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 1 iii* '..,■•■1 .■?■%<--;-■, '-i^
 
 BERKELEY THE BANKER 
 
 BANK NOTES AND BULLION, 
 
 TALE FOR THE TIME 
 
 BY HARRIET MARTINEi 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 
 S. AXDRUS AND SON 
 
 1843.
 
 ^ V,( CONTENTS. 
 
 ^ CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Haleham People - - - - 7 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 The Pride of Haleham - - - - S3 
 
 CHAPTER ni. 
 The Haleham Riot - - - 55 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 i 
 
 Wine and Wisdom . ■ - - 39 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Husbands and Wives - - - 1S2 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Suspense ------ 159 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 ^ . Certainty 176 
 
 CHAPTER VHI. 
 ^ Market-Day ... - 203 
 
 '^ CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A Future Day - - - - . 223 
 
 691555
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 No one can be more sensible than I am 
 myself of the shghtness and small extent of the 
 information conveyed in my Tales: yet I find 
 myself compelled to ask from many friendly 
 critics and correspondents the justice, — first, 
 of remembering that my object is less to ofier 
 my opinion on the temporar}' questions in po- 
 litical economy which are now occupying the 
 public mind, than, by exhibiting a few plain, 
 permanent principles, to furnish others with the 
 requisites to an opinion; — and, secondly, of 
 waiting to see whether I have not something to 
 say on subjects not yet arrived at, which, bear- 
 ing a close relation to some already dismissed, 
 my correspondents appear to suppose I mean 
 to avoid. 
 
 I trust, for example, that some of my read- 
 ers may not look altogether in vain for guidance 
 
 from the story of Berkeley the Banker, though 
 1 *
 
 VI PREPACK. 
 
 it contains no allusion to the Currency C/onrro- 
 versy at Birmingham, and no derJ-j'on as to the 
 Renewal of the Bank Charter; nwd lliat oihers 
 will give me time to show that! do not ascribe 
 all our national distresses to < »ver population, 
 but think as ill as they do of <",ertain monopo- 
 lies and modes of taxation. 
 
 My inability to reply by (elter lo all who 
 favour me with suggestions must be my apology 
 for ofFermg this short answer to I he two largest 
 classes ol my correspondents. 
 
 H. M.
 
 BERKELEY THE BANKER. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 ^ CHAPTER 1. 
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 "The affair is decided, 1 suppose," said 
 Mrs. Berkeley to her husband, as he folded up 
 the letter he had been reading aloud. "It is 
 well that Horace's opinion is so boldly given, 
 as we agreed to abide by it." 
 
 *' Horace knows as much about my private 
 affairs as I do myself, and a great deal more 
 about the prospects of the banking business," 
 replied Mr. Berkeley. " We cannot do better 
 than take his advice. Depend upon it, the con- 
 nexion will turn out a fine thing for my family, 
 as Horace says. It is chiefly for your sakes, 
 my dear girls." 
 
 "May I look again at Horace's letter?" 
 asked Fanny, as her father paused to muse.
 
 8 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 " I did not understand that he thought it could 
 be more than a safe, and probably advanta- 
 geous, connexion. Ah! here it is. — ' I like the 
 prospect, as affording you the moderate occu- 
 pation you seem to want, and perhaps enabling 
 you to leave something more to my sistnrs than 
 your former business yielded for them. Times 
 were never more prosperous for banking; and 
 you can scarcely lose any thing, however little 
 you may gain, by a share in so small and safe 
 a concern as the D bank.' " 
 
 Fanny looked at her father as she finished 
 reading this, as much as to inquire where was 
 the promise of fine things to arise out of the 
 new partnership. 
 
 "Horace is very cautious, you know," ob- 
 served Mr. Berkeley: "he always says less 
 than he means — at least when he has to give 
 advice to any of the present company; all of 
 whom he considers so sanguine, that, I dare 
 say, he often congratulates us on having such 
 a son and brother as himself to take care of us." 
 
 "He yields his oflice to Melea only," ob- 
 served Mrs. Berkeley, looking towards her 
 younger daughter, who was reading the letter 
 once more before giving her opinion. "Tell
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 9 
 
 US, Melea, shall your father be a banker or still 
 an idle gentleman?" 
 
 "Has he ever been an idle gentleman?" 
 asked Melea. " Can he really want something 
 to do when he has to hurry from one commit- 
 tee-room to another every morning, and to visit 
 
 the workhouse here and the gaol at D , 
 
 and to serve on juries, and do a hundred things 
 besides, that prevent his riding with Fanny and 
 me oftener than once a month?" 
 
 "These are all very well, my dear," said her 
 father; "but they are not enough for a man 
 who was brought up to business, and who has 
 been accustomed to it all his life. I would not, 
 at sixty-five, connect myself with any concern 
 which involved risk, or much labour; but I 
 should like to double your little fortunes, when 
 it may be done so easily, and the attempt can 
 do no harm." 
 
 "I wish," said Fanny, "you would not make 
 this a reason. Melea and I shall have enough 
 and if we had not, we should be sorry to possess 
 more at the expense of your entering into busi- 
 ness again, after yourself pronouncing that the 
 time had come for retiring from it." 
 
 "Well, but, my dears, this will not be like
 
 10 THE IIALEIIAM 1»E0PLE 
 
 my former busmess, now up and now down; so 
 that one year I expected nothing less than to 
 divide my plum between you, and the next to 
 go to gaol. There will be none of these fluc- 
 tuations in my new business." 
 
 ' ' I am sure I hope not, ' ' said Fanny anxiously. 
 
 "Fanny remembers the days," said her mo* 
 ther, smiling, "when you used to come in to 
 dinner too gloomy to speak while the servants 
 were present, and with only one set of ideas 
 when they were gone, — that your girls must 
 make half their allowance do till they could get 
 out as governess-es." 
 
 " That was hardly so bad," observed Fanny, 
 " as being told that we were to travel abroad 
 next year, and have a town and country-house, 
 and many fine things besides, that we did not 
 care for half so much as for the peace and quiet 
 we have had lately. Oh ! father, why cannot 
 we go on as we are?" 
 
 "We should not enjoy any more peace and 
 comfort, my dear, if we let slip guch an oppor- 
 tunity as this of my benefiting my family. An- 
 other thing, which almost decided me before 
 Horace's letter came," he continued, addressing 
 his wife, " is, that Dixon's premises are let at
 
 tHE HALEHAM fEOPLE. l\ 
 
 last, and there is going to be a very fine busi- 
 ness set on foot there by a man who brings a 
 splendid capital, and will, no doubt, bank with 
 
 us at D . I should like to carry such a 
 
 connexion with me; it would be a creditable 
 beginning." 
 
 "So those dismal-looking granaries are to be 
 opened again," said Melea; "and there will be 
 some stir once more in the timber-yards. The 
 place has looked very desolate dl this year." 
 
 " We will go to the wharf to see the first 
 lighter unloaded," said Fanny, laughing. — 
 " When I went by lately, there was not so much 
 as a sparrow in any of the yards. The last 
 pigeon picked up the last grain weeks ago." 
 
 " We may soon have pigeon-pies again as 
 often as we like," observed Mr. Berkeley. 
 "Cargoes of grain are on the way; and every 
 little boy in Haleham will be putting his pig- 
 eon-loft in repair when the first lighter reaches 
 the wharf The little Cavendishes will keep 
 pigeons too, I dare say." 
 
 "That s a pretty name," observed Mrs. 
 Berkeley, who was a Frenchwoman, and very 
 critical in respect of English names. 
 
 '^Montague Cavendish, Esq. I hope, my
 
 12 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 dear, that such a name will dispose you favour- 
 ably towards our new neighbour, and his wife, 
 and all that belongs to him." 
 
 " O yes; if there are not too many of them. 
 I hope it is not one of your overgrown English 
 families, that spoil the comfort of a dinner- 
 table." 
 
 Mr. Berkeley shook his head, there being, at 
 the least, if what he had heard was true, half-a- 
 dozen each of Masters and Misses Cavendish; 
 insomuch that serious doubts had arisen whether 
 the dwelling-house on Dixon's premises could 
 be made to accommodate so large a family. The 
 master of the " Haleham Commercial, French, 
 and Finishing Academy" was founding great 
 hopes on this circumstance, foreseeing the pos- 
 sibility of his having four or five Masters Cav- 
 endish as boarders in his salubrious, domestic, 
 and desirable establishment. 
 
 The schoolmaster was disappointed in full 
 one-half of his expectations. Of the six Mas- 
 ters Cavendish, none were old enough to be 
 removed from under their anxious mother's 
 eye for more than a few hours in the day. The 
 four elder ones, therefore, between four and 
 nine years old, became day-scholars only ; bear-
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 13 
 
 ing with them, however, the promise, that if 
 they were found duly to improve, their younger 
 brethren would follow as soon as they became 
 unmanageable by the "treasure " of a gover- 
 ness, Mrs. Cavendish's dear friend, Miss Egg, 
 who had so kindly, as a special favour, left an 
 inestimable situation to make nonpareils of all 
 Mrs. Cavendish's tribe. 
 
 How these children were to be housed no 
 one could imagine, till a happy guess was made 
 by the work-people who were employed in 
 throwing three rooms into one, so as to make a 
 splendid drawing-room. It was supposed that 
 they were to be laid in rows on the rugs before 
 the two fire-places, the boys at one end and the 
 girls at the other. This conjecture was set 
 aside, however, by the carpenters, who were 
 presently employed in partitioning three little 
 rooms into six tiny ones, with such admirable 
 economy of light that every partition exactly 
 divided the one window which each of these 
 rooms contained. It was said that an opportu- 
 nity of practising fraternal politeness was thus 
 afforded, the young gentlemen being able to 
 open and shut their sisters' window when they 
 opened and shut their own, so that a drowsy 
 2
 
 14 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 little girl might tyrn in her crib, on a bright 
 summer's morning, and see the sash rise as if 
 by magic, and have the fresh air come to her 
 without any trouble of her own in letting it in. 
 It was at length calculated that by Miss Egg 
 taking three of the babies to sleep beside her, and 
 by putting an iron-bedstead into the knife-pantry 
 for the servant boy, the household might be ac- 
 commodated; though the school-master went 
 on thinking that the straightforward way would 
 have been to send the elder boys to him, for the 
 holidays and all; the builder advising an addi- 
 tion of three or four rooms at the back of the 
 dwelling ; and everybody else wondering at the 
 disproportion of the drawing-room to the rest 
 of the house. 
 
 When the total family appeared at Haleham 
 Church, the Sunday after their arrival, the sub- 
 ject of wonder was changed. Every one now 
 said that the housing the family was an easy 
 question in comparison with that of housing 
 their apparel. Where could drawers ever be 
 found large enough for the full-buckramed fancy 
 dresses of the young gentlemen, and the ample 
 frocks, flounced trousers, huge muslin bonnets 
 and staring rosettes of the little ladies, who
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 15 
 
 walked up the aisle hand in hand, two abrejist, 
 tightly laced and pointing their toes prettily? 
 Their father's costume had something of the ap- 
 pearance of a fancy dress, though it did not 
 take up so much room. He was a very little 
 man, with shoes and pantaloons of an agonizing 
 tightness, and a coat so amply padded and col- 
 lared to convert the figure it belonged to into 
 as strong a resemblance to the shape of a carrot 
 as if he had been hunchbacked. A little white 
 hat perched on the sununit of a little black head, 
 spoiled the unity of the design considerably; but 
 in church this blemish disappeared, the hat 
 being stuck under one arm to answer to the wife 
 on the other side. 
 
 Mr. Berkeley, who was disposed to regard 
 in a favourable light every one who caused an 
 accession of prosperity to the little tovm of Hale- 
 ham, would not listen to remarks on any dis- 
 putable qualities of his new neighbours. He 
 waited in some impatience the opportunity of 
 learning with what bank this great merchant 
 meant to open an account; and was in perpetu- 
 al hopes that on the occasion of his next ride to 
 
 D , whither he went three times a week 
 
 to attend to his new business, he might be ac*
 
 16 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 companied by Mr. Cavendish. These hopes 
 were soon at an end. 
 
 Mr. Cavendish was going to open a bank at 
 Haleham, to be managed chiefly by himself, but 
 supported by some very rich people at a dis- 
 tance, who were glad to be sleeping partners in 
 so fine a concern as this must be, in a district 
 where a bank was much wanted, and in times 
 when banking was the best business of any. 
 Such was the report spread in Haleham, to the 
 surprise of the Berkeleys, and the joy of many 
 of the inhabitants of their little town. It was 
 confirmed by the preparations soon begun for 
 converting an einpty house in a conspicuous 
 situation into the requisite set of offices, the 
 erection of the board in front with the words 
 Haleham Bank, and the arrival a clerk or two 
 with strong boxes, and other apparatus new to 
 the eyes of the towns-people. Mr. Cavendish 
 bustled about between his wharf and the bank, 
 feeling himself the most consequential man in 
 the town; but he contrived to find a few mo- 
 ments for conversation with Mr. Berkeley, as 
 often as he could catch him passing his premises 
 
 on the way to D . This kind of intercourse 
 
 had become rather less agreeable to Mr. Berk-
 
 THE IIALEHAM PEOPLE, 17 
 
 eley of late; but as he had admitted it in the 
 earliest days of their acquaintance, he could 
 not well decline it now, 
 
 "I understand, my dear sir," said Mr. Ca- 
 vendish, one day, crossing the street to walk by 
 his neighbour's horse, " that you have but lately 
 
 entered the D bank. It is a thousand 
 
 pities that the step was taken before I came; I 
 should have been so happy to have offered you 
 a partnership. So partial as we both are to the 
 business, we should have agreed admirably, I 
 have no doubt." 
 
 Mr, Berkeley bowed. His companion went 
 on: " There would have been nothing to do, 
 you see, but to step down a quarter of a mile, 
 on fine days, just when you happened to be in 
 the humour for business, instead of your having 
 
 to toil backwards and forwards to D so 
 
 oflen." 
 
 Mr. Berkeley laughed, and said that he nev- 
 er toiled. He went when it suited him to go, 
 and stayed away when it did not. 
 
 " Aye, aye; that is all very well at this time 
 of year; but we must not judge of how it will 
 be in every season by what it is at Midsum- 
 mer, When the days get damp and dark, and 
 Vol. I— B 2*
 
 18 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 the roads miry, it becomes a very pleasant thing 
 to have one's offices at hand." 
 
 " And a pleasanter still to stay by one's own 
 fireside, which I shall do on damp days," coolly 
 observed Mr. Berkeley. 
 
 *' You have such a domestic solace in those 
 sweet daughters of > ours!" observed Mr. Cav- 
 endish: " to say nothing of your lady, whose 
 charming mixture of foreign grace with true 
 English maternity, as Miss Egg was saying 
 yesterday, (there is no better judge than Miss 
 Egg,) would constitute her a conspicuous orna- 
 ment in a far more distinguished society than 
 we can muster here." 
 
 Again Mr. Berkeley bowed. Again his com- 
 panion went on. 
 
 "Talking of society, — I hope you will think 
 we have an acquisition in our new rector. 
 Perhaps you are not aware that Longe is a re- 
 lation of my wife's, — a first cousin; and more 
 nearly connected in friendship than in blood. 
 An excellent fellow is Longe; and I am sure 
 you ought to think so, for he admires your 
 daughter excessively, — Miss Berkeley I mean; 
 — though your little syren did beguile us so 
 sweetly that first evening that Longe met you.
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 19 
 
 He appreciates Miss Melea's music fully; but 
 Miss Berkeley was, as I saw directly, the grand 
 attraction." 
 
 " You have made Chapman your watchman, 
 I find," said Mr. Berkeley. " I hope he will 
 not sleep upon his post from having no sleep at 
 present ; but he is in such a state of delight at 
 his good fortune, that I question whether he has 
 closed his eyes since you gave him the appoint- 
 ment." 
 
 " Poor fellow I Poor fellow ! It affords me 
 great pleasure, I am sure, to be able to take 
 him on my list. Yes; the moment he mention- 
 ed yout recommendation, down went his name, 
 without a single further question." 
 
 " I did not give him any authority to use my 
 name," observed Mr. Berkeley. " He merely 
 came to consult me whether he should apply; 
 and I advised him to take his chance. Our pau- 
 per-labourers have taken his work from him, and 
 obliged him to live upon his savings for a twelve- 
 month past, while, as I have strong reasons for 
 suspecting, he has been more anxious than ever 
 to accumulate. You have made him a very 
 happy man; but I must disclaim all share in the 
 deed."
 
 20 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 " Well, well: he took no improper liberty, I 
 assure you. Far from it; but the mention of 
 your name, you are aware, is quite sufficient in 
 any case. But, as to sleeping on his post, — 
 perhaps you will be kind enough to give him a 
 hint. So serious a matter, — -such an important 
 charge — " 
 
 Mr. Berkeley protested he was only joking 
 when he said that. Chapman would as soon 
 think of setting the bank on fire as sleeping on 
 watch. 
 
 " It is a misfortune to Longe," thought he, 
 as he rode away from the man of consequence, 
 " to be connected with these people. He is so 
 far superior to them ! A very intelligent, 
 agreeable man, as it seems to me; but Fanny 
 will never like him if he is patronized by the 
 Cavendishes, be his merits what they may. He 
 must be a man of discernment, distinguishing 
 her as he does already: and if so, he can hardly 
 be in such close alliance with these people as 
 they pretend. It is only fair she should be con- 
 vinced of that." 
 
 And the castle-building farther bestowed al- 
 most all his thoughts for the next half-hour on 
 the new rector, and scarcely any on the curate,
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 21 
 
 who was an acquaintance of longer standing, 
 and an object of much greater interest in the 
 family. 
 
 This curate was at the moment engaged in 
 turning over some new books on the counter of 
 Enoch Pye, the Haleham bookseller. Mr. 
 Craig was a privileged visiter in this shop, not 
 only because Enoch could not exist without re- 
 ligious ministrations, given and received, but 
 because Enoch was a publisher of no mean con- 
 sideration in his way, and was a very desirable 
 thing to have his own small stock of learning 
 eked out by that of a clergyman, when he stum- 
 bled on any mysterious msffters in works which 
 he was about to issue. He put great faith in 
 the little corps of humble authors with whom he 
 was connected; but it did now and then happen 
 that the moral of a story appeared to him not 
 drawn out explicitly enough; that retribution 
 was not dealt with sufficient force; and he was 
 sometimes at a loss how to test the accuracy of 
 a quotation. On this occasion, he would 
 scarcely allow Mr. Craig to look even at the 
 frontispiece of the new books on the counter, 
 so eager was he for the curate 's opinion as to 
 what would be the effect of the establishment of
 
 XX THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 the bank on the morals and condition of the peo- 
 ple of Haleham. 
 
 " The effect may be decidedly good, if they 
 choose to make it so," observed Mr. Craig. 
 " All fair means of improving the temporal con- 
 dition are, or ought to be, means for improving 
 the moral state of the people; and nothing gives 
 such an impulse to the prosperity of a place like 
 this as the settlement in it of a new trading capi- 
 talist." 
 
 "Aye, sir; so we agreed when the brewery 
 was set up, and when Bligh's crockery-shop was 
 opened: but a bank. Sir, is to my mind a differ- 
 ent kind of affair. K banker deals not in neces- 
 sary meats or drinks, or in the vessels which con- 
 tain them, but in lucre, — altogether in lucre." 
 
 " By which he helps manufacturers and trades- 
 men to do their business more effectually and 
 speedily than they otherwise could. A banker 
 is a dealer in capital. He comes between the 
 borrower and the lender. He borrows of one 
 and lends to another " 
 
 " But he takes out a part by the way," inter- 
 rupted Enoch, with a knowing look. " He 
 does not give out entire that which he receives, 
 but abstracts a part for his own profit."
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 23 
 
 " Of course he must have a profit," replied 
 Mr. Craig, " orhe would not trouble himself to 
 do business. But that his customers find their 
 profit in it, too, is clear from their making use 
 of him. They pay him each a little for a pro- 
 digious saving of time and trouble to all." 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied Enoch; " a man cannot 
 have been in such a business as mine for so 
 many years without knowing that banks are a 
 great help in times of need; and I am willing to 
 see and acknowledge the advantage that may 
 accrue to myself from this new bank, when I 
 have payments to make to a distance, and also 
 from a great ease which, in another respect, I 
 expect it to bring to my mind." 
 
 " I suppose you pay your distant authors by 
 sending bank-notes by the post," 
 
 "Yes; and sometimes in bills: especially 
 when there is an odd sum. There is risk and 
 trouble in this, and some of my fair correspon- 
 dents do not know what to do with bills when 
 they have got them. See, here is one actually 
 sent back to me at the expiration of the three 
 months, with a request that I will send the mon- 
 ey in notes, as the young lady does not know
 
 24 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 any body in London whom she could ask to 
 get it cashed for her." 
 
 " Henceforth she will be paid through the 
 bank here and the bank nearest to her, instead 
 of putting the temptation in your way to throw 
 the bill into the fire, and escape the payment." 
 
 Enoch replied that he was thankful to say, it 
 was no temptation to him; and Mr. Craig per- 
 ceived that he was waiting to be questioned 
 about the other respect in which the bank was 
 to bring him ease of mind, 
 
 " Far be it from me," replied the bookseller, 
 *' to complain of any troubb which happens to 
 me through the integrity for which it has pleas- 
 ed Providence to give me some small reputation ; 
 but I assure you, Sir, the sums of money that 
 are left under my care, by commercial travel- 
 lers, Sir, and others who go a little circuit, and 
 do not wish to carry much cash about with 
 them, are a great anxiety to me. They say the 
 rest of the rich man is broken through care for 
 his wealth. I assure you, Sir, that, though not 
 a rich man, my rest is often broken through 
 such care; — and all the more because the wealth 
 is not my own."
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 25 
 
 " An honourable kind of trouble, Mr. Pye; 
 and one of which you will be honourably reliev- 
 ed by the bank, where, of course, you will send 
 your commercial friends henceforth to deposit 
 their money. There also they can make their 
 inquiries as to the characters of your trading 
 neighbours, when they are about to open new 
 accounts. You have often told me what a deli- 
 cate matter you feel it to pronounce in such 
 cases. The bank will discharge this office for 
 you henceforth." 
 
 Enoch replied shortly, that the new banker 
 and his people could not know so much of the 
 characters of the townsfolks as he who had lived 
 among them for more than half a century ; and 
 Mr. Craig perceived that he did not wish to turn 
 over to any body an office of whose difficulties 
 he was often heard to complain. 
 
 " Do not you find great inconvenience in the 
 deficiency of change?" asked the curate. " It 
 seems to me that the time of servants and shop- 
 keepers is terribly wasted in running about for 
 change." 
 
 " It is, Sir. Sometimes when I want to use 
 small notes, I have none but large ones; and 
 when I want a 203/. note to send by post, I may 
 3
 
 ^6 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 wait three or four days before I can get such a 
 thing. I can have what I want in two minutes 
 now, by sending to the bank. After the fair, 
 or the market day, too, I shall not be overbur- 
 dened with silver as I have often been. They 
 will give me gold or notes for it at the bank, to 
 any amount." 
 
 "If there were no banks," observed Mr. 
 Craig, " what a prodigious waste of time there 
 would be in counting out large sums of money! 
 A draft is written in the tenth part of the time 
 that is required to hunt up the means of paying 
 a hundred pounds in guineas, shillings, and 
 pence, or in such an uncertain supply of notes 
 as we have in a little town like this. And, then, 
 good and bad coin " 
 
 "Aye, Sir. I reckon that in receiving my 
 payments in the form of drafts upon a banker, I 
 shall save several pounds a year that I have been 
 obliged to throw away in bad coin or forged 
 notes." 
 
 " And surely the townspeople generally will 
 find their advantage in this respect, as well as 
 yourself But a greater benefit still to them may 
 be the opportunity of depositing their money, be 
 it much or little, where they may receive interest
 
 THE HALEHA3I PEOPLE. 27 
 
 for it. Cavendish's bank allows interest on small 
 deposits, does it not?" 
 
 " On the very smallest," replied Mr. Pye 
 " People are full of talk about his condescension 
 in that matter. He even troubles himself to ask 
 his work-people, — aye, his very maid-servants, 
 — whether they have not a little money by them 
 that they would like to have handsome interest 
 for." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Mr. Craig, looking rather 
 surprised. " And do they trust do they ac- 
 cept the offer?" 
 
 "Accept it! aye, very thankfully. Who 
 would not ? There is Chapman that is appointed 
 watchman: he had a few pounds of his savings 
 left; and he put them into the bank to bear in- 
 terest till Rhoda Martin's earnings shall come 
 to the same sum; so that they may have some- 
 thing to furnish with." 
 
 " And where will she put her earnings?" 
 
 " Into the bank, of course. You know she 
 has got the place of nursemaid at the Caven- 
 dishes; and she would not be so unhandsome, 
 she says, as to put her money any where but 
 into the same hands it came out of So she 
 began by depositing ten pounds left her as a
 
 28 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 legacy. It is quite the fashion now for our work- 
 people to carry what they have, be it ever so 
 little, to the bank; and Mr. Cavendish is very 
 kind in his way of speaking to them." 
 
 " Well; you see here is another great advan- 
 tage in the establishment of a bank, if it be a 
 sound one. In my country, Scotland, the banks 
 are particularly sound, so as to make it quite 
 safe for the people to lodge their small deposits 
 there, and society has the advantage of a quan- 
 tity of money being put into circulation which 
 would otherwise lie dead, as they call it, — that 
 is, useless. Many millions of the money depos- 
 ited in the Scotch banks are made up of the 
 savings of labourers; and it would be a loss to 
 the public, as well as to the owners, if all this 
 lay by as useless as so many pebbles. I wish, 
 however, that there were some places of deposit 
 for yet smaller sums than the Scotch bankers 
 will receive.* They will take no sum under 10/. 
 *' If one man is kind-hearted enough to take 
 the trouble of receiving such small sums," ob- 
 served Enoch, "I think others might too. I 
 was very wrong to hint any doubts about Mr. 
 
 ♦Savings-banks were not instituted when this was said: 
 viz., in 1814.
 
 THE UALEHAM PEOPLE. 29 
 
 Cavendish's trading in lucre, when it is so clear 
 that he thinks only of doing good. I take shame 
 to myself, Mr. Craig." 
 
 " At the same time, Mr. Pye, one would not 
 be urgent with the people to trust any one person 
 with all their money. In Scotland, there are a 
 great many partners in a bank, which makes it 
 very secure." 
 
 Enoch looked perplexed; and while he was 
 still pondering what Mr. Craig might mean, his 
 attention was engaged by a young woman who 
 entered the shop, and appeared to have some- 
 thing to show him for which it was necessary to 
 choose an advantageous light. Mr. Craig heard 
 Enoch's first words to her, wliispered across the 
 counter, — "How's thy mother to-day, my 
 dear?" and then he knew that the young woman 
 must be Hester Parndon, and began again to 
 look at the new books till Hester's business 
 should be finished. 
 
 He was presently called to a consultation, as 
 he had been once or twice before, when Mr. Pye 
 and the young artist he employed to design his 
 frontispieces could not agree in any matter of 
 taste that might be in question. 
 3*
 
 30 THE Haleham people. 
 
 " I wish you would ask Mr. Craig," observed 
 Hester. 
 
 " So I would, my dear; but he does not know 
 the story." 
 
 " The story tells itself in the drawing, 1 
 hope," replied Hester. 
 
 "Let me see," said the curate. "O yes! 
 there is the horse galloping away, and the thrown 
 young lady lying on the ground. The children 
 who frightened the horse with their waving 
 boughs are clambering over the stile, to get out 
 of sight as fast as possible. The lady's father 
 is riding up at full speed, and her lover " 
 
 " No, no; no lover," cried Enoch, in a tone 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 "Mr. Pye will not print any stories about 
 lovers," observed Hester, sorrowfully. 
 
 " It is against my principles, Sir, as in some 
 sort a guardian of the youthful mind. This is 
 the heroine's brother. Sir, and I have no fault 
 to find with him. But the young lady, — she is 
 very much hurt, you know. It seems to me, 
 now, that she looks too much as if she was think- 
 ing about those children, instead of being re- 
 signed. Suppose she was to lie at full length,
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 31 
 
 instead of being half raised, and to have her 
 hands clasped, and her eyes cast upwards." 
 
 " But that would be just like the three last 1 
 have done," objected Hester. "The mother 
 on her death-bed, and the sister when she 
 heard of the sailor-boy's being drowned, and 
 the blind beggar-woman, — you would have 
 them all lying with their hands clasped and 
 their eyes cast up, and all in black dresses, ex- 
 cept the one in bed. Indeed they should not be 
 all alike." 
 
 So Mr. Craig thought. Moreover, if the 
 young lady was amiable, it seemed to him to be 
 quite in character that she should be looking 
 after the frightened children, with concern for 
 them in her countenance. Enoch waxed obsti- 
 nate on being opposed. He must have the riding 
 habit changed for a flowing black robe, and 
 the whole attitude and expression of the figure 
 altered to the pattern which possessed his imag- 
 ination. 
 
 " What does your mother say to this drawing, 
 Hester?" inquired Mr. Craig, when he saw the 
 matter becoming desperate. 
 
 " She thinks it the best I have done; and she 
 desired" me to study variety above all things;
 
 32 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 and it is because it is so unlike all the rest that 
 she likes it best." 
 
 Enoch took the drawing out of her hands at 
 these words, to give the matter another consid- 
 eration. 
 
 " Do persuade him, " whispered Hester to the 
 curate. " You do not know how people begin 
 to laugh at his frontispieces for being all alike; 
 all the ladies with tiny waists, and all the gen- 
 tlemen with their heads turned half round on 
 their shoulders. Do not be afraid. He is so 
 deaf he will not know what we are saying." 
 
 *' Indeed! I was not aware of that." 
 
 *' No, because he is accustomed to your voice 
 in church. He begins to say, — for he will not 
 believe that he is deaf, — that you are the only 
 person in Haleham that knows how to speak dis- 
 tinctly, except the fishwoman, and the crier, and 
 my mother, who suits her way of speaking to 
 his liking exactly. But, Sir, the people in Lon- 
 don laughed sadly at the frontispiece to ' Faults 
 acknowledged and amended.' " 
 
 '' What people in London?" 
 
 " O! the people, — several people, — I know a 
 good deal about the people in London, and they
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 33 
 
 understand about such things much better than 
 we do.' 
 
 " Then I wish that, instead of laughing at 
 you for drawing as you are bid, they would em- 
 ploy you to design after your own taste. You 
 are fit for a much higher employment than this, 
 and I wish you had friends in London to procure 
 it for you," 
 
 Hester blushed, and sparkled, and looked 
 quite ready to communicate something, but re- 
 frained and turned away. 
 
