the same time those full-flavoured 
 havannahs, till after eleven at night. Little 
 Jacob and the servants had long since gone to 
 bed ; both decanters had been on the table all the 
 evening, and both had been in equal requisition,
 
 126 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 for Mr Ogden had been varying his pleasures by- 
 drinking port and sherry alternately. At last 
 the eloquence of Macaulay became no longer 
 intelligible, for though his sentences had no doubt 
 been constructed originally in a perfectly work- 
 manlike manner, they now seemed quite out of 
 order, and no 'longer capable of holding together. 
 Mr Ogden put the book down and tried to read 
 the Manchester paper, but the makers of articles 
 and the penny-a-liners did not seem to Imve 
 succeeded better than Macaulay, for their sen- 
 tences were equally disjointed. The reader rose 
 from his chair in some discouragement and looked 
 at his watch, and put his slippers on, and began 
 to think about going to bed, but the worst of it 
 was he felt so thirsty that he must have some- 
 thing to drink. The decanters were empty, and 
 wine would not quench thirst; a glass of beer 
 might, perhaps — but how much better and more 
 efficacious would be a tall glass of brandy-and- 
 soda-water ! Alas ! he had no brandy, neither 
 had he any soda-water, at least he thought not, 
 but he would go down into the cellar and see. 
 He took a candle very deliberately, and walked 
 down the cellar-steps with a steady tread, never 
 staggering or swerving in the least. " Am I 
 drunk '? " he thought ; " no, it is impossible that
 
 WENDEEHOLME. 127 
 
 I should be drunk, I walk so well and so stead- 
 ily. I'm not afraid of walking down these stone 
 steps, and yet if I were to fall I might hit my 
 forehead against their sharp edges, sharp edges 
 — yes they have very sharp edges ; they are very 
 new steps, cut by masons ; and so are these walls 
 new — ^good ashlar stones; and that arched roof 
 — that arch is well made : there isn't a better 
 cellar in Shay ton." 
 
 There was no soda-water, but there were bottles 
 whose round, swollen knobs of corks were covered 
 with silvery foil, that glittered as Mr Ogden's 
 candle approached them. The glitter caught his 
 eye, and he pulled one of the bottles out. It 
 wasn't exactly soda-water, but it would fizz; ahd 
 just now Mr Ogden had a morbid, passionate 
 longing for something that would " fizz," as he 
 expressed it in his muttered soliloquy. So he 
 marched up-stairs with his prize, in that stately 
 and deliberate manner which marks his particular 
 stage of intoxication. 
 
 " Its good slekk ! " ''' said Mr Ogden, as he 
 swallowed a tumblerful of the sparkling wine, 
 " and it can do me no harm — it's only a lady^s 
 
 * Slake ; it is good slake — it slakes thirst well. The expres- 
 sion was actually used by a carter, to whom a gentleman gave 
 champagne in order to ask his opinion of the beverage.
 
 128 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 wine." He held it up between his eye and the 
 candle, and thought that really it looked very 
 nice and pretty. How the little bubbles kept 
 rising and sparkling ! how very clear and trans- 
 parent it was ! Then he sat down in his large 
 arm-chair and thought he might as well have 
 another cigar. He had smoked a good many 
 already, perhaps it would be better not ; and 
 whilst his mind was resolving not to smoke an- 
 other, his fingers were fumbling in the box, and 
 making a sort of pretence at selection. At last, 
 for some reason as mysterious as that which de- 
 cides the famous donkey between two equidistant 
 haystacks, the fingers came to a decision, and the 
 cigar, after the point had been duly amputated 
 with a penknife, was inserted between the teeth. 
 After this the will made no further attempt at 
 resistance, and the hand poured out champagne 
 into the tumbler, and carried the tumbler to the 
 lips, with unconscious and instinctive regularity. 
 
 Mr Isaac was now drunk, but it was not yet 
 proved to him that he was drunk. His expedi- 
 tion to the cellar had been perfectly successful; he 
 had walked in the most unexceptionable manner, 
 and even descended those dangerous stone steps. 
 He looked at his watch — it was half-past twelve ; 
 he read the hour upon the dial, though not just
 
 WENDERHOLME. 129 
 
 at first, and lie replaced the watcli in liis fob. 
 He would go to bed — it was time to go to bed ; 
 and the force of habits acquired at the Eed Lion, 
 where he usually went to bed drunk at midnight, 
 aided him in this resolution. But when he stood 
 upon his legs, this project did not seem quite so 
 easy of realisation as it had done when viewed in 
 theory from the arm-chair. "Go to bed!" said 
 Mr Isaac ; " but how are we to manage it ? " 
 
 There were two candles burning on the table. 
 He blew one of them out, and took the other in 
 his hand. He took up the volume of Macaulay, 
 with an idea that it ought to be put somewhere, 
 but his mind did not successfully apply itself to 
 the solution of this difficulty, and he laid the 
 book down again with an air of slight disappoint- 
 ment, and a certain sense of failure. He stag- 
 gered towards the doorway, steadied himself with 
 an effort, and made a shot at it with triumphant 
 success, for he found himself now in the little 
 entrance -hall. The staircase was a narrow one, 
 and closed by a door, and the door of the cellar 
 was next to it. Instead of taking the door that 
 led up to his bedroom, Mr Ogden took that of the 
 cellar, descended a step or two, discovered his 
 mistake, and in the attempt to turn round, fell 
 backwards heavily down the stone stair, and lay 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 at last on the cold pavement, motionless, and in 
 total darkness. 
 
 He might have remained there all night, but 
 there was a sharp little Scotch terrier dog that 
 belonged to little Jacob, and was domiciled in a 
 snuor kennel in the kitchen. The watchful animal 
 had been perfectly aware that Mr Ogden was 
 crossing the entrance on his way to his bedroom, 
 but if Feo made any reflections on the subject, 
 they were probably confined to wonder that the 
 master of the house should go to bed so unusually 
 late. When, however, the heavy thud of Mr 
 Ogden's body on the staircase and the loud sharp 
 clatter of the falling candlestick came simultane- 
 ously to her ears, Feo quitted her lair at a bound, 
 and, guided by her sure scent, was down in the 
 dark cellar in an instant, to the alarm of a fat old 
 rat, who, in his hole, scented the canine odour. A 
 less intelligent dog than Feorach (for that was her 
 Gaelic name in the far Highlands where she was 
 born) would have known that something was 
 wrong, and that the cold floor of the cellar was 
 not a suitable bed for a gentleman ; and no sooner 
 had Feorach ascertained the state of aflairs than 
 she rushed to the upper regions, to the relief of 
 the old rat in the hole. 
 
 Feorach went to the door of little Jacob's cham-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 131 
 
 ber, and there set up such a barking and scratch- 
 ing as awoke even him from the sound sleep of 
 childhood. Then she repeated the same process 
 at Jim's door, and finally at old Sarah's, after 
 which she ran again to little Jacob's room, and 
 finding the door open now, jumped up to her 
 beloved young master, and barked louder than 
 ever. Old Sarah came into the passage with a 
 lighted candle, where Jim joined her, rubbing his 
 eyes, still heavy with interrupted sleep. " There's 
 summat wrong," said old Sarah; "I'm feared there's 
 summat wrong." 
 
 " Stop you here," said Jim, " 111 wake master ; 
 he's gotten loaded pistols in his room. If it's 
 thieves, it willn't do to feight 'em wi' talk and a 
 tallow candle." 
 
 Jim knocked at his master's door, and having 
 waited in vain a second or two for an answer, 
 determined to open it. There was no one in the 
 room, and the bed had not been slept upon. 
 
 " Hod thy din, dog," said Jim to Feorach ; 
 and then, with a grave, pale face, said, " It isn't 
 thieves ; it's summat 'at's happened to onr 
 master." 
 
 Now, Lancashire people of the class to which 
 Jim and Sarah belonged, never, or hardly ever, 
 use the verb to die, but in the place of it employ
 
 132 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 the periphrase of something happening. Jim 
 would never have said, " If our master were to 
 die," but he would have said, " If anything hap- 
 pened to our master ;" and as he chanced to use 
 this expression now, the idea conveyed to Sarah's 
 mind was the idea of death, and she believed that 
 Jim had seen a corpse in the room. He perceived 
 this, and drew her away, whispering, " He isn't 
 there ; you stop wi' little Jacob." So the man 
 took the candle, and left Sarah in the dark with 
 the child, both trembling and wondering. 
 
 Feorach led Jim down into the cellar, and he 
 saw the dark inert mass at the bottom of the 
 steps. A chill shudder seized him as he recog- 
 gised the white inanimate face. One of Mr 
 Ogden's hands lay upon the floor ; Jim ventured 
 to touch it, and found it deadly cold. A little 
 blood oozed from the back of the head, and had 
 matted the abundant brown hair. Perhaps the 
 hand may have been cold simply from contact 
 with the stone flag, but Jim did not reflect about 
 this, and concluded that Mr Ogden was dead. He 
 went hastily back to old Sarah. " Master Jacob," 
 he said, "you must go to bed." 
 
 " No, I won't go to bed, Jim !" 
 
 " My lad," said old Sarah, "just come into your 
 room, and I'll light you a candle." So she lighted
 
 WENDERHOLME. 133 
 
 a candle, and then left the child, and Jim quietly 
 locked the door upon him. The lock was well 
 oiled, and Jacob did not know that he was a 
 prisoner. 
 
 "Now, what is't?" said old Sarah, in a whis- 
 per. 
 
 " Master's deead ; he's fallen down th' cellar- 
 steps and killed hisself." 
 
 Old Sarah had been fully prepared for some 
 terrible communication of this kind, and did not 
 utter a syllable. She simply foUoAved the man, 
 and between them they lifted Mr Ogden, and 
 carried him, not without difficulty, up the cellar- 
 steps. Sarah carried the head, and Jim the legs 
 and feet, and old Sarah's bed-gown was stained 
 with a broad patch of blood. 
 
 It is one of the most serious inconveniences 
 attending a residence in the country, that on occa- 
 sions of emergency it is not possible to procure 
 prompt medical help ; and Twistle Farm was one 
 of those places where this inconvenience is felt to 
 the uttermost. Dr Bardly would perhaps on 
 this very account have dissuaded his friend from 
 establishing himself in such a remote and almost 
 inaccessible situation, if he had not felt persuaded 
 that the dangers to Mr Ogden's health of a con- 
 stant propinquity to beerhouses were much more
 
 134 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 to be dreaded than the rare and occasional peril 
 of delay in the arrival of a doctor. Poor Sarah 
 felt the isolation of Twistle Farm in quite a new 
 sense that night ; for people become accustomed 
 to the most lonely places of residence, and it is 
 only when help is urgently needed from the outer 
 world that the sense of loneliness and remoteness 
 is quite effectually brought home to them. When 
 they had got Mr Ogden on the bed, Jim said, " I 
 mun go an' fetch Dr Bardly, though I reckon it's. 
 o' no use ;" and he left Sarah alone with the 
 body. 
 
 The poor woman anticipated nothing but a 
 dreary watch of several hours by the side of a 
 corpse, and went and dressed herself, and lighted 
 a fire in Mr Ogden's room. Old Sarah was not 
 by any means a woman of a pusillanimous dis- 
 position ; but it may be doubted whether, if she 
 had had any choice in the matter, a solitary watch 
 of this kind would have been exactly to her taste. 
 However, when the fire was burning briskly, she 
 drew a rocking-chair up to it, and in order to 
 keep up her courage through the remainder of the 
 night, fetched a certain physic -bottle from the 
 kitchen, and her hea^y lead tobacco-pot. She 
 did not attempt to lay out the body, being under . 
 the impression that the coroner might be angry
 
 WENDERHOLME. 135 
 
 with her for having done so when the inquest 
 came to be held. 
 
 The physic-bottle was full of rum, and Sarah 
 made herself a glass of grog, and lighted her pipe, 
 and looked into the fire. She had drawn the 
 curtains all round Mr Ogden's bed ; ample cur- 
 tains of pale -brown damask, with an elaborate 
 looped valance, from whose deep festoons hung 
 multitudes of little pendants of turned wood 
 covered with flossy silk. The movement com- 
 municated to these pendants by the act of draw- 
 ing the curtains lasted a very long time, and 
 Sarah was startled more than once when on 
 looking round from her arm-chair she saw them 
 swinging and knocking against each other still. 
 As soon as the first shock of alarm was past, the 
 softer emotions claimed their turn, and the old 
 woman began to cry, repeating to herself inces- 
 santly, " And quite yoong too, quite yoong, quite 
 a yoong man !" 
 
 Suddenly she was aware of a movement in the 
 room. Was it the little dog ? No ; Feorach had 
 elected to stay with his young master, and both 
 little Jacob and his dog were fast asleep in an- 
 other room. She ventured to look at the great 
 awful curtained bed. The multitudinous pen- 
 dants had not ceased to swing and vibrate, and
 
 136 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 yet it was now a long time since Sarah had 
 touched the curtains. She wished they would 
 give up and be still ; but whilst she was looking 
 at them and thinking this, a little sharp shock 
 ran round the whole valance, and the pendants 
 rattled against each other with the low dull sound 
 which was all that their muffling of silk permit- 
 ted; a low sound, but an audible one — audible 
 especially to ears in high excitement ; a stronger 
 shock, a visible agitation, not only of the tremu- 
 lous pendants, but even of the heavy curtain-folds 
 themselves. Then they open, and Mr Ogden's 
 pale face appears. 
 
 "Well, Sarah, I hope youVe made yourself 
 comfortable, you damned old rum-drinking thief ! 
 D'ye think I can't smell rum? Give me that 
 bottle." 
 
 Sarah was much too agitated to say or do any- 
 thing whatever. She had risen from her chair, 
 and stood looking at the bed in speechless amaze- 
 ment. Mr Ogden got up, and walked towards 
 the fire with an unsteady pace. Then he pos- 
 sessed himself of the rum-bottle, and putting it 
 to his lips, began to swallow the contents. This 
 brought Sarah to herself. 
 
 " Nay, nay, master ; you said as you wouldn't 
 drink no sperrits atTwistle Farm upo' no 'count."
 
 WENDERHOLME. 137 
 
 But the rum had been tasted, and the resolu- 
 tion broken. It had been broken before as to the 
 intention and meaning of it, and was now broken 
 even as to the letter. Isaac Ogden had got drunk 
 at Twistle Farm ; and now he was drinking spi- 
 rits there — not even diluting them with water. 
 
 After emptying old Sarah's bottle, which for- 
 tunately did not contain enough to endanger, for 
 the present, his existence, Mr Ogden staggered 
 back to his bed, and fell into a drunken sleep, 
 which lasted until Dr Bardly's arrival. The Doc- 
 tor found the wound at the back of the head ex- 
 ceedingly slight ; there was abrasure of the skin 
 and a swelling, but nothing more. The blgod 
 had ceased to flow soon after the accident ; and 
 there would be no worse results from it than the 
 temporary insensibility, from which the patient 
 had already recovered. The most serious results 
 of what had passed were likely, for the present, to 
 be rather moral than physical. Dr Bardly greatly 
 dreaded the moral depression which must result 
 from the breaking down of the only resolution 
 which stood between his friend and an utter aban- 
 donment to his propensity. Twistle Farm would 
 no longer be a refuge for him against the demon, 
 for the demon had been admitted, had crossed 
 the threshold, had taken possession.
 
 138 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 Mr Ogden was not in a condition to be advised, 
 for he was not yet sober, and, if he had been, the 
 Doctor felt that advice was not likely to be of 
 any use; he had given enough of it already. The 
 parson might try, if he liked, but it seemed to the 
 Doctor that the case had now become one of those 
 incurable cases which yield neither to the desire 
 of self-preservation nor to the fear of hell; and 
 that if the warnings of science were disregarded 
 by a man intelligent enough to appreciate the 
 certainty of the data on which they were founded, 
 those of religion were not likely to have better 
 success.
 
 CHAPTER YL 
 
 Mr Ogden came down-stairs in the middle of the 
 day, and ordered breakfast and dinner in one 
 meal. He asked especially for Sarah's small-beer, 
 and drank two or three large glasses of it. He 
 did not eat much, and used an unusual quantity 
 of pepper. He was extremely taciturn, contrarily 
 to his ordinary habit, for he commonly talked 
 very freely with old Sarah whilst she served him. 
 AVhen his repast was finished, he expressed a wish 
 to see little Jacob. 
 
 " Good morning, papa ! I hope you are better. 
 Sarah says you were poorly last night when Feo- 
 rach barked so.'' 
 
 " Oh, she says I was poorly, does she 1 Then 
 she lies ; I wasn't poorly — I was drunk. I want 
 you to read to me." 
 
 " Must I read in that book Mr Prigley gave 
 me when he came '? "
 
 140 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 " Read what you please." 
 
 So little Jacob opened for the first time a cer- 
 tain volume which will be recognised by every 
 reader when he begins : — 
 
 " ' The way was long, the wind was cold, 
 The minstrel was infirm and old.' " 
 
 " That would be difficult/' said Mr Ogden. 
 
 ^'What, papa?" 
 
 " I say, it would be difficult." 
 
 Little Jacob felt rather frightened. He did 
 not understand in what the supposed difficulty 
 consisted, and yet felt that he was expected to 
 understand it. He did not dare to ask a second 
 time for enlightenment on the point, so he stood 
 quite still and said nothing. His father waited a 
 minute in perfect silence, and then burst out, — 
 
 " Why, you little confounded blockhead, I 
 mean that it would be difficult for a man to be 
 infirm and bold at the same time ! Infirm people 
 are timid, commonly." 
 
 " Please, papa, it doesn't say infirm and bold 
 — it says infirm and old — sec, papa ; " and little 
 Jacob pointed with his finger to the place. 
 
 " Then you read damned badly, for you read it 
 ^ bold,' and it's * old.' I expect you to read better 
 than that — you read badly, damned badly."
 
 WENDERHOLME. 141 
 
 " Please, papa, I read it ' old ' the first time, 
 and not 'bold.'" 
 
 " Then you mean to say I cannot trust my own 
 ears, you little impertinent monkey. I say you 
 read it 'bold,' and I heard you." 
 
 An elder person would have perceived that Mr 
 Ogden was ill, and humoured him ; and a child of 
 a more yielding disposition would have submitted 
 to the injustice, and acquiesced. But little Jacob 
 had an instinctive hatred of injustice, and his 
 whole nature rose in revolt. He had also made 
 up his mind never to tell lies — less perhaps 
 from principle than from a feeling that it was 
 cowardly. The present was an occasion which 
 roused these feelings in all their energy. He 
 was required to utter a falsehood, and submit 
 to an injustice. 
 
 '' No, papa, I said ' old.' I didn't say 'bold ' at 
 all. It was you that heard wrong." 
 
 Mr Ogden became white with anger. " Oh, / 
 was mistaken, was I ? Do you mean to say that 
 I am deaf 1 " 
 
 " No, papa." 
 
 " Well, then, if I'm not deaf I have been lying. 
 I am a liar, am I ? " 
 
 The state of extreme nervous depression, in 
 combination with irritability, under which Mr
 
 142 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 Ogden's system was labouring that day, made 
 him a dangerous man to contradict, and not by 
 any means a pleasant antagonist in argument. 
 But he was not altogether lost ; he still kept some 
 control over himself, in proof of which may be 
 mentioned the fact that he simply dismissed little 
 Jacob without even a box on the ear. " He de- 
 serves a good thrashing," said Mr Ogden ; " but 
 if I were to begin with him I should nearly kill 
 him, the little impudent scoundrel ! " 
 
 The afternoon Avas exceedingly dull and dis- 
 agreeable to Mr Ogden. He walked out into his 
 fields and round the pond. He had made a small 
 footpath for his walks, which, after leaving the 
 front-door first, went all round the pond, and then 
 up to the rocks tliat overlooked the little valley, 
 and from which he enjoyed a very extensive view. 
 There were several springs in the little hollow, but 
 before Mr Ogden's settlement they had contented 
 themselves with creating those patches of that 
 emerald grass, set in dark heather, which are so 
 preciously beautiful in the scenery of the moors. 
 At each of these springs Mr Ogden had made a 
 circular stone-basin, with a water-duct to his pond, 
 and it was his fancy to visit these basins rather 
 frequently to see that they were kept clean and 
 in order. He did so this afternoon, from habit,
 
 WENDERHOLME. 143 
 
 and by the time he had finished his round it was 
 nearly dark. 
 
 He was intensely miserable. Twistle Farm 
 had been sweet and dear to him because he had 
 jealously guarded the purity of the associations 
 that belonged to it. Neither in the house nor in 
 the little undulating fields that he had made was 
 there a single object to remind him of his weak- 
 ness and his sin, and therefore the place had been 
 a refuge and a sanctuary. It could never again 
 be for him what it had been ; this last lament- 
 able failure had broken down the moral defences 
 of his home, and invaded it and contaminated it 
 for ever. Whatever the future might bring, the 
 event of the past night was irrevocable ; he had 
 besotted himself with drink ; he had brought the 
 mire of the outer world into his pure dwelling, 
 and defiled it. Isaac Ogden felt this the more 
 painfully that he had little of the support of reli- 
 gion, and few of the consolations and encourage- 
 ments of philosophy. A religious mind would 
 have acknowledged its weakness and repented of 
 its sin, yet in the depths of its humiliation hoped 
 still for strength from above, and looked and 
 prayed for ultimate deliverance and peace. A 
 philosophic mind would have reflected that moral 
 effort is not to be abandoned for a single relapse,
 
 144 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 or even for many relapses, and would have ad- 
 dressed itself only the more earnestly to the task 
 of self-reformation that the need for effort had 
 made itself so strikingly apparent. But Mr 
 Ogden had neither the faith which throws itself 
 on the support of Heaven, nor the faculty of 
 judging of his own actions with the impartiality 
 of the independent intellect. He was simply a 
 man of the world, so far as such a place as Shay- 
 ton could develop a man of the Avorld, and had 
 neither religious faith nor intellectual culture. 
 Therefore his misery was the greater for the 
 density of the darkness in which he had stumbled 
 and fallen. What he needed was light of some 
 sort ; either the beautiful old lamp of faith, with 
 its wealth of elaborate imagery, or the plainer but 
 still bright and serviceable gas-light of modern 
 thought and science. Mr Prigley possessed the 
 one, and the Doctor gave his best labour to the 
 maintenance of the other; but Mr Ogden was 
 unfortunate in not being able to profit by the 
 help which either of these friends would have so 
 willingly afforded. 
 
 No one except Dr Bardly had suspected the 
 deplorable 'fact that Mr Ogden was no longer in 
 a state of mental sanity. The little incident just 
 narrated, in which he had mistaken one word for
 
 WENDERHOLME. 145 
 
 another, and insisted, with irritation, that the 
 error did not lie with him, had been a common 
 one during the last few weeks, whenever little 
 Jacob read to him. If our little friend had com- 
 municated his sorrows to the Doctor, this fact 
 would have been a very valuable one as evidence 
 of his father's condition ; but he never mentioned 
 it to any one except his grandmother and old 
 Sarah, who both inferred that the child had read 
 inaccurately, and saw no reason to suspect the 
 justice of Mr Ogden's criticism. The truth was, 
 that by a confusion very common in certain forms 
 of brain-disease, a sound often suggested to Mr 
 Ogden some other sound resembling it, or of 
 which it formed a part, and the mere suggestion 
 became to him quite as much a fact as if he had 
 heard it with his bodily ears. Thus, as we have 
 seen, the word " old " had suggested " bold ;" and 
 when, as in that instance, the imagined word 
 did not fit in very naturally with the sense 
 of the passage, Mr Ogden attributed the fault 
 to little Jacob's supposed inaccuracy in reading. 
 Indeed he had now a settled conviction that 
 his son was unpardonably careless, and no sooner 
 did the child open his book to read, than his 
 father became morbidly expectant of some ab- 
 surd mistake, which, of course, never failed to 
 
 VOL. T. K
 
 14(3 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 arrive, and to give occasion for the bitterest 
 reproaches. 
 
 On his return to the house Mr Ogden desired 
 his son's attendance, and requested him to resume 
 his reading. Little Jacob took up his book again, 
 and this time, as it happened, Mr Ogden heard 
 the second line correctly, and expressed his satis- 
 faction. But in the very next couplet — 
 
 " His withered cheek and tresses grey 
 Seemed to have known a better day " — 
 
 Mr Ogden found means to imagine another error. 
 " It seems to me curious," said he, " that Scott 
 should have described the minstrel as having a 
 * withered cheek and tresses gay ; ' there could be 
 little gaiety about him, I should imagine.'' 
 
 " Please, papa, it isn't gay, but grey." 
 
 " Then why the devil do you read so incor- 
 rectly? I have always to be scolding you for 
 making these absurd mistakes ! " 
 
 If little Jacob had had an older head on his 
 shoulders he would have acquiesced, and tried to 
 get done with the reading as soon as possible, so 
 as to make his escape. But it was repugnant to 
 him to admit that he had made a blunder of 
 which he was innocent, and he answered, — 
 
 " But, papa, I read it right — I said grey ; I 
 didn't say gay.^'
 
 WENDERHOLME. 147 
 
 Mr Ogden made a violent effort to control him- 
 self, and said, with the sort of calm that comes of 
 the intensest emotion, — 
 
 " Then you mean to say I am deaf." 
 
 Little Jacob had really been tliinking that his 
 father might be deaf, and admitted as much. 
 
 " Fetch me my riding- whip." 
 
 Little Jacob brought the whip, expecting an 
 immediate application of it, but Mr Ogden, still 
 keeping a strong control over himself, merely 
 took the whip in his hands, and began to play 
 with it, and look at its silver top, which he rub- 
 bed a little with his pocket-handkerchief. Then 
 he took a candle in his right hand, and brought 
 the flame quite close to the silver ornament, 
 examining it with singular minuteness, so as ap- 
 parently to have entirely ceased to pay attention 
 to his son's reading, or even to hear the sound of 
 his voice. 
 
 *' Is this my whip ?" 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 " Well, then, I am either blind or I have lost 
 my memory. My whip was precisely like this, 
 except for one thing — my initials were engraved 
 upon it, and I can see no initials here." 
 
 Little Jacob began to feel very nervous. The
 
 1-43 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 reader may remember that at the beginning of 
 this history he had lost his father's whip, and 
 that the search for it had been unsuccessfuL He 
 had consulted a certain saddler in Shay ton, a 
 friend of his, as to the possibility of procuring a 
 whip of the same pattern as the lost one, and it 
 had fortunately happened that this saddler had 
 received two precisely alike, of which Mr Isaac 
 Ogden had bought one, whilst the other remained 
 unsold. There was thus no difficulty in replacing 
 the whip so as to deceive Mr Ogden into the 
 belief that it had never been lost, or rather so 
 as to prevent any thought or suspicion from pre- 
 senting itself to his mind. When the master 
 of a house has given proofs of a tyrannical dispo- 
 sition, or of an uncontrollable and unreasonable 
 temper, a system of concealment naturally be- 
 comes habitual in his household, and the most 
 innocent actions are hidden from him as if they 
 were crimes. Some trifling incident reveals to 
 him how sedulously he is kept in ignorance of the 
 little occurrences which make up the existence of 
 his dependants, and then he is vexed to find him- 
 self isolated and cut ofi" from their confidence and 
 sympathy. 
 
 Mr Ogden continued. " This is not my whip ; 
 it is a whip of the same pattern that some people
 
 WENDEEHOLME. 149 
 
 have been buying to take me in. Fetcli me my 
 own whip — the one with my initials." 
 
 Little Jacob thought the opportunity for escap- 
 ing from the room too good to be thrown away, 
 and vanished. Mr Ogden waited quietly at first, 
 but after ten minutes had escaped, became im- 
 patient, and rang the bell violently. Old Sarah 
 presented herself 
 
 " Send my son here." 
 
 On his reappearance, little Jacob was in that 
 miserable state of apprehension in which the 
 most truthful child will lie if it is in the least 
 bullied or tormented, and in which indeed it is 
 not possible to extract pure truth from its lip^ 
 without great delicacy and tenderness. Lying is 
 the natural resource of the weak, and at least as 
 large a share of the blame due to it ought to rest 
 with those who will not endure to hear the actual 
 fact, as with those who have to colour the fact to 
 suit the taste of the tyrant. So if little Jacob 
 lied, I say that the fault was not wholly his, and 
 I forgive him, and I believe that a higher Judge 
 fully forgave him also. 
 
