LI E) RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVLRSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 TK^E^(S7t 
 
 UJ oo
 
 /. 
 
 I'
 
 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 ONE AND TWENTY, ^^ WILDFLOWER, 
 
 "THE HOUSE OF ELMORE," 
 
 &c. 
 
 " Ci)e iDDnJie is grrate upon t^t i)iBt)fst i)»lUs, 
 Cfie qnitt Ipfe is in tiic liale itlotat, 
 SSa^o treaUcs on rsc sijall slcUe against tiieft tB«Is. 
 C^ep toant not cares t^at curious artcs tooulU ttnoto. 
 a83i)(i iDUES at case an5 can content f)iin so, 
 fs perfect aisc, anO sets Ds all to sct)ole, 
 asatio Jates tf)is lore map tDCll it rallefi a foole." 
 
 A Myrrour for Magistrates, 1571. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 18, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1859. 
 
 The right of Translation is reserved.
 
 
 Sedicabd 
 
 TO 
 
 GEORGE FERGUSON, ESQ. 
 
 BY 
 HIS OLD FRIEND AKD SCHOOLFELLOW. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 
 ^" 
 
 i.
 
 BOOK I 
 
 *' Heyday, this gentleman speaks like a country parson.'' 
 
 Heywood. 
 
 " Snowh. — What is this simpering ? Where have you been ? 
 — what doing ? " 
 
 " Rosem. — Been ? Been to church, and been doing matri- 
 mony." 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IS STRICTLY CONFINED TO PIOUS PEOPLE. 
 
 I WAS fast asleep in the comer of our little 
 pew, and good Mr. Parnell was in the middle 
 of his sermon, and my mother with her hands 
 crossed in her lap — and her lap full of hymn- 
 books, smelling salts, a pair of silver spec- 
 tacles, and a white pocket-handkerchief — 
 was listening attentively, when a tall high- 
 shouldered being clamped into chapel, looked 
 round for a vacant seat, opened the door of 
 our pew, took his place between me and my 
 mother, and woke me up by fumbling under 
 the seat for a place for his hat. 
 
 b2
 
 4 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 When he was comfortably settled and lis- 
 tening with his head on one side to the 
 fifteenth part of the discourse, I, heaven 
 forgive me, more interested in the intruder 
 than the preacher, took a deliberate survey of 
 him. He was fifty years of age to begin 
 with ; he had a grey unornamental patch of 
 whisker on each cheek, a wrinkled face, a 
 good sized nose, large bloodshot eyes, five 
 teeth in the top row and four in the bottom, 
 all yellow ; — ergo he was not handsome. 
 
 He wore a long, ill-fitting black coat, his 
 gloves were a doubtful pair, there was a darn 
 on his waistcoat, and one of the knees of his 
 trousers had been fine-drawn; — ergo he was 
 not rich. 
 
 He was very dusty ; all the creases of his 
 coat were full of dust ; there was dust on his 
 boots, on his waistcoat, on his gloves, on the 
 grey patches of whisker, and in among the 
 whity -brown hair; — ergo, he was a traveller. 
 
 Who was he? — what was he? — what did 
 he want in Nettleton ? — what made him come , 
 to chapel at twenty minutes to eight o'clock ? 
 
 I did not go to sleep again— I sat and
 
 WOODLEIGH. 5 
 
 watched him. My mother, immovable as 
 Fate, retained her old position, kept her black 
 eyes fixed on the Reverend Mr. Parnell, and 
 did not even glance out of the corners of 
 them at the stranger. Neighbors who were 
 more inquisitive stared a little at him, and 
 Mrs. Jinks, the pew-opener, who sat on a stool 
 in the aisle, squinted curiously from under her 
 green shade. 
 
 It was summer time — the middle of summer, 
 before the days " draw in," or flowers think of 
 fading ; a bright evening when the rural town 
 of Nettleton was in its Sunday best, and the 
 green leaves of Nettleton woods were rustling 
 skittishly and flirting with the zephyrs. A 
 quiet Sabbath evening, the hour half-past 
 seven, the chapel windows open, a wasp 
 buzzing in and out and making impetuous 
 bobs at Mrs. Jinks, the blue sky deepening, 
 the red and golden glories in the west be- 
 coming fainter, Mr. Parnell ambling on lei- 
 surely to seventeenthly and lastly. 
 
 The dusty stranger paid Mr. Parnell every 
 attention, was evidently as rapt a listener as 
 my mother. Once, on Mr. Parn ell's allusion
 
 6 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 to the text, he took my pocket-bible from the 
 pew-rest, and with a rapidity that surprised 
 me, skimmed over the leaves, found the verse, 
 perused it, and replaced the book. Once 
 he looked round the chapel — on an 
 emergency it might have accommodated a 
 hundred persons — and once he stood up, leaned 
 into the next pew, and tapped an old gen- 
 tleman on the head, Mr. Eigden, the saddler, 
 and an influential member of the congre- 
 gation, who was going to sleep as fast as he 
 could manage it. 
 
 Mr. Parnell having concluded his sermon 
 with a blessing and a pat on the cushion, 
 there was an opening of pew-doors, a shuffling 
 of feet, and an end to the evening service. 
 
 My mother lingered to the last — it was a 
 habit of hers which extremely annoyed me — 
 and the third occupant of our pew lingered 
 also, and leaned back in his seat with a weary 
 expression of countenance. 
 
 He was the first to rise though, and to 
 murmur a ^' Thank you" to my mother — for 
 the loan of the pew I suppose — as he stepped 
 into the narrow aisle, and walked briskly, not
 
 WOODLEIGH. . 7 
 
 towards the entrance, but towards the minister's 
 room at the end of the chapel. 
 
 When my mother and I were going down 
 the hill to Nettleton — quaint old town that 
 has known no change since the days of King 
 Charles of blessed memory, that is nine miles 
 from a railway station, and fifty miles from 
 London — I ventured to disturb the current of 
 ideas. 
 
 " I wonder who that chap is now ? " 
 
 " Chap, Eobert ! " 
 
 ^* That chap who came into our pew, mother 
 — do you know him ? " 
 
 '' No, my dear. I never saw him before." 
 
 ^' It was nobody who belonged to Nettleton, 
 for—" 
 
 '' Eobert dear, haven't you anything better 
 to talk about? — What was the text this 
 evening ? " 
 
 " The text did you say, mother ? " 
 
 My mother did say text. 
 
 " Oh ! let me see. The thirteenth chapter 
 — the thu'teenth — no — the thirty-first chapter 
 of Joshua, and the — " 
 
 " I don't think there are thirty-one chapters
 
 8 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 in Joshua, Eobert/' my mother observed 
 quietly. 
 
 " There are in Jeremiah, then — it was 
 Jeremiah, wasn't it ? '' 
 
 " Yes," sighed my mother. 
 
 " Of course it was. The thirty-first chapter 
 of Jeremiah, and the — did you see his hat, 
 mother ? " 
 
 '' My dear, it's Sunday ! " 
 
 My mother, though a true daughter of Eve, 
 was never curious on Sundays. Moreover, 
 my mother had a strict methodist reverence 
 for Sunday, she abjured the world, its pomps 
 and vanities on that day, she went morning, 
 afternoon and evening to the little chapel on 
 the hill, she had prayers before breakfast and 
 prayers after supper, and cold meat for dinner 
 always. With a pious mother I ought to 
 have grown up more reverent and docile, 
 but then she was a gentle, warm-hearted 
 mother, too, and let me have more of my own 
 way than was good for me. She was only 
 severe on Sabbath days, and therefore I was 
 always glad when Monday morning came, and 
 I could go back to day-school, to my games
 
 WOODLEIGH. 9 
 
 in the playground and my races home again, 
 over Nettleton Common. 
 
 Heigho ! this memory of the past may be 
 very well in a story-book or sentimental bal- 
 lad, very well for sober-minded, steady old 
 gentlemen, whose jog-trot lives have had 
 nothing remarkable in them, one way or 
 another, who have had no trials or tempta- 
 tions to withstand or give way to, who have 
 seen the sun rise on their fortunes and known 
 not its setting, but for Eobert Woodleigh, 
 one of the ne'er-do-well's, a rambler and a 
 scapegrace — your humble servant, reader^^it's 
 not half so pleasant. 
 
 " My dear, it's Sunday ! " There was no 
 occasion to enlighten me on that point, I 
 knew it well enough. The twenty or thirty 
 shops comprising Nettleton town were tightly 
 shut — with the exception of the Bell Inn, 
 which my mother passed with upturned eyes 
 —there were some grand people, the Squire of 
 Nettleton and his lady. Lawyer Martin, his wife 
 and children, Doctor Wisby and his grown-up 
 daughters, coming down the High Street, 
 where the church stood ; there were no boys
 
 10 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 playing in the roads, and everyone was clean, 
 and prim, and pious. 
 
 When we were at home in our front parlor, 
 I was still conscious it was Sunday; there 
 was my cricket-bat neglected in the corner, 
 and there was Nettleton Common, where I 
 always played, only a few yards off, and no 
 one on it but two gipsy-boys, a flock of geese, 
 and a meditative cow. 
 
 My mother opened the Bible at that chapter 
 of Jeremiah which I had nearly forgotten, and 
 pushed it across the table to me. I turned 
 my eyes from Nettleton Common — forbidden 
 ground on that particular day — and read the 
 Bible to my mother till the night set in and the 
 stars came out, and my mother was afraid 
 I should ruin my eyes reading in the gloam- 
 ing. 
 
 When the blind was drawn, and two lights 
 set on the table — two lights always on a 
 Sunday evening — my mother, leaving me to 
 my Biblical researches, put on her silver spec- 
 tacles — she had a weak sight for a woman of 
 forty — and took up a book of Devotional 
 Exercises, very profitable reading, but very
 
 WOODLEIGH. 11 
 
 dry, for even my mother succumbed and 
 closed her eyes. I looked at the Family 
 Bible, then at the ceiling, then at the candle, 
 which I snuffed, then at the queer-shaped 
 cabinet in the corner, then at the Bible again, 
 the leaves of which I turned, till I came to 
 the last — the fly-leaf, on which was an interest- 
 ing chronicle that had been often spelt over. 
 
 There were half-a-dozen Eobert Woodleighs' 
 names on that page — Robert Woodleighs who 
 were dead and buried, one of them my father, 
 who had died six years ago, at the age of 
 forty-five. The last name on the list, written 
 in my father's best small-hand, referred to the 
 unworthy chronicler of this history. 
 
 *' Robert Woodleigh, born J^ovember 16ih, 
 1827." So I was going on for fourteen in the 
 year of grace one thousand eight hundred and 
 forty-one, getting ^' such a big boy," accord- 
 ing to my mother, and ^' such a bad boy," 
 according to my neighbors. 
 
 My mother was right, and my neighbors, 
 at that time, were wrong. I had certainly a 
 fair share of animal spirits, gave them play 
 at unseasonable times, was not a particularly
 
 12 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 civil lad, in fact rather partial to the last 
 word with my seniors, broke a few windows oc- 
 casionally in the High Street, — which windows 
 mother paid for, so there was no harm done, — 
 fought with my neighbors' sons when they 
 wanted to ^^ bounce over me," fought twice 
 with Squire Heberdeen's son, who was always 
 interfering with the boys of the town, and 
 sent him home the second time with a black 
 eye he ought to have been proud of; but as 
 for being a bad boy then, I solemnly deny it. 
 
 There were seven more names on the 
 worn fly-leaf, names of near relations 
 whom it was likely I should never see 
 again. 
 
 '^ James Woodleigh, horn December Uh, 
 1790, married June ^Ist, 1820." He was 
 my father's brother, and had been, once upon 
 a time, my father's partner. The business 
 prospered after Robert Woodleigh's decease ; 
 and had my father died five years later, 
 it is possible he would have left a rich 
 widow behind him, instead of a middle-aged, 
 pretty-faced relict with exceedingly limited 
 means.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 13 
 
 Here followed a list of cousins — always 
 the chief attraction for me on that page. 
 I spelled the names over every Sunday even- 
 ing when my mother, tired with three journeys 
 to chapel and a strong dose of devotional 
 exercises after them, was nodding in her chair. 
 These were my imaginary histories that set 
 me brooding many an hour, and conjuring up 
 a series of fancy portraits. 
 
 Caroline Woodleigh, born Jan. 2nd, 1822. 
 
 Richard Woodleigh, horn Mar. 15th, 1823. 
 
 Upton Woodleigh, born May 4th, 1826. 
 
 Constance Woodleigh, born Feb. 2Sth, 
 1828. 
 
 Mary Woodleigh, born Dec. 2Srd, 1834. 
 
 John Woodleigh, born Dec. 2 3 re/, 1834. 
 
 This completed the list — my father died in 
 eighteen hundred and thirty-five, and no more 
 was known of his kinsmen. James Woodleigh 
 went up in the world, and Robert Woodleigh's 
 widow went down ; one went to the east and 
 the other to the west ; one stayed in London, 
 the other in Nettleton ; there was an end to 
 all correspondence — what was a brother's wife 
 who was in needy circumstances to James
 
 14 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 Woodleigh, contractor, railway carrier, &c., 
 &c., &c. 
 
 " Kap — rap — rap." 
 
 My mother sprang to her feet, sat down 
 again, and stared at me in an absent man- 
 ner. 
 
 " Is that a knock, Robert, my dear ?" 
 
 "• Yes, mother." 
 
 " Who it can be at this time of night — 
 Sunday too ! " 
 
 I glanced at the names before me. 
 
 '^ It can't be uncle James, or — or any of 
 my cousins, I should think ! " 
 
 " Had you not better go to the door and 
 see, my dear?" said my mother, startled at my 
 observation, but trying to appear as uncon- 
 cerned as possible. 
 
 I went out of the room and into the narrow 
 passage. My mother kept no servant, and I 
 was general attendant in leisure hours. The 
 person outside was thinking of knocking again, 
 when, opening the door suddenly, I jerked 
 the knocker from his hand and left him with 
 an arm in the air like a statue. 
 
 The moon had risen and was shining full on
 
 WOODLEIGH. 15 
 
 the door-step, therefore there was no difficulty 
 in recognizing the dusty gentleman who had 
 arrived at so late an hour to evening service. 
 There he stood, with his hat on the back of 
 his head, and a diminutive carpet-bag in 
 his hand, peering in at the dark passage and 
 endeavouring to distinguish some human being 
 in the background. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Woodleigh within ? " was the 
 inquiry, made in a deep voice. 
 
 '^Yes, she is," I replied with all the un- 
 couthness of a boy of fourteen ; ^^ what do 
 you want ? " 
 
 " I wish to see her, if you please." 
 
 I ran to the parlor door. 
 
 " Mother, here's a man." 
 
 '' Say gentleman, little boy," remarked the 
 stranger on the door-step. 
 
 '^ Gentleman," I corrected almost involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 " Show him in, Robert." 
 
 My mother whipped the spectacles off her 
 nose, and consigned them to the depths of a 
 very long pocket, and I returned to the 
 street-door.
 
 16 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " Mother says you are to come in. She's 
 in the best room." 
 
 " Which is the best room, my lad ? " 
 
 " The first door — mind my cricket-bat." 
 
 The stranger took off his hat, groped his 
 way along the dark passage — I had quite for- 
 gotten the necessity for a light — and bent 
 his ungainly form as he entered the room 
 and made a bow to my mother. 
 
 '' Take a seat, sir." 
 
 '' Thank you, ma'am." 
 
 The man — or ^^ gentleman," as he preferred 
 it — took the first vacant chair and placed the 
 carpet-bag at his feet, whilst I, keeping my 
 eyes upon him, resumed my place before the 
 family Bible. 
 
 My position caught his eye. 
 
 " Ah ! reading your Bible, my man," said 
 he ; "a book you cannot begin too early, or 
 leave off too late. What was Mr. Parnell's 
 text, boy?" 
 
 '' Thirty-first chapter of Jeremiah and the 
 tenth verse," I answered quickly. 
 
 The stranger smiled approvingly. I think 
 he would have patted me on the head if I had
 
 WOODLEIGH. 17 
 
 given him any encouragement to take liberties. 
 I looked askance at my mother, who did not 
 seem particularly struck with my excellent 
 memory. 
 
 '^ Your son, ma'am ? " the stranger in- 
 quired. 
 
 "Yes, sir — my only one." 
 
 " A fine lad — how old is he ? " 
 
 " Nearly fourteen." 
 
 "An age that requires watching — an age 
 that receives every impression, good or bad, 
 and moulds the character of the future man. 
 I hope you take great care of him." 
 
 " To be sure, sir!" said my mother, bridling 
 up. 
 
 " I hope you, sir," turning to me, " take 
 care of your mother — study her comforts, 
 honor her words, and obey her wishes. You 
 will find it youi^ greatest reproach in after life 
 if you have disregarded her." 
 
 This was an extraordinary being. To walk 
 into my mother's house late on Sunday night, 
 take the first chair he could find, and begin 
 talking like Mr. Parnell in his pulpit ! 
 
 My mother softened towards the stranger 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
 ) 
 
 ■t
 
 18 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 at hearing this address; I colored and she 
 sighed. It was only yesterday that I had 
 honored her words and obeyed her wishes by 
 refusing to remain in doors, by rushing out 
 on Nettleton Common to play with Tom 
 Arrow — a rackety lad, whose father, 
 the chemist, had been looking for him every- 
 where. 
 
 A pause. My mother waiting for the 
 stranger's explanations, the stranger occupied 
 in removing his very large and shabby gloves. 
 He proceeded to enlighten us at last. 
 
 ^^ My name, Mrs. Woodleigh, is Bowden — 
 a friend of your worthy pastor, Mr. Parnell." 
 
 ^^ Oh, indeed," said my mother, looking with 
 intentness at the speaker. 
 
 " Important business demanding Mr. 
 ParnelFs presence in London for some six or 
 seven weeks, I have come to Nettleton as his 
 unworthy substitute.''" 
 
 " Oh ! indeed," said my mother, a second 
 time. 
 
 ^^ I have been preaching at Wolverby this 
 morning, madam." 
 
 "This morning, sir!" exclaimed my mother,
 
 WOODLEIGH. 19 
 
 — Wolverby was twenty-one miles from Net- 
 tleton. 
 
 " Yes, and being anxious to reach this 
 town in time for my reverend friend's eve- 
 ning discourse, I did not flinch at a walk of 
 twenty miles. It is a long walk though, and,'' 
 glancing at his boots, '^ a very dusty road." 
 
 I began to guess the object of his visit. 
 
 " Being an entire stranger in Nettleton, and 
 having an objection to lodgings at a public 
 house, I have been forced to solicit the advice of 
 Mr. Parnell. Mr. Parnell having a large 
 family and a small house, cannot offer me 
 the shelter of his roof, and has kindly re- 
 commended your apartments to me. You 
 have a bed-room and sitting-room to let, I 
 believe ? " 
 
 " I am afraid it is — " 
 
 "My dear madam," interrupted he, " pray 
 do not pain me by apologies ; the apartments 
 will suit me, I am sure. I am only ashamed 
 to enter them upon a Sunday evening 
 — to speak of them on such a day. I 
 shall not require much attendance, and shall 
 give but little trouble," continued he, "so 
 
 c2
 
 20 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 you will not find me an unpleasant lodger — 
 but—" 
 
 He put a large brown hand to his mouth 
 and coughed. 
 
 '' — But we will not speak of worldly mat- 
 ters now, madam, only it may be as well 
 to add that I am a poor man — a poor teacher 
 of the Word — and, and — apartments are not 
 expensive at Nettleton, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Very moderate, sir," my mother replied ; 
 ^' there is no demand for lodgings in the 
 town." 
 
 ^' It is a pretty place, too," he answered ; 
 '* and what a pleasure it is to see our persua- 
 sion holds its ground here." 
 
 " A pleasure and a comfort, sir." 
 
 Mr. Bowden did not appear particularly 
 struck with the response ; he fell into a 
 reverie, and my mother taking this opportunity 
 of retiring from the room, went upstairs to 
 look to his apartments. 
 
 Mr. Bowden was tired and sleepy, as well 
 as thoughtful, for my mother had not quitted 
 the parlor five minutes before his head dived to 
 the right, dived to the left, nearly jerked itself
 
 WOODLEIGH. 21 
 
 off backwards, nearly fell into his lap forwards, 
 and finally rested on his rusty black stock, in 
 a position of profound repose. I sat and 
 stared at him over the leaves of the great 
 Bible, and thought he was a very plain man, 
 and wondered if I should look as ugly when 
 I got as old ; wondered, too, why he had 
 taken to preaching for his living, and if 
 preaching were so bad a speculation, why he 
 did not give it up and take to something 
 else. 
 
 Mr. Bowden began to snore, and that 
 frightened me. I had never heard such a 
 noise in ray life, it was a rasping, choking, 
 gurgling noise, that alarmed even my mother, 
 and brought her down from the first-floor to 
 see what was the matter. 
 
 *^ It's only Mr. Bowden, mother. He has 
 gone to sleep." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! I thought he was in a fit." 
 
 " Isn't it awful ? " I asked, in a confiden- 
 tial whisper. 
 
 "Hush, Robert my dear," said my mother; 
 "the gentleman is fatigued." 
 
 Mr. Bowden opened his eyes, looked for a
 
 22 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 moment vacantly at us both, then rose slowly 
 to his feet. 
 
 '^Your pardon, Mrs. Woodleigh," he said, 
 ^' I fear my long walk has been too much 
 for me. With your permission I will retire 
 to my room." 
 
 " Have you supped, sir? " 
 
 ^* Thank you, yes. I supped with Mr. 
 Parnell.'^ 
 
 He took up his carpet-bag, and proceeded 
 to follow my mother to his room. 
 
 ^' Good night, my lad," he said to me, as 
 he retired. 
 
 ''Good night, su\" 
 
 When my mother had returned, and we 
 were supping together in the front parlor, I 
 reverted again to the stranger. 
 
 ''He don't seem like a minister to me, 
 mother." 
 
 "You should never judge a man by his 
 looks, Eobert." 
 
 "Who would have thought of those up- 
 stairs rooms being let to-night ?" said I, " why, 
 we've had the bill about them in the window 
 till it has got as brown as — as," a bright
 
 WOODLEIGH. 23 
 
 simile suggested itself, ^^as Mr. Bowden's 
 hat ! " 
 
 " I wish you would not talk in that manner, 
 Eobert," said my mother, gravely; ^^ honest 
 poverty is no fit subject for a jest." 
 
 ^' I really was not jesting, mother," I re- 
 plied ; "his hat is brown, you know — it's all 
 true enough. I should like to know if he 
 is—" 
 
 "Don't be curious, Robert," interrupted 
 my mother ; " curiosity has led many an erring 
 mortal from the narrow path — I wonder what 
 Mr. Parnell is going to London for ! " 
 
 Supper at an end, and the front parlor 
 window fastened — not that there was 
 occasion to fasten anything in Nettleton 
 — mother and I went upstairs to our 
 rooms. 
 
 As we neared Mr. Bowden's apartments, 
 my mother raised her finger by way of 
 caution, and fearful of disturbing the stranger's 
 rest, we trod more softly past the door. 
 He was not asleep though, he was either talk- 
 ing to himself or praying, for as we crossed 
 the landing, we heard him say : —
 
 24 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " And God bless and forgive lier, and turn 
 her heart towards me ! — Amen." 
 
 ^^ Amen, poor gentleman ! " whispered my 
 mother to herself, as we went lightly up the 
 next flight of stairs.
 
 25 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 MR. BOWDEN. 
 
 In my opinion, Mr. Bowden did not improve 
 upon acquaintance. He was a very good 
 man in his way. I believe no one disputed 
 that fact to the last day of his life ; but he 
 was no more a cheerful man to speak to than 
 he was a nice man to look at. There was 
 something stern and cold about him, which 
 had a depressing effect on my youthful spirits, 
 and the habit that he had of preaching at 
 all times and seasons, was rather aggravating. 
 I detected these striking points of his cha- 
 racter before the Sunday came on which he 
 was to deliver his first sermon to the Net
 
 26 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 tleton Methodists. And what a sermon that 
 was, and how it astonished all the congrega- 
 tion, including my mother, and what a poor 
 light of grace Mr. Parnell was considered 
 ever afterwards ! 
 
 Comparisons are odious ; but even I — a 
 small Methodist item — could not help being 
 struck by the difference between Mr. Parnell 
 and his successor pro tern. Mr. ParneH's 
 discourse was quiet, easy, and uncommonly 
 soothing. Mr. Bowden's was a red-hot, tear- 
 ing piece of earnestness, which startled every 
 sinner into attention, and made havoc on his 
 conscience. Mr. Parnell, a little fat, white- 
 haired man, used to stand exactly in the 
 centre of the pulpit, clasp his dumpy hands 
 together, and prose away till a quarter to one. 
 Mr. Bowden danced from one side of the 
 pulpit to the other, banged with his fist on 
 the cushion, frothed at the mouth like a 
 maniac, and told us his mind as though he 
 meant it. The afternoon witnessed a second 
 specimen of extempore preaching in the same 
 style, and in the evening two or thi^ee 
 church-people who had heard of his per-
 
 WOODLEIGH. 27 
 
 formances came sneaking into our little 
 chapel to judge for themselves. 
 
 " He's a wonderful man," said my mother, 
 as we walked slowly towards home that 
 Sunday evening, ^^ a most wonderful man ! " 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 "What do you think of him, Eobert?" 
 asked my mother. 
 
 " He is not like Mr. Parnell." 
 
 "No, dear, but what do you think of 
 him?" 
 
 " He's a very good man, mother, 1 daresay, 
 but I wouldn't be that pulpit-cushion for any 
 money ! " 
 
 " Eobert, Robert ! " said my mother, half- 
 inclined to cry, " I wish there were more reve- 
 rence in you. I'm afraid playing so often 
 on the Common does a deal of harm." 
 
 "No it don't, mother. I like Mr. Bow- 
 den's preaching, I do, indeed — what I can 
 understand of it. I did not shut my eyes 
 once, and generally I am a little sleepy of a 
 Sunday." 
 
 " Ah ! my son, you will know better some 
 day."
 
 28 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 My mother had great faith in the future. 
 She was always looking forward to the "" some 
 day " that never came ! When my father 
 was living, what visions she had had of his 
 making a fortune, and what a comforter, with 
 all her day-dreams, she had been to him ! 
 Sanguine in everything, she was looking for- 
 ward still to her husband's brother and his 
 family, hoping that the Mr. James Woodleigh, 
 who ignored her existence, would do some- 
 thing " some day " for herself or her child. 
 I need not say she was building a large 
 castle in the clouds for that child. He was 
 to be a wonderful man, make a great deal of 
 money, be the best and most affectionate of 
 sons, and a great and perpetual comfort to 
 her all the rest of her days. 
 
 Well, such a disposition of mind is not the 
 worst gift in the world ; it consoles the pos- 
 sessor for the minor troubles of life, and 
 though now and then the dreamer comes with a 
 crash to the earth, still the future is for 
 ever before him and there is no tax on cloud- 
 land at present. 
 
 To return to Mr. Bowden. The six weeks of
 
 WOODLEIGH. 29 
 
 his stay at Nettleton were not without their 
 fruit. He stirred up the drowsy Methodists of 
 Mr. Parnell's chapel, he taught them much that 
 was their duty, and he induced a few of the 
 lower orders, rough beings who had never 
 been able to stand preaching in their lives, to 
 come and listen to him through windows and 
 half-opened doors. 
 
 The people of Nettleton, who seldom took 
 kindly to a stranger, and were generally 
 anxious to know his birth, family, and ante- 
 cedents, the extent of his income, and his 
 reason for troubling the town with his pre- 
 sence before they patronized him, became 
 reconciled to Mr. Bowden's appearance in 
 their midst, gave him " good morning " when 
 he crossed their paths, and touched their hats oc- 
 casionally. For twenty miles round Nettleton 
 he was well known too ; he was a famous 
 walker, and three or four times a- week he 
 would startle the inhabitants of some out-of- 
 the-way village by delivering a sermon to 
 them on any plot of ground that was handy 
 for the purpose. He was not always suc- 
 cessful with his sermons or visitings ; at times
 
 30 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 he was left on the field with his stool, his 
 pocket Bible, and one or two gaping children ; 
 more than once some hardened navvy to 
 whom he was anxious to offer spiritual conso- 
 lation kindly suggested throwing him out of 
 window, and now and then an ungodly few 
 would object to the very hard names bestowed 
 upon them and begin to giggle and shrug 
 their shoulders irreverently; but on the whole 
 he did some good, and if his success with the 
 world were not commensurate with his expec- 
 tations, why that's a disappointment that 
 many poor wretches besides himself have ex- 
 perienced — the writer of this chronicle for one. 
 Mr. Bowden succeeded well enough in 
 Nettleton, and although the town was not 
 excited by his presence, yet he added a few 
 converts to his flock and filled jN"ettleton 
 Chapel every Sunday morning and evening. 
 The afternoon service was a dull affair, even 
 the majority of Methodists admired a little 
 ease after dinner, and did not care for a 
 walk up the hill with a lively sun on theii' 
 backs all the way — it was a hindrance to di- 
 gestion. My mother defied the long walk, the
 
 WOODLEIGH. 31 
 
 sun, and her digestive organs, and went with 
 her boy to Nettleton Chapel on Sunday after- 
 noons, and Mr. Bowden preached a sermon to 
 her and me, three servant girls, a pious 
 old man with an ear-trumpet, and the pew- 
 opener. 
 
 At the expiration of six weeks, during 
 which time Mr. Bowden's sermons, in my 
 mother's opinion, had become quite heavenly, 
 and Mr. Bowden himself, despite his shabby 
 gloves and the darn on his knee, quite 
 heavenly too, there came a letter, with the 
 London post-mark, addressed to our reverend 
 lodger. 
 
 It was a Thursday evening, and Mr. Bow- 
 den had not returned from a preaching mission 
 at a market-town nine miles from Nettleton. 
 It was a wet evening too, and there was every 
 probability of Mr. Bowden coming back 
 soaked, that gentleman having departed in 
 the forenoon without an umbrella. There 
 was a spirit of aggravation in the elements, 
 for Mr. Bowden had only that morning 
 speculated in a new hat, and gone out with it, 
 quite the dandy.
 
 32 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 My mother kept tripping up and down 
 stairs — she was a light woman for her age — 
 laying a fire in the little old-fashioned grate 
 on the first floor, getting ready Mr. Bo'wden's 
 only change of wearing apparel — oh ! you 
 should have seen his change of wearing ap- 
 parel, my stars ! — and placing his slippers 
 before the chintz-covered easy-chair. I was 
 occupied less busily ; I was done up with the 
 weather and the long confinement to the house. 
 I walked upstairs several times, and looked 
 in at Mr. Bowden's room to see how affairs 
 were progressing. I went downstairs again, 
 once by the natural way, and three times by 
 the banisters, which were rickety; I looked 
 out of the back-door at the water-butt which 
 was running over, at the wash-house, the old 
 pear-tree, the narrow plot of ground em- 
 bellished with cabbages, scarlet-runners, and 
 gooseberry-bushes, at the leaden sky above 
 them all ; I looked out of the front-door at 
 Nettleton Common, and tried to think it was 
 clearing up a bit over the hills, and could not 
 do it, so shut the door and dawdled into the 
 parlor — the back-parlor, not the best room
 
 WOODLEIGH. 33 
 
 — and took up Mr. Bowden's letter, and 
 played at skimming it across the room until 
 I nearly knocked a blue and yellow shep- 
 herdess off the mantel-piece. After sitting on 
 every chair and lying full length on the sofa, 
 I got my school-bag, drew a chair to the 
 table, laid out my books carefully, polished 
 my slate with the sleeve of my jacket, opened 
 Mr. Walkinghame at Barter, put one arm on 
 the table, and my head on my arm, and went 
 off into a refreshing sleep. 
 
 "Why, Kobert!" 
 
 I opened my eyes — I could only have been 
 asleep a minute ; but it had somehow got very 
 dark, and the rain was rattling down in fine 
 style. 
 
 " Why, Robert ! " repeated my mother, 
 " you have never been asleep ? " 
 
 " I have just this moment shut my eyes. 
 Oh ! isn't it wet ? " said I, yawning fearfully ; 
 " oh ! won't our lodger come home jolly 
 damp 1 " 
 
 " I wish he would come home," said my 
 mother in a fidgety manner. 
 
 " So do I. I want to go to bed." 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " Have you learned your lesson, Eobert?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes ; it's all right, mother." 
 
 I returned my books and slate to the depths 
 of my green baize bag, and hung the bag 
 behind the door. I had scarcely completed the 
 operation when the well-known rap — rap — rap 
 of Mr. Bowden announced the return of the 
 wandering Methodist. 
 
 Mr. Bowden entered the room in the dampest 
 condition ; he was glossy with wet ; his clothes 
 clung to him affectionately ; his new hat was 
 washed out of all shape, and there was a row 
 of water-drops all round the brim. 
 
 Mr. Bowden took his hat off and surveyed 
 it ruefully. 
 
 " What a very unpleasant evening we have 
 had to be sure, Mrs. Woodleigh." 
 
 ^^ We have, indeed, sir." 
 
 " But the rain will do a great deal of good. 
 Thank the Lord for all His mercies. How the 
 wheat will grow after this !" 
 
 " Have you walked all the way home, 
 sir ? " inquired my mother. 
 
 *^ No. I was fortunate enough to meet 
 with Pierce, the corn-chandler, three miles
 
 WOODLEIGH. 35 
 
 from Nettleton, and lie brought me the 
 rest of the way in his cart. He had 
 no umbrella, but it was a very friendly 
 action.'' 
 
 ^^ Yes/' said my mother, glancing at the 
 muddy boots of Mr. Bowden, '^ and had you 
 not better change your things at once, sir ? 
 You may catch a severe cold. There's a letter 
 for you upstairs, sir. I have just put it on 
 your table." 
 
 '^ Indeed," his color changing. " From 
 London ? " 
 
 " There is the London post-mark on it." 
 
 " Is the address in a delicate, fine running- 
 hand ? " he enquired anxiously, " as if — as if 
 written by a lady ? " 
 
 " Round-hand," said I, breaking in upon 
 the dialogue, " with very large capitals." 
 
 " Not a running-hand ? " he asked. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! no, sir ; quite a sprawling hand." 
 
 Mr. Bowden walked thoughtfully from the 
 room, leaving a puddle of rain-water in the 
 middle of the carpet. Half an hour after- 
 wards, when my mother had prepared his sup- 
 per-tray, the door of his room was heard to 
 
 d2
 
 36 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 open, and a pair of shuffling feet to descend 
 the stairs. 
 
 A tapping at the door. 
 
 ^' Are you engaged, Mrs Woodleigh ? " 
 
 My mother actually blushed as she re- 
 plied : — 
 
 " No, sir.'' 
 
 Mr. Bowden re-entered the room, letter 
 in hand. Mr. Bowden, in his change of 
 dress, looked like a hicifer merchant in rather 
 reduced circumstances. 
 
 " This letter contains important tidings, 
 Mrs. Woodleigh," said he ; '^ and you, as a 
 member of our congregation, — and as a valued 
 friend of mine, I trust I may add, — are 
 entitled to the first hearing." 
 
 My mother, all expectation, waited for Mr. 
 Bowden to proceed. With my eyes and ears 
 very wide open, I waited also. 
 
 '^ Were you aware of the motive for Mr. 
 Parnell's visit to London, Mrs. W. ? " 
 
 '' No, sir." 
 
 " It was owing to the death of a relation 
 of Mr. Parnell's — a relation with whom your 
 pastor had been for many years past at
 
 WOODLEIGH. 37 
 
 variance, certain differences in matters of 
 religion being, I believe, the cause. It is a 
 pity that religion, of all things in the world, 
 should sometimes part the best of friends." 
 
 " It is, indeed, sir," said my mother. 
 
 " However, the relation did his duty at 
 the last moment, and forgot not a deserv- 
 ing man. He bequeathed some seven 
 thousand pounds to Mr. Parnell, and I think 
 we may now venture to consider our friend in 
 comfortable circumstances." 
 
 " Oh, dear me!" said my mother; "who- 
 ever could have thought it. Eeally I am 
 very glad to hear it now." 
 
 And she was too — my full-hearted mother^s 
 eye sparkled, and she rubbed her hands 
 together in the plenitude of her exhilaration. 
 So my mother was not a person of common 
 mind, you see, reader ; for, though poor 
 enough herself, she could take a pleasure in 
 hearing of the success of her friends and her 
 neighbors, which is not a weakness every- 
 body indulges in, I can tell you. 
 
 " But I am sure you will regret to hear 
 that our reverend friend's change of pros-
 
 38 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 pects has brought about another change 
 that will affect many in this little town. Mr. 
 Parnell does not return to Nettleton." 
 
 '^Kot return to Nettleton," repeated my 
 mother, without much expression of regret in 
 her tone. 
 
 ^^ He will become the minister of a 
 chapel at the West-end of the town, — a 
 large chapel where there is greater scope 
 for his abilities." 
 
 I thought I heard Mr. Bowden sigh. 
 
 ^^ I trust he may bring many erring souls 
 to the knowledge of the truth." 
 
 '' Amen," said Mr. Bowden. 
 
 ^^But," asked my inquisitive mother, ^^who 
 will succeed Mr. Parnell in our little chapel — 
 who will — ahem, do you think — ? " 
 
 Mr. Bowden indulged in one of his grim 
 smiles. 
 
 '^ Some members of our congregation, Mrs. 
 Woodleigh, have been writing some flattering 
 reports to Mr. Parnell concerning my un- 
 worthy self," he said; "Mr. Eigden, the sad- 
 dler, amongst the rest.'' 
 
 Mr. Kigden was an influential member of
 
 WOODLEIGH. 39 
 
 our sect, I have before observed; he had 
 quite the ruling of Nettleton chapel, and 
 a minister had never been appointed there 
 without his will and consent having been pre- 
 viously obtained. He was one of the richest 
 men in Nettleton, though he was a saddler, 
 and quite a rival to Squire Ileberdeen in the 
 extent of his meadow land. His good word 
 with the Methodist elect went a long way — it 
 was a '^Take-care-of-Dowb" sort of word, and 
 was always followed by a significant result. 
 Some words fall amongst thistles and get 
 choked, but Mr. Rigden's were not of the 
 number. 
 
 " There is no occasion, Mrs. Woodleigh, to 
 disguise the fact that it would not only be a 
 proud day for me to succeed Mr. Parnell, but 
 that the salary, though a small one, would be 
 also acceptable in the extreme," said he; "but 
 I have not been what the world calls a lucky 
 man, and misfortune has taught me the lesson 
 not to build too much upon contingencies." 
 