 " I like this much better, the more I look at 
 it, my dear," said Enoch, relieving himself of 
 his best spectacles, and carefully locking up the 
 dra\ving in his desk: " stay; do not go without 
 your money. I shall make you a present over 
 and above what we agreed upon; for, as your 
 mother says, it is certainly your best piece 
 Now, I don't mean to guess what you are going 
 to do with this money. There come times when 
 girls have use for money. But if you should just 
 Oe going to give it to your mother to lay by, I 
 could let you have a guinea for that note and 
 shilling. Guineas are scarce now-a-days; but I 
 have one, and I know your mother is fond of 
 keeping them Will you take it for her?" 
 
 Vol I— C
 
 M THE IIALEUAM PEOPLE. 
 
 Hester was not going to put her money into 
 her mother's hands. Into the new bank per- 
 haps? — No, she was not going to lay it by at 
 all. And she blushed more than ever, and left 
 the shop. 
 
 Enoch sighed deeply, and then smiled dubi- 
 ously, while he wondered what Mrs. Parndon 
 would do when her daughter married away from 
 her to London, as she was just about to do. It 
 was a sad pinch when her son Philip settled in 
 London, though he had a fine goldsmith's busi- 
 ness; but Hester was so much cleverer, so much 
 more like herself, that her removal would be a 
 greater loss still. 
 
 " Why should she not goto London too.?" 
 Mr. Craig inquired. 
 
 O no, Enoch protested; it was, he believed, 
 he flattered himself, he had understood, — quite 
 out of the question. He added, confidentially, 
 that it might be a good thing for the new bank 
 if she would lodge her money there, for she had 
 a very pretty store of guineas laid by. 
 
 '' Does she value them as gold, — I mean as 
 being more valuable than bank-notes, — or as 
 riches?" asked Mr. Craig. " If the one, she 
 will rather keep them in her own hands. If the
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE 35 
 
 otheij she will be glad of interest upon them." 
 " She began by being afraid that the war 
 would empty the country of money; and now 
 that less and less gold is to be seen every day, 
 she values her guineas more than ever, and 
 would not part with them, I believe, for any 
 price. As often as she and I get together to 
 talk of our young days, she complains of the 
 flimsy rags that such men as Cavendish choose 
 to call money. ' Put a note in the scale,' says 
 she, ' and what does it weigh against a guinea? 
 and if a spark flies upon it out of the candle, 
 where is It?' — Many's the argument we have 
 had upon this. I tell her that there is no real 
 loss when a bank note is burned, as there is if 
 an idle sailor chucks a guinea into the sea." 
 
 " If a magpie should chance to steal away a 
 five-pound note of yours," said the curate, " or 
 if you should chance to let your pocket-book fall 
 into the fire, you will have Mrs. Parndon com- 
 ing to comfort you with assurances that there is 
 no real loss." 
 
 " To me, there would be. Sir. I do not deny 
 that. I mean that no actual wealth would be 
 destroyed, because the bank note I hold only 
 promises to pay so much gold, which is safe in
 
 30 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 
 
 somebody's hands, whether there be a fire or 
 not. When gold is melted in a fire, it may be 
 worth more or less (supposing it recovered) than 
 it was worth as coin, according to the value of 
 gold at the time. If the enemy captures it a1 
 sea, it is so much dead loss to our country, and 
 so much clear gain to the enemy's. If a cargo 
 of precious metals goes to the bottom, it is so 
 much dead loss to everybody. So I tell Mrs. 
 Parndon." 
 
 " As she is not likely to go to sea, I suppose 
 she determines to keep her guineas, and guard 
 against fire." 
 
 Enoch whispered that some folks said that 
 fire would improve the value of her guineas 
 very much, if she put them into a melting-pot. 
 Guineas were now secretly selling for a pound 
 note and four shillings ; and there was no doubt 
 that Philip, the goldsmith, would give his mother 
 as much for hers : but she hoped they would grow 
 i^oarer yet, and therefore still kept them by her. 
 
 The curate was amused at Enoch's tolerant 
 way of speaking of Mrs. Parndon's love of lucre, 
 while he was full of scrupulosity as to the moral 
 lawfulness of Mr. Cavendish's occupation. The 
 old man acknowledged, however, by degrees,
 
 THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. S7 
 
 that it could do the Haleham people no harm to 
 have their time saved, their convenience and 
 security of property promoted, their respecta- 
 bility guaranteed, their habits of economy en- 
 couraged, and their dead capital put in motion. 
 All these important objects being secured by 
 the institution of banking, when it is properly 
 managed, prudent and honourable bankers are 
 benefactors to society, no less, as Mr. Pye was 
 brought to admit, than those who deal directly 
 in what is eaten, drunk, and worn as apparel. 
 The conversation ended, therefore, with mutual 
 congratulations on the new bank, always sup- 
 posing it to be well managed, and Mr. Caven- 
 dish to be prudent and honourable. 
 4
 
 38 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 
 
 Before the summer was much further advanc- 
 ed, a new interest arose to draw off some of the 
 attention of the people of Haleham from the 
 great Mr. Cavendish, and the gay Mrs. Ca- 
 vendish, and the whole tribe of charming 
 Masters and Misses Cavendish. A favourite 
 of longer standing was in everybody's thoughts 
 for at least three weeks. Hester's marriage 
 was evidently at hand; and besides a wedding 
 being a rare thing in Haleham, at least any- 
 thing above a pauper wedding, — the Parndons 
 were an old-established and respected family, 
 and Hester in particular was looked upon as an 
 ornament to the little town. Her father had 
 been engaged in some public service in which 
 his talents as a draughstman had distinguished 
 him, and which secured a small pension for his 
 widow. As he found no capabilities in his son 
 Philip which could serve as qualifications for 
 assisting or succeeding him in his office, he 
 bestowed his chief attention on his little girl^
 
 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 39 
 
 who early displayed a talent for drawing which 
 delighted him. He died, however, before she 
 had had time to make the most of his instruc- 
 tions; and she stopped short at the humble 
 employmerit of designing frontispieces for Mr 
 Pye's new books. Her mother liked the ar- 
 rangement, both because it enabled her to keep 
 her daughter with her without preventing Hes- 
 ter from earning money, and because it afford- 
 ed much occasion of intercourse with Mr. Pye, 
 whom she liked to continue to see every day, 
 if possible. Hester's townsmen were very 
 proud of her achievements, as well as of her 
 sprightliness and pretty looks. 
 
 Every one felt as if he had heard a piece of 
 family news when it was told that the young 
 man who had come down with Philip, the sum- 
 mer before, and had been supposed to be a 
 cousin, was going to carry off Philip's sister. 
 All were ready to believe it a very fine thing 
 for Hester; — so well-dressed and handsome as 
 Edgar Morrison was, — such a good place as 
 he had in the Mint, — and such an intimate 
 friend of her brother's as he had long been. 
 Hester was told twenty times a day that her 
 firiends were grieved to think of losing her, but
 
 40 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 
 
 that they would not be so selfish as not to re- 
 joice in her engagement. No engagement 
 ever went on more smoothly. Everybody 
 approved; Edgar adored; Hester loved, con- 
 fidently and entirely. There were no untoward 
 delays. Just at the time fixed long before, 
 Edgar came down to Haleham, and people 
 said one to another after church, that as it was 
 not probable he could be long spared from the 
 Mint, the wedding would most likely be in the 
 course of the week. On Tuesday, it got 
 abroad that Philip was come ; and as he had, 
 no doubt, in virtue of his occupation, brought 
 the ring, it was no sign that Thursday was not 
 to be the day that John Rich had sold no plain 
 gold rings for more than a month. 
 
 Thursday Was indeed to be the day; and as 
 it was found, on the Wednesday morning, that 
 everybody knew this by fiome means or other, 
 no further attempt was made to keep the secret. 
 Hester's friends were permitted by her vain 
 mother to understand that they might come and 
 bid her farewell. Wednesday was the market- 
 day at Haleham; and the present was a partic- 
 ularly busy market-day; that is, out of the twelve 
 people who from time to time sold things in
 
 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 4l 
 
 general on either side the main street, all were 
 present, except a gardener whose pony was 
 lame, and a tinman, mop and brush-seller, 
 whose wife had died. This unusually full at- 
 tendance was caused by a notice that the new 
 notes of Cavendish's bank would be issued this 
 market-day. Some came to behold the sight 
 of the issuing of notes, with the same kind of 
 mysterious wonder with which they had gone to 
 hear the lion roar at the last fair. Others ex- 
 pected to suit their convenience in taking a new 
 sort of money; and most felt a degree of ambition 
 to hold at least one of the smooth, glazed, crack- 
 ling pieces of engraved paper that everybody 
 was holding up to the light, and spelling over, 
 and speculating upon. The talk was alternate- 
 ly of Edgar and 3Ir. Cavendish, of the mint 
 and the bank, of Hester's wedding clothes and 
 the new dress in which money appeared. A 
 tidy butter and fowl womaji folded up her cash, 
 and padlocked her basket sooner than she would 
 have done on any other day, in order to look in 
 at Mrs. Parndon's, and beg Hester to accept 
 her best bunch of moss-roses, and not to forget 
 that it was in her farm-yard that she was first 
 alarmed by a turkey^ock. A maltster, on 
 4*
 
 42 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 
 
 whose premises Hester had played hide and 
 seek with a lad, his only son, who had since 
 been killed in the wars, hurried from the mar- 
 ket to John Rich's to choose a pretty locket, to 
 be bestowed, with his blessing, on the bride; 
 and others, who had less claim to an interview 
 on this last day, ventured to seek a parting 
 word, and were pleased to perceive every appear- 
 ance of their being expected. 
 
 Mrs. Parndon, in her best black silk and af- 
 ternoon cap, sat by her bright-rubbed table, 
 ready to dispense the currant wine and seed- 
 cake. Philip lolled out of the window to see 
 who was coming. Edgar vibrated between the 
 parlour and the staircase ; for his beloved was 
 supposed to be busy packing, and had to be 
 called down and led in by her lover on the ar- 
 rival of every new guest. It is so impossible 
 to sit below, as if she expected everybody to 
 come to do her homage ! and Edgar looked so 
 partfcularly graceful when he drew her arm un- 
 der his own, and encouraged her to take cheer- 
 fully what her friends had to say! 
 
 "Here is somebody asking for you," said 
 Edgar, mounting the stairs with less alacrity 
 than usual. ** She hopes to see you, but would
 
 THE FRIDE OF HALEHAM. 43 
 
 be sorry to disturb you, if others did not; but 
 she will not come in. She is standing in the 
 court." 
 
 Hester looked over the muslin blind of the 
 window, and immediately knew the farmer's 
 wife who had let her try to milk a cow, when 
 she could scarcely make her way alone through 
 the farm-yard. Edgar was a little disappointed 
 when he saw how she outstripped him in run- 
 ning down stairs, and seemed as eager to get 
 her friend properly introduced into the parlour 
 as if she had been Miss Berkeley herself 
 
 " You must come in, Mrs. Smith; there is 
 nobody here that you will mind seeing, and you 
 look as if you wanted to sit down and rest." 
 
 " It is only the flutter of seeing you. Miss 
 Hester. No; I cannot come in. I only brought 
 these few roses for you, and wished to see you 
 once more. Miss Hester." 
 
 " Why do you begin calling me ' Miss.'" I 
 was never anything but Hester before." 
 
 " Well, to be sure," said Mrs. Smith, smil- 
 ing, "it is rather strange to be beginning to 
 call you ' Miss,' when this is the last day that 
 anybody can call you so." 
 
 *' I did not remember that when I found fault
 
 44 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 
 
 with you," said Hester, blushing " But come 
 in; your basket will be sa^e enough just within 
 the door," 
 
 While Mrs. Smith was taking her wine, and 
 Hester putting the moss-roses in water, the 
 maltster came in, with his little packet of silver 
 paper in his hand. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Williams! so you are in town! 
 How kind of you to come and see us! I am 
 sure Hester did not think to have bid you good 
 bye, though she was speaking of you only the 
 other day." 
 
 " None but friends, I see," said the laconic 
 Mr. Williams, looking round: " so I will make 
 bold without ceremony." 
 
 And he threw over Hester's neck the delicate 
 white ribbon to which the locket was fastened, 
 and whispered that he would send her some hair 
 to put into it: she knew whose; and he had 
 never, he could tell her, given a single hair of 
 it away to anybody before. Hester looked up 
 at him with tearful eyes, without speaking. 
 
 " Now you must give me something in re- 
 turn," said he. " If you have the least bit of 
 
 a drawing that you do not care for You 
 
 know I have the second you ever did; your
 
 THE PRIDE OF IIALEHAM. 45 
 
 mother keeping the first, as is proper. I have 
 the squirrel, you remember, with the nut in its 
 paw. The tail, to be sure, is more like a feath- 
 er than a tail ; but it was a wonderful drawing 
 for a child." 
 
 " Shall I do a drav/ing for you when I am 
 settled?" said Hester, "or will you have one 
 of the poor things out of my portfolio ? I have 
 parted with all the good ones, I am afraid." 
 
 "You will have other things to think of when 
 you get to London than doing drawings for me, 
 my dear. ISo: any little scratch you like to 
 part with, — only so that it has been done lately." 
 While Hester was gone for her portfolio, 
 Philip took up the silver paper which was lying 
 on the table, and began to compare it with the 
 paper of one of the new notes, holding both up 
 to the light. 
 
 " Some people would say," observed Edgar 
 to him, " that you are trying to find out whether 
 it would be easy to forge such a note as that." 
 
 " People would say what is very foolish then," 
 replied Philip. " If I put my neck in danger 
 with making money, it should be with coining, 
 not forging. We shall soon have notes as plen- 
 tiful as blackberries, if new banks are set up
 
 46 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 
 
 every day. Golden guineas are the rare things 
 now; and the cleverest cheats are those that 
 melt every guinea they can lay their hands on, 
 and send out a bad one instead of it." 
 
 " But it is so much easier to forge than to 
 coin," remarked Edgar: "except that, to be 
 sure, people seem to have no use of their eyes 
 where money is concerned. You never saw 
 such ridiculous guineas as our people bring to 
 the Mint sometimes, to show how easily the 
 public can betaken in." 
 
 " Every body is not so knowing as you and I 
 are made by our occupations," observed Philip. 
 " But a man who wishes to deal in false money 
 may choose, I have heard, between coining and 
 forging ; for both are done by gangs, and sel- 
 dom or never by one person alone. He may 
 either be regularly taught the business, or make 
 his share of the profits by doing what I think 
 the dirtiest part of the work, — passing the bad 
 money." 
 
 " Don't talk any more about it, Philip," said 
 his mother. "It is all dirty work, and wicked 
 work, and such as we people in the country do 
 not like to hear of Prices are h,igher than 
 ever to-day, I understand, Mrs. Smith."
 
 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 47 
 
 ** If they are, ma'am," replied the simple Mrs. 
 Smith, " there is more money than ever to pay 
 them. I never saw so much money passing 
 round as to-day owing to the new notes, ma'am." 
 
 "I am sure it is very well," observed the 
 widow, sighing. It makes mothers anxious to 
 have their children marrying in times like these, 
 when prices are so high. Edgar can tell you 
 how long it was before I could bring myself to 
 think it prudent for these young folks to settle. 
 I would have had them wait till the war was 
 over, and living was cheaper." 
 
 "We should make sure first, ma'am," said 
 Edgar, " that the high prices are caused mainly 
 by the war. The wisest people think that they 
 are owing to the number of new banks, and the 
 quantity of paper money that is abroad." 
 
 " How should that be?" inquired the widow. 
 " The dearer every thing is, you know, the 
 more money is wanted. So let the bankers put 
 out as many notes as they can make it conven- 
 ient to give us, say I." 
 
 "But ma'am," pursued Edgar, " the more 
 notes are put out, the faster the guineas go 
 away. I assure you. Sir," he continued, ad- 
 dressing himself to Mr. Williams, "we go on
 
 48 THE PRIDE OF HALEHA^I. 
 
 working at the Mint, sending out coin as fast 
 as ever we can prepare it, and nobody seems 
 the better for it. Nobody can tell where it goes, 
 or what becomes of it." 
 
 " Perhaps our friend Philip could tell some- 
 thing, if he chose," observed Mr. Williams; 
 " such dealings as he has in gold. And per- 
 haps, if you servants of the Mint could see into 
 people's doings, you might find that you coin the 
 same gold many times over." 
 
 " One of our officers said so the other day. 
 He believes that our handsome new coin goes 
 straight to the melting-pot, and is then carried 
 in bars or bullion to the Bank of England, and 
 then comes under our presses again, and so on. 
 But much of it must go abroad too, we think." 
 
 "And some, I have no doubt, is hoarded; 
 as is usually the case during war," observed 
 Mr. Williams ; whereupon the widow turned her 
 head quickly to hear what was passing. " But 
 what waste it is to be spending money continu- 
 ally in coining, when every week uncoins what 
 was coined the week before!" x 
 
 "Waste indeed!" observed the widow. " But 
 if it has anything to do with high prices, I sup- 
 pose you do not object to it, Mr. Williams, any
 
 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 49 
 
 more than Mrs. Smith; for the high prices must 
 be a great gain to you both," 
 
 " You must remember, Mrs. Parndon, we 
 have to buy as well as sell ; and so far we feel the 
 high prices like other people. Mrs. Smith gets 
 more than she did for her butter and her fowls; 
 and even her roses sell a half-penny a bunch 
 dearer than they did; but she has to buy coals 
 for her house, and shirting for her husband; 
 and for these she pays a raised price." 
 
 "Those are the worst off," replied Mrs. 
 Parndon, sighing, "who have every-thing to 
 buy and nothing to sell. I assure you, sir, my 
 pension does not go so far by one-fourth part 
 as it did when I first had it. And this was the 
 thino- that made me so anxious about these 
 
 o 
 
 young people, Edgar has a salary, you know; 
 and that is the same thing as a pension or an- 
 nuity, when prices rise." 
 
 "True. Those are best off just now who 
 sell their labour at an unfixed price, which rises 
 with the price of other things. But for your 
 comfort, ma'am, prices will be sure to fall some 
 day ; and then you will like your own pension 
 and your son-in-law's salary as well as ever." 
 
 "And then," said Edgar, "you and Mrs. 
 
 Vol. I.— D 5
 
 60 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 
 
 Smith will be reducing the wages of your ser- 
 vants and labourers, and will buy your blankets 
 and fuel cheaper, and yet find yourselves grow- 
 ing poorer because your profits are lessened. 
 Then," he continued, as Hester came into the 
 room, " you will leave off giving lockets to your 
 young friends wher. they marry." 
 
 " I shall never have such another young friend 
 to give one to, — never one that I shall care for 
 so much," replied Mr. Williams, who found him- 
 self obliged to rub his spectacles frequently be- 
 fore he could see to choose between the three 
 or four drawings that Hester spread before 
 him. 
 
 When the pathos of the scene became deep- 
 er; when Mr. Williams could no longer pre- 
 tend to be still selecting a drawing; when 
 Hester gave over all attempts to conceal her 
 tears, when her lover lavished his endeavours 
 to sooth and support her, and Mrs. Smith look- 
 ed about anxiously for some way of escape, 
 without undergoing the agony of a farewell, 
 Philip, who seemed to have neither eyes, ears, 
 nor understanding for sentiment, turned round 
 abruptly upon the tender-hearted market-wo- 
 man , with —
 
 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 51 
 
 "Do you happen to Iiave one of the new 
 notes about you, Mrs. Smith? I want to see 
 if this mark, — here in the corner, you see, — is 
 an accident, or whether it may be a private 
 mark." 
 
 " Mercy! Mr. Philip. I beg pardon, sir, for 
 being startled. Yes, I have one somewhere." 
 And with trembling hands she felt for her pock- 
 et-book. " Let's just go out quietly, Mr. 
 Philip. She won't see me go, and I would not 
 pain her any more, just for the sake of another 
 look and word. I shall find the note presently 
 when we are in the court, Sir." 
 
 Philip looked on stupidly when he saw his 
 sisters tears, and undecidedly, when Mrs. Smith 
 was stealing out of the room. At last, he be- 
 thought himself of saying, 
 
 " I say, Hester — would you like to bid Mrs. 
 Smith good bye or not ? You need not unless 
 you like, she says." 
 
 Hester turned from the one old friend to the 
 other; and now the matter-of-fact Philip was 
 glad to shorten the scene, and let Mrs. Smith 
 go away without putting her in mind of the 
 note. As he had a great wish to see as many 
 notes and as few scenes as possible, he left
 
 52 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 
 
 home, and sauntered into the market, where he 
 found people wh3 had not yet set their faces 
 Homewards, and who were willing to chat with 
 him, while packing up their unsold goods. 
 
 Mrs. Parndon's chief concern this day, ex- 
 cept her daughter, had been Mr. Pye. She 
 wondered from hour to hour, first, whether he 
 would come, and afterwards, why he did not 
 come. She concluded that he would use the 
 privilege of an old friend, and drop in late in 
 the evening, to give his blessing. She had 
 been several times on the point of proposing 
 that he should be invited to attend the wedding ; 
 but scruples which she did not acknowledge to 
 herself, kept her from speaking. She liked the 
 appearance of intimacy which must arise out 
 of his being the only guest on such an occasion ; 
 but behind this there was a feeling that the 
 sight of a daughter of hers at the altar might 
 convey an idea that she was herself too old to 
 stand there with any propriety : an idea which 
 she was very desirous should not enter Enoch's 
 mind, as she was far from entertaining it her- 
 self As it was pretty certain, however, that 
 Mr. Pye would be present, she settled that it 
 would be well for her to be at his elbow to mod-
 
 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 53 
 
 ify his associations, as far as might be practica- 
 ble; and she suggested, when the evening drew 
 on, that, as poor 3Ir. Pye (who was certainly 
 growing deaf, hov/ever unwilling he might be 
 to own it) could hear the service but poorly 
 from a distance, and as his interest in Hester 
 was really like that of a father, he should be 
 invited to breakfast with the family, and accom- 
 pany them to church. Everybody being will- 
 ing, the request was carried by Philip, and 
 graciously accepted. 
 
 By noon the next day, when the post-chaise 
 had driven off with the new-married pair from 
 the widow Parndon's door, there was no such 
 important personage in Haleham as Mr. Pye. 
 He was the only one from whom the lonely 
 mother would receive consolation; and when he 
 was obliged to commend her to her son's care, 
 and go home to attend his counter, he was ac- 
 costed on the way by everybody he met. It was 
 plain, at a glance, by his glossy brown coat, 
 best white stockings, and Sunday wig, pushed 
 aside from his best ear in his readiness to be 
 questioned, that he had been a wedding guest; 
 and many times, within a few hours, did he tell 
 the story of what a devoted lover Edgar was,
 
 54 THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 
 
 and what a happy prospect lay before Hester, 
 both as to worldly matters and the province of 
 the heart; and how she was nearly sinking at 
 the altar; and how he could not help her be- 
 cause her mother needed the support of his arm; 
 and what a beautiful tray of flowers, with pres- 
 ents hidden beneath them, had been sent in by 
 the Miss Berkeleys, just when the party were 
 growing neivous as church-time approached; 
 and how Mr. Cavendish had taken his hat 
 quite off, bowing to the bride on her way home; 
 and how finely Mr. Craig had gone through the 
 
 service; and how but Enoch's voice failed 
 
 him as often as he came to the description of 
 the chaise driving up, and Philip's superintend- 
 ence of the fastening on the luggage. He 
 could get no further; and his listeners departed, 
 one after another, with sympathizing sighs. 
 When was there ever a wedding-day without 
 sighs ^
 
 THE HALEIIAM RIOT. 55 
 
 CHAPTER III. ' 
 
 THE I1ALEHA.M RIOT. 
 
 Haleham had never been apparently so pros- 
 perous as at this time, notwithstandino: the war, 
 to which were referred all the grievances of com- 
 plainers, — and they were few. Prices were cer- 
 tainly very high; much higher since Mr. Berke- 
 ley had joined the D Bank, and ]Mr. Ca- 
 vendish opened the Haleham concern ; but mon- 
 ey abounded, taxation was less felt than when 
 purses were emptier; and the hope of obtain- 
 ing high prices stimulated industry, and caused 
 capital to be laid out to the best advantage. At 
 first, the same quantity of coin that there had 
 been before circulated together with Cavendish's 
 notes; and as there was nearl) twice the quan- 
 tity of money in the hands of a certain number 
 of people to exchange for the same quantity of 
 commodities, money was of course very cheap, 
 that is, commodities were very dear. As gold 
 money was prevented by law from becoming 
 cheap, like paper money, people very naturally 
 hoarded it, or changed it away to foreign coun-
 
 56 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 tries, where commodities were not dear as in 
 England. Even in the little town of Haleham, 
 it was soon discovered that several kinds of for- 
 eign goods could be had in greater variety and 
 abundance than formerly ; Haleham having its 
 share of the larger quantity of foreign commodi- 
 ties now flowing into England in return for the 
 guineas which left it as fast as they could be 
 smuggled out of the country in their own shape, 
 or as bullion. If the quantity of money had now 
 been let alone, prices would have returned to 
 their former state as soon as the additional quan 
 tity of money had been thus drained away: but, 
 as fast as it disappeared, more bankers' notes 
 were issued; so that the whole amount of money 
 went on increasing, though the metal part of it 
 lessened day by day. The great bank of all, 
 — the Bank of England, — had obtained leave, 
 some years before, to put out notes without 
 being liable to be called upon to exchange them 
 for gold upon the demand of the holder of the 
 note. The Bank was now making use of this 
 permission at a great rate; and for two years 
 past had put out so large a number of notes, that 
 some people began to doubt whether it could 
 keep its "promise to pay" in gold, whenever
 
 THE HALEHA3I RIOT. 57 
 
 the time should come for parliament to withdraw 
 its permission; which, it was declared, would 
 be soon after the war should be ended. So 
 other banks had the same liberty. They were 
 not allowed to make their purchases with prom- 
 ises to pay, and then authorized to refuse to pay 
 till parliament should oblige them to do so at the 
 conclusion of the war. But the more paper 
 money the Bank of England issued, the more 
 were the proprietors of other banks tempted to 
 put out as many notes as they dared, and thus 
 to extend their business as much as possible; 
 and many were rather careless as to whether 
 they should be able to keep their " promise to 
 pay;" and some cheats and swindlers set up 
 banks, knowing that they should never be able 
 to pay, and that their business must break in a 
 very short time; that hoping to make something 
 by the concern meanwhile, and to run off at last 
 with some of the deposits placed in their hands 
 by credulous people. So many kinds of bankers 
 being eager at the same time to issue their notes, 
 money of course abounded more and more; and, 
 as commodities did not abound in the same pro- 
 portion, they became continually dearer. 
 
 There would have been little harm in this, if
 
 58 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 all buyers had felt the change alike. But as they 
 did not, there was discontent, — and very reason- 
 able discontent, — in various quarters; while in 
 others, certain persons were unexpectedly and 
 undeservedly enriched at the expense of the dis- 
 contented. If it had been universally agreed 
 throughout the whole kingdom that everybody 
 should receive twice as much money as he did 
 before, and that, at the same time, whatever had 
 cost a guinea should now cost two pound notes 
 and two shillings, and that whatever had cost 
 sixpence should now cost a shilling, and so on, 
 nobody would have had to complain of anything 
 but the inconvenience of changing the prices of 
 all things. But such an agreement was not, and 
 could not be, made; and that the quantity of mo- 
 ney should be doubled and not equally shared, 
 while prices were doubled to everybody, was sure 
 to be called, what it really was, very unfair. The 
 government complained that the taxes were paid 
 in the same number of pounds, shillings, and 
 pence as before, while government had to pay 
 the new prices for whatever it bought. There 
 was, in fact, a reduction of taxation: but, before 
 the people had the satisfaction of perceiving and 
 acknowledging this, the government was obliged
 
 THE HALEHAM RIOT. OV* 
 
 to lay on new taxes to make up for the reduction 
 of the old ones, and to enable it to carry on the 
 war. This set the people complaining again; so 
 that the government and nation were actually 
 complaining at the same time, the one of a re- 
 duction, the other of an increase of taxation; and 
 both had reason for their murmurs. 
 
 None had so much reason for discontent as 
 those classes which suffered in both ways, — 
 those who received fixed incomes. To pay the 
 new prices with the old amount of yearly money, 
 and to be at the same time heavily taxed, was 
 indeed a great hardship; and the inferior clergy, 
 fund-holders, salaried clerks, annuitants and oth- 
 ers were as melancholy as farmers were cheer- 
 ful in regarding their prospects. Servants and 
 labourers contrived by degrees to have their 
 wages, and professional men their fees, raised: 
 but these were evil days for those whose incomes 
 were not the reward of immediate labour, and 
 could not therefore rise and fall with the com- 
 parative expense of subsistence. In proportion 
 as these classes suffered, the productive classes 
 enjoyed; and the farmers under long leases had 
 as much more than their due share as the land- 
 lord, the public servant, and creditor, had less.
 
 60 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 This inequality led to some curious modes o; 
 management, whereby some endeavoured to re 
 cover their rights, and others to make the mos 
 of their present advantages; and in Haleham 
 as in more important places where the state ol 
 the currency had been affected by the establish- 
 ment of a bank, or by some other inlet of a floo( 
 of paper money, instances were witnessed of i 
 struggle between those who were benefited anc 
 those who were injured by the new state of mon- 
 ey affairs. 
 
 " You complain of my never having time tc 
 ride with you, Melea," said Mr. Berkeley to hi.' 
 younger daughter, one fine October morning 
 
 "I am not going to D to-day, and w( 
 
 will ride to Merton Downs, if you can prevai 
 upon yourself to lay aside your German Diction 
 ary for three hours." 
 
 Melea joyfully closed her book. 
 
 " Nay, I give you another hour. I must go 
 down to the workhouse, and see the paupers 
 paid off: but that will not take long." 
 
 "Then, suppose you meet us at Martin's 
 farm," said Fanny. " It is on your way, and 
 will save you the trouble of coming home again. 
 Melea and I have not been at the Martin's this 
 
 #
 
 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 61 
 
 long while ; and we want to know how Rhoda 
 likes her place." 
 
 " Not for a long while indeed," observed their 
 mother, as the girls left the room to prepare for 
 their ride. "It is so far a bad thing for the 
 Martins that Mr. Craig lodges there, that we 
 cannot go and see them so often as we should 
 like. It is only when he is absent for days to- 
 gether, as he is now, that the girls can look in 
 at the farm as they used to do," 
 
 " The Martins do not want anything that we 
 can do for them, my dear. They are very flour- 
 ishing; and, I am afraid, will soon grow too 
 proud to have a daughter out at service. Did 
 not I hear somebody say that Rhoda is growing 
 discontented already? " 
 
 " Yes; but there may be reason for it." 
 
