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 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 4461.C66S9 1887 
 
 Sylvester Sound, the somnambulist. 
 
 3 1924 013 464 866 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013464866 
 
SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
WARNE'S "CROWN" LIBRARY 
 
 Sylvester Sound 
 
 TN£ SOMNAMBULIST 
 
 HENRY COCKTON;, I'^iQj- IK^^S 
 
 AUTHOR OF f^Q_ (P^ 
 
 " THE LOVE' MATCH," ".VALENTINE VOX," ETC. y y 
 
 
 . LONDON AND NEW YORIf , j ^^ , y'; 
 
 P^REDERICK WARNE AND CO. 
 
 1887 
 U 
 

PREFACE. 
 
 Somnambulism has been in all ages kiiown. Aristotle says, 
 " There are individuals who rise in their sleep and walk 
 about, seeing as clearly as those that are awake." Diogenes 
 Laertius states that Theon, the philosopher, was a somnam- 
 bulist. Galen slept whilst on a road, and pursued his 
 journey, until he was awakened by tripping on a stone. 
 Felix Pater feU asleep while playing on the lute, and was 
 startled only by the fall of the instrument ; * whUe the 
 present age teems with instances of the most astounding 
 character. 
 
 Dr. Dyce, of Aberdeen, describes the case of " a girl, in 
 which this affection began with fits of somnolency, which 
 came upon her suddenly during the day, and from which she 
 could at first be roused by shaking or by being taken into 
 the open air. During these attacks she was in the habit of 
 talking of things that seemed to pass before her like a dream, 
 and was not at the time sensible of anything that was said 
 to her. On one occasion she repeated the entire of the 
 baptismal service of the Church of England, and concluded 
 with an extemporary prayer. In her subsequent paroxysms 
 she began to understand what was said to her, and to answer 
 with a considerable degree of consistency, though these 
 replies were in a certain measure influenced by her hallu- 
 cination. She also became capable of following her usual 
 employment during the paroxysm. At one time she would 
 lay out the table for breakfast, and repeatedly dressed herself 
 and the children, her eyes remaining shut the whole time. 
 The remarkable circumstance was now discovered that, 
 
 * Curiosities of Medical Experience. 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 during the paroxj'sm, she had a distinct recollection of what 
 had taken place in former attacks, though she had not the 
 slightest recollection of it during the intervals. She was 
 taken to church during the paroxysm, and attended the service 
 with apparent devotion, and at one time was so affected by 
 the sermon that she actually shed tears ; yet in the interval 
 she had no recollection whatever of the circumstance, but in 
 the following paroxysm she gave a most distinct account of 
 it, and actually repeated the passage of the sermon that had 
 so much affected her. This sort of somnambulism, relating 
 distinctly to two periods, has been called, perhaps erroneously, 
 a state of double consciousness." 
 
 , "A girl aged seven years," says Dr. Abercrombie, "an 
 orphan of the lowest rank, residing in the house of a farmer, 
 by whom she was employed in tending cattle, wa.s accustomed 
 to sleep in an apartment separated by a very thin partition 
 from one which was frequently occupied by an itinerant 
 fiddler. This person was a musician of very considerable 
 skill, and often spent a part of the night in performing pieces 
 of a refined description ; but his performance was not taken 
 notice of by the child, except as a disagreeable noise. After 
 a residence of six months in this family she fell into bad 
 health, and was removed to the house of a benevolent lady, 
 where, on her recovery after a protracted illness, she was 
 employed as a servant. Some years after she came to reside 
 with this lady, the most beautiful music was often heard in 
 the house during the night, which excited no small interest 
 and wonder in the family j and many a waking hour was 
 spent in endeavours to discover the invisible minstrel. At 
 length the sound was traced to the sleeping-room of the girl, 
 who was found fast asleep, but uttering from her lips a sound 
 exactly resembling the sweetest tones of a small violin. On 
 further observation it was found that, after being about two 
 hours in bed, she became restless, and began to mutter to 
 herself; she then uttered sounds precisely resembling the 
 ' tuning of a violin, and at length, after some prelude, dashed 
 off into an elaborate piece of music, which she performed in 
 a clear and accurate manner, and with a sound exactly re- 
 sembling the most delicate modulation of the instrument, 
 and then began exactly where she had stopped in the most 
 correct manner. These paroxysms occurred at regular 
 intervals, varying from one to fourteen and even twenty 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 nights ; and they were generally followed by a degree of fever 
 and pain over various parts of the body. 
 
 " After a year or two, her music was not confined to the 
 imitation of the violin, but was often exchanged for that of a 
 •piano, of a very old description, which she was accustomed to 
 hear in the house in which she now lived, and then she would 
 begin to sing, imitating exactly the voices of several ladies of 
 the family. 
 
 "In another year from this time she began to talk a 
 great deal in her sleep, in which she fancied herself in- 
 structing a young companion. She often descanted with the 
 utmost fluency and correctness on a variety of subjects, both 
 political and religious, the men of the day, the historical 
 parts of Scripture, public characters, and particularly of the 
 character of the members of the family and their visitors. 
 In these discussions she showed the most wonderful dis- 
 crimination, often combined with sarcasm, and astonishing 
 powers of mimicry. Her language through the whole was 
 fluent and correct, and her illustrations often forcible and 
 even eloquent. She was fond of illustrating her subjects by 
 what she called a fable, and in these her imagery was both 
 appropriate and correct. The justice and truth of her 
 remarks on all subjects excited the utmost astonishment in 
 those who were acquainted with her limited means of acquir- 
 ing information. 
 
 " She had been known to conjugate correctly Latin verbs, 
 which she had probably heard in the school-room of the family, 
 and she was once heard to speak several sentences ver}"^ 
 correctly in French, at the same time stating that she had 
 heard them from a foreign gentleman whom she had met 
 accidentally in a shop. Being questioned on this subject 
 when awake, she remembered having seen the gentleman, 
 but could not repeat a word of what he had said. 
 
 " During her paroxysms it was almost impossible to awake 
 her, and when her eyelids were raised, and a candle brought 
 near the eye, the pvipil seemed insensible to the light. For 
 several years she was, during the paroxysm, entirely uncon- 
 scious of the presence of other persons ; but about the age of 
 sixteen she began to observe those who were in the apartment, 
 and she could tell correctly their number, though the utmost 
 care was taken to have the room darkened. She now also 
 became capable of answering questions that were put to her, 
 
viii PEE FACE. 
 
 and of noticing remarks made in her presence, and, with 
 regard to both, she showed astonishing acuteness. Her 
 observations indeed were often of such a nature, and corres- 
 ponded so accurately with character and events, that, by the 
 country people, she was believed to be endowed ^vith super- 
 natural power. 
 
 "During the whole period of this remarkable affection, 
 which seems to have gone on for at least ten or eleven years, 
 she was, when awake, a dull, awkward girl, very slow in 
 receiving any kind of instruction, though much care was 
 bestowed upon her ; and in point of intellect she was much 
 inferior to the other servants of the family. In particular, 
 she showed no kind of turn for music. She did not appear 
 to have any recollection of what passed in her sleep ; but 
 during her nocturnal ramblings, she was more than once 
 heard to lament her infirmity of speaking in her sleep, adding 
 how fortunate it was she did not sleep among the other 
 servants, as they teased her enough about it as it was." 
 
 Dr. Maonish, in "The Philosophy of Sleep," has moreover 
 given us the following cases : — " A female servant, in the 
 town of Chelmsford, surprised the family, at four o'clock one 
 morning, by walking down a flight of stairs in her sleep and 
 rapping at the bedroom door of her master, who inquired 
 what she wanted ; when, in her usual tone of voice, she 
 requested some cotton, saying that she had torn her gown, 
 but hoped that her mistress would forgive her ; at the same 
 time bursting into tears. Her fellow-servant, with whom 
 she had been conversing some time, observed her get out of 
 bed, and quickly followed her, but not before she had related 
 the pitiful story. She then returned to her room, and a light 
 having been procured, she was found groping to find her 
 cotton-box. Another person went to her, when, perceiving 
 a difference in the voice, she called out, ' That is a different 
 voice; that is my mistress,' which was not the case — ^thus 
 clearly showing that she did not see the object before her, 
 although her eyes were toide open. Upon inquiry as to what 
 was the matter, she only said that she wanted some cotton, 
 but that her fellow-servant had been to her master and 
 mistress, making a fuss about it. It was now thought 
 prudent that she should be allowed to remain quiet for some 
 short time, and she was persuaded to lie down with her fellow- 
 servant until the usual hour of rising, thinking that she might 
 
PREFAGE. is 
 
 then awake in her accustomed manner. This failing in effect, 
 her mistress went up to her room, and rather angrily desired 
 her to get up, and go to her work, as it was now six o'clock : 
 this she refused, telling her mistress that if she did not please 
 her, she might look out for another servant, at the same time 
 saying that she would not rise up at two o'clock (pointing to 
 the window) to injure her health for any one. For the sake 
 of a joke, she was told to pack up her things, and start off 
 immediately, but to this she made no reply. She rebuked 
 her fellow-servant for not remaining longer in bed, and shortly 
 after this she became quiet. She was afterwards shaken 
 violently, and awoke. She then rose, and seeing the cotton- 
 box disturbed, demanded to know why it had been meddled 
 with, not knowing that she alone was the cause of it. In 
 the course of the day, several questions were put to her in 
 order to try her recollection, but the real fact, of her walking, 
 was not made known to her ; and she is still quite unconscious 
 of what has transpired. 
 
 "The" next case is of a different description, and exhibits 
 a dormant state of the sense of hearing, while sight appears 
 throughout to have been in active operation. 
 
 " A young man named Johns, who works at Oardrew, near 
 Redruth, being asleep in the sump-house of that mine, was 
 observed by two boys to rise and walk to the door, against 
 which he leaned; shortly after quitting that position, he 
 walked to the engine-shaft, and safely descended to the depth 
 of twenty fathoms, where he was found by his comrades soon 
 after, with his back resting on the ladder. They called to 
 him to apprise him of the perilous situation in which he was, 
 but he did not hear them, and they were obliged to shake 
 him" roughly till he awoke, when he appeared totally at a loss 
 to account for his being so situated. 
 
 " The stories related of sleep-walkers are, indeed, of so 
 extraordinary a kind, that they would almost seem fictitious, 
 were they not supported by the most incontrovertible evi- 
 dence. To walk on the house-top, to scale precipices, and 
 descend to the bottom of frightful ravines, are common 
 exploits with the somnambulist ; and he performs them with 
 a facility far beyond the power of any man who is completely 
 awake. 
 
 " Somnambulism, as well as lunacy, sometimes bestows 
 supernatural strength upon the individual. Mr. Dubrie, a 
 
X PRE F AGE. 
 
 musician in Bath, affords an instance of this kind. One 
 Sunday, while awake, he attempted in vain to force open the 
 window of his bedroom, which chanced to be nailed down ; 
 but having got up in his sleep, he repeated the attempt suc- 
 cessfully, and threw himself out, by which he unfortunately 
 broke his leg. 
 
 " Sleep-walking is sometimes periodical. Martinet describes 
 the case of a watchmaker's apprentice who had an attack of 
 it every fortnight. In this state, though insensible to all 
 external impressions, he would perform his work with his 
 usual accuracy, and was always astonished, on awaking, at 
 the progress he had made. The paroxysm began with a 
 sense of heat in the epigastrium extending to the head, 
 followed by confusion of ideas and complete insensibility, the 
 eyes remaining open with a fixed and vacant stare. This 
 case, which undoubtedly originated in some diseased state of 
 the brain, terminated in epilepsy. Dr. Gall relates that he 
 saw at Berlin a young man, sixteen years of age, who had, 
 from time to time, very extraordinary fits. He moved 
 about unconsciously in bed, and had no perception of any- 
 thing that was done to him ; at last he would jump out of 
 bed, and walk with rapid steps about the room, his eyes 
 being fixed and open. Several obstacles which were placed 
 by Dr. Gall in his way, he either removed or cautiously 
 avoided. He then threw himself suddenly again upon the 
 bed, moved about for some time, and finished by jumping up 
 awake, not a little surprised at the number of curious people 
 about him. 
 
 " The facility with which somnambulists are awakened 
 from the paroxysms differs extremely in different cases. 
 One man is aroused by being gently touched or called upon, 
 by a flash of light, by stumbling in his peregrinations, or by 
 setting his foot in water. Another remains so heavily asleep 
 that it is necessary to shout loudly, to shake him with vio- 
 lence, and make use of other excitations equally powerful. 
 In this condition, when the sense of vision chances to be 
 dormant, it is curious to look at his eyes. Sometimes they 
 are shut ; at other times wide open ; and when the latter is 
 the case, they are observed to be fixed and inexpressive, 
 ' without speculation ' or energy, while the pupil is con- 
 tracted, as in the case of perfect sleep. 
 
 " It is not always safe to arouse a sleep-walker ; and many 
 
PREFAGE. xi 
 
 cases of the fatal effects thence arising have been detailed by 
 authors. Nor is it at all unlikely that a person, even of 
 strong nerves, might be violently agitated by awaking in a 
 situation so different from that in which he lay down. Among 
 other examples, that of a young lady, who was addicted to 
 this affection, may be mentioned. Knowing her failing, her 
 friends made a point of locking the door, and securing the 
 window of her chamber in such a manner that she coiild not 
 possibly get out. One night, these precautions were unfor- 
 tunately overlooked, and, in a paroxysm of somnambulism, 
 she walked into the garden behind the house. While there, 
 she was recognLsed by some of the family, who were warned 
 by the noise she made on opening the door, and they fol- 
 lowed and awoke her ; but such was the effect produced upon 
 her nervous system, that she almost instantly expired." 
 
 Having adduced these cases, in order to justify the in- 
 troduction of the scenes described in the following — not too 
 profoundly written pages — I have only to beg of those who 
 read the work as a whole, to bear in mind that it originally 
 appeared in monthly parts. 
 
 H. C. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER-' PAOB 
 
 I. THE INTRODUCTION 1 5 
 
 II. INTKODUOES AUNT ELEANOR, THE PASTOR, AND HIS PEACHES 1 6 
 
 III. IN WHICH THE FIRST ALARM IS CREATED ... 28 
 
 IV. THE CHUROHTARD 39 
 
 V. THE MYSTERY 53 
 
 VI. THE GHOST HUNT 57 
 
 VII. THE PICKLED SMALLS 65 
 
 VIII. ROSALIE 77 
 
 IX. THE GUARDIANS OF THE NIGHT 88 
 
 X. THE GUARDIANS DISCOVERED 99 
 
 XI. THE "spirit" APPEARS TO THE PASTOR AND JONES . 107 
 
 XII. THE FEARFUL CONJECTURE 
 
 123 
 
 XIII. THE EGGS AND EXOTICS 13! 
 
 XIV. THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE . . . .140 
 
 XV. Sylvester's first night in London . . , .160 
 
 XVI. TOB AND HIS WOBAD 173 
 
 XVII. JULIA 182 
 
 XVIII. THE MAN-TRAP 198 
 
 XIX. THE DELICATE DISCLOSURE 215 
 
 XX. THE BELLS 224 
 
 XXI. THE PROPOSAL 236 
 
 XXII. TOM APPEARS TO GIVE EVIDENCE IN A CASE . . , 244 
 
 XXIII. THE lovers' return 267 
 
 XXIV. LOVE 283 
 
 i^XV. THE MAIDEN SPBiSCH IN PARLIAMENT . • . . 296 
 
xiv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXVI. THE ACOUSATION 303 
 
 XXVII. THE MEETING 309 
 
 XXVIII. PIER-GLASS PKACTICK 326 
 
 XXIX. SYLVESTER REVISITS COTHEKSTONE GRANGE . . 338 
 
 XXX. THE SUSPICION . , 353 
 
 XXXI. THE VILLAGE FAIR 373 
 
 XXXII. SYLVESTER IS RECALLED TO TOWN .... 397 
 
 XXXIII. THE PROOF 404 
 
 XXXIV, THE LAST REQUEST 417 
 
 XXXV. THE TRIAL 
 
 424 
 
 XXXVI. SYLVESTER'S NEW PROTEOIOK 442 
 
 XXXVII. THE MYSTERY SOLVED 468 
 
 XXXVIII. THE RECONCILIATION 488 
 
 XXXIX. THE CONCLUSION 50O 
 
SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 CHAPTER T. 
 
 THE INTKODUCTION. 
 
 Among the ancient historians a practice prevailed which may 
 be described thus : Whenever they wrote the lives of men, 
 they explained, in limine, who those men were. This is in 
 all their works manifest. They may have been right : they 
 may have been wrong : it is not proposed to dive to any 
 very great depth with the view of discovering the absolute 
 necessity for the pursuit of this course ; it is suiScient for 
 the world to know that they held such explanation -to be 
 essential to the perfect knowledge of the very men whose 
 characters they portrayed, and as the practice is extremely 
 convenient, it may not, even in this age, be deemed incorrect 
 ■ — ^however admirable originality may in itself be — to follow 
 their example by explaining at once who Sylvester Sound 
 the Somnambulist was. 
 
 Assuming then the correctness of the course prescribed to 
 be admitted, it now becomes proper to state that Sylvester 
 Sound was the only son of Horatio Sound, M.D. ; that the 
 doctor's lady departed this life very soon after Sylvester's 
 birth ; that the doctor himself survived her several years ; 
 that a circumstance — of which the particulars will be dealt 
 upon anon — not only caused the loss of his practice, but 
 eventually broke his heart; and that, up to the period of 
 his death, Sylvester — for a reason which the doctor himself 
 never explained — was educated by him and lived constantly 
 with him. 
 
i6 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 INTRODUCES AUNT ELEANOE, THE PASTOR, AND HIS PEACHES. 
 
 Having — it is to be hoped satisfactorily — explained who 
 Sylvester was, it will now be quite right to proceed. 
 
 And it will, in the first place, be necessary to state that 
 Sylvester, at the period of the death of Dr. Sound, was in 
 the seventeenth year of his age. 
 
 He was tall and slightly made, and while his features were 
 finely formed, his jet black hair, which hung in ringlets over 
 his shoulders, contrasted strongly with his countenance, 
 which was pale in the extreme, and of which the expression 
 was that of repose. There was, indeed, the spirit of mischief 
 lurking in his eye, but while he was awake that spirit was 
 asleep : it developed itself only in his dreams. It was then 
 that it prompted him to perpetrate all sorts of wild and 
 extraordinary tricks : it was then that it converted him from 
 a calm, graceful, amiable youth, into a perfect little devil. 
 
 This, to a certain extent, was known to the doctor : hence 
 it was that he was kept so constantly at home ; but it was 
 not known to any other creature in existence : it was not 
 known even to Sylvester himself ; he was perfectly uncon- 
 scious of being a somnambulist : he had not even the most 
 remote suspicion of the fact ; nor had he, when awake, the 
 slightest recollection of the dreams upon which he had acted. 
 During sleep, indeed, his recollection of their nature was 
 most perfect — he would, for example, frequently commence 
 a letter one night and finish it the next — but when awake, 
 his memory, as far as those dreams were concerned, was in 
 oblivion. 
 
 Anxiously had the doctor watched him night after night. 
 He had even allowed him to go from his chamber; but 
 although he closely followed, he never checked him. He felt 
 perfectly sure that the means which he had adopted in his 
 own case — he having been himself a somnambulist — would 
 eventually cure his son ; and certainly, in the case of Syl- 
 vester, a cure might by those means have been effected, but 
 just as a change became perceptible, the doctor unhappily 
 died. 
 
 During the week which elapsed between the death of Dr, 
 
THE PASTOR AND HIS PEACHES. 17 
 
 Sound and his funeral, Sylvester remained in the house ; but 
 the day following that on which the ceremony was performed, 
 his Aunt Eleanor — a maiden lady of exemplary character — 
 took him to her cottage at Cotherstone Grange — about fifteen 
 miles from the residence of her late brother — conceiving that 
 an immediate change of scene might be highly beneficial to 
 his health, as he was then more than usually languid. 
 
 On their way to the Grange, Sylvester was silent, and as 
 of course Aunt Eleanor ascribed this silence to the grief 
 which sprang from the loss they had sustained, she felt it 
 to be her duty as a Christian to offer him all the consolation 
 at her command. And she did so ; but without much 
 apparent effect. She, moreover, with the view of divert- 
 ing his thoughts, pointed out, as they proceeded, every 
 object which she held to be in the slightest degree remark- 
 able ; but nothing could cheer him — nothing could rouse 
 him from the reVerie in which he indulged, until they 
 approached the parsonage-house, which stood within three 
 hundred yards of the cottage. Of this place Sylvester took 
 especial notice; and it was an exceedingly beautiful little 
 place, in the centre of a most delightful garden, and sur- 
 rounded by a wall, which appeared to be studded with 
 nectarines and peaches. He even — albeit languidly — ex- 
 pressed his admiration of the fine appearance of this 
 delicious fruit; but it was soon lost to view, and he was 
 silent again. 
 
 Now, much has been written and said of old maids. They 
 have been spoken of in terms of the deepest contempt; 
 painters have represented them with crabbed aspects, 
 scraggy necks, yellow complexions, busts particularly bony, 
 and fingers long, fleshless, and cold; while writers have 
 described them as being skinny, toothless, arrogant, malicious, 
 and wretched ; but if the libellous painters and writers in 
 tjuestion mean to contend that these are the prevailing 
 characteristics of old maids in the aggregate, it will be at 
 once perfectly clear that they never have studied the real 
 flesh and blood. Theirs are merely conventional old maids ! 
 Henceforth let these libellers paint and write from Nature ! 
 Let them do justice to those who compose that honourable — 
 albeit peculiar — species of humanity, who have studied the 
 respective characters of their suitors too deeply to be ensnared 
 ^who have met with none but those whose views were selfish, 
 
i8 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 and whose affections were impure — ^wto have not allowed 
 their judgment to be blinded by passion — who have 
 imagined man's love to be ethereal, but have not found 
 it so — ^who have never had the wish to make, in a worldly 
 sense, a good match, and who have had sufficient sense to 
 escape the miseries of a bad one ! It is, of course, admitted 
 that a few of these honourable old maids — for even their 
 contemptuous sobriquet is associated with honour ! — may be 
 bony and not very mild ; but the idea of making unamiable 
 skeletons of them all is monstrous! sufficiently monstrous 
 to inspire indignation. Aunt Eleanor was an old maid, and 
 she was no skeleton ; nor was she malicious, nor toothless, 
 nor wretched. On the contrary, her jBgure approached embon- 
 point ; her teeth were white and sound, and her skin was soft 
 and clear : she had, perhaps, a finer — a more animated — bust 
 than any other lady in the country ! She was, moreover, 
 just, benevolent, amiable, and pure, while her heart was full 
 of tranquil joy ; for she was in spirit wedded to her God. 
 
 Nor was there in this lovely cottage of hers the slightest 
 thing indicative of the residence of an old maid. Everything 
 indeed was neat and elegant ; everything was arranged with 
 the most exquisite taste ; but there was no minute primness 
 perceptible : nor must it be imagined for a moment that if 
 the whole of her highly-prized china and glass had been 
 swept from the sideboard and broken to atoms, she would 
 have shed a single tear. No : nothing but love and sympathy 
 could wring a tear from lie)\ 
 
 For twenty years she had lived in that cottage, and 
 although her pecuniary means were comparatively large, her 
 establishment was small, inasmuch as it consisted only of a 
 cook, a housemaid, and a gardener, who officiated also as groom. 
 By her uniform kindness she had completely won the hearts 
 of these domestics ; they were strongly, deeply attached to 
 her; and hence, when they flew to the gate as the chaise 
 drew up, they welcomed her home indeed. 
 
 Knowing the time exactly at which her mistress would 
 return, the cook had prepared a delicious dinner, which as 
 soon as Aunt Eleanor had changed her dress, was served up 
 with characteristic elegance. ~ 
 
 And Sylvester, albeit calm and silent, did justice to the 
 viands prepared ; and Aunt Eleanor, in order to cheer him 
 insisted upon his taking two glasses of wine ! but finding 
 
THE PASTOR AND HIS PEACHES. 19 
 
 after dinner that lie still felt languid, she, conceiving that 
 the excitement of the preceding day, and the journey that 
 morning, had exhausted his spirits, prevailed upon him to 
 retire to his chamber, and enjoined the servants not to 
 disturb him. 
 
 To his chamber accordingly Sylvester repaired, and having 
 partially undressed himself, reposed on the bed and went 
 to sleep. He had not, however, slept ten minutes, when he 
 began to dream of the nectarines and peaches he had seen 
 on the wall of the parsonage garden, and being inspired to 
 action by the dinner he had eaten, and the wine — the two 
 glasses of wine — he had drank, he re-dressed himself, and 
 left the cottage imperceived. 
 
 As he quietly walked towards the garden of the parsonage, 
 none could have supposed that he was then fast asleep ! His 
 eyes were open, and he looked — not vacantly, nor with an 
 intense stare, but precisely as if he had been awake — at every 
 object he passed. And thus he reached the garden wall, 
 which he mounted with alacrity and ease, and having cleared 
 from a very convenient spot the broken bottles, which the 
 reverend gentleman had most humanely caused to be stuck 
 upon the wall — in reality with the view of phlebotomising 
 trespassers, but nominally in order to keep off the cats — he 
 sat down and freely partook of the peaches, which really 
 were very fine indeed. And he enjoyed them much, and ate 
 no inconsiderable quantity of them, for they were in his 
 judgment delicious. But just as he had eaten to satiety, 
 the reverend gentleman, to whom the fruit legally belonged, 
 espied him, and, having recovered from the shock which this 
 proceeding — which he held to be- one of the most barefaced 
 audacity — induced, rushed into the garden with all the velo- 
 city his shortness of breath, and portliness of person would 
 permit, exclaiming, " Jones ! Jones ! " in tones of indignation 
 — for he really was very indignant at the time^and in an 
 instant Jones, the gardener, appeared. 
 
 " Jones," he continued, pointing fiercely to Sylvester, 
 " that's how the peaches go. That's the way." 
 
 Jones looked at Sylvester utterly astounded. Was it — 
 could it be — possible ? And that, too, before his very eyes. 
 He was about to spring upon him with all the ferocity of a 
 tiger J but Sylvester, having eaten all the peaches he could 
 eat, at that moment dropped from the wall, and disappeared. 
 
20 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " He's off ! " cried the pastor. " Follow him, Jones ! but 
 don't say a word : he is clearly respectable. See where he 
 goes, Jones, and then let me know." 
 
 Jones rushed to the gate and followed Sylvester's foot- 
 steps ; and when he saw him actually enter the cottage, he 
 returned to the pastor and made the fact known. 
 
 But then — what was to be done? .Aunt Eleanor was 
 a lady for whom the reverend gentleman entertained the 
 highest respect ! Th^ question with him therefore was, 
 whether he ought to wound her feelings by complaining of 
 that which had occurred, or to take no further notice of the 
 matter. He was soon, however, prompted to answer this 
 question by the thought of his peaches. He could not in 
 silence endure the loss of them. They were the finest in the 
 county ! — nay, in his judgment, Europe could not produce 
 peaches at all comparable with them. He therefore resolved 
 to proceed to the cottage, and to the cottage he did proceed, 
 followed by the gentle Jones, who absolutely swelled with 
 indignation' 
 
 As they passed through the gate, Aunt Eleanor, who saw 
 them, and who held the reverend gentleman in very high 
 esteem, rang the bell for the servant to open the door, and 
 then received him with all her characteristic cordiality and 
 grace, while the highly indignant Jones remained swelling at 
 the door. 
 
 " My dear madam," said the pastor, as soon as he had re- 
 covered the power to speak, for the occurrence had induced 
 a dreadful state of excitement, which his sharp walk to the 
 cottage had by no means subdued — "My dear madam, I 
 regret — I exceedingly regret — that I should have to call on 
 business of a nature so unpleasant ; but you have, I believe, 
 a young gentleman here ? " 
 
 " My nephew ! " replied Aunt Eleanor. " I brought him 
 with me this morning, and a sweet little fellow he is ! " 
 
 " I am sorry," returned the reverend gentleman, " I am 
 indeed very sorry to be compelled to say that he is un- 
 happily addicted to practices which I will not exactly 
 designate audacious " 
 
 « Sir ! " 
 
 "But which are, in my judgment, highly improper." 
 
 "You amaze me ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor; and really the 
 amazement she expressed was very striking. " My nephew 
 
THE PASTOR AND HIS PEACHES. 2i 
 
 addicted to practices which you deem highly improper 1 
 Why, he is one of the mildest and Inost inofEensive little fellows 
 that ever breathed ! He would not hurt a worm ! " 
 
 " It may be true that he would not hurt a worm ; but I 
 know him to be very fond of peaches." 
 
 " That is very possible ; and I submit very natural. But 
 may I be permitted to know what you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, it is, my dear madam, with the greatest reluctance 
 that I. make a complaint of this nature to you : but I think 
 that it may be highly beneficial to him, for we know that if 
 our vices in youth be unchecked they grow with our growth 
 and strengthen with our strength." 
 
 " Dear me ! " cried Aunt Eleanor ; " why, what on earth 
 can have occurred ? " 
 
 " Sitting in my study, ten minutes ago, I perceived througli 
 the window a youth upon the wall, freely helping himself to 
 my peaches. Well, as I, of course, disapproved of this pro- 
 ceeding — for, had he asked me for the peaches he should 
 have had them with pleasure — I went out, and calling Jones, 
 my gardener, desired him to expostulate with the youth ;] but 
 the moment he appeared the youth dropped from the wall, 
 and Jones, who followed him, informs me that he saw him 
 enter here." 
 
 " Impossible ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor. " My nephew 
 is the only youth I have about the premises ! ' ' 
 
 " What is the age of your nephew, may I ask 1 " 
 
 "About seventeen." 
 
 " Has he black hair, flowing freely over his shoulders 1 " 
 
 "He has." 
 
 " I am sorry then to say, my dear madam, that he is the 
 youth who purloined my peaches." 
 
 "But really! — my dear sir/ — oh! it cannot he/ The 
 dear boy has been in bed and asleep for the last hour." 
 
 " Is he asleep now 3 " inquired the reverend gentleman. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor rang the bell, and when the servant ap- 
 peared, she desired her to go into Sylvester's room, and to 
 ascertain whether he really was asleep or not. 
 
 " This is strange," said Aunt Eleanor ; " very strange in- 
 deed ! " And the pastor echoed this observation, by saying 
 that it was strange, very strange, indeed. 
 
 "Well, Mary?" said Aunt Eleanor, when the servant 
 reappeared. 
 
22 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Master Sylvester sleeps like a top, ma'am," promptly 
 replied Mary. 
 
 " I thought so ! " observed Aunt Eleanor. " I knew that 
 he would. The poor dear boy was exhausted." 
 
 " Well, this is very extraordinary ! " said the reverend 
 gentleman, who couldn't tell at all what to make of it. 
 " Really, I should very much indeed like to see him." 
 
 " For your satisfaction, he shall be at once awakened." 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no ! There is not the least necessity for 
 that." 
 
 " Then will you do me the favour to walk up and see him 1 " 
 
 " Why, if you particularly wish me to do so," replied the 
 reverend gentleman, " I will." And he rose from his seat, 
 and Aunt Eleanor rose, too ; and Mary, who couldn't con- 
 ceive what it meant, led the way up to Sylvester's room. 
 
 " Poor boy ! " said Aunt Eleanor. " There he is, and 
 there he has been for the last hour." 
 
 That he was there then, appeared to the reverend gentle- 
 man to be abundantly clear ; but that there he had been for 
 the last hour, was, in his calm judgment, apocryphal — very. 
 He could not believe it. Why — it was the very face— the 
 very hair ! It was moreover plain, that he was then sleep- 
 ing soundly : the pastor had no doubt at all about that ; but, 
 as he wished very much indeed to see him awake, he dropped 
 his stick — very accidentally, of course — and thus produced a 
 noise which had the effect desired. 
 
 " My dearest boy ! " said Aunt Eleanor. " Oh, I am sorry 
 that we have disturbed you." 
 
 Sylvester sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, and then 
 looked at the reverend gentleman, precisely as if he wished 
 to know who he was and what he wanted. 
 
 " Lie down, dear, again," said Aunt Eleanor soothingly. 
 " You must be fatigued, dear : you look very weary still." 
 
 The reverend gentleman shook his head, and that, too, 
 with so much significance, that any close observer might at 
 once have perceived that Sylvester was, in his view, very 
 artful. Aunt Eleanor, however, did not observe this ; she 
 felt that the " mistake " had been sufficiently seen, and there- 
 fore left the chamber, followed by her reverend friend. 
 
 " Well ! " said that gentleman, on his return to the parlour, 
 " really ! Upon my word he bears a very striking resem- 
 blance to the youth whom I saw upon my garden wall." 
 
THE PASTOR AND HIS PEACHES. 23 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, that is strange," returned Aunt Eleanor ; 
 " I know of no youth at all like him." 
 
 " There must be one in the vicinity whom he very much 
 resembles." 
 
 " How very extraordinary 1 Why, whom can it be ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I know not," returned the reverend gentleman; 
 "there appears to be some little mystery about it, which 
 probably time will solve. I have only to say that I am 
 sorry the affair happened, and beg to apologise for the 
 trouble I have given." 
 
 At this moment Sylvester entered the room in the same 
 dress Ss that in which he appeared upon the wall, and no 
 sooner had he entered, than the pastor — who now, of course, 
 felt quite convinced of his being the delinquent — said, " Well, 
 yoting gentleman, did you enjoy those peaches ? " 
 
 Sylvester looked at him earnestly for a moment, and then 
 observed calmly, " What peaches do you allude to ? I do 
 not Jmow that I have tasted a peach this season ! " 
 
 The reverend gentleman hereupon regarded him with an 
 expression of horror. He felt it to be awful in the extreme, 
 and shuddered at the thought that a falsehood so flagrant 
 should proceed from the lips of a sinner so young. Recover- 
 ing himself, however, from the shock thus produced, he, 
 with an aspect of severity, said, " Pray, sir, have you ever 
 heard or read of Ananias ? " 
 
 " I have, sir. But why put that question to me ? " 
 
 " Because you have said distinctly that you have not, to 
 your knowledge, tasted a peach this season ; whereas, within 
 the last half-hour, I saw you upon my garden wall eating my 
 peaches to absolute satiety." 
 
 " Let me assure you, sir," returned Sylvester firmly, 
 " that you are mistaken. 1 feel that I am utterly incapable 
 of such bad conduct." 
 
 The calmness, the firmness, the apparent truthfulness with 
 which this assurance was given had a manifest tendency to 
 shake the reverend gentleman's conviction. And yet — was 
 it possible that he could be mistaken 1 There stood the very 
 youth ; or, if he were not the very youth, how strong was the 
 resemblance ! He had preached the fallibility of the flesh ; 
 he felt that he himself was not, in a general sense, iafallible : 
 but then, in this particular, — and yet the very presence, the 
 very look, the very tones of the youth who stood before him, 
 
24 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 were indicative of innocence. He had never before felt so 
 perfectly puzzled ; still he did say, eventually, " Well, my 
 dear madam, I suppose that I must be mistaken — but really ! 
 ■ — perhaps, however, you will allow me to call in my 
 gardener ? " 
 
 "Oh, my dear sir," said Aunt Eleanor, "do so at once, 
 by all means." And Jones was accordingly summoned. 
 
 " Do you know this young gentleman, J^ones ? " said the 
 pastor. 
 
 " Know him, sir ! " replied Jones, utterly astonished at 
 the question being asked ; " I should know him from a 
 million." 
 
 " But are you sure, Jones, that this is the identical youth 
 whom we saw on the wall just now ? " 
 
 " Sure ! " echoed Jones, who really felt the idea of his not 
 being sure to be perfectly ridiculous, " of course, sir, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " Man ! " said Aunt Eleanor, "adhere to the truth.'' 
 
 " Oh ! that's true enough, ma'am. I'd swear it." 
 
 " Swear it ! " 
 
 " I know him by the cut of his clothes." 
 
 " Although, Jones, that is strong collateral evidence," 
 pbsei^ed the reverend gentleman, profoundly, " I do not 
 hold it to be conclusive. There may be other garments of 
 the same description. I look at the countenance. Man 
 may copy the works of man, but Nature never copies herself. 
 Among the myriads of human beings in existence there are 
 not even two individuals to be found with features precisely 
 alike, albeit there may be, as in this case, a striking resem- 
 blance. Nor is this amazing peculiarity confined exclusively 
 to the human species. The flocks that range the verdant 
 fields, the beasts which prowl in the frightful jungle, the 
 fish that inhabit the boundless sea, and the birds which float 
 in the balmy air, nay, even the very vermin which tunnel 
 the earth, have all the same wonderful individuality. Still, 
 as one sheep may be mistaken for another by those who 
 know not the peculiar expression of that sheep, so may one 
 youth be mistaken for another, as we have, in this case 
 perhaps sufiioiently proved." 
 
 All that Jones understood of this he appreciated, but half , 
 of that which reached his understanding was not much. 
 He had no notion at all, however, of giving the thing up in 
 
THE PASTOR AND HIS PEACHES. 25 
 
 this way, and therefore he said, with much point, " But 
 does the young genehnan himself mean to say it ain't him ? " 
 
 "I mean to say," returned Sylvester calmly, "that I 
 have been fast asleep for the last hour." 
 
 " Well, send I may live ! " exclaimed Jones. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " cried the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Well, but in all creepings up I " resumed Jones. " Here, 
 take me afore a justice. I'll oath it it's him afore any judge 
 or jury in nature. But," he added, turning to Sylvester, 
 " do you mean to look me in the face, and tell me that it 
 Karrd you as was upon our wall a pegging away at them 
 pea(3ies there ? — only say ? " 
 
 "I hope, my dear aunt," observed Sylvester, with un- 
 affected mildness, "that you do not believe I could have 
 been guilty of such an act ? " 
 
 " No, my dear — certainly not." 
 
 " Sir," added Sylvester, addressing the reverend gentle- 
 man, " I should be utterly ashamed of myself even if I felt 
 that I could." 
 
 The pastor, notwithstanding the resemblance was still in 
 his judgment amazing, was now inspired by Sylvester's 
 tranquil bearing, with the conviction that he must be mis- 
 taken, and tried to inoculate Jones with the same conviction ; 
 but Jones would not have it. He knew what he knew ! — 
 he knew that the youth who stood before him, and the 
 youth who was on the wall, were one and the same youth ; 
 and said so ; and stuck to it firmly — indeed so firmly, that 
 the reverend gentleman at length desired him to leave the 
 room. 
 
 Now it happened that Judkins, Aunt Eleanor's gardener 
 
 ^who, conceiving that Jones had come there with a view to 
 
 supplant him, had kept an exceedingly sharp look-out — was 
 at hand; and it also happened that Judkins had a great 
 contempt for Jones, seeing that Jones, at the last horticul- 
 tural meeting of the county, had gained the first prize for 
 carrots ; while Jones had as great a contempt for Judkins, 
 seeing that Judkins had gained the first prize for onions, 
 whereas Jones knew that his onions were superior to those 
 which Judkins had produced, while in Judkins's judgment, 
 his carrots were finer than any which Jones had the nous 
 to raise. Their hatred of each other was therefore rooted ; 
 and as Judkins had heard the substance of all that had 
 
26 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 been said about the peaches, he taunted Jones severely on 
 his being desired to leave the room ; and as Jones most 
 vehemently retorted and maintained still that Sylvester was 
 the youth by whom his master's peaches had been stolen, 
 Judkins said something very severe about Jones's carrots, 
 and invited him to the meadow, with the view of deciding 
 whether Sylvester was the youth in question or not. At 
 this Jones was nothing daunted : he accepted the challenge ; 
 and when Judkins had called a mutual friend from the road, 
 for the purpose of seeing fair play, they repaired to the 
 meadows with, bosoms fraught with disgust. 
 
 There have always been, even from the most remote period 
 of which- history takes cognisance, advocates for that grand 
 social scheme which comprehends trial by battle. Some have 
 chosen clubs for these trials, some axes, some daggers, some 
 spears, while others have preferred" rifles, pistols, and swords ; 
 but a far more civilised mode of deciding thus the merits of 
 a case in dispute is, unquestionably, that which was in this 
 particular instance adopted by Judkins and Jones. 
 
 Oertainly, the practice of doing battle with the fist was the 
 first step to civilisation. When men began to substitute the 
 weapons with which Nature had provided them for battle- 
 axes, tomahawks, and knives, society made a most important 
 stride towards perfection. As civilisation progresses, men 
 will substitute the use of the tongue for that of the fist ; when 
 that has been suffiisiently practised, the use of the brow will 
 supersede that of the tongue ; and when we shall have 
 reached the perfection of civilisation, men will merely treat 
 with contempt those whom they know to be unworthy of 
 respect. At the period of Judkins's and Jones's battle, 
 civilisation had made but that one important stride ; and as 
 they were not behind the age in which they lived, they — ■ 
 repudiating pistols, knives, and swords — repaired to the 
 meadow and stripped. 
 
 It was a lovely day ! [It is of course highly essential to 
 the progress of this history that these most remarkable 
 observations should be made.] The sun shone — as the sun 
 mil sometimes shine — brilliantly, _and while it shone, all 
 nature, with the exception of Jones and Judkins, looked gay. 
 The sheep in the distance were nibbling the turnips ; the 
 stubble was studded with crows; the leaves on the trees 
 around looked green ; and the larks were merrily singing in 
 
~ THE PASTOB AND HIS PEACHES. 27 
 
 tte air ! This was precisely the extraordinary state of things 
 when Judkins and Jones assumed the attitude of defiance, 
 and looked at each other with a species of ferocity perhaps 
 altogether unexampled. As pugilists, however, they were 
 not scientific. They were, moreover, bulky and very short- 
 winded, and therefore exceedingly slow ; nor was there any 
 particular time kept. No : at the end of each round, that is 
 to say, when they retreated from each other with the view 
 of " taking breath," they sat upon the grass, sometimes for 
 three minutes, sometimes for five. Time to them was a 
 matter of no importance — they had not been in the habit of 
 hurrying themselves, and they had not the least intention to 
 hurry themselves then. Nor was their friend in any sort of 
 haste ; he was remarkably patient and remarkably impartial 
 —indeed, so impartial, that when, at the expiration of twenty 
 minutes, Judkins, who had neither received nor given any 
 blow of importance, wanted some beer, he declared that he 
 wouldn't fetch it unless he had a like commission from Jones. 
 For this commission, however, he had not to wait long, and 
 when he started for the beer, it was with this understanding, 
 that there was to be an absolute cessation of hostilities until 
 he returned. The truce thus established neither of the 
 combatants had the least desire to violate ; it was, therefore, 
 on both sides, honourably observed ; but during the absence 
 of their mutual friend reflection came, and their indignation 
 cooled ; and hence, on the return of that friend, Judkins said 
 to Jones, " Now, you know I'm not afraid of you — quite the 
 contrary — tut as I shouldn't like to have a black eye, and as 
 the parson, I know, wouldn't hke to see you with your front 
 teeth knocked out " (Judkins thought that this was about 
 the strongest way to put it), " if you like, we'll establish no 
 hitting in the face." 
 
 "Where are we to hit, then ? " said Jones, who was tired 
 of it — quite ! — it was very hard work. " If we are not to 
 hit in the face, where are we to hit ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you," interposed their mutual friend, " hit each 
 other in the hand, and then drink and make it up. If you 
 don't do this, I'll spill the beer." 
 
 This settled the matter at once. Judkins thought of 
 Jones's carrots, and Jones thought of Judkins's onion prize ; 
 but as it was perfectly clear to them both that they couldn't 
 get on without beer, they, with a laudable show of reluctance, 
 
28 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 allowed their friend to join their hands, and thus preserved 
 their honour intact, inasmuch as their bright reputation for 
 courage remained untarnished, albeit the real point at issue 
 was undecided still. 
 
 During the progress of this memorable battle, Aunt 
 Eleanor prevailed upon the reverend gentleman to remain 
 and take tea, and as Sylvester soon became a favourite with 
 the pastor, he, in the course of the evening, proposed a ride 
 round the adjoining park. Sylvester of course consented at 
 once ; and when the pastor's horse had been sent for, and 
 Aunt Eleanor's pony had been saddled, they started, and 
 after riding until the moon rose, the reverend gentleman saw 
 him safely home, and bade him adieu for the night. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IN WHICH THE FIEST ALARM IS CREATED. 
 
 How soft and serene is the harvest moon ! How calm, how 
 beautiful, how bright ! When all around is tranquil and 
 clear, and the nightingale sings in her sweetest strain, how 
 touching the tones of endearm.ent sound ! Who would not 
 kiss ? Who could not love 1 Then Night discards her 
 sombre veil, and, mounting her white one studded with 
 brilliants, celebrates that lovely morn when she became the 
 bride of Day. 
 
 Now these few important remarks have been suggested by 
 two most extraordinary facts, namely, that on the night that 
 Sylvester slept at the cottage, the harvest moon was at the 
 full, and that about twelve o'clock that very night, Aunt 
 Eleanor's cook heard a noise. She and Mary — they slept 
 together — had been in bed nearly two hours ; but cook was 
 twenty years Mary's senior, and, being afHicted with pains in 
 the joints, was far more wakeful than Mary, who invariably 
 buried herself in the clothes, and slept away profoundly. 
 
 And the difference between the various species of sleep is 
 amazing : some will sleep quietly, others very noisily ; some 
 very lightly, others very heavily ; some very sweetly, others 
 very wildly ; some very languidly, others very soundly. But 
 without going into any deeply philosophical treatise on sleep. 
 
THE FIRST ALARM IS CREATED. 29 
 
 it will be, perhaps, sufficient here to state, that a bedfellow's 
 snore is a most unique nuisance, and that anything equal to 
 Mary's snore in the annals of snoring could never be found. 
 
 " Mary ! " whispered cook, when she first heard the noise ; 
 " Mary ! Did you hear that ? Mary ! — Are you dead 1 " 
 
 That the question "Are you deadi" was supererogatory, 
 is a fact which must, it is submitted, be to every highly 
 intellectual person apparent ; inasmuch as in the first place 
 a question implies the expectation of an answer, and in the 
 next it is perfectly well known to the intelligent that dead 
 individuals never snore. This affords another sad and un - 
 equivocal proof of the lamentable want of education. Had 
 this cook been conversant with the classics, she never could 
 have asked such a question ; but as she knew nothing at all 
 about them — and moreover didn't want to know — she not 
 only put this question to Mary, but announced it as being 
 her unbought opinion that the girl really was dead — she 
 slept so soundly and snored so well. 
 
 " Mary!" continued cook, as the noise increased; " Mary!" 
 Here she shook and pinched her angrily. " The girl musi be 
 dead. Mary ! Mary ! " 
 
 " It isn't six yet ! " yawned Mary. 
 
 " Six ! — listen ! — hush ! — do you hear ? " 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said Mary. 
 
 " Hark ! " 
 
 "Oh, it's the cat." 
 
 " It's no cat, Mary. Hark ! There it is again ! " 
 
 At this awful moment they both very distinctly heard 
 footsteps — and every step seemed to press upon their hearts. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Mary, " what is to become of us ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " cried cook : " hush ! hush ! " 
 
 The footsteps approached; they came gradually nearer, 
 and still more near ; and cook and Mary hugged each other 
 closely, with a view to mutual protection. At length the 
 footsteps reached the door, and cook's heart sank within her. 
 
 " D-d-d-on't be frightened, Mary ! ',' she exclaimed ; 
 " d-d-d-on't be frightened ! Oh ! if we should both be 
 ruined ! ' ' 
 
 " Shall we scream ? " said Mary. 
 
 "Hark!" cried cook, as the footsteps receded; "hark, 
 they are going downstairs ; do you hear them 1 " 
 
 " I d-d-d-do 1 " replied Mary. " Oh, how d-d-dreadful ! " 
 
30 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 The sound of the footsteps grew more and more faint, 
 until they were heard in the passage below, when the noise 
 increased. The very chairs seemed to move. Then bolts 
 were withdrawn, and at length a door closed, when all was 
 still as death again. 
 
 "They're gone ! " said cook, who, while intensely listening 
 to these dreadful sounds, had perspired with so much freedom, 
 that the sheets were quite wet. " Thank Heaven, they are 
 gone." 
 
 " Are you sure of it ? " cried Mary, trembling frightfully : 
 " quite sure 1 " 
 
 " Quite," replied the cook ; " I heard the door close." 
 
 No sooner had Mary been assured of this fact, than she 
 uttered a series of the most fearful screams that ever pro- 
 ceeded from a human throat. " Murder ! " she continued, 
 in tones the most piercing. " Murder ! Thieves ! Fire ! 
 MuT-der ! " 
 
 " Mary ! Mary ! " exclaimed cook : " hark ! " 
 
 The bell rang with violence. Their mistress had been 
 alarmed. But then what was to be done ? 
 
 "Answer the bell, Mary," said cook; "go and answer the 
 bell." 
 
 " Ale answer the bell ! " cried Mary. " Me ! I couldn't do 
 it ; no, not if you'd give me the world. Why, they may be 
 in missis's room; who knows, they may be a- murdering of 
 her now. Oh, isn't it horrid ! " 
 
 The bell still violently rang, but neither cook nor Mary 
 could stir. To protect their mistress they would at any 
 other time have done much, but then — with their imagination 
 teeming with murder — they could iiot answer that bell. 
 
 They now heard footsteps again in the passage ; and at the 
 very next moment, to their utter horror, they heard a loud 
 knocking at their door — they would, if they could, have 
 sunk into the earth. They were speechless with terror — 
 they ceased to breathe, and felt that all was lost. 
 
 From this frightful state of suspense, they were soon re- 
 lieved, for their mistress having opened her chamber door 
 to ascertain what had caused those dreadful screams, was 
 immediately answered by Judkins. They knew his voice, 
 and could have blessed him. Harsh as it was, celestial 
 music could not then, in their ears, have sounded more 
 sweetly. 
 
THE FIRST 4-LARM IS OREATED. 31 
 
 " Why, what on earth can be the matter ? " inquired Aunt 
 Eleanor. " What can it be 1 " 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am, I'm sure," replied Judkins ; " there's 
 suffin wrong, somewhere : somebody shruck dreadful." 
 
 " The shrieking was dreadful indeed; it must have been 
 Mary." 
 
 " I've knocked at the door, but they seem dead asleep." 
 
 " Oh, Judkins ! " cried cook. " Oh, wait but a moment — 
 oh, we're not asleep ! " and she put on her petticoat hastily, 
 while Mary threw hers round her shoulders, and then struck 
 a light. O ma'am," continued cook, as she opened the 
 door, " there's been thieves in the house — a whole gang of 
 'em ! Oh, we're so frightened ! I really thought that 
 murdered we all should have been." 
 
 " You've been dreaming," said Judkins; "that's my notion. 
 There's been no thieves here. Was that you that shruck ? " 
 
 " Oh no, that was Mary. She knows as well as me, there 
 was five or six of 'em at least ! " 
 
 "27iat there was," said Mary; "and murdered we must 
 have been, if I hadn't screamed." 
 
 " It's my belief you dreamt it," said Judkins. " I didn't 
 hear any noise." 
 
 " Nor did I," interposed Aimt Eleanor. " But let us go 
 down, and see if the things are disturbed." 
 
 Downstairs they accordingly went ;^Judkins boldly lead- 
 ing the way with a candle and a poker ; but it was at a 
 glance plain that no thieves had been there. The rooms 
 were precisely as they had left them ; there was not a thing 
 out of its place. The china was safe ; the plate was secure ; 
 the front door was fast— in short, everything appeared so 
 exactly as it should be, that Aunt Eleanor freely subscribed 
 to the opinion that the whole affair had originated in a 
 dream. 
 
 " There, go to bed again, you silly people," she observed ; 
 " go to bed, and don't sleep on your backs. I am glad that 
 that dear boy has not been disturbed. There, go to bed, 
 both of you, and, for Heaven's sake, let us have no more 
 screaming." 
 
 " Well, but I'm sure, ma'am," said Mary. " Oh ! if I 
 didn't" 
 
 " There, don't say another word about it — good-night." _ 
 
 As they separated, cook looked at Judkins with great sig- 
 
32 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 nificance, and Judkins — who didn't at all approve of having 
 his rest broken thus — looked with equal significance at 
 her ; but he passed her in silence : nor did she even bid him 
 good-night. On returning to her room, however, she said, 
 in strict confidence to Mary, " Now I'll tell you what it is, 
 you know it's all perfect nonsense about our dreaming — 
 that's of course stuff : I know I heard footsteps, and so did 
 you, and so there can be no mistake ' about that. Now I'll 
 tell you what, Mary, between you and me, it's my belief, 
 that the footsteps we heard were those of no other man in 
 the world than Judkins ! I am sure of it, Mary ; and I'm 
 not often wrong. Now, what right had he there, I ask? 
 What was he doing ? Depend upon it, Mary, he was after 
 no good ! " 
 
 Certainly Judkins, who slept over the kitchen, and who . 
 had a private staircase to his room, had no right, unless 
 summoned, to be in any other part of the premises at mid- 
 night ; and, as he was the very person who had suggested 
 that they had been dreaming, it unquestionably did in cook's 
 judgment seem strange ; but just as she was about to take a 
 somewhat more comprehensive view of the private character 
 of Judkins, she went to the window, and through it beheld a 
 white figure mounted upon a white horse, leaping the hedges, 
 and dashing through the meadows as if he had been follow- 
 ing the hounds in full cry. 
 
 " Mary! Heaven preserve us ! " she exclaimed. " What 
 is this?" 
 
 Mary rushed to the window, and in an instant cried — 
 " Oh ! it's a ghost." 
 
 " Nonsense !— ghosts don't ride on horseback ! " 
 
 " Oh ! but they do though, sometimes." 
 
 " It's no ghost, I tell you ; that there is a thief, and that 
 thief is your sweetheart, the miller." 
 
 " I tell you it is not, then ! " cried Mary indignantly. 
 " He a thief, indeed ! Well, I'm sure." 
 
 " I knoic him by the way in which he rides, and I never 
 did think he was better than he should be. Depend upon it, 
 Mary, he's been in the house, and when we frightened him 
 away, he's stole the horse out of the stable, for I'll take my 
 oath that's Snorter — look." 
 
 Away the .white figure flew over the fields, and then made 
 a circuit, and then crossed the road, when, as the moon 
 
THE FIRST ALARM IS CREATED. 33 
 
 shone full upon him, and he could with the utmost distinctness 
 be seen, they made up their minds at once to point him out to 
 Judkins, and with that view went to his door and knocked. 
 
 " Who's there ? " cried Judkins, somewhat startled, for he 
 had just got into his second sleep. 
 
 " Me ! " replied cook ; " it's only me, Judkius !•" 
 
 " Well, what do you want ] " 
 
 " I was right after all. Do come to the door." 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! — not if I know it. Go to' bed, and don't 
 bother." 
 
 " I tell you there's a thief about the premises." 
 
 " I know there's a fool about the premises." 
 
 " I've seen him," returned cook. " He's just stolen 
 Snorter." 
 
 " I wish you were a Snorter, with all my soul," said 
 Judkins, on getting out of bed. " Well," he continued, while 
 putting on his smalls, " this is a very pretty game, I think. 
 There's certainly nothing like a change, and such a change 
 as this is, I Tmist say, a treat. Now then," he added, on 
 opening the door, " what fresh maggot's this you've got into 
 your head 1 " 
 
 " It's no maggot, Judkins," said cook ; " it's a fact. Look 
 through the window, and there you'll see Snorter a galloping 
 off with a man on his back." 
 
 Judkins went to the window and looked, but as he could 
 see nothing at all of the kind, he said pointedly, " What do 
 you mean ? Are you taken so often ? ' ' 
 
 " I don't care," said cook, when, on looking herself, she 
 found that the jSgure had vanished. "I know there was 
 some man on Snorter. Am I not to believe my own eyes ? 
 Mary saw it as well ! " 
 
 " Oh, you saw it, too," said Judkins, " did you ? Well, 
 what was it like ? " 
 
 " It was for all the world like a ghost ? " replied Mary. 
 
 " It was a ghost," said Judkins ironically, " and nothing 
 but a ghost. Wliat sort of a swell was he, Mary 1, " 
 
 " He was dressed all in white ? " replied Mary. " There 
 was not a bit of black at all about him." 
 
 "Then of course he was a ghost. He ,must have been a 
 ghost. And didn't he spit fire, Mary 1 — and didn't his horse 
 breathe blue flame ?— and didn't his eyeballs roll about ? — and 
 wasn't he in a white cloud ? " 
 
 
 
34 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is," said cook, " I don't care a bit 
 about what you say ; I know what I know, and I'U tell you 
 again, I saw a man riding away upon Snorter. Do you go 
 down to the stable and look ; if you find Snorter there, then 
 I've done. Just put on your coat and go down." 
 
 " Why, what do you take me for 1 " said Judkins. " Who 
 do you think you're a playing upon. You call this a frolic, I 
 s'pose ? You've begun a nice game, I know ; but you don't 
 play it out upon me. Gro to bed, and let's have no more of 
 your nonsense. If you come here again I'U call missis ; she'll 
 very soon put you to rights. You take me, I s'pose, for a 
 fool, don't you? Be off ! " 
 
 Cook, perceiving that Judkins was highly indignant, mut- 
 tered something severe, and retired j and when she had had 
 a few warm words with Mary, who felt extremely wroth at 
 its being supposed that the miUer was not all her fancy had 
 painted, they both went to sleep, and slept welL 
 
 But Judkins for a long time could not go to sleep, his 
 indignation at the thought of being considered a fool was so 
 excessive. And, of all ideas of an unpleasing character, there 
 is probably not one so gaUing to a man as that of his being 
 considered a fool. He may think like a fool, he may speak 
 like a fool, he may be conscious of having acted in a very 
 foolish manner, he may even, confidentially, call himself a 
 fool ; but no man thinks that he is a fool in the abstract, 
 nor can any man bear to be thought a fool. And this is 
 a wise provision of Nature. A wise provision of Nature ! 
 Well, it is an absurd conventional term, inasmuch as all 
 Nature's provisions are wise ; and, therefore, perhaps, it had 
 better be put thus : it is one of the provisions of NaturOf and 
 its admirable character is manifest in this, that if fools knew 
 they ivere fools, their value in their own estimation would be 
 small, and all fools would be consequently wretched ; while 
 the fact of its coming to their knowledge that they are by 
 others supposed to be fools, prompts them to endeavour at 
 least to act thenceforth wisely. 
 
 This, primd facie, may appear to be very severe upon Jud- 
 kins ; but it is in reality not so, seeing that he was no fool, 
 and that no one ever supposed him to be anything like a fool. 
 He was kept awake so long by the idea of its being imagined 
 that he was a fool. But when he had sufficiently reflected 
 upon the matter — that is, when he had proved himself to 
 
THE FIBST ALARM 18 CREATED. 35 
 
 himself, beyond all dispute on the part of himself, to be no 
 fool— he went to sleep and slept until six in the morning. 
 
 Being, however, anxious to prove to the cook that he would 
 have been a fool had he allowed himself to act on her sugges- 
 tion, he no sooner rose than he went to the stable, which he 
 found, to all appearance, externally, just as he had left it. 
 The door was locked ; the key was still in the secret place 
 above the door, and the way in which it turned when applied 
 to the lock, convinced him fully that the lock had not been 
 forced. But the moment he entered he saw at a single glance 
 that something was wrong. There stood the pony, and there 
 stood Snorter ; but Snorter was saddled, and not only saddled, 
 but literally covered with steaming foam ! 
 
 Judkins stood for a moment looking at the animal with 
 an expression of amazement the most intense, and having 
 thus viewed him from head to tail, he asked himself the 
 following questions: — First, Where could the horse have 
 been ? Secondly, Who could have taken him out ? Thirdly, 
 What, under the circumstances, was he to do? The two 
 first questions he couldn't at all answer ; he knew only this, 
 that the horse had been out, and that he who had taken him 
 out was no stranger; he therefore passed them to be con- 
 sidered anon, conceiving that the question which demanded 
 his immediate consideration was the third — what, under the 
 circumstances, was he to do ? 
 
 Should he go in and explain how matters stood in the 
 stable ? Would it be wise to do so 1 He thought not. 
 Wben he had dwelt upon the triumphant position in which 
 cook would be thereby placed, he could not think that the 
 pursuit of such a course would be at all indicative of wisdom. 
 Well, then, should he set to work and clean the horse at 
 once, and say nothing whatever about it ? This question 
 was the germ of deep thought. It was, however, perfectly 
 clear that Snorter in any case must be rubbed down, and, 
 as Judkins felt that while rubbing him down he should have 
 suflacient time to arrive at some decision, he pulled off his 
 jacket and went to work at once. 
 
 Now, while he was thus intently engaged, and hissing 
 away like an angry serpent, cook glided past the stable door. 
 She had come out expressly with the view of breaking lo.ose 
 in the event of Snorter having been stolen ; it was her im- 
 movably fixed determination to open in that event her whole 
 
36 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 mind to Judkins, and, therefore, it is not irrational to suppose 
 that, had matters stood as she expected they would stand, 
 and as indeed she really wished them to stand, she would 
 have walked into him warmly ; but as she saw the horse in 
 reality there, and therefore felt that she must have been 
 mistaJ^en in so far as the identity of the animal was con- 
 cerned, she deemed it prudent to hold her peace, and silently 
 worked her way back. 
 
 During the performance of this extraordinary feat, Mary, 
 while assisting her mistress to dress, explained minutely to 
 her all that had occurred, enlarging, of course, upon every 
 point, and swelling each into all possible importance. 
 
 At first. Aunt Eleanor appeared to regard the whole affair 
 as an excellent jest, and she really did enjoy the relation of 
 the circumstances highly ; but when Mary, with great force 
 and natural feeling, stated that the miUer was suspected of 
 having taken the horse from the stable, her mistress, know- 
 ing the attachment which existed between him and Mary, 
 felt herself bound to inquire into the matter, with the view 
 of either clearing his character if innocent, or, in the event 
 of his being guilty, of breaking off the match. 
 
 She accordingly, on descending to the breakfast-room, at 
 once summoned judkins and cook, and as cook was the first 
 to attend that summons, she at once told her tale, and made 
 one deep mystery of it. Judkins, however, was not long after 
 her, and as he had decided upon sacrificing all private feeling 
 upon the altar of duty, he came prepared to state the whole case. 
 
 " Judkins," said Aunt Eleanor, as he entered, " how does 
 the horse look this morning ? " 
 
 "Why, he's pretty well, considering, ma'am,'' replied 
 Judkins. 
 
 " Pretty well, cmisid&ring, — considering what ? " 
 
 " Why, ma'am, considering that in all his born days he 
 never had such a sweating as, somehow or other, he has had 
 since I locked him up last night." 
 
 " Oh, then," said cook, who felt greatly relieved, and who 
 turned upon Judkins — and he fully expected it — as if she 
 had made up her mind to have at him, " it icasn't Snorter ; 
 it couldn't be Snorter. I was having a game with you, was 
 I ! It was one of my maggots ! You'll call missis, won't 
 you ! It was only a frolic of mine ! You are right, and I'm 
 wrong, of course ! Now I'll tell you what it is " 
 
THE FIRST ALARM IS CREATED. 37 
 
 "Presently, cook," interposed Aunt Eleanor; "have pa- 
 tience. "We will hear you presently. What do you mean 
 by the sweating, Judkins ? " 
 
 " Why, ma'am, when I went into the stable this morning, 
 I found the horse saddled, and in a muck of sweat. Who- 
 ever could have got him out I can't think I It must have 
 been some one who knows the premises, for the door was 
 locked, and the key was in its right place, over the door." 
 
 " Of course," exclaimed cook; " and the miller knew well 
 where to find it." 
 
 " Cook," said Aunt Eleanor, " how do you know that ? " 
 
 " Why, ma'am, he's always after Mary, and of course she 
 tells him all she knows." 
 
 " I know, cook, that you are jealous," said Aunt Eleanor ; 
 " but in order that the young man may have an opportunity 
 of vindicating his character, I will send for him at once. 
 You know him, Judkins? Go, and without mentioning a 
 syllable to him on the subject, tell him that I shall be glad 
 to speak to him for a moment." 
 
 Judkins, casting a look of contempt at cook, then left the 
 room, and, as Sylvester immediately afterwards came in to 
 breakfast, the whole affair was fully explained to him by his 
 aunt, who expressed herself highly delighted at the fact of 
 his not having been disturbed. 
 
 And Sylvester, who looked very languid, and felt very sore, 
 expressed his amazement at the circumstances related, and 
 the interest which that relation excited was, in reality, deep 
 in the extreme. 
 
 " What could have been the man's object ? " said he ; " he 
 had clearly no intention to steal the horse, seeing that he 
 brought him back, and locked the stable door. It appears to 
 me to be so unaccountable ! I can't understand it at all ! " 
 
 "It is strange — ^very strange!" said Aunt Eleanor. "But 
 come, my dear, let us have breakfast. Cook," she added, 
 "send in that tongue." 
 
 Cook left the room, and repaired to the pantry ; but the 
 state of things there was so startling, that she almost imme- 
 diately returned, exclaiming, " Now, ma'am, I hnow there's 
 been thieves in the house ! No tongue, no pastry, no sausage- 
 roUs : not a single bit of any blessed thing can I find ! 
 Everything's gone ! There must have been half-a-dozen of 
 them at least ! " 
 
38 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Well, this," said Aunt Eleanor, "is indeed extraordi- 
 nary ! " 
 
 "And what gormandisers, too, they must have been!' 
 resumed cook. " There was half a tongue, four sausage-rolls, 
 six apple-puffs, three or'four tartSj three jam-tarts, you know, 
 ma'am — I know there were three — in short, they've eaten 
 every individual thing ! " 
 
 " This is very mysterious ! " observed Aunt Eleanor calmly; 
 "we shall probably understand it better by-and-by. You 
 must now do the best you can, my dear, with ham and 
 eggs ! " 
 
 "Do not have an3rthing cooked for me," said Sylvester; 
 " indeed, I've no appetite at all." 
 
 Nor had he ! The ham and eggs were ordered by his aunt 
 notwithstanding ; but, when they were brought, he could not 
 touch either. Nor could he in any way account. for this. He 
 usually ate a good breakfast ; but he really then felt himself 
 fiill to repletion. Aunt Eleanor herself became very much 
 alarmed. What on earth could be the cause of it ? She 
 couldn't imagine. She felt quite sure that he was sickening 
 for something, and was just turning over in her mind the 
 expediency of sending at once for her physician, when 
 Judkins returned from the mill. 
 
 On entering the room he was eagerly followed by Mary 
 and cook, who were both extremely anxious to hear the re- 
 sult ; and, when it was announced that the miller had started 
 the preceding day to attend a distant market, and would not 
 return until the morrow, Mary's expression of joy contrasted 
 strongly with that of disappointment, which instantly marked 
 the fat features of cook, who sufficiently proved that there 
 are feelings of jealousy which do not spring from pure love. 
 For example, she didn't love the miller : still she thought 
 that, instead of proposing to Mary, he should have proposed 
 to her. She, with characteristic candour, admitted it to be 
 true that she was a trifle older — say twenty years or so — 
 but then she was, in her judgment, a much finer woman ! 
 A far more experienced — a larger-boned person ! She could 
 not imagine how any man, having his eyes about him, could 
 prefer such a skit of a thing as Mary to her. But so it was. 
 Cook felt it to be so acutely, and hence she did hope that it 
 would have been proved that the miller had taken Snorter 
 out of the stable ; but as it was then to all abundantly clear 
 
THE CHURGEYARD. 39 
 
 that he could not by any possibility have been the man, the 
 question which naturally suggested itself was — • 
 
 " Whom could it have been ? " That was the question ! 
 And an interesting question it was. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 As the world has ever been governed by mysteries — by 
 mysteries amazed — by mysteries amused — by mysteries 
 excited, subdued, and kept in awe — he, who could be, by his 
 hopes of immortality, prompted to grapple with, to open, 
 and to spread completely out the philosophy of mystery, 
 would be, beyond all dispute, hailed by the mysterious as a 
 great benefactor to his species. It wouldn't, however, do 
 here : there isn't room for it : and even if there were, such 
 a profound interference with the progress of this history 
 wouldn't be exactly correct ; but that a mystery is an affair 
 which doth exercise over the human mind an immense 
 amount of influence is manifest in this, that upon the 
 mysterious piece of business in question. Aunt Eleanor 
 during the whole morning dwelt. 
 
 She coulcMt make it out; and in the fact of its being 
 apparently impossible to be made out, consists the chief 
 beauty of a mystery : she sent for her reverend friend, but 
 he could throw no light at all upon the subject; feeling, 
 however, bound to do something,- he very benevolently 
 proffered his advice. 
 
 "With respect," said he, "to the horse affair, I have 
 nothing whatever to say, being utterly unable to conjecture 
 with justice either how it occurred, or who could have been 
 the man, but, as far as the pastry matter is concerned, I 
 have a few words of advice to offer. The same thing occurred 
 to me some years ago, when I kept an academy near Chat 
 Moss. I was constantly losing my pastry. Night after 
 night it went with all the regularity imaginable. I couldn't 
 tell how, but it went. I used even to lock the pantry-door 
 and keep the key in my chamber : still it continued to go. 
 Well, at length resolved to discover, if possible, the cause 
 
40 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 of all this, I one evening introduced a little gentle jalap, 
 and patiently waited the result, which was this, that in the 
 morning there was not a single youth in the establishment 
 perfectly free from qualms ! I then at once sarw how the 
 matter stood, of course ; and although I took no apparent 
 notice of the circumstance, my pastry was thenceforward 
 safe. They wouldn't eat it, even when placed before them. 
 I couldn't persuade them to touch it. I therefore advise 
 youj my dear madam, strongly to adopt the same course. It 
 is certain to cure them. I know — I have proved it to be a 
 specific ! " 
 
 Aunt Eleanor smiled : she moreover blushed ; and, in 
 order to hide that blush, she went to the sideboard, and 
 having got out a decanter of sherry, placed it before him, 
 with a glass and some cake. The very sight of the wine — 
 of which he was fond — made the reverend gentleman eloquent ; 
 but the moment he had tasted it down went the glass, and 
 be made one of the most extraordinary faces ever beheld ; 
 he screwed up his nose, and compressed his lips, and while 
 drawing the corners right down to his chin, looked precisely 
 as if he had been taking something filthy. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, laughing — for 
 really the pastor's face was irresistibly droll — " what on earth 
 is the matter? " 
 
 The reverend gentleman shuddered and grunted, and shook 
 his head, and pointed to the glass on the table, with the view 
 of intimating his strong disapprobation of the wine. 
 
 " Do you not like the flavour of it ? " 
 
 "No-o-o-o ! " replied the reverend gentleman, shuddering, 
 with even more violence than before. " It's phy-z-z-zio ! " 
 
 " Dear me," said Aunt Eleanor ; " why, it came out of the 
 very same bin as the last." 
 
 'The reverend gentleman did not care much about what par- 
 ticular bin it came out of, all he cared about was its peculiar 
 flavour — which flavour really was, in his judgment, bad. 
 
 " Some trick has been played with that wine," he observed, 
 as soon as he was able to unscrew his mouth; "depend upon 
 it, some trick has been played." 
 
 " Impossible, my dear sir ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, 
 rising for a glass, with the view of tasting it herself. " Why, 
 what ! " she added, on putting her lips to it ; " what in 
 the name of goodness can it be 1 " 
 
THE CHUBCHYABD. 41 
 
 " Filtiiy, isn't it ? " observed the pastor. 
 
 " Filthy ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, and burst at once 
 into a merry peal of laughter. "Excuse me," she added, 
 as soon as she could ; " pray excuse me ; I know that I am 
 very, very rude, but you really do make such a funny face ! " 
 
 Well, that, in the reverend gentleman's view, was rich. 
 He would, at that particular moment, have felt great pleasure 
 in being informed what man, possessing anything like a palate, 
 could swallow, as he had swallowed, half a glass or more of 
 that stuff, without making up a face, which might be denomi- 
 nated fairly funny. 
 
 " Well," said Aunt Eleanor, who had been highly amused, 
 and who then rang the bell, " we must rectify this." 
 
 " You will never be able to rectify that," said the reverend 
 gentleman ; " that's past all rectification." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor — albeit not much in the habit of laughing 
 — laughed heartily again; and when Mary appeared, she 
 gave her the key of the cellar, with the most tranquil face 
 she could assume, and directed her to bring up a bottle of 
 sherry. 
 
 The pastor looked at Mary with an expression which 
 seemed to indicate that he strongly suspected that she had 
 been at that decanter. Mary, however, took no notice of 
 this ; she received her instructions and then left the room. 
 
 "It's really very unfortunate," said Aunt Eleanor, "that 
 you should have tasted the very first glass out of that 
 particular bottle." 
 
 "My dear madam," returned the pastor, "depend upon 
 this, that I have not had the first glass." 
 
 " It was decanted yesterday ; it has not since been 
 touched." 
 
 " To your knowledge it may not have been ; but it strikes 
 me forcibly that some one has been at it, substituting vinegar, 
 or something of that sort, for three or four glasses of the 
 wine." 
 
 " Oh ! I should say," rejoined Aunt Eleanor, " that there 
 was something in the bottle before the wine was put in." 
 
 The reverend gentleman, however, still adhered strictly to 
 his original opinion, which the wine in the fresh bottle tended 
 to confirm. That was something like wine ! and he said so ; 
 he, moreover, drank half a pint of it in order to take the 
 taste of the other out of his mouth, and when this had been 
 
42 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 eflfectually accomplislied, lie briefly adverted to his gentle 
 specific, and then, with many expressions of high considera- 
 tion, took his leave. 
 
 Sylvester during the whole of this time was sleeping soundly 
 on the sofa. He had been prevailed upon by his aunt to lie 
 down immediately after he had made that apology for a break- 
 fast ; and as, when he rose, which was not until just before 
 dinner, he ate heartily again, all his fond aunt's apprehensions 
 vanished. 
 
 He still, however, looked very languid and pale ; and, in 
 order to raise his spirits, she related what had occurred to her 
 reverend friend, and then dwelt more at large upon the mys- 
 teries which characterised- the preceding night ; and after 
 having indulged in a variety of conjectures, of which the 
 majority were very ingenious, she ordered the chaise, took 
 him out for a drive, and then made every effort that affection 
 could suggest to amuse and to cheer him in the evening. 
 
 About nine o'clock, however, feeling very much fatigued, 
 he retired to rest. Aunt Eleanor in general went to bed at 
 ten, and so did the servants usually ; but on this particular 
 occasion cook and Mary — peace between them and Judkins 
 not having been proclaimed — sat alone tUl past eleven, over 
 a bright kitchen fire, conversing on the subject of recent 
 events, and relating a variety of ghost-stories to each other 
 in justification of their respective views. These stories, 
 which are always of a deeply interesting character, made 
 them shudder ; and as some of them were indeed awful, th&y 
 were inspired with so much dread that they both felt 
 extremely unwilling to move. They had, moreover, been so 
 intent upon these tales of the imagination, that the candle 
 burned down to the socket unperceived ; for while cook, who 
 retained the poker in her hand, kept on stirring the fire con- 
 tinually, Mary's eyes were fixed upon the brightest of the 
 coals, in which she detected with much ingenuity the outlines 
 of divers extraordinary faces. 
 
 At length the wick, deserted by that pure flame which had 
 enveloped it so long, and by which it had been so uninter- 
 ruptedly warmed, sighed forth its dying breath. Cook smelt 
 this, it reached her nostrils first, and, as experience had taught 
 her to know in an instant what it was, she turned, on the 
 impulse of the moment, with the view of consigning it at once 
 to the fire. She had scarcely, however, toitched the candle- 
 
THE GHURCHYABD. 43 
 
 stick which contcained it, when her blood chilled with horror, 
 for she heard distinctly footsteps approaching. Mary heard 
 those footsteps too, but they had not time to glance at each 
 other before the kitchen door absolutely opened, and they beheld 
 a tail figure enveloped in a sheet. They tried to scream, but 
 could not ; terror had struck them dumb. They had risen 
 from their seats, bnt stood utterly appalled. 
 
 The figure, apparently unconscious of their presence, now 
 glided gradually through the kitchen, and turning into the 
 passage which led to the pantry, disappeared. But, although 
 they could not see it then, neither could speak, for they 
 plainly heard it still. 
 
 Anon the figure again appeared, and their blood grew 
 apparently colder than before ; and while their strained eye- 
 balls seemed. ready to burst, they stood as if to that particular 
 spot they had been absolutely rivetted. Still the apparition 
 seemed not to perceive them ; it glided without turning its 
 head back to the door at which it had entered, and when it 
 had closed it with the utmost care, they saw the appalling 
 spectre no more. 
 
 Now, although they were still half-dead with fright, and 
 continued to tremble with unexampled violence, the very 
 instant the figure had vanished, and all had become quite 
 silent again, they simultaneously uttered a series of screams 
 of the loudest and most piercing character. 
 
 Sleeping, as he did, immediately over the kitchen, Judkins 
 heard these frightful screams, and conceiving from their 
 nature that they did in reality mean something, he leaped 
 out of bed and rushed into the passage ; but as, by the light 
 of the moon, he perceived, indistinctly, the figure approach- 
 ing, he rushed back again without any loss of time, and 
 having locked his door in the twinkling of an eye, buried 
 himself beneath the bedclothes in a state of indescribable 
 terror. 
 
 The short space of time which the whole of this occupied 
 was indeed amazing. He had never displayed so much 
 alacrity before — he had never in his life made so much haste. 
 Under any other conceivable circumstances he must have 
 been utterly astonished at himself ! — ^he stopped for nothing, 
 he was wonderfully active ; no one who knew him could for a 
 moment have imagined that he had so much activity in him. 
 
 The screaming, however, continued still; and at length 
 
44 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor, throwing a cloak around her, descended with 
 her night-lamp to ascertain the cause. She experienced no 
 difficulty, of course, in discovering from what particular part 
 of the house those screams proceeded ; she knew at once that 
 they came from the kitchen, and hence to the kitchen she 
 quickly repaired ; but the moment she lifted the latch of the 
 door cook and Mary sank upon their knees and convulsively 
 buried their faces in their hands. 
 
 " Why, what, in the name of goodness," said Aunt Eleanor, 
 " can be the meaning of all this ? Cook ! Mary ! Mary ! 
 Answer me instantly — what does it mean 1 " 
 
 Cook, who at first imagined that the figure had returned, 
 now sximmoned sufficient courage to raise her head ; and the 
 first words she uttered were, " The gho-o-o-ost ! " 
 
 " The what ? " cried Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am ! " said Mary j " oh, my good gracious me ! 
 Oh, we've been frightened to death, ma'am. A ghost has 
 been here, ma'am ! a real ghost ! Oh ! " 
 
 " Nonsense, Mary ; how can you be so simple ! " 
 
 " We saw it come in, ma'am," interposed cook ; " and we 
 saw it go out. Oh, it was horrid ! " 
 
 " Tut, tut ! what on earth can be the matter with you 
 both?" 
 
 " We saw it, ma'am ; indeed we did. We both of us saw 
 it, ma'am, with our own eyes ! " ■ 
 
 " You saw it in imagination merely. But how is it that 
 you are not in bed before this ? Why, it's half -past eleven 
 o'clock ! Have you both been asleep ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am," replied the cook ; " Mary and me have 
 been talking." 
 
 " I perceive ; I perceive it all clearly ; you have been 
 talking about ghosts. Now, tell me the truth : is it not so ? " 
 
 " We had been talking about what we'd heard, ma'am ; 
 but as to this, I never saw anything plainer in my life." 
 
 " Ridiculous, cook. I am surprised that a person of your 
 years should not know better. What's that 1 " she exclaimed, 
 on hearing a noise above, produced apparently by the falling 
 of some heavy weight. " Ring the gardener's bell. There is 
 something going on which I don't understand. Ring the bell. " 
 
 "Ye-e-es, ma^am," said Mary, who, having been filled 
 with fresh alarm by the noise above, was afraid to move 
 even to the rope. " I am so frightened ! " 
 
THE OHUBGHYABD. 45 
 
 Aunt Eleanor however rang the bell, but no answer was 
 returned. She rang it again with additional violence ; and 
 again ! and again ! still no answer. She couldn't, of course, 
 pretend to account for it. She thought it very strange; 
 and as the world at large may also think it strange, it will 
 be, perhaps, as well at once to explain the real cause. 
 
 It has been already stated that it was not long before 
 Judkins got into bed again. Nor was it. He got in any- 
 how. Nor did he care how ! — he wasn't particular. His 
 object was to get into bed, and he got in. But, being 
 extremely anxious to conceal himself effectually, he darted 
 beneath the clothes, which were aU on one side, and there 
 lay for a time motionless upon the very brink of the bedstead. 
 Of this fact, however, he was perfectly unconscious, and 
 therefore, when he did attempt to turn, he fell heavily upon 
 the floor. That the ghost had induced this, he at that awful 
 moment had not the slightest doubt. But he was into bed 
 again in an instant, and there — of course utterly heedless of 
 the bell — he remained in perfect silence, until his mis- 
 tress, tired of ringing, came up to his bedroom door and 
 knocked. 
 
 Judkins started ! The knock alone seemed to convulse 
 his whole frame. " Oh," he exclaimed ; " what have I done 1 
 what have I done ? what have I done ? " 
 
 " Judkins ! " said his mistress ; but as she had caught 
 cold, her voice was not sufficiently clear to be recognised ; 
 " Judkins ! " 
 
 " Leave me," he continued, " for Heaven's sake, leave me ! 
 I know I'm a miserable sinner, but leave me ! Go some- 
 where else ; you've mistaken the room — indeed you have ; 
 you have, I assure you ! " 
 
 When Mary and cook, who had followed their mistress 
 closely, for then they would not have lost sight of her for 
 the world, heard these awful words uttered, they felt quite 
 convinced that whatever mistake the ghost might have made, 
 he was then in the room with Judkins. They were sure of 
 it ! — perfectly sure ; and conceiving that their mistress must 
 have inspired the same conviction, they implored her, in 
 trembling whispers, to retire. But no : her mind was firm ! 
 She was resolved to know, if possible, the cause of this delu- 
 sion, and therefore knocked loudly again at the door. 
 
 " Oh, pray go away," said Judkins bitterly, " pray do ! " 
 
46 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Judkins!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor; " Judkins ! 'tis I 
 — your mistress ! " 
 
 " You, ma'am ! Oh, thank Heaven ! is it you ? " 
 
 " Yes, 'tis I. Wlfat is the matter ? Dress yourself in- 
 stajitly, and open the door." 
 
 ■Judkins, who felt of course greatly relieved, threw off the 
 bedclothes, and slipped on his smalls ; but when, pale and 
 trembling, he opened the door, his countenance bore still an 
 expression of terror. 
 
 "What is this, Judkins?" demanded Aunt Eleanor; 
 " what can be the meaning of it all ? " 
 
 " Oh," replied Judkins, who felt very ill, " the house is 
 haunted : I know it is. I've seen," he added, in a harsh, 
 unearthly whisper, " I've seen a horrid ghost." 
 
 "Where?" said Aunt Eleanor; "I really have no 
 patience with you. Where did you see it ? " 
 
 " There 1 " replied Judkins, still in a whisper, pointing to 
 the passage with startling effect; "there ! " 
 
 " Are you all mad ?" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, perceiving 
 that they all looked towards the passage, as if apprehensive 
 of the " ghost's " reappearance ; " or is it all done to alarm 
 me ? There is," she added, with an expression of intensity, 
 " there is something, I fear, beneath -the surface of this. If 
 you have any bad design — if you are actuated by any un- 
 hallowed notions — if you have conspired together with the 
 view of accomplishing any wicked object — pray, before you 
 retire to rest, that Heaven may turn your hearts ! " 
 
 With all the eloquence of which they were capable, they 
 implored her to believe that they were attached to her 
 sincerely ; that they had been, and would continue to be, 
 faithful to the last ; and that the proceedings of that awful 
 night were ascribable, justly, to no wicked motive, no base 
 conspiracy, no bad design. 
 
 "I will speak to you all," she observed, "in the morning; 
 but if — I say if — you have conspired together with any wicked 
 object in view, may Heaven forgive you. Grood-night." 
 
 She then returned to her chamber and locked the door, 
 leaving them greatly distressed at the idea of its being sup- 
 posed that they had entered into any such conspiracy. They 
 very soon, however, reverted to the ghost, when Judkins 
 exclaimed, with all the fervour at his command, " If I didn't 
 see it, why I didn't ; but ii 1 didn't, I'm dumb ! " 
 
THE OHUROHYABD. 47 
 
 " We saw it, too," said cook. 
 
 " You did ? " 
 
 " It came into tlie kitchen.-" 
 
 " Didn't it look horrid ? " 
 
 " Oh, hideoTis 1 Did you see its face ? " 
 
 "The figure was quite enough for me. I think I see it 
 now ! " 
 
 "TFAere?" cried Mary. "Oh, don't frighten us. Where?" 
 
 " No, no ; I mean that I shall never forget it ! But let 
 us go to bed ; missis is angry — I know she's angry ; I never 
 saw her angry before; but I'm sure she's no cause. One 
 may be wrong — two may be wrong ; but we can't all be 
 wrong. We all of us saw it. Nothing can get over that. 
 But good-night : good-night." 
 
 Cook and Mary then retired, and when, with hearts still 
 full of fear, they had got into bed, Mary went to sleep with 
 this expression on her lips, " I'm sure I shall not get a wm/c 
 to-night." 
 
 Now, while these scenes were being enacted at the cottage, 
 dreadful excitement prevailed near the church, and as it is 
 essential to the due appreciation of the cause of this excite- 
 ment, that the whole of the particulars should be known, it 
 will be correct to state those particulars here, with the names 
 of the persons excited. 
 
 It happened, then, that on that very evening a party of 
 influential men had assembled at a house, of which the sign 
 was " The Crumpet and Crovm." This party consisted of 
 Messrs. Blinkum, Pokey, Bobber, Snorkins, and Quocks, who 
 -were joined by another highly influential person, named 
 Obadiah Drant, who was really an immense politician ! who 
 could tell what the Emperor of China thought, and what 
 were the strictly private feelings of the Czar ! who had the 
 faculty of going over much more ground in the space of five 
 Ininutes than the Wandering Jew ever did in five years ! and 
 whose intimate associates appeared to be persons whom he 
 called Billy Pitt, Harry Brougham, Johnny Eussell, Charley 
 Fox, and Bobby Peel ! 
 
 It may moreover be remarked — for it is remarkable — that 
 in England we very seldom meet with a church without per- 
 ceiving a public-house at hand. Sometimes it is opposite, 
 sometimes next door, and sometimes even in the very church- 
 yard. But whatever the relative positions may be, they are 
 
48 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 almost invariably found to be within a few yards of each 
 other, as if every inhabitant, like every representative of 
 Oato, were expected to exclaim, " My bane and antidote are 
 both before me ! " Some, indeed, may ascribe this remark- 
 able association to the spirits, and some may attribute it 
 solely to the beer ; to some it may suggest the idea of those 
 bosom friends — brandy and bitters — while others may imagine 
 that the common announcement of " Good entertainment for 
 man and beast," refers to the two establishments : but what- 
 ever may be the meaning of this association, it is perfectly 
 certain that the Crumpet and Crown was within twenty yards 
 of the church — that the party assembled at the Crumpet 
 and Crown had to go through that very churchyard — and 
 that although the house was usually closed at ten, the argu- 
 ment in which they were engaged was not finished at eleven. 
 They had still one little point to settle ; a point which they 
 felt it to be their duty to settle before they parted, it being 
 neither more nor less than " How the country could be saved 
 from a sanguinary revolution ! " Mr. Blinkum contended, 
 that unless a law were passed to protect the British butcher, 
 an universal slaughter would be inevitable. Mr. Bobber 
 thought that a poll-tax might avert it. Mr. Pokey begged 
 to say, and to have it understood, that it could be averted 
 only by an equitable adjustment; and while Mr. Snorkins 
 declared it to be his unbought opinion that it was to be done 
 by an alteration in the iron trade alone, Mr. Quocks main- 
 tained that it could be done only by an immediate and un- 
 conditional repeal of the Corn Laws. Eventually, however, 
 Mr. Obadiah Drant recapitulated the various arguments 
 adduced, and having summed up with all his characteristic 
 perspicuity, delivered his judgment to the effect that^ 
 Nothing could save this mighty nation from one chaotic mass 
 of unextinguishable flames ! 
 
 The point in question having thus been decided to the 
 entire satisfaction of all concerned, the party broke up ; and 
 all, with the exception of Obadiah, who icould have a glass 
 at the bar, left the house, and proceeded homewards through 
 the churchyard. 
 
 The churchyard ! To the contemplative, how awful is a 
 churchyard at midnight, when a solemn stillness pervades 
 the scene over which, for a time,. Death reigns triumphant ! 
 Who, without inspiring feelings of awe, can, at. such a time, 
 
THE CHURCHYARD. 49 
 
 reflect, that beneath the surface of that solemn scene, hearts 
 that have throbbed with love, sympathy, and joy, and those 
 from which sprang only baseness and crime, together perish ? 
 — that the marrowless bones of the noble and the base, the 
 virtuous and the vicious, the intellectual and the animal, the 
 lofty and the lowly, the generous and the selfish, the philan- 
 thropist and the misanthrope, lie levelled; some fleshless, 
 some crumbled into dust, some crumbling fast, and some 
 cased in corruption still; but all levelled, or distinguished 
 only by the vanity of the living; while Death, upon the 
 loftiest tomb, sits grinning at the distinction, conscious that 
 they are all levelled, and that thus they will remain till the 
 last trump shall sovmd, when his power will cease for ever ? 
 
 Perhaps no one. But to those who had just left the 
 Crumpet and Crown this scene was not awful at all. These 
 reflections then did not occur to them— they didn't reflect 
 upon anything of the sort. They were all elated, thought- 
 less, careless, fearless : that is, they feared nothing, seeing 
 nothing to fear : they were joyous, merry, happy, generous, 
 friendly, and affectionate. But when they had got half-way 
 across the churchyard, Pokey, who was somewhat in advance 
 of the rest, started back with a look of horror, and with 
 frightful effect exclaimed, " What's that 2 " 
 
 "What's what ? — what do you mean ? " demanded Snorkins. 
 
 " Look there ! " returned Pokey, with vehemence, pointing 
 to a tall, white figure, which appeared to be contemplating 
 the tombs. 
 
 And they did look there : and on the instant terror seized 
 them. Two ran back to the Crumpet and Crown, and the 
 rate at which they ran surpassed everything on record -in 
 the annals of running; but the rest didn't run, because 
 they couldn't. They stood as if struck with paralysis ; they 
 were as pale as any spectre could hope to be; and while 
 their hearts ceased to perform their natural functions, 
 and their quivering lips were livid with fear, their knees 
 smote each other with a species of violence altogether 
 unexampled. Well, what was to be done ? There it was, a 
 real, regular ghost ! There was no mistake about it ; there 
 couldn't exist two opinions on the subject ; but what was to 
 be done 1 Should they run ?— they couldn't. Should they 
 call out ? — they couldn't. Well, were they to stop there and 
 watch till it vanished ? They didn't at all like to do so, but 
 
 D 
 
so SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 what else could they do ? Nothing. There they remained, 
 and while they were there, in a state of speechless terror, 
 Obadiah Drant, being a valiant man, on hearing the facts of 
 the case stated by Bobber and Quocks, who had run back so 
 bravely to the Crumpet and Crown, seized a carving-knife 
 which lay near a huge round of beef, and while flourishing 
 it boldly declared, with that vehemence for which he was 
 distinguished, that as he cared no more for a ghost than he 
 did for Bobby Peel, he'd go at once and " settle the swell ! " 
 which really was a very irreverent expression, and therefore 
 extremely incorrect. But seeing such valour displayed, 
 Legge, the landlord, who had never seen a ghost, but who 
 had a great desire to see one, did offer to accompany Obadiah 
 Drant, and despite the remonstrances of Mrs. Legge, actually 
 quitted the house with him, leaving Bobber and Quocks to 
 fill Mrs. Legge's mind with all sorts of horrors. 
 
 Legge, however, on reaching the churchyard, perceived 
 that Obadiah somewhat relaxed, and on mentioning this with 
 all the delicacy of which he was capable, Obadiah pronounced 
 this opinion : — That as spectres were " not sensible to feeling 
 as to sight," it would not be at all a fair match. Still, with 
 an assumption of valour which was, in reality, a stranger to 
 his heart, he went on; but he had no sooner reached the 
 spot on which his friends stood, and beheld the white figure 
 distinctly before him, than the carving-knife dropped, and he 
 fell upon his knees, which would not then allow him to stand. 
 
 But Legge, who assumed nothing, was comparatively 
 calm. He saw the figure, and believed it to be a spirit, and 
 therefore his heart did not beat with its wonted regularity ; 
 still, compared with the rest, he was tranquil and firm. 
 He even proposed to approach the " spirit," and to ascertain, 
 if possible, why it had appeared ; but not one would accom- 
 pany him — not one could accompany him — and having at 
 home a wife and five children, he didn't think it would be 
 exactly prudent for him to go alone. 
 
 "But come, come," said he, "we have nothing to fear. 
 
 We have murdered no one, robbed no one, injured no one 
 
 why should we fear ? It will not harm us. It may have 
 something to communicate — some secret perhaps, which, until 
 it has been revealed, will not allow it to rest. Let us go." 
 
 At this moment the figure— which, during the whole of 
 the time, had been moving slowly from tomb to tomb — came 
 
THE OHUROHYARD. 51 
 
 towards them; but as it advanced they simultaneously 
 receded, and continued to recede, looking constantly behind 
 them, until they reached the gate, which they had no sooner 
 passed than, making themselves up for one grand effort, they 
 darted towards the Crumpet and Crown with all the energy 
 at their command. 
 
 The figure, notwithstanding this, continued to advance. 
 It seemed to be in no haste whatever — it took its own time ; 
 and having passed the gate, appeared to have made up 
 its mind to look in at the Crumpet and Crown. But the 
 moment they perceived this apparent inclination on the part 
 of the " spectre," they closed the door, locked it, shot both the 
 bolts, and then rushed to the window in a state of breathless 
 anxiety. They were not, however, kept here in that state 
 long : they had in fact scarcely reached the window, when 
 they saw it pass slowly and solemnly by, without appearing 
 even to notice the house — which was a comfort to them all ; 
 they breathed again, and were again courageous — indeed, so 
 courageous, that when they felt perfectly sure that it was 
 gone, they went to the door agaia in order to watch it. But 
 it was not gone, although it was going, which was in their 
 judgment the next best thing. They therefore did watch it 
 — nay, they even followed it — at a most respectful distance, 
 it is true — still they followed it, and continued to follow it, 
 for nearly twenty yards, when it vanished — they couldn't tell 
 how ; but it vanished — and that, too, into Aunt Eleanor's 
 cottage! One thought he saw it walk through the brick 
 wall ; another conceived that it flew through the window ; a 
 third felt convinced that it opened the door; a fourth 
 imagined that it darted through the panels ; but on the one 
 grand point they were all agreed— they all saw it enter the 
 cottage. 
 
 And didn't they pity Aunt Eleanor ? Yes ; even Irom 
 their souls they pitied her; but — they returned to the 
 Crumpet and Crown. 
 
 " Well ! " said Mr. Pokey, " I never see such a ]ob in mij 
 life ! And didn't it smeU ! " 
 
 " I smelt nothing," observed the landlord. 
 
 " What*! not brimstone ? " 
 
 " No ; not a bit of it." 
 
 " I can't say as I smelt brimstone," interposed Mr. Bobber ; 
 1" it seemed like the burning of charcoal, to me." 
 
52 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Charcoal ! " exclaimed Mr. Blinkum ; " it was just for 
 all the world lite burnt bones. You get the leg-bone of a 
 bullock, and burn it, and see if it won't smell — oh, offal ! and 
 it stands to reason that if the bones of a bullock smell, the 
 bones of a man also will smell likewise." 
 
 " But Jias a spirit bones ? " demanded Mr. Bobber. 
 
 " Why, if it hadn't, you fool, how could it hold together 1 
 A spirit is a skeleton — it must be a skeleton, because spirits 
 have no flesh." 
 
 "What do you call it a spirit for ? " inquired Mr. Quocks. 
 
 " Why, what do you call it 2 " 
 
 " A ghost, to be sure." 
 
 " A ghost ! " said Mr. Pokey ; " I call it a vision ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " exclaimed Mr. Snorkins ; " it's a apparition 
 — that's what it is — and I'll bet you glasses round of it — 
 come." 
 
 Hereupon Mr. Legge interposed an observation to the 
 effect that half the difference between ghosts, spirits, visions, 
 and apparitions wasn't much ; but Obadiah, to whom nothing 
 could be unknown, and who was consequently conversant 
 with every species of spectre, contended stoutly that the 
 difference between them was as great as the difference 
 between those famihar friends of his, Billy Pitt, Harry 
 Brougham, Johnny E-ussell, and Bobby Peel. He, more- 
 over, learnedly enlarged upon this ; and, having adduced 
 innumerable analogous cases, concluded by observing, with 
 a view of proving the distinction beyond all doubt, that the 
 appearance of Billy Pitt would be a spirit — that of Harry 
 Brougham a vision — that of Bobby Peel an apparition — and 
 that of Johnny Russell a ghost. 
 
 Meanwhile, the agitation of Mrs. Legge was excessive. 
 Nothing could surpass it ! nothing ever equalled it ! Certain 
 she was that she never should be able to get through the 
 night. The state of her nerves was altogether frightful ! 
 Twenty times during the discussion had she begged of them 
 to leave, but in vain : they could not be prevailed upon to 
 move — they were perfectly deaf to her entreaties, so long as 
 she continued to supply their demands ; but when she at 
 length announced her firm determination that they shouldn't 
 have another drop in her house that night, if she knew it, 
 they made up their minds to go roun4 by the road, shpol? 
 Legge by the hand, and departed. 
 
THE MYSTERY. 53 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MYSTERY. 
 
 There is, perhaps, nothing connected with our nature more 
 easily excited than suspicion. However much disposed we 
 may be to confide in the honour and sincerity of those around 
 US', we cannot extinguish that feeling of suspicion that 
 appears to be inherent in our hearts. It may be latent — it 
 may even for years be dormant — but it is to be aroused by a 
 single word, and when it is aroused it frequently develops itself 
 with so much malignity, that prudence, pride, love, honour, 
 justice, and reason fall before it. Some imagine that there 
 is so much deception beneath the surface of society, suspicion 
 is absolutely essential to security — and it certainly is not safe 
 to be too confiding — but it really does seem most ungenerous 
 to suspect, in a world in which there is such an immense 
 amount of superficial honesty. There is, however, something 
 very pleasing in suspicion after all ; for it involves the hope 
 that that which we suspect wUl be realised. If even it be 
 prejudicial to ourselves, what a comfort there is in an 
 opportunity of paying a compliment to our own acuteness ! 
 -^what self-satisfaction is derived from the exclamation, " I 
 knew, of course, how it would be ! — I suspected it all along ! 
 — and I have not been deceived ! " We do not like to be 
 deceived — nay, we cannot, in this respect, bear to be 
 deceived ! 
 
 It is questionable — ay, very questionable — whether any 
 one is, or ever was, entirely free from the feeling of suspicion ; 
 but then it is not to be said that all who possess that feeling 
 are suspicious ! No : Aunt Eleanor was not, in the common 
 acceptation of the term, suspicious. She wished to believe 
 that all around her were honest, just, virtuous, and pure ; 
 she had as much faith in their integrity as any one could 
 have, but as she could not in any way account for that which 
 had occurred, she felt convinced that there must be something 
 wrong, and that conviction haunted her throughout the 
 night. 
 
 In the morning, however, being anxious, as usual, to act 
 with the utmost discretion, she resolved on not recurring to 
 the subject before the servants until she had consulted her 
 
54 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 reverend friend, and, in pursuance of this resolution, she 
 wrote a note to that gentleman, requesting the favour of 
 a call, but, before she had despatched that note, he came, 
 ostensibly with the view of reminding her, that that was the 
 very day on which the village would have a certain periodical 
 visit. 
 
 Now in this visit much mystery was involved, and as it 
 forms a subject which must of necessity be resorted to anon, 
 it will be perhaps as well to explain now that a gentleman 
 named Howard, his daughter Henriette, and a lady, whose 
 assumed name was Greville, had for some years honoured the 
 village with their presence, for one hour, on the first of April 
 and the first of October, for a purpose which no one connected 
 with that village had ever been able to learn. It may also be 
 stated that Henriette was an elegant girl, gentle, amiable, and 
 accomplished. She had been educated with the utmost care, 
 under the surveillance of her father, whose every earthly hope 
 seemed fixed upon her ; she was the pride of his heart — his 
 idol ; most fondly — most dearly did he love her ; but often, 
 while gazing upon her in silence, would he burst into tears. 
 Henriette constantly marvelled at this. To her it was indeed 
 mysterious. She could not ascertain — nay, she could not 
 even conceive, the cause. True, he was almost invariably 
 sad ; he was seldom, indeed, seen to smile ; and when he did 
 smile, his features in an instant assumed an expression of 
 sadness again : but why he should be unable to look at her 
 intently without shedding tears, she was utterly at a loss to 
 imagine. That there was something heavy at his heart was 
 abundantly clear ; but she sought to know the cause of his 
 sorrow in vain. They moreover lived in the most perfect 
 seclusion. They^saw no society. She never went out in the 
 morning without him ; while he invariably passed his even- 
 ings with her at home. She was all the world to him ; he 
 appeared to live only for her ; and, as she had no companion 
 save him and her governess, whose lips on the subject had 
 been effectually sealed, she continued to live enveloped in a 
 mystery, without even the prospect of its ever being solved. 
 That, however, which appeared to her to be most strange, 
 was the fact of her going, twice a yeai", with her father, to 
 meet this lady, whom she never on any other occasion saw ; 
 and with whom she was permitted to remain but one hour. 
 This did appear to her to be strange indeed. She had been 
 
THE MYSTERY. 55 
 
 instructed by her father to address her as Mrs. Greville ; but 
 he himseK never saw her. Henriette invariably entered the 
 room alone, and the moment she- entered, Mrs. Greville would 
 eagerly receive her in her arms, and while indulging in a 
 passionate flood of tears, would kiss her, and bless her, and 
 press her toher heart with the most intense affection. In 
 person, Mrs. Greville was above the middle height : her features 
 were regular and .handsome, and, while her manners were 
 extremely elegant, her figure was commanding; but she always 
 appeared to be overwhelmed with grief, although the pre- 
 sence of Henriette seemed to inspire her with the most 
 ecstatic joy. Often would Henriette inquire anxiously why 
 she did not visit them — why they met there — why at those 
 particular times, and so on; but Mrs. Greville, while the 
 tears were gushing forth, would only answer that she was 
 forbidden to explain — that she was indeed happy, most 
 happy, to see her — that she loved her — dearly, passionately 
 loved her — and that it was for her own happiness that she 
 knew no more. 
 
 But even this was iinknown in the village. It was not 
 known even to the landlady of the inn, which was wisely 
 ordered — wisely, because, had it been known to her, of 
 course her curiosity would have been seriously diminished, 
 and without curiosity, how could such ladies live and thrive ? 
 
 Perhaps, however. Aunt Eleanor took more interest in the 
 matter than any other person in the village. She knew not 
 exactly why she should feel so much interest in an affair of 
 this nature, but she nevertheless did ; and hence, on being 
 reminded that that was the day on which the parties in 
 question met, she thought less of the mystery of the pre- 
 ceding night. She did, however, eventually allude to it, 
 and that, too, in a most feeling strain, and the result was, 
 that her reverend friend shook his head, and advised her 
 to wait patiently, and to watch with diligence, albeit he 
 knew no more what she was to watch for, than she knew 
 what to suspect, or what design it was against which she 
 ought to guard. 
 
 In the meantime, the village was in a state of commotion. 
 The apparition of course had been variously described ,• and 
 the gossips had so ingeniously improved upon each descrip- 
 tion, that it soon became a monster — twelve feet high. In 
 the height of a ghost, a few feet, more or less, is a matter 
 
S6 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 of very slight importance ; but when to its height they had 
 added their conceptions of its breadth, depth, and general 
 deportment, the picture was truly appalling. 
 
 The gentlemen who had absolutely seen it, of course met 
 early at the Crumpet and Crown. There was but one absent, 
 and that was Mr. Pokey, before the door of whose residence 
 chafE had been laid. It was the custom at that period, and 
 in that part of the country, to strew chaff, before the door of 
 every gentleman who physically corrected his wife, chaff 
 being held to be indicative of a threshing ; but in this par- 
 ticular instance, it was strewn in consequence of the lady 
 having corrected her husband, Mrs. Pokey being extremely 
 indignant at the fact of Mr. Pokey having kept out so 
 horribly late. The story of the ghost failed to tranquillise 
 her spirit. She wouldn't believe it — which was very wrong, 
 because Pokey declared that it was true upon his honour — ■ 
 she knew better — she wouldn't have it — hence she thrashed 
 him, and hence she would not in the morning suffer him to 
 stir from his board, for Mr. Pokey was a tailor of great 
 celebrity in the village, and, withal, a perfect master of his 
 needle. 
 
 But the absence of Mr. Pokey, although imder the circum- 
 stances deeply regretted, was not allowed to operate as a check 
 upon the vivid imagination of his friends. Thej entered into 
 the matter with infinite spirit, and made the most that could 
 be made of every important point. 
 
 But the cause of this mysterious appearance ! — not one 
 could divine the cause. That a murder had been committed 
 by some one, was, by the majority, held to be clear ; but who 
 was the murderer — who was the most likely man in the 
 village to commit such a crime ? Who looked most like a 
 murderer? They really couldn't say. They remembered 
 that about five-and-twenty years before, a gentleman, who 
 resided opposite, mysteriously disappeared with the amount 
 of a whole quarter's poors'-rate. He might have been 
 murdered. Who could tell ? It was possible ! It was more- 
 over held to be possible by all, save one, and that one was 
 Obadiah Drant, who expressed his conviction that that which 
 they had seen was the spirit of a miser, who had then been 
 dead about fifteen years, and in whose house only sixty 
 guineas had been found, when every one supposed him to be 
 worth as many thousands. He had not the shghtest doubt 
 
THE OHOST HUNT. 57 
 
 of its being the spirit of that miser, whicli couldn't rest, 
 because it didn't like the idea of leaving so much money un- 
 discovered behind him. But this opinion was not subscribed 
 to by the rest. Indeed, there was only one point upon which 
 all were agreed, and that point was, that the spirit might, 
 perchance, reappear that night. This every man present 
 believed to be highly probable, and the consequence was, that 
 they unanimously resolved to reassemble at night with the 
 view of watching its mancEuvres. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE GHOST HUNT. 
 
 In a village like Cotherstone, of which the inhabitants were 
 tradesmen with plenty of time on their hands, labourers 
 trained to thoughtless toil, and persons who, having retired 
 from trade, were anxiously waiting to die, such an occurrence 
 as that of the appearance of a ghost could not fail to create 
 a sensation. Nor did it. Nor was the sensation thus created 
 either slight or ephemeral ; it was deep, very deep, and there- 
 fore lasting. There was not one in the village upon whom 
 the ghost had not made a powerful impression. Even the 
 exemplary wife of Mr. Pokey — who, during the whole of the 
 morning, had been engaged upon a series of nice calculations, 
 of which the result was, that as Pokey since his marriage 
 had taken nearly five thousand ounces of snuff, and upwards 
 of twenty-five thousand quarts of beer (beer enough to deluge 
 the village, and snuff sufficient to fill up his grave), they 
 would, had he saved the money thus squandered, have had 
 more than five hundred pounds then to play with — even she, 
 repudiating incredulity, became so excessively interested in 
 the spirit that she actually allowed Mr. Pokey in the evening 
 to go up again to the Crumpet and Crown. 
 
 And oh ! what a theatre of excitement it was. Not only 
 the party of the previous evening, but almost every man in 
 the village was present ; but although Mr. Pokey came late, 
 and was, moreover, hailed on his arrival with significance, 
 they, being unwilling to wound his private feelings, did not 
 then allude to the chaff. 
 
58 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Obadiah, of course, was there, and lie was as usual very 
 dictatorial and deep ; but he had one grand object to achieve 
 — he had to justify his conduct on the preceding night. He 
 admitted that that conduct was not indicative of bravery — 
 he freely admitted that it was not exactly characterised by 
 that peculiar boldness for which he was ardently anxious to 
 become distinguished. " But," said he, with much point, 
 " you must view this affair in all its fructifying ramifica- 
 tions. Place before me anything tangible— anything with 
 which I can grapple, my boys — and then see how I'll act." 
 
 " But you didn't even speak to it," said Legge. 
 
 " Speak to it ! " returned Obadiah. " Why, what's the 
 good of speaking to a spirit ? — what's the good of a,rguing 
 with a ghost 1 — what principle, either moral, religious, social, 
 political, or municipal, can you drive into the head of an 
 apparition ? Place brains before me^give me fructifying 
 intelligence — give me Harry Brougham, or even Bobby Peel, 
 my boys — and then you'd see how I'd go in ; but the idea of 
 speaking to a spectre — pooh ! what's the good ? " 
 
 By this ingenious species of ratiocination — this word is 
 employed here in compliment to him, for ratiocination and 
 fructification were the two stock weapons which he on all 
 occasions used to defeat his opponents, and without which 
 he couldn't well argue a point — he endeavoured to justify 
 himself. But he didn't succeed. His friends attributed his 
 silence in the churchyard to fear — they would not hear of 
 its being ascribable to anything else ; and when he found 
 that he could not then shaJie this conviction, he, in order to 
 subdue them for the time being, promised to show them that 
 night what he would say, and how he would act in the event 
 of the spirit's reappearance. 
 
 This grand point having been thus far settled, he reverted 
 to politics, in which he knew, of course, that he was perfectly 
 at home, and in possession of the ability to beat them hollow. 
 
 Of all highly influential men, there is not one more capable 
 of commanding the attention of those who form the circle of 
 which he is the centre, than a village politician. Nor would 
 it be correct if there were, for what a patriot he is ! — what 
 a pure philanthropist ! — nay, what a deeply indignant man ! 
 How profound is his political wisdom ! — and how boldly he 
 denounces the conduct of the party to whom he is, on prin- 
 ciple, opposed ! What rogues — what reckless, rampant rogues 
 
THE GHOST HUNT. 59 
 
 —does lie prove them to be ! To his knowledge, what in- 
 trigues are they connected with— what flagrant follies are 
 they guilty of — what dead robberies do they commit ! In 
 his view, with what tenacity do they stick to the property of 
 the people ! — how they batten on corruption ! — how they live 
 on pure plunder ! — how richly they deserve to be hanged 1 
 "With what fiery indignation does he declare them to be 
 wretches ! — how rotten, how venal, how utterly contemptible 
 does he labour to make them all appear, when, to get a coat 
 to make, or a boot to mend, he would take off his hat to the 
 first he met. Precisely such a patriot was Obadiah Drant. 
 But although he would denounce the aristocracy at night, 
 and bow to them with all humility in the morning, it merely 
 proved the force of example — he would boldly phiUppicise 
 people of property, and bend low to get the smallest share ; 
 but as men envy only the possessors of that which they 
 have not, this was merely the effect of education. He would, 
 moreover, loudly declaim against rank, state, and splendour, 
 and yet — 
 
 " lick absurd pomp, 
 
 And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, 
 
 That thrift might follow fawning ; " 
 
 but that was a natural matter of business. He was a patriot, 
 notwithstanding a tyrant and a slave, and was highly re- 
 spected by those whom he met at the sign of the Crumpet 
 and Crown. 
 
 But on this particular night he was singularly eloquent. 
 He indeed surpassed himself. He explained what the Minis- 
 ters ought to have done, and what he would have done had 
 he been at the helm ; he showed them how easily and how 
 equitably he would have swept off the National Debt — how 
 he would have settled the Currency question — how confidence 
 and credit proved the nation's curse — how France should 
 have been made directly tributary to England — how Eussian 
 ambition should have been levelled with the dust— how we 
 should have countenanced American repudiation — and how 
 a British colony should have been made of the Celestial 
 Empire at once. 
 
 And thus he amused and amazed them all, until the hour 
 had arrived at which the spirit was expected to reappear ; 
 when, summoning all the courage they had, they repaired to 
 the quiet churchyard. 
 
6o SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 The night was clear. The moon was bright, and seemed 
 to smile at the scene below ; and while the stars merrily 
 winked at each other, as if they enjoyed it too, the small 
 white clouds in a playful spirit assumed shapes bearing the 
 semblance of ghosts, and flew before the moon in the perfect 
 conviction that she would at once cast their shadows to earth. 
 But in this they were mistaken. The moon would do 
 nothing at all of the sort. The light was not her own ; it 
 was but borrowed : and, therefore, she didn't feel justified in 
 lending it for any such purpose to these little scamps. 
 
 Accordingly, no shadow appeared ; and the party became 
 quite bold. They even went right i-ound the church ! which 
 was daring. They kept all together, it is true — not one of 
 them would move without the rest — still they went com- 
 pletely round, and seemed to dare that or any other spectre 
 to appear ! — nay, on finding that nothing of the kind became 
 visible, some began to treat the affair with contempt, and felt 
 inclined to laugh, when Pokey, who had kept a remarkably 
 sharp look-out, exclaimed — 
 
 " There ! — there you are ! — that's it ! — there it is ! " 
 
 And there it was ! — a narrow tomb, surmounted by an urn 
 about the size of a very thick head. 
 
 Being, however, utterly unconscious of this, and iaving 
 their minds on the instant wrought up to a state fit to 
 receive any frightful impression, they looked with terror at 
 the object before them, and felt as if their time was come. 
 
 But then it didn't move ! — this they held to be extra- 
 ordinary : nor did it seem as if it intended to move : — which 
 they thought more extraordinary still. That it was a ghost, 
 no doubt existed; but the fact of its being a fixture beat 
 them. 
 
 At length Click, the farrier, who was not a coward, pro- 
 posed that they should approach it en masse, and this 
 proposition was seconded by Legge; but as it was almost 
 unanimously negatived. Click and Legge made up their 
 minds to go together, and went, leaving their valiant friends 
 trembling behind them. Long, however, before they had 
 reached the object in view, they saw distinctly what it was ; 
 and Legge, on the impulse of the moment, was about to call 
 out to them, but Click checked him promptly. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Legge ! " said he. " Now we'll have 
 a game." 
 
THU GHOST HUNT. 6i 
 
 And lie led him to the tomb and groaned deeply, and then 
 led him back to his friends, who felt ill ! 
 
 " Obadiah Drant," said Click, on his return, in the most 
 solemn tone he could assume, "it wishes to speak with 
 Obadiah Drant." 
 
 " "With me ? " cried Obadiah. "You don't mean with me ? " 
 
 " With you ! " returned Click, in an awf al growl. 
 
 " No, no, no, no, I shan't go ! not a bit of it ! What does 
 it want ? I shan't go ! " 
 
 " You MUST," gi-owled Click, who instantly locked his arms 
 in those of Obadiah, and carried him, dos-cl-dos, towards the 
 tomb. 
 
 But on the way, oh ! how sharp were the strictly private 
 feelings of this great man ! He felt his heart sink deeper 
 and deeper still at every step, and as the cold sweat bedewed 
 his highly intellectual brow, he was half dead with "fructify- 
 ing " fright. He did not even try to evade the iron grasp of 
 Click, for Nature had taught him, in his early youth, the 
 inutility of attempting that which he knew to be impossible : 
 he rode on, a martyr to this eternal principle, and riding as 
 he did — with bis back towards the horrible object he was 
 approaching — he gave himself up for lost. 
 
 " Behold ! " exclaimed Click, on reaching the spot. " Be- 
 hold ! " and having uttered this awful exclamation, he turned 
 sharply round, and presented the Jaoe of his terror-stricken 
 load to the tomb. 
 
 Obadiah — who felt veiy faint — looked at the urn with an 
 expression of despair, but, his eyes being veiled with a film 
 of horror, he couldn't at first see what it was. Gradually, 
 however, that film disappeared, and as it vanished, the 
 changes which his countenance underwent were of the most 
 extraordinary character perhaps ever beheld : but, even when 
 he had become completely conscious of what it was — when 
 he had touched the urn, and found that it was stone, and 
 therefore knew that it was no ghost — although he felt a little 
 better, his features expressed infelicity still. 
 
 " Mr. Click, sir," said he, between a sigh and a groan, 
 " I'll never forgive you ; I'll never forgive you." 
 
 Click, as he released him, laughed loudly, and continued 
 to laugh ; and as Legge had, in, the interim, explained all to 
 his friends, they approached the spot, and laughed loudly too. 
 They were highly amused : they enjoyed it much : they were 
 
62 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 all, indeed, ia most excellent spirits : but Obadiah was indig- 
 nantly dumb. He viewed the contortions of Mr. Click and 
 his disciples with disgust. As they pealed forth their merri- 
 ment, and held their sides, and irreverently trampled upon 
 the graves around to subdue the pain which the laughter 
 created, he scowled at them all with refined disdain, and, 
 contemning their practices, left them. 
 
 " This is your ghost, then, is it ? " cried Click, when the 
 laughter had somewhat subsided. " This is your fiery-eyed 
 phantom, after all, then 1" 
 
 " No," replied Legge, " we have been deceived by this, it is 
 true ; but this is not that which we saw last night. That was 
 a spirit — a real spirit, if ever a spirit appeared upon earth." 
 
 "I don't believe it," retorted the incredulous Click; 
 " nothing can make me believe it." 
 
 " But I saw it, I tell you ! I saw it walk — I'm not 
 exactly blind ! I saw it pass my house, and go straight to 
 the cottage." 
 
 " Let's go to the cottage now, then," interposed Pokej'. 
 " As it isn't here, I dare say we shall see it there. Let's go 
 to the cottage." 
 
 "Ay — let's go! " exclaimed several of his friends; "let's 
 all go together." 
 
 "You may go if you like," said Click, "but you don't 
 catch me ghost-hunting again. I'll have no more of it. / 
 shall go in and smoke a pipe, and so I tell you." 
 
 " Well, go — what's the odds ? " cried Pokey, who had 
 become extremely valiant. " I'll be bound to say we shall 
 find our way without you. Come along, my Britons. Here 
 we goes. Let them as is afeared stop behind, that's all." 
 
 They then boldly left the churchyard, led on by the coura- 
 geous Pokey, and as they passed the Crumpet and Crown, 
 Click and Legge turned in, but the rest went on to the cottage. 
 
 Here all was still. Not a sound was heard. The lights 
 were out, and the blinds were down. But as they stood 
 before the gate they fancied they saw the curtains move. 
 
 "It's in there, now," said Pokey to Quocks; "depend 
 upon it, it's in there, now." 
 
 " I cert'ney see something," said Quocks. And the friends 
 around him saw something ; but what that something was, 
 they wouldn't undertake to say, although, at any other time, 
 they would have sworn, and safely too, that it was really a 
 
THE GHOST HUNT. 63 
 
 white curtain, and nothing else. But then fancy converted 
 that curtain into all sorts of shapes, and as ghosts are 
 white by prescription, it so far resembled a ghost, while the 
 diflJculty experienced in conceiving a head, was, under the 
 circumstances, small. 
 
 "Do you see it?" "Yes: what?" "There it is, you 
 fool ! " " Oh ! " " There's the head." " That the head ? " 
 "To be sure." "Where's the tail?" "What tail?" 
 "Whiit tail?" "Oh!" "Ah!" "No doubt." 
 
 This is a very fair epitome of the sentiments expressed, 
 when Aunt Eleanor, hearing a most extraordinary buzz about 
 the premises, slipped out of bed with the view of ascertain- 
 ing whence it proceeded ; but the moment she drew the white 
 curtain aside, and appeared in her night-dress before them, 
 the effect was electric ! Her appearance alone inspired them 
 with terror ! But when she proceeded to open the window, 
 for the purpose of asking them what it all meant, even as 
 affrighted sheep follow their leader, so did they follow the 
 vaUant Pokey, who did instantaneously take to his heels. 
 
 In vain she called on them to stop. They didn't like to 
 do it. " What do you want, my good people ? " she cried. 
 " What' on earth do you all want ? " 
 
 They heard her ; but, conceiving the voice to be that of 
 some fiend, they went right on; nor did they stop until they 
 arrived at the Crumpet and Crown. 
 
 " Have you seen it ? " cried Legge, as they rushed in wildly. 
 
 "Yes!" replied Pokey, panting for breath. "At the 
 cottage — it's there ! " 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it," said Click ; " it's all stuff." 
 
 " Well, go and look for yourself," cried Pokey ; " that's 
 all. There it is at the window ! " 
 
 "Is it there now ? " 
 
 "If it isn't I'll forfeit a couple of gallons." 
 
 " Good," said Click. " Legge and I will go at once. You 
 had better come with us." 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Pokey. 
 
 " To be satisfied, of course ! " 
 
 "Well, we don't want to go very near ? " 
 
 "Oh no; just come with us." And Pokey did go with 
 them ; but long before they had reached the gate, he stopped, 
 and cried, pointing to the window—" There— there ! There 
 it is ! Don't you see it i " 
 
64 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 They looked, and certainly did see something : they saw 
 something move : they, moreover, heard a voice : and the 
 voice did proceed from that window. 
 
 " let ns go a little nearer," said Click, who at that moment 
 didn't feel exactly the thing ; his heart didn't beat with its 
 accustomed regularity; it thumped and stopped, and blun- 
 dered about, as if it didn't care whether it worked or not ; 
 but as he wasn't inspired with absolute fear, they went a 
 little nearer, and as they approached. Aunt Eleanor, who 
 knew Legge well by his arms, which he at all times swung 
 in a most extraordinary fashion, cried out — " Is that you, 
 Mr. Legge?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," replied Legge promptly, for he knew the 
 voice in an instant. " Is there anything amiss, ma'am ? " 
 
 " What, in the name of goodness, did those persons want 
 here just now ? " 
 
 " They thought they saw a ghost, ma'am." 
 
 " Ridiculous ! I really have no patience with such folly." 
 
 " I know," observed Pokey, '■ that something appeared, 
 and at that very window, too." 
 
 " 'Twas I, j'ou simple man," said Aunt Eleanor. " You 
 saw me appear at the window. I'm ashamed of you. Tell 
 them from me, Mr. Legge, that if they come here again, I'll 
 have them all taken up : they shall all be punished : I will 
 not submit to be thus annoyed. Good-night." 
 
 She then retired from the window, and they, being quite 
 satisfied, returned to their friends ; the whole of whom felt 
 exceedingly mortified on learning, not only that they had 
 been thus deceived, but that they had been the cause of 
 annoyance to a lady, who had been so kind to the poor 
 around, and to whom the whole village had reason to be 
 grateful. 
 
 They, notwithstanding, had Pokey's two gallons in ; and 
 Click, in order to heal the deep wounds he had inflicted 
 upon the feelings of Obadiah, ordered two gallons more, but 
 Obadiah again and again declared he'd never forgive him : 
 nor when the party at midnight broke up had a reconcilia- 
 tion between those two gentlemen been effected. 
 
THE PICKLED SMALLS. 65 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE PICKLED SMALLS. 
 
 Upon those who live in the midst of excitement, who not 
 only feel the world's buffets themselves, but see the world 
 buffeting all around them — whose lives are one perpetual 
 struggle — whose career is a series of ups and downs — who 
 are constantly compelled to be on the qui vive — who, from 
 morning till night, and from year to year, are engaged in 
 overcoming those barriers by which their progress in life is 
 impeded — who, either to amass wealth, or to gain a mere 
 subsistence, have their minds continually on the stretch — 
 who are surrounded by difficulties springing, not only from 
 honourable competition, but from trickery, malignity, and 
 envy — who are thwarted at every step — who are opposed at 
 every point, and have to dodge through the world, which is 
 to them one huge labyrinth, out of which they scarcely know 
 how to get with honour — troubles of an unimportant caste 
 make but little impression, for they really have not time to 
 think much about them ; but they, whose lives are passed in 
 an almost perpetual calm — who live but to live — who have a 
 competence which secures to them comfort — ^who have nothing 
 but tranquillity around them — nothing to prepare for in this 
 world but the next — ^whose course is clear, whose career is 
 smooth — who experience neither ups nor downS: — ^who live on, 
 and on, in the spirit of peace, hoping for peace hereafter — who 
 know but little of life, or its vicissitudes — who have nothing 
 to oppose their progress — no difficulties to surmount, no 
 barriers to break down, no competition to encounter, no 
 struggling, no straining, no manoeuvring — they magnify every 
 cause of vexation by dwelling upon it, brooding over it, and 
 making it the germ of a thousand conceptions, as if anxious 
 to ascertain what monstrous fruit it can thus be imagined 
 to bear. 
 
 The impression, however, is not intended to be conveyed 
 that the difficulties which beset Aunt Eleanor at this period 
 were small : the object proposed is merely to show that, how- 
 ever great they might be, they were perfectly sure to be 
 magnified, seeing that she had never had but one important 
 trouble, and that, with this exception — the nature of which 
 
 E 
 
66 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 will be hereafter explained — her whole life had been charac- 
 terised by an almost uninterrupted flow of tranquillity. But, 
 even if this had not been shown, it would scarcely have 
 been deemed, under the circumstances, extraordinary, that 
 these occurrences — for which she could not in any way 
 account — should have seriously interfered with her spirit's 
 peace. 
 
 But these annoyances were not all she had been doomed 
 to endure. In the morning, when Mary went to assist her 
 to dress, she went, fraught with another mysterious cause 
 of vexation. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am ! " she exclaimed, " there's been such goings 
 on ! Oh ! I never did see, ma'am ! The things is all turned 
 topsy-turvy. The picturs, cheers, everything. Oh ! it is 
 horrid." 
 
 " What is it you mean, Mary ? " 
 
 " Oh, ma'am ! only jist come downstairs, ma'am j that's 
 all." 
 
 " But what do you mean ? " 
 
 " There's been thieves in the house, ma'am ! But do come 
 and see. Jist slip on your things, ma'am, and only jist look 
 at the horrid upset." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor did slip on her things, and on reaching the 
 door of her favourite parlour, beheld a scene of unexampled 
 confusion. Everything had been displaced. The tables had 
 been turned upside down, and the chairs piled ingeniously 
 upon them : the pictures had been taken from the wallg and 
 placed round the room upon the carpet : the vases, the lambs, 
 dogs, lions, and tigers, had been removed from the mantel- 
 piece to the couch : the china and glass had been taken from 
 the^ sideboard, and arranged fantastically upon the piano, 
 while, in order to compromise the matter with the sideboard, 
 the hearth-rug, coal-scuttle, fire-irons, and fender had been 
 in due form placed upon it ; but nothing had been broken — 
 nothing even injured ! 
 
 Aunt Eleanor gazed for a few moments upon this most 
 extraordinary state of things in silence ; but having at length 
 observed calmly that it demanded minute investigation, she 
 locked the door, and taking the key with her, returned to 
 her chamber to dress. 
 
 Here she tranquilly turned the thing over in her mind, 
 and having viewed it in connection with the ghost-hunting 
 
THE PICKLED SMALLS. 67 
 
 party, she resolved on sending for lier reverend friend, with 
 the view of placing the matter before him. 
 
 In pursuance of this resolution, she, on descending to the 
 breakfast-room, opened her desk and proceeded to write a 
 note to the reverend gentleman : but she had scarcely com- 
 menced it, when Mary appeared, and having informed her 
 that neither bread, butter, eggs, nor ham could be found, 
 inquired not only what ivas to become of them, but what 
 was to be done ? p 
 
 "<3an you not find enough for breakfast ? " 
 
 " Lor' bless you, ma'am, they haven't left a mite ! " 
 
 Aunt Eleanor pressed her Kps closely together, and finished 
 the note ; and, while folding it, said — 
 
 " Light the taper, Mary ; and then desire Judkins to come 
 here." 
 
 " Judkins, ma'am, can't get up yet," replied Mary. 
 
 "Why not! Is he ill ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am, he isn't ill." 
 
 " Why, then, can he not get up ? " 
 
 " Because, ma'am, they've taken away all his things." 
 
 " Good gracious ! What next shall I hear ! Well, put on 
 your bonnet, and take this note, and bring in with you what 
 we require for breakfast." 
 
 The note being sealed, Mary left the room, and Sylvester 
 soon after entered the room ; and when his aunt, as usual, 
 had kissed him, and expressed her fond hope that he was 
 well, she proceeded to explain to him what had occurred, and 
 thereby to fill him with utter amazement. 
 
 " My dear aunt," said he, " what can it all mean ? " 
 
 " Heaven only knows ! I cannot even conjecture. But 
 just come with me, dear, and look at the things. There," 
 she added, on opening the parlour door, " did you ever see 
 a room in such a state of confusion ? " 
 
 Sylvester looked, and really felt, quite astonished. 
 
 " You see," she continued, " there's not a single thing in 
 its place." 
 
 " But what could have been their object ? " said Sylvester. 
 " The things are disarranged, it is true, but they appear to 
 have disturbed them with great consideration. I cannot 
 conceive what their motive could have been." 
 
 " Nor can I ; unless, indeed, it were merely to annoy me." 
 
 " I should say that had that been their object they would 
 
68 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 never have removed them with so much care. The things 
 have not been thrown together, you perceive ; it has been a 
 work of time. Look at this china and glass ; there is some 
 little taste, you perceive, displayed in the arrangement." 
 
 " I do not admire the taste displayed, but they certainly 
 have been most carefully handled. But that, my dear, which 
 annoys me more than all, is the fact of my being unable to 
 imagine, not only who did it, but how it was done. I should 
 say myself that thieves have not been in the house. I miss 
 nothing here. The only things which have disappeared, with 
 the exception of the bread, butter, eggs, and ham, are the 
 clothes of poor Judkins." 
 
 " Are they gone 1 Well, that is strange." 
 
 "And especially as there are many things much more 
 portable and infinitely more valuable here : that timepiece, 
 for instance, is worth thirty pounds. However, not a thing 
 shall be touched until Mr. Rouse comes. I'll have the whole 
 matter investigated fully." 
 
 She then returned to the breakfast-room, and Sylvester 
 went up to Judkins, whom he found still in bed, for he hadn't 
 a thing to put on. 
 
 " Why, how is this, Judkins 1 " said Sylvester, as he 
 entered ; " I hear that you have lost all your clothes." 
 
 " Every rag — every individual rag," replied Judkins ; " I 
 haven't a mite of anything to put on. I shouldn't have cared 
 if they'd only just left me a pair of breeches ; but, blarm 'em, 
 to take away the lot was ondecent." 
 
 " Didn't you hear them at all ? " 
 
 " I only wish for their sakes I had, I'd ha' cooked the goose 
 of one or two of 'em, I'll warrant. It's worse than highway 
 robbery, ten times over. I'd ha' forgiven 'em if they'd 
 stopped me on the road, but to crawl in and steal a man's 
 clothes clandestinely when he's asleep is the warmintest pro- 
 ceeding I ever heered tell on." 
 
 " Well, how do you mean to manage 1 Shall I run to the 
 tailor for you ? " 
 
 "No, I thank you, sir. Mary's just gone to the parson's 
 gardener to ask Jiim to lend me a pair of breeches and a waist- 
 coat; but I don't know whether he will- or not, I'm sure." 
 
 " My trousers, I suppose, will not fit you ? " 
 
 " Lor' bless you, I should split 'em all to ribbons ; I couldn't 
 get my arms in. Blister 'em ; all I wonder at is they didn't 
 
THE PIGKLED SMALLS. 69 
 
 take off my shirt. They have got my stockings. -Shouldn't 
 I like to catch 'em. If ever I do come across 'em,, I wish 
 'em success." 
 