 " I wish you every success, sir." 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. Woodleigh." 
 
 " I am sure if the wishes of the congrega-
 
 40 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 tion be taken into consideration, you are cer- 
 tain of the appointment, Mr. Bowden." 
 
 ^•' Thank you, thank you again," said he, 
 with another of his odd smiles ; " you flat- 
 ter me, Mrs. Woodleigh — nay more, you 
 buoy me up with fallacies, and that will never 
 do. I must be content with the result, what- 
 ever it may be. I think I have endured too 
 many disappointments in my life to feel 
 acutely now." 
 
 After a moment's silence, he thrust a letter 
 into my mother's hands, saying : — 
 
 " You will read this. It is one of your 
 pastor's true heart-speaking epistles, as gentle 
 and devout as his good self. I should make 
 a poor follower in his steps at Nettleton." 
 
 '' Not at all, sir." 
 
 " But I am intruding too long on your 
 patience, madam." 
 
 He made a movement to withdraw. 
 
 " Will you have up your supper-tray, now, 
 sir?" 
 
 "Not to night, thank you. The wet 
 weather, my long walk, or Mr. Parnell's letter, 
 has robbed me of my appetite. Good night, 
 Mrs. Woodleigh."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 41 
 
 " Ahem ! '^ coughed my mother, in an embar- 
 rassed manner ; ^^ I have left a box of Grook's 
 pills on your toilet table. They are very 
 good things for cold — quite a preventative of 
 cold, in fact, sir." 
 
 Mr. Bowden thanked her, and retired. 
 
 My mother had great confidence in '' Grook's 
 Infallible Pills ; '^ she believed them capable of 
 curing all the ills that flesh is heir to — she 
 consumed a great many herself, gave a great 
 many to me in the spring and fall of the year, 
 recommended them for all bruises and contu- 
 sions, rheumatism, gout, spasms, and sprained 
 ankles. She prepared them herself from an 
 old recipe of her grandmother, who had 
 married a Grook of Ashton-under-Lyne, and, 
 although she compounded them with very 
 great care, and took extraordinary pains to 
 make them all of one size, yet it did not 
 render them less nasty, and as I always 
 caught the flavor of my pills, never being able 
 to swallow them till the third efibrt — I did 
 not wish myself in Mr. Bowden's slippers that 
 night. 
 
 My mother snuffed the candle, put on her
 
 42 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 silver spectacles, and opened Mr. Parnell's 
 letter. After the perusal, she re-folded it 
 carefully, restored her spectacles to the case, 
 leaned her round little chin on her hand, and 
 looked intently at the candle. 
 
 She fell into a brown study, and I sat and 
 surveyed her drowsily. Heaven knows of 
 what she was thinking — thought follows 
 thought as wave follows wave, till the waters 
 grow deep and bear us away from the present 
 — but I startled her exceedingly twenty 
 minutes afterwards, by saying : — 
 
 " A penny for your thoughts, mother ? " 
 
 My mother jumped in her chair. 
 
 ^^Oh! dear, Robert," she cried, "you 
 have quite startled me — how can you be so 
 silly ? Shall we have supper now ? " 
 
 " I don't much care about it, mother," said 
 I, wearily. 
 
 " Then I think it's time we went to bed. 
 These warm, close evenings quite take away 
 one's appetite. I don't feel very well — I 
 think I'll have a Grook's pill myself, to- 
 night."
 
 43 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 '^REMEMBER, REMEMBER, THE FIFTH OF 
 NOVEMBER." 
 
 Whether Fortune were tired of teasing Mr. 
 Bowden, or the tide in the affairs of men were 
 setting for once in a favorable direction ; 
 whether Mr. Eigden's vote and interest carried 
 all before it, or whether Grook's pill had, in 
 some mysterious way, exercised its effect on the 
 fortunes of Mr. Bowden, it is not in the power 
 of the writer to affirm — certain it is that my 
 mother's lodger was solicited by the Methodists 
 of Nettleton to become their good and watch- 
 ful shepherd, and was duly installed in that 
 responsible post.
 
 44 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 Mr. Bowden did not talk of changing his 
 apartments, although Mrs. Parnell and children 
 had vacated the cottage near the chapel and 
 started for London to join the lucky legatee. 
 He was comfortably quartered in the house 
 that looked upon the Common, there were no 
 household cares upon his mind, and the addi- 
 tion of some sixty-two pounds a-year to his 
 income offered no temptation to extravagance. 
 
 Therefore he remained my mother's lodger, 
 and the nine days' wonder of a new minister 
 at Nettleton chapel passed away. The inau- 
 guration sermon was delivered, and Mr. 
 Bowden settled down into quite an old inhabi- 
 tant ; little boys who met him in the green 
 lanes, or in the quiet precincts of the town, no 
 longer whispered in each other's ear " That be 
 the Marthodeest parson, yonder ! " but scraped 
 with their feet and pulled at their front locks 
 of hair, and gave him a " Good marning, 
 sir." 
 
 Mr. Bowden, if elated by his good fortune, 
 did not let his feelings master him; he was the 
 same grave, strong-minded being, and the 
 only change he exhibited was in a new suit of
 
 WOODLEIGH. 45 
 
 broadcloth for Sunday wear, and uncommonly 
 respectable he looked in it — I hardly knew 
 him again. 
 
 Mr. Bowden having settled into a " perma- 
 nency," my mother took a small specimen of 
 humanity into her service as maid-of-all-work, 
 which threw over Jhe establishment quite an 
 air of gentility. Mr. Bowden was " at 
 home" at my mother's house — my mother 
 had got used to all his ways and oddities ; 
 I was the only one to hold out — to feel 
 that the minister was a stranger in the 
 household, and that I should never be able to 
 take kindly to him. With all his piety and 
 earnestness, he had never won upon my 
 heart; he had strange manners with him 
 which I could not brook ; he was too solemn 
 and dictatorial ; he was not a friend to youth, 
 he could not sympathize with it. Moreover, 
 I was a boy fond of my liberty, of my game 
 on the green, of any game, in fact, that would 
 keep me out of doors till nightfall, and Mr. 
 Bowden, having serious objections to seeing 
 boys idle one minute of their lives, was 
 always remonstrating with my mother or me.
 
 46 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 His arguments were good, he could quote 
 some excellent texts respecting time, its 
 value, and the evils of wasting it, &c., but I 
 was a high-spirited lad — nay more, a head- 
 strong, hot-tempered lad, and could not, at 
 thirteen years of age, submit to dictation 
 from a stranger, though he were even the 
 preacher at Nettleton Chapel. 
 
 I think I may say here, without egotism, 
 that I was a boy of some penetration, 
 although probably as inconsiderate as most 
 youths of my age. Assuredly I was not 
 slow to detect certain changes of manner in 
 Mr. Bowden towards my mother, certain 
 varying shades of treatment adopted by my 
 mother towards him. 
 
 Mr. Bowden came more often into the 
 parlor, was more solicitous of my mother's 
 advice concerning the management of his 
 chapel, talked a great deal concerning his 
 visiting duties and her own — for my mother 
 had, even in Mr. Parnell's time, a certain 
 number of the poor of Nettleton to attend, to 
 help the distressed with the little money 
 she could afford, and to read the Bible to
 
 WOODLEIGH. 47 
 
 those who were too ill or too ignorant to read 
 for themselves. 
 
 When it came to every evening, when Mr. 
 Bowden always stood at the parlor door 
 discoursing, until my mother out of courtesy 
 said — " Will you not step in, Mr. Bowden ? " 
 when Mr. Bowden did step in, and did 
 not step out again till supper-time, when he 
 looked at my mother long and earnestly, and 
 paid the strictest attention to all her sugges- 
 tions, I began to have my suspicions, and to 
 glow with secret indignation. 
 
 And how did my mother behave at this 
 critical juncture? Why, she did what the 
 sternest specimen of the fair sex would have 
 done in a similar position. She thought it 
 over before she declared war with the enemy, 
 or ran up the white flag of truce. 
 
 She was only forty years of age, was cer- 
 tainly a pretty woman, and if there had not 
 been the fly-leaf of the family Bible to stare 
 her in the face, she could have told the world 
 she was thirty-five, and no one would have 
 doubted the assertion. She was a pretty 
 woman, I have said — for an amiable temper
 
 48 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 and the Nettleton breezes had kept her 
 plump and rosy, and she was a good figure, 
 too, thanks to Nature and staylaces. She 
 was a devout woman, also — never thought of 
 going to bed without prayers half an hour 
 long, or having breakfast without a grace 
 which was almost without an end at all. 
 She was interested in Mr. Bowden's sermons, 
 she had been a widow more than six years, 
 and " Mrs. Bowden " would not sound so 
 badly after all ! 
 
 I do not affirm the above were exactly my 
 mother's thoughts, but I think something 
 like them flitted through her brain when Mr. 
 Bowden began to cast sheep's eyes at her. 
 Certainly a change came o'er the spirit of 
 my mother's dream, though she was hardly 
 aware of it herself. She had been always 
 neat in her apparel, but she became still 
 more particular — even snapped up the poor 
 dressmaker for making her new merino a 
 trifle too baggy in the waist — was careful 
 about her hair and the set of her widow's 
 cap, grew more thoughtful, took to blushing, 
 and left ofi* the silver spectacles. As for Mr.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 49 
 
 Bowden's praises, she sang them to me every 
 day, was full of anecdotes of his good deeds, 
 overflowing with remarks on his fine sermons, 
 and as day after day cleared the mist before 
 my eyes, and set me speculating on the 
 future, so my admiration for the Methodist 
 preacher grew less in proportion. 
 
 What business had he to think of my 
 mother ? — that mother who cried so bitterly 
 and said she should never know a happy 
 minute again when the doctor told her 
 "There was no hope in this world for her 
 husband ! " — what business was it of his to be 
 interested in all she did and said, to meet her 
 and me every time we went to chapel, to 
 walk by my mother's side, to offer her his 
 arm? 
 
 Like a foolish boy as I was, I thought I 
 could thwart these attentions by becoming 
 sullen and morose, capricious in my temper, 
 irregular in my movements, rude to Mr. 
 Bowden. My perplexed mother — for she had 
 not made up her mind yet — was pained at my 
 eccentricities, couldn't account for tliem, sought 
 advice and consolation in the eternal Methodist 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 minister, wondered why I was so strange and 
 unfilial, cried in the solitude of her own 
 chamber at my general behavior. 
 
 This unsatisfactory state of things con- 
 tinued till the beginning of November, 
 eighteen hundred and forty-one. The day is 
 well remembered. 
 
 It was the fifth of November. Mr. Myers, 
 the schoolmaster, had been wheedled out of 
 a holiday ; he was a good-tempered merry old 
 fellow, and about as well qualified for a school- 
 master as myself The whole day was before 
 me and my comrades, and what a lively day 
 we had determined to make of it ! What a 
 Guy Fawkes we had constructed for future anni- 
 hilation on the Common — a subscription Guy 
 Fawkes, six feet high at least, with a man's 
 hat on his head, and a pipe in his mouth ! 
 My bosom friend and confidant, Tom Arrow — 
 one year my senior, biggest boy at Myers' 
 school, son of Arrow, the chemist, opposite the 
 Bell Inn, a boy who was always getting into 
 scrapes himself and leading me into more 
 than I should have got into alone — found the 
 coat and the boots, four youths of my ac-
 
 WOODLEIGH. 51 
 
 quaintance contributed the stuffing, the hat 
 and the waistcoat, and I had taken the liberty 
 of borrowing Mr. Bowden's trousers — the old 
 pair with the fine-drawing on the knee. 
 
 It was a vile habit of my mother's to be 
 nervous on the fifth of November ; she had a 
 womanly horror of bonfires and fireworks, and 
 was always fearful on that day of my being 
 blown up or burnt to ashes. Therefore it was 
 not till tea-time, when it was quite dark and 
 Tom Arrow was significantly whistling outside, 
 that I broke the ice concerning my inten- 
 tions. 
 
 " Tm just going out for half-an-hour or so, 
 mother." 
 
 " To-night ! " said my mother in reply ; 
 "why, it's pitch dark, Eobert, and you have 
 got a little cold, you know. I really would 
 not go out to-night, my dear — I would stay 
 at home and take a Grook." 
 
 I had expected a certain amount of oppo- 
 sition, and was prepared with my defence. 
 
 " I shall be home at eight o'clock pre- 
 cisely. Tom Arrow promised his father he 
 would be home before eight, mother." 
 
 E 2 
 
 0^ 
 
 ,.^^<^^^'
 
 52 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " Oh ! that Tom Arrow. He is always 
 leading you into mischief." 
 
 " I'm not going into mischief, mother." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " On the Common for — for a walk." 
 
 *' Oh dear ! — and it's Guy Fawkes night, 
 and all the riff-raff of the town will be letting 
 off those nasty fireworks ; — now don't go too 
 near the fireworks, there's a good boy." 
 
 '' Not for the world, mother ! " 
 
 " And don't be later than eight, or I shall 
 be so uneasy about you, Hobert. And there 
 are your lessons to learn, remember : Mr. 
 Bowden says he is sure you do not half learn 
 your lessons." 
 
 "It's no business of Mr. Bowden's — he's 
 always poking his — " 
 
 " Eobert, my dear ! " cried my mother, 
 sharply. 
 
 " And so he is ! " said I, surlily pushing 
 away my chair and snatching up my cap ; 
 "and I can never say a word without it's 
 Mr. Bowden this, and Mr. Bowden that — I 
 don't care for him, and you can tell him so ! " 
 
 " You are a very wicked boy, Robert," said
 
 WOOOLEIGH. 53 
 
 my mother, with a heightened color ; ^' and I 
 hope you will not come to a bad end, that's 
 all." 
 
 " Bad end ! '' exclaimed I ; ^' why, it's enough 
 to make me fling myself head foremost into 
 the first bonfire I can find to-night." 
 
 " Good gracious, boy ! " cried my mother, 
 turning pale, " don't talk so awfully, don't. 
 What is enough to make you, Robert ? " 
 
 Having almost forgotten the primary 
 subject of dispute in my excitement, I an- 
 swered : 
 
 " Never mind." 
 
 " There, go and play, and pray don't go 
 too near the fireworks — Oh ! what's that ? " 
 
 Bang! 
 
 Master Arrow, tired of waiting outside and 
 doing nothing, was letting off the squibs to wile 
 away the time, and fearful of his precipitation, 
 I put an end to the dialogue with my mother, 
 by rushing into the street. 
 
 I found not only Tom Arrow outside, but a 
 round dozen of my schoolfellows, sitting on the 
 door-steps, with the Guy in their arms. After 
 my appearance had been hailed with a shout
 
 54 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 that must have frightened my mother, and 
 even Mr. Bowden, who was upstairs in his 
 own room thinking over his Sunday's sermons, 
 we hurried off in a body to the Common, bear- 
 ing Fawkes on our shoulders. 
 
 Nettleton Common wore a brisk and 
 lively aspect that evening ; the townsfolk, 
 who were fond of combustibles, having assem- 
 bled in great force. 
 
 Our pocket-money having been limited, our 
 powder and fireworks had soon become memo- 
 ries of the past, and we were left with nothing 
 to do but watch the burning Guy and the squibs 
 and crackers of our contemporaries. Whilst 
 thus employed, Tom Arrow, who had taken a 
 survey of the country, gave a loud 
 
 " Hollo ! " 
 
 '' What's the matter, Tom ? " 
 
 ^^ Oh! hasn't Squire Heberdeen got a prime 
 set out over there, Bob. By George, there 
 goes a fire balloon ! — come on ! " 
 
 Tom was off like a shot across the Common, 
 and the rest of us were quickly after him, 
 tearing over the damp grass, leaping ditches, 
 and brealdng through hedges and furze-
 
 WOODLEIGH. 55 
 
 bushes in the direction of Squire Heberdeen's 
 house, a large, old-fashioned red-brick man- 
 sion, hemmed round by sturdy elms that had 
 weathered the storms of a hundred years. 
 Upon our nearer approach we discovered that 
 the fireworks were being let off in the orchard 
 at the rear of the house, and as the orchard 
 was surrounded by a high brick wall, orna- 
 mented on the top with broken glass, we 
 paused in a meadow into which we had un- 
 ceremoniously intruded, and held a hasty 
 council of war. 
 
 ^^ What's to be done, Tom ? " 
 
 " I don't much care about getting on that 
 wall/' said Tom. 
 
 " Oh ! there are not many broken bottles," 
 remarked a youth of nine, who was evidently 
 of an ambitious turn of mind. " Hark ! they 
 are talking about serpents ! Let's chance it ! " 
 
 ^^ And I see two fellows already on the 
 Wall under the pear-tree," I cried; ^Mieregoes 
 — follow my leader ! " 
 
 And with a dash at the wall, and totally 
 regardless of consequences, I gave a spring 
 and clambered to the summit, where I
 
 56 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 found the glass rather sharp — what there was 
 of it. The rest of us had soon taken up our 
 posts of observation, and the noise in the 
 orchard being great, the attention of its occu- 
 pants entirely absorbed, and the shadows of 
 the trees near the wall affording a fair screen, 
 our arrival passed unnoticed. 
 
 There was a select company of about thirty 
 in the orchard — men, women, and children. 
 There was a bonfire too, and as the dark 
 figures of the company passed before its blaze, 
 I could distinguish one or two persons well 
 known in the village of Nettleton. There 
 was the Squire himself, as tall as a Life 
 Guardsman, and as full of pranks as a 
 monkey, running about the orchard with 
 lighted squibs in his hands and frightening the 
 ladies, whose little screams and merry laughs 
 made the place ring again. How he did laugh 
 himself too, and what a fat hearty laugh he 
 had! There was the curate of Nettleton church, 
 buttoned up to the throat, and simpering 
 at everything, and keeping as well as he could 
 behind the skh^ts of the ladies — of course he 
 was quite a ladies' man, curates always are —
 
 WOODLEIGH. 57 
 
 and taking to his heels with the fair sex 
 whenever the Squire or any gentleman 
 of his acquaintance dashed in his direction. 
 There was young Heberdeen too — "young Im- 
 pudence," as the townsfolk called him, under 
 the rose — imitating his father, and squibbing 
 everybody, his sire included ; and there 
 were rich neighbors of the Squire, and their 
 sons and daughters, and Miss Heberdeen, a 
 tall and pretty girl, and Mrs. Heberdeen, a 
 slight and graceful lady of some six-and-thirty 
 years of age. It was quite a jubilee in the 
 orchard below — there were half-a-dozen huge 
 firework, devices yet to be ignited, and Tom 
 Arrow and I congratulated ourselves on hav- 
 ing arrived in time for them — there was 
 another fire-balloon getting ready, and the 
 incessant firing of squibs and crackers was 
 being kept up in twenty different places. 
 
 "Isn't this stunning?" whispered Arrow, 
 exultingly. 
 
 "I hope they wont see us," I replied; 
 " where are the other chaps ? " 
 
 "Oh! they are somewhere hereabouts — I 
 say."
 
 68 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 ^^ What's the matter?" 
 
 " Don't I wish I was young Heberdeen, to 
 have such a lot of fireworks, and — oh ! don't 
 these bottles hurt ! " 
 
 '^ Do hold your tongue, Tom," I entreated, 
 " ar I'm blest if they won't hear us." 
 
 '^ It's all very fine to say hold your tongue/' 
 grumbled Tom, " but I have got on a sharp 
 place. Just get up a little higher, will you ? " 
 
 ^^ I can't, here's a feUow next me won't 
 move an inch." 
 
 Tom looked round me at ^^the fellow" 
 alluded to — a gawky, ragged gipsy -boy, with 
 bare feet and no jacket or cap on — and asked 
 him to be kind enough to move up higher. 
 The gipsy-boy, who had been at some pains 
 to dislodge the broken glass from the mortar 
 in his vicinity, very naturally declined to shift 
 his quarters, and as he was a very big boy, 
 and accompanied by a friend much bigger, 
 we did not care to be too urgent. Still there 
 are bounds even to the temper of a saint, and 
 my amiability began to get rufiled as the 
 gipsy-boy persisted in putting a shock head of 
 hair before my eyes, and intercepting my view
 
 WOODLEIGH. 59 
 
 whenever there was anything worth seeing 
 going on. No remonstrances of mine could 
 induce the individual to consider his behavior 
 selfish, and as he replied to my objections 
 with an uncouth gibberish, which neither 
 I nor Arrow comprehended, there was no 
 arranging the difficulty with him. 
 
 Meanwhile the squibbing, the shouting, the 
 laughing went on below in the orchard, every- 
 body was in the best of spirits there. The 
 Squire, the ladies, the gentlemen, young 
 Heberdeen and his boy friends, darted hither 
 and thither, and the constant passing and re- 
 passing the broad bright flame of the bonfire 
 made me dizzy at my post. Suddenly there 
 was a shout of laughter, a rush of a half 
 dozen gentlemen with lighted squibs, and a 
 vigorous attack made on those less fortunate 
 companions of mine who had posted them- 
 selves in a more conspicuous place. More 
 roars of laughter, the Squire stamping about 
 the orchard and holding his sides, a hasty 
 scrambling down the wall, my comrades scourg- 
 ing across the meadow and making for the 
 high road.
 
 60 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " It's all right. They have gone back — 
 they don^t see us,'' said Tom. 
 
 The gipsy-boy on the other side of me 
 leaned forward and chattered something, 
 making a gesture of silence at the same time. 
 Tom Arrow, paying no attention, continued 
 to congratulate himself and me in a loud 
 voice, till the gipsy-boy, leaning more forward 
 still, flung suddenly a long arm and hand out, 
 and caught Tom a ^^back-hander " on the nose. 
 
 '^ Come, I say," cried Tom, whose blood 
 began to boil as well as run, " I'm not going 
 to stand that, I can tell you, you gipsy black- 
 guard ! " , 
 
 Tom, holding my shoulder for support, threw 
 himself round me and aimed a savage blow at 
 his insulter, who, with an alertness that showed 
 considerable practice, jerked up his right arm 
 and nearly broke Tom's wrist. But this 
 mancBuvring of the party on each side of me 
 proved too much for my equilibrium, and I 
 fell forward, bearing Arrow, whose position 
 was precarious, in the same direction. 
 
 '^ Hold tight, you. Bob ! " shrieked Arrow. 
 
 ^^ I can't ! " I yelled, making a despairing
 
 WOODLETGH. 61 
 
 clutch at the gipsy-boy, who kicked and 
 fought madly in his efforts to elude my grasp. 
 It was too late, there was a slight scuffle, a 
 cry, and then Tom, I, and the two gipsies 
 came down all of a heap into the orchard. 
 
 '' Tally-ho ! " cried the Squire ; '' here are 
 some more young vagabonds on the premises. 
 E-oast them out, there. Make ready, present, 
 fire ! " 
 
 Whiz — bang came the squibs amongst us, 
 the gipsy-boys were on their feet and over 
 the wall again with cat-like celerity. Tom 
 and I gave a despairing leap in the same di- 
 rection, brought our heads together with a 
 crash, and once more reposed full length on 
 Squire Heberdeen's grass. 
 
 The shadowy trees, the bonfire, and the 
 guests of Mr, Heberdeen spun round before 
 my eyes, and it was some moments before I 
 could collect my senses in any decent order. 
 When the squibbing had ceased and I had 
 become conscious of my position, I found Tom 
 sitting by my side and rubbing his head, a 
 dog barking and jumping about, and quite a 
 ring of faces round us.
 
 62 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " I am afraid they are hurt, papa/' I heard 
 Miss Heberdeen remark. 
 
 " Confound the rascals/' cried the Squire, 
 ^^ to come scaling the walls like young 
 house-breakers. Get up, there — be off, boys 
 — be off! I hope," he said, his voice sud- 
 denly softening, ^' that you have not hurt 
 yourselves, you scamps ! " 
 
 *^ No, no, sir," said Tom, rising ; 
 *' you see it was all an accident, sir — of 
 course we never meant to come here. You 
 see. Squire, we were walking quietly along the 
 high road when — " 
 
 *^ Yes, yes," interrupted the Squire, impa- 
 tiently ; " very quietly, I have no doubt. 
 Who are you ? " 
 
 '^ Master Arrow, if you please, sir." 
 
 " What, the chemist's son ? " 
 
 '' Yes, sir." 
 
 " Thought I knew your face somewhere ; 
 and now, sir," turning to me, " whose son are 
 you?" 
 
 But my attention had become absorbed by 
 the dog, which, encoui'aged by young Heber- 
 deen, was barking and jumping nearer and
 
 WOODLEIGH. 63 
 
 nearer, and showing all its teeth in a very 
 unpleasant manner. It was a wiry-haired, 
 bristling, prick-eared terrier, whose counte- 
 nance expressed the most intense ferocity. 
 
 " Call that dog off. Squire Heberdeen," I 
 cried ; *^ tell your son to hold him off, or he'll 
 bite one of us." 
 
 The Squire laughed at my alarm. . 
 
 I felt my irritable tempers rising ; the ring 
 of faces, on many of which was expressed a 
 kind of contemptuous curiosity, the pain I 
 felt from my fall, the ridiculous figure I was 
 conscious of presenting, the snapping of the 
 dog so close to my heels, and the evident 
 enjoyment which the Squire and his son 
 were taking in my fears, all tended to arouse 
 me. 
 
 Looking daggers at young Heberdeen, 1 
 
 said : — 
 
 *^ You are fast enough now with your dog, 
 young squire. Had I met you in the lanes 
 alone, you would have run away for fear of 
 another black eye." 
 
 ^^ I'm not afraid of you," retorted young 
 Heberdeen ; '^ I never was, you know. You
 
 64 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 can't say I ever ran away from you in all my 
 life. Bite him, Ponto." 
 
 I stooped and picked up a formidable three- 
 cornered stone. 
 
 " He'd better," said I, significantly. 
 
 " Ponto, down ! " shouted the Squire, who 
 was becoming tired of this interruption to his 
 festivities. 
 
 The dog crouched on the grass at the feet 
 of his young master. 
 
 ^^ Stones, eh ? " said the Squire. " You 
 are a nice lad to trespass upon a gentleman's 
 grounds, and then think of splitting some 
 one's head open. What's your name ? " 
 
 I did not answer. He came nearer to me, 
 took the stone out of ray hand, and looked 
 me in the face. 
 
 '' Young Woodleigh, is it not ? " 
 
 "" Yes, sir," answered Tom Arrow, very offi- 
 ciously. 
 
 " Pity your mother does not bring you up 
 better, or keep you in doors more often. I 
 have heard of you before, my lad." 
 
 '^ You have heard nothing wrong of me, 
 Squire Heberdeen."
 
 WOODLEIGH. Q5 
 
 " You are the boy who has twice insulted 
 and struck my son." 
 
 " I struck him in self-defence ; I struck 
 him for interfering with me, didn't I, Tom ? 
 Grand as he is, I'm not afraid of him." 
 
 '^ There, be off, be off. You are a black 
 sheep, and will never come to any good ! " 
 
 ^^ Which way are we to go, sir? " inquired 
 Tom Arrow, with a polite bow. 
 
 ^^ Through the side gate to the left, and 
 don't let me catch either of you here again, or 
 I shall certainly horsewhip you." 
 
 ^' It was entirely an accident, sir, I assure 
 you," murmured Tom, as we walked slowly 
 in the direction of the gate which opened into 
 the meadow, and at which one of Squire 
 Heberdeen's grooms was waiting. Tom 
 slunk along, crestfallen enough; he did not 
 once look up at the faces of Squire Heber- 
 deen's guests, who seemed anxious to catch a 
 glimpse of the impudent intruders ; I, less 
 abashed, or more defiant, lowered at them 
 from under my bent brows. I heard them 
 murmuring — 
 
 '^ An evil-looking lad — a bold young rascal 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 ^(^ WOODLEIGH. 
 
 — a bad boy ! " till the orchard gate was 
 slammed behind us. 
 
 ^^ You coward ! " I said to Arrow when we 
 were in the meadow. 
 
 ^^ What am I a coward for ? " Tom asked. 
 
 ^^For saying nothing — for letting them 
 call you anything they pleased." 
 
 " I didn't want to get into any more 
 scrapes. Squire Heberdeen's one of my 
 father's best customers, and Mrs. Heberdeen 
 is always coming into the shop with cough 
 prescriptions to be made up.. It would not 
 have done, Bob, and oh — " 
 
 I was a few paces in advance. I stopped and 
 looked back at him. 
 
 " What's the matter now ? " 
 
 '* Oh ! haven't you torn, Bob ! —oh ! 
 haven't you," he cried, with a shriek of 
 laughter — "just torn your corduroys ! " 
 
 It was too true. It is the last feather 
 breaks the camel's back — it was the last 
 moment on the broken glass that had brought 
 me into disgrace and ruined a fine pair of 
 trousers. Tom Arrow and I walked disconso- 
 lately into Nettleton — I keeping in the sha-
 
 WOODLEIGH. 67 
 
 dow of the old-fashioned houses, and shunning 
 the lights from the few shop-windows which 
 remained open ; Tom full of fear of what 
 his father would say, I full of bad temper. 
 
 Miserable fifth of November. Miserable 
 Eobert Woodleigh, whose troubles that night 
 were not ended ! 
 
 e2
 
 68 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A WIDOW BEWITCHED. 
 
 It was striking ten when I knocked at my 
 mother's door. Sarah, the small maid, 
 hardly knew me as she let me into the 
 passage, I was such a disreputable object. 
 " Lor ! is that really you, Master Robert ? " 
 " Never you mind who it is. Where's 
 mother ? " 
 
 " In the parlor along with Mr. Bowden." 
 " Along with Mr. Bowden, eh ? It seems 
 as if — why don't you go downstairs ? " 
 
 The servant-maid hastily departed, and I 
 stood on the mat before the front parlor 
 door, and debated whether I should enter or
 
 WOODLEIGH. 69 
 
 not. I was two hours behind time ; my 
 appearance was certainly not respectable ; 
 I had torn my clothes in an unseemly 
 manner; my face was black, and my hands 
 were scratched with the glass from Squire 
 Heberdeen's wall. There would be questions 
 put me as to where I had been and what I 
 had been doing, and Mr. Bowden would sit 
 and frown at me, and, backed by the approv- 
 ing nods of my mother, perhaps treat me to a 
 sermon all to myself. Still I was curious ; 
 there was a jealous feeling at my heart. Mr. 
 Bowden was generally in bed by ten o'clock 
 at night, was always in his own room at least 
 — what did he want keeping my mother com- 
 pany at so late an hour ? 
 
 Yes, I would go in. 
 
 Without taking the trouble to announce 
 my arrival by a preliminary tap on the panel 
 of the door, I turned the handle, and rather 
 unceremoniously walked into the parlor. 
 
 Mr. Bowden was sitting by the side of my 
 mother^ my mother was looking shyly at the 
 fire. He had been holding her hand in his, I 
 saw it hurriedly drawn away as I advanced
 
 70 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 into the room. Mr. Bowden gave a hard 
 dry cough, and scratched his head — ^he was 
 conscious that a man of fifty doing the ami- 
 able was not exactly a sensible or improving 
 spectacle — and my mother for a moment was 
 too abashed to look at me. 
 
 She turned her blushing face towards me at 
 last, and said : — 
 
 ^^ So you have come home, Robert ? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered moodily. 
 
 "You are very late, dear — it's past nine 
 o'clock." 
 
 " It's past ten ! " 
 
 Mr. Bowden came to the rescue. 
 
 "You have had a long holiday. Master 
 Eobert. I suppose you are tired ? " 
 
 I regarded Mr. Bowden with no reverent 
 looks. It did not matter to me that he was a 
 Methodist minister, head of my mother's 
 chapel, respected in the town. He was trying 
 to rob me of my mother's love — to make my 
 mother forget that father who had been so 
 fond of me ! He was a man I had never 
 liked, he was old, and poor, and ugly, and yet 
 he had found a way to touch my mother's heart.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 71 
 
 I was a boy of little thought or feeling, 
 of less command of temper, impetuous and 
 saucy. My answer was quite worthy of me. 
 
 " I don't care whether I am tired or not — 
 no more do you." 
 
 Mr. Bowden began to blush then and look 
 angry, till my mother whispered something in 
 his ear. He coughed, and rubbed his whity- 
 brown hair vigorously. 
 
 '^ Will you come and sit down, Eobert ? " 
 asked my mother. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Mr. Bowden wishes to speak with you, 
 my dear. Do come and sit down a moment ? " 
 
 " You don't want me — you had rather be 
 alone together. I — I — I am going upstairs ! " 
 
 Half choking, I tore out of the parlor, and 
 dashed up to my own little room, where I 
 flung myself at the bed's foot, and, burying 
 my face in the patch-work counterpane, cried 
 passionately and bitterly. 
 
 The moon had risen and was shining in my 
 chamber ; all was so calm and still, so much in 
 contrast to my own turbulent feelings. Five 
 minutes could not have passed thus before I
 
 72 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 felt two warm arms round my neck and a 
 mother's face against my own. 
 
 " Eobert dear, Robert dear, won't you speak 
 to me ! " 
 
 I sobbed and struggled, but the arms re- 
 tained their hold. 
 
 ''' You must hear what I have to say, Robert 
 — you loved your mother once, boy." 
 
 " She loved me once, but now — " 
 
 " But now she loves you more than ever — 
 loves her child before anyone or anything in 
 this world." 
 
 " It is not true ! " 
 
 " It 25," my mother said. ^' Now, will you 
 listen to me ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The arms pressed more fondly round my 
 neck as she knelt by my side and told her 
 story to me. 
 
 '''' Mr. Bowden fias asked me, Robert dear, 
 to marry him. He is the best of men, the 
 kindest-hearted in his way — I — I think I 
 should be happy if I were his wife — I think 
 he would make you a good father, and love 
 you as his son."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 73 
 
 "No, no/' 
 
 "Yes, yes. You do not know him, 
 Eobert — you have cruelly misunderstood 
 him." 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " I have thought of this some time — have 
 spent many sleepless nights in dwelling on it. 
 Passing over my own feelings, my own wishes, 
 Eobert, 1 believe it will be acting for the best 
 to marry him, for it gives another protector to 
 my child." 
 
 "But—" 
 
 " But, Robert," said she, intennipting me, 
 "if you feel that you will be unhappy, that 
 there is misery before you, that you can never 
 love him, or that you will love your mother 
 less, why, say so truly, dear, and ask me not 
 to have him. The mother thinks of her father- 
 less boy's happiness before her own or any 
 one's." 
 
 She strained me to her breast, and her tears 
 fell on me. I was softened, all the evil in my 
 nature melted away that night, and I was my 
 true mother's child. I flung my arms round 
 her, crying : —
 
 74 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 ^'Not for my sake, mother, not for mine! 
 I am a wicked, selfish boy, and the last 
 one to be studied in the world. Don't 
 mind me, care for me. I am sure you will be 
 happy, and I shall be happy too, in time, per- 
 haps ! He will make me a good father — not 
 like that one — that one — " 
 
 I broke down again, and my mother cried 
 with me for company's sake. 
 
 After a while my mother murmured, 
 
 " Will you come downstairs and speak to 
 Mr. Bowden, Eobert?" 
 
 " It will not please him to see me." 
 
 '' It will please your mother." 
 
 a Very well then," said I, with a sigh. 
 
 Mother and son got up from their knees at 
 the bedside, and went downstairs to Mr. 
 Bowden. We found him sitting before the 
 fire, his hands upon his knees, his chin 
 between his hands in a reflective attitude. 
 Had he repented his precipitation and wished 
 he had not done it ! Marriage is a venture- 
 some game, and there are a good many blanks 
 in the lucky-bag which Dame Fortune shakes 
 in our faces.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 75 
 
 "Jacob," said my mother, "here's Robert." 
 
 Jacob ! Good heavens, had it come to Jacob 
 already ? 
 
 Jacob Bowden looked up, turned round, and 
 extended his hard hand — had he been a 
 blacksmith by profession, it could not have 
 been harder. 
 
 When my hand was in his, he held it firmly, 
 saying : — 
 
 "Has your mother told you all, Robert?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " You are sorry, I think ? " 
 
 " Not now, Mr. Bowden." 
 
 "I hope you will not have cause to feel 
 sorry again. I hope we shall be better 
 friends, boy." 
 
 I hung my head. There was a kind- 
 ness, even a gentleness, in his manner of 
 addressing me, that was strangely different to 
 his usual way. 
 
 He continued. 
 
 " I think we shall agree together, Robert, 
 if I exercise a little patience, and you a little 
 more restraint — if you will believe all I do 
 and say is for your welfare, and look upon me
 
 76 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 as a second father, who has a right to warn 
 and hinder you from evil." 
 
 He was talking of warning and hindering 
 already ! I could see the future before me, 
 I knew how the story would end ; but what 
 could I say that night, with him so earnest, 
 and my mother by his side so anxious ? 
 
 '^As your father, I shall have a right to 
 exercise a watch upon your actions, I should 
 be failing in my duty were I to neglect it. If 
 you will have confidence in me, we shall get 
 on very well together, Robert." 
 
 " I hope we shall, sir." 
 
 "You must not misjudge me, or miscon- 
 strue my motives," said he, as he released my 
 hand with a friendly pressure ; " that will be 
 doing me a cruel wrong. I have been an 
 unhappy man for many, many years, through 
 those nearest and dearest to me putting a 
 false construction on my actions. It is so 
 easy to do that, and yet it is so easy to 
 avoid it ! " 
 
 " Robert will be the best of boys," observed 
 my sanguine mother. 
 
 " Perhaps my unhappiness, with a blessing
 
 WOODLEIGH. 77 
 
 from above, will cease with my sew life," said 
 he ; "I shall have a faithful and devout wife, 
 and that is the greatest comfort man can have 
 on earth. Eobert," turning to me, " you do 
 not know I have a daughter." 
 
 I looked up very much surprised. 
 
 " It is a painful subject, and I have spoken 
 little of it, save lately to your mother. My 
 daughter has misunderstood me all my life ; 
 and, God forgive her, has little love or respect 
 for her poor father. Pride and self-confidence 
 have induced her to seek her own way in life ; 
 I pray they may not fail her in her haur of 
 need, as they have failed so many." 
 
 His voice was growing husky, and he had 
 to cough two or three times, and turn away 
 his head a moment before he could conclude. 
 
 '^ I speak of her, Eobert, at this time, be- 
 cause there are some traits in your character 
 akin to hers, and you remind me of her. But 
 you are a boy yet, you love your mother and 
 honor your father's memory ; there may be a 
 bright future waiting for you, who knows?" 
 