 "All pride, depend upon it, my dear. Her 
 father holds a long lease, and he may gather a 
 pretty dower for his daughter out of his profits, 
 before prices fall. I wish Craig would take a 
 fancy to the daughter and dower together, if it 
 would prevent his running after my girls in the 
 way he does. I shall forbid him the house soon, 
 if I find he puts any fancies into their heads, as 
 6
 
 62 THE HALEHAM RIOT 
 
 I am afraid he does, to judge by this prodigious 
 passion for German." 
 
 " Mr. Craig and Rhoda Martin ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Berkeley, laughing. " That is a new idea 
 to me. However, Rhoda is engaged to Chap- 
 man, you know." 
 
 ' ' True ; I forgot. Well ; we must mate Craig 
 elsewhere; for it would be intolerable for him to 
 think of one of my daughters. Miss Egg might 
 do. Mrs. Cavendish speaks very highly of her. 
 Cannot you put it into his head? You remem- 
 ber how well the Cavendishes speak of her." 
 
 " No danger of my forgetting; — nor of Mr. 
 Craig's forgetting it, either. You should see him 
 take off the two ladies in an ecstacy of friend- 
 ship. Nay, it is fair; very fair, if anybody is 
 to be laughed at; and you will hardly pretend to 
 any extra morality on that point." 
 
 "Well; only let Craig keep out of Fanny's 
 way, that's all: but I am afraid Mr. Longe is 
 too open, — too precipitate — " 
 
 " Fanny!" exclaimed Mrs. Berkeley, " I do 
 not think Henry has any thoughts of her." 
 
 " Henry!" repeated Mr. Berkeley, impatient- 
 ly. " The young man grows familiar at a great
 
 THE HALEHA3I RIOT. 63 
 
 rate, I think. So you think it is Melea. Well ; 
 that is not quite so bad, as it leaves more time, 
 more chance of preferment before him. But I 
 wish he had it to-morrow, so that it might pre- 
 vent our seeing any more of him." 
 
 " I am very sorry " Mrs. Berkeley began, 
 
 when her daughters appeared, and it was neces- 
 sary to change the subject. After leaving orders 
 that the horses should be brought down to Mar- 
 tin's farm in an hour, the young ladies accom- 
 panied their father as far as Sloe Lane, down 
 which they turned to go to the farm, while he 
 pursued his way to the workhouse. 
 
 A shrill voice within doors was silenced by 
 Fanny's second tap at the door. The first had 
 not been heard. After a hasty peep through the 
 window, Rhoda appeared on the threshold to 
 invite the young ladies in. Her colour was 
 raised, and her eyes sparkled; which it gave 
 Fanny great concern to see; for no one was 
 present, but Mr. and Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Ca- 
 vendish's baby, which the latter was dandlincr; 
 and Rhoda had never been the kind of girl who 
 could be suspected of quarrelling with her pa- 
 rents. Mrs. Martin seemed to guess what was 
 in Fanny's mind, for she restored the baby to
 
 64 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 the young nursemaids' arms, bade her go and 
 call the other children in from the garden, as it 
 was time they should be going home, and then 
 pointing to some curious matters which lay upon 
 the table. These were fragments of very dark 
 brown bread, whose hue was extensively varie- 
 gated with green mould. Melea turned away 
 in disgust, after a single glance. 
 
 '' Miss Melea has no particular appetite for 
 such bread," observed Mrs. Martin. " Ladies, 
 this is the food Mrs. Cavendish provides for her 
 servants, — aye, and for the children too as long 
 as they will eat it. The grand Mrs. Cavendish, 
 ladies; the great banker's lady." 
 
 " There must be some mistake," said Fanny, 
 quietly. " It may happen " 
 
 "There lies the bread. Miss Berkeley; and 
 my husband and I saw Rhoda take it out of her 
 pocket. Where else she could get such bread, 
 perhaps you can tell us, ma'am." 
 
 " I do not mean to tax Rhoda with falsehood. 
 I mean that it is very possible that, by bad man- 
 agement, a loaf or two may have been kept 
 too long " 
 
 " But just look at the original quality, 
 ma'am." And the farmer and his wife spoke 
 alternately.
 
 THE HALEHAM RIOT 65 
 
 " You should see the red herrings they dine 
 off five days in the week." 
 
 " And the bone pies the other two." 
 
 " Sacks of bad potatoes are bought for the 
 sefvants." 
 
 " The nursemaid and baby sleep under ground, 
 with a brick floor." 
 
 " The maids are to have no fire after the din- 
 ner is cooked in winter, any more than in sum- 
 mer." 
 
 " The errand-boy that was found lying sick 
 in the street, and flogged for being drunk, 
 ma'am, had not so much as half a pint of 
 warm beer, that his mother herself gave him 
 to cheer him; but his stomach was weak, poor 
 fellow, from having had only a hard dumpling 
 all day, and the beer got into his head. Rhoda 
 can testify to it all." 
 
 Fanny was repeatedly going to urge that it 
 was very common to hear such things, and find 
 them exaggerated ; that Rhoda was high-spirit- 
 ed, and had been used to the good living of a 
 farmhouse; and, as an only daughter, might be 
 a little fanciful: but proof followed upon proof, 
 story upon story, till she found it better to en- 
 deavour to change the subject. 
 
 Vol. I.— E 6*
 
 66 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 "If it was such a common instance of a bad 
 place as one hears of every day," observed 
 Martin, " I, for one, should say less about it. 
 But here is a man who comes and gets every 
 body's money into his hands, and puts out his 
 own notes instead, in such a quantity as to 
 raise the price of everything; and then he 
 makes a pretence of these high prices, caused 
 by himself, to starve his dependents; the very 
 children of those whose money he holds." 
 
 ' ' He cannot hold it for a day after they 
 choose to call for it." 
 
 " Certainly, ma'am. But a bank is an ad- 
 vantage people do not like to give up. Just 
 look, now, at the round of Cavendish's dealings 
 He buys corn — of me, we will say — paying me 
 in his own notes. After keeping it in his gran- 
 aries till more of his notes are out, and prices 
 have risen yet higher, he changes it away for 
 an estate, which he settles on his wife. Mean- 
 time, while the good wheat is actually before 
 Rhoda's eyes, he says, ' bread is getting so 
 dear, we can only afford what we give you. 
 We do not buy white bread for servants.' And 
 Bhoda must take out of his hands some of the 
 wages she lodged there to buy white bread, if 
 she raust have it."
 
 THE HALEHAM RIOT 07 
 
 Fanny had some few things to object to this 
 statement; for instance, that Cavendish could 
 not float paper money altogether at random; 
 and that there must be security existing before 
 he could obtain the estate to bestow upon his 
 wife : but the Martins were too full of their 
 own ideas to allow her time to speak. 
 
 " They are all alike, — the whole clan of 
 them," cried Mrs. Martin: " the clergyman no 
 better than the banker. One might know Mr 
 Longe for a cousin; and I will say it, though 
 he is our rector." 
 
 Fanny could not conceal from herself that 
 she had no objection to hear Mr. Longe found 
 fault with ; and she only wished for her father's 
 presence at such times. 
 
 " It has always been the custom, as long as I 
 can remember, and my father before me," ob- 
 served Martin, " for the rector to take his tithes 
 in money. The agreement with the clergyman 
 has been made ii-om year to year as regularly 
 as the rent was paid to the landlord. But now, 
 here is Mr. Longe insisting on having his 
 tithe in kind." 
 
 " In kind! and what will he do with it?" 
 
 " It will take him hdf the year to dispose of
 
 68 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 his fruits," observed Melea, laughing. " Fan- 
 cy him, in the spring, with half a calf, and 
 three dozen cabbages, and four goslings, and 
 a sucking pig. And then will come a cock of 
 hay; and afterwards so much barley, and so 
 much wheat and oats ; and then a sack of ap- 
 ples, and three score of turnips, and pork, dou- 
 ble as much as his household can eat. I hope 
 he will increase his house-keeper's wages out 
 of his own profits: for it seems to me that the 
 trouble must fall on her. Yes, yes; the house- 
 keeper and the errand-man should share the 
 new profits between them." 
 
 "It is for no such purpose. Miss Melea, that 
 he takes up this new fancy. He has no thought 
 of letting any body but himself profit by the 
 change of prices. As for the trouble you 
 speak of, he likes the fiddle-faddle of going 
 about selling his commodities. His cousin, 
 Mrs. Cavendish, will take his pigs, and some 
 of his veal and pork, and cabbages and apples: 
 and he will make his servants live off potatoes 
 and gruel, if there should be more oats and po- 
 tatoes than he knows what to do with." 
 
 *' Let him have as much as he may, he will 
 never send so much as an apple to our lodger," 
 
 m
 
 TH£ HALEHAM RIOT. G9 
 
 observed Mrs. Martin. " He never considers 
 Mr. Craig in any way. If you were to propose 
 raising Mr. Craig's salary, or, what comes to 
 the same thing, paying it in something else than 
 money, he would defy you to prove that he was 
 bound to pay it in any other way than as it was 
 paid four years ago." 
 
 " And it could not be proved, I suppose," 
 said Melea. " Neither can you prove that he 
 may not take his tithe in kind." 
 
 " I wish we could," observed Martin, " and 
 I would thwart him, you may depend upon it. 
 Nothing shall he have from me but what the 
 letter of the law obliges me to give him. But 
 what an unfair state of things it is, ladies, when 
 your rector may have double the tithe property 
 one year that he had the year before, while he 
 pays his curate, in fact, just half what he agreed 
 to pay at the beginning of the contract!" 
 
 While Melea looked even more indignant 
 than Martin himself, her sister observed that 
 the farmer was not the person to complain of 
 the increased value of tithes, since he profited 
 by precisely the same augmentation of the val- 
 ue of produce. The case of the curate she 
 thought a verv hard one; and that equity re- 
 
 m
 
 70 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 quired an increase of his nominal salary, in pro- 
 portion as its value became depreciated. She 
 wished to know, however, whether it had ever 
 entered the farmer's head to offer his landlord 
 more rent in consequence of the rise of prices. 
 If it was unfair that the curate should suffer by 
 the depreciation in the value of money, it was 
 equally unfair in the landlord's case. 
 
 Martin looked somewhat at a loss for an an- 
 swer, till his wife supplied him with one. Be- 
 sides that it would be time enough, she observ- 
 ed, to pay more rent when it was asked for, at 
 the expiration of the lease, it ought to be con- 
 sidered that money was in better hands when 
 the farmer had it to lay out in improving the 
 land and raising more produce, than when the 
 landlord had it to spend fruitlessly. Martin 
 caught at the idea, and went on with eagerness 
 to show how great a benefit it was to society that 
 more beeves should be bred, and more wheat 
 grown in consequence of fewer liveried ser- 
 vants being kept, and fewer journeys to the 
 lakes being made by the landlord. 
 
 Fanny shook her head, and said that this had 
 nothing to do with the original contract between 
 landlord and tenant. Leases were not drawn
 
 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 71 
 
 out with any view to the mode in which the re- 
 spective parties should spend their money. The 
 ')oint now in question was, whether an agreement 
 should be kept to the letter when new circumstan- 
 ces had caused a violation of its spirit ; or whether 
 the party profiting by these new circumstances 
 should not in equity surrender a part of the ad- 
 vantage which the law would permit him to hold. 
 The farmer was not at all pleased to find himself 
 placed on the same side of the question with Mr. 
 Longe, and his favourite Mr. Craig, whose rights 
 he had been so fond of pleading, holding the 
 same ground with Martin's own landlord. 
 
 The argument ended in an agreement that 
 any change like that which had taken place 
 within two years, — any action on the currency, 
 — was a very injurious thing; — not only be- 
 cause it robs some while enriching others, but 
 because it impairs the security of property, — 
 the first bond of the social state. 
 
 Just then, Rhoda and the children burst in 
 from the garden, saying that there must be 
 something the matter in the town; for they had 
 heard two or three shouts, and a scream; and, 
 on looking over the hedge, had seen several 
 men hurrying past, who had evidently left their
 
 72 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 work in the fields on some alarm. Martin 
 snatched his hat and ran out, leaving the young 
 ladies in a state of considerable anxiety. As 
 the farmer had not said when he should come 
 back, and his wife was sure he would stay to 
 see the last of any disaster before he would 
 think of returning home, the girls resolved to 
 walk a little way down the road, and gather 
 such tidings as they could. They had not pro- 
 ceeded more than a furlong from the farm gate 
 before they met their father's groom, with their 
 own two horses and a message from his master. 
 Mr. Berkeley begged his daughters to proceed 
 on their ride without him, as he was detained 
 by a riot at the workhouse. He begged the 
 young ladies not to be at all uneasy,'as the dis- 
 turbance was already put down, and it was on- 
 ly his duty as a magistrate which detained him. 
 The groom could tell nothing of the matter, 
 further than that the outdoor paupers had be- 
 gun the mischief, which presently spread within 
 the workhouse. Some windows had been bro- 
 ken, he believed, but he had not heard of any 
 one being hurt. 
 
 " You have no particular wish to ride, Me- 
 lea, have you?" inquired her sister.
 
 THEIIALEHAM RIOT. 73 
 
 " ?fot at all. I had much rather see these 
 children home. They look so frightened, I 
 hardly know how Rhoda can manage to take 
 care of them all." 
 
 " The horses can be left at the farm for half 
 an hour while George goes with us all to Mr. 
 Cavendish's," observed Fanny: and so it was 
 arranged. 
 
 As the party chose a circuitous way, in order 
 to avoid the bustle of the town, the young la- 
 dies had an opportunity of improving their ac- 
 quaintance with five little Miss Cavendishes, 
 including the baby in arms. At first, the girls 
 would walk only two and two, hand in hand, bolt 
 upright, and answering only "Yes, ma'am, "iVo, 
 ma'am, " to whatever was said to them. By dint of 
 perseverance, however, Melea separated them 
 when fairly in the fields, and made them jump 
 fi"om the stiles, and come to her to have flowers 
 stuck in their bonnets. This latter device first 
 loosened their tongues. 
 
 " Mamma says it stains our bonnets to have 
 flowers put into them," observed Marianna, 
 hesitating. " She says we shall have artificial 
 flowers when we grow bigger." 
 
 Melea was going to take out the garland, 
 7
 
 74 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 when Emma insisted that mamma did not mean 
 these bonnets, but their best bonnets. 
 
 '' O, Miss Berkeley!" thej all cried at once, 
 *' have you seen our best bonnets?" 
 
 " With lilac linings," added one. 
 
 " With muslin rosettes," said another. 
 
 " And Emma's is trimmed round the edge, 
 because she is the oldest," observed little Julia, 
 repiningly. 
 
 " And mamma will not let Julia have ribbon 
 strings till she leaves off sucking them at 
 church," informed Marianna. 
 
 " That is not worse than scraping up the 
 sand to powder the old men's wigs in the aisle," 
 retorted Julia; " and Marianna was punished 
 for that, last Sunday." 
 
 " We do not wish to hear about that," said 
 Fanny. " See how we frightened that pheas- 
 ant on the other side the hedge, just with pul- 
 ling a hazel bough!" 
 
 ^s soon as the pheasant had been watched 
 out of sight, Emma came and nestled herself 
 close to Melea to whisper, 
 
 " Is not it ill-natured of Rhoda? I saw her 
 mother give her a nice large harvest cake, and 
 she will not let us have a bit of it."
 
 THE HALEHA3I RIOT. 75 
 
 *' Are you hungry?" 
 
 " Why, — yes; I think I am beginning to be 
 \ery hungry." 
 
 " You cannot be hungry," said Emma. — 
 '^ You had a fine slice of bread and honey just 
 before Miss Berkeley came in. But Rhoda 
 might as well give us some of her cake. I 
 knov/ she will eat it all up herself." 
 
 " I do not think she will; and, if I were 
 you, I would not ask her for any, but leave her 
 to give it to whom she likes; particulaJy as 
 her mother was so kind as to give you some 
 bread and honey." 
 
 " But we wanted that. Mamma said we 
 need not have any luncheon before we came out, 
 because Mrs. Martin always gives us something 
 to eat. I was so hungry!" 
 
 " If you were hungry, what must 3Iarianna 
 have been? Do you know, Miss Berkeley, 
 Marianna would not take her breakfast. She 
 told a fib yesterday, and mamma says she shall 
 not have any sugar in her tea for three months; 
 and she would not touch a bit this morning. 
 Miss Egg says she will soon grow tired of 
 punishing herself this way ; and that it is quite 
 time to break her spirit."
 
 76 THE IIALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 Marianna overheard this last speech, and 
 added triumphantly. 
 
 " Tom is not to have any sugar, any more 
 than I, Miss Berkeley; and he was shut up 
 half yesterday too. He brought in his kite all 
 wet and draggled from the pond; and what did 
 he do but take it to the drawing-room fire to dry, 
 before the company came. It dripped upon 
 our beautiful new fire-irons, and they are all 
 rusted wherever the tail touched them." 
 
 " The best of it was," interrupted Emma, 
 " the kite caught fire at last, and Tom threw it 
 down into the hearth because it burned his hand; 
 and the smoke made such a figure of the new 
 chimney-piece as you never saw, for it was a 
 very large kite." 
 
 " So poor Tom lost his kite by his careless- 
 ness. Was his hand much burned.^" 
 
 " Yes, a good deal: but Rhoda scraped some 
 potatoe to put upon it." 
 
 " You will help him to make a new kite, I 
 suppose.^" 
 
 " I don't know how," replied one, carelessly. 
 
 "I shan't," cried another. " He threw my 
 old doll into the pond." 
 
 " Miss Egg said that was the best place for
 
 THE HALEHAM RIOT. U 
 
 it," observed Emma; " but she said so because 
 Tom was a favourite that day." And the little 
 girl told in a whisper why Tom was a favourite. 
 He had promised to come up to the school-room 
 and tell iMiss £22 whenever Mr. Lonore was in 
 the parlour, though his mamma had expressly 
 desired him not. But this was a great secret. 
 
 " How shall we stop these poor little crea- 
 tures' tongues?" asked 3Ielea. " There is no 
 interesting them in any thing but what happens 
 at home." 
 
 '• I am very sorry v,e have heard so much of 
 that, indeed," replied Fanny. "I do not see 
 what you can do but run races with them, which 
 your habit renders rather inconvenient." 
 
 The few poor persons they met on the out- 
 skirts of the town afforded occEision for the dis- 
 play of as much insolence on the part of the little 
 Cavendishes as they had before exhibited of un- 
 kindness to each other. The Miss Berkeleys 
 had no intention of paying a visit to Mrs. Ca- 
 vendish, but vrere discerned from a v.-indow while 
 taking leave of their charge, and receiving 
 Rhoda's thanks outside the gate; and once hav- 
 ing brought Mrs. Cavendish out, there wa.s no 
 retreat. — They must come in and rest. Mr.
 
 78 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 Cavendish was gone to learn what was the mat- 
 ter, and they really must stay and hear it. She 
 could not trust them back again unless one of 
 the gentlemen went with them. Terrible dis- 
 orders indeed, she had heard: the magistrates 
 threatened, — and Mr. Berkeley a magistrate ! 
 Had they heard that the magistrate had been 
 threatened? 
 
 Melea believed that this was the case once a 
 week at the least. But what else had happened ? 
 
 O ! they must come in and hear. There was 
 a friend within who could tell all about it. And 
 Mrs. Cavendish tripped before them into the 
 drawing room, where sat Miss Egg and Mr. 
 Longe. 
 
 The one looked m.ortified, the other de- 
 lighted. As Mr. Longe's great vexation was 
 that he could never contrive to make himself of 
 consequence with Fanny, it was a fine thing to 
 have the matter of the conversation completely 
 in his own power to-day. Fanny could not help 
 being anxious about her father, and from Mr. 
 Longe alone could she hear anything about him : 
 and the gentleman made the most of such an 
 opportunity of fixing her attention. He would 
 have gained far more favour by going straight
 
 THE IIALEIIAM UIOT. 79 
 
 to the point, and telling exactly what she "\vant< 
 ed to know; but he amplified, described, com- 
 mented, and even moralized before he arrived 
 at the proof that Mr. Berkeley was not, and had 
 not been, in any kind of danger. — When this was 
 once out, Mr. Longe's time of privilege was 
 over, and it was evident that he was not listened 
 to on his own account. Then did Miss Egg 
 quit her task of entertaining Mclea, and listen 
 to Mr. Longe more earnestly than ever. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you two draw together 
 so pleasantly," said Mrs. Cavendish to Melea, 
 nodding to indicate Miss Egg as the other party 
 of whom she was speaking. " I feel it such a 
 privilege to have a friend like her to confide my 
 children to, and one that I can welcome into my 
 drawincr-room on the footing of a friend !" 
 
 " I have heard that Miss Egg is devoted to 
 her occupation," observed Melea. 
 
 " O, entirely. There is the greatest difficul- 
 ty in persuading her to relax, I assure you. And 
 all without the smallest occasion for her going 
 out, except .her disinterested attachment to me. 
 You should see her way with the children, — how 
 she makes them love her. She has such sensi- 
 bility !"
 
 80 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 "What is the peculiarity of her method? " 
 inquired Melea. " She gives me to understand 
 that there is some one peculiarity." 
 
 " O yes. It is a peculiar method that has 
 been wonderfully successful abroad; and indeed 
 I see that it is, by my own children, though 1 
 seldom go into the school-room. Great self- 
 denial, is it not? But I would not interfere foi 
 the world. — O," — seeing Melea waiting for an 
 exposition of the system, — " she uses a black 
 board and white chalk. We had the board 
 made as soon as we came and fixed up in the 
 school-room, — and white chalk. — But I would 
 not interfere for the world; and I assure you I 
 am quite afraid of practising on her feelings in 
 any way. She has such sensibility I" 
 
 Well, but, — the peculiarity of method. And 
 Melea explained that she was particularly 
 anxious to hear all that was going on in the 
 department of education, as a boy was expected 
 to arrive soon at her father's — a little lad of ten 
 years old from India, who would be placed part- 
 ly under her charge, and might remain some 
 years in their house. 
 
 Indeed ! Well, Miss Egg questioned the 
 children very much. So much, that Mr. Ca-
 
 THE HALEHA:.! RIOT. 81 
 
 venJish and herself took particular care not to 
 question them at all, both because they had 
 quite enough of it from Miss Egg, and because 
 the papa and mamma were afraid of interfering 
 with the methods of the governess. And then, 
 for what was not taught by questions, there was 
 the black board and white chalk. — But, after all, 
 the great thing was that the teacher should have 
 sensibility, without which she could not gain the 
 hearts of children, or understand their little 
 feelings. 
 
 All was now very satisfactory. Melea had 
 obtained the complete recipe of education: — 
 questions, sensibility, and chalk. 
 
 Mr. Longe was by this time hoping that the 
 Miss Berkeleys would offer to go away, that he 
 might escort them home before any one else 
 should arrive to usurp the office. Mortifying 
 as it was to him to feel himself eclipsed by his 
 curate, he was compelled to acknowledge in his 
 ovrn mind that he was so as often as Henry 
 Craig was present, and that it was therefore pol- 
 itic to make such advances as he could during 
 Henry's absence. Mr. Longe 's non-residence 
 was a great disadvantage to him. Living fifteen 
 miles off, and doing duty in another church, he 
 
 Vol T— F
 
 82 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 was out of the way on many little occasions of 
 ingratiating himself, and could never be invested 
 with that interest which Henry Craig inspired 
 in a peculiar degree as a religious teacher and 
 devotional guide. The only thing to be done 
 was to visit Haleham and the Berkeleys as often 
 as possible during Henry's absence, to obtain the 
 favour of Fanny's father, and to show the lady 
 herself that an accomplished clergyman, who 
 could quote the sayings of various friends who 
 moved in "the best society," who knew the 
 world a thousand times better than Henry Craig, 
 and could appreciate herself as well as her little 
 fortune, was not to be despised. He was at this 
 moment longing to intimate to her what en- 
 couragement he had this very day received from 
 her father, when, to his great disappointment, 
 Mr. Berkeley and Mr. Cavendish came in to- 
 gether, — just in time to save Fanny's call from 
 appearing inordinately long. 
 
 " All over ^ All safe ? How relieved we are 
 to see you !" exclaimed the clergyman. 
 
 " Safe, my dear Sir? Yes. What would you 
 have us be afraid of?" said Mr. Berkeley, 
 who, however, carried traces of recent agitation 
 in his countenance and manner.
 
 THE HALEHA.-M RIOT. 83 
 
 *' Father I" said Melea, "you do not mean 
 to say that nothing more has happened than you 
 meet with from the paupers every week." 
 
 " Only being nearly tossed in a blanket, my 
 dear, that's all. And Pye was all but kicked 
 down stairs. But we have them safe now, — 
 the young ladies and all. Ah ! Melea; you have 
 a good deal to learn yet about the spirit of 
 your sex, my dear. The women beat the men 
 hollow this morning." 
 
 Mr. Cavendish observed that the glaziers 
 would be busy for some days, the women within 
 the workhouse having smashed every pane of 
 every window within reach, while the out-door 
 paupers were engaging the attention of magis- 
 trates, constables, and governor. 
 
 "But v.'hat was it all about?" asked Fanny. 
 
 " The paupers have been complaining of two 
 or three things for some weeks past, and they 
 demanded the redress of all in a lump to-day; 
 as if we magistrates could alter the Avhole state 
 of things in a day to please them. In the first 
 place, they one and all asked more pay, because 
 the same allowance buys only two-thirds what it 
 bought when the icale was fixed. This they 
 charged upon Cavendish and me. It is well you
 
 84 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 were not there, Cavendish; you would hardly 
 have got away again." 
 
 " Why, what would they have done with me?" 
 asked Cavendish, with a constrained simper, and 
 a pull up of the head which was meant to be 
 heroic. 
 
 " In addition to the tossing they intended for 
 me, they would have given you a ducking, de- 
 pend upon it. Heartily as they hate all bank- 
 ers, they hate the Haleham banker above all. 
 Indeed I heard some of them wish they had you 
 laid neatly under the workhouse pump." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! very good, very pleasant, and 
 refreshing on a warm day like this," said Ca- 
 vendish, wiping his forehead, while nobody else 
 was aware that the day was particularly warm. 
 " Well, Sir; and what did you do to appease 
 these insolent fellows?" 
 
 "Appease them! O, I soon managed that. 
 A cool man can soon get the better of half a 
 dozen passionate ones, you know." 
 
 The girls looked with wonder at one another; 
 for they knew that coolness in emergencies was 
 one of the last qualities their father had to boast 
 of. Fanny was vexed to see that Mr. Longe 
 observed and interpreted the look. She divined
 
 THE HALEHA3I RIOT. 85 
 
 by his half-smile, that he did not think her fa- 
 ther had been very cool. 
 
 " I desired them to go about their business," 
 continued Mr. Berkeley, " and when that would 
 not do, I called the constables," 
 
 " Called indeed," whispered Mr. Longe to 
 his cousin. " It would have been strange if 
 they had not heard him." 
 
 " But what were the other complaints. Sir?" 
 inquired Fanny, wishing her father to leave the 
 rest of his peculiar adventure to be told at 
 home. 
 
 '• Every man of them refused to take dollars. 
 They say that no more than five shillings' worth 
 of commodities, even at the present prices, is to 
 be had for a dollar, notwithstanding the govern- 
 ment order that it shall pass at five and sixpence. 
 Unless, therefore, we would reckon the dollar at 
 five shillings, they would not take it." 
 
 " Silly fellows !" exclaimed Cavendish. " If 
 they would step to London, they would see no- 
 tices in the shop-windows that dollars are taken 
 at five and ninepence, and even at six shil- 
 lings." 
 
 "There must be some cheating there, how- 
 ever," replied Mr. Berkeley; '" for you and I 
 8
 
 86 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 know that dollars are not now really worth four 
 and sixpence. Those London shopkeepers 
 must want to sell them for the melting-pot; or 
 they have two prices." 
 
 " Then how can you expect these paupers to 
 be satisfied with dollars?" inquired Melea. 
 
 " What can we do, Miss Melea?" said Ca- 
 vendish. " There is scarcely any change to 
 be had. You cannot conceive the difficulty of 
 carrying on business just now, for want of 
 change." 
 
 * "The dollars have begun to disappear since 
 the goverment order came out, like all the rest 
 of the coin," observed Mr. Berkeley: " but yet 
 they were almost the only silver coin we had: 
 and when these fellows would not take them, for 
 all we could say, we were obliged to pay them 
 chiefly in copper. While we sent hither and 
 thither, to the grocer's and the draper's " 
 
 " And the bank," observed Cavendish, conse- 
 quentially. 
 
 " Aye, aye: but we sent to the nearest places 
 first, for there was no time to lose. While, as 
 I was saying, the messengers were gone, the 
 paupers got round poor Pye, and abused him 
 heartily. I began to think of proposing an ad-
 
 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 87 
 
 journment to the court-yard, for I reallj expect- 
 ed they would kick him down the steps into the 
 street." 
 
 "Poor innocent man! What could they 
 abuse him for?" asked Melea. 
 
 " Only for not having his till full of coin, as 
 it used to be. As if it was not as great a hard- 
 ship to him as to his neighbours, to have no 
 change. He is actually obliged, he tells me, to 
 throw together his men's wages so as to make 
 an even sum in pounds, and pay them in a lump, 
 leaving them to settle the odd shillings and 
 pence among themselves." 
 
 " With a bank in the same street !" exclaimed 
 Fanny. 
 
 Cavendish declared that his bank issued 
 change as fast as it could be procured, but that 
 it all disappeared immediately, except the 
 halfpence, in which, therefore, they made as 
 large a proportion of their payments as their 
 customers would receive. People began to use 
 canvass bags to carry their change in; and no 
 wonder; since there were few pockets that 
 would bear fifteen shillings' worth of halfpence. 
 The bank daily paid away as much as fifteen 
 shillings' worth to one person.
 
 88 THE HALEHAM RIOT. 
 
 Mr. Berkeley avouched the partners of the 
 
 D bank to be equally at a loss to guess 
 
 where all the coin issued by them went to. Mrs. 
 Cavendish complained of the difficulty of shop- 
 ping and marketing without change. Miss Egg 
 feared Mr. Longe must be at great trouble in 
 collecting his dues of tithes; and the rector 
 took fidvantage of the hint to represent his re- 
 quiring them in kind as proceeding from con- 
 sideration for the convenience of the farmers. 
 
 All agreed that the present state of the mon- 
 ey system of the country was too strange and 
 inconvenient to last long. Though some peo- 
 ple seemed to be growing 'rich in a very extra- 
 ordinary way, and there was therefore a party 
 every where to insist that all was going right, 
 the complaints of landlords, stipendiaries, and 
 paupers would make themselves heard and 
 attended to, and the convenience of all who 
 were concerned in exchanges could not be long 
 thwarted, if it was desired to avoid very disa- 
 greeable consequences. 
 
 So the matter was settled in anticipation by 
 the party in Mr. Cavendish's drawing-room, 
 immediately after which the Berkeleys took 
 their leave, attended by Mr. Longe.
 
