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 THE OCCUPATIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 A RETIRED LIFE 
 
 VOL. 1.
 
 THE OCCUPATIONS 
 
 01 
 
 A EETIRED LIFE. 
 
 §L ^Qbtl 
 
 By EDWARD GARRETT. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TINSLEY BEOTHERS, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND, 
 1868. 
 
 [^All righU qf Tran»laHon and Reproduction are reierved.']
 
 lONDOlT : 
 
 SAVIIiL, EDWAUDS AND CO., PEIITTEHS, CHANDOS STBEET, 
 COTENT 6AEDEN.
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OP 
 
 8 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 ^ INTRODUCTION THE LAST NIGHT IN THE CITY 1 
 
 I. THE FIRST DAY IN THE HOUSE ON THE HILL 35 
 
 II. THE MYSTERY OF THE LOW MEADOW ... 68 
 
 •S in. ST. CROSS 105 
 
 I IV. THE rector's VISIT 132 
 
 (^ V. turned to the wall 165 
 
 c^ VI. MR. martin preaches AT SOMEBODY . . . 205 
 
 Jl VII. GEORGE WILMOT FROM LONDON .... 226 
 ^ VIII. A CHRISTMAS CONFIDENCE 256 
 
 4
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 witii funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/occupationsofret01garr
 
 THE OCCUPATIONS 
 
 OP 
 
 A RETIRED LIFE 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE LAST NIGHT IN THE CITY. 
 
 There are few things which it is altogether 
 pleasant to do for " the last time." I dare- 
 say many brides feel a little heartache when 
 they give their parents the evening kiss the 
 night before the wedding. I think most 
 clergymen would falter a little over a fare- 
 well sermon, though next Sunday they were 
 to preach in an ancient cathedral instead of 
 a little country church. And so my heart 
 is not altogether merry as I draw my chair 
 to mine ancient hearth for " the last time." 
 
 ^ VOL. I. 1
 
 X> THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 It is only a lonely hearth in the second 
 floor of a great house of business. The 
 room is rather low, but quite large enough 
 for me ; and it has one advantage which 
 I have always appreciated : its win- 
 dows overlook a narrow strip of grave- 
 yard belonging to a vanished London 
 church. There is a great elm which 
 touches my panes and makes a ghostly pat- 
 tering when the wind is high. I wish the 
 church were still there. One Sunday, its 
 pastor preached in it for " the last time," 
 only he did not know it ; and in the week 
 the red flames came, and withered it up 
 before the eyes of the congregation. I have 
 seen a picture of it, and it was a pretty 
 Gothic church. If it were here to-day it 
 would not have a score of worshippers. I 
 should be one; or sometimes I might re- 
 main at home and listen to the anthem and 
 the preacher's voice through my open 
 windows.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 3 
 
 I am an old man — I must be, for I have 
 been in this very house, one way or another, 
 for fifty years. I entered as junior clerk — 
 ^ ver?/ iumoY clerk, just fourteen years old. 
 penniless and fatherless, and without home 
 or friends in the great city. But a home 
 was kept for me on the banks of the river 
 Mallowe, — thanks to the courage and in- 
 dustry of my only sister Euth. She was 
 some years older than me ; and when our 
 father died she took his place, and ruled 
 everything for our poor, crushed, feeble 
 mother, with that quiet tenderness which 
 belongs to strong -characters. Euth settled 
 all about my situation, and then she pre- 
 pared my little outfit, and at last accom- 
 panied me to meet the stage coach. Mother 
 did not come further than our own gate. It 
 was a very hot, bright summer- day, and the 
 green lanes and fair meadows looked more 
 tempting than I had ever seen them before. 
 When we reached the corner of the common
 
 4 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 the coach had not come, and we stood beside 
 the sign-post and talked. Euth did not exhort 
 me ; she only told me in what parts of my 
 trunk she had stowed away certain treasures ; 
 and at last, when a white cloud of dust in 
 the distance announced the coming coach, 
 she put her hand on my shoulder, and 
 said — 
 
 " Now, Ned, never think you are free to 
 go wrong because you fancy it won't hurt 
 anybody but yourself It will. It will 
 break up our home at Mallowe as much as 
 if it depended on your support and you 
 failed to send money. I shall not have 
 heart to bustle about in the shop and among 
 strange people unless I have cause to be 
 proud of you, Ned." 
 
 And then she bent and kissed me, and 
 stood there, smiling, while I climbed the 
 coach. She did not move as long as we 
 were in sight; and very often during my 
 ^rst nights in London I dreamed of my
 
 A RETIRED LIl'E. 
 
 lister standing alone by tlie sign -post on 
 tlie broad common. 
 
 Yes, Eutli was a wonderful woman. 
 When my father died, people advised that 
 the shop should be given up and a school 
 opened in its stead. That would be proper 
 woman's work, they said, which the business 
 was not. It would have been all very well 
 had it been only the village library and 
 stationery goods ; but it was something 
 beside. In or near our village were two 
 solicitors, with large connexions among the 
 farmers and landed proprietors about, and 
 my father kept in his shop all the require- 
 ments of their offices, and, what was more, 
 he undertook their copying. He had taught 
 Eutli to help him, and she had been his 
 only assistant, a fact over which there liad 
 been much shaking of heads among the old 
 ladies. Of course she must give that up 
 now, they remarked. Kuth said nothing 
 at first, but when they pressed her very
 
 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 vigorously, recommending particular houses 
 as suited for her visionary school, and even 
 giving hints as to what furniture she should 
 keep, and what she should sell, then she 
 opened her mouth and spake. 
 
 " We know the worst of old things, but 
 we can't guess the worst of new ones," she 
 said. " So long as I can I shall keep what 
 
 1 have." 
 
 And so she did. The labours which she 
 and her father had shared, she managed to 
 do alone. God knows (I say it solemnly) 
 how she did it. We had been orphans for 
 a year before I left home, and her example 
 during that time was a great boon to me. 
 She was a living picture of self-denial, 
 patience, and cheerful industry, all the more 
 edifying because she did not see it herself, 
 but was only a little proud of her success as 
 a woman of business. I fear our mother 
 never quite appreciated her. But Euth will 
 not let me say so. She always remarks.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. / 
 
 "Ah, Ned, there was nothing to appreciate; 
 I am very glad that our mother kept me in 
 mind of my faults." But then why was 
 mother so blind to mine ? — and I might 
 have had many more, and worse ones, and I 
 know she would have continued as blind. 
 Dear mother ! she is gone where she is 
 doubtless grown strong enough to under- 
 stand the daughter who puzzled her so 
 sorely on earth. 
 
 London seemed very dismal to me when 
 I ahghted from the old " Highflyer." It 
 set me down at the " Saracen's Head," and 
 as I wandered out of the quaint inn yard, I 
 felt a strange sinking of heart. The great 
 world around was so strong, and stern, and 
 remorseless, and I so weak and lonely ! It 
 is not at first that we can realize that the 
 vast tide of humanity is composed of little 
 individual waves, one not much stronger or 
 swifter than another, and all, and each (such 
 comfort in that each !) carried along by the
 
 8 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 pitiful hand of God, who remembers every 
 face in the vast throng, whether fair or 
 faded, and knows every heart, and under- 
 stands all about each life ! But at first we 
 only feel the terror of our own littleness. 
 Coming from sweet country villages, where 
 we recognised every one we met, we shrink 
 from the unheeding crowd, with their blank, 
 regardless eyes. 
 
 I was duly installed in my humble duties 
 in the counting-house of this estabhshment. 
 I don't think I was very bright ; but every 
 one was kind, and ready enough to give a 
 helping hand to the poor dazed lad from the 
 country. To me they seemed very clever, 
 those handsome, well-dressed, gaily-speaking 
 young men, my superiors. I did not believe 
 I should ever be competent to fill places like 
 theirs. As I have said, they were very 
 kind ; but I knew they laughed at me, and 
 would not care to converse about such 
 things as I took interest in. For the first
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 9 
 
 few days this great house was as lonely to 
 me as the streets. But one fair, cool morn- 
 ing, I was told that " the master '' had 
 returned from his summer holiday, and 
 wished to see me — little Ned Garrett, from 
 Mallowe. This was the head of the firm, — 
 the other partners had heen wisely chosen 
 from among his best and longest-tried clerks. 
 I had never seen Mr. Lambert ; but I knew 
 his history — how he was the son of a far- 
 descended fallen country family; how he 
 put aside the prejudice of his rank and 
 entered business life as humbly as myself; 
 how, by God's blessing on his diligence, he 
 succeeded, until at last he bought back the old 
 family mansion, but still remained in business, 
 because he could not bear to give up the in- 
 fluence which he used for good in London. 
 I felt a little awe as I approached his room — 
 this very chamber. It was Mr. Lambert's 
 then ; it has been Ned Garrett's since. To- 
 morrow it will belong to somebody else.
 
 10 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 He said very little to me. He was a tall, 
 slender man, with a beautiful old face and 
 long silver hair, — no less a gentleman 
 because he was a merchant. He sat in a 
 great brown leather settle, behind a huge 
 writing-table, and he bade me be seated on 
 a little cane chair opposite. He asked if 
 I had heard from home since my arrival, 
 and how were my mother and sister — " your 
 sister Euth," he called her, and the sound 
 of the old household name was like a breath 
 of the breezes that blow over the sunny 
 Mallowe. Then he said he had heard good 
 reports of me, and he should always like to 
 hear the same, and stretched forth his hand 
 — a white, warm, wrinkled, aged hand — and 
 shook mine kindly, and I knew I might go. 
 
 But after that I never felt alone. I 
 generally saw him once or twice a day, only 
 for a minute and quite in the way of business; 
 but that always sent me back to work com- 
 forted and content. The great millionaire
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 11 
 
 — the man who Lad declined ro3''al honours 
 — could not hold conversation with such a 
 unit as me, as he might have done had he 
 himself been an old clerk with two hundred 
 a year, and a wife and children in a six-^ 
 roomed house at Clapham. The tide of life 
 breaks into streams, the boundaries of which 
 it is not wise nor pleasant often to overflow. 
 But the very character of the man was a 
 friend to me. From it I could imagine the 
 counsel he would give, and that it would be 
 but an echo of the brave womanly words I 
 had heard under the sign-post on Mallowe 
 Common. I put the image of the quiet old 
 gentleman into my heart beside that of my 
 dark-eyed accurate sister. They were the 
 lares of my soul. I did not know all this 
 when I was fourteen, but I know it now. 
 
 Well, I prospered, and rose one step 
 after another, and when I was twenty- 
 one I was in receipt of a fair salary 
 for that age. Early every autumn I
 
 12 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 took a run down to Mallowe, but not at 
 Christmas, because in those times we had no 
 holiday then but the one day. I never 
 wanted a better change than to go home. 
 Early autumn was a slack time in the shop, 
 so Ruth was free to roam the country with 
 me, and many pleasant rambles we had, 
 sometimes together and sometimes with 
 young people from the village, whom I had 
 known all my life. Ah, not even in London 
 had I forgotten one — little Lucy Weston. 
 I shall not speak about Lucy's looks ; I 
 don't suppose she was a beauty to any one 
 but me, and I don't suppose she was clever. 
 She was only a good little girl — a daisy 
 among women; and we always love the 
 <iaisies , most, because we knew them best 
 when we were young ! Her father kept 
 the Meadow Farm, a dear old-fashioned, 
 gabled house, overgrown with creepers, 
 which wreathed round its quaint white-cur- 
 tained lattices, and made the whole place
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 18 
 
 like a huge nest. Lucy was the only 
 daughter, but she had five brothers, great 
 curly-haired, grinning, tramping, good- 
 natured lads, who came crushing round me 
 to hear about London, until, not having 
 grown much since I first left Mall owe, I 
 always felt quite overwhelmed and breath- 
 less. Yet Lucy was a very quiet thing in 
 manner, and voice, and look. Just to see 
 her was as soothing as to hear an old psalm 
 tune sung softly by little children. 
 
 I have not got a vivid memory, but any 
 minute that I like I can fancy myself in the 
 great parlour at Meadow Farm — a long low 
 wainscoted room, with some curious wood- 
 carving about the ceiling and fire-place, and 
 wide windows along one side, beyond which 
 lay a splendid prospect of lane, and field, 
 and hedgerow, mingling summer charms 
 with autumn wealth. The floor was bare, 
 except for two narrow strips of plain green 
 carpeting, which set off* the cleanness of the
 
 14 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 boards. There were lieavy old chairs with 
 cushions of some kind of chintz, and a loner 
 well-polished oak table uncovered, except 
 when clad in white drapery for meals. The 
 room boasted no ornaments beyond a fox's 
 head and brush, and a few firearms over the 
 mantelpiece, and three great beau-pots of 
 flowers, one set in each window. And what a 
 noise the farmer and his sons made, as they 
 came tramping in, with loud honest laughter, 
 and good old jokes that could stand an airing 
 almost every day, and among them little 
 Lucy with the breezes in her hair, and her 
 cheeks a wee bit redder from the family 
 kisses. And last of all, ''the mistress/' 
 with her cambric cap and kerchief, and her 
 broad sunshiny face, that looked as if it re- 
 membered all the good harvests and forgot 
 every bad one. And then after them came 
 tea and cake and fresh fruit, borne in by a 
 stout serving maiden, full of old-school 
 deference to her superiors, but always able
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 15 
 
 to throw back a saucy word to the hoys, if 
 necessary. And then we all gathered round 
 the long table, Lucy and I, somehow, side 
 by side, and after a moment's hush, there 
 burst forth the Westons customary tea- 
 time grace — Lucy's silver voice rising 
 among the others like a minstrel's harp 
 amid the clang of martial music — 
 
 " Praise God from whom all blessings flow, 
 Praise Him, all creatures here below, 
 Praise Him above, ye heavenly host, 
 Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." 
 
 After such a meal as that, on the last 
 night of my visit in the year of my coming 
 of age, Lucy and I wandered out upon the 
 greeny downs behind the house. I was a 
 little disposed to envy the easy course of 
 life in that nest-like home, and I manifested 
 this tendency by setting forth, somewhat 
 vauntingly, the advantages of city life. 
 Perhaps I did it to hide my discontent, 
 perhaps to argue myself into satisfaction
 
 16 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 with my lot. But Lucy went straight to 
 the root of the matter. " There's a ^ best 
 side/ to everything, Ned," she said, " and 
 there's much to be gained by living in 
 London; but because we grant that, don't 
 let us cry down country life. I'm rather 
 sorry your favourite Mr. Lambert thinks 
 there is so much more to be done among the 
 houses than under the trees. I wish he 
 would come down here and try." 
 
 " But life in the country is so narrow," 
 said I. 
 
 She looked at me and smiled. " No one 
 can do more than he can, Ned," she an- 
 swered; " and the narrowest life is wider than 
 most of our hearts. When people have a 
 great many ways of doing good, they some- 
 times get so confused that they do nothing.'* 
 
 I knew she was right. 
 
 " So you have made up your mind never 
 to return to the fields * for good,' " she re- 
 marked, after a short silence.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 17 
 
 " I don't say that," I answered. (We 
 were standing on a slight eminence, facing 
 the sunset.) " I daresay you would refuse 
 to live in the city." 
 
 "I don't think I should," she replied, 
 shading her eyes ; "it would all depend 
 upon circumstances." 
 
 " I shall not be able to afford to live in 
 the country till I am quite old," I said — 
 " perhaps not then." 
 
 "Well, everywhere is God's world," she 
 answered, turning towards me ; then added 
 playfully, "but when you do come, don't 
 make up your mind there's nothing to do 
 but water flowers and go to sleep. There's 
 plenty of work wherever there are sin and 
 sorrow ; and sin and sorrow are everywhere. 
 'The harvest truly is plenteous but the 
 labourers are few :' " and her voice was 
 solemn then. 
 
 Ah, pretty Lucy ! at the harvest supper 
 some will meet us whom their Father called 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 THE OOCDPATIONS OF 
 
 into the shelter of his own house before the 
 burden and heat of the day ! 
 
 "Dear me, but I'm grown quite a 
 cockney/' I said, after a long pause. " If I 
 am to live in the country again, I shall 
 want some one to show me how." 
 
 "You can easily find some one," she 
 retorted. 
 
 "Will you?" I asked. 
 
 But at that auspicious moment we heard 
 Farmer Weston's lusty voice shouting our 
 names, and Lucy sprang up with damask 
 cheeks, and ran fleetly to the house. I did 
 not see her alone again all the evening. 
 But next morning as I passed the farm on 
 my way to meet the coach, I saw her toying 
 with her beau-pots in the parlour. So I 
 unfastened the wicket, and crossed the 
 garden, meaning to ask for an answer to my 
 question. But the moment I reached the 
 window, Mrs. Weston advanced from the 
 recesses of the room, and overwhelmed me
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 19* 
 
 with good wishes for my journey, and an 
 enormous cake and some ripe pears where- 
 with to beguile its tedium. So perforce I 
 returned to my city abode with an unsatis- 
 fied heart. 
 
 After a fortnight (scarcely a fortnight — I 
 think it was only ten days) came the accus- 
 tomed budget from Euth. It opened with 
 a bulletin of my mother's failing health, 
 and good news of the business, but the third 
 page went on thus : — 
 
 " It has been a sorrowful week at Mallowe. 
 Our dear Lucy Weston was taken suddenly 
 ill on Tuesday afternoon. She was uncon- 
 scious from that time, so no one was sent 
 for, not even her grandmother, and on 
 Wednesday night she died. I know you 
 will be so sorry." 
 
 That was all. My sister passed to other 
 topics. 
 
 Of course I went as usual to business, but 
 I felt myself worse than useless. The long 
 
 2—2
 
 20 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 rows of figures meant nothing to me, and I 
 was blundering on, with, flushed, throbbing 
 face, when Mr. Lambert came in. 
 
 " You are not well to-day, Garrett, "" he 
 said, in his soft, modulated tones. 
 
 " Not quite, sir," I replied. 
 
 He looked kindly at me for a moment. 
 " Have you heard from home ?" he asked. 
 " All well there, I hope ?" 
 
 *'A11 quite well, thank you, sir," I 
 answered. 
 
 He sat down opposite me, and wrote a 
 letter. I could feel his eyes upon me now 
 and then. When he had finished, he spoke 
 again : — 
 
 " Leave ofl* work to-day, my boy, and 
 take a drive out of town. You're worrying 
 about something — I shan't ask you what. 
 I don't believe it's your fault, so it will be 
 sure to come right again, Garrett." And 
 once more he shook hands with me — the 
 second time since I had been in his house.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 21 
 
 I did as he bade me. And I returned, 
 not comforted, but calmed, and strong 
 enough to bear my sorrow. Comfort came 
 by-and-by, but not completely — not till I 
 had been through a simoom of misery which 
 was destined to teach me that I and my 
 first love had been parted by the best and 
 kindest separation which God can ordain. 
 
 Ah, Lucy, and it cannot be many more 
 years before I shall hear you singing again ; 
 this time a better Doxology than the one in 
 which I can always hear your voice to this 
 very day. I have never forgotten you ! 
 Looking upon my life, people might say I 
 did forget, and not too slowly ; but where 
 you are, perhaps you know better. 
 
 I sent an ordinary condoling message to 
 the bereaved family, and then I settled into 
 my old life, and in due course the time came 
 round for my accustomed visit to Mallowe. 
 I half thought I would not go, but I forced 
 myself not to flinch. I found everything
 
 22 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 exactly the same. I thought Euth gave me 
 one or two searching glances, but that was 
 all. I believe it was only my fancy. 
 
 "You will go to Meadow Fami this 
 evening, Ned,'' sh3 said, after tea ; " you 
 always gave them the first visit, and they 
 might feel hurt if you didn't now, poor 
 things." 
 
 '' I shall certainly go," I answered, look- 
 ing from the window. " Shall you come too, 
 Euth?" 
 
 " I think not," she said. '* I am rather 
 bus}^ so I will stay at home, and then I 
 shall be ready to take a walk with you 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The Meadow Farm looked as nest-like as 
 ever, and the beau-pots were still in the 
 windows. But the flowers missed the dainty 
 fingers which had arranged them so well, 
 and they looked faint and drooping. I 
 entered the open door ; the house was very 
 silent, but presently one of the brothers.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 23 
 
 crossing the back-garden, caught sight of 
 me, and came forward to bid me welcome. 
 He was as yellow-haired and ruddy as ever, 
 but his step seemed quieter — perhaps it had 
 grown hushed while she lay in her coffin. 
 He led me to his parents. The father was 
 laughing and chatting as usual, but his 
 voice and laugh were those of an old man. 
 The mother's face was as sunshiny, but not 
 so broad. They were seated in their great 
 orderly kitchen. Mrs. Weston explained 
 '' that they felt the parlour chilly of an 
 evening ; they liked to be where the fire 
 was." The ^y^ brothers came in and sat 
 down in a half-circle. Presently the mother 
 spoke about " her Lucy," and her husband 
 joined in. They both shed a tear or two. 
 The eldest brother shaded his face, as from 
 the firelight; another got up and looked 
 into the garden ; a third asked if the horse 
 were put up for the night, and then went 
 to the stable to satisfy himself. It was
 
 24 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 very touching. They were evidently trying 
 to pursue their life as cheerfully as possible, 
 but they could not make it what it had been. 
 I stayed to supper. The elder brother stood 
 up and offered ''thanks." There was no 
 singing. " We could not do it at first,'* 
 said the poor father ; ''it was nothing but 
 breaking down, and so we got out of the 
 habit.'' 
 
 That visit did me good : the sight of their 
 cheerful resignation braced my own soul, 
 and I returned to London, stronger and 
 happier than I had been since my last 
 country visit. 
 
 After that, several years went quietly past. 
 I advanced in the office, until I was fairly a 
 well-to-do-man, and though still but a 
 salaried clerk, not without private dreams of 
 ultimate partnership. At last, when I was 
 nearl}^ thirty years old, I found myself con- 
 stantly a guest in the home of a fellow-clerk 
 — a young man, who lived with his widowed
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 25 
 
 motlaer and a sister. Their small neat house- 
 at Hackney was very different to great ram- 
 bling liberal Meadow Farm, and the occu- 
 pants were as dissimilar. Yet, I believe- 
 competent judges would have considered 
 Maria Willoughby much more handsome 
 and talented than the little daisy of Mal- 
 lowe. Of course, Maria was a town-lady, 
 quiet, polite, and self-contained — a con- 
 servatory exotic ; while the other was just 
 a little flower, dropped from God's hand, 
 and untouched by horticulturists. But I 
 grew to love Maria — not with such love as 
 I had borne for her, but with grave, reverent 
 affection, which would have placed her " in 
 my home and near my heart,'' and kept her 
 there safe and honoured even to the end. In 
 due time, I opened my suit ; it was cour- 
 teously received, and I believed myself 
 happy in a sensible, middle-aged kind of 
 way. 
 
 "Well, I don't want to say much about
 
 26 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 what followed. Let this suffice. Here am 
 I, Ned Garrett, a settled old bachelor, and 
 there is Maria, the wife of a wealthy City 
 man, the son of a long line of prosperous 
 merchants. If she had come to me and 
 said, " I love this man — I loved him before 
 I knew you ;" or, " I see him for the first 
 time, but I know that I can love him as I 
 can never love you," I could have forgiven 
 her and forgotten my own loss and humilia- 
 tion. But no ! Only her mother wrote to 
 me, saying Maria had received a proposal 
 from a gentleman who could offer her a 
 comfortable establishment and handsome 
 settlements ; and as I could do neither, she 
 had advised her daughter to act in a way 
 most conducive to the well-being of all 
 parties, and Maria had been prudent enough 
 to consent. Do you suppose I was satisfied 
 with this ? Not I. I insisted on seeing 
 the girl, and making sure there were no 
 underhand dealings or false representations.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 27 
 
 Eut she only confirmed Mrs. Willonghby's 
 letter ; and 1 don't know what I said, nor 
 how I looked, but both women quailed be- 
 fore me, and I have never spoken to either 
 since. 
 
 I think that would have cost me my faith 
 in womanhood had Maria been my first love. 
 It was then I learned to thank God for 
 Lucy's grave — for the gentle Hand that 
 had not shattered my idol, but only removed 
 it to a place of eternal safety. And from 
 that time my heart has never yearned for a 
 new allegiance. The bitterness slowly wore 
 away, together with the remembrance of her 
 who caused it. I know that Maria was 
 pretty, graceful, and refined; but her face 
 never comes to me in sleeping or waking 
 dreams — while as for Lucy's, I could draw 
 her portrait directly, if my fingers had as 
 good a memory as my heart ! 
 
 Not long after that I got my partnership. 
 It was but a sober triumph for me. I wrote
 
 28 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 a letter to my mother and sister, and tlien I 
 walked out in tlie darkness alone. There was 
 no one else to tell. I knew Maria Wil- 
 longhby would hear the news from her 
 brother, and I blushed at the coarse pleasure 
 I felt at her possible mortification, for I was 
 now in the way to become a much richer 
 man than her intended spouse. Oh, if she 
 had only stood the ordeal ! Yet even then I 
 did not wish my success had come earlier 
 and spared her the trial. One would rather 
 go without jewels than pass through life 
 decked out with pinchbeck, in the fond 
 belief that the glass and gilt were diamonds 
 and gold. We may regret the baseness, 
 but not the detection. Let all false things- 
 go ! 
 
 Not very long after that my dear gentle 
 mother died. She had been so long ailing 
 that she slipped out of life almost uncon- 
 sciously ; and I am glad to remember that 
 her last word was Euth's name. After the
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 29 
 
 funeral I remained at home many days, 
 assisting my sister in her final arrangements. 
 Had everything been realized, there would 
 have been a slender competency for her, and 
 I wished her to share my London home, and 
 rest herself for the first time in her life. But 
 she resolutely refused. She would live in 
 the old house and carry on the business, 
 aided now by the orphan daughter of our 
 village doctor. " When I'm an old woman 
 and you're an old man, Ned," she said, 
 ^' then we will live togetlier if we choose, 
 but not before. You might wish me away 
 if I came. Now, don't exclaim. I should 
 be glad if something happened that would 
 make you wish me away. Shall you never 
 marry, Ned?" 
 
 I laughed, and told her, as she was the 
 elder, I was waiting her example. 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense," she said, giving 
 an energetic snip to some stuff she was cut- 
 ting out. And there the matter ended.
 
 30 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 But now, after many years, the time is 
 come when E-uth is content to rest assured 
 I shall never need a fresher face than hers 
 for my vis-a-vis. For I find the long rows 
 of figures dazzle me, and the new-fashioned 
 ways of business confound my old-fashioned 
 mind. And I also long for green fields, 
 such as that where I talked to Lucy more 
 than forty years ago; and to fortify this 
 failing and yearning, I have argued with 
 myself that it is almost a sin for an out-of- 
 date old fellow like me to keep on grinding 
 and moiling for more gold, which I shall 
 never need for wife or bairns, thus filling a 
 post which might be better occupied by some 
 clever young man with both. So we two 
 mean to live and die together in a quiet 
 country corner ; and this very day I have 
 said good-bye to all my clerks, and left some 
 remembrance in the hand of each, just as 
 Mr. Lambert did, thirty years ago, when he 
 came among us for the last time only the
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 31 
 
 week before lie died ; and I patted the head 
 of a curly-haired lad from Grlasgow, the very 
 image of Ned Garrett fifty years ago, and I 
 have told him if he ever want a friend not 
 to forget his old master, buried in a certain 
 snug cottage, where I know even now Euth 
 is passing about the rooms to see that all 
 is in apple-pie order for my arrival to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Yes, I, the old merchant, mean to rest for 
 the remainder of my days. Yet, at the 
 same time, I remember her charge, that in 
 the quietest life " there's more to do than 
 water flowers and go to sleep." Euth will 
 help out my slow comprehension with her 
 keen eyes and clear voice. I only wish 
 there had been a touch of romance about 
 her. It would have made her as perfect as 
 mortals can be. But romance is always 
 sorrow. Therefore, I thank God for my 
 sister's escape. 
 
 Now for one more starlit gaze from my
 
 52 THE OCCUPATIONS OP 
 
 narrow window ! To night I see the 
 dim moonbeams over the graveyard of the 
 vanished church, and so far as silence goes, I 
 might be on Snowdon, instead of in the heart 
 of London city; but I know that almost within 
 ^ stone's throw of my window nestle courts 
 and closes where infamy need never hide its 
 head, even in such polluted daylight as can 
 enter there. I know, too, that in some of the 
 giant houses round me toil men whom the 
 world respects and honours, but whom God 
 ranks with those of other felons who snatch 
 watches to buy bread tliey are too cowardly 
 to earn. And I own that Lucy's words are 
 true ; this vineyard has been too large for 
 me. My heart has not been strong enough 
 for its burden. I have done a little, or 
 rather I have helped others to do it, but it 
 is such a little that I have no temptation to 
 stand where the Pharisee stood, and boast 
 of my good deeds. 
 
