□1^,7. 1 BK. £>2-3 T! 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE 
 LIBRARY 
 
 DURHAM, NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 RecM.NQV 2 6 1902 
 
 0 
 

POPULAR TALES 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2017 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 https://archive.org/details/populartales01edge_0 
 
Well, cousin Lucy, what say you now ? Shall I bespeak a bonnet for you, hey?' " — P. 94. 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 i • 
 
 BY 
 
 MARIA EDGEWORTH 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY MISS CHRIS HAMMOND 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 ANNE THACKERAY RITCHIE 
 
 HonDon 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK 
 
 1895 
 
 All rights reserved 
 

 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 c 
 
 
 
 
 
E '131P8* 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 We all of us sometimes want literature not only for 
 ourselves, but for simpler souls, for sick and sorry people, 
 for quiet folks laid by and wanting distraction, for village 
 libraries, for children and servants. Few books would 
 seem more suited to such needs than some of the shorter 
 and simpler tales by Miss Edgeworth. The stories are 
 interesting and suggestive ; they take one out of morbid 
 preoccupations into fresh air,- — into the fields and cottage 
 gardens. One can almost see the apple-trees growing, the 
 flowers in bloom, the crops waving in plenty, the sleek 
 cattle grazing or driven by the farmer. It is a world 
 where everything happens delightfully pat and neatly pro- 
 portioned. So much virtue, so much reward ; so much 
 work, so many plums. It is a world where the minor 
 qualities certainly carry the day, and the greater emotions 
 modestly take the inferior places. Love plays a small part ; 
 economy, propriety, diligence are the dictators of this com- 
 fortable universe ; a certain amount of broken legs, bad 
 debts, and ill-humoured agents are the chief problems the 
 inhabitants have to solve. There is the hangman, to be 
 sure, in the background, but he is taken as a matter of 
 course. The limits of such experience may seem narrow 
 to grown-up people, but they are admirable for children. 
 ‘ Children like facts. They like short, vivid sentences that 
 tell the story. As they listen intently, so do they read. 
 
 Vll 
 
TOFULAR TALES 
 
 Every word has its value for them. It has been a real 
 surprise to the writer of this essay, on re-reading some of 
 those scenes of scenery and adventure, which she had not 
 looked at for years, to find that details which she had 
 imagined spread over much space and print, are all con- 
 tained in a few sentences.’ I have ventured to quote from 
 an essay written some years ago, but the passage seems to 
 me no less true now than it did then ; and if we take, for 
 instance, the description of Lame Jervas, and his escape from 
 the mine where he has spent his life, and where the miners 
 have plotted his death, we feel that the story almost rises to 
 poetry in its truth, simplicity, and directness. Is not truth 
 the very soul of poetry ? Jervas’s master had helped him to 
 get away, and leads him out in the night. The morning 
 clouds begin to clear as Jervas stands waiting for the waggon 
 in which he is to escape. He sadly watches his one friend 
 walking away across the fields, and the waggon slowly 
 moves on. Then the sun rises. Lame Jervas, to whom 
 the rising sun is a spectacle wholly surprising, starts up, 
 exclaiming in wonder and admiration. The waggoner 
 bursts into a loud laugh. ‘ Lud-a-mercy,’ says he, ‘to hear 
 ’un and look at ’un, a body would think the oaf had never 
 seen the sun rise afore.’ 
 
 This was true enough, and the boy remembers that he 
 is not yet out of danger of discovery, and is silent. Mr. 
 Hardy himself never wrote a more striking sketch than the 
 history of Lame Jervas’s escape from the mine in his waggon. 
 One feels as one reads on that the greater writers, however 
 different in their aims and methods, reach now and then to 
 a common country beyond our horizons. They carry us 
 along with them in their flight ; they leave us on Pisgah. 
 For a moment we breathe a serener atmosphere, we look 
 afar, and then suddenly the revelation is gone ! In the case 
 
 viii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 of Lame Jervas, one scrambles down hill in company with a 
 tiresome Indian Rajah and a jealous lecturer, and finds one- 
 self miles away from heavenly summits with Jervas’s peep- 
 show, exhibiting little stuffed men rolling wheelbarrows, 
 which I cannot help thinking Mr. Edgeworth must have 
 suggested. 
 
 Popular Tales was published in 1812; indeed much 
 of Miss Edgeworth’s best work was done in the first dozen 
 years of the century. In these stories one finds many traces 
 of the daily life at Edgeworthstown — of the master of the 
 house and his various interests, the intelligent manufac- 
 turers, the experiments in mechanics, the sketches of 
 peasant life ; all reflect in their various ways the interests 
 of the cheerful, animated family and its many friends. As 
 it has been said, the Darwins, the Wedgwoods, the Hollands 
 were all in warm and constant relations with the Edge- 
 worths. The intimacy between the Edgeworth family and 
 the Strutts of Derby was one which continued for many 
 years, with ever-increasing cordiality and sympathy on either 
 side ; and of this friendship one certainly finds many traces. 
 
 When Mr. and Mrs. Edgeworth and Miss Edgeworth 
 visited Derby they stayed some time with Mr. Strutt and his 
 family, and went over his mills, which interested them 
 immensely. Mr. Strutt and Mr. Edgeworth both had a 
 taste for mechanics, but besides corresponding upon such 
 subjects as centrifugal force and axles and cylinders, they 
 also kept each other informed of the family events, happy 
 and sad : the marriages, the love-makings, the illnesses. A 
 letter from Ireland to Derby in those days cost is. 8d. No 
 wonder people used large sheets and wrote their lines close 
 together. From this correspondence we find that Mr. 
 Edgeworth, among other things, was one of the first originators 
 of the tunnel across the Menai Straits ; he had modified 
 
 IX 
 
POrULAR TALES 
 
 some of the plans which had been shown him. ‘ I would put 
 the parts together in a dock on shore,’ says he, ‘ with gates 
 opening into the river ; and it might be balanced and 
 ballasted with sand.’ Miss Edgeworth subsequently wrote 
 that her father had given up his intention of competing for 
 the passage across the Menai Straits, and had come down to 
 a spire forty feet high ! 
 
 In September 1813 Miss Edgeworth is asking Mr. Strutt 
 to look through an account of Spuming Je 7 inies written by 
 her for the sequel of Harry and Lucy. Mr. Strutt kindly 
 agrees, and in the second letter Miss Edgeworth says, ‘ I am 
 not certain that you would like to have it supposed that Mr. 
 Belper is meant for you or any of your family.’ 
 
 It is curious to notice in all this correspondence the 
 difficulties authors had to undergo in those days in their 
 efforts to forward their Manuscripts ; these travel round from 
 one Member of Parliament to another, rejected by some and 
 delayed by others. A mere note, as we have seen, cost is. 8d. 
 Mr. Strutt having criticised the MS., Miss Edgeworth 
 says, ‘ I would not write to you, my dear friend, till I could 
 offer you certain proof that I had paid all due deference to 
 your opinion. I set to work, and in the course of that week 
 re-wrote the whole, but I have never been able to obtain a 
 means of conveying the MS. to you.’ 
 
 There is a very early letter from Mr. Edgeworth inviting 
 Mr. Strutt to Ireland. ‘ Few Englishmen are acquainted 
 with the inhabitants of this country, and very few of the 
 Irish gentry are acquainted with their inferiors. Do me the 
 favour and the justice,’ he says, ‘ to visit Edgeworthstown, 
 where I can show you the real character of the people .’ 
 
 People complain that there is an element of matter-of-fact 
 in most of Miss Edgeworth’s writing, combined with much of 
 intuition and cleverness. But in some of her Irish stories, — 
 
 x 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 in Castle Backrent , for instance, — it seems as if there was 
 something far beyond cleverness ; the spirit of a nation 
 breathes in some of its pages. The Popular Talcs are less 
 romantic, but they are delightful and characteristic, and give 
 a vivid picture of the times. They are not confined only 
 to Irish stories ; among others, The Lottery Ticket brings 
 us to London, where we hear of Mr. Belton’s ‘ country-house 
 near Paddington,’ and of the good little boy who refuses to 
 taste alcohol, and who is taken to see the wild beasts at 
 Exeter ’Change. There is a curious description of the scenes 
 at a lottery-office, of the disappointed footman pouring forth 
 a volley of oaths, declaring that he should be in gaol before 
 night, to which the unfeeling official only answers, ‘ I can’t 
 help it, sir, I can’t help it.’ Another man is carried out in a 
 dead faint when his number is passed over. ‘ You are going 
 without your change,’ cried the clerk to the hero, who, 
 touched by compassion, was following those who were 
 carrying out the senseless man. When he gets into the 
 street he sees the poor creature sitting on a step supported 
 by the hackney-coachman, who holds vinegar to his nose. 
 
 Such Hogarthian scenes as these prepare us for even 
 grimmer realities, such as the execution of Leonard Ludgate, 
 which is casually mentioned in the story called Out of Debt. 
 
 His life might have been spared, so Miss Edgeworth 
 points out, had his wife not run up a milliner’s account, and 
 taken a forged bank-note out of her husband’s desk to pay 
 for it. ‘The plate would doubtless have been retouched 
 had not this bill been prematurely circulated by Mrs. 
 Ludgate.’ 
 
 ‘ Many applications were made to obtain a pardon for 
 Leonard Ludgate, but the executive power preserved that 
 firmness which has not ever been relaxed,’ says the authoress 
 sternly ; and no doubt Mrs. Ludgate the widow, if she ever 
 
 xi 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 married again, would have learnt to avoid driving her husband 
 to forgery to pay for her superabundant millinery. 
 
 Rosanna was always a favourite with the present writer. 
 It deals with gentler scenes. It is a story something like 
 The Absentee , with a simple fragrance of country things, 
 and quiet events, which charm one as one reads. Per- 
 haps readers with a certain admixture of Irish blood in 
 their veins may be more naturally dazzled and interested by 
 tales of thrift, assiduity, and moderation, than others to whom 
 such qualities come more easily, and as a birthright. 
 
 There are two sorts of content, says Miss Edgeworth ; 
 one is connected with exertion, the other with habits of 
 indolence. Steady Farmer Gray, who is always up so early, 
 who repairs his fences, who is so punctual with his rent, is a 
 pleasant contrast to Simon O’Dougherty, who replies to his 
 wife’s remonstrances, ‘ The saints above must take care of 
 you now, Ally, for I’m fairly tired out, and I must go a- 
 hunting with my friend Sir Hyacinth to recruit my spirits.’ 
 Needless to say the contented Simon finds his horse so lame 
 that it can scarcely walk. He immediately gives away a 
 valuable field for a hunter, which the agent offers in exchange, 
 and upon which Simon rides off delightedly. 
 
 Farmer Gray prospers after some vicissitudes, and the 
 story concludes with a real letter, which he is said to have 
 written in his own name to Mr. Edgeworth, with many 
 excellent sentiments, such as ‘ Thrice happy are they who in 
 affluence try to amend the morals of mankind,’ and more 
 remarks of a similar nature. One likes the farmer’s doings 
 better than his copy-book philosophy. The Manufacturers and 
 The Will and The Contrast are all stories delineating the 
 different fates of the diligent and lazy. To-morrow tells its 
 own story. ‘ Oh, this detestable To-morrow : a thing always 
 
 xii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 expected, yet never found,’ is the motto quoted from Dr. 
 Johnson. ‘ This story,’ she says in a letter to Miss Sneyd, * on 
 the evils of procrastination, a subject recommended by Dr. 
 Beaufort, was written in ’99, and first called By and By.' 
 One word must be said for The Limerick Gloves , with its 
 pretty love-making ; the story of Phoebe Hill, who is hurt 
 with her Irish adorer O’Neill, who gives her the gloves, for 
 saying he expects she will put them on immediately. She 
 does not know, so the author tells us, that ‘ to expect ’ in 
 Ireland is the same as ‘ to hope ’ in England. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Lame Jervas ...... 3 
 
 The Will ....... 59 
 
 The Limerick Gloves ..... 107 
 
 Out of Debt out of Danger . . . .137 
 
 The Lottery . . . . . .171 
 
 Rosanna ....... 207 
 
 Murad the Unlucky ..... 259 
 
 The Manufacturers ..... 295 
 
 The Contrast ...... 335 
 
 The Grateful Negro ..... 419 
 
 To-morrow ...... 443 
 
 xv 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 1 “Well, cousin Lucy, what say you now? Shall I bespeak a 
 bonnet for you, hey ? ” ’ . . . Frontispiece 
 
 ‘ I looked up towards my murderer, expecting the stroke ’ . 13 
 
 ‘ I stood fixed to the spot ’ . . . -3.1 
 
 ‘ The generous young prince presented to me that violet-coloured 
 
 diamond which I brought for him ’ . . -53 
 
 ‘ Goodenough laid down his knife and fork ; and, sticking his 
 arms akimbo, laughed contemptuously ’ 
 
 ‘ Leaning pensively on the counter ’ 
 
 63 
 
 76 
 
 ‘“Well, cousin Lucy, what say you now? Shall I bespeak a 
 
 bonnet for you, hey?”’ . . . . -95 
 
 ‘ “ Ay — look, here he comes, with two bits of rags in his hand. 
 
 —Now for it!”’ . . . . .101 
 
 ‘ “ I’m ready, papa,” replied Phoebe ; and down she came’ . 108 
 
 ‘ She laid the gloves perfectly smooth, and strewed over them 
 
 the leaves of a rose ’ . . . . .118 
 
 ‘ The solemnity of our verger gave way to laughter’ . .131 
 
 ‘ Phoebe appeared the next day, at Mr. Marshal’s, in the Limerick 
 
 gloves’ . . . . . . 135 
 
 ‘ The surprise and consternation which appeared in Mr. Ludgate’s 
 countenance convinced the lady that her interference was 
 highly disagreeable ’ . . . . .151 
 
 xvii 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ‘ The sight of the bank-notes, the pressure of immediate distress, 
 
 conspired to tempt Ludgate ’ .... 158 
 
 ‘ “ For this — for this ! you vain, you ugly creature, you have 
 
 brought your husband to the gallows ! ” ’ . . .166 
 
 ‘ “ A prize ! a prize, Dolly !” cried he, as soon as he had breath 
 
 to speak ’ . . . . . 179 
 
 ‘ “ Don’t turn away from me, husband ! Who in the world loves 
 
 you so well as I do ?” ’ . . . . .191 
 
 1 “ Oh ! laud ! laud ! that I should live to see all this ! ” ’ . 195 
 
 ‘ “ What is it, Maurice ?” ’ ..... 201 
 
 ‘ “ The button is off the neck of this greatcoat of mine, and how 
 
 •will I keep it on ?” ’ . . . . .210 
 
 ‘ “ I’m sure, Ally, I shall be content ” ’ . . . 230 
 
 ‘ “ Rose, I hope, is not disappointed about this ball ; are you, 
 
 my little Rose ? ” ’ . . . . . 234 
 
 ‘To congratulate them, as he said, upon his own carelessness’ . 256 
 
 ‘ Provoked beyond measure at my obstinacy, as she called it, 
 
 she left the house ’..... 264 
 
 ‘ My vase, in a few instants, burst asunder ’ . . . 282 
 
 ‘ He pretended he had not the right key, and could not unlock 
 
 the chest ’...... 290 
 
 ‘It was torn in a deplorable manner’ . . . .301 
 
 ‘ He rudely plucked the skirt from her grasp, and rushed out of 
 
 the house ’...... 309 
 
 ‘ “ May I believe my eyes ? William! Is it you?”’ . . 320 
 
 ‘“I am to thank you, Mr. Germaine, for the many obliging 
 
 things you have said of me this last hour ! ’” . . 327 
 
 ‘ The scornful lady walked off to a looking-glass’ . 341 
 
 ‘ “ I can consider nothing but my poor brother,” said Patty. 
 
 The lock of the door turned quickly in her hand ’ . . 363 
 
 ‘ “It is a thousand pities, Mrs. Cheviott, you can’t see what a 
 
 fine book we have got, full of bank-notes ! ” ’ . . 389 
 
 xviii 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ‘ Frank pulled off the badge-coat, as he called it ’ . 416 
 
 1 “ Buy both of us. You shall not repent of it ” ’ . . 423 
 
 ‘ It caught on a nail in the lid, and was torn ’ . . . 436 
 
 ‘ The sorceress clapped her hands ’ . . . 439 
 
 ‘ At the moment when my birth was announced to him, he had 
 
 his finger upon the name Basil ’ .... 444 
 
 ‘ “ Cannot you marry him without my consent ?’” . .471 
 
 ‘ He followed me, and stood by me while I rummaged in drawers 
 
 and boxes full of papers ’ . . . . 477 
 
 ‘ “ No, my dear, don’t ring,” said I ; “for the men are both out”’ 506 
 
 XIX 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Some author says that a good book needs no apology ; and, 
 as a preface is usually an apology, a book enters into the world 
 with a better grace without one. I, however, appeal to those 
 readers who are not gluttons, but epicures, in literature, 
 whether they do not wish to see the bill of fare ? I appeal to 
 monthly critics, whether a preface that gives a view of the 
 pretensions of the writer is not a good thing ? The author 
 may overvalue his subject, and very naturally may overrate 
 the manner in which it is treated ; but still he will explain his 
 views, and facilitate the useful and necessary art which the 
 French call reading with the thumb. We call this hunting a 
 book , a term certainly invented by a sportsman. I leave the 
 reader to choose which he pleases, whilst I lay before him the 
 contents and design of these volumes. 
 
 Burke supposes that there are eighty thousand readers in 
 Great Britain, nearly one hundredth part of its inhabitants ! 
 Out of these we may calculate that ten thousand are nobility, 
 clergy, or gentlemen of the learned professions. Of seventy 
 thousand readers which remain, there are many who might be 
 amused and instructed by books which were not professedly 
 adapted to the classes that have been enumerated. With this 
 view the following volumes 1 have been composed. The title 
 of Popular Tales has been chosen, not as a presumptuous 
 and premature claim to popularity, but from the wish that they 
 
 1 This Work was originally published in three volumes. 
 
 E 
 
 B 
 
 I 
 
POHJLAR TALES 
 
 may be current beyond circles which are sometimes exclusively 
 considered as polite. 
 
 The art of printing has opened to all classes of people 
 various new channels of entertainment and information. — 
 Amongst the ancients, wisdom required austere manners and a 
 length of beard to command attention ; but in our days, 
 instruction, in the dress of innocent amusement, is not denied 
 admittance amongst the wise and good of all ranks. It is 
 therefore hoped that a succession of stories, adapted to 
 different ages, sexes, and situations in life, will not be rejected 
 by the public, unless they offend against morality, tire by their 
 sameness, or disgust by their imitation of other writers. 
 
 Richard Lovell Edgeworth. 
 
 2 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Some years ago, a lad of the name of William Jervas, or, as 
 he was called from his lameness, Lame Jervas, whose business 
 it was to tend the horses in one of the Cornwall tin-mines, was 
 missing. He was left one night in a little hut, at one end of 
 the mine, where he always slept ; but in the morning he could 
 nowhere be found ; and this his sudden disappearance gave 
 rise to a number of strange and ridiculous stories among the 
 miners. The most rational, however, concluded that the lad, 
 tired of his situation, had made his escape during the night. 
 It was certainly rather surprising that he could nowhere be 
 traced ; but after the neighbours had wondered and talked for 
 some time about it, the circumstance was by degrees forgotten. 
 The name of William Jervas was scarcely remembered by any, 
 except two or three of the oldest miners, when, twenty years 
 afterward, there came a party of gentlemen and ladies to see 
 the mines ; and, as the guide was showing the curiosities of 
 the place, one among the company, a gentleman of about 
 six-and-thirty years of age, pointed to some letters that were 
 carved on the rock, and asked, ‘ Whose name was written 
 there?’ ‘Only the name of one William Jervas,’ answered the 
 guide ; ‘ a poor lad, who ran away from the mines a great 
 long while ago.’ ‘ Are you sure that he ran away ? ’ said the 
 gentleman. ‘ Yes,’ answered the guide, ‘ sure and certain I am 
 of that.’ ‘Not at all sure and certain of any such thing,’ cried 
 one of the oldest of the miners, who interrupted the guide, 
 and then related all that he knew, all that he had heard, and 
 all that he imagined and believed concerning the sudden 
 
 3 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 disappearance of Jervas ; concluding by positively assuring the 
 stranger that the ghost of the said Jervas was often seen to 
 walk, slowly, in the long west gallery of the mine, with a blue 
 taper in his hand.— 1 I will take my Bible oath,’ added the 
 man, ‘ that about a month after he was missing, I saw the 
 ghost just as the clock struck twelve, walking slowly, with the 
 light in one hand, and a chain dragging after him in t’other ; 
 and he was coming straight towards me, and I ran away into 
 the stables to the horses ; and from that time forth I’ve taken 
 special good care never to go late in the evening to that there 
 gallery, or near it : for I never was so frightened, above or 
 under ground, in all my born days.’ 
 
 The stranger, upon hearing this story, burst intp a loud fit 
 of laughter ; and, on recovering himself, he desired the ghost- 
 seer to look steadfastly in his face, and to tell whether he bore 
 any resemblance to the ghost that walked with the blue taper 
 in the west gallery. The miner stared for some minutes, and 
 answered, ‘No; he that walks in the gallery is clear another 
 guess sort of a person ; in a white jacket, a leather apron, and 
 ragged cap, like what Jervas used to wear in his lifetime ; and, 
 moreover, he limps in his gait, as Lame Jervas always did, I 
 remember well.’ The gentleman walked on, and the miners 
 observed, what had before escaped their notice, that he limped 
 a little ; and, when he came again to the light, the guide, after 
 considering him very attentively, said, ‘ If I was not afraid of 
 affronting the like of a gentleman such as your honour, I 
 should make bold for to say that you be very much — only a 
 deal darker complexioned — you be very much of the same sort 
 of person as our Lame Jervas used for to be.’ ‘Not at all 
 like our Lame Jervas,’ cried the old miner, who professed to 
 have seen the ghost ; ‘ no more like to him than Black Jack to 
 Blue John .’ The bystanders laughed at this comparison ; 
 and the guide, provoked at being laughed at, sturdily main- 
 tained that not a man that wore a head in Cornwall should 
 laugh him out of his senses. Each party now growing violent 
 in support of his opinion, from words they were just coming to 
 blows, when the stranger at once put an end to the dispute, by 
 declaring that he was the very man. ‘Jervas!’ exclaimed 
 they all at once, ‘Jervas alive! — our Lame Jervas turned 
 gentleman ! ’ 
 
 The miners could scarcely believe their eyes, or their ears, 
 
 4 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 especially when, upon following him out of the mine, they saw 
 him get into a handsome coach, and drive toward the mansion 
 of one of the principal gentlemen of the neighbourhood, who 
 was a proprietor of the mine. 
 
 The next day, all the head miners were invited to dine in 
 tents, pitched in a field near this gentleman’s house. It was 
 fine weather, and harvest time ; the guests assembled, and in 
 the tents found abundance of good cheer provided for them. 
 
 After dinner, Mr. R , the master of the house, appeared, 
 
 accompanied by Lame Jervas, dressed in his miner’s old jacket 
 and cap. Even the ghost-seer acknowledged that he now 
 
 looked wonderful like himself. Mr. R , the master of the 
 
 house, filled a glass, and drank — ‘ Welcome home to our 
 friend, Mr. Jervas ; and may good faith always meet with good 
 fortune.’ The toast went round, each drank, and repeated, 
 ‘Welcome home to our friend Mr. Jervas; and may good 
 faith always meet good fortune.’ Indeed, what was meant by 
 the good faith, or the good fortune, none could guess ; and 
 many in whispers, and some aloud, made bold to ask for an 
 explanation of the toast. 
 
 Mr. Jervas, on whom all eyes were fixed, after thanking the 
 company for their welcome home , took his seat at the table ; 
 and in compliance with Mr. R — - — ’s request, and the wishes 
 of all present, related to them his story nearly in the following 
 manner : — 
 
 ‘ Where I was born, or who were my parents, I do not well 
 know myself ; nor can I recollect who was my nurse, or 
 whether I was ever nursed at all : but, luckily, these circum- 
 stances are not of much importance to the world. The first 
 thing which I can distinctly remember is the being set, along 
 with a number of children of my own age, to pick and wash 
 loose ore of tin mixed with the earth, which in those days we 
 used to call shoad, , or squad — I don’t know what you call it now.’ 
 
 1 We call it squad to this day, master,’ interrupted one of 
 the miners. 
 
 ‘ I might be at this time, I suppose,’ continued the gentle- 
 man, ‘ about five or six years old ; and from that time till I 
 was thirteen I worked in the mine where we were yesterday. 
 From the bottom of my heart I rejoice that the times are 
 bettered for youngsters since then ; for I know I had a hard 
 life of it. 
 
 5 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘My good master, here, never knew anything of the 
 matter ; but I was cruelly used by those under him. First, 
 the old woman — Betty Morgan, I think, was her name — who 
 set us our tasks of picking and washing the squad, was as cross 
 as the rheumatism could make her. She never picked an 
 ounce herself, but made us do her heap for her among us ; 
 and I being the youngest, it was shoved down to me. Often 
 and often my day’s wages were kept back, not having done 
 this woman’s task ; and I did not dare to tell my master the 
 truth, lest she should beat me. But, God rest her soul ! she 
 was an angel of light in comparison with the trap-door keeper , 
 who was my next tyrant. 
 
 ‘ It was our business to open and shut certain doors, that 
 were placed in the mine for letting in air to the different 
 galleries : but my young tyrant left them every one to me to 
 take care of ; and I was made to run to and fro, till I had 
 scarcely breath in my body, while every miner in turn was 
 swearing at me for the idlest little fellow upon the surface of 
 the earth ; though the surface of the earth, alas ! was a place 
 on which I had never yet, to my knowledge, set my foot. 
 
 ‘ In my own defence, I made all the excuses I could think 
 of ; and, from excuses, I went on to all kinds of deceit : for 
 tyranny and injustice always produce cunning and falsehood. 
 
 ‘ One day, having shut all the doors on my side of the mine 
 I left three open on my companion’s side. The men, I thought, 
 would not go to work on that side of the mine for a day or two : 
 but in this I was mistaken ; and about noon I was alarmed by 
 the report of a man having been killed in one of the galleries 
 for want of fresh air. 
 
 1 The doorkeepers were summoned before the overseer ; or, 
 as you call him, the viewer. I was the youngest, and the 
 blame was all laid upon me. The man, who had only 
 swooned, recovered ; but I was thrashed and thrashed for the 
 neglect of another person, till the viewer was tired. 
 
 ‘ A weary life I led afterwards with my friend the door- 
 keeper, who was enraged against me for having told the truth. 
 
 ‘ In process of time, as I grew stronger and bigger, I was 
 set to other work. First, I was employed at the barrow ; and 
 then a pickaxe and a gad 1 were put into my hands ; and I 
 thought myself a great man. — It was my fate to fall among the 
 1 A gad is a tool used in mines ; it resembles a smith's punch. 
 
 6 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 idlest set in the mine. I observed that those men who 
 worked by task, and who had the luck to hit upon easy beds 
 of the rock, were not obliged to work more than three or four 
 hours a day : they got high wages with little labour ; and they 
 spent their money jollily above ground in the ale-houses, as 1 
 heard. I did not know that these jolly fellows often left their 
 wives and families starving while they were getting drunk. 
 
 ‘ I longed for the time when I should be a man, and do as 
 I saw others do. I longed for the days when I should be able 
 to drink and be idle ; and, in the meantime, I set all my wits 
 to work to baffle and overreach the viewer. 
 
 ‘ I was now about fourteen, and, had I grown up with these 
 notions and habits, I must have spent my life in wretchedness, 
 and I should probably have ended my days in a workhouse ; 
 but fortunately for me, an accident happened, which made as 
 great a change in my mind as in my body. 
 
 ‘ One of my companions bribed me, with a strong dram, to 
 go down into a hole in the mine to search for his gad; which 
 he, being half intoxicated, had dropped. My head could not 
 stand the strength of the dram which he made me swallow to 
 give me courage : and being quite insensible to the danger, I 
 took a leap down a precipice which I should have shuddered 
 to look at, if I had not lost my recollection. 
 
 ‘ I soon came to my senses, for I broke my leg ; and it is 
 wonderful I did not break my neck by my fall. I was drawn 
 up by cords, and was carried to a hut in the mine, near the 
 stables, where I lay in great pain. 
 
 ‘ My master was in the mine at the time the accident 
 happened ; and, hearing where I was, he had the goodness to 
 come directly to me himself, to let me know that he had sent 
 for a surgeon. 
 
 ‘ The surgeon, who lived in the neighbourhood, was not at 
 home ; but there was then upon a visit at my master's a Mr. 
 
 Y , an old gentleman who had been a surgeon ; and, 
 
 though he had for many years left off practice, he no sooner 
 heard of the accident that had happened to me than he had 
 the goodness to come down into the mine, to set my leg. 
 
 ‘After the operation was over, my master returned to tell 
 me that I should want for nothing. Never shall I forget the 
 humanity with which he treated me. I do not remember that 
 I had ever heard him speak to me before this time ; but now 
 
 7 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 his voice and manner were so full of compassion and kindness, 
 that I looked up to him as to a new sort of being. 
 
 ‘ His goodness wakened and warmed me to a sense of 
 gratitude — the first virtuous emotion I was conscious of having 
 ever felt. 
 
 ‘ I was attended with the greatest care, during my illness, 
 
 by the benevolent surgeon, Mr. Y . The circumstafice of 
 
 my having been intoxicated when I took the leap had been 
 concealed by the man who gave me the dram ; who declared 
 that I had fallen by accident, as I was looking down the hole 
 for a gad that I had dropped. I did not join in this falsehood : 
 for, the moment my master spoke to me with so much good- 
 ness about my mishap, my heart opened to him, and I told him 
 just bow the thing happened. 
 
 ‘ Mr. Y also heard the truth from me, and I had no 
 
 reason to repent having told it, for this gave him, as he said, 
 hopes that I might turn out well, and was the cause of his 
 taking some pains to instruct me. He observed to me, that it 
 was a pity a lad like me should so early in my days take to 
 dram- drinking ; and he explained the consequences of in- 
 temperance, of which I had never before heard or thought. 
 
 ‘ While I was confined to my bed, I had leisure for many 
 reflections. The drunken and brutal among the miners, with 
 whom I formerly associated, never came near me in my illness ; 
 but the better sort used to come and see me often, and I 
 began to take a liking to their ways, and to wish to imitate 
 them. 
 
 ‘ As they stood talking over their own affairs in my hut, I 
 learned how they laid out their time and their money ; and I 
 now began to desire to have, as they had, a little garden, and 
 property of my own, for which I knew I must work hard. So 
 I rose from my bed with very different views from those which 
 I had when I was laid down upon it ; and from this time 
 forward I kept company with the sober and industrious as 
 much as I could. I saw things with different eyes : formerly 
 I used, like my companions, to be ready enough to take any 
 advantage that lay in my way of my employer ; but my gratitude 
 to him who had befriended me in my helpless state wrought 
 such a change in me, that I now took part with my master on 
 all occasions, and could not bear to see him wronged — so 
 gratitude first made me honest. 
 
 8 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 ‘ My master would not let the viewer turn me out of the 
 work, as he wanted to do, because I was lame and weak, and 
 not able to do much. — “ Let him have the care of my horses 
 in the stable,” said my master: “he can do something. I 
 don’t want to make money of poor Lame Jervas. So, as long 
 as he is willing to work, he shall not be turned out to starve.” 
 — These were his very words ; and when I heard them I said 
 in my heart, “ God bless him ! ” And, from that time forth, I 
 could, as I thought, have fought with the stoutest man in the 
 rhine that said a word to his disparagement. 
 
 ‘ Perhaps my feeling of attachment to him was the stronger, 
 because he was, I may say, the first person then in the world 
 who had ever shown me any tenderness, and the only one from 
 whom I felt sure of meeting with justice. 
 
 ‘ About this time, as I was busied in the stable, unperceived 
 by them, I saw through a window a party of the miners, 
 amongst whom were several of my old associates, at work 
 opposite to me. Suddenly, one of them gave a shout — then 
 all was hushed — they threw down their tools, huddled together, 
 and I judged by the keenness of their looks that they knew 
 they had made some valuable discovery. I further observed, 
 that, instead of beginning to work the vein, they covered it up 
 immediately with rubbish, and defaced the country with their 
 pickaxes ; so that, to look at, no one could have suspected 
 there was any load to be found near. I also saw them secrete 
 a lump of spar, in which they had reason to guess there were 
 Cornish diamonds, as they call them, and they carefully hid the 
 bits of kellus} which they had picked out, lest the viewer 
 should notice them and suspect the truth. 
 
 ‘From all this, the whispering that went on, and the pains 
 they took to chase or entice the overseer away from this spot, 
 I conjectured they meant to keep their discovery a secret, that 
 they might turn it to their own advantage. 
 
 ‘ There was a passage out of the mine, known only to them- 
 selves, as they thought, through which they intended to convey 
 all the newly-found ore. This passage, I should observe, led 
 through an old gallery in the mine, along the side of the 
 mountain, immediately up to the surface of the earth ; so that 
 you could by this way come in and out of the mine without the 
 
 1 Kellus is the miner’s name for a substance like a white soft stone, 
 which lies above the floor or spar, near to a vein. 
 
 9 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 assistance of the gin, by which people and ore are usually let 
 down or drawn up. 
 
 ‘ I made myself sure of my facts by searching this passage, 
 in which I found plenty of their purloined treasure. I then 
 went up to one of the party, whose name was Clarke, and, 
 drawing him aside, ventured to expostulate with him. Clarke 
 cursed me for a spy, and then knocked me down, and returned 
 to tell his associates what I had been saying, and how he had 
 served me. They one and all swore that they would be 
 revenged upon me, if I gave the least hint of what I had seen 
 to our master. 
 
 ‘ From this time they watched me, whenever he came down 
 amongst us, lest I should have an opportunity of speaking to 
 him ; and they never, on any account, would suffer me to go 
 out of the mine. Under pretence that the horses must be 
 looked after, and that no one tended them so well as I did, 
 they contrived to keep me prisoner night and day ; hinting to 
 me pretty plainly, that if I ever again complained of being thus 
 shut up, I should not long be buried alive. 
 
 ‘ Whether they would have gone the lengths they threatened 
 I know not : perhaps they threw out these hints only with a 
 design to intimidate me, and so to preserve their secret. I 
 confess I was alarmed ; but there was something in the thought 
 of showing my good master how much I was attached to his 
 interests, that continually prevailed over my fears ; and my 
 spirits rose with the reflection that I, a poor insignificant lad ; 
 I, that was often the scoff and laughing-stock of the miners ; I, 
 that went by the name of Lame Jervas ; I, who they thought 
 could be bullied to anything by their threats, might do a 
 nobler action than any man amongst them would have the 
 courage to do in my place. Then the kindness of my master, 
 and the words he said about me to the viewer, came into my 
 memory ; and I was so worked up, that I resolved, let the 
 consequence be what it might, I would, living or dying, be 
 faithful to my benefactor. 
 
 ‘ I now waited anxiously for an opportunity to speak to him, 
 and if I did but hear the sound of his voice at a distance, my 
 heart beat violently. “ You little know,” thought I, “ that there 
 is one here whom perhaps you quite forget, who is ready to 
 hazard his life to do you a service.” 
 
 ‘ One day, as he was coming near the place where I was at 
 io 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 work, rubbing down a horse, he took notice that I fixed my 
 eyes very earnestly upon him ; and he came closer to me, say- 
 ing, “ I am glad to see you better, Jervas : — do you want any- 
 thing ? ” “I want for nothing, thank you, sir, — but,” — and as I 
 said bui, I looked round, to see who was near. Instantly 
 Clarke, one of the gang, who had his eyes upon us, called me, 
 and despatched me, on some errand, to a distant part of the 
 mine. As I was coming back, however, it was my good fortune 
 to meet my master by himself in one of the galleries. I told 
 him my secret and my fears. He answered me only with a 
 nod, and these words, “ Thank you — trust to me — make haste 
 back to those that sent you.” 
 
 ‘ I did so ; but I fancy there was something unusual in my 
 manner or countenance which gave alarm ; for, at the close of 
 the day, I saw Clarke and the gang whispering together ; and 
 I observed that they refrained from going to their secret treasure 
 the whole of the day. I was in great fear that they suspected 
 me, and that they would take immediate and perhaps bloody 
 revenge. 
 
 ‘ These fears increased when I found myself left alone in my 
 hut at night ; and, as I lay quite still, but broad awake in my 
 bed, I listened to every sound, and once or twice started up on 
 hearing some noise near me ; but it was only the horses moving 
 in the stable, which was close to my hut. I lay down again, 
 laughing at my own fears, and endeavoured to compose myself 
 to sleep, reflecting that I had never, in my life, more reason to 
 sleep with a safe conscience. 
 
 ‘ I then turned round, and fell into a sweet sound sleep ; but 
 from this I was suddenly roused by a noise at the door of my 
 hut. “ It is only the horses again,” thought I ; but, opening my 
 eyes, I saw a light under the door. I rubbed my eyes, hoping 
 I had been in a dream : the light disappeared, and I thought it 
 was my fancy. As I kept my eyes, however, turned towards the 
 door, I saw the light again through the keyhole, and the latch 
 was pulled up ; the door was then softly pushed inwards, and I 
 saw on the wall the large shadow of a man with a pistol in his 
 hand. My heart sunk within me, and I gave myself up for 
 lost. The man came in : he was muffled up in a thick coat, his 
 hat was slouched, and a lantern in his hand. Which of the 
 gang it was I did not know, but I took it for granted that it was 
 one of them come with intent to murder me. Terror at this 
 
rOPULAR TALES 
 
 instant left me ; and starting upright in my bed, 1 exclaimed — 
 “ I' am ready to die ! I die in a good cause ! Give me five 
 minutes to say my prayers ! ” and I fell upon my knees. The 
 man standing silent beside the bed, with one hand upon me, as 
 if afraid I should escape from him. 
 
 ‘ When I had finished my short prayer, I looked up towards 
 my murderer, expecting the stroke : but, what was my surprise 
 and joy, when, as he held the lantern up to his face, I beheld — 
 the countenance of my master, smiling upon me with the most 
 encouraging benevolence. “Awake, Jervas,” said he, “and try 
 if you can find out the difference between a friend and an 
 enemy. Put on your clothes as fast as you can, and show me 
 the way to this new vein.” 
 
 ‘ No one ever was sooner dressed than 1 was. I led the way 
 to the spot, which was covered up with rubbish, so that I was 
 some time clearing out an opening, my master assisting me all 
 the while ; for, as he said, he was impatient to get me out of the 
 mine safe, as he did not think my apprehensions wholly without 
 foundation. The light of our lantern was scarcely sufficient for 
 our purpose ; but, when we came to the vein, my master saw 
 enough to be certain that I was in the right. We covered up 
 the place as before, and he noted the situation, so that he could 
 be sure to find it again. Then I showed him the way to the 
 secret passage ; but this passage he knew already, for by it he 
 had descended into the mine this night. 
 
 ‘ As we passed along, I pointed out the heaps of ore which 
 lay ready to be carried off. “ It is enough, Jervas,” said he, 
 clapping his hand upon my shoulder ; “ you have given me 
 proof sufficient of your fidelity. Since you were so ready to die 
 in a good cause, and that cause mine, it is my business to take 
 care you shall live by it : so follow me out of this place directly : 
 and I will take good care of you, my honest lad.” 
 
 ‘ I followed him with quick steps, and a joyful heart : he 
 took me home with him to his own house, where he said I might 
 sleep for the rest of the night secure from all fear of murderers : 
 and so, showing me into a small closet within his own bed- 
 chamber, he wished me a good night ; desiring me, if I waked 
 early, not to open the window-shutters of my room, nor go to 
 the window, lest some of his people should see me. 
 
 ‘ I lay down, for the first time in my life, upon a feather-bed ; 
 but, whether it was from the unusual feeling of the doft bed, or 
 
 12 
 
< / looked up towards my murderer , expectins the stroke. ' 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 from the hurry of mind in which I had been kept, and the 
 sudden change of my circumstances, I could not sleep a wink 
 all the remainder of the night. 
 
 ‘ Before daybreak, my master came into my room, and bid me 
 rise, put on the clothes which he brought me, and follow him 
 without making any noise. I followed him out of the house 
 before anybody else was awake ; and he took me across the 
 fields towards the high-road. At this place we waited till we 
 heard the tinkling of the bells of a team of horses. “ Here 
 comes the waggon,” said he, “ in which you are to go. I have 
 taken every possible precaution to prevent any of the miners or 
 people in the neighbourhood from tracing you ; and you will be 
 
 in safety at Exeter, with my friend Mr. Y , to whom I am 
 
 going to send you. Take this,” continued he, putting a letter 
 directed to Mr. Y — — into my hand ; “ and here are five guineas 
 
 for you. I shall desire Mr. Y to pay you an annuity of ten 
 
 guineas out of the profits of the new vein, provided it turns out 
 well, and you do not turn out ill. So fare you well, Jervas. 1 
 shall hear how you go on ; and I only hope you will serve your 
 next master, whoever he may be, as faithfully as you have 
 served me.” 
 
 ‘ “ I shall never find so good a master,” was all I could 
 say for the soul of me ; for I was quite overcome by his good- 
 ness and by sorrow at parting with him, as I then thought, for 
 ever. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ‘ The morning clouds began to clear away ; I could see my 
 master at some distance, and I kept looking after him, as the 
 waggon went on slowly, and as he walked fast away over the 
 fields ; but, when I had lost sight of him, my thoughts were 
 forcibly turned to other things. I seemed to awake to quite a 
 new scene, and new feelings. Buried underground in a mine, 
 as I had been from my infancy, the face of nature was totally 
 unknown to me. 
 
 ‘ “ We shall have a brave fine day of it, I hope and trust,” 
 said the waggoner, pointing with his long whip to the rising 
 
 sun. 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 ‘ He went on whistling, whilst I, to whom the rising sun was 
 a spectacle wholly surprising, started up in astonishment ! I 
 know not what exclamations I uttered, as I gazed upon it ; but 
 I remember the waggoner burst out into a loud laugh. “ Lnd a 
 marcy ,” said he, holding his sides, “ to hear tin , and look at 
 nil , a body would think the oaf had never seen the sun rise 
 afore in all his born days ! ” 
 
 ‘Upon this hint, which was nearer the truth than he 
 imagined, recollecting that we were still in Cornwall, and not 
 out of the reach of my enemies, I drew myself back into the 
 waggon, lest any of the miners, passing the road to their 
 morning’s work, might chance to spy me out. 
 
 ‘ It was well for me that I took this precaution ; for we had 
 not gone much farther when we met a party of the miners ; and, 
 as I sat wedged up in a corner behind a heap of parcels, I heard 
 the voice of Clarke, who asked the waggoner as he passed us, 
 “ What o’clock it might be ? ” I kept myself quite snug till he 
 was out of sight ; nay, long afterwards, I was content to sit 
 within the waggon, rather than venture out ; and I amused 
 myself with listening to the bells of the team, which jingled 
 continually. 
 
 ‘ On our second day’s journey, however, I ventured out of 
 my hiding-place ; I walked with the waggoner up and down the 
 hills, enjoying the fresh air, the singing of the birds, and the 
 delightful smell of the honeysuckles and the dog-roses in the 
 hedges. All these wild -flowers, and even the weeds on the 
 banks by the wayside, were to me matters of wonder and 
 admiration. At every step, almost, I paused to observe some- 
 thing that was new to me ; and I could not help feeling 
 surprised at the insensibility of my fellow-traveller, who plodded 
 on, seldom interrupting his whistling, except to cry, “ Gee, 
 Blackbird, aw, woa ” ; or, “How now, Smiler”; and certain 
 other words or sounds of menace and encouragement, addressed 
 to his horses in a language which seemed intelligible to them 
 and to him, though utterly incomprehensible to me. 
 
 ‘ Once, as I was in admiration of a plant, whose stem was 
 about two feet high, and which had a round, shining, pale 
 purple, beautiful flower, the waggoner, with a look of extreme 
 scorn, exclaimed, “ Help thee, lad, does not thee know ’tis a 
 common thistle ? Didst thee not know that a thistle would 
 prick thee ? ” continued he, laughing at the face I made when 
 
 T 5 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 I touched the prickly leaves ; “ why, my horse Dobbin has more 
 sense by half! he is not like an ass hunting for thistles.” 
 
 ‘ After this, the waggoner seemed to look upon me as very 
 nearly an idiot. Just as we were going into the town of 
 Plymouth, he eyed me from head to foot, and muttered, “ The 
 lad’s beside himself, sure enough.” In truth, I believe I was a 
 droll figure ; for my hat was stuck full of weeds, and of all 
 sorts of wild-flowers ; and both my coat and waistcoat pockets 
 were stuffed out with pebbles and funguses. 
 
 * Such an effect, however, had the waggoner’s contemptuous 
 look upon me, that I pulled the weeds out of my hat, and threw 
 down all my treasure of pebbles before we entered the town. 
 Nay, so much was I overawed, and in such dread was I of 
 passing for an idiot, that when we came within view of the sea, 
 in the fine harbour of Plymouth, I did not utter a single 
 exclamation ; although I was struck prodigiously at this, my 
 first sight of the ocean, as much almost as I had been at the 
 spectacle of the rising sun. I just ventured, however, to ask 
 my companion some questions about the vessels which I beheld 
 sailing on the sea, and the shipping with which the bay was 
 filled. But he answered coldly, “ They be nothing in life but 
 the boats and ships, man ; them that see them for the first time 
 are often struck all on a heap, as I’ve noticed, in passing by 
 here : but I’ve seen it all a many and a many times.” So he 
 turned away, went on chewing a straw, and seemed not a whit 
 more moved with admiration than he had been at the sight of 
 my thistle. 
 
 ‘ I conceived a high opinion of a man who had seen so much 
 that he could admire nothing : and he preserved and increased 
 my respect for him by the profound silence which he maintained, 
 during the five succeeding days of our journey : he seldom or 
 never opened his lips except to inform me of the names of the 
 towns through which we passed. I have since reflected that it 
 was fortunate for me that I had such a supercilious fellow- 
 traveller on my first journey ; for he made me at once 
 thoroughly sensible of my own ignorance, and extremely 
 anxious to supply my deficiencies, and to find one who would 
 give some other answer to my questions than a smile of 
 contempt, or, “ I do na knaw, I say .” 
 
 ‘ We arrived at Exeter at last ; and, with much ado, I found 
 
 my way to Mr. Y ’s house. It was evening when I got 
 
 16 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 there ; and the servant to whom I gave the letter said he sup- 
 posed Mr. Y would not see me that night, as he liked to 
 
 have his evenings to himself ; but he took the letter, and in a 
 few minutes returned, desiring me to follow him upstairs. 
 
 ‘ I found the good old gentleman and some of his friends in 
 his study, with his grandchildren about him ; one little chap on 
 his knee, another climbing on the arm of his chair ; and two 
 bigger lads were busy looking at a glass tube which he was 
 showing them when I came in. It does not become me to 
 repeat the handsome things he said to me, upon reading over 
 my good master’s letter ; but he was very gracious to me, and 
 told me that he would look out for some place or employment 
 that would suit me ; and in the meantime, that I should be 
 welcome to stay in his house, where I should meet with the 
 good treatment (which he was pleased to say) I deserved. 
 Then, observing that I was overcome with bashfulness, at being 
 looked at by so many strangers, he kindly dismissed me. 
 
 ‘ The next day he sent for me again to his study, when he 
 was alone ; and asked me several questions, seeming pleased 
 with the openness and simplicity of my answers. He saw that 
 I gazed with vast curiosity at several objects in the room, which 
 were new to me : and pointing to the glass tube, which he had 
 been showing the boys when I first came in, he asked me if 
 they had such things as that in our mines ; and if I knew 
 the use of it ? I told him I had seen something like it in our 
 overseer’s hands ; but that I had never known its use. It was 
 
 a thermometer. Mr. Y took great pains to show me how, 
 
 and on what occasions, this instrument might be useful. 
 
 ‘ I saw I had now to do with a person who was somewhat 
 different from my friend the waggoner ; and I cannot express 
 the surprise and gratitude I felt, when I found that he did not 
 think me quite a fool. Instead of looking at me with scorn, as 
 one very 7iearly an idiot , he answered my questions with conde- 
 scension ; and sometimes was so good as to add, “ That’s a 
 sensible question, my lad.” 
 
 ‘ While we were looking at the thermometer, he found out 
 that I could not read the words temperate, freezing point, boiling 
 water heat , etc., which were written upon the ivory scale in 
 small characters. He took that occasion to point out to me 
 the use and advantages of knowing how to read and write ; 
 and he told me that, as I wished to learn, he would desire the 
 
 17 
 
 C 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 writing-master, who came to attend his young grandson, to 
 teach me. 
 
 ‘ I shall not detain you with a journal of my progress through 
 my spelling-book and copy-books : it is enough to say that I 
 applied with diligence, and soon could write my name in rather 
 more intelligible characters than those in which the name of 
 Jervas is cut on the rock that we were looking at yesterday. 
 
 ‘ My eagerness to read the books which he put into my 
 hands, and the attention which I paid to his lessons, pleased 
 my writing-master so much, that he took a pride, as he said, 
 in bringing me forward as fast as possible. 
 
 ‘ And here, I must confess, he was rather imprudent in the 
 warmth of his commendations ; my head could not stand them ; 
 as much as I was humbled and mortified by the waggoner’s 
 calling me an idiot , so much was I elated by my writing- 
 master’s calling me a genius. I wrote some very bad lines in 
 praise of a thistle, which I thought prodigiously fine, because 
 my writing-master looked surprised when I showed them to 
 him ; and because he told me that, having given a copy of 
 them to some gentlemen in Exeter, they agreed that the rhymes 
 were wonderful for me. 
 
 1 1 was at this period very nearly spoiled for life : but fortu- 
 nately my friend Mr. Y saw my danger, and cured me of 
 
 my conceit, without damping my ardour to acquire knowledge. 
 He took me to the books in his study, and showed me many 
 volumes of fine poems ; pointing out some passages to me that 
 greatly diminished my admiration of my own lines on the thistle. 
 The vast distance which I perceived between myself and these 
 
 writers threw me into despair. Mr. Y , seeing me 
 
 thoroughly abashed, observed that he was glad to find I saw 
 the difference between bad and good poetry ; and pointed out 
 to me, it was not likely, if I turned my industry to writing 
 verses, that I should ever either earn my bread, or equal those 
 who had enjoyed greater advantages of leisure and education. 
 “ But, Jervas,” continued he, “ I commend you for your 
 application and quickness in learning to write and read in so 
 short a time : you will find both these qualifications of great 
 advantage to you. Now, I advise you, turn your thoughts to 
 something that may make you useful to other people. You 
 have your bread to earn, and this you can only do by making 
 yourself useful in some way or other. Look about you, and 
 
 18 
 
\V 
 
 LAME JERVAS 
 
 you will see that I tell you truth. \ You may perceive that the 
 servants in my house are all useful to me, and that I pay them 
 for their services. The cook who can dress my dinner, the 
 baker who bakes bread for me, the smith who knows how to 
 shoe my horses, the writing-master who undertakes to teach 
 my children to write, can all earn money for themselves, and 
 make themselves independent. — And you may remark that, of 
 all those I have mentioned, the writing-master is the most 
 respected, and the best paid. There are some kinds of 
 knowledge, and some kinds of labour, that are more highly 
 paid for than others. But I have said enough to you, Jervas, 
 for the present : I do not want to lecture you, but to serve you. 
 — You are a young lad, and have had no experience ; I am an 
 old man, and have had a great deal : so perhaps my advice 
 may be of some use to you.” 
 
 ‘ His advice was indeed of the greatest use to me : every 
 word he said sunk into my mind. I wish those who give 
 advice to young people, especially to those in a lower station 
 than themselves, would follow this gentleman’s example ; and, 
 instead of haranguing with the haughtiness of superior know- 
 ledge, would speak with such kindness as to persuade at the 
 same time that they convince. 
 
 ‘ The very day that Mr. Y spoke to me in this manner, 
 
 he called me in, that I might tell his eldest grandson the 
 names which we miners give to certain fossils that had been 
 sent him from Cornwall ; and, after observing to the boy that 
 this knowledge would be useful to him, he begged me to tell 
 him exactly how the mine, in which I had been employed, was 
 worked. This I did, as well as I was able ; and, imperfect as 
 my description was, it entertained the boys so much that I 
 determined to try to make a sort of model of the tin-mine for 
 their amusement. 
 
 ‘ But this I found no easy task ; my remembrance, even of 
 the place in which I had lived all my life, was not sufficiently 
 exact to serve me, as to the length, height, breadth, etc., of 
 
 the different parts ; and though Mr. Y had a good collection 
 
 of fossils, I was at a loss, for want of materials, to represent 
 properly the different strata and veins ; or, as we call it, the 
 country. 
 
 ‘ My temper, naturally enthusiastic, was not on this occasion 
 to be daunted by any difficulties. I was roused by the notion 
 
 19 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 that I should be able to complete something that would be 
 really useful to my kind benefactor’s family ; and I anticipated 
 with rapture the moment when I should produce my model 
 
 complete, and justify Mr. Y ’s opinion of my diligence and 
 
 capacity. I thought of nothing else from the moment these 
 ideas came into my head. The measures, plans, and specimens 
 of earths and ore which were wanting, I knew could only be 
 obtained from the mine ; and such was my ardour to accomplish 
 my little project, that I determined at all hazards to return into 
 Cornwall, and to ask my good master’s permission to revisit the 
 mine in the night time. 
 
 ‘ Accordingly, without a moment’s delay, I set out upon this 
 expedition. Part of the journey I performed on foot ; but 
 wherever I could, I got a set-down, because I was impatient 
 to get near the Lafid’s End. I concluded that the wonder 
 excited by my sudden disappearance had subsided by this 
 time ; that I was too insignificant to make it worth while to 
 continue a search after me for more than a few days ; and 
 that, in all likelihood, my master had dismissed from his work 
 the gang who had been concerned in the plot, and who were 
 the only persons whose revenge I had reason to fear. 
 
 ‘ However, as I drew near the mine, I had the prudence not 
 to expose myself unnecessarily ; and I watched my opportunity 
 so well, that I contrived to meet my master, in his walk home- 
 ward, when no one was with him. I hastily gave him a letter 
 
 from Mr. Y , as a certificate of my good conduct since my 
 
 leaving him ; then explained the reason of my return, and asked 
 permission to examine the mines that night. 
 
 ‘ He expressed a good deal of surprise, but no displeasure, 
 at my boldness in returning : he willingly granted my request ; 
 but, at the same time, warned me that some of my enemies 
 were still in the neighbourhood ; and that, though he had 
 dismissed them from his works, and though several had left 
 the country in search of employment elsewhere, yet he was 
 informed that two or three of the gang, and Clarke among 
 the number, were seen lurking about the country : that they 
 had sworn vengeance against me for betraying them, as they 
 called it ; and had been indefatigably active in their search 
 after me. 
 
 ‘ My master consequently advised me to stay only the 
 ensuing night, and to depart before daybreak : he also 
 
 20 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 cautioned me not to wake the man who now slept in my hut 
 in the mine. 
 
 ‘ I did not like to spoil the only good suit of clothes of 
 which I was possessed ; so, before I went down into the mine, 
 I got from my master my old jacket, apron, and cap, in which 
 being equipped, and furnished with a lantern, and rod for 
 measuring, I descended into the mine. 
 
 ‘ I went to work as quietly as possible, surveyed the place 
 
 exactly, and remembered what I had heard Mr. Y observe, 
 
 “ that people can never make their knowledge useful, if they 
 have not been at the pains to make it exact.” I was determined 
 to give him a proof of my exactness : accordingly I measured 
 and minuted down everything with the most cautious accuracy ; 
 and, so intent was my mind upon my work, the thoughts of 
 Clarke and his associates never came across me for a moment. 
 Nay, I absolutely forgot the man in the hut, and am astonished 
 he was not sooner waked. 
 
 ‘ What roused him at last was, I believe, the noise I made 
 in loosening some earth and stones for specimens. A great 
 stone came tumbling down, and immediately afterwards I heard 
 one of the horses neigh, which showed me I had waked them 
 at least ; and I betook myself to a hiding-place, in the western 
 gallery, where I kept quiet, for I believe a quarter of an hour, 
 in order to give the horses and the man, if he were awake, time 
 to go to sleep again. 
 
 ‘ I ventured out of my hiding-place too soon ; for, just as I 
 left my nook, I saw the man at the end of the gallery. In- 
 stantly, upon the sight of me, he put both his hands before his 
 face, gave a loud shriek, turned his back, and took to his heels 
 with the greatest precipitation. I guessed that, as he said 
 yesterday, he took me for the ghost of myself ; and that his 
 terror made him mistake my lantern for a blue taper. I had 
 no chain ; but that I had a rod in my hand is most certain : 
 and it is also true that I took advantage of his fears, to drive 
 him out of my way ; for the moment he began to run, I shook 
 my rod as fast and as loud as I could against the tin top of 
 my lantern ; and I trampled with my feet as if I was pursu- 
 ing him. 
 
 ‘ As soon as the coast was clear, I hastened back for my 
 specimens ; which I packed up in my basket, and then 
 decamped as fast as 1 could. This is the only time I ever 
 
 21 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 walked in the western gallery with a blue taper in my hand, 
 dragging a chain after me, whatever the ghost-seer may report 
 to the contrary. 
 
 ‘ I was heartily glad to get away, and to have thus happily 
 accomplished the object of my journey. I carried my basket 
 on my back for some miles, till I got to the place where a 
 waggon put up ; and in this I travelled safely back to Exeter. 
 
 ‘ I determined not to show my model to Mr. Y , or the 
 
 boys, till it should be as complete as I could make it. I got a 
 good ingenious carpenter, who had been in the habit of work- 
 ing for the toy-shops, to help me ; and laid out the best part 
 of my worldly treasure upon this my grand first project. I 
 had new models made of the sieves for hieing , the box 
 and trough , the huddle, wreck , and tool, 1 beside some dozen 
 of wooden workmen, wheelbarrows, etc.; with which the 
 carpenter, by my directions, furnished my mine. I paid a 
 smith and tinman, moreover, for models of our stamps, and 
 blowing-house, and an iron grate for my box : besides, I had 
 a lion rampant , 2 and other small matters, from the pewterer ; 
 also a pair of bellows, finished by the glover ; for all which 
 articles, as they were out of the common way, I was charged 
 high. 
 