 WI.VE AND WISD031. 89 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 A CHANGE was indeed inevitable, as Mr. Cav- 
 endish well knew; and to prepare for it had 
 been the great object of his life for some time 
 past. To make the most of his credit, while 
 the credit of bankers was high, was what he 
 talked of to his wife as the duty of a family 
 man; and she fuily agreed in it, as she well 
 mio;ht. since she had brought him a little fortune, 
 which had long ago been lost, partly through 
 speculation, and partly through the extrava- 
 gance which had marked the beginning of their 
 married life, 3Irs. Cavendish had not the 
 least objection to getting this money back again, 
 if it could be obtained by her husband's credit ; 
 and she spared no pains to lessen the family ex- 
 penses, and increase, by her influence, the dis- 
 posable means of the bank, on the understand- 
 ing that, as soon as the profits should amount 
 to a sufficient sum, they should be applied to 
 the purchase of an estate, which was to be set- 
 tled upon herself Thus she would not only re- 
 8*
 
 90 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 gain her due, but some resource would be se- 
 cured in case of the very probable chance of a 
 crash before all Mr. Cavendish's objects were 
 attained. Economy was therefore secretly 
 practised by both in their respective depart- 
 ments, while they kept up a show of opulence; 
 and the activity of the gentleman in his various 
 concerns procured him the name of Jack of all 
 trades. Nobody could justly say, however, 
 that he was master of none; for in the art of 
 trading with other people's money he was an 
 adept. 
 
 When he opened his bank, his disposable 
 means were somewhat short of those with which 
 bankers generally set up business. He had, 
 Hke others, the deposits lodged by customers, 
 /vliich immediately amounted to a considerable 
 sum, as he did not disdain to receive the small- 
 est deposits, used no ceremony in asking for 
 them from all the simple folks who came in his 
 way, and offered a larger interest than common 
 upon them. He had also the advantage of 
 lodgments of money to be transmitted to some 
 distant place, or paid at some future time; and 
 he could occasionally make these payments in 
 the paper of his bank. Again, he had his own
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 91 
 
 notes, which he circulated very extensively, 
 without being particularly scrupulous as to 
 whether he should be able to answer the de- 
 mands they might bring upon him. One class 
 of disposable means, however, he managed to 
 begin banking without, — and that was, capital 
 of his own. The little that he had, and what 
 he had been able to borrow, were invested in 
 the corn, coal, and timber concern; and upon 
 this concern the bank v/holly depended. He 
 undersold all the corn, coal, and timber mer- 
 chants in the county, which it was less imme- 
 diately ruinous to do when prices were at the 
 highest than either before or after; and, by thus 
 driving a trade, he raised money enough to 
 meet the first return of his notes. This ner- 
 vous beginning being got over, he went on flour- 
 ishingly, getting his paper out in all directions, 
 and always contriving to extend his other busi- 
 ness in proportion, by a greater or less degree 
 of underselling, till he began to grow so san- 
 guine, that his wife took upon herself the task of 
 watching whether he kept cash enough in the 
 bank to meet any unexpected demand. The 
 money thus kept in hand yielding no interest, 
 while every other employment of banker's cap-
 
 92 WIXE AND WISDOM. , 
 
 ital, — the discounting of bills, the advance- 
 ment of money in o^ erdrawn accounts, and the 
 investment in government securities, — does 
 yield interest, bankers are naturally desirous of 
 keeping as small a sum as possible in this un- 
 productive state; and never banker ventured to 
 reduce his cash in hand to a smaller amount 
 than Cavendish. His wife perpetually asked 
 him how he was prepared for the run of a sin- 
 gle hour upon his bank, if such a thing should 
 happen? to which he as often replied by ask- 
 ing when he had ever pretended to be so pre- 
 pared? and, moreover, what occasion there 
 was to be so prepared, when nobody was dream- 
 ing of a run, and when she knew perfectly well 
 that the best thing he could do would be to stop 
 payment at the very commencement of a panic, 
 having beforehand. placed all his property out 
 of the reach of his creditors. 
 
 Such were his means, and such the principles 
 of his profits; — means which could be success- 
 fully employed, principles which could be plau- 
 sibly acted upon, only in the times of banking 
 run mad, when, the currency having been des- 
 perately tampered with, the door was opened to 
 abuses of every sort; and the imprudence of
 
 WIXE AND -WISDOM. [)S 
 
 some parties encouraged the knavery of others, 
 to the permanent injury of every class of socie- 
 ty in turn. 
 
 As for the expenses of the Haleham bank, 
 they were easily met. The owner of the house 
 took out the rent and repairs in coals; and 
 Enoch Pye was paid in the same way for the 
 necessary stationary, stamps, Sec; so that there 
 remained only the taxes, and the salaries of the 
 people employed — a part of the latter being de- 
 tained as deposits. Thus Mr. Cavendish 
 achieved his pDlicy of having as many incom- 
 ings and as few outgoings, except his own notes, 
 as possible. 
 
 It is not to be supposed but that Cavendish 
 suffered much from apprehension of his credit 
 being shaken, not bv anv circumstances which 
 should suggest the idea of a run to his confid- 
 ing neighbours, but through the watchfulness 
 of other banking firms. As it is for the inter- 
 est of all banks that banking credit should be 
 preserved, a jealous observation is naturally 
 exercised by the fraternity, the consciousness 
 of which must be extrem(?ly irksome to the un- 
 sound. The neighbourhood of the Berkeley 
 family was very unpleasant to the Cavendishes,
 
 94 WIN! AND WISDOM. 
 
 though no people could be more unsuspicious 
 or less prying: such, at least, was the charac- 
 ter of the ladies; and Mr. Berkeley was, 
 though a shrewd man, so open in his manner, 
 and, notwithstanding a strong tinge of world- 
 liness, so simple in his ways of thinking and 
 acting, that even Mr. Cavendish would have 
 had no fear of him, but for the fact of his hav- 
 ing a son of high reputation as a man of bu- 
 siness in a bank in London. Cavendish could 
 not bear to hear of Horace; and dreaded, 
 above all things, the occasional visits of the 
 young man to his family. Never, since he 
 settled at Haleham, had he been so panic- 
 struck, as on learning, in the next spring, that 
 Horace had been seen alighting at his father's 
 gate from the stage-coach from London. 
 
 Horace's sisters were little more prepared 
 for his arrival than Mr. Cavendish. There 
 was some mystery in his visit, as they judged 
 from the shortness of the notice he gave them, 
 from its being an unusual time of year for him 
 to take holiday, and from their father's alterna- 
 tions of mood. Yet it seemed as if Horace 
 had never been so much wanted. Fanny, es- 
 pecially, needed his support in her rejection of
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 95 
 
 Mr. Longe, whom her father was disposed not 
 only to favour, but almost to force upon her. 
 In his gloomy moods, he told her that she little 
 knew what she was about in refusing such an 
 establishment, and recurred to the old intima- 
 tion, that his daughters had better prepare 
 themselves for a reverse of fortune. When in 
 high spirits, he wearied Fanny with jests on 
 Mr. Longe 's devotion to her, and with exhibi- 
 tions of all his accomplishments; and when 
 prevailed upon to quit the subject, he let her 
 see, in the midst of all his professions about 
 leaving perfect liberty of choice to his children, 
 that he meant never to forgive Mr. Longe 's 
 final rejection. Melea, and even Mrs. Berke- 
 ley, could do nothing but sympathize and hope: 
 Horace was the only one who could effectually 
 interfere. Did he come for this purpose? the 
 sisters asked one another; or was it, could it 
 be, to interfere with some one else, who was as 
 much less acceptable than Mr. Longe to their 
 father, as he was more so to themselves? 
 Could Horace be come, Melea wondered, to 
 call Henry Craig to account for being at the 
 house so often? 
 
 It was a great relief to her to find Horace's
 
 96 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 head so full of business as it appeared to be. 
 She would have complained of this, if such 
 had been his mood during his last visit; but 
 now she had no objection to see him turn from 
 his favourite bed of hepaticas and jonquils, to 
 answer with animation some question of his 
 father's about the price of gold; and when, for 
 the first time in her life, she had dreaded riding 
 with him between the hawthorn hedges, and 
 over the breezy downs which they used to haunt 
 as children, her spirits actually rose, because, 
 at the most interesting point of the ride, he 
 woke out of a reverie to ask what proportion 
 of Cavendish's notes, in comparison with oth- 
 er kinds of money, she supposed to be in the 
 hands of the poorer sort of her acquaintance 
 in the town. 
 
 In fact, nothing was further from Horace's 
 thoughts, when he came down, than any inter- 
 vention in favour of or against either of the 
 clergymen, however much interest he felt in 
 his sister's concerns, when he became a witness 
 of what was passing. The reason of his jour- 
 ney was, that he wished to communicate with 
 his father on certain suspicious appearances, 
 which seemed to indicate that all was not going
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 97 
 
 on right at Cavendish's; and also to give his 
 
 opinion to the partners of the D bank as to 
 
 what steps they should take respecting some 
 forged notes, for which payment had lately been 
 demanded of them. When two or three ex- 
 cursions to D had been made by the father 
 
 and son, and when, on three successive days, 
 they had remained in the dining-room for hours 
 after tea was announced, the ladies began to 
 grow extremely uneasy as to the cause of all 
 this consultation, — of their father's gravity and 
 Horace's reveries. Horace perceived this, 
 and urged his father to take the whole of their 
 little family into his confidence, intimating the 
 comfort that it would be to him to be able to 
 open his mind to his daughters when his son 
 must leave him, and the hardship that it was to 
 his mother to be restrained from speaking of 
 that which was uppermost in her mind to those 
 in whose presence she lived every hour of the 
 day. It was difficult to imagine what could be 
 Mr. Berkeley's objection to confidence in this 
 particular instance, while it was his wont to 
 speak openly of his affairs to all his children 
 alike. He made some foolish excuses, — such 
 as asking what girls should know about bank- 
 VoL. I— G 9
 
 98 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 ing affairs, and how it was possible that they 
 should care about the matter ? — excuses so fool- 
 ish, that his son was convinced that there was 
 some other reason at the bottom of this reserve. 
 Whatever it was, however, it gave way at 
 length ; and Horace had permission to tell them 
 as much as he pleased. 
 
 " Must you go, mother?" he asked that af- 
 ternoon, as Mrs. Berkeley rose to leave the 
 table after dinner. " We want you to help us 
 to tell my sisters what we have been consulting 
 about ever since I came." 
 
 The ladies instantly resumed their seats. 
 
 " How frightened Fanny looks!" observed 
 her father, laughing; " and Melea is bracing 
 herself up, as if she expected to see a ghost. 
 My dears, what are you afraid of?" 
 
 " Nothing, father; but suspense has tried us 
 a little, that is all. We believe you would not 
 keep bad news from us; but we have hardly 
 known what to think or expect for some days 
 past." 
 
 " Expect nothing, my dears; for nothing par- 
 ticular is going to happen, that I know of; and 
 it may do me a serious injury if you look as if 
 you believed there was. The bank is not going
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 99 
 
 to fail; nor am I thinking of locking up Fanny, 
 because she will not accept Mr. Longe. Fan- 
 ny shall have her o\sti way about that; and I 
 will never mention the fellow to her again." 
 
 Fanny burst into tears; and her father, in- 
 stead of showing any of his usual irritation on 
 this subject, drew her to him, and said he was 
 sorry for having teased her so long about a 
 shabby, boasting, artful wretch, who deserved 
 to be posted for a swindler. 
 
 " Father !" exclaimed Melea, who thought 
 this judgment upon Mr. Longe as extravagant 
 in one direction as the former in another. 
 
 " I would not say exactly that," interposed 
 Horace; "but there is no question about his 
 being unworthy of Fanny; and I would do all 
 I fairly could to prevent his having her, if she 
 liked him ever so well. As she does not like 
 him, there is no occasion to waste any more 
 words upon him." 
 
 As Horace laid an emphasis on the last word, 
 Melea's heart rose to her lips. Henry's name 
 was to come next, she feared. The name, how- 
 ever was avoided. Her father put his arm 
 round her as she sat next him, saying, — 
 
 *' As for you, my little Melea, we shall lot
 
 100 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 you alone about such matters for some years to 
 come. When you are five-and-twenty, like 
 Fanny, we may teaze you as we have been 
 teazing her; but what has a girl of eighteen to 
 do with such grave considerations as settling in 
 life ? You are too young for cares, dear. B« 
 free and gay for a few years, while you can; 
 and remember that it is only in novels that girls 
 marry under twenty now-a-days. Trust your 
 best friend for wishing to make you happy, and 
 helping you to settle, when the right time and 
 the right person come together." 
 
 Melea smiled amidst a few tears. She owned 
 that this was very kindly said; but she did not 
 the less feel that it was not at all to the purpose 
 of her case, and that she could not depute it to 
 anybody to judge when was the right time, and 
 who was the right person. 
 
 " Fanny is longing to know what has so sud- 
 denly changed your opinion of her suitor," ob- 
 served Mrs. Berkeley, in order to give Melea 
 time to recover. " Unless you explain yourself, 
 my dear, she will run away with the notion that 
 he has actually been swindling." 
 
 Mr. Berkeley thought such transactions as 
 Longe's deserved a name very nearly as bad as
 
 WIXE .VXD •U-;:-D03I. iJl 
 
 swindling. Horace, who had for particular rea- 
 sons been enquiringlately into the charactc-s of 
 the whole Cavendish connexion, had learned that 
 liOnge had debts, contracted when at college, and 
 that he had been paying off some of them in a 
 curious manner lately. He had not only insisted 
 on taking his tithe in kind, and on being paid 
 his other dues in the legal coin of the realm, — 
 which he had an undoubted right to do; but 
 he had sold his guineas at twenty-seven shil- 
 lings, and even his dollars at six shillings; while 
 he had paid his debts in bank-notes; — in those 
 of his cousin's bank wherever he could contrive 
 to pass them. 
 
 " Shabby, very shabby," Horace pronounced 
 this conduct, and, as far as selling the coin went, 
 illegal ; but it was no more than many worthier 
 people were doing now, under the strong tempta- 
 tion held out by the extraordinary condition of 
 the currency. Those are chiefly to blame for 
 such frauds who had sported with the circulat- 
 ing medium, and brought the whole system of 
 exchanges into its present ticklish state. 
 
 " How came it into this state?" asked Melea. 
 ' ' Who began meddling with it .'' We shall never 
 understand, unless you tell us from the begin- 
 ning." 9*
 
 103 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 " From the very beginning, Melea? From 
 the days when men used to exchange wheat 
 against bullocks, and clothing of skins against 
 wicker huts?" 
 
 " No, no. We can imagine a state of bar- 
 ter; and we have read of the different kinds of 
 rude money in use when people first began to 
 see the advantage of a circulating medium; — 
 skins in one country, shells in another, and 
 wedges of salt in a third: and we know that 
 metals were agreed upon among civilized poeple, 
 as being the best material to make money 
 of; and that to save the trouble of perpetually 
 examining the pieces, they were formed and 
 stamped, and so made to signify certain values. 
 And " 
 
 " And do you suppose they always keep the 
 same value in reality; supposing them of the 
 due weight and fineness?" 
 
 *' No, certainly. They become of less and 
 greater value in proportion to the quantity 
 of them; in the same way as other commodi- 
 ties are cheap or dear in proportion to the sup- 
 ply in the market. And I suppose this is the 
 reason why money is now so cheap, — there 
 being a quantity of paper money in the market
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 103 
 
 in addition to the coin there was before. But 
 then, I cannot understand where the coin is all 
 gone, if it be true that we have too much money 
 in consequence of its circulating together with 
 paper." 
 
 " The coin is gone abroad, and more paper 
 still has taken the place of it. This is proved 
 by two circumstances; first, that all commodities 
 except money have risen in price ; and secondly, 
 that we have more foreign goods than usual in 
 the market, notwithstanding the war." 
 
 '' To be sure, less of every thing being given 
 in exchange for one thing proves that there is 
 more of that one thing to be disposed of. And 
 the foreign goods you speak of pour in, I sup- 
 pose in return for the gold we send abroad." 
 
 " Yes. A guinea buys nearly as much 
 abroad as it bought three years ago, while it 
 buys much less at home, — (unless indeed it be 
 sold in an illegal manner.) Our guineas are 
 therefore sent abroad, and goods come in 
 return." 
 
 Fanny thought it had been also illegal to ex- 
 port guineas. So it was, her father told her; 
 but the chances of escaping detection were so 
 great that many braved the penalty for the sake
 
 104 VVINi; l\D WISDOM, 
 
 of the speculation ; and, in fact, the greater part of 
 the money issued by the mint was so disposed of. 
 He took up the newspaper of the day, and 
 showed her an account of a discovery that had 
 been made on board a ship at Dover. This ship, 
 — the New Union, of London — was found on the 
 first search to contain four thousand and fifty 
 guineas; and there was every reason to believe 
 that a much larger sum v/as on board, concealed 
 in places hollowed out for the reception of gold. 
 Horace told also of a ship being stopped on 
 leaving port, the week before, on board of which 
 ten thousand guineas had been found. 
 
 " What an enormous expense it must be to 
 coin 30 much money in vain!" exclaimed Fanny. 
 " It seems as if the bankers and the government 
 worked in direct opposition to each other; the 
 one issuing paper to drive out gold; and the 
 other supplying more money continually to de- 
 preciate the value of that which the banks put 
 out." 
 
 " And in putting out paper money," observed 
 Melea, "we seem to throw away the only regu- 
 lator of the proportion of money to commodi- 
 ties. While we have coin only, we may be 
 pretty sure that when there is too much of it, it
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 105 
 
 will go away to buy foreign goods; and when 
 too little, that more will flow in from foreigners 
 coming to buy of us: but our banker's notes 
 not being current out of England, we may be 
 flooded with them and find no vent." 
 
 "And then," observed Mrs. Berkeley, sigh- 
 ing, as if with some painful recollection, "comes 
 a lessening of the value of money; and then 
 follow laws to forbid the value being lessened; 
 and next, of course, breaches of the law " 
 
 " A law !" exclaimed Melea. " Was there 
 ever a law to prevent an article which is par- 
 ticularly plentiful being cheap .^ It seems to me 
 that the shortest and surest way for the law- 
 makers is to destroy the superabundance, and 
 thus put cheapness out of the question." 
 
 Horace laujjhed, and asked what she thought 
 of a government that first encouraged an un- 
 limited issue of paper money by withdrawing 
 the limitations which had previously existed, and 
 then made a solemn declaration that the notes 
 thus issued were and must remain, in despite 
 of their quantity, of the same value as the 
 scarce metal they were intended to represent. 
 Melea supposed this an impossible case; a 
 caricature of human folly.
 
 106 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 " Do you mean," said she, " that if where 
 there had been a hundred pounds in gold to ex- 
 change against commodities, eighty of them dis- 
 appeared, and a hundred and eighty pound notes 
 were added, those two hundred notes and pounds 
 were each to buy as much as when there was 
 only one hundred? Did the government de- 
 clare this?" 
 
 " Its declaration was pi;ecisely on this 
 principle." 
 
 " How very absurd ! It is only condemning 
 half the money to remain over, unused, when 
 the commodities are all exchanged." 
 
 " It might as well have been thrown into the 
 fire before the exchanging began," observed 
 Fanny. 
 
 "If it had been held in a common stock," 
 replied her brother: "but as long as it is pri- 
 vate property, how is it to be determined whose 
 money shall be destroyed?" 
 
 " Or whose to remain unused," added Melea. 
 
 " Is it not to be supposed," asked Horace, 
 " that the buyers and sellers will make any kind 
 of sly and circuitous bargain which may enable 
 them to suit their mutual convenience, or that 
 the buyers will, if possible, avoid buying, rather
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 107 
 
 than submit to have half their money rendered 
 useless by an interference which benefits no- 
 body?" 
 
 " The buyers and sellers will come to a quiet 
 compromise," observed Fanny. " The seller 
 will say, ' You shall have thirty shillings' worth 
 of goods for two pound notes, which will be bet- 
 ter worth your while than getting nothing in ex- 
 change for your second note, and better worth 
 my while than letting you slip as a customer, 
 though I, in my turn, shall get only thirty shil- 
 lings' worth for these two notes. ' And the buyer 
 agreeing to this, the notes will continue to cir- 
 culate at the value of fifteen shillings each." 
 
 " In defiance of the punishment of the law," 
 added Mrs. Berkeley, again sighing. 
 
 " One would think," observed her husband, 
 "that there are crimes and misdemeanours 
 enough for the law to take notice of, without 
 treating as such contracts which, after all, are 
 as much overruled by the natural laws of distri- 
 bution as by the will of the contractors. It 
 would be as wise to pillory by the side of a 
 sheep-stealer, a man who sells potatoes dear 
 after a bad season, as to fine a man for getting 
 a little with his depreciated money, rather than
 
 108 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 get nothing at all. Your mother could tell you 
 of something worse than any fine that has been 
 inflicted for such a factitious offence." 
 
 "Melea gives us up, I see," said Horace. 
 " She can never esteem us again, father, while 
 we are aiding and abetting in circulating this 
 horrible paper money. She would make a bon- 
 fire of all the bank notes in Great Britian as they 
 are returned to the bankers. Would not you, 
 Melea?" 
 
 " I do not see why I should run into such an 
 extreme," she replied. " If there were no means 
 of limiting the quantity of paper money, I might 
 speculate on such a bonfire ; but if a moderate 
 amount of bank notes saves the expense of using 
 gold and silver, I do not see why the saving 
 should not be made." 
 
 " If white ware and glass answered all the 
 purposes of gold and silver plate," observed Fan- 
 ny, " it would be wise to set apart our gold and 
 silver to make watches, and other things that are 
 better made of the precious metals than of any- 
 thing else. — What do you suppose to be the ex- 
 pense of a metallic currency to this country, 
 Horace.?" 
 
 Horace believed that the expense of a gold
 
 WIXE AVD WISDOM, 109 
 
 currency was about one million to every ten mil- 
 lions circulated: that is, that the 10 per cent, 
 profit which the metal would have brought, if 
 employed productively, is lost by its being used 
 as a circulating medium. This, however, is not 
 the only loss to the country, the wear of coin, 
 and its destruction by accidents, being cr-nsid- 
 erable; besides which, much less employment is 
 afforded by coining, than by working up gold for 
 other purposes. Supposing the gold currency of 
 the country to be thirty millions, the expense of 
 providing it could scarcely be reckoned at less 
 than four millions; a sum which it is cert duly 
 desirable to save, if it can be done by fair 
 means. 
 
 " The metals being bought by our goods," 
 observed Fanny, " it seems to be a clear loss to 
 use them unproductively. The only question 
 therefore appears to be whether bank notes make 
 a good substitute. They might, I suppose, by 
 good management, be made sufficiently steady 
 in value. They might, by common agreement, 
 be made to signifyany varietyof convenient sums. 
 They may be much more easily carried about ; a 
 note for the largest sum being no heavier than 
 for the smallest. There is not the perfect like- 
 10
 
 110 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 ness of one to another that there is in coins of 
 the same denomination, but the nature of the 
 promise they bear upon their faces serves as an 
 equivalent security. As to their durability and 
 their beauty, there is little to be said." 
 
 " As to their beauty, very little," replied Hor- 
 ace; " for, if a new bank note is a pretty thing, 
 few things are uglier than a solid, and pasted, 
 and crumpled one. But, with respect to their 
 durability, you should remember that it signifies 
 little in comparison with that of a medium which 
 is also a commodity. If a bank note is burned, 
 the country looses nothing. It is the misfortune 
 of the holder, and a gain to the banker from 
 whose bank it was issued." 
 
 " Like a guinea being dropped in the street, 
 and presently picked up," observed Melea. — 
 " It is not lost, but only changes hands by ac- 
 cident. Yet it seems as if there must be a loss 
 when a lOOl. bank note goes up the chimney in 
 smoke, leaving only that below with which child- 
 ren may play ' there goes the parson, and there 
 goes the clerk.' " 
 
 " Nay," said Horace, " consider what a 
 bank note is. What are the essentials of a 
 bank note, Melea?"
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. Ill 
 
 " It would be strange if we did not know 
 what a bank note was, would it not, father, 
 when you have been spreading them before our 
 eyes continually for this twelvemonth? First 
 comes ' I promise to pay -' " 
 
 " Never mind the words. The words in 
 which the promise is made are not essential." 
 
 " A bank note is a promissory note for a defi- 
 nite sum; and it must be stamped." 
 
 " And payable on demand. Do not forget 
 that, pray. It is this which makes it differ from 
 all other promissory notes. — Well, now: what is 
 the intrinsic value of a bank note r Its cost of 
 production is so small as to be scarcely calcu- 
 lable." 
 
 " It is, in fact, circulating credit," observed 
 Melea; "which is certainly not among the 
 things which can be destroyed by fire." 
 
 "It is only the representative of value which 
 goes off in smoke," observed Horace. "The 
 value remains." 
 
 "Where? In what form?" 
 
 " That depends upon the nature of the paper 
 currency. Before bank notes assumed their 
 present form, — when they were merely promis- 
 sory notes, which it occurred to bankers to dis-
 
 112 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 count as they would any other kind of bills, the 
 property of the issuers was answerable for them, 
 like the goods of any merchant who pays in 
 bills; and the extent of the issue was determined 
 by the banker's credit. Then came the time 
 when all bank notes were convertible into coin, 
 at the pleasure of the holder; and then the val- 
 ue, of which the notes were the representatives, 
 lay in the banker's coffers, in the form of gold 
 and silver money. As for the actual value of 
 the Bank of England notes issued since the 
 Restriction Act passed, you had better ask some- 
 body else where it is deposited, and in what 
 form, for I cannot pretend to tell you. I only 
 know that the sole security the public has for 
 ever recovering it lies in the honour of the 
 managers of the Bank of England." 
 
 " What is that Restriction Act.?" asked Me- 
 lea. "I have heard of it till I am weary of the 
 very name; and I have no clear notion about it, 
 except that it passed in 1797." 
 
 " Before this time," replied her brother, " by 
 this 9th of May, 1814, every banker's daughter 
 in England ought to be familiar with the cur- 
 rency romance of 1797." 
 
 " In order to be prepared for the catastrophe,"
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. lllj 
 
 muttered Mr. Berkeley, who had forebodings 
 which made the present subject not the most 
 agreeable in the world to him. 
 
 " First, what is the Bank of England?" asked 
 Fanny. " It is the greatest Bank of deposit and 
 circulation in the world, I know; but to whom 
 does it belong, and how did it arise?" 
 
 " It came into existence a little more than a 
 hundred years before the great era of its life, — 
 the period of restriction. Government wanted 
 money very much in 1694, and a loan was 
 raised, the subscribers to which received eight 
 per cent, interest, and 4000/. a-year for mana- 
 ging the affair, and were presented with a char- 
 ter, by which they were constituted a banking 
 company, v/ith peculiar privileges." 
 
 " No other banking company is allowed to 
 consist of more than six persons; this is one of 
 their piivileges, is it not?" 
 
 Yes; it vras added in 170S, and has done a 
 vast deal of mischief; and will do more, I am 
 afraid, before it is abolished.* — The very cir- 
 cumstances of the origin of the Bank of Eng- 
 
 * Some years after the date of this conversation, i. e. in 
 1S26, permission was given for banking companies, not with- 
 in 65 miles of Zone/on, to consist of any number of partners'. 
 VoL.I-H 10*
 
 114 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 land brought it, you see, into immediate con- 
 nexion with the government, under whose pro- 
 tection it has remained ever since. Its charter 
 has been renewed as often as it expired; and 
 has still to run till a year's notice after the first 
 of August, 1833. The government and the 
 Bank have helped one another in their times of 
 need; the bank lending money to government, 
 and the government imposing the restriction we 
 were talking of in the very extremity of time 
 to prevent the Bank stopping payment. It also 
 afforded military protection to the establishment 
 at the time of the dreadful riots in 1780." 
 " Well: now for the Restriction Act." 
 " At that memorable time, from 1794 to 1797, 
 the Bank had to send out much more money 
 than was convenient or safe. We were at war; 
 there were foreign loans to be raised; heavy 
 bills were drawn from abroad on the Treasury; 
 and the government asked for large and still 
 larger advances, till the Bank had made enor- 
 mous issues of notes, and was almost drained 
 of the coin it had promised to pay on demand. 
 It was just at this time that the French inva- 
 sion was expected; every body was seized with 
 a panic, and a general rush was made to the
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 115 
 
 country banks, several of which could not an- 
 swer so sudden a demand for cash, and failed. 
 The panic spread to London, and the Bank of 
 England was beset on every side. On Satur- 
 day, the 25th of February, 1797, the coffers of 
 the Bank had very little money in them; and 
 tliere was every prospect of a terrible run on 
 the Monday. This was the time when govern- 
 ment made its celebrated interference. It is- 
 used an order, on the Sunday, that the Bank 
 sliould not pay away any cash till parliament 
 had been consulted; and this was the news with 
 which the tremendous throng of claimants was 
 met on the Monday morning." 
 
 " I wonder it did not cause as fierce a riot as 
 that of 1780," observed Fanny. " It is such 
 an intolerable injustice to induce people to take 
 promissory notes on condition of having cash 
 whenever they please, and then to get govern- 
 ment to prohibit the promise being kept!" 
 
 " There would have been little use in riot- 
 ing," replied Horace. " Things were brought 
 to such a pass that the Bank must either fail 
 that day, or defer the fulfilment of its engage- 
 ments; and as things were at this pass, the re- 
 striction was perhaps the best expedient that
 
 116 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 could have been adopted. Nobody, however, 
 supposed that the prohibition would have been 
 continued to this day. Here we are, in 1814, 
 and the Bank has not begun to pay off its pro- 
 missory notes yet." 
 
 " Then what security is there against an in- 
 undation of promissory notes that may never bo 
 paid?" 
 
 " None whatever, but in the honour of the 
 Directors of the Bank of England. There ap- 
 pears to be good ground for trusting in this 
 honour; but a better security ought, in a mat- 
 ter of such paramount importance, to have been 
 provided long ago. — But we have not spoken 
 yet of the Act of Restriction ; only of the Or- 
 der in Council. — As soon as parliament met, a 
 committee inquired into the affairs of the Bank, 
 and found them in very good condition; and 
 parliament therefore decreed the restriction to 
 remain till six months after the conclusion of 
 peace." 
 
 " But there has been peace since that time." 
 
 " Yes; and there will be another, very likely, 
 before the Bank pays cash again. It is much 
 easier to quit cash payments than to resume 
 them; the temptation to an over-issue is so
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 117 
 
 great when responsibility is destroyed, and es- 
 pecially when moderation at the outset has pro- 
 pitiated public confidence." 
 
 " Then there was moderation at first .^" 
 
 " For three years after the restriction, the 
 issues were so moderate, that the notes of the 
 Bank of England were esteemed a little more 
 valuable than gold, and actually bore a small 
 premium. Then there was an over-issue, and 
 their value fell; afterwards it rose again; and 
 it has since fluctuated, declining on the whole, 
 till nov/r" 
 
 "And vvhat are Bank of England notes 
 worth now ?" 
 