 To-morrow night I expect to look out on
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 33 
 
 a far different scene — on quiet meadows 
 with great hills rising behind them. Perhaps 
 I shall hear the nightingale below my win- 
 dows, and the lights will all be out in the 
 few cottages within ken, just as if each were 
 an abode of domestic peace and love. But I 
 must not forget my Lucy's words — " There's 
 plenty of work where there are sin and sor- 
 row, and sin and sorrow are every- 
 where." 
 
 Yes ; God has brought me thus far on my 
 way, and I can trust Him to guide me to 
 the end. He never gave me one sorrow 
 or one pang more than I needed. I find 
 now that the days which were hardest 
 to live through are not darkest to re- 
 member. I only wish I had known this 
 at the time, for I was often haunted by a 
 dreary picture of lonely old age brooding 
 over memory of sorrow as painful to endure 
 as sorrow itself It was my own fault. I 
 should have trusted God's promises. It 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 is rather late to begin to have faith, when 
 one is on the brink of the cold river, and 
 can almost see the gleaming gates beyond. 
 But God is very reluctant to say, " Too 
 late."
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 35 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE FIRST DAY IN THE HOUSE ON THE HILL. 
 
 I LEFT London at dawn, and arrived here 
 before noon. My new home is not at Mal- 
 lowe, but a little higher up the country, 
 within an easy drive of that dear old 
 place. This afternoon I have taken a 
 fresh survey of my premises, and I am as 
 well satisfied as on the day I bought them, 
 for I am not one to like a thing less after 
 it has become my own. 
 
 The house stands on a hill, gradually 
 rising from the river side. Between the 
 trees, by the use of a field glass, 1 can 
 catch a glimpse of the Mallowe, like a 
 silver thread wandering on a greeny robe. 
 Valleys are very beautiful, with their wealth 
 
 3— z
 
 36 THE OCCUPATIONS OP 
 
 of vegetation, and their welLlike coolness ; 
 but I prefer the hill-tops. I think a valley 
 is like youth, a lovely place to saunter for 
 a while, but where we do not wish to stay, 
 and where we could not stay even if we 
 would. I don't say we never wish our- 
 selves back again, for many hill-sides are 
 very bare and dreary. But age is like a 
 bower near the summit, whence we can see 
 the path by which we came, and from 
 which many things, which seemed ugly 
 when we passed them, look beautiful in 
 the distance. And from that resting-place 
 we can survey the little bit of journey 
 which still lies before us, and we see that 
 it is very easy and very short. I know 
 age is generally called "the descent of the 
 hill." What ! go down to rest amidst the 
 dampness, and chills, and mists, that always 
 haunt valleys ? No, no. 
 
 A narrow scarcely-used road, running be- 
 tween hedges, passes our front door. It
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 37 
 
 leads direct from our nearest village, or 
 rather attempt at a village, for I saw 
 scarcely a dozen houses as I drove through 
 it. But there are a few great farms stand- 
 ing back from this road, and enlivening it 
 with their sweet sights and sounds. One in 
 particular seemed to come as near as possible 
 to my typical homestead. The dwelling- 
 house stood in a bend of the road, and a 
 long, fair, dazzling flower-garden stretched 
 before the white-curtained windows of the 
 best rooms. At the back lay the farm 
 buildings, loading the air with scents of hay 
 and new milk, and stretching about, as such 
 buildings do, in pleasant places where 
 ground-rents are unknown. A great curly 
 dog stood at the stable door and looked at me 
 reflectively, as if he knew I was a new neigh- 
 bour whose acquaintance he must soon 
 make. All around stretched broad meadows 
 rejoicing under the warmth of God's band. 
 I could not resist alighting from my chaise,
 
 38 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 and leaning over the hedge. Suddenly I 
 heard a horse's step in the path behind it, 
 and a middle-aged man rode up mounted 
 on a stout cob. He wore light garments 
 and a brown straw hat, and he looked full 
 at me as he passed. I almost think he 
 muttered. I am afraid he grudged my en- 
 joyment of his possessions, for as he left 
 the field, he shut the gate with a sharp 
 bang, and rode on to the house. The sight 
 of his face spoiled my pleasure. He re- 
 minded of an old spelling-book picture of 
 " the dog in the manger." I began to pity 
 the women who lived in that beautiful 
 house, with no glimpse of the outer world 
 except what he brought home to them. I 
 looked compassionately at an old labourer 
 who was carting some soil, an ancient man, 
 with that patient pathetic look which comes 
 upon the aged when at work. I feared he 
 never got a single penny more than what 
 he could legally claim for his poor failing
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 30 
 
 toil. But, anyhow, he at least knew of 
 another Master, for as I passed I heard 
 him singing in a queer cracked voice — 
 
 " The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want. 
 He makes me down to lie 
 In pastures green : he leadeth me 
 The quiet waters by." 
 
 There he paused to raise another shovel- 
 full, and then went on to the last verse, 
 as if it and the first dwelt specially in his 
 mind — 
 
 " Goodness and mercy all my life 
 Shall surely follow me : 
 And in God's house for evermore 
 My dwelling-place sliall be." 
 
 I was struck by the Scotch version and 
 accent in an English lane. A few yards 
 off, a young man was mending a gate, and 
 from the likeness I concluded he was son, or 
 more likely grandson to the cheerful patri- 
 arch. But he was not singing either psalm 
 or ballad. His face was quite gloomy — a 
 handsome face, with noble features, such as
 
 40 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 one rarely sees except in the highest or 
 lowest ranks. He could not be more than 
 nineteen. Ah, you see I am right. The 
 old man was near the hill-top, and in the 
 brightness, but the lad was under the 
 shadows of the valley. 
 
 Another twist in the road brought me to 
 my own gate. So that surly farmer is our 
 nearest neighbour? Well, I hope I got a 
 wrong impression of him. PerhajDS, before 
 this day week, I shall be sorry for my 
 judgment! I hope so ! I hope so ! 
 
 Euth was waiting at the wicket, and I 
 wish a painter had been with me to im- 
 mortalise the scene — the little red-brick 
 house standing against the warm greens of 
 very early autumn, the bright geraniums in 
 the foreground, the solid pillars of the 
 entrance, relieved by their snowy stone 
 globes, and my sister in her black satin 
 gown, with a lace cap on her head, and a 
 cambric kerchief fastened about her throat
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 41 
 
 by the one lieir-loom of our family, a little 
 diamond broocli, presented to our great- 
 grandmother by the famous Duke of Marl- 
 borough when he was feted in some town 
 where her husband chanced to be mayor. 
 Two prim serving-maidens stood in the 
 background waiting to do me honour, and I 
 could hear the deep bay of a house-dog in 
 the rear. Their decorous faces broke into 
 smiles when I entered, as if something in 
 my countenance promised to relax the 
 reins of domestic discipline. Oh, Edward 
 Garrett, why are you not dignified ? You 
 and your sister have both been business- 
 people till now ; you have made a fortune, 
 and she but an independency, yet she looks 
 quite a grande dame, and you ! do you look 
 like a gentleman of fortune? Go and see 
 yourself in the glass, and be humble : your 
 house, and your sister, and all that is yours, 
 are too fine for you, old fellow. Go and 
 hide your diminished head !
 
 42 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 Then we liad our dinner, and we ate it in 
 the sunshine, at the open window. Perhaps 
 it was this, and Euth's company, which 
 made it so much nicer than my chop or 
 steak yonder in the city. We were attended 
 by a neat-handed Phillis. That is not a 
 quotation. The girl is really a Phillis — 
 Phillis Watts, a ploughman's daughter, who 
 has doubtless derived her fanciful cognomen 
 from some relative on whom it had been 
 bestowed by a sentimental fine -lady god- 
 mother. The other servant came in to help 
 her to remove the dishes, and not thinking 
 it right that T, her future master, should 
 sit by in perfect silence, I inquired her name, 
 and was answered in a quiet, refined voice — 
 
 " Alice M'Callum, sir." 
 
 The tone made me observe her more 
 closely. She is a slight girl, with brown 
 waving hair, pushed very clearly ofi" her 
 brow. Her face looked pale and worn 
 beside the ruddy Phillis. There was nothing
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 43 
 
 striking in the features, but much in their 
 expression, more particularly when seen in 
 a country-servant. Presently she removed 
 the cloth and withdrew. 
 
 "That is a Scottish lass," saidEuth, "and 
 a very superior girl." 
 
 " Has she a brother and a grandfather ?" 
 I asked, "for I saw two Scotchmen on my 
 road here." 
 
 " She has some male relatives who work 
 at the farm below," answered E-uth, taking 
 up her knitting. 
 
 " Have you learned much about our new 
 sphere, Euth ?" I ventured to inquire, after 
 a little pause, for she had already resided 
 here nearly a month. 
 
 " Eeally, I have not troubled myself 
 about any sphere outside these rooms, 
 Edward," she replied ; " they have kept my 
 hands full until now." 
 
 " You have certainly arranged them ad- 
 mirably," I said, looking round. It was no
 
 44 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 compliment. I never saw better appointed 
 chambers. 
 
 By-and-bye I brought out this, my note- 
 book, and began to write. Euth's knitting 
 needles clicked awfully fast. I know she 
 thought me trifling. 
 
 " Is that your correspondence, Edward ?" 
 she inquired, in that cool voice of hers, 
 which always makes me feel so deferential. 
 
 " No ; I'm only writing about — about — " 
 
 " Your sphere, eh ! Edward ?" and the 
 voice was cooler still. 
 
 " Well, yes," I answered, growing despe- 
 rate, *' and yours too, Euth." 
 
 "You needn't trouble yourself about 
 mine," she said. " ' Whatsoever thy hand 
 findeth to do, do it with thy might.' That's 
 all the sphere I care about, Ned." 
 
 " That is just what I wish to illustrate," 
 I explained. 
 
 " The words are plain enough as they 
 stand," said she.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 45 
 
 "Yet, Eiith, many seem to read them, 
 Whatsoever thy hand lindeth not to do, 
 fancy thyself doing it with all thy might." 
 
 " They are fools," she answered, de- 
 cidedly 
 
 " So are all of us," I remarked, ^' in one 
 way or another ;" and then followed a long 
 silence. 
 
 " Nevertheless, Ned," my sister began, in 
 her softer manner, '' I own, even the wisest 
 take long in learning that there is no better 
 work for them than the bit Grod puts into 
 their hands. I know I have often neglected 
 some duties, because it was out of my power 
 to perform others/' 
 
 I could hardly restrain a smile to hear 
 her use her own shortcomings as proof of 
 the weakness of " the wisest." But I knew 
 it meant no harm. It was only a habit 
 she had acquired through being the sole 
 responsible person in the old liome at 
 Mallowe.
 
 46 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " And, Euth," I answered, " there are 
 also people wlio perform the far-oif duties 
 before those near at hand." 
 
 '' Ah, yes," said she, " like the youngs 
 woman who could play the piano, but had 
 not learned the use of a thimble." 
 
 " And there are still others," I went on^ 
 " who yearn after blessings they cannot get, 
 and undervalue those they have." 
 
 " Ah, feelings are different to deeds," she 
 said. " To them we can scarcely say ' I 
 will,' or ' I will not.' " 
 
 *' I think God will help us through our 
 yearnings for what he withholds," I re- 
 marked; ''but he will surely punish our 
 undervaluing what he gives, perhaps by 
 making us realise that old school-book 
 line — 
 
 * How blessings brighten as they take their flight.' 
 
 And speaking of school-books, reminds me 
 that many people will not learn what they 
 may, because they cannot learn what they
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 47 
 
 would, not knowing that the path of pos> 
 sibilitj often guides safely through the 
 maze of improbability ; and they seldom 
 find out their error till too late." 
 
 " Yes, truly," assented Euth, clenching 
 my meanderings with a proverb : — 
 
 " He who will not when he may, 
 When he will, he shall have nay." 
 
 And then she rose and went off about some 
 household arrangement, leaving me to puzzle 
 out a few more thoughts on the wisdom of 
 doing first the thing which lieth nearest. 
 
 But it would not do. The silent beauty 
 of the prospect stretching far before my 
 windows wooed me from my papers, and after 
 a few ineffectual attempts at perseverance, I 
 put them aside, got my hat (oh joy ! not a 
 dingy beaver, but a cool, light straw), and 
 sauntered out. Now, it's just like me to 
 want to know more about what I know 
 already. So, instead of turning to the left 
 and taking the road I had never seen, I
 
 48 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 turned to tlie right and pursued the path 
 along which I had travelled at noon. It 
 was cooler now. The sun was getting low, 
 and the shadows were broader and darker. 
 Very soon I came in sight of the great farm 
 with its outlying houses. The young work- 
 man was still lingering by the gate, which 
 was now mended, and beside him stood a 
 slight figure in white cap and apron. As I 
 drew near I recognised the pale face of my 
 servant, Alice M'Callum. She turned and 
 acknowledged my presence. 
 
 " A fine afternoon, Alice," I said. '* Do 
 yon know, when I saw you at dinner, I 
 fancied I had met relations of yours in the 
 morning, and I suppose I am right." 
 
 '^This is my brother, Ewen, sir," she 
 answered. 
 
 "And you have a grandfather too?" I 
 went on. ''I heard him singing the Scotch 
 psalms as I passed." 
 
 "Ah, he's always cheerful, sir," she
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 49 
 
 said, and I thought her lips quivered a 
 little. 
 
 " Has he gone to his tea ?" I inquired, 
 looking round, for he was not in sight. 
 
 '' No," said the young man, " He's just 
 inside yonder tool-house." 
 
 The words were civil enough, though 
 rather abrupt, but the voice startled me. 
 Like his sister's, it was a refined voice, yet 
 there was in it a harsh tone of defiance, as 
 if he were ready to direct me anywhere, so 
 as it took me away from him. I looked at 
 the girl. Her eyes were fixed on her 
 brother's face, with an expression of mingled 
 pity and terror. There was something in 
 her countenance which made my heart 
 ache. 
 
 " I will go and speak to your grandfather, 
 Alice," I said. 
 
 As I drew near the tool- house, the old 
 man came out. Seeing me approach him, 
 and recognising the traveller of the morning, 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 he gave me a sort of half-military salutation, 
 and stood still. 
 
 " I find your grand- daughter Alice is one 
 of my household," I said. " She does not 
 seem a very strong girl ; but our service will 
 not be hard." 
 
 "Alice is quite content, sir," answered 
 the old man, cheerfully. 
 
 " Were your grandchildren born in Eng- 
 land ?" I inquired. 
 
 " The boy was ; Alice wasn't," replied 
 the patriarch. '' Alice was born in the 
 Highlands of Scotland. She says she can 
 just remember the place; but I doubt, sir, 
 that's more from my talk than from her 
 memory. Ah, I see it as if I'd only left it 
 yesterday — aweel ! — I don't say it was 
 bonnier than this, nor so bonnie maybe," 
 and he looked round, "but for a' that, sir, 
 to auld folk there's nae place like the auld 
 place." 
 
 "What made you leave it?" I asked.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 51 
 
 ^' Ye may well believe, no o' my ain will," 
 said he, " but the Earl, to whose forefathers 
 mine had paid honest rent for a hundred years, 
 took it into his head to make a great sheep 
 farm. So we had notice to quit. Not us only, 
 sir. More than thirty homes were broken 
 up on the same day. One or two hearts were 
 broken, too, I'm feared. Yet the Earl was 
 a kind man, sir, and had never been hard 
 after a bad season. I suppose he didn't 
 know people could care for old walls that 
 had no 'scutcheons on them. I don't 
 doubt he did it never thinking. But that 
 didn't save our sorrow." 
 
 "Was there any resistance?" 
 
 " No, sir ; there were a few fierce words 
 at first, but we understood well enoo' that 
 the Earl could do as he willed wi' his own. 
 And if his agents were kind-hearted folk, 
 why should we make their work painfu' tae 
 them ? And if they were cruel, why should 
 we resist what we couldna withstand, and 
 
 4 — 2
 
 t>:Z THE OCCUPATIONS OV 
 
 gie them the pleasure o' conquerin', as they 
 were sure to do ? We don't like being con- 
 quered, sir ; if we can't keep a field we 
 leave it." 
 
 " And what became of the evicted people ?'^ 
 I asked. 
 
 " They mostly went to Canada. All those 
 I've heard of have prospered. If the Earl 
 ever frets about the few old people who 
 were sent to their graves a little before their 
 time, he may comfort himself with the 
 thocht it was a good change for the many 
 in the long run. That's the way the Lord 
 brings good out of evil, sir." 
 
 "Your family didn't go abroad?" I 
 queried. 
 
 '' No, sir," he said. " I had only one 
 son, and his wife was a poor ailing creature, 
 who would have died on shipboard. Yet 
 she had a wonderfu' spirit : there was no 
 one said harder things of the Earl than she 
 did. At the same time, sir, if she could
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. o3 
 
 have shown him a kindness, I'm sure she'd 
 hae done it. So, instead of going abroad, 
 we came down here, and my son got a place as 
 manager on a farm, and we all did very well, 
 only the wife died when little Ewen was born. 
 My son lived till his children were 'most 
 grown up. We have had hard lines, sir, since 
 then, but I'm glad he died when he did?" 
 
 " Why, how is that ?" I inquired. 
 
 '' Ah, sir, it's a terrible story, and might 
 be better untold. But you seem kind, sir, 
 and however you may judge about the boy, 
 what I can tell will help you to understand 
 Alice." 
 
 " Your grand-daughter certainly looks 
 unhappy, Mr. M 'Galium," said I. 
 
 " She's just witherin' up," said the old 
 man, with the strange pathos of solemn 
 calmness. 
 
 During our conversation we had strolled 
 down the lane past the farmhouse, and as 
 M'Callum spoke thus, he paused beside a
 
 54 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 rude fencing which enclosed a low-lying- 
 woody meadow, through which ran a narrow 
 stream. 
 
 '' It happened there !" he said. 
 
 But Alice came running behind us, quite 
 white and breathless. " Grandfather," she 
 cried, " Ewen is waiting for you to go to 
 tea. You know he must make haste back 
 to finish his work," and as she spoke she gave 
 an appealing look, as if she only wished she 
 knew what was told and what remained 
 unsaid. 
 
 " ril come — I'm cominV' answered the- 
 old man, with a humility like that of a child 
 detected in some indiscretion. '' Mind, sir," 
 he whispered, " it has nothing to do with 
 her, except it's hurrying her away to be an 
 angel in heaven." 
 
 We retraced our steps very slowly, for the 
 old man was unmistakably feeble. Alice 
 walked by his side in silence. We found 
 Ewen waiting for us where we had left him.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 55 
 
 Their home lay down a narrow lane leading 
 from the road. I caught a glimpse of it — 
 a rude wooden cottage, with bulging win- 
 dows. 
 
 " I have put your tea ready, grandfather,"^ 
 said Alice. 
 
 " Thank you, my girl ; and I'm sure, sir, 
 we're kindly obliged to Mistress Grarrett for 
 giving her leave to run out whiles, and do 
 us a turn at housekeeping. Grood evening. 
 Sir. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. M'Callum," I an- 
 swered. ''Good evening," T added, turning 
 to the young man, but he walked away as 
 if he had not heard. 
 
 Alice stepped before me and opened the 
 garden gate. She held it while I passed in. 
 Then she said timidly, " Don't think hardly 
 of my brother, sir. His manner is strange, 
 but he has been through seas of trouble." 
 
 " Is he quite ashore now, Alice ?" I in- 
 quired.
 
 56 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 She did not answer for a minute, but her 
 lip and brow quivered. " I'm afraid, sir, 
 it's as right as it ever will be," she said, and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " My dear girl," I began, " I don't want 
 to hear anything you do not wish to tell, 
 but " 
 
 " You'll hear it all soon enough, sir," she 
 said, with a desperate effort to stop her tears ; 
 '' but I wanted 3''0U to know us a little before 
 you heard." 
 
 " Yet, would it not be best for you to tell 
 me your own story ? Why should I be left 
 to hear what other people say ?" 
 
 " Then I've got no story to tell, sir," she 
 answered with sudden calmness. " The story 
 is what the people say, and they say a lie !" 
 
 There was a clear emphasis in her voice 
 which made me look down at her. Her 
 tears were dried, and her eyes were bright 
 and fixed, like those of a person fronting a 
 railing mob.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 57 
 
 '' Then I should not heed them, AHce." 
 
 " Yes, sir, you would," she replied. Her 
 flat contradiction was quite respectful. She 
 saw life from a position in which I had never 
 stood. She was the wisest in this matter. 
 
 By this time we had reached the hall. I 
 held out my hand to her, as Mr. Lambert 
 had given me his on the day I heard of 
 Lucy's death. 
 
 "Well, at least, Alice," I said, "remember, 
 I am ready to hear whenever you wish to 
 tell. Do not be too sure that a friend's aid 
 is useless." 
 
 She let her hand stay in mine for about a 
 minute. It was very cold. Then she raised 
 her eyes and opened her mouth, so that I 
 saw rather than heard her thanks. 
 
 I went into the parlour. My papers still 
 lay about the table, and Euth had not re- 
 turned. I wondered if she knew anything 
 of the tragedy of which 1 had caught a 
 glimpse. I resolved not to ask her about it
 
 58 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 yet, for I believed she had a practical person's 
 strong dislike to mystery. And what was 
 this mystery? It seemed connected with 
 that handsome, abrupt young workman,, 
 scarcely more than a youth. His sister de- 
 nied its truth, whatever it might be, but I 
 knew that loving women have a happy gift of 
 disbelieving what they choose. Her grand- 
 father had certainly spoken less decidedly ; 
 and I could not forget -his words as we stood 
 beside that low, deserted meadow, with 
 its sluggish stream. " It happened there." 
 What happened ? 
 
 It pained me greatly to see the suffering 
 written on my servant's face. When she 
 brought in our tea she was as composed as 
 possible ; but I had been behind the scenes, 
 and I knew there was a reason for her worn 
 cheeks, and for the strange note that sounded 
 occasionally in her voice. Yet what could 
 I do to help her? It occurred to me, I 
 might find an opportunity of speaking to
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 5^ 
 
 the young man alone. I know some people 
 suffer from a strange reserve, which makes 
 them more willing to open their hearts to 
 strangers than to their dearest friends. This 
 arises from a morbid sensitiveness which 
 cannot bear constantly to meet eyes that 
 understand all about us. Now this dispo- 
 sition ought not to be punished or preached 
 at. It is a spiritual disease, and must be 
 pitied and cured. At the same time, I 
 doubt if it ever wholly disappears. To this^ 
 day, I am glad Kuth never guessed about 
 Lucy Weston. 
 
 After tea, my sister resumed her knitting, 
 and as I fumbled with my papers, I caught 
 her dark eyes watching me with an arch 
 expression. Presently she said — ■ 
 
 " How did you like your afternoon walk, 
 Edward ? Had you any adventures ?" 
 
 " Hem — no — " I answered, guiltily ; " at 
 least, I met Alice in the lane, talking to her 
 brother and grandfather. The old man
 
 60 THE OCCUPATIOISS OF 
 
 seems a shrewd, pleasant Scotchman, and he 
 sent his thanks to you for permitting Alice 
 to look after his household arrangements." 
 
 " Ah, poor man ! I should think myself a 
 hard woman if I denied him any comfort in 
 my power to give," said Euth. 
 
 ''Any special reason for saying so ?" I in- 
 quired. 
 
 " I believe the young man is as bad as he 
 can be," returned my sister. " There's one 
 very dark story whispered about him in the 
 neighbourhood. He was tried for a fearful 
 deed and acquitted. So, of course, human 
 eyes must henceforth regard him as innocent. 
 I'll not repeat the story, for I don't know 
 any particulars." 
 
 " I gathered something of this from their 
 talk in the afternoon," 1 said. " At any 
 rate, his sister believes him guiltless." 
 
 " She's one of those women who are made 
 to be heart-broken," remarked Euth: "she'd 
 not love him less if she knew him guilty."
 
 A KETIRED LIFE. Gl 
 
 " Thank God for such love/' I said. '' It 
 helps us to understand His own." 
 
 " Yes, that's all very fine," returned my 
 sister, " but it seems hard one should be a 
 martyr that others may learn a lesson." 
 
 " Yet it is often Grod's will," said I. 
 
 " Well, Edward," she answered, " I don't 
 suppose He wishes it, but as He permits it, of 
 course we must be satisfied. He will make 
 it up to the sufferers in His own good time." 
 
 " He makes it up now," I said. *^ Love 
 is ever its own reward. It purifies the heart 
 which holds it." 
 
 " So does fire purify silver," retorted Euth, 
 " but I doubt if the silver likes the process 
 while it is going on." 
 
 "Yet I am sure Alice would not j^ive 
 up her sisterly love even if she could," I 
 pleaded. 
 
 " Ah, she can't give it up, so tliat settles 
 the question," returned Euth. " There is 
 no laying down the crosses that grow out
 
 62 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 of our own hearts, and they are always 
 heaviest !" 
 
 '' The heaviest cross makes the brightest 
 crown/-* I said. 
 
 " I suppose so," she answered. " But 
 when one is over tired with carrying a burden 
 on a long journey, one has not always 
 strength to look forward to the very end. 
 The little bit of road under each footstep is 
 often quite enough !" 
 
 *' Just so," I said, " and so doing, we shall 
 suddenly find ourselves on the threshold of 
 Home !" 
 
 Then followed a long silence. At last I 
 asked, ^' From what service did you take 
 Alice M ^Galium?" 
 
 " From Mallowe Hall," answered Euth. 
 " I knew her by her coming to my old shop, 
 and I always had a liking for her. She was 
 lady's-maid there, and she left because all 
 the servants took sides against her brother, 
 and that she could not bear. Besides she
 
 A RETIRED LIEE. 63 
 
 wished to be nearer her relations in their 
 ' trouble/ as she called it. So I offered to 
 take her, and she was quite thankful to 
 come, though our service is much inferior to 
 what she left at the Hall. I told her plainly 
 she was a simpleton. But she only answered 
 * Never mind.' " 
 
 " Well, Euth," I said, " I am truly thank- 
 ful you acted as you did. Few women would 
 have courage to engage a servant who ex- 
 pressly wished to be near a relation with ' a 
 very dark story.' " 
 
 " I am not in the habit of judging indi- 
 viduals by their connexions," she answered, 
 " and I liked the girl's faithfulness. Be- 
 sides, for the matter of fear, I may as well 
 .tell you I keep pistols." 
 
 "Bless me, Euth !" I ejaculated. 
 
 "Well," said she, coolly, turning her 
 needles, and beginning another row. " Better 
 do that, than not do what you wish because 
 you're frightened."
 
 64 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " When did you begin that custom ?" I 
 inquired. 
 
 " Twenty years ago," she answered ; "at 
 the time when I hired a youth to be mes- 
 senger and odd man about the house and 
 garden at Mallowe." 
 
 " Then you took two or three means of 
 protection at the same time/' I said. 
 
 " I didn't know whether the lad would be 
 a protection," she replied, dril3^ "He had 
 been a convict, and he hung about the vil- 
 lage, saying he could not do anything, be- 
 cause no one would give him a chance. I 
 resolved he should not have that excuse any 
 longer. So I rode to Hopleigh and bought 
 two pistols, and took some lessons in their 
 use. Then I hired him, and he slept in the 
 room over mine. He never knew about the 
 firearms. He thought I trusted him entirely. 
 I think it was a harmless deception. Had 
 he shown himself unworthy of trust he 
 would have found out his mistake."
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. ' 65 
 
 " Then you were not disappointed in 
 liim?" 
 
 " No," she said, " he is now highly re- 
 ■spectable, and is head man on one of the 
 best farms near the village." 
 
 ^'Euth," said I, gazing earnestly at her, 
 as she sat opposite me, as upright as a dart, 
 ^'you never told me this before." 
 
 " Why should I ?" she replied, returning 
 nciy gaze with a sharp glance from her keen 
 hazel eyes. " You would have urged me not 
 to do it, or not to do such things again, as 
 the case might be. And yet I'll engage 
 you've been doing the like in London. 
 We're all willing to be a little brave or kind 
 ourselves, but we're prone to wish our 
 friends to shut themselves into safe, selfish 
 cupboards, just to save our own feelings and 
 fears." 
 
 "Well, Euth," I said (thinking this 
 was a good opportunity), ''I've coma 
 to the conclusion I'll have a little con- 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 THE OCCUPATIONS OP 
 
 versation with young Ewen M'Callum 
 myself." 
 
 " Very well/' she replied, " only you need 
 not speak to him beside pools in lonely 
 fields." 
 
 " But supposing the best opportunity oc- 
 curs in such a locality ?" I said, smiling. 
 
 "I cannot get into you to direct your 
 conscience," she answered. '' But don't fol- 
 low my example in everything except the 
 pistols 1" 
 
 At that moment Phillis brought in our 
 supper, and our conversation fell into very 
 ordinary channels, until we finally said good 
 night, and retired to our respective chambers. 
 