 Who knows indeed ! who has foreknowledge 
 of what is waiting behind the impenetrable
 
 78 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 screen that separates the present from the 
 life beyond — what fears, hopes, joys, sorrows, 
 are crowding together in the background, and 
 biding their turn to make or break him ? I 
 do not think that a very wise aphorism which 
 says, '^The child is father to the man." Man 
 is a mystery, and too often ends his pilgrimage 
 with little stamp of his past childhood on 
 him. 
 
 I thought Mr. Bowden might be in the 
 right, that there might be also a fair future 
 waiting for little Bob Woodleigh, with the torn 
 corduroys. So did my mother — so had always 
 my mother for the matter of that. She, 
 honest old heart, saw all the virtues I had 
 with a magnifying glass, and heaps of virtues 
 I had not too, and drew one of those fancy 
 pictures in fugitive colors, which mothers and 
 fathers will indulge in till there are no more 
 children to sketch in the foreground of life. 
 
 Mr. Bowden and I shook hands again before 
 I retraced my steps to the bedroom. Then my 
 mother came stealing upstairs to kiss me once 
 more ; to ask, somewhat anxiously, how I 
 liked Mr. Bowden, now !
 
 WODDLEIGH. 79 
 
 "Better, mother, better." 
 
 " God bless you, boy ; I knew you would. 
 How pale you are looking, and, dear 
 me, how you have torn your — ahem ! — 
 clothes." 
 
 She thrust something hard into my hand. 
 
 " These will comfort you, to-night. Don't 
 spare them, Kobert, take as many as you 
 like." 
 
 I opened my hand and gazed ruefully at 
 the long wooden box within it. 
 
 " Grook's Pills ! "
 
 80 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 THE HAPPY PAIR. 
 
 It was soon over Nettleton town that Mr. 
 Bowden and the pretty widow Woodleigh 
 were engaged to be married. Neither Mr. 
 Bowden nor my mother had dropt a single 
 word concerning the engagement, and yet the 
 world of Nettleton, that is everyone of the 
 feminine gender, knew all about it, and had a 
 great deal to say for and against the match 
 — it being a grand subject, and nobody's 
 business. 
 
 Every female in Nettleton could have told 
 you — even Mrs. Jinks, the pew-opener of 
 Nettleton chapel, who had bad eyes, and wore
 
 WOODLEIGH. 81 
 
 a green shade to her antediluvian bonnet — 
 that she had seen this, oh ! ever so long ago ; 
 that Mrs. Woodleigh had been setting her cap 
 for months and months at the preacher, who 
 was a poor innocent fellow to fall so un- 
 suspiciously into the net which Delilah had 
 spread for him. Yes, it was a fact ; there he 
 was, dear lamb, going to be married ! — " to be 
 married to a woman," said Miss Perks, a 
 Methodist lady of uncertain age and a certain 
 income of thirty-eight pounds a-year in ground 
 rents, *' without a feather to fly with ! '' 
 
 Well, they were a queer couple, certainly ; 
 they were not going to be married for money, 
 so I suppose it was a love-match, and that 
 made people spiteful. 
 
 My mother had always a great reverence 
 for preachers — Methodist preachers in par- 
 ticular. She believed they possessed every 
 virtue under heaven, and practised infinitely 
 more than they preached, and were the 
 best of company in the pulpit or out of 
 it. Since her residence in Nettleton, 
 she had been one of the most earnest of 
 the Methodist flock, and had quarrelled more 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 than once with her neighbors for not seeing 
 the brightest of halos round Mr. Farnell's 
 fat little head ; and when Mr. Bowden's 
 turn came to reign, her allegiance had been 
 just as faithful — more faithful, satirical people 
 observed, for the reason that Mr. Bowden was 
 a widower and easily imposed upon. There- 
 fore, when that gentleman, a real Metho- 
 dist minister, was smitten with the fair face 
 and buxom form of my mother, my mother 
 was naturally flattered, and when he told her 
 the story of how unfortunate he had been all 
 his life, my mother pitied him, — and pity is 
 akin to love, everybody knows ! There was 
 some little pride, too, in being the minister's 
 wife, at the bottom of it, and more thought, 
 as she had already confessed, for her son, who 
 would have a devout man for a protector and 
 counsellor. 
 
 And there was little selfishness, if any, 
 in Mr. Bowden's motives. He was about to 
 marry a widow lady of forty years of age, 
 who had an ill-tempered, headstrong boy of 
 thirteen for a son — a widow who had but 
 little money in the world to add to his own
 
 WOODLEIGH. 83 
 
 scanty income ; who was, between you and 
 me, reader, even one quarter back in her 
 rent ! But then, my mother looked the pic- 
 ture of good temper — and she did not belie 
 her looks — was a truly pious, gentle, charitable 
 woman, a careful woman, too, who had never 
 spent a waste penny in her life, unless it was on 
 her son now and then, when he had been more 
 than usually coaxing. She must have pre- 
 sented a striking contrast to Mrs. Bowden 
 the first, who I have every reason to believe 
 was a Tartar. 
 
 So Mr. Bowden was married to Mrs. Wood- 
 leigh. He had grown tired of single blessed- 
 ness and sewing on his own shirt-buttons ; 
 therefore, he took to himself the best- looking 
 widow in Nettleton, and was married by Mr. 
 Parnell — who came expressly from London 
 to conduct the ceremony — in the little Metho- 
 dist chapel on the hill. Mr. Parnell left for 
 London immediately after the nuptial knot 
 was tied, and my mother, my new father and 
 I, returned in stately procession to the town. 
 
 Mr. Bowden's self-possession under trying 
 circumstances was something remarkable, for 
 
 G 2
 
 84 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 he walked through the High Street with his 
 step as firm and his countenance as grim as 
 ever, despite the sly looks of his neighbors, 
 every one of whom knew where he had been, 
 and on what errand. My mother kept her 
 eyes fixed on the little round stones which 
 formed the footway, and counted them all the 
 way home, whilst I felt as red and confused at 
 the peeping from doors and over window-blinds, 
 as though I had been married myself. 
 
 There was a wedding-breakfast awaiting us, 
 and several delicacies of the season to be dis- 
 cussed, including some oranges and a cocoa- 
 nut, provided by a thoughtful mother who 
 knew my tastes to a nicety. But, somehow, 
 the oranges were sour, and the cocoa-nut was 
 of a peculiar flavor, and I think a Barmecide 
 feast that day would have agreed with me 
 better. 
 
 It was a dreary festival ; my mother and I 
 were thoughtful, and Mr. Bowden did not say 
 much to cheer us up, did not even sing us a 
 hymn in long metre. 
 
 ' And in that little room, from which this 
 history first dates, it is as well to close the
 
 WOODLEIGH. 85 
 
 scene — a new era of life beginning for the 
 wilful son, as well as for the blushing mother. 
 
 So far on my progress, I begin again with 
 lighter heart and hand less faint. It is 
 the dwelling on the quiet days which 
 unnerves me most — days which, to look back 
 upon, bring the tears to my eyes. It is a 
 sunny green spot, that life in Nettleton 
 before my mother's marriage — despite those 
 little troubles that came to me when I saw 
 through the game of courtship and matrimony 
 which my mother and the preacher were 
 playing. The Oasis is past, and there is 
 some desert land coming. 
 
 WeU, there is desert land on the road of 
 most fellow-travellers. He is a happy man 
 who has basked in sunshine all his life and 
 had nothing to cross him. Crosses are for 
 the children of men ; I have had my share 
 of them, and have at least borne them with- 
 out crying my eyes out and raving at fortune. 
 Better men than I have had worse ones, 
 — calmer men, men with cooler heads, would 
 have resisted such troubles as mine, and 
 come off with less wounds in the melee. But
 
 86 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 then I was headstrong and had a will of my 
 own. On the fifth of November, Squire 
 Heberdeen told me I was a black sheep and 
 predicted that I should never come to any- 
 good, and Squire Heberdeen was not far out 
 in his prophecy. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST BOOK.
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 " What, Master Lessingham ! 
 Yon that were wont to be compos'd of mirth, 
 All spirit and fire, alacrity itself, 
 Like the lustre of a late bright-shining sun. 
 Now wrapt in clouds and darkness! " 
 
 Webster. 
 
 ' 0, if your father knew this, what a lecture 
 Of bitter castigation he would read you ! " 
 
 George Chapman.
 
 89 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 
 
 When Mr. Parnell joined together the hands 
 of Jacob Bowden, widower, and Sarah Wood- 
 leigh, widow, I felt assured — even in the little 
 chapel where the happy pair of Methodists 
 were plighting troth — that a dismal time of it 
 was coming. Mr. Bowden had said — ^^ As 
 your father, I shall have a right to exercise a 
 watch over your actions,'' and I was pretty 
 certain that that watch would be a strict one. 
 Confident on that point, I did not join very 
 heartily in the wedding festivities, despite the 
 gracious manner of my step-father. I knew 
 the gracious manner would depart, the old
 
 90 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 sternness speedily return, and Jacob Bowden 
 be himself again before many weeks went 
 over bis head. 
 
 Eight enough too, Eobert Woodleigh ; for 
 before the spring blossoms came, or Nettleton 
 Woods were green, Mr. Bowden was indeed a 
 father to me ! He took the greatest care of 
 me, he would not hear of my being out after 
 dark, of putting away my school-books in 
 the green-baize bag until I had recited the 
 morrow's lessons to him, of idling in the 
 lanes, of talking with Tom Arrow at his 
 father's shop-door when I was sent on errands, 
 of playing at '' Buttons," which he considered 
 gambling, of singing comic songs from the 
 Penny Warbler — a work I had subscribed to 
 for upwards of sixteen months, and which he 
 styled a profane and vulgar publication. 
 
 This was the beginning — the first fruits off 
 a very hard and ugly tree of the crab-apple 
 species — there was more to follow as the 
 world went round. 
 
 Still I bore it all ; T had made up my mind 
 to do that before my mother's marriage, for 
 that mother's sake. She was happy ; Mr.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 91 
 
 Bowden had become the idol of her worship, 
 and Mr. Bowden was very fond of her. He 
 had found a woman who could see no faults 
 in him, who obeyed his slightest wish, and 
 who would have thought it a terrible sin to 
 contradict a Methodist minister — and such a 
 minister ! 
 
 What I think of Mr. Bowden now, is very 
 different from my past opinion of him. The 
 boy never did him justice, the man at least 
 attempts it. I know he meant me well, but 
 I do not believe, even at this present moment 
 when I can look back at all that is past 
 calmly and philosophically, that he went the 
 best way to educe the good from me. It is 
 not every tree that can be forced the same 
 way — one will bend to the will of the trainer, 
 but another will break. 
 
 Mr. Bowden made his first grand move on 
 the board in the beginning of March. 
 
 ^^ Let me see," he remarked one evening as 
 we sat at tea, ^' let me see, Robert ; you are 
 going on for fifteen, are you not ?" 
 
 " Yes, " said my mother, answering my 
 question, and regarding me with that motherly
 
 92 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 look which never vanished from her eyes, 
 " fifteen — what a big boy he is growing, to 
 be sure ! His things are always too short for 
 him." 
 
 " I am running up, rather," I observed ; 
 " I wish I did not grow so fast, for these 
 corduroys of mine will soon be knee-breeches, 
 mother." 
 
 My mother smiled ; Mr. Bowden, who had 
 an objection to levity, and who was about to 
 introduce a grave subject, did not alter his 
 expression of countenance. 
 
 '^ Fifteen next November," said Mr. Bowden, 
 " and so ignorant for his age too ! It is very 
 sad." 
 
 I looked up at this. Ignorant, indeed ! Why, 
 I had been in four syllables ever so long, and as 
 for my knowledge of arithmetic, geography, 
 and those sorts of things, it was quite won- 
 derful in my opinion. Even my mother could 
 not believe his assertion. 
 
 " Ignorant, Jacob ! " she exclaimed, with 
 that faint air of surprise which was habitual 
 to her ; '' did you say ignorant, dear ? " 
 
 ^* Yes, Sarah, I did say ignorant. And I
 
 WOODLEIGH. 93 
 
 think too," breaking upon new ground with a 
 loud cough, " that Kobert will always remain 
 ignorant while he keeps at that trumpery and 
 ridiculous school. The lessons are trivial, the 
 schoolmaster has no firmness, no style in 
 fact ; the time is wasted by master and pupils, 
 and it's my firm opinion that they are all idle 
 together." 
 
 '' Bless my soul ! " ejaculated my mother, 
 " and to think I have been paying a shilling 
 a-week fi)r the last five years ! " 
 
 I sat and ate my thick slice of bread-and- 
 butter, gravely surveying my step-father, and 
 inwardly murmuring, " Go it ! " There was 
 nothing to say in defence at present. I had 
 hardly got used to Mr. Bowden or his ways, 
 and I was not aware of his reasons for ex- 
 patiating on my wretched state of ignor- 
 ance. 
 
 ^^ The money has been absolutely thrown 
 away, and Robert has lost valuable oppor- 
 tunities of improvement, both in school 
 and out of it. It is time to make a change, 
 Sarah." 
 
 Sarah perfectly coincided, of course.
 
 94 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " Therefore, for the future I shall teach 
 Robert myself." 
 
 I felt my heart sink to a fathomless depth 
 within me. Five hundred Grook's pills could 
 not have affected me with so awful a sensation. 
 
 ^^ I have time on my hands/' he continued, 
 " 1 have confidence in my theory of educa- 
 tion, and I see no excuse for throwing a 
 shilling every week into the street." 
 
 " But—" I began. 
 
 " But, Robert," he interrupted, ^^ you must 
 grant me a fair trial. You have had five 
 years in Mr. Myers' school, and have not 
 profited therein ; now put yourself in my 
 hands." 
 
 It was no use saying I would rather put 
 myself in the hands of anybody on earth 
 than his ; when Mr. Bowden had once made 
 up his mind, nothing short of a thunderbolt 
 could change it. He was a very firm man ; 
 Virginius, Marcus Curtius, Junius Brutus, and 
 other respectable Romans must have been some- 
 thing like him, and if he had been born in their 
 day. how they would have admired him, and 
 cried, " Hail, brother, well met !" Oh! if he had
 
 WOODLEIGH. 95 
 
 only been born in their day, how comfortable 
 it would have been ! 
 
 It was all arranged and settled that evening. 
 From next Monday -week I was to give up that 
 dear old boys' school of mine, where the tasks 
 were so easy, and the punishment so mild — 
 where the boys were so merry, and such " Jolly 
 companions every one " — where I, Bob Wood- 
 leigh, was thought so much of, and where Tom 
 Arrow played Pythias to my Damon ! Give 
 up the fun in that half-mile walk home, give 
 up all that little world which goes so far to 
 make the heart of youth light, and take to 
 hard study under Jacob Bowden, in the back 
 parlor at home. 
 
 Monday week came round. Mr. Myers, 
 who was a poor man, with fifteen in family, 
 reluctantly accepted my resignation. Mr. 
 Bowden procured me a few new books, and 
 made shift with the rest of the old ones. I 
 took my place on one side of the table in the 
 back parlor, and Mr. Bowden sat opposite 
 me, graver than a judge. 
 
 I certainly made some progress under his 
 tuition, for there was little to distract my
 
 96 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 thoughts from Murray, Goldsmith, Pinnock, 
 and Dilworth. There was no Mr. Myers to 
 drop off to sleep with his head on the desk 
 and his long hair in the inkstand — no chance 
 of " making faces" at him when his eyes were 
 closed to the daylight ; no Tom Arrow at my 
 side to play odd and even with under the 
 cover of my copy-book ; no sly nudges with 
 the elbow, quiet practical jokes with the next 
 form, or sudden bursts of laughter, muffled by 
 mouthfuls of pinafore and pocket-handker- 
 chief. It was so dull, cold, and business-like 
 — even the sun did not shine on the back of 
 the house till three in the afternoon — it was 
 so depressing to the spirits ! 
 
 I believe I should have gone into a melan- 
 choly-mad sort of way, had it not been for the 
 want of regularity in the prosecution of my 
 studies. Mr. Bowden, fortunately for me, 
 had many duties to perform ; he was partial 
 to preaching at all times and seasons ; minis- 
 ters of other little chapels of the Methodist 
 persuasion occasionally solicited his assistance; 
 he had sometimes a call to an open-air dis- 
 course in a distant village ; he had a round of
 
 WOODLEIGH. 97 
 
 poor bed-ridden people to console twice a- 
 week, and he went on that beat every Monday 
 and Thursday morning with the punctuality 
 of a policeman. Of course, Mr. Bowden set 
 me long tasks during his absence, and of course 
 I knew little concerning them when he 
 returned from his professional labors. He 
 was a hard-hearted man, for he limited me to 
 one half-holiday a-week — Saturday afternoon 
 — and that he expected me to spend in read- 
 ing some wretched tracts without an anecdote 
 or a picture in them. Sometimes I had a 
 friend to keep me company on those half-holi- 
 days — sometimes I went on Nettleton Com- 
 mon with my cricket-bat, and played with 
 Tom Arrow and my old companions. But 
 Mr. Bowden, with all his teaching, made me 
 neither pious nor docile ; the iron curb was 
 drawn too tight, and I was chafing at the 
 restraint imposed upon my liberty. For four- 
 teen years of my life I had had my own 
 way ; in the fifteenth, it was to be attempted, 
 suddenly and unceremoniously, to deprive me 
 of free action. It was a mistake, and like all 
 mistakes, it led to trouble. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 I became more cunning — more full of 
 plausible excuses to get out of doors ; more 
 sullen in my nature. I began to think Me- 
 thodism a bore, and Methodists a selfish, 
 inconsiderate class, and the chapel on the hill 
 a dreary place of penance. Mr. Bowden was 
 always religious, always a minister ; and as 
 continual preaching never worked any good 
 in this world yet, so it was to be expected 
 that it did some harm to a stubborn nature 
 like my own. 
 
 My mother strove to account for my brood- 
 ing fits after her own fashion — she who was 
 happier than she had ever been in her life. 
 She thought I was improving in education, 
 and getting of a serious turn of mind ; was 
 secretly glad I did not spend so much time 
 with the idle young scamps of Nettleton, and 
 was even building up a hope of seeing me a 
 Methodist minister some day, and beating the 
 dust out of a pulpit-cushion in the Bowden 
 style. I did not think so, however ; I 
 thought more of the Miss Bowden, who never 
 came to see her father, who had been also 
 under his tuition for many years, and turned
 
 WOODLEIGH. 99 
 
 out SO bright a specimen of his moral training. 
 I began in my heart to dislike Mr. Bowden, to 
 look upon him as the bar between me and my 
 freedom, the clog -weight on everything I 
 wished to do. Still, I said nothing. I had 
 promised my mother to do my best; and, 
 though I had never learned the lesson of 
 forbearance, I did it, nor uttered one com- 
 plaint. The time came at last though. — It is 
 not long before a storm when there is never a 
 break in the sky ! 
 
 One evening Mr. Bowden was absent on an 
 important preaching mission, and was not ex- 
 pected home, to my extreme satisfaction, till 
 ten o'clock at night. He had set me a vast 
 quantity of Syntax, and a column of Principal 
 Rivers and Mountains to learn, and had hinted 
 that if there were any time to spare after the 
 completion of my lessons, it might be profitably 
 devoted to a small theme on " Religious Educa- 
 tion, its advantages, and its effects on Society/' 
 
 Mr. Bowden had departed at five o'clock in 
 the afternoon, and I had completed Syntax and 
 Principal Rivers at four and a-half minutes 
 past five. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " Done your lessons ! " exclaimed my 
 mother, when I had informed her of my neat 
 and prompt despatch of business. 
 
 ■' Yes — all of them," said I, confidently. 
 
 '' And your theme ? " 
 
 '' Well, I haven't quite finished that, 
 mother," I replied ; ^^ I thought I'd just polish 
 off the last line or two in the evening. I'm 
 going out, now, for a little while." 
 
 My mother had not the heart to offer oppo- 
 sition, so I put on my cap and ran out of 
 doors to fetch Tom Arrow. 
 
 Tom Arrow was at home and ready to go 
 anywhere, and as his father and mother seldom 
 thwarted him in anything, he left home with- 
 out a dissentient voice, and accompanied .me 
 to Nettleton Common, where we found a host 
 of friends ready to receive us. 
 
 At half-past seven, when it was too dark for 
 further sports and pastimes, my companions, 
 with the exception of Arrow, went their sepa- 
 rate ways. 
 
 ^'Are you going home, Bob?" asked Tom 
 of me. 
 
 ^' My mother don't like me out after dark,
 
 WOODLEIGH. 101 
 
 now," I answered. ^^ So I suppose I must be 
 off." 
 
 " Where's the parson to-night ? " 
 
 " Gone preaching somewhere." 
 
 " What time do you expect him home ? " 
 
 '' Not till ten o'clock." 
 
 " Then I'll come home with you, Bob," said 
 Arrow, " and we'll have out your old stage 
 and play the ' Miller and his Men,' and make 
 a jolly night of it." 
 
 I was perfectly agreeable, and Tom Arrow 
 went home with me accordingly. 
 
 My mother looked surprised to see Master 
 Arrow, but when he said ^' Good evening, 
 Mrs. Bowden," and took off his cap in the 
 politest manner, she smiled on him, returned 
 his good evening, asked after his father, 
 mother, and grandmother — more about Tom 
 Arrow's grandmother presently — invited him 
 into the parlor, and bidding us both be good 
 boys and not make too much noise, as her 
 head ached, left us to ourselves. 
 
 Now my old stage, which Tom Arrow was 
 anxious to witness, had not seen light since 
 my mother's marriage. It was a small skele-
 
 102 WOODLEIGH, 
 
 ton piece of carpentry, with a pasteboard 
 proscenium — twopence plain, and fourpence 
 colored — and had a real green-baize curtain, 
 which went up and down like life. 
 
 To this stage belonged a variety of scenes 
 and characters, the collection of many juve- 
 nile years ; a collection begun when my father 
 — who was not a Methodist — was living, and 
 allowed to increase by my easy mother, who 
 waived all scruples concerning it for my sake. 
 Many a time in the past had that stage 
 been an amusement to Tom Arrow and my 
 boy friends, until Mr. Bowden's arrival in 
 Nettleton had been the signal for its consign- 
 ment to the early grave of a lumber-cup- 
 board. 
 
 Thinking that Mrs. Jacob Bowden might 
 have some objections to urge in the present 
 case, I stole upstairs in a burglarious manner, 
 went into my room, opened the door of the 
 great cupboard at the side of the bed, disin- 
 terred my dusty theatre and box of charac- 
 ters, and slipped silently downstairs with 
 them. 
 
 The candle being lighted — we mourned the
 
 WOODLEIGH. 103 
 
 loss of our little oil-lamps, that looked so nice 
 and made such a nasty smell ! — and the fife in 
 the parlor being stirred, we prepared to 
 make ourselves comfortable. There was no 
 probability of my mother intruding upon us 
 for the next two hours, and as Mr. Bowden was 
 not expected home till ten o'clock at night, 
 the "Miller and his Men" could be exhibited 
 with impunity. 
 
 It was a performance under difficulties, for 
 many of the characters were missing, some of 
 the scenery did not act. Count Friburg would 
 not stand up, Grindoff bad only one leg, and 
 Claudine's head was off. Still, it was like old 
 times to have the stage on the back parlor 
 table again, and Tom Arrow was an indulgent 
 audience, and said " Bravo " to everything. 
 I had lost the play-book, so it was an extem- 
 pore performance, and those parts of the 
 dialogue which I did not know, Tom did, and 
 delivered for me in front, in a deep bass voice 
 for Grindoff, and a shrill falsetto for Claudine. 
 Taking it altogether, we got through the 
 ^' Miller and his Men" in creditable style, and 
 the blow-up of the mill in the last act was
 
 104 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 performed twice at the special request of the 
 whole "house." 
 
 Alas ! during the second representation of 
 the burning mill, with new and startling eiFects, 
 produced by dropping pieces of lighted 
 paper through the top of the stage, the well- 
 known " Ra])^ raj)^ rap " roused the echoes of 
 the establishment. 
 
 Tom Arrow and I stared at each other 
 aghast. 
 
 " Is that the parson ! " cried Tom, leaping 
 to his feet, and looking round for his cap. 
 
 " Yes — don't run away — lend a hand here 
 — open that window ! " 
 
 I caught up the stage, its scenes and cha- 
 racters in one heap, and Tom Arrow rushed 
 to the window. 
 
 " It's fastened." 
 
 "Unfasten it then, there's a good fellow. 
 Look alive ! " 
 
 The street-door opened, and the heavy 
 tread of my step-father was distinctly heard in 
 the passage. Tom made a last frantic effort 
 with the fastening, stumbled over a chair, fell 
 against the window, and put each of his
 
 WOODLEIGH. 105 
 
 elbows through a pane of ghiss, in the most 
 clumsy manner. 
 
 " Oh ! Tom," cried I, in a voice of despair ; 
 " youVe done it ! " 
 
 " By George, haven't I ? " responded Tom, 
 giving vent to a long and dismal whistle, like 
 the wail of a Banshee. 
 
 The crash of glass had alarmed my mother 
 and accelerated the pace of Mr. Bowden, for 
 at the same time, both my parents hurriedly 
 entered the parlor. 
 
 " Eobert, my dear ! " from my mother, and 
 " Robert, sir, what is the meaning of this ! " 
 from my father. 
 
 " If you please, I've broken a window — 
 two windows," said Tom, first recovering his 
 voice ; *^ I'm very sorry — it wasn't Bob's 
 fault — and my father '11 pay for it, sk, or send 
 a glazier in the morning." 
 
 Mr. Bowden glanced from the speaker to 
 the two jagged holes in the glass, and scowled 
 ferociously. 
 
 *^ I think you had better go home, Master 
 Arrow." 
 
 "Yes, sir," responded Tom, looking round
 
 106 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 for his cap a second time ; " of course, I don't 
 want to stop any longer, Mr. Bowden. I'm 
 very sorry I broke the windows, and — I don't 
 see my cap anywhere ! " 
 
 Mr. Bowden's eyes turned to his step- 
 son. 
 
 '^ What have you got there, Kobert? " 
 
 " My stage," I answered moodily. 
 
 " Your WHAT ? " 
 
 " Stage," I repeated.- 
 
 ^^ Good heaven!" exclaimed Mr. Bowden, 
 in his most violent manner ; ^^ is it possible 
 you have had such a toy of the devil's in the 
 house, and I in ignorance ! A stage !- — a 
 likeness of those evil places that corrupt 
 all that is good and worthy, that represent 
 and seek to palliate the grossest sins of which 
 mankind is capable. Oh ! Mrs. Bowden," 
 turning to my mother, ^^you do not know 
 anything of this, I hope ? " 
 
 ^^I knew Robert had — had a little stage 
 once," stammered my mother, as confused as 
 any of us ; " but I thought he had given up 
 such folly." 
 
 " Such wickedness, Sarah," he shouted.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 107 
 
 " such a snare of the evil one for his soul. 
 Give it me, give it me, give it me ! '' 
 
 He made a rush at the heap of heteroge- 
 neous matter in my arms, tore it from me, 
 and dashed it on the fire. I made a spring 
 towards it, but his strong hand caught me by 
 the shoulder, and held me at arm's length. 
 
 " Stop, Eobert — it is for your good. Keep 
 still." 
 
 " For my good ! " I cried, exploding at 
 last ; '^ everything seems for my good that 
 makes me miserable. Let me come by ! You 
 have no right to burn what my own father 
 gave me ! " 
 
 My mother burst into tears. 
 
 " Oh ! Eobert, Robert, don't be foolish !" 
 
 I exerted all my boyish strength, and Mr. 
 Bowden had some difficulty in holding me. 
 
 The stage had begun to blaze when Tom 
 Arrow, whose round little black eyes had been 
 observing everything, suddenly gave a wild 
 cry, and darted round the table towards the 
 fireplace. Mr. Bowden, suspecting a conspi- 
 racy, put out his disengaged arm, and stopped 
 him.
 
 108 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " You young reptile ! " he exclaimed, pant- 
 ing for breath. 
 
 Tom's politeness to his senior had entirely de- 
 parted *; he kicked and struggled vehemently. 
 
 " Let me go — don't call me a reptile," 
 vociferated Tom ; " just take your hands off, 
 now! Though you are a parson, you're not 
 going to hum my cap, and that's all about it ! " 
 
 ^' Your cap ! " cried my step-father, releas- 
 ing his hold of Tom, who rushed to the fire, 
 tore out his cap, which in my embarrassment 
 at Mr. Bowden's unexpected return I had 
 caught up with the stage and characters, and 
 sent a shower of little blazing bits of wood 
 over the rug and carpet. 
 
 My mother began wringing her hands. 
 
 *^ We shall have the house in flames ! Oh ! 
 Lord, we shall all be on fire in a minute.'? 
 
 The stage burned furiously, and the scenes 
 and characters blazed away also, and made a 
 great bonfire. However, the house did not 
 catch fire, though the chimney did, and a 
 terrible roaring noise it made, and a terrible 
 smell of soot also. 
 
 Mr. Bowden released his grasp, directed his
 
 WOODLEIGH. 109 
 
 attention from me to the chimney, went down 
 on his knees and raked away like a mad- 
 man with the poker. But though he ex- 
 tinguished the fire in the grate, he could 
 not get up the chimney and put the fire out 
 there, and my mother's alarm was increasing 
 every instant. 
 
 I stood where Mr. Bowden had left me, 
 regarding the confusion with inward satisfac- 
 tion, regarding Mr. Bowden also with glances 
 not the most affectionate. 
 
 The room was filling with smoke, my mo- 
 ther was running from one corner to another, 
 praying and weeping ; Mr. Bowden was call- 
 ing for water, and salt, and a long broom, 
 and a hundred other things considered of use 
 in cases of like emergency, and the servant 
 girl was tearing upstairs with the articles 
 demanded. Tom Arrow had disappeared in 
 the confusion, was probably at home by that 
 time, relating the incidents of the evening 
 to his relations. 
 
 The chimney continued blazing away — it 
 had not been swept for twelve months at 
 least, and there was a great deal of soot to
 
 110 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 burn — and Mr. Bowden's efforts were entirely 
 futile ; in fact, he had lost his presence of 
 mind in the confusion, and my mother's alarm 
 did not tend to restore it. 
 
 ^^ Can't you do something ? " cried Mr. 
 Bowden, turning round to me with bloodshot 
 eyes and a perfectly black face ; " you are the 
 cause of all this mischief — why do you not 
 make yourself useful ? " 
 
 " I'm not the cause." 
 
 " Don't bandy words with me," he said, 
 passionately ; " leave the room ! Sarah, my 
 dear," turning to my mother, ^^ don't be 
 alarmed — pray be a little calmer — look at 
 me ! It's only the chimney — what a frightful 
 noise it makes — there's not the slightest dan- 
 ger ! I'm — I'm only thinking of the expense 
 if they bring the parish engine here. I shall 
 have it out in a minute ; " and away he went 
 to work with the long broom again. 
 
 But it was not out in a minute, it continued 
 to burn and afford amusement to the Nettleton 
 townsfolk, who had turned out in a body to 
 witness the spectacle and speculate on the 
 sparks fi^lling on some thatched cottages in
 
 WOODLEIGH. Ill 
 
 the rear, on the distress of mind of the 
 Methodist family, on the disgraceful tardi- 
 ness of the parish authorities, who had 
 lost the hose, and mislaid the keys of the 
 engine-shed, and could not find the beadle 
 anywhere. The chimney flared on quietly, 
 and the neighbors stood in a row on 
 the other side of the way, gaping up at it ; 
 whilst a few of our Methodist flock knocked at 
 the door at irregular intervals, and ofiered 
 valuable advice, to which no one paid any 
 attention. 
 
 The fire was extinguished at last by some 
 enterprising people, who got on the roof of 
 the house and poured several pails of water 
 down the chimney, down all the chimneys in 
 fact, firont parlor, the sitting-room upstairs, 
 and everv bedroom in the house, and a beau- 
 tiful mess they made of it, not to speak of the 
 damage done to the fire-irons, hearth-rugs, 
 and carpets. Still, the fire was put out, and 
 very thankful my mother was for it ; and very 
 cross with the world, with me, and himself, 
 was Mr. Bowden. 
 
 Mr. Bowden did not bestow another word
 
 112 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 upon me that evening, did not even ask after 
 my lessons, or my theme on ^* Eeligious Edu- 
 cation and its eJBfects on Society." He was 
 even out of temper with my mother for not 
 being cool and collected, and went finally up 
 to bed, shaking his head at all mention of 
 supper, and deigning no reply to his helpmate, 
 who called after him " that there was a box 
 of Grook's Pills on the mantel-piece ! '^
 
 113 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 
 
 My pious and estimable step -father was a trifle 
 more severe in his treatment towards me after 
 the memorable evening recorded in the last 
 chapter. Men cast in a softer mould would 
 have changed their tactics, adopted a less 
 rigorous course, and tried the art of gentle- 
 ness, but Mr. Bowden, who was partial to his 
 own theories, drew the reins of discipline a 
 little tighter, and set a veto on everything I 
 wished. The shadow of his presence seemed to 
 fall upon my heart, my every thought, my 
 home, and all that in old time had helped to 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 make home happy. I grew more hardened, 
 obstinate, and sullen ; I learned my lessons 
 with an ill-grace, I chafed at my restraint, and 
 a secret hate of the Methodist minister began 
 to grow upon me. I made no effort to check 
 it ; one earnest appeal, one thorough explana- 
 tion might have avoided much of evil, but I 
 let the opportunity go by for ever. 
 
 My mother was a poor observer; happy 
 herself, and attached to her second husband, 
 she could detect no signs of unhappiness in 
 me. She was glad to see me becoming such 
 a quiet, steady boy, even thanked Mr. Bowden 
 for the change : and when I was unusually 
 dull, she thought my system was a little dis- 
 arranged, and offered me the eternal Grook's 
 Pills to rectify it. 
 
 I might occupy the remainder of this book 
 by giving the details of the long sermon 
 delivered to me by Mr. Bowden on the 
 morning after his act of incendiarism. There 
 was a text, and the discourse was divided 
 into the proper number of heads, and occu- 
 pied the entire morning. It was all about 
 wilfulness, and indifference, and a wicked
 
 WOODLEIGH. 115 
 
 abuse of time, and was, on the whole, very 
 like the condemned sermon with which they 
 favor criminals at Newgate. 
 
 My mother was extremely affected ; she 
 cried and rocked herself in the chair, and 
 shook her head gravely at me every fiYe 
 minutes ; I sat opposite my step-father, with 
 my hands in my pockets, and my eyes fixed 
 on his countenance — a position I maintained 
 till the exhortation was ended. 
 
 I made no reply, expressed no contri- 
 tion for performing the *' Miller and his 
 Men '^ and asking Tom Arrow in to see 
 it, but turned to my lessons in an apathetic 
 manner. My mother thought my feelings 
 were too deep for utterance after so earnest 
 an oration, and she was perfectly right. 
 
 Tom Arrow's grandmother called later in 
 the day, and, fortunately for Mr. Bowden, 
 found my step-father absent. That elderly 
 female arrived in a towering passion, and 
 fully prepared to exchange any amount 
 of personalities with anybody who felt in- 
 clined to indulge in that amusement. Tom 
 Arrow's grandmother was the terror of Net- 
 
 I 2
 
 116 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 tleton. She was a tall bony old woman, 
 who always wore a mob cap of the washer- 
 woman pattern, and was inclined to w^alk 
 about the town with her sleeves tucked up 
 to her elbows, and her bonnet perched, after 
 an extraordinary fashion of her own, 
 on the top of her head. She was no 
 credit to a respectable chemist ; but then, 
 she was Mrs. Arrow's mother, and had 
 three thousand pounds in the three-per-cents, — 
 a fact which she informed her friends of half-a- 
 dozen times a day. She had been the wife of 
 a respectable master-butcher, whom she had 
 worried to death some twenty years pre- 
 viously. She was a cross-grained, ignorant, 
 atheistical old woman, who had a strong 
 antipathy to churches and church-going 
 people, who was anxious to quarrel with 
 everybody in Nettleton, and who made the 
 home of the Arrows a most uncomfortable 
 residence. Tom Arrow was the only object 
 of her affection, the only one who could 
 obtain a civil word from her, and Tom Arrow, 
 of course, was to have the three thousand 
 pounds in the three-per-cents, when the old
 
 WOODLEIGH. 117 
 
 lady died — an event for which everybody was 
 anxiously waiting. 
 
 *^ There's your money, marm, for your 
 rubbishing windows," she cried, banging down 
 four shillings on the table when she was 
 shewn into the room where my mother 
 and I were seated — " and I should like to 
 know where Mr. Bowden is ? " 
 
 " He's not at home, Mrs. Sanders." 
 
 '* Of course he isn't when I want to see 
 him," said the old lady, ironically, ^^ and of 
 course he wouldn't be if I called a dozen 
 times. Your parsons are always afraid of see- 
 ing people, the mean-spirited fellows. I wish 
 I had him here ! " 
 
 " Do you want him particularly ? " meekly 
 inquired my mother. 
 
 " I want to know, marm, what business he 
 had to shake my grandson last night — the 
 great, big coward ! — and what he meant by 
 putting Tom's cap on the fire, and calling 
 him a rep-repery something — he a minister ! " 
 with a disparaging elevation of her nose. 
 
 ]\Iy mother continued her needle-work, not 
 at all put out by the excited manner of Mrs.
 
 118 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 Sanders, who, finding her objurgations and 
 violent gesticulations expended on empty air, 
 concluded by informing my mother ^^ she was 
 a poor weak-minded creature, and she might 
 tell her psalm-smiting husband so," marched 
 out of the room, and nearly shook the house 
 down by slamming the street-door after 
 her. 
 
 When Mr. Bowden was informed of the 
 lady who had been inquiring for him, and of 
 her eccentric behavior towards my mother, 
 he turned to me with the old cry : — 
 
 " This is your fault, Eobert ! You see 
 how one bad action leads to your own dis- 
 grace, to my shame, to your mother being 
 insulted under her own roof." 
 
 I did not answer. 
 
 ^* I must forbid your further acquaintance 
 with that boy. Arrow," he said. "He is an 
 evil-disposed youth." 
 
 " No, he is not." 
 
 " I say he is," reiterated Mr. Bowden, with 
 some emphasis ; " and I say that this habit of 
 flat contradiction is unseemly and disgrace- 
 ful."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 119 
 
 And Mr. Bowden left the room in high 
 dudgeon. 
 