 Mary now came to the door with a bundle, for Jones, 
 having heard the whole matter explained, had opened his 
 heart and sent the clothes ; and when Sylvester had handed 
 them over to Judkins, he left him to rejoin his aunt. 
 
 While at breakfast they, of course, spoke of nothing, 
 thought of nothing, but the confusion so mysteriously 
 created ; but the more they endeavoured to guess the cause, 
 the more deeply involved they became. They had scarcely, 
 however, finished their repast, when the reverend gentleman 
 arrived ; and when, with a look which denoted concern, he 
 had greeted them with all his characteristic cordiality, Aunt 
 Eleanor eloquently laid the case before him, connecting it 
 ingeniously with the ghost-hunting party who appeared 
 before her cottage the preceding night — and then asked him 
 what he thought of the matter as it stood, and what course 
 he imagined she ought to purstife. 
 
 Now the Reverend Mr. Rouse was a man of the world — 
 that is to say, a man of the world in which he lived — a man 
 possessing a most profound knowledge of the sphere in which 
 he moved • he was a man of observation, as well as a man of 
 reflection, and while his perceptive faculties were strong, he 
 was conversant with, although unable to discover the ety- 
 mology of, certain idioms which were constantly used by those 
 around him. He knew, for example, what was meant by " a 
 spree ; " he moreover knew perfectly the meaning of "a 
 lark; " he knew not whence they were derived, it is true — 
 albeit he strongly inclined to the belief that they had one 
 and the same Greek root — but being thus cognisant of their 
 modern definition, he, after a pause, during which he reflected 
 deeply, said, with all the solemnity which the nature and 
 importance of the words demanded, "Will you do me the 
 favour to send for Legge ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my dear sir," replied Aunt Eleanor, who 
 turned and rang the bell on the instant. " Mary," she added, 
 when the servant appeared, "as Judkins is busy, run and 
 ask Mr. Legge to step over." 
 
 " Tell him I desire that he will come immediately," added 
 the pastor, with all that humility by which the order to which 
 he belonged was at that particular period distinguished ; and 
 
JO SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 when Mary had left, he in silence proeeeded to rehearse that 
 highly important part which it was his intention to perform. 
 
 Legge, who was a man of business, and who, by virtue 
 of attending to that business, was doing very well at the 
 Crumpet and Crown, received Mary with his customary 
 custom-winning smile ; but when she had delivered not only 
 her mistress's message, but that which the reverend gentle- 
 man had sent, his features assumed an expression of thought, 
 and he said, as he passed his hand over his chin, "I wonder 
 now what's in the wind ? " 
 
 " You'll hear all about it," returned Mary promptly ; " but 
 do make haste, for they're anxious, I know." 
 
 Mrs. Legge then spoke to Mary, and asked her how she 
 found herself, and pressed her to have a glass of wine, and 
 got her into the bar, and then made her have one ; and 
 during Legge's progress to the cottage, got out of her all she 
 knew, and more. 
 
 The reverend gentleman having decided upon a course, of 
 which the pursuit he thought would have a somewhat stun- 
 ning effect, assumed a position of great importance as Legge 
 entered the room, and addressed him in tones indicative of 
 that authority with which he felt doubly invested. 
 
 "Mr. Legge," said he, with an expression of severity, 
 " I am sorry, Mr. Legge, that I have so much cause to 
 complain of your keeping a disorderly house." 
 
 "A disorderly house, sir?" cried Legge. 
 
 "Yes, sir," retorted the reverend gentleman; "a dis- 
 orderly house — for disorderly every house must be, if it be 
 not conducted with propriety and decorum." 
 
 "I beg pardon, sir; but really, I never heard before that 
 I kept a disorderly house." 
 
 "I say, sir, that it is a disorderly house, and I warn you 
 that, as a disorderly house, it shall be indicted, if the scenes 
 — the disgraceful scenes which are to be witnessed there — ^be 
 not discontinued." 
 
 " What scenes 1 What disgraceful scenes ? " demanded 
 Legge, who, conscious of the propriety of his own conduct, 
 and the consequent fair reputation of his house, began to feel 
 indignant. " What scenes are to be witnessed there ? " 
 
 " Scenes, sir, of riot and debauchery ; scenes " 
 
 "I deny it." 
 
 •' Silence, sir; how dare you interrupt me ? " 
 
TEE PICKLED SMALLS. 71 
 
 " Dare ! I'm a plain, blunt man, sir, and will not be silent 
 when I hear myself falsely denounced. I am not a clergy- 
 man : I do not preach humility and practise tyranny : I am 
 the mere keeper of a public-house ; I was not always in that 
 position, but even as I am, I defy the world to prove that 
 my conduct has not been straightforward and just. I am 
 also the father of a family, and my children, you knom, I 
 have endeavoured to rear in the principles of virtue, morality, 
 and religion. You know this : you know that I would 
 neither set them a bad example myself, nor suffer a bad 
 example to be set them by others ; and am I then, by you, 
 sir, to be told, hot only that I keep a disreputable house, 
 but " 
 
 " I did not say a disreputable house." 
 
 " You said a disorderly house." 
 
 " I did ; but not in your sense, disorderly. All I meant 
 to say was, that occasional scenes of disorder occurred." 
 
 " Why, of course they do. Where is there a house of 
 that description in which scenes of disorder do not occur 
 occasionally I - But is it, therefore, to be called a disorderly 
 house ? — a house to be indicted ? " 
 
 " You keep bad hours, sir ; you cannot deny that ! " 
 
 " Occasionally we are compelled to be rather late, but in 
 general we close between ten and eleven." 
 
 " The house, sir, was not closed at twelve last night." 
 
 " I am aware of it ; but that was under extraordinary 
 circumstances." 
 
 " It is to that point we would come," interposed Aunt 
 Eleanor, who, although she had been silent, dlda't at all 
 like her reverend friend's mode of proceeding. " We wish 
 to speak of that solely, Mr. Legge. You had a party last 
 night, and that party, or a number of those persons who 
 composed that party, appeared before the gate of my cottage 
 at midnight. We wish, Mr. Legge, to know the motives of 
 those persons ; that is the point at which we are anxious to 
 arrive." 
 
 " Exactly," added the reverend gentleman ; " that is the 
 point. Now, sir, what were their motives ? " 
 
 " I know but of one," replied Legge. 
 
 "Ay, that is the ghost story: that we have heard. But 
 do you not know that their principal object, sir, was to 
 annoy this lady ?" 
 
73 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " No, sir ; on the contrary, I know that it was not. There 
 is not a man amongst them, sir, by whom she is not respected. 
 She is too kind — too good, sir, to be annoyed wantonly by 
 them." 
 
 "Then, do you mean to say, Mr. Legge, that you don't 
 know that some of those persons burglariously entered this 
 cottage last night ? " 
 
 " Entered this cottage ? " 
 
 " Ay, sir ! That is the question. Do you, or do you not, 
 know that fact ? " 
 
 " Most certainly I do not. Nor do I believe it to be 
 a fact. Why, sir, there isn't one of them, who — leaving 
 inclination out of the question entirely — would, under the 
 circumstances, have dared, sir, to enter the cottage ! " 
 
 "Very well. You are entitled to the full benefit of this 
 opinion ; but I'll now just trouble you to look at the state 
 of this room." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then rose, and, accompanied by 
 Sylvester and his aunt, proceeded to the parlour, duly 
 followed by Legge, who, as he entered, looked around the 
 room utterly astonished. 
 
 " You have, indeed, been annoyed, ma'am,'' at length he 
 observed, " and I'm very sorry for it ; but I'm sure — quite 
 sure — that this was not done by either of those men." 
 
 " These things," said the reverend gentleman, " could not 
 have been removed without hands." 
 
 " Nor could they have been removed in haste," rejoined 
 Legge. " Were the doors broken open, ma'am ? " 
 
 " No ! all seemed secure in the morning ! How ever 
 they got in, I can't imagine." < 
 
 " Do you think, ma'am, it's likely that any one got in ? " 
 
 " What else am I to think, Mr. Legge ? " 
 
 " I ought not perhaps to offer any suggestion." 
 
 " Oh, I do hope that you wUl, for the affair is now so 
 involved in mystery, that if you could throw any light upon 
 the subject I should feel indeed grateful." 
 
 " Well, ma'am, of course I don't know that I can ; but 
 you have a gardener, and that gardener sleeps in the house. 
 Now, I should be very sorry, even to throw out a hint that 
 would tend to injure any man breathing, but as I know 
 what servants are, and what quarrels — petty quarrels — they 
 have occasionally among themselves, I would suggest that it 
 
THE PICKLED SMALLS. 73 
 
 is possible — just possible — that tlie gardener, during the 
 night, thus carefully displaced these things — not with any 
 wicked object in view — but merely for the purpose of annoy- 
 ing the maids." 
 
 " A very proper suggestion," observed the reverend gentle- 
 man, who, finding that stilts wouldn't do, came down. " Very 
 proper, indeed. It is possible : nay, highly probable." 
 
 "But," observed Sylvester, "Judkins has lost all his 
 clothes ! " 
 
 " Have you lost anything of value, ma'am ? — anything out 
 of this room 1 " inquired Legge. 
 
 " Not a single thing ! Oh ! by-the-bye," she added, 
 " Where's the silver tankard ? " 
 
 They looked round the room — it was not to be seen, nor 
 could they see the salver upon which it had stood. Presently, 
 however, the reverend gentleman, perceiving something under 
 the couch, removed it, and there found, not only the tankard 
 and salver, but the bread, butter, ham, and a bundle of 
 clothes, which were instantly known to belong to Judkins ! 
 
 This altered at once the complexion of things. It was then 
 quite clear to them all that this confusion had been created 
 with no felonious intention ; and as it was plain that no 
 entrance had been forced. Aunt Eleanor, as well as her 
 reverend frigid, felt convinced, that with the motive 
 assigned by Legge, the things had been thus disturbed by 
 Judkins. 
 
 Legge, however, now had a doubt on the subject, and gave 
 Judkins the benefit of that doubt without delay. "I do 
 not," said he, "think it was the gardener now." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried the pastor, " the case is clear against him. 
 Look at his clothes. How came they here 1 " 
 
 "The very fact," returned Legge, "of their being here, 
 tends to convince me that he is not, after all, the man. I 
 think that if he had done it, he would not have left his 
 clothes — for I do not believe that he has sufficient art to 
 leave them in order that all suspicion might be removed, on 
 the ground that no man, in his senses, would thus convict 
 himself. If he left them at all, he could only have left 
 them for the purpose of having it said, ' Oh, it couldn't have 
 been him : he would never have been such a fool ! ' and I do 
 not think that he is artful enough for that." 
 
 " There's no telling," observed the reverend gentleman. 
 
74 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Really, the world has got to siich a pitch that there's no 
 such thing as knowing the human heart at all." 
 
 " But," said Aunt Eleanor, " if it were not Judkins, who 
 on earth could it have been ? " 
 
 " I can't imagine," returned Legge; " still I would not too 
 hastily condemn him. All I can say is, that this was not done 
 by any one of the party at my house last night." 
 
 " I believe it," said Aunt Eleanor; " firmly believe it." 
 
 " And so do I now," observed the reverend gentleman. " I 
 did at first think that they had done it by way of a frolic, 
 which, in the house of a lady, would have been of course dis- 
 graceful. However, as it is, I recall those observations which 
 I made with respect to your house, but I do hope that you 
 will in future keep good hours." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor now got out the wine, and requested Legge 
 to help himself, which he, as a matter of course, did ; but just 
 as he had filled his glass, Mary came into the room exclaim- 
 ing — "We've found the eggs, ma'am; but oh! in such a 
 place ! " 
 
 " Where did you find them ? " demanded her mistress. 
 
 " In the pickle- tub, ma'am." 
 
 " In the pickle-tub 1 " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; as cook was fishing for a tongue, what should 
 she find but the eggs tied up in an old pair of Judkins's " 
 
 Here she stopped and blushed, and Aunt Eleanor blushed 
 too, and the reverend gentleman turned to smile, but Legge, 
 who had just got his mouth full of sherry, didn't know at all 
 how to get rid of it. He blew out his cheeks, and grunted, 
 and strained, while his face became crimson, and every vein 
 visible seemed in a fit state to burst, until, at length, ho 
 made a desperate effort to gulp it, but, as a portion of it 
 went " the wrong way," that portion foimd out its mistake, 
 and returned, and by virtue of returning thus, caused him 
 to spirt and to cough with unparalleled violence. This was 
 annoying, but he really couldn't help it. Aunt Eleanor 
 knew that he couldn't, and therefore, in order to relieve 
 him from embarrassment, appeared to be unconscious of the 
 circumstance entirely, and, turning to Mary, said to her — 
 " Has cook been quarrelling with Judkins 1 " 
 
 " No, ma'am : they've had a few words, but not about any- 
 thing particular ! " 
 
 " Very good,'" said her mistress ; " you can now leave the 
 
THE PIGKLED SMALLS. 75 
 
 room. It is," she added, when Mary had left, "it is, I 
 apprehend, as you suggested, Mr. Legge. These people, no 
 doubt, have been quarrelling, and their object has been to 
 annoy each other. This, however, must be ascertained. 
 But have another glass of wine, Mr. Legge." 
 
 Legge was almost afraid, but he took another glass, and 
 managed to drink it with proper effect, and, when Aunt 
 Eleanor had thanked him for his attention, and the reverend 
 gentleman had playfully entreated him to let him know 
 immediately the " ghost " reappeared, he bowed, and left 
 them to contemplate the case as it stood, and to devise the 
 means of gaining the knowledge desired. 
 
 Now, while he was thus engaged at the cottage, Mrs. Legge 
 — ^having ascertained from Mary the substance of all that had 
 occurred, with the simple exception of the eggs being found in 
 that pecuHar envelope — had, as a natural matter of course,' 
 been retailing the circumstances to all who came, among 
 whom were Mr. Pokey, Mr. Obadiah Drant; Mr. Click, Mr. 
 Quocks, and Mr. Bobber. When, therefore, Legge i-eturned, 
 their anxiety to learn the minutiae of that of which they had 
 heard but the outline, was intense. They crowded round 
 him, and urged him to begin at the beginning, and pressed 
 him to drink, that he might open more freely ; but Legge 
 having whispered to his wife, assumed an expression of 
 mortification, and sat down in silence. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter ? What's wrong ? " inquired 
 Pokey. But Legge returned no answer. 
 
 " If there's anything fructifying in your mind, unpleasant," 
 said Obadiah, " out with it, my boy, like a Briton ! " 
 
 " Who," demanded Legge, with feigned ferocity, " who 
 broke into the Grange Cottage last night ? " 
 
 " I didn't," said Pokey, " so that's enough for me.'' 
 
 "They who did," said Obadiah, "ought to be served as 
 they used to serve them in Nova Scotia, in the time of Julius 
 Csesar, and Peter the Great ! " 
 
 " But was it broken into 1 " said Click. 
 
 " She sent for me, as you have heard, and there were the 
 things ! I never in my life witne.ssed such a scene of con- 
 fusion. The parson was there, and he told me at once that 
 he should indict me for keeping a disorderly house ! " 
 
 " The parson ! pooh ! " exclaimed Obadiah. " Don't they 
 draw nine-and-twenty millions of money, annually, every 
 
76 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 year, from the vitals of the people 1 What do they want 
 more ? Look at the ecclesiastical swindle exposed by Joey 
 Hume ! Could Bobby Peel defend it ? Look, again, at 
 Charley Buller's motion, that was backed by Tommy Dun- 
 combe ! Do you mean to tell me "— — 
 
 "But," interrupted Click, "was the cottage broken into 
 last night ? " 
 
 "Why, that's involved in mystery," replied Legge; "no locks 
 appear to have been broken, but, as Mr. Bouse said " 
 
 "Who cares for Teddy Rouse?" cried Obadiah; "who 
 cares for the cloth to which Teddy Rouse belongs ? They are 
 what I call the locusts of liberty ! " 
 
 "As he said," continued Legge, "the things couldn't have 
 been thus disturbed without hands. And now Pokey will 
 have to prove that he didn't disturb them." 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Pokey. " Why do they pitch upon me ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Sound saw you near the premises. That's strong cir- 
 cumstantial evidence. You were there twice, which makes 
 the case stronger. The bottom of it is, you're in a mess ! " 
 
 " But I'll take my oath" 
 
 "That you'll not be suffered to do. Mind you, /don't say 
 that you are the man that broke in, you will recollect that. 
 I shall give no evidence against you ; but it strikes me you'd 
 better prepare for your defence." 
 
 "I remember," observed Obadiah, "I remember that, during 
 the French Revolution " 
 
 " Blister the French Revolution ! " cried Pokey, who began 
 to feel very much alarmed. " What's the French Revolution 
 to this ? But are you serious, Mr. Legge 1 Really, now, are 
 you serious 1 " 
 
 " Serious ! It isn't a thing to joke about, I can tell you. 
 You'd better leave the place till the matter blows over." 
 
 " J can't leave the place. How can I leave ? I've no less 
 than four pair of breeches in hand ! " 
 
 In an instant Legge, unable to control himself, sent forth 
 a loud peal of laughter, and as Click, Bobber, Quocks, and 
 Obadiah perceived that he had only been frightening Pokey, 
 they, to some extent, joined him ; but when he had explained 
 the real cause of his mirth — when he had told them of the eggs 
 being found in the pickle-tub, tied up in Judkins's smalls — 
 they opened their shoulders, and set up a roar which might 
 have been heard at the cottage. Nor was this ebullition of 
 
ROSALIE. 77 
 
 merriment transitory. Peal after peal did they send forth in 
 raptures, now holding their ribs in, and calling out with pain, 
 and then bursting forth again with fresh vigour, until two or 
 three of them became so exhausted that, had not the chairs been 
 established in a row, they really must have rolled on the ground. 
 
 " Was the eggs smashed ? " cried Pokey, in the midst of this 
 scene. And again they broke loose, though in agony. " I've 
 heered of pickled injuns," he added, and this was the signal 
 for another loud roar, " but pickled breeches," he continued, 
 
 " pick — pickled " Being utterly unable to finish this 
 
 sentence, he threw himself down on the mat, and panted. 
 
 As the thunder succeeds the lightning's flash, so did a roar 
 on this occasion succeed every sentence that was uttered, 
 whether witty or not ; but as men cannot even la,ugh for ever, 
 they at length became sufiiciently worn out to sit down in a 
 state of comparative tranquillity. 
 
 Legge then explained to them what he had suggested, and 
 they then saw, with perfect distinctness, that a quarrel between 
 Judkins and cook had been the origin of it all. They, more- 
 over, thought it a very fair match ; but confessed that cook 
 then had, decidedly, the best of it, seeing that Judkins had 
 done nothing equal to her assumed feat of pickling the smalls. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ROSALIE. 
 
 The pagans had a little swell whom they called the god of 
 laughter. His name was Comus ; and he was fat, as a per- 
 fectly natural matter of course. He didn't do much — they 
 who laugh much, very seldom do — but, notwithstanding, in 
 his day he was popular among the pagans. Very good. Now, 
 there are, of course, various species of laughter. There's the 
 natural laugh, the hysterical laugh, the hypocritical laugh, 
 and the laugh of the idiot ; but the natural laugh is the only 
 laugh which springs absolutely from pleasure. Oomus had a 
 natural laugh, and he was, therefore, fat. Why, what an 
 immense field does this open for the philanthropist to contem- 
 plate ! Csesar — who wasn't a fool — didn't like Cassius, be- 
 cause he was lean. If this and that be put together, to what 
 
78 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 will they amount ! Momus — not Comus, but Momus— cen- 
 sured Vulcan for making a man without a window in his 
 breast, that his ill designs and treacheries might be seen, 
 which was all very well; but what necessity, even in that 
 poetic age, would there have been for this window, had a 
 social and political Fatometer obtained ? And how infinitely- 
 more valuable would it be now — how society would be simpli- 
 fied by virtue of its introduction ! Fat is the natural fruit of 
 laughter : natural laughter springs from pleasure : pleasure 
 is derived from happiness : happiness from goodness, and 
 goodness comprehends all the virtues. That is one side of 
 the question : now look at the other. Who ever saw a really 
 laughter-loving man thin ? No one. And why 1 Because 
 laughter opens the shoulders — expands thechest^strengthens 
 and increases the size of the lungs, and thus generates fat. 
 Leanness, then, denotes the absence of laughter ; the absence 
 of laughter, the absence of pleasure ; the absence of pleasure, 
 the absence of happiness; the absence of happiness, the absence 
 of goodness ; and the absence of goodness, the absence of all 
 the virtues. Who — had they been contemporaries — who 
 would not have trusted Daniel Lambert — a man of one- 
 doesn't-know-how-many stone — in preference to Monsieur — 
 what was his name — the Living Skeleton ? Let a Fatometer 
 be established, that the amiable fat ones may be caressed, and 
 the treacherous lean ones avoided ! Let a standard of fat be 
 fixed ; and, as the crafty and designing can never hope to 
 reach it, society will be all the purer. 
 
 Now, it is the peculiar province of an author to be cognisant 
 of the most secret thoughts, not only of his herpes and heroines, 
 but of every person whom he introduces to the world. Hence 
 it is that he is held responsible for those introductions — and 
 very properly too ; but it would not be fair to attach to him 
 this responsibility were his liberty restrained. For example — 
 he is allowed to follow a lady into her very chamber, and to 
 contemplate her most private thoughts, even while she is there, 
 which would be, under any other circumstances, highly incor- 
 rect. The lady herself wouldn't allow it ; and, even if she had 
 no great objection, by society it would not, it could not, be 
 sanctioned. These remarks are held to be necessary as a sort 
 of an apology, or rather as a species of justification, seeing that 
 it has now to be stated that Aunt Eleanor, immediately after 
 Legge had left the cottage, excused herself to her reverend 
 
ROSALIE. 79 
 
 friend, and went direct to her chamber to have a hearty laugh. 
 And she did laugh heartily, and, therefore, very naturally. 
 She loved to latigh, and hence was fat — that is to say, she had 
 reached that standard which ought, for ladies thus circum- 
 stanced, to be universally set up. It is no sufficient argument 
 against the establishment of this standard that they who love 
 to langh'are not at all times happy. The aeme of pleasure, for 
 instance, consists in being entirely free from pain ; but where 
 are we to find the acme of pleasure, seeing that pleasure and 
 pain are twins ? Even Aunt Eleanor, who loved to laugh as 
 well as any lady in the county, was not without troubles, albeit 
 they were few ; and even while she was laughing in her cham- 
 ber, she thought of that mystery which had not yet been solved. 
 Feeling, however, then, that she had something like a clue to 
 its solution, her mind was more tranquil, and when she had 
 become, in her judgment, sufficiently composed, she returned 
 to the reverend gentleman, who suggested that they should at 
 once ascertain the cause beyond doubt ; and the immediate 
 consequence of this suggestion was that Judkins was duly 
 summoned. 
 
 " Judkins," she observed, with the most perfect composure, 
 " the questions which I am now about to put to you I hope 
 you will answer with truth." 
 
 " Cert'ney, ma'am — cert'ney." 
 
 " In the first place, then, I have to ask how you account 
 for that extraordinary confusion in the parlour ? " 
 
 " It's my opinion, ma'am, that the place is bewitched, that's 
 my opinion." 
 
 " Judkins, what time did you go to bed last night ? " 
 
 " About half-past ten, ma'am." 
 
 " And what time did you rise ? " 
 
 "About nine, ma'am. I couldn't get up before, because 
 of my clothes. " 
 
 " Were you in the room the whole of the time ? " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "You didn't once leave it, from half -past ten last night 
 until nine o'clock this morning 1 " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Are you quite sure of that 1 " 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " Judkins, if I discover that you are not telling me the 
 truth, I will immediately discharge you ; but if, repudiating 
 
8o SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 falsehood, you confess to me now that those things in the 
 parlour were disturbed by you " 
 
 " By me, ma'am ! " cried Judkins, in a state of astonish- 
 ment; " / disturb the things, ma'am ? " 
 
 " I have reason to suspect that they were disturbed by 
 you." 
 
 "Why, I wasn't out of bed, ma'am, the whole* livelong 
 night ! Besides, why should I disturb them 1 " 
 
 "To annoy cook and Mary. You are not on the most 
 friendly terms, I believe, with either." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, ma'am ; I never interfere with 'em. 
 Mary's well enough, but cook's a cook, and you know what 
 cooks is — ^they're all alike. But if they was the very last 
 words I had to speak, ma'am, I'd say I didn't touch them 
 things." 
 
 " Judkins, I am at present bound to believe you ; but if I 
 find that you have been telling me a falsehood, I will on the 
 instant discharge you ! " 
 
 " You'll never find that, ma'am, I know ; but I suppose, 
 ma'am, that cook's been saying something against me ? " 
 
 " No, not a word ; nor have I at present spoken a word 
 to her on the subject. But desire her to come to me now. 
 The matter must not be allowed to rest here." 
 
 Judkins then left the room, and both his mistress and the 
 reverend gentleman felt that he was innocent; while Sylvester, 
 who had been watching the proceedings in silence, declared 
 his conviction that Judkins was not the man, and pointed out 
 the utter improbability of his having disturbed the things 
 with the view of annoying cook, seeing that it was not cook's 
 province to replace them. Aunt Eleanor, however, having 
 commenced the investigation, felt bound to proceed, and 
 awaited with composure the appearance of cook, who, on 
 entering the room, felt somewhat flurried. 
 
 "Cook," said her mistress, "have you and Judkins been 
 quarrelling?" 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 " There have been no words between you of an unpleasant 
 nature ? " 
 
 " Nothing that can be called words, ma'am ; only, so sure 
 as I ask him for taters, or turnups, or carrots, or inguns, or 
 salary, or anything in respect of that, so sure he won't bring 
 'em till the very lastest minute, though I ask him over and 
 
ROSALIE. 8 1 
 
 over and over and over again. There was only the other day 
 — now, ma'am, only jist to show you " 
 
 " I do not wish," said Aunt Eleanor, " to hear any tales, 
 cook, of that description." 
 
 " No, ma'am, I know ; but then it puts me in a orkard 
 predicament, as I told him, no longer ago than yesterday. 
 'Judkins,' says I, 'you know,' says I, 'it isn't my place,' 
 says I, 'to go,' says I, 'pottering about in that garden; 
 and I'm sure,' says I, ' that if missis,' says I, 'was to know 
 it ' " 
 
 " All I asked was, whether he and you had been quarrelling 
 — whether, in short, you desired to annoy him 1 " 
 
 " Annoy him, ma'am ! — I want to annoy him ? Then he's 
 been a telling you, ma'am, I want to annoy him, ma'am, 
 has he?" 
 
 "No, cook; but answer my question plainly! have you 
 had any wish to annoy him ? " 
 
 " Not I, ma'am ! — no, ma'am ! " 
 
 " Then how do you account for the fact of his clothes being 
 found where they were ? " 
 
 "/, ma'am, account ? What, then, has he been a saying 
 that I put 'em there ? " 
 
 " He has been saying nothing of the sort, cook. I asked 
 you how you accounted for the circumstance ? " 
 
 " Account for it, ma'am 1 I can only say it's my belief 
 the house is wholly haunted ! If it isn't, ma'am, it's very 
 strange to me ! As I said to Mary this blessed morning, 
 ' Mary,' says I " 
 
 " But, cook," said Aunt Eleanor, promptly checking this 
 natural flow of eloquence, " for what purpose did you happen 
 to go to the pickle-tub this morning ? " 
 
 ** I went, ma'am, 'cause, as the ham was gone, I thought 
 I'd bile a tongue. But does he have the imperance to think, 
 ma'am, that I put his clothes there ? Where was his clothes, 
 ma'am 1 In course, in his bedroom ! And does he mean to 
 have the howdaciousness to insinivate " 
 
 " He has insinuated nothing of the kind. But by whom 
 do you imagine they were put there ? " 
 
 "I haven't, ma'am, so much as a idea." 
 
 "Then, cook, I'm to understand that you can throw no 
 light whatever on the subject ? " 
 
 "Not the leastest in the world, ma'am ! " 
 
82 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Very well; then I have nothing more to say to you at 
 present." 
 
 Cook then, although with manifest reluctance, retired; 
 and as she was instantly acquitted of all participation, the 
 mystery resumed its original character. Neither Sylvester, 
 his aunt, nor their reverend friend, could imagine another 
 clue. Even the power to conjecture seemed lost. Neither 
 could suggest — neither could conceive — the slightest means 
 whereby that mystery might be solved. 
 
 " We must still," said the reverend gentleman at length, 
 "we must still have patience. Time alone can bring this 
 strange matter to light : and that it will be brought to light, 
 I have not the slightest doubt. We must, therefore, my 
 dear madam, still have patience." 
 
 Patience ! What an admirable attribute is patience ! How 
 sweet are its influences — how softening its effects ! In the 
 hour of affliction, how beautiful, how calm, how serene, how 
 sublime is patience ! Behold the afflicted, racked with pain, 
 from which Death alone can relieve them. By what are 
 they sustained but by that sweet patience which springs from 
 faith and hope ! Patience, ever lovely, shows loveliest then. 
 But who ever met with passive "patience co-existing with 
 active suspense ? We may endure affliction the most poig- 
 nant with patience^but we cannot with patience endure 
 suspense. The knowledge of the worst that can befall us 
 may be borne with patience— but patience will hold no 
 communion with our ignorance of that which we are ardently 
 anxious to know. Aunt Eleanor, for example, had she 
 known that the smalls had been put into the pickle-tub by 
 cook, and that Judkins had upset the things in the parlour 
 — nay, had she even known that Mr. Pokey and his com- 
 panions, or any other gentleman and Ms companions, had 
 actually entered the cottage — she would have endured that 
 knowledge with patience ; but as she was utterly ignorant 
 of everything connected with the origin of these mysterious 
 proceedings — as she neither knew what had induced them, 
 nor had the power even to guess the cause to which alone 
 they could have been fairly ascribed — patience was altogether 
 out of the question. Hers was essentially a state of suspense, 
 with which patience had nothing whatever to do. 
 
 Still it was, notwithstanding this, all very well for her 
 reverend friend to recommend it : it was, in fact, his province 
 
ROSALIE. 83 
 
 to do so j for having studied deeply the Book of Job, he held 
 patience to be one of the subUmest virtues. It is tnie — quite 
 true — that he hadn't much himself. But then look at his posi- 
 tion. He had to read two sermons every week of his life^ and 
 his sermons cost him a guinea per dozen ! Such a man could 
 not rationally be expected to have patience. Nor, indeed, have 
 men, in general, much. The women are the great cards for 
 patience. Hence it is that they are so frequently termed 
 ducks ; seeing that, as ducks, when they are hatching, sit 
 upon their eggs a whole month, they are the legitimate 
 emblems of patience. But men are not ducks. 
 
 It must not, however, be imagined, that because Aunt 
 Eleanor was in a state of suspense then, she was not in 
 general a patient person. She was ; but being then in a state 
 of suspense, she could not have been expected to be patient. 
 She panted to know the cause of these strange proceedings — 
 and people never pant with patience — and although the 
 reverend gentleman had advised her to be patient, she con- 
 tinued to pant anxiously throughout the day ; but at night 
 she was as far from the achievement of her object, as she 
 would have been had that object never been proposed. 
 
 About half -past ten — being weary of the day — she retired 
 to her chamber, and sat alternately listening and reading 
 until twelve j when, everything both in and ' around the 
 cottage being still as death, she prayed and went to bed, in 
 the full assurance of protection. 
 
 It has been said that there is no virtue in prayer, seeing 
 that He, to whom we pray, knows our thoughts before we 
 attempt to give them utterance ; but who, having fervently 
 prayed, has not felt his spirit etherealised, his mind more at 
 ease, his heart lighter, inspired as he then must be with the 
 conviction that, " putting his whole trust and confidence in 
 Him," he has been in communion with his God? "Ask, 
 and ye shall have ! " involves a point of faith which teems 
 with the most holy influences ; and piety can no more 
 exist without prayer, than prayer can be effective without 
 piety. 
 
 Of course it is not necessary to pursue this subject here : 
 the only object of its introduction is, to show how natural 
 it was for Aunt Eleanor, having fervently prayed, to feel 
 assured of protection, and feeling thus assured, to go to 
 sleep. 
 
84 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Sylvester at that time had been asleep nearly two hours, 
 but having in a most enchanting dream fallen desperately 
 in love with a Dryade, he dressed himself with care, and, 
 on leaving the cottage, proceeded by appointment to the 
 arbour. 
 
 But the Dryade was not there ! He looked anxiously round; 
 but no ! What could be the cause of it ? That she would keep 
 her appointment he felt convinced, and therefore sat down to 
 await her coming ; but he had no sooner taken his seat than 
 the scene in an instant changed, and he beheld in imagination 
 a beautiful dell, in the centre of which he sat, upon a couch 
 composed of moss and the still living leaves of wild roses. For 
 a time his eyes were dazzled by this lovely scene, and he saw 
 but indistinctly the objects around him ; but anon he could 
 clearly distinguish them all, and he turned with breathless 
 wonder to contemplate their incomparable brightness and 
 beauty. The dell was thickly studded with the sweetest and 
 richest flowers with which the face of Nature teems ; fruit of 
 every conceivable species hung in clusters around, and while 
 the herbs lent their fragrance to perfume the air, the mingled 
 odours were delicious in the extreme. Above his head there 
 were myriads of golden-winged butterflies joyously basking in 
 the glorious sim ; and as the beautiful birds, whose plumage, 
 reflecting every ray of light, shone with surpassing lustre, 
 were floating around him and skimming the clear miniature 
 lake, of which the surface was like polished silver, and 
 carolling with all the wild sweetness of their nature : it was, 
 altogether, the loveliest scene of which his fancy could boast 
 the creation. 
 
 He had not, however, contemplated this scene long, when 
 the warbling of the birds simultaneously ceased, and he heard 
 in the distance, one — as he imagined — burst forth in rich 
 strains of seraphic joy. The effect was ravishing. He listened 
 with feelings of the purest rapture, and with feelings of rap- 
 ture the birds listened too. How sweet, how enchanting were 
 those liquid notes ! How soft, how delightful, how full of 
 wild beauty ! What bird, what celestial bird, could it be ? 
 The music ceased : and on the instant a sylph impercep- 
 tibly approached, and, with balmy breath, softly whispered 
 "Rosafie," and kissed him. That kiss was electric. The 
 blood ran thrilling through his veins, and he felt, with delight, 
 transported. Rosalie ! That was the name of her in whom 
 
ROSALIE. 8s 
 
 his whole soul was centred. Rosalie ! He turned : and she 
 had vanished. But he heard again those ravishing strains, 
 and was thus re-inspired with hope. But again they ceased ; 
 and again he turned ; and BxDsalie stood before him. Oh, with 
 what ecstasy did he behold her. What joy, what delight, 
 what rapture he felt as he gazed on her peerless beauty ! 
 And she was a most beautiful blonde ! Her eyes, which shone 
 like brilliant stars, were orbs of fascination ; her cheeks 
 bloomed like the downy peaches ; nature's nectar bedewed her 
 lips ; and while her rich auburn hair flowed in wild ringlets 
 luxuriantly over her shoulders, her lovely form was enveloped 
 in a veil wrought by zephyrs and silkworms combined. 
 
 " EosaUe, sweet Rosalie ! " said Sylvester, at length, in the 
 softest and most endearing accents of love, and extended his 
 arms to embrace her ; but just as he fondly hoped to clasp her 
 to his heart, a bird of Paradise brought her a beautiful rose, 
 which she placed in his bosom, smiled sweetly, and fled. 
 
 " EosaUe, my love," he cried, " let me embrace thee." 
 
 Rosalie smiled again and ghded round the dell, and then 
 stood on the margin of the lake — her only mirror — and ad- 
 justed her ringlets, and sang again, even more sweetly than 
 before ; and, while singing, entered a bower, and reclined upon 
 a couch ; when, in an instant, the birds flew to the sides of the 
 dell, and having each plucked a leaf from the rose, lily, eglan- 
 tine, or brier, flew to the couch on which their' goddess was 
 reclining, and having strewn the leaves over her beautiful 
 form, commenced warbling their song of repose. 
 
 " Rosalie ! " again cried Sylvester sweetly. " Dear Rosalie, 
 come to my arms." 
 
 Rosalie smiled ; but pointing to the couch on which he had 
 been sitting, apparently wished him to sit there again. 
 
 Sylvester, however, with that impetuosity which usually 
 mars our loftiest designs, felt resolved to approach the sacred 
 bower, but no sooner, in pursuance of this resolution, did he 
 advance, than myriads of birds flew in a mass to intercept 
 him. He tried to force a passage, but they opposed him still, 
 and when, eventually, they retired, he found himself standing 
 upon the very margin of the lake. For a moment he stood 
 gazing intently at the bower, and the beautiful Rosalie covered 
 with leaves. The lake, then, alone was between them, and 
 feeling stiU resolved to approach, he was about to plunge in ; 
 but again the birds flew in a dense mass towards him, and on 
 
86 SYLVEBTEB SOUND. 
 
 being absolutely forced back to the couch, in an instant the 
 whole scene vanished before him, and he found himself sitting 
 in darkness and alone in Aunt Eleanor's arbour again. 
 
 Here for some time he remained sighing " Rosalie ! — sweet 
 Eosalie ! — Rosalie I — my love ! " But as darkness still 
 reigned, and the njrmph did not appear, he at length returned 
 in sadness and in silence to the cottage, and having passed 
 the outer door, which he omitted to close, proceeded to his 
 chamber, undressed, and went to bed. 
 
 Now, as Sylvester made not the slightest noise, he disturbed 
 neither his aunt, nor any one of the servants; they slept 
 soundly and well, and thus continued to sleep for several 
 hours after his return j but in the morning, when cook came 
 down, she, on finding the outer door open, was struck at once 
 with horror, and without giving even a glance, with the view 
 of ascertaining how matters really stood, rushed upstairs 
 again, shrieking " Thieves ! thieves ! thieves ! " 
 
 Out rushed Judkins with a gash across his throat — for at 
 the moment the first shriek was uttered he was endeavouring 
 to improve the characteristic respectability of his appearance 
 by shaving — and out rushed Mary, with her hair dishevelled ; 
 but their mistress on coming to the door, without leaving 
 her room, demanded to know what was the matter. 
 
 "Oh! ma'am," -replied cook, "it's a mercy, ma'am, we 
 haven't all been murdered. The door's as wide open as ever 
 it can stick." 
 
 " What, the outer door ? " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " Good gracious ! — what can all this mean ? Why, I saw 
 the door fastened myself. Have any of the things been 
 taken away ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure, ma'am. Go, Judkins, and look." 
 
 Judkins did go, and found all secure, and then returned to 
 report progress ; but while engaged in making that report. 
 Aunt Eleanor, perceiving the sanguinary state of his throat, 
 exclaimed — " Judkins ! why, what on earth have you been 
 doing?" 
 
 "I was only a shaving, ma'am, when cook shruck." 
 
 " For goodness' sake, go and stop the blood immediately. 
 Do not," she added, addressing the cook, " do not suffer a 
 thing to be touched till I come down." 
 
 She then closed her door and proceeded to dress; and 
 
BOSALIE. 8? 
 
 Judkins returned to his room, where lie found, on consulting 
 his glass, that although he never even contemplated suicide, 
 he looked as if he had not only meant to commit, but had, in 
 reality, committed the act. He had before no idea of having 
 made such an incision. The blood was actually streaming 
 down his neck — ^it looked frightful — it moreover created the 
 absolute necessity for a clean shirt. Now Judkins, who was 
 a tidy man, had a strong aversion to whiskers ; he had also 
 an aversion to the practice of allowing the hair to grow under 
 the chin : he therefore shaved all off, from his temples to his 
 collar-bone, and being endowed with a broad face and neck, 
 he not only had an extensive field of stubble to go over, but 
 as he was not, as a shaver, expert, and as his razors were 
 never in very fine order, he scratched and grinned during 
 the pleasing operation, while the stubble contested the ground, 
 inch by inch, and thus amused himself for more than half- an- 
 hour every morning of his existence. 
 
 On this occasion the entertainment was nearly at an end 
 — he was in the last act, taking the final and triumphant 
 upper scrape — when he heard the first shriek, which so 
 paralysed his frame, that the razor walked in instead of 
 keeping on the surface. No material injury, however^ had 
 been inflicted] he bled, it is true, very freely — which, he 
 being a man of full habit, was not at all marvellous — but 
 when he had got his best hat from the box, and had filled 
 up the gash with a handful of nap, he was all right again, 
 and got down just in time to assist his mistress in taking a 
 general survey. 
 
 But there was nothing wrong — nothing lost — nothing out 
 of its place ; everything was found precisely as they had left 
 it, with the single exception of the outer door, and how that 
 had been opened none could tell. It had a lock, two bolts, 
 a bar, and a chain^ and as there was not a single mark on 
 the outside to indicate violence, it was perfectly clear that it 
 had not been forced. The only question, therefore, was — ■ 
 how could any one have got inside to open it ! But this was 
 a question which could not be answered. 
 
88 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE GUARDIANS OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 A PAESONAGE-HOUSE in an isolated village, is, of all earthly 
 places, the best adapted to the process of deadening a man's 
 wits. If he have no occupation, save that which is strictly 
 enjc»ned by the church — no hobby but his garden — no society 
 but that of the fat-headed squires around him — ^his case is 
 indeed desperate. A clergyman thus situated is morally 
 buried. He must be lofty ; he must be grave ; he must pvdl 
 a long face ; he must look severe ; he must walk with ex- 
 cessive circumspection ; he must associate with none but 
 those in whose hearts their horses have a much warmer place 
 than their wives, and of whom it may be recorded that, if 
 taken from their horses, not only while animated, but when 
 they become dogs'-meat, the full half of that which they 
 know isn't much. No clashing of intellect does a pastor in 
 that position experience — no new lights look in upon Mm ; 
 his mind becomes dim for lack of polish ; his imagination 
 soars but to sink ; his faculties are weakened by the absence 
 of that exercise which alone can impart to them strength ; 
 and he gradually and imperceptibly descends to the recog- 
 nised level of the sphere iu which he moves, severely and 
 securely cloaked up in the arrogant vanity of ignorance. 
 
 But this is the rule : Aunt Eleanor's reverend friend was 
 the exception — inasmuch as he actually conceived the means 
 by which the cause of her perplexities might be discovered. 
 He conceived an idea, which is very remarkable, that if he 
 sat up at the cottage one night he should know all about it. 
 His mind hadn't struck such a light for a long time. He 
 held it to be brilliant. And so it was : so brilliant that it 
 dazzled him at first ; but when he had become somewhat 
 reconciled to its brilliancy, he went to the cottage to show 
 the light there. 
 
 He at that time had not the slightest knowledge of the 
 fact that the door of the cottage had been found open that 
 very morning ; but, when Aunt Eleanor had duly informed 
 him of the circumstance — although he could not help express- 
 ing his amazement — he felt highly pleased, seeing that, as it 
 was clear to him that the parties were determined to carry 
 
THE GUARDIANS OF THE NIGHT. 89 
 
 on their game every night, he, without the necessity for 
 sacrificing more than a single night's rest, should be perfectly 
 certain to catch them. 
 
 " The fact is," said he, " this must be put a stop to. It 
 cannot be tolerated. It must not be suffered to continue." 
 
 " But how, my dear sir ? " cried Aunt Eleanor. " How 
 can I prevent its continuance ? " 
 
 " You cannot," he replied, " but I can ; and I will do so, if 
 the scheme which I have conceived meet your approbation." 
 
 " My dear sir, whatever you suggest shall be immediately 
 acted upon; gratefully will I adopt any suggestion which 
 may be calculated to relieve me from this painful state of 
 suspense." 
 
 " Then allow me, this night, to sit here," said her reverend 
 friend j " here, in this room : take no notice of the arrange- 
 ment ; retire as usual, send the servants to bed, and then 
 leave the rest to me." 
 
 " But, my dear sir ; oh, but I cannot think for a moment 
 of allowing you to sit up." 
 
 " Why not, my dear madam ; why not ? " 
 
 " Oh, it would be so extremely inconsiderate of me to tax 
 your kindness to such an extent." 
 
 " My dear madam, you do not tax my kindness — if kind- 
 ness it may be called — the suggestion is mine, not yours." 
 
 " Of course I feel extremely grateful ; but you do not 
 think of sitting up alone." 
 
 "Let me sit up with you, Mr. Rouse," said Sylvester; 
 " we shall catch them : and when we do, they ought to be 
 punished severely." 
 
 " But have you," said Aunt Eleanor, " have you, my dear, 
 sufficient strength to sit up 1 " 
 
 " Oh, quite," replied Sylvester; "sitting uip is nothing." 
 
 " But it will not be well for you to do so," said the reverend 
 gentleman. "The primary object is to make everything 
 appear as if no preparation for a discovery had been made." 
 
 "Well, it need not appear," returned Sylvester; "I can 
 go into my bedroom, and then come down softly again ; and 
 then you and I can have a game of chess to keep us awake. 
 I should enjoy it. It will be so very dull for you to sit here 
 alone. Do let me sit up with you 1 " 
 
 "I fear," said the reverend gentleman, "that it will tend 
 to defeat the object in view." 
 
90 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Then let Judkins sit up," said Aunt Eleanor; "he can 
 be in the little room adjoining." 
 
 " My dear madam, the character of Judkins is still in — if 
 I may so term it— the purgatory of suspicion: it has to be 
 either vindicated clearly or condemned. Against his sitting 
 up with me, I therefore protest." 
 
 " But I cannot consent to your sitting up alone." 
 
 "Well, then — let me see. Oh! suppose, then, I bring 
 Jones, my gardener, with me. He's a very sleepy fellow-, 
 it's true, but I'll manage to keep him awake." 
 
 " Very well, my dear sir ; by all means let him come. I do 
 not care who it is, so long as you have some one with you." 
 
 " Then that is decided : Jones comes with me. What time 
 do you usually retire to rest ? " 
 
 " About ten, or half -past." 
 
 " Then at ten o'clock, precisely, we'll be here. When those 
 shutters are closed and the curtains are drawn no light can 
 be seen, I beKeve ? " 
 
 " Not a ray." 
 
 " Then at ten, my dear madam, expect us. It will of course 
 be necessary for you to let us in." 
 
 " Of course. I will be at the window at that hour pre- 
 cisely." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then took his leave, and Aunt 
 Eleanor congratulated herself on the prospect of the mystery 
 being cleared up. She, at the same time, resolved on having 
 an excellent supper on the table, with wine, whisky, brandy, 
 and books, that there might be no lack of food, either of 
 an animal or an intellectual character ; and having, in pur- 
 suance of this wise resolution, arranged all her plans, she felt 
 as if a weight had been removed from her heart, and became 
 quite joyous and gay. 
 
 Oh, how easily are we elevated — how easily depressed — 
 and when analysed, what puppets we appear, not always the 
 puppets of others, but frequently our own — acting by virtue 
 of the very strings which we pull — the creatures of the very 
 circumstances of which we are the creators — but at all times 
 puppets. It is strange that the human mind — which is 
 often so powerful in its resistance to oppression, so strict in 
 its adherence to principle, so firm in its pursuit of all that is 
 noble, just, virtuous, and triie, should be swayed by mere 
 trifles : yet, while possessing all the elements of strength, so 
 
THE GUARDIANS OF THE NIGHT. 91 
 
 it is. A single word may cause ■ our spirits either to rise or 
 to sink : a mere thought of our own may either plunge us 
 into despair, or place us upon the very apex of hope. A 
 cork at sea is more constant than we are ; the under-currents 
 may swell and roU, but it still retains its position on the 
 surface; whereas, as we are the sport of every wave — the 
 slightest ripple may upset us. No matter how strong the 
 mind may be, the loftiest, the mightiest, may be wrought 
 upon by trifles. Men scale a mountain, and stumble over 
 a brick. 
 
 We are not, it is true, all equally sanguine ; but when we 
 are depressed, how soon may we be elated, and how frequently 
 are we, by virtue of viewing the veriest bubbles which Hope 
 can blow. At such a time that which is nothing per se, may 
 be made to amount to a great deal per sdltum. 
 
 In the suggestion of Aunt Eleanor's reverend friend, there 
 was, however, something in reality. The course proposed was, 
 perhaps, the only one at all calculated to lead to the achieve- 
 ment of the object in view. But Aunt Eleanor, instead of 
 waiting for that achievement, viewed the object as being 
 already achieved, in so far as that, after that night, she 
 should be no more annoyed. It was therefore that she felt 
 as if a weight had been removed from her heart, and became 
 joyous. Nor was the pleasure derived therefrom transient. 
 She was joyous throughout the day, and at night, when the 
 village clock struck ten, she went to the window with a smile. 
 
 The reverend gentleman was punctual — ^that is to say, as 
 punctual as reverend gentlemen are in general ; he was ten 
 minutes behind — ten minutes being always allowed to the 
 cloth ; and when he appeared at the gate, with the gentle 
 Jones, Sylvester quietly opened the door. 
 
 Jones had been instructed to make no noise. He there- 
 fore made none. As he entered, he walked on the tips of 
 his toes : not elegantly — no, by no means — but carefully, 
 and groimd his teeth to indicate the interest he felt in the 
 due preservation of silence. 
 
 " My dear sir," whispered Aunt Eleanor, as her reverend 
 friend took her hand, " I really felt so grateful " 
 
 " Not a word, my dear madam, not a word," he replied. 
 " We ent&ed, I believe, unobserved ? " 
 
 " I think so ; I saw no one near." 
 
 " Are the servants in bed ? " 
 
92 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "They will not go until I retire.'' 
 
 " Very good. Then retire, my dear madam, and leave all 
 to me. I'll lock the door after you, in order that, if it be 
 tried, it may appear that you locked it. I shall catch them, 
 never fear. I only want to know who they are ; I only 
 want to see them ; there isn't a man in the village whom I 
 shouldn't be able to recognise at a glance." 
 
 " Be sure," said Aunt Eleanor, " that you do not expose 
 yourself to danger. I am almost ashamed to leave you ; but 
 do make yourself quite at home. You will find some hot 
 water in the kettle, and — let me see — yes, this is cold. Do 
 make a good supper. The sugar and the lemons are on the 
 sideboard, with the nutmegs, and "— — 
 
 " Eeally, my dear madam, all this was unnecessary ; but 
 as it shows your consideration, I appreciate it." 
 
 ' " Well, but do make yourself, now, as comfortable as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 "I will do so." 
 
 " You had better let me sit up with you now, ' said 
 Sylvester." 
 
 "No, my dear fellow, no; that might spoil all. Good- 
 night; good-night. God bless you; good-nighfr! " 
 
 Aunt Eleanor and Sylvester then withdrew, and their 
 reverend friend, having locked the door, sat down to contem- 
 plate the supper before him, while Jones, in the corner, stood 
 scratching his head, with great constitutional freedom. 
 
 It was a very nice supper — very nice indeed — cold, but 
 delicious ; unique, but enough. The reverend gentleman 
 eyed it with pleasure ; he then eyed the brandy, wine, whisky, 
 and rum ; he, moreover, looked at the books — very good ; 
 they were very good books ; but — very good. 
 
 " Jones," said he, "you and I are fixed here for the night. 
 Now, sir, repudiating all considerations having reference to 
 station, I invite you to sup with me this evening." 
 
 " When you've done, sir, if you please," said Jones. 
 
 " Nothing of the sort, sir ! Sit down now, and I'll show 
 you how gentlemen enjoy themselves. Under the British 
 constitution, sir, there is no station to which you may not 
 be called. It is highly proper, therefore, that you, and every 
 man, should be cognisant of gentlemanly conduct. Oincin- 
 natus, sir, followed the plough ; therefore, sit down at once, 
 like a gentleman ! " 
 
THE GUARDIANS OF THE NIGHT. 93 
 
 Jones didn't understand muoh of this, but as that which he 
 did understand appeared to him to be very good and much to 
 the point, he did sit down, although with evident reluctance. 
 
 " Now, sir," continued the reverend gentleman, who had 
 resolved on enjoying the society of Jones, " consider yourself, 
 for the time being, my equal. You are my friend, and I am 
 yours. We are now gentlemen. What have you there, Mr. 
 Jones ? " 
 
 " What, that ? " 
 
 " Yes, that ! " 
 
 " That's a fowl, sir ! " 
 
 " A fowl, sir ! Did I not say that we were on an equality ? 
 No gentleman ever says sir, but to his servant. Do me the 
 favour to send me a wing." 
 
 Jones had never waited at table. He, therefore, didn't 
 know how a fowl was usually dissected. He, notwithstanding, 
 took up a knife and fork, and although his hands trembled 
 with violence, he, by virtue of diligent sawing and digging, 
 got off the wing at last, and with it half the back-bone and 
 part of the ribs. 
 
 " Very good," said the reverend gentleman ; " very good. 
 What can I have the pleasure of helping you to ? Allow me 
 to recommend this pigeon-pie." 
 
 " If you please. Kiank you 1 I'll take it," said Jones. 
 
 Take it ! Well ! The reverend gentleman sent him the 
 pie, and as Jones thought he couldn't go very far wrong, he 
 walked into it bodily, and ate from the dish. 
 
 "A glass of wine, Mr. Jones ? " said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied Jones; and, having turned over the 
 mustard-pot, poured out a bumper, and handed it politely to 
 his reverend friend. 
 
 " Pass the bottle, Mr. Jones," said the reverend gentleman. 
 " That is your glass. I shall be happy to take wine with you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir — good health ! " said Jones. 
 
 " My love to you," said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 Jones then proceeded to scrape up the mustard, which cer- 
 tainly didn't look tidy on the cloth ; and when he had suc- 
 ceeded in spreading it about, he, not knowing what else on 
 earth to do with the spoon, carefully wiped it on his apron. 
 
 " Shall I send you a glass of ale ? " said the reverend gentle- 
 man, whose gravity was imperturbable, while the face of 
 Jones was fired with confusion. 
 
94 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Thank you," replied Jones, who made another mess on 
 the cloth, for in his haste to put down his knife and fork to 
 reply, he, having his elbows quite square at the time, upset 
 a decanter of sherry. 
 
 The reverend gentleman took no apparent notice of this cir- 
 cumstance : he handed him the glass of ale gracefully ; but 
 Jones felt very uncomfortable. He didn't enjoy himself at all. 
 He couldn't keep his eyes oflE his reverend friend. His very 
 anxiety to do nothing wrong, rendered him so nervous, that 
 he could do nothing right. 
 
 " How do you get on, Mr. Jones ? " said the reverend 
 gentleman, who saw that he didn't and couldn't get on. 
 
 " Capital," repHed Jones ; " the pigeons is nice." 
 
 This was said on speculation. The pigeons he had not even 
 tasted. He could do nothing with them. He turned them 
 over and over, and did once try to cut one of them fairly in 
 half, but as his knife slipped, and the gravy flew, he gave the 
 thing up as a bitter bad job. True, he broke in the crust, and 
 fished up a piece of steak, but he dared not again attempt to 
 get a bit of pigeon. He wanted that pie in his tool-house 
 alone — the pigeons would not have got over him there. 
 
 " Another glass of wine ? " said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 Down went the knife and fork again on the instant, for 
 every time the reverend gentleman spoke, Jones appeared as 
 if struck with paralysis. 
 
 " Good health," said he, having filled his glass. 
 
 " My love to you," again said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Beg pardon : my love to you," echoed Jones, who felt 
 bound to follow whatever suit might be led. But, oh ! how 
 sincerely did he wish it all over. " If this here's the way," 
 thought he, " gentlemen enjoys 'emselves, blest if I a'nt 
 pleased I wasn't a gentleman." 
 
 "This is very fair wine," said his reverend companion. 
 
 " Yes," returned Jones, "this is very fair wine." 
 
 " There's some body in it." 
 
 "Yes, there's some body in it," but whether that body 
 were dead or alive, Jones didn't know, nor did he care. 
 
 " Have another glass of ale," said the reverend gentleman, 
 when Jones had recommenced operations on the pie, and Jones 
 again left his work and passed the glass j but these startling 
 interruptions were very distressing — indeed, so distressing, 
 that Jones, having drank the glass of ale, which he felt bound 
 
THE GUARDIANS OF THE NIGHT. 95 
 
 to do the very moment he had received it, put his knife and 
 fork together and gave the thing up. 
 
 " But you haven't finished," said his reverend friend. 
 
 " Done capital well," replied Jones. " Not a mite more, 
 I thank you." 
 
 " Well, you have made but a very poor supper." 
 
 " I ain't the leastest hungry in life," returned Jones. 
 
 " Well, then, let us have the cheese." 
 
 Jones rose, and having cleared a sufficient space on the tray, 
 went to the sideboard and brought the cheese ; and when the 
 reverend gentleman had sent him a slice, he put it into his 
 mouth with a great degree of comfort. 
 
 " A small piece more ! " said his reverend friend. 
 
 Jones held his plate, and had a small piece more. It might 
 have weighed a quarter of a pound ; but as he felt that while 
 eating bread and cheese he couldn't make any very great mis- 
 take, quantity was not at all an object. He ate it ; and then 
 had another small piece, and ate that, and enjoyed it pretty 
 well ; and could have eaten a small piece more, but wouldn't. 
 
 " Now, then, suppose we have a clearance, Mr. Jones," said 
 the reverend gentleman blandly. " As you are, I believe, the 
 younger man, I'lL leave the job to you." 
 
 Jones then put all the plates and dishes upon the tra^, and 
 cleverly removed it to the sideboard ; and when he had placed 
 the various bottles upon the table, the reverend gentleman 
 invited him again to a chair. 
 
 " Are you fond of punch, Mr. Jones 1 " he inquired. 
 
 "Yes, I'm very fond of punch. I never tasted none; but 
 I kiiow I'm very fond of it, 'cos everybody as I ever knowed 
 says it's nice." 
 
 - " Then we'll have some," rejoined the reverend gentleman ; 
 " we'll have some, my friend ; and I shall be able to say with 
 safety, Mr. Jones, that you never tasted anything like it in 
 your life." 
 
 Of punch the reverend gentleman was a great connoisseur. 
 He never drank any but that which he made himself ; and, 
 as a maker, he was prepared to back himself against any man 
 in Europe. Such being the case, there were, as a matter of 
 course, great preparations. The lemons were cut in a singular 
 style, the .water was measured, the liquors were measured, 
 the sugar was measured, and the jugs were placed in a very 
 peculiar position on the hob, where they remained closely 
 
96 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 covered with napkins, until Jones thought his reverend friend 
 had forgotten they were there. But this was a mistake 
 altogether. When the time prescribed had duly expired, 
 the reverend gentleman drew off the napkins, and taking a 
 jug in each hand, poured the beverage from jug to jug, back- 
 wards and forwards, for a quarter of an hour, during the 
 whole of which time Jones's mouth was wide open. The' jugs 
 were then placed on the hob again, and there they remained 
 another quarter of an hour, when they were again taken off, 
 and again filled and emptied, until the reverend gentleman 
 filled a glass, and having three times sipped it, smacked hislips. 
 
 " That's the way, my friend, to make punch ! " he exclaimed. 
 " Now, Mr. Jones, try that." 
 
 Jones accepted a glass, and having drank it, boldly pro- 
 nounced it to be nice. He liked it much ; he admired its 
 flavour, and thought that it was almost worth while being a 
 gentleman, since gentlemen drank such rare stuff as that. 
 
 " What do you think of it ? " inquired his reverend friend. 
 « Will it do 1 " 
 
 " Capital ! " replied Jones. " Out and out ! But I didn't 
 know what it was till it was gone." 
 
 "Then take another glass, Mr. Jones." 
 
 And Jones took another glass ; but his reverend friend 
 helped himself to the sixth before he asked him to have a 
 third. He then said — 
 
 " Now, my friend, have one more — oree more, Mr. Jones. 
 Beware of the besetting sin of drunkenness." 
 
 "You never see me tocksicated yet, sir, I believe." 
 
 " Never, Mr. Jones ! But a drunkard is not to be trusted. 
 What do you think of my sermons on the subject, Mr. Jones ? " 
 
 "Capital good! But them hard words puzzles us more 
 than a bit." 
 
 "■Hard words, Mr. Jones, hit hard; and to hit a man 
 hard is to make a man feel. Certainly; veritatis simplex 
 aratio est ; but " • 
 
 " What say ? " 
 
 " Veritatis simplex oratio est." 
 
 " Them's the dodges as does us." 
 
 " Hark ! What noise is that ? Listen ! " 
 
 " They're only coming out of the Crumpet," said Jones. 
 
 " That's a late house, my friend. People go there to drink 
 till they are drunk, and a drunkard has no command over 
 
THE GUARDIANS OF THE NIGHT. g; 
 
 himself. He cannot even keep his own counsel. Quod esi in 
 corde sobrii est in ore ebrii. Therefore never get intoxicated, 
 Jones, my friend j never get intoxicated." 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Never. The practice is bad. It's a bad practice, Jones, 
 
 a very bad practice. Intoxication What's o'clock? 
 
 Past twelve. Mr. Jones, can I trust you ? " 
 
 " Trust me, sir 2 " 
 
 "I think I can. Now, Mr. Jones, look here. By this 
 timepiece it's now ten minutes past twelve. Very well. 
 Now I've got a great deal on my mind, and I want to turn 
 it over. I'll therefore just stretch myself here on this couch, 
 and if I should drop off, when it's one o'clock call me. You 
 are sure that I can trust you ? " 
 
 " There's no fear of that, sir." 
 
 " You'll not go to sleep 1 " 
 
 "Not if it isn't one o'clock for a month." 
 
 " Very good. But recollect, if you should go to sleep, I'll 
 discharge you." 
 
 " Oh, there's no fear of that," returned Jones. " I'll keep 
 awake if I live." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then reclined upon the couch, and 
 in less than five minutea he snored so loudly that Jones felt 
 justified in looking into the jugs, but he found nothing there, 
 they were perfectly empty ; and as they were empty, he 
 mixed himself a glass of stiff bran dy-and- water. 
 
 But brandy-and- water. Brandy-and- water after punch, and 
 such punch — pooh ! what was brandy-andv water ? There had 
 been a time, and that time was not very remote, when he 
 held brandy-and-water to be drink fit for — gods he didn't 
 know anything about, but he thought it fit for actual noble- 
 men — they being the next best things he could think of. 
 But then after punch he didn't relish brandy-and-water. 
 He drank it, it is true — that may be recorded — but he 
 couldn't persuade his palate to relish it ! and, as such was 
 the case, " why," thought he, " why shouldn't I try to make 
 a little?" He couldn't see why he should not. He had 
 seen his friend make it, and that friend was then fast asleep. 
 He, of course, felt justified in doing so, and commenced — at 
 the wrong end, it is true — but he commenced. He measured 
 out the whisky, and then measured out the brandy, and then 
 measured out the rum, and then peeled one of the lemons, 
 
 G 
 
98 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 and then cut it in talf, and then squeezed it very properly 
 into the jug, and then put in about the same quantity of 
 sugar as that which his reverend friend had put in; and 
 tlien — altogether forgetting the water — he covered the jug 
 with a napkin, and placed it upon the hob. Yery well ! But 
 while it was there, how was he to amuse himself ? He thought 
 of the pigeon-pie : and a great thought it was. That pie had 
 been a source of much annoyance, and therefore he resolved 
 on having sat. — feat, being in those days the short for Satis- 
 faction — he would have sat., and he had it. He took the 
 pigeons up without reference to knife or fork, and pulled 
 them limb from Umb ! A lot of pigeons get over him ! 
 Well, it was rich as far as it went; but the idea then 
 appeared to be very ridiculous. And so in reality it was. 
 They didn't get over him then. He cleared the dish — com- 
 pletely cleared it — and having done so, turned with an expres- 
 sion of triumph to see how his punch got on. "Well, it smelt 
 very nice. He sipped a little — it was very good ; but as it 
 seemed rather strong, he thought a little water would do it no 
 harm. He therefore put in a Uttle Water, and then, following 
 the example of his reverend friend, poured it from jug to jug, 
 till his arms ached. " Now," said he privately, " master and 
 me is the only two gentlemen in this here village as knows how 
 to make this here punch ; " and having delivered himself to 
 this effect, and with the most entire self-satisfaction, he began 
 to enjoy the fruit of his labours ; and, having drank several 
 glasses, pronounced it to be better — infinitely better, and nicer 
 and stronger — than that which his reverend friend had made. 
 
 But then, how was he to keep himself awake ? He couldn't 
 read, he had never been taught to read; but he had been 
 taught the game of push-halfpenny. He therefore got three 
 halfpence, and a sinaU piece of chalk out of his pocket, and 
 having drawn five regular bars upon the table — his right 
 hand played with his left. 
 
 This, however, didn't last very Ibng. It was not at all an 
 interesting game. There was not much excitement about it. 
 Wtether the right hand won or the left hand won was a 
 matter of vBry slight importance. He therefore turned with 
 the view of conceiving some new delight; biit during the 
 process of conception he suddenly fell into the arms of 
 Somnus, when Morpheus, who is generally on the qui vive, 
 tickled his fancy with the flavour of punch. 
 
THE GUARDIANS blSGOVEBED. 9^ 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE GUARDIAUS DISCOVERED. 
 
 Whenever mdrtals have inspired a passion for spirits, that 
 passion has always been the germ of infelicity. However 
 strongly it may have been developed, or however ardently 
 reciprocated, discomfiture has invariably been -the result. 
 Mortals never yet made matches with spirits. Of their 
 having loved them fondly, we have heard ; but in the annals 
 of spirits there is nothing like an absolute match of the kind 
 on record. Nor is this to be lamented. Spirits may indeed 
 do for mortals to love, but they certainly will not do for 
 mortals to marry. They couldn't guide, they couldn't govern, 
 they couldn't hold them. Of all flighty wives they would be 
 the most flighty. They diight dance Very well, they might 
 sing very well, they might look very well, and be very 
 enchanting, but they would be found to be fit to love only 
 in imagination. It is true that ia all cases there is much 
 imagination in love : two-thirds of it is generally composed 
 of imagination ; but when love is all imagination, they by 
 whom it is cherished are much to be pitied. 
 
 Sylvester's love for Rosalie was all imagination. But then 
 he loved bnly when asleep. At rio other time did it in the 
 slightest degree disturb him : albeit, so strong was its influence 
 then, that, prompted by a vivid recollection of his imaginary 
 interview the preceding night, he rose immediately after Jones 
 had commenced a fine nasal duet with his reverend friend, 
 and proceeded — without at all disturbing those guardians — 
 to the arbour^ itivokiilg Rosalie in the most touching toiies 
 of endearment. 
 
 Here, after having sighed deeply for a time, he beheld the 
 scene suddenly change as before, and found himself seated in 
 the centre of the dell upon the same couch of moss and wild 
 roses. But Rosalie! 'Wlere was Rosalie? She was not there ! 
 
 He looked anxiously round. The flowers were drooping ; 
 the birds were silent ; the lake had lost its f Onner lustre, and 
 even the butterflies were still. 
 
 Something had occurred ! Everything around him seemed 
 stricken with grifef ! "What could be the meaning of it? 
 "What could be the cause i "Was Rosalie dead ? 
 
loo STLVESTEE SOUND. 
 
 Presently he heard a slight fluttering among the birds ; the 
 butterflies came out, although cautiously ; the lake reflected 
 a gleam of light, and the flowers raised slowly their beautiful 
 heads. 
 
 Sylvester turned, and saw Rosalie approaching. But her 
 steps were lingering and languid. Her head was bowed 
 down, and her countenance was sad, but her ensemble still 
 was lovely. 
 
 As she entered the dell, he rose to meet her, and the birds 
 sang in concert a melancholy strain, which she answered, 
 and made them more melancholy still. 
 
 " Eosalie ! ■" said Sylvester. " Rosalie ! " 
 
 Rosalie started at the sound of his voice, and having looked 
 at him, blushed and became herself again. Again the butter- 
 flies in myriads came forth : again the lake shone like 
 crystal ; again the birds sang in their sweetest strain, and 
 again the flowers bloomed and waved, inspired with joy by 
 her beautiful smile. 
 
 " Rosalie ! " continued Sylvester, " sweet Rosalie ! " 
 
 Rosalie silently glided to the couch, and having taken her 
 seat at one end, with a smile pointed to the other, upon 
 which in an instant Sylvester sat, and as they looked at each 
 other with expressions of love, birds of Paradise playfully 
 floated between them. 
 
 " Sweet youth ! " she exclaimed, in a voice which on his 
 ear fell like celestial music ; but her countenance changed ; 
 she again became sad ; the birds ceased to sing, and the 
 flowers ceased to bloom, and the butterflies fell as if dead. 
 
 Why, what could be the cause of this ? "Was she not well ? — 
 or had he been too presumptuous ? 
 
 " Rosalie ! " he exclaimed, after a pause, during which they 
 sighed in unison ; "Rosalie ! — why are you thus ? I love you, 
 Rosalie ! — sweetest ! I love you ! " 
 
 Rosalie again sighed, and bowed her head in sadness. 
 
 " Rosalie ! — Rosalie ! why are you sad 1 Tell me, my sweet 
 one 1 Tell me." 
 
 " My beautiful boy ! " she exclaimed, and as she spoke, 
 her soft eyes swam in liquid love. " Oh ! that I were 
 mortal ! " 
 
 " Mortal ! " echoed Sylvester — " are you not mortal? " 
 
 " Alas ! " she replied, " I am but a spirit ! " 
 
 " Then, lovely spirit, let me dwell with you here 1 " 
 
THE GUARDIANS DISCOVERED. loi 
 
 " It cannot be until you are also a spirit. Then will the 
 purest joy be ours." 
 
 " But now, sweet Eosalie ! — let me dwell here with you 
 now ! " 
 
 "It is, alas,! impossible. But even while this mortal 
 barrier exists I shall ever be near you ; I will watch over, 
 guard, and protect you. When you are sad, I shall be also 
 sad ; when you are happy, I shall be happy too." 
 
 " But, Rosalie ! — dear Rosalie ! — my love !— I cannot leave 
 thee ! " 
 
 Rosalie smiled ; and by that smile he felt so inspired, that 
 he rose to embrace her ; but in an instant the butterflies 
 flew in a mass before him, and, by shaking the downy 
 1 feathers from their wings into his eyes, compelled him for 
 a moment to close them ! — when they were reopened, all 
 had vanished, and he found himself sitting again in the 
 arbour. 
 
 Having dwelt for a time on the beautiful scene from which 
 he had thus been shut out, he with a heavy heart languidly 
 returned to the cottage, and omitting again to close the 
 outer door, proceeded at once to his chamber. 
 
 During the whole of this time the reverend gentleman 
 and Jones were keeping up with spirit their nasal duet. By 
 the effect of this, however, no ear could have been charmed. 
 They were both very powerful snorers, but the harmony 
 produced was not perfect. Few, indeed, could have made 
 more noise : few could have kept the thing up with more 
 zeal ; but as Jones alternately touched C and F, while the 
 note on which the reverend gentleman dwelt was a very flat 
 D, the combination cannot be said to have been harmonious. 
 The only marvel is, that they didn't wake each other. It 
 is, however, perfectly certain that they didn't, and that they 
 slept and snored without the slightest interruption until 
 cook came down at half-past six,, and found the door open 
 as before. Nor would they have been disturbed even then, 
 had not cook been inspired with indignation, and instead of 
 rushing upstairs again, closed the door with so much violence 
 that it shook the whole house. 
 
 This did disturb them both, and when the reverend gentle- 
 man had succeeded in recollecting where he was, he called out 
 angrily for Jones, who trembled for the consequences of his 
 conduct. 
 
I02 SYLVESTER SOUNB. 
 
 '* You have been asleep, sir ! " pxclaimefj his reverend 
 friend. 
 
 " Ony jist dropped off, sir^scaroe three winks, sir," stam- 
 mered out Jones. 
 
 *' Where's the light, sir ? The fire out too ! Bo you think 
 that you are fit to be trusted, sir 1 Hark ! " he added, as 
 cook, who had heard them, rushed from the door to tell 
 Judkins that thieves were even then in the house. " Do 
 you hear that 1 " 
 
 " Ye-e-e-es, sir.'' 
 
 " There they are ! — Now we shall catch them. Be firm ! 
 be firm. Jones ! Jones ! how came you to let the lamp out ? 
 rU never forgive you, sir ! WTi&re is the door %" 7. 
 
 " Can't find it, sir 1 Don't know the go of the room ! Oh, 
 
 here " he added, sweeping the bqttles off the tal)le, for a§ 
 
 the shutters were closed, and the curtains were drawn, not a 
 ray of light was visible. 
 
 " What on earth are you about, sir ? " 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir I thought it was the door!" replied 
 Jones, who at that moment swept off one of the jugs. 
 
 " You'll break all the things in the room ! " exclaimed the 
 reverend gentleman, who, haviug given forcible expression to 
 this sentiment, groped his way to the sideboard, and knocked 
 down half-a-dozen glasses just as Jones had succeeded in 
 tumbling over the fender, and bringing down the kettle in 
 his fall. 
 
 " What are you at now ? " cried the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Fender, sir," replied Jones, whose intellectual faculties 
 were then so scattered, and who had bepome so excessively 
 nervous, that he took his seat at once upon the rug, con- 
 ceiving that to be the place in which he was likely to do the 
 smallest amount of mischief. 
 
 " Tut ! — bless my life ! — where is this door ? " 
 
 " Can't think," replied Jones, still retaining his seat ; " it's 
 somewheres about, I know." 
 
 " WTiere are you now, Jones ? " 
 
 " Here, sir." 
 
 " Near the fireplace ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Then keep to the left tiU we meet." 
 
 Jones had made up his mind not to move from the rug, but 
 on being thus commanded to go to the left, he went to the left 
 
THE GUARDIANS DISQOVERED. 103 
 
 on his ha)i4s and knees, and tbe cqnsequence was that, 'wben 
 they met, the reverend gentleman fell fairly over him. 
 
 " Bless my life and soul, Jones, what are you about ? Are 
 you crazy ? " 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir," replied Jones, assisting him to rise. 
 " Didn't dream you was so nigh." 
 
 " But what in the name of goodness were you doing down 
 there?" 
 
 " Thought I shouldn't come in contact with nothing, sir. 
 Thought I shouldn't break no more things. Broke enough 
 already as it is, I'm afeard. Oh, here's the door, sir, here it 
 is, this is it." 
 
 "That's right," said the reverend gentletaau. "Now, 
 Jones, be firm. But, bless my heart, let iiie pee. I locked 
 the door ! Tut ! What CQuld I have done ^th the key ? " 
 
 "Pocket, p'raps, sir." 
 
 " No ;— let me — oh, I recollect : I left it on the tabl^. 
 Remain here, now, don't stir an inch from the door." 
 
 " Not a ha'porth, sir : not if I know it," said Jones ; and 
 his reverend friend approached the table and anxiously felt 
 for the key ; and whUs he was thus engaged, Judkins, cook, 
 and Mary came into the hall, and having stationed themselves 
 at the door, listened with very great intensity. 
 
 " They're here, sir," said Jones. " They're ony jist outside, 
 I hear 'em now plain." 
 
 " Hush ! " said the reverend gentleman. " If they hear 
 us talking they'll be off." 
 
 Jones, at the time, felt that that was the best thing they 
 could do. Shivering as he was with cold, and that too in 
 total darkness, be was not then in a state fit to lament such 
 a circumstance. But it did not occur. The pepple outside 
 were not disposed to be off. On the contrary, the very 
 moment that Judkins became convinced of the fact of ther^ 
 being persons then in the room, he proceeded to make arrange- 
 ments in order to secure them. 
 
 " Do you run to Legge," said he to Mary, in a whisper, 
 " and teU him to come over with a couple of men. We'll fix 
 'em now gafe ? And do you run up to missis, cook, and tell 
 her all about it, and ask her what's best to be done. I'll 
 keep guard here ! They shall not pass me/" 
 
 Away flew Mary to the Crumpet and Crown, and the 
 moment Legge had ascertained what had been discovered, he 
 
104 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 rushed, without looking for assistance, to the cottage, in a 
 state of mind bordering on enthusiasm, before cook had had 
 time to explain to her mistress what she really meant. 
 
 " Do you mean to say you've got 'em ? " said Legge, as he 
 entered. 
 
 " They're now in that room," replied Judkins, " safe." 
 
 " We'll have 'em out ! — we'll soon see who they are. Why, 
 they've locked themselves in," he added, on trying the door. 
 
 " Who's there ? " demanded the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " It's of no use, young fellows ! " said Legge. " So you 
 may as well open the door at once." 
 
 " Why," said the reverend gentleman to Jones, on hearing 
 these words indistinctly, "that's Legge's voice. Has he turned 
 housebreaker ? I know you, John Legge, sir," he added aloud. 
 " I know you, and you shall be punished." 
 
 " Do you hear 1 " cried Legge, who heard some one speak- 
 ing, although he knew nothing about what was said. " Are 
 you going to open the door now, or are we to burst it open 1 " 
 
 " Bless my life and soul ! " cried the reverend gentleman, 
 " where on earth is this key ? " 
 
 At this moment Legge placed his foot near the lock, and 
 as the door flew open without much effort, he seized the 
 reverend gentleman roughly by the collar, while Judkins 
 grasped Jones by the throat. 
 
 " So we've caught you at last," cried Legge, "have we? 
 Come to the light, and let's have a look at you ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " cried the reverend gentleman. 
 " Give me an account of this ruffianly conduct, sir. What 
 do you mean?" 
 
 Legge, regardless of these expressions of insulted dignity, 
 dragged him to the light ; but the moment he recognised the 
 reverend gentleman, he relaxed his hold, and said, "There is 
 some mistake here." 
 
 " Some mistake, sir ! " cried the reverend gentleman indig- 
 nantly. " I demand to know the meaning of this outrage. 
 What right have you here 1 " 
 
 "I was sent for, and we thought, on hearing voices in the 
 room, that we had caught those fellows who had been up to 
 their tricks." 
 
 " Well, but — bless my life and soul, it's broad daylight ! 
 Why, what is it o'clock ? " 
 
 " Nearly seven." 
 
THE GUARDIANS BISGOVERED. lo; 
 
 " Nearly seven 1 Jones, I'll never forgive you ! Don't you 
 think that you ought to be ashamed of your conduct ? " 
 
 Jones didn't say whether he did or not. He, in fact, made 
 no reply. Judkins had grasped his throat so firmly that, on 
 being released, he was anxious, before he attempted to speak, 
 to ascertain well if his swaUow were right. 
 
 " There has been some mistake, I perceive," resumed the 
 reverend gentleman, addressing Legge, with comparative calm- 
 ness. " The fact is, I have been waiting here all night, with 
 the view of catching those persons. But," he added, as Aunt 
 Eleanor made her appearance, " all will now be explained." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor — who, on hearing of the discovery, at once 
 suspected the cause, and had hurried on her things, in order 
 to save the private feelings of her reverend friend from 
 -outrage — ^no sooner saw him standing in the hall, pale and 
 shivering with cold, than she grasped his icy hand and said, 
 " My dear sir ! I fear that you omitted to keep the fire up. 
 Mary, run and light one immediately in the breakfast-room, 
 there's a good girl, be quick. Mr. Legge, I feel obliged by 
 your attention. My servants were not aware that Mr. 
 Rouse had been kind enough to offer to sit up with the view 
 of discovering those persons by whom I have been annoyed ; 
 but, believe me, I appreciate your prompt desire to serve me, 
 and feel much indebted to your kindness." 
 
 " I hope you'll not mention it, ma'am," replied Legge. " I 
 only wish they had been discovered. They were here again 
 in the course of the night, I understand, ma'am ! " 
 
 " Here — ^what this last night ? " inquired the reverend 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ! " interposed Judkins. " The door was wide 
 open again this morning." 
 
 " Jones ! Jones ! " exclaimed the reverend gentleman, 
 shaking his head at him very severely; "Jones, this day 
 month, sir, you quit my service." 
 
 Jones felt that he deserved this, and therefore said nothing ; 
 nor, indeed, did Aunt Eleanor then, although she made up her 
 mind to restore him to favour ; but turning to Legge, she ob- 
 served — in order to save the reverend gentleman from ridicule 
 — "As I feel that you see the necessity for putting an end 
 to these annoyances, Mr. Legge, I am sure you will think 
 with me that the occurrences of this morning should go no 
 further." 
 
io6 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " You may rest assured that /will not open my lips on tlie 
 subject to any living soul." 
 
 " You see, if it be known that preparations for a discovery 
 are made, those tiresome people will be on their guard ; and 
 although myohject is prevention, not punishment, theymayfor 
 a time cease their annoyances and then recommence them." 
 
 f I understand, ma'am," replied Legge. " ]^ot a word shall 
 escape me. I'd give five pounds out of my own pocket, ma'am, 
 to know who they are, because I cannot imagine what they 
 can mean I And now, sir," he added, addressing the reverend 
 gentleman, " I have to apologise." 
 
 " No, not a word — not a word, Mr. Legge. You acted 
 very properly — ^very." 
 
 " But I'm sorry that I handled you so roughly." 
 
 " Your conduct, Mr. Legge, was extremely correct; nothing 
 could have been more correct^nothing. I'll therefore not 
 hear a word in the shape of an apology — not a single word." 
 
 Legge then respectfully bowed to them both and left the 
 cottage ; and Jones, who felt very uncomfortable, tried to leave 
 too, but Aunt Eleanor perceiving his object, said, " I wish to 
 have a word with you, Jones, before you go. Cook," she added, 
 " bring me a jug of warm ale. You can go now, Judkins, 
 and attend to your hprses. My dear sir, now do go into the 
 breakfast-room and warm yourself ; your hands are like ice. 
 How could you think of letting the fire out ? " 
 
 " Eeally, I am ashamed," said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " I ought to be ashamed," interrupted Aunt Eleanor, " of 
 having taxed your kindness to such an extent ! But go to 
 the fire, there's a good creature. We'll talk about this by- 
 and-by ; Jones and I have a word or two to say to each 
 other ; we shall soon have settled our little business. Excuse 
 me five minutes ; I shall very soon join you." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then repaired to the breakfast- 
 room, and cook soon appeared with a jug of warm ale, which 
 she handed to her mistress, who dispatched her at once to 
 prepare as soon as possible a "very nice breakfast." 
 
 "Now," said Aunt Eleanor, turning to. Jones, who had 
 been marveUing what was about to transpire, " drink up 
 this ale, it will warm you ; and when you have finished it, 
 come and assist me." 
 
 Jones looked and bowed, and felt grateful. And he took 
 the jug, and emptied it, and wasn't long about it, for although 
 
THE "SPIBISP'' 4PPEABS TO THE PASTOR. 107 
 
 cold witliout he ■yras parched within, and the ale was nice and 
 Smooth. 
 
 "While he was thus enjoying himself — and it really was to 
 him then a source of great enjoyment— Aunt Bleanqr opened 
 the parlqur shutters, and having looked round, smiled as he 
 entered the room. 
 
 "I'm mortal sorry, ma'am," said he, 'fthat the§e things is 
 broke. It were all done a searching for the door." 
 
 "Never mind," said Aunt Eleanor; "pick up the pieces." 
 
 Pick up the pieces ! Well 1 Certainly Jones di4 think 
 this cool ; but he went to work at once, and did pick up the 
 pieces, and put them as he picked them up into his apron, 
 and while he was thus employed, Aunt Eleanor was engaged 
 in readjusting the things on the sideboard. 
 
 Having very soon supceeded in making the room Jook 
 tidy again, the amiable creature — ^who was anxious, for her 
 reverend friend's sake, that the servants should know as little 
 about the matter as possible — went for a ba,sket, and having 
 put into it aU that remained of the preifious night's supper, 
 requested Jones to leave it at the cottage of Widow Wis. 
 
 "And now," she observed, "you must manage to make 
 your peace with your master." 
 
 " I will if I can, ma'am," said Jones. " I know 'twas my 
 fault, and I'm very sorry for it ; but if you woulfi put in a 
 good word for me " 
 
 " Well, we'll see what can be done,'' she replied, and placing 
 half-a-crown in his hand, started him off. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THK " SPIRIT " APPEARS TO THE PASTOR AND JONES. 
 
 There are few things more galling to a sensitive man than 
 the fact of his having been found in a ridiculous position ; 
 but whUe no one could have felt more acutely than Aunt 
 Eleanor's reverend friqnd that the position in which he had 
 that morning been found was ridiculous, none could have 
 endeavoured more earnestly than Aunt Eleanor herself to 
 induce him to repudiate that feeling, as one which ought not 
 to be entertained. 
 
io8 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Now, say no more about it," she at length observed, after 
 having heard impatiently a vast deal of eloquence, for the 
 reverend gentleman, on this point, became extremely eloquent, 
 as soon as he had ceased to shiver — :" the whole affair resolves 
 itself to this : Feeling fatigued you went to sleep ; and who 
 can wonder at it ? while Jones, poor fellow, followed your 
 example : no one can marvel at that I " 
 
 " But he solemnly promised that he would not go to sleep. 
 ' Jones,' said I, ' can I, till one o'clock, trust you ? ' ' Sir,' 
 he replied, I remember his words, ' I'll not go to sleep if it 
 isn't one o'clock for a month. I'll keep awake if I live ! ' " 
 
 " And he intended to do so, no doubt, poor man. You must 
 therefore forgive him. But now, is it not strange — is it not 
 mysterious — that that door of mine should thus be opened, 
 night after night, as it is, and for no other purpose than that 
 of annoying me ? " 
 
 " It is indeed mysterious," replied the reverend gentleman. 
 " But Til solve the mystery — I'll find it out. Having entered 
 into the matter so far, I'll go on with it. Practices of this 
 character, my dear madam, must and shall be put a stop to ! 
 They are perfectly monstrous. They must not — in a civilised 
 country like ours — they imist not be suffered to continue ; 
 and so firmly resolved am I to get to the bottom of this 
 mystery, that if you will not allow me to occupy your 
 parlour this night, I'll conceal myself in the shrubbery, and 
 watch there ! " 
 
 "My dear sir," cried Aunt Eleanor, "oh! for Heaven's 
 sake, do not di^eam of it for a moment ! " 
 
 " Nothiag can alter my firm determination in this matter. 
 I'm resolved to find it out, and I will find it out ; and unless 
 you afford me an asylum in your parlour, into the shrubbery 
 this very night I go." 
 
 " Oh, but I cannot think of consenting to your sacrificing 
 your rest for me in this way." 
 
 " Well, my dear madam, you know my determination : I 
 watch this night in the shrubbery. If you close the gates 
 against me, I'U get over the wall." 
 
 " Close the gates against you ! My dear sir, neither the 
 gates nor the doors shall be closed against you. But let me 
 prevail upon you to abandon this project — or at least to 
 defer it for a time." 
 
 " And in the interim suffer you to be constantly annoyed. 
 
THE "SPIBIT" APPEARS TO TEE PASTOR. 109 
 
 No, my dear madam, it must be done at once. I feel that I 
 am now bound to make this discovery. I'll find them out. 
 I am not a man to be easily thwarted : I am not a man to 
 be turned from my purpose by any trifling failure. I ought 
 to be, and I am, ashamed of having failed to make the dis- 
 covery last night J but this night shall settle it." 
 
 " Well, if you are determined, I cannot do less than ex- 
 press my gratitude ; but I do still think that it had better 
 be deferred. Consider to-night you will require much rest." 
 
 " Not at all ! I'll manage that : I'll go to bed to-day, and 
 thus prepare myself for night. But no supper ! — do not 
 prepare any supper — it is to that I ascribe our failure last 
 night. Had it not been for the supper, Jones would not 
 have gone to sleep ; these fellows, you know, while there's 
 anything to eat, toill gormandise, and gormandise, until they 
 have no more animation about them than prize pigs. There- 
 fore prepare no supper. I'll bring something with me to 
 keep us awake." 
 
 " Then you mean to allow Jones to sit up with you again ? ' ' 
 
 " Why, I think that it will be, under the circumstances, 
 as well." 
 
 " Much better. But, poor fellow, you'll let him have some 
 rest." 
 
 " m send him to bed the moment I get home. I'll manage 
 it ; and we shall catch them. My dear madam, be assured 
 of this — we shall catch them." 
 
 Sylvester now entered the room, and when he had heard 
 the substance of all that occurred, he begged to be allowed to 
 sit up that night with the reverend gentleman and Jones. 
 This, however, was strongly objected to both by his aunt 
 and her reverend friend, on the ground of his apparent phy- 
 sical indisposition; and when they had all made a hearty 
 breakfast, it was finally arranged that the reverend gentle- 
 man was to come again that night at' ten, that Jones was to 
 accompany him, and that nothing in the shape of supper was 
 to be on this occasion prepared. 
 
 This having been decided to the entire satisfaction of all 
 concerned, the reverend gentleman left ; and Aunt Eleanor 
 conceiving that the feelings of Judkins might be wounded 
 in consequence of Jones having been elected to sit up the 
 previous night with her reverend friend instead of him, rang 
 the bell and desired his attendance. 
 
no SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Judkins," site observed, as he entered the room, "although 
 perhaps I ought not to suppose that you are simple enough 
 to imagine that^ as Jones sat up with his master last night, 
 I had not sufficient confidence in pou ; — I wish you to under- 
 stand that that arrangement was made in consequence of 
 Mr. Rouse having preferred, and very naturally, the attend' 
 ance of his own servant tb that of mine." 
 
 " Yes, mb,'am, I understand ; oh ! yes," said Judkins, 
 " but if he'd had me with him, things 'ud ha' been different." 
 
 « Very likely." 
 
 "Why, I've seen that Jones, ma'am — it isn't my place, 
 p'raps, to speak riot of no man — but I've seen him go to 
 sleep with the bread in his mouth — I've seen him drop off 
 in the middle of the day ! — he's the sleepiest fellow as is. 
 He sit up with a gentleman all night ! The idear is rotten ! 
 He couldn't keep awake by any accident. I'd catch you, 
 ma'am, a dormouse in the winter that would beat him." 
 
 " My object," said Aunt Eleanor, " is neither to canvass 
 the character of Jones, nor to dwell upon his eccentricities, 
 but merely tb explain to you that want of confidence, on my 
 part, was not the cause of your not being chosen to sit up, 
 and tb impress upon you the necessity for keeping whatever 
 arrangements we either have made or may make, with a 
 view to the discovery of these persons, a secret." 
 
 " I understand, ma'am. Depend upon me, I shall not say 
 a word to a soul." 
 
 " Very good. That is all I require." 
 
 Judkins then withdrew, and Aunt Eleanor conceived that 
 she had done all that was necessary to secure silence on the 
 subject ; but in this she was mistaken. 
 
 Villages appear to cofataiii no secrets. If any be suffered to 
 exist at all, they must find it a difficult matter to Kve. They 
 must not even breathe but in silence \ if they do, they must 
 instantly die. Everybody knows evetybbdy; everybody talks 
 abeut ieverybedy ; everybody's business is everybody's busi- 
 ness, and every one is fair gone for the whole. And herein 
 lie the hutnanities of a villkge. They must know something — 
 hence they seek to know each other : they must talk about 
 something — hence they talk abouti each other : they must 
 laugh at something — whence they laugh at each other : they 
 must denounce something, and they hence denounce each 
 other.. This maybe callfed "petty;" but then a village is 
 
THE "SPIRIT" APPEARS TO THE PASTOR. ni 
 
 a petty world, containing petty people, whose general intelli- 
 gence is therein confined. 
 
 It might have been thought that Aunt Eleanor had, as she 
 imagined, done sufELcient to insure secrecy in this matter ; 
 but although Legge was silent, and Jiidkins was silent, and 
 Jones and the reverend gentleman were silent, Mrs. Legge, 
 when she found that she was able to get nothing having 
 reference to it out of Legge himself, sent for Mary, who at 
 once told her all. 
 
 Having thus obtained the important information sought, 
 Mrs. Legge told Obadiah Drant, and the moment Tib heard of 
 it, of course the secret died. It was then indeed no longer a 
 secret : for glorying as he always did in everything bearing 
 even the semblance of an opportunity of having what he 
 termed " a regular fructifying cut " at those above him, he 
 went round the village, called on all his associates, and 
 developed his fine inventive faculties strongly. He had re- 
 ceived that morning a large order for a quarter of a hundred 
 of bricks, but that of course he could not atteiid to. 
 
 " I say," said he, on reaching Pokey's residence, " I say, 
 my boy ! have you heard the news ? " 
 
 " No ! " rfeplied Pokey. « What news ? " 
 
 " What ! haven't you heard about old Teddy Eoiise ? " 
 
 " No ! what about him ? " 
 
 " Such a game, my boy ! — such a glorious game ! Pinned 
 like a cockchafer ! — regularly pinned ! I'll be bound to say 
 there hasn't been a man so pinned since the time of the 
 French Revolution." 
 
 "But how," Cried Pokey, "how was he pinned? What 
 was it all about ? " 
 
 "Why, you know Mrs. Sound has been much annoyed 
 lately by ghosts, you know, and all sorts of things. Well, 
 this blessed morning; you know, when she came down, who 
 should she find in her parlour but old Teddy Rouse in his 
 shirt ! " 
 
 " What ! the parson ? " 
 
 " The parson ! Well, in she Went, and flew at him, and 
 out she pulled hiiii, and pommelled and scratched him, and 
 shook him, and worried him, until Ted called out for mercy 
 SO loud you might have heard him all over the village." 
 
 " What ! do you mean to say " 
 
 " Yes ! Well ! When she had him down flat on his back. 
 
112 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 with her fingers on his throat, and her knees upon his chest, 
 she sent her maid over for Legge, and when Legge came, 
 she offered to stand a pound if he'd give Ted an out-and-out 
 welting. Legge was a fool not to do it." 
 
 " But do you mean to say " 
 
 " Do you think I wouldii't have done it ? If I had had 
 half a chance, do you think I wouldn't have welted him 1 " 
 
 " Well, but do you mean to say now this was the parson ? " 
 
 " Teddy Rouse, I tell you !— old Teddy Rouse ! Did you 
 ever hear of such a game ? " 
 
 " And do you mean to say, then, that he was the ghost 
 after all?" 
 
 " Why, to be sure he was.'' 
 
 " The animal ! " 
 
 " Wouldn't we have served him out that night if we had 
 known it ! I'll just teU you what I'd have done ! I'd have 
 caught him by the scruff of his blessed neck, and when you 
 and Snorkins had fixed his legs, I'd have dragged him to the 
 horse-pond and given him a cooler." 
 
 " Well, but I say, what did they do with him ? " 
 
 " Do with him ! Why, like a parcel of fools, they let him 
 go. I only wish I had been there ! He wouldn't have been 
 let off so easy, I'll warrant. But isn't it sickening now, 
 when you come to look at it 1 Isn't it disgusting that we 
 should be compelled to support these vampires ? Tliese are 
 the locusts that prey upon our vitals ? — these are the vultures 
 that finger elevenpence-halfpenny out of every shilling the 
 poor man earns ! The fact is. Pokey, between you and me, 
 we must have a rattling revolution. It must be a rattler, 
 come when it may. Bobby Peel ought to blush for upholding 
 this downright system of dead robbery. As Johnny Russell 
 told him to his teeth the other night, ' I'll tell you what it 
 is,' said Johnny, ' if you don't knock this fructifying swindle 
 in the head, you may look out for pepper ! ' And he'll have 
 it ! It was just the case in Constantinople, under Peter the 
 Great ; it was just the case in China, when the Turkish 
 ambassadors signed the Magna Oharta ; it was just the case 
 during the Peninsular war, when William the Conqueror 
 upset the lot, and sent Russia off with a flea in her ear ; it 
 has been the case, mind you, all over the world, and, mark 
 my words, it will be the case here. Are we to be plundered 
 of our substance to support a mob of locusts like old Teddy 
 
THE "SPIRIT" APPEARS TO THE PASTOR. 113 
 
 Rouse t Are we to be ground to tlie earth, and taxed to the 
 tune here of eighteen hundred millions a year, that such men 
 as Ted Rouse may grow fat ? Not a bit of it ! No, my boy, 
 we shall have a rattler ! But I must be off. It's quite clear 
 that Ted has put his foot in it this time. I thought it 
 wouldn't be long before he was caught on the hip. Well, 
 God bless you — I'll work him ! I'll stick to him, my boy I 
 But I say, only think, though, of Ted in his shirt ! Ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! It's the capitalest go that ever occurred. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 Well, ta-ta ! Ha ! ha ! I shall see you to-night. Poor 
 Teddy Rouse. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 Thus^he left Pokey, and thus he went round, fructifying as 
 he proceeded so freely, that the thing assumed a shape of vast 
 local importance ; and although Obadiah was pretty well 
 known, he established his falsehoods on the basis of truth 
 with so much ingenuity, that all his associates felt quite con- 
 vinced that " Ted " had been actually playing the ghost. 
 
 Of this the reverend gentleman was, however, unconscious. 
 He went to bed at twelve, and Jones went to bed too, and 
 when they rose about nine in the evening, they had a slight 
 repast, and at ten o'clock precisely repaired to the cottage. 
 
 Here Aunt Eleanor received them as before, and when she 
 had indulged in many expressions of gratitude, and Sylvester 
 had reiterated his wish to be allowed to sit up with them, in 
 vain, the reverend gentleman gave them his blessing, and he 
 and his companion were left for the night. 
 
 But that friendship which existed the night before had 
 vanished. They were no longer friends. Jones stood near 
 the door with a basket in his hands, while the reverend 
 gentleman sat by the fire. 
 
 T& say that Jones much admired this arrangement were to 
 say that which is not exactly correct. He did not much 
 admire it. Nor could he conceive how long he should have 
 to stand there. There was, moreover, no show of anything 
 to eat — that in his view looked ominous ; still he did fondly 
 imagine that the basket which he held in his hand contained 
 something substantial and nice, of which he might by-and-by 
 perhaps come in for a share. This, therefore, did not distress 
 him much. But when he looked at his position as a servant, 
 standing as he was in the presence of a master who, being 
 indignant, might hot, perhaps, even permit him to sit, he 
 did^not presuming to take a seat without permission — think 
 
 H 
 
114 ' SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 his case hard. It was, however, in his view, perfectly clear 
 that he couldn't continue to stand there all night. He knew 
 that he must drop some time or other, and that was, as far 
 as it went, a comfort. He had not been accustomed to stand 
 long in one position ; still, being resolved to keep up as long 
 as possible, he had recourse to a variety of manoeuvres. 
 Sometimes his whole weight was on his right leg, and some- 
 times it rested on his left : sometimes he planted one shoulder 
 against the wall, and sometimes he planted the other ; and 
 thus, by virtue of moving about, twisting his hips, and 
 vexing his spine, he managed to stand there for more than 
 an hour. 
 
 At length, when he fancied that " drop he must," the 
 reverend gentleman turned round, and said — 
 
 "Now, sir, bring me that basket." 
 
 This was a great relief to Jones. As he took the basket for- 
 ward, in the full conviction of there being something therein 
 delicious, he felt reinspired with hope ; but when the reverend 
 gentleman, on receiving it, said coldly — '' That will do ! " he 
 returned to his comer to contemplate the scene in a state of 
 mind bordering on despair. 
 
 But even under these adverse circumstances Jones could 
 not curb his imagination. It dived into the basket, and there 
 conceived a couple of ducks, a pigeon-pie, some bread and 
 cheese, and the materials for punch. This he thought was 
 not bad. Nor as a vision was it. It sustained him for a time, 
 and when at length the reverend gentleman drew forth a 
 bottle, he felt that that vision was about to be realised. One 
 bottle only, however, was produced, and that was a peculiarly- 
 shaped bottle. Jones had never seen such a bottle before. It 
 wouldn't stand. But that it contained something nice he 
 felt fully convinced. 
 
 "Now, sir, hand me one of those tumblers," said the 
 reverend gentleman. "The largest." 
 
 Jones with alacrity obeyed, and when the reverend gentle- 
 man had twisted off the wire, and cut the string which 
 secured the cork, that cork flew out with a report so loud, 
 that it caused Jones to stagger as if he had been shot. 
 
 "Hark ! " cried the reverend gentleman, who at that moment 
 fancied he heard a noise j but after having listened and found 
 all still, he turned and drank that which to Jones appeared 
 to be boiling gin-and-water. 
 
TEE "SPIRIT" APPEARS TO THE PASTOR. 115 
 
 'f Ifow, sir," lie fiontinugd, feeling sure that tlie noise 
 which he had heard was made by Jones on being started, 
 " ■vfhat have you to say in explanation of your conduct last 
 night 1 " 
 
 Jones h^d nothing to say in explanation. He couldn't see 
 what expl8,iiatiQn was required. The case appeared to him to 
 be clear as it stood — he went to sleep. That was all he knew 
 about it, and all he could explain, and as he felt that that 
 explapation was unnecessary, he was silent. 
 
 " Do you not think, sir," resumed the reverend gentleman, 
 " that such conduct, after all my kindness, was disgraceful ? " 
 
 " I'ffl. very sorry for it, sir," replied Jones humbly. " It 
 shan't occur again, it shan't indeed, sir : I hope you'll look 
 over it." 
 
 " I gave you notice, sir, this morning, to quit my service 
 in a month. Now, whether that notice be ratified or with- 
 drawn, depends upon your conduct this night." 
 
 Jpnes bowed, and was about to return to his corner, when 
 the reverend gentleman said, " Bring another glass," — and 
 when the glass had been brought, and he had drawn another 
 bottle from the basket, he added, taking the wire off and 
 cutting the string — " Now, sir, hold the tumbler, and then 
 drink this off." Bang went the cork from the bottle to the 
 ceiling, and out rushed the beverage, which Jones thought 
 hot ; so hot indeed that he blew it with great caution before 
 he put it to his lips ; while it hissed and boiled, and flew into 
 his eyes, as if every btibble had some spite to spit. He soon, 
 iiowever, found that it was cold, and drank it off, and then 
 gasped for breath and shuddered. He didn't at all like it. 
 It wasn't at all nice. There was nothing in the flavour to 
 recommend it. It was hard and sour, and cold — very cold. 
 
 "Did you never take soda-water before?" inquired the 
 reverend gentleman, who saw him shuddering convulsively. 
 
 "Never, sir." 
 
 " Do you not like it ? " 
 
 "Why, sir^dessay it's very good." 
 
 "It will keep you awake, Jones." 
 
 " Shouldn't be surprised, sir." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then emptied the basket, and 
 Jones, to his horror, perceived — instead of a couple of ducks 
 and the pigeon-pie — nothing but twelve of these bottles. 
 
 " "W^^," thought he, " here's a pretty basin o' soup. But 
 
ii6 STLVESTES. SOUND. 
 
 he can't mean to say we're agoing for to live upon this here 
 swill all the blessed night." 
 
 " You can sit down, Jones," said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 Sit down ! Yes ! — tha,t of course was all very well ; but 
 Jones was not thinking of that point then. He was turning 
 over, opening, and fairly spreading out the idea of two men 
 keeping up all night with nothing to sustain them but this 
 cold stuff. 
 
 " What gets over me," said he privately to himself, " is 
 that master prefers this to punch. Dessay it's dear : bound 
 it's dear, although I wouldn't give so much as a penny for a 
 pondfuU on it, but that a gentleman like him, as can have 
 punch whenever he likes, should prefer this here to it, is 
 rum. But gentlemen certainly is queer swells. Wonder if 
 they ever gets tipsy upon it. Dessay they do, though, or else 
 they wouldn't drink it." 
 
 There was, however, one point upon which Jones reflected 
 very deeply, and that point was this : How could cold water 
 boil ? He had seen the soda-water effervesce, he had tasted 
 it during its effervescence, and found it cold ! the question 
 with him therefore was, " How as that water was cold could 
 itboU?" 
 
 That was indeed a puzzler for Jones. But he stuck to it ! 
 — oh ! he stuck to it, and brought to bear upon it, too, all 
 the knowledge he had. He could make nothing of it, but 
 he wouldn't give it up ! The question still was. How could 
 cold water boil 1 
 
 Now, while he was thus most intently engaged, and the 
 reverend gentleman was reading a romance called " The Bravo 
 of Blood, or the Sanguinary Smile," there was a scene of 
 excitement at the Crumpet and Crown, which was never, 
 perhaps, in that or any other village, equalled. 
 
 Mrs. Legge had fainted. She was not a weak woman, but 
 she had fainted. She had been standing at the door, and as 
 the clock struck twelve she rushed into the parlour and fainted. 
 Vinegar was of course at hand, and vinegar was applied ; and 
 when she had been restored to something bearing the sem- 
 blance of consciousness, she called for the Bible. 
 
 " The Bible ! " she exclaimed. " My dear ! get the Bible." 
 
 Legge shifted her head from his arm to that of Pokey, and 
 hastened upstairs for the Bible, and on his return Mrs. Legge 
 cried anxiously, "Tur];i to B,evelations,my dear — Revelations." 
 
THE "SPIBIT"' APPEARS TO THE PASTOR. n; 
 
 Legge did turn to Kevelations, and then said, " Phoebe I 
 What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Here," she replied, as he gave her the Bible, and turning 
 at once to the sixth chapter, read, — " And I looked, and be- 
 hold a pale horse : and his name that sat on him was Death." 
 " Death ! " she exclaimed. " I have seen him. He passed on 
 a pale horse just now." 
 
 "What! another of Teddy Rouse's tricks!" cried Oba- 
 diah. 
 
 " You are a fool," said Legge ; and then turning to his wife, 
 added, " Which way, my girl ? — which way did it go ? " 
 
 "Towards the church," she replied, "But oh! do not 
 leave me ! " 
 
 " But for a moment : I'll not be gone long, my girl." 
 
 " No ! " she exclaimed, clinging to him. " You must not 
 go — you shall not go. If we are to die to-night, let us die 
 together." 
 
 "I'll have a go in," exclaimed Obadiah. "Come along. 
 Pokey, come along, Quocks, come along, Bobber, my boy, 
 we'll see what he's made of ! " And Obadiah, followed by 
 Pokey, Quocks, and Bobber, rushed valiantly out of the 
 Crumpet and Crown. 
 
 But the horse and his rider were gone. Obadiah looked 
 anxiously up and down the road, but could see nothing of 
 them. Feeling, however, that a display of valour then was 
 essential to the maintenance of his reputation, he boldly cried 
 out — • 
 
 " Now, let's go up the road, my boys ! Death and his pale 
 horse be bothered 1 " 
 
 "Bravo!" cried Pokey. "Ay, let's go up the road 1 " 
 And they went up the road seeing nothing to fear. 
 
 Having passed the church, however. Pokey suddenly cried 
 " Hark ! " and the blood of Obadiah Drant chilled on the 
 instant. "Listen!" he added. "It's coming this way!" 
 They did listen, and heard distinctly something approaching. 
 There were three roads before them ; but down which of the 
 three it was coming they couldn't tell. Presently, however 
 — having strained their eyes in those three directions — they 
 saw what at first appeared to them to be a tall white pillar 
 gliding slowly down the hiU to their left. 
 
 " Here it comes," cried Obadiah, clinging closely to Quocks. 
 " What— what can it be 1 " 
 
ii8 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Don't be frightened," said QuoCks — " do-o-on't be 
 alarmed ! " 
 
 It now canie sufficiently near for theln to distinguish the 
 oiltline of a horse bearing a figure which looked like that of 
 a giant ! 
 
 Terror seized them on the instant. They could not move ! 
 The figure came nearer and still more neat, and, with up- 
 lifted hands and eyes darting ftom their sockets^ they saw it 
 slowly and solemnly pass. 
 
 Both the horse and his rider were white — quite white — and 
 both seemed enveloped in a cloud. White smoke appeared 
 to issue from the nostrils of the horse, while the rider wore a 
 long flowing robe, which to them looked like a vast winding- 
 sheet. They thought of the passage in Revelations and 
 trembled. It must be — it coiild but be — Death ! He had, 
 in their view, come to swallow up all, seeing that all whom 
 he visits are doomed. 
 
 As the figure disappeared each resumed his former attitude, 
 and when it was completely lost to view they breathed again, 
 but were still filled with horror. 
 
 " Let us go," said Obadiah. " Come, let us return. Such 
 sights as this are dreadful. We are but men, and as man 
 is but man, these scenes are too horrid for man to bear. 
 Let us go; come, now let us go." 
 
 They had not, however, proceeded far — blocked in each 
 other's arms, with a view to mutual security — ^when they 
 again beheld " Death,'' rushing furiously towards them. 
 
 " Preserve us ! " cried Obadiah, darting into the hedge, 
 closely followed by his companions. "Preserve us, or we 
 are lost ! " 
 
 But before " Death " had reached them, he urged his fiery 
 steed to the right and sprang over the hedge, and then flew 
 across the fields, over bank, ditch, and hurdle, until he was 
 lost to view again. 
 
 They then returned quickly to the Crumpet and Crown ; 
 but before they could speak of the horrors they had seen 
 they each had a large glass of brandy. 
 
 But even then, they were not so communicative as might 
 have been expected. They were thoughtful — vei'y thoughtful. 
 They looked at each other and shook their heads with great 
 significance ; but when they had explained briefly that they 
 had seen that which Mrs. Legge saw, nadielyj " Death on a 
 
THE "SPIBit" APPEAB8 2*0 THE PASTOR. ilg 
 
 pale horse," they were silent j and thus they rfemained until 
 half -past one, when Pokey, who had his reasons for making 
 a move, suggested the pro|)riety of parting — a suggestion 
 upon which they almost immediately acted, ahd thoughtfully 
 repaired to their respective homes. 
 
 During' the progress of these extraordinary proceedings; 
 Jones, who felt that he was victimised, had swallowed on 
 compulsioil four bottles of that bever&ge which he abholred, 
 d,nd sat dwelling on the problem he had proposed having 
 reference to cold boiling water, while the reverend gentleman 
 was reading the romance. 
 
 Up to half-past two they had not been disturbed. They 
 had heard no noise — ^with the exception of that which 
 reached the reverend gentleman's ears while opening the first 
 bottle of soda-water — and as all around them then continued 
 silent as the grave, they began to think that nothing at all 
 calculated to call forth the courage they had in them would 
 occur. 
 
 About three o'clock, however, while the reverend gentle- 
 man was absorbed in a soul-stirring chapter of the romance, 
 he imagined that he heard the outer gate close, and started. 
 " What's that ? " exclaimed Jones. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! " cried the reverend gentleman. "Listen ! '* 
 They did listen, and distinctly heard footsteps on the path. 
 " Shall i go to the window ? " said Jones. 
 " No ! no ! " cried the reverend gentleman. " Let us heai? 
 how they attenipt to get in. Keep your seat and be silent. 
 Now, hark ! " 
 
 At that moment they saw the handle of the door move. 
 " "Who's there 1 " cried the reverend gentleman in a whisper 
 which startled both Jones and himself. 
 
 No answer was returned, bilt again the handle moved, 
 and then the door opened gradually, and then a tall figure, 
 enveloped in a sheet, slowly entered the room. 
 
 " Angels of light protect us ! " exclaimed the reverend 
 gentleman, while Jones, who appeared to be at once deprived 
 of life, dropped in an instant upon the rug and hid his face. 
 Of these proceedings the figure took no notice. It Walked 
 slowly to the sideboard, and having looked for a moment, shook 
 its head, as if to indicate that there was nothing at all there that 
 it wanted, and then turned and left the room as it had entered. 
 The feelings experienced by the reverend gentleman then 
 
I20 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 were awful. He sank back in his chair, and for the first time 
 felt that no one knows what he would do until placed in the 
 position to do that which he conceives he should do. His heart 
 had never before quailed, but it then sank within him. He 
 seemed fixed to the spot— completely .spell-bound. Nor was 
 it until some time after the figure, which he conceived to be a 
 spirit, had disappeared, that he summoned sufficient courage to 
 speak to Jones, who had given himself altogether up for lost. 
 
 " Jones," said he, at length, in a scarcely audible whisper, 
 which made the poor fellow start convulsively, conceiving that 
 the spirit himself had called him — " Jones : rise and put your 
 trust in Him, who can and will protect us." 
 
 Jones, with an aspect of horror, looked np, and in trembling 
 accents cried, " O-o-o-o-o ! is it you ? " 
 
 " It is," replied the reverend gentleman. " Arise." 
 
 Jones did arise, and having rolled his eyes fearfully round 
 the room, with the view of being sure that it was gone, sank 
 into his chair exhausted. 
 
 Horror had chilled them both, and having nothing but soda- 
 water within them, they were both still cold, and continued 
 to tremble. 
 
 " Jones," said the reverend gentleman, after a pause, " reach 
 the brandy; it is there, on the sideboard." - 
 
 " Oh, sir," replied Jones, " I dare not." 
 
 The reverend gentleman nerved himself ; and turning his 
 eyes in every direction, walked with comparative firmness to 
 the sideboard, and returned to his chair with the decanter 
 and a glass, which he filled with all the steadiness at his 
 command, and then at once drank it off. 
 
 " JSTow, Jones," said he, when the glass had been refilled, 
 " take this." And Jones, whose teeth at the time violently 
 chattered, did take it, and swallowing the contents at one 
 gulp, was very thankful. 
 
 They now began to feel somewhat better ; and although the 
 improvement as yet was but slight, they were able to look round 
 the room — timidly, it is true — but without that wildness of 
 vision by which their looks had just before been characterised. 
 
 " Pray, sir, give me a little more brandy," said Jones. 
 
 "Yes, Jones, yes," replied the reverend gentleman, re- 
 plenishing the glass. " Drink this." 
 
 " Bless you, sir ! — bless you ! " said Jones, with much fer- 
 vour. " Oh ! wasn't it horrid, sir — ^wasn't it ? " 
 
THE "SPIRIT" APPEARS TO THE PASTOR. 121 
 
 " It was an awful sight," returned the reverend gentleman, 
 as he helped himself to a little more brandy. " But why," 
 he added, " why should we fear ? " 
 
 Jones shook his head and shuddered. 
 
 The door was stiU opened, and as the cold air rushed in, the 
 reverend gentleman deemed it expedient to close it, and sug- 
 gested the propriety of doing so to Jones ; but as Jones, even 
 then, dared not cross the room alone, it was eventually agreed 
 that they should both go together — and together they accord- 
 ingly went. But the moment they had reached the door of the 
 parlour, they saw the outer door open too, which they held to be 
 very mysterious, seeing that they had heard no bolt withdrawn. 
 Finding, however, that all was then still, they closed the outer 
 door, but they had no sooner done so, than they heard dis- 
 tinctly footsteps behind them, and on turning round beheld 
 the identical figure slowly ascending the stairs. Jones in an 
 instant rushed into the room, but tho reverend gentleman 
 remained till it had vanished — not prompted by courage — nor 
 indeed by any feeling of curiosity— but because he had not 
 the power to leave the spot. 
 
 "Oomein, sir! "cried Jones. "Pray, come in, sir — comein!" 
 
 And when the figure had disappeared, the reverend gentle- 
 man went in, but with an expression of unmingled terror. 
 
 " Oh, do leave this house, sir, pray do ! " cried Jones, as 
 the reverend gentleman sank into his chair. " It's haunted ! 
 — I know, sir, it's haunted ! If we stay we shall never go 
 out of it alive ! " 
 
 " Come what may," returned the reverend gentleman, 
 apparently gasping for breath, " what may, here will I remain. 
 But," he added, "let me not control you. If you wish to 
 leave, consider yourself at liberty to do so. Go, Jones — go 
 if you please." 
 
 Well, Jones thought this kind — very kind ; he appreciated 
 the privilege highly ; but then, how was he to get out 1 He 
 must necessarily go through the hall — and there the spirit 
 might perchance meet him alone. Could he have vanished 
 through one of the windows, he would have done so with all 
 the alacrity of which he was capable, but as he could not do 
 this, he converted a necessity into a virtue, by saying, " I 
 shouldn't, sir, like to leave you." 
 
 " Use your own discretion," said the reverend gentleman 
 calmly. "Until the morning dawns, Jones, here will I 
 
122 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 remain. There is mueli latent wickedness in this world, 
 Jones. I mean by latent^ hidden, private, secret." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Wickedness is in all ages wickedness, but it isn't in all 
 ages proved to be wickedness." 
 
 " Ko, sir." 
 
 " Wickedness will sometimes prosper for a whUe." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " But it never can prosper long." 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "It is certain to be found out, and wheh found out, 
 punished, Jones." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " None who deserve punishment escape." 
 
 "Very true, sir." 
 
 " This spirit which we have seen is, doubtless, the spirit of 
 one who left the world with some secret unrevealed." 
 
 " No doubt, sir. But what do you think, sir, of ghosts in 
 general ? " 
 
 " The subject is above human comprehension, Jones, and 
 therefore we ought not to talk on that subject." 
 
 This closed Jones's mouth effectually, and he began to reflect 
 upon his sins. He remembered that he was indebted to the 
 estate of a deceased landlord to the amount of sevenpence- 
 half penny, which sum, as no one but the landlord himself knew 
 of it, he had never intended to pay. The questions which he 
 therefore proposed were — First : Was this the spirit of that 
 landlord 1 — Secondly : Would it answer the purpose of any 
 spirit to revisit the earth to enforce the payment of the sum of 
 sevenpence-halfpeniiy ? — and Thirdly : Wouldn't the spirit rest 
 until that sum was paid ? To these questions he could give no 
 satisfactory answer. He thought that it would hardly be 
 worth a spirit's while to disturb itself much about the sum of 
 sevenpence-half penny, but he at once resolved to pay the seven- 
 pence-halfpenny to the widow, in order to make all sure. 
 
 The reflections of the reverend gentleman were of a still 
 more deeply metaphysical caste. He had, therefore, imagined 
 apparitions to be spiritual, ethereal — beings having nothing at 
 all physical about them ; but the spirit which he had seen was 
 enveloped in a sheet of which the material was linen — material 
 linen. The question, therefore; was — where did it get that 
 sheet 1 The attempt, however, to solve this question was pre- 
 
THE FEARFUL GONJEOTUBE. i2j 
 
 sumptuous. Tie reverend gentleman felt it to be presump- 
 tuous, although he tried hard to get at the solution ; and as 
 he eventually thought that he must have been mistaken — as 
 he brought himself at length to believe that the sheet which 
 he had seen was a spiritual sheet — he turned to the considera- 
 tion of the course which he felt it his duty to pursue, and upon 
 this he was engaged until the day began to dawii, when he 
 and Jones left the Cottage and went thoughtfully home. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE FBAEFUL COSfJECTURE. 
 
 When Judkins went to the stable that morning, he found 
 Snorter steamitig and bleeding at the mouth ; and feeling 
 indignant at the idea of his being thus treated, he declared 
 he'd give a crown if the horse could but speak. 
 
 " What devil's tricks have they been up to now ? " he in- 
 quired of the animal. " What have they been doing with 
 you ? What have they been after ? What do they want to 
 spit their spite upon you for ? Come out, old boy — come, 
 and let's have a look at you. They've guv you a benefit this 
 time, that's certain ! " he added, on finding the horse in a 
 worse plight than before. " Poor fellow ! — poor old fellow ! 
 — have they been ill-using on you ? Poor old boy ! But I'll 
 datch 'eirl — blai-m their bodies on 'em, I'll find them out. 
 But a'n't you a fool ? " he continued indignantly, " what do 
 you mean ? Why didn't you kick 'em clean off ? What did 
 you want to let 'em sarve you out in this here way for ? Do 
 you think I'd ha' stood it ? Why didn't you sti-ike out fierce, 
 when you saw 'em come into the stable? You might ha' 
 khowed what they wanted — it wasn't the first time. What 
 did you want to let 'em take advantage of your ignorance for ? 
 You know theta as treats you well, don't you ? Very well, 
 then, why don't you know them as treats you ill ? Poor old 
 boy ! come and let's wash your mouth out. Poor old fellow I 
 Tiiere — you'U soon be all right again. You a'n't lame, are 
 you ? ISo, you a'n't lame. Come along in again, and make 
 your life happy. I'll soon come arid attend to you. There, 
 old bby ! — buU you ought to have struck out at 'em." 
 
124 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Having thus by turns caressed and expostulated with the 
 animal, he repaired to the kitchen, and having explained all 
 to cook, asked her pointedly v^hat she really thought of it. 
 
 "What do I think of it ! " she exclaimed. "What can 
 any one think of it ? But how did they get the key ? Did 
 you leave it in the door last night ? " 
 
 " No, I brought it in and hung it upon that blessed hook, 
 where it has always hung of a night since the last go, and 
 where I found it hanging this morning." 
 
 " Well, the fact of it is I can't live in the house, and so I 
 shall tell missis directly she comes down. The whole pla,ce is 
 bewitched. It's haunted. I'm sure of it. It isn't fit for 
 flesh and blood to live in." 
 
 Mary was then informed of the circumstance, and when she 
 had dwelt sufficiently long on the really mysterious character 
 of the proceeding, she went up to inform her mistress, who 
 received the intelligence with a degree of composure at which 
 Mary was perfectly amazed. 
 
 It must not, however, be supposed that Aunt Eleanor 
 failed to feel it. She did feel it deeply, but the expression 
 of her feelings was oahn. 
 
 " We shall find it aU out by-and-by," she observed ; " these 
 practices cannot be carried on long. Time discovers all 
 things. We must have patience." 
 
 " But isn't it horrid, ma'am — isn't it frightful that these 
 things should go on, ma'am, night after night, without 
 having a stopper put upon 'em 1 " 
 
 " It is very annoying, Mary — very. But we shall discover 
 it all before long, I have no doubt of that." 
 
 " I hope to goodness we shall," returned Mary ; " I'm 
 sure, ma'am, it's shocking to live so. It's enough to frighten 
 all of us out of our wits." 
 
 "Very true," said Aunt Eleanor calmly, "very true;" 
 and while dressing and listening to Mary's expressions of 
 fear, she at intervals repeated " very true." 
 
 Having finished her toilet, she descended to the breakfast- 
 room, where Sylvester — ^who had as usual been called by Mary 
 — soon joined her; and when she had explained to him the fact 
 of the horse having been again taken out of the stable and 
 treated with severity, he could not refrain from shedding 
 tears; for as Snorter had been his dear father's favourite 
 horse, and had been given to his aunt in the full conviction 
 
TEE FEARFUL CONJEOTUBE. 125 
 
 that it would be most kindly treated, a variety of fond associa- 
 tions were recalled, as he exclaimed, in touching accents of 
 filial affection — 
 
 " I would not have him injured for the world." 
 
 " He has not been injured, my love," said Aunt Eleanor, 
 privately reproaching herself for having said so much. " He 
 has not been, even in the slightest degree, injured. On the 
 contrary, they appear to have taken great care of him ; stiU 
 it was wrong of them to ride him so hard ; indeed, it was 
 wrong of them to take him out at all ; but believe me, my 
 love, he's not injured. We'll go and see him after breakfast, 
 shall we ? Have you kissed me this morning ? I think you 
 did," she added, as he kissed her again. " God bless you ! " 
 
 They then commenced breakfast, and freely conversed on 
 the subject which had set even conjecture at defiance : but 
 before they had finished, their reverend friend called, im- 
 patient to communicate all he had heard and seen. 
 
 " I have, my dear madam, a tale of horror to tell," said he ; 
 but on the instant Aunt Eleanor raised her hand to enjoin 
 silence, fearing that Sylvfester, whom she fondly loved, would 
 by any such tale be distressed. 
 
 "Have the people in the village then seen the ghost 
 again ? " she inquired. 
 
 " They have," replied the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Then, for goodness' sake, do not tell us any more about 
 it — Sylvester, my dear, you wiU have another egg ? " 
 
 " Not any more ; I have had quite sufficient." 
 
 " Then go, my love, and look at the horse. I know that 
 you'll find him uninjured. And, Sylvester, dear, will you do 
 me the favour to take the pony, and leave an order for me at 
 the grocer's ? " 
 
 " Certainly, aunt." 
 
 "There's a dear." 
 
 She then wrote an order, and Sylvester withdrew; and 
 the moment he had done so, she became extremely anxious 
 to hear her reverend friend's "tale of horror." 
 
 " My dear madam," said he, on being urged to proceed, " I 
 scarcely know how to explain to you what has occurred ; but 
 let me, in the first place, inform you, that a spectre on horse- 
 back was seen by the people of the village last night." 
 
 " A spectre on horseback ! The horse was mine. It was, 
 therefore, at least a real horse, and I should infer, from the 
 
126 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 way in which the animal has been goaded, that the rider was 
 a real man." 
 
 " No, my dear madam, I am constrained to believe that 
 the spectre which appeared on that horse was the same as 
 that which I saw about three o'clock in your parlour." 
 
 '* That which you saw ? Good Heavens ! you amaze me ! 
 If you have seen a spectre, there is something in it, indeed ! 
 But explain, my dear sir, pray explain." 
 
 " About three o'clock this morning," resumed the reverend 
 gentleman, with an expression of intensity, " as Jones and I 
 were sitting near the fire, I heard the gate close, and imme- 
 diately afterwards footsteps coming slowly up the path. 
 Well, thinking it advisable to wait until some attempt were 
 made to force the outer door, we kept our seats, but in an 
 instant we saw the handle of the parlour door turn, and a 
 tall figure clad in white entered the room." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " energetically exclaimed Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " I do not mean to say," pursued the reverend gentleman, 
 " that I was not awed by the presence of this spirit ! I do 
 not mean to say that I did not experience an unusual tremor 
 when it appeared ; but I kept my eyes firmly fixed upon it 
 — saw it walk with great solemnity of step across the room, 
 shake its head, as if to indicate some disappointment, and 
 then retire with corresponding solemnity to the door, past 
 which it slowly vanished." 
 
 " Gracious goodness ! — ^you inspire me with terror." 
 
 " Well," continued the reverend gentleman, " havixig in 
 some degree recovered my self-possession, I rose, and went 
 to the door, and there, to my utter amazement, discovered 
 the outer door open ! How it became open, Heaven only 
 knows. I heard no sound — ^no lock unfastened — ^no chain 
 removed — no bar unlatched — no bolt withdrawn. Indeed 
 there was not time for any mortal to have accomplished 
 even one of these things. Still all had been accomplished at 
 once, and in silence — all had been done by magic ! Well, I 
 closed the door, and having done so, I heard the faint sound 
 of footsteps behind me ! I turned on the instant, and then 
 beheld the same spirit slowly ascending the stairs ! " 
 
 " Gracious powers ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, " what can 
 be the meaning of this dreadful visitation ? " 
 
 "I gave no alarm," resumed the reverend gentleman ; "I 
 thought it would be useless — probably presumptuous. I 
 
THE FEABFUL OONJEOTURE. 127 
 
 therefore returned to the parlour and listened, and there we 
 remained till the morning dawned, when, as all was still, we 
 departed." 
 
 " "What on earth can have induced this ? What .can it 
 mean ? " 
 
 " I have hitherto, my dear madam, been to a certain 
 extent a disbeliever in these supernatural appearances : I have 
 hitherto held them to be either the coinage of a diseased 
 imagination, or phantoms set up by designing men to draw 
 the ignorant into superstition. But, although I stiU believe 
 that the majority of those cases of which we have heard are 
 ascribable to either knavery or enthusiasm, I now know 
 beyond all doubt that spirits appear upon earth." 
 
 " But, my dear sir, tell me," said Aunt Eleanor anxiously, 
 " tell me, to what do you ascribe — to what can you ascribe 
 the awful appearance of spirits here 1 " 
 
 " I know not, my dear madam, what to ascribe it to. I 
 know not from what it may spring, nor to what it may tend. 
 These things are far above human comprehension. But do 
 you remember — believe me, I do not ask for the gratification 
 of any idle curiosity — but do you recollect any circumstance 
 connected with any deceased friend, or any member of your 
 family, at aU calculates! to warrant the belief that that friend 
 or relative did not depart this life in peace ? " 
 
 Aunt Eleanor started, and turned deadly pale. " A 
 thought strikes me ! " she exclaimed — " a dreadful thought ! 
 But no — no — no — it cannot be ! And yet that horse was 
 his ! Great Heaven ! if it should be the spirit of Mm ! " 
 
 " My dear madam," said her reverend friend soothingly, 
 as clasping her temples she burst into tears. " Compose 
 yourself : be cabn. As there is one above who protects the 
 innocent, be assured that He will protect you. Whatever 
 may have befallen him, I feel that you are guileless." 
 
 " And he was guileless too." 
 
 " Then let the blessed consciousness of that fact console 
 you." 
 
 " And yet — if he should Tiot have been 1 — if he should 
 have died with a falsehood on his lips. But oh ! " she added, 
 weeping with bitterness, " I cannot believe it." 
 
 "Pardon me," said her reverend friend; "you will, I 
 know, appreciate the only motive I have in putting this 
 question ; to whom do you allude ? " 
 
128 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " To my brother. My dear — my only brother." 
 
 " Did not he die in peace ? " 
 
 "Yes — I must still believe it — although broken-hearted, 
 he died in peace." 
 
 " Then of what are you apprehensive V 
 
 " The possibility — the bare possibility — of his having, with 
 his last, his dying breath, solemnly declared himself innocent 
 of that of which he knew that he was guilty." 
 
 " Had you any reason to suppose that he was guilty ? " 
 
 " The strongest proofs were adduced, but his word — which 
 I had never known him to violate — in my judgment, weighed 
 them down. It was almost impossible for any one but me 
 to doubt the evidence of his guilt ; but, placing impKcit 
 confidence in his honour, I doubted it; and when on his 
 death-bed he calmly and solemnly repeated his declaration 
 of innocence, every doubt on my mind was removed." 
 
 " Was the oifence with which he was charged of a heinous 
 character ? " 
 
 " I will explain, in order that you may the better judge 
 whether he — which Heaven forbid ! — can be associated with 
 this fearful visitation." 
 
 " Do, my dear madam, and confide in my honour." 
 
 She then made an effort to be calm, and having dried her 
 eyes, slowly commenced — 
 
 " My brother was a physician. His practice was extensive. 
 He was mild, gentle, sensitive, highly intellectual, and amiable 
 in all the relations of life. He was a dear brother to me. 
 But to all he was kind — most kind. His heart was full of 
 sympathy and benevolence ; he was a philanthropist indeed. 
 I need not tell you how he was beloved ! To the poor he 
 was a guardian — to the orphan a father — to the widow a 
 friend. His unassumed virtues were conspicuous to all, and 
 by all within the sphere of his influence he was honoured. 
 For years he retained this position, and not a syllable against 
 his fair fame was ever breathed; but one night — one most 
 unhappy night — the servants of a lady whom he frequently 
 attended, and whose reputation had been, up to that period, 
 spotless, — joined in this declaration : that long after their 
 mistress had retired they saw him distinctly leave her 
 chamber ; that he walked down stairs stealthily, and quitted 
 the house ; and that as neither of them hud opened the door 
 to him, their mistress must have let him in herself. Nor 
 
THE FEARFUL GONJEOTURE. 129 
 
 was this all. When their master, who had attended an 
 agricultural dinner that evening, had been informed of this 
 on his return, other circumstances, which afforded strong 
 collateral evidence, at once occurred to him. He had seen 
 my brother at that very dinner; he had taken wine with him, 
 and recollected that he had left unusually early j he, more- 
 over, saw hitn as he walked home, and spoke to him, and 
 fancied — as my brother took no notice of him — that he wished 
 to avoid him. These circumstances tended at least to justify 
 the suspicions with which he had been inspired ; and when, 
 on going to his wife, whom he had found fast asleep, she 
 declared that my brother had not been there — although his 
 stick was then standing near the piUow — those suspicions 
 were confirmed. I need not describe the fearful scene which 
 ensued. It wUl be quite sufficient to say that he was frsmtic, 
 and that having nearly broken the heart of his wife — whom 
 he had theretofore tenderly loved — by his fierce denunciations, 
 he rushed to the house of my brother with the view of taking 
 summary vengeance upon him. Here, however, he found 
 that the whole establishment had retired; and when the 
 servant, who answered the bell from the window, perceiving 
 the excitement under which he was labouring, refused to let 
 him in, he loaded my brother with the direst imprecations, 
 and threatened to take away his Hfe. In the morning my 
 brother received a challenge ; and although he most solemnly 
 declared, and called his servants to prove it, that at the speci- 
 fied time he was in bed and asleep, he was compelled, by 
 those laws of honour which, although prescribed by barbarism, 
 civilisation sanctions, to accept that challenge, and they met. 
 He who felt himself thus deeply wronged fired first, and my 
 brother fired into the air; again he fired at him, and my 
 brother fired into the air again ; when the seconds — perceiv- 
 ing that my brother was resolved not to fire at his adversary 
 — withdrew them from the ground. Well " 
 
 " But what became of the lady 1 " 
 
 "Her husband cast her oS. He was advised to bring an 
 action against my brother, but he loved her too fondly even 
 then to expose her thus. He has since, I have heard, been 
 most kind to her, although she has never been restored. But 
 from that time my brother became an altered man. He at 
 once lost the whole of his practice ; but, having some little 
 private property, that did not distress him much ; it was the 
 
 I 
 
130 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 knowledge that almost every one believed him to be guilty of 
 the crime, of which he constantly declared that he was 
 innocent, which weighed his spirits down, and eventually 
 broke his heart. As you are aware, I was present at his 
 death, and during his last moments he and I were alone ; 
 he was calm — quite calm and collected — and as the last words 
 he uttered were these — ' Dear sister, I die happy in the con- 
 sciousness of never having broken the seventh commandment,' 
 every doubt vanished; I felt quite sure that he was innocent, 
 and I cannot but think so still : it is this dreadful vision that 
 has suggested the possibility of his having at that sblemn 
 moment perverted the truth." 
 