 I wonder if Kuth has really had no ro- 
 mance in her life. I am not so sure of it as 
 I was last night. She is certainly like some 
 apples I have seen, which have green, tart 
 rinds, yet are very sweet at the core. But 
 it God has ever sent my sister one of those 
 special sorrows with which " a stranger in-
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. G7 
 
 termeddletli not/' slie must liave suffered 
 very mucli, as such strong natures do. They 
 always shut their sorrows in their own 
 hearts, which is veiy like covering a crown 
 of thorns with an iron helmet. Grod bless 
 her ! I almost wish she had been born to 
 rank and wealth — she seems just the woman 
 to save a country, like Joan of Arc, or Eliza- 
 beth, or Maria Theresa. 
 
 Yet, after all, but few are needed to do 
 these out-of-the-way tasks which startle the 
 world, and one may be most useful just 
 doing common-place duties and leaving the 
 issue with God. And when it is all over, 
 and our feet will run no more, and our hands 
 are helpless, and we have scarcely strength 
 to murmur a last prayer, then we shall see 
 that instead of needing a larger field, we 
 have left untilled many corners of our single 
 acre, and that none of it is fit for our Master's 
 eye, were it not for the softening shadow of 
 the Cross.
 
 C8 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF THE LOW MEADOW. 
 
 The two following days were very rainy, 
 and I spent them indoors arranging my 
 books and papers according to my own 
 fashion. But on Saturday the weather 
 was glorious. 
 
 I did not go out until afternoon, and then 
 I made my way down the lane wherein 
 stood the M'Callums' wooden cottage. I 
 found it empty. I could see the glimmer 
 of a fire on the hearth, and a fine grey cat 
 was seated on the window-sill, but the 
 other inmates were evidently out. So I 
 sauntered on. 
 
 I had not gone very far before I came 
 to a gate. It led into a field where two
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 69 
 
 COWS and a donkey were feeding. It was a 
 clear open meadow, lying full on tlie islope 
 of the hill, and commanding a fine view of 
 the valley and of my dear old Mallowe. 
 I went in, and rambled about. I attempted 
 a friendship with the cattle, fully believing 
 myself quite alone in the open eye of 
 heaven, when suddenly I caught sight of a 
 man seated on a fallen tree, resting elbows 
 on knees and hiding his face in his hands. 
 It was Ewen M'Callum. 
 
 I stood still. I feel an awe in the 
 presence of speechless suffering, for, with 
 all its agony, I know it very often sits 
 close outside the golden gates of God's 
 Paradise. In this case I could scarcely 
 hope so. Yet anyhow there is royalty about 
 anguish. I stood still : and it seemed as if 
 a solemn silence dropped over the meadows. 
 
 He sat as if he would never stir, and I 
 scarcely wished him to look up and find 
 m.e watching him. So I went towards him
 
 70 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 with a brisk step, and when he raised his 
 head I bade hiui a cheerful " good after- 
 noon." 
 
 He responded and got up, gathering to- 
 gether a little cane and two books which 
 lay near him on the grass. He intended to 
 go away, and I was forced to devise an 
 excuse to detain him. 
 
 " This is a fine prospect," I said. 
 " Where does this field lead ?" 
 
 " Into the road that goes to Mallowe,'' 
 he answered. 
 
 " I suppose you leave work early on Satur- 
 day," I went on. "I hope your grandfather 
 has not suffered from the wet weather." 
 
 ''I believe he is very well," he replied. 
 
 I felt that our conversation was torture 
 to him, and that he was merely enduring 
 it by great effort of will. It was like hold- 
 ing a wild animal, which only waits till our 
 grasp relaxes, and then bounds away to its 
 hiding-place, henceforth to be shyer than
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 71 
 
 ever. I saw I should never get at liim 
 tlirougli the ordinary avenues of neighbour- 
 hood and friendliness. To such entrance 
 his heart was closed. My only chance 
 lay in a sudden attack on some unexpected 
 corner. 
 
 " I should like to ask you a question," I 
 said, and was almost frightened to hear my 
 words. 
 
 His face changed colour and his lips 
 moved a little ; yet there seemed a thaw in 
 his manner as he answered, " Very well, sir." 
 
 " I hear something is said against you in 
 the village. I have not heard what it is. 
 Will you tell me ?" 
 
 There was a long silence. We stood 
 just beside the fallen tree. I could see 
 some little boats on the silver breast of the 
 distant Mallowe, and thin smoke wreaths 
 rising from the house on its shore. I heard 
 a church clock strike four. My companion 
 stood motionless beside me, the outlines
 
 72 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 of his face clearly cliiselled against the pale 
 hlue sky — a handsome face, full of pas- 
 sionate sensibility, from which the old look 
 of fierce endurance had fallen like a mask. 
 At last he spoke : " They say I am a 
 murderer !" 
 
 I did not shudder at the dreadful word, and 
 somehow there was no query in my voice as I 
 turned to him and said, "But it is not true." 
 
 " No, it isn't," he answered ; " but it 
 might be better for — for the others — if 
 it were 1" 
 
 " No, no," I said, " the more the sin the 
 greater the sorrow." 
 
 " Well, I don't know," he went on in a 
 choking voice. " If it had been found true, 
 and I had suffered for it, every one would 
 have pitied them ; but as it is, they are 
 only blamed and scoffed at for taking my 
 part." 
 
 "But you don't suppose they mind 
 that ?" I inquired.
 
 A KETIRED LT¥E. 7S 
 
 "If they don't, I do/' he said. 
 
 " Sit down and tell me all about it," I 
 said ; " surely there must be some way out 
 of this misery ; tell it from the beginning, 
 and take your own time over it," for I saw 
 he was greatly excited. 
 
 We both sat down side by side on the 
 fallen tree. 
 
 '' It is a pity I was born," he said. 
 
 " Don't say that," I interrupted ; " that 
 might have saved your past, but it would 
 also cost your future." 
 
 " My future !" he ejaculated, bitterly. 
 
 " Yes," I answered. " What do you 
 call the future ? If you measure it by the 
 few fleeting years of mortality, you may 
 as well style this field the world." 
 
 " I'm a living text for all the sermons in 
 the neighbourhood, he broke out after a 
 short silence. " There is not an idle repro- 
 bate in the place who does not set forth my 
 ruin in excuse for not caring about his-
 
 74 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 children's education. I'm quoted as an in- 
 stance of the folly of parents trying to elevate 
 their families above the station in which it 
 pleased Gfod to place them. Every one is 
 sure I should have been a better man if I 
 had not known how to write or read. They 
 can't argue the subject, but they can point 
 to me in illustration." 
 
 At this moment it struck me that the 
 young man's whole manner was not that of 
 a country labourer. I had not noticed it 
 before, because my ordinary style of conver- 
 sation is so homely that I need seldom lower 
 it for the simplest comprehension. 
 
 " Then your father brought you up care- 
 fully?" I remarked. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, he did," answered the 
 youth ; *' and he would have been angry if 
 any one had called us poor people, and I 
 was sent to the best school he could find. 
 But from the first there was something 
 wrong in me. The schoolmaster did not
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 75 
 
 like me, and I had not a friend among tlie 
 boys. They knew who I was, and they did 
 not care to receive me as an equal. When 
 I discovered that, I turned it over in my 
 mind, till I made out that according to their 
 reckoning I was their superior : for however 
 poor we were, I came of a nation the English 
 could never subdue. They drove me to 
 say so, and then they hated me, and I used 
 to go to and fro with black bitter anger in 
 my heart. Oh, what folly it all was ! 
 What folly 1 — if I'd known then what real 
 
 trouble means Nevertheless," he went 
 
 on, "I liked school for the sake of learning, 
 and I believe I got on pretty well. But 
 when I was fourteen my father died, and 
 somebody got me a place in the builder's 
 counting-house at Mallowe. The builder's 
 son had been my schoolfellow, and the same 
 week that I entered his father's shop he 
 went to college. I suppose I envied him. 
 I don't know how it came about, but I grew
 
 76 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 a very bad lad. There was somethmg in 
 me which, would not be satisfied with my 
 work and my home. Then Alice got a situa- 
 tion as lady's-maid, and grandfather w^ent 
 into lodgings, and there was nowhere for me 
 to go of an evening. And yet it was not 
 that either, for whenever grandfather called 
 to see me I made some excuse to get rid of 
 him, and when Alice wrote to me I seldom 
 answered her letters. One of the young 
 men in my master's shop was a Londoner, 
 and he seemed to have so much more life in 
 him than the others that I made friends 
 with him at once. I got so fond of 
 him that he could persuade me to any- 
 thing. I used to go with him to all 
 the cricket-matches and regattas within 
 reach. Those things are harmless enough 
 if one goes to them in good company. 
 But poor George was not good com- 
 pany. And so I went on from bad to 
 worse."
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 77 
 
 " Until " I remarked, to lead him on, 
 
 for he paused. 
 
 " Oh, the story is just like a common 
 report out of a dirty newspaper," he said, 
 writhing. 
 
 " Never mind that,'* I said ; " and we 
 should not call such things common if we 
 only realized what anguish they each bring 
 to somebody." 
 
 '' Well, I got in debt to George. He 
 gambled, and often had plenty of money. 
 Then we grew quarrelsome. One Saturday 
 afternoon last summer twelvemonth we 
 went together to a boat-race. He drank a 
 good deal, and betted and lost. I tried to 
 get him away, but he only became very 
 angry, and used violent words about the 
 money I owed liim. At last we left the 
 place together. He had lodgings up here, 
 and I meant to see liim home. But he got 
 so aggravating that my temper was roused, 
 iind I left him, and returned towards tlie
 
 78 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 river. Just as I was passing the churcli I 
 saw Alice riding in her mistress's carriage, 
 and she looked from the window and recog- 
 nised me. After taking a walk, I went back 
 to my master's house and slept there ; and 
 on Sunday morning we heard that George 
 was found drowned in the water in the 
 Low Meadow." 
 
 He spoke these last words in a low, 
 horrified tone. It was the first time he 
 had told the story. I did not break silence, 
 but waited till he resumed the narrative. 
 
 " I was arrested that evening," he went 
 on, " and I own everything was against me. 
 I was last seen with the dead man, and we 
 were heard to be on bad terms. One or 
 two people swore to seeing us together on 
 the road a good way from the river. One 
 man, an ostler, knew the exact time when 
 we passed his tavern. It was half-past 
 four. From that house it would take about 
 three-quarters of an hour to reach the Low
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 79 
 
 Meadow. I did not re-enter my master's 
 house until half-past six, which allowed me 
 full time to go the whole distance and 
 return."' 
 
 " But your sister had seen you in the 
 interval/' I remarked. 
 
 " Yes ; and as she was driving past the 
 church, she had happened to notice the 
 time, and it was then about ten minutes to 
 five. Her mistress remembered this, and 
 also that Alice had nodded to some one on 
 foot. That was all the evidence I could 
 bring forward in my favour." 
 
 " Slender as it seems, it was sufficient," 
 said I. 
 
 " It might have been if Alice were not 
 my sister," he replied. '' But every one is 
 quite willing to believe that she swore falsely 
 to save me." 
 
 " But her mistress partly corroborated 
 her," I remarked. 
 
 " Not in the main point," he said/ " The
 
 60 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 lady knew that my sister nodded to some 
 one as they passed the church at ten minutes 
 to ^ve; but she did not see w/io it was. 
 So the coroner gave a verdict of ' found 
 drowned/ and I was discharged, because 
 * there was not evidence whereon a jury 
 could convict.' " 
 
 " But didn't they take into consideration 
 the poor man's intoxication ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Yes : they consulted on the possibility 
 of his slipping into the pool ; but many 
 swore that he was sober enough to take care 
 of himself. I believe that was true." 
 
 " Then, what is your theory of his death ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 *' That he was murdered, or, at least, that 
 a struggle took place on the bank which 
 ended in his falling into the water. There 
 were footprints of two people up to a certain 
 point where the ground was much trampled, 
 and after that there was only trace of 
 one."
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 81 
 
 " It is very dreadful," I said ; " and no 
 one else has been arrested since your dis- 
 cbarge ?" 
 
 " No/' he answered, hopelessly. " Suspi- 
 cion did not point at any body but me, and 
 so I must go through life as the murderer 
 of the man who was my companion and 
 destroyer. There is no appeal from suspi- 
 cion ! 
 
 " Then you left your old service at Mal- 
 lowe ?" I asked. 
 
 " I was dismissed," he said, " and there 
 was no chance of getting a similar situation. 
 But I had been with my father a great 
 deal when I was a boy, and so I am handy 
 at any out-door work. But even that was 
 not easy to get, till Mr. Herbert at the 
 Great Farm took me on as a kind of general 
 hand." 
 
 " There, at least, is a blessing," I said ; 
 *' that saves you from being a burden to your 
 grandfather and Alice, and " 
 
 VOL. I, 6
 
 82 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " I wouldn't have lived upon them while 
 there was a rope in the house or water in 
 the river !" he interrupted in the old despe- 
 rate tone. 
 
 " What ! sooner than bear the weight of 
 gratitude, you would plunge those who love 
 you in despair?" I said. " I am sorry you 
 are so selfish!" 
 
 He groaned aloud — " 0, sir, have mercy 
 on me. If you could only know how I 
 feel " 
 
 " Ah, that is it," I said, laying my hand 
 on his arm. " If I only could ! But, my 
 boy, God knows all about it, and He does 
 not willingly afflict his poor children." 
 
 '' But this false accusation — this wicked 
 scandal — cannot come from God!" he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " He permits them — He does not wish 
 them," I replied, recaUing Euth's remark. 
 " No more did He wish a youth, the son of 
 godly parents, to go with evil company, and
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 83 
 
 fall into wicked ways. You must learn to 
 pardon your neighbours' mistake. Your 
 conduct has led them into this breach of 
 charity. You have been to them an occasion 
 of falling." 
 
 " And must the world always go on thus ?" 
 he cried. 
 
 "Eemember, God over-rules all these 
 troubles," I went on. '' He saw you were 
 proud and wilful, and He has been pleased 
 to humble you, and to put your steps into 
 straight and painful paths. He changes 
 your neighbours' mistake into a merciful rod 
 to correct you. You must not cry out at 
 the rod, you must be thankful for it, and 
 repent of the sins which brought it upon 
 you." 
 
 " But the innocent suffer with the guilty," 
 he said, raising his eyes. '' Theij feel the 
 rod as well as I do." 
 
 "That is part of your punishment," I 
 answered. "But do not understand me 
 
 0-2
 
 84 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 that affliction follows sin as a judgment. God 
 sends sorrow to draw us back to Him, or 
 nearer to Him, as the case may be. The 
 judgment of sin lies in our remorse for it, 
 and our grief at consequences which we 
 cannot undo. It is right you should smart 
 to see the troubles of your dear ones ; but 
 yet those troubles may be a blessing to 
 them." 
 
 He had buried his face in his hands, and 
 I saw a tear trickle between his fingers. 
 
 " Your grandfather bears it very bravely," 
 I said presently. ''I daresay he thinks 
 little of any sacrifice which serves to steady 
 you." 
 
 "That's just what he says; but it's killing 
 Alice," he answered, without looking up. 
 
 " You are killing Alice," I said firmly. 
 " She cannot bear it because she sees that 
 you do not bear it cheerfully. Now, will 
 you not candidly own that you often speak 
 sharply to her ?"
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 85 
 
 " Who told yon so ?" he asked in asto- 
 nishment. 
 
 ^'My own knowledge of human nature," 
 I answered : " when she comes near you, the 
 sight of her recalls all the misery and bitter- 
 ness, and doubtless you see she is whiter 
 and thinner than she was two years ago. 
 Then your heart rebels, and you ask yourself 
 grievous questions which you are not able 
 to answer, and meanwhile you forget the 
 smile and the pleasant word which would 
 send her away rejoicing. Next time she 
 comes back whiter and thinner than ever, and 
 the same weary work is done over again." 
 
 " But what am I to do ?" he said, looking 
 at me with eyes of such despair that I could 
 hardly confront them. 
 
 " Humble yourself, and leave the past 
 alone," I replied. " Eemember that you 
 have sinned, and forget that you have been 
 sinned against. Draw your thoughts from 
 your injuries to your errors."
 
 86 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 He sat in silence for some minutes, then 
 the church clock chimed ^ve, and he arose, 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Then you believe I am an innocent 
 man, sir?" lie said. 
 
 "I do, sincerely," said I. 
 
 " I'll try to do as you say, sir," he re- 
 marked presently. 
 
 " You must excuse my plain speaking," 
 I said ; " I don't often take folks by storm 
 as I have taken you." 
 
 " I wasn't worth the trouble," said he. 
 
 " Don't forget you are worth a good deal 
 to two or three people in the world," I 
 answered, "and you'll set a value on your- 
 self, some day soon." 
 
 He smiled sadly and shook his bead, and 
 so we parted, and I traced my way alone. 
 
 I had plenty to think about, in this grim 
 common-place tragedy which had met me 
 on the threshold of my retired life. I felt 
 a warm interest in Ewen M 'Galium. He
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 87 
 
 had passed through a dreadful trial, but I 
 could see it was just the trial he needed. 
 Think of his schoolboy pride in belonging 
 to a nation which had never been subdued 1 
 Ah, now he knows his own weakness, and 
 one has to know that before one can be really- 
 strong. 
 
 Then I pondered over the mystery of the 
 Low Meadow. Even Ewen concluded that 
 his unhappy comrade had not met his death 
 by mere misadventure. If this were true, 
 the young man's character might yet be 
 cleared by the discovery of the real criminal. 
 But Ewen himself owned that suspicion 
 had pointed to nobody but him, and surely 
 the police would have tracked every possible 
 clue they could find. It made me shudder 
 to think that the murderer might yet be 
 haunting the neighbourhood, not even 
 aroused to confession by the danger and 
 misery of an innocent person. Now, what 
 would touch such a heart as that ? I should
 
 88 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 say ''nothing/' only I know that God can 
 do anything. 
 
 As I drew near home, there came through 
 the open window a pleasant clatter of spoons 
 and china. It was tea-time. In the hall I 
 met Alice carrying the toast rack. 
 
 " I think you will find things get much 
 better soon, Alice," I said, cheerfully. 
 
 She looked up at me with sudden bright- 
 ness and asked : " Have you been speaking 
 to Ewen, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and I believe I have got into his 
 heart," I replied. 
 
 "Did he mind — I mean how does he 
 seem now, sir ?" 
 
 " Well, Alice," I answered, smiling, " I 
 think he is quite as well as can be expected 
 after the operation." 
 
 Then we went into the parlour, and Alice 
 deposited the rack on the table, and Euth 
 looked at her and then at me, and quite 
 understood that I now knew all about it.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 89 
 
 She is a wonderful quick woman, one of the 
 sort that know things before they are told. 
 I can never make out how she did not guess 
 about Lucy Weston. 
 
 " So you've had your conversation with 
 the young man," she said, as soon as the 
 girls had left us. 
 
 " Yes," I answered ; " and I have come 
 to the conclusion that he is as innocent as 
 
 am. 
 
 " Why, surely you didn't talk to him of 
 — what they say, Edward?" she exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, I did," I replied. " I asked him 
 to tell me all he could about it." 
 
 " Well, that's delightful simplicity !" said 
 Ruth, laughing; "nevertheless, I believe 
 simple people often do the wisest things. 
 Let me put another lump of sugar in yom' 
 tea, Ned." 
 
 "Thanks for your compliment," I said, 
 holding up my cup for the proffered sweet- 
 ness. " Don't you know, Ruth, that my
 
 90 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 pet theoiy is the mission of Thorough- 
 fares ?" 
 
 *'I want a report of that mission," said 
 she. " I don't quite understand its opera- 
 tions." 
 
 " Well," I answered, " when I was in the 
 city, " I used to notice that streets through 
 which no one could pass were always mise- 
 rable. The houses got bad tenants, and the 
 bad tenants grew worse every day. I re- 
 member one instance in particular. It was 
 a long, narrow street, opening from a road 
 and ended by a dead wall. The houses near 
 the road were well enough. But as you 
 passed down the street you saw that each 
 dwelling was shabbier and dirtier than the 
 last, until close to the dead wall, you found 
 broken windows screened by torn shawls or 
 dirty blankets, through whose tatters you 
 could see family operations not usually 
 carried on in the eyes of the public. It 
 was a hopeless street, — a property so bad
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 91 
 
 that the landlord vainly advertised it for 
 sale. But in the course of some improve- 
 ments, the dead wall was pulled down, and 
 the lower end of the street thrown open to- 
 a rising thoroughfare. And before a year 
 was out, either the old tenants had departed, 
 or they had mended their ways, for there 
 was no untidy window or slatternly woman 
 to be seen. Now I believe it is just the 
 same with our hearts. Sin or sorrow some- 
 times close them so that no friendly voice 
 can echo through. And gradually, all foul 
 things congregate therein. Then some 
 hand must break down the barriers with 
 kindly violence, so that God's comfort may 
 blow through like the healthy north wind 
 which leaves a blessing behind it. And 
 that makes suspicion and despair get 
 ashamed of themselves and sneak out of 
 sight, while love to God and man passes up 
 and down the new thoroughfare." 
 
 "That's all true enough," said Eutli.
 
 1)2 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " But don't you think that in due time 
 most hearts re-open without any inter- 
 ference ?" 
 
 " Perhaps they may," I answered, " but 
 they may remain closed too long for 
 their own happiness or the good of the 
 world/' 
 
 " Yes, that's quite possible," said she, and 
 she looked very grave. " But still, Edward, 
 don't you think some sorrows are best en- 
 dured and conquered in silence ?" 
 
 "I do think so," I replied; ''but then 
 sorrow is not meant to close the heart, but 
 to open it, and if we feel our heart closing, 
 we may be sure we are neither enduring nor 
 conquering, but succumbing." 
 
 There followed a long pause. 
 
 " A false accusation is a terrible thing," 
 said Ruth, at last, " for it is very dreadful 
 merely to be misunderstood." 
 
 " I don't believe you would mind even 
 that," I remarked ; " you are brave enough
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. QS" 
 
 to say, * If Grod and my conscience approve, 
 let others think what they may.' " 
 
 "You are a wise man, Edward," said 
 Euth, drily. Now what she meant by that, 
 I cannot tell. I am sure she did not mean 
 exactly what she said. 
 
 "It is to be hoped that you practise what 
 you preach," she added presently. " If you 
 have made a thoroughfare in this young 
 man's heart, make a thoroughfare in his life 
 as well." 
 
 " Please explain yourself, Euth," I said. 
 
 "Why, don't you see he is cooped in a 
 corner," she answered, taking up her knit- 
 ting-needles, " with a lie behind him, and 
 the whole village in front, hunting him 
 back upon it? I suppose the world has 
 more places in it than Mallowe and Upper 
 Mallowe." 
 
 " Well, now I think of it, I wonder he 
 did not go abroad," I said. 
 
 " Yes, of course, brother," answered Euth;
 
 94 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " because yon know people can travel about 
 so easily who have neither money, nor 
 friends, nor character, particularly if they 
 have aged or feeble relatives with whom it 
 is their duty to stay. I must repeat, 
 Edward, that you are a very wise man !" 
 
 '' But if he went to London," I said, 
 "then he wouldn't be too far from his 
 grandfather and sister — certainly he might 
 go to London." 
 
 " Certainly he will," said Euth, " if you 
 send him." 
 
 " But still, out-door work there would be 
 worse than here," I remarked, " and, under 
 the circumstances, other employment would 
 be hard to get." 
 
 " Then never talk to me again about 
 your city influence," said Ruth, knitting 
 furiously. 
 
 "But, my dear," I pleaded, "we have 
 only our own impressions to go by, and " 
 
 "Edward," said she, laying down her
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 95 
 
 needles, and looking at me awfully, as she 
 used in the days of ray youth when I 
 faltered in repeating 'my duty to my 
 neighbour,' "Edward, do you believe this 
 young man innocent, or do you believe him 
 guilty ?" 
 
 "I have no doubt of his innocence," I 
 answered. 
 
 " Then do your duty according to your 
 lights," said she ; " that's all the best of us 
 €an do." 
 
 " But I could not recommend him to any 
 one without telling him the whole story," I 
 remarked. 
 
 " Certainly not ; but I repeat, if you can 
 not get anybody to share your convictions, 
 or at least to trust them, I would not give 
 much for your city influence." 
 
 " But would he be better off anywhere, 
 when once his story was known?" I 
 c[ueried. 
 
 " I should think so. I presume a re-
 
 96 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 spectable merchant could hear such a narra- 
 tive without telling it over to all his clerks 
 and errand-boys. Were no confidences ever 
 placed in you, Edward ?" 
 
 " Well, my dear, " I answered, " let us 
 call Alice, and if we can ascertain from her 
 that the scheme is likely to prove agreeable 
 to her brother, I will write to my old part- 
 ners, and the youth's mind need not be 
 disturbed about the matter till we have a 
 definite ofier to make him." 
 
 " There, that will do," said Euth ; and 
 she got up and rang the bell, and in half a 
 minute Alice's patient face appeared at the 
 doorway. 
 
 " Alice," I said, " come in ; I have some 
 questions to ask about Ewen. We all 
 believe him innocent — my sister, you, and I 
 ' — ^but we fear it is very hard to defy a 
 general bad opinion. Do you think Ewen 
 likes remaining in the neighbourhood ?" 
 
 " Oh, sir," exclaimed the maiden, wringing
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 97 
 
 her thin fingers, " do not set him thinking 
 about going abroad !" 
 
 " Don't be a simpleton, Alice," said 
 Euth ; " now you are feeling for yourself 
 instead of your brother." 
 
 " Hush, Euth," I interrupted. *' Alice is 
 only nervous because she is weak and weary 
 with sorrow. I am not speaking of abroad. 
 I think it is a great blessing that he could 
 get honest work close at hand, for Mr. 
 Herbert had as much reason as other people 
 to mistrust him. By the way, I wonder 
 that did not help to re-establish Ewen's 
 character, Alice." 
 
 " It could not, sir," she answered. " Every 
 one knows that Mr. Herbert would not care 
 if he were guilty, so as he could get him 
 cheap." 
 
 " Now, I fear that is rather uncharitable, 
 Alice," said I. 
 
 " It may not be so, Edward," remarked 
 Euth. " ' Charity thinketh no evil,' that is 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 to say, she does not suspect, but she cannot 
 shut her eyes to facts." 
 
 " I am not ungrateful to Mr. Herbert, 
 sir," said Alice. "His work has been a 
 blessing to us, for the other gentlemen 
 round here would not hire Ewen at any 
 price." 
 
 " Well, what I wish to ask is, do you 
 think your brother would be better off in 
 London? Take time to consider. There 
 are many questions to answer. Has he had 
 sufficient warning to steady him ? Can you 
 and his grandfather bear to part from him ?" 
 
 " Oh, sir," said Alice, with streaming 
 eyes, "if he could get work more fit for 
 him than field-labour, and be out of sight 
 of all the people that shun and scorn him, 
 grandfather and I wouldn't think about 
 ourselves." 
 
 " Now I believe you love your brother," 
 remarked Euth, quietly. But tlie girl 
 dropped her head and wept bitterly.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 99 
 
 " I suppose lie would have no objection 
 to any plan of this sort ?" I said presently. 
 
 " He would bless you and thank God for 
 it, sir," sobbed my servant. 
 
 " Then don't rej)eat our conversation at 
 present, and I will see what can be done. 
 Trust me, he shall not be left in his present 
 misery if I can help it." 
 
 " Though he must not forget it is prin- 
 cipally his own fault," said Euth, paren- 
 thetically. 
 
 " And now you may go, Alice ; and you 
 may tell Phillis to get supper ready." 
 
 " No, I'll tell her myself," interrupted 
 Euth ; " and if Alice likes, she can go straight 
 off to bed, else Phillis will think she has had 
 a very bad scolding." 
 
 " I don't care what any one thinks, 
 ma'am," said Alice, joyfully, though the 
 tears were still streaming down her cheeks. 
 
 "Now, isn't that extraordinary?" remarked 
 Euth, when she was gone. 
 
 7—2
 
 100 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " That in particular ?" I inquired. 
 
 '* That girl's love for a brother who has 
 never made her happy. People who are 
 wicked, or useless, or unlucky, seem always 
 the most thought of." 
 
 " I suppose it is a provision of God," I 
 said. "He longs to save them from them- 
 selves. If we stood on shore and beheld a 
 shipwreck, we should throw out most ropes 
 to those who could not swim." 
 
 " But still it seems hard," said Euth. 
 
 " Well, so it did to the prodigal's brother," 
 I answered ; " but depend upon it, when 
 they both sat down at the family feast he 
 was the happier of the two ; or at any rate, 
 he would have been, had he loved his brother 
 as he ought. You see, he might have 
 watched at the gate beside his father, and 
 then he would have been better em- 
 ployed than weighing and measuring affec- 
 tion, and disturbing himself with reproachful 
 thoughts."
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 101 
 
 " Ah, yes, so lie would,'' said Ruth ; " of 
 course I know God in his wisdom manages 
 these things best ; and that just shows us 
 how foolish we must be; for if we had the reins 
 we should do almost everything differently/' 
 
 "And yet, Euth, I believe no fiction ever 
 points so clear a moral as one life lived 
 fairly through," I observed, " and that is 
 how God sees every life from its beginning. 
 We only read one or two chapters out of 
 each history : or if we happen to see nearly 
 all, we do not possess the key, which would 
 show us a hidden meaning." 
 