 " Less than they have ever been. So long 
 ago as ISiO, parliament declared that there had 
 been, an over-issue, and recommended a return 
 to cash payments in two years; but four years 
 are gone, and cash payments are not begun, 
 and the depreciation of the Bank notes is great- 
 er than ever." 
 
 ' That is partly owing, I suppose," said 
 Fanny, "to the increase of country banks. 
 Melea and I could count several new ones 
 within our recollection." 
 
 ' At the time of the restriction, there were
 
 118 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 fewer than three hundred country banks in ex- 
 istence; there are now more than seven hun- 
 dred." 
 
 *' And are so many wanted?" 
 
 " We shall soon see," muttered Mr. Berke- 
 ley. " I much doubt whether there will be 
 two-thirds the number by this day twelvemonth. 
 — Aye, you may well look frightened, girls. 
 Confidence is shaken already, I can tell you; 
 and even you can see what is likely to follow 
 when banking credit is impaired." 
 
 •' If these terrible consequences happen, fa- 
 ther, will you attribute them to the Bank of 
 England being excused from paying cash?" 
 
 " That first destroyed the balance of the cur- 
 rency, which will have much to do to right it- 
 self again. Formerly, the Bank and its cus- 
 tomers were a check upon each other, as are 
 paper and gold, when the one is convertible 
 into the other. As the profits of the Bank de- 
 pend on the amount of its issues, the public is 
 always sure of having money enough, while 
 affairs take their natural course. — On the other 
 hand, the public was as sure to make the Bank 
 lose by an over-issue; since an over-issue rais- 
 es the price of gold, which makes people eager
 
 WI.VE AND WISDOM. 119 
 
 to have gold for their notes, which again, of 
 course, obliges the Bank, to buy gold at a loss 
 to coin m tney to pay for their own over-issues. 
 Now, by this penalty being taken from over 
 their heads, the balance of checks is destroyed. 
 The people are more sure than ever of having 
 money enough; but there is no security what- 
 ever ao-ainst their havino- too much. Witness 
 the state of our currency at this hour." 
 
 " If we could but contrive any security 
 against over-issue," observed Melea, " we 
 might do without coin (or at least gold coin) 
 entirely: but, as there does not appear to be 
 any such, I suppose we must go on with a mix- 
 ed currency. What a pity such an expense 
 cannot be saved!" 
 
 "And it is the more vexatious when one 
 thinks of the loss by hoarding," observed Fan- 
 ny. " No one would think of hoarding paper." 
 
 *' Certainly; if it was the only sort of moa- 
 ey." 
 
 " Weil; many do hoard gold,-— besides Mrs. 
 Parndon. How many years will her guineas 
 have been lying by when she dies! — (and I do 
 not believe she will part with them but in death.) 
 They might have doubled themselves by thia
 
 120 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 time, perhaps, if they had been put to use in- 
 stead of being buried in her garden, or under 
 the floor, or among the feathers in her feather- 
 bed, or wherever else they may be." 
 
 "I was going to ask," said Horace, " how 
 she comes to make public such an act as hoard- 
 ing: but you seem not to know the place of de- 
 posit." 
 
 Fanny explained that not even Hester knew 
 more than that her mother had a stock of hoarded 
 guineas; and she had mentioned it only to such 
 particular friends as the Berkeleys. 
 
 "The Cavendishes are not on the list of 
 particular friends then, I suppose," observed 
 Horace, " or there would have been an end of 
 the hoardinjj; before this time, Mr. Cavendish 
 does not approve of any reserves of guineas 
 within twenty miles of his bank." 
 
 Melea was struck by her brother's counte- 
 nance and manner, whenever he mentioned Mr. 
 Cavendish. There was now something more 
 conveyed by both than the good-humoured con- 
 tempt with which the whole family had been 
 accustomed to regard the man. 
 
 "Horace," said she, "I never suspected 
 you of hating any body before; but now I do
 
 WINE AND WISD03I. 1"21 
 
 believe you hate Mr. Cavendish. I wish you 
 would tell us why; for I had rather think worse 
 of him than o»f you." 
 
 "Yes, dear, I will tell you why; and this 
 was what you were to hear this afternoon." 
 
 Mr. Berkeley moved uneasily in his chair, 
 and his wife stole anxious glances at him, 
 while Horace related that the proprietors of 
 
 the D bank had been for some time aware 
 
 that forgeries of their notes were circulating 
 pretty extensively; that inquiries had in conse- 
 quence been secretly made, under Horace's 
 direction, in order to the fraud being put a stop 
 to; that these inquiries had issued in the deed 
 being brought home to the parties. 
 
 " O, we shall have a trial and execution," 
 groaned Fanny. 
 
 No such thing, her brother assured her. In 
 times when banking credit did not, at the best, 
 keep its ground very firmly, there was every in- 
 ducement to a bank not to shake it further by 
 publishing the fact that notes circulating in its 
 name were not to be trusted. The fact of this 
 forgery had been kept a profound secret by the 
 
 partners of the D bank. 
 
 11
 
 122 Wine and wisdom. 
 
 " But what is the consequence to the holders 
 of the forged notes?" 
 
 " Nothing. We pay them on demand with- 
 out remark." 
 
 " But what a loss to the bank, if the forgery 
 is extensive!" 
 
 Mr. Berkeley observed gloomily that he had 
 given cash payment for two forged 5/. notes, 
 and one of lOZ. this very morning. Yet this 
 loss was preferable to exposing the credit of the 
 bank to any shock; at least, when there were 
 the means of stopping the forged issue. 
 
 " Then you have certainly discovered the 
 parties?" 
 
 " I saw the principal shipped for America the 
 day I left London," replied Horace; "and 
 the rest know that we have our eye upon them. 
 The only doubtful thing now is whether we may 
 take their word for the amount they have is- 
 sued. Another month will show." 
 
 " Do all your notes come back to you within 
 a few weeks, father?" asked Melea "I 
 thought they remained out for years. I am 
 
 sure I have more than one note of the D 
 
 bank that is above a year old."
 
 WI.VE AND WISD03r. 123 
 
 " Yes; some are now circulating that belong- 
 ed to the first issue after I became a partner; 
 but these have been re-issued. We reckon that 
 most of cur notes come back within six weeks." 
 
 " You did not surely suppose," said Horace, 
 " that new notes are issued every time.? Whj 
 should not the old ones be used as long as they 
 will last.'" 
 
 " 1 did not kno'.v that the stamps were allow- 
 ed to serve more than one turn." 
 
 '•' This is provided for by the issuers being 
 obliged to purchase a license, which costs 30/., 
 and which must be annually renewed. The 
 Bank of England is the only exception to this 
 rule; that establishment being permitted to com- 
 pound for the stamp-duties by paying so much 
 per million on its issues. It is on this point, 
 (of the ^renewal of the license,) that we hope 
 to catch Cavendish. He has not renewed with- 
 in the given time." 
 
 " But why should you?" cried Fanny, with 
 some indignation. " What affair is it of yours? 
 Let the Stamp-office look to it; and let us mind 
 our own business, instead of meddling with our 
 neighbour's." 
 
 " Besides," added Melea, ''what becomes
 
 124 VvINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 of the banking credit which needs to be taken 
 such extraordinary care of just now? Shake 
 Cavendish's credit, and you shake that of other 
 banks in some degree, according to your own 
 doctrine." 
 
 " If he had never meddled with our credit," 
 said Mr. Berkeley, "he might have cheated 
 the Stamp-ofnce to his heart's content, for any- 
 thing we should have done to prevent it. But 
 having acted the part that he has by us " 
 
 Fanny and Melea looked at each other with 
 sorrow in their faces; which their brother ob- 
 served, and quietly said, 
 
 ' It is not in a spirit of retaliation that we 
 are going to act against Cavendish. It is ne- 
 cessary, for the public safety, that his bank 
 should be closed while there is a chance of its 
 discharging its obligations. If it goes on 
 another year, — I say this in the confidence of 
 our own family circle, — it must break, and ruin 
 half the people in Haleham. If Cavendish 
 can be so timely beset with difficulties, — which, 
 remember, he has brought on himself, — as to 
 be induced to give up the bank, and confine 
 himself to his other business, it is possible that 
 those who have trusted him may get their dues,
 
 AViNE AND WISDOM. 1:^6 
 
 and that banking credit may be saved the shock 
 which his failure must otherwise soon bring 
 upon it." 
 
 " But what is the penalty:" 
 
 " A fine of 100/. for every act of issue after 
 the term of license has expired. I am now 
 employed in discovering what Cavendish's is- 
 sues have been since the expiration of his li- 
 cense. I hope we may find him liable for just 
 so much as may make him glad to close his 
 bank for the sake of a composition; and not 
 enough to ruin him; though 1 fancy it would 
 not require a very heavy liability to do that." 
 
 " What a hateful business to be engaged in!" 
 exclaimed Melea. 
 
 Very disagreeable indeed, Horace admitted; 
 but Cavendish's offences tov/ards the D — ■ — 
 bank deserved the worst punishment they could 
 bring upon him. He had known of the forge- 
 ries of their notes longer than they had; and 
 not only had he given them no warning, but he 
 had whispered the fact elsewhere in every quar- 
 ter where it could injure their credit just so far 
 as to make people shy of taking their notes, 
 without causing an abrupt shock, in which he 
 might himself have been involved. He insin-
 
 126 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 uated no doubts of the stability of their house; 
 but told several people in confidence that forge- 
 ries of their notes were abroad, so well execut- 
 ed, that it was scarcely possible to distinguish 
 the true notes from the false. 
 
 " How came he to know sooner than the 
 partners themselves?" inquired Melea: but 
 neither father nor brother appeared to hear the 
 question. 
 
 " May one ask about the forgers," inquired 
 Fanny, " who they are, and how you dealt with 
 them?" 
 
 " No; you may not ask," replied her broth- 
 er, smiling. " We are bound not to tell this, 
 even to our own families. Be satisfied in your 
 ignorance; for it is a very sad story, and it 
 would give you nothing but pain to hear it." 
 
 The whole party sat in silence for some min- 
 utes, the girls gazing in reverie on the green 
 lawn over which the evening shadows were 
 stretching unnoticed. Both were meditating 
 on Cavendish's connexion with the affair of the 
 forgery. The absence of all answer to Melea's 
 question looked as if he had something to do 
 with the guilty parties; and yet, nothing was 
 more certain than that it is the interest of all
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 1-27 
 
 bankers, and more especially of unstable ones, 
 to wage war against forgery wherever it may 
 exist. 
 
 Fanny thought it best to speak what was in 
 her mind, declaring beforehand that she did so 
 out of no curiosity to know what ought to be 
 concealed,, and without any wish for an answer, 
 unless her brother chose to give her one. 
 
 Horace was glad she had spoken, since he 
 could assure her that any banker must be as 
 much fool as knave who had any amicable con- 
 nexion with forgers; and that, if Cavendish 
 had been proved to have maintained any such, 
 he would have been treated in a very different 
 way from that which was now meditated against 
 him. Fanny also was glad that she had spoken 
 what was in her mind. The charges against 
 Cavendish seemed to be, carelessness in his 
 banking management, and shabby spite against 
 his rivals at D . 
 
 " Xow, promise me," said Horace to his sis- 
 ters, " that you will not fancy that all kinds of 
 horrible disasters are going to happen vrhenev- 
 er you see my father and me consulting togeth- 
 er without taking you immediately into our 
 councils. Promise me "
 
 1*28 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 He stopped short when he saw Melea's eye3 
 full of tears. 
 
 "My dear girl," he contmued, "I did not 
 mean to hurt you. I did not once think of 
 such a thing as that either Fanny or you could 
 be jealous, or have vanity enough to be offend- 
 ed. I only meant that you were both too easily 
 alarmed in this case, and I should be sorry if 
 the same thing happened again. Do you know, 
 you have scarcely looked me full in the face 
 since I came, and I am not quite sure that you 
 can do so yet." 
 
 Melea replied by bestowing on her brother 
 one of her broadest and brightest smiles, which 
 revealed the very spirit of confidence. She 
 liad, in turn, her complaint to make; or rather, 
 her explanation to give. Hov»^ was it possible, 
 she asked, for Fanny and herself to avoid spec- 
 ulating and foreboding, when Horace had not 
 answered above half the questions they put to 
 him, or inquired after half his former acquaint- 
 ance, or taken any interest in his old haunts, 
 or in the four-footed or vegetable favourites 
 which had been cherished for his sake during 
 his absence ? Fanny also pleaded her mother's 
 anxious looks and long silences during the 
 mornings.
 
 WINE A\D \VISD03I. 129 
 
 *' And now, what fault have you to find with 
 me?" asked Mr. Berkeley. '^ Have you 
 counted how many times I have said ' Pshaw' 
 within the last week?" 
 
 " It would have been much easier to count 
 how many times you have smiled, papa," said 
 Melea, laughing. " But if you would only 
 " She stopped. 
 
 "I know what she would say," continued 
 Horace. " If you would only open your mind 
 to your daughters as far as you can feel it right 
 to do so, it would cause them less pain to know 
 from yourself the worst that can ever happen, 
 than to infer it from your state of spirits; and, 
 indeed, sir, you would find great relief and 
 comfort in it." 
 
 "They used to complain of me for telling 
 them sometimes that they must prepare to pro- 
 vide for themselves." 
 
 " Not for telling us so, sir. There is noth- 
 ing but kindness in letting us know as soon as 
 possible, but — " 
 
 " But you never knew when to believe me, — 
 is that it.? Out with it, Fanny." 
 
 "We should like to know the extent of 
 changes, when changes take place, if you have 
 
 Vol. I— I
 
 130 WINE AND WISDOM. 
 
 no objection to tell us. We could prepare our- 
 selves so much better then." 
 
 " You seem to have been preparing at a vast 
 rate lately, both of you. One at her German 
 and Italian, and the other at her music; and 
 both studying education with might and main." 
 
 This was a subject on which Horace could 
 never endure to dwell. He writhed under it, 
 even while he persuaded himself that his father 
 was not in earnest, and that the girls were so 
 far like other girls as to have their heads filled 
 fuller with a new idea than reason could justify. 
 It was not enough that Melea sagely observed 
 that the diligent study which occupied them at 
 present could do them no harm, whatever for- 
 tune might be in store for them: he was not 
 quite at his ease till she mentioned Lewis, the 
 East Indian boy who was expected over; .and 
 explained how much Fanny and herself wished 
 to contribute towards educating him. All the 
 family desired to keep Lewis at Haleham, and 
 to have him domesticated with them; and if 
 he could be so assisted by his cousins at home 
 as to profit to the utmost by what he should gain 
 at a day school, it would be much better for 
 every body concerned than that he should be
 
 WINE AND WISDOM. 131 
 
 sent to a boarding-school a hundred miles off. 
 This plan accounted for the eagerness of Fan- 
 ny's study of German; but how Lewis was to 
 benefit by Melea's music was left unexplained. 
 This evening was the brightest of the whole 
 spring in the eyes of Fanny and Melea. The 
 bank had only sustained a loss, instead of being 
 about to break. There was an end of Mr. 
 Longe, and Horace hinted no intention of quar- 
 relling with Henry Craig. The sunset was cer- 
 tainly the softest of the year; the violets had 
 never smelled so sweet, and even Mr. Berkeley 
 acknowledged to the daughter on either arm 
 that the rosary which he had planned, and they 
 had tended, was the most delicious retreat he 
 had buried himself in since the days of the 
 green walk in his mother's garden, of which he 
 spoke with fond eloquence whenever led to 
 mention his childhood. To Mrs. Berkeley 
 and her son every thing did not look so sur- 
 passingly bright this evening. From them no 
 painful load of apprehension had been suddenly 
 removed; such fears as they had had remained: 
 but it was a May evening, mild and fragrant, 
 and they lingered in the shrubberies till yellow 
 gleams from the drawing-room windows remind- 
 ed them that they were expected within.
 
 132 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish were at this time 
 seized with a not unreasonable panic lest they 
 should lose their popularity — and with it, all else 
 that they had. They knew that the inhabitants 
 of a country town are quick in discovering when 
 friendships cool, and mutual confidence abates; 
 and they feared that, when it should be perceived 
 that the rector no longer rode over two or three 
 times a-week to Mr. Berkeley's, and that the two 
 bankers were now never seen chatting in the 
 street, conjecture might begin to be busy as to 
 the cause of these changes; and they had little 
 hope that their reputation would stand in any 
 instance in which it should be brought into op- 
 position witli that of the long resident and much 
 respected Berkeley family. Mrs. Cavendish 
 made the most she could of the intercourse be- 
 tween the ladies of the two households. Where- 
 ever she dropped in, she was sure to be in a par- 
 ticular hurry, because she was going to the 
 Berkeleys to show Mrs. Berkeley this, or to tell
 
 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 133 
 
 Miss Berkeley that, or to ask dear Melea the 
 other. From every point of view she was sure 
 to see the Berkelejs going towards her house, 
 and she never went out but she expected to find 
 on her return that they had called. The children 
 were encouraged to watch for every shadow of 
 an invitation, and were not children when they 
 gave broad hints that they liked gathering roses 
 in the rosary, and were very fond of strawber- 
 ries, and very clever at haymaking, and quite 
 used to pluck green pease; or that they wanted 
 flower-seeds, or anything else that could be had 
 within the Berkeleys' gates. They were very 
 frequently invited, as Fanny and Melea liked to 
 give pleasure even to disagreeable children, and 
 would not be deterred from doing so by their dis- 
 approbation of the parents, or dislike of the gov- 
 erness. If, however, they let a week slip away 
 without an invitation, on the eighth day a pro- 
 cession was sure to be seen winding up towards 
 the house, viz. Miss Egg, bearing a little basket 
 or bag, with some pretence of a present, — a 
 cream-cheese, or a dozen smelts fresh from the 
 wherry, or a specimen of some fancy in knit- 
 ting, or perhaps a quite new German waltz: on 
 either side of Miss Egg, various grades of tip- 
 12
 
 134 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 pets and bonnets, bespeaking the approach of a 
 large body of strawberry-eaters; and behind, 
 poor Rhoda, toiling on in the heat, with a heavy, 
 crying baby, hangijig half over her shoulder, 
 and the pleasant idea in her mind that when she 
 had taught this member of the family to use its 
 legs a little more, and its lungs a little less, it 
 would only be to receive another charge, M'hich 
 would soon grow as heavy, and must inevitably 
 be as fretful. The majority of the party were 
 invariably offended by seeing how Rhoda was the 
 first to be taken care of; — how she was made to 
 sit down in the hall, the baby being taken from 
 her by Melea, and a plate of fruit brought by 
 Fanny, while the other visiters were supposed 
 capable of making their way into the dining- 
 room to pay their respects to Mrs. Berkeley, and 
 talk about the heat and the sweet prospect, till 
 the young ladies should be ready to lead the way 
 into the shrubbery and kitchen-garden. These 
 visits were made the more irksome to the Berke- 
 leys, from the certainty that every thing that each 
 of them said would be quoted, with their names 
 at full length, twenty times during the first day; 
 and that every body in Haleham would have 
 heard it before the time for the next meeting
 
 HUSBiJ»IDS AND WIVES. 135 
 
 should have come round. They were patient, 
 however; too patient and good-natured, as it 
 soon appeared; for the Cavendishes built upon 
 their kindness to the children a hope that they 
 would visit the parents on terms of seeming 
 intimacy. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish agreed, that the pres- 
 ent time, while 3Ir. Berkeley was absent for a 
 few days, when Horace was not likely to ap- 
 pear, and before the affair of the license should 
 come out, afforded a good opportunity for a bold 
 stroke for popularity. Mr. Cavendish had settled 
 a pretty little estate on his wife: their wedding- 
 day approached; and it would be charming to 
 give a rural fete, in the midst of which, and in 
 the presence of everybody in Haleham, this 
 estate should be presented by the fond husband 
 to the gratified wife, the children standing round 
 to witness thismoraldisplay of conjugal affection. 
 The idea was charming in every way; for, as it 
 was Mrs. Cavendish's party, it was not supposed 
 possible that Mrs. Berkeley and her daughters 
 could refuse to go, it being conveyed to them 
 that Mr. Longe was at Brighton, 
 
 It was, however, found possible for the Berke- 
 leys to refuse, and for many who did not decline
 
 136 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 the invitation to be unavoidably prevented, by- 
 various devised accidents, from attending. The 
 whole thing was a failure ; and up to the hour of 
 the poorer part of the company showing them- 
 selves, it Vv'as undecided whether the scheme 
 should not, after all, change its entire character, 
 and the display be transformed from one of con- 
 jugal gallantry to one of rural beneficence. The 
 dinner for the poor folks was boiling in the cop- 
 pers, and the tables were spread under the trees; 
 and the barn was dressed up for the shop- 
 keepers' sons and daughters to dance in. These 
 two parts of the scheme must go forward. But 
 the marquee, pitched for the higher guests, was 
 too likely to be empty; and there was little 
 pleasure in a man presenting his wife with an 
 estate on her wedding-day, when there were only 
 poor and middling people to look on. Mr. Craig, 
 however, was sure to come, and as sure to relate 
 to the Berkeleys what passed; and certainly it 
 was the sort of thing v/hich must tell well. This 
 consideration decided the matter. The gift was 
 proffered with tenderness, and received with rap- 
 ture. The husband bestowed the kiss, the wife 
 shed her tears, the children wondered, the people 
 for the most part admired, and those who did not
 
 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 137 
 
 admire, applauded ; — all as planned. As he was 
 desired, Mr. Craig delivered Mrs. Cavendish's 
 message of love to the Berkeleys, and of sorrow 
 that their kind hearts should have lost the plea- 
 sure of sympathising with her on this happy day. 
 Mr. Craig added, of his own accord, that they 
 might sympathize with her still, if they desired 
 it; the affair being not yet over. He had left 
 the fete early, and gone round by the Berkeleys', 
 on pretence of delivering his message, instead of 
 proceeding straight home. 
 
 " How long must we sympathizer" inquired 
 Fanny. " Does she mean to keep up her happi- 
 ness till twelve o'clock?" 
 
 ' ' The dancers will keep up theirs till midnight, 
 I should think," replied Henry. " The barn is 
 really a pretty sight, and the whole place is well 
 lighted. If you will come Avith me, Melea, only 
 as far as the gate, you will see the lights between 
 the trees, red and green and purple. It is not 
 often that Haleham has coloured lamps to 
 show." 
 
 Melea thanked him, but coloured lights, how- 
 ever pretty on some occasions, were too artifi- 
 cial in a landscape like that seen from the white 
 
 gate. 
 
 12*
 
 138 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 " Then, come and admire some that are not 
 coloured. The stars are out overhead, and I 
 never saw the glow-worms so bright." 
 
 " Glow-worms! are there glow-worms?" cried 
 Melea. But Mrs. Berkeley wanted to hear more 
 about the fete. She supposed every body was 
 there. 
 
 "No, ma'am; nobody." 
 
 Fanny here observed, that this was the first 
 time that she had ever known Henry reckon the 
 ladies and gentlemen as everybody. "Who 
 was dancing in the barn," she asked, " If no- 
 body was there?" 
 
 ' ' Even that part of the affair was very flat to 
 me, " said Henry. ' ' Those that I take the most 
 interest in were either absent or uncomfort- 
 able." 
 
 " Who? tiie Martins?" 
 
 " I knew beforehand that they went unwil- 
 lingly, so that it gave me no pleasure to see 
 them there." 
 
 "Well: old Enoch Pye—" 
 
 " Went away almost before dinner was over, 
 though he was put at the head of one of the 
 tables." 
 
 " He went away ! and what became of poor
 
 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 139 
 
 Mrs. Parndon ? Did she follow in time to take 
 his arm?" 
 
 " She was not there; and I fancy that was 
 the reason of his leaving. I believe a neigh- 
 bour told him that something had happened to 
 distress her." 
 
 " O, what? What has happened?" cried all 
 the ladies, who felt infinitelj more sympathy 
 for Mrs. Parndon and Hester than for Mrs. Ca- 
 vendish. 
 
 Henry knew no more than that some sort of 
 bad news had come from London by this day's 
 post. He would learn the next morning what it 
 was, and whether he could be of any service, 
 unless Melea, who was more in the widow's con- 
 fidence, would undertaJie the task. Henry was 
 sure that Melea would make the better comforter ; 
 and he would come up in the course of the 
 morning, and hear whether his consolations and 
 assistance were wanted. This was readily agreed 
 to, as it was an understood thing that there was 
 DO one but her daughter whom Mrs. Parndon 
 loved, and could open her mind to so well as her 
 dear Miss Melea, — always excepting her old 
 friend, Mr. Pye. 
 
 Mrs. Parndon was eilone, and at work as usual,
 
 140 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 when Melea entered her little parlour, now no 
 longer dressed up with flowers, as it used to be 
 while Hester lived there. The room could not 
 be without ornament while the drawings of the 
 late Mr. Parndon and his daughter hung against 
 the walls: but, with the exception of these, 
 everything indicated only neatness and thrift. 
 The floor-cloth looked but a comfortless substi- 
 tute for a carpet, even in the middle of summer; 
 the hearth-rug, composed of the shreds and snip- 
 pings from three tailors' boards, disposed in fancy 
 patterns, was the work of the widow's own hands. 
 The window was bare of curtains, the winter 
 ones being brushed and laid by, and the mistress 
 seeing no occasion for muslin hangings, which 
 had been only a fancy of Hester's: so the muslin 
 was taken to make covers for the pictures, and 
 the mirror and the little japanned cabinet, that 
 they might be preserved from the flies in summer, 
 and from the dust of the fires in winter. Even 
 the widow's own footstool, pressed only by par- 
 lour shoes, which were guiltless of soil, was 
 cased in canvass. Everything was covered up, 
 but the work-basket, crammed with shirts and 
 worsted stockings, which stood at the mistress's 
 elbow.
 
 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 141 
 
 She looked up eagerly as the door opened; 
 but a «hade of disappointment passed over he 
 countenance when she saw that it was Melea, 
 whom, however, she invited, in a kind but hur- 
 ried manner, to sit down beside her. 
 
 "Now, you must proceed with your work, just 
 as if I was not here," said Melea. The widow 
 immediately went on seaming, observing, that 
 she had indeed a great deal of work on hand. 
 
 " As much, I think, as when your son and 
 daughter were in frocks and pinafores, and wear- 
 ing out their clothes with romping and climbing. 
 Does Hester send down her husband's shirts 
 for you to make and mend?" 
 
 " She might, for that matter," replied the 
 widow ; "for she is kept very busy at her draw- 
 ing; but I cannot persuade her to do more than 
 let me work for Philip, who should be no charge 
 on her hands, you know. She lets me make 
 for Philip, but not mend. These things are 
 not his." 
 
 Melea's look of inquiry asked whose they 
 were: to which the widow bashfully replied, 
 that Mr. Pye had no one but his washerwoman 
 to see after his linen, and so had been persuad- 
 ed, as he was very neat and exact, to let an old
 
 142 HUSBANDS AND WIVES 
 
 friend go once a week, and look out what want- 
 ed mending. She was sure Melea would think 
 no harm of this. 
 
 None in the world, Melea said. It was 
 pleasant to see old friends pay kind offices to 
 one another, — especially two who seemed to be 
 left alone to each other's care, like Mr. Pye 
 and Mrs. Parndon. She did not know what 
 would become of Mr. Pye without Mrs. Parn- 
 don, and she had no doubt he did friendly ser- 
 vice in his turn. The widow smiled, and shook 
 her head, and observed, that indeed Enoch did 
 need somebody to watch over him. He was 
 growing very deaf, though, poor man, he did 
 not like to allow it ; and it was very desirable 
 to have some one at his elbow, to set him right 
 in his little mistakes, and to give customers and 
 strangers a hint to speak up if they wished to 
 have their business properly done. 
 
 " It is a pity you cannot carry your work- 
 basket to his counter, these fine mornings, in- 
 stead of sitting here for hours all by yourself," 
 observed Melea. " I have no doubt, Mr. Pye 
 would thank you for your company." 
 
 Mrs. Parndon had no doubt either; but the 
 thing was quite out of the question. It would
 
 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 143 
 
 be highly improper. What would not all Hale- 
 ham say, if she began such a practice.' 
 
 Melea begged pardon, and went on to ask 
 about Hester. She had not been aware that 
 Hester had gone on drawmg much since she 
 married. 
 
 The widow sighed, and observed, that times 
 were worse for people in Edgar's line of em- 
 ployment than any one would suppose who saw 
 how the farmers were flourishing. The higher 
 some people rose, the lower others fell: as she 
 had good reason to knov/; and could, therefore, 
 bear testimony that there was now little real 
 prosperity, however some might boast. The 
 Martins, for instance, were growing rich at a 
 mighty rate, and would have laid by quite a lit- 
 tle fortune before their lease was out ; while 
 she, an economical widow, with what every- 
 body once thought a pretty provision for life, 
 found her income worth less and less every year, 
 just when, for her children's sake, she should 
 like it to be more: and heaven knew she was 
 likely to have use enough for it now. Melea 
 did not venture to ask the meaning of this, or 
 of the heavy sigh which followed. She merely 
 inquired whether Edgar did not retain his situ-
 
 144 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 ation at the Mint. *' O, yes; but salaries were 
 nothing now to what they were ; and it was ex- 
 pensive living in London, even though the young 
 people lived in the upper part of Philip's house, 
 for mutual accommodation; that Philip, poor 
 Philip, might have a respectable-looking, showy 
 shop, and Edgar and his wife have rather less to 
 pay than for a floor in a stranger's house." 
 Melea was very sorry to find that the young 
 people had to think so much about economy: 
 she had hoped that that would never be neces- 
 sary. 
 
 "Why, Miss Melea, young men have ex- 
 penses: and they don't think so much as their 
 wives about suiting them to the times. And so 
 the wives, — that is, such wives as my Hester, — 
 feel that they should help to fill the purse, if 
 they can. So, she says, she was far from being 
 hurt when Edgar gave her notice, some months 
 ago, that he should wish her to look for employ- 
 ment again, of the same sort that she had be- 
 fore her marriage. The only thing that hurt 
 her was, that it was so long before she could 
 get any thing that would pay; for the publishers 
 are overrun with artists, they declare. She 
 would fain have worked for Mr. Pye, as before;
 
 HUSBANDS A.VD WIVES. 145 
 
 but I would not let her say anything about that; 
 nor Philip either: for people here all have the 
 idea of her having made a fine match, (as in- 
 deed it is, when one thinks of Edgar,) and it 
 would not look well for her to be taking money 
 from Mr. Pye, as if she was still Hester Parn- 
 don." 
 
 " O, poor Hester!" thought Melea, who 
 could scarcely restrain her grief at this series 
 of unexpected disclosures. *' With an expen- 
 sive husband, a proud brother, a selfish mother, 
 you are driven to seek the means of getting 
 money, and thwarted in the seeking! O, poor 
 Hester!" 
 