 "He would not have done that, be assured," said the 
 reverend gentleman fervently ; " such a man as that whom 
 you have described would not, at such a time, have done that. 
 I do not mean to say that there is no probability of this 
 being his spirit — albeit, I am at a loss to understand why it 
 should be thus perturbed— it may be the spirit of your 
 brother : it is possible — it may even be said to be probable — 
 but I do not believe that you have anything to fear." 
 
 " I will myself sit up to-night ; I will watch in my chamber,* 
 I will pTSLj for his spirit to come ; and if it should, I will 
 speak to it, and fervently entreat it to remove that weight 
 which now presses so heavily upon my heart. I feel assured 
 that it will not harm me," she added, bursting again into 
 tears. " In life he loved me too fondly, too tenderly " 
 
 " Dear aunt," cried Sylvester, who at this moment entered 
 the room, " why — why are you thus distressed 1 What has 
 happened? Tell me." 
 
 " These mysterious proceedings," said the reverend gentle- 
 man, "are so annoying." 
 
 " They are annoying, very annoying," returned Sylvester. 
 " Aunt," he added, turning again to his aunt, " you were in 
 excellent spirits when I left you." 
 
 "I am better now, my love," she observed, making an 
 effort to compose herseK ; "much better now." 
 
 " And yet you are still in tears ! I cannot bear to see you 
 weep, dear aunt. Oome, dry your eyes. You will not let me 
 fret, and I don't see why I should let you. I came to ask 
 you to go for a drive this morning. It is beautiful out. It 
 will raise your spirits. The air is so soft, so mild, and so 
 clear." 
 
THE EGGS AND EXOTIOS. 131 
 
 Aunt Eleanor kissed him, and the subject was dropped, and 
 as the reverend gentleman soon after left, Sylvester took his 
 aunt out for a drive. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE EGGS AND EXOTICS. 
 
 During the whole of that day no work was done in the village. 
 The tradesmen then did not mind losing a day, for the times 
 were not hard. The prosperous never complain of the times : 
 nor did they. As their wants were small, a large supply was 
 not needed, as they then possessed all they immediately re- 
 quired, they met at the Crumpet and Crown with the view 
 of discussing the varied ramifications of the mystery. 
 
 But Jones was the great card ia requisition. They wanted 
 Jones. But as Jones was a steady man, who very seldom came 
 to the Crumpet and Crown, they didn't know how to get him. 
 
 At length, however, Obadiah Drant — who possessed far 
 more impudence than any of his friends^offered to bet half 
 a gallon of beer that Jones would be there in a quarter of an 
 hour. The bet was taken, and Obadiah — seeing an old rotten 
 sugar-loaf turnip in the road — went out, picked it up, walked 
 with it to Jones, and offered to bet half a gallon of beer that 
 -that txrmip was superior to any one of his production. Jones 
 laughed at this of course ; and when the bet had been made, 
 he produced a turnip somewhere about seven times the size. 
 But Obadiah Drant would not confess that he had lost — he 
 declared that he would never give in until Legge had decided 
 the point ; and thus Jones — who well knew that he had won — 
 was seduced to the Crumpet and Crown. 
 
 Being there, of course he was considered a fixture. Pokey — 
 who was artful in his way — hailed him as the first horticul- 
 turist in the county ; and as the majority freely sulDScribed 
 to this opinion, Jones was on very good terms with himself. 
 
 They then cautiously alluded to the philosophy of spectres j 
 and when Click, with all the energy at his command, declared 
 his conviction that spirits never appeared, upon earth, Jones 
 looked at him with an expression of pity, and then walked out 
 of his silent shell. 
 
132 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Wiat ! " he exclaimed, " do you mean to mean that 
 spirits never comes upon this blessed earth 1 " 
 
 " Brayvo ! " cried Obadiah Drant. 
 
 " Why, I see one last night ! " resumed Jones. 
 
 " And so did I," said Obadiah. 
 
 " But not the one as I seed," said Jones. 
 
 " Mine was a tall 'un," returned Obadiah, " a white 'un ! — 
 a white 'un on horseback." 
 
 " That ain't the one then as I seed. I seed one — a white 
 'un and a tall 'un." 
 
 " Where 1 " demanded Click. 
 
 " Where ! Why, at the cottage ! " 
 
 " Were you at the cottage then last night ? " said Legge. 
 
 " In course we was there ! me and master ! " 
 
 " Indeed ! I was not aware of that. But tell us what 
 occurred — I am anxious to -hear." 
 
 "Well," said Jones, " but mind, it mustn't go further." 
 
 " Of course not — of course not. No, no, no — no ! " they 
 exclaimed simultaneously, " certainly not." 
 
 " Well, then — a little after three o'clock this blessed morn- 
 ing, when master and me was consulting about rakes,' horti- 
 culture, and religion, we heerd a scraping on the path that 
 leads from the gate to the front door. Very well, says I, 
 this'U do nicely : we'll wait till you tries to get in, my carrots. 
 But before we'd time to turn ourselves round, in walks a spirit! 
 Very well, thinks I ; it's all very good, you know, as far as 
 it goes, but what do you mean to be after 1 Well ! the spirit 
 takes not the leasesfc notice of me, but up he goes to the side- 
 board and looks, and presently he shakes his head awful, and 
 turns and then stalks out of the parlour. ' I says,' says I, 
 ' what do you think of that 1 ' says I to master. ' Rum, very 
 rum,' says he, ' uncommon rum.' ' Well,' says I, ' the breeze 
 is blowing very cold,' says I, ' let's shet the door ' — and I went 
 to shet it, and send I may live, if the front door wasn't as 
 wide open as ever it could stick ! Well ! this did queer us 
 rayther more than a little, but we shet the front door, and 
 then blow me, if we didn't see the self-same spirit a going 
 up stairs, as slow and deliberate as if he belonged to the 
 house, and paid all the rates and taxes. 'Well,' says I, 
 'nothing like imperance. Let's go and see what he's up 
 to,' says I. 'Not a bit of it,' says master. 'Let's have a little 
 brandy' " 
 
THE EGGS AND EXOTICS. 133 
 
 " Teddy Rouse all over ! " exclaimed Obadiah. " Brandy's 
 tte fructifying spirit of the cloth." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Jones indignantly. " What 
 do you mean by that 1 " 
 
 " I mean that Teddy Rouse " 
 
 " Why do you call him Teddy Rouse ? My master's name 
 is the Reverend Mr. Rouse." 
 
 " But his Christian name is Teddy I " 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! Them as calls him Teddy is ignoramuses." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that I'm an ignoramus ? " 
 
 " You're worser ! — or you'd never have brought that there 
 turnip to me, and have said that I couldn't produce nothing 
 like it. He as calls my master Teddy is an ignoramus ! I 
 don't care who he is ! I'll tell him to his face he's an igno- 
 ramus. My master's name is the Reverend Mr. Rouse, and 
 I, don't care who knows it." 
 
 " Brayvo ! " cried the company. " Brayvo, Jones ! " 
 
 "Talk of Teddy," continued Jones, "as if he were your 
 equal. I'll back my master — the Reverend Mr. Rouse — to 
 look a ghost in the face against any man in England. Teddy, 
 indeed ! When he gave you the last order for a hundred of 
 bricks, you didn't call him Teddy then, did you ? " 
 
 " But Teddy," said Obadiah, "is the short for Edward. I 
 meant no offence." 
 
 "Call me Teddy, Jack, Jem, or anything you like, but 
 I'll fight tiU I drop before Im shall be called Teddy." 
 
 "Well, then, let it be the Reverend Mr. Rouse; I don't 
 care, that's the man I meant, after all." 
 
 " I know it's the man you meant," returned Jones, who 
 was still very indignant; "but if any man — I don't care 
 who he is — calls him Teddy, I won't have it ! I know what 
 master is, and I know what he isn't ; there ain't a man in 
 life as knows him better than me, and am I to hear him 
 — hear a gentleman, and what's more, a clergyman — called 
 Teddy ? " 
 
 "Don't mind him," whispered Legge; "you know what 
 a tattling fellow he is. You should take no notice of any- 
 thing lie says." 
 
 "Well," said Obadiah, " and what did the Reverend Mr. 
 Rouse do when he had swallowed the brandy ? " 
 
 " Go and inquire ! " returned Jones fiercely. " You'll not 
 get another blessed word out of me ! " 
 
134 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Well, but don't go yet ! " they exclaimed, as he rose — 
 " oh, stop and have a pipe with us — don't go yet ! " 
 
 Jones, however, could not be prevailed upon to stay : he 
 left at once, and the company, of whom the majority were 
 at first very indignant with Obadiah, began to discuss, with 
 characteristic ingenuity and eloquence, the various bearings 
 of the scene which Jones had thus briefly described. This 
 discussion — interspersed as it was with an infinite variety 
 of anecdotes — lasted the whole of the day, and when at night 
 they departed from the Crumpet and Crown their imagina- 
 tions still teemed with ghosts. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor had ordered a fire in her chamber, and, as 
 her resolution to sit up remained unshaken, she, at the usual 
 hour, retired with her Bible and Prayer-book, and composed 
 herself in a chair for the night. 
 
 Before, however, Judkins retired, he conceived an idea. 
 It struck him just after he had eaten his supper. He 
 imagined that if he, by means of a string, were to establish 
 a direct communication between himself and the stable door, 
 he should, in the event of any one attempting to take Snorter 
 out of the stable again, know it. 
 
 Acting at once upon this admirable conception, he got a 
 ball of whipcord, and having secured one end to the handle 
 of the door, drew it carefully and tightly towards the window 
 of his room, when, mounting a ladder, he put as much as 
 he thought would be required through a hole, and on going 
 to bed tied the end thus inserted to one of his toes, and went 
 to sleep, in the full conviction that if a discovery were to be 
 made, he should make it.- 
 
 But neither he nor Aunt Eleanor were disturbed. She 
 sat reading and praying throughout the night, but no spirit 
 appeared. This had the direct effect of subduing her appre- 
 hensions. She had prayed in the full assurance that if the 
 spirit which her reverend friend had seen were the spirit of 
 her brother, it would appear before her then, and hence, as 
 it did not appear, she not only felt sure that it was not her 
 brother's spirit, but cherished again the sweet belief that 
 his spirit was then in heaven. 
 
 When Judkins awoke in the morning, and took the whip- 
 cord off his toe, he was not exactly pleased with the fact of 
 his not having been disturbed. 
 
 "Still," said he, "at all events nothing's been wrong. 
 
THB EGGS AND EXOTICS. 135 
 
 This is a capital go, this is. I'll try this here dodge every 
 night. Safe to catch 'em by this here means ; wonder I 
 never thought oii't before. Howsever," he added, " every- 
 thing's right this morning — that's a blessing anyhow." 
 
 And he really did believe then that everything was right, 
 and with this belief strongly impressed upon his mind he left 
 the room ; but the moment he entered the garden he found 
 that all was not right, for he perceived at a glance, that about 
 fifty exotics had been maliciously taken from the conservatory, 
 and more than half buried in one of the onion beds. 
 
 " Why, blarm their bodies ! " he exclaimed, as he tightly 
 clenched his fists, and looked at the plants with great severity. 
 " Couldn't they let even them alone ? It's no use," he added, 
 thrusting his hand into his pockets, " it ain't a mite o' use 
 doing nothing. A man may work, and tile, and slave, and 
 sweat, till there's nothing left on him. These here warment 
 spiles all he does, and sets him to do it all over again. It ain't 
 a bit o' good : I see that clear. I say, cook," he cried, " cook." 
 
 " WeD, what do you want now ? " demanded cook, who 
 very seldom spoke sweetly. 
 
 "Look here. On'y just come and look. Here you are I 
 Here's a go ! Here's the warment," he added, " been at it 
 again." 
 
 " Serve you right," said cook ; " I'm glad of it." 
 
 " Serve me right — what do you mean ? " 
 
 " I'm very much obliged to Mr. Judkins," returned cook, 
 ironically ; " very much obliged to you for lighting my fire." 
 
 " What do you mean ? Don't bother me about your fire : 
 I never lit your blessed fire." 
 
 " In course'not," said cook, with a bitter sneer ; " in course, 
 Mister Judkins, you didn't light the blessed fire ; nor did you, 
 Mister Judkins, bile all the blessed eggs. I wish the last 
 had stuck in your throat, that I do." 
 
 " You're a lunatic, woman," said Judkins severely ; " go 
 and get a strait- jacket ; you want one particular." 
 
 " Do you mean, then, to have the unheard-of imperance to 
 tell me to my very face that you didn't light the fire, and 
 didn't bile every individual egg we had in the house ? " 
 
 " I teU you, you're a lunatic. Don't bother me." 
 
 " Oh, it's all mighty well. Mister Judkins ; but missis shall 
 know of it. / won't conceal it. I've kept a good many 
 things from her, but this she shall know. A great, greedy, 
 
136 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 gormandising glutton. I wouldn't have such a creature 
 about the premises." 
 
 " I know you'll get into the asylum," said Judkins ; " I 
 know you wUl." 
 
 " The asylum," retorted cook sneeringly ; " it would be a 
 great blessing to society if you were in the asylum. One was 
 not enough for Mister Judkins — two was not enough for 
 Mister Judkins, nor three, nor four. Oh, dear, no ! Mister 
 Judkins must swallow the whole." 
 
 " I can't talk to maniacs. Don't talk to me. I know you're 
 not right in your head; so go away, and don't bother." 
 
 " Oh, you shan't get off quite so easy as you think for. 
 Don't believe it. The very moment missis comes downstairs, 
 I'll tell her all about it. I won't favour you a mite." 
 
 " No, I know you won't. But go away— do you hear ? 
 I've something else to think about ; go away, go away, go 
 away with you." 
 
 " In course, Mr. Judkins," said cook, tossing her head with 
 accomplished mock affectation. " Certainly, Mr. Judkins. 
 I'll go. Mister Judkins. Mister Judkins, in course, is a very 
 great man. Oh, a very great man is Mister Judkins; a mighty 
 great man. But Fll cook the goose of Mister Judkins." 
 
 " I wish, with all my soul, you'd cook yourself," observed 
 Judkins, who, as she retreated muttering all sorts of menaces, 
 turned to contemplate his exotics again. 
 
 " This is a blessing as far as it goes," said he ; " if it isn't, 
 send I may live." But no sooner had he given expression to 
 this remarkable sentiment, than a man led his mistress's pony 
 and gig up to the gate and rang the bell. 
 
 "Very good/" thought Judkins, as he went to the gate. 
 " This here's the seed of something." 
 
 " Is this here pony yourn ? " inquired the man. 
 
 " Eayther," returned Judkins. " It is cum rayther ; " and 
 seizing the man by the collar, instantly added, " So, we've 
 cotched you at last, have we 1 Very good ; now, my little 
 swell, cow-sider yourself booked. You're my prisoner." 
 
 " What for ? " cried the man, who had been absolutely taken 
 by surprise. 
 
 " Never mind what for," replied Judkins. " Don't be at 
 all particular in your inquiries. I'm not. You'll only just 
 walk quietly this here way, and then possibly, perhaps, the 
 question may be by and-by answered. "Well, I shouldn't have 
 
THE EGOS AND EXOTICS. 137 
 
 thought it on you," he added, as he dragged the man, who felt 
 quite confused, into the stable ; " send I may live, I shouldn't 
 ha' thought that you'd had the stuff in you to do it." 
 
 " To do what ? " demanded the man. 
 
 "Never mind," replied Judkins. "You're a beauty to 
 look at; dessay you're a beauty — no doubt. You and me 
 shall b6 better acquainted, it strikes me." 
 
 "What do yoTi mean?" cried the man. 
 
 " Don't disturb yourself, my friend. It's very clear you 
 won't disturb me no more." 
 
 " I found the pony " 
 
 " Don't trouble your intellects now at all about it. You'll 
 have work enough for them to do when you're afore the jury. 
 Now then," he added, as with a halter he securely tied the 
 man's hands behind him, " if you'd like to he down for an 
 hour, you can. You know this horse, don't you ? I wonder 
 he doesn't snap your precious little head off." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " cried the man. " I'll make you 
 pay for this." 
 
 " Very good ! " replied Judkins. " That's nothing but 
 nateral. But let's have a look at you. Well," he added, 
 having surveyed him, " you're a good sort, dessay — o/the sort. 
 Very good. You're a very clever sort too, no doubt. But 
 couldn't you leave my plants alone ? TcTia ! that was 
 cowardly. Well, I hope you'll have all the luck I wish 
 you, and that ain't much ; but I'U leave you to your private 
 reflections." 
 
 " But won't you hear me ? " 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! What's the good ! but I'll see you again, 
 by-and-by. If you'd been a man of six foot and a half, and very 
 stout in proportion, I shouldn't ha' minded ; but you, you little 
 muck ! — however, good-bye ; God bless you ; take care of your- 
 self, but if you don't, I'll take care of you, so you're safe. 
 You little warment," he added, closing the door, and when 
 he had most securely locked it, he returned to the cottage. 
 
 " Missis wants to speak to you," said Mary, as he entered. 
 
 " Very good, Polly, I wants to speak to her. So that 
 meets the views of both parties consamed." 
 
 "Well, I must say you're imperant, Judkins," said Mary. 
 " But missis is in the breakfast-room." 
 
 " Very good," returned Judkins. " Then into the break- 
 fast-room I goes." 
 
138 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Judkins," said his mistress, wlien he had been desired 
 to enter, " I am sorry to hear so bad an account of your 
 conduct." 
 
 " I know what you mean, ma'am. It's cook. Don't mind 
 what she says, she's a lunatic, ma'am. She says I eat the 
 eggs — /never eat the eggs. She says I lit her fire — /never 
 lit her fire. But I've done something else, ma'am ; I've got 
 in my stable the very man who has been, ma'am, annoying 
 us so long." 
 
 "Is it possible ? Have you really ! Is he now in the 
 stable ? " 
 
 " Secure, ma'am. I've roped him regular. He can't get 
 away." 
 
 " Have you locked the door ? " 
 
 " Fast, ma'am. Here's the key. He didn't want Snorter 
 last night. No, he only just wanted the pony and gig." 
 
 "Well, run to Mr. Biouse with my compliments. Tell 
 him what has happened, and beg of him to come as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 Judkins started off at full speed, and in less than five 
 minutes the reverend gentleman was there. 
 
 " My dear sir," said Aunt Eleanor, as he entered, " I have 
 the happiness to inform you, that we have at length dis- 
 covered " 
 
 " I know, my dear madam, I know all about it," said the 
 reverend gentleman ; " Judkins, bring him in." 
 
 Judkins disappeared on the instant, and soon reappeared 
 with his prisoner. 
 
 " Now, sir, what's your name ? " inquired the reverend 
 gentleman. 
 
 " John Todd," replied the man. 
 
 " John Todd ! John Todd ! Well, sir, what have you to 
 say to this ? " 
 
 " All I have to say is, that master found the pony in one 
 of his meadows, and hearing that it belonged to this lady, he 
 told me to take it home." 
 
 " Your master, sir 1 — who is your master ? " 
 
 " Squire Lane, your reverence." 
 
 "Oh! Squire Lane. John Todd! John Todd I Don't you 
 occupy the cottage on the left of his gate, John Todd ? " 
 
 " Yes, your reverence." 
 
 "There has been some mistake here, my dear madam," 
 
THE EGGS AND EXOTICS. 139 
 
 said the reverend gentleman aside. " John Todd," he added, 
 turning again to the man, " you are a very honest person, 
 John Todd. I recollect you. Give my compliments to your 
 master, and tell him that I will do myself the pleasure of 
 calling upon him in the course of the morning. There has 
 been some mistake, but never mind what has passed. I here 
 present you with half-a-crown for your trouble." 
 
 John did not much like the rough treatment he had received, 
 but as the half-crown healed every wound that had been in- 
 flicted, he respectfully bowed, and in silence withdrew. 
 
 "'I know John Todd," observed the reverend gentleman j 
 " he's a very honest man. I have known him for years, and 
 I am perfectly sure that he is not at all involved in this 
 mystery." 
 
 " I hope, sir," said Judkins, " that I haven't in your opinion 
 exceeded my duty." 
 
 " You acted very correctly, Judkins, very correctly," replied 
 the reverend gentleman. " Had I been in your position, I 
 should doubtless have acted in precisely the same manner." 
 
 "You see," pursued Judkins, "things happened so rum. 
 One morning one thing, another morning another — as true 
 as I'm aHve, sir, if you'll believe me, I sometimes don't even 
 so much as know what's what. Now, look here, ma'am," he 
 added, turning to his mistress ; " I beg pardon, ma'am, for 
 being so bold, ma'am, but jist look here. Here was this 
 blessed morning as ever was, ma'am, when I came downstairs 
 and went into the garden, what should I see but my best 
 plants walked from the hothouse and sunk into one of the 
 onion beds." 
 
 " What, this morning ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 "This blessed morning, ma'am — there they was." 
 
 " How very extraordinary," said his mistress. 
 
 " Amazing," exclaimed the reverend gentleman. "Were 
 they injured at all." 
 
 "Not the leasest," replied Judkins j "leastways they 
 haven't taken much harm, except, p'r'aps, they've caught a 
 little cold." 
 
 " But they were placed in the bed carefully ? " 
 
 "Very. There wasn't a branch broke. That's the thing 
 as gets over me so much. They seems not to want to hurt no- 
 thing : that don't seem to be their object, and as that ain't their 
 object, what their object is, I can't guess. 8\ire-ly they might 
 
140 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 leave the plants alone ; they can't have offended 'em in any 
 individual way, nohow. But that ain't all, ma'am. When I was 
 a meditating over them serious, cook comes to me, and says, 
 ' You've lit my fire, and gormandised every blessed egg.' " 
 
 " And you mean to say that you did not light the fire ? " 
 inquired his mistress seriously. 
 
 " Never, ma'am. Upon my word and honour, ma'am. I 
 wish I may never rear nothing, if I ever touched the fire. 
 And, as to the eggs, ma'am, why, it stands to reason that I 
 wouldn't think of touching 'em : I ain't eat a single egg this 
 six months. I don't care a bit about 'em ; and if I did, it 
 ain't so likely that I'd go and do such a thing as that. Not 
 a bit of it, ma'am, if you'll beheve me. No ; it's them fellows 
 — whoever they are — and I on'y jist wish I could catch 'em. 
 However they do it, wholly gets over me. I" instance, how 
 did they get the pony and gig out ? How could they get 'em 
 out 1 Why, ma'am, I not only locked the stable door, and 
 hung the key on the hook in the kitchen, but I had a piece 
 of string that reached from that very door to my bedroom, 
 and I slept with the other end round my toe, ma'am, all 
 night ; so, how they got in, I can't tell. It seems to me to 
 be witchcraft, and nothing but." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor now very clearly perceived that these tricks 
 were too paltry to be for one moment ascribed to the spirit 
 of her brother ; and having made up her mind to leave the 
 village for a time, she at once resolved on spending a few 
 weeks in London. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE DEPAKTURE FBOM THE VILLAGE. 
 
 They who have been unaccustomed to travel, find the job of 
 preparing to leave home a strong one. However inconsider- 
 able the journey may be, or however short the contemplated 
 stay, the preparations which they deem essential are great. 
 Much thought is brought to bear upon the preliminaries, 
 much time is occupied in carrying out the scheme, and when 
 that has been perfected and the day of departure arrives, the 
 excitement is generally excessive. 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE. 141 
 
 Aunt Eleanor had been unaccustomed to travel : she found 
 the job of preparing to leave home a strong job : she brought 
 much thought to bear directly upon the preliminaries, and 
 occupied much time in perfecting the scheme : nor did she 
 expect that on the morning of her departure, she should have 
 the slightest appetite for breakfast, for the village may be 
 said to have been her world, and if the idea of leaving that 
 village did not appear to her like that of leaving the world, 
 her feelings bore a very strong affinity to those of persons 
 who are about to visit some distant land. 
 
 On the day, however, immediately preceding that appointed 
 for her journey to London, other feelings were inspired ; for 
 while walking alone in the garden, contemplating the change 
 she was about to experience,. and endeavouring to recollect if 
 anything had been forgotten, she saw lying on the table in 
 the arbour, a carefully folded note, sealed with the family 
 crest, and superscribed " Rosalie." 
 
 " What on earth have we here ? " she exclaimed, as she 
 turned the note over and over again. "The handwriting 
 resembles that of Sylvester ! — yet surely it cannot be his ! 
 KosaUe ! Dear me,' what can it mean 1 Rosalie ! How very 
 mysterious." 
 
 While anxiously dwelling upon this little incident, and 
 considering what course she could with propriety pursue, her 
 reverend friend entered the garden, and when they had 
 greeted eadi other with their accustomed cordiaKty, she 
 explained to him how she had found the note, and then 
 proceeded to solicit his advice. 
 
 " It's very odd," said the reverend gentleman, " very odd ; 
 nay, it's remarkably odd. But let us go in, and see what we 
 can make of it." 
 
 Into the house they accordingly went, and when they were 
 seated, the reverend gentleman took the note, and having 
 looked very severely at the superscription and the seal, turned 
 it over and over and over again, with an expression of intense 
 curiosity. 
 
 "Well," said he, at length, "let us look at the con- 
 tents." 
 
 "Will it be correct," said Aunt Eleanor, " to open it! " 
 
 " Perfectly so, my dear madam ! — of course I " 
 
 " It is not addressed to either of us." 
 
 " But it is the handwriting of Sylvester 1 " 
 
142 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " I think it is. It looks very mucli like his handwriting. 
 But I am not sure." 
 
 " Oh, it's certain to be his ; and if even it be not, you have 
 an indisputable right to examine it, seeing that it was found 
 on your premises, addressed to a person of whom you have 
 no knowledge; but as it most surely is his, you have a double 
 right to examine it, inasmuch as he is here under your 
 especial care." 
 
 " But I should not like to wound his feelings." 
 
 " For that I would submit there is no necessity whatever. 
 The thing may be concealed. He need not know that we 
 have opened the note ; he need not even know that you found 
 it. The young rogue may have fallen in love. Who can 
 tell ! He may be the intended victim of some artful creature, 
 whose object is to ensnare him. Who knows ! We have 
 heard of such things, and it hence becomes our duty to 
 protect him — we must put him on his guard, and not allow 
 him to be sacrificed." 
 
 " Very true, my dear sir," said Aunt Eleanor, smiling; " I 
 fully appreciate all that you have said, but would it not be 
 equally effective if I were to have him in, and give him the 
 note as it is ? " 
 
 "As you please, my dear madam. I of course cannot 
 presume to have any direct voice in the matter." 
 
 " But do you not think that it would be equally effective ? " 
 
 "Perhaps it might. Oh, ; yes. We shall be able to see 
 the changes of his coimtenance, and from those changes to 
 draw inferences which may enable us to arrive pretty nearly 
 at the truth. Oh, yes ; I can see no objection whatever to 
 his being called in." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor then rang the bell, and directed the servant 
 to tell Sylvester, who was in the library, that she wished to 
 speak with him for a moment. 
 
 " That name puzzles me," resumed the reverend gentleman. 
 " I cannot imagine who Eosalie is ! I have baptized all the 
 young persons in the village, but I do not remember the 
 name of Rosalie ! Rosalie ! — Rosalie ! Bless my life and 
 soul, the name of Rosalie doesn't occur to me at all." 
 
 "My dear," said Aunt Eleanor, as Sylvester entered, 
 " who is Rosalie ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure, aunt, who Rosalie is. Rosalie, I 
 presume, is the name of a young lady, and a very pretty 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE. 143 
 
 name she has got, but I do not remember to have met with 
 any one named HosaJie. Who is she ? " 
 
 " Nay, my dear, I wish to know from you who she is. I 
 have not the pleasure of knowing the lady myself." 
 
 " Nor have I," returned Sylvester. " But why do you 
 ask me about her ? " 
 
 " This note, my dear, I found in the arbour just now. 
 It is your handwriting, my love, is it not ? " 
 
 " It looks very much like it. Rosalie ! What is it all 
 about ? " he added, breaking the seal — 
 
 " ' Beautiful Rosalie, 
 Meet me to-night. 
 Do not fail, Rosalie ! Sweet ! do not fail ! ' 
 
 " Well," he continued, " this is extraordinary. The writing 
 is exactly like mine. I never saw two hands so much alike. 
 Look." 
 
 "It is indeed like yours, my dear," said Aimt Eleanor. 
 
 "Exactly," cried Sylvester, who felt much amazed. "I'll 
 just copy it, and then you will see the resemblance more 
 clearly. Beautiful Sylvester," he added, copying the note. 
 " No, no, ' Beautiful Sylvester ' will not do at all. 
 
 " ' Beautiful Rosalie, 
 Meet me to-night. 
 Do not faU, Rosalie ! Sweet ! do not fail ! ' 
 
 "There," he continued, having finished the transcript; 
 " look at this and then look at that." 
 
 " I cannot distinguish the slightest difference between 
 them," said Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 "Nor can I," returned Sylvester. "See," he added, 
 placing both the copy and the original before the reverend 
 gentleman, who had been watching him with unexampled 
 subtlety. " See what an extraordinary resemblance there is." 
 
 " Resemblance ! " echoed the reverend gentleman, who' 
 couldn't at all understand this coolness. "They are both 
 alike ! The B's are the same, and the R's are th* same, 
 and so are the M's, D's, and S's. I can see no difference at 
 all. If I fold this as that has been folded, I'll defy any 
 man alive to tell which is which." 
 
 "Try it," said Sylvester. " Fold it in precisely the same 
 manner, and then let us have a look at them," 
 
144 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 The reverend gentleman gazed at him for a moment with 
 an expression of doubt mingled with amazement, but as 
 Sylvester met his gaze firmly, he did fold the copy in pre- 
 cisely the same manner, and having done so, exclaimed — 
 
 " There ! Now, which is which ? " 
 
 " I can see that this is the one which I wrote,'' returned 
 Sylvester, " because the ink is not quite dry, and therefore 
 somewhat paler ; but were it not for that, I should be utterly 
 unable to tell which of the two had been written by me." 
 
 " Then you really did not write them both 1 " 
 
 " Write them both ? Certainly not. Of that I know 
 nothing." 
 
 "Then all I can say is, it's very remarkable." 
 
 " It is remarkable. But is it supposed that the note which 
 I have copied was written by me ! " 
 
 " Why, it looked so much like your handwriting, my dear," 
 said Aunt Eleanor mildly, " that we did think it must have 
 been written by you." 
 
 "Then let me, my dear aunt, at once undeceive you. The 
 resemblance which it bears to my hand is very strildng ; but 
 I assure you — I feel that you will believe me — I assure you, 
 upon my honour, that I know nothing whatever about it." 
 
 "That is quite sufficient, my dear — quite sufficient; I am 
 perfectly satisfied ; but is it not strange 1 " 
 
 "It is indeed extraordinary." 
 
 " Some one must have practised your style of writing with 
 zeal to be enabled to give so close an imitation," observed the 
 reverend gentleman, who was still extremely sceptical on the 
 point. 
 
 " I certainly," said Sylvester, " never before saw two 
 hands so much alike. But who sent this note ? " 
 
 " I found it in the arbour," replied his aunt. " It was 
 lying on the table." 
 
 "In the arbour! And do you not know who this Kosalie 
 is?" 
 
 " I have not the least idea who she can be." 
 
 " Nor have I. I do not remember to have heard the name 
 of Eosalie before." 
 
 " But the crest, my dear madam," said the reverend gentle- 
 man ; " you have not mentioned the crest." 
 
 " The crest," said Sylvester, looking at it. " Why, it is 
 our crest ! I have one exactly like it," he added, producing 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE. 143 
 
 a seal attached to his watch-chain, and placing it in the wax. 
 " Why, it fits to a nicety ! How very, very odd.- The impres- 
 sion would seem to have been made by this very seal. You 
 had one, aunt ; ypu haven't lost it ? " 
 
 " No, my love, I have it here ; but mine is much smaller." 
 
 " Well, this surpasses all I ever heard of. This seal was 
 given to me by my poor father the very day on which he 
 died, and as I have not corresponded with any one since, I 
 have never had occasion to use it. " How, therefore, this 
 impression of it could have been made, I am utterly unable 
 to conceive, being certain that it has never been out of my 
 possession." 
 
 When Sylvester alluded to his father, tears sprang into 
 the eyes of Aunt Eleanor on the instant, and the reverend 
 gentleman — who up to that moment had regarded the denial 
 as a falsehood — felt'that as no human being could be guilty of 
 an act of wickedness so awful as that of deliberately associat- 
 ing a falsehood with the name of a parent so recently deceased, 
 Sylvester, however strong the evidence against him might 
 appear, must have spoken the trvith. He therefore observed 
 that in heaven, and on earth, and in the waters under the 
 earth, there were mysteries which set all human understand- 
 ing at defiance ; and having made this remarkable observa- 
 tion, he put an end to the discussion by saying distinctly, and 
 that with great firmness and point, that all he could say on 
 the subject was this, that the thing was excessively odd. 
 
 But although he permitted the subject to drop for the 
 time being thus, he would not suffer the investigation of 
 that subject to rest there. No ; he felt himself bound, as 
 a minister and a man, to find out who RosaUe was, with the 
 view of ascertaining beyond all doubt, whether Sylvester had 
 spoken the truth or not. He therefore, on leaving the 
 cottage, started on this affectionate expedition, and as he - 
 proceeded, he carefully prepared a touching lecture to be 
 delivered with appropriate solemnity to Sylvester in the 
 event of its being proved — satisfactorily proved — that his 
 calm declaration having reference to his entire ignorance 
 of Rosalie was false. But then, before this could be proved 
 to the satisfaction of any one, and consequently before this 
 touching lecture could be delivered, Rosalie had to be found. 
 The reverend gentleman felt this deeply. He had not the 
 slightest doubt that, if he found her, he should be able, by 
 
 K 
 
146 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 an appeal — which he had also prepared, and it was one of 
 an exceedingly powerful nature — to induce her at once to 
 make a full eonfegsion ; but he could not find her — no one 
 in the village knew anything of her — not one had ever heard 
 of the name of Rosalie before. They aU knew a multitude 
 of Maries, and all admitted that Rosalie was a much sweeter 
 name — more melodious in sound, and in effect more distingue 
 — the matrons of the village were especially delighted with 
 it, and made up their minds with the most prompt una- 
 nimity to have the next girls they had christened Rosalie, 
 and thus left no room for the reverend gentleman to doubt 
 that the next generation would be studded with Rosalies ; 
 but this was not the point — his object was to discover one 
 then ; but as he found — after having travelled fairly through 
 the village, making all the inquiries which the importance 
 of the case demanded — that no Rosalie had ever existed there 
 within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, she being a 
 hundred and six years of age, he gave the thing up, and 
 the consequence was that both the appeal and the lecture 
 were lost. 
 
 These inquiries, however, were not without effect, although 
 they failed to accomplish the object proposed. The reverend 
 gentleman had omitted of course to explain to them why he 
 sought Rosalie with so much diligence ; and this omission, 
 very naturally, and therefore very generally, suggested the 
 question, "What can he want with her?" That^she had 
 done something wrong was a conclusion which, on being duly 
 drawn from the premises, appeared to be rational to all ; but 
 then, what was that something ? — what could it be ? — was it 
 an act of indiscretion or something much worse ? They of 
 course couldn't tell : their conjectures were innumerable, but 
 as they were at the same time very conflicting, no depend- 
 ence was placed upon any one of them, until the news reached 
 the ears of Mr. Obadiah Drant, who proceeded to settle the 
 question at once. 
 
 "T.'U teU you what it is," said he to Pokey; " I can see 
 clear through all the rampant ramifications of this fructifying 
 mancEUvre. Look here. Old Teddy Rouse wants this girl. 
 Very well. What does he want her for ? that's the point at 
 issue ! He's got no wife : he never had a wife. Very well 
 then, can't you see 1 I'll bet you any money you like, that 
 if s one of Ted's ladies," 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE. 147 
 
 " But," said Pokey, raising his eyes from his board, and 
 taking snufF, " if it is, don't you think he'd know exact where 
 to find her?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it. French ! — Eosalie ! — French, my boy 1 
 It's been a French name ever since Peter the Great's time. 
 She's come over to find him out — don't you understand ? 
 Housekeeper ! artful ! Now don't you see ? These are your 
 moral men ! — these are your saints ! — these are the locusts 
 that suck fifty millions a year from the sweat of the poor 
 man's brow ! — there ain't of the cloth that don't ought to be 
 smothered. I'd hang, draw, and quarter the lot. What do 
 we want a mob of vampires like that for. I'd send 'em all 
 on board a man-o'-war, if I'd my will, and give 'em a good 
 welting four or five times a day, and let 'em see how they 
 like that. And it'll come to this at last ; mark my words i f 
 it don't. People's eyes begin to be a little matter open ; they 
 only want to open 'm just a leetle more, and bang comes a 
 rattling revolution." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said Pokey, who always felt indignant 
 when Obadiah spoke of a revolution, " Revolutions is mighty 
 fine things for to talk about, but we ain't going to have 'em. 
 Look at me, for instance. Me and my missis has got six- 
 and-twenty pun ten in the savings bank — wouldn't I fight 
 till I dropped before I'd lose that six- and- twenty pun ten, 
 think you ? And how many thousands of men is there in 
 the very same predicament ! " 
 
 " Fight till you dropped, for six-and-twenty pun ten ! " 
 retorted Obadiah sneeringly. " What's six-and-twenty 
 pun ten?" 
 
 " As much to me as six-and-twenty thousand pun ten is to 
 any of your dukes, lords, and bishops." 
 
 " Why, you ain't got a mite of patriotic spirit in you ! " 
 
 " I ain't agoing to let any patriotic spirit do me out of my 
 money." 
 
 " Do you out of your money ! I'm ashamed of you. Pokey. 
 A man of your intellects, too." 
 
 " I don't care ; intellects in this world ain't of much use to 
 a man without money." 
 
 " Then you think that such locusts as Teddy Rouse ought 
 to be allowed to do just as they please 2 " 
 
 "No, I don't." 
 
 ** And you'd pay 'em elevenpence-halfpenny out of every 
 
148 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 blessed shilling you earn, that they might have their Trench 
 Eosalies ? " 
 
 "No, I wouldn't." 
 
 " You wouldn't ! Why, look at Teddy Rouse. He's a sample 
 of the sack. He must have Ms Rosalie, and where will you go 
 to find one that hasn't hisn ? Look at the thing logically — 
 not through the short-sighted spectacles which always bring 
 in view your six-and-twenty pun ten, but logically " 
 
 " It'll take a lot of logic to convince me that I should be a 
 better man without that six-and-twenty pun ten than I am 
 with it." 
 
 "Well, but listen. You don't at all like these locusts. 
 Very good ! You don't at all like the idea of a revolution. 
 Good again ! But if it's impossible to get rid of 'em without 
 a revolution, what do yOu say then ? " 
 
 " Why, rather than stand and see my money scrambled for, 
 send I may live, I'd fight till I dropped." 
 
 " Then you're a Tory. I know you're a Tory. You've no 
 right to vote for the yellows at all." 
 
 " Haven't I no right to vote for the yellows ? My father 
 was a yellow, and he brought me up a yellow ; and if ever 
 you catch me changing my colour, expect to catch a fox 
 asleep. If I had no money, I shouldn't care a button about 
 a revolution ; a revolution then wouldn't matter at all to 
 me : but as I have money, and can't draw it without notice, 
 blister me if ever I'll vote for revolution." 
 
 " I'm disgusted with you, Pokey ! " exclaimed Obadiah. 
 " You ought to be on Bobby Peel's side of the house. It's 
 such sentiments as these that have drawn a matter of 
 eighteen hundred million a year from our vitals." 
 
 " I wouldn't draw nothing from nobody's vitals." 
 
 "Then why do you sanction such men as Teddy Rouse? 
 Why, when you see him. running after his girls, don't you 
 set your face against him ? Suppose you were the father of 
 this girl — this Rosalie — would you like it ? " 
 
 "I don't say I should!" 
 
 " Very well, then. I mean to say it's monstrous that we 
 should pay fifty million a year to enable these men to run 
 after their Rosalies, as old Teddy Rouse has been running 
 after his. Don't tell me about the cloth ! The cloth's rotten, 
 and always was. Even before the Pope was welted at the 
 iiattle of Bunker's Hill, they were both corrupt and clerical, 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE. 149 
 
 and anything that's clerical must of course be rotten. Look 
 at Russia, look at Prussia, look at China, look at Spain, look 
 at France, look at Switzerland, look where you will, they're 
 all alike, all corrupt, all rotten, all bad. I mean to say we 
 must have a rattling revolution in order to keep society 
 together : we must have a regular roaring rebellion, in order 
 to keep us from anarchy and ruin. Are we to have a parcel 
 of oligarchies, think you, squeezing the marrow out of our 
 very bones eternally ? Do you think that this can be eter- 
 nally tolerated? No! — not a bit of it. No! — they must 
 come down ! — and, mark my words, when they do come down, 
 they'll come down with a run. All your six-and-twenty -pun- 
 ten men in the universe won't save 'em ; come down they must 
 and will ! Mark my word. You may try to keep such men 
 as Teddy House on — you may encourage 'em in running 
 about after their Rosalies " 
 
 " I don't encourage 'em in nothing of the sort ! " 
 
 " Then why don't you stand up against 'em like a man ? 
 Shall we wiak at such practices as these, when they come 
 directly under our very noses ? " 
 
 " But I don't know nothing about practices. Look here ! 
 ■ — this Rosalie ! — what do I know about her 1 — how do I 
 know that there's anything wrong ? — who is she ? — what's 
 her business ? — where does she come from ? " 
 
 " Didn't I tell you France ? She's one of the French 
 dancers, no doubt. And as for not knowing whether there's 
 anything wrong ! Look here ! Suppose you were to run 
 about the village inquiring for Rosalie or Rosamond, or any 
 other girl, what would Mrs. Pokey say ? " 
 
 !' Why, I don't suppose she'd liie it." 
 
 " Very well, then. Doesn't that make the case clear ? 
 But I'll find this Rosalie out !— I'll run her down !— I'll 
 pretty soon know who she is ! Master Ted shan't be let off 
 so easy as he has been. I'll stick to him- — I'll show him up ! 
 But ta-ta! can't stop. Mind you take care of your six- 
 and-twenty pun ten ! " 
 
 " I means it," said Pokey. 
 
 " But, mark my words, my boy, it ain't your six-and- 
 twenty pun ten that'll save this mighty country from a 
 rattling revolution ! " 
 
 Having in a strictly confidential tone given emphatic 
 utterance to this singular sentiment, Obadiah gaily left his 
 
ISO SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 monied friend, and proceeded to congratulate himself on the 
 extraordinary eloquence he had displayed. 
 
 Meanwhile Aunt Eleanor's mind was distressed. To her 
 the note addressed to Rosalie had been the source of much 
 pain : not because she imagined for one moment that the 
 declaration of Sylvester was false ! — she felt on the contrary 
 convinced that it was true — but because she was deeply 
 apprehensive that the note had some mysterious connection 
 with her brother. She knew not why such an apprehension 
 should be inspired : with the^ exception of the fact of the 
 seal having been his, there was not the slightest link of 
 connection between them ; still the previously conceived 
 possibility of her dear brother's spirit having been perturbed, 
 had created this feeling of apprehension of which her mind 
 could not be divested. 
 
 This, however, was not allowed to alter her plans having 
 reference to her journey to London on the morrow. Upon 
 this she had decided : aU her arrangements had been made, 
 and when the reverend gentleman — who spent the evening 
 with them, and endeavoured to cheer them by a facetious 
 description of that which he held to be the salubrious qualities 
 of London smoke — had taken his leave, she and Sylvester 
 calmly retired to rest. 
 
 During that night no voices were heard. The cottage 
 itself seemed fast asleep, and the turnip-tops nodded and 
 nodded until they developed the strong diagnosis of dreaming : 
 the shrubbery was hushed, and the carrots were still, and 
 while the caterpillars ceased to work their interesting eyelet- 
 holes, not only in the cabbage sprouts, but in the silent leaves 
 of the savoys ; the stony-hearted urns, which stood like 
 sentinels at the gate, issued no sort of sound, which was very 
 remarkable — very ! — and as these things don't occur every 
 night in the week, they ought to be nicely described. 
 
 This general tranquillity throughout the night was appre- 
 ciated, and when cook in the morning came down and saw 
 everything around her precisely as she left it, she began to 
 congratulate herself on the prospect of a total cessation of 
 that state of things by which she and the rest had been so 
 long annoyed. 
 
 On proceeding, however, to light the kitchen fire, she 
 found that the chimney wouldn't draw. This at first she 
 ascribed to a change of the wind. The wood burned well, 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE. 151 
 
 and there was plenty of it j but the smoke curled into the 
 kitchen in voluines 1 She opened the door that the draught 
 might be stronger, but the smoke became etery moment 
 more dense. She looked at the vane : the wind was south- 
 west : the place had never smoked before when the wind 
 was south-west ! — nor did she believe that the chimney was 
 foul. 
 
 " Hallo ! " shouted Judkins, as the waves of smoke* rolled 
 into his chamber. " What are you at 1 Do you want to 
 choke a fellow ? What are you up to ? Cook ! " 
 
 " Come down ! " cried cook, who kept outside the door. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " demanded Judkins, on opening the 
 window. " Is the house on fire ? " 
 
 " No ! but the chimney's smoking awful ! Ooiiie down." 
 
 Judkins left the window, and descended the stairs; but 
 the moment he opened the door which led immediately into 
 the kitchen, he was met by a dense mass of smoke which 
 almost caused him to fall backwards. His presence of mind 
 only saved him. Suffocated as he felt — oppressed as he was 
 — he rushed through the kitchen with all the- energy at his 
 command, and on reaching the garden, began to cough with 
 unprecedented power and zeal. 
 
 "What — ho, o-ho, o-ho ! " he cried. "What devil's — ho-d 
 —trick is this ? " 
 
 "Come and put a stop to it!" said cook, with great 
 severity. " Don't stand rolling about and barking there 
 like a born fool ! " 
 
 Judkins would have said that she was a niee woman, but 
 couldn't. He kept on coughing like a frightfully asthmatic 
 individual, and continued to cough as if he had been thus 
 afflicted, despite the hot remonstrances of cook, who did 
 really indulge on this occasion in many unladylike expres- 
 sions of disgust. 
 
 In the meantime the density of the smoke so much in- 
 creased that it drove cook fiercely from the door ; and when 
 Judkins with coughing felt utterly exhausted, he managed to 
 turn a tub upside down, with the view of taking a seat, but 
 in his agony he came down upon it such a lump that he broke 
 in the bottom and there he stuck. 
 
 Cook was now ferocious. Her rage knew no bounds. She 
 shook her fists fiercely, and threatened to claw the eyes out 
 of the precious head of Judkins, who had not the slightest 
 
152 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 power to extricate himself, and wliose spirit of independence 
 was too noble, too pure, to allow him to solicit her assistance. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she exclaimed, when the scum of 
 her rage had boiled over. " What is it you mean ? This is 
 not a trick of yours ! — oh ! no : it isn't your trick ! " 
 
 " My trick ! " said Judkins, as well as he could. "Woman ! 
 you're a lunatic. I've told you so before." 
 
 " Don't provoke me ! " she exclaimed, as her passion in- 
 creased ; " you'd better not pi'ovoke me ! " 
 
 And Judkins too thought that this would not be advisable, 
 seeing that she had all the power then in her own hands ; 
 and being thus fixed, he felt that, if she were to attack him, 
 however fiercely, he couldn't help it ; he couldn't defend him- 
 self ; he couldn't get away. 
 
 " Call me a lunatic again, at your peril ! " she continued, 
 coming conveniently near to the tub. " Dare to call me a 
 lunatic again, and I'll make you remember it the longest day 
 you have to live. Now call me a lunatic again, if you dare ! " 
 
 Judkins did not dare to do anjrthing of the sort. He had 
 to use his own discretion, and that discretion prompted 
 silence ; but just as he had recovered sufiicient strength to 
 make an effort to relieve himself, Mary — who, finding that 
 she could not enter the kitchen, had opened the front door 
 and come round the cottage — appeared, when Judkins, who 
 was very glad to see her, said, " Polly, my girl, help me out 
 of this pickle." 
 
 " Don't touch him," cried cook. 
 
 " I'm sure I shall ! " returned Mary. " Why shouldn't I ? " 
 
 " He has been the cause of all ! " replied cook. 
 
 " Don't you mind her," said Judkins. "There, put your 
 foot against the tub and take hold of my hands ! " 
 
 Mary did so, and pulled him fairly up, and the tub rose 
 with him ; but he soon discarded that, and when he found 
 himself free, he went boldly up to cook and asked her what 
 she really meant. 
 
 " What do I mean," replied cook, who was, under present 
 circumstances, somewhat more cautious ; " why, this is what 
 I mean — I mean to say that you or somebody else has been 
 stufiing up my chimney." 
 
 " Stufiing up your chimney 1 " retorted Judkins. " Why, 
 you ain't fit to live on a civilised scale. You took advantage 
 of my position in society just now ; but I tell you again and 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE. 133 
 
 again you're a lunatic, and don't ought to breathe the same 
 air as a Christian. Stop up your chimney ! "Why don't you 
 go then and onstop it ? " 
 
 " 'Cause I don't want to be choked," replied cook. 
 
 " Choked ! " echoed Judkins ; "if you was choked, it 
 wotild in my mind be a blessing." And he tried to rub his 
 blade bones, but couldn't get near them, which was lament- 
 able, seeing that they were painful in the extreme, for as 
 they couldn't yield to the edge of the tub, and as the edge 
 of the tub wouldn't yield an inch to them, the pressure had 
 really been very severe. 
 
 " Well," said Mary, " what's to be done ? Missis won't be 
 long now afore she's up, and if she comes down and finds no 
 breakfast ready for her, she won't be best pleased." 
 
 " Pleased ! no more she don't ought," returned cook. 
 " The very morning too she's going up to London. Do you 
 think that I'd have such people about me ? "You'd better go 
 round and light a fire in the parlour, and bile the kettle there. 
 There's no chance of it's ever being biled in the kitchen. 
 Did you ever see," she added, pointing fiercely to the smoke 
 which still continued to rush in volumes into the garden. 
 " I shall have a pretty job after this. Every individual 
 thing in the place will be smothered. But go, Mary; go 
 and light a fire in the parlour." 
 
 And Mary for that purpose did go ; and while cook was 
 earnestly contemplating the smoke which, as the flames had 
 expired, grew less and less dense, the unhappy man Judkins 
 was silently invoking tha,t spirit of ingenuity which he felt 
 he had in him, with the view of replacing the bottom of the 
 tub. 
 
 Scarcely, however, had he arrived at the conclusion that, 
 if he could get it into the groove again it would hold, when 
 Mary came rushing round the cottage, exclaiming, " It's just 
 the same ! they're all alike ! the parlour's chock full of one 
 solid mask of smoke. " 
 
 " What ! " cried cook, glancing at Judkins significantly, 
 " has he stuffed up the parlour chimney too ? " 
 
 " I wish your mouth was stuffed up," observed Judkins, 
 with asperity; "that would be a comfort to all mankind. 
 The devil's in the chimnies, that's my belief," he added ; and 
 just as he had finished this remarkable sentence, their 
 mistress's bell rung violently. 
 
154 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " There ! " cried cook, " now we shall just see who's right 
 and who's wrong. Come along, Mary ; we'll both go up to 
 missis together." 
 
 " And if you say anything about me," said Judkins, " I'll 
 let you know the difiference." 
 
 " I shan't mince the matter a mite," retorted cook. 
 
 "No, I know you won't," said Judkins. "If ever there 
 ivas a imp, she's one," he added, as cook and Mary went 
 round to answer the bell. But before they reached the 
 chamber, their mistress met them, for as the parlour chimney 
 communicated with the one in her room, the smoke which 
 issued from it had driven her out. 
 
 " What on earth is the matter ? " she demanded. " Where 
 does all this smoke come from ? " 
 
 " The chimney," said cook. 
 
 " Is the chimney on fire ? " 
 
 "No ; it's stuffed up with something, ma'am." 
 
 " Send for the sweep instantly ! Don't lose a moment. 
 Tell Judkins to make the utmost haste. Good gracious me," 
 she continued, knocking at Sylvester's door, as Mary ran 
 downstairs to send Judkins off for the village sweep, " Syl- 
 vester, my love ! " she added, knocking still louder. " Great 
 Heavens ! — Sylvester I^^Sylvester ! — come to the door." 
 
 "Is that you, aunt? " he cried; and on hearing his voice, 
 she clasped her hands, and fervently thanked Heaven that he 
 was safe. 
 
 " What is the matter? " he inquired, on opening the door. 
 
 His aunt fell upon his neck, and could not for a moment 
 answer. 
 
 "What is it? — ^what has happened? " again he demanded. 
 
 " Nothing, my love," she replied, " nothing of importance. 
 I feared that you had been overpowered by the smoke." 
 
 " What, is there a fire ? " 
 
 " No, no, no — no, my love — no ! The chimney's out of 
 order — yes — ^the chimney's out of order — nothing more." 
 
 " Then why do you tremble so ? " 
 
 " Do I tremble now ? I thought the. smoke might have 
 reached your room." 
 
 " No, I've had no smoke here. I smell it now strongly. 
 But come, come ! Dear aunt, you will cause me to think 
 that something more has occurred." 
 
 "No, no — nothing more — nothing more — believe me." 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE. 155 
 
 " Then compose yourself : come ! — the smoke will very soon 
 evaporate. I'll just slip my things on.: I'll not be a moment." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor then descended with Mary, and on going 
 into the parlour, in which no attempt to light a fire had been 
 made, she examined the chimney, and being unable to see 
 anything in it at once directed that to be tried. 
 
 And it was tried, and lo ! the result was the same : they 
 were compelled to leave the room to escape suffocation. 
 
 " How very extraordinary," exclaimed Aunt Eleanor. 
 " It cannot be the wind." 
 
 She opened the front door ; and as she did so, Judkins 
 appeared with the sweep — a respectable and highly intelli- 
 gent individual — who had been in practice more than half a 
 century. 
 
 "I am glad that you are come," said Aunt Eleanor; 
 " our chimneys are sadly out of order." 
 
 " It theemth ath though they voth," observed Chokes, 
 who was blessed with a lisp of incomparable sweetness. 
 " And yet it ithn't vethy long thinth they voth done. Vith 
 one ith the vortht, mum ? " 
 
 " They appear to be aU alike." 
 
 " Then there mutht be thomethin wrong. But vith do 
 you vont firtht 1 " 
 
 " The kitchen perhaps had better be done first." 
 
 " Vethy good." 
 
 " But be as quick as possible, there's a good man." 
 
 To the kitchen Chokes accordingly proceeded with Judkins, 
 and found it comparatively clear; and while he was examining 
 the chimney. Aunt Eleanor went into Sylvester's room, the 
 only room in the house which was then free from smoke. 
 
 " Vy, there ithn't muth thut in thith thimbley," cried 
 Chokes. "There theemth to be nothin amith vith thith." 
 
 "There must be something amiss with it," cried cook; 
 " that's all nonsense." 
 
 Chokes would have begged of her to allow him to know 
 his own business, but as he had no desire to be discourteous, 
 he merely looked as if he meant it. 
 
 "I thay," said he, "there ithn't thut enough in thith 
 thimbley to make it thmoke. But I like to go about thingth 
 thUent and phillethophical. How did the thmoke come 
 down ? all of a heap ? " 
 
 " It come down in one mask," replied cook. 
 
iS6 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " I thee," said Chokes, with intelligence beaming in his 
 eye. " Vethy good ; then there muth in that cathe be 
 thomethin amith with the pot." 
 
 He then walked with all his characteristic coolness into 
 the garden, and having stationed himself tranquilly, perceived 
 that every pot had been covered with a sack. 
 
 " There it ith," said he, waving his hand gracefully ; 
 " thatth the thtate of thingth." 
 
 " Why blarm their carcasses ! " cried Judkins. " What'U 
 they be up to next, I wonder ! Now, who could have done 
 this 1 " 
 
 " Who!" echoed cook, with a significant glance at Judkins. 
 " You ask who! I could guess/" she added emphatically. 
 " Oh ! I could guess ! " 
 
 " Why, you don't mean to guess that I did it, do you ] " 
 
 " Them sacks there couldn't have been put upon them 
 pots without hands ! " 
 
 " Thatth vethy clear," said Chokes. 
 
 " Clear ! — it is clear ! — and missis shall know of it this 
 moment ! " 
 
 " Go away, woman," said Judkins severely, as cook rushed 
 in to tell her mistress all about it. " She's a imp, that 
 woman is — a out-and-out imp." 
 
 " Vot I'm thinkin' of," said Chokes, having surveyed the 
 cottage calmly, " ith thith : how did they get up to them 
 there poth ? Have you a ladder about the premitheth ? " 
 
 "A small 'un 1 it'll reach up as high as my window 
 there." 
 
 " Thatth of no uthe." 
 
 " Couldn't they get up that gutter? " said Judkins, allud- 
 ing to a wooden pipe which reached from the roof to the 
 waterbutt. 
 
 " Vy," repUed Chokes, "if they didn't, I don't thee how 
 they got up at all ! But there ithn't more than room enough 
 there for a cat ! A man would break his blethed neck if he 
 attempted to valk up there. I'd back my boy againtht the 
 univerth for climbing, but he couldn't get up there ! — a 
 reg'lar rope-danther couldn't do it." 
 
 " Well, it's quite clear they got up somehow." 
 
 " Yeth, thatth very clear." 
 
 " And as missis is going to London to-day, the sooner we 
 get them there sacks off the better." 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE. 157 
 
 " Vethy good. Ve mutlit have a long ladder to do it. 
 Whoth got one ? " 
 
 " I don't know exactly; let's go and inquire." 
 
 They accordingly started ; and while they were absent, 
 cook was endeavouring to impress upon her mistress the 
 probability of Judkins being in this case the delinquent. 
 But her mistress would not for a moment hear of even 
 its possibility. "I do not," she said, at length, "believe a 
 word of it, cook ; nor have you any reason to believe it. I 
 know that you and Judkins are not friends, and if I find on 
 my return that you are not more friendly, you must be 
 separated. Judkins I believe to be a most faithful servant, 
 and I would not part with him on any slight grounds." 
 
 Cook wept at the prospect- which opened before her. She 
 was deeply attached to her mistress — it may be said that she 
 loved her — and would not on any account have left her 
 voluntarily — except indeed to be married. This address 
 therefore made a deep impression on her mind, and caused 
 her to reflect upon the expediency of reforming that infirmity 
 of temper of which every one complained. 
 
 Judkins and Chokes now returned with a ladder — the 
 only one in the village that could reach the roof, and one 
 which had been locked up for months — and when they had 
 succeeded in raising it, Chokes ascended with admirable 
 presence of mind, and having philosophically taken off the 
 sacks, the fires when lighted burned freely again. 
 
 " Mr. Chokes," said cook, when all this had been accom- 
 plished, " you'll have a glass of ale ? " 
 
 " If you pleathe," replied Chokes. 
 
 " You'll have a glass, Judkins ? " 
 
 Judkins was startled ! He felt quite amazed ! The idea of 
 her asking him to have a glass of ale, after what had occurred, 
 so upset his faculties for the moment, that he seemed to have 
 been deprived of the power of speech ! She waited not, how- 
 ever, for his answer ; she went at once and drew the ale, and 
 absolutely placed two glasses before them ! 
 
 This was touching. Judkins couldn't stand it. He looked 
 at her for a moment, as if to be sure that he had made no mis- 
 take in the person, and then said, " Give us your hand, old 
 girl. I don't think at all times you mean what you say, but 
 don't let's have these here kicks up. Let's be comfortable 
 together. Why shouldn't we be ? We've got a good missis, 
 
158 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 and if we ain't happy it's all our own fault. There, give us 
 your hand, and let's have no more quarrelling." 
 
 Cook gave her hand freely, and then left the kitchen ; and 
 when the faculties of Judkins were sufficiently restored, he 
 proceeded to explain to Chokes precisely how the smoke had 
 attacked him. 
 
 " Jutht tho,'' observed Chokes, when all had been described; 
 " vethy true ! But Uthen ! I've been in thith profethion 
 now more than fifty yearth, and I flatter mythelf I know 
 thomethin about it. Now, ven you found the thmoke tho 
 thick in the kitchen, inthead of dathin through it ath you 
 did, and thuth takin away all your blethed breath, you thould 
 have dropped down inthantly upon your handth and kneeth, 
 and then you vouldn't have had any thmoke at all. I'll tell 
 you vy : Thmoke hath got ath muth natur about it ath we 
 have, and knowth ath veil vot itth about. Itth the natur of 
 thmoke to go up the thimbley, and up the thimbley ven it 
 can it vill go, and not give no trouble to nobody ; but if tho 
 be it can't go up the thimbley, then it viU go vere it can, but 
 alvayth up if it can. Now, thmoke vanth freth air. It'll 
 alvayth go into freth air if it can. Vethy good. But if it 
 can't it'll thill go up nevertheleth. Now lithen. If a room 
 ith vethy hot, itth muth hotter at top than at bottom — that 
 ith to thay, itth hotter near the theelin than it ith near the 
 floor. If a room hath been heated by gath, you'll find, if you 
 hang up your glath near the theelin, and then let it thtand 
 for a time on the ground, it'll vathy from fifteen to twenty 
 degreeth ! Vethy good. And egthactly the same ith it vith 
 the philothophy of thmoke, ven a room ith full of it. Near 
 the theelin you can't breathe ; it would thufEocate the devil ; 
 but near the floor you'll find freth air, upon vitch the 
 thmoke theemth to thwim." 
 
 "There's a good deal in what you say, no doubt," said 
 Judkins, " but if the smoke will if it can have fresh air, why 
 don't it go down where the fresh air is ? " 
 
 " Tho it would, if there voth enough of it ! But it beginth 
 at the top ; it vill, as I thaid, keep up if it can, and itth 
 vethy theldom found that a room ith tho full that thereth 
 no freth air at all below. The freth air trieth to forth the 
 thmoke out ! — if it can, it vill j if it can't, it can't. Never- 
 theleth, alvath ven a room ith full of thmoke — ^you know 
 vot I mean by thaying full I — I don't, you know, mean 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE. 159 
 
 philothophically full! — alwayth crawl handth and kneeth 
 upon the floor." 
 
 " Well, I daresay you're right about that," said Judkins ; 
 " and if you are it's a thing worth knowing." 
 
 "I know that I'm right," returned Chokes; "1 know by 
 ecthperienth, and ecthperienth teatheth vunderth. I've 
 thaved in my time many a baby in that way. In the oathe 
 of a houthe on fire, ven I've found a room tho full of thmoke 
 that nobody would go near it, while the mother voth a 
 thriekin about her babyth that voth in that room, I've 
 crawled philothophically in on my handth and kneeth, and 
 having pulled 'em out of bed, brought 'em to her unhurt ! 
 Many a time I've done thith, and ven the mother hath 
 blethed me and thrieked for joy, I've felt ath a man ougJit to 
 feel ! — tho I know what it ith ! " 
 
 Judkins was interested. He felt that he had a very great 
 respect for this man ; he moreover felt that Nature's God 
 inspired even the bosom of a sweep. 
 
 Chokes, however, although a philosopher, was yet a man 
 of business, and as he had an engagement that morning to 
 cure a couple of chimneys in the vicinity, he rose, when 
 he had finished his ale, to take leave, and as he did so, 
 Judkins grasped him cordially by the hand, in the perfect 
 conviction that he was a man ! 
 
 By this time everything necessary had been prepared, and 
 Sylvester sat down to breakfast with his aunt, who — although 
 feeling of course that these things were extremely tiresome — 
 was comparatively happy, for the very absurd nature of the 
 last annoyance had had the effect of again removing that 
 fearful impression which the idea of these mysterious occur- 
 rences having some remote connection with her brother's 
 spirit had created. 
 
 But Sylvester — if the term may be applied to any feeling 
 either inspired or developed by one so tranquil — was deeply 
 indignant. He felt that his aunt ought at once to offer a re- 
 ward for the apprehension of these people, and declared, upon 
 his honour, that if he were a magistrate, he would, in the 
 event of their being apprehended, punish them severely. He 
 was unconscious of the spirit having appeared to the reverend 
 gentleman and Jones — that had been studiously concealed 
 from him by his aunt, lest the knowledge of the fact might 
 alarm him — and as he viewed all the ghost stories of the 
 
i6o SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 village, not indeed as idle tales, but as tales induced by the 
 tricks of the same idle persons as those by whom his aunt 
 had been annoyed ; he did think that the career of these 
 persons should be checked, and that they should at once be 
 punished with the utmost rigour of the law. 
 
 The time fixed for their departure now arrived, and their 
 reverend friend, who had kindly offered to drive them to the 
 coach, appeared in his phaeton at the gate. The trunks were 
 then adjusted, and when Sylvester and his aunt had taken 
 leave of the servants, they left the village with the blessings 
 of all who saw them start. On the way, the reverend gentle- 
 man learned from Sylvester the substance of all that had hap- 
 pened that morning ; but although he felt vexed, and would 
 have given, at any other time, full expression to that feeling, 
 he thought more — much more than he deemed it, under the 
 circumstances, wise to declare. He was in fact almost silent 
 on the subject, and endeavoured to direct their thoughts to 
 the scenes which they would witness in London ; and when 
 they had met the coach at the point proposed, and he had 
 handed them safely in, he gaily, yet affectionately, bade them 
 adieu, and with many warm expressions of high considera- 
 tion, they started. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Sylvester's first night in London. 
 
 London ! How many bosoms have swelled with rapture, how 
 many cheeks have blushed for shame, how many hearts have 
 been filled with joy, and how many have sunk in despair, at 
 the sound of the magic name of London ! London ! Well, 
 there's no doubt that London is the Heart of the World — that 
 its provinces are its arteries — ^that the issue of its ventricles 
 gives the prevalent tone throughout Europe, Asia, Africa, and 
 America ; and that therefore the pulse of the world is in- 
 fluenced, if not indeed governed, by its action. But viewed as 
 it is, without reference to its external influences, what a mass 
 of all that is vicious and virtuous — pleasing and repulsive — 
 horrible and honourable — profligate and pious — beautiful and 
 brutal — philanthropic and ferocious — artful and amiable — 
 
SYLVESTER'S FIRST NIGHT IN LONDON. i6i 
 
 tyrannous and slavisli — sceptical and credulous — solemn and 
 absurd — profound and superficial — corrupt and correct — con- 
 vivial and cold — impudent and diffident — subtle and soft — 
 atrocious and true — cruel and confiding — sincere and satanic — 
 benevolent and heartless — courteous and crafty — courageous 
 and craven — obsequious and despotic — voluptuous and vir- 
 ginal — venerable and contemptible — in fine, what a mass — 
 what a chaotic mass — of all that is good and bad — admirable 
 and abominable — with all the varied shades which intervene 
 — does this " mighty heart " of London present ! 
 
 Nor is it the heart of the world only : it is a world in itself 
 — a world in which all the existing feelings, motives, passions, 
 and propensities, are to be found in perfection developed. To 
 know London well is to know the world ; and, albeit there are 
 thousands of Londoners who never travelled ten miles from 
 London in their lives, and who, notwithstanding, know but 
 little of it— a London man strictly is a man of the world. 
 
 The first appearance, too, of London, strikes a stranger with 
 amazement, let him enter at which point he may ; and more 
 especially effective is it if he should enter in the evening. It 
 was evening when Sylvester arrived ; and as he entered at the 
 east, and had to go by the coach as far west as Charing Cross, 
 the blaze of light by which he was dazzled, the noise of the 
 various vehicles by which he was deafened, the magnificent 
 shops which he beheld, with the myriads of human beings 
 streaming on either side as he advanced, had the effect of 
 inspiring him with wonder. Where could these people be 
 driving to 1 What object had they in view ? Upon these 
 questions, when they suggested themselves, he had not time 
 to dwell. The motives by which they were actuated were as 
 various as their forms ; misery, hope, joy, pride, vanity, criiiie, 
 love, relaxation ; and revenge, respectively impelled them on ; 
 but of this he knew nothing. The merchant who had just 
 achieved a great commercial swindle which would stamp him 
 a good man for life — ^the penny-a-Uner, who had been walking 
 all day, sustained only by the hope of an accident, praying 
 that some important personage might fall and break his neck, 
 that some murder might be committed before his eyes, or that 
 some destructive fire might burst out as he passed, and thus 
 enable him to dine on the morrow — ^the clerk who had just 
 given notice to leave, in the full conviction that his " firm " 
 could not get on without him, a mistake of which he would 
 
 L 
 
i62 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 have the proof practically soon — the tradesman who had a 
 bill for forty pounds due on the morrow, and had not forty 
 shillings to meet it — the little master manufacturer who had 
 been running after money all day and couldn't catch it, and 
 who, for the sake of being a 'master, worked twenty hours 
 anxiously out of the twenty-four, for a far less sum than he 
 might earn by working ten hours, without this anxiety, as a 
 journeyman — the pompous actor — the envious author — the 
 heartless lawyer — ^the accomplished thief — the unprincipled 
 gambler — the subtle, smirking, overreaching publisher — the 
 gaudy Cyprian and the haggard milliner — the poor, but honest 
 man and the highly respectable, because wealthy, rogue — 
 passed on alike, for Sylvester viewed them only in the mass, 
 without reference to their virtues, their vices, or their cares. 
 
 On the arrival of the coach at Charing Cross, Sylvester and 
 his aunt were met by Dr. Delolme, who had been a most 
 intimate friend of Dr. Sound, and at whose house, during 
 their stay ia town, ,they were to reside ; and when he had 
 received them with the warmest expressions of unfeigned 
 pleasure, he had their luggage pointed out to his servant, who 
 was directed to bring it after them in a hackney-coach, and 
 then led them to his carriage and gave the word "home." 
 
 Dr. Delolme was one of the most accomplished men of the 
 age. He was not, in a strictly professional sense, one of the 
 most profound, albeit he had far more stuff ia him than 
 hundreds who had acquired a reputation for profundity : he 
 was a gentleman, a highly accomplished gentleman, who 
 repudiated with scorn those fraudulent exhibitions of eccen- 
 tricity by which so many in his profession have been made, 
 and who developed his accomplishments only with the view 
 of inspiring with hope, emulation, or joy, those who came 
 within the sphere of his influence. 
 
 And Mrs. Delolme was highly accomplished too; but 
 religious enthusiasm had veiled her accomplishments, and 
 prompted her to assume the air and language of a penitent. 
 Her letters were studded with " D. V." in parentheses. Deo 
 volente was continually on her lips. She had been one of the 
 most lively creatures breathing, and while her elegance and 
 amiabiUty had enchanted the circle of which she^ had long 
 been the recognised centre, her moral purity was acknowledged 
 to be as perfect as her grace ; but since a preacher who had 
 set his whole soul on popularity — the Rev. Gipps Terre — had 
 
SYLVESTER'S FIESt NIGHT IN LONDON. 163 
 
 been the incumbent of the parish in which she resided, he, 
 by_ virtue of acting and preaching for points, touching their 
 feelings and blinding their judgment, had cleverly succeeded 
 in turning not only her head, but the heads of all the women 
 in the vicinity to an extent which prompted them to present 
 him, as a matter of gratitude, with services of plate and 
 purses of gold. 
 
 _Mrs. Delolme, notwithstanding this, received Aunt Eleanor 
 with much kindness. There was not, it is true, that warmth 
 in her reception,- that delightful cordiality, by which guests 
 are at once inspired with the conviction, that their presence 
 is pleasing ; stUl the reception was kind, and as Aunt Eleanor 
 knew of the change which had been wrought, she felt herself 
 perfectly at home. 
 
 This, however, was not the case with Sylvester. He did 
 not feel comfortable at all. He admired the doctor — he 
 always had admired him — he was also much pleased with the 
 doctor's son, Tom — a youth about twenty, whom the doctor 
 called Tob, in consequence of Tom having acquired the habit 
 of invariably pronouncing the 6 for the m, and the d for the 
 n — but he did not at all admire Mrs. Delolme : he felt chilled 
 by her presence ; he never did attempt to say much, but her 
 very look seemed to forbid him to speak. 
 
 It was therefore with pleasure, when Tom drew him aside 
 and asked him if he would like to go out for an hour, that 
 he replied, " I should indeed : " and when Tom added, " Take 
 doe notice, I'll cobbudicate with the goverdor," he felt 
 delighted with the prospect of escaping for a time from the 
 apparently severe look of Mrs. Delolme. 
 
 "Well," said Tom, embracing the earliest opportunity, "I 
 bust be off dow to by lecture, add as Sylvester beads to be a 
 bedical swell too, he bay as well cub with be." 
 
 " Are you not too much fatigued, my dear ? " suggested 
 Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " Oh ! not at all," replied Sylvester. 
 
 " You will be late," said the doctor, " will you not ? " 
 
 "Oh, they never cobbedce before a quarter or twedty 
 bidites past." 
 
 " It is now more than half -past," said Mrs. Delolme. " It 
 will therefore be useless for you to go now." 
 
 " Oh ! we shall be id tibe to hear the barrow of it. " 
 
 " But, my dear, I trish you to remain at home this evening." 
 
i64 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " "What for 1 Do you thidk it likely I stall ever pass ? 
 do you thidk it possible if I dod't attedd lectures 1 " 
 
 " I offered no opinion on that point, my dear. I merely 
 said that I wished you to remain at home this evening." 
 
 " Yery well ! I shall be plucked ! — I see how it will be ! 
 —I'll bet ted to wud that I'b plucked ; add if I ab, dod't 
 blabe be." 
 
 "Do you think it necessary for him to go?" inquired 
 Mrs. Delolme of the doctor. 
 
 "Why, my dear," he replied, "it certainly is necessary 
 for him to attend lectures." 
 
 " Of course it is," interposed Tom. 
 
 " Then I have no desire to interfere.'' 
 
 Tom winked at Sylvester in token of his triumph ; and, 
 as Sylvester understood it, they rose and left the room. 
 
 "What's the use of our sittidg there?" said Tom, on 
 quitting the house. " I see do fud id it, do you ? " 
 
 "There is certainly no fun in it," said Sylvester, smiling. 
 
 " Dot a bit ! Add yet there they would have kept us as 
 stiff as a brace of pokers the whole of the evedidg ! It wod't 
 do, Syl— I shall call you Syl, the whole of the dabe is too 
 lodg for hubad utteradce. It isd't as if there was ady thidk 
 goidg forward. If there were, it bight recodcile a fellow to 
 hobe ! But doe busic, doe cards, doe chess, doe backgabbod, 
 doe gabe of ady sort do we ever have there ; so if you expect 
 ady fud id our crib, you'll be buch disappoidted." 
 
 Sylvester never had expected much fun : but he certainly 
 had expected more gaiety. He did not, however, allow the 
 absence of it tJiere to distress him. He had quite sufficient to 
 amuse him then. The peculiarity of Tom's pronunciation was 
 amusing, and as Tom was not contemptible as a humorist, and 
 as he was, moreover, very communicative, Sylvester derived 
 during his walk as much amusement as he could have desired. 
 
 They now reached the hospital, at the entrance of which 
 groups of students were conversing on subjects which were 
 not strictly of a scientific character. 
 
 "Hollo, Tob," cried one. "Here's Tob Delobe," said 
 another. " Tob's always in tibe ! " exclaimed a third. 
 
 " Is he at it ? " inquired Tom of one of them. 
 
 "Yes; but it's dreadfully dry." 
 
 " Dry, is it ? Well, thed, let's go add wet it." 
 
 This suggestion was adopted on the instant by half-a-dozen 
 
SYLVESTER'S FIRST NIGHT IN LONDON. 16$ 
 
 of them, who followed Tom into a public-house at hand, at 
 the bar of which each of them called for a pot of porter. This 
 order was, however, quite unnecessary. The barmaid knew in 
 a moment what ihej wanted, and therefore, had they omitted 
 to open their lips, she would have counted them and drawn 
 a pot for each. She had had some practice at the bar, albeit 
 still young and beautiful. She -had been engaged solely as 
 an attraction, and as an attraction she answered the purpose 
 of her employer. She had a splendid head of hair, a pair of 
 sparkling eyes, and a finely formed animated bust, and while 
 her teeth were like pearls, her skin was soft and warm and 
 clear. She was, moreover, elegantly dressed, and displayed a 
 profusion of jewellery. On almost every finger there were 
 two or three rings, the whole of which had been presented 
 to her by students — who were all of course desperately in 
 love with her — and therefore, if she saw a decent ring upon 
 the finger of any one of them, she had but to say, " What 
 a love of a ring ! " and it was hers. 
 
 Decoj-dueJcs are not at all rare birds in London, and this 
 one has been mentioned only in order to show what influence 
 they have over the minds of youth. Sylvester, on being 
 appealed to, declared that he had never seen so amiable, so 
 elegant a creature : her eyes were so fascinating, her smile 
 was so lovely, she seemed so delighted with everybody and 
 everything, she was so extremely affable, so free, that really 
 Sylvester was charmed with her ; but when she placed the 
 pot of beer before him, he looked with an expression of amaze- 
 ment at Tom, and said, " Is this for me ? " 
 
 " Of course it is, by boy ! " replied Tom ; " dridk it up." 
 
 "I can't," said Sylvester; "you at all events must help 
 me." 
 
 " It's the law id this part of the globe," returned Tom, 
 " that doe bad shall dip into adother bad's pot." 
 
 Well ! if this were the law, it was the law ! — but Sylvester 
 couldn't drink it all, that was quite clear, nor did he conceive 
 it to be improbable that a shivering wretch, who stood behind 
 him with a single box of lucifer matches in his hand, would 
 object for one moment to violate that law. He therefore drank 
 a little of it boldly, and then handed it quietly to the match- 
 man behind, who finished it for him in very fine style, with- 
 out taking his lips from the pot. As this had been effected 
 unperceived by the rest — for they were all the time chatter- 
 
i66 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 ing with and ogling the barmaid — Sylvester thereby acquired 
 the reputation of being — although green, palpably green — 
 as good a man as any amongst theni. 
 
 " Now," said he, when they had emptied their pots, " hadn't 
 we better go in ? " 
 
 " Id ! " returned Tom, " id where i " 
 
 " Why, into the lecture-room." 
 
 " Oh ! It's all over by this tibe, or dearly so." 
 
 " "Well, but what am I to say if they should ask me about 
 it ? " 
 
 " Ah, 1 udderstadd ! I say," he added, turning to the rest, 
 " you are goidg to have wud bore fire, I sxippose ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," they replied, "of course." 
 
 " WeU, I'll dot be a bobedt : I'll cub back agaid. Dow 
 thed, by boy," he added, seizing Sylvester's arm, " cub alodg. 
 We'U just give a look id, add thed you'll be able to say with 
 truth that you have beed there." 
 
 They accordingly entered the hospital, and proceeded to the 
 theatre, in which the lecturer was zealously engaged on some 
 profound demonstration, the nature of which Tom would not 
 stop to hear, but dragged Sylvester out as soon as he felt that 
 he had seen quite sufficient of the building to give a descrip^ 
 tion of its form. 
 
 " Dow," said Tom, " we'll just go add have wud bore fire, 
 add thed it'll be tibe for us to trot hobe agaid." 
 
 "I can't drink any more of that porter," said Sylvester. 
 " I have already had quite enough of that." 
 
 " Well, thed, have sobethidg else. I'll tell you what you 
 shall do — I'll stadd it : I'll pay the buddy ; — call for a bottle 
 of chabpagde. They are good fellows, all of 'em — regular 
 trubps, and that'll stabp you at wodce as wud of us. Here's 
 the buddy," he added, offering him a sovereign. 
 
 "No," said Sylvester, "HI not take your money, I've some 
 of my own." 
 
 " Dodsedse 1 " cried Tom, " I tell you I'll stadd it ! Take 
 the buddy." 
 
 " No, I'll not do that," said Sylvester] " but if you wish 
 it, I'll order a bottle with pleasure." 
 
 " Very well, by boy ; but bark ! — whed I say, ' Well, what 
 are you going to stadd ? ' you say boldly, ' Why, let's have a 
 bottle of chabpagde.' " 
 
 This was agi-eed to before they reached the house, and 
 
SYLVESTERS FIRST NIGHT IN LONDON. 167 
 
 when they re-entered, Tom's friends had not only had fresh 
 pots of porter, but had mounted cheroots and German 
 pipes. 
 
 " Here he is ! " exclaimed one of them. " ISTow, what do 
 you think of it ? I knew that Tob wouldn't cut us so." 
 
 " Cut you ! " returned Tom, " dever ! Dow, I say," he 
 added, turning to Sylvester, " well ! what are you goidg 
 tostadd?" 
 
 " Why, let's have a bottle of champagne,'' replied Sylvester. 
 "Bravo!" ^xclaimed Tom's friends, "that's the sort of 
 stuff after alL" 
 
 And the barmaid, who was continually on the qui vive, 
 waited for no direct order, but sent into the cellar for half- 
 a-dozen at once. 
 
 Sylvester had wisely resolved not to touch it, and turning to 
 the match-man, who still sat behind him, said, in a whisper — 
 " Do you like champagne ? " 
 
 " Never tasted none, your honour,'' replied the man ; 
 " but dessay I do.'' 
 
 "Very well, then you shall have some; but do not let 
 either of these gentlemen see you take it." 
 
 The man winked and rubbed his hands ; and the champagne 
 was brought, and when the barmaid had duly filled Sylvester's 
 glass, he promptly conveyed it behind him. 
 
 When the glasses had been twice filled, the bottle was 
 empty, Sylvester imagined that Tom would then start ; but 
 Tom would have another, and when that was drank, they 
 would have a bottle all round. 
 
 " N'ow," said Sylvester to the man behind him, at the same 
 time placing a shilling in his hand, " do not take a glass 
 more than you think will do you good. If you do not like 
 to drink it, you can easily throw it behind the cask." 
 
 Throw it behind the cask ! — throw champagne behind the 
 cask ! In the judgment of that man the idea was monstrous. 
 He, however, merely said — 
 
 " All right, your honour. In all my born days I never 
 tasted nothing like it." 
 
 Bottle after bottle was now opened and drank, and Syl- 
 vester kept continually urging Tom to go; but Tom as 
 continually said — " Ted bidites bore ; there's pledty of tibe 
 yet— off in ted bidites." But while the tall glasses continued 
 to be filled, Tom's " ted bidites " frequently expired, indeed, 
 
1 68 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 so frequently, that Sylvester became extremely anxious, and 
 at length said — 
 
 " Now, Tom, indeed I mitst go ; my aunt, I know, is most 
 impatient for my return." 
 
 " Well, thed," said Tom, " we'll bizzle. This is the last 
 bottle; a couple more roudds, and thed we'll go." 
 
 The man behind Sylvester now began to sing, and although 
 his voice was harsh, while he had not the most remote idea 
 of tune, it manifestly fell upon his ears as sweetly as if it 
 had been celestial music. 
 
 " Hold your doise," cried Tom, who failed to appreciate 
 its beauty. " What do you kick up that bodstrous row here 
 for 1 " 
 
 Heedless of this mild remonstrance, the fellow went on 
 with his song, until two of Tom's friends, receiving the hint 
 from the barmaid, seized him by the collar with the view of 
 showing him out. They had scarcely, however, raised him 
 from the cask on which he had been sitting, when his hat 
 fell off, and out flew a pocket-book and a handkerchief, both 
 of which Sylvester at once recognised as being his. He 
 therefore picked them up in order to satisfy himself, and 
 having done so, he said to the fellow, with great severity of 
 expression — 
 
 " You are a bad man — a very bad man." 
 
 " What ! " cried Tom, " do they belodg to you 1 " 
 
 " Yes," replied Sylvester ; and Tom was about to inflict 
 summary vengeance, but Sylvester held him back, exclaim- 
 ing — " Pray don't hurt him. He's tipsy, Tom. He knew 
 not, perhaps, what he was about." 
 
 " Dodsedse," cried Tom, who turned to rush at the fellow 
 fiercely, but by this time Tom's friends had kicked him into 
 the street. 
 
 " Now, Tom," said Sylvester, " pray let us go." 
 
 " Yes, we'll go dow," said Tom, " we'll go Sow. Are you 
 sure that you have got all you lost ? " 
 
 " Yes, quite sure — quite." 
 
 " Very well, we'll just have a couple of bottles of soda- 
 water to wash the chabpagde dowd, and thed we'll be off." 
 
 For Tom's sake Sylvester consented to this, and when they 
 had drank the soda-water and taken leave of the barmaid, to 
 whom Sylvester bowed with gre-at politeness, they bade their 
 friends good-night and started. 
 
SYLVESTER'S FIRST NIGHT IN LONDON. 169 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " we have seed a little life." 
 
 " Life," thought Sylvester, " it is life, indeed ! But,'' said 
 he, " do you not feel somewhat tipsy 1 " 
 
 " Dot at all," replied Tom. " It would dever do to go 
 hobe touched. They'd shell a rat id a bobedt ! I always, whed 
 I get a little extra, cure byself before I go hobe." 
 
 " Cure yourself ! " 
 
 " Of course ; I cad always do that in five bidites." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes. I expected that I should have to cure you, but 
 I fidd you can stadd it as well as the best of us." 
 
 " But you do not drink so much as you have drunk to- 
 night often?" 
 
 " Oh, just as it happeds. If you associate with fellows like 
 those, you must dridk : dot that I care about it buch." 
 
 " Then why do you associate with them ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you. There was a tibe whed I was wud of the 
 bost steady fellows goidg — whed all was right at hobe — when 
 Jwbe was ad attractiod ; I thed studied hard — attedded lectures 
 with the utbost regularity, add so od — but always wedt 
 hobe for relaxatiod, for thed I was fodd of my hobe ; sobetibes 
 I sat add sudg with the old lady — sobetibes she would play 
 sub dew busic to abuse be — sobetibes we got the chessboard 
 — sobetibes the cards — sobetibes she got be to read a dew 
 dovel — and sobetibes we had a little party at hobe ; there 
 was always sobethidg lively goidg od, I could always fide 
 sub sort of abusebedt ; but sidce the old swell has becub so 
 edaboured of our dew parsed, everythidg at hobe has beed 
 wretched, dull, forbal, and cold. It is to this I ascribe by 
 associatiod with those whob we have just left ; for although 
 they are all fide high-spirited fellows, I shouldd't do as I do, 
 if thidgs were cobfortable at hobe." 
 
 " Then do you not study now at all? " inquired Sylvester. 
 
 " Study! I believe I do study," replied Tom. "Why, I 
 wouldd't be plucked for a billiod of buddy ! You shall see 
 how add where I study, whed we get hobe. I have a couple 
 of the bost perfect skeletods that were ever put together, 
 with spridgs cobplete frob head to foot, which would albost 
 idduce you to ibagide that you saw the very actiod of the 
 buscles ! Study ! Why, I'b at it all the bordidg ; it's odly 
 at dight that I break loose eved for ad hour. Do, Syl ; I 
 bay sobetibes kick over the traces j but I look to the baid 
 
170 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 chadce. I have, add the goverdor kdows that I have, too 
 buch pride to be plucked at either the College or the Hall. 
 But here we are," he added, on reaching home, " all in good 
 tibe. Ted to a bidite ! Doctor at hobe, Jabes ? " he inquired 
 of the servant. 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Tell theb we're id, add gode up to by study. Cobe alodg, 
 Syl," he added, leading the way; and Sylvester followed to 
 the top of the house, where they entered a room strewn with 
 books, plates, and bones, while on the right, as they entered, 
 stood two tall figures enveloped in bags. 
 
 " Dow, thed, look here," said Tom, taking off the bags, 
 and displaying two really majestic skeletons. " There ! what 
 do you thidk of theb 1 " 
 
 " They appear to be very perfect : very perfect indeed." 
 
 " Perfect ! I believe they are perfect. Look here ! — look 
 at the spridgs ! — they'll stadd id ady attitude you please ! 
 They'll fedce with you — box with you — dadce with you — do 
 adythidg you like. This is the bale and that's the febale : 
 they were twids — rub-uds, wered't they ? " 
 
 " They must have been finely-formed persons," said Syl- 
 vester. " I'll look at them again in the morning : I shall see 
 them then to greater perfection. Where did you get them ? " 
 
 " Goverdor gave theb to ie ! " replied Tom, covering them 
 up again. "He gave a huddred guideas for theb; but for 
 adatobical study they're worth a thousadd to ady bad alive. 
 There's dothidg like theb id Europe ! They are a pair of 
 regular beauties. That's a budkey," he added, pointing to a 
 beautiful little skeleton. " 'Eiere's dothidg codtebptible eved 
 id that ! — good forb, you see — very good forb. Do you kdow 
 buch about cobparative adatoby ? " 
 
 " Not much," replied Sylvester. 
 
 "Thed, study that. If you kdow a budkey, you kdow a 
 bad : to parody the poet's lide — bad — of course physica,lly — 
 
 ' Bad's but a budkey of a larger growth.' 
 
 But I'll show you theb all id the mordidg. That's a cat !— 
 capital cat, isd't it 1 I've killed lots of 'eb, but dever foudd 
 ode to equal that." 
 
 " What, do you kill 'em yourself ? " inquired Sylvester. 
 
 "KiU'eb? Perhaps I dod't ! Why, there isd't a cat that'll 
 cub withid s\, bile of this house ! 'They all kdow be. Look 
 
SYLVESTERS F:(BST NIGHT IN LONDON. 171 
 
 here," lie added, opening the window ; " here's a b.eautiful 
 parapet, gutter add all ! — a capital place for 'eb, this ! But 
 do you hear ady caterwaulidg ? Dot a bit of it ! They dever 
 cub here ! — they dever will till I'b gode : add thed they'll 
 have a regular jubilee, doubtless. But I cad't get a oat dow ! 
 ■ — they all seeb to shud be ! The old lady odce had a fa^cy 
 of keepidg cats ; but as she lost about ted every f ortdight, 
 she cut- it ! — so that I cad't get a c^t dow at all ! " 
 
 " Coffee's ready, sir," said James, as he entered the room. 
 
 " Very good," said Tom ; " we'll be dowd id a bidite. But, 
 Jib, I've dothidg for supper here, have II" 
 
 " No, sir; you finished it all up last night." 
 
 "Then get me a pigeod pie; let it be a beauty. Have I 
 ady stout left?" 
 
 " There are four or five bottles, sir." 
 
 "That will do, Jib. But let the pigeod pie, Jib, be double 
 the size." 
 
 " "Very well, sir," said James, as h? left the room, and as 
 Sylvester looked earnestly at Tom, as if he felt that some sort 
 of an explanation would be agreeable, Tom said, " Syl, I'll tell 
 j'ou what it is : I like a bit of sobethidg for supper — I cad't 
 sleep without it — add as the old swells below have dothidg but 
 coffee, which is all very well id its way, I always sedd Jib for 
 sobethidg dice to eat up here whed they are all gode to bed." 
 
 Sylvester thought this rational enough ; and when he had 
 given expression to his thoughts on the subject, they went 
 down into the drawing-room together, and took coffee with 
 Aunt Eleanor and Mrs. Delolme. 
 
 The :doctor, who had been to see a patient, came in imme- 
 diately after they had finished, and had coffee too ; and when 
 the tables had been cleared, he, Sylvester, and Tom discussed 
 the prominent merits of the medical profession — while Mrs. 
 Delolme was pointing out to Aunt Eleanor various passages 
 in the Bible which favoured her views — ^tiU the timepiece 
 struck twelve, when the bell was rung, and the servants came 
 up to prayers. 
 
 Mrs. Delolme read them, and the doctor sat opposite, but 
 all the rest turned and knelt ; but, although they were read 
 with great fervour of expression, they failed to have any 
 other effect upon the servants than that of inducing them to 
 pinch each other, with the view of changing that aspect of 
 solemnity which, on entering the room, they had assumed. 
 
172 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 The- prayers being ended, the servants withdrew ; and, 
 when Mrs. Delolme had pointed out the extreme beauty of 
 those prayers, they all retired to rest with the exception of 
 Tom and Sylvester, who went into the study to eat the 
 pigeon pie. 
 
 And it really was a nice pie, a very nice pie. Tom pro- 
 nounced it to be " dothidg but ad oat-add-outer ! "—and they 
 ate very heartily and enjoyed it very much. The stout too 
 was good : it was capital stout. Tom declared " there was 
 do bistake about it ! " — nor was there any : no : it was well 
 up and soft, and two bottles went down with surpassing 
 smoothness. 
 
 But with two bottles Tom was not content. " We'll just 
 have wud bore," said he, " and thed we'll go to bed, for you 
 look, Syl, as if you were nearly dead beat." 
 
 Sylvester, as Tom promptly opened the third bottle, 
 acknowledged that he felt rather tired, but he was aroused 
 by the production of the skeleton of a squirrel, which Tom 
 caused to crack nuts by pinching its tail. 
 
 "I'll read you the history of this little swell," said Tom. 
 " Whed alive he was a rub ud." 
 
 And he got his portfolio, and having placed several sheets 
 of manuscript before him, commenced reading the life and 
 adventures of " Moses the Squirrel." 
 
 He had, however, scarcely read the second sentence, 
 when, on looking up, he found his friend Sylvester asleep. 
 
 " Hollo ! " he cried, " Syl ! " 
 
 " Really," said Sylvester, "you must excuse me." 
 
 " Well, I kdow you bust be tired," said Tom, restoring his 
 precious manuscript to the portfolio. " Ebty the glass, add 
 we'll be off. Travellidg idvariably bakes a fellow sleepy. I 
 kdow what it is. I'll just put these thidgs od wud side, add 
 thed see you to your roob. Dow thed," he added, as soon as 
 this feat had been accomplished, and he and Sylvester left 
 the study, and when he had pointed out Sylvester's room, 
 he shook hands with him, exclaiming, " God bless you 1 — 
 good-dight." 
 
TOB AND HIS WOBAD. 173 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 TOB AND HIS WOBAD. 
 
 About two hours after the delivery of that remarkable sen- 
 tence with which the preceding chapter concludes, Policeman 
 D 99, an extremely intelligent and raw-boned person, whose 
 acuteness in looking after cooks with money sufficient to take 
 a public-house, surpassed that of any other member of the 
 force — saw something — he could not at first see distinctly 
 what it was, it being some distance from him, but he knew 
 that he saw something — running along the parapet of the 
 houses on his right. 
 
 Of course the trump of duty called him instantly to the 
 spot, and having obeyed the call, he stationed himself oppo- 
 site, from which point he clearly beheld the figure of a man, 
 with nothing apparently on him but his shirt. 
 
 Conceiving that robbery was contemplated, and knowing 
 that promotion sprang not from prevention but cure, he was 
 silent, and moved cautiously into the shade of a doorway to 
 watch the proceedings above. 
 
 He had not, however, been long in this position when his 
 sergeant approached. 
 
 " Hist ! " said Ninety-nine, as the sergeant was passing. 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 " Ninety -nine." 
 
 " What are you up to ? " 
 
 " Here ! " 
 
 The sergeant joined him in the shade. 
 
 " Do you see that fellow there 1 " continued Ninety- 
 nine. 
 
 "Good God!" exclaimed the sergeant. "Is it possible! 
 Why the slightest slip — a single moment's dizziness — would 
 bring him to the ground, and dash his brains out." 
 
 "A robbery, safe," said Ninety-nine. 
 
 " A robbery ; nonsense," returned the sergeant, who panted 
 with apprehension. " He'll fall ! — ^he'll fall presently— oer- 
 tian to fall." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," coolly observed Ninety-nine. " He's as 
 safe as the bank. He's been running about in that way for 
 a long time." 
 
174 SYLVESTMB sound. 
 
 " I never saw a man in so perilous a position. What can 
 he be up to?" 
 
 " He appears to me to be moving goods from one house to 
 another." 
 
 " But I can see nothing in his hands." 
 
 " Nor can I," said Ninety-nine j " but he keeps on running 
 backwards and forwards, stooping here and stooping there, 
 as if he had. But there's more than him in it. He beckoned 
 just now to his pals." 
 
 " Did you see them ? " 
 
 " No, I couldn't see 'em. They keep in the background, but 
 I know they're somewhere there." 
 
 " There he goes again ! " cried the sergeant. " My life ! 
 what a devil. He's surely not after the cats ? " 
 
 " Cats ! " said Ninety-nine. " What man on the top of a 
 house can catch cats ? " 
 
 " He may snare them ! " 
 
 ' Snare 'em, he may. But I see no cats ! 7; e's after no cats." 
 
 " Did you see where he came from ? " 
 
 " Not exactly ; but I think from one of those houses down 
 there." 
 
 "Here he comes," said the sergeant; "now watch him. 
 He appears to have done his work. See how cool he is ! — 
 see how deliberately — how firmly he walks. Now ! He has 
 stopped ! Do you see him looking in at that window ? It's 
 opened for him. He enters. He's in. Now, my boy, if 
 plunder be your object, you're booked." 
 
 "That's safe to be his object," said Ninety-nine. 
 
 " I don't know," said the sergeant. " I think he's after 
 one of the maids. At all events, you go off at once for 
 another man. You'll find one at the corner. I'll remain 
 here." 
 
 Ninety-nine started off, and soon returned with Ninety-six. 
 
 " Now, then," said the sergeant to Ninety-six, " you stand 
 here, and keep your eyes upon that window." 
 
 "What, that?" 
 
 "No, that." 
 
 "What, that there one?" 
 
 "Yes. And if any one should come out of it, watch- 
 where he goes." 
 
 "All right," said Ninety-six. 
 
 " Now, then," said the sergeant, addressing Ninety-nine, 
 
TOB AND HIS WOBAD. 175 
 
 "we'll go over." And marking the house to which the 
 window belonged, they went to the door of Dr. Delolme. 
 
 When the sergeant had rang the bell two or three times 
 gently — conceiving it to be inexpedient to make too much 
 noise — the doctor appeared at one of the windows, and called 
 out, " Who's there ? " 
 
 "Policemen," replied Ninety-nine. "There are thieves 
 in the house, sir." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " We saw one of them just now steal in at the top window." 
 
 " Bless my life ! " said the doctor. " I'll be down in one 
 moment." And having hastily slipped on his trousers, he 
 took a brace of loaded pistols from a case which he constantly 
 kept in his room, and descended with one in each hand. 
 
 " What had better bfe done ? " said he, on opening the door. 
 
 " We had better go up and secure them," replied the 
 sergeant, as he opened his bull's-eye lantern. "I've 
 stationed a man oxitside to keep a sharp look-out above. 
 Perhaps I may as well have one of those ? " he added, point- 
 ing to the pistols. 
 
 The doctor gave him one on the instant, and when the 
 door had been locked and the key taken out, they proceeded 
 upstairs — Ninety-nine going first. 
 
 As they proceeded, they took the precaution to lock every 
 door Vhich was not locked inside, until they arrived at the 
 door of Tom's study, when the doctor said — ■ 
 
 " Now, this is the room at the window of which you saw 
 him enter ; therefore prepare." 
 
 The sergeant cocked his pistol, and Ninety-nine opened 
 the door; but he no sooner brought his brilliant buU's-eye 
 to bear upon the skeletons, than uttering an exclamation of 
 horror, he shrunk back appalled. The sergeant rushed 
 forward in the twinkling of an eye, and perceiving indis- 
 tinctly two figures on his right, shot one of them, as he 
 imagined, through the heart, and produced on the instant 
 a most tremendous rattling of bones, for the skeleton of 
 Tom's female fell all to pieces. 
 
 "No, no !" cried the doctor, rushing in. "Don't touch 
 them ! they're merely skeletons ! Bless my life," he added 
 on perceiving the male in a pugilistic attitude, "what's the 
 meaning of all this ? " 
 
 " Hollo ! " shouted Tom, who had been aroused from his 
 
176 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 slumber by tbe rattling of the bones; "what are you up 
 to? Who's there?" 
 
 " Come up, Tom, come up ! " cried the doctor ; and Tom, 
 ■without stopping to put on a thing, rushed upstairs. 
 
 "What's the batter — what's the batter — what the devil's 
 the batter ? " 
 
 Ninety-nine trembled, and the sergeant looked pale, as the 
 doctor replied, "There are thieves in the house." 
 
 "Thieves!" cried Tom. "Well, but I say, what's all 
 this ? — Where's my wobad ? " 
 
 " I shot it by mistake," said the sergeant. 
 
 "Shot it by bistake, you fool! What do you bead by 
 shootidg it by bistake ? You've dud a huddred poudds worth 
 of dabage." 
 
 "I can't help it," said the sergeant; "you should keep 
 such things as these covered over." 
 
 "Well, they were covered over. What did you pull the 
 bags off for 1 — what the devil right had you to beddle with 
 'eb at all f" 
 
 " I didn't meddle with them ! — I pulled no bags off." 
 
 " Who did, thed ? Sobebody bust have pulled theb off." 
 
 "They were not covered up," said Ninety-nine, "when / 
 entered. That there one stood as it stands now, and that 
 t'other one was pointing at me — so." 
 
 " No, no, Tom," said the doctor," they were not covered up." 
 
 " I tell you, I covered theb up byself, just before I wedt 
 to bed !— I'll take by oath of it." 
 
 "Then those fellows must have uncovered them," said the 
 sergeant. 
 
 "Where are they?" cried Tom. "If I catch 'eb, I'll 
 break their blessed decks ! — where are they? " 
 
 They looked round the room, but no soul could be seen. 
 The sergeant went to the window and called to Ninety-six, 
 but Ninety- six had seen no one get out. 
 
 " Then," said the sergeant, " that one at least must be in 
 the house still." 
 
 They now commenced a dUigent search, with the view of 
 going from the top of the house to the bottom, prying into 
 every conceivable corner, and holding themselves in readiness 
 for an attack. 
 
 "Archibald! Archibald! What is the matter?" cried 
 Mrs. Delolme, as they passed her room. 
 
TOB AND HIS WOBAD. 177 
 
 " Nothing, dear — nothing — don't be alarmed," said the 
 doctor, on opening the door. 
 
 " But why are these men here ? — pray tell me," she ex- 
 claimed, coming forward in a wrapper — " pray tell me what 
 it is ! " 
 
 " They fancied they saw some one enter the house." 
 
 " Good gracious ! what, this house ? And were they mis- 
 taken ? " 
 
 A thought struck Ninety-nine. 
 
 " Have you, ma'am," said he, " any maid which is in any 
 way unsteady ? " 
 
 Mrs. Delolme was shocked at the thought. 
 
 " Because, ma'am," continued Ninety-nine, " the man 
 which entered the window above hasn't been seen to get 
 out again, ma'am." 
 
 " Give me a candle," said Mrs. Delolme. " Archibald, you 
 come with me." And going direct to her servants' rooms, 
 demanded immediate admittance, and obtained it ; but found 
 nothing to confirm the suspicion of Ninety-nine. 
 
 " You are mistaken in your conjecture," she observed on 
 her return, and Ninety-nine said it was merely a thought. 
 " Thank Heaven ! " she added, " my servants, I believe, are 
 all strictly virtuous." 
 
 " Well, I know he's somewhere about," said Ninety-nine; 
 and when Ninety-nine had given expression to this convic- 
 tion, they continued the search. They went into the drawing- 
 rooms, but found no one there ; they went into the parlours, 
 and the result was the same. 
 
 " Strange," observed the doctor ; " very strange." 
 
 " If he be in the house," said the sergeant, " we'll find him." 
 
 " Are you perfectly certain," said Mrs. Delolme, "are you 
 sure — quite sure — that you saw a man enter this house ? " 
 
 " Oh, quite, ma'am — quite," returned the sergeant. " We 
 saw him cutting his capers on the parapet for more than 
 twenty minutes before we rang the bell." 
 
 " On the parapet ! Heaven preserve us ! " 
 
 " How he did it I can't imagine. I know it made me 
 tremble even to look at him. I expected every moment to 
 see him fall and dash his brains out." 
 
 Another thought struck Ninety-nine. 
 
 " I don't think," said he suddenly, making a dead stand 
 as they were about to proceed to the kitchen — " I don't 
 
 M 
 
178 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 think we need go on with this here search. It strikes me," 
 he continued, placing his hands upon his hips, and assuming 
 an air of infinite importance — "I say, it strikes me, and 
 that very forcibly too, that the person, the man, the indivi- 
 dual, which was playing off his pranks upon that there 
 parapet, and which we saw afterwards bolt into that there 
 top window, ain't very far off." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " demanded the sergeant. 
 
 "Why, I mean as this," promptly repKed Ninety-nine, 
 cocking his head on one side, and looking at Tom with un- 
 exampled acuteness — " I mean to say that the man which we 
 saw up there, now stands very near me. He had nothing 
 but his shirt on !— very well, then. Is there no one in this 
 room with nothing but his shirt on ? " 
 
 " Why, you igdoradt raw-bode wretch ! " exclaimed Tom, 
 with indignation, " if you bead to say that I ab the bad " 
 
 " Tom ! dear Tom ! " exclaimed Mrs. Delolme, " pray, pray 
 do not go on so ; for my sake, dear Tom ; for the sake of 
 your own soul." 
 
 " I can pretty nigh swear to the shirt," said Ninety-nine 
 to the doctor. 
 
 " Swear to the shirt ! " cried Tom. " You adibal ! — you 
 doe-dothidg idcobprehedsible dodkey ! " 
 
 " Don't be impetuous, Tom," said the doctor. 
 
 " Ibpetuous ! Isd't it edough to bake ady bad ibpetuous to 
 hear such ad ugly abortiod as that, with a head like a lubp 
 of dothidg stuck upod dowhere, talk of swearidg to a shirt 
 which he saw od a bad about half a bile off id the dark ? " 
 
 " Half a mile," said Ninety-nine. " It was not a hundred 
 yards." 
 
 " I dod't care if it were dot a huddred feet," returned Tom. 
 " It wod't bake you a whit the less a fool." 
 
 " Don't call me a fool, if you please," said Ninety-nine, who 
 didn't like it. " If I've done anything wrong, here's my 
 number — Ninety-nine." 
 
 " Didety-dide ! " cried Tom. " You ought to have didety- 
 dide every bordidg before breakfast, to give you ad appetite, 
 for swearidg to a shirt." 
 
 " That is not the shirt which we saw," said the sergeant, 
 addressing Ninety-nine confidentially. " The one which we 
 saw was much shorter than th^it. You see that comes down 
 below the calves." 
 
TOB AND HIS WOBAD. 17.9 
 
 " He might have pulled it up, mightn't he, while he was 
 running ? " 
 
 "So he might," replied the sergeant. "He certainly 
 might have done that." 
 
 " Besides," said Tom, who, during this colloquy, saw that 
 neither his mother nor his father was satisfied, "is it cod- 
 ceivable that I could ever be so sedseless ad ass as to risk by 
 deck upod that parapet ! Why the copidg isd't bore thad a 
 foot wide. He was ruddidg — rudding backwards add for- 
 wards, didd't you say 1 " 
 
 " Yes," replied the sergeant. 
 
 " I dod't believe a word of it. Doe bad could do it !— 
 there's dot a bad lividg that would eved attebpt it ! Look 
 at the width of the stode and the height of the house ! I'll 
 bet a thousadd guideas, do bad cad be foudd to rud as you 
 say you saw that bad rud alodg there. Take all St. Giles's 
 — take all Wappidg — bridg all the sailors add bricklayers' 
 labourers you like — take all the world — and you'll dot fidd 
 a bad so lost — so utterly lost — to every sedse of dadger to 
 do it." 
 
 " Certainly," said the sergeant, " I never could have believed 
 it possible, if I had not myself seen it." 
 
 " You dever did see it," cried Tom. " Doe bad ever saw it. 
 I see it dow clearly edough. I see the object which idduced 
 you to say that you saw it." 
 
 " To what object do you allude ? " inquired the sergeant. 
 
 " Buddy," replied Tom ; " buddy ! You thought as a batter 
 of course that the goverdor would stadd sobethidg haddsome." 
 
 "I despise the insinuation," retorted the sergeant. "I 
 say again, and am prepared to take my oath, that I saw a 
 man running upon the, coping of that parapet and enter the 
 window above." 
 
 "Add do you bead to say, like your friedd Didety-dide 
 there — the adibal ! — that I was that bad ? " 
 
 " That," replied the sergeant, " I must leave." 
 
 " And don't call me an animal again," said Ninety-nine. 
 " I'll not be called an animal by you or any other man." 
 
 " What will you be called, thed ? — a vegetable ? I tell you 
 agaid that youare ad adibal, add ad out-add-out ugly adibal too." 
 
 " Recrimination," said the doctor, " will never solve this 
 mystery. I have not the slightest doubt," he continued, 
 p,ddressing the sergeant, " that tji^t which you have stated 
 
i8o SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 is substantially correct, and that if the man entered the 
 window above he is in the house now. The only question 
 therefore is, ' Where is that man ? ' We have searched the 
 house down to this parlour in vain ; but I shall not — I cannot 
 — feel satisfied, until we have completed the search." 
 
 "Then let us proceed," said the sergeant, "at once." 
 
 " It's no use," said Ninety-nine. " Wb shall find nothing." 
 
 " How is it possible for you to know that?" said the doctor. 
 
 " Kdow it," said Tom; " why, he'd swear it. A fellow who'd 
 swear to the shape of a shirt would swear adythidg." 
 
 "Let us have no more recrimination," said the doctor. 
 " We have had enough of that." 
 
 Tt is certain that as they proceeded to the kitchen, Tom did 
 not expect that any man would be found, for he utterly disbe- 
 lieved the tale of the policeman, conceiving it to be impossible 
 for any man to run on that coping in the manner described — 
 but at the same time equally certain is it that he hoped that 
 some man might be found, inasmuch as — independently of the 
 pleasure it would have given him to thrash the prime cause of 
 his skeleton's fall — he perceived that both his father and his 
 mother had inspired the conviction expressed by Ninety-nine. 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, when the kitchens had been 
 searched, "it is perfectly clear that no stranger is in the 
 house. I shall therefore return to my chamber with the 
 full assurance of security. I thank you for your vigilance," 
 he added, on reaching the hall, "but should it ever occur 
 again, you will oblige me by ringing the bell at once, that 
 we may go up and see what madman it is." 
 
 "We certainly toill do so," said the sergeant. "I should 
 have come over before, in this instance, but of course I knew 
 not which house to come to, until I saw the maniac — for a 
 maniac he must be to place himself in a position of so much 
 peril — enter the window." 
 
 "We shall catch you yet," said Ninety-nine, addressing 
 Tom, who, enraged at the fact of being accused of that of 
 which of course he knew that he was innocent, and galled 
 more especially by the knowledge of Ninety-nine having 
 induced his father and mother to believe that in reality he 
 was that "maniac," rushed at him on the instant, and struck 
 him to the ground. 
 
 Ninety-nine drew his truncheon, but Tom, who could have 
 crushed him, wrenched it in an instant frpm his hand, when 
 
TOB AND HIS WOBAD. 
 
 i«i 
 
 the doctor rushed between them, and angrily cried, " Tom ! 
 are you my son, or a madman broke loose ? " 
 
 " Your Bon I " replied Tom, pronouncing the n well ; '•' and 
 I should be udworthy of being your son, if I allowed byself 
 to be idsulted with ibpudity by a wretch like that ! " 
 
 " Here, give me this thing — give me this thing," said the 
 doctor, evidently not at all displeased with Tom's reply ; and 
 having possessed himself of the truncheon, gave it to the 
 sergeant, and begged of him to take Ninety-nine out of the 
 house. " Call upon me to-morrow, and I'll speak to you," 
 he added ; and on opening the door, Ninety-nine vanished 
 without venturing to say another word. 
 
 " Good-morning," said the sergeant, as he withdrew. 
 " Good-morning." 
 
 "Now," said the doctor, having locked the door, and felt 
 it to be his duty to assume an expression of anger — " Now, 
 sir, having created the whole of this disturbance, perhaps you 
 will deem it expedient to go to bed." 
 
 " Dot udtil I'b satisfied," replied Tom fiercely. " Father, 
 I dever to by kdowledge disobeyed you : to by kdowledge I 
 dever told you a deliberate falsehood : willidg as yon are tp 
 believe ady bad — eved that codtebptible adibal — in preferedce 
 to be, I would dot id ady baterial poidt deceive you." 
 
 " I am not, sir, willing to believe any man in preference to 
 you." 
 
 " Well, thed, let be tell you this — it is for you to believe 
 or disbelieve be : over your faith, I have, of course, do cod- 
 trol ; but, fathei', I declare to you, upod by hodour, I kdow 
 dothidg of this." 
 
 " Do you," said the doctor, " declare this upon your honour? 
 — do you declare, upon your honour, that it was not you 
 whom they saw upon the parapet ? " 
 
 " I do," replied Tom. 
 
 " Tom," said the doctor, taking his hand, " I am satisfied, 
 perfectly satisfied, Tom — good-night." 
 
 The doctor now believed him, but Mrs. Delolme did not. 
 Religious enthusiasm breeds no charity, being in its essence 
 intolerant. 
 
 "Well," said Tom privately, on getting into bed again — 
 " this is what / call a go ! It's a cobfort to be fortudate ; 
 but it's a blessidg to be a victib; add that I have been 
 victibised id this affair, doe bad id Edgladd, save Didety- 
 
i82 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 elide, cad doubt. That Didety-dide ! WeU ! He's a poor 
 fool. But look at the bischief he has caused. Here ab I, 
 after havidg by wobad destroyed, or so shattered that it will 
 take half a cedtury to put her together agaid — accused of 
 goidg out at dight, add cuttidg by capers upod that appallidg 
 parapet, whed I kdow that I'b as iddocedt as a kid id 
 ebbryo." 
 
 Tom did think this hard — very hard ; — and, while deeply 
 reflecting upon the hardship, dropped off again to sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Op all the accomplishments by which we are charmed, true 
 politeness is the brightest and the most admirable ; seeing 
 that while it imparts pleasure to all who come within the 
 scope of its influence, it prompts the development of that 
 essential goodness of heart which repudiates the idea of 
 giving offence: It has nothing to do with formality : neither 
 bowing nor smiling, nor the practice of any prescribed cere- 
 monial, can prove the existence of true politeness : nor does 
 it consist in a servile assent to every opinion that may be 
 advanced — for that is the fruit either of folly or of subtlety 
 springing from a mean or an immoral design : its essence is 
 that generosity which leads us to study — not to wound, but 
 to respect — the feelings of those around us, with a view to 
 promote their comfort by all the means at our command ; 
 and this generosity — this germ of true politeness — conspicu- 
 ously characterised Dr. Delolme. In him there was a total 
 absence of everything bearing even the semblance of assump- 
 tion. He made no display of superiority, no attempt at 
 dictation : he would not willingly wound the feelings of any 
 man alive : nor would he, except indeed in cases of approach- 
 ing death, fail to conceal, if possible, any circumstance 
 calculated in his judgment to create annoyance or alarm : his 
 motive will therefore be well understood, when it is stated 
 that, having learned that Aunt Eleanor had slept so soundly 
 that she heard nothing of the disturbance of the preceding 
 
JULIA. 183 
 
 nigM, lie submitted to Mrs. Delolme the propriety, under the 
 circumstances, of keeping the whole affair a secret. 
 
 That lady, however, held that nothing ought to be con- 
 cealed : that concealment was a species of deception : and 
 that if anything occurred, and we acted or spoke as if it had 
 not occurred, we were guilty of hypocrisy : it therefore took 
 some considerable time, and required many powerful argu- 
 ments to convince her that she was not strictly justified in 
 unnecessarily creating alarm in the minds of her guests. 
 
 While, however, the process of conviction was going on, 
 Tom, who could not sleep after ^ix o'clock that morning, 
 dressed himself, and on going into Sylvester's room, explained 
 to him all that had occurred. 
 
 " Dow," said he, having gone completely through the scene, 
 to the utter amazement of Sylvester, " what do you thidk of 
 that ? " 
 
 "It's very mysterious!" said Sylvester; " «/-e?-2/ mysteri- 
 ous ! " 
 
 " Bysterious ! But do you beheve it ? " cried Tom. " Cad 
 ady bad codceive the possibility of a fellow beidg able to rud 
 alodg a stode so darrow at such a height as that ? Slip od 
 your thidgs add cobe add look at it." 
 
 Sylvester did so, while Tom was lamenting the irreparable 
 injury sustained by the skeleton, which he affectionately 
 termed his " idcobparable wobad." 
 
 "There you are," said Tom, as they entered the study; 
 " that's the state of thidgs, you see ! here lies by wobad ! 
 here she is, you see, sbashed all to atobs ! Dover get her 
 right agaid : I kdow we dever shall. It will take a bad a 
 bodth to sort the bodes. Add here you are agaid ! " he added, 
 pointing to his monkey, " that's dode for ! baU, you see, wedt 
 cobpletely through hib ! That was the fidest budkey id 
 dature. Did you ever see such havoc ? Isd't it edough to 
 drive a fellow ravidg bad 1 " 
 
 " It is very annoying," said Sylvester, " very. But let us 
 look at this parapet." 
 
 " Here you are thed ! this is it ! a dice place to dadce 
 upod ! just look at the distadce frob the groudd ! He bust 
 be a bold bad who'd thidk of cuttidg his capers here." 
 
 "I should say that no man would ever attempt it." 
 
 " Dever ! Add yet the old goverdor swallowed it all. But 
 that I didd't care so buch about : it was the idea — the bod- 
 
i84 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 stroiis idea — of its beidg ibagided that I was the bad that 
 galled be! I dod't care about beidg vietibised buch if do 
 real disgrace is idvolved ; but this was ad attack upod wud's 
 judgbedt, ad attack upod wud's reasod, ad attack upod wud's 
 owd self-esteeb, which I couldd't be ratiodaUy expected to 
 stadd. Why, if I were to cut about here, I should say that 
 by deck wasd't worth bore thad five bidites' purchase ! As I 
 said last dight, I dod't believe they saw ady bad at all. It's 
 all dodsedse ! Here's the goverdor," he added, as Dr. Delolme 
 called him — 
 
 " Are you upstairs, Tom ? " cried the doctor. 
 
 " Yes," replied Tom, " I'b here." 
 
 " You have," said the doctor, as be entered the study, 
 " you have, I presume, explained all to Sylvester 1 " 
 
 "Yes," replied Tom, "add he thidks with be that do bad 
 id Edgladd could do it. Look here. The stode is just a foot 
 add a half wide. Dow, do you thidk it probable — day, do 
 you thidk it possible ? " 
 
 "Doubtless," said the doctor, "the policemen somewhat 
 exaggerated. I do think it impossible for any man to run 
 upon this coping in the manner described ; but a man might 
 with care walk safely behind it." 
 
 " But they said distidctly, upod it — ruddidg backwards add 
 forwards upod it." 
 
 " But I should say that all they saw in reality was some 
 one walking here. 'That they saw a man outside, I have not 
 the slightest doubt : nor can I for a moment doubt that they 
 saw that man enter this window." 
 
 "Well," said Tom, "that certaidly bridgs the thidgwithid 
 the scope of reasod ; add if there be ady wud id the habit of 
 cobidg here, I'll fix Mb." 
 
 " You are quite sure that you left those skeletons covered ? " 
 
 " Quite ! I covered theb byself ! Syl saw be do it." 
 
 "They were covered," said Sylvester, "when we went to 
 bed." 
 
 " Then," said the doctor, " it's perfectly clear that some 
 one must have entered." 
 
 " Let hib cobe agaid," cried Tom ] " odly let hib cobe. He 
 shall rebebber it— I'U fix hib ! " 
 
 " We must have some iron bars put up," said the doctor. 
 " We shall be safe enough from all intrusion then. And 
 now," he added, addressing Sylvester, " as your aunt has 
 
JULIA. 185 
 
 heard nothing of this affair, and as the knowledge of it may 
 unnecessarily alarm her, I think that in her presence we had 
 better be silent on the subject. You understand ? " 
 
 " Perfectly," said Sylvester. " I think so too." 
 
 " We must prevent its recurrence." 
 
 " Leave that to be," said Tom ; " I'll settle that." 
 
 "Very well : do so," returned the doctor. "Now let us 
 go down to breakfast." 
 
 " I say," whispered Tom, keeping Sylvester back, " do you 
 kdow what a bad-trap is ? " 
 
 " A man-trap ? Oh, yes." 
 
 " That will be the thidg ; I'll get wud of theb. I'll badage 
 it. I thidk I kdow where I cad buy wud." 
 
 " But where will you place it ? " 
 
 " Just udder the widdow : so that whed he jubps dowd he 
 bay put his foot id it. That'll fix hib. He'll rebebber it, 
 whoever he bay he. But dod't say a word to the old swells 
 below. They wouldd't have it. They'd say, 'We'll dot 
 pudish, but prevedt.' But I wadt to catch hib. By object 
 is to serve hib out : first, od accoudt of the destructiod of 
 by wobad j add secoddly, id codsequedce of his havidg beed 
 the pribe cause of by being bade host udjustly a victib. 
 I therefore should like to catch hib very buch iddeed ; add 
 whed I do catch hib, I'll give hib codfidedtially a thrashidg, 
 which shall redder it the happiest day of by Hfe. Therefore, 
 bub's the word." 
 
 Sylvester promised to be silent on the subject, and they 
 followed the doctor into the breakfast-room, where they 
 found Aunt Eleanor and Mrs. Delolme already seated. As 
 he entered, Sylvester was greeted with great affection, both 
 by Mrs. Delolme and his aunt; but Tom, having shaken 
 hands warmly with Aunt Eleanor, sat down in silence, for, 
 as he privately explained to Sylvester, a single glance at the 
 other lady tended to convince him that he knew exactly what 
 it was o'clock. 
 
 And really Mrs. Delolme did look very severe. She believed 
 that he had told an abominable falsehood ; and having resolved 
 on introducing him in the course of the morning to the 
 Eeverend Mr. Terre, she felt it to be her duty to preface the 
 introduction with a well sustained look of severity. But the 
 doctor appeared to be in excellent spirits. He chatted with 
 all of them gaily — spoke of the various exhibitions in town, 
 
1 86 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 of the public improvements, and so on, with an accurate 
 knowledge of each, and in a strain which induced Aunt 
 Eleanor to wish to see them all. Immediately after break- 
 fast, however, Mrs. Delolme having previously intimated to 
 Aunt Eleanor her desire to introduce her to the Eeverend 
 Mr. Terre, secured her for the morning ; and when the car- 
 riage had been ordered, she requested Tom to prepare to 
 accompany them forthwith. 
 
 " Where are you goidg ? " inquired Tom. 
 
 " To various places," replied Mrs. Delolme. 
 
 " Oh ! very well. Syl goes with us of course ? " 
 
 " It has been decided that, until our return, Sylvester 
 remains with the doctor." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " I say that it has been thus decided." 
 
 " Oh ! well, if there be adythidg cabalistic goidg od, I dod't 
 wadt to kdow adythidg about it. I'b ready whed you are." 
 
 Accordingly, when the carriage was announced, Tom 
 entered with Aunt Eleanor and Mrs. Delolme, and when the 
 coachman had been directed to drive them to the residence of 
 Mr. Terre, Tom wanted to know particularly what they were 
 going there for. The only answer he obtained, however, was 
 that they were going for an excellent purpose ; and as he 
 found that this was the only answer he could obtain, he 
 thought that he might as well be satisfied with it as not. 
 
 Having arrived at the house of the reverend lion, Aunt 
 Eleanor and Tom were introduced to a tall, pale, light-haired, 
 awkward individual, who, while he displayed a considerable 
 portion of the "whites" of his eyes, proved clearly that he 
 had cultivated that which in the Scotch Kirk is termed the 
 "holy tone" to perfection. Tom didn't like the man; he 
 went prejudiced against him : he felt that he had been, by 
 him, deprived of those comforts — those innocent pleasures — 
 of home, to which he had been from infancy accustomed, 
 and therefore, on being introduced, he bowed as stiffly as 
 possible. 
 
 Having received an intimation from Mrs. Delolme that she 
 was anxious to speak to him privately for a moment, Mr. 
 Terre, with all the grace he had in him — which really wasn't 
 much — conducted her into an adjoining room. Here they 
 conversed for some time, and on the return of Mrs. Delolme, 
 she requested Tom to go in and speak to Mr. Terre. 
 
JULIA. 187 
 
 " What about ? " inquired Tom. 
 
 " He is anxious to speak to you." 
 
 " Well, cad't he say what he has to say here ? " 
 
 " He wishes to speak to you privately." 
 
 " Well, but what about ? I dod't wish to have ady private 
 cobbudication with Mb 1 What does he wadt ? " 
 
 "You will hear, sir, as soon as you enter that room." 
 
 "Well, I daresay I shall." 
 
 " You do not, I presume, refuse to go 1 " 
 
 " Oh, I'll go ! " replied Tom : and he went ; and when he 
 had entered the room, Mr. Terre, with an expression of 
 dignity, and ia a most authoritative tone, said— 
 
 " Young man " 
 
 " Youdg bad ! " echoed Tom, who didn't like to be thus 
 addressed. 
 
 " In the first place," continued Mr. Terre, "I most ear- 
 nestly exhort you to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest 
 the first ten verses of the fifth chapter of the Acts of the 
 Apostles." 
 
 " What for ? " inquired Tom. 
 
 " In order that you may understand the imminent peril to 
 which it appears you habitually expose yourself." 
 
 " The first ted verses of chapter the fifth ! Allow be to look 
 at theb dow, that I bay see at odce what they are about." 
 
 The New Testament was handed to him promptly, and 
 when Tom had turned to the chapter in question, and found 
 that it related to Ananias and Sapphira, he looked at Mr. 
 Terre, and inquired what he meant. 
 
 "You say," said he, "that I habitually expose byself to 
 the peril here described ; do you bead thed to say that I'b ad 
 habitual liar ? " 
 
 " I merely mean to say that it appears " 
 
 " What appears ? " 
 
 " That you are in the habit of telling falsehoods." 
 
 " Do you wadt be to kick you ? " said Tom indignantly. 
 " What do you bead ? How does it appear ? Tell be 
 that." 
 
 " It appears, sir, from what your good mother has told me." 
 
 "Frob what by bother has told you," cried Tom. "Stop 
 a bidite," he added, approaching the door; "I'll sood settle 
 this affair. Bother, just step here a bobedt,'' 
 
 Mrs, Delolme walked solemnly in. 
 
J 88 SYLVESTER SOVND. 
 
 " Have you beed tellidg this bad," inquired Tom, " that I'b 
 ad habitual liar 1 " 
 
 " I told him," replied Mrs. Delolme, " that you were in 
 the habit of telling falsehoods." 
 
 "Bother," said Tom, "I ab, by prescriptiod, boudd to 
 respect every word you utter ; but as 1 abudcodscious of ever 
 havidg told a deliberate falsehood, I caddot respect the words 
 you have just prodoudced. I kdow, of course, what you 
 allude to — you allude to the proceedidgs of last dight ; but I 
 agaid declare, upod by sacred hodour, that every word of by 
 dedial was true." 
 
 Here Mr. Terre turned up the whites of his eyes, until the 
 pupils were lost to view. 
 
 " As to that iddividual," continued Tom, pointing to Mr. 
 Terre with an expression of contempt, " I respect the sacred 
 office which he holds, but id this case, I caddot respect the 
 holder. Arrogadce add igdoradce forb his chief characteris- 
 tics : arrogadce id presubidg to address be as he did, add 
 Igdoradce id supposidg that if eved I had beed guilty of false- 
 hood, I could, by the beads he adopted, be boved. You are 
 a teacher, sir ; but you have buch to leard ; the hubad heart 
 should be your study." 
 
 Mrs. Delolme was shocked ! and on turning to Mr. Terre, as 
 Tom left the room, she perceived, by the awful expression he 
 assumed, that he had given Tom up^pr lost. The reverend 
 gentleman had nevertheless words of consolation for Mrs. 
 Delolme, and when he had delivered those words in the most 
 impressive style of which he was capable, she rejoined Aunt 
 Eleanor — who was, alas ! laughing with Tom at the time — • 
 with the view of inducing her to subscribe to a fund for the 
 diffusion of blankets and tracts among the poor — to which 
 fund the reverend gentleman, in order to save all unnecessary 
 expense, kindly acted as secretary and treasurer, and which 
 diffusion he, with infinite goodness of heart, and with the same 
 highly laudable object in view, superintended. Of course 
 Aunt Eleanor's subscription was obtained, and when her name 
 had been added to the list of the faithful, she and Mrs. Delolme 
 took leave of Mr. Terre. That Tom was overlooked by the 
 reverend gentleman in this particular instance may be easily 
 conceived. Mr. Terre took no notice at all of him, nor did 
 Tom take even the slightest notice of Mr. Terre. He had no 
 affection for him, and therefore passed him in an essentially 
 
JULIA. 189 
 
 stiff-necked style. He could have said something, but didn't ; 
 he handed the ladies into the carriage, and when he had 
 entered himself, they drove off. 
 
 "Isn't he a nice man?" said Mrs. Delolme, addressing 
 Aunt Eleanor, as they proceeded. 
 
 " Yes, he is for a shall party," said Tom. 
 
 " Thomas ! " cried Mrs. Delolme, with an expression of 
 ferocity. " I did not address myself to you. If you were 
 half so kind, half so virtuous, half so amiable, half so pure, 
 as the interesting person whom we have just left, you #ould 
 be indeed a comfort to a mother's heart ; but I fear that you 
 are a reprobate." 
 
 " Dot a bit of it,'' said Tom. " I'b a victib, but do reprobate. 
 A reprobate, bother, is a bad abaddoded to wickeddess. I ab 
 do reprobate. As to the idterestidg creature we have just left, 
 you'll fidd hib out by- add-by, I've do doubt, add the sooder 
 you do so the better. Add dow," he added, " I thidk that I 
 bay as well get out ; I'b odly idterruptidg the codversatiod 
 here, add I have a call to bake of sobe ibportadce." 
 
 As Mrs. Delolme had no other interesting creature to in- 
 troduce him to, she offered no opposition to his leaving ; the 
 carriage was therefore stopped, and Tom alighted, more than 
 ever intent on purchasing that machine which was at once 
 to prove his innocence and enable him to be revenged on the 
 author of all his present troubles. 
 
 For some time after Mrs. Delolme, Aunt Eleanor, and Tom 
 had left the house, Sylvester was amused by the anatomical 
 curiosities and lively conversation of the doctor ; but having 
 at length been summoned in haste to attend a patient, the 
 doctor, though with manifest reluctance, left Sylvester to 
 amuse himself in the library alone. 
 