 " I suppose it is so,'' said she, folding up 
 her knitting ; then, with a change of tone, 
 she continued, " but if I were you, Edward, 
 I would write that city letter directly, so that 
 it may go off by the next post." 
 
 I wrote it, and when it was signed, sealed, 
 and stamped, my vigilant sister was satisfied, 
 and we had our supper and went to bed in 
 peace.
 
 102 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 I did not go to sleep directly, for my room 
 was glorious with moonlight. I lay still 
 and pondered over the events of the day ; 
 and most of all, I mused over the depths of 
 sin and suffering that might lie hidden 
 behind the calm smiling front of such a 
 tiny village as Upper Mallowe. When I 
 passed Mr. M'Callum and Ewen in front of 
 Mr. Herbert's farm on the day of my arrival, 
 how little I dreamed of the tragedies in 
 which they were both called to bear part ! 
 And so it often is. We read of saints and 
 heroes, of martyrs and sorely-tried folks, and 
 then we go out into the world, and marvel 
 why we meet nothing of the sort. All our 
 own fault ! We cannot see the romance 
 because our eyes are too weak to pierce its 
 common-place vulgar wrappings. 
 
 " Just like a common report in a dirty 
 newspaper," said poor Ewen of his sad story. 
 And yet if we move the scene from an 
 obscure village to a great capital, and change
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 103 
 
 the persons from unknown working people 
 to princes and generals, tliis is the stuff of 
 which much history is made. We are all so 
 taken with the glitter and grandeur, that 
 many who would shudder to come in personal 
 contact with " common " crime hke this, 
 are ready to spend years in writing the de- 
 fence of some royal " suspect," long dead 
 and gone beyond the reach of calumny or 
 justice. But I suppose my mind is not 
 strong enough to love great heights and 
 long distances. I would rather confine my 
 interest to the little world lying close round 
 me. I always find that it contains far more 
 than I can manage, and I should often be 
 quite disheartened if I did not remember 
 that our Saviour approved her who just " did 
 what she could." 
 
 Then I fell asleep. And when I awoke 
 the room was bright with sunshine, and I 
 Jieard a low sweet voice softly singing
 
 104 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " Praise God from whom all blessings iiow ; 
 Praise Him, all creatures here below; 
 Praise Him above, ye heavenly host ; 
 Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." 
 
 For a moment I forgot forty years ; but when 
 I remembered all about it 1 felt no pain, for 
 I know Lucy is still singing in our Father's 
 upper chamber ; and next to the sweetness 
 of a dear voice, is the sweetness of a voice 
 which we have made joyful. 
 Alice was the singer.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. lOS 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 ST. CROSS. 
 
 " What are your household arrangements 
 for Sunday, Euth ?" I enquired of my sister 
 when I joined her at the breakfast- table. 
 
 " Why, of course, you and T go to church, 
 Edward, and so does one of the girls, and in 
 the evening I shall stay at home, and they 
 can both go out." 
 
 "Shall you send them to church?" 
 Euth shook her head. " I haven't hired 
 their souls as well as their bodies," she said. 
 "I never speak about such things to my 
 servants until I am their friend. Because a 
 girl is in domestic service, why should we 
 conclude that she is naturally disinclined to
 
 106 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 her duty, and must be preached and driven 
 into it ?" 
 
 " But as a mistress, you have a right — " 
 I began. 
 
 " To set a good example, as far as I can, 
 to give them time and means for self-im- 
 provement, and to encourage them to do 
 right by not suspecting them of doing wrong," 
 interrupted my sister. " And, by the way, 
 Edward, what ' rights ' did you exercise ' as 
 a master ' over your clerks ? Not many, I 
 expect, and I'd rather follow your practice 
 than your precepts." 
 
 The parish church of St. Cross was not 
 very far from our house. As we approached 
 it, its appearance did not gladden my heart. 
 It stood in the angle of a small green, 
 flanked by a few straggling houses of the 
 meaner sort. In the midst of the green 
 was a wide pool of sluggish water, inhabited 
 by a colony of ducks. The church itself 
 was a long low edifice of no particular order
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 107 
 
 of architecture, with an insignificant spire, 
 •and a single dismal bell, more like a signal 
 for an execution than the summons to God's 
 house. Around lay a little graveyard, 
 wherein most of the graves were covered 
 down with huge flat stones, which, not to 
 be blasphemous, always suggest the idea 
 that the survivors had resolved to do their 
 utmost to prevent a resurrection. Up to 
 the porch, between these gloomy tombs, ran 
 a narrow path of rough sharp stones. Cer- 
 tainly that path would never tempt any 
 shoeless wanderer. The porch itself was 
 narrow, and the inner doors were closed and 
 guarded by an injured-looking female in a 
 widow's cap. I paused in the porch and 
 looked round — and I pitied the little children 
 who would remember that church as the 
 place where they first went up to worship 
 God. 
 
 Passing through the folding doors, which 
 opened with a dismal creak, we found our-
 
 108 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 selves in a passage-like interior, lit by nar- 
 row windows filled witli opaque glass. Now, 
 I dislike opaque glass even in city churclies, 
 for I think a ragged back wall is better than 
 a blank, and I don't see why a cat, peace- 
 ably creeping along a coping need disturb 
 the sanctity of any congregation. But 
 opaque glass to shut out green trees and 
 open sky ! With a shudder, I turned to the 
 pew whicli the disconsolate widow opened 
 for us. It was not far from the pulpit, and 
 was snugly cushioned and carpeted. I did 
 not discover the narrowness of the seat until 
 I had risen from my knees, and was, I 
 trust, in a more contented and devout frame 
 of mind. 
 
 Then I looked towards tlie communion 
 table, hoping to find some comfort there, 
 but I only saw bare white w^alls, relieved by 
 two tablets whereon were written the ten 
 precepts of the law. The table itself was 
 small and high, and grudgingly covered with
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 109 
 
 •shabby crimson velvet, edged with tarnished 
 gilt fringe. On it stood two straight candle- 
 sticks. But above all rose the single adorn- 
 ment of the building — a painted window 
 representing the Descent from the Cross. 
 The colours were laid on so thickly and 
 darkly that the picture was only illuminated 
 round the central figure — the dead body of 
 our Saviour, gaunt and wrenched, half- 
 wrapped in blood- smeared cloths. The 
 painting suggested no idea but that of 
 fearful physical pain and exhaustion. I 
 think angels veiled their faces before the 
 reality of the scene. Why should Ave hold 
 it up for our children to gaze upon while 
 they weary of the sermon, and long for 
 the Sunday pudding ? It was frightful ! 
 
 Slowly the congregation gathered in. I 
 saw Alice and her grandfather, but not 
 Ewen ; I saw other faces which 1 had seen 
 pass my gate, but with which I could not 
 yet connect any idea. But just as the bell
 
 110 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 gave its last lugubrious stroke the bereaved 
 attendant bustled up the aisle with increased 
 alacrity, followed by the brisk step of a 
 middle-aged gentleman. I recognised his 
 bronzed face and beetling brows : it was my 
 nearest neighbour, Mr. Herbert, of the Great 
 Farm. 
 
 Close at his side walked a young lady, 
 dressed very quietly in grey mantle and 
 bonnet trimmed with purple and black. 
 They both entered the great square pew im- 
 mediately in front of ours, evidently the pew 
 of the church, with seats on all sides, and 
 an oaken desk in the middle. When I 
 caught sight of her face, in the midst of that 
 dreary building, it came to my mind like a 
 line of poetry quoted in a dry theological 
 tract. 
 
 Yet it was not a beautiful face. I do not 
 suppose an artist would have been satisfied 
 with one feature. I think its charm must 
 have been that the veil of flesh was so deli-
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. Ill 
 
 cate and frail tliat the soul shone clearly 
 through — a sensitive, shivering soul, which 
 would need a very warm mantle of love to 
 pass safely through this chilly blustering^ 
 world. There was nothing about the face 
 which will stand description, except perhaps 
 the dark hazel eyes, very intense and bright, 
 yet with a look that somehow suggested 
 they had often glistened through tears. 
 
 She gave just one glance towards us, and 
 then stood up and opened her book to join 
 in the service. For by this time the clergy- 
 man had entered. 
 
 He was a young man, with plain features, 
 and resolute, sensible bearing. I knew his 
 name was the Eeverend Lewis Marten. And 
 the clear, distinct tone of his voice was the 
 first thing in the whole church which gave 
 me unmingled satisfaction. But when we 
 kneeled down for the Confession of Sin, ima- 
 gine my horror to find that we were ex- 
 pected to go through it in an undefined
 
 112 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 cliant, rendered absolutely ludicrous by an 
 attempt to join, on the part of some old 
 people on the free seats. And I found the 
 same thing went on whenever the congrega- 
 tion should respond. I never say a word 
 against cathedral-services — they have trained 
 choirs, and audiences, as a whole, highly 
 •educated. But can the same arguments be 
 used for little churches, dependent on a sing- 
 ing-class or charity schools, and where the 
 main object should be to render the whole 
 service intelligible and profitable to such as 
 <jannot read, or have no book ? I don't sup- 
 pose God's word has any exact precept for 
 or against such performances, but does not 
 St. Paul say, " All things are lawful, but all 
 things are not expedient?" And he uses 
 some other arguments which wonderfully 
 suit these customs when viewed from another 
 aspect. I should like to hear what the 
 Eeverend Lewis Marten thinks of the 14th 
 chapter of Romans.
 
 I 
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 113 
 
 We got tlirough the prayers, and through 
 an anthem which was not in our hymn- 
 book. It was performed only by the schools 
 and a few giggling boys in a pew behind 
 the reading-desk. While this went on, Euth 
 kept her seat, with that awful expression of 
 countenance which I know means a great 
 deal of anger, with a strong spice of con- 
 tempt. I stood up, for I don't think such 
 a matter is worth a breach of the peace. I 
 only think it a great pity — a very great 
 pity ! 
 
 My hopes revived when the young clergy- 
 man mounted the pulpit in his black gown. 
 His face was so rational and open, so free 
 from the covert humility of priestcraft, that 
 I felt sure his ideas were not so medisDval as 
 his customs. I was right. But still I was 
 disappointed. Everything he said was true, 
 but it was only half the truth. He spoke 
 of the sin of our hearts, the utter emptiness 
 of the world, and he garnished his discourse 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 with pithy aphorisms, and flashy poetry. 
 But scriptural words of healing and comfort 
 were not set therein, like " apples of gold in 
 pictures of silver." He showed us the 
 suffering without the salvation, — Golgotha 
 without the Saviour who died thereon. And 
 the old men and women fell asleep, the 
 charity boys " swopped" their marbles, the 
 singers giggled and whispered, and the dark 
 eyes of Mr. Herbert's companion turned 
 €ver and again to the fearful picture above 
 the altar. And I could not help being glad 
 when it was over, and so I am sure was the 
 preacher. 
 
 When I turned to leave, I found the 
 church had been but thinly attended, and 
 that the majority of those present belonged 
 to the classes which have but a loose hold 
 on the stirring interests of life, — young boys 
 and girls, aged people, and those miserable- 
 looking objects who haunt the regions of 
 •clerical almsgiving. Now that is a view of
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 115 
 
 religion, wliicli I can never understand. To 
 me, it seems that it should have the strongest 
 claim on those who are in the front rank of 
 the battle, that they should find God's 
 house verily a house of refuge, wherein to 
 rest and recruit their strength for each new 
 campaign. And I am sure there is something 
 wrong in the religion w^hich fails in this. 
 By my own heart, I could trace how the 
 declension might proceed. Next Sunday 
 morning, if it were wet, or if I were weary, 
 it might seem to me more profitable to 
 remain at home w^ith my Bible and good 
 books, than to attend a service that chilled 
 and disheartened me. And thus, a church- 
 going habit once broken, I might get so 
 accustomed to my good books, that I might 
 long for a change, and take to essays and 
 history and so on, till at last I might fall to 
 the depth of newspapers and gossip. And 
 thus it may have been with the honest yeo- 
 men and buxom matrons who left their 
 
 8—3
 
 116 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 empty seats before Grod in the church of 
 St. Cross. 
 
 In the pebbly graveyard we overtook our 
 Alice, with her grandfather leaning on her 
 arm. I thought I should like a little talk 
 with the old man, for his face had been 
 the best lesson of the morning, — a sermon 
 beaming with the comfortable truth that 
 one may be very old, and very poor, and 
 very tired, and yet very happy. 
 
 '' What, Mr. M^Callum," I said, stepping 
 to his side, " are you a deserter from the 
 kirk?" 
 
 " Na, na, sir," he answered with his blithe 
 smile, " I'm just a sheep that's been carried 
 frae its ain field, and must e'en pasture 
 where it can ; and, praised be God, there's 
 grass growin' everywhere." 
 
 '* Is there no Scotch church within an 
 easy distance?" I asked. 
 
 "Na, sir," he said; "the nearest is full 
 fifteen mile frae this. Aince on a time, I
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 117 
 
 made shift to get there every Communion 
 Sunday — whicli was four times a year. But 
 noo-a-days I go but aince, so that I'm 
 broucht back to the privileges o' my young- 
 days. For ye see, sir, we lived in a country 
 parish, and only gathered for the Lord's 
 Supper just after the harvest was in." 
 
 " I daresay you wish there was a Scotch 
 church close at hand?" I said. 
 
 '* Aweel, sir, of course, there's nae kirk 
 like the auld kirk, to my mind ; but still 
 there's a poo'er o' grace an' glory i' the 
 Church o' England, — the twa are sisters 
 like, sir, only the ane is a sonsie gudewife, 
 in her braw white mutch, and the ither is a 
 grand princess in her jewels. They fall out 
 a bit sometimes, as sisters will, but there's 
 the same heart i' them baith, sir, and they've 
 but ae Father." 
 
 " I am sorry to see St. Cross has not a 
 larger congregation," I remarked. 
 
 " The people hereaway don't go much to
 
 118 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 cliurch, sir," he said : '' I've aften talked tae 
 them about it. Ye see, I'm an auld man, 
 and I've come frae sic a far-awa' place, that 
 may be they're mair patient wi' me than if 
 I was a poor body that had ne^er been 
 ayont the parish. I tell them about the 
 shootin' grunds, and the moors, and the deer- 
 stalkin', and they're glad to listen, and then 
 after a bit, I can bring the talk roond — ye 
 understand, sir." 
 
 " And what do they say about neglecting 
 church?" I inquired. 
 
 " Some say it's a dour place, and gies 
 them the miserables ; and some say parson 
 doesna tell them anything new, only that 
 the world's a wicked hole, which they ken 
 well enough already ; and some canna stand 
 the chantin\" 
 
 " And no wonder !" ejaculated Euth. 
 
 " Aweel, mem," he went on, turning to 
 my sister, " I think it some queer myself, 
 mair especially as I canna hear what they
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 119' 
 
 say, and I'm ovv're blind noo to read the 
 biggest print. Hoo the honest Church o' 
 England should want to mak' herself look a 
 bit like the Lady of Babylon, is what I canna 
 understand. But still, I aye say to myself 
 if ane gies up the kirk, he gies up 
 Sunday, and then the days rin on without 
 sense or meaning, like print wi' the stops 
 no put in. Anything's oetter than that." 
 
 " Has Mr. Marten been clergyman here 
 long ?" asked Euth. 
 
 The old man shook his head. '' It 
 seems but the other day he came, mem 
 but time passes quickly. How long is it, 
 Alice ?" 
 
 " Just two years, grandfather," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Aye, aye, just two years," repeated he. 
 " I remember, I remember, Alice. I think 
 he's a good young man ; he was verra kind 
 to us when — aye, you know now, sir ! Only 
 he thinks a college education maks mair
 
 120 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 difference than it does, sir. He's feared it 
 keeps folk frae understanding him. And he 
 looks at things in a gloomy way ; but that's 
 aften the case wi' young folk. Life comes 
 unco hard tae them at first, puir things," 
 and the old man glanced at his grand- 
 daughter. 
 
 "Ah, by the way, Alice," I said, " I've a 
 letter in my pocket that you may as well 
 drop into the post now, for I should like it 
 to go off the first thing to-morrow morn- 
 ing," and I handed her the epistle bearing 
 the London address. It caught her eye, 
 and she smiled brightly as she hastened 
 down the turning leading to the post-office, 
 whilst we and her grandfather waited at tlie 
 corner. 
 
 " Your granddaughter seems a blessing to 
 you Mr. M'Callum," I said. 
 
 " Aye, she is that ; and so is the 
 boy, poor fellow — he'll be a brichter 
 blessin' some day. Thank you kindly
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 121 
 
 for your goodness to him yesterday, 
 Sir. 
 
 " What ! did he tell you of the talk we 
 had ?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes ; he seemed main thouchtfu' all 
 the evenin', and yet he wasna sad or sullen. 
 An' at supper time, he said, ' There's some 
 one else thinks I'm innocent, grandfather,' 
 and then he told me all about it." 
 
 " Does he never come to church ?" inquired 
 Euth. 
 
 '' He hasna come regular for a long 
 time — and never since t/ie?i, mem," an- 
 swered the old man. "Ye see, the folk 
 would hardly have sat in the same aisle 
 wi' him ! But he seemed inclined to 
 come tliis mornin', and I hope he'll mak^ 
 up his mind to be there the nicht ; he'll 
 tak' courage i' the dusk, may be. 
 
 " If Alice would like to pass the day 
 with you, we will spare her," said my sister, 
 as the girl rejoined us. " Phillis can
 
 122 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 manage to-daj, and Alice must do as mucli- 
 for her in a Sunday or two." 
 
 Alice looked up into my sister's shrewd, 
 brown face, and she let that look be all 
 her answer, leaving the audible thanks to 
 her grandfather. And so we parted. 
 
 '' That was very kind of you, Euth," I 
 said, as we went on alone. 
 
 " May it not be their last Sunday to- 
 gether?" she answered. " Don't you think 
 I know how a woman feels before a parting? 
 — the more fool she, for a man never 
 cares 1 
 
 That is Euth's way of speaking, when- 
 ever she is caught doing a kindness. And 
 it is astonishing how she always brings in 
 something complimentary to the male 
 sex. And the worst of it is, sometimes 
 I can't say these compliments are un- 
 merited. So I generally let her take 
 the field, whilst I retire into the nearest 
 ditch.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 123 
 
 ''I'm afraid you don't like St. Cross?'*" 
 I said presently. 
 
 '' Like it P" she said, with bitterness. 
 "Edward, I've endured it four Sundays^ 
 and I wouldn't allow myself to say a word 
 to you about it, because I wanted you to 
 see it with unprejudiced eyes. But it drives 
 me mad ! If I could get at these boy- 
 singers in their white gowns, wouldn't I 
 find out whether they know their catechism! 
 And I'll engage they don't ! What can a 
 clergyman think about to put a parcel of 
 lads into a seat together, instead of each 
 of them sitting beside his own father and 
 mother, and learning to behave in a reve- 
 rent, godly manner?" 
 
 " It seems a mistake," I said ; " but no 
 doubt Mr. Marten does it in hopes of ren- 
 dering the service attractive." 
 
 " Attractive !" she answered ; '' if any 
 one wants such attractions, why do they 
 put up with shams ? Why don't they go
 
 124 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 where they can get the reality — to the 
 Church of Eome ?" 
 
 " But the sin of the Church of Rome is 
 not so much her ritual as her doctrine," I 
 pleaded, rather wildly. 
 
 " Don't the two go together ?" said she. 
 ^* I wonder the Israelites didn't plead that 
 it was only ' harmless ritual ' when they 
 danced round the golden calf! Perhaps 
 Aaron meant it so." 
 
 " But, my dear Ruth, the innovations 
 at St. Cross are very few and faint," 
 I expostulated. 
 
 " They're are as much as they can be," 
 she answered grimly. " There's a choir in 
 white, and they and Mr. Marten all turn 
 to the east two or three times in the prayers, 
 •and every response is chanted, and there 
 are candlesticks on the communion table. 
 Anything more would cost money, and the 
 church doesn't look as if it had any to 
 spare."
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 125 
 
 " These things seem to me so pitifully 
 trivial as to be beneath mention," I 
 said. 
 
 "Is it wisdom to overlook the e^£c 
 until the serpent is hatched ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Mr. Marten has a pleasant, sensible face," 
 I remarked, " and there is something I 
 regret much more than these petty ceremo- 
 nials, and that is, the cold, repellant tone 
 of his sermon. I should like a little talk 
 with him. He is a young man, and a 
 glimpse of an old man's experience can do 
 him no harm." 
 
 " It would be less trouble to build a new 
 church at once," said Euth, cynically. 
 
 But that is just like her. I hope 
 for the best, and she prepares for the 
 worst. 
 
 As we entered our house, it struck me 
 painfully, that instead of returning with 
 God's peace on our hearts and tongues, we
 
 126 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 had come back in a criticising, flaw-detect- 
 ing spirit. 
 
 And what seemed worse, I could not 
 conclude it was altogether onr own fault. 
 I resolved, however, that Ruth's hopeless- 
 ness should not dishearten me. I must try 
 to do good in my own way, and I am always 
 inclined to meud rather than remake. So 
 in the course of the afternoon I startled my 
 sister by announcing that I should write to 
 our young rector, and invite him to spend 
 an evening with us in the course of the 
 following week. 
 
 " It is his place to call upon us," said 
 she. 
 
 "Certainly, Euth, and doubtless he will 
 do so ; but you see I do not care about a 
 call, I want a long friendly visit." 
 
 " Then I wish I could <io to tea some- 
 where, and leave you to fight out your bat- 
 tle by yourselves," she remarked. 
 
 "There will be no battle, Euth," I
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 127 
 
 responded. " I only want to ask him 
 the general position of affairs in the 
 parish, and how I can best make myself 
 useful." 
 
 " Then he will say they want a new altar- 
 cloth — not to say a new organ — and. also 
 more funds that the choir may be en- 
 larged," said she. 
 
 " Well, ['11 tell you what the church 
 does want, Euth," I answered, " and that 
 is, new windows. It is a sin that thick 
 glass should come between us and the 
 blue sky." 
 
 " What, let in more light to tlie can- 
 dles on the communion table?" queried 
 Euth, sarcastically. 
 
 *' The candles are not lit," 1 said. 
 
 " But I suppose they will be some day," 
 she returned. " They are not there for 
 nothing, surely." 
 
 " Perhaps the sunshine wiU put them out, 
 Euth," I said.
 
 ]28 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " I hope it may !" she retorted, grimly. 
 
 I did not answer, but opened my desk^ 
 and began to indite my letter to the- 
 clergyman. 
 
 "Won't you help me, Euth?" I asked, 
 after putting down the date. 
 
 "It is quite your business," she re- 
 plied. But the dear w^oman is far toa 
 active-minded not to interfere in any- 
 thing when asked. So presently she said, 
 " You may send my compliments, I sup- 
 pose. And what do you mean to say, 
 Edward?" 
 
 "Will this do?" I asked her, and 
 read: — 
 
 " Mr. and Miss Garrett present their 
 compliments to the Eev. Lewis Marten, and 
 hope he will do them the honour of spend- 
 ing an evening with them in the course 
 of the week. Mr. Garrett is anxious to- 
 get acquainted with tlie neighbourhood, 
 and trusts that Mr, Marten will be
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 129 
 
 willing to advise liow he may become 
 useful therein." 
 
 " I suppose that will do," commented 
 Euth ; " and yet, brother, the fact is, you 
 want to advise him !'' 
 
 " I don't deny that, but it is quite true 
 I wish information which he can give." 
 
 Euth looked at me for a moment and 
 then her grave face broke into a smile. 
 
 ".Any one would say I managed you, 
 Edward, but I doubt if I do," said she. " I 
 think you know how to get your own way 
 without making a struggle. But, by the 
 way, I don't like letter- writing on Sunday." 
 
 " Why, this is only an act of neighbourly 
 kindness !" I said, surprised. " We are 
 always free to do good on that day." 
 
 " Certainly, Edward ; and yet I think we 
 should keep up every possible distinction 
 between the Sabbath and other days." 
 
 " You don't think the day of rest should 
 be a day of idleness, Euth ?" I asked. 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " No/' she answered ; " but I tbink with 
 Mr. M'Callum that Sundays should be the 
 ' stops' in our life. I know some people 
 laugh at Scotch notions of Sabbath -keeping, 
 but that is because they never tried the 
 refreshment afforded by the day, when life 
 stands still before the throne of Grod, and 
 care and weariness are swallowed up in His 
 glory." 
 
 " But, Euth, may it not be that while we 
 try to keep the letter of the positive law, we 
 are in danger of neglecting some moral 
 duty ?" I inquired. 
 
 She shook her head. '' I don't think so. 
 The very day of rest helps to discipline the 
 mind to distinguish between what it wants 
 to do, and what it should do. If a letter 
 would prevent a mistake, or save an hour's 
 unhappiness or give comfort, I should say, 
 write it — aye, and carry it yourself, though 
 the task occupied your whole Sunday. I 
 was glad to see you give that letter to Alice
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 131 
 
 this morning. But what will do quite 
 as well on Monday, leave till Monday, 
 and certainly this note can wait till to- 
 morrow." 
 
 I felt that Euth was right. And I put 
 away my desk. 
 
 9—2
 
 132 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 THE rector's visit. 
 
 There was rain on Sunday night, and wlien 
 we looked from our windows on Monday 
 morning, we found but a dreary prospect. 
 Many leaves had fallen, and lay sodden and 
 decaying in the garden path, and the few 
 remaining flowers looked as if they only 
 lingered to bid us a last good-bye. A light 
 mist hung over the scene, and shut out the 
 distant meadows. E-uth ordered flres to be 
 lighted, and advised Alice to put on a warm 
 shawl when she went to carry my letter to 
 the rector. Winter never finds my sister 
 unprepared, and perhaps there is no instance 
 in which forethought saves more health, 
 comfort, and good temper.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 133 
 
 Alice returned in due time, saying she 
 met the rector at his gate, and he detained 
 her while he read my missive and penned 
 his reply, which proved a very courteous 
 one, stating he would have great pleasure in 
 waiting upon us that very evening. 
 
 Five o'clock found Ruth and me seated 
 opposite each other, with the lamp on the 
 table between us— T lingering over the 
 pages of a monthly periodical, and she 
 busy with a huge bagfuU of gay scraps, by 
 which I understood that patchwork was on 
 hand. 
 
 " Phillis is a terrible blunderer with her 
 needle," said she ; " she shall not live in the 
 house with me, and not learn better. Patch- 
 work is good practice, and as the quilts get 
 made, I can give them away to the old 
 people round." 
 
 " I fear they need blankets more than 
 quilts," I ventured to say. 
 
 " Very likely. That is your concern," she
 
 134 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 answered, coolly. " Money buys blankets, 
 and you are a rich man. But if you were 
 bedridden, Edward, you would know the 
 comfort of a bright quilt to cover the fuzzy 
 blanket. And patchwork is quite a fortune 
 in a house with a sick child. Do you re- 
 member ours at home ? — the silk quilt which 
 mother used to show us on holidays." And 
 when I glanced at my sister, some minutes 
 after, her face was still soft and tender with 
 the recollection of the faded finery. 
 
 Every day, sitting opposite Euth, I am 
 struck with the exceeding beauty of good 
 old age. In youth, my sister was plain, her 
 features harsh, and her figure and move- 
 ments too decided for grace. But Time has 
 dealt with her like a patient artist with his 
 picture ; so that she is a noble old lady with 
 a grand brown face, crowned with white 
 hair, and lit up by eyes whi(jh have not 
 forgotten to flash and sparkle. 
 
 Presently the gate clanged, and in a
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 135 
 
 moment Phillis ushered in the clergyman, 
 who brought with him the peculiar damp, 
 chill atmosphere of an autumn evening. I 
 think he was glad of the welcome offered by 
 our cheerful fire, and he seated himself on a 
 chair indicated by Euth, and rubbed his 
 hands in the genial warmth. They had no 
 fires yet where he lodged, he said. He had 
 not noticed the deficiency until he saw ours, 
 but he remembered he had been very cold while 
 studying. He must speak about it to-morrow. 
 
 And so we kept up a good-humoured 
 chatter till tea was brought in ; and when 
 we were fairly established round the table, 
 with cheering cups before us and a pleasant 
 prospect of tea and toast, Euth inquired 
 if St. Cross were a comfortable church in 
 winter. 
 
 " I regret to say it is never comfortable," 
 replied Mr. Martin ; " in summer it is close 
 and dark, and in winter cold and damp." 
 
 " Yet it is well situate," I said. " The
 
 .136 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 darkness is only due to the narrowness of 
 the windows and their thick glass." 
 
 " You are right, sir/' he answered. " And 
 why a church should be so built I cannot 
 understand." 
 
 " JSFor I," I said. " To shufc God's light 
 from God's house seems to me worse than 
 foolish. "Why do you not remedy it ?" 
 