 "Have you brought my whip V^ 
 
 " Please, papa," said little Jacob, who began to 
 get very red in the face, as he always did when 
 he told a downright fib — "please, papa, that's
 
 150 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 your whip." There was a mental reservation 
 here, slightly Jesuitical ; for the boy had reflected, 
 during his brief absence, that since he had given 
 that whip to Mr Ogden, it now, of course, might 
 strictly be said to belong to him. 
 
 "What has become of my whip with I. 0. 
 upon it 1" 
 
 " It's that whip, papa ; only you — you told 
 Jim to clean the silver top, and — and perhaps he 
 rubbed the letters off." 
 
 "You damned little lying sneaking scoundrel, 
 this whip is perfectly new; but it will not be new 
 long, for I will lay it about you till it isn't worth 
 twopence.'^ 
 
 The sharp switching strokes fell fast on poor 
 little Jacob. Some of them caught him on the 
 hands, and a tremendous one came with stinging 
 effect across his lips and cheek ; but it was not the 
 first time he had endured an infliction of this sort, 
 and he had learned the art of presenting his body 
 so as to shield the more sensitive or least protected 
 places. On former occasions Mr Ogden's anger 
 had always cooled after a score or two of lashes, 
 but this time it rose and rose with an ever- 
 increasing violence. Little Jacob began to find 
 his powers of endurance exhausted, and, with the 
 nimble ingenuity of his years, made use of dif-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 151 
 
 ferent articles of furniture as temporary barriers 
 against his enemy. For some time lie managed 
 to keep the table between Mr Ogden and himself, 
 but his father s arm was long, and reached far, 
 aad the child received some smarting cuts about 
 t!ie face and neck, so then he tried the chairs. 
 Mr Ogden, who was by this time a furious mad- 
 man, shivered his whip to pieces against the 
 firniture, and then, throwing it with a curse into 
 the fire, looked about him for some other means 
 of chastisement. Now there hung a mighty old 
 hunting-whip in a sort of trophy with other me- 
 morials of the chase, and he took this down in 
 triumph. The long knotted lash swung heavily 
 as he poised it, and there was a steel hammel* at 
 the end of the stick, considered as of possible 
 utility in replacing lost nails in the shoes of 
 hunters. 
 
 A great terror seized little Jacob, a terror of 
 that utterly hopeless and boundless and unreason- 
 ing kind that will sometimes take possession of 
 the nervous system of a child — a terror such as the 
 mature man does not feel even before imminent 
 and violent death, and which he can only conceive 
 or imagine by a reference to the dim reminiscences 
 of his infancy. The strong man standing there 
 menacing, armed with a whip like a flail, his eyes
 
 152 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 glaring with the new and baleful light of madness, 
 became transfigured in the child's imagination to 
 something supernatural. How tall he seemed, 
 how mighty, how utterly irresistible ! When a 
 Persian travels alone in some wide stony desert, 
 and sees a column of dust rise like smoke out <>f 
 the plain and advance rapidly towards him, and 
 believes that out of the column one of the malig- 
 nant genii will lift his colossal height, and roll 
 his voice of thunder, and wield his sword of flame, 
 all that that Persian dreads in the utmost wild- 
 ness of his credulous Oriental imagination this 
 child felt as a present and visible fact. The 
 Power before him, in the full might and height 
 of manhood, in the fury of madness, lashing out 
 the great thong to right and left till it cracked 
 like pistol-shots — with glaring eyes, and foaming 
 lips out of which poured curses and blasphemies 
 — was this a paternal image, was it civilised, was 
 it human 1 The aspect of it paralysed the child, 
 till a sharp intolerable pain came with its fierce 
 stimulus, and he leaped out from behind his bar- 
 ricade and rushed towards the door. 
 
 The lad had thick fair hair in a thousand 
 natural curls. He felt a merciless grip in it, 
 and his forehead was drawn violently backwards. 
 Well for him that he struggled and writhed 1 for
 
 WENDERHOLME. 153 
 
 the steel hammer was aimed at him now, and the 
 blows from it crashed on the furniture as the aim 
 was continually missed. 
 
 The man-servant was out in the farm -build- 
 ings, and old Sarah had been washing in an out- 
 house. She came in first, and heard a bitter cry. 
 Many a time her heart had bled for the child, and 
 now she could endure it no longer. She burst 
 into the room, she seized Ogden s wrist and drove 
 her nails into it till the pain made him let the 
 child go. She had left both doors open. In an 
 instant little Jacob was out of the house. 
 
 Old Sarah was a strong woman, but her strength 
 was feebleness to Ogden's. He disengaged himself 
 quite easily, and at every place where his fingers 
 touched her there was a mark on her body for 
 days. The child heard curses following him as 
 he flew over the smooth grass. The farm was 
 bounded by a six-foot wall. The curses came 
 nearer and nearer; the wall loomed black and 
 high. " I have him now,^' cried Ogden, as he saw 
 the lad struggling to get over the wall. 
 
 Little Jacob felt himself seized by the foot. An 
 infinite terror stimulated him, and he wrenched it 
 violently. A sting of anguish crossed his shoulders 
 where the heavy whip-lash fell, — a shoe remained 
 in Ogden s hand.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Ogden flung the shoe down with an imprecation, 
 and the whip after it. He then dimbed the wall 
 and tried to run, but the ground here was rough 
 moorland, and he fell repeatedly. He saw no 
 trace of little Jacob. He made his way back to 
 the house, sullen and savage, and besmeared with 
 earth and mud. 
 
 " Give me a lantern, damn you," he said to old 
 Sarah, " and look sharp !" 
 
 Old Sarah took down a common candle-lan- 
 tern, and purposely selected one with a hole in 
 it. She also chose the shortest of her candle- 
 ends. Ogden did not notice these particulars in 
 his impatience, and went out again. Just then 
 Jim came in. 
 
 "Well," said old Sarah, "what dye think mas- 
 ter's done'? He's licked little Jacob while'" he's 
 
 * Till.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 155 
 
 wenly ^'* kilt him, but t' little un's reight enough 
 now. Hell never catch him." 
 
 " What ! has little Jacob run away ?" 
 " Ay, that he has ; and he can run, can little 
 Jacob ; and he knows all th' places about. I've 
 no fears on him. Master's gone after him wi' a 
 lantern wi' a hoile in it, and auve a hinch o' 
 cannle. It's like catchin 'a brid wi' a pinch o' 
 salt." 
 
 " Little un's safe enough, I'se warrant him." 
 " We mun just stop quite t till th' ould un's i' 
 bedd, and then we'll go and seech J little Jacob." 
 In a quarter of an hour Ogden came back 
 again. His light had gone out, and he threw the 
 lantern down on the kitchen-floor without a word, 
 and shut himself up in his sitting-room. 
 
 The furniture was in great disorder. The 
 chairs were all overturned, the mahogany table 
 bore deep indentations from the blows of the 
 hammer. Some pieces of old china that had 
 ornamented the chimney-piece lay scattered on 
 the hearth. He lifted up a chair and sat upon 
 it. The disorder was rather pleasing to him than 
 otherwise ; he felt a bitter satisfaction in the har- 
 mony between it and the state of his own mind. 
 A large fragment of broken china lay close to his 
 
 *' Almost. t Quiet. J Seek.
 
 156 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 foot. It belonged to a basin, which, having been 
 broken only into three or four pieces, was still 
 repairable. Ogden put it under his heel and 
 crushed it to powder, feeling a sort of grim satis- 
 faction in making repair out of the question. 
 
 He sat in perfect inaction for about a quarter 
 of an hour, and then rang the bell. " Bring me 
 hot water, and, stop — put these things in their 
 places, will you ? " 
 
 Old Sarah restored some order in the room, 
 removed the broken china, and brought the hot 
 water. 
 
 " Now, bring me a bottle of rum.'' 
 
 " Please, Mestur Ogden, you've got no rum in 
 the house." 
 
 " No, but you have." 
 
 " Please, sir, I've got very little. I think it's 
 nearly all done." 
 
 " D'ye think I want to rob you ? I'll pay ye 
 for't, damn you ! " 
 
 " Mestur Ogden, you don't use drinkin' sperrits 
 at Twistle Farm." 
 
 Ogden gave a violent blow on the table with 
 his fist, and shouted, " Bring me a bottle of rum, 
 a bottle of rum ! D'y^ think you're to have all 
 the rum in the world to yourself, you drunken 
 old witch 1"
 
 WENDERHOLME. 157 
 
 There was that in his look which cowed Sarah, 
 and she reflected that he might be less dangerous 
 if he were drunk. So she brought the rum. 
 
 Ogden was pouring himself a great dose into a 
 tumbler, when a sudden hesitation possessed him, 
 and he flung the bottle from him into the fire- 
 place. There was a shivering crash, and then a 
 vast sheet of intolerable flame. The intense heat 
 drove Ogden from the hearth. He seized the 
 candle, and went up-stairs into his bedroom. 
 
 Sarah and Jim waited to see whether he would 
 come down again, but he remained in his room, 
 and they heard the boards creak as he walked 
 from wall to wall. This continued an hour. At 
 last old Sarah said, — • 
 
 " I cannot bide no longer. Let's go and seech 
 th' childt ; " and she lighted two lanterns, which, 
 doubtless, were in better condition, and better 
 provided with candles, than the one she had lent 
 to Mr Ogden. 
 
 They went into the stable and cowhouse (or 
 mistle as it was called in that country), and called 
 in the softest and most winning tones their voices 
 knew how to assume. " Little Jacob, little Jacob, 
 come, my lad, come ; it's nobbut old Sarah an' 
 Jim. Mestur's i' bedd." 
 
 They went amongst the hay with their lanterns,
 
 168 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 in spite of the risk of setting it on fire, but he 
 was not there. He was not to be found in any 
 of the out-buildings. Suddenly an idea struck 
 Jim. 
 
 " If we'd nobbut his bit of a dog, who'd find 
 him, sure enough." 
 
 But Feorach had disappeared. Feorach was 
 with her young master. 
 
 They began to be rather alarmed, for it was 
 very cold, and intensely dark. The lad was cer- 
 tainly not on the premises. They set off along 
 the path that led to the rocks. They examined 
 every nook and cranny of the huge masses of 
 sandstone, and their lanterns produced the most 
 unaccustomed effects, bringing out the rough pro- 
 jections of the rock against the unfathomable 
 black sky, and casting enormous shadows from 
 one rock to another. Wherever their feet could 
 tread they went, missing nothing; but the lad 
 was not amongst the rocks. It began to be clear 
 to them that he could not even be in a place of 
 *such shelter as that. He must be out on the open 
 moor. 
 
 "We mun go and tell Mestur," said Jim. 
 " If he's feared about th' childt, he willn't be 
 mad at him." 
 
 So they returned straight to the house, and
 
 WENDERHOLME. 159 
 
 went to Mr Ogden's room. He had gone to bed, 
 but was not asleep. If lie thought about little 
 Jacob at all, his reflections were probably not of 
 an alarming kind. The child would come back, 
 of course. 
 
 *' Please, sir,'' said Jim, " Master Jacob isn't 
 come back, and we can't find him." 
 
 " He'll come back," said Ogden. 
 
 " Please, sir, I'm rather feared about him," 
 said Jim ; " it's nearly two hours sin' he left the 
 house, and it's uncommon cold. We've been 
 seekin' him all up and down, old Sarah and me, 
 and he's nowhere about th' premises, and he isn't 
 about th' rocks neither." 
 
 Mr Ogden began to feel rather alarmed. The 
 paroxysm of his irritation was over by this time, 
 and he had become rational again; indeed his 
 mind was clearer, and, in a certain sense, calmer, 
 than it had been for two or three days. For the 
 last half-hour he had been sufiering only from 
 great prostration, and a feeling of dulness and 
 vacancy, which this new anxiety efiectually re- 
 moved. Notwithstanding the violence of his 
 recent treatment of his son — a violence which had 
 frequently broken out during several months, and 
 which had culminated in the scene described in 
 the last chapter, when it had reached the pitch of
 
 160 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 temporary insanity — he really had the deepest 
 possible affection for his child, and this paternal 
 feeling was more powerful than he himself had 
 ever consciously known or acknowledged. When 
 once the idea was realised that little Jacob might 
 be suffering physically from the cold, and men- 
 tally from a dread of his father, which the events 
 of the night only too fully justified, Mr Ogden 
 began to feel the tenderest care and anxiety. 
 *^ ril be down with you in a moment," he said. 
 " See that the lanterns are in good order. Have 
 the dogs ready to go with us — they may be of 
 some use." 
 
 He came down-stairs with a serious but quite 
 reasonable expression on his face. He spoke 
 quite gently to old Sarah, and said, with a half- 
 smile, " You needn't give me a lantern with a 
 hole in it this time f and then he added, '^ I 
 wasted all that rum you gave me." 
 
 " It 'ud 'ave been worst wasted if you'd swal- 
 lowed it, Mestur." 
 
 " It would — it would ; but we may need a 
 little for the lad if we find him — very cold, you 
 know. Give a little to Jim, if you have any; 
 and take a railway rug, or a blanket from my 
 bed, to wrap him in if he should need it." 
 
 The dogs were in the kitchen now — a large
 
 WENDERHOLME. 161 
 
 mastiff and a couple of pointers. Mr Ogden took 
 down a little cloak that belonged to Jacob, and 
 made the dogs smell at it. Then he seemed to 
 be looking about for something else. 
 
 " Are ye seekin something, Mr Ogden '? " 
 
 "I want something to make a noise with, 
 Sarah." She fetched the little silver horn that 
 had been the Doctor's last present to his young 
 friend. " That's it," said Mr Ogden ; " hell know 
 the sound of that when he hears it." 
 
 The little party set out towards the moor. Mr 
 Ogden led it to the place where Jacob had crossed 
 the wall ; and as Jim was looking about with his 
 lantern he called out, " Why, master, here's one 
 of his shoes, and — summat else." • 
 
 The '' summat else " was the great whip. 
 
 Mr Ogden took the shoe up, and the whip. 
 They were within a few yards of the pond, and 
 he went down to the edge of it. A slight splash 
 was heard, and he came back without the whip. 
 The weight of the steel hammer had sunk it, and 
 hidden it from his eyes for ever. He carried the 
 little shoe in his right hand. 
 
 When they had crossed the wall, Mr Ogden 
 bent down and put the shoe on the ground, and 
 called the dogs. The pointers understood him 
 at once, and went rapidly on the scent, whilst 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 162 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 the little party followed them as fast as they 
 could. 
 
 It led out upon the open moor. When they 
 were nearly a mile from the house, Mr Ogden 
 told Sarah to go back and make a fire in little 
 Jacob's room, and warm his bed. The two men 
 then went forward in silence. 
 
 It was bitterly cold, and the wind began to 
 rise, whistling over the wild moor. It w^as now 
 eleven o'clock ; Mr Ogden looked at his watch. 
 Suddenly the dogs came to a standstill; they had 
 reached the edge of a long sinuous bog with a 
 surface of treacherous green, and little black pools 
 of peat-water and mud. Mr Ogden knew the bog 
 perfectly, as he knew every spot on the whole 
 moor that he was accustomed to shoot over, and 
 he became terribly anxious. "We must mark 
 this spot," he said ; but neither he nor Jim car- 
 ried a stick, and there was no wood for miles 
 round. The only resource was to make a little 
 cairn of stones. 
 
 When this was finished, Mr Ogden stood look- 
 ing at the bog a few minutes, measuring its 
 breadth with his eye. He concluded that it was 
 impossible for a child to leap over it even at the 
 narrowest place, and suggested that little Jacob 
 must have skirted it. But in Avhich direction —
 
 WENDERHOLME. 163 
 
 to the riglit hand or the left ? The dogs gave no 
 indication ; they were off the scent. Mr Ogden 
 followed the edge of the bog to the right, and 
 after walking half a mile, turned the extremity of 
 it, and came again on the other side till he was 
 opposite the cairn he had made. The dogs 
 found no fresh scent ; they were perfectly use- 
 less. " Make a noise," said Mr Ogden to Jim ; 
 " make a noise with that horn." 
 
 Jim blew a loud blast. There came no answer- 
 ing cry. The wind whistled over the heather, 
 and a startled grouse whirred past on her rapid 
 wings. 
 
 An idea was forcing its way into Mr Ogden's 
 mind — a hateful, horrible, inadmissible idea — 
 that the foul black pit before him might be the 
 grave of his only son. How ascertain it ? They 
 had not the necessary implements ; and what 
 would be the use of digging in that flowing, 
 and yielding, and unfathomable black mud ? He 
 could not endure the place, or the intolerable 
 supposition that it suggested, and went wildly 
 on, in perfect silence, with compressed lips and 
 beating heart, stumbling over the rough land. 
 
 Old Sarah warmed the little bed, and made a 
 bright fire in Jacob's room. When Ogden came 
 back he went there at once, and found the old
 
 164 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 woman holding a small niglit-gown to the fire. 
 His face told her enough. His dress was covered 
 with snow. 
 
 " Th' dogs is 'appen mistaken," she said ; " lit- 
 tle Jacob might be at Milend by this time." 
 
 Mr Ogden sent Jim down to Shayton on horse- 
 back, and returned to the moor alone. They met 
 again at the farm at three o'clock in the morning. 
 Neither of them had any news of the child. Jim 
 had roused the household at Milend, and awak- 
 ened everybody both at the parsonage and the 
 Doctor's. He had given the alarm, and he had 
 done the same at the scattered cottages and farm- 
 houses between Twistle Farm and Shayton. If 
 Jacob were seen anywhere, news would be at 
 once sent to his father. Dr Bardly was not at 
 home ; he had left about noon for Sootythorn 
 on militia business, and expected to go on to 
 Wenderholme with Colonel Stanburne, where he 
 intended to pass the night.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 During what remained of the night, it is un- 
 necessary to add that nobody at Twistle Farm 
 had rest. The search was continually renewed 
 in various directions, and always with the same 
 negative result. Mr Ogden began to lose hope, 
 and was more and more confirmed in his supposi- 
 tion that his son must have perished in the bog. 
 Jim returned to Shayton, where he arrived about 
 half-past four in the morning. When the hands 
 assembled at Ogden's mill, Mr Jacob told them 
 that the factory would be closed that day, but 
 that he would pay them their full wages ; and he 
 should feel grateful to any of the men who would 
 help him in the search for his little nephew, who 
 had unfortunately disappeared from Twistle on 
 the preceding evening, and had not been since 
 heard of. He added, that a reward of a hundred 
 pounds would be given to any one who would
 
 166 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 bring him news of the child. Soon after day- 
 light, handbills were posted in every street in 
 Shayton offering the same reward. Mr Jacob 
 returned to Milend from the factory, and pre- 
 pared to set out for Twistle. 
 
 The sun rose in clear frosty air, and the moors 
 were covered with snow. Large groups began 
 to arrive at the farm about eight o'clock, and 
 at nine the hill was dotted with searchers in 
 every direction. It was suggested to Mr Og- 
 den by a policeman that if he had any intention 
 of having the pond dragged, it would be well 
 that it should be done at once, as there was 
 already a thin coat of ice upon it, and it would 
 probably freeze during the whole of the day and 
 following night, so that delay would entail great 
 additional labour in the breaking of the ice. An 
 apparatus was sent up from Shayton for this 
 purpose. Mr Ogden did not superintend this 
 operation, but sat alone in his parlour waiting 
 to hear the result. There was a tap at the door, 
 and the policeman entered. 
 
 " WeVe found nothing in the pond, Mr Isaac, 
 except " 
 
 " Except what ? '' 
 
 " Only this whip, sir,^ that must belong to 
 you ; " and he produced the whip with the steel
 
 WENDERHOLME. 167 
 
 hammer. " It may be an important h indication, 
 sir, if it could be ascertained whether your little 
 boy had been play in' with it yesterday evenin'. 
 You don't remember seein' him with it, do you, 
 sir?" 
 
 Mr Ogden groaned, and covered his face with 
 his hands. Then his whole frame shook convul- 
 sively. Old Sarah came in. 
 
 " I was just askin Mr Ogden whether he knew 
 if the little boy had been playin' with this 'ere 
 whip yesterday — we've found it in the pond ; 
 and as I was just sayin, it might be a useful 
 hindication." 
 
 Old Sarah looked at the whip, which lay wet 
 upon the table. " I seed that whip yistady, 
 but I dunnot think our little lad played wi' it. 
 He didn't use playin' wi' that whip. That there 
 whip belongs to his father, an' it's him as makes 
 use on it, and non little Jacob." 
 
 Mr Ogden removed his hands from his face, 
 and said, " The whip proves nothing. I threw 
 it into the pond yesterday myself." 
 
 The policeman looked much astonished. " It's 
 a fine good whip, sir, to throw away." 
 
 "Well, take it, then, if you admire it. I'll 
 make ye a present of it." 
 
 " I've no use for it, sir."
 
 1G8 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 " Then, I reckon," said old Sarah, " as you 
 'aven't got a little lad about nine year old ; 
 such whips as that is consithered useful for 
 thrashin' little lads about nine year old." 
 
 Mr Ogden could bear this no longer, and said 
 he would go down to the pond. When he had 
 left the room, old Sarah took up the whip and 
 hung it in its old place, over the silver spurs. 
 The policeman lingered. Old Sarah relieved 
 her mind by recounting what had passed on 
 the preceding evening. " I am some and glad"' 
 as you brought him that there whip. Th' sight 
 of it is like pins and needles in 'is een. You ve 
 punished 'im with it far worse than if you'd laid 
 it ovver his shoulthers." 
 
 Mr Ogden gave orders that every one who 
 wanted anything to eat should be freely sup- 
 plied in the kitchen. One of old Sarah's great 
 accomplishments was the baking of oat - cake, 
 and as the bread in the house was soon eaten 
 up, old Sarah heated her oven, and baked two 
 or three hundred oat - cakes. When once the 
 mixture is prepared, and the oven heated, a 
 skilful performer bakes these cakes with sur- 
 prising rapidity, and old Sarah was proud of 
 
 * " Some and glad " is a common Lancashire expression, mean- 
 ing " considerably glad."
 
 WENDERHOLME. 169 
 
 her skill. If anything could have relieved her 
 anxiety about little Jacob, it would have been 
 this beloved occupation — but not even the pleas- 
 ure of seeing the thin fluid mixture spread over 
 the heated sheet of iron, and of tossing the cake 
 dexterously at the proper time, could relieve the 
 good heart of its heavy care. Even the very 
 occupation itself had saddening associations, for 
 when old Sarah pursued it, little Jacob had 
 usually been a highly interested spectator, though 
 often very much in the way. She had scolded 
 him many a time for his " plaguiness ; " but, 
 alas ! what would she have given to be plagued 
 by that small tormentor now ! 
 
 The fall of snow had been heavy enough to 
 fill up the smaller inequalities of the ground, 
 and the hills had that aspect of exquisite smooth- 
 ness and purity which would be degraded by 
 any comparison. Under happier circumstances, 
 the clear atmosphere and brilliant landscape 
 would have been in the highest degree exhil- 
 arating; but I suppose nobody at Twistle felt 
 that exhilaration now. On the contrary, there 
 seemed to be something chilling and pitiless 
 in that cold splendour and brightness. No one 
 could look on the vast sweep of silent snow 
 without feeling that somewhere under its equal
 
 170 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 and unrevealing surface lay the body of a be- 
 loved child. 
 
 The grave-faced seekers ranged the moors all 
 day, after a regular system devised by Mr Jacob 
 Ogden. The circle of their search became wider 
 and wider, like the circles from a splash in water. 
 In this way, before nightfall, above thirty square 
 miles had been thoroughly explored. At last, 
 after a day that seemed longer than the longest 
 days of summer, the sun went down, and one 
 by one the stars came out. The heavens were 
 full of their glittering when the scattered bands 
 of seekers met together again at the farm. 
 
 The fire was still kept alive in little Jacob's 
 room. The little night-gown still hung before 
 it. Old Sarah changed the hot water in the 
 bed- warmer regularly every hour. Alas I alas ! 
 was there any need of these comforts now ? 
 Do corpses care to have their shrouds warmed, 
 or to have hot- water bottles at their icy feet ? 
 
 Mr Ogden, who had controlled himself with 
 Avonderful success so long as the sun shone, began 
 to show unequivocal signs of agitation after night- 
 fall. He had headed a party on the moor, and 
 came back with a sinking heart. He had no hope 
 left. The child must certainly have died in the 
 cold. He went into little Jacob's bedroom and
 
 WENDERHOLME. 1 71 
 
 walked about alone for a few minutes, pacing 
 from the door to the window, and looking out on 
 the cold white hills, the monotony of which was 
 relieved only by the masses of black rock that 
 rose out of them here and there. The fire had 
 burnt very briskly, and it seemed to Mr Ogden 
 that the little night-gown was rather too near. 
 As he drew back the chair he gazed a minute at 
 the bit of linen; his chest heaved with violent 
 emotion, and then there came a great and terrible 
 agony. He sat down on the low iron bed, his 
 strong frame shook and quivered, and with pain- 
 ful gasps flowed the bitter tears of his vain repent- 
 ance. He looked at the smooth little pillow, un- 
 touched during a whole night, and thought of 'the 
 dear head that had pressed it, and might never 
 press it more. Where was it resting now? Was 
 the frozen snow on the fair cheek and open brow, 
 or — oh horror, still more horrible 1 — had he been 
 buried alive in the black and treacherous pit, and 
 were the dear locks defiled with the mud of the 
 bog, and the bright eyes filled with its slimy 
 darkness for ever ? Surely he had not descended 
 into that grave ; they had done what they could 
 to sound the place, and had found nothing but 
 earth, soft and yielding — no fragment of dress had 
 come up on their boat-hooks. It was more endur-
 
 172 WENDER HOLME. 
 
 able to imagine the child asleep under the snow. 
 When the thaw came they would find him, and 
 bring him to his own chamber, and lay him again 
 on his own bed, at least for one last night, till 
 the coffin came up from Shay ton. 
 
 How good the child had been ! how brutally 
 Ogden felt that he had used him ! Little Jacob 
 had been as forgiving as a dog, and as ready to 
 respond to the slightest mark of kindness. He 
 had been the light of the lonely house with his 
 innocent prattle and gaiety. Ogden had fright- 
 ened him into silence lately, and driven him into 
 the kitchen, where he had many a time heard him 
 laughing with old Sarah and Jim, and been un- 
 reasonably angry with him for it. Ogden began 
 to see these things in a different light. " I used 
 him so badly," he thought, "that it was only 
 natural he should shun and avoid me.'^ And then 
 he felt and knew how much sweet and pure com- 
 panionship he had missed. He had not half 
 enjoyed the blessing he had possessed. He ought 
 to have made himself young again for the child's 
 sake. Would it have done him any harm to 
 teach little Jacob cricket, and play at ball with 
 him, or at nine-pins ? The boy's life had been 
 terribly lonely, and his father had done nothing 
 to dissipate or mitigate its loneliness. And then
 
 WENDERHOLME. l73 
 
 there came a bitter sense tliat he had really loved 
 the child with an immense affection, but that the 
 coldness and roughness and brutality of his out- 
 ward behaviour had hidden this affection from his 
 son. In this, however, Mr Ogden had not been 
 quite so much to blame as in the agony of his 
 repentance he himself believed. His self-accu- 
 sation, like all sincere and genuine self- accusa- 
 tion, had a touch of exaggeration in it. The 
 wrong that he had done was attributable quite as 
 much to the temper of the place he lived in as to 
 any peculiar evil in himself as an individual man. 
 He had spoiled his temper wdth drinking, but 
 every male in Shayton did the same ; he had 
 been externally hard and unsympathetic, but the 
 inhabitants of Shayton carried to an excess the 
 English contempt for the betrayal of the softer 
 emotions. In all that Ogden had done, in the 
 whole tenor of his life and conversation, he had 
 merely obeyed the great human instinct of con- 
 formity. The majority of men are so constituted 
 that they naturally take the colour of the society 
 about them, and are scarcely answerable as indi- 
 viduals for the conduct they learn from it. They 
 cannot originate a life other than the life they 
 see and mix with. Philosophers may give a 
 higher ideal in books, and the local clergyman.
 