 " She tried at the bazaars," continued Mrs, 
 Parndon; '' but most of her beautiful drawings 
 only got soiled and tossed about, till she was 
 obliged to withdraw them; and those that were 
 sold went for less by far than her time was 
 worth. But now slie does not want Mr. Pye's 
 help, nor anybody's. She has got into high 
 favour with a bookseller, who publishes chil- 
 dren's books for holiday presents, full of pic- 
 tures. Look! here is the first she did for him; 
 (only, you understand, I don't show it here as 
 hers.) This, you see, was a pretty long job, 
 Vol I — K ^ 13
 
 146 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 and a profitable one, she says; and she has so 
 much more to do before the Christmas holidays, 
 that she is quite light of heart about the filling 
 up of her leisure, she tells me. To save her 
 time,Iwould have had her send me down her hus- 
 band's making and mending, as I said: but she 
 has many candle-light hours, when she sits up 
 for Edgar, and cannot draw; and she likes to 
 have plenty of needlework to do then, and that 
 nobody should sew for her husband but herself." 
 
 " Many candle-light hours in June," thought 
 Melea. " Then, how many will there be of 
 candle-light solitude in winter? O poor Hes- 
 ter!" 
 
 " Perhaps her brother spends his evenings 
 with her?" she inquired of the widow. 
 
 " Why, one can scarcely say that Philip has 
 any evenings," replied Mrs. Parndon. " Phil- 
 ip was always very steady, you know, and more 
 fond of his business than anything else. He 
 keeps to it all day, till he is tired, and then goes 
 to bed, at nine in winter, and very little later in 
 summer. Besides, you know, they don't pro- 
 fess to live together, though they are in the 
 same house. Edgar has some high notions, 
 and he would soon put an end to the idea that
 
 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 147 
 
 he and his wife have not their apartments to 
 themselves. — But, is it not stiange, Miss Me- 
 lea, that my son Philip, so uncommonly steady 
 as he is, should have got into trouble ? Is it not 
 odd that he, of all people, should be in danger 
 of disgrace?" 
 
 Melea did not in her own mind think it at all 
 •trange, as his stupidity was full as likely to 
 lead him into trouble as his steadiness to keep 
 him out of it. She waited, however, with a 
 face of great concern, to hear what thij threat- 
 ened disgrace might be. 
 
 " You are the only person, Miss Melea, that 
 I have mentioned it to, ever since I heard it yes- 
 terday morning, except Mr. Pye, who missed 
 me from the feast yesterday, and kindly came to 
 hear what was the matter, and spent the whole 
 evening with me, till I was really obliged to 
 send him away, and pretend to feel more com- 
 fortable than I was, to get him to leave me. 
 But I dare say people are guessing about it, for 
 everybody knew that I meant to be there yester- 
 day, and that it must be- something sudden that 
 prevented me: for Mrs. Crane was here, and 
 saw my silk gown 'laid out ready, before the 
 post came in: and they could hardly think I
 
 148 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 was ill, the apothecary being there to witness 
 that he had not been sent for. But I thought I 
 would keep the thing to myself for another post, 
 at least, as it may all blow over yet." 
 
 Melea looked at her watch, and said she now 
 understood why Mrs. Parndon seemed disap- 
 pointed at seeing her. She had no doubt taken 
 her knock for the postman's. — O dear, no! it 
 was scarcely post-time yet; but, though Mr. 
 Pye had not exactly said that he should look in 
 in the morning, she supposed, when she heard 
 the knock, that it might be he ; (she could not get 
 him to walk in without knocking;) and she had 
 prepared to raise her voice a little to him; and 
 she was a little surprised when she found it was 
 not he; — that was all. 
 
 But what was the matter ? if Melea might 
 dsk; — if Mrs. Parndon really wished her to 
 know. 
 
 "Why, Miss Melea nothing more, — Philip 
 has done nothing more than many other people 
 are doing in these days; but it so happens that 
 punishment is to fall upon him more than upon 
 others. A little while ago, Edgar introduced a 
 young man into Philip's .shop, — (whether he 
 was a friend of Edgar's, Hester does not say)—
 
 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 149 
 
 telling Philip that he would find it worth while 
 to be liberal in his dealings with this gentle- 
 man; and that they might be of great mutual 
 accommodation. Xobodv being in the shop, 
 the gentleman, upon Philip's looking willing, 
 produced a bag of guineas to sell." 
 
 " But selling guineas is unlawful, is it not.^" 
 " That is the very cause of all this trouble: 
 but they say there is not a goldsmith in all Lon- 
 don that does not buy guineas; so that it is very 
 hard that one should be picked out for punish- 
 ment. Well; they agreed upon their bargain, 
 Edgar standing by seeing them weighed, and 
 being a v.itness to the terms. Just before they 
 had quite finished, somebody came into the shop, 
 and the stranger winked at Philip to sweep the 
 guineas out of sight, and whispered that he 
 .vould call again for the Money. It so happen- 
 ed that when he did call again, and was putting 
 the notes he had just taken into his pocket-book, 
 the very same person came in that had inter- 
 rupted them before. He pretended to want a 
 seal; but there is no doubt that he is a common 
 informer; for it was he who swore the offence 
 against Philip." 
 
 13*
 
 150 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 "Philip has really been brought to justice, 
 then?" 
 
 " O dear, Miss Melea! what an expression 
 for me to hear used about one of my children! 
 Yes; he was brought before the Lord Mayor; 
 but he was allowed to be bailed; and Edgar 
 will move heaven and earth to get him off; as, 
 indeed, he ought to do, he having been the one 
 to lead him into the scrape. I am trusting that 
 the letter I expect to-day may bring news of 
 its having taken some favourable turn." 
 
 " If not," said Melea, " you must comfort 
 yourself that the case is no worse. Though 
 Philip has fairly brought this misfortune upon 
 himself by transgressing a law that everybody 
 knows, it is a very different thing to all his 
 friends from his having incurred punishment for 
 bad moral conduct. The offence of buying and 
 selling guineas is an offence created for the 
 time by the curious state our currency is now 
 in. It is not like any act of intemperance, or 
 violence, or fraud, which will remain a crime 
 long after guineas cease to be bought and sold, 
 and was a crime before guineas were ever coin- 
 ed." 
 
 ** That is very much the same thing that Mr.
 
 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. l5l 
 
 Pye said. He tells me not to think of it as I 
 would of coining or forging. Yet they are 
 crimes belonging to the currency too, Miss 
 Melea!" 
 
 "They are direct frauds; robberies which 
 are known by those who perpetrate them to be 
 more iniquitous than common robberies, be- 
 cause they not only deprive certain persons of 
 their property, but shake public confidence, 
 which is the necessary safeguard of all proper- 
 ty. Buying guineas to make watch-chains of 
 the gold puts the government to the expense of 
 coining more; and this is a great evil; but 
 much blame rests with those who have made 
 gold so valuable as to tempt to this sale of coin, 
 and then punish the tempted. This sort of of- 
 fence and punishment cannot last long." 
 
 "And then my poor son's error will not be 
 remembered against him, I trust. How soon 
 do you suppose this state of things will change, 
 Miss Melea?" 
 
 " People say we are to have peace very soon 
 indeed; and presently after, the Bank of Eng- 
 land is to pay in cash again; and then gold coin 
 will cease to be more valuable than it pretends 
 to be."
 
 153 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 " So soon as that!" exclaimed Mrs. Parndon, 
 laying down her work. 
 
 " Yes. I should not wonder if all tempta- 
 tion to trade in guineas is over within a year." 
 
 The widow did not look at all pleased to hear 
 this, anxious as she had seemed for the time 
 when the kind of offence her son had commit- 
 ted should be forgotten. 
 
 While she was in a reverie, there was a knock 
 at the door. 
 
 " The postman! the postman!" cried Melea, 
 as she ran to open it. 
 
 Though it was not the postman, Mrs. Parn- 
 don looked far from being disappointed — for it 
 was Mr. Pye. 
 
 " Why, now, Mr. Pye," said she; " if you 
 would only have done what I asked you, — come 
 in without knocking, — you would not have put 
 us in a fluster with thinking you were the post- 
 man." 
 
 Mr. Pye was sorry, looked bashful, but did 
 not promise to open the door for himself next 
 time. He spoke of the heat, pushed back his 
 wig, pulled it on again, but so as to leave his 
 best ear uncovered; and then sat, glancing ir- 
 resolutely from the one lady to the other, while
 
 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 153 
 
 the widow looked as if waiting to be sympathiz- 
 ed with. Finding herself obliged to begin, 
 she said, — 
 
 "You may speak before Miss Melea, Mr. 
 Pye. She knows the whole; so you need not 
 keep your feelings to yourself because she is 
 here." 
 
 This intimation did not put Enoch at his ease; 
 while Melea could not help waiting to see what 
 would ensue on this permission to indulge sen- 
 sibility. 
 
 " Have you seen Mr. Craig?" asked Enoch. 
 
 '' I know him to have a message of peace, 
 which may support you while waiting for that 
 which I hope will come in another way. You 
 should hear what a comforter Mr. Craig is!" 
 
 Melea was sure Mr. Craig would come as 
 soon as he should know that Mrs. Parndon 
 wished to see him. The widow conveyed, how- 
 ever, that she had been so piously comforted the 
 night before, that she had rather chosen to de- 
 pend on a renewal from the same source than to 
 send for the clergyman, though, if matters went 
 worse instead of better, she should need all the 
 supports of friendship and religion. And poor 
 Mrs. Parndon 's tears began to flow. Enoch
 
 154 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 could never bear to see this. He walked 
 about the room, returned to take his old friend's 
 hand, tried to speak, and found that his voice 
 would not serve him. Melea began to think 
 she had better be going, when the expected let- 
 ter arrived. 
 
 Instead of opening it, the widow handed it to 
 Mr. Pye, with a sign of request that he would 
 read it first. Such a confidence embarrassed far 
 more than it flattered poor Enoch, whose scru- 
 pulosity had never before been so directly in- 
 vaded. He offered the letter beseechingly to 
 Melea, who, of course, would not receive it; 
 and, at length, finding that the widow's tears 
 went on to flow faster, he took courage to break 
 the seal, put on his glasses, and read. A crow 
 of delight from him soon told the ladies that the 
 news was good. Melea started up ; the widow's 
 handkerchief was lowered, and Enoch cast a 
 wistful look at her over his spectacles, as if 
 wondering whether she was strong enough to 
 bear what he had to impart. A sweet, encour- 
 aging smile made him redden all over, and has- 
 ten to say that Philip was safe, the whole affair 
 settled, and Edgar the immediate cause of this 
 happy issue.
 
 Ht'SBANDS AND WIVES. 155 
 
 "But how? Did not he buy the guineas, 
 after all? Was it not against the law? Or, 
 oh! were guineas no longer more valuable than 
 paper?" This last question was asked with 
 considerable trepidation, and answered by 
 Melea's reading the letter, which was as fol- 
 lows: — 
 
 " My dear Mother, — I am almost sorry I 
 wrote to you at all yesterday, as my letter must 
 have made you more uneasy than, as it turns 
 out, there was occasion for. It struck my hus- 
 band, as soon as he had time to think the mat- 
 ter over quietly, that there were a good many 
 light guineas among those that Philip bought. 
 He established the fact so clearly, (having 
 them brought from the very drawer that the in- 
 former saw them swept into,) that Philip was 
 discharged without any more difficulty ; and the 
 informer is very ill pleased with the turn the 
 affair has taken. You may suppose Philip will 
 use particular care henceforth, knowing that he 
 has this informer for an enemy; and I am 
 afraid the man will be Edgar's enemy too. But 
 it is a great satisfaction, as I hope you will 
 feel, that Edgar has got him off; and I hope 
 they will both keep clear of any more such dan-
 
 156 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 gers. It is near post-time; so I will only add 
 that we suppose nobody need know, down at 
 Haleham, anything about this business, unless 
 it should happen to be in the newspapers; and 
 then, if they should ask, you may be able to 
 make light of it. 
 
 " Love from Philip, (who is in his shop as if 
 nothing had happened,) and from your affec- 
 tionate daughter, 
 
 " Hester Morrison." 
 
 Melea did not understand the case, happy 
 as she was at its termination. What made it 
 more a crime to sell heavy guineas than light 
 ones ? 
 
 Enoch informed her that a guinea which 
 weighs less than 5 dwts. 8 grs. is not a guinea 
 in law. It may pass for twenty-one shillings, 
 but the law does not acknowledge that it is 
 worth so much. 
 
 " I wonder how much Edgar got for such an 
 one," said the widow, " and how much for the 
 heavy ones?" 
 
 " The heavy ones sell, under the rose, I un- 
 derstand, for a £1 bank-note, four shillings, and 
 sixpence, while those who thus exchange them 
 for more than a £1 bank-note and one shilling are
 
 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 157 
 
 liable to fine and imprisonment. But a man 
 may sell a light guinea for twenty-four shillings 
 and threepence, and nobody will find fault with 
 him; — a single half grain of deficiency in the 
 weight making the coin nothing better in the 
 eye of the law than so much gold metal." 
 
 " Then a light guinea, unworthy to pass, is 
 actually more valuable in a legal way just now 
 than a heavy one," said Melea. " How very 
 strange! How very absurd it seems!" 
 
 " Moreover," observed Enoch, " if you melt 
 a light guinea, you may get from it 5 dwts. 7 J 
 grs. of bullion. But you must not melt heavy 
 guineas, — and each of them will legally ex- 
 change for no more than 4dwts., 14 grs. of gold. 
 So a light guinea is worth, to a person who keeps 
 the law, 174 g**^- ^^ S^^^ more than a heavy 
 one." 
 
 "How could they expect my son to keep 
 such law?" sighed the widow, — not for her son, 
 but for her own long-standing mistake in con- 
 gratulating herself on the good weight of the 
 guineas she had hoarded for many months. It 
 was a sad blow to find, aTter all, that they had 
 better have been light. She resolved, however, 
 under the immediate pain which Philip had 
 14
 
 158 HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
 
 caused her, to keep her coin, in hopes that times 
 would once more turn round, and that, without 
 breaking the law, she might not only get more 
 than a note and a shilling for each heavy guinea, 
 but more than for one despised by the law. 
 
 Another knock! It was Henry Craig, — come, 
 partly to see whether he could be of service to 
 Mrs. Parndon, but much more for the purpose 
 of telling Melea that Lewis had arrived, and 
 of walking home with her. He at once took 
 Melea's hint not to seem to suppose that any- 
 thing was the matter, and to conclude that the 
 widow would be interested in the fact and cir- 
 cumstances of the young East-Indian's unlock- 
 ed for arrival. It was not many minutes before 
 Melea accepted his arm and departed, seeing 
 that Mrs. Parndon was growing fidgetty lest 
 they should outstay Mr. Pye. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Parndon, good morning. I 
 am glad I came to see you just when I did. I 
 shall not forget our conversation." 
 
 " Must you go. Miss Melea? and Mr. Craig? 
 Well; I would not think of detaining you, I 
 am sure, with such hn attraction as Master 
 Lewis awaiting you at home. It was truly kind 
 of you to stay so long. Pray, Mr. Pye, be so
 
 SUSPENSE. 159 
 
 kind as to open the door for Miss Melea. My 
 respects at home, as usual, you know, Miss 
 Melea; and many thanks to you, Mr. Craig, 
 for your goodness in calling. Mr. Pye, pray 
 nave the kindness to open the door." 
 
 Mr. Pye, not hearing, stood bowing; and 
 Henry Craig was found all-sufficient to open 
 the door. The last glimpse Melea had through 
 it, was of the widow drawing an arm-chair 
 cosily next her own, and patting it with a look 
 of invitation to Mr. Pye. As he was not seen 
 following them by the time they had reached 
 the end of the street, the young folks had no 
 doubt that he had surrendered himself prisoner 
 for another hour. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SUSPENSE. 
 
 Lewis soon became a more important person 
 in the Berkeley family than any member of it 
 had anticipated, or than it would have been at 
 all good for the boy himself to have kno^^^l.
 
 160 SUSPENSE. 
 
 Anxieties were multiplying; the banking busi- 
 ness was in a very doubtful state ; and the most 
 sagacious practical men could not pretend to fore- 
 see what v/as likely to follow the transition from 
 a long and burdensome war to peace. The far- 
 mers had begun to complain some time before. 
 After several unfavourable seasons, during 
 which they had been growing rich, their fields 
 began to be as productive as they had ever been ; 
 and the difficulties in the way of the importa- 
 tion of corn were, about the same time, lessened 
 by the peace ; so that the prices of corn fell so 
 rapidly and extensively as to injure the landed 
 interest, and cause ruin to some, and a very 
 general abatement of confidence. 
 
 The banks, of course, suffered immediately 
 by this; and there was too much reason to fear 
 that the last days of many were at hand. Bank 
 paper was now at its lowest point of deprecia- 
 tion the difference between the market-price of 
 gold and the legal value of guineas being thirty 
 per cent. ; and there was no prospect of a safe 
 and quiet restoration of paper to the value of 
 gold, by a gradual contraction of its issues on 
 the part of the Bank of England. If there had 
 been no law to prevent its notes passing at their 
 
 I
 
 SUSPENSE, 161 
 
 true value in the market, the Bank would have 
 been warned by what was daily before its eyes 
 to regulate its issues according to the quantity 
 of money wanted. When its notes were at a dis- 
 count, its issues could have been quietly con- 
 tracted; or, on the other hand, cautiously en- 
 larged, if its notes should have happened to bear 
 a premium. But this had been put out of the 
 question some time before by the law which or- 
 dained bank notes to bear a fixed value in rela- 
 tion to gold; which law was occasioned by the 
 just demand of a great landholder to be paid his 
 rents in an endepreciated currency. If all other 
 parties to a contract had insisted on the same 
 thing, inconvertible bank paper would have been 
 everywhere refused; therefore the law was 
 passed that Bank of England notes must neither 
 be refused in payment, nor taken at less than the 
 value they professed to bear. This law encour- 
 aged the Bank to put out more notes than 
 could safely circulate ; and so one evil brought 
 on another, — all of which might be traced back 
 to the Restriction Act, but whose results it was 
 not so easy to anticipate. 
 
 That the Bank and the Government were 
 aware of the decrease in the value of their paper, 
 Vol. I — L 14*
 
 162 SUSPENSE. 
 
 was evident by their sending it abroad whenever 
 a favourable opportunity offered for passing large 
 quantities of it in distant places, where it was 
 not expected that people would be too curious 
 about its value. The Irish proved impractica- 
 ble. They were too near home, and knew very 
 well what ought to be thought of Bank of Eng- 
 land paper in comparison with guineas, which 
 were openly bought and sold, till the law above 
 referred to was extended to that country. The 
 Canadians were tried next, bundles of paper- 
 money being sent out to pay the army, and 
 everybody else with whom Government had to 
 do. But, instead of taking them quietly, as 
 Englishmen were compelled to do, they consult- 
 ed together upon the notes, appraised them, and 
 used them in exchange at a discount of thirty 
 per cent. This being the case in any part of 
 the world, was enough to render any other part 
 of the world discontented with bank paper; and 
 set the people in England looking about them to 
 see how many banks they had, and what was the 
 foundation of their credit. There was little 
 comfort in the discovery that, while scarcely any 
 gold was forthcoming, the number of banks had 
 increased, since Bank of England notes had
 
 SUSPENSE. 163 
 
 been rendered inconvertible, from about 280 to 
 above 700; and that a great many of these were 
 watching the fortunes of the farming interest 
 with a nervous anxiety which did not tell at all 
 well for their own. 
 
 IVIr. Berkeley now never missed going to 
 
 D on market days; and the girls found 
 
 themselves more interested than they could once 
 have conceived possible in the accounts Henry 
 Craig brought them of what was said of the 
 state of the times in the farm-houses he visited, 
 and by Mr. Martin when he returned from 
 making his sales in the county. It appeared 
 that there was quite as much speculation abroad 
 respecting the stability of the banks as about 
 
 the supply of corn; and the bank at D and 
 
 Mr. Cavendish's concern did not, of course, es- 
 cape remark. 
 
 Mr. Cavendish had, to Horace's surprise, get 
 over his difficulties about the license. He had 
 quietly paid the lines, and gone on ; being observ- 
 ed, however, to undersell more and more, and 
 drive his business more quickly and eagerly 
 every day; so as to afford grounds of suspicion 
 to some wise observers that he was coming to 
 an end of his resourses. It was impossible but
 
 164 SUSPENSE. 
 
 that he must be carrying on his business at a 
 tremendous loss, and that a crash must therefore 
 be coming. — Mr. Berkeley's disapprobation and 
 dislike of this man and his doings grew into 
 something very like hatred as times became 
 darker. He knew that Cavendish's failure must 
 
 cause a tremendous run on the D bank; 
 
 and these were not days when bankers could 
 contemplate a panic with any degree of assur- 
 ance. As often as he saw lighters coming and 
 going, or stacks of deals being unbuilt, or coals 
 carted on Cavendish's premises, he came home 
 gloomy or pettish; and yet, as Melea sometimes 
 ventured to tell him, the case would be still 
 worse if there was nothing stirring there. If 
 busy. Cavendish must be plunging himself deep- 
 er in liabilities; if idle, his resources must be 
 failing him: so, as both aspects of his affairs 
 must be dismal, the wisest thing was to fret as 
 little as possible about either. — These were the 
 times when Lewis's presence was found to be a 
 great comfort. His uncle was proud of him, — 
 his aunt fond of him; the occupation of teaching 
 him was pleasant and useful to his cousins; and 
 there was endless amusement to them all in the 
 incidents and conversations which arose from
 
 SUSPENSE. 165 
 
 his foreign birth and rearing. None of them 
 could at present foresee how much more impor- 
 tant a comfort this little lad would soon be. 
 
 Rather late in the autumn of this year, Fanny 
 left home for a week to pay a long-promised 
 visit to a friend who lived in the country, ten 
 miles from Haleham. This promise being ful- 
 filled, she and Melea and Lewis were to settle 
 down at home for a winter of diligent study, and 
 of strenuous exertion to make their own fire-side 
 as cheerfiil as possible to the drooping spirits of 
 their father and mother. If they could but get 
 over this one winter, all would be well; for Mr. 
 Berkeley had laid his plans for withdrawing from 
 the bank at Midsummer, preferring a retreat with 
 considerable loss to the feverish anxiety under 
 which he was at present suffering. His pride 
 was much hurt at his grand expectations of his 
 banking achievements having come to this; but 
 his family, one and all, soothed him with reason- 
 ings on the sufficiency of what he expected to have 
 remaining, and with assurances that his peace 
 of mind was the only matter of concern to them. 
 He believed all they said at the time ; but present 
 impressions were too much for him when he was 
 at business; and whatever might be his mood
 
 166 SUSPENSE. 
 
 when his daughters parted from him at the gate 
 in the morning, it was invariably found, when 
 he came back to dinner, that he had left his phi- 
 losophy somewhere in the road, and was griev- 
 ously in want of a fresh supply. Mrs. Berkeley 
 already began to count the months till Midsum- 
 mer; and Melea's eyes were full of tears when 
 Fanny was mounting her horse for her little 
 journey. Melea did not think she could have 
 so dreaded one week of her sister's absence. 
 
 The first day passed pretty comfortably, no 
 news having arrived of the stoppage of any bank 
 in town or country, and nothing reaching the 
 ears of the Berkeleys respecting any transactions 
 of the Cavendishes. On the next, Lewis, who 
 had been amusing himself with sweeping away 
 the dead leaves to make a clear path for his 
 uncle up to the house, came running in, broom 
 in hand, to announce that Mr. Berkeley was 
 
 coming, full gallop, by the field way from D . 
 
 Before Mrs. Berkeley knew what to make of 
 this strange news, her husband burst in, in a state 
 of nervous agitation from head to foot. 
 
 " What is the matter?" cried everybody. 
 
 " Lewis, go and finish your sweeping," said 
 his uncle, upon which the dismayed boy was
 
 SUSPENSE. 167 
 
 withdrawing. — " Lewis, come back," was the 
 next order, *' and stay with your aunt all day. 
 Have nothing to say to the servants." 
 
 " The bank has failed?" said Melea, inqui- 
 ringly. 
 
 " ^o, my dear; but there is a run upon it, 
 and to-morrow is market-day. I must be off to 
 town instantly; but no one must see the least 
 sign of alarm. — Get on your habit, Melea. Your 
 horse will be at the door in another minute." 
 
 "Mine, father!" 
 
 " Yes. We go out for our ride; — leisurely, 
 you know, leisurely, till we are past Cavendish's, 
 and out of sight of the town; and then for a 
 gallop after the mail. I think I may overtake 
 it." 
 
 When Melea came down, dressed in a shorter 
 time than ever horsewoman was dressed before, 
 her mother had stuffed a shirt and night-cap into 
 INIr. Berkeley's pocket, replenished his purse, 
 promised to be at D to meet him on his re- 
 turn from town in the middle of the next day, 
 and summoned a smile of hope and a few words 
 of comfort with which to dismiss him. 
 
 The groom was ordered to fall back out of 
 earshot; and during the tedious half mile that
 
 168 SUSPENSE. 
 
 they were obliged to go slowly, Mel ea learned a 
 few particulars. She asked the nature of the 
 alarm, and whether the old story of the forg- 
 eries had anything to do with it. 
 
 "Nothing whatever. It is pure accident. 
 The most provoking thing in the world! The 
 merest accident!" 
 
 " People's minds are in a state to be acted 
 upon by trifles," observed Melea. " I hope it 
 may soon blow over, if it is not a well-founded 
 alarm." 
 
 "No, no. Such a hubbub as I left behind 
 me is easy enough to begin, but the devil knows 
 where it will end. It was that cursed fool, Mrs. 
 Millar, that is the cause of all this." 
 
 " What ! Mrs. Millar the confectioner?' 
 
 *' The same, — the mischievous damned old 
 
 j> 
 
 The rest was lost between his teeth. Melea 
 had never thought Mrs. Millar a fool, or mis- 
 chievous, and knew she was not old, and had no 
 reason fo^- supposing the remaining word to be 
 more applicable than the others. Perceiving, 
 however, that they were just coming in sight of 
 Cavendish's premises, she supposed that her 
 father's wrath might bear a relation to them,
 
 SUSPENSE. 169 
 
 while he vented it on the harmless Mrs. Millar. 
 He went on: — 
 
 " A servant boy was sent to Mrs. Miller's 
 for change for a £o note of our bank; and the 
 devil took him there just when the shop was full 
 of people, eating^their buns and tarts for lun- 
 cheon. The fool behind the counter — " 
 
 " And who was that.'" 
 
 " Why, who should it be but 3Irs. Millar? — 
 never looked properly at the note, and gave the 
 boy a pound's worth of silver. When he showed 
 her that it was a five, she took it up between her 
 hands, and with her cursed solemn face said, 
 'Oh, I cant change that note.' The boy 
 carried home the story; the people in the shop 
 looked at one another; and the stupid woman 
 went on serving her buns, actually the only 
 person that did not find out what a commotion 
 she had begun. The bun-eaters all made a 
 circuit by our bank in their walk, and one of 
 them came in and gave us warning; but it was 
 too late. In half an hour, the place was be- 
 sieged, and to avoid being observed, I had to 
 make my way out through Taylor's garden at 
 the back." 
 
 15
 
 170 SUSPENSE. 
 
 " Poor Mrs. Millar!" said Melea. " I am 
 as sorry for her as for anybody." 
 
 " O, you never saw any one in such a taking 
 — as she deserves to be. She came, without her 
 bonnet, into the middle of the crowd, explaining 
 and protesting, and all that; with not a soul to 
 mind what she said now, though they were ready 
 enough to snap up her words an hour before. 
 She caught a glimpse of me, when she had made 
 her way up the steps, and she actually went 
 down on her knees to ask me to forgive her; 
 but I swore I never would." 
 
 " O father !" cried Melea, more troubled than 
 she had yet been. At the moment, she received 
 a signal to look as usual while the Broadhursts' 
 carriage passed, but on no account to stop to 
 speak. Whether her father, with his twitching 
 countenance, could look as usual, was Melea's 
 doubt. Doubting it himself, he teazed his horse, 
 and made it bolt past the carriage on one side, 
 while his daughter saluted the Broadhursts on 
 the other. 
 
 " Well carried off, child !" he cried. 
 
 *' Take care, Sir. They are looking after
 
 SUSPENSE. 171 
 
 "Aye; pronouncing me a wonderful horse- 
 man for my years, I dare say ; but I must put 
 that matter to the proof a little more before I get 
 quietly seated in the mail. — Well; I may be off 
 now, I think; and here we part. God bless 
 you, my dear ! Thank God we have not met 
 Cavendish or any of his tribe ! I should have 
 rode over the children, depend upon it. Fare- 
 well, my love !" 
 
 " Not yet,^^ said Melea, settling herself as if 
 for a feat. " I can gallop as' well as you, and I 
 must see you into the mail, — for my mother's 
 sake." 
 
 " You will soon have had enough; and when 
 you have, turn without speaking to me. George, 
 follow your mistress, and never mind me, or 
 where I take it into my head to go. 'Sow for 
 it !" 
 
 The gallop lasted till George wondered whether 
 master and young mistress were not both out of 
 their right minds. At length, the mail was seen 
 steadily clearing a long reach of hill before them. 
 George was shouted to ride on and stop it ; a 
 service which he could scarcely guess how he 
 was to perform, as it had been all he could do to 
 keep up with his charge for the last four miles.
 
 172 SUSPENSE. 
 
 The mail disappeared over the ridge before the 
 panting horses had toiled half way up the long 
 hill; but it was recovered at the top, and at last 
 overtaken, and found to have just one place 
 vacant inside. Mr. Berkeley made time for 
 another word. 
 
 "I charge you, Melea, to let Fanny know 
 nothing of this. Not a syllable, mind, by mes- 
 sage or letter, before she comes home. Time 
 enough then." 
 
 Romonstrance was impossible ; but Melea was 
 much grieved. She mourned over the prohibition 
 all the way home; but she was particularly glad 
 that Henry had not been mentioned. She was 
 sure her mother would desire that he should 
 come to them, and help them to support one 
 another during the inevitable suspense, and the 
 misfortunes which might follow. 
 