 ‘ It was some time, even when all this was ready, before we 
 could contrive to make our puppets do their business properly : 
 but patience accomplishes everything. At last we got our 
 wooden miners to obey us, and to perform their several tasks 
 at the word of command ; that is to say, at the pulling of 
 certain strings and wires, which we fastened to their legs, 
 arms, heads, and shoulders ; which wires, being slender and 
 black, were at a little distance invisible to the spectators. 
 When the skeletons were perfect, we fell to work to dress and 
 paint them ; and I never shall forget the delight with which I 
 contemplated our whole company of puppets : men, women, 
 and children, fresh painted and dizened out, all in their proper 
 colours. The carpenter could scarcely prevent me from spoil- 
 ing them : I was so impatient to set them at work that I could 
 not wait till their clothes were dry ; and I was eveiy half-hour 
 rubbing my fingers upon their cheeks, to try whether the red 
 paint was yet hard enough. 
 
 1 The names of vessels and machines used in the Cornish tin-mines. 
 
 2 A lion rampant is stamped on the block tin which is brought thence. 
 
 22 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 ‘ With some pride, I announced my intended exhibition to 
 
 Mr. Y ; and he appointed that evening for seeing it, 
 
 saying that none but his own boys should be present at the 
 first representation. It was for them alone it was originally 
 designed ; but I was so charmed with my newly-finished work, 
 that I would gladly have had all Exeter present at the exhibi- 
 tion. However, before night, I was convinced of my friend Mr. 
 
 Y ’s superior prudence : the whole thing, as the carpenter 
 
 said, went off pretty well ; but several disasters happened 
 which I had not foreseen. There was one stiff old fellow, 
 whose arms, twitch them which way I would, I could never 
 get to bend : and an obstinate old woman, who would never 
 do anything else but curtsy, when I wanted her to kneel down 
 and to do her work. My children sorted their heaps of rubbish 
 and ore very dexterously ; excepting one unlucky little chap, 
 who, from the beginning, had his head, somehow or other, 
 turned the wrong way upon his shoulders ; and I could never 
 manage, all the night, to set it right again : it was in vain 1 
 flattered myself that his wry neck would escape observation ; 
 for, as he was one of the wheelbarrow boys, he was a con- 
 spicuous figure in the piece ; and, whenever he appeared, 
 wheeling or emptying his barrow, I to my mortification heard 
 repeated peals of laughter from the spectators, in which even 
 my patron, notwithstanding his good-natured struggles against 
 it for some time, was at last compelled to join. 
 
 ‘ I, all the while, was wiping my forehead behind my show- 
 box ; for I never was in such a bath of heat in my life : not 
 the hardest day's work I ever wrought in the mine made me 
 one half so hot as setting these puppets to work. 
 
 ‘ When my exhibition was over, good Mr. Y came to 
 
 me, and consoled me for all disasters, by the praises he 
 bestowed upon my patience and ingenuity : he showed me 
 that he knew the difficulties with which I had to contend : and 
 he mentioned the defects to me in the kindest manner, and 
 how they might be remedied. “ I see,” said he, smiling, “ that 
 you have endeavoured to make something useful for the enter- 
 tainment of my boys ; and I will take pains to make it turn 
 out advantageously to you.” 
 
 ‘ The next morning I went to look at my show-box, which 
 
 Mr. Y had desired me to leave in his study ; and I was 
 
 surprised to see the front of the box, which I had left open for 
 
 2 3 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 the spectators, filled up with boards, and having a circular glass 
 in the middle. The eldest boy, who stood by enjoying my 
 surprise, bid me look in, and tell him what I saw. What was 
 my astonishment, when I first looked through this glass — “ As 
 large as the life ! — As large as the life ! ” cried I, in admiration 
 — “ I see the puppets, the wheelbarrows , everything as large as 
 life!” 
 
 ‘ Mr. Y then told me that it was by his grandson’s 
 
 directions that this glass, which he said was called a magnify- 
 ing glass, or convex lens, was added to my show-box. “ He 
 makes you a present of it ; and now,” added he, smiling, “get 
 all your little performers into order, and prepare for a second 
 representation : I will send for a clock-maker in this town, 
 who is an ingenious man, and will show you how to manage 
 properly the motions of your puppets ; and then we will get a 
 good painter to paint them for you.” 
 
 ‘ There was at this time, in Exeter, a society of literary 
 gentlemen, who met once a week at each other’s houses. Mr. 
 
 Y was one of these ; and several of the principal families 
 
 in Exeter, especially those who had children, came on the 
 appointed evening to see the model of the Cornwall tin-mine, 
 which, with the assistance of the clock-maker and painter, was 
 now become really a show worth looking at. I made but few 
 blunders this time, and the company were indulgent enough 
 to pardon these, and to express themselves well pleased with 
 my little exhibition. They gave me, indeed, solid marks of 
 their satisfaction, which were quite unexpected : after the 
 
 exhibition, Mr. Y ’s youngest grandchild, in the name of 
 
 the rest of the company, presented me with a purse, containing 
 the contributious which had been made for me. 
 
 ‘ After repaying all my expenses for my journey and 
 machinery, I found I had six guineas and a crown to spare. 
 So I thought myself a rich man ; and, having never seen so 
 much money together in my life before, as six golden guineas 
 and a crown, I should, most probably, like the generality of 
 people who come into the possession of unexpected wealth, have 
 become extravagant, had it not been for the timely advice of 
 
 my kind monitor, Mr. Y . When I showed him a pair of 
 
 Chinese tumblers, which I had bought from a pedlar for twice 
 as much as they were worth, merely because they pleased my 
 fancy, he shook his head, and observed that 1 might, before 
 
 24 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 my death, want this very money to buy a loaf of bread. “If 
 you spend your money as fast as you get it, Jervas,” said he, 
 “ no matter how ingenious or industrious you are, you will 
 always be poor. Remember the good proverb that says, 
 Industry is Fortune's right hand, and Frugality her left ”; a 
 proverb which has been worth ten times more to me than 
 all my little purse contained : so true it is, that those do not 
 always give most who give money. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 ‘ I HAD soon reason to rejoice at having thrown away no 
 more money on baubles, as 1 had occasion for my whole stock 
 to fit myself out for a new way of life. “ Jervas,” said Mr. 
 
 Y to me, “ 1 have at last found an occupation, which 1 
 
 hope will suit you.” — Unknown to me, he had been, ever since 
 he first saw my little model, intent upon turning it to my lasting 
 advantage. Among the gentlemen of the society which I have 
 before mentioned, there was one who had formed a design of 
 sending some well-informed lecturer through England, to 
 exhibit models of the machines used in manufactories : Mr. 
 
 Y purposely invited this gentleman the evening that I 
 
 exhibited my tin-mine, and proposed to him that I should be 
 permitted to accompany his lecturer. To this he agreed. 
 
 Mr. Y told me that although the person who was fixed 
 
 upon as lecturer was not exactly the sort of man he should 
 have chosen, yet as he was a relation of the gentleman who set 
 the business on foot, no objection could well be made to him. 
 
 ‘ I was rather daunted by the cold and haughty look with 
 which my new master, the lecturer, received me when I was 
 
 presented to him. Mr. Y , observing this, whispered to 
 
 me at parting — “ Make yourself useful, and you will soon be 
 agreeable to him. We must not expect to find friends ready- 
 made wherever we go in the world : we often have to make 
 friends for ourselves with great pains and care.” It cost me 
 both pains and care, I know, to make this lecturer my friend. 
 He was what is called born a gentleman ; and he began by 
 treating me as a low-born upstart, who, being perfectly 
 ignorant, wanted to pass for a self-taught genius. That 1 was 
 
 2 5 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 low-bom, I did not attempt to conceal ; nor did I perceive that 
 I had any reason to be ashamed of my birth, or of having 
 raised myself by honest means to a station above that in 
 which I was born. I was proud of this circumstance, and 
 therefore it was no torment to me to hear the continual hints 
 which my well-born master threw out upon this subject. I 
 moreover never pretended to any knowledge which I had not ; 
 so that, by degrees, notwithstanding his prejudices, he began 
 to feel that I had neither the presumption of an upstart, 
 nor of a self-taught genius. I kept in mind the counsel 
 
 given to me by Mr. Y -, to endeavour to make myself 
 
 useful to my employer ; but it was no easy matter to do this 
 at first, because he had such a dread of my awkwardness that 
 he would never let me touch any of his apparatus. I was 
 always left to stand like a cipher beside him whilst he lectured ; 
 and I had regularly the mortification of hearing him conclude 
 his lecture with, “ Now , gentlemen and ladies , / will not detain 
 you any lo?iger from what , I am sensible , is much better worth 
 your attention, than anything I can offer — Mr. Jervas' s puppet- 
 show." 
 
 ‘ It happened one day that he sent me with a shilling, as he 
 thought, to pay a hostler for the feeding of his horse ; as I 
 rubbed the money between my finger and thumb, I perceived 
 that the white surface came off, and the piece looked yellow : 
 I recollected that my master had the day before been showing 
 some experiments with quicksilver and gold, and that he had 
 covered a guinea with quicksilver : so I immediately took the 
 money back, and my master, for the first time in his life, 
 thanked me very cordially ; for this was in reality a guinea, 
 and not a shilling. He was also surprised at my directly 
 mentioning the experiment he had shown. 
 
 ‘The next day that he lectured, he omitted the offensive 
 conclusion about Mr. Jervas’s puppet-show. I observed, 
 farther, to my infinite satisfaction, that after this affair of 
 the guinea, he was not so suspicious of my honesty as he used 
 to appear to be : he now yielded more to his natural indolence, 
 and suffered me to pack up his things for him, and to do a 
 hundred little services which formerly he used roughly to refuse 
 at my hands ; saying, “ I had rather do it myself, sir” ; or, “ I 
 don’t like to have anybody meddle with my things, Mr. Jervas.” 
 But his tone changed, and it was now, “Jervas, I’ll leave 
 
 26 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 you to put up these things, whilst I go and read ” ; or, 
 “ Jervas, will you see that I leave none of my goods behind me, 
 there’s a good lad ? ” — In truth, he was rather apt to leave his 
 goods behind him : he was the most absent and forgetful man 
 alive. During the first half-year we travelled together, whilst 
 he attempted to take care of his own things, I counted that he 
 lost two pair and a half of slippers, one boot, three nightcaps, 
 one shirt, and fifteen pocket-handkerchiefs. Many of these 
 losses, I make no doubt, were set down in his imagination to 
 my account whilst he had no opinion of my honesty ; but I 
 am satisfied that he was afterwards thoroughly convinced of 
 the injustice of his suspicions, as, from the time that I had the 
 charge of his goods , as he called them, to the day we parted, 
 including a space of above four years and a half, he never lost 
 anything but one red nightcap, which, to the best of my belief, 
 he sent in his wig one Sunday morning to the barber’s, but 
 which never came back again, and an old ragged blue pocket- 
 handkerchief, which he said he put under his pillow, or into 
 his boot, when he went to bed at night. He had an odd way 
 of sticking his pocket-handkerchief into his boot, “that he 
 might be sure to find it in the morning.” I suspect the hand- 
 kerchief was carried down in the boot when it was taken to be 
 cleaned. He was, however, perfectly certain that these two 
 losses were not to be imputed to any carelessness of mine. 
 He often said he was obliged to me for the attention I paid to 
 his interests ; he treated me now very civilly, and would some- 
 times condescend to explain to me in private what I did not 
 understand in his public lectures. 
 
 ‘ I was presently advanced to the dignity of his secretary. 
 He wrote a miserably bad hand : and his manuscripts were so 
 scratched and interlined, that it was with the utmost difficulty 
 he could decipher his own writing, when he was obliged to 
 have recourse to his notes in lecturing. He was, moreover, 
 extremely near-sighted ; and he had a strange trick of wrinkling 
 up the skin on the bridge of his nose when he was perplexed : 
 altogether, his look was so comical when he began to pore over 
 these papers of his, that few of the younger part of our 
 audiences could resist their inclination to laugh. This dis- 
 concerted him beyond measure ; and he was truly glad to 
 accept my offer of copying out his scrawls fairly in a good bold 
 round hand. I could now write, if I may say it without vanity, 
 
 27 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 an excellent hand, and could g'o over his calculations as far as 
 the first four rules of arithmetic were concerned ; so that I 
 became quite his factotum : and I thought myself rewarded 
 for all my pains, by having opportunities of gaining every day 
 some fresh piece of knowledge from the persual of the notes 
 which I transcribed. 
 
 ‘ It was now that I felt most thoroughly the advantage of 
 having learned to read and write : stores of useful information 
 were opened to me, and my curiosity and desire to inform my- 
 self were insatiable. I often sat up half the night reading and 
 writing : I had free access now to all my fellow-traveller’s books, 
 and I thought I could never study them enough. 
 
 ‘ At the commencement of my studies, my master often 
 praised my diligence, and would show me where to look for 
 what I wanted in his books, or explain difficulties : I looked up 
 to him as a miracle of science and learning ; nay, I was 
 actually growing fond of him, but this did not last long. In 
 process of time, he grew shy of explaining things to me ; he 
 scolded me for thumbing his books, though, God knows, my 
 thumbs were always cleaner than his own, and he thwarted me 
 continually upon some pretence or other. I could not for some 
 time conceive the cause of this change in my master’s 
 behaviour : indeed it was hard for me to guess or believe that 
 he was become jealous of the talents and knowledge of a poor 
 lad, whose ignorance he, but a few years before, had so much 
 despised and derided. I was the more surprised at this new 
 turn of his mind, because I was conscious that, instead of 
 becoming more conceited, I had of late become more humble ; 
 but this humility was, by my suspicious master, attributed to 
 artifice, and tended more than anything to confirm him in his 
 notion that I had formed a plan to supplant him in his office 
 of lecturer, a scheme which had never entered into my head. 
 I was thunderstruck when he one day said to me, “You need 
 not study so hard, Mr. Jervas ; for I promise you that, even 
 
 with Mr. Y ’s assistance, and all your art , you will not be 
 
 able to supplant me, clever as, with all affected humility, you 
 think yourself.” 
 
 ‘ The truth lightened upon me at once. Had he been a 
 judge of the human countenance, he must have seen my 
 innocence in my looks : but he was so fixed in his opinion, 
 that I knew any protestations I could make of my never having 
 
 28 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 thought of the scheme he imputed to me, would serve only to 
 confirm him in his idea of my dissimulation. I contented my- 
 self with returning to him his books and his manuscripts, and 
 thenceforward withdrew my attention from his lectures, to 
 which I had always till now been one of the most eager 
 auditors ; by these proceedings I hoped to quiet his suspicions. 
 
 I no longer applied myself to any studies in which he was 
 engaged, to show him that all competition with him was far 
 from my thoughts ; and I have since reflected that this fit of 
 jealousy of his, which I at the time looked upon as a misfortune, 
 because it stopped me short in pursuits which were highly 
 agreeable to my taste, was in fact of essential service to me. 
 My reading had been too general ; and 1 had endeavoured to 
 master so many things, that I was not likely to make myself 
 thoroughly skilled in any. As a blacksmith said once to me, 
 when he was asked why he was not both blacksmith and 
 whitesmith, “ The smith that will meddle with all things may 
 go shoe the goslings ” ; an old proverb, which, from its 
 mixture of drollery and good sense, became ever after a 
 favourite of mine. 
 
 ‘ Having returned my master’s books, I had only such to 
 read as I could purchase or borrow for myself, and I became 
 very careful in my choice : I also took every opportunity of 
 learning all I could from the conversation of sensible people, 
 wherever we went ; and I found that one piece of knowledge 
 helped me to another often when I least expected it. And this 
 I may add, for the encouragement of others, that everything 
 which 1 learned accurately was, at some time or other of my 
 life, of use to me. 
 
 ‘ After having made a progress through England, my fellow- 
 traveller determined to try his fortune in the metropolis, and to 
 give lectures there to young people during the winter season. 
 Accordingly, we proceeded towards London, taking Woolwich 
 in our way, where we exhibited before the young gentlemen of 
 the military academy. My master, who, since he had withdrawn 
 his notes from my hands, had no one to copy them fairly, 
 found himself, during his lecture, in some perplexity ; and, as 
 he exhibited his usual odd contortions upon this occasion, the 
 young gentlemen could not restrain their laughter : he also 
 prolonged his lecture more than his audience liked, and several 
 yawned terribly, and made signs of an impatient desire to see 
 
 29 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 what was in my box, as a relief from their fatigue. This my 
 master quickly perceived, and, being extremely provoked, he 
 spoke to me with a degree of harshness and insolence which, 
 as I bore it with temper, prepossessed the young company in 
 my favour. He concluded his lecture with the old sentence : 
 “ Gentlemen, I shall no longer detain you from what I am sure 
 is much better worthy of your attention than anything I can offer, 
 viz. Mr. Jervas’s puppet-show.” This was an unlucky speech 
 on the present occasion, for it happened that everybody, after 
 having seen what he called my puppet-show, was precisely of 
 this opinion. My master grew more and more impatient, and 
 wanted to hurry me away, but one spirited young man most 
 warmly took me and my tin-mine under his protection : I stood 
 my ground, insisting upon my right to finish my exhibition, as 
 my master had been allowed full time to finish his. The 
 young gentleman who supported me was as well pleased by 
 my present firmness as he had been by my former patience. 
 At parting he made a handsome collection for me, which I 
 refused to accept, taking only the regular price. “ Well,” said 
 he, “ you shall be no loser by this. You are going to town ; 
 my father is in London ; here is his direction. I’ll mention 
 you to him the next time I write home, and you’ll not be the 
 worse for that.” 
 
 ‘ As soon as we got to London, I went accordingly to my 
 direction. The young gentleman had been more punctual in 
 writing home than young gentlemen sometimes are. I was 
 appointed to come with my models the next evening, when a 
 number of young people were collected, beside the children of 
 the family. The young spectators gathered round me at one 
 end of a large saloon, asking me innumerable questions after 
 the exhibition was over ; whilst the master of the house, who 
 was an East India director, was walking up and down the 
 room, conversing with a gentleman in an officer’s uniform. 
 They were, as I afterwards understood, talking about the cast- 
 ing of some guns at Woolwich for the East India Company. 
 “ Charles,” said the director, coming to the place where we 
 were standing, and tapping one of his sons on the shoulder, “ do 
 you recollect what your brother told us about the proportion of 
 tin which is used in casting brass cannon at Woolwich ? ” The 
 young gentleman answered that he could not recollect, but 
 referred his father to me ; adding, that his brother told him I 
 
 3 ° 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 was the person from whom he had the information. My 
 memory served me exactly ; and I had reason to rejoice that I 
 had not neglected the opportunity of gaining this knowledge 
 during our short stay at Woolwich. The East India director, 
 pleased with my answering his first question accurately, con- 
 descended, in compliance with his children’s entreaties, to 
 examine my models, and questioned me upon a variety of 
 subjects : at length he observed to the gentleman with whom 
 he had been conversing, that I explained myself well, that I 
 knew all I did know accurately, and that I had the art of 
 captivating the attention of young people. “ I do think,” 
 concluded he, “ that he would answer Dr. Bell’s description 
 better than any person I have seen.” He then inquired 
 particularly into my history and connections, all of which I told 
 
 him exactly. He took down the direction to Mr. Y , and 
 
 my good master (as I shall always call Mr. R— — ), and to 
 several other gentlemen, at whose houses I had been during 
 the last three or four years, telling me that he would write to 
 them about me ; and that if he found my accounts of myself were 
 as exact as my knowledge upon other subjects, he thought he 
 could place me in a very eligible situation. The answers to 
 these letters were all perfectly satisfactory : he gave me the 
 
 letter from Mr. R •, saying, “ You had better keep this letter, 
 
 and take care of it ; for it will be a recommendation to you in 
 any part of the world where courage and fidelity are held in 
 esteem.” Upon looking into this letter, I found that my good 
 master had related, in the handsomest manner, the whole of 
 my conduct about the discovery of the vein in his mine. 
 
 ‘The director now informed me that, if I had no objection 
 to go to India, I should be appointed to go out to Madras as 
 an assistant to Dr. Bell, one of the directors of the asylum for 
 the instruction of orphans ; an establishment which is imme- 
 diately under the auspices of the East India Company, and 
 which does them honour . 1 
 
 ‘ The salary which was offered me was munificent beyond 
 my utmost expectations ; and the account of the institution, 
 which was put into my hands, charmed me. I speedily settled 
 all my concerns with the lecturer, who was in great astonish- 
 
 1 Vide a small pamphlet, printed for Cadell and Davies, entitled, ' An 
 Experiment in Education, made at the Male Asylum of Madras, by the 
 Rev. Dr. A. Bell.' 
 
 3 1 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ment that this appointment had not fallen upon him. To con- 
 sole him for the last time, I showed him a passage in Dr. 
 Bell’s pamphlet, in which it is said that the doctor prefers to 
 all others, for teaching at his school, youths who have no fixed 
 habits as tutors, and who will implicitly follow his directions. 
 I was at this time but nineteen : my master was somewhat 
 appeased by this view of the affair, and we parted, as I wished, 
 upon civil terms ; though I could not feel much regret at leav- 
 ing him. I had no pleasure in living with one who would not 
 let me become attached to him ; for, having early met with 
 two excellent friends and masters, the agreeable feelings of 
 gratitude and affection were in a manner necessary to my 
 happiness. 
 
 ‘ Before I left England, I received new proofs of Mr. 
 R— — — ’s goodness : he wrote to me to say that, as I was going 
 to a distant country, to which a small annuity of ten guineas a 
 year could not easily be remitted, he had determined to lay out 
 a sum equal to the value of the annuity he had promised me, 
 in a manner which he hoped would be advantageous : he 
 further said, that as the vein of the mine with which I had 
 made him acquainted turned out better than he expected, he 
 had added the value of fifty guineas more than my annuity ; 
 and that if I would go to Mr. Ramsden’s, mathematical instru- 
 ment maker, in Piccadilly, I should receive all he had ordered 
 to be ready for me. At Mr. Ramsden’s I found ready to be 
 packed up for me two small globes, siphons, prisms, an air-gun 
 and an air-pump, a speaking trumpet, a small apparatus for 
 showing the gases, and an apparatus for freezing water. Mr. 
 Ramsden informed me that these were not all the things Mr. 
 
 R had bespoken ; that he had ordered a small balloon, and 
 
 a portable telegraph, in form of an umbrella, which would be 
 sent home, as he expected, in the course of the next week. 
 Mr. Ramsden also had directions to furnish me with a set of 
 mathematical instruments of his own making. “ But,” added 
 he with a smile, “ you will be lucky if you get them soon 
 enough out of my hands.” In fact, I believe I called a 
 hundred times in the course of a fortnight upon Ramsden, and 
 it was only the day before the fleet sailed that they were 
 finished and delivered to me. 
 
 ‘ I cannot here omit to mention an incident that happened 
 in one of my walks to Ramsden’s : I was rather late, and was 
 
 3-2 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 pushing my way hastily through a crowd that was gathered at 
 the turning of a street, when a hawker by accident flapped a 
 bundle of wet hand-bills in my eyes, and at the same instant 
 screamed in my ears, “ The last dying speech and confession of 
 fonathan Clarke, who was executed on Monday , the I ith 
 instant — Jonathan Clarke ! The name struck my ears 
 suddenly, and the words shocked me so much that I stood 
 fixed to the spot ; and it was not till the hawker had passed 
 by me some yards, and was beginning with “ The last dying 
 speech and confession of Jonatlum Clarke , the Cornwall miner f 
 that I recollected myself enough to speak : I called after the 
 hawker in vain : he was bawling too loud to hear me, and I 
 was forced to run the whole length of the street before I could 
 overtake him, and get one of the hand-bills. On reading it, I 
 could have no doubt that it was really the last dying speech of 
 my old enemy Clarke. His birth, parentage, and every 
 circumstance, convinced me of the truth. Amongst other 
 things in his confession, I came to a plan he had laid to 
 murder a poor lad in the tin-mine, where he formerly worked ; 
 and he thanked God that this plan was never executed, as the 
 boy providentially disappeared the very night on which the 
 murder was to have been perpetrated. He further set forth 
 that, after being turned away by his master, and obliged to fly 
 from Cornwall, he came up to London, and worked as a coal- 
 heaver for a little while, but soon became what is called a mud- 
 lark ; that is, a plunderer of the ships’ cargoes that unload in 
 the Thames. He plied this abominable trade for some time, 
 drinking every day to the value of what he stole, till, in a 
 quarrel at an ale-house about the division of some articles to 
 be sold to a receiver of stolen goods, he struck the woman of 
 the house a blow, of which she died ; and, as it was proved 
 that he had long borne her malice for some old dispute, Clarke 
 was on his trial brought in guilty of wilful murder, and 
 sentenced to be hanged. 
 
 ‘ I shuddered whilst I read all this. — To such an end, after 
 the utmost his cunning could do, was this villain brought at 
 last ! How thankful I was that I did not continue his associate 
 in my boyish days ! My gratitude to my good master 
 increased upon the reflection that it was his humanity which 
 had raised me from vice and misery, to virtue and happiness. 
 
 ‘ We sailed from the Downs the 20th of March, one 
 
 D 33 
 
* I stood fixed to the spot.’ 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 thousand seven hundred and — . But why I tell you this I do 
 not know ; except it be in compliance with the custom of all 
 voyagers, who think that it is important to the world to know 
 on what day they sailed from this or that port. I shall not, 
 however, imitate them in giving you a journal of the wind, or 
 a copy of the ship’s log-book. Suffice it to say, that we arrived 
 safely at Madras, after a voyage of about the usual number of 
 months and days, during all which I am sorry that I have not 
 for your entertainment any escape or imminent danger of ship- 
 wreck to relate ; nor even any description of a storm or a 
 waterspout. 
 
 ‘You will, I am afraid, be much disappointed to find that, 
 upon my arrival in India, where doubtless you expected that I 
 should like others have wonderful adventures, I began to live 
 at Ur. Bell’s asylum in Madras a quiet regular life ; in which 
 for years I may safely say, that every day in the week was 
 extremely like that which preceded it. This regularity was 
 nowise irksome to me, notwithstanding that I had for some 
 years, in England, been so much used to a roving way of life. 
 I had never any taste for rambling ; and under Dr. Bell, who 
 treated me with strict justice, as far as the business of the 
 asylum was concerned, and with distinguished kindness in all 
 other circumstances, I enjoyed as much freedom as I desired. 
 I never had those absurd vague notions of liberty, which 
 render men uneasy under the necessary restraints of all civilised 
 society, and which do not make them the more fit to live 
 with savages. The young people who were under my care 
 gradually became attached to me, and I to them. I obeyed 
 Dr. Bell’s directions exactly in all things ; and he was pleased 
 to say, after I had been with him for some time, that he never 
 had any assistant who was so entirely agreeable to him. 
 When the business of the day was over, I often amused myself, 
 and the elder boys, with my apparatus for preparing the gases, 
 my speaking-trumpet, air-gun, etc. 
 
 * One day, I think it was in the fourth year of my residence 
 at Madras, Dr. Bell sent for me into his closet, and asked me 
 if I had ever heard of a scholar of his, of the name of William 
 Smith, a youth of seventeen years of age, who, in the year 
 1794, attended the embassy to Tippoo Sultan, when the 
 hostage princes were restored, and who went through a course 
 of experiments in natural philosophy, in the presence of the 
 
 35 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 sultan. I answered Dr. Bell that, before I left England, I 
 had read, in his account of the asylum, extracts from this 
 William Smith’s letters, whilst he was at the sultan’s court ; 
 and that I remembered all the experiments he had exhibited 
 perfectly well ; and also that he was detained, by the sultan’s 
 order, nineteen days after the embassy had taken leave, for the 
 purpose of instructing two aruzbegs, or lords, in the use of an 
 extensive and elegant mathematical apparatus, presented to 
 Tippoo by the government at Madras . 1 
 
 1 Extracts from William Smith' s Letters to Dr. Bell 
 (vide the Pamphlet lefore mentioned). 
 
 ' Devanelli Fort, April 8, 1792. 
 
 1 Reverend Sir — I take the liberty of informing you that we arrived 
 here the 28th ult. without any particular occurrence in the way. The 
 day after our arrival we made our first visit to the sultan ; and he enter- 
 tained us at his court for upwards of three hours. 
 
 ' On the 1st instant Captain Dovetoun sent me an order to open the 
 boxes, and lay out the machines, to show them to the sultan. Accordingly, 
 on the third, I was sent for, and I exhibited the following experiments : 
 viz. head and wig ; dancing images ; electric stool ; cotton fired ; small 
 receiver and stand ; hemispheres ; Archimedes’ screw ; siphon ; Tantalus’s 
 cup ; water-pump ; condensing engine, etc. Captain Dovetoun was pre- 
 sent, and explained, as I went on, to the sultan, who has given us an 
 instance of his being acquainted with some of these experiments. He 
 has shown us a condensing engine made by himself, which spouted water 
 higher than ours. He desired me to teach two men, his aruzbegs. 
 
 ‘ I can assure you that Tippoo Sultan was mightily pleased with the 
 electric machine. He was prepared for every experiment I exhibited, 
 except the firing of the inflammable air. 
 
 ' It did cost me several minutes before the firing of the inflammable air 
 proved successful ; . . . during which time he was in a very impatient 
 emotion ; and, when that was done, it did indeed surprise him. He 
 desired me to go over it three times. 
 
 ■ I take the liberty to write for your information the familiar discourse 
 Tippoo Sultan was pleased to enter into with me, that took place at the 
 close of the experiments. 
 
 ‘ There were some silver trumpets, newly made, brought in to him for 
 his inspection, and which he desired the trumpeters to sound hauw and 
 jauw ; i.e. come and go ; after which, he asked me if they were like those 
 I saw at Madras. I answered, Yes ; but those at Madras are made of 
 copper. He asked me again whether the tune was anything like what I 
 had ever heard. I answered, No. How then? says he; and presently 
 ordering the instrument to be put into my hands, desired me to blow. 
 I told him, very civilly, that I could not blow. No ! says he : you could ; 
 
 36 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 ‘ “Well,” said Dr. Bell, “since that time Tippoo Sultan has 
 been at war, and has had no leisure, I suppose, for the study of 
 philosophy, or mathematics ; but now that he has just made 
 peace, and wants something to amuse him, he has sent to the 
 government at Madras, to request that I will permit some of 
 my scholars to pay a second visit at his court to refresh the 
 memory of the aruzbegs, and, I presume, to exhibit some new 
 wonders for Tippoo’s entertainment.” 
 
 ‘ Dr. B. proposed to me to go on this embassy : accordingly, 
 1 prepared all my apparatus, and, having carefully remarked 
 what experiments Tippoo had already seen, I selected such as 
 would be new to him. I packed up my speaking-trumpet, my 
 apparatus for freezing water, and that for exhibiting the gases, 
 my balloon and telegraph, and with these and my model of the 
 tin-mine, which I took by Dr. Bell’s advice, I set out with two 
 of his eldest scholars upon our expedition. We were met on 
 the entrance of Tippoo’s dominions by four hircarrahs or 
 soldiers, whom the sultan sent as a guard to conduct us safely 
 through his dominions. He received us at court the day after 
 our arrival. Unaccustomed as I was to Asiatic magnificence, I 
 confess that my eyes were at first so dazzled by the display of 
 oriental pomp that, as I prostrated myself at the foot of the 
 sultan’s throne, I considered him as a personage high as human 
 veneration could look upon. After having made my salam, 
 or salutation, according to the custom of his court, as I was 
 instructed to do, the sultan commanded me, by his interpreter, 
 
 what are you afraid of ? I told him again that I spoke truth ; and that I 
 was brought up in a school where my master informed me what lying was, 
 and always punished those boys that spoke untruths. 
 
 'June nth . — After this the sultan arose (five hours being elapsed) to 
 quit the court, and desired the present (of a hundred rupees) to be delivered 
 into my hands, with these words : "This is given you as a present for 
 the trouble you took in performing those experiments, which verily pleased 
 me" ; and a command that I am to stay in the fort ten days ; "after 
 which,” he continued, "I will send you to Kistnagherry, with two 
 hircarrahs, in order to conduct you safely through my country.” I re- 
 turned the compliment with a salam, in the manner I was instructed ; 
 saying that I thankfully accepted his present, and am willing to obey his 
 commands. The language which the sultan used was the Carnatic 
 Malabar. Mine very little differed from his. Poornhia was the inter- 
 preter of such terms as the sultan did not understand. ' 
 
 37 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 to display my knowledge of the arts and sciences, for the 
 instruction and amusement of his court. 
 
 ‘ My boxes and machines had all been previously opened, 
 and laid out : I was prepared to show my apparatus for freezing, 
 but Tippoo’s eye was fixed upon the painted silk balloon ; and 
 with prodigious eagerness he interrupted me several times with 
 questions about that great empty bag. I endeavoured to make 
 him understand as well as I could, by my interpreter and his 
 own, that this great empty bag was to be filled with a species of 
 air lighter than the common air ; and that, when filled, the bag, 
 which I informed him was in our country called a balloon, 
 would mount far above his palace. No sooner was this repeated 
 to him, by the interpreter, than the sultan commanded me 
 insta7itly to fill the balloon ; and when I replied that it could 
 not be done instantly, and that I was not prepared to exhibit 
 it on this day, Tippoo gave signs of the most childish impatience. 
 He signified to me, that since I could not show him what he 
 wanted to see, the sultan would not see what I wanted to show. 
 I replied, through his interpreter, in the most respectful but firm 
 manner, that no one would be so presumptuous as to show to 
 Tippoo Sultan, in his own court, anything which he did not 
 desire to see : that it was in compliance with his wishes that I 
 came to his court, from which, in obedience to his commands, I 
 should at any time be ready to withdraw. A youth, who stood 
 at the right hand of Tippoo’s throne, seemed much to approve of 
 this answer, and the sultan, assuming a more composed and dig- 
 nified aspect, signified to me that he was satisfied to await for 
 the sight of the filling of the great bag till the next day ; and 
 that he should, in the meantime, he well pleased to see what I 
 was now prepared to show. 
 
 ‘ The apparatus for freezing, which we then exhibited, seemed 
 to please him ; but I observed that he was, during a great part 
 of the time whilst I was explaining it, intent upon something 
 else ; and no sooner had I done speaking than he caused to be 
 produced the condensing engines, made by himself, which he 
 formerly showed to William Smith, and which he said spouted 
 water higher than any of ours. The sultan, I perceived, 
 was much more intent upon displaying his small stock of 
 mechanical knowledge than upon increasing it ; and the mixture 
 of vanity and ignorance, which he displayed upon this and many 
 subsequent occasions, considerably lessened the awe which his 
 
 38 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 external magnificence at first excited in my mind. Sometimes 
 he would put himself in competition with me, to show his cour- 
 tiers his superiority ; but failing in these attempts, he would then 
 treat me as a species of mechanic juggler, who was fit only to 
 exhibit for the amusement of his court. When he saw my 
 speaking-trumpet, which was made of copper, he at first looked 
 at it with great scorn, and ordered his trumpeters to show me 
 theirs, which were made of silver. As he had formerly done 
 when my predecessor was at his court, he desired his trumpeters 
 to sound through these trumpets the words hauw and jaww, i.e. 
 come and go : but, upon trial, mine was found to be far superior 
 to the sultan’s : and I received intimation, through one of his 
 courtiers, that it would be prudent to offer it immediately to 
 Tippoo. This I accordingly did, and he accepted it with the 
 eagerness of a child who has begged and obtained a new play- 
 thing. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ‘ The next day, Tippoo and his whole court assembled to see 
 my balloon. Tippoo was seated in a splendid pavilion, and his 
 principal courtiers stood in a semicircle on each side of him : the 
 youth, whom I formerly observed, was again on his right hand, 
 and his eyes were immovably fixed upon my balloon, which 
 had been previously filled and fastened down by cords. I had 
 the curiosity to ask who this youth was : I was informed he 
 was the sultan’s eldest son, Prince Abdul Calie. I had not time 
 to make any farther inquiries, for Tippoo now ordered a signal 
 to be given, as had been previously agreed upon. I instantly 
 cut the cords which held the balloon, and it ascended with a 
 rapid but graceful motion, to the unspeakable astonishment and 
 delight of all the spectators. Some clapped their hands and 
 shouted, others looked up in speechless ecstasy, and in the 
 general emotion all ranks for an instant were confounded : even 
 Tippoo Sultan seemed at this interval to be forgotten, and to 
 forget himself, in the admiration of this new wonder. 
 
 ‘ As soon as the balloon was out of sight, the court re- 
 turned to their usual places, the noise subsided, and the 
 sultan, as if desirous to fix the public attention upon himself, 
 
 39 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 and to show his own superior magnificence, issued orders 
 immediately to his treasurer to present me, as a token of his 
 royal approbation, with two hundred star pagodas. When I 
 approached to make my salam and compliment of thanks, as 
 I was instructed, the sultan, who observed that some of the 
 courtiers already began to regard me with envy, as if my 
 reward had been too great, determined to divert himself with 
 their spleen, and to astonish me with his generosity ; he took 
 from his finger a diamond ring, which he presented to me by 
 one of his officers. The young prince, Abdul Calie, whispered 
 to his father whilst I was withdrawing, and I soon afterwards 
 received a message from the sultan, requesting, or, in other 
 words, ordering me to remain some time at his court, to 
 instruct the young prince, his son, in the use of my European 
 machines, for which they had in their language no names. 
 
 ‘ This command proved a source of real pleasure to me ; 
 for I found Prince Abdul Calie not only a youth of quick 
 apprehension, but of a most amiable disposition, unlike the 
 imperious and capricious temper which I had remarked in 
 his father. Prince Abdul Calie had been, when he was about 
 twelve years old, one of the hostage princes left with Lord 
 Cornwallis at Seringapatam. With that politeness which is 
 seldom to be found in the sons of eastern despots, this prince, 
 after my first introduction, ordered the magnificent palanquin, 
 given to him by Lord Cornwallis, to be shown to me ; then 
 pointing to the enamelled snakes which support the panels, 
 and on which the sun at that instant happened to shine, 
 Prince Abdul Calie was pleased to say, “ The remembrance of 
 your noble countryman’s kindness to me is as fresh and lively 
 in my soul as those colours now appear to my eye.” 
 
 ‘ Another thing gave me a good opinion of this young 
 prince ; he did not seem to value presents merely by their 
 costliness ; whether he gave or received, he considered the 
 feelings of others ; and I know that he often excited in my 
 mind more gratitude by the gift of a mere trifle, by a word or 
 a look, than his ostentatious father could by the most valuable 
 donations. Tippoo, though he ordered his treasurer to pay 
 me fifty rupees per day, whilst I was in his service, yet treated 
 me with a species of insolence, which, having some of the 
 feelings of a free-born Briton about me, I found it difficult 
 to endure with patience. His son, on the contrary, showed 
 
 4 ° 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 that he felt obliged to me for the little instruction I was able 
 to give him ; and never appeared to think that, as a prince, 
 he could pay for all the kindness, as well as the service of his 
 inferiors, by pagodas or rupees : so true it is that attachment 
 cannot be bought ; and those who wish to have friends, as 
 well as servants, should keep this truth constantly in mind. 
 My English spirit of independence induced me to make these 
 and many more such reflections whilst I was at Tippoo’s 
 court. 
 
 ‘ Every day afforded me fresh occasion to form comparisons 
 between the sultan and his son ; and my attachment to my 
 pupil every day increased. My pupil ! It was with astonish- 
 ment I sometimes reflected that a young prince was actually 
 my pupil. Thus an obscure individual, in a country like 
 England, where arts, sciences, and literature are open to all 
 ranks, may obtain a degree of knowledge which an eastern 
 despot, in all his pride, would gladly purchase with ingots of 
 his purest gold. 
 
 ‘ One evening, after the business of the day was over, 
 Tippoo Sultan came into his son’s apartment, whilst I was 
 explaining to the young prince the use of some of the 
 mathematical instruments in my pocket-case. “We are well 
 acquainted with these things,” said the sultan in a haughty 
 tone : “ the government of Madras sent us such things as 
 those, with others, which are now in the possession of some 
 of my aruzbegs, who have doubtless explained them suffici- 
 ently to the prince my son.” Prince Abdul Calie modestly 
 replied, “that he had never before been made to understand 
 them ; for that the aruzbeg, who had formerly attempted to 
 explain them, had not the art of making things so clear to him 
 as I had done.” 
 
 ‘ I felt a glow of pleasure at this compliment, and at the 
 consciousness that I deserved it. How little did I imagine, 
 when I used to sit up at nights studying my old master’s 
 books, that one of them would be the means of procuring me 
 such honour . 1 
 
 ‘ “ What is contained in that box ? ” said the sultan, point- 
 
 1 Jervas here alludes to a book entitled, 1 A Description of Pocket and 
 Magazine Cases of Drawing Instruments : in which is explained the use 
 of each instrument, and particularly of the sector and plain scale, Gunter’s 
 scale,’ etc. By }. Barrow, private teacher of mathematics. 
 
 4 1 
 
rOPULAR TALES 
 
 ing to the box which held the model of the tin-mine. “ I do 
 not remember to have seen it opened in my presence.” 
 
 ‘ I replied that it had not been opened, because I feared 
 that it was not worthy to be shown to him. But he com- 
 manded that it should instantly be exhibited ; and, to my 
 great surprise, it seemed to delight him excessively : he ex- 
 amined every part, moved the wires of the puppets, and asked 
 innumerable questions concerning our tin-mines. I was the 
 more astonished at this, because I had imagined he would 
 have considered every object of commerce as beneath the notice 
 of a sultan. Nor could I guess why he should be peculiarly 
 interested in this subject : but he soon explained this to me, 
 by saying that he had, in his dominions, certain mines of tin, 
 which he had a notion would, if properly managed, bring a 
 considerable revenue to the royal treasury ; but that at present, 
 through negligence or fraud, these mines were rather burden- 
 some than profitable. 
 
 ‘ He inquired from me how my model came into my 
 possession ; and, when his interpreter told him that I made it 
 myself, he caused the question and answer to be repeated 
 twice, before he would believe that he understood me rightly. 
 He next inquired whether I was acquainted with the art of 
 mining ; and how I came by my information : in short, he 
 commanded me to relate my history. I replied that it was a 
 long story, concerning only an obscure individual, and un- 
 worthy the attention of a great monarch : but he seemed this 
 evening to have nothing to do but to gratify his curiosity, 
 which my apology only served to increase. He again com- 
 manded me to relate my adventures, and I then told him the 
 history of my early life. I was much flattered by the interest 
 which the young prince took in my escape from the mine, and 
 by the praises he bestowed on my fidelity to my master. 
 
 ‘ The sultan, on the contrary, heard me at first with 
 curiosity, but afterwards with an air of incredulity. Upon 
 observing this, I produced the letter from my good master to 
 the East India director, which gave a full account of the 
 whole affair. I put this letter into the hands of the interpreter, 
 and with some difficulty he translated it into the Carnatic 
 Malabar, which was the language the sultan used in speaking 
 to me. 
 
 ‘The letter, which had the counter-signatures of some of 
 42 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 the East India Company’s servants resident at Madras, whose 
 names were well known to Tippoo, failed not to make a great 
 impression in favour of my integrity : of my knowledge he had 
 before a high opinion. He stood musing for some time, with 
 his eyes fixed upon the model of the tin-mine; and, after 
 consulting with the young prince, as I guessed by their tones 
 and looks, he bade his interpreter tell me that, if I would 
 undertake to visit the tin-mines in his dominions, to instruct 
 his miners how to work them, and to manage the ore accord- 
 ing to the English fashion, I should receive from the royal 
 treasury a reward more than proportioned to my services, and 
 suitable to the generosity of a sultan. 
 
 ‘ Some days were given me to consider of this proposal. 
 Though tempted by the idea that I might realise, in a short 
 time, a sum that would make me independent for the rest of 
 my life, yet my suspicions of the capricious and tyrannical 
 temper of Tippoo made me dread to have him for a master ; 
 and, above all, I resolved to do nothing without the express 
 permission of Dr. Bell, to whom I immediately wrote. He 
 seemed, by his answer, to think that such an opportunity of 
 making my fortune was not to be neglected : my hopes, there- 
 fore, prevailed over my fears, and I accepted the proposal. 
 
 ‘ The presents which he had made me, and the salary 
 allowed me during six weeks that I had attended the young 
 prince, amounted to a considerable sum — 500 star pagodas 
 and 500 rupees ; all which I left, together with my ring, in 
 the care of a great Gentoo merchant of the name of Omychund, 
 who had shown me many civilities. With proper guides, and 
 full powers from the sultan, I proceeded on my journey, and 
 devoted myself with the greatest ardour to my undertaking. 
 A very laborious and difficult undertaking it proved : for in 
 no country are prejudices in favour of their own customs more 
 inveterate, amongst workmen of every description, than in 
 India ; and although I was empowered to inflict what punish- 
 ment I thought proper on those who disobeyed, or even 
 hesitated to fulfil my orders, yet, thank God ! I could never 
 bring myself to have a poor slave tortured, or put to death, 
 because he roasted ore in a manner which I did not think so 
 good as my own method ; nor even because he was not so 
 well convinced as I was of the advantages of our Cornwall 
 smelting-furnace. 
 
 43 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ My moderation was of more service to me, in the minds 
 of the people, than the utmost violence I could have employed 
 to enforce obedience. As I got by degrees some little know- 
 ledge of their language, I grew more and more acceptable to 
 them ; and some few, who tried methods of my proposing, and 
 found that they succeeded, were, by my directions, rewarded 
 with the entire possession of the difference of profit between 
 the old and new modes. This bounty enticed others ; and in 
 time that change was accomplished by gentle means, which I 
 had at first almost despaired of ever effecting. 
 
 ‘ When the works were in proper train, I despatched a 
 messenger to the sultan’s court, to request that he would be 
 pleased to appoint some confidential person to visit the mines, 
 in order to be an eye-witness of what had been done ; and I 
 further begged, as I had now accomplished the object of the 
 sultan’s wishes, that I might be recalled, after deputing whom- 
 soever he should think proper to superintend and manage the 
 mines in my stead. I moreover offered, before I withdrew, 
 to instruct the person who should be appointed. My messenger, 
 after a long delay, returned to me, with a command from Tippoo 
 Sultan to remain where I was till his further orders. For these 
 1 waited three months, and then, concluding that I was for- 
 gotten, I determined to set out to refresh Tippoo’s memory. 
 
 ‘ I found him at Devanelli Fort, thinking of nothing less 
 than of me or my tin-mines : he was busily engaged in making 
 preparations for a war with some Soubha or other, whose name 
 I forget, and all his ideas were bent on conquests and ven- 
 geance. He scarcely deigned to see, much less to listen to 
 me : his treasurer gave me to understand that too much had 
 already been lavished upon me, a stranger as I was ; and that 
 Tippoo’s resources, at all events, would be now employed in 
 carrying on schemes of war, not petty projects of commerce. 
 Thus insulted, and denied all my promised reward, I could not 
 but reflect upon the hard fate of those who attempt to serve 
 capricious despots. 
 
 ‘ I prepared as fast as possible to depart from Tippoo’s 
 court. The Hindoo merchant with whom I had lodged the 
 pagodas and rupees promised to transmit them to me at 
 Madras ; and he delivered to me the diamond ring which 
 Tippoo had given to me during his fit of generosity, or of 
 ostentation. The sultan, who cared no more what became of 
 
 44 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 me, made no opposition to my departure : but I was obliged to 
 wait a day or two for a guard, as the hircarrahs who formerly 
 conducted me were now out upon some expedition. 
 
 ‘ Whilst I waited impatiently for their return, Prince Abdul 
 Calie, who had not been during all this time at Devanelli 
 Fort, arrived ; and when I went to take leave of him, he in- 
 quired into the reason of my sudden departure. In language 
 as respectful as I could use, and with as much delicacy as I 
 thought myself bound to observe, in speaking to a son of his 
 father, I related the truth. The prince’s countenance showed 
 what he felt. He paused, and seemed to be lost in thought, 
 for a few minutes : he then said to me, “The sultan, my father, 
 is at this time so intent upon preparations for war, that even 
 I should despair of being listened to on any other subject. 
 But you have in your possession, as I recollect, what might be 
 useful to him either in war or peace ; and, if you desire it, I 
 will speak of this machine to the sultan.” 
 
 ‘ I did not immediately know to what machine of mine the 
 prince alluded ; but he explained to me that he meant my 
 portable telegraph, which would be of infinite use to Tippoo 
 in conveying orders of intelligence across the deserts. I left 
 the matter entirely to the prince, after returning him my very 
 sincere thanks for being thus interested in my concerns. 
 
 ‘ A few hours after this conversation, I was summoned into 
 the sultan’s presence. His impatience to make trial of the 
 telegraphs was excessive ; and I, who but the day before had 
 been almost trampled upon by the officers and lords of his 
 court, instantly became a person of the greatest importance. 
 The trial of the telegraphs succeeded beyond even my ex- 
 pectations ; and the sultan was in a species of ecstasy on the 
 occasion. 
 
 ‘ I cannot omit to notice an instance of the violence of his 
 temper, and its sudden changes from joy to rage. One of his 
 blacks, a gentle Hindoo lad, of the name of Saheb, was set to 
 manage a telegraph at one of the stations, a few yards distant 
 from the sultan. I had previously instructed Saheb in what 
 he was to do ; but, from want of practice, he made some mis- 
 take, which threw Tippoo into such a transport of passion, that 
 he instantly ordered the slave’s head to be cut off! — a sentence 
 which would infallibly have been executed, if I had not repre- 
 sented that it would be expedient to suffer his head to remain 
 
 45 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 on his shoulders till the message was delivered by his tele- 
 graph ; because there was no one present who could im- 
 mediately supply his place. Saheb then read off his message 
 without making any new blunder ; and the moment the ex- 
 hibition was over I threw myself at the feet of the sultan, 
 and implored him to pardon Saheb. I was not likely at this 
 moment to be refused such a trifle ! Saheb was pardoned. 
 
 ‘ An order upon the treasurer for five hundred star pagodas, 
 to reward my services at the royal tin-mines, was given to me; 
 and upon my presenting to Tippoo Sultan the portable tele- 
 graphs, on which his ardent wishes were fixed, he exclaimed : 
 “ Ask any favour in the wide-extended power of Tippoo Sultan 
 to confer, and it shall be granted.” 
 
 ‘ I concluded that this was merely an oriental figure of 
 speech ; but I resolved to run the hazard of a refusal. I did 
 not ask for a province, though this was in the wide-extended 
 power of Tippoo Sultan to confer ; but as I had a great 
 curiosity to see the diamond-mines of Golconda, of which both 
 in Europe and in India I had heard so much, I requested the 
 sultan’s permission to visit those which belonged to him. He 
 hesitated ; but after saying some words to an officer near him, 
 he bade his interpreter tell me that he granted my request. 
 
 ‘ Accordingly, after lodging my pagodas and rupees along 
 with the rest in the hands of Omychund, the Gentoo merchant, 
 who was a man of great wealth and credit, I set out in com- 
 pany with some diamond merchants who were going to Gol- 
 conda. My curiosity was amply gratified by the sight of these 
 celebrated mines ; and I determined that, when I returned to 
 Europe, I would write a description of them. This description, 
 however, I shall spare you for the present, and proceed with 
 my story. 
 
 ‘ The diamond merchants with whom I travelled had a 
 great deal of business to transact at various places ; and this 
 was the cause of much delay to me, which I could scarcely 
 bear with patience ; for now that I had gratified my curiosity, 
 I was extremely desirous to return to Madras with my little 
 treasure. The five years’ salary due to me by the East India 
 Company, which I had never used, I had put out at interest 
 at Madras, where sometimes the rate was as high as twelve per 
 cent ; and if you knew (said Mr. Jervas, addressing himself to 
 
 the miners at Mr. R ’s table) anything of the nature of 
 
 46 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 compound interest, you would perceive that I was in a fair 
 way to get rich : for, in the course of fourteen or fifteen years, 
 any sum that is put out at compound interest, even in England, 
 where the rate of legal interest is five per cent, becomes 
 double ; that is, one hundred pounds put out at compound 
 interest, in fourteen years becomes two hundred. But few 
 people have the patience, or the prudence, to make this use 
 of their money. I was, however, determined to employ all my 
 capital in this manner ; and I calculated that, in seven years, 
 I should have accumulated a sum fully sufficient to support me 
 all the rest of my life in ease and affluence. 
 
 ‘ Full of these hopes and calculations, I pursued my journey 
 along with the merchants. Arrived at Devanelli Fort, I learned 
 that the Soubha, with whom the sultan had been going to war, 
 had given up the territory in dispute, and had pacified Tippoo 
 by submissions and presents. Whether he chose peace or 
 war was indifferent to me : I was intent on my private affairs, 
 and I went immediately to Omychund, my banker, to settle 
 them. I had taken my diamond ring with me to the mines, 
 that I might compare it with others, and learn its value ; and 
 I found that it was worth nearly treble what I had been offered 
 for it. Omychund congratulated me upon this discovery, and 
 we were just going to settle our accounts, when an officer 
 came in, and, after asking whether I was not the young 
 Englishman who had lately visited the mines of Golconda, 
 summoned me immediately to appear before the sultan. I 
 was terrified, for I imagined I was perhaps suspected of having 
 purloined some of the diamonds ; but I followed the officer 
 without hesitation, conscious of my innocence. 
 
 ‘ Tippoo Sultan, contrary to my expectations, received me 
 with a smiling countenance ; and, pointing to the officer who 
 accompanied me, asked me whether I recollected to have ever 
 seen his face before ? I replied, No : but the sultan then 
 informed me that this officer, who was one of his own guards, 
 had attended me in disguise during my whole visit to the 
 diamond mines ; and that he was perfectly satisfied of my 
 honourable conduct. Then, after making a signal to the officer 
 and all present to withdraw, he bade me approach nearer to 
 him ; paid some compliments to my abilities, and proceeded 
 to explain to me that he stood in farther need of my services ; 
 and that, if I served him with fidelity, I should have no reason 
 
 47 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 to complain, on my return to my own country, of his want of 
 generosity. 
 
 ‘All thoughts of war being now, as he told me, out of his 
 mind, he had leisure for other projects to enrich himself ; and 
 he was determined to begin by reforming certain abuses, which 
 had long tended to impoverish the royal treasury. I was at 
 a loss to know whither this preamble would lead : at length, 
 having exhausted his oriental pomp of words, he concluded by 
 informing me that he had reason to believe he was terribly 
 cheated in the management of his mines at Golconda ; that 
 they were rented from him by a Feulinga Brahmin, as he called 
 him, whose agreement with the adventurers in the mines was, 
 that all the stones they found under a pago in weight were to 
 be their own ; and all above this weight were to be his, for 
 the sultan’s use. Now it seems that this agreement was never 
 honestly fulfilled by any of the parties : the slaves cheating the 
 merchants, the merchants cheating the Feulinga Brahmin, and 
 he, in his turn, defrauding the sultan ; so that, Tippoo assured 
 me, he had often purchased, from diamond merchants, stones 
 of a larger spread and finer water than any he could get directly 
 from his own mines ; and that he had been frequently obliged 
 to reward these merchants with rich vests, or fine horses, in 
 order to encourage others to offer their diamonds 1 for sale. 
 
 ‘ I could not but observe, whilst Tippoo related all this, the 
 great agitation of his looks and voice, which showed me the 
 strong hold the passion for diamonds had upon his soul ; on 
 which I should perhaps have made some wise reflections, but 
 that people have seldom leisure or inclination to make wise 
 reflections when standing in the presence of a prince as power- 
 ful and as despotic as Tippoo Sultan. 
 
 ‘ The service that he required from me was a very danger- 
 ous one ; no less than to visit the mines secretly by night, to 
 search those small cisterns in which the workmen leave the 
 diamonds mixed with the sand, gravelly stuff, and red earth, to 
 sink and drain off during their absence. I by no means 
 relished this undertaking : besides that it would expose me to 
 imminent danger, it was odious to my feelings to become a 
 spy and an informer. This I stated to the sultan, but he gave 
 no credit to this motive ; and, attributing my reluctance wholly 
 to fear, he promised that he would take effectual measures to 
 1 Philosophical Transactions, vol. ii. p. 472. 
 
 48 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 secure my safety ; and that, after I had executed this com- 
 mission, he would immediately send a guard with me to Madras. 
 I saw that a dark frown lowered on his brow, when I persisted 
 in declining this office ; but I fortunately bethought myself at 
 this moment of a method of escaping the effects of his anger, 
 without giving up my own principles. 
 
 ‘ I represented to him that the seizure of the diamonds in 
 the cisterns, which he proposed, even should it afford him any 
 convincing proofs of the dishonesty of the slaves and diamond 
 merchants, and even if he could in future take effectual pre- 
 cautions to secure himself from their frauds, would not be a 
 source of wealth to him equal to one which I could propose. 
 His avarice fixed his attention, and he eagerly commanded me 
 to proceed. I then explained to him that one of his richest 
 diamond-mines had been for some time abandoned ; because 
 the workmen, having dug till they came to water, were then 
 forced to stop for want of engines such as are known in Europe. 
 Now, having observed that there was a rapid current at the 
 foot of the mountain, on which I could erect a water-mill, I 
 offered to clear this valuable mine. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ‘ The sultan was pleased with the proposal ; but, recollecting 
 how apt he was to change his humour, and how ill he received 
 me when I returned from his tin-mines, I had the precaution 
 to represent that, as this undertaking would be attended with 
 considerable expense, it would be necessary that a year’s salary 
 should be advanced to me before my departure for Golconda ; 
 and that, if the payments were not in future regularly made, 
 I should be at liberty to resign my employment, and return to 
 Madras. Prince Abdul Calie was present when the sultan 
 pledged his word to this, and gave me full powers to employ 
 certain of his artificers and workmen. 
 
 ‘ I shall not trouble you with a history of all my difficulties, 
 delays, and disappointments, in the execution of my undertak- 
 ing ; however interesting they were to me, the relation would 
 be tiresome to those who have no diamond -mines to drain. 
 
 E 
 
 49 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 It is enough for you to know that at length my engines were 
 set agoing properly, and did their business so effectually, that 
 the place was by degrees cleared of water, and the workmen 
 were able to open fresh and valuable veins. During all this 
 time, including a period of three years, my salary was regularly 
 paid to the Gentoo merchant, Omychund, in whose hands I 
 left all my money, upon his promising to pay me as high 
 interest as what I could obtain at Madras. I drew upon him 
 only for such small sums as were absolutely necessary ; as I 
 was resolved to live with the utmost economy, that I might 
 the sooner be enabled to return in affluence to my native 
 country. 
 