 174 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 who has the advantage of beintr visible in the 
 flesh, may preach a holier and better way, but -a 
 man's law is the custom of his class. A few 
 eccentrics may venture to depart from this, and 
 to be disloyal to custom, that they may be loyal 
 to the inward law of conscience, or the doctrines 
 that were preached in Galilee; but it is found 
 in practice that these eccentrics cannot continue 
 to live in the locality whose customs they rebel 
 against, and that sooner or later they have to 
 leave it. The only possible salvation for a Shay- 
 tonite was a love of money intense enough to 
 produce a certain form of asceticism. Jacob 
 Ogden had this, and was saved by it — at least 
 from the danger of delirium tremens ; but Isaac, 
 though he valued his pecuniary independence, had 
 not the passionate desire for wealth which requires 
 a certain strength of imagination. Therefore the 
 slough of drink had been inevitable for him as a 
 Shaytonite, for the only motives which can restrain 
 a Shaytonite from drinking are the conviction 
 that it would interfere with the accumulation of 
 money, and a love of money still stronger than 
 the love of gin. Had he lived anywhere else — 
 had he even lived at Sootythorn — he would have 
 been a different man. Such as he was, he was 
 the product of the soil, like the hard pears and
 
 WENDERHOLME. l75 
 
 sour apples that grew in the dismal garden at 
 Milend. 
 
 He had been sitting more than an hour on the 
 bed, when he heard a knock at the door. It was 
 old Sarah, who announced the arrival of Mr 
 Prigley and Mrs Ogden. Mr Prigley had been 
 to fetch her from the place where she was visit- 
 ing, and endeavoured to offer such comfort to 
 her during the journey as his heart and profes- 
 sion suggested. As on their arrival at Milend 
 there had been no news of a favourable or even 
 hopeful kind, Mrs Ogden was anxious to proceed 
 to Twistle immediately, and Mr Prigley had 
 kindly accompanied her. 
 
 The reader may have inferred from previous 
 pages of this history, that although Mr Prigley 
 may have been a blameless and earnest divine, 
 he was not exactly the man best fitted to in- 
 fluence such a nature as that of Isaac Ogden. 
 He had little understanding either of its weak- 
 ness or its strength — of its weakness before 
 certain forms of temptation, or its strength in 
 acknowledging unwelcome and terrible facts. 
 After Mrs Ogden had simply said, " Well, Isaac, 
 there's no news of him yet," the clergyman tried 
 to put a cheerful light on the subject by express- 
 ing the hope that the boy was safe in some
 
 176 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 farmhouse. Mr Ogden answered that every 
 farmhouse within several miles had been called 
 at, and that Twistle Farm was the last of the 
 farms on the moor side. It was most unlikely, 
 in his opinion, that the child could have resisted 
 the cold so long, especially as he had no pro- 
 visions of any kind, and was not even sufficiently 
 clothed to go out ; and as he had certainly not 
 called at any house within seven or eight miles 
 of Twistle, Mr Ogden could only conclude that 
 he must have perished on the moor, and that the 
 thick fall of snow was all that had prevented the 
 discovery of his body. 
 
 Mrs Ogden sat down and began to cry very 
 bitterly. The sorrow of a person like Mrs Ogden 
 is at the same time quite frank in its expression, 
 and perfectly monotonous. Her regrets expressed 
 themselves adequately in three words, and the 
 repetition of them made her litany of grief — 
 '' Poor little lad ! ^' and then a great burst of 
 weeping, and then " Poor little lad ! " again, per- 
 petually. 
 
 The clergyman attempted to "improve" the 
 occasion in the professional sense. " The Lord 
 hath given," he said, " and the Lord hath taken 
 away ; " then he paused, and added, " blessed be 
 the name of the Lord." But this brought no
 
 WENDERHOLME. 177 
 
 solace to Ogden's mind. '' It was not tlie Lord 
 that took the lad away," he answered ; " it was 
 his father that drove him away — his damned, 
 cursed father, that the devils in hell are waiting 
 for." Mr Prigley suggested that if the father 
 repented, the devils might wait in vain. " Ee- 
 pented !" said Mr Ogden ; " and do I not repent '? 
 D'ye think I don't repent because you don't catch 
 me on my knees ? Am I not miserable enough, 
 don't I suffer enough, think you? And what 
 sort of a life have I got before me ? I am a sort 
 of a murderer ; and if they took me and hanged 
 me it would be too good for me. I'd the nicest 
 little lad, and— God ! God ! " 
 
 The great agony came over him again, and he 
 flung himself on his breast upon the sofa and 
 buried his face in the cushions. Then his mother 
 rose and came slowly to his side, and knelt down 
 by him. Precious maternal feelings, that had 
 been, as it were, forgotten in her heart for more 
 than twenty years, like jewels that are worn no 
 more, shone forth once more from her swimming 
 eyes. *' Isaac, lad," she said, with a voice that 
 sounded in his ears like a far-ofi* recollection of 
 childhood — " Isaac, lad, it were none o' thee as 
 did it — it were drink. Thou wouldn't have hurt 
 a hair of his head." And she kissed him. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 It was a weary night at Twistle. Nobody had 
 any hope left, but they felt bound to continue 
 the search, and relays of men came up from 
 Shayton for the purpose. They were divided 
 into little parties of six or eight, and Mr Jacob 
 directed their movements. Each group returned 
 to the house after exploring the ground allotted 
 to it, and Mr Ogden feverishly awaited its arrival. 
 The ever-recurring answer, the sad shake of the 
 head, the disappointed looks, sank into the heart 
 of the bereaved father. About two in the morn- 
 ing he got a little sleep, and awoke in half an 
 hour somewhat stronger and calmer. 
 
 It is unnecessary to pursue the detail of these 
 sufferings. The days passed, but brought no 
 news. Dr Bardly came back from Wenderholme, 
 and seemed less affected than would have been 
 expected by those who knew his love and friend- 
 ship for little Jacob. He paid, however, especial 
 attention to Mr Isaac, whom he invited to stay 
 with him for a few weeks, and who bore his sor- 
 row with a manly fortitude. The Doctor drank 
 his habitual tumblers of brandy-and-water every 
 evening before going to bed, and the first even- 
 ing, by way of hospitality, had offered the same 
 refreshment to his guest. Mr Ogden declined 
 simply, and the offer was not renewed. For the
 
 WENDERHOLME. l79 
 
 first week he smoked a great deal, and drank 
 large quantities of soda-water, but did not touch 
 any intoxicating liquor. He persevered in this 
 abstinence, and declared his firm resolve to con- 
 tinue it as a visible sign of his repentance, and of 
 his respect to the memory of his boy. He was 
 very gentle and pleasant, and talked freely with 
 the Doctor about ordinary subjects; but, for a 
 man whose vigour and energy had manifested 
 themselves in some abruptness and rudeness in 
 the common intercourse of life, this new gentle- 
 ness was a marked sign of sadness. When the 
 Doctor's servant, Martha, came in unexpectedly 
 and found Mr Ogden alone, she often observed 
 that he had shed tears ; but he seemed cheerful 
 when spoken to, and his grief was quiet and un- 
 demonstrative. 
 
 The search for the child was still actively pur- 
 sued, and his mysterious disappearance became 
 a subject of absorbing interest in the neighbour- 
 hood. The local newspapers were full of it, and 
 there appeared a very terrible article in the 
 ' Sootythorn Gazette ' on Mr Ogden's cruelty to 
 his child. The writer was an inhabitant of Shay- 
 ton, who had had the misfortune to have Mr 
 Jacob Ogden for his creditor, and had been pur- 
 sued with great rigour by that gentleman. He
 
 180 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 got the necessary data from the policeman who 
 had brought the whip back from the pond, and 
 wrote such a description of it as made the flesh 
 of the Sootythorn people creep upon their bones, 
 and their cheeks redden with indignation. The 
 Doctor happened to be out of the house when 
 this newspaper arrived, and Mr Isaac opened it 
 and read the article. The facts stated in it were 
 true and undeniable, and the victim quailed under 
 his punishment. If he had ventured into Sooty- 
 thorn he would have been mobbed and pelted, or 
 perhaps lynched. He was scarcely safe even in 
 Shay ton ; and when he walked from the Doctor s 
 to Milend, the factory operatives asked him where 
 his whip was, and the children pretended to be 
 frightened, and ran out of his way. A still worse 
 punishment was the singular gravity of the faces 
 that he met — a gravity that did not mean sym- 
 pathy but censure. The ' Sootythorn Gazette ' 
 demanded that he should be punished — that an 
 example should be made of him, and so on. The 
 writer had his wish, without the intervention of 
 the law. 
 
 After a few weeks the mystery was decided to 
 be insoluble, and dismissed from the columns of 
 the newspapers. Even the ingenious professional 
 detectives admitted that they were at fault, and
 
 WENDERHOLME. 181 
 
 could hold out no hopes of a discovery. Mr 
 Ogden had with difficulty been induced to re- 
 main at the Doctor's during the prosecution of 
 these inquiries; but Dr Bardly had represented 
 to him that he ought to have a fixed address in 
 case news should arrive, and that he need not be 
 wholly inactive, but might ride considerable dis- 
 tances in various directions, which indeed he did, 
 but without result. 
 
 Mrs Ogden remained at Milend, but whether 
 from the strength of her nature, or some degree 
 of insensibility, she did not appear to suffer 
 greatly from her bereavement, and pursued her 
 usual household avocations with her accustomed 
 regularity. Mr Jacob went to his factory, and 
 was absorbed in the details of business. No one 
 put on mourning, for the child was still considered 
 as possibly alive, and perhaps his relations shrank 
 from so decided an avowal of their abandonment 
 of hope. The one exception to this rule was old 
 Sarah at Twistle, who clad herself in a decent 
 black dress that she had by her. " If t' little un s 
 deead," she said, " it's nobbut reight to put myseF 
 i' black for him ; and if he isn't, I'm so sore in my 
 heart ovver him 'at I'm fit to wear nought else."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The reader may remember that on the night of 
 little Jacob's disappearance the Doctor was absent 
 from Shayton. He had set off that morning for 
 Sootythorn on some business connected with the 
 militia, and as the reader has been hitherto con- 
 fined within the valley of Shayton and the bar- 
 ren moors that surround it, where, it must be 
 admitted, there is nothing very interesting to 
 be seen, perhaps he would be glad to accompany 
 the Doctor, and take, as it were, the spare place 
 in his gig. 
 
 Since the reader will only take that spare place 
 in a spiritual sense, let us hope that he will not be 
 greatly incommoded by a practice of the Doctor's 
 which would be highly inconvenient if he were 
 invisibly present in the flesh. Dr Bardly never 
 could pass an old woman with a bundle, or an 
 old man with a pack on his back, or even a
 
 WENDERHOLME. 183 
 
 young woman or a child who had a long way to 
 go, without stopping his grey mare with a low 
 whistle, and ordering the pedestrian, in a per- 
 emptory tone to " get up and ride." There was 
 especially one old woman who walked three or 
 four times a-week from Shayton to Sootythorn, 
 on some mysterious little peddling business of 
 hers, and who so often profited by the Doctor s 
 gig that the Sootythorn people had standard jokes 
 on the subject. Some said the pair were engaged 
 to be married, others affirmed that the old lady 
 was the Doctor s aunt, and others that she was 
 his grandmother ; but the most malicious inven- 
 tion reported that, notwithstanding the poverty 
 of her appearance, she was possessed of consider- 
 able wealth, and that the Doctor, who had long 
 been aware of this, had an eye to an inheritance. 
 Now this last supposition was nearer the truth 
 than the Sootythorn people imagined, except only 
 as to the Doctor's knowledge of the fact. Old 
 Nanny Pickering was a rich woman, but the 
 Doctor honestly believed her to be a poor one. 
 The very fact of her wealth made her life lonely, 
 for she could not trust a servant in a cottage 
 where rolls of five-pound notes were hidden in 
 mattresses and pillow-cases, and old stockings 
 full of gold were stowed away under the thatch.
 
 184 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 The only protection that Nanny Pickering trusted 
 in was her hitherto unblemished reputation for 
 indigence, which she took every possible means 
 to extend and maintain. She lived in a tiny 
 cottage, by the side of a small brook, about a 
 mile from the highroad, and entirely concealed 
 from it by a thick wood. She thankfully received 
 alms from farmers and others who had less capital 
 than herself ; and as Lady Helena Stanburne pro- 
 posed to distribute blankets and flannels at Christ- 
 mas, the Doctor had mentioned Nanny Pickering 
 as a proper object of charity, which gratified Nanny 
 for two very distinct reasons, since it saved her 
 the expense of purchasing a blanket for herself, 
 and kept up her assumed character as a poor 
 woman. 
 
 The road from Shayton to Sootythorn passed 
 through a narrow and still beautiful valley, but 
 the solitude of it was interrupted by two pros- 
 perous manufacturing villages, which, as they 
 could not become broader, lengthened themselves 
 as they grew richer and more populous, till it 
 required no great stretch of imagination to pre- 
 dict that the turnpike road would one day become 
 a street, and the two towns be united by a living 
 lien, like the Siamese twins. At the date of this 
 history there were, however, portions of the road
 
 WENDERHOLME. 185 
 
 SO effectually shut in on all sides by the steep 
 hills, that the traveller might imagine himself in 
 some secluded valley of the lake district, a hun- 
 dred miles from factory - smoke. It was in a 
 seclusion of this kind that Nanny Pickering lived, 
 and her figure was the only living object within 
 range of the Doctor's vision as he drove along 
 that portion of the road. 
 
 "Now, Nanny, get up, and look sharp!" said 
 the Doctor, who was far from being ceremonious 
 in the manner of his invitations ; and Nanny, who 
 had attained by practice consummate precision 
 and agility in the art of climbing into the gig, 
 was by his side in an instant. Dr Bardly, who 
 liked to see people, especially old people, active 
 and prompt, paid his companion a compliment, 
 though compliments were seldom heard from his 
 veridical lips. "Why, Nanny," he said, "you 
 seem to me to be gettin' younger and younger ; 
 you jump up same as a lass, and you never ail 
 nout as I see on.'' 
 
 **Folk had need be strong and hearty when 
 they'n to addle '"* their breead," replied his com- 
 panion. 
 
 The mare trotted along at her accustomed pace, 
 and there was little conversation between the tra- 
 
 * Earn.
 
 186 WENDEEHOLME. 
 
 vellers ; indeed they went a distance of two miles 
 in perfect silence, when the Doctor said, — 
 
 " You live very lonesome, Nanny ; you should 
 have a bit of a lass to live with ye — somebody as 
 could nurse ye if ye wanted it, or come and fetch 
 me if you were noan so weel, like." 
 
 " I cannot affoord it — I cannot afFoord it." 
 
 " Well, but then you should find some other old 
 body, same as yourself, and you might both live 
 together. There's two or three about Sootythorn, 
 and you might happen find one as you could 
 agree with." 
 
 " Nay, one mistress is enough i' one house. It's 
 plenty to have a bad temper o' one's own, beout 
 havin' to bide other folk's." 
 
 " Well, damn it, then you mun get wed. I see 
 nout else fort." 
 
 " When they're gettin' old," said Nanny, " and 
 han no brass, it isn't easy to wed 'em." 
 
 Much facetious conversation ensued on this in- 
 exhaustible topic, but as it was conducted by both 
 speakers in the purest Lancashire dialect, which 
 the refined reader probably despises, it will be 
 more prudent not to report it. One might write 
 a dissertation to prove the vigour, and the terse- 
 ness, and the venerable antiquity of that variety 
 of speech, which ought to be studied as an inde-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 187 
 
 pendent idiom, and not confounded with corrupt 
 and vulgar English, like the English of the un- 
 educated Londoner ; but such a dissertation would 
 be written, however eloquently, in vain. The old 
 provincial languages are passing away from the 
 face of the island, and the time is at hand when 
 the pure dialect of Lancashire will have given 
 place to the English of the schoolmaster and the 
 penny-a-liner. This may be in many ways a 
 great gain — it will bring an important population 
 into closer and easier relations with the other 
 inhabitants of the island — but it will not be an 
 unmixed gain; and a thousand pregnant turns of 
 expression, a thousand keen-edged phrases that 
 have been sharpened by the wit of many gener- 
 ations, will be lost for ever to our soft-ton gued 
 posterity. 
 
 After passing for several miles through narrow 
 gorges, which were sometimes thickly planted with 
 fir-trees, and sometimes walled and buttressed with 
 lofty cliffs of dark -grey sandstone, the Doctor's 
 gig emerged into a wide basin bounded by hills 
 about a thousand feet high, but so gradual in 
 slope that their summit, or at least their sky-line 
 (for it would have been difficult for a pedestrian 
 to fix upon any definite summit), was at least 
 seven miles from the level ground in the valley
 
 188 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 in every direction. This sky-line was not parti- 
 cularly interesting or beautiful, for its curves were 
 so little accentuated that, as a local photographer 
 found out when he began to practise the dry col- 
 lodion process, and to take a series of views in the 
 neighbourhood, they offered scarcely any pictur- 
 esque variety ; but though the inhabitants were 
 not very imaginative, they had imagination enough 
 to feel a grandeur which the scenery here rather 
 suggested than realised, and the basin of Sooty- 
 thorn had a certain reputation. The town was 
 situated very conveniently in the middle of it ; 
 and a pleasant trout-stream, which, as it descended 
 from the hills, passed through some rocky dells 
 and ravines, which were not without sublimity 
 when you once got fairly to the bottom of them, 
 supplied many factories with water, and issued 
 from the town, like a country lady from a visit 
 to Manchester, a good deal dirtier than when it 
 entered therein. 
 
 As to the origin of the name of the place, the 
 reader is referred to the local antiquarians, of 
 whose acrid controversies the present writer is 
 not competent to judge. The natural interpre- 
 tation seems to be that some venerable thorn- 
 tree, having been exposed to much coal-smoke, 
 had become visibly blackened by it, and received
 
 WENDERHOLME. 189 
 
 tlie title of the sooty thorn ; but this crude idea 
 may be easily and triumphantly refuted. The 
 town bore its present appellation, or something 
 which has been corrupted into its present 
 appellation, long before the fresh air of the 
 valley was contaminated by factory - smoke. 
 There was a theory that the origin of the name 
 had been a seat in a large thorn-tree, or seat 
 r th' thorn, hence Seatithorn, and by corruption, 
 Sootythorn ; but a powerful section of the local 
 erudites contemptuously rejected thorn alto- 
 gether, and contended that the final syllable 
 was horn, which they proved by analogous in- 
 stances. A punster declared that the whole 
 question was a thorny one — and as we agree 
 with him, we will leave it. The controversy 
 was much envenomed in consequence of the 
 too decided interpretation given by the artist 
 who painted the new sign at the Thorn Inn — 
 and who, not trusting, as he safely might have 
 done, to the atmosphere of the place for the 
 blackening of his tree, painted it from the first 
 of the intensest sable, foliage and all, not even 
 diversifying that funereal hue with those reflec- 
 tions from neighbouring objects which, as paint- 
 ers affirm, do in nature modify and mitigate 
 every colour in the universe.
 
 190 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 Into the yard at this Thorn Inn now entered 
 the Doctor's gig. Mr Garley, who kept the Inn, 
 and owned it, was a man of substance in more 
 senses than one — and perhaps, with an appear- 
 ance of great cordiality and freedom, one of the 
 very proudest men in the whole place. There 
 are many different varieties of pride, and Mr 
 Garley's variety was perhaps as desirable as any. 
 If, on the one hand, he was convinced that the 
 Thorn was the best inn in Lancashire, if not 
 in all England, at the same time he certainly 
 did his utmost to make it so. He loved good 
 eating, and every form of comfort, and treated 
 his guests in every respect as he wished to be 
 treated himself — a course of conduct which 
 would have been the very realisation of at 
 least one - half of the Christian ideal, if the 
 motives of it had not been the love of repu- 
 tation and the desire of gain. However, even 
 Mr Garley's defects, his intense self - satisfac- 
 tion and his love of good living, were to the 
 advantage of his house, and therefore of every- 
 body who frequented it; and our friend the 
 Doctor, who was by no means indifferent to 
 a good dinner, always looked forward with 
 pleasure to the flesh-pots at the Thorn, and 
 was welcomed by its proprietor as a man
 
 WENDERHOLME. 191 
 
 who properly appreciated the advantages of 
 his establishment. 
 
 " Good morning, Dr Bardley ! good morning, 
 sir ! you've brought the old lady with you this 
 morning, I observe — I saw her getting down in 
 the middle of the street ; it's very kind of you : " 
 and then, with a knowing look and a wink, " If 
 you would like to ask her to dine with you, you 
 can have a private room, you know, sir." 
 
 The Doctor was quite accustomed to this 
 sort of badgering, and rather liked it. But he 
 put on a stern countenance, and said that he 
 hadn't brought Nanny Pickering to dine at the 
 Thorn, " because he didn't expect to find a 
 dinner there good enough for her. However, 
 when the militia was fairly agoing, he perhaps 
 might ask her to dine at mess." 
 
 " Colonel Stanburne's expecting you, Doctor ; 
 he's in the front sitting-room." 
 
 The Colonel was sitting by himself, with the 
 ' Times ' and a little black pipe. 
 
 " Good morning, Dr Bardly ! you've a nice 
 little piece of work before you. There are a 
 lot of fellows here to be examined as to their 
 physical constitution — fellows, you know, who 
 aspire to the honour of serving in the twentieth 
 regiment of Eoyal Lancashire Militia."
 
 192 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 " Perhaps I'd better begin with the hofficers," 
 said the Doctor. 
 
 The Colonel looked alarmed, or affected to be 
 so. " My dear Doctor, there's not the least neces- 
 sity for examining officers — it isn't customary, it 
 isn't legal ; officers are always perfect, both phy- 
 sically and morally. Their physical perfection 
 is a consequence of their moral perfection, you 
 know. They are never guilty of those unfor- 
 tunate — errors and vices which — deteriorate 
 the constitution of privates." 
 
 A theory of this kind came well enough from 
 Colonel Stanburne. He was six feet high, and 
 the picture of health. He brought forth the 
 fruits of good living, not, as Mr Garley did, in 
 a bloated and rubicund face and protuberant 
 corporation, but in that admirable balance of 
 the whole human organism which proves the 
 regular and equal performance of all its func- 
 tions. Dr Bardly was a good judge of a man, 
 and he had the same pleasure in looking at the 
 Colonel that a foxhunter feels in contemplating 
 a fine horse. Beyond this, he liked Colonel 
 Stanburne's society, not precisely, perhaps, for 
 intellectual reasons — for, intellectually, there 
 was little or nothing in common between the 
 two men — but because he found in it a sort
 
 WENDERHOLME. 193 
 
 of mental refreshment, very pleasant to liim 
 after the society at Shayton. The Colonel was 
 a different being — he lived in a different world 
 from the world of the Ogdens and their friends ; 
 and it amused and interested the Doctor to see 
 how this strange and rather admirable creature 
 would conduct itself under the conditions of its 
 present existence. The Doctor, as the reader must 
 already feel perfectly assured, had not the weak- 
 ness of snobbishness or parasitism in any form 
 whatever ; and if he liked to go to Wenderholme 
 with the Colonel, it was not because there was 
 an earl's daughter there, and the sacred odour of 
 aristocracy about the place, but rather because he 
 had a genuine pleasure in the society of his friend, 
 whether amongst the splendours of Wenderholme, 
 or in the parlour of the inn at Sootythorn. 
 
 The Colonel, too, on his part, liked the Doctor, 
 though he laughed at him, and mimicked him 
 to Lady Helena. The mimicry was not, how- 
 ever, very successful, for the Doctor's Lancashire 
 dialect was too perfect and too pure for any mere 
 ultramontane (that is, creature living beyond 
 the hills that guarded the Shayton valley) to 
 imitate with any approximation to success. If 
 the Colonel, however, notwithstanding all his 
 study and effort, could not succeed in imitating 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 the Doctor's happy selection of expressions and 
 purity of style, he could at any rate give him a 
 nickname — so he called him Hoftens, not to his 
 face, but to Lady Helena at home, and to the 
 adjutant, and to one or two other people who 
 knew him, and the nickname became popular ; 
 and, after a while, the officers called Dr Bardly 
 Hoftens to his face, which he took with perfect 
 good-nature. The first time that this occurred, 
 the Doctor (such was the delicacy of his ear) 
 believed he detected something unusual in the 
 way an impudent ensign pronounced the word 
 often, and asked what he meant, on which the 
 adjutant interposed, and said, — " Don't mind his 
 impudence. Doctor; he's mimicking you." "Well," 
 said the Doctor, simply, "I wasn't aware that 
 there was hanything peculiar in my pronuncia- 
 tion of the word, but people hoftens are unaware 
 of their own defects." But we anticipate. 
 
 The modest muse requests that the curtain 
 may fall whilst our friend is examining the 
 recruits. The British militiaman, when clothed 
 in that superfine cloth, — the perfection of whose 
 scarlet dye is the glory of our country and the 
 envy of foreigners, — presents, no doubt, an 
 appearance at once dignified and imposing; but 
 the mass of aspirants, as the Doctor sees them, in
 
 WENDERHOLME. 195 
 
 a state of Adamite nudity, offer little to delight 
 the lover of physical beauty, and still less to 
 gratify the feelings of those true patriots whose 
 patriotism consists rather in the desire to improve 
 the condition of their countrymen than in blindly 
 boasting that it does not need improvement. It 
 has been remarked that the animal creation lives, 
 on the whole, in a condition of wonderful clean- 
 liness. The plumage of birds, the fur of quad- 
 rupeds, and especially the brilliant iridescent 
 armour of the insect tribes, though each creature 
 has its appointed parasites, are nevertheless kept 
 wonderfully free from all accumulations of con- 
 solidated filth. The one dirty animal is man — 
 and how dirty he is, nobody can know or imagine^ 
 unless, like the Doctor, he has been called upon 
 to inspect the people when divested of those 
 coverings which are at the same time the veil of 
 their impurity and its cause. If they wore no 
 clothes, the rain of heaven would wash them ; 
 and the mire of the fresh earth changed every- 
 day, and removed by the first patch of wet grass 
 they walked over, or the first rivulet they waded, 
 would be comparative cleanliness. But we pro- 
 tect ourselves against the natural cleansers, and 
 if we will not use the artificial ones, we become 
 the nastiest of all the creatures of God. The
 
 196 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 Doctor, who was not particularly squeamish, 
 acknowledged, after this inspection, that he felt 
 disgusted ; and in his conversation with the 
 Colonel he suggested, that so soon as he found 
 himself at the head of the new regiment, the best 
 thing he could do with it would be to march it 
 into some large pond or river, having previously 
 provided every man with three-penny-worth of 
 common soap. 
 
 They lunched at the Thorn with the adjutant, 
 a fair-haired and delicate-looking little gentleman 
 of exceedingly mild and quiet manners, whose 
 acquaintance the Doctor had made very recently. 
 Captain Eureton had retired a year or two be- 
 fore from the regular army, and was now living 
 in the neighbourhood of Sootythorn with his old 
 mother whom he loved with his whole heart. 
 He had never married, and now there was little 
 probability of his ever marrying. The people of 
 Sootythorn would have set him down as a milk- 
 sop if he had not seen a good deal of active ser- 
 vice in India and at the Cape ; but a soldier who 
 has been baptised in the fire of the battle-field 
 has always that fact in his favour, and has little 
 need to give himself airs of boldness in order to 
 impose upon the imagination of civilians. People 
 used to talk about " little Eureton '' in a manner
 
 WENDERHOLME. 197 
 
 wliicli implied that they did not think very much 
 of him ; and a man who prefers the society of his 
 old mother in the evenings to that of all the wits 
 of Sootythorn assembled round Mr Garley's bil- 
 liard-table, can scarcely expect to be very popular 
 in that locality. But the fact remained that this 
 little Eureton had been in scenes far surpassing 
 in the sublimity of danger any in which the 
 Sootythorn civilians had taken part ; and in this 
 respect his experience was superior even to that 
 of Colonel HoUinthorpe, a neighbouring gentle- 
 man who had been in the army, but seen no 
 active service. So, notwithstanding Captain 
 Eureton's quiet ways, the people of Sootythorn 
 accorded him a certain consideration ; and the 
 boys at the grammar - school looked upon him 
 with deep respect and awe, because on one occa- 
 sion, when he had asked for a holiday, the head- 
 master made a speech, and enumerated all Cap- 
 tain Eureton's battles — and the list, it must be 
 admitted, was a considerable one. 
 
 "I believe, Dr Bardly," said Eureton, "that 
 we are going to have an officer from your neigh- 
 bourhood, a Mr Ogden. His name has been put 
 down for a lieutenant's commission." 
 
 " Yes, he's a neighbour of mine," answered the 
 Doctor, rather curtly.
 