 This, for a time, Sylvester managed to do ; but while read- 
 ing an elaborate treatise on the Functions of the Brain, he 
 fell asleep, and commenced dreaming on the subject of Aunt 
 Eleanor's marriage — a subject which had never before entered 
 his imagination. 
 
 A gentleman, he conceived, had proposed to Aunt Eleanor — 
 a gentleman of wealth and station — a fine, portly gentleman, 
 who wore at the time — Sylvester saw him distinctly ! — a blue 
 coat, with yellbw metal buttons, a large white waistcoat, a 
 large bunch of seals, black silk pantaloons, and Hessian boots. 
 Well, Aunt Eleanor had not rejected this proposal ; nor had 
 
igo SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 she by any means accepted it ; no, she had taken time to con- 
 sider. She liked his manners very well ; they were graceful 
 and elegant j she had been, moreover, induced to admire his 
 character ; he was wealthy, philanthropic, amiable, and kind, 
 and had gained the esteem of all who knew him. There was, 
 however, one circumstance — only one circumstance — which 
 induced her to pause. She thought him too stout, much too 
 stout ! In Sylvester's view there was nothing about him par- 
 ticularly bulky ; he didn't object to his appearance at all ; on 
 the contrary, he conceived him to be a remarkably fine man 
 — handsome, full of health, and extremely well-proportioned. 
 Still Aunt Eleanor thought him too stout, and therefore took 
 time to consider. 
 
 The scene changed ; and Sylvester opened his eyes ; but 
 he was then as soundly asleep as before, and having put the 
 treatise aside, he mended a pen, and deliberately wrote the 
 following letter : — 
 
 " Dear Sir, — My dear aunt desires me to inform you that 
 she has an idea of entering into the marriage state. She has 
 not exactly made up her mind, nor will she until she has had 
 the pleasure of seeing you. She is anxious to consult you. 
 She imagines that the gentleman who has proposed to her is 
 somewhat too stout; and as she has always had the very 
 highest confidence in your judgment, she wishes to have your 
 opinion upon the point, before any final answer is given. 
 
 " Independently of which, she most earnestly hopes that, 
 if the marriage should take place, you will do her the favour 
 to perform the ceremony. — I am, dear sir, yours faithfully 
 and affectionately, Sylvester SotiND." 
 
 This letter he directed to the Reverend Mr. House, and 
 having sealed it, rang the bell. 
 
 "James," said he, as the servant entered, "be kind 
 enough to take this letter to the post. Go with it imme- 
 diately." 
 
 " I -will, sir," said James, who had no more idea of his 
 being asleep, than he had of opening the letter to see what 
 it contained. 
 
 Sylvester closed his eyes again, and, as the letter was off 
 his mind, his sleep may be said to have been more profound, 
 and thus he contiuued to sleep in his chair until Tom 
 returned with a man-trap. 
 
JULIA. 191 
 
 " Hollo, Syl ! " cried Tom, as he entered the library. 
 "Asleep!" 
 
 " I was for a moment," said Sylvester, rubbing his eyes. 
 
 "I say; here's the bachide," said Tom, pointing to the 
 man-trap. " That's the sort of thidg, eh ? It strikes me 
 that'll hold hib." 
 
 " He'll not run a very great distance with it, I think," 
 returned Sylvester. 
 
 " If he does, I'll forgive hib ! " cried Tom. " Look here ; 
 capital teeth ! " 
 
 " Eather rusty,'' said Sylvester. 
 
 " So buch the better," cried Tom. " But just help us up 
 stairs with it. They bustd't see ,it. We'll take it idto the 
 study, add thed all wUl be safe." 
 
 Sylvester accordingly assisted him up with it, and when 
 they had affixed the chain to a staple near the window, and 
 locked it, they tried it again and again, with the view of 
 making sure that a man's foot would have the desired effect. 
 Having satisfied themselves upon this important point, they 
 began to sort the bones of the female skeleton, and thus 
 busied themselves until dinner was announced, when they 
 rushed into their rooms with the view of preparing to meet 
 the awful aspect of Mrs. Delolme. 
 
 The dinner, but for the doctor, would have been dull 
 indeed. He infused a little gaiety into the proceedings, and 
 occasionally elicited a spark of spirit from Aunt Eleanor, to 
 whom Mrs. Delolme appeared as if all her natural feelings 
 had been smothered. 
 
 Very soon after dinner the ladies withdrew, and then Tom, 
 in a most comic manner, explained all that occurred at the 
 house of Mr. Terre. 
 
 " I shouldd't have cared," he added, having described the 
 scene, " if he hadd't beed a parsod. I should have beed bore 
 at hobe, especially whed he addressed be — ' Youdg bad ! ' 
 This cobbedcebedt did certaidly double be up, add if he hadd't 
 beed a bidister I should, do doubt, have told hib exactly what 
 I beadt ; but, as it was, by respect for his order codtroUed 
 oe, add caused be to feel that we were dot od equal terbs." 
 
 The doctor felt exceedingly annoyed at the fact of Tom 
 having been placed in this humiliating position ; but he made 
 np important remaii j he laughed, indeed, at Tom's quaint 
 description of the scene ; but while he wished that it had not 
 
192 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 occurred, he thought it wise to conceal his real feelings, lest 
 his acknowledgment of the folly of the mother might tend 
 to diminish the respect of the son. He therefore changed 
 the subject as soon as possible, and when eight o'clock had 
 arrived, Tom, accompanied by Sylvester, went to his lecture, 
 having securely locked his study door. 
 
 Now much has been said about love at first sight. Some 
 have held it to be impossible, while others have contended for 
 its being anything but. It seems strange that this point 
 should not have been," until the very period of which we 
 write, settled ! — very strange. But it was not. It was a 
 perfectly open question until Julia Smart, the barmaid, saw 
 Sylvester with Tom, when it was, beyond all dispute, settled 
 for ever ! 
 
 She saw him, and loved him. Had she been the mighty 
 mistress of a world, and that world had been studded with 
 brilliants, she would freely have given it for him. He had 
 said nothing — done nothing — calculated to fascinate, or 
 having the slightest tendency to inspire feelings of affec- 
 tion ; he had, in fact, scarcely opened his lips to her ; still 
 she loved him — fondly, fervently loved him. 
 
 She knew that his name was Sylvester. That she had 
 ascertained from Tom ; and from that happy moment, 
 Sylvester to her was the dearest name of which she had 
 ever heard. Sylvester was continually on her lips. She even 
 loved to hear the name of Sylvester sounded. Sylvester ! In 
 her judgment, what name could be comparable with that ? 
 She slept and dreamt of Sylvester. She awoke, and thought 
 of Sylvester. Sylvester stood in imagination before her. 
 Her blessings were lavished upon the head of Sylvester. 
 Her prayers were for Sylvester — dear Sylvester — and she 
 pronounced the name of Sylvester throughout the day. 
 
 When, therefore, in the evening, Tom, as usual, after the 
 lecture, had been induced to go to the house, at the bar of 
 which she presided, she experienced, as Sylvester entered, 
 mingled feelings of embarrassment and joy. At first she 
 turned pale — deadly pale — and then, in an instant, her face 
 and neck were crimson. She tried to speak to him, but could 
 not ; and while her bosom heaved with emotion, her lips qui- 
 vered convulsively as she returned his graceful bow. 
 
 Sylvester perceived this — had he failed to perceive it his 
 perceptive faculties would have been indeed dull — he per- 
 
JULIA. 193 
 
 ceived it at once, and marvelled. She had iatetested him 
 the previous evening, but the interest he then felt was really 
 intense. Their eyes met constantly; both tried to avoid 
 this, but neither could do it; one could not glance at the 
 other without being glanced at in return. The principle of 
 reciprocal attraction was never more clearly defined. 
 
 At length, embracing an opportunity, she approached him, 
 and in trembling accents, expressed an earnest hope that she 
 should frequently have the pleasure of seeing him — hinted 
 at the happiness of which his presence was the source, and 
 then, taMng oflf her most valuable ring, begged of him, with 
 an expression of fervour, to accept and to keep it in remem- 
 brance of her. 
 
 Sylvester was manifestly reluctant to do this. He did 
 not at all like to take the ring, and explained to her that he 
 couldn't think of doing so for a moment. 
 
 "Pray do !" she exclaimed, "for my sake: it will give 
 more pleasure than I can express." 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, " if I take it, it must be on this 
 condition, that you accept from me a present of equal value 
 in return." 
 
 " I will do so," she earnestly replied ; " I . care not 
 for the value — the intririsic value — anything that I may 
 keep " 
 
 "Holloa ! " cried Tom gaily, who, turning at that moment, 
 saw them in close conversation. " "We are dot goidg to stadd 
 that, you kdow ; I call it a bodopoly ! " 
 
 Julia smiled, and on the instant retreated. 
 
 " Well, I say," continued Tom, "tibe's up." 
 
 " I'm quite ready," said Sylvester. 
 
 " Well, thed, we'll trot." 
 
 Tom then proceeded to bid his friends adieu, and while he 
 was doing so, Sylvester — who felt at the time somewhat 
 embarrassed — bowed gracefully to Julia, who bowed with 
 equal grace in return. 
 
 "Well, good-bye," said Tom, addressing Julia ; "good-bye." 
 
 Julia again smiled, for she felt very happy, and Tom 
 followed Sylvester out. 
 
 " ride girl, i.sd't she ? " said Tom. " Out add out. There's 
 do bistake about her — a regular brick ! " 
 
 " She appears to be very amiable," said Sylvester. 
 
 " She has a good heart, Syl — ad excelledt heart. I'll just 
 
 N 
 
194 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 tell you what she did a short tibe ago. Wud of our fellows 
 had spedt all his buddy. He was a rattler to go alodg, add 
 whedever he had buddy he bade it fly. Well, the tibe was 
 cobe for hib to prepare id eardest to pass ; but he foudd 
 that he couldd't raise buddy edough eved to pay for his 
 griddidg " 
 
 " One moment,'' interrupted Sylvester ; " what do you 
 mean by his grinding ? " 
 
 " Why, whed a bad is dot sure of passidg — do bad cad be 
 sure — but what I bead is, whed he thidks it at all probable 
 that he shall be plucked, he goes to a gridder, whose busidess 
 it is to put to hib those questiods which he ibagides are host 
 likely to be asked, add to crab hib with the adswers, that 
 he bay dot, when he goes up, be buch at a loss. Well, he 
 couldd't raise the buddy. He had borrowed of every fellow 
 who had buddy to ledd, while he was able to get dode frob 
 hobe, for his bother, who was a widow, he had by his extra- 
 vagadce ibpoverished already. What thed was to be dode ? 
 tJdless he passed, he was ruided for ever ! He tried — con- 
 stadtly tried — every bad whob he kdew ; still he could get 
 no buddy, and absolute starvatiod stared hib id the face. 
 Fortudately, whed he foudd hibself reduced to the last 
 extrebity, Julia heard of the circubstadces, add sedt for hib, 
 and delicately offered to ledd hib the buddy provided he 
 applied it to do other purpose. He probised her solebdly 
 that he would dot, add she ledt hib the buddy ; she ledt hib 
 sufficiedt, dot odly to pay for his griddidg, but to go up both 
 to the College add the Hall — to pay for his lodgidgs, add to 
 carry hib home." 
 
 " He has repaid her, I hope ? " said Sylvester. 
 
 " Yes ! he has repaid her ! He would have beed a scoud- 
 drel if he hadd't. He dot odly repaid her, but — as he jubpt 
 idto a capital practice — he offered to barry her ! But do ; 
 she refused his offer, codceiving that a bad who would reck- 
 lessly ruid his bother, wouldd't have buch regard for the 
 feelidgs of his wife. Oh ! slie's up to a thidg or two, — dowd 
 as a habber ; codverse with her, add you'll fidd she's dot a 
 cobbod style of girl." 
 
 " She appears to have had a good education.'' 
 
 " A good educatiod ! she's highly accobplished. I bet her 
 at a party wud dight, add really her badders are elegadt id 
 the extrebe. I was perfectly astodished. She plays well, 
 
JULIA. 195 
 
 dadoes well, sidgs 'Well, cod verses well ! If I had dot kdowd 
 her, I should have said, that's a lady, add do bistake. She 
 was out add out the host graceful creature id the roob." 
 
 "I am amazed, then," said Sylvester, "that she is iti that 
 position." 
 
 " By boy," said Tom gravely, " a girl who has deither a 
 father dor a friedd, has dot the choice of her owd positiod. 
 SJie has deither a father dor a friedd — I bead a friedd havidg 
 the power to probote her idterests baterially. What thed 
 is she to do ? If she eddeavours to get a berth as a gover- 
 dess, the chadces are a huddred to wud against her ; add if 
 eved she succeed, what is a goverdess ? A creature dobidally 
 above, but id reality far below, a bedial servadt. Do bedial 
 would put up with wud half the ctidtubely that she is cob- 
 pelled to put up with. Her life is, id fact, a two-edged sword. 
 She has bore to bear, with less power to bear it. A word 
 that would woudd her feelidgs, would, upod a bedial, have 
 do effect, while a bedial would dot eddure half the idsults 
 which are with ibpudity heaped upod her." 
 
 "I see," said Sylvester, "I see." 
 
 " Yery well, thed ; what's a girl like that to do 1 For 
 years she has had ad aged bother to support, add she does 
 support her like a brick. But could she have supported 
 her had she beed a goverdess 1 Could she have supported 
 her by plyidg her deedle frob biddight to biddight 1 Do !— 
 she therefore berged all scruples, add took this berth. They 
 pay her well, doubtless, for she has saved a little buddy. It 
 is dot exactly the thidg, perhaps, for so delicate a bide as I 
 believe hers to be ; but she keeps her bother, she keeps her- 
 self ; she cad always keep a twedty poudd dote id her pocket ; 
 add I therefore should like to see the bad who could, udder 
 the circubstadces, blabe her for beidg what she is. There's 
 do dodsedse about her, you see; dor will she stadd ady 
 dodsedse. She'll laugh add joke with the best of us ; but 
 if you wudce ibproperly step over the lide, she will delicately 
 idtibate to you that that ibproper step has been bade. It 
 is, hedce, that she's so udiversally respected. I dever id by 
 life bet with a fellow who didd't like her." 
 
 They now reached home, and on being admitted, they went 
 direct into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Delolme, Aunt 
 Eleanor, and the doctor were taking coffee. The doctor at 
 once inquired what sort of lecture they had heard, and Tom 
 promptly explained to him its nature and effect. It happened 
 
196 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 to be on. a subject with whicli the doctor himself was not 
 perfectly conversant, and therefore the books were referred 
 to, in order that the whole of its ramifications might appear. 
 The examination of these books, and the arguments to which 
 that examination led, lasted nearly two hours ; during the 
 whole of which time Mrs. Delolme and Aunt Eleanor were 
 discussing the respective merits of the various tract societies, 
 to the whole of which Mrs. Delolme contended every Christian 
 lady ought to subscribe. 
 
 Immediately, however, the clock had struck twelve, the 
 books were closed, and the conversation ended. Mrs. Delolme 
 rang the bell and the servants appeared : and when they had 
 taken their places, she read the prayers of the evening, in 
 tones, by which, in the time of Oliver Cromwell, the Puritans 
 would have been charmed. 
 
 This ceremony ended, the servants withdrew, and when 
 Tom and Sylvester had taken their leave, they retired — 
 nominally to rest, but actually to the study ; at the door 
 of which — as James couldn't get in — they found a cold 
 chicken, . for — as it subsequently appeared — a pigeon pie 
 was not to be had. This, however, answered the purpose 
 very well ; and when Tom had produced two bottles of stout, 
 they commenced in style the work of demolition. 
 
 Being anxious to have the benefit of his opinion upon the 
 subject, Sylvester now thought that he would at once explain 
 to Tom what had occurred that evening between him and Julia. 
 
 " Tom," said he, " you know the world better than I do ; you 
 have had more experience ; you are a more close observer" 
 
 "Here, take this leg," said Tom, "there isd'tbuch od it, 
 add dod't let us have ady bore fide speeches." 
 
 " But I wish to put a question — a serious question — a 
 question which you can, but I cannot, answer." 
 
 " Adythidg about adatoby ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " What is it, thed 1 " 
 
 " I'll explain. Suppose that one of these evenings, Julia, 
 of whom you have been speaking to-night, were to take her 
 most valuable ring from her finger and beg your acceptance 
 of it ; would you accept it 1 " 
 
 "Suppose," replied Tom, "that this chicked, which we 
 have just beed pullidg literally libb frob libb, were to start 
 up whole, add, shakidg its feathers, ask us what o'clock it 
 was ; would you tell it ? " 
 
JULIA. 197 
 
 " Nay, that's impossible." 
 
 " I hold the wud case to be just as possible as the other. 
 Were I to ask he/- to accept a ridg, there wouldd't be a great 
 deal of doubt about the batter ; but the idea of her askidg be 
 to accept wud of her, is too rich for ady bad's stobach." 
 
 " I don't know that," returned Sylvester calmly ; " I merely 
 said suppose — I put it so — suppose she were earnestly to beg 
 your acceptance of a ring, would you have it ? " 
 
 "Well, I dod't exactly kdow— but I thidk I should." 
 
 " You think you would : come to the point ; would you or 
 would you not, under such circumstances refuse it ? " 
 
 " Do, I wouldd't," replied Tom : "I'd take it." 
 
 " Very well. Now, while you were conversing with your 
 friends this evening, she begged of me to accept this ring, 
 and to keep it in remembrance of her." 
 
 " Is it possible ! What, Julia ? " 
 
 "Yes. I at first refused; but at length I consented to 
 accept it on condition that she would allow me to present her 
 with something of equal value. She agreed to this, and here 
 is the ring. Now, what do you think of it ? " 
 
 " Why, you abaze be ! I thought there was sobethidg 
 goidg od at the tibe — but I couldd't have ibagided this pos- 
 sible. I say. by boy," he added gravely, "be careful. ■ "This 
 towd is studded with rub uds." 
 
 "But she is most amiable, have you not said?— kiad- 
 hearted and virtuous 3 " 
 
 "I do dot believe that there's a bore virtuous girl id the 
 udiverse ! Still, she bay be artful. She bay have sobe latedt 
 desigd : what I believe her to be, add what she is, bay be 
 diabetrically opposite. All I say is, by boy, be od your guard. 
 This bay be but a draw. Dod't be fixed. Were she id a bore 
 respectable positiod, it wouldd't batter so buch, but as it 
 is " 
 
 "A more respectable position!" echoed Sylvester. "Is 
 it not respectable in the correct sense of the term ? and have 
 you not shown that none can blame her for being, under the 
 circumstances, in that position ? " 
 
 " Yes, by boy : still, the sphere frob which a bad takes a 
 wife is looked at bore thad that id which he hibself bay have 
 boved." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Sylvester, " do not imagine I'm going to 
 marry the girl ! Don't imagine that I'm in love with her, for I 
 
igS SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 am not. She's very amiable, very elegant, very fascinating, 
 and very graceful, but as for being in love with her — the idea 
 never entered my imagination." 
 
 " I'b glad to hear it," said Tom. " All I said was — add all 
 I wish to repeat is — be od your guard ! " 
 
 " Of course," said Sylvester, " you see the propriety of not 
 mentioning this circumstance to any living creature." 
 
 " If you kdew be better, by boy," replied Tom, " you 
 wouldd't thidk that observatiod at all decessary. But dow 
 for the bachide," he added, going to the trap. " Let's see 
 this gedtlebad, add thed we'll go to bed." 
 
 " You'll lock the door when we go out, of course 1 " suggested 
 Sylvester. 
 
 " Do ! dot a bit of it ! It bay, you kdow, be wud of oiu- 
 fellows. If we leave the door oped, we shall catch hib either 
 way — dod't you see ? " 
 
 Sylvester acknowledged the wisdom of pursuing that course, 
 and they set the trap so that the slightest touch would cause 
 the spring to operate at once ; and when Tom had earnestly 
 expressed his conviction that that machine would vindicate 
 his honour, he set aside the things and saw Sylvester to 
 his room, at the door of which he bade him adieu for the 
 night. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 THE MAN-TEAP. 
 
 That night, Ninety-nine kept a sharp look-out ; his look-out, 
 in fact, was remarkably sharp : he never looked out more 
 sharply. He crept into doorways, peeped round corners, and 
 ran behind cabs, that he might not be seen. He was very 
 wide awake — ^nay, enthusiastic ! Didn't he wish for about 
 half a chance ! — didn't he pray for Tom's appearance upon 
 the parapet ! He had, it is true, been paid for the blow he 
 received from Tom on the preceding night ; but he panted for 
 revenge ! Revenge was his object : the attainment of which 
 would have made him happy. Oh ! if he could but have caught 
 him ! — but he couldn't : he couldn't see him : he couldn't see 
 any one there. Still, he inspired a most lively hope — the hope 
 of catching him some blessed night in a state of intoxication. 
 
THE MAN-TRAP. 199 
 
 "Wouldn't he serve him out then — wouldn't he stick his 
 knuckles into his throat — wouldn't he knock him about with 
 his truncheon — wouldn't he drag him to the station like a 
 dog ! Perhaps he wouldn't — which, being interpreted, means 
 that there is nothing apocryphal about it. That night, how- 
 ever, he was doomed to disappointment. The object of his 
 hot and inextinguishable hate would not even appear at the 
 window — he therefore concluded that he was afraid, and said 
 so with an air of triumph. 
 
 The morning came. Tom had slept soundly. He had not 
 been disturbed : he had heard no noise. He, therefore, on 
 waking, feared that he should not have the power that day of 
 taking his honour out of the gaol of suspicion, knowing well 
 that his mother would not accept baU. He, however, thought 
 it right to go up and have a look, and having slipped on his 
 things, he did go up, and beheld with amazement his man 
 — his own man — his own skeleton — in the trap, leaning 
 deliberately upon the sill of the open window with a book in 
 its hand, a German pipe in its mouth, and an empty stout 
 bottle and glass by its side. 
 
 Tom looked — of course he looked ! — but he looked with an 
 expression of mingled marvel and mirth. He couldn't tell 
 at all what to make of it. 
 
 " I say, old fellow," he at length exclaimed, " what are you 
 up to there ? " 
 
 The skeleton answered him not. 
 
 " You seeb," said Tom, " to be doidg it rather browd ! " 
 
 The skeleton made no reply. 
 
 " Have you hurt your leg at all, old fellow ? " 
 
 The skeleton maintained a most contemptuous silence. 
 
 "Well," said Tom, "if ever there was a rub go this is 
 wud ! " and, approaching the skeleton, he burst into a loud 
 roar of laughter. 
 
 " Syl bust see this," said he, as soon as the first burst 
 had subsided ; and rushing down, he dashed into Sylvester's 
 room, and, on finding him asleep, shook him violently. 
 
 "What's the matter? What's the matter ? " cried Sylvester, 
 
 " Here's a go, by boy ! — cobe alodg." 
 
 " Have you caught him ? " 
 
 "Yes, he!s id the trap ! — cobe alodg." 
 
 Sylvester instantly drew on his trousers and followed Tom, 
 who continued to roar. 
 
200 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " There you are ! " said Tom, as Sylvester entered the study. 
 " There he is ! That's the swell ! — fast as a four-year old ! 
 That's a go, isd't it ? What do you thidk of that ? " 
 
 Sylvester knew not exactly lohat to think of it ! He 
 thought it very odd. He examined the skeleton from head 
 to foot. Its leg was fixed in the trap fast enough — but 
 how did it get there? That was the only problem to be 
 solved. 
 
 " It's very strange," said he. " I can't understand it ! " 
 
 " Udderstadd it ! " cried Tom ; " who cad ? Surely this was 
 dot the swell that was cuttidg his capers od the parapet ! 
 Yet it seebs as if he'd beed about to repeat the sabe gabe, got 
 caught, add thed ibagided that he bight as well edjoy hibself 
 id this way as dot ! As to his sbokidg : that's hubbug. He 
 hasd't the bellows to do it." 
 
 " Nor could he hold much stout," said Sylvester ; " and yet 
 the bottle's empty." 
 
 " There's sobe trick here," said Tom ; " safe to be a trick. 
 But dod't touch hib — let hib be as he is. The goverdor shall 
 see hib : perhaps he'll be able to bake sobethidg out of it. 
 Let's go add dress : by that tibe he'll be dowd. Dow," he 
 added, addressing the skeleton, " if you have ady more of 
 your dodsedse — if you bove to your old quarters before we 
 cobe back agaid — I'll burder you." 
 
 They then left the room, and having locked the door 
 securely, proceeded to dress; and when that operation had 
 been simultaneously achieved, they went downstairs together, 
 and found in the breakfast-parloiir Mrs. Delolme, Aunt 
 Eleanor, and the doctor. 
 
 " Odly just cobe up," said Tom, addressing the doctor ; 
 " odly cobe. Such a gabe." 
 
 " What is amiss ? " inquired Mrs. Delolme. 
 
 " Odly cobe idto by study. I've caught hib." 
 
 " You have ? " cried the doctor. 
 
 " Just cobe add look." 
 
 The doctor followed him and Sylvester on the instant, and 
 Mrs. Delolme took the arm of Aunt Eleanor and hastily 
 followed the doctor. 
 
 Having reached the room door, Tom unlocked it at once, 
 and having thrown the door open, exclaimed, "There dow, 
 what do you thidk of that ? " 
 
 The doctor looked at the skeleton and smiled. 
 
THE MAN-TRAP. ' 201 
 
 " What is all this ? " said he ; " what is the meaning of it, 
 Tom?" 
 
 " The beadidg," replied Tom, " is this. Beidg adxious to 
 catch that idsade swell who was cuttidg about the other 
 dight od the parapet, I bought this bachide, add havidg set 
 it last dight, this is all I, at presedt, have got for by 
 buddy." 
 
 " O Thomas— Thomas ! " cried Mrs. Delolme, raising her 
 hands in a state of mind bordering on despair. 
 
 " What's the batter ? " said Tom. 
 
 " Oh ! " replied Mrs. Delolme, with a sigh. " O Thomas 
 —Thomas ! " 
 
 " Why, what do you bead ? " 
 
 " That ever I should have such a son ! " 
 
 " Very good," said Tom ; " but what is it you bead ? " 
 
 "Do you mean to say," replied Mrs. Delolme, "Thomas 1 
 do you mean to say that you did not yourself place that figure 
 there, in order that we might believe that it caused that un- 
 hallowed disturbance the night before last ? " 
 
 " Well," exclaimed Tom, " that beats all. I'd better go to 
 bed add sleep, add keep there. I'b viotibised every way. 
 What ! Do you bead to say that you believe that I could 
 bake byself such a codsubbate dodkey as to cobe up here id 
 the biddle of the dight to place by bad id such a positiod as 
 that, to idspire the belief that it was he who was cuttidg about 
 od the parapet 1 " 
 
 Of all people on earth religious enthusiasts are at once the 
 most credulous and the most sceptical; they really believe 
 everything ascribable to human nature that is vile, and as~ 
 readily disbelieve everything connected with human nature 
 that is good. Mrs. Delolme, therefore, did believe that Tom 
 had placed the skeleton there with a view to deceive them, 
 find when she had told him she believed this, Tom said that 
 he was done. 
 
 "I'll dot say adother word," he added; "dot adother 
 syllable. If you'll believe that, there's dothidg bad you'll 
 dot believe." 
 
 " Of course," said the doctor, " you found this skeleton in 
 that position ? " 
 
 "Of course I did," replied- Tom. "Do you thidk that I 
 should be such ad idiot as to throw away by buddy upod this 
 bachide for the purpose of stickidg by bad id it thus? I 
 
202 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 call it hard to be suspected id this badder : very bard : it isd't 
 the thidg — it's dothidg like the thidg ; I wod't have it ! " 
 
 "If, as you say," observed the doctor — "and I've not the 
 slightest doubt you speak the truth, Tom — if, as you say, 
 you found things as they are, there is something mysterious 
 about it." 
 
 " I declare to you, upod by hodour," said Tom, " that 
 thidgs were as they are whed I edtered the roob, add that 
 frob the tibe Syl add I left it last dight, till I foudd the 
 thidgs here as they are, I dever got out of by bed." 
 
 " Oh, /am quite satisfied,-Tom," said the doctor, "as far 
 at least as you are concerned ; but it's strange — very strange !. 
 Just ring the belL" 
 
 The bell was rung and James appeared. 
 
 " James," said the doctor, " have you been in this room 
 during the night ? " 
 
 " Me, sir 1 No, sir." 
 
 "Now, speak the truth. Jib," said Tom fiercely, "or I 
 pitch you out of the widdow od suspiciod." 
 
 " Upon my word, sir, I haven't : I haven't, as true as I'm 
 alive." 
 
 " Very well," said the doctor; "that wUl do." 
 
 James then retired, and they looked at each other with 
 varied expressions of doubt and dismay. 
 
 " It is," observed Sylvester, "'of course inconceivable that 
 the skeleton could have got there by itself." 
 
 "As idcodceivable," said Tom, "as that he was the swell 
 who was outtidg about od the parapet." 
 
 "What is the meaning of this?" inquired Aunt Eleanor. 
 " You speak of a person having been on the parapet. What 
 do you mean ? " 
 
 " Since you know so much, dear,'' replied Mrs. Delolme, 
 " I'll explain all to you by-and-by." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " I can make nothing of it at 
 present. Perhaps after breakfast some light may appear. 
 Come," he added, "let us go down. Lock the door, Tom, 
 and keep the key in your pocket." 
 
 Tom did so, and as they were going downstairs, he said 
 privately to Sylvester, "Victibised agaid ! Sure to have 
 the luck of it ! If there's ady luck stirridg, I'b just as safe 
 to have it as St. Paul's Churchyard is to have the widd." 
 
 Now it strangely enough happened, that whUe they were 
 
THE MAN-TRAP. 203 
 
 at breakfast, the Rev. Mr. Rouse was at breakfast too, and 
 it also happened that he had no sooner finished his first cup 
 of coffee than Sylvester's letter arrived. 
 
 " London," said he musingly, looking at the post-mark ; 
 " from that kind creature of course ! And yet," he added, 
 turning to the superscription, " it is not her writing. Tut ! 
 bless my life ; now whose hand can it be ? I've seen it before ! 
 — I know the hand well ! — well, now, that's very strange. 
 The seal, too — a boar's head — that is not her crest! But 
 the writing ! — that's the point ! Now, whose can it be? " 
 
 The reverend gentleman took up an egg — not conceiving 
 that that would assist him ; but he took up an egg and broke 
 it, chiefly in order that his memory might have some refresh- 
 ment. But no : that memory of his failed him : he could 
 not remember whose writing it was, nor could he conjecture : 
 but as it occurred to him, at length, that if he were to break 
 the seal he might in an instant ascertain, he opened the 
 letter, and when he saw from whom it came, he at once 
 recollected the hand. 
 
 But of all the extraordinary expressions into which a 
 man's countenance ever yet was tortured, his were the most 
 extraordinary, and at the same time perhaps the most rapidly 
 varied, when he saw what that letter contained. 
 
 Having read the first sentence — which opened the whole 
 case — he turned to the fire and violently poked it. He then 
 read the next, and, albeit the word " stout " provoked some- 
 thing like a smile, while the expression of the highest con- 
 fidence in his judgment was, as far as it went, agreeable, 
 the strongest feelings he experienced — the feelings which 
 prevailed — the feelings which were in the ascendant through- 
 out — were those of wonder and vexation. He knew not 
 why he should be vexed. It was amazing, certainly — at 
 least to him it appeared amazing — that she should have 
 entertained the thought of entering into the marriage state j 
 but then why should the circumstance vex him ? He really 
 couldn't tell. He didn't know. And yet one of the strongest 
 feelings with which it had inspired him was that of vexation. 
 
 " Tut ! bless my Ufe ! " he exclaimed ; " who would have 
 thought it ? Tcha ! — well ! — married. Bless my heart alive. 
 Tche ! What a singular thing. Married ! God bless me. 
 Tcha ! — I must be off, sir ! — be off. Tchu ! the strangest 
 thing I ever heard of. Tche ! — I never was more surprised. 
 
204 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Well, that does astonish me. Tcha ! Bless my soul. "Well, 
 so it is. There's no time to be lost ! " 
 
 Having delivered himself fitfully thus, the reverend gentle- 
 man rang the bell, and when he had hastily directed the ser- 
 vant to fill his carpetbag with shirts, stockings, shoes, cravats, 
 shaving machinery, %nd so on, he wrote a note to a reverend 
 friend in the vicinity, requesting him to officiate during his 
 absence. 
 
 Again he rang the bell. 
 
 " Tell Jones," said he, when the servant appeared, " to put 
 the horse in. I'm gofng to town. Tell him to be quick, or 
 we shall miss the coach." 
 
 He then went up to dress; and when all had been prepared, 
 he dashed through the village at a more rapid rate than he 
 had ever dashed through that village before. 
 
 " Hollo I " said Obadiah, as he and Pokey saw him pass. 
 " What's Ted up to now ! There's something in the wind. 
 You saw his carpet-bag, didn't you ? What's the odds he 
 isn't going after his Eosalie ? I'll bet you what you like she's 
 been down here, incog. ! — I'll bet you what you like, he has 
 seen her, and finding that he couldn't carry his games on in 
 a place like this without exciting observation, sent her to 
 London, where he is off to now. Come, I'll bet you what 
 you like of it— coma ! " 
 
 " He's off somewhere," said Pokey. 
 
 " Of course he is ! And isn't it disgusting ? Isn't it enough 
 to make one's hair stand on end ? I see it all clearly. It 
 fructifies in my mind readily enough. / see the manoeuvre. 
 Yet these are the nien we bow and scrape to — these are the 
 men we pamper and praise. But just look you here, if we 
 haven't before lons^ rattler, my boy, I'll eat grass like a cow ! 
 Sure to have:i53'safe — it must come : and do you mark my 
 words, let it come when it will, all of that kidney may look out 
 for squalls. What, do you suppose that because Johnny Bull 
 is an ass now, he'll be an ass always ? The idea is rotten ! 
 No ; just look you here now, and do you mind this ; no sooner 
 are the people's eyes a little matters open — no sooner have 
 they got out the dust that has blinded them ever since Peter 
 the Great's time — than down comes a regular amalgamating 
 battery, that'll stalk through the land, and sweep everything 
 before it. There'll be no swindles — ^no petty-larceny plun- 
 dering proud pick-pocketing pensioners — ^no placemen — no 
 
THE MAN-TRAP. 205 
 
 priestcraft — no poverty then ; bribery and corruption will then 
 be struck flat ; and if ever they're suffered to rise again, it'll be 
 the people's fault. We shall then see how such men as Teddy 
 Rouse'Il stand. They won't have 'em at no price — no more 
 they don't ought. They'll be swept clean away — as old Boney 
 once said, when he went out to welt the invaders — swept clean 
 from the face of the earth, and sent after their French girls 
 — their Rosalies — pretty dears ! There, if I'd my will, I'd 
 have a rope to reach from one steeple to another, and string 
 'em all up in a lump. I'd do it wholesale — I wouldn't mince 
 the matter with them ; I'd rid the earth of them at once, and 
 then the mass of money which they swallow up would go into 
 the pockets of the poor. As for Teddy Rouse — why, it's awful 
 to see a man in his situation at this game. Here's a man 
 running after French girls openly and in the face of day, and 
 yet — look you here — we pay that man expressly to teach us 
 morality. I mean to say it's monstrous. Isn't it, now, dread- 
 ful ! When you come to look at it, isn't it disgusting ? " 
 
 " It's aU very well what you say," replied Pokey ; " but 
 you've been a preaching without any text." 
 
 "Text 1 " exclaimed Obadiah. " Ted is my text — corrup- 
 tion's my text — immorality's my text — national swindling's 
 my text — revolution's my text ! Everything's my text, when 
 I see men like Teddy Rouse going at this rate." 
 
 " At what rate 1 " 
 
 " At what rate 1 Why, running after Rosalies 1 " 
 
 " You don't know, in this case, that it is so." 
 
 " Not know ? You're a Tory : I always thought you were 
 a Tory — not know 1 " 
 
 " You only guess." 
 
 " I'll tell you what I'll do; I'll bet you what you like of it." 
 
 " Bet me ? You know I never bet." 
 
 " I'll bet you five shillings of it ; now, there." 
 
 " But how can you prove it ? " 
 
 " Never you mind — TU prove it." 
 
 " But when ? " 
 
 " Within eight-and-forty hours." 
 
 "Then, blame my buttons," cried Pokey, "if I don't take 
 you. Now, then — there's my crown." 
 
 " No, I shan't put down the money ; let it be till the bet's 
 decided. Mind you, I'm to prove that Ted's now gone to 
 London." 
 
2o6 SYLVESTEk SOUND. 
 
 " You are to prove that lie's now gone after some girl, 
 and that that girl's name is Rosalie." 
 
 " Not a bit of it — there you quibble. No ; the bet's off — 
 I'll not bet with any man who quibbles." 
 
 " I don't at aU quibble : but I didn't think you would 
 make such a bet as that." 
 
 " Look you here," said Obadiah, " you'll turn up a Tory — 
 now mark you that. I've long had my suspicions ; but if you 
 don't vote for the fructifying Tories, at the very next election, 
 you'll wholly surprise me. I'm ashamed of you, Pokey, as 
 true as I'm alive ; and so I'U leave you to your reflections. 
 Good-day." 
 
 As Obadiah left. Pokey smiled, knowing well that although 
 he couldn't compete with him in talking, he had but to pin 
 him to a point and he was done. 
 
 During the whole of that morning, Mrs. Delolme and Aunt 
 Eleanor were conversing on the subject of supernatural 
 appearances, which is at all times, ' and especially with the 
 ladies,, a prolific and highly interesting theme. The con- 
 versation sprang, of course, out of that morning's marvel ; 
 and although Mrs. Delolme had entertained the belief that 
 Tom had himself placed the skeleton there, she felt herself 
 eventually constrained to admit that it was possible — just 
 possible — that the spirit which formerly inhabited that 
 skeleton had caused it to walk to the window alone. She 
 would, however, give no opinion on the point : that she 
 reserved until she had consulted Mr. Terre. She was sure 
 that he would be able to settle the question ; and, as she felt 
 that he was inspired — as she religiously believed that he had 
 divine authority for every word he uttered— it was, in her 
 judgment, altogether impossible that any opinion which he 
 might express upon any subject could be wrong. She there- 
 fore calmly waited to consult her oracle. But the feelings 
 of Aunt Eleanor were of a more distressing caste : the 
 mystery affected her far more deeply. The idea of a spirit 
 — if a spirit it really were — following her thus, and being 
 visible only when she was near — inspired her with the most 
 intense feelings of alarm. Her thoughts again reverted to 
 her broken-hearted brother. The death-bed scene was again 
 before her : she again heard his last declaration of innocence ; 
 and as her former apprehensions, that, to comfort her, he 
 had uttered a falsehood with his dying breath, again came 
 
THE MAN-TRAP. 207 
 
 strong upon her, her affliction was poignant in the extreme. 
 This, however, she thought it prudent to conceal from Mrs. 
 Delolme. She had no confidence in her judgment. She 
 could not speak to her as to an affectionate friend ; she could 
 not unbosom herself freely ; she was not a friend to whom 
 she could open her whole heart, knowing well that if she did, 
 instead of deriving consolation, she should be rendered still 
 more wretched. She was, therefore, on that point silent. 
 She conversed, indeed, freely, on the subject of supernatural 
 appearances in general, but the immediate source of her own 
 peculiar sorrows she did not disclose. 
 
 At the same time the doctor, Tom, and Sylvester were 
 conversing on the same subject, but in a more philosophical 
 strain, in the study. The idea of there being anything super- 
 natural in the removal of the skeleton from the position 
 in which it usually stood to the trap, they unanimously 
 repudiated as being utterly absurd. They all felt that it had 
 been removed by some one : on that point they had not the 
 slightest doubt ; the only question with them was, who had 
 removed it? Various were their conjectures, and, as is 
 customary in such cases, very conflicting j but those which 
 appeared to them to be most probable, were at length re- 
 duced to two : one being, that it was a trick of one of the 
 servants; and the other, that the thing had been done by 
 the man whom the policeman saw the previous night on the 
 parapet. The latter was suggested by Sylvester himself. 
 
 " For," said he, " although it is clear that had he jumped 
 straight down from the window he would have been caught 
 in the trap himself, it is also clear that, by goiag on one side, 
 or even over the trap, he must necessarily have escaped it. 
 I have no doubt that he did either one or the other, and 
 that, subsequently finding the trap set for him, he placed 
 the skeleton in it, and made it assume the position in which 
 it was found." 
 
 "Well," said the doctor, "that certainly appears to be 
 reasonable, so far as it goes; but what could be the man's object 
 in coming here ? That is the point which puzzles me." 
 
 " It might be idleness merely," said Sylvester; " or what, 
 perhaps, he would call fun. He is clearly a fanciful fellow. 
 The position in which he placed the figures before, and espe- 
 cially that in which this is now, tend to prove that if his object 
 be not purely fun, he imagines he has some fun in him." 
 
2o8 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " If I catcli hib," said Tom, " I'll show hib a little bore fud. 
 He shall hibself look fuddy before I've dode with hib." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " we have come to this point, and 
 it appears to be the most reasonable at which we can arrive. 
 We must endeavour now to prevent a recurrence of these 
 tricks, and I think that we shall at once attain that object 
 by having the window barred." 
 
 "Do," said Tom, "dod't bar the widdow yet. I wadt to 
 catch hib; add that I shall catch hib, I'll bet ted to wud." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, smiling, " if you should happen 
 to catch him, and you find that fun is his only object, you 
 must, in the administration of your justice, be merciful." 
 
 " Oh ! I'll be berciful," replied Tom. " Dothidg that he 
 ever had id the shape of bercy shall surpass it. I'll give hib 
 such ad out-add-out dose of bercy, that a bile of people shall 
 hear hib proclaib how peculiarly berciful I am." 
 
 The doctor smiled, and left the study, when Tom and 
 Sylvester replaced the male skeleton in its former position, 
 and busied themselves about the bones of the female until 
 they were summoned to dinner. 
 
 As usual, the dinner went off flatly : for although the 
 doctor chatted — and that sometimes gaily too — no one else 
 did ; Mrs. Delolme looidd not ; Aunt Eleanor could not ; and 
 while Tom dared not, Sylvester thought he ought not. When, 
 therefore, the ladies had retired, not only Tom and Sylvester, 
 but the doctor himself felt much relieved, and, after a 
 pleasurable and profitable discussion — profitable especially, 
 in a professional point of view — Tom and Sylvester left to 
 attend that evening's lecture. 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, on leaving the house, " what am I 
 to present to this poor girl ? The thing had better be done 
 at once. What is it to be ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " replied Tom, " bake her a presedt of adother ridg." 
 
 " She appears to have an abundance of them already." 
 
 " What id the jewellery lide has she dot ad abuddadce of ? " 
 returned Tom ; " ohaids, brooches, decklaces, earridgs — I cad't 
 thidk of adythidg of the sort that she has dot got." 
 
 " Had she a bracelet on last night ? " 
 
 " The very thidg. I rebebber dow she has do bracelets." 
 
 " Then we had better go and buy a pair at once." 
 
 They went accordingly into the first jeweller's shop they 
 came to, and having fixed upon a pair of a chaste and elegant 
 
THE MAN-TRAP. . 209 
 
 pattern, they purchased them, and then went direct to the 
 hospital. 
 
 Now, before they arrived — before they could have arrived 
 there, a cab drew up to the door of Dr. Delolme, and when the 
 driver had given his customary knock — a knock which quite 
 frightened the occupant of the cab, who felt really very nervous 
 on being announced in a style which he conceived to be so 
 dreadfully distingue — James came to the door, and then went 
 to the cab, and having satisfactorily answered to two 
 questions, was presented with the card of the Reverend 
 Edward Rouse. James opened the door for the reverend 
 gentleman to alight, and he alighted, and drew out his purse. 
 The fare was a shilling, but as he had been, by that knock, 
 convinced that the driver conceived him to be some highly 
 important personage, he gave him half-a-crown; -which was 
 very incorrect of the reverend gentleman, for had the cabman 
 known why the extra fare was given him, he'd have subse- 
 quently split, if he hadn't smashed in every door it became his 
 duty to knock at. The reverend gentleman, however, uncon- 
 scious of that fact, gave the half-crown, and having followed 
 James in, was shown into one of the parlours. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, when James 
 had delivered the card j " is it possible ? " 
 
 " Anything the matter, my dear ? " inquired Mrs. Delolme. 
 
 "I fear there is something," replied Aunt Eleanor; "I 
 very much fear it, for Mr. Rouse, of whom you have heard 
 me speak, dear, has come unexpectedly from Cotherstone." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed Mrs. Delolme ; " I'm quite delighted. 
 Pray do not let him go, dear, until you have introduced him." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor left the room ; and on entering the parlour, 
 she at once grasped the hands of theireverend gentleman, with 
 an expression of cordiality mingled with apprehension. 
 
 "My dear, dear friend!" she exclaimed, "why, when did 
 you arrive 1 " 
 
 "I came by the coach," replied the reverend gentleman; 
 " the same coach as that which you came by." 
 
 " Well, I'm much pleased to see you ; is all right at home ? '' 
 
 " Oh ! quite right ; quite right ! Why, really," he added, 
 with a playful expression, " you must, indeed you must, be 
 very wicked ; for since you left us the village has been as 
 tranquil as possible ; no noises, no annoyances, no apparitions ; 
 no ; nothing at all of the sort," 
 
 
 
210 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor was sad. She could have wept ; but would 
 not do so then. 
 
 " Well, now," he continued, " I only came this evening just 
 to say how d'ye do, and to let you know that I had arrived, 
 m call in the morning ; what time shall I call ? " 
 
 " Oh, as early as you please ! but you are not going yet ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I'll caU in the momiug ; we shaU then be more tran- 
 quil. You have much to say to me, and I have much to say 
 to you. In the morning we'll talk over everything calmly." 
 
 " But I really cannot permit you to leave me in such haste. 
 Come into the drawing-room — come." 
 
 " No, no, my dear madam ; you perhaps have a party." 
 
 " No, indeed, we have not; there's only Mrs. Delolme, who 
 is exceedingly anxious to be introduced to you. The doctor 
 is unfortunately out now, but he will be in presently; 
 Sylvester, too, will be in very soon ; therefore, come, my dear 
 sir — nay, you really must come. Mrs. Delolme, I know, will 
 scold me, if you go without allowing me the pleasure of in- 
 troducing you to her." 
 
 "Well, my dear madam, if you are sure that I'm not 
 intruding, I shall be happy to be introduced to that lady. I 
 cannot," he added playfully, and at the same time pressing 
 both her hands in a style which, for him, was extremely . 
 unusual, " I cannot — nor will I cause you to be scolded. I 
 may scold you myself — that, perhaps, I may do — but you 
 must not be scolded by any one else." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor smiled — she didn't at all understand what 
 he meant, still she smiled ; and having conducted him into 
 the drawing-room, presented him at once to Mrs. Delolme, 
 who received him gracefully, it is true, but with that exces- 
 sive formality which freezes. The reverend gentleman was 
 awed \ The severity of her expression had at first the effect 
 of blocking up all conversation. Aunt Eleanor, however, at 
 length broke the ice, and until the return of the doctor a 
 stream of religious discourse flowed freely. 
 
 While they were thus engaged, Tom and Sylvester were 
 listening with laudable attention to a highly important 
 pathological lecture, during the delivery of which neither 
 Julia nor the bracelets were, for one moment, thought of. At 
 the conclusion, however, both were instantly remembered, and 
 Sylvester, taking Tom's arm, proceeded at once to the bar of 
 the Bull, accompanied, as usual, by half-a-dozen friends. 
 
THE MAN-TBAP. an 
 
 As they entered, Julia was looking anxiously at the clock, 
 for about the fiftieth time in the course of ten minutes, but 
 when she saw Sylvester, her heart leaped with joy, although 
 she felt more than ever embarrassed. 
 
 Sylvester bowed and slightly smiled, and as he smiled she 
 blessed him. 
 
 Having managed, mechanically, to supply the demands of 
 the noisy students, she retreated to the other end of the bar, 
 when Tom, perceiving that Sylvester had not been supplied, 
 cried, " Hollo, here ! what do you bead 1 What's by friedd 
 dode ? Isd't he to have ady ? " 
 
 " Really," said Julia, coming forward in a tremor, and 
 addressing Sylvester, " upon my word, I beg pardon ; pray 
 forgive me." 
 
 " I see how it is," said Tom, as Sylvester was endeavour- 
 ing to convince her that it really was a matter of no 
 moment; "you are in love with Bob Topps." 
 
 " Why, of course," cried Bob Topps, a short, stout, stumpy 
 student, who sported a comical conical hat; "that all the 
 world knows. We are going to tie up as soon as I've passed." 
 
 Julia smiled and retreated again. 
 
 The students now entered into an animated discussion upon 
 a point to which, in the course of the lecture, particular 
 reference had been made, and when Sylvester found that 
 they were much too intent upon the subject to notice Mm, 
 he made a signal for Julia to approach. 
 
 "Now," said he, "you must perform your promise by 
 accepting these from me." 
 
 Julia took the bracelets, placed them in her bosom, and 
 pressed them to her heart, and having taken his hand with 
 a fervent espression, exclaimed — 
 
 " God bless you ! " 
 
 Tom, although apparently engaged in the discussion, saw 
 all that passed, and shortly afterwards expressed himself 
 precisely to this effect — 
 
 " Dow, by boy, tibe's up ; we bust bizzle — are you ready 1 " 
 
 "Quite," returned Sylvester; "quite." 
 
 "Thed we'll be off. Good-dight ! " he added, addressing 
 the students ; " I shall see you to-borrow." 
 
 " To-borrow bordidg," said Bob Topps, " or to-borrow 
 dight, Tob?" 
 
 Hereupon there was a laugh — a loud laugh — among the 
 
212 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 sfcudents, and during its continuance, Sylvester shook hands 
 with Julia, who was in consequence overjoyed, and having 
 said " Good-night ! " left the house with Tom. 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is," said Tom, "that girl's id love 
 with you. Dothidg cad be clearer thad that. But it wod't 
 do, Syl. Do, that'll dever do." 
 
 " What will never do 2 " 
 
 " Why, it'll dever do for you to be caught, Syl, id that trap." 
 
 " Caught in that trap I " echoed Sylvester. " There's an 
 end of it. I have accepted a present from her, and she has 
 accepted a present from me : that settles it." 
 
 "Yes, by boy, that settles it certaidly as far as it goes; 
 but if you codtidue to go there, by boy, you'll cause her to 
 believe that you are desperately id love with ]iei:" 
 
 " Well, then, I had better go there no more." 
 
 " Why, do bad has a right to cause a girl to believe that 
 he's id love with her udless he idtedds to barryTier." 
 
 " Very true ; and as of course I have no such intention, I 
 had better not go there again." 
 
 " Why, I should say," observed Tom, " that you'd fly at a 
 little higher gabe thad a barbaid." 
 
 " I have no contempt for her because she is a barmaid. 
 That which you told me last night, Tom, convinced me that 
 she ought now to be in a better position. I would not trifle 
 with the feelings of such a girl; I would not raise hopes 
 which could never be realised. I am sorry now that I went 
 there at all; but the matter is settled— I go there no more." 
 
 "She's ad artful card, do doubt," said Tom; "add if you 
 give her a chadce she bay addoy you, which wouldd't be 
 pleasadt : it wouldd't, for instadce, be pleasadt at all were she 
 to cobe sobe fide bordidg to have a chat with the old ladies ! 
 ' Where do you live, dear ? ' by bother would ask. ' At the 
 Bull.' 'What's the Bull?' 'A public-house.' 'Add what are 
 you, dear ? ' ' I'b the barbaid.' Wouldd't the old swell oped 
 her eyes ! Sedd I bay live, what a look she'd^have for her ! 
 Do, it wouldd't do at all to give her a chadce of goidg there, 
 which she bight, add perhaps would do, to addoy you." 
 
 That Tom did not do justice to Julia is clear; but he 
 gained his point, and the subject dropped. 
 
 On reaching home, Sylvester, when he heard of the arrival 
 of his reverend friend, was delighted and amazed. 
 
 " Who is it, Syl ? " inquired Tom. 
 
THE MAN-TRAP. 213 
 
 " Mr. Rouse." 
 
 " Mr. Eouse — ah ! who is he ? " 
 
 "The Reverend Mr. Rouse." 
 
 " Oh, a parsed ; ah ! / shall go idto by study. Jib, bridg 
 be sobe coffee up there." 
 
 " But you'll come in and speak to him, of coivrse," cried 
 Sylvester. 
 
 " Do, Syl, I dod't like parsods id private. They are all 
 very well id the pulpit, but id a roob I cad't bear theb." 
 
 " Oh, but he's such a very nice fellow. I'm sure you'll be 
 pleased with him. Do come in." 
 
 " Well, I'll go id with you ; but if he be adythidg at all 
 like the crew whob we used to have here, I shall cut it id a 
 bobedt." 
 
 They then entered the drawing-room, and Sylvester seized 
 the reverend gentleman by the hand, and having shaken it 
 heartily, introduced Tom. 
 
 " Well," exclaimed Sylvester, " this is uneijpected. Why, 
 I'd no idea of your coming to town." 
 
 " I had no idea of it myself till this morning," returned 
 the reverend gentleman, inferring at once that they wished 
 it to appear that his visit was quite unexpected. 
 
 " And did you leave the village pretty quiet ? " resumed 
 Sylvester. " Have any ghosts been seen by the people since 
 we left?" 
 
 "No ; all has been tranquil — perfectly tranquil." 
 
 " By-the-by, Mr. Rouse," observed Mrs. Delolme, " what 
 is your opinion of supernatural appearances — of visions — of 
 ghosts ? Do you think that they are really ever seen ? " 
 
 " I have not the slightest doubt upon the subject," replied 
 the reverend gentleman. 
 
 "Do bad," said Tom, to whom the reverend gentleman 
 seemed to appeal, "that is, do idtellectual bad, I should 
 thidk, cad have dow the ghost of a doubt about that." 
 
 " I have myself seen one," resumed the reverend gentleman 
 — and Tom privately intimated to Sylvester that he had 
 nearly put his foot in it — "I have seen one enter a room, 
 walk deliberately across it, look about, turn, and then walk 
 d'eliberately back — as distinctly as I see you before me." 
 
 " And it is, I suppose, impossible," said Mrs. Delolme, " for 
 you to have been in a reverie at the time ? " 
 
 " Quite impossible — quite." 
 
214 SYLVESTER SOUND. ^ 
 
 "I mean, you could not have seen it in imagination 
 merely?" 
 
 " Certainly not. Had I been alone I might have doubted — 
 I might have doubted even the evidence of my own senses — -I 
 should have been then inclined to believe that I had seen it 
 merely in imagination ; but I was not alone : I was with one 
 who had no imagination in him ! — pardon the expression — I 
 mean my gardener, whose mind I believe to be as destitute 
 of imagination as it is possible for the mind of a man 
 to be." 
 
 " And may I ask, did he see it ? " inquired the doctor. 
 
 "He did, as distinctly as I saw it myself." 
 
 "And had you any proof that it was not flesh and 
 blood ? " 
 
 " Why I cannot say that I had any actual proof." 
 
 " Neither you nor your servant attempted to touch it 1" 
 
 "'No, neither attempted to touch it." 
 
 " Did it make any noise as it walked along ? " 
 
 "Not more than you or I should make without our 
 boots." 
 
 " But as much, you think ? " 
 
 " I should say quite as much." 
 
 "Then there must, I submit, have been something more 
 than spirit about it." 
 
 "I believe not. The noise indeed might have been 
 imaginary ; but the appearance of the figure I am satisfied 
 was not." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " these things are extraordinary : 
 many equally extraordinary things have been accounted for ; 
 but as many have occurred for which we cannot account, we 
 must view this as being one of them." 
 
 The time had now arrived when the reverend gentleman 
 thought it prudent to depart. He had previously been 
 engaged by the doctor to dine with them on the morrow, 
 but while taking leave of Aunt Eleanor, he promised to call 
 upon her early in the morning. 
 
 Almost immediately after he had left, Mrs. Delolme, who 
 was very highly pleased with him, rang the bell for prayers, 
 and when they had been read, Tom and Sylvester retired to 
 the study. James had provided a pound of German sausage 
 for them this time, and a couple of bottles of Burton ale, the 
 whole of which they managed between them, of course ! — and 
 
THE DELIGATE DISOLOSURE. 215 
 
 when Tom had set the trap again, and placed a piece of string 
 across the window, so that even the slightest touch would 
 bring down a shelf laden with empty bottles, they left the 
 study and retired to rest. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. / 
 
 THE DELICATE DISCLOSURE. 
 
 In the morning, Tom, on awaking, found the skeleton by his 
 side. He started, of course, when he saw it first, and opened 
 his eyes and his mouth. There it stood — within a foot of 
 him — pointing directly at him with its right hand, and 
 making a fist of its left. 
 
 Tom got out of bed — on the other side of course — and he 
 wasn't long about it. He didn't at aU like the look of the 
 thing. Nor did the expression of his features denote the 
 existence of unmingled joy. He felt queer. He couldn't 
 understand it. There it stood in a menacing position, with 
 a white pocket-handkerchief tied round its shin. 
 
 " Dodsedse ! " cried Tom, at length. " Pooh ! I wod't have 
 it ! I say, old fellow, what gabe do you call this ? " 
 
 The skeleton was, as usual, silent, and Tom went round to 
 inspect itmore closely. " I'd sbash you, old fellow," said he 
 indignantly, " if I thought you had adythidg like life id 
 you!" And having given utterance to this remarkable 
 expression, he went as he was into Sylvester's room. 
 
 " Adother gabe, Syl," said he. " Cobe add look here." 
 
 " What now ? " exclaimed Sylvester. 
 
 " Just cobe add look. There I " he added, as Sylvester 
 entered his room. " There you are ! — what do you thidk 
 oithat?" 
 
 " Good gracious ! " cried Sylvester. " What, was it there 
 when you awoke 1 " 
 
 " Exactly id that positiod. I haved't touched it." 
 
 " Well, this is strange ! " 
 
 " Do you see its leg tied up, as if it were idjured whed 
 caught id the trap ? " 
 
 " Really, this surpasses all ! " 
 
 " Dow, we wod't tell the womed about this," said Tom ; 
 
2i6 . SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " if we do, I'b safe to be victibized agaid ; but the goverdor 
 shall see it, add thed we shall hear what he thidks of the 
 batter." 
 
 Agaia and again Sylvester expressed his surprise, and 
 feeling in reality all that he expressed — for he hadn't the 
 most remote idea of the manner in which the skeleton had 
 been removed — he returned to his own room to dress. 
 
 During breakfast, not a syllable on the subject was uttered ; 
 but afterwards, Tom took the doctor upstairs and showed 
 him the thing as it stood. 
 
 " And do you mean to say, Tom, you know nothing of it ? " 
 said the doctor, who began to suspect Tom himself. 
 
 "All I kdow of it," replied Tom, " is this : that there add 
 thus it stood whed I woke." 
 
 " But were you not disturbed at all during the night ? " 
 
 " Dot at all. Add I defy ady bad alive to cobe idto by 
 roob while I'b asleep without wakidg be up." 
 
 " Whose handkerchief is that round the leg ? That, per- 
 haps, may give us some clue." 
 
 Tom took off the handkerchief ; and having examined it, 
 found that it was his own. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the doctor suspiciously. " Well, aU I can 
 say, Tom, is, that it's strange. We may, perhaps, find it all 
 out by-and-by." 
 
 He then left the room ; and, as Tom perceived clearly that 
 he was again suspected, he struck the intruding skeleton in 
 the mouth, and knocked its head off. 
 
 As the doctor was thoughtfully going downstairs. Aunt 
 Eleanor's reverend friend arrived ; and, on being announced, 
 was welcomed with warmth by all, save Tom, who was 
 privately engaged in delivering a deeply indignant soliloquy. 
 Even the features of Mrs. Delolme were relaxed when the 
 reverend gentleman appeared ; for all the virtues he possessed, 
 with all . those which he could be imagined to possess, had 
 been by Aunt Eleanor duly set fortL 
 
 There was, however, one fact which puzzled him exceedingly, 
 and that was, the absence of all anxiety on the part of Aunt 
 Eleanor to have a private conference. He couldn't understand 
 it. He had fancied that her anxiety to converse with him 
 privately would have been most intense ; instead of which, 
 he found that even the most favourable opportunities were 
 lost, and that, in fact, she was not at all anxious about the 
 
THE DELICATE DISCLOSUBE. " zi; 
 
 matter. He was not, it is true, displeased with this ; it didn't 
 in the slightest degree distress him ; it, on the contrary, tended 
 to convince him that the stout individual in question was one 
 whom she really didn't care much about ; but he did think it 
 strange — exceedingly strange — that after having summoned 
 him to London, expressly in order to consult him on the sub- 
 ject, she should not in any manner, either directly or indirectly, 
 allude to it. It was true she might be waiting until he had 
 seen this stout gentleman ; certainly this struck him as being 
 extremely probable ; it moreover struck him, that as bulk 
 was the point at issue, he coiddn't form anything like a just 
 judgment upon that point until he had seen him ; still, 
 although these might be the real causes of her silence, and 
 although he thought it likely that he should meet him at 
 dinner, he could not but feel, notwithstanding the delicacy of 
 the subject, that a few brief preliminary observations would 
 be agreeable, and by no means whatever incorrect. 
 
 In the course of the morning Mrs. Delolme expressed an 
 earnest desire to introduce him to Mr. Terre, and as the 
 reverend gentleman — conceiving that he was in reality the 
 man who had proposed — was equally anxious for the introduc- 
 tion, the carriage was immediately ordered, and they went. 
 
 He now thought he saw clearly how the case stood : that 
 this great gun was the stout individual, that Mrs. Delolme 
 knew all about it, and that she had been deputed by Aunt 
 Eleanor to manage the introduction, in order that he might 
 at once be able to pass judgment upon the point at issue. 
 
 Instead, however, of finding Mr. Terre the stout person 
 he had imagined, he found him particularly thin, which at 
 once upset all his ideas on the subject of his being the man, 
 and tended to remove those prejudices against him which he 
 had almost involuntarily inspired. 
 
 In bringing these two reverend persons together, Mrs. 
 Delolme, perhaps naturally, anticipated a high intellectual 
 treat ; but, as this anticipation was not based upon any pro- 
 found knowledge of the men, she was doomed to experience 
 disappointment. They were both superficial, and therefore 
 both cautious. They were afraid of each other, and knowing 
 that there exists much virtue in silence — seeing that it leaves 
 an immense amount of eloquence, genius, tact, and erudition 
 to be imagined — prudence prompted them both to avoid every 
 subject upon which they conceived a discussion might arise. 
 
2i8 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 But although disappointed in this respect, their silence 
 had a great effect on Mrs. Delolme ; it caused her to believe 
 that they were both profound, and hence to raise them in 
 her estimation, for she felt it to be the true silence of wisdom ; 
 and so, indeed, it was, as far as that wisdom went. 
 
 Well, that Mr. Terre was not the individual in question, 
 the reverend gentleman now felt convinced j he therefore 
 resolved to wait till dinner time with patience, in the full 
 expectation of seeing him then, and being anxious to call 
 upon a friend or two in town, he, on their return, took leave 
 until five. 
 
 Meanwhile Tom and Sylvester were busily engaged in 
 devising means by which they might solve that mystery, the 
 effect of which upon the minds of Dr. and Mrs. Delolme 
 had wounded Toni's private feelings deeply. He knew that 
 he was unjustly suspected, of course; he also knew, that 
 unless the whole affair was satisfactorily cleared up, his 
 reputation must suffer. He admitted that, in the absence 
 of all proof to the contrary, the suspicion that he had invented 
 these tricks with the view of clearing himself of the accusa- 
 tion of Ninety-nine, was neither irrational under the circiun- 
 stances, nor strained ; but he did think it hard — knowing 
 his innocence — ^very hard, that everything he did for the 
 purpose of removing that suspicion, should have a direct 
 tendency to confirm it. 
 
 " But I'll dot give it up," said he, having invented and 
 repudiated fifty schemes which at first appeared likely to 
 achieve the object in view. " I'll; dever give it up till I fidd 
 out the cause, although we had better keep it to ourselves 
 udtil the gradd result is discovered. Dow, I'll tell you what 
 I'll do to begid with : I'll sedd Jib out for a couple of bells, 
 add as the skeletod seebs to be either directly or iddirectly the 
 great swell, I'll hadg theb ibbediately over by head, add have 
 stridgs attached to its legs, so that if it be reboved, however 
 slightly, the bells bay ridg udkdowd to hib who reboves it." 
 
 " Very good," said Sylvester. " But why send James for 
 the bells 1 Why let him know anything about them ? You'd 
 better get them yourself ; or I'll run and get them for you. 
 We shaU however have to go out by-and-by, and then we 
 can bring them in with us." 
 
 " That will be the best way, certaidly," said Tom ; " but 
 what do you thidk of the schebe ! " 
 
THE DELICATE DIS'OLOSUBE. 219 
 
 " I think it a very good one. But I should advise sitting 
 up, here in the study. I'll sit up with you with pleasure." 
 
 " It wod't do, Syl — I'b sure it wod't do. Whed they see 
 a light they'll cut back." 
 
 « Then let's sit in the dark." 
 
 "Id the dark! What bortal cad keep hibself awake 
 throughout the -dight id the dark ? Hubad dature hasd't 
 the power to do it." 
 
 "I'd do it. I'd keep myself awake, especially on such an 
 occasion — I'd stake my existence upon it." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " suppose we try the bell dodge first. 
 The thidg cad't be boved without causidg the bells to ridg, 
 dor cad the bells ridg without wakidg be. I therefore thidk 
 that we had better try that dodge to-dight, the result of 
 which bay, perhaps, guide us to-borrow." 
 
 " Very well : then let it be so. We'll bring the bells in 
 with us when we go out." 
 
 Having decided on pursuing this course, they left the 
 study to prepare for dinner ; and on going into the drawing- 
 room shortly afterwards, found that the reverend gentleman 
 had arrived. He did not, however, appear To be at ease. 
 He was evidently anxious about something. He kept fidget- 
 ing about, and glancing at the door, and starting when any 
 one entered. 
 
 " Your aunt and I," said he at length to Sylvester, aside, 
 " have had no conversation on that subject yet." 
 
 " Have you not ? " said Sylvester, who conceived that he 
 alluded to the mystery which still occupied Ms thoughts. 
 
 " I don't think she likes to allude to the subject." 
 
 "Very likely not. But did you ever hear of anything so 
 extraordinary — so unaccountable ? " 
 
 "I never was more astonished in my life than when I 
 heard of it." 
 
 " All in the house were astonished.'.' 
 
 " Do they all know of the circumstance 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! yes. But whatever may now occur will be con- 
 cealed' froih them all till the point has been gained." 
 
 " Do you think that his object will be attained ? " 
 
 "I've no doubt of it." 
 
 " Well ! " said the reverend gentleman thoughtfully, " it 
 is altogether the strangest thing I ever heard of." 
 
 Dinner was announced : and ■ although no stout individual 
 
220 SYL VESTER 'SO UND. 
 
 had arrived, the reverend gentleman felt very nervous. This 
 feeling, however, while they were at dinner, wore ofif : indeed 
 the ^doctor, who was at all times anxious to make those 
 around him happy, at length put him in high spirits by his 
 lively and interesting conversation. He was delighted with 
 the doctor. He had never met with a man whom he admired 
 so much. And the doctor was equally delighted with him ; 
 for simplicity of manners is appreciated most by those who 
 are most conversant with the world's hypocrisy. 
 
 At eight o'clock Tom and Sylvester left ; and as the ladies 
 had previously retired, the reverend gentleman fully expected 
 that the doctor would allude to the contemplated marriage, 
 seeing that Sylvester — as he imagined — ^had told him that 
 the whole affair was known to them all. But the doctor, 
 of course, knowing nothing about it, did not say a word 
 upon the subject ; which the reverend gentleman thought 
 very strange, feeling convinced that he was perfectly cognisant 
 of the cause of his coming to town. As, however, the subject 
 was not alluded to by him, 7ie did not like to allude to it, 
 and therefore no allusion was made to it at all. 
 
 About nine, the doctor was summoned to see a patient, 
 and having taken the reverend gentleman up to the ladies, 
 apologised and left ; and as, shortly afterwards, Mrs. Delolme 
 quitted the room to give some instructions to the servants, 
 Aunt Eleanor, addressing her reverend friend, who was 
 anxious for her to begin, said, " Well, and when do you 
 think of leaving town ? " 
 
 "Why," replied the reverend gentleman, "that depend."* 
 upon circumstances entirely." 
 
 " I see. But you do not think of leaving us yet ? " 
 
 " Why — no. Until something has been settled, of course 
 I shall not think of leaving. When do you think this affair 
 will be arranged ? " 
 
 " What affair do you allude to ? " 
 
 " Why, of that affair of course — which has brought me to 
 town." 
 
 " Oh ! I beg pardon. I didn't ask as a matter of curiosity. 
 I thought it might be something in which I was con- 
 cerned." 
 
 " And so, my dear madam, it is." 
 
 " Indeed ! Why, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " I know your delicacy," replied the reverend gentleman, 
 
THE DELICATE DISCLOSURE. 221 
 
 with great deliberation, "and I appreciate it highly; but 
 when am I to be introduced to him ? " 
 
 " To him ! To whom ? " 
 
 "Why, this gentleman." 
 
 " What gentleman ? " 
 
 " Why, the gentleman who has made you an offer." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor gaily, being quite dis- 
 posed to keep up that which she conceived to be a very 
 pleasant jest, "I understand. Tou shall be introduced : I'll 
 promise you that." 
 
 " Is he — very — remarkably — stout ? " 
 
 " Not very — not remarkably so — at least, not that I know 
 of. But you shall see him one of these days." 
 
 One of these days ! This, under these circumstances, 
 struck the reverend gentleman as being a most extraordinary 
 expression. One of these days ! Had he come between 
 sixty and seventy miles, nominally for the purpose of being 
 introduced to this man, but virtually in order to be told 
 that he should see him one of these days 1 
 
 " He is in town, I presume ? " said he, after a pause. 
 
 "EeaUy," returned Aunt Eleanor, still keeping up the 
 assumed joke, " I don't know exactly where he is at present." 
 
 " Indeed ! But, of course, he'll be here in a day or two ? " 
 
 " He may be ; and when he does come, I'll at once introduce 
 him — you funny man, be assured of that." 
 
 Funny man ! Well, in the judgment of the reverend 
 gentleman, it was a funny affair altogether. He didn't know 
 that he was particularly funny : he might be — he wouldn't 
 undertake to deny that he was : nor did he deny it — but he 
 thought the whole proceeding of course very odd. 
 
 " But," said he, " in the event of your accepting this offer, 
 when do you think the affair will take place ? " 
 
 " Well, I really cannot say ; but, when it does take place, 
 you will, I hope, do me the favour to officiate 1 " 
 
 " I shall feel, on the occasion of your marriage, great plea- 
 sure in being present. But I suppose it will be settled now 
 in a very few days ? " 
 
 " No, I don't think it will be so soon." 
 
 " In a week, then, or so ? " 
 
 " I think not so soon as that.'' 
 
 " Well, my dear madam," said the reverend gentleman, 
 who really felt very much embaiTassed, for, while he could 
 
222 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 not but think that he had not been exactly treated teell, he 
 was anxious to conceal the fact of his being annoyed, " you 
 know best, certainly — you ought to know best. But I pre- 
 sume, from what you have said, that you intend to accept 
 bis offer 1 " 
 
 " Why, really, that is a question which I cannot answer 
 now. I shall, however, be in a position to do so immediately 
 after the offer has been made." 
 
 " After it has been made ! Has it not already been 
 made ? " 
 
 " Not yet, no ! it has not been made yet." 
 
 " Oh ! I beg pardon ! I thought it had been." 
 
 " Why, what do you mean 1 There is nothing in your 
 countenance facetious ; and yet you are jesting, of course ? " 
 
 " Jesting ! Bless my life, no ; I'm not jesting at all." 
 
 " Do you really mean to say that you are serious 1 " 
 
 " Perfectly so." 
 
 " Then what do you mean ? " 
 
 " You have had — or rather you expect to have — an offer 
 of marriage : do you not ? " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " But a gentleman has proposed, or is about to propose to 
 you 2 " 
 
 " Not that I am aware of." 
 
 " Tut ! — bless my life : a stout gentleman ! — one whom you 
 think somewhat too stout ? " 
 
 '? I know nothing of it." 
 
 "Well, but — really, my dear madam — is that a fact?" 
 
 " I know nothing whatever, my dear sir, about it." 
 
 " Bless my heart alive ! Well, but did you not direct a 
 letter to be sent to me, statirlg that such was the case ? " 
 
 "Most certainly not." 
 
 "The young dog — the young rascal. I'll give him a 
 lecture. I shouldn't have supposed it. I shouldn't have 
 thought he would have done such a thing. ' The young 
 scamp." 
 
 " To whom do you allude ? " 
 
 « To Sylvester." 
 
 " Sylvester ! Well, but, my dear sir, you don't mean to 
 say that our Sylvester sent such a letter as that ? " 
 
 " Here it is ! " replied the reverend gentleman, searching 
 all his pockets with astonishing rapidity. " Here it is ! 
 
THE DELICATE DISOLOSUBE. 223 
 
 No, it isn't : it's in my other coat. But Sylvester sent me 
 a letter — ^whicli letter you shall see to-morrow morning — ^to 
 this, effect ; that you had desired him to inform me, that you 
 thought of entering into the marriage state : that you hadn't 
 exactly made up your mind : that you would not do so until 
 you had consulted me : that you fancied that the gentleman, 
 
 who had made you an offer, was somewhat too stout " 
 
 " Too stout ! " cried Aunt Eleanor, laughing. 
 " Yes, somewhat too stout : that you would not decide 
 until you had had my opinion upon the point : and that, if 
 that opinion were favourable, you wished me to perform the 
 marriage ceremony." 
 
 " Why, you amaze me ! " 
 
 "That is the substance of the letter which I received 
 yesterday morning." 
 
 " And signed by Sylvester ? " 
 " Signed by him — in his own handwriting." 
 "Impossible! " 
 
 " It's a fact. rU take my oath to the writing. I'd just 
 commenced breakfast when the letter arrived, and when I 
 read the contents you may imagine my surprise." 
 
 "You might well be surprised," said Aunt Eleanor, 
 smihng. 
 
 " I was surprised, because I never imagined for one moment 
 that you contemplated anything of the sort. However, it 
 appeared to me quite clear then, and therefore I came up to 
 London at once." 
 
 " And was this the sole cause of your coming to town 1 " 
 " I had no other object than that of seeing you." 
 "Then, really, I am very sorry for it." 
 "I am not — I am not! On the contrary — now that I 
 find that it's nothing, but what they, in London, call a hoax 
 — I'm quite pleased — I'm delighted ! It seems to have struck 
 into my mind a new Hght ; it has given animation to feelings 
 which have long laiu dormant. I candidly confess to you 
 that I am much pleased : nay, I'll also confess to you this, 
 that I came up fully determined to oppose that man's claim, 
 by declaring— if I found that he was anything of a size — 
 that he was, in reality, much too stout." 
 
 " What ! " said Aunt Eleanor gaily ; " and thus to prevent 
 me from gaining an affectionate husband ? " 
 
 " No ; to prevent you merely from having him. But we'll 
 
224 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 speak more of this by-and-by. The idea of my leaving that 
 letter at the inn ! I wish that I had brought it. I changed 
 my coat, you see, when I went to dress." 
 
 " Well, but are you quite sure," said Aunt Eleanor, upon 
 whom the observation of the reverend gentleman, having 
 reference to those feelings which had long been dormant, 
 had a very peculiar effect ; " are you certain that that letter 
 was written by Sylvester? " 
 
 " Quite. But you shall see it in the morning, and form 
 your own judgment. I feel quite clear upon the point." 
 
 " Then, really, I must scold him well." 
 
 " Leave that to me, my dear madam : just leave that to 
 me. Although I cannot be angry with him for it. Til give 
 him a lecture. We had better not, however, say a word to 
 him to-night. I'll bring the letter with me in the morning, 
 and then we shall have all before us." 
 
 Mrs. Delolme now re-entered the room, and .shortly after, 
 the doctor returned and recommenced chatting to the reverend 
 gentleman, while, at intervals. Aunt Eleanor merrily laughed 
 at the idea of her having objected to a lover on the ground 
 of his being too stout. 
 
 Soon after the return of Tom and Sylvester, their reverend 
 friend took his leave, and when prayers had been read, they 
 went as usual into the study to supper, and when they had 
 eaten to their hearts' content, they adjusted the bells, and 
 went to bed. 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 THE BELLS. 
 
 So much has been written and said about Love, that were 
 not his beautiful features ever varying and ever new, the 
 subject mud have been ere this exhausted. One of the 
 peculiar attributes of Love is his perpetual juvenility — his 
 immortal youth. He was created with the Creation : he 
 was the favourite boy of Eve : Eve was remarkably fond of 
 Love ; and he has been ever since the first favourite of her 
 daughters. From the Creation he lived till the Deluge : 
 he was in the Ark with Noah, and welcomed back the dove. 
 
THE BELLS. 225 
 
 From tlie Deluge he lived till the commencement of the 
 Christian Era, and in the whole of the proceedings of the 
 eventful period which intervened, took an active and a most 
 conspicuous part. From the commencement of the Christian 
 Era he continued to live ; and he is alive now, and full of 
 health, joy, and beauty, and albeit six thousand years old, 
 doesn't look more than six. 
 
 This, however, may be said to be a painter's view of Love. 
 Let us view Love philosophically. Stop ! Philosophically ? 
 No : that is impracticable — quite. Love repudiates Philo- 
 . sophy, and Philosophy repudiates Love. They are, and ever 
 have been, at war : they are, in fact, the greatest enemies 
 that ever had existence — each breathes destruction to the 
 other : th»y are very inveterate foes. Love frequently 
 upsets Philosophy, even in the very streets ; which is very 
 incorrect of Love, certainly; but then Philosophy is con- 
 stantly endeavouring to upset Love ! Sometimes, however. 
 Love — in his most amiable moments — will meet Philosophy 
 calmly, and try to effect something like a reconciliation ; 
 but Philosophy will not be propitiated, conceiving that Love 
 can never love Philosophy. Nor can he ; nor can Philosophy 
 ever love Love. Love may be beloved by millions dearly ; 
 but never can Philosophy be a lover of Love. 
 
 It being, therefore, impossible to take a philosophical view 
 of Love, suppose we take a common sense view — and yet 
 what on earth has Love to do with Common Sense ? Abso- 
 lutely nothing. Love doesn't even know Common Sense. 
 We cannot, therefore, take a common sense view of Love. 
 No ; if we view him at all, we must view him as he is — a 
 monarch reigning in the hearts of his people : a mighty 
 m.onarch — the King of Hearts : a king without revenues 
 sufficient to find him even in shirts — an absolute and a 
 naked king ! — a king, moreover, glorying in his nakedness, 
 of which, being pure, he is never ashamed : a king whose 
 dominion is illimitable, and whose prime minister is so 
 impartial, that he strikes the light of Love into the souls 
 of all, without reference to either caste, colour, or creed. 
 
 He doesn't, however, always inflame the thrilling bosoms 
 of youth ; he'll sometimes let people alone for forty or fifty 
 years. This may be held to be an extraordinary fact, but 
 it is a fact nevertheless — a fact which must not be denied ; 
 nor, for more than a moment, even doubted, seeing that 
 
 P 
 
226 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor and her reverend friend supplied at this period 
 a case in point. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor was upwards of forty years of age, and the 
 reverend gentleman was upwards of fifty, while neither had, 
 up to this time, really loved. The germs of love were in the 
 hearts of both, but they had never struck root. And in 
 speaking of love, it must be understood as love, not certainly 
 co?i<?'a-distinguished, but distinguished from affection; for 
 while Aunt Eleanor was one of the most affectionate crea- 
 tures that ever breathed, the affections of the reverend 
 gentleman were strong. It will hence be seen that love does 
 not necessarily co-exist with affection : in other words, that 
 affection may exist without love ; for certain is it that the 
 reverend gentleman never inspired the passion of love until 
 he received Sylvester's letter, and that Aunt Eleanor never 
 really felt that she loved, until her reverend friend spoke of 
 those feelings which had in his bosom lain dormant so long. 
 Then, indeed, the flame burst forth to amaze them with the 
 consciousness of their having been formed to love each other ; 
 and that consciousness, coupled with the amazement thereon 
 consequent, kept them awake — on the morning that followed 
 the eventful day of which the preceding chapter treats — 
 until half-past two o'clock. 
 
 At half-past two o'clock — it was a singular coincidence — ■ 
 they both fell asleep, and they hadn't been asleep more than 
 fifteen minutes when Tom heard his bells. 
 
 " Hollo ! very good ! " said he, getting out of bed. " Stop 
 a bidite, add I'll give you pepper ! " And grasping a stick, 
 a blow from which would have made the head of any man 
 ache for a month, he went up stealthily into the study. 
 
 " Who's there ? " he demanded in tones of indignation. 
 " Do you hear ? " 
 
 All was silent. 
 
 " I've got you, have I ? " he continued. " Very good. 
 Wait a bidite : let's strike a light, add have a look at you. 
 Dow thed," he added, having lighted the candle ; " dow thed, 
 where are you ? Do you hear ? It's of do use, you kdow 
 ^codcealbedt is vaid. Do you hear ? I'll sbash you, if j'ou 
 dod't cobe out ! Where have you got to ? Hollo /" 
 
 All was still silent. There was not a breath to indicate 
 the presence of a soul. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is, old fellow," resumed Tom, " you've 
 
THE BELLS. 
 
 227 
 
 J)oked yourself sobewhere ; but dod't believe I'b goidg to give 
 you up ; dot a bit of it. I'll have you, add do bistake ; you'd 
 better cobe out of your hole ; d'ye hear ? " 
 
 Tom examined minutely every cupboard and every corner ; 
 he looked round and round, but no creature could he see. 
 He also examined the skeleton. There it stood — it didn't 
 appear to have been removed — it didn't appear to have been 
 touched, and yet he heard the bells ring. He surely could 
 not have been mistaken in that ? The very thought induced 
 a doubt. He felt that he might have been mistaken : he 
 thought it possible — Just possible — that he had been dream- 
 ing, and, while dreaming, fancied he heard the bells. 
 
 " Well, if it is so, it is !" he at length exclaimed, " I 
 certaidly thought that I heard theb. However, it's clear 
 that there's dobody here, so I bay just as well go to bed 
 agaid as dot ! " 
 
 He therefore descended, and put out the light, and having 
 established his stick near the pillow, got into bed again 
 calmly. He had scarcely, however, covered himself com- 
 fortably up, when the bells began to ring again merrily. 
 
 " That's sobethidg dear the bark, at all evedts 1 " cried 
 Tom, who was out of bed again in the twinkling of an eye. 
 " There cad be do bistake dow ! Wud bobedt, by friedd," 
 he added, grasping his stick — "odly stop imid bobedt, add 
 you'll oblige be." 
 
 Again he stealthily ascended to the study, and with 
 feelings .of hope looked round and round. There wasn't a 
 corner — there wasn't a hole sufficiently large to admit a 
 mouse — that then escaped minute examination. He looked 
 everywhere again and again, but the result was destruction 
 to the hope he had inspired. 
 
 "If," he exclaimed, "I do dail you. Heaved have bercy 
 upod your bodes, for they shall bake the sweetest busic bodes 
 ever had the abiUty to bake." 
 
 Having given emphatic expression to this sentiment, he 
 again descended and got into bed ; but his head had not been 
 on the pillow three minutes, when the bells again recom- 
 menced ringing. 
 
 " Go it I " he cried, " by all badder of beads. There's 
 dothidg like bakidg edough doise. But if you thidk I'b 
 goidg to cut up add dowd stairs all the blessed bordidg, 
 you'll fide yourself bistaked, by friedd, do doubt t Dow 
 
228 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 thed," he added, in the depths of thought, "what's to be 
 dode ? That fellow's sobewhere — there cad't be two opidiods 
 about that. But where ? That's the questiod. He's havidg 
 a gabe, add a dice gabe it is. But sedd I could catch hib ! 
 Pull 'eb dowd I " he added, as the bells continued to ring : 
 " dod't be dice about it — dod't bidce the batter ; pull 'eb 
 dowd ! Well, I'll go up agaid — wodce bore ; add if I should 
 dail this idgedious gedtlebad, it strikes be as beidg extrebely 
 probable that he'll kdow it ! " 
 
 Once more, accordingly, Tom left his room, and, on going 
 upstairs, he fell over a string, which not only brought the 
 bells and the skeleton down, but pulled Sylvester half out of 
 bed and awoke him. 
 
 " Who's there ? " cried Sylvester, in startling tones — 
 " Who's there ? " 
 
 " I ! " replied Tom. " Dod't be alarbed— dod't be alarbed ! " 
 and he rushed at once into the study. 
 
 " Tom ! " cried the doctor, who had heard the noise, " what 
 on earth are you about ? " 
 
 " Adother gabe ! " replied Tom. " Here's adother dice 
 gabe ! Just cobe up — odly cobe ; frob this spot I'll dot bove 
 ad idch." 
 
 The doctor, who really felt very much annoyed, slipped on 
 his dressing-gown at once ; and as he was proceeding upstairs, 
 with the view of speaking to Tom very severely, Sylvester, 
 who was somewhat alarmed, came cautiously out of his 
 room. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this ? " said the doctor. 
 
 " Upon my word, I don't know," replied Sylvester. " Some 
 one pulled me nearly out of bed just now." 
 
 " Pulled you nearly out of bed ? Oh ! we must investigate 
 this. Now, sir," he added, on reaching the study, " what is 
 all this about ? " 
 
 " It's a gabe," replied Tom. " But he's here — I kdow he's 
 here." 
 
 "Who's here?" 
 
 " He whob I'd give ady buddy to see." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " cried the doctor. " I demand an explana- 
 tion." 
 
 " You shall have it," said Tom. " But just wait a bidite : 
 just wait till I've foudd hib. I'b adxious to give hib ad 
 expladatiod firsti" 
 
THE BELLS. 229 
 
 " What do you mean, Tom ? Surely you are mad. There's 
 no one here." 
 
 " Sobe wud was here, add that dot two bidites ago.'' 
 
 "I don't believe it; I cannot believe it." 
 
 " I'b sure of it. If dot, how cabe by bells to ridg ? " 
 
 "What bells!?" 
 
 " Why, by bells ; the bells which I hudg up id by roob last 
 dightr' 
 
 " Tom, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " I bead that the bells which I hudg up id by roob last 
 dight, add which cobbudicated with the legs of by bed, have 
 beed ridgidg away for the last half hour ; add I also bead 
 that those bells would dot have . rudg if the stridgs had dot 
 beed pulled : that by bad would dot have failed if he had dot 
 beed touched, add that, therefore, sobe wud has beed here." 
 
 " Tom," said the doctor, with an expression of severity, 
 " I'll not be disturbed thus night after night. We must, I 
 see, get lodgings for you somewhere else." 
 
 ".The disturbadce is dot of by creatiod. You dod't thidk 
 that I have disturbed you ? " 
 
 " Who else could have done it ? " 
 
 " That's the very poidt I'd give a billiod to ascertaid ! " 
 
 "As far as I alone am concerned, it's a matter of slight 
 importance, but when the whole house is disturbed, it's most 
 unpardonable. Even Sylvester must have his rest broken. 
 What was your object in pulling him out of bed ? " 
 
 " Out of bed ?— Syl !— pull hib out of bed 1 Why, I haved't 
 beed idto his roob ! " 
 
 " If you didn't, who could have pulled him out of bed 1 " 
 
 "That's the poidt — that's the very questiod ! But were 
 you thed pulled out of bed, Syl ? " 
 
 " I was very nearly." 
 
 " But you dod't bead to thidk that I did it ? " 
 
 " It's a matter of little moment, Tom, whether you did or 
 not." 
 
 " But I didd't ! I haved't beed dear you." 
 
 " Then it must have been some one else. I only wish that 
 he hadn't cut my hand quite so much." 
 
 " Has your hand been cut 1 " inquired the doctor, taking 
 it immediately in his. " It appears to have been cut with a 
 string. Tom," he added sternly, " go to bed, sir, and let us 
 have no more of this folly." 
 
230 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " but do you bead to bead" 
 
 " I have nothing more to say," observed the doctor. 
 
 "Well, I suppose you'll let be explaid? " 
 
 "I don't require any explanation," said the doctor, who 
 left the study, and in silence returned to his room. 
 
 " Victibised agaid ! " exclaimed Tom, as the doctor left 
 him. " Shouldd't I be happier id the grave ? I do believe 
 that if you were to go frob us roudd to our Adtipodes, you 
 wouldd't beet with a bore udfortudate swell. If there be ady 
 luck afloat, it's perfectly sure to cobe idto by harbour. I'b 
 wud of the elect to receive addoyadces. I'll back byself 
 agaidst ady bad id the udiverse to have byself bisudderstood, 
 add by botives bisidterpreted. Dow look here, Syl, you kdow 
 the purpose for which I put up those bells. Well, about half 
 ad hour ago, I heard theb ridg, add I cabe up daturally with 
 a shall stick, expectidg to iide a bad of sobe sort. But do ; 
 he'd cut it ; add I wedt dowd agaid ; add the bells radg agaid, 
 add agaid I cabe up add had by usual luck agaid ; add agaid 
 I wedt dowd, whed the bells radg agaid ; add just as I was 
 cobidg up here for the last tibe, to see if I could dail this 
 varbidt— -what would I dot give to see hib dow ! — I fell over 
 sobethidg, add grazed by shid — brought dowd by bells, add 
 brought dowd by bad — add ' for all these courtesies ' I ab 
 dedoudced ! If this be dot edough to bake a bad love his 
 bother, I dod't kdow what is ! " 
 
 " Then did you faU 1 " 
 
 " Fall ! slap ! over sobethidg ; I dod't kdow what, dor do 
 I care — but I fell, add I suppose it was the doise I bade 
 that woke you ? " 
 
 "No," returned Sylvester, "some one had hold of my 
 hand ! " 
 
 " Is that a fact ? " 
 
 " Oh ! there's no doubt at all about it. I was pulled 
 more than half out of bed ! " 
 
 " Add did you see do wud dear 1 " 
 
 " Not a soul ! I was somewhat alarmed at the moment, 
 and called out to know who was there, and you answered me." 
 
 " Thed I suppose I'b let id for that ? " 
 
 " Not at all. You stated just now that you didn't come 
 near me ; I am, therefore, quite satisfied on that point ; but 
 that some one was near me at the time, is quite clear." 
 
 " Well, but where could he have gode to_1 I saw do wud 
 
THE BELLS. 231 
 
 cobe frob your roob ! I wish I liad — it would have beed a 
 happy idcidedt ! How could he by ady possibility have got 
 out ] Add if he could have got out, he couldd't have rushed 
 past be without by seeidg hib ; and if eved he could have 
 rushed past be idvisibly, he couldd't have pulled you out of 
 bed dowd there, add kdocked by bad dowd here, at wud add 
 the sabe tibe." 
 
 " There may be two of them." 
 
 " Good ! so there bay. But if I odly caught wud, I'd^ 
 give hib edough for both. I dod't thidk, however great a 
 glutted he bight be, that he'd hesitate for wud sidgle bobedt 
 to codfess that he had had bore thad his bodicub — bore thad 
 he could, with ady great degree of cobfort, digest. But isd't 
 it stradge, dow, that we cad 't get to the bottob of this? 
 Isd't it barvellous, Syl ? " 
 
 " It is indeed. I know not what to think of it." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, "I suppose they are pretty well satisfied 
 dow ! I presube they dod't idtedd to do ady bore bischief this 
 bout ! we'll therefore go to bed. But I'll try adother dodge 
 or two. Of course, I'b safe to be bade a bartyr ; I've suffered 
 three bartyrdobs already, but I'll dot give it up. If they are 
 to be caught, I'll catch 'eb ; add if I do catch 'eb, I strodgly 
 recobbedd theb to look out ! I'll reward theb haddsobely — 
 they shall be paid ! I feel dow as if I could half burder a 
 couple with all the pleasure that appertaids to life. However, 
 let's pludge idto bed agaid. I feel so biserable, Syl, that 
 I've a good bide to say I'll go to sleep for a bodth ! " 
 
 They then returned to their respective rooms, and were 
 disturbed no more. 
 
 In the morning, almost immediately after breakfast, thfe 
 reverend gentleman called • and Aunt Eleanor, with all that 
 tact by which ladies are commonly characterised, arranged 
 matters so that they were alone. The reverend gentleman 
 was in excellent spirits — he had not, indeed, been for some 
 years so gay ; but Aunt Eleanor felt tremulous, and anxious, 
 and odd ; her pulse did not beat with anything like regularity, 
 nor did she speak with any certainty of tone ; she knew not, 
 in fact, what to make of her feelings ; they appeared to her to 
 be so extraordinary — so droll — there was, in a word, a certain 
 novelty about them which she could not at all understand. 
 
 " Now, my dear madam," said the reverend gentleman, 
 when all the preliminaries to conversation had been arranged, 
 
232 SYLVESTER' SOUND. 
 
 "I'll show you my credentials." And taking Sylvester's 
 letter from his pocket, he presented it with an air of con- 
 fidence perfectly consistent with the feelings he entertained. 
 
 " Dear me," said Aunt Eleanor, on glancing at the letter, 
 " this is indeed his handwriting ! And yet how extra- 
 ordinary it is, that he should have sent such a letter. I 
 cannot account for it at all ! " 
 
 " The young rogue ! like a young colt or a young kitten — 
 full of play, my dear madam, full of play ! " 
 
 " But it is so contrary to his general character and conduct.'' 
 
 " Youth, youth ! " said the reverend gentleman. " Youth 
 always was, and always will be youth ! " 
 
 This remarkable observation settled the point as far as it 
 went, and Aunt Eleanor proceeded to read the letter j but 
 while she was reading, the reverend gentleman — who watched 
 her with an expression of anxiety mingled with delight — 
 could not perceive the slightest change in her countenance ; 
 at which he marvelled — and naturally ; seeing that he was at 
 the time perfectly unconscious of the fact that, although she 
 was reading with great apparent care, she was in reality think- 
 ing of something else. Had the reverend gentleman the 
 previous day omitted the observation having reference to the 
 resuscitation of certain feelings, which had long been lying 
 dormant, she would, while reading this letter, have laughed 
 heartily ; but as that observation had been made, she looked 
 at the fruit, of which she conceived it to be the germ — her 
 thoughts were not upon the cause, but the effect — and there- 
 fore, while reading it, she didn't laugh a,t alL 
 
 " Well, my dear madam," said the reverend gentleman, 
 " what is your impression now ? " 
 
 " It certainly is Sylvester's handwriting," she replied ; " but 
 what his object could have been, I cannot possibly conceive." 
 
 " Fun was the young rogue's object, no doubt ! It is clear 
 that he thought it an excellent jest." 
 
 " But such jests, my dear sir, are highly incorrect ; he 
 must be scolded ! " 
 
 " Leave that to me, my dear madam — leave all that to me. 
 I'll give him a lecture. Shall we have him in now 1 " 
 
 " I think that we had better." 
 
 The bell was rung, and Sylvester was summoned ; and when 
 he appeared, he greeted the reverend gentleman precisely as 
 if unconscious of the existence of any such letter as that 
 
THE BELLS. 233 
 
 which Aunt Eleanor held in her hand — which was thought 
 very remarkable. 
 
 " Sylvester," said the reverend gentleman, assuming a some- 
 what stern expression, " I am anxious to have a few words 
 with you calmly. Sylvester, there are jests which are venial, 
 and jests which are not j there are jests which are harmless, 
 and jests which are not ; jests which are harmless, are those 
 which I hold to be venial ; jests which are not harmless must 
 be condemned. But there are, independently of those which 
 I have named, jests which, although in themselves unimpor- 
 tant — or, I should rather say, apparently unimportant — are 
 calculated to lead to important results, and it is to this par- 
 ticular species of jest that I now wish to call your attention. 
 In all ages jesting has been known. History, both sacred and 
 profane, speaks of jesting. The pagans' chief jester was 
 deified : Momus was the heathen god of jesting. Kings and 
 princes have kept their jesters, sometimes with the view of 
 being rebuked for their follies, but more frequently, I fear, 
 for the purpose of being applauded for those follies — some- 
 times, that their passions might be regulated by wit, but more 
 often that it might pander to those passions. Jesting has, 
 therefore, antiquity to recommend it ; but this is not the 
 point at which I am anxious to arrive. Jests or jokes — they 
 are strictly synonymous — may be divided into two distinct 
 classes : those which are salutary, and those which are per- 
 nicious — I use the term ' salutary ' advisedly, seeing that a 
 well-timed jest has frequently been known to do much more 
 good than a sermon. Again, there are white lies, and there 
 are black lies ; there are also white jokes and black jokes ; 
 but albeit a lie, whether white or black, is still a lie ; and a 
 joke, whether white or black, is still a joke ; lies are at all 
 times highly reprehensible, while jokes at all times are not. 
 There are practical jokes and theoretical jokes ; moral jokes 
 and physical jokes ; there are, moreover, jokes which are 
 based upon falsehood, and jokes which are based upon truth ; 
 but the jokes to which I am anxious to direct your attention 
 are those in which falsehood is involved. Now, it seems to 
 me to be perfectly clear that you would scorn to tell a de- 
 liberate falsehood; but it is — nay, it must be — equally clear 
 that you imagine that when a falsehood is involved in a joke, 
 it loses its reprehensible character." 
 
 " Not at all," said Sylvester, who had been throughout 
 
234 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 utterly at a loss to understand what tlie reverend gentleman 
 was driving at. " A falsehood, no matter what colour it 
 may assume, or however ingeniously it may be disguised, is, 
 as you have said, a falsehood still ; and I should no more 
 think of telling a falsehood in jest than I should of telling 
 an absolute falsehood in earnest." 
 
 "My dear madam," said the reverend gentleman, "just 
 oblige me with that letter. Sylvester," he added, " my 
 anxiety is to impress upon your mind that a falsehood is a 
 falsehood, and nothing but a falsehood, if even it be play- 
 fully enveloped in a joke. Now, allow me to read this letter : 
 ' My dear aunt desires me to inform you that she has an idea 
 of entering into the marriage state.' Is there not a falsehood 
 involved in this ? Were you ever desired by her to inform 
 me of anything of the sort ? But to proceed " 
 
 " Nay — I beg pardon — what letter is that which you are 
 reading ? " 
 
 " What letter ? This letter— your letter." 
 
 " My letter 1 " 
 
 " The letter you sent to me ! " 
 
 " You are mistaken. / have sent you no letter." 
 
 " But this letter is yours ? " 
 
 " Not if it be addressed to you. I never wrote to you in 
 my life." 
 
 " Well, but look at it. That is your writing, is it not 1 " 
 
 " It looks like my writing — most certainly ; but I never 
 wrote it." 
 
 " My dear," said Aunt Eleanor, " if it be yours, confess it. 
 I will not be angry — indeed I will not ; although it is cer- 
 tainly very incorrect, yet I pledge you my word that I will 
 not be angry." 
 
 " My dear aunt," said Sylvester, " if it were mine, I should 
 feel myself bound to confess it at once ; but I assure you most 
 solemnly that it is not. I never had occasion to write to Mr. 
 Kouse, nor have I ever written to him. The resemblance 
 which this writing bears to my own is amazing ; but I pledge 
 you my honour that it is not mine." 
 
 " Well, but really," said the reverend gentleman, " it seems 
 to me to be almost impossible to have been written by any 
 one else." 
 
 " If I cannot induce you to believe me," said Sylvester, " I 
 am, of course, sorry — exceedingly sorry ; I can, however, say 
 
THE BELLS. 235 
 
 no more than I have said, the substance of which is, that 
 that letter never was written by me." 
 
 " But you perceive it bears your signature ! He who coun- 
 terfeits the signature of another is guilty of an act of forgery, 
 and forgery is a crime which is punishable by law — it is, in 
 fact, a transportable offence — it used to be, indeed, a hanging 
 matter ; but even now a man who commits an aqt of forgery 
 may be taken up and treated as a felon j he may be tried in 
 a criminal court, and if the jury find him guilty, the judge 
 may pass upon him a sentence of transportation. It is there- 
 fore improbable — most improbable — that any man could, for 
 the sake of a joke, be so awfully reckless as to place himself 
 thus in a position to be torn from the bosom of his family — 
 to be branded as a felon — a common felon — and compelled to 
 work in ignominious chains." 
 
 " However improbable it may appear," said Sylvester, 
 " that any one besides myself wrote that letter, I repeat — 
 most, firmly ^and most solemnly repeat — that it never was 
 written by me. You remember the note that was found at 
 the cottage — ^the note addressed to EosaHe — ^the hand in 
 which that was written resembled mine as strongly as this 
 does, and I have not the slightest doubt that the person who 
 wrote the one wrote the other." 
 
 " Well, it's very mysterious," said the reverend gentleman. 
 " Of course, I am bound to believe you on your honour ; 
 still I must say it's very mysterious." 
 
 " It is," returned Sylvester, " very mysterious. But I 
 assure you, my dear aimt — I do assure you both — that I 
 would not be guilty of so great an act of folly." 
 
 " I am sure that you would not, my dear," said Aunt 
 Eleanor. " I'm perfectly satisfied now, but I thought — I 
 did think — that you might perhaps have done it by way of a 
 jest. I am now, however, firmly convinced you did not, and 
 you must therefore forgive me for supposing that I was 
 justified by that letter in believing that you did." 
 
 The reverend gentleman scarcely even then knew what to 
 make of it; nor did he much care about saying another 
 syllable on the subject : he saw more clearly than he had ever 
 seen before that Aunt Eleanor was an amiable, afEectionate 
 creature, who was anzious to take the most charitable view 
 of everything that could be said to involve a doubt, and was 
 therefore most anxious for Sylvester to leave ; but before he 
 
236 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 was able to give an intimation of this anxiety, they were 
 joined by the doctor and Mrs. Delolme, whose presence pre- 
 vented an interesting scene which the reverend gentleman 
 had in contemplation. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXL 
 
 THE PROPOSAL. 
 
 The forms in which proposals of marriage are made are as 
 various as the views, thoughts, and passions of those who 
 make them. It may at first sight appear strange that there 
 should be so many ways of doing one and the same thing ; 
 and yet, perhaps, of the myriads of millions who have pro- 
 posed, no two men ever — either in ancient or modern times 
 — ^managed this matter precisely alike. Nor is it at all 
 probable that any two men ever will ; for, independently of 
 the infinitely varied characters of lovers, the minds, forms, 
 features, and feelings of those whom they love are so diversi- 
 fied, that every proposal, whether romantic or rational, ardent 
 or cold, pathetic or comic — and the comic style is by far the 
 most popular among the ladies — will have some little novelty 
 about it. 
 
 Without, however, dwelling upon this, it is certain that 
 one of the easiest things in the world for a man to do, is 
 that of proposing to a widow. She understands it so well. 
 She knows so exactly what you mean, and what you are 
 anxious to say ; and helps you over any little difficulty with 
 so much tact, that it's really quite delightful. Yes ; a widow 
 most certainly affords every possible assistance to a man in 
 this position. But while it is certain that the easiest proposal 
 a man can make is that which is made to a widow, it is 
 equally certain that by far the most difficult is that which a 
 man has to make to an old maid. 
 
 Now, albeit Aunt Eleanor was an old maid, it is highly 
 correct to cause it to be distinctly understood that she was 
 not so particularly antiquated as some may imagine. No ! 
 she was upwards of forty ; but although the exact age of a 
 single lady above forty is conventionally apocryphal, it may 
 be said that she was much nearer one than one hundred 
 
THE PROPOSAL. 237 
 
 with safety, seeing that no man in Europe can prove that 
 she was not. 
 
 The reverend gentleman, however, did not look at her age 
 — ^he looked at her virtues : her amiability, her piety, her 
 benevolence, tlje sweetness of her disposition, and the purity 
 of her heart. Still he conceived it to be extremely difficult 
 to propose ; and that apparent difficulty increased as the time 
 drew near at which he had determined that the proposal 
 should be made. How hard he studied, few can tell ; how 
 many times he rehearsed that which he had fixed upon as his 
 opening speech, few have the power to form anything like a 
 correct conjecture; there are, however, many who can tell 
 precisely why, when the time for the delivery of that speech 
 had arrived, his recreant memory abandoned his will ; there 
 are also many in a position to understand how it happened 
 that, having resolved on the immediate pursuit of his object, 
 he at once, notwithstanding that desertion, commenced. 
 
 At this time he and Aunt Eleanor were in one of the 
 doctor's drawing-rooms alone ; and as there appeared to be 
 no prospect of any immediate interruption, he coughed — 
 slightly coughed — and thus began — 
 
 " Have you seen the papers this morning ? " 
 
 " I saw one in the breakfast-room, but I merely glanced 
 at it." 
 
 " You didn't read the debate in the House of Commons, 
 I presume ? " 
 
 " Parliamentary debates I very seldom read : I am not 
 sufficiently ccwnversant with political affairs to read those 
 awfully long speeches with any degree of interest. Was there 
 anything of importance brought forward last night ? " 
 
 " Why, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, I perceive, 
 announced that the expenditure exceeds the income." 
 
 " Indeed 1 Some bad management, I presume ? " 
 
 " He says not — and he ought, I think, to know as well as 
 any man in England. But it strikes me that I could suggest 
 to him the means by which the revenue might be increased ! " 
 
 " He would be glad, I should say, if you were to do so. 
 But what is the nature of the means you would suggest ? " 
 
 " Merely the imposition of an additional tax." 
 
 " Are we not sufficiently taxed already ? " 
 
 " It appears that we are not. If we were, the income 
 would be sufficient to meet the expenditure." 
 
238 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " In private life it sometimes happens that the expenditure 
 "exceeds the income, even when, for all just and legitimate 
 purposes, that income is ample ; but I suppose that in public 
 affairs the case is different. I do not, of course, pretend to 
 understand that difference, but I should like to know what 
 description of tax you would suggest to the Chancellor of the 
 Exchequer." 
 
 " Well," said the reverend gentleman, with a peculiarly 
 bland expression, " that which I contemplate is a tax upon 
 all single men above forty ! " 
 
 Aunt Eleanor smiled and blushed. She knew what he 
 meant : she knew what would follow — she understood him 
 as well as he could have been understood, even by a widow, 
 but was silent. 
 
 " I would," he continued, " I would tax those fellows to 
 the extent of five-and-twenty per cent, upon their incomes. 
 What business have men of that age to be single ? Do you 
 not think it disgraceful ? Don't you think that a tax of the 
 kind ought to be imposed ? " 
 
 "Why," said Aunt Eleanor, "it would be a novel tax." 
 
 " As far as men are concerned, it certainly would be ; but 
 in the feudal times the ladies who held fees or estates which 
 required military services were thus taxed, with the view of 
 inducing them to marry, in order that their husbands might 
 perform those services themselves." 
 
 " But no tax in this case can be imposed on those grounds." 
 
 " Very true : still I'd tax them ! I'd make them either 
 marry or pay." 
 
 "They had better pay than be unhappy." 
 
 " Granted ! But I do not associate unhappiness with 
 marriage : it is, I admit, often the result ; but there are 
 men who will, when there is a bright prospect of happiness 
 before them, continue to live in the shade." 
 
 "In such a case they cannot, I submit, see that pro- 
 spect." 
 
 "ISTo; that's the point. They are blind — morally blind, 
 sand-blind, as I have been — selfishly blind. But I'd open 
 their eyes. I'd tax them ; there's nothing in life like 
 taxation, when the object is to bring men to their senses. 
 Nor would I permit them to occupy a whole house : they 
 should merely have lodgings. Look at my house ; it's a nice 
 house, a good house, a capital house. You might make it a 
 
THE PROPOSAL. 239 
 
 comfortable house, but I can't; and as I can't, what right 
 have I to live in it alone ? " 
 
 " You cannot be said to live in it alone." 
 
 " Conventionallji:, an unmarried man is single, and a single 
 man lives in the world morally alone. Now, I want to know 
 why I should live in the world alone : in other words, I want 
 to know why I should remain unmarried ? " 
 
 " I see no reason why you should : except, indeed, that you 
 are happy." 
 
 "But, my dear madam, I am not happy. I used to be 
 happy, certainly ; but ever since I received that note I have 
 felt a certain sort of something like a wish to be married. 
 Now, I do not belong to the Church of Rome — I belong to 
 the Church of England — and therefore I do not see why I 
 should not enter into the marriage state. Do you see any 
 just cause or impediment ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, no : none whatever." 
 
 " Do you see why I should not marry, when marriage pre- 
 sents a bright prospect of happiness 1 " 
 
 " No : I reaUy do not." 
 
 " Then I want your advice." ■ 
 
 " But I have had no esperience in these matters." 
 
 " So much the better : I'd rather, my dear madam, have 
 your advice — upon this point especially — than that of any 
 other creature breathing. Now, suppose that I were in love 
 — that is to say, suppose that I had so firm — so ardent — an 
 affection for a lady, that I imagined marriage to be absolutely 
 essential to my happiness : suppose this, I merely say sup- 
 pose it, and then tell me what you'd advise me to do ? " 
 
 " Really," replied Aunt Eleanor, smiling, "I'm so perfectly 
 unacquainted with affairs of this character, that I feel quite 
 incompetent to offer advice." 
 
 " But how, in this case, do you think I ought to act ? " 
 
 " Well, reaUy — I scarcely know : but J should think that 
 if you are in the position you describe, you ought at once to 
 propose to the lady." 
 
 " Very good. But how is it to be done ? " 
 
 " I cannot give you any information upon that point." ' 
 
 "Well, but how do you imagine it ought to be done ? " 
 
 "Upon my word, I cannot say. I have had so little 
 experience in these affairs, that it may almost be said that I 
 am ignorant of them," 
 
B40 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " But you have had offers ?'" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I have had many offers, certainly." 
 
 " Will you do me the favour to explain to me how they 
 were made ? " 
 
 " My dear sir — ^really — I scarcely know how it is possible 
 for me to do so." 
 
 " If you would, you would oblige me. I should then know 
 exactly how to manage it myself." 
 
 " Well : but upon my word, the idea of your asking me 
 for information on the subject appears so excessively odd." 
 
 " My dear madam, whom should I ask for information but 
 one who is able to give it ? I pledge you my honour, I never 
 proposed to a lady in my life ; I cannot, therefore, be expected 
 to know anything about the matter : whereas, you having 
 had offers made you, know well how the business is done." 
 
 " I really do not pretend to know anything about it." 
 
 " I am aware that you do not pretend to know ; and this 
 absence of all pretension, in my judgment, constitutes one of 
 your most admirable characteristics, but you nevertheless do 
 know all about it ; do you not 1 " 
 
 " Upon my word — it seems so strange that I should be 
 thus applied to." 
 
 "To whom else can I apply? Now do let me know all 
 about it." 
 
 " Well, but what do you wish to know ? " 
 
 " How to propose ! that's the point. I merely wish to 
 know how it's done." 
 
 " But, my dear sir, unless I have some little knowledge of 
 the character of the lady, it will be quite impossible for me 
 to tell what style will be likely to suit her." 
 
 " You know her," said the reverend gentleman, with a 
 smile: "I fancy that / know her well; but you know her 
 infinitely better." 
 
 " Indeed. Dear me : why, whom can it be ? " 
 
 "Whom should it be? to whom is it likely I could wish 
 to propose 1 There is but one in this world, my dear madam, 
 and — you are that one ! Yes ; that's the point — that's it ; I 
 wish to propose to you ! " 
 
 " To me ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor archly. " To me ? " 
 
 " To you, my dear madam ; to you." 
 
 " Dear me ! why, how came you to think of such a thing ? " 
 
 " I'll expiain : when I received that letter, which I then 
 
THE PROPOSAL. 241 
 
 of course believed had been written by Sylvester, I privately 
 asked myself two or three questions. First, what had I been 
 about ? secondly, what could be done ? and, thirdly, what 
 ought I to do ? I answered these questions, and those 
 answers were — to the first, that I had been very stupid ; to 
 the second, that this stout fellow might be supplanted ; and 
 to the third, that if he could be, I ought to supplant him. I 
 inspired the spirit of rivalry on the instant, and came up 
 resolved on defeating this porpoise : I felt that he was no 
 friend of mine, and I do really think that if he had appeared, 
 I should not have been particularly courteous. Again. I 
 examined my heart ; I examined it minutely ; and the result 
 of that examination proved that it was in reality full of 
 affection. I had before no idea that that heart of mine 
 possessed such a treasure of beautiful feelings. I found 
 pearls of happiness — pearls, of the very existence of which I 
 had been previously unconscious. I dived into the depths, 
 and brought them from the caves in which they had been so 
 long concealed : they were rough but pure, and being pure, 
 you are the person to polish them up. I now, therefore, 
 repeat, that I am anxious to propose, my dear madam, to 
 you ; and if you'll explain how it is to be done, I'll buckle on 
 my armour, and do it at once." 
 
 " Upon my word, I cannot give you any such explanation ; 
 nor do I think that you in reality need it." 
 
 " I never did such a thing in all my life. I never before 
 thought of doing such a thing. I cannot therefore be expected 
 to know much about it. But I suppose that there's a fashion 
 in these matters — a sort of style — a kind of form — which 
 society prescribes ; is there not ? " 
 
 " I really cannot say." 
 
 " Well, but pray do assist me a little ! " 
 
 " "Why, what assistance can you possibly require ? " ♦ 
 
 " I require, in an affair of this description, every conceiv- 
 able assistance. I feel altogether at a loss. I know no more 
 what to say than an infant would know, were it possible to 
 place one in a similar position. What am I to say ? What 
 can I say 3 " 
 
 " My dear sir ! say whatever your feelings may prompt, 
 and be assured of this, "that nothing that you may say, will 
 be at all displeasing to me." 
 
 " Well, now that's very kind. It's exactly like you. I 
 
 Q 
 
243 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 appreciate it, believe me, as I appreciate every feeling and 
 every principle by whicli you are guided ; but then, I'm no 
 nearer the mark — not a bit ! However, do me the favour 
 to listen for a moment, and I'll make something Hke an 
 attempt." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then drew his chair nearer to the 
 couch upon which Aunt Eleanor sat, and having taken her 
 hand affectionately in his, thus proceeded : — 
 
 " The parsonage — the house in which I live — is, as you 
 are well aware, a nice house — a substantial, well-built, roomy 
 house, with a garden attached — a beautiful garden — sur- 
 rounded by a capital wall: very well. Now, the cottage in 
 which you reside is a very nice cottage ; there is also a 
 garden attached to that, and, albeit it is not surrounded by 
 a wall, it is still a very beautiful garden. But do you not 
 think, that if you were to leave this cottage and come to live 
 with me in that house, you would make me one of the happiest 
 men aHve 1 and, do you not believe that I would endeavour to 
 promote your happiness by all the means at my command ? " 
 
 " That I do most fervently believe." 
 
 " Yery good ! Again. The affair, I apprehend, might 
 thus be managed : I might, some fine morning, proceed to 
 this cottage and take you to church, and when the marriage 
 ceremony had been performed, we might leave the village 
 for a month or so, and then return to that house together, 
 and live in peace, harmony, and love. Do you not think it 
 might be managed thus ? " 
 
 "Certainly, it might be thus managed." 
 
 "And do you not also think that we had better thus 
 manage it ? " 
 
 " That is another question altogether ! " 
 
 "I am aware of itj but what are your feelings upon the 
 point — that is to say — what is your impression ? " 
 
 " Why, my impression is that — to use parliamentary lan- 
 guage — ^this debate had better be adjourned : in other words, 
 that we had better wait until we get back again to Cother- 
 stone, and calmly talk the matter over there." 
 
 " Very good ! I am not an impetuous man : I have no 
 desire at all to be precipitate ; but you really must promise 
 me this, that if in the interim any stout individual should 
 in reality solicit your hand, you will not let him have it." 
 
 " I will promise this, and more : I will promise that if a?ii/ 
 
THE PROPOSAL. 243 
 
 individual should do so, no matter whether he be stout or 
 thin, I'll not marry without your consent." 
 
 The reverend gentleman hereupon kissed the hand he held, 
 and, having done so, felt perfectly happy. 
 
 " And now," said he, after a pause, during which they 
 most affectionately reciprocated each others' glances, "when 
 do you think of returning ? " 
 
 "Why, I scarcely know," replied Aunt Eleanor; "I am 
 anxious to see Sylvester settled before I leave town." 
 " Exactly. He is to be a surgeon, of course ? " 
 " Yes ; that has been decided upon, and Dr. Delolme, who 
 is a kind, good creature, is now gone to have an interview 
 with a gentleman whose talents are distinguished, whom he 
 holds in high esteem, and to whom he is anxious that Sylvester 
 should be articled." 
 
 " This may be arranged then in three or four days 1 " 
 " Oh, yes; it will, I expect, be very soon settled." 
 " And will you, when this has been settled, have anything 
 at all to detain you in town 1 " 
 
 " Nothing. I think of returning on the following day." 
 " Oh, then we had better return together — that is, if you 
 have no objection ? " 
 
 " I can have no objection. I shall, indeed, be most happy 
 to accompany you." 
 
 " Then let it be so — I need not explain to you how happy 
 / shall feel !— let it be so." 
 
 " You will dine with us to-day of course ? " 
 " I scarcely know. I dined here yesterday." 
 " Oh, but if you are not engaged, you must. The doctor, 
 I know, expects that you will." 
 
 " Then I will. I have scarcely time," he added, on looking 
 at his watch, " to run back to the inn, but I will. The doctor's 
 a fine fellow, and you are a fine fellow — that is to say, I don't 
 mean exactly that, but — you know what I mean. Adieu, 
 until dinner-time ! Eleanor ! " he added, taking both her 
 hands in his, and gazing upon her with an unfeigned expres- 
 sion of fervour, " God bless you I" 
 
 He then left the room, and Aunt Eleanor, who felt very 
 happy, went upstairs to dress. 
 
244 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 TOM APPEAES TO GIVE EVIDENCE IN A CASE. 
 
 After dinner, at which they were joined by Mr. Scholefield — 
 the surgeon to whom Sylvester was about to be articled, and 
 who ate nothing but fish, bread, and pastry, and drank nothing 
 but pure cold water — Sylvester, as well as Aunt Eleanor and 
 the reverend gentleman, was so delighted with his conversa- 
 tion, that Tom experienced the utmost difficulty in inducing 
 his young friend to accompany him, as usual, to the hospital. 
 He did, however, eventually succeed, and they started, and 
 heard the lecture for the evening delivered ; and, at the con- 
 clusion, Tom received a short message from Julia, of which the 
 substance was, that she wished to see him for one moment. 
 
 "What's id the widd dow ! " exclaimed Tom. "There's 
 Bobethidg bovidg. What does she wadt with be ? " 
 
 " You'll go in, of course ? " said Sylvester. 
 
 " Yes, I'll go id. I bust go id ! " 
 
 " Then shall I walk about here, or go towards home ? " 
 
 " Oh, just walk about, I shall be but a very few bidites : 
 I odly wadt to hear what's the batter." 
 
 " Very well, then I'll walk up and down here until you 
 return." 
 
 Tom then went into the house', and as he entered, Julia was 
 evidently disappointed ; she did not at all expect to see him 
 alone, having heard from one of the students that Sylvester 
 had been in the theatre with him. 
 
 "What's up?" inquired Tom. "Is there adythidg the 
 batter?" 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no ! " returned Julia, when, as several 
 students were impatient for porter, she added, "I'll speak to 
 you in a moment." 
 
 Having supplied the immediate demands of the thirsty, 
 she returned to Tom, and said, " How is your friend ? " 
 
 "Which?" inquired Tom. "Do you ibagide I've odlv 
 wud ? " & J- 
 
 " I mean your young friend : him whom you call SyV 
 vester." 
 
 "Oh! he's well edough." 
 
 " He will not be here to-night, I presume ? " 
 
TOM APPEARS TO GIVE EVIDENCE. 245 
 
 " Do, he cad't stadd dridk : he's dot heed buch used to it." 
 
 " Is that the only cause of his not coming ? " 
 
 " Why, what other cause do you ibagide he could have ? " 
 
 " I was fearful that I had been unfortunate enough to 
 offend him." 
 
 " Offedd hib ! Pooh ! dodsedse : you cad't offedd hih ! " 
 
 " Are you quite sure that I have not done so ? " 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 "Then I am happy. I thought that I might perhaps 
 have given him some offence, and if I had, -the consciousness 
 of having done so would have been indeed very, very painful 
 to me." 
 
 " Bake your bide easy," cried Tom, " about that. I dever 
 kdew you to give offedce to ady bad alive, add I'b perfectly 
 sure that you have dot offedded hib." 
 
 " Then bring him again with you, that I also may be sure. 
 There is no necessity for him to drink, not the slightest. 
 Will you bring him in with you to-morrow evening ? " 
 
 " He'll dot be here, I kdow, to-hcrrrow evedidg. But Til 
 see about it." 
 
 " Do, there's a good creature, and then 1 shall be satisfied." 
 
 "Well, but I say, old girl, is this all you wadted be 
 for ? " 
 
 " I merely wished to be assured upon that one point.'' 
 
 " Oh, that's all right edough. Let's have wud pull at the 
 pewter, add thed I'll be off." 
 
 The porter was brought, and Tom had " one pull," and 
 managed to pull it all out of the pot, and when Julia had 
 begged of him not to forget, he bade her adieu for the night, 
 and left. 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, when Tom had rejoined him, " was 
 it anything of importance ? " 
 
 " Oh, she berely wadted to ask about a youdg fellow whob 
 she fadoied she had offedded." 
 
 " How does she look ? " 
 
 " Buch as usual ; just about the sabe." 
 
 Tom thought it wise to keep Sylvester unconscious of 
 Julia's anxiety, and he did so ; and, in order that the subject 
 might not be dwelt upon then, he reverted to the conversa- 
 tion of Mr. Scholefield, and thus turned the current of 
 Sylvester's thoughts. 
 
 That night Tom decided upon sitting up alone. He had 
 
246 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 privately decided upon this, feeling certain that if his inten- 
 tion were known to Sylvestei;, he should never be able to get 
 him to bed ; while he thought that it would be highly incor- 
 rect to keep him out of it, so languid as he almost invariably 
 appeared to be. 
 
 When, therefore, they had had their usual supper in the 
 study, Tom saw Sylvester to his room, shook hands with 
 him, and bade him good-night; and then, making all the 
 noise he conveniently could, bounced into his own room, and 
 slammed the door, and locked it, of course with the view of 
 inducing all whom it might concern to believe that he was in 
 reality gone to bed. But it was not so ; he remained in the 
 room a short time — say ten minutes — and then, having care- 
 fully unlocked the door, crept noiselessly back to his study. 
 
 And there he sat, and there he continued to sit, with a 
 little dark lantern shut up by his side — sometimes smoking 
 and sometimes drinking — ^but constantly thinking, and 
 earnestly wishing that some one might do him the favour to 
 appear. He was fully prepared, both morally and physically, 
 to receive any guest who might honour him with a visit ; he 
 had resolved on doing all in his power to serve him — ^that is, 
 to serve Vh'tti out — and it is extremely rational to cherish the 
 belief that, if any one had appeared then, his reception would 
 have been most warm; but the prospect which Tom had 
 with pleasure portrayed, and which he viewed and improved 
 with peculiar delight, began about half -past two to recede. 
 He had, with the utmost fortitude, sat for two hours, pro- 
 posing and solving an infinite variety of surgical questions, 
 having direct and immediate reference to the dislocated joints 
 and broken bones of his contemplated victim — and, as no 
 one had appeared, he certainly did begin to think that the 
 pleasures of his imagination were not about to be realised. 
 
 He was not, however, at aU disposed to give the thing up. 
 No, he filled his German pipe again, and ignited his German 
 tinder, in order that the room might not even for an instant 
 be illumined, and again philosophically enveloped himself in 
 clouds. He had, however, scarcely sent forth twenty whiffs, 
 when he fancied that he heard a noise below, and starting up 
 on the instant, grasped his stick, and felt that the time was 
 come. 
 
 But the sounds — ^which he believed were those of footsteps 
 — receded, and gradually died away ; when, as he imagined 
 
TOM APPEARS TO GIVE EVIDENCE. 247 
 
 that lie miglit have been mistaken, he resumed both his seat 
 and his pipe. 
 
 Now it strangely enough happened, that about an hour 
 after this — that is to say, about half-past three — ^poUoeman 
 Ninety-nine did, on going his rounds, perceive that the street 
 door of Dr. Delolme was slightly open. 
 
 "What's the odds," said Ninety-nine, confidentially to 
 himself, " that there isn't a burglary here ? I shall make 
 something of this; I should like a burglary, and I ought to 
 have one, for I haven't had any luck lately. Let's have a 
 look," he added, going very quietly up to the door ; " that'll 
 do — that'll do. I shall nail at least one of 'em. Burglaries 
 always look well on the sheet." 
 
 He then glided to the opposite side on his toes — the 
 proximity of a policeman being betrayed by his heels— and 
 having established himself in the shade of a doorway, drew 
 forth his truncheon and watched. Nothing in nature could 
 surpass the vigilance with which he kept his eye upon that 
 door, nor could the ears of even a cat prick up and expand 
 more instantaneously than Ins ears pricked up and expanded 
 on hearing the slightest unusual sound. That a burglary 
 had been committed he fervently hoped, and felt that if it 
 should prove to have been accompanied by murder, it would 
 be all the better for him. He would give no alarm — not a 
 bit of it. Had he even known that murder might thus have 
 been prevented, he was too wide awake to spoil such a fine 
 chance by any premature interference. 
 
 Haviug for nearly half an hour kept his eyes, ears, mouth, 
 and imagination on the stretch, he heard some one approach- 
 ing, and on looking up the street saw the figure of a man 
 walking leisurely down on the opposite side with his hands 
 in his greatcoat pockets. Under these circumstances Ninety- 
 nine, of course, took but very little notice of him ; but when 
 he saw him enter the house of Dr. Delolme, and heard him, 
 when he had entered, close the door and deliberately bolt it, 
 he felt in an instant prepared to swear that that man was 
 his enemy Tom. 
 
 Having delibera,ted for a moment, and recollecting that 
 the doctor had told him to ring a certain bell in the event 
 of his seeing any one again upon the parapet, he opened his 
 bull's-eye and rang the bell, and the doctor in due time 
 appeared at the window. 
 
248 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Who's there ? " he demanded. 
 
 "Come down, sir," replied Ninety- nine, in a confidential 
 tone; "there's a dodge, sir." 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 " A dodge, sir ; you'll find it all out, if you will but come 
 down, sir ; you'll soon see who's who, sir, and know what's 
 what." 
 
 The doctor closed the window, and having slipped on his 
 pantaloons and dressing - gown, descended, expecting, of 
 course, that the parapet was again the scene of action. 
 
 " I am sorry, sir," said Ninety-nine, on being admitted, 
 " I'm indeed very sorry to inform you that your son, sir, is 
 endangering your property very strangely. This door, sir, 
 has been open for more than two hours, sir — wide open. Of 
 course it was my duty to watch it, and I did so : I watched 
 it until your son returned, which was just about a minute 
 before I rang the bell." 
 
 " Is it possible!" cried the doctor; "and left the door 
 open ? Just come up with me — I'll investigate this ; but 
 quietly — don't make the slightest noise." 
 
 " All right, sir; a mouse shan't hear me." 
 
 The doctor then — followed by Ninety-nine — ascended, and 
 on going into Tom's room found, not only that Tom was not 
 there, but that he had not been in bed at all. 
 
 "Well," exclaimed the doctor, "this is, at all events, 
 conclusive. But where can he be ? " 
 
 " Upstairs perhaps, sir," suggested Ninety-nine. 
 
 " Very likely. But let us go up quietly." 
 
 Ninety-nine then took the lead, and as Tom — who was 
 still at his post, and who had heard sounds below which 
 could not be mistaken — had prepared himself to receive any 
 friend who might happen to look in upon him, Ninety-nine 
 no sooner entered the study than he received a blow which 
 felled him in an instant to the ground. 
 
 " Who's there ? " cried the doctor. 
 
 " 'Tis I," replied Tom, amazed on hearing the doctor's 
 voice. 
 
 " Tom ! what, in the name of Heaven, do you mean 1 " 
 
 " O-o-o-o ! " cried Ninety-nine. 
 
 Tom opened his little dark lantern, and having seen Ninety- 
 nine stretched upon the floor, felt that he had made some 
 mistake. 
 
TOM APPEARS TO GIVE EVIDENCE. 249 
 
 " I ask you again," said the doctor, " what you mean by 
 this abominable. conduct ? " 
 
 "What abobidable codduct?" cried Tom. "I've beed 
 sittidg up here with the view of catchidg that scouddrel 
 whose budkey tricks have so much addoyed us." 
 
 " It is false," cried the doctor. 
 
 " What's false ? " 
 
 " Every word that you have uttered. You have not, sir, 
 been sitting up here. You have been out, sir.'' 
 
 " Out ! what, out of the house, do you bead 1 " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " 
 
 " What, do you bead sidce I cabe id frob the lecture 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do, lb blest if I have." 
 
 " How can you deny it, Tom ? This policeman here saw 
 you enter just now." 
 
 "Iddeed ! What, this fellow ? Well, if he did he did, add if 
 he did, he's a datural curiosity! I bust have a look at Mb." 
 
 Ninety-nine, on being rolled over by Tom, conceived it to 
 be his duty, as a policeman and as a man, to pretend to have 
 been dreadfully injured; but having been in reality more 
 frightened than hurt, Tom soon made him assume a sitting 
 posture on the floor: and, having done so, exclaimed, "Didety- 
 dide ! Why, this is Didety-dide ! What does lie pretedd to 
 kdow about the batter ? " 
 
 "Policeman," said the doctor, "is this, or is this not the 
 person whom you saw just now enter the house ? " 
 
 " It is, sir," replied Ninety-nine; "and I'll swear it." 
 
 " You will," exclaimed Tom. 
 
 " Yes," cried Ninety-nine, who was seized with so strong 
 a fit of energy, that he started to his feet on the instant : 
 " I will." 
 
 " Why, you wretched, cadaverous, udhappy lookidg adibal, 
 what do you bead ? what's your botive id cobidg here prepared 
 to swear to a falsehood so bodstrous ? You're too codtebp- 
 tible to be revedged upod, or I'd take it out dow ; I cad but 
 spurd you, add treat your accusatiod with scord." 
 
 " This will not do, Tom," said the doctor severely. " This 
 will no longer do for me. I'll at once put a stop to it. I'll 
 not be thus annoyed night after night." 
 
 "Well, but / have dot addoyed you ! " cried Tom : "you've 
 dot beed addoyed by he!" 
 
2 so SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " I have, sir, and you know it." 
 
 " I kdow," replied Tom, "that I have dot." 
 
 " But here is proof of it." 
 
 " What proof ? the proof idvolved id the evidedce of this 
 codsubbate wretch ? The bagistrate who would believe bib 
 od his oath ought to be deprived of his cobbissiod." 
 
 " The idea," continued the doctor, " of prowUng about in 
 the middle of the night, and leaving the street-door open. 
 I'm ashamed of you — perfectly ashamed of you. I couldn't 
 have supposed that you would be guilty of an act so 
 monstrous." 
 
 " It's of do use," said Tom, " I kdow it's of do use ! but 
 I tell you, father, agaid add agaid, that sidoe twelve o'clock 
 I've dot stirred frob this roob." 
 
 " I'll not believe it," said the doctor : " I will not believe it." 
 