 This game at cross purposes continued all 
 the spring and summer — lasted till the autumn 
 came. Mr. Bowden devoted his spare time to 
 my education, studied my moral welfare, did 
 what he thought his duty earnestly, but my 
 ungracious manners, my unthankfulness did 
 not win upon his heart, and there was no love 
 lost between us. There was this difference 
 between us, however : he wished me well, I 
 wished him harm. 
 
 More than once, mother and son have stood 
 side-by-side and watched the head of the 
 family go forth to his labors, one praying for 
 his safety, and the other wishing evil might 
 befall him on his journey. Well for us all 
 that we know not the thoughts of our friends 
 and our neighbours ! 
 
 In the beginning of the autumn it was 
 customary to hold a fair on Nettleton Common. 
 Nettleton Fair was the one grand event of the 
 year in our county, a rare holiday that was 
 looked forward to for months, and talked of 
 for months afterwards. It was a fair well
 
 120 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 supported by the gentry in the neighbour- 
 hood, by the inhabitants of every village 
 within a fifteen miles' circuit, by the sober 
 elders of Nettleton itself. It was a red-letter 
 day from which people dated their joys and 
 sorrows and extraordinary occurrences — 
 village children were born so many weeks after 
 Nettleton Fair, or village gaffers died so 
 many days before the same, or people came 
 into little fortunes, or broke their legs, or 
 were taken up for poaching at stated intervals 
 of time, prior or subsequent to the great fair 
 time on the Common. It lasted three days, 
 and, if the weather proved favorable, drew a 
 large number of people together. The amuse- 
 ments were harmless enough, the country 
 sports were good for the health, and the Kiss 
 in the Ring Avhich always celebrated those 
 festivities, was not a very disgraceful exhi- 
 bition, at least the young people did not think 
 so. Nettleton Fair was too great a distance 
 from London to draw any wild characters, 
 suspicious-looking idlers, or light-fingered 
 gentry together; there was a gathering of 
 honest English peasants and their laughing
 
 WOODLEIGH. 121 
 
 wives and daughters, a few sturdy farmers 
 and Nettleton squires, and just a sprinkling of 
 indigenous '^roughs/' 
 
 Mr, Bowden, of course, had his objections 
 to Nettleton Fair ; it was a place of sin, an 
 abomination in the eyes of the godly, a 
 gathering together of the weak, the vain, 
 and the abandoned, a temptation to idleness, 
 and full of every kind of debauchery. For 
 one fortnight before Nettleton Fair, Mr. 
 Bowden regularly entertained me and my 
 mother at tea-time with anathemas on the 
 coming festivities. My mother listened and 
 approved of every one of his expressions, and 
 hoped I would not want to go that year — ^^ I 
 was a big boy now, and ought to consider 
 myself above such things ! " 
 
 When the dusty caravans began to arrive 
 on the Common, and an army of nomadic 
 tribes to encamp there, I found voice to 
 express a desire to attend the fair as 
 usual. 
 
 Mr. Bowden's feelings were hurt, for the 
 fortnight's lectures on the profanity of fair- 
 time had been intended especially for me.
 
 122 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 ^^ To go to the fair ! " he exclaimed, fling- 
 ing up both hands. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! Eobert, dear/' sighed my mother. 
 
 '' I have been every year since we have 
 lived in Nettleton. You took me yourself 
 last year, mother, when Mr. Bowden was our 
 lodger. You thought there was no harm 
 in it, then." 
 
 ^^Yes, dear," replied my mother, coughing 
 faintly to hide her embarrassment; '^but you 
 were younger then — and — and I did not see 
 all the evil in fairs which your father has so 
 kindly pointed oiit." 
 
 ^' My father," I muttered to myself 
 
 I had never called Mr. Bowden ^ father ' 
 since his marriage, despite my mother's wish 
 to that effect. The word would have choked 
 me in the attempt. My father had loved me 
 with his whole heart, and thought nothing too 
 good for me ; I could not call his very anti- 
 thesis by a similar name. 
 
 *^ Your mother, I fear, Robert, waived her 
 own reluctance to oblige yoii," said Mr. 
 Bowden, " and your mother was in fault. She 
 will know better this time."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 123 
 
 " I can go by myself/' 
 
 " Kobert 1 '^ whispered my mother. 
 
 " I will be home before dark." 
 
 Mr. Bowden began to clear his throat, and 
 I to double my fists under the table, and look 
 daggers at my reflection in the tea-pot. 
 
 " Eobert, lad," said my step-father in a 
 milder tone than I had anticipated, " will you 
 believe for once that I and your mother are 
 not anxious to aggravate you by an unfair 
 opposition to your wishes ? Come, boy, don't 
 look so black, give in for once with a good 
 grace ! You have seen the fair many 
 times, I daresay, and so there is no novelty 
 to tempt you. There's an end of it. We 
 will say no more of the evils or dangers in 
 the way ; we will drop the subject." 
 
 This appeal, frankly made as it was, might 
 have had its effect nine months ago ; but now 
 that I had become hardened by eternal oppo- 
 sition, had made up my mind to go, had even 
 promised Tom Arrow, whose acquaintance 
 with me had been interdicted, to meet him at 
 the Round pond on the Common in the after- 
 noon of the first day, it was too hard upon
 
 124 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 me, and I could not give in, even to mj best 
 friends. 
 
 " I have not been anywhere this summer/' 
 I remonstrated, ^^ have hardly had a single 
 holiday — I shall go." 
 
 ^^ You shall NOT go," cried Mr. Bowden, 
 losing patience. '^ I expressly forbid it, you 
 wilful and disobedient boy. If you fly in the 
 face of my strict commands, you have but 
 yourself to thank for the result." 
 
 And Mr. Bowden, thinking the effect of 
 his injunctions might be weakened by a longer 
 stay, rose from the tea-table and went into 
 the garden. 
 
 My mother wistfully regarded me as I sat 
 with lips compressed staring at the distorted 
 image of bottled indignation in the tea-pot. 
 It was several minutes before either of us 
 spoke, and the Dutch clock in the corner 
 ticked away noisily. 
 
 ^^ Robert, my dear boy," said my mother 
 at last in a faint voice, " you will not think 
 of going now ? " 
 
 ^^ Yes." 
 
 '' You will not go ? "
 
 WOODLEIGH. 125 
 
 " Yes, I wiU." 
 
 " For my sake. You will make me so un- 
 happy ! " 
 
 My lip quivered. I wanted to cry, to 
 burst forth into a passionate fit of weeping, 
 cursing, and reproaching ; but I struggled 
 with myself, and kept my passions down. 
 
 " Think of the harm it may do. Of the 
 offence it may give your father." 
 
 " Don't call him my father ! " 
 
 " He would be a father to you, Eobert." 
 
 " I will never let him !" I retorted bitterly. 
 
 " You will please me, then, by not going." 
 
 ^* Mother, I will go — I have been thwarted 
 long enough. Let him do his worst, I'll go ! 
 If I knew I were to die for it, he should not 
 stop me ! " 
 
 I jumped up from my chair, flung the tea-cup 
 at the slop-basin, and cracked them both, and 
 paced the room with heavy tread. 
 
 " It's the old song, ' for my good,' and I 
 have stood that goodness long enough. Mo- 
 ther, I will have no more of it ! " 
 
 My mother tried to pacify me, to assure 
 me of everybody's good intentions, to beg me
 
 126 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 to be calm before Mr. Bowden's return, 
 crying and clasping her hands meanwhile. 
 
 I calmed down at her request, but to all 
 her solicitations to change my mind and be a 
 good boy I shook my head in stern dissent. 
 Mr. Bowden returned ; the tea-things were 
 carried downstairs ; my mother began her 
 needle-work ; and I commenced learning ray 
 lessons for the morrow. 
 
 The days passed on, and the fair-day came 
 at length. No more had been said concerning 
 Mr. Bowden^s interdict ; my mother thought 
 that time had softened my obduracy, and my 
 step-father did not believe in my hardihood to 
 br.eak forth into open defiance. 
 
 What a fine sunshiny day it was, what a 
 blue sky to be free under, and have no 
 Methodist minister to plague me ! Not a 
 word was spoken concerning the fair, though 
 it was the uppermost thought in each of our 
 minds. The gay streamers were flying from 
 the roofs of tents and shows, there was extra 
 bustle in the roadway outside my mother's 
 house, the noise of children talking, the sounds 
 of country carts jolting past the door, the
 
 WOODLEIGH. 127 
 
 strains of far off music, the ring of holiday- 
 folks' laughter on the Common. 
 
 I sat at my lessons in the back parlor, with 
 Mr. Bowden before me, writing. When he 
 had finished his letters, and had retired from 
 the room, I darted into the front parlor, and 
 looked through the window at Nettleton Com- 
 mon. The people were not flocking thither in 
 great numbers yet ; it was early, and the 
 Nettleton tradesmen had their morning's 
 orders to attend to. Still, a country cart or 
 a farmer's waggon, filled with spruce country 
 lads and lasses, passed every two minutes, and 
 the happiness on the faces of the rustics made 
 me envious. I looked across the Common at 
 the tents three-quarters of a mile off. It was 
 a large fair ; there were more booths than 
 ever, and as for the herds of sheep and bul- 
 locks — for the first day was also a cattle fair 
 — they were grouped in all directions. 
 
 I was back in my place before Mr. Bowden 
 returned to hear my lessons, which I rehearsed 
 to his satisfaction, for he said, "Very well 
 done, Robert '^ — a compliment that did not 
 cheer me up in the least. • At our early
 
 128 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 dinner, still no mention of the fair, although 
 the horses and carts were passing the door 
 rapidly, and the Bell Inn was in a state of 
 siege. Mr. Bowden talked of everything but 
 the fair — of the weather in general, of the 
 present fine day in particular, of my educa- 
 tional progress, of the fine harvest we had 
 had, of the housekeeping, of the state of Me- 
 thodism in Nettleton, of his last sermon, of his 
 next one. I ate my dinner sullenly enough, 
 keeping one eye on the clock in the corner, 
 the hour hand of which was nearing figure 
 two. Tom Arrow was to meet me at the 
 Eound pond at two o'clock, he was on his 
 way thither then; how the time was flying 
 onward, and the precious minutes drifting 
 by! 
 
 A single heavy knock at the door. My 
 heart rose in my throat. Had Tom Arrow, 
 with the coolest effrontery, ventured to call 
 for me ? 
 
 The small servant entered the room. 
 
 '^ If you please, sir, here's Harris, from the 
 Shrubberies, at Westock." 
 
 Mr. Bowden sprang from his seat and left
 
 WOODLEIGH. 129 
 
 the room. I could hear his voice in the pas- 
 sage saying : — 
 
 ^^Well, Harris, what is it ?'^ 
 
 (Harris and his family were humble members 
 of Nettleton chapel.) 
 
 ^^ The old lady's worse, sir. She seems 
 anxious like to see you, if so be as you can 
 manage to coom, measter." 
 
 ^' Certainly. I'll come directly." 
 
 Mr. Bowden re-entered the room. My 
 heart felt lighter. Here was a chance of 
 going to Nettleton fair without my worthy 
 step-father's knowledge. Westock was four 
 miles distant, and he could not possibly go 
 thither, comfort the old lady — I prayed fer- 
 Tently the comfort would last a long while — 
 and return, in less time than three hours. 
 
 "Poor dame Harris is worse, Sarah. I 
 must go and see her directly." 
 
 "Poor old lady," said my sympathizing 
 mother. 
 
 Mr. Bowden's eyes rested on me. A bright 
 thought seemed to flash upon him. 
 
 " I think I will take Eobert. It's a beauti- 
 ful day, and the walk will do him good." 
 
 VOL I. K
 
 130 WOODLEICH. 
 
 ^^ It is a pity to lose such fine weather," 
 assented my mother. ^' Eobert, go up- 
 stairs and wash your face ; your father 
 is kind enough to offer to take you with 
 him." 
 
 It was no use remonstrating — they were 
 playing one game, I another — the last move 
 was to decide it. I went out of the room, 
 stole downstairs instead of upstairs, and 
 entered the front kitchen. 
 
 No one about ; the servant maid in the back 
 kitchen, scrubbing something vigorously and 
 hissing like an ostler ; my cap handy on the 
 dresser, the window open, the sun shining 
 outside, the people going to the fair ! 
 
 Is it not David Garrick, in the old print, 
 who hesitates between Tragedy and Comedy, 
 uncertain which to choose ; led by Melpomene 
 the stately, yet lingering still with laughing 
 Thalia ? 
 
 As with David Garrick the Immortal, so 
 with Robert Woodleigh the Erring ; Tragedy, 
 in the shape of Mr. Bowden in his black gar- 
 ments, sought to lead me one way ; Thalia, 
 with her short robe fluttering in the autumn
 
 WOODLEIGH. 131 
 
 wind, frolicked on Nettleton Common, and 
 beckoned me to disobedience. 
 
 Light-hearted youth, Avith his veins full of 
 life, cares not for Tragedy — time enough when 
 the pulse beats feebly for the dagger and bowl, 
 the dreary five acts of existence, with a death 
 always at the end of them ! Comedy is for 
 the spring-time, when care sits lightly on the 
 shoulders, and folly smiles and tempts us. 
 
 A little struggle with my conscience, a 
 little thought for the result^ a little headstrong 
 will of mine resisting Prudence and garotting 
 her, and then I crept through the window 
 after Comedy, and left Tragedy fidgeting in 
 the back parlor, and wondering what detained 
 me. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 NETTLETON FAIR 
 
 I FOUND Tom Arrow at the extreme edge of 
 the Round pond, pitching stones into the 
 water in a disconsolate manner. His face 
 brightened up when I arrived, rather short of 
 breath. 
 
 '' So you have come, Bob," was his first 
 salutation. " I'm so glad, old fellow ? I 
 thought the parson would not let you out. 
 He's not such a bad sort after all, is he, 
 now f 
 
 '' I did not tell him I was coming to the 
 fair. I took French leave, Tom, I could get 
 no other."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 133 
 
 Tom gave vent to his significant but dreary 
 whistle. 
 
 *^ I'm sorry for that, though. You'll catch 
 it when you get back, won^t you ? " 
 
 ^^ He has never laid a hand upon me yet — 
 he never shall but once." 
 
 ^^Well, here we are. Bob, and he can't 
 hinder you seeing the fair, let him whack you 
 ever so hard," said he; ^4et's be moving. 
 There are some fine shows, I can tell you. 
 There's a learned pig, and a spotted boy, and 
 a woman without hands and feet, who cuts out 
 watch-papers with her toes, and lots of other 
 wonderful things — what's the matter? " 
 
 ^^ I came out in a hurry — I forgot to go to 
 my money-box — I — " 
 
 "Oh! never mind that," said Tom, with 
 his usual indifference to money affairs, " my 
 grandmother gave me a shilling before I 
 started, and here's half of it. Lay hold, 
 there's a good chap." 
 
 " But—" 
 
 " But you can pay me to-morrow, you know. 
 Come on." 
 
 We were soon in the thickest of Nettleton
 
 134 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 fair, had soon run against other boys of the 
 town, with whom we immediately fraternized, 
 ^ettleton fair was filling with people ; the 
 gingerbread-dealers were driving a brisk trade; 
 the shows had each its crowd of Hodges and 
 Joans before the doors, and the proprietors were 
 proclaiming loudly the merits of their enter- 
 tainments, and slapping the large illustrative 
 sheets of canvas with their canes ; there were 
 swings and roundabouts, and gipsy women 
 telling fortunes ; drinking-booths, filled with 
 graziers, cattle-drivers, farmers, men and 
 dogs ; there were herds of oxen and sheep, 
 pigs and calves ; there was dancing to a 
 fiddle on one part of the Common, a jingling 
 match in another, kiss in the ring in four 
 places at once ; there were sharp-sighted 
 beggars, and beggars without sight at all, 
 tumblers. Punch and Judy, a cheap Jack, toys 
 on sticks to be thrown at thrice for the small 
 charge of one penny; everything, in flict, 
 that Tom and I could wish for. Still, I did 
 not enjoy the scene at first ; the sense of my 
 desertion from home marred my appreciation of 
 the festivities, and my boy's heart was heavy.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 135 
 
 Fortunately the effect wore off; the crowds of 
 country people in their Sunday best, the at- 
 traction of the shows, the laughter and rough 
 jesting, the excitement of the moment soon 
 made me forgetful of the past and careless of the 
 future ; I no longer looked nervously over my 
 shoulder and thought of Mr. Bowden, I 
 plunged into the sea of dissipation, the waters 
 of oblivion flowed over my head, and my 
 Methodist friends were forgotten. 
 
 Time passed rapidly enough ; there were 
 so many things to distract the attention, 
 so many booths to see outside, and a few to 
 visit inside — thanks to Tom Arrow's grand- 
 mother — that Xettleton church-clock was 
 strikhig six before the time came into my 
 head at all. 
 
 ^'There's six o'clock, Tom," I said as the 
 home thoughts rushed back to me, and 
 pictures of Mr. ' Bowden returning from 
 Westock, of my mother standing at the front 
 window looking anxiously across the Common 
 for the runaway, of Charlotte, the maid, 
 making inquiries in the town concerning me, 
 passed vividly before my mind's eye.
 
 136 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 "I wouldn't go home now, Bob/' said 
 Tom. 
 
 ^^ Why not?" 
 
 ^^You won't catch it any more for stopping 
 an hour or two longer/' said he in a con- 
 soling manner; ^^and you may as well be 
 hanged for a sheep as a lamb." 
 
 ^^ A black sheep?" 
 
 ^' Ha, ha ! black sheep if you like — that's 
 what Squire Heberdeen called you." 
 
 " It is a name that is likely to stick by me/' 
 I answered, '^for I'm not much of a lamb, I'm 
 afraid, Tom. Come on, boys," I cried reck- 
 lessly to my companions, " I wont go home, 
 there ! Hurrah for a long night of it — let's 
 come and see the Spotted Boy ! " 
 
 We dashed into the heart of the fair again, 
 and were soon pushing and fighting our way 
 through the mob of idlers. It was growing 
 dusk, the fair was beginning to illuminate, 
 some of the most respectable people were 
 retiring, some of the most disreputable were 
 coming in. It was quite time for boys to be 
 at their mother's knees again, relating the 
 day's wonders they had seen.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 137 
 
 Seven o'clock striking, and a stir in Nettle- 
 ton fair. Squire Heberdeen and son had 
 condescended to honor the scene with their 
 presence, and there was nothing but bowing 
 and scraping and touching of hats. Since that 
 time I have had an opportunity of contrasting 
 the respect paid to crowned heads in London 
 with the homage bestowed on great men, 
 lords of the manor, and so forth in the 
 country, and the country magnates have the 
 advantage. Every man who lives in a large 
 house, who keeps his carriage, his pack of 
 hounds and his hunters, is a king out of town, 
 and has plenty of subjects to do him reverence. 
 
 Squire Heberdeen lounged through the fair 
 with his round good-looking face all smiles, 
 and Squire Heberdeen's son strutted by his 
 side, rather more important than his father. 
 Squire Heberdeen made purchases at some of 
 the booths, and ordered them to be sent home 
 in the course of the evening ; and the little 
 stall-keepers bustled about, ducked their heads 
 and said " Yes, your honor " to everything. 
 
 Country people being always curious, there 
 was a small knot of gaping rustics in
 
 138 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 attendance on the Squire and his son ; and as 
 Tom Arrow and my friends were as inquisitive 
 as the rest, we helped to swell the humble 
 cortege in the rear. 
 
 Master Heberdeen, who had caught sight 
 of Arrow and me, and who^ with a boy's 
 vanity, was anxious to show off in our pre- 
 sence, made his purchases also, and invested 
 money in a fishing-rod, a box of paints, and a 
 large wax doll. Tom winked at me when 
 Master Heberdeen bought the doll, and said in 
 a whisper : — 
 
 '' That's for his sister." 
 
 ''No, it is not, Tom." 
 
 '' For his sweetheart, perhaps." 
 
 ''No, for himself; don't you see what a 
 great girl he is ! " 
 
 Tom burst into an outrageous roar of 
 laughter, and Squire Heberdeen's son turned 
 round, purse in hand. There were some 
 silver coins glittering through the net-work, 
 but Master Heberdeen was anxious to display 
 a real golden sovereign which he was holding 
 between his finger and thumb ostentatiously. 
 
 "Don't change your sovereign, Ned," I
 
 WOODLEIGH. 139 
 
 heard the Squire say, as his son, looking 
 Tom full in the face, asked, '• What he was 
 laughing at ? " 
 
 ^^ Nothing," said Tom. 
 
 " Mayn't he laugh, young stuck-up ? '' 
 bawled a rough voice behind us, and at the 
 same instant I and my companions experienced 
 a heave forward, which brought us with a 
 gi'and rush against the Squire, his son, the 
 fancy-stall and its keeper. 
 
 The Squire rapped out a loud oath as he 
 staggered against the counter and tilted it 
 completely over, burying the owner under the 
 debris; several heads were knocked together, 
 Tom fell down on his face, and Squire Heber- 
 deen's son stumbled and dropped his sove- 
 reign. 
 
 '^ My sovereign, my sovereign ! " he 
 cried, pushing right and left, and looking 
 about him anxiously. 
 
 ^' Stand back there — the young Squire has 
 lost some money — stand farther back ! " were 
 a few of the exclamations heard amidst the 
 confusion that ensued. But although we 
 stood farther back, and looked for Master
 
 140 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 Heberdeen's money, no sovereign was forth- 
 coming ; it had disappeared for ever. 
 
 " Perhaps it's rolled under the stall/' sug- 
 gested a loutish-looking vagabond, with a 
 gipsy cast of countenance. 
 
 ^'No, no — it rolled your way — I saw it." 
 
 ^^Then it must be somewhere about/' 
 said he, commencing a diligent search, 
 thrusting the people aside, and even look- 
 ing at the sole of each of his boots, under 
 the delusion that it had got fixed between the 
 variety of hobnails which embellished it. But 
 the sovereign was not to be found, and Squire 
 Heberdeen, who had lost his temper, told 
 his son he was a fool to bring it out with 
 him. 
 
 ^' It's all through these fellows," the son 
 said, pointing to our group — '' they're always 
 insulting me. I believe one of them has got 
 it. I believe you^^ — infuriated at my con- 
 temptuous expression of countenance — "have 
 got it, if anybody has ! " 
 
 I reddened. I felt my ears tingling and 
 my hands forming themselves into tight little 
 balls.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 141 
 
 "See how he colors, pa — look at him — 
 he's got it ! " 
 
 " You're a liar, Ned Heberdeen ! " I 
 shouted, " and if you say I'm a thief again, 
 I'll knock you down. I'm not frightened 
 of you, or any one like you, because you live 
 in a great house and have got a rich father. 
 Don't say I stole your money ! " 
 
 And, like a small fury as I was, I marched 
 close to his side and looked him in the face. 
 He set his teeth and glared at me — he 
 doubled his lists, too, and stood his ground 
 courageously. 
 
 '^ Stand back, you young hound — you are 
 always in mischief ! " roared the Squire, 
 giving me a thrust with his great hand that 
 sent me staggering into the midst of the 
 crowd. I was breathing hard, and getting 
 ready for a rush at Squire Heberdeen's legs, 
 when another hand forced itself down my 
 jacket, and four bony knuckles inserted 
 themselves in the back of my neck. 
 
 " Come home, sir ! " 
 
 I recognized the voice directly — the deep 
 harsh voice of my step-father, I knew it
 
 142 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 was he, though I could only catch a 
 glimpse from the corner of my left eye of a 
 black coat-sleeve. 
 
 " I have been looking for you the last 
 hour, sir ! " said my step-father, sternly. 
 
 " Take him home, parson," cried the 
 Squire, '^ and thrash him soundly. He is the 
 plague of all Nettleton." 
 
 '' Squire Heberdeen need not prompt me 
 in my duty," said Mr. Bowden. ^* I am 
 sufficiently acquainted with it." 
 
 " Why don't you take more care of him, 
 then ? If he had been a son of mine, I would 
 have flogged the wickedness out of him long 
 ago." 
 
 ^^ You have a son of your own, sir, to bring 
 up," said Mr. Bowden, loftily ; ^' from all 
 reports, not the most amiable or docile. The 
 education of that son is your task — you have 
 no right to interfere with mine." 
 
 *^Do you taunt me, Mr. Methodist? " said 
 the Squire, with a laugh. 
 
 ^^I do not taunt you — I do not desire 
 further discussion with you." 
 
 Mr. Bowden turned his back on Squire
 
 WOODLEIGH. 143 
 
 Heberdeen and prepared to lead me home- 
 wards. Squire Heberdeen, who was nettled 
 at my step-father's coolness, said something in 
 a light tone concerning ^ canting hypocrites,^ 
 which elicited a loud laugh from the majority 
 of people near him. Mr. Bowden faced the 
 Squire once more. 
 
 " Squire Heberdeen, since I have been in 
 Nettleton, I have heard much in your favor, 
 witnessed, myself, the result of many acts of 
 kindness. I have learned something more to- 
 day." 
 
 "What's that?" he asked. 
 
 " That a man may earn a good name in the 
 town, and occupy a high position in the 
 county, and yet be as deficient in all gentle- 
 manly courtesy as the most ignorant clodpole 
 at his side." 
 
 Squire Heberdeen turned scarlet in the 
 face as my step -father led me away, but 
 he hazarded no reply to the reproof; the 
 Methodist parson was a sharper man than he 
 had anticipated, and Squire Heberdeen was 
 not a wit of the first water. 
 
 Retaining his hold of my collar, Mr.
 
 144 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 Bowden, very erect and dignified, marched 
 me ignominiously through the fair ; Tom 
 Arrow and his friends, desirous of seeing 
 the last of me, following at a respectful dis- 
 tance. People stared at us as we passed 
 through the avenue of booths, and speculated 
 loudly as to the meaning of the procession. 
 Those who came from a distance thought I had 
 stolen something, and that Mr. Bowden was 
 a disguised policeman; those to whom we 
 were well known whispered ^^ it's the minister 
 and his bad step-son — young Woodleigh, an 
 idle scamp — a black sheep ! "
 
 145 
 
 CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 EXIT ROBERT. 
 
 My mother was sitting in the back-parlor, 
 with her apron over her face, when we en- 
 tered. I saw that her eyes were red and 
 s^vollen with crying as she lowered her apron 
 and shook her head reproachfully. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! Robert, Robert., how could you do 
 it ! " 
 
 '^ I have done no harm," I answered, sul- 
 lenly. 
 
 " I found him in the midst of the riotous 
 assembly, Sarah," said Mr. Bowden, releasing 
 his hold for the first time ; " quarrelling with 
 the son of Squii-e Heberdeen and challenging 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 WOODLEICxH. 
 
 him to fight. Is it not time to try severe 
 measures, now it has come to this ? " 
 
 *^ I fear it is," moaned my mother ; ^^ oh ! 
 my poor boy, to think, with all my love and 
 care, that you should prove so wicked." 
 
 " Squire Heberdeen's son told me that 
 I was a thief. He said I stole his sovereign 
 — the villain ! " 
 
 "And your defence was an attempt to 
 strike him," said Mr. Bowden ; ^' did that 
 make your innocence more apparent, think 
 
 you?" 
 
 I did not answer. 
 
 "Had I been Squire Heberdeen's son, I 
 should have been inclined to believe you 
 guilty by your very airs of insolent bra- 
 vado." 
 
 " You would think any ill of me ! '' 
 
 " Still sullen and ungracious," said my step- 
 father ; " not one expression of regret for 
 your deception, for your last flagrant act of 
 disobedience ? Still full of the promptings of 
 the evil one ! " 
 
 " Why is my life to be made miserable ? 
 why is everything I do called wrong ? "
 
 WOODLEIGH. 147 
 
 ** Poor boy, poor boy," said Mr. Bowden to 
 himself, as he commenced pacing the room ; 
 ^' so young and yet so hardened ! Sarah, this 
 behaviour must be checked." 
 
 '' Oh ! dear me, yes," murmured my 
 mother. 
 
 Mr. Bowden stopped and turned to me 
 again. 
 
 ^'Itobert, give me your cap." 
 
 The cap was still on my head, and I gave 
 it a defiant pull over my forehead, and 
 scowled at him from under the peak. 
 
 ^' What for?" 
 
 " Give — me — that — cap,'' said Mr. Bowden, 
 slowly and firmly. 
 
 " Give your father the cap directly, Eobert," 
 said my mother, in sharper tones than she had 
 ever used to me before. 
 
 '^ Let him tell me what he wants with it." 
 
 "I will tell you," said Mr. Bowden; ''I 
 want to keep it — to lock it in my desk. One 
 fortnight you will remain in-doors, sir, as a 
 punishment for your wickedness of this after- 
 noon ; after that period has expired, you may 
 go out with me or your mother, but never by 
 
 L 2
 
 148 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 yourself alone, until we think you more de- 
 serving of our confidence. Give me the 
 cap." 
 
 He made a step towards me, and I made a 
 step backwards, then we both came to a full 
 stop again. 
 
 '^ Sarah," said he to my mother, ^^ this 
 must be a painful scene to you, and — ahem — 
 you will be rather in the way, my dear, if I 
 have to run round the table after him — had 
 you not better go into the front-parlor ? " 
 
 '^ Give your father the cap, Eobert." 
 
 I was growing more obstinate and more full 
 of evil passions — even the fiery looks of Mr. 
 Bowden did not terrify me. 
 
 ^^ He shan't lock up my cap — he has no 
 right." 
 
 '^ Eobert," said Mr. Bowden, ^^ my first 
 intention this afternoon, after the discovery of 
 your wilful disobedience, was to flog you 
 soundly, but I have altered my determination. 
 Your nature is a peculiar one, and a severe 
 but just restraint will work upon you more, 
 and bring forth, I trust, some better traits of 
 character than have lately been exhibited.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 149 
 
 Something must be done, for you know not 
 your best friends, and are ignorant of what 
 is good for you." 
 
 ^' You cannot teach me to be good,'' I cried, 
 ^^ for you know nothing of my nature. You 
 did not know what was best for your own 
 daughter, for she turned against you long ago ! " 
 
 Mr. Bowden started. 
 
 " Mrs. Bowden, pray retire." 
 
 My mother went out of the room. The 
 strong man and the rebellious boy looked each 
 other in the face. 
 
 *' Give me the cap." 
 
 ^^Not to lock up," I muttered. 
 
 He advanced towards me, I backed towards 
 the Avail. He followed at a grave pace, I 
 continued my retrograde movement close to 
 the wall, behind the chairs, round the table, 
 past the fire-place, back to the same spot 
 again, Mr. Bowden keeping step. 
 
 Suddenly he made a rush, and I darted 
 more quickly round the chairs, upsetting one, 
 tumbling over another, gathering myself to- 
 gether again, and dodging round the table in 
 a style that would have won the admiration
 
 150 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 of Tom Arrow. But Mr. Bowden was too 
 quick for me, or his arms were too long, for 
 one large hand fastened at last upon my cap, 
 and on my hair within it, and the other fell 
 upon my ears, right and left — right and left, 
 with four tremendous thwacks that precipi- 
 tated me on the hearth-rug. 
 
 Trembling in every limb, and mad with pas- 
 sion, I scrambled to my feet, rushed at the 
 mantel-piece, and seizing thence the blue and 
 yellow shepherdess, hurled it with all my 
 force at Mr. Bowden's head. He threw up 
 the hand which held my cap, but it was too 
 late ; the stone-china shepherdess alighted on 
 Mr. Bowden's nose and mouth, and nearly 
 knocked him backwards. 
 
 There was an end to calmness after that ; 
 Mr. Bowden could lose his temper and forget 
 his duties, he was not all philosophy. He 
 made a second rush at me, caught me by the 
 arm, and, as the blood streamed from his nose 
 and mouth, and two out of his four bottom 
 teeth slipped down his throat, he laid on to 
 my head and ears with an abandonment which 
 said little for his power of self-command.
 
 WOODLEIGH. ■ 151 
 
 I bore my punishment with a heroism that 
 was worthy of a better cause ; I neither cried 
 nor begged for mercy ; I stood and warded off 
 the blows as well as I could with my arms, 
 until an opportunity of escape presenting 
 itself, I made a dash at the door, flung it 
 open, and tore out of the room. Carried 
 away by the excitement of the moment, Mr. 
 Bowden offered chase, ran up four stairs after 
 me, slipped on the fifth, and came down with 
 his sore nose and mouth on the sharp corner of 
 the stairs. I flew into my own room, double- 
 locked the door, and, sinking into a chair before 
 the dressing-table, stared at my flushed, rage- 
 swollen face in the looking-glass. I suc- 
 cumbed to no fit of childish weeping when I 
 was alone ; my passion was too great, it seemed 
 to have changed my nature, and made a 
 demon of me. 
 
 I dashed my hand upon the dressing-table, 
 and gave vent to all the evil wishes of the 
 moment ; wishes that the hand might wither 
 which had struck me, that my step-father 
 might die that night, or, if he did not, that a 
 time might come for my revenge. There was
 
 152 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 a secret desire in my thoughts, also, to do 
 something strange and awful, that should show 
 Mr. Bowden and my mother how little I 
 cared for their wishes, how utterly I despised 
 them. 
 
 I rose and paced the room, despite the 
 pain the movement caused me ; I flung myself 
 on the floor with a crash, even opened the 
 window and speculated on the sensation I 
 should create by falling headlong from it, 
 then I resumed my place before the glass, and 
 stared at my worst enemy within it. 
 
 The twilight deepened in my room, the 
 darkness fell around me, the hum of voices 
 on l^ettleton Common sounded in my ears — 
 voices that were singing country ballads, 
 laughing voices, voices whose very echo told 
 of happiness. AVhen the stars came out, and 
 all was black within the room, a rustling 
 noise was heard without my door, and light 
 fingers sounded on the panels. 
 
 I did not move from my position, and after 
 a pause the tap was repeated, and my mo- 
 thers soft voice whispered : — 
 
 " Eobert ! "
 
 WOODLEIGH. 153 
 
 I held my peace. There was no power in 
 my mother's gentle words to soften me. 
 
 " Eobert, dear ! " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 '' Eobert, will you come down and have 
 some supper ? " 
 
 A long, long pause — my mother waiting 
 patiently. 
 
 " Your father will not scold you any more 
 to-night — will not touch you again, dear. Do 
 answer me.'' 
 
 Stern silence — at that moment I would not 
 have uttered a word to save my life. 
 
 My mother, with a heavy sigh, went down- 
 stairs again, and all was still till Xettleton 
 clock was striking ten. 
 
 At that hour Mr. Bowden, as well as my 
 mother, came upstairs to my room door, and 
 the tapping outside was repeated. 
 
 '* Robert," called my mother again. 
 
 " Robert, thir, I inthith upon a reply ! " 
 demanded Mr. Bowden in his harshest tones ; 
 but with a disjointed kind of lisp that was 
 entirely new, and for which the blue and 
 yellow shepherdess was answerable.
 
 154 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 Mr. Bowden " inthithed " again, but no 
 reply was deigned. 
 
 ^' Perhaps he is not there — perhaps he is 
 ill. Perhaps he went downstairs after — 
 afterwards. Oh ! Jacob, dear, if he has run 
 away from home ! " 
 
 Kun away from home ! My hands clenched, 
 my heart beat fast. Eun away from home ! 
 
 — WHY NOT? 
 
 What was home to me now ? I thought ; 
 a gaol — a prison-house wherein every 
 harsh restraint was to be exercised — a place 
 which I was never to leave for a moment 
 without a watch upon me, and in which I had 
 no friend, not even in my mother ! 
 
 In my growing excitement 1 forgot my 
 caution, and stamped with both my feet. 
 
 *^ He is there," I heard my mother whisper ; 
 '^ I heard him move." 
 
 " Yeth — he ith thafe enough — I wath ther- 
 tain of it/' 
 
 One more attempt to elicit a reply from 
 me, and then my mother and her hus- 
 band went downstairs to their room. An 
 hour longer in my old position, fostering
 
 WOODLEIGH. 155 
 
 strange thoughts within my mind — thoughts 
 which my mother had suggested in her own 
 anxiety. 
 
 To unfasten my door, steal down the dark 
 stairs, open a door or window, pass 
 through into the street, run away and be 
 never heard of more ! How they would 
 repent then of their rigor ; how the stern 
 Methodist would reproach himself with over- 
 strictness, with being the cause of his wife's 
 unhappiness — torture himself with thinking 
 of the wilful boy he had helped to cast upon 
 the world ! 
 
 Whither should I go? — further into the 
 country, get a place as farmer's-boy under 
 a disguised name, or join the gipsies in Net- 
 tleton Woods, and dye my hands and face with 
 walnut-juice ? The last idea was an attrac- 
 tive one, but almost too romantic to be 
 practicable ; the gipsies would possibly rob 
 me of my clothes, stow me away in 
 some dismal hole or thicket, and cover me 
 decently with leaves. Should I go to London, 
 find out my uncle — he was my own father's 
 brother, and no Methodist ! — tell him the
 
 156 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 whole truth, and ask to be his errand- 
 boy? 
 
 London ! — the great city where fortunes 
 were made from small beginnings, and men 
 without a penny rose to fame and wealth, — 
 where my uncle was — my cousins ; where my 
 father had lived and died ; where there were 
 no Mr. Bowdens to box one's ears and make 
 one's head ache ; where they would never 
 find me ! 
 
 I crossed the room, took my money-box 
 from the mantel-piece, and felt the weight 
 of it. I had been saving lately ; Mr. Bowden 
 had taught me the necessity of saving. There 
 were at least eight shillings and sixpence 
 within the box, besides some coppers, — that 
 sum would buy me a sixpenny cap in the 
 next town, and take me to London in a third- 
 class railway-train, or in a waggon, or on the 
 top of a stage-coach. London was only fifty 
 miles away, — why, I could walk it in three 
 days! 
 
 The stubbornness of my nature, the spirit of 
 resistance, the satisfaction of making Mr. 
 Bowden and my mother miserable, — was not
 
 WOODLEIGH. 157 
 
 my mother turning against me ? — helped on 
 these thoughts, and strengthened me. 
 
 Yes, — I Tvould run awaj from home ! 
 When the hour was late, and all Nettleton 
 asleep, I would steal from the house that 
 I had learned to hate, and, by a circuitous 
 route that should elude pursuit, proceed to 
 London. Younger lads than I had been 
 thrown upon their own resources, and worked 
 their way upwards in the world, — why not 
 Eobert Woodleigh, a youth not particularly 
 sensitive, one who could stand the world's buf- 
 fetings and not give way to despair in a hurry ? 
 