 The young man looked at me, and smiled 
 grimly. " Neither my predecessor nor I 
 have been able to muster more funds than 
 barely suffice for whitewashing and clean- 
 ing," he replied. " The parish is not rich, 
 and the people do not seem liberal. At the 
 present moment, the church is absolutely 
 falling out of repair. We have had one or 
 two collections in its behalf, but the money 
 comes so slowly that I fear the building 
 will be in ruins before the requisite sum is 
 made up." 
 
 " Why don't you repair first, and collect 
 afterwards ?" I asked.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 137 
 
 " Sir !" exclaimed the young man in 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Yes," I said, " why don't you get some 
 kind friend's promise to make good the 
 deficit — if any ?" 
 
 The rector shook his head. " I wish we 
 had such a friend in Upper Mallowe," he 
 said. 
 
 " Are you sure you have not ? Have you 
 asked every one ?" I inquired. 
 
 " There is no one to ask," he answered, 
 adding suddenly — " unless it be you !" 
 
 Euth laughed outright. 
 
 " I should not wonder if it were me," 
 I said. 
 
 " My dear sir, I did not expect this," 
 said the young clergyman, very radiantly 
 indeed. 
 
 " You need not thank me, Mr. Marten, 
 until you see whether I have any balance to 
 pay," I observed. 
 
 "Ah, I know you will," he replied.
 
 138 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 shaking his head. " I know my pa- 
 rishioners. You are a stranger among 
 us, sir." 
 
 " We shall see who judges them best," 
 said I. 
 
 " My brother is always hopeful," re- 
 marked Euth ; " but I must say he is 
 generally right." 
 
 " We must not attempt any serious re- 
 pairs until spring," I said, " but in the 
 meantime cannot we make some little tem- 
 porary improvements? I observe that the 
 old people sit about in cold parts of the 
 church, where, if they be at all deaf, they 
 cannot hear a word. Why don't you give 
 them those comfortable seats round the 
 reading-desk ?" 
 
 " They are kept for the choir, sir," 
 answered Mr. Marten, reflectively. 
 
 " Excuse me," I said, gently, " but in 
 many churches, and certainly in St. Cross, 
 I think a formal choir is a mistake."
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 13& 
 
 "So do 1," returned the young man 
 frankly, and Euth gave an unmistakeable 
 look of pleasure. " It was established by 
 my predecessor, who thought otherwise. I 
 found it when I came, and I have not 
 abolished it because I dread meddling with 
 existing arrangements, and because I fear 
 to deprive our services of what is generally 
 considered an attraction, lest our small 
 congregation should become still smaller. 
 Many people believe they derive benefit from 
 the full carrying out of the ritual of the 
 Anglican Church." 
 
 Here Euth broke in. " They like fine 
 singing and pretty altars. If the ritual be 
 performed shabbily, they don't care for it. 
 Since I have lived in this parish I have 
 learned that many of your young people 
 walk to Hopleigh, five miles off, because 
 the church has a splendid choir and enticing 
 decorations. Unless you can afford the 
 same, your ritual will never secure them,
 
 140 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 though it may drive away people better 
 worth keeping." 
 
 ''I do not belong to the High Church 
 party," said the young rector, quite humbly, 
 " and I am always sorry that St. Cross 
 wears the badges of the same. But 
 what can I substitute for the choir ? 
 We have no charity-school on which to 
 depend." 
 
 " Of whom do the choir consist ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Of the sons of farmers and tradesmen 
 in the parish," he replied. "They meet 
 for practice twice every week — after the 
 Wednesday evening service, and on Satur- 
 day night." 
 
 "You don't have them in a Bible class, 
 then?" queried Euth. 
 
 "I have nowhere to receive them," 
 answered Mr. Marten, dismally. " If they 
 came to my lodgings the landlady would 
 €omplain of their wearing out her carpets,
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. l4l 
 
 and our parish scliool-room — I dare say you 
 saw our little scliool in the aisle — the parish 
 school-room is such a rookery that their 
 parents would think it an insult if they were 
 invited there." 
 
 " A good opportunity to hint they should 
 build a better one," put in Euth. 
 
 Mr. Marten smiled, and shook his head 
 in resigned despair concerning the efficac}^ 
 of such hints. 
 
 " Can't you have them in the vestry ?" 
 asked my sister. 
 
 " Why so I can !" he exclaimed. '' It's 
 rather small, but it will do. I wonder I 
 never thought of that !" 
 
 " Where there's a will there's a way," 
 said Euth. 
 
 The young clergyman blushed slightly. 
 
 " Mr. Marten must pardon us," I said, 
 " we are getting old," (" We are old,'' said 
 Euth,) " and we forget sometimes that we 
 have no parental rights over young people.
 
 142 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 We are only anxious to do a little good 
 before we go away." 
 
 " And old people can seldom do better 
 tban sei. the young ones to work/', observed 
 Euth. ''I only made the suggestion be- 
 cause I thought the class would keep them 
 together, and tliey might go on with their 
 practising ; and I think they would sing 
 better standing decently at their mother's 
 side than now, when they are always ready 
 to burst into a giggle." 
 
 " Ah, I'm afraid they behave very 
 badly sometimes," sighed the rector. 
 '' But as the stoves will be lighted 
 next Sunday, I will take the opportunity 
 to direct that the old people shall sit 
 round the desk and enjoy the warmth, 
 and I must manage about the boys as well 
 as I can." 
 
 " Mr. Marten," said Euth, " you cannot 
 tell liow glad I am that it is only a matter 
 of ' manaofement.' I feared we should
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 143 
 
 have to fight out a battle about apostolic 
 succession, and an infallible Church, not 
 to say the Eeal Presence, and other 
 dogmas." 
 
 "Ah, Euth," I observed, "if Mr. 
 Marten were the staunchest advocate of 
 these doctrines, I should not attack them ; 
 I should only say — ' Think of the old 
 people, and do not keep them in the cold 
 — ^remember the people who can't read, 
 and don't sing to them ' " — (and I glanced 
 at our guest, in hopes he would take a 
 hint from my words). "Differences of 
 opinion will never be reconciled by argu- 
 ment, but any sect will shrink from con- 
 fessing that its theories will not let it work 
 under Christ's great banner of ' Love to the 
 brethren.' " 
 
 "I do not adhere to one High Church 
 doctrine," said the young rector ; " but yet 
 I cannot help thinking some of their inno- 
 vations are improvements."
 
 144 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " Certainly," I responded. " For in- 
 stance, I like the idea of free churches : 
 the rich and the poor equal before God." 
 
 " I don't," said Euth. " The, rich and 
 poor are equal before Grod ; and no arrange- 
 ment of seats can make any difference. 
 Yon look at it from the wealthy point of 
 view, and you like to flatter your spiritual 
 pride by a semblance of self-abasement. 
 Some people seem to think the poor are only 
 made to practise their virtues upon, par- 
 ticularly humility, like the cardinals at 
 E-ome when they wash the beggars' feet. 
 But just view it from the other side. Would 
 not you rather sit among your own people — 
 the pensioner and the farm-labourer and the 
 servant-girl together — than flourish your 
 rough hands and poor, coarse clothes among 
 the silks and velvets of the gentry ? There 
 are two sides to every question ; but I 
 always think it is best to let people stay in 
 their own places, just because I believe that
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 145 
 
 in God's sight one place in tlie world is 
 quite as good as another, and that the 
 labourer's horny hand is as honourable as 
 the prime minister's worn brow. But theu' 
 outward conditions can never be the same 
 till they'i'e both in heaven. And if they 
 be wise men, and recognise their true 
 equality, they will not wish it otherwise." 
 
 " Very likely you are right," responded 
 the rector. " Viewed in that light, probably 
 the poor, as a rule, are happiest among the 
 poor. But dropping the subject of free 
 seats, I am sure you would not wish to check 
 honourable ambition. One is often struck 
 with a great disparity between the mind and 
 the position." 
 
 " Certainly," said Euth, with a humorous 
 twinkle in her eyes. " I knew a man who 
 blamed statesmen, and censured clergy, and 
 had splendid ideas of what he could do in 
 their place, whilst his own home was in 
 disorder, and one or two of his children 
 
 VOL. T. 10
 
 146 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 miglit have given him valuable information 
 about prisons and workhouses. There was 
 a great disparity between his mind and his 
 circumstances, only it was the wrong way !" 
 
 " Oh, Miss Garrett, you refuse to under- 
 stand me !" cried Mr. Marten, smiling. " I 
 mean that a great mind is sometimes found 
 in a lowly place, and surely you would not 
 wish such to remain in the position wherein 
 he was born." 
 
 " He'll often wish himself there before he 
 dies," answered Euth. " He'll find God 
 gives hard work in the upper classes of His 
 school. But he's sure to be promoted, not 
 because he was too great to do the easy 
 tasks, but because he was great enough to 
 do them well. God wastes nothing, Mr. 
 Marten. If he make a genius. He has got 
 something for him to do besides breaking 
 stones ; but most likely He will keep him 
 doing that, till by virtue of the power 
 that is in him he does it better than
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 147 
 
 any one else. Don't you remember it 
 s said when Shakespeare got his living 
 by holding horses, he did it so well and 
 was in such demand, that other men hired 
 themselves under him, that they might call 
 themselves ' Will Shakespeare's lads ?' " 
 
 "But still many geniuses are sad failures 
 in the ordinary walks of life," remarked Mr. 
 Marten. 
 
 " Ah, those are poor, unhealthy geniuses, 
 who slip from Grod's grasp into the devil's," 
 answered Euth. " They let go their Father's 
 hand ; but I think He generally catches 
 them against their will ; only they get so 
 torn to pieces in the struggle that the best 
 work they can do for Him is the warning of 
 their example." 
 
 " Still, there remain a few sad cases which 
 cannot be classed under any rule," said the 
 clergyman, thoughtfully : " Chatterton, for 
 instance." 
 
 " Yes, poor Chatterton !" replied my sister 
 
 10— :j
 
 148 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 ill a tone so different from lier own that I 
 looked up. " Almost every writer lias said 
 something fine about Chatterton : heaps of 
 sentimental pity, with a spice of blame for 
 his wrong-headedness, or recklessness, or 
 want of faith, which they seem to think 
 brought down his miseries in punishment. 
 Not one thoroughly realizes that he v/as 
 only a boy — a child, and that none of his 
 faults and blunders need be wondered at. It 
 was his time for being checked and chidden, 
 and comforted afterwards. But he was 
 dropped upon the world with no one to screen 
 his follies until they were corrected. If he 
 had only known a little love " 
 
 " I always understood his mother and 
 sisters " began Mr. Marten. 
 
 " His mother and sisters must have been 
 weak, shallow women," interrupted Euth. 
 " They believed all his poor, fine stories ! 
 Love gives the greatest fool more wisdom 
 than that. All you men blame Horace
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 149 
 
 Walpole. So do I ; bnt I blame those 
 women more. That boy had lived with 
 them sixteen years, and they did not under- 
 stand him. It was a noble wish to keep ail 
 his struggles to himself, but it was cowardly 
 in them to allow it. I can't believe they 
 thought everything right ; Grod help them 
 if they did, for the revelation came too 
 late." 
 
 " They were very poor, and doubtless 
 ignorant of the world," pleaded Mr. Marten ; 
 " but the whole story is sad and mysterious, 
 like a psalm of humanity with the love of 
 God left out." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " But the misery is," added Euth, sud- 
 denly stirring the fire, " that the same thing 
 may be going on somewhere at this moi^ent, 
 and we don't know." 
 
 *' Grod can do without our help," I said, 
 softly, " if He does not show us where to 
 give it."
 
 150 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 And then followed a long silence, whicli 
 I broke at last by asking the rector if he 
 knew much of the M'Callums. 
 
 " I saw a good deal of them about 
 eighteen months ago, when they were in 
 some difficulty/' he replied ; " but I have 
 not called upon them lately. The old man 
 is very kindly, and the grand-daughter — 
 your servant, Miss Garrett — struck me as a 
 good girl. But the young man is as ill- 
 conditioned and morose a fellow as I ever 
 knew. Their trouble was about him, 
 and I fear there is little doubt he was 
 guilty of the crime imputed to him. 
 He avoided me as much as possible, but 
 I ventured to speak to him once, saying 
 I hoped he would be warned of the wicked- 
 ness and danger of neglecting his religious 
 duties and consorting with evil company, 
 and he turned and answered me in a terrible 
 way — a terrible way, Mr. Garrett." 
 
 " What did he say ?" asked Euth.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 151 
 
 " His manner so astonished me that I 
 can scarcely recall his words," returned the 
 rector ; " but it was to the effect that it was 
 not his fault if some bad people were more 
 attractive than some good ones, and that he 
 guessed, in my day, I had done as much as 
 he to deserve suspicion." 
 
 "Dreadful, dreadful!" said Euth ; but 
 she smiled as she said it. 
 
 Mr. Marten looked aggrieved, and turned 
 towards me. ''I had only spoken the 
 truth with the authority of a clergyman," 
 he observed. 
 
 " Why didn't you try speaking the 
 truth ' in love' ?" I asked ; " that is St. 
 Paul's counsel." 
 
 " I certainly did not speak it in malice," 
 he replied. 
 
 " Should you have said the same thing 
 to your brother, had you such a relation 
 in Ewen's place ?" inquired my sister. 
 
 " Well, not exactly," confessed the rector
 
 152 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 — " circumstances make things so dif- 
 ferent." 
 
 " Mr. Marten," I said, " will you take 
 a hint from an old man, who has lived 
 in the world more than twice as long as 
 you?" 
 
 " Not one hint, but twenty," responded 
 the young man, cordially. 
 
 " It is this. Never address the vilest out- 
 cast as you would not speak to your dearest 
 friend. Even were this young man the 
 criminal you think him, ^^ou and he have 
 the mutual ground of a common humanity. 
 The gentleman-parson should not have 
 lectured the peasant, but the man in 
 you should have spoken to the man in 
 him." 
 
 ,, You are right, sir," said the rector, 
 heartily, *' I accept your reproof ;" and he 
 took my hand and shook it, adding, " and I 
 only wish th young man had shown him- 
 self wiser than me, by taking my blunder in
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 153> 
 
 a more kindly spirit, for it is not pleasant 
 to recall liis answer." 
 
 " Yet there was truth in it/' 1 observed, 
 " and he did not mean it for the insult it 
 seemed. He declares himself innocent of 
 the murder, and conscious of this, he felt 
 the sting of your implied suspicion, and 
 retorted with the conjecture that, in your 
 days at school and college, you had perhaps 
 fallen into many misdemeanours, such as 
 those he confesses, and which your wiser 
 guardians regarded as the foibles of youth, 
 but which in his case exaggerating gossips 
 blacken into confirmed bad character." 
 
 " I can understand that," said Mr. Marten, 
 reflectively. 
 
 " Ewen was wrong to speak so," I went 
 on ; " but I fear he was almost in despair. 
 The gentlest animal will turn upon its 
 pursuers when it sees no way of escaj^e. He 
 cannot justify himself further than he has 
 done, and his tormented soul was ready
 
 154 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 to take shelter behind the mask of ruffian- 
 ism. And if that mask be worn too loDg, 
 Mr. Marten, it is rather hard to throw aside." 
 
 " You speak as if you believed his 
 innocence, sir?" observed the rector. 
 
 " So I do," I answered. " I noticed 
 something strange in his manner, and I 
 heard dark whispers concerning him. So 
 I asked him to tell me all about it. And 
 he did not omit one shadow from the gloomy 
 picture. I believe he is as innocent as you 
 
 . 
 
 " Then I feel as if I could go and beg his 
 pardon directly," said the rector. 
 
 " That's right," said Euth ; '' we shan't 
 make mistakes in the next world, so this is 
 our time to practise penitence." 
 
 " He was with his sister at last evening's 
 service," remarked Mr. Marten. " I dare 
 say he came because his heart was touched 
 by your kindness. He sat in a lonely 
 corner in the shadow. And when I noticed
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 155 
 
 him, I thought, ' That reprobate has come 
 to God's house because it is too damp to 
 wander in the fields/ " 
 
 "And if it had been so, what did it 
 matter?" observed Euth. " If God drives a 
 man into church by wet weather or a snow- 
 storm, all you've got to do is to say some- 
 thing which will make him come again." 
 
 '' Oh, dear, I am so sorry !" bewailed the 
 young man ; ''I feel as if I should never be 
 uncharitable again." 
 
 " Oh yes, you will," answered Euth, " and 
 be sorry afterwards, I hope. That's about 
 the best we can do, from the cradle to the 
 grave.'' 
 
 " It is always safe to hope for the best, 
 Mr. Marten," said I. 
 
 " So long as you prepare for the worst/' 
 put in Euth. 
 
 " I dare say I have often done harm where 
 I have tried to do good," said the rector, 
 ruefully. " I am so lonely in this dull
 
 156 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 country -parisli, that my mind gets sour and 
 jaundiced. I am inclined to envy my 
 brethren whose lots are cast in London. 
 They have earnest work to keep their souls 
 healthy. If they wear out, that is better 
 than rusting out." 
 
 " Whoever can't work here, couldn't work 
 in London," answered Euth, decisively. *'If 
 a man is not strong enough to walk to his 
 own gate, he needn't wish to climb moun- 
 tains." 
 
 " 1*^0 w, for my part," I said, " I think a 
 country clergyman is a very happily placed 
 man. His work is ready for him, and it is 
 not more than he can do, if he go about it 
 honestly and heartily. He is surrounded 
 by means of healthy relaxation, in the 
 proper use of which he can set a good 
 example. He is known and honoured 
 everywhere, and he knows and cares for 
 everybody. His education and knowledge 
 of mankind enable him to widen the narrow
 
 A RETIRED LIEE. 157 
 
 village life, and connect it with the busy 
 world beyond. Sometimes he can help his 
 city brother, for the restless tide of labour 
 often throws a few wanderers on his quiet 
 shore, and he has it in his power to link 
 some holy memory with their recollections 
 of his fields and farms. That is my portrait 
 of your life, Mr. Marten." 
 
 "It is so flattering that I do not recog- 
 nise it," said he, with a smile — rather a 
 melancholy one. 
 
 There was a pause, for Euth sat lost in 
 thought. Suddenly she roused herself, and 
 asked, " Have you a refuge in the village, 
 
 SU' t 
 
 " No, ma'am," answered the rector. '' If 
 belated travellers cannot pay for a bed, we 
 inhospitably refer them to the workhouse at 
 Hopleigli. If they die on the road — they 
 have done so once or twice — there is an 
 inquest, and the Union buries them. That 
 is our Enf^lish version of the Good
 
 158 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 Samaritan. It is useless to disguise the 
 truth." 
 
 " Then let us try to make it truth no 
 longer," I said. " I know you will have an 
 earnest helper in Euth, for refuges are her 
 favourite form of charity." 
 
 " Because, if they be well managed, 
 they do so much good at so little cost, 
 and in such a kindly way," she remarked. 
 "If we give hungry men a tract on 
 the goodness of God, need we wonder if 
 they throw it away with a curse. A 
 meal and a bed would preach a far better 
 sermon." 
 
 "Certainly, if their hearts were sufficiently 
 open to receive it," said Mr. Marten, 
 dubiously. 
 
 " There must be something to put them 
 in mind," replied my sister, " but I don't 
 believe many people are so hardened as you 
 think. Anything roughly knocked about 
 gets battered and black outside, but the
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 159 
 
 tough rind may keep something very soft 
 within." 
 
 " I shall be only too happy if you will 
 help me to try the experiment/' said the 
 rector ; '' my heart has often ached to see 
 the poor creatures starting on their long 
 journey to the tender mercies of the Casual 
 Ward." 
 
 " Aye, you may well say ' tender mer- 
 cies' !" responded Euth ; I am quite 
 astonished to find, that as a rule, workhouse 
 chaplains think they have no duty to dis- 
 charge towards these strays. They don't 
 want preaching. But surely they might go 
 in and commend the great family to Him 
 who remembers every one of them. That 
 would comfort some, and a good word can't 
 harm the worst. And in the morninc: I 
 think the chaplain might go again, and 
 see if any one wanted advice. A little 
 counsel is sometimes worth more than 
 a fortune. If the chaplains can't do
 
 160 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 it, I wish some one else could get per- 
 mission." 
 
 " It will take us some time to get a 
 refuge organised," remarked Mr. Marten, 
 presently. 
 
 " We only want a six-roomed cottage, no 
 matter how rough or old-fashioned — the 
 more so the better; it will be more like 
 home," replied my sister; "and then we 
 must get a nice, comfortable couple, to live 
 in it, and act host and hostess. And, of 
 course, you must persuade all the village to 
 help us, Mr. Marten." 
 
 " dear, dear !" said the rector, de- 
 spairingly. 
 
 "Never venture, never have," I observed. 
 
 " I will help you. I believe I am a good 
 beggar." 
 
 " You have let them lose the habit 
 -of giving," said Euth. " Like every- 
 thing else, it grows easier by practice, 
 
 SU'.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 161 
 
 "Well, Miss Garrett/' he said, rising, 
 "I must thank you for originating so 
 excellent a plan. I shall mark to-day 
 with a red letter, in commemoration of 
 this visit, and in a few days, I dare 
 say, I shall bring you word of suitable 
 ]3remises/' 
 
 He would not stay to supper : so, after 
 a little more talk about the best ways 
 and means to further our plan, Ruth 
 and I escorted him to the door. The 
 ground w^as still damp, but there was a 
 pleasant drying breeze, which made me 
 long for a little ramble under the starry 
 sky. So I proposed to walk home with 
 our guest. Ruth expostulated, but I 
 put on my great-coat, and had my own 
 way. 
 
 The clergyman lived down the road, 
 past the Great Farm, and as we walked 
 we chatted cheerfully about divers things, 
 and it gratified me to believe that the 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 young man was in better spirits for his 
 visit to us old people. I know some 
 of Kuth's words were very sharp, but 
 so are moantain breezes, and yet they 
 do us good. They make us turn about 
 and look at things under different as- 
 pects, and that is a healthier proceeding 
 than standing still, peering through our 
 own little glasses, which perhaps are 
 yellow ! 
 
 We turned the corner occupied by the 
 Great Farm, and presently the sound of 
 hurried footsteps warned us of a wayfarer 
 advancing towards us. In a moment he 
 came up. 
 
 There were no lamps on the road, and I 
 could only distinguish a tall figure, muffled 
 in a cloak, and a face which looked very 
 pale in the moonlight. He was walking 
 rapidly, but the rector turned and watched 
 his form as it swiftly receded into total 
 darkness.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 163 
 
 ""'Surely that is young Herbert," said 
 Mr. Marten, half aloud ; " and what can 
 he be doing here ?" 
 
 T remembered the name of the family 
 at the Farm, and concluding this in- 
 dividual to be one of them, nothing 
 seemed more natural than his presence 
 close to his own honie. And so I 
 silently wondered at my companion's 
 wonder. 
 
 We parted at the rector's gate, and 
 he detained me a moment to congratu- 
 late me on having such a sister as 
 Euth. 
 
 '' Her society is like a draught of 
 quinine," he said. 
 
 " Ah," I replied, " her words have bris- 
 tles on their backs, but we all want 
 brushing up sometimes !" 
 
 '' I hope she won't spare me," he said ; 
 a-nd I think he was sincere. 
 
 11—2
 
 164 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " Never fear," I answered. " Grood- 
 niglit." 
 
 But as I walked back, I wondered what 
 made my sister so terribly earnest about 
 Chatterton.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 165 
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 TURNED TO THE WALL. 
 
 On Thursday tliere came to me a letter 
 bearing the London postmark. I saw Aiice 
 look at it as she took it from the postman 
 and she brought it into the parlour and. 
 laid it on the breakfast-table with its super- 
 scription upwards. I recognised the writing 
 of the kindest man in my old firm, and I 
 had little fear about its contents, so I 
 bade my servant wait a moment. 
 
 The epistle was short enough. The 
 "house" regretted that my first recommen- 
 dation was not a case which they could take 
 up with more zeal. But they would stretch 
 a point to oblige me. So, if the young man 
 liked, he could take a subordinate place in
 
 166 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 their counting-liouse at a salary of eighteen 
 shillings a week. 
 
 ISTow, I did not read the letter to Alice. 
 I knew it was very kind, but to her it 
 would seem cruel. I only told her the 
 result of my application. She took it very 
 quietly, with a few grave thanks, spoken 
 slowly and laboriously, like words in a 
 half-known tongue, ending with the request 
 that she might go and tell Ewen. 
 
 I reflected for a moment, and then said, 
 " No, I should like to speak with Mr. Her- 
 bert first ; he has been kind to your brother, 
 and I should not wish to entice him from 
 his service without his knowledge. I will 
 make everything right, and your brother 
 shall have the offer before the afternoon.'* 
 
 And Alice thanked me again, and went 
 away to the kitchen. 
 
 I wanted Euth to accompany me to 
 the Great Farm, but she refused, saying 
 I suited strangers better than she did, and
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 167 
 
 she hated morning calls. I learned after- 
 wards that she and Alice passed the time 
 in consulting over the outfit necessary for 
 the lad's decent appearance in his new 
 situation. 
 
 I saw neither Ewen nor his grandfather 
 on the way to the Farm. I proceeded to the 
 dwelling-house, and found the garden gate 
 open. The bad weather had made sad havoc 
 among the shapely flower-beds, but a few 
 chrysanthemums smiled from the withered 
 leaves, like country faces in a London 
 crowd. So I reached the broad old-fashioned 
 porch, and pulled a bell whose handle I 
 found among the ivy leaves. 
 
 The door was opened by a middle-aged 
 woman, tall and gaunt, clad in a dark 
 clinging gown, and thick white cap and 
 apron. She might have been portress at 
 a nunnery. 
 
 "Is Mr. Herbert within?" I inquired. 
 
 " Mr. Herbert has just gone out among
 
 168 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 liis fields," she answered, in a sour 
 tone, eyeing me like one who has reason 
 to suspect a stranger. 
 
 " Can you tell me where I may overtake 
 him?" I asked. 
 
 " H'm — ye see he's moving about ; and 
 as you went in at one gate, he might go 
 out at the other. I don't know whether 
 he'll be long. Ifye'll step inside I'll just 
 inquire." 
 
 She admitted me into a square wain- 
 scotted hall, pushed forward a heavy 
 oaken chair, and retreated with noisy steps 
 through an arched doorway. 
 
 The place reminded me of dear old 
 Meadow Farm, only on a grander scale. 
 There was the same wide fire-place, sur- 
 mounted by hunting trophies and blunder- 
 busses, the same bare walls and floor, only 
 these were of oak instead of deal. But it 
 was very silent, and there was no cheerful 
 family litter on the hall table — no whips,
 
 A RETIllED LIFE. 169 
 
 or dog-collars, or battered gardening-hats. 
 I had scarcely time to notice all this, when 
 the tall servant returned. 
 
 '*Will ye just step into the parlour to 
 Miss Herbert ?" she said, and turned about 
 and led the way. She had never asked my 
 name. It seemed that unexpected visits 
 were so rare in that house that she had 
 forgotten the customary etiquette of such 
 occasions. 
 
 The "parlour" was reached by a short 
 passage leading from the arched doorway. 
 This passage was very dark, and as my guide 
 opened the door at the end, I was almost 
 dazzled by the sunlight in the white-ceiled 
 and delicately- papered room beyond. The 
 servant made way for my entrance, but did 
 not retire. 
 
 Miss Herbert advanced to meet me. As 
 I expected, she was the lady whom I had 
 seen on the previous Sunday, but in her 
 in-door apparel she looked much younger.
 
 170 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 She met me close to tlie cloor, aiid_ her face 
 seemed anxious and fearful. There was a 
 dog at her feet, a curly honest-eyed fellow, 
 but not such a one as usually frequents 
 femmine boudoirs. 
 
 " I apologise for disturbing you," I said ; 
 "but I wish a little conversation with 
 Mr. Herbert. I must introduce myself 
 as Mr. Edward Garrett, your new neigh- 
 bour." 
 
 " Oh, indeed !" she responded, in a re- 
 lieved tone, " will you please take a chair ? 
 I expect Mr. Herbert will return in half an 
 hour. If you can wait, he will be very 
 happy to see you." 
 
 Then she resumed her seat, and the attend- 
 ant, who had remained till now, closed the 
 door and left us together. Like all English 
 people, we entered into a conversation about 
 the weather, from which we passed to the 
 scenery in the neighbourhood, and similar 
 topics. On Sunday, my companion's face
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 171 
 
 had awakened my interest, and as we talked 
 this interest deepened. Her manner was 
 refined and kindly, and her smile was that 
 beautiful smile which suggests a burst of 
 sunshine on a rainy day. Yet there was a 
 pre-occupation about her, as if her thoughts 
 perpetually slipped away elsewhere, and had 
 to be forcibly recalled and kept at their duty. 
 As we talked, there came upon her face the 
 anxious laborious expression sometimes seen 
 in deaf people, and then she spoke with a 
 fitful, forced vivacity, as if she feared she 
 was failing in her part, and threw out all 
 her energy to succeed. Altogether she was 
 exactly the reverse of the calm, healthy 
 woman one expects to meet in a farm-house 
 parlour. 
 