 When Melea reached home, she found her 
 
 mother preparing to set off for J) , where 
 
 (as the run would probably continue for some 
 days, requiring the presence of all the part- 
 ners) it was her intention to take a lodging, in or- 
 der that the few hours of rest which her husband 
 would be able to snatch might be more undis- 
 turbed than they could be in a friend's house
 
 SUSPENSE. 173 
 
 Melea begged hard that Mrs. Miller might be 
 allowed to accommodate them, in sign of for- 
 giveness and regard; and as her dwelling was 
 conveniently placed with respect to the bank, 
 and she was known to have everything comfort- 
 able about her, Mrs. Berkeley had no objection 
 to make the first application to the grieved and 
 penitent cause of all this mischief 
 
 Melea and Lewis must stay at home. Painful 
 as it v/as to seperate at such a time, the effort 
 must be made ; for, besides that it was better for 
 Mr. Berkeley to have no one with him but his 
 wife it was necessary that no diiference in the 
 proceedings of the family should be perceived 
 in Haleham. The house must be seen to be open, 
 the family on the spot, and allgoingon, as nearly 
 as possible, in the common way. — The mother 
 and daughter did not attempt to flatter each other 
 that all would end well. They were both too 
 ignorant of the extent of the alarm, as well as of 
 the resources of the bank, to pretend to judge. 
 They were firm, composed, and thoughtful; but 
 self-possession was the best thing they at present 
 wished and hoped for. When the silent parting 
 kiss had been given, and the sound of wheels 
 died away in the dusk, Melea sank down on the 
 15*
 
 174 SUSPENSE. 
 
 sofa, and remained motionless for a time which 
 appeared endless to poor Lewis. He stood at 
 the window, looking out, long after it was too 
 dark to see anything. He wished Melea would 
 bid him ring for lights. He was afraid the fire 
 was going out, but he did not like to stir it while 
 Melea had her eyes fixed upon it. He could 
 not steal out of the room for his slate, because 
 he had been bidden to stay where he was for the 
 rest of the day. When he was too tired and un- 
 easy to stand at the window any longer, he crept 
 to the hearth-rug, and laid himself down on his 
 face at full length. 
 
 Melea started up, stirred the fire into a blaze, 
 and sat down beside Lewis, stroking his head, 
 and asking him whether he thought he could be 
 happy for a few days with only herself to be his 
 companion after school hours; and whether he 
 could keep the secret of his aunt's absence, and 
 of his uncle's not coming home to dinner sm 
 usual. While Lewis was conscientiously mea- 
 suring his own discretion, patience, and forti- 
 tude, previous to giving his answer, Mr. Craig 
 was shown in. 
 
 Henry did not come in consequence of any 
 alarm, as Melea saw by the lightness of his step
 
 SUSPENSE. 175 
 
 and the gaiety of his manner of entering the 
 room. He presently stopped short, however, on 
 seeing only two of the family, sitting by firelight, 
 at an hour when music and merry voices were 
 usually to be heard in the bright, busy room. 
 *' Is any body ill r'' " What then is the matter?" 
 were questions which led to a full explanation. — 
 Henry was very sorry that Fanny could not be 
 sent for. He thought the prohibition wrong; 
 but, as it existed, there was nothing to be done 
 but to obey it. He would, however, do all he 
 could to supply Fanny's place to Melea. After 
 a long consultation about matters of minor mo- 
 ment, the most ample review of past circum- 
 stances, and the steadiest mutual contemplation 
 of what might be in prospect, the friends parted, 
 — Henry uncertain whether there was most joy 
 or sorrow in his full heart, — (joy in Melea, and 
 sorrow for this trial,) — and Melea, relying upon 
 the support that his promised visits would afford 
 her. She would see him, he had told her, two 
 or three times a day while the suspense lasted; 
 and he should not set foot out of Haleham while 
 there was a chance of her sending him notice 
 that he could be of the slightest service.
 
 176 CERTAINTY. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CERTAINTY. 
 
 Mrs. Millar was only too happy in being per- 
 mitted to atone, by her most devoted attentions, 
 for the evil she had caused by an expression, in- 
 advertently dropped and completely misunder- 
 stood- Her lodgings happened to be empty; 
 but, if they had not been so, she would have 
 given up her own sitting-room, and all the ac- 
 commodation her house could afford, to secure to 
 Mr. Berkeley the repose he would so much 
 want, after the fatigues he was undergoing. She 
 left the shop to the care of her servants while she 
 herself assisted Mrs, Berkeley in the needful 
 preparations for Mr. Berkeley's comfort, on his 
 return from his journey ; a return which was 
 made known by strangers before the anxious 
 wife heard of it from himself. 
 
 The streets of D were full of bustle from 
 
 an hour before the bank opened in the morning. 
 News was brought by customers into Mrs.
 
 CERTAINTY. 177 
 
 Millar's shop of expresses which had been seen 
 going and returning, it was supposed, from the 
 other banks which must necessarily be expecting 
 a run. Everybody had something to tell; — 
 what a prodigious quantity of gold and silver 
 there was in large wooden bowls on the bank- 
 counter; how such and such carrier had left 
 the market early to elbow his way into the bank, 
 and demand cash, being afraid to carry home 
 notes to his employer; how there was no use in 
 going to market without change, as a note 
 might travel the whole round of butcher's stalls 
 without finding a hand to take it; how some of 
 the folks would receive Bank of England notes, 
 and others would be content with nothing short 
 of gold. There were many laughs about the ig- 
 norance of certain of the country people respect- 
 ing the causes and nature of the panic: of the 
 young woman who carried Bank of England 
 
 notes to be changed for those of the D bank; 
 
 of the old woman who was in a hurry to get rid 
 of her guineas for notes, because she was told the 
 guinea-bank was in danger; and of the market- 
 gardener who gladly presented a note of a bank 
 which had failed a year before, expecting to get 
 ca^ for it. Later in the day, remarks were 
 Vol. I — M
 
 178 CERTAINTY. 
 
 heard on the civility and cheerfulness of the 
 young gentlemaUj the son of one of the partners, 
 just arrived from London, it was said, and who 
 seemed to understand the thing very well, and 
 to be quite easy about everybody having his 
 own. With these were coupled criticisms on the 
 young gentleman's father, who was fidgetting 
 about, trying to joke with the country people, 
 but as cross as could be between times: to which 
 somebody answered that he might well be cross 
 when an old friend and business connexion, from 
 whom he might have expected some considera- 
 tion and gratitude, had sent his porter with two 
 10/. and one 5/. note to be cashed. No wonder 
 Mr. Berkeley said, loud enough for everybody to 
 hear, that Mr, Briggs ought to be ashamed of 
 himself: for it was true that he ought. — A new 
 comer explained that Mr. Briggs had nothing to 
 do with it; and that he had, on learning what a 
 liberty his porter had taken w^ith his name, sent 
 a note to Mr. Berkeley, explaining that he had 
 issued strict orders to all his people, early that 
 morning, not to go near the bank the whole day; 
 and that the porter was dismissed his service, 
 and might obtain employment, if he could, from 
 the persons who had no doubt sent him to get
 
 CERTAINTY. 179 
 
 change for their notes, because they did not 
 choose to appear in the matter themselves. 
 
 From the moment that 3Irs, Berkeley heard of 
 the arrival of her husband and son, she endeav- 
 oured to persuade herself that all would be well, 
 and that the great danger was over, since the 
 bank did not stop before supplies could be ob- 
 tained from town. She sat by the window, and 
 counted the hours till six o'clock, the time when 
 the bank usually closed^ Half-past six came, 
 and the street appeared fuller of bustle than 
 even in the morning; a circumstance which she 
 could not understand, till Mrs. Millar came up 
 to tell her that the bank was kept open an hour 
 later than usual. This looked well, and did 
 more to compose the anxious wife than all the 
 slips of paper she had had from her husband 
 during the afternoon, each of which assured her 
 that there was no cause for uneasiness. As her 
 spirits were thus somewhat raised, it was a 
 grievous disappointment to see her husband 
 come in with a miserable countenance, and even 
 Horace looking more grave than she had ever 
 seen him. 
 
 *' And now, Horace, no more pretence," 
 Mid Mr. Berkeley when he had sunk down on
 
 180 CERTAINXr. 
 
 a sofa, apparently transformed by the events 
 of the last twenty-four hours into a feeble old 
 man. "We have been hypocritical enough 
 all day; now let us look as wretched as we 
 are." 
 
 "Some tea, mother," said Horace. "My 
 father's hard day's work is done; but I must go 
 back to the bank, and possibly to London. 
 They keep us terribly short of gold. We must 
 get more out of them before noon to-morrow, 
 or I do not know what may have become of us 
 by this time in the evening." 
 
 Mrs. Berkeley began to protest against the 
 cruelty of stinting the supplies of gold at such 
 a time. 
 
 "They cannot help it, mother," replied 
 Horace. " They are hourly expecting a run 
 themselves — " 
 
 " A run on the London banks ! Where will 
 all this end?" Horace shook his head. He 
 then observed, that if they could get through 
 the next day, he should be tolerably easy, as it 
 was not probable that the mistrust of the people 
 would outlast a well-sustained run of two days 
 and a half. If they had none but small amounts 
 to pay, he shouid have little fear; — if it was
 
 CERTAINTY. 181 
 
 certain that no more rich customers would come 
 driving up in carriages to take away their seven 
 thousand pounds in a lump. 
 
 Why, who could have done that? Mrs. 
 Berkeley inquired. 
 
 " Who !" said her husband. " Who should 
 it be but the sister of that fellow Longe ! There 
 he was with her in the carriage grinning and 
 kissing his hand when he caught a glimpse of 
 me within. It was his doing, I'll answer for it. 
 He would not let pass such an opportunity of 
 annoying us." 
 
 " The sister is evidently an ignorant person, 
 who does not perceive the mischief she is 
 doing," observed Horace " I should not won- 
 der if it strikes her, and she brings her seven 
 heavy bags back again to-morrow." 
 
 " Then she may carry them away a second 
 time," said Mr. Berkeley. " I am longing to 
 write to tell her, when this bustle is over, that 
 we have closed accounts with her for ever." 
 
 Horace wished they might be justified in 
 
 spurning the seven thousand the next day. 
 
 Nobody would enjoy the rejection more than 
 
 himself, if they could safely make it; but seven 
 
 16
 
 182 CERTAINTY. 
 
 thousand pounds would go a good way in pay- 
 ing small demands." 
 
 '' I suppose your bank is solvent?" timidly 
 asked Mrs. Berkeley. "You are quite sure 
 of this, I hope." 
 
 Before there was time for an answer, the door 
 was jerked open; and Mr. Cavendish appeared, 
 cursing his white hat, and apologising for the 
 rudeness of finding his own way up stairs, 
 against the will of Mrs. Millar, who was not 
 aware what an intimate friend he was, and how 
 impossible it was to him to keep away from the 
 Berkeleys at such a time. 
 
 Horace made a rapid sign to his father to 
 command himself, and then coolly took a cup of 
 tea from his mother, sugaring it with great ex- 
 actness, and leaving it to Mr. Cavendish to be- 
 gin the conversation. Mr. Berkeley saw the 
 necessity of behaving well, and kept quiet also. 
 
 **1 hope you enjoy your sofa, Sir," observed 
 Cavendish. " It must be very acceptable, 
 after having been on your legs all day." 
 
 At another time, Mr. Berkeley might have 
 criticised the grammar; but he now vented his 
 critical spleen on the accommodations at the 
 bank.
 
 CERTAINTY. IS"^ 
 
 •' By the way, Horace," said he, " there's a 
 confounded draught from under those doors. 
 One does not mind it in common; and I have 
 really forgotten it since last winter, till to-day. 
 But the eternal opening and shutting of the out- 
 er door caused a perpetual stream of air going 
 and returning. It is that which has made my 
 ancles ache so to-night." 
 
 " And the fatigue , ni doubt," added Caven- 
 dish. " You must have had a very busy, — an 
 extremely harassing day, Sir." 
 
 "Very indeed, and." — yawning, — "as we 
 are Jikely to have just such another to-morrow, 
 I must go to bed presently. It is a great com- 
 fort, (for wxiich I am obliged to my wife,) that 
 I have not to ride as far as you have to-night, or 
 to be up particularly early in the morning. We 
 shall open an hour earlier than usual, but this 
 leaves time enough for sleep, even to lazy folks 
 like me." 
 
 " An hour earlier ! Indeed ! Well, Sir, I 
 hope you will sleep sound, I am sure," 
 
 "It will be odd if I do not," said Mr, Berke- 
 ley, yawning again. Mr. Cavendish proceed- 
 ed,- 
 
 "I trust, Sir, you support yourself pretty
 
 184 CERTAINTY. 
 
 well. There is something so harassing in a 
 bustle of this nature ; so provoking ; — so, if I 
 pay say so, exasperating ! I hope this has no 
 effect upon you; — you keep yourself calm,- — 
 you " 
 
 " I, Sir ! Lord bless you, I am as cool as a 
 cucumber. ' ' Seeing an exchange of glances be- 
 tween Horace and Mrs. Berkeley, he went on, 
 " There was I behind the counter, you know. 
 That was my place." 
 
 " True: so I understood." 
 
 " Behind the counter, where I could talk with 
 the country people as they came in; and, upon 
 my soul, I never heard any thing so amusing. 
 To hear what they expected, and how they had 
 been bamboozled ! To see what a hurry they 
 were in to squeeze their way up to the counter, 
 and, after talking a minute or two, and handling 
 their gold, how they thought the notes were more 
 convenient to carry, after all; and they would 
 have them back again, with many apologies for 
 the trouble they had given us." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! very good. Apologies indeed ! 
 They ought to apologise, I think. And do you, 
 really now, open accounts again with them ?" 
 
 " With such as knew no better, and will
 
 certai?:ty. 185 
 
 know better another time; but not with any who 
 ought to keep ten miles off on such a day as 
 this, and come clamouring for their five or seven 
 thousand guineas." 
 
 " Is it possible? You dont say so !" 
 
 " I do, though. And they may go and seek 
 a beggarly banker who cares more for their 
 trumpery bags than we do. We will not blister 
 our fingers any more with their cursed gold. 
 We will teach them " 
 
 " No more tea, thank you, mother," said Ho- 
 race, rising and buttoning up his coat. '*' Mr. 
 Cavendish, will you walk? I have just to go 
 down the street, and it is time we were leaving 
 my father to rest himself, which, as you observe, 
 he needs." 
 
 '•'With pleasure, Mr. Horace; but I have 
 first a little matter to speak about, — a little sug- 
 gestion to make, — and I am glad, I am sure, 
 that you are here to give us the benefit of your 
 opinion. It occurs to me, you see, that one 
 fi-iend should help another, at a time of need. 
 There is no knowing, you perceive, what may 
 happen in these extraordinary times to any of 
 us, — bankers especially. Even I myself may 
 16*
 
 186 CERTAINTY. 
 
 be in a condition to be glad of the credit of my 
 friends." 
 
 " Very probably," observed Mr. Berkeley. 
 
 " Well, then, my dear sir, allow me to make 
 use of my credit on your behalf It will give 
 me the greatest pleasure to bring you through." 
 
 Though Mr. Berkeley looked as if he would 
 have devoured him on the spot, Cavendish went 
 on pressing his offers of service, of patronage, 
 of support, and ended with a pretty broad hint 
 that he would take charge of Mr. Berkeley's 
 estate on condition of raising the funds needful 
 at present. In the midst of his rage, Mr. 
 Berkeley was for a moment disposed to take 
 him at his word, for the amusement of seeing 
 how Cavendish would contrive to back out of a 
 bargain which all parties were equally aware he 
 could not fulfil; but having just discretion 
 enough to see the mischief which such a joke 
 must bring after it, he adopted a different air; 
 bowed his haughtiest bow, was very sensible of 
 Mr. Cavendish's motives, would ask for the 
 patronage of the Haleham bank when he need- 
 ed it, and was, meanwhile, Mr. Cavendish's 
 very humble servant. 
 
 When Horace and the tormenter were gone,
 
 CERTAI?rTT. 187 
 
 and Mr Berkeley had vented his spleen against 
 the impudent upstart, the coxcomb, the swindler, 
 and whatever pretty terms besides he could ap- 
 ply to Cavendish, Mrs. Berkeley obtained some 
 account of the events of the day, and was glad 
 to find that there were instances of generosity 
 and delicacy to set against the examples of Mr. 
 Longe's sister and of Cavendish. A merchant 
 had appeared at the counter to pay in a large 
 sum; and a servant-maid, who had nursed Miss 
 Melea, came to the bank in search of her hus- 
 band, and carried him off without the change he 
 went to seek. These, and a few other heroes 
 and heroines, furnished Mr. Berkeley with sub- 
 jects for as vehement praise as others of blame; 
 and he retired to his chamber at war with not 
 much more than half his race. 
 
 The most urgent messages and incessant per- 
 sonal applications failed to procure such a supply 
 of gold from the corresponding bank in London 
 
 as would satisfy the partners of the D bank 
 
 of their ability to meet the run, if it should con- 
 tinue for some days. It did so continue; relax- 
 ing a little on the third day, becoming terrific 
 on the fourth, and obliging the partners to hold 
 a midnight consultation, whether they should
 
 188 CERTAINTY. 
 
 venture to open their doors on the fifth. The 
 bank did not this day remain open an hour after 
 the usual time: it was cleared almost before the 
 clock struck six; and though some of the people 
 outside were considerate enough to remember 
 that the clerks and partners must all be weary, 
 after so many days of unusual toil, and that this 
 was reason enough for the early closing of the 
 shutters, there were others to shake their heads, 
 and fear that the coffers were at length emptied 
 of their gold. 
 
 For the first two hours in the morning, the 
 partners congratulated themselves on their reso- 
 lution to take the chance of another day. The 
 tide was turned: people were ashamed of their 
 panic, and gold flowed in. A note to say this 
 was sent to Mrs. Berkeley, who immediately be- 
 gan her preparations for returning home before 
 night. The messenger who went to and fro be- 
 tween D and Haleham, was charged with 
 
 good news for Melea; and all seemed happy 
 again, when the fearful tidings arrived that the 
 corresponding banking-house in London was ex- 
 posed to a tremendous run, and required all the 
 assistance it could obtain, instead of being in 
 any condition to send further funds to its country 
 correspondent.
 
 CERTAINTY. 189 
 
 Ail attempts to keep this intelligence secret 
 
 were vain. Within an hour, everybody in D 
 
 had heard it, and it was impossible to obviate 
 the effects of the renewed panic. The partners 
 did not defer the evil moment till their coffers 
 were completely emptied. As soon as the tide 
 had once more turned, and gold began to flow 
 out a second time, they closed their bank, and 
 issued a notice of their having stopped payment. 
 
 Horace was the main support of his family at 
 this crisis. When he had communicated the in- 
 telligence to his mother, silenced the lamenta- 
 tions of the miserable Mrs, Millar and brought 
 his father home to his lodging after dusk, he 
 went over to Haleham for an hour or two, to 
 give such poor satisfaction to his sisters as might 
 be derived from full and correct intelligence. 
 Fanny had not yet returned; and as she was not 
 there, with her matured and calm mind, and 
 greater experience of life, to support her young 
 sister under this blow, Horace could scarcely 
 bring himself to communicate to his little Melea 
 tidings so completely the reverse of those which 
 she evidently expected. Though many years 
 younger, Melea was not, however, a whit behind 
 her sister in strength of mind. She also under-
 
 190 CERTAINTY. 
 
 stood more of the nature of the case than her 
 brother had supposed possible; so that she was 
 capable of as much consolation as could arise 
 from a full explanation of the state and pros- 
 pects of the concern, and of the family fortunes 
 as connected with it. 
 
 Melea would have enquired into all these cir- 
 cumstances if only for the sake of the relief 
 which it appeared to afford to Horace to fix his 
 attention upon them; but she was also anxious 
 to qualify herself to satisfy Fanny in every par- 
 ticular, on her return the next day: for her 
 brother brought a message from Mrs. Berkeley, 
 requesting that Melea would not think of joining 
 
 her parents at D , but would stay to receive 
 
 Fanny, and to prepare for the return of the rest 
 of the family, whenever Mr. Berkeley might 
 feel himself justified in seeking the retirement 
 of his own house. 
 
 " Is there anything else that I can do?" asked 
 Melea. " Any letters to write, — any invento- 
 ries to make out?" she continued, casting a 
 glance round her at the bookshelves, the piano, 
 and the Titian which had long been her father's 
 pride. " Anything which can best be done be- 
 fore my mother comes home?"
 
 CERTAINTY. 191 
 
 " If you think, dear, that you can write let- 
 ters without too much effort, it would be very- 
 well that three or four should be dispatched be- 
 fore my mother returns. There is no occasion 
 for anything more, at present. Be careful, 3Ie- 
 lea, about making too much effort. That is the 
 only thing I fear for you. Remember that you 
 must reserve your strength for our poor father's 
 support. He will need all you can afford him; 
 and we" must expect even my mother to give 
 way when he no longer depends wholly on her. 
 Do not exhaust yourself at once, dearest." 
 
 Melea could not realize the idea of her being 
 exhausted, though she made no protestations 
 about it. She supposed that there might be 
 something much worse in such a trial than she 
 could at present foresee, and she therefore re- 
 ft ained from any talk of courage, even to her- 
 self; but, at present, she did not feel that she 
 had anything to bear, so insignificant did her 
 relation to the event appear in comparison with 
 that which was borne by her parents and broth- 
 er. She was full of dread on her father's ac- 
 count, of respectful sorrow for her mother, and 
 of heart- wringing grief for her manly, honour- 
 able brother, to whom reputation was precious
 
 192 CERTAINTY. 
 
 above all things, and who was just setting out 
 in life with confident hopes of whatever might 
 be achieved by exertion and integrity. For 
 Horace she felt most; for Fanny and herself 
 least: for Fanny, because she was another self 
 in her views of life, in capacity for exertion, 
 and in preparation for that reverse of fortune 
 with which they had occasionally been threat- 
 ened from the days of their childhood, 
 
 " Can I do nothing for you, Horace?" asked 
 Melea. " While we are all looking to you, we 
 should like to think we could help you. Is 
 there nothing to be done?" 
 
 " Nothing, thank you. Whatever responsi- 
 bility rests upon me cannot be shared. Only 
 make me the bearer of some message to my 
 mother, and of any little thing you can think of to 
 show her that you are calm and thoughtful. Such 
 a proof will be better than anything I can say." 
 
 " I am going to write while you eat these 
 grapes," said Melea, who had observed that her 
 brother was teazed with thirst. While Horace 
 ate his grapes, and made memoranda, Melea 
 wrote to her mother. 
 
 " Dearest Mother, — The news which Horace 
 has brought grieves me very much. My great
 
 CERTAINTY. 193 
 
 trouble is that I am afraid Fanny and I know too 
 little at present what will be the extent of such a 
 trial to feel for my father and you as we ought. 
 We are aware, however, that it must be very 
 great and long-continued to one who, like my 
 father, has toiled through a life-time to obtain 
 the very reverse of the lot which is now appoint- 
 ed to him. There is no dishonour, however, 
 and that, I think, is the only calamity which 
 we should find it very difficult to bear. Your 
 children will feel it no misfortune to be impelled 
 to the new and more responsible kind of exertion 
 of which their father has kindly given them fre- 
 quent warning, and for which you have so di- 
 rected their education as to prepare them. Fan- 
 ny and I are too well convinced that the great- 
 est happiness is to be found in strenuous exer- 
 tion on a lofly principle, to repine at any event 
 which racikes such exertion necessary, or to 
 dread the discipline which must, I suppose, ac- 
 company it. I speak for Femny in her absence 
 as for myself, because I have learned from her 
 to feel as I do, and am sure that I may answer 
 for her; and I have written so much about our- 
 selves, because I believe my father in what he 
 has so often said, — that it is for our sakes that 
 Vol I.-N 17
 
 194 CERTAINTY. 
 
 he is anxious about his worldly concerns. I as- 
 sure you we shall be anxious only for him and 
 you and Horace. Horace, however, can never 
 be long depressed by circumstances; nor do I 
 think that any of us can. I mean to say this in 
 the spirit of faith, not of presumption. If it is 
 presumption, it will certainly be humbled: if it 
 is faith, it will, I trust, be justified. In either 
 case, welcome the test ! 
 
 " I expect Fanny home by the middle of the 
 day to-morrow; and I hope we shall see you in 
 the evening, or the next day at farthest. My 
 father may rely on pe'^fect freedom from dis- 
 turbance. I shall provide that nobody shall 
 come farther than the white gate, unless he 
 wishes it. I send you some grapes, and my 
 father's cloth shoes, which I think he must 
 want if he has to sit still much at his writing. 
 I shall send you more fruit to-morrow; and the 
 messenger will wait for any directions you may 
 have to give, and for the line which I am sure 
 you will write, if you should not be coming 
 home in the evening. 
 
 " Lewis, who has been a very good and pleas- 
 ant companion, sends his love, and his sorrow 
 that anything has arisen to make you unhappy
 
 CERTAINTY. 19$ 
 
 " Farewell, my dear father and mother. 
 May God support you, and bring blessings out 
 of the misfortune with which He has seen fit to 
 visit you! With His permission, your children 
 shall make you happy yet. — Your dutiful and 
 affectionate daughter, 
 
 " Melea Berkeley. 
 
 " P. S. — Xo one has been so anxious about 
 you as Henry Craig. If he thought it would 
 be any comfort to you to see him, he would go 
 
 over to D on the instant. He said so when 
 
 we were only in fear. I am sure he will now 
 be more earnest still. As soon as Horace is 
 gone, I shall write, as he desires, to Reading, 
 and Manchester, and Richmond. If there are 
 any more, let me know to-morrow. I hope you 
 will not exert yourself to write to anybody at 
 present, except Fanny or me." 
 
 When Fanny turned her face homewards the 
 next morning, ignorant (as it grieved her sister 
 to think) of all that had happened during the 
 week, she was charged by the friends she was 
 leaving with two or three commissions, which 
 she was to execute on her way home through 
 Haleham, in order that the servant who attend- 
 ed her might carry back her purchases. She
 
 196 CERTAINTV. 
 
 accordingly alighted from her horse at the en- 
 trance of the town, in order to walk to some 
 shops. The first person she met was Mr. 
 Longe, walking arm-in-arm with a young man, 
 whom she did not know. She saw a significant 
 sign and whisper pass between them, such as 
 she had observed on sundry occasions of meet- 
 ing the rector since her rejection of him; but 
 she was not the less taken by surprise with the 
 rudeness which followed. Of the two gentle- 
 men, one — the stranger — took up his glass to 
 stare, the other gave no sign of recognition but 
 a laugh in her face; and both resolutely turned 
 her off the narrow pavement, — looking back, 
 as the servant declared, as if to find out what 
 she thought of the manoeuvre. She thought 
 nothing but that it was very contemptible, till 
 she saw Henry Craig coming towards her in 
 great haste, and beckoning as she was about to 
 enter the shop. 
 
 "Let me help you upon your horse. Miss 
 Berkeley," said he, much out of breath from 
 haste or some other cause. 
 
 " Thank you; but I must go to a shop first. 
 Have you seen my family this morning } And 
 how are they all.?"
 
 CERTAINTY. 197 
 
 Henry answered that they were all well; that 
 he was going there with her now; and that he 
 wished she would dismiss the groom, with the 
 horses, and walk with him by the field way. 
 Fanny was about to object, but she saw thai 
 Henry was earnest, and knew that he was never 
 so without cause. She let him give such or- 
 ders to the servant as he thought fit, draw her 
 arm within his own, and turn towards the field- 
 path. When she looked up in his face, as if 
 wishing him to speak, she saw that he was pale 
 and agitated. She stopped, asking him so firm- 
 ly what was the matter, that he gave over all 
 idea of breaking the intelligence gradually. 
 
 "It is said," he replied, — "but I do not 
 know that it is true, — it is said that there is some 
 derangement in your father's affairs, — that the 
 D bank has stopped payment." 
 
 " You do not know that it is true?" 
 
 " Not to this extent. I know that there has 
 been some doubt, — that there have been diffi- 
 culties during the last week; but of the event 
 I have no certain knowledge. Alarm yourself 
 as little as you can." 
 
 " I have no doubt it is true." replied Fanny 
 " Such an event is no new idea to us. I have 
 17*
 
 198 CERTAINTY. 
 
 no doubt it is true." And they walked on in 
 silence. 
 
 " One thing, Henry, I must say before I 
 know more," continued Fanny, after a long 
 pause. " Let what will have happened, I am 
 certain that the honour of my father and broth- 
 er will come out clear. If it were not for this 
 confidence in them " 
 
 " And I," said Mr. Craig, " am equally cer- 
 tain that there will be but one opinion among 
 all who have ever known you; — that no family 
 could have less deserved such a reverse, or 
 could be more fitted to bear it well. No fami- 
 
 ly — " 
 
 He could not go on. When he next spoke, 
 it was to tell her that her parents were absent, 
 and to give her a brief account of the events 
 of the week, as far as he knew them; that is, 
 up to the previous afternoon. 
 
 " You have not seen Melea or Lewis to-day, 
 then? Not since they heard the news?" 
 
 "No. I left Melea cheered, — indeed re- 
 lieved from all anxiety, yesterday afternoon, 
 and did not hear till this morning the report of 
 a reverse. I have not ventured to go, knowing 
 that she would probably be fully occupied, and
 
 CERTAINTY. 199 
 
 that you would be with her early to-day. I did 
 walk up as far as the gate ; but I thought I had 
 better meet you, and prevent your going where 
 you might hear it accidentally. I sent in a 
 note to Melea, to tell her that I should do so." 
 
 " Come in with me," said Fanny, when they 
 had reached the gate, " you know you will be 
 wretched till you have heard what the truth is. 
 You must come in and be satisfied, and then 
 you can go away directly." 
 
 Melea heard their steps on the gravel, and 
 appeared at the parlour-door when they entered 
 the hall. She looked with some uncertainty 
 from the one to the other, when the sisterly 
 embrace was over. 
 
 " Xow, love, tell me how much is true," 
 said Fanny. " We^know there is something. 
 Tell us what is the matter I" 
 
 "Nothing that will take you by surprise. 
 Nothing that will make you so unhappy as we 
 used to imagine we must be in such a case. In- 
 deed, we could not have imagined how much 
 hope, how many alleviations there would be 
 already. I have had such a letter from my mo- 
 ther this morning! Very few will suffer, she 
 hopes, but those who are best able to lose ; and
 
 200 CERTAINTY. 
 
 even they only for a short time. They have 
 great hopes that every thing will be paid. And 
 such generosity and consideration they have 
 met with! And every body seems to honour 
 Horace. I had no idea he could have been so 
 appreciated." 
 
 " And when may we be all together again?" 
 
 "My father cannot come home for two or 
 three days yet ; and my mother thinks it will be 
 better to reserve our society for him till he set- 
 tles down here. Indeed he is too busy to be 
 much even with her." 
 
 " I wonder what we ought to do next," said 
 Fanny. 
 
 "I will tell you," replied Melea, "all I 
 know about the affairs, and then you will be 
 better able to judge. Nay, Henry, stay and 
 listen. If all this was a secret, I should not 
 have known it. You must not go till you have 
 heard from us what any body in Haleham could 
 tell you before night." 
 
 And she gave a brief and clear account of 
 the general aspect of the affairs, as viewed by 
 Horace. It was certainly very encouraging as 
 to the prospect of every creditor being ultimate- 
 ly paid.
 