 I took off my boots, and walked cat-like 
 about the room. I gathered, or rather 
 groped, into a bundle my Sunday-clothes, 
 my three new shirts, two pairs of socks, my 
 lay-down collars, the hair-brush, and a little 
 flute of mine. I broke open my money-box 
 and put its contents in my pocket, all except 
 sixpence, which I wrapped in a piece of paper, 
 and intended to slip under Tom Aitow's 
 father's door. 
 
 Then, with my bundle on my knees, I sat 
 down, and waited for a later hour.
 
 158 WOODLEIGU. 
 
 Two o'clock striking from Nettleton Church ! 
 With a trembling touch I opened noiselessly 
 my door, and went upon the dark landing, 
 my bundle in one hand, my boots in the other. 
 One moment of reflection, a slight sinking 
 within me, a feeling of heart -sickness, then 1 
 crept downstairs. 
 
 Before the door of my mother's room — their 
 room — and listening. The door was ajar — 
 should I look in, or go away ? 
 
 I pushed the door open, and looked in. 
 The night-lamp burning on the table ; Mr. 
 Bowden snoring unmelodiously through his 
 bruised nose, his back towards me, and his 
 night-cap half off his head, in a tipsy manner ; 
 my mother sleeping restlessly, dreaming, per- 
 haps, of me and danger. 
 
 The tears rose to my eyes, and for the first 
 time my stubborn will was shaken. I was 
 going away without a word to that mother 
 who loved me — her only boy — so dearly ! 
 
 I paused on the threshold of that room, 
 and dashed the drops from my eyes with an 
 impetuous hand, and chid myself for cowar- 
 dice. " I should be happier away," the
 
 WOODLEIGH. 159 
 
 tempter whispered ; " everybody was against 
 me here ! " 
 
 Well, then — good bye ! God bless you, 
 mother, — may you be happier without me, — I 
 know you will not, still the wish goes for 
 something ; — good bye ! 
 
 The clock on the staircase asked, ^^ 'Till 
 when?— 'Till when?" 
 
 'Till when, indeed ! 'Till I am settled in 
 the great city ! — till I am a man, — till death 
 claims that gentle mother, and I come back, 
 perhaps, into the same chamber, darkened as 
 now, and look at her in her coffin? God 
 forbid that ! 
 
 Down stairs — my boots on again — the 
 street-door opened softly — the moonlit street 
 of the old town before me — the white tents of 
 the fair gleaming in the distance. I hesitated 
 to close the door behind me, lest the noise 
 should startle the slumberers and set pursuers 
 on my track; — still there might be rough 
 characters about — it was fair-time — my 
 mother might be robbed. 
 
 I drew the door to with a careful hand — the 
 lock went easily — a click — the door closed;
 
 160 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 and I was standing, bare-headed, in the free 
 air, with my unknown road before me ! 
 
 There was no map of life to guide me on 
 my way, — no danger-signals to warn the 
 wanderer where the pitfalls lurked, and where 
 the snares, — no signs to show under which 
 bright vapor lurked temptation, — along what 
 stony paths were Honesty and Virtue to be 
 met with. 
 
 The dark veil hung before me, and hid the 
 good and evil, and my eyes were blinded as I 
 set forth to seek my fortunes. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND BOOK.
 
 BOOK III 
 
 " God give you morrow, sir; lack you not a neat, handsome, 
 and cleanly young lad, about the age of fifteen or sixteen 
 years ? " 
 
 Geokge Peele. 
 
 " A deep occult philosopher," 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 163 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A PHILOSOPHER, 
 
 If this were the third canto of an epic-poem 
 it would be my duty to burst forth with a 
 grand Ode to Liberty ; if a novel, it would be 
 my fate to immediately fall into danger or 
 among thieves — to rescue a distressed damsel, 
 or be rescued myself from tyrants and perse- 
 cutors ; to meet a flattering stranger, perhaps, 
 as Gil Bias did at Pennaflor; or an Artful 
 Dodger, as Oliver Twist did at Barnet. 
 
 But, alas ! I am no hero of a story-book — 
 there are no heroical qualities in me to make 
 this veracious history romantic ; my character 
 stares me in the face from the title-page of 
 this book, and I cannot, as Landor says, 
 
 M 2
 
 164 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 '' Draw my robe round me, let the folds fall 
 gracefully, and look majestic ! " 
 
 This is a chronicle of faults, failings, and 
 shortcomings — a record of the good deeds of 
 Eobert Woodleigh would never fill three 
 volumes. 
 
 I walked my twenty miles the first day, 
 buying a cap in my progress, and sleeping in 
 the evening at an out-of-the-way inn, where 
 the charge for my accommodation was ex- 
 tremely reasonable. I was a big boy for my 
 age, and no one suspected that I had run 
 away from home — everybody believed my 
 assertion that I was going to a new place 
 in London, and that, being short of money, I 
 preferred walking my way thither in an inde- 
 pendent fashion. I went by a circuitous 
 route, and eluded all pursuit. Before the sun 
 shone on Nettleton, I had passed through all 
 the villages wherein some one might have 
 recognized me and set my step-father on my 
 track. In the afternoon of the second day, I 
 came, with dusty clothes and with boots 
 awfully down at heel, to the green banks of 
 the winding river Thames. Being tired with
 
 WOODLEIGH. 165 
 
 sixteen miles' sharp walking, I sat down, 
 placed my bundle at my side, and looked 
 around me. It had been a fine day, too fine 
 for a never-ending walk along a dusty road, 
 with the sun upon me all the way, and a rest 
 by the water-side, under the shade of a droop- 
 ing willow, was a temptation not to be 
 resisted. I looked at the sun, and thought it 
 must be five o'clock at least ; I looked in a 
 dreamy manner at the clouds floating over- 
 head ; I watched the waters rippling by, 
 bound Londonwards, like me; I stretched my- 
 self full length on the grass, and thought of 
 Nettleton. Two days had cooled my temper 
 to a certain extent. I thought more of my 
 mother, and less of my own outraged dignity, 
 although my ears seemed still tingling beneath 
 the hard hands of Mr. Bowden. Poor 
 mother ! still grieving, I knew, for her undu- 
 tiful son ; still refusing to be comforted by 
 her new husband ; still hoping midst her 
 sorrow that I would come back a penitent, 
 and, by a new life, atone for all that had 
 passed. 
 
 However, I had no desire to return to Net-
 
 166 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 tleton, despite the uncertainty of the future, 
 or the knowledge that in a day or two more I 
 should be without a penny in my pocket. 
 There was a sense of freedom that pleased me ; 
 I was my own master, and had no one to dic- 
 tate to me ; the. world was all before me where 
 to choose ! 
 
 The very uncertainty of the coming events 
 had its charm. ' Better to be begging in the 
 London streets,' I thought, ^than reciting 
 lessons to my grim step-parent in that wretched 
 parlor, which looked on the gooseberry- 
 bushes, the cabbages, and water-butt. There 
 was my uncle to stretch forth a helping hand, 
 to take me home, perhaps, and adopt me. 
 He was not such a bad uncle in old time ; he 
 has never seen me without giving me a shil- 
 ling, and he and my father had agreed very 
 well together.' 
 
 Thinking of the future and the past, with the 
 sun sinking in the west; the clouds — fair type 
 of life s chances — floating by, light clouds and 
 dark clouds following one another and drifting 
 fast away ; with the river flowing on towards 
 the world of London ; the birds singing in the
 
 WOODLEIGH. 167 
 
 trees, or flitting by me quicker than my 
 thoughts ; the insects in their own little 
 troubled world passing and repassing at my 
 side, some of them running away from home ! 
 Future and past still before me, but getting 
 more confused; Mr. Bowden, in some mys- 
 terious manner, identified with uncle Wood- 
 leigh ; the clouds above receding from me, 
 and everything becoming misty ; Robert Wood- 
 leigh, with one arm supporting his head, nod- 
 ding drowsily over his bundle, and travelling 
 on to dream-land. 
 
 ^' Ahem ! young man, do you mean to sleep 
 there all night ? " 
 
 I sat up, opened my eyes, rubbed them, 
 and stared hard at my questioner. I had 
 certainly been asleep ; the sun was lower in 
 the heavens, the shadows of the trees were 
 longer on the grass, and the gentleman before 
 me, who had evidently been making a sketch 
 of me in his note-book, was not there when I 
 lost all consciousness of present things.
 
 168 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 He was a tall, spare man, whose long grey 
 moustache and small bright eyes struck me at 
 first sight. He seemed a gentleman, too, 
 although his boots were thick, his coat well 
 worn, and his hat decidedly shabby. He was a 
 man who might have been anything between 
 thirty-five and fifty years of age, and the lines 
 upon his face were very deeply marked. 
 
 " What time is it, sir ? '' 
 
 He took an old silver watch from his waist- 
 coat pocket, replaced it, and informed me it 
 was a quarter-past six. 
 
 " How far am I from London now ? " 
 
 " About five-and-thirty miles," he replied, 
 shutting up his note book. 
 
 " Heigho ! I am sorry it's so far." 
 
 ^' Have you been walking much to-day, 
 friend ? " he asked, with a glance at my well- 
 worn boots. 
 
 " Fifteen miles." 
 
 '' Fair walking for one so young/' said he, 
 attentively regarding me, " but a walk that 
 seems to have taken the spirit out of you. 
 You look done up." 
 
 ^^ Oh, no ! " said I, rising to my feet and
 
 WOODLEIGH. 169 
 
 tucking my bundle under my arm — " I am not 
 so easily done up, sir." 
 
 "You are from the country, of course." 
 
 " Why of course ? " I asked. 
 
 "We Londoners don't see many pairs of 
 rosy cheeks in the Great City, don't hear 
 very often that country burr — the English 
 brogue as it were — twelve miles round St. 
 Paul's. Have you come from Buckingham- 
 shire?" 
 
 " That way," I answered, evasively. 
 
 " Ah ! that way," with another sharp 
 look in my direction; "very properly 
 answered, young gentleman. Never be too 
 communicative with roadside stragglers, lest 
 you fall into mischief or the hands of the 
 spoiler. You are very young to come tramp- 
 ing up to London without a soul to take care 
 of you. Not fifteen years of age yet, I 
 guess ? " 
 
 " Fifteen next month." 
 
 We were walking side by side along the 
 country road, glancing curiously at each 
 other, and becoming, I believe, rather inte- 
 rested in each other. It was a relief to get
 
 170 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 some one to converse with, and especially some 
 one who came from London, and could en- 
 lighten me on many points of which I was 
 ignorant. 
 
 "An early age to begin the world," he 
 observed. " Have you left a mother at 
 home ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Did she recommend you to leave her, 
 and seek your own fortune ? " 
 
 "No," I answered with a flushed cheek. 
 
 " Had I been in your place, young fellow, 
 I should have waited at least two more years 
 before I had shaken the dust of home from 
 my feet. ' There's no place like home,' you 
 know, and you'll not find a friend in all 
 London like that mother you are taking 
 French leave of." 
 
 " French leave," I repeated. 
 
 "Ay, ay," said the sharp gentleman, 
 "you are a bad hand at a secret, for you 
 have betrayed it already, to my thinking. 
 You are a runaway ! " 
 
 " WeU," said I, defiantly, " what if I am ? " 
 
 "Nothing to me," said he, with a short and
 
 WOODLEIGH. 171 
 
 somewhat unpleasant laugh ; ^^ I would not 
 take the trouble to detain you or place you 
 under the care of the next policeman ; your 
 mother is well rid of you, doubtless, and if you 
 be determined to see the world, it is not the 
 mother's apron-strings that will keep you away 
 from it." 
 
 *^ It was not the mother — " 
 
 I stopped. 
 
 The stranger nodded his head. 
 
 " Who was it, then ? " 
 
 " No matter." 
 
 "Was it the father, of whom you were 
 tired, or the step-father? — that is nearer the 
 mark, eh? Oh, these step-fathers, what 
 villains they are to high-spirited youths whose 
 bumps of veneration are not largely de- 
 veloped ! " 
 
 " Are you lodging near here ? " 
 
 " I sleep at the Half-way-House to-night," 
 he replied ; " why do you ask? " 
 
 " I thought you might know of some place 
 where I could get a bed — a cheap one." 
 
 "The Half-way-House can accommodate 
 you."
 
 172 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 '' Oh, no— not me ! " 
 
 *^ I have taken a bed there, it being a 
 secluded retreat, and conducted on economical 
 principles — you'll get nothing cheaper, except 
 a haystack." 
 
 " But you are a gentleman." 
 
 He gave another of those short unpleasant 
 laughs, and shook his head. 
 
 " Not with a gentleman's pocket, at any 
 rate, for I am just comfortably poor." 
 
 ^^ I don't understand you." 
 
 " It is not everybody who does," he said, in 
 a slightly egotistical manner ; ^4f we should 
 chance to see more of each other this evening, 
 perhaps I'll condescend to explain myself, 
 stranger of fifteen summers. Do you see that 
 sign-post yonder ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That's the Half-way-House. Half way to 
 what or where, the Lord only knows, for I 
 don't, neither does the landlord, cadaverous 
 wretch that he is ! " 
 
 We walked nearly the rest of the way 
 towards the roadside inn in silence — my com- 
 panion trimming his nails with a penknife and
 
 WOODLEIGH. 173 
 
 whistling softly over the operation. We 
 walked very slowly too, for the stranger was a 
 dawdler — never did a man six feet in height, 
 with long legs to correspond, use his loco- 
 motive powers more sparingly. He drew one 
 foot after another in the most leisurely manner, 
 and although I was tired and had already 
 tramped my fifteen miles that day, I found it 
 painful to fall in with so slow a rate of pro- 
 gression. 
 
 ^' Am I hurrying you? " he coolly asked at 
 last. 
 
 " Oh, no.'*' 
 
 A long silence, unbroken till we arrived at 
 the Half-way-House — a small inn overgrown 
 with ivy, standing at the corner of a green 
 and shady lane. 
 
 " Picturesque beer-shop ! " observed my 
 companion ; '^ would look pretty in a picture, 
 with a Mary the Maid of the Inn sitting in 
 pensive attitude under that little alcove of 
 clematis, or scarlet-runners, which is it ? " 
 
 " Clematis, I think." 
 
 " Now I look again, I am inclined to fancy 
 it's hops ; but all green things of the aspiring
 
 174 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 order have such a strong family likeness, that 
 a London bird like me gets puzzled with 
 Nature's profusion. Those climbing plants 
 put me in mind of some men of the world 
 I have heard of" 
 
 '^ Do they ? " I remarked, for the want of a 
 better observation. 
 
 '' They struggle desperately to rise, they 
 twist their souls out to gain something to 
 cling to, they will crawl like a snake on the 
 ground till some mean thing, with its head in 
 the air, can give them a lift, and tlien they 
 will rise by its support, and perhaps ungrate- 
 fully choke it for its assistance ; will, at all 
 events, look contemptuously down when there 
 is no further need of its services. They will 
 curl, and writhe, and bend, but they will rise 
 very often to the top of the tree and flaunt 
 themselves in the empty air which they have 
 struggled so hard to attain." 
 
 ^' Yes — I suppose so." 
 
 " Suppose so, boy," he said, with a dispa- 
 raging downward look at me; "I am not 
 moralizing for your behoof, I was sneering at 
 the hard workers of the world, in a Prince of
 
 WOODLEIGH. 175 
 
 Denmark soliloquy, thinking what fools those 
 men are who slave all their lives for a shadow, 
 and fling into the waters of oblivion that sub- 
 stance which would have made them respect- 
 able and respected. And all this comes out 
 of that porch of clematis, or hops, under which 
 a damsel in a red cloak should be sitting, to 
 give one spot of color to the landscape." 
 
 " Are you an artist, sir ? " 
 
 " No— a tumbler." 
 
 " A tumbler ! " I exclaimed, looking in- 
 tently at the tall gentleman, and trying to 
 imagine him in tight fleshings and spangles ; 
 " you have come from Nettleton, sir, I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 " What do you know of Nettleton ? " he 
 asked, sharply. 
 
 I remembered my own little secret. 
 
 "Nothing. There was a fair held there 
 some days ago, I believe." 
 
 " Very likely ; and all the grand people 
 patronized it for the want of something better 
 to do, I suppose ; and Squire Heberdeen, his 
 lady, and their interesting children perhaps 
 opened the fair, in just such a manner as the
 
 176 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 Queen of England opens Parliament House — 
 eh?" 
 
 ^^ Who is Squire Heberdeen ? " I asked, in 
 the most artful manner, although rather as- 
 tonished to find a stranger, and a Londoner, 
 so well acquainted with the Nettleton grandees. 
 
 "A great man over there," with a flourish 
 of his hand in a vague direction ; '^ at least, I 
 daresay he is by this time. This is the Half- 
 way-House, will it suit you ? " 
 
 ''I don't know— rU ask." 
 
 I found the landlord — he loas cadaverous — 
 sitting behind the bar and going to sleep, 
 in defiance of a thousand unseasonable flies, 
 who were buzzing round his head and feast- 
 ing on him. I found the accommodation reason- 
 able, so reasonable that my doubts as to the 
 pecuniary means of my late companion were 
 considerably strengthened. I settled on a 
 bed for the night, and then rejoined the 
 stranger in the bar-parlor. 
 
 a y^eW — will it suit you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Glad to hear it, for I am rather fond of 
 society and fresh faces, and I think it very
 
 WOODLEIGH. 177 
 
 doubtful if ' parlor company ' patronize the 
 Half-way-House to any extent. Do you play 
 chess ? " 
 
 "A little." 
 
 ^^Ah! I don't care about chess with one 
 who plays a little — slow work. Cards ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Strictly brought up, for a sixpence ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " I don't wonder at your running away 
 from home. Strict disciplinarians always 
 draw the reins a leetle too tight, and then 
 follow the eruption and the disruption. You 
 put me in mind of my young days." 
 
 " Were you — " 
 
 He held up one finger. 
 
 " No matter. ' Those happy days are gone,' 
 as the Sixpenny Vocalist observes, and I 
 never look back at the past — it's not a 
 first rate retrospect. I'm a tumbler, you 
 know." 
 
 " I should not have thought it." 
 
 Short unpleasant laugh again. 
 
 "Not a Bounding Brother, or an India- 
 rubber child of the Pyrenees, but a true 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 tumbler nevertheless — one who has been 
 better off and less happy." 
 
 '' Indeed." 
 
 ^' I am a philosopher. Do you know what 
 that is?" 
 
 '' Yes, I think so." 
 
 ^^ I take everything coolly, and let nothing 
 put me out or astonish me. 1 am contented 
 with my position in society down a back street 
 in Chelsea, and I have just money enough to 
 live on if I am sparing of my cash and keep 
 my eyes open." 
 
 '' May I ask what trade you are ? " 
 
 " Trade, youth ! " with an elevation of his 
 eyebrows and a curl of the lip, "I have a 
 soul above taking penny pieces over a 
 shop-counter — the Markinghams have been 
 always above it, and Stephen, the last of 
 that name, has a soul like his ancestors. 
 Landlord, two glasses of mild ale, and not so 
 many of the diptera species in the liquid this 
 time." 
 
 When the mild ale was brought, and we 
 sat facing each other at a shaky mahogany 
 table, he said : —
 
 WOODLEIGH. 179 
 
 '^ Many of my friends — that is, my ac- 
 quaintances — say to me sometimes, ^ why don't 
 you turn your education to account ? ' but 
 that would not be philosophy, but hard work. 
 If I can live and be comfortable without 
 exerting myself, why should I be somebody's 
 slave — a schoolmaster's, a secretary's, a pub- 
 lisher's, in order to put more money in my 
 pocket ? If I wear seedy habiliments, I don't 
 owe my tailor for them, and I would as soon 
 live in my two-pair front, as in apartments in 
 the Albany. I can go to the theatres, or take 
 my pleasure in the country, par exemphy and 
 richer people than I can only do it in more 
 style, which is a thing I don't care for. As 
 for saving money, that's impossible under the 
 circumstances ; and, as I have no one to leave 
 a penny to, why, there would not be even 
 method in my madness. But — ha ! ha ! — 
 here am I discoursing on philosophy to a boy 
 of fifteen who don't understand half I am 
 talking about." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I do." 
 
 " Well, don't you admire my principles?" 
 
 " It's nice and lazy." 
 
 n2
 
 180 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 ^' You are a sharp lad," he said, regarding 
 me attentively, ^' and not a particularly civil 
 one. Still it's a candid opinion, and I admire 
 a man — and a boy too — who can speak out. 
 Drink your ale ; it's not too good when it's 
 fresh drawn, and it's second-rate ditch-water 
 if it be allowed to stand a moment." 
 
 ^' Your health, sir ! " 
 
 ^' That's vulgar, but thank you all the 
 same. Do you smoke ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 He drew a small meerschaum pipe from his 
 pocket, and proceeded to fill it with tobacco. 
 The sun had sunk by this time, and the land- 
 scape, through the ivy-framed window, was 
 getting grey and dusky. 
 
 ^^ ' What trade do you mean to follow ? ' as 
 old Fletcher says." 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " You are going to London in search of a 
 place ? " 
 
 ^^ Yes ; do you know Woodleigh's, in Edge- 
 ware Road ? " 
 
 *^ Have you a berth there ? '^ 
 
 ^' I hope to obtain one."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 181 
 
 '^ ^ Hope told a flattering tale/ therefore 
 Hope, in plain language, was a story-teller — 
 the baggage ! " 
 
 ^^ Which would be my nearest way to the 
 Edgeware Road ? " 
 
 '^ Time enough to ask that when you are 
 nearer London. I travel youi' road to-morrow, 
 and if you be not in a hurry, why, we may 
 journey together." 
 
 " I must be in London by Friday night, if 
 possible." 
 
 ^^ Well, you can do as you like — I shan't 
 walk seventeen miles a-day myself. Landlord, 
 when are you going to light up ? This twilight 
 is a terrible thing for the spirits." 
 
 The landlord of the Half-way-House en- 
 tered and lighted the gas, and Mr. Markingham 
 enquired of him if he expected any company 
 that evening ? 
 
 " There generally is some one," replied 
 the landlord ; but he went out of the 
 room with a doubtful expression of counte- 
 nance. 
 
 However, just as Mr. Markingham was 
 refilling his pipe for the fourth time, company
 
 182 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 did arrive in the shape of a master-butcher in 
 the vicinity. 
 
 The master butcher was followed by the 
 clerk of the parish, the clerk by a small 
 farmer, and the farmer by a young man with 
 a very red face, who had been at cricket all 
 day, and nearly killed himself with exertion. 
 Beer and spirits were speedily in request ; 
 Mr. Markingham had a glass of cold brandy- 
 and-water, and I ordered on my own account 
 a half-pint of ale — not that I wanted it, but 
 I feared the host of the Half-way-House 
 might think me shabby. 
 
 I sat by the table almost unheeded, dozing 
 over my ^ mild sixpenny ' and straining my 
 bundle to my breast. The butcher, the 
 clerk, the farmer, the cricketer and my new 
 acquaintance were all soon with pipes in their 
 mouths, and the room was filling with smoke 
 and becoming a queer atmosphere to exist in. 
 The smoke presently made me cough, and 
 coughing woke me up for good. It was a 
 dull, comfortless evening ; the society was 
 mixed and not of my class, I did not com- 
 prehend the subjects of discourse, I did not
 
 WOODLEIGH. 183 
 
 care for them. I could not help observing that 
 my friend of the afternoon had a great deal 
 to say on every topic that was started, and to 
 say it, too, in a light, easy manner which be- 
 tokened a man well up in his subject. He 
 seemed to know a great deal about everything ; 
 he talked of plays and play-actors, politics, 
 last Ascot Eaces, foreign parts, fly-fishing, and 
 religion. His ideas on the last point were so 
 startling that he frightened the parlor cus- 
 tomers and made my hair stand on end ; he 
 disputed with the parish clerk — who was a 
 well-read man in the Lessons of the day, as 
 became his position, — and the parish clerk got 
 out of temper, and wished he had the parson 
 there to back him, "He would be the gen- 
 tleman's match, he'd wager a glass of brandy- 
 and- water round on it ! " 
 
 I thought, if my stern devout step-father 
 had been there, how he would have turned up 
 his eyes at the sceptic and scoffer, bow he 
 would have preached at him, and banged 
 the table with his fist, and knocked the 
 beer-mugs over ! If that step-father could 
 have seen me then, at that hour, in that
 
 184 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 place, be would have given me up as wholly 
 lost. 
 
 When I was within an inch of suffocation 
 from tobacco-smoke, I went out of the room 
 with my bundle under my arm. I took up 
 my position by the horse-trough and under 
 the creaking sign, and looked at the great 
 white moon shining through the trees across 
 the road. It was a pretty country spot, and 
 reminded me so of Nettleton that it made my 
 heart sink. So sweet and still the landscape 
 before me in the moonlight, and yet in some 
 mysterious way so depressing to the feelings ! 
 I stood and wondered what they were all 
 doing in the far-away old town I had quitted 
 — what my mother and Mr. Bowden were 
 doing — what mischief Tom Arrow was after 
 — Tom, my old comrade, the boy friend whom 
 I might never see again ! 
 
 ^' Moonstruck, my lad ? " 
 
 I started. Mr. Markingham was at my 
 side ; those clear grey eyes of his were looking 
 at me — through me. 
 
 " Not quite moonstruck yet, sir." 
 
 " Tired of the parlor company ? "
 
 WOODLEIGH. 185 
 
 " Rather." 
 
 *^ Et moi aussi. An ignorant lot, but then," 
 with a shrug of his shoulders, " what can be 
 expected in this place ? Let us stroll to the 
 river side again, and see how the moon touches 
 up the beautiful. Such a night as this is 
 worth the whole of my fortnight's ramble 
 from the London smoke and bustle. Are you 
 coming ? " 
 
 "No, thank you; I am tired. I shall go 
 straight to bed now." 
 
 " Good night then. Here goes for a stroll 
 in true poet fashion. If you should not hear 
 of me to-morrow morning, be kind enough 
 to have the river dragged, my man."
 
 186 
 
 CHAPTEE 11. 
 
 TO LONDON 
 
 Mr. Markingham was downstairs before me 
 the next morning. 
 
 ^^ All ! good morning to you/' lie said, 
 looking up from his early breakfast as I 
 entered the bar-parlor — '' I shall have the start 
 of you to-day." 
 
 ^'1 shall overtake you, sir." 
 
 ^^ Very likely. Do you intend that seven- 
 teen miles' walk to-day ? " 
 
 ^^ I must be in London by Friday night." 
 
 " In order to begin business the first thing 
 on Saturday morning ? " 
 
 ^' If I get the chance."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 187 
 
 ^^Ah! I fear you will not find London so 
 full of vacancies as you fancy. There are 
 plenty of people out of work in that quarter 
 — plenty of people stronger, more clever, 
 more experienced than the young gentleman 
 whom I have the honor to address. If you 
 will take my advice, you will turn tail and 
 back to your mother." 
 
 " No, sir," said I, sternly ; " better beg in 
 the streets than go back like a coward." 
 
 " Well, I don't know your story, so my 
 advice is uncalled for. Still you are very 
 young ; have you anywhere to go ? " 
 
 ^^No." 
 
 "And you are not sure of a place at this 
 Woodleigh's?" 
 
 " Far from sure." 
 
 "And you know nothing of London ?" 
 
 "^^thing." 
 
 " Then I admire your spirit, and I only hope 
 it may not fail you. You must have had hard 
 provocation to have started on this wild- 
 goose errand." 
 
 I did not answer. Now my anger had 
 abated, the provocation seemed but a small
 
 188 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 one, and the step I had taken more unjusti- 
 fiable than ever. However, I did not tell the 
 inquisitive stranger so, although he was evi- 
 dently a kind man, for all his satirical remarks 
 on persons and things. 
 
 Mr. Markingham strolled from the Inn 
 shortly afterwards, and when I had had my 
 own frugal breakfast — two biscuits and some 
 more of that exceedingly mild ale — I stepped 
 out in good style and overtook him about a 
 mile from the Half-way-House. We jour- 
 neyed together the rest of the morning, Mr. 
 Markingham condescending to suit his rate of 
 progression to my own. I had awakened an 
 interest in him, and he did not care to dis- 
 guise it. " I reminded him of his young days," 
 he had said last night, and that remembrance 
 soon made him something more than an ac- 
 quaintance one meets by the roadside. He 
 talked of London and my prospects, gave me 
 much valuable advice as to my future course, 
 warned me not to be too sanguine of success 
 in town, or too eager to make new friends 
 there. Once or twice my story was on the 
 tip of my tongue, but I refrained, although
 
 WOODLEIGH. 189 
 
 my boy's heart was full, and there was some- 
 thing in the manner of the traveller that 
 encouraged confidence. I resolved to put off 
 my confession till the afternoon, but before 
 the afternoon came, Mr. Markingham ac- 
 knowledged himself beaten, and declined to 
 proceed further at so headlong a pace. 
 
 ^^ I'm not a youth with his veins full of life 
 and his heart full of energy," he said; " forty 
 years of age, backed by a weak constitution, 
 cannot stride along in seven-league boots and 
 feel never the worse for it. Go your way, young 
 man, and if my wishes for good luck are 
 worth anything, take them and be happy ! 
 Think over my advice as you go along." 
 
 " I wUl, sir." 
 
 "Perhaps I shall meet you to-morrow, home- 
 ward bound. '^ 
 
 " Not yet awhile, Mr. Markingham," said I, 
 setting off again. 
 
 When I looked back, he was lounging on a 
 grassy bank, the very picture of indolence. 
 He waved a shabby kid glove towards me as 
 a sign of farewell, till a bend of the road hid 
 the " philosopher " from view.
 
 ] 90 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 I was sorry I had parted from him — he was 
 an easy good-tempered being, — if Mr. Bow- 
 den had been only like him, I should not have 
 run away from Nettleton. 
 
 I walked on at a rapid pace ; I had resolved 
 to do seventeen miles that day, and I completed 
 my task by five o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 I passed through Windsor Avithout looking 
 right or left, and halted at a quiet-looking vil- 
 lage a few miles further on. Presently, to my 
 astonishment, Mr. Markingham appeared in 
 sight, leaning against a milestone and smoking 
 his pocket meerschaum. 
 
 ^^Well done, young wanderer," he ex- 
 claimed, ^' what a thing it is to be young — 
 heigho!" 
 
 ^^ How did you get here, sir ? ^' 
 
 *^By railway — I thought I should save 
 shoe-leather and a deal of unnecessary ex- 
 ertion if I rode a few miles by way of change. I 
 have been here these two hours, and have 
 spent the time in exploring. I have dis- 
 covered another quiet inn, where the terms 
 are moderate, and the beer better than at the 
 last establishment."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 191 
 
 " I feel inclined to walk on," said I. 
 
 " Your seventeen miles are completed," 
 observed he, tapping the mile-stone against 
 which he was leaning, ^' and a very fair day's 
 work you have got through. Come with me, 
 and rU show you the Inn." 
 
 I did not proceed further that night ; I 
 spent the evening with Mr. Markingham, not 
 in the parlor in the midst of company and 
 tobacco-smoke, but on the moonlit banks of the 
 Thames. I told him my story that night, 
 not mentioning names or places, and he 
 listened very attentively, and when I had 
 brought my narrative to an end, indulged in 
 a low long whistle which reminded me of Tom 
 Arrow. 
 
 ^^ Anger and heedlessness are bad qualities 
 to begin the world with, youngster," said he ; 
 ^^ if you don't keep them in the background, 
 they will extinguish all hope and leave you 
 for ever in the dark. Rash lad, to leave 
 home, a good mother — ay, and a good second 
 father too — for the unknown and untried. I 
 thought your wrongs were far greater, had no 
 idea you were so small a fury. Well, your
 
 192 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 mother will be al] the happier when the first 
 trouble is over." 
 
 '' I daresay she will/' I answered sullenly. 
 
 I had expected some sympathy from him, 
 and his remark nettled me. His humor 
 seemed to change, and he was certainly not 
 the agreeable man that I had hitherto found 
 him. On the previous evening I had observed 
 an undercurrent of sarcasm running through 
 several parts of his discourse — but I was not 
 prepared for a severe criticism on my conduct, 
 for a series of remarks that were bitter, jest- 
 ing, and contemptuous. He appeared to 
 delight in his own observations, too ; his grey 
 eyes brightened, his cheeks flushed, it was his 
 element in which he was disporting, and he 
 splashed, and dived, and sprinkled me with 
 polite abuse all the way home to the 
 Inn. 
 
 At the door he stopped, and laid a thin 
 white hand — a hand like a delicate woman's — 
 on my arm. 
 
 ^* You appear surprised and affronted," he 
 remarked; ^^ but you cannot expect to jostle 
 through life and not meet with hard-hearted
 
 TVOODLEIGH. 193 
 
 people. You will stare when you hear I have 
 been jesting all this while." 
 
 ''Jesting!" 
 
 '' Playing a part, to see how you could bear 
 it." 
 
 ''What part?" 
 
 " That of the world, which you will find 
 rougher and more unfeeling than I," said he ; 
 " and, truly speaking, you have borne it very 
 well for a youth who is partial to flinging about 
 chimney-ornaments, and knocking people's 
 teeth out. You may get on, although you 
 ought to come to grief, if it's only for the 
 sake of a warning to hot-headed boys like 
 you. There, I have ended my satire now. 
 I was not in my Diogenes vein, or I might 
 have done it better. Come in." 
 
 The next morning we started together 
 again, and before the morning was ended, Mr. 
 Markingham once more acknowledged him- 
 self beaten, and declined to proceed at 
 my rate of progression. 
 
 " I shall go the rest of the way by train — 
 cut across the fields here to the railway-station 
 . — will you join me ? " 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 I shook mj head. I was almost penniless, 
 and every halfpenny in my pocket was pre- 
 cious at that time. 
 
 ^' It will save some hours/' he said. 
 
 " No, sir — I must walk." 
 
 He took a few shillings from his purse, and 
 began counting them over. 
 
 "Let me see, to-day's Friday — say four 
 shillings — Saturday, a fresh supply, and a 
 fair start again. Yes, I can do it. Come 
 on." 
 
 " Not that way, thank you." 
 
 " I have a ticket for you — the gentleman 
 who drives the engine is a particular friend of 
 mine, and has put me on the free list." 
 
 I saw through his ruse, and shook my 
 head. 
 
 " Very well," said he ; " ease and independ- 
 ence for ever. Perhaps you are in the right 
 to begin the world * free of all demands,' as 
 the receipts say. Good bye." 
 
 He extended his hand towards me, and 
 shook mine heartily. 
 
 " When do you go after this situation ? " 
 
 " To-morrow morning."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 195 
 
 '^ Will you call to-morrow evening on me — 
 No. 2, Barker-street, Chelsea — and let me 
 know the result ? " 
 
 " If my — if I obtain a situation at Wood- 
 leigh's, I think I will, sir, thank you." 
 
 ^^But if you fail, I may suggest some- 
 thing.'' 
 
 ^' If I fail, sir, I would rather be alone in 
 the world for a little while." 
 
 '^ Will you store my address in your 
 memory ? I have no card to offer you — I 
 don't see the philosophy of pasteboard." 
 
 ^' I shall remember your address." 
 
 " Then good bye." 
 
 He stopped again. 
 
 " One more piece of advice : write home to 
 your mother when you reach London ; it will 
 not take a great deal of time, or be a 
 very expensive proceeding. Good day to 
 you." 
 
 " Good day, sir." 
 
 He raised his hat and saluted me in an easy 
 and gentlemanly manner, that somehow 
 told of the better days, and I imitated his 
 example by removing my cap. Thus we 
 
 02
 
 196 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 parted, and I walked the rest of the way to 
 London alone. 
 
 I reached town in safety — reached it when 
 the streets were full of people, when the lights 
 were in the shop windows, and cabs, carts, 
 and omnibuses were rattling noisily about the 
 streets. 
 
 It had a bewildering effect on me that first 
 five minutes of my entry into London, it was 
 so great a contrast to Nettleton — there were 
 so raany people, I felt so much alone, so un- 
 decided whither to go now the haven was 
 reached, and I stood at my journey's end. 
 However, I settled down at last ; there were 
 plenty of places where a cheap bed could be 
 procured, and a friendly policeman kindly 
 pointed out a respectable lodging-house. 
 
 I wrote a letter to my mother that night 
 assuring lier I was well, in London, and quite 
 safe — that I should write again soon and tell 
 her all the news, all my resolutions ! I added 
 that I should get on in the world now I had 
 no one to please but myself, and perhaps it 
 was better for everybody that I had run away 
 from Nettleton. After a stroll in the streets
 
 WOODLEIGH. 197 
 
 again in search of a post-office and a light 
 supper, I returned to mj cheap bed, and fell 
 asleep, to dream of the morning that was 
 coming, and of the day that had passed.
 
 198 
 
 CHAPTEE III 
 
 RELATIONS. 
 
 The next morning I equipped myself in my 
 ^ Sunday best/ and consigned my week-day 
 suit to the depths of my bundle. It was 
 striking ten when I was in the streets again 
 and had obtained information concerning the 
 nearest way to Edgeware Eoad from another 
 respectable and well-informed policeman. 
 
 Bundle in hand, a waif on the turbulent 
 ocean, I hurried on my mission, fearing the 
 worst, yet hoping for the best. I found 
 London as bewildering as yesternight. The 
 world was hurrying by me, and the constant 
 stream of people made me dizzy. I had been
 
 WOODLEIGH. 199 
 
 SO used to Nettleton and to the ^ still life ' in 
 its precincts, had seen in my younger days so 
 little of the turmoil of the busy city, that the 
 nature of the scene in which I moved could 
 scarce be realized, and had I suddenly found 
 myself in my little bed at Nettleton, a waker 
 up from troubled dreams, I should not have 
 been very much surprised. 
 
 But it was no dream ; the myriad faces 
 passing by, — strange inflexible faces, faces 
 absorbed, faces of care, and faces full of 
 eagerness — were too strongly marked with life 
 to have their rise in visions. 
 
 Are all these people struggling, scheming 
 for subsistence ? I thought ; is each man who 
 passes bent upon some errand that shall put 
 money in his pocket ? and, in the midst of so 
 great a world of workers, is there room for 
 one so young, so rash, so ignorant ? 
 
 Glancing at the crowd in which I mingled, 
 I thought how hard it would be to find a 
 helping hand within it, and how easy to be 
 lost in its midst, and never heard of more ! 
 