 ‘ And here I must pause to praise myself, or rather to rejoice 
 from the bottom of my soul, that I did not, when power was 
 in my hands, make use of it for the purposes of extortion. 
 The condition of the poor slaves who were employed by me 
 was envied by ail the others : and I have reason to know that, 
 even in the most debased and miserable state of existence, the 
 human heart can be wakened by kind treatment to feelings of 
 affection and gratitude. These slaves became so much attached 
 to me that, although the governor of the mines, and certain 
 diamond merchants, were lying in wait continually to get rid of 
 me some way or other, they never could effect their purposes. 
 I was always apprised of my danger in time by some of these 
 trusty slaves, who, with astonishing sagacity and fidelity, 
 guarded me while I lived amongst them. 
 
 ‘ A life of daily suspicion and danger was, however, terrible ; 
 and my influence extended but a little way in making others 
 happy. I might, for a short season, lessen the suffering of 
 these slaves ; but still they were slaves, and most of them were 
 treated scarcely as if they were human beings, by the rapacious 
 adventurers for whom they laboured. 
 
 ‘ These poor wretches generally work almost naked ; they 
 dare not wear a coat, lest the governor should say they have 
 thriven much, are rich, and so increase his demands upon 
 them. The wisest, when they find a great stone, conceal it 
 till they have an opportunity ; and then, with wife and children, 
 run all away into the Visiapore country, where they are secure 
 and well used . 1 
 
 ‘ My heart sickened at the daily sight of so much misery ; 
 
 1 Philosophical Transactions. 
 
 5 ° 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 and nothing but my hopes of finally prevailing on the sultan to 
 better their condition, by showing him how much he would be 
 the gainer by it, could have induced me to remain so long in 
 this situation. Repeatedly Tippoo promised me that the first 
 diamond of twenty pagos weight which I should bring to him, 
 he would grant me all I asked in favour of the slaves under 
 my care. I imparted to them this promise, which excited them 
 to great exertions. At last we were fortunate enough to find 
 a diamond above the weight required. It was a well-spread 
 stone, of a beautiful pale rose-colour, and of an adamantine 
 hardness. I am sure that the sight of that famous stone, which 
 is known by the name of the Pitt diamond, never gave its 
 possessor such heartfelt joy as I experienced when I beheld 
 this. I looked upon it as the pledge of future happiness, not 
 only to myself, but to hundreds of my fellow-creatures. 
 
 ‘ I set out immediately for Tippoo Sultan’s court. It was 
 too late in the evening, when I arrived, to see the sultan that 
 night ; so I went to Omychund, the Hindoo merchant, to settle 
 my affairs with him. He received me with open arms, saying 
 that he had thriven much upon my pagodas and rupees, and 
 that he was ready to account with me for my salary ; also for 
 the interest which he owed me ; for all which he gave me an 
 order upon an English merchant at Madras, with whom I was 
 well acquainted. 
 
 ‘ This being settled to my satisfaction, I told him the busi- 
 ness which now brought me to Tippoo’s court, and showed him 
 my rose-coloured diamond. His eyes opened at the sight with 
 a prodigious expression of avaricious eagerness. “Trust me,” 
 said he, “ keep this diamond. I know Tippoo better than you 
 do ; he will not grant those privileges to the slaves that you 
 talk about ; and, after all, what concern are they of yours ? 
 They are used to the life they lead. They are not Europeans. 
 What concern are they of yours ? Once in your native country, 
 you will dream of them no more. You will think only of 
 enjoying the wealth you shall have brought from India. Trust 
 me, keep the diamond. Fly this night towards Madras. I 
 have a slave who perfectly knows the road across the country : 
 you will be in no danger of pursuit, for the sultan will suppose 
 you to be still at Golconda. No one could inform him of the 
 truth but myself ; and you must see, by the advice I now give 
 you, that I am your firm friend.” 
 
 5i 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘As he finished these words, he clapped his hands, to 
 summon one of his slaves, as he said, to give instant orders for 
 my flight. He looked upon me with incredulous surprise, 
 when I coolly told him that the flight which he proposed was 
 far from my thoughts ; and that it was my determination to 
 give the sultan the diamond that belonged to him. 
 
 ‘ Seeing that I was in earnest, Omychund suddenly changed 
 his countenance ; and in a tone of raillery asked me whether 
 I could believe that his proposal was serious. Indeed I was 
 left in doubt whether he had been in earnest or not ; and, at 
 all events, I gave him to understand that I was incapable of 
 betraying him to the sultan. 
 
 ‘ The next morning, as early as I could, I presented myself 
 before the sultan, who singled me from the crowd, and took 
 me with him into the apartment of Prince Abdul Calie. 
 
 ‘ I proceeded cautiously : Tippoo was all impatience to hear 
 news of his diamond-mine, and repeatedly interrupted me in 
 my account of what had been done there, by asking whether 
 we had yet come to any diamonds. I produced first one of a 
 violet colour, which I had reserved as a present for Prince 
 Abdul Calie ; it was a fine stone, but nothing equal to our 
 rose-coloured diamond. Tippoo admired this, however, so 
 much, that I was certain he would be in raptures with that 
 which I had in store for him. Before I showed it to him, in 
 speaking of the weight of that which I had designed to present 
 to the prince, I reminded him of his royal promise with respect 
 to the slaves. “ True,” cried the sultan : “ but is this diamond 
 twenty pagos weight ? when you bring me one of that value, 
 you may depend upon having all you ask.” I instantly pro- 
 duced the rose-coloured diamond, weighed it in his presence, 
 and, as the scale in which it was put descended, Tippoo burst 
 forth into an exclamation of joy. I seized the favourable 
 moment ; he nodded as I knelt before him, and bade me rise, 
 saying my request was granted ; though why I should ask 
 favours for a parcel of mean slaves, he observed, was incom- 
 prehensible. 
 
 ‘ Prince Abdul Calie did not appear to be of this opinion ; 
 he at this instant cast upon me a look full of benevolence ; and 
 whilst his father was absorbed in the contemplation of his rose- 
 coloured diamond, which he weighed, I believe, a hundred 
 times, the generous young prince presented to me that violet- 
 
 52 
 
The generous young prince presented to me that violet-coloured diamond 
 which I brought for him.' 
 
rOPULAR TALES 
 
 coloured diamond which I brought for him. A princely gift 
 made in a princely manner. 
 
 ‘ Tippoo’s secretary made out for me the necessary order to 
 the governor of the mines, by which a certain share of the 
 profits of his labour was, by the sultan’s command, to belong 
 to each slave ; and all those who had been employed in my 
 service were, as a reward for their good conduct, to be 
 emancipated. A number of petty exactions were by this order 
 abolished ; and the property acquired in land, dress, etc., by 
 the slaves, was secured to them. Most gladly did I see the 
 sultan’s signet affixed to this paper ; and when it was delivered 
 into my hands, my heart bounded with joy. I resolved to be 
 the bearer of these good tidings myself. Although my pass- 
 port was made out for Madras, and two hircarrahs, by the 
 sultan’s orders, were actually ready to attend me thither, yet I 
 could not refuse myself the pleasure of beholding the joy of the 
 slaves, at this change in their condition ; and, to the latest 
 hour of my life, I shall rejoice that I returned to Golconda the 
 messenger of happiness. Never shall I forget the scene to 
 which I was there a witness ; never will the expressions of joy 
 and gratitude be effaced from my memory, which lighted up 
 the dark faces of these poor creatures ! who, say what we will, 
 have as much sensibility, perhaps more, than we have ourselves. 
 
 ‘ N o sooner was I awake, the morning after my arrival, 
 than I heard them singing songs under my window, in which 
 my own name was frequently repeated. They received me 
 with a shout of joy when I went out amongst them ; and, 
 crowding round me, they pressed me to accept of some little 
 tokens of their gratitude and good-will, which I had not the 
 heart to refuse. The very children, by their caresses, seemed 
 to beg me not to reject these little offerings. I determined, if 
 ever I reached Europe, to give all of them to you, sir, my good 
 master, as the best present I could make to one of your way 
 of thinking. 
 
 ‘ The day after my arrival was spent in rejoicings. All the 
 slaves who had worked under my inspection had saved some 
 little matters, with which they had purchased for their wives 
 and for themselves coloured cottons, and handkerchiefs for 
 their heads. Now that they were not in dread of being robbed 
 or persecuted by the governor of the mines, they ventured to 
 produce them in open day. These cottons of Malabar are 
 
 54 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 dyed of remarkably bright and gaudy colours ; and, when the 
 slaves appeared decked in them, it was to me one of the 
 gayest spectacles I ever beheld. They were dancing with a 
 degree of animation of which, till then, I never had an idea. 
 
 ‘ I stood under the shade of a large banyan-tree, enjoying 
 the sight ; when suddenly I felt from behind a blow on my 
 head which stunned me. I fell to the ground ; and when I 
 came to my senses, found myself in the hands of four armed 
 soldiers, and a Hindoo, who was pulling my diamond ring 
 from my finger. They were carrying me away amid the cries 
 and lamentations of the slaves, who followed us. “Stand off! 
 it is in vain you shriek, 3 ’ said one of the soldiers to the 
 surrounding crowd : “ what we do is by order of the sultan. 
 Thus he punishes traitors.” 
 
 ‘ Without further explanation, I was thrown into a dungeon 
 belonging to the governor of the mines, who stood by with 
 insulting joy to see me chained to a large stone in my horrid 
 prison. I knew him to be my enemy : but what was my 
 astonishment when I recollected in the countenance of the 
 Hindoo who was fastening my chains and loading me with 
 curses, that very Saheb whose life I had formerly saved ! To 
 all my questions no answer was given, but, “ It is the will of 
 the sultan ” ; or, “ Thus the sultan avenges himself upon 
 traitors.” 
 
 ‘ The door of my dungeon was then locked and barred, and 
 I was left alone in perfect darkness. Is this, thought I, the 
 reward of all my faithful services ? Bitterly did I regret that I 
 was not in my native country, where no man, at the will of a 
 sultan, can be thrown into a dungeon, without knowing his 
 crime or his accusers. I cannot attempt to describe to you 
 what I felt, during this most miserable day of my existence. 
 Feeble at last, for want of food, I stretched myself out, as well 
 as my chains would allow me, and tried to compose myself to 
 sleep. I sank into a state of insensibility, in which I must 
 have remained for several hours, for it was midnight when I 
 was roused by the unbarring of my prison door. It was Saheb 
 who entered, carrying in one hand a torch, and in the other 
 some food, which he set before me in silence. I cast upon 
 him a look of scorn, and was about to reproach him with his 
 ingratitude, when he threw himself at my feet, and burst into 
 tears. “ Is it possible,” said he to me, “that you are not sure 
 
 55 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 of the heart of Saheb ? You saved my life ; I am come to 
 save yours. But eat, master,” continued he ; “ eat whilst I 
 speak, for we have no time to lose. To-morrow’s sun must 
 see us far from hence. You cannot support the fatigues you 
 have to undergo without taking food.” 
 
 1 1 yielded to his entreaties, and, whilst I ate, Saheb 
 informed me that my imprisonment was owing to the treacherous 
 Hindoo merchant, Omychund ; who, in hopes, I suppose, of 
 possessing himself in quiet of all the wealth which I had 
 entrusted to his care, went to the sultan, and accused me of 
 having secreted certain diamonds of great value, which he 
 pretended I had shown to him in confidence. Tippoo, enraged 
 at this, despatched immediate orders to four of his soldiers to 
 go in search of me, seize, imprison, and torture me, till I should 
 confess where these diamonds were concealed. Saheb was in 
 the sultan’s apartment when this order was given, and immedi- 
 ately hastened to Prince Abdul Calie, whom he knew to be my 
 friend, and informed him of what had happened. The prince 
 sent for Omychund, and, after carefully questioning him, was 
 convinced, by his contradictory answers, and by his confusion, 
 that the charge against me was wholly unfounded : he dismissed 
 Omychund, however, without letting him know his opinion, and 
 then sent Saheb for the four soldiers who were setting out in 
 search of me. In their presence he gave Saheb orders aloud 
 to take charge of me the moment I should be found, and 
 secretly commissioned him to favour my escape. The soldiers 
 thought that in obeying the prince they obeyed the sultan ; 
 and, consequently, when I was taken and lodged in my 
 dungeon, the keys of it were delivered to Saheb. 
 
 ‘ When he had finished telling me all this, he restored to 
 me my ring, which he said he snatched from my finger, as 
 soon as I was seized, that I might not be robbed of it by the 
 governor, or some of the soldiers. 
 
 ‘ The grateful Saheb now struck off my chains ; and my 
 own anxiety for my escape was scarcely equal to his. He had 
 swift horses belonging to the soldiers in readiness ; and we 
 pursued our course all night without interruption. He was 
 well acquainted with the country, having accompanied the 
 sultan on several expeditions. When we thought ourselves 
 beyond the reach of all pursuers, Saheb permitted me to rest ; 
 but I never rested at my ease till I was out of Tippoo Sultan’s 
 
 56 
 
LAME JERVAS 
 
 dominions, and once more in safety at Madras. Dr. Bell 
 received me with great kindness, heard my story, and con- 
 gratulated me on my escape from Tippoo’s power. 
 
 ‘ I was now rich beyond my hopes ; for I had Omychund’s 
 order upon the Madras merchant safe in my pocket, and the 
 whole sum was punctually paid to me. My ring I sold to the 
 governor of Madras for more even than I expected. 
 
 ‘ I had the satisfaction to learn, before I left Madras, that 
 Omychund’s treachery was made known to the sultan, by 
 means of Prince Abdul Calie, whose memory will ever be dear to 
 me. Tippoo, as I have been informed, in speaking of me, 
 was heard to regret that he could not recall to his service such 
 an honest Englishman. 
 
 ‘ I was eager to reward the faithful Saheb, but he absolutely 
 refused the money which I offered him, saying, “ that he 
 would not be paid for saving the life of one who had saved 
 his.” He expressed a great desire to accompany me to my 
 native country, from the moment that I told him we had no 
 slaves there ; and that as soon as any slave touched the English 
 shore, by our laws, he obtained his freedom. He pressed me 
 so earnestly to take him along with me as my servant, that I 
 could not refuse ; so he sailed with me for Europe. As the 
 wind filled the sails of our vessel, much did I rejoice that the 
 gales which blew me from the shores of India were not 
 tainted with the curses of any of my fellow-creatures. Here 
 I am, thank Heaven ! once more in free and happy England, 
 with a good fortune, clean hands, and a pure conscience, not 
 unworthy to present myself to my first good master, to him 
 whose humanity and generosity were the cause of ’ 
 
 Here Mr. R interrupted his own praises, by saying to 
 
 those of the miners who had not fallen fast asleep, ‘ My good 
 friends, you now know the meaning of the toast which you all 
 drank after dinner ; let us drink it again before we part : 
 “Welcome home to our friend, Mr. Jervas, and may good 
 faith always meet with good fortune !”’ 
 
 October, 1799. 
 
 57 
 
THE WILL 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Mr. Pearson, a wealthy Lincolnshire farmer, who had 
 always been esteemed a prudent sensible man, though some- 
 thing of a humourist , made the following will : — 
 
 ‘I, John Pearson, of The Wold in Lincolnshire, farmer, 
 being of sound mind and body, do make this my last will and 
 testament, etc. 
 
 ‘ I give and bequeath my farm of West Woldland to my 
 eldest nephew, Grimes Goodenough ; my farm of Holland Fen 
 to my dear nephew, John Wright ; and my farm of Clover-hill 
 to my youngest nephew, Pierce Marvel. 
 
 ‘ 1 farther will and desire that the sum of ten thousand 
 pounds, which is now in the hands of William Constantine, 
 gentleman, my executor, may by him, immediately after my 
 decease, be put out to interest for ten years : and I will and 
 desire that, at the end of the said ten years, the said sum of 
 ten thousand pounds, and the interest so accumulated thereon, 
 be given to whichsoever of my aforesaid nephews shall at that 
 time be the richest. 
 
 ‘ And I trust that the said William Constantine, gentleman, 
 my executor and very good friend, being a clear-headed 
 honest man, will understand and execute this my last will 
 and testament, according to the plain meaning of my words ; 
 though it should happen that this my will should not be 
 drawn up in due legal form, of which I know little or 
 nothing.’ 
 
 Mr. Constantine, the executor, being, as described, a clear- 
 headed honest man, found no difficulty either in understanding 
 
 59 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 or executing this trust ; the ten thousand pounds were, 
 immediately upon Pearson’s decease, placed out upon interest ; 
 and the three nephews were put into possession of their 
 farms. 
 
 These were of very different value. Goodenough’s wanted 
 improvement, but would pay richly for any that should be 
 judiciously made ; Wright’s farm was by far the worst of the 
 three ; and Marvel’s the best. 
 
 The Lincolnshire world was much divided in opinion con- 
 cerning these young men ; and many bets were laid relating to 
 the legacy. People judged according to their own characters : 
 the enterprising declared for Marvel, the prudent for Wright, 
 the timid for Goodenough. 
 
 The nephews had scarcely been in possession of their farms 
 a week when, one evening, as they were all supping together 
 at Wright’s house, Marvel suddenly turned to Goodenough, 
 and exclaimed, ‘ When do you begin your improvements, 
 cousin Goodenough ? 5 
 
 ‘ Never, cousin Marvel.’ 
 
 ‘ Then you’ll never touch the ten thousand, my boy. 
 What ! will you do nothing to your marsh ? Nothing to your 
 common? Nothing to your plantations? Do not you mean 
 ever to make any improvements ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I mean not to make any improvements.’ 
 
 ‘Well, you’ll let me make some for you.’ 
 
 ‘Noth’ 
 
 ‘ No ! Won’t you let me cut down some of those trees for 
 you, that are spoiling one another in your wood ? ’ 
 
 ‘Not a tree shall be cut down. Not a stick shall be 
 stirred. Not a change shall be made, I say.’ 
 
 ‘Not a change for the better, cousin Goodenough?’ said 
 Wright. 
 
 ‘ Not a change can be for the better, to my mind ; I shall 
 plough, and sow, and reap, as our forefathers did, and that’s 
 enough for me.’ 
 
 ‘ What ! will you not even try the new plough ? ’ said 
 Marvel. 
 
 ‘Not I ; no new ploughs for me. No plough can be so 
 good as the old one.’ 
 
 ‘ How do you know, as you never tried it, or would see it 
 tried ? ’ said Wright : ‘ I find it better than the old one.’ 
 
 60 
 
THE WILL 
 
 ‘ No matter ; the old one will do well enough for me, as it 
 did for my father before me.’ 
 
 After having repeated these words in precisely the same tone 
 several times, he went on slowly eating his supper, whilst 
 Marvel, in detestation of his obstinate stupidity, turned his back 
 upon him, and began to enumerate to Wright sundry of his 
 own ingenious projects. 
 
 ‘ My dear Wright,’ said he, ‘ you are worth talking to, and 
 you shall hear all my schemes.’ 
 
 ‘ Willingly ; but I do not promise to approve of them all.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh ! you will, you will, the moment you hear them ; and I 
 will let you have a share in some of them. In the first place, 
 there’s that fine rabbit-warren near Clover-hill. The true 
 silver-grey rabbits — silver sprigs they call them — do you know 
 that the skins of those silver sprigs are worth any money ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Any money ! what money ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Pooh ! I don’t know exactly : but I mean to buy that 
 warren.’ 
 
 ‘ Before you know what it is worth ! Let us consider ; each 
 dozen of skins is worth, say, from ten to fifteen shillings.’ 
 
 ‘ You need not trouble yourself to calculate now,’ interrupted 
 Marvel, ‘ for I have determined to have the warren. With the 
 money that I shall get for my silver sprigs, I will next year 
 make a decoy, and supply the London market with wild-fowl. 
 Don’t you remember the day that we met Simon Stubbs, the 
 carrier, loaded with game and wild-fowl, he said that a decoy in 
 Lincolnshire must be a fortune to any man. I’ll have the best 
 decoy not only in Lincolnshire but in all England. By-the-bye, 
 there’s another thing I must do, Wright ; I’ll exchange any part 
 of Clover-hill you please with you, for as much land in Holland 
 Fen.’ 
 
 ‘ Take him at his word, cousin Wright,’ said Goodenough. 
 
 ‘ No, no,’ replied Wright ; ‘ I know the value of land, and 
 the difference between Clover-hill and Holland Fen, better than 
 he does : I would not take him at his word, for that would be 
 taking him in.’ 
 
 ‘ I would not take anybody in,’ said Goodenough ; ‘ but if 
 another man is a fool, that’s no reason I should be one. Now, 
 if a man offers me a good bargain, why should not I close with 
 him, and say — Done ? ’ 
 
 1 Then say done,’ cried Marvel, ‘ and you shall have the 
 61 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 bargain, Goodenough. You have an undrained marsh of your 
 own : I’ll exchange with you, and welcome, ten acres of the 
 marsh for five of Clover-hill.’ 
 
 ‘ Done,’ said Goodenough. 
 
 ‘ Done. I shall stock it with geese, and you’ll see what the 
 quills and feathers alone will bring me in. I’ve engaged with 
 one already to sell them for me. But, Wright, here’s another 
 scheme I have. Wildmore common, you know, is covered with 
 those huge thistles, which prick the noses of the sheep so as 
 to hinder them from feeding and fattening : I will take that 
 common into my own hands.’ 
 
 ‘ Ay,’ said Goodenough ; ‘ exchange the rest of Clover-hill 
 for it : — that’s like you ! ’ 
 
 ‘And I will mow the thistles,’ pursued Marvel, without 
 deigning to reply to Goodenough. ‘ I will mow the thistles ; 
 their down I can contrive to work up into cotton, and the stalks 
 into cordage : and, with the profit I shall make of these thistles, 
 and of my decoy, and of my goose-quills and feathers, and of 
 my silver sprig rabbits, I will buy jackets for my sheep, for my 
 sheep shall all have jackets after shearing. Why should not 
 Lincolnshire sheep, if they have jackets, become as valuable as 
 the Leicestershire breed ? You’ll see my sheep will be the finest 
 in the whole county ; and, with the profit I shall make of them, 
 I will set up a fishery in Fen -lake ; and with the profits of the 
 fishery — now comes my grand scheme — I shall be the richest 
 of you all ! with the profits of the fishery, and the decoy, and 
 the sheep, and the silver sprigs, and the quills and feathers, 
 geese and thistles, I will purchase that fine heronry, near 
 Spalding.’ 
 
 At these words, Goodenough laid down his knife and fork ; 
 and, sticking his arms akimbo, laughed contemptuously, if not 
 heartily. 
 
 ‘ So, then, the end of all this turmoil is to purchase a heronry ! 
 Much good may it do you, cousin Marvel. You understand 
 your own affair best : you will make great improvements , I grant, 
 and no doubt will be the richest of us all. The ten thousand 
 pounds will be yours for certain : for, as we all know, cousin 
 Marvel, you are a genius ! — But why a genius should set his 
 fancy upon a heronry, of all things in this mortal world, is more 
 than I can pretend to tell, being no genius myself.’ 
 
 ‘ Look here, Wright,’ continued Marvel, still without voucli- 
 62 
 
THE WILL 
 
 safing any direct reply to Goodenough : ‘ here’s a description, 
 in this last newspaper, of the fine present that the Grand Seignior 
 has made to His Majesty. The plume of herons’ feathers alone is 
 estimated at a thousand guineas ! Think of what I shall make 
 by my heronry ! At the end of ten years, I shall be so rich 
 that it will hardly be worth my while,’ said Marvel, laughing, 
 ‘ to accept of my uncle’s legacy. I will give it to you, 
 
 r 
 
 * Goodenough laid down his knife and fork ; and , sticking his amis akimbo , 
 laughed contemptuously 
 
 Wright ; for you are a generous fellow, and I am sure you will 
 deserve it.’ 
 
 In return for this liberal promise, Wright endeavoured to 
 convince Marvel, that if he attempted such a variety of schemes 
 at once, they would probably all fail ; and that to ensure success, 
 it would be necessary to calculate, and to make himself master 
 of the business, before he should undertake to conduct it. 
 Marvel, however, was of too sanguine and presumptuous a 
 
 63 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 temper to listen to this sage advice : he was piqued by the 
 sneers of his cousin Goodenough, and determined to prove the 
 superiority of his own spirit and intellect. He plunged at once 
 into the midst of a business which he did not understand. He 
 took a rabbit-warren of two hundred and fifty acres into his 
 hands ; stocked ten acres of marsh land with geese ; and ex- 
 changed some of the best part of Clover-hill for a share in a 
 common covered with thistles. He planted a considerable tract 
 of land, with a degree of expedition that astonished all the 
 neighbourhood : but it was remarked that the fences were not 
 quite sufficient ; especially as the young trees were in a 
 dangerous situation, being surrounded by land stocked with 
 sheep and horned cattle. Wright warned him of the danger ; 
 but he had no time this year, he said, to complete the fences : 
 the men who tended his sheep might easily keep them from the 
 plantation for this season, and the next spring he purposed to 
 dig such a ditch round the whole as should secure it for ever. 
 He was now extremely busy, making jackets for his sheep, pro- 
 viding willows for his decoy, and gorse and corn for his geese : 
 the geese, of which he had a prodigious flock, were not yet 
 turned into their fen, because a new scheme had occurred to 
 Marvel, relative to some reeds with which a part of this fen was 
 covered ; on these reeds myriads of starlings were accustomed to 
 roost, who broke them down with their weight. Now Marvel 
 knew that such reeds would be valuable for thatching, and with 
 this view he determined to drive away the starlings ; but the 
 measures necessary for this purpose would frighten his friends 
 the geese, and therefore he was obliged to protect and feed them 
 in his farmyard, at a considerable expense, whilst he was carrying 
 on the war with the starlings. He fired guns at them morning 
 and evening, he sent up rockets and kites with fiery tails, and 
 at last he banished them ; but half his geese, in the mean- 
 time, died for want of food ; and the women and children, who 
 plucked them, stole one quarter of the feathers, and one half of 
 the quills, whilst Marvel was absent letting up rockets in the fen. 
 
 The rabbit-warren was, however, to make up for all other 
 losses : a furrier had engaged to take as many silver sprigs from 
 him as he pleased, at sixteen shillings a dozen, provided he 
 should send them properly dressed, and in time to be shipped 
 for China, where these silver-grey rabbit-skins sold to the best 
 advantage. As winter came on, it was necessary to supply the 
 
 64 
 
TIIE WILL 
 
 warren with winter food : and Marvel was much astonished at the 
 multitude of unforeseen expenses into which his rabbits led him. 
 The banks of the warren wanted repair, and the warrener’s house 
 was not habitable in bad weather : these appeared but slight 
 circumstances when Marvel made the purchase ; but, alas ! he 
 had reason to change his opinion in the course of a few months. 
 The first week in November, there was a heavy fall of snow ; 
 and the warren walls should have been immediately cleared of 
 snow, to have kept the rabbits within their bounds : but Marvel 
 happened this week to be on a visit in Yorkshire, and he was 
 obliged to leave the care of the warren entirely to the warrener, 
 w'ho was obliged to quit his house during the snow, and to take 
 shelter with a neighbour : he neglected to clear the walls ; and 
 Marvel, upon his return home, found that his silver sprigs had 
 strayed into a neighbouring warren. The second week in 
 November is the time when the rabbits are usually killed, as the 
 skins are then in full prime : it was in vain that Marvel raised a 
 hue and cry after his silver sprigs ; a fortnight passed away 
 before one-third of them could be recovered. The season was 
 lost, and the furrier sued him for breach of contract ; and what 
 was worse, Goodenough laughed at his misfortunes. The next 
 year he expected to retrieve his loss : he repaired the warrener’s 
 house, new faced the banks, and capped them with furze ; but 
 the common grey rabbit had been introduced into the warren by 
 the stragglers of the preceding year ; and as these grey rabbits 
 are of a much more hardy race than the silver sprigs, they 
 soon obtained and kept possession of the land. Marvel now 
 pronounced rabbits to be the most useless and vexatious animals 
 upon earth ; and, in one quarter of an hour, thoroughly con- 
 vinced himself that tillage was far more profitable than rabbits. 
 He ploughed up his warren, and sowed it with corn ; but, un- 
 luckily, his attention had been so much taken up by the fishery, 
 the decoy, the geese, the thistles, and the hopes of the heronry, 
 that he totally forgot his intention of making the best of all 
 possible ditches round his plantation. When he went to visit 
 this plantation, he beheld a miserable spectacle : the rabbits 
 which had strayed beyond their bounds during the great snow, 
 and those which had been hunted from their burrows when the 
 warren was ploughed up, had all taken shelter in this spot ; and 
 these refugees supported themselves, for some months, upon the 
 bark and roots of the finest young trees. 
 
 F 65 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Marvel’s loss was great, but his mortification still greater ; 
 for his cousin Goodenough laughed at him without mercy. 
 Something must be done, he saw, to retrieve his credit : and 
 the heronry was his resource. 
 
 ‘ What will signify a few trees more or less,’ thought he, 
 
 ‘ or the loss of a few silver sprigs, or the death of a few geese, 
 or the waste of a few quills and feathers ? My sheep will sell 
 well, my thistles will bring me up again ; and as soon as I 
 have sold my sheep at Partney fair, and manufactured my 
 thistles, I will set out with my money in my pocket for 
 Spalding, and make my bargain for the heronry. A plume of 
 herons’ feathers is worth a thousand guineas ! My fortune 
 will be made when I get possession of the Spalding 
 heronry.’ 
 
 So intent was Marvel upon the thoughts of the Spalding 
 heronry, that he neglected everything else. About a week 
 before the fair of Partney, he bethought himself of his sheep, 
 which he had left to the care of a shepherd boy : he now 
 ordered the boy to drive them home, that he might see them. 
 Their jackets hung upon them like bags : the poor animals had 
 fallen away in the most deplorable manner. Marvel could 
 scarcely believe that these were his sheep ; or that these were 
 the sheep which he had expected to be the pride of Lincoln- 
 shire, and which he had hoped would set the fashion of 
 jackets. Behold, they were dying of the rot ! 
 
 ‘ What an unfortunate man 1 am ! ’ exclaimed Marvel, 
 turning to his cousin Wright, whom he had summoned along 
 with Goodenough, in the pride of his heart, to view, value, and 
 admire his sheep. ‘ All your sheep, Wright, are fat and 
 sound : mine were finer than yours when I bought them : how 
 comes it that I am so unlucky ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Jack of all trades, and master of none ! ’ said Goodenough, 
 with a sneer. 
 
 ‘You forgot, I am afraid, what I told you, when first you 
 bought these sheep,’ said Wright, ‘ that you should always keep 
 them in fold, every morning, till the dew was off : if you had 
 done so, they would now be as well and thriving as mine. Do 
 not you remember my telling you that ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes ; and I charged this boy always to keep them in fold 
 till the dew was off,’ replied Marvel, turning with an angry 
 countenance to the shepherd boy. 
 
 66 
 
THE WILL 
 
 ‘ I never heard nothing of it till this minute, I am sure, 
 master,’ said the boy. 
 
 Marvel now recollected that, at the very moment when he 
 was going to give this order to the boy, his attention had been 
 drawn away by the sight of a new decoy in the fields adjoin- 
 ing to his sheep pasture. In his haste to examine the decoy, 
 he forgot to give that order to his shepherd, on which the 
 safety of his fine flock of sheep depended . 1 Such are the 
 negligences and blunders of those who endeavour to do half a 
 dozen things at once. 
 
 The failure of one undertaking never discouraged Marvel 
 from beginning another ; and it is a pity that, with so much 
 spirit and activity, he had so little steadiness and prudence. 
 His sheep died, and he set out for Spalding full of the thoughts 
 of the heronry. Now this heronry belonged to Sir Plantagenet 
 Mowbray, an elderly gentleman, who was almost distracted 
 with family pride : he valued himself upon never having 
 parted with one inch of the landed property that had descended 
 to him, through a long line of ancestors, from the Plantagenets. 
 He looked down upon the whole race of farmers and traders as 
 beings of a different species from himself ; and the indignation 
 with which he heard, from a Lincolnshire farmer, a proposal to 
 purchase his heronry, may perhaps be imagined, but cannot be 
 described. It was in vain that Marvel rose in his offers ; it 
 was in vain that he declared he was ready to give any price 
 that Sir Plantagenet would set upon the heronry. Sir 
 Plantagenet sent word, by his steward, that not a feather of 
 his birds should be touched ; that he was astonished at the 
 insolence of such a proposal ; and that he advised Marvel to 
 keep out of the way of Ms people , lest they should revenge the 
 insult that had been offered to their master. 
 
 This haughty answer, and the disappointment of all his 
 hopes and schemes respecting the heronry, threw Marvel into 
 a degree of rage scarcely inferior to what was felt by Sir 
 
 1 A General View of the Agriculture of the County of Lincoln, p. 330. 
 
 ‘ It well deserves noting that a shepherd, who, when young, was shepherd’s 
 boy to an old man who lived at Netlam, near Lincoln, a place famous for 
 the rot, told Mr. Neve that he was persuaded sheep took the rot only of a 
 morning, before the dew was well off. At that time they folded, being 
 open field : his master’s shepherd kept his flock in fold always till the dew 
 was gone ; and, with no other attention, his sheep were kept sound, when 
 all the neighbours lost their flocks.’ 
 
 6 7 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 Plantagenet. As he was galloping down the avenue from 
 Plantagenet Hall, he overtook a young man, of a shabby 
 appearance, who was mounted upon a very fine horse. At 
 first Marvel took it for granted that he was one of Sir 
 Plantagcnet’s people, and he was riding past him, when he 
 heard the stranger say, in a friendly tone, ‘ Your horse gallops 
 well, sir : but have a care ; there’s a carrion a little way 
 farther on that may startle him.’ 
 
 Marvel pulled in his horse ; the stranger rode up beside him, 
 and they entered into conversation. ‘ That carrion, sir,’ said 
 he, pointing to the dead horse, which had just been shot for the 
 baronet’s son’s hounds, ‘ that carrion, sir, was in my opinion the 
 best horse Sir Plantagenet, or his son either, was possessed of. 
 ’Tis a shame for any man, who pretends to be a gentleman, 
 and who talks this way and that so high of his family, should 
 be so stingy in the article of horseflesh.’ 
 
 Marvel was not unwilling at this instant to hear the haughty 
 baronet blamed and ridiculed ; and his companion exactly fell 
 in with his humour, by telling a variety of anecdotes to prove 
 Sir Plantagenet to be everything that was odious and con- 
 temptible. The history of his insolence about the heronry was 
 now related by Marvel ; and the stranger seemed to sympathise 
 so much in his feelings, that, from a stranger, he began to 
 consider him as a friend. Insensibly the conversation returned 
 to the point at which it commenced ; and his new friend 
 observed that it was in vain to expect anything good from any 
 gentleman, or indeed from any man, who was stingy in the 
 article of horseflesh. 
 
 A new sense of honour and of shame began to rise in our 
 hero’s mind ; and he sat uneasy in his saddle, whilst he 
 reflected that the horse upon which he was mounted was 
 perhaps as deservedly an object of contempt as any of Sir 
 Plantagenet’s stud. His new friend, without seeming to notice 
 his embarrassment, continued his conversation, and drew a 
 tempting picture of the pleasures and glories of a horse-race : 
 he said, ‘he was just training a horse for the York races, and 
 a finer animal never was crossed. Sir Plantagenet’s eldest son 
 would have been the proudest and happiest of men, if his 
 father would but have bought the horse for him : but he had 
 refused, and the youth himself had not the price, or half the 
 price, at his command.’ 
 
 68 
 
THE WILL 
 
 Our hero was no judge of horses, but he was ambitious to 
 prove that his spirit was superior to that of the haughty 
 baronet ; and that something good might be expected from him, 
 as he was not stingy in horseflesh. Besides, he was worked 
 up to a high degree of curiosity to see the York races ; and his 
 companion assured him that he could not appear there without 
 being well mounted. In short, the hour was not at an end 
 before he had offered a hundred guineas for the finest horse 
 that ever was crossed. He was charmed with the idea that he 
 should meet Sir Plantagenet Mowbray’s son and heir at the 
 York races, and should show him that he was able and willing 
 to pay for the horse which his arrogant father could not afford 
 to purchase. 
 
 From the anecdote of the heronry, his companion perceived 
 that Marvel was a man fond of projects ; and he proposed to 
 him a scheme, which caught his fancy so much that it consoled 
 him for his disappointment. It was the fault of our enterprising 
 hero’s character always to think the last scheme for making a 
 fortune the best. As soon as he reached home he was in haste 
 to abandon some of his old projects, which now appeared to him 
 flat, stale, and unprofitable. About a score of his flock, though 
 tainted with the rot, were not yet dead ; he was eager to sell 
 them, but no one would buy sheep of such a wretched appear- 
 ance. At last Wright took them off his hands. ‘ I will throw 
 the threescore jackets into the bargain,’ said Marvel ; ‘ for you 
 are a generous fellow, to offer so handsomely for my poor sheep, 
 and you deserve to be treated as you treat others. If I come 
 in at the end of the ten years for the legacy, I shall remember 
 you, as I told you before : as to my cousin Goodenough here, 
 he thinks so much of himself, that there is no occasion for 
 others to think of him. I asked him to join me in a bond, 
 yesterday, for a hundred pounds, just to try him, and he refused 
 me. When I come in for the legacy, I will cut him off with a 
 shilling, — I will give him fair notice.’ 
 
 ‘ Cut me off with what you will,’ said Goodenough, sullenly, 
 
 ‘ not a farthing of my money shall ever be lent to one that has 
 a project for every day in the year. Get into what difficulties 
 you may, I will never join you in any bond, I promise you. 
 It is enough for me to take care of myself.’ 
 
 ‘ Don’t flatter yourself that I am getting into any difficulties,’ 
 replied Marvel. ‘ I wanted the hundred guineas only to pay 
 
 69 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 for a horse ; and the friend who sold him to me will wait my 
 convenience.’ 
 
 ‘The friend /’ said Wright; ‘do you mean that man who 
 rode home with you from Spalding ? — I advise you not to 
 make a friend of him, for he is a notorious jockey.’ 
 
 ‘ He will not take me in, though,’ said Marvel ; ‘ I am as 
 sharp as he is, and he sees that : so we understand one another 
 very well. To my certain knowledge, a hundred and twenty 
 guineas could be had to-morrow for the horse I bought from 
 him ; yet he let me have him for a hundred.’ 
 
 ‘ And how can a man of your sense, cousin Marvel,’ said 
 Wright, ‘believe that a person, who never saw you till within 
 these three days, would be so much your friend as to make you 
 a present of twenty guineas ? ’ 
 
 ‘ A present ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes ; if he lets you have a horse for a hundred, which you 
 can sell for a hundred and twenty, does not he make you a 
 present of twenty guineas ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Well, but I can tell you the reason for all that : he wants 
 me to enter into a scheme with him, for breeding horses on the 
 common here : and so he would not, at first setting out, stand 
 to higgle with me for the price of a horse.’ 
 
 ‘ And would you for twenty guineas, cousin Marvel, run the 
 hazard of joining in any scheme with a man of his character ? 
 Pray inquire in the country and in York, where you are going, 
 what sort of a character this man bears. Take my advice, 
 pay him for his horse, and have nothing more to do with him.’ 
 
 ‘ But I have not the ready cash to pay him for his horse, 
 that’s one thing,’ said Marvel. 
 
 ‘ Let that be no difficulty,’ replied Wright ; ‘for I have a 
 hundred guineas here, just brought home from Partney fair, 
 and they are heartily at your service.’ 
 
 Goodenough twitched Wright’s elbow three times as he 
 uttered these words : but Wright finished his sentence, and 
 put the money into Marvel’s hands immediately upon his 
 promising to pay for the horse, break off all connection with 
 his friend the jockey, if he should find upon inquiry that he 
 was not a person of good character, and at all events to 
 suspend any treaty with him till after his return from York. 
 
 ‘ Whilst you are gone,’ said Wright, ‘ I will make inquiries 
 about the profit of breeding of horses on the commons. I 
 
 70 
 
THE WILL 
 
 have an acquaintance, a sensible old man, who has kept 
 accounts of what he has done in that way himself ; and he will 
 show us his accounts, from which we shall be able to judge.’ 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Wright heard nothing more of him for about a fortnight ; he 
 then received the following letter : — 
 
 ‘ Dear cousin Wright — It is a very great pity that you 
 could not be persuaded to come along with me to York races, 
 where 1 have seen more of life, and of the world, in a week, 
 than ever I did all my life before.— York is a surprising fine 
 town ; and has a handsome cathedral, and assembly-room : but 
 I am not in the humour, just now, to describe them : so I shall 
 proceed to what is much better worth thinking of. 
 
 ‘ You must know, cousin Wright, that I am in love, and 
 never was I so happy or so miserable in my days. If I was 
 not a farmer there would be some hopes for me ; but, to be 
 sure, it is not to be expected that such a lady as she is should 
 think of a mere country booby ; in which light, indeed, she 
 was pleased to say, as I heard from good authority, she did 
 not consider me ; though my manners wanted polish. These 
 were her own words. I shall spare nothing to please her, if 
 possible, and am not wholly without hope, though I have a 
 powerful rival ; no less a person than the eldest son and heir 
 of Sir Plantagenet Mowbray, Bart. But her virtue will never, 
 I am persuaded, suffer her to listen to such addresses as his. 
 Now mine are honourable, and pure as her soul ; the purity of 
 which no one could doubt, who had seen her last night, as I 
 did, in the character of the Fair Penitent. She was universally 
 admired : and another night sung and danced like an angel. 
 But I can give you no idea of her by pen and ink ; so I 
 beseech you to come and see her, and give your advice to me 
 candidly, for I have the highest opinion of your judgment and 
 good-nature. 
 
 ‘ I find you were quite right about that scoundrel who rode 
 with me from Spalding ! He has arrested me for a hundred 
 
 7i 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 guineas ; and is, without exception, the shabbiest dog 1 ever 
 met with : but I am out of his clutches, and have better friends. 
 
 I will tell you the whole story when we meet, and pay you your 
 hundred with many thanks. Pray set out as soon as you 
 receive this, for every moment is an age to me : and I won’t 
 declare myself, more than I have done, if possible, till you 
 come ; for I have a great opinion of your judgment ; yet hope 
 you won’t put on your severe face, nor be prejudiced against 
 her, because of her being on the stage. Leave such illiberality 
 to cousin Goodenough : it would be quite beneath you ! Pray 
 bring with you that volume of old plays that is at the top of 
 my bed, under the bag of thistles ; or in the basket of reeds 
 that I was making ; or in the out-house, where I keep the 
 goose-quills and feathers. I don’t find my memory so clear, 
 since my head is so full of this charming Alicia Barton. Pray 
 make no delay, as you value the peace of mind of your 
 affectionate cousin and friend, Pierce Marvel. 
 
 ‘ P.S . — Mr. Barton, her brother, is the most generous of 
 men, and the cleverest. He is not averse to the match. Sir 
 Plantagenet Mowbray’s son and heir, who is as insolent as his 
 father, may find that a Lincolnshire farmer is not a person to 
 be despised. I have thoughts of selling my farm of Clover-hill, 
 and of going into another way of life ; for which, as Mr. 
 Barton said, and Alicia hinted, nay, as I am inclined to believe 
 too, I am much better suited than for farming. Of this more 
 when we meet. Pray set out as soon as you receive this. 
 Alicia has dark eyes, and yet a fair complexion. I am sure 
 you will like her.’ 
 
 Far from feeling sure that he would like Miss Alicia Barton, 
 Wright was so much alarmed for his cousin, on the perusal of 
 this letter, that he resolved to set out immediately for York, 
 lest the sale of Clover-hill should be concluded before his 
 arrival. A new project and a new love were, indeed, powerful 
 temptations to one of Marvel’s character. 
 
 As Goodenough was plodding at his accustomed pace in 
 his morning’s work, he met Wright on horseback, who asked 
 him if he had any commissions that he could execute in York, 
 whither he was going. 
 
 ‘None, thank Heaven!’ said Goodenough. ‘So I see it 
 72 
 
THE WILL 
 
 is as I always knew it would be ! Marvel is dicing you into 
 his own ways, and will make you just such another as his self. 
 Ay, you must go to York races ! Well, so much the better for 
 me. Much pleasure to you at the races.’ 
 
 ‘ I am not going to the races ; I am going to do Marvel a 
 service.’ 
 
 ‘ Charity begins at home : that’s my maxim,’ replied Good- 
 enough. 
 
 ‘ It is quite fitting that charity should begin at home,’ said 
 Wright ; ‘but then it should not end at home ; for those that 
 help nobody will find none to help them in time of need.’ 
 
 ‘ Those that help nobody will not be so apt to come to need,’ 
 replied Goodenough. ‘ But yonder’s my men standing idle. If 
 I but turn my head, that’s the way of them. Good-morrow to 
 you, cousin Wright ; I can’t stand argufying here about charity, 
 which won’t plough my ground, nor bring me a jot nearer to the 
 ten thousand pounds legacy : so good-morrow to you. My 
 service to cousin Marvel.’ 
 
 Goodenough proceeded to his men, who were in truth stand- 
 ing idle, as it was their custom to do when their master’s eye 
 was not, as they thought, upon them ; for he kept them so hard 
 at work, when he was present, that not a labouring man in 
 the country would hire himself to Goodenough, when he could 
 get employment elsewhere. Goodenough’s partisans, however, 
 observed that he got his money’s worth out of every man he 
 employed ; and that this was the way to grow rich. The 
 question, said they, is not which of the three nephews will be 
 the best beloved, but which will be the richest at the end of ten 
 years ; and, on this ground, who can dispute that Goodenough’s 
 maxim is the best, ‘ Charity begins at home ’ ? Wright’s friends 
 looked rather alarmed when they heard of this journey to York ; 
 and Marvel’s advocates, though they put a good face upon the 
 matter, heartily wished him safe home. 
 
 Upon Wright’s arrival in York, he found it no easy matter to 
 discover his cousin Marvel ; for he had forgotten to date his 
 letter, and no direction was given to inn or lodging : at last, 
 after inquiring at all the public-houses without success, Wright 
 bethought himself of asking where Miss Alicia Barton, the 
 actress, lodged ; for there he would probably meet her lover. 
 Mr. Harrison, an eminent dyer, to whom he applied for informa- 
 tion, very civilly offered to show him to the house. Wright had 
 
 73 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 gained this dyer’s good opinion by the punctuality with which 
 he had, for three years past, supplied him, at the day and hour 
 appointed, with the quantity of woad for which he had agreed. 
 Punctuality never fails to gain the good opinion of men of 
 business. 
 
 As the dyer walked with Wright to Miss Barton’s lodgings, 
 they entered into conversation about her ; and Wright asked 
 what character she bore. ‘ I know nothing of her character for 
 my own share,’ said Harrison, 1 not being in that line of busi- 
 ness ; but I think I could put you into a way of seeing her in 
 her true colours, whatever they may be ; for she is very intimate 
 with a milliner, whom my wife (though not with my good-will 
 entirely) visits. In return for which, I shall be glad that you 
 will do my business along with your own ; and let me know if 
 anything is going wrong.’ 
 
 The dyer introduced Wright to the milliner as a gentleman 
 farmer, who wanted to take home with him a fashionable cap 
 and bonnet, or two, for some ladies in Lincolnshire. The 
 milliner ordered down some dusty bandboxes, which she pro- 
 tested and vowed were just arrived from London with the newest 
 fashions ; and, whilst she was displaying these, Wright talked of 
 the races, and the players, and Miss Alicia Barton. 
 
 ‘ Is she as handsome as they say ? I have a huge cicr’osity 
 to see her,’ said Wright, feigning more rusticity of manner and 
 more simplicity than was natural to him. ‘ I have, truly, a 
 woundy curiosity to see her, I’ve heard so much of her, even 
 down in Lincolnshire.’ 
 
 ‘ If you go to see the play, sir, you can’t fail to have your 
 curiosity gratified, for Miss Barton plays to-night — (Jenny ! 
 reach me a play-bill) — for her own benefit, and appears in her 
 very best character, the Romp.’ 
 
 ‘ The Romp ! — Odds ! Is that her best character ? Why, 
 now, to my notion, bad’s the best, if that be the best of her 
 characters. The Romp ! — Odds so ! What would our grand- 
 mothers say to that ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, sir, times are changed, as well as fashions, since our 
 grandmothers’ days,’ said the milliner. ‘ Put up this bonnet 
 for the gentleman, Jenny. — I am sure I don’t pretend to say any- 
 thing in favour of the times, whatever I may of the fashions. But, 
 as to fashion, to be sure no one can be more fashionable, here in 
 York, than Miss Barton. All our gentlemen are dying for her.’ 
 
 74 
 
THE WILL 
 
 ‘ Odds my life, I’ll keep out of her way ! And yet I’ve 
 a huge cudosity to set my eyes upon her. Pray, now, could I 
 any way get to the sight or speech of her in a room, or so ? for 
 seeing a woman on the stage is one thing, and seeing her off, 
 as I take it, is another.’ 
 
 ‘ I take it so too, sir. Jenny, put up the cap for the gentle- 
 man, and make out a bill.’ 
 
 ‘ No, no ; the bonnet’s all I want, which I’ll pay for on the 
 nail.’ 
 
 Wright took out a long purse full of guineas : then put it 
 up again, and opened a pocket-book full of bank-notes. The 
 milliner’s respect for him obviously increased. ‘Jenny! Do 
 run and see who’s within there. Miss Barton was trying on her 
 dress, I think, half an hour ago : maybe she’ll pass through 
 this way, and the gentleman may have a sight of her, since it 
 weighs so much upon his mind. Let me put up the cap too, 
 sir : it’s quite the fashion, you may assure the Lincolnshire ladies. 
 — Oh ! here’s Miss Barton.’ 
 
 Miss Barton made her appearance, with all her most be- 
 witching smiles and graces. Without seeming to notice Wright, 
 she seated herself in a charming attitude ; and, leaning pensively 
 on the counter, addressed her conversation to her friend the 
 milliner : but, at every convenient pause, she cast an inquiring 
 glance at Wright, who stood with his long purse of guineas in 
 his hand, and his open pocket-book of bank-notes before him, as 
 if he had been so much astonished by the lady’s appearance that 
 he could not recover his recollection. Now, Wright was a re- 
 markably well-shaped handsome man, and Miss Barton was in 
 reality as much struck by his appearance as he feigned to be by 
 hers. No forbidding reserve condemned him to silence ; and, 
 as if inspired by the hope of pleasing, he soon grew talkative. 
 
 ‘This is the most rare town, this, your town of York,’ 
 said he : ‘I do not well know how I shall ever be able to 
 get myself out of it : so many fine sights, my eyes be quite 
 dazzled ! ’ 
 
 ‘And pray, sir, which of all the fine sights do you like the 
 best?’ said the milliner. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! the ladies be the finest of all the fine sights : and I 
 know who I think the finest lady I ever beheld — but will never 
 tell — never.’ 
 
 ‘ Never, sir ? ’ said the milliner, whilst Miss Barton modestly 
 
 75 
 

 ‘ Leaning pensively on the counter. 
 
THE WILL 
 
 cast down her eyes. ‘ Never’s a bold word, sir. I’ve a notion 
 you’ll live to break that rash resolution.’ 
 
 Miss Barton sighed, and involuntarily looked at the glass. 
 
 ‘ Why, where’s the use,’ pursued Wright, ‘ of being laughed 
 at ? Where’s the sense of being scoffed at, as a man might be, 
 that would go for to pay a compliment, not well knowing how, 
 to a lady that is used to have court made to her by the first 
 gentlemen in all York ?’ 
 
 ‘ Those that think they don’t know how to pay a compliment 
 often pay the best to my fancy,’ said the milliner. 1 What 
 says Miss Barton ? ’ 
 
 Miss Barton sighed and blushed, or looked as if she meant 
 to blush ; and then, raising her well-practised eyes, exclaimed, 
 with theatrical tones and gestures : 
 
 ‘Ye sacred pow’rs, whose gracious providence 
 Is watchful for our good, guard me from men, 
 
 From their deceitful tongues, their vows and flatteries ; 
 
 Still let me pass neglected by their eyes : 
 
 Let my bloom wither and my form decay, 
 
 That none may think it worth their while to ruin me, 
 
 And fatal love may never be my bane.’ 
 
 Scarcely had she concluded her speech, when Pierce Marvel 
 came breathless into the shop. Wright was standing so as to 
 be completely hidden by the door : and Marvel, not seeing his 
 friend, addressed himself, as soon as he had breath, to his mis- 
 tress.— The lady’s manner changed, and Wright had an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing and admiring her powers of acting. To Marvel 
 she was coy and disdainful. 
 
 ‘ I expect my friend and relation in town every hour,’ said 
 he to her in a low voice ; 1 and then I shall be able to settle 
 with your brother about the sale of Clover-hill. You half pro- 
 mised that you would walk with me this morning.’ 
 
 ‘ Not without my brother : excuse me, sir,’ said the coy lady, 
 withdrawing with the dignity of a princess. ‘ When your friend 
 arrives, for whose advice I presume you wait, you will be able 
 to decide your heart. Mine cannot be influenced by base lucre, 
 or mercenary considerations. — Unhand me, sir.’ 
 
 1 1 will run immediately to the inn, to see whether my friend 
 is come,’ cried Marvel. ‘ Believe me, I am as much above 
 mercenary considerations as yourself ; but I have promised not 
 
 77 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 to conclude upon the sale till he comes, and he would take it 
 ill to be sent for, and then to be made a fool of. — I’ll run to 
 the Green Man again immediately, to see if he is come.’ 
 
 Marvel darted out of the shop. Wright, during this parley, 
 which lasted but a few seconds, had kept himself snug in his 
 hiding-place, and appeared to the milliner to be wholly absorbed 
 in casting up his bill, in which there was a shilling wrong. He 
 came from behind the door as soon as Marvel departed ; and, 
 saying that he would call for his purchases in an hour’s time, 
 left the milliner’s, took a hackney coach, and drove to the 
 Green Man, where he was now sure of meeting his cousin. 
 
 ‘ Thank Heaven ! you are come at last,’ cried Marvel, the 
 moment he saw him. ‘ Thank Heaven ! you are come ! do 
 not let us lose a moment. If you are not tired, if you are not 
 hungry, come along with me, and I’ll introduce you to my 
 charming Alicia Barton.’ 
 
 ‘ I am both tired and hungry,’ replied Wright : ‘ so let us 
 have a hot beef-steak, and let me sit down and rest myself.’ 
 
 It was the utmost stretch of Marvel’s patience to wait for 
 the beef-steak ; and he could scarcely conceive how any one 
 could prefer eating it to seeing his charming Alicia. He did 
 not eat a morsel himself, but walked up and down the room 
 with quick steps. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! my dear Wright,’ cried he, ‘it is a sign you’ve never 
 seen her, or you would eat a little faster.’ 
 
 ‘ Does everybody eat fast who has seen Miss Barton ? ’ 
 said Wright ; ‘ then to be sure I should ; for I have seen her 
 within this half-hour.’ 
 
 ‘ Seen her ! Seen Alicia ! Seen her within this half-hour ! 
 That’s impossible. — How could you see her ? Where could 
 you see her ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I saw her in your company,’ rejoined Wright, coolly. 
 
 ‘ In my company ! How could that be, without my seeing 
 you ? — You are making a jest of me.’ 
 
 ‘Not at all ; only take care that you do not make a jest of 
 yourself. I assure you that I say nothing but truth : I’ve seen 
 you and your Miss Barton this very morning : nay, I’ll tell you 
 what you said to her ; you told her that you could not sell 
 Clover-hill till I came to town.’ 
 
 Marvel stared, and stood in silent astonishment. 
 
 ‘Ay,’ continued Wright, ‘you see by this how many things 
 
 78 
 
TIIE WILL 
 
 may pass before a man’s eyes and ears, when he is in love, 
 without his seeing or hearing them. Why, man, I was in the 
 milliner’s shop just now, standing in the corner behind the 
 door ; but you could see nothing but your charming Miss 
 Barton.’ 
 
 ‘ I beg your pardon for being so blind,’ said Marvel, laugh- 
 ing ; ‘ but you are too good-natured to take offence ; though 
 you don’t know what it is to be in love.’ 
 
 ‘ There you are mistaken ; for I am as much in love as 
 yourself at this instant.’ 
 
 ‘ Then I’m undone,’ cried Marvel, turning as pale as death. 
 
 ‘ Why so ? ’ said Wright ; ‘ will you allow nobody, man, to 
 be in love but yourself? I don’t see why I have not as good 
 a right to fall in love as you have.’ 
 
 ‘To be sure you have,’ said Marvel, trying to recover him- 
 self ; ‘ and I can’t say but what you deal fairly by me, to tell 
 me so honestly at once. More fool I to send for you. I 
 might have foreseen this, blockhead as I am ! but you deal 
 fairly by me, Wright : so I cannot complain, and will not, 
 happen what may. Let him who can win her, wear her. We 
 start fair ; for though I have had the advantage of a first 
 acquaintance, you are much the handsomer man of the two ; 
 and that goes for a great deal with some ladies, though not 
 perhaps with Alicia Barton.’ 
 
 ‘ There, perhaps, you may find yourself mistaken,’ replied 
 Wright, with a significant look. 
 
 ‘You don’t say so ? You don’t think so?’ cried Marvel, 
 with great emotion. 
 
 ‘ I say what I think ; and, if I may trust a woman’s looks, 
 I’ve some reason for my thoughts.’ 
 
 Marvel took up the tankard which stood on the table, and 
 swallowed down a hasty draught ; and then said, though with 
 an altered voice, ‘Cousin Wright, let him who can win her, 
 wear her, as I said before. I shan’t quarrel with you if you 
 deal fairly by me ; so tell me honestly, did you never see her 
 before this morning ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Never, as I am an honest man,’ said Wright. 
 
 ‘Then, here’s my hand for you,’ said Marvel. ‘All’s fair 
 and handsome on your part. Happen what may, as 1 said 
 before, I will not quarrel with you. If she was decreed to fall 
 in love with you at first sight, why that’s no fault of yours ; and 
 
 79 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 if she tells me so fairly, why no great fault of hers. She has 
 encouraged me a little ; but still women will change their 
 minds, and I shall not call her a jilt if she speaks handsomely 
 to me. It will go a little to my heart at first, no doubt ; but I 
 shall bear it like a man, I hope ; and I shall not quarrel with 
 you, cousin Wright, whatever else I do.’ 
 
 Marvel shook Wright’s hand heartily ; but turned away 
 directly afterwards, to hide his agitation. 
 
 ‘ Why now, cousin Marvel, you are a good fellow ; that’s 
 the truth of it,’ said Wright. ‘Trust to me: and, if the girl 
 is what you think her, you shall have her : that I promise you.’ 
 