 CERTAINTY. 201 
 
 " If that can but be accomplished!" said 
 Fanny. " Now, Melea, now the time is come 
 that we have talked of so often. Now is the 
 time for you and me to try to achieve a truer 
 independence than that we have lost. I have a 
 strong confidence, Melea, that energy, with 
 such other qualiiications as our parents have 
 secured to us, will always find scope, and the 
 kind of rev/ard that we must now seek. We 
 will try." 
 
 Henry Craig started up, feeling that he was 
 more likely to need comfort than to give it. 
 He bestowed his blessing, and hurried away. 
 
 There was little for the sisters to do previous 
 to Mr. and Mrs. Berkeley's return. Melea 
 had already taken measures to prevent a situa- 
 tion as governess — in which she believed her 
 services would be acceptable, and which offer- 
 ed many advantages — from being filled up: 
 though without mentioning the name, or com- 
 mitting herself till she should have consulted 
 her family. She had been at a loss about v/hat 
 to say to the servants, one of whom seemed, 
 through her long service, to bo entitled to con- 
 fidence, while the others could not, she thought, 
 be trusted to behave well upon it. Fanny had
 
 202 CERTAINTY. 
 
 no doubt that they knew all by this time ; not 
 only from the affair being generally talked of 
 in the town, but through the messenger who 
 had brought Mr. Berkeley's letter. It proved 
 not to be so, however. The servant who had 
 
 been to D had had no heart to tell the tidings ; 
 
 and the astonishment of the domestics was as 
 complete as their dismay, when they were at 
 length made to understand the fact. Melea 
 blamed herself for injustice to some of them 
 when she found neither threats nor murmurs, 
 nor even questionings about what was to be- 
 come of them. 
 
 The next day was Sunday; anything but a 
 day of rest to those of the Berkeleys who re- 
 mained at D . Of the Haleham people, 
 
 some were touched, and others (especially the 
 Cavendishes) were shocked to see Fanny and 
 Melea at church, and filling their places in the 
 Sunday-school as usual. While, in the eyes 
 of some people, it was unfeeling, unnatural, 
 altogether too like defiance, the young ladies 
 did not perceive why their own anxieties should 
 make them neglect an office of benevolence, or 
 exclude them from those privileges of worship 
 which they needed more instead of less than usual
 
 MARKET-DAY. 203 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MARKET-DAY. 
 
 The Cavendishes were not long at leisure to 
 wonder at the Berkeleys. It would have been 
 wiser to prepare to imitate them. But Mr. Ca- 
 vendish, who had no hope of long maintaining 
 an apparent superiority over them, determined 
 not to sink so quietly and simply as they had 
 done, but to cause a sensation before his catas- 
 trophe, as well as by means of it, and thus to 
 finish with a kind of eclat. 
 
 The introduction of foreign corn on the con- 
 clusion of the war had been for some little time 
 hastening his ruin; and, knowing that it must 
 be accomplished by the shock given to commer- 
 cial credit, through the stoppage of the D 
 
 bank, he thought he would forestall the conclu- 
 sion, and, by attributing his failure to an acci- 
 dent, keep as much as he could of his little re- 
 maining credit. 
 
 Wednesday being the market-day, no time 
 was to be lost. On Tuesday, therefore, (a 
 clerk having been opportunely got rid of,)
 
 204 MARKET-DAY. 
 
 all Haleham was thrown into consternation by 
 he news of an embezzlement to an unheard-of 
 extent, which had been perpetrated by the de- 
 parted clerk. Bills were presently in every 
 window, and on all the walls. Mrs. Cavendish 
 was understood to be in hysterics, Mr. Longe 
 gone in pursuit of the knave, the children run- 
 ning wild, while the governess was telling the 
 story to everybody; and Mr. Cavendish talking 
 about justice, and hanging the fellow; and 
 everything but the facts of the case; — for he 
 could not be brought to give any such informa- 
 tion respecting the nature of the embezzled 
 property, as could enable the magistrates to 
 help him to recover it, Mr. Berkeley and 
 Horace, hearing the news on their return to 
 Haleham on the Tuesday night, pronounced 
 it too coarse a device, — one which would 
 deceive nobody; and prophesied that not 
 only would the bank be shut as soon as the 
 market opened in the morning, but that nothing 
 whatever would remain to pay any creditor. 
 
 It seemed as if Enoch Pye was, for once, as 
 shrewd as many a fonder lover of lucre ; or per- 
 haps it was the union of Mrs. Parndon's world- 
 ly wisdom with his own which caused him to be
 
 MARKET-DAT. 205 
 
 on the alert this Wednesday morning. Before 
 the bank opened he was lingering about the 
 street, and was the first to enter the doors to 
 present a check for thirteen pounds, which he 
 desired to have in gold, troubling himself to 
 assign various reasons for coming so early, and 
 wishing for gold. Almost before the clerk had 
 told over the sum on the counter, a voice which 
 Enoch did not find it convenient to hear, shout • 
 ed from behind him, " Stop, there, stop! Make 
 no payments. The bank has stopped. Make 
 no payments, I say!" 
 
 The clerk snatched at the gold, but Enoch 
 was too expert for him. He had crossed his 
 arms over the money at the first alarm, and 
 now swept it into his hat, which he held be- 
 tween his knees, looking all the time in the 
 clerk's face, with, 
 
 "Eh? What? What does he say? I won't 
 detain you any longer. Good day, sir." 
 
 "I'll detain you, though," muttered the 
 clerk, swinging himself over the counter, and 
 making for the door. Enoch brushed out of it, 
 however, turning his wig half round by the 
 way. Cavendish, coming up, caught at the 
 skirt of his coat, but Enoch could now spare a 
 18
 
 206 MARKET-DAY. 
 
 hand to twitch it away. He ran on, (the school- 
 boys whom he met supposing him suddenly gone 
 mad, to be hugging his hat while his wig cover- 
 ed only half his head,) and never stopped till he 
 stood panting in Mrs. Parndon's presence. 
 The only thought he had had time for all the way 
 was, that the widow would, he really believed, 
 marry him within the hour for such a feat as 
 this, if he had but the license ready, and could 
 summon courage to ask her. Enoch was far 
 too modest to perceive what everybody else saw, 
 that the widow was quite ready to have him at 
 any hour. He was much gratified at present 
 by her soothing cares. She set his wig straight, 
 examined the flap which had been in danger, to 
 see if it had lost a button or wanted a stitch; 
 shook and turned out the lining of his hat, lest 
 a stray coin should be hidden, and setting her 
 hot muffin and a fresh cup of tea before him, 
 tried to tempt him to a second breakfast. It 
 was not to be expected, however, that he could 
 stay while such news was abroad: he had come, 
 partly by instinct, and partly to be praised for 
 his feat; and now he must go and bear his 
 share of the excitements of the day. The 
 widow persuaded him to wait two minutes,
 
 MARKET-DAY. 207 
 
 while she swallowed her cup of tea and threw 
 on her shawl, leaving the muffin, — not as a 
 treat to her cat or her little maid, — but to be set 
 by and warmed up again for her tea, as she 
 found time to direct before she took Mr. Pye's 
 arm, and hastened with him down the street as 
 fast as his ill-recovered breath would allow. 
 
 The excitement was indeed dreadful. If an 
 earthquake had opened a chasm in the centre 
 of the town, the consternation of the people 
 could scarcely have been greater. It was folly 
 to talk of holding a market, for not one buyer 
 in twenty had any money but Cavendish's notes; 
 and unless that one happened to have coin, he 
 could achieve no purchase. The indignant peo- 
 ple spurned bank-paper of every kind, even 
 Bank of England notes. They trampled it 
 under foot; they spat upon it; and some were 
 foolish enough to tear it in pieces; thus de- 
 stroying their only chance of recovering any of 
 their prc.perty. Mr. Pye, and a few other 
 respected townsmen, went among them, ex- 
 plaining that it would be wise at least to take 
 care of the " promise to pay," whether that 
 promise should be ultimately fulfilled or not; 
 and that it would be fulfilled by the Bank of
 
 208 MARKET-DAY. 
 
 England and many other banks, he had not the 
 smallest doubt, miserably as the Haleham bank 
 had failed in its engagements. 
 
 The depth of woe which was involved in this 
 last truth could not be conceiv»cd but by those 
 who witnessed the outward signs of it. The 
 bitter weeping of the country women, who pro- 
 pared to go home penniless to tell their hus- 
 bands that the savings of years were swept 
 away ; the sullen gloom of the shop-keepers, 
 leaning with folded arms against their door- 
 posts, and only too sure of having no customers 
 for some time to come: the wrath of farmer 
 Martin, who was pushing his way to take his 
 daughter Rhoda from out of the house of the 
 swindler who had plundered her of her legacy 
 and her wages in return for her faithful service ; 
 and the mute despair of Rhoda's lover, all of 
 whose bright hopes were blasted in an hour; — 
 his place gone, his earnings lost, and his mis- 
 tress and himself both impoverished on the eve 
 of their marriage: the desperation of the honest 
 labourers of the neighbourhood on finding that 
 the rent they had prepared, and the little pro- 
 vision for the purchase of winter food and 
 clothing, had all vanished as in a clap of thun-
 
 MARXET-DAY. 
 
 der; the merr"ment of the parish paupers at 
 being out of the scrape, and for the time better 
 off than better men; — all these things were 
 dreadful to hear and see. Even Mrs. Parndon's 
 curiosity could not keep her long abroad in the 
 presence of such misery. She went home, 
 heart sick, to wonder and weep; while she told 
 the sad tale to her daughter in a letter of twice 
 the usual length. Enoch Pye retired behind 
 his counter, and actually forgot to examine his 
 stock of bank notes till he had paid his tribute 
 of sorrow to the troubles of those who were 
 less able than himself to bear pecuniary losses. 
 Henry Craig was found wherever he was most 
 wanted. He had little to give but advice and 
 sympathy; but he had reason to hope that he 
 did some good in calming the people's minds, 
 and in showing them how they might accommo- 
 date and help one another. Under his encour- 
 agement, a limited traffic went on in the way 
 of barter, which relieved a few of the most 
 pressing wants of those who had entered the 
 market as purchasers. The butcher and gar- 
 dener did get rid of some of their perishable 
 stock by such an exchange of commodities as 
 enabled the parents of large families to carrv 
 Vol. I.-O 18*
 
 210 MARKET-DAY. 
 
 home meat and potatoes for their children's 
 dinners. Seldom has traffic been conducted so 
 languidly or so pettishly; and seldom have 
 trifling bargains been concluded amidst so many 
 tears. 
 
 Cavendish found the affair even worse than 
 he had anticipated. The confusion within doors 
 actually terrified him when he took refuge 
 there from the tumult without. His wife's 
 hysterics were as vigorous as ever. Miss Egg 
 had packed up her things and departed by the 
 early coach, in high dudgeon with her dear 
 friends for owing her a year's salary, and hav- 
 ing, as she began to suspect, flattered her of 
 late with false hopes of her winning Mr. Longe, 
 in order to protract their debt to her, and fur- 
 nish their children with a governess on cheap 
 terms. Farmer Martin had carried off Rhoda, 
 allowing her no further option than to take with 
 her the poor little baby, whom there was no one 
 else to take care of. The other servants had 
 immediately departed, helping themselves pret- 
 ty freely with whatever they hoped would not 
 be missed, telling themselves and one another 
 that these were the only particles of things in 
 the shape of wages that they should ever see.
 
 MARKET-DAY. 211 
 
 Finding his house in this forlorn and deserted 
 state, with no better garrison than a screaming 
 wife and frightened children, while he was in 
 full expectation of a siege by an enraged mob, 
 the hero of this varied scene took the gallant 
 resolution of making his escape while he could 
 do it quietly. He looked out an old black hat, 
 and left his white one behind him; buttoned up 
 some real money which he found in his wife'|R 
 desk; threw on a cloak which concealed his 
 tight ancles, and sneaked on board one of his 
 own lighters, bribing the only man who was 
 left on the premises to tow him down the river 
 for a few miles, and tell nobody in what direc- 
 tion he was gone. 
 
 Among the many hundreds whom he left be- 
 hind to curse his name and his transactions, 
 there were some who also cursed the system 
 under which he had been able to perpetrate 
 such extensive mischief. Some reprobated the 
 entire invention of a paper currency; in which 
 reprobation they were not, nor ever will be, 
 joined by any who perceive with what economy, 
 ease, and dispatch the commercial transactions 
 of a country may be carried on by such a me- 
 dium of exchange. Neither would any degree
 
 212 MARKET-DAY. 
 
 of reprobation avail to banish such a currency- 
 while convenience perpetually prompts to its 
 adoption. Others ascribed the whole disaster 
 to the use of small notes, urging that, prior to 
 1797, while no notes of a lower denomination 
 than 5Z. were issued, a run on a bank was a 
 thing almost unheard of Others, who esteem- 
 ed small notes a convenience not to be dispens- 
 ed with, complained of the example of incon- 
 vertibility set by the Bank of England; and 
 insisted that methods of ensuring convertibility 
 must exist, and would be all-sufficient for the 
 security of property. Some objected to this, 
 that mere convertibility was not enough without 
 limitation; because though convertibility en- 
 sures the ultimate balance of the currency, — 
 provides that it shall right itself from time to 
 time, — it does not prevent the intermediate fluc- 
 tuations which arise from the public not being 
 immediately aware of the occasional abundance 
 or dearth of money in the market. Notes usu- 
 ally circulate long before the holders wish for 
 the gold they represent: so that fraudulent or 
 careless issuers of convertible paper may have 
 greatly exceeded safety in their issues before 
 the public has warning to make its demand for
 
 MARKET-DAY. 213 
 
 gold; and thus the security of convertibility 
 may be rendered merely nominal, unless ac- 
 companied by limitation. Others had a theory, 
 that runs on banks were themselves the evil, 
 and not merely the indications of evil; that all 
 would be right if these could be obviated , and 
 that they might be obviated in the provinces 
 by the country bankers making their notes pay- 
 able in London only. These reasoners did not 
 perceive how much the value of notes, as 
 money, would be depreciated by their being 
 made payable at various and inconvenient dis- 
 tances; so that there would soon be as many 
 different values in notes of the same denomina- 
 tion as there are different distances between 
 the principal country towns and London. All 
 agreed that there must be something essen- 
 tially wrong in the then present system, under 
 which a great number of towns and villages 
 were suffering as severely as Haleham. 
 
 The tidings of distress which every day 
 brought were indeed terrific. The number of 
 banks which failed went on increasing, appar- 
 ently in proportion to the lessening number of 
 those which remained, till every one began to 
 ask where the mischief would stop, and wheth-
 
 214 MARKET-DAY. 
 
 er any currency would be left in the country. 
 Before the commercial tumult of that awful 
 time ceased, ninety-two country banks became 
 bankrupt, and a much greater number stopped 
 payment for a longer or shorter period. 
 
 In proportion to the advantage to the moral 
 and worldly condition of the working classes 
 of having a secure place of deposit where 
 their savings might gather interest, was the 
 injury then resulting from the disappointment 
 of their confidence. Savings-banks now exist 
 to obviate all excuse for improvidence on the 
 plea of the difficulty of finding a secure method 
 of investment, or place of deposit: but at the 
 period when this crash took place, savings- 
 banks were not established; and then was the 
 time for the idle and wasteful to mock at the 
 provident for having bestowed his labour and 
 care in vain, and for too many of the latter 
 class to give up as hopeless the attempt to im- 
 prove their condition, since they found that 
 their confidence had been abused, and their 
 interests betrayed. There were not so great a 
 number of working-people who suffered by the 
 forfeiture of their deposits as by holding the 
 notes of the unsound banks, because few banks
 
 MARKET-DAT. 215 
 
 received very small deposits ; but such as there 
 were belonged to the meritorious class who had 
 been cheated in Haleham by Cavendish. They 
 were the Chapmans, the Rhodas, — the indus- 
 trious and thrifty, who ought to have been the 
 most scrupulously dealt with, but whose little 
 store was the very means of exposing them to 
 the rapacity of sharpers, and of needy traders 
 in capital whose credit was tottering. 
 
 After the pause which one day succeeded 
 the relation of some melancholy news brought 
 by Mr, Craig to the Berkeleys, Melea wonder- 
 ed whether other countries ever suffered from 
 the state of their currency as England was now 
 suffering, or whether foreign governments had 
 long ago learned wisdom from our mistakes. 
 
 Her father replied by telling her that the 
 Bank of Copenhagen had been privileged, 
 before the middle of the last century, to issue 
 inconvertible paper money; that the king, wish- 
 ing to monopolize the advantage of making 
 money so easily, had some years afterwards 
 taken the concern into his own hands; and that, 
 at the present moment, his people were wishing 
 him joy of his undertaking, a dollar in silver 
 being worth just sixteen dollars in paper.
 
 216 MARKET-DAY. 
 
 " How very strange it seems," observed Me- 
 lea, "that none of these governments appear 
 to see that the value of all money depends on 
 its proportion to commodities; and the value of 
 gold and paper money on their proportion to 
 each other!" 
 
 " Catherine of Russia seems to have had 
 some idea of it," observed Mr. Berkeley, " for 
 she was very moderate in her paper issues for 
 some time after she gave her subjects that kind 
 of currency: but at this time, the same denomi- 
 nation of money is worth four times as much in 
 metals as in paper. Maria Theresa went wrong 
 from the first. Presently after she introduced 
 paper money into Austria, a silver florin was 
 worth thirteen florins in paper. All the subse- 
 quent attempts of that government to mend the 
 matter have failed. It has called in the old pa- 
 per, and put out fresh; yet the proportionate 
 value of the two kinds of currency is now 
 eight to one. But the most incredible thing is 
 that any government should institute a repre- 
 sentative currency which, in fact, represents 
 nothing." 
 
 " Represents nothing! How is that possi- 
 ble?"
 
 MARKET-DAY. 217 
 
 " Ask your mother to tell you the history of 
 the Assignats. I know it is painful to her to 
 recur to that terrible time; but she will think, as 
 I do, that you ought to be aware what were the 
 consequences of the most extraordinary curren- 
 cy the world ever saw." 
 
 Mr. Craig could now account for Mrs. Berke- 
 ley's gravity whenever the subject of a vicious 
 currency was touched upon in the remotest man- 
 ner. He supposed she had suffered from family 
 misfortunes at the time when all France was 
 plunged into poverty by the explosion of the as- 
 signat system. 
 
 " How could a representative currency actu- 
 ally represent nothing?" inquired Melea again. 
 
 " The assignats were declared legal money," 
 replied Mrs. Berkeley, "but there was nothing 
 specified which they could represent. Their 
 form was notes bearing the inscription 'National 
 Property Assignat of 100 francs.' The ques- 
 tion was first, what was meant by national pro- 
 perty; and next, what determined the value of 
 100 francs." 
 
 " And what was this national property.^ ' 
 
 " In this case, it meant the confiscated estates 
 which had fallen into the hands of the govem- 
 mentj and were sold by auction: and the reast^n 
 19
 
 218 MARKET-DAY. 
 
 why this new kind of money was issued was be- 
 cause the revolutionary government, however 
 rich in confiscated estates, was much in want of 
 money, and thought this might be a good way of 
 converting the one into the other. You see, 
 however, that whether these slips of paper would 
 bear the value of 100 francs, depended on the 
 proportion of the assignats to the purchasable 
 property, and of both to the existing currency, 
 and to the quantity of other commodities." 
 
 " And, probably, the government, like many 
 other governments, altered this proportion con- 
 tirmally by new issues of paper money, while 
 there was no corresponding increase of the pro- 
 perty it represented?" 
 
 " Just so. More estates were confiscated, but 
 the assignats multiplied at a tenfold rate ; driving 
 better money out of the market, but still super- 
 abounding. Prices rose enormously; and in 
 proportion as they rose, people grew extrava- 
 gant." 
 
 "That seems an odd consequence of high 
 prices." 
 
 " If prices had been high from a scarcity of 
 <*ommodities, people would have grown eco.no- 
 mical , but the rise of price was in this case only 
 a symptom of the depreciation of money. Every
 
 MARKET-DAT. 219 
 
 oae, .^emg afraid that it would fall still lower, was 
 anxious to spend it while it remained worth any- 
 thing. I well remember my poor father coming 
 in and telling us that he had purchased a chateau 
 in the provinces with its furniture. ' Purchased 
 a chateau!' cried my mother. * When you have 
 no fortune to leave to your children, what mad- 
 ness to purchase an estate in the provinces!' 
 ' It would be greater madness,' my father re- 
 plied, ' to keep my money till that which now 
 purchases an estate will scarcely buy a joint of 
 meat. If I could lay by my money, I would: 
 as I cannot, I must take the first investment 
 that offers.' And he proved to be right; for the 
 deplorable poverty we soon suffered was yet a 
 less evil than the punishment which my father 
 could scarcely have escaped if he had kept his 
 assignats." 
 
 " Do you mean legal punishment?" 
 "Yes. The government issued orders that 
 its own most sapient plan should not fail, Theic 
 was to be no difference between metal money 
 and assignats, under pain of six years imprison- 
 ment in irons for every bargain in which the 
 one should be taken at a greater or less value 
 than the other." 
 
 " How stupid I How barbarous!" excldim-
 
 220 MARKET-DAY. 
 
 ed everybody. " Almost the entire population 
 must have been nnprisoned in irons, if the law 
 had been executed: for they had little money but 
 assignats, and no power on earth could make 
 paper promises valuable by calling them so." 
 
 " Yet, when the law was found inefficient, the 
 punishment was increased. Instead of six 
 years, the offenders were now to be imprisoned 
 twenty. As this expedient failed, more and 
 more violent ones were resorted to, till the op- 
 pression became intolerable. All concealment 
 of stock, every attempt to avoid bringing the 
 necessaries of life to market, to be sold at the 
 prices fixed by the government, every evasion 
 of an offered purchase, however disadvantage- 
 ous, was now made punishable by death." 
 
 " Why then did not everybody refuse to buy, 
 rather than expose sellers to such fearful 
 danger.^" 
 
 " There was soon no occasion for such an 
 agreement. The shops were for the most part 
 closed; and those which were not, displayed 
 only the worst goods, while the better kinds still 
 passed from hand to hand by means of secret 
 bargains." 
 
 " But what was done about the sale of bread 
 and meat, and other articles of daily use.?"
 
 MAr.KET-rAT. 221 
 
 ■* I'he baiter's shop opposite our windows had 
 a rope fastened from the counter to a pole in 
 the street: and customers took their place in 
 the line it formed, according to the order of 
 their coming. Each customer presented a cer- 
 tificate, obtained from the commissioners ap- 
 pointed to regulate all purchases and sales; 
 which certificate attested the political principles 
 of the bearer " 
 
 " What ! could not he buy a loaf of bread 
 without declaring his political principles?" 
 
 " No; nor without a specification of the quan- 
 tity he wished to purchase." 
 
 " What a length of time it must have taken to 
 supply a shop full of customers !" 
 
 " I have often seen hungry wretches arrive at 
 dusk, and found them still waiting when I look- 
 ed out in the morning. Our rest was frequent- 
 ly disturbed by tumults, in which the more ex- 
 hausted of the strugglers were beaten down, 
 and trampled to death. The bakers would fain 
 have closed their shops ; but every one who did 
 so, afler keeping shop a year, was declared a 
 suspected person; and suspected persons had at 
 that time no better prospect than the guillo- 
 tine." 
 
 19*
 
 222 MARKET-DAY. 
 
 " This system could not, of course, last long 
 How did it come to an end?" 
 
 " The government called in the assignats 
 when they had sunk to three hundred times less 
 than their nominal value. But this was not till 
 more murders had been committed by the paper 
 money than by their guillotine." 
 
 " You mean by distress, — by starvation." 
 
 " And by the suicides occasioned by distress. 
 My poor father was found in the Seine, one 
 morning, after having been absent from home 
 for two days, endeavouring in vain to make the 
 necessary purchases of food for his family." 
 
 Mr. B. added, that people flocked down to 
 the river side every morning, to see the bodies 
 of suicides fished up, and to look along the 
 shore for some relative or acquaintance who 
 was missing. As Melea had observed, this 
 could not go on long; but the consequences 
 were felt to this day, and would be for many a 
 day to come. Every shock to commercial cred- 
 it was a national misfortune which it required 
 long years of stability to repair. 
 
 This was the point to which Mr. Berkeley's 
 conversation now invariably came round, and 
 none of his family could carry him over it.
 
 A FUTURE DAY. 
 
 223 
 
 Silence always ensued on the mention of com- 
 mercial credit. It was indeed a sore subject in 
 every house in Haleham. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A FUTURE DAT. 
 
 " Is it all settled ? — completely settled ? " asked 
 Henry Craig of Horace, just when the latter 
 was about to mount the coach to London, after 
 a short visit of business, a few weeks after the 
 stoppage of the D bank. " And your sis- 
 ters both leave us immediately?" 
 
 " Certainly, and immediately. But ask them 
 about it; for they can bear the subject better 
 than I." 
 
 " I knew their intentions from the beginnings 
 but so soon, — so very soon. I did not wish to 
 believe it till I heard it from one of yourselves. 
 I am grieved for you, Horace, almost as much 
 as for Mr. and Mrs. Berkeley." 
 
 "And for yourself," thought Horace, who 
 was now fully aware of Mr. Craig's interest in 
 one member of his family. " Do not think,
 
 224 A FUTURE DAY. 
 
 Henry," he continued, " that I blame my sis- 
 ters for what they have done. They took this 
 step as a matter of course, — as a necessary con- 
 sequence of my fatht r's misfortune; and though 
 I do not think I could have encouraged them to 
 it, I cannot bring myself to say they are wrong. 
 Yet if I had known " 
 
 " I thought you always knew. I was fully 
 aware what they would do." 
 
 " If I had thought them in earnest " 
 
 It was indeed true that Horace's sisters could 
 bear this subject better than he. If they had 
 been less grateful for his brotherly pride and 
 affection, they would have called him weak for 
 regretting that they should, like him, wish and 
 work for independence. 
 
 "We leave Lewis behind, you know," said 
 Melea, smiling at the grave boy who was timidly 
 listening to what Mr. Craig was saying, the next 
 day, about his cousins going to live somewhere 
 else. ' ' Lewis has made his uncle and aunt very 
 fond of him already; and when he is son and 
 daughters and nephew to them at once, they will 
 have more interest in him still. Lewis's being 
 here makes us much less uneasy in leaving home 
 than anything else could do." 
 
 While Melea went on to show how wrong it
 
 A FUTURE DAY. 223 
 
 would be to remain a burden upon their father in 
 his old age and impaired circumstances, Lewis 
 stole out of the room to hide his tears. 
 
 "And now, Melea," said Henry Craig, 
 " Lewis is out of hearing of your lesson, and 
 you know how perfectly 1 agreed with you long 
 ago about what you are doing. Do not treat 
 me as if I had not been your friend and adviser 
 throughout. Why all this explanation tome.'" 
 
 " I do not know; unless it was to carry off 
 too strong a sympathy with Lewis," replied 
 Melea, smiling through the first tears Henry 
 Craig had seen her shed. " But do not fancy 
 that I shrink. I am fond of children, I love 
 teaching them; and if I could but form some 
 idea of what kind of life it will be in other re- 
 spects 
 
 "You know, Melea," Henry continued, after 
 a long pause, " you know how I would fain have 
 saved you from making trial of this kind of life. 
 You have understood, I am sure " 
 
 " I have, Henry. I know it all. Say no 
 more now." 
 
 " I must, Melea, because, if we are really 
 destined to be a support to each other, if we love 
 so that our lot is to be one through life, now is 
 Vol. I.-P
 
 226 A FUTURE DAT. 
 
 the time for us to yield each other that support, 
 and to acknowledge that love." 
 
 " We cannot be more sure than we were 
 before, Henry. We have little that is new to 
 tell each other." 
 
 ' ' Then you are mine, Melea. You have long 
 known that I was wholly yours. You must have 
 known " 
 
 " Very long; and if you knew what a support 
 — what a blessing in the midst of everything — 
 it makes me ashamed to hear any thing of my 
 share in this trial." 
 
 Henry was too happy to reply. 
 
 *' It is only a delay then," he said at length. 
 " We are to meet, to part no more in this world 
 You are mine. Only say you are now already 
 mine." 
 
 *' Your own, and I trust God will bless our 
 endeavours to do our duty, till it becomes our 
 
 duty to . But it will be a long, long time 
 
 first; and my having undertaken such a charge 
 must prove to you that I am in earnest in saying 
 this. I would not have said what I have done, 
 Henry, nor have listened to you, if I had not 
 hoped that our mutual confidence would make us 
 patient. We shall have much need of patience."
 
 A FUTURE DAY. 227 
 
 " We shall not fail, 1 trust. I feel as if I 
 could bear any thing now: — absence, suspense, 
 — whatever it may please Heaven to appoint 
 us. But I feel as if I could do every thing too ; 
 
 and who knows how soon Oh, Melea, is 
 
 there really no other difficulty than our own 
 labours may remedy? Your father — Mrs. 
 Berkeley " 
 
 *' Ask them," said Mclca, srnilmg. " I have 
 not asked them, but I have not much fear." 
 
 Though Henry and Melea had long been 
 sure that they had no reserve.s from each other, 
 they now found that there was a fathomless 
 depth of thoughts and feelings to be poured out; 
 and that it was very well that Fanny was de- 
 tained in the town, and that Lewis was long in 
 summoning courage to show his red eyes in the 
 dining-room. Its being Saturday was reason 
 enough for the young clergyman's going away 
 without seeing the rest of the family; and that 
 Monday was the day fixed for her departure 
 accounted for Melea's gentle gravity. She in- 
 tended to open her mind fully to her mother 
 before she went; but she must keep it to herself 
 this night. 
 
 Every one was struck with the fervour of 
 spirit with which the curate went through the
 
 228 A FUTURE DAY. 
 
 services of the next day. Melea alone knew 
 what was in his heart, and understood the full 
 significance of his energy. 
 
 It was not till Fanny and Melea were gone, 
 and there was dullness in the small house to 
 which their parents had removed, and it was 
 sometimes difficult to cheer Mr. Berkeley, and 
 wounding to hear the school-children's questions 
 when the young ladies would come back again, 
 that Henry Craig could fully realize the idea of 
 the necessity of patience. He was still too 
 happy when alone, and too much gratified by 
 Mrs. Berkeley's confidence in him as in a son 
 to mourn over the events which had taken place 
 as if they involved no good with their evil. Some 
 of the dreariness of the family prospects belong- 
 ed to his; but he had, in addition to their steady 
 and lively hope of the due recompense of hon- 
 ourable self-denial and exertion, a cause of 
 secret satisfaction which kept his spirit poised 
 above the depressing influences of suspense and 
 loneliness. He still believed that, happen what 
 might, he could, without difficulty, be patient. 
 According to present appearances, there was 
 every probability that this faith would be put to 
 the proof. 
 
 END OP PART OF THE FIR5T
 
 
 
 
 
 
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