 198 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 " You should have brought him with you, 
 Doctor," said Colonel Stanburne, " that we might 
 make his acquaintance. He might have gone on 
 with us to Wenderholme this afternoon. Ive 
 never seen him, you know, and he gets his com- 
 mission on your recommendation. I should like, 
 as far as possible, to know the officers personally 
 before we meet for our first training. What sort 
 of a fellow is Mr Ogden ? Tell us all about him." 
 
 The Doctor felt slightly embarrassed, and 
 showed it in his manner. Any true descrip- 
 tion of Isaac Ogden, as he was just then, must 
 necessarily seem very unfavourable. The reader 
 will remember that Dr Bardly had been to 
 Twistle that very morning before daylight, and 
 had found Mr Ogden suffering from the effects of 
 a fall down the cellar-steps in a state of drunken- 
 ness. The Doctor had that day abandoned all 
 hope of reclaiming Isaac Ogden, and saving him 
 from the fate that awaited him. He had had too 
 much experience of drunkards not to be able to 
 distinguish between those stages of the habit in 
 which reform is still possible, and those stages in 
 which it is not possible ; and he had made up his 
 mind to leave Mr Ogden to kill himself in his 
 own way. Mr Ogden was a friend of his, and he 
 was sorry for him ; but he was also rather angry
 
 WENDERHOLME. 199 
 
 at him, and did not deeply pity him. The road 
 to destruction that Mr Ogden was following was 
 so much frequented by the inhabitants of Shay- 
 ton, that it seemed their regular turnpike to the 
 grave ; and if the Doctor had felt deeply moved 
 about every acquaintance of his who went that 
 way, his mind would have been in a chronic state 
 of profound emotion, altogether incompatible with 
 his duties, and even with his intellectual health. 
 
 " I've nothing good to tell of Mr Ogden, Colonel 
 Stanburne. I wish I hadn't recommended him 
 to you. He's an irreclaimable drunkard !" 
 
 " Well, if you'd known it you wouldn't have 
 recommended him, of course. You found it out 
 since, I suppose. You must try and persuade 
 him to resign. Tell him there'll be some awfully 
 hard work, especially for lieutenants." 
 
 " I knew that he drank occasionally, but I be- 
 lieved that it was because he had nobody to talk 
 to except a drunken set at the Eed Lion at Shay- 
 ton. I thought that if he came into the regiment 
 it would do him good, by bringing him into more 
 society. Shayton's a terrible place for drinking. 
 There's a great difference between Shayton and 
 Sootythorn." 
 
 " What sort of a man is he in other respects ? " 
 asked the Colonel.
 
 200 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 " He's right enough for everything else. He's 
 a good-looking fellow, tall, and well built ; and 
 he used to be pleasant and good-tempered, but 
 now his nervous system must be shattered, and 
 I would not answer for him." 
 
 " If you still think he would have sufficient 
 control over himself to keep sober for a month 
 we might try him, and see whether we cannot do 
 him some good. Perhaps, as you thought, it's 
 only want of society that drives him to amuse 
 himself by drinking. Upon my word, I think I 
 should take to drinking myself if I lived all the 
 year round in such a place as Sootythorn — and 
 I suppose Shay ton's no better." 
 
 There was a good old custom amongst the story- 
 tellers of the East, by which, having narrated a 
 series of events in the direct manner, they nar- 
 rated them all over again through the mouth of 
 one of their dramatis personce. Thus we might 
 repeat through the mouth of the Doctor the whole 
 story of Mr Isaac Ogden's life, with an accurate 
 account of his present position with reference to 
 his friends and relations, telling all about his 
 mother and his brother and his little boy, and 
 concluding with a minute description of his sin- 
 gular hermitage at T wis tie Farm. This would be 
 in the highest degree convenient to the writer,
 
 WENDERHOLME. 201 
 
 who, whenever he felt rather more lazy and 
 stupid than usual, might look back over the pages 
 already in existence, and by their help succeed 
 in producing his diurnal quantum of " copy." 
 But as it may be doubted whether the modern 
 reader would be so tolerant of this practice as his 
 prototypes, the audience of the story-tellers of 
 Bagdad or old Cairo, we are compelled, however 
 reluctantly, to refrain from it, and simply to ob- 
 serve that the Doctor's account of Shayton and 
 the Ogdens need not be reported here, because it 
 contained nothing with which the reader is not 
 already acquainted. 
 
 Captain Eureton, who was simple and even 
 abstemious in his way of living, and whose ap- 
 petite had not been sharpened, like that of the 
 Doctor, by a drive of ten miles in company with 
 Nanny Pickering, finished his lunch in about ten 
 minutes, and excused himself on the plea that 
 he had an appointment with a joiner about the 
 orderly-room, which had formerly been an infant- 
 school of some Dissenting persuasion, and there- 
 fore required remodelling as to its interior fittings. 
 We shall see more of him in due time, but for the 
 present must leave him to the tranquil happiness 
 of devising desks and pigeon-holes in company 
 with Mr Bettison, an intelligent joiner at Sooty-
 
 202 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 thorn, than which few occupations can be more 
 delightful. 
 
 "Perhaps, unless you've something to detain 
 you in Sooty thorn. Doctor, we should do well to 
 leave here as early as possible. It's a long drive 
 to Wenderholme— twenty miles, you know ; and 
 I always make a point of giving the horses a rest 
 at Eigton." 
 
 As the Doctor had nothing to do in Sootythorn, 
 the Colonel ordered his equipage. When he drove 
 alone, he always preferred a tandem, but when 
 Lady Helena accompanied him, he took his seat 
 in a submissive matrimonial manner in the fam- 
 ily carriage. As Wenderholme was so far from 
 Sootythorn, the Colonel kept two pairs of horses ; 
 and one pair was generally at Wenderholme and 
 the other in Mr Garley's stables, where the Colonel 
 had a groom of his own permanently. The only 
 inconvenience of this arrangement was that the 
 same horses had to do duty in the tandem and 
 the carriage ; but they did it on the whole fairly 
 well, and the Colonel contented himself with the 
 carriage-horses, so far as driving was concerned. 
 
 The Doctor drove his own gig with the degree 
 of skill which results from the practice of many 
 years ; but he had never undertaken the govern- 
 ment of a tandem, and felt, perhaps, a slight
 
 WENDERHOLME. 203 
 
 sliade of anxiety when John Stanburne took the 
 reins, and they set off at full trot through the 
 streets of Sootythorn. A manufacturing town, in 
 that particular stage of its development, is one of 
 the most awkward of all possible places to drive 
 in — the same street varies so much in breadth 
 that you never can tell whether there will be 
 room enough to pass when you get round the 
 corner ; and there are alarming noises of many 
 kinds — the roar of a cotton-mill in the street itself, 
 or the wonderfully loud hum of a foundry, or the 
 incessant clattering hammer-strokes of a boiler- 
 making establishment — which excite and bewilder 
 a nervous horse, till, if manageable at all, he is 
 manageable only with the utmost delicacy and 
 care. As Colonel Stanburne seemed to have quite 
 enough to do to soothe and restrain his leader, 
 the Doctor said nothing till they got clear of the 
 last street ; but once out on the broad turnpike, 
 or " Yorkshire Eoad," the Colonel gave his team 
 more freedom, and himself relaxed from the rigid 
 accuracy of seat he had hitherto maintained. He 
 then turned to the Doctor, and began to talk. 
 
 " I say, Doctor, why don't you drive a tandem ? 
 You — you ought to drive a tandem. Ton my 
 word you ought, seriously, now." 
 
 The Doctor laughed. He didn t see the neces-
 
 204 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 sity or the duty of driving a tandem, and so 
 begged to have these points explained to him. 
 
 " Well, because, don't you see, when you've 
 only got one hawse in your dog-cart, or gig, or 
 whatever two-wheeled vehicle you may possess, 
 you've no fun, don't you see ?" 
 
 The Doctor didn't see, or did not seem to see. 
 
 " I mean," proceeded the Colonel, explanatorily, 
 " that you haven't that degree of anxiety which is 
 necessary to give a zest to existence. Now, when 
 you've a leader who is almost perfectly free, and 
 over whom you can only exercise a control of 
 — the most gentle and persuasive kind, you're 
 always slightly anxious, and sometimes you're 
 very anxious. For instance, last time we drove 
 back from Sootythorn it was pitch dark — wasn't 
 it, Fyserr' 
 
 Here Colonel Stanburne turned to his groom, 
 who was sitting behind ; and Fyser, as might be 
 expected, muttered something confirmatory of his 
 master's statement. 
 
 " It was pitch dark ; and, by George ! the can- 
 dles in the lamps were too short to last us ; and 
 that confounded Fyser forgot to provide himself 
 with fresh ones before he left Sootythorn, and — 
 didn't you, Fyser 1" 
 
 Fyser confessed his negligence.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 205 
 
 "And so, when the lamps were out, it was 
 pitch dark ; so dark that I couldn't tell the road 
 from the ditch — upon my word, I couldn't ; and I 
 couldn't see the leader a bit, I could only feel him 
 with the reins. So I said to Fyser, ' Get over to 
 the front seat, and then crouch down as low as 
 you can, so as to bring the horses' heads up 
 against the sky, and tell me if you can see them.' 
 So Fyser crouched down as I told him ; and when 
 I asked him if he saw anything, he said he did 
 think he saw the leader's ears. Well, damn it, 
 then, if you do see 'em, I said, keep your eye on 
 'em." 
 
 " And were you going fast 1" asked the Doctor. 
 
 " Why, of course we were. We were trotting 
 at the rate of, I should say, about nine miles an 
 hour ; but after a while, Fyser, by hard looking, 
 began to see rather more distinctly — so distinctly 
 that he clearly made out the difference between 
 the horses' heads and the hedges; and he kept 
 calling out * right, sir,' ' left, sir,' ' all right, sir,' 
 and so he kept me straight. If he'd been a sailor 
 he'd have said ' starboard ' and ' port ;' but Fyser 
 isn't a sailor." 
 
 " And did you get safe to Wenderholme '?" 
 
 " Of course we did. Fyser and I always get 
 safe to Wenderholme."
 
 206 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 " I shouldn't recommend you to try that experi- 
 ment hoftens." 
 
 " Well, but you see the advantage of driving 
 tandem. If you've only one horse you know 
 where he is, however dark it is — he's in the 
 shafts, of course, and you know where to find 
 him ; but when you've got a leader you never 
 exactly know where he is, unless you can see 
 him." 
 
 The Doctor didn't see the advantage. 
 
 " Well, well," answered the Colonel, with an 
 uncommonly sly expression, "you've got Nanny 
 Pickering to occupy you, and I haven't. You see 
 you're so dull in that gig of yours that you're 
 obliged to have recourse to female society. I 
 know all about it. I was looking out of window 
 at the Thorn when you entered the town, and Mr 
 Garley was in the room, and he told me. I con- 
 gratulate you. Doctor ; I congratulate you ! 
 They say she's got plenty of tin, and that's the 
 main point. She aint exactly handsome, and she 
 don't look particularly young ; but I suppose a 
 sensible man like you is not affected by these 
 considerations." 
 
 Notwithstanding the loud rumble of the gigan- 
 tic wheels, the Colonel was aware of an audible 
 giggle on the back seat.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 207 
 
 "Fyser/' he said, *'I heard you laughing; 
 What were you laughing at V 
 
 Fyser turned round, his face purged of risi- 
 bility, and respectfully touched his hat. '^Beg 
 your pardon, sir." 
 
 "What were we talking about V 
 
 " Didn't distinctly hear, sir ; but I believe you 
 was talkin' about tandem-drivin\" 
 
 Mr Fyser, who had lost nothing of the allusion 
 to Nanny Pickering, now listened still more 
 attentively, and missed nothing of what followed. 
 
 " You'll perhaps believe me," said the Doctor, 
 " when I say that I've no intention of marrying 
 Nanny Pickering, if I tell you that she hasn't a 
 penny in the world, and that her name's down 
 on Lady Helena Stanburne's blanket-list for this 
 Christmas." 
 
 " Then I do believe you. Doctor ; but people 
 say she's a rich woman. You know better, of 
 course ; you're the best possible authority, you 
 know the lady so very intimately." 
 
 The reader will have gathered from this speci- 
 men of Colonel Stanburne's conversation that he 
 was a pleasant and lively companion; but if he 
 is rather hasty in forming his opinion of people 
 on a first acquaintance, he may also infer that 
 the Colonel was a man of somewhat frivolous
 
 208 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 character and very moderate intellectual powers. 
 He certainly was not a genius, but lie conveyed 
 the impression of being less intelligent and less 
 capable of serious thought than nature had made 
 him. His predominant characteristic was simple 
 good-nature, and he possessed also, notwithstand- 
 ing a sort of swagger in his manner, an unusual 
 share of genuine intellectual humility, that made 
 him contented to pass for a less able and less 
 informed man than he really was. The Doctor's 
 perception of character was too acute to allow 
 him to judge Colonel Stanburne on the strength 
 of a superficial acquaintance, and he clearly per- 
 ceived that his friend was in the habit of wear- 
 ing, as it were, his lighter nature outside. Some 
 ponderous Philistines in Sootythorn, who had 
 been brought into occasional contact with the 
 Colonel, and who confounded gravity of man- 
 ner with mental capacity, had settled it amongst 
 themselves that he had no brains ; but as the 
 most intelligent of quadrupeds is at the same 
 time the most lively, the most playful, the most 
 good-natured, and the most affectionate, — so 
 amongst human beings it does not always follow 
 that a man is empty because he is lively and 
 amusing, and seems merry and careless, and says 
 and does some foolish things.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 209 
 
 *' But I should advise you to get mawid," "^ 
 continued the Colonel ; " when a fellah's mawid, 
 he finds out how expensive it is ! Now there's 
 my wife, a good quiet body, that hardly eats any- 
 thing but a thin slice o' bread and butter, and yet 
 I don't hesitate to say that (so far as mere cost, 
 you know, is concerned) I'd rather undertake to 
 keep ten fellahs like Fyser here, who can eat a 
 leg o' mutton — I would indeed." 
 
 The Doctor replied that he knew some single 
 ladies who lived very handsomely on wonderfully 
 moderate incomes, and that he didn't think, on 
 the whole, women were so expensive in their 
 habits as men. 
 
 " Of course they aint, so long as they're single. 
 If my wife had been an old maid, she'd have lived 
 on thwee hundwed a-year, and I dare say kept a 
 cawidge and pair on it, and subscwibed to chawi- 
 ties, and cut a most respectable figure ; but when 
 they get mawid, it's quite a different thing. Their 
 ideas enlarge. Doctor — their ideas enlarge. A ma- 
 wid lady don't seem to spend more upon herse^ 
 than a single one does — and I must say that in all 
 
 * As we give the Doctor's hoftens and the little peculiarities of 
 the Ogdens and others, there is no reason why we should be more 
 indulgent to the Colonel. He never attained to the pronunciation 
 of the letter r — at least, in English — but by dint of much perse- 
 verance he ultimately conquered that difficulty in French. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 210 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 that relates to her own personal expenditure my 
 wife is moderate, most moderate ; but what I 
 mean is, Doctor, that when a man's mawid, the 
 general expenses of his establishment seem to 
 mount so. When I was a bachelor I used to dine 
 with a mutton-chop and a bottle o' stout, and 
 perhaps a bit of cheese and a potato — and so I 
 daresay my wife would if she were a single wo- 
 man ; but when we're together as man and wife, 
 there is a sort of respect due from me to her lady- 
 ship, and from her ladyship to her husband, and 
 so we sit down to a real dinner every day, whether 
 we've an appetite or not. We haven't got a man- 
 cook, but we've got two wonderfully big women- 
 cooks, and they look so strong and so red and so 
 very determined, that, by George ! my wife funks 
 them — she does indeed. She's a great deal more 
 afraid of those two blessed females than I ever 
 was of my schoolmasters; and they cook and 
 they cook, and do just whatever they please. 
 And it's not only these women, but it's the num- 
 ber of other women there are about the house, 
 that cost money. It's quite astonishing, Doctor, 
 how they do increase and multiply. I believe 
 they breed, and have a special faculty for coming 
 rapidly to maturity, like mushrooms. I'm always 
 meeting some new face on the stairs, and some-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 211 
 
 times very pretty faces too, let me tell you, for 
 my wife aint in the least jealous, and she likes to 
 have good-looking people about the house. And 
 then I say, ' Helena, my love, have you been dis- 
 charging one of the women V and she looks quite 
 surprised, and says she's discharged nobody, and 
 asks why I ask. Then I say, ' Because I see weVe 
 got a new servant ; ' and then she demonstrates 
 to me in a manner altogether irrefragable that an 
 additional hand was absolutely necessary in some 
 department or other. How many servants do 
 you keep. Doctor?" 
 
 '" I keep an old woman, and a boy for the 
 stable." 
 
 "Well, that's just a nice little establishment. 
 Have you got a copper coal-scuttle 1 " 
 
 The Doctor was a little surprised at this ques- 
 tion ; but, as it happened, he did possess a copper 
 coal-scuttle, and said so. 
 
 " And IVe no doubt your coal-scuttle is per- 
 fectly bright and clean. But when my wife pur- 
 chased a copper coal-scuttle, about twelve months 
 ago, there wasn't a single creature in the whole 
 house that would clean it. The two fat cooks 
 said they couldn't cook it, and cooking was their 
 business. The scullery-maids said it wasn't a 
 pan. The butler said it wasn't silver, and so
 
 212 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 didn't come in under his department ; and the 
 grooms said as it didn t belong to horses it was 
 no concern of theirs. The thing never got cleaned 
 at all, and began to look so beastly that, by George ! 
 an idea struck me, and I had it electroplated, and 
 sent it into the plate-closet to be cleaned ; but the 
 butler wouldn't touch it, and so he left the house, 
 or, as he expressed it, 'sent in his resignation/ 
 So I had the coal-scuttle wrapped up in silver- 
 paper, and put it into the plate-closet, where the 
 new butler found it, and accepted it as a fait 
 accompli. But he only lets us use it on state 
 occasions." 
 
 By this time they reached Eigton, a little dull 
 village quite out of the manufacturing district, 
 and where it was the Colonel's custom to bait. 
 The remainder of the drive was in summer ex- 
 ceedingly beautiful ; but as it passed through a 
 rich agricultural country, whose beauty depended 
 chiefly on luxuriant vegetation, the present time 
 of the year was not favourable to it. All this 
 region had a great reputation for beauty amongst 
 the inhabitants of the manufacturing towns, and 
 no doubt fully deserved it; but it is probable 
 that their faculties of appreciation w^ere greatly 
 sharpened by the stimulus of contrast. To get 
 fairly clear of factory-smoke, to be in the peaceful
 
 WENDERHOLME. 213 
 
 quiet country, and see no buildings but pictu- 
 resque farms, was a definite happiness to many 
 an inhabitant of Sootythorn. There were fine 
 bits of scenery in the manufacturing district 
 itself — picturesque glens and gorges, deep ra- 
 vines with hidden rivulets, and stretches of pur- 
 ple moorland; but all this scenery lacked one 
 quality — amenity. Now the scenery from Eig- 
 ton to Wenderholme had this quality in a very 
 high degree indeed, and it was instantly felt by 
 every one who came from the manufacturing 
 district, though not so perceptible by travellers 
 from the south of England. The Sootythorn 
 people felt a soothing" influence on the nervous 
 system when they drove through this beautiflil 
 land; their minds relaxed and were relieved of 
 pressing cares, and they here fell into a state 
 very rare indeed with them — a state of semi- 
 poetical reverie. 
 
 The reader is already aware that Wenderholme 
 is situated on the opposite side of the hills which 
 separate Shayton from this favoured region, and 
 close to the foot of them. Great alterations 
 have been made in the house since the date at 
 which our story begins, and therefore we will 
 not describe it as it exists at present, but as it 
 existed when the Colonel drove up the avenue
 
 214 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 with the Doctor at his side, and the faithful 
 Fyser jumped up behind after opening the modest 
 green gate. A large rambling house, begun in 
 the reign of Queen Elizabeth, but grievously 
 modernised under that of King George the Third, 
 it formed three sides of a quadrangle, and, as is 
 usual in that arrangement of a mansion, had a 
 great hall in the middle, and the principal recep- 
 tion-rooms on each side on the ground-floor. 
 The house was three storeys high, and there were 
 great numbers of bedrooms. An arched porch 
 in the centre, preceded by a flight of steps, gave 
 entrance at once to the hall ; and over the porch 
 was a projection of the same breadth, continued 
 up to the roof, and terminated in a narrow gable. 
 This had been originally the centre of enrich- 
 ment, and there had been some good sculpture 
 and curious windows that went all round the 
 projection, and carried it entirely upon their 
 muUions ; but the moderniser had been at work 
 and inserted simple sash-windows, which pro- 
 duced a deplorable effect. The same owner, 
 John Stanburne's grandfather, had ruthlessly 
 carried out that piece of Vandalism over the 
 whole front of the mansion, and, except what 
 architects call a string-course (which was still 
 traceable here and there), had effaced every
 
 WENDERHOLME. 215 
 
 feature that gave expression to the original 
 design of the Elizabethan builder. 
 
 The entrance-hall was a fine room fifty feet 
 long, and as high as two of the ordinary storeys 
 in the mansion. It had, no doubt, been a 
 splendid specimen of the Elizabethan hall; but 
 the moderniser had been hard at work here also, 
 and had put himself to heavy expense in order 
 to give it the aspect of a thoroughly modern 
 interior. The wainscot which had once adorned 
 the walls, and which had been remarkable for its 
 rich and fanciful carving, the vast and imagi- 
 native tapestries, the heraldic blazonries in the 
 jiaming oriels, the gallery for the musicians on 
 :wisted pillars of sculptured chestnut, — all these 
 glories had been ruthlessly swept away. The 
 tapestries had been used as carpets, and worn 
 out; the wainscot had been made into kitchen 
 cupboards, and painted lead-colour; and the 
 magnificent windows had been thrown down on 
 the floor of a garret, where they had been trodden 
 under foot and crushed into a thousand frag- 
 ments : '''' and in place of these things, which the 
 narrow taste of the eighteenth century had con- 
 
 * Some of the most magnificent specimens of thirteenth-century 
 glass in the world, the windows of the clerestory of the choir at 
 Sens, were removed and put into a garret, and trodden to pieces 
 in this way.
 
 216 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 demned as barbarous, and destroyed without 
 either hesitation or regret, it had substituted — 
 what? — absolute emptiness and negation; for 
 the heraldic oriels, sash-windows of the com- 
 monest glass ; for the tapestry and carving, a 
 bare wall of yellow - washed plaster ; for the 
 carved beams of the roof, a blank area of white- 
 wash. The only attempt at decoration was a 
 cornice in plaster - of - Paris, with meagre little 
 festoons sticking on the wall — and a design in Ihe 
 middle of the ceiling, in which the little inde- 
 scribable thino^s that the festoons were made of 
 were formed into four loops, with four straight 
 ends between them, pointing to the corners of 
 the room. The author of all this ravage had had 
 his portrait taken at full length, and hung in this 
 hall of his ancestors. He was in hunting cos- 
 tume, and looked down upon his handiwork with 
 an air of perfect satisfaction. He had lived and 
 died in the firm belief that he was spending his 
 money usefully, and earning the gratitude of his 
 descendants. Yet if the house had been left to 
 rats, and spiders, and bats, and owls, for the 
 space of a hundred years, they would have in- 
 jured it less than this human being injured it — 
 this respected proprietor and gentleman. It is 
 not wonderful that men should prefer the beauti-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 2l7 
 
 ful to the picturesque — tliat they should prefer the 
 art of the days of Pericles to the art of the days 
 of Elizabeth ; but the marvel is that carved oak 
 and tapestry should have been so offensive that 
 they were willing to pay money to be rid of 
 them, and considered mere plaster and white- 
 wash an improvement in art and an advance in 
 civilisation. This condition of mind, so preva- 
 lent at the close of the eighteenth century and 
 the beginning of this, is by us almost inconceiv- 
 able, and the only explanation of it which seems 
 in any degree satisfactory or sufficient is perhaps 
 this : Such men as Colonel Stanburne's grand- 
 father may have regarded the decorations of the 
 sixteenth century as we regard its costume — that 
 is to say, as being curious and picturesque, but 
 not suitable for their own use; and when they 
 destroyed or removed them, it may have been, in 
 their feeling, not so much an artistic improve- 
 ment as an act in obedience to the dictates of 
 simple common-sense. Her Majesty's state-car- 
 riage is very elaborate and magnificent, but one 
 would not care to drive about London in such a 
 carriage as that; and Wenderholme in its ancient 
 splendour may have seemed to Mr Eeginald 
 Stanburne a house no more fitted for modern 
 habitation than a gilded coach seems to us fitted
 
 218 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 for modern use. In a word, to preserve these 
 splendours of the past was, it may be presumed, 
 in his eyes a violation of the fitness of things. 
 And we must admit that if his taste had not 
 been either elegant or artistic, it had been at 
 least consistent. He had made his house as 
 much as possible a thing of his own time, and 
 suitable for his own habitation. When he walked 
 through his hall after his alterations, there was 
 no incongruity between the house and the man, 
 between the figure and the background, between 
 such costume as this and such architecture as 
 that. Whereas it is to be feared that in our 
 present love of Elizabethan interiors and Gothic 
 interiors, or at least in our perfect willingness 
 to inhabit them, there is something inconsistent 
 with our personal appearance, if not with our 
 habits of life. 
 
 The bedroom assigned to the Doctor was as 
 comfortable and as commonplace as his own bed- 
 room at Shayton ; and if it had been in his 
 nature to be afraid of spiritual visitants, there 
 was nothing here to excite his imagination. 
 There had been half-a-dozen magnificent old 
 carved beds at Wenderholme, but Mr Reginald 
 Stanburne had consigned them all to a lumber- 
 room, where they still lay in a confused heap.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 219 
 
 and now all the rooms had comfortable maho- 
 gany four - posters, with curtains of various 
 colours. Mr Eeginald had attempted to follow 
 the well - known system, very convenient in 
 smaller houses, of distinguishing the bedrooms 
 by a chromatic nomenclature. There was the 
 blue room, the crimson room, the yellow room, 
 and so on ; but there were so many bedrooms 
 at Wenderholme that it had been impossible, 
 amongst the primary and secondary colours, to 
 find a separate name for each of them, and Mr 
 Eeginald had been compelled to seek supple- 
 mentary designations. Thus the room that the 
 Doctor occupied was called Mr Pigott's room — 
 and a tradition lingered in the household that 
 Mr Pigott had been a " London gentleman," who 
 was a friend of Mr Eeginald, but that was all 
 that was known about him, and perhaps it would 
 not have been easy for the most persevering and 
 acute inquirer to ascertain anything further. In 
 like manner several other chambers were called 
 after friends of the family who had in former 
 times inhabited them. 
 
 The Doctor found Lady Helena in the draw- 
 ing-room ; a little woman, who sometimes looked 
 very pretty, and sometimes exceedingly plain, 
 according to the condition of her health and tern-
 
 220 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 per, the state of the weather, and a hundred 
 things beside. Hence there were the most vari- 
 ous and contradictory opinions about her ; the 
 only approach to unanimity being amongst cer- 
 tain elderly ladies who had formed the project of 
 being mother-in-law to John Stanburne, and 
 failed in that design. The Doctor was not much 
 accustomed to ladyships — they did not come often 
 in his way; indeed, if the truth must be told, 
 Lady Helena was the only specimen of the kind 
 he had ever enjoyed the opportunity of studying, 
 and he had been rather surprised, on one or two 
 preceding visits to Wenderholme, to find that she 
 behaved so nicely. But there are ladyships and 
 ladyships, and the Doctor had been fortunate in 
 the example which chance had thrown in his 
 way. For instance, if he had known Lady 
 Eleanor Griffin, who lived about ten miles from 
 Wenderholme, and came there occasionally to 
 spend the day, the Doctor would have formed 
 quite a different opinion of ladyships in general, 
 so much do our impressions of whole classes 
 depend upon the individual members of them 
 who are personally known to us. 
 