 ‘ That’s more than you can promise, being as you say as 
 much in love as I am . 5 
 
 ‘ I say I’m more in love than you are : but what then, I 
 ask you ? ’ 
 
 ‘ What then ! why, we cannot both have Alicia Barton.’ 
 
 ‘Very true. I would not have her if you would give her 
 to me . 5 
 
 ‘ Would not have her ! ’ cried Marvel, with a look of joyous 
 astonishment : ‘ but, did not you tell me you were in love with 
 her ? 5 
 
 ‘Not I. You told it to yourself. I said I was in love; 
 but cannot a man be in love with any woman in this whole 
 world but Miss Barton ? 5 
 
 Marvel capered about the room with the most lively expres- 
 sions of delight, shook hands with his cousin, as if he would 
 have pulled his arm off, and then suddenly stopping, said, 
 ‘ But what do you think of my Alicia ? Though you are not 
 in love with her, I hope you think well of her ? 5 
 
 ‘ I must see more of her before I am qualified to speak . 5 
 
 ‘ Nay, nay, no drawbacks : out with it. I must know what 
 you think of her at this time being . 5 
 
 ‘ At this time being, then, I think, she is what they call a 
 
 coquette . 5 
 
 ‘ Oh, there you are out, indeed, cousin Wright ! she’s more 
 of what they call a prude than a coquette . 5 
 
 ‘ To you, perhaps ; but not to me, cousin. Let every one 
 speak of her as they find,’ replied Wright. 
 
 Marvel grew warm in defence of Miss Barton’s prudery ; 
 and at last ended by saying, ‘ that he’d stake his life upon it, 
 she was no jilt. If she had taken a fancy to you, Wright, she 
 
 80 
 
THE WILL 
 
 would honestly tell me so, I’m convinced ; and, when she finds 
 you are thinking of another woman, her pride would soon make 
 her think no more of you. ’Tis but little she could have thought 
 in the few minutes you were in her company ; and it is my 
 opinion she never thought of you at all — no offence.’ 
 
 ‘No offence, I promise you,’ said Wright; ‘but let us put 
 her to the trial : do you keep your own counsel ; go on court- 
 ing her your own way, and let me go mine. Don’t you say 
 one word of my being here in York ; but put her off about the 
 sale of Clover-hill, till such time as you are sure of her heart.’ 
 
 To this proposal Marvel joyfully agreed ; and, as to the 
 time of trial, Wright asked only one week. His cousin then 
 told him the new scheme, from which he expected to make so 
 much : it had been suggested by Alicia’s brother. ‘ I am to 
 sell Clover-hill ; and, with the money that I get for it, Barton 
 and I are to build and fit up a theatre in Lincoln, and be the 
 managers ourselves. I assure you, he says, and they all say, 
 I should make a figure on the stage : and Miss Barton whispered, 
 in my hearing, that I should make a capital Lothario,’ added 
 Marvel, throwing himself into a stage attitude, and reciting, in 
 a voice that made Wright start, 
 
 ‘ Earth, Heav’n, and fair Calista, judge the combat.’ 
 
 ‘Very fine, no doubt,’ said Wright ; ‘but I am no judge of 
 these matters ; only this I am sure of, that, with respect to 
 selling Clover-hill, you had best go slowly to work, and see 
 what the sister is, before you trust to the brother. It is not 
 for my interest, I very well know, to advise you against this 
 scheme ; because, if I wanted to make certain of your not 
 coming in for my uncle’s legacy, I could not take a better way 
 than to urge you to follow your fancy. For, say that you lay 
 out all you have in the world on the building of this playhouse, 
 and say that Barton’s as honest a man as yourself : observe, 
 your playhouse cannot be built in less than a couple of years, 
 and the interest of your money must be dead all that time ; 
 and pray how are you to bring yourself up, by the end of the 
 ten years ? Consider, there are but seven years of the time to 
 come.’ 
 
 Marvel gave his cousin hearty thanks for his disinterested 
 advice, but observed that actors and managers of playhouse 
 were, of all men, they who were most likely to grow 
 G 81 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 trice ; that they often cleared many hundreds in one night for 
 their benefits ; that, even if he should fail to hit the public taste 
 himself, as an actor, he was sure at least, if he married the 
 charming Alicia, that she would be a source of inexhaustible 
 wealth. ‘Not,’ added he, ‘that I think of her in that light; 
 for my soul is as much superior to mercenary considerations as 
 her own.’ 
 
 ‘ More, perhaps,’ said Wright ; but seeing fire flash in his 
 cousin’s eyes at this insinuation, he contented himself for the 
 present with the promise he had obtained, that nothing should 
 be concluded till the end of one week ; that no mention should 
 be made to Miss Barton, or her brother, of his arrival in town ; 
 and that he should have free liberty to make trial of the lady’s 
 truth and constancy, in any way he should think proper. Back 
 to his friend the milliner’s he posted directly. Miss Barton 
 was gone out upon the race-ground in Captain Mowbray’s 
 curricle : in her absence, Wright was received very graciously 
 by the milliner, who had lodgings to let, and who readily 
 agreed to let them to him for a week, as he offered half a 
 guinea more than she could get from anybody else. She 
 fancied that he was deeply smitten with Miss Barton’s charms, 
 and encouraged his passion, by pretty broad hints that it was 
 reciprocal. Miss Barton drank tea this evening with the 
 milliner : Wright was of the party, and he was made to under- 
 stand that others had been excluded: ‘for Miss Barton,’ her 
 friend observed, ‘ was very nice as to her company.’ 
 
 Many dexterous efforts were made to induce Wright to lay 
 open his heart ; for the dyer’s lady had been cross-questioned 
 as to his property in Lincolnshire, and she, being a lover of the 
 marvellous, had indulged herself in a little exaggeration ; so 
 that he was considered as a prize, and Miss Barton’s imagina- 
 tion settled the matter so rapidly, that she had actually agreed 
 to make the milliner a handsome present on the wedding-day. 
 Upon this hint, the milliner became anxious to push forward 
 the affair. Marvel, she observed, hung back about the sale of 
 his estate ; and, as to Sir Plantagenet Mowbray’s son, he was 
 bound hand and foot by his father, so could do nothing genteel : 
 besides, honourable matrimony was out of the question there. 
 
 All these things considered, the milliner’s decision was, on 
 perfectly prudential and virtuous motives, in favour of Wright. 
 Miss Barton’s heart , to use her own misapplied term, spoke 
 
 82 
 
THE WILL 
 
 warmly in his favour ; for he was, without any comparison, the 
 handsomest of her lovers ; and his simplicity and apparent 
 ignorance of the world were rather recommendations than 
 objections. 
 
 Upon her second interview with him, she had, however, 
 some reason to suspect that his simplicity was not so great as 
 she had imagined. She was surprised to observe that, not- 
 withstanding all their artful hints, Wright came to nothing like 
 a positive proposal, nor even to any declaration of his passion. 
 The next day she was yet more astonished ; for Wright, though 
 he knew she was a full hour in the milliner’s shop, never made 
 the slightest attempt to see her ; nay, in the evening, he met 
 her on the public walk, and passed without more notice than a 
 formal bow, and without turning his head back to look after 
 her, though she was flirting with a party of gentlemen, expressly 
 for the purpose of exciting his jealousy. 
 
 Another consultation was held with her friend the milliner : 
 ‘These men are terrible creatures to deal with,’ said her 
 confidant. ‘ Do you know, my dear creature, this man, simple 
 as he looks, has been very near taking us in. Would you 
 believe it ? he is absolutely courting a Lincolnshire lady for a 
 wife. He wrote a letter to her, my dear Alicia, this morning, 
 and begged me to let my boy run with it to the post-office. I 
 winded and winded, saying he was mighty anxious about the 
 letter, and so on, till, at the last, out comes the truth. Then I 
 touched him about you ; but he said, “ an actress was not fit 
 for a farmer’s wife, and that you had too many admirers 
 already.” You see, my dear creature, that he has none of the 
 thoughts we built upon. Depend upon it he is a shrewd man, 
 and knows what he is about ; so, as we cannot do better than 
 Marvel, my advice ’ 
 
 ‘ Your advice ! ’ interrupted Miss Barton : ‘ I shall follow no 
 advice but my own.’ She walked up and down the small 
 parlour in great agitation. 
 
 ‘ Do as you please, my dear ; but remember I cannot afford 
 to lay out of my money to all eternity. The account between 
 us has run up to a great sum ; the dresses were such as never 
 were made up before in York, and must be paid for accordingly, 
 as you must be sensible, Miss Barton. And when you have an 
 opportunity of establishing yourself so handsomely, and getting 
 all your debts paid ; and when your brother who was here an 
 
 83 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 hour ago, presses the match with Mr. Marvel so much ; it is 
 very strange and unaccountable of you to say “you will take 
 nobody’s advice but your own ” ; and to fall in love, ma’am, as 
 you are doing, as fast as you can, with a person who has no 
 serious intentions, and is going to be married to another 
 woman. For shame, Miss Barton ; is this behaving with 
 proper propriety ? Besides, I’ve really great regard for that 
 poor young man that you have been making a fool of ; I’m sure 
 he is desperately in love with you.’ 
 
 ‘Then let him show it, and sell Clover-hill,’ said Miss 
 Barton. 
 
 Her mind balanced between avarice and what she called 
 love. She had taken a fancy to Wright, and his present cold- 
 ness rather increased than diminished her passion : he played 
 his part so well, that she could not tell how to decide. In the 
 meantime, the milliner pressed for her money ; and Alicia’s 
 brother bullied loudly in favour of Marvel : he had engaged the 
 milliner, whom he was courting, to support his opinion. 
 Marvel, though with much difficulty, stood his ground, and 
 refused to sell Clover-hill till he should be perfectly sure that 
 Miss Barton would marry him, and till his relation should 
 arrive in town and give his consent. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Mr. Barton and the milliner now agreed, that if fair means 
 would not bring the charming Alicia to reason, others must be 
 used ; and it was settled that she should be arrested for her 
 debt to the milliner, which was upwards of fifty pounds. ‘ She 
 knows,’ said this considerate brother, ‘ that I have neither the 
 power nor the will to pay the money. Sir Plantagenet’s son is 
 as poor as Job ; so she must have recourse to Marvel ; and, if 
 she gives him proper encouragement, he’ll pay the money in a 
 trice. As to this man, who lodges with you, let her apply to 
 him if she likes it ; she will soon see how he will answer her. 
 By your account he is a shrewd fellow, and not like our friend 
 Marvel.’ 
 
 On Friday morning the charming Alicia was arrested, at 
 
 84 
 
THE WILL 
 
 the suit of her dear friend and confidant, the milliner. The 
 arrest was made in the milliner’s shop. Alicia would doubtless 
 have screamed and fainted, with every becoming spirit and 
 grace, if any spectators had been present : but there was no 
 one in the shop to admire or pity. She rushed with dishevelled 
 hair, and all the stage show of distraction, into Wright’s apart- 
 ment ; but, alas ! he was not to be found. She then composed 
 herself, and wrote the following note to Marvel : — 
 
 ‘To Marvel, Esq., etc. 
 
 ‘ At the Green Man. 
 
 ‘ Much as it hurts the delicacy and wounds the pride of 
 Alicia, she is compelled, by the perfidy of a bosom friend of 
 her own sex, to apply for assistance and protection to one who 
 will feel for the indignity that has been shown her. How will 
 his generous nature shudder, when he hears that she is on the 
 point of being dragged to a loathsome dungeon, for want of 
 the paltry sum of fifty pounds ! Retrospection may convince 
 the man of her heart, that her soul is superior to mercenary 
 considerations ; else, she would not now be reduced so low in 
 the power of her enemies : she scarcely knows what she writes 
 — her heart bleeds — her brain is on fire ! 
 
 ‘ Celestial sounds ! Peace dawns upon my soul, 
 
 And every pain grows less. Oh ! gentle Altamont, 
 
 Think not too hardly of me when I’m gone, 
 
 But pity me. Had I but early known 
 
 Thy wondrous worth, thou excellent young man, 
 
 We had been happier both. Now ’tis too late. 
 
 And yet my eyes take pleasure to behold thee ! 
 
 Thou art their last dear object. — Mercy, Heav’n ! 
 
 ‘ Your affectionate, and (shall I confess it ?) too affectionate, 
 
 ‘ Alicia.’ 
 
 Marvel was settling some accounts with Wright when this 
 note was put into his hands : scarcely had he glanced his eye 
 over it, when he started up, seized a parcel of bank-notes, 
 which lay on the table, and was rushing out of the room. 
 Wright caught hold of his arm, and stopped him by force. 
 
 ‘Where now? What now, Marvel ?’ said he. 
 
 ‘ Do not stop me, Wright ! I will not be stopped ! She 
 
 85 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 has been barbarously used. They are dragging her to prison. 
 — They have driven her almost out of her senses. I must go 
 to her this instant.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, well, don’t go without your hat, man, for the people 
 in the street will take you for a lunatic. May a friend see this 
 letter that has driven you out of your senses ? ’ 
 
 Marvel put it into Wright’s hands, who read it with wonder- 
 ful composure ; and when he came to the end of it, only said 
 — ‘ Hum ! ’ 
 
 1 Hum ! ’ repeated Marvel, provoked beyond measure ; ‘ you 
 have no humanity. You are most strangely prejudiced. You 
 are worse than Goodenough. Why do you follow me ? ’ con- 
 tinued he, observing that Wright was coming after him across 
 the inn-yard into the street. 
 
 ‘ I follow you to take care of you,’ said Wright, calmly : 
 ‘ and though you do stride on at such a rate, I’ll be bound to 
 keep up with you.’ 
 
 He suffered Marvel to walk on at his own pace for the 
 length of two streets, without saying another word ; but just 
 as they were turning the corner into the square where the 
 milliner lived he again caught hold of his cousin’s arm, and 
 said to him : ‘ Hark you, Marvel ; will you trust me with those 
 bank-notes that you have in your pocket ? and will you let me 
 step on to the milliner’s, and settle this business for you ? I 
 see it will cost you fifty pounds, but that I cannot help. You 
 may think yourself well off.’ 
 
 ‘ Fifty pounds ! What are fifty pounds ? ’ cried Marvel, 
 hurrying forwards. ‘ You see that my Alicia must be superior 
 to mercenary considerations ; for, though she knows I have a 
 good fortune, that could not decide her in my favour.’ 
 
 ‘ No, because she fancies that I have a better fortune ; and, 
 besides (for there are times when a man must speak plainly), 
 I’ve a notion she would at this minute sooner be my mistress 
 than your wife, if the thing were fairly tried. She’ll take your 
 money as fast as you please ; and I may take her as fast as I 
 please.’ 
 
 Incensed at these words, Marvel could scarcely restrain his 
 passion within bounds : but Wright, without being moved, con- 
 tinued to speak. 
 
 ‘ Nay, then, cousin, if you don’t believe me, put it to the 
 test ! — I’ll wait here, at this woollen-draper’s, where 1 am to 
 
 86 
 
THE WILL 
 
 dine : do you go on to your milliner’s, and say what you 
 please, only let me have my turn for half an hour this evening ; 
 and, if I am mistaken in the lady, I’ll freely own it, and make 
 all due apology.’ 
 
 In the afternoon, Marvel came to Wright with a face full of 
 joy and triumph. ‘ Go to my Alicia now, cousin Wright,’ said 
 he : 1 I defy you. She is at her lodging. — She has promised 
 to marry me ! I am the happiest man in the world ! ’ 
 
 Wright said not a word, but departed. Now he had in his 
 pocket an unanswered billet-doux, which had been laid upon 
 his table the preceding night : the billet-doux had no name to 
 it ; but, from all he had remarked of the lady’s manners 
 towards him, he could not doubt that it was the charming 
 Alicia’s. He was determined to have positive proof, however, 
 to satisfy Marvel’s mind completely. The note which he had 
 received was as follows : — 
 
 ‘ What can be the cause of your cruel and sudden change 
 towards one of whom you lately appeared to think so partially ? 
 A certain female friend may deceive you, by false representa- 
 tions : do not trust to her, but learn the real sentiments of a 
 fond heart from one who knows not how to feign. Spare the 
 delicacy of your victim, and guess her name.’ 
 
 To this note, from one ‘who knew not how to feign,’ 
 Wright sent the following reply : — 
 
 ‘ If Miss Barton knows anything of a letter that was left at 
 Mrs. Stokes’s, the milliner’s, last night, she may receive an 
 answer to her questions from the bearer ; who, being no 
 scholar, hopes she will not take no offence at the shortness of 
 these lines, but satisfy him in the honour of drinking tea with 
 her, who waits below stairs for an answer.’ 
 
 The charming Alicia allowed him the honour of drinking 
 tea with her, and was delighted with the thought that she had 
 at last caught him in her snares. The moment she had hopes 
 of him, she resolved to break her promise to Marvel ; and by 
 making a merit of sacrificing to Wright all his rivals, she had 
 no doubt that she should work so successfully upon his vanity, 
 as to induce him to break off his treaty with the Lincolnshire 
 lady. 
 
 87 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Wright quickly let her go on with the notion that she had 
 the game in her own hands ; at length he assumed a very 
 serious look, like one upon the point of forming some grand 
 resolution ; and turning half away from her, said : 
 
 ‘ But now, look ye, Miss Barton, I am not a sort of man 
 who would like to be made a fool of. Here I’m told half the 
 gentlemen of York are dying for you ; and, as your friend Mrs. 
 Stokes informed ’ 
 
 ‘ Mrs. Stokes is not my friend, but the basest and most 
 barbarous of enemies,’ cried Alicia. 
 
 ‘ Why, now, this is strange ! She was your friend yester- 
 day ; and how do I know but a woman may change as quick, 
 and as short, about her lovers, as about her friends ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I never can change : fear nothing,’ said Alicia, tenderly. 
 
 ‘ But let me finish what I was saying about Mrs. Stokes ; 
 she told me something about one Mr. Marvel, I think they 
 call him ; now what is all that ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Nothing : he is a foolish young man, who was desperately 
 in \< ve with me, that’s all, and offered to marry me ; but, as I 
 to! him, I am superior to mercenary considerations.’ 
 
 ‘ And is the affair broke off, then ? ’ said Wright, looking 
 her full in the face. ‘ That’s in one word what I must be sure 
 of : for I am not a man that would choose to be jilted. Sit 
 vou down and pen me a farewell to that same foolish young 
 fellow. I am a plain-spoken man, and now you have my 
 mind.’ 
 
 Miss Barton was now persuaded that all Wright’s coldness 
 had proceeded from jealousy : blinded by her passions, and 
 alarmed by the idea that this was the moment in which she 
 must either secure or for ever abandon Wright and his fortune, 
 she consented to his proposal, and wrote the following tender 
 adieu to Marvel : — 
 
 ‘To Marvel, Esq., etc. 
 
 ‘ At the Green Man. 
 
 ‘ Sir — Circumstances have occurred, since I had last the 
 honour of seeing you, which make it impossible that I should 
 ever think of you more. Alicia Barton.’ 
 
 Wright said he was perfectly satisfied with this note ; and 
 
THE WILL 
 
 all that he now desired was to be himself the bearer of it to 
 Marvel. 
 
 ‘ He is a hot-headed young man,’ said Alicia ; 1 he will per- 
 haps quarrel with you : let me send the letter by a messenger 
 of my own. You don’t know him ; you will not be able to find 
 him out. Besides, why will you deprive me of your company ? 
 Cannot another carry this note as well as you ? ’ 
 
 ‘None shall carry it but myself/ said Wright, holding fast 
 his prize. She was apprehensive of losing him for ever, if she 
 opposed what she thought his jealous humour ; so she struggled 
 no longer to hold him, but bade him make haste to return to 
 his Alicia. 
 
 He returned no more ; but the next morning she received 
 from him the following note 
 
 ‘To Miss Alicia Barton, etc. 
 
 ‘ Madam — Circumstances have occurred, since I had last 
 the honour of seeing you, which make it impossible that I 
 should ever think of you more. John Wright. 
 
 ‘ P.S .— My cousin, Marvel, thanks you for your note. 
 Before you receive this, he will have left York wiser than he 
 came into it by fifty guineas and more.’ 
 
 ‘ Wiser by more than fifty guineas, I hope,’ said Marvel, 
 as he rode out of town, early in the morning. 
 
 ‘ I have been on the point of being finely taken in ! I’m 
 sure this will be a lesson to me as long as I live. I shall 
 never forget your good-nature, and steadiness to me, Wright. 
 Now, if it had not been for you, I might have been married 
 to this jade ; and have given her and her brother everything 
 I’m worth in the world. Well, well, this is a lesson I shall 
 remember. I’ve felt it sharply enough. Now I’ll turn my 
 head to my business again, if I can. How Goodenough 
 would laugh at me if he knew this story. But I’ll make up 
 for all the foolish things I have done yet before I die ; and I 
 hope, before I die, I may be able to show you, cousin Wright, 
 how much I am obliged to you : that would be greater joy to 
 me even than getting by my own ingenuity my uncle Pearson’s 
 ten thousand pound legacy. Do, Wright, find out something 
 I can do for you, to make amends for all the trouble I’ve 
 
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 given you, and all the time I have made you waste : do, there’s 
 a good fellow.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, then,’ said Wright, ‘ I don’t want to saddle you 
 with an obligation. You shall pay me in kind directly, since 
 you are so desirous of it. I told you I was in love : you shall 
 come with me and see my mistress, to give me your opinion 
 of her. Every man can be prudent for his neighbour : even 
 you no doubt can,’ added Wright, laughing. 
 
 Wright’s mistress was a Miss Banks, only daughter to a 
 gentleman who had set up an apparatus for manufacturing 
 woad. Mr. Banks’s house was in their way home, and they 
 called there. They knocked several times at the door, before 
 any one answered : at last a boy came to hold their horses, 
 who told them that Mr. Banks was dead, and that nobody 
 could be let into the house. The boy knew nothing of the 
 matter, except that his master died, he believed, of a sort of a 
 fit ; and that his young mistress was in great grief : 1 which 
 I’m mortal sorry for,’ added he: ‘for she be’s kind-hearted 
 and civil-spoken, and moreover did give me the very shoes I 
 have on my feet.’ 
 
 ‘ I wish I could see her,’ said Wright ; ‘ I might be some 
 comfort to her.’ 
 
 ‘ Might ye so, master ? If that the thing be so,’ said the 
 boy, looking earnestly in Wright’s face, ‘ I’ll do my best 
 endeavours.’ 
 
 He ran off at full speed through the back yard, but re- 
 turned to learn the gentleman’s name, which he had forgotten 
 to ask ; and presently afterwards he brought his answer. It 
 was written with a pencil, and with a trembling hand : 
 
 ‘ My dear Mr. Wright — I cannot see you now : but you 
 shall hear from me as soon as I am able to give an answer to 
 your last. S. Banks.’ 
 
 The words, ‘ My dear,’ were half rubbed out : but they 
 were visible enough to his eyes. Wright turned his horse’s 
 head homewards, and Marvel and he rode away. His heart 
 was so full that he could not speak, and he did not hear what 
 Marvel said to comfort him. As they were thus riding on 
 slowly, they heard a great noise of horsemen behind them ; 
 and, looking back, they saw a number of farmers, who were 
 
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 riding after them. As they drew near, Wright’s attention was 
 roused by hearing the name of Banks frequently repeated. 
 ‘ What news, neighbour ? ’ said Marvel. 
 
 ‘ The news is, that Mr. Banks is dead ; he died of an 
 apoplectic fit, and has left his daughter a power o’ money, 
 they say. Happy the man who gets her ! Good-morrow to 
 you, gentlemen ; we’re in haste home.’ 
 
 After receiving this intelligence, Wright read his mistress’s 
 note over again, and observed that he was not quite pleased 
 to see the words ‘My dear’ half rubbed out. Marvel ex- 
 claimed, ‘ Have nothing more to do with her ; that’s my ad- 
 vice to you ; for I would not marry any woman for her 
 fortune ; especially if she thought she was doing me a favour. 
 If she loved you, she would not have rubbed out those words 
 at such a time as this.’ 
 
 ‘ Stay a bit,’ said Wright ; ‘ we shall be better able to 
 judge by and by.’ 
 
 A week passed away, and Wright heard nothing from Miss 
 Banks ; nor did he attempt to see her, but waited as patiently 
 as he could for her promised letter. At last it came. The 
 first word was ‘ Sir.’ That was enough for Marvel, who 
 threw it down with indignation when his cousin showed it to 
 him. ‘Nay, but read it, at least,’ said Wright. 
 
 ‘Sir — M y poor father’s affairs have been left in great 
 disorder ; and instead of the fortune which you might have 
 expected with me, I shall have little or nothing. The 
 creditors have been very kind to me ; and I hope in time to 
 pay all just debts. I have been much hurried with business, 
 or should have written sooner. Indeed it is no pleasant task 
 to me to write at all, on this occasion. I cannot unsay what 
 I have said to you in former times, for 1 think the same of 
 you as ever I did : but I know that I am not now a fit match 
 for you as to fortune, and would not hold any man to his 
 word, nor could value any man enough to marry him who 
 would break it. Therefore it will be no grief for me to break 
 off with you if such should be your desire. And no blame 
 shall be thrown upon you by my friends, for I will take the 
 refusal upon myself. I know the terms of your uncle’s will, 
 and the great reason you have to wish for a good fortune with 
 your wife ; so it is very natural — I mean very likely, you may 
 
 9 1 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 not choose to be burdened with a woman who has none. 
 Pray speak your mind freely to, sir, your humble servant, 
 
 ‘ S. Banks.’ 
 
 Marvel had no sooner read this letter than he advised his 
 friend Wright to marry Miss Banks directly. 
 
 ‘ That is what I have determined to do,’ said Wright : 
 ‘ for I don’t think money the first thing in the world ; and I 
 would sooner give up my uncle Pearson’s legacy this minute 
 than break my word to any woman, much less to one that I 
 love, as I do Miss Banks, better now than ever. I have just 
 heard from the steward, who brought this letter, how hand- 
 somely and prudently she has behaved to other people, as 
 well as to myself : by which I can judge most safely. She 
 has paid all the debts that were justly due, and has sold even 
 the gig, which I know she wished to keep ; but, seeing that 
 it was not suited to her present circumstances, her good sense 
 has got the better. Now, to my mind, a prudent wife, even 
 as to money matters, may turn out a greater treasure to a 
 man than what they call a great fortune.’ 
 
 With these sentiments Wright married Miss Banks, who 
 was indeed a very prudent, amiable girl. Goodenough sneered 
 at this match ; and observed that he had always foretold 
 Wright would be taken in, sooner or later. Goodenough was 
 now in his thirty-second year, and as he had always deter- 
 mined to marry precisely at this age, he began to look about 
 for a wife. He chose a widow, said to be of a very close 
 saving temper : she was neither young, handsome, nor agree- 
 able ; but then she was rich, and it was Goodenough’s notion 
 that the main chance should be first considered, in matrimony 
 as in everything else. Now this notable dame was precisely 
 of his way of thinking ; but she had more shrewdness than her 
 lover, and she overreached him in the bargain : her fortune 
 did not turn out to be above one-half of what report had re- 
 presented it ; her temper was worse than even her enemies 
 said it was ; and the time that was daily wasted in trifling 
 disputes between this well-matched pair was worth more than 
 all the petty savings made by her avaricious habits. 
 
 Goodenough cursed himself ten times a day, during the 
 honeymoon ; but as he did not like to let the neighbours know 
 how far he had been outwitted, he held his tongue with the 
 
 92 
 
THE WILL 
 
 fortitude of a martyr ; and his partisans all commended him 
 for making so prudent a match. 
 
 ‘Ah, ay,’ said they, ‘there’s Wright, who might have had 
 this very woman, has gone and married a girl without a 
 shilling, with all his prudence ; and, as to Marvel, he will 
 surely be bit.’ There they were mistaken. Marvel was a 
 person capable of learning from experience, and he never 
 forgot the lesson that he had received from the charming 
 Alicia. It seemed to have sobered him completely. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 About this time, Mr. James Harrison, an eminent dyer, uncle 
 to Wright’s friend of that name at York, came to settle near 
 Clover-hill ; and as Marvel was always inclined to be hospitable, 
 he assisted his new neighbour with many of those little con- 
 veniences which money cannot always command at the moment 
 they are wanted. The dyer was grateful ; and, in return for 
 Marvel’s civilities, let him into many of the mysteries of the dye- 
 ing business, which he was anxious to understand. Scarcely a 
 day passed without his calling on Mr. James Harrison. Now, 
 Mr. Harrison had a daughter, Lucy, who was young and 
 pretty, and Marvel thought her more and more agreeable every 
 time he saw her ; but, as he told Wright, he was determined 
 not to fall in love with her, until he was quite sure that she 
 was good for something. A few weeks after he had been 
 acquainted with her, he had an opportunity of seeing her tried. 
 Mrs. Isaac Harrison, the dyer of York’s lady, came to spend 
 some time ; Miss Millicent, or, as she was commonly called, 
 Milly Harrison, accompanied her mother : she, having a more 
 fashionable air than Lucy, and having learned to dance from a 
 London dancing-master, thought herself so much her superior 
 that she ought to direct her in all things. Miss Milly, the 
 Sunday after her arrival, appeared at church in a bonnet that 
 charmed half the congregation ; and a crowd of farmers’ wives 
 and daughters, the moment church was over, begged the 
 favour of Miss Milly to tell them where and how such a bonnet 
 could be got, and how much it would cost. It was extrava- 
 
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POPULAR TALES 
 
 gantly dear ; and those mothers who had any prudence were 
 frightened at the price : but the daughters were of opinion 
 that it was the cheapest, as well as prettiest thing that ever 
 was seen or heard of ; and Miss Milly was commissioned to 
 write immediately to York to bespeak fifteen bonnets exactly 
 like her own. This transaction was settled before they had 
 left the churchyard ; and Miss Milly was leaning upon a tomb- 
 stone to write down the names of those who were most eager 
 to have their bonnets before the next Sunday, when Wright and 
 Marvel came up to the place where the crowd was gathered, 
 and they saw what was going forward. 
 
 Miss Barber, Miss Cotton, Miss Lamb, Miss Dishley, Miss 
 Trotter, Miss Hull, Miss Parker, Miss Bury, Miss Oxley, etc. 
 etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc., all, in their 
 turn, peeped anxiously over Miss Milly’s shoulder, to make 
 themselves sure that their names were in the happy list. Lucy 
 Harrison, alone, stood with a composed countenance in the 
 midst of the agitated group. ‘ Well, cousin Lucy, what say 
 you now ? Shall I bespeak a bonnet for you, hey ? — Do you 
 know,’ cried Miss Milly, turning to the admirers of her bonnet, 
 ‘do you know that I offered to bespeak one yesterday for 
 Lucy ; and she was so stingy she would not let me, because it 
 was too dear V ‘ Too dear / Could ye conceive it ? ’ repeated 
 the young ladies, joining in a scornful titter. All eyes were 
 now fixed upon Lucy, who blushed deeply, but answered, with 
 gentle steadiness, that she really could not afford to lay out so 
 much money upon a bonnet, and that she would rather not 
 have her name put down in the list. 
 
 ‘ She’s a good prudent girl,’ whispered Wright to Marvel. 
 
 ‘ And very pretty, I am sure ; I never saw her look so pretty 
 as at this instant,’ replied Marvel in a low voice. 
 
 ‘ Please yourself, child,’ said Miss Milly, throwing back her 
 head with much disdain; ‘but Pm sure you’ll please nobody 
 else with such a dowdy thing as that you have on. Lord ! I 
 should like to see her walk the streets of York on a Sunday that 
 figure. Lord ! how Mrs. Stokes would laugh ! ’ 
 
 Here she paused, and several of her fair audience were 
 struck with the terrible idea of being laughed at by a person 
 whom they had never seen, and whom they were never likely 
 to see ; and transporting themselves in imagination into the 
 streets of York, felt all the horror of being stared at, in an 
 
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POPULAR TALES 
 
 unfashionable bonnet, by Mrs. Stokes. ‘ Gracious me ! Miss 
 Milly, do pray be sure to have mine sent from York afore next 
 Sunday,’ cried one of the country belles : ‘ and, gracious me ! 
 don’t forget mine, Miss Milly,’ was reiterated by every voice 
 but Lucy’s, as the crowd followed Miss Harrison out of the 
 churchyard. Great was the contempt felt for her by the 
 company ; but she was proof against their ridicule, and calmly 
 ended, as she began, with saying, ‘ I cannot afford it.’ 
 
 ‘ She is a very prudent girl,’ repeated Wright, in a low voice, 
 to Marvel. 
 
 ‘ But I hope this is not stinginess,’ whispered Marvel. ‘ I 
 would not marry such a stingy animal as Goodenough has 
 taken to wife for all the world. Do you know she has half 
 starved the servant-boy that lived with them ? There he is, 
 yonder, getting over the stile : did you ever see such a 
 miserable -looking creature? — He can tell you fifty stories 
 of Dame Goodenough’s stinginess. I would not marry a 
 stingy woman for the whole world. I hope Lucy Harrison is 
 not stingy.’ 
 
 ‘ Pray, Mrs. Wright,’ said Marvel’s friend, turning to his 
 wife, who had been standing beside him, and who had not yet 
 said one word, ‘ what may your opinion be ? ’ 
 
 ‘ My opinion is, that she is as generous a girl as any upon 
 earth,’ said Mrs. Wright, ‘ and I have good reason to say so.’ 
 
 ‘How? What?’ said Marvel, eagerly. 
 
 ‘ Her father lent my poor father five hundred pounds ; and 
 at the meeting of the creditors after his death, Mr. Harrison 
 was very earnest to have the money paid, because it was his 
 daughter’s fortune. When he found that it could not be had 
 immediately, he grew extremely angry ; but Lucy pacified him, 
 and told him that she was sure I should pay the money honestly, 
 as soon as I could ; and that she would willingly wait to have 
 it paid at a hundred pounds a year, for my convenience. I am 
 more obliged to her for the handsome way in which she trusted 
 to me, than if she had given me half the money. I shall never 
 forget it.’ 
 
 ‘ I hope you forgive her for not buying the bonnet,’ said 
 Wright to Marvel. 
 
 ‘Forgive her! ay; now I love her for it,’ said Marvel; 
 ‘ now I know that she is not stingy.’ 
 
 From this day forward, Marvel’s attachment to Lucy rapidly 
 
 96 
 
THE WILL 
 
 increased. One evening he was walking in the fields with 
 Lucy and Miss Milly, who played off her finest York airs to 
 attract his admiration, when the following dialogue passed 
 between them : ‘ La ! cousin Lucy,’ said Miss Millicent, ‘ when 
 shall we get you to York ? 1 long to show you a little of 
 
 the world, and to introduce you to my friend, Mrs. Stokes, the 
 milliner.’ 
 
 4 My father says that he does not wish that I should be 
 acquainted with Mrs. Stokes,’ said Lucy. 
 
 4 Your father! Nonsense, child. Your father has lived all 
 his life in the country, the Lord knows where ; he has not lived 
 in York, as I have ; so how can he know anything upon earth 
 of the world ? — what we call the world, I mean.’ 
 
 4 1 do not know, cousin Milly, what you call the world ; but 
 I think that he knows more of Mrs. Stokes than I do ; and I 
 shall trust to his opinion, for I never knew him speak ill of any- 
 body without having good reason for it. Besides, it is my duty 
 to obey my father.’ 
 
 4 Duty ! La ! Gracious me ! She talks as if she was a 
 baby in leading-strings,’ cried Miss Milly, laughing ; but she 
 was mortified at observing that Marvel did not join, as she had 
 expected, in the laugh : so she added, in a scornful tone, 
 
 4 Perhaps I’m in the wrong box ; and that Mr. Marvel is one 
 of them that admire pretty babes in leading-strings.’ 
 
 4 1 am one of those that admire a good daughter, I confess,’ said 
 Marvel ; 4 and,’ said he, lowering his voice, 4 that love her too.’ 
 
 Miss Milly coloured with anger, and Lucy with an emotion 
 that she had never felt before. As they returned home, they 
 met Mr. Harrison, and the moment Marvel espied him he 
 quitted the ladies. 
 
 4 I’ve something to say to you, Mr. Harrison. I should be 
 glad to speak a few words to you in private, if you please,’ cried 
 he, seizing his arm, and leading him down a by-lane. 
 
 Mr. Harrison was all attention ; but Marvel began to gather 
 primroses, instead of speaking. 
 
 4 Well,’ said Mr. Harrison, 4 did you bring me here to see 
 you gather primroses ? ’ 
 
 After smelling the flowers twenty times, and placing them 
 in twenty different forms, Marvel at last threw them on the 
 bank, and, with a sudden effort, exclaimed, 4 You have a 
 daughter, Mr. James Harrison.’ 
 
 97 
 
 H 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ I know I have ; and I thank God for it.’ 
 
 ‘ So you have reason to do ; for a more lovely girl and a 
 better, in my opinion, never existed.’ 
 
 ‘ One must not praise one’s own, or I should agree with 
 you,’ said the proud father. 
 
 Again there was silence. And again Marvel picked up his 
 primroses. 
 
 ‘ In short,’ said he, ‘ Mr. Harrison, would you like me for a 
 son-in-law? ’ 
 
 ‘ Would Lucy like you for a husband ? I must know that 
 first,’ said the good father. 
 
 ‘ That is what I do not know,’ replied Marvel ; ‘ but, if I 
 was to ask her, she would ask you, I am sure, whether you 
 would like me for a son-in-law.’ 
 
 ‘ At this rate, we shall never get forwards,’ said Harrison. 
 ‘ Go you back to Miss Milly, and send my Lucy here to me.’ 
 
 We shall not tell how Lucy picked up the flowers, which 
 had been her lover’s grand resource ; nor how often she 
 blushed upon the occasion ; she acknowledged how she thought 
 Mr. Marvel very agreeable , but that she was afraid to marry a 
 person who had so little steadiness. That she had heard of a 
 great number of schemes, undertaken by him, which had 
 failed ; or which he had given up as hastily as he had begun 
 them, ‘ Besides,’ said she, ‘ maybe he might change his 
 mind about me as well as about other things ; for I’ve heard 
 from my cousin Milly — I’ve heard — that— he was in love, not 
 very long since, with an actress in York. Do you think this is 
 all true ? ’ 
 
 ‘Yes, I know it is all true,’ said Mr. Harrison, ‘for he told 
 me so himself. He is an honest, open-hearted young man ; 
 but I think as you do, child, that we cannot be sure of his 
 steadiness.’ 
 
 When Marvel heard from Mr. Harrison the result of this 
 conversation, he was inspired with the strongest desire to 
 convince Lucy that he was capable of perseverance. To the 
 astonishment of all who knew him, or who thought that they 
 knew him, he settled steadily to business ; and, for a whole 
 twelvemonth, no one heard him speak of any new scheme. At 
 the end of this time he renewed his proposal to Lucy ; saying 
 that he hoped she would now have some dependence upon his 
 constancy to her, since she had seen the power she had over 
 
 98 
 
THE WILL 
 
 his mind. Lucy was artless and affectionate, as well as 
 prudent : now that her only real objection to the match was 
 lessened, she did not torment him, to try her power ; but 
 acknowledged her attachment to him, and they were married. 
 
 Sir Plantagenet Mowbray’s agent was much astonished that 
 Lucy did not prefer him, because he was a much richer man 
 than Pierce Marvel ; and Miss Milly Harrison was also 
 astonished that Mr. Marvel did not prefer her to such a 
 country girl as Lucy, especially when she had a thousand 
 pounds more to her fortune. But, notwithstanding all this 
 astonishment, Marvel and his wife were perfectly happy. 
 
 It was now the fifth year after old Mr. Pearson’s death. 
 Wright was at this time the richest of the three nephews ; for 
 the money that he had laid out in draining Holland fen began 
 to bring him in twenty per cent. As for Marvel, he had 
 exchanged some of his finest acres for the warren of silver 
 sprigs, the common full of thistles, and the marsh full of reeds : 
 he had lost many guineas by his sheep and their jackets, and 
 many more by his ill-fenced plantations : so that, counting all 
 the losses from the failure of his schemes and the waste of his 
 time, he was a thousand pounds poorer than when he first 
 came into possession of Clover-hill. 
 
 Goodenough was not, according to the most accurate 
 calculations, one shilling richer or poorer than when he first 
 began the world. ‘ Slow and sure,’ said his friends : ‘ fair and 
 softly goes far in a day. What he has he’ll hold fast ; that’s 
 more than Marvel ever did, and maybe more than Wright 
 will do in the end. He dabbles a little in experiments , as he 
 calls them : this he has learned from his friend Marvel ; and 
 this will come to no good.’ 
 
 About this time there was some appearance of a scarcity in 
 England ; and many farmers set an unusual quantity of 
 potatoes, in hopes that they would bear a high price the 
 ensuing season. Goodenough, who feared and hated every- 
 thing that was called a speculation, declared that, for his part, 
 he would not set a drill more than he used to do. What had 
 always done for him and his should do for him still. With 
 this resolution, he began to set his potatoes : Marvel said to 
 him, whilst he was at work, 1 Cousin Goodenough, I would 
 advise you not to set the shoots that are at the bottom of these 
 potatoes ; for, if you do, they won’t be good for anything. 
 
 99 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 This is a secret that I learned last harvest home, from one of 
 my Irish haymakers. I made the experiment last year, and 
 found the poor fellow was quite right. I have given him a 
 guinea for his information ; and it will be worth a great deal 
 more to me and my neighbours.’ 
 
 ‘ Maybe so,’ said Goodenough ; ‘ but I shall set my own 
 potatoes my own way, I thank you, cousin Marvel ; for I take 
 it the old way’s best, and I’ll never follow any other.’ 
 
 Marvel saw that it was in vain to attempt to convince 
 Goodenough : therefore he left him to his old ways. The 
 consequence was, that Goodenough and his family ate the 
 worst potatoes in the whole country this year ; and Marvel 
 cleared above two hundred pounds by twenty acres of potatoes, 
 set according to his friend the Irishman’s directions. 
 
 This was the first speculation of Marvel’s which succeeded ; 
 because it was the first which had been begun rvith prudence, 
 and pursued with steadiness. His information, in the first 
 instance, was good : it came from a person who had actually 
 tried the experiment, and who had seen it made by others ; 
 and when he was convinced of the fact, he applied his 
 knowledge at the proper time, boldly extended his experiment, 
 and succeeded. This success raised him in the opinion even 
 of his enemies. His friend, Wright, heartily rejoiced at it ; 
 but Goodenough sneered, and said to Wright, ‘ What Marvel 
 has gained this year he’ll lose by some scheme the next. I 
 dare to say, now, he has some new scheme or another brewing 
 in his brains at this very moment. Ay — look, here he comes, 
 with two bits of rags in his hand. — Now for it 1 ’ 
 
 Marvel came up to them with great eagerness in his looks ; 
 and showing two freshly-dyed patterns of cloth, said, ‘ Which 
 of these two blues is the brightest ? ’ 
 
 ‘That in your left hand,’ said Wright ; ‘ it is a beautiful 
 blue.’ 
 
 Marvel rubbed his hands with an air of triumph ; but, 
 restraining his joy, he addressed himself to Wright in a 
 composed voice. 
 
 ‘ My dear Wright, I have many obligations to you ; and, if 
 I have any good fortune, you shall be the first to share it with 
 me. As for you, cousin Goodenough, I don’t bear malice 
 against you for laughing at me and my herons’ feathers, and 
 my silver sprigs, and my sheep’s jackets, and my thistles : 
 
 TOO 
 
' “ Ay — look , here he comes , with two bits of rags in his hand. — Now for it ! ” ' 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 shake hands, man ; you shall have a share in our scheme, if 
 you please.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t please to have no share at all in none of your 
 schemes, cousin Marvel : I thank you kindly,’ said Good- 
 enough. 
 
 ‘ Had not you better hear what it is, before you decide 
 against it ? ’ said Wright. 
 
 Marvel explained himself further : ‘ Some time ago,’ said 
 he, ‘ I was with my father-in-law, who was dyeing some cloth 
 with woad. I observed that one corner of the cloth was of 
 much brighter blue than any of the rest ; and upon examining 
 what could be the cause of this, I found that the corner of the 
 cloth had fallen upon the ground, as it was taken out of the 
 dyeing vat, and had trailed through a mixture of colours, which 
 I had accidentally spilled on the floor. I carefully recollected 
 of what this mixture was composed : I found that woad was the 
 principal ingredient ; the other — is a secret. I have repeated 
 my experiments several times, and I find that they have always 
 succeeded : I was determined not to speak of my discovery 
 till I was sure of the facts. Now I’m sure of them, my father- 
 in-law tells me that he and his brother at York could ensure 
 to me an advantageous sale for as much blue cloth as I can 
 prepare ; and he advised me to take out a patent for the 
 dye.’ 
 
 Goodenough had not patience to listen any longer, but 
 exclaimed : 
 
 ‘Join in a patent! that’s more than I would do, I’m sure, 
 cousin Marvel ; so don’t think to take me in : I’ll end as I 
 began, without having anything to do with any of your new- 
 fangled schemes. — Good morning to you.’ 
 
 ‘ I hope, Wright,’ said Marvel, proudly, ‘ that you do not 
 suspect me of any design to take you in ; and that you will 
 have some confidence in this scheme, when you find that my 
 experiments have been accurately tried.’ 
 
 Wright assured Marvel that he had the utmost confidence 
 in his integrity ; and that he would carefully go over with him 
 any experiments he chose to show him. 1 1 do not want to 
 worm your secret from you,’ said he ; ‘but we must make 
 ourselves sure of success before we go to take out a patent, 
 which will be an expensive business.’ 
 
 ‘You are exactly the sort of man I should wish to have for 
 
 102 
 
THE WILL 
 
 my partner,’ cried Marvel, ‘ for you have all the coolness and 
 prudence that I want.’ 
 
 ‘ And you have all the quickness and ingenuity that I want,’ 
 replied Wright ; ‘ so, between us, we should indeed, as you 
 say, make good partners.’ 
 
 A partnership was soon established between Wright and 
 Marvel. The woad apparatus, which belonged to Wright’s 
 father-in-law, was given up to the creditors to pay the debts ; 
 but none of these creditors understood the management of it, 
 or were willing to engage in it, lest they should ruin themselves. 
 Marvel prevailed upon Wright to keep it in his own hands : 
 and the creditors, who had been well satisfied by his wife’s 
 conduct towards them, and who had great confidence in his 
 character for prudence, relinquished their claims upon the 
 property, and trusted to Wright’s promise that they should be 
 gradually paid by instalments. 
 
 ‘See what it is to have chosen a good wife,’ said Wright. 
 ‘ Good character is often better than good fortune.’ 
 
 The wife returned the husband’s compliment ; but we must 
 pass over such unfashionable conversation, and proceed with 
 our story. 
 
 The reader may recollect our mentioning a little boy, who 
 carried a message from Wright to Miss Banks the day that he 
 called upon her, on his return from York. She had been very 
 good to this boy, and he was of a grateful temper. After he 
 left her father’s service, he was hired by a gentleman, who 
 lived near Spalding, and for some time she had heard nothing 
 of him : but, about a year after she was married, his master paid 
 a visit in Lincolnshire, and the lad early one morning came to 
 see his ‘ old young mistress .’ He came so very early that 
 none of the family were stirring, except Marvel, who had risen 
 by daybreak to finish some repairs that he was making in the 
 woad apparatus. He recognised the boy the moment he saw 
 him, and welcomed him with his usual good-nature. 
 
 ‘ Ah, sir ! ’ said the lad, ‘ I be’s glad to see things going on 
 here again. I be’s main glad to hear how young mistress is 
 happy ! But I must be back afore my own present master be’s 
 up • so will you be pleased to give my sarvice and duty, and 
 here’s a little sort of a tea-chest for her, that I made with the 
 help of a fellow-sarvant of mine. If so be she’ll think well of 
 taking it, I should be very proud : it has a lock and key and all.’ 
 
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POPULAR TALES 
 
 Marvel was astonished at the workmanship of this tea-chest ; 
 and when he expressed his admiration, the boy said, ‘ Oh, sir ! 
 all the difficult^/ parts were done by my fellow-sarvant, who is 
 more handy like than I am, ten to one, though he is a French- 
 man. He was one of them French prisoners, and is a curious 
 man. He would have liked of all things to have come here 
 along with me this morning, to get a sight of what’s going on 
 here ; because that they have woad mills and the like in his 
 own country, he says ; but then he would not come spying 
 without leave, being a civil honest man.’ 
 
 Marvel told the boy that his fellow-servant should be heartily 
 welcome to satisfy his curiosity ; and the next morning the 
 Frenchman came. He was a native of Languedoc, where 
 woad is cultivated : he had been engaged in the manufacture 
 of it, and Marvel soon found, by his conversation, that he was 
 a well-informed, intelligent man. He told Marvel that there 
 were many natives of Languedoc, at this time, prisoners in 
 England, who understood the business as well as he did, and 
 would be glad to be employed, or to sell their knowledge at a 
 reasonable price. Marvel was not too proud to learn, even 
 from a Frenchman. With Wright’s consent, he employed 
 several of these workmen ; and he carried, by their means, the 
 manufacture of woad to a high pitch of perfection. How 
 success changes the opinion of men ! The Lincolnshire 
 farmers, who had formerly sneered at Marvel as a genius and 
 a projector, began to look up to him as to a very wise and 
 knowing man, when they saw this manufactory continue to 
 thrive ; and those who had blamed Wright for entering into 
 partnership with him now changed their minds. Neither of 
 them could have done separately what they both effected by 
 their union. 
 
 At the end of the ten years, Goodenough was precisely 
 where he was when he began ; neither richer nor poorer ; 
 neither wiser nor happier ; all that he had added to his stock 
 was a cross wife and two cross children. He, to the very last 
 moment, persisted in the belief that he should be the richest of 
 the three, and that Wright and Marvel would finish by being 
 bankrupts. He was in unutterable astonishment, when, upon 
 the appointed day, they produced their account-books to Mr. 
 Constantine, the executor, and it was found that they were 
 many thousand pounds better in the world than himself. 
 
 104 
 
THE WILL 
 
 ‘Now, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Constantine, ‘to which of you 
 am I to give your uncle’s legacy ? I must know which of the 
 partners has the greatest share in the manufactory.’ 
 
 ‘ Wright has the greatest share,’ cried Marvel ; ‘ for without 
 his prudence I should have been ruined.’ 
 
 ‘ Marvel has the greatest share,’ cried Wright ; ‘ for without 
 his ingenuity I should never have succeeded in the business, 
 nor indeed should I have undertaken it.’ 
 
 ‘ Then, gentlemen, you must divide the legacy between 
 you,’ said Mr. Constantine, ‘and I give you joy of your happy 
 partnership. What can be more advantageous than a partner- 
 ship between prudence and justice on the one side, and 
 generosity and abilities on the other ? ’ 
 
 June, 1800. 
 
 io 5 
 
THE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 It was Sunday morning, and a fine day in autumn ; the bells 
 of Hereford cathedral rang, and all the world smartly dressed 
 were flocking to church. 
 
 ‘ Mrs. Hill ! Mrs. Hill ! — Phoebe ! Phoebe ! There’s the 
 cathedral bell, I say, and neither of you ready for church, and 
 1 a verger,’ cried Mr. Hill, the tanner, as he stood at the 
 bottom of his own staircase. ‘ I’m ready, papa,’ replied 
 Phoebe ; and down she came, looking so clean, so fresh, and 
 so gay, that her stem father’s brows unbent, and he could only 
 say to her, as she was drawing on a new pair of gloves, 
 ‘ Child, you ought to have had those gloves on before this time 
 of day.’ 
 
 ‘Before this time of day!’ cried Mrs. Hill, who was now 
 coming downstairs completely equipped, ‘ before this time of 
 day ! she should know better, I say, than to put on those 
 gloves at all : more especially when going to the cathedral.’ 
 
 ‘ The gloves are very good gloves, as far as I see,’ replied 
 Mr. Hill. ‘But no matter now. It is more fitting that we 
 should be in proper time in our pew, to set an example, 
 as becomes us, than to stand here talking of gloves and 
 nonsense.’ 
 
 He offered his wife and daughter each an arm, and set out 
 for the cathedral ; but Phoebe was too busy in drawing on her 
 new gloves, and her mother was too angry at the sight of 
 them, to accept of Mr. Hill’s courtesy : ‘What I say is always 
 nonsense, I know, Mr. Hill,’ resumed the matron : ‘ but I 
 can see as far into a millstone as other folks. Was it not I 
 
' “Pm ready, papa" replied Phoebe ; and down she came,' 
 
THE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 that first gave you a hint of what became of the great dog, that 
 we lost out of our tan-yard last winter ? And was it not 1 who 
 first took notice to you, Mr. Hill, verger as you are, of the 
 hole under the foundation of the cathedral ? Was it not, I 
 ask you, Mr. Hill ? ’ 
 
 ‘ But, my dear Mrs. Hill, what has all this to do with 
 Phoebe’s gloves ? ’ 
 
 ‘Are you blind, Mr. Hill? Don’t you see that they are 
 Limerick gloves ? ’ 
 
 ‘ What of that ? ’ said Mr. Hill ; still preserving his com- 
 posure, as it was his custom to do as long as he could, when 
 he saw his wife was ruffled. 
 
 ‘ What of that, Mr. Hill ! why don’t you know that Limerick 
 is in Ireland, Mr. Hill?’ 
 
 ‘ With all my heart, my dear.’ 
 
 ‘Yes, and with all your heart, I suppose, Mr. Hill, you 
 would see our cathedral blown up, some fair day or other, and 
 your own daughter married to the person that did it ; and you 
 a verger, Mr. Hill.’ 
 
 ‘ God forbid ! ’ cried Mr. Hill ; and he stopped short and 
 settled his wig. Presently recovering himself, he added, ‘ But, 
 Mrs. Hill, the cathedral is not yet blown up ; and our Phoebe 
 is not yet married.’ 
 
 ‘No: but what of that, Mr. Hill ? Forewarned is forearmed, 
 as I told you before your dog was gone ; but you would not 
 believe me, and you see how it turned out in that case ; and 
 so it will in this case, you’ll see, Mr. Hill.’ 
 
 ‘ But you puzzle and frighten me out of my wits, Mrs. Hill,’ 
 said the verger, again settling his wig. ‘ In that case and in 
 this case ! 1 can’t understand a syllable of what you’ve been 
 
 saying to me this half-hour. In plain English, what is there 
 the matter about Phoebe’s gloves ? ’ 
 
 ‘ In plain English, then, Mr. Hill, since you can understand 
 nothing else, please to ask your daughter Phoebe who gave her 
 those gloves. Phoebe, who gave you those gloves ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I wish they were burnt,’ said the husband, whose patience 
 could endure no longer. ‘ Who gave you those cursed gloves, 
 Phoebe ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Papa,’ answered Phoebe, in a low voice, ‘ they were a 
 present from Mr. Brian O’Neill.’ 
 
 ‘The Irish glover!’ cried Mr. Hill, with a look of terror. 
 
 109 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘Yes,’ resumed the mother ; ‘very true, Mr. Hill, I assure 
 you. Now, you see, I had my reasons.’ 
 
 ‘ Take off the gloves directly : I order you, Phoebe,’ said 
 her father, in his most peremptory tone. ‘ I took a mortal 
 dislike to that Mr. Brian O’Neill the first time I ever saw him. 
 He’s an Irishman, and that’s enough, and too much for me. 
 Off with the gloves, Phoebe ! When I order a thing, it must 
 be done.’ 
 
 Phoebe seemed to find some difficulty in getting off the gloves, 
 and gently urged that she could not well go into the cathedral 
 without them. This objection was immediately removed, by her 
 mother’s pulling from her pocket a pair of mittens, which had 
 once been brown, and once been whole, but which were now 
 rent in sundry places ; and which, having been long stretched 
 by one who was twice the size of Phoebe, now hung in huge 
 wrinkles upon her well-turned arms. 
 
 ‘ But papa,’ said Phoebe, ‘ why should we take a dislike to 
 him because he is an Irishman ? Cannot an Irishman be a 
 good man ? ’ 
 
 The verger made no answer to this question, but a few 
 seconds after it was put to him, observed that the cathedral bell 
 had just done ringing ; and, as they were now got to the church 
 door, Mrs. Hill, with a significant look at Phoebe, remarked 
 that it was no proper time to talk or think of good men, or 
 bad men, or Irishmen, or any men, especially for a verger’s 
 daughter. 
 
 We pass over in silence the many conjectures that were made 
 by several of the congregation, concerning the reason why Miss 
 Phoebe Hill should appear in such a shameful shabby pair of 
 gloves on a Sunday. After service was ended, the verger went, 
 with great mystery, to examine the hole under the foundation of 
 the cathedral ; and Mrs. Hill repaired, with the grocer’s and the 
 stationer’s ladies, to take a walk in the Close ; where she 
 boasted to all her female acquaintance, whom she called her 
 friends, of her maternal discretion in prevailing upon Mr. Hill 
 to forbid her daughter Phoebe to wear the Limerick gloves. 
 
 In the meantime, Phoebe walked pensively homewards ; 
 endeavouring to discover why her father should take a mortal 
 dislike to a man, at first sight, merely because he was an Irish- 
 man ; and why her mother had talked so much of the great dog, 
 which had been lost last year out of the tan-yard ; and of the 
 
 I TO 
 
THE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 hole under the foundation of the cathedral ! What has all 
 this to do with my Limerick gloves ? thought she. The more 
 she thought, the less connection she could perceive between 
 these things : for as she had not taken a dislike to Mr. 
 Brian O’Neill at first sight, because he was an Irishman, she 
 could not think it quite reasonable to suspect him of making away 
 with her father’s dog ; nor yet of a design to blow up Hereford 
 cathedral. As she was pondering upon these matters, she came 
 within sight of the ruins of a poor woman’s house, which a few 
 months before this time had been burnt down. She recollected 
 that her first acquaintance with her lover began at the time of 
 this fire ; and she thought that the courage and humanity he 
 showed, in exerting himself to save this unfortunate woman and 
 her children, justified her notion of the possibility that an Irish- 
 man might be a good man. 
 
 The name of the poor woman, whose house had been burnt 
 down, was Smith : she was a widow, and she now lived at the 
 extremity of a narrow lane in a wretched habitation. Why 
 Phoebe thought of her with more concern than usual at this 
 instant we need not examine, but she did ; and, reproaching 
 herself for having neglected it for some weeks past, she resolved 
 to go directly to see the widow Smith, and to give her a crown 
 which she had long had in her pocket, with which she had in- 
 tended to have bought play tickets. 
 