 " I should think not," interposed Ninety-nine. 
 
 " SUedce, you ugly abortiod ! " cried Tom, whom the sneer 
 of Ninety-nine had enraged : " if I have adother word od the 
 subject frob you, I'll walk id." 
 
 " You shall walk out, sir," said the doctor ; " you shall not 
 remain here; I'll not have the house disturbed in this 
 way." 
 
 " The disturbadce has dot beed created by be." 
 
 " Go to bed, sir, and let me have no more of it ; I'll no 
 longer tolerate such practices. Go to bed." 
 
 The doctor and Ninety-nine then left the room — Ninety- 
 nine, with great discretion, taking the lead — but he had no 
 sooner reached the top of the stairs, than that discretion 
 forsook him, and, turning to Tom, said, " I'll nail you ! " an 
 observation which so excited Tom's ire, that he rushed at him 
 on the instant ; but, before he could reach him, Ninety-nine, 
 in his anxiety to get away, slipped, and glided to the bottom 
 — not smoothly, no j but bumping in his progress the bottom 
 of his spine, and causing him not only to call _out, " Oh I " 
 but to pull a face, of which the prevailing expression would 
 have puzzled Lavatet himself. 
 
 " Keep back ! " cried the doctor, " I command you : " and 
 Tom, who felt that Ninety-nine had had quite enough of it, 
 did not follow hiqi up — or, rather, down : but the doctor 
 descended, and assisted him to rise, and, having done so, led 
 him into the drawing-room, and gave him. some brandy, and 
 placed in his hand a small piece of that metal which has, in 
 
TOM APPEARS TO OIVE EVIDENCE. 251 
 
 this sublunary sphere, more influence than either mind, 
 honour, religion, or love. 
 
 In failing, however, Ninety-nine awoke Sylvester, and as he 
 came to the door, in order to ascertain what was the matter, 
 Tom went into his room with the lantern in his hand, and 
 placing himself upon the edge of the bedstead, looked as if all 
 had been lost. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this 1 " inquired Sylvester. 
 " What has occurred ? " 
 
 "Get idto bed, Syl," said Tom, "add I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 Sylvester accordingly got into bed, when Tom, having 
 struck the lantern in the face, commenced — 
 
 " Syl," said he, " I'b a victib. But that you kdow. I was 
 always a victib. I was bord to be a victib. I shall becobe^ 
 id a short tibe wud of those predestidariad swells who believe 
 that a bad's actiods are chalked out by Fate, add that he 
 must walk Fate's chalks, whether he likes theb or dot. Just 
 look here ! Last dight I decided od sittidg up alode, id order 
 to catch that scabp who has created so buch addoyadce. I 
 didd't tell you a word about it, because I kdew that you'd 
 wadt to sit up with be, add thought that you'd buch better 
 dot. WeU I sat up ; I sat frob the tibe you wedt to bed, till 
 about half ad hour ago, whed, plaidly hearidg footsteps od 
 the stairs, I prepared to receive, as I fadcied, the fellow by 
 whob the whole of these disturbadces have beed created. 
 Well, presedtly the study door opeded, add id walked a bad, 
 add I gave hib.wud which laid hib low, whed, of course to by 
 utter abazebedt, I heard the voice of the goverdor ! It's a 
 blessidg the goverdor didd't edter first ! " 
 
 " Then whom did you strike ? " 
 
 " Didety-dide the poUcebad ! the fellow who said he could 
 swear to by shirt ! " 
 
 " Well, but what brought Mm there ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you. I dod't thidk he likes be;- at all evedts I 
 feel codvidced he doesd't like be buch, add if he does, he likes 
 the goverdor's buddy buch bore ; add hedce, id order to get 
 a little of it, he trubped up a tale to the effect that our 
 street-door had beed oped — wide oped — for two hours ; that 
 he had kept his eye Upod it, id order to ascertaid what was 
 goidg od ; add that evedtually he saw be edter the house, add 
 thed heard be close the door, add bolt it ? " 
 
 " Is it possible 1 " 
 
252 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Did you ever hear of adythidg so abobidable ? Well, with 
 this tale artfully prepared, he radg the dight bell — which I 
 couldd't hear — add whed the wretch had related all that his 
 thick pig's head had allowed bib to codceive, up cabe the 
 goverdor idto by roob, add, of course, whed he foudd that I 
 had dot beed id bed, the tale of the wretch was codfirbed ! " 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " But beidg daturally adxious to kdow where I was, he 
 cabe up to the study : add as I said before, it's a bercy he 
 didd't cobe first, for if I'd gived hib the blow, which luckily 
 fell to the lot of Didety-dide, I should have beed wretched 
 for life. However, Didety-dide got it, add it served hib right ; 
 I dod't care a straw about that ; all I care for is this, that as 
 I was dot id bed, as I'd dot beed id bed, add as he foudd be id 
 the study with by clothes od — the goverdor firbly believes 
 Didety-dide, add thus ab I victibised agaid ! " 
 
 "Well, it certainly did look suspicious." 
 
 " I kdow it — I feel it — I see that, udder the circubstadces, 
 the goverdor is perfectly justified id believidg the tale of that 
 biserable fat-headed wretch ; it is the Very codsciousdess of 
 that which host galls be ! " 
 
 " But, of course, you have not been out 1 " 
 
 " Certaidly dot ! Frob the tibe you wedt to bed, till the 
 tibe they cabe up, I dever, for a sidgle bobedt, boved frob the 
 study. Besides, is it likely — is it like adythidg likely — that 
 I should be such a codsubbate dodkey as to go out and leave 
 the door oped for ady wud to walk id that pleased 1 Is the 
 idea of by doidg such a thidg at all ratiodal 1 " 
 
 " Such conduct would certainly have been very indiscreet." 
 
 " Id discreet ! Why, if I thought that it would ever be 
 possible for be to cobbit such ad act of iddiscretiod as that, 
 I should deeb byself fit for a ludatic asylub." 
 
 " I cannot imagine how he came to think of such a thing." 
 
 "Oh, these fellows will do adythidg for buddy; it's a 
 batter of little ibportadce what." 
 
 " Well, it certainly is strange — very strange — that he 
 should have fixed upon this particular morning." 
 
 " Exactly ! That's where it is ! It is that very thidg 
 which gets over be ! Had he fixed upod ady other, I should 
 have beed, of course, id bed add asleep. But it was to be, I 
 suppose. I kdow I shall sood becobe a predestidariad. But 
 isd't it edough to bake a bad hit his head off ? " 
 
TOM APPEARS TO GIVE EVIDENCE. 253 
 
 " It is, certainly, very unfortunate." 
 
 " By usual luck ! Dothidg bore cad be said of it. I always 
 have luck. I cabe idto the world to be lucky. I'll have by 
 dativity cast wud of these days, add see udder what lucky 
 pladet I was bord. But I'll have do bore of it. The thidg is 
 settled dow, Syl ; do bore watchidg for be ; dor -will I attebpt 
 after this to discover the cause of our recedt addoyadces. Dot 
 a bit of it. I'll give the thidg up. If a legiod of ibps were to 
 haudt the house dight after dight, Syl, I'd dot bove a peg ! 
 The very efforts which I bake to clear byself tedd but to idvolve 
 be bore^eeply ; like the fly id the web, the bore I try to get 
 out, the bore firbly I'b held. I'll give it up, cobe what bay 
 I'll pludge idto bed at by usual tibe, add get up at by usual 
 tibe, add dot before. Do batter what capers bay be cut, or 
 what pradks bay be played ; that bischievous devil, whoever 
 he is, bay stick a hot brick upod wud of the chibdey-pots, add 
 dadce upod that if he likes ; the bood bay be abused, add the 
 stars bay be abu.sed, but he shad't abuse be ; ,I've had edough 
 of his abusebedt ; he dod't get be to rud after hib agaid ; I'll 
 borally seal by head to the pillow, although I should dearly like 
 to catch hib ! You see it plays vedgeadce with he — it destroys 
 at wodce all the goverdor's codfidedce ; add places be id the 
 position of a thoughtless, reckless, characterless scabp ! 
 That's the poidt, Syl — that's what I look at ! Up to this 
 tibe, the goverdor has reposed the host udlibited codfidedce 
 id by hodour; but dow, of course, he ibagides that I seek 
 to deceive hib, add that, too, by tellidg bead, deliberate 
 falsehoods." 
 
 " Well, but when you have explained all to him," suggested 
 Sylvester, " surely that confidence will be restored ? " 
 
 "I fear dot, Syl : day, I cad hardly expect it, the circub- 
 stadtial evidedce is so strodg agaidst be. Bady a bad has 
 heed hadged upod collateral, or circubstadtial, evidedce far 
 less codclusive. However, sobethidg bust be dode. I'll go 
 to bed add thidk about it. Call be whed you rise : I bay 
 dot be awake ; add, udless I put id by appearadce at break- 
 fast, the great swell will kdow all about it, if she doesd't kdow 
 all about it dow. Therefore, dod't forget to call be." 
 
 "I'll not." 
 
 " Thed I'll be off add get a widk or two, if I cad : I cad't 
 expect to have Tnidi rest, indeed — 
 
 " 'There's do rest, but the grave, for the pilgrib of love.' " 
 
2S4 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Poor Tom ! He shook hands with Sylvester and left him, 
 and turned into bed with a heavy heart ; but he soon went 
 to sleep, very soon ; and slept soundly, until Sylvester sum- 
 moned him to breakfast. 
 
 The doctor had not explained the affair to Mrs. Delolme. 
 This Tom perceived the moment he entered the room, and, in 
 consequence, felt comparatively comfortable ; but he saw that 
 the doctor was angry with him still, although the expression 
 of that anger was concealed from the rest. 
 
 Now, as this was the day on which Sylvester was to leave 
 the doctor's house, and make that of Mr. Scholefield his 
 home — it having been arranged the previous evening that 
 he should live with him a month before the articles were 
 signed — the talents of Mr. Scholefield, and the prospects of 
 SylvjBster, formed the chief topics of conversation during 
 breakfast. With Mr. Scholefield himself. Aunt Eleanor 
 was delighted, and so, indeed, was Sylvester, although that 
 delight was in some degree subdued by a variety of youthful 
 apprehensions ; and while even Mrs. Delolme confessed that 
 she thought him an amiable person, the doctor bore testi- 
 mony not only to his high professional abilities, but to his 
 excellent qualities as a man. All were therefore satisfied 
 that Sylvester's prospects were, as far as they could then be 
 viewed, bright; and when the doctor had endeavoured to 
 impress upon Sylvester the propriety of pursuing whatever 
 course of study Mr. Scholefield might suggest, he rose from 
 the table and withdrew. 
 
 He had scarcely, however, entered the library, when his 
 servant came to inform him that a policeman had called, and 
 was anxious to see him immediately. The doctor of course 
 imagined that this was Ninety-nine, and directed the servant 
 to show him in at once ; but when he found that it was not, 
 he was filled with apprehension ; it struck him in an instant 
 that something had happened to Ninety-nine, and that pro- 
 bably his fall had proved fatal. 
 
 " I beg pardon," said the policeman, with appropriate 
 respect ; " your name, sir, is Dr. Delolme ? " 
 
 "It is," replied the doctor. 
 
 " You have a son, I believe, sir 1 " 
 
 "I have." 
 
 " His presence is required at the police-oflicej Bow Street, 
 immediately." 
 
TOM APPEARS TO GIVE EVIDENCE. 255 
 
 " For what purpose ? " 
 
 " To give evidence in a case of robbery and assault." 
 " A case of robbery and assault ? " 
 " Yes, sir. He is, I believe, the only witness." 
 " Well, but when did it occur ? " 
 
 "About three o'clock this momiag, I believe, sir; I don't 
 know the whole of the particulars, but I think that it hap- 
 pened about that time." 
 
 The doctor rang the bell, and desired the servant to send 
 Tom in. As far as his fears for Ninety-nine were concerned, 
 he felt greatly relieved ; but every doubt having reference 
 to the truth of Ninety-nine's accusation agaiust Tom 
 vanished. 
 
 " Now, sir," said the doctor, when Tom appeared, '' yovi 
 are wanted at Bow Street police-office immediately." 
 " What for ? " inquired Tom. 
 
 " Tou witnessed a robbery this morning, did you not ? " 
 " The odly robbery I witdessed, was a robbery of reputa- 
 tiod, add that reputatiod was by owd." 
 
 " But you witnessed a robbery in the street, about three 
 o'clock this morning ? " 
 
 " Who says so ? " demanded Tom fiercely. " Do you ? " 
 he added, turning to the policeman. 
 
 " I know nothing of it myself," replied the man. 
 " Do you kdow Didety-dide ? Has this, too, beed got up 
 by bib ? " 
 
 " I know nothing of the particulars," returned the police- 
 man. " All I know about the matter is this, that I was sent 
 here to request your immediate attendance at the office." 
 
 " Oh, ril go ! " said Tom. "I see how it is. Add," he 
 added, addressing the doctor, " I hope you'll go with be." 
 " I will go with you, sir." 
 
 " Do so : I wish you to do so ; add if I fide that that 
 wretch has beed trubping up adother charge agaidst be, I'll 
 have the dubber off his coat, add the coat ofE his back. I'll 
 write to the cobbissioders at wudce : I'll dot be thus addoyed 
 by a fellow like that." 
 
 The doctor again rang the bell, and having ascertained 
 that the carriage Vas at the door, he directed the policeman 
 to get on the box, and they started. 
 
 During their progress to Bow Street not a word was uttered 
 by either the doctor or Tom : the doctor was anxious for 
 
2S6 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 silence to be preserved, and Tom felt do inclination to break 
 it ; nor, when they had arrived, did a syllable pass between 
 them. The carriage door was opened, and they alighted in 
 silence ; and on passing through a passage heard a fellow 
 bawling " Mr. Delolme ! " The policeman then led the way 
 into the office, and found that the case was then on — that 
 the prosecutor had already given his evidence, and that he 
 had then just gone out of the office to look for his witness — 
 the magistrate having consented to wait a few minutes, in 
 order that he might be produced. An intimation was there- 
 fore given that the witness was in attendance, and Tom was 
 ushered into the box and sworn. 
 
 During the performance of this solemn ceremony, the 
 magistrate was relating, across the table, an anecdote, which 
 caused the clerk, as a natural matter of duty, to roar; and 
 when Tom had kissed the book, he looked well at the prisoner, 
 who was dressed in the most fashionable style, but whom he 
 didn't know from Adam. 
 
 " Well," said the clerk, addressing Tom, when he felt that 
 he had laughed sufficiently long to satisfy the magistrate, 
 " what's your name ? " 
 
 " Thobas Delolbe." 
 
 " What d'you say ? " 
 
 "Thobas Delolbe." 
 
 " Speak up, sir ! " 
 
 "Thobas Delolbe," repeated Tom, in a voice of thunder. 
 
 " I'm not deaf," said the clerk. 
 
 " Oh ! " replied Tom, " I thought you were." 
 
 " Thobas Delolbe," said the clerk, as he proceeded to write 
 it down. " Thobas : how do you spell Thobas — with a 6 ? " 
 
 " With a. b?" said Tom. " You cad spell it with a 6 if 
 you like ; I always spell it with ad eb / " 
 
 " Oh, an eb ! " said the clerk, as he winked at the magistrate. 
 " Very good : and do you spell Delolbe with an eb too ? " 
 
 •' Why, of course." 
 
 " I only ask for information — Thobas Delolbe. Well, Mr. 
 Thobas Delolbe, what are you ? " 
 
 " A studedt of bed'cide." 
 
 " A student of what, sir ? " demanded the clerk, who could 
 not resist laughing ; nor could the magistrate — nor, indeed, 
 could the doctor, although he felt vexed at the time — "a 
 student of what ? " 
 
TOM APPEARS TO GIVE EVIDENCE. 257 
 
 " Of hed'eide ! " replied Tom indignantly, and thereby set 
 the whole court in a roar. 
 
 " Of hed'eide ! " said the clerk, when the laughter had in 
 some degree subsided. " I see ! A student of bed'cide — very 
 good. How do you spell bed'cide ? " 
 
 " How do I spell bed'cide ? " cried Tom, who felt highly 
 indignant; while the court was convulsed with laughter, in 
 which even the prisoner joined ; " what do you mead ? " 
 
 " I mean," said the clerk, having recovered the power to 
 speak, " I mean to ask how you spell bed'cide ? " 
 
 " Add do you bead to say that you dod't kdow how to 
 spell it 1 If so, I should like to dose you with it till you do. 
 I should feel great pleasure id thus curidg you of the igdoradce 
 with which you are afflicted." 
 
 "Well," said the clerk, who didn't much like this, " but is 
 bed'cide spelt with a. 20 or a,h ?" 
 
 " Aw ov & b, you fool ! " said Tom, looking contemptuously 
 at the clerk, who really began to feel himself wounded. 
 
 " Like Thobas, it's, spelt with an eb, no doubt ! " observed 
 the magistrate; and this — being the magistrate's joke — was 
 on the instant hailed with the loudest burst of laughter ever 
 even heard within those walls. The clerk, the policeman, the 
 turnkeys, the crier, and the fellow who administered the 
 solemn oaths, roared ; while the prisoner — who was a 
 student of human nature — shook his sides on speculation, 
 conceiving, of course, that the magistrate's gratitude would 
 prompt him to repudiate the evidence. 
 
 "Well, I suppose it is spelt with an eb" said the clerk, 
 when he and the other impartial judges of a joke had become 
 exhausted. " You are a student of bed'cide, you say ? " 
 
 " Is this the court of Bobus ? " inquired Tom, looking round 
 with an expression of imperturbable gravity, which threw the 
 whole court again into convulsions. " Cobus presides here if 
 Bobus does dot ! Ab I," he added, addressing the magistrate, 
 as soon as his voice could be heard, " ab I id a place sacred 
 to justice ? — a place id which solebdity is supposed to reigd, 
 add of which digdity is supposed to be wud of the chief 
 characteristics? — a place id which obediedce to the law is 
 taught, add respect for those who admidister the law id- 
 spired? I ab — I presube that I ab — add yet I who have 
 taked a solebd oath to ibpart with truth that which I kdow, 
 ab bet with dothidg but buffoodery, ragged jokes, add silly 
 
 K 
 
2s8 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 laughter. That bad's life," he added, pointing to the prisoner, 
 " his .very Jife bay, for aught I kdow, be id peril, add yet you 
 teach hib, add all who are here, to view the adbidistratiod of 
 justice as a jest." 
 
 The officials again felt it to be their duty to laugh, but the 
 magistrate clearly didn't like it at all, and more especially 
 as Tom's rebuke was hailed in the body of the court with 
 applause. He therefore, assuming aii s^pect of gravity, 
 said, " Let us proceed with the business of the court." 
 
 "I thidk it high tibe that we should," said Tom, and 
 another laugh burst from the officials. 
 
 "Silence I " shouted the magistrate sternly ; and " SUence ! " 
 was indignantly reiterated by the crier, who had been making 
 more noise than any other man in court. 
 
 "Now, sir," said the magistrate, determined to be severe 
 upon Tom, who, however, was not at all afraid of him, " what 
 do you know about this ? " 
 
 " About what 1 " 
 
 " About what ! Why, this robbery 1 " 
 
 " Dothidg." 
 
 " Nothing ! You are a witness in this case, are you not? " 
 
 " I ab placed id the positiod of a witdess." 
 
 " Then what do you mean by saying that you know nothing 
 of it?" 
 
 " I bead, by sayidg that I kdow dothidg of it, that I kdow 
 dothidg of it." 
 
 " Then what did you come here for ? " 
 
 " That's the very poidt which I ab adxious to ascertaid ! " 
 
 " What's the meaning of all this 1 Do you know, sir, that 
 I have the power to commit you 1 " 
 
 "Cobbit Se/" cried Tom. 
 
 "Ay, sir ; commit you." 
 
 " You bay have the power, but you dare dot, I apprehedd, 
 exercise that power without sufficiedt cause." 
 
 " I shall be justified, sir, by your refusal to give evidence." 
 
 "I have do evidedce to give ! I have sword to speak the 
 truth, the whole truth, add dothidg but the truth : I respect 
 that oath, add whed I solebdly declare that I kdow dothidg 
 whatever of this robbery, the truth, the whole truth, add 
 dothidg but the truth, is idvolved id that solebd declaratiod." 
 
 " Have a care, sir ! have a care ! " exclaimed the magistrate. 
 "How long have you known the prisoner?" 
 
TOM APPEARS TO GIVE EVIDENCE. 259 
 
 . " How lodg have I kdowd hib ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir : that's the qttestion. How long have you known 
 him?" 
 
 "Well," said Tom, deliberately taking out his watch, 
 " sobewhere about twedty bidites." 
 
 " Come, come, sir ; I'm not to be trifled with : these 
 ingenious evasions will not do here." 
 
 " What idgedious evasiods ? You asked be how lodg the 
 prisoder had beed kdowd to be : I told you about twedty 
 bidites. Is there ady evasiod id that ? " 
 
 " Are you not one of his associates 1 " 
 
 " Wud of his associates ? " 
 
 " Ay ! one of his associates, Come now, answer that 
 question." 
 
 "It is albost too codtebptible to be adswered; but I'll 
 adswer it by statidg, with all the iddigdation at by cobbadd, 
 that I ab dot." 
 
 "Oh, none of. your indignation, sir; it will not do here. 
 Answer my questions plainly. You have never been in any 
 way connected with him ? " 
 
 "Dever." 
 
 " You don't know him ? " 
 
 " I do dot." 
 
 " You never saw him before in your life, I daresay 1 " 
 
 " I dever did." 
 
 "No : I don't suppose you ever did." 
 
 At this stage of the proceedings the doctor would have 
 interfered, with the view of expostulating with the magistrate, 
 but that he felt that Tom would be a match for him yet. 
 
 " Is he known to the police ? " resumed the magistrate, 
 with iniinite significance; and, doubtless, had Ninety-nine 
 been there, he would have given Tom a character; but he 
 was not, and the rest knew nothing at all of him. 
 
 " How do you get your living ? " inquired his worship. 
 
 "What do you bead by by lividg? " said Tom. 
 
 " How do you support yourself ? " 
 
 " Dohow. I dod't support byself at all." 
 
 " Who supports you ? " 
 
 " By father." 
 
 " Oh, then you have a father, have you ? " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " Ah ! and what is he 1 " 
 
26o SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " A doctor of bed'cide." 
 
 " Oh ! he's a doctor too. A respectable man, I daresay? 
 
 " He is a bad who occupies, add who deserves to occupy, 
 a far higher social positiod thad ady other bad in this court. 
 He," added Tom, with a sarcastic smile, " Jte is a gedtlebad." 
 
 " Oh ! no doubt. Is he here 1 " 
 
 " I believe so : he cabe id the carriage with be." 
 
 " Oh ! the carriage ! Ah ! what carriage ? " 
 
 " What carriage ! — why, our carriage. Is it at all pro- 
 bable that we should cobe to see so courteous add so dis- 
 tidguished a persod id a jarvey ? " 
 
 The clerk here privately expressed his conviction that 
 notwithstanding all Tom had said, he and the prisoner be- 
 longed to the same gang ; and when the magistrate had 
 winked at the clerk with great significance, he suddenly 
 
 " Where's the prosecutor 1 You are a very clever fellow," 
 turning to Tom, " but I think that we shall know each other 
 better by-and-by." 
 
 The prosecutor, who had imagined that this was altogether 
 another case, was then directed by one of the officers to step 
 forward, and he did so. 
 
 "I think I understood you," said the magistrate, "that 
 this robbery was committed about three o'clock ? " 
 
 "About three." 
 
 "Very well. Now, how far was your witness from the 
 prisoner at the time 1 " 
 
 " A very short distance ! He was, in fact, walking just 
 behind him." 
 
 " I thought so ! " 
 
 "What ! " exclaimed Tom, addressing the prosecutor fiercely, 
 " do you bead to say that / was walkidg behidd hib 1 " 
 
 " You ! " cried the prosecutor, in a state of amazement. 
 " No ! You are not my witness ! " 
 
 "What's the meaning of it all?" said the magistrate. 
 " I don't understand it. If," he added, addressing Tom, " if 
 you are not the prosecutor's witness, why did you come 
 here ? " 
 
 " I cabe here because a policebad called to idforb be that 
 by presedce was required ibbediately. That's all I kdow 
 alDout the batter." 
 
 " Well, but why did you get into the witness-box ? " 
 
TOM APPEARS TO GIVE EVIDENCE. 261 
 
 " Because I was ushered id the bobedfc I edtered the court.'' 
 
 " I am sorry that this mistake should have occurred," said 
 the prosecutor. " But certainly that gentleman is not the 
 witness whom I expected." 
 
 " It's well for that gentleman," said the magistrate, " that 
 he is not. As it is, I have a great mind to detain him until 
 he brings forward some respectable person " 
 
 " You will, sir, detain him at your peril ! " said the doctor, 
 coming forward with an air of calm dignity, and speaking in 
 tones which commanded attention. " I am his father — my 
 name is Delolme ; and if you wish to have evidence of my 
 respectability, I can refer you not only to some of the first 
 families in the kingdom, but to many of your own immediate 
 friends." 
 
 " I regret," said the magistrate, whose countenance fell 
 the moment the doctor mentioned his " immediate friends " 
 — " I regret exceedingly that so great a mistake should have 
 occurred j but we really have so many persons here who pre- 
 tend to be that which they are not, that we are compelled 
 to look upon almost all with suspicion." 
 
 "It may be so," calmly retorted the doctor; "still the 
 course which you have pursued in this case has been, in my 
 judgment, highly incorrect." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " I suppose I bay go 1 " 
 
 " You may," replied the magistrate. 
 
 " Very good. But before I retire, allow be, as a batter of 
 gratitude, to ackdowledge the courtesy with which I have 
 beed received id this Suprebe Court of Jollity add Justice." 
 
 The magistrate was silent, and Tom withdrew ; and as he 
 did so, he was greeted with a buzz of applause, which fell 
 harshly, of course, upon the ears of his worship, who, deter- 
 mined on taking his revenge out of some one, indignantly 
 demanded the prosecutor to explain. 
 
 " I am really very sorry," said the prosecutor, who was 
 evidently a highly respectable man, " but I can give no other 
 explanation than this, that that gentleman was sent for by 
 mistake and placed in the witness-box, during my absence 
 from the court." 
 
 " But how came he to be sent for 1 " 
 
 " I sent for him, because the person who witnessed the 
 robbery gave me 7w's address." 
 
 " Well, is that person here i " 
 
263 SYLVESTER SO UND. . 
 
 " I am sorry to say that lie is not," 
 
 " Very well ; then the prisoner must be discharged." 
 
 " You will, I hope, remand him, and thereby give me some 
 time to produce this witness." 
 
 " I have no evidence before me to justify a remand." 
 
 " You have my evidence, and you have also the evidence 
 of the policeman." 
 
 " Don't dictate to me, sir. . I say that I have no evidence 
 before me to justify me in remanding the prisoner, and that, 
 therefore, he must be discharged." 
 
 " Well, but am I to be deprived of my property and as- 
 saulted by a man whose character is known to be infamous, 
 without having " 
 
 " It's your own fault ; you have no one to blame but your- 
 self. You should have had your witness here." 
 
 " "Well, if this is the way in which justice is administered, 
 Heaven protect me from its administration ! " 
 
 " Understand that I am invested with authority here, and 
 that I will not suffer you or any other man to bring that 
 authority into contempt." 
 
 " I hold it to be quite unnecessary for me to do so. You 
 bring it sufficiently into contempt yourself." 
 
 " Leave the office, sir ! If you do not know how 'to conduct 
 yourself properly, leave the office ! " 
 
 " I will do so ; and I hope that while you preside over it, I 
 shall never have occasion to enter it again." 
 
 The prisoner, whd was a well-known member of a numerous 
 and highly respectable-looking body, yclept in those days 
 " the swell-mob," was then discharged ; and as the prosecutor 
 was leaving the office in- disgust, Tom, with a view to the 
 vindication of hjs own honour, arrested his progress.* 
 
 "Will you do be the favour," said he, "to explaid to be 
 how this stradge bistake occurred ? By object id requestidg 
 this favour Ls to satisfy by goverdor that I ab dot the bad." 
 
 " In any case you are entitled to an explanation," said the 
 prosecutor, " after having been put to so much trouble and 
 annoyance.'' 
 
 " Oh, I dod't care a straw about that; I'b odly adxious to 
 rebove whatever doubt bay exist id by goverdor's bide, about 
 by beidg out at that tibe id the bordidg." 
 
 " Well, then, about three o'clock, as I was returning from a 
 party, I was accosted by the fellow whom this Midas has dis- 
 
TOM APPEARS TO GIVE EVIDENCE. 263 
 
 charged, and, as I conceived him to be a respectable man, we 
 walked on together for some considerable distance, when 
 suddenly he gave me a blow which nearly stunned me, drew 
 my watch from my pocket in an instant, and made off. At 
 this 'time a young gentleman was walking behind us, and 
 witnessed the whole transaction. I did not, however, stop 
 to speak to him then, but pursued the scoundrel, who was 
 eventually secured, and while the poHceman held him, I re-, 
 turned to this gentleman, and begged of him to accompany 
 me to the station. This, he said, would put him to great in- 
 convenience, but he assured me that he should be most happy 
 fco appear and give evidence at the police-office, when called 
 upon to do so. Being satisfied with this assurance, and know- 
 ing that my evidence alone, without even that of the police- 
 man, would be sufficient to cause the prisoner to be detained, 
 I did not press him to accompany me then, but took his 
 address, which he readily gave me, and" it certainly is my 
 impression that he told me that he was the son, or the nephew, 
 of Dr. Delohne. I was, of course, somewhat excited at the 
 time, and being so, I may have misunderstood him : indeed, 
 I now feel that I must have misunderstood him ; but certain 
 am 1 that, in some way, either directly or indirectly, he 
 mentioned the name of Dr. Delolme. He might have said 
 that he was known to Dr. Delolme, or that he was in some 
 way connected with Dr. Delolme, but he certainly mentioned 
 the name of Dr. Delolme, for -the moment I heard that name 
 mentioned, I was satisfied." 
 
 " Might he not," said the doctor, " have been, as the magis- 
 trate suggested to us, one of the associates of this man ? " 
 
 " I do not believe that he was. I cannot believe it. He 
 was a young man, upon whom I fancied at the time I might 
 with safety place the utmost reliance. I may have been 
 deceived ; it is possible : but certainly my impression is that 
 he knew no more of the fellow than I did. And now," added 
 the prosecutor, turning to Tom, " having explained" how it 
 happened that I sent for you this morning, I hope that you 
 will accept my apology for " — 
 
 "Dodsedse!" cried' Tom; "dod't bedtiod it. I'b odly 
 sorry that the fellow was dot pudished. ' You have dot 
 recovered your watch, I suppose 1 " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I found it this morning in the area of one of 
 the houses; but, as a watch, it's valueless. This is it. 
 
264 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 broken all to pieces, you see ; I saw him throw it away just 
 before he was secured." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " although the gold is odly worth it's 
 weight, I'b very glad that Jie hasd't. got it. But did .you 
 ever see such a Magistrate ? " 
 
 " He's a disgrace to the bench," replied the prosecutor 
 indignantly. " I have heard of him frequently, but with 
 his conduct this morning I am perfectly disgusted. That 
 fellow is as well known to him as any pickpocket in London, 
 and yet, because his dignity was wounded by the calm and 
 correct observations of the doctor, he must let him loose to 
 prey upon society again, although he had ample evidence 
 upon which to commit him. -However, the affair is now at 
 an end, and I have but to repeat my expressions of regret 
 that I should have given you both so much trouble." 
 
 He then left the office with the doctor and Tom, and 
 having seen them into the carriage, was about to take his 
 leave, when a fellow came up to the door, and inquired if 
 they would like to have the proceedings reported at length. 
 
 " You are a reporter, I presume ? " said the doctor. 
 
 "I am," replied the man. 
 
 "With which of the newspapers are you connected?" 
 
 " Oh, several. But / report specially for the Times, 
 Standard, Herald, and Globe." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, who was anxious, of course, that 
 Tom should not be publicly ridiculed, " I see no necessity 
 for the publication of that nonsense' it had nothing what- 
 ever to do with the case." 
 
 " Then you would like to have aU that suppressed ? " 
 
 "Why, I cannot conceive any sufficient reason for its 
 insertion." 
 
 " I have taken it in full, and the whole of it will be 
 inserted, unless, indeed, yow wish to have that or any other 
 particular portion suppressed."- 
 
 " Well, I certainly should like that portion to be left out." 
 
 " Very well, sir; then not a single word of it shall appear. 
 You are, of course, aware that we are paid by the line, and 
 that, therefore, whatever we suppress is a dead loss to us, 
 unless, indeed, the sum we should receive for its insertion 
 be paid to us for its suppression." 
 
 "I understand," said the doctor; "and it is but correct 
 that you should be paid the sum you would have for its 
 
TOM APPEARS TO GIVE EVIDENCE. 265 
 
 insertion by those who -wish to have it suppressed. What 
 would be the sum in this case ? " 
 
 " I think it would make about sixty lines, and" I manifold 
 seven — that is to say, I send the report to seven papers, 
 each of which pays me three-halfpence a line; but a 
 couple of sovereigns will be sufficient: say a couple of 
 sovereigns." 
 
 " You must allow vie to settle this," said the prosecutor ; 
 " I have given you trouble enough ; you shall not through 
 me be put to any expense." 
 
 "I beg pardon," said the doctor, "your loss has been 
 greater than mine. But what security have I," he added, 
 turning to the reporter, "that that which you promise to 
 suppress will not appear ? " 
 
 " I am well known here, sir, and I may say, with pride, 
 that my reputation is without a single stain. I shall be 
 happy to refer you to the magistrate. He has known me 
 for years. You wUl, probably, before yovi leave, do me the 
 favour to apply to him, in order " 
 
 " No," said the doctor, smiling, " that I am sure Til not 
 do ; but here is my card, and if nothing should appear in 
 either the evening or the morning papers, I shall be happy 
 to give you a couple of sovereigns." 
 
 " Oh ! if my honour is doubted, there's an end of the 
 matter. It is not of the slightest importance to me whether 
 I receive the money of you or the proprietors of the papers 
 to which I send the report. I am always, of course, anxious 
 to oblige ; but it is to me, as . you must perceive, a matter of 
 no moment vrhatever." 
 
 " Now, do let me settle this affair," said the prosecutor. 
 
 " No," returned the doctor, " that indeed I will not. You 
 promise," he added, addressing the reporter, " that if I give 
 you two sovereigns, not a syllable having reference to my 
 son shall appear ? " 
 
 "Let it all appear," cried Tom; "Jdod't care a buttod 
 about it ! " 
 
 '-' That," resumed the doctor, heedless of Tom's observation, 
 "that is, of course, understood." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 The doctor drew out his purse, gave two sovereigns to the 
 reporter, shook hands with the prosecutor, and gave the 
 word — -"home." 
 
266 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Why did jou give hib that buddy ? " cried Tom. " Why 
 did you. dot give it to be ? " 
 
 " I gave it to him," replied the doctor, " because I had no 
 desire to see you ridiculed in the public'papers." 
 
 "Ridiculed! Well, that's rich ! How could I be ridiculed? 
 The bagistrate was the swell, I apprehedd, to be ridiculed. 
 It strikes be that I bade a hit whed I asked hib if I was id 
 the court of Bobus ! " 
 
 " Bobus ! " cried the doctor. " Yes, you did make a hit ! 
 Do you know what produced all that laughter ? " 
 
 " Of course. The codsubbate igdoradce of the clerk." 
 
 " No, Tom j that laughter was produced by your Bobuses 
 and Cobuses." 
 
 " What do you bead by Bobuses and Cobuses ? I didd't 
 say Bobus ! I said Bobus ! Id the produdciatiod Bobus 
 add Bobus, the differedce is ibbedse." 
 
 " I cannot perceive any difference at all." 
 
 " What ! Dot betweed Bobus add Bobus ? " 
 
 " Bobus is Bobus, and nothing but Bobus." 
 
 " Well, but I didd't say Bobus ! Bobus is a beastly pro- 
 dudciatiod of Bobus ! " 
 
 " I wish that I could iuduce you to think so." 
 
 " Well, but do you bead to say that I prodoudce Bobus, 
 Bobus?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Well, I bust look idto this. I begid to suspect that 
 there bust be sobethidg id it. I dod't, of course, wadt to be 
 bade a laughidg-stock of ! " 
 
 " But a laughing-stock you ever loill be, Tom, until your 
 absurd pronunciation of the m's and the n's be corrected." 
 
 Tom became thoughtful ; and as they were then near 
 home, the subject was, for the time being, dropped. 
 
THE LOVERS' RETURN. 267 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE lovers' return. 
 
 Ignorance is universally contemned, and yet ignorance itself 
 is universal. There is nothing more fiercely denounced thaa 
 ignorance ; yet, in general, they are most ignorant who 
 denounce it most fiercely. All men are ignorant ; and yet 
 mankind is not a mass of ignorance; all men have knowledge ; 
 but man is not omniscient. Ignorance is comparative ; there 
 is not a man breathing who does not know something of 
 which every other man breathing is ignorant. The great 
 art is to conceal our ignorance ; and this art is highly 
 valuable, seeing that it constitutes the germ of knowledge ; 
 nay, the man who endeavours to conceal his ignorance, is 
 already in possession of a most important branch of human 
 knowledge — the knowledge of the ignorance he is anxious 
 to conceal. Some men have a talent for the display of their 
 ignorance. Such men are ignorant of their ignorance, and 
 are consequently much to be pitied. To be ignorant of one's 
 own ignorance is to be in the most profound state of ignorance 
 in which a man can be involved. The common answer, " I 
 don't know," is candid, but it is at the same time a very 
 palpable manifestation of ignorance — and yet where is the 
 man who knows everything 1 There is not such a man upon 
 earth. The lowest species of ignorance is that which prompts 
 a man to tliinlc that he knows everything ; and the highest 
 caste of knowledge is that which makes him feel that in 
 reality he knows only this — that he knows nothing. There 
 are, however, men who are expected to know everything ; 
 but of this expectation disappointment must always be the 
 fruit. Take our greatest men — men of the mightiest minds 
 —men most highly distinguished for wisdom — ^how ignorant 
 they are of those common things with which common men 
 are conversant. A journeyman barber would curl his lip 
 and look with feelings of contempt upon a head of hair cut 
 by an astronomer; his exclamation doubtless would be, "He 
 must be a hignoramus as cut this ere 'air ! " Nor is it un- 
 worthy of belief that there is not one statesman in a thousand, 
 either native or foreign, who knows how to cut out a pair of 
 short goiters. Place Wellington and Napier in the kitchen. 
 
268 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 and Gunter and Tide in the field, atd what consummate 
 ignorance would be displayed by them all ! But this term 
 ignorance is applied with more indiscrimination than any 
 other. A is said to be ignorant by B, because he happens 
 not to know that which B knows, albeit he knows that of 
 which B himself is ignorant. Tom thought the clerk at the 
 pblice-ofSce ignorant, because he professed not to know 
 exactly how to spell " bed'cide ; " he thought the magistrate 
 ignorant ; he thought the officers ignorant ; indeed, the only 
 man in court whom he imagined to be wise was the doctor ; 
 and yet the doctor, as will be seen, was, as far as the practices 
 of penny-a-liners are concerned, one of the most ignorant 
 men there. 
 
 It will be in all probability remembered that he gave one 
 of these genuine " gentlemen of the press " two sovereigns 
 for the suppression of Tom's evidence. Well ! the doctor of 
 course thought that it would be suppressed, and so did Tom ; 
 although he felt at the time, and strongly too, that those two 
 sovereigns would have paid for a box of cigars, and innumer- 
 able pots of porter. The 'Standard, however, was no sooner 
 in, than Tom saw the whole proceedings reported at length ; 
 and, with feelings of deep indignation, perceived that he, and 
 he only, was ridiculed ! 
 
 " A dice bad," said he confLdentially — " a very dice bad. 
 I bust have adother idterview with you, by friedd — I bust, 
 id fact, have that hodour id a very short tibe." 
 
 Having expressed that which he felt in these cabalistic 
 terms, he rang the bell, and when James appeared, he said^ 
 with an air of mystery, " Jib, rud for the evedidg papers." 
 
 " The evening paper's io, sir," replied James promptly. 
 
 " What do you bead ? Do you thidk I'b such a codsubbate 
 ass as dot to kdow that the paper's id, whed I hold it id by 
 hadd ? I wadt the others — the Globe, the Sud, add the Mood, 
 if there be a Mood / " 
 
 "I shall have to go out with the carriage, sir, directly; 
 the ladies are dressing for dinner." 
 
 " Dab the didder. Jib ! E-ud for the- papers — bridg be the 
 lot as. soon as possible ! " 
 
 James accordingly went for "the lot," and Tom again read 
 the report in the Standard. He had previously conceived an 
 idea that there must in reality be something peculiar in his' 
 style of pronunciation j but he had never before imagined > 
 
THE LOVERS' RETURN. 269 
 
 that that peculiarity would appear so ridiculous in print. 
 He read it aloud again and again, but as he pronounced his 
 m's and his n's, he was really unable to detect anything 
 wrong. The substituted Vs and d's looked absurd enough, 
 but in his ear they sounded all right. 
 
 " Bobus," said he — "Bobus. Well, that's correct ! Bobus 
 — dothidg cad be bore distidct thad Bobus ! Add bed'cide. 
 Well, bed'cide j what cad possibly be plaider thad bed'cide ? 
 I wod't have it ! " he exclaimed ; " it's a regular codspiracy 
 — a dead take id ! " And just as he had arrived at this con- 
 clusion, James returned with the Glohe and the Sun. 
 
 " Well, Jib," he cried ; " got 'eb 2 " 
 
 " Yes, sir. There are only two, sir, besides the one j'ou 
 have." 
 
 " Yery well. Two are two too many. That'll do, Jib — 
 that'll do." 
 
 James then left the room, and Tom very soon found that 
 the reports in these papers were literally the same. 
 
 "Yery good. Bister Reporter," said he sarcastically. 
 " Vei-y good. It strikes be I shall serve you out to-borrow. 
 I dod't know exactly, add therefore I cad't say ; but if I 
 dod't get that buddy back, I'll do byself the pleasure of 
 takidg it out. Til see you to-borrow bordidg, you literary 
 wretch. Here you are," he added, as the doctor entered the 
 library — " here's the full chadge for your two sovereigds. 
 All id." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " Every word of it." 
 
 " Yery dishonourable : very." 
 
 " Add yet the fellow didd't like to have his hodour doubted I 
 Why didd't you give be the buddy ? " 
 
 The doctor very gravely commenced reading the report, but 
 as he proceeded, his features relaxed, for the thing had been 
 well done, and every point told. 
 
 "Well," said Tom, when the doctor had finished, '-'what 
 do you thidk of it dow ? " 
 
 " Why, I think it most dishonest on the part of the reporter, 
 but as I feel that this report will induce you to correct your 
 defective pronunciation, I am not very sorry to see it in." 
 
 " Well, but do you bead to say, dow, seriously, that I pro- 
 doudce by ebs add eds id that ridiculous fashiod ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
270 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Add are the eis add the eds the odly letters which I 
 prodoudce idcorrectly 1" 
 
 "Your pronunciation, Tom, of every other letter in the 
 alphabet is perfect. The substitution of the b and the d for 
 the ?)i and the n, alone renders your conversation comical, or, 
 as you would say, eobical." 
 
 " Well ! I'll certaidly see idto it. If this be the case, I'll 
 sood get over those two fellows." 
 
 " I hope you now see the necessity for doing so. Tour pro- 
 fessional success, Tom, as I have before frequently explained 
 to you, depends in a great measure upon that." 
 
 " Oh ! I'll get over it. I'U^sood badage it. But what are 
 you goidg to do with that fellow ? " 
 
 " The reporter ? " 
 
 " Yes ; of course you'll debadd the buddy back ? " 
 
 " Not I. If I were to see him, I should certainly expostu- 
 late with him, for such practices are highly dishonourable ; 
 but I shall take no trouble about the matter." 
 
 " / bay get it, I suppose, if I cad ? " 
 
 "If you can, Tom, you may," replied the doctor, with a 
 smile. " But I have an impression that you will find that 
 there is, in that quarter, ' no money returned.' " 
 
 The impression on Tom's mind was of a different' character, 
 but he thought it inexpedient to explain how he intended to 
 proceed ; he, therefore, allowed that subject to drop ; but, 
 being anxious to have a point of far more importance settled, 
 he said, with a countenance which denoted that anxiety, 
 " Add dow let be ask you wud serious questiod. We all 
 dide together at Soholefield's to-day. Very well. Dow, I 
 shall feel of course buch bore cobfortable if you tell be that 
 you are satisfied, perfectly satisfied, that I was dot out of the 
 house frob the tibe I left the drawidg-roob last dight till we 
 left id the carriage together this bordidg. Are you or are 
 you dot satisfied of this ? " 
 
 " I am satisfied now, Tom — perfectly satisfied — that you 
 are not the person who witnessed the robbery; but the 
 door, Tom — the fact of the door being found open — that's the 
 point ! " 
 
 " Yes. But that poidt is berely assubed. I dod't believe 
 a word of it ! I dod't believe the door was foudd oped 
 at all ! " 
 
 " I feel justified in believing that it was ; and if it were, 
 
THE LOVERS' RETURN. 271 
 
 the question is, who could have left it open if you did not ? 
 It surely could not have been Sylvester? " 
 
 " Syl ! Do : I'll adswer for hib with by life. I saw 
 bib idto his roob ; add I kdow he wedt to bed : I also kdow 
 that if he had gode dowdstairs after that, I bust have heard 
 hib. Besides, he isd't at aU the style of fellow to do it ! " 
 
 " Well, all I can say is, that it's a mystery, which time 
 may perhaps unravel." 
 
 " But look here, father ! Dod't believe that I ever have 
 told, or that I ever will tell you a falsehood. Dod't 
 believe it." 
 
 " Well, Tom, I am not at all anxious to believe . it. I 
 certainly cannot prove that you ever told me a falsehood, 
 but you are aware that these circumstances are fraught with 
 suspicion." 
 
 '• Exactly ! That's the poidt ! That is the very thidg 
 which galls be ! But we shall fidd it out by-add-by.'' 
 
 " And, untU we do find it out, Tom, I am perfectly wilHng 
 to be silent on the subject." 
 
 Mrs. Delobne and Aunt Eleanor then entered the library, 
 and shortly afterwards they, with the doctor and Tom, 
 repaired to the house of Mr. Scholefield. Here they met the 
 reverend gentleman, by appointment ; and here Aunt Eleanor 
 was delighted to find that Sylvester already felt perfectly at 
 home. Of Mrs. Scholefield he had at once become a favourite ; 
 she treated him, in fact, with as much kindness as if he had 
 been her own son ; and as she was in reality a most amiable 
 person. Aunt Eleanor, feeling satisfisd that everything would 
 be done to promote his happiness, decided on returning to 
 Cotherstone on the morrow. 
 
 Accordingly, in the morning, she and the reverend gentle- 
 man, accompanied by Mrs. Delolme, Mrs. Scholefield, Syl- 
 vester, and Tom, went to the office at Charing Cross, and 
 when she had had some private conversation with Mrs. 
 Scholefield, having reference to Sylvester, she left town per- 
 fectly happy in the conviction that the utmost possible care 
 would be taken of both his morals and his health. 
 
 Immediately after the coach had started, Tom proceeded to 
 Bow Street alone j and, on entering the office, looked round 
 with an anxious hope of again seeing that literary gentleman 
 who received the two sovereigns of the doctor. That gentle- 
 man, however, was not then there ; but, conceiving that he 
 
272 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 might be there anon, Tom waited two hours for him with 
 exemplary patience, and then spoke to one of the officers of 
 the .court. 
 
 " I ab adxious," he observed, " to see a reporter." 
 
 " There they are," returned the officer, " in that there box." 
 
 " Are they reporters ? " 
 
 "All on 'em." 
 
 " But I wadt to see the wud whob I saw here yesterday." 
 
 " All them was here yesterday." 
 
 " But there was wud here yesterday, who is dot here dow ? " 
 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 " Very good. But perhaps you cad tell be where to fidd 
 hib ? " 
 
 " Don't bother. How should I know where to find him ? " 
 
 " Do you thidk it likely that they cad tell be 1 " 
 
 " Ax." 
 
 "Why, you surly, low bred, ill codditioded " 
 
 " Silence ! or I puts you out of the office." 
 
 Tom looked at him contemptuously from head to foot and 
 up again, and said something about his being a nice man, 
 he didn't think ! but as one of the reporters at the moment 
 left the box, Tom turned from the fellow to address him. 
 
 "A reporter," said he, "was here yesterday whob I dod't 
 see id the office to-day. Cad you tell be where to fidd hib ? " 
 
 " What paper is he connected with ? " 
 
 " He reports for seved papers, he told us." 
 
 " Seven ! You are the gentleman, I believe, who was 
 yesterday in the witness-box." 
 
 " I ab." 
 
 " I thought so. But there was no person connected with 
 seven papers here.'' 
 
 " He certaidly told us seved." 
 
 " What was his object in speaking to you on the subject ? " 
 
 " Why, he cabe to the carriage-door to idquire if we were 
 adxious to have ady portiod of the report suppressed, add as 
 by goverdor thought that that dodsedse bight as well be left 
 out, the fellow offered to suppress it for two sovereigds." 
 
 " But of course you didn't give him the two sovereigns ? " 
 
 " The goverdor did. He gave hib two sovereigds to leave 
 out the lot, add the wretch put it all id." 
 
 "I see," said the reporter, smiling. "But he had nothing 
 whatever to do with it. He is not a regular reporter : he is 
 
i-HE LOVERS' RETURN. 273 
 
 one of those scamps who attend inquests and police-courts, 
 expressly in order to obtain money by pretending to have the 
 power to insert or to suppress what they please." 
 
 " The adibal," cried Tom. " I should lite to see hib dow." 
 
 " I wish you could point him out to me. I'd have him 
 before the magistrate at once. But he'll not be here to-day : 
 you may depend upon that. Perhaps in a week, when he 
 imagines that you have given him up, he may be here again." 
 
 " Thed I'll look id about this day week, add if I should see 
 hib" 
 
 " Point him out to me." 
 
 Tom promised that he would do so, and left the office} 
 and, on reaching home, proceeded to explain to the doctor 
 how completely he had been victimised. 
 
 " I've bead to Bow Street this bordidg," said he, " to look 
 after that Hterary swell." 
 
 " And have you seen him ? " inquired the doctor. 
 
 " Dot a bit of it. He's idvisible. But I suppose that you 
 are quite prepared to hear of its beidg a dead do ? " 
 
 " Quite, Tom. Oh, yes ! I'm quite prepared for that." • 
 
 " Well, thed it wod't take you buch by surprise. But of 
 all the swiddles that ever succeeded, that was wud of the host 
 perfect. Why, he's dot edgaged to report for ady paper at 
 all. He is a fellow who f requedts the various courts, expressly 
 id order to pick up the Greeds." 
 
 " Then I suppose, Tom, there isn't much chance of your 
 making two sovereigns by this transaction ? " 
 
 " Dot a bit of it." 
 
 " Well, it's a lamentable circumstance, Tom, isn't it 1 You 
 see it's a dead loss to you of forty shillings." 
 
 " But, however you could have beed taked id by a dodge 
 so disgustidgly stale, I cad't ibagide." 
 
 "Stale!" cried the doctor. "It was quite fresh to me, 
 Tom. Did you ever hear of it before ? " 
 
 " I ! I'b a youdg 'ud ! I cad't be expected to kdow so 
 buch as you. Besides, I'b a victib, add always was. Tdever 
 thought that you could be victibised." 
 
 " All men are liable to be taken in occasionally, and wheii 
 they are, Tom, the best plan is to say as little about it as 
 possible." . 
 
 " Do doubt. But I shall say a little bore about this, if I 
 should happed to beet that youdg gedtl^bad," 
 
 S 
 
274: SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Persuade Him to return tlie two sovereigns, Tom." 
 
 " I dod't expect to be able to do that, but it strikes be I 
 shall cause hib to wish that he had dever had theb." 
 
 The doctor smiled and left the room, when Tom — who had 
 done but very little work that week — ^resolved on bringing 
 his mind to bear again upon his books, and with that view 
 went up at once into his study. 
 
 Meanwhile, Aunt Eleanor and her reverend friend were 
 enjoying their journey to Cotherstone Grange. It was, for- 
 tunately, a most beautiful day : there were, moreover, no 
 other inside passengers — a circumstance which they privately 
 deemed still more fortunate— but if even it had been wet, 
 and the coach had been crowded, they would have been, in 
 each other's society, happy. The journey never before 
 appeared to be half so short to either. They were amazed 
 at the rapidity with which they went along. They reached 
 village after village, and town after town, as if the distance 
 between had been scarcely a mUe. The stages too appeared 
 to be remarkably short. The horses seemed to fly from 
 stage to stage — while Time kept pace with the horses. The 
 reverend gentleman was never before known to have half so 
 much to say. He had an astonishing flow of language on 
 that occasion ; in fact, he kept on continually talking from 
 the time they left London till they reached the point at which 
 he had directed his phaeton to be in readiness, a,nd even then 
 he appeared to have just as much to communicate as ever. 
 
 As they approached the Grange, new beauties seemed to 
 have sprung up during their absence, and they felt more 
 endeared to the place than before ; and as they passed 
 through the village they chatted so gaily, and seemed so 
 much pleased with themselves and each other, and everything 
 around them, that Obadiah Drant, who was standing with 
 Pokey at the door of the Crumpet and Crown, so rolled his 
 mysterious-looking head, and so tortured and twisted his in- 
 elegant body," that his friend began to think that he had had 
 for dJBner something which didn't agrep with him 
 
 " What's the matter ? " inquired Pokey. " Have you got 
 the stomach-ache ? " 
 
 "The stomach-ache 1 " exclaimed Obadiah. "Isn't it 
 enough to give any man the stomach-ache ? That's the dodge, 
 is it 1 " he added sarcastically. "Very good : that's it," 
 
 " What's it ? " demanded Pokey. 
 
THE LOVERS' RETURN. 27s 
 
 " What's it ! What ! Don't your ideas fructify ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " What do I mean 1 There 1 That any man in the nine- 
 teenth century should be able to see the world wag as it 
 does, without having any ideal fructification 1 Pokey, you're 
 a flat. You'd never do to sit in the House of Commons. 
 Even Bobby Peel would beat you. Why, just look here, 
 didn't you see Teddy pass just now with the old maid ? " 
 
 " Yes. Well 2 " 
 
 "Well Don't you see?" 
 
 "See what?" 
 
 " Why, the dodge ! " 
 
 "What dodge?" 
 
 " What dodge ! Pokey, you were never bom to be the 
 Lord Chancellor. Amalgamate your ideas, man. Let 'em 
 flow and fructify ! What ! Well, as true as I'm alive ! 
 Why, just look you here ! Do you mean to tell me — a man 
 of your scope, and sense, and fructifertility — do you mean to 
 tell me, poiat blank, without any reservation of ideas, that 
 you don't see as clear as mud what Ted's been up to ? " 
 
 " Can you ? " 
 
 " Can 1 1 Who can't ! It's as plain as the sun at twelve 
 o'clock. Look you here : when Harry the Eighth married 
 Nell Gwynne, did they marry in public ? No ! They maxriei 
 privately. Now, don't you see ? " 
 
 " I can't say as I do," replied Pokey. 
 
 " You can't ! Well, I never see such a job in my life. 
 What ! Can't you see there's been a private marriage here ? " 
 
 " No, I'm blest if I can." 
 
 " Pokey, you ought to go to school again, and have them 
 ideas of yours put under a course of fructification. Not see it. 
 Send I jnskjUve, if ever I see such a job before ! Where are 
 your eyes ? what's become of your notions ? are all your ideas 
 asleep or what, that you can't make nothing out of this ? " 
 
 " Well, what do you make of it ? " 
 
 " What do I make of it ! Just look you here. Hasn't the 
 old maid been up to London, and didn't Ted follow her, and 
 haven't they been there aU this time, and now haven't they 
 come back together ? " 
 
 " Well, and what of that ? " 
 
 " What of it ! Have you Uved all these years in the world 
 and can't see what they've been up to ! They couldn't marry 
 
276 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 here. Oh ! dear me, no : they must go up to London, and be 
 married by special licence. This is your aristocracy of 
 humility ! this is your parsonic pride ! Mark my words. 
 Pokey, that pride must come down. We're not going to let 
 it much longer ride rough-shod over the eternal principles of 
 the people. We must tear from their eyes what I call the 
 film of folly. We must make them imderstand these amal- 
 gamating dodges. We must do as they did in France under 
 Peter the Great, when Robespierre towelled the Dutch, we 
 must give the aristocracy a blessed good welting. That'll 
 bring 'em to their senses ; and mind you this, they'll never 
 be happy till they get it. We must have a revolution all 
 over the world ; things are now on a rotten foundation ! 
 your kings, and your queens, and your bishops, and parsons, 
 and all the lot of aristocratic leeches, who suck the best blood 
 of the eternal people, must be swamped : they must be swept 
 clean away from the face of the earth, as they were in the 
 time of the Romans. What do we want with an amalga- 
 mating mass of corruption fructifying upon our very vitals ? 
 Why should we give eighty millions a year away for nothing ? 
 What good do the aristocracy do us 1 If you can't pay your 
 taxes, away go your sticks ; and what for ? Why, to fatten 
 up your flaming aristocracy. Do you mean to call that eternal 
 justice 1 Do you mean to call that the glorious principles of 
 everlasting liberty ? What did we sign the Magna Charta for ? 
 Why, for fructifying freedom. If we had no aristocracy, we 
 should have no taxes ; and if we had no taxes, we should be 
 free. I'll take you, then, upon your Magna Oharta, and show 
 that you are nothing but slaves. Would the Russians stand 
 it, think you ? Would the Chinamen stand it ? No ! The 
 Jews wouldn't stand it under Moses. Look at the history 
 of the world, and you'll find that nobody stands it but us. 
 When Solomon buUt his temple among the gods, the Solo- 
 monians wouldn't stand it : they said, point blank, ' Here 
 you've got about a thousand wives, of one sort or other, and 
 when we come to look at the mobs of kids, we are not going 
 to support so expensive an establishment.' Even the very 
 workmen struck ! and we must strike, and when we do 
 strike, the blow will be a stunner. It's of no use half doing 
 the thing. We'll go in like rattlesnakes, my boy, as they 
 did at Nova Scotia. We'll let them see what we're made of ! 
 we'll show 'em from which point of the compass the wind 
 
TEE LOVERS' RETURN. 377 
 
 blows : we'll go in a burster j and when we do, the lesson 
 shall last 'em their lives. We'll not much longer be plundered 
 in this way ! we'll not be ground down to the earth, and have 
 our substance squeezed out of us thus, by the iron hand of 
 an iron-hearted aristocracy. Not a bit of it ! What did 
 Johnny Kussell say in the House the other night ? ' I tell 
 the noble lord,' said he j and Johnny can speak up sometimes 
 if he likes — ' I teU the noble lord that he'd better look out. 
 There's a spirit abroad that won't have it. It's fructifying 
 now, and will soon break loose yja.nA when it does, there'll be 
 pepper.' And so there wiU : mind you that. Down with 
 them ! — that's my sentiments — down to the dust ! A rattler, 
 my Briton — a rattler for me. Now, just look you here " 
 
 " Well, but what are you talking about ? " inquired Pokey. 
 
 " What am I talking about ? " 
 
 " Ay ! What has all this about Peter the Great, Solomon, 
 Moses, and Magna Charta to do with our parson? What 
 have the Russians to do with him, or the Frenchmen, or the 
 Chinamen ? " 
 
 " What ! are you so thick-headed, so pugnaciously stupid, 
 as not to see that all this tends to show you the system ! " 
 
 " What system ? " 
 
 " What system ! Why, the system of extortion — the system 
 of plunder — ^the fructifying system of downright dead robbery, 
 wHch grinds the people's vitals into dust." 
 
 " But we wasn't a-talking about nothing of the sort. We 
 was talking about a private marriage." 
 
 " Well, I know it. But can't you make your ideas fructify 
 beyond one point of the compass ? I know we were talking 
 about Teddy Eouse being privately married in London : and 
 just look you here " 
 
 " Well, but what makes you think so 1 " 
 
 " What makes me think so ! Why, can there exist two 
 opinions about it ? Didn't she sneak off to London ; and didn't 
 he go sneaking after her 1 Why didn't he take her up with 
 him, like a man ? They have come back together because it's 
 all over ; but why not do things in a straightforward way ? 
 It's disgusting to see a man like him — a man, paid as he is for 
 teaching simplicity — to go dodging about in that mannei'." 
 
 " But this is all guess-work, you know ? " 
 
 " Guess-work ! Pokey, Pokey, when shall I get you to 
 fructify your ideas a little ? " 
 
278 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Yours, I think, fructify a little too much. You said when 
 he went up, that he was going after his French girl, there — ■ 
 what's her name — Rosalie ! " 
 
 " I know I did j and what does it prove ? Why, that he'll 
 run after every one he takes a fancy to. Depend upon it, 
 Ted's not particular. None of them are. No one expects it 
 in a parson. They're a clerical lot ; and you know what I 
 mean by the term clerical. I say, Quocks," he added, as that 
 gentleman joined them, " did you see Teddy Rouse and his 
 woman come in ? " 
 
 " Teddy Rouse and his woman / " said Quocks. " What do 
 you mean ? I saw him set down Mrs. Sound at the cottage." 
 
 "He didn't take her then to the parsonage?" observed 
 Pokey. 
 
 " The parsonage ! No. Who said he did 1 " 
 
 " Drant says they're married ! " 
 
 " Married I Rubbish. It isn't likely ! " 
 
 " Why not ? " demanded Obadiah. 
 
 " Why not ! Do you think he'd have taken her to the 
 cottage, and shaken hands, and left her there, and then driven 
 home by himself, if they'd been married 1 " 
 
 " Well, I was only taking a charitable view of the thing ; 
 because if they're not married they ought to be, that's all 
 about it." 
 
 " What do you mean ? I shouldn't mind well thrashing 
 any man who says there's anything a mite wrong about Mrs. 
 Sound. She's as straight as an arrow, Til warrant ! — right 
 up and down, and no nonsense — not a mite." 
 
 " Tou know she's been to London ? " 
 
 "I do J what of that?" 
 
 " You know he's been to London too ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and what of that ? " 
 
 " Well ! Look you here, I only know it doesn't look well." 
 
 " What doesn't look well ? " 
 
 " Why, it doesn't look weU for Ted to run after her, and 
 then to bring her back with him ; now, does it ? " 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Why not 1 Why, it looks as if there must be something 
 in it." 
 
 "In what?" 
 
 " Why, as Harry the Eighth said, just after the French 
 Revolution, ' I'll tell you what it is,' said he, ' if ' "— — 
 
THE LOVERS' RETURN. 279 
 
 "Never mind what Harry the Eighth said! I want to 
 hear what you say." 
 
 " Well, but this is a case in point. ' If,' said he, ' honour- 
 able gentlemen think that I'm to be done in this way, I must 
 fructify their intellects a little.' " 
 
 " Never mind fructifying ! — ^give me a plain answer to a 
 plain question." 
 
 " He never did such a thing in his life ! " observed Pokey. 
 
 " Pokey, "j said Obadiah gravely; "what would you have 
 been if it hadn't been for me ] " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " demanded Pokey indignantly, for 
 he felt that he was quite as good a man as Obadiah, who never 
 in his life had twopence that could be said to be his own ; 
 " what should I have been if it hadn't been for you ? " 
 
 " Ay ! what would you have been if it hadn't been for me ? 
 Look you here, now j I'll tell you ; you'd have been like one 
 of the rattlesnakes in the wilderness ; you wouldn't have had 
 a fructifying idea about you." 
 
 "Well," said Quocks, "but what have you to say against 
 the character of Mrs. Sound ? " 
 
 " What have I to say against her "character 1 " 
 
 "Ay! You said just now that it didn't look well — that 
 there must be something in it, and that if she were not 
 married, she ought to be. Now, I just want to know what 
 you mean by all this 1 " 
 
 " You do, do you ? Well, then, just look you here : when 
 I said that if she and Teddy Rouse were not married, they 
 ought to be, I meant what I said ; and do you mean to say 
 they ought not?" 
 
 " But what did you mean to insinuate ? " 
 
 " What did I mean to insinuate ! Why, of course, that 
 they ought to be married." 
 
 " And why 1" 
 
 " Why ! When Peter the Great fructified the Greeks " 
 
 " Never mind Peter the Great ; the question is, why ought 
 they to be taarried 1 " 
 
 " I was going to tell you. Peter " 
 
 " I won't have it. Aiisw;er my question." 
 
 " ' Answer my question.' Are you one of the ragged aristo- 
 cracy ? Do you want to come Billy the Conqueror over us ? 
 ' Answer my question.' A fructifying tyrant could say no 
 more to his slave. I'm the slave of no man j not a farthing's 
 
2?o SYLVESTER SOUND, 
 
 worth of it. _ Come to fair argument, and I am your man. 
 I'll go with you into the history of the world ; but if you 
 want to come any of your haughty aristocracy, it won't do 
 for me, mind you that." 
 
 " Obadiah," said Quocks, " you're a fool. I don't flatter you 
 when I say that you are only one remove from an idiot j 
 because I'd much rather talk with an idiot than with you. 
 Independently of which, an idiot — a perfect idiot — is infinitely 
 more harmless. You take delight in stabbing the reputa- 
 tion of those around you : you glory in the practice of found- 
 ing falsehoods upon truth : you are too vain to see tjiat you 
 are despised, and too ignorant even to know that you are 
 ignorant : you are one of society's butts— a creature who 
 has not a single friend in the world, for what man in the 
 world can feel justified in either opening his heart to you, 
 or trusting you with a secret ? You are a dangerous man, 
 Obadiah — dangerous, not because you have any high intel- 
 lectual power, but because you are utterly destitute of it. 
 I don't mean to say that you are malignant. No : you are 
 ten times worse than a man who is actuated by malignity ; 
 you have not the tact to "perceive what is calculated to injure 
 a man, and what is not. You lose friends, Obadiah, as fast 
 as you make them, because they soon find that you are not 
 to be trusted." 
 
 " Well," said Obadiah, " you have been fructifying, cer- 
 tainly, to an amalgamating extent. Have you done 1 " 
 
 " Quite. My object is merely to induce you to study your 
 own character." 
 
 " Thank you : you're very kind — you always were ; but I 
 know my own character as well as any man in Europe, Asia, 
 Africa, or America." 
 
 "I am very sorry for it." 
 
 " No doubt. But just look you here : just allow me, if 
 you've done now, to ask you one question. You said just 
 now that I take a delight in stabbing the reputation of those 
 around me. Mark you that ! — those were the very words 
 you put in juxtaposition." 
 
 "Well" 
 
 " Well, just look you here, now ; whose reputation have I 
 ever endeavoured to stab ? " 
 
 " Whose reputation have you not ? That's the exception, 
 if there be one : the other's the rule." 
 
THE LOVERS' RETURN. 281 
 
 " Well, but whose reputation have I been endeavouring to 
 stab now ? " 
 
 "That of a lady whose goodness is known and has been 
 appreciated by all but you, and that of a gentleman — for he 
 is a gentleman — whose honour and benevolence none but you 
 ever doubted." 
 
 "I deny it!" 
 
 " Deny what ? " 
 
 " Deny what ! Deny that I've been endeavouring " ■ 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Pokey, with uplifted hands ; " oh ! " 
 
 " Oh ! You fool, what do you mean by oh I " 
 
 " Didn't you walk.in before Quocks came 1 " 
 
 " But I'm speaking of now ! It has been said that — when 
 I made the observation, that if they were not married, they 
 ought to be — I endeavoured to stab their reputation. Now, 
 I'll prove that I endeavoured to do nothing of the sort." 
 
 " Do so." 
 
 " I'll prave it by logic, and I defy all the mathematicians 
 in the habitable globe to knock it down. I'll prove it by the 
 regular mathematical construction of the English language, 
 and will any man tell me there's any constructed language 
 in the universe more mathematically regular than that 1 I'll 
 prove it in juxtaposition " 
 
 "WeU, prove it." 
 
 " Prove it ! Well, just look you here, and if your ideas 
 can fructify, let 'em. Just look at the grammatical character 
 of the words : if they are not married, they ought to be. 
 Isn't that a correct amalgamation 1 — and being amalgamated, 
 what do the words mean 1 Is there any man in nature so 
 lost to every sense of grammatical transubstantiation as not 
 to see that they mean this, and nothing but this, that they 
 ought to be married, if they are not ? " 
 
 " But why ought they i " 
 
 " Why ought they ! Isn't one a bachelor and the other a 
 spinster 1 And is there any law in life to prohibit such a 
 marriage ? What would be said if Johnny Russell or Bobby 
 Peel were to bring in a bill to render marriages of that sort 
 illegal ? Wouldn't it be kicked out of the House neck and 
 crop 1 I said they ought to be married ; and I say so stiU. 
 I'll not flinch from what I said. I'm not ashamed of what I 
 say. I'd say it just as soon before their faces as I would 
 behind their backs. They ought to be married, and what 
 
282 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 objection can we have to such a marriage, if they like it ? 
 For my part, I think that they'd just suit each other." 
 
 " Ah 1" exclaimed Pokey, " it won't do, you know. That's 
 not what you meant." 
 
 " What do you mean by saying that's not what I meant 1 
 Can you tell the fructifications of my bosom ? Can any man 
 alive dive into another's heart, or see what's going on in 
 another's private brain ? It will take a wiser man than 
 you. Pokey, to do it. I refer you to the words — if the words 
 don't mean that, they mean nothing ! " 
 
 " You shuffles," said Pokey. 
 
 " He always did shuffle," said Quocks. 
 
 " Shuffle ! " exclaimed Obadiah, who was perfectly disgusted 
 with Pokey's ingratitude. " You'd have shuffled through the 
 world an ignoramus, if your weak ideas hadn't been fructified 
 by me. What do you mean by shuffling ? " 
 
 " Why, you've shuffled in this ! " returned Pokey, who 
 wasn't aware that Obadiah had done anything to his ideas, 
 with the exception of confusing them occasionally. " I don't 
 care a button about the words, I look at what you meant, 
 and you meant this " 
 
 " We know what he meant very well," observed Quocks ; 
 " and I'd strongly recommend him, it his ideas must ' fructify ' 
 on matters of this character, to keep the 'fructification' to 
 himself. It may be true that his slanders are not of much 
 importance, because no one who knows him believes a word 
 he utters. Were he a man with any pretensions to respecta- 
 bility, the consequences might be serious as well to others 
 as to himself ; but he is not : he is at best but a half-witted 
 butt, without a particle of manly pride about him." 
 
 "You're going it," exclaimed Obadiah. "Now, I daresay 
 that you think I care a great deal about what you say, don't 
 you?" 
 
 " If I thought that, I would, both for your own sake and 
 that of society, say more : I would then take some pains to 
 show you exactly what you are; but I know that, you don't 
 care — that you haven't the sense to care : if you had, you 
 would scorn to go prowling about as you do, picking up loose 
 scraps of slander to ' fructify ; ' chuckling over the misfortunes 
 of your neighbours; magnifying their follies, and making 
 those follies the bases of lies. I really don't know a more 
 contemptible character than that of a lazy " 
 
LOVM. 283 
 
 " Do you mean to say that I'm lazy 1 " 
 
 "Lazy! Why, what do you do besides lounging about 
 barbers' shops ? You don't do twenty-four hours' work in a 
 week. I have nothing, of course, to do with that ; but when 
 a man has a family, and squanders away, newsmongering, 
 three-fourths of his time, when that time might be occupied 
 in benefiting his family, what is he but a lazy man ? I should 
 be ashamed to lead such a life." 
 
 " Oh, don't you trouble your head about me." 
 
 " I don't want to trouble my head about you. I only want 
 to show how much better it would be if you were not to 
 trouble your head — such a head as it is — about others. Ifot 
 that I imagine that I shall be able, by showing this, to do 
 you any good — ^you're past that ; you must talk, and I'm not 
 at all surprised at your talking ; all that I'm surprised at is, 
 that you should still find people to listen to your talk. Tou 
 have pretty nearly tired all the old ones out : Pokey, I believe, 
 is the only one of the lot that wUl listen to you now, and the 
 sooner Jie sends you to Coventry the better." 
 
 " Let him do it ! " exclaimed Obadiah. " What do I care for 
 Pokey 1 Who's Pokey placed in juxtaposition with me 1 " 
 
 Pokey, who didn't at all Kke this contemptuous observation, 
 drank up his beer and departed; and as Quocks, who had 
 already finished his, went with him, Obadiah was left to 
 " fructify " alone. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 DuEiNG Sylvester's residence with Mr. Scholefield, his career 
 as a somnambulist was checked, and as his history as a 
 somnambulist is all that we have to contemplate, it wiU be 
 necessary to leap over a space of five years, with a brief 
 explanation of the means which induced the development of 
 his somnambulism to cease, and a description, somewhat less 
 brief, of an incident for which, perhaps, many will be quite 
 unprepared. 
 
 And first with respect to the means by which his career 
 as a somnambulist was checked. It has been seen that Mr. 
 
284 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Scholefield was an abstemious man ; it has been stated tbat 
 when he dined at the doctor's, he neither ate nor drank any- 
 thing calculated to heat the blood or to produce any unnatural 
 excitement ; it will, therefore, be sufficient to add simply, 
 that his arguments in favour of that practice were so strong 
 and so convincing, that Sylvester adopted it at once; and 
 having done so, he felt throughout the day so much lighter 
 and more lively, that he adhered to it during the whole of 
 the time he resided in Mr. Scholefield's house. It wUl, how- 
 ever, here be correct to observe that his adherence to this 
 system must not be ascribed to any consciousness on his part 
 of the cause of his having previously felt so languid — -he had 
 not even the most remote idea of the fact of his physical 
 energies having been during the night exhausted : he attri- 
 buted his gaiety and lightness of heart solely to the regimen 
 he had adopted, and hence he continued to adhere to it firmly. 
 
 Now it happened that when Sylvester had been articled 
 about twelve months, Mr. Scholefield was summoned to attend 
 a female who was reported to be in the very last stage of 
 consumption. He accordingly went, and was shown into a 
 plain but clean and neatly-furnished room, in which he found 
 a poor wasted, yet beautiful girl on a bed, near which her 
 broken-hearted mother sat weeping. 
 
 The old lady rose as he entered, and tried to conceal her 
 tears, but as the effort deprived her of the power to speak, 
 he pressed her hand in silence and went to the bedside. 
 
 " My poor girl," said he, with a benevolent smile, on 
 taking her hands, which were like gloved bones, " why, your 
 eyes are bright and sparkling ; you must not be in this 
 state long." 
 
 " I feel," she observed faintly, " I feel that I should be 
 well if I were not so weak. I have no pain^no absolute 
 physical pain — and yet I am prostrated thus." 
 
 " Well, well," said he soothingly, as a deep sigh escaped 
 her, "you must not be sad. We must hope for the best, 
 and see what can be done. I will send you that which will 
 raise your spirits; but your mind must be tranquil — you 
 must be quite calm. In the morning I'U see you again." 
 
 He then gently pressed her thin, weak, fleshless hand, 
 and, as she fervently breathed forth her thanks; he left her. 
 
 On leaving the room he was followed by her heart-stricken 
 mother, who exclaimed, with an expression of anxiety which 
 
LOVM. 285 
 
 denoted the existence of those feelings which mothers only 
 can experience — 
 
 " Pray, sir, tell me — are there any grounds for hope ? — 
 or will my poor dear child be lost to me for ever ? " 
 
 " My dear lady," replied Mr. Scholefield, who, although 
 he perceived clearly that the case was hopeless, felt perfectly 
 justified in concealing the fact then, "when I call in the 
 morning I shall be able to express a more decided opinion. 
 For the present, be assured that there is no immediate 
 danger." 
 
 The poor lady cherished the hope thus inspired, and, 
 clasping her hands with deep fervour, thanked God. 
 
 " But," he added, " how long has your daughter been ill ? " 
 
 " She has been sinking, sir, gradually for nearly twelve 
 months." 
 
 " Has anything of very great importance ever occurred to 
 her ? Do you know of any circumstance at all calculated to 
 prey upon her mind ? " 
 
 " Alas ! yes. I ascribe it all to that. She became, sir, 
 about twelve months since, enamoured, deeply enamoured, of 
 a gentleman — a medical student — who " 
 
 "I perceive, my dear lady. I do hot wish to pry into 
 any private matter : that medical student, I perceive, was 
 a villain." 
 
 " No, thank Heaven ! She is virtuous, sir — pure as an 
 angel ! And he, I believe, was virtuous too. But having 
 -^I do not say intentionally — I do not believe that the 
 slightest blame can attach to him — but having fascinated 
 my dear child, she saw him no more.'' 
 
 "Was he aware of the fact of his having made this 
 impression?" 
 
 " I think not : and even assuming that he was, he perhaps 
 acted wisely in the view of the world, for he was young — 
 very young ; while my child was then in a position far, very 
 far, below the sphere in which she had been accustomed to 
 move." 
 
 " Did she write to him at all ? " 
 
 " She, unfortunately, knew not where to write. She made 
 every possible effort to ascertain — not with the view of being 
 importunate, but merely in order to see him once more — but, 
 alas ! she could gain no intelligence of him. There was one 
 student at the hospital who knew him; but although she 
 
286 SYLVESTER SO UND. 
 
 applied to him frequently, dl that she could learii from him 
 was, that he had left. She then began to fade and pine, and 
 has been pining ever since. She remained in the situation 
 she occupied then until she became too weak to perform its 
 duties, and now, sir, although once a lovely girl, she is as you 
 have seen her," 
 
 " Did he leave her unkindly 1 " 
 
 " Unhappily, no, sir. Had he been unkind, her pride 
 would have sustained her. But he was, on the contrary, 
 most kind and courteous. You probably perceived that 
 she wore bracelets. Those bracelets were " his gift. She 
 wears them constantly ; she would not part with them for 
 worlds ! " 
 
 " I wish that I knew where to find him. You, of course, 
 know his name ? " 
 
 " His name we could never learn ; niy child never heard 
 more than his Christian name mentioned." 
 
 " That's very unfortunate — very." 
 
 " I do believe, sir, that if she could see him once again, 
 her recovery even now would be almost immediate." 
 
 " Well, then, let us hope that she will again see him." 
 
 " I fear that that is hopeless." 
 
 " Things apparently more impossible have occurred." 
 
 "Very true, sir ; very true." 
 
 " Well, then, do not despair. Hope still, and conceal your 
 distress as much as possible from her." 
 
 "I will do so," the poor lady exclaimed, as fresh tears 
 gushed from her eyes ; " as much as possible, I will." 
 
 Mr. Scholefield then promised to send to her immediately 
 on his return, and to see her again in the morning, and having 
 reassured her that there was no immediate danger, he left 
 her re-inspired with hope. 
 
 During dinner that day, Mr. Scholefield alluded to this 
 distressing case ; merely stating, however, that the poor girl 
 had formed a romantic attachment to a young man, whom 
 she had since never seen, and that she was then in conse- 
 quence pining away in a hopeless state of consumption. This 
 statement, brief as it was, interested Sylvester deeply, and 
 as he had never witnessed a case of the kind — as he had 
 never seen the hectic flush, and the various other symptoms 
 of approaching death, which are, in such cases, commonly 
 developed — it was suggested by Mr, Scholefield^-who was, 
 
LOVE. 287 
 
 at all times, anxious to advance Sylvester's professional know- 
 ledge — that, in the morning, they should visit the poor girl 
 together. 
 
 In the morning they accordingly went, and, on entering 
 the room, found the old lady much more tranquil ; but the 
 Very instant Sylvester approached the bed, the poor girl 
 started as if from a dream. 
 
 " Mother 1 mother ! " she exclaimed ; " look ! thei-e I Have 
 I my senses still, or have I lost them ! Is this a vision ? — 
 Sylvester ! " she added, as he extended his hand, for, in 
 an instant, he recognised Julia. " Oh, this is joy beyond 
 expression," and, seizing his hand with all the energy at her 
 command, she passionately kissed it, and wept. 
 
 "My poor girl," said Sylvester tenderly; and, while his 
 eyes were filled with tears, her mother stood struck with 
 amazement. " How is it with you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I am happy now — quite — quite happy — Sylvester ! 
 Oh ! how I have prayed to behold you once again. Blessed 
 be God ! " she added devoutly, " my prayers have been 
 heard." 
 
 "And now," said Mr. Scholefield, having somewhat 
 recovered from the state of surprise into which this unex- 
 pected scene had thrown him ; " you and I must come at 
 once to an understanding. I have," he added, with a smile 
 which caused her to bless him, " I have brought him, whom 
 I perceive you were rather anxious to see, with me ; but, 
 understand, I must bring him no more, unless you promise 
 me faithfully that you will be henceforward calm." 
 
 " I do promise faithfully : I will be cahn." 
 
 " I must not allow him to come here and throw you into 
 this state of excitement, when my object is to keep you as 
 tranquil as possible." 
 
 " I will be tranquil ; indeed I will. I am not excited noio ! 
 I am only happy." 
 
 "Very well; then he shall again come to see you." 
 
 " Heaven will bless you for thisl" exclaimed Julia; and 
 Mr. Scholefield and her mother retired to the window. 
 " Sylvester ! " she added, with a look of unspeakable fond- 
 ness ; " can you forgive me ? " 
 
 " Forgive you, my poor girl, what have I to forgive ? " 
 
 " My boldness ; my forwardness." 
 
 " How can I forgive that of which I am unconscious ? " 
 
2 88 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " You are kind," she replied. " But tell me, have you been 
 well 1 — and happy ? " 
 
 " I have ; and sorry indeed am I to find that you have 
 not." 
 
 " I have not been ; but I am happy now, and hope to be 
 soon again well. But you will not despise me 1 I cannot 
 conceal from you that which I know that I ought to conceal. 
 But, oh ! how I have longed to see you. Do you remember 
 that happy evening — the evening on which you gave me 
 these ? " 
 
 Sylvester, who then, for the first time, noticed the bracelets, 
 replied that he did. 
 
 "You were smiling then," she continued; "why do you 
 not now smile ? " 
 
 Sylvester burst into tears. 
 
 " Do you weep for me ? " she faintly inquired. " God bless 
 you ! Do you not think, then, that I shall recover ? " 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Scholefield, coming forward, "we must 
 now for the present leave you ; but, remember, you must be 
 quite calm." 
 
 " I will be calm — quite calm," replied Julia, who still held 
 Sylvester's hand in hers; and when Mr. Scholefield was leaving 
 the room, Sylvester said, " I will see you this evening." 
 
 " You will," she exclaimed, with an expression of ecstasy. 
 
 "I will." 
 
 She kissed his hand, and he left her happy. 
 
 On leaving the house, Sylvester explained to Mr. Schole- 
 field the circumstances under which he had previously known 
 her, and having related the history of the bracelets, and all 
 that had been said of her by Tom, he earnestly inquired if 
 her recovery were hopeless. 
 
 Mr. Scholefield replied that it was — quite hopeless. "She 
 may," he added, " live four or five days longer ; but your inter- 
 view with her has, in all probability, exhausted nearly the 
 whole of her remaining strength. Poor girl ! I am, indeed, 
 very sorry for her. She has been, it appears, the sole support 
 of her mother ; her death will break the old lady's heart." 
 
 " Do you think," inquired Sylvester cautiously, " dp you 
 think that they are in poverty now ? " 
 
 " I should say, not in absolute poverty — that is to say, not 
 in a state of actual destitution — but that they are poor, very 
 poor, I've no doubt." 
 
LOVE. 289 
 
 Sylvester was silent and thoughtful. He had in his desk 
 a ten-pound note, and as he felt quite sure of being able to 
 borrow another of Tom, he resolved on. sending them twenty 
 pounds, anonymously, in the course of the morning. 
 
 In pursuance of this resolution, he, on leaving Mr. Schole- 
 field, called upon Tom, who was at that period preparing to 
 pass the college. 
 
 " Tom," said he, " I want ten pounds. I wish you'd let 
 me have it, till I can hear from my aunt ! " 
 
 " Ted what !" cried Tom. 
 
 " Ten pounds." 
 
 " Is there such a sub id the world ? " 
 
 " Why, it isn't a very enormous sum." 
 
 "I dod't thidk there is such a sub; I dever had such 
 a sub id by possessiod. I should like to see the bad who 
 has got ted poudds. There was a swell, and his dabe was 
 Crcesus, who bight have had ted poudds by bib ; but I dever 
 yet heard of a Croesus secuddus." 
 
 " Nay, but joking apart, Tom ; loill you let me have ten 
 „pounds for a few days ? " 
 
 " By dear fellow, ask be for ted drops of blood, add I'll 
 give 'eb to you freely ; but what state of bide do you ibagide 
 the old people would be id if they fadcied I had the sub of 
 ted poudds by be ? They have dever yet let be have such 
 ad aboudt of buddy. Ted poudds 1 Wouldd't I have a flare- 
 up with ted poudds ! " 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, " it's a matter of slight importance. 
 I did want twenty, but as I've only ten, I must make ten do 
 for to-day." 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Tom ; " a thought strikes be. Did you 
 ever go to by udcle's ? " 
 
 " No ; I never knew that you had one." 
 
 " Greed, Syl; still extrebely greed, /dever saw hib; but all 
 our fellows have ; he is, I believe, dearly related to the lot. 
 Dow, I tell you what it is, Syl, I haved't ted poudds, but I've 
 a watch which did, I believe, origidally belodg to by gradd- 
 bother's graddf ather's secodd wife's bother, add which I udder- 
 stadd is worth thirty. If, therefore, you thidk that we cad 
 buster up courage edough to take this to the pawdbroker's, 
 I've do doubt he'll ledd us the sub of ted poudds upod it." 
 
 " Oh, I've a watch too ! But I don't know how to 
 manage it." 
 
 T 
 
290 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " We'll badage it sobehow. Let's take theb both, add if bide 
 isd't valuable edough, you kdow, be cad hold yours as well." 
 
 " Mine's worth more than twenty pounds." 
 
 " Well, but there's dothidg at all like beidg sure. Oobe 
 alodg, add let's try our luck. I should like to see what sort 
 of a swell this udiversal relatiod of madkide is." 
 
 They accordingly went to a pawnbroker's shop, and looked 
 artfully in at the window for a time, and then walked on a 
 little, and turned and returned, and examined the goods in 
 the window again ; and then anxiously looked up the street 
 and then down, with the view of ascertaining if any one 
 were watching them. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, at length, " shall we go id 1 " 
 
 " Why," returned Sylvester, " I don't at all like the idea. 
 Suppose any one were to see us ? " 
 
 " That would be awkward, certaidly. But bight they dot 
 thidk that we wedt id to buy sobethidg ? " 
 
 " Well, it is true they might think so. But really I don't 
 at all fancy the thing." 
 
 « Well, I'll tell you what I'U do," said Tom. " Perhaps it 
 doesd't look well for two fellows like us to go id together ; I'll 
 toss you for the chadce — such a chadce as it is : heads, I go 
 idj tails, you go." 
 
 "Agreed," said Sylvester; and when they had removed 
 from the window Tom tossed, and the result was a head. 
 
 " By usual luck," he exclaimed. " But dever bide, I'll go." 
 
 And he did go, boldly — up to the window; and stopped, and 
 examined the little articles exhibited therein, and then went 
 back to Sylvester fraught with an idea. 
 
 " Syl," said he, with a doubtful expression, " I say : will it 
 look well, do you thidk, for wud fellow to go id with two 
 watches ? " 
 
 "Perhaps not," returned Sylvester; who began to wish 
 that he hadn't embarked at all in this expedition. 
 
 " Who kdows," resumed Tom, " they hay thidk that I stole 
 theb. I'U tell you what, Syl ; let's go idto this public-house, 
 add talk over the batter calbly." 
 
 Into the public-house they accordingly went ; and when 
 Sylvester had ordered a bottle of soda-water for himself, and 
 Tom had called, of course, for a pot of porter, they sat down 
 with the view of having a calm discussion on the intricate 
 ramifications of the case. 
 
LOVE. 291 
 
 " Dow," said Tom, " tlie questiod is, what's best to be dode 1 
 Add id the first place, what do you suggest ? " 
 
 "Why, I think that we had better give it up," replied 
 Sylvester.' 
 
 "Give it upl Dever ! We'll have the buddy. Stop a 
 bidite," said he, as the waiter entered ; " there, that'll do : 
 we'll oped that. Dow," he added, having pulled out two-thirds 
 of the porter, " I'b readyf or adythidg id life. I'll tell you 
 what I'll do ; I'll go over with wud, add thed they cad have 
 do suspiciod." 
 
 "Well, then, take mine," said Sylvester. 
 
 " Do, that wod't do. Suppose they ask if the watch is by 
 owd ? Dod't you see 1 I cad't say yes. Add if I were, add 
 it should cobe to a search, add the officer were to fide adother 
 watch id by pocket — but that I could leave here ; yes, I bight 
 do that ; still, I'd better take my owd. I wudder what sort 
 of questiods they usually ask. I'll bet ted to wud I'b bowled 
 out." 
 
 "Then don't go." 
 
 " Dodt go 1 What are you talkidg about ? What have I to 
 fear ? ' I wadt you to ledd be ted poudds upod this.' That's 
 all I have to say : add a child could say that. I have seed 
 chUdred frequedtly go id alode. If they should have ady 
 doubt about the batter, I'll bridg theb over here. But thed 
 it bight cobe to a pair of haddcuifs ; we bight thed be barched 
 off together on suspiciod." 
 
 "We had better give it up," said Sylvester. "You had 
 better not go." 
 
 " Go ! rU go ! " cried Tom valiantly ; and having finished 
 his porter, he left the room with the air of a man who fully 
 expected to meet an enraged rhinoceros. 
 
 During his absence, Sylvester was filled with apprehension. 
 He conceived that Tom might be suspected of dishonesty — 
 that he might be detained — that he might be given into the 
 custody of a policeman, and that the result would be a 
 humiliating exposure. He tried to subdue the fears thus 
 inspired, but as Tom was absent a very long time, they every 
 moment acquired fresh strength. 
 
 At length, however, Tom returned, and on entering the 
 room he dashed his hat upon the table, and exclaimed — 
 
 " It's of do use, Syl, I cad't do it ! I did just dow work by- 
 self up into a fit of desperatiod, but just as I was bakidg a rush 
 
292 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 id, a fellow cabe to tlie door with a ped behide his ear, add 
 looked at be exactly as if he suspected that I was goidg to cut 
 a pade of glass out of his widdow. Dow, I'll tell you what 
 •we'll do : I kdow a fellow who's up-to everythidg of the sort ; 
 we'll go to his lodgidgs — he'll do it id a bobedt. Cobe alodg ! " 
 
 "No," said Sylvester, "I shouldn't like that. Don't you 
 think that the doctor would lend me ten pounds ? " 
 
 " Id ad idstadt. I dever thought of that ! — of course he 
 would." 
 
 "I do not like to have it of Mr. Scholefield, because he 
 would know at once what I wanted it for." 
 
 " Thed have it of the goverdor ! Shall I ask hib for you ? " 
 
 "No. I think it would look better for me to ask him 
 myself." 
 
 'ft' " Very well ; thed cobe alodg ; we shall just about catch 
 hib at hobe. I'd ask hib to ledd it to be, but that would be 
 do go at all." 
 
 They then left the house, and as they returned to the 
 doctor's residence, Sylvester said — " Have you seen Julia 
 lately ? " 
 
 " Do," replied Tom ; " I've dot beed to the house for a 
 lodg tibe. But I believe she has left. Ill health, I believe, 
 was the cause of her leavidg. The last tibe I saw her — tliat 
 was sobe bodths ago — she wadted to kdow where you lived, 
 but, of course, I didd't feel at all justified id gividg her your 
 address." 
 
 Sylvester was silent ; and as the subject was not pursued 
 by Tom, they returned in silence to the residence of the 
 doctor, who was then in the library alone. 
 
 "You had better go id at wudce," said Tom. "I shall be 
 id by study. Dod't leave, you kdow, without cobidg up." 
 
 Sylvester promised that he would not ; and on going into 
 the Ubrary was received by the doctor, as usual, with the 
 utmost cordiality and kindness. 
 
 " Doctor," said he, " I have to ask you a favour. It 
 happens that I want ten pounds until I receive a remittance 
 from my aunt, which will be the day after to-morrow." 
 
 "Very good." 
 
 " Will you do me the favour to let me have it ? " 
 
 " Of course ! I am quite sure that the purpose for which 
 you want it is a good one." 
 
 " It is. I do not like to ask Mr. Scholefield " 
 
LOVE. 293 
 
 " My good fellow, not another word. Here is a cheque 
 for fifteen." 
 
 " Ten will be quite sufficient." 
 
 " I have written it now ; and whenever you happen to 
 want money, come at once to me." 
 
 He then inquired after Mr. Scholefield, and when he had 
 made a few remarks having reference to professional matters, 
 Sylvester withdrew, and went upstairs to Tom. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, "he let you have the buddy, of course?" 
 
 " In a moment," replied Sylvester. " I asked him for ten, 
 and he gave me a check for fifteen." 
 
 " "What ad out-add-out systeb that cheque systeb is. It 
 saves a bad the trouble of puttidg his hadd idto his pocket, 
 which is very addoyidg whed there's do buddy there. I dever 
 wrote wud id - by lif a I should like to write a few. I'b 
 sure it bust be a cobfort." 
 
 " When you know that they will be cashed." 
 
 " That's of course what I bead. If ady badker id dature 
 would cash by cheques, I'd give hib add all his clerks twelve- 
 bodths' hard labour." 
 
 " But you are not short of money, are you ? " 
 
 " Dot a bit of it ! I dod't wadt buch ; but I'b dever with- 
 out a sov. Whed I cobe dowd to wud that's the sigdal for 
 actiod ; I dever let 'eb rest till they bake it up five. Five's 
 the laxibub : wud's the bidibub ; but the goverdor owes me 
 two, which I ead't get." 
 
 " He owes you two 1 " 
 
 " Of course. About twelvebodths ago a swell swiddled 
 hib out of two — which two he said I bight get if I could ; 
 but I cad't fide the fellow — add as I therefore cad't get the 
 buddy of hib, the goverdor owes it of course ! " 
 
 " Well, if you can convince him that he owes it by such 
 a line of logic as that, I have not the slightest doubt that 
 he'll pay you." 
 
 " I expect he'll give it be wud of these days id a state of 
 disgust, to get rid of the addoyadce. But I say, you'll stop 
 add have a bit of ludch with be ? " 
 
 " No ; not this morning." 
 
 " I've got sobe pribe stout, add the bortal rebaids of a 
 capital pie ! Have a look at it." 
 
 " No, I must be off." 
 
 " Well, if you bust, why, you bust ! But whedever you 
 
294 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 wad't to go to by uncle's, you cad't do better thad take be 
 ■with you. That's a dodge I shad't forget." 
 
 Sylvester smiled, and left him ; and when he had got the 
 cheque cashed, he enclosed the whole of the twenty-five 
 pounds, with a delicate note, signed simply " A Friend," and 
 privately sent it to Julia's mother. 
 
 In the evening — having previously intimated to Mr. 
 Scholefield that he had promised to call upon Julia — he 
 performed that promise, and the moment he entered the 
 room, the old lady — ^who felt sure that the money had been 
 sent by him — fell upon his neck, blessed him, and sobbed 
 like a child. 
 
 On reaching the bed, he found Julia much weaker. Her 
 eyes, indeed, flashed as she beheld him, and the blood rushed 
 at once to her cheeks ; but her glance soon changed to an 
 inexpressive glare, and her cheeks became deadly pale. 
 
 " My dear girl," said Sylvester, perceiving at once that 
 Mr. Scholefield's conjecture was correct : " I fear that you 
 are not quite so well this evening ? " 
 
 JuUa had not the power to speak above a whisper, and 
 that was too faint to be heard. 
 
 "But, come," resumed Sylvester tenderly; "you must 
 not be sad. All may yet be well. JuKa, I have come to 
 sit with you — to converse with you, Julia." 
 
 Julia sighed, and slightly smiled, as she pressed his hand 
 to her pallid lips. 
 
 " Jvdia," said Sylvester, after a pause, during which her 
 eyes continued to be fixed upon him ; " wUl you for a 
 moment excuse me 1 " 
 
 Her lips moved, and Sylvester, on bending his ear to them, 
 heard faintly the words, " You will not leave me long ? " 
 
 " I will not be one moment," he replied, and, on leaving 
 the room, he sent a man off to Mr. Scholefield, to request his 
 immediate attendance. 
 
 On his return, he resumed his seat, in sUence, by her side, 
 and again took her weak hand, and met her fond gaze ; and 
 thus he continued to sit in silence until Mr. Scholefield 
 arrived. 
 
 Mr. Scholefield, who, in a moment, saw how the case stood, 
 gave Julia a few drops of wine, which, in some degree, re- 
 vived her : and having instructed Sylvester what to do in 
 an event which he clearly perceived to be inevitable, he sat 
 
LOVE, 295 
 
 for some time with the poor old lady — who was overwhelmed 
 with grief, and whose heart was then ready to break — and 
 when he had affectionately taken leave of Julia — as he felt, 
 for the last time — he left them, with Sylvester's hand still 
 clasped in hers. 
 
 It was then eight o'clock, and for nearly an hour Sylvester 
 sat watching her, almost in silence, without perceiving the 
 slightest change. About nine o'clock, however, she intimated 
 a wish to have a little more wine, and — as Mr Seholefield had 
 privately told him that whatever she wished for then she 
 might have — Sylvester tenderly raised her head and gave 
 her a few drops more. 
 
 Again she revived and was able to speak, although but in 
 a whisper, and that so faint, that it could scarcely be said to 
 have violated silence : still, finding that she had this power 
 restored, she moved her lips slightly, and Sylvester listened. 
 
 " Sylvester," he heard her say, " I soon shall be no more. 
 I feel that every hope of my recovery has fled : the only 
 hope I cherish still is, that we may meet in heaven ! God 
 for ever bless you ! I die happy, Sylvester — quite happy — 
 now that you are near me ! Pray for me, Sylvester — pray 
 with me. Angels of light are waiting now to bear our 
 prayers to heaven ! " 
 
 Sylvester, who was deeply affected, knelt and prayed with 
 fervour : her mother also knelt and prayed — and Julia ceased 
 to breathe ! 
 
 They were, however, for some time unconscious of this, 
 for her eyes continued bright, and her features were un- 
 changed, while she stiU pressed Sylvester's hand ; but when 
 they at length found that her spirit had fled, her poor, 
 devoted, broken-hearted mother gave one convulsive shriek, 
 and instantly fell upon the bed a corpse ! 
 
 For some time Sylvester stood by the bed motionless. 
 His faculties were paralysed. He seemed struck with 
 horror ! Eventually, however, he recovered himself, and 
 summoned assistance from below. 
 
 The person who kept the house — a kind, honest, motherly 
 creature — no sooner ascertained what had occurred, than she 
 begged of him, as a favour, to remain — for she had heard 
 from Julia's mother how kind he had been — until he had 
 seen what property had been left. 
 
 To this Sylvester consented; and, at the earnest request 
 
296 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 of this poor but honest woman, took charge of all the papers, 
 money, and jewellery found. 
 
 "I feel that you will do all that is necessary,'' said 
 Sylvester, "and be assured that you will not go unre- 
 warded." 
 
 "I do not think of reward, sir," replied the good woman. 
 " I will, sir, do all that is necessary, for I loved the young 
 lady as if she had been my own child, and her mother I 
 regarded as a sister." 
 
 " Those bracelets " said Sylvester. 
 
 "I have heard of them, sir; you wish them to remain 
 on?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 "They shall not be removed. Be assured that I will pay 
 every possible attention." 
 
 " I feel assured that you will,'' said Sylvester, who left the 
 house with a heavy heart, to explain at home all that had 
 occurred. 
 
 Mr. Scholefield was not much surprised : he knew when 
 he left the house that poor Julia could not live more than a 
 few hours ; and although he imagined that her mother might 
 linger some days, he felt sure that her daughter's death would 
 break her heart ; but Mrs. Scholefield, who of course did not 
 view it as he did, professionally — took the deepest possible 
 interest in the case, and went with Sylvester in the morning 
 to superintend the arrangements ; and that day week poor 
 Julia and her mother were — followed by Sylvester — borne 
 to the grave. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THK MAIDEN SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT. 
 
 Having related in the preceding chapter the only incident 
 of importance connected with this history which occurred 
 during Sylvester's residence with Mr. Scholefield, it will 
 be necessary now to proceed from that period at which he 
 passed with eclat both the college and the hall. 
 
 Finding a strict adherence to that regimen, to which he 
 had been accustomed while under Mr. Scholefield's roof, now 
 
THE MAIDEN SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT. 297 
 
 most inconvenient, he gradually reacquired the habit of 
 living as those whom he visited lived; and as he did so 
 his somnambulism — of which he was still unconscious — 
 returned. 
 
 It did not, however, develop itself strongly at first ; but by 
 degrees he could eat, drink, walk, converse, read, write, com- 
 pose, and translate with as much facility while asleep as he 
 could when awake. It [frequently puzzled him, when, on 
 rising in the morning, he found a mass of matter on the 
 table which had been composed by him in the course of the 
 night ; indeed, he had not left the house of Mr. Scholefield 
 more than a month, when he discovered in one of his drawers 
 an elaborate Treatise on the Functions of the Heart, of the 
 composition of which he had no recollection, although it had 
 been manifestly written by himself. 
 
 Nor was this all : essays and other articles, with which 
 he occasionally furnished the various medical journals, were 
 written during sleep; he had but to commence or think 
 about one in the evening, no matter how difficult the subject^ 
 to find it completed in the morning when he rose. 
 
 These circumstances, constantly occurring as they did, 
 engendered a peculiar species of superstition. He imagined 
 that he was under the influence of genii, and this idea led 
 him into abstruse speculations on supernatural influences 
 in general ; in which speculations, as a matter of gratitude, 
 those genii rendered him some powerful assistance, but only, 
 of course, when their slave was asleep. 
 
 He had, however, too much knowledge to progress in the 
 black art to any great extent ; his reasoning powers were 
 too acute to allow him to embrace that pseudo science ; still 
 he felt involved in a mystery, the solution of which he held 
 to be beyond all human power, and while with reason he 
 annihilated the temples of the genii, he without reason clung 
 to the ruins still. 
 
 But even then his somnambulism was not confined to his 
 chambers. Sometimes he would walk when the moon was 
 up with a lamp in his hand, which, although extinguished, 
 he fancied illumined all around ; sometimes he would rise 
 about three o'clock, walk to the Serpentine fast asleep, bathe 
 for an hour, dress himself, and then return to bed ; and 
 frequently, when he had been to a ball, would he return in 
 an hour or two, recommence dancing, and stop till the last, 
 
298 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 while all whom he met, or with whom he conversed, were 
 unconscious of the fact of his being asleep. 
 
 On one occasion four of his most esteemed friends called 
 at his lodgings about five o'clock — the hour at which he in- 
 variably dined — and acted and talked precisely as if they had 
 made up their minds to stop. He would, at any other time, 
 have been very glad to see them; but, as he wanted his 
 dinner, he felt their presence then to be extremely incon- 
 venient, and soon began to feel most impatient for their 
 departure. But they had not the slightest notion of start- 
 ing — ^not they. There they were, and there they stuck, 
 wondering what highly important personage had been invited 
 to meet them, for they all felt that he must be a person of 
 great distinction to induce Sylvester to keep them waiting 
 so long. 
 
 " I say," inquired onex)f them, about six o'clock, "whom 
 are you waiting for 1" 
 
 " Whom am I waiting for ! — no one," said Sylvester. 
 
 " Oh, thought you were waiting for some one." 
 
 " No. What induced you to think that I was ? " 
 
 " I thought so merely because it's six o'clock — ^that's all." 
 
 " It is six," said Sylvester, looking at his watch, and, as 
 he did so, he privately wished they'd be off ; but of this they 
 had not even the most remote idea, and their manifest 
 tenacity to the place was, in his view, amazing. He couldn't 
 understand it. They never caUed before at such an hour, 
 nor had he ever known them to linger so long. Had one, 
 or even two, of them dropped in upon him, he wouldn't have 
 thought much about it ; but the idea of four having called 
 at the same time — and that, too, at such a time — certainly 
 did strike him as being most strange. 
 
 Half -past six arrived, and there they were still — impatient 
 but merry — ^hungry but gay — indulging in pointed but lively 
 allusions to maiden dinners and wolfish guests, which, to 
 Sylvester, were whoUy incomprehensible. 
 
 " Is your cook ill, old fellow ? " said one of them. 
 
 " Not that I'm aware of." 
 
 " I thought that she might have been seized with some- 
 thing suddenly." 
 
 " She may have been, for aught I know," said Sylvester, who 
 joined in the general laugh. " I have not had the pleasure 
 of either seeing her lately, or receiving anything from her." 
 
THE MAIDEN SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT. 299 
 
 They now thought that something must have occurred in 
 the kitchen, and attributed Sylvester's obvious impatience to 
 some peculiar species of domestic mortification. They there- 
 fore resolved on waiting till seven without making any 
 further allusion to the subject; but before that hour had 
 arrived, Sylvester — finding they wouldn't go — said boldly, 
 " I'll teU you what, gentlemen, I must have my dinner ! " 
 
 " Do so, by all means," said one of them ; " oh, yes; have 
 it up at once." 
 
 Well. Sylvester certainly thought this cool ; but as it was 
 then quite clear that they meant to see him eat it, he turned 
 and rang the bell. 
 
 " Bring up the dinner," said he, when the servant entered. 
 
 " Here, sir ; in this room ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The servant looked, and frowned upon them all, which 
 was, perhaps, but natural, seeing that cook had, for nearly 
 two hours, been frowning upon her. She left the room, 
 however, immediately ; and on her return laid the cloth for 
 one 1 The guests glanced at each other, as if they didn't 
 understand this — nor did they; but conceiving that the 
 servant might feel confused, and that in her confusion she 
 had become quite oblivious, they were silent. When, how- 
 ever, the girl — whom they now watched narrowly — brought 
 tip the tray, and placed on the table nothing but a small 
 calf's tongue, and a couple of chickens done to rags, the case 
 became, in their judgment, serious. 
 
 " I say, old fellow, how's this ? " said one of them ; " are 
 you going to dine alone ? " 
 
 " Unless you'll have a cut in with me,'' replied Sylvester. 
 
 " A cut in ? What 1 four or five fellows, as hungry as 
 wolves, cut into a couple of chickens ! You know, I suppose, 
 that we came to dine with you 1 " 
 
 " Dine with me ! No ! Why didn't you tell me you were 
 coming ? I'd no idea of it 1 " 
 
 " Not after having invited us ? " 
 
 " What do you mean 1 " 
 
 " Did you not send notes to all of us this morning, inviting 
 us to dine with you at five ? " 
 
 " No ; certainly not I " 
 
 " Well, but I received one." 
 
 " And so did I ! — and I — and 1 1 " cried the rest 
 
300 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " But not from me. Have you one of them with you ? " 
 
 Their hands were in their pockets in an instant, but they 
 foimd that not one of the notes had been brought. 
 
 " And have you been waiting all this time for dinner ? " 
 
 « Of course." 
 
 " And I have been waiting for you to go ! It's a hoax ! 
 But come along, we'U soon make it all right." 
 
 " Stop a minute," said one, " for I'm ready to drop 1 " And 
 seizing a chicken, he had a " cut in." The rest followed his 
 example, for their appetites were keen ; and when they had 
 managed to pick all the bones, which they did in the space 
 of three minutes, Sylvester took them to the nearest hotel, 
 and ordered the best dinner that could be served up at eight. 
 
 The " hoax," as they all now conceived it to be, was a 
 source of much merriment during the evening. It gave a 
 zest to the dinner, a zest to the wine, and a zest to every 
 joke that was uttered. They enjoyed themselves exceedingly 
 — infinitely more than they could otherwise have done ; and 
 on leaving, they all pronounced it to be the merriest evening 
 they had ever spent. 
 
 It was about twelve when Sylvester returned to his 
 lodgings, and in ten minutes after his return he was in bed 
 and asleep. He had not, however, been asleep long, when — 
 his imagination being somewhat heated by wine — ^he com- 
 menced dreaming ; and as this led to results which will be 
 anon explained, it will be as well for the dream itself to be 
 at once related. 
 
 In the first place, then, he imagined himself a candidate 
 for the representation of his native county. A requisition, 
 signed by all the freeholders in the county save one, had been 
 forwarded to him, and as he had therefore consented to stand, 
 the whole of the scenes which are held to be inseparable from 
 a contested election then passed in review before him. The 
 formation of the committee — the preliminary meetings — the 
 nomination — the election — the declaration — the chairing — 
 and the ball, followed each other in rapid succession. He 
 was returned, of course ; for there was only one man who 
 voted against him, and that was the other candidate, whom 
 he challenged in consequence; fought with two pieces of 
 ordnance carrying twenty-four pounders, and wounded in the 
 ear ; and having accomplished all this, came to town, where 
 he then was engaged in the preparation of various highly 
 
THE MAIDEN SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT. 301 
 
 important bills, which he intended to submit to the House 
 without delay. 
 
 Having arrived at this interesting point, he imagined that 
 that was the very day on which his presence in the House was 
 expected, and as it soon came down to the hour at which two 
 honourable members would be waiting to introduce him, he 
 rose, and having dressed with care, walked ' down to the 
 House, with one of bis "bills" — which was, in reality, a 
 " Treatise on the Ear " — ^under his arm. 
 
 This was about half -past twelve ; for the whole of the 
 dream had not occupied more than three minutes ; and on 
 reaching the House, into which he well knew the way, 
 having been frequently under the gallery, he looked about 
 the lobby for the honourable members whom he expected 
 would be waiting to receive him ; when, being unable to 
 recognise them there, he walked boldly into the House, bowed 
 to the Speaker, and took his seat. 
 
 The confident air with which he entered, would alone have 
 been sufficient to disarm all suspicion of his being a stranger, 
 if even any such suspicion had been excited; but as it 
 occurred just after a general election, when a host of new 
 members are almost invariably returned, the doorkeepers 
 thought of course that he was one of them. 
 
 Nor did the members themselves for a moment suspect 
 that he was not ; in fact, the idea of his being an intruder, 
 never occurred to any one of them. They all thought that 
 of course he was one of the new members ; and being in- 
 terested in his appearance, inquired anxiously of each other 
 who he was. 
 
 Sylvester, however, took no notice of them j that is to say, 
 individually ; he viewed them only in the mass : his attention 
 was fixed upon those who addressed the House ; the arguments 
 adduced by some of whom he rose to answer, but being unable 
 to catch the Speaker's eye, others followed, and he resumed 
 his seat. 
 
 The question before the House on that occasion had refer- 
 ence to the practice of baking the dinners of the poor on the 
 Sunday, and Sylvester felt disgusted with the wild fanaticism 
 by which the speeches of some of the opponents of that prac- 
 tice were characterised. It was hence that he rose to reply 
 to them, and was sorry when he found himself compelled to 
 resume his seat. He was still, however, on the gid vive ; and 
 
302 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 as the honourable member who was then speaking was the 
 most malignant, bigoted, superficial, self-sufficient, persecut- 
 ing, narrow-minded Puritan of them all, the very moment he 
 had finished, Sylvester, fired with indignation, started up, 
 caught the eye of the Speaker, and commenced. 
 
 He was, however, for a moment compelled to pause ; for 
 the House, as a matter of courtesy, cheered him ; and when 
 the cheering had subsided into the most profound silence, he 
 felt himself much more calm, and said — 
 
 " Sir, — In every society, and in every circle, iu every house, 
 institution, or assembly, in which religious enthusiasm has 
 been tolerated, it has engendered dissensions, bitterness, heart- 
 burnings, and hatred — severed friendships, subdued affections, 
 destroyed brotherly love and sjrmpathy — converted harmony 
 into discord, happiness into misery, and filled the mind in 
 which sweet peace reigned, with fearful apprehensions. 
 (Cheers.) Sir, religious enthusiasm, as it is called, but which 
 I call fanaticism, is as distinctjf rom religion itself, as intoler- 
 ance is from charity, as humility is from pride, as meekness 
 is from arrogance, or as Christian forbearance is from cruel 
 persecution. Its essence is tyranny ; its history has been 
 written in blood. Ignorance is one of its chief characteristics, 
 and even where the germs of genius have struck root in the 
 soil, it has sprung up, and waved and bloomed but to be 
 blasted. Its presumption shocks heaven. It would impiously 
 wrest the sword of Justice, and the sceptre of Mercy, from 
 the hands of the Eternal God. (Great sensation.) To the 
 advancement of human knowledge it has been opposed ; to 
 the progress of science it has ever been a bitter foe. The 
 pretence of the Puritans is, and always has been, that they 
 fear that science will compass the destruction of religion ! 
 Science compass the destruction of rehgion ! It is false that 
 they have any such fear ; and if it were true, the inspiration 
 of that fear is of itself impious. Religion derives its light 
 from truth, even as the moon derives her lustre from the 
 sun. It is based upon truth, and truth is eternal : 
 
 ' The stars shall fade away, the sun himseH 
 Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years ; 
 But Truth shall flourish in immortal youth, 
 Unhurt amidst the war of elements, 
 The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.' 
 
 No ! (continued Sylvester, when the cheering had subsided). 
 
TEE AGGUSATION. 303 
 
 It is not that they fear the destruction of religion ; they are 
 apprehensive only of the destruction of that fanaticism which 
 stands between darkness and light. It therefore behoves us, 
 as the chosen representatives of the people, whose morality 
 and whose happiness it is our duty to promote, it behoves us, 
 I say, when we see this religious enthusiasm, or rather this 
 fanaticism, thus endeavouring to creep in here, to repudiate 
 it in limine. (Cheers.) They who are anxious to introduce it 
 may be pure — I say that they may be — I do not know that 
 they are not ; but this I know, there's nothing looks so much 
 like a good shilling as a bad one. (Loud laughter.) Let us 
 throw out at once this fanatical bill ; let us crush this and 
 every other attempt to circumscribe the already too limited 
 comforts of the poor, and instead of sowing religious dissen- 
 sions among the people, creating discord, and inspiring them 
 with hatred of each other j let us legislate with a view to 
 promote the cultivation of those kindly, beautiful, generous, 
 philanthropic feelings which impart a zest to life, and which 
 bind man to man." 
 
 At the conclusion of this speech, which was hailed with 
 loud cheers, and which really was delivered with much point 
 and energy, Sylvester at once resumed his seat ; but while 
 the members around him were crying — "Who is he?" in 
 vain — for none could tell them — ^he rose and left the House. 
 
 OHAPTEE XXVL 
 
 THE AOCTJSATION. 
 
 In the morning, while at breakfast, the eye of Sylvester rested 
 upon the speech which he himself had delivered, and which he 
 found ascribed to " Air Hon. Membee." He was struck with 
 the speech ; not because it developed any extraordinary talent, 
 but because the words employed were those which he had been 
 in the habit of employing, while the sentences were of his own 
 construction. No man, perhaps, ever was, or ever wUl be, able 
 to pass a speech of his own unnoticed. Both in speaking and 
 writing, every man has a peculiar style — a style, of which the 
 peculiarity of it cannot be at once perceived by others, is very 
 soon discovered by himself. Hence, though unconscious of its 
 
304 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 being his own, Sylvester dwelt upon this speech, notwithstand- 
 ing it was but an outline of the question at issue — an outline 
 which left the filling up to the imagination. Still it is ques- 
 tionable whether even this piece of declamation could have 
 been delivered by him in the House when awake. Had he 
 been in reality a member — albeit he might have felt equally 
 indignant at the mode in which the subject was discussed — ■ 
 his calm, retiring, diffident nature would, in all probability, 
 have prompted him to be silent; but, while asleep, every 
 feeling, every idea of fear, was absent ; he experienced no 
 nervousness, no trepidation ; whatever his imagination 
 suggested, he did, regardless of all unfavourable conse- 
 quences, seeing that Danger never presented itself then to 
 his view. 
 
 Having read this speech again and again — suggesting im- 
 provements as he proceeded, precisely as if he had been con- 
 scious of its being his own — he ■was amazed by the sudden 
 arrival of Mr. Scholefield, whose countenance denoted the 
 most painful anxiety. 
 
 " Good God ! " he exclaimed — " Sylvester, what have you 
 been doing ? " 
 
 " Doing 1 " echoed Sylvester, with an expression of wonder. 
 « Explain." 
 
 " Where were you last night — or rather this morning t " 
 
 " Last night I was at the hotel just above, with some 
 friends." 
 
 " At what time did you leave those friends 1 " 
 
 "About twelve o'clock." 
 
 " Well, and where did you go then ? " 
 
 " Where did I go. I came home and went to bed." 
 
 " Immediately ? " 
 
 " Immediately." 
 
 " Sylvester," said Mr. Scholefield, with deep emotion, " con- 
 fide in me. Disguise nothing from me. I have," he added, 
 as tears sprang into his eyes — " I have towards you the feel- 
 ings of a father." 
 
 " Why, how is this ? " interrupted Sylvester. " What is 
 the meaning of it all ? " 
 
 " Sylvester, you have known me sufficiently long, I hope, 
 to know that I am your friend ; therefore conceal nothing 
 from me." 
 
 " What have I to conceal ? I am perfectly unconscious of 
 
>rHE ACGUSATION. 305 
 
 having done anything which renders concealment necessary, 
 or even expedient." 
 
 " Did you not visit Lady Julian last night ? " 
 
 " Most certainly not. I have not seen Lady Julian since 
 I left you." 
 
 " What ! were you not there until three o'clock this 
 morning ? " 
 
 " There !— where ? " 
 
 "At Sir Charles's house." 
 
 « No." 
 
 " Sylvester," resumed Mr. Scholefield solemnly, " Sir 
 Charles himself, on his return at that houi', saw you pass 
 out at the garden-gate." 
 
 " No such thing ! " exclaimed Sylvester indignantly. 
 
 " He declares it to be a fact." 
 
 " Then he declares that which is false." 
 
 " But Thompson, his butler, saw you too." 
 
 " Neither of them saw me. Neither could have seen me, 
 for I was not there." 
 
 "Sylvester, their evidence is strong, and, I fear, too con- 
 clusive. Thompson undertakes to swear that he saw you 
 coming from the ante-room which leads to Lady Julian's 
 chamber." 
 
 " He does ! " 
 
 " He does ; and is, moreover, prepared to swear that he let 
 you out. His statement is this : that being anxious to see 
 the butler at the next house, he went and conversed with 
 him, until he heard Sir Charles's carriage approaching ; that 
 he instantly returned, and on his return, found the door as 
 he had left it, slightly open ; that he then closed the door, 
 until the carriage should be announced, and having occasion 
 to go upstairs, saw you coming from the ante-room alone ; 
 and that on seeing you he descended and let you out, just as 
 the carriage drew up to the gate." 
 
 " It is false ! every word of it ! utterly false." 
 
 "He declares every word of it to be true! He also declares 
 that he should have spoken to you had he not felt that one 
 of the other servants had let you in. In fact, having seen 
 you there so frequently, and at almost all hours, both with 
 me and alone, I don't suppose the idea of there being any 
 impropriety in the visit for a moment occurred to him." 
 
 " Well, but why did not Sir Charles himself speak 1 " 
 
 U 
 
3o6 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " He did do so : at least, he says that he called to you 
 before he could alight, and that you bowed and passed on ; 
 when, fearing that Lady Julian — ^who is in a delicate state 
 still — had had a relapse, he went immediately up to her 
 chamber, and had she not at once denied that you had been 
 there, no more would have been thought of the matter." 
 
 " She was justified in denying it ! She was bound to deny 
 it ! I had not been there. If I had, be assured that to you 
 I would, under existing circumstances, confess it." 
 
 " I thought that you would ! " 
 
 " And think so stilL Either Sir Charles and his butler 
 have been grossly mistaken, or they have conspired to blast 
 her reputation and mine." 
 
 " That they have both been mistaken is certainly possible ; 
 but in the possibility of Sir Charles having entered into any 
 such conspiracy I caiinot believa I know him to be devotedly 
 attached to his wife. I have known him privately, and under 
 almost every variety of circumstances, for years, and if any 
 man can be said to know another's heart, I know his. No, 
 Sylvester : be assured that he is incapable of entering into 
 such conspiracy." 
 
 " What then is to be thought of it 1 He knows me well ! 
 I am perfectly well known to them both ! And is it not 
 almost inconceivable that either of them could, under the 
 circumstances, have mistaken any one else for me ? " 
 
 " It does indeed appear to be almost inconceivable." 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed Sylvester, " the thing begins to assume 
 a serious aspect ! " 
 
 " Serious ! I contemplate the consequences with feelings 
 of horror. Unless you can break down the evidence against 
 you, your death may be the immediate result ; and failing 
 that, your ruin as a professional man will be inevitable. 
 Sir Charles is in a state of mind bordering upon madness. 
 He has ever since been raving for revenge. He cast Lady 
 Julian off instantly; and, but for the interposition of the 
 servants, would have killed her; and now he has sent a 
 friend to you to demand immediate satisfaction." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " 
 
 " That friend is now in the room adjoining, where, as he 
 called upon me first, not knowing your address, I begged of 
 him to remain until I had seen you." 
 "" Well," said Sylvester thoughtfully, " the thing appears 
 
THE AOOUSATION. 307 
 
 to be coming to a crisis ! But, be assured of this, that I 
 was not there. Will you," he added calmly, " do me the 
 favour to introduce him ? " 
 
 Mr. Scholefield, with an expression of sorrow, then rose 
 and left the room, and, having been absent for a moment, 
 returned with Sir William D'Almaine. 
 
 " This," said Sir William, on taking a seat, " is indeed a 
 most unhappy affair j but as I can have no desire to harrow 
 your feelings, I will, if you will favour me with the name of 
 a friend, go immediately and consult him." 
 
 " Sir WiUiam," returned Sylvester, " Sir Charles is mis- 
 taken. He imagines that I was at his house last night, or 
 rather this morning. I was not." 
 
 " Yqu were not ! Do you intend, then, as a defence, to 
 adopt a denial?" 
 
 "I do; and, in doing so, defend myself with truth." 
 
 " Well, but Sir Charles himself saw you, and so did his 
 butler." 
 
 " It is a mistake. They did not see me." 
 
 " Oh, that will not do at all. Sir Charles assures me, 
 upon his honour, that he saw you, and I am, of course, bound 
 to believe him." 
 
 " You may perhaps believe that which he himself believes; 
 but I deny that you are bound to adopt the belief of any 
 man." 
 
 " This is not belief, merely ; he knows that you were 
 there." 
 
 " How is it possible for you to know that ? " 
 
 " He declares that you were, upon his honour." 
 
 " And I, upon my honour, declare that I was not." 
 
 " Equivocation, you must allow me to observe, in affairs of 
 this kind, wiU not do." 
 
 " I scorn equivocation, and despise the man who is mean 
 enough to have recourse to it. I state upon my honour that 
 I was not there, and to that statement — based, as it is, upon 
 truth — I will adhere, let the consequences be what they 
 may." 
 
 " Pardon me. You are a young nian, and therefore you 
 will, perhaps, allow me to observe, that in cases of this 
 description you have but one course to pursue." 
 
 " I am aware of it, I have but one course to pursue, and 
 that is the course of truth, which I will pursue." 
 
3o§ SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Then am I to understand distinctly that you refuse to 
 refer me to a friend 1 " 
 
 "No, certainly not; I refer you at once to Sir Charles." 
 
 " Ay, but that is a most extraordinary reference." 
 
 " This proceeding appears to me to be extraordinary alto- 
 gether. I refer you to him ; consult him, and I will at that 
 consultation be present." 
 
 "That, I apprehend, sir, would not be quite safe." 
 
 " Not safe ! Why not ? What have I to fear, conscious, 
 as I am, of my own integrity 1 I will meet him with all the 
 confidence truth can inspire, and I feel that my presence will 
 induce the conviction that he has been mistaken." 
 
 " Sylvester," calmly interposed Mr. Soholefield, "allow me 
 to suggest that you had better depute me to see Sir Charles, 
 and explain to him the feelings to which you have given such 
 earnest expression." 
 
 " Mr. Scholefield," returned Sylvester, " I have, as I believe 
 you are aware, been always anxious to adopt any suggestion 
 of yours ; but I submit — this being a matter of professional 
 life or death to me — that I ought to see Sir Charles, and 
 explain to him myself that he is labouring under a most 
 serious mistake." 
 
 " Well," replied Mr. Scholefield, " I can have no objection 
 to your seeing him." 
 
 " I fear," observed Sir William, " that he is not now in a 
 fit state to view the matter calmly." 
 
 "I am sure," said Sylvester, "that when Sir Charles sees 
 me, he will be at once satisfied that I am not the man." 
 
 "Well," said Sir William, who really began to think that 
 Sir Charles must have been mistaken, " if that be the case, 
 why, by all means come with me. Mr. Scholefield perhaps 
 will acGompany us ? " 
 
 "I will do so with pleasure," replied Mr. Scholefield; and 
 without loss of time they left Sylvester's chambers, and pro- 
 ceeded to the house of Sir Charles. 
 
 "Now," said Sir William, on their arrival, "I think that 
 Mr. Scholefield and I had better go up first, and soothe Sir 
 Charles, if possible." 
 
 Sylvester did not object to this, and they accordingly left 
 him in one of the parlours ; but the moment they had explained 
 to Sir Charles that Sylvester solemnly denied the accusa- 
 tion, and that he had come expressly to deny it in person, 
 
THE MEETING. 309 
 
 Sir diaries rushed below, entered the room in which 
 Sylvester had been left, and seizing him by the throat, would 
 have strangled him, but for the prompt interference of Mr. 
 Scholefield, who, suspectiug his object, had followed him on 
 the instant. 
 
 " Mean, base, cowardly, contemptible liar ! " exclaimed Sir 
 Charles, absolutely foaming with rage. "If you have not 
 the courage to fight with me, I'll ruin you — ^ruin you — ruin 
 you for ever." 
 
 " I'll not be thus insulted with.impimity," cried Sylvester. 
 " The accusation is false." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Sir Charles, seizing the poker on the 
 instant — " what ! " 
 
 Sylvester was about to confront him, when Mr. Scholefield 
 hurried him from the room, and when he had given his card 
 to Sir William, with the name of Mr. Scholefield as his friend, 
 he left the house, solemnly and most indignantly declaring 
 his innocence of the charge. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 Sylvester, on leaving the house of Sir Charles with mingled 
 feelings of indignation and alarm, proceeded at once to the 
 residence of Mr. Scholefield, with the view of awaiting his 
 return. He knew not of course what would be the result ; 
 but having deputed Mr. Scholefield to act as his friend, and 
 feeling prohibited from taking any step without his direct 
 sanction, he summoned all the patience at his command, and 
 took a seat in the surgery alone. 
 
 While he was here, tortured with anxiety and brooding 
 over the probable consequences of that which he felt of 
 course conscious of being a mistake, Mr. Scholefield, whose 
 apprehensions were even stronger than those of Sylvester, 
 being determined if possible to ascertain the whole truth, 
 and having learned that Lady Julian was at the house of her 
 father, went, in order to have an interview with her, unknown 
 to Sir Charles and D'Almaine. 
 
310 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 On his arrival, lie found her father in a dreadful state of 
 excitement and somewhat uncourteous, conceiving, as he did, 
 that a message had come from Sir Charles. 
 
 "What is your object V he demanded, when Mr. Schole- 
 fleld had inquired if he could see Lady Julian. " Why do 
 you wish to see her ? What have you to communicate ? By 
 whom were you commissioned to come? My daughter is 
 innocent ! Sir Charles shall know to his cost that she is 
 innocent. I'd stake my life upon her word. If, therefore, 
 you are charged with any insulting or humiliating message, 
 she is not to be seen. I'll not have her insulted : I'll not 
 have her humiliated. She is as virtuous now that she has 
 returned to her father's house, as she was when she left it. 
 Sir Charles, by whom I presume you have been sent " 
 
 "General Lloyd," calmly interrupted Mr. Scholefield, "I 
 have not been sent by Sir Charles." 
 
 " Do you come then in the character of a mediator ? " 
 
 "No. My object is -to have an assurance from Lady 
 Julian that Mr. Sound was not the gentleman whom. Sir 
 Charles saw." 
 
 " Then you assume that she must have been visited by 
 some one ? " 
 
 " I merely assume that Sir Charles must have seen some 
 one." 
 
 " Assuming that, does it follow that she knows whom he 
 saw ? " 
 
 " Not necessarily ; but " 
 
 " Sir, she knows nothing whatever about it ; nor do I 
 believe that he saw any one at all. It is a trick, sir — a con- 
 spiracy — an infamous conspiracy. ■ But I'll sift the matter ; 
 I'll get to the bottom of it. He shall not with impunity 
 blast the reputation of my daughter." 
 
 " General Lloyd, I came here with no other view than that 
 of ascertaining if this young man — whom I regard as a son, 
 and upon whose honour I have always placed the most perfect 
 reliance — has been seen by Lady Julian since he left me. I 
 am aware of its being an extremely delicate question, under 
 the circumstances, to put to Lady Julian " 
 
 " Not at all — not at all. If she has not, she will say so j 
 if she has, she wiU declare it." 
 
 "That is my only object in seeking an interview with 
 her." 
 
THE MEETING. 311 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 " I feel tliat you will appreciate my anxiety, when I 
 explain to you that this young man's very existence is at 
 stake." 
 
 " Has Sir Charles called him out, then ? " 
 
 " He has." 
 
 " And does he intend to go ? " 
 
 '■ I see no alternative." 
 
 " The meeting must not take place. If Sir Charles should 
 happen to fall, the reputation of my daughter will be for 
 ever lost ! It must by some means be prevented." 
 
 "I am most anxious to prevent it; but how can it be 
 done?" 
 
 " Who is his friend ? " 
 
 " Sir "William D'Almaine." 
 
 " But the friend of the accused ? " 
 
 " He has referred them to me." 
 
 " Good. You are anxious to prevent it. You pledge me 
 your honour that you wish to prevent it ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Very good. Then it shall be done. Continue to act. 
 I'll take care that you are not compromised. Continue to 
 act. Under no other circumstances would I interfere, but 
 in this case I feel bound to do so. And now come and speak 
 to my daughter." 
 
 The general then led the way into the drawing-room, and 
 on finding Lady Julian in tears, he exclaimed — 
 
 " Are you my daughter, Louise, or are you not ? Are yoii 
 innocent, or are you not ? If you are, act Hke the daughter 
 of a soldier, and let us have no more tears." 
 
 Lady Julian seized the hand of Mr. Scholefield, and sobbed 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Louise 1 " shouted the general, " is this the way to repel 
 the attacks of an enemy ? " 
 
 " Mr. Scholefield is no enemy, father," she replied. 
 
 " I didn't say that he was. If he had been, I shouldn't 
 have brought him up here. But be firm. Be a woman. 
 Don't act hke a child. Mr. Scholefield wants to know 
 whether you have or have not seen that young fellow since 
 — since when 2 " 
 
 " Since he left me," said Mr. Scholefield. " You remember 
 when he left me ? " 
 
312 S7LVESTEU SOUND. 
 
 '' I do, perfectly," replied Lady Julian ; " I have not seen 
 him since." 
 
 " Neither last night nor at any other time ? " 
 
 " Neither last night nor at any other time since he came 
 with Mr. Scholefield." 
 
 " Very well," replied the general ; " that point's settled. 
 Is there any other question you wish to have answered ? " 
 
 " My object," replied Mr. Scholefield, " was merely to ascer- 
 tain that fact. Of course," he added, turning to Lady Julian, 
 " you have no idea whom Sir Charles could have seen ? " 
 
 " I have not, indeed." 
 