 Lady Helena asked the Doctor a good many 
 questions about Shay ton, which it is quite un- 
 necessary to report here, because the answers to
 
 WENDERHOLME. 221 
 
 them would convey no information to the reader 
 which he does not already possess. Her ladyship 
 inquired very minutely about the clergyman 
 there, and whether the Doctor "liked" him. 
 Now the verb " to like/' when applied to a 
 clergyman, is used in a special sense. Every- 
 body knows that to like a clergyman and to like 
 gooseberry -pie are very different things ; for no- 
 body in England eats clergyman, though the 
 natives of New Zealand are said to appreciate 
 cold roast missionary. But there is yet another 
 distinction — there is a distinction between liking 
 a clergyman and liking a layman. If you say 
 you like a clergyman, it is understood that it 
 gives you a peculiar pleasure to hear him preach, 
 and that you experience feelings of gratification 
 when he reads prayers. And in this sense could 
 Dr Bardly say that he liked the reverend incum- 
 bent of his parish ? certainly not ; so he seemed 
 to hesitate a little — and if he said ''yes'' he said 
 it as if he meant no, or a sort of vague, neutral 
 answer, neither negative nor affirmative. 
 
 "I mean," said Lady Helena, " do you like 
 him as a preacher ? " 
 
 " Upon my word, it's so long since I heard him 
 preach that I cannot give an opinion." 
 
 " Oh ! I thought you attended his church.
 
 222 WENDEEHOLME. 
 
 There are other churches in Shayton, I sup- 
 pose/' 
 
 "No, there's only one," said the imprudent 
 and impolitic doctor. 
 
 Lady Helena began to tliink he was some sort 
 of a Dissenter. She had heard of Dissenters — she 
 knew that such people existed — but she had 
 never been brought into contact with one, and it 
 made her feel rather queer. She felt strongly 
 tempted to ask what place of worship this man 
 did attend, since by his own confession he never 
 went to his parish church ; but curiosity, and 
 the natural female tendency to be an inquisitor, 
 were kept in check by politeness, and also, per- 
 haps, a little restrained by the perfectly fearless 
 aspect of the Doctor's face. If he had seemed 
 in the least alarmed or apologetic, her ladyship 
 would probably have assumed the functions of 
 the inquisitor at once ; but he looked so cool, and 
 so very capable of a prolonged and vigorous 
 resistance, that Lady Helena retired. When she 
 began to talk about Mrs Prigley, the Doctor 
 knew that she was already in full retreat. 
 
 A little relieved, perhaps (for it is always dis- 
 agreeable to quarrel with one's hostess, even 
 though one has no occasion to be afraid of her) , 
 the Doctor gladly told Lady Helena all about
 
 WENDEEHOLME. 223 
 
 Mrs Prigley, and even narrated the anecdote 
 about the hole in the carpet, and its consequences 
 to Mrs Ogden, which put Lady Helena into good 
 humour, for nothing is more amusing to rich 
 people than the ludicrous consequences of a cer- 
 tain kind of poverty. The sense of a pleasant 
 contrast, all in their own favour, is delightful to 
 them ; and when the Doctor had told this anec- 
 dote. Lady Helena became agreeably aware that 
 she had carpets, and that her carpets had no 
 holes in them — two facts of which use and cus- 
 tom had made her wholly unconscious. Her eye 
 wandered with pleasure over the broad soft sur- 
 face of dark pomegranate colour, with its large 
 white and red flowers and its nondescript orna- 
 ments of imitated gold, and the ground seemed 
 richer, and the flowers seemed whiter and redder, 
 because poor Mrs Prigley's carpets were in a 
 condition so lamentably different. 
 
 " Mrs Prigley's a relation of yours. Lady Helena, 
 — rather a near relation — perhaps you are not 
 aware of it ? " 
 
 Lady Helena looked, and was, very much sur- 
 prised. "A relation of mine, Dr Bardly! you 
 must be mistaken. I believe I know the names 
 of all my relations ! " 
 
 *^ I mean a relation of your husband — of Colonel
 
 224 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 Stanburne. Mrs Prigley was a Miss Stanburne 
 of By field, and her father was brother to Colonel 
 Stanburne's father, and was born in this house." 
 
 " That's quite a near relationship indeed," said 
 Lady Helena ; " I wonder I never heard of it. 
 John never spoke to me about Mrs Prigley." 
 
 "There was a quarrel between Colonel Stan- 
 burne's father and his uncle, and there has been 
 no intercourse between their families since. I 
 daresay the Colonel does not even know how 
 many cousins he had on that side, or what mar- 
 riages they made." On this the Colonel came in. 
 
 "John, dear, Dr Bardly has just told me that 
 we have some cousins at Shay ton that I knew 
 nothing about. It's the clergyman and his wife, 
 and their name is Prig — Prig " 
 
 " Prigley," suggested the Doctor. 
 
 " Yes, Prigley; isn't it curious, John 1 did you 
 know about them ? " 
 
 "Not very accurately. I knew one of my 
 cousins had married a clergyman somewhere in 
 that neighbourhood, but was not aware that he 
 was the incumbent of Shayton. I don't know 
 my cousins at all. There was a lawsuit between 
 their father and mine, and the two branches have 
 never eaten salt together since. I haven't the 
 least ill-will to any of them, but there's an awk-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 225 
 
 wardness in making a first step — one never can 
 tell how it may be received. What do you say, 
 Doctor 1 How would Mrs Prig — Prigley and her 
 husband receive me if I were to go and call upon 
 them ? " 
 
 " They'd give you cake and wine." 
 
 *' Would they really, now ? Then TU go and 
 call upon them. I like cake and wine — always 
 liked cake and wine." 
 
 The ^ conversation about the Prigleys did not 
 end here. The Doctor was well aware that it 
 would be agreeable to Mrs Prigley to visit at 
 Wenderholme, and be received there as a rela- 
 tion ; and he also knew that the good-nature of 
 the Colonel and Lady Helena might be relied 
 upon to make such intercourse perfectly safe and 
 pleasant. So he made the most of the opportu- 
 nity, and that so successfully, that by the time 
 dinner was announced both John Stanburne and 
 his wife had promised to drive over some day to 
 Shayton from Sootythorn, and lunch with the 
 Doctor, and call at the parsonage before leaving. 
 
 Colonel Stanburne's conversation was not al- 
 ways very profound, but his dinners were never 
 dull, for he ivould talk, and make other people 
 talk too. He solemnly warned the Doctor not 
 to allow himself to be entrapped into giving 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 226 WENDEEHOLME. 
 
 gratuitous medical advice to Lady Helena. " She 
 thinks she's got fifteen diseases, she does, upon 
 my word ; and she's a sort of notion that because 
 you're the regimental doctor, she has a claim on 
 you for gratuitous counsel and assistance. Now 
 I consider that I have such a claim — if a private 
 has it, surely a colonel has it too — and when we 
 come up for our first training I shall expect you 
 to look at my tongue, and feel my pulse, and 
 physic me as a militiaman, at her Majesty's ex- 
 pense. But it is by no means so clear to me that 
 my wife has any right to gratuitous doctoring, 
 and mind she doesn't extort it from you. She's 
 a regular screw, my wife is; and she loses no 
 opportunity of obtaining benefits for nothing." 
 Then he rattled on with a hundred anecdotes 
 about ladies and doctors, in which there was just 
 enough truth to give a pretext for his audacious 
 exaggerations. 
 
 When they returned to the drawing-room, the 
 Colonel made Lady Helena sing ; and she sang 
 well. The Doctor, like many inhabitants of 
 Shayton, had a very good ear, and greatly en- 
 joyed music. Lady Helena had seldom found so 
 attentive a listener ; he sought old favourites of 
 his in her collection of songs, and begged her to 
 sing them one after another. It seemed as if he
 
 WENDERHOLME. 227 
 
 never would be tired of listening. Her ladyship 
 felt pleased and flattered, and sang with wonder- 
 ful energy and feeling. The Doctor, though in 
 his innocence he thought only of the pure pleasure 
 her music gave him, could have chosen no better 
 means of inOTatiatinor himself in her favour ; and 
 if there had not, unhappily, been that dark and 
 dubious question about church attendance, which 
 made her ladyship look upon him as a sort of 
 Dissenter, or worse, the Doctor would that night 
 have entered into relations of quite frank and 
 cordial friendship with Lady Helena. English 
 ladies are very kind and forgiving on many 
 points. A man may be notoriously immoral, or 
 a gambler, or a drinker, yet if he be well .off 
 they will kindly ignore and pass over these little 
 defects; but the unpardonable sin is failure in 
 church attendance, and they will not pass over 
 that. Lady Helena, in her character of inquisi- 
 tor, had discovered this symptom of heresy, and 
 would have been delighted to find a moral screw 
 of some kind by which the culpable Doctor might 
 be driven churchwards. If the law had permitted 
 it, I have no doubt that she would have applied 
 material screws, and put the Doctor s thumbs into 
 thumb-screws, or roasted him gently before a slow 
 fire, or at least sent him to church; between two
 
 228 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 policemen with staves ; but as these means were 
 beyond her power, she must wait until the moral 
 screw could be found. A good practical means, 
 which she had resorted to in several instances 
 with poor people, had been to deprive them of 
 their means of subsistence ; and all men and 
 women whom her ladyship's little arm could 
 reach knew that they must go to church or 
 leave their situations ; so they attended with a 
 regularity which, though exemplary in the eyes 
 of men, could scarcely, one would think (consider- 
 ing the motive), be acceptable to Heaven. But 
 Lady Helena acted in this less from a desire to 
 please God than from the instinct of domination, 
 which, in her character of spiritual ruler, natu- 
 rally exercised itself on this point. It seldom 
 happens that the master of a house is the spirit- 
 ual ruler of it ; he is the temporal power, not the 
 spiritual. Colonel Stanburne felt and knew that 
 he had no spiritual power. 
 
 This matter of the Doctor's laxness as a church- 
 goer had been rankling in Lady Helena's mind 
 all the time she had been singing, and when she 
 closed the piano she was ready for an attack. If 
 the Doctor had been shivering blanketless in a 
 bivouac, and she had had the power of giving 
 him a blanket or withholding it, she would have
 
 WENDERHOLME. 229 
 
 offered it on condition he promised to go to church, 
 and she would have withheld it if he had refused 
 compliance. But the Doctor had blankets of his 
 own, and so could not be touched through a de- 
 privation of blanket. But she might deprive the 
 old woman he had recommended, and at the same 
 time give the Doctor a lesson, indirectly. 
 
 " I forgot to ask you, Dr Bardly, whether the 
 old woman you recommended for a blanket was a 
 church woman, and regular in her attendance.'' 
 
 " Two questions very easily answered," replied 
 that audacious and unhesitating Doctor ; '' she is 
 a Wesleyan Methodist, and irregular in her at- 
 tendance." 
 
 "Then I'm — very sorry — Dr Bardly, but I 
 cannot give her a blanket, as I had promised. 
 I can only give them to our — own people, you 
 know ; and I make it essential that they should 
 be good church -people — I mean, very regular 
 church-people." 
 
 " Very well ; I'll give her a blanket myself" 
 
 The opportunity was not to be neglected, and 
 her ladyship fired her gun. She had the less 
 hesitation in doing so, that it seemed monstrously 
 presumptuous in a medical man to give blankets 
 at all 1 What right had he to usurp the especial 
 prerogative of great ladies ? And then to give a
 
 230 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 blanket to this very woman whom, for good rea-^ 
 sons, her ladyship had condemned to a state of 
 blanketlessness ! 
 
 " I quite understand," she said, with much 
 severity of tone, " that Dr Bardly, who never 
 attends public worship himself, should have a 
 fellow-feeling with those who are equally neg- 
 ligent." 
 
 It is a hard task to fight a woman in the 
 presence of her husband, who is at the same 
 time one's friend. The Doctor thought, " would 
 the woman have me offer premiums on hypocrisy 
 as she does ?" but he did not say so, because there 
 was poor John Stanburne at the other end of the 
 hearthrug in a state of much uncomfortableness. 
 So the Doctor said nothing at all, and the silence 
 became perfectly distressing. John Stanburne, 
 whose good -nature and hospitality were both 
 suffering grievously, at last bethought him of an 
 outlet. 
 
 " Why, hang it, Helena!" he said, ''oi course he 
 gives her blankets ; he'll give her a bed soon, or 
 half o' one — he's in love with her. Everybody at 
 Sootythorn says he's goin' to mawy her. You 
 oughtn't to look so sour at him, Helena — you 
 oughtn't, indeed ; you should congwatulate him 
 on his appwoaching nuptials, you should.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 231 
 
 Her ladyship could not resist this. " Why, she's 
 an old woman, and a pauper, and her name's 
 Nanny Pickering ! " 
 
 "She's not a girl, that's true; but they say 
 she's rich, and that her name will be Bardly in 
 a month or six weeks." 
 
 The Doctor vainly endeavoured to defend him- 
 self. John Stanburne overwhelmed him with 
 evidence till the victim half believed he was 
 going to marry Nanny Pickering. Lady Helena 
 laughed, and laid aside the black mask and the 
 black inquisitorial robes, and, thanks to John 
 Stanburne's nonsense, went to bed in a more 
 liberal frame of mind. Perhaps this may have 
 been due in part to the fact that she had relieved 
 her conscience by her bitter little speech.
 
 CHAPTER X, 
 
 "I SAY, Doctor," said John Stanburne, when 
 her ladyship was fairly out of hearing, and half- 
 way in her ascent of the great staircase — "I 
 say, Doctor, I hope you don't mind what Hel- 
 ena says about you not being — you know some 
 women are so — indeed I do believe all women 
 are so. They seem laudably anxious to keep us 
 all in the right path, but perhaps they're just a 
 little too anxious." 
 
 The Doctor, who had fully appreciated the 
 kind motive which had suggested the Colonel's 
 badinage about Nanny Pickering, said he believ- 
 ed Lady Helena meant to do right, but and 
 
 then he hesitated. 
 
 " But you don't see the sense of bribing poor 
 people into sham piety with blankets." 
 
 " Well, no, I don't." 
 
 " Neither do I. Doctor. There's a Koman
 
 WENDEEHOLME. 233 
 
 Catholic family about three miles off, and the 
 lady there gives premiums on going to mass, and 
 still higher premiums on confession. She has 
 won a great many converts ; and there's a strong 
 antagonism between her and Helena — a most ex- 
 pensive warfare it is too, I assure you, this war- 
 fare for souls. However, it's an ill wind that 
 blows nobody good, and the poor profit by it, 
 which is a consolation, only it makes them sneaks 
 — it makes them sneaks and hypocrites. Doctor, 
 come into my study, will you, and let's have a 
 weed ? " 
 
 The " study," as John Stanburne called it, was 
 a cosy little room, with oak wainscot that his 
 grandfather had painted white. It contained a 
 small bookcase, and the bookcase contained a 
 good many novels, some books of poetry, a trea- 
 tise on dog-breaking, a treatise on driving, and a 
 treatise on fishing. The novels were very well 
 selected, and so was the poetry ; and John Stan- 
 burne had read all these books, many of them 
 over and over again. Such literary education 
 as he possessed had been mainly got out of that 
 bookcase ; and though he had no claim to erudi- 
 tion, a man's head might be worse furnished than 
 with such furniture as that. There was a splen- 
 did library at Wenderholme — a big room lined
 
 234 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 with the backs of books as the other rooms were 
 lined with paper or wainscot ; and when Stan- 
 burne wanted to know something he went there, 
 and disturbed his ponderous histories and ency- 
 clopaedias ; but he used the little bookcase more 
 than the big library. He could not read either 
 Latin or Greek. Few men can read Latin and 
 Greek, and of the few who can, still fewer do 
 read them ; but his French was very much above 
 the usual average of English French — that is, he 
 spoke fluently, and would no doubt have spoken 
 correctly if only he could have mastered the con- 
 jugations and genders, and imitated the peculiar 
 Gallic sounds. He had been taught French in 
 his childhood by a German governess — for his 
 mother was anxious that he should learn the best 
 pronunciation, and therefore took care to engage 
 a foreigner — so that when Stanburne went to 
 Paris, the people were exceedingly puzzled, for he 
 was visibly and unmistakably an Englishman, 
 yet he spoke French with an accent so wonder- 
 fully German, that the evidence of the ears con- 
 tradicted the testimony of the eye. But Mrs Stan- 
 burne was perfectly satisfied ; he spoke French as 
 foreigners in general seemed to speak it, and she 
 listened to him with conscious pride. It had been 
 decided that he was to be taught French first,
 
 WENDERHOLME. 235 
 
 and German afterwards, but when the time for 
 beginning the latter had come, the time for the 
 inevitable Latin had come also, and the German 
 governess was dismissed ; so that the only advan- 
 tage John Stanburne had derived from her na- 
 tionality was that fine Teutonic accent with which 
 his French was ever afterwards adorned. 
 
 The society of ladies is always charming, but 
 it must be admitted that there is an hour especi- 
 ally dear to the male sex, and which does not 
 owe its delightfulness to their presence. It is the 
 hour of retirement into the smoking-room. When 
 the lady of the house has a tendency to make the 
 weight of her authority felt (and this will some- 
 times happen), the male members of her faiflily 
 and their guests feel a schoolboyish sense of relief 
 in escaping from it ; but even when she is very 
 genial and pleasant, and when everybody enjoys 
 the light of her countenance, it must also be con- 
 fessed that the timely withdrawal of that light, 
 like the hour of sunset, hath a certain sweetness 
 of its own. There are subjects to be talked about 
 which cannot politely be talked about in her pre- 
 sence. The scholar wants to talk over the subject 
 of his studies ; men of business want to discuss 
 the matters which affect their interests ; and men 
 who are addicted to field-sports, or yachting, or
 
 236 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 other amusements not always so innocent as these, 
 feel the need of that intercommunication which 
 enhances the pleasures of memory and of hope. 
 It is not simply the cigar which is a necessity. 
 It is (when good) a great luxury — perhaps the 
 greatest of luxuries — but it is not a necessity. 
 The necessity which the smoking-room provides 
 for is that of masculine conversation, without 
 which men cease to be truly men, and which, if 
 they cannot have in their own homes, they must 
 seek in the club, or the alehouse, or the cafe, 
 
 " My wife's always very good about letting me 
 sit here, and smoke and talk as long as I like 
 with my friends, after she's gone to bed," said 
 Colonel Stanburne. " You smile because I seem 
 to value a sort of goodness that seems only natu- 
 ral, but that's on account of your old-bachelorish 
 ignorance of womankind. There are married men 
 who no more dare sit an hour with a cigar when 
 their wives are gone to bed than they dare play 
 billiards on Sunday. Now, for instance, I was 
 staying this autumn with, a friend of mine in 
 another county, and about ten o'clock his wife 
 went to bed. He and I wanted to talk over a 
 great many things. We had been old school- 
 fellows, and we had travelled together when we 
 were both bachelors, and we knew lots of men
 
 WENDERHOLME. 237 
 
 that his wife knew nothing about, and each of us 
 wanted to hear all the news that the other had to 
 tell ; so he just ventured, the first night I was 
 there, to ask me into his private study and offer 
 me a cigar. Well, we had scarcely had time to 
 light when his wife's maid knocks at the door 
 and says, ' Please, sir, Missis wishes to see you ; ' 
 so he promised to go, and began to look uncom- 
 fortable, and in five minutes the girl came again, 
 and she came three times in a quarter of an hour. 
 After that came the lady herself, quite angry, and 
 ordered her husband to bed, just as if he had been 
 a little boy; and though he seemed cool, and 
 didn't stir from his chair, it was evident that he 
 was afraid of her, and he solemnly promised, to 
 go in fi\e minutes. I considered the woman was 
 rude to me, too, by George ! — for you know it 
 wasn't exactly polite to do that without a word of 
 apology to me — but she was far too angry to 
 make apologies ; and, indeed, I expected she'd 
 order me to bed too — I did. At the expiration of 
 the five minutes in she bursts again (she had been 
 waiting in the passage — perhaps she may have 
 been listening at the door), and held out her 
 watch without one word. The husband got up 
 like a sheep, and said, ^ Good-night, John,' and 
 she led him away just like that; and I sat
 
 238 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 and smoked by myself, thinking what a pitiable 
 spectacle it was. Now my wife aint like that ; 
 she will have her way about her blankets, but 
 she's reasonable in other respects. She's fast 
 asleep by this time ; she's a topper to sleep, 
 she is — she'll sleep the clock round ; and when 
 I go to bed she just asks what time it is, so I 
 always say eleven o'clock, dear, and it's all right. 
 She believes I go to bed regularly at eleven." 
 
 They sat very happily for two hours, talking 
 about the regiment that was to be. Suddenly, 
 about midnight, a large watch- dog that inhabited 
 a kennel on that side of the house beg^an to bark 
 furiously, and there was a (Ty, as of some woman 
 or child in distress. The Colonel jumped out of 
 his chair, and threw the window open. The two 
 men listened attentively, but it was too dark to 
 see anything. At length Colonel Stanburne said, 
 " Let us go out and look about a little — that was 
 a human cry, wasn't it V So he lighted a lan- 
 tern, and they went. 
 
 There was a thick wood behind the house of 
 Wenderholme, and this wood filled a narrow 
 ravine, in the bottom of which was a little stream, 
 and by the stream a pathway that led up to the 
 open moor. This moor continued without inter- 
 ruption over, a range of v lofty hills, or, to speak
 
 WENDERHOLME. 239 
 
 more strictly, over a sort of plateau or table-land, 
 till it terminated at the enclosed pasture-lands near 
 Shayton. John Stanburne and the Doctor walked 
 first along this pathway. The watch-dog's kennel 
 was close to the path, at a little green wooden 
 gate, where it entered the garden. 
 
 The dog, hearing his master s step, came out of 
 his kennel, much excited with the hope of a tem- 
 porary release from the irksomeness of his cap- 
 tivity; but his master only caressed and spoke 
 to him a little, and passed on. Then he began 
 to talk to the Doctor. The sound of his voice 
 reached the ears of a third person, who came out 
 G)f the wood, and began to follow them on the 
 path. 
 
 The Doctor became aware that they were fol- 
 lo^ved, and they stopped. The Colonel turned his 
 lantern, and the light of it fell full upon the' 
 intruder. 
 
 ..f'Wliy, it's a mere child," said the Colonel. 
 "But . what on earth's the matter with the 
 Doctor r' 
 
 Certainly that eccentric Doctor did behave in a 
 most remarkable manner. He .snatched the lan- 
 tern from the Colonel's hand without one word 
 of apology, and having cast its beams on the 
 child's face, threw it down on the ground, and
 
 240 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 seized the vagrant in his arms. " The Doctor's 
 mad," thought the Colonel, as he picked up the 
 lantern. 
 
 " Why, it's little Jacob ! " cried Dr Bardly. 
 
 But this conveyed nothing to the mind of the 
 Colonel. What did he know about little Jacob 1 
 
 Meanwhile the lad was telling his tale to his 
 friend. Father had beaten him so, and he'd run 
 away. "Please, Doctor, don't send me back 
 again." The child's feet were bare, and icy cold, 
 and covered with blood. His clothes were wet up 
 to the waist. His little dog was with him. 
 
 *' It's a little boy that's a most particular friend 
 of mine," said the Doctor ; " and he's been very 
 ill used. We must take care of him. I must 
 beg a night's lodging for him in the house. 
 
 They took him into the Colonel's study, before 
 the glowing fire. " Now, what's to be done ? " 
 said the Colonel. " Its lucky you're a doctor." 
 
 " Let us undress him and warm him first. We 
 can do everything ourselves. There is a most 
 urgent reason why no domestic should be in- 
 formed of his being here. His existence here 
 must be kept secret. 
 
 The Colonel went to his dressing-room and 
 brought towels. Then he set some water on the 
 fire in a kettle. The Doctor took the wet things
 
 WENDERHOLME. 241 
 
 off, and examined the poor little lacerated feet. 
 He rubbed little Jacob all over with the towels 
 most energetically. The Colonel, whose activity 
 was admirable to witness, fetched a tub from 
 somewhere, and they made arrangements for a 
 warm bath. 
 
 " One person must be told about this," said Dr 
 Bardly, " and that's Lady Helena. Go and tell 
 her now. Ask her to get up and come here, and 
 warn her not to rouse any of the servants." 
 
 Her ladyship made her appearance in a few 
 minutes in a dressing-gown. " Lady Helena," 
 said the Doctor, " you're wanted as a nurse. This 
 child requires great care for the next twenty-four 
 hours, and you must do everything for him with 
 your own hands. Is there a place in the house 
 where he can be lodged out of the way of the 
 servants ? " 
 
 Lady Helena had no boys of her own. She 
 had had one little girl at the beginning of her 
 married life, who had lived, and was now at 
 "VVenderholme, comfortably sleeping in the prettiest 
 of little beds, in a large and healthy nursery in 
 the left wing of the building. She had had two 
 little boys since, but they were both sleeping in 
 Wenderholme churchyard. When she saw little 
 Jacob in his tub, the tears came into her eyes, and 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 242 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 she was ready to be his nurse as long as ever he 
 might have need of her. 
 
 " ril tell yon all about him, Lady Helena, when 
 weVe put him to bed." 
 
 Little Jacob sat in his tub looking at the kind, 
 strange lady, and feeling himself in a state of 
 unrealisable bliss. " You must be very tired and 
 very hungry, my poor child," she said. Little 
 Jacob said he was very hungry, but he didn't feel 
 tired now. He had felt tired in the wood, but 
 he didn't feel tired now in the tub. He looked 
 very nice and very funny in that primitive posi- 
 tion ; and when it was agreed that he had been 
 sufficiently tubbed, and he stood on the hearth- 
 rug like a little Cupid out of a picture. Lady 
 Helena thought she had never seen anything so 
 beautiful. 
 
 Her ladyship was as busy and as kind as she 
 could be. She ordered the Colonel about, and 
 told him where to find the materials for a supper. 
 " But what on earth are we to do for clothes?" 
 said the Colonel ; and he looked exceedingly per- 
 plexed. He went and opened some old wardrobes, 
 and fished out the oddest old-fashioned little suit 
 imaginable — a suit that he had worn himself 
 twenty-five years before — all of light-blue cloth, 
 resplendent with many buttons ; and they aired
 
 WENDERHOLME. 243 
 
 this before the fire, and invested little Jacob there- 
 with, who began to feel quite proud of himself, 
 and to count the buttons with great interest. By 
 the time he had counted them all, his supper was 
 ready ; and considering that his appetite, which 
 on ordinary occasions was by no means a feeble 
 one, had been sharpened by six hours' wandering 
 on the moor, it will readily be imagined that he 
 did justice to that supper. In fact the Doctor 
 had to stop him ; for after eating two immense 
 platefuls of cold beef, he actually asked a third 
 time for pie. Feorach, his dog, also distinguished 
 herself as a beef-eater. 
 
 There was a sanctum of the Colonel's in a very 
 out-of-the-way part of the house, whither it was 
 his custom to retreat occasionally into the utmost 
 possible privacy. There was a theory that when 
 John Stanburne had shut himself in this room he 
 was occupied on matters of business, and was not 
 to be disturbed ; but, if the truth must be told, he 
 retreated here to indulge in a habit he had ac- 
 quired in Spain, that of sleeping in the middle of 
 the day. He did not sleep long — half an hour was 
 all he wanted ; but that half-hour he must have, 
 and if he did not get it he was fit for nothing 
 during the remainder of the day. He was also 
 peculiarly sensitive to noise of all kinds, and had
 
 244 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 therefore chosen this retreat as far as possible 
 from the usually inhabited rooms. It was the 
 last of a series of apartments that were hardly ever 
 used, and which had been arranged for a former 
 dowager. The present dowager, John Stanburne's 
 mother, had preferred a separate house ; and a 
 nice little house had been built for her, about a 
 mile or a mile and a quarter from the Hall, on a 
 site which had been chosen for its great natural 
 beauty. 
 
 In the said sanctum there was a very comfort- 
 able couch or divan, on which the Colonel took 
 his daily siesta. He had acquired another taste 
 on the Continent — he liked wood -fires ; and as 
 he had a forest of his own close to the house, 
 he could indulge this taste to the utmost. The 
 smell of coal, not perceptible to those who burn 
 it habitually in their houses, is exceedingly per- 
 ceptible, and often very offensive, to persons who 
 have accustomed themselves to the more fragrant 
 odour of wood; and there are certain other charms 
 about a wood-fire, especially its cheerfulness when 
 flaming, and its capacity, when treated by any 
 one who understands it, of keeping alive for 
 many hours without attention. The Colonel 
 prided himself on his skill, and managed the 
 fire in his sanctum himself, and he managed it
 
 WENDERHOLME. 245 
 
 SO well that it never went out, even during his 
 absences at Sootythorn and elsewhere.'"' 
 
 " The right place to put the boy to bed in," 
 said the Colonel, " is my sanctum, of course. 
 Nobody goes there, and the room is perfectly 
 aired ; there's always a fire." 
 