 It happened that the first person she saw in the poor 
 widow’s kitchen was the identical Mr. O’Neill. ‘ I did not 
 expect to see anybody here but you, Mrs. Smith,’ said Phoebe, 
 blushing. 
 
 ‘ So much the greater the pleasure of the meeting ; to me, I 
 mean, Miss Hill,’ said O’Neill, rising, and putting down a little 
 boy, with whom he had been playing. Phoebe went on talking 
 to the poor woman ; and, after slipping the crown into her hand, 
 said she would call again. O’Neill, surprised at the change in 
 her manner, followed her when she left the house, and said, ‘ It 
 would be a great misfortune to me to have done anything to 
 offend Miss Hill ; especially if I could not conceive how or what 
 it was, which is my case at this present speaking.’ And, as the 
 spruce glover spoke, he fixed his eyes upon Phcebe’s ragged 
 gloves. She drew them up in vain ; and then said, with her 
 natural simplicity and gentleness, ‘ You have not done anything 
 to offend me, Mr. O’Neill ; but you are some way or other dis- 
 
 1 1 1 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 pleasing to my father and mother, and they have forbid me to 
 wear the Limerick gloves. 1 
 
 ‘ And sure Miss Hill would not be after changing her opinion 
 of her humble servant for no reason in life, but because her 
 father and mother, who have taken a prejudice against him, 
 are a little contrary.’ 
 
 ‘ No,’ replied Phoebe ; ‘ I should not change my opinion 
 without any reason ; but I have not yet had time to fix my 
 opinion of you, Mr. O’Neill.’ 
 
 ‘ To let you know a piece of my mind, then, my dear Miss 
 Hill,’ l'esumed he, ‘ the more contrary they are, the more pride 
 and joy it would give me to win and wear you, in spite of ’em 
 all ; and if without a farthing in your pocket, so much the more 
 I should rejoice in the opportunity of proving to your dear self, 
 and all else whom it may consarn, that Brian O’Neill is no 
 fortune-hunter, and scorns them that are so narrow-minded as to 
 think that no other kind of cattle but them there fortune-hunters 
 can come out of all Ireland. So, my dear Phoebe, now we 
 understand one another, I hope you will not be paining my eyes 
 any longer with the sight of these odious brown bags, which are 
 not fit to be worn by any Christian arms, to say nothing of Miss 
 Hill’s, which are the handsomest, without any compliment, that 
 ever I saw ; and, to my mind, would become a pair of Limerick 
 gloves beyond anything : and I expect she’ll show her generosity 
 and proper spirit by putting them on immediately.’ 
 
 ‘You expect, sir ! ’ repeated Miss Hill, with a look of more 
 indignation than her gentle countenance had ever before been 
 seen to assume. ‘ Expect ! ’ If he had said hope, thought she, 
 it would have been another thing : but expect ! what right has 
 he to expect ? 
 
 Now Miss Hill, unfortunately, was not sufficiently acquainted 
 with the Irish idiom, to know, that to expect, in Ireland, is the 
 same thing as to hope in England ; and, when her Irish admirer 
 said I expect, he meant only in plain English, I hope. But thus 
 it is that a poor Irishman, often, for want of understanding the 
 niceties of the English language, says the rudest when he means 
 to say the civillest things imaginable. 
 
 Miss Hill’s feelings were so much hurt by this unlucky ‘ I 
 expect,’ that the whole of his speech, which had before made 
 some favourable impression upon her, now lost its effect ; and she 
 replied with proper spirit, as she thought, ‘ You expect a great 
 
 1 12 
 
TIIE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 deal too much, Mr. O’Neill ; and more than ever I gave you 
 reason to do. It would be neither pleasure nor pride to me to be 
 won and worn, as you were pleased to say, in spite of them all ; 
 and to be thrown, without a farthing in my pocket, upon the 
 protection of one who expects so much at first setting out. — So I 
 assure you, sir, whatever you may expect, I shall not put on 
 the Limerick gloves.’ 
 
 Mr. O’Neill was not without his share of pride and proper 
 spirit ; nay, he had, it must be confessed, in common with some 
 others of his countrymen, an improper share of pride and spirit. 
 Fired by the lady’s coldness, he poured forth a volley of re- 
 proaches ; and ended by wishing, as he said, a good morning, 
 for ever and ever, to one who could change her opinion, point 
 blank, like the weathercock. ‘ 1 am, miss, your most obedient ; 
 and I expect you’ll never think no more of poor Brian O’Neill 
 and the Limerick gloves.’ 
 
 If he had not been in too great a passion to observe anything, 
 poor Brian O’Neill would have found out that Phoebe was not a 
 weathercock : but he left her abruptly, and hurried away, 
 imagining all the while that it was Phcebe, and not himself, 
 who was in a rage. Thus, to the horseman, who is galloping 
 at full speed, the hedges, trees, and houses, seem rapidly to 
 recede ; whilst, in reality, they never move from their places. 
 It is he that flies from them, and not they from him. 
 
 On Monday morning Miss Jenny Brown, the perfumer’s 
 daughter, came to pay Phoebe a morning visit, with face of 
 busy joy. 
 
 ‘So, my dear!’ said she: ‘fine doings in Hereford! but 
 what makes you look so downcast ? To be sure you are invited, 
 as well as the rest of us.’ 
 
 ‘ Invited where ?’ cried Mrs. Hill, who was present, and who 
 could never endure to hear of an invitation in which she was not 
 included. ‘ Invited where, pray, Miss Jenny ?’ 
 
 ‘ La ! have not you heard ? Why, we all took it for granted 
 that you and Miss Phoebe would have been the first and foremost 
 to have been asked to Mr. O’Neill’s ball.’ 
 
 ‘ Ball ! ’ cried Mrs. Hill ; and luckily saved Phoebe, who was 
 in some agitation, the trouble of speaking. ‘ Why, this is a 
 mighty sudden thing : I never heard a tittle of it before.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, this is really extraordinary ! And, Phoebe, have you 
 not received a pair of Limerick gloves ? ’ 
 
 IJ 3 
 
 i 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘Yes, I have,’ said Phoebe, ‘but what then? What have 
 my Limerick gloves to do with the ball ? ’ 
 
 ‘A great deal,’ replied Jenny. ‘Don’t you know that a 
 pair of Limerick gloves is, as one may say, a ticket to this ball ? 
 for every lady that has been asked has had a pair sent to her 
 along with the card ; and I believe as many as twenty, besides 
 myself, have been asked this morning.’ 
 
 Jenny then produced her new pair of Limerick gloves ; and 
 as she tried them on, and showed how well they fitted, she 
 counted up the names of the ladies who, to her knowledge, were 
 to be at this ball. When she had finished the catalogue, she 
 expatiated upon the grand preparations which it was said the 
 widow O’Neill, Mr. O’Neill’s mother, was making for the supper ; 
 and concluded by condoling with Mrs. Hill for her misfortune 
 in not having been invited. Jenny took her leave, to get her 
 dress in readiness ; ‘for,’ added she, ‘ Mr. O’Neill has engaged 
 me to open the ball, in case Phoebe does not go : but I suppose 
 she will cheer up and go, as she has a pair of Limerick gloves 
 as well as the rest of us.’ 
 
 There was silence for some minutes after Jenny’s departure, 
 which was broken by Phcebe, who told her mother that, early in 
 the morning, a note had been brought to her, which she had 
 returned unopened ; because she knew, from the handwriting 
 of the direction, that it came from Mr. O’Neill. 
 
 We must observe that Phoebe had already told her mother of 
 her meeting with this gentleman at the poor widow’s, and of all 
 that had passed between them afterwards. This openness on 
 her part, had softened the heart of Mrs. Hill ; who was really 
 inclined to be good-natured, provided people would allow that 
 she had more penetration than any one else in Hereford. She 
 was moreover a good deal piqued and alarmed by the idea that 
 the perfumer’s daughter might rival and outshine her own. 
 Whilst she had thought herself sure of Mr. O’Neill’s attachment 
 to Phoebe, she had looked higher ; especially as she was per- 
 suaded by the perfumer’s lady to think that an Irishman could 
 not but be a bad match : but now she began to suspect that the 
 perfumer’s lady had changed her opinion of Irishmen, since she 
 did not object to her own Jenny’s leading up the ball at Mr. 
 O’Neill’s. 
 
 All these thoughts passed rapidly in the mother’s mind ; and, 
 with her fear of losing an admirer for her Phoebe, the value of 
 
 114 
 
THE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 that admirer suddenly rose in her estimation. Thus, at an 
 auction, if a lot is going to be knocked down to a lady, who is 
 the only person that has bid for it, even she feels discontented, 
 and despises that which nobody covets ; but if, as the hammer 
 is falling, many voices answer to the question, Who bids more ? 
 then her anxiety to secure the prize suddenly rises ; and, rather 
 than be outbid, she will give far beyond its value. 
 
 ‘Why, child,’ said Mrs. Hill, ‘since you have a pair of 
 Limerick gloves ; and since certainly that note was an invitation 
 to us to this ball ; and since it is much more fitting that you 
 should open the ball than Jenny Brown ; and since, after all, it 
 was very handsome and genteel of the young man to say he 
 would take you without a farthing in your pocket, which shows 
 that those were misinformed who talked of him as an Irish 
 adventurer ; and since we are not certain ’twas he made away 
 with the dog, although he said its barking was a great nuisance ; 
 there is no great reason to suppose he was the person who made 
 the hole under the foundation of the cathedral, or that he could 
 have such a wicked thought as to blow it up ; and since he must 
 be in a very good way of business to be able to afford giving 
 away four or five guineas’ worth of Limerick gloves, and balls 
 and suppers ; and since, after all, it is no fault of his to be an 
 Irishman ; I give it as my vote and opinion, my dear, that you 
 put on your Limerick gloves and go to this ball ; and I’ll go and 
 speak to your father, and bring him round to our opinion ; and 
 then I’ll pay the morning visit I owe to the widow O’Neill, and 
 make up your quarrel with Brian. Love quarrels are easy to 
 make up, you know ; and then we shall have things all upon 
 velvet again ; and Jenny Brown need not come with her hypo- 
 critical condoling face to us any more.’ 
 
 After running this speech glibly off, Mrs. Hill, without waiting 
 to hear a syllable from poor Phoebe, trotted off in search of her 
 consort. It was not, however, quite so easy a task as his wife 
 expected to bring Mr. Hill round to her opinion. He was slow 
 in declaring himself of any opinion ; but, when once he had 
 said a thing, there was but little chance of altering his notions. 
 On this occasion, Mr. Hill was doubly bound to his prejudice 
 against our unlucky Irishman ; for he had mentioned with great 
 solemnity, at the club which he frequented, the grand affair of 
 the hole under the foundation of the cathedral ; and his suspi- 
 cions that there was a design to blow it up. Several of the club 
 
 IT 5 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 had laughed at this idea ; others, who supposed that Mr. O’Neill 
 was a Roman Catholic, and who had a confused notion that a 
 Roman Catholic must be a very wicked, dangerous being, 
 thought that there might be a great deal in the verger’s sug- 
 gestions ; and observed that a very watchful eye ought to be 
 kept upon this Irish glover, who had come to settle at Hereford 
 nobody knew why, and who seemed to have money at command 
 nobody knew how. 
 
 The news of this ball sounded to Mr. Hill’s prejudiced imagi- 
 nation like the news of a conspiracy. Ay ! ay ! thought he ; 
 the Irishman is cunning enough ! But we shall be too many 
 for him : he wants to throw all the good sober folks of Hereford 
 off their guard, by feasting, and dancing, and carousing, I take 
 it ; and so to perpetrate his evil designs when it is least suspected ; 
 but we shall be prepared for him, fools as he takes us plain 
 Englishmen to be, I warrant. 
 
 In consequence of these most shrewd cogitations, our verger 
 silenced his wife with a peremptory nod, when she came to per- 
 suade him to let Phoebe put on the Limerick gloves and go to 
 the ball. ‘ To this ball she shall not go ; and I charge her not 
 to put on those Limerick gloves, as she values my blessing,’ 
 said Mr. Hill. ‘ Please to tell her so, Mrs. Hill, and trust to 
 my judgment and discretion in all things, Mrs. Hill. Strange 
 work may be in Hereford yet : but I’ll say no more ; I must go 
 and consult with knowing men, who are of my opinion.’ 
 
 He sallied forth, and Mrs. Hill was left in a state which only 
 those who are troubled with the disease of excessive curiosity 
 can rightly comprehend or compassionate. She hied her back 
 to Phoebe, to whom she announced her father’s answer ; and 
 then went gossiping to all her female acquaintance in Hereford, 
 to tell them all that she knew, and all that she did not know ; 
 and to endeavour to find out a secret where there was none to 
 be found. 
 
 There are trials of temper in all conditions : and no lady, in 
 high or low life, could endure them with a better grace than 
 Phoebe. Whilst Mr. and Mrs. Hill were busied abroad, there 
 came to see Phoebe one of the widow Smith’s children. With 
 artless expressions of gratitude to Phoebe, this little girl mixed 
 the praises of O’Neill, who, she said, had been the constant 
 friend of her mother, and had given her money every week since 
 the fire happened. ‘ Mammy loves him dearly, for being so 
 
 116 
 
TIIE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 good-natured,’ continued the child : ‘ and he has been good to 
 other people as well as to us.’ 
 
 ‘To whom?’ said Phcebe. 
 
 ‘ To a poor man who has lodged for these few days past next 
 door to us,’ replied the child ; ‘ I don’t know his name rightly, 
 but he is an Irishman ; and he goes out a-haymaking in the 
 daytime, along with a number of others. He knew Mr. 
 O’Neill in his own country, and he told mammy a great deal 
 about his goodness.’ 
 
 As the child finished these words, Phcebe took out of a 
 drawer some clothes, which she had made for the poor woman’s 
 children, and gave them to the little girl. It happened that the 
 Limerick gloves had been thrown into this drawer ; and Phoebe’s 
 favourable sentiments of the giver of those gloves were revived 
 by what she had just heard, and by the confession Mrs. Hill had 
 made, that she had no reasons, and but vague suspicions, for 
 thinking ill of him. She laid the gloves perfectly smooth, and 
 strewed over them, whilst the little girl went on talking of Mr. 
 O’Neill, the leaves of a rose which she had worn on Sunday. 
 
 Mr. Hill was all this time in deep conference with those pru- 
 dent men of Hereford who were of his own opinion about the 
 perilous hole under the cathedral. The ominous circumstance 
 of this ball was also considered, the great expense at which the 
 Irish glover lived, and his giving away gloves ; which was a 
 sure sign he was not under any necessity to sell them ; and con- 
 sequently a proof that, though he pretended to be a glover, he 
 was something wrong in disguise. U pon putting all these things 
 together, it was resolved, by these over-wise politicians, that 
 the best thing that could be done for Hereford, and the only 
 possible means of preventing the immediate destruction of its 
 cathedral, would be to take Mr. O’Neill into custody. Upon 
 recollection, however, it was perceived that there was no legal 
 ground on which he could be attacked. At length, after con- 
 sulting an attorney, they devised what they thought an admirable 
 mode of proceeding. 
 
 Our Irish hero had not that punctuality which English 
 tradesmen usually observe in the payment of bills : he had, the 
 preceding year, run up a long bill with a grocer in Hereford ; 
 and, as he had not at Christmas cash in hand to pay it, he had 
 given a note, payable six months after date. The grocer, at 
 Mr. Hill’s request, made over the note to him ; and it was 
 
 1 17 
 

 She laid the gloves perfectly smooth , arid strewed over them the leaves of a rose.' 
 
THE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 determined that the money should be demanded, as it was now 
 due, and that, if it was not paid directly, O’Neill should be that 
 night arrested. How Mr. Hill made the discovery of this debt 
 to the grocer agree with his former notion that the Irish glover 
 had always money at command, we cannot well conceive ; but 
 anger and prejudice will swallow down the grossest contradic- 
 tions without difficulty. 
 
 When Mr. Hill’s clerk went to demand payment of the note, 
 O’Neill’s head was full of the ball which he was to give that 
 evening. He was much surprised at the unexpected appearance 
 of the note : he had not ready money by him to pay it ; and, 
 after swearing a good deal at the clerk, and complaining of this 
 ungenerous and ungentleman-like behaviour in the grocer and 
 the tanner, he told the clerk to be gone, and not to be bother- 
 ing him at such an unseasonable time ; that he could not have 
 the money then, and did not deserve to have it at all. 
 
 This language and conduct were rather new to the English 
 clerk’s mercantile ears : we cannot wonder that it should seem 
 to him, as he said to his master, more the language of a mad- 
 man than a man of business. This want of punctuality in 
 money transactions, and this mode of treating contracts as 
 matters of favour and affection, might not have damned the 
 fame of our hero in his own country, where such conduct is, 
 alas ! too common ; but he was now in a kingdom where the 
 manners and customs are so directly opposite, that he could 
 meet with no allowance for his national faults. It would be 
 well for his countrymen if they were made, even by a few 
 mortifications, somewhat sensible of this important difference 
 in the habits of Irish and English traders, before they come to 
 settle in England. 
 
 But to proceed with our story. On the night of Mr. 
 O’Neill’s grand ball, as he was seeing his fair partner, the 
 perfumer’s daughter, safe home, he felt himself tapped on the 
 shoulder by no friendly hand. When he was told that he was 
 the king’s prisoner, he vociferated with sundry strange oaths, 
 which we forbear to repeat, ‘ No, I am not the king’s prisoner ! 
 I am the prisoner of that shabby rascally tanner, Jonathan 
 Hill. None but he would arrest a gentleman, in this way, for 
 a trifle not worth mentioning.’ 
 
 Miss Jenny Brown screamed when she found herself under 
 the protection of a man who was arrested ; and, what between 
 
 "9 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 her screams and his oaths, there was such a disturbance that 
 a mob gathered. 
 
 Among this mob there was a party of Irish haymakers, who, 
 after returning late from a hard day’s work, had been drinking 
 in a neighbouring ale-house. With one accord they took part 
 with their countryman, and would have rescued him from the 
 civil officers with all the pleasure in life, if he had not fortu- 
 nately possessed just sufficient sense and command of himself 
 to restrain their party spirit, and to forbid them, as they valued 
 his life and reputation, to interfere, by word or deed, in his 
 defence. 
 
 He then despatched one of the haymakers home to his 
 mother, to inform her of what had happened ; and to request 
 that she would get somebody to be bail for him as soon as 
 possible, as the officers said they could not let him out of their 
 sight till he was bailed by substantial people, or till the debt 
 was discharged. 
 
 The widow O’Neill was just putting out the candles in the 
 ball-room when this news of her son’s arrest was brought to 
 her. We pass over Hibernian exclamations : she consoled 
 her pride by reflecting that it would certainly be the most easy 
 thing imaginable to procure bail for Mr. O’Neill in Hereford, 
 where he had so many friends who had just been dancing at 
 his house ; but to dance at his house she found was one thing, 
 and to be bail for him quite another. Each guest sent 
 excuses ; and the widow O’Neill was astonished at what never 
 fails to astonish everybody when it happens to themselves. 
 ‘ Rather than let my son be detained in this manner for a 
 paltry debt,’ cried she, ‘ I’d sell all I have within half an hour 
 to a pawnbroker.’ It was well no pawnbroker heard this 
 declaration : she was too warm to consider economy. She sent 
 for a pawnbroker, who lived in the same street, and, after 
 pledging goods to treble the amount of the debt, she obtained 
 ready money for her son’s release. 
 
 O’Neill, after being in custody for about an hour and a half, 
 was set at liberty upon the payment of his debt. As he passed 
 by the cathedral in his way home, he heard the clock strike ; 
 and he called to a man, who was walking backwards and for- 
 wards in the churchyard, to ask whether it was two or three 
 that the clock struck. ‘ Three,’ answered the man ; 1 and, as 
 yet, all is safe.’ 
 
 1 20 
 
TIIE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 O’Neill, whose head was full of other things, did not stop 
 to inquire the meaning of these last words. He little suspected 
 that this man was a watchman, whom the over-vigilant verger 
 had stationed there to guard the Hereford cathedral from his 
 attacks. O’Neill little guessed that he had been arrested 
 merely to keep him from blowing up the cathedral this night. 
 The arrest had an excellent effect upon his mind, for he was a 
 young man of good sense : it made him resolve to retrench his 
 expenses in time, to live more like a glover and less like a 
 gentleman ; and to aim more at establishing credit, and less at 
 gaining popularity. He found, from experience, that good 
 friends will not pay bad debts. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 On Thursday morning, our verger rose in unusually good 
 spirits, congratulating himself upon the eminent service he had 
 done to the city of Hereford, by his sagacity in discovering the 
 foreign plot to blow up the cathedral, and by his dexterity in 
 having the enemy held in custody at the very hour when the 
 dreadful deed was to have been perpetrated. Mr. Hill’s know- 
 ing friends farther agreed it would be necessary to have a guard 
 that should sit up every night in the churchyard ; and that as 
 soon as they could, by constantly watching the enemy’s motions, 
 procure any information which the attorney should deem suffi- 
 cient grounds for a legal proceeding, they should lay the whole 
 business before the mayor. 
 
 After arranging all this most judiciously and mysteriously 
 with friends who were exactly of his own opinion, Mr. Hill laid 
 aside his dignity of verger ; and assuming his other character 
 of a tanner proceeded to his tan-yard. What was his surprise 
 and consternation, when he beheld his great rick of oak bark 
 levelled to the ground ; the pieces of bark were scattered far 
 and wide, some over the close, some over the fields, and some 
 were seen swimming upon the water ! No tongue, no pen, no 
 muse can describe the feelings of our tanner at this spectacle ! 
 feelings which became the more violent from the absolute 
 silence which he imposed on himself upon this occasion. He 
 
 T 2 I 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 instantly decided in his own mind that this injury was perpe- 
 trated by O’Neill, in revenge for his arrest ; and went privately 
 to the attorney to inquire what was to be done, on his part, to 
 secure legal vengeance. 
 
 The attorney unluckily, or at least as Mr. Hill thought 
 unluckily, had been sent for, half an hour before, by a gentle- 
 man at some distance from Hereford, to draw up a will ; so 
 that our tanner was obliged to postpone his legal operations. 
 
 We forbear to recount his return, and how many times he 
 walked up and down the close to view his scattered bark, and 
 to estimate the damage that had been done to him. At length 
 that hour came which usually suspends all passions by the more 
 imperious power of appetite — the hour of dinner ; an hour of 
 which it was never needful to remind Mr. Hill by watch, clock, 
 or dial ; for he was blessed with a punctual appetite, and 
 powerful as punctual : so powerful, indeed, that it often excited 
 the spleen of his more genteel or less hungry wife. — ‘ Bless my 
 stars, Mr. Hill,’ she would oftentimes say, ‘ I am really down- 
 right ashamed to see you eat so much ; and when company is 
 to dine with us, I do wish you would take a snack by way of 
 a damper before dinner, that you may not look so prodigious 
 famishing and ungenteel.’ 
 
 Upon this hint, Mr. Hill commenced a practice, to which 
 he ever afterwards religiously adhered, of going, whether there 
 was to be company or no company, into the kitchen regularly 
 every day, half an hour before dinner, to take a slice from the 
 roast or the boiled before it went up to table. As he was this 
 day, according to his custom, in the kitchen, taking his snack 
 by way of a damper, he heard the housemaid and the cook 
 talking about some wonderful fortune-teller, whom the house- 
 maid had been consulting. This fortune-teller was no less a 
 personage than the successor to Bampfylde Moore Carew, king 
 of the gipsies, whose life and adventures are probably in many, 
 too many, of our readers’ hands. Bampfylde, the second king 
 of the gipsies, assumed this title, in hopes of becoming as famous, 
 or as infamous, as his predecessor : he was now holding his 
 court in a wood near the town of Hereford, and numbers of 
 servant-maids and ’prentices went to consult him — nay, it was 
 whispered that he was resorted to, secretly, by some whose 
 education might have taught them better sense. 
 
 Numberless were the instances which our verger heard in 
 
 122 
 
THE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 his kitchen of the supernatural skill of this cunning' man ; and 
 whilst Mr. Hill ate his snack with his wonted gravity, he re- 
 volved great designs in his secret soul. Mrs. Hill was sur- 
 prised, several times during dinner, to see her consort put 
 down his knife and fork, and meditate. ‘Gracious me, Mr. 
 Hill, what can have happened to you this day ? What can 
 you be thinking of, Mr. Hill, that can make you forget what 
 you have upon your plate ? ’ 
 
 ‘Mrs. Hill,’ replied the thoughtful verger, ‘our grandmother 
 Eve had too much curiosity ; and we all know it did not lead 
 to good. What I am thinking of will be known to you in due 
 time, but not now, Mrs. Hill ; therefore, pray, no questions, or 
 teasing, or pumping. What I think, I think ; what I say, I 
 say ; what I know, I know ; and that is enough for you to 
 know at present : only this, Phoebe, you did very well not to 
 put on the Limerick gloves, child. What I know, 1 know. 
 Things will turn out just as I said from the first. What I 
 say, I say ; and what I think, I think ; and this is enough for 
 you to know at present.’ 
 
 Having finished dinner with this solemn speech, Mr. Hill 
 settled himself in his arm-chair, to take his after-dinner’s nap ; 
 and he dreamed of blowing up cathedrals, and of oak bark 
 floating upon the waters ; and the cathedral was, he thought, 
 blown up by a man dressed in a pair of woman’s Limerick 
 gloves, and the oak bark turned into mutton steaks, after 
 which his great dog Jowler was swimming; when, all on a 
 sudden, as he was going to beat Jowler for eating the bark 
 transformed into mutton steaks, Jowler became Bampfylde the 
 second, king of the gipsies ; and putting a horsewhip with a 
 silver handle into Hill’s hand, commanded him three times, in 
 a voice as loud as the town crier’s, to have O’Neill whipped 
 through the market-place of Hereford : but, just as he was 
 going to the window to see this whipping, his wig fell off, and 
 he awoke. 
 
 It was difficult, even for Mr. Hill’s sagacity, to make sense 
 of this dream : but he had the wise art of always finding in 
 his dreams something that confirmed his waking determina- 
 tions. Before he went to sleep, he had half resolved to con- 
 sult the king of the gipsies, in the absence of the attorney ; 
 and his dream made him now wholly determined upon this 
 prudent step. From Bampfylde the second, thought he, I 
 
 123 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 shall learn for certain who made the hole under the cathedral, 
 who pulled down my rick of bark, and who made away with 
 my dog Jowler ; and then I shall swear examinations against 
 O’Neill without waiting for attorneys. I will follow my own 
 way in this business : I have always found my own way best. 
 
 So, when the dusk of the evening increased, our wise man 
 set out towards the wood to consult the cunning man. Bamp- 
 fylde the second, king of the gipsies, resided in a sort of hut 
 made of the branches of trees : the verger stooped, but did not 
 stoop low enough, as he entered this temporary palace ; and, 
 whilst his body was almost bent double, his peruke was caught 
 upon a twig. From this awkward situation he was relieved 
 by the consort of the king ; and he now beheld, by the light 
 of some embers, the person of his gipsy majesty, to whose 
 sublime appearance this dim light was so favourable that it 
 struck a secret awe into our wise man’s soul ; and, forgetting 
 Hereford cathedral, and oak bark, and Limerick gloves, he 
 stood for some seconds speechless. During this time, the 
 queen very dexterously disencumbered his pocket of all super- 
 fluous articles. When he recovered his recollection, he put 
 with great solemnity the following queries to the king of the 
 gipsies, and received the following answers :• — ■ 
 
 ‘ Do you know a dangerous Irishman, of the name of 
 O’Neill, who has come, for purposes best known to himself, to 
 settle at Hereford ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, we know him well.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed ! And what do you know of him ? ’ 
 
 ‘That he is a dangerous Irishman.’ 
 
 ‘ Right ! And it was he, was it not, that pulled down, or 
 caused to be pulled down, my rick of oak bark ? ’ 
 
 ‘ It was.’ 
 
 ‘And who was it that made away with my dog Jowler, that 
 used to guard the tan-yard ? ’ 
 
 ‘ It was the person that you suspect.’ 
 
 ‘And was it the person whom I suspect that made the hole 
 under the foundation of our cathedral ? ’ 
 
 ‘ The same, and no other.’ 
 
 ‘ And for what purpose did he make that hole ? ’ 
 
 ‘ For a purpose that must not be named,’ replied the king 
 of the gipsies, nodding his head in a mysterious manner. 
 
 ‘ But it may be named to me,’ cried the verger, ‘ for I have 
 124 
 
THE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 found it out, and I am one of the vergers ; and is it not fit 
 that a plot to blow up the Hereford cathedral should be known 
 to me, and through me ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Now, take my word, 
 
 Wise men of Hereford, 
 
 None in safety may be. 
 
 Till the bad man doth flee.’ 
 
 These oracular verses, pronounced by Bampfylde with all 
 the enthusiasm of one who was inspired, had the desired effect 
 upon our wise man ; and he left the presence of the king of 
 the gipsies with a prodigiously high opinion of his majesty’s 
 judgment and of his own, fully resolved to impart, the next 
 morning, to the mayor of Hereford his important discoveries. 
 
 Now it happened that, during the time Mr. Hill was putting 
 the foregoing queries to Bampfylde the second, there came to 
 the door or entrance of the audience -chamber an Irish hay- 
 maker, who wanted to consult the cunning man about a little 
 leathern purse which he had lost, whilst he was making hay, 
 in a field near Hereford. This haymaker was the same person 
 who, as we have related, spoke so advantageously of our hero, 
 O’Neill, to the widow Smith. As this man, whose name was 
 Paddy M'Cormack, stood at the entrance of the gipsies’ hut, 
 his attention was caught by the name of O’Neill ; and he lost 
 not a word of all that passed. He had reason to be some- 
 what surprised at hearing Bampfylde assert it was O’Neill who 
 pulled down the rick of bark. ‘ By the holy poker,’ said he 
 to himself, ‘ the old fellow now is out there. I know more o’ 
 that matter than he does — no offence to his majesty: he knows 
 no more of my purse, I’ll engage now, than he does of this 
 man’s rick of bark and his dog : so I’ll keep my tester 
 
 in my pocket, and not be giving it to this king o’ the 
 
 gipsies, as they call him ; who, as near as I can guess, is no 
 better than a cheat. But there is one secret which I can be 
 
 telling this conjuror himself ; he shall not find it such an 
 
 easy matter to do all what he thinks ; he shall not be after 
 ruining an innocent countryman of my own, whilst Paddy 
 M‘Cormack has a tongue and brains.’ 
 
 Now Paddy M‘Cormack had the best reason possible for 
 knowing that Mr. O’Neill did not pull down Mr. Hill’s rick of 
 bark ; it was M'Cormack himself, who, in the heat of his re- 
 
 125 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 sentment for the insulting arrest of his countryman in the 
 streets of Hereford, had instigated his fellow -haymakers to 
 this mischief ; he headed them, and thought he was doing a 
 clever, spirited action. 
 
 There is a strange mixture of virtue and vice in the minds 
 of the lower class of Irish ; or rather a strange confusion in 
 their ideas of right and wrong, from want of proper education. 
 As soon as poor Paddy found out that his spirited action of 
 pulling down the rick of bark was likely to be the ruin of his 
 countryman, he resolved to make all the amends in his power 
 for his folly : he went to collect his fellow-haymakers and 
 persuaded them to assist him this night in rebuilding what 
 they had pulled down. 
 
 They went to this work when everybody except themselves, 
 as they thought, was asleep in Hereford. They had just 
 completed the stack, and were all going away except Paddy, 
 who was seated at the very top, finishing the pile, when they 
 heard a loud voice cry out, ‘ Here they are, Watch ! Watch ! ’ 
 
 Immediately, all the haymakers who could ran off as fast 
 as possible. It was the watch who had been sitting up at the 
 cathedral who gave the alarm. Paddy was taken from the top 
 of the rick, and lodged in the watchhouse till morning. ‘ Since 
 I’m to be rewarded this way for doing a good action, sorrow 
 take me,’ said he, 1 if they catch me doing another the longest 
 day ever I live.’ 
 
 Happy they who have in their neighbourhood such a magis- 
 trate as Mr Marshal ! He was a man who, to an exact 
 knowledge of the duties of his office, joined the power of 
 discovering truth from the midst of contradictory evidence ; 
 and the happy art of soothing, or laughing, the angry passions 
 into good-humour. It was a common saying in Hereford — 
 that no one ever came out of Justice Marshal’s house as angry 
 as he went into it. 
 
 Mr. Marshal had scarcely breakfasted when he was in- 
 formed that Mr. Hill, the verger, wanted to speak to him on 
 business of the utmost importance. Mr. Hill, the verger, was 
 ushered in ; and, with gloomy solemnity, took a seat opposite 
 to Mr. Marshal. 
 
 ‘ Sad doings in Hereford, Mr. Marshal ! Sad doings, sir.’ 
 
 ‘ Sad doings ? Why, I was told we had merry doings in 
 Hereford. A ball the night before last, as I heard.’ 
 
 126 
 
THE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 ‘So much the worse, Mr. Marshal; so much the worse; 
 as those think with reason that see as far into things as I do . 1 
 
 ‘ So much the better, Mr. Hill,’ said Mr. Marshal, laughing ; 
 ‘ so much the better ; as those think with reason that see no 
 farther into things than I do.’ 
 
 ‘ But, sir,’ said the verger, still more solemnly, ‘ this is no 
 laughing matter, nor time for laughing ; begging your pardon. 
 Why, sir, the night of that there diabolical ball, our Hereford 
 cathedral, sir, would have been blown up — blown up from the 
 foundation, if it had not been for me, sir ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, Mr. Verger ! And pray how, and by whom, was 
 the cathedral to be blown up ? and what was there diabolical 
 in this ball ? ’ 
 
 Here Mr. Hill let Mr. Marshal into the whole history of 
 his early dislike to O’Neill, and his shrewd suspicions of him 
 the first moment he saw him in Hereford ; related in the most 
 prolix manner all that the reader knows already, and concluded 
 by saying that, as he was now certain of his facts, he was come 
 to swear examinations against this villainous Irishman, who, 
 he hoped, would be speedily brought to justice, as he deserved. 
 
 ‘To justice he shall be brought, as he deserves,’ said Mr. 
 Marshal ; ‘ but, before I write, and before you swear, will you 
 have the goodness to inform me how you have made yourself 
 as certain, as you evidently are, of what you call your facts ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Sir, that is a secret,’ replied our wise man, ‘ which I shall 
 trust to you alone ’ ; and he whispered into Mr. Marshal’s ear 
 that his information came from Bampfylde the second, king of 
 the gipsies. 
 
 Mr. Marshal instantly burst into laughter ; then composing 
 himself said, ‘ My good sir, I am really glad that you have 
 proceeded no farther in this business ; and that no one in 
 Hereford, beside myself, knows that you were on the point of 
 swearing examinations against a man on the evidence of 
 Bampfylde the second, king of the gipsies . 1 My dear sir, it 
 
 1 The following passage is an extract from Colquhoun, On the Police 
 of the Metropolis, page 69 : — ' An instance of mischievous credulity, 
 occasioned by consulting this impostor’ (a man calling himself an astrolo- 
 ger, who practised long in the Curtain Road, Shoreditch, London ; and 
 who is said, in conjunction with his associates, to have made near fyoo a 
 year by practising on the credulity of the lower order of the people ), * fell 
 lately under the review of a police magistrate. A person, having property 
 stolen from him, went to consult the conjuror respecting the thief ; who 
 
 127 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 would be a standing joke against you to the end of your days. 
 A grave man, like Mr. Hill ; and a verger too ! Why, you 
 would be the laughing-stock of Hereford !’ 
 
 Now Mr. Marshal well knew the character of the man to 
 whom he was talking, who, above all things on earth, dreaded 
 to be laughed at. Mr. Hill coloured all over his face, and, 
 pushing back his wig by way of settling it, showed that he 
 blushed not only all over his face but all over his head. 
 
 ‘Why, Mr. Marshal, sir,’ said he, ‘as to my being laughed 
 at, it is what I did not look for, being as there are some men 
 in Hereford to whom I have mentioned that hole in the 
 cathedral, who have thought it no laughing matter, and who 
 have been precisely of my own opinion thereupon.’ 
 
 ‘ But did you tell these gentlemen that you had been con- 
 sulting the king of the gipsies ? ’ 
 
 ‘No, sir, no : I can’t say that I did.’ 
 
 ‘ Then I advise you, keep your own counsel, as I will.’ 
 
 Mr. Hill, whose imagination wavered between the hole in 
 the cathedral and his rick of bark on one side, and between his 
 rick of bark and his dog Jowler on the other, now began to 
 talk of the dog, and now of the rick of bark ; and when he 
 had exhausted all he had to say upon these subjects, Mr. 
 Marshal gently pulled him towards the window, and putting a 
 spy-glass into his hand, bid him look towards his own tan-yard, 
 and tell him what he saw. To his great surprise, Mr. Hill 
 saw his rick of bark rebuilt. ‘ Why, it was not there last night,’ 
 exclaimed he, rubbing his eyes. ‘Why, some conjuror must 
 have done this.’ 
 
 ‘No,’ replied Mr. Marshal, ‘no conjuror did it: but your 
 friend Bampfylde the second, king of the gipsies, was the cause 
 of its being rebuilt ; and here is the man who actually pulled it 
 down, and who actually rebuilt it.’ 
 
 As he said these words, Mr. Marshal opened the door of an 
 adjoining room, and beckoned to the Irish haymaker, who had 
 been taken into custody about an hour before this time. The 
 
 having described something like the person of a man whom he suspected, 
 his credulity and folly so far got the better of his reason and reflection, as 
 to induce him, upon the authority of this impostor, actually to charge his 
 neighbour with a felony, and to cause him to be apprehended. The 
 magistrate settled the matter by discharging the prisoner, reprimanding 
 the accuser severely, and ordering the conjuror to be taken into custody, 
 according to law, as a rogue and a vagabond. ’ 
 
 128 
 
THE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 watch who took Paddy had called at Mr. Hill’s house to tell 
 him what had happened, but Mr. Hill was not then at home. 
 
 It was with much surprise that the verger heard the simple 
 truth from this poor fellow ; but no sooner was he convinced 
 that O’Neill was innocent as to this affair, than he recurred to 
 his other ground of suspicion, the loss of his dog. 
 
 The Irish haymaker now stepped forward, and, with a 
 peculiar twist of the hips and shoulders, which those only who 
 have seen it can picture to themselves, said, ‘ Plase your 
 honour’s honour, I have a little word to say too about the dog.’ 
 
 ‘ Say it then,’ said Mr. Marshal. 
 
 ‘ Plase your honour, if I might expect to be forgiven, and 
 let off for pulling down the jontleman’s stack, I might be able 
 to tell him what I know about the dog.’ 
 
 ‘ If you can tell me anything about my dog,’ said the tanner, 
 ‘ I will freely forgive you for pulling down the rick : especially 
 as you have built it up again. Speak the truth now : did not 
 O’Neill make away with the dog?’ 
 
 ‘ Not at all at all, plase your honour,’ replied the haymaker : 
 ‘ and the truth of the matter is, 1 know nothing of the dog, good 
 or bad ; but I know something of his collar, if your name, 
 plase your honour, is Hill, as I take it to be.’ 
 
 ‘ My name is Hill : proceed,’ said the tanner, with great 
 eagerness. ‘ You know something about the collar of my dog 
 J owler ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Plase your honour, this much I know any way, that it is 
 now, or was the night before last, at the pawnbroker’s there, 
 below in town ; for, plase your honour, I was sent late at night 
 (that night that Mr. O’Neill, long life to him ! was arrested) 
 to the pawnbroker’s for a Jew, by Mrs. O’Neill, poor creature ! 
 she was in great trouble that same time.’ 
 
 ‘ Very likely,’ interrupted Mr. Hill : ‘ but go on to the collar ; 
 what of the collar ? ’ 
 
 ‘ She sent me,- — I’ll tell you the story, plase your honour, 
 out of the face— she sent me to the pawnbroker’s for the Jew ; 
 and, it being so late at night, the shop was shut, and it was 
 with all the trouble in life that I got into the house any way : 
 and, when I got in, there was none but a slip of a boy up ; 
 and he set down the light that he had in his hand, and ran up 
 the stairs to waken his master : and, whilst he was gone, I 
 just made bold to look round at what sort of a place I was in, 
 K 1 29 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 and at the old clothes and rags and scraps ; there was a sort 
 of a frieze trusty.’ 
 
 ‘ A trusty ! ’ said Mr. Hill ; ‘ what is that pray ? ’ 
 
 ‘ A big coat, sure, plase your honour : there was a frieze 
 big coat lying in a corner, which I had my eye upon, to trate 
 myself to ; I having, as I then thought, money in my little 
 purse enough for it. Well, I won’t trouble your honour’s 
 honour with telling of you now how I lost my purse in the 
 field, as I found after ; but about the big coat, as I was saying, 
 
 I just lifted it off the ground, to see would it fit me ; and, as I 
 swung it round, something, plase your honour, hit me a great 
 knock on the shins : it was in the pocket of the coat, whatever 
 it was, I knew ; so I looks into the pocket, to see what was it, 
 plase your honour, and out I pulls a hammer and a dog-collar ; 
 it was a wonder, both together, they did not break my shins 
 entirely : but it’s no matter for my shins now : so, before the 
 boy came down, I just out of idleness spelt out to myself the 
 name that was upon the collar : there were two names, plase 
 your honour ; and out of the first there were so many letters 
 hammered out I could make nothing of it at all at all ; but 
 the other name was plain enough to read any way, and it was 
 Hill, plase your honour’s honour, as sure as life : Hill, now.’ 
 
 This story was related in tones and gestures which were so 
 new and strange to English ears and eyes, that even the 
 solemnity of our verger gave way to laughter. — Mr. Marshal 
 sent a summons for the pawnbroker, that he might learn from 
 him how he came by the dog-collar. The pawnbroker, when 
 he found from Mr. Marshal that he could by no other means 
 save himself from being committed to prison, confessed that 
 the collar had been sold to him by Bampfylde the second, king 
 of the gipsies. 
 
 A warrant was immediately despatched for his majesty : 
 and Mr. Hill was a good deal alarmed by the fear of its being 
 known in Hereford that he was on the point of swearing 
 examinations against an innocent man, upon the evidence of a 
 dog-stealer and a gipsy. 
 
 Bampfylde the second made no sublime appearance, when 
 he was brought before Mr. Marshal ; nor could all his astrology 
 avail upon this occasion : the evidence of the pawnbroker was 
 so positive, as to the fact of his having sold to him the dog- 
 collar, that there was no resource left for Bampfylde but an 
 
 T30 
 
THE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 appeal to Mr. Hill’s mercy. He fell on his knees, and con- 
 fessed that it was he who stole the dog ; which used to bark 
 
 ‘ TIlc solemnity of our verger gave tuny to laughter.' 
 
 at him at night so furiously that he could not commit certain 
 petty depredations, by which, as much as by telling fortunes, 
 he made his livelihood. 
 
POrULAR TALES 
 
 1 And so,’ said Mr. Marshal, with a sternness of manner 
 which till now he had never shown, ‘ to screen yourself, you 
 accused an innocent man ; and by your vile arts would have 
 driven him from Hereford, and have set two families for ever 
 at variance, to conceal that you had stolen a dog.’ 
 
 The king of the gipsies was, without further ceremony, 
 committed to the house of correction. We should not omit to 
 mention, that, on searching his hut, the Irish haymaker’s purse 
 was found, which some of his majesty’s train had emptied. 
 The whole set of gipsies decamped, upon the news of the 
 apprehension of their monarch. 
 
 Mr. Hill stood in profound silence, leaning upon his 
 walking-stick, whilst the committal was making out for 
 Bampfylde the second. The fear of ridicule was struggling 
 with the natural positiveness of his temper : he was dreadfully 
 afraid that the story of his being taken in by the king of the 
 gipsies would get abroad ; and, at the same time, he was 
 unwilling to give up his prejudice against the Irish glover. 
 
 ‘ But, Mr. Marshal,’ cried he, after a long silence, ‘ the hole 
 under the foundation of the cathedral has never been accounted 
 for : that is, was, and ever will be, an ugly mystery to me ; 
 and I never can have a good opinion of this Irishman till it 
 is cleared up ; nor can 1 think the cathedral in safety.’ 
 
 ‘What!’ said Mr. Marshal, with an arch smile, ‘I suppose 
 the verses of the oracle still work upon your imagination, Mr. 
 Hill. They are excellent in their kind. I must have them by 
 heart that, when I am asked the reason why Mr. Hill has 
 taken an aversion to an Irish glover, I may be able to repeat 
 them : 
 
 Now, take my word, 
 
 Wise men of Hereford, 
 
 None in safety may be, 
 
 Till the bad man doth flee.’ 
 
 ‘ You’ll oblige me, sir,’ said the verger, ‘ if you would never 
 repeat those verses, sir ; nor mention, in any company, the 
 affair of the king of the gipsies.’ 
 
 ‘ I will oblige you,’ replied Mr. Marshal, ‘ if you will oblige 
 me. Will you tell me honestly whether, now that you find this 
 Mr. O’Neill is neither a dog-killer nor a puller-down of bark 
 ricks, you feel that you could forgive him for being an Irish- 
 
 132 
 
THE LIMERICK GLOVES 
 
 man, if the mystery, as you call it, of the hole under the 
 cathedral was cleared up ? ’ 
 
 ‘ But that is not cleared up, I say, sir,’ cried Mr. Hill, 
 striking his walking-stick forcibly upon the ground with both 
 his hands. ‘As to the matter of his being an Irishman, I 
 have nothing to say to it : I am not saying anything about 
 that, for I know we all are born where it pleases God ; and 
 an Irishman may be as good as another. I know that much, 
 Mr. Marshal ; and I am not one of those illiberal-minded 
 ignorant people that cannot abide a man that was not born in 
 England. Ireland is now in His Majesty’s dominions, I know 
 very well, Mr. Marshal ; and I have no manner of doubt, as I 
 said before, that an Irishman born may be as good, almost, as 
 an Englishman born.’ 
 
 ‘ I am glad,’ said Mr. Marshal, ‘ to hear you speak, almost, 
 as reasonably as an Englishman born and every man ought to 
 speak ; and I am convinced that you have too much English 
 hospitality to persecute an inoffensive stranger, who comes 
 amongst us trusting to our justice and good nature.’ 
 
 ‘ I would not persecute a stranger, God forbid ! ’ replied the 
 verger, ‘ if he was, as you say, inoffensive.’ 
 
 ‘ And if he was not only inoffensive, but ready to do every 
 service in his power to those who are in want of his assistance, 
 we should not return evil for good, should we ? ’ 
 
 ‘ That would be uncharitable, to be sure ; and moreover a 
 scandal,’ said the verger. 
 
 ‘Then,’ said Mr. Marshal, ‘will you walk with me as far as 
 the widow Smith’s, the poor woman whose house was burnt 
 last winter ? This haymaker, who lodged near her, can show 
 us the way to her present abode.’ 
 
 During his examination of Paddy M‘Cormack, who would 
 tell his whole history, as he called it, out of the face , Mr. 
 Marshal heard several instances of the humanity and goodness 
 of O’Neill, which Paddy related to excuse himself for that 
 warmth of attachment to his cause, that had been manifested 
 so injudiciously by pulling down the rick of bark in revenge 
 for the arrest. Amongst other things, Paddy mentioned his 
 countryman’s goodness to the widow Smith : Mr. Marshal was 
 determined, therefore, to see whether he had, in this instance, 
 spoken the truth ; and he took Mr. Hill with him, in hopes of 
 being able to show him the favourable side of O’Neill’s character. 
 
 133 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Things turned out just as Mr. Marshal expected. The 
 poor widow and her family, in the most simple and affecting 
 manner, described the distress from which they had been 
 relieved by the good gentleman and lady, the lady was Phcebe 
 Hill ; and the praises that were bestowed upon Phcebe were 
 delightful to her father’s ear, whose angry passions had now all 
 subsided. 
 
 The benevolent Mr. Marshal seized the moment when he 
 saw Mr. Hill’s heart was touched, and exclaimed, ‘ I must be 
 acquainted with this Mr. O’Neill. I am sure we people of 
 Hereford ought to show some hospitality to a stranger who 
 has so much humanity. Mr. Hill, will you dine with him to- 
 morrow at my house ?’ 
 
 Mr. Hill was just going to accept of this invitation, when 
 the recollection of all he had said to his club about the hole 
 under the cathedral came across him ; and, drawing Mr. 
 Marshal aside, he whispered, ‘ But, sir, sir, that affair of the 
 hole under the cathedral has not been cleared up yet.’ 
 
 At this instant, the widow Smith exclaimed, ‘ Oh ! here 
 comes my little Mary ’ (one of her children, who came running 
 in) : ‘this is the little girl, sir, to whom the lady has been so good. 
 Make your curtsy, child. Where have you been all this while ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Mammy,’ said the child, ‘ Pve been showing the lady my rat.’ 
 
 ‘ Lord bless her ! Gentlemen, the child has been wanting 
 me this many a day to go to see this tame rat of hers ; but I 
 could never get time, never : and I wondered too at the child’s 
 liking such a creature. Tell the gentlemen, dear, about your 
 rat. All I know is, that, let her have but never such a tiny 
 bit of bread, for breakfast or supper, she saves a little of that 
 little for this rat of hers : she and her brothers have found it 
 out somewhere by the cathedral.’ 
 
 ‘ It comes out of a hole under the wall of the cathedral,’ 
 said one of the elder boys ; ‘ and we have diverted ourselves 
 watching it, and sometimes we have put victuals for it, so it 
 has grown, in a manner, tame like.’ 
 
 Mr. Hill and Mr. Marshal looked at one another during 
 this speech ; and the dread of ridicule again seized on Mr. 
 Hill, when he apprehended that, after all he had said, the 
 mountain might, at last, bring forth — a rat. Mr. Marshal, 
 who instantly saw what passed in the verger’s mind, relieved 
 him from this fear, by refraining even from a smile on this 
 
 134 
 
Phoebe appeared the next day, at Mr. Marshal' s } in the Limerick gloves. 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 occasion. He only said to the child, in a grave manner, ‘ I 
 am afraid, my dear, we shall be obliged to spoil your diversion. 
 Mr. Verger, here, cannot suffer rat-holes in the cathedral : but, 
 to make you amends for the loss of your favourite, I will give 
 you a very pretty little dog, if you have a mind.’ 
 
 The child was well pleased with this promise ; and, at Mr. 
 Marshal’s desire, she then went along with him and Mr. Hill 
 to the cathedral, and they placed themselves at a little distance 
 from that hole which had created so much disturbance. The 
 child soon brought the dreadful enemy to light ; and Mr. Hill, 
 with a faint laugh, said, ‘ I’m glad it’s no worse : but there 
 were many in our club who were of my opinion ; and, if they 
 had not suspected O’Neill too, I am sure I should never have 
 given you so much trouble, sir, as I have done this morning. 
 But 1 hope, as the club know nothing about that vagabond, 
 that king of the gipsies, you will not let any one know anything 
 about the prophecy, and all that ? I am sure, I am very sorry 
 to have given you so much trouble, Mr. Marshal.’ 
 
 Mr. Marshal assured him that he did not regret the time 
 which he had spent in endeavouring to clear up all these 
 mysteries and suspicions ; and Mr. Hill gladly accepted his 
 invitation to meet O’Neill at his house the next day. No 
 sooner had Mr. Marshal brought one of the parties to reason 
 and good-humour, than he went to prepare the other for a recon- 
 ciliation. O’Neill and his mother were both people of warm 
 but forgiving tempers : the arrest was fresh in their minds ; but 
 when Mr. Marshal represented to them the whole affair, and 
 the verger’s prejudices, in a humorous light, they joined in the 
 good-natured laugh, and O’Neill declared that, for his part, he 
 was ready to forgive and to forget everything, if he could but 
 see Miss Phcebe in the Limerick gloves. 
 
 Phcebe appeared the next day, at Mr. Marshal’s, in the 
 Limerick gloves ; and no perfume ever was so delightful to her 
 lover as the smell of the rose leaves in which they had been kept. 
 
 Mr. Marshal had the benevolent pleasure of reconciling the 
 two families. The tanner and the glover of Hereford became, 
 from bitter enemies, useful friends to each other ; and they 
 were convinced, by experience, that nothing could be more for 
 their mutual advantage than to live in union. 
 
 Nov. 1799. 
 
 136 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Leonard Ludgate was the only son and heir of a London 
 haberdasher, who had made some money by constant attend- 
 ance to his shop. ‘ Out of debt out of danger ’ was the father’s 
 old-fashioned saying. The son’s more liberal maxim was, 
 ‘ Spend to-day, and spare to-morrow.’ Whilst he was under 
 his father’s eye, it was not in his power to live up to his prin- 
 ciples ; and he longed for the time when he should be relieved 
 from his post behind the counter : a situation which he deemed 
 highly unworthy a youth of his parts and spirit. To imprison 
 his elegant person behind a counter in Cranbourne Alley was, 
 to be sure, in a cruel father’s power ; but his tyranny could 
 not extend to his mind ; and, whilst he was weighing minikin 
 pins, or measuring out penny ribbon, his soul, leaving all these 
 meaner things, was expatiating in Bond Street or Hyde Park. 
 Whilst his fingers mechanically adjusted the scales, or care- 
 lessly slipped the yard, his imagination was galloping a fine 
 bay with Tom Lewis, or driving Miss Belle Perkins in a gig. 
 
 Now Tom Lewis was a dashing young citizen, whom old 
 Ludgate could not endure ; and Miss Belle Perkins a would-be 
 fine lady, whom he advised his son never to think of for a wife. 
 But the happy moment at length arrived, when our hero could 
 safely show how much he despised both the advice and the 
 character of his father ; when he could quit his nook behind 
 the counter, throw aside the yard, assume the whip, and affect 
 the fine gentleman. In short, the happy moment came when 
 his father died. 
 
 Leonard now shone forth in all the glory which the united 
 137 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 powers of tailor, hatter, and hosier could spread around his 
 person. Miss Belle Perkins, who had hitherto looked down 
 upon our hero as a reptile of Cranbourne Alley, beheld his 
 metamorphosis with surprise and admiration. And she, who 
 had formerly been heard to say ‘ she would not touch him with 
 a pair of tongs,’ now unreluctantly gave him her envied hand 
 at a ball at Bagnigge Wells. Report farther adds that, at tea, 
 Miss Belle whispered, loud enough to be heard, that since his 
 queer father’s death, Leonard Ludgate had turned out quite a 
 genteeler sort of person than could have been expected. 
 
 ‘ Upon this hint he spake.’ His fair one, after assuming 
 all proper and becoming airs upon the occasion, suffered her- 
 self to be prevailed upon to call, with her mother and a friend, 
 at Mr. Ludgate’s house in Cranbourne Alley, to see whether it 
 could be possibly inhabited by a lady of her taste and con- 
 sequence. 
 
 As Leonard handed her out of her hackney-coach, she 
 exclaimed, ‘ Bless us, and be we to go up this paved lane, and 
 through the shop, before we can get to the more creditabler 
 apartments ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Pm going to cut a passage off the shop, which I’ve long 
 had in contemplation,’ replied our hero ; ‘ only I can’t get light 
 into it cleverly.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh ! a lamp in the style of a chandaleer will do vastly well 
 by night, which is the time one wants one’s house to put the 
 best foot foremost, for company ; and by day we can make a 
 shift, somehow or other, I daresay. Anything’s better than 
 trapesing through a shop ; which is a thing I’ve never been 
 used to, and cannot reconcile myself to by any means.’ 
 
 Leonard immediately acceded to this scheme of the dark 
 passage by day, and the chandaleer by night ; and he hurried 
 his fair one through the odious shop to the more creditabler 
 apartments. She was handed above, about, and underneath. 
 She found every particle of the house wanted modernising 
 immensely, and was altogether smaller than she could ever 
 have conceived beforehand. Our hero, ambitious at once to 
 show his gallantry, spirit, and taste, incessantly protested he 
 would adopt every improvement Miss Belle Perkins could 
 suggest ; and he declared that the identical same ideas had 
 occurred to him a hundred and a hundred times, during his 
 poor father’s lifetime ; but he could never make the old gentle- 
 
 138 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 man enter into anything of the sort, his notions of life being 
 utterly limited, to say no worse. ‘ He had one old saw, for 
 ever grating in my ears, as an answer to everything that bore 
 the stamp of gentility, or carried with it an air of spirit : hey, 
 Allen ! ’ continued our hero, looking over his shoulder at a 
 young man who was casting up accounts ; ‘ hey, Allen— you 
 remember the old saw ? ’ 
 
 ‘Yes, sir,’ replied the young man, ‘if you mean “Out of 
 debt out of danger ” : I hope I shall never forget it.’ 
 
 ‘ I hope so too ; as you have your fortune to make, it is very 
 proper for you : but for one that has a fortune ready made to 
 spend, I am free to confess 1 think my principle worth a million 
 of it : and my maxim is, “ Spend to-day, and spare to-morrow ” : 
 hey, ladies ? ’ concluded Leonard, appealing with an air secure 
 of approbation to his fair mistress and her young companion. 
 
 ‘ Why, that suits my notions, I must own candidly,’ said 
 Belle ; ‘but here’s one beside me, or behind me — Where are 
 you, Lucy ? ’ pursued the young lady, addressing herself to her 
 humble companion : ‘ here’s one, who is more of your shop- 
 man’s way of thinking than yours, I fancy. “ Out of debt 
 out of danger” is just a sober saying to your mind, an’t it, 
 Lucy ? ’ 
 
 Lucy did not deny the charge. ‘ Well, child,’ said Miss 
 Perkins, ‘ it’s very proper, for you have no fortune of your own 
 to spend.’ 
 
 ‘ It is, indeed,’ said Lucy, with modest firmness ; ‘for as I 
 have none of my own, if it were my maxim to spend to-day and 
 spare to-morrow, I should be obliged to spend other people’s 
 money, which I never will do as long as I can maintain myself 
 independently.’ 
 
 ‘How proud we are!’ cried Miss Perkins, sarcastically. 
 Leonard assented to the sarcasm by his looks ; but Allen 
 declared he liked proper pride, and seemed to think that 
 Lucy’s was of this species. 
 