 There were starving women on the door- 
 steps, clasping infants to their breasts, and
 
 200 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 the world went by and cared not^ — there were 
 men to whom that world was darkness, 
 groping along and crying ^ Blind/ and other 
 men too wide-awake to heed them, jostling 
 them aside and angry with the sightless 
 beggars in the way ; there were rich men, 
 Pharisees with gold chains and diamond pins, 
 scouting the weak and helpless, forgetful of 
 the story of old Lazarus ; and I felt that to 
 succeed amid the selfish crowd, one must be 
 hard, and stern, and selfish too. 
 
 My heart sunk still more as I neared Edge- 
 ware Eoad, and when I stood before two great 
 gates on which were written, ^^Woodleigh, 
 Kailway Carrier, Contractor, &c., I had 
 to lean against a post to collect my courage. 
 Upon the next quarter of an hour depended 
 my whole after-career, perhaps, — my success 
 in life, or ruin ! 
 
 Beyond the gates, which were open, 
 stretched an extensive yard, and at its ex- 
 tremity were offices, warehouses, and stables. 
 There was considerable bustle in the distance ; 
 rough, gigantic men w^ere laboring at heavy 
 burdens, a van was being piled with luggage,
 
 WOODLEIGH. 201 
 
 and horses and carmen were moving to and 
 fro. 
 
 " What room is there yonder for a boy like 
 me," I soliloquized, in true Hamlet fashion. 
 '' It's all up, there's no chance for me ! I had 
 better turn away and seek some other situa- 
 tion. I am only a child — not fifteen years of 
 age till next month — what a fool I was to run 
 away from home ! " 
 
 Then I thought of Mr. Bowden, of my 
 uncle, of the fly-leaf in that family Bible I 
 had left behind, of my unknown cousins, of 
 the far away time when my father was my 
 uncle's partner, when father and uncle were 
 both poor brothers, striving with an energy 
 that made the latter's fortune, but destroyed 
 my father's health and killed him. 
 
 " Well, it's no good standing here, Eobert 
 Woodleigh," I muttered to myself, a la Ham- 
 let again; "the Eailway Carrier, Contrac- 
 tor, &c., is a near relation, and there's nothing 
 you have to be ashamed of before him. You 
 were never particularly bashful — people in 
 Nettleton called you a bold young rascal — a 
 black sheep ! They can't eat you in the yard.
 
 202 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 and you can't be worse off than you are now, 
 if the worst comes to the worst. So make 
 up your mind at once, Bob, and then — quick 
 march ! " 
 
 It was a struggle to nerve myself to the 
 task, but I succeeded. I set my teeth to- 
 gether, pulled my cap tighter over my brows, 
 tucked my bundle more firmly under my right 
 arm, and buttoned my jacket with my left 
 hand. 
 
 '^ Here goes. One, two, three, and — 
 away ! " 
 
 I would not think any more on the subject. 
 I made a dash across the road, rushed along 
 the yard, turned the corner to the right, stood 
 a moment, casting a hurried glance round me, 
 caught sight of a door on which was written 
 " Office," darted towards it, pushed it open, 
 fell over the step, dropped my bundle, and went 
 plunging into the sanctum sanctorum, almost 
 head foremost. 
 
 '^ Hollo, here ! " cried a young man, perched 
 on a high office-stool before a desk near the 
 window; " what game's this ? Make a little 
 less noise, will you ? "
 
 VrOODLEIGH. 203 
 
 When I had recovered myself and picked 
 up my bundle, I glanced at the young man on 
 the stool. He was the only occupant of the 
 office, and there was certainly no blood of the 
 Woodleighs in his veins. It was possible 
 that seven years and upwards would make a 
 difference in the personal appearance of my 
 cousins, but the young man on the stool was 
 not a Woodleigh for all that, and I was very 
 sorry for it. 
 
 " Now, then, what's your business?" asked 
 the young man, sharply. 
 
 I glanced at him again. He was not a 
 pleasant young man to look at ; he was a red- 
 faced, pimply being, of about twenty years 
 of age, and he had a defect in his vision 
 which ill-natured people would have termed a 
 squint. There was an official appearance 
 about him which impressed me though, as he 
 sat perched on the high stool, the cuffs of 
 his green plaid coat turned up in a business- 
 like manner, a ruler in one hand, a pen in the 
 other, and a quill pen, which had been dipped 
 in red ink, behind his ear. 
 
 " I wish to see Mr. Woodleigh."
 
 204 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 '^ Mr. Woodleigh's not in." 
 
 '* What time will he be in, sir ? " 
 
 " I don't know/^ said the clerk, twisting 
 round on his stool, and squinting at rae fright- 
 fully. " What is it you want with him ? 
 Can't I do as well? I'm Mr. Woodleigh's 
 private secretary." 
 
 " Oh! are you?" I replied, thinking Mr. 
 Woodleigh might have selected a better speci- 
 men at any rate. 
 
 ^^ Have you brought a message ?" 
 
 '' No, sir." 
 
 His looks fell in an oblique manner on my 
 bundle. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! I see — you've got something to sell. 
 Come, that won't do here, you know." 
 
 " I wish to see Mr. Woodleigh." 
 
 " Mr. Woodleigh's gone to Bath in search 
 of a fashionable hairdresser, and will not be 
 back till Saturday three weeks. v' 
 
 And with this appalling announcement he 
 twisted himself into his former position, and 
 resumed the occupation from which my sudden 
 appearance had diverted him. I stood and 
 watched the back of the office coat, the move-
 
 WOODLEIGH. 205 
 
 ment of the right arm, and the legerdemain 
 manner in which he occasionally changed the 
 pen with the black ink for the pen with the 
 red. 
 
 '^ Can you give me Mr. Woodleigh's 
 address, please ? " I said, after a long 
 silence. 
 
 " What ! haven't you gone yet ?^' he cried, 
 looking round once more ; ^^ well, this is 
 pretty cool, I must say. Now, have you 
 come on any business that requires my at- 
 tention ? " 
 
 '' Xo." 
 
 ^' And you haven't brought a message?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 '^ Has anybody sent you here ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 ^^ Then just be off!" 
 
 He sprang off the office stool, ran to the 
 door, opened it wide, and pointed to the 
 yard. 
 
 " That's your way, and if you won't go 
 quietly, I shall make you." 
 
 I looked at this very officious gentleman. 
 He was a thin young man, and rather weak
 
 206 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 in the knees ; there would certainly be some 
 difficulty in forcing my retirement, though he 
 was full five years my senior. 
 
 '^ I will go when you give me Mr. Wood- 
 leigh's address ; if you try to make me before, 
 you will have some trouble, and perhaps get 
 hurt." 
 
 I laid my bundle on a vacant chair and 
 doubled my fists in a menacing manner. 
 
 The private secretary put his head out of 
 the office doorway, and looked up and down 
 the yard. The van had gone, and there was 
 not a man in sight to help him. 
 
 " Why didn't you say you wanted the ad- 
 dress before?" said he, " instead of bothering 
 me with your nonsense. Wait a moment, and 
 I'll get it you. Don't be frightened — I'm not 
 going to touch you ! " 
 
 ^' I'm not frightened in the least, thank 
 you," I replied, as he passed me, went back 
 to his desk, and wrote something on a slip of 
 paper which he afterwards extended to me. I 
 advanced and took the address. 
 
 "Is this quite right ? " 
 
 " Of course it is."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 207 
 
 " Grove House, Tottenham — where's Tot- 
 tenham ? " 
 
 ** Anybody will tell you. You must work 
 your way to Shoreditch, and then — " 
 
 He did not complete his sentence, for with 
 a sudden spring he bounded on to the high 
 stool, turned his back upon me, and recom- 
 menced writing in- a vigorous manner. I 
 was at a loss to account for this acrobatic 
 feat, till a sharp clear voice outside sug- 
 gested the reason. 
 
 "' There will be a van from the Great- 
 Western in ^NQ minutes, John— where have 
 all the men got to ? — where's Bowler — where's 
 Simmons ? — this is always the way when Mr. 
 Woodleigh's or my back's turned a minute 
 — here, Jones, just run with this to the stores 
 — who's up in the warehouse ? — now, look 
 alive there with the horses ! " 
 
 The door was pushed open, and a youth of 
 sixteen or seventeen years' of age walked 
 briskly into the oflfice. A youth not very tall 
 for his age, but a sturdy, well-proportioned 
 youth, with a good-looking freckled face. 
 
 *^ Here, Watkinson, make an entry of this,
 
 208 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 will you ? " he said, bustling to the desk and 
 placing a paper on it. 
 
 " Yes, sir.'' 
 
 ^^As quick as you can, because it will be 
 called for. Has Mr. Woodleigh come back ? " 
 
 '^m, Mr. Upton." 
 
 " Anybody been ? " 
 
 ^^No, sir — that is, only this fellow," pointing 
 in my direction with the feather of his pen ; 
 ^^he won't go away. He has not been sent 
 here on business, and he has not brought a 
 message. I think he has got something to 
 sell in that bundle." 
 
 Upton Woodleigh wheeled round, and our 
 eyes met. The children of two Mothers 
 looked each other in the face, but my blood 
 relation's countenance expressed no sign of re- 
 cognition. However, it was a frank open coun- 
 tenance that prepossessed me in my cousin's 
 favor, and there was such a Woodleigh look 
 about the eyes that I could not fancy him a 
 stranger. But eight years had passed since I 
 had seen him last — he was then a curly-haired 
 little boy of nine years old, and wore a Scotch 
 dress and a velvet plaid cap ; and now he was
 
 WOODLEIGH. 209 
 
 quite a sharp man of business, and looked 
 nearer twenty years of age than seventeen. 
 
 " What is your business, my man ? If it's 
 anything to sell, we don't want to buy it, and 
 we haven't got time to look at it." 
 
 ^^ I did wish to see your father, but I 
 understand he is at Bath." 
 
 " Bath ! " repeated my cousin, with a slight 
 laugh ; ^^ he has got there pretty quick then. 
 He was here half an hour ago." 
 
 I looked at the mendacious clerk, who, 
 after a scowl of warning, bent himself into the 
 letter S over the account-books. 
 
 " Will it be long before he returns ? " 
 
 " It's uncertain," was the reply ; " why 
 don't you state your business ? It can't be so 
 very important." 
 
 '' I'll tell you if you will step into the yard 
 a moment. Perhaps you will not care to 
 hear who I am before your private secretary." 
 
 He looked at Watkinson, muttered ^private 
 secretary indeed,' and walked into the yard. 
 I took my bundle from the chair and followed 
 him. 
 
 ^^ Now then," he said, when the office door 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 was closed behind him ; '' sharp's the word, 
 young fellow. Who are you ? " 
 
 '' Eobert Woodleigh/' 
 
 '' Eob — Robert Woodleigh ! " exclaimed 
 my cousin; "you don't mean that! " 
 
 "No credit to Upton Woodleigh as a rela- 
 tion perhaps/' I said, with a glance at my 
 Sunday habiliments. 
 
 "My cousin Eobert," said he, with his 
 keen bright eyes surveying me; "well, that's 
 a startler at all events. How are you ? " 
 
 He extended his hand towards me, and 
 when mine was placed within it, he gave it a 
 cordial shake. 
 
 " Whoever would have thought of seeing 
 you here to-day ? By Jove, this is a surprise ! 
 I say, cousin, you have altered considerably 
 since you and I played at marbles in the 
 little back-yard in Queen Street. Do you 
 remember that ? " 
 
 " Yes, well." 
 
 " Eemember brother Dick, too ? He's 
 being brought up to the Church." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 " I have begun the world early, you see.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 211 
 
 I prefer my father's business to racket- 
 ing about college ; Dick likes college, likes the 
 fun there too, but I can't exactly fancy Dick 
 in the pulpit, and I don't believe he fancies 
 it himself. How is Aunt Woodleigh ? I 
 ought to have asked about her before." 
 
 " She is very well, thank you. Are your 
 sisters well — and little Johnny, whom I left 
 a baby?" 
 
 " Oh, they are all right. And — here's the 
 governor ! " 
 
 The governor, Uncle Woodleigh, a short, 
 thin man, with a sallow countenance and 
 great grey whiskers, came at a rapid pace 
 through the gateway, with a dozen papers 
 fluttering in his hands. As he advanced, he 
 looked sharply from me to his son, then to 
 me again. 
 
 " What is the matter ? — who's this ? " he 
 said, with a rapidity of utterance that was 
 difficult to follow — " any message been sent 
 from Wixon's, or is he waiting for an answer 
 from Tolboy's ? Tolboy's answer went by 
 post, and everything will be attended to — 
 Where's AVatkinson ? " 
 
 p2
 
 212 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 ^anthe office." 
 
 '^Has not the van come yet? — and — and 
 what did you say this lad wanted ? " 
 
 " Wants to see you, Mr. Woodleigh," said 
 Upton with a smile — " it's a relation of 
 ours." 
 
 '^ A relation — why, who ? — where does he 
 come from? — what's his name? — it's not — 
 surely it is, though " — looking at me intently 
 — "the devil take me if it is not Robert's 
 boy ! Bless my soul and body, what has 
 brought you to London ? — is anything wrong ? 
 — is your mother ill or dead, or anything 
 of that sort?" 
 
 "No, uncle. I have come to London to 
 earn my own living. My step-father and I 
 could not agree together — and the truth is, I 
 ran away from home, and here I am." 
 
 " Is your mother married again ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I , never heard of it," said my uncle, 
 looking as offended as if he had been my 
 mother's most intimate friend since her hus- 
 band's death — "it's very odd I was not told 
 of it — very disrespectful — might have written
 
 WOODLEIGH. 213 
 
 me a line at least. And so they treated you 
 badly?" 
 
 " I don't know that my step-father treated 
 me badly/' I replied. ^' He was a strict man 
 and did not understand me. I thought it 
 would be better to come to London. I 
 thought, too, that for the sake of relationship 
 you might find a place — I don't care what 
 sort of place it is — for the son of your old 
 partner." 
 
 " Dear, dear me, this is very singular — old 
 partner, nephew, run away from home and 
 come to me for work. Robert's boy, too, 
 — why, how old are you ? " 
 
 " Fifteen next month." 
 
 ^^You are not fit for out-door work, 
 driving a van, or anything of that sort ; I'm 
 afraid there's nothing for you to do here, my 
 boy. We're quite full at present, and the 
 business would never suit you. I think you 
 had better go home again and — what's that 
 for?" 
 
 I had shaken my head at his sugges- 
 tion, and my action of dissent had caught his 
 eye.
 
 214 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 ^'I shall not go home, Uncle Woodleigh. 
 I have not walked sixty miles to return by 
 the same road. I have come to London to 
 earn my own living, and if you cannot put me 
 in the way of it, why, I must find it in the 
 streets." 
 
 I was turning to go away when he cried — 
 
 " Don't be so hasty — bless my soul, he's 
 my brother Robert all over, just like him, not 
 an atom of prudence. What can you do — 
 read, write, — any hand at figures ? '^ 
 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 ^' Might do in the office, eh, Upton — what 
 do you think — might try him for a week ? " 
 
 '' Oh yes ; and there's room for him in the 
 office, too, if it's only to look after Watkinson. 
 We can't send him away, you know," was the 
 reply. 
 
 '' You have no objection to make yourself 
 generally useful ? " asked my uncle. 
 
 " I'm not afraid of work." 
 
 ^^ Your father was not," said my uncle ; 
 ^^ and I hope you take after him. I don't 
 know what I can make of you yet — don't 
 know whether you are even worth your salt.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 215 
 
 However, TU try you for a week ; you can 
 come next Monday at six o'clock." 
 
 Upton said something to his father in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " No, decidedly not/' replied my uncle, 
 dropping his voice also ; " not to be thought 
 of for an instant. There's no one at home 
 to amuse him, and it's a bad practice to 
 begin with — a too familiar proceeding by half. 
 We know nothing of him yet ; he's a boy 
 without a character, one who has run away 
 from home, and we don't know what for. 
 Bless my soul, it's rather imprudent, now I 
 come to think of it ! " 
 
 To describe the railway rate at which this 
 speech was delivered is beyond my power ; 
 the words absolutely rolled over one another, 
 and into one another, in their eagerness to 
 come forth. Fortunately, he was a long- 
 winded man, and had not the slightest impedi- 
 ment in his speech, or he would have died of 
 suffocation years ago. 
 
 He turned to me. 
 
 "You had better tell your mother where 
 you are, I think, and what you are going
 
 216 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 to do. Whom has your mother mar-/ 
 ried?" 
 
 "A Methodist preacher — Mr. Bowden." 
 
 " Bowderi, eh ? " said he ; ^^ Bowden, did 
 you say ? " 
 
 ^^Yes, Bowden." 
 
 " That's singular, Upton," he remarked ; 
 "but still it is not an uncommon name. 
 Methodist, you say ; a good man, I have no 
 doubt. What made you run away from 
 him?" 
 
 Briefly as possible I related the particu- 
 lars of the dispute with my step-father, and its 
 result. My uncle had hardly patience to 
 listen ; he was a restless excitable man, 
 and fidgeted extremely during the recital of 
 my story. He looked at his watch, at his 
 papers, at a van lumbering into the yard, 
 he interrupted me twice by shouting some 
 orders to the carman, he beat a tattoo with 
 both feet, he rubbed his hands one over the 
 other, he took off his hat and ran his fingers 
 through his hair. 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes," he said, when I had 
 arrived at a conclusion ; "I understand — you
 
 WOODLEIGH. 217 
 
 were quite right, or very wrong, there's not 
 the slightest doubt. Well, come on Monday ; 
 we are very busy just now, you see, Robert, 
 and — Hi there ! I want you." 
 
 Mr. Woodleigh took to his heels, and an 
 instant afterwards was in the midst of his 
 men, darting hither and thither, gesticulating 
 violently, shouting out orders, and altogether 
 in a state of frenzy. 
 
 " The governor is quite the man of busi- 
 ness, is he not, Robert ? and as quick as ever 
 in making up his mind to anything," said 
 Upton. " Do you see much difference in 
 him ? '' 
 
 " I should have known him anywhere." 
 " He's a trifle more energetic, and perhaps 
 more irritable, but then business has increased 
 the last two years, and brought many cares 
 and responsibilities. I wanted my father to 
 increase his staff six months ago, but he would 
 not listen to my proposition." 
 
 ^' Have you been long in the business ? " 
 " A year. My father took me away from 
 boarding-school early ; he did not think a 
 young railway-carrier required many accom-
 
 218 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 plishments at his finger ends. Keading, 
 writing, • and arithmetic, I was well up in, and 
 that was enough for him, and — for me, too." 
 
 " I suppose it will be Woodleigh and Son 
 soon ? " 
 
 " Some day," said he, with a laugh. 
 ''When I am twenty-one, and the Son is 
 inscribed on those gates, perhaps 1 shall get 
 the men to mind me more. They are a set of 
 obstinate rascals at present, and think I am 
 too young to give orders to them, or keep a 
 sharp eye on the Woodleigh interests. But," 
 with a light shake of the head, ''they're 
 wrong there." 
 
 " I fear I am detaining you, Upton." 
 
 "Well, we are rather busy, Robert. When 
 a van comes in, it's like stirring up a beehive — 
 makes a general confusion, and keeps every- 
 body's eyes open. You will not forget to 
 come on Monday." 
 
 "No. And as I have not thanked you 
 yet-" 
 
 " Oh, never mind your thanks," he inter- 
 rupted ; "it would have been hard not to 
 have helped a relation ; the son of an old
 
 WOODLEIGH. 219 
 
 partner, too, as you observed to the governor. 
 Why, do you know, Eobert, that you are the 
 only cousin we have in the world ? " 
 
 "You had all nearly forgotten him, I dare- 
 say." 
 
 " No, we had not," was the quick reply; 
 "for although the London Woodleighs were 
 drifting a different way from the country ones, 
 yet we had a habit of saying now and then, 
 ^ I wonder where Aunt Woodleigh is?' or ^I 
 wonder if we shall ever see cousin Eobert 
 agam r 
 
 " You did not expect to see me in this 
 plight, Upton?" 
 
 " Why, no. We all fancied your mother 
 had married a rich man, gone abroad, and 
 taken you with her." 
 
 " It is easier to fancy than to make enquiry." 
 
 "Eh?" said Upton, looking at me with 
 some surprise. " Oh ! yes, you are right 
 enough — it is easier. Friends and relations 
 who are fifty miles apart fall into an apathetic 
 way concerning each other's pursuits, and as 
 time goes on, so the apathy increases, I am 
 ashamed to say."
 
 220 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " Especially when one branch of the family- 
 is going up-hill, and the other down." 
 
 '' Perhaps so, perhaps so," answered Upton, 
 in his father's hurried manner ; '^ that always 
 makes a difference, and always will — it is one 
 of those facts that can't be helped, Robert 
 Woodleigh, grumble as we may." 
 
 I felt the reproof conveyed in his reply. 
 
 " And it is not my place to grumble — -I, 
 who have just received a proof of my rela- 
 tive's kindness — is it ? But I will not detain 
 you, cousin ; good day." 
 
 " Wait a moment. It's — it's," putting his 
 hand in his pocket, ^^ customary here to pay 
 the first week's salary in advance, if required, 
 and we know the party. Have you any 
 objection to receive it, Robert ? " 
 
 ^^ It's always customary ? " I repeated in a 
 doubtful manner. 
 
 " Yes — of course it is — did you not know 
 it ?" he replied. ^^ Your salary will not be 
 large to begin with, Robert — not more than 
 ten or twelve shillings a- week, — and here's a 
 half-sovereign, will that do ? " 
 
 I took the welcome coin with a faint
 
 WOODLEIGH. 221 
 
 ^' thank you." Although I had only sixpence 
 and a few coppers in my pocket, it made my 
 cheeks flush and my chest heave to receive 
 money for which I had not worked. It was 
 like bestowing alms upon me, for he could see 
 how poor I was ! As my fingers closed upon 
 the piece of gold, I felt what a difference 
 there was between the giver and receiver — 
 the rich man's son and the poor wanderer. 
 One would be master, and the other, whose 
 father was once a partner in the firm, would 
 be a servant and a slave. 
 , I went away discontented, although the 
 object of my mission was accomplished, and 
 the means of living in London afforded me ; 
 I felt that I was unjust, selfish, envious, and 
 that the demon of discontent was at my side 
 prompting me to thoughts ungenerous. 
 
 Those thoughts I did not seek to stifle as I 
 walked on ; I let them prey upon me. I 
 began to consider myself aggrieved that I had 
 not been asked to dinner at Grove House 
 Tottenham — that I had not been considered by 
 my relations good enough for their society, now 
 that they had risen in the world, and were
 
 222 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 making money. I was only fit to be their office- 
 boy, to rim on errands, perhaps — " to make 
 myself/' as uncle Woodleigh had observed, 
 " generally useful." And yet I was of the 
 same race ; my father would have been as 
 grand as any of them had he lived to reap 
 the profits of that business which he had 
 helped to form, and I should have been a 
 young master there, like cousin Upton, or a 
 college student, like cousin Dick. 
 
 '' Never mind, there's a way to make for 
 myself," a better genius whispered at last, 
 " and success will be sweetened by my own 
 exertions." Weak is the mind and feeble the 
 hand of the pilgrim who gives way in the 
 outset of life, with youth in its spring, and 
 the world's prizes before him !
 
 223 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 I FINISH THE DAY. 
 
 I DID not immediately set forth in search of 
 No. 2, Barker Street, Chelsea, after obtaining 
 employment at the Eailway Carrier's of 
 the name of Woodleigh. I indulged in a 
 cheap dinner at an eating-house, where the 
 quantity of meat for sixpence was of greater 
 consideration than the quality, and then 
 sauntered into Hyde Park, and spent the 
 afternoon in reflections of a varied order, 
 after the manner mentioned in my last 
 chapter. 
 
 It was nearly five o'clock when I was in
 
 224 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 the neighbourhood of Chelsea, looking for 
 Barker Street. I had resolved to go to Mr. 
 Markingham's and tell him of my good 
 fortune, feeling sure that he would be glad to 
 hear my story. 
 
 It was singular that I should look forward 
 to a meeting with Mr. Markingham as to an in- 
 terview with an old friend, forgetting that he was 
 almost a stranger to me, and one of whose 
 pursuits I knew nothing. Still, he had been 
 kind to me, and though there were many 
 traits in his character that I did not admire, 
 yet there was still an attraction that drew me 
 towards him. 
 
 Are there not some men in the world with 
 whom we are friends at first sight, and others 
 of whom a life-long knowledge gains not an 
 inch of our hearts ? 
 
 Mr. Markingham was one of the former ; 
 he had shown an interest in me, and flattered 
 me into liking him, and yet was he not a 
 dangerous man to be acquainted with? — a 
 man who saw philosophy in indolence and 
 selfishness, and had peculiar ideas on matters 
 of religion. I had a vague notion that I was
 
 WOODLEIGH. 225 
 
 rather too anxious to continue the acquaint- 
 ance of Mr. Markingham, when I had the 
 knocker of No. 2, Barker Street, in my 
 hand. 
 
 ^•Is Mr. Markingham within?" I inquired 
 of a middle-aged woman who responded to my 
 summons. 
 
 "Two-pair front," was the short reply. 
 
 Leaving me to find the way for myself, the 
 woman shut the door and went into the par- 
 lor. I ascended the stairs, which 1 found 
 quite a striking feature of the house and full 
 of variety, the preliminary flight being neatly 
 carpeted, the second — starting from the first- 
 floor — a shabby oil-cloth, worn into holes in 
 many places, and the third — leading to upper 
 regions which I did not penetrate — destitute 
 of any covering whatever, and presenting a 
 bare, unwashed appearance to the eye of an 
 observer. 
 
 I stood before Mr. Markingham's door, and 
 announced my presence outside by a tap on 
 the panels. 
 
 " Come in," answered the voice from the 
 interior. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 I entered. 
 
 It was a room of moderate size, and fur- 
 nished without any pretensions to elegance. 
 Before the windows were two dusty Venetian 
 blinds, one of which had been drawn up to 
 the top, and the other left in statu quo. There 
 was a small round table in the centre of 
 the room, a bookcase in one corner, and a 
 sofa near the fireplace — a sofa that I had no 
 doubt did duty as a bedstead later in the 
 evening. Moreover, there was a piano — such 
 an extraordinary piano ; it took up one side of 
 the room and intrenched upon the door (which 
 it kept from opening to the fullest extent), 
 and had about a dozen slim spider-like legs, 
 some of which had given way in earlier times 
 and been put up again slantwise. There was a 
 small row of keys in the centre of the in- 
 strument, and there was a mahogany flap to 
 cover them, that had lost two hinges out of 
 three. 
 
 Mr. Markingham was stretched full length 
 on the sofa, solacing himself as usual with his 
 meerschaum pipe. His figure was wrapped in 
 a faded dressing-gown of some mysterious
 
 WOODLEIGH. 227 
 
 texture, which looked like old green baize, 
 but wasn't. 
 
 " I expected you," said he. 
 
 " Did you, sir ? " 
 
 ^' I thought you would change your mind 
 about not calling if — but you have never got 
 the place ! " 
 
 **Yes, sir, I have." 
 
 '' Take a seat," said he, " and give me time 
 to recover my surprise. Is it possible so hare- 
 brained an errand has ended so profitably, and 
 that a situation was waiting for you at your 
 journey's end? Why, there's destiny in it, or 
 you possess some grand secret of success for 
 which hundreds of starvlings would be 
 thankful." 
 
 ^^The secret is, sir, that Mr. Woodleigh is 
 my uncle." 
 
 *^0h! I see," he said; "that makes a vast 
 difference, albeit uncles are not always so 
 ready in offering the helping hand to their 
 nephews. You have grand relations then, — 
 wholesalers, belonging to the aristocracy of 
 trade — fortunate lad, when are you going to 
 dine with them ? " 
 
 Q2
 
 228 WOODLBIGH. 
 
 '' I don't know." 
 
 ^' May I ask what salary you will 
 receive ? " said he ; ^^ if it be a delicate point, 
 pray don't satisfy my curiosity." 
 
 '' Twelve shillings a-week." 
 
 "A fair start for a youth fresh from the 
 buttercups and daisies/' he observed; ^^and 
 where have you pitched your tent in this wil- 
 derness of bricks and mortar ? " 
 
 ^^ Nowhere, at present; I thought you 
 might know of a room that would suit 
 me." 
 
 ^^ You do not require apartments on a very 
 grand scale, I presume? " he said; ^^not par- 
 ticular concerning the quality of the plate, or 
 the fineness of the table-linen ? " 
 
 ^^Not more particular than yourself," I 
 answered, shortly. 
 
 ^' For a moment his face flushed as though 
 I had pained him, but he gave his short hard 
 laugh and said : 
 
 ^' That's right, young man ; copy me, and 
 sink living for appearances — one little struggle, 
 and then a man is comfortable for ever after- 
 wards. How do vou like Barker Street ? "
 
 WOODLEIGH. 229 
 
 'at is quiet." 
 
 " Not a great distance from Edgeware Road, 
 and a pleasant walk to business across the 
 Park. Try it." 
 
 '' Where can I get a bedroom ? " 
 
 " My respected, amiable, and accomplished 
 landlady has for disposal — has had for disposal 
 the last six months, unfortunately — a small 
 back bedroom at the top of the house, the 
 window commanding a fine view of several 
 acres of tiles. I have no doubt that room is 
 at your service, and that a half-crown a-week, 
 perhaps less, will satisfy the cormorant in 
 the mob-cap, — I mean the amiable female before 
 alluded to." 
 
 ''That would suit me." 
 
 " And when you are inclined for society, 
 you can come downstairs of an evening and 
 knock at the door of this room, and if Stephen 
 Markingham be Avithin and in an amiable 
 humor — for that is not always the case, even 
 with philosophers — you will be admitted, and 
 taught chess, or cribbage, or economy, or 
 philosophy, or," waving his hand majestically 
 towards the piano — " music on Marking-
 
 230 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 ham's Grand ! Will jou be kind enough to 
 ring the bell ? " 
 
 I touched a bell-handle by the fireplace, 
 but the summons was not responded to. 
 
 ^'Mj easy temper/' said Mr. Markingham, 
 after laying his pipe aside and indulging in a 
 formidable yawn, " gets imposed on here. I 
 have no doubt the landlady is observing to 
 herself at this very moment : — ^ It's only 
 Mr. M's bell — he can wait.' Be kind enough 
 to keep on ringing ! " 
 
 I complied with his request, and in a very 
 short space of time the middle-aged landlady 
 who had admitted me into the house made her 
 appearance, looking very red in the face with 
 suppressed indignation. 
 
 *' Tea for two, Mrs. Bants," said the phi- 
 losopher ; ^' and — one moment, if you please 
 — this young friend of mine is desirous of 
 engaging the third-floor back on reasonable 
 terms. Mrs. Bants, allow me to introduce to 
 you — Mr. Hastyboy ! " 
 
 I laughed, and Mrs. Bants, whose looks of 
 indignation had vanished like a dream, re- 
 garded me in a motherly manner; Business
 
 WOODLEIGH. 231 
 
 was soon concluded between us ; the third- 
 floor back was engaged for two shillings a- 
 week, and my bundle was taken formally into 
 my apartments. I had tea with j\Ir. Mar- 
 kingham, after a few objections on my part, 
 which he quickly overruled by promising to 
 have tea with me some day in return. 
 
 ^' This sort of amusement," said he to me, 
 as he poui'ed out my fifth cap, ^' tells us, the 
 lords of creation, what helpless mortals we are 
 in domestic matters, and how the fair sex are 
 not to be despised, after all. Bachelorship 
 certainly has its disadvantages." 
 
 '' I wonder you don't marry, then, sir." 
 
 ^' My time is past. Forty years of single 
 blessedness have moulded my character and 
 adamantized my resolutions. Besides, I am a 
 poor man, and a wife is an expensive luxury. 
 It's like cream with your tea ; you can't have 
 it without" paying for it, and even then you 
 may get a sour and indifferent specimen for 
 your money. Another cup ? " 
 
 ''No, thank you." 
 
 " Where do you think of going to-night ? " 
 
 '' Eeally, I don't know, sir."
 
 232 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 *^ You are not engaged? " 
 
 '' Oh, no." 
 
 '^Then let us stroll westward, and see 
 what we can find to finish the day with, Mr. 
 — Woodleigh, I suppose ? '^ 
 
 " Yes, sir.'^ 
 
 ^^Well, friend Woodleigh, if you will wait 
 till I have changed my dressing-gown, I am 
 at your service. '^ 
 
 Five minutes afterwards we were in the 
 King's Road, Chelsea, walking arm-in-arm 
 through that bustling thoroughfare as Damon 
 and Pythias might have walked through the 
 streets of old Athens. Damon the second 
 was an elderly friend though, one who 
 was yet to be tried and trusted. An 
 acquaintance had sprung up suddenly — 
 hastily, too — and it is not only hasty mar- 
 riages that are repented at leisure ! 
 
 *' Halt ! " cried Mr. Markingham. 
 
 We stopped before a tobacconist's shop, 
 and my companion, twirling the ends of his 
 grey moustache^ stood and inspected a row of 
 bills beneath the window. 
 
 '^ Fond of theatres, Woodleigh ? "
 
 WOODLEIGH. 233 
 
 " I . have not been since I was a litt'e 
 boy." 
 
 '^ Did your step-father take you, then ? " 
 with a cynical smile. 
 
 *^ My own father did." 
 
 '* Ah ! he was not a hard man, I know. 
 Let us see : Surrey Theatre, October ist — oh, 
 that is last week's bill. HaymarJcet, Satur- 
 day, October StJi, 1842 — that's to-night — 
 ' Alma Mater. ^ ^ Sir Samuel Sarcasm — Mr. 
 Farren ; Widow Venture — Mrs. Glover.' 
 Eleventh time of Grandfather Whitehead! 
 Shall we go ? '^ 
 
 I hesitated. The spectre of Mr. Bowden 
 seemed to pass before my eyes and make a 
 threatening gesture. The Play ! the sink of 
 abomination and vice, as Mr. Bowden would 
 have called it — ^that place at the mention of 
 which my mother had always turned up her 
 eyes and shaken her dear head, the fair target at 
 which every Puritan from the days of William 
 Prynne had fired a shot. It was with a 
 strange sinking at the heart that I ansAvered, 
 "I think I should like to go, if it's not 
 wrong."
 
 234 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 Mr. Markingham favored me with his 
 dry laugh. 
 
 " Wrong ! The stage warns, counsels, holds 
 the mirror up to nature, and teaches us our 
 lessons of humanity pleasantly, which is not 
 a virtue common to teaching in general." 
 
 "" You are your own master — is the shadow 
 of the parson to frighten you now, lad ? " 
 
 '' No." 
 
 ^^You haven't left him behind, and yet 
 brought his starched notions to London with 
 you ? " continued the tempter. 
 
 "No— I'll go." 
 
 I do not believe that there was anything 
 wrong in my decision ; pious people would 
 have told me it was my first step downwards ; 
 friends with more liberal minds would not 
 have seen the harm in it. Mr. Markingham, 
 a scholar, a thinker, and philosopher, had said 
 the stage teaches, warns, and counsels, and 
 men more clever than he have endorsed that 
 opinion. Much has been written for and 
 against the stage, and will be written till 
 there are no more actors to strut their mimic
 
 WOODLEIGH. . 235 
 
 hour, — till the lights are turned out for 
 ever. 
 
 Still my heart did sink as my companion 
 pointed to the bills with his stick and said — 
 '' Take your choice ; '' and a slight suspicion 
 crossed my mind that the philosopher by my 
 side was not exactly a fit companion for a 
 young, thoughtless, and impressionable lad. 
 
 He might be a clever and a good- 
 hearted man — Mr. Bowden was both, and 
 yet he had ruined my temper with undue 
 severity. Was this easy freethinker, and Mr. 
 Bowden' s very antithesis, to take the opposite 
 side and help to ruin me too ? 
 
 " Now which is it to be ? " said Mr. Mark- 
 ingham, '^ The Olymjyic and the ^ Artful 
 Dodger,'' the Adeljohi and ' Tlie Owl Sisters, 
 or the Haunted Abbey?' — " 
 
 " I think I should like that ! " I interrupted 
 eagerly. 
 
 ^^ Ah ! striking name, is it not?" remarked 
 Mr. Markingham ; " but if we are going 
 to the theatre on instructive principles, or 
 to have our minds expanded, I doubt if 
 the ' Owl Sisters,' although I have no ob-
 
 236 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 jection to the company of ladies, is the exact 
 thing for us. Neither," with a glance at the 
 bills again, ^' is Mr. Paul Bedford as Norma 
 an edifying sight, though rather amusing for 
 the first two minutes. Here's Covent Garden 
 and Adelaide Kemble as Semir amide, and 
 here is Old Drury — ah ! we'll go to Drury 
 Lane, and see Macready in 'As you like it J 
 Are you agreeable ? '^ 
 
 '^ Yes." 
 
 ^' My philosophy tells me I can see very 
 well in the gallery, and as it is the cheapest 
 part of the house, and we have no friends 
 to disgust with our low tastes, why, I think 
 it will suit both us and our pockets. Quick 
 march, Woodleigh junior, we are late." 
 
 Mr. Markingham put his long legs to their 
 proper use that evening, and we made for 
 Drury Lane Theatre in dashing style. Mr. 
 Markingham, 1 soon discovered, was a con- 
 stant play-goer ; he knew something about 
 every play, ancient and modern, that had 
 ever been written ; he knew stories of actors 
 and actresses, and all the scandal about them, 
 from Betterton and Mrs. Barry's time down-
 
 WOODLEIGH. 237 
 
 wards, and he communicated, during our 
 walk, a few of his liveliest anecdotes, at which 
 I laughed out of compliment, though the 
 point of the joke seemed rather a dull one. 
 
 We were before the gallery door of Drury 
 Lane Theatre at last. It was not yet open, 
 and there was a crowd half across the street 
 — a densely packed crowd — at the very sight 
 of which I shuddered. Mr. Markingham and 
 I took our posts at the back, and other 
 pleasure-seekers came and stood beside us 
 and around us, hemming us in their midst, 
 and making respiration a task of some diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 '' This is rather a large crowd, is it not ? " 
 I asked of my companion. 
 
 ^^ There w^as a larger this day week, when 
 the house opened for the season. Keep your 
 arms down now and go with the tide — they 
 are unfastening the doors." 
 