 The little party went up-stairs to this mysterious 
 retreat, but when they arrived there the Doctor 
 exclaimed, "You said there was a fire, Colonel, 
 and there isn't even a grate — nothing but a heap 
 of white ashes. The room isn't cold, though." 
 
 The Colonel knelt down and began. to remove 
 ashes from the heap. " I covered this fire," he 
 said, " when I went to Sootythorn this morning, 
 so it's sure to be alive yet." The Doctor gazed 
 in much astonishment. He believed that oxygen 
 was necessary to keep fires lighted, and yet this 
 unscientific Colonel shut all the oxygen out ; and 
 behold ! when he removed the ashes, there were 
 embers which immediately began to glow. The 
 fire-maker added a couple of fresh logs, and in a 
 minute or two there was a bright, merry flame. 
 
 " You are a clever fellow. Colonel," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 * English readers who are accustomed to coal-fires may think 
 this exaggerated, and the more so that wood is supposed to go out 
 even more easily than coal. But the Colonel's way of managing 
 it is very common on the Continent.
 
 246 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 " Possibly, my dear Doctor, but not clever 
 enough to invent that dodge. The first inventor 
 of that was some poor woman, centuries ago, who 
 was too lazy to light her fire every morning, and 
 had neither servant nor wood to keep it alive dur- 
 ing her absences in the daytime. So she found out 
 the use of ashes, which don't extinguish, but 
 prevent wasteful combustion. It was not a rich 
 person who found that out, rely upon it." 
 
 Her ladyship fetched blankets and sheets, and 
 the gentlemen went down-stairs again. 
 
 " What is your name, my child ? " said Lady 
 Helena. 
 
 " Little Jacob." 
 
 " But your other name ? " 
 
 "Ogden." 
 
 His name, therefore, was Jacob Ogden — not 
 aristocratic, decidedly. 
 
 " Where do you live '? " 
 
 " Twistle Farm." 
 
 " And where is Twistle Farm ? " 
 
 " Near Shay ton." 
 
 Her ladyship pushed her interrogations no 
 further for the present, because little Jacob had 
 popped suddenly down on his knees to say 
 his prayers, which both pleased Lady Helena 
 and for the present silenced her.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 247 
 
 Little Jacob being fairly put to bed, female 
 curiosity could not wait till the next day, and she 
 sought out the Doctor, who was still with the 
 Colonel in his study. " I beg to be excused, 
 gentlemen," she said, " for intruding in this room 
 in an unauthorised manner, but I want to know 
 all about that little boy." 
 
 The Doctor told his history very minutely, 
 and the history of his father. Then he added, 
 " I believe the only possible chance of saving his 
 father from killing himself with drinking is to 
 leave him for some time under the impression 
 that the boy, having been driven away by his 
 cruelty, has died from exposure on the moor. 
 This may give him a horror of drinking, *and 
 may effect a permanent cure. There is another 
 thing to be considered, the child's own safety. 
 If we send him back to his father, I will not 
 answer for his life. The father is already in a 
 state of hirritability bordering on insanity — in 
 fact he is partially insane ; and if the child is 
 put under his power before there has been time 
 to work a thorough cure, it is likely that he will 
 beat him frequently and severely — he may even 
 kill him in some paroxysm of rage. If Isaac 
 Ogden knew that the child were here, and claimed 
 him to-morrow, I believe it would be your duty
 
 248 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 not to give him up, and I should urge his uncle 
 to institute legal proceedings to deprive the 
 father of the guardianship. A man in Isaac 
 Ogdens state is not fit to have a child in his 
 power. He has beaten him very terribly already 
 — his body is all bruises; and now if we send 
 him back, he will beat him again for having 
 run away." 
 
 These reasons certainly had great weight, but 
 both the Colonel and Lady Helena foresaw much 
 difficulty in keeping the child at Wenderholme 
 without his presence there becoming immediately 
 known. His disappearance would make a noise, 
 not only at Shayton but at Sooty thorn, and 
 everywhere in the neighbourhood. The relations 
 of the child were in easy circumstances, and a 
 heavy reward would probably be offered, which 
 the servants at Wenderholme Hall could scarcely 
 be expected to resist, still less the villagers in the 
 neighbouring hamlet. It would be necessary to 
 find some very solitary person, living in great 
 obscurity, to whose care little Jacob might be 
 safely confided — at any rate, for a few days. 
 Lady Helena suggested two old women who lived 
 together in a sort of almshouse of hers on the 
 estate, but the Colonel said they were too fond 
 of gossip, and received too many visitors, to be
 
 WENDERHOLME. 249 
 
 trusted. At last the Doctor's countenance sud- 
 denly brightened, and he said that he knew 
 where to hide little Jacob, but where that was he 
 positively refused to tell. All he asked for was, 
 that the child should be kept a close prisoner in 
 the Colonel's sanctum for the next twenty-four 
 hours, and that the Colonel would lend him a 
 horse and gig — not a tandem.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The Doctor had determined to hide little Jacob 
 with Nanny Pickering ; and so the next night, 
 about half-past twelve, he and the Colonel har- 
 nessed a fast-trotting mare, and little Jacob and 
 his dog were put under the apron. They reached 
 Nanny Pickering s cottage at four o'clock in the 
 morning. She was under the impression that 
 the long-dreaded robbers had at length arrived 
 to take her hidden treasures, and refused to un- 
 bar the door. At length the familiar sounds of 
 the Doctor's voice became audible to her, and 
 Nanny let him in. The cottage consisted of two 
 rooms, and little Jacob was lodged in that farthest 
 from the entrance. Here he did not find the 
 luxuries of Wenderholme, and was perhaps at 
 first somewhat unpleasantly impressed by the 
 evident poverty of the place — for children be- 
 come critical in these things at an exceedingly
 
 WENDERHOLME. 251 
 
 early age. However, here for the present he 
 remained, and the Doctor reminded him that if 
 his presence there became known, his father 
 would certainly fetch him. Nanny's cottage and 
 peace were better than Twist] e Farm and the long 
 whip, so our hero reconciled himself to his lot. 
 That lot was rendered much easier to him in a 
 day or two, for the Doctor brought him many 
 consolations — books, and playthings, and tarts, 
 and a pot of preserved ginger. Old Nanny was 
 very kind to him, too ; and as the Doctor had 
 promised handsome pecuniary compensation, she 
 kept Master Jacob in a manner far exceeding the 
 simplicity of her ordinary fare. The continual 
 presence of the faithful little dog was a relief 
 from the tedium of the situation, and Feorach 
 profited by her confinement, as so many other 
 prisoners have done, in an intellectual, or at least 
 educational, sense ; for little Jacob made it his 
 business to teach her so many tricks, that if their 
 imprisonment had lasted many weeks, Feorach 
 would have become the most accomplished dog 
 in Lancashire. 
 
 Now Mr Isaac Ogden, whose wretchedness the 
 reader pities perhaps as much as the Doctor did, 
 continued his researches in a hopeless, discour- 
 aged, and desultory way, and one day came so
 
 252 WENDERHOLME, 
 
 near to a discovery of his son's hiding-place as 
 actually to call at Nanny Pickering's cottage. 
 Nanny was at home, and received Mr Ogden, for 
 whose visit she was very well prepared, with ex- 
 pressions of apparently heartfelt sympathy for his 
 loss; whilst little Jacob, who quite plainly heard 
 his father's voice through the thin wooden par- 
 tition, sat in fear and trembling, but in perfect 
 silence, for which he had been educated by many 
 less serious games of hide-and-seek. Feorach, 
 though her powers of loving were very consider- 
 able, had fortunately concentrated them all on 
 her young master ; and though she was perfectly 
 aware of Mr Ogden's presence in the house, it was 
 not difficult to keep her quiet. Indeed it was not 
 in Mr Ogden's nature to encourage the demon- 
 strations of little dogs ; and Feorach had learned, 
 by the experience of many unpleasant kicks and 
 hard words, that her attentions were not appre- 
 ciated by him. 
 
 A more welcome visitor was Mrs Ogden, who 
 had been admitted into the secret by the Doctor, 
 and who had hitherto approved of his policy of 
 concealment. It pained her to see her son Isaac 
 in the misery of a bereavement which he sup- 
 posed to be eternal ; but the bright hope, which 
 his present conduct quite fully justified, that this
 
 WENDERHOLME. 253 
 
 temporary sorrow and suffering miglit save him 
 from a doom which had else been inevitable, 
 encouraged Mrs Ogden to persevere in the course 
 which the Doctor still urgently recommended. 
 " We aren't sure of having saved him yet," said 
 Dr Bardly ; " we must persevere till his constitu- 
 tion has got past the point of craving for strong 
 drink altogether." 
 
 Matters remained in this state until Christmas 
 Eve. Periodical festivals are highly agreeable in- 
 stitutions for happy people, who have the springs 
 of merriment within them, ready to gush forth on 
 any pretext, or on the strength of simple permis- 
 sion to gush forth ; but it is difficult for a man 
 oppressed by a persistent weight of sorrow to 
 throw it off because the almanac has brought 
 itself to a certain date, and it is precisely at the 
 times of general festivity that such a man feels 
 his burden heaviest. It may be observed also, 
 that as a man, or a society of men, approaches 
 the stage of maturity and reflection, the events of 
 life appear more and more to acquire the power 
 of colouring the whole of existence ; so that the 
 faculty of being merry at appointed times, and 
 its converse, the faculty of weeping at appointed 
 times, both give place to a continual but quiet 
 sadness, from which we never really escape, even
 
 254 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 for an hour, though we may still be capable of a 
 manly fortitude, and retain a certain elasticity, or 
 the appearance of it. In a word, our happiness 
 and misery are no longer alternative and acute, but 
 coexist in a chronic form, so that it has ceased to 
 be natural for men to wear sackcloth and heap 
 ashes on their heads, and sit in the dust in their 
 wretchedness ; and it has also ceased to be natu- 
 ral for them to crown themselves with flowers, 
 and anoint themselves with the oil of gladness, 
 and clothe themselves in the radiance of purple 
 and cloth-of-gold. No hour of life is quite miser- 
 able enough or hopeless enough for the sackcloth 
 and the ashes — no hour of life is brilliant enough 
 for the glorious vesture and the flowery coronal. 
 
 A year before, Isaac Ogden would have wel- 
 comed the Christmas festivities as a legitimate 
 occasion for indulgence in his favourite vice, 
 without much meditation (and in this perhaps 
 he may have resembled some other very regular 
 observers of the festival) on the history of the 
 Founder of Christianity. But as it was no longer 
 his desire to celebrate either this or any other 
 festival of the Church by exposing himself to a 
 temptation which, for him, was the strongest and 
 most dangerous of all temptations — and as the 
 idea of a purely spiritual celebration was an
 
 WENDERHOLME. 255 
 
 idea so utterly foreign to the whole tenor of his 
 thoughts and habits as never even to suggest 
 itself to him — he had felt strongly disposed to 
 shun Christmas altogether, — that is, to escape 
 from the outward and visible Christmas to some 
 place where the days might pass as merely natu- 
 ral days, undistinguished by any sign of national 
 or ecclesiastical commemoration. He had deter- 
 mined, therefore, to go back to Twistle Farm, 
 from which it seemed to him that he had been too 
 long absent, and had announced this intention to 
 the Doctor. But when the Doctor repeated it to 
 Mrs Ogden, she would not hear of any such viola- 
 tion of the customs and traditions of the family. 
 Her sons had always spent Christmas Eve to- 
 gether ; and so long as she lived, she was firmly 
 resolved that they always should. The pertina- 
 city with which a determined woman will uphold 
 a custom that she cherishes is simply irresistible 
 — that is, unless the rebel makes up his mind to 
 incur her perpetual enmity ; and Isaac Ogden 
 was less than ever in a condition of mind either 
 to brave the hostility of his mother or wound her 
 tenderer feelings. So it came to pass that on 
 Christmas Eve he went to Milend to tea. 
 
 Now on the tea-table there were some little 
 cakes, and Mrs Ogden, who had not the remotest
 
 256 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 notion of the sort of delicacy that avoids a sub- 
 ject because it may be painful to somebody pre- 
 sent, and who always simply gave utterance to 
 her thoughts as they came to her, observed that 
 these little cakes were of her own making, and 
 actually added, "They're such as I used makin 
 for little Jacob — he was so fond on 'em/' 
 
 Isaac Ogden's feelings were not very sensitive, 
 and he could bear a great deal ; but he could not 
 bear this. He set down his cup of tea untasted, 
 gazed for a few seconds at the plateful of little 
 cakes, and left the room. 
 
 The Doctor was there, but he said nothing. 
 Jacob Ogden did not feel under any obligation to 
 be so reticent. " Mother," he said, " I think you 
 needn't have mentioned little Jacob — our Isaac 
 cannot bear it ; he kDows no other but what th' 
 little un's dead, and he's as sore as sore." 
 
 This want of delicacy in Mrs Ogden arose from 
 an all but total lack of imagination. She could 
 sympathise with others if she suffered along with 
 them — an expression which might be criticised as 
 tautological, but the reader will understand what 
 is meant by it. If Mrs Ogden had had the tooth- 
 ache, she would have sympathised with the suffer- 
 ings of another person similarly afflicted so long 
 as her own pangs lasted ; but if a drop of creosote
 
 WENDERHOLME. 257 
 
 or other powerful remedy proved efficacious in 
 her own case, and released her from the torturing 
 pain, she would have looked upon her fellow- 
 sufferer as pusillanimous, if after that she con- 
 tinued to exhibit the outward signs of torment. 
 Therefore, as she herself knew that little Jacob 
 was safe at Nanny Pickering's, it was now in- 
 comprehensible bj her that his father should not 
 feel equally at ease about him, though, as a mat- 
 ter of fact, she was perfectly well aware that he 
 supposed the child to be irrecoverably lost. Mrs 
 Ogden, therefore, received her son Jacob's rebuke 
 with unfeigned surprise. She had said nothing 
 to hurt Isaac that she knew of — she "had only 
 said that little Jacob used being fond o' them 
 cakes, and it was quite true." 
 
 Isaac did not return to the little party, and 
 they began to wonder what had become of him. 
 After waiting some time in silence, Mrs Ogden 
 left her place at the tea-tray, and went to a little 
 sitting-room adjoining — a room the men were 
 more accustomed to than any other in the house, 
 and where indeed they did everything but eat and 
 sleep. Mr Ogden had gone there from habit, as 
 his mother expected, and there she found him 
 sitting in a large rocking-chair, and gazing ab- 
 stractedly into the fire. The chair rocked regu- 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 258 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 larly but gently, and its occupant seemed wholly 
 unconscious — not only of its motion, but of every 
 other material circumstance that surrounded him. 
 
 Mrs Ogden laid her hand upon his shoulder, 
 and said, " Isaac, willn't ye come to your tea ? 
 we're all waiting for you." 
 
 The spell was broken, and Ogden suddenly 
 started to his feet. " Give me my hat," he said, 
 " and let me go to my own house. I'm not fit 
 to keep Christmas this year. How is a man to 
 care about tea and cakes when he's murdered his 
 own son '? I'm best by myself ; let me go up to 
 Twistle Farm. D'ye expect me to sing songs at 
 supper, and drink rum-punch 1 " 
 
 " There'll be no songs, and you needn't drink 
 unless you like, but just come and sit with us, 
 my lad — you always used spendin' Christmas Eve 
 at Milend, and Christmas Day too." 
 
 " It signifies nought what I used doin'. Isaac 
 Ogden isn't same as he used to be. He'd have 
 done better, I reckon, if he'd altered a month or 
 two sooner. There'd have been a little lad here 
 then to make Christmas merry for us all." 
 
 " Well, Isaac, I'm very sorry for little Jacob ; 
 but it cannot be helped now, you know, and its 
 no use frettin' so much over it." 
 
 ** Mother," said Isaac Ogden, sternly, " it seems
 
 WENDERHOLME. 259 
 
 to me that you're not likely to spoil your liealth 
 by frettin' over my little lad. You take it very 
 easy it seems to me, and my brother takes it 
 easy too, and so does Dr Bardly — but then Dr 
 Bardly was nothing akin to him. Folk says 
 that grandmothers care more for chilther than 
 their own parents does ; but you go on more 
 like a stepmother nor a grandmother." 
 
 This was hard for Mrs Ogden to bear, and she 
 was strongly tempted to reveal the truth, but she 
 forbore and remained silent. Ogden resumed, — 
 
 "I cannot tell how you could find in your 
 heart to bake them little cakes when th' child 
 isn't here to eat 'em. 
 
 The effort to restrain herself was now almost 
 too much for Mrs Ogden, since it was the fact 
 that she had baked the said little cakes, or others 
 exactly like them, and prepared various other 
 dainties, for the especial enjoyment of Master 
 Jacob, who at that very minute was regaling 
 himself therewith in the privacy of Nanny Pick- 
 ering's cottage. Still she kept silent. 
 
 After another pause, a great paroxysm of 
 passionate regret seized Ogden — one of those 
 paroxysms to which he was subject at intervals, 
 but which in the presence of witnesses he had 
 hitherto been able to contend against or post-
 
 260 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 pone. " Oh, my little lad ! " lie cried aloud, " Oh, 
 my little innocent lad, that I drove away from 
 me to perish ! I'd give all I'm worth to see thee 
 again, little un ! " He suddenly stopped, and as 
 the tears ran down his cheeks, he looked out of 
 the window into the black night. " If I did but 
 know," he said, slowly, and with inexpressible 
 sadness — "mother, mother, if I did but know 
 where his bits o' bones are lying ! " 
 
 It was not possible to witness this misery any 
 longer. All Dr Bardly's solemn injunctions, all 
 drjpad of a possible relapse into the terrible habit, 
 were forgotten. The mother had borne bitter 
 reproaches, but she could not bear this agony of 
 grief. " Isaac," she said, " Isaac, my son, listen 
 to me : thy little lad is alive — he's alive and he's 
 well, Isaac." 
 
 Ogden did not seem to realise or understand 
 this communication. At last he said, "I know 
 what you mean, mother, and I believe it. He's 
 alive in heaven, and he can ail nothing, and 
 want nothing, there." 
 
 " I hope he'll go there when he's an old man, 
 but a good while after we go there ourselves, 
 Isaac." 
 
 A great change spread over Ogden's face, and 
 he began to tremble from head to foot. He laid
 
 WENDERHOLME. 261 
 
 his hand on his mother s arm with a grasp of 
 iron. His eyes dilated, the room swam round 
 him, his heart suspended its action, and in a low 
 hissing whisper, he said, "Mother, have they 
 found him 1 '^ 
 
 " Yes — and he's both safe and well ! " 
 Ogden rushed out of the house, and paced the 
 garden- walk hurriedly from end to end. The 
 intensity of his excitement produced a commo- 
 tion in the brain that needed the counter-stimu- 
 lus of violent physical movement. It seemed as 
 if the roof of his skull must be lifted off, and for 
 a few minutes there was a great crisis of the 
 whole nervous system, to which probably his 
 former habits may have more especially exposed 
 him. When this was over, he came back into 
 the house, feeling unusually weak, but incredibly 
 calm and happy. Mrs Ogden had told the 
 Doctor and Mr Jacob what had passed, and 
 the Doctor without hesitation set off at once for 
 his own house, where he ordered his gig, and 
 drove away rapidly on the Sootythorn road. 
 
 " Mother," said Isaac, when he came in, " give 
 me a cup of tea, will you ? " 
 
 " A glass of brandy would do you more good." 
 "Nay, mother, weve had enough of brandy; 
 it will not do to begin again now."
 
 262 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 He sat down in evident exhaustion and drank 
 the tea slowly, looking rather vacantly before 
 him. Then he laid his head back upon the chair 
 and closed his eyes. The lips moved, and two 
 or three tears ran slowly down the cheeks. At 
 last he started suddenly, and, looking sharply 
 round him, said, "Where is he, where is he, 
 mother '? where is little Jacob, my little lad, my 
 lad, my lad?" 
 
 "Be quiet, Isaac — try to compose yourself a 
 little ; Dr Bardly's gone to fetch him. Hell be 
 with us very soon.'' 
 
 Mr Ogden remained quietly seated for some 
 minutes without speaking, and then, as his mind 
 began to clear after the shock of the great emo- 
 tion it had passed through, he asked who had 
 found his boy, and where they had found him, 
 and when. 
 
 These questions were, of course, somewhat 
 embarrassing to his mother, and she would pro- 
 bably have sheltered herself behind some clumsy 
 invention, but her son Jacob interposed. 
 
 "The fact is, Isaac, the loss of your little un 
 seemed to be doin' you such a power o' good 
 'at it seemed a pity to spoil it by tellin' you. 
 And it's my opinion as mother's let th' cat out 
 o' th' bag three week too soon as it is."
 
 WENDERHOLME. 263 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me/' said Isaac, " that 
 you knew the child was found, and hid him from 
 his own father 1 " 
 
 "Isaac, Isaac, you mun forgive us," said the 
 mother; "we did it for your good." 
 
 " Partly for his good, mother," interposed 
 Jacob, " but still more for th' sake o' that child. 
 What made him run away from Twistle Farm, 
 Isaac Ogden ? answer me that." 
 
 Isaac remained silent. 
 
 "Do you fancy, brother Isaac, that any con- 
 sideration for your feelins was to hinder us from 
 doin' our duty by that little lad ? What sort of 
 a father is it as drives away a child like that with 
 a horsewhip ? Thou was no more fit to be trusted 
 with him nor a wolf wi' a little white lamb. If 
 he'd been brought back to thee two days after, it 
 'ud a! been as much as his life was worth. And 
 I'll tell thee what, Isaac Ogden, if ever it comes 
 to my ears as you take to horse whippin' him 
 again, I'll go to law wi' you and get the guardian- 
 ship of him into safer hands. There'd be little 
 difficulty about that as it is. I've taken my 
 measures — my witnesses are ready — I've con- 
 sulted lawyers ; and I tell you candidly, I mean 
 to act at once if I see the least necessity for it. 
 Little Jacob was miserable for many a week be-
 
 264 WEKDERHOLME. 
 
 fore you drove him out o' th' house, an' if we'd 
 only known, you would never have had the 
 chance." 
 
 " Nay, Jacob," interposed Mrs Ogden, " you're 
 a bit too hard on Isaac ; he's the child's own 
 father, and he had a right to punish him within 
 reason." 
 
 " Father 1 father ! " cried Jacob, scornfully ; 
 " there isn't a man in Shayton as isn't more of a 
 father to our little un than Isaac has been for 
 many a month past. There isn't a man in Shay- 
 ton but what would have been kinder to a nice 
 little lad like that than he has been. What sig- 
 nifies havin' begotten a child, if fatherin' it is to 
 stop there?" 
 
 At last Isaac Ogden lifted up his face and 
 spoke. 
 
 " Brother Jacob, you have said nothing but 
 what is right and true, and you have all acted 
 right both by me and him. But let us start 
 fresh. I've turned over a new leaf ; I'm not such 
 as I used to be. I mean to be different, and to 
 do different ; and I will be a good father to that 
 child. So help me God!" 
 
 He held out his hand, and Jacob took it and 
 shook it heartily. The two brothers looked in 
 each other's face, and there was more of brotherly
 
 WENDERHOLME. 265 
 
 affection in their look than there had ever been 
 since the dissolution of their partnership. Mrs 
 Ogden saw this with inexpressible pleasure. 
 " That's right, lads — that's right, lads ; God bless 
 you ! God bless both on you ! " 
 
 The customs of Shayton were mighty, espe- 
 cially the custom of drinking a glass of port-wine 
 on every imaginable occasion. If a Shayton man 
 felt sorry, he needed a glass of port-wine to 
 enable him to support his grief; but if he felt 
 glad, there arose at once such a feeling of true 
 sympathy between his heart and that joyous 
 generous fluid, that it needed some great material 
 impediment to keep them asunder, and such an 
 impediment was not to be found in any well- 
 to-do Shayton household, where decanters were 
 always charged, and glasses ever accessible. So 
 it was inevitable that on an occasion so auspicious 
 as this Mr Jacob Ogden should drink a glass — 
 or, more probably, two glasses — of port ; and his 
 mother, who did not object to the same refresh- 
 ment, bore him company. 
 
 " Now Isaac, lad, let's drink a glass to mother's 
 good health." 
 
 Mr Ogden had not made any positive vow of 
 teetotalism, and though there might be some 
 danger in allowing himself to experience afresh.
 
 266 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 however slightly, the seductive stimulus of alco- 
 hol, whole centuries of tradition, the irresistible 
 power of prevalent custom, and the deep pleasure 
 he felt in the new sense of brotherly fellow- 
 ship, made his soul yearn to the wine. " Here's 
 mother's good health. Your good health, mother," 
 he said, and drank. Jacob repeated the words, 
 and drank also, and thus in a common act of 
 filial respect and affection did these brothers 
 confirm and celebrate their perfect reconciliation. 
 
 Isaac now began to show symptoms of unea- 
 siness and restlessness. He walked to the front 
 door, and listened eagerly for wheels. " How 
 fidgety he is, th' old lad!" said Jacob ; "it's no 
 use frettin' an' fidgetin' like that ; come and sit 
 thee down a bit, an' be quite." 
 
 " How long will he be, mother ? " 
 
 Before Mrs Ogden could reply, Isaac's excited 
 ear detected the Doctor's gig. He was out in 
 the garden immediately, and passed bareheaded 
 through the gate out upon the public road. Two 
 gig-lamps came along from the direction of Sooty- 
 thorn. He could not see who was in the gig, 
 but something told him that little Jacob was 
 there, and his heart beat more quickly than usual. 
 
 Perhaps our little friend might have behaved 
 himself somewhat too timidly on this occasion,
 
 WENDERHOLME. 267 
 
 but the Doctor had talked to him on the road. 
 He had explained to him, quite frankly, that Mr 
 Ogden's harshness had been wholly due to the 
 irritable state of his nervous system, and that he 
 would not be harsh any more, because he had 
 given up drinking. He had especially urged 
 upon little Jacob that he must not seem afraid of 
 his father; and as our hero was of a bold disposi- 
 tion, and had plenty of assurance, he was fully 
 prepared to follow the Doctor s advice. 
 
 Isaac Ogden hails the gig ; it stops, and little 
 Jacob is in his arms. 
 
 " Please, papa, I wish you a merry Christmas 
 and a happy New Year ! "
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 And a merry Christmas Eve they had of it. Mr 
 and Mrs Prigley, and all the little Prigleys, re- 
 ceived a sudden invitation to Milend to meet 
 little Jacob, whose return to the land of the 
 living was now first made public, and created an 
 immense sensation at the parsonage. They had 
 intended to have a snapdragon at home, but the 
 snapdragon was quite forgotten, and paled its in- 
 effectual fire before the young hero of the even- 
 ing. " Tell Mrs Ogden well go at once,'' said Mrs 
 Prigley. " Children, put your things on ; — and 
 to think that theyVe found him alive and well. 
 Oh, I am so glad ! " 
 
 The parson put on the least threadbare of his 
 two suits of black, and a white neckcloth of the 
 most dazzling purity. By the time they reached 
 Milend — the parson, and Mrs Prigley, and Harry, 
 and Billy, and Dick, and Dithy, and Conny (for 
 such was the familiar nomenclature of their
 
 WENDERHOLME. 269 
 
 family) — ^the news had spread through Shay ton, 
 and there was a little crowd about the gate. 
 Shay ton, though an important and increasing 
 place, was not yet a very large one, and little 
 Jacob, being the nephew and heir-presumptive of 
 one of the richest manufacturers there, was per- 
 fectly well known to many hundreds of the in- 
 habitants. Beyond this, his disappearance had 
 made him a celebrity, and if he had been seen 
 in Sootythorn, or even in Manchester, a crowd 
 would have collected about him. Perhaps it is 
 not too much to say, that in the metropolis itself 
 he might have created something approaching to 
 a sensation amongst diligent readers of the news- 
 papers. The anxious crowd at the gate n;iade 
 way for the parson and his family; but after the 
 clerical party had disappeared in the house, the 
 foreman of Ogden's Mill was deputed as a spokes- 
 man, and boldly knocked at the door. He re- 
 quested permission to see his master, and was 
 shown into the little sitting-room. 
 
 " Please, sir, there's two or three hunthed folk 
 at your gate as wants to see little Jacob. They'll 
 never be satisfied while '"^ they'nt had a seet| on 
 him.'' 
 
 It was considered necessary to exhibit Master 
 
 * Until. t They han = they have. % Sight.
 