 " I hope your papa is not so busy this 
 morning that I shall be troublesome," 
 I remarked, after one of our very natural 
 pauses. 
 
 " Oh, no," she answered, rousing herself
 
 172 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 with a start ; " but Mr. Herbert is not my 
 father : he is my uncle." 
 
 " I beg pardon for the mistake," I said. 
 *' Then are you one of the household here, 
 or are you on a visit ?" 
 
 " I have lived here since my father's death 
 three years ago," she replied. " Up till that 
 time I was with him in London." 
 
 " Ah, so we shall be able to talk about the 
 great city," I said. " But I dare say you 
 do not know much of the part most familiar 
 to me — eastward of Temple Bar." 
 
 " Oh yes, I do," she answered. " My 
 father was a literary man, and we went about 
 n good deal." 
 
 ''A literary man." I knew that means 
 such different careers — a refined retirement 
 graced by many of the comforts and privi- 
 leges of rank and wealth without their 
 restraints and responsibilities, or a hurrying 
 life in restless homes, shiftless labour, 
 improvident speculation. Perhaps tliis
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 173 
 
 was the key to the overwrought face before 
 me. 
 
 " Which do you prefer, town or country ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 She shook her head. '' I can't say — one 
 may be happy in both, or miserable in 
 either." 
 
 " Then, at least you do not dislike rural 
 solitude ?" I remarked. 
 
 " I was always accustomed to solitude,'^ 
 she answered. "Mamma died years ago, 
 and I was an only child, and my father was 
 generally much engaged." 
 
 " Ah, then you may be less lonely in 
 a family house among the fields than in 
 rooms overlooking London streets," I ob- 
 served. 
 
 She smiled faintly, and did not reply. 
 Presently she rose and said we had best find 
 our way to the dining-room, as her uncle 
 sometimes came in by a side-door, and sat 
 there looking over his papers, long before
 
 174 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 any one knew lie had returned from his 
 rambles. 
 
 " I am sorry to give so much trouble/' I 
 apologised, as I followed her guidance ; " my 
 business is only a little matter about one 
 of the farm people. If I could see young 
 Mr. Herbert " 
 
 We were crossing the hall when I said 
 this. She stopped short, looked up at me, 
 and repeated my last words. Surely it must 
 have been the effect of some stained glass 
 above the door, but her face looked scared 
 and white. 
 
 " Have I made another mistake ?" I 
 queried. " Is there no young Mr. Herbert ? 
 I fancied so, because I was out with a friend 
 a few evenings back, and I thought he called 
 a gentleman by that name. Such are the 
 difficulties of introducing oneself. Miss Her- 
 bert." 
 
 God forgive us for the pain we uninten- 
 tionally give ! She moved forward again,
 
 A RETIRED LTFE. 175 
 
 a,nd led the way down another short passage. 
 As she paused to open a door, she turned 
 and said in a very soft, low voice — " We 
 are a small family at the Great Farm — only 
 my uncle and I." 
 
 The room into which she ushered me was 
 a long, low, wainscotted chamber, with a 
 window at either end, one opening into the 
 garden and the other into the conservator^^ 
 The furniture consisted of highbacked, red- 
 €ushioned chairs, two or three carved chests, 
 and a table spread with a white cloth, and 
 sundry preparations for lunch. The walls 
 were enlivened by a few heavily-framed 
 portraits in oils. Now, I always take interest 
 in family pictures, but as I glanced over 
 these, I saw something which gave me a 
 sudden chill. 
 
 It was nothing dreadful. Household 
 skeletons are generally shut in very common- 
 place cupboards. There is no unpleasantness 
 in the back of a canvas when we scan it
 
 176 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 in hopes of finding some clue to its pedigree. 
 But it brings an awful revelation of domestic 
 agony when, in a pleasant family room, we 
 come upon a picture turned to the wai^l. 
 
 Miss Herbert made no effort to renew our 
 conversation. She drew a chair towards 
 the fireplace, in mute invitation for me to be 
 seated, and then went to the conservatory 
 and began gathering dead leaves into a little 
 basket. It occurred to me that she had 
 brought me to that room expressly that I 
 might understand there was delicate ground 
 in her uncle's dwelling, and so be warned to 
 tread warily. 
 
 In a few minutes the master of the house 
 came in, and greeted me very cordially. 'Now 
 he knew me as a respectable neighbour — 
 not as an unk'nown lounger peering over his 
 hedges. But it's an ill compliment to be 
 suspected till one's credentials are shown. 
 
 " Come, Agnes," he called to his niece, 
 *' come and take your place at the table, and
 
 A TIETIRED LIFE. 177 
 
 do the honours. Eather a young house- 
 keeper, you see, Mr. Garrett, but as discreet 
 as if she were fifty," he added, as the young 
 lady obeyed, with a pale ghost of a smile 
 flitting over her face. 
 
 I would have excused myself from his 
 blufl" hospitality, pleading "that I would 
 not detain him five minutes, I only wished 
 to speak about a little business " 
 
 " And what business on earth is not better 
 for being discussed over ale and ham ?" he 
 answered. So I had no alternative but to 
 accept a chair and a plate. 
 
 "You have in your service a young 
 man named Ewen M 'Galium," I began very 
 primly. 
 
 "Ah, that I have," said the farmer. 
 " And there isn't a better workman in the 
 place — can turn his hand to anything. 
 Good job for me that he's rather under 
 a cloud, else he would not be liired for my 
 price." 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 ''Then, Mr. Herbert," I responded, '1 
 fear you will not thank me for asking you 
 to give him up ?" 
 
 " What ! do you want him yourself?" he 
 asked. " Upon my word, you city gentle- 
 men are keen in detecting the value of a good 
 article." 
 
 "No, I don't want him myself," I 
 answered ; " but I dare say you know the 
 youth has capabilities rather above farm- 
 work." 
 
 " Certainly I do," said he, " and that's 
 just the reason why he's so good at it. 
 Everything's the better when done with 
 brains. I only wish they would get 
 so cheap as to be included in engage- 
 ments." 
 
 " I have succeeded in getting him a place 
 in the city — something of the kind he had 
 
 before he before he passed under the 
 
 cloud, as you say," I explained. 
 
 Mr. Herbert's face clouded, and he asked
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 179 
 
 very shortly, " Does the young fellow know 
 this ?" 
 
 " Not yet," I replied. " I would not name 
 the subject to him, until I had conferred 
 with you." 
 
 " That's right," he said, clearing up. 
 " ' Pastors and masters,' and all that, you 
 know. We must stand up for it, sir. The 
 young ones are always ready to throw 
 us over. Well, let 'em if they can. If 
 they won't have our rule, they can't want 
 our help." 
 
 Now, I felt that Mr. Herbert spoke truth, 
 and yet I could not assent. It pains me to 
 hear truth spoken dogmatically or mali- 
 ciously, or selfishly, and though the farmer's 
 seemed only a coarse, good-humoured, give- 
 and-take selfishness, nevertheless it profaned 
 what it touched. But he did not notice my 
 silence. 
 
 " I'll not stand in the lad's light," he went 
 on. " We'll go out together, and we shall 
 
 12—2
 
 180 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 find him somewhere about, and then you 
 can tell him, and he shall have his wages, 
 and a bit over, may be. He's been worth 
 double the money he's cost ; but, of course, 
 I shan't say so. He's a civil lad, too, though 
 he's short-spoken, and doesn't say two words, 
 if one will do." 
 
 " He will be all the better when he is out 
 of the way of suspicion," I said. 
 
 " I don't see why he need care for suspi- 
 cion," responded Mr. Herbert, with a con- 
 temptuous emphasis on the word, " except 
 that it lost him a good place. But any- 
 thing else might have done that. Suspicion 
 can't hang a man, and so far as I can see, it 
 doesn't hinder his enjoying any comforts he 
 can get." 
 
 " But a man does not live only to eat and 
 to escape the gallows," I remarked. " That's 
 a dog's life, Mr. Herbert." 
 
 " Let who can live for better things," he 
 said, recklessly. " Let 'em have fine hopes
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 181 
 
 and visions, they'll find 'em less substantial 
 than this," and he slapped the ham with his 
 carving-knife. 
 
 "Certainly, sir," I answered, "just as 
 the perishing body is, to our gross 
 senses, more substantial than the immortal 
 soul." 
 
 Mr. Herbert made no reply, but helped 
 himself to some ale, and told his niece she 
 ate no more than a chicken, and there was a 
 silence, until I inquired if Miss Herbert's 
 London training permitted her to be a good 
 walker. 
 
 " Oh yes," she answered, with that 
 same aroused manner. " I think nothing 
 of what many women call long dis- 
 tances." 
 
 " But you hardly ever go out, now^, 
 Aggie," said the farmer, in a softened, kindly 
 tone. 
 
 " I w^onder at that," I remarked, " for 
 1 know there are beautiful walks about here,
 
 182 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 and I am sure you must have plenty of 
 leisure." 
 
 "Yes, plenty of leisure," slie repeated 
 absently. 
 
 "Can you sketch?" I inquired. 
 
 " I used to do so," she answered. 
 
 "Now, how interesting that would be," 
 I said, " for you might bring all the 
 beauties of the neighbourhood into your 
 uncle's house to brighten a rainy day." 
 
 She laughed a little, and then answered, 
 " There was nobody to see them. Uncle 
 would not care," and I thought she glanced 
 towards that picture with its face turned 
 away. 
 
 " But anyhow it would occupy your time 
 very pleasantly," I went on. " Don't the 
 days seem long to you, alone in this house 
 among the fields ?" 
 
 " Oh, the days pass somehow," she re- 
 plied, with such a short, sad laugh. 
 
 '' I wish she would not shut herself
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 183 
 
 up," said Mr. Herbert, uneasily. " She's 
 always willing to go out if I ask her, 
 but she never proposes it of her own 
 accord." 
 
 " Then, sir," T said, " I wish you would 
 now ask her to accompany me to see my 
 sister. Euth will be very glad to have a 
 young thing about her as often as the young 
 thing likes." But even as I uttered the 
 words I felt that my sister, with her white 
 hair, was far less weary and worn than this 
 twenty-year-old girl. Agnes Herbert's sweet 
 tired face positively pained me. 
 
 "Then Agnes must be at her service," 
 said the farmer promptly. " So, my girl, 
 go and put on your wraps, and you can 
 come with us through the fields. The 
 walk will do you good, this fine sunshiny 
 day." 
 
 She rose [to obey, smiling and silent, It 
 was the silence about her which was so 
 pitiful. For silence is the leaden shield
 
 184 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 with which we meet the inevitable. Hope- 
 lessness is silent. So is Death. 
 
 She was ready in a few minutes, and we 
 three started from the back-door — ■" the 
 field way," as Mr. Herbert called it. He 
 was quite eager to show me every object of 
 interest, and I don't for one moment sup- 
 pose that he identified me as the Cockney 
 traveller whom he had half anathematized 
 for peering at his crops. Agnes stood be- 
 side us, w^hile we discussed sundry items 
 of agriculture, and she answered when ad- 
 dressed, but when left alone, I don't think 
 she listened. However, when the conver- 
 sation passed to haymakers, and similar 
 " odd hands," and I remarked that we hoped 
 to establish a little village refuge, which 
 might be useful to such, or to others in dis- 
 tress, she suddenly looked up into my face, 
 and said — 
 
 *' That will be very good." 
 
 " Aye, so it will," observed her uncle ;
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 185 
 
 " they can put up there on days when we 
 farmers don't want them, and then they'll 
 be at hand when we do." 
 
 " I shall ask you to subscribe, Mr. Her- 
 bert," I said. 
 
 " Well, I'll give something — it will save 
 me bribing 'em to hang about idle, — 
 picking and stealing." 
 
 " And you too, Miss Agnes?" I queried. 
 
 " I have so little money," she answered. 
 
 " Then Ruth must find out how else you 
 can help us," I remarked. 
 
 "I'll thank her if she does," said Mr. 
 Herbert. "Aggie sat and looked at the 
 fire all last w^inter, and all this summer she 
 has looked at the grass. Anything will l^e 
 better than that — whether it does good to 
 others or no." 
 
 So we walked on through meadow after 
 meadow, yet we did not find Ewen, but only 
 his grandfather, who told us the young man 
 was " away in the cart." I announced my
 
 186 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 proposal to the patriarcli, who received it 
 with very eager gratitude. " It will be the 
 making of the lad, not that he ever said a 
 word against his work ; but it's no the richt 
 sort for him — ye'll grant that, sir ?" — to 
 Mr. Herbert. 
 
 " I'll not grant anything of the kind," 
 returned the farmer, with his bluff laugh ; 
 *' but every man must stand up for himself, 
 ^nd I don't blame your boy for following 
 his fortune." 
 
 '* Ye'll no think him ungratefu'," said 
 Mr. M'Callum. "He'll ne'er forget that 
 wantin' your kindness he couldna hae bided 
 here till the bricht turn came. He'll aye 
 remember that, sir." 
 
 " There's nothing to remember," said 
 Mr. Herbert; "I had a chance of a good 
 workman cheap, and I took it. Tell him he 
 can go away whenever he likes, M 'Galium ; 
 he need not wait to give me proper notice. 
 And you can hand him that from me," and
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 187 
 
 lie slipped something into the old man's 
 hand, '' just a kind of farewell blessing, you 
 understand/' 
 
 " Ewen will be prood, prood, if he can 
 e'er serve you or yours, sir," returned Mr. 
 M'Callum; but the farmer waved off his 
 thanks and strode on, calling on us to 
 follow. 
 
 "I'm called a * near' man, Mr. Garrett," 
 he said presently. ''So I am. I wouldn't 
 give a man high wages for the world. Bad 
 principle. Keep 'em in their place. Make 
 it up in presents. High wages make 'em 
 independent in their service. Presents bind 
 'em to it. High wages set all the labourers 
 round plaguing their masters for the same. 
 Presents only make 'em anxious to get to 
 the master who gives them." 
 
 '' But, Mr. Herbert, is it just to give a 
 man less than he is worth, and then bestow 
 his own upon him as a boon ?" I asked. 
 
 "Justice is an excellent lady, sir," he
 
 188 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 answered, jocularly, " only she's blind, and 
 there's no knowing where she'll lead one. 
 She has taken some people so far that they 
 think it's sinful for one to be rich and 
 another poor. They may go on till they 
 find out that some have no right to be tall 
 while others are short." 
 
 " That is mistaken indeed," I said ; " but 
 the rich have no right to grind the poor 
 because they are poor ; and in a crowd a 
 tall man looks none the shorter for letting: a 
 little one stand in front." 
 
 " Ah, right enough," assented my com- 
 panion. " ' Live and let live, is a good 
 motto. But when you stand aside to let 
 another pass, I like him to notice that you 
 needn't do so if you don't choose." 
 
 *' Then you are very fond of power, Mr. 
 Herbert," I remarked. 
 
 '* Indeed I am," he answered, candidly. 
 '' And if any one under my control is 
 sensible enough to understand me, he can
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 189 
 
 get pretty much his own way ; but if he 
 flies in my face and rebels — well — as I said 
 before, I don't govern him, and I don't help 
 him, that's all." 
 
 "But then you throw away the much 
 stronger influence which patient forbearance 
 would win," I observed. 
 
 He looked a little blank, but he only gave 
 a whistle and stopped short, saying that he 
 must turn back, and would send for Agnes 
 in the course of the evening. So he shook 
 hands with me, and sent his respects to my 
 sister, and Miss Herbert and I proceeded to 
 our house. 
 
 My sister received the young lady very 
 kindly. I saw she noticed how girlish and 
 transparent the fair face looked when the 
 lace bonnet was removed. But she only 
 rattled on in her sweet, old - fashioned 
 hospitality, calling Miss Herbert's attention 
 to sundry quaint knick-knacks scattered 
 about our parlour, and giving their little
 
 190 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 histories. Our visitor merely answered 
 " yes " and " no ;" but she listened in the 
 grave, pondering way of those who strive to 
 bring every new idea to bear upon some old 
 problem. After dinner Euth let the con- 
 versation flag, and Miss Herbert did not 
 take it up, but leaned back in the easy-chair, 
 and seemed quite satisfied with the silence. 
 As her uncle had said, she sat and looked 
 at the fire, and I will confess that I sat 
 opposite and looked at her. Gradually 
 twilight stole over us, and as I watched her 
 with half-dozing eyes, I became conscious of 
 one of those strange revelations which come 
 to us at such times, when out of the familiar 
 face grows another face, different and yet 
 the same, sometimes showing how the old 
 man looked when he was young, sometimes 
 prophesying how the boy will look when he 
 is old. And lo ! the hopeless face before 
 me grew calm and firm, but no longer 
 girlish, and the peace thereon seemed not of
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 191 
 
 the simplicity which looks up at life's 
 struggle, but rather of the wisdom which 
 looks down upon the same. But the spell 
 of my dreamy gaze was suddenly broken by 
 PhilHs bringing in the lamp, and Euth 
 rousing herself from the sofa behind me, and 
 saying she guessed Miss Herbert would 
 think us a fine set of sleepy-heads. 
 
 So the fire was stirred and tea ordered. 
 Alice brought it in, and when she left the 
 room Miss Herbert made her first spon- 
 taneous remark — 
 
 '' That is Alice M'Callum, is it not?" she 
 said. ''She looks happier than she has looked 
 for a long while." 
 
 " I dare say you know she has been 
 in great trouble," observed Euth ; " but, 
 thank God, there is no sorrow so dark 
 that it cannot be lightened in God's good 
 time." 
 
 "If it be God's will," Miss Herbert 
 whispered, softly.
 
 192 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 "And I think it is always God's will," 
 answered my sister, in a clear, cheerful 
 voice. " Sometimes He chooses not to take 
 away our cross, but it is our fault if He do 
 not help us to carry it, and when once He 
 does that, the worst is over." 
 
 And I saw Miss Herbert paused, and 
 let those words print themselves on her 
 mind. 
 
 " Let us hope that in every sense the 
 worst is over for Alice," I observed. 
 
 " Alice has never lacked blessings," re- 
 turned Euth. "Her troubles have not 
 wasted her life, but rather ennobled it. Her 
 calamities have compelled her to work 
 harder than before, and more for other 
 people than herself. All sorrow should lead 
 to that, only it's a great blessing when we're 
 put between two hedges, and so can't mistake 
 the meaning of the signpost." 
 
 " Yet it seems to me that those 
 who have done most for the world have
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 193 
 
 been happy people," remarked Miss Her- 
 bert. 
 
 " Certainly," said my sister, "just because 
 tliose who do good cannot be miserable. If 
 we make smiling faces round us, we learn 
 the habit of smiles." 
 
 Just then there came a gentle tap at the 
 door, and Alice's face appeared, very bright, 
 indeed, as she said, " Ewen has come up, if 
 you please, sir, because he would like to 
 thank you." 
 
 " Show him in," answered ray sister. 
 
 The young man entered, and his sister 
 retired. He was not in his farm clothes, 
 but in such dress as he must have worn in 
 the office at Mallowe — a suit probably never 
 used since that time. He was a tall, well- 
 made fellow, and I was glad he would 
 ceiiainly make a good first impression on 
 my city friends, and I noticed that Miss 
 Herbert looked at him with surprised in- 
 terest. Naturally enough, he spoke shyly 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 and stiffly. He was evidently very glad of 
 tlie impending change, yet in the gladness 
 was a reservation which he seemed unwilling 
 to express. It came out at last. " Grand- 
 father will be so lonely." 
 
 " Ah, we must see about that. For the 
 first few days Alice can stay with him, and 
 come to her work here while he is out," 
 answered my sister. " And after that, some 
 new plan may suggest itself Does Mr. 
 M'Callum speak of it ?" 
 
 " Oh no, ma'am," replied Ewen ; " for that 
 matter, IVe been such bad company that he 
 won't miss me much." 
 
 " Have you seen Mr. Herbert ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes, sir; I happened to meet him in 
 the road. He was very kind," with a glance 
 at our guest. 
 
 " Well, Ewen, you are the first person I 
 have recommended to my old firm," I said, 
 " so you must get me a good name for in-
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 195 
 
 sight and discretion, just for the sake of 
 those who may come after. Do you know 
 any one in London ?" 
 
 "Not a soul!" he answered, with the 
 gaiety of one who is not sorry for ob- 
 livion. 
 
 " Then take care what friends you make," 
 I responded. "There are one or two 
 Scotchmen in the office, to whom your 
 nationality will serve as introduction. And 
 for the matter of evening recreation — I 
 know you are well-educated — have you any 
 favourite pursuit — chemistry, or anything?" 
 
 Ewen smiled and blushed a little, and 
 then answered, "I always had a taste for 
 drawing, sir." 
 
 " Oh yes, I know," exclaimed Agnes Her- 
 bert, and checked herself 
 
 " Then go to a drawing-class as soon as 
 you can afford it; and even before that, 
 there are many free evening lectures and 
 exhibitions by which you can improve your- 
 
 13—2
 
 196 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 self. An inclination for any study is the 
 cheapest and best pleasure a man can have. 
 Pursuing it, he gains insight into other 
 things, and is thrown in the way of con- 
 genial company. But don't let your taste 
 run away with you ; don't let it intrude on 
 business, or sleep, or exercise. Don't allow 
 yourself to be an indifferent clerk, for sake 
 of being an indifferent artist. Be thorough 
 in your duties, and you will elevate the 
 standard of your t^ste." 
 
 " And don't forget to be regular in your 
 letters home," said Euth, practically. " Let 
 them be expected on certain days, so that 
 Alice need not waste her time waiting for 
 the postman." 
 
 "And write to me whenever you like," I 
 added as the young man rose to depart. 
 " But I suppose we shall see you again 
 before you go." 
 
 " I don't think so, sir," he answered. 
 " Alice and I have talked it over, and she
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 197 
 
 says I can be ready to go by the train to- 
 morrow morning., and she'll send the rest of 
 my things after me." 
 
 " You are indeed glad to get away, my 
 boy," I said, as we shook hands. 
 
 " I'll not deny it, sir," he replied, " but 
 please God I'll win to such a life that those 
 who believe that black chapter will be 
 willing to forget it." 
 
 " And is there no one else to whom you 
 should say good-bye ?" I asked. " A journey 
 is none the worse for a few ' God- speeds.' " 
 
 " Well, there is one," he said, reflectively ; 
 " but I was once so rude to him that I 
 don't like to go. I mean our minister, 
 sir. 
 
 " Go by all means," said Euth, smiling. 
 " You own you were rude to him ; so if 
 you get a rebuff, it will only serve you 
 right." 
 
 " Ewen," I interrupted, " if you go, take 
 my word for it, you won't get a rebuff."
 
 198 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 "111 go," he said. "I'll go before I 
 return home." And so he shook hands with 
 Euth and me, and was going away with a 
 bow to Miss Herbert ; but that young lady 
 sprang up briskly and shook hands too. 
 
 " One of Nature's gentlemen," I remarked, 
 when he was gone. 
 
 " A brave, honest man," said Ruth. 
 
 " You think him innocent ?" queried our 
 visitor. 
 
 " That we do," answered Euth. 
 
 "Supposing he were guilty?" said Miss 
 Herbert again. 
 
 "Then as he asserts his innocence, he 
 would be very base indeed," returned my 
 sister. 
 
 "I think him innocent," observed the 
 young lady after a pause. " I always 
 thought so." 
 
 " Did you express that opinion whenever 
 you could ?" asked Euth. 
 
 ' ' I said so to my uncle ; but he did not
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 199 
 
 care, whether or no ; and I don't speak to any 
 one else." 
 
 " Then you should," answered Euth, de- 
 cidedly ; " we should all keep a seat for our- 
 selves in the parliament of public opinion. 
 A single vote may turn the scale sometimes." 
 
 '* But I am so fond of solitude," pleaded 
 the girl; "yet still," she added, eagerly, 
 "I would make myself like society if I 
 could do good in it. But if I had gone to 
 all the village tea-parties, and lifted up my 
 voice for Ewen's innocence, I could not have 
 helped him as you and your brother have. 
 Miss Garrett." 
 
 " Certainly not," returned Euth, " your 
 time for that has not come. Youth is the 
 season for gaining a place and a voice in the 
 world. Influence is like everything worth 
 having : we must work a long while to 
 gain it." 
 
 " Well, Euth," I said, " Miss Herbert lias 
 her uncle's permission to help you about
 
 200 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 your refuge. That will be a beginning for 
 her. I think she is like you — in favour of 
 refuges." 
 
 '' Is that so, my dear ?" asked Ruth. 
 
 "Yes," answered the girl, very softly 
 indeed ; " because they give one more chance 
 to the lost ones." 
 
 " There are none ' lost ' between earth and 
 heaven," said my sister ; " wherever they 
 go they can't get away from God. And He 
 gives them chance after chance to the very 
 end." 
 
 " But He is angry with the wicked," 
 whispered Agnes Herbert, with dilating 
 eyes. 
 
 " Just as a loving father is angry with 
 his naughty children," returned my sister. 
 *' He loves them none the less for His anger. 
 He is angry because He loves tliem. Like 
 a father, too. He waits to forgive." 
 
 " But some fathers are not ready to for- 
 give," said Agnes.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 201 
 
 " Then they need to ask their children's 
 pardon for their hard-heartedness/' replied 
 Ruth ; " and God help them to see the 
 necessity before it be too late !" 
 
 There followed a short silence, which 
 Miss Herbert broke by the abrupt inquiry, — 
 
 " Do you think many people go to heaven, 
 Miss Garrett?" 
 
 " Surely many more than go elsewhere," 
 answered Ruth, " for God's love is stronger 
 than Satan's malice. And heaven is broader 
 than our charity. There will be some there 
 whom we scarcely expect. Ah, it would be 
 a woeful world if we could not always hope 
 that !" 
 
 At this the strange, reserved girl sud- 
 denly sprang up, and kissed my sister with 
 the bursting enthusiasm of one who has 
 just heard unexpected tidings of joy. She 
 would have subsided as suddenly, but my 
 sister held her for a moment, and kissed 
 that sensitive forehead — once, twice, thrice.
 
 202 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 Agnes' impulsive embrace was like the 
 electric shock which flashes across the sea 
 the glad news that two nations have but one 
 heart. 
 
 Here Phillis entered with the announce- 
 ment that Miss Herbert was fetched, and 
 that the rector's servant had brought a 
 letter, which she handed to my sister, who 
 presently passed it to me ; and while Agnes- 
 put on her bonnet, I read aloud : — " The 
 Rev. Lewis Marten sends his best regards 
 to Miss Grarrett, and he has found a bouse 
 whicb he thinks exactly suits her ideas of 
 a refuge. If convenient, he will wait upon 
 her to-morrow morning, and take her to 
 see it. He must add that he has named 
 the subject to some of his parishioners, and 
 has secured one or two donations ; which is 
 very promising." 
 
 " Would you like to join us ?" in- 
 quired Ruth of Miss Herbert. "Come 
 over here early, and take the walk with
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 20«5 
 
 US. Eemember, I shall quite expect 
 you." 
 
 " Tell your uncle, and then he will take 
 care to send you," I said, smiling. And 
 so the matter was settled. 
 
 " A very sweet girl," remarked Ruth, 
 when our visitor had departed. " At first I 
 thought her listless. I don t think so now. 
 And she has an energetic face." 
 
 " She seems like one defeated," I said, 
 ** who has no heart to recommence the 
 battle." 
 
 " Then we must get her into it 
 unawares," returned Ruth. 
 
 And I told her all I had seen and heard 
 at the Great Farm about the girl's lone- 
 liness and her uncle's evident solicitude, 
 and about the strange shadow of house- 
 hold tragedy that haunted the family 
 dining-room. 
 
 " Doubtless she will tell us about it in 
 due time," said Ruth, meditatively. "In
 
 204 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 the little intercourse I Lave had with 
 people round, I have heard nothing ahout 
 the Herberts. Very likely Alice could ex- 
 plain it. But she is not the girl to tell, and 
 we are not the people to ask her. What- 
 ever it be, they had better have taken 
 the picture down and put it out of sight. 
 Turned to the wall, indeed ! What 
 folly!"
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 205 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MR. MARTEN PREACHES AT SOMEBODY. 
 
 The next day we accompanied our pastor 
 to see the proposed Refuge, and Miss Her- 
 bert did not fail to join us. The meeting 
 between her and tiie clergyman was quite 
 of the civil, distant order — so much so, that 
 I wondered if the young man's exercise of 
 his ministerial functions had ever extended 
 to a visit at the Great Farm. I expected 
 that he and Ruth would lead the way, and 
 leave the young lady in my charge, but as 
 Miss Herbert attached herself to my sister, 
 Mr. Marten and I had no alternative 
 but to follow. 
 