 " How should you have ? " interposed the general. " You 
 were in bed, were you not ? " 
 
 "Yesj and had been asleep, but awoke just before Sir 
 Charles returned. But what does he say, Mr. Scholefield ? 
 You have seen him, of course? " 
 
 " I have but just left him." 
 
 " Is he still labouring under this cruel delusion ? " 
 
 " He appears to be very much excited." 
 
 " Of course ! " cried the general. " He appears to be 
 excited ! That's an indispensable part of the plan." 
 
 " You wrong him, father : be assured that you wrong him. 
 This is no plan of his. I feel that he is incapable of any such 
 meanness." 
 
 " Of course you do. I'm aware of that. And were he to 
 crush you, you'd feel so still. You were a fool to marry him ; 
 and I was a fool to consent to the match. We're a couple of 
 fools, and as fools he wishes to treat us. However, we shall 
 see : we shall see about that : we shall see I We are not to 
 be struck down so easily as he imagines. Mr. Scholefield, a 
 word or two with you, alone." 
 
 " You will call and see us ? " exclaimed Lady Julian, seizing 
 the hand of Mr. Scholefield, as he rose. " You will not 
 believe that I'm so guilty a creature. I am innocent ! 
 indeed, indeed, I am innocent." 
 
 " There, there I " cried the general ; " that will do ; that will 
 do. Don't be a fool ! " he added, kissing her affectionately, 
 as the tears sprang to his eyes. " There ; now be calm — 
 quite calm : let us have no more of this." 
 
 Lady Julian, as they left the room, sank upon the couch, 
 and when her maid had been summoned, they returned to 
 the parlour. 
 
THE MEETING. 313 
 
 " I was told how it would be," said the general ; " I was 
 warned long ago." 
 
 " Warned of what ? " 
 
 " Of jealousy being the fruit of the match. If I had fifty 
 daughters, and they were aU as ugly as the devil, I'd never 
 again consent to the marriage of any one of them with any 
 man twenty years older than herself. Still I thought that 
 Julian was really a man of honour." 
 
 " And I think that he is so stiU. That he has hitherto 
 loved Lady Julian fondly, I have had opportunities of 
 knowing." 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed the general, " we shall see ! I'll go to 
 him as soon as I feel fit to go. I'm only waiting until I get 
 cool. It's of no use going to a man in a rage. But now, as 
 regards this challenge. Will you promise to communicate to 
 me the time and place of meeting ?" 
 
 " I will." 
 
 "That is all I require. This you promise, upon your 
 honour as a gentleman ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 "Very good. That's settled. Let the affair go on. I 
 shall hear from you in the course of the day ? " 
 
 " You shall." 
 
 "No one shall ever know from me how I obtained the 
 infonnation, nor from whom." 
 
 " I depend, of course, upon your secrecy." 
 
 " You may do so with confidence. Until this matter 
 has been satisfactorily cleared up, I would not have Julian 
 fall for the world. Fix any time you like, but let me 
 know." 
 
 " That there may be no mistake, I will see you myself." 
 
 " That's better ! Now, mind, I depend upon you." 
 
 " And I depend upon you : for I would not, on any account, 
 have that young man injured." 
 
 Mr. Scholefield then left, and as he felt that the contem- 
 plated meeting would be harmless, his mind was more at 
 ease, although he was stiU apprehensive that the consequences 
 to Sylvester wotdd be, in a professional point of view, ruinous. 
 Hoping, however, that these consequences might yet be 
 averted, he hastened home, but before he arrived, Sylvester 
 — whose anxiety had so much increased, that he found it 
 impossible to remain there alone — had left, with the view of 
 
314 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 calling upon Tom, having previously written a note to Mr. 
 Scholefield, stating where he was to be found. 
 
 At this period Tom was in practice for himself ; and 
 that practice, moreover, was extensive : for, notwithstand- 
 ing he had the same peculiarity of pronunciation as before, 
 he had a high reputation for skill — a reputation which he 
 had, by the legitimate exercise of his talents, acquired, and 
 which experience and constant study enabled him to sustain. 
 
 " What's the batter ? " he exclaimed, as Sylvester entered 
 his library ; " why are you thus excited ? Has adythidg very 
 bobedtous occurred 1 " 
 
 "Yes," replied Sylvester; "I have been drawn into a 
 mess." 
 
 " A bess ! Well, well, sit dowd add be calb ; add let's 
 see if we cad't draw you out of it. Dow, thed, what is its 
 dature ? " 
 
 " You know Sir Charles Julian 1 " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He declares that he saw me leave his house about three 
 o'clock this morning." 
 
 "WeUl" 
 
 " And his butler declares — and is, moreover, prepared to 
 swear — ^that he saw me at that hour absolutely coming from 
 Lady Julian's chamber ! " 
 
 "I say, old fellow," said Tom, shaking his head signifi- 
 cantly ; "a, bedical bad, too ! — a bedical bad 1 " 
 
 " But it was not me whom they saw ! " 
 
 "It was dot?" 
 
 " No : upon my honour ! " 
 
 " That's a blessidg. Where were you at that tibe 1 " 
 
 " In bed." 
 
 " Cad you prove that you were ? " 
 
 " I can prove that I went home at twelve." 
 
 " That's sobethidg, certaidly ; but that's dot edough." 
 
 " It's impossible for me to prove that I was in bed at 
 three." 
 
 "Which is awkward, very awkward. Well," he added, 
 after a pause, " what has beed dode ? " 
 
 " In the first place he has cast Lady Julian off, and in the 
 next he has sent me a challenge." 
 
 "Weill That's doidg busidess. Do you bead to go 
 out ? " ^6 
 
THE MEETING. 315 
 
 "I have left the affair entirely in the hands of Mr. 
 Scholefield." 
 
 " Very good ; add what does he bead to do ? " 
 
 " I've not seen him since I left him with Sir Charles." 
 
 " Do you bead to say that you have beed to speak to Sir 
 Charles?" _ 
 
 " I went in order to convince him that I was not the man ; 
 but the moment he saw me he seized me by the throat, and 
 tried to strangle me." 
 
 " He did ! Well, id that case, Syl, out you hust go ! I 
 dod't buch adbire this bode of settlidg batters ; but as it is 
 the odly bode prescribed by society, society bust establish 
 adother before it cad expect that which is dow in existedce 
 to be repudiated. But whed are you goidg to see Scholefield 
 agaid?" 
 
 "I expected to see him an hour ago. I waited at his 
 house till I was tired of waiting, and then left a note stating 
 that I should be here." 
 
 " Well, old boy, you bust keep up your spirits ! Let's have 
 a glass of wide od the stredgth of it." 
 
 " There he is," exclaimed Sylvester, on hearing a knock. 
 
 " That's the goverdor," said Tom. " That's his kdock for 
 a thousadd. Dow the questiod is, will it be wise to explaid 
 alltohib?" 
 
 " "Why will it not ? " demanded Sylvester. 
 
 " Why, he has a thorough hatred of the practice of duellidg; 
 he holds it id utter aHhorredce ; add were it to cobe to his 
 kdowledge that you had beed called out, I do believe that he 
 would idduce you to suffer ady iddigdity rather thad go. 
 The questiod therefore is, shall we tell hib or dot i " 
 
 Before Sylvester had time to answer this question, the 
 appearance of the doctor, with Mr. Scholefield, suflSiciently 
 proved it to be unnecessary, for he at once took Sylvester by 
 the hand, and enjoined him to be tranquil and firm. " I am," 
 he added, "strongly opposed to this practice; but, under 
 existing circumstances, the challenge must be accepted. We 
 are all friends here ; but, of course, not a syllable must be 
 said on the subject to any other party. I shall see you again 
 in a few minutes. Do not leave till I return." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, as the doctor left the room with Mr. 
 Scholefield ; " if ady bad had sword that the goverdor would, 
 udder ady circubstadces, sadctiod the acceptadce of a challedge. 
 
3i6 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 I should have said that that bad had cobbitted perjurj-. 
 Why, he has heretofore dedoudced the practice of duellidg 
 vehebedtly, as a barbarous, brutal, cowardly, cold-blooded 
 practice. I have heard hib agaid add agaid codtedd that 
 every bad who happeded to kiU adother id a duel, whether 
 he idtedded to do so or dot, was a burderer. I'll dever 
 applaud hib for codsistedcy agaid. But I say, old fellow, 
 whed does the thidg cobe off ? " 
 
 " I know nothing about the arrangements." 
 
 " Well, but dod't you kdow where you are to beet ? " 
 
 " I've not the slightest idea. Mr. Scholefield has, on my 
 part, the entire arrangement of the affair : beyond that I 
 know nothing." 
 
 The doctor and Mr. Scholefield then returned to the library, 
 and when Tom — who entertained the kindliest feelings to- 
 wards Sylvester, and who had made up his mind to embrace 
 the earliest opportunity of giving information — had been 
 taken aside, the doctor communicated something which 
 induced him to abandon the course he had meant to 
 pursue. 
 
 "You will dine with me to-day 1" observed the doctor, 
 addressing Sylvester. 
 
 " I had much rather not. I'd rather dine alone. I do not 
 feel that I am a coward ; but I am of course thoughtful. I 
 have, moreover, a letter or two to write." 
 
 "Write theb here, add dide with be thed," said Tom. 
 
 " Dine where you please," interposed Mr. Scholefield ; 
 " only let me know where I can find you." 
 
 " I will remain here then. You will find me here. I'll 
 not leave the house till you return." 
 
 " Very well," said Mr. Scholefield. " Then that's under- 
 stood ; " and, on leaving the house with the doctor, he 
 proceeded to keep his engagement with Sir William 
 D'Almaine. 
 
 "I don't think," observed Sylvester, on being left with 
 Tom, "that society has any right to place a man in this 
 position. It appears to me to be dreadful, that the life of 
 one man should be thus coolly staked against that of another. 
 Life against life ! and with it aU earthly hopes, prospects, 
 and affections I Henceforth, be the result of this affair what 
 it may, I'll never either give or accept a challenge. Were 
 I guilty of the offence with which I am charged, I should not 
 
THE MEETING. 317 
 
 of course have the slightest reason to complain — although 
 that would be, in effect, placing the accuser on the same 
 footing as the accused : subjecting the man who has been 
 injured to the same consequences as the man by whom 
 the injury has been inflicted — but, as I am innocent, I do 
 think it monstrous that society should force me to peril my 
 life for the satisfaction of him by whom I have been falsely 
 accused." 
 
 " Society does dot absolutely force you," said Tom. 
 
 " Its influence has precisely that effect. Were I not to 
 go out, it would denounce me as a coward." 
 
 " Still it leaves you free to choose the alterdative." 
 
 "And a pretty alternative it is." 
 
 "The paid idfiicted by society's cedsure — add bore especi- 
 ally the cedsure of that portiod of society who take ibbe- 
 diate cogdisadce of battles of this descriptiod — depedds, id a 
 great degree, upod a bad's susceptibility. Sobe there are 
 who despise it ; add I dod't kdow but such bed display as 
 buch courage as they do by whob it is feared." 
 
 " But a man in society — unless, indeed, he be independent 
 of society- — ^must go with society's stream. If he attempt to 
 stem the tide thus established, he may struggle and struggle, 
 and with all his struggling, be scarcely able to keep up to the 
 point from which he started : while he who contentedly goes 
 with the tide, glides smoothly along without an effort." 
 
 " That's true, Syl, as far as it goes ; certaidly they who go 
 with the tide fide it the easiest way to get alodg, but it is 
 extrebely questiodable whether it be at all tibes the wisest. 
 Prejudices are to be reboved, for exabple, odly by oppositiod ; 
 frob oppositiod the whole of our great add glorious schebes, 
 both political add social, have sprudg ; oppositiod is the gerb 
 of ibprovebedt ; we bust have heed id a state of igdoradce the 
 host profoudd had there beed do such thidg as oppositiod. 
 It is easier, doubtless, to go with the tide thad to oppose it ; 
 but our object should be to divert the streab whed we fide 
 that its course is peMicious." 
 
 "But I am not in a position to turn the stream now 
 against me." 
 
 " Do bad alive probably could do so alode. He bust, to 
 be successful, have the idfluedce add the exabple of a 
 dubber to back hib." 
 
 " Do you wish me, in this case, to be one of that number ? " 
 
3i8 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Why, suppose that you were dow to leave towd " 
 
 "Had I fifty lives, and had to peril them all, I wouldn't 
 do it." 
 
 " It was dot by idtedtiod to advise you to do it ; I berely 
 said suppose you were dow to leave towd, what " 
 
 " Nothing could justify such a step now. Independently 
 of compromising one of my best friends, I should be for ever 
 branded as a coward. No ! be the result what it may, I'll 
 go through it." 
 
 "Well," said Tom, whose sole object in discussing this 
 subject was to prove that Sylvester in reality possessed that 
 firmness for which he had previously given him credit, "if 
 that be your fixed deterbidatiod, we'll say do bore about it. 
 I'll dow, for a short tibe, leave you. You have letters to 
 write, add I've a call or two to bake ; I shall dot be gode 
 bore thad ad hour." 
 
 " Tom," said Sylvester, taking him by the hand, " I have 
 one request to make ; it is this : that before you go out, you 
 will pledge me your honour that you wiU give information 
 of this affair to no one. I ought not, I know, to have named 
 the subject even to you ; but, remember, I have done so in 
 the most perfect confidence." 
 
 Tom pressed his hand warmly and smiled, and having 
 given the required pledge, left him. 
 
 Sylvester then sat down calmly to write an affectionate 
 letter to Aunt Eleanor, to be delivered to her only in the 
 event of his falling ; and while he was thus engaged, Mr. 
 Scholefield and Sir William were settling the prelimiaaries 
 of the meeting. 
 
 The general was also at this time engaged. He had, with 
 the view of getting " cool," been running up and down stairs, 
 pacing the rooms with extraordinary rapidity, and hurHng 
 fierce denunciations at the head of him whom he imagined 
 had conspired to blast the reputation of his daughter ; and 
 when by these vehement means he had become, in his judg- 
 ment, sufficiently " cool," he started off to have an interview 
 with Sir Charles, in a state of intense perspiration. 
 
 On his arrival, Sir Charles was "not at home." He 
 had given instructions to be denied to aU save Sir William 
 D'AJmaine.. But when the porter told the general that Sir 
 Charles was not at home, the general looked at the fellow, 
 and asked him if he knew who he was. " Attention ! " he 
 
THE MEETING. 319 
 
 shouted, as the porter muttered something in reply to him 
 — " announce me ! " And the porter, who in this his 
 extremity scarcely knew how to act, did announce him, and 
 the general was eventually shown up. 
 
 As he entered the room in which Sir Charles, who was 
 still much excited, had been anxiously awaiting Sir "William's 
 return,- the general walked stiffly up to the table, and, 
 on taking a chair, sat immediately opposite Sir Charles, 
 and looked at him for a moment with an expression of 
 severity. 
 
 " Sir Charles — Sir Charles Julian ! " said he, at length, 
 " I am here — calm and cool as you may perceive — to 
 demand an explanation." 
 
 " General," returned Sir Charles, more in sorrow than in 
 anger, " I have nothing to explain — nothing more than that 
 which, I presume, you already know. That your daughter 
 has dishonoured me, is lamentable, but true." 
 
 " It is false, sir — atrociously false ! " 
 
 " Could I reasonably entertain a douit upon the subject, 
 I woidd abandon every feeling of suspicion at ohce ; but as 
 her paramour was actually seen coming from her chamber : 
 as my man let him out ; and as I myself saw him leave the 
 house as I approached it, doubt is impossible." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it — not a single word." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 " Of what ! Why, of the statement you have made with 
 the view of justifying your abandonment of my daughter." 
 
 Sir Charles rang the bell, and when the servant appeared, 
 he ordered Thompson up immediately. 
 
 "I'll prove it," said he. "Unhappily I can prove it. 
 Thompson is my witness : interrogate him yourself." 
 
 " Oh ! " retorted the general sarcastically, " I have 
 not the slightest doubt of his having duly learned his 
 lesson." 
 
 " What do you mean to insinuate by that ? " 
 
 "We shall see — toe shall see," returned the general, as 
 the butler entered. " Now, sir," he continued, addressing 
 Thompson fiercely, " I have to ask you a few plain questions 
 — ^questions which, doubtless, you will have to answer upon 
 your oath." 
 
 "I will answer them now," said the butler, "as truly as 
 if I were on my oath." 
 
320 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " "We shall see — we shall see, sir. Now, then. The very 
 first question I have to ask you is this : did Sir Charles, or 
 did he not, sir, instruct you to make the statement which 
 you have made against Lady Julian ? " 
 
 " I have made no statement against Lady Julian." 
 
 " No equivocation — no quibbling ! I ask you a straight- 
 forward question, sir, and I expect that you will give me a 
 straightforward answer. I ask you again, whether Sir 
 Charles did or did not instruct you to make the statement 
 which you have made against Lady Julian ? " 
 
 " And I answer again that I have made no statement 
 against her ladyship." 
 
 " What 1 Have you not declared, and are you not pre- 
 pared to swear, that she is an adulteress ? " 
 
 "No," replied Thompson, "certainly not. I don't believe 
 that she is ; I never said that I believed it." 
 
 " Why, how is this ? " demanded the general of Sir Charles. 
 " What am I to understand 1 " 
 
 " Pursue your own course. General Lloyd," returned Sir 
 Charles. " Pray proceed in your own way. I have no wish 
 to interfere with your mode of interrogation." 
 
 "AU I have stated," resumed Thompson, "is this: that 
 about three this morning I saw Mr. Sound coming slowly 
 from the ante-room which leads to Lady Julian's chamber, 
 and that T let him out of the house." 
 
 " And are you prepared to stvear to this statement ? " 
 
 "I am, sir — I am." 
 
 " And will you also swear that you received no orders — 
 no instructions from Sir Charles " 
 
 " General Lloyd," vehemently interposed Sir Charles, " I'll 
 no longer sit here and be thus insulted. Thompson, leave 
 the room. If," he added, when Thompson had left, " if you 
 have any charge to bring against nie, let it be brought at 
 once plainly, that I may meet it. You have insinuated 
 against me one of the basest and most abhorrent practices 
 by which it is possible for a man to be disgraced. Do you 
 mean to accuse me distinctly of such baseness ? " 
 
 " I mean to accuse you of this. Sir Charles Julian — I am 
 not a man to mince my words, or to shrink from the avowal 
 of that which I feel — this it is of which I accuse you : I 
 accuse you of having heartlessly conspired with that despi- 
 cable wretch — whose oath I perceive is entirely at your 
 
THE MEETING. 321 
 
 command — to crush a woman, a fond, devoted fool of a 
 woman, whom you know to be as virtuous and as pure as 
 a chUd." 
 
 " General Lloyd ! " cried Sir Charles, " General Lloyd, you 
 amaze me ! Were any other man upon earth to charge me 
 with anything so infamous, I should at once denounce him 
 as a villain. What right have you to insult me with so 
 monstrous an accusation ? What grounds have you — what 
 real grounds — for believing me capable of acting so shameful 
 a part 1 " 
 
 " Sir Charles Julian, you amaze me ! Were any other 
 man upon earth to charge Aer with anything so infamous, I 
 should at once denounce him as a villain. What right have 
 you to insult Jier with so monstrous an accusation ? What 
 grounds have you — ^what real grounds — for believing h&r 
 capable .of acting so shameful a part ? " 
 
 " I have evidence." 
 
 " You have : and I have evidence, too — evidence of a much 
 purer casta I have Jier evidence, upon which I'd stake my 
 life — I have the evidence of him who is charged with her — 
 I have my ovm evidence, and I have yours — for I defy you 
 to show, that since you unhappily married her there has 
 been anything in her conduct to justify suspicion." 
 
 " There has not been. Until this occurred I fondly 
 beUeved her to be pure. She had my entire confidence — no 
 man could have reposed more confidence in a woman than 
 I reposed in her ; and even now that she has betrayed 
 it" 
 
 " She has not betrayed it ! I'll not have it so." 
 
 " I'd give up station, wealth, and aU to have it proved 
 that she has not." 
 
 " To have it proved that she has not ! How can it be 
 proved? What woman can prove that she has not been 
 false ? You well know that to be impossible. It is for you 
 to prove that she has been — and what proof have you of 
 that 1 " 
 
 At this moment SirWilUam D'Almaine was announced, and 
 the general — who, inferring that the preliminaries had been 
 settled, was anxious to receive the communication from Mr. 
 Soholefield — rose on the instant, and having briefly said — 
 " Sir Charles, I shall see you again on the subject," left the 
 room, 
 
 X 
 
322 ' SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 It was about four when Sylvester received the intelligence 
 that the meeting was to take place that eveniag at seven, and 
 the firmness with which he received it proved clearly that 
 cowardice formed no part of his composition. He was 
 thoughtful, it is true, but tranquil. There was no display 
 of any reckless devil-may-care spirit ; he viewed the affair 
 like a man who perceives the importance of the part he is 
 about to perform, and although he was willing to converse 
 calmly on the subject, he was indisposed to treat it with 
 levity. 
 
 " I say, old fellow," observed Tom, gaily, soon after they 
 had sat down to dinner, " where' s your appetite ? " 
 
 " I have it stiU," replied Sylvester. 
 
 " Well, cobe — get od. Do bad should go idto the field with 
 ad appetite ! " 
 
 " I am doing very well." 
 
 " I hope you'U do better whed supper-tibe cobes." 
 
 " I hope so, too." 
 
 " But, I say, old boy, I wish you'd take be with you." 
 
 " That, I apprehend, would be rather incorrect." 
 
 " Dot at all. I bight go as your surgeod." 
 
 " I hope that no surgeon will be required." 
 
 "Well, I hope so, too. But if I were to go, I dod't thidk 
 that the practice I should have would buch ibprove be. As to 
 Sir Charles hittidg you I — that's quite out of the questiod. 
 If he cad, why thed he cad hit a lath \ day, I'd back ady bad 
 who cad hit you at twelve paces to go through the eye of a 
 deedle. It's dot to be dode ! The idea is ridiculous. Add, 
 thed, as regards your hittidg hib ? " 
 
 " I shall not attempt it." 
 
 " You'U dot ? What, do you bead to say, thed, that you'll 
 fire id the air % " 
 
 " It is my iutention to do so." 
 
 " Thed of course you wish to kill hib ! " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " Thed dod't attebpt to fire id the air. You are buch bore 
 likely to hit hib if you do so thad if you were to fire directly 
 at his head." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " You have had doe pistol practice ? " 
 
 " I have not." 
 
 " You dever, perhaps, fired off a pistol id your life 1 " 
 
THE MEETING. 323 
 
 " I never did." 
 
 " Well, thed, let be tell you this ; if you fire at his head, 
 you'll cut the groudd f rob udder bib : you bay, perhaps, take 
 off the sole of wud of his boots, but the ohadces are ted to wud 
 id favour of your cuttidg up the turf ; whereas, if you bake ad 
 attebpt to fire id the air, add you do but fire straight, you'll be 
 as safe to put the bullet through his head, as if the buzzle of 
 the pistol were placed betweed his eyes ; for, of course, you'll 
 have to deal with hair triggers, add if you have, add you raise 
 the pistol, off it goes sobe codsiderable tibe before you kdow 
 where you are. Look at that pier-glass ; it seebs at twelve 
 paces to be rebarkably easy to hit ; but fire at it — you shall 
 do so if you like after didder — fire right at it j you bay kdock 
 the kdob off the todgs — you bay sbash the fedder — you bay 
 crack the hearth-stode, or bake a shall hole id the rug — but 
 you'U fide, udless you take a best burderous aib, that you'll 
 dot go dear the glass. The buzzle of a pistol, id the hadd 
 of a dovice, is perfectly certaid to drop : just try it after 
 didder." 
 
 " I've no desire to do so." 
 
 " Well, but thed you will see the effect ! " 
 
 " My dear fellow, I've no ambition to become a duellist. 
 I shall be able to fire as well as I wish to fire, for I'll take 
 especial care that before I touch the trigger, the pistol shall 
 point directly upwards. I have been grossly insulted by Sir 
 Charles, it is true ; but it is also true that when he insulted 
 me, he imagined that I had seriously injured him. It was 
 an error on his part : he had been deceived. I would not 
 deprive any man of life because he happened to be labouring 
 under a mistake." 
 
 " But Sir Charles would deprive you of life.'' 
 
 " If he should do so, the crime will be his, not mine." 
 
 " You will be, eved id that case, particeps crihidis. You 
 kdow — ^you have, at all evedts, a right to assube — ^that his 
 object is to kill you ; add yet you voludtarily place yourself 
 in a positiod to be killed 1 The cribe would dot be cobbitted 
 were you dot to go out : you have id your owd hadds the 
 power to prevedt it, and if you do dot, you are to all idtedts 
 and purposes ad accessory." 
 
 " So are you — so is your father — and so is Mr. Scholefield ? 
 We are all accessories, in that sense : we all have the power 
 to prevent it. But at the same time we all know that 
 
324 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 society would hold the exercise of that power to be 
 dishonourable." 
 
 " If, thed, society thus forces a bad out, I codtedd that he 
 is justified id firidg at his oppodedt. If I were to go out 
 to-borrow, add I kdew that the object of by adtagodist was 
 to kill be, I should fire as he fired, add if I killed Mb I 
 should call it justifiable hobieide. He who does dot idtedd 
 to fire at his oppodedt has do right to go out at all. I cad 
 ibagide a case id which a bad would be justified id goidg out 
 add firidg id the air : for exabple, that of a bad who had 
 deeply idjured his friedd, add who felt it deeply, add who 
 wished to give a tacit ackdowledgbedt of the wrodg he had 
 idflicted ; but id a case like yours, a bad has do right to go 
 add stick hibself up like a target, add say to his oppodedt, 
 in effect, ' Fire away ! I have dot idjured you : dor shall I 
 fire at you. I cabe out edtirely for your satisf aetiod ; there- 
 fore kill be if you cad.' It isd't a fair positiod for a bad 
 to be placed id. It is, id fact, adythidg but a fair 
 positiod." 
 
 " The position," said Sylvester, "is certainly unfair ; and 
 one point which you have suggested, will be sufficient to 
 induce me not to fire as I intended. I'll not fire in the air 
 lest it should be considered a tadt acknowledgment of guilt. 
 No, I'll fire on one side." 
 
 "Id that case, the secodds had better look out. If you 
 dod't bide, you'll burder wud of theb." 
 
 Sylvester smiled ; and from this time tiU six Tom did all 
 in his power to amuse him, and when Mr. Scholefield arrived 
 with the chaise, he found him as calm and as firm as 
 ever. 
 
 " You'll dot let be go, thed ? " said Tom. 
 
 "I should like you to go," returned Sylvester; "but of 
 course it would not be exactly correct." 
 
 " Not exactly ! " observed Mr. Scholefield. 
 
 " I could hadg od behide ! But I'll dot do that. I sup- 
 pose you bust have all the fud to yourselves. Adieu, old 
 feUow ! I'll wait at hobe for you. Drive back here ibbe- 
 diately all is over. Adieu ! " 
 
 Sylvester pressed his hand with warmth, and having said 
 calmly — " Tom — God bless you ! " he joined Mr. Scholefield, 
 who was apprehensive still, and they entered the post-chaise 
 together. 
 
THE MEETING. 325 
 
 The meeting had been arranged to take place at Wormwood 
 Scrubs, and on their way Mr. Scholefield was constantly 
 looking back. This Sylvester ascribed to an anxiety to 
 ascertain if Sir Charles were behind them; and when he 
 heard him order the postboy to drive more slowly, he 
 suggested that Sir Charles might be ahead. 
 
 "He may be," replied Mr. Scholefield; "I have no doubt 
 he is." 
 
 He, nevertheless, continued to look anxiously behind until 
 suddenly his countenance assumed a gay expression, and he 
 ordered the postboy to drive on fast. 
 
 On their arrival at the appointed spot, they found Sir 
 Charles on the ground, and Mr. Scholefield, on alighting, 
 went up to Sir William, with whom he for some time con- 
 versed. Everything bearing the semblance of an arrange- 
 ment was of course out of the question, and as such was the 
 case, the pistols were loaded and the ground was measured, 
 but just as the principals were about to be placed, the general, 
 with two officers, sprang upon the ground, exclaiming, 
 " There are your prisoners ! " 
 
 "What right, sir," demanded Sir Charles fiercely, "what 
 earthly right have you to interfere ? " 
 
 " What right ! " returned the general. " Independently 
 of my common right as a man, I have the right of a father, 
 firmly resolved to vindicate the honour of his child." 
 
 " Can the honour of your daughter be vindicated thus ?" 
 
 " We shall see : we shall see. It never could be vindicated 
 were you now to fall. No, no, Sir Charles ; I can't spare 
 you yet." 
 
 " Prom whom did you obtain your information ? " 
 
 " Did I not hear Sir William D'Almaine announced ? and 
 did you conceive that I was totally blind ? " 
 
 Sir Charles looked at Sir William, and evidently inferred 
 that that announcement had been the cause of the general's 
 interference. 
 
 " This," resumed the general, addressing the officers, " this 
 is Sir Charles Julian, and this is Mr. Sylvester Sound. You 
 have seen what they contemplated : you know for what 
 purpose they have met. Arrest them." 
 
 The officers bowed ; and as one of them followed Sir 
 Charles to his carriage, the other accompanied Sylvester and 
 Mr. Scholefield ; and when the general had rejoined the friend 
 
326 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 with whom he came, and whom, despite his anxiety to con- 
 ceal himself, Sylvester discovered to be the doctor, they 
 returned to town, and went at once before a magistrate, who 
 bound the parties over to keep the peace. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 PIER-GLASS PRACTICE. 
 
 That evening Sylvester supped with Tom, and on being urged 
 to stop there aU night, he, having no anxiety about returning 
 to his chambers, consented ; and after sitting up till one, 
 conversing gaily about the occurrence of the day, went to 
 bed pretty nearly exhausted. 
 
 Tom went to bed too; but as the night-bell rang soon 
 afterwards, and he was summoned to assist in augmenting 
 the surplus population, he intimated the interesting fact to 
 " Jib " — whom he had seduced from the doctor's — and left 
 the house. 
 
 Jib was a most especial favourite of Tom, and had, in con- 
 sequence, become a great man : quite a confidential card. 
 Whatever Jib said in that house was law. He was the 
 superior swell of the establishment. Nothing could be done 
 without Jib. He was a species of domestic oracle ; and as 
 he felt — and very naturally — ^that he knew what was what, 
 about as well as any man in the realm, he wouldn't allow 
 the " bedials " to advance a syllable in opposition to his 
 views. Whatever he wished to have done, was done, and 
 he'd have it done, too, in a tidy style ; and while he had an 
 extremely deep sense of his own importance, he felt it correct 
 to look fierce. 
 
 When, therefore, he received Tom's important communica- 
 tion, he knew as well as any man in England what it meant, 
 and having grunted and yawned, and eventually turned out, 
 he went down to fasten the door. 
 
 WhUe returning, however, he was struck — struck with 
 amazement, paralysed — perfectly paralysed, on beholding a 
 tall figure slowly descending the stairs, with a pistol in one 
 hand, which Jib didn't see, and a very dim light in the other. 
 
 Jib was silent, breathless, and looked — oh, how he looked 
 
PIER-GLASS PBAOTIOE. 327 
 
 at the flgute. His eyes were nearly out of hia head, and, 
 while his hands were uplifted, and his fingers were extremely 
 wide apart, his lips described a perfect circle, and his knees 
 smote each other, as if each patella wished to knock the 
 other out. 
 
 As the figure — which looked very ghastly — approached, 
 Jib retreated — correctly, retreated ; and when he had got 
 as far as he could get, without going through the street door, 
 he saw the figure — which treated him with the utmost con- 
 tempt, taking no more notice of him than if he had been 
 nothing — stalk into the dining-room as coolly as if he abso- 
 lutely paid the rent and taxes. 
 
 The position Jib occupied then was awkward. The figure 
 — which of course he believed to be a ghost, for Jib's faith 
 in supernatural appearances was firm — had left the dining- 
 room door wide open, and situated as he was then, nature 
 swindled him into the belief that he must of niecessity pass 
 this door, which appeared to him, then, to have an un- 
 exampled appetite. It never, for a moment, struck him that 
 he might open the front door, and let himself out. No ; he 
 felt that he must pass that door, and how to manage it he 
 couldn't exactly teU. He never before felt so much con- 
 fused. His intellects were usually clear enough — ^he had, at 
 all events, been accustomed to flatter himself that they were 
 commonly as clear as those of any man in Europe — but at 
 that particular period they really did appear to be completely 
 upset. He couldn't tell what to make of it. He felt very 
 ill. A faintness came over him, and yet he was conscious — 
 perfectly conscious — at least of this, that the figure was then 
 in the room. 
 
 " Courage 1 " he exclaimed confidently to himself, and the 
 Word seemed to have a great effect upon his nerves ; for he 
 stood upright boldly and breathed again, and absolutely 
 made up his mind to pass the door ; but no sooner had he 
 taken the first courageous step, than he heard the report of 
 a pistol and fell. 
 
 That he had been wounded he firmly believed ; where, he 
 couldn't tell j nor did he much care then to know, but that 
 he had a wound somewhere about his person, was in his 
 view abundantly clear. 
 
 "Murder/" cried the cook, at this moment, above. 
 " James ! — master — -mviTder J " 
 
328 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 The sound of a voice reinspired Jib, and he felt quite 
 valiant again, and rose, and actually darted past the dining- 
 room door, and rushed upstairs in a fit of desperation to the 
 cook, who, conceiving him to be some other gentleman, 
 backed in and fastened the door. 
 
 " Cook, cook ! " he cried, " cook ! " 
 
 " "Who's there ? " she demanded, for she did not immedi^ 
 ately recognise his voice. 
 
 " Me ! me I — James ! — me ! " he replied ; " let me in." 
 
 At any other time cook would not have done this ; but her 
 characteristic delicacy was overcome by fear. She wanted 
 protection : she knew she did ; and therefore, having thrown 
 a flannel-petticoat round her, she adjusted her nightcap, and 
 opened the door. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " she exclaimed ; " what on earth is the 
 matter r' 
 
 " Horror ! " cried Jib, with an appalling expression ; 
 " I've seen — I've seen — a ghost ! " 
 
 Cook shuddered and echoed, " A ghost !" 
 
 "A ghost!" 
 
 " My gracious ! " exclaimed cook ; " where ? " 
 
 " Some water — some water," said Jib, " I feel faint." 
 
 And so he did ; and looked faint ; and cook gave him 
 some water, and wiped the cold perspiration off his forehead 
 with a towel. And Jib drank the water, and felt a little 
 better ; and when cook had urged him to tell all he knew, 
 he proceeded in trembling accents thus — 
 
 " Cook ! heaven and earth, what a sight it was ! " 
 
 " Good gracious ! " 
 
 " I went down to fasten the door after master " 
 
 "I thought I heard the night-beU." 
 
 " Well, I'd no soon effected this accomplishment, than 
 what should I see — Oh ! horror ! " 
 
 " Grood Heavens preserve us ! " 
 
 "I saw — I beheld — a long, lanky, pale, horrid, ghastly- 
 looking ghost, with eyes starting right out of its head, coming 
 towards me." 
 
 " Oh ! my goodness ! " 
 
 " Well — I never was a coward, and so I wasn't then — I 
 stood and watched it, and where should it go, but deliberate 
 into the dining-room, where it is now ! " 
 
 " Heaven forgive us all our sins ! " 
 
PIER-GLASS PRACTICE. 329 
 
 " Well, there I stood — I didn't move — when presently 
 something went hang/ just like the tremendous roar of a 
 cannon." 
 
 "Yes, that's what I heard." 
 
 " Well, just after then you called out, and as I knew you 
 was frightened, I came up to ease your mind." 
 
 " That was very good of you. What I should have done 
 if you hadn't, James, Heaven only knows. I'm sure that I 
 should have gone right out of my senses. Have a little 
 more water ; you look very pale." 
 
 " The smell of the brimstone made me faint." 
 
 " Well, I thought I smelt brimstone — I smell it now ! — 
 dreadful ! — don't you '! " 
 
 " I do — I do ! " sighed Jib, and fainted. 
 
 Of all the horrid feelings by which the human breast is 
 animated, those which cook now inspired were perhaps the 
 ■)nost horrid. 
 
 " James, James ! " she exclaimed, " oh, for goodness sake ! 
 James, there's a good man ! James ! — Oh, Heaven have 
 mercy upon me ! " 
 
 Susan, who slept in the next room, and who, although she 
 had been awakened by the cry of murder, dared not venture 
 out before, no sooner heard these fitful exclamations than, 
 prompted by an extremely natural species of curiosity, she 
 came to the door and peeped. 
 
 Was it possible — could it le possible 1 There was James 
 on the bedside, supported by cook His head was resting 
 on her bosom, and she was chafing his temples. He had 
 nothing on but his trousers and shirt, and she had nothing 
 on but her night-dress — ^the petticoat having slipped off. 
 The scene was awful. Susan was shocked. She couldn't 
 have thought it. She couldn't have believed it. She wouldn't 
 have believed it, if she hadn't herself seen it with her own 
 
 " Hem ! " she cried, and bounced into the room. 
 
 " O Susan 1 " sighed cook ; " I'm so glad you're come." 
 
 Susan, with a sarcastic smile, and at the same time, toss- 
 ing her head contemptuously, replied, " Very pretty ; very 
 pretty, upon my word ! " 
 
 " O Susan ! " 
 
 " Don't talk to me. Master shall know of all this, if I 
 live." 
 
330 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " But, Susan "- 
 
 " I'll have no communication witli such a creature." 
 
 " "Well, but hear me 1 " 
 
 " I'll not hear a word, ma'am. No, ma'am ; I'll not 
 bemean myself, ma'am, to talk to you. You ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself, you ought ! Fine doings, indeed. But 
 master shall know, and either you or I leave to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " Susan, vjill you hear me ? " 
 
 " No, I'll not," replied Susan, with a look of disdain, and 
 having sufficiently extended her nostrils, bounced out of the 
 room in a high state of virtuous indignation. 
 
 Cook now felt the extreme delicacy of her J)osition, but 
 her very first object was to bring Jib round. This she tried 
 to effect by all the means at her command, but for some 
 time her efforts were quite unavailing. Had he been abso- 
 lutely dead, he couldn't have appeared more inanimate : 
 indeed, at one time she thought he had departed this life, 
 and began to turn the probable consequences over in her 
 mind. As a dernier ressort, however, she seized the ewer, 
 which happened to be very nearly fuU, and having violently 
 dashed the whole body of water in his face. Jib struck 
 out, and from that moment consciousness gradually re- 
 turned. 
 
 " Where am I ? " he faintly inquired at length, looking 
 round with the aspect of a most unhappy wretch, for the 
 water had obliterated every trace of the characteristic re- 
 spectability of his appearance, " Is that you, cook ? " 
 
 " O James, James ! " replied cook, with a sigh ; " you 
 have, I fear, ruined me — ruined me for ever." 
 
 " Ruined you ! " exclaimed Jib, making an effort which 
 rendered his restoration almost complete ; " how, how have 
 I ruined you 1 " 
 
 " O James ! " replied cook ; " Susan has been here" 
 
 " She has 1 " cried Jib ; " and saw me/" 
 
 "Yes; and called me all the names she could lay her 
 tongue to." 
 
 " Oh, I feel very ill. But I'U soon settle that. She is 
 jealous, I suppose — she's jealous. But the ghost, cook — 
 how about the ghost ? Have yon seen it 1 " 
 
 "No, it hasn't been here." 
 
 " Then it's there." 
 
PIEE-QLASS PBAOTIOE. 331 
 
 " Where ?" demanded cook, looking round with a feeling 
 of horror. 
 
 " In the dining-room — the dining-room ; not here — not 
 here ; but there where 1 left it." 
 
 " Heaven be praised. If it were to come here, I should 
 sink." 
 
 " Hark ! " exclaimed Jib. 
 
 " How you frighten me. What is it — what do you 
 hear?" 
 
 " Listen ! Don't you hear that ? " 
 
 "That. No. What?" 
 
 They both listened with anxiety the most intense, and, 
 while listening, they heard the bell ring. 
 
 " That's master," said Jib ; " he's come back." 
 
 " Then run down, and let him in at once," said cook. 
 
 Run down. Tes, Nothing could be much more easily 
 said, but Jib, at the time, felt that he couldn't do it. 
 
 " I'm afraid," said he, " of that nasty brimstone. I know 
 it will overcome me ; I'm quite sure it will." 
 
 " But I don't smeU it half so much now. In fact, I don't 
 smell it at all ! " 
 
 " Not smell it I Oh, it's enough to knock you down." 
 
 " Well, but what's to be done ? Master must be let in. 
 There you are ! " she added, as the bell rang again. " He'll 
 be in a passion presently." 
 
 "Cook," exclaimed Jib, " I can't help it ! " 
 
 " Well, but somebody must go, you know. / can't go." 
 
 " Nor can I," replied Jib; "it's quite out of the question." 
 
 The bell rang again, and with increased violence. 
 
 " I knew how it would be," observed cook; " I knew he'd 
 soon get in a passion. He'll pull the beU right down 
 presently. You'U see if he don't." 
 
 "I wish he would," said Jib; "and then I couldn't hear 
 it." 
 
 " Well, but what's to be done ! You know something 
 must be done." 
 
 " Something must be done j but what I don't know. Did 
 you name the ghost to Susan ? " 
 
 "Not a word." 
 
 " That's lucky. Perhaps she'll go, for I don't feel well- 
 indeed, I'm anything but well. I wish you'd go and ask 
 her." 
 
332 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Cook didn't at all like to leave the room ; but as the bell 
 rang again with greater violence stUl, and the case became, 
 therefore, most urgent, she offered to compromise the matter 
 by going with Jib, to which compromise Jib most reluctantly 
 consented. 
 
 They accordingly went, with trembling steps, to Susan's 
 door, and having looked round anxiously, knocked. 
 
 " "Who's there ? " demanded Susan. 
 
 " Me, Susan — only me," replied cook. 
 
 " What do you want ? " 
 
 " Open the door ; there's a good girl, open the door." 
 
 " I shan't ! I'll do nothing of the sort. I'll have nothing 
 at all to say to any such creature. But master shall know 
 all about it, mind that ! " 
 
 " Will you go and let him in 1 " 
 
 " Me go — me ? Where's your fellow ? Let him go ; I'll 
 not go — the ideor, iudeed ! Let Mm go — that is, if you can 
 spare him." 
 
 " You wrong me, Susan — indeed you do.'' 
 
 " I don't care a pin about what you say, ma'am — I'll not 
 
 The beU rang again, and continued to ring, for the wire 
 sawed to and fro with unexampled violence ; and as it was 
 then clear that Susan was inexorable, cook actually offered 
 to go down with Jib ! 
 
 " Why, it's madness you utter ! " exclaimed Jib — " mad- 
 ness ! If you were to see it, you'd be frightened to death." 
 
 " It won't harm me, James ; it won't harm me. Come, 
 come — be a man ! " 
 
 This appeal to Jim's manhood awakened liis courage, and 
 seizing the ewer — the only available weapon in the room — he 
 inspired a little of the spirit of desperation, and descended, 
 closely followed by cook. 
 
 As they passed the dining-room, Jib was amazed, but at 
 the same time relieved, on finding the door closed ; but they 
 had no sooner passed, than Tom, whose patience was ex- 
 hausted, thundered at the street door with such startling 
 violence, that, as the sound reverberated, cook flew upstairs, 
 leaving Jib in the hall alone. 
 
 Having recovered those faculties which had thus been 
 astonished. Jib nerved himself once more, and opened the 
 door; and as Tom very angrily entered, he was about to 
 
PIER-GLASS PBAOTIOE. 333 
 
 tell him exactly what he meant, but he no sooner saw Jib's 
 deplorable aspect, than his anger was wholly supplanted by 
 mirth. 
 
 "Why you biserable, udhappy lookidg wretch," cried Tom, 
 " what have you beed at ? Puttidg your head udder the pubp, 
 or dividg idto the water-butt ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Jib, " I've seen a ghost 1 " 
 
 "You've seed a what ? " 
 
 " A horrid ghost ! " 
 
 " What had you for suppet last dight ? " 
 
 " Bread and cheese, sir." 
 
 " Dothidg else ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I did have a little bit of pork." 
 
 " Of course you did. Your stobach's out of order : you've 
 beed dreabidg." 
 
 ' " No, it isn't that, sir ; oh, no, it isn't that. I saw it as 
 plain, sir — as plain as could iDe." 
 
 " Did you really. Well, add what did it say ? It threw a 
 bucket of water over you, I suppose, to begid with ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; nor did it say a word ; but I saw it stalk 
 horridly into that room : and it's my belief that it's in there 
 now." 
 
 " Well, let's go and have a look at it. Jib. Let us see what 
 it's bade off." 
 
 Jib duly delivered thie lamp to Tom, and allowed him 
 to enter the room alone ; but the moment he entered, 
 Tom, perceiving the pier-glass shattered to atoms, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Hollo ! why, what's all this ! " with so much vehemence, 
 that Jib, who imagined the ghost was there still, started off, 
 and rushed upstairs with feelings of horror. 
 
 " Where are you off to ? " cried Tom. " Jib, what do you 
 bead. Do you hear ? Jib ! " 
 
 " Ye-e-e-yes, sir," replied Jib, almost unable to utter the 
 word. 
 
 " Cobe dowd, thed. What do you bead by ruddidg away 
 id that state of bide ? Cobe dowd, sir, il^bediately. Do you 
 hear be ? Cobe dowd." 
 
 " Oh, sir," replied Jib, trembling, " I dare not." 
 
 " Dare dot. Dod't tell le that you dare dot ; cobe dowd 
 this bobedt, I desire you." 
 
 Jib, who felt very ill indeed, and who also felt that he mxmt 
 
334 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 go down, descended aajdously, and with great deliberation, 
 while Tom more minutely examined the room. 
 
 " Dow, Jib, what's all this about 1 " demanded Tom, rather 
 angrily; " who broke this glass ] " 
 
 " Glass, sir. What glass ? " 
 
 " What glass ! why, this glass.'' 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Jib, as he fixed his eyes upon it, " it is 
 broke, indeed." 
 
 " Well, how did you do it ? " 
 
 " Do it, sir 1 I didn't do it." 
 
 " By whob loas it dode ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir, it must have been the ghost ! " 
 
 Tom, for a moment, looked at him fiercely, and then ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Why, you idsoledt, lyidg, darrow-bided, idcobprehedsible 
 dodkey, what do you bead ? What do you take be for 1 
 Ad idiot 1 Have you beed fool edough to swiddle yourself 
 idto the belief that I should take id that, you codsubbate 
 ass ? " 
 
 "If it wasn't done by the ghost, sir, I don't know who 
 did it. But it was the ghost : depend upon it, sir, it was 
 the ghost." 
 
 " That you head to say you wish be to believe ? " 
 
 " It must have been the ghost, sir ; I didn't do it ! " 
 
 " You bead to stick to that 1 " 
 
 " It's the truth." 
 
 " That's edough ! Pack up your traps add be off. I'll 
 have do bad id by house id whob I'b udable to codfide. I 
 have hitherto reposed the utbost codfidedce id you, but dow 
 that I fide you cad tell the host ibpudedt falsehoods, that 
 codfidedce is gode : therefore, start." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, this isn't a falsity ? it isn't, sir ; as true as I 
 am standing here alive." ^ 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Tom, indignantly. 
 
 " Cook knows it isn't, sir. Cook heard the noise." 
 
 "Whatdoise?" 
 
 " The noise of the ghost, sir ; which was, for all the world, 
 as if heaven and earth was a coming together." 
 
 "Is cook id bed?" ' 
 
 " I think not, sir. She came down with me to let you in ; 
 but when you knocked loud, she ran away frightened." 
 
 "Tell her to cobe dowd agaid, thed. I'll have this affair 
 
PIEB-GLASS PRAOTICE. 335 
 
 cleared tip at wudce ; add remebber, udless it be cleared up 
 satisfactorily, off you go. Dow, tell cook I wadt her, add 
 dod't be lodg about it." 
 
 Jib — whom the idea of leaving appalled — was ru)t long 
 about it : he went up to cook, who slipped on her dress, and 
 changed her cap, and came down in a singularly short space 
 of time ; but mark ! followed by Susan, whose deep indigna- 
 tion had had the effect of keeping her on the qui vive. 
 
 "Cook," said Tom, "I do dot care buoh about the glass : 
 by chief object is truth, to which I expect you will adhere. 
 Dow, what do you kdow about this ? " 
 
 " All I know, sir, about it, is this : that I heard a tre- 
 mendous noise like an earthquake, and got up, and called 
 out, and found it was a ghost." 
 
 " Did you see this — ghost ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; I didn't see it exactly ; but James did." 
 
 " How do you kdow that ? " 
 
 " He told me so." 
 
 " Is that aU you kdow ? " 
 
 " I don't know nothing more, sir." 
 
 " But I do," said Susan ; " and a good deal more, too." 
 
 " Well, what do you kdow ? " 
 
 " Why, sir, I know this ; I'U not live in any house where 
 there's such goings on." 
 
 " What do you bead ? " 
 
 " I mean, sir, that I heard a noise, but a very different 
 sort of a noise from that of an earthquake ; and when I came 
 out to ascertain what it was, who should I see but Mister 
 James comfortably sitting on Missis Cook's bed, and she a 
 cuddling of him with very great affection." 
 
 "Cook," said Tom; "I fadcied that you were a strictly 
 virtuous per sod." 
 
 "And so I am, sir. I'll defy the world to prove that I 
 am not. This envious creature's jealous, sir j that's it." 
 
 " JealousJ " cried Susan. 
 
 "Yes, jealous ! But if you will but listen, sir " 
 
 " I feel boudd to do so." 
 
 "Then, sir, I'll tell you exactly how it all occurred. I 
 heard a noise, as I before said, and called out to know what 
 it was, when James ran up and told me he'd just seen a ghost. 
 I was frightened, of course — very frightened — so frightened, 
 I didn't know what to do ; and as James felt ill and wanted 
 
336 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 some water, I gave him some, and he sat on miy bed. We 
 then talked about the ghost, and while we were talking, 
 James fainted away, and it was as I was trying to bring him 
 round that Susan entered the room and saw us." 
 
 " You have spoken the truth, cook ? " suggested Tom. 
 
 " I have, sir, indeed. I'd repeat the words if they were 
 the last I had to speak." 
 
 " He faidted, you say ? absolutely faidted ? " 
 
 " He did, sir ; and I couldn't bring him to until I'd thrown 
 the whole jug of water over him." 
 
 " It's all very fine," observed Susan, who was not at all 
 satisfied ; " very fine indeed." 
 
 " This affair," said Tom, " shall be fully idvestigaled 
 ibbediatedly after breakfast ; add if I fidd that your state - 
 bedts are false, dot wud of you shall rebaid in the house. 
 Go to bed." 
 
 They then retired to their respective rooms with mani- 
 fest feelings of dissatisfaction ; indeed, so dissatisfied were 
 they, that neither Jib, cook, nor Susan could go to sleep 
 again. 
 
 While at breakfast that morning Tom related the whole 
 affair to Sylvester, and the relation wa.s productive of a most 
 hearty laugh. 
 
 " I might as well have had a shot at the glass yesterday," 
 said Sylvester ; " I couldn't have shattered it more." 
 
 "I dod't believe you could have hit it at all," returned 
 Tom. "Tryitdow. You cat^'i do ady more dabage. Where 
 are the pistols ? " 
 
 " I took them up with me last night." 
 
 "Thed we'll have theb dowd at wudce," said Tom, ringiug 
 the bell ; " you'll thed see the effect of pier-glass practice. 
 Jib," he added, when Jib had appeared, "you'll see a ease id 
 the roob id which Mr. Soudd slept, bridg it dowd." 
 
 Jib, who was particularly active that morning, very soon 
 produced the case ; when Sylvester, who had the key in his 
 pocket, unlocked it and took out one of the pistols. 
 
 " Dow," said Tom, " aib at the bull's eye ; there's a capital 
 wud established. Stadd here." 
 
 "The cap's off," said Sylvester, on cocking the pistol. 
 
 " Is it 1 " cried Tom. " I wudder how that got off. Here's 
 adother." 
 
 Sylvester, having put on the cap, pointed steadily at the 
 
PIEB-GLASS PBAOTIGE. 337 
 
 bull's-eye indicated, but,, on pulling the trigger, the pistol 
 flashed in the pan. 
 
 " Hollo ! " cried Tom. " Well these are pretty pistols to 
 go out with, certaidly. Why, where did you get theb ? " 
 
 " Scholefield got them. I don't know where." 
 
 " He who sedt them out ought to be ashabed of hibself. 
 However, try adother cap." 
 
 Another cap was tried, and the result was the same. 
 
 " Why," cried Tom, " what's the beadidg of this ? There 
 bust be sobethidg wrodg. Look here," he. added, " the thidg 
 isd't loaded at all." 
 
 " Not loaded ! " 
 
 " Do. I'b afraid-there was foul play codtebplated here." 
 
 " Is the other loaded ? " 
 
 " Let's see. Yes, that's all right edough. Were these 
 the pistols you were to have fought with ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Thed that's the wud which you were to have had. Scholer 
 field ought to have seed to it. Certaidly, he ought to have 
 seed that all. was right." 
 
 " I don't suppose he knows much about affairs of this 
 kind." 
 
 "Probably dot; but do bad should uddertake to do that 
 of which he is igdoradt, especially id a batter id which life 
 is idvolved." 
 
 "I believe that he scarcely knew what he was doing; he 
 appeared to be very much excited throughout." 
 
 "It is excitebedt, thed, to which this deglect bust be 
 ascribed ; but it certaidly was a host udpardodable trick od 
 the part ob Sir Williab D'Albaide." 
 
 " Do you think it was done intentionally, then ? " 
 
 "It looks very buch like it." 
 
 " But is he at all the sort of man to act so dishonour- 
 ably V' 
 
 " Why, iddepededtly of beidg a duellist, he is a gabbler, 
 ad id the hodour of a gabbler, I've dot buch faith." 
 
 " I suppose that I can do nothing in it 1 " 
 
 " I'd bedtiod it to Scholefield. But I dod't thidk that, as 
 the batter has terbidated, I should take ady further dotice 
 of it." 
 
 " Well, I must say that it was a most unfair proceeding.". 
 
 " TJdfair ! " cried Tom ; " the desigd was burderous 1 " 
 
 y 
 
338 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 The pistols were then restored to the case, and shortly 
 afterwards Sylvester proceeded to his chambers, where he 
 found a message from Sir Charles's attorney, by whom he 
 was served with a notice of action. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 SYLVESTER REVISITS COTHERSTONE GRANGE. 
 
 Five years ! Wiat a variety ot changes take place in five 
 years ! What aerial castles are built but to fall — what hopes 
 spring up and bloom but to withei' — ^what fears are inspired 
 but to prove that they are baseless — what beautiful bubbles 
 are blown but to burst. 
 
 The great majority of mankind find the space of five years 
 rich in incident j but there are individuals to whom, during 
 five years, scarcely an incident worth recording occurs. For 
 example, nothing of importance had occurred to either Aunt 
 Eleanor or the reverend gentleman. They were, moreovei-, 
 in precisely the same relative positions as they were five 
 years before. It may have been imagined that they might 
 have managed matters between them by this time ; and so, 
 indeed, they might, but they didn't. He had obtained her 
 consent, it is true, and continued to visit her daily ; nay, he 
 had even on three occasions spoken of the contemplated 
 " happy day j " but he never could get her to Tiame that day, 
 until just before those events occurred which have been 
 detailed in the preceding chapter. 
 
 Nor had anything of importance transpired in the village. 
 It is true that the bam which stood opposite the cottage 
 had been, about twelve months before, newly thatched ; it 
 is also true that Obadiah had twice made an assignment, 
 marvelling how it could possibly be that, while all around 
 him were prosperous, he should be constantly involved — 
 sometimes ascribing it to the measures of "Bobby Peel," 
 land sometimes to those of " Johnny RusseU ; " but, beyond 
 this, nothing worth recording took place. 
 
 When, therefore, Sylvester — after having placed his defence 
 to the action in the hands of the doctor's attorney — went 
 down to Cotherstone, with the view of explaining all that 
 
SYLVESTER REVISITS COTHERSTONE GRANGE. 339 
 
 had occurred before the case should appear more pointedly 
 in the papers, he found nothing there to strike him with any 
 great degree of astonishment. But conceive the amazement 
 of his aunt and her reverend friend, when he stated to them 
 the fact of his being the defendant in an action for criminal 
 conversation. Conceive the horror with which they heard 
 that statement made, and the relief which they experienced, 
 when he wound up all by a solemn declaration of his 
 innocence ? Nothing could be more touching, or more 
 sincere, than the expressions of their belief in this solemn 
 declaration. And yet, to them, how extraordinary it appeared 
 that precisely the same thing which occurred to the father 
 should thus have occurred to the son. 
 
 "There must be," observed Aunt Eleanor, when she and 
 her reverend friend were alone, " some deep mystery in 
 this." 
 
 " It is, certainly," said the reverend gentleman, " the most 
 mysterious thing I ever heard or read of." 
 
 " Heaven grant that the consequences may not be the 
 same." 
 
 " I say Amen to that. But, if he be innocent, I do not 
 see how they can prove him to be guilty. The case must be 
 tried before a judge, and no judge could allow a young man 
 like him to be cast unjustly." 
 
 "That I apprehend depends entirely upon the evidence, 
 does it not ? " 
 
 "Exactly. But what evidence — what clear, substantial 
 evidence — can be brought against an innocent man? For 
 example : suppose I were accused of burning a house down ; 
 would I not, if I were innocent, defy all the world to prove 
 me guilty? What evidence could be brought forward to 
 prove me guilty of that of which I was innocent ? " 
 
 "Circumstantial evidence," said Sylvester, who at the 
 moment re-entered the room. 
 
 " Circumstantial evidence, I grant, has frequently led to 
 conviction ; but then it must be very strong and conclusive. 
 What circumstantial evidence could be sufScient in, for 
 instance, a case like yours i " 
 
 " In cases like mine, the proof, almost^invariably, depends 
 upon circumstantial evidence." 
 
 "But what evidence — what sufficient evidence — of any 
 kind, can they bring against you J" 
 
340 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "There is the evidence of the butler, who is ready to 
 swear that he saw me in the house at the time." 
 
 "I must go to town and talk to that butler. I must 
 see that man. His soul is in peril. It is necessaiy that 
 he should know that, I have a great mind to go to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 Sylvester smiled at his reverend friend's simplicity, and 
 observed that he feared that that would be of little use. 
 
 " I don't know that," resumed the reverend gentleman. 
 " Men have been induced, under similar circumstances, to 
 turn from the pursuit of evil. It may be that this man 
 has been bribed by his master — I do not say that he has 
 been — but such things are possible : indeed, if my memory 
 serves me right, I have read in some book that such things 
 have been done. If, therefore, it be so in this case — if 
 this man's master has wickedly bribed him to swear that 
 that is true which he knows to be false — he should be seen 
 and talked to, and expostulated with ; the position in which 
 he is about to place himself ought to be clearly laid before 
 him; the awful nature of the sin he is about to commit 
 should be explafhed to him seriously and solemnly; and 
 who knows that, when he has been made duly sensible 
 of the consequences which must of necessity follow the 
 commission of so dreadful a sin, he may not become wise 
 in time and repent 1 I hold it to be the duty of every 
 Christian minister to endeavour, by all the means of which 
 he is capable, to rescue unfortunate souls from perdition; 
 and if I could save this unhappy man — if I could in time 
 convince him of the error of his ways — if I could show him 
 that his immortal soul is now in jeopardy — strike into his 
 mind the light of truth — inspire him with confidence in 
 Him to whom all hearts are open — bring, him to the throne 
 of grace and mercy, and teach him to sin no more : if I 
 could but in tinie effect this, I should think no journey too 
 long, no trouble too great ; no pains nor expense should, on 
 my part, be spared.'-' 
 
 "I appreciate the feelings by which you are actuated," 
 said Sylvester ; " and I am by no means insensible to the_ 
 power of your appe,als ; still I think that, under the circum- 
 stances, such a journey as that which you contemplate would 
 be unprofitable.'', 
 
 "Oh, there is no knowing what might be done. Th,e 
 
SYLVESTER REVISITS COTHERSTONE GRANGE. 341 
 
 heart of the man might be altogether turned ; his ideas 
 of good and evil might be completely changed, and there- 
 fore, I might be successful. However, we'll think the 
 matter over. I don't like in any case to act with pre- 
 cipitation. Our views may change; but I must say that 
 my present impression is, that an hour's conversation with 
 that unhappy man would do good." 
 
 • During the whdle of that evening nothing was dis- 
 cussed or even thought of but the forthcoming trial; and 
 soon after the reverend gentleman had left, Sylvester and 
 his aunt retired. 
 
 He had not, however, been asleep more than half an 
 hour, when the company, assembled at the Crumpet and 
 Crown, were thrown into a most intense state of consterna- 
 tion by the sudden re-appearance of Pokey, who declared 
 that the ghost had re-visited Cotherstone Grange. 
 
 " I see it," said he, with an aspect of terror ; " I see it, 
 as plain as I see you here now ! " 
 
 " Where ? " demanded Obadiah. 
 
 " Just down the road. I was going home quiet, when, 
 all of a sudden, what should I see but a monstrous tall 
 figure — ^taller than the t'other by more than a yard — breath- 
 ing white smoke from his nostrils, and looking with an eye 
 of real fire." 
 
 "It won't do," said Legge ; "at least it won't do for 
 me. I suppose you saw a man with a cigar in his 
 mouth." . 
 
 " Not a bit of it." 
 
 " How many eyes of fire had he 1 " 
 
 " I saw but one, and that was a blazer — I never before 
 see such an eye in my life — but, of course, he has two, 
 although I didn't see 'em." 
 
 " No ; you saw but one, and that was a cigar ; and the 
 man was puffing away at the time : that was it." 
 
 "I know better ! Do you think I'm such a fool as not 
 to know a real man from a ghost ? " 
 
 " TJiat was no ghost ! " 
 
 " It was, I tell you. Can't I believe my own eyes 1 " 
 
 " It won't do. Pokey ! I won't take it in 1 If you saw 
 anything hut a man, you saw it in imagination merely." 
 
 " As Peter the Great did," observed Obadiah, " at the 
 time he imagined he'd welted the Dutch." , 
 
342 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Peter the Great ! " retorted Pokey contemptuously 
 " What has this to do with Peter the Great ? " 
 
 " What has it got to do with it ? It's got all to do with 
 it ! mind you that ! When the Dutch, in the reign of old 
 Harry the Eighth " 
 
 " Blister the Dutch, and Harry the Eighth, too ! What 
 do you think we want to know about the Dutch ! I tell 
 you again that I see a ghost ! It was all in white, from 
 head to heel; and what's more, it had an umbrella." 
 
 "An umbrella ? " cried Legge. 
 
 "I say an umbrella ! And what's more, he had it up, as 
 if it rained pouring." 
 
 " Well ! " said Legge, " I've heard of many things, but 
 I never before heard of a ghost with an umbrella ! " 
 
 Whereupon a loud roar of laughter burst from all but 
 Pokey, whom their utter incredulity rendered indignant. 
 
 " I don't care a button about your laughing," said he : 
 " I know what I know ; and I'll bet you half a gallon it 
 was a ghost, and nothing but I " 
 
 " Who's to prove it ? " 
 
 " If you can't believe me, come and see it yourself ! Now, 
 then ! " 
 
 " We should be great fools to do that ! " said Obadiah ; 
 " as big fools as the French was at the battle of Bunker's 
 Hill, when Charley the Second " 
 
 "I don't care about what they was at Bunker's Hill; I 
 only know this : you daren't come and see." 
 
 " Daren't ! " echoed Obadiah valiantly ; " daren't ! " 
 
 " Ay, daren't ! I'll bet you half a gallon you daren't ! " 
 
 " Do you know what Caesar said when Pompey told him 
 he daren't 1 ' Pompey,' said he " 
 
 "Pompey be smothered. What's Pompey to do with it 1 
 I tell you I'll make you this bet, if you like, and I'll put 
 the money down." 
 
 " Do you think that, for the sake of half a gallon of beer, 
 I'll allow you, or any other man in the universe, to place 
 me in the juxtaposition of being laughed at ? Not exactly. 
 My ideas don't fructify in that way, and so you needn't 
 think of having the laugh against me." 
 
 " I don't want to have the laugh against you.'' 
 
 " But it would be against me if I were to go out on such 
 a fool's errand as that. It won't do, Pokey : it won't do 
 
SYLVESTER BE VISITS COTHERSTONE ORANGE. 343 
 
 my boy. You're a very clever man at your needle, no doubt, 
 but you mustn't at all expect to get over me." 
 
 " There is certainly something white moving about,'' said 
 Legge, who had been to the door. 
 
 " Is it a fact 1 " cried Obadiah. 
 
 " Come and see ! " replied Legge, who returned to the 
 door, and Obadiah rose and followed hism, and Quocks, 
 Bobber, and Pokey rose and followed Obadiah; and, after 
 straining their eyes for some time towards, the cottage, they 
 all indistinctly perceived something white. 
 
 " Now, will you believe me 1 " cried Pokey. 
 
 " It's strange," observed Legge ; " it is certainly strange ! 
 — ^but we have yet to learn that that which we see is a 
 ghost." 
 
 " What else can it be 1 " demanded Pokey. 
 
 " It isn't the old maid's white horse ? " suggested Obadiah, 
 pointedly. 
 
 " No : that's no horse," returned Legge. " Will any one 
 come with me and see what it is ? " 
 
 "Oh," said Quocks, "if we go at all, we had better go 
 altogether. What do you say ? " 
 
 Obadiah seemed very unwilling to go, but as all the 
 rest consented, he felt, of course, ashamed to hold back. 
 They, therefore, moved slowly towards the cottage ; and as 
 they moved, the figure became more and more distinct ; 
 but they had scarcely got more than half way, when ObadiaJi 
 exclaimed, with a start, " Here it comes ! — Don't you see ? 
 —It's coming towards us. There — there ! " and having 
 uttered these startling exclamations, was about to rush 
 back ; but Legge seized his arm on the instant, and stood 
 to watch its movements with comparative calmness. When, 
 however, he found that it was absolutely approaching, even 
 he receded — gradually, it is true — but his retreat kept pace 
 with the advance of the figure, upon which he still kept 
 his eyes constantly fixed. 
 
 On reaching the door — to which Bobber, Quocks, and 
 Pokey had previously rushed — he stood for a moment to 
 ascertain whether the figure really meant to come on, and 
 on being sufficiently convinced that that was its intention, 
 he darted in, closed the door, and locked it. 
 
 " Heaven save us ! " exclaimed Mrs. Legge, who was then 
 with the rest in the passage. 
 
344 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Hark ! " cried Legge, as footsteps approached ; " hark 
 —hark/" 
 
 The next moment, to their horror, they saw the latch 
 rise. Their hearts sank within them. They were stricken 
 with terror. There was not a man there who appeared to 
 have sufficient strength to move. They could, in fact, 
 scarcely breathe — while poor Mrs. Legge, who had fallen 
 on her knees and covered her face with her apron, fainted. 
 
 Again the latch moved, and a knocking was heard : and 
 Legge, unnecessarily, whispered, " Hu-s-s-s-h ! " seeing that 
 they would not if they could, at that moment, have made 
 the slightest noise for the world. 
 
 The footsteps receded — slowly, and apparently with some 
 degree of irresolution — -and then a slight cough was heard 
 — a sort of clearance of the throat — which on their ears 
 fell like a groan. But after that they heard no more : 
 they listened still, and breathed again ; yet, although they 
 ielt better, they continued very faint. They called for 
 brandy, but Legge, who was endeavouring to bring his 
 wife round, could not then attend to that call ; nor was 
 it until that lady had recovered that the brandy-bottle 
 made its appearance. 
 
 During the whole of this time not a single observation, 
 having reference to the ghost, was made. They were 
 thoughtful, but silent, and looked at each other with 
 expressions of amazement and alarm ; but when each had 
 had a glass of Legge's brandy, they began - to discuss the 
 subject openly, yet cautiously, until indeed each had had 
 a second glass, when Obadiah boldly declared that he didn't 
 beKeve it was any ghost at all. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Pokey, on hearing this monstrous 
 declaration. " Do you mean to tell me, after what we've 
 heard and seen, that it could by possibility be anything but 
 a ghost ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do. Look at the nature of ghosts in general. 
 What are they ? Spirits — that's what they're made of. 
 Now fructify your ideas a little ; just look you here : — 
 Do you think that if that had been a ghost, and it had 
 wanted to come in here, it wouldn't have come in ? " 
 
 " How could it ? " 
 - " How could it ! " 
 
 " Ay, when the door was locked ? " 
 
SYLVESTER REVISITS GOTHERSTONE GRANGE. 345 
 
 " What's the odds about the door being locked ? Couldn't 
 it have come through the keyholes ? " 
 
 " What, a ghost of that size ! " 
 
 " What's the size to do with it % Ghosts — real ghosts, 
 can go anywhere they like, and through anything they like. 
 It makes no odds to them what it is. Talk about a key- 
 hole ; why, they'll go through the smallest conceivable 
 crevice. What does it matter to them ? If that had 
 been a ghost, rather than sviflEer himself to be done, he'd 
 have sunk into the earth on one side of the door, and 
 come up on the other, at once 1 " 
 
 "What do you mean? What, clean through the flag- 
 stones ? " 
 
 " Flag-stones 1 Of course ! What do ghosts care about 
 flag-stones % " 
 
 " Well, if they'll do that " 
 
 "That! They'll do anything, those fellows will. It's 
 no odds to them what they do." 
 
 " But do you mean to say " 
 
 " Yes, I do ! I mean to say that that was no ghost.'' 
 
 " I don't believe it was myself, now," interposed Legge. 
 
 "Nor do I," said Quocks. 
 
 " Nor don't I," observed Mr. Bobber. 
 
 "Well, but, look here," cried Pokey, "if it wasn't, what 
 made you all so frightened ? " 
 
 " There's times," said Obadiah, assuming a profoundly 
 philosophical expression, " when the ideas of men don't 
 fructify as they ought; there's also times when the amal- 
 gamating juxtaposition of those ideas is not honey fidi non 
 compos. When, therefore, the intellects is either nem. con., 
 or sine die, and the fructification of ideas in the brain is 
 at its maximus, why, we're just like the Romans when 
 the Greeks stormed Turkey, we don't know what to think ; 
 but when the supernatural excitement is over — when the 
 mind comes fructifying round to its own proper juxta- 
 position — then, my boy, we can look at the whole of the 
 ramifications of the case calmly, and see what out-and-out 
 fools we have been." 
 
 "I know what you mean," said Pokey, "exact; although 
 I don't understand them hard words ; you mean to say that 
 when we're frightened, we're different to what we are when 
 we are not." 
 
346 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "That's just what I do mean." 
 
 "Very good. And I agrees with you. But what puzzles 
 me is, that you should have both heard and seen it, and 
 thought it a ghost, and then when it's gone, say it's no 
 ghost at all. For my part, I still think it was one, and a 
 real one, too. If it was not, what was it ? " 
 
 " That's the point. That's just what I should like to find 
 out." 
 
 " Do you think it was a man dressed up like a ghost 1 " 
 ' "I do." 
 
 "Then why don't you go out and tackle himi You're 
 big enough." 
 
 "If it be a man," said Legge, "I should only just Uk© 
 to catch him. I'd serve him out. I'd break every bone 
 in his skin ! " 
 
 " Well, why don't you go and do it ? If / thought it was 
 — little as I am — I'll be blistered if I wouldn't go out and 
 tackle him. But I don't — I can't think it. The very fact of 
 it's coming right up to the house, convinces me that it isn't 
 a man." 
 
 " I think it is now," observed Legge. 
 
 "And so do I," cried Obadiah. 
 
 " I don't think it was a ghost," said Quocks. 
 
 "No more don't I," said Mr. Bobber. 
 
 " Well, then, look here," cried Pokey, " if that's it, look 
 here. Here's four men here as believes it to be nothing 
 but a man dressed up as a ghost — four strong, powerful, - 
 bony men — why, do you think that if I was one of you 
 four, and believed, as you believe, that I wouldn't be after 
 him in double quick time 1 " 
 
 " If he is a man," cried Mrs. Legge, who had privately 
 had a little brandy-and-water, " I should like to catch the 
 villain — I'd scratch his very eyes out ! " 
 
 " But just look you here," resumed Pokey, who wanted to 
 go home, but didn't at all like the idea of starting ; " here's 
 four of you here as does beheve it, and yet there isn't one 
 that'll move a peg I " 
 
 " Oh, I'll go," said Legge, " if you'll all come with me ; 
 or if any one of you will come, I'll go." 
 
 "You don't stir out of the house again to-night,'' said 
 Mrs. Legge, " if I know it. You know, I suppose, what 
 you've got to do in the morning ? Let them as iikes to 
 
SYLVESTER REVISITS COTHERSTONE GRANGE. 347 
 
 go, go : you can't. Here's the brewer, here, coming here at 
 four." 
 
 " I know it, my dear — I know it," said Legge. 
 
 " Very well, then ; what do you want to go out for ? " 
 
 " I don't want to go, my dear. Still if I were quite sure 
 of catching this fellow, I should feel myself bound to go out 
 with the rest." 
 
 "I only -just wish I had him here," cried Mrs. Legge 
 energetically 5 " I'd teach the villain, I'll warrant ! " 
 
 " Tou had better, I think, go to bed, my dear," said Legge, 
 who perceived that his spouse was excited — " you had better 
 go to bed ; I shall be with you shortly." 
 
 " I shall not go till you go," replied Mrs. Legge ; " and I 
 think it's time for all married men to be at home." 
 
 " Let us have some more brandy-and- water," said Quocks, 
 who invariably, when he received a hint of that description, 
 stopped an hour longer, at least. "Suppose," he added, 
 " we have glasses round ? " 
 
 "What do you want any more for?" inquired Mrs. 
 Legge. 
 
 " Oh, we must have another glass apiece." 
 
 " I shan't draw any more. Legge may do as h« likes ; 
 but, if I was him, not another drop should be drunk in this 
 house to-night, if I knew it." 
 
 " Now then, Legge ! Come, where's this glass 1 Now, 
 gentlemen, give your orders." 
 
 " I must go," said Pokey. 
 
 "Nonsense, man. What, go alone? The g^ost is safe to 
 chaw you up. Wait till I go, and then you'll be safe. Come, 
 order another glass like a man." 
 
 Pokey, who didn't like to go alone, ordered another glass ; 
 and so did Obadiah, and so did Bobber, and so did Quocks ; 
 and Legge attended to their orders, while Mrs. Legge inti- 
 mated plainly that she thought him a fool. 
 
 Legge, however, took no notice of this. He was used to 
 it. There was, therefore, no novelty whatever about it. He 
 replenished their glasses, and took their money, and then 
 philosophically filled another pipe. 
 
 He had, however, no sooner done so, than they again heard 
 a knocking at the door : not the same description of knock- 
 ing — no, but a knocking which clearly intimated that he who 
 knocked really meant it. 
 
348 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Shall I go ? " said Legge, doubtfully. 
 
 " Certainly not," cried Mrs. Legge. " No." 
 
 " Oh, go," said Obadiah. " Only don't let him in." 
 
 " Why not ? " demanded Pokey. " You say if he's a ghost 
 he can get in without you ; and if he isn't you should very 
 much like to catch him ; why, then, should he not ' be 
 let in?" 
 
 " Who's t]iere ? " cried Legge, on approaching the door. 
 
 " Oh, for Heaven's salce, let me in — oh, pray let me in ! " 
 replied the man who had knocked. 
 
 " Who are you ? " 
 
 " I'm a traveller — a poor traveller. But pray- let me in." 
 
 " Oh, let him in," said Quocks. " If he means any 
 nonsense, we are more than a match for him. Let him in, 
 Legge." 
 
 " I'll not have him here," cried Mrs. Legge. " Keep the 
 door closed : I'll not have him here." 
 
 But before the last words had been uttered, the door was 
 opened, and in rushed a poor man, with cheeks blanched with 
 terror, exclaiming — 
 
 " A ghost — a ghost ! " 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Legge. "Come into 
 this room. Now, then, what do you mean by a ghost ! " 
 
 " Pray give me some water," said the poor man faintly. 
 " Please give me same water." 
 
 " Here, take some of this," said Pokey, offering his glass ; 
 " it'll do you a little more good." 
 
 The poor man drank from Pokey's glass, and appeared to 
 approve of the flavour of its contents. 
 
 "Now, then," said Legge, "what was it that alarmed 
 you ? " 
 
 '•A ghost," replied the traveller. "I never saw one 
 before in all my life." 
 
 " Are you sure it was a ghost ? " inquired Pokey. 
 
 " Quite," replied the traveller — " Oh, quite sure." 
 
 " You don't think it was a man dressed up like a 
 ghost ? " 
 
 " If it was, he ought to be shot. But I can't think it was, 
 no, I don't think that that was any man." 
 
 " Nor do I," observed Pokey. 
 
 " What, have you seem him then ? '' 
 
 "Yesj I saw him about half an hour ago: we all saw 
 
SYLVESTER REVISITS GOTHERSTONE GRANGE. 349 
 
 him. He had an umbrella then. Had he one when you 
 saw him 1 " 
 
 " No, he'd no umbrella. But it struck me — though, of 
 course, it couldn't be — but it struck me that he had a cigar 
 in his mouth smoking." 
 
 " Then it is a man ! " cried Legge. " Whereabouts did 
 you see him ? " 
 
 " Just down the road, there. He's not a hundred yards 
 from us now." 
 
 " Then, as true as I'm alive," said Legge, "if any one will 
 go with me, I'll see what he's made of ! " 
 
 " Indeed," said Mrs. Legge, " you'll do nothing of the 
 sort." 
 
 "Will you go, Drant?" 
 
 " I don't think it worth loMle," replied Obadiah. " Not 
 that I'm a mite afraid — only I don't exactly think it worth 
 while." 
 
 " Well, will you go. Pokey ? " 
 
 " I tell you I don't think it is a man at all. If I did, I'd 
 go at once, but I don't." 
 
 " That's no man," observed the traveller. 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! " cried Pokey. " If I thought it was 
 I'd go in a moment." 
 
 " ril go ! " cried Quocks. 
 , " Then come alone," said • Legge ; " come along ! " and, 
 Respite the remonstrances of Mrs. Legge, they started. 
 
 On reaching the road, they looked cautiously round. 
 Legge was armed with a thick stick, and Quocks with a 
 poker; and, doubtless, had they seen any ghost at that 
 moment, they would have attacked him ; but they didn't : 
 they walked down the road, and all was stUl; but just as 
 they came within sight of the cottage, they saw the same 
 figure glide slowly towards the door, and apparently vanish 
 through one of the panels. 
 
 " No man could do that," observed Quocks, " that's quite 
 clear." 
 
 "Strange," said Legge, mysteriously; "very strange, 
 indeed." 
 
 " Shall we go up to the gate ? " 
 
 "I'll go to the door, and knock them up, if you like." 
 
 "Well, but let's first- go up to the gate, and have a 
 look." 
 
350 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Legge consented at once; and they went to the gate, 
 and looked anxiously round, but saw no "ghost." The 
 door was closed, ajid all was still : there was, indeed, a light 
 in Aunt Eleanor's room ; but that they both knew to be 
 usually there. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor, however, was restless that night ; the duel 
 and the action both preyed upon her mind ; and, therefore, 
 when she heard Legge and Quocks talking at the gate, she 
 came to the window and looked. 
 
 " What's that ? " exclaimed Quocks, as he saw the blind 
 move. 
 
 "That's Mrs. Sound," returned Legge. "Stop a bit. 
 Perhaps she'll open the window." 
 
 She did so ; and having cried " Who's there ? " Legge 
 answered ; and she knew his voice at once. 
 
 "Is there anything the matter, Mr. Legge?" she in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Why, ma'am," replied Legge ; " they say it's a ghost." 
 
 " Good Heavens. What again ! Did you see it ? " 
 
 " Why, ma'am, I saw something very much like one ; and 
 if it be, it has just now entered your cottage." 
 
 " Heaven preserve us ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " Tou shouldn't have told her that, Legge," said Quocks. 
 
 " I don't wish to alarm you, ma'am," cried Legge. " My 
 only object is to render every possible assistance, if any 
 assistance be required." 
 
 " You are very kind — very kind. Will you wait a 
 moment ? " 
 
 " Certainly, ma'am, with all the pleasure in life." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor then rang the bell, and continued to ring 
 until Mary appeared. 
 
 " Mary," she cried, " tell Judkins to get up this mo- 
 ment." 
 
 " Anything the matter, ma'am ? " 
 
 "Tell him to go down and speak to Mr. Legge." 
 
 Mary conveyed the message to Judkins, who was up in a 
 moment, and lost no time in running down to the door. 
 
 " What's the row ? " he inquired ; " what is it ? " 
 
 " Have you heard any noise ? " cried Legge. 
 
 " Noise ! no. What noise do you mean ? " 
 
 " We thought that you might perhaps have heard some 
 noise." 
 
SYLVESTER REVISITS GOTHEBSTONE GRANGE. 351 
 
 " Open the gate, Judkins ; I wish to speak to Mr. Legge," 
 said Aunt- Eleanor, as she descended. 
 
 Judkins opened the gate, and Legge and his friend 
 Quocks went to the door, and explained to Aunt Eleanor 
 all they had seen, and thereby inspired her with feelings of 
 apprehension. 
 
 She then searched the cottage, but found nothing at all 
 calculated to create the slightest alarm, and eventually 
 knocked at Sylvester's door, and awoke him. 
 
 "Have you been at all disturbed, my dear!" she in- 
 quired. 
 
 " No, aunt ! no ! " he replied. 
 
 "I am happy to hear it. I thought that you might 
 have been. Good-night, my dear : God bless you : good- 
 night." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Legge,'' she added, on her return, " I find 
 everything in the house as it should j but I, nevertheless, 
 highly appreciate your kindness. We must trust in Pro- 
 vidence. Heaven I hope will protect us all." 
 
 Legge and his friend then left the cottage with many 
 expressions of deep respect, and with feelings over which 
 they had no control, returned to the Crumpet and Crown. 
 
 "Sold again ! " cried Obadiah, as they entered; "a dead 
 sell, of course ! " 
 
 "Not exactly," replied Legge; "no, not exactly," 
 
 " Did you see it, then 1 " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And was it a ghost ? " 
 
 " That I must leave. My impression is that it was." 
 
 "I never," said Quocks, "in all my days, saw anything 
 go through a panel so clean." 
 
 " Through a panel ! What panel ? " 
 
 "The panel of Mrs. Sound's door." 
 
 " It went clean through ? " 
 
 " As clean as a whistle." 
 
 " It's a ghost, then ! Safe to be a ghost ! Just exactly 
 what I said. Didn't I say so ? What's a door to a ghost ? 
 Why, no more than Bobby Peel is to Johnny BusseU. You 
 may bolt and bar your doors till you can't see out of your 
 eyes. What do you think a real ghost cares about that ? 
 If it wants to come in, it will come in and no mistake about 
 it. A ghost cares no more for a door, my boys, than the 
 
332 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Egyptians cared for the Turks, when they welted the China- 
 men hollow with a single jaw-bone of an ass. I tell you now, 
 as I told you before, a door is no more to a ghost, than 
 Boney was to Nosey ; not a mite." 
 
 " But did you see it really, though ? " said Pokey. " Upon 
 your soul, now, did you see it go into the cottage 1 " 
 
 " As true as I'm alive," replied Quocks ; " I saw it go in 
 as plain as I see you now." 
 
 "It's a ghost," said the traveller; "as sure as you're 
 born." 
 
 " I haven't half a doubt about it," cried Pokey ; " I knew 
 in a moment that it was, by the manner of it." 
 
 "Well," said Legge, who now wished them to go, "it 
 certainly is a most mysterious piece of business, but I sup- 
 pose we shall see no more of it to-night. Therefore, when 
 you're ready, gentlemen — don't let me hurry you — but tchen 
 you're ready, I'll dose the house." 
 
 "I'm ready," said Pokey, who thought of his wife; 
 " quite ready. But let us go together, you know : let us 
 go together." 
 
 " With all my heart," cried Obadiah. . " As far as ghosts 
 are concerned, I'm no more afraid of ghosts than Peter the 
 Great was of Dickey the Third, still I think it will be as 
 weU for us all to go together." 
 
 And the rest thought so too ; and they rose simul- 
 taneously and left the house, with the understanding that 
 they were to meet with the view of discussing the matter 
 in the morning. 
 
THE SUSPICION. 353 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE SUSPICION. 
 
 Aunt Eleanob, notwithstanding her apparent tranquillity- 
 while speaking to Legge and his friend, no sooner returned 
 to her chamber alone than she burst into tears, for the 
 recollection of her brother's death came again full upon her, 
 and all her former painful apprehensions were renewed. 
 She felt that his spirit still hovered around her — that it 
 had something dreadful to communicate, and that it could 
 not rest until that communication had been made. She 
 wished it would appear to her then — she absolutely prayed 
 that it might then appear ; and, while contemplating with 
 feelings of dread the possibility of its appearance, he* imagi- 
 nation, being excited strongly at the time, at once created 
 a figure — the very figure of her brother — which stood with 
 an expression of sorrow before her. 
 
 She started, and for a time ceased to breathe, and while 
 she glared at the spectre, she became cold as death. There 
 it stood, perfectly motionless and silent, and there it con- 
 tinued to stand, until, inspiring sufficient courage, she 
 exclaimed, in a thrilling whisper — 
 
 " Dear brother, why are you here ? " 
 
 This broke the charm. The spectre instantly vanished. 
 But it cam.e again when all was still, and she then saw it 
 even more distinctly than before. 
 
 She rose to approach it with feelings of awe, but, as she 
 advanced, it receded, until it completely disappeared beneath 
 the bed-clothes. This was strange, certainly — very strange 
 indeed. She couldn't at all understand it. Could it be 
 possible the she had been deceived ? Could she have beheld 
 it in imagination merely ? She passed her hands over her 
 eyes, and then, in order to be sure that she was perfectly 
 conscious, proceeded to bathe them. 
 
 Again she looked round. The spirit had fled. She turned 
 down the bed-clothes. No spectre was there. But the idea 
 of getting into a bed in which she conceived a spirit had 
 taken refuge, appeared to her to be monstrous. She there- 
 
 Z 
 
354 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 fore resumed her seat in her easy-chair, and, having looked 
 in vain for the spirit's reappearance for nearly an hour, she 
 involuntarily dropped ofif to sleep, and slept soundly until 
 Mary at the usual time came to the door. 
 
 The reverend gentleman, soon after this, heard that the 
 ghost had revisited the Grange, and having made minute 
 inquiries of which the result was the startling information 
 that it had again entered the cottage, he proceeded to call 
 on his dearest friend in a state of intense anxiety. 
 
 As he passed through the gate, she descended the stairs, 
 and when they met, he pressed her hand with affectionate 
 warmth, but her pale face inspired him with fearful appre- 
 hensions. 
 
 " Dear Eleanor,'' said he, " you are not well. Have you 
 been much alarmed ? " 
 
 " I have been somewhat alarmed," she replied, as she 
 slightly smiled, and led him into the parlour. " Then you 
 have heard," she continued, "you have heard of this mys- 
 terious occurrence ? " 
 
 " I heard that the people in the village were alarmed by 
 the appearance of a spirit which they saw enter here. At 
 least they imagined that they saw it. "Whether they did or 
 not of course I must leave. I presume that you saw nothing 
 of it ? " 
 
 " I saw it as distinctly as I now see you here." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " 
 
 " Not at the time it was seen by them, but subsequently, 
 while I was sitting in my chamber." 
 
 " Heaven preserve us ! " 
 
 " I saw it twice : and, as I feared, it was the spirit of my 
 poor, dear brother." 
 
 " What, and did it speak to you ? " 
 
 " No. I spoke to it, but it instantly vanished ; and when 
 it reappeared I rose to approach it, but again it vanished, 
 and I saw it no more." 
 
 " You amaze me ! Then you absolutely saw its counte- 
 nance 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; and it was that of my poor, unhappy brother." 
 
 " Bless my heart alive — why, what on earth can it mean ? 
 There must be some dreadful mystery at the bottom of all 
 this. It was silent, you say — quite silent ? " 
 
 " Quite." 
 
' THE SUSPICION. 355 
 
 ' " Did it not intimate anything by gestures ? " 
 
 " Nothing. It was perfectly motionless." 
 
 " Strange — very strange. It could not have appeared 
 without ah object, and one would have thought that that 
 object, whatever it might be, would have been, of course, 
 communicated in some way. You could not have been 
 mistaken ! You were not, I presume, at the time, dream- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no ; I was sitting in my chair.'' 
 
 " Well, there are strange things, both in heaven and on 
 earth. Did Sylvester see it too 1 " 
 
 " No ; in this house it appeared to me only. He does not 
 even know that J have seen it ; nor do I wish him to know, 
 feeling perfectly sure that the knowledge of my having seen 
 the spirit of his father would break his heart." 
 
 " Don't you think it would be prudent to put him on his 
 guard 1 It may appear to Mm, and that with the view of 
 revealing some highly-important secret, and, if taken by 
 surprise, he may be too much excited and confused to under- 
 stand it. What do you think 1 " 
 
 " I am at all times anxious to be guided by you ; but it 
 strikes me that when you reflect upon the probable conse- 
 quences, you will wish to conceal it from him, at least for 
 the present." 
 
 "You may be right; I am quite inclined to believe 
 that you are right. Let it be so. We may know more 
 anon." 
 
 At this moment Sylvester entered the room, and having 
 greeted both his aunt and her reverend friend warmly, pro- 
 ceeded to ascertain what had occurred. 
 
 " Was there anything the matter last night ? " he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Do you mean, my dear, when I knocked at your 
 door?" 
 
 " Yes ; why did you knock 1 " 
 
 "I merely thought that you might have been disturbed." 
 
 " What induced you to think so ! " 
 
 " Why, the people in the village imagined they saw a 
 ghost"— — 
 
 "What, again?" 
 
 " Yes ,• and some of them declared that they saw it come 
 here." 
 
356 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " How very extraordinary. Mystery follows me, go where 
 I may. Do you know the persons who fancied they saw it 
 come here ? " 
 
 " Legge was one — the person who keeps the public- 
 house." 
 
 " I'll go over and speak to Legge immediately after break- 
 fast. He is rather a superior man, too ; is he not ? I speak, 
 of course, with reference to his position." 
 
 " Exactly," returned the reverend gentleman. " He is 
 a superior man; a man of strong mind, and goo'd, plain, 
 common sense." 
 
 " And a kind creature, too," said Aunt Eleanor, " I'm sure. 
 He came over last night, in order to ascertain if he could 
 render me any assistance." 
 
 "Well, I'll- go and speak to him," said Sylvester; "and 
 then I shall hear all about it. It certainly is most mys- 
 terious. I can't understand it at all." 
 
 It will not be incorrect to observe that these observations 
 were induced by the thought that he might, unconsciously, 
 have been the cause of all. He had previously no conception 
 of being a somnambulist, but, as a remarkable case of som- 
 nambulism had just before been published, he thought it 
 possible — just possible — that he was in reality a somnam- 
 bulist himself. He did not — he could not — believe that he 
 was; but feeling, of course, anxious — as the thought had 
 been conceived — to ascertain whether he really was or not, 
 he at once resolved on viewing every circumstance that had 
 occurred in immediate connection with that. 
 
 In pursuance of this resolution, he immediately after 
 breakfast left the cottage, and went to the Crumpet and 
 Crown. Obadiah, and Pokey, and Quocks were there, with 
 Bobber, and several others, and as he was perfectly un- 
 known to them all, he was, of course, minutely examined 
 from head to foot as he entered. 
 
 " I say," whispered Pokey in the ear of Obadiah, " who's 
 
 he?" 
 
 "A government spy, you fool. Don't your ideas 
 fructify 1 " 
 
 " Is that a spy ? " 
 
 " Of course. Hold your tongue." 
 
 " But how do you kiiow 1 " 
 
 "I know by the cut of him. Mind what you're after. 
 
THE SUSPIGION. 
 
 357 
 
 Bobby Peel has sent him down to feel the pulse of the 
 eternal people. You'll see now I'll cook his goose for him 
 presently. Fine morning, sir," he added, addressing 
 Sylvester, who had taken a seat immediately opposite. 
 
 " It is, indeed," said Sylvester, " a beautiful morning.'' 
 
 " Barleys want rain, sir." 
 
 " You have not yet been able to get much barley in, have 
 you 1 " 
 
 " Not get it in, sir ! What not here the latter end of 
 May ! " 
 
 " They haven't got much barley in about here," observed 
 Quocks. 
 
 " What, not barley ? " 
 
 " No, not barley. Look at the drought we've had. How 
 could they get it in ? The land's as dry and hard as the 
 road." 
 
 Sylvester called for a glass of ale, which Mrs. Legge 
 brought with a most winning smile. 
 
 " Is that the way you means to cook his goose ? " whispered 
 Pokey. 
 
 " Stop a bit, my Briton," replied Obadiah ; " you'll know 
 more about it, my boy, by-and-by. He who deals with a 
 deep 'un must be deep himself ; you can't get all out of a 
 spy in a hurry. The drought, sir, I believe, has been pretty 
 general," he added, turning to Sylvester ; " how are the 
 wheats in your part of the country ? " 
 
 " That which I saw along the road looked well." 
 
 " The heavy-land wheats about here don't look so much 
 amiss, but those on the light lands are perished. Which 
 road, sir, do you allude to ? " 
 
 " The road between here and London." 
 
 " Oh, London. Ah, exactly. Didn't I tell you so ? " he 
 added, turning to Pokey j "I'd have bet ten to one of it. 
 I knew what he was the very moment I saw him. I don't 
 want to look at a man twice to know who and what he is. 
 Not a bit of it. Have you just arrived from London, 
 sir 1 " 
 
 ■" I came yesterday." 
 
 " Oh, indeed. And what, may I ask, do you think of the 
 spy system generally 1 " 
 
 " The spy system t " 
 
3S8 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Aj; you know in Harry the Eighth's time they did the 
 trick very deliberately." 
 
 " Upon my word, you give me credit for more knowledge 
 than I possess." 
 
 "What, don't you remember when Peter the Great 
 came over here just before the French Revolution, when 
 Buonaparte threatened to welt the whole world, and sent 
 Robespierre after the Dutch ? " 
 
 " Really," said Sylvester, smiling, " you are much boo 
 learned for me. I never before heard that Peter the Great, 
 Buonaparte, and Robespierre were so intimately connected." 
 
 " "WTiy, they all lived in juxtaposition." 
 
 " Obadiah," said Quocks calmly, " don't be an ass.'' 
 
 " What do you mean 1 " cried Obadiah indignantly. 
 
 " Hold your tongue. Don't expose yourself before 
 strangers." 
 
 Obadiah thought this very severe, and was about to inflict 
 upon Quocks an extremely cutting observation ; but as 
 Legge, who had been hopping down some beer, entered the 
 room at the moment, Quocks escaped that infliction. 
 
 " Good morning, sir," said Legge, addressing Sylvester, 
 whom he had quite forgotten. 
 
 " Good morning," returned Sylvester. " You were some- 
 what alarmed last night, were you not ? " 
 
 " Well ; it's true we were, rather. You have heard of it, 
 of course ? " 
 
 " I heard of it this morning.'' 
 
 "A mysterious piece of business, sir, that. 1 can't 
 understand it." 
 
 " Nor can I. It is indeed mysterious.'' 
 
 " He's the ghost for a thousand," whispered Obadiah. 
 
 " And a spy, too ? " said Pokey. 
 
 " Both, my boy. I'll bet ten to one of it. Now, you'll 
 just see how I'll pump him. You didn't see the ghost then, 
 yourself, sir ? " he added, addressing Sylvester ; and then, 
 turning to Pokey, with a wink of great significance. 
 
 "No," replied Sylvester. "I wish that I had. By the 
 way, I have to thank you, Mr. Legge, for your attention to 
 my aiuit." 
 
 "Your aunt, sir?" said Legge. "Upon my word, sir, I 
 haven't the pleasure of knowing you." 
 
THE SUSPICION. 
 
 359 
 
 "My name is Sound." 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon, sir. I hope you're quite well, 
 sir. Upon my word, I'd quite forgotten you. I knew I'd 
 seen you somewhere, too 1 How is Mrs. Sound this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 "ISTot quite so well.'* 
 
 " I don't wonder at it. A thing of this sort must be very 
 alarming to her. I know it gets over me. I can't make it 
 6ut at all ! " 
 
 " He's a government spy, isn't he ? " whispered Pokey to 
 Obadiah. 
 
 " How do you know that he isn't ? " 
 
 " And the ghost, too 1 " 
 
 " He may be ! You can't tell he's not." 
 
 " You saw this ghost, I believe ? " said Sylvester. 
 
 " Oh, we all saw it ! " returned Legge. 
 
 " Distinctly ? " 
 
 " As distinctly as a thing of the kind could be seen." 
 
 "And what shape did it assume? What did it look 
 like i " 
 
 " Why the figure was that of a man : tall— very tall : it 
 stood, I should say, seven feet high." 
 
 " Seven feet I " cried Pokey ; " more nearer yards." 
 
 "Imagination probably added to its height," observed 
 Sylvester. " But how did it act ? " 
 
 "Why, sir," replied Legge, "when it was first seen, it 
 was walking up and down just before the cottage gate : and, 
 from the description, I imagined it might be smoking a cigar ; 
 for only one eye, it was said, could be seen, and that was an 
 eye of fire." 
 
 "It was no cigar," said Pokey j "not a bit of it. It was 
 an eye — safe ! " 
 
 " Well," resumed Sylvester, " and did it continue to walk 
 up and down ? " 
 
 "For a time," replied Legge; "but it afterwards came 
 here^to this very door — and knocked, and lifted up the 
 latch ; but somehow or other, I felt afraid at the time to let 
 it in." 
 
 "I wish that you had done so ! " said Sylvester. 
 
 " Then do you not think that it was really a ghost ? " 
 
 "Wliy, the thing is so extraordinary, that I scarcely 
 know what to think ! But had you opened the door at the 
 
36(3 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 time, you would have seen at once whether it was a ghost or 
 not." 
 
 "I'll do so if it should come again. I've made up my 
 mind to that." 
 
 "That's the only way to satisfy yourself on the point. 
 Take hold of it, if you can. You need not have recourse to 
 any violence. Touch it ; and if it be tangible, you may 
 then, of course, be quite sure of its being no ghost." 
 
 " But if I were to find that it was not a ghost — if 
 I were to catch any fellow playing such a trick as that 
 — I'd make him remember it the longest day he had to 
 live." 
 
 "And so would I ! " cried Mrs. Legge. "I'd scratch his 
 very eyes out ! " 
 
 " I'd murder him right off ! " exclaimed Pokey. 
 
 " And serve him right, too," said Quocks. " Hanging's 
 too good for him." 
 
 " If," observed Sylvester calmly, " a man in a state of 
 consciousness, and with the view of creating alarm, were to 
 be guilty of so disgraceful and dangerous an act, he would 
 deserve to be punished with the utmost severity ; but, if 
 even the figure which you saw last night be a man, it does 
 not of .'necessity follow that he deserves the rough treatment 
 you contemplate. There are men who are in the habit of 
 walking in their sleep, and who perform acts of the most 
 extraordinary character while in a state of somnambulism ; 
 and it certainly would not be just to treat a man of that 
 description with as much severity as you would treat a heart- 
 less, impious scoundrel, whose sole object is to inspire the 
 most appalling species of apprehension." 
 
 " Very true : very good," said Legge. " That's right : 
 quite right," 
 
 "If I were to see this figure," resumed Sylvester — "I'm 
 not in the habit of boasting, nor do I pretend to any extra- 
 ordinary valour— but if I were to see it, I should go right 
 up to it at once. I should soon, of course, be able to discover 
 what it was ; and if I found it to be a man, and not the shade 
 of a man merely, my very first object would be to ascertain 
 if he were asleep. If I found that he was, I should take the 
 utmost care of him ; but if, on the contrary, I found that he 
 was not, I'd secure the villain instantly, and bring him to 
 justice." 
 
THE SUSPICION. 361 
 
 " That's a very proper view to take of the matter," observed 
 Legge. 
 
 "Aj; but that's no man," cried Pokey. "There an't a 
 mite of flesh and blood about it." 
 
 "I can scarcely believe that it is a man myself," said 
 Legge. " No man could have gone through the panel of a 
 door as that did — eh, Quocks 1 " 
 
 "No," replied Quocks, "not a bit of it. I don't mean to 
 say that no man could go through ; but I do mean to say 
 that if he did, he'd make a hole in it, which wouldn't be 
 closed up by magic, as that was." 
 
 "Well," said Sylvester, rising, "it is altogether a most 
 extraordinary occurrence] still, were I to see the figure, I 
 certainly should ascertain, if possible, what it really was. 
 Good morning, gentlemen," he added, " good morning." 
 
 "That's no fool," observed Legge, when Sylvester had 
 left. 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said Quocks. "He knows a thing or 
 two, and takes more than one view of a question." 
 
 " Drant offered to bet ten to one about his being a govern- 
 ment spy," observed Pokey ; and this observation produced 
 a hearty laugh. 
 
 " Laugh away 1 " cried Obadiah. " Laugh away, my boys ! 
 But just look here ! Can you prove that he isn't ? Gome 
 now ! It's easy to laugh : any fool may laugh ; but can any 
 of you prove that he isn't a spy 1 " 
 
 " Can any one here prove than you are not one ! " said 
 Quocks. 
 
 "Me!" cried Obadiah indignantly. "Me a spy? Me? 
 Where's the gold that could buy me? I scorn the vile 
 fructifying insinuation. What ! place me in the juxta- 
 position of a wretch who would do any cold-blooded business 
 for money — a fellow who'd swear a man's life away just as 
 soon as look at him — a villain, a boney fide villain, whose 
 trade is that of tempting men merely to betray 'em ! I 
 call it a moat amalgamating insult ! No man alive has a 
 right to insult another by such a monstrous insinuation as 
 that ! " 
 
 "Then why did you thus insult the nephew of Mrs. 
 Sound?" 
 
 " I didn't tell him that he was a spy ! " 
 
 " Nor did I tell you that you were a spy. You asked if 
 
362 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 any one could prove that he was not : I asked if any one 
 could prove that you were not. I believe one to be as 
 much of a spy as the other ; but you forget that when you 
 denounce men for insinuating that which you have insinu- 
 ated, you, in effect, denounce yourself." 
 
 " Well ; but look you here : he was quite a stranger." 
 
 "What of that? Did that justify you in setting him 
 down for a spy 1 " 
 
 "But he looked like a spy; he came in like a spy, and 
 acted as much like a spy as I ever saw a man in my 
 life." 
 
 " Did you ever see a spy ? " 
 
 " Why, I can't say that ever I did see one." 
 
 " Then how is it possible for you to know when a man 
 either looks or acts like one? Besides, the idea of a spy 
 being sent down here, is too absurd to be thought of." 
 
 " Bobby Peel might, you know, send one down just to see, 
 you know, which way the wind blows ! " 
 
 " Bobby Peel !— psha 1 What do you think Bobby Peel 
 cares about the wind in a place like this ? " 
 
 " What ! Do you mean to say, then, that you think he 
 don't care ? " 
 
 " Not a straw 1 Why should he ? " 
 
 " Why should he ! What, then, are we to be tyran- 
 nised over and trampled upon by a plundering lot of 
 oligarchical pensioners, and not have a voice in the matter 
 at all?" 
 
 " Obadiah," said Quocks. " You'll excuse me ; but, as true 
 as I'm alive, Obadiah, you're a fool." 
 
 " It's all very well to get over it in that way : there's 
 nothing more easy than to call a man a fool : there's no 
 argument in it ! But prove me to be one : that's the point 
 of the compass ! Place me in juxtaposition with any man 
 in Europe- — I don't care who he is ! — and if he knows any- 
 thing of history, he'll find I can tell him what's what. You 
 may call me a fool just as long as you please : I don't care 
 a button about what you call me. Prove me to be one — 
 that's the teaser, my boy ! — prove me, if you can, to be a 
 boney fide fool, and I'll Stand glasses round." 
 
 " What do you mean by boney fide ? " inquired Pokey. 
 
 " Boney fide 1 Send I may live ! What, don't you know 
 what boliey fide means ? Where did you go to school ? Who 
 
THE SUSPICION, 363 
 
 had the fructification of your ignorant ideas? Boney fide 
 means out-and-out, of course. A honey fide fool is an out- 
 and-out fool ; and I Should like to see the man who can prove 
 me to he one." 
 
 " I should like to see the man who can prove that you are 
 not one," said Quocks, who indignantly finished hig beer, and 
 then, without condescending to utter another syllable, left 
 them. 
 
 "Poor Quocks!" cried Obadiah. "He can't bear to be 
 beaten ! I don't like to be hard upon any man alive, but I 
 can't help being a little hard upon him : he's so ignorant of 
 history." 
 
 "But you don't mean to say," observed Pokey, "you can't 
 mean to say, that you've beaten him this momitig 1 " 
 
 " Beaten him ! What did he run away for ? I'd beat 
 half a million of men like him before breakfast ! Why, I'll 
 bet you what you like, that, if you were to offer him five 
 hundred pounds, he couldn't tell you who Peter the Great's 
 mother was ! What's the use of a man like that ! I 
 don't want to boast, but he's no more fit to be put in 
 juxtaposition with me, than Bobby Peel is fit to be put in 
 juxtaposition with Julius Csesar. There's nothing in him ! 
 In all that relates to boney fide argument, he's what I 
 should call a mere non compos f and he knows just as 
 much about fructifying logic as Harry the Eighth knew 
 about this pint pot. The mind of a man must be properly 
 amalgamated to be in a juxtaposition to stand against 
 one who has studied things as I have. Study's the pointy 
 my boys ! no getting on without study. Study will beat 
 the world hollow; and Quocks has got no study in 
 him." 
 
 " WeD," said Pokey, " / must go to work. I've got a pair 
 of buckskins to finish to-day." 
 
 " Business must be attended to," observed Obadiah ; who, 
 notwithstanding the loss of Pokey, continued to work his 
 amalgamated fructifying boney fide juxtaposition until he 
 was left quite alone. 
 
 Silvester, meanwhile, deeply reflected, not only upon the 
 events of the preceding night, but upon the whole of the 
 equally mysterious circumstances which had occurred to him 
 since he left the house of Mr. Scholefield. The event, how- 
 ever, upon which he dwelt chiefly, was that which formed 
 
364 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 the ground of Sir Charles Julian's action j and when he 
 viewed the nature of the evidence against him, in connection 
 with the idea of his being a somnambulist, it appeared to 
 him to be perfectly clear that to nothing but' somnambulism 
 could it be ascribed 
 
 But how was the fact of his being a somnambulist to be 
 proved ? That was the primary question. The readiest and 
 most effectual way of proving it appeared to be that of com- 
 municating the idea to some one by whom he might be 
 watched ; but his anxiety to conceal it from his aunt, whose 
 mind he well knew would be for ever after filled with appre- 
 hension, induced him eventually to decide on endeavouring 
 to prove it himself. 
 
 He therefore set to work and conceived various schemes, 
 the operation of which were in his view calculated to prove 
 the thing beyond all doubt, and having decided at length 
 upon one which appeared to be the easiest and also the best, 
 he, on retiring that night about ten, attached to one of his 
 ankles a string which communicated with a bell which he 
 ingeniously hung, so that it would of necessity ring in the 
 event of his getting out of bed, and at the same time pre- 
 vent him from leaving the room. 
 
 Having artfully adjusted this machinery to his entire 
 satisfaction he went to sleep, and as his thoughts soon 
 afterwards reverted to the "ghost," which he then felt an 
 extremely strong desire to see, he with great deliberation 
 removed the string from his ankle, rose, dressed himself, 
 and left the house. 
 
 For some time he walked leisurely up and down the road 
 in the full expectation of seeing this spectre, but as in this 
 he was, as a matter of course, disappointed, he, perceiving a 
 light at the Crumpet and Crown, and hearing voices within, 
 at length went to the door. 
 
 That night Mrs. iLegge, who had been having some more 
 private brandy-and-water, would have the door bolted, and 
 Sylvester in consequence could not get in. He therefore 
 knocked, and immediately heard such a hissing as that 
 which might proceed from a dozen young serpents anxious 
 to cry simultaneously " Hush 1 " 
 
 " There it is ! " said Pokey. 
 
 " That's it ! " exclaimed Obadiah. 
 
 "It's the same knock," observed Quocks. 
 
THE SUSPICION. 36s 
 
 "Exactly!" cried Legge. "Now, then, what's to be 
 done ? Shall I open the door 1" 
 
 "I'll have no ghost in this house to-night, if I know it," 
 said Mrs. Legge pointedly ; " not if I know it." 
 
 " Go to bed, my dear," observed Legge ; " go to bed." 
 
 " I shan't go to bed 1 you are a rogue to me, Legge, you 
 know you are." 
 
 " Hark ! " cried Legge, who had been so used to these 
 affectionate observations that they really passed by him as 
 the " idle wind." " Did you hear ? " 
 
 " What ? " exclaimed Pokey. 
 
 "A groan. Shall I open the door? Will you back 
 me?" 
 
 "7 will," replied Quocks, "at all events." 
 
 " Then the door shall be opened." 
 
 " Don't ! " cried Pokey. " Don't ! pray don't ! " 
 
 Legge rose; but Mrs. Legge on the instant threw her 
 arms round his neck, and cleverly burst into tears. 
 
 Legge couldn't stand this. He could, as well as any 
 man in England, stand any given quantity of abuse, but all 
 was over the very moment he saw a tear. Mrs. Legge 
 knew this — of course she knew it — she hadn't lived all 
 those years with him without finding that out — it wasn't 
 at all likely. 
 
 "If you won't go," said Quocks, who also knew Legge'a 
 weakness in this respect, " I will." 
 
 " Don't ! Quocks ! — Mr. Quocks ! — don't ! " cried Pokey. 
 "For God's sake, don't do nothing of the sort." 
 
 "Why not?" demanded Quocks. "Hark! hark!" he 
 added, as Sylvester again knocked. " I will go, and that's 
 all about it." 
 
 "Tou shan't/" exclaimed Mrs. Legge, seizing his arm. 
 
 " What do you mean, woman ? " 
 
 " Look at me — Mr. Quocks — pray consider my children." 
 
 Quocks had children of his own. He, therefore, resumed 
 his seat in silence. 
 
 " Well, I'm blowed if / won't go," cried Bobber. 
 
 "Mr. Bobber," said Mrs. Legge, "haven't you a sister 
 depending upon you ? If anything should happen to you 
 what will become of her ? " 
 
 Bobber poured out another glass of ale. 
 
 "Well, but this ought to be seen to," cried Pokey. 
 
366 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "You remember what that young gentleman said? I'll 
 open the door myself." 
 
 "I believe," said Mrs. Legge, "that you have an aged 
 father. Do you vrish him to come to the workhouse ? 
 Beware ! " 
 
 Pokey knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and refilled it. 
 
 " Don't you think that we'd better just ask who it is ? " 
 said Obadiah. 
 
 " You m.a.j open the door, if you like," said Mrs. Legge, 
 who well knew that he dared do nothing of the sort. 
 
 "No," returned Obadiah, "not a bit of it ! / shall not 
 open the door. Why don't you open it ? I've heard that 
 ghosts won't touch virtuous women." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" demanded Legge 
 angrily. 
 
 " Oh ! I meant no offence. I merely said that I had 
 heard that virtuous women were safe." 
 
 " Since it's come to that," cried Mrs. Legge indignantly, 
 " I'll open the door myself, if I die for it." 
 
 Obadiah now seized the poker, and Quocks spat in his 
 hand, in order to grasp his stick firmly, while Pokey and 
 Bobber turned up their cuffs and doubled their fists. 
 
 " Who's there ? " demanded Mrs. Legge. 
 
 " 'Tis I," repUed Sylvester ; " don't be alarmed." 
 
 The bolt was withdrawn, the latch was raised, and in 
 walked Sylvester calmly. 
 
 The moment he entered. Pokey and Bobber resumed 
 their seats, and as Obadiah relinquished the poker, Quocks 
 dropped his stick between his legs and felt better. 
 
 "I've been looking for this ghost," observed Sylvester, 
 "but I can see nothing of it. Have you seen it to- 
 night?" 
 
 "Not to-night, sir," replied Legge. "No, I haven't 
 heard of it to-night." 
 
 "I should like to see it very much indeed. Am I too 
 late to have a little brandy-and- water ? " 
 
 "Oh, dear me — no; not at all, sir." 
 
 " These gentlemen probably will join me ? Suppose, Mr. 
 Legge, we have glasses round ? " 
 
 " If you please, sir," replied Legge, who really felt very 
 much obliged to him ; " warm, sir — or cold ? " 
 
 " Suit the tastes of these gentlemen ; I'll have it cold." 
 
THE SUSPICION. 367 
 
 "But really, sir," observed Quocks, "we don't wish 
 that." 
 
 "You're a good fellow, I believe," returned Sylvester. 
 "It appears to me that you are all good fellows; and as 
 such you'll not refuse to drink with me 1 " 
 
 "Certainly not, sir. We're very much obliged to you, 
 only we don't like to impose on good nature, sir: that's 
 all." 
 
 " If that be all, then, don't say another word about it." 
 
 Legge — who had a brilliant eye to business — ^produced 
 five glasses of brandy-and-water, and Sylvester, on counting 
 them, observed, "You, of course, never drink brandy-and- 
 water yourself ? " 
 
 "Much obliged to you," said Legge, who at once took 
 the hint, but had no more idea of his guest being asleep 
 than he had of his being the " spectre." Nay, it is ques- 
 tionable whether he would have believed it, if he had even 
 been told. 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, " I wonder whether this mysterious 
 swell intends to visit us to-night." 
 
 "The swell, sir," observed Legge; "beg pardon: whom 
 do you mean ? " 
 
 "The ghost!" 
 
 " Oh," cried Legge, who raised a hearty laugh, in which 
 the rest, as a matter of gratitude, joined. "The idea of 
 calling a ghost a swell. Well, I never heard anything better 
 in my life." 
 
 "It's a bon^ fide 'un, that is,'' observed Obadiah. 
 " Julius Caesar couldn't have made a better joke than 
 that." 
 
 "Was Julius Csesar very fond of joking?" inquired 
 Sylvester. 
 
 " Fond of joking 1 What, don't you remember when he 
 and Pompey there welted the Dutch, what a game they 
 haid with 'em ? Why, there wasn't a more fructifying joker 
 in the world; he was the very first original inventor of 
 joking : Joe Miller stole the whole of his jokes from Julius 
 
 " Indeed 1 Well now, I wasn't aware of that." 
 "Oh, yes. Why didn't the Greeks deify him — isn't he 
 the heathen god of joking ? '' 
 
 " Very likely. I thought it had been Momus," 
 
368 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Momus ! Momus was a fool to him. He couldn't hold 
 the candle to Julius Csesar." 
 
 "That's true," observed Sylvester, who was highly- 
 amused. 
 
 "He wasn't fit to tie Julius Csesar's shoe-strings," 
 continued Obadiah. "There isn't a man aUve like him, 
 with the exception of Harry Brougham, and he's a rattler. 
 Put all the Bobby Peels you can find in a lump, and they 
 won't come half up to Harry Brougham." 
 
 " Brougham's a great man," said Sylvester. 
 
 " A great man, sir ! He's a cut above a great man ; he's 
 what I call a boney fide fructifier of freedom. Talk of the 
 Tories. Your Tories can't be put in juxtaposition with 
 him. Look at 'em. What are they? A plundering set 
 of blood-sucking pensioners, screwing a matter of ninety 
 millions a year out of the vitals of the people, and putting 
 men in prison for speaking their mind, while their bishops 
 are living on the fat of the land. Do you call this liberty ? " 
 he continued, rising with the view of giving more emphatic 
 expression to his sentiments. "Do you call this fructifying 
 freedom ? If the people were not most amalgamated fools 
 they'd hang, draw, and quarter the lot. Look at France — 
 would they have it ? Look at Spain — would they stand it ] 
 Look anywhere you hke — I don't care where you look ; take 
 Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, and point out a people 
 groaning under such a heap of national debt, if you can. 
 Look at the currency — there's a currency ! Look at the 
 corn-laws — only look at 'em. Was there ever such a mighty 
 mass of monstrous corruption — isn't it enough to make one's 
 hair stand on end 1 If a man becomes poor he must go to 
 the workhouse and live upon gruel and such like muck, while 
 the very men who have made him poor are swimming in 
 sherry, and port, and champagne. Do you call this justice ? 
 Is this carrying out the eternal principle of equal rights? 
 I'm for all men in the world being equal — why shouldn't 
 they be ? A'n't the poor as good as the rich ? Haven't they 
 got souls and bodies as well as the rich have ? Why should 
 they be crushed? Why should they be ground down and 
 trampled upon ? I'm for an equitable adjustment. I'd have 
 whatever money there is in the country equally divided 
 among us all. It belongs to us all as a matter of right, and 
 therefore we all ought to have it. One man should be just 
 
THE SUSPICION. 369 
 
 as rich as another. The whole system ought to be changed, 
 and it can't be changed without a rattling revolution. A 
 revolution we must have. That would bring the beggarly 
 aristocracy to their senses. That would let your bishops* 
 and your parsons and all the rest of your muck know what's 
 what. We must have a revolution ; and mark my words, 
 when we have one they'll know it. What, isn't it monstrous 
 that we should work and slave to let a limited lot of locusts 
 live in luxury ? Isn't it disgraceful to our intellects as men 
 that we should suffer a parcel of puppet-show paupers to 
 plunder and propagate the people in this way ? Down with 
 them. That's my sentiments ! Down with the lot. We'll 
 have no king — no constitution — no aristocracy ! — strangle 
 them all ! — no bishops — no parsons — no church — no nothing. 
 Down with tjrranny and up with freedom ; fair, fructifying 
 freedom ; unlimited liberty is all we require. Britons never 
 shall be slaves ! " 
 
 " Bravo," cried Sylvester ; " bravo, bravo ! Why are you 
 not in the House ? " 
 
 " The House — the corrupt House of Commons ! If I ever 
 put a foot into such a House as that I should feel it a 
 national disgrace. No ; if it was honest — if it was pure — 
 if it wasn't what it is — a notorious den of thieves, I'd say 
 something to you, but as it's rank, rascally, rampant, and 
 rotten, neither you nor any other" man in Europe will ever 
 catch me there." 
 
 " I hope you've been amused, sir," observed Legge, aloud. 
 
 " I have indeed," replied Sylvester, smiling. 
 
 " Amused, sir," exclaimed Obadiah, who started again to 
 his feet. " Why, when William the Conqueror welted the 
 rrench, he said to Boney, said he, ' Now I'll tell you what 
 itis'"-^ 
 
 "Don't let's have any more speechifying," interrupted 
 Quocks. 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Obadiah contemptu- 
 ously. 
 
 "I'd rather myself hear a song," observed Sylvester; 
 " perhaps you.will give us a song instead 1 " 
 
 "A song. With all my heart," cried Obadiah; "I'm 
 ready for anything in nature. If you want a song, I'm the 
 boy to sing one." 
 
 " You can't sing," observed Pokey. 
 
 2 A 
 
370 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Not sing, you fool. Why, I'm open to sing against any 
 man in Europe, for anything a-side you like to name. Not 
 sing I Why, if you come to that, I'll sing you a song of my 
 own composing. Now then ! " 
 
 " Stop ! " said Sylvester, " you've nothing to drink. Mr. 
 Legge, you'd better replenish these glasses." 
 
 Legge, who was always on the qui vive, did so, when 
 Obadiah put down his pipe, and commenced. "Anybody 
 else," said he, " may call it what he likes, but I, my boys, 
 call it 
 
 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Old Kngland, my Britons, would but for the Tories, 
 
 Be merry and happy and perfectly free : 
 The flat flag of freedom — that emblem of glories — 
 
 "Would wave, but for them, o'er the land and the sea. 
 Her men are so brave, generous, joyous, and witty, 
 
 It's seldom, indeed, you'll discover a rogue. 
 While the girls are so precious, plump, prattling, and pretty, 
 
 If s wonderful bigamy's not more in vogue. 
 
 Tol de rol, lol de rol, lol de rol, diddle lol, 
 Tol de rol, diddle lol, looral-li-day. 
 
 When Peter the Great once came over to welt us. 
 
 With Harry the Eighth, and old Boney to boot, 
 His most valiant soldiers, the moment they smelt us. 
 
 Were struck with such terror — pooh ! — they couldn't shoot. 
 Then hurrah for Old England ! She has boney fide 
 
 A standard of liberty, which when unfurled, 
 Will govern the ocean ! And she's in a tidy 
 
 Good juxtaposition to welt the whole world. 
 
 Tol de rol, lol de rol, lol de rol, diddle lol, 
 Tol de rol, diddle lol, looral-li-day." 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried Sylvester, " bravo ! " 
 
 "What do you think of that, my boys?" exclaimed 
 Obadiah. " That's more than Bobby Peel could do, I'll bet 
 a million." 
 
 " And is it really your own composition ? " said Sylvester. 
 
 " My own, and nobody else's." 
 
 " I shonM like to have a copy of it." 
 
 " That you shall have, with all the plesasure in life, because 
 I know you're a boney fide trump." 
 
 " And wont you let me have a copy ? " said Pokey, 
 
THE SUSPIOION. 371 
 
 " Yes, my brave boy, you shall have a copy, too." 
 
 " And you'll give me a copy, of course ? " said Quocks. 
 
 " Well, I don't miad, because it'll fructify your views." 
 
 " You'll give me one, too," cried Bobber, " wont you 1 " 
 
 " Well you shall have a copy." 
 
 " I tmtst have one," said Legge. 
 
 " How many more of you ? " 
 
 "It's such a very pretty song," said Mrs. Legge archly; 
 " you'll not, of course, refuse to give me a copy of it 1 " 
 
 " Well, I'd better have three or four seeretalies of state 
 down here, just to assist me. But you shall have copies, 
 I'll take care of that ; and you know, if I say that I'll do a 
 thing, I'U do it. There's no mistake at all about me.- I'm 
 John Bull, right up and down straight, and I don't care 
 who knows it j that's another thing, my boys." 
 
 " Well, but how about the ghost ? " suggested Sylvester ; 
 " I'm afraid we shall not see it to-night." 
 
 "The ghost, sir, may come if it likes," said Obadiah, " or 
 keep away if it likes, and do what it likes. I'd extend the 
 eternal principle of liberty, even to a ghost. But, gentle- 
 men," he added, rising, " I've a toast to propose — a toast 
 which I'm sure you'll all fructify in juxtaposition with as 
 ihuch boney fideness as I do. It is a toast, gentlemen, 
 which reflects upon the country the highest national honour 
 a man can feel — a toast which, setting aside all party 
 questions, is, perhaps, the most exuberant manifestation 
 of manhood it's possible for any nation in Europe to show. 
 The mind may amalgamate, the senses may soar, the human 
 heart which beats in the breast of a man may fructify, and 
 fructify, and keep on continually fructifying, till fructifica- 
 tion is lost in the utter annihilation of words ; but the toast 
 I'm about to propose to you, gentlemen, is one which beats 
 all your philosophy hollow. Gentlemen, we have been 
 honoured to-night with the presence of one who shines a 
 lustre in the atmosphere of intellect, and beats metaphysics 
 into fits. He has come amongst us, gentlemen, to illumine 
 our rays, like the rainbow in the heavens, great, glorious, 
 and grammatical. He is, gentlemen, one of that boney fide 
 liobleness of nature in his bosom, which scorns an act of 
 meanness in his nature, and makes his mind throb with 
 bospit&lity. He has, ^eUtMjiienj been with us to-night lik^ 
 a star in the horizon which sheds its refresbmetii? around ; 
 
372 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 and I, as I think that you'll have no difficulty in guessing 
 the party to which I allude, I'll at once, without preface, 
 propose the good health of that boney fide trump, there, by 
 which we've been honoured." 
 
 Cheers, of course, followed this eloquent speech, which so 
 convulsed Sylvester with laughter, that it nearly awoke him. 
 At length, however, assuming a look of gravity, he rose and 
 said — 
 
 " Gentlemen, I duly appreciate the extremely high com- 
 pliment which has just been paid me by our eloquent friend, 
 who is, moreover, a friend to the human race, including 
 Buonaparte, Peter the Great, and Harry Brougham. I call 
 it a bond fide compliment, associated as it has been with 
 fructifying freedom ; and I ought to feel proud of being 
 thus in amalgamating juxtaposition with a statesman 
 whose chief characteristics have been so conspicuously 
 developed." 
 
 " That's the time o' day, my boys," exclaimed Obadiah, 
 as Sylvester, with appropriate gravity, resumed his seat. 
 " They're the words to fructify the bosom of a Briton and 
 touch the ideas of the human heart ! What do you think 
 of that, my boy, eh?" he added, slapping Pokey on the back 
 in a state of ecstacy. " What do you think of that for a 
 boney fide speech ? " 
 
 " It is a boney fide 'un, that," replied Pokey ; " it's what 
 I call splendacious ! " 
 
 The glasses were again replenished, and Obadiah sang 
 another song, at the conclusion of which Sylvester suddenly 
 rose, exclaiming — 
 
 " The ghost — I must see the ghost ! " 
 
 " Oh, stop a little longer, sir, do," said Obadiah. 
 
 " Yes, do, sir," cried Pokey ; " and then we'll go 
 together." 
 
 " It may be there now," resumed Sylvester, whose eyes 
 became fixed. " I must go and see." 
 
 " Well, come back again for five minutes," cried Obadiah"; 
 " do come back again, if it's only merely just to say good 
 night." 
 
 Sylvester, who had by this time reached the door, left the 
 house, and walked deliberately home ; and having undressed 
 himself, got into bed, and adjusted the string round his 
 ankle again. 
 
THE VILLAGE FAIR. 373 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE VILLAGE FAIR. 
 
 In the morning Sylvester's very first object was to ascertain 
 whether the string was all right, and on finding that it was, 
 he felt, of course, perfectly sure that he had not been out of 
 bed. 
 
 This evidence, however, was not alone sufiicient to con- 
 vince him that he was not a somnambulist. He had first to 
 learn whether the " ghost " had reappeared. If it had, then 
 the evidence of the string might be held to be conclusive ; 
 but if it had not — if nothing of a mysterious character had 
 occurred — he felt that he should be still in a state of un- 
 certainty, seeing that he might be in reality a somnambulist, 
 and yet not walk every night. 
 
 He, therefore, rose and dressed hastily, and being extremely 
 anxious to make the necessary inquiries, went to Judkins, 
 who was then in the garden. 
 
 " Well, Judkins," said he, " have you heard any more 
 about the ghost 1 " 
 
 "No, sir, I don't think he came at all last night; least- 
 ways, I haven't heard nothing about it, and I know, if he 
 had, I should have heard afore this. I wonder what it wants 
 a-coming poking about here, a-frightening people in this 
 here manner. I expect there's some money hid somewhere, 
 or else there's been a murder committed, one of the two. - 
 It wouldn't come here, you know, for nothing, sir, would 
 it?" 
 
 " It must have some object, I should thinJc." 
 
 " Them's the very words I said to Legge yesterday. Says 
 I, ' You may take your oath it don't come here for nothing ; ' 
 and he agreed with me. Depend upon it, sir, there's some- 
 thing dreadful on the mind of that ghost. I remember, sir, 
 a ghost came here somewhere about five years ago — you may 
 have heard tell of it, perhaps ? — well, that played the devil's 
 oivn tricks : took the horses out of the stable — flew all over 
 the country — frightened people into fits, and kicked up Bob's 
 delight ! I expect the parson laid it at last, for we haven't 
 seen nothing on it since." 
 
374, SYLVESTER BOUND. 
 
 "Was that about ^ue years ago? " inquired Sylvester, who 
 felt his suspicion confirmed. 
 
 "Let me see," replied Judkins, leaning thoughtfully on 
 his spade. " Mve years ! To be sure — it's more than five 
 years. I've had these here breeches above five years, and 
 they was made because the others was found in the pickle- 
 tub shrunk up to nothing, so as I couldn't pull 'em on. It 
 was five year last fall, sir — that was the time. I remember 
 now — they cost me fourteen-and-sixpenoe, and Pokey, down 
 here, was the man which made 'em. That was a rum start, 
 that was 1 Up to this blessed day I could never make out 
 how they got into that precious tub. I thought, at first, 
 that cook put 'em there to spit her spite, but I don't think, 
 now, that she could have been so vicious. No ; it must have 
 been the ghost — leastways, I think so; if that didn't put 
 'em there, I don't know who did. Why, let me see," he 
 added, " five years ! — why, you was down here at the time ; 
 to be sure you was ! Don't you remember, sir ! Don't you- 
 remember coming up to me and asking me whether I wouldn't 
 put your tromers on ? Why, that was the very time, sir — 
 don't you recollect 1 " 
 
 " I do remember something of the sort," replied Sylvester. 
 " But," he added, being anxious to check these reminiscences, 
 lest they should tend to inspire Judkins with suspicion, 
 " how do the peaches get on ? " 
 
 " Capital, sir ; they'll be beauties this year, sir. Just 
 look at 'em. Loaded, sir — look here. There can't be 
 finer than them. I expect to beat the parson this year. 
 I never see bigger beauties yet. Don't you remember 
 when you was here five years ago, sir, the parson would 
 have it that he catched you on the wall, sir, a tucking in 
 his'n?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Sylvester, smiling, "I remember that 
 well." 
 
 " That was a rum start, too," resumed Judkins. " How 
 he did believe it was you, to be sure. He was satisfied 
 afterwards, certainly he was ; but Jones will have it it was 
 you to this day ; and he'll die in the belief, I expect, for you 
 can't drive it out of him no how." 
 
 Mary at this moment entered the garden with a note, 
 addressed " To S. Sound, Esquire, Junior." Sylvester smiled 
 as he opened this note and proceeded to read as follows : — 
 
THE VILLAGE FAIB. 375 
 
 " Sir, — It gives me great pleasure to have the honour of 
 presenting the song of my own composing as promised. My 
 ideas were not perhaps fructifying much when I wrote it : 
 but if placed in juxtaposition with some, it may not ama,lga- 
 mate amiss. It is boney fide my own, and as such 
 
 " I have the honour to be, 
 "Sir, 
 " With great respect, 
 " And high esteem, 
 " Your most obedient, 
 " And most humble 
 
 " Servant, 
 " Obadiah Drant." 
 
 " P.S. I shall be at the Crumpet to-night, about nine ; 
 and if you should be there, I should feel highly honoured to 
 see you." 
 
 Here followed the song of " Old England," which Sylvester 
 read as a matter of course, and then asked himself what it 
 all meant. He couldn't understand it at all. " It gives me 
 great pleasure to have the honour of presenting the song of 
 my own composing, as promised I " What could the man 
 mean by sending it, " as promised " ? "I shall be at the 
 Crumpet to-night about nine ! " Did he expect him to go 
 to the Crumpet to meet him ? 
 
 "JudMns," said Sylvester, having endeavoured to solve 
 this small mystery in vain. " Judkins, do you know a man 
 named Obadiah Drant ? " 
 
 " Know him, sir ! I think I do, rather. He's a lunatic, 
 sir — that's my belief — a political lunatic. He'd talk a 
 horse's hind leg off, sir ; and then wouldn't be quiet. He's 
 always contin'ally at it ! Chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter 
 — gabble, gabble, gabble ! He's a wonder, sir — a political 
 wonder." 
 