 270 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 Jacob to this multitude, who hailed him with 
 hearty cheers. In the midst of this ovation, as 
 he was standing with calm dignity like a youth- 
 ful Prince of Wales, his said dignity was dis- 
 turbed, in an unforeseen way, by a powerful 
 woman, who rushed at him and seized him in her 
 vigorous arms, and kissed him in an extraordi- 
 nary manner. The young gentleman felt that he 
 could have dispensed with this demonstration ; 
 but so soon as he became aware that his assailant 
 was no other than his old friend Susy Tattersall, 
 dealer in tarts and lollipops, his rising irritation 
 gave way to feelings of a more amiable descrip- 
 tion, and he kissed old Susy's jolly fat face with 
 a heartiness that won a murmur of approbation 
 from the bystanders. Little Jacob was called out 
 of the house several times that evening, quite 
 like a famous opera-singer, or a minister of state. 
 It may be a satisfaction to readers who sympa- 
 thise with children to know that the young Prig- 
 leys were not disappointed in the matter of the 
 snapdragon after all ; for when little Jacob was 
 asked what amusement he should prefer for the 
 entertainment of his guests, he at once demanded 
 a snapdragon ; and Mrs Ogden, always generous 
 so far as her grandson was concerned, and this 
 evening in a state of pleasurable excitement un-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 271 
 
 favourable to parsimony, made a far larger and 
 better snapdragon than the little Prigleys would 
 ever have enjoyed at the parsonage. Besides, it 
 is emphatically true of snapdragons, whatever it 
 may be of some other social pleasures, that the 
 more people share them the merrier they are. 
 Mrs Ogden's tranquil courage, worthy of a mem- 
 ber of the fire-brigade, met with repeated ap- 
 plause ; her mind was certainly cool if her fingers 
 were not. Indeed the fact is, that in her desire 
 to set an example of bravery to the children she 
 burnt herself most painfully, yet such was her 
 stoicism, or her pride, that she suffered no sign of 
 torture to be visible upon her countenance, but 
 contrived to extinguish the flaming spirit with a 
 dignified wave of the hand, which betrayed not 
 the martyrdom she endured. 
 
 The true history of our hero's absence was con- 
 fided to Mr and Mrs Prigley, but a slightly ficti- 
 tious account was circulated for the benefit of the 
 general public in Shayton. According to this 
 latter version, little Jacob had crossed the moor 
 into Yorkshire, and, after having lost himself, 
 been taken ill, and tended during his illness by 
 some good Samaritan in those parts. It is the 
 peculiarity of all highly - populous regions that 
 small distances are a wide separation ; and in the
 
 272 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 populous valleys of Lancashire people are more 
 separated from each other by eight or ten miles 
 than they are by sixty in the Highlands. Con- 
 sequently, when the Shay ton people heard that 
 little Jacob had crossed the border into Yorkshire, 
 it seemed to them that he had taken something 
 like a leap into the infinite unknowable, and they 
 asked no further questions. 
 
 He made his appearance at church on Christmas 
 Day, and, to the astonishment of the congregation, 
 his father was also seen in the Milend pew. If a 
 man is well to do, and not too flagrantly drunken 
 or immoral, he has only to show himself in a pew 
 to complete his respectability. It was known in 
 Shayton that Mr Ogden had been wonderfully 
 reformed since the disappearance of his son, but 
 this last virtue of being seen at church had hith- 
 erto been wanting to the circle of his perfections. 
 Now that he sat there at last, so perfectly neat in 
 his dress, so well brushed and shaven, with a pair 
 of kid gloves on the hands that held the prayer- 
 book — his fine little boy on one side of him, and 
 his old mother on the other — he excited on all 
 sides feelings of the heartiest goodwill. There 
 was nothing wanting in him now — he had at- 
 tained the ideal. Perhaps, if the truth were 
 known, he did not follow the service very closely,
 
 WENDERHOLME. 273 
 
 having, in fact, forgotten the somewhat intricate 
 sequence of the various portions of it ; but when 
 he saw other people turn over the leaves of their 
 prayer-books, he turned his leaves over too, and 
 when they stood up and sat down he was careful 
 to do the same. And indeed, though he may 
 not always have precisely hit upon the right 
 prayer at the right time, it may be doubted 
 whether his service was not as acceptable to God 
 as that of the most practised and accurate ritual- 
 ist in the whole congregation. For his heart was 
 full of thankfulness and joy, and of longing for a 
 better life. 
 
 Mr Prigley's sermon had been simply a Christ- 
 mas-Day sermon, to begin with, but he had added 
 a passage to it which bore evident reference to the 
 return of little Jacob; and when, to his great sur- 
 prise, he saw Mr Ogden in the pew along with 
 him, the parson made a farther addition extempor- 
 aneously, which was understood by many present, 
 and which was full of good feeling. Indeed, to 
 make allusions of this personal kind from the 
 pulpit, in a quite unexceptionable manner, may 
 be considered a proof of unusual tact and taste. 
 Mr Prigley's words were simply words of joy and 
 welcome, and he was careful to avoid anything 
 which might resemble a reference to Mr Ogden's 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 274 WENDEKHOLME. 
 
 past life. The passages about little Jacob were 
 really affecting, and many women in the congre- 
 gation could not restrain their tears. The most 
 demonstrative or least reticent of these was Susy 
 Tattersall, who sobbed audibly in her accustomed 
 seat; for, though she sold atheistic tracts as she 
 did sugar-plums, for those who enjoyed them, she 
 was a regular attendant at church. 
 
 Little Jacob's pony had been sent for, and in 
 the afternoon his father and he rode together up 
 to Twistle Farm. Until the man came for the 
 pony, old Sarah had not the faintest hope that 
 little Jacob was in existence, and the shock had 
 nearly been too much for her. The messenger 
 had simply said, " Fm comed for little Jacob '^''" tit." 
 "And who wants it?" Sarah said; for it seemed 
 to her a desecration for any one else to mount that 
 almost sacred animal. " Why, little Jacob wants 
 it hissel, to be sure." And this (with some subse- 
 quent explanations of the most laconic description) 
 was his way of breaking the matter delicately to 
 old Sarah. 
 
 The old woman had never spent an afternoon, 
 even the afternoon of Christmas Day, so pleasantly 
 
 * The possessive is very commonly omitted in Lancashire. Thus, 
 instead of saying " our John's wife," a Lancashire person, speaking 
 the pure dialect, would say " our John wife."
 
 WENDERHOLME. 2*75 
 
 as slie spent that. How she did toil and bustle 
 about ! The one drawback to her happiness was, 
 that she did not possess a Christmas cake ; but 
 she set to work and made tea-cakes, and put such 
 a quantity of currants in them that they were 
 almost as good as a Christmas cake. She lighted 
 a fire in the parlour, and another in little Jacob's 
 room; and she took out the little night-gown 
 that she had cried over many a time, and, strange 
 to say, she cried over it this time too. And she 
 arranged the small bed so nicely, that it looked 
 quite inviting, with its white counterpane, and 
 clean sheets, and bright brass knobs, and pretty 
 light iron work painted blue. When all was 
 ready, it occurred to her that since it was Christ- 
 mas time she would even attempt a little deco- 
 ration ; and as there were some evergreens at 
 Twistle Farm, and some red berries, she went 
 and gathered thereof, and attempted the adorn- 
 ment of the house — somewhat clumsily and in- 
 artistically, it must be confessed, yet not without 
 giving it an air of festivity and rejoicing. She 
 had proceeded thus far, and could not "bethink 
 her " of anything else that needed to be done, 
 when, suddenly casting her eye on her own cos- 
 tume, she perceived that it was of the deepest 
 black; for, being persuaded that the dear child
 
 276 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 was dead, she had so clothed herself out of re- 
 spect for his memory. She held her sombre skirt 
 out with both her hands as if to push it away 
 from her, and exclaimed aloud, " 111 be shut o' 
 thee, onyhow, and sharply too;" and she hurried 
 up-stairs to change it for the brightest garment in 
 her possession, which was of sky-blue, spotted all 
 over with yellow primroses. She also put on a 
 cap of striking and elaborate magnificence, which 
 the present writer does not attempt to describe, 
 only because such an attempt would incur the 
 certainty of failure. 
 
 That cap had hardly been assumed and adjusted 
 when it was utterly crushed and destroyed in a 
 most inconsiderate manner. A sound of hoofs 
 had reached old Sarah's cars, and in a minute 
 afterwards the cap was ruined in Master Jacob's 
 passionate embraces. You may do almost any- 
 thing you like to a good-tempered old woman, so 
 long as you do not touch her cap ; and it is an 
 undeniable proof of the strength of old Sarah's 
 affection, and of the earnestness of her rejoicing, 
 that she not only made no remonstrance in de- 
 fence of her head-dress, but was actually unaware 
 of the irreparable injury which had been inflicted 
 upon it. 
 
 Jim was as ignorant as his fellow-servant of
 
 WENDERHOLME. 277 
 
 the existence of his young master ; and he was 
 destined to experience the shock of a still more 
 startling surprise. He had been out all day in 
 an outlandish little village by the moorside, where 
 he had friends and acquaintances; and after a 
 festive afternoon, he returned to Twistle Farm, 
 having drunk just about as much as was good for 
 him. It was perhaps rather a fortunate circum- 
 stance for Jim that his nervous system had been 
 stimulated by strong ale to the point of " fearing 
 no evil," though perhaps he may not have been 
 precisely prepared to face the devil."' On open- 
 ing the kitchen-door, he was greeted with a loud 
 bark from Feorach, and beheld Master Jacob 
 warming himself before the kitchen-fire. Jim 
 did not drop from fright, but he quaked from 
 head to foot, and felt exceedingly queer. Beads 
 of chilly perspiration broke out upon his forehead, 
 and he felt at the same time the strongest desire 
 and the most utter incapacity for flight. His 
 uncertainty as to little Jacob's corporeal existence 
 was speedily put an end to by the ghost himself, 
 who ran at his old friend and seized him by both 
 
 * '* Inspiring bold John Barleycorn, 
 
 What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
 
 Wi' tippeny we fear nae evil, 
 
 Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil ! ' 
 
 — Burns.
 
 278 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 sides of his coat, and fairly climbed up him, there- 
 by giving satisfactory proof of bodily and ponder- 
 able substance. If farther evidence had been 
 required, it would have been supplied — at least, 
 to the extent of associative suggestion — by the 
 demonstrative demeanour of Feorach ; for though. 
 Jim may have been in a state of philosophic 
 doubt or suspension of judgment as to the possi- 
 bility of human ghosts, he was a decided un- 
 believer in canine ones.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The next time the Doctor met Colonel Stanburne 
 at Sootytliorn, lie gave sucli a good account of Mr 
 Isaac Ogden, that the Colonel, who took a strong 
 interest in little Jacob, expressed the hope that 
 Mr Ogden would still join the regiment; though 
 in the time of his grief and tribulation he had 
 resigned his commission, or, to speak more ac- 
 curately — for the commission had not yet been 
 formally made out and delivered to him — he had 
 withdrawn his name as a candidate for one. The 
 Colonel, in his friendly way, declared that the 
 Doctor was not a hospitable character. " I ask 
 you to Wenderholme every time I see you, and 
 you come and stay sometimes, though not half 
 often enough, but you never ask me to your 
 house ; and, by Jove ! if I want to be invited 
 at all I must invite myself." The Doctor, who 
 liked John Stanburne better and better the more
 
 280 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 he knew of him, still retained the very errone- 
 ous notion that a certain state and style were 
 essential to John Stanburne's happiness; and, 
 notwithstanding many broad hints that he had 
 dropped at different times on the subject, still 
 hung back from asking him to a house where, 
 though comfort reigned supreme, there was little 
 luxury, and not the slightest pretension to gen- 
 tility. The old middle -class manner of living 
 still lingered in many well-to-do houses in Shay- 
 ton, and the Doctor faithfully adhered to it. 
 Everything about him was perfectly clean and 
 decent, but he had not marched with the times ; 
 and whilst the attorneys and cotton - spinners 
 in Sootythorn and elsewhere had the chairs of 
 their dining-rooms covered with morocco leather, 
 and their drawing - rooms filled with all man- 
 ner of glittering fragilities, and Brussels carpets 
 with pretty little tasteful patterns, and silver 
 forks, and napkins, and a hundred other visible 
 proofs of the advance of refinement, the worthy 
 Doctor had not kept up with them at all, but 
 lagged behind by the space of about thirty years. 
 He had no drawing-room ; the chairs of his par- 
 lour were of an ugly and awkward pattern, and 
 their seats were covered with horse-hair; the 
 carpet was cheap and coarse, with a monstrous
 
 WENDERHOLME. 281 
 
 pattern that no artistic person would have toler- 
 ated for a single day; and though the Doctor 
 possessed a silver punch -ladle and teapot, and 
 plenty of silver spoons of every description, all 
 the forks in the house were of steel ! Indeed, the 
 Doctor s knives and forks, which had belonged to 
 his mother, or perhaps even to his grandmother, 
 were quite a curiosity in their way. They had 
 horn handles, of an odd indescribable conforma- 
 tion, supposed to adapt itself to the hollow of the 
 hand, but which, from some misconception of 
 human anatomy on the part of the too ingenious 
 artificer, seemed always intended for the hand of 
 somebody else. These handles were stained of 
 such a brilliant green, that, in the slang of artists, 
 they "killed" every green herb on the plate of 
 him who made use of them. The forks had 
 spring guards, to prevent the practitioner from 
 cutting his left hand with the knife that he held 
 in his right ; and the knife had a strange round 
 projection at what should have been the point, 
 about the size of a shilling, which (horrible to re- 
 late !) had been originally designed to convey 
 gravy and small fragments of viands, not pre- 
 hensible by means of the two-pronged fork, into 
 the human mouth ! In addition to these strange 
 relics of a bygone civilisation (if, indeed, it had
 
 282 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 been a civilisation), the Doctor possessed two 
 large rocking-chairs, of the same colour as the 
 handles of his knives. The Doctor loved a rock- 
 ing-chair, in which he did but share a taste uni- 
 versally prevalent in Shayton, and defensible on 
 the profoundest philosophical grounds. The hu- 
 man creature loves repose, but a thousand causes 
 may hinder the perfect enjoyment of it, and tor- 
 ment him into restlessness at the very time when 
 he most longs for rest. He may sit down after 
 the business of the day, and some mental or 
 bodily uneasiness may make the quiet of the 
 massive easy-chair intolerable to him. The easy- 
 chair does not sympathise with him, does not 
 respond to the fidgety condition of his nervous 
 system ; and yet he tries to sit down in it and 
 enjoy it, for, though fidgety, he is also weary, 
 and needs the comfort of repose. Now, the rock- 
 ing-chair — that admirable old Lancashire insti- 
 tution — and the rocking-chair alone, responds to 
 both these needs. If you are fidgety, you rock ; 
 if not, you don't. If highly excited, you rock 
 boldly back, even to the extremity of danger ; if 
 pleasantly and moderately stimulated, you lull 
 yourself with a gentle motion, like the motion 
 that little waves give to a pleasure-boat. It is 
 true that the bolder and more emphatic manner
 
 WENDERHOLME. 283 
 
 of rocking has become impossible in these latter 
 days, for the few upholsterers who preserve the 
 tradition of the rocking-chair at all make it in 
 such a highly genteel manner, that the rockers 
 are diminished to the smallest possible arc ; but 
 the Doctor troubled himself little concerning 
 these achievements of fashionable upholstery, and 
 regarded his old rocking-chairs with perfect sat- 
 isfaction and complacency — in which, without 
 desiring to offend against the decisions of the 
 fashionable world, we cannot help thinking that 
 he was right. 
 
 A large green rocking-chair, with bold high 
 rockers and a soft cushion like a small feather-bed, 
 a long clay pipe quite clean and new, a bright cop- 
 per spittoon, and a jug of strong ale, — these things, 
 with the necessary concomitants of a briskly- 
 burning fire and an unlimited supply of tobacco, 
 formed the ideal of human luxury and beatitude 
 to a generation now nearly extinct, but of which 
 the Doctor still preserved the antique traditions. 
 In substance often identical, but in outwardly 
 visible means and appliances differing in every 
 detail, the pleasures of one generation seem quaint 
 and even ridiculous in comparison with the same 
 pleasures as pursued by its successor. Colonel 
 Stanburne smoked a pipe, but it was a short
 
 284 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 meerschaum, mounted in silver ; and he also used 
 a knife and fork, and used them skilfully and 
 energetically, but they were not like the Doctor's 
 grandmother s knives and forks. 
 
 And yet, when the Colonel came to Shayton, he 
 managed to eat a very hearty dinner at one p.m. 
 with the above-named antiquated instruments ; 
 and the only thing that embarrassed him was the 
 want of a napkin — a real want in his case, for his 
 moustache was long and thick; and though by 
 constant practice he had attained the art of pass-" 
 ing beneath it whatever could be held upon a 
 fork, this was not so easy when it was necessary 
 to use a spoon, at which times a napkin, or a sub- 
 stitute for a napkin, became a thing of absolute 
 necessity. The Doctor, who submitted every day 
 to have his nose held between the finger and 
 thumb of a neighbouring barber, was thereby 
 delivered from this inconvenience, and removed 
 all visible traces of soups and creams by simply 
 licking his lips, so that napkins in his opinion 
 were elegant superfluities, and the use of them 
 one of the strange forms and ceremonies of high 
 life. After the celery and cheese, Dr Bardly 
 took one of the rocking-chairs, and made the 
 Colonel sit down in the other; and Martha brought 
 a fresh bottle of uncommonly fine old port, which
 
 WENDERHOLME. 285 
 
 she decanted on a table in the corner that did 
 duty as a sideboard. When they had done full 
 justice to this, the Doctor ordered hot water ; and 
 Martha, accustomed to this laconic command, 
 brought also certain other fluids which were hot 
 in quite a different sense. She also brought a 
 sheaf of clay tobacco-pipes, about two feet six 
 inches long, and in a state of the whitest virgin- 
 ity — emblems of purity ! emblems, alas I at the 
 same time, of all that is most fragile and most 
 ephemeral ! 
 
 "Nay, Martha," said the Doctor, "we don't 
 want them clay pipes to-day. Colonel Stanburne 
 isn't used to 'em, I reckon. Bring that box of 
 cigars that I bought the other day in Manchester." 
 
 The Colonel, however, would smoke a clay pipe, 
 and he tried to rock as the Doctor did, and soon, 
 by the effect of that curious sympathy which 
 exists between rocking-chairs (or their occupants), 
 the two kept time together like musicians in a 
 duet, and clouds of the densest smoke arose from 
 the two long tobacco-pipes. 
 
 " The regiment is getting pretty well filled up 
 by this time," said the Colonel. " I've got two 
 majors. It don't much signify, though, what 
 sort of fellows majors are, provided they're plea- 
 sant fellows, you know. I mean, they don't need
 
 286 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 to know very much about military business, and 
 that sort of thing. Eureton's a capital fellow ; 
 and when one's got a first-rate adjutant, as I'm 
 sure Eureton will be, things are safe to go on 
 well. Eureton is such an uncommonly quiet 
 man that some people seem to take him for a 
 muff; but he isn't a muff — he's anything but 
 that. He's a very fine fellow, is Eureton — a very- 
 fine fellow indeed ; and the more I see of him, the 
 more I see reason to congratulate myself on such 
 an acquisition. He's one of those men. Doctor, 
 that have got thorough business habits. I wish 
 I'd business habits. I never had, but I can recog- 
 nise them and admire them in others. Our list of 
 captains is full — everybody likes to be a captain, 
 and there were plenty of aspirants. There's a 
 small property qualification — two hundwed a-year 
 from real estate ; but everybody's got two hundwed 
 a-year, and if he hasn't, he gets some uncle or 
 aunt to make him nominally a proprietor to that 
 amount. As to lieutenants, we've got some young 
 fellows that I don't know very much about, and 
 there's rather a strong Irish element, and I don't 
 exactly know how all these fellows will get on 
 together ; but we must try and make 'em work 
 together as well as we possibly can. Amongst 
 the captains there are two or three men that visit
 
 WENDERHOLME. 28*7 
 
 a good deal with my wife's father. There's a son 
 of a man named Brabazon — -he's an earl, you know; 
 and we've the son of a dook, too, a young fellow 
 called Henry Ughtred — ^Lord Henry Ughtred ; 
 he's a son of the Dook of Ingleborough." 
 
 The Doctor, as we have already more than 
 once affirmed, had nothing of the snob or parasite 
 in his nature ; yet so great is the influence of a 
 title in this country, and so utterly does it upset 
 the solid common-sense of every born Englishman, 
 that the Doctor began to take quite a tender and 
 peculiar interest in these young men, especially 
 in the one last mentioned. He made many in- 
 quiries about them, though curiosity was the 
 least of his defects ; and he was never tired of 
 listening with the closest attention whilst 'the 
 Colonel, who knew them pretty well (though not 
 intimately), described them in his way. "What 
 sort of a fellow is he, Harry Ughtred ? Well, 
 he's a very decent fellow, rather good-looking; 
 blue eyes and fair hair, and if you look at him 
 with a magnifying glass you may perhaps detect 
 something resembling a moustache." (Here the 
 Colonel complacently pulled the handful of strong 
 brown hair which adorned his upper lip, and 
 which was clearly visible by the naked eye.) 
 " As to the adornments of his mind, I really can't
 
 288 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 tell you very much. He isn't exactly a very highly 
 cultivated young man, I should say ; but he was 
 educated at Eton, and used to be able to make 
 Latin verses at one time. In short, you know, he's 
 like scores of other young men — a sort of young 
 swell in general, with nothing very particular or 
 individual. But I don't know very much of him. 
 IVe only met him sometimes at my wife's father's; 
 he's a friend of Basenthorpe's, my brother-in-law, 
 but he isn't a friend of mine, only an acquaint- 
 ance. To tell you the truth, the Ingleborough 
 family are rather too great people for my taste. 
 I daresay they're very pleasant people, you know, 
 and that sort of thing ; but I don't care much to 
 mix myself up with dooks and people of that 
 kind." 
 
 "Why, you married an earl's daughter," ob- 
 served the Doctor. 
 
 " True ; but I didn't mawy her hecoz she was 
 an earl's daughter. I met Helena when I was a 
 young fellow, and she looked so pretty and nice, 
 and she sang so delightfully, that I fell in love 
 with her. She might have made a better match, 
 a much better match in every way ; and perhaps, 
 in point of money, I might have mawid more 
 prudently without going very far from Sooty- 
 thorn ; but we were spooney. Doctor — we were
 
 WENDERHOLME. 289 
 
 both of US spooney — and so we got mawid ; and 
 — to tell you a secret which I wouldn't confide 
 to everybody — we re both of us spooney still ; 
 at least I am, though her ladyship has perhaps 
 recovered from that malady by this time.'* 
 
 There was just a little tinge of uxoriousness in 
 John Stanburne ; and, like other men who have 
 that pardonable and amiable weakness, he could 
 never be quite happy for a day without either see- 
 ing his wife or talking about her. During their 
 occasional brief separations, when she left him 
 alone at Wenderholme on visits to friends of hers 
 he did not much care about, his old housekeeper 
 would come into the breakfast-room every morn- 
 ing after the post-bag had arrived, and inquire if 
 there were news of her ladyship, and how her lady- 
 ship was, and whether her ladyship had borne the 
 journey well, and so on ; and it was John Stan- 
 burne's greatest pleasure to answer these questions, 
 and under a hundred pretexts to talk with the old 
 housekeeper about his wife. So, when he had a 
 discreet middle-aged listener like the Doctor, he 
 would talk on the same subject whenever a proper 
 opportunity appeared to ofier itself; and as tout 
 chemin mene d Rome, it is found in the practice 
 of conversation that every subject somehow leads 
 ultimately to the central one. It may seem odd 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 290 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 that a man like Colonel Stanburne should talk 
 so unreservedly with a man in every respect so 
 different from himself; but the Doctor's manner 
 invited confidence in more ways than one. He 
 was the best of listeners, and no one who knew 
 him could entertain a doubt of his discretion. 
 Hence he gradually became John Stanburne's 
 most confidential friend ; but as even in the 
 frankest natures there always remains a residuum 
 of reserve, so when we say that the Colonel talked 
 unreservedly, the word is to be understood in the 
 sense which is usually attached to it — that is, taken 
 with limitations. If he had talked quite unre- 
 servedly, and if the Doctor on his part had been 
 absolutely frank in the expression of his private 
 opinion on every matter submitted to him, great 
 evils and great miseries might have been avoided, 
 and a life which was darkened by stormy clouds 
 of trial might have passed in serenity and peace. 
 
 It had been announced to the inhabitants of the 
 parsonage that the representative of the house of 
 Stanburne intended to call there that afternoon ; 
 and though it would be an exaggeration to state 
 that the preparations for his reception were on a 
 scale of magnificence, it is not an exaggeration to 
 describe them as in every respect worthy of Mrs 
 Prigley's skill as a manager, and her husband's
 
 WENDERHOLME. 291 
 
 ingenuity and taste. New carpets they could not 
 buy, so it was no use thinking about them ; and 
 though Mrs Prigley had indulged the hope that 
 Mrs Ogden's attention would be drawn to the 
 state of her carpets by that accident with which 
 the reader is already acquainted, so as to lead, it 
 might be, to some act of generosity on her part, 
 this result had not followed, and indeed had never 
 suggested itself to Mrs Ogden, who had merely 
 resolved to look well to her feet whenever she 
 ventured into the parlour at the parsonage, as on 
 dangerous and treacherous ground. Under these 
 circumstances Mrs Prigley gradually sank into 
 that condition of mind which accepts as inevitable 
 even the outward and visible signs of impecunio- 
 sity ; and though an English lady must indeed be 
 brought low before she will consent to see the 
 boards of her floors in a condition of absolute 
 nakedness, poor Mrs Prigley had come down to 
 this at last ; and she submitted without a murmur 
 when her husband expressed his desire that "that 
 old rag " on the floor of the drawing-room might 
 be removed out of his sight. When the deal 
 boards were carpetless, Mrs Prigley was proceed- 
 ing with a sigh to replace the furniture thereon ; 
 but her husband desired that it might be lodged 
 elsewhere for a few days, during which space of
 
 292 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 time he kept the door of the drawing-room locked, 
 and spent two or three hours there every day in 
 the most mysterious seclusion, to the neglect of 
 his parochial duties. Mrs Prigley in vain endea- 
 voured to discover the nature of his occupation 
 there. She tried to look through the keyhole, but 
 a flap of paper had been adapted to it on the 
 inside to defeat her feminine curiosity ; she went 
 into the garden and attempted to look in at the 
 window, but the blind was down, and as it was 
 somewhat too narrow, slips of paper had been 
 pasted on the glass down each side so as to make 
 the interstice no longer available. The reverend 
 master of the house endeavoured to appear as 
 frank and communicative as usual, by talking 
 volubly on all sorts of subjects except the mystery 
 of the drawing-room ; but Mrs Prigley did not 
 consider it consistent with her self-respect to ajD- 
 pear to take any interest in his discourse, and 
 during all these days she preserved, along with an 
 extreme gentleness of manner, the air of a person 
 borne down by secret grief. An invisible line of 
 separation had grown up between the two ; and 
 though both were perfectly courteous and polite, 
 each felt that the days of mutual confidence were 
 over. There was a difl'erence, however, in their 
 respective positions ; for the parson felt tranquil
 
 WENDERHOLME. 293 
 
 in the assurance that the cloud would pass away, 
 whereas his wife had no such assurance, and the 
 future was dark before her. It is true that, not- 
 withstanding the outward serenity of her demean- 
 our, Mrs Prigley was sustained by the inward 
 fires of wrath, which enable an injured woman 
 to endure almost any extremity of mental misery 
 and distress. 
 