 Our destination was a larcro old cottasre 
 at the quieter end of the row, which Up-
 
 206 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 per Mallowe lionoured as its " High Street." 
 There was a narrow strip of garden in 
 front, cut in twain by a flagged path lead- 
 ing to the door. At each side of this 
 door was a wide, latticed window, and there 
 were three casements on the npper story. 
 The rector had armed himself with the key 
 — a very primitive instrument — and in a 
 moment we were all rambling over the 
 place, opening doors, and discovering cup- 
 boards and shelves, and such-like appliances 
 of domestic comfort. 
 
 " I think it will do," said Euth. 
 
 " You must not say so yet. Miss Garrett," 
 returned Mr. Marten; ''for you have not 
 seen its chief beauty." And he ushered us 
 into a long low room at the back, evidently 
 an addition to the original building ; for it 
 had no chambers above it. "There!" said 
 he, " I think that will make such a capital 
 — what shall we call it, ma'am ? — feeding- 
 room — salle-a-manger ?''
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 207 
 
 " So it will," responded Ruth : '' the other 
 two rooms can be male and female dormi- 
 tories, and the floor above will do nicely for 
 the housekeeper's home." 
 
 '' But there are three upper rooms," said 
 Mr. Marten, mounting the stairs, and 
 rapidly opening their doors. " See! two will 
 suffice for the housekeepers, and we shall 
 have one superfluous." 
 
 " A great comfort for an ailing woman, 
 or a sick child," I said. 
 
 " Certainly," answered Ruth ; "and now, 
 Mr. Marten, can you tell us the rent?" 
 
 " The landlord has always asked sixteen 
 pounds a year," replied he ; " but the 
 cottage has this disadvantage : it is too 
 large and expensive for the poorer class of 
 tenants, and two rough for any others, 
 and so he says he will part with it entirely 
 for one hundred and twenty pounds. What 
 do you think of that ofler, Mr. Garrett?" 
 
 " I will accept it," I answered; " and then
 
 208 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 the remaining expenses will be a small 
 salary for the housekeepers, who will have 
 their rooms rent free, and who need not be 
 wholly without other work, and a little 
 fund for meals, and general assistance for 
 the poor wanderers." 
 
 " And furniture ?" suggested Miss Her- 
 bert, timidly. 
 
 "Oh, every bit of that must be begged," 
 said my sister. 
 
 The Eeverend Lewis Marten put on a 
 very wry face. 
 
 "Come, come,'* said I, "you have made 
 a good beginning already, and you know 
 I am pledged to help you/' 
 
 " You two look after the money," advised 
 Euth. 
 
 "Do you suppose the village mothers 
 will promise you old pans, and kettles, and 
 pillows ? Leave those things to us." 
 
 " I have read of a very good plan," said 
 that sweet voice, which only spoke too
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 209 
 
 seldom. " When some good German wished 
 to furnish an orphan house, he made a 
 little blank book, and wrote on each leaf 
 such headings as ' bedding,' ' earthen- 
 ware,' and so on. Then he sent the 
 book about, and every one wrote in it 
 what they would give, and thus each might 
 be quite sure they were not giving what 
 was already had." 
 
 " Thank you very much, Miss Herbert/' 
 returned my sister : " that is a good idea. 
 Whenever anything like that strikes you, 
 mind you tell us." 
 
 " Of course I shall," said Miss Herbert. 
 
 " No ' of course ' about it," replied Euth; 
 " you hesitated before you said that. And 
 you'll have other wise thoughts come ; 
 but you'll be so afraid they're foolish, 
 that you'll let us old folks go blunder- 
 ing on without their help. Now, promise 
 me you wont ?" 
 
 '' I'll try," said the dear girl. 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 And Euth looked at her, and gave her 
 head a queer little shake which I could not 
 understand. 
 
 " Well, I think we are getting on very 
 well," remarked the clergyman. " I'll just 
 get my memorandum-book, and take a 
 note of our position. But, dear me, I have 
 not a pencil !" 
 
 " Oh, I have one," answered Miss 
 Herbert, producing a dainty " lady's 
 companion." Its fastening was a little 
 intricate, and she drew off her gloves 
 to undo it. In the course of this 
 action, I saw something I had not 
 noticed before. On the " engaged " 
 finger she wore a broad, richly-chased 
 gold ring — one of the kind known as 
 " guards." 
 
 " Thank you,'' said Mr. Marten, accepting 
 the proffered pencil. " Now,'Edward Garrett, 
 Esq., £120' — that looks handsome ! Then, 
 *Miss Euth Garrett' — what did I under-
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 211 
 
 stand?" and he glanced archly at my 
 sister. 
 
 " You did not understand anything," Euth 
 retorted. " I've got very little, and I mean 
 to keep it to fill up odd corners where 
 Edward's grand subscription wont go." 
 
 " Well, I've WTitten your name," returned 
 Mr. Marten, " and I shall let it stay. 
 Then there's the two old ladies to whom 
 I named the Eefuge — Mrs. Withers, one 
 pound one; and Miss Tabitha Vix, five 
 shillings — that's all for the present. Total, 
 one hundred and twenty-one pounds six 
 shillings, and an unknown blank, you see. 
 Miss Garrett." 
 
 " Uncle says he will give fiNQ pounds," 
 whispered Agnes Herbert. 
 
 " Oh, come ! this is famous !" said the 
 rector, resuming his notes ; " and may 1 put 
 down anything from you?" 
 
 '' Half-a-crown, if it's worth while," she 
 said, softly ; " and one shilling from Sarah — 
 
 14—2
 
 212 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 that's our servant, Sarah Irons, you know. 
 Perhaps vve may get something better out 
 of the lumber-room. Uncle lets us give 
 away anything we find there ; but I haven't 
 looked over it for a long time." 
 
 " The first thing we have to do," said 
 Euth, as we left the house, '' is to get a good 
 housekeeper, and then we can say, ' Gifts 
 thankfully received at the Kefuge.' " 
 
 " And who is to hire this housekeeper?" 
 asked Mr. Marten. 
 
 "I will, please," responded Euth. ''If you 
 like you may set that down as my subscrip- 
 tion. It may prove worth more than 
 Edward's." 
 
 Both the clergyman and Miss Herbert 
 resisted our pressing invitation to lunch. 
 So we returned home alone, and Alice 
 admitted us — red-eyed, but smiling, after 
 the parting from her brother. 
 
 In the course of tlie day Euth paid another 
 visit to the Eefuge, She and Alice went
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 213 
 
 there in the twilight, and stayed some time. 
 I half guessed the mischief they were plot- 
 ting, and I was not mistaken. Alice and 
 her grandfather were appointed hostess and 
 host at the Kefuge. 
 
 " It will be so nice to tell in my first 
 letter to Ewen !" said Alice. 
 
 Now you. may be sure the opening of this 
 Refuge made quite a commotion in our 
 sleepy village of Upper Mallowe — more sen- 
 sation even than the sudden curtailment of 
 chanting in St. Cross. The two events 
 happened simultaneously. Before gossip 
 could circulate any particulars about the 
 new " charity,'' it was announced that the 
 Reverend Lewis Marten was to preacli a 
 sermon thereon. Out of curiosity, some of 
 the people who usually walked to the Ritu- 
 alistic church at Hopleigh, turned their steps 
 to St. Cross. Also, out of curiosity, some 
 of the old farmers laid down the local paper, 
 and went to hear the local discourse. They
 
 214 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 found the creaking doors set wide open to 
 receive them, and the bereaved pew-opener's 
 temper was all the sweeter for being spared 
 the trial of the singing-boys in the vestry. 
 The lads themselves, conspicuous by their 
 absence in an official capacity, occupied 
 seats about the church, either under the sur- 
 veillance of their parents, or steadied by the 
 charge of junior relatives. 
 
 The service began. Neither Mr. Marten 
 nor I had exchanged a word on the subject 
 beyond what I have related. He read the 
 sentences and exhortation in his usual clear, 
 ringing tone, and there followed a brief ex- 
 pectant silence. Then he lifted up his voice 
 without the intonation with which he was 
 wont to accompany the chanting. The 
 scattered choir boys, previously instructed, 
 were the first to join, but by the third or 
 fourth petition of our glorious old confession 
 the whole congregation responded. The 
 farmers looked approvingly at each other.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 215 
 
 and I think the Eitualistic strangers were 
 too surprised to be displeased. The same 
 reform went on throughout the service, and 
 the old people, too blind to read, had the 
 full benefit of those beautiful reassuring 
 psalms, which so marvellously suit every 
 circumstance and experience. 
 
 It was the Twenty-second Sunday after 
 Trinity, and the rector took his text from 
 the Gospel for ih.e day. " Shouldest not 
 thou have had compassion on thy fellow- 
 servant, even as I had pity on thee ?" His 
 heart was warm with the subject : and his 
 words were eloquent in proportion. As 
 usual, he dwelt strongly on the spiritual 
 wickedness of the world, but only to show 
 the depth of misery from which Christ had 
 saved it. And his closing remarks struck 
 me so much, that I can recall them almost 
 word for word : — 
 
 '' Christ has forgiven us the ten thousand 
 talents, that dreadful debt which Adam con-
 
 216 THE OCCUPATION S OF 
 
 tracted, and which descends to ns with 
 accumulating interest. The greatest saint 
 and the greatest sinner are both included in 
 the bond which His mercy remits. 
 
 " Yet people rarely realise this brother- 
 hood in evil and misery, this participation 
 in proffered forgiveness. God draws no dis- 
 tinction between sin and crime. The world 
 does. It must. But do not let us say this 
 is because crime injures society, while sin 
 may be left to God, as a matter wholly be- 
 tween Him and the sinner. Crime grows 
 from sin, as the tree springs from its root. 
 Law only punishes crime, simply because 
 sin is too subtle for it. Why, brethren, the 
 sins that really injure society, and from 
 which issue the crimes which fill our prisons 
 and reformatories, are sins to which none of 
 us could truly plead 'Not guilty.' First 
 and foremost is the little seed of self sprout- 
 ing into wilfulness, and sloth, and apathy. 
 "Who has never preferred his own weal to
 
 A RETIRJ.D LIFE. 217 
 
 anotlier's, never driven his own will over 
 another's comfort, never held back his hand 
 when he should have stretched it out, or 
 kept silence when he ought to have spoken ? 
 If these questions were pressed upon us, 
 who would not be convicted by his own 
 conscience ? 
 
 " Justice can punish the murderer or the 
 thief, but human justice cannot reach the 
 influences which may have raised his hand 
 against his fellows. Do not suppose these 
 influences excuse his crime. No one need 
 be a victim to circumstances. Circumstance 
 is only given us to conquer. But neither 
 does circumstance excuse the man from 
 whom proceeded the evil influence. Ah, 
 my brethren, when the shadow of a great 
 crime darkens the length and breadth of the 
 land, who of us can safely say, ' I have had 
 no share in this ?' A mere want of punctu- 
 ality or promptitude, by souring tempers, 
 and embittering hearts, may be the first step
 
 218 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 on the dark road wlncli ends with a gal- 
 lows ! The devil takes care that sin shall 
 be a maze, wherein nobody knows where 
 each path may lead. 
 
 " But you will answer, ' Christ came to 
 deliver us from sin.' Truly He came to 
 redeem us from its bondage. He came to 
 show us what we were in Eden, and what 
 we may be again in Paradise. He came to 
 throw the mantle of His own spotless right- 
 eousness over the ragged holiness which 
 clothes the purest earthly saint. He came 
 to hold up before us that perfect humanity 
 which fell in fragments round the tree of 
 the knowledge of good and evil. Yes, my 
 brethren, He came to do all this, and what 
 is the result ? Those, whom He draws 
 closest to Himself — those, whose purblind 
 souls are so anointed with the balm of His 
 forgiveness, that henceforth they can see 
 clearly — those are the very ones who cry 
 with St. Paul, ' The good that I would, I
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 219 
 
 do not : but the evil which I would not, that 
 I do/ Such walk in humility and gentle- 
 ness, ever watchful lest some unwary stumble 
 •of theirs crush a soul 'for whom Christ 
 <lied,' ever praying, ' Lord, pardon us for 
 the sins which we mistake for virtues !' 
 
 " Yes, Christ Himself tells us that ' it 
 must needs be that offences come.' The 
 world is God's work, but Satan's tangle is in 
 it. Every one of us — you and I — have 
 done our little share to perpetuate that 
 tangle. And so long as we carry about our 
 mortality, the devil will sometimes catch 
 our fingers, and set them at the old mis- 
 chievous v/ork. But in the meantime we 
 must put our hands to labour on God's 
 side. There is always a task ready for 
 us. Wherever we see pain, or sorrow, or 
 povert}'', or death, let us remember we con- 
 front suffering born of sin, our sin. 
 
 " My brethren, I am about to suggest a 
 solemn thought. It has been said of some
 
 220 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 holy men, that they never knew how much 
 good they did. It may be truly said of all 
 of us, that we know not what evil we have 
 caused. You, the regular worshipper and 
 communicant, some permanent inconsistency 
 in your life may have given a forgotten ac- 
 quaintance a lasting prejudice against re- 
 ligion. You, parents, bewailing rebellious 
 children, perhaps you ' provoked' them to 
 wrath and sin. You, neglected wives, by 
 your own peevishness and self-consideration 
 may have alienated the love which you 
 should have held next to God's. I, myself, 
 lamenting over the empty seats I too often 
 see in this temple, may have driven my 
 flock away by my own coldness and apathy [ 
 And alas ! alas ! my brethren, the evil our 
 own hands have done, our own hands can- 
 not always undo. Those whom we injure, 
 die or go beyond our influence. There are 
 words and deeds which w^e cannot recollect 
 without remorse, yet which can never be
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 221 
 
 cancelled. Then, as we pray that other 
 hands may efface our wrong-doing, let us re- 
 member that some ma}^ be so praying on 
 behalf of one whom we can succour, either 
 in mind or body. How happy we should 
 be to hear that Grod had permitted a good 
 man to destroy our evil work ! So, let us 
 be up and doing, that in our turn, with 
 Ood's blessing, we may confer that happi- 
 ness on others. Let it no more be said that 
 the homeless, the erring, or the miserable, 
 pass among us unsheltered, uncounselled, 
 and uncheered. Christmas again draws 
 near — to some of us it will be brighter than 
 ever before ; to others its earthly brightness 
 may be departed. But the gayest, as well 
 as the poorest, and the saddest, and the 
 utterly bereaved, will be none the worse for 
 winning ' the blessing of those that were 
 ready to perish.' " 
 
 Mr. Marten spoke so earnestly and 
 pointedly, that the interest of the most
 
 222 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 sluggish was aroused, and the church was 
 solemn with the breatiiless silence of rapt 
 attention. There was but one interruption. 
 When the rector's warning touched on 
 family miseries, Mr. Herbert suddenly rose, 
 left his seat, and walked down the aisle. 
 At the font, however, he paused, passed his 
 hand reflectively over his whiskers, and 
 returned to his pew. But immediately after 
 the final benediction, and before any one 
 had risen from prayer, he and his niece both 
 left the building. 
 
 There was a collection made at the door, 
 and when we passed out, the '' plates ''^ 
 seemed in a tolerably prosperous condition. 
 The rough church-path was not so clear as 
 on my first visit to St. Cross, for neigh- 
 bours were lingering to greet other neigh- 
 bours whom they had not seen there 
 for a long time. As we went through 
 the crowd I heard many remarks such as 
 these : —
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 22 S 
 
 " Parson gave us a moiglity fine sermon. 
 He seems quite awaukened up." 
 
 " Ay, you may say that ! He spoke as if 
 he meant it." 
 
 " A'most as if he wor preachin' to some 'un 
 there, and knew ezactly what they wanted." 
 
 *'' Perhaps he wor." 
 
 Next day when Mr. Marten came to 
 confess his mistake, and to own that the 
 people of Upper Mallowe had proved hberal 
 beyond his hopes, I told him this. He 
 smiled at the rough criticism, but his reply 
 was — 
 
 " They were right. I was preaching at 
 some one, — at myself All the time I bore 
 in mind my miserable blunder with that 
 poor fellow, Ewen." 
 
 " Ah, you had a visit from him before he 
 left for London," said Euth. 
 
 "So I had," he answered. 
 
 " And what did you say ?" inquired my 
 sister.
 
 224 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 "We each begged the other's pardon," 
 returned the rector, " and I think he'll 
 count me among the friends he has left at 
 Upper Mallowe, — or at least not among the 
 enemies. He is not at all an ordinary chip 
 of humanity. You did a great work in 
 saving him, Mr. Garrett." 
 
 " Edward just did a common Christian 
 duty," said Euth ; "if Grod bless it, to Him 
 be all the glory !" 
 
 " And you think the people felt my 
 sermon last Sunday?" queried Mr. Marten, 
 presently. 
 
 "Yes, just because your heart was in 
 every word," I answered. 
 
 " I feared I was, as usual, too gloomy and 
 severe," he remarked. 
 
 "No, no," said I; "you own you- were 
 preaching at yourself, — therefore you loved 
 the sinner, understood his errors, and felt a 
 human pity for his remorse. Now, you 
 must ask God to enlarge your sympathies
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 225 
 
 till you can do the same in every case, 
 and then your severity will be only truthful 
 love." 
 
 " And if your preaching suits your own 
 heart, it will certainly suit somebody else," 
 added Euth. 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 GEORGE WILMOT FROM LONDON. 
 
 And thus Christmas drew near. By that 
 time the Refuge was fairly established, Miss 
 Herbert's " Contribution Book " having 
 secured sundry very useful gifts, which 
 went far to spare our little cash account, 
 and Mr. M'Callum and Alice were settled 
 in their new abode — both made exceedingly 
 happy by punctual and comfortable letters 
 from Ewen. And so Ruth and I jogged on 
 in our quiet way. 
 
 But we saw very little of Agnes. She 
 helped m}^ sister in all the Refuge arrange- 
 ments, yet we could not allure her to our 
 house for a leisurely visit, nor even detain 
 her for such when she made a call. She
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 227 
 
 was always quite anxious to return home, 
 as if it were some post of imperative 
 duty, from which absence was absolutely 
 desertion. 
 
 ''How shall we keep Christmas, Euth?" 
 I asked, one evening in December. 
 
 " Just like a Thanksgiving Sunday, I 
 suppose," said she. " There are no children 
 coming home for the holidays." 
 
 Now, of course I knew that. But Ruth 
 will say things. 
 
 " Christmas is a birthday feast," I 
 remarked, " and so it should be kept." 
 
 ''Ah, but birthdays are drear times," 
 she answered, "when there's no one to 
 stoop over us and give us a kiss and a 
 keepsake." 
 
 " I suppose that is why old people leave 
 off keeping them," I said. " I think they 
 are wrong ; let them rather give kisses and 
 keepsakes on the dear date when they used 
 to receive them. So with Christmas. Ah, 
 
 15—2
 
 228 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 Euth, you were mistaken when you said we 
 had no child to gladden us at this season. 
 Is there not a Babe in a manger at Beth- 
 lehem whicli is ours for ever ?" 
 
 Euth did not reply. She never replies 
 to such remarks. I believe she thinks 
 the more for her silence, for by-and-by she 
 said — 
 
 '' Then what should you like to do on 
 Christmas Day ?" 
 
 " I want to give as many little bits of 
 pleasure as I can," I replied ; " such little 
 bits of pleasure as made me happy when I 
 was a boy, Euth." 
 
 '' Ah, you were easy to please, Edward," 
 said she ; " and a very good thing, too !" 
 
 " Any one who can be pleased at all is as 
 pleased with little as with much," I replied. 
 " A Christmas card gives as much delight 
 as a Christmas-box. A child is as charmed 
 with the discovery of a blackberry bush, 
 as is a miner with his nugget. And
 
 A RETIRED LIEE. 229 
 
 perhaps the one ' find ' is as valuable as the 
 other." 
 
 " To the child, ma}^ be ; but not to the 
 man," retorted Euth. '* Recollect, grown- 
 up people have no leisure to go blackberry- 
 hunting unless they've first got a nugget 
 of their own, or are degraded enough to 
 live on other people. Don't you pretend 
 to undervalue money, Edward. It's God's 
 gift as much as anything else. It de- 
 pends on us whether it be a blessing or a 
 curse." 
 
 " That is how you always pull me up 
 when I grow poetical," I said, smiling. 
 
 " Talking rubbish is not poetical," she 
 answered. " Sham sentiment is too often 
 mistaken for poetry, and when people find 
 common-life tears off such rags as she goes 
 along, they foolishly fancy they are too fine 
 for every-day wear, and so put aside the 
 tinsel for best occasions. Now real poetry 
 is just naked truth."
 
 230 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 "You are far too clever to argue Avitii, 
 Euth," said I. 
 
 "Ah, you see I kept a circulating library, 
 and tlie best books were always at home,'* 
 she remarked, drily. 
 
 Presently, being really willing to fall in 
 with my humble plans, she observed — 
 
 *' But a little consideration makes money 
 go very far in giving pleasure. It prevents 
 you sending coals to a widow at Newcastle, 
 or presenting a farmer with a turkey, or a 
 schoolboy-/ with Euclid, or a blind man with 
 a tract." 
 
 " That ^"s to the jDoint, Euth," I said ; 
 "now 1 just want to give a little bit of 
 genuine delight to every one I know. I 
 wish you had second sight, and could 
 reveal the secret desire of each friend and 
 neighbour." 
 
 " Then you would find out you could 
 satisfy none," she returned. " Do you 
 think folks are so shallow as to lonc^ for
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 231 
 
 aught you could send as a Christmas 
 
 gift?" 
 
 "No/* I answered; "but everyone has 
 some dear httle wish, whose gratification 
 makes the great want easier to bear." 
 
 "You are right there/' responded my 
 sister. " If you cannot give a man dinner, 
 you may give him a biscuit for lunch." 
 
 " We must send some pretty surprise 
 to every house which has young folks/' I 
 said. 
 
 " And we must not let them find out 
 where it comes from/' added Euth. " No- 
 body will set greater value on anything 
 because sent by you or me, Edward. If 
 they cannot guess the giver, it will make 
 them feel kindly towards all their friends." 
 
 " But yet we cannot tell what will please 
 each child," I remarked. 
 
 " A book or a picture with a little inno- 
 cent mystery about it will satisfy all the 
 young people," answered Euth. " It will
 
 232 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 be harder to hit the fancy of the elder 
 ones." 
 
 " The elder ones will be pleased in the 
 young one's pleasure/' I said ; " and as I 
 find there will be cheap railway excursions 
 to and from London at Christmas-time, I 
 shall buy a return-ticket and send it to 
 Ewen, and his arrival on Christmas morning 
 shall be my gift to that family." 
 
 *' Bravo, Edward," exclaimed my sister, 
 "that is just the right thing. You are 
 cleverer than I am, in your own way." 
 
 '' Only you think it a small sort of way," 
 I said, laughing. 
 
 " As you know my thoughts, I'll not con- 
 tradict you,'' said she. "And what shall 
 we do for Mr. Marten ?" 
 
 " Ask him to dinner ?" I queried. 
 
 Ruth shook her head. "Very likely 
 he would have somewhere better to go," 
 she said, " though he might come, thinking 
 to please us ; while, for my own part, I'd
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 238 
 
 rather have only ghosts at the Christmas- 
 table." 
 
 And yet you have never known the bitter 
 changes which some know," I remarked. 
 *'You can only miss our father and our 
 mother, and they were spared till their time 
 was fully ripe." 
 
 " I know the changes in myself," Euth 
 answered. " It's my own ghost that comes 
 to see me on feast-days." 
 
 " But 3^ou would not object to any 
 guest who had nowhere else to go ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Certainly not," she said ; " such a pre- 
 sence would lay the ghost. Not that I 
 wish it laid. I like to see what a fool I 
 was once. I only wish I could be such a 
 fool now !" 
 
 "Age is higher and happier than youth," 
 I remarked, harping on my pet theory. 
 
 " I know it," she answered ; " but yet 
 some folks like climbing mountains better
 
 234 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 than sitting at rest. You must not judge 
 every one by yourself, Edward." 
 
 '•' I wish I could guess what would please 
 Agnes Herbert," I said, presently. 
 
 ''If we only knew what ailed the girl !"" 
 observed Euth. 
 
 We little dreamed who was then walking 
 across our garden. We heard the back 
 door slammed, and in a moment Phillis 
 appeared in the parlour, announcing that a 
 gentleman had brought a little ragged boy 
 to our gate, and had bidden him ask for Mr. 
 Garrett. 
 
 " Is the gentleman in the kitchen ? AYho 
 is he ?" asked lluth, rising, in astonishment. 
 
 " Please, ma'am, I could not see him out 
 in the dark," answered the sapient Phillis, 
 " and he wouldn't wait ; but says he to the 
 boy, when I opened the gate, ' You're all 
 right now,' says he. And, please, sir, the 
 boy seems stupefied-like." 
 
 " It's only some stranger who has heard
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 235 
 
 of US in connexion with the Eefuge," said 
 I. " Is the lad in the kitchen, Phillis ?" 
 
 " I've kept him out in the passage," 
 replied Phillis ; "for it's a bad night, and 
 he's awful muddy, and would muck the 
 kitchen^ floor, if you please, sir." 
 
 " No, I'm not pleased, Phillis," I answered. 
 " If cleanliness is to follow godliness, then 
 kindliness must keep between." 
 
 "Ask the boy to the fire directly," said 
 practical Euth, " at the same time let him 
 rub his feet well upon the mat." 
 
 " This is a queer adventure," I com- 
 mented, as the girl obediently departed, 
 and we prepared to follow. 
 
 " I daresay it will put your Christmas 
 cards and keepsakes right out of your head," 
 said Euth. 
 
 " A very good suggestion," I retorted. 
 " Your doubt will help me to remember 
 them, my sister." 
 
 We found the boy seated by the kitchen-
 
 536 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 hearth, with his dirty feet tucked up 
 on the rung of the Windsor chair, perhaps 
 by PhilHs' directions. He seemed a coarse, 
 vulgar, neglected lad, and he gave an intro- 
 ductory snivel when he saw us. Of course 
 he was a scrap of God's writing, but the 
 divine characters were sadly blurred. 
 
 " Do you want to speak with me — Mr. 
 Garrett ?" I asked, taking a seat opposite 
 him. 
 
 '' The gen'leman said so," he answered. 
 
 " What have jou to say ?" I inquired. 
 
 " I dunno," he replied, hopelessly, whirl- 
 ing his thick, dirty hands ; " only the 
 gen'leman said, ' Then, you're all right 
 now." 
 
 We had heard as much from Phillis. 
 
 " Who was the gentleman?" I questioned. 
 
 " I dunno," replied the boy. 
 
 " What were you doing when he spoke 
 to you?" asked Euth. Her clear, quick 
 tones penetrated his thick skull deeper than
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 237 
 
 mine. I fancy tliej had a magisterial echo, 
 for he instantly thrust his red fore-finger 
 into his bleared eye, and jerked out whin- 
 ingly, " I warn't a- doing of no harm. I only 
 arst him for a penny." 
 
 " You're a stranger here," remarked Euth, 
 in the same sharp voice, which seemed to 
 keep his mind awake ; " where do you come 
 from ?" 
 
 "• I comed from Lunnon — I tramped it," 
 lie answered ; " mother only died this day 
 was a week." 
 
 He did not look so vulgar and coarse 
 when one heard that history. God help the 
 boy ! 
 
 " What brought you here ?" asked 
 Ruth. 
 
 " Mother said father was summat here : 
 he'd run away from her, years ago. She 
 niver wanted to be arter him herself, but she 
 bid me look to him, when she wor gone." 
 
 " What is his name ?" I inquired.
 
 238 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 "George Wilmot," said the lad, "and 
 tliat's mine too." 
 
 " I don't believe there's such a name in 
 the place, sir," said Phillis, aside. 
 ' " You say you asked the gentleman for a 
 penny," pursued Euth ; " then what did he 
 answer ?'* 
 
 " Please, he catched me by the shoulder, 
 an' turned me round, an' stared at me 
 for a minute or two, and didn't say 
 nothin'." 
 
 "Not at first, perhaps," continued Euth, 
 " but what did he say when he spoke?" 
 
 " He said ' God help us !' just like mother 
 used ; and then he asked my name," said 
 the boy. 
 
 " And then?" queried Euth. 
 " Then he said, ' I haven't anything to 
 give you.' But he kep' hold o' my shoulder, 
 an' I walked along with him, till he says, 
 * Where are you going to-night ?' And I 
 telled him I must sleep under an 'edge or
 
 A RETIRED LIEE. 239 
 
 «ummat. And lie says, ' God help us !' 
 again ; and fell a-thinking like." 
 
 " What made him bring you here ?" asked 
 my sister. 
 
 '' Well, he says, ' By -the -bye, there's a 
 Eefuge somewhere near,' and asked if I 
 knew what a Refuge meant, and I said, 
 ^ Didn't I r An' then he stood still and 
 looked about, and says, ' I've never seen it, 
 and don't know where it is, but I'll take 
 you to the good people who opened it ;' and 
 then he went on muttering about devils 
 giving kind folk a deal to undo, which I 
 couldn't make out. He telled me this was 
 the house as we came to the gate, but says 
 he, ' We'll go round the other way, for I'm 
 fittest for back doors now,' and he laughed 
 out, 'Ha! ha! ha!'" 
 