 "Why apolitical wonder ? " 
 
 " Cause, sir, he's always talking politics." 
 
 " But he's a poet as well, is he not 1 " 
 
 " I never see none of his poetry. If he does write poetry, 
 he takes care to stuff lots of politics in it, I'll warrant I 
 
376 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Then you think he's insane ? " 
 
 "Why, sir, I couldn't, we'll say, prove him to be exactly 
 that ; but it's my belief a man in his proper senses ■would 
 never go on at the rate he does. You should just hear him 
 talk, sir ; you'd never forget it. He has got a lot of jaw- 
 cracking words at his fingers' ends, and he stuffs 'em in any 
 how, and no how." 
 
 Sylvester was now summoned to breakfast, and on enter- 
 ing the parlour with the note in his hand, he said — 
 
 " Aunt ! I have received a highly important .commvmica- 
 tion this morning, from one of your neighbours." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear 1 Of what nature ? " 
 
 " Here it is ! perhaps you would like to look at it." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor, with an expression of anxiety, opened the 
 note J and having read, exclaimed — 
 
 "What in earth could have induced him to send this to 
 you ? " 
 
 " I can't imagine," replied Sylvester. " But read the 
 song." 
 
 She did so, and laughed most heartily. 
 
 •' Tol de rol, lol de rol, lol de ro], liddle lol, 
 Tol de rol, diddle lol, looral-li-day I " 
 
 " What is the meaning of all that, my dear ? " 
 
 " That's the chorus," said Sylvester. 
 
 " Oh ! the chorus ; I understand," she exclaimed, and 
 merrily laughed again. 
 
 "I'll show this to Rouse, when he comes," said Sylvester. 
 
 " No, my dear; you must not do that." 
 
 " Why not 1 He'll be amused." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " 
 
 " He's sure to be. Besides, he ought to know what a 
 genius he has in his fold." 
 
 " I fear that this person is not in his fold. I do not 
 believe he belongs to the flock. I never saw him at church 
 in my life." 
 
 " Judkins believes him to be insane." 
 
 " It is possible ; but I never before heard it even hinted. 
 But he says here, my dear, that he presents the song ' as 
 promised.' Did he ever promise to send a thing of the 
 kind ? " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
THE VILLAGE FAIR. 377 
 
 " Then the inference is that he must be insane. But we 
 shall hear what Mr. Bouse says about him." 
 
 They then sat down to breakfast, and while they were at 
 it, Sylvester highly amused his aunt by occasionally chanting 
 this celebrated chorus. 
 
 " We must have this song set to music," said he. " You 
 can do it admirably. It's a capital song. There's plenty of 
 scope for the development of musical genius ; for example, 
 those two happy lines — 
 
 ' While the girls are so precious, plump, prattling, and pretty, 
 , It's wonderful bigamy's not more in vogue — ' " 
 
 " Sylvester ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, "my dear.'' 
 " Oh ! but they are excellent ; and might be rendered very 
 effective. I don't know exactly whether he means ' precious 
 plump,' or 'plump and precious,' but that you'll see. And 
 then what effect may be given to these lines — 
 
 ' "Will govern the ocean, and she's in a tidy 
 Good juxtaposition to welt the whole world ! ' " 
 
 " Sylvester ! How can you go on so ? You will not let 
 me have half a breakfast." 
 
 " Well, but look at the ' tidy good juxtaposition.' There's 
 a chance for a musical composer ! " 
 
 " But what does he mean by the word ' welt V" 
 
 " To welt, is to beat — to conquer. It ought to have been, 
 perhaps, ' to towel the world ; ' but ' welt ' wiU do. And then, 
 ' the flat flag of freedom ! ' there's another opportimity. 
 You have but to mark the note flat over the word, and 
 there you are. But the thing might be studded with 
 musical effects : and I submit that, as he has presented us 
 with the song, we ought, as a matter of courtesy, to present 
 him with the music." 
 
 " We shall have Mr. Rouse here lefore we have finished 
 breakfast. I know that we shall." 
 
 " You are right ; here he is," said Sylvester, as the re- 
 verend gentleman passed through the gate, and Aunt Eleanor 
 felt — as she always did feel when he first appeared — some- 
 what confused. 
 
 As soon as the first cordial meeting was over, Sylvester 
 said, " I have received a letter this morning." 
 
378 SFLVESTEB SOUND. 
 
 "Containing some good news, I hope," observed the 
 reverend gentleman anxiously. 
 
 " Why it contains no bad news." 
 
 " I'm happy to hear it." 
 
 " Do you like poetry ? " 
 
 " I'm very fond of poetry ; the poetry of the Scriptures, 
 especially ; there's a great deal of poetry in the Scriptures, 
 and that, too, of the most sublime character. David's lament, 
 for example, in the first chapter of the Second Book of 
 Samuel, is beautiful and touching in the extreme : — ' The 
 beauty of Israel is slain ! ' and again, ' Ye mountains of 
 Gilboa, let there be no more dew ; neither let there be rain 
 upon you, nor fields of offerings : for there the shield of the 
 mighty is vilely cast away, the shield of Saul, as though 
 he had not been anointed with oil. From the blood of the 
 slain, from the fat of the mighty, the bow of Jonathan 
 turned not back, and the sword of Saul returned not empty. 
 Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, 
 and in their death they were not divided : they were swifter 
 than eagles, they were stronger than lions.' And then the 
 conclusion, ' How are the mighty fallen in the midst of 
 the battle ! Jonathan, thou wast slain in thine high 
 places. I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan : 
 very pleasant hast thou been unto me ; thy love to me was 
 wonderful, passing the love of women. How are the mighty 
 fallen, and the weapons of war perished 1 " 
 
 The fervour and solemnity with which these beautiful 
 passages were delivered, prompted Sylvester to put Obadiah's 
 communication into his pocket. 
 
 "This," continued the reverend gentleman, "is but one 
 example : the Scriptures are stvdded with gems equally 
 sublime. But why did you ask if I were a lover of 
 poetry ? " 
 
 " Because I have a piece to show you ; but it is of so 
 different a character that I must defer it for a time." 
 
 "Why not show it to me now — without variety what 
 were life ? It is perhaps a laughable piece ? Well, I can 
 weep with David or laugh with. Swift. What is the nature 
 of it — let me see it now? But first — and this is perhaps 
 of more importance — you said you had a letter j what was 
 that ? " 
 
 "That and the poetry are intimately connected — they 
 
THE VILLAGE FAIR. 379 
 
 come from the same source. The letter, in fact, has refer- 
 ence to the poetry." 
 
 " Then why not let me see it at once ! " 
 
 " Well, as you appear to be somewhat anxious about it, 
 there it is : but read the poetry first." 
 
 The reverend gentleman adjusted his spectacles, and as- 
 suming the expression of a stem critic commenced. 
 
 " ' Tol de rol ' — what this ? " said he, on arriving at th^ 
 chorus. « ' Tol,' eh ? ' Tol de rol,' what ? ' Tol de rol, IpJ 
 de rol, lol de rol, diddle lol,' — why, what's the meaning of 
 all this ? " 
 
 Sylvester couldn't answer him. He was so convulsed 
 with laughter that he went round and round the room, 
 holding his sides, while Aimt Eleanor perspired with the 
 utmost freedom as she twisted and tortured herself on the 
 couch. 
 
 "Well," resumed the reverend gentleman, whose gravity 
 was still imperturbable, " let's try ag^n : we may perhaps 
 make something of it by-and-by. It's some foreign lan- 
 guage, 1. presume 1 'Tol de rol — no — ' looral-li-day 1 ' I 
 can make nothing* of it. Well, we'll pass that for the 
 present. Let's go on. Here we are again," he added, 
 having got to the end of the second verse : " here's some 
 more 'tol de rol.' I can't understand it; — what on earth 
 are you laughing at ? " he exclaimed, as Sylvester burst into 
 a roar. 
 
 " ' Tol de rol's ' the chorus," cried Sylvester. 
 
 "The chorus? Oh, I see: 'Tol de rol, lol de lol'-^ 
 exactly." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor, being utterly unable to endure it, left the 
 room. 
 
 " Well, and whose composition is this ? " inquired the 
 reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Read the note," said Sylvester, " read that now." 
 
 The reverend gentleman calmly proceeded to do so, but 
 when he came to the name, he was filled at once with indig- 
 nation and amazement. 
 
 " What ! " he exclaimed, " is it possible that you are in 
 communication with this man. Why, he's a heretic; he 
 never comes to church, nor does he ever go to any other 
 place of worship. It surely cannot be possible that you 
 associate with such a man as this." 
 
38o SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "/know nothing of the man," said Sylvester, whose con- 
 vulsions were by this time subdued. 
 
 " But he here says that he sends this according to 
 promise.'' 
 
 " And what he means by that I can't imagine. I never 
 received a promise from him." 
 
 " Why, the impudent fellow ! Stop a minute ; here's a 
 postscript — ' I shall be at the Crumpet to-night about nine : ' 
 why he writes as if he expected you to meet him. Well, of 
 all the effrontery I ever heard or read of : but I'll see about 
 it — I'll see about this ; I've long wished for an opportunity 
 of speaking to this man, and this is one which I'll certainly 
 embrace." 
 
 "But he's insane, I understand." 
 
 " Insane ! Not he. No, no, no, he's not insane. I know 
 him well — alas : too well I know him. But however he 
 could have had the unblushing impudence to write to you I 
 can't conceive. But Til see him on the subject. Do not 
 name this my intention to your aunt, or she'U probably 
 persuade me to have nothing to do with him ; but I really 
 do feel myself bound to check this unexampled insolence, and 
 at the same time — if possible — to reclaim him. You received 
 it this morning ? " 
 
 "Yes; just before breakfast." 
 
 "Very well — very well. I'll give him such a lecture. 
 The Crumpet — tchoo ! However, I'll see about it." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor now re-entered the room. She felt much 
 better, although still in pain : her cheeks were rosy, and 
 tears were in her eyes. She was, moreover, still very 
 warm. 
 
 " Have you made out the chorus yet ? " she inquired. 
 
 "We have certainly made it out," replied the reverend 
 gentleman. " But did you ever in your life hear of such 
 consummate impudence as that which prompted this man to 
 send a thing of that kind here ? " 
 
 " Oh, I daresay that he thinks it excessively clever. He 
 is evidently proud of its being his own — and I've no doubt 
 at all that it is." 
 
 " But the idea — the impudent idea — of his sending it to 
 Sylvester : that's what I look at." 
 
 " He, perhaps, conceived that Sylvester was the only one 
 here who could appreciate its beauty, and he's not a man 
 
THE VILLAGE FAIR. 381 
 
 who imagines that he was 'born to blush unseen.' "We 
 must forgive these little exhibitions of vanity. They are 
 really too ridiculous to excite anger. The song has amused 
 me amazingly : I have not had so hearty a laugh for a long 
 time." 
 
 " There is," said the reverend gentleman, " in your char- 
 acter but one trait of which I have reason to complain, and 
 which is this : that you invariably take a too charitable view 
 of the moral delinquencies of those around you. If you 
 cannot conceive any actual excuse, you are sure to find 
 something in extenuation. You are too good to live in 
 this world : that's the only fault I have to find with you. 
 If you had the absolute 7iile, you would wrest the sword 
 from the hand of justice and administer nothing but 
 mercy." 
 
 " Cotherstone Grange is the place for compliments, after 
 all," observed Sylvester. 
 
 " Nay, but it's the truth," resumed the reverend gentleman. 
 " It is invai'iably the case. If she were to fill the office 
 of chief magistrate — an office for which she is not by nature 
 qualified — we should have all mercy and no justice. Yovi 
 perceive she endeavours to palliate the insolence of this man, 
 even after he has had the effrontery to state that he'll be 
 at 'the Crumpet' at nine, and to intimate clearly that he 
 expects you to meet him." 
 
 " Are you quite sure," said Aunt Eleanor, as Sylvester 
 left the room smUing — " quite sure that this poor unhappy 
 man is not insane 1 " 
 
 "There you are again, my dear Eleanor ! He is not in- 
 sane. Besides, he's a bad man. He never comes to church ; 
 there's no religion in him." 
 
 " Is not that a jn-oof of his insanity ? " 
 
 This puzzled the reverend gentleman. He felt unable to 
 get over it. He, therefore, smiled, and kissed Aunt Eleanor, 
 and exclaimed — 
 
 " God bless you, my dear : you are a kind, good creature 1 
 We'll say no more about it." 
 
 This defeat, however, did not at all interfere with that 
 which the reverend gentleman conceived to be his duty. He 
 was still resolved to speak to Obadiah on the subject ; and 
 in pursuance of this resolution, he, on seeing him with Pokey 
 
382 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 in the course of the morning, rode up to him, with an 
 appropriate expression of severity. 
 
 "Here comes Ted," said Obadiah, as' the reverend 
 gentleman approached. "I wonder what he's up to. 
 There's something in the wind, safe. He's coming to talk 
 to you." 
 
 " Or to you," observed Pokey. 
 
 " To me 1 He knows better : I should just Uke to catch 
 him at it. Wouldn't I walk ia ! " 
 
 "Mr. Drant," said the reverend gentleman solemnly, as 
 Pokey touched his hat, and passed on, "I am desirous of 
 having a word with you." 
 
 "Yery well, sir," returned Obadiah, who didn't at the 
 moment feel exactly self-possessed. " What is it, sir ? " 
 
 " Is this your handwriting J " demanded the reverend 
 gentleman, producing the letter containing the song. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; that's my hand," replied Obadiah. 
 
 " Then, sir, let me ask, how you dared to' send a letter of 
 this description to Mr. Sound, accompanied too by this low 
 tfashy song 1 " 
 
 " / can see nothing low and trashy about it." 
 
 " It is low and trashy ; and if it were not, how dared you 
 presume, sir, to send it to him 1 " 
 
 " I presumed, sir, to send it to him because he wished me 
 to do so." 
 
 " What, sir-^what ? " 
 
 " Because he liked it so much, when he heard me sing it, 
 that he asked me to let him have a copy." 
 
 " Is it possible that you can stand here, sir, and look me 
 in the face, and unblushingly tell me such a falsehood as 
 that ? " 
 
 " It is not a falsehood. I sent it at his own request." 
 
 " Have you forgotten the fate of Ananias ? Have you no 
 care for your immortal soul? Why do you not come to 
 church, sir 1 " 
 
 " That has got nothing to do with the song. Let's settle 
 that point of the compass first. I say that he, honey fldey, 
 asked me to let him have a copy of ' Old England I ' " 
 
 "When, sirT' 
 
 "Why, last night." 
 
 "Aftdwbeve?" 
 
THE VILLAGE FAIR. 383 
 
 "At the Crumpet." 
 
 "Are you mad?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it! I suppose I know whether he was 
 there or not ? My mind don't amalgamate to such an extent, 
 neither, as not to know that ! " 
 
 "Do you mean, then, solemnly to assert that he, Mr. 
 Sound, was with you there last night ? " 
 
 " To be sure I do ! He was there last night, and stood 
 brandy-and-water all round like a-fruotifying trump as he 
 is ! " 
 
 "Like a what?" 
 
 " Like a fructifying trump 1 a good honey fide fellow ! 
 He's worth a million of your proud upstart muck, which 
 turn up their noses at honest men, because they don't 
 belong to the pauper aristocracy, which sucks so many 
 millions out of their vitals." 
 
 "I don't understand this language," said the reverend 
 gentleman; "nor was I speaking of the aristocracy. I 
 wished to know whether you meant to assert that Mr. Sound 
 was in company with you last night ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, he was ; I do mean to assert it." 
 
 " And to that assertion you intend to adhere % " 
 
 " Of couse I do, because it's the truth." 
 
 " Have a care — have a care ! "■ cried the reverend gentle- 
 man. " You may not live to repent. You know, sir, that 
 he was not there." 
 
 " I know that he was." 
 
 " I do not believe it." 
 
 "I can't help that, sir; no man in Europe can help it. 
 He was there, sir, whether you believe it or not. Why, he 
 was there tUl past twelve." 
 
 " Monstrous ! " exclaimed the reverend gentleman, who 
 really felt appalled. " I tremble for you ! — you are incorri- 
 gible ! " 
 
 " Well," said Obadiah, "have it your own way, if you will. 
 I know what I know, sir, and that's all about it. I wish 
 you a very good morning." 
 
 The reverend gentleman was so much amazed that before 
 he knew either what to say or how td act, Obadiah had got 
 a cohsiderable distance; and even when he had somewhat 
 recovered his faculties, he continued to sit as motionless as 
 Irresolution's statue. Eventually, however, he turned his 
 
384 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 horse's head, and rode on to the Common, with the view of 
 reflecting upon all that had passed, and deciding on what 
 was then best to be done ; while Obadiah proceeded to the 
 Crumpet and Crown, to tell the news to his friends, who at 
 once crowded round him. 
 
 " Well," cried Pokey, " well, well— what did he want ? " 
 
 " Want ! " exclaimed Obadiah. " He wanted to do as good 
 as swear me out of my Christian name." 
 
 " Well, but what was his object 1 " demanded Legge. 
 
 "Why, his object, my boy, was to make me believe that 
 young Mr. Sound was not with us last night drinking brandy- 
 and- water." 
 
 " What ! " cried Legge angrily, " did you tell him that he 
 was?" 
 
 " Of course I did ; and stuck to it, too, like a Briton." 
 
 "What right," cried Legge, "had you to teU him that? 
 Do you think that he wanted tJiem to know where he was ? 
 Can no man come to enjoy himself for an hour without its 
 being known all over the place, you chattering fool ? Had 
 he even come in here and drank his glass to himself, you 
 would have had no right to name it, but as he behaved so 
 handsomely, and as you with the rest partook — and freely 
 too — of that which he ordered and paid for, you ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself." 
 
 " Shame ! — shame ! " cried the rest. " Shame ! — shame 1 
 It is shameful ! " 
 
 " Stop a bit, my boys," said Obadiah ; " sto^ a bit. Til 
 soon fructify your ideas on that point." 
 
 " Fructify ! " cried Liegge, who was very indignant. " It 
 would serve you right if we fructified yotir ideas, and that 
 through the horse-pond." 
 
 "So it would ! — so it would ! " cried all the rest. " It's 
 shameful ; that it is — shamefvil ! " 
 
 " Now you're all about &ve-a.nd-twenti/ minutes too fast," 
 said Obadiah. "If you will but just listen, I'll clear it all 
 up" 
 
 " You'll never clear thcd up," exclaimed Legge, " I 
 know." 
 
 " Now, just look you here. Me and Pokey was walking 
 and talking together ; well, who should come up but Teddy 
 Rouse. 'Mr. Drant,' said he, 'I want to speak to you.' 
 ' Very well,' says I ; ' what's the row 1' 'Is this your hand- 
 
THE VILLAGE FAIR. 385 
 
 writing 1 ' says he. ' Yes,' says I, ' it Is.' ' Then, how dare 
 you,' says he, ' to send this letter with such muck as that to 
 Mr. Sound t ' " 
 
 " What letter — what muck ? " demanded Legge. 
 
 " Why, he asked me last night — didn't he 1 — to give him 
 a copy of my song. Very well, then — I wrote it out and 
 sent it this morning, and that Avith a very polite note. 
 Well. ' How dare you send it to him 1 ' says he. ' Because,' 
 says I, ' he wished me to do so.' ' When ? ' says he. ' Last 
 night,' says I. ' Where ? ' says he. ' At the Crumpet,' 
 says I. ' It's false,' says he, ' he wasn't there.' ' I know 
 better,' says I, ' I know he was, and stood brandy-and-water 
 all round,' and so we went on ; he saying it was false, and I 
 saying it was true, until I became so disgusted that I left 
 him." 
 
 "Disgusted!" cried Legge. "You're a fool. What did 
 you want to stick to it for, when you found that he wouldn't 
 believe it ? You'd no right to say that Mr. Sound was here 
 at all." 
 
 " Well, but how did the parson get hold of the letter ? " 
 said Quocks, " that's what 7 want to know." 
 
 " Oh, I see how it was," returned Legge. " This fool sent 
 the letter to the cottage, and it fell into the hands of Mrs. 
 Sound, who showed it to Rouse, as a matter of course ; and 
 a pretty mess the young man's got into, no doubt." 
 
 "Well, now," said Quocks, "I don't know, but I don't 
 think there's anything disgraceful in the fact of a man coming 
 here to enjoy himself for an hour, do you ? " 
 
 " No, Quocks," said Legge, " there may be nothing dis- 
 graceful in the fact, but we must look at it with reference to 
 his position. You would not like to frequent the beer-shop 
 behind." 
 
 " No, I certainly should not." 
 
 " And if you did — although there might be nothing dis- 
 graceful in the fact — your friends would in all probability 
 fhinJc that you should aim at something higher. That young 
 man enjoyed himself here last night ; if he hadn't, he 
 wouldn't have stopped so long ; but his friends-^-and more 
 especially Mr. Rouse— doubtless think that it is not a proper 
 place for him to come to. We must look at the position a 
 man occupies." 
 
 " I see," said Quocks; " I see. Oh, I see 1 " 
 
 2 B 
 
386 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " But I don't see," cried Obadiah. 
 
 " You don't see," said Legge contemptuously. "You can 
 see to make mischief. I wouldn't have had it known that 
 that young man was here standing brandy-and-water — as 
 ■ you told Rouse — for five times the money he spent." 
 
 " Well, but Teddy didn't believe me." 
 
 " You say that you stuck to it." 
 
 " And so I did. But he thought it was false : and he 
 thinks so stiU. Mr. Sound, no doubt, denied it. And — as it 
 proved — he believed him and not me." 
 
 " If I were sure of that I'd deny it too,'' said Quocks. 
 
 " And so would I," cried Pokey. 
 
 " Well, but how can we manage it ? " said Legge. " How 
 is it to be done ? " 
 
 This was the question : and while they were engaged in 
 discussing it, the reverend gentleman — who, after due deli- 
 beration, had decided on calling upon Legge, with the view 
 of ascertaining whether Obadiah's statement was, or was not 
 false — rode up to the door. 
 
 " I've heen told," said he, when Legge went out to speak 
 to him, " that young Mr. Sound was here drinking last 
 night." 
 
 " Who told you that, sir ? " demanded Legge. 
 
 " Drant— Obadiah Drant." 
 
 " Obadiah Drant ! " said Legge, with a contemptuous 
 expression ; " why you surely don't believe a word he says ? " 
 
 " Well, I certainly did not believe that," returned the 
 reverend gentleman ; " and I told him at the time that I 
 didn't believe it ; and yet I thought it strange — very strange 
 ■ — that he should adhere to his assertion so firmly." 
 
 "Oh, he'll assert anything, sir, that man will. His 
 word's not worth a rush. Had he spread a report that you 
 were here drinking last night, sir, I shouldn't have been in 
 the slightest degree astonished." 
 
 " Why, he must be a very bad man." 
 
 " He's not a bit too good, sir : depend upon that. But 
 no one takes notice of anything that he says, and I'm 
 quite sure that nothing that he can say is worth your 
 attention." 
 
 " Well, he's a bad man — a very bad man. I am sorry 
 to find that there's a man in my parish so bad. Good day, 
 Mr. Legge." 
 
THE VILLAGE FAIR. 387 
 
 " I wish you good day, sir." 
 
 " If you see that wretched man, tell him from me that I 
 hold his conduct in abhorrence." 
 
 "I will, sir," replied Legge ; " depend upon that." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then rode towards the cottage, 
 and Legge returned to the room, in which he found Obadiah 
 secured by Quocks, Bobber, and Pokey. The cause of this 
 may be briefly explained. Obadiah had heard all that 
 passed \ outside ; and, conceiving himself to be an ill-used 
 man, became so highly indignant, that he was about to rush 
 out and spoil all, with a view to his own complete justifica- 
 tion, when Quocks and Bobber seized him, and held him 
 in a chair, while brave Pokey stopped up his mouth with 
 a towel. 
 
 " Well ! " he exclaimed, on being released, " you've done 
 it. Haven't you 1 You amalgamated nicely ! Didn't you ? 
 What ! do you think that I'm going to stand this ? Do you 
 imagine that I'm going to be made the scapegoat of that 
 young wretch in this here sort of manner ? " 
 
 " Do you call this gratitude," cried Pokey, " after drink- 
 ing his brandy-and- water ? " 
 
 " As for you," said Obadiah, with a most ferocious aspect, 
 "I've as great a mind to give you a regular honey fide good 
 welting as I ever had in my life, mind you that. If you 
 ever touch me again- — if you ever dare to lay so much as 
 a finger upon me, I'll welt you till you can't see out of 
 your eyes." 
 
 " Well, but how is this 1 " said Legge. " Haven't I heard 
 you say, five hundred times, that you cared no more for 
 Teddy Bouse than you did for Bobby Peel ? " 
 
 " Nor do I. Care for him ! Why should I care ? What's 
 Teddy Rouse to me ? Care for him, indeed ! " 
 
 " Well, it appears that you do care for him, or you 
 wouldn't be so angry at what I said." 
 
 " Do you think that I'm going to have my character 
 taken away then " 
 
 " Your what ! " exclaimed Quocks — " your character. If 
 you can find a man who can take away your character, pay 
 him well : he'll deserve all you give him." 
 
 "Indeed ! I owe you nothing : so you needn't call out go 
 loud. But if any man in Europe lays the function to his 
 
3'88 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 soul that I'll stand -being made the greatest liar that ever 
 walked, he's mistaken." 
 
 "Well, the thing's done now," said Legge. 
 
 " Yes, it is done, but I'll call on Ted." 
 
 " And being done, I think we'd better drop it." 
 
 " Drop it ! Yea, it's all mighty fine to say drop it ; but I 
 won't let it drop. And you — you little wretch," he added, 
 turning to Bobber, " for two pins I'd tan you ! " 
 
 "Tan me/" cried Bobber, who was not at all afraid of 
 him ; " you talk like an old woman generally, but now you 
 are talking like a child." 
 
 " Well, come," said Quocks, " it's all over now : let's 
 drink and forget it." 
 
 Legge brought in some beer, and endeavoured to pacify 
 the incensed one, but Obadiah threatened still to call upon 
 " Ted." As, however, he seldom carried his threats into 
 execution, Legge had not the slightest fear of his doing so 
 in this case, well knowing that as " Ted " never gave him an 
 order he was a man whom — above all other men alive — 
 Obadiah abhorred. 
 
 Meanwhile the reverend gentleman was anxiously waiting 
 an opportunity of explaining to Sylvester the result of his 
 interview with Obadiah, whom he conceived to be utterly 
 irreclaimable. It was evening, however, before an opportu- 
 nity occurred ; but when it did occur, the reverend gentleman 
 embraced it, and said — 
 
 " Well, I've seen that wretched man ! " 
 
 " What, the author of ' Old England ? ' " 
 
 " Yes ; I've had a long talk with him." 
 
 " Have you ? Well, what did he say ? " 
 
 " Why he absolutely had the audacity to tell me that you 
 were at the public-house with him last night, drinking 
 brandy-and-water till past twelve o'clock." 
 
 " What ! "■ 
 
 " It's a positive fact, that he declared that you were there, 
 treating them all, as he said, ' like a trump ? ' " 
 
 " The animal ! Why, I went to bed soon after ten." 
 
 " He moreover told me that his reason for sending that 
 song to you this morning was, that you heard him sing it 
 last night, and admired it so much, that you begged of him 
 to send you a copy of it." 
 
THE VILLAGE.FAIB. 3S9 
 
 " Oh, the man must be mad. I never heard him sing I 
 But, of course, you don't imagine for a moment that I 
 was there ? " 
 
 "I have ascertained beyond all doubt that you were 
 not; for, in order to satisfy my mind upon that point, I 
 called upon Legge "- 
 
 " And of course, he told you "- 
 
 " Oh, yes, at once ; and like a sensible man, treated 
 the whole matter with contempt. Why, he absolutely 
 told me that he should not have felt astonished if this 
 man had spread a report that / was there drinking brandy- 
 and-water ! Why you know this is a very awful state for 
 a. man's mind to be in." 
 
 "The man miist be insane." 
 
 " He is wicked, sir — desperately wicked. Such conduct 
 can be ascribed to wickedness alone. But I'll not give 
 him up : I must not give him up. I must not suffer his 
 soul to be lost." 
 
 " Why, let me see," said Sylvester thoughtfully, " you 
 were here last night till nearly ten o'clock." 
 
 " It wanted twelve minutes to ten when I left." 
 
 " I was in bed and asleep in less than half an hour after 
 that." 
 
 " Oh, the idea of you being there is perfectly ridiculous. 
 But that man must be reclaimed. You see it's dreadful, 
 when you come to reflect upon it — positively dreadful ! I 
 understand his word is not at any time to be taken : 
 that it's not worth a rush : that he never speaks the 
 truth, and that no one believes him. Why you know 
 this continual commission of sin must, of necessity, have 
 its effect. However, if he is to be reclaimed, I'll reclaim 
 him." 
 
 Sylvester — notwithstanding the reverend gentleman had 
 thus expressed his conviction that he was not the previous 
 night at the Crumpet and Crown — reflected deeply upon 
 all that he had heard in connection with the idea of his 
 being a somnambulist, and the immediate result of that 
 reflection was the confirmation of his suspicion. 
 
 " And yet," thought he, subsequently, " Legge must know 
 whether I was there or not; and as he says that I was 
 not there, I have a right to infer that the statement of 
 this Drant is false. Besides, how is it possible that I could 
 
390 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 have been there ? The string was round my ankle when 
 I woke this morning, precisely as I tied it round last night, 
 and, of course, the idea of my having been able to leave the 
 room with that on, or even to get out of bed, is absurd. 
 It is certainly strange that this report should have been 
 circulated just at this time. But then the fact of its being 
 strange afiEords no proof. When suspicions of any descrip- 
 tion have been engendered, the slightest occurrences tend 
 to confirm them. I shall- now be apt, doubtless, to attri- 
 bute every circumstance that occurs to this imagined som- 
 nambulism, as readily as a non-professional man who, on 
 reading a medical work, conceives that he has the disease 
 described. I must, notwithstanding, be satisfied ; and until 
 I am satisfied, I'll not only tie the string to my ankle 
 every night, but I'll lock my room door, and hide the 
 key." 
 
 Had Sylvester referred to his purse — out of which he 
 had paid for the brandy-and-water — it might have thrown 
 a little more light upon the subject : but this didn't occur 
 to him ; he tried to believe that Obadiah's assertions were 
 utterly false, and on retiring that night, he looked the 
 door, placed the key in his writing desk, locked that, and 
 then put it under his bed. 
 
 But this was of no use at all. In less than an hour after 
 he had fallen asleep, he released his ankle, dressed himself, 
 got the key out of the desk, opened the dooi-, and left the 
 house with the utmost deliberation ; and yet, in the morn- 
 ing, when he awoke, he found his ankle secured, the key 
 in his desk, and the desk itself in precisely the same place 
 as that in which he had the previous night left it. 
 
 And thus he acted night after night — adjusting the string 
 and hiding the key, which he found and hid again, without 
 having, when awake, even the most remote idea of the fact 
 — but beyond this nothing at all worth recording occurred 
 till the following Tuesday. 
 
 On that day, Ootherstone Fair was held, and gaiety was 
 in the ascendant. Legge had, as usual, erected a booth — 
 in a paddock adjoining his house — for dancing ; and while 
 the girls of the village, with their pink and blue streamers, 
 were laughing and clapping their hands for joy, and crack- 
 ing imts, and promenading, and glancing at their sweet- 
 hearts, in all the pride of youth and rustic beauty, the men 
 
THE VILLAGE FAIR. 391 
 
 were drinking and joking, and smoking their pipes, and 
 apparently somewhat more happy than princes. 
 
 Legge, moreover, had procured prolific germs of amuse 
 meat ; and these prolific germs were chemises, shawls, scarfs, 
 and a couple of fine legs of mutton. 
 
 The chemises were to be run for — and so were the 
 shawls and scarfs — but the mutton was to be climbed 
 for, by. those whose ambition might prompt them to go 
 to the poll. 
 
 These delights were, however, reserved till the evening, 
 for Legge knew something of human nature. He had kept 
 that house nearly twenty years; he, therefore, cannot be 
 supposed to have been unconscious of the way in which 
 the house had kept him. Noj the prizes were exhibited 
 throughout the day. None could think of leaving until 
 they had been won ; and while all beheld them with fond 
 anticipations, they panted for pleasure, and drank more 
 beer. 
 
 Anxious to witness the amusement of the people, Syl- 
 vester himself walked through the village immediately after 
 he had dined, and as Obadiah, from one of the windows of 
 " The Crumpet " saw him — for the first time since the night 
 of the brandy-and-water — ^he rushed out of the house, and 
 having followed him for a time, touched his hat respectfully, 
 and asked him how he was. 
 
 " Quite well," replied Sylvester, who had forgotten him, 
 " quite." 
 
 " Come, sir, to see the pleasures of the poverty-stricken 1 " 
 observed Obadiah, who was not a man to be easily shaken 
 off. 
 
 "The people do not appear to be poverty-stricken," re- 
 turned Sylvester. " All whom I have seen look contented 
 and happy." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Obadiah, " thoughtlessness. It's nothing 
 but that, sir, and ignorance. If they knew their power, 
 they wouldn't be as they are." 
 
 " Would the knowledge of their power, then, render them 
 more happy ? " 
 
 " I allude to their position, sir, that's what I allude to. 
 I mean that they wouldn't be in such a position ; they would 
 take higher ground, sir." 
 
 " What ground do you imagine they would take ? " 
 
392 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "What ground, sir? Why, they'd stand up for their 
 rights." 
 
 " Have they not their rights ? " 
 
 " How can the poor have their rights, sir ? How is it 
 possible 1 " 
 
 " I conceive it to be quite possible for the poor to have 
 their rights as well as the rich." 
 
 " But if men had their rights, sir, they could not be 
 poor." 
 
 " Indeed ! Why — why could they not 1 " 
 
 " Because the rich would have to divide their riches with 
 them." 
 
 " Oh ! Ah ! That's it ! I see ! " cried Sylvester, who 
 began to be rather amused. "Then all who have their 
 rights must be equally rich ? " 
 
 " Of course, sir. It's one of the laws of nature." 
 
 " Well, now, do you know, I wasn't aware of that.'' 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, that's strange, too. But don't you see 
 now that it must be 1 " 
 
 " Well, but suppose a division were to take place to-day, 
 and that you were to spend your share to-night, how would 
 you stand to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Why, of course, if I had spent it, I couldn't have it." 
 . " They you couldn't have your rights." 
 
 " Ay, but that's altogether a diflEerent tiling. We weren't 
 speaking of spending our shares." 
 
 " We were speaking of wealth being equally divided — 
 a state of things which couldn't last an hour — and, as you 
 advanced as a proposition, that men could not be poor who 
 had their rights, I put a case which, I apprehend, proved 
 that men might have their rights, and yet be poor." 
 
 " Yes, sir, but " 
 
 " Do you admit that 1 " 
 
 " But were there two Adams 1 " 
 
 " Nay, keep to the point." 
 
 " I'm coming to it — fructifying right direct to the point." 
 
 " Fructifying ! " thought Sylvester, who thought that he 
 had heard that word ill-used before. 
 
 " The question is," continued Obadiah, " were there, or 
 were there not, two Adams ? " 
 
 " We read but of one." 
 
 " Was there an Adam connected with the aristocracy, 
 
THE, VILLAGE FAIR. 393 
 
 and an Adam pledged to support the eternal principles of 
 the people ! " 
 
 " I have always understood that when Adam was created, 
 there was neither an aristocracy nor a people." 
 
 " No ; but I was only just going to say, if there was no 
 aristocracy in those days, why should th,ere be an aristocracy 
 now— an aristocracy which lives upon the , vitals of the 
 people, and sucks a matter of two hundred millions a year 
 from the sweat of the poor man's brow. Did Nature ever 
 make an aristocracy ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Never in this world." 
 
 " The aristocracy of intellect is Nature's own." 
 
 " Ay, but that's altogether a different thing ; we weren't 
 speaking of the aristocracy of intellect — that's a spark from 
 heaven's anvil, struck to enlighten the world ; like a boney 
 fide star which shoots to another and tells it all it knows. 
 We were speaking of the aristocracy of wealth — the aristo- 
 cracy of corruption — the aristocracy of plunder — the profli- 
 gate, pandering, puppet-show, pudding-headed, pompous 
 aristocracy — did Nature ever make that ? " 
 
 " Do you speak of the aristocracy of England ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Then what, I ask, do you know of that aristocracy ? " 
 
 " What do I know of them ! — what ! Are they not a parcel 
 of plundering, pandering, arrogant " 
 
 " Stop," said Sylvester. " Language of that description 
 tells only with a mob — men of sense despise it. The vulgar 
 have been tatight to believe that arrogance forms one of the 
 chief characteristics of the aristocracy. They have yet to 
 learn that the nearer we approach the apex of civilised 
 society, the nearer we approach the perfection of civilised 
 simplicity. But you appear to have lost sight of the point 
 from which we started, and to which I imagined you were 
 about to return." 
 
 " What point was that 1 " 
 
 " Equality." 
 
 "Just so. Well, don't you think it monstrous that 
 some should have so much, sir, while others have so 
 little 1 " 
 
 "Why, that depends entirely upon circumstances." 
 
 "Well, but just look you here, sirj you see that man 
 
394 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 there, sir, in the smock-frock — him that's got a pipe in his 
 mouth, sir?" 
 
 "Yes— weU?" 
 
 " Well, sir, what do you think he has a week 1 " 
 
 " Ten shillings, perhaps." 
 
 " Five, sir. No more than five." 
 
 " Is that a fact 1 " 
 
 "I know it well, sir. Perhaps you wouldn't mind it I 
 called him ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. I should like to speak to him." 
 
 " You won't find much intellect about him ; he hasn't 
 been fructified to any amalgamating extent. Dick ! " 
 
 Dick stopped as if he had some remote idea of bis having 
 been called, and turning round with about as much velocity 
 as a man who is heavily ironed would turn," he had some 
 slight notion that some one stood there whose face he had 
 somewhere seen before. 
 
 " Dick," cried Obadiah again, " here." 
 
 A new idea seemed to have entered Dick's brains, and 
 that idea was that he knew Obadiah. He therefore took 
 the pipe out of his mouth and approached : but when he 
 saw Sylvester, he didn't know exactly whether he ought to 
 take off his hat or not. 
 
 " Well, Dick, how goes it ? " inquired Obadiah. 
 
 " Oh j doon knoo, sir, mooch aboot the seame." 
 
 " How are wages in this part of the country 1 " inquired 
 Sylvester. 
 
 "Bad, sir," replied Dick. " Very bad, indeed." 
 
 "This is a friend of mine, Dick," said Obadiah; "and he 
 seemed to be fructified when I told him that you hadn't ten 
 shillings a week" 
 
 " Ten, sir ! I've "only foive ! Hard loins that, sir : foive 
 shiUin' a week." 
 
 " Well, but what do you do with five shillings a week ? " 
 
 " Why it am't too much to spend, is it, sir ? " 
 
 " No ; but how do you manage to get rid of it ? " 
 
 "Oh, I never have not the leastest trouble aboot that. 
 I'll tell'ee, sir, hoo I manage. First, then — jist'ee keep 
 count — I pays a shillin' a week for me lodgin's. Well, 
 that's one shiUin' isn't it? Well, then, I has a stone o' 
 flour a week; that's two-and- threepence. How mooch is 
 that together ? Tfro-and-threepence an' a shillin : that's 
 
THE VILLAGE FAIR. 
 
 395 
 
 three-an-threepence. Well, twopence the bakin', an' penny 
 the yeast — that's threepence — that's three-an'-sixpence. 
 Three-an'-sixpence, well; then I have two poound of flat 
 cheese, to eat wi' me bread, at threepence a poound, that's 
 sixpence. Three-an'-sixpence an' sixpence moor is "^oor 
 shillin'. Well ! then I can't do without 7iaZ/-a-pint o' beer 
 a day — that arn't too mooch is it? — well, a penny a half^ 
 pint, seven days in the week, that's sevenpence. Seven-. 
 pence an' foor shillin's, that's foor-an-sevenpence. I arn't 
 mooch of a scholard, boot that's soon counted. Foor-an' 
 sevenpence. Well, I moost have a shirt washed once a 
 week, an' a han'kercher, an' a pair o' stockin's, that moost 
 be mended — I never see sich devils to goo into holes — well, 
 the washin' an' mendin' takes away the other fippence, and 
 that's hoo I meake ends meet." 
 
 "Well, but how do you manage when your clothes are 
 worn out? " 
 
 " I gets a trifle more in the harvest time, sir ; that's how 
 I manages that." 
 
 " I see. But have men in this part of the country, in 
 general, no more than five shillings a week ? " 
 
 " Oh ! 'ees, sir ; soom have ten, and soom twelve ! Boot 
 I'm a bit of a cripple, you see, sir ; that's where it is ; I 
 can't work noo as I used to could." 
 
 Sylvester gave him half-a- crown, which so astonished 
 Dick that he burst into tears. 
 
 " Can you wonder at the fires after that ? " cried Obadiah, 
 as Dick, with a heart full of gratitude, left them. 
 
 " But this is a peculiar case," observed Sylvester. " You 
 hear that the wages average from ten to twelve shillings. 
 This man is a cripple, and can't do much work." 
 
 " Well, but have we got no Im'ds cripples ? Place him in 
 jjixtaposition with a lord, and " 
 
 " Juxtaposition ! " echoed Sylvester. " Your name is " 
 
 "Drant, sir; Obadiah Drant. You recollect me, sir, 
 don't you ! " 
 
 "It is to you, I believe, that I am indebted for a 
 song." 
 
 " Exactly, sir j I did myself the honour of sending a copy 
 of it as you requested." 
 
 " As I requested ! I am not conscious of having made any 
 such request." 
 
396 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "What! don't you remember, the other night, at the 
 Crumpet, when you heard me sing that song " 
 
 " I never heard you sing the song." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you did, sir ! when you were there the other 
 night — you recollect ? " 
 
 "But I was not there the other night. I understand 
 that you told Mr. Rouse that I was " 
 
 " Well, I am sorry for that, sir. I wish I hadn't men- 
 tioned it now." 
 
 " But how came you to think of such a falsehood 1 " 
 
 " I'm sorry it was named ; but, of course, you know it 
 wasn't a falsehood." 
 
 "I know that it was a falsehood, and a most atrocious 
 falsehood too." 
 
 " Well, but you know you ivere there." 
 
 " What ! Are you a lunatic ? " 
 
 "A lunatic? No!" 
 
 " I thought you were," returned Sylvester calmly. " As 
 you are not, I wish to have no farther communication with 
 you." 
 
 " Well, sir ; but wJiat ! — do you mean i " 
 
 " I have nothing more to say," observed Sylvester, who 
 waved his hand, and with a look of contempt left Obadiah 
 astounded. 
 
 The sports proceeded; the mutton was gained; the chemises, 
 the shawls, and the scarfs were won ; and when night came 
 on, the booth was illumined, and dancing commenced, 
 and was kept up with spirit till twelve, when a cry of " the 
 ghost I " was raised. 
 
 The men rushed instantly out of the booth, and the girls 
 shrieked and fainted by dozens, while the "ghost" walked 
 leisurely through the village, fearfully shunned by all. 
 
 No one approached it. All kept aloof. The stoutest hearts 
 shrank back appalled, and the ghost had the road to itself. 
 
 The night was dark ; not a star could be seen ; and when 
 the ghost reached the chestnut-trees, beneath which all 
 was gloom, the multitude breathed ; but lo ! it turned and 
 walked through the village again. 
 
 Horror filled each manly breast, and all was consternation. 
 But the ghost seemed to treat the whole throng with con- 
 tempt. It walked up and down just as long as it liked, and 
 then vanished, they knew neither how nor where. 
 
SYLVESTER RECALLED TO TOWN. 397 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 SYLVESTEE IS RECALLED TO TOWN. 
 
 When Sylvester had ascertained in the morning that the 
 ghost had been seen in the village again, he felt greatly 
 Relieved, having found the string, on awaking, round his 
 ankle as usual, the key in the desk, and the desk beneath 
 the bed. He held it, then, to be abundantly clear that he 
 couldn't be the "ghost," and was about to repudiate the 
 idea of his being a somnambulist, when he received from 
 his solicitor a letter requiring his presence in town. This 
 had the effect of re-inspiring suspicion. He might be a 
 somnambulist, and yet not the "ghost." It was possible — 
 nay, when he reflected upon the serious accusation of Sir 
 Charles — he could not but think it highly probable. But 
 how was the thing to be proved ? That was the question 
 still. He had in vain tried to prove it himself ; and, 
 therefore, felt bound to communicate his suspicion to 
 another. This he eventually resolved to do; but as he 
 had to go to London immediately, he thought it best to 
 conceal it, at least for the present, from his aunt and her 
 reverend friend, and on his arrival in town to consult Tom 
 Delolme. 
 
 He accordingly communicated only the contents of the 
 letter then ; and no sooner had his aunt and the reverend 
 gentleman become perfectly conscious of his intention to 
 leave them that morning, than the cottage became a theatre 
 of excitement. Cook, Judkins, and Mai-y were instantly 
 summoned. Judkins was directed to get the phaeton ready ; 
 cook received instructions to make up a large fire for the 
 purpose of airing the shirts; and while Mary went with 
 her mistress to ransack the drawers, the reverend gentle- 
 man, with an infinite profundity of expression, was cutting 
 sandwiches, in a peculiarly scientific style. 
 
 By virtue of this admirable division of labour, the shirts, 
 within the hour, were aired and packed up — the sandwiches 
 were enveloped in sheets of Bath paper — and the phaeton 
 appeared at the gate. There had been, however,- no time 
 
398 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 to impress upon Sylvester the necessity for his sending 
 them every information having reference to the trial, at 
 which they both of course intended to be present. Aunt 
 Eleanor, therefore, hastily slipped on her things, and entered 
 the phaeton with her reverend friend, with the view not 
 only of seeing Sylvester to the coach, but of enforcing this 
 necessity by the way. 
 
 As they passed through the village, Obadiah and Pokey 
 were, as usual with Legge, at the Crumpet and Crown, and 
 the very moment Obadiah saw them, he exclaimed^ 
 
 " There, there you are, my Britons ! That's the dodge 
 — that's it. I'll bet you what you like of it : up to some- 
 thing, safe. Don't you see the portmanter? Going to 
 the coach, perhaps, to get rid of that boney fide young 
 fibber." 
 
 "What do you mean by a young fibber?" demanded 
 Legge. 
 
 " What do I mean ? What ! Didn't he have the howda- 
 cioiis impudence, while we were fructifying yesterday in the 
 fair, to tell me plump to my very teeth, that he wasn't here 
 at all the other night ! " 
 
 " Did he, though ! " said Pokey. 
 
 " Did he ! Did he not ? I'll back him against life to lie. 
 There's nothing like him in all flesh. He beats Peter the 
 Great hollow, and he could lie a little." 
 
 " Some one was with him, perhaps," observed Legge. 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! Not so much as half a one. There 
 we were alone, quietly fructifying about equal rights, when, 
 says he, all at once, says he, ' Isn't your name Drant ? ' 
 Says I, ' Drant is my name,' says I : ' Obadiah Drant.' 
 ' You sent me a song,' says he, ' didn't you, this morning 1 ' 
 ' I did,' says I, ' according to promise.' ' According to pro- 
 mise,' says he ; ' what promise ? ' ' What promise ! ' says 
 I ; ' what, don't you recollect that I promised to send it 1 ' 
 ' You promised me nothing of the sort,' says he. ' What ! ' 
 says I ; ' what, not the copy of the song you heard me 
 sing ? ' 'I never heard you sing a song,' says he. ' What,' 
 says I, ' not the other night at the Crumpet 1 ' ' The 
 Crumpet,' says he ; ' I was never at the Crumpet but once 
 in my life, and that was in the morning.' ' The morning,' 
 says I ; ' I don't speak about morning, I speak about night.' 
 'I never was there of a night in my life,' says he, I'm 
 
SYLVESTER IS RECALLED TO TOWN. 399 
 
 blessed if he didn't, plump. Well, this kind of thing 
 doubled me up : so, looking at him fierce, says I, ' What ! 
 — do you mean that ? ' ' Mean it,' says he j 'of course I 
 do. You told Mr. Rouse,' says he, 'that I was there, 
 drinking brandy-and-water.' 'Well, I'm sorry for that,' 
 says I j ' but you know that you was there.' 'I know that 
 I was not,' says he ; ' and however you came to think of 
 such a falsehood, I can't imagine.' 'A falsehood,' says I. 
 'Yes, a falsehood,' says he. 'But you don't,' says I, ' mean 
 to tell me that you wasn't that night at the Crumpet at 
 all ? ' 'I mean to tell you that you Jcnow I was not there,' 
 says he : no better and no worse. Well, this staggered me 
 a little above a bit. ' But,' says I, ' do you really mean to 
 mean what you say V 'Of course,' says he, indignantly ; 
 ' I was Twt there, and you know it.' Upon which I was 
 so boney fidely disgusted that I left him to his own fructi- 
 fying reflections. Now what do you think of that — eh ? 
 What do you think of it ? " 
 
 " Why, it certainly is strange," returned Legge, " that 
 he should deny it to you, there being no one else present." 
 
 " Strange ! It's stunning ! " 
 
 " Well, but didn't he laugh at the time ? " inquired 
 Pokey. 
 
 " Laugh ! He looked, for all the world, as if there 
 wasn't a laugh in him. I never, in all my born days, 
 witnessed anything like it. I'll back him against nature. 
 I never saw a fellow tell a lie with so much liberty. He's 
 the swell to swear a man out of his christian name. There's 
 no hesitation about Mm : there's no such thing as faltering 
 — no such thing as a blush about him while he's at it. 
 He'll lie like a lunatic, that fellow will. And there we see 
 the force,,of example. He got it all from Teddy Eouse. 
 Ted taught him — safe. I never saw two fellows lie so much 
 alike. But when you come to look at it, isn't it disgusting 
 to see a man like Ted — a man of his cloth^a man pro- 
 fessing so much religion, teaching lads like that to lie? 
 But then what can we expect from such a clerical lot of 
 locusts 1 What can we expect when we allow them to suck 
 here a matter of five hundred millions a year from the 
 vitals of the poverty-stricken people? I say it serves us 
 right : and, moreover than that, we ought to be served out 
 ten thousand times worse, It's amazing -to me that the 
 
400 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 people don't see this. As true as I'm alive, it makes my 
 head turn quite round, when I think of their boney fid& 
 blindness. Is it a mite likely, do you think, that I'd stand 
 it if I was the people alone ? Do you think that I'd let 
 them get fat upon me ? Suppose I was the people — that's 
 the way to put it — suppose that I was the whole of the 
 people, do you think that I'd be swindled by a lot of pen- 
 sioned paupers in this way ? No ! not a bit of it. I'll tell 
 you what I'd do. In the first place, I'd send for the king, 
 and I'd say to him, ' Now then, I'll tell you what it is, old 
 fellow : I'm not going to stand this sort of thing any longer, 
 so I tell you. You must abdicate and cut it. I'm not going 
 to allow you to rob me of fifty or sixty millions a year in 
 this sort of way. You've been amalgamating at a rare rate 
 lately, and you ought to have saved money. If you have, 
 why so much the better for you ; if you haven't, go and 
 work for your living like an honest man. I want no king : 
 what's the good of a king to me % What use are you — 
 what do you do ? I'm not going to support you in idleness 
 any longer ; so that's all about it.' I'd then send for the 
 ministers, and I'd say to them, ' Gentlemen, it's all very 
 fine, I daresay, but you have no more money from me. 
 You've been feathering your nests to a fructifying extent, 
 I've no doubt; but your valuable services are no longer 
 required. I am the people ; I can govern myself : at all 
 events I've had enough of you ! therefore pack ug^our 
 traps and be off.' Then I'd send for the bishops, but I'd 
 make mighty short work of them ; and the same with the 
 parsons : I'd turn them all adrift. And so for the pen- 
 sioners, ' What ! ' I'd say, ' / support a lot of paupers in 
 the lazy lap of luxury ? I wish you may get it. No ! go 
 to work, and earn an honest livelihood. If you can't do 
 that, apply to the parish. I daresay, indeed, I'm going 
 to let a lot of lazy locusts live on my vitals in this sort of 
 way. Be off ! and never let me set eyes on you again." 
 That would be the only way to work it. What should I 
 want with a king and a lot of lords, what should I want 
 with bishops, parsons, and pensioners? I wouldn't have 
 them. I'd form a republic within myself, and I my- 
 self would govern myself. That's what I should do, if 1 
 were the whole people ; and that's just the way the people 
 ought to do now. They should set to work, and act 
 
SYLVESTER IS RECALLED TO TOWN. 401 
 
 as one man, and send all the amalgamating obligarchies 
 howling ! " 
 
 " There's something in that," observed Pokey. 
 
 " Yes, there is something in it," said Legge, who immedi- 
 ately left the room, smiling. 
 
 " I believe you," pursued Obadiah, addressing Pokey 
 alone ; " and I'm glad that you agree with me. I find that 
 I shall fructify your ideas a httle yet. Look you here. The 
 thing lies in a nutshell. Just place yourself now in the 
 juxtaposition of the people. You are the people. Very well. 
 Now, do you want a king ? Do you want a lot of lords, a 
 myriad of bishops, and about fifty millions of parsons 1 Do 
 you want them 1 " 
 
 " No, I can't say I do." 
 
 " Do you want about a hundred thousand pensioned paupers 
 picking your pocket of five-and-twenty millions a year to live 
 in luxury, and keep their carriages, and drive slap over you, 
 and think nothing of it if you don't get out of the way ! Do 
 you want them ?" 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 "Very weU, then. If you were the people, and you 
 wouldn't want them, why should the people want them 
 now ? " 
 
 "That's feasible ; certainly, that's feasible." 
 
 " Feasible ! Doesn't it stand to reason ? " 
 
 " I must say it does." 
 
 " The thing, you see, only wants a little frufetification in 
 a simplified manner for every soul on earth to understand 
 it. I'd undertake to make it clear to the meanest capacity ; 
 but then you see I can't travel about the country to open 
 the eyes of the universal people, and the consequence is, 
 they're on that important subject sand-blind. They listen 
 to parsons ; what's the good of that ? Is there a parson in 
 all flesh who'll tell them what I've told you now ? Not a 
 bit of it. They know better. They know that if they were 
 to fructify the ideas of the people in that way, it would open 
 their eyes, and their object is to keep their eyes closed to all 
 the abuses, and all the swindles, and all the corrupt dead 
 robberies of those who live upon the sweat of the poor 
 man's brow. Oh ! it's shocking when you come to look 
 at the ignorance of the people — honey fidely shocking I If 
 Billy the Oonqueroy CQuld rise from hi^ grave and talk over 
 
 2 
 
402 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 the matter with Peter the Great, they'd be right down 
 astonished to find what the people — ^the ignorant people — 
 will bear." 
 
 "There's a good deal of ignorance about> I daresay," 
 observed Pokey. "No doubt there's a good deal of igno- 
 rance." 
 
 " A good deal of ignorance ! It's stunning ! Why, look 
 at the lot of locusts now preying upon our vitals ! Only 
 look at them, and see what they cost ! Will any man tell 
 me, that if all those disgusting sums of money which they 
 swallow up were in the pockets of the people, they wouldn't 
 be better off ! Don't it stand to reason, that if one man has 
 five hundred thousand a year, and five thousand men, as good 
 as he is, have nothing, the five thousand men would have a 
 hundred a year each, if that money were equally divided ? " 
 
 " Yes ; that's clear enough." 
 
 "Clear enough ! I believe you. It is clear enough : and 
 yet the people can't see this. They can't see how they are 
 plundered and oppressed, and rode rough-shod over, and 
 trodden under foot. Not a bit of it. Their ignorant ideas 
 don't fructify in that way. Besides, do you think that if I 
 were the people, I'd suffer myself to be ground to the earth 
 by any such thing as a National Debt ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Pokey, " that ought to be paid off." 
 
 " Paid off ! Do you know what you're talking about ? 
 Paid off ! Send I may live I Why, do you know that if you 
 take five hundred millions of miles of ground and cover it 
 over with fifty-pound notes, you would not have enough, even 
 then, to pay it off ? I've seen it calculated : so there can be 
 no mistake about that. Pave Europe with sovereigns and 
 you wouldn't have enough. Pay it off ! Sponge it 1 That's 
 the only way to pay it off." 
 
 ■ "What, and let them as has scraped a little money tc 
 gether suffer ? " 
 
 ' "Don't your ideas fructify? Wouldn't it be better for 
 them afterwards ? " 
 
 "I don't see that." 
 
 " Not see it 1 As true as I'm alive, you're as blind as the 
 rest. Don't you see that we should then have an equal 
 division ? " 
 
 "Would the money I've got in the Savings Bank ba 
 divided amongst them as hasn't got none ? " 
 
SYLVESTER IS RECALLED TO TOWN. 403 
 
 " All, I tell you, would be equally divided." 
 
 " Then I wont vote for that." 
 
 " What, not to have a share of the millions upon millions 
 which the pauper aristocracy have got ? " 
 
 " It won't do," said Pokey ; " I shouldn't be sure of that." 
 
 " Not sure of it ! "What's to prevent it 1 " 
 
 "Many things might. I say many things might. And 
 ' a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' " 
 
 "Pokey, Pokey, I'm sorry to find you're a bony fide. 
 ignoramus still." 
 
 " I don't care a button about what you say : I mean to 
 look after my money." 
 
 " You mean to look after your money ! Why, you've no 
 more patriotism in you than the ghost. By the by, I mean 
 to look after that swell to-night. I've made up my mind to 
 that. I know who he is." 
 
 "What! do you 1" 
 
 "7" know the gentleman." 
 
 « What ! isn't it a ghost, then, after all ? " 
 
 " A ghost 1 Not a bit of it. No, it's a man." 
 
 " Indeed 1 Is it any one / know ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ! you know him very well. " 
 
 " Who is he ? " 
 
 " Why, I didn't intend to say until I caught him ; but I 
 don't mind telling you. It's Bob Potts." 
 
 " Bob Potts ! Lor, is it, though ? Bob Potts. Blow him, 
 he's always up to something. But how do you know 1 " 
 
 " Oh, I know all about it ; but don't say a word. If it 
 should come to his ears that I know him, he'll of cpurse keep 
 at home : therefore, don't say a syllable to any living soul. " 
 
 " Not a word. Trust to me. I'U not open my lips." 
 
 " I'll cook the green goose of Mr. Bob Potts. I only 
 want to catch him! ; and when I do, he won't play the game 
 of ' ghost ' again in a hurry. He's been carrying it on long 
 enough j and if I don't place him in juxtaposition to make 
 him ashamed of himself all his life, I'll eat grass like a 
 cow ; therefore, mum 1 " 
 
 Pokey again promised to be silent on the subject; and 
 when Obadiah had explained to him the delicate minutise of 
 the scheme he had conceived, they parted on the most 
 affectionate terms to meet again, with the view of ensnaring 
 Bob Potts. 
 
404 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE PROOF. 
 
 Immediately on his arrival in town, Sylvester called on his 
 friend Tom Delolme, who received him as usual with great 
 cordiality, aud was indeed happy to see him. The greeting, 
 however, was brief : for Sylvester's anxiety to communicate 
 the idea he had conceived, prompted him to open the subject 
 at once. 
 
 "Tom," said he, "you know, I believe, something about 
 somnambulism ? " 
 
 " Sobdabbulisb ? " replied Tom. "Yes; I kdow pretty 
 well all that is kdowd about the batter ! " 
 
 " Well, then, I wish to consult you on the subject j for I 
 have a strong suspicion that I'm a somnambulist." 
 
 " Dodsedse ! " returned Tom. " You a sobdabbulist ! " 
 
 " I really supect that I am." 
 
 " "Well ! what idduced that suspiciod ? " 
 
 " Why, Tom, let me go where I may, mj-stery follows ma 
 Something of an extraordinary and unaccountable character 
 is sure to occur, and that at night. If I go down to 
 Cotherstone Grange a ' ghost ' is certain to appear in the 
 village : which ' ghost ' never appears there when I am 
 away. I slept here, you will remember, just before I 
 left town. Your servant declared that he saw a ' ghost ' 
 then." 
 
 "I recollect. That 'ghost' broke by pier-glass. I see. 
 But have you do other groudds for suspiciod ? " 
 
 " There have been innumerable occurrences for which I 
 have been utterly unable to account ; but that which makes 
 me more immediately anxious to ascertain whether I am in 
 reality a somnambulist or not, is the approaching triaL 
 Sir Charles, you know, declares that he saw me there, 
 while his butler is fully prepared to swear it. Now, I am 
 unconscious of having been there — perfectly unconscious; 
 and if I was there, to what but somnambulism can it be 
 ascribed 1 " 
 
 "I see: I see it all clearly. You have dever beed dis- 
 covered id a state of sobdabbulisb 1 " 
 
THE PROOF. 405 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Did you ever od awakidg fide yourself id ady stradge 
 place, or id ady place id which you'd do idea of beidg 1 " 
 
 "Never; I have always, on awaiing, found myself in 
 bed." 
 
 " Have you directed ady persod to watch you at all ? " 
 
 "No one has had ever the slightest idea of my having 
 entertained this suspicion. You are the only man to whom 
 I have breathed a syllable on the subject. I have been for 
 some time endeavouring to prove the fact myself. I've tied 
 strings to my anMe, looked my room door, and hid the 
 key." 
 
 " Ah, that's of do use. You'd be certaid while asleep to 
 fidd add hide the key agaid ; that is, assubing that you are 
 a sobdabbulist. We bust see about this. If it be as you 
 suspect, the proof will be highly ibportadt. We'll talk the 
 batter over agaid by-add-by. Add dow go upstairs add 
 have a wash. While you're gode I'll ascertaid what we have 
 id the house to eat." 
 
 Sylvester went up accordingly, and, on his return, found 
 the table spread with cold chickens, beef, ham, and tongue, 
 to the whole of which he did ample justice, and then had 
 some coffee with Tom. 
 
 The library was then resorted to, and all the books they 
 could find having reference to somnambulism were consulted. 
 This occupied the whole of the evening ; and it was at length 
 decided that Sylvester should sleep that night in Tom's room, 
 while Tom sat up in the room adjoining. 
 
 The preliminaries having been thus arranged, Sylvester 
 about twelve retired ; and Tom took his seat at a table spread 
 with books, cigars, and brandy-and-water. 
 
 In order that he might at once hear the slightest noise, 
 Tom left the door of his room open, and, impressed with the 
 importance of ^e proof desired, continued to listen with 
 so much attention, that Sylvester could not have moved 
 unheard. 
 
 From twelve till two o'clock all was still ; but the clock 
 had no sooner struck two, than Sylvester walked from one 
 room to the other, and anxiously inquired if Tom had seen 
 him. 
 
 " Do," replied Tom. " Do, I've deither seed dor heard 
 you; all has beed still up to this tibe." 
 
4o6 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Then hadn't you better go to bed 1 " 
 " Do, I shall dot go to bed to-digU. That I have bade 
 up by bidd to. Go to sleep agaid ; sobethidg bay occur 
 
 yet." 
 
 " I should like to have one glass of brandy-and-water," said 
 Sylv.ester, taking a seat at the table. 
 
 " Well, have it, by boy." 
 
 " And one cigar." 
 
 " Oh, you'd better dot sboke." 
 
 " I think I should enjoy it." 
 
 " Well," returned Tom, who had not the slightest notion 
 of Sylvester being asleep at the time, "if that's the case, 
 you'd better go add put od your clothes. You'll sood get 
 cold if you sit without theb."' 
 
 Sylvester assented to this, and left the room ; and having 
 dressed himself partially, returned, filled his glass, lit a cigar, 
 and began to smoke it. 
 
 "It's a singular thing that this -cannot be proved," observed 
 Sylvester, calmly, " isn't it ? " 
 
 " Why," replied Tom, " this is but the first attebpt. We 
 cad't have proof always the bobedt we wish it. It bay be 
 proved yet, add that sood. We bust dot be ibpatiedt. I've 
 just beed readidg here ad extraordidary case, that of a brick- 
 layer's labourer, whose fellow workbed kdew hib to sleep 
 regularly four or five hours a day while at work, although 
 the work was of so perilous a character. It appears that 
 whed they first discovered this they were extrebely appre- 
 hedsive ; but as the dovelty of the thidg wore away, their 
 apprehedsiods were subdued. His ebploybedt, of course, 
 codsisted id supplyidg the bricklayers with hods of brick add 
 bortar, which he codveyed up ladders to the tops of houses 
 while asleep, just as well add as safely as he did whed awake. 
 He would attedd to all orders, edter idto codversatiod, add 
 receive add deliver bessages while id this stata He could, 
 boreover, whed awake, recogdise voices which he happeded 
 to have heard while asleep, if eved the persods who spoke 
 were the host perfect stradgers. His fellow workbed fre- 
 quedtly tried hib, id order to set aside all idcredulity, add 
 dever kdew hib id ady sidgle idstadoe to fail. He could 
 tell the hour as well as they could, add therefore kdew as 
 well whed to leave o£E work ; he would dridk with theb, pay 
 his share whed he had buddy, and play at cards while id a 
 
THE PROOF. 407 
 
 state of sobdabbulisb ; iddeed, do ordidary observer could 
 tell by his acts that he was dot thed perfectly awake. The 
 way id which this rebarkable case was bade public was this : 
 he was id the habit of washidg hibself add chadidg his dress 
 whed he left off work — this he'd do, whether he happeded to 
 be awake or asleep — add wud evedidg, havidg chadged his 
 clothes as \isual, add tied bis workidg-dress id a haddkerchief, 
 he was accosted od his way hobe by a wobad, whob, after sobe 
 little codversatiod, he perbitted to carry his buddle, of which 
 she do sooder got possessiod, thad she rad up Hattod 
 Garded, wedt dowd SajEfrod Hill, got idto a house add escaped. 
 Well, the codsequedt excitebedt awoke hib ; add as he clearly 
 recollected all that had occurred, he related the whole of the 
 circubstadce to ad officer, who fadcied, frob the descriptiod, 
 that he kdew the wobad well. She was therefore apprehedded, 
 add although placed with a dubber of other wobed, the bad 
 id ad idstadt recogdised her persod add voice; add, od 
 searchidg her lodgidgs, the clothes were foudd. Dow, this 
 is a host extraordidary case. You see, this bad could recollect 
 perfectly whed awake all that occurred while he $lept. 
 GederaUy sobdabbulists do dot whed awake recollect what 
 occurs duridg sleep ; but, od the codtrary, that which they 
 either hear or see while awake bakes ad ibpressiod, upon 
 which, duridg sleep, they wiU act." 
 
 " That, if I am a somnambulist, is precisely the case with 
 me," observed Sylvester, who, while smoking his cigar calmly, 
 had listened with great attention. " I can recollect nothing 
 when awake which occurs during sleep. If I could the 
 mystery would soon be solved. I should like to have one 
 game of chess," he added ; " I have not had a game for a 
 very long time. Will you have a game with me ? " 
 
 "Do, dot dow," repUed Tom : "I wadt you to go to bed 
 agaid. It's of do use by sittidg up, if you sit up with be — 
 that's quite clear." 
 
 " Well, then, do you go to bed. I don't like the idea of 
 your sitting up alone." 
 
 " I shall dot go to bed dow, that's settled. Cobe, old boy, 
 cobe ; fidish your glass add be off." 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, " I will do so. What's o'clock ? " 
 
 " Dearly half -past two." 
 
 " Half-past two. Then five hours more will settle it." 
 
 " I wish it bay, with all by heart." 
 
4o8 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "I'll drink that as a toast," said Sylvester; "I wish it 
 may, with all my heart." And having finished his glass, he 
 left the room, and calmly went to bed again. 
 
 From this time, Tom heard nothing of him till eight 
 o'clock, when he awoke, and cried, " Are you there still, 
 Tom ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Tom, going into his room. " What sort 
 of a dight have you had ? " 
 
 " I slept excellently well. You heard nothing of me 1 " 
 
 " Dothidg. You appeared to sleep souddly edough." 
 
 " I'm sorry for it. It's very strange. In one sense I'm 
 sorry for it." 
 
 " "Well," said Tom ; " do you bead to get up, or lie a little 
 lodger ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'll get up now. Eight hours' sound sleep is enough 
 for any man." 
 
 " Well, do so, thed ; but you haved't had quite eight 
 hours." 
 
 " It's eight o'clock now, and I went to bed at twelve." 
 
 " Yes, but you were with be dearly half ad hour." 
 
 "With you! when?" 
 
 " Why, frob two till half -past. You, of course, recollect 1 '' 
 
 " What, this morning, do you mean ? " 
 
 " This bordidg." 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 " Dod't you rebebber it ? " 
 
 " No ! I'm unconscious of having even turned since I came 
 to bed at twelve o'clock last night." 
 
 " Iddeed. You dod't recollect cobidg idto the other roob, 
 add havidg a cigar, a glass of braddy-add-water, add wishidg 
 to have a gabe of chess 1 " 
 
 " Are you serious ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " Then I recollect nothing whatever about it." 
 
 " Stop a bidite. Sobethidg bay be bade of this dow. I 
 related an extraordidary case of sobdabbulisb — a case which 
 I'd just beed readidg; that of a bricklayer's labourer — do 
 you recollect that ? " 
 
 " No. I recollect nothing that may have occurred since I 
 came to bed last night at twelve." 
 
 " Thed, by boy, it is perfectly clear that your suspiciod is 
 well foudded : that you are a sobdabbulist iddeed. You wedt 
 
THE PROOF. 409 
 
 idto that roob about two o'clock, add idquired if I'd seed or 
 heard adythidg of you, and whed I told you that I had dot, 
 you sat dowd add wished to have sobe braddy-add-water, 
 add a cigar. I advised you to put od your clothes, add you 
 did so, add sboked a cigar, add dradk braddy-add-water, 
 add listeded to the case of sobdabbulisb to which I've just 
 alluded, add thed wished to have a gabe of chess, but, as I 
 refused to play, add urged you to go to bed agaid, you did 
 so, after havidg fidished your glass, add I heard do bore 
 of you." 
 
 " But is it possible for me to have done all this, while you 
 were unconscious of my being asleep ? " 
 
 " You appeared to be awak^ — perfectly awake. The idea 
 of your beidg asleep at the tibe dever occurred to be. Stop 
 a bidite." 
 
 " Might you not have dreamt all this ? " 
 
 " I dod't thidk that I closed by eyes, eved for a bobedt.'' 
 
 " But is it not possible « " 
 
 " Why, it is possible. Add it certaidly does appear to be 
 albost ibpossible that, while you were doidg all this, I should 
 dot have discovered that you were asleep." 
 
 " Might not the purpose for which you sat up, have induced 
 you to dream on the subject ? " 
 
 " If I slept, it bight ; but I dod't believe I wedt to sleep 
 at all. Add yet I cad't, od the other hadd, thidk that you 
 could thus have deceived be. However, we'll talk the batter 
 over agaid by-add-by. Get up, add let's have a good break- 
 fast. I'll go add have a wash ; you'U dot be lodg ? " 
 
 " I'll be down in ten minutes." 
 
 Tom then left the room, and Sylvester rose and dressed 
 himself, thoughtfully, and went down to breakfast, but 
 although they went over the matter again, conviction was 
 not the result. 
 
 Sylvester, notwithstanding, felt justified in naming the 
 subject to his solicitor, who was pleased with the idea of 
 being able to plead somnambulism, but then he wanted 
 absolute proof. Tom's evidence, under the circumstances, 
 he feared, would be insufficient ; still he resolved to see him 
 on the subject, and accordingly called in the course of the 
 day. 
 
 " Mr. Delohne," said he, " Mr. Sound has just informed 
 me of that affair which occurred last night, or, rather, this 
 
4IO SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 morning, while you were sitting up. He imagines, as you 
 are aware, that he is a somnambulist, and if we can absolutely 
 prove him to be one, we can put in an excellent plea to this 
 action, which can now be defended only by a plain blunt 
 negative. Now, can you conscientiously declare that he is 
 a somnambulist ? " 
 
 "Do," replied Tom; " I have my doubts still. If he be 
 dot a sobdabbulist, it is iddeed stradge j if he be, add cabe 
 idto the roob id which I was sittidg, dradk, sboked, and cod- 
 versed — as I ibagided he did — without idspiridg be with a 
 sidgle thought of his beidg asleep, it is equally stradge j but 
 whether, id reality, he is a sobdabbulist or dot, I cad't, at 
 presedt, uddertake to say. I wUl, however, discover the fact, 
 if, iddeed, the discovery be possible ; add I have, with that 
 view, l^d by plads for to-dight, of which plads I bead to 
 keep hib id igdoradce. If, as I suspect, he be wud who id 
 his sleep recollects all that passes while he is awake, he is 
 certaid to frustrate every schebe that bay happed to be cod- 
 ceived with his kdowledge. He shall, therefore, kdow do- 
 thidg whatever about it. I'll retire to by owd roob, as usual, 
 to-dight, add I hope that, id the bordidg, I shall have the 
 proof required." 
 
 ■ " I hope so too, for, at present, all we can do is to put in 
 a flat denial, and I fear that, as Sir Charles is no ordinary 
 man, and as we can find nothing whatever against the 
 character of his butler — whose career we have traced from 
 his infancy, upwards — a mere denial of the facts sworn to 
 will have no effect. If we could but get this proof of 
 Sound's somnambulism, we should be able, with confidence, 
 to go into court ; but the proof must be absolute to do any 
 good ; suspicion alone will be of no use at all." 
 
 " I perceive," observed Tom, " the ibportadce of the proof, 
 add if it be possible, I'll have it. You'll dot see Sylvester 
 agaid to-day, I suppose 1 " 
 
 " I don't expect to see him again. He is gone, I believe, 
 to call upon Scholefield." 
 
 " Well, if you should see hib, dod't explaid to hib adythidg 
 which has passed betweed us." 
 
 " Certainly not. I see your object too clearly. Will 
 you call upon me in the morning, or shall I call upon 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, I'll calluppd.you about ted." 
 
THE PROOF. 411 
 
 The solicitor promised to be at home at that hour, and 
 being satisfied that everything possible would be done, took 
 his leave. 
 
 In the evening, Tom attached strings to the window and 
 door of the room in which Sylvester was to sleep, and having 
 left lengths conveniently available, sat down with Sylvester 
 to have a game of chess. The game lasted tiU eleven, and 
 they then had a glass of grog each, and a cigar, and as 
 Sylvester did not imagine for one moment that Tom meant 
 to sit up again that night, they retired to their respective 
 rooms about twelve. 
 
 Tom then -got hold of the strings — one through the 
 window, and the other through the door, and as he held 
 them in his hand, it was perfectly impossible for Sylvester 
 to open either the door or the window of Ms room without 
 Tom's knowledge. And there he sat, with the strings in 
 his hand, a cigar in his mouth, and a glass of grog before 
 him; and there he continued to sit until two, when the 
 string attached to the door was drawn out of his hand 
 slowly. 
 
 Tom was up in an instant, but paused ; and then proceeded 
 with the utmost caution. He distinctly heard footsteps 
 ascending the stairs ; and he followed the sound noiselessly. 
 That they were the footsteps of Sylvester he had not the 
 slightest doubt; he felt sure of it, and panted with im- 
 patience; but as the value of discretion in such cases was 
 not unknown to him, he followed them cautiously still. A 
 door opened — slowly ; the door of the attic — and closed again 
 as Tom ascended ; and when he had reached it, he stood and 
 listened; but heard no sound within. For what imagined 
 purpose was Sylvester there ? That room was perfectly 
 empty. It surely was Sylvester. Tom began to doubt it. 
 He opened the door, and found the room empty still. He 
 looked round and marvelled. " Who's there ? " he demanded. 
 No answer was returned. He could hear no sound. He 
 ceased to breathe, and might have heard the breathing of 
 another : but there was no one breathing there. The window 
 was open ; but that was usual ; stiU, being open, to the 
 window he went, and on looking out, to his horror beheld 
 Sylvester pacing the parapet ! 
 
 His blood in an instant chilled. He was breathless with 
 terror. With uplifted hands he looked at him, appalled ! 
 
412 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 He expected that every moment would be his last. And yet 
 what could he do 1 What could be done ? 
 
 Sylvester slowly approached, and — passed him; Tom 
 would have clutched him as he passed, but he then felt 
 utterly powerless. 
 
 Again hecame, and as he approached, Tom nerved him- 
 self to grasp him, and just as he was about to pass, he 
 seized his arm, when Sylvester, with a convulsive start, 
 slipped instantlj' over the parapet. 
 
 Tom, however, still held him — firmly j and cried aloud, 
 " Sylvester ! — Sylvester ! — God ! give me strength ! — 'tis I ! 
 — Sylvester ! — I ! Now ! — make one effort ! — for God's sake 
 be firm ! Seize the coping — the coping ! " 
 
 Sylvester did so, but the stone gave way, and fell with a 
 crash beneath him. 
 
 " Again, again ! " cried Tom ; "again !— now then ! — fear 
 not ! — don't be alarmed ! — raise yourself up !— there ! — now 
 then I — -now then ! — ^there ! — there ! — Well done — well done 
 — well done — well done ! " 
 
 The moment he had succeeded in dragging Sylvester into 
 the room, he exclaimed, " My boy ! Thank God ! " and 
 fainted. 
 
 For some time Sylvester stood over him aghast. The 
 shock appeared to have deprived him of all his faculties. 
 He had some slight notion — some glimmering of an idea 
 — of his having been in peril, but that idea was so fitful 
 and confused, that nothing ever existed between it and 
 vacancy. 
 
 All that he understood was that Tom was at his feet; 
 every thought of assistance being necessary was absent. 
 There he stood, and there he continued to stand, until 
 James, who had heard his master fall, came trembling up 
 with a light. Nor did he move even then. Neither the 
 presence of James, nor the light, made the slightest impres- 
 sion upon him. 
 
 " Sir ! " exclaimed James, who was half dead with fear, 
 " sir, Mr. Sound, sir, what's the matter ? " 
 
 Sylvester still stood motionless; and James approached 
 his master and knelt by his side, and as he conceived that 
 he had ceased to exist, he seized Sylvester's hand and cried, 
 " Tell me — tell me — is my master dead ? " 
 
 Sylvester started, and looked wildly round, and conscious- 
 
THE PROOF. 413 
 
 ness slightly returned; when he knelt by the side of his 
 faithful friend, and took his hand and pressed it. 
 
 " Is he dead, sir?" reiterated James. " Is he, sir? Tell 
 me— teU me ? " 
 
 " God forbid ! " replied Sylvester faintly. " No, he is not 
 dead." 
 
 James in an instant rushed from the room, and soon re- 
 appeared with some water, and anxiously bathed his master's 
 temples, while Sylvester knelt by his side. 
 
 " Some vinegar," said Sylvester ; " or salts, if you have 
 them." 
 
 James again flew from the room, and having found some 
 vinegar hastily returned, and very soon had the satisfaction 
 of seeing his master begin to revive. 
 
 " Sylvester," exclaimed Tom, on opening his eyes, " you 
 are safe. I was wrong — ^very wrong ; but you are safe." 
 
 Sylvester did not exactly understand this. He could not 
 conceive how Tom could have been wrong. He did not, 
 however, seek an explanation then ; but did all in his power 
 to restore him. 
 
 Consciousness having returned, Tom soon felt able to walk 
 downstairs, which he did with the assistance of James, who 
 conducted him into his chamber. 
 
 " Oh ! " he exclaimed, as he sank into a chair, " Sylvester, 
 what an escape you have had ! " 
 
 " I am anxious," said Sylvester, "of course, to know how, 
 but wait till you are more composed." 
 
 " Jib," said Tom, " give me sobe braddy." 
 
 James looked at the bottle which stood by his side, and 
 inquired if that contained brandy. 
 
 "Yes," replied Tom, "that's braddy. Jib." 
 
 James thought this strange — remarkably strange. He 
 had never seen brandy in that room before. There were, 
 moreover, sundry pieces of cigars lying about. He couldn't 
 understand it at all. In fine, the whole of the circum- 
 stances of which he had become cognisant, since the noise 
 above interfered with his repose, appeared to him to be a 
 parcel of complicated mysteries. He did, notwithstanding, 
 pour out a glass of brandy, and having handed it to his 
 master, poured out another, and having handed that to 
 Sylvester, put the bottle down. 
 
 " Pour oiit a glass for yourself," said Tom. And James 
 
414 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 did so, and drank it, and relished it much. " Add dow, 
 added Tom, " go idto Mr. Soudd's roob, add bridg dowd bis 
 clothes." 
 
 Certainly James thought it extremely correct that Sylvester 
 should have his clothes, seeing that he had then nothing on 
 but his shirt, while the night was not a hot one, nor any- 
 thing like it. He therefore went up for the clothes in 
 question, and having succeeded in bringing them down, 
 Sylvester slipped them on. 
 
 " Dow," said Tom, " take adother glass, Jib, add thed be 
 off to bed." 
 
 James liked the former part of this order much ; but 
 he didn't at all like the latter. He felt himself entitled to 
 something bearing the semblance of an explanation] con- 
 scious of being — as far as all these most extraordinary cir- 
 cumstances are concerned — in the dark. He therefore stood 
 and sipped, and sipped — ^in a manner, for him, unusual — 
 until he found that no sort of an explanation would be 
 vouchsafed, when, feeling that that kind of treatment was 
 not exactly handsome, he indignantly finished his glass and 
 withdrew. 
 
 " Syl, by dear boy," said Tom, " give be your hadd. 
 You're alive, by boy ; biit your life was dot worth a bobedt's 
 purchase. I was a fool, I kdow — a codsubbate fool — but I 
 acted od the ibpulse of the bobedt." 
 
 " But how," inquired Sylvester, " how were you a fool ? 
 You said just now that you were \vrong — very wrong. How 
 were you wrong ? In what respect ? " 
 
 " I'll eiplaid. But first let us have just a little bore 
 braddy. If ady bad had told be that I should ever have 
 acted id a case like this with such bodstrous iddiscretiod, I 
 should have felt disposed to kick hib. I ought to have 
 kdowd better. The bost igdoradt bad alive would scarcely 
 have.beed'guilty of so badifest ad act of folly." 
 
 " Well, but in what did this folly consist ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you. You see these stridgs ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Wud of theb Cobbudicates with the sash of your bed- 
 roob widdow, add the other with the haddle of the door. 
 Resolved od ascertaididg, if possible, whether you were a 
 sobdabbulist or not, I, idstead of goidg to bed, kept these 
 stridgs id by hadd, out of which wud of theb, about two 
 
THE PROOF. 
 
 415 
 
 o'clock, was slowly drawd. I kdew id ad idstadt thed that 
 you had opeded your door, add as I heard you goidg upstairs, 
 I followed. You wedt idto the attic. I followed you there, 
 add od lookidg roudd I could see dothidg of you. But I 
 wedt to the widdow, add there I saw you walkidg upod the 
 very verge of the parapet." 
 
 " Good God ! " exclaimed Sylvester, " is it possible f " 
 
 " There you were, add if I'd dot heed a fool, all would 
 have beed well doubtless; you would have cobe id agaid, 
 I've do doubt, id perfect safety. But to be, your positiod 
 appeared to be so perilous, that actidg, as I said before, od 
 the ibpulse of the bobedt, I seized your arb, add I'd do 
 sooder dode so thad you fell over the parapet, add there I 
 held you. How I got you up agaid I cad't explaid. It is 
 sufficiedt for be that I did get you up, add that here you are 
 dow alive before be." 
 
 " My escape, then, must have been miraculous 1 " 
 
 " It was. I wouldd't see you id the sabe positiod agaid 
 if ady bad were to lay be dowd a bUliod of buddy. I shudder 
 whed I thidk of it. Let us for a little while talk about 
 sobethidg else. Wud thing, however, is certaid : you are 
 a sobdabbulist, Syl, add a very idveterate- sobdabbulist too. 
 I see dow, who it was that got be idto all those 
 scrapes five or six years ago. You're ad old hadd at 
 it. There was parapet busidess goidg od thed ! Dod't you 
 rebebber?" 
 
 " I do," replied Sylvester, " and innumerable other 
 things, which have appeared to me to be mysterious, are 
 now solved." 
 
 " Dod't you recollect by study ? Dod't you rebebber what 
 a gabe you used to have id it dight after dight ? I see it 
 all dow, add I shall tell the goverdor of it in triubph, for 
 I feel codvidced that, to this day, he believes that the whole 
 of by eardest declaratiods of iddocedce were false. You it was 
 that caused the destructiod of that wobad I used to prize so 
 highly : it was also you that sbashed by glass just before 
 you left towd. This explaids all ! Jib's character is viddi- 
 cated, add you are codvicted. I shall bridg ad actiod agaidst 
 you, old fellow, for dabages." 
 
 " Do so," said Sylvester, smiling, " and I'll plead ' som- 
 nambulism ' to it. However," he added, seriously, " the 
 proof ia now clea^. That Sir Charles and his; servant 
 
4i6 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 saw me I can have no doubt. What effect the proof 
 will have in the forthcoming trial of course remains to be 
 seen." 
 
 "The effect will be to give you a verdict," said Tom, 
 " There cad be do doubt about that." 
 
 '' I don't know. I fear that they will require it to 
 be proved that I was in a state of somnambulism then. 
 But, independently of this affair, isn't the fact of my 
 being a somnambulist awful to contemplate ? I can never 
 be safe ! " 
 
 " Dod't let's have ady bore horrible reflectiods. We have 
 had sufficiedt horror for wud dight, at least. I'll take care 
 of you, by boy, for the tibe beidg. You shall be safe. You 
 shall sleep with be. I'll fix you. You shall dot, however, 
 kdow exactly how." 
 
 " I had better be chained to the bed every night." 
 
 " I'll get a pair of haddcuffs id the bordidg, add 
 while you are here, put wud od your wrist add the 
 other od by owd. I'll dot allow you to go prowlidg 
 about at dight id this stupid state of bide. But we'll say 
 do bore about it dow. Let's go to bed. You lie od that 
 side, add I'll lie od this. If you get away frob be, let be 
 kdow, add I'll believe it." 
 
 They then went to bed; and when Tom was quite sure 
 that Sylvester was asleep, he tied the tails of their shirts 
 together, and quietly went to sleep himself. 
 
THE LAST REQUEST. /i^i-j 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE LAST BEQUEST. 
 
 There are men whom nothing can apparently astonish — 
 who take everything so coolly — hear everything so calmly — 
 see everything wonderful with such seeming apathy — that 
 the most perfect insensibility appears to form one of their 
 chief characteristics. On the heads of these men no 
 phrenologist can find either the organ of marvellousness 
 or that of veneration — activity being essential to the 
 development of both. Nothiug appears to be new to them ; 
 nothing seems to strike them as being extraordinary ; 
 nothing on earth can induce them to manifest wonder. 
 It is true that this stoicism may be very admirable — 
 doubtless, were it not merely apparent it would be an 
 invaluable blessing — but the question is, do not these 
 "stoics" feel and reflect more deeply than those men 
 whose feelings and thoughts are on the surface ready for 
 immediate expression ? 
 
 This, however, is a question which need not be learnedly 
 answered here. "We can get on with this history very 
 well without it. The object is simply to show that Mr. 
 Wilks — Sylvester's solicitor — was one of those men, and 
 that when Tom — who kept his appointment punctually 
 at ten — had explained to him the substance of all that had 
 occurred, he didn't appear to be in the slightest degree 
 astonished. He viewed it all as a matter of business. He 
 thought it would strengthen the defence. The perilous 
 position, the miraculous escape, and the feelings of horror 
 which Tom had inspired were all set aside. He wanted 
 Tom's evidence; that was the point. He looked at the 
 facts; they were the things. And would Tom swear to 
 them ? — that was the question. 
 
 " Of course," said he, " you have no objection to appear 
 as a witness?" 
 
 " Dode whatever," replied Tom. " I cad have do 
 objectiod." 
 
 " Well, then, we'll take the facts down." 
 
 2 D 
 
41 8 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 •' Dod't you thidk that the evidedce of by bad Jib will be 
 of sobe service ? " 
 
 " Can he prove anything ? " 
 
 " Why Soudd, just before he left Loddod, broke by pier- 
 glass, id a state of sobdabbulisb ? " 
 
 " Did your servant see him do it ? " 
 
 " He saw hib go idto the roob at dight, add I foudd it 
 sbashed id the bordidg." 
 
 " He saw him go into the room, you say ? " 
 
 " Yes : with dothidg od but his shirt. He boreover saw 
 id his hadd a pistol, of which he subsequedtly heard the 
 report, add I foudd the ball id the wall id the bordidg, just 
 where the pier-glass stood." 
 
 " That'll do," said Wilks. "That'll do. There's nothing 
 like a little collateral evidence. When can I see your 
 servant?" 
 
 " Oh, I'll sedd hib to you id the course of the bordidg.'' 
 
 "Thank you. Very good. Now, then, I'll take down 
 your evidence." 
 
 The facts were then reduced to writing, and appeared 
 to be alone a sufficient defence ; and when Tom had again 
 promised to send James on his return, he left the office, 
 fully convinced that Sylvester must have a verdict. 
 
 While Tom was thus engaged with the solicitor, Sylvester 
 wrote to his aunt, requesting her to come to town imme- 
 diately; and informing her of the fact of his being a 
 somnambulist. 
 
 This may appear to have been indiscreet, and indeed 
 to a certain extent it was so, for when the informa- 
 tion reached Ootherstone Grange, Aunt Eleanor nearly 
 "fainted. 
 
 Sylvester's object was simply to prepare her for the 
 reception of that intelligence which he had to communicate, 
 and at which he conceived she might otherwise be shocked ; 
 but no sooner did the bare fact of his being a somnambulist 
 rfeach her, than her anxious thoughts reverted to her 
 brother, and she felt wretched. 
 
 Her reverend friend was with her when the letter 
 arrived, and on perceiving her emotion, his anxiety was 
 intense. ' _ ■ ' :. 
 
 "Dear Eleanor!" he exclaimed, "what is it? What — 
 what can have occurred ? " 
 
THE LAST BEQUEST. 419 
 
 Aunt Eleanor gave him the letter to read, and he read 
 it — hastily, being apprehensive of liieeting with something 
 dreadful ; but finding nothing to realise his lively apprehen- 
 sions, he read it again with more care. 
 
 " A somnambulist," said he, at length, thoughtfully ; " a 
 somnambulist. A somnambulist is a person who walks in 
 his sleep j a sleep walker j one who walks while asleep, and 
 imagines he is awake. I have read many strange accounts 
 of these somnambulists. But what, my dear Eleanor, 
 induced your distress 1 " 
 
 "The fact of his being a somnambulist," she replied. 
 " My poor brother was one. It was that which brought 
 him to a premature grave." 
 
 "Well, that was very lamentable — ^very. But Sylvester 
 is young ! He is in fact quite a youth ! and I hold it 
 to be extremely fortunate that the thing has been found 
 out so soon ! He must be cured of this propensity. I have 
 not the smallest doubt that a cure may be effected. I am 
 not, it is true, conversant with that which is termed the 
 physiology of somnambulism ; but, doubtless, when we look 
 at the wonderful progress which the science of medicine has 
 made within, the last century, means of effecting a cure 
 have been found." 
 
 " But what perils — what dreadful dangers — are encoun- 
 tered by those who are thus afflicted ! " 
 
 " True ; and these it wiU now be our care to prevent. I 
 submit, that instead of uselessly lamenting the fact, we ought 
 to congratulate ourselves on the discovery. Understand, 
 my dear Eleanor, I do not mean to say that the fact itself is 
 one which ought not to be lamented ; my object is merely to 
 convey to you my impression that we ought to be thankful 
 that the discovery has been made before anything of a very 
 serious character occurred." 
 
 " I understand ; and I am thankful — oh ! most thankful." 
 
 " And now, if I do not mistake — I know it is presumptuous 
 to form an opinion without having the necessaiy data — 
 still, if I do not mistake, I can see distinctly the cause of his 
 being accused of that offence of which we both firmly believe 
 him to be innocent. Sir Charles was quite right — I cannot 
 conceive the possibility of a person in his station declaring 
 that to be true which he knew to be false — he was doubtless 
 quite right : he did see Sylvester lea,ving the house as de- 
 
420 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 scribed j and Sylvester was, I will venture to say, in a state 
 of somnambulism then." 
 
 "Fery likely!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor suddenly. "That's 
 it ! Yes ; it must be so ! " 
 
 " I think it abundantly clear that it is so. I moreover 
 think that there can be no doubt that the judge and jury will 
 see it. ReaUy, my impression is, that just at this time nothing 
 could have been more fortunate than this discovery. A man 
 in a state of somnambulism cannot be said to be a respon- 
 sible agent, and if he be not a responsible agent, he cannot, 
 with justice, be punished. I here assume, my dear Eleanor, 
 the case of a man who, while in a state of somnambulism, 
 commits an offence which is ordinarily punishable by law — 
 such an offence, for example, as a sacrilege. We could not, 
 with justice, punish any individual for committing such an 
 offence while in a state of somnambulism. Hence it is that 
 I feel quite certain that, when the fact of Sylvester being 
 seen to leave the residence of this gentleman is viewed in 
 connection with the circumstance of his being a somnam- 
 bulist, the jury will, without hesitation, return a verdict in 
 his favour. But have you never seen, my dear Eleanor, 
 anything indicative of the existence of this extraordinary — 
 what shall I call it — during his residence here ? " 
 
 "Why really — although I never noticed the slightest 
 indication of anything of the kind — ^I am now disposed to 
 view him as the author of all those little mysteries by which 
 we have been so perplexed. About five years ago, you 
 recollect, we were terribly pestered ? " 
 
 "I see!" exclaimed the reverend gentleman. "He was 
 down here at that time. I see it all, now. It was he whom 
 I then caught at my peaches. Jones is right — quite right 
 — he's perfectly right. I must apologise to Jones at a fitting 
 opportunity, for, albeit he declares to this day that it was 
 Sylvester, I have persisted in repudiating the idea as being 
 monstrous. And then the ghost — why, let me see — the 
 ghost ! Why the ghost never appears here when Sylvester 
 is absent. He is the ghost; he must be the ghost. The 
 thing is all explained. When he is in town no ghost appears ; 
 it is always seen when he is here. Nothing can be clearer. 
 Bless my life and soul, now I wonder this never occurred 
 to me before. He is the ghost. There cannot be a doubt 
 about it. And this reminds me that I have been unwit- 
 
THE LAST REQUEST. 421 
 
 tingly guilty of an act of injustice. You remember that 
 that man, Obadiah Drant, declared the other day that 
 Sylvester was drinking one night at the Crumpet and 
 Crown? Sylvester denied it positively — solemnly, and I, 
 in consequence, told Drant plainly, and in no measured 
 terms, that it was false. I now, however, firmly believe 
 it to be true ; I believe that Sylvester, while in a state 
 of somnambulism was there, I must apologise to that 
 unhappy man ; it is but just that I should do so. Why, 
 my dear Eleanor, this is the key to all. This affords a 
 ready and a rational explanation of everything that has 
 occurred." 
 
 "But is it not strange that we shotild never have dis- 
 covered it ? " 
 
 " It is — very strange. That, however, which strikes me 
 as being most strange, is the fact of his having deceived 
 me that night when he entered the parlour. I really be- 
 lieved him to be a spirit ; I did indeed. ' That, my dear 
 Eleanor, is the strangest thing of all. But we must see 
 him — we must see him without delay. When shall we 
 go, my dear — when shall we go? Shall we start off at 
 once ? " 
 
 " Why, I don't see how we can go to-day. I have nothing 
 prepared." 
 
 "There is a coach, my dear, at twelve. Can you not, 
 by the exercise of your ingenuity, manage to get ready by 
 that time ? I would not press the point, but I really feel 
 so anxious to see him." 
 
 " So do I. But — well, I tiiiU get ready ; we will go to-day. 
 The coach starts from the inn at twelve ? " 
 
 " Yes, and if we start from here at the same time we shall 
 meet it." 
 
 " Then let it be so. You will have to go home ;. by the 
 time you return, I'U be ready." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then left the cottage; prepared 
 for the journey ; returned at eleven ; sat down to lunch ; ate 
 heartily ; and at twelve o'clock they started. 
 
 As they left the village the carriages of Mr. Howard 
 and the lady whose assumed name was Greville met at 
 the door of the inn. It will doubtless be remembered that 
 they, with Henrietta, were introduced in the fifth chapter 
 of this history. If will be also recollected that they had 
 
422 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 been in the habit of meeting at that place periodically; 
 that Mr. Howard would never see Mrs. Greville ; and that 
 Henriette— who was allowed to remain in the room one 
 hour — had been kept in perfect ignorance as to who she 
 really was. 
 
 Henriette had a thousand times entreated her father 
 to explain this itiystery ; a thousand times had she begged 
 of him to tell her why they met there, and why Mrs. 
 GreviUe — whom he felt she loved dearly — should be always 
 so deeply affected when they met. His answer invariably 
 was — 
 
 " She knew you in infancy j you remind her of her own 
 dear child. I would not wound her feelings by neglecting 
 to take you there on these occasions for the world. I pro- 
 mised long ago that she should see you twice a year." 
 
 Nor could Henriette obtain an explanation from Mrs. 
 Greville. 
 
 " Why," she inquired on one occasion, " why does not my 
 dear father see you 1" 
 
 "He *ill not see me," replied Mrs. Greville. "I remind 
 him of your mamma." 
 
 " You knew her, then 1 " 
 
 "Oh, yes; well." 
 
 " You have been married 1 " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " You have had children ? " 
 
 " One — one dear — dear girl." 
 
 " Your husband — is he dead 1 " 
 
 "Alas— tome." 
 
 " Your daughter, too 1 " 
 
 "To me — to me; yes, both are dead to me I But do not 
 urge me, pray do not. You'll break my heart. I cannot 
 bear it. Promise me — do promise me — that you'll never 
 revert to this subject again." 
 
 Henriette, seeing her distress, did promise, and from that 
 hour the subject in her presence was never named. 
 
 On this occasion, however, as the carriages met, Howard 
 and Mrs. Greville caught each other's glance, and while, 
 his altered appearance so shocked her, that she was almost 
 unable to alight, he suddenly sank back in his carriage 
 and wept. 
 
 Having been with some difficulty assisted into the room 
 
THE LAST BEQUEST. 423 
 
 wMch she usually occupied, she sank into a chair aud 
 sobbed aloud, and when Henriette — who had marvelled at 
 her father's sudden emotion — had joined her, she fell upon 
 her neck and kissed and blessed her more passionately than 
 ever. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. GrevUle," said Henriette, "what can 
 be the meaning of this? I left my father weeping, and 
 now " 
 
 " You left him weeping ? Oh, did he weep when he saw 
 me?" 
 
 " I know not that he saw you, but he wept." 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! I am not then despised." 
 
 " Despised I Surely you never imagined that you were 1 " 
 
 " I have thought so, my dearest love — I have thought so ! 
 But he is not well. He cannot be well ! " 
 
 " He is as well as usual ! or was when we left home this 
 morning." 
 
 " Then what a change has been effected ! Oh, my love, 
 there was a time — but that time's past. Dear Henriette — 
 you know not how I love you ! " 
 
 "You love me. You love me, and yet you keep me in 
 ignorance of that which I have been for years panting to 
 know. Why are you now thus afflicted ? Why did my dear 
 father weep ? If you love me, let me know all. I said If/ 
 — Forgive me. I feel, I know you love me fondly, but pray, 
 pray keep me in ignorance no longer." 
 
 " My dear, dear girl," said Mrs. Greville, who continued 
 to weep bitterly, " indeed you must not urge me. My lips 
 on this subject are sealed. That seal must not by me be 
 broken." 
 
 A pause ensued : during which Mrs. Greville sat gazing 
 at Henriette through her tears, which she would have con- 
 cealed but could not. 
 
 "Henriette," she said at length, having struggled with 
 her feelings until she appeared to have almost subdued them. 
 " Henriette, will you do me a favour ? " 
 
 ."My dear Mrs. Greville," replied Henriette, "why ask 
 me? You know not what pleasure it will give me to do 
 anything for you, of which I am capable." 
 
 " I believe your dear father is still in the carriage." 
 : "He is." 
 
 " Will you go to him, my dear girl, and tell him that I 
 
424 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 am anxious — most anxious — to see him for a few short 
 moments ? " 
 
 " It will give me great happiness to do so." 
 
 "Dear Henriette, tell him — ^pray tell him — that if he 
 will but grant me this one request, I pledge my honour — ay, 
 my honour — that it shall be my last." 
 
 Henriette kissed her, and flew from the room, and when 
 the door of the carriage had been opened, she said, " Dear 
 father, mamma — I feel, I know that it is mamma " 
 
 " Henriette ! " said Howard sternly, as he alighted. 
 
 He said no more, but handed her into the carriage, 
 followed her, gave the word " Home 1 " and they were off. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Feom the evening Aunt Eleanor and her friend arrived in 
 town till the day of the trial, nothing occurred to Sylvester 
 worth recording. He invariably slept with Tom, who had 
 procured a pair of manacles — with a thin chain attached — 
 with which he every night secured him to himself, and 
 although he very frequently rose in his sleep, the chain 
 instantly checked and awoke them both. 
 
 " Dot a bit of it, old fellow," Tom used to exclaim. " You 
 dod't do adythidg at all of the sort. You wadt to go 
 prowlidg about as usual, do you ? Cobe alodg id agaid : 
 cobe — cobe alodg." 
 
 When Aunt Eleanor heard of this arrangement, she felt 
 perfectly satisfied of Sylvester's safety; and so did the 
 reverend gentleman, whose whole time was occupied in the 
 conception of ideas, calculated in his view to strengthen the 
 defence. He was to be a witness — a most important witness 
 — and when Mr. Wilks, the solicitor, had taken down his 
 evidence, he called with the view of improving it, two or 
 three times every day upon Mr. Wilks, until he found^ — and 
 it really appeared to him to be the strangest thing in nature 
 — that Mr. Wilks was never at home when he called. He 
 was continually out. Nothing could be like it. Go when 
 
THE TRIAL. 425 
 
 he might, Mr. Wilks waa from home. He would occa- 
 sionally wait an hour or two in the outer office — either 
 reading the paper or conversing with one of the clerks — for 
 there was one very nice young man in that office ; all the 
 rest, in the reverend gentleman's judgment, behaved with 
 too much levity, for they were always laughing, they laughed 
 whenever he entered, and continued to laugh all the time 
 he remained — but it mattered not how many hours he waited, 
 Mr. Wilks never returned while he was there. 
 
 This extraordinary fact engendered in his mind a strong 
 suspicion that Mr. Wilks neglected his business ; and he 
 began to lament that some other solicitor had not been 
 engaged in the case ; but as the doctor and Mr. Scholefield 
 — who at once perceived the cause of Mr. Wilks's extraordi- 
 nary absence on those occasions — set his mind at rest on 
 tJiat point, he regularly conveyed his ideas twice a day to 
 Mr. Wilks on a sheet of foolscap paper, which he invari- 
 ably filled, and which Mr. Wilks invariably put under the 
 table. 
 
 The morning of the day at length arrived : the day on 
 which the trial was appointed to take place : and the 
 reverend gentleman rose at four, and took a constitutional 
 walk round Hyde Park. As he felt very fidgety he walked 
 very fast, but Time seemed to fly much more slowly than 
 usual. He had to be at Tom's at eight o'clock, but before 
 six he felt quite knocked up. Two hours remained. How 
 was he to pass those two hours ? A thought struck him. 
 He would go down to Westminster Hall. He would look at 
 the building, and ascertain whether he thought it likely 
 that justice would be administered that day. He accordingly 
 wended his way towards the Hall, and as he met sundry 
 females, whom he imagined impure, he walked in the 
 middle of the road, conceiving that expostulation would be 
 useless. 
 
 On reaching Palace Yard, he stood, and looked, and con- 
 templated deeply, and wildly conjectured, and then went 
 over the whole of his evidence, which of course, he thought 
 perfectly conclusive. 
 
 " Cab, your honour ? " said a man, who approached him. 
 
 " No, my good man," replied the reverend gentleman. 
 " I was merely looking at Westminster Hall. There is a 
 trial coming on to-day in which I am interested." 
 
426 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Indeed ! " cried the cabman ; " what trial is it ? " 
 
 " It is a crim. con. trial, ' Julian versus Sound,' but 
 my -friend, who is the defendant in the action, is a somnam- 
 bulist." 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir ; a how much ? " 
 
 " A somnambulist. A person who walks in his sleep." 
 
 " Oh ! one of them there svells — I see." 
 
 " He is innocent of the crime of which he is accused ; 
 quite innocent." 
 
 « No doubt." 
 
 " But then the plantiEP in this case will not believe it." 
 
 " That's alvays the case, sir ; they never vUl." 
 
 " It is lamentable that it should be so ! " 
 
 "Werry! but they alvays knows better than anybody 
 else." 
 
 " They always appear to believe they know better." 
 
 " That's jist precisely my meaning." 
 
 " But then you know it's obstinacy : nothing but obsti- 
 nacy ! " 
 
 "Nothing; I've alvays found them svells the most obstro- 
 pulusest going." 
 
 " If men would in all cases listen to reason " 
 
 " That's the pint. Reason's the ticket ! " 
 
 " But you see they will not. However, ' suns euique 
 mosf" 
 
 "Werry good." 
 
 " Hollo, Bob ! what's the row ? " inquired one of the cab- 
 man's friends. 
 
 " Why, Dick," said Bob, winking very significantly, " this 
 here gentleman here is hinterested in a haotion." 
 
 " Does his mother know he's out ? " inquired Dick, with 
 very great indiscretion. 
 
 "My mother," replied the reverend gentleman, "of whom 
 you could have had no knowledge, has been dead twenty 
 years." 
 
 Bob again winked at Dick, who withdrew. 
 
 "He's a wulgar man, that, sir," observed Bob, "werry." 
 
 "I must say that I don't think him very refined." 
 
 "But then vot can you expect? He's had no eddica- 
 tion." 
 
 " Then he's much to be pitied." 
 
 "Werry true. There you've just hit my sentiments. 
 
THE TRIAL. 427 
 
 Werry true, indeed. A cold morning, sir,'' added Bob. 
 " Heverythink's werry dull. I hope you'll allow me to drink 
 your honour's health ! " 
 
 " Here's a shilling,'' said the reverend gentleman, " which, 
 as you're a civil man, you may apply to that purpose." 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir : I hope you von't think me too intrud- 
 ing, but as I knows you're a gentleman as feels for distress, 
 I'd be werry much obleeged to you if you'd be so kind as to 
 lend me jist another eighteenpence. I ain't had a fare to- 
 night, sir, reely. I shall be sure to see you agin, sir ; and 
 then I'll pay your honour." 
 
 " Well, my good man, I don't know you at all ; but if, as 
 you say, you are distressed, here is one-and- sixpence more ; 
 take it home to your wife and family." 
 
 " Thank you, sir : I'm werry much obleeged to you," said 
 Bob, who winked at Dick in the distance, " werry." 
 
 And having delivered himself to this effect, he at once 
 rejoined his "wulgar " friend, who burst into a loud roar of 
 laughter. 
 
 ^e reverend gentleman didn't understand this : he con- 
 ceived it to be imputable to the man's vulgarity, and left 
 Palace Yard, and wandered about until half -past seven, when, 
 feeling exceedingly fatigued, he knocked at Tom's door and 
 was admitted. 
 
 At eight o'clock precisely, Aunt Eleanor, the doctor, Mr. 
 Scholefield, the reverend gentleman, Sylvester, and Tom, 
 sat down to breakfast, but there was not one of them who 
 had the slightest appetite. Their anxiety caused them all 
 to feel nervous. They couldn't eat.- They drank tea and 
 coffee, it is true ; but nothing substantial could any one of 
 them touch. 
 
 As nine o'clock was the time at which they were in- 
 structed to be at the court, they, at a quarter to nine, 
 entered the carriages of the doctor and Mr. Scholefield, 
 which were waiting at the door, and proceeded at once to 
 the HaU. 
 
 This was the reverend gentleman's first appearance in a 
 court of justice, and when he saw five or six rows of barristers 
 as he entered, he really felt awed ! He however said 
 nothing ; even their appearance seemed to have rendered him 
 speechless ; but when the Lord Chief Justice took his seat, 
 
428 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 he felt that it would be perfectly impossible for him to give 
 any evidence at all. 
 
 Well; that being then the first case on the list, " Julian 
 versus Sound " was called. Mr. Charles Phillpots appeared 
 with Mr. Clark for the plaintiff, and Mr. Slashinger with 
 Mr. O'Phail for the defendant. 
 
 The legal preliminaries haviag been arranged, Mr. Clark 
 opened the pleadings, from which he wished his lordship 
 and the jury to understand, that ia this case Sir Charles 
 Julian, Bart., was the plaintifiE; that Sylvester Sound was 
 the defendant ; that the declaration charged the defendant 
 with having assaulted Matilda Maria, the wife of the plaintiff, 
 &c. &c. ; and that the damages were laid at five thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 Mr. Phillpots then rose, and spoke as follows : " My 
 lord and gentlemen of the jury, — liis is one of those cases 
 which, to the honour of the mighty and moral empire in 
 which we live — considering its importance, its population, 
 and its wealth — are comparatively rare. I need not ex- 
 plain to you, gentlemen of the jury, that it is with the 
 most profound anxiety that I approach this subject, for 
 that anxiety will be appreciated when I state that I have 
 confided in my hands the dearest interests of a fellow- 
 creature, who has been wantonly — cruelly — vilely reduced 
 from a state of supreme — of ecstatic happiness, to the 
 deepest and most inconceivable misery. Oh, how I wish 
 that I could place my unhappy — my heartbroken client 
 before you, that his haggard brow, his sorrowing features, 
 his wasted form, and his hollow eye, might manifest the 
 horrible pangs he has endured ! Oh, that I could bring 
 him before you now, that you might see what havoc — what 
 agonising havoc — his sufferings have caused ! You would 
 then behold a picture of appalling misery, which no words 
 at my command can even feebly portray. I hope most 
 fervently that you may never know how poor — how weak 
 are the utmost exertions of an advocate, when placed under 
 such nfflicting circumstances as these ! I hope that you may 
 never experience the heart-rending pangs, the agonising 
 sufferings of a man placed — basely placed — in the position 
 of my unhappy client. Gentlemen, the plaintiff is the scion 
 of an honourable family — a family whose antiquity stands 
 
THE TRIAL. 429 
 
 unsurpassed, and upon whose escutcheon calumny never 
 dared to breathe. In the afEectionate bosom of that family 
 he passed the early portion of his life : but becoming 
 enamoured of her whose honour the defendant has thus 
 vilely tarnished, he married, and for years enjoyed the 
 most supreme felicity on earth. She was amiable, beauti- 
 ful, and highly accomplished. She possessed every virtue 
 that could adorn her sex. She was all his heart could 
 wish. His soul adored her. In her his every earthly 
 hope was centered. And thus years of bliss rolled on, 
 till the defendant basely drew her into his accursed meshes, 
 compassing the destruction of an amiable woman — crush- 
 ing the spirits of an honourable man — and blasting his 
 happiness for ever. Gentlemen, up to this period the 
 plaintiff had not the most distant idea of his wife's in- 
 fidelity. He believed her to be faithful — he believed her 
 to be virtuous — he believed her to be pure— and I cherish 
 a strong conviction that he was justified in believing, her 
 to be faithful, and virtuous, and pure : nor was it until he 
 absolutely saw, to his astonishment and horror, the defen- 
 dant leave the house at night, after having been seen in her 
 chamber, that he entertained the slightest suspicion of his 
 having been for ever dishonoured and disgraced. Gentle- 
 men, I shall bring before you evidence of the most incontro- 
 vertible character to prove that the defendant was actually 
 seen to come from Lady Julian's chamber, while the lady 
 herself occupied it. I shall moreover prove to you, beyond 
 all doubt, that the butler in the service of the plaintiff 
 absolutely let the defendant out of the house ! And what 
 is the defendant ? He is a medical man. He is a member 
 of the Royal College of Surgeons. Now, if there be one 
 man more than another in whose honour and integrity 
 we feel ourselves justified in confiding, that man is a medical 
 adviser. At all times, in all seasons, and imder all con- 
 ceivable circumstances, a medical adviser has free and un- 
 fettered access to our homes. Relying upon his honour, 
 we place our wives and daughters freely under his care, 
 and although the defendant was not the medical adviser 
 of Lady Jidian — although it cannot be said that he violated 
 any confidence directly reposed in him by the plaintiff — if 
 once the 'case of a medical man, guilty of so infamous a 
 practice as that of which the defendant has been guilty, be 
 
430 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 suffered to pass wittout being strongly marked, farewell 
 confidence, farewell security, farewell virtue, farewell peace. 
 Gentlemen, the fact of the defendant being a medical man 
 greatly aggravates his infamy, for, up to this time, it has 
 been scarcely conceivable that so base, so heartless a reptile 
 could be found connected with that ancient and honourable 
 profession. We have hitherto looked for friends there, not 
 for vipers : we have looked for integrity, not for abomina- 
 tion. I admit this unhappy lady's fall. I admit her utter 
 worthlessness, but, not being skilled in that atrocious, that 
 execrable species of necromancy, of which the defendant 
 is so perfect a master, I cannot pretend to tell you by 
 what witchcraft — by what hellcraft — he succeeded in de- 
 stroying the soul of such a woman, by prompting her thus 
 to disgrace and dishonour so fond, so affectionate, so doting 
 a husband. And now, having thus briefly drawn the faint 
 outline of this most abominable case, I have to direct 
 your attention, gentlemen, to the only question open for 
 your consideration — for the pleas of the defendant are not 
 worth a rush — namely, what damages you ought to give 
 the plaintiff. 
 
 ' Had it pleased Heaven 
 To try him with affliction ; had it rained 
 All kinds of sores and shames on his bare head, 
 Steeped him in poverty to the very lips, 
 Given to captivity him and his hopes. 
 He would have found in some part of his soul 
 A drop of patience : 
 
 But there, where he had gamer'd up his heart, 
 Where either he must live or bear no life. 
 The fountain, from the which his current runs 
 Or else dries up : to be discarded thence ! ' 
 
 Turn your complexion there, gentlemen, and say what 
 damages you ought to give him. Deeply do I lament that 
 an injured husband has no other remedy ; deeply do I regret 
 that the legislature of this great nation has not made the 
 outrage a criminal offence. He who steals your ^ purse, 
 steals trash ; yet he forfeits his liberty — it may be his life ; 
 but he who basely plunders you of the dearest treasure of 
 your heart of hearts, escapes, if rich, with comparative 
 impunity. But the law is so, and your award can be merely 
 
THE TRIAL. 
 
 431 
 
 that of money. And how are you to calculate the damages ? 
 There is but one rule — 'Do as you would be done by.' 
 Many of you are basking in the light of wedded love — 
 blessed with a home to which you turn as to a haven from 
 the storms of life, surrounded by joys, and sipping bliss 
 from the lips of her whom you dearly love. What would 
 you take to have this vision dissipated 1 What would you 
 take to lose her 1 What you would take in such a case, 
 give ! — award that which you would feel yourself justified in 
 receiving. The damages are laid at five thousand pounds. 
 Would you think that sum too much for you to receive? 
 Do I insult you by the question? No; not I. It is the 
 law that interrogates you. ' Do as you would be done by.' 
 If you think that that sum would be too much for you, give 
 my client what you would think enough. Place yourselves 
 individually in his position, and say what you — feeling the 
 earthquake of your happiness beneath you, and looking 
 round for one last prop to cling to, and seeing the visions 
 you had cherished, the bliss you had enjoyed, the hopes you 
 had idoKsed, with every household deity dearest and most 
 divine, shivered to atoms round the hearth where they were 
 worshipped — say what you would consider a sufficient 
 compensation. Grentlemen, I now leave the case of my 
 unhappy client — deprived as he has been by the vHe, 
 insidious arts of the defendant, of the society of her who 
 formed the lovely centre of this happy circle — with the most 
 entire confidence, in your hands. Your verdict must be for 
 the plaintifF, of course. The only point for you to consider 
 is, that which has reference to compensation. What you 
 think would compensate you in such a case, award him. 
 ' Do as you would be done by 1 '" 
 
 This address, of course, produced an extraordinary 
 sensation. The great majority of those who were in 
 court thought that the verdict must be for the whole five 
 thousand ; that Sir Charles deserved it, and that he, there- 
 fore, ought to have it. 
 
 James Thompson, the butler, was then called and 
 sworn. 
 
 "Tour name is James Thompson, I believe," said Mr. 
 Phillpots. 
 
 "It is," replied the butler. 
 
432 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "You hold the situation of butler in Sir Charles's 
 establishment 1 " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "And have held it for the last seven years 1 " 
 
 "I have." 
 
 " Do you remember the night of the sth of last 
 month 1 " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " State to the court what then occurred." 
 
 "About three that morning, on going upstairs, I 
 saw Mr. Sound coming slowly from the ante-room, which 
 leads to Lady Julian's chamber, and conceiving that he had 
 called professionallyj I returned, opened the door, and let 
 him out." 
 
 " You know the defendant well ? " 
 
 "Quite well." 
 
 "You know the defendant quite well. Now, just pay 
 attention to the question I'm about to ask. Is it possible 
 for you to have been mistaken ? " 
 
 "No; that is quite impossible." 
 
 " Quite impossible. Did you let him in 1 " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Who let him in ? " 
 
 "Can't say." 
 
 " Did either of the other servants let him in ? " 
 
 "They all declare that they did not." 
 
 "Is there any window through which he might have 
 entered 1 " 
 
 "There is no window he could have got in at.'' 
 
 " Then the presumption is, that Lady Julian let him in 
 herself 1 " 
 
 " I don't know ; but I think that if she had let him in, 
 she would also have let him out." 
 
 "I don't ask you what you think/ You didn't let him 
 in, nor did either of the other servants let him in. The 
 presumption, therefore, is that she let him in herself. But 
 you are quite sure that it was Mr. Sound, the defendant, 
 whom you saw coming slowly from the ante-room, and 
 whom you let out of the house ? " 
 
 " I am quite sure." 
 
 " That you swear to ? " 
 
THE TRIAL. 
 
 433 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Solemnly ? " 
 
 " Most solemnly."' 
 
 Mr. Slashinger then rose to cross-examine this witness. 
 
 "You know Mr. Sound, the defendant in this action, 
 quite well 1 " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " You have known him for some years ? " 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "As the assistant of Scholefield, the medical adviser of 
 Lady Julian, he used to come frequently to the house t " 
 
 " Very frequently." 
 
 "Both with Mr. Scholefield, and alone?" 
 
 " Very frequently alone." 
 
 "Now, Mr. Thompson, I am going to put to you a most 
 important question, and your well-known honesty and 
 integrity prompts me to believe that you will answer it in 
 a candid and straightforward manner. Did you ever, at 
 any time, see anythiag in the conduct of Lady Julian, to 
 induce you to- believe that she was not strictly virtuous ? " 
 
 "Never, sir! never!" repUed- Thompson, with emotion. 
 " Nor do I believe that she is not virtuous now." 
 
 "You do not ! What, not after the eloquent speech of 
 my learned friend ? " 
 
 " That has not shaken my belief : nor do I think that if 
 Sir Charles had been here, he would have allowed him to go 
 on so. So much about the money." 
 
 " I repeat," said Mr. Phillpots, rising indignantly, " I tell 
 you again that we don't ask you what you think. Answer 
 the questions that are put to you, sir." 
 
 " I do to the best of my ability." 
 
 " Then," resumed Mr. Slashinger, " you still believe Lady 
 Julian to be virtuous ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Sir Charles was not at home, I believe, when you saw 
 Mr. Sound on that occasion ? " 
 
 " He was not." 
 
 " You have no idea how he got in ? " 
 
 " I have not the slightest." 
 
 "Were you in the house the whole of the morning in 
 question 1 " 
 
 2 K 
 
434 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Ezcept for a few moments, when I went to speak to 
 the butler at the house adjoining." 
 
 " Did you leave the door open — or partially open— when 
 you went to speak to the butler ? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Might not Mr. Sound have walked in while you were 
 absent ? " 
 
 " He certainly might have done so." 
 
 " He might have done so. And you believe, notwith- 
 standing you saw Mr. Sound coming slowly from the ante- 
 room, that Lady Julian is virtuous still 1 " 
 
 " I do. I don't believe she knew that he was there." 
 
 " How did he look when you let him out ? At all 
 confused ? " 
 
 " No 5 calm and serious." 
 
 " Did he make any observation 1 " 
 
 "None." 
 
 " Then he walked straight out, and took no notice 1 " 
 
 " He did." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 " And now," said Mr. Phillpots, Who looked very fierce, 
 "I am about to put a question, which, from 'your well- 
 known honesty and integrity,' to use the flowing language 
 of my learned friend, I expect you, in a candid and straight- 
 forward manner, to answer. "When did you see the 
 defendant's attorney last ? " 
 
 " I never did see him to my knowledge." 
 
 " But you have seen his clerk, haven't you ? " 
 
 " Not to my knowledge." 
 
 " Is it not indiscreet/' said Mr. Clark, in a whisper, " to 
 throw a doubt upon any portion of the evidence of our 
 own witness ? " 
 
 Mr. Phillpots winked at Mr. Clark, and then resumed. 
 
 " It was about three o'clock when you saw the defen- 
 dant coming from the &,nte-room leading to Lady Julian's 
 chamber ? " 
 
 "About three.'" 
 
 " And you couldn't by any possibility have mistaken any 
 one else for the defendant ? " 
 
 "I could not. The thing is impossible." 
 
 " Impossible. Very well. That will do." 
 
THE TRIAL. 435 
 
 This was tile case for the plaintiif j and, after a pause, 
 Mr. Slashinger rose, and said — 
 
 _" My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, — My learned friend, 
 with his usual tact, having but one single fact to adduce, 
 has brought forward a multitude of figures. Knowing the 
 actual weakness of his case, he has endeavoured to strengthen 
 it with flights of fancy : feeling that the solitary point for 
 you to consider was of itself insufficient, his object has been 
 to carry away your judgment by a flaming flood of forensic 
 eloquence. That object, however, has not been accomplished. 
 If it had been, it would have been my duty to bring you 
 back to the point from trhich you started. But as I feel 
 that I have now to address intelligent men — men who will 
 not suffer their judgment to be carried away so easily — my 
 task is comparatively light. Gentlemen, what are the facts 
 of the case ? — ^nay, rather let me say what is the fact ?— 
 there being but one at present for your consideration. The 
 fact, gentlemen, is, that the witness Thompson swears that 
 he saw the defendant at the time in question, walking — 
 slowly walking — from the ante-room which leads to Lady 
 Julian's chamber. Now, gentlemen, I am not about to 
 impugn Thompson's evidence. He gave it in a very proper 
 manner, and I take it for granted that he believes that 
 which he stated to be true. He may be correct. The 
 defendant may have been there : he may have walked from 
 the ante-room slowly 1 he may have been let out by Thomp- 
 son : he may have been seen to pas9 the gate by Sir Charles. 
 I don't know that he was not-^^nor does the defendant ! — 
 but if he were there, he was there whUe in a state of 
 somnambulism 1 [This announcement created an extra- 
 ordinary sensation. Even the reverend gentleman, whom 
 the speech of Mr. Phillpots had perfectly bewildered, rubbed 
 his hands, and smiled.] Gentlemen," continued the learned 
 counsel, " unhappily my client is a confirmed somnambulist. 
 I shall prove that to your entire satisfaction anon. At 
 present I feel it to be my duty to account for his presence — 
 for I assume that he was present — -at the house of Sir 
 Charles Julian oh the occasion in question. Gentlemen, 
 somnambulists generally, when asleep, remember everything 
 which occurs to them while awake, but they remember 
 nothing when awake which happens while they are asleep. 
 I beg of you to bear this in mind. The defendant, Mr. 
 
436 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Sound, lived for the period of five years with Mr. Scholefield, 
 Lady Julian's medical attendajit. During that period, as 
 the witness has told us, he was frequently — very frequently 
 — at the house of Sir Charles. Now, gentlemen, may I not 
 venture to say, that on the morning in question, he dreamt 
 that Lady Julian required his professional attendance, and 
 that, acting on that dream, he rose and went to the house 1 
 You have heard Thompson state that he left the door open 
 when he went to speak to the butler at the house adjoining : 
 you have also heard him state that the defendant might 
 have entered the house during his absence. Now, is it too 
 much to assume, knowing him to be a confirmed somnambu- 
 list, that the defendant did enter the house at that time, 
 and with no other view than that of attending to Lady 
 Julian professionally? I do submit, gentlemen, that when 
 I have proved, as I shall prove beyond all question, that my 
 client is a somnambulist, the case will be, in your judgment, 
 perfectly clear. As to Lady Julian, I believe her to be still 
 strictly virtuous, still pure : and in that belief I am joined, 
 as you have heard, by the witness Thompson, who has had 
 the most ample opportunities of observing her character and 
 conduct. Gentlemen, my firm impression is, that this pro- 
 ceeding on the part of Sir Charles Julian ought to cause him 
 to blush. He married Lady Julian in all the pride of youth 
 and beauty, he himself being rather advanced in years ; 
 and although I will not say that it is natural for an old man 
 to be jealous of a young and lovely wife, I may say that it 
 is too often the case, and that the slightest circumstance is 
 sufficient to create suspicion. I have, however, no desire to 
 dwell upon this point. He saw the defendant coming from 
 the house : his suspicion was aroused, and he brought this 
 action : for damages ! — for compensation for the loss of her 
 whom, on these slight grounds, he turned out of his house, 
 and who never was unfaithful to him. I do not envy the 
 feelings of that man : I do not envy the feelings of any 
 man who, on such slender grounds, casts ' his soul's idol ' off 
 — his soul's idol — psha ! — it is sickening. But, gentlemen, 
 ho wants compensation !— he wants money I Yes : he 
 wants you to award him an immense sum of money. 
 Well, if you think him entitled to it, of course you'll 
 award it. I would merely submit that such grovelling 
 ide?is do not in general co-exist with affection. Money is 
 
THE TRIAL. 437 
 
 his suit ! Well, let him have money, if you thiiik: that he 
 has been injured — if you can believe Lady Julian to be 
 impure. I shall not say one word in mitigation of damages 
 ■ — no damage has been sustained by Sir Charles. I will 
 prove to you that the defendant is a somnambulist, and I 
 have so much confidence in your judgment, that you wUl 
 see that the object of Sir Charles Julian is money, that 
 Lady Julian is stiU virtuous, still pure, that the defendant 
 went to the house while under the influence of a dream, and 
 that therefore he is entitled to your verdict." 
 
 The learned counsel then called Thomas Delolme, who 
 promptly appeared in the box, and was sworn. 
 
 "Mr. Delolme," said Mr. Slashinger, "you are a medical 
 man 1 " 
 
 " I ab," replied Tom. 
 
 " You have, I believe, an extensive practice ? " 
 
 " Dot very extedsive. About a thousadd a year." 
 
 " About a thousand a year. You are intimately acG[uainted 
 with Mr. Sound, the defendant in this action ? "» 
 
 "lab." 
 
 " Is it your impression that he is a somnambulist ? " 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " TeU the court how that impression was created." 
 
 " Id codsequedce of his havidg idforbed be the other day 
 that he suspected that he was a sobdabbulist, I idduced hib 
 to sleep at by house, add sat up id a roob adjoididg that id 
 which he slept. About two o'clock he cabe idto the roob 
 id which I was sittidg, add had a glass of braddy-add-water, 
 add sboked a cigar, add codversed for sobe tibe, add thed 
 wedt to bed agaid : but id the bordidg he recollected dothidg 
 at all about it. Dot satisfied with this, I sat up the dext 
 dight without his kdowledge, havidg previously attached 
 a stridg to the sash of his bedroob widdow, add adother to 
 the haddle of his door ; add, at about the sabe tibe, that is 
 to say, two o'clock, the stridg attached to the door was 
 pulled out of my hadd; I wedt out, add heard footsteps 
 asceddidg the stairs. I therefore followed, add codtidued 
 to follow udtil I had reached the attic, frob the widdow of 
 which I saw Sylvester — that is to say, the defeddadt id this 
 actiod — walkidg od the very verge of the parapet, with 
 dothidg whatever od but his shirt. I was of course at the 
 tibe appalled, add as he passed be, I iddiscreetly seized hib 
 
438 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 by the wrist, add tlie sudded shock caiised hib to fall over 
 the parapet. I held hib, however, still, add biraeulously 
 got hib up; add whed I had succeeded in doidg so, it 
 appears that I faidted : but the fact of his beidg a sobdab- 
 bulist is Bufficiedt to aceoudt for bady extraordidary thidgs 
 which occurred whed he lived id by father's house, about 
 five years ago." 
 
 "Then you have not the slightest doubt of his beipg a 
 somnambulist ? " 
 
 " Dode" whatever. His is the host codfirbed case I ever 
 bet with." 
 
 " Has he slept in your house ever since you made the 
 discovery 1 " 
 
 "Yes, every dightj add with be." 
 
 " In the same bed 1 " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And does he still walk in his sleep ? " 
 
 "Do: he would do so, but I prevedt hib. Whed 
 we go to bed I attach a sball haddcuff to his wrist, add 
 adother to by owd. He therefore caddot rise without wak- 
 idg be." 
 
 " Which he does, I suppose, frequently ? " 
 
 " Every dight." 
 
 " And that he is a somnambulist you solemnly swear 1 " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "You have a practice," said Mr. Phillpots, who rose to 
 cross-examine Tom, " which yields you a thousand a-year ? " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " Will you swear that ? " 
 
 " Being dow od by oath, I codsider that every thidg I say 
 I swear to." 
 
 " And you swear that your practice yields you a thousand 
 a-yeai- ? " 
 
 « I do." 
 
 " You do. Well, you have known the defendant for some 
 years, haven't you ? " 
 
 "I have." 
 
 " And did it never occur to you that he was a somnam- 
 bulist until the other night ? " 
 
 " Dever." 
 
 " Isn't that somewhat strange ? " 
 
 " Well, it certaidly bay appear to be so.'' 
 
THE TRIAL. 439 
 
 " I don't ask you what it may appear to be. I ask you 
 whether it is, or not ? " 
 
 " Well, perhaps it is stradge that I dever befpre dis- 
 covered it." 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "Yes, perhaps. He looks add talks whed he is asleep 
 precisely the sabe as he does, whed awake." 
 
 " Then, up to the time which you have named, you never 
 imagined him to be a somnambulist t " 
 
 " Do, I certaidly dever did." 
 
 "Very well. That'U do." 
 
 Mr. Slashinger then called the Eeverend Edward Rouse, 
 and when the reverend gentleman had been sworn, he pro- 
 ceeded to examine him as follows — 
 
 " You are, I believe, a clergyman ? " 
 
 " I thank God I am." 
 
 " You know the defendant ? " 
 
 " I do. When first I knew him I fancied that I saw him 
 on my garden-wall, helping himself to " 
 
 "Exactly. We shall come to all that by-and-by. You 
 reside at Cotherstone ? " 
 
 " I do ; and whenever he comes down there to visit his 
 aunt, something extraordinary is sure to occur ; sometimes 
 a 'ghost' appears in the village — sometimes the horse is 
 taken out of the stable at night — sometimes " . 
 
 "Exactly. And many other extjaordinary things occur 
 for which you have been utterly unable to account. Now, 
 do these things ever occur when the defendant is absent ? " 
 
 " Never. That's the poiut, as I said the other day " 
 
 " Nothing of the kind ever happens at Cotherstone when 
 he is iu town i " 
 
 " Nothing. We are as quiet as possible when he is away ; 
 but the fact of his being a somnambulist affords a key — if 
 I may use the expression — to all which we have heretofore 
 regarded as inexplicable mysteries." 
 