 An argument might have ensued, if a collation, as Mr. Lud- 
 gate called it, had not appeared at this critical moment. Of 
 what it consisted, and how genteelly and gallantly our hero did 
 the honours of his collation, we forbear to relate ; but one 
 material circumstance we must not omit, as on this, perhaps 
 more than even on his gentility and gallantry, depended the 
 fortune of the day. In rummaging over a desk to find a 
 
 139 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 corkscrew, young Ludgate took occasion to open and shake a 
 pocket-book, from which fell a shower of bank-notes. What 
 effect they produced upon his fair one, and on her mother, can 
 be best judged of by the event. Miss Belle Perkins, after this 
 domiciliary visit, consented to go with our hero on Sunday 
 to Kensington Gardens, Monday to Sadler’s Wells, Tuesday 
 on the water, Wednesday to the play, Thursday the Lord knows 
 to what ball, Friday to Vauxhall, and on Saturday to — the 
 altar ! 
 
 Some people thought the young lady and gentleman rather 
 precipitate ; but these were persons who, as the bride justly 
 observed, did not understand anything in nature of a love 
 match. Those who have more liberal notions, and a more 
 extensive knowledge of the human heart, can readily com- 
 prehend how a lady may think a man so odious at one 
 minute, that she could not touch him with a pair of tongs, and 
 so charming the next, that she would die a thousand deaths for 
 him, and him alone. Immediately after the ceremony was 
 performed, Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate went down in the hoy to 
 Margate, to spend their honeymoon in style. Their honey- 
 moon, alas ! could not be prolonged beyond the usual bounds. 
 Even the joys of Margate could not be eternal, and the day 
 came too soon when our happy pair were obliged to think of 
 returning home. Home ! With what different sensations 
 different people pronounce and hear that word pronounced ! 
 Mrs. Leonard Ludgate’s home in Cranbourne Alley appeared 
 to her, as she scrupled not to declare, an intolerable low 
 place, after Margate. The stipulated alterations, her husband 
 observed, had been made in the house, but none of them had 
 been executed to her satisfaction. The expedient of the dark 
 passage was not found to succeed : a thorough wind, from the 
 front and back doors, ran along it when either or both were left 
 open to admit light ; and this wicked wind, not content with 
 running along the passage, forced its way up and down stairs, 
 made the kitchen chimney smoke, and rendered even the more 
 creditabler apartments scarcely habitable. Chimney doctors 
 were in vain consulted : the favourite dark passage was at 
 length abandoned, and the lady, to her utter discomfiture, was 
 obliged to pass through the shop. 
 
 To make herself amends for this mortification, she insisted 
 upon throwing down the partition between the dining-room and 
 
 140 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 her own bedchamber, that she might have one decent apart- 
 ment at least fit for a rout. It was to no purpose that her friend 
 Lucy, who was called in to assist in making up furniture, repre- 
 sented that this scheme of throwing bedchamber and dining- 
 room into one would be attended with some inconveniences ; 
 for instance, that Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate would be obliged, in 
 consequence of this improvement, to sleep in half of the maid’s 
 garret, or to sit up all night. This objection was overruled by 
 Mrs. Ludgate, whose genius, fertile in expedients, made every- 
 thing easy, by the introduction of a bed in the dining-room, in 
 the shape of a sofa. The newly-enlarged apartment, she ob- 
 served, would thus answer the double purposes of show and 
 utility ; and, as soon as the supper and card tables should be 
 removed, the sofa-bed might be let down. She asserted that 
 the first people in London manage in this way. Leonard 
 could not contradict his lady, because she had a ready method 
 of silencing him, by asking how he could possibly know any- 
 thing of life who had lived all his days, except Sundays, in 
 Cranbourne Alley ? Then, if any one of his father’s old notions 
 of economy by chance twinged his conscience, Belle very 
 judiciously asked how he ever came to think of her for a 
 wife. ‘ Since you have got a genteel wife,’ said she, ‘ it 
 becomes you to live up to her notions, and to treat her as she 
 and her friends have a right to expect. Before I married you, 
 sir, none of the Perkinses were in trade themselves, either 
 directly or indirectly ; and many’s the slights and reproaches 
 I’ve met with from my own relations and former acquaintances, 
 since my marriage, on account of the Ludgates being all 
 tradesfolks ; to which I always answer, that my Leonard is 
 going to wash his hands of trade himself, and to make over 
 all concern in the haberdashery line and shop to the young 
 man below stairs, who is much better suited to such things.’ 
 
 By such speeches as these, alternately piquing and soothing 
 the vanity of her Leonard, our accomplished wife worked him 
 to her purposes. She had a rout once a week ; and her room 
 was so crowded, that there was scarcely a possibilityof breathing. 
 Yet, notwithstanding all this, she one morning declared, with a 
 burst of tears, she was the most miserable woman in the world. 
 And why? Because her friend, Mrs. Pimlico, Miss Coxeater 
 that was, had a house in Weymouth Street ; whilst she was 
 forced to keep on being buried in Cranbourne Alley. Mr. 
 
 141 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Ludgate was moved by his wife’s tears, and by his own 
 ambition, and took a house in Weymouth Street. But before 
 they had been there six weeks, the fair one was again found 
 bathed in tears. And why ? * Because,’ said Belle, ‘ because, 
 
 Mr. Ludgate, the furniture of this house is as old as Methu- 
 salem’s ; and my friend, Mrs. Pimlico, said yesterday that it 
 was a shame to be seen : and so to be sure it is, compared 
 with her own, which is spic and span new. Yet why should she 
 pretend to look down upon me in point of furniture, or anything ? 
 Who was she, before she was married ? Little Kitty Coxeater, 
 as we always called her at the dancing-school ; and nobody 
 ever thought of comparing her, in point of gentility, with Belle 
 Perkins ! Why, she is as ugly as sin ! though she is my friend, 
 I must acknowledge that ; and, if she had all the clothes in the 
 world, she would never know how to put any of them on ; that’s 
 one comfort. And, as everybody says, to be sure she never 
 would have got a husband but for her money. And, after all, 
 what sort of a husband has she got ? A perfumer, indeed ! a 
 man with a face like one of his own wash-balls, all manner 
 of colours. I declare, I would rather have gone without to the 
 end of my days than have married Mr. Pimlico.’ 
 
 ‘ I cannot blame you there, my dear,’ said Mr. Ludgate ; 
 ‘ for to be sure Mr. Pimlico, much as he thinks of himself and 
 his country house, has as little the air of — the air of fashion as 
 can be well conceived.’ 
 
 Leonard Ludgate made an emphatic pause in this speech ; 
 and surveyed himself in a looking-glass with much complacency, 
 whilst he pronounced the word fashion. He, indeed, approved 
 so much of his wife’s taste and discernment, in preferring him 
 to Mr. Pimlico, that he could not at this moment help inclining 
 to follow her judgment respecting the furniture. He acceded 
 to her position, that the Ludgates ought to appear at least no 
 shabbier than the Pimlicos. The conclusion was inevitable : 
 Leonard, according to his favourite maxim of ‘ Spend to-day, 
 and spare to-morrow,’ agreed that they might new furnish the 
 house this year, and pay for it the next. This was immediately 
 done ; and the same principle was extended through all their 
 household affairs, as far as the tradesmen concerned would 
 admit of its being carried into practice. 
 
 By this means, Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate were not for some 
 time sensible of the difficulties they were preparing for them- 
 
 142 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 selves. They went on vying with the Pimlicos, and with all 
 their new acquaintance, who were many of them much richer 
 than themselves ; and of this vain competition there was no 
 end. Those who estimate happiness not by the real comforts 
 or luxuries which they enjoy, but by comparison between them- 
 selves and their neighbours, must be subject to continual 
 mortification and discontent. Far from being happier than 
 they were formerly, Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate were much more 
 miserable after their removal to Weymouth Street. Was it not 
 better to be the first person in Cranbourne Alley than the last 
 in Weymouth Street ? New wants and wishes continually arose 
 in their new situation. They must live like other people. 
 Everybody, that is, everybody in Weymouth Street, did so and 
 so ; and therefore they must do the same. They must go to 
 such a place, or they must have such a thing, not because it 
 was in itself necessary or desirable, but because everybody, 
 that is, everybody of their acquaintance, did or had the same. 
 Even to be upon a footing with their new neighbours was a 
 matter of some difficulty ; and then merely to be upon an 
 equality, merely to be admitted and suffered at parties, is 
 awkward and humiliating. Noble ambition prompted them 
 continually to aim at distinction. The desire to attain il ftoco 
 piu — the little more, stimulates to excellence, or betrays to ruin, 
 according to the objects of our ambition. No artist ever took 
 more pains to surpass Raphael or Correggio than was taken by 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate to outshine Mr. and Mrs. Pimlico. 
 And still what they had done seemed nothing : what they were 
 to do occupied all their thoughts. No timid economical fears 
 could stop or even startle them in the road to ruin. Faithful 
 to his maxim, our hero denied himself nothing. If, for a 
 moment, the idea that anything was too expensive suggested 
 itself, his wife banished care by observing, ‘ We need not pay 
 for it now. What signifies it, since we need not think of 
 paying for it till next year ? ’ She had abundance of arguments 
 of similar solidity, adapted to all occasions. Sometimes the 
 thing in question was such a trifle it could not ruin anybody. 
 ‘ ’Tis but a guinea ! ’ Tis but a few shillings ! ’ Sometimes it 
 
 was a sort of thing that could not ruin anybody, because ‘ ’Tis 
 but for once and away ! ’ ’ Tis but is a most dangerous thing ! 
 
 How many guineas may be spent upon ’tis but, in the course 
 of one year, in such a city as London ! 
 
 *43 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Bargains ! excellent bargains ! were also with our heroine 
 admirable pleas for expense. ‘ We positively must buy this, 
 my clear ; for it would be a sin to let such a bargain slip 
 through one’s fingers. Mrs. Pimlico paid twice as much for 
 what is not half as good. ’Twould be quite a shame to one’s 
 good sense to miss such a bargain ! ’ Mrs. Ludgate was one 
 of those ladies who think it is more reasonable to buy a thing 
 because it is a bargain than because they want it : she farther 
 argued, ‘ If we don’t want it, we may want it ’ : and this was a 
 satisfactory plea. 
 
 Under the head bargains we must not forget cheap days. 
 Messrs. Run and Raffle advertised a sale of old shop goods, 
 with the catching words — cheap days ! Everybody crowded 
 to throw away their money on cheap days ; and, amongst the 
 rest, Mrs. Ludgate. 
 
 One circumstance was rather disagreeable in these cheap 
 days : ready money was required ; and this did not suit those 
 who lived by the favourite maxim of the family. Yet there 
 was a reason that counterbalanced their objection in Mrs. 
 Ludgate’s mind : ‘ Mrs. Pimlico was going to Messrs. Run and 
 Raffle’s ; and what would she think, if I wasn’t to be there ? 
 She’d think, to be sure, that we were as poor as Job.’ So, to 
 demonstrate that she had ready money to throw away, Mrs. 
 Ludgate must go on the cheap days. 
 
 ‘ Belle,’ said her husband, ‘ ready money’s a serious thing.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, Leonard, but, when nothing else will be taken, you 
 know, one can’t do without it.’ 
 
 ‘ But, if one has not it, I tell you, one must do without it,’ 
 said Leonard peevishly. 
 
 ‘ Lord, Mr. Ludgate, if you have not it about you, can’t you 
 send to Cranbourne Alley, to Mr. Allen, for some for me ? ’Tis 
 but a few guineas I want ; and ’twould be a shame to miss such 
 bargains as are to be had for nothing, at Run and Raffle’s. 
 And these cheap days are extraordinary things. It can’t ruin 
 anybody to spend a guinea or two, once and away, like other 
 people.’ 
 
 At the conclusion of her eloquent speech, Mrs. Ludgate 
 rang the bell ; and, without waiting for any assent from her 
 husband but silence, bade the footman run to the shop, and 
 desire Allen to send her ten guineas immediately. 
 
 Mr. Ludgate looked sullen, whistled, and then posted him- 
 144 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 self at the parlour window to watch for the ambassador’s return. 
 ‘ I wonder,’ continued Mrs. Ludgate, ‘ I wonder, Leonard, that 
 you let Allen leave you so bare of cash of late ! It is very 
 disagreeable to be always sending out of the house, this way, 
 for odd guineas. Allen, I think, uses you very ill ; but I am 
 sure I would not let him cheat me, if I was you. Pray, when 
 you gave up the business of the shop to him, was not you to 
 have half the profits for your good-will, and name, and all 
 that ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes.’ 
 
 ‘ And little enough ! But why don’t you look after Allen, 
 then, and make him pay us what he owes us ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I’ll see about it to-morrow, child.’ 
 
 ‘About how much do you think is owing to us ?’ pursued 
 Mrs. Ludgate. 
 
 ‘ I can’t tell, ma’am.’ 
 
 ‘ I wish then you’d settle accounts to-morrow, that I might 
 have some ready money.’ 
 
 The lady seemed to take it for granted that her having 
 ready money would be the necessary and immediate conse- 
 quence of settling accounts with Allen ; her husband could 
 have set her right in this particular, and could have informed 
 her that not a farthing was due to him ; that, on the contrary, 
 he had taken up money in advance, on the next half-year’s 
 expected profits ; but Mr. Ludgate was ashamed to let his wife 
 know the real state of his affairs : indeed, he was afraid to look 
 them in the face himself. ‘ Here’s the boy coming back ! ’ 
 cried he, after watching for some time in silence at the window. 
 
 Leonard went to the street-door to meet him ; and Belle 
 followed close, crying, 1 Well ! I hope Allen has sent me the 
 money ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know,’ said the breathless boy. ‘ I have a letter 
 for my master, here, that was written ready, by good luck, 
 afore I got there.’ 
 
 Leonard snatched the letter ; and his wife waited to see 
 whether the money was enclosed. 
 
 ‘ The rascal has sent me no money, I see, but a letter, and 
 an account as long as my arm.’ 
 
 ‘ No money !’ cried Belle ; ‘that’s using us very oddly and 
 ill, indeed ; and I wonder you submit to such conduct ! I 
 declare I won’t bear it ! Go back, I say, Jack ; go, run this 
 L 145 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 minute, and tell Allen he must come up himself ; for /, Mrs. 
 Ludgate , wants to speak with him.’ 
 
 ‘ No, my dear, no ; nonsense ! don’t go, Jack. What 
 signifies your sending to speak with Allen ? What can you 
 do ? How can you settle accounts with him ? What should 
 women know of business ? I wish women would never meddle 
 with things they don’t understand.’ 
 
 ‘ Women can understand well enough when they want 
 money,’ cried the sharp lady ; ‘ and the short and the long of 
 it is, Mr. Ludgate, that I will see and settle accounts with 
 Allen myself ; and bring him to reason, if you won’t ; and this 
 minute, too.’ 
 
 ‘ Bless me ! upon my faith, Allen’s better than we thought : 
 here’s bank-notes within the account,’ said Mr. Ludgate. 
 
 ‘ Ay, I thought he could not be so very impertinent as to 
 refuse when / sent to him myself. But this is only one five- 
 pound note : I sent for ten. Where is the other ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I want the other myself,’ said her husband. 
 
 The tone was so peremptory, that she dared not tempt him 
 further ; and away she went to Messrs. Run and Raffle’s, 
 where she had the pleasure of buying a bargain of things that 
 were of no manner of use to her, and for which she paid twice 
 as much as they were worth. These cheap days proved dear 
 days to many. 
 
 Whilst Mrs. Ludgate spent the morning at Messrs. Run 
 and Raffle’s, her husband was with Tom Lewis, lounging up 
 and down Bond Street. Tom Lewis, being just one step above 
 him in gentility, was invited to parties where Ludgate could 
 not gain admittance, was bowed to by people who never bowed 
 to Leonard Ludgate, could tell to whom this livery or that 
 carriage belonged, knew who everybody was, and could point 
 out my lord this, and my lady that, in the park or at the play. 
 All these things made him a personage of prodigious conse- 
 quence in the eyes of our hero, who looked upon him as the 
 mirror of fashion. Tom knew how to take advantage of this 
 admiration, and borrowed many a guinea from him in their 
 morning walks : in return, he introduced Mr. Ludgate to some 
 of his friends, and to his club. 
 
 New occasions, or rather new necessities, for expense oc- 
 curred every day, in consequence of his connection with Lewis. 
 Whilst he aimed at being thought a young man of spirit, he could 
 
 146 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 not avoid doing as other people did. He could not think of 
 economy ! That would be shabby ! On his fortune rested his 
 claims to respect from his present associates ; and therefore it 
 was his constant aim to raise their opinion of his riches. For 
 some time, extravagance was not immediately checked by the 
 want of money, because he put off the evil day of payment. At 
 last, when bills poured in upon him, and the frequent calls of 
 tradesmen began to be troublesome, he got rid of the present 
 difficulty by referring them to Allen. ‘ Go to Allen ; he must 
 settle with you : he does all my business.’ 
 
 Allen sent him account after account, stating the sums he 
 paid by his order. Ludgate thrust the unread accounts into his 
 escritoire, and thought no more of the matter. Allen called 
 upon him, to beg he would come to some settlement, as he was 
 getting more and more, every day, into his debt. Leonard 
 desired to have an account, stated in full, and promised to look 
 over it on Monday : but Monday came, and then it was put off 
 till Tuesday ; and so on, day after day. 
 
 The more reason he had to know that his affairs were de- 
 ranged, the more carefully he concealed all knowledge of them 
 from his wife. Her ignorance of the truth not only led her 
 daily into fresh extravagance, but was, at last, the cause of 
 bringing things to a premature explanation. After spending the 
 morning at Messrs. Run and Raffle’s, she returned home with a 
 hackney-coach full of bargains. As she came into the parlour, 
 loaded with things that she did not want, she was surprised by 
 the sight of an old friend, whom she had lately treated entirely 
 as a stranger. It was Lucy, who had in former days been her 
 favourite companion. But Lucy had chosen to work, to sup- 
 port herself independently, rather than to be a burden to her 
 friends ; and Mrs. Ludgate could not take notice of a person 
 who had degraded herself so far as to become a workwoman at 
 an upholsterer’s. She had consequently never seen Lucy since 
 this event took place, except when she went to Mr. Beech the 
 upholsterer’s, to order her new furniture. She then was in 
 company with Mrs. Pimlico : and, when she saw Lucy at work 
 in a back parlour with two or three other young women, she 
 pretended not to know her. Lucy could scarcely believe that 
 this was done on purpose ; and, at all events, she was not mor- 
 tified by the insult. She was now come to speak to Mrs. Lud- 
 gate about the upholsterer’s bill. 
 
 147 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ Ha ! Lucy, is it you ? ’ said Mrs. Ludgate, as soon as she 
 entered. ‘ I’ve never seen you in Weymouth Street before ! 
 How comes it you never called, if it was only to see our new 
 house ? I’m sure I should always be very happy to have you 
 here — when we’ve nobody with us ; and I’m quite sorry as I 
 can’t ask you to stay and take a bit of mutton with us to-day, 
 because I’m engaged to dine in Bond Street, with Mrs. Pimlico’s 
 cousin, pretty Mrs. Paget, the bride whom you’ve heard talk of, 
 no doubt. So you’ll excuse me if I run away from you, to make 
 myself a little decent ; for it’s horrid late ! ’ 
 
 After running off this speech, with an air and a volubility 
 worthy of her betters, she set before Lucy some of her bargains, 
 and was then retreating to make herself decent ; but Lucy 
 stopped her, by saying, ‘ My dear Mrs. Ludgate, I am sorry to 
 detain you, but Mr. Beech, the upholsterer, knowing I have 
 been acquainted with you, has sent me to speak to you about 
 his bill. He is in immediate want of money, because he is 
 fitting out one of his sons for the East Indies.’ 
 
 ‘ Well ! but his son’s nothing to me ! I shan’t think of 
 paying the bill yet, I can assure him ; and you may take it 
 back, and tell him so.’ 
 
 ‘ But,’ said Lucy, ‘ if I take back such an answer, I am 
 afraid Mr. Beech will send the bill to Mr. Ludgate ; and that 
 was what you particularly desired should not be done.’ 
 
 ‘ Why, no ; that’s what I can’t say I should particularly 
 wish, just at present,’ said Mrs. Ludgate, lowering her tone ; 
 ‘ because, to tell you a bit of a secret, Lucy, I’ve run up rather 
 an unconsciable bill, this year, with my milliner and mantua- 
 maker ; and I would not have all them bills come upon him all 
 in a lump, and on a sudden, as it were ; especially as I laid out 
 more on the furniture than he counts. So, my dear Lucy, I’ll 
 tell you what you must do : you must use your influence with 
 Beech to make him wait a little longer. I’m sure he may wait 
 well enough ; and he shall be paid next month.’ 
 
 Lucy declared that her influence, on the present occasion, 
 would be of no avail ; but she had the good-nature to add, ‘ If 
 you are sure the bill can be paid next month, I will leave my two 
 years’ salary in Mr. Beech’s hands till then ; and this will perhaps 
 satisfy him, if he can get bills from other people paid, to make up 
 the money for his son. He said thirty guineas from you on 
 account would do, for the present ; and that sum is due to me.’ 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 ‘ Then, my dearest Lucy, for Heaven’s sake, do leave it in 
 his hands ! You were a good creature to think of it ; but you 
 always were a good creature.’ 
 
 ‘Your mother used to be kind to me, when I was a child ; 
 and I am sure I ought not to forget it,’ said Lucy, the tears 
 starting into her eyes : ‘ and you were once kind to me ; I do 
 not forget that,’ continued Lucy, wiping the tears from her 
 cheeks. — ‘ But do not let me detain you ; you are in a hurry 
 to dress to go to Mrs. Pimlico’s.’ 
 
 ‘No — pray — I am not in a hurry now,’ said Mrs. Ludgate, 
 who had the grace to blush at this instant. ‘ But, if you must 
 go, do take this hat along with you. I assure you it’s quite 
 the rage : I got it this morning at Run and Raffle’s, and Mrs. 
 Pimlico and Mrs. Paget have got the same.’ 
 
 Lucy declined accepting the hat, notwithstanding this 
 strong and, as Mrs. Ludgate would have thought it, irresistible 
 recommendation. ‘ Now you must have it : it will become you 
 a thousand times better than that you have on,’ cried Mrs. Lud- 
 gate, insisting the more the more Lucy withdrew ; ‘ and, besides, 
 you must wear it for my sake. You won’t ? Then I take it 
 very ill of you that you are so positive ; for I assure you, what- 
 ever you may think, I wish to be as kind to you now as ever. 
 Only, you know, one can’t always, when one lives in another 
 style, be at home as often as one wishes.’ 
 
 Lucy relieved her ci-devant friend from the necessity of 
 making any more awkward apologies, by moving quickly 
 towards the door. ‘Then you won’t forget,’ continued Mrs. 
 Ludgate, following her into the passage, ‘ you won’t forget the 
 job you are to do for me with Beech ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Certainly I shall not. I will do what I have promised : 
 but I hope you will be punctual about the payment next 
 month,’ said Lucy, ‘ because I believe I shall be in want of my 
 money at that time. It is best to tell you exactly the truth.’ 
 
 ‘ Certainly ! certainly ! you shall have your money before 
 you want it, long and long ; and my only reason for borrowing 
 it from you at all is, that I don’t like to trouble Mr. Ludgate, 
 till he has settled accounts with Allen, who keeps all our 
 money from us in a strange way ; and, in my opinion, uses 
 Leonard exceedingly ill and unfairly.’ 
 
 ‘ Allen ! ’ cried Lucy, stopping short. ‘ Oh, Belle ! how 
 can you say so? How can you think so? But you know 
 
 149 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 nothing of him, else you could not suspect him of using any 
 one ill, or unfairly ; much less your husband, the son of his 
 old friend.’ 
 
 ‘ Bless me ! how she runs on ! and how she colours ! I am 
 sure I didn’t know I was upon such tender ground ! I did not 
 know Allen was such a prodigious favourite ! ’ 
 
 ‘ I only do him justice in saying that I am certain he could 
 not do an unfair or unhandsome action.’ 
 
 ‘ I know nothing of the matter, I protest ; only this — that 
 short accounts, they say, make long friends ; and I hope I 
 shan’t affront anybody by saying it would be very convenient 
 if he could be got to settle with Mr. Ludgate, who, I am sure, 
 is too much the gentleman to ask anything from him but his 
 own ; which, indeed, if it was not for me, he’d be too genteel 
 to mention. But, as I said before, short accounts make long- 
 friends ; and, as you are so much Allen’s friend, you can hint 
 that to him.’ 
 
 ‘ I shall not hint, but say it to him as plainly as possible,’ 
 replied Lucy ; ‘ and you may be certain that he will come to 
 settle accounts with Mr. Ludgate before night.’ 
 
 ‘ I am sure I shall be mighty glad of it ; and so will Mr. 
 Ludgate,’ said Belle ; and thus they parted. 
 
 Mrs. Ludgate with triumph announced to her husband, upon 
 his return home, that she had brought affairs to a crisis with 
 Allen ; and that he would come to settle his accounts this 
 evening. The surprise and consternation which appeared in 
 Mr. Ludgate’s countenance convinced the lady that her inter- 
 ference was highly disagreeable. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ALLEN came punctually in the evening to settle his accounts. 
 When he and Leonard were by themselves, he could not help 
 expressing some astonishment, mixed with indignation, at the 
 hints which had been thrown out by Mrs. Ludgate. 
 
 ‘ Why, she knows nothing of the matter,’ said Ludgate. 
 ‘ I’ve no notion of talking of such things to one’s wife ; it would 
 only make her uneasy ; and we shall be able to go on some 
 
 150 
 
‘ The surprise and consternation which appeared in Mr. Ludgate’s countenance 
 convinced the lady that her interference was highly disagreeable.' 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 way or other. So let us have another bottle of wine, and talk 
 no more of business for this night.’ 
 
 Allen would by no means consent to put off the settlement 
 of accounts, after what had passed. ‘ Short accounts,’ said he, 
 
 ‘ as Mrs. Ludgate observed, make long friends.’ 
 
 It appeared, when the statement of affairs was completed, 
 that Allen had advanced above three hundred pounds for 
 Leonard ; and bills to a large amount still remained unpaid. 
 
 Now it happened that jack, the footboy, contrived to go in 
 and out of the room several times, whilst Mr. Ludgate and 
 Allen were talking ; and he, finding it more for his interest to 
 serve his master’s tradesmen than his master, sent immediate 
 notice to all whom it might concern that Mr. Ludgate’s affairs 
 were in a bad way, and that now or never must be the word 
 with his creditors. The next morning bills came showering 
 in upon Leonard whilst he was at breakfast, and amongst them 
 came sundry bills of Mrs. Ludgate’s. They could not possibly 
 have come at a more inauspicious moment. People bespeak 
 goods with one species of enthusiasm, and look over their bills 
 with another. We should rather have said people spend with 
 one enthusiasm, and pay with another ; but this observation 
 would not apply to our present purpose, for Mr. and Mrs. 
 Ludgate had never yet experienced the pleasure or the pain of 
 paying their debts ; they had hitherto been faithful to their 
 maxim of ‘ Spend to-day, and pay to-morrow.’ 
 
 They agreed well in the beginning of their career of extrava- 
 gance ; but the very similarity of their tastes and habits proved 
 ultimately the cause of the most violent quarrels. As they 
 both were expensive, selfish, and self-willed, neither would, 
 from regard to the other, forbear. Comparisons between their 
 different degrees of extravagance commenced ; and, once 
 begun, they never ended. It was impossible to settle, to the 
 satisfaction of either party, which of them was most to blame. 
 Recrimination and reproaches were hourly and daily repeated ; 
 and the lady usually ended by bursting into tears, and the 
 gentleman by taking his hat and walking out of the house. 
 
 In the meantime, the bills must be paid. Mr. Ludgate was 
 obliged to sell the whole of his interest in the shop in Cran- 
 bourne Alley ; and the ready money he received from Allen was 
 to clear him from all difficulties. Allen came to pay him this 
 ‘ Do not think me impertinent, Mr. Ludgate,’ said he, 
 152 
 
 sum. 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 ‘ but I cannot for the soul of me help fearing for you. What 
 will you do, when this money is gone ? and go it must, at the 
 rate you live, in a very short time.’ 
 
 ‘ You are very good, sir,’ replied Leonard, coldly, ‘ to 
 interest yourself so much in my concerns ; but I shall live at 
 what rate I please. Every man is the best judge of his own 
 affairs.’ 
 
 After this repulse Allen could interfere no further. But 
 when two months had elapsed from the date of Mrs. Ludgate’s 
 promised payment of the upholsterer’s bill, Lucy resolved to 
 call again upon Mrs. Ludgate. Lucy had now a particular 
 occasion for the money : she was going to be married to Allen, 
 and she wished to put into her husband’s hands the little 
 fortune which she had so hardly earned by her own industry. 
 From the time that Allen heard her conversation, when Belle 
 came to view the house in Cranbourne Alley, he had been of 
 opinion that she would make an excellent wife : and the 
 circumstances which sank Lucy below Mrs. Ludgate’s notice 
 raised her in the esteem and affection of this prudent and 
 sensible young man. He did not despise — he admired her for 
 going into a creditable business, to make herself independent, 
 instead of living as an humble companion with Mrs. Ludgate, 
 of whose conduct and character she could not approve. 
 
 When Lucy called again upon Mrs. Ludgate to remind her 
 of her promise, she was received with evident confusion. She 
 was employed in directing Mr. Green, a builder, to throw out a 
 bow in her dining-room, and to add a balcony to the windows ; 
 for Mrs. Pimlico had a bow and a balcony, and how could 
 Mrs. Ludgate live without them ? 
 
 1 Surely, my dear Mrs. Ludgate,’ said Lucy, drawing her 
 aside, so that the man who was measuring the windows could 
 not hear what she said, ‘ surely you will think of paying Mr. 
 Beech’s bill, as you promised, before you go into any new 
 expense ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Hush ! hush ! don’t speak so loud. Leonard is in the 
 next room ; and I would not have him hear anything of Beech’s 
 bill, just when the man’s here about the balcony, for anything 
 in the world ! ’ 
 
 Lucy, though she was good-natured, was not so weak as to 
 yield to airs and capricious extravagance ; and Mrs. Ludgate 
 at last, though with a bad grace, paid her the money which she 
 
 J 53 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 had intended to lay out in a very different manner. But no 
 sooner had she paid this debt than she considered how she 
 could prevail upon Mr. Green to throw out the bow, and finish 
 the balcony, without paying him for certain alterations he had 
 made in the house in Cranbourne Alley, for which he had never 
 yet received one farthing. It was rather a difficult business, 
 for Mr. Green was a sturdy man, and used to regular payments. 
 He resisted all persuasion, and Mrs. Ludgate was forced again 
 to have recourse to Lucy. 
 
 ‘ Do, my dear girl,’ said she, ‘ lend me only twenty guineas 
 for this positive man ; else, you see, I cannot have my balcony.’ 
 This did not appear to Lucy the greatest of all misfortunes. 
 
 ‘ But is it not much more disagreeable to be always in debt 
 and danger, than to live in a room without a balcony ? ’ said 
 Lucy. 
 
 ‘ Why, it is disagreeable, certainly, to be in debt, because 
 of being dunned continually ; but the reason I’m so anxious 
 about the balcony is that Mrs. Pimlico has one, and that’s 
 the only thing in which her house is better than mine. Look 
 just over the way : do you see Mrs. Pimlico’s beautiful 
 balcony ? ’ 
 
 Mrs. Ludgate, who had thrust her head far out of the 
 window, pulling Lucy along with her, now suddenly drew back, 
 exclaiming, ‘ Lord, if here is not that odious woman ; 1 hope 
 Jack won’t let her in.’ — She shut the window hastily, ran to 
 the top of the stairs, and called out, ‘ Jack ! I say, Jack ; don’t 
 let nurse in for your life.’ 
 
 ‘Not if she has the child with her, ma’am ? ’ said Jack. 
 
 ‘ No, no, I say ! ’ 
 
 ‘Then that’s a sin and a shame,’ muttered jack, ‘to shut 
 the door upon your own child.’ 
 
 Mrs. Ludgate did not hear this reflection, because she had 
 gone back to the man who was waiting for directions about the 
 balcony ; but Lucy heard it distinctly. ‘ Ma’am, nurse would 
 come in, for she says she saw you at the window ; and here 
 she is, coming up the stairs,’ cried the footboy. 
 
 The nurse came in, with Mrs. Ludgate’s child in her arms. 
 
 ‘Indeed, madam,’ said she, ‘the truth of the matter is, I 
 can’t and won’t be denied my own any longer : and it is not 
 for my own sake I speak up so bold, but for the dear babe that 
 I have here in my arms, that can’t speak for itself, but only 
 
 154 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 smile in your face, and stretch out its arms to you. I, that am 
 only its nurse, can’t bear it ; but I have little ones of my own, 
 and can’t see them want. 1 can’t do for them all : if I’m not 
 paid my lawful due, how can I ? And is it not fit I should 
 think of my own flesh and blood first ? So I must give up this 
 one. 1 must! — I must !’ — cried the nurse, kissing the child 
 repeatedly, ‘ I must leave her to her mother.’ 
 
 The poor woman laid the child down on the sofa, then turned 
 her back upon it, and, hiding her face in her apron, sobbed as 
 if her heart would break. Lucy was touched with compassion ; 
 the mother stood abashed ; shame struggled for a few instants 
 with pride ; pride got the victory. ‘ The woman’s out of her 
 wits, I believe,’ cried Mrs. Ludgate. ‘ Mr. Green, if you’ll 
 please to call again to-morrow, we’ll talk about the balcony. 
 Lucy, give me the child, and don’t you fall a-crying without 
 knowing why or wherefore. Nurse, I’m surprised at you ! 
 Did not I tell you I’d send you your money next week ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Oh yes, madam ; but you have said so this many a 
 week ; and things are come to such a pass now, that husband 
 says I shall not bring back the child without the money.’ 
 
 ‘ What can I do ? ’ said Mrs. Ludgate. 
 
 Lucy immediately took her purse out of her pocket, and 
 whispered, ‘ I will lend you whatever you want to pay the 
 nurse, upon condition that you will give up the scheme of the 
 balcony.’ 
 
 Mrs. Ludgate submitted to this condition ; but she was not 
 half so much obliged to Lucy for doing her this real service as 
 she would have been if her friend had assisted in gratifying 
 her vanity and extravagance. Lucy saw what passed in Mrs. 
 Ludgate’s mind, and nothing but the sense of the obligations 
 she lay under to Belle’s mother could have prevented her from 
 breaking off all connection with her. 
 
 But Mrs. Ludgate was now much inclined to court Lucy’s 
 acquaintance, as her approaching marriage with Mr. Allen, who 
 was in good circumstances, made her appear quite a different 
 person. Mrs. Allen would be able, and she hoped willing, to 
 assist her from time to time with money. With this view, 
 Belle showed Lucy a degree of attention and civility which she 
 had disdained to bestow upon her friend whilst she was in an 
 inferior situation. It was in vain, however, that this would-be 
 fine lady endeavoured to draw the prudent Lucy out of her 
 
 1 5 5 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 own sphere of life : though Lucy was extremely pretty, she had 
 no desire to be admired ; she was perfectly satisfied and happy 
 at home, and she and her husband lived according to old 
 Ludgate’s excellent maxim, 1 Out of debt out of danger.’ 
 
 We shall not weary our readers with the history of all the 
 petty difficulties into which Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate’s foolish 
 extravagance led them. The life of the shabby genteel is most 
 miserable. Servants’ wages unpaid, duns continually besieging 
 the door, perpetual excuses, falsehoods to be invented, melan- 
 choly at home, and forced gaiety abroad ! Who would live 
 such a life ? Yet all this Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate endured, for 
 the sake of outshining Mr. and Mrs. Pimlico. 
 
 It happened that one night, at a party, Mrs. Ludgate caught 
 a violent cold, and her face became inflamed and disfigured by 
 red spots. Being to go to a ball in a few days, she was very 
 impatient to get rid of the eruption ; and in this exigency she 
 applied to Mr. Pimlico, the perfumer, who had often supplied 
 her with cosmetics, and who now recommended a beautifying 
 lotion. This quickly cleared her complexion ; but she soon 
 felt the effects of her imprudence : she was taken dangerously 
 ill, and the physician who was consulted attributed her disease 
 entirely to the preparation she had applied to her face. Whilst 
 she was ill, an execution was brought against Mr. Ludgate’s 
 goods. Threatened with a jail, and incapable of taking any 
 vigorous measures to avoid distress, he went to consult his 
 friend Tom Lewis. How this Mr. Lewis lived was matter of 
 astonishment to all his acquaintance : he had neither estate, 
 business, nor any obvious means of supporting the expense in 
 which he indulged. 
 
 ‘ What a happy dog you are, Lewis ! ’ said our hero : ‘ how 
 is it that you live better than I do ? ’ 
 
 ‘ You might live as well as I, if you were inclined,’ said 
 Lewis. 
 
 Our hero was all curiosity ; and Lewis exacted from him an 
 oath of secrecy. A long pause ensued. 
 
 ‘ Have you the courage,’ said Lewis, ‘ to extricate yourself 
 from all your difficulties at once ?’ 
 
 ‘ To be sure I have ; since I must either go to jail this 
 night, or raise two hundred guineas for these cursed fellows ! ’ 
 
 ‘ You shall have it in half an hour,’ said Lewis, ‘ if you will 
 follow my advice.’ 
 
 156 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 ‘Tell me at once what I am to do, and 1 will do it,’ cried 
 Leonard. ‘ I will do anything to save myself from disgrace, 
 and from a jail.’ 
 
 Lewis, who now perceived his friend was worked up to the 
 pitch he wanted, revealed the whole mystery. He was con- 
 nected with a set of gentlemen, ingenious in the arts of forgery, 
 from whom he purchased counterfeit bank-notes at a very cheap 
 rate. The difficulty and risk of passing them were extreme ; 
 therefore the confederates were anxious to throw this part of 
 the business off their hands. Struck with horror at the idea of 
 becoming an accomplice in such a scheme of villainy, Leonard 
 stood pale and silent, incapable of even thinking distinctly. 
 Lewis was sorry that he had opened his mind so fully. ‘ Re- 
 member your oath of secrecy ! ’ said he. 
 
 ‘ I do,’ replied Ludgate. 
 
 ‘ And remember that you must become one of us before 
 night, or go to jail.’ 
 
 Ludgate said he would take an hour to consider of the 
 business, and here they parted ; Lewis promising to call at his 
 house before evening, to learn his final decision. 
 
 ‘ And am I come to this ? ’ thought the wretched man. 
 
 ‘ Would to Heaven I had followed my poor father’s maxim ! 
 but it is now too late.’ 
 
 Mr. Ludgate, when he arrived at home, shut himself up in 
 his own room, and continued walking backwards and forwards, 
 for nearly an hour, in a state of mind more dreadful than can 
 be described. Whilst he was in this situation, some one 
 knocked at the door. He thought it was Lewis, and trembled 
 from head to foot. It was only a servant with a parcel of bills, 
 which several tradesmen, hearing that an execution was in the 
 house, had hastened to present for payment. Among them 
 were those of Mr. Beech the upholsterer, and Mrs. Ludgate’s 
 milliner and mantua-maker, which having been let to run on 
 for above two years and a half, now amounted to a sum that 
 astonished and shocked Mr. Ludgate. He could not remon- 
 strate with his wife, or even vent his anger in reproaches, for 
 she was lying senseless in her bed. 
 
 Before he had recovered from this shock, and whilst the 
 tradesmen who brought the bills were still waiting for their 
 money, Lewis and one of his companions arrived. He came 
 to the point immediately. He produced bank-notes sufficient 
 
 157 
 
The sight of the bank-notes , the pressure of immediate distress , conspired 
 to tempt Ludgate 
 
OUT OK DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 to discharge all his debts, and proposed to lend him this money 
 on condition that he would enter into the confederacy as he 
 had proposed. ‘ All that we ask of you is to pass a certain 
 number of notes for us every week. You will find this to your 
 advantage ; for we will allow you a considerable percentage, 
 besides freeing you from your present embarrassments.’ 
 
 The sight of the bank-notes, the pressure of immediate 
 distress, and the hopes of being able to support the style of 
 life in which he had of late appeared, all conspired to tempt 
 Ludgate. When he had, early in life, vaunted to his young 
 companions that he despised his father’s old maxim, while he 
 repeated his own, they applauded his spirit. They were not 
 present, at this instant, to pity the wretched state into which 
 that spirit had betrayed him. But our hero has yet much 
 greater misery to endure. It is true his debts were now paid, 
 and he was able to support an external appearance of affluence ; 
 but not one day, not one night, could he pass without suffering 
 the horrors of a guilty conscience, and all the terrors which 
 haunt the man who sees himself in hourly danger of detection. 
 He determined to keep his secret cautiously from his wife : he 
 was glad that she was confined to her bed at this time, lest her 
 prying curiosity should discover what was going forward. The 
 species of affection which he had once felt for her had not 
 survived the first six months of their marriage ; and their 
 late disputes had rendered this husband and wife absolutely 
 odious to each other. Each believed, and indeed pretty plainly 
 asserted, that they could live more handsomely asunder : but, 
 alas ! they were united for better and for worse. 
 
 Mrs. Ludgate’s illness terminated in another eruption on 
 her face. She was extremely mortified by the loss of her 
 beauty, especially as Mrs. Pimlico frequently contrasted her 
 face with that of Mrs. Paget, who was now acknowledged to 
 be the handsomest woman of Mrs. Pimlico’s acquaintance. 
 She endeavoured to make herself of consequence by fresh 
 expense. Mr. Ludgate, to account for the sudden payment of 
 his debts, and the affluence in which he now appeared to live, 
 spread a report of his having had a considerable legacy left to 
 him by a relation, who had died in a distant part of England. 
 The truth of the report was not questioned ; and for some time 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate were the envy of their acquaintance. 
 How little the world, as it is called, can judge, by external 
 
 159 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 appearances, of the happiness of those who excite admiration 
 or envy ! 
 
 ‘ What lucky people the Ludgates are ! ’ cried Mrs. Pimlico. 
 The exclamation was echoed by a crowded card-party, assembled 
 at her house. ‘ But then,’ continued Mrs. Pimlico, ‘it is a 
 pity poor Belle is so disfigured by that scurvy, or whatever it 
 is, in her face. I remember the time when she was as pretty 
 a woman as you could see : nay, would you believe it, she had 
 once as fine a complexion as young Mrs. Paget ! ’ 
 
 These observations circulated quickly, and did not escape 
 Mrs. Ludgate’s ear. Her vanity was deeply wounded ; and 
 her health appeared to her but a secondary consideration, in 
 comparison with the chance of recovering her lost complexion. 
 Mr. Pimlico, who was an eloquent perfumer, persuaded her 
 that her former illness had nothing to do with the beautifying 
 lotion she had purchased at his shop ; and to support his 
 assertions, he quoted examples of innumerable ladies, of high 
 rank and fashion, who were in the constant habit of using this 
 admirable preparation. The vain and foolish woman, not- 
 withstanding the warnings which she had received from the 
 physician who attended her during her illness, listened to the 
 oratory of the perfumer, and bought half a dozen bottles of 
 another kind of beautifying lotion. The eruption vanished 
 from her face, after she had used the cosmetic ; and, as she 
 did not feel any immediate bad effects upon her health, she 
 persisted in the practice for some months. The consequence 
 was at last dreadful. She was found one morning speechless 
 in her bed, with one side of her face distorted and motionless. 
 During the night she had been seized with a paralytic stroke : 
 in a few days she recovered her speech ; but her face continued 
 totally disfigured. 
 
 This was the severest punishment that could have been in- 
 flicted on a woman of her character. She was now ashamed 
 to show herself abroad, and incapable of being contented at 
 home. She had not the friendship of a husband, or the 
 affection of children, to afford her consolation and support. 
 Her eldest child was a boy of about five years old, her youngest 
 four. They were as fretful and troublesome as children usually 
 are, whose education has been totally neglected ; and the 
 quarrels between them and Jack the footboy were endless, for 
 Jack was alternately their tutor and their playfellow. 
 
 160 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 Beside the disorder created in this family by mischievous 
 children, the servants were daily plagues. Nothing was ever 
 done by them well or regularly ; and though the master and 
 mistress scolded without mercy, and perpetually threatened to 
 turn Jack or Sukey away, yet no reformation in their manners 
 was produced ; for Jack and Sukey’s wages were not paid, and 
 they felt that they had the power in their own hands ; so that 
 they were rather the tyrants than the servants of the house. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Mrs. Ludgate’s temper, which never was sweet, was soured 
 to such a degree, by these accumulated evils, that she was 
 insufferable. Her husband kept out of the way as much as 
 possible : he dined and supped at his club, or at the tavern : 
 and, during the evenings and mornings, he was visible at 
 home but for a few minutes. Yet, though his time was passed 
 entirely away from his wife, his children, and his home, he 
 was not happy. His life was a life of perpetual fraud and 
 fear. He was bound by his engagements with Lewis to pass 
 for the confederates a certain number of forged notes every 
 day. This was a perilous task 1 His utmost exertions and 
 ingenuity were continually necessary to escape detection ; and, 
 after all, he was barely able to wrest from the hard hands of 
 his friends a sufficient profit upon his labour to maintain him- 
 self. How often did he look back, with regret, to the days 
 when he stood behind the counter, in his father’s shop ! Then 
 he had in Allen a real friend ; but now he had in Lewis only a 
 profligate and unfeeling associate. Lewis cared for no one 
 but himself ; and he was as avaricious as he was extravagant ; 
 ‘ greedy of what belonged to others, prodigal of his own.’ 
 
 One night Leonard went to the house where the con- 
 federates met, to settle with them for the last parcel of notes 
 that he had passed. Lewis insisted upon being paid for his 
 services before Ludgate should touch a farthing. Words ran 
 high between them : Lewis, having the most influence with his 
 associates, carried his point ; and Leonard, who was in want 
 of ready money, could supply himself only by engaging to pass 
 M 161 
 
rOPULAR TALES 
 
 double the usual quanti'y of forged notes during the ensuing 
 month. Upon this condition, he obtained the supply for which 
 he solicited. Upon his return home, he locked up the forged 
 notes as usual in his escritoire. It happened the very next 
 morning that Mrs. la Mode, the milliner, called upon Mrs. 
 Ludgate. The ruling passion still prevailed, notwithstanding 
 the miserable state to which this lady was reduced. Even 
 palsy could not deaden her personal vanity : her love of dress 
 survived the total loss of her beauty ; she became accustomed 
 to the sight of her distorted features, and was still anxious to 
 wear what was most genteel and becoming. Mrs. la Mode 
 had not a more constant visitor. 
 
 ‘How are you, Mrs. Ludgate, this morning ? 5 said she. 
 ‘ But I need not ask, for you look surprising well. I just 
 called to tell you a bit of a secret, that I have told to nobody 
 else ; but you being such a friend and a favourite, have a right 
 to know it. You must know, I am going next week to bring 
 out a new spring hat ; and I have made one of my girls bring 
 it up, to consult with you before anybody else, having a great 
 opinion of your taste and judgment : though it is a thing that 
 must not be mentioned, because it would ruin me with Mrs. 
 Pimlico, who made me swear she should have the first sight . 5 
 
 Flattered by having the first sight of the spring hat, Mrs. 
 Ludgate was prepossessed in its favour ; and, when she tried 
 it on, she thought it made her look ten years younger. In 
 short, it was impossible not to take one of the hats, though it 
 cost three guineas, and was not worth ten shillings. 
 
 ‘ Positively, ma’am, you must patronise my spring hat , 5 said 
 the milliner. 
 
 Mrs. Ludgate was decided by the word patronise : she took 
 the hat, and desired that it should be set down in her bill : but 
 Mrs. la Mode was extremely concerned that she had made a 
 rule, nay a vow, not to take anything but ready money for the 
 spring hats ; and she could not break her vow, even for her 
 favourite Mrs. Ludgate. This was at least a prudent resolution 
 in the milliner, who had lately received notice from Mr. Lud- 
 gate not to give his wife any goods upon credit, for that he was 
 determined to refuse payment of her bills. The wife, who was 
 now in a weak state of health, was not able as formerly to fight 
 her battles with her husband upon equal terms. To cunning, 
 the refuge of weakness, she had recourse ; and she considered 
 
 162 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 that, though she could no longer outscold, she could still outwit 
 her adversary. She could not have the pleasure and honour of 
 patronising the spring hat, without ready money to pay for it ; 
 her husband, she knew, had always bank-notes in his escritoire ; 
 and she argued with herself that it was better to act without 
 his consent than against it. She went and tried, with certain 
 keys of her own, to open Leonard’s desk ; and open it came. 
 She seized from a parcel of bank-notes as many as she wanted, 
 and paid Mrs. la Mode with three of them for the spring hat. 
 When her husband came home the next day, he did not 
 observe that he had lost any of the notes ; and, as he went out 
 of the house again without once coming into the parlour where 
 his wife was sitting, she excused herself to her conscience, for 
 not telling him of the freedom she had taken, by thinking — It 
 will do as well to tell him of it to-morrow : a few notes, out of 
 such a parcel as he has in his desk locked up from me, can’t 
 signify ; and he’ll only bluster aud bully when I do tell him of 
 it ; so let him find it out when he pleases. 
 
 The scheme of acting without her husband’s consent in all 
 cases, where she was morally certain that if she asked she could 
 not obtain it, Mrs. Ludgate had often pursued with much 
 success. A few days after she had bought the spring hat, she 
 invited Mrs. Pimlico, Mrs. Paget, and all her genteel friends, 
 to tea and cards. Her husband, she knew, would be out of 
 the way, at his club, or at the tavern. Mrs. Pimlico, and Mrs. 
 Paget, and all their genteel friends, did Mrs. Ludgate the 
 honour to wait upon her on the appointed evening, and she had 
 the satisfaction to appear upon this occasion in the new spring 
 hat ; while her friend, Mrs. Pimlico, whispered to young Mrs. 
 Paget, ‘ She patronise the new spring hat ! What a fool Mrs. 
 la Mode makes of her ! A death’s head in a wreath of roses ! 
 How frightfully ridiculous ! ’ 
 
 Unconscious that she was an object of ridicule to the whole 
 company, Mrs. Ludgate sat down to cards in unusually good 
 spirits, firmly believing Mrs. la Mode’s comfortable assertion, 
 
 ‘ that the spring hat made her look ten years younger.’ She 
 was in the midst of a panegyric upon Mrs. la Mode’s taste, 
 when Jack, the footboy, came behind her chair, and whispered 
 that three men were below, who desired to speak to her 
 immediately. 
 
 ‘ Men ! gentlemen, do you mean ? ’ said Mrs. Ludgate. 
 
 163 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ No, ma’am, not gentlemen.’ 
 
 ‘ Then send them away about their business, dunce,’ said 
 the lady. ‘ Some tradesfolk, I suppose ; tell them I’m engaged 
 with company.’ 
 
 ‘ But, ma’am, they will not leave the house without seeing 
 you, or Mr. Ludgate.’ 
 
 ‘ Let them wait, then, till Mr. Ludgate comes in. I have 
 nothing to say to them. What’s their business, pray ? ’ 
 
 ‘ It is something about a note, ma’am, that you gave to Mrs. 
 la Mode the other day.’ 
 
 1 What about it ? ’ said Mrs. Ludgate, putting down her 
 cards. 
 
 ‘ They say it is a bad note.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, I’ll change it ; bid them send it up.’ 
 
 ‘ They won’t part with it, ma’am : they would not let it out 
 of their hands, even to let me look at it for an instant.’ 
 
 ‘ What a riot about a pound note,’ said Mrs. Ludgate, rising 
 from the card-table : ‘ I’ll speak to the fellows myself.’ 
 
 She had recourse again to her husband’s desk ; and, armed 
 with a whole handful of fresh bank-notes, she went to the 
 strangers. They told her that they did not want, and would 
 not receive, any note in exchange for that which they produced ; 
 but that, as it was a forgery, they must insist upon knowing 
 from whom she had it. There was an air of mystery and 
 authority about the strangers which alarmed Mrs. Ludgate ; 
 and, without attempting any evasion, she said that she took 
 the note from her husband’s desk, and that she could not tell 
 from whom he received it. The strangers declared that they 
 must wait till Mr. Ludgate should return home. She offered 
 to give them a guinea to drink, if they would go away quietly ; 
 but this they refused. Jack, the footboy, whispered that they 
 had pistols, and that he believed they were Bow Street officers. 
 
 They went into the back parlour to wait for Mr. Ludgate ; 
 and the lady, in extreme perturbation, returned to her company 
 and her cards. In vain she attempted to resume her conver- 
 sation about the spring hat, and to conceal the agitation of her 
 spirits. It was observed by all her friends , and especially by 
 Mrs. Pimlico, whose curiosity was strongly excited to know 
 the cause of her alarm. Mrs. Ludgate looked frequently at 
 her watch, and even yawned without ceremony, more than 
 once, to manifest her desire that the company should depart ; 
 
 164 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 but no hints availed. The card-players resolutely kept their 
 seats, and even the smell of extinguishing candles had no effect 
 upon their callous senses. 
 
 The time appeared insupportably long to the wretched 
 mistress of the house ; and the contrast between her fantastic 
 head-dress and her agonizing countenance every minute became 
 more striking. 
 
 Twelve o’clock struck. ‘ It is growing very late,’ said Mrs. 
 Ludgate. 
 
 ‘ But we must have another rubber,’ said Mrs. Pimlico. 
 
 She began to deal ; a knock was heard at the door. 
 ‘ There’s Mr. Ludgate, I do suppose,’ said Mrs. Pimlico, con- 
 tinuing her deal. Mrs. Ludgate left her cards, and went out 
 of the room without speaking. She stopped at the head of the 
 staircase, for she heard a scuffle and loud voices below. 
 Presently all was silent, and she ventured down when she heard 
 the parlour door shut. The footman met her in the passage. 
 
 ‘ What is the matter ? ’ said she. 
 
 ‘ I don’t know ; but I must be paid my wages,’ said he, ‘ or 
 must pay myself.’ 
 
 He passed on rudely. She half opened the parlour door, 
 and looked in : her husband was lying back on the sofa, seem- 
 ingly stupefied by despair : one of the Bow Street officers was 
 chafing his temples, another was rummaging his desk, and the 
 third was closely examining certain notes, which he had just 
 taken from the prisoner’s pockets. 
 
 ‘What is the matter?’ cried Mrs. Ludgate, advancing. 
 Her husband lifted up his eyes, saw her, started up, and, 
 stamping furiously, exclaimed, ‘ Cursed, cursed woman ! you 
 have brought me to the gallows, and all for this trumpery ! ’ 
 cried he, snatching her gaudy hat from her head, and tramp- 
 ling it under his feet. ‘ For this — for this ! you vain, you ugly 
 creature, you have brought your husband to the gallows ! ’ 
 
 One of the Bow Street officers caught hold of his uplifted 
 arm, which trembled with rage. His wife sank to the ground ; 
 a second paralytic stroke deprived her of the power of speech. 
 As they were carrying her upstairs, Mrs. Pimlico and the rest 
 of the company came out of the dining-room, some of them 
 with cards in their hands, all eagerly asking what was the 
 matter. When they learnt that the Bow Street officers were 
 in the house, and that Mr. Ludgate was taken into custody for 
 

 4 ^ 
 
 
 < “ this— for this ! you vain, you ugly creature, you have brought your 
 
 husband to the gallows ! ’ ” 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 uttering forged bank-notes, there was a general uproar. Some 
 declared it was shocking ! others protested it was no more than 
 might have been expected ! The Ludgates lived so much 
 above their circumstances ! Then he was such a coxcomb ; 
 and she such a poor vain creature ! Better for people to do 
 like their neighbours — to make no show, and live honestly ! 
 
 In the midst of these effusions of long -suppressed envy, 
 some few of the company attempted a slight word or two of 
 apology for their host and hostess ; and the most humane went 
 up co the wretched woman’s bedchamber, to offer assistance 
 and advice. But the greater number were occupied in tucking 
 up their white gowns, finding their clogs, or calling for hackney 
 coaches. In less than a quarter of an hour the house was 
 clear of all Mrs. Ludgate’s friends. And it is to please such 
 friends that whole families ruin themselves by unsuitable 
 expense. 
 
 Lucy and Allen were not, however, of this class of friends. 
 A confused report of what had passed the preceding night was 
 spread the next morning in Cranbourne Alley, by a young lady, 
 who had been at Mrs. Ludgate’s rout. The moment the news 
 reached Allen’s shop, he and Lucy set out immediately to offer 
 their assistance to the unfortunate family. When they got to 
 Weymouth Street, they gave only a single knock at the door, 
 that they might not create any alarm. They were kept waiting 
 a considerable time, and at last the door was opened by a slip- 
 shod cook-maid, who seemed to be just up, though it was near 
 eleven o’clock. She showed them into the parlour, which was 
 quite dark ; and, whilst she was opening the shutters, told them 
 that the house had been up all night, what with the Bow Street 
 officers and her mistress’s fits. Her master, she added, was 
 carried off to prison, she believed. Lucy asked who was with 
 Mrs. Ludgate, and whether she could go up to her room. 
 
 ‘ There’s nobody with her, ma’am, but nurse, that called by 
 chance, early this morning, to see the children, and had the 
 good-nature to stay to help, and has been sitting in mistress’s 
 room, whilst I went to my bed. I’ll step up and see if you can 
 go in, ma’am.’ 
 
 They waited for some time in the parlour, where everything 
 looked desolate and in disorder. The ashes covered the 
 hearth ; the poker lay upon the table, near Mr. Ludgate’s desk, 
 the lock of which had been broken open ; a brass flat candle- 
 
 167 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 stick, covered with tallow, was upon the window- seat, and 
 beside it a broken cruet of vinegar ; a cravat, and red silk 
 handkerchief, which had been taken from Mr. Ludgate’s neck 
 when he swooned, lay under the table. Lucy and her husband 
 looked at one another for some moments without speaking. 
 At last Allen said, ‘We had better lock up this press, where 
 there are silver spoons and china, for there is nobody now left 
 to take care of anything, and the creditors will be here soon 
 to seize all they can.’ Lucy said that she would go up into 
 the dining-room, and take an inventory of the furniture. In 
 the dining-room she found Jack the footboy collecting shillings 
 from beneath the candlesticks on the card-tables : the two little 
 children were sitting on the floor, the girl playing with a pack 
 of cards, the boy drinking the dregs of a decanter of white 
 wine. ‘ Poor children ! Poor creatures ! ’ said Lucy ; ‘ is there 
 nobody to take care of you ? ’ 
 
 ‘No; nobody but Jack,’ said the boy, ‘and he’s going 
 away. Papa’s gone I don’t know where ; and mamma’s not up 
 yet, so we have had no breakfast.’ 
 