 The doors opened, and a grand rush towards 
 them followed. I did keep my arms down, 
 for there was no possibility of getting them 
 up, and I certainly went with the tide — 
 rather fast too, and in rather a confused
 
 238 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 manner. Never-to-be-forgotten Saturday- 
 night, when I made my first step from 
 Methodism, and went to Drury Lane Theatre 
 with Mr. Markingham. Never-to-be-forgotten 
 crowd of the lower orders, pushing, strug- 
 gling, fighting, swearing, as it made for the 
 crooked gallery stairs, bearing me with it, 
 driving sharp elbows into my side, smashing 
 my feet, pressing the breath out of my body, 
 tearing my collar, jamming me against hard 
 corners, and squeezing me out of all natural 
 proportion. 
 
 I was almost insensible when the money- 
 taker's box was passed, and Mr. Markingham 
 and I were on the stone staircase. 
 
 " Oh ! I'm so ill." 
 
 " You'll be better when you are in the 
 gallery," said Markingham, passing his arm 
 through mine, and trotting me up the stairs ; 
 ^^look sharp!" 
 
 In the crowded gallery at last, perched on 
 a back seat, with a sloping field of heads 
 before me, a deafening noise in my ears, and 
 a swimming in my eyes. It was ten minutes 
 before I was able to look round me satis-
 
 WOODLEIGH. 239 
 
 factorilj, and to inform Mr. Markingliam that 
 " I was better now." 
 
 ^^ It's a hard struggle on grand nights/' 
 said he ; ^^ I have been nearly mangled to 
 death in my time. It would not be philosophy 
 to fight one's way to the top shelf here, if 
 there were plenty of money in the p\irse — 
 heigho ! " 
 
 " I don't think I shall come very often." 
 " Wait till you can come in style — opera- 
 glass, Avhite kids, and bouquets for the ladies ; 
 I have done all that in ^ auld lang syne,' and 
 w^as not half so happy. Pooh ! how warm it 
 is ; philosophy says the removal of the upper 
 garment would moderate the heat of the 
 body, and here are plenty of gentlemen in 
 shirt-sleeves to set us an example ; but 
 somehow I cannot fancy that, even noiv T 
 
 When the curtain was drawn up, I forgot all 
 my regrets — all about mother, step-father, and 
 the Methodists. I sat entranced by Marking- 
 ham's side, and gazed at the new world before 
 me, and thought what a fine thing it was 
 to be an actor and wear such very smart 
 clothes.
 
 24.0 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 Grand plaj-house times they were in those 
 days — old play-goers may well mourn them. 
 Grand assemblage of stars that Saturday 
 night in Shakespere's immortal comedy — stars 
 which have long since wandered from their 
 orbits and gone various ways; some to private 
 life, some far away across seas, some to stage 
 business for themselves, many to their journey's 
 end and the last scene of all ! 
 
 How strong the spell grew, as act after act 
 passed away. Well that the stage is some- 
 times a moral teacher, for great is the attrac- 
 tion and charm there ; better still if it had 
 always in view the lessons it might teach, and 
 the follies it might disperse. 
 
 I forgot Mr. Markingham, forgot every- 
 thing but WiUiam the Immortal. When the 
 curtain was drawn up, I was far gone in ^' As 
 You Like It " (and I did like it exceedingly) ; 
 when the act- drop was down, I was calculating 
 when I should be able to come to Drury 
 Lane again, and be nearly jammed to death 
 on the gallery stairs. But all things have an 
 end : the play was over, the last words were 
 spoken, the curtain fell, Macready and Mrs.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 241 
 
 Nisbett had responded to the general call of 
 ^ the house/ and Mr. Markingham was shak- 
 ing me by the arm. 
 
 " Are you ready ? " 
 
 " Is it ALL over ? " 
 
 " There is nothing worth waiting for. 
 Some vaudeville comedy or other, which is not 
 deserving the attention of sensible fellows like 
 us." 
 
 " I am ready." 
 
 Ten minutes afterwards we were in the 
 cool streets, and two hours had not passed 
 before I was in my bed in the three-pair 
 back, dreaming of "As You Like It " over 
 again, with Mr. Markingham on my right 
 hand, and Mr. Bowden on the left, applauding 
 everything. 
 
 Thus ended my first day in London, and 
 thus began my career therein. 
 
 Was I beginning my new life weU or badly? 
 Had aU things turned out for the best ? Was 
 London a good exchange for Nettleton, 
 Stephen Markingham for Jacob Bowden ? 
 
 Time, that answereth all questions and 
 solveth all mysteries, was to decide ; the 
 
 VOL. L R
 
 242 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 hand of the runaway could not draw aside the 
 curtain which hid the future from view. 
 There were new friends at my side, new faces 
 to meet, new studies to begin everything that 
 was old and had been tried in the past I had 
 abjured. 
 
 It would be a hard life of mine, that 
 new one ; there would be much to put up 
 with, much of evil to fight against, many 
 troubles and temptations to withstand, or 
 succumb to, before the sun rose on my for- 
 tunes, or my fortunes led to that darkness 
 which no sun ever pierced.
 
 243 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TWO TEARS. 
 
 I DESIGN this chapter as a record of two years. 
 Two years devoid of interest to him who dips 
 idly into books, or seeks but excitement from 
 their pages, — years which helped to form my 
 character, and passed by more quickly than 
 any that succeeded. 
 
 For that period of time I retained my place 
 at uncle Woodleigh's, not without difficulty, 
 and not altogether with satisfaction to myself 
 My old tempers, my obstinacy, my fits of petu- 
 lance, the secret envy at the bottom of my 
 heart, were all enemies I had to fight with, 
 and to keep from troubling others. 
 
 r2
 
 244 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 The earliest evidence I afforded uncle 
 Woodleigh and his son of my excitable tem- 
 perament was in a regular stand-up fight with 
 Mr. Watkinson the clerk, about six m:nths after 
 my first appearance in the counting-house. Mr. 
 Watkinson was of an overbearing disposition, 
 and a perfect specimen of the jack-in-office. 
 If he had only been a Somerset-House clerk, 
 what a fine opportunity he would have had to 
 distinguish himself! Mr. Watkinson was a 
 young man full of objections ; — he had long 
 since objected to my presence in the office, to 
 my looking after the interests of my employer, 
 to my being sharp at ^^the books," to my 
 pointing out a few errors in names, places, and 
 dates on the order-list, to cousin Upton con- 
 versing with me at times, — he had objected to 
 so many things, and in so rude and tyrannical a 
 manner, that at last forgetting our difference 
 of age and the respect due to office-hours, 
 and furthermore aggravated by his pulling 
 my hair and calling me "a sneaking young 
 humbug," I made a rush at him, and had 
 it out at once. Mr. Watkinson was a 
 weak young man for his age, and I was
 
 WOODLEIGH. 245 
 
 nearly his match. He was rather fright- 
 ened at my desperate onset, but he gathered 
 courage after two lively rounds, and we were 
 in the midst of a sharp encounter, with the 
 ledger, pens, and inkstand on the floor, and 
 one office-stool in the fire-place, when Mr. 
 Woodleigh rushed into the counting-house. 
 
 Mr. Woodleigh, who was a hasty man, as 
 well as a man of business, gave us both a 
 week's warning on the spot ; but cooling down 
 next day, condescended to inquire into the 
 origin of the quarrel. 
 
 Mr. Watkinson made his statement, and I 
 made mine. Mr. Watkinson, who was of a 
 mendacious turn of mind, told so many false- 
 hoods — (he had informed me on the day of 
 our first meeting that Mr. Woodleigh lived at 
 Grove House, Tottenham, instead of Grove 
 House, Paddington) — that my plain statement 
 of the facts was quite a virtuous defence in 
 contrast ; and so Mr. Watkinson went his 
 way, and I remained. It was singular that 
 that incident, which had threatened to turn 
 out so badly, was the means of starting me in 
 life with better prospects. Alone in the office
 
 246 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 after Mr. Watkinson's dismissal, I did that 
 gentleman's work whilst Mr. Woodleigh was 
 advertising for a clerk. Alone, with no one 
 to cross me, and not quite a dunce (thanks to 
 Mr. Bowden), I fulfilled my responsible duties 
 to the satisfaction of uncle i and cousin, — so 
 much to their satisfaction, that Upton sug- 
 gested I should be kept at the work a few 
 weeks longer. 
 
 In those few weeks I did my best, being 
 quick enough to see that my position might 
 be benefited thereby. I worked hard and 
 earnestly, and the result was that I became 
 office-clerk in uncle Woodleigh's service, with 
 a salary of twenty-five shillmgs a-week, and a 
 prospect of an early increase. 
 
 I did not save a great deal of money out of 
 my income, — I was never of a saving turn. 
 I increased my stock of clothes, became ex- 
 travagant in neckties, went more frequently 
 to the play, — spent my money as became a 
 gentleman. 
 
 My acquaintance with my relations did not 
 improve in those two years ; they kept me at 
 a distance, and though I made no si'^n, I felt the
 
 WOODLEIGH. 247 
 
 slight acutely. It seemed to me very strange 
 and unnatural that my uncle and cousins 
 should think themselves too grand for me, 
 should almost forget that I was a relation at 
 all. Probably my uncle did forget it ; his soul 
 was in his business, and he had too much upon 
 his mind to think of the nephew in his 
 counting-house. From six in the morning to 
 six at night he was always raving mad with 
 excitement, rushing about the yard, shouting 
 at the men, swearing at them occasionally, 
 driving in cabs from one railway terminus to 
 another, worrying himself and all nervous 
 persons in his employ to perfect skeletons. 
 Cousin Upton had a great many of his father's 
 traits in his character, — he was as shrewd and 
 quick, and was certainly a better man of busi- 
 ness ; he took things coolly, made a less num- 
 ber of mistakes, and was more clever with his 
 pen. He was kind to me in his way, too ; he 
 did not patronize me, or I should have given 
 warning, or flung the account-books at him, 
 and he called me cousin sometimes. Once or 
 twice, after I had become clerk in the office, he 
 said ; —
 
 248 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " We must have you up at Paddington when 
 my brother comes home from college and my 
 mother and sisters return from their travels/' 
 
 But either they never came home, or their 
 arrival did not remind him of his promise, for 
 the remainder of the two years, of which this 
 chapter is a retrospect, passed without an in- 
 vitation. 
 
 My acquaintance with Mr. Stephen Marking- 
 ham had made great progress during those 
 two years — we had become the best of friends. 
 Still there was one thing to dislike in Mr. 
 Markingham, and that was the ^ Diogenes 
 humor' which he had mentioned on the 
 evening I first called at Barker Street. 
 When that attacked him he was a disagreeable 
 being, a cold, sarcastic, ill-tempered man, who 
 found fault with everything, and sneered at 
 everything that was good and virtuous. I 
 had been once or twice during those two years 
 the object of his bitter attacks, and had 
 rushed out of his room, vowing to cross the 
 threshold no more ; but his humor seldom 
 lasted long, and his gracious manner after the 
 fit was over soon wore off the effect.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 249 
 
 He was attached to me, he took some pains 
 to teach me a little of his general knowledge, 
 and he became partial to chess and cribbage on 
 a winter's evening. He was a strange man ; he 
 appeared to have no friends, he never talked of 
 his relations, and he lived up to the very last 
 penny of his income, which he made no secret 
 of confessing to be exactly ninety pounds per 
 annum, a sum that he divided into exactly 
 fifty-two portions, and spent one every week. 
 Sunday was his grand day for excursions into 
 the country, and Sunday at first was my day 
 for attending divine service at a little Metho- 
 dist chapel in the neighbourhood. But Mr. 
 Markingham's bad example soon affected me ; 
 the chapel became irregularly attended, and I 
 sometimes found the excursions into the 
 country with Mr. Markingham an agreeable 
 change. Sunday evenings, too, when Mr. 
 Markingham was absent, were my time for 
 strolling full dressed into the parks, and 
 looking after the girls, as became a youth nearly 
 seventeen years of age, who had taken to a 
 frock-coat and a stand-up collar, which hurt his 
 ears. My two years had seen a change in
 
 250 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 my position ; I was getting on in the world, my 
 salary was rising, — not that it mattered much, 
 for I spent all my money, — and the three-pair 
 back had been exchanged for the room ad- 
 joining Mr. Markingham's. 
 
 And in the two years of that life which 
 drifted by so quietly, which I took so calmly 
 and profited in so little, what of the friends I 
 had deserted ? I had written to my mother 
 again, telling her my address, of the kind- 
 ness of my uncle, of my situation, and of the 
 new friend I had made, and she had answered 
 me in a long letter of four pages, crossed and 
 recrossed, and nearly undecipherable. Her 
 letter was full of regrets and forgiveness for 
 my late conduct ; full of prayers, too, that I 
 would strive to be good, to deserve my uncle's 
 kindness, and to resist every temptation to 
 folly and wickedness. She mentioned Mr. 
 Bowden, told me that he mourned over my 
 obduracy, and regretted that I had not spoken 
 of earning my own living, in lieu of leaving 
 home and my best friends in so reckless a man- 
 ner. My mother did not ask me to re 'urn ; she 
 knew my nature too well to think I would
 
 WOODLEIGH. 251 
 
 consent, and perhaps Mr. Bowden thought a 
 little buffeting with the world would bring me 
 to my senses. 
 
 My mother and I corresponded frequently 
 after that letter (I had not left off loving my 
 mother because I had deserted her), and I 
 received all the news of Nettleton in exchange 
 for my little confidential notes. 
 
 At the end of those two years my mother 
 came to see me. It was an autumn evening ; 
 my philosophical friend and I had the chess- 
 board between us at the window, for the ad- 
 vantage of the little daylight left, when my 
 mother came panting up the stairs. The door 
 of the room was open, and she halted on the 
 threshold, looked in, and, after an effort to 
 recover her breath, asked which was Mr. 
 Woodleigh's room. 
 
 I jumped from my seat, and upset the 
 chess-board and men into Mr. Markingham's 
 lap — that dear, old, well-known voice ! 
 
 "What, mother!" 
 
 The buxom figure in the doorway started, 
 the rosy color on the cheeks vanished, the 
 basket in the hand was dropped, there was a
 
 252 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 short gurgling sob, and then my mother was 
 in my arms. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! Eobert, it is you then," my mother 
 cried. ^^ My dear, dear boy, I am so glad to 
 see you ! " 
 
 I turned away my head, I stared over my 
 shoulder at the doorway, I looked upon the 
 well-remembered pattern of the straw bonnet 
 and brown ribbons, I glanced askance at Mr. 
 Markingham, but I could not keep the tears 
 away, they brimmed over and went rolling 
 down my cheeks. Poor mother ! how she 
 sobbed, and yet how happy she was, with the 
 runaway pressed to her bosom as tightly as if 
 she never meant to let him go again. No re- 
 proaches, no talk of my old misdeeds — which 
 were stabbing me to the heart then — nothing 
 but delight at seeing me ! 
 
 She released me at last, dropped into the 
 first vacant chair, and, holding my hand in 
 hers, looked at me from out her swimming 
 eyes. 
 
 " I should have hardly known you, 
 Robert," she said, her voice still trembling ; 
 ^^you have so altered, grown so tall, so, 
 so—"
 
 WOODLEIGH. 253 
 
 *' Good-looking, ma'am," suggested Mr. 
 Markingham. 
 
 ^^ Yes, sir, exactly," responded my 
 mother, turning to my friend ; ^* he has im- 
 proved, and he is good-looking — very ! His 
 poor father said he would be, when he was 
 quite a baby." 
 
 " What nonsense ! " said I, coloring. 
 
 "Oh ! he knows it well enough, Mrs. Wood- 
 leigh ; you should see him at the looking- 
 glass every morning, it's painful." 
 
 " And you, sir, I presume, are Mr. Mark- 
 ingham ? " 
 
 "At your service, ma'am," with a courteous 
 bow. 
 
 " I hope you do not find my Eobert trouble- 
 some, sir. He's a very good boy — so docile, 
 so easy to manage, so — oh ! dear me, I for- 
 got." 
 
 My mother's blank look caused Mr. Mark- 
 ingham to stare intently into Barker Street. 
 
 " And what is the news down at Nettleton, 
 mother ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well, my dear boy, there's a great deal of 
 news, I hardly know where to begin. We've
 
 254 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 had a new pulpit in the chapel — walnut-wood, 
 my dear — presented to your father by the 
 congregation." 
 
 ^' How very kind ! " 
 
 ^^And old Mrs. Arrow is dead, and Tom 
 will come into all her money when he is ot 
 age — poor rackety lad ! what ducks and 
 drakes he will make of it." 
 
 '' How is he ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't know, Robert. I believe he 
 has left Nettleton and come to London. Oh ! 
 my dear boy, I hope he will not find you 
 ou.^" 
 
 "• And the Heberdeens, mother ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Heberdeen is very ill, and not ex- 
 pected to live one day after another, poor 
 lady, and — good gracious." 
 
 Mr. Markingham, who had replaced the 
 chess-board and men on the table, sud- 
 denly knocked them over again, and sprung to 
 his feet. 
 
 ^^ Your pardon, madam ; this room is very 
 hot to-night, and — and I fear I am intruding 
 upon this happy meeting of mother and son. 
 Eobert, don't think of going — pray remain
 
 WOODLETGH. 255 
 
 here ; your own room is very small. I shall 
 not be back till late. Good evening." 
 
 Mr. Markingham was gone. 
 
 " What a singular man ! " exclaimed my 
 mother. 
 
 " A good man, mother." 
 
 " Eather abrupt, I think ; but very kind of 
 him to leave us to ourselves. But now tell me 
 of your uncle and cousins ; I am very anxious 
 to know all about them, and as I must 
 go back to-morrow morning by the first train, 
 we have not a minute to spare, dear. Your 
 landlady has a vacant bed for me, so I shall 
 not have to run about any more to-night." 
 
 I told her all I knew concerning my rela- 
 tions, and my mother was quite surprised to 
 hear that I was not asked every Sunday 
 to my uncle's ; and, had time permitted, 
 would probably have gone with me to busi- 
 ness in the morning to enquire the reason. 
 
 After the news had been exhausted on both 
 sides, Mrs. Bants brought in lights and my 
 mother's basket, which had been dropped on 
 the landing in the first moment of recognition. 
 
 When Mrs. Bants had retired, my mother
 
 256 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 opened the basket and covered the table with 
 packages. 
 
 " There's some tea, dear, and here's a pot 
 of jam — you were fond of my red currant 
 jam once, Robert — and this is your congre- 
 tional hymn-book, which you forgot to take 
 away with you ; and these," taking up a large 
 packet, and laying it down again, " are some 
 books which your father has selected for your 
 perusal, and that," indicating large packet 
 No. 2, '^ is the^ Grooks pills you asked for in 
 your last letter." 
 
 '* I asked for, mother ? " 
 
 '' Well, perhaps I mentioned it myself in 
 my last letter — it's of no consequence, my 
 dear. Here they are, and I hope you won't 
 neglect them." 
 
 The evening passed away, and the morning 
 hurried my mother back to Nettleton, whither 
 she went with a great Ipad off her heart. She 
 had found me well, in what she considered 
 good hands, and with a prospect of getting on 
 in the world ; therefore, her long-looked for 
 journey to London had done her a vast 
 amount of good.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 257 
 
 *^ Keep steady, my darling boy — don't 
 spend all your money ; go regularly to 
 chapel, and read a little of your Bible every 
 day — now do ! " 
 
 So, with these last injunctions, accompanied 
 by fifty kisses and a hundred blessings, mother 
 and son parted once more. 
 
 So the two years came to an end, and the 
 circle of my acquaintance widened not. 
 Stephen Markingham, the philosopher, was 
 my home companion, as in the beginning of 
 that era, and uncle Woodleigh and cousin 
 Upton were the only relations whom I had 
 seen since I had entered their service. Had 
 my aunt and cousins returned from their tour 
 on the continent, and was it their pride, their 
 wish, that kept the doors of Grove House 
 barred against me ? — kept me to the wearisome 
 desk-work, the long rows of figures, the 
 strange morbid thoughts that sometimes per- 
 plexed me? Thoughts of the world before 
 me, and whether it were to be always the 
 same dull, quiet, lead-colored world ; of the 
 life beyond, whether it were to be the same 
 still and methodical life, — to run on for ever 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 in one uneventful channel, with nothing to 
 unsettle it or direct it from its course ? 
 
 But the still waters were running deep, and 
 bearing me on to new hopes and new cares. 
 
 END OF THE THIRD BOOK.
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 " Some say, Love, 
 Foolish Love, 
 
 Doth rule and govern all the Gods : 
 I say Love, 
 Inconstant Love, 
 
 Sets men's senses far at odds." 
 
 Egbert Greene. 
 
 " Mai. May it beseeme a wise man to be in love ? 
 Free. Let wise men alone, t'will beseeme thee, and me 
 well enough." 
 
 John Makston. 
 
 s2
 
 261 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 COUSINS. 
 
 January, 1845. A bright wintry morning. 
 A fire burning cheerfully in the counting- 
 house of James Woodleigh, railway car- 
 rier ; a clock in the corner ticking its way to 
 eleven ; a clerk, one Robert Woodleigh, late of 
 Nettleton, at his post on the long-legged stool 
 before the desk and account-books. 
 
 I, Robert Woodleigh, had the counting- 
 house, long-legged stool, desk, and account- 
 books all to myself, Mr. Woodleigh, senior, 
 having started into the country in search of 
 another contract, cousin Upton being at the 
 railway station, and the new office boy, who
 
 262 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 had been sent post-haste with a letter, 
 enjoying himself in the next street with a 
 tribe of ragamuffins and a Punch and 
 Judy. 
 
 I was not in working humor that morning ; 
 the weather was cold, the long-legged stool 
 was some yards from the fire-place, and uncle 
 and cousin were not there to overlook me. I 
 put my pen behind my ear, insinuated my 
 hands into my pockets, and fell into a brown 
 study, from which it took two taps on the 
 office door to arouse me — the last a smart one, 
 the person without having evidently become 
 impatient. 
 
 " Come in.— Hollo ! '' 
 
 The last exclamation escaped me before I 
 had time to recover my surprise. 
 
 " Is Mr. Upton Woodleigh within? " 
 
 The new comer was a lady of about the 
 middle height, a lady with a prominent fore- 
 head, beneath which shone a pair of large and 
 lustrous eyes. A young lady who was thin 
 and pale, and yet, somehow, pretty ; not a lady 
 with a belle-of-the-season face, but still one to 
 be struck with at first sight, and — to pick to
 
 WOODLEIGH. 263 
 
 pieces afterwards ! There was not a perfect 
 feature within the little velvet bonnet — the 
 eyes were too large, too disproportionate, the 
 nose was small and sharp, and the lips were 
 thin and of a vixenly closeness that suggested 
 suspicions of a small amount of amiability, or 
 a large amount of decision, firmness, obstinacy, 
 — whichever you like, my dear lady-readers, I 
 believe it is all the same. 
 
 She gave a quick glance round the counting- 
 house and changed her question. 
 
 '^ Will it be long before Mr. Upton 
 returns ? " 
 
 The lady was rather abrupt, and my dignity 
 was ruffled in consequence. I was quite a 
 young man — eighteen next November, and it 
 would not have taken a great deal more 
 time to have added, '^ Sir," to question No. 
 2! 
 
 " Mr. Upton, I believe, will not be long, 
 Miss. Will you call again, or will you — 
 ahem?" 
 
 I was about to add, 'Hake a chair," but 
 remembering there was but Upton's office 
 stool to offer her, four feet high at least,
 
 264 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 I stopped the suggestion by a cough before 
 I had committed myself. 
 
 *^ There is no occasion for us to call again — I 
 think it will be better to wait. You say he 
 will not be long ? '' 
 
 '^ He said he would return before eleven, 
 Miss," I replied. 
 
 " Then I think we'll wait." 
 
 " We ! " What did she mean by " we ? " 
 AVas she the editor of a magazine, or a new 
 partner introduced into the firm ? Whilst 
 considering these questions, the strange lady 
 solved the mystery by re-opening the office 
 door and addressing some person or persons 
 outside. 
 
 " He's not within." 
 
 *^ Oh, dear ! how disappointing," answered a 
 soft musical voice — a voice that set me listen- 
 ing attentively. 
 
 '^ The clerk tells me he promised to return 
 before eleven." 
 
 " Then we'll come in and wait." 
 
 There was some laughing, whispering, a 
 rustling of dresses ; the lady with whom I had 
 exchanged a few words stepped aside to allow
 
 WOODLEIGH. 265 
 
 ingress to two more ladies — both young, both 
 pretty, both cosily wrapped in furs as a pre- 
 ventative against the January frosts. I 
 caught myself sliding off the long-legged stool, 
 and bowing this influx of fair faces into the 
 office. I felt my cheeks flushing and my ears 
 tingling, and was conscious of a strong sensa- 
 tion of choking in the throat. 
 
 The two last comers were my cousins ; 
 I was sure of it, although time had 
 made young women of them, and altered 
 every feature since I had seen them last. I 
 knew them both in an instant — which was 
 Caroline and which was Constance. Caroline 
 was the tall one, with the fair hair and the 
 Upton Woodleigh look, and she with the hair 
 a shade more dark, yet fair-haired also — she 
 with the ringlets, the laughing blue eyes, the 
 peach bloom on the cheeks, was Constance — 
 Constance the sunny face, as her doting father 
 used to call her nine years ago. I wondered 
 if he ever called her *' Sunny-face" now, suppos- 
 ing his business allowed him time to call her 
 anything ? 
 
 My position was becoming embarrassing;
 
 266 WOODLElGH. 
 
 my cousins did not know me. Uncle Wood- 
 leigh had probably not mentioned the re- 
 lationship between him and his clerk ; I was 
 a stranger to them — the ghost of a bow from 
 my cousins just acknowledged the existence of 
 some unimportant being in the vicinity, and 
 that was all. 
 
 The lady with the prominent forehead — 
 the first who had intruded upon the sacred 
 precincts of office — broke the silence by 
 addressing my cousins. 
 
 "I am afraid, ladies, you will have to 
 stand. ^' 
 
 '^ I am not tired," responded the elder 
 sister, and, ^^I could stand all day to 
 wait for dear old Upton," remarked my 
 cousin Constance. 
 
 Caroline Woodleigh was a sharp young 
 woman, and without a doubt had an eye to 
 her father's interests ; for, glancing at me, she 
 remarked : — 
 
 "I hope we are not hindering you from 
 business, young man." 
 
 '^ Oh, no ! not at all, thank you," said I, 
 mounting the office stool, and making a
 
 WOODLEIGH. 267 
 
 savage scratch with my pen. I was an ill- 
 tempered, foolish fellow, and actually angry 
 with my cousins for not knowing me ! 
 Perhaps they did know me? That was a 
 thought which checked me in a preliminary 
 flourish, and set my teeth grinding away like 
 millstones. If I could be only sure that they 
 had recognized me, and were showing off 
 their airs of superiority over their poor rela- 
 tion, I would get off my office stool, and 
 leave them alone in their glory. I began to 
 make very fierce down-strokes, and to scowl 
 ferociously at the ledger. Meanwhile, the 
 ladies conversed in a low tone. 
 
 *^How surprised Upton will be,'' said 
 Constance ; " and how delighted to see us 
 again. Oh ! I hope he will not be long ! " 
 
 *' It is nearly eleven now," said Caroline, 
 looking at the clock over the mantel- 
 piece. 
 
 '^Perhaps he will not know us," cried 
 Constance, with a merry little laugh. " Do 
 you think two years travelling have altered 
 us very much. Miss Bowden." 
 
 Bowden ! I twirled round on my stool
 
 268 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 and looked at the lady addressed. Bowden, 
 Bowden ! Could it really be his daughter ? 
 There was a likeness — that prominent fore- 
 head was suspicious. Oh, yes ! there was the 
 Bowden look. She was the lost daughter of 
 my Methodist step-father ! 
 
 The large eyes met mine, and made me 
 flinch. Such a steady, searching, I-wonder- 
 at-your-impudence look ! 
 
 " Did you speak, sir ? '^ she asked, quietly. 
 
 "No, mum — miss.'' 
 
 I twirled back to my original position, 
 and wrote in the ledger "January 14th. 
 Delivered to Miss Bowden, two tons of pig- 
 iron ! " 
 
 " I am sure we are disturbing this young 
 man," suggested my eldest cousin. " I think 
 we had better wait for Upton at the gates, 
 Constance." 
 
 " Not disturbing me at all, Miss Woodleigh," 
 I muttered, over the ledger. 
 
 My cousins exchanged glances, and I heard 
 Constance whisper. " He knows we are 
 Upton's sisters. Carry." 
 
 " I suppose he thinks sisters have only a
 
 WOODLEIGH. 269 
 
 right to enter a brother's office in so uncere- 
 monious a manner/' was the answer. 
 
 They did not know me, then ; there was 
 some satisfaction in being convinced of that 
 fact, and I returned to my accounts with a 
 mind more at ease. 
 
 The clock ticked on, struck eleven, and no 
 Upton. The sisters stood and talked to Miss 
 Bowden and each other, criticized the office and 
 its furniture, criticized me, I believe, in a lower 
 tone, for there was a great deal of suppressed 
 laughter from cousin Constance. Although I 
 had affirmed that the presence of the ladies 
 was no hindrance to business, it was quite 
 evident that I was not getting on very 
 rapidly, and that the entries in the great 
 ledger were not so accurate as they might 
 have been. Three ladies, chatting in a study, 
 may give life and animation to the scene, but 
 are slightly calculated to disturb the ideas of 
 the student in the corner, especially when one 
 of the ladies is as full of vivacity as ^* sweet 
 seventeen " should be. 
 
 And she was very merry then, was Con- 
 stance Woodleigh ; life lay before her in the
 
 270 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 brightest of colors, and there was nothing 
 from her point of view to cast a shade over 
 the landscape. Pretty flower of home, 
 a favorite with father, mother, brothers, 
 and sisters ; health, wealth, and content to 
 surround her ; friends to love her and make 
 much of her, what was to stand before her in 
 the outset of life, and check her in that happy 
 spring time which comes once to us all ? 
 
 How light-hearted she was that day ; her 
 good spirits were quite contagious, and put 
 everybody in the best of tempers, and had 
 it not been for my bashfulness and my sense 
 of decorum in office-hours, I could have 
 jumped from my stool and run with extended 
 hands to my cousins to assert my relationship. 
 
 Upton Woodleigh arrived at ten minutes 
 past eleven ; he came in after his own and his 
 father's bustling manner, and had hung up his 
 hat and slipped off his great-coat before he 
 was conscious of the feminine invasion. 
 His face lighted up when he made the dis- 
 covery, and instantly his sisters were both in 
 his arms, in one delightful heap. 
 
 " Well, I'm so glad to see you, girls — I'm
 
 WOODLEIGH. 271 
 
 SO precious glad you are back again ! " said he, 
 kissing them ; ^^ two years have seemed like 
 twenty-two without you. How well you are 
 looking, Caroline — and Constance is grown 
 out of all knowledge — and how's mother? is 
 her health better ? " he asked, anxiously ; 
 ^* has all this travelling done her any good, 
 now ? " 
 
 ^* She is much better, Upton," replied 
 Caroline ; " she hopes you will leave business 
 to-day very early. We could hardly dissuade 
 her from accompanying us." 
 
 "ril leave at once. Eobert can manage 
 well enough. I'll run home directly." 
 
 He was out of his sister's arms and in his 
 great-coat and hat again with pantomimic 
 celerity. 
 
 " When will papa return ? " inquired Con- 
 stance. 
 
 " To-morrow. He went down to Bristol two 
 days earlier than he intended, in order to be 
 home by Thursday — you said we were to ex- 
 pect you on Thursday, "Constance." 
 
 "That was my stratagem," she answered, 
 with that musical, heart-thrilling laugh again.
 
 272 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 '^ I wished to come home and take you by 
 surprise." 
 
 '' How deceitful you are growing, Con- 
 stance," said Upton ; '^ what do you think, 
 Miss Bowden, is it quite right in a young 
 lady, seventeen next month, to play these 
 tricks and tell these stories ? When she was 
 under your tuition, with little Mary, you 
 would not have allowed such conduct, I am 
 sure." 
 
 Miss Bowden smiled in a grim manner that 
 reminded me of her father, and replied : 
 
 " Miss Clewly, I have no doubt, has paid 
 every attention to Miss Constance — she is a 
 lady in whom every confidence can be 
 placed." 
 
 This was taking a joke in a literal sense, 
 and as Miss Bowden looked grave and 
 pursed her hps, there was a slight appear- 
 ance of discomfiture on the face of Upton 
 Woodleigh. 
 
 ^' Oh ! of course," said he ; ^* I was only 
 joking, you know. I did not mean to cast 
 any reflections on Constance's governess — far 
 from it."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 273 
 
 " Mother's travelling-companion, you mean, 
 Upton, dear," Constance corrected. 
 
 ^^ Of course I mean that too," said Upton ; 
 *^what a many mistakes I am making this 
 morning, to be sure ! You are everything 
 that is elegant and accomplished by this time, 
 Constance, and quite out of the leading- 
 strings of the governesses of England ; who 
 can doubt it? Well, let us be off — look 
 sharp after the men, Rob — " 
 
 He stopped, glanced from me to his sisters, 
 scratched his head, and burst into a laugh. 
 
 " Don't you know ? " he said, turning to 
 his sisters. " Haven't you told them ? '' 
 wheeling round to me. 
 
 ^^Know what? " said the sisters Woodleigh, 
 and '^ No, I haven't, what was the good of it ?" 
 I answered. 
 
 " Did I not mention it in one of my letters, 
 Carry ? " asked Upton ; "I certainly in- 
 tended." 
 
 " Mentioned what ? " exclaimed Carry, 
 becoming impatient ; " how tiresome you 
 are !" 
 
 " That this young gentleman," pointing to 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 me, " is Mr. Kobert Woodleigh, from Nettleton, 
 a first cousin of ours, who has given up the 
 daisies for the hard London stones — Robert, 
 come off that stool and show yourself 
 
 I was soon shaking hands with my cousins, 
 and answering fifty questions about Nettleton, 
 my mother, and myself 
 
 " And why did you not tell us you were 
 cousin Eobert ? '^ asked Constance, after I 
 had replied to several of their questions, 
 and told them my mother was well and 
 married again. 
 
 "Well, I hardly know," I stammered; "I 
 thought it might frighten you. Miss Con- 
 stance, and I was not quite certain — " 
 
 " Of what ? '^ 
 
 " Whether you would be glad to see me ! " 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I don't know — it was only a silly thought 
 of mine. I am glad to find you have not for- 
 gotten me." 
 
 Caroline changed the subject by reverting 
 to her former questions. 
 
 "And so Aunt Woodleigh is married again 
 —to a gentleman ? "
 
 WOODLEIGH. 275 
 
 " To a minister — a Methodist." 
 
 Miss Bowden started. 
 
 ^* Oh, indeed ; I am glad to hear she has 
 made so good a match — what is his — why, my 
 dear Miss Bowden how pale you are ! " 
 
 " Am I ? " she answered, calmly. 
 
 "Do you feel faint?" 
 
 " No, Miss Woodleigh, I feel very well, 
 thank you. It's getting late ; your mother 
 will be anxious about us." 
 
 '^Perhaps this room is too warm for you 
 after the cold air? " said Constance. " Shall 
 we see about returning ? " 
 
 " Pray do not hurry on my account," coolly 
 replied Miss Bowden ; " you were about to 
 ask a question of your cousin — your aunt's 
 husband's name, I think. I believe, Mr. 
 Woodleigh," — turning to me — "the gentle- 
 man's name is Bowden ? " 
 
 " That is his name. Miss," I answered. 
 
 "I thought 1 was right — Mr. Bowden, a 
 relation of mine." 
 
 " How singular ! " exclaimed my female 
 cousins. 
 
 " Two years ago, I heard from strangers 
 
 T 2
 
 276 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 that he was married," said Miss Bowden ; 
 *^ but I had no idea the happy bride was 
 allied to friends of mine. Yes, Mr. Bow- 
 den is a relation, and a good and devout 
 man too." 
 
 ^^ Eather firm, perhaps," added Upton, 
 with a sly glance that assured me my 
 story of two years since was still remem- 
 bered. 
 
 " Yes, rather firm," I answered. 
 
 ^^And inclined to his own opinion, eh, 
 Robert ? " 
 
 '^Mr. Bowden is a relation of mine, Mr. 
 Upton," said Miss Bowden, with some 
 asperity ; ^' and I cannot think him the 
 most becoming subject for a jest in my 
 presence." 
 
 '' Ten thousand pardons," cried Upton. ^' I 
 would not hurt your feelings for the world ; 
 and I no more consider a good man a proper 
 subject for a jest than you do yourself. 
 Miss Bowden. I hope I have not pained 
 you?" 
 
 ^^No," with a forced smile; "I merely 
 called your attention to my proximity. Perhaps
 
 WOODLEIGH. 277 
 
 I am too particular, too captious — have 
 brought my governess airs out with me this 
 morning. I am ready, ladies/' 
 
 My cousins shook hands with me, Caroline 
 expressing her satisfaction at meeting me 
 again, Constance, who was younger and less self- 
 possessed, saying nothing but * good day,' and 
 Upton bestowing on me a friendly nod, and 
 adding, "Back again in the afternoon, Robert." 
 As for Miss Bowden, although I held the door 
 open for her, and said "good morning" in my 
 best manner, she drew herself up stiffly and 
 swept out of the office, without so much as a 
 bend of the head in my direction. 
 
 When they were gone, and I was alone 
 again, my old vicious discontented feelings 
 began to rise within me — my sense of slight to 
 become painfully acute. 
 
 "The old story," I muttered; "the poor 
 cousin is good enough to say ' good day ' to, 
 —to exchange a few silly words with about 
 the weather, my mother, or the old times; but 
 he is too low in the scale to be treated as a 
 friend and an equal. Every word they say, 
 and every act they do, implies T am the ser-
 
 278 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 vant, and our difference of position sinks the 
 ties of kindred." 
 
 Well, and if all that I was brooding over had 
 been true as gospel, would it have been a 
 fair subject to grumble at? Eich people are 
 never very fond of their poor relations, and it 
 is not one of the manners and customs of the 
 English to single them out, walk arm-in-arm 
 with them, introduce them to the circle of the 
 select. 
 
 Everybody well-to-do in the world has a 
 poor relation, and that relation is a lucky 
 fellow to get patronized at all, and an un- 
 grateful mortal to grow morbid and sarcastic 
 because the patronizer has had the start of 
 him up the greasy pole — that greasy, slippery 
 pole of life — and got the leg of mutton 
 first! 
 
 Bah ! that is a low comparison, worthy of a 
 young man fond of fire-works, fighting, and 
 Nettleton fair. 
 