 The bright fire was evidently thawing the 
 lad's frozen wits, for he gave his last words 
 in another tone, in imitation of his strange 
 guide.
 
 240 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " Should your know you father if you saw 
 him ?" inquired Euth. 
 
 The boy shook his head : " He's not been 
 nigh us sin' I wor a babby," he said. 
 
 "What was this gentleman like?" 
 queried my suspicious sister. 
 
 " Tall/' answered the boy, " and he had 
 on a cloak." 
 
 " Was he young or old?" asked Euth. 
 
 " I dunno, ma'am/' staring as if the 
 answer was quite beyond his powers. It 
 was the first time be gave my sister a re- 
 spectful title. I believe he thought her 
 question showed a high opinion of his 
 faculties, and so honoured her accordingly. 
 
 " Was he as old as your mother, do you 
 think ?" pursued Euth, after a moment's 
 reflection. 
 
 " Oh, no," said the boy, grinning at the 
 idea, ''she was quite an old woman — she 
 allays said so !" 
 
 " What was her age ?" inquired Euth,
 
 A RET [RED LIFE. 241 
 
 trying to get at the truth by a side- 
 path. 
 
 " Thirty-three/' replied the lad succinctly. 
 
 Euth glanced at me with elevated eye- 
 brows ; this was her first experience of the 
 statistics of a London street-boy. 
 
 " When did you have anything to eat ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " A baker gaved me a clump o' bread this 
 morning, it was not a right dinner, to say,'^ 
 he answered ; " but coming along past the 
 public, the hostler had a half- empty pot, 
 and he tolled me I might drink it up. That 
 was good," he added, smacking his lips at 
 the recollection. 
 
 Thou Father of kings and beggars, 
 which thanksgiving makes the sweetest 
 incense before Thy throne, — the formal 
 calling upon Thy name of one who is dis- 
 contented with his venison, or tlie gladness 
 of another who picketh up the coarsest 
 crumbs of Dives' table, and thanketh 
 
 VOL. 1. IG
 
 242 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 Thee ignorantly, as do tlie beasts and 
 birds ?" 
 
 Pbillis instantly brought forth a loaf and 
 some cold meat. I am thankful to say, she 
 understood her master sufficiently to do this 
 without asking direct permission. 
 
 I resolved to take the lad to the Eefuge 
 myself. The M'Callums were old inhabi- 
 tants, of intelligence far superior to Phillis, 
 and they might know some clue whereby 
 to discover the boy's runagate father. I 
 had a faint idea of my own in this matter, 
 a most unreasonable one, inasmuch as it was 
 attached, not to the cognomen " Wilmot," 
 but to the simple name " George," which 
 my common sense told me might belong to 
 a dozen men in Upper Mallowe. 
 
 The lad made a considerable supper, with- 
 out taking long in the process, and then we 
 started off together. Euth's questions had 
 given him the notion that we took some 
 interest in the stranger who had brought
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 243 
 
 him to US. So as we trudged along he 
 suggested, " Mayhap the gentleman will be 
 about yet." 
 
 " Whereabouts did you meet him ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Just here," he answered. 
 
 Now at that instant we passed the Great 
 Farm. 
 
 We were not long in reaching the Eefuge, 
 and Alice promptly admitted us, and led us 
 to her little sitting room on the upper floor. 
 From Euth's accounts, I knew that she used 
 this chamber as her sleeping apartment;, the 
 other being occupied by her grandfather, 
 while the third, by Alice's own wish, was 
 kept for such extra uses as might arise from 
 the necessities of the Eefuge. 
 
 " Grandfather is down-stairs," she ex- 
 plained : " there are two poor men here 
 for the night, and he's in the upper room, 
 talking with them. Shall I fetch Jiim, 
 sir r 
 
 16—2
 
 244 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " If you please, Alice," I said ; " but 
 you may promise that I shall not keep 
 him long." 
 
 The old man soon presented himself, with 
 that cheery face, which must have beamed 
 on the poor refugees like a sudden sunrise 
 after a dreary night. I hastened to inquire 
 if he knew any one in the village called 
 Greorge Wilmot. 
 
 Mr. M'Callum shook his head. 
 
 Alice said, '•' No." 
 
 " Do you remember such a name at any 
 time ?" I inquired. 
 
 Neitlier of them could. So I called 
 the boy forward, and made him repeat 
 his story. 
 
 " Hech, sirs ! but it's a waefu' tale," said 
 the good old Scotchman. ''I'm thinking 
 the laddie had best bide here the nicht, 
 and look aboot you the morn. He'll may 
 be hae to bide here a wee, sae ye'd best 
 mak' his bed i' the little room, Alie.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 245 
 
 And if he gaes doon stairs, he'll find some 
 warm parritch ; and the twa puir Gal- 
 lants below are nae sic bad company." 
 
 "He's had some supper already," I 
 observed, as the boy seemed disposed to 
 obey with extraordinary alacrity. 
 
 "Ou, ay, sir," replied Mr. M 'Galium ; 
 *' but a little het parritch canna do him 
 ony harm. Let the laddie gae. Ye see, 
 sir," he continued, when we heard the 
 supper-room door close behind the boy, " I 
 wadna hint a dispareeging thing afore the 
 bairn's face. Let him think o' his father 
 as weel's he can ; but, verralike, if he 
 were George Wilmot when he married, 
 he wasna Greorge Wilmot after he ran 
 awa'. The man that does ae base thing 
 is fit for anither." 
 
 " But was it not strange about the 
 gentleman in the lane ?" observed Alice, 
 who was engaged at the cupboard, search- 
 ing for blankets.
 
 246 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 " At first, I wondered whether he were 
 the father," I said. " His strange kind- 
 ness might be the working of remorse." 
 
 Mr. M^Calkim shook his head. . 
 
 "Differin' natures hae differin' remorses," 
 he remarked. " A cauld-bluided scoondrel, 
 wha didna ken gif his bairn had starved 
 •or no, would be verra unlikely to fash 
 where the lad passed ae nicht. Maist 
 like, sic a one would say to himself 
 — ' Gif the laddie's used to it, the way- 
 side's as guid to hiai as my bedroom 
 to me.' That's the way the deevil com- 
 forts his ain while they're his. He doesna 
 trouble them much, till God gets a grip o' 
 them. An' if God had got a grip o' 
 him — bein', as he waur, the father — I 
 dinna think he'd hae left his lang- 
 lost bairn to strangers, e'en to their 
 tender mercies. Maist like, the gentleman 
 is just some puir misguided callant, wha 
 has gotten the wrang bit in his mouth —
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 247 
 
 else why fittest for back-doors, sir ? — but 
 hasna travelled the deevil's road lang 
 eiieuch to like to see ithers gangin' the 
 same gait. Sic a one feels anguishes of 
 remorse — and that's just God's grip, sir." 
 
 " But Judas himself felt remorse," I 
 observed, getting into the argument. 
 
 " And went and hangit himsel'," said he ; 
 ''and sae do mony mair. Gif they would 
 but bide a wee ! Why, sir, ye'll nae say 
 Christ's death hadna poo'r to save the 
 puir traitor ? Only the misguided creature 
 went and hangit himsel'." 
 
 And so we sat and conversed till 
 George Wilmot came up from his " par- 
 ritch," and Alice returned from making 
 his bed. 
 
 " Now, my boy," I began, " what did 
 your mother say about your father — 
 what did she bid j^ou say when you 
 should see him?" 
 
 '' She said she was afeared he'd taken her
 
 r24S THE OCCUPATIONS or 
 
 in mighty ; but there was no telling/' re- 
 plied the lad ; " and if I got to see him, I 
 was to give him this." And he produced 
 a folded paper, dirty and worn, which he 
 handed to me. "Mother took a long 
 v.diiles a-writin' it," he remarked, " and she 
 used to say perhaps father a-tired of her, 
 because he was a famous scholard. I can't 
 read what she writ ; but may be you will, 
 sir," he added. 
 
 I took the letter reverently ; for it seemed 
 like a secret between the dead and the hving. 
 I paused before I unfolded it ; but the boy 
 repeated his request, and, indeed, to peruse 
 it seemed the best way towards fulfilling 
 the deserted woman's wish. This was the 
 contents. I will not translate the strange 
 spelling and bad grammar. They have a 
 pathos with which I dare not meddle.
 
 a retired life. 249 
 
 " My dere George, 
 
 " Why did you leve me witliout 
 a wurd, tliis is writ to saye that i furgive yii, 
 and hope whe shall meet in Heven, i was 
 not good enuf for yu, hut yu dident say so, 
 when yu cam cortin me ovar master's gate, 
 and all the gals grudgin my fortin for yu 
 was a fine gentelman. When yu git this^ 
 I am ded and shall not trohble yu never no 
 more, hut yu aught luke to your pore 
 boy, wich as bin a good boy to his mother, 
 and fur his sake, i'm niver sorry I maared 
 yu, so don't yu think it. This comes,. 
 hopeing yu are well from your luving wife 
 
 "Mary Wilmot." 
 
 I took a little time to decipher this letter; 
 indeed, my sight failed over it. But when 
 I had done, the boy said simply, " Wont 
 ye read it out, sir ? She read it to me, she 
 did, and it'll be like hearin' her speak oncet 
 more."
 
 250 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 So I read it. And the great rough boy 
 sobbed out loud. Grod's writing was clear 
 enough ujDon his heart. I shook hands 
 with him when I came away, but I did not 
 say one word to "deepen the effect '' of that 
 letter. As soon would I have interrupted 
 the dead mother had she stood among us in 
 the spirit and spoken to her boy. 
 
 Alice conducted me to the door. The 
 moon was shining brightly, and cast its 
 blueness over her face. As she stood on 
 the threshold, she said in a whisper — " Isn't 
 it strange that none of us can recollect a 
 Wilmot in these parts ?" 
 
 " Not so strange, if your grandfather 
 guesses rightly," I answered. 
 
 " His name — you know whose, sir ? — was 
 George," she murmured. 
 
 I started at this suggestion of my own 
 thought ; but reflected in another's mind, 
 I could see its absurdity. So I said, 
 merrily —
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 251 
 
 " And so is Mr. Smith's the chemist, and 
 Mr. Tozer's the baker. No, no, Ahce, it's a 
 had habit to make out coincidences. It 
 does no good, for we can't trust them, 
 unless they're based on facts, and if we've 
 ofot the facts, then we don't want the co- 
 incidences. But, by the way, your remark 
 reminds me that I never heard the surname 
 of that unhappy man ?" 
 
 " It was Eoper — George Eoper, sir," she 
 answered. 
 
 "Thank you — for, considering the in- 
 terest I feel in Ewen, it was awkward not 
 to know it. But what are these sounds ?" — 
 for from the back of the house came a voice 
 singing a spirited song, accompanied by 
 divers notes as from some uncertain and 
 feeble instrument. 
 
 Alice laughed — a pleasant, soft laugh — 
 " It's only the two ' refugees' (so we call our 
 pensioners), one is singing and the other is 
 piping with a bit of paper on a comb. They
 
 252 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 often do it, when they're not over tired with 
 tramping, sir." 
 
 I wonder if any rigid philanthropist 
 would think such doings a breach of " the 
 order and discipline of a charitable institu- 
 tion." I only stood and listened. I have 
 no ear for music, but as I caught the 
 stirring words — 
 
 '• Hearts of oak are our ships. 
 Jolly tars are our men ; 
 We always are ready, 
 Stead}', boys ! steady ! 
 We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again" — 
 
 I was quite satisfied with the performance. 
 Why should we think our kindness best 
 repaid by long faces and dead silence ? Is 
 it not unreasonable to forbid a song because 
 w^e have given a supper ? I remembered a 
 great " human naturalist " said it was a 
 happy omen for the country when the 
 beggar was as content wath his dish as the 
 lord with his land. Better to keep our
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 253 
 
 -charity than to sell it at the price of en- 
 joyment. 
 
 " There ! that's grandfather gone to 
 them," said Alice. 
 
 " He wont stop the song ?" I queried. 
 
 '' Oh, no, sir," she answered ; " most 
 likely he'll join in the chorus. He's fond 
 of singing a song himself. But he thinks 
 it's right to go in and out of the room in 
 a friendly way. And when he's told them 
 stories and anecdotes, and talked pleasantly, 
 there's few so hard as to take it unkindly 
 when he gets out the Bible, before going to 
 bed." 
 
 I went home with a heart full of pleasant 
 feelings. I had not forgotten my " cards 
 and keepsakes," as Buth warned me I 
 should. So every time I passed a village 
 boy, I thought, " Ah, my fine felloAV, there's 
 a 'tip' coming for you!" and then the 
 Upper Mallowe boys appeared in my eyes 
 uncommonly nice boys. And it was
 
 254 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 solemnly sweet to think of true-hearted 
 Mary Wilmot in her London pauper grave 
 — no, not there, but in heaven ; for are not 
 our trespasses forgiven, as we forgive those 
 who trespass against us ? And it was odd 
 that her boy should come among us like a 
 guest at Christmas time. Have not some 
 " entertained angels unawares ?" and in that 
 case, they cannot look as we fancy angels, 
 or they would carry their welcome with 
 them. I don't suppose the lad is an}^ less 
 like an angel, because he knows the price of 
 boy-labour in the docks, and how little one 
 can live upon down Stepney way, and what 
 it is to be hungry and tired — nay, there is 
 One, higher than the angels, who knows 
 all about that, and was a good son to 
 his parents in a carpenter's shop at Na- 
 zareth. 
 
 But as I entered our house a hearty 
 voice recalled me to the world of snug 
 suppers and warm beds, for Euth ex-
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 255 
 
 claimed, " Here you are at last, Edward. 
 Come to your supper, and don't run all over 
 the world, fancying you are as young a& 
 ever !"
 
 256 THE OCCUPATIONS Oi^ 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CONFIDENCE. 
 
 Oeorge Wilmot was still in tlie Eefuge when 
 Oliristinas Day came. There was quite a 
 hustle in our house on the Eve. With Mr. 
 Marten's help I got off my presents, a most 
 miscellaneous heap — tea, tobacco, knick- 
 knacks, pictures, cards, and books ; the last 
 three items all so pretty that if I had not 
 wished to give them I should have liked to 
 keep them ! Tlie Eector was in high spirits, 
 having an invitation to dine next day at a 
 mansion a few miles off, inhabited by an 
 old naval officer and his only daughter, — a 
 iact from which I drew my own inferences. 
 As Eutli could not let this hospitable 
 season pass without a little delicate
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 257 
 
 meddling in culinary matters, a spicy 
 perfume pervaded the parlour, and con- 
 tributed to the general feeling of festivity 
 and good- will. 
 
 Perhaps that was the gayest bit of our 
 Christmas keeping. The day was a quiet 
 one in our house. Even Phillis was away, 
 for Euth gave her permission to rejoin her 
 own family ; and only our new servant, who 
 was a stranger in the village, remained to 
 wait upon us. We did not venture to invite 
 any guests. It is cruel to allure family- 
 people from their homes at such a season ; 
 and so far as we could ascertain^ all the 
 single folk of Upper Mallowe were abeady 
 happily appropriated. 
 
 But as we took our places at the break- 
 fast-table, a sound of sweet singing startled 
 the clear morning air. Looking from the 
 window, we saw the choir-boys of St. Cross 
 standing round our garden-gate. It was no 
 unfamiliar chorale which they sang, but just 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 THE OCCUPATIONS OP 
 
 the dear Christmas hymn, " Hark, the 
 herald angels sing." There are some old 
 tunes which have such an echo in the 
 universal heart that I sometimes fancy we 
 shall use them in our heavenly praises. 
 
 When they ceased I went out and 
 thanked the lads, and wished them a merry 
 Christmas. I singled out the leader, and 
 wanted to give him five shillings to divide 
 among the rest. I hope the moralists will 
 not say I was making them mercenary. 
 Whenever I receive a pleasure I long to do 
 something in return. But the boy said, 
 quite sedately, that Mr. Marten told them 
 to do it, because I was doing so much 
 to the village. Now here was a poser ! I 
 must accept their" gratuitous service because 
 it was grateful. Yet I could not put 
 away the five shillings. A bright thought 
 came. 
 
 " Come, my boys," I said, " I thank you 
 very heartily for your remembrance of an
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 259 
 
 old man ; and as you have given me such 
 pleasure, I should like others to have as 
 much. Go to the Great Farm, and sing 
 your hymn again, and take these five 
 shillings in consideration of so employing 
 your valuable time." And as I did not 
 wish to argue through any further remon- 
 strance from that sedate elder boy, I ran 
 back to the house, and the young choristers 
 set up a cheer. 
 
 Euth and I went to church, and found it 
 quite gay with holly and laurel; and the 
 whole service, to the very tones of the 
 rector's voice, was of a jubilant character. 
 So Christmas services should be : especially 
 for the sake of those who may have little 
 rejoicing elsewhere. The sermon was very 
 short and very bright, being from that 
 seasonable text in the eighth chapter of 
 Nehemiah, '' Go your way, eat the fat, and 
 drink the sweet, and send portions unto 
 them for whom nothing is prepared: for 
 
 17-2
 
 260 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 this day is holy unto our Lord ; neither be 
 ye sorry, for the joy of the Lord is your 
 strength." 
 
 Somehow (I say this in parenthesis), I 
 fancied that Mr. Marten's Christmas visit 
 was an unexpected happiness to the young 
 man. But he had been less desponding in 
 his views for some time. And God occa- 
 sionally rewards our efforts by sending a 
 blessing which makes them easier. 
 
 Mr. Herbert and his niece were in their 
 pew. Agnes looked as if she had been cry- 
 ing. I think the very gladness of the 
 hjrmns and sermon tried her. The old 
 people liked it : the acute agonies had died 
 out of their lives, and then joy is as sun- 
 shine on an old, well-remembered grave, 
 which one hopes soon to share. But to 
 sorrowful youth it comes like spring sun- 
 light on the face of yesterday's dead. God 
 help the young ! 
 
 They hurried out of church before us,
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 261 
 
 tliougli they paused to exchange seasonable 
 wishes over the pew-door. But all the 
 M'Callums waited for us in the graveyard — 
 the grandfather and Alice perfectly radiant 
 with delight at Ewen's unexpected arrival. 
 The young man himself seemed much more 
 happy and open-hearted for his residence 
 among people who did not suspect and shun 
 him, and was quite eager to deliver the many 
 kind messages he brought me from the good 
 folks in my old house of business. Now, 
 I knew these worthy people would not 
 have sent these messages by him if they 
 had not liked him. So I augured well for 
 Ewen. 
 
 Euth and I dined very cheerfully together, 
 and afterwards I amused myself by droning 
 over my holiday-books, by which I mean 
 sundry smart volumes of the poets, that I 
 received as school-prizes in those remote 
 ages when I was a boy. Their glories are 
 rather faded now — like mine ! Euth occu-
 
 262 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 pied herself with idleness till tea-time — it 
 must have been hard work for her. After- 
 wards, being incapable of further exertion 
 in that way, I found her seated opposite me, 
 with linen sleeves drawn over her silk 
 ones, and a grand red and blue china bowl 
 before her, busily cutting up candied peels 
 for the New- Year's cake. 
 
 " Is not that the maid's duty ?" I asked, 
 heedlessly. 
 
 " Household affairs are every woman's 
 study," she replied, cutting energetically. 
 
 !N'ow I like to watch an educated woman 
 at domestic work. She makes it beautiful. 
 So I said, " Women are never more pleasing 
 than when so engaged." 
 
 " They are never more dignified," returned 
 Euth. 
 
 " Certainly it is their hereditary empire, 
 where they reign undisputed," I remarked. 
 
 " If they leave that throne, they may wish 
 for another !" responded my sister.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 263 
 
 " Oh, I think in other spheres, they may 
 at least dispute male pre-eminence," I ob- 
 served. 
 
 " Let them, if they like," said Euth ; " the 
 more simpletons in the world, the better for 
 wise people. Let who likes take pride in 
 working out fantastic problems like any 
 common school-boy, there will still remain 
 some sensible women to get dinner and keep 
 house." 
 
 - " But should women have no mental dis- 
 cipline ?" I queried. 
 
 "Mental discipline!" she echoed, "the 
 wise woman of the Proverbs got hers through 
 her needlework and housewifery. All the 
 'ologies' in the world will never make greater 
 women than we have had without them." 
 
 " But some women are called out of the 
 shelter of home," I remarked. 
 
 " Don't say ' called out,' " answered my 
 sister, quickly, "the very duty they owe to 
 home sometimes sends them out. A woman
 
 264 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 may do out-of-the-way tasks for very womanly 
 reasons (a touch of pathos in her voice — 
 then, with a spark of satire), " and it's only 
 foolish men who can't understand that !" 
 
 " Certainly, I am sorry that the phrase 
 'strong-minded,' in itself a compliment, is now 
 perverted to describe women who bring con- 
 tempt on their sex," I observed. 
 
 '* I'm afraid a strong mind wont support 
 a woman very far," returned Euth ; " but if 
 she have a strong heart, I'll trust her where- 
 ever duty calls her." 
 
 " I really do not think brave women cry 
 out for their rights," I said. 
 
 " I should think not," answered my sister, 
 indignantly. " Courage does not exaggerate 
 wrongs: cowardice does. Only weak women 
 wish to be placed in rivaby with men ; and 
 when men accordingly treat them as they 
 would other rivals, thy cry, 'Shame ! shame !' 
 and wonder what has become of the ancient 
 chivahy."
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 265 
 
 " Well, I must say I think them greatly 
 mistaken when they aspire to rule rather 
 than to serve," I remarked. 
 
 Euth smiled peculiarly : " Christ set the 
 fashion of ruling by service," she answered ; 
 " * IcH DIEN,' is a royal motto." 
 
 And that set me thinking. Certainly in 
 this present, I defer to my sister, and would 
 do anything to gratify her wishes. I am 
 master of the house and the cash-box, yet I 
 like best to hold my dominion as her viceroy. 
 And why ? Because I remember how she 
 has toiled for me ; how in the old past she 
 may have sacrificed for my sake far more 
 than I can ever know till all secrets be re- 
 vealed in heaven. And, oh, when we re- 
 member that there all the secrets of holy 
 lives will be made known, we can well 
 understand the perfect love that shall reign 
 among glorified spirits. But that bright 
 picture has also a terrible reverse. 
 
 As I looked at Euth cutting her candied
 
 266 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 peel, it struck me tliat a self-sacrificing life 
 seems an elixir of true youtli. I wish more 
 women would try it. I am sure they would 
 find it answer far better than their balms and 
 kalydors. 
 
 " I think you would have made an un- 
 commonly good wife, Euth," I said pre- 
 sently. 
 
 "A new discovery, eh, Edward?" — this 
 very drily. 
 
 " Well — you know — I used to think that 
 as you were such a clever woman of business, 
 perhaps " 
 
 " So long as men think idiots make the 
 best wives, I hope they'll get them," she 
 retorted. " It's a pity you didn't try the ex- 
 periment yourself." 
 
 And there was silence till Euth finished 
 her peels, put aside the red and blue bowl, 
 and folded her hands on her lap. 
 
 " Well, my sister, we have had a happy 
 Christmas Day," I said, softly.
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 367 
 
 Yes/' she answered, with a nod, " we've 
 done with merry ones." 
 
 " "We've got their memory still," I sug- 
 gested. 
 
 " And don't we remember them well !" she 
 said, eagerly. " I can forget fifty years in a 
 minute, and fancy that we're again at the 
 little parties in the Clockhouse. Half the 
 year we expected those parties, and the other 
 half we talked them over. Boys and girls 
 don't get so much good out of their pleasures 
 now-a-days." 
 
 '' How few who shared those festivities re- 
 main within our reach !" I sighed. " Did you 
 go to those parties long after I left home, 
 Euth?" 
 
 " Never,^' she answered. 
 
 " Why, how was that ?" I asked. 
 
 "I had grown an old woman," she said, 
 gazing into the fire. 
 
 " What ! at eighteen ?" I queried. 
 
 ."Yes, at eighteen," she replied, turning 
 to me with a strange smile.
 
 268 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 Would I ask any more questions ? No. 
 I would as soon startle a sanctuary by noisy 
 importunities. If my sister chose, I could 
 wait for more perfect knowledge of her till 
 our angels stood side by side in a safer 
 home. 
 
 "Do you remember the Carewes?" she 
 inquired presently. 
 
 " What, the girl with the golden locks 
 and the boy with a red shock head, who used 
 to play the piano ?" I said. 
 
 " I suppose you mean the right pair," she 
 answered ; " but Eichard Carewe's hair was 
 auburn, not red, and his sister's curls were 
 more like tinsel than gold." 
 
 " I remember her. Like all the village 
 boys, I thought her very pretty ; but, as I 
 recall her beauty now, I think it was mere- 
 tricious, like half-spoiled false jewellery. She 
 was no favourite of yours, I recollect. What 
 has put her in your head ?" 
 
 *' Simply because I see by her gravestone
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 269 
 
 at St. Cross that she was our Mr. Herbert's 
 mother," replied Ruth. 
 
 '^ And did you never hear of her marriage," 
 I asked, " when Upper and Lower Mallowe 
 lie so close together ?" 
 
 " Laura Carewe's friends were not mine," 
 said Euth. " How such a shallow and 
 selfish girl was her brother's sister, I could 
 never understand." 
 
 " And what became of Richard ?" I in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Richard died," said Ruth, quietly ; " he 
 died in London on the very day you entered 
 it." 
 
 "Dear me!" I said, somehow awed by 
 my sister's tone. " He was a sort of genius, 
 was he not ?" 
 
 " He was a genius," returned Ruth. " I 
 have no ear for music — no more than you 
 have, Edward, and you know what that 
 means — but he could make me cry the 
 moment he touched the keys."
 
 270 THE OCCUPATIONS OP 
 
 " I suppose lie went to London to try his 
 fortune/' I observed. 
 
 "Yes," said Euth; "and of course lie 
 was unfortunate at first, like everybody else. 
 And it is not in the purest or pleasantest 
 places that musicians often begin their 
 career. And there was wild blood in those 
 Carewes. And Eichard got into trouble, 
 and was put into the debtors' prison. Laura 
 was older than he : they were orphans, and 
 their father had willed that all the little 
 family property should go to purchase an 
 annuity for her. But she never went near 
 her brother in the cell, only made senti- 
 mental sufiering for herself out of his misery. 
 And at last, his creditor was kinder than 
 his sister, and Eichard got his liberty ; but 
 only to die on a doorstep, Edward — only 
 to die on a doorstep, in the broad light of 
 the sun !" 
 
 "But his misfortunes came out of his 
 faults, Euth," I said, very gently, for I
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 271 
 
 quite understood the solemn monotony of 
 her voice. 
 
 " I know they did," she answered ; " but 
 if Grod sent all our faults the misfortunes 
 which they merit, where should we be? 
 And so little might have saved him !" 
 
 " There seemed a something familiar In 
 Agnes' face the moment I saw her," added 
 Euth presently. " I can understand it 
 now. She is Laura Carewe's grand- daughter, 
 but she has Eichard Carewe's eyes." 
 
 " Did Laura have other children besides 
 our Mr. Herbert and Agnes' father?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " I have only heard of those ; but she 
 may have had others for aught I know," 
 said Euth. 
 
 And there followed a long, long silence. 
 This, then, was my sister's romance. She 
 would never say so — never do more than 
 tell the common-place story in simple words 
 and solemn tones, — perhaps she had never
 
 272 THE OCCUPATIONS OF 
 
 done so mucli before. And yet wliat a new 
 light it shed on all her character! I 
 glanced at her, and it seemed that I must 
 have been blind not to have seen some such 
 history written in her face. 
 
 " Was Eichard buried in London/* I 
 asked, at last. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " and God only 
 knows where ! I humbled my self to inquire 
 of Laura, but she could not tell — only she 
 said it was some pauper burial-ground, and 
 she went into hysterics at the idea !" 
 
 My proud, patient sister ! It was a 
 bitter memory of first love — the fiery, 
 wasted genius in a beggar's grave. How 
 sadly different from mine — that innocent, 
 holy girl, laid with reverent affection in the 
 tomb of her fathers. And so I am happy 
 in the knowledge that those who sleep with 
 Jesus reign with Him in glory, while 
 Euth takes heart, remembering who said to 
 the dying thief, " This day thou shalt be
 
 A RETIRED LIFE. 273 
 
 with me in paradise." Verily God plants 
 some comfort in every soil. 
 
 " This has been quite a Christmas talk," 
 exclaimed Euth, rousing herself, with a dim 
 smile. 
 
 " My poor dear sister !" I said, laying my 
 hand upon hers. 
 
 She shook it off as if it pained her> 
 " What's the matter with you ?" she asked, 
 starting from her seat her old, erect self 
 " I daresay you want your supper. I'll go 
 and see after it." 
 
 And when she returned, the history had 
 vanished from her face, and the whole con- 
 versation seemed like a dream ! 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 LONDON : 
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 COTENX GABDEN.
 
 notice-a new and revised edition of clarissa- 
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