 We have seen that the Shay ton parson had that 
 peculiar form of eccentricity which consists in the 
 love of the Beautiful. He had great projects for 
 Shayton Church, which as yet lay hidden in the 
 privacy of his own breast ; and he had also pro- 
 jects for the parsonage, of which the realisation, 
 to the eye of reason and common-sense, wo^ild 
 have appeared too remote to be entertained for an 
 instant. But the enthusiasm for the Beautiful 
 does not wait to be authorised by the Philistines, — 
 if it did, it would wait till the end of all things ; 
 and Mr Prigley, poor as he was, determined to 
 have such a degree of beauty in his habitation as 
 might be consistent with his poverty. Without 
 being an artist, or anything approaching to an 
 artist, he had practised the drawing of the simpler 
 decorative forms, and was really able to combine 
 them very agreeably. He could also lay a flat 
 tint with a brush quite neatly, though he could
 
 294 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 not manage a gradation. But with simple forms 
 and flat tints it is astonishing how much may be 
 done that is decorative in a very high degree ; and 
 our parson, from pure love of this pursuit, had 
 become a fair workman, so as to be able to execute 
 almost anything of this kind that his fancy sug- 
 gested to him. His projects for the parsonage 
 included a good deal of such labour as this, and 
 they were the more feasible that he would have 
 no wages to pay. When it had been finally 
 decided that carpets could no longer be afibrded, 
 Mr Prigley saw that the opportunity had come for 
 the exercise of his talents ; but he was far too 
 wise a man to confide to his wife projects so 
 entirely outside the orbit of her ideas. He had 
 attempted, in former days, to inoculate her mind 
 with the tastes that belong to culture, but he had 
 been met by a degree of impenetrability which 
 proved to him that the renewal of such attempts, 
 instead of adding to his domestic happiness by 
 creating closer community of ideas, might be pos- 
 itively detrimental to it, by proving too plainly 
 the impossibility of such a community. Mrs 
 Prigley, like many good women of her class, 
 was totally and absolutely devoid of culture of 
 any kind. She managed her house admirably, 
 and with a wonderful thrift and wisdom ; she was
 
 WENDERHOLME. '295 
 
 an excellent wife in a certain sense, though more 
 from duty than any great strength of affection ; 
 but beyond this and the Church Service, and three 
 or four French phrases which she did not know 
 how to pronounce, her mind was in such a state 
 of darkness and ignorance as to astonish even her 
 husband from time to time, though he had plenty 
 of opportunities for observing it. And the worst 
 of it was, that any attempt to enlighten Mrs 
 Prigley only irritated her. They had passed 
 thousands of hours together by the fireside in 
 perfect calm and quiet after the children had been 
 put to bed, and if Mr Prigley had been allowed 
 to employ those hours in the education of his 
 wife, she might have been not merely his hoiise- 
 keeper but his companion. Every attempt of this 
 kind had produced unpleasant results, and the 
 husband found that the wife could not endure to 
 be set right on any point, however kindly and 
 delicately. So there had been nothing for it but 
 to leave the lady as she first came to him, and the 
 gulf between them remained for ever impassable. 
 " She has the pride of a duchess," thought the 
 parson, in the sad secrecy of his own breast, 
 " and the education of a maid-servant." 
 
 But what was he doing in the drawing-room 1 
 He was doing things unheard of in the Shay ton
 
 296 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 valley. In the days of his youth and extrava- 
 gance he had bought a valuable book on Etruscan 
 design ; and though, as we have said elsewhere, 
 his taste and culture, though developed up to a 
 certain point, were yet by no means perfect or 
 absolutely reliable, still he could not but feel the 
 singular simplicity and grace of that ancient art, 
 and he determined that the decoration of his 
 drawing-room should be Etruscan. On the wide 
 area of the floor he drew a noble old design, and 
 stained it clearly in black and red ; and, when 
 it was dry, rubbed linseed-oil all over it to fix 
 it. The effect was magnificent ! the artist was 
 delighted with his performance ! but on turning 
 his eye from the perfect unity of the floor, with 
 its centre and broad border, to the old paper on 
 the walls, which was covered with a representa- 
 tion of a brown angler fishing in a green river, 
 with a blue hill behind him, and an equally blue 
 church-steeple, and a cow who had eaten so much 
 grass that it had not only fattened her but 
 coloured her with its own greenness — and when 
 the parson counted the number of copies of this 
 interesting landscape that adorned his walls, and 
 saw that they numbered six score and upwards 
 — then he felt that he had too much of it, and 
 boldly resolved to abolish it. He looked at all
 
 WENDERHOLME. 297 
 
 the wall-papers in the shop at Shayton, but the 
 endurable ones were beyond his means, and the 
 cheap ones were not endurable — so he purchased 
 a quantity of common brown parcel -paper, of 
 which he took care to choose the most agreeable 
 tint; and he furtively covered his walls with 
 that, conveying the paper, a few sheets at a time, 
 under his topcoat. "When the last angler had 
 disappeared, the parson began to feel highly 
 excited at the idea of decorating all that fresh 
 and inviting surface. He would have a frieze — 
 yes, he would certainly have a frieze ; and he set 
 to work, and copied long Etruscan processions. 
 Then the walls must be divided into compart- 
 ments, and each compartment must have its cho- 
 sen design, and the planning and the execution of 
 this absorbed Mr Prigley so much, that for three 
 weeks he did not write a single new sermon, 
 and, I am sorry to say, scarcely visited a single 
 parishioner except in cases of pressing necessity. 
 As the days were so short, he took to working 
 by candle-light ; and when once he had discov- 
 ered that it was possible to get on in this way, 
 he worked till two o'clock in the morning. He 
 made himself a cap-candlestick, and with this 
 crest of light on the top of his head, and the fire 
 of enthusiasm inside it, forgot the flying hours.
 
 298 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 The work was finished at last. It was not 
 perfect ; a good critic might have detected many 
 an inaccuracy of line, and some incongruousness 
 in the juxtaposition of designs, which, though all 
 antique and Etruscan, were often of dissimilar 
 epochs. But, on the whole, the result justified 
 the proud satisfaction of the workman. The 
 room would be henceforth marked with the sign 
 of culture and of taste : it was a little Temple 
 of the Muse in the midst of a barbarian world. 
 
 But what would Mrs Prigley say '? The par- 
 son knew that he had done a bold deed, and he 
 rather trembled at the consequence. " My love," 
 he said, one morning at breakfast-time, " I've 
 finished what I was doing in the drawing- 
 room, and you can put the furniture back when 
 you like ; but I should not wish to have any- 
 thing hung upon the walls — they are sufti- 
 ciently decorated as it is. The pictures" (by 
 which Mr Prigley meant sundry worthless little 
 lithographs and prints) — '' the pictures may be 
 hung in one of the bedrooms wherever you 
 like." 
 
 Mrs Prigley remained perfectly silent, and her 
 husband did not venture to ask her to accom- 
 pany him into the scene of his artistic exploits. 
 He felt that in case she did not approve what
 
 WENDERHOLME. 299 
 
 he had done, the situation might become embar- 
 rassing. So, immediately after breakfast, he 
 walked forth into the parish, and said that he 
 should probably dine with Mr Jacob Ogden, who 
 (by his mother's command) had kindly invited 
 him to do so whenever he happened to pass Mil- 
 end about one o'clock in the day. And in this 
 way the parson managed to keep out of the house 
 till tea-time. When he came back in the dusk 
 of the evening, it was not without a feeling of 
 nervous anxiety. What would Mrs Prigley say ? 
 He knew he had committed a great crime ; was 
 it possible that Mrs Prigley would forgive the 
 deed for the beauty of the result ? Alas ! what 
 hope was there that she would be sensible of* the 
 beauty of the result ! What did she know of 
 Etruscan art — or any art 1 She could not tell 
 Gothic architecture from Greek. If you showed 
 her a drawing of the Parthenon, and told her 
 that it was Gothic, she would believe you ; if 
 you showed her a Gothic capital, and told her 
 that it was Corinthian, she would equally believe 
 you, and in both cases feel equally indifferent. 
 It was not that Mr Prigley dreaded any criticism, 
 for to criticise, one must have an opinion ; and 
 Mrs Prigley, on these matters, had not an opinion. 
 All that Mr Prigley dreaded was the anger of the
 
 300 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 ofifended spouse — of the spouse whom he had not 
 even gone through the formality of seeming to 
 consult. 
 
 He was punished, but not as he had expected 
 to be punished. Mrs Prigley said nothing to 
 him on the subject ; but when they went into 
 the drawing-room together at night, she affected 
 not to perceive that he had done anything what- 
 ever there. Not only did she not speak about 
 these changes, but, though Mr Prigley watched 
 her eyes during the whole evening to see whether 
 they would rest upon his handiwork, they never 
 seemed to perceive it, even for an instant. She 
 played the part she had resolved upon with mar- 
 vellous persistence and self-control. She seemed 
 precisely as she had always been : — sulky ? not in 
 the least ; there was not the slightest trace of 
 sulkiness, or anything approaching to sulkiness 
 in her manner — the Etruscan designs were simply 
 invisible for her, that was all. 
 
 They were not so invisible for the Colonel 
 when he came to pay his visit at the parsonage, 
 and, in his innocence, he complimented Mrs 
 Prigley on her truly classical taste. He had 
 not the least notion that the floor was carpetless 
 because the Prigleys could not afford a carpet — 
 the degree of poverty which could not afibrd a
 
 WENDERHOLME. 301 
 
 carpet not being conceivable by him as a possible 
 attribute of one of his relations or friends. He 
 believed that this beautiful Etruscan design was 
 preferred by Mrs Prigley to a carpet — to the best 
 of carpets — on high aesthetic grounds. Ah I if he 
 could have read her heart, and seen therein all 
 the shame and vexation that glowed like hidden 
 volcanic fires ! All these classical decorations 
 seemed to the simple lady a miserable substitute 
 for the dear old carpet with its alternate yellow 
 flourish and brown lozenge ; and she regretted 
 the familiar fisherman whose image used to greet 
 her wherever her eyes might rest. But she felt 
 a deeper shame than belongs to being visibly 
 poor or visibly ridiculous. The room looked 
 poor she knew, and in her opinion it looked 
 ridiculous also ; but there was something worse 
 than that, and harder far to bear. How shall I 
 reveal this bitter grief and shame — how find 
 words to express the horror I feel for the man 
 who was its unpardonable cause ! Carried away 
 by his enthusiasm for a profane and heathen art, 
 Mr Prigley had actually introduced, in the frieze 
 and elsewhere, several figures which — well, were 
 divested of all drapery whatever! "And he a 
 clergyman, too ! " thought Mrs Prigley. True, 
 they were simply outlined ; and the conception
 
 302 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 of the original designer had been marvellously 
 elegant and pure, chastened to the last degree 
 by long devotion to the ideal; but there they 
 were, these shameless nymphs and muses, on the 
 wall of a Christian clergyman ! John Stan- 
 burne, who had travelled a good deal, and who 
 had often stayed in houses where there were both 
 statues and pictures, saw nothing here but the 
 evidence of cultivated taste. "What will he 
 think of us '? " said Mrs Prigley to herself ; and 
 she believed that his compliments were merely 
 a kind way of trying to make her feel less 
 uncomfortable. She thought him very nice, and 
 he chattered as pleasantly as he possibly could, 
 so that the Doctor, who had come with him, 
 had no social duty to perform, and spent his 
 time in studying the Etruscan decorations. 
 Colonel Stanburne apologised for Lady Helena, 
 who had intended to come with him ; but her 
 little girl was suffering from an attack of fever — 
 not a dangerous fever, he hoped, though violent. 
 The Doctor, who had not before heard of this, 
 was surprised ; but as he did not visit Wender- 
 holme professionally (for Wenderholme Hall was, 
 medically speaking, under the authority of the 
 surgeon at Eigton, whose jealousy was already 
 awakened by our Doctor's intimacy with the
 
 WENDERHOLME. 303 
 
 Colonel), lie reflected that it was no business of 
 his. The fact was, that little Miss Stanburne was 
 in the enjoyment of the most perfect health, 
 but her mother thought it more prudent to let 
 the Colonel go to Shayton by himself in the first 
 instance, so as to be able to regulate her future 
 policy according to his report. Mr Prigley came 
 in before the visitor had exhausted the subject of 
 the fever, which he described with an accuracy 
 that took in these two very experienced people, 
 for lie described from memory — his daughter 
 having suffered from such an attack about six 
 months earlier than the very recent date the 
 Colonel found it convenient to assign to it. 
 
 It was, of course, a great satisfaction to j;he 
 Prigley s that the head of the Stanburnes should 
 thus voluntarily renew a connection which, so 
 far as personal intercourse was concerned, was 
 believed to have been permanently severed. It 
 was not simply because the Colonel was a man of 
 high standing in the county that they were glad 
 to become acquainted with him — there were 
 certain clannish and romantic sentiments which 
 now found a satisfaction long denied to them. 
 Mrs Prigley felt, in a minor degree, what a High- 
 land gentlewoman still feels for the chief of lier^ 
 clan ; and she was disposed to offer a sort of
 
 304 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 loyalty to the Colonel as the head of her house, 
 which was very different from the common re- 
 spect for wealth and position in general. The 
 Stanburnes had never taken any conspicuous 
 part in the great events of English history, but 
 the successive representatives of the family had 
 at least been present in many historical scenes, 
 in conflicts civil and military, on the field, on the 
 quarterdeck of the war-ship, in stormy Parlia- 
 mentary struggles ; and the present chief of the 
 name, for other descendants of the family, inher- 
 ited in an especial sense a place in the national 
 life of England. Not that Mrs Prigley had any 
 definite notions even about the history of her 
 own family ; the sentiment of birth is quite in- 
 dependent of historical knowledge, and many a 
 good gentlewoman in these realms is in a gen- 
 eral way proud of belonging to an old family, 
 without caring to inquire very minutely into the 
 history of it, just as she may be proud of her 
 coat of arms without knowing anything about 
 heraldry. Nobody who knew the Stanburne 
 family at all could be more ignorant of its his- 
 tory than Mrs Prigley was, all her ideas on the 
 subject being confined to three or four traditions, 
 of which two were in the highest degree doubtful 
 and improbable, and one demonstrably a myth.
 
 WENDERHOLME. 305 
 
 Mrs Prigley used to narrate that at some period, 
 the date of which was never given, and under 
 some king, whose name was equally unascertain- 
 able, there had lived five daughters of the house, 
 and the king, who greatly admired their beauty, 
 had called them the Five Fair Maids of Wender- 
 holme. The tradition was a pretty one, and Mrs 
 Prigley firmly believed it; but the worst of it 
 was, that the ^ve unknown beauties whom the 
 unascertainable majesty had appreciated were 
 nowhere to be found on the Stanburne pedigree 
 at all ; for no representative of the house, during 
 the seven centuries of its existence, had ever 
 succeeded in rearing more than three daughters 
 beyond the age of thirteen years. In the per- 
 tinacity with which Mrs Prigley clung to her 
 traditions, and in her total lack of curiosity as to 
 the actual fact, she was but a type of uncritical 
 humanity in general ; yet the marvel is ever new 
 how people can care at the same time so much 
 about a particular subject, and so little — how 
 they can feel interest enough to be never tired 
 of repeating what they have heard, and yet not 
 sufficient interest to make them take one step 
 towards inquiry and investigation. 
 
 The Colonel, in a very kind and graceful man- 
 ner, expressed his regret that such near relations 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 306 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 should have been separated for so long by an 
 unfortunate dispute between their fathers. " I 
 believe," he said, " that your side has most to 
 forgive, since my father won the lawsuit, but 
 surely we ought not to perpetuate ill-feeling, 
 generation after generation/' Mr Prigley said 
 that no ill-feeling remained ; but that though he 
 had often wished to see Wenderholme and its 
 owner, he knew that, as a rule, poor relations 
 were liked best at a distance, and that not having 
 hitherto had the pleasure of knowing Colonel 
 Stanburne, he must be held excusable for having 
 supposed him to be like the rest of the world. 
 John Stanburne was not quite satisfied with this 
 somewhat formal and dignified assurance, and 
 was resolved to establish a more intimate footing 
 before he left the parsonage. He exerted him- 
 self to talk about ecclesiastical matters and church 
 architecture, and when Mr Prigley ofiered to show 
 him the church, accompanied him thither with 
 great apparent interest and satisfaction. The 
 Doctor had patients to visit, and went his own 
 way.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Colonel Stanburne returned tbe same evening 
 to Sootythorn on militia business, and on the 
 following day the Doctor travelled in the same 
 direction in his gig. When he came near Nanny 
 Pickering's cottage he felt strongly tempted to go 
 and have a little chat with that lady; not that 
 he had anything very particularly interesting to 
 talk about, but he was under some inciting influ- 
 ence, surely not that of the tender passion. The 
 fact is, the Doctor wanted to smoke, and as there 
 was rather a high wind, he had found it impos- 
 sible to get a light on the open road. 
 
 Nanny was at home, and received her friend 
 with exclamations of welcome and satisfaction. 
 She asked after little Jacob, and heard with 
 interest that he had returned to Twistle Farm. 
 She would go and see him there, she said ; she
 
 308 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 had taken a great fancy and liking for the lad, as 
 indeed did everybody who knew him. 
 
 The horses of medical men acquire a wonderful 
 patience, and will stand perfectly still for an 
 indefinite period. Dr Bardly's horse had this 
 faculty in a very remarkable degree : it would 
 stand for hours and hours, unconscious of the 
 lapse of time ; and its owner profited by this as 
 often, I fear, for purposes of gossip as for strictly 
 professional work — for he was a great gossip, and 
 had the art of making himself agreeable to his 
 patients of every order and degree. 
 
 The Doctor loved a joke, perhaps he loved it 
 rather too much. His manner of jesting was 
 eminently English ; that is, the truly jocular ele- 
 ment in a jest seemed to him to lie in the suffi- 
 ciently frequent repetition of it. It is a part of 
 the affectionate fidelity inherent in our national 
 character to become attached to old jokes as to 
 old friends, and the oftener we hear them the 
 wittier they seem ; so that in making a joke, the 
 older it is, the surer is the jester of success, for 
 it can but improve by time. We are just the 
 same in our musical tastes also. We like an air 
 that we have heard thousands of times ; we like 
 ** God save the Queen " best because we have heard 
 it oftenest, and the nearer an air approaches to
 
 WENDERHOLME. 309 
 
 that one in the great quality of familiarity or 
 acGustomedness, the better its chances of finding 
 favour in our ears. 
 
 Now the Doctor's joke with Nanny Pickering, 
 as indeed with very many of his female friends, 
 especially the oldest and ugliest of them, was 
 that everlasting old joke about getting married; 
 and it may be concluded as a matter of course 
 that he returned to it on this occasion. The form 
 given to the jest in this particular instance was, 
 it must be admitted, a peculiarly dangerous one ; 
 for the Doctor — with a rashness and temerity 
 which he afterwards saw reason to repent — did 
 not merely joke upon the subject of matrimony 
 in general, but more especially and particularly 
 upon the possibility of a matrimonial alliance 
 between himself and Nanny Pickering. She 
 listened to him for some time in perfect silence, 
 laughing low, and as it were to herself; then 
 suddenly lifting up her eyes and laying her hand 
 on the Doctor's arm, she said with the utmost 
 possible earnestness, *^ It'll be reight. Doctor ; 
 we'll get wed." 
 
 The Doctor, in his astonishment, was going to 
 utter I know not what exclamation, but Nanny, 
 apprehensive of some answer unfavourable to her 
 views, laid her hard hand across his lips, and
 
 310 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 said, " Answer nothing for five minutes ; give me 
 just five minutes afore you speak, and you willn't 
 repent of it after." The Doctor made a sign 
 of acquiescence ; and Nanny, proceeding towards 
 the bed, ripped a hole in the mattress with a 
 knife, and drew thence a bundle of bank-notes. 
 She threw them on the Doctor's knee and said, 
 "You count that there, while I seek summat 
 elz." The Doctor mechanically began to count, 
 and Nanny disappeared. She returned shortly 
 with a canvas bag which, from the way the 
 canvas was drawn into narrow little creases by 
 the contents, evidently was extremely heavy. 
 The Doctor soon found out how heavy it was 
 when she laid it on his knee. It was full of gold. 
 Nanny disappeared again, and this time her 
 absence was longer. By the time she came back 
 the Doctor had counted fifteen hundred and 
 twenty-five pounds in bank-notes, and eleven 
 hundred and thirty -seven pounds in gold. He 
 was literally stupefied. The jokes about Nanny 
 Pickering's supposed wealth had always appeared 
 to him, as the French newspapers say (with a 
 happy mixture of metaphors), a noise denuded of 
 all foundation. He had sincerely believed in the 
 absolute penury of his friend, and now, behold, she 
 was a rich woman ! The Doctor was more sur-
 
 WENDERHOLME. 311 
 
 prised at this discovery than anybody else would 
 have been. The joke about Nanny's riches had 
 become so general in Sootythorn and the neigh- 
 bourhood, and had spread itself so widely in Shay- 
 ton and the other villages, that people had ended 
 by believing it, and Nanny, to her great alarm, 
 became aware that her wealth was known. She 
 now felt that neither her money nor her person 
 was safe in the cottage where she had so long 
 enjoyed uninterrupted peace. She had resolved 
 to leave it and go elsewhere — whither, she knew 
 not, but certainly out of the reach of this dan- 
 gerous reputation for riches — a reputation which 
 people in other ranks of life are so anxious to 
 acquire, and struggle so painfully to preserve. 
 Nanny Pickering loved her money, but she loved 
 her life still more, and the publishing of her wealth 
 had always seemed to her the sure forerunner of 
 a bloody end. The Doctor's joke had suggested 
 to her mind a realisable plan which would insure 
 her for the future that protection and safety which 
 she needed. She was tired of her lonely life — 
 tired of standing sentinel over her treasure. She 
 did not dare to leave it, and to remain with it 
 was to incur fearful risks. The Doctor would be 
 a good husband, she believed ; and though there 
 was, no doubt, a wide social distinction between
 
 312 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 them, money was a powerful means of abolishing 
 distinctions of that kind, and she had money. 
 
 She returned with other sacks of gold and other 
 bundles of notes, and the sum total fell little short 
 of seven thousand pounds. 
 
 " Why, Nanny," said the Doctor, " and have 
 you been losing the interest of all this money ? " 
 
 " That's what's most plagued me," said Nanny; 
 " but I never durst go to a bank wi' it for fear o' 
 folk knowin', and I dunnot believe i' banks — there 
 were ever so many as lost their brass when Sooty- 
 thorn bank broke. Banks breaks, Doctor — banks 
 breaks." 
 
 " Nanny," said the Doctor, " old folk like you 
 and me has nothing to do wi' gettin' wed ; but if 
 you're tired o' livin' by yoursel', I can see no rea- 
 son why you shouldn't live a deal more comfort- 
 ably than you have been doing. If you w^ere just 
 to come and live in Shayton, and put your money 
 out to interest, you'd be very well off, and per- 
 fectly safe beside." 
 
 " Well, Doctor," said Nanny, " we willn't talk 
 no more .just at present about getting wed, but I 
 want to be shut o' this 'ere brass. It makes me 
 as miserable as miserable now as folk knows on't. 
 Take it wi' you — you've counted it, I reckon — 
 take it and put it out to interest for me, and rent
 
 WENDERHOLME. 313 
 
 me a bit of a house i' Shayton ; you shall pay me 
 th' interest every quarter, an' Fst live on't/' 
 
 The opportunity of escape was not to be lost, 
 and the Doctor was not slow to seize upon it. 
 " Good-bye, Nanny," said he ; " 111 do all I can 
 for you." He looked out first to see that nobody 
 was in sight, and as the road was quite clear, he 
 carried the money-bags and the rolls of notes to 
 his gig. When Nanny wished him good-bye, he 
 rather dreaded some demonstration of affection, 
 but she did no more than just press his hand in 
 a . rather tender manner. Perhaps she expected 
 the Doctor to give her a kiss ; but if she did, I 
 am ashamed to say that that ungrateful man and 
 frigid lover disappointed her. 
 
 Instead of going to Sootythorn as he had in- 
 tended, the Doctor turned back to Shayton, and 
 got Nanny's money safe in his own house. He 
 was not fit for much professional duty that day : 
 he could think of nothing but this money, and 
 the best way of disposing of it. He determined 
 to consult Mr Jacob Ogden on the subject, and he 
 could not have chosen better. 
 
 Mr Jacob was not so much astonished at Nanny 
 Pickering s wealth as the Doctor had been. He 
 knew so well how fortunes were made, and had 
 been so much accustomed to observe the wonder-
 
 $14 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 ful results of extreme economy and constant ac- 
 cumulation, that it did not surprise him to hear 
 of one of those instances of secret hoarding which 
 he knew to be very common in the manufacturing 
 districts. He proposed to purchase, first, a cot- 
 tage for the capitalist herself at Shayton, and 
 then to invest the remainder in good railway 
 debentures. A nice little cottage was found not 
 far from the Doctor's own residence, and Nanny 
 was installed there in the course of a few days. 
 
 A remarkable alteration now became visible in 
 Nanny's habit of life. She, who had always been 
 hitherto the most miserly of women, asked the 
 Doctor for a hundred pounds in ready money, 
 and proceeded to furnish her cottage in a style of 
 perfect comfort and decency. In her person also 
 there was a change not less remarkable. She had 
 been slovenly, and even dirty; she became one of 
 the neatest and tidiest women in all Shayton. She 
 never alluded to what had taken place between 
 her and the Doctor. She never spoke of love ; 
 but the Doctor's mind was not at ease. He al- 
 ways feared that the subject might be renewed 
 between them — his peace of mind was gone. He 
 felt that in doing his duty as trustee, by her ap- 
 pointment, of the wealth committed to his keep- 
 ing, he ought to go and see the lady oftener than
 
 WENDERHOLME. 315 
 
 he did ; but there was a great fear on him every 
 time he ventured near that tidy little cottage. 
 
 He did go there, however, sometimes, as in duty 
 bound ; and on one of these occasions the lady in- 
 vited him to tea. She kept a little maid-servant, 
 and the tea was served in quite an unexception- 
 able manner. There were nice cups and saucers, 
 there was a clean white tablecloth, and there were 
 both tea-cakes and muffins, as well as plenty of 
 buttered toast. Two fresh eggs were boiled for 
 the Doctor, and slices of ham were fried for him. 
 The Doctor would have been truly happy at the 
 little festival if he had not dreaded some allusion 
 to matrimony ; but the nearest hint upon which 
 tlie lady ventured was this : she inquired wjiat 
 would be the annual income from her fortune, 
 and on being informed that it would amount to 
 £400, she expressed her resignation at being 
 obliged to abandon her calling, whatever that 
 mysterious profession may have been. She then 
 asked the Doctor if he had any intention of giving 
 up his own profession when he got older; and 
 when he replied that such a decision would be 
 a question of money, Nanny simply inquired 
 whether he thought £400 a - year would be 
 enough for him to live upon. He answered 
 that his present profits did not realise more.
 
 316 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 As Nanny made no allusion more direct than 
 this, the Doctor s confidence gradually returned, 
 and he went rather frequently to Nanny Picker- 
 ing's. From time to time she consigned to his 
 keeping various sums of money which had been 
 due to her, and which considerably augmented 
 her fortune. She really was a rich woman, and 
 a most respectable woman too, in every way. 
 She became quite a personage in Shayton, and 
 began soon to have something like a position in 
 society at her disposal, if she had chosen to avail 
 herself of it. 
 
 It will be seen from the preceding narrative 
 how even the great passion of avarice may yield 
 to a passion still more mighty. Nanny Pickering, 
 who, before she knew the Doctor, could not endure 
 the idea of spending even what all consider ne- 
 cessary for the commonest human existence, now 
 spent her money like a gentlewoman. The reader 
 has already divined the good lady's policy. 
 She has made up her mind that there shall be 
 nothing repulsive about her ; and if she cannot 
 have the charms of youth and beauty, she will at 
 least have the advantages attainable by her — she 
 will at least be respectable. 
 
 She says nothing to alarm her victim ; she 
 simply lies in wait for him, that is all. Will he
 
 WENDERHOLME. 317 
 
 yield at last, or will he resist unto the end? This, 
 as yet, we know not ; but time shall tell. A con- 
 stant though gentle pressure is now operating on 
 the Doctor's will, and yet he is not fully aware of 
 it. He is as a fish that hardly knows whether the 
 hook is in his mouth or not, so gentle is the pull- 
 ing. Patience is the great merit of the angler, 
 and this angler possesses it in the supreme degree. 
 She will wait and wait, as long as ever it may be 
 necessary to wait. The Doctor must go and pay 
 her a visit occasionally — common civility com- 
 mands it ; and, besides, he has constituted him- 
 self her man of business, and must therefore see 
 her from time to time. The Doctor discharges his 
 duty with perfect exactness ; but his conscience 
 tells him that other duties remain which he does 
 not discharge. Which of us, alas ! is perfect at 
 every point ? In the best of characters there is 
 ever some grievous shortcoming, some lamentable 
 deviation and failure from the high standard of 
 the right. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH. 
 
 ^