 I was wrong in my calculations, however. 
 There was no pride in the Woodleighs ; they 
 had sprung from small beginnings, and, 
 mirabile dictUj had not forgotten the date of
 
 WOODLEIGH. 279 
 
 their rise ; they knew the value of money and 
 the position that money gave them, possibly ; 
 but a family less pretentious under the cir- 
 cumstances, I have never met with in my 
 experience of life. 
 
 When Upton returned in the afternoon, he 
 resolved all my doubts, set at rest all my 
 jealous scruples, by his very first speech. 
 
 " I say, Eobert, you are to come to Grove 
 House next Sunday, the girls will not listen to a 
 word of denial. Dick will be home on Sun- 
 day, too ; so it will be worth your while to 
 come to Paddington, now. Consider yourself 
 booked, old fellow." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " You will come ? " 
 
 " What is the good of troubling Grove 
 House with my presence, Upton? — Vm not 
 fit for grand society." 
 
 "Oh! you will be quite at home. You 
 will not find any of us of the stuck-up genus — 
 we are as matter-of-fact homely people as 
 ever we were." 
 
 " I'll come, then." 
 
 " We dine at four ; and if I should not
 
 280 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 mention it again, Eobert, don't take offence 
 and stop away.'' 
 
 " Business makes you forgetful/' said I, 
 drily. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " I certainly omitted to mention your name 
 to my mother and sisters in my letters, and 
 it was no good telling Miss Bowden, was 
 it?" 
 
 " No," I answered ; " and this Miss Bow- 
 den, is she a governess ? " 
 
 " She is little Mary's governess — was once 
 Constance's." 
 
 " Do you like her ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Upton, frankly, " though 
 she's a queer girl, rather fond of sulking 
 and taking offence, like, like — hanged if I 
 know whom she is like, unless it's cousin 
 Robert ! " 
 
 " Am I a sulky being, then ? " 
 
 " Sometimes ; and Miss Bowden is only 
 * sometimes,' of course," said Upton ; ^* she's 
 an eccentric girl, but nobody can help liking 
 her, or making her a favorite ; she's so 
 sharp, so clever, and so fond of little Mary.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 281 
 
 Miss Bowden has been housekeeper as well 
 as governess since ill health compelled my 
 mother to leave England, and a first-rate 
 manager she has been, upon my word. Still, 
 she has her faults, bumping ones, and if little 
 Mary did not like her better than mother, 
 father, or any of us, I think she would have 
 left Grove House long ago. However, we 
 begin to understand her now, and she's as 
 good-hearted a little spitfire as ever lived, 
 after all." 
 
 ^^ Who is Miss Clewly?'' 
 
 *^ She was Constance's governess abroad, 
 now she is mother's companion ; presently, she 
 will be nowhere on the establishment of the 
 Woodleighs, or I don't know Miss Amelia 
 Bowden." 
 
 ^andeed!" 
 
 "Two of a trade never agree, and Miss 
 B. will — but this is old woman's tattle ! 
 Whatever would the governor think of me — 
 his steady, business -loving boy, as he told 
 somebody once — gossipping and backbiting in 
 this outrageous style. Where's a pen, where's 
 that boy Jack, I wonder ? — here, hollo there,"
 
 282 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 flinging up the window and shouting to 
 the men across the yard — '^look alive with 
 that van, or you'll be too late for the train, 
 sleepy heads ! ''
 
 283 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 A FRIENDLY WARNING. 
 
 ^^ If I were you, friend Woodleigh, I should 
 decline the honor," observed Mr. Markingham, 
 after I had informed him of the invitation 
 which I had received for the ensuing Sun- 
 day. 
 
 Mr. Markingham was at home in attitude 
 on the sofa, his faded dressing-gown wrapped 
 round him, and the stem of his favorite 
 meerschaum pipe between his lips. 
 
 " Decline it, sir?" I repeated. 
 
 *^ There's not philosophy in accepting the 
 invitation," said he, " not philosophy in step-
 
 284 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 ping into a false position and making yourself 
 uncomfortable. Tradesmen, as these Wood- 
 leighs are, still they are above you, and 
 move in a sphere of which you know nothing. 
 You,'^ with one of his sneers, ^' are from the 
 country ! " 
 
 ^' Never mind that," I replied ; " I have a 
 friend who has mixed in first-rate society, 
 and he will give me a few lessons in manners 
 before I set forth." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Mr. Markingham ; " that 
 friend will consider your hint, which is not a 
 bad one. Have you made up your mind to 
 go?" 
 
 ^^Yes." 
 
 '^ Have you reflected that it is not in your 
 nature to take kindly to grand people, rela- 
 tions or no relations ? " he continued. 
 
 " I have not thought a great deal about it 
 
 yet." 
 
 " That your highness may become dissatis- 
 fied with your clerkship, with No. 2, Barker 
 Street, even with the gentleman in the two- 
 pair front ? " 
 
 ^^ Am I so discontented a being ? "
 
 WOODLEIGH. 285 
 
 ^^ All that is amiable and lovable, my dear 
 sir, at present," he answered. ^^ Still, discon- 
 tent may seize you, and that same discontent 
 is a man of the mountain that is not to be 
 shaken off in a hurry ! How many cousins 
 have you ? " 
 
 " Six/' 
 
 " A large tribe — what are their names, 
 Woodleigh ? " . 
 
 " Caroline, Constance, and Mary — Eichard, 
 Upton, and John." 
 
 Mr. Markingham took his pipe from his 
 lips and reflected for several moments. 
 
 " And how old is Caroline ? " he inquired 
 at last. 
 
 ^^ Twenty- three." 
 
 " And Mary and Constance ? " 
 
 " Mary was ten last December, and — " 
 
 " You are well up in their ages, Eobert — 
 but I interrupt you." 
 
 ^^ And Constance is seventeen next month." 
 
 " Ah ! take care of that cousin ! " 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 " Seventeen, and a first cousin — is she 
 pretty, Eobert ? "
 
 286 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 ".Yes— I think so/' 
 
 " The Humane Society ought to label her 
 ' Dangerous/ Now, Robert the reckless, will 
 you receive a little advice from — ahem — a 
 philosopher ? '' 
 
 " With pleasure." 
 
 " Make up your mind to regard that 
 young-lady cousin with the romantic name 
 -as something far above your reach. There 
 is a familiarity between cousins that 
 breeds ambitious hopes sometimes — prenez 
 garde r 
 
 " I am too young to fall in love," replied I, 
 with a laugh, "and," with that old frown of 
 mine, " I know my place well enough by 
 this time." 
 
 " Don't indulge in visionary ideas of making 
 a fortune and a name — of papa Woodleigh 
 giving you his blessing, patting you on the 
 back, and saying ' Take her, my boy — here's 
 fifty thousand pounds to begin the world 
 with!' — for there will come a waking from 
 the dream, and a papa Woodleigh kicking you 
 politely into the street." 
 
 Mr. Markingham did not refer again to the
 
 WOODLEIGH. 287 
 
 subject till the Sunday morning arrived and I 
 was ready to depart. 
 
 " You will do/' said he, after a critical sur- 
 vey of me, "and you might look a worse 
 specimen of humanity for a youth nineteen 
 next November." 
 
 " Eighteen next November." 
 
 " Only eighteen — how time crawls along, 
 don't it?" 
 
 " Rather slowly." 
 
 " Ah ! thoughtless youth in a hurry to get 
 on in the world says that — men, past the 
 Eubicon, cry ^ Oh Time, how swiftly you 
 bear us on to Eternity ! ' Ahem ! almost 
 poetical, that will not do for sober Philosophy. 
 So you are off? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " A pleasant day to you. I say — it's not a 
 dinner-party, is it ? " 
 
 "I hope not. What made you think of 
 anything so awful, Mr. Markingham ? " 
 
 "I don't know. I'm in a gloomy humor, 
 and there is a rush of forebodings coming 
 uppermost. You had better be off before I 
 throw a wet blanket over your hopes of enjoy-
 
 288 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 ment. Good day, and once again/'" with 
 mock solemnity, " take care of that cousin, 
 
 Woodleigh ! " 
 
 I was soon in the street, marching towards 
 Paddington. It was a fine day ; the sun 
 was shining and my spirits were light. I was 
 going to spend the day with my cousins, and 
 
 1 had always liked my cousins in my heart. I 
 should see Dick once more, and the twins who 
 were babies in arms when my mother went to 
 Nettleton, and Caroline, and Constance sur- 
 named the Sunny Face. 
 
 '^ Take care of that cousin ! " 
 
 Strange warning words of Stephen Marking- 
 ham, that were ringing in my ears all the 
 way to Paddington, that made me smile, too, 
 for I knew how foolish it would be for me to 
 fall in love — me, a clerk with a small salary, 
 a discontent, ^' a black sheep ! " 
 
 The Fates led me on, marched side by side 
 with me, winked at each other over my 
 shoulder as I strode onwards, gay and light- 
 hearted. 
 
 Looking back at the past, at that never for- 
 gotten Sunday from which dates many a folly.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 289 
 
 trouble and regret, I often wonder now how 
 the world would have treated me if I had 
 turned my back on Grove House, Paddington, 
 and gone another way ! 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 290 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GROVE HOUSE. 
 
 It was half-past three in the afternoon when 
 I was standing in the shadow of the im- 
 posing portico of Grove House, Paddington, 
 making up my mind to knock. Grove House 
 was a stylish edifice of modern build, that 
 came out strong in stucco-work and plate- 
 glass windows. There was a large garden 
 and carriage-drive before the house, and I had 
 walked slowly along the drive thinking of the 
 luck which falls in some people's way. Here 
 was uncle Woodleigh, not a clever man, not a 
 wonderful man for business, making money by 
 hundreds every week, and living like a gentle-
 
 WOODLEIGH. 291 
 
 man ; and, in poor lodgings, down a back street 
 in Chelsea, I had left behind a shrewd and clever 
 man, one who seemed to know everything, 
 and whose income was exactly ninety pounds per 
 annum. Still, Mr. Markingham was not a fliir 
 example to quote — he might have done better 
 had his philosophy of idleness allowed him ; 
 Mr. Bowden made a better contrast, for he 
 was a hard-worker and a clever man, too, 
 and yet how low down he was in the scale ! 
 
 Thinking of Mr. Bowden, it was somewhat 
 singular to be shown into a room in which 
 his daughter and a little girl were seated. 
 It was more singular still, considering Miss 
 Bowden's previous reserve, to find her bow- 
 ing graciously and smiling like an angel. 
 She had a peculiar smile, too ; so soft and 
 pleasing a one that, while it lasted, the 
 expression of the face was wholly changed. 
 " Good morning, Mr. Woodleigh." 
 *^ Good morning. Miss Bowden." 
 ^' Pray be seated ; your uncle will be here 
 in a moment." 
 
 After taking a seat, looking round the 
 room, admiring the pattern of the carpet, 
 
 u2
 
 292 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 struggling with some natural boyish confusion 
 of mine, I ventured to inquire if all my 
 cousins were well. 
 
 "• Quite well, thank you," said Miss Bowden 
 in reply ; '* they have not yet returned from 
 their walk." 
 
 I was growing more confused, Miss 
 Bowden seemed to look at me so steadfastly. 
 Yague suspicions began to torture me. Was 
 anything the matter? Had my collar come 
 undone, my neckerchief disarranged, or had 
 some London blacks settled on my shirt- 
 front ? 
 
 " Has Mr. Richard arrived ? " I asked, 
 after another long pause. 
 
 '' Yes — he," with a second smile, " is at 
 home — at least, I know nothing to the 
 contrary." 
 
 Survey of the room again. The pattern of 
 the carpet was rather large and showy, and 
 the portrait of Mr. Woodleigh opposite was 
 not a bit like him, it was much too flattering 
 about the nose. • 
 
 "Here is a little cousin of yours, Mr. 
 Woodleigh," said Miss Bowden, laying her
 
 WOODLEIGH. 293 
 
 hand on the dark curls of the child who clung 
 shyly to her skirt. '^ Mary, dear, go and 
 shake hands with your cousin Robert." 
 
 Mary advanced and I shook hands with her. 
 Mary hoped I was quite well, and I said 
 "yes, mum, miss," and then looked at the 
 portrait again, at the carpet, at the fire 
 burning brightly in the steel grate opposite. 
 
 " Shall I tell papa my cousin has come ? " I 
 heard her whisper to her governess. 
 
 " No, dear." 
 
 A moment after. Miss Bowden probably 
 withdrew her prohibition, for, after another 
 whisper, my cousin Mary, regarding me with 
 round staring eyes, sidled out of the room and 
 left me alone with Miss Bowden. The door 
 had hardly closed before Miss Bowden said 
 quickly : — 
 
 "He is well, I hope?" 
 
 "Who, Miss?" 
 
 " My — your step-father." 
 
 " I beg pardon, but I did not hear you 
 mention his name." 
 
 " Perhaps I did not mention it — he was in 
 my thoughts, however — is he well ? "
 
 294 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " Quite well, Miss Bowden, I believe." 
 
 She reflected a moment before she said in a 
 low tone : — 
 
 ^^ Are you aware of the nature of the re- 
 lationship between us ? " 
 
 '' Yes, Miss." 
 
 *^ Have you written to your mother — to him 
 lately?" 
 
 ^^No." 
 
 *^ Don't write a word concerning me to 
 him," she said, in a hurried, excited voice ; 
 '^\i can do no good, for we are better sepa- 
 rated. He thinks he can forget and forgive 
 the past, but its shadow would ever darken 
 our reunion." 
 
 "• He has always spoken kindly of you. 
 Miss Bowden — has always regretted — " 
 
 ^' Hush," she cried; '^ I know it, but I cannot 
 restore him peace, and I will keep away. 
 He is not alone now, and if your mother make 
 him a good wife, be only of a loving, obedient 
 nature, he is happy, and," she added bit- 
 terly, "I would not mar that happiness 
 with my presence ! " 
 
 ^' But—"
 
 WOODLEIGH. 295 
 
 "Were you happy with him, Mr. Wood- 
 leigh ? " she asked anxiously. 
 
 " No, Miss Bowden, I was not." 
 
 "You found him stern, harsh, unable to 
 appreciate your motives, inclined to put a 
 false construction on them, to — to — to — " she 
 repeated rapidly, "interdict your wishes, 
 hopes, ambitions, harmless though they were ; 
 because he, with his narrow mind, saw evil, 
 or the coming of evil, in them. To — " 
 she paused, her excitement suddenly vanished, 
 the smiles returned, and she was once more the 
 well-bred, self-possessed young lady ; " but I 
 am very foolish. What a time Mr. Wood- 
 leigh is ! " 
 
 "Yes, but—" 
 
 "Don't hesitate for my sake," she said 
 sharply; "you were about to speak of Mr. 
 Bowden again.'' 
 
 " Yes," replied I, the color mounting to my 
 face ; "I wished to say that although Mr. 
 Bowden was stern and harsh towards me, yet 
 it is but fair to add that I was generally in 
 the wrong, and I think now — though I would 
 not go back for all the world — that it was a
 
 296 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 foolish act of mine to run away from 
 home.'' 
 
 " You ran away ? " 
 
 ^'Yes — he," the color deepening on my 
 cheek, '^ struck me." 
 
 Miss Bowden looked thoughtfully at the 
 fire, and then at me, with an expression 
 of awakening interest in her full bright 
 eyes. 
 
 " We will not dwell longer upon the 
 subject," said Miss Bowden ; '^ it is a painful 
 one to me — to both of us. Your relations 
 are not aware Mr. Bowden is my father, 
 and I have not attempted to narrate a 
 painful history. May I once more ask 
 you not to mention my name in letters 
 home?" 
 
 Before I could reply, the door opened, and 
 uncle Woodleigh, hand-in-hand with his 
 daughter Mary, entered. 
 
 ^' How d'ye do, Robert, glad to see you," 
 he said, with his customary volubility ; ^' why 
 haven't you called before, you knew where we 
 lived ? Miss Bowden, have you seen anything 
 of the girls and Upton ? It's very silly of them
 
 WOODLEIGH. 297 
 
 to begin all manner of long walks just as 
 dinner is ready." 
 
 A knocking at the street-door came in as 
 accompaniment to this address. 
 
 " Oh ! here they are. Dear me/' rubbing 
 the back of his ear in a nervous manner, '' I 
 wonder how long Dick means to lie in bed? 
 We have got Dick home again for a little 
 whUe, Eobert," said he, his face brightening ; 
 " you will be glad to see him ; he's grown 
 such a fine fellow, and confound it," Avith an 
 irritable stamp of his foot, '^ he ought to 
 know we dine at four o'clock on Sundays, by 
 this time. Miss Bowden, will you be good 
 enough to see — I beg pardon, will you be 
 good enough to send some one upstairs to see 
 whether he is up yet. I wouldn't wait dinner 
 for Queen Victoria herself." 
 
 My cousins Caroline, Constance, and 
 Upton entered the room, and welcomed me to 
 Grove House. They were really glad to see 
 me, and I began to feel less embarrassed in the 
 midst of my relations. There was another 
 cousin made his appearance, however, and 
 rushed at me to confound me. My cousin
 
 298 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 Johnny, a red-faced, crop-haired little rascal, 
 with not one atom of reserve in his whole 
 disposition. His attack was rather startling 
 — he flung himself at me with extraordinary- 
 impetuosity, jumping on my feet and trying 
 to lift himself into my lap by the buttons of 
 my best coat. 
 
 " Johnny, sir, be quiet ! " cried Mr. Wood- 
 leigh. 
 
 '' He's m7/ cousin, isn't he — Upton told me 
 he was coming — I want to sit on his knee ! " 
 
 ^^You are too big to be nursed, sir," re- 
 monstrated Caroline. 
 
 ^^ No, I ain't," he bawled, " and you won't 
 mind, will you ? I want to ask all about 
 you, and where you come from, and what my 
 aunt's like." 
 
 I took him on my knee, with a sickly smile 
 at the assembled company, and felt there was 
 one cousin at least to whom I should never be 
 deeply attached ; he was a spoilt boy, a 
 horridly aggravating boy • I knew it the 
 moment after he had introduced himself to 
 my notice — when he was on my knee, trying 
 to wrench a neat little gold stud out of my
 
 WOODLEIGH. 299 
 
 shirt-front, in which operation he was 
 fortunately checked by the announcement of 
 dinner. 
 
 There was just a little ceremony in passing 
 into the dining-room, and for which Mr. 
 Markingham had kindly prepared me. Mr. 
 Woodleigh offered his arm to Miss Bowden, 
 Caroline took her brother Upton's arm, and 
 that cousin was left for me. And that cousin 
 was looking very pretty, and should have 
 been labelled '' dangerous," as Mr. Marking- 
 ham had suggested. But I was on my guard. 
 I was not going to fall in love with a 
 silvery laugh, a pair of blue eyes, some 
 ringlets, and two red pouting lips that called 
 me cousin — no ! 
 
 We went into the dining-room, with 
 Johnny hanging to the skirts of my coat, and 
 retarding my progress ; with Johnny laughing, 
 and Constance laughing, too, though she 
 attempted to frown, as she bade him desist. 
 In the dining-room I found aunt Woodleigh 
 waiting to receive me. 
 
 What a difference had ten years made in 
 Mrs. James Woodleigh — what a difference, for
 
 300 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 the matter of that, will ten years make in 
 us all ! Honey-tongued friends may tell us 
 we are looking as well as ever, but we don't 
 believe them, though we laugh and are 
 flattered. Ten years make a great gulf between 
 the past and the present, a deep well at the 
 bottom of which lie all our good looks (as 
 well as our past hopes and ambitions), and 
 there is no fishing one of them back 
 again ! 
 
 Ten years ago, Mrs. Woodleigh, of Pad- 
 dington, was a pretty woman of thirty-five 
 years of age ; now one would have thought her 
 five-and-fifty at least. Her form was attenu- 
 ated, her face was thin and deep-lined, and 
 she was fast becoming an elderly lady. Ten 
 years, too, had made some changes in a 
 naturally good temper, and I daresay ten long 
 years of indisposition would alter a great many 
 people for the worse, as well as Mrs. Wood- 
 leigh. Mrs. Woodleigh had become peevish, 
 at times a little childish — all her good spirits of 
 thirty-five had long since evaporated ; all that 
 witty pleasantry which had first captivated 
 James Woodleigh in his courting days had gone
 
 WOODLEIGH. 301 
 
 too. It is a hard effort to be merrj with some- 
 thing the matter with the liver — try it, reader ! 
 
 N^evertheless, Mrs. Woodleigh was, even in 
 1845, not entirely a fretful woman ; there 
 were her children to love and make much of, 
 to brighten her home and her own heart ; 
 and Mrs, Woodleigh was a true mother, 
 who found comfort in her children and made 
 them the chief topic of conversation. Her 
 children, like the old kings of England, could 
 do no wrong ; they were all brimming with 
 virtues and wonderfully accomplished ; there 
 were no children in thq whole ivide world like 
 them ! Ah ! if we were only as clever as our 
 mothers think us, what a surprising world this 
 would be, and how full of genius I 
 
 " Well, Master Kobert," said Aunt Wood- 
 leigh, after a cursory glance at me through 
 her eyeglass, " so you have come to London 
 again. How do you do, my child ? " 
 
 i( Very well, thank you, aunt." 
 
 '^ I wish I could say the same, Kobert," 
 said she with a half sigh, as I shook hands 
 with her, '' but I must not think of being 
 very well again, I suppose. Travel and
 
 302 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 change of air only make me worse — oh ! dear 
 me, it was only last summer that — " 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Woodleigh, cutting 
 short the recital of last year's indisposition, 
 '^ dinner is on the table. Eobert, take a seat, 
 please. Johnny, you had better go upstairs, 
 
 now." 
 
 Johnny, at this suggestion, rushed towards 
 his mother, and burying his face in her lap, 
 gave vent to a loud howl. 
 
 Mr. Woodleigh lost his temper. 
 
 ^' Somebody ring the bell, or kick that boy 
 out ! How provoking he is to-day." 
 
 " I want to have dinner — down here," 
 sobbed Johnny. " I will have dinner down 
 here — ow, wow ! " 
 
 Mr. Woodleigh, very red in the face, was 
 about to launch forth into anathemas on the 
 head of Johnny, when he caught his wife's 
 eye, and subsided into a mild cough. 
 
 ^^Let him have dinner with us, poor boy," 
 pleaded Mrs. Woodleigh. 
 
 "But he has had dinner, my dear, with 
 Mary and the nurse." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! — let him have another, poor
 
 WOODLEIGH. 303 
 
 child ! — he would not cry if he did not want 
 something ! " 
 
 So Johnny remained : a chair was placed for 
 him by the side of me, and Johnny mounted 
 thereon and looked round triumphantly. 
 Johnny was a great care to me during the pro- 
 gress of dinner, and I had to keep a sharp look- 
 out, lest he should drop something on my new 
 black dress trousers and ruin them for ever. 
 He was an observant boy, too, and watched 
 every action of mine with an intentness that 
 kept me red in the face all dinner time. 
 Once or twice his father told him sharply to 
 mind what he was about, but his mother 
 immediately took his part, and wondered how 
 Mr. Woodleigh could snap the child like that 
 for nothing. He was quite a wet blanket 
 to all enjoyment. He troubled his father's 
 mind seriously, and caused him to make 
 wrong cuts in the haunch of mutton. It was 
 a dinner without any style about it ; there 
 was no attempt at ceremony or display — the 
 Woodleighs did not ape the manners of people 
 in a higher sphere. The dinner was a good 
 one, and comprised several courses ; but there
 
 304 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 were no servants in livery to flit in the back- 
 ground, as I had dreaded and Mr. Marking- 
 ham had prepared me for. Two maid- 
 servants waited on the family, and were 
 prompt in their attendance, and they did not 
 frighten me very much, though it was a long 
 while before I got used to them. There was no 
 formality, and there was a great deal of talking; 
 everybody seemed anxious to set me at my 
 ease. It was the table of a tradesman who 
 was humble and gave himself no airs, though 
 a table covered with fine linen, and with 
 every fork and spoon thereon impressed with 
 the Hall mark. 
 
 Dinner was half over when the door opened, 
 and cousin Dick made his long-looked for 
 appearance. Cousin Dick was not there 
 every-day, and was consequently somebody 
 to be petted and made much of. 
 
 ^^ Here's Dick at last I " cried Upton. 
 
 " Here's my big brother !" shouted Johnny, 
 endeavoring, in the impulse of the moment, 
 to scramble over the table and the haunch 
 of mutton towards him. The sisters received 
 him with smiles, and Mrs. Woodleigh, for
 
 WOODLEIGH. 305 
 
 a moment looked thirty-five again. Pater- 
 familias was the only person who preserved 
 his wonted aspect. 
 
 " It's very hard, Dick," he said, " you 
 can't come down to dinner in time. I have 
 not waited for you, sir." 
 
 "Beg pardon, governor, but the fact is, I 
 was terribly knocked up last night," said 
 Dick ; '^ glad you have not waited — hate to 
 keep anybody waiting. Ah ! Robert," with 
 an easy nod towards me — " heard you were 
 coming, hope you're well. And, mother, how 
 are you this morning ? " 
 
 "About the same, Eichard." 
 
 "I need not ask everybody else — every- 
 body seems blooming. Don't move. Miss 
 Bowden — thank you." 
 
 He took the vacant chair next Miss Bow- 
 den, and, leaning back therein, quietly waited 
 to be attended to. 
 
 I sat and watched him, and thought he was 
 a son of whom a mother might be proud. 
 
 He was a young man of two-and-twenty, 
 tall, well-made, strikingly handsome, and on 
 very good terms with himself — there was not 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 a doubt on that last point. Still, although he 
 was as fine a young fellow as one would meet 
 in a day's walk, yet there was something in 
 his manner that I did not admire, and for 
 which, at that time, I could not account. He 
 hardly seemed a relation, and I could 
 scarce fancy he was the cousin Dick of ten 
 years ago, the dark-haired, pale stripling 
 whom his mother had been so anxious about 
 because he was growing so fast out of every- 
 thing ! I did not like his eyes, though they 
 were large, dark, and sleepy as a Circassian's, 
 for there was a depth in them which gave no 
 index to his character ; they were not those 
 clear, fathomable, truth-telling eyes of which 
 a few simple-hearted people in the world are 
 the happy possessors. His small mouth, too, 
 suggested the strange thought to me that it 
 should have belonged to Miss Bowden ! whilst 
 the sharply-cut lips of Miss Bowden, so ex- 
 pressive of decision and energy, would not 
 have been out of place under the Grecian 
 nose of Dick Woodleigh, and would have cer- 
 tainly stamped his face with a more masculine 
 character. And yet there was not much of
 
 WOODLEIGH. 307 
 
 woman's nature, weakness, or indecision in 
 him. 
 
 I observed a great deal that afternoon in a 
 little time, and under difficult circumstances; 
 for when the dessert was on the table, there 
 was cousin Johnny on one side making havoc 
 with some expensive strawberries ; and there 
 was cousin Constance on the other to chat 
 with when I grew less embarrassed. 
 
 It was a pleasant day I was spending ; I 
 was heartily welcome there ; I was neither 
 patronized nor made too much of, and, not 
 being a very bashful boy, I soon got over the 
 novelty of my position. 
 
 I thought a great deal of Mr. Markingham 
 during the dessert — his warning never left 
 me ; every time Constance smiled or spoke 
 to me, " Take care of that cousin !" was 
 ringing in my ears. I caught myself smiling 
 once or twice at the absurdity of the late re- 
 marks of Mr. Markingham ; it was foolish to 
 think I should ever fall in love with a rich 
 cousin, and much more ridiculous to dream of 
 one so young and pretty being impressed by 
 so hobblededoy a being as myself. Seventeen 
 
 x2
 
 308 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 next month looks higher than growing youths 
 who sit uncomfortable in their first surtouts — 
 boys with no prospects, too ! Ha ! ha ! what 
 a good joke, to be sure ! I was thinking of 
 that cousin after the ladies and Johnny — 
 thank heaven, Johnny ! — had left the dessert 
 and the wine to the gentlemen, when cousin 
 Dick came to my side of the table with a 
 cigar in his mouth, and took the seat which 
 his sister Constance had vacated. 
 
 " Well, Bob Woodleigh, how long have you 
 honored the city of London with your 
 presence ? " 
 
 ^' More than two years now, Richard." 
 
 ^^ Upton tells me you are in the counting- 
 house of the Woodleigh establishment — dull 
 work, isn't it ? " 
 
 '•^ There is not much variety in the occu- 
 pation, but I like it very well ; I have no 
 right to dislike it." 
 
 •^ You don't go at it with my brother Upton's 
 fervor. I wonder work don't kill him ! " 
 
 ^^ Don't you work hard in your line of 
 business, Dick ? " cried Upton, who had 
 overheard the remark.
 
 WOODLEIGH. 309 
 
 "Oh! yes, of course I do," replied Dick, 
 with an odd twitch at the corner of his 
 mouth. 
 
 Mr. Woodleigh, who was paring an apple, 
 stopped, looked suspiciously at his son, and 
 then said very gravely, perhaps a little satiri- 
 cally : — 
 
 "Not a doubt of it, I should say." 
 
 Dick said nothing in reply, and uncle 
 Woodleigh, after he had eaten his apple and 
 taken another glass of wine, exchanged his 
 chair for a couch near the fire-place and 
 dropped into a refreshing slumber. 
 
 " How do you get on with my father, 
 Bob ? " asked Eichard Woodleigh, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 " It's precious strange that everybody can 
 hit the right humor of the governor and get 
 on 'very well' with him, except the eldest son," 
 he muttered, staring hard at the decant- 
 ers. 
 
 "Hollo, Dick ! " exclaimed Upton, his eyes 
 widening to a considerable extent. " What's 
 the matter — has anything gone wrong .^ "
 
 310 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 " No, no/' responded Dick, pulling another 
 chair towards him and resting his legs 
 thereon ; ^' it's nothing particularly wrong, 
 Uppy, my boy. It's the old complaint — the 
 governor thinks I spend too much money, as 
 if a gentleman can live at college on 'how-d'ye- 
 do's ' and ' good mornings ! ' " 
 
 "Certainly he can't," chimed in Upton, 
 glancing at his sleeping parent ; " and I dare- 
 say it is expensive living till you have won 
 your degrees, and are legally qualified for the 
 Church. I do look forward to that day, Dick, 
 upon my word." 
 
 '^ Oh ! I shall give it up if I am to be 
 always preached at when I want a few 
 pounds," said Dick, keeping his eyes on his 
 father's face, as though he were studying it. 
 " I shall throw everything overboard and go 
 for a soldier — I'm rather hasty, you know." 
 
 '' Oil ! father will talk differently to- 
 morrow." 
 
 '' No, he won't — besides, I have made up 
 my mind. I'll run into debt, everybody else 
 does at Oxford, and it all comes right in the 
 end."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 311 
 
 " How ? " asked Upton, quietly. 
 
 " Oh ! somehow. Taking bills, renewing 
 them on an increased per-centage, putting 
 your name to any piece of paper you are 
 asked to sign — it is astonishing, my dear 
 Upton, how the money rolls in upon that 
 principle." 
 
 "And it is astonishing, my dear Dick, how 
 soon the money stops rolling, and how the 
 gentleman who has been signing every piece 
 of paper keeps on rolling in his turn, for ever 
 and ever, down, dotvn, down ! " 
 
 Upton energetically rapped the table thrice 
 with his wine-glass, and the third time broke 
 the stem and spilt the wine over the table- 
 cover. He blushed at his vehemence, and 
 said testily : — 
 
 " That's all through you, Dick, talking non- 
 sense, and putting me into a bad temper. 
 You know the governor means well enough, 
 and will do anything in reason." 
 
 "The governor is getting so horribly ill- 
 tempered, Upton, there's no reasoning with 
 him ; it's a misery to talk to him." 
 
 " Pooh ! " said his younger brother.
 
 312 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 ''It's a fact. Why, even mother spoke to 
 him this morning about my affairs, and 
 he snapped her up and made her almost 
 ill." 
 
 '' How much do you want ? " asked Upton. 
 " Sunday's not exaclly the day to discuss 
 money matters, but as something seems to be 
 preying on your mind— out with it. It's no 
 secret, I suppose ? " with a glance at me. 
 
 "Shall I join the ladies?" said I, 
 rising. 
 
 '^No, no," cried Dick; "there's no occa- 
 sion, Greorge, Bob, or whatever your name is. 
 1 don't mind you ; you don't know anybody 
 of my set, that's certain." 
 
 "No," I answered, favoring cousin Dick 
 with a look that was far from amiable, 
 as I resumed my seat. 
 
 " I only want seventy pounds till my allow- 
 ance turns up again, Upton — ^that's the week 
 after next. Its not much, is it ? 
 
 " Tliirty-five pounds a-week for a single 
 man is rather a lot of money to rattle through, 
 1 think." 
 
 "I'm not going to spend it on myself," said
 
 WOODLEIGH. 313 
 
 Dick ; '' there are some new books to pay for, 
 and my tailor, and I owe a young chum of 
 mine twenty pounds — he went home to his 
 mother's funeral a month or two ago though, 
 and has not returned yet.'' 
 
 '' Is that Lord Baughton's son ? " 
 " No ; it's young Heberdeen, a fellow you 
 know nothing of." 
 
 *^ Heberdeen !" I exclaimed. 
 " Yes, and " turning to his brother, " I am 
 really trying to get out of debt as fast as I 
 can, you see, Upton." 
 
 " ril lend you the seventy, Dick." 
 " Thank you, Uppy — what a blessing it is 
 to have a good-natured brother who is of a 
 saving turn of mind." 
 
 ^^My savings are not large, Dick." 
 "They will be some day," replied his 
 brother, "when it's Woodleigh and Son, you 
 will have the pull of me, or I am very much 
 mistaken. Sometimes I wish I had taken to 
 trade, dusty ledgers, melancholy-mad looking 
 counting-houses, and continual penance on a 
 high stool, for it's a paying speculation, and 
 what is the good of position if you have no
 
 314 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 money in your pockets to maintain it in 
 style." 
 
 Dick yawned, stretched himself, took up 
 another cigar, looked at it, and put it down 
 again. There was a long pause, and my 
 cousin Upton, who had suddenly turned 
 thoughtful, made no effort to break the 
 silence. 
 
 Dick, after yawn No. .2, abandoned his 
 seat, walked to the looking-glass over the 
 mantel-piece, and fell into attitude before it. 
 After an admiring stare at his handsome face, 
 he arranged his neck-tie, ran his fingers 
 through his hair, smiled at himself in an 
 affectionate manner, and then, satisfied in 
 mind, turned his back to the fire and whistled. 
 
 " I say, Upton," he said at last. 
 
 " What is it ? " answered Upton, moodily. 
 
 " You don't repent trusting me ? " 
 
 " Trusting you, Dick — no !" 
 
 " You look so precious thoughtful, that — " 
 
 " I wasn't thinking of the money," inter- 
 rupted Upton ; '' I'd lend you seven hundred 
 if I had got it." 
 
 **I wish you had, Uppy 1 Not that I'd
 
 WOODLEIGH. 315 
 
 borrow it/' he added quickly ; ^' but you are 
 such an easy, good sort of a chap that you 
 deserve all the good the gods can be- 
 stow." 
 
 He returned to the table, filled his glass, 
 and made a sign to me to imitate his 
 example. 
 
 " I have much pleasure in proposing Upton 
 Woodleigh's health. Long life to him, pros- 
 perity to the partnership in fiituro — for he's a 
 jolly good fellow ! " 
 
 Eichard Woodleigh and I drank his health, 
 and Upton rose with an odd smile. 
 
 ^^ Gentlemen, for the favor you have done 
 me — thankee. Have the kindness to charge 
 your glasses again, I have a friend's health to 
 propose. Mr. Woodleigh, senior ! " 
 
 We three drank it with due honor. 
 
 " Dick/^ his eyes sparkling, '^ return thanks, 
 you scamp. The governor is asleep, and you, 
 as the heir of Grove House, are bound to 
 respond. Now out with the truth and don't 
 backbite your own father, as you have been 
 nearly doing this afternoon. The truth, and 
 shame the devil and Dick Woodleigh ! "
 
 316 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 Dick Woodleigh returned thanks, launched 
 into encomiums on his father's virtues and 
 abilities, and sat down with a ^^ Bravo, Dick," 
 from his brother ringing in his ears. 
 
 After that came ^' The Ladies," proposed by 
 Eichard Woodleigh, and then Eichard Wood- 
 leigh's health proposed by myself. 
 
 Unaccustomed to imbibe so freely, I began 
 to hope there was an end to toasts and sen- 
 timents, before there was an end to me under 
 the table. 
 
 '^ Talking of ladies," remarked Dick, ^^ how 
 Miss Bowden has improved — she's lost that 
 hard sphinxy look since I last saw her. Do 
 you remember how I used to tease her, 
 Upton?" 
 
 Upton laughed. 
 
 " What an amusement it was to see her fire 
 up and talk of going away, once a-day, at 
 least ! Is she as jealous as ever ? " 
 
 "Almost," answered Upton. 
 
 " I hear Miss Clewly's gone," said Eichard ; 
 " what is that for ? " 
 
 " I hardly know — she went yesterday — 
 something about Mary."
 
 WOODLEIGH. 317 
 
 " Miss Bowdeu's a nice girl ; if I were you, 
 Upton—" 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 "What?" asked Upton. 
 
 " Nothing — shall we adjourn to the drawing- 
 room ? " 
 
 "There is one more health to propose, I 
 think, now we are in a toasting humor," said 
 Upton ; " and etiquette won^t let us overlook 
 it. Now then." 
 
 Glasses filled again, and Upton on his 
 legs. 
 
 " I propose the health of a friend of mine 
 with some of the Woodleigh's hot blood in his 
 veins — a friend of mine who is working for 
 the Woodleigh cause. A friend," with his 
 characteristic twinkle of the eye, " who 
 requires only a leetle more ballast to be all 
 that is steady and business-like. Cousin 
 Kobert's health ! " 
 
 Queer little party of wine-bibbers ; what a 
 long while ago it seems since those healths 
 were drunk in the dining-room, and uncle 
 Woodleigh was sleeping on the couch ! How 
 opinions have changed since that time, and
 
 318 WOODLEIGH. 
 
 how differently we think of each other, now 
 we have drifted each his own way, and the 
 waters have risen and swamped one or two of 
 us ! Which ? — cousin Dick, cousin Upton, or 
 cousin Bob Woodleigh ? 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 E. BORN, PKINTEK, GLOUCESTER STREET, REGENT's PARK. 
 
 ^