 Mr. Phillpots then rose to cross-examine the reverend 
 gentleman. 
 
 "You know the defendant?" said he; "you know him 
 well ? Now, will you take upon yourself, as a clergy- 
 man of the Church of England, to swear that he is a 
 somnambulist 1 " 
 
 " Why, what else can he be ? " 
 
440 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " No matter what else he can be ; will you swear that he 
 is a somnambulist 1 " 
 
 " Why, when we look at " 
 
 "We don't want to look, sir, at anything but you. My 
 question is plain. WiU you swear that he is a somnam- 
 bulist?" _ ' _ 
 
 " Well, perhaps I am not justified strictly in swearing 
 it, but" 
 
 " Of course not ; there, that'll do ; go down." 
 
 " But, my lord," said the reverend gentleman, addressing 
 the bench. 
 
 "Mr. Rouse," interposed Mr. Slashinger, "you have 
 given your evidence very clearly. You have not the 
 slightest doubt of his being a somnambulist, but you dp 
 not feel justified in swearing that he is one, seeing 
 that you have never exactly discovered him in a state of 
 somnambulism. ' ' 
 
 " Exactly — that's what I mean — exactly." 
 
 " Very good." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then left the box, but he was not 
 by any means satisfied. 
 
 This being the case for the defendant, Mr. Charles Phillpots 
 rose to reply. 
 
 " In all my experience, gentlemen," said he, " I never met 
 with anything more absurd than this defence. It is the 
 most ridiculous on record. Somnambulism ! Let us but 
 once admit this plea, and we may shut up every court of 
 justice in the empire. A man may seduce your wife, and 
 plead somnambulism ; he may ruin your daughters, and 
 plead somnambulism; he may pick your pocket, and plead 
 somnambulism ; he may knock you down, and plead somnam- 
 bulism ; he may even murder you, and plead somnambulism ; 
 nay, there's nothing which he could do, that he might not 
 do, and put in the plea of somnambulism. Can my learned 
 friend produce any witness to prove that his client was in a 
 state of somnambulism when he left Lady Julian's chamber ? 
 No 1 Somnambulism, indeed ! The idea is preposterous. 
 Suppose that either of you gentlemen, on going home to- 
 night were to find a man in your chamber, what would you 
 think of his plea of somnambulism ? Suppose that, on your 
 way home, a fellow were to stop you and rob you of your 
 watch, what would you think of his plea of somnambulism ? 
 
THE TRIAL. 441 
 
 Suppose that I were to say that I thought you suflSciently 
 foolish to entertain such an absurdity, what would you say 
 to my plea of somnambulism 1 Somnambulism, forsooth ! 
 Why, there isn't a crime under heaven that might not be 
 committed with absolute impunity, if once we admitted, in 
 justification, the monstrous plea of somnambulism. Repudiate 
 it, gentlemen, with scorn ! Treat it with the contempt it so 
 richly deserves. I am amazed that in this enlightened age — 
 in the middle of the nineteenth century — and in a country 
 boasting, and justly too, its high and refined state of 
 civilisation — such an absurd, such a perfectly ridiculous plea 
 as that of somnambulism should have been entered. Why, 
 gentlemen, it must be imagined that you are idiots — if, 
 indeed, it be imagined that you are capable of entertaining 
 such a vile plea as this ! Repudiate it, gentlemen, indig- 
 nantly. Look to the plaintiff, whose heart's dearest treasure 
 has been stolen from him by the insidious arts of this 
 somnamhulist, and give exemplary damages, convinced, as 
 you must be, that he has been abused, and that his relief 
 must be to loathe her." 
 
 His lordship then briefly summed up, and the jury, without 
 retiring, returned a verdict for the Plaintiff — Damages, two 
 thousand pounds. 
 
442 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 Sylvester's new protectqe. 
 
 It is extremely questionable whether a trial ever yet gave 
 unmixed satisfaction to either of the parties concerned. In 
 civil cases, especially, there is sure to be, in the judgment of 
 either the plaintiff or the defendant — and almost invariably 
 in the view of both — something left undone which ought 
 to have been done, or something done which ought not to 
 have been done. Sometimes the attornies are censured, 
 sometimes the counsel, sometimes the witnesses, sometimes 
 the jury, and sometimes the judge; but, most certainly, 
 a case in which they all escaped censure, is not to be found 
 on record. 
 
 It will not, therefore, be held to be extraordinary, that 
 neither the plaintiff nor the defendant in this action was 
 satisfied with the result. Sylvester could not have been 
 expected to be ; hut, as it may have been expected that Sir 
 Charles would be satisfied, it will be quite correct to state 
 here that he was not. In his view, his own counsel made 
 him appear to be most sordid. Money was not his object. 
 His object was to establish legally the assumed guilt of 
 Lady Julian with a view to a divorce. He was, therefore, 
 not satisfied at all with his own counsel : nor was he 
 satisfied with the counsel for the defendant : the remarks 
 of both, in his judgment, tended to place him in a ridiculous 
 and contemptible light j and he consequently, after the trial, 
 felt wretched. 
 
 Sylvester, however, had not the wretched feelings of Sir 
 Charles. He saw, of course, the importance of the verdict ; 
 he feared that it might, in a professional sense, effect his 
 ruin; still, being perfectly conscious of his innocence, and 
 having the sympathy of all around him, it cannot — although 
 he was dreadfully annoyed — ^it cannot be said that he felt 
 wretched. Aunt Eleanor was far more deeply affected ; and 
 as to the reverend gentleman, he absolutely swelled with 
 indignation ! He was indignant with the attorney, indignant 
 with the coiuisel, indignant with the jury, indignant with the 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEW PBOTEGTOB. 443 
 
 judge. They were all, in his view, lost to every sense of 
 justice. And yet he felt strongly that, if he had been allowed 
 to give his evidence in his own way, the jury would not have 
 dared to return a verdict for the plaintiff. 
 
 " What ! " he exclaimed. " Is it — can it be^possible that 
 in a country like this — a Christian country — a country in 
 which the principles of Christianity are professed and enter- 
 tained more extensively, perhaps, than in ahy other country 
 upon earth — is it possible that twelve men — twelve Christian 
 men — can deliberately take a solemn oath to give a verdict 
 according to the evidence, and then, having heard that 
 evidence adduced, return such a verdict as this ! Why, it 
 really is fearful to contemplate ! Those- men must be guilty 
 of perjury ; and perjury is one of the most dreadful crimes 
 that a man can possibly lay upon his soul ! I should much 
 like to talk to those men — to explain to them the peril in 
 which they have placed themselves, not only in this world, 
 but in the world to come ! If I do not mistake, a perjurer, 
 even here, is liable to be punished with very great severity. 
 Surely, they cannot be cognisant of this l^eaving entirely 
 out of the question the awful fact of their rendering them- 
 selves amenable to a much greater punishment hereafter ! 
 They really ought to be seen and talked to, and lectured and 
 expostulated with ! the crime of which they have been guilty 
 is in its nature dreadful ! " 
 
 " I do not think," observed Mr. Delolme, " that we are 
 justified in accusing them of having committed perjury." 
 
 " But, my dear sir, just look at the nature of the evidence ! 
 Did not Mr. Thomas swear positively that poor Sylvester was 
 a somnambulist ? And did not I swear as positively and as 
 solemnly, that I had not the slightest doubt of the fact? 
 Ought not that to have been sufficient ? And were they not 
 bound to return a verdict accordingly t " 
 
 " Certainly, they were bound to return a verdict according 
 to the evidence, but not according to your evidence alone ; 
 they were bound to look at the evidence opposed to yours, 
 and to weigh it with yours, and thus to decide." 
 
 " Then it follows that they treated my evidence and that 
 of Mr. Thomas with contempt ! " 
 
 " Not necessarily. They might have felt that you both 
 swore to the best of your belief, and yet conceived that your 
 
444 'SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 evidence was insufficient to establish the fact of Sylvester 
 being a somnambulist." ^ 
 
 " I only wish that I had been one of the jury." 
 
 " If you had been, a very different verdict would doubtless 
 have been returned; but we must remember that those 
 gentlemen were perfect strangers to Sylvester. They knew 
 nothing either of him, or of the circumstances, previously to 
 their coming into court ; and while they manifestly conceived 
 your evidence and that of Tom to be insufficient, they were 
 strongly impressed by the counsel with the danger of allow- 
 ing such a plea as that of somnambulism to obtain." 
 
 " I am aware of its being a plea which might easily be in 
 all cases urged j and- 1 hold the necessity for proving it to be 
 absolute ; all I contend for is, that in this particular case, it 
 was sufficiently proved ! And then, that man, the counsel — 
 that barrister — that Mr. Charles PhillpotS — what right had 
 he to apply such abominable epithets to a person of whom 
 he knew nothing. He ought to be talked to severely ! He 
 ought to be told that the character of Sylvester is the reverse 
 of that which he represented it to be. I have really no 
 patience with a man who wUl thus traduce the character of 
 another without grounds. I only wish that I had been 
 Sylvester's counsel ; I should have told that person, without 
 the slightest hesitation^ that the course he was pursuing was 
 most unwarrantable ! I should have told him so publicly — 
 before the whole court. And then the judge, we really 
 might as well have had no judge at all ! he did not conduct 
 himself at all like a judge ! he gave no judgment whatever 
 upon the matter ! I only wish that I had been the judge !. 
 But is there no appeal from this verdict? Would not a 
 well-drawn-up protest have a very great effect ? " 
 
 " We might move for a new trial, certainly." 
 
 " Then let us have a new trial ; by all means let us have 
 a new trial. That will be the very thing." 
 
 " I fear that unless we have much stronger evidence to 
 produce, a new trial — if we obtained it — would be worse 
 than useless." 
 
 " But we have stronger evidence. My evidence might be 
 stronger — much stronger — I am sure of it." 
 
 The doctor shook his head, and having observed that that 
 point had better be left to the lawyers, retired. 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEW PBOTEGTOB. 445 
 
 How often men know what they ought to have said when 
 the occasion for saying it is passed. How forcibly — how 
 eloquent in public, reflection proves that they might have 
 been. The reverend gentleman had much afterwit. He saw, 
 on reflection, invariably^-for reflection invariably came when 
 he had spoken — that he had omitted to say much that he 
 ought to have said, and that which he did say, he might have 
 said better. He was very seldom called upon to make a 
 ^speech in public — his sermons required no subsequent reflec- 
 tion — but whenever he did make a public speech, the whole 
 of the next day was devoted to its improvement. He would 
 repeat it privately again and again, and polish every point 
 he found in it, and if — as was sometimes the case — no point 
 could be found, he would make one, and then polish that. 
 He did on one occasion try a speech which he had written 
 and learned by rote, but as he broke the thread in the middle 
 and couldn't find the piece that came off, he abandoned that 
 system — which is at best but a deceit — and stuck to the 
 extemporaneous. Still, as he never made a speech which he 
 did not subsequently very much improve, he never saw a 
 speech of his in type which gave him the slightest satis- 
 faction. There was always something said which ought to 
 have been omitted, or something omitted which ought to 
 have been said; and as his speeches, when in type, were 
 never, in his judgment, what they ought to have been, the 
 fact, that his evidence, when in type, gave him no sort of 
 pleasure, cannot create much surprise. He was, indeed, 
 exceedingly dissatisfied with it. He really felt ashamed of 
 its appearance in print, and hence, being conscious — per- 
 fectly conscious^ — of his ability to give better evidence than 
 that, he strongly urged the expediency of having a new 
 trial. 
 
 By the advice of Mr. Scholefield, however, the idea of 
 moving for a new trial was abandoned, and the reverend 
 gentleman no sooner became cognisant of this than he 
 went to work and conceived a scheme, of which the 
 object was to settle the matter at once. He had a little 
 money in the funds : he had, in fact, four thousand pounds 
 in the three-and-a-half per cents ; he therefore resolved on 
 selling out to the extent required, and taking the two 
 thousand pounds himself to Sir Charles Julian, unknown 
 to any other living spul. 
 
446 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 In tHis scheme " costs " were aot contemplated : the idea 
 of costs never occurred to him ; h© fondly imagined that Sir 
 Charles would take the two thousand pounds and give him a 
 receipt in full, and that there, as far as Sylvester was con- 
 cerned, the whole matter would end. 
 
 He accordingly went to a broker whom he knew near the 
 Exchange, and the sale of two thousand pounds stock was 
 effected ; but as he wished to expostulate with Sir Charles 
 when he had paid him, and felt that such an expostulation as 
 that which he contemplated required some previous thought, 
 he returned to the residence of Dr. Delolme, with the view 
 of rehearsing the most important points. 
 
 On his return, however, he found Mr. Scholefleld there, 
 engaged in advising both Sylvester and his aunt to return at 
 once to Cotherstone — to leave the whole management of the 
 matter to him, and to feel assured that all would yet be well 
 — which advice was no sooner communicated to the reverend 
 gentleman than he intimated to Mr. Scholefield that he 
 wished to speak with him in private, and they accordingly 
 withdrew to another room. 
 
 "My dear sir," said he, "I know and appreciate your 
 worth ; I know that you are a dear friend of Sylvester, I 
 have the highest opinion of your judgment, and there- 
 fore deem it prudent to follow your advice : but will 
 you^pardon me — will you, for iny own satisfaction, ex- 
 plain to me your reasons for believing that all will yet be 
 well?" 
 
 " Certainly," replied Mr. Scholefield, " with pleasure. I 
 have just left Sir Charles, who is not at all satisfied now. 
 The verdict of the jury has failed to convince him. of his 
 wife's infidelity. I find that, on the contrary, he is open 
 to the conviction of her innocence; and I know him so 
 well, that I feel that I shall eventually be able to satisfy 
 him that Sylvester is a somnambulist, and thereby to prove 
 to him, beyond all doubt, that Lady Julian herself is still 
 virtuous — still pure." 
 
 "Why,"' exclaimed the reverend gentleman, "that is 
 exactly my idea ; my view of the matter precisely 1 I will 
 now impart to you a most profound secret — a secret which 
 I did not intend to reveal, but which I know wUl be faith- 
 fully kept by you. I have been this morning into the City 
 to sell out two thousand pounds stock. I have the money 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEW PBOTEOTOB. 447 
 
 here," he added, producing his pocket-book, "and what I 
 intended to do with it, was this : I intended to take it at 
 once to Sir Charles, and, having paid him, to adduce such 
 a body 6i evidence as could not, I apprehend, fail to convince 
 him that he had been perfectly uninjured. I intended to say 
 to him solemnly, ' Sir Charles ' " 
 
 "I see," interposed Mr. Scholefield, "I see; and, believe 
 me, I highly appreciate your motive : but I hope that there 
 will be no necessity for this." 
 
 " But don't you think that if I were to call and offer him 
 the money" 
 
 " Why, my dear sir, if even he felt inclined to demand it, 
 he would not receive it himself ? " 
 
 " He would not 1 " 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no ; he'd refer you at once to his attorney, 
 whom the two thousand pounds wouldn't satisfy, believe 
 me." 
 
 " What, would he want more 1 " 
 
 " He would present you with a document called a bill 
 of costs, which might in some slight degree astonish 
 you," 
 
 " Well, but do you hot think that if I were to call upon 
 Sir Charles and offer him the money, and tell him that 
 his attorney's biU, whatever it might be, would be paid 
 when presented, it would afford me an excellent oppor- 
 tunity for explaining to him the whole of my views on the 
 subject, and laying before him that body of evidence which, 
 I should say, must of necessity convince him that Sylvestei? 
 is innocent J " 
 
 "It is possible that it might afford you this Opportunity : 
 I very much doubt that it would; but if it did, in my 
 opinion, the pursuit of such a course would be imprudent. 
 The very fact of your offering him the money would incense 
 him, and the chances are that the interview would be 
 instantly at an end. He is not a common man : he is not 
 a man to be taken by storm. ' Let us,' said he to me, this 
 morning, ' let us, if possible, get at the truth — let us 
 conduct this investigation cahnly-^let us proceed quietly and 
 privately — it is not, of course, proper that the existence of 
 any doubt oH. my mind should be known.' I tell yoU this in 
 confidence, and I am sure that yeu will perceive that the 
 adoption of the course which you propose, although laudable 
 
448 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 — highly laudable — in itself, would be, under existing cir- 
 cumstances, imprudent." 
 
 " Well, then, what would you advise me to do ? " 
 
 "I should advise you, in the first place, to re-fund the 
 money; in the second, to return to Cotherstone with 
 Sylvester and his aunt ; and, in the third, to write out a 
 statement of facts, which, as collateral evidence, I may place 
 before Sir Charles." 
 
 " Very good : very good. This shall be done. But mind ! 
 you must promise that — unknown to any living creature — ■ 
 you will send to me, and to me alone, in the event of this 
 money being required." 
 
 " I pledge you my honour that I will do so." 
 
 " Very good. We can keep it to ourselves, you know ; if 
 it should be required, we can keep it to ourselves. If she 
 were to know it, she would insist upon repaying me ; and I 
 would not have her income limited for the world. Mr. 
 Scholefield,' he added, pressing his hand warmly, " God iless 
 you for the interest you have taken in this matter. You are 
 a good man : a good man : you'll have your reward. Now 
 I'll go and urge them to start to-morrow morning. I'll in 
 every particular follow your advice : I'll return to the City 
 and re-fund this money, and send the statement up as soon 
 as possible." . 
 
 Mr. Scholefield then left him with many warm expres- 
 sions of esteem, and he at once returned to Sylvester and 
 his aunt, with the view of urging them to leave on the 
 following morning. 
 
 "You have heard," said he, "what Mr. Scholefield has 
 said, and Mr. Scholefield is a most sincere friend. We 
 haven't a friend more sincere — we haven't a friend more 
 valuable than Mr. Scholefield : you will know how valuable 
 a friend he is anon. Now his advice is, that we return to 
 the Grange immediately. What say you? When shall 
 we start? I have to send up to him ia the course of a 
 few days a most important communication, and in order 
 that I may do so, it will be necessary for me to start to- 
 morrow. What do you think ? Shall we all go together in 
 the morning ? " 
 
 " I have no objection," said Sylvester. " Have you, 
 aunt?" 
 
 "No, my love; I have none whatever," 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEW PBOTEOTOR. 449 
 
 "Well, then," resumed the reverend gentleman, "suppose 
 we make up our minds to go ? " 
 
 " I am quite willing," replied Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " Then we'll go," said the reverend gentleman — " we'll go. 
 I have much to tell you on the road ; and much more to tell 
 you both when we get home. I feel assured that all will 
 be right. At present I must say no more. I have to go 
 into the City on a little matter of business, but I shall very 
 soon be back. Good-bye. God bless you both. Keep up 
 your spirits. We shall very soon get over this — very soon 
 — I'm sure of it. I'll be back — let me see— in an hour and 
 a half." 
 
 Their departure in the morning having thus been decided 
 upon, Sylvester and his aunt, whom the important communi- 
 cation of Mr. Scholefield had greatly relieved, went to make 
 a few farewell calls, and returned to the doctor's to dinner. 
 Mr. Scholefield joined them, and so did Tom — who was in the 
 highest possible spirits — and everything passed off cheerfully. 
 Even Mrs. Delohne was seen to smile, for she now for the 
 first time thought it possible that Sylvester was innocent ! — 
 which was charitable — very 1 — and hence couldn't fail to be 
 appreciated. 
 
 Having spent an agreeable evening, Tom, as usual, claimed 
 his " prisoder ; " and when he had promised to deliver him 
 and his chains into the hands of the reverend gentleman in 
 the morning, he retired, and took Sylvester home with him, 
 and gave him a most recherche supper. 
 
 " And dow, by boy," said he, having explained to Sylvester 
 that he was going with Scholefield to have an interview with 
 Sir Charles, " how do you bead to badage batters whed you 
 get hobe ? " 
 
 " Manage matters ? " 
 
 " Ay. How do you bead to secure yourself at dight ? " 
 
 " Oh 1 I understand. Why, I scarcely know how I'm to 
 manage down there." 
 
 "You dod't thidk of sleepidg with the reveredd swell, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 « Not exactly." 
 
 " Do ; I should say that he's ad out-add-out sdorer ! " 
 
 " I don't know about that, but I thought of being secured 
 every night to the bed-post." 
 
 2 F 
 
450 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "You had better have sobe wud id the room. What do 
 you thidk of wud of the baids ? " 
 
 " I'd better have them both ! " returned Sylvester, smiling. 
 " But I don't see the necessity for having any one at all." 
 
 "If you have dot you are perfectly sure to get away. 
 Sobdabbulists are the bost idgedious fellows alive. If left 
 by thebselves they cad dever be safe. Tou, for exabple, 
 bight ibagide that you were id prisod, add if you at the 
 sabe [tibe felt boudd to break out of it, I dod't thidk that 
 you have ady roob id your cottage sufficiently strong to 
 prevedt you." 
 
 " Well, then, I'd better have Judkins in the room." 
 
 " Who's Judkids ? " 
 
 " The gardener." 
 
 " Have Judkids thed. But as do cobbod scrubbidg ever 
 got a gardeder dead, I would suggest that you had better 
 have hib boiled every dight." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't intend to let him sleep with me. We can 
 make up a bed by the side of mine." 
 
 " Add secure yourself to hib ? " 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 " You haved't chaid edough ! That, however, cad sood 
 be badaged. We cad get ad additiodal ledgth id the bor- 
 didg." 
 
 This point having been settled, they reverted to the fact 
 of Sir Charles being " open to conviction ; " and having 
 discussed it till half -past twelve, they made up their minds 
 to retire. But Tom had a very poor night of it. Between 
 one and four his rest was constantly broken, for the 
 supper and the wine of which Sylvester had partaken 
 caused him to have a variety of dreams, which prompted 
 him unconsciously several times to pull Tom nearly out of 
 bed. He was, however, after four, suffered to sleep, which, 
 as far as it went, was a blessing ; but when he rose about 
 half-past six, he didn't look fresh at all. He was, not- 
 withstanding, in very fair spirits, and rallied his prisoner 
 gaUy, and then went with him to get a longer chain, which 
 they had no sooner bought than they entered a cab, and 
 proceeded at once to the doctor's. 
 
 On their arrival, they found the doctor and Mrs. Delolme, 
 Aunt Eleanor, and the reverend gentleman at breakfast, 
 
SYLVMSTEB'S NEW PBOTECTOB. 451 
 
 and when Tom had formally delivered up his prisoner, they 
 joined them, and made a very fair meal — considering ! 
 
 At the suggestion of the reverend gentleman — who always 
 appeared anxious to be at the office at least twenty inihutes 
 before the coach started — the ladies soon after this retired, 
 and when they returned dressed — ^for Mrs. Delolme had 
 most graciously insisted upon seeing Aunt Eleanor safely 
 to the coach — the reverend gentleman and Tom entered 
 the doctor's carriage with the ladies, while Sylvester mounted 
 the box. 
 
 On their arrival at Charing Cross, it was found that 
 they were just half an hour too soon, which the reverend 
 gentleman pointedly submitted was better than being half 
 an hour too late. The propriety and truth of this ofigiiiai 
 observation were indisputable of course, and Tom had him 
 out of the carriage in consequence, and walked with him 
 and Sylvester up and down the Strand until the horses 
 were in, when he and Aunt Eleanor entered the coach, and 
 Sylvester, who did not like riding inside, took his favourite 
 seat on the box. 
 
 " Well, adieu i " said Tom, taking the hand of Aunt 
 Eleanor, and pressing it with somewhat unusual warmth. 
 " Good bye ! — good bye ! I shall rud dowd to Cotherstode 
 wud of these days, and whed I do cobe, if you should be 
 sidgle, the codsequedces bust be a batch." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor smiled as she bade him adieu, and so did 
 her reverend friend, who moreover declared that he should 
 be happy to see him, and wished him to name the time ; but 
 before he could answer, the coachman called " All right ! — 
 chit, chit ! " and they were off. 
 
 Now it is in reality a singular thing — Aunt Eleanor 
 coiddn't pretend to account for it — ^but the journey always 
 did appear to her to be short when her reverend friend 
 travelled "with her. It is, moreover, strange^remarkably 
 strange — that she never felt fatigued when he was with 
 her. She really did think that she could travel a thousand 
 miles with him, without feeling anything like so tired as 
 she always had felt after travelling fifty miles without him. 
 Now this is, of course, an extraordinary fact — a fact which 
 is worthy of being placed upon record. Whenever she had 
 travelled by herself, or with strangers, or even in company 
 with any other friend, she had always felt tired after the 
 
452 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 first tweniiy miles ; but with him !— there, she positi-^ely 
 thought that she could travel with him every day for a 
 week, without feeling in the slightest degree fatigued. As 
 to the journey from London to Cotherstone, why, it appeared 
 to be nothing. They started from Charing Cross, chatted 
 all the way, arrived within a mile and a half of the 
 Grange, and there they were. It was so in this instance. 
 They had a most agreeable journey; and Sylvester ren- 
 dered it still more agreeable by coming down to speak to 
 them whenever they changed horses. It was, indeed, essen- 
 tially a journey of pleasure. Aunt Eleanor never enjoyed 
 herself more : they appeared to have been but a very short 
 time on the road, when the reverend gentleman exclaimed, 
 "Here we are ! " 
 
 The coach stopped j and instantly Jones with the phaeton, 
 and Judkins with the pony, stood before them ; and as they 
 had decided upon sending the luggage on, in less than ten 
 minutes they were home. 
 
 Sylvester's first object now was to communicate to Jud- 
 kins all that had reference to his bedroom plans, and, 
 therefore, having partaken freely of the elegant little dinner 
 prepared for them, he went out, and found him in the tool- 
 house. 
 
 "Judkins,'' said he, "do you know what a somnambulist 
 is?" 
 
 " A somnambulist, sir ! I think it's a species of convol- 
 vulus ; but there is such a mob of names now, that I don't 
 exactly know." 
 
 " Then I'll tell you. A somnambulist, Judkins, is a sleep- 
 walker — a person " 
 
 " Oh, ay, yes, just so, exactly ! / thought you meant 
 something in mi/ way ! I see ! A somnambulist ! Oh yes, 
 Tve heered on 'em ; /know what they are." 
 
 "Well, then," said Sylvester, "/am a somnambulist." 
 
 " Lor', you don't say so ! You one ! " 
 
 " Unhappily, I am." 
 
 " Lor, I shouldn't have thought it. As true as I'm alive 
 sir, I couldn't have believed it. Well, but — Lor' bless me 
 you don't mean to say that you get up o' nights and walk 
 about, and all that 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Jadkins, I have long been in the habit of doine all 
 that." ^ 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEW PROTEOTOR. 453 
 
 " Why, then — ^why, look here — you can't be safe to be 
 trusted. You ought to have somebody always to sit up with 
 you." 
 
 " I have rendered that unnecessary. I'll explain to you 
 how. Since I made the discovery I have slept with a gentle- 
 man, to whom I have been secured — that is to say, fastened 
 by means of a small chain, reaching from his wrist to mine, 
 so that " — — 
 
 " Exactly ! " interposed Judkins : " I see, sir ! Capital ; 
 you couldn't get away from him no how, then ? " 
 
 " No, that was impossible ; and as this entirely supersedes 
 the necessity for any one sitting up with me. I want you to 
 sleep in my room for the present, in order that I may be 
 still secure." 
 
 " Just so ; I see, sir ; a capital plan.'' 
 
 " You have, I presume, no objection ? " 
 
 " Objection, sir ! No, not the leasest in life. I can have 
 no objection." 
 
 " Well, then, you can bring your bed and bedstead, and 
 place it by the side of mine, and " 
 
 " I'll manage that, sir." 
 
 " There's plenty of room, I believe ? " 
 
 " Oceans ! But how long, sir, have you been going on so ? " 
 
 " I have reason to believe that I have been a somnambulist 
 for years." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " You remember that, five years ago, a variety of pranks 
 were played here ? " 
 
 "Tobe sure I do." 
 
 " Those pranks, I have not the slightest doubt, were played 
 by me. The horse was taken out of the stable, you know, 
 frequently, and galloped round the country during the night, 
 and brought home again in a state of exhaustion." 
 
 " Well, but you don't mean to say you did that ? " 
 
 "I have no more doubt of it than I have of my own 
 existence." 
 
 " Well, sir : but — send I may live — could you go to the 
 stable, and mount the horse, and gallop like that, all the 
 while you were asleep ? " 
 
 " I have done very many more extraordinary things than 
 that." 
 
454 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " I wonder you didn't pitch off and break your neck. I 
 couldn't have believed it, if you hadn't told me ; and I can't 
 understand it, I can't brain it now," 
 
 " And then the ghost : why, I was the ghost I " 
 
 " You was I Oh, what a kick-up there's been about that 
 ghost." 
 
 "What, since Heft?" 
 
 "The othe'r day, sir. You know Drant, sir — Obadiah 
 Drant — the man you were speaking to me about, you know, 
 sir? Well, as he always knows everything nobody else 
 knows, he set it about that he knew who the ghost was. 
 He knew : As knew the man : and, on being pressed to tell 
 who it was, he said that he knew that Bob Potts was the 
 ghost. Well, this very soon got to Bob Pott's ears, and as 
 soon as it did. Bob Potts hunted him up, and said to him 
 quietly, ' A gentleman wants just to see you on the common.' 
 'Who is it?' said Drant. 'Oh, you'll see,' said Bob; 'he 
 wants to give you something j you'd better bring Mr. Pokey 
 with you.' Well, innocent enough, he went, and took Pokey 
 vidth him ; and when he got there, in course he asked where 
 the gentleman was? 'Jam the gentleman,' said Bob, ' as wants 
 to see you : I am the gentleman as wants to give you some- 
 thing. I'm the ghost, ain't I ? You know I'm the ghost ? 
 Now, you must give me a sotmd out-and-out threshing, or I 
 shall give you one : so pull off your coat.' ' Just look you 
 here,' said Drant, ' if you lay a finger upon me, I'U take the 
 law on you.' ' Never mind the law,' said Bob : ' one on us 
 must have a threshing, so strip.' ' I shan't bemean myself,' 
 said Drant. 'Then take that,' said Bob, 'to begin with.' 
 And he hit him a wonder just over the eyes. Well, this 
 made Drant naturally wild, and as he then saw that he must 
 fight, he pulled off his coat, and went at it. But Lor' ! he 
 couldn't stand against Bob a minute and a half. In less time 
 than that, Bob kept his promise, and gave him such a thresh- 
 ing as he never had before. Drant then went off to a lawyer, 
 and the lawyer recommended him as a friend not by no 
 means to take out a warrant ; no, but to bring" what he calls 
 a action : so Bob has been served with a little slip of paper, 
 and it's going to be settled at the 'sizes. But nobody pities 
 Obadiah ; he's always a gabbling : he's always making mis- 
 chief : he's always setting people together by the ears. But 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEW PROTEGTOB. 455 
 
 it ia about the rummest start in life, though, that you should 
 be the ghost after all 1 But didn't you never remember 
 nothing about it in the morning J " 
 
 " Nothing ; it all was to me a perfect blank." 
 
 " Well, i£at is stunning, sir. I call it stumiing. How- 
 ever, you'll be safe enough here. Ill not let you go out, 
 sir, I'll warrant. Another thing is, sir, you may depend 
 upon me : for in course you wish me to keep it a secret ? " 
 
 " I wish you to answer no impertinent questions j but as 
 for secrecy, that is now impossible, seeing that the fact has 
 been published in all the papers." 
 
 " Indeed, sir ! Has it though, really ? " 
 
 " I have lately been concerned in a trial, and as the report 
 of it will be, of course, interesting to you, I'll lend you the 
 paper to read." 
 
 " I'm obleedged to yon, sir. I should like to read it above 
 all things in the world." 
 
 " You need not go and talk about it all over the village, 
 although the affair is quite sure to be known. There is, 
 however, one thing which need not be known, and that is 
 the plan which we are about to adopt here. Cook and Mary 
 will know, of course, that you slept in my room, but even 
 they need know nothing beyond that fact." 
 
 " They shall not know from me, sir ; depend upon that. 
 I'll not open my lips to a single soul." 
 
 " Very well. Then you had better go now and remove 
 your bed. Do you want any assistance ? " 
 
 " Not the leasest in life, sir. / shall be able to manage 
 it alone. But Lor' 1— the ideor 1 Who could have thought 
 it ! But the paper, sir, please ; I hope you'll not forget the 
 paper ? " 
 
 "Tou shall have it the moment you have finished your 
 job." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; I'll bring it here to read, Not a soul 
 shall set eyes on it, I'll take care of that. But of all the 
 stunning things as I ever heered tell on, that of a man 
 riding full gallop over the country fit to break his blessed 
 neck, fast asleep, bangs Moses! It's a mercy you wasn't 
 killed dead upon the spot. However, there'll be no more 
 of that while you're here ; so I'll go at once and get the bed 
 ready." 
 
 He did so ; and being most anxious to look at the paper. 
 
4S6 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 he resolved on being the very shortest possible time about 
 it. He hadn't worked so hard for a considerable period; 
 nor had he for many months perspired so freely as he did 
 while taking down his bedstead. 
 
 " Judkins ! " exclaimed cook, who heard him at work ; 
 " what on earth are you after ? Are you going to knock the 
 house down ? " 
 
 " Good luck to you," returned Judkins, " bring us a drop 
 of beer." 
 
 " But what are you about ? " 
 
 " Bring the beer up, old girl, and I'll tell you." 
 
 Prompted by a natural feeling of curiosity, cook drew him 
 some beer, and went up with it at once. 
 
 " Why, what in the name of goodness," she cried, " are 
 you doing 1 " 
 
 " Taking down my bedstead, that's all." 
 
 " I'm sure there was no call for that ; there's no 
 bugs ! " 
 
 "Bugs 1 No, there's no bugs, I believe." 
 
 " Then, what on earth do you want to take it down 
 for ? " 
 
 " Because Mr. Sylvester wished me to do so." 
 
 "What /or?" 
 
 " Because he wants me to sleep in his room." 
 
 " In his room ! Well, that is a fancy." 
 
 " Yes," replied Judkins, " it certainly is a fancy." 
 
 " A fancy ! I never heard of such a thing in the whole 
 course of my life. In his room ! Why, what in the name 
 of goodness does he want you to sleep in his room for 1 " 
 
 " You'll know by-and-by." 
 
 " Is he afraid to sleep in a room by himself ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Then he's been up to no good. Depend upon it, he's 
 been up to no good." 
 
 " Don't be quite so fast." 
 
 " Fast ! Why, if it isn't that, what does he want you to 
 sleep in his room for ? " 
 
 " Don't heat yourself, and I'll tell you. He is what they 
 call a somnambulist." 
 
 " I thought so ! " exclaimed cook. " As true as I stand 
 here, I thought so." 
 
 " You did. Do you know what a somnambulist is 1 " 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEW PROTEGTOE. 457 
 
 " Do I know what it is I Why, you don't suppose I'm so 
 ignorant as all that comes to, do you 1 " 
 
 " Well, come now, what is a somnambulist 1 " 
 
 "Why, a man that marries other men's wives, to be 
 sure." 
 
 " Pooh ! you mean a bigamist j that's what you mean." 
 
 " Well, it's all the same, isn't it." 
 
 " No, quite different. A somnambulist is a man that 
 walks in his sleep." 
 
 " Why, to be sure it is. How stupid ! I know now. 
 But — what — why — you don't mean to say that Mr. Sylvester 
 does it ? " 
 
 " He has done it for years, and does it now : and that's 
 the reason why I'm to sleep in his room." 
 
 " But my goodness Tne though ! — why " 
 
 " I haven't time to say nothing more about it now. Just 
 lend us a hand here. I want this job done; I have to go to 
 him directly it is." 
 
 Cook did lend a hand, albeit she was at the time filled with 
 wonder ; she rendered him every possible assistance, and in- 
 dulged in the most startling exclamations of surprise ; while 
 Judkins, who took no apparent notice of these exclamations, 
 was silently working away like a slave, in order to get at the 
 paper. 
 
 In less than an hour the job was complete : and when 
 Judkins had made himself tidy, he went out and flitted 
 before the parlour window, that Sylvester might know that 
 it was done. And this certainly was an admirable scheme 
 as far as it went, but he had to flit about there for some 
 time, in consequence of Sylvester having his back towards the 
 window. This, however, Judkins no sooner perceived, than 
 he got a hammer and a couple of nails, and by virtue of 
 pretending to nail up a branch, effected the object pro- 
 posed. 
 
 " Well, Judkins," said Sylvester, on going to the door, 
 " have you finished your job ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You found plenty of room, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, lots, sir. And the room looks better with two beds 
 than one. It looks fuller." 
 
 " No doubt. I'll go up and have a look at it presently." 
 
458 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," observed Judkins ; " but I think, sir, 
 you said you'd be kind enough to lend me a paper." 
 
 " Oil yes; I'U get it for you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir; thank you." 
 
 "Now," said Sylvester, on bringing the paper out, "al- 
 though you will find that the verdict is against me, you must 
 not suppose that I am guilty of the offence." 
 
 " Not for the world, sir ; I shouldn't even think of such a 
 thing." 
 
 " Well, this is the case," said Sylvester, pointing it out to 
 him. 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; thank you. I shall be in the tool-house 
 if I should be wanted." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 Judkins then left him with his eyes eagerly fixed upon the 
 paper ; but he hadn't got half a dozen yards when he stopped, 
 and turning round, said — " Beg pardon, sir; I'm not much 
 of a scholar ; wiU you be so kind as to tell me what crim. con. 
 means 1 " 
 
 " Criminal conversation." 
 
 " And this here other word here, sir, versus ? " 
 
 " Against." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; I like to understand all I read, sir ; and 
 now I shall be able to get along." 
 
 He then went to the tool-house and shut himself in, and 
 then gave a look at the length of the report. It was a long 
 one ; certainly for him, a very long one ; for Judkins was 
 anything but a quick reader. He, notwithstanding this fact, 
 settled himself down, and very soon became so deeply in- 
 terested in the case, that he never gave the length another 
 thought. 
 
 Having got through the speech of Mr. PhiUpots, it became 
 so dark that he could see to read no more. He therefore 
 rushed round to the kitchen for a lantern with all the velocity 
 at his command. 
 
 "Where on earth have you been ?'' exclaimed cook, as he 
 entered. 
 
 " Busy, busy," said Judkins, as he lighted his candle. 
 
 " Are you going out again ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; don't bother me now." 
 
 "Well, but I want to speak to you." 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEW PBOTEOTOB. 459 
 
 " Oan't Bliop — can't stop a second," he replied, and rushed 
 from the kitchen as hastily as he had entered. 
 
 On his return to the tool-house, he adjusted his lantern, 
 and then, with an expression of the moat earnest anxiety, 
 resumed. 
 
 He liked Thompson's evidence. He thought it very good 
 — very good — very good indeed ; but when he came to the 
 speech of Mr. Slashinger it threw him into an absolute state 
 of ecstacy. 
 
 " By Job ! " he exclaimed, striking his hand upon the nail- 
 box, " that's stunning — stunning ! Now, then, let 'em get 
 over that if they can." 
 
 He then proceeded; and as he read Tom's evidence- ■ 
 having reference to the parapet — his countenance assumed 
 an expression of horror, and his breathing became thick and 
 difl5.cult. At length he exclaimed, with a stayt^." He's 
 saved ! " and wiped the perspiration off his brow with his 
 sleeve, and then stared at the candle, and sat and thought of 
 the dreadful position described. 
 
 "He's a fine fellow, though," he eventually added; ''a 
 very fine fellow, that Mr. Delolme. He's a good 'un, every 
 inch of him. Well, now— let's see what come's next. Very 
 good," he continued at intervals. " He couldn't get away no 
 how so. A thousand a year — what an enormity of money. 
 But he deserves every penny of it, he does ; I wish he had 
 ten times as much. Very .good. Now, who's next ? The 
 Reverend Edward Rouse. What, our parson ! Was he in 
 it ? Oh, don't I wish I'd been there 1 His garden wall ; 
 that was five years ago when he lost the peaches. Jones 
 then was right after all. The ghost ; yes, that's quite right. 
 No more it never is seen except when he's here. What do 
 you mean by that, stupid ? Ain't it as clear as the nose on 
 your face 1 " 
 
 This last observation referred to the cross-examination of 
 the reverend gentleman by Mr. Phillpots, for whom Judkins 
 had a most thorough contempt, and whom he held to be the 
 most incredulous fool alive. 
 
 " You won't believe it now, I suppose ? " he continued. 
 
 "Did mortal flesh ever set eyes on such a donkey? I 
 
 thought not. I Ttnew you wouldn't believe it. I should like 
 
 to have the kicking of you, you old ass / " 
 
 Judkins then read the reply of Mr. Phillpots ; and as he 
 
46o SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 did so, his contempt for the man turned to mdignation. 
 He struck and kicked at appropriate intervals, with just as 
 much energy as he felt that he could have done if Phillpots 
 had been there before him j and thus he proceeded with a 
 groaning accompaniment until he had reached the last line 
 of the report, when he loudly exclaimed — "Two thousand 
 pounds ! " and let the paper fall. 
 
 The verdict seemed to have deprived him, for a time, 
 of all his moral and physical faculties. There he sat 
 perfectly bewildered, and there he continued to sit till the 
 candle had burned to the socket. This roused him from 
 his reverie; he rose from his seat and folded the paper, 
 and returned to the kitchen, but with his intellects still 
 conftised. 
 
 " Why, what ia the world have you been after 1 " 
 cried cook, as he entered the kitchen with thought on his 
 brow. 
 
 " Don't talk," replied Judkins ; " don't talk — my head's 
 full." 
 
 " But Jiei'e's a time you've been. I thought you never 
 was coming. What Jiave you been about ? " 
 
 " My head's full, I tell you. Don't bother — I'm stunned." 
 
 " Well, what on earth is the matter 1 I suppose there's 
 no occasion to keep it all to yourself." 
 
 "If I could, I'd give a pound out of my own blessed 
 pocket." 
 
 "Well, come, take some beer," said cook, passing the 
 mug in the fond expectation of melting him thus. " You 
 don't look at all the thing. What will you have for 
 supper ? " 
 
 "Two thousand pounds," muttered Judkins indignantly, 
 
 "What say?" 
 
 " Nothing ; I was talking to myself." 
 
 " But I want you to talk to me. Wouldn't you like now 
 something nice for supper t " 
 
 " No ; nothing — nothing : I don't want nothing." 
 
 "Oh, but you shall have something," said cook, who 
 went to the pantry, and soon returned with the remains 
 of a couple of chickens and some ham. "Judkins," she 
 added, having duly placed these delicacies before him, 
 "I know you have something on your mind — what is 
 it? You don't now ought to keep anything from mej 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEW PROTECTOR. 461 
 
 for, alttough we're not married, we very soon shall be, and 
 your cares now is my cares, Judkins, just as mucli as they 
 will be then." 
 
 " Old girl," replied Judkins, whom this appeal softened, 
 and who had engaged to marry cook as soon as a very old 
 man, who kept a public-house in a neighbouring village, 
 died, " don't make yourself by no means oneasy about me. 
 My cares is not on my own account, but on account of one 
 who's been very ill used." 
 
 " What, Mr. Sylvester ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Has he been ill used ? " 
 
 "Dreadful." 
 
 " The wretches. Who are they 1 " 
 
 " I know who they are, and so does he." 
 
 " Highway robbers, I suppose." 
 
 "A million times worse than highway robbers." 
 
 " Well, but did they hurt him much ? " 
 
 "Not in person, but in pocket. They robbed him of two 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 " Two thousand ! You astonish me. Two thousand 
 pounds ! How came he to be so foolish as to carry so much 
 money as that about with him ? " 
 
 " Carry it about with him ! " 
 
 "I always have said, and I always will say, that it's 
 foolish of any man to do it. I do hope to goodness that 
 you'll never do so." 
 
 " You don't understand. He wasn't robbed on the road, 
 but in a court of law." 
 
 " Oh ! in a court of law. That's a different thing 
 altogether. But how was it ? Tell me ; do tell me." 
 
 " I can't do so to-night, old girl ; but if you'll now let me 
 have my thoughts to myself, I'll promise to tell you all 
 about it in the morning." 
 
 "Well, I'm not at all curious — but I should dearly 
 like to know. I only hope that while walking in his 
 sleep, the poor young gentleman won't do none of us no 
 mischief." 
 
 " Mischief ! Leave that to me. I'll take care of that. 
 What am I to sleep in his room for ? " 
 
 " Well, I only hope he won't. But come, come— eat some 
 supper. I saved it for you." 
 
462 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Judkins turned round, and although deep in thought, 
 tried, and did eat a little, and just as he had finished, Mary 
 came into the kitchen and said — 
 
 " Missus is in bed and the parson's gone, and Mr. Sylvester 
 wants you, Judkins, in the parlour." 
 
 JudiinB rose on the instant, and attended the summons ,• 
 and, on entering the parlour, was greeted with a smile. 
 
 " "Well, Judkins," said Sylvester ; " ready for bed ? " 
 
 " "When you please, sir ; I'm quite at your service." 
 
 ""Well, then, mix yourself some brandy-and-water, and 
 then we'll be off." 
 
 "Thank you, sir; perhaps you'll be so kind as to mix a 
 little for me." 
 
 " Very well. Take a seat, Judkins." 
 
 Judkins bowed, and closed the door, and then seated him- 
 self upon the edge of the chair near it. 
 
 " Draw up to the table, man ; don't sit out there." 
 
 Judkins did so ; but didn't feel himself at all at home. 
 
 "Now, then," said Sylvester; "just try that." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Your health, sir." 
 
 " Is it as you like it ? " 
 
 "Quite, sir; capital; particular good, sir; very." 
 
 "Health to you, Judkins. I hope we shall both have a 
 good night's rest." 
 
 "I hope so, too," returned Judkins, who then began to 
 feel a little better. "Here's the paper, sir," he added; 
 drawing it carefully from his breast. " I'm much obleeged 
 to you, sir, very." 
 
 " Have you read it ? " 
 
 "Right through, sir. It's stunning! I know it has 
 stunned me wholly. "Why, that man, sir — that Mr. — 
 "What's his name — Phillpots — must be a regelar nateral 
 born fool. He ought to have seen how it was with half 
 an eye ! " 
 
 " He doubtless did see how it was.'' 
 
 "Then he ought to be ashamed of himself for sticking 
 out so." 
 
 " These men are paid, you know, to take a certain side ; 
 and they feel themselves bound' — be it right "or wrong, 
 just or unjust — to do ' the best they can for those who 
 employ them." 
 
 ""Well, it mayn't become me, sir, to speak in this way 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEW PBOTEGTOB. 463 
 
 before you, but I'd rather get my twenty pound a year in 
 an honest way, than I'd get twenty thousands in a way 
 like that there." 
 
 "So would I; so would Ij and should feel myself a 
 happier, because a more honourable man. It matters not 
 to them whom they injure; it matters not to them what 
 misery they may cause. If I were a wealthy villain, and 
 required their assistance in oppressing the fatherless and 
 the widow, or involving any honest man in ruin, hundreds 
 of them would jump at the job." 
 
 " Then they ain't fit to live on a civilised scale, sir : 
 and that's my sentiments. Poor as I am, sir, I'll never 
 seU myself in that there way. I knowed before that some 
 on 'em wasn't over-nice. There was that Jerry Smith 
 which was sent out of the country last 'sizes; they em- 
 ployed one of these here counsel for him, and he knew 
 that he; was guilty — Jerry told him so himself before the 
 trial — and yet how he tried to knock it into the heads of 
 the jury that he was innocent ! how he tried to get him 
 off, to be sure ! " 
 
 "Ay ! To prey upon society again." 
 
 " But, lor', sir ! What an escape you had on the top of 
 the house there ; I shuddered when I read it." 
 
 "Yes, it was a dangerous position for a man to be in." 
 
 " Dangerous, sir ! It made my very blood run cold. But 
 it shan't occur again, sir — leastways, not while you're here. 
 I'll take care of that, sir, I'll warrant I " 
 
 " Well, then, finish your glass, and I'll show you how it 
 is to be prevented." 
 
 Judkins did as he was desired, and wasn't long about" 
 it; and then followed Sylvester up to his chamber, and 
 closed the door, and waited for further instructions, while 
 Sylvester opened and searched a trunk. 
 
 "Now then," said Sylvester, having produced the chain 
 with the handcuffs attached, "we'll turn in." And, as 
 Judkins began to strip immediately, it was not long before 
 he was safely in bed. Sylvester's movements were not 
 quite so rapid ; but he didn't linger long : he got into 
 bed very soon after Judkins, and then at once drew his 
 attention to the chain. 
 
 "Now," said he, "this chain, you perceive, is quite 
 long enough to reach from me to you ; and that round 
 
464 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 affair at the end is for your wrist, while this is for 
 mine." * 
 
 "Very good, sir," said Judkins; "but I can't get it on." 
 
 "No; it must be opened first. And that is what I 
 wish to explain. These things will close by mere pres- 
 sure ; but they cannot be opened without a key. Yours 
 is somewhat larger than mine; but the same key will 
 open them both — thus. Now try it. There; it fits you, 
 does it not ? " 
 
 " Exact, sir." 
 
 " It is not too tight for you ? " 
 
 " OhJ. Not a bit." 
 
 " Very well. Now take this key and hide it somewhere. 
 Don't let me know where it is." 
 
 " I'll take care of that, sir." 
 
 " And if I slwuld attempt to get out of bed, all you 
 will have to do is to wake me gently. And now, good 
 night." 
 
 " I wish you good night, sir." 
 
 " Good night," repeated Sylvester ; who put out the 
 light, laid his head upon the pillow, and was very soon 
 asleep. 
 
 l5'ot so, however, Judkins. He began to reflect 'deeply. 
 He had previously thought but little of the fact of sleeping 
 in the same chamber, but then, in silence and in gloom, his. 
 apprehensions became proUfic. Cook's expression of the 
 hope that he might do them no mischief recurred to him, 
 and he hoped so too ; but, at the same time conceived it to 
 be possible, quite possible, that he might. " Who knows ? " 
 thought he. " He may get up and cut my throat ! And if 
 he should, where's the remedy ? I wonder whether he's 
 obstropolus. I dare say he is. He can't, in course, know 
 what he's about. If he does, I don't think he'd hurt a hair 
 of my head ; but if he don't, why there's no knowing what 
 he may do. And yet Mr. Delolme slept with him — that 
 appeared on the trial — and he never hurt Mm. But then 
 he might have done ! And yet, is it likely a gentleman like 
 him would do me any mischief; and, as to cutting my 
 throat, how is he to get the razor ? He can't do it without 
 pulling me out of bed, and I'm just about as strong as Mm, 
 I fancy. But, then, how do I know he hasn't a knife in his 
 pocket? He can reach that without waking me, and may 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEIV PBOTEOTOB. 465 
 
 do so, who knows ? And yet I don't think he'd attempt to 
 hurt me. But then, if he doesn't know what he's about, he 
 doesn't. That's the point. At all events, I'll keep awake 
 this blessed night if I live, to see what sort of games he is 
 likely to be up to." 
 
 And he did keep awake. He kept awake an hour ; and 
 then most unconsciously dropped off to sleep. He had, how- 
 ever, been asleep scarcely ten minutes, when Sylvester awoke 
 him ; and having done so, said calmly — 
 
 " Judkins ! Give me the key." 
 
 " The key, sir I Yes, sir," said Judkins, who had not even 
 the most remote idea of his being asleep at the time. " Here 
 it is, sir." 
 
 " That will do," observed Sylvester ; who, on the instant 
 freed himself, and then very quietly proceeded to dress. 
 He was not, however, long about this : he very soon 
 slipped on his things ; and when he had done so, he left 
 the room, and — conceiving that he was then going out for 
 a morning walk — took his hat, and deliberately quitted the 
 house. 
 
 Judkins heard him open the front door, and it cer- 
 tainly did strike him at the moment as being possible 
 that Sylvester was in a state of somnambulism then. And 
 yet he asked for the key in a calm, collected manner, 
 and dressed himself, and went out as if he had been 
 awake. In Judkins's judgment, he must have been. He 
 tried to -repudiate the notion of his being asleep. But 
 then what could he want to open the front door for ? That 
 was the question; and this question no sooner suggested 
 itself to Judkins than he slipped out of bed, and com- 
 menced dressing. The chain, however, somewhat retarded 
 his progress, for the key of the handcuff was not to be 
 found ; but he soon got over that ; he slipped on his small 
 clothes, his jacket, and shoes, and went down, of course 
 with the chain. 
 
 The front door was open — ^that was what he expected ; 
 but which way had Sylvester gone ? He thought he'd just 
 look round the premises first, and he did so, but Sylvester 
 could not be found. He then became in reality alarmed, 
 and, having just latched the door, that he might let him- 
 self in again, went at once into the road. But which way 
 should he go? It was clearly of no use his running to 
 
 2 
 
466 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 the right, if Sylvester had gone to the left. He heard 
 footsteps in the distance, and on the instant started off in 
 that direction, but found that they were those of a labour- 
 ing man. 
 
 " Have you met a gentleman 1 " cried JudHns, in haste. 
 
 " Whoy— ees," replied the man, with provoking delibera- 
 tion ; " ah seed un aboot hafe a moile off." 
 
 " Which way was he going 1 " 
 
 " Whoy, ah didn't ax, boot a seemed to be goin' to Holler 
 Bell." 
 
 Away started Judkins on the Hoi worth road, as the man 
 shouted out " He's goin' moortal faist ; " but, albeit he ran 
 with all possible speed, Sylvester could not be seen. Still 
 Judkins kept on, panting painfully; and although he had 
 occasionally a " stitch " in his side, he would not give up 
 until he reached the Bell at Holworth, a mUe and a half 
 from the Grange. Here he stopped ; and as the house was 
 still open, he went in at once, and inquired of the landlord 
 if a gentleman had been there. 
 
 " I don't know," replied the landlord. " You'll find two or 
 three in the parlour ; you'd better look in." 
 
 Judkins looked in, but Sylvester was not there ; stUl, feel- 
 ing completely exhausted, he called for a small glass of brandy- 
 and-water, and sank upon a chair. 
 
 Every eye was. upon him, of course, and more especially 
 the eye of one man, who, as soon as the brandy-and-water 
 had been brought, rose and said, " Ah, old fellow, how are 
 you ? " 
 
 " Pretty well," replied Judkins; "only I've been running. 
 But really you have the advantage of me." 
 
 "Not at all," cried the stranger. "Come, give tis your 
 hand ; you'll shake hands with me, won't you ? " 
 
 " Oh, I've no objection," said Judkins, who gave him his 
 hand — ^the only hand he had disengaged, the other having 
 been thrust into his pocket with the chain. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the stranger; "the left hand! Is 
 that the way you treat -an old friend ? " 
 
 " You're no old friend of mine," said Judkins, who began 
 to feel very much embarrassed. 
 
 " Oh yes, I am," returned the stranger. " Come, give us 
 your right hand, man." 
 
 " I shan't do nothing of the sort. I don't know you." 
 
SYLVESTER'S NEW PBOTEGTOB. 467 
 
 "You don't. I'll tell you who I am, if you'll give me 
 your hand." 
 
 " I don't want to know who you are." 
 
 " Come, give us your hand, man." 
 
 "What do you mean? Can't I come into the house 
 without being interrupted ? " 
 
 " Not into this house while I am here. I'm the con- 
 stable of HoUer, and always on the look out for fellows 
 like you." 
 
 "I don't care if you are the constable of fifty Hollers. 
 I've nothing to be either ashamed or afeard on." 
 
 " I daresay not ; but it's no use, you know. I saw it 
 — I Icnoio I saw it. Will you let me see your right 
 hand ? " 
 
 « No." 
 
 " But I loill see it." 
 
 " Will you ? " said Judkins, whose blood began to boil. 
 
 "Will I! Yes. Now, then!" he added, seizing the 
 right arm of Judkins, who on the instant knocked him 
 down, and would have escaped, but that the landlord, 
 who was coming into the room at the time, stopped 
 him. 
 
 " What's the meaning of all this 1 " inquired the land- 
 lord. 
 
 " He's my prisoner 1 " cried the constable, rising. " I'll 
 run all risks ; he's my prisoner." 
 
 " What for ? " demanded the landlord. 
 
 " Why, look at his right hand ! Just look at it ! " 
 
 " What do you mean? You are always kicking up some 
 row ; what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Only look at that man's right hand — that's all." 
 
 " Let me look at it ? " said the landlord, addressing 
 Judkins calmly. " You shall not be ill-treated here." 
 
 Judkins drew his hand from his pocket, and with it a 
 portion of the chain, of course. 
 
 "There it is !" cried the constable, in triumph. "Therff' 
 you are 1 I knew I saw it ! And here's the other rufile. 
 Why, you're an escaped convict — that's what you are." 
 
 " I'm nothing of the sort / " exclaimed Juj^ins indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 "It's no use, you know. Not a bit of it. ■ Don't piit 
 yourself in a passion. Oome along." 
 
468 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " But where — ^where ? " exclaimed Judkins, in a dreadful 
 state of excitement. 
 
 "Oh, I'll find a lodging for you. Now then. Here, 
 Johnson ! here, Smith ! — come 'and assist me, will you ? " 
 
 Both Johnson and Smith at once went to his assistance ; 
 and in spite of the expostulations of Judkins — in spite 
 of his strong declarations of innocence — in spite of his 
 struggles, entreaties, and threats, they hurried him off to 
 the cage. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 
 
 When the ghost of Banquo appeared at the banquet, it 
 terribly startled Macbeth; but neither Macbeth nor any 
 other individual was ever more startled than Mary was 
 when, on entering the parlour alone the next morning, she 
 saw a man lying asleep on the couch. 
 
 Of course she didn't stop in the room long. On the 
 contrary, she very soon rushed out of it ; and although she 
 neither screamed, nor fell, nor fainted, on reaching the 
 kitchen she felt " fit to drop." 
 
 " Oh, cook ! " she sighed, as she sank on a chair ; " there's 
 a man ! — there's a man ! " 
 
 " There's a man I — where's a man ? " demanded cook. 
 
 " In the parlour." 
 
 " A man in the parlour ! "Why, what's he after there ? " 
 
 " He's asleep — fast asleep. I know he's asleep ; but the 
 moment I saw him my heart was in my mouth." 
 
 " But what sort of a man does he look like ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I couldn't stop to look; I only know he's 
 a man." 
 
 " And asleep, you say ? You're quite sure he's asleep ? " 
 
 "Oh, quite." 
 
 "Then, I'll go and have a look at him. Come, come 
 along." 
 , " Oh, I dursn't." 
 
 "Fiddlesticks! You're not afraid of a man when he's 
 
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 469 
 
 fast asleep, are you? Come along, do/ — and don't be 
 silly." 
 
 " Mary reluctantly rose from her chair and followed cook 
 softly and slowly ; and when cook had reached the p.irlour 
 door, she peeped, and beheld — the man ! 
 
 " Why, it's only Mr. Sylvester, girl ! " she exclaimed. 
 " How stupid you are, to be sure." 
 
 > " Mr. Sylvester ! " said Mary, whose courage returned ; and 
 she looked in, and then found that he was the man. 
 
 " I wonder where Judkins is 1 " said cook, who had an 
 idea that something was wrong. " He certainly ought to 
 have been down by this time. Shall we go up and knock 
 at the door ? " 
 
 " If you like," replied Mary, who didn't at aU understand 
 cook's feelings, and therefore couldn't appreciate them ; 
 still she went up with her, and found the door open, and 
 further, that Judkins was not in the room. 
 
 " Why, where on earth is he ? " cried cook, who began to 
 feel very much alarmed. " He's not in the garden ! " she 
 added, looking out. " No. Why, where in the world can 
 he be?" 
 
 " In the tool-house, perhaps," suggested Mary, and cook 
 at once ran down and went to the tool-house; but no, he 
 was not there. She called to him — no ! Why, what could 
 be the meaning of all this ! Had Sylvester murdered and 
 buried him ? She really thought this extremely possible, 
 and shuddered, and ran back to Mary, and told her to 
 go to her mistress immediately, and let her know that 
 Sylvester was in the parlour, while Judkins could nowhere 
 be found. 
 
 Mary accordingly went and told her mistress, who feel- 
 ing quite certain that all was not right, slipped on her 
 morning -gown hastily, and with great trepidation de- 
 scended. 
 
 Sylvester was still on the couch, and she approached 
 him, and sat by his side, and found that he was in a deep 
 
 sl6613 
 
 " Sylvester, my love ! " she cried. " Sylvester ! — Sylvester ! 
 — my dear I " 
 
 Sylvester opened his eyes, and started.. "Why," he 
 exclaimed, looking round, "how is this? In the par- 
 lour ! " 
 
470 SYLVESTER BOUND. 
 
 " How long,'' said Aunt Eleanor affectionately — " how 
 long have you been sleeping here 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! aunt, I'm sorry — very sorry for this. It's galling 
 in the extreme." He added, angrily, " Judkins ought to 
 have known better. It's monstrous, that a man like that is 
 not to be trusted." 
 
 "Do not vex yourself, my loVe," said Aunt Eleanor; 
 " pray do not vex yourself. Let us thank God that you are 
 safe. Where is Judkins ? " 
 
 " I know not, aunt : nor do I know how I came here. I 
 know only this, that we went Tip to bed about ten ; that I 
 was well secured to him, and that here I am now." 
 
 " But is it not strange ? He is nowhere to be found." 
 
 " It'll be no great loss if he never be found. I might 
 have gone and broken my neck ; what did he care ? I 
 thought him a different man." 
 
 " Nay, my dear, do not thus censure him yet. First 
 ascertain the cawe of his letting you free. I have always 
 found him faithful and obedient." 
 
 " Why, I thought that I might have trusted my life in 
 his hands ; and yet, although I enjoined him not to suffer 
 me to leave the room, here I am, while he is gone no one 
 knows where, and no one cares." 
 
 " I hope, sir," observed cook, with tears in her eyes, " that 
 you haven't been doing nothing with him : I hope, sir, you 
 haven't been doing him no mischief ! " 
 
 " Mischief ! " cried Sylvester. " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "No, cook: certainly not," said Aunt Eleanor. "He 
 will, I have no doubt, return by-and-by, and when he does 
 return, I shall expect him to give a good account of his 
 conduct. Now go and get the breakfast ready. Mary, 
 come with me. Do not be angry, my dear," she added, 
 addressing Sylvester, and kissing him with the deepest 
 affection. Let us thank Heaven that nothing dreadful has 
 occurred." 
 
 She then went up to dress, and so did Sylvester, who 
 found the key on the bed, but, of course, not the chain : and 
 while he was indignantly shaving himself, cook was utterly 
 lost in conjecture. What a number of dreadful deaths she 
 conceived that Judkins mighi have died while she was 
 getting the breakfast ready I What stabbing, drowning, 
 poisoning, strangulation, and burying alive, rose before her 
 
TEE MYSTERY SOLVED. 471 
 
 vivid imagination then ! She was wild !— quite wild ! She 
 put the eggs upon the gridiron instead of the ham, and the 
 ham in the saucepan instead of the eggs, and felt Strongly 
 that the landlady of the "Cock and Constitution" — the 
 house which Judkins had been after— she never should be. 
 This thought alone was maddening; but when in addition 
 to this she reflected upon the assumed dreadful fact, of a 
 man like Judkins being thus cut off in his very prime, 
 without having left anything like a will : it was too much : 
 she couldn't endure it ; and as she found she couldn't, she 
 let the ham and eggs go on just as they pleased, sank into 
 a chair, and wept. 
 
 And thus she remained untU Mary came down, when she 
 most unreservedly opened her heart. And Mary sympa^ 
 thised with her, and boiled her eggs for her, and cooked two 
 slices of ham, and begged of her earnestly not to " take on " 
 so, and then took the breakfast in. 
 
 " Has Judkins returned yet ? " inquired Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 "No, ma'am; he's not come back yet." 
 
 " Dear me, it's very strange ; I cannot at all account for 
 it. Have you no idea where he is 1 " 
 
 "Not the leastest in life, ma'am, I'm sure." 
 
 " Well ! we must of course have patience ; but at present 
 his conduct appears to be extraordinary. That will do, 
 Mary ; I'll ring when I want you." 
 
 Mary withdrew, and returned to cook, whose affliction was 
 most intense : she sighed and sobbed vehemently, and would 
 not be consoled. Her Judkins— oh ! her Judkins — lived, 
 she feared, in her memory only. His absence — his deeply 
 mysterious absence — tugged at her heartstrings, and withered 
 her hopes. Oh ! that she knew where he was to be found I — 
 she would have him — dead or alive she would have.him ! In 
 vain did Mary appeal to her philosophy ; in vain she preached 
 patience, and talked about hope : cook suspected strongly 
 that Judkins had been murdered, and felt at length that she 
 knew it. 
 
 " Oh ! what is this life ? " she in agony exclaimed — " what 
 is this life but a tub full of eels ! The moment you think 
 you have got the one you want, it slips through your fingers, 
 and there you are 1 " 
 
 She got the cards, and Mary shuffled them, and gave them 
 to cook to cut. The first she cut was the nine of spades. 
 
472 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Trouble, trouble, trouble ! " she cried, and proceeded to cut 
 again. The next she cut was the ace of spades. " Death I " 
 she exclaimed, and sank back in her chair. 
 
 The bell rang. Mary was summoned to the gate. The 
 reverend gentleman was there. He seemed excited — dread- 
 fully excited — and Mary had no sooner let him in, than she 
 ran to tell cook that he was so. 
 
 Sylvester met him at the door, and the moment the 
 reverend gentleman saw him, he grasped his hand, and with 
 fervour exclaimed — 
 
 " I am happy to see you — most happy. I feared, " he 
 added, as he entered the room, "that some new calamity 
 had befallen us, for Judkins " 
 
 " Have you seen him ? '' 
 
 " He is now at my house, in the custody of a constable, 
 with irons, not only on his hands but on his legs." 
 
 " Is it possible ! " exclaimed Aunt Eleanor. " "Why, what 
 in the world has he being doing ? " 
 
 "The constable will have it that he's an escaped convict." 
 
 " A what ! " cried Sylvester, bursting into a loud roar 
 of laughter, in which Aunt Eleanor could not help 
 joining. 
 
 " He will have it," repeated the reverend gentleman 
 gravely, " that he's an escaped convict ; but I don't at 
 present know the particulars, because the moment I ascer- 
 tained that he had missed you in the night, I ran over to 
 see if you were safe." 
 
 " Missed me, indeed ! " exclaimed Sylvester. " I've no 
 patience with the man ! " 
 
 " But he may not be in fault after all, my dear," suggested 
 Aunt Eleanor j " you had better go and see." 
 
 "Ay, come with me; come," said the reverend gentleman, 
 " let's go and hear the particulars at once." 
 
 "I may not accompany you — may I?" inquired Aunt 
 Eleanor. 
 
 "Yes," replied the reverend gentleman; "do by all 
 means." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor ran for her bonnet and shawl, and they left 
 the cottage together. 
 
 On reaching the parsonage-house — at the door of which 
 stood the chaise-cart in which the " escaped sconvict " had 
 been brought — they proceeded to the library, and there 
 
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 473 
 
 found Judkins feeling much degraded and looking very 
 ill. 
 
 " Well, Judkins," said Sylvester sternly, " what have you 
 been doing 1 " 
 
 " I an't been doing 0' nothing, sir, but running after 
 you." 
 
 "You ought not to have allowed me to leave you at all, 
 sir." 
 
 < " I can explain all that, sir — I know I can ; if you will 
 but satisfy this here person that I'm not what he takes me 
 for." 
 
 " Why have you this man in custody ? " demanded 
 Sylvester of the constable. 
 
 " Why, sir, it's as this," replied the constable. "Last night, 
 when I was at Holler Bell, the prisoner came running into 
 the house to ask if some gentleman had been there, and 
 when he came into the room where I was, to look round, I 
 saw that he had a handcuff on, and therefore, as he was a 
 stranger to the place, I felt it my duty, as a constable, to 
 take him into custody." 
 
 " What time was that 1 " 
 
 " About half- past eleven." 
 
 " Could you not have returned with him at once, or sent 
 to inquire about him i " 
 
 " That's what I wanted him to do," exclaimed Judkins. 
 
 " And that's what I daresay I should have done — 
 although not bound to do so — if you hadn't been so violent. 
 In the first place, he tried to conceal the handcuff — that 
 looked suspicious ; in the second place, when I asked him to 
 shake hands with me, he wouldn't ; in the third place, when 
 I tried to raise his arm, he knocked me down ; and in the 
 fourth place, it required three powerful men to carry him 
 off to the cage." 
 
 " Why were you so violent, Judkins 1 " said Sylveste^-. 
 " Why did you not at once explain who you were 1 " 
 
 " I didn't suppose it to be necessary at first, and when I 
 would have done so they wouldn't let me." 
 
 "There was, I daresay, unnecessary violence on both 
 sides j but when you found that appearances were against, 
 you, you ought to have been calm." 
 
 " I couldn't, sir, after he'd called me a convict." 
 
474 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "He certainly was justified in supposing that you had 
 escaped from custody." 
 
 "To be sure I was, sir,'' exclaimed the constable; "and, 
 as such, it was my bounden duty to take him." 
 
 " I don't dispute that ; but I think that you might have 
 come with him to the Grange, instead of thrusting him into 
 a place of confinement. He is our servant ; and I have an 
 affliction which renders it necessary for him to sleep in 
 my room. I am, unfortunately, in the habit of walking 
 in my sleep, and in order to prevent this, I am secured, 
 to him by these manacles. Last night it appears, I, by 
 some means, 'managed to get away from him, and when he 
 missed me " 
 
 " I heard that you'd gone on to Holler,'' said Judkins. 
 
 " He heard that I had gone on towards Holworth — ran 
 after me — rushed into the Bell to ascertain if I was there 
 — and there you saw him. I presume that you are now 
 quite satisfied ? " 
 
 " Can you unlock them there handcuffs, sir ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied Sylvester; "here is the key. You will 
 find that that will unlock them both." 
 
 "Well," said the constable, having found this to be cor- 
 rect, " as I've had him in custody, I ought, by good rights, 
 to take him before a magistrate." 
 
 " There cannot, surely, be the slightest necessity for 
 that." 
 
 " I don't know, sir, whether I am justified in letting hitn 
 go without." 
 
 "Nonsense," said the reverend gentleman, "nonsense; 
 I'll be responsible for him, and that's sufficient." 
 
 " Well, sir, so long as I'm held harmless, sir, that's all 1 
 want. I'm satisfied myself." 
 
 "Very well then," said Sylvester, "take those things 
 o£F." 
 
 The constable did so at once; and when Sylvester had 
 privately placed in his hand a sovereign, he bowed and left 
 the house. 
 
 " Now, Judkins," said Sylvester, " how came you to let 
 me leave the room last night ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you, sir ; I'll tell foM exact how it was. I hid the 
 key up as you told me. Well, a little after eleven you woke 
 
THE MTSTEB Y SOL VED. 47 5 
 
 me up, and said to me, 'Judkins, just give me the key.' 
 You spoke just as you speak now, and I thouglit, in course, 
 tliat you was awake. I didn't di-eam of your being asleep. 
 Well, sir, you got up and dressed yourself, and went out of 
 the room, and it wasn't until I heard you open the- front 
 door, that the idea struck me. I then became alarmed, 
 and got up and whipped on my things j and went out, 
 and as I heard, when I got in the road, that you or some 
 gentleman had gone on to Holler, I ran fit to split myself 
 right to Holler Bell, and there, in course, the constable 
 saw me." 
 
 "I see how it is now exactly. You fancied, of course, 
 that I was awake." 
 
 "I did indeed, sir. Oh, if I hadn't, I wouldn't have 
 suffered you to have left the room for the world." 
 
 " Another time, Judkins, let me on no account have the 
 key : give it to me under no pretence whatever." 
 
 "I'll take care of that, sir. I've had a lesson. You 
 won't catch me doing it again, sir, I'll warrant." 
 
 "I hope not. Now run home and get some refreshment. 
 What sort of place were you in ? " 
 
 "Oh, horrid, sir. Worse than a pigstye, and so cold 
 —oh/" 
 
 " Then you didn't sleep much !" 
 " Never got a wink, sir, all the blessed night." 
 "Then if you feel disposed to go to bed, do so. There, 
 run away, and make yourself as comfortable as you can." 
 
 "Stop," said the reverend gentleman. "Drink that. 
 It's brandy." 
 
 Judkins knew it. He didn't require to be told. He 
 took the glass and emptied it, and then ran home to comfort 
 cook. 
 
 The reverend gentleman now began to descant at full 
 length on the conduct of the constable, and while he was 
 thus occupied, a servant entered, and presented him with 
 a card. He looJced at it, and, after a pause, slightly started. 
 " Mr. George Augustus Howard ! " thought he ; " why, that 
 is the name of the gentleman whom Sylvester's father was 
 supposed to have injured ; — surely this is the same man ! " 
 
 "Have you shown this gentleman into the parlour !" he 
 inquired. 
 
476 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "No, sii'," replied the servant; "he is in his carriage at 
 the door." 
 
 "Ask him to walk in; I'll be with him immediately. 
 You will excuse me for a short time," he added, addressing 
 Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 "Oh, Sylvester and I will return now. We will only 
 take a walk round the garden." 
 
 "Well," said the reverend gentleman, who felt somewhat 
 tremulous, " I expect that I shall have, in the course of an 
 hour, something of impm-tance to communicate." 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, we shall be happy to see you. Do not 
 let us detain you now." 
 
 Sylvester and his aunt then went into the garden; and 
 when the reverend gentleman had nerved himself sufficiently, 
 he joined Mr. Howard in the parlour. 
 
 " Mr. House, I believe I have the honour to address," 
 observed Mr. Howard calmly. 
 
 " My name is Rouse," returned the reverend gentleman. 
 " I beg that you will be seated." 
 
 " Sir,'' said Mr. Howard, " I ought to apologise for intro- 
 ducing myself thus ; but I think that, when I have explained 
 to you my object, you will pardon me. I saw in a paper 
 last evening the report of a trial in which you were in some 
 degree interested." 
 
 " Julian versus Sound ? " 
 
 " The same." 
 
 "I was indeed, and am still interested deeply." 
 
 "And so am I — so deeply, that every hope I have of 
 happiness in this life depends upon my conviction of the 
 truth of that plea upon which the defence rested. You 
 know Mr. Sound, of course ? " 
 
 " Intimately. He was here just this moment. There he 
 is with his aunt, now leaving the garden gate." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed Mr. Howard, looking round eagerly : 
 " I should much like to know and converse with him." 
 
 "ShaUIcaUhimback?" 
 
 "I thank you — I thank you : not now — not now. Did 
 you know his father 1 " 
 
 " No ; I never did. I saw him once, I believe ; but only 
 once." 1 
 
 " Do you know what his Christian name was ? " 
 
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. A77 
 
 "Let me see; Dr. Sound — Dr. — dear me — Horatio! yes, 
 tliat was it; I recollect now, it was Horatio." 
 
 " I was right in my conjecture, then ; that was the man. 
 And now I'll explain to you why I came here. You stated, 
 I believe, in your evidence on the trial, that you had not 
 the slightest doubt of the fact of Mr. Sound being a som- 
 nambulist ? " 
 
 " I did so. Nor had I the slightest doubt on the subject : 
 nor have I now. Nay, I had an additional proof of the fact 
 this very morning." 
 
 " Can it, think you, be proved, sir, to my satisfaction 1" 
 
 " Most certainly ! I'll undertake to prove it to the satis- 
 faction of any man alive." 
 
 " I will tell you why I am anxSous to be satisfied. Some 
 years since, this young man's father and I were bosom 
 friends. We had known each other for many years, and 
 fancied that we knew each other's hearts. We visited each 
 other constantly, and continued thus to visit, until one fatal 
 night, when he was absolutely found in my wife's chamber, 
 sitting by the side of her bed ! " 
 
 " Exactly — ^yes — well ? " cried the reverend gentleman. 
 
 "Well, he being not only a friend, but the medical 
 adviser of my wife, I, on hearing of the circumstance, 
 thought but little of it; conceiving that of course he had 
 been to attend her professionally; but when my wife 
 denied strongly all knowledge of the circumstance, my sus- 
 picions were aroused ; and these suspicions were confirmed" 
 by Sound himself in the morning, for he declared, most 
 solemnly declared, that on that particular night he never 
 entered the house at all ! This I thought conclusive. Had 
 not the fact been denied, the thing would have passed off, 
 of course ; but being thus induced to believe that they had 
 conspired to deceive me, I felt most abundantly convinced 
 of her guilt. I did not, however, proceed as Sir Charles 
 Julian has proceeded. I had too much regard for my own 
 feelings, and the feelings of those around me. I — as I then 
 conceived, justly — cast her off with a sufiicient allowance 
 to secure to her all personal comforts; and there, sir — 
 there was an end." 
 
 " Poor lady ! And did she live long after that ? " 
 
 " She is living — still." 
 
 " And does she still declare her innocence ? " 
 
478 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " She does, most solemnly." 
 
 "Then, be sure that she is innocent. Oh 1 be sure 
 of it." 
 
 " I would to God that I could be sure." 
 
 " You have seen her since 1 " 
 
 " But once — but once ; and that was recently. My dg,ughter 
 sees her twice a year. That request I could not deny her. 
 They meet here, in this very village." 
 
 " Why," exclaimed the reverend gentleman, " I have 
 seen two carriages at the door of the inn frequently, and 
 always on particular days; and now I come to Ipok at it, 
 yours is one of them ! Bless my life and soul, how extra- 
 ordinary that is ! How often have I wondered why they 
 met there ? " 
 
 "They have met for that purpose; but my daughter, 
 until a short time since, never knew that she had a mother 
 living." 
 
 "I now," said the reverend gentleman, "understand and 
 appreciate your anxiety to be satisfied on this important 
 point ; and that satisfaction, be assured, as far as Sylvester 
 is concerned, I will give you." 
 
 "If I can be satisfied with reference to him, I shall be 
 satisfied completely : for his father, just before his death, 
 wrote to me, and stated that if he were there the night in 
 question, he was there in a state of somnambulism ; the idea 
 of which I then utterly rejected, but feel disposed to enter- 
 tain it now. If, therefore, I can be satisfied with reference 
 to the son, I shaU be satisfied with reference to the father. 
 It is true I never heard of somnambulism being hereditary, 
 but that will sufficiently satisfy me." 
 
 " Then that satisfaction you shall have. I pledge myself 
 to satisfy you. I undertake to bring before you proofs which 
 you yourself shall hold to be irrefragable. I am now pre- 
 paring a statement of facts to be laid before Sir Charles — 
 who, although he has a verdict, is not at all convinced of its 
 justice — and a copy of that statement j'ou shall have. I will 
 bring before you witnesses here, to prove all that has 
 occurred in this place: and I'll take you up to town and 
 introduce you to Dr. Delolme and his son, whose evidence I 
 am certain you will hold to be conclusive." 
 
 "Is the Mr. Delolme who appeared on the trial the son of 
 Dr. Delolme 1 " 
 
THE MYSTER V SOL FED. 479 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I knew him well. He was one of the most intimate 
 friends of Dr. Sound." 
 
 " He was so." 
 
 " Oh, I knew him perfectly well j but I have not seen him 
 for many, many years. Since that unhappy a%ir, I have 
 kept myself entirely aloof from the world." 
 
 "Then let us go to London together and see him, and 
 Thomas, his son." 
 
 "I would go, sir, to the end of the world, to be satis- 
 fied." 
 
 "That is sufficient. You shall first have this statement 
 — the truth of every word of which I undertake to prove — 
 and then we'll go up to town together." 
 
 " I need not explain to you how highly I appreciate your 
 kindness ; but believe me " , - , • 
 
 "Not a word on that subject. I am more deeply 
 interested in the vindication of Dr. Sound's character than 
 you imagine. Where can I communicate with jou ! Do 
 you live a very great distance from this place ? " 
 
 " Scarcely four miles off. Borton Hall is my residence." 
 
 " Borton Hall ! How very strange that I should never 
 have heard of your living there 1 " 
 
 "I have, as I before observed, kept myself completely 
 secluded." 
 
 "Well, that accounts for it, of course. But 'yours must 
 have been a weary life." 
 
 " It has been, indeed. But, then, what pleasure could 
 society impart to me 1 It could but inflict additional pain. 
 I have not, my dear sir, for years and years, spoken so freely 
 to any man as I have now spoken to you : but I feel as if 
 you had lifted a weight from my heart, and as I now begin 
 to doubt, I now begin to hope. I feel already a different 
 man ; and hence you may be sure that my mind is prepared 
 for conviction. Nay," he added, as tears chased each other 
 down his cheeks, " so much lighter da I feel, that I am about 
 to solicit your company to-day. Come and dine with me ! 
 It is a long, long time since I entertained a friend ; but say 
 that you will come ? " 
 
 "My dear sir, I will." 
 
 " Could you bring Mr. Sound with you ? " 
 
 " Certainly. I will do so. Nay, I shall be most happy 
 
480 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 to do so. He need not know your object exactly. It would 
 not be wise, perhaps, to tell that to him yet. You are a 
 friend of minej that will be sufficient. The subject of 
 somnambulism can be easily introduced, and you will then 
 hear his views on that subject explained." 
 
 " My dear friend, I feel extremely grateful to you ; you 
 know not how grateful I feeL However, I may, of course, 
 expect you at four ? " 
 
 " I wUl most assuredly be there." 
 
 Mr. Howard took his hand and pressed it warmly, and 
 having received such additional assurances as could not fail 
 to strengthen his hopes, returned to his carriage, and gave 
 the word " home." 
 
 The reverend gentleman was now in a state of rapture. 
 All, in his judgment, was perfectly clear. He had but to 
 prove this to Howard's satisfaction — which he felt, of course, 
 sure that he could do — and poor Mrs. Howard would be 
 restored to her husband, who would, of course, in conse- 
 quence, be once more happy — ^his own dear Eleanor would 
 be delighted with the fact of her brother's character being 
 vindicated — Sylvester's innocence would be proved to the 
 world, and Lady Julian would return to Sir Charles, who 
 would be in a state of felicity again. If there be a pure 
 pleasure on earth, it is assuredly that of imparting pleasure 
 to others, and the reverend gentleman — who imagined that 
 he saw all this with the most perfect distinctness — experi- 
 enced this pleasure in an eminent degree. Of what an 
 immense amount of happiness did he then possess the germs. 
 In his view, no man was ever placed in a more fortunate 
 position. But he would not keep the knowledge of his 
 position to himself. No ; he'd go and begin to spread this 
 happiness without delay. His Eleanor should be informed 
 of all that had transpired ; and as she was the first to be 
 made happy, he went to the cottage at once, 
 
 " Sylvester," said he, as he entered, " I am going to dine 
 with a friend to-day at four ; will you go with me ? " 
 
 " I shall be most happy to do so." 
 
 " We shall be by ourselves ; everything quite' quiet. I 
 offer no apology at present to you," he added, turning to 
 Aunt Eleanor, " for thus depriving you of his society. But 
 come, let us take a little turn in the garden." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor, who inferred from this that he wished to 
 
TEE MY&TEBY SOLVED. 481 
 
 say something to her in private, smiled, and left her work, 
 and went into the garden with him. 
 
 " Now," said he, " I told you that I thought — and 
 it did at the time strike me — that I should have, in the 
 course of the morning, something important to communi- 
 cate." 
 
 " And have you i " 
 
 " I have, my dear Eleanor ; I have." 
 
 He then led her into the arbour, and there, to her utter 
 amazement, told her all that had occurred. At first, on 
 hearing him mention the name of Howard, she nearly 
 fainted ; but recovering her self-possession, she subsequently 
 listened with almost breathless anxiety. He remembered 
 nearly every word that had passed, and every word that he 
 remembered he communicated to her, embellished only with 
 a description of the feelings inspired. 
 
 " And now," said he, at the conclusion of this intelli- 
 gence, " ought we not to be most thankful ? Out of evil 
 Cometh good. The very thing which we held to be a great 
 calamity, may prove to be a blessing indeed. Thus we, in 
 our blindness, complain j events occur, of the tendency of 
 which we have no knowledge, no conception ; and, because 
 we are too short-sighted to see their tendency, we presump- 
 tuo^isly pronounce them to be evils, and, instead of being 
 grateful, complain. How wonderfully is everything ordered ! 
 And what poor, weak, dependent, helpless creatures we 
 are? We are but instruments in the hands of Him who 
 employs us to work out His great design. But come, dear 
 Eleanor, why so sad ? " 
 
 " I am not sad," she replied ; " believe me. You have 
 said that we ought to be thankful ; I am, indeed, thankful ; 
 most thankful. But — should Mr. Howard, after all, not be 
 satisfied " 
 
 " That, my dear Eleanor, I hold to be impossible. Why, 
 Sylvester, I have not the slightest doubt, will this very day 
 satisfy him." 
 
 " But did I not understand you that Sylvester was to have 
 no knowledge of his object ? " 
 
 " Exactly ! But, when I have introduced the subject, 
 Sylvester will join in the conversation, of course." 
 
 " I perceive. Well, I hope to Heaven that you may be 
 successful ! " 
 
 2 H 
 
482 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Be sure that we shall be. I feel certain of it. I never 
 felt more certain of anything yet. And now let us go in 
 again. Sylvester may suspect that there is something which 
 we are anxious to conceal from him, and I wish him to go 
 there free from all suspicion." 
 
 Then they returned to the parlour, in which Sylvester 
 was reading, and, as they entered, the reverend gentleman 
 said, " Well, my dear boy, now what time will you be 
 ready ? " 
 
 " Oh, at what time you please ! " replied Sylvester. " How 
 far have we to go 1 " 
 
 " About four miles ; it can't be more than that." 
 
 " Then I suppose we ought to start about half -past three 1 
 Shall I drive you over in our machine, or will you go in 
 yours 1 " 
 
 " Oh, we may as well go in mine." 
 
 " Very well. Then, in the meantime, aunt, you and I 
 will go for a drive somewhere ; shall we ? " 
 
 " I should like it, my dear, much." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then left the cottage, and Syl- 
 vester went to look after the chaise, while Aunt Eleanor 
 — to whom Borton Hall had become an object of the 
 most intense interest — decided on getting Sylvester to drive 
 round Borton, in order that she might just look at the 
 Hall. 
 
 Accordingly, on getting into the chaise, she intimated to 
 him the road she wished to go — of course without explaining 
 her object — and they went that road and passed the Hall, of 
 which she could get but the slightest glimpse, so perfectly 
 was it surrounded by trees. 
 
 " How should you like to live there ? " inquired Sylvester, 
 perceiving the eyes of his aunt fixed upon it. 
 
 " I think not at all, my love ; — should you 1 " 
 
 " I might if I wished to be buried alive. What place 
 is thatr' he inquired of a man who was passing at the 
 time. 
 
 " Borton Hall, sir," replied the man. 
 
 " Who lives there ? " 
 
 " Don't know, sir. Nobody knows. Nobody never did 
 know." 
 
 " Nobody, I suppose, then particularly wants to know. Of 
 course it's inhabited 1 " 
 
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 483 
 
 " Some one lives there, of course ? " 
 _ '_' Oh yes, sir, two or three lives there, if they call that 
 livin'. They're rollin' in riches too, if that's any good 
 to 'em." . J- S 
 
 " Is the master of the house then a miser ? " 
 
 " A miser, sir ! no, sir ; he's one of the most liberalist 
 men as is — only he won't let nobody know him. He don't 
 care what he gives away nor what he pays for what he 
 has." 
 
 " Is he never to be seen ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, sir — sometimes. I've seen him often, and he 
 looks for all the world, sir, as if he'd been committing a 
 million of murders." 
 
 " Well, he's an extraordinary fellow, certainly," said 
 Sylvester, who threw the man sixpence, and then drove 
 on. 
 
 That this colloquy, short as it was, deeply interested 
 Aunt Eleanor, is a fact which may well be conceived. She 
 knew the cause of Howard's seclusion and dejection; 
 but, as Sylvester did not, he thought no more about the 
 matter. 
 
 " There's a lovely girl ! " he exclaimed, as a carriage passed 
 them about half a mile from the Hall. " Did you see 
 her?" 
 
 ' " I took no particular notice, my dear ; I was looking at 
 the carriage." 
 
 " Oh, you should have seen her — one of the most beautiful 
 creatures I ever beheld ! " 
 
 " Young, my dear — very young ? " 
 
 " She seemed to be very young. An older person — her 
 mother, I imagine — was in the carriage with her." 
 
 This at once banished the thought she had conceived of 
 its being Howard's daughter. She had no mother to ride 
 by her side : of every comfort — of every joy which a 
 mother could impart — she had been most unhappily de- 
 prived. 
 
 " I wonder," said Sylvester, " whom she can be. Do you 
 know the carriage ? " 
 
 " I thought as it passed that I'd seen it before. But it 
 cannot be the one I imagined." 
 
 " I should much like to know who she is," 
 
484 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Why, my love-^why ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. Perhaps because she is the most 
 charming girl I ever saw." 
 
 The subject then dropped, and as Sylvester's thoughts 
 were fixed on her, while those of his aunt were engaged 
 with Howard, they returned almost in silence to the 
 Grange. 
 
 At ten minutes past three precisely — ^the usual twenty 
 minutes" before the appointed time — the reverend gentleman 
 drove up to the gate ; and having alighted, felt anxious to 
 be off; but Sylvester, knowing this propensity of his, had 
 him in and expostulated with him, and pointed out to him 
 the monstrous absurdity of supposing that his horse couldn't 
 do more than four miles an hour. 
 
 " Did you ever see a carriage," he inquired at length, 
 " an olive carriage, pioked out with white ? " 
 
 " T have seen such a carriage," replied the reverend gentle- 
 man, colouring up on the instant; "I certainly have seen 
 such a carriage ! " 
 
 " And so have I ; and of all the lovely creatures I ever 
 beheld, she who was in that carriage this morning was in- 
 comparably the most lovely ! " 
 
 " "What ! " exclaimed the reverend gentleman, who didn't 
 on this point wish to be urged. "What!" he reiterated, 
 pointing to a portrait for which Aunt Eleanor had sat 
 twenty years before. " Have you ever seen that por- 
 trait ? " 
 
 "Of course I have ; and see it now." 
 
 " Did you ever see the original ? " 
 
 Aunt Eleanor smiled, and playfully patted the cheek of 
 the reverend gentleman and blushed, and said that she 
 thought it was much too bad. 
 
 " Well, but do you know to whom thtit carriage belongs ? " 
 inquired Sylvester. 
 
 " Was this young lady alone ?" 
 
 " No J her mother was with her.'' 
 
 " Then I don't know at all. But come ; let's be off. We 
 shall keep them waiting ; I knoto we shall ! " 
 
 " Oh, we have plenty of time. Shall / drive ? " 
 
 "If you please. Yes, do." 
 
 "Very well. Is there any exhibition about ten miles 
 off ! " 
 
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 485 
 
 " Not that I'm aware of. Why ? " 
 
 "If there had been, we might as well have seen that 
 first." 
 
 " But really we have no time to spare 1 we haven't, 
 indeed." 
 
 " Well, then jve'U be off." 
 
 They then took leave of Aunt Eleanor — who made them 
 promise to be home by ten — and while she prayed for their 
 success, they started. 
 
 On reaching the avenue which led to the Hall, Sylvester 
 suddenly stopped and exclaimed — 
 
 " "SVhy, we passed this wilderness this morning ! Are you 
 going in here ? " 
 
 " Oh yes. Go on." 
 
 " Are you sure that you can find your way out again ? " 
 
 " I have not the smallest fear of that." 
 
 " Oh ! Well, then we'U explore ! Are we going to dine 
 with the proprietor of this den ? " 
 
 "We shall dine with the gentleman who lives at the 
 Hall." 
 
 " He's a natural curiosity, is he not ? " 
 ■ "A natural curiosity ! " 
 
 " Yes ; the man of whom I inquired this morning in the 
 road said that he didn't know him, that nobody knew him, 
 and that he never was known ! " 
 
 " He certainly leads a life of seclusion, but you will find 
 him a most perfect gentleman, notwithstanding." 
 
 They now reached the circular lawn before the house, and 
 as they drove round two servants appeared at the door, and 
 immediately afterwards Howard came forth, and proceeded 
 to welcome them warmly. 
 
 This ceremony ended, he led them into a spacious and 
 most elegantly furnished room, and at once introduced them 
 to Henriette. 
 
 Sylvester recognised her in an instant. It was the sweet 
 gill whom he had that morning seen. And there was the 
 lady whom he had conceived to be her mother, but who was 
 introduced to him as Miss Duprez. 
 
 Having been presented, Henriette retired to one of the 
 windows — gracefully, but with a timidity which proved that 
 she had n6t been much accustomed to society — and while 
 Howard was conversing with the reverend gentleman, and 
 
486 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 glancing at Sylvester — ^who was an object of peculiar 
 interest to Jiim — Sylvester and Henriette were glancing 
 at each other, for he was equally, although with far dif- 
 ferent feelings, an object of interest to her. And thus 
 they were engaged until dinner was announced, when 
 Howard gave Henriette to the reverend gentleman, and 
 — as Miss Duprez had left the room — took Sylvester's arm 
 himself. 
 
 Miss Duprez, however, joined them in the dining-room, 
 and they sat down to a most delicious dinner — a dinner which 
 the reverend gentleman highly enjoyed — but of which neither 
 Sylvester nor Henriette — who was exceedingly tremulous the 
 whole of the time — partook freely. 
 
 It will not appear amazing that Henriette — who had never 
 before dined with strangers — should feel, on this occasion, 
 nervous ; but it is very questionable whether she would 
 have felt half so nervous, had there been but one guest, and 
 that guest had been the reverend gentleman. It will be 
 extremely rational to believe that she would not : for her 
 eyes and those of Sylvester constantly met — so constantly, 
 indeed, that it really appeared as if they had not the power 
 to keep them off. 
 
 Very soon after dinner the ladies withdrew, and then 
 Sylvester felt more at ease, and, as Howard — who was 
 highly pleased with him — paid him every attention, he 
 joined in the conversation fireely and gaily, until th6 subject 
 of somnambulism was introduced, when he became at once 
 thoughtful and silent. 
 
 Conceiving, however, that, being a friend of the reverend 
 gentleman, Howard knew, of course, all about the recent 
 trial, he eventually shook o£E all unpleasant thoughts, and, 
 on being appealed to, entered into the subject fully. He 
 related all those circumstances connected with the case 
 which did not transpire on the trial — how Sir Charles 
 had attacked him ; how the duel was prevented ; how the 
 pier-glass was broken, and so on — and then described the 
 scenes which he unconsciously produced while residing with 
 Dr. Delolme. 
 
 This description not only amazed Howard, but amused 
 him ; and, as the reverend gentleman after this related, 
 with his characteristic gravity, all that had occurred at 
 the Grange — commencing with the peaches, and ending 
 
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 487 
 
 with the fact of poor Judkins being caged as an escaped 
 convict — he appeared for a time to have forgotten all his 
 cares. 
 
 " But," said he, at length, addressing Sylvester, " you seem 
 to have passed over five years ! What occurred while you 
 were living with Mr. Scholefield ? " 
 
 " Nothing that ever came to my knowledge ; and that I 
 have often thought of as being most strange." 
 
 " It is strange, certainly. Now, had you any supper last 
 night ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; I always take supper : it is, in fact, the meal I 
 most enjoy." 
 
 " What are the habits of Mr. Scholefield ? Is he a free 
 Uver 1 " 
 
 "Quite the reverse. He is a particularly abstemious 
 man." 
 
 " And were you abstemious while you were living with 
 him?" 
 
 " I was : I lived very nearly as he lived." 
 
 " And never ate suppers ? " 
 
 " Why ! " exclaimed Sylvester, as the thought on the instant 
 struck him ; "how strange that that never occurred to me/ 
 That must have been the cause ! " 
 
 "A friend once wrote to me," said Howard, with emotion, 
 and the reverend friend knew whom he meant, "stating that 
 he had been a somnambulist, and that abstemious living had, 
 in his case, effected a cure ! " 
 
 " And wiU do so in my case, I have not the slightest doubt 
 of it ! " 
 
 " I should strongly recommend you to try it." 
 
 " Try it, sir ! What would I not do to cure myself of 
 this awfully perilous practice ! Nothing of the kind ever 
 occurred, to my knowledge, while I lived with Mr. Schole- 
 field : I am, therefore, bound to believe that nothing ever 
 did occur, and that, as I lived while there abstemiously, the 
 fact is ascribable solely to that. I thaiik you for the sugges- 
 tion. I feel grateful to you beyond all expression. I shall 
 adopt it, most assuredly, at once." 
 
 " And I hope, most sincerely," added Howard, " that it will 
 prove to be in your case effectual." 
 
 They then rejoined the ladies, and had coffee ; and Syl- 
 vester chatted with Henriette — whom he found to be a 
 
488 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 highly intellectual, as well as a most lovely girl — while the 
 reverend gentleman and Howard were conversing most 
 earnestly in private. The result of this conversation was, 
 that they resolved on posting to town on the morrow, and, 
 soon after this resolution had been fixed, the guests took 
 leave of Howard and Henriette, and left the Hall — the 
 reverend gentleman with such news for Eleanor, and Sylvester 
 with feelings of gratitude and love ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE EECONCILIATION. 
 
 In the morning, about half-past five o'clock, Sylvester — who 
 not only went to bed the previous night supperless, but, in 
 order to counteract the effects of the wine, had taken a cool- 
 ing draught — awoke ; and feeling anxious to get up, for his 
 stomach, being empty, was very rebellious, he at length 
 pulled the chain, and awoke his protector. 
 
 Judkins, in an instant, sat upright in bed, and looked at 
 him very mysteriously, and then shook his head with peculiar 
 significance, and then said, " No ; it won^t do ; not a bit of 
 it ; nothing at all of the ■Sort ; I won't have it. You want 
 to cut away again, don't you 1 " 
 
 " I want to get up," replied Sylvester. 
 
 " Then I'd rayther you'd remain where you are, for I don't 
 want to get into any more cages." 
 
 " I'm not now asleep ! " 
 
 " No, I dessay you're not; no doubt you're wide awake in 
 a state of somnambulisation ! " 
 
 "No, indeed, I am not : look at me." 
 
 " That's of no use 1 I can't tell by looking. What do 
 you want to get up for, here, a little a,rter five ? " 
 
 " In the first place, I feel very hungry ; and in the next, 
 as I can't sleep, I may as well get up as not." 
 
 " But don't you recollect you told me not to let you get 
 up before the usual time, on no account whatsomdever ? 
 Now, this here's a very onrational time, you know, for you 
 
THE BEOONGILIATION. 489 
 
 to got up, so you'd better lay down ag'in, and make your 
 life happy." 
 
 " Nonsense," cried Sylvester, who couldn't avoid laughing; 
 " I tell you distinctly that I'm now quite awake. Where's 
 the key ? " 
 
 " Well, but are you awake now ? Upon your soul, are you 
 awake ? " 
 
 "lam." 
 
 " Well, I don't know ; you know, sir, whether you are or 
 not : I'll defy all flesh to tell that : you look as if you was, 
 and if you will have the key, why, you must have the key, 
 and I'll go with .'you wheresomdever you please, but may I 
 be burnt if you gets away from me, or even so much as quits 
 my sight." 
 
 " It's all right, Judkins. , Come, the key." 
 
 Judkins gave him the key, and, not being satisfied, got 
 up at once, and dressed himself, and stood by the door, 
 and watched him closely, until he was ready to leave the 
 room, when he took his arm and shook him well, and 
 bawled in his ear, " I say, sir I Mr. Sylvesfer / are you 
 awake ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " replied Sylvester, who, although convulsed with 
 laughter, bawled in the ear of Judkins as loudly as Judkins 
 had bawled in his. " Yes ! I am ! " 
 
 Judkins was now pretty nearly convinced : still he followed 
 him, and kept his eye upon him, and would not allow him to 
 go out of his sight, until Aunt Eleanor came down to break- 
 fast, when he saw him safely into the parlour, and felt that 
 he had thus done his duty. 
 
 "Well, my dear," exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, who was in 
 high spirits that morning, " what sort of a night have you 
 had 1 " 
 
 ~ " I slept well," replied Sylvester, " till half -past five, when 
 I felt so desperately hungry, that I was really compelled to 
 get up." 
 
 " Then you did not, before that time, disturb Judkins ? " 
 
 "I don't believe that, until I awoke, I even moved." 
 
 " Thank Heaven. That is the remedy, my love ! " 
 
 " I feel sure of it." 
 
 " You need not, during the day, be particularly abstemious. 
 All I apprehend you have to do is, to abstain from eating 
 
490 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 suppers. But you, of course, kuow how to act now, much 
 better than I can tell you." 
 
 They then reverted to the Howards, and, while Sylvester 
 was giving a glowing description of the beautiful Henriette, 
 the reverend gentleman passed through the gate, and Syl- 
 vester rose to meet him. 
 
 " Well," he exclaimed, as he entered the parlour, " how 
 are you both this morning? I presume, of course, that 
 nothing has occurred." 
 
 "Nothing," returned Sylvester. 
 
 " Then my friend is right ? " 
 
 "I believe him to be quite right." 
 
 " That's a blessing. Well, you know I have to be with 
 him at eleven." 
 
 " And I go with you, of course ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no; I'll not trouble you. I'll take Jones, 
 you know. He can bring the phaeton back." 
 
 " But, of course, having dined there, I must make a call, 
 as a matter of mere etiquette." 
 
 "Oh, well, if that's it: ah, I didn't think of that. 
 Then we'll both go together — we'll both go together. Now, 
 just let me see. I have to send to my friend, Mr. Dixon, 
 to beg of him to officiate for me to-morrow." 
 
 " Are you sure that he is not engaged 1 " 
 
 "A good thought — a very good thought, that. He 
 may be." 
 
 "Shall I ride over now, and ascertain? I shall not be 
 gone more than an hour." 
 
 "Well, now; really — now that's very kind of you. If 
 you would, I should, indeed, esteem it a favour." 
 
 " Oh, I'll go at once ! " returned Sylvester, who imme- 
 diately had the horse saddled, and was off, much to 
 the gratification of the reverend gentleman, not only 
 because he should know whether his friend, Mr. Dixon, 
 was or was not engaged, but because it enabled him to 
 have an hour's private conversation with his Eleanor before 
 he started. 
 
 Of this hour, he, of course, made the most, and, when 
 Sylvester returned with the information that Mr. Dixon 
 would officiate for him with pleasure, he sent for his 
 phaeton, and, having reiterated " Good-bye I God bless you ! " 
 
THE RECONCILIATION. 491 
 
 at least twenty times, they left the cottage and drove to the 
 HaU. 
 
 On their arrival, Howard received them with the utmost 
 cordiality, and they sat do^vn to lutich. Henriette— who, 
 in Sylvester's view, looked even more lovely than she did 
 the previous evening-^presided, and at half-past eleven, 
 Howard — having taken leave of Henriette most affec- 
 tionately — entered the carriage with his friend, and they 
 were off. 
 
 Sylvester now scarcely knew what to do. Love prompted 
 him to linger, but propriety urged him to leave. While, 
 however, the influences of love and propriety were struggling 
 for the mastery. Miss Duprez gracefully expressed her belief 
 that he had not seen the garden. 
 
 He could have blessed her — and so could Henriette — 
 who endeavoured to conceal the tears which the departure 
 of her father had occasioned— and when Sylvester had 
 acknowledged the politeness of Miss Duprez, he elegantly 
 drew the arm of Henriette in his, while her governess 
 opened the garden gate. 
 
 This was indeed delightful. But Sylvester was not 
 eloquent at all ; nor was Henriette eloquent. Miss Duprez 
 ran about gaily, and gathered an infinite variety of flowers, 
 and went into the arbour, and made a bouquet; but 
 Sylvester and Henriette were almost silent, although in a 
 state of rapture. 
 
 " Now," said Miss Duprez archly, having completed 
 her task, "this is for you to take home; and after all 
 the pains that I have taken, I really must beg of you not 
 to spoil it." 
 
 Sylvester smiled, and received the bouquet ; and turning 
 to Henriette, said, " This is kind ; but will you not add one 
 flower ? " 
 
 The face and neck of Henriette were, in an instant, 
 crimson 1 — but as Miss Duprez ran to the arbour again 
 — she added one flower — one little flower — it was the 
 Forget-me-not. 
 
 That Sylvester prized this above all the rest, is a 
 fact which need not be explained. She again took his 
 arm, and he pressed her hand ; and when Miss Duprez had 
 led them to the gate at which they had entered, he warmly 
 
492 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 and gracefully bade them adieu, and, with feelings of 
 ecstasy, left them. 
 
 Nothing now worth recording occurred until nine the 
 following morning. It is true that Sylvester had in the 
 night attempted to get out of bed ; but as he did not expect 
 to be by any means immediately cured, this neither dis- 
 tressed nor amazed him. But there was, at the hour 
 named, one man near him struck — absolutely struck — with 
 amazement, and that man was Obadiah Drant. 
 
 He had gone as usual to the Crumpet and Crown to have 
 the first look at the Sunday paper, and when his eye rested 
 on the case of Grim. Con., and he found that Sylvester was 
 the defendant, he called out to Legge — 
 
 " Hallo ! Here you are ! — he)-e's a go ! Send I may live ! 
 Look here ! " 
 
 " What is it V inquired Legge. " Anything fresh 1 " 
 
 " Fresh 1 I fancy it is fresh. You recollect that young 
 scamp that wanted to fructify me into the belief that he 
 wasn't here at all that night, don't you 1 " 
 
 " What, young Mr. Sound ! What of him ? " 
 
 " I wish I may die if he ain't been crim-conning it." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Crim-conniiig it with one of the aristocracy. Didn't I 
 always say they were a foul lascivious lot I There isn't one 
 virtuous woman amongst them." 
 
 " Psha ! " exclaimed Legge. 
 
 " Well, but doesn't this prove it ? " 
 
 " Let me have a look at it." 
 
 " Shall I read it to you ? " 
 
 "Yes, if you'll read right on, and let us have none of 
 your comments." 
 
 Obadiah undertook to do this ; and having readjusted his 
 spectacles, commenced, and read the opening speech with 
 peculiar gusto. 
 
 " What do you think of that, my boy ? — what do you think 
 of that ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 "Go on," said Legge; "go on." 
 
 " Well, but what do you think of it ? That's a tidy juxta- 
 position to be placed in." 
 
 " Go on — go on, or give me the paper." 
 
 Obadiah proceeded j and when he had got through Slash- 
 
THE RECONCILIATION. 493 
 
 inger's speech, Legge, rubbing his hands, inquired what lie 
 thought of it. 
 
 " We shall see, my boy— we shall see ! " replied Obadiah. 
 "I don't care for that." 
 
 " Have you seen what the verdict is ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then I'll bet you what you like he gets off." 
 
 " Done ! I'll bet you he don't." 
 
 "A glass of grog." 
 
 " Done ! " 
 
 Obadiah resumed. 
 
 " Hallo ! " he exclaimed. " What— Ted 1 " 
 
 " What, our parson ? " 
 
 " The Eeyerend Edward Rouse ! Parsons are sure to put 
 their noses in. Nothing can go along now without a parson. 
 Now, then, what's he got to say about the matter? The 
 ghost," he added, on reading the evidence ; " what — is that 
 a fact ? " 
 
 " What do you think of your glass of grog now ! " cried 
 Legge. 
 
 "Why, I think I've lost it," replied Obadiah j "but stop 
 a bit, mind you — it ain't over yet." 
 
 He then read the reply, and exclaimed triumphantly — ■ 
 
 " What do you think, now, of your glass of grog ? " 
 
 "What's the verdict," cried Legge j "what's the ver- 
 dict 2 " 
 
 " The verdict is for the plaintiff, my Briton. Damages^ 
 two thousand pounds ! What do you think of that ? Two 
 thousand pounds, my boy ! Eh ! — what do you think of 
 that?" 
 
 " Why, I think,'' replied Legge, " that every man on that 
 jury ought to have two thousand lashes." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. What, don't you see ? ' 
 
 " Yes, / see all about it. But give me the paper; I'll read 
 it myself." 
 
 Panting to spread this " glorious " news, Obadiah at 
 once went to call upon Pokey, for this was an extensive 
 foundation indeed for him to build upon. Nothing but 
 a " rattling revolution " could have given him greater 
 scope. 
 
 "Here's your works ! " he exclaimed, as he entered. " You 
 know young Sound, don't you ? " 
 
494 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Young Sound," said Pokey ; " oh yes — what of him 1 " 
 
 " Do you know what he's been up to ? " 
 
 "No— what?" 
 
 "What 1 Why, he's been up to crim-conicalisation"! " 
 
 " Crim how much ? " 
 
 " Crim-conicalisation ! He's been seducing one of the 
 wives of the aristocracy." 
 
 " You don't say so ? " 
 
 " Oh, it's in the papers. There it is, in black and white ! 
 You'll see it at the Crumpet. Damages, two thousand 
 pounds, my boy ; what do you think of that 1 But she's 
 as bad as him ; nay, she's twenty times worse. Haven't I 
 always told you what they were ? Haven't I always said 
 that the pauper aristocracy were steeped to the very eyes in 
 amalgamating vice 1 Look at 'em. What are they ? — why, 
 there isn't a woman amongst 'em fit to be trusted, nor has 
 there been since the time of Peter the Great ; and yet these 
 are the wretches — I call 'em wretches — who wring a hundred 
 millions a year out of the vitals of the poverty-stricken 
 people. Isn't it monstrous — isn't it disgusting for any 
 civilised mind to amalgamate upon ? Why, before I'd stand 
 it, if I was John Bull, I'd kick 'em all over to Botany Bay. 
 I wouldn't have it ! " 
 
 " Well, but who is this woman ?— who is she ? " 
 
 " Why, a lady of title to be sure ! — a Lady Julian — Lady 
 Matilda Maria Julian. Why, her very name shows what 
 she is ! And do you think that I'd support my Lady this, 
 and my Lady that, and pay Lady the t'other, to kick up 
 such boney fide pranks as these. I'd amalgamate 'em all ! 
 — 1 wouldn't have 'em. I'd place 'em in the juxtaposition 
 of the French, when Boney went to Bunker's Hill. I'd place 
 'em horse de combat, and make 'em fight their way through 
 the world for a living — that's how I'd serve 'em. /wouldn't 
 have the locusts ! If paupers are paupers, they ought to be 
 treated as paupers." 
 
 " But is she a pauper ? " 
 
 " A pauper ! Don't I tell you she's a lady of title ! and 
 ain't they all paupers ? I say it's a most disgusting shame 
 that these titled drones — these imps of the universe — should 
 be allowed to plunder the people in this way." 
 
 " Well, but two thousand pounds — I say — that'll be a bit 
 of a ^ull, won't it ? " 
 
THE BEGONGILIATION. 495 
 
 "_ Oh, they must sell off, you know ; safe to be a sale ; they 
 can tpay two thousand down without. There'll be an execu- 
 tion m the house, I expect, to-morrow. But when you come 
 to look at it, isn't it disgusting that such a lot of wretches 
 are suffered to breathe I " 
 
 " Who gets this money— this two thousand pounds 1 " 
 " Why, the. husband, of course 1 Don't your ideas fruc- 
 tify ? Can't you perceive that it's all a planned thing ? ' I 
 want money,' says he to her, ' and you know this young 
 fellow. Get him to come some night to the house, and I 
 shall gain two thousand pounds.' Don't you see? Ain't 
 it as plain as the nose on your face 1 This is your aristo- 
 cracy — your pauper aristocracy ! If I'd my will, I'd 
 hang the lot ! bishops and parsons and all. They're all 
 alike ! and, mark my words, nothing but a flaming revolu- 
 tion will ever do justice to the eternal principles of the 
 people ! " 
 
 He then left Pokey and called upon Bobber, and told the 
 news to all whom he met ; and then called upon Snorkins, 
 and then upon Quocks, and thus he went round with this 
 " glorious " news — building as he went, and coining new 
 words to express his contempt for the " pauper aristocracy " 
 — and as this gave him unspeakable pleasure, he spent a 
 "glorious " day indeed I 
 
 That day Howard dined with Dr. Delolme, and met 
 Scholefield and Tom — with whom he had an interview in 
 the morning — and when the doctor had explained to him a 
 variety of circumstances which tended to prove that not 
 only Sylvester, but Dr. Sound himself, was a somnambulist, 
 he became so perfectly satisfied of the fact, that in the full 
 conviction of the innocence of his wife, he resolved on 
 returning to Borton on the morrow. 
 
 The reverend gentleman was of course delighted ! He 
 had hoped that Howard, before he left town, would have an 
 interview, through Scholefield, with Sir Charles ; but, under 
 existing circumstances, he would not have hinted a wish to 
 detain him for the world. 
 
 They remained at the doctor's till eleven, and then 
 returned to the hotel; and as they left town as early as 
 six the next morning, they arrived at the Hall before 
 twelve. 
 
 Ob the road, the chief question discussed was, how Mrs. 
 
495 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 Howard should be informed of the fact of her being believed 
 to be guiltless ; and it was at length decided that the 
 reverend gentleman should go and have an interview with 
 her, with power to act precisely as circumstances might 
 prompt. 
 
 He accordingly — having partaken of some refreshment — 
 entered the carriage, and proceeded to the residence of 
 Mrs. Howard, which was nearly nine miles from the Hall, 
 while Howard himself, to the amazement as well as the 
 delight of Henriette, explained to her all that had 
 occurred. 
 
 On his arrival, the reverend gentleman inquired for 
 " Mrs. Greville ; " and having sent in his card, was shown 
 into the parlour, in which a portrait of Howard hung con- 
 spicuously. This struck him as he entered ; but his thoughts 
 soon reverted to the task he had undertaken, and just as he 
 had seated himself near the window, a tall commanding 
 figure firmly entered the room. 
 
 "Mrs. Howard," said the reverend gentleman, "I believe 
 I have the pleasure of addressing?" 
 
 " Mrs. Howard ! " she echoed, with a look of surprise. 
 " My name," she added, in deep tones of sadness, " my 
 name is GrevUle, sir — Greville, now." 
 
 " My dear lady, pardon me," said the reverend gentle- 
 man ; " I addressed you as Mrs. Howard. I did so, because 
 I now come as a mediator." 
 
 " A mediator ! " she exclaimed. " A mediator ! From 
 whom ? " 
 
 " From one whose affection for you is unbounded, 
 and from whose heart of hearts you have never been 
 estranged." 
 
 " Why, what am I to understand by this ? "■ 
 
 " My dear, dear madam, I am cognisant of the whole of 
 the circumstances connected with your unhappy case. Your 
 husband did believe you to be faithless." 
 
 " He did ! " she exclaimed ; " he did. But," she added, 
 clasping her hands fervently, " I am — before God, I here 
 declare that I am — innocent ! " 
 
 " I believe it, I believe it; I firmly believe it." 
 
 " You said that he — my husband— t^^'c^ believe that I was 
 faithless. Of course he believes it still ? " 
 
 " No— no ! " 
 
THE RECONCILIATION. 497 
 
 " He does not I " 
 
 " He does not." 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " she cried. " Thank Heaven ! Oh ! 
 most fervently do I thank Heaven for that 1 A mediator ! " 
 she added thoughtfully, "a mediator! Tell me — pray tell 
 me at once what you mean." 
 
 " My dear madam, your husband now believes you to be 
 guiltless. Your innocence has been severely tested and 
 proved." 
 
 " Proved ! How proved ? " 
 
 "It has been, through my humble instrumentality, 
 proved that Dr. Sound was a somnambulist ! And now 
 I am come to communicate to you the fact of there 
 being open arms and warm hearts to receive you at Borton 
 Hall." 
 
 " Sir," said Mrs. Howard, who appeared to be bewildered, 
 while her woman's pride was struggling to gain the ascen- 
 dancy — " I thank you. I appreciate your kindness — believe 
 me, I appreciate it highly; but Borton Hall is no place 
 for me." 
 
 " My dear madam. Now, you will distress me. If you 
 assume this tone, you will very much distress me." 
 
 "Look!" she exclaimed, as she 'bitterly wept, "look at 
 the indignities that have been heaped upon me ! Oh ! it 
 was cruel — cruel ! " 
 
 " I said that I came as a mediator. I also came to offer 
 my advice. You saw the carriage in which I came 1 " 
 
 " I have not yet seen it." 
 
 " Look : it is there. It was yours, I believe ? " 
 
 " It was." 
 
 "And is still. Now, my advice is that you enter that 
 carriage, and go at once with me to the Hall." 
 
 "Sir, I cannot do it." 
 
 " Not to be restored to him, whom I well know you love 
 fondly, and who will receive you with open arms ? You 
 made a request, I believe, some time since — a request which 
 you said should be your last." 
 
 " Yes, and he cruelly, contemptuously spurned me." 
 
 " He feels that it was, on his part, cruel ; but he theu 
 imagined that that pledge had been violated " 
 
 " It never was violated by me." 
 
 2 1 
 
498 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " He believes, he knows, that it never was. But you then, 
 I believe, wished to see him." 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " And do you not wish to see him now ? " 
 
 She made no reply : her heart was too full. She covered 
 her face, and wept aloud. 
 
 " My dear madam," he resumed, " be comforted. I know 
 that you have had to endure much : I know that your suffer- 
 ings have been great " 
 
 "They have indeed." 
 
 " I know it : but now that you have a bright prospect of 
 happiness " 
 
 " No : I shall never be happy again." 
 
 "Now, my dear madam ; — really you must not say so." 
 
 "If even I were to return, I should always be the victim 
 of some foul suspicion." 
 
 "You wrong him: indeed you wrong him. It is true 
 that he for a long time entertained suspicion; but look 
 with me — look, my dear madam — at the extraordinary 
 circumstances under which that suspicion was created." 
 
 "Nothing could justify it — nothing." 
 
 " Suppose that you had been Howard, and that he had 
 been you, would not you have felt justified under such 
 circumstances " 
 
 " If I had — even if I had — I should never have treated 
 Jmn so cruelly." 
 
 "This answer I ascribe to that amiable characteristic 
 of your sex, which prompts you always — with or with- 
 out justice — to sympathise and to forgive. But come — 
 now let me — pray let me prevail upon you to accompany 
 me to the Hall." 
 
 " I cannot, sir — I cannot go." 
 
 "You cannot go to make him happy, who has long been 
 a stranger to happiness : you cannot go to fill the heart of 
 Henriette with joy ? " 
 
 " My poor child ! " she exclaimed convulsively, as a 
 ' fresh flood of tears gushed forth. " My poor child ! — 
 stay, sir ! " she added, as the reverend gentleman rose 
 and turned to the window, with the view of concealing 
 the tears which sprang into Ms eyes. " Stay, sir : one 
 moment." 
 
TEE REGONOILIATION. 499 
 
 "I was not about to leave, my dear madam: I was not 
 about to leave," replied the reverend gentleman. "I am 
 in no haste — no haste whatever I Eefiect — nay, I would 
 suggest the expediency of your retiring to reflect : still 
 I must say that, if you consult your own happiness and 
 the happiness of those who are dear to you still, the 
 result of that reflection will be your consent to accom- 
 pany me to the Hall. I have much to say to you — 
 much to explain — much that will interest you deeply — 
 but this I'll reserve until we enter- the carriage. Con- 
 sider yourself, consider him to whom you are still most 
 dear : consider your sweet child — your own Henriette — 
 who is anxiously waiting to clasp you to her heart. Go 
 with me— abandon all ideas of humiliation — conscious of 
 your innocence, go with me firmly — and if, after your 
 
 reception, you loisli to return but that I hold to be 
 
 impossible. You make no sacrifice ! — yours is essentially 
 a triumph 1 Now go, and prepare.. In the pride of inno- 
 cence meet the man whom you have never injured." 
 
 "I wiU," she replied, with an expression of intensity. 
 " My mind's made up. I will." 
 
 Elated with success, the reverend gentleman — immedi- 
 ately after Mrs. Howard had retired — ^left the room, which 
 appeared *to be much too small for the comprehensive char- 
 acter of his thoughts, and went into the garden, contem- 
 plating deeply the ba.ppiness which would of necessity spring 
 from this reconciliation. He pictured to himself the meeting 
 at the Hall — the delight of Howard — the joy of Henriette ! 
 — nor did he forget to portray the rapture with which his 
 own Eleanor would be inspired when he carried the news 
 to the Grange. 
 
 While he was thus contemplating, Mrs. Howard's pride 
 was struggling with her purer feelings. Still her resolu- 
 tion remained unshaken. She "would go. And when she 
 had prepared to accompany the reverend gentleman, the 
 fact was immediately announced, and with many kind and 
 delicate expressions of sympathy he handed her into the 
 carriage. 
 
 On the way, he explained to her how the conviction of 
 her innocence had been induced : he related to her the whole 
 of the circumstances connected with the trial: Howard's 
 journey to town, and his anxious return ; but she was still 
 
500 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 extremely tremulous — still thoughtful — still sad ; and when 
 they reached the Hall, he had the utmost difficulty in pre- 
 vailing upon her to leave the carriage. 
 
 Howard did intend to receive her at the door, but when 
 he saw the carriage approaching, his feelings overcame him, 
 and he sank upon a couch. The reverend gentleman there- 
 fore alone supported her — for Henriette and Miss Duprez 
 were then unconscious of their arrival — and when he had 
 conducted her into the room, Howard on the instant rose 
 and approached with extended arms, into which she at once 
 fell and fainted. 
 
 The reverend gentleman immediately withdrew, and met 
 Henriette, who had that moment heard of the fact of their 
 having arrived, and when he had communicated his intention 
 to Miss Duprez, he re-entered the carriage and returned to 
 the Grange. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 The reconciliation having thus been effected, the reverend 
 gentleman's iirst object was to induce Howard to go up 
 to town again, with the view of being introduced to Sir 
 Charles. He had spoken on this subject to Scholefield, who 
 had stated it as his opinion, that if Howard — in the event 
 of a reconciliation taking place — were to call upon Sir 
 Charles, his conviction of Lady Julian's innocence would be 
 complete. 
 
 He therefore — having allowed two days to elapse — men- 
 tioned the subject incidentally to Howard, who on the 
 instant declared that he would go up at once, and take Mrs. 
 Howard, Henriette, and Sylvester with him. 
 
 With this arrangement the reverend gentleman, of course, 
 was delighted, but not more delighted than Sylvester was 
 with the idea of travelling with Henriette. Howard had 
 decided on starting the next morning, and at the appointed 
 time called for Sylvester at the cottage, when he, Mrs. 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 501 
 
 Howard, and Henriette, had the happiness of being intro- 
 duced by Sylvester to his aunt. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor was also much pleased with the intro- 
 duction; for although they had been the cause of her 
 brother's premature death, she felt that they had been 
 most innocently the cause, and that, therefore, they were 
 blameless. 
 
 Knowing, of course, that they would call, she had 
 prepared for them a luncheon, and soon won the hearts of 
 Mrs. Howard and Henriette by her elegant and amiable 
 manners. 
 
 "My dear madam," said Howard, as he led her to the 
 window, "I shall deprive you of Sylvester's society for a 
 time, but be assured that as circumstances have rendered 
 him fatherless, I will, while 1 live, be like a father to 
 him. We need not revert to those circumstances now, 
 but I hope that when we return, our friendship will be 
 cemented, and that we shall live thenceforward in unity 
 and peace." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor responded to the expression of this hope, 
 and as the ladies were by this time ready, they affectionately 
 bade her adieu, and were conducted by the reverend gentle- 
 man to the carriage. 
 
 "We may not return for a week," said Howard, "but 
 Sylvester will write to you to-morrow." And having taken 
 leave of the reverend gentleman, he entered the carriage, 
 and they were off. 
 
 On the road Howard perfectly well understood the 
 affectionate feelings which existed between Sylvester and 
 Henriette; but as he believed him to be worthy of her, 
 and knew her to be worthy of him, he did not attempt 
 to check the development of those feelings, but, on the 
 contrary, felt justified in promoting their cultivation. 
 
 Having arrived at the fourth stage they stopped and 
 dined, and nothing could exceed in intensity the happiness 
 of both Henriette and Mrs. Howard ; for while the former 
 had commenced a new state of existence, the latter had 
 returned to that state in which, formerly, her guileless heart 
 had known nothing but joy. 
 
 They were happy, indeed !— most happy ; they wept, 
 they were so happy. And Howard wept too; nay, tears 
 
502 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 sprang into Sylvester's eyes — their happiness was so 
 contagious. 
 
 Having dined, they went on, and reached town about 
 six, and had coffee, and went to the Opera with Tomj 
 and in the morning, Scholefield introduced Howard to Sir 
 Charles, and had a long and most interesting interview with 
 him. 
 
 Sir Charles had previously felt convinced of the fact of 
 Lady Julian being innocent ; for Scholefield had related to 
 him the whole of the circumstances connected with the case 
 of Mrs. Howard, and therefore, when Howard himself had 
 stated that a reconciliation had been effected. Sir Charles 
 felt so perfectly satisfied, that he exclaimed, "This young 
 man is innocent, I see ! Both he and Lady Julian are 
 innocent ! The damages shall not, of course, be enforced. 
 I'm entitled to no ' damages.' I've received no damage. I 
 have not — I feel that I have not — been injured. They made 
 it out that I wanted the two thousand pounds. I'll not have 
 the two thousand pounds. But if that young man should 
 ever want two thousand, let him come to me, and he shall 
 have it ! " 
 
 This was the result of the interview ; and before 
 Howard reached his hotel. Sir Charles was with General 
 Lloyd. 
 
 The general, on receiving his card, felt quite inclined to 
 treat him with contempt ; but, on reflection, he thought it 
 would be better to see him, and therefore sent word down 
 that he'd be with him anon. 
 
 " Well," said he haughtily, as he entered the room, 
 " what do you want here, Sir Charles Julian ? " 
 
 " What do I want here ! " exclaimed Sir Charles, not 
 anticipating such a reception. " If we can speak to each 
 other calmly, let us do so : if not, our interview is at an 
 end." 
 
 " Calmly ! What do you want here ? " 
 
 " I scorn," replied Sir Charles, with indignation — " I scorn 
 to answer any question put in that tone." 
 
 "What tone, Sir Charles Julian — what tone should I 
 assume to him who has blasted the reputation of my child, 
 and who has afilxed a stain of infamy upon her, like a fool 
 —like a fool — ^like a villain and a fool ? She is innocent ! 
 
THE GONOLUSIOK 
 
 503 
 
 I care nothing for your verdicts ! Five thousand verdicts 
 will not be sufficient to make me believe that she is any- 
 thing but pure ! " 
 
 "General Lloyd," said Sir Charles, "while you pursue 
 this irrational course, I cannot talk with you." 
 
 " While I pursue this irrational course ! What course 
 would you have me pursue, Sir Charles, since you deem 
 that of warmly defending my child — believing her to be 
 innocent— irrational ? " 
 
 " I do not deem that to be irrational. I will defend her 
 as warmly as you can." 
 
 "You defend her! You, who have basely cast her out 
 of the pale of society, and branded her a wanton ! — you 
 defend her! If she had no stronger defence than yours, 
 the weakness of her position would be pitiable indeed. But 
 she has a more potent defender than her husband. She has 
 a father, who will defend her while he has life and breath ; 
 she has, moreover, the strength which conscious innocence 
 imparts, and that surpasses all. Have your trials — sue for 
 your divorce— ^she is innocent — innocent still ! " 
 
 " I believe that she is ! I now firmly believe it ! " 
 
 "You do?" 
 
 " I do, most firmly." 
 
 " And how has that belief been inspired 1 " 
 
 " By the knowledge of the fact that that young man is, 
 in reality, a somnambulist. I have proved it. I have proved 
 it beyond all doubt. I am therefore satisfied." 
 
 The general rang the bell, and desired the servant to 
 request " Lady Julian " to come down, and not another word 
 was spoken until she appeared. 
 
 As she entered. Sir Charles was the first to address 
 her — 
 
 " Matilda," said he, " I am here to inform you that I 
 have happily become quite convinced of your innocence." 
 
 " Sir Charles Julian ! " she exclaimed, with an expression 
 of scorn, " whether you have or have not become convinced, 
 is a matter to me of the most perfect indifference. You 
 have injured me irreparably — you have brought yourself 
 into profound contempt — and now all you have to do is to 
 sue for a divorce, and the sooner you obtain it the better." 
 
 " Matilda," resumed Sir Charles calmly, " I did not 
 expect this from you." 
 
504 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "What did you expect, Sir Charles Julian? Did you 
 expect that, like a guilty thing, I should tremhle, or be 
 silent, or sink before him who has thus vilely cast upon my 
 character a stain of infamy 1 " 
 
 " I expected that you would at least have been calm; for 
 although I have now no desire to lu-ge it, still the event 
 justified suspicion." 
 
 " It did not justify — it could not justify — your conduct 
 in publicly branding me with so much precipitation." 
 
 " Look you. Sir Charles," interposed the -general, who 
 had been thoughtfully pacing the room; "you believe her 
 to be innocent ? " 
 
 " I do — most iirmly." 
 
 " Very well. You are convinced of it ? " 
 
 "lam." 
 
 " Very well. Then how do you propose to remove the 
 stigma ? " 
 
 " Why, in the first place, I am anxious for Matilda to 
 return." 
 
 " Return ! " she exclaimed. " What, to live again with 
 you 1 Never ! — never ! " 
 
 " Very well," said the general ; " that's settled. Now 
 you can leave the room." 
 
 " I should feel myself degraded " 
 
 "Very well; that'll do. Leave the rest to me." 
 
 She then cast a withering glance at Sir Charles, and 
 withdrew with an air of disdain. 
 
 " Now, then," resumed the general, "how is this stain to 
 be removed ? " 
 
 " Why, the fact of our living together again would have 
 the effect of removing it." 
 
 " No — no such thing. It would be said that, like an 
 infatuated old fool, although conscious of her guilt, you 
 took her back and forgave her. No, that'll not do. The 
 stain cannot thus be removed." 
 
 " What, then, would you suggest ? " 
 
 " I would suggest to you. Sir Charles, the necessity for 
 acting, as you are bound to act, as a man of honour." 
 
 " I am quite prepared to do so. But how do you conceive 
 that I am hound to act ? " 
 
 "You are bound to declare, both in public and in private, 
 your settled conviction of her innocence." 
 
THE CONOLVSION. 505 
 
 " In private I have already done so ; but how am I to do 
 it in public ? " 
 
 "Through the medium of the papers. Consult your 
 attorney. He will be able to get your conviction, and the 
 facts which induced it, made known to the world. Let this 
 be done. Sir Charles ; let this be done." 
 
 " If it be possible, it shall be done." 
 
 "Very well. When it is done, we'll see what can be 
 done next; but until it be done, and that effectually, she 
 shall never, with my consent, return." 
 
 Resolved on doing all in his power to counteract the 
 effects of the report of the trial, by making her innocence 
 known to the world, Sir Charles then left the house. 
 ******** 
 
 Little now remains to be told ; for here the history of 
 Sylvester, as a somnambulist, ends. The means adopted 
 with the view of preventing a recurrence of somnambulism 
 — those of taking much exercise and living abstemiously — ■ 
 proved to be in his case effectual ; and when this had been 
 proved — there being no obstacle whatever in the way, and 
 as they loved each other passionately — he and- Henriette 
 were united. 
 
 And so were the reverend gentleman and his Eleanor ! 
 — ay, and so were Judkins and cook. Lady Julian, more- 
 over, was eventually prevailed upon to leave the general's 
 house and return to Sir Charles ; and while Howard himself 
 recovered his former health and spirits, Mrs. Howard was 
 happy in the possession of the affection of all around her. 
 She indeed formed the centre of a most delightful circle; 
 and if even Sylvester had not been cured effectually, he 
 would after marriage have been quite safe ; for Henriette 
 by day and night' ever kept strict watch over her beloved 
 husband. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 tRINTKD BY BALLANTYNS, HANSON AND CO, 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON. 
 
 TZ524287S2 
 

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