 The cook-maid came in to say that Mrs. Ludgate was 
 awake, and sensible now, and would be glad to see Mrs. Allen, 
 if she’d be so good as to walk up. Lucy told the children, 
 who clung to her, that she would take them home with her, 
 and give them some breakfast, and then hastened upstairs. 
 She found her wretched friend humbled indeed to the lowest 
 state of imbecile despair. Her speech had returned ; but she 
 spoke with difficulty, and scarcely so as to be intelligible. The 
 good-natured nurse supported her in the bed, saying repeatedly, 
 4 Keep a good heart, madam ; keep a good heart ! Don’t let 
 your spirits sink so as this, and all may be well yet.’ 
 
 ‘ O Lucy ! Lucy ! What will become of me now ? What 
 a change is here ! And nobody to help or advise me ! 
 Nobody upon earth ! I am forsaken by all the world ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Not forsaken by me,’ said Lucy, in a soothing voice. 
 
 ‘ What noise is that below ? ’ cried Mrs. Ludgate. 
 
 Lucy went downstairs to inquire, and found that, as Allen 
 had foretold, the creditors were come to seize all they could 
 find. Allen undertook to remain with them, and to bring them 
 to some settlement, whilst Lucy had her unfortunate friend and 
 the two children removed immediately to her own house. 
 
 As to Mr. Ludgate, there was no hope for him ; the proofs 
 1 68 
 
OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER 
 
 of his guilt were manifest and incontrovertible. The forged 
 note, which his wife had taken from his desk and given to 
 the milliner, was one which had not gone through certain 
 mysterious preparations. It was a bungling forgery. The 
 plate would doubtless have been retouched, had not this bill 
 been prematurely circulated by Mrs. Ludgate : thus her vanity 
 led to a discovery of her husband’s guilt. All the associates 
 in Lewis’s iniquitous confederacy suffered the just punishment 
 of their crimes. Many applications were made to obtain a 
 pardon for Leonard Ludgate : but the executive power pre- 
 served that firmness which has not, upon any similar occasion, 
 ever been relaxed. 
 
 Lucy and Allen, those real friends, who would not en- 
 courage Mrs. Ludgate in extravagance, now, in the hour of 
 adversity and repentance, treated her with the utmost tender- 
 ness and generosity. They were economical, and therefore 
 could afford to be generous. All the wants of this destitute 
 widow were supplied from the profits of their industry : they 
 nursed her with daily humanity, bore with the peevishness of 
 disease, and did all in their power to soothe the anguish of 
 unavailing remorse. 
 
 Nothing could be saved from the wreck of Mr. Ludgate’s 
 fortune for the widow ; but Allen, in looking over old Ludgate’s 
 books, had found and recovered some old debts, which 
 Leonard, after his father’s death, thought not worth looking 
 after. The sum amounted to about three hundred and twenty 
 pounds. As the whole concern had been made over to him, 
 he could lawfully have appropriated this money to his own use, 
 but he reserved it for his friend’s children. He put it out to 
 interest ; and in the meantime he and Lucy not only clothed 
 and fed, but educated these orphans, with their own children, 
 in habits of economy and industry. The orphans repaid, by 
 their affection and gratitude, the care that was bestowed upon 
 them ; and, when they grew up, they retrieved the credit of 
 their family, by living according to their grandfather’s useful 
 maxim — 1 Out of debt out of danger.’ 
 
 Nov. 1801. 
 
 169 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Near Derby, on the way towards Darley Grove, there is a 
 cottage which formerly belonged to one Maurice Robinson. 
 The jessamine which now covers the porch was planted by 
 Ellen, his wife : she was an industrious, prudent, young- 
 woman ; liked by all her neighbours, because she was ready 
 to assist and serve them, and the delight of her husband’s 
 heart ; for she was sweet-tempered, affectionate, constantly 
 clean and neat, and made his house so cheerful that he was 
 always in haste to come home to her, after his day’s work. 
 Me was one of the manufacturers employed in the cotton 
 works at Derby ; and he was remarkable for his good conduct 
 and regular attendance at his work. 
 
 Things went on very well in every respect, till a relation of 
 his, Mrs. Dolly Robinson, came to live with him. Mrs. Dolly 
 had been laundry-maid in a great family, where she learned 
 to love gossiping, and tea-drinkings, and where she acquired 
 some taste for shawls and cherry-brandy. She thought that 
 she did her young relations a great favour by coming to take 
 up her abode with them, because, as she observed, they were 
 young and inexperienced ; and she, knowing a great deal of 
 the world, was able and willing to advise them ; and besides, 
 she had had a legacy of some hundred pounds left to her, and 
 she had saved some little matters while in service, which 
 might make it worth her relations’ while to take her advice 
 with proper respect, and to make her comfortable for the rest 
 of her days. 
 
 Ellen treated her with all due deference, and endeavoured 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 to make her as comfortable as possible ; but Mrs. Dolly could 
 not be comfortable unless, besides drinking a large spoonful of 
 brandy in every dish of tea, she could make each person in 
 the house do just what she pleased. She began by being 
 dissatisfied because she could not persuade Ellen that brandy 
 was wholesome, in tea, for the nerves ; next she was affronted 
 because Ellen did not admire her shawl ; and, above all, she 
 was grievously offended because Ellen endeavoured to prevent 
 her from spoiling little George. 
 
 George was, at this time, between five and six years old ; 
 and his mother took a great deal of pains to bring him up 
 well : she endeavoured to teach him to be honest, to speak 
 the truth, to do whatever she and his father bid him, and to 
 dislike being idle. 
 
 Mrs. Dolly, on the contrary, coaxed and flattered him, 
 without caring whether he was obedient or disobedient, honest 
 or dishonest. She was continually telling him that he was 
 the finest little fellow in the world ; and that she would do 
 great things for him, some time or another. 
 
 What these great things were to be the boy seemed neither 
 to know nor care ; and, except at the moments when she was 
 stuffing gingerbread into his mouth, he seemed never to desire 
 to be near her : he preferred being with William Deane, his 
 father’s friend, who was a very ingenious man, and whom he 
 liked to see at work. 
 
 William gave him a slate, and a slate-pencil ; and taught 
 him how to make figures, and to cast up sums ; and made a 
 little wheelbarrow for him, of which George was very fond, 
 so that George called him in play ‘ King Deane.' All these 
 things tended to make Mrs. Dolly dislike William Deane, 
 whom she considered as her rival in power. 
 
 One day, it was George’s birthday, Mrs. Dolly invited a 
 party, as she called it, to drink tea with her ; and, at tea-time, 
 she was entertaining the neighbours with stories of what she 
 had seen in the great world. Amongst others, she had a 
 favourite story of a butler, in the family where she had lived, 
 who bought a ticket in the lottery when he was drunk, which 
 ticket came up a ten thousand pound prize when he was 
 sober ; and the butler turned gentleman, and kept his coach 
 directly. 
 
 One evening, Maurice Robinson and William came home, 
 172 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 after their day’s work, just in time to hear the end of this 
 story ; and Mrs. Dolly concluded it by turning to Maurice, 
 and assuring him that he must put into the lottery and try his 
 luck : for why should not he be as lucky as another ? ‘ Here,’ 
 
 said she, ‘ a man is working and drudging all the days of his 
 life to get a decent coat to put on, and a bit of bread to put 
 into his child’s mouth ; and, after all, maybe he can’t do it ; 
 though all the while, for five guineas, or a guinea, or half-a- 
 guinea even, if he has but the spirit to lay out his money 
 properly, he has the chance of making a fortune without any 
 trouble. Surely a man should try his luck, if not for his own, 
 at least for his children’s sake,’ continued Mrs. Dolly, drawing 
 little George towards her, and hugging him in her arms. 
 ‘ Who knows what might turn up ? Make your papa buy a 
 ticket in the lottery, love ; there’s my darling ; and I’ll be 
 bound he’ll have good luck. Tell him, I’ll be bound we shall 
 have a ten thousand pound prize at least ; and all for a few 
 guineas. I’m sure I think none but a miser would grudge the 
 money, if he had it to give.’ 
 
 As Mrs. Dolly finished her speech, she looked at William 
 Deane, whose countenance did not seem to please her. 
 Maurice was whistling, and Ellen knitting as fast as possible. 
 Little George was counting William Deane’s buttons. ‘ Pray, 
 Mr. Deane,’ cried Mrs. Dolly, turning full upon him, ‘what 
 may your advice and opinion be ? since nothing’s to be done 
 here without your leave and word of command, forsooth. 
 Now, as you know so much and have seen so much of the 
 world, would you be pleased to tell this good company, and 
 myself into the bargain, what harm it can do anybody, but a 
 a miser, to lay out a small sum to get a good chance of a 
 round thousand, or five thousand, or ten thousand, or twenty 
 thousand pounds, without more ado ? ’ 
 
 As she pronounced the words five thousand, ten thousand, 
 twenty thousand pounds, in a triumphant voice, all the company, 
 except Ellen and William, seemed to feel the force of her 
 oratory. 
 
 William coolly answered that he was no miser, but that he 
 thought money might be better laid out than in the lottery ; 
 for that there was more chance of a man’s getting nothing for 
 his money than of his getting a prize ; that when a man 
 worked for fair wages every day, he was sure of getting 
 
 173 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 something for his pains, and with honest industry, and saving, 
 might get rich enough in time, and have to thank himself for 
 it, which would be a pleasant thing : but that if a man, as he 
 had known many, set his heart upon the turning of the lottery 
 wheel, he would leave off putting his hand to anything the 
 whole year round, and so grow idle, and maybe drunken ; 
 ‘and then,’ said William, ‘at the year’s end, if he have a 
 blank, what is he to do for his rent, or for his wife and 
 children, that have nothing to depend upon but him and his 
 industry ? ’ 
 
 Here Maurice sighed, and so did Ellen, whilst William 
 went on and told many a true story of honest servants, and 
 tradesmen, whom he had known, who had ruined themselves 
 by gaming and lotteries, 
 
 ‘ But,’ said Maurice, who now broke silence, ‘putting into 
 the lottery, William, is not gaming, like dice or cards, or such 
 things. Putting into the lottery is not gaming, as I take it.’ 
 
 ‘ As I take it, though,’ replied William, ‘ it is gaming. 
 For what is gaming but trusting one’s money, or somewhat, to 
 luck and haphazard ? And is there not as much haphazard in 
 the turning of the wheel as in the coming up of the dice, or 
 the dealing of the cards ? ’ 
 
 ‘ True enough ; but somebody must get a prize,’ argued 
 Maurice. 
 
 ‘And somebody must win at dice or cards,’ said William, 
 
 ‘ but a many more must lose ; and a many more, I take it, 
 must lose by the lottery than by any other game ; else how 
 would they that keep the lottery gain by it, as they do ? Put 
 a case. If you and I, Maurice, were this minute to play at 
 dice, we stake our money down on the table here, and one or 
 t’other takes all up. But, in the lottery, it is another affair ; 
 for the whole of what is put in does never come out.’ 
 
 This statement of the case made some impression upon 
 Maurice, who was no fool ; but Mrs. Dolly’s desire that he 
 should buy a lottery ticket was not to be conquered by 
 reason : it grew stronger and stronger the more she was 
 opposed. She was silent and cross during the remainder of 
 the evening ; and the next morning, at breakfast, she was so 
 low that even her accustomed dose of brandy in her tea had 
 no effect. 
 
 Now Maurice, besides his confused hopes that Mrs. Dolly 
 174 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 would leave something handsome to him or his family, 
 thought himself obliged to her for having given a helping 
 hand to his father, when he was in distress ; and therefore he 
 wished to bear with her humours, and to make her happy in 
 his house. He knew that the lottery ticket was uppermost in 
 her mind, and the moment he touched upon that subject she 
 brightened up. She told him she had had a dream ; and she 
 had great faith in dreams : and she had dreamed, three times 
 over, that he had bought number 339 in the lottery, and that 
 it had come up a ten thousand pound prize ! 
 
 ‘ Well, Ellen,’ said Maurice, ‘ I’ve half a mind to try my 
 luck ; and it can do us no harm, for I’ll only put off buying the 
 cow this year.’ 
 
 ‘ Nay,’ said Mrs. Dolly, ‘ why so ? maybe you don’t know 
 what I know, that Ellen’s as rich as a Jew ? She has a 
 cunning little cupboard, in the wall yonder, that I see her 
 putting money into every day of her life, and none goes out.’ 
 
 Ellen immediately went and drew back a small sliding oak 
 door in the wainscot, and took out a glove, in which some 
 money was wrapped ; she put it all together in her husband’s 
 hand, saying, with a good-humoured smile, ‘ There is my 
 year’s spinning, Maurice : I only thought to have made more 
 of it before I gave it you. Do what you please with it.’ 
 
 Maurice was so much moved by his wife’s kindness, that 
 he at the moment determined to give up his lottery scheme, of 
 which, he knew, she did not approve. But, though a good- 
 natured, well-meaning man, he was of an irresolute character ; 
 and even when he saw what was best to be done, had not 
 courage to persist. As he was coming home from work, a 
 few days after Ellen had given him the money, he saw, in one 
 of the streets of Derby, a house with large windows finely 
 illuminated, and read the words ‘ Lottery Office of Fortunatus, 
 Gould, and Co. At this office was sold the fortunate ticket, 
 which came up on Monday last a twenty thousand pound 
 prize. Ready money paid for prizes immediately on demand. 
 
 The £1 5,000 
 £10,000 
 
 £s> oo ° 
 
 still in the wheel. None but the brave deserve a prize.’ 
 
 Whilst Maurice was gazing at this and other similar 
 advertisements, which were exhibited in various bright colours 
 
 175 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 in this tempting window, his desire to try liis fortune in the 
 lottery returned ; and he was just going into the office to 
 purchase a ticket, when luckily he found that he had not his 
 leathern purse in his pocket. He walked on, and presently 
 brushed by some one ; it was William Deane, who was 
 looking very eagerly over some old books, at a bookseller’s 
 stall. ‘ I wish I had but money to treat myself with some of 
 these,’ said William : ‘ but I cannot ; they cost such a deal of 
 money, having all these prints in them.’ 
 
 ‘ We can lend you, — no, we can’t neither,’ cried Maurice, 
 stopping himself short ; for he recollected that he could not 
 both lend his friend money to buy the books and buy a lottery 
 ticket. He was in great doubt which he should do ; and 
 walked on with William, in silence. ‘ So, then,’ cried he at 
 last, ‘ you would not advise me to put into the lottery ? ’ 
 
 ‘Nay,’ said William laughing, ‘it is not for me to advise 
 you about it, now ; for I know you are considering whether you 
 had best put it into the lottery or lend me the money to buy 
 these books. Now, I hope you don’t think I was looking to 
 my own interest in what I said the other day ; for I can 
 assure you, I had no thoughts of meeting with these books 
 at that time, and did not know that you had any money to 
 spare.’ 
 
 ‘ Say no more about it,’ replied Maurice. ‘ Don’t I know 
 you are an honest fellow, and would lend me the money if I 
 wanted it? You shall have it as soon as ever we get home. 
 Only mind and stand by me stoutly, if Mrs. Dolly begins any 
 more about the lottery.’ 
 
 Mrs. Dolly did not fail to renew her attacks ; and she 
 was both provoked and astonished when she found that the 
 contents of the leathern purse were put into the hands of 
 William Deane. 
 
 ‘ Books, indeed ! To buy books forsooth ! What business 
 had such a one as he with books ? ’ She had seen a deal of 
 life, she said, and never saw no good come of bookish bodies ; 
 and she was sorry to see that her own darling George was 
 taking to the bookish line, and that his mother encouraged 
 him in it. She would lay her best shawl, she said, to a gauze 
 handkerchief, that William Deane would, sooner or later, 
 beggar himself, and all that belonged to him, by his books and 
 his gimcracks ; ‘ and if George were my son,’ continued she, 
 
 176 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 raising her voice, ‘ I’d soon cure him of prying and poring into 
 that man’s picture-books, and following him up and down with 
 wheels and mechanic machines, which will never come to no 
 good, nor never make a gentleman of him, as a ticket in the 
 lottery might and would.’ 
 
 All mouths were open at once to defend William. Maurice 
 declared he was the most industrious man in the parish ; that 
 his books never kept him from his work, but always kept him 
 from the alehouse and bad company ; and that, as to his 
 gimcracks and machines, he never laid out a farthing upon 
 them but what he got by working on holidays, and odd times, 
 when other folks were idling or tippling. His master, who 
 understood the like of those things, said, before all the work- 
 men at the mills, that William Deane’s machines were main 
 clever, and might come to bring in a deal of money for him 
 and his. 
 
 ‘ Why,’ continued Maurice, ‘there was Mr. Arkwright, the 
 man that first set agoing all our cotton frames here, was no 
 better than William Deane, and yet came at last to make a 
 power of money. It stands to reason, anyhow, that William 
 Deane is hurting nobody, nor himself neither ; and, moreover, 
 he may divert himself his own way, without being taken to 
 task by man, woman, or child. As to children, he’s very good 
 to my child ; there’s one loves him,’ pointing to George, ‘and 
 I’m glad of it : for I should be ashamed, so I should, that my 
 flesh and blood should be in any ways disregardful or ungracious 
 to those that be kind and good to them.’ 
 
 Mrs. Dolly, swelling with anger, repeated in a scornful 
 voice, ‘ Disregardful, ungracious ! I wonder folks can talk so 
 to me ! But this is all the gratitude one meets with, in this 
 world, for all one does. Well, well ! I’m an old woman, and 
 shall soon be out of people’s way ; and then they will be sorry 
 they did not use me better ; and then they’ll bethink them 
 that it is not so easy to gain a friend as to lose a friend ; and 
 then ’ 
 
 Here Mrs. Dolly’s voice was stopped by her sobs ; and 
 Maurice, who was a very good-natured man, and much dis- 
 posed to gratitude, said he begged her pardon a thousand 
 times, if he had done anything to offend her ; and declared 
 his only wish was to please and satisfy her, if she would but 
 tell him how. 
 
 N 
 
 177 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 She continued sobbing, without making any answer, for some 
 time : but at last she cried, ‘ My ad — • my ad — my ad-vice is 
 never taken in anything ! ’ 
 
 Maurice declared he was ready to take her advice, if that 
 was the only way to make her easy in her mind. ‘ I know what 
 you mean, now,’ added he : ‘ you are still harping upon the 
 lottery ticket. Well, I’ll buy a ticket this day week, after I’ve 
 sold the cow I bought at the fair. Will you have done sobbing, 
 now, cousin Dolly?’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, cousin Maurice, it is only for your own sake I 
 speak,’ said she, wiping her eyes. ! You know you was always 
 a favourite of mine from your childhood up ; I nursed you, and 
 had you on my knee, and foretold often and often you would 
 make a fortune, so I did. And will you buy the ticket I 
 dreamed about, hey ? ’ 
 
 Maurice assured her that, if it was to be had, he would. 
 The cow was accordingly sold the following week, and the 
 ticket in the lottery was bought. It was not, however, the 
 number about which Mrs. Dolly had dreamed, for that was 
 already purchased by some other person. The ticket Maurice 
 bought was number 80 ; and, after he had got it, his cousin 
 Dolly continually deplored that it was not the very number 
 of which she dreamed. It would have been better not to have 
 taken her advice at all than to have taken it when it was too late. 
 
 Maurice was an easy-tempered man, and loved quiet : and 
 when he found that he was reproached for something or other 
 whenever he came into his own house, he began to dislike the 
 thought of going home after his day’s work, and loitered at 
 public -houses sometimes, but more frequently at the lottery- 
 office. As the lottery was now drawing, his whole thoughts 
 were fixed upon his ticket ; and he neglected his work at the 
 manufactory. ‘ What signify a few shillings wages, more or 
 less ? ’ said he to himself. ‘ If my ticket should come up a 
 prize, it makes a rich man of me at once.’ 
 
 His ticket at last was drawn a prize of five thousand 
 pounds ! He was almost out of his senses with joy. He ran 
 home to tell the news. ‘ A prize ! a prize, Dolly ! ’ cried he, 
 as soon as he had breath to speak. 
 
 ‘ That comes of taking my advice ! ’ said Dolly. 
 
 ‘ A five thousand pound prize, my dear Ellen ! ’ cried he, 
 and down he kicked her spinning-wheel. 
 
 I? 8 
 
A prize ! a prize, Dolly l ” cried he , as soon as he had breath to speak. 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ I wish we may be as happy with it as we have been with- 
 out it, Maurice,’ said Ellen ; and calmly lifted her spinning- 
 wheel up again. 
 
 ‘No more spinning-wheels!’ cried Maurice; ‘no more 
 spinning ! no more work ! We have nothing to do now but 
 to be as happy as the day is long. Wife, I say, put by that 
 wheel.’ 
 
 ‘ You’re a lady now ; and ought to look and behave like a 
 lady,’ added Mrs. Dolly, stretching up her head, ‘ and not 
 stand moping over an old spinning-wheel.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know how to look and behave like a lady,’ said 
 Ellen, and sighed : ‘ but I hopes Maurice won’t love me the 
 less for that.’ 
 
 Mrs. Dolly was for some time wholly taken up with the 
 pleasure of laying out money, and ‘ preparing,’ as she said, ‘ to 
 look like somebody.’ She had many acquaintances at Padding- 
 ton, she said, and she knew of a very snug house there, where 
 they could all live very genteel. 
 
 She was impatient to go thither, for two reasons : that she 
 might make a figure in the eyes of these acquaintances, and 
 that she might get Maurice and little George away from 
 William Deane, who was now become more than ever the 
 object of her aversion and contempt ; for he actually advised 
 his friend not to think of living in idleness, though he had five 
 thousand pounds. William moreover recommended it to him 
 to put his money out to interest, or to dispose of a good part 
 of it in stocking a farm, or in fitting out a shop. Ellen, being 
 a farmer’s daughter, knew well the management of a dairy ; 
 and, when a girl, had also assisted in a haberdasher’s shop, 
 that was kept in Derby by her uncle ; so she was able and 
 willing, she said, to assist her husband in whichever of these 
 ways of life he should take to. 
 
 Maurice, irresolute and desirous of pleasing all parties, at 
 last said it would be as well, seeing they were now rich enough 
 not to mind such a journey, just to go to Paddington and look 
 about ’em ; and if so be they could not settle there in comfort, 
 why still they might see a bit of London town, and take their 
 pleasure for a month or so ; and he hoped William Deane 
 would come along with them, and it should not be a farthing 
 out of his pocket. 
 
 Little George said everything he could think of to persuade 
 180 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 his King Deane to go with them, and almost pulled him to the 
 coach door, when they were setting off ; but William could not 
 leave his master and his business. The child clung with his 
 legs and arms so fast to him that they were forced to drag him 
 into the carriage. 
 
 ‘You’ll find plenty of friends at Paddington, who’ll give you 
 many pretty things. Dry your eyes, and see ! you’re in a 
 coach ! ’ said Mrs. Dolly. 
 
 George dried his eyes directly, for he was ashamed of crying ; 
 but he answered, ‘ I don’t care for your pretty things. I shall 
 not find my good dear King Deane anywhere ’ ; and, leaning 
 upon his mother’s lap, he twirled round the wheel of a little 
 cart, which William Deane had given him, and which he 
 carried under his ann as his greatest treasure. 
 
 Ellen was delighted to see signs of such a grateful and 
 affectionate disposition in her son, and all her thoughts were 
 bent upon him ; whilst Mrs. Dolly chattered on about her 
 acquaintance at Paddington, and her satisfaction at finding 
 herself in a coach once again. Her satisfaction was not, how- 
 ever, of long continuance ; for she grew so sick that she was 
 obliged, or thought herself obliged, every quarter of an hour, 
 to have recourse to her cordial bottle. Her spirits were at 
 last raised so much, that she became extremely communicative, 
 and she laid open to Maurice and Ellen all her plans of future 
 pleasure and expense. 
 
 ‘ In the first place,’ said she, ‘ I am heartily glad now I 
 have got you away from that cottage that was not fit to live in ; 
 and from certain folks that shall be nameless, that would have 
 one live all one’s life like scrubs, like themselves. You must 
 know that when we get to Paddington, the first thing I shall 
 do shall be to buy a handsome coach.’ 
 
 ‘ A coach ! ’ exclaimed Maurice and Ellen, with extreme 
 astonishment. 
 
 ‘ A coach, to be sure,’ said Mrs. Dolly. 1 1 say a coach.’ 
 
 ‘ I say we shall be ruined, then,’ said Maurice ; ‘ and laughed 
 at into the bargain.’ 
 
 ‘ La ! you don’t know what money is,’ said Mrs. Dolly. 
 ‘Why, haven’t you five thousand pounds, man ? You don’t know 
 what can be done with five thousand pounds, cousin Maurice.’ 
 
 ‘ No, nor you neither, cousin Dolly ; or you’d never talk of 
 setting up your coach.’ 
 
 181 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ Why not, pray ? I know what a coach costs as well as 
 another. I know we can have a second-hand coach, and we 
 need not tell nobody that it’s second-hand, for about a hundred 
 pounds. And what’s a hundred pounds out of five thousand ? ’ 
 
 ‘ But if we’ve a coach, we must have horses, must not we ? ’ 
 said Ellen, ‘ and they’ll cost a hundred more.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, we can have job horses, that will cost us little or 
 nothing,’ said Mrs. Dolly. 
 
 ‘Say ,£150 a year,’ replied Maurice; ‘for I heard my 
 master’s coachman telling that the livery-keeper in London 
 declared as how he made nothing by letting him 1 have job 
 horses for ^150 a year.’ 
 
 ‘ We are to have our own coach,’ said Dolly, ‘and that will 
 be cheaper, you know.’ 
 
 ‘ But the coach won’t last for ever,’ said Ellen ; ‘ it must be 
 mended, and that will cost something.’ 
 
 ‘ It is time enough to think of that when the coach wants 
 mending,’ said Mrs. Dolly, who, without giving herself the 
 trouble of calculating, seemed to be convinced that everything 
 might be done for five thousand pounds. ‘ I must let you know 
 a little secret,’ continued she. ‘ I have written, that is, got a 
 friend to write, to have the house at Paddington taken for a 
 year ; for I know it’s quite the thing for us, and we are only 
 to give fifty pounds a year for it : and you know that one thou- 
 sand pounds would pay that rent for twenty years to come.’ 
 
 ‘ But then,’ said Ellen, ‘ you will want to do a great many 
 other things with that thousand pounds. There’s the coach you 
 mentioned ; and you said we must keep a footboy, and must 
 see a deal of company, and must not grudge to buy clothes, 
 and that we could not follow any trade, nor have a farm, nor 
 do anything to make money ; so we must live on upon what we 
 have. Now let us count, and see how we shall do it. You 
 know, Maurice, that William Deane inquired about what we 
 could get for our five thousand pounds, if we put it out to 
 interest ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Ay ; two hundred a year, he said.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, we pay fifty pounds a year for the rent of the house, 
 and a hundred a year we three and the boy must have to live 
 upon, and there is but fifty pounds a year left.’ 
 
 Mrs. Dolly, with some reluctance, gave up the notion of the 
 coach ; and Ellen proposed that five hundred pounds should 
 
 182 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 be laid out in furnishing a haberdasher’s shop, and that the 
 rest of their money should be put out to interest, till it was 
 wanted. ‘ Maurice and I can take care of the shop very well ; 
 and we can live well enough upon what we make by it,’ said 
 Ellen. 
 
 Mrs. Dolly opposed the idea of keeping a shop ; and 
 observed that they should not, in that case, be gentlefolks. 
 Besides, she said, she was sure the people of the house she had 
 taken would never let it be turned into a shop. 
 
 What Mrs. Dolly had said was indeed true. When they got 
 to Paddington, they found that the house was by no means fit 
 for a shop ; and as the bargain was made for a year, and they 
 could not get it off their hands without considerable loss, Ellen 
 was forced to put off her prudent scheme. In the meantime 
 she determined to learn how to keep accounts properly. 
 
 There was a small garden belonging to the house, in which 
 George set to work ; and though he could do little more than 
 pull up the weeds, yet this kept him out of mischief and idle- 
 ness ; and she sent him to a day-school, where he would learn 
 to read, write, and cast accounts. When he came home in the 
 evenings, he used to show her his copy-book, and read his 
 lesson, and say his spelling to her, while she was at work. 
 His master said it was a pleasure to teach him, he was so 
 eager to learn ; and Ellen was glad that she had money 
 enough to pay for having her boy well taught. Mrs. Dolly, 
 all this time, was sitting and gossiping amongst her acquaint- 
 ance in Paddington. These acquaintance were people whom 
 she had seen when they visited the housekeeper in the great 
 family where she was laundry-maid ; and she was very proud 
 to show them that she was now a finer person than even 
 the housekeeper, who was formerly the object of her envy. She 
 had tea-drinking parties, and sometimes dinner parties, two 
 or three in a week ; and hired a footboy, and laughed at Ellen 
 for her low notions, and dissuaded Maurice from all industrious 
 schemes ; still saying to him, ‘ Oh, you’ll have time enough to 
 think of going to work when you have spent all your money.’ 
 
 Maurice, who had been accustomed to be at work for 
 several hours in the day, at first thought it would be a fine 
 thing to walk about, as Mrs. Dolly said, like a gentleman, 
 without having anything to do ; but when he came to try it, 
 he found himself more tired by this way of life than he had 
 
 180 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ever felt himself in the cotton-mills at Derby. He gaped and 
 gaped, and lounged about every morning, and looked a 
 hundred times at his new watch, and put it to his ear to 
 listen whether it was going, the time seemed to him to pass so 
 slowly. Sometimes he sauntered through the town, came back 
 again, and stood at his own door looking at dogs fighting for a 
 bone ; at others, he went into the kitchen, to learn what there 
 was to be for dinner, and to watch the maid cooking, or the 
 boy cleaning knives. It was a great relief for him to go into 
 the room where his wife was at work : but he never would 
 have been able to get through a year in this way without the 
 assistance of a pretty little black horse, for which he paid 
 thirty guineas. During a month he was very happy in riding 
 backwards and forwards on the Edgeware Road : but presently 
 the horse fell lame ; it was discovered that he was spavined 
 and broken-winded ; and the jockey from whom Maurice 
 bought him was nowhere to be found. Maurice sold the 
 horse for five guineas, and bought a fine bay for forty, which 
 he was certain would turn out well, seeing he paid such a good 
 price for him ; but the bay scarcely proved better than the 
 black. How he managed it we do not know, but it seems he 
 was not so skilful in horses as in cotton-weaving ; for at the 
 end of the year he had no horse, and had lost fifty guineas by 
 his bargains. 
 
 Another hundred guineas were gone, nobody in the family 
 but himself knew how : but he resolved to waste no more money 
 and began the new year well, by opening a haberdasher’s 
 shop in Paddington. The fitting up this shop cost them five 
 hundred pounds ; it was tolerably stocked, and Ellen was so 
 active, and so attentive to all customers, that she brought 
 numbers to Maurice Robinson’s new shop. They made full 
 twelve per cent upon all they sold ; and, in six months, had 
 turned three hundred pounds twice, and had gained the profit 
 of seventy-two pounds. Maurice, however, had got such a 
 habit of lounging, during his year of idleness, that he could not 
 relish steady attendance in the shop : he was often out, fre- 
 quently came home late at night, and Ellen observed that he 
 sometimes looked extremely melancholy ; but when she asked 
 him whether he was ill, or what ailed him, he always turned 
 away, answering, ‘Nothing — nothing ails me. Why do ye 
 fancy anything ails me ? ’ 
 
 184 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 Alas ! it was no fancy. Ellen saw too plainly that some- 
 thing was going wrong : but as her husband persisted in silence, 
 she could not tell how to assist or comfort him. 
 
 Mrs. Dolly in the meantime was going on spending her 
 money in junketing. She was, besides, no longer satisfied with 
 taking her spoonful of brandy in every dish of tea ; she found 
 herself uncomfortable, she said, unless she took every morning 
 fasting a full glass of the good cordial recommended to her 
 by her friend Mrs. Joddrell, the apothecary’s wife. Now this 
 good cordial, in plain English, was a strong dram. Ellen, in 
 the gentlest manner she could, represented to Mrs. Dolly that 
 she was hurting her health, and was exposing herself, by this 
 increasing habit of drinking ; but she replied with anger that 
 what she took was for the good of her health ; that everybody 
 knew best what agreed with them ; that she should trust to her 
 own feelings ; and that nobody need talk, when all she took 
 came out of the apothecary’s shop, and was paid for honestly 
 with her own money. 
 
 Besides what came out of the apothecary’s shop, Mrs. Dolly 
 found it agreed with her constantly to drink a pot of porter at 
 dinner, and another at supper ; and always when she had a 
 cold, and she had often a cold, she drank large basins full of 
 white wine whey, ‘to throw off her cold,’ as she said. 
 
 Then by degrees, she lost her appetite, and found she could 
 eat nothing, unless she had a glass of brandy at dinner. 
 Small beer, she discovered, did not agree with her ; so at 
 luncheon time she always had a tumblerful of brandy and 
 water. This she carefully mixed herself, and put less and less 
 water in every day, because brandy, she was convinced, was 
 more wholesome for some constitutions than water ; and 
 brandy and peppermint, taken together, was an infallible 
 remedy for all complaints, low spirits included. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Mrs. Dolly never found herself comfortable, moreover, unless 
 she dined abroad two or three days in the week, at a public- 
 house, near Paddington, where she said she was more at home 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 than she was anywhere else. There was a bowling-green at 
 this public-house, and it was a place to which tea-drinking 
 parties resorted. Now Mrs. Dolly often wanted to take little 
 George out with her to these parties, and said, ‘It is a pity 
 and shame to keep the poor thing always mewed up at home, 
 without ever letting him have any pleasure ! Would not you 
 like to go with me, George dear, in the one-horse chaise ? and 
 would not you be glad to have cakes, and tea, and all the good 
 things that are to be had ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I should like to go in the one-horse chaise, to be sure, and 
 to have cakes and tea ; but I should not like to go with you, 
 because mother does not choose it,’ answered George, in his 
 usual plain way of speaking. Ellen, who had often seen Mrs. 
 Dolly offer him wine and punch to drink, by way of a treat, 
 was afraid he might gradually learn to love spirituous liquors ; 
 and that if he acquired a habit of drinking such when he was a 
 boy, he would become a drunkard when he should grow to be 
 a man. George was now almost nine years old ; and he could 
 understand the reason why his mother desired that he would 
 not drink spirituous liquors. She once pointed out to him a 
 drunken man, who was reeling along the street, and bawling 
 ridiculous nonsense : he had quite lost his senses, and as he 
 did not attend to the noise of a carriage coming fast behind 
 him, he could not get out of the way time enough, and the 
 coachman could not stop his horses ; so the drunken man was 
 thrown down, and the wheel of the carriage went over his leg, 
 and broke it in a shocking manner. George saw him carried 
 towards his home, writhing and groaning with pain. ‘ See 
 what comes of drunkenness ! ’ said Ellen. 
 
 She stopped the people who were carrying the hurt man 
 past her door, and had him brought in and laid upon a bed, 
 whilst a surgeon was sent for. George stood beside the bed 
 in silence ; and the words ‘ See what comes of drunkenness ! ’ 
 sounded in his ears. 
 
 Another time, his mother pointed out to him a man with 
 terribly swollen legs, and a red face blotched all over, lifted 
 out of a fine coach by two footmen in fine liveries. The man 
 leaned upon a gold-headed cane, after he was lifted from his 
 carriage, and tried with his other hand to take off his hat to a 
 lady, who asked him how he did ; but his hand shook so much 
 that, when he had got his hat off, he could not put it rightly 
 
 186 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 upon his head, and his footman put it on for him. The boys 
 in the street laughed at him. ‘ Poor man ! ’ said Ellen ; ‘ that 
 
 is Squire L- ■, who, as you heard the apothecary say, has 
 
 drunk harder in his day than any man that ever he knew ; and 
 this is what he has brought himself to by drinking ! All the 
 physic in the apothecary’s shop cannot make him well again ! 
 No ; nor can his fine coach and fine footmen any more make 
 him easy or happy, poor man ! ’ 
 
 George exclaimed, ‘ I wonder how people can be such fools 
 as to be drunkards ! I will never be a drunkard, mother ; and 
 now I know the reason why you desired me not to drink the 
 wine, when Mrs. Dolly used to say to me, “ Down with it, 
 George dear, it will do ye no harm.” ’ 
 
 These circumstances made such an impression upon George 
 that there was no further occasion to watch him ; he always 
 pushed away the glass when Mrs. Dolly filled it for him. 
 
 One day his mother said to him, ‘Now I can trust you to 
 take care of yourself, George, I shall not watch you. Mrs. 
 Dolly is going to a bowling-green tea-party this evening, and 
 has asked you to go with her ; and I have told her you shall.’ 
 
 George accordingly went with Mrs. Dolly to the bowling- 
 green. The company drank tea out of doors, in summer- 
 houses. After tea, Mrs. Dolly bid George go and look at the 
 bowling-green ; and George was very well entertained with 
 seeing the people playing at bowls ; but when it grew late in 
 the evening, and when the company began to go away, George 
 looked about for Mrs. Dolly. She was not in the summer- 
 house, where they had drunk tea, nor was she anywhere upon 
 the terrace round the bowling-green ; so he went to the public- 
 house in search of her, and at last found her standing at the 
 bar with the landlady. Her face was very red, and she had 
 a large glass of brandy in her hand, into which the landlady 
 was pouring some drops, which she said were excellent for the 
 stomach. 
 
 Mrs. Dolly started so when she saw George, that she threw 
 down half her glass of brandy. ‘ Bless us, child ! I thought 
 you were safe at the bowling-green,’ said she. 
 
 ‘ I saw everybody going away,’ answered George ; ‘ so I 
 thought it was time to look for you, and to go home.’ 
 
 ‘ But before you go, my dear little gentleman,’ said the 
 landlady, ‘ you must eat one of these tarts, for my sake.’ As 
 
 187 
 
rorULAR TALES 
 
 she spoke, she gave George a little tart : ‘ and here,’ added 
 she, ‘ you must drink my health too in something good. Don’t 
 be afraid, love ; it’s nothing that will hurt you : it’s very sweet 
 and nice.’ 
 
 ‘ It is wine, or spirits of some sort or other, I know by the 
 smell,’ said George ; ‘ and I will not drink it, thank you, 
 ma’am.’ 
 
 ‘ The boy’s a fool ! ’ said Mrs. Dolly ; 1 but it’s his mother’s 
 fault. She won’t let him taste anything stronger than water. 
 But now your mother’s not by, you know,’ said Mrs. Dolly, 
 winking at the landlady ; ‘ now your mother’s not by ’ 
 
 ‘Yes, and nobody will tell of you,’ added the landlady ; ‘so 
 do what you like : drink it down, love.’ 
 
 ‘No!’ cried George, pushing away the glass which Mrs. 
 Dolly held to his lips. ‘ No ! no ! no ! I say. I will not do 
 anything now my mother’s not by, that 1 would not do if she 
 was here in this room.’ 
 
 ‘ Well ; hush, hush ; and don’t bawl so loud though,’ said 
 Mrs. Dolly, who saw, what George did not see, a gentleman 
 that was standing at the door of the parlour opposite to them, 
 and who could hear everything that was saying at the bar. 
 
 ‘ I say,’ continued George, in a loud voice, ‘ mother told me 
 she could trust me to take care of myself ; and so I will take 
 care of myself ; and I am not a fool, no more is mother, I 
 know ; for she told me the reasons why it is not good to drink 
 
 spirituous- -’ Mrs. Dolly pushed him away, without giving 
 
 him time to finish his sentence, bidding him go and see whether 
 the gig was ready ; for it was time to be going home. 
 
 As George was standing in the yard, looking at the mechanism 
 of the one-horse chaise and observing how the horse was put to, 
 somebody tapped him upon the shoulder, and, looking up, he saw 
 a gentleman with a very good-natured countenance, who smiled 
 upon him, and asked him whether he was the little boy who had 
 just been talking so loud in the bar. 
 
 ‘Yes, sir,’ says George. ‘You seem to be a good little 
 boy,’ added he ; ‘ and I liked what I heard you say very much. 
 So you will not do anything when your mother is not by, that 
 you would not do if she was here — was not that what you said?’ 
 
 ‘Yes, sir; as well as I remember.’ 
 
 ‘ And who is your mother ? ’ continued the gentleman. 
 ‘ Where does she live ? ’ 
 
 188 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 George told him his mother’s name, and where she lived ; 
 and the gentleman said, ‘ I will cal) at your mother’s house as 
 I go home, and tell her what I heard you say ; and I will ask 
 her to let you come to my house, where you will see a little 
 boy of your own age, whom I should be very glad to have seen 
 behave as well as you did just now.’ 
 
 Mr. Belton, for that was the name of the gentleman who 
 took notice of George, was a rich carpet manufacturer. He 
 had a country-house near Paddington ; and the acquaintance 
 which was thus begun became a source of great happiness to 
 George. Mr. Belton lent him several entertaining books, and 
 took him to see many curious things in London. Ellen was 
 rejoiced to hear from him the praises of her son. All the 
 pleasure of Ellen’s life had, for some months past, depended 
 upon this boy ; for her husband was seldom at home, and the 
 gloom that was spread over his countenance alarmed her, 
 whenever she saw him. As for Mrs. Dolly, she was no com- 
 panion for Ellen : her love of drinking had increased to such a 
 degree that she could love nothing else ; and when she was 
 not half intoxicated, she was in such low spirits that she sat 
 (either on the side of her bed, or in her arm-chair, wrapped in 
 a shawl) sighing and crying, and see-sawing herself; and 
 sometimes she complained to Maurice that Ellen did not care 
 whether she was dead or alive ; and at others that George had 
 always something or other to do, and never liked to sit in her 
 room and keep her company. Besides all this, she got into a 
 hundred petty quarrels with the neighbours, who had a knack 
 of remembering what she said when she was drunk, and 
 appealing to her for satisfaction when she was sober. Mrs. 
 Dolly regularly expected that Ellen should, as she called it, 
 stand her friend in these altercations ; to which Ellen could 
 not always in justice consent. Ah ! said Ellen to herself one 
 night, as she was sitting up late waiting for her husband’s 
 return home, it is not the having five thousand pounds that 
 makes people happy ! When Maurice loved to come home 
 after his day’s work to our little cottage, and when our George 
 was his delight, as he is mine, then I was light of heart ; but 
 now it is quite otherwise. However, there is no use in com- 
 plaining, nor in sitting down to think upon melancholy things ; 
 and Ellen started up and went to work to mend one of her 
 husband’s waistcoats. 
 
 189 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Whilst she was at this employment, she listened continually 
 for the return of Maurice. The clock struck twelve, and one, 
 and no husband came ! She heard no noise in the street when 
 she opened her window, for everybody but herself was in bed 
 and asleep. At last she heard the sound of footsteps ; but 
 it was so dark that she could not see who the person was, 
 who continued walking backwards and forwards, just under- 
 neath the window. 
 
 ‘ Is it you, Maurice ? Are you there, Maurice ? ’ said Ellen. 
 The noise of the footsteps ceased, and Ellen again said, ‘ Is it 
 you, Maurice ? Are you there ? ’ 
 
 ‘Yes,’ answered Maurice ; ‘ it is I. Why are you not abed 
 and asleep, at this time of night ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I am waiting for you,’ replied Ellen. 
 
 ‘You need not wait for me; I have the key of the 
 house door in my pocket, and can let myself in whenever I 
 choose it.’ 
 
 ‘ And don’t you choose it now ? ’ said Ellen. 
 
 ‘No. Shut down the window.’ 
 
 Ellen shut the window, and went and sat down upon the 
 side of her boy’s bed. He was sleeping. Ellen, who could 
 not sleep, took up her work again, and resolved to wait till 
 her husband should come in. At last, the key turned in the 
 house door, and presently she heard her husband’s steps 
 coming softly towards the room where she was sitting. He 
 opened the door gently, as if he expected to find her asleep, 
 and was afraid of awakening her. He started when he saw 
 her ; and slouching his hat over his face, threw himself into a 
 chair without speaking a single word. Something terrible has 
 happened to him, surely ! thought Ellen ; and her hand 
 trembled so that she could scarcely hold her needle, when she 
 tried to go on working. 
 
 ‘ What are you doing there, Ellen ? ’ said he, suddenly 
 pushing back his hat. 
 
 ‘ I’m only mending your waistcoat, love,’ said Ellen, in a 
 faltering voice. 
 
 ‘ I am a wretch ! a fool ! a miserable wretch ! ’ exclaimed 
 Maurice, starting up and striking his forehead with violence as 
 he walked up and down the room. 
 
 ‘ What can be the matter ? ’ said Ellen. ‘ It is worse to 
 me to see you in this way, than to hear whatever misfortune 
 
 190 
 
Don't turn away from me, husband ! IV Jio in the world loves you so 
 well as I do?"* 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 has befallen you. Don’t turn away from me, husband ! Who 
 in the world loves you so well as I do ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, Ellen,’ said he, letting her take his hand, but still 
 turning away, 1 you will hate me when you know what I have 
 done.’ 
 
 ‘ I cannot hate you, I believe,’ said Ellen. 
 
 ‘ We have not sixpence left in the world ! ’ continued 
 Maurice, vehemently. ‘ We must leave this house to-morrow ; 
 we must sell all we have ; I must go to jail, Ellen ! You must 
 work all the rest of your days harder than ever you did ; and 
 so must that poor boy, who lies sleeping yonder. He little 
 thinks that his father has made a beggar of him ; and that, 
 whilst his mother was the best of mothers to him, his father 
 was ruining him, her, and himself, with a pack of rascals at 
 the gaming-table. Ellen, I have lost every shilling of our 
 money ! ’ 
 
 ‘Is that all?’ said Ellen. ‘That’s bad; but I am glad 
 that you have done nothing wicked. We can work hard, 
 and be happy again. Only promise me now, dear husband, 
 that you will never game any more.’ 
 
 Maurice threw himself upon his knees, and swore that he 
 never, to the last hour of his life, would go to any gaming- 
 table again, or play at any game of chance. Ellen then said 
 all she could to soothe and console him ; she persuaded him 
 to take some rest, of which he was much in need, for his looks 
 were haggard, and he seemed quite exhausted. He declared 
 that he had not had a night’s good sleep for many months, 
 since he had got into these difficulties by gaming. His mind 
 had been kept in a continual flurry, and he seemed as if he 
 had been living in a fever. ‘ The worst of it was, Ellen,’ said 
 he, ‘ I could not bear to see you or the boy when I had been 
 losing ; so I went on, gaming deeper and deeper, in hopes of 
 winning back what I had lost ; and I now and then won, and 
 they coaxed me and told me I was getting a run of luck, and 
 it would be a sin to turn my back on good fortune. This way 
 I was ’ticed to go on playing, till, when I betted higher and 
 higher, my luck left me ; or, as I shrewdly suspect, the rascals 
 did not play fair, and they won stake after stake, till they made 
 me half mad, and I risked all I had left upon one throw, and 
 lost it ! And when I found I had lost all, and thought of coming 
 home to you and our boy, I was ready to hang myself. Oh, 
 
 192 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 Ellen, if you knew all I have felt ! I would not live over again 
 the last two years for this room full of gold ! ’ 
 
 Such are the miserable feelings, and such the life, of a 
 gamester ! 
 
 Maurice slept for a few hours, or rather dozed, starting now 
 and then, and talking of cards and dice, and sometimes grind- 
 ing his teeth and clenching his hand, till he wakened himself 
 by the violence with which he struck the side of the bed. 
 
 ‘ I have had a terrible dream, wife,’ said he, when he opened 
 his eyes, and saw Ellen sitting beside him on the bed. At 
 first he did not recollect what had really happened ; but as 
 Ellen looked at him with sorrow and compassion in her counte- 
 nance, he gradually remembered all the truth ; and, hiding his 
 head under the bed-clothes, he said he wished he could sleep 
 again, if it could be without dreaming such dreadful things. 
 
 It was in vain that he tried to sleep ; so he got up, resolving 
 to try whether he could borrow twenty guineas from any of his 
 friends, to pay the most pressing of his gaming companions. 
 The first person he asked was Mrs. Dolly : she fell into an 
 hysteric fit when she heard of his losses ; and it was not till 
 after she had swallowed a double dram of brandy that she was 
 able to speak, and to tell him that she was the worst person 
 in the world he could have applied to ; for that she was in the 
 greatest distress herself, and all her dependence in this world 
 was upon him. 
 
 Maurice stood in silent astonishment. ‘ Why, cousin,’ said 
 he, ‘ I thought, and always believed, that you had a power of 
 money! You know, when you came to live with us, you told 
 me so.’ 
 
 ‘ No matter what I told you,’ said Mrs. Dolly. ‘ Folks 
 can’t live upon air. Yesterday the landlady of the public- 
 house at the bowling-green, whom I’m sure I looked upon as 
 my friend, — but there’s no knowing one’s friends, — sent me 
 in a bill as long as my arm ; and the apothecary here has 
 another against me worse again ; and the man at the livery- 
 stables, for one-horse chays, and jobs that I’m sure I forgot 
 ever having, comes and charges me the Lord knows what ! 
 and then the grocer for tea and sugar, which I have been giving 
 to folks from whom I have got no thanks. And then I have 
 an account with the linen-draper of I don’t know how much ! 
 but he has overcharged me, I know, scandalously, for my last 
 o 193 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 three shawls. And then I have never paid for my set of tea 
 china ; and half of the cups are broke, and the silver spoons, 
 and I can’t tell what besides.’ 
 
 In short, Mrs. Dolly, who had never kept any account of 
 what she spent, had no idea how far she was getting into a 
 tradesman’s debt till his bill was brought home : and was in 
 great astonishment to find, when all her bills were sent in, that 
 she had spent four hundred and fifty pounds in her private 
 expenses, drinking included, in the course of three years and 
 eight months. She had now nothing left to live upon but one 
 hundred pounds, so that she was more likely to be a burden 
 to Maurice than any assistance. He, however, was determined 
 to go to a friend who had frequently offered to lend him any 
 sum of money he might want, and who had often been his 
 partner at the gaming-table. 
 
 In his absence, Ellen and George began to take a list of all 
 the furniture in the house, that it might be ready for a sale, 
 and Mrs. Dolly sat in her arm-chair, weeping and wailing. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! laud ! laud ! that I should live to see all this ! ’ cried 
 she. ‘ Ah, lack-a-daisy ! lack-a-daisy ! lack-a-day ! what will 
 become of me ? Oh, la ! la ! la 1 la ! ’ Her lamentations were 
 interrupted by a knock at the door. ‘ Hark ! a knock, a 
 double knock at the door,’ cried Mrs. Dolly. ‘ Who is it ? 
 Ah, lack-a-day, when people come to know what has happened, 
 it will be long enough before we have any more visitors ; long 
 enough before we hear any more double knocks at the door. 
 Oh, laud ! laud ! See who it is, George.’ 
 
 It was Mr. Belton, who was come to ask George to go with 
 him and his little nephew to see some wild beasts at Exeter 
 ’Change : he was much surprised at the sorrowful faces of 
 George and Ellen, whom he had always been used to see so 
 cheerful, and inquired what misfortune had befallen them. 
 Mrs. Dolly thought she could tell the story best, so she 
 detailed the whole, with many piteous ejaculations ; but the 
 silent resignation of Ellen’s countenance had much more effect 
 upon Mr. Belton. ‘ George,’ said he, ‘ must stay to finish the 
 inventory he is writing for his mother.’ 
 
 Mr. Belton was inquiring more particularly into the amount 
 of Maurice’s debts, and the names of the persons to whom he 
 had lost his money at the gaming-table, when the unfortunate 
 man himself came home. ‘No hope, Ellen !’ cried he. ‘No 
 
 194 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 hope from any of those rascals that I thought my friends. No 
 hope ! ’ 
 
 He stopped short, seeing a stranger in the room, for Mr. 
 Belton was a stranger to him. ‘ My husband can tell you the 
 
 ‘ “ Oh ! loud ! laud ! that I should live to see all this ! " ’ 
 
 names of all the people,’ said Ellen, ‘ who have been the ruin 
 of us.’ Mr. Belton then wrote them down from Maurice’s 
 information ; and learned from him that he had lost to these 
 sharpers upwards of three thousand eight hundred pounds in 
 
 195 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 the course of three years ; that the last night he played, he 
 had staked the goods in his shop, valued at ,£350, and lost 
 them ; that afterwards he staked the furniture of his house, 
 valued at ,£160 ; this also he lost ; and so left the gaming-table 
 without a farthing in the world. 
 
 ‘It is not my intention,' said Mr. Belton, ‘to add to your 
 present suffering, Mr. Robinson, by pointing out that it has 
 arisen entirely from your own imprudence. Nor yet can I say 
 that I feel much compassion for you ; for I have always con- 
 sidered a gamester as a most selfish being, who should be 
 suffered to feel the terrible consequences of his own avaricious 
 folly, as a warning to others.' 
 
 ‘ Oh, sir ! Oh, Mr. Belton ! ’ cried Ellen, bursting now, for 
 the first time, into tears, ‘ do not speak so harshly to Maurice.’ 
 
 ‘To you I shall not speak harshly,’ said Mr. Belton, his 
 voice and looks changing ; ‘ for I have the greatest compassion 
 for such an excellent wife and mother. And I shall take care 
 that neither you nor your son, whom you have taken such 
 successful pains to educate, shall suffer by the folly and im- 
 prudence in which you had no share. As to the ready money 
 which your husband has lost and paid to these sharpers, it is, 
 I fear, irrecoverable ; but the goods in your shop, and the 
 furniture in your house, I will take care shall not be touched. 
 I will go immediately to my attorney, and direct him to inquire 
 into the truth of all I have been told, and to prosecute these 
 villains for keeping a gaming-table, and playing at unlawful 
 games. Finish that inventory which you are making out, 
 George, and give it to me ; I will have the furniture in your 
 house, Ellen, valued by an appraiser, and will advance you 
 money to the amount, on which you may continue to live in 
 comfort and credit, trusting to your industry and integrity to 
 repay me in small sums, as you find it convenient, out of the 
 profits of your shop.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, sir ! ’ cried Maurice, clasping his hands with a strong 
 expression of joy, ‘ thank you ! thank you from the bottom of 
 my soul ! Save her from misery, save the boy, and let me 
 suffer as I ought for my folly.’ 
 
 Mr. Belton, in spite of his contempt for gamesters, was 
 touched by Maurice’s repentance ; but, keeping a steady counte- 
 nance, replied in a firm tone, ‘ Suffering for folly does nobody 
 any good, unless it makes them wiser in future.’ 
 
 196 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Mrs. Dolly, who had been unaccountably awed to silence by 
 Mr. Belton’s manner of speaking and looking, broke forth the 
 moment he had left the house. ‘Very genteel, indeed; 
 though he might have taken more notice of me. See what 
 it is, George, to have the luck of meeting with good friends.’ 
 
 ‘ See what it is to deserve good friends, George,’ said 
 Ellen. 
 
 ‘You’ll all remember, I hope,’ said Mrs. Dolly, raising her 
 voice, ‘that it was I who was the first and foremost cause of 
 all this, by taking George along with me to the tea-drinking at 
 the bowling-green, where he first got acquainted with Mr. 
 Belton.’ 
 
 ‘ Mr. Belton would never have troubled his head about such 
 a little boy as George,’ said Ellen, ‘ if it had not been for — you 
 know what I mean, Mrs. Dolly. All I wish to say is, that 
 George’s own good behaviour was the cause of our getting 
 acquainted with this good friend.’ 
 
 ‘And I am sure you were the cause, mother,’ said George, 
 ‘ of what you call my good behaviour.’ 
 
 Mrs. Dolly, somewhat vexed at this turn, changed the 
 conversation, saying, ‘ Well, ’tis no matter how we made such 
 a good acquaintance ; let us make the most of him, and drink 
 his health, as becomes us, after dinner. And now, I suppose, 
 all will go on as usual : none of our acquaintance in Paddington 
 need know anything of what has happened.’ 
 
 Ellen, who was very little solicitous about what Mrs. 
 Dolly’s acquaintance in Paddington might think, observed that, 
 so far from going on as usual, now they were living on 
 borrowed money, it was fit they should retrench all their 
 expenses, and give up the drawing-room and parlour of the 
 house to lodgers. ‘ So, then, we are to live like shabby 
 wretches for the rest of our days ! ’ cried Mrs. Dolly. 
 
 ‘ Better live like what we are, poor but industrious people,’ 
 replied Ellen, ‘and then we shall never be forced to do any- 
 thing shabby.’ 
 
 ‘Ay, Ellen, you are, as you always are, in the right ; and 
 197 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 all I desire now, in this world, is to make up for the past, and 
 to fall to work in some way or other ; for idleness was what 
 first led me to the gaming-table.’ 
 
 Mrs. Dolly opposed these good resolutions, and urged 
 Maurice to send George to Mr. Belton, to beg him to lend 
 them some more money. ‘ Since he is in the humour to be 
 generous, and since he has taken a fancy to us,’ said she, 1 why 
 not take him at his word, and make punch whilst the water’s 
 hot ? ’ 
 
 But all that Mrs. Dolly said was lost upon Ellen, who 
 declared that she would never be so mean as to encroach upon 
 such a generous friend ; and Maurice protested that nothing 
 that man, woman, or devil could say, should persuade him to 
 live in idleness another year. He sent George the next 
 morning to Mr. Belton with a letter, requesting that he would 
 procure employment for him, and stating what he thought 
 himself fit for. Amongst other things, he mentioned that he 
 could keep accounts. That he could write a good hand was 
 evident from his letter. Mr. Belton, at this time, wanted a 
 clerk in his manufactory ; and, upon Maurice’s repeating his 
 promise never more to frequent the gaming-table, Mr. Belton, 
 after a trial, engaged him as his clerk, at a salary of .£50 
 per annum. 
 
 Everything now went on well for some months. Maurice, 
 on whom his wife’s kindness had made a deep impression, 
 became thoroughly intent upon his business, and anxious to 
 make her some amends for his past follies. His heart was 
 now at ease : he came home, after his day’s work at the 
 counting-house, with an open, cheerful countenance ; and Ellen 
 was perfectly happy. They sold all the furniture that was too 
 fine for their present way of life to the new lodgers, who took 
 the drawing-room and front parlour of their house ; and lived 
 on the profits of their shop, which, being well attended, was 
 never in want of customers. 
 
 One night, at about ten o’clock, as little George was sitting, 
 reading the history of Sandford and Merton, in which he was 
 much interested, he was roused by a loud knocking at the 
 house door. He ran to open it : but how much was he 
 shocked at the sight he beheld ! It was Mrs. Dolly ! her leg 
 broken, and her skull fractured ! 
 
 Ellen had her brought in, and laid upon a bed, and a surgeon 
 198 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 was immediately sent for. When Maurice inquired how this 
 terrible accident befell Mrs. Dolly, the account he received was, 
 that she was riding home from the bowling-green public-house, 
 much intoxicated ; that she insisted upon stopping to get a glass 
 of peppermint and brandy for her stomach ; that, seeing she 
 had drunk too much already, everything possible was done to 
 prevent her from taking any more ; but she would not be ad- 
 vised : she said she knew best what agreed with her constitution ; 
 so she alighted and took the brandy and peppermint ; and when 
 she was to get upon her horse again, not being in her right 
 senses, she insisted upon climbing up by a gate that was on the 
 road-side, instead of going, as she was advised, to a bank that 
 was a little farther on. The gate was not steady, the horse 
 being pushed moved, she fell, broke her leg and fractured her 
 skull. 
 
 She was a most shocking spectacle when she was brought 
 home. At first she was in great agony ; but she afterwards fell 
 into a sort of stupor, and lay speechless. 
 
 The surgeon arrived : he set her leg ; and during this 
 operation, she came to her senses, but it was only the sensibility 
 of pain. She was then trepanned ; but all was to no purpose — 
 she died that night ; and of all the friends, as she called them, 
 who used to partake in her tea-drinkings and merry-makings, 
 not one said more when they heard of her death than 1 Ah, 
 poor Mrs. Dolly ! she was always fond of a comfortable glass : 
 ’twas a pity it was the death of her at last.’ 
 
 Several tradesmen, to whom she died in debt, were very loud 
 in their complaints ; and the landlady at the bowling-green did 
 not spare her memory. She went so far as to say, that it was 
 a shame such a drunken quean should have a Christian burial. 
 What little clothes Mrs. Dolly left at her death were given up to 
 her creditors. She had owed Maurice ten guineas ever since 
 the first month of their coming to Paddington ; and when she 
 was on her death-bed, during one of the intervals that she was 
 in her senses, she beckoned to Maurice, and told him, in a voice 
 scarcely intelligible, he would find in her left-hand pocket what 
 she hoped would pay him the ten guineas he had lent to her. 
 However, upon searching this pocket, no money was to be 
 found, except sixpence in halfpence ; nor was there anything of 
 value about her. They turned the pocket inside out, and shook 
 it ; they opened every paper that came out of it, but these were 
 
 199 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 all old bills. Ellen at last examined a new shawl which had 
 been thrust into this pocket, and which was all crumpled up : 
 she observed that one of the corners was doubled down, and 
 pinned ; and upon taking out the yellow crooked pin, she 
 discovered, under the corner of the shawl, a bit of paper, much 
 soiled with snuff, and stained with liquor. ‘ How it smells of 
 brandy!’ said Ellen, as she opened it. ‘What is it, Maurice ?’ 
 
 ‘ It is not a bank-note. It is a lottery ticket, I do believe ! ’ 
 cried Maurice. ‘ Ay, that it is ! She put into the lottery 
 without letting us know anything of the matter. Well, as she 
 said, perhaps this may pay me my ten guineas, and overpay me, 
 who knows ? We were lucky with our last ticket ; and why 
 should we not be as lucky with this, or luckier, hey, Ellen ? 
 We might have ten thousand pounds or twenty thousand pounds 
 this time, instead of five, why not, hey, Ellen ? ’ But Maurice, 
 observing that Ellen looked grave, and was not much charmed 
 with the lottery ticket, suddenly changed his tone, and said, 
 ‘Now don’t you, Ellen, go to think that my head will run on 
 nothing but this here lottery ticket. It will make no difference 
 on earth in me : I shall mind my business just as well as if there 
 was no such thing, I promise you. If it come up a prize, well 
 and good : and if 4 it come up a blank, why well and good too. 
 So do you keep the ticket, and I shall never think more about 
 it, Ellen. Only, before you put it by, just let me look at the 
 number. What makes you smile ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I smiled only because I think I know you better than you 
 know yourself. But, perhaps, that should not make me smile,’ 
 said Ellen : and she gave a deep sigh. 
 
 ‘Now, wife, why will you sigh? I can’t bear to hear you 
 sigh,’ said Maurice, angrily. ‘ I tell you I know myself, and 
 have a right to know myself, I say, a great deal better than you 
 do ; and so none of your sighs, wife.’ 
 
 Ellen rejoiced to see that his pride worked upon him in this 
 manner ; and mildly told him she was very glad to find he 
 thought so much about her sighs. ‘ Why,’ said Maurice, ‘ you 
 are not one of those wives that are always taunting and scolding 
 their husbands ; and that’s the reason, I take it, why a look or a 
 word from you goes so far with me.’ He paused for a few 
 moments, keeping his eyes fixed upon the lottery ticket ; then, 
 snatching it up, he continued : ‘ This lottery ticket may tempt 
 me to game again : for, as William Deane said, putting into the 
 
 200 
 
What is it, Maurice ? 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 lottery is gaming, and the worst sort of gaming. So, Ellen, I’ll 
 show you that, though I was a fool once, I’ll never be a fool 
 again. All your goodness was not thrown away upon me. I’ll 
 go and sell this lottery ticket immediately at the office, for 
 whatever it is worth : and you’ll give me a kiss when I come 
 home again, I know, Ellen.’ 
 
 Maurice, pleased with his own resolution, went directly to the 
 lottery office to sell his ticket. He was obliged to wait some 
 time, for the place was crowded with persons who came to 
 inquire after tickets which they had insured. 
 
 Many of these ignorant imprudent poor people had hazarded 
 guinea after guinea, till they found themselves overwhelmed 
 with debt ; and their liberty, character, and existence depending 
 on the turning of the wheel. What anxious faces did Maurice 
 behold ! How many he heard, as they went out of the office, 
 curse their folly for having put into the lottery ! 
 
 He pressed forward to sell his ticket. How rejoiced he was 
 when he had parted with this dangerous temptation, and when 
 he had received seventeen guineas in hand, instead of anxious 
 hopes ! How different were his feelings at this instant from 
 those of many that were near him ! He stood to contemplate 
 the scene. Here he saw a poor maid-servant, with scarcely 
 clothes to cover her, who was stretching her thin neck across the 
 counter, and asking the clerk, in a voice of agony, whether her 
 ticket, number 45, was come up yet. 
 
 ‘Number 45 ?’ answered the clerk, with the most careless 
 air imaginable. ‘ Yes ’ (turning over the leaves of his book) : 
 ‘ Number 45, you say — Yes : it was drawn yesterday' — a blank.’ 
 The wretched woman clasped her hands, and burst into tears, 
 exclaiming, ‘ Then I’m undone ! ’ 
 
 Nobody seemed to have time to attend to her. A man- 
 servant, in livery, pushed her away, saying, 1 You have your 
 answer, and have no more business here, stopping the way. 
 Pray, sir, is number 336, the ticket I’ve insured 1 so high, 
 come up to-day ? ’ 
 
 ‘Yes, sir — blank.’ At the word blank, the disappointed 
 footman poured forth a volley of oaths, declaring that he should 
 be in jail before night ; to all which the lottery-office keeper 
 only answered, ‘ I can’t help it, sir ; I can’t help it. It is not 
 
 1 This was written before the Act of Parliament against insuring in 
 lotteries. 
 
 202 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 my fault. Nobody is forced to put into the lottery, sir. No- 
 body’s obliged to insure, sir. ’Twas your own choice, sir. 
 Don’t blame me.’ 
 
 Meanwhile, a person behind the footman, repeating the words 
 he had addressed to the poor woman, cried, ‘You have your 
 answer, sir ; don’t stop the way.’ 
 
 Maurice was particularly struck with the agitated countenance 
 of one man, who seemed as if the suspense of his mind had 
 entirely bereaved him of all recollection. When he was pressed 
 forward by the crowd, and found himself opposite to the clerk, 
 he was asked twice, ‘What’s your business, sir?’ before he 
 could speak ; and then could only utter the words — number 7 ? 
 ‘Still in the wheel,’ was the answer. ‘Our messenger is not 
 yet returned from Guildhall, with news of what has been drawn 
 this last hour. If you will call again at three, we can answer 
 you.’ The man seemed to feel this as a reprieve ; but as he 
 was retiring, there came one with a slip of paper in his hand. 
 This was the messenger from Guildhall, who handed the paper 
 to the clerk. He read aloud, ‘Number 7. Were you not in- 
 quiring for 7, sir ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes,’ said the pale trembling man. 
 
 ‘ Number 7 is just come up, sir — a blank.’ 
 
 At the fatal word blank, the man fell flat upon his face in a 
 swoon. Those near him lifted him out into the street, for air. 
 
 ‘ Here, sir ; you are going without your change, after wait- 
 ing for it so long,’ cried the clerk to Maurice, who, touched 
 with compassion for the man who had just fallen, was following 
 those who were carrying him out. When he got into the street, 
 Maurice saw the poor creature sitting on a stone, supported by 
 a hackney-coachman, who held some vinegar to his nose, at 
 the same time asking him if he did not want a coach. 
 
 ‘ A coach ! Oh no,’ said the man, as he opened his eyes. 
 ‘ I have not a farthing of money in the world.’ The hackney- 
 coachman swore that was a sad case, and ran across the street 
 to offer his services where they could be paid for : ‘ A coach, 
 if you want one, sir. Heavy rain coming on,’ said he, looking 
 at the silver which he saw through the half-closed fingers of 
 Maurice’s hand. 
 
 ‘ Yes, I want a coach,’ said Maurice : and bade the coach- 
 man draw up to the stone where the poor man who had 
 swooned was sitting. Maurice was really a good-natured 
 
 203 
 
TOrULAR TALES 
 
 fellow ; and he had peculiar pity for the anguish this man 
 seemed to feel, because he recollected what he had suffered 
 himself, when he had been ruined at the gaming-table. 
 
 ‘You are not able to walk: here is a coach; I will go 
 your way and set you down, sir,’ said Maurice. 
 
 The unfortunate man accepted this offer. As they went 
 along he sighed bitterly, and once said, with great vehemence, 
 ‘ Curse these lotteries ! Curse these lotteries 1 ’ Maurice now 
 rejoiced, more than ever, at having conquered his propensity 
 to gaming, and at having sold his ticket. 
 
 When they came opposite to a hosier’s shop, in Oxford 
 Street, the stranger thanked him, and desired to be set down. 
 ‘ This is my home,’ said he ; ‘or this was my home, I ought 
 to say,’ pointing to his shop as he let down the coach-glass. 
 ‘ A sad warning example I am ! But I am troubling you, sir, 
 with what no way concerns you. I thank you, sir, for your 
 civility,’ added he, turning away from Maurice, to hide the 
 tears which stood in his eyes : ‘ good day to you.’ 
 
 He then prepared to get out of the coach ; but whilst the 
 coachman was letting down the step, a gentleman came out 
 of the hosier’s shop to the door, and cried, ‘ Mr. Fulham, I 
 am glad you are come at last. I have been waiting for you 
 this half-hour, and was just going away.’ Maurice pulled 
 aside the flap of the hosier’s coat, as he was getting out, that 
 he might peep at the gentleman who spoke ; the voice was so 
 like William Deane’s, that he was quite astonished. — ‘ It is — it 
 is William Deane,’ cried Maurice, jumping out of the coach 
 and shaking hands with his friend. 
 
 William Deane, though now higher in the world than 
 Robinson, was heartily glad to see him again, and to renew 
 their old intimacy. ‘Mr. Fulham,’ said he, turning to the 
 hosier, ‘ excuse me to-day ; I’ll come and settle accounts with 
 you to-morrow.’ 
 
 On their way to Paddington, Maurice related to his friend 
 all that had passed since they parted : how his good luck in 
 the lottery tempted him to try his fortune at the gaming-table ; 
 how he was cheated by sharpers, and reduced to the brink 
 of utter ruin ; how kind Ellen was towards him in this dis- 
 tress ; how he was relieved by Mr. Belton, who was induced to 
 assist him from regard to Ellen and little George ; how Mrs. 
 Dolly drank herself into ill-health, which would soon have 
 
 204 
 
THE LOTTERY 
 
 killed her if she had not, in a drunken fit, shortened the 
 business by fracturing her skull ; and, lastly, how she left him 
 a lottery ticket, which he had just sold, lest it should be the 
 cause of fresh imprudence. ‘ You see,’ added Maurice, ‘ I do 
 not forget all you said to me about lotteries. — Better take good 
 advice late than never. But now, tell me your history.’ 
 
 ‘No,’ replied William Deane; ‘that I shall keep till we 
 are all at dinner : Ellen and you, I and my friend George, 
 who, I hope, has not forgotten me.’ He was soon convinced 
 that George had not forgotten him, by the joy he showed at 
 seeing him again. 
 
 At dinner, William Deane informed them that he was be- 
 come a rich man, by having made an improvement in the 
 machinery of the cotton-mills, which, after a great deal of 
 perseverance, he had brought to succeed in practice. ‘ When 
 I say that I am a rich man,’ continued he, ‘ I mean richer 
 than ever I expected to be. I have a share in the cotton- 
 mill, and am worth about two thousand pounds.’ 
 
 ‘ Ay,’ said Maurice, ‘ you have trusted to your own sense 
 and industry, and not to gaming and lotteries.’ 
 
 ‘ I am heartily rejoiced you have nothing more to do with 
 them,’ said William Deane : ‘ but all this time you forget that 
 I am your debtor. You lent me five guineas at a season 
 when I had nothing. The books I bought with your money 
 helped me to knowledge, without which I should never have 
 got forward. Now I have a scheme for my little friend 
 George, that will, I hope, turn out to your liking. You say he 
 is an intelligent, honest, industrious lad ; and that he under- 
 stands book-keeping, and writes a good hand : I am sure he is 
 much obliged to you for giving him a good education.’ 
 
 ‘ To his mother, there, lie’s obliged for it all,’ said Maurice. 
 
 ‘ Without it,’ continued William Deane, ‘ I might wish him 
 very well ; but I could do little or nothing for him. But, as 
 I was going to tell you, that unfortunate man whom you brought 
 to his own door in the hackney-coach to-day, Maurice, is a 
 hosier, who had as good a business as most in the City ; but 
 he has ruined himself entirely by gaming. He is considerably 
 in our debt for cotton, and I am to settle accounts with him 
 to-morrow, when he is to give up all his concerns into my 
 hands, in behalf of his brother, who has commissioned me to 
 manage the business, and dissolve the partnership ; as he 
 
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POPULAR TALES 
 
 cannot hazard himself, even out of friendship for a brother, 
 with one that has taken to gaming. Now my friend, the 
 elder Fulham, is a steady man, and is in want of a good lad 
 for an apprentice. With your leave, I will speak to him, and 
 get him to take George ; and as to the fee, I will take care 
 and settle that for you. I am glad I have found you all out 
 at last. No thanks, pray. Recollect, I am only paying my 
 old debts.’ 
 
 As William Deane desired to have no thanks, we shall 
 omit the recital of those which he received, both in words and 
 looks. We have only to inform our readers, further, that 
 George was bound apprentice to the hosier ; that he behaved 
 as well as might be expected from his excellent education ; 
 that Maurice continued, in Mr. Belton’s service, to conduct 
 himself so as to secure the confidence and esteem of his 
 master ; and that he grew fonder and fonder of home, and 
 of Ellen, who enjoyed the delightful reflection that she had 
 effected the happiness of her husband and her son. 
 
 May equal happiness attend every such good wife and 
 mother ! And may every man, who, like Maurice, is tempted 
 to be a gamester, reflect that a good character, and domestic 
 happiness, which cannot be won in any lottery, are worth 
 more than the five thousand, or even the ten thousand pounds 
 prize, let any Mrs. Dolly in Christendom say what she will to 
 the contrary. 
 
 Sept. 1799. 
 
 206 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 T HERE are two sorts of content : one is connected with exertion, 
 the other with habits of indolence ; the first is a virtue, the 
 second a vice. Examples of both may be found in abundance 
 in Ireland. There you may sometimes see a man in sound 
 health submitting day after day to evils which a few hours’ 
 labour would remedy ; and you are provoked to hear him say, 
 ‘ It will do well enough for me. Didn’t it do for my father 
 before me ? I can make a shift with things for my time : 
 anyhow, I’m content.’ 
 
 This kind of content is indeed the bane of industry. But 
 instances of a different sort may be found, in various of the 
 Irish peasantry. Amongst them we may behold men struggling 
 with adversity with all the strongest powers of mind and body ; 
 and supporting irremediable evils with a degree of cheerful 
 fortitude which must excite at once our pity and admiration. 
 
 In a pleasant village in the province of Leinster there lives 
 a family of the name of Gray. Whether or not they are any 
 way related to Old Robin Gray, history does not determine ; 
 but it is very possible that they are, because they came, it is 
 said, originally from the north of Ireland, and one of the sons 
 is actually called Robin. Leaving this point, however, in the 
 obscurity which involves the early history of the most ancient 
 and illustrious families, we proceed to less disputable and 
 perhaps more useful facts. It is well known, that is by all 
 his neighbours, that farmer Gray began life with no very 
 encouraging prospects : he was the youngest of a large family, 
 and the portion of his father’s property that fell to his share 
 
 207 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 was but just sufficient to maintain his wife and three children. 
 At his father’s death, he had but £ i oo in ready money, and he 
 was obliged to go into a poor mud-walled cabin, facing the 
 door of which there was a green pool of stagnant water ; and 
 before the window, of one pane, a dunghill that, reaching to 
 the thatch of the roof, shut out the light, and filled the house 
 with the most noisome smell. The ground sloped towards the 
 house door ; so that in rainy weather, when the pond was full, 
 the kitchen was overflowed ; and at all times the floor was so 
 damp and soft, that the print of the nails of brogues was left 
 in it wherever the wearer set down his foot. To be sure these 
 nail-marks could scarcely be seen, except just near the door or 
 where the light of the fire immediately shone ; because, else- 
 where, the smoke was so thick, that the pig might have been 
 within a foot of you without your seeing him. The former 
 inhabitants of this mansion had, it seems, been content without 
 a chimney : and, indeed, almost without a roof; the couples and 
 purlins of the roof, having once given way, had never been 
 repaired, and swagged down by the weight of the thatch, so 
 that the ends threatened the wigs of the unwary. 
 
 The prospect without doors was scarcely more encouraging 
 to our hero than the scene within : the farm consisted of about 
 forty acres ; and the fences of the grazing-land were so bad, 
 that the neighbours’ cattle took possession of it frequently by 
 day, and always by night. The tillage-ground had been so ill 
 managed by his predecessor, that the land was what is called 
 quite out of heart. 
 
 If farmer Gray had also been out of heart, he and his family 
 might at this hour have been beggars. His situation was 
 thought desperate by many of his neighbours ; and, a few days 
 after his father’s decease, many came to condole with him. 
 Amongst the rest was ‘ easy Simon ’ ; or, as some called him, 
 ‘ soft Simon,’ on account of his unresisting disposition, and 
 contented, or, as we should rather name it, reckless temper. 
 He was a sort of a half or a half-quarter gentleman, had a 
 small patrimony of a hundred or a hundred and fifty pounds a 
 year, a place in the excise worth fifty more, and a mill, which 
 might have been worth another hundred annually, had it not 
 been suffered to stand still for many a year. 
 
 1 Wheugh ! Wheugh ! What a bustle we are in 1 and what 
 a world of trouble is here ! ’ cried Simon, when he came to 
 
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ROSANNA 
 
 Gray’s house, and found him on the ladder taking off the 
 decayed thatch ; whilst one of his sons, a lad of about fourteen, 
 was hard at work filling a cart from the dunghill which 
 blockaded the window. His youngest son, a boy of twelve, 
 with a face and neck red with heat, was making a drain to 
 carry off the water from the green pond ; and Rose, the sister, 
 a girl of ten years old, was collecting the ducks, which her 
 mother was going to carry to her landlord’s to sell. 
 
 ‘ Wheugh ! Wheugh ! Wheugh ! Why, what a world of 
 bustle and trouble is here ! Troth, Jemmy Gray, you’re in a 
 bad way, sure enough ! Poor cratur ! Poor cratur ! ’ 
 
 ‘No man,’ replied Gray, ‘deserves to be called poor, that 
 has his health and the use of his limbs. Besides,’ continued 
 he, ‘ have not I a good wife and good children : and, with 
 those blessings, has not a man sufficient reason to be content ?’ 
 
 ‘ Ay, to be sure : that’s the only way to get through this 
 world,’ said Simon ; ‘ whatever comes, just to take it easy, and 
 be content. Content and a warm chimney-corner is all in 
 all, according to my notion.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, Simon,’ said Gray, laughing ; ‘ but your kind of 
 
 content would never do for me. Content, that sits down in 
 the chimney-corner, and does nothing but smoke his pipe, will 
 soon have the house about his ears ; and then what will become 
 of Content ?’ 
 
 ‘ Time enough to think of that when it comes,’ said Simon : 
 ‘ fretting never propped a house yet ; and if it did, I would 
 rather see it fall than fret.’ 
 
 ‘ But could not you prop the house,’ said Gray, ‘ without 
 fretting ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Is it by putting my shoulders to it ? ’ said Simon. ‘ My 
 shoulders have never been used to hard work, and don’t like it 
 anyway. As long as I can eat, drink, and sleep, and have a 
 coat to my back, what matter for the rest ? Let the world go 
 as it will, I’m content. Shoo ! Shoo ! The button is off the 
 neck of this greatcoat of mine, and how will I keep it on ? 
 A pin sure will do as well as a button, and better. Mrs. Gray, 
 or Miss Rose, I’ll thank you kindly for a pin.’ 
 
 He stuck the pin in the place of the button, to fasten the 
 greatcoat round his throat, and walked off : it pricked his chin 
 about a dozen times before the day was over ; but he forgot 
 the next day, and the next, and the next, to have the button 
 
 209 
 
 P 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 sewed on. He was content to make shift, as he called it, with 
 the pin. This is precisely the species of content which leads 
 to beggary. 
 
 ‘ “ The button is off the neck of this greatcoat of mine, and how will / keep it on ? 
 
 Not such the temper of our friend Gray. Not an incon- 
 venience that he could remedy, by industry or ingenuity, was 
 he content to endure ; but necessary evils he bore with 
 
 210 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 unshaken patience and fortitude. His house was soon new 
 roofed and new thatched ; the dunghill was removed, and 
 spread over that part of his land which most wanted manure ; 
 the putrescent water of the standing pool was drained off, and 
 fertilised a meadow; and the kitchen was never again overflowed 
 in rainy weather, because the labour of half a day made a 
 narrow trench which carried off the water. The prints of the 
 shoe-nails were no longer visible in the floor ; for the two boys 
 trod dry mill seeds into the clay, and beat the floor well, till 
 they rendered it quite hard and even. The rooms also were 
 cleared of smoke, for Gray built a chimney ; and the kitchen 
 window, which had formerly been stuffed up, when the wind 
 blew too hard, with an old or new hat, was glazed. There was 
 now light in the house. Light ! the great friend of cleanliness 
 and order. The pig could now no longer walk in and out, 
 unseen and unreproved ; he ceased to be an inmate of the 
 kitchen. 
 
 The kitchen was indeed so altered from what it had been 
 during the reign of the last master, that he did not know it 
 again. It was not in the least like a pig-sty. The walls were 
 whitewashed ; and shelves were put up, on which clean wooden 
 and pewter utensils were ranged. There were no heaps of 
 forlorn rubbish in the corners of the room ; nor even an old 
 basket, or a blanket, or a cloak, or a greatcoat thrown down 
 just for a minute, out of the girl’s way. No : Rose was a girl 
 who always put everything in its place ; and she found it 
 almost as easy to hang a coat, or a cloak, upon a peg, as to 
 throw it down on the floor. She thought it as convenient to 
 put the basket and turf-kish out of her way, when her brothers 
 had brought in the potatoes and fuel, as to let them lie in the 
 middle of the kitchen, to be stumbled over by herself and her 
 mother, or to be gnawed and clawed by a cat and dog. These 
 may seem trifles unworthy the notice of the historian ; but 
 trifles such as these contribute much to the comfort of a 
 poor family, and therefore deserve a place in their simple 
 annals. 
 
 It was a matter of surprise and censure to some of farmer 
 Gray’s neighbours, that he began by laying out it could not 
 be less than ten pounds (a great sum for him !) on his house 
 and garden at the first setting out ; when, to be sure, the land 
 would have paid him better if the money had been laid out 
 
 21 1 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 there. And why could not he make a shift to live on in the old 
 cabin, for a while, as others had done before his time well 
 enough ? A poor man should be contented with a poor house. 
 Where was the use, said they, of laying out the good ready 
 penny in a way that would bring nothing in ? 
 
 Farmer Gray calculated that he could not have laid out his 
 money to better advantage ; for by these ten pounds he had 
 probably saved his wife, his children, and himself, from a 
 putrid fever, or from the rheumatism. The former inhabitants 
 of this house, who had been content to live with the dunghill 
 close to the window, and the green pool overflowing the kitchen, 
 and the sharp wind blowing in through the broken panes, had 
 in the course of a few years lost their health. The father of 
 the family had been crippled by the rheumatism, two children 
 died of the fever, and the mother had such an inflammation in 
 her eyes that she could not see to work, spin, or do anything. 
 Now the whole that was lost by the family sickness, the 
 doctor’s bill, and the burying of the two children, all together, 
 came in three years to nearly three times ten pounds. There- 
 fore Mr. Gray was, if we only consider money, a very prudent 
 man. What could he or anybody do without health ? Money 
 is not the first thing to be thought of in this world ; for there 
 are many things that money cannot buy, and health is one of 
 them. ‘ Health can make money, but money cannot make 
 health,’ said our wise farmer. ‘ And then, for the value of a few 
 shillings, say pounds, we have light to see what we are doing, 
 and shelves, and a press to hold our clothes in. Why now, 
 this will be all so much saved to us, by and by ; for the clothes 
 will last the longer, and the things about us will not go to 
 wreck ; and when I and the boys can come home after our 
 day’s work to a house like this, we may be content.’ 
 
 Having thus ensured, as far as it was in his power, health, 
 cleanliness, and comfort in his house, our hero and his sons 
 turned their attention to the farm. They set about to repair 
 all the fences ; for the boys, though they were young, were 
 able to help their father in the farm : they were willing to 
 work, and happy to work with him. John, the eldest lad, 
 could set potatoes, and Robin was able to hold the plough : so 
 that Gray did not hire any servant-boy to help him ; nor did 
 Mrs. Gray hire a maid. ‘ Rose and I,’ said she, ‘ can manage 
 very well to look after the two cows, and milk them, and make 
 
 2 1 2 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 the butter, and get something too by our spinning. We must 
 do without servants, and may be happy and content to serve 
 ourselves.’ 
 
 ‘ Times will grow better ; that is, we shall make them better 
 every year : we must have the roughest first,’ said Gray. 
 
 The first year, to be sure, it was rough enough ; and, do 
 what they could, they could not do more than make the rent 
 of the farm, which rent amounted to forty pounds. The land- 
 lord was a Mr. Hopkins, agent to a gentleman who resided in 
 England. Mr. Hopkins insisted upon having the rent paid up 
 to the day, and so it was. Gray contented himself by thinking 
 that this was perhaps for the best. 1 When the rent is once 
 paid,’ said he, ‘ it cannot be called for again, and I am in no 
 man’s power ; that’s a great comfort. To be sure, if the half- 
 year’s rent was left in my hands for a few months, it might 
 have been of service : but it is better not to be under an 
 obligation to such a man as Mr. Hopkins, who would make 
 us pay for it in some shape or other, when we least expected it.’ 
 
 Mr. Hopkins was what is called in Ireland a middleman ; 
 one that takes land from great proprietors, to set it again at an 
 advanced, and often an exorbitant, price, to the poor. Gray 
 had his land at a fair rent, because it was not from Mr. Hopkins 
 his father had taken the lease, but from the gentleman to whom 
 this man was agent. Mr. Hopkins designed to buy the land 
 which Gray farmed, and he therefore wished to make it appear 
 as unprofitable as possible to his landlord, who, living in 
 England, knew but little of his own estate. ‘ If these Grays 
 don’t pay the rent,’ said he to his driver , ‘pound their cattle, 
 and sell at the end of eight days. If they break and run away, 
 I shall have the land clear, and may make a compliment of it 
 to tenants and friends of my own, after it comes into my hands.’ 
 
 He was rather disappointed when the rent was paid to the 
 day. ‘ But,’ said he, ‘ it won’t be so next year ; the man is 
 laying out his money on the ground, on draining and fencing, 
 and that won’t pay suddenly. We’ll leave the rent in his 
 hands for a year or so, and bring down an ejectment upon him, 
 if he once gets into our power, as he surely will. Then, all 
 that he has done to the house will be so much in my way. 
 What a fool he was to lay out his money so ! ’ 
 
 It happened, however, that the money which Gray had laid 
 out in making his house comfortable and neat was of the 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 greatest advantage to him, and at a time and in a way which 
 he least expected. His cottage was within sight of the high- 
 road, that led to a town from which it was about a mile distant. 
 A regiment of English arrived, to be quartered in the town ; 
 and the wives of some of the soldiers came a few hours after 
 their husbands. One of these women, a sergeant’s wife, was 
 taken suddenly in labour, before they reached the town ; and 
 the soldier who conducted the baggage-cart in which she was 
 drew up to the first amongst a row of miserable cabins that 
 were by the roadside, to ask the people if they would give her 
 lodging : but the sick woman was shocked at the sight of the 
 smoke and dirt of this cabin, and begged to be carried on to 
 the neat whitewashed cottage that she saw at a little distance. 
 This was Gray’s house. 
 
 His wife received the stranger with the greatest kindness 
 and hospitality ; she was able to offer her a neat bed, and a 
 room that was perfectly dry and clean. The sergeant’s wife 
 was brought to bed soon after her arrival, and remained with 
 Mrs. Gray till she recovered her strength. She was grateful 
 for the kindness that was shown to her by Mrs. Gray ; and so 
 was her husband the sergeant. He came one evening to the 
 cottage, and in his blunt English fashion said, ‘ Mr. Gray, you 
 know I, or my wife, which is the same thing, have cause to be 
 obliged to you, or your wife, which comes also to the same 
 thing : now one good turn deserves another. Our colonel has 
 ordered me, I being quarter-master, to sell off by auction some 
 of the cast horses belonging to the regiment : now I have 
 bought in the best for a trifle, and have brought him here, with 
 me, to beg you’ll accept of him, by way of some sort of a 
 return for the civilities you and your wife, that being, as I said, 
 the same thing, showed me and mine.’ 
 
 Gray replied he was obliged to him for this offer of the 
 horse, but that he could not think of accepting it ; that he was 
 very glad his wife had been able to show any kindness or 
 hospitality to a stranger ; but that, as they did not keep a 
 public-house, they could not take anything in the way of 
 payment. 
 
 The sergeant was more and more pleased by farmer Gray’s 
 generosity. ‘ Well,’ said he, ‘ I heard, before I came to 
 Ireland, that the Irish were the most hospitable people on the 
 face of the earth ; and so I find it come true, and 1 shall always 
 
 214 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 say so, wherever I’m quartered hereafter. And now do pray 
 answer me, is there any the least thing I can ever do to oblige 
 you ? for, if the truth must be told of me, I don’t like to lie 
 under an obligation, any more than another, where I can 
 help it.’ 
 
 ‘To show you that I do not want to lay you under one,’ 
 said Gray, ‘ I’ll tell you how you can do as much for me, and 
 ten times as much, as I have done for you ; and this without 
 hurting yourself or any of your employers a penny.’ 
 
 ‘ Say how, and it shall be done.’ 
 
 ‘ By letting me have the dung of the barracks, which will 
 make my land and me rich, without making you poorer ; foi- 
 l’ll give you the fair price, whatever it is. I don’t ask you to 
 wrong your employers of a farthing.’ 
 
 The sergeant promised this should be done, and rejoiced 
 that he had found some means of serving his friend. Gray 
 covered ten acres with the manure brought from the barracks ; 
 and the next year these acres were in excellent heart. This 
 was sufficient for the grazing of ten cows : he had three, and 
 he bought seven more ; and with what remained of his hundred 
 pounds, after paying for the cows, he built a shed and a cow- 
 house. His wife, and daughter Rose, who was now about 
 fourteen, were excellent managers of the dairy. They made, 
 by butter and butter-milk, about four pounds each cow within 
 the year. The butter they salted and took to market at the 
 neighbouring town ; the butter-milk they sold to the country 
 people, who, according to the custom of the neighbourhood, 
 came to the house for it. 
 
 Besides this, they reared five calves, which, at a year old, 
 they sold for fifteen guineas and a half. The dairy did not, 
 however, employ all the time of this industrious mother and 
 daughter ; they had time for spinning, and by this cleared six 
 guineas. They also made some little matter by poultry ; but 
 that was only during the first year : afterwards Mr. Hopkins 
 sent notice that they must pay all the duty-fowl , and duty-geese , 
 and turkeys 1 charged in the lease, or compound with him by- 
 paying two guineas a y-ear. This gentleman had many methods 
 of squeezing money out of poor tenants ; and he was not inclined 
 to spare the Grays, whose farm he now more than ever wished 
 
 1 See a very curious anecdote in the Statistical Survey of the Queen's 
 County. 
 
 2I 5 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 to possess, because its value had been considerably increased 
 by the judicious industry of the farmer and his sons. 
 
 Young as they were, both farmer Gray’s sons had a share in 
 these improvements. The eldest had drained a small field, 
 which used to be called the rushy field from its having been 
 quite covered with rushes. Now there was not a rush to be 
 found upon it, and his father gave him the profits of the field, 
 and said that it should be called by his name. Robin, the 
 youngest son, had, by his father’s advice, tried a little experi- 
 ment, which many of his neighbours ridiculed at first, and 
 admired at last. The spring, which used to supply the duck- 
 pond that often flooded the house, was at the head of a meadow, 
 that sloped with a fall sufficient to let the water run off. Robin 
 flooded the meadow at the proper season of the year, and it 
 produced afterwards a crop such as never had been seen there 
 before. His father called this meadow Robin’s meadow, and 
 gave him the value of the hay that was made upon it. 
 
 ‘ Now, my dear boys,’ said this good father, ‘ you have made 
 a few guineas for yourselves ; and here are a few more for you, 
 all that I can spare : let us see what you can do with this money. 
 I shall take a pride in seeing you get forward by your own 
 industry and cleverness ; I don’t want you to slave for me all 
 your best days ; but shall always be ready, as a father should 
 be, to give you a helping hand.’ 
 
 The sons had scarcely a word in answer to this, for their 
 hearts were full ; but that night, when they were by themselves, 
 one said to the other, ‘ Brother, did you see Jack Reel’s letter 
 to his father ? They say he has sent home ten guineas to him. 
 Is there any truth in it, think you ?’ 
 
 ‘Yes ; I saw the letter, and a kinder never was written from 
 son to father. 1 The ten guineas I saw paid into the old man’s 
 hand ; and, at that same minute, I wished it was I that was 
 doing the same by my own father.’ 
 
 ‘ That was just what I was thinking of when I asked you if 
 you saw the letter. Why, Jack Reel had nothing, when he 
 went abroad with the army to Egypt, last year. Well, I never 
 had a liking myself to follow the drum : but it’s almost enough 
 to tempt one to it. If I thought I could send home ten 
 guineas to my father, I would ’list to-morrow.’ 
 
 ‘That would not be well done of you, Robin,’ said John ; 
 
 1 This is fact. 
 
 216 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 ‘ for my father would rather have you, a great deal, than the 
 ten guineas, I am sure : to say nothing of my poor mother, and 
 Rose, and myself, who would be sorry enough to hear of your 
 being knocked on the head, as is the fate, sooner or later, of 
 them that follow the army. I would rather be any of the trades 
 that hurt nobody, and do good to a many along with myself, as 
 father said t’other day. Then, what a man makes so, he makes 
 with a safe conscience, and he can enjoy it.’ 
 
 ‘You are right, John, and I was wrong to talk of ’listing,' 
 said Robin; ‘but it was only Jack Reel’s letter, and the ten 
 guineas sent to his father, that put it into my head. I may 
 make as much for my father by staying at home, and minding 
 my business. So now, good-night to you ; I’ll go to sleep, and 
 we can talk more about it all to-morrow.’ 
 
 The next morning, as these two youths were setting potatoes 
 for the family, and considering to what they should turn their 
 hands when the potatoes were all set, they were interrupted by 
 a little gossoon , who came running up as hard as he could, 
 crying, ‘Murder! murder! Simon O’Dougherty wants you. 
 For the love of God, cross the bog in all haste, to help pull out 
 his horse, that has tumbled into the old tan-pit, there beyond, 
 in the night ! ’ 
 
 The two brothers immediately followed the boy, carrying 
 with them a rope and a halter, as they guessed that soft Simon 
 would not have either. They found him wringing his hands 
 beside the tan-pit, in which his horse lay smothering. A little 
 ragged boy was tugging at the horse’s head, with a short bit of 
 hay-rope. ‘ Oh, murder ! murder ! What will I do for a halter ? 
 Sure the horse will be lost for want of a halter ; and where in 
 the wide world will I look for one ? ’ cried Simon, without 
 stirring one inch from the spot. ‘ Oh, the blessing of Heaven 
 be with you, lads,’ continued he, turning at the sight of the 
 Grays ; ‘ you’ve brought us a halter. But see ! it’s just over 
 with the poor beast. All the world put together will not get 
 him alive out of that. I must put up with the loss, and be 
 content. He cost me fifteen good guineas, and he could leap 
 better than any horse in the county. Oh, what a pity on him ! 
 what a pity ! But, take it easy ; that’s all we have for it ! 
 Poor cratur ! Poor cratur ! ’ 
 
 Without listening to Simon’s lamentations, the active lads, 
 by the help of Simon and the two boys, pulled the horse out of 
 
 217 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 the pit. The poor animal was nearly exhausted by struggling : 
 but, after some time, he stretched himself, and, by degrees, 
 recovered sufficiently to stand. One of his legs, however, was 
 so much hurt that he could scarcely walk ; and Simon said he 
 would surely go lame for life. 
 
 ‘ Who now would ever have thought of his straying into 
 such an ugly place of all others ? ’ continued he. 1 I know, for 
 my share, the spot is so overgrown with grass and rubbish, 
 of one kind or other, and it’s so long since any of the tan- 
 ning business was going on here, in my uncle O’Haggarty’s 
 time, that I quite forgot there were such things as tan-pits, 
 or any manner of pits, in my possession ; and I wish these 
 had been far enough off before my own little famous Sir 
 Hyacinth O’Brien had strayed into them, laming himself for 
 life, like a blockhead. For the case was this : I came home 
 late last night, not as sober as a judge, and, finding no one up 
 but the girl, I gave her the horse to put into the stable, and she 
 forgot the door after her, which wants a lock ; and there being 
 but a scanty feed of oats, owing to the boy’s negligence, and no 
 halter to secure the beast, my poor Sir Hyacinth strayed out 
 here, as ill luck would have it, into the tan-pit. Bad luck to 
 my uncle O’Haggarty, that had the tan-yard here at all ! He 
 might have lived as became him, without dirtying his hands 
 with the tanning of dirty hides.’ 
 
 ‘ I was just going,’ said John Gray, 1 to comfort you, Simon, 
 for the laming of your horse, by observing that, if you had your 
 tan-yard in order again, you could soon make up the price of 
 another horse.’ 
 
 ‘ Ohoo ! I would not be bothered with anything of the kind. 
 There’s the mill of Rosanna there, beyond, was the plague of 
 my life, till it stopped ; and I was glad to have fairly done with 
 it. Them that come after me may set it agoing again, and 
 welcome. I have enough just to serve my time, and am con- 
 tent anyway.’ 
 
 ‘ But, if you could get a fair rent for the tan-yard, would you 
 let it ? ’ said John. 
 
 ‘To that I should make no objection in life ; provided I had 
 no trouble with it,’ replied Simon. 
 
 ‘ And if you could get somebody to keep the mill of Rosanna 
 going, without giving you any trouble, you would not object to 
 that, would you ? ’ said Robin. 
 
 218 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 ‘Not I, to be sure,’ replied Simon, laughing. ‘Whatever 
 God sends, be it more or less, I am content. But I would not 
 have you think me a fool, for all I talk so easy about the 
 matter ; I know very well what I might have got for the mill 
 some years ago, when first it stopped, if I would have let it to 
 the man that proposed for it ; but though he was as substantial 
 a tenant as you could see, yet he affronted me once, at the last 
 election, by calling a freeholder of mine over the coals ; and so 
 I was proud of an opportunity to show him I did not forget. 
 So I refused to let him the mill on any terms ; and I made him 
 a speech for his pride to digest at the same time. “ Mr. 
 Hopkins,” said I, “the lands of Rosanna have been in my 
 family these two hundred years and upwards ; and though, 
 nowadays, many men think that everything is to be done for 
 money, and though you, Mr. Hopkins, have made as much 
 money as most men could in the same time,- — all which 1 
 don’t envy you, — yet I must make bold to tell you that the 
 lands of Rosanna, or any part or parcel thereof, is what you’ll 
 never have whilst I’m alive, Mr. Hopkins, for love or money.” 
 The spirit of the O’Doughertys was up within me ; and though 
 all the world calls me easy Simon, I have my own share of 
 proper spirit. These mushroom money-makers, that start up 
 from the very dirt under one’s feet, I can’t for my part swallow 
 them. Now I should be happy to give you a lease of the 
 mill of Rosanna, after refusing Hopkins ; for you and your 
 father before you, lads, have been always very civil to me. My 
 tan-pits and all I am ready to talk to you about, and thank you 
 for pulling my horse out for me this morning. Will you walk 
 up and look at the mill ? I would attend you myself, but must 
 go to the farrier about Sir Hyacinth’s leg, instead of standing 
 talking here any longer. Good morning to you kindly. The 
 girl will give you the key of the mill, and show you everything, 
 the same as myself.’ 
 
 Simon gathered his greatcoat about him, and walked away 
 to the farrier, whilst the two brothers rejoiced that they should 
 see the mill without hearing him talk the whole time. Simon, 
 having nothing to do all day long but to talk, was an indefati- 
 gable gossip. When the lands of Rosanna were in question, or 
 when his pride was touched, he was terribly fluent. 
 
 219 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Upon examining the mill, which was a common oat-mill, John 
 Gray found that the upper millstone was lodged upon the 
 lower ; and that this was all which prevented the mill from 
 going. N o other part of it was damaged or out of repair. As 
 to the tan-yard, it was in great disorder ; but it was very con- 
 veniently situated ; was abundantly supplied with water on one 
 side, and had an oak copse at the back, so that tan could 
 readily be procured. It is true that the bark of these oak 
 trees, which had been planted by his careful uncle O’Haggarty, 
 had been much damaged since Simon came into possession ; 
 for he had, with his customary negligence, suffered cattle to get 
 amongst them. He had also, to supply himself with ready 
 money, occasionally cut down a great deal of the best timber 
 before it arrived at its full growth ; and at this time the Grays 
 found every tree of tolerable size marked for destruction with 
 the initials of Simon O’Dougherty’s name. 
 
 Before they said anything more about the mill or the tan- 
 yard to Simon, these prudent brothers consulted their father : 
 he advised them to begin cautiously, by offering to manage the 
 mill and the tan-yard, during the ensuing season, for Simon, 
 for a certain share in the profits ; and then, if they should find 
 the business likely to succeed, they might take a lease of the 
 whole. Simon willingly made this agreement ; and there was 
 no danger in dealing with him, because, though careless and 
 indolent, he was honest, and would keep his engagements. It 
 was settled that John and Robin should have the power, at the 
 end of the year, either to hold or give up all concern in the 
 mill and tan-yard ; and, in the meantime, they were to manage 
 the business for Simon, and to have such a share in the 
 profits as would pay them reasonably for their time and 
 labour. 
 
 They succeeded beyond their expectations in the manage- 
 ment of the mill and tan-yard during their year of probation ; 
 and Simon, at the end of that time, was extremely glad to give 
 them a long lease of the premises, upon their paying him down, 
 by way of fine, the sum of ^150. This sum their father, who 
 
 220 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 had good credit, and who could give excellent security upon 
 his farm, which was now in a flourishing condition, raised for 
 them ; and they determined to repay him the money by 
 regular yearly portions out of their profits. 
 
 Success did not render these young men presumptuous or 
 negligent : they went on steadily with business, were contented 
 to live frugally and work hard for some years. Many of the 
 sons of neighbouring tradesmen and farmers, who were able 
 perhaps to buy a horse or two, or three good coats in a year, 
 and who set up for gentlemen, and spent their days in hunting, 
 shooting, or cock-fighting, thought that the Grays were poor- 
 spirited fellows for sticking so close to business. They 
 prophesied that, even when these brothers should have made a 
 fortune, they would not have the liberality to spend or enjoy 
 it ; but this prediction was not verified. The Grays had not 
 been brought up to place their happiness merely in the scrap- 
 ing together pounds, shillings, and pence ; they valued money 
 for money’s worth, not for money’s sake ; and, amongst the 
 pleasures it could purchase, they thought that of contributing 
 to the happiness of their parents and friends the greatest. 
 When they had paid their father the hundred and fifty pounds 
 he had advanced, their next object was to build a neat cottage 
 for him, near the wood and mill of Rosanna, on a beautiful 
 spot, upon which they had once heard him say that he should 
 like to have a house. 
 
 We mentioned that Mr. Hopkins, the agent, had a view to 
 this farm ; and that he was desirous of getting rid of the 
 Grays : but this he found no easy matter to accomplish, 
 because the rent was always punctually paid. There was no 
 pretence for driving , even for the duty-fowls ; Mrs. Gray 
 always had them ready at the proper time. Mr. Hopkins was 
 further provoked by seeing the rich improvements which our 
 farmer made every year on his land : his envy, which could be 
 moved by the meanest objects of gain, was continually excited 
 by his neighbour’s successful industry. To-day he envied him 
 his green meadows, and to-morrow the crocks of butter packed 
 on the car for Dublin. Farmer Gray’s ten cows, which 
 regularly passed by Mr. Hopkins’s window morning and 
 evening, were a sight that often spoiled his breakfast and 
 supper ; but that which grieved this envious man the most was 
 the barrack manure ; he would stand at his window, and, 
 
 2 2 1 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 with a heavy heart, count the car-loads that went by to Gray’s 
 farm. 
 
 Once he made an attempt to ruin Gray’s friend, the sergeant, 
 by accusing him secretly of being bribed to sell the barrack 
 manure to Gray for less than he had been offered for it by 
 others : but the officer to whom Mr. Hopkins made this com- 
 plaint was fortunately a man who did not like secret informa- 
 tions : he publicly inquired into the truth of the matter, and the 
 sergeant’s honesty and Mr. Hopkins’s meanness were clearly 
 proved and contrasted. The consequence of this malicious 
 interference was beneficial to Gray ; for the officer told the 
 story to the colonel of the regiment which was next quartered 
 in the town, and he to the officer who succeeded him ; so that 
 year after year Mr. Hopkins applied in vain for the barrack 
 manure. Farmer Gray had always the preference, and the 
 hatred of Mr. Hopkins knew no bounds ; that is, no bounds 
 but the letter of the law, of which he was ever mindful, because 
 lawsuits are expensive. 
 
 At length, however, he devised a legal mode of annoying 
 his enemy. Some land belonging to Mr. Hopkins lay between 
 Gray’s farm and the only bog in the neighbourhood : now he 
 would not permit Mr. Gray, or anybody belonging to him, to 
 draw turf upon his bog-road ; and he absolutely forbade his 
 own wretched tenants to sell turf to the object of his envy. 
 By these means, he flattered himself he should literally starve 
 the enemy out of house and home. 
 
 Things were in this situation when John and Robin Gray 
 determined to build a house for their father at Rosanna. They 
 made no secret to him of their intentions ; for they did not 
 want to surprise but to please him, and to do everything in 
 the manner that would be most convenient to him and their 
 mother. Their sister Rose was in all their counsels ; and it 
 had been for the last three years one of her chief delights to 
 go, after her day’s work was done, to the mill at Rosanna, to 
 see how her brothers were going on. How happy are those 
 families where there is no envy or jealousy ; but in which 
 each individual takes an interest in the prosperity of the whole ! 
 Farmer Gray was heartily pleased with the gratitude and 
 generosity of his boys, as he still continued to call them ; 
 though, by the by, John was now three-and-twenty, and his 
 brother only two years younger. 
 
 222 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 ‘ My dear boys,’ said he, ‘ nothing could be more agreeable 
 to me and your mother than to have a snug cottage near you 
 both, on the very spot which you say I pitched upon two years 
 ago. This cabin that we now live in, after all I have tried to 
 do to prop it up, and notwithstanding all Rose does to keep it 
 neat and clean withinside, is but a crazy sort of a place. We 
 are able now to have a better house, and I shall be glad to be 
 out of the reach of Mr. Hopkins’s persecution. Therefore, let 
 us set about and build the new house. You shall contribute 
 your share, my boys ; but only a share : mind, I say only a 
 share. And I hope next year to contribute my share towards 
 building a house for each of you : it is time you should think 
 of marrying, and settling : it is no bad thing to have a house 
 ready for a bride. We shall have quite a little colony of our 
 own at Rosanna. Who knows but I may live to see my 
 grandchildren, ay, and my great-grandchildren, settled there 
 all round me, industrious and contented ? ’ 
 
 Good-will is almost as expeditious and effectual as Aladdin’s 
 lamp : — the new cottage for farmer Gray was built at Rosanna, 
 and he took possession of it the ensuing spring. They next 
 made a garden, and furnished it with all sorts of useful vege- 
 tables and some pretty flowers. Rose had great pleasure in 
 taking care of this garden. Her brothers also laid out a small 
 green lawn before the door ; and planted the boundaries with 
 white-thorn, crab-trees, lilacs, and laburnums. The lawn sloped 
 down to the water-side ; and the mill and copse behind it were 
 seen from the parlour windows. A prettier cottage, indeed so 
 pretty a one, was never before seen in this county. 
 
 But what was better far than the pretty cottage, or the neat 
 garden, or the green lawn, or the white-thorn, the crab-trees, 
 the lilacs, and the laburnums, was the content that smiled 
 amongst them. 
 
 Many who have hundreds and thousands are miserable, 
 because they still desire more ; or rather because they know 
 not what they would have. For instance, Mr. Hopkins, the 
 rich Mr. Hopkins, who had scraped together in about fifteen 
 years above twenty thousand, some said thirty thousand pounds, 
 had never been happy for a single day, either whilst he was 
 making this fortune or when he had made it ; for he was of an 
 avaricious, discontented temper. The more he had, the more 
 he desired. He could not bear the prosperity of his neigh- 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 bouts ; and if his envy made him industrious, yet it at the 
 same time rendered him miserable. Though he was what the 
 world calls a remarkably fortunate man, yet the feelings of his 
 own mind prevented him from enjoying his success. He had 
 no wife, no children, to share his wealth. He would not marry, 
 because a wife is expensive ; and children are worse than taxes. 
 His whole soul was absorbed in the love of gain. He denied 
 himself not only the comforts but the common necessaries of 
 life. He was alone in the world. He was conscious that no 
 human being loved him. He read his history in the eyes of 
 all his neighbours. 
 
 It was known that he had risen upon the ruin of others; 
 and the higher he had risen, the more conspicuous became the 
 faults of his character. Whenever any man grew negligent of 
 his affairs, or by misfortune was reduced to distress, Hopkins 
 was at hand to take advantage of his necessities. His first 
 approaches were always made under the semblance of friend- 
 ship ; but his victims soon repented their imprudent confidence 
 when they felt themselves in his power. Unrestrained by a 
 sense of honour or the feelings of humanity, he felt no scruple 
 in pursuing his interest to the very verge of what the law would 
 call fraud. Even his own relations complained that he duped 
 them without scruple ; and none but strangers to his character, 
 or persons compelled by necessity, would have any dealings 
 with this man. Of what advantage to him, or to any one else, 
 were the thousands he had accumulated ? 
 
 It may be said that such beings are necessary in society ; 
 that their industry is productive ; and that, therefore, they 
 ought to be preferred to the idle, unproductive members of the 
 community : but wealth and happiness are not the same things. 
 Perhaps, at some future period, enlightened politicians may 
 think the happiness of nations more important than their wealth. 
 In this point of view, they would consider all the members of 
 society who are productive of happiness as neither useless nor 
 despicable ; and, on the contrary, they would contemn and 
 discourage those who merely accumulate money, without 
 enjoying or dispensing happiness. But some centuries must 
 probably elapse before such a philosophic race of politicians 
 can arise. In the meantime, let us go on with our story. 
 
 224 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Mr. Hopkins was enraged when he found that his expected 
 victim escaped his snares. He saw the pretty cottage rise, and 
 the mill of Rosanna work, in despite of his malevolence. He 
 long brooded over his malice in silence. As he stood one day 
 on the top of a high mount on his own estate, from which he 
 had a view of the surrounding country, his eyes fixed upon the 
 little paradise in the possession of his enemies. He always 
 called those his enemies of whom he was the enemy : this is no 
 uncommon mistake, in the language of the passions. 
 
 ‘ The Rosanna mill shall be stopped before this day twelve- 
 month, or my name is not Hopkins,’ said he to himself. ‘ 1 
 have sworn vengeance against those Grays ; but I will humble 
 them to the dust, before I have done with them. I shall 
 never sleep in peace till I have driven those people from the 
 country.’ 
 
 It was, however, no easy matter to drive from the country 
 such inoffensive inhabitants. The first thing Mr. Hopkins re- 
 solved upon was to purchase from Simon O’Dougherty the field 
 adjoining to that in which the mill stood. The brook flowed 
 through this field, and Mr. Hopkins saw, with malicious satis- 
 faction, that he could at a small expense turn the course of the 
 stream, and cut off the water from the mill. 
 
 Poor Simon by this time had reduced himself to a situation 
 in which his pride was compelled to yield to pecuniary con- 
 siderations. Within the last three years, his circumstances 
 had been materially changed. Whilst he was a bachelor, his 
 income had been sufficient to maintain him in idleness. Soft 
 Simon, however, at last, took it into his head to marry ; or 
 rather a cunning damsel, who had been his mistress for some 
 years, took it into her head to make him marry. She was 
 skilled in the arts both of wheedling and scolding : to resist 
 these united powers was too much to be expected from a man 
 of Simon’s easy temper. 
 
 He argued thus with himself 1 She has cost me more as 
 she is than if she had been my wife twice over ; for she has no 
 interest in looking after anything belonging to me, but only 
 Q 225 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 just living on from day to day, and making the most for herself 
 and her children. And the children, too, all in the same way, 
 snatching what they could make sure of for themselves. Now, 
 if I make her my lawful wife, as she desires, the property will 
 be hers, as well as mine ; and it will be her interest to look 
 after all. She is a stirring, notable woman, and will save me 
 a world of trouble, and make the best of everything for her 
 children’s sake ; and they, being then all acknowledged by me, 
 will make my interest their own, as she says ; and, besides, 
 this is the only way left me to have peace.’ 
 
 To avoid the cares and plagues of matrimony, and that 
 worst of plagues a wife’s tongue, Simon first was induced to 
 keep a mistress, and now, to silence his mistress, he made her 
 his wife. She assured him that, till she was his lawful lady, 
 she never should have peace or quietness ; nor could she, in 
 conscience, suffer him to have a moment’s rest. 
 
 Simon married her, to use his own phrase, out of hand : but 
 the marriage was only the beginning of new troubles. The 
 bride had hordes and clans of relations, who came pouring in 
 from all quarters to pay their respects to Mrs. O’ Dougherty. 
 Her good easy man could not shut his doors against any one : 
 the O’Doughertys were above a hundred years, ay, two hundred 
 years ago, famous for hospitality ; and it was incumbent upon 
 Simon O’Dougherty to keep up the honour of the family. His 
 four children were now to be maintained in idleness ; for they, 
 like their father, had an insurmountable aversion to business. 
 The public opinion of Simon suddenly changed. Those who 
 were any way related to the O’Doughertys, and who dreaded 
 that he and his children should apply to them for pecuniary 
 assistance, began the cry against him of, ‘ What a shame it is 1 
 that the man does not do something for himself and his family ! 
 How can those expect to be helped who won’t help themselves? 
 He is contented, indeed ! Yes, and he must soon be contented 
 to sell the lands that have been in the family so long ; and then, 
 by and by, he must be content, if he does not bestir himself, 
 to be carried to jail. It is a sin for any one to be content to 
 eat the bread of idleness ! ’ 
 
 These and similar reproaches were uttered often, in our idle 
 hero’s presence. They would perhaps have excited him to 
 some sort of exertion, if his friend, Sir Hyacinth O’Brien, had 
 1 Essay on Charity Schools. 
 
 226 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 not, in consequence of certain electioneering services, and in 
 consideration of his being one of the best sportsmen in the 
 county, and of Simon’s having named a horse after him, 
 procured for him a place of about fifty pounds a year in the 
 revenue. Upon the profits of this place Simon contrived to 
 live, in a shambling sort of way. 
 
 How long he might have shuffled on is a problem which 
 must now for ever remain unsolved ; for his indolence was not 
 permitted to take its natural course ; his ruin was accelerated 
 by the secret operation of an active and malignant power. 
 Mr. Hopkins, who had determined to get that field which 
 joined to Gray’s mill, and who well knew that the pride of the 
 O’Doughertys would resist the idea of selling to him any part 
 or parcel of the lands of Rosanna, devised a scheme to reduce 
 Simon to immediate and inextricable distress. Simon was, as 
 it might have been foreseen, negligent in discharging the 
 duties of his office, which was that of a supervisor. 
 
 He either did not know or connived at the practices of 
 sundry illegal distillers in his neighbourhood. Malicious 
 tongues did not scruple to say that he took money, upon some 
 occasions, from the delinquents ; but this he positively denied. 
 Possibly his wife and sons knew more of this matter than he 
 did. They sold certain scraps of paper, called protections, to 
 several petty distillers, whose safest protection would have been 
 Simon’s indolence. One of the scraps of paper, to which there 
 was O’Dougherty’s signature, fell into the hands of Mr. 
 Hopkins. 
 
 That nothing might be omitted to ensure his disgrace, 
 Hopkins sent a person, on whom he could depend, to give 
 Simon notice that there was an illegal still at such a house, 
 naming the house for which the protection was granted. Soft 
 Simon received the information with his customary carelessness, 
 said it was too late to think of going to seize the still that 
 evening, and declared he would have it seized the next day : 
 but the next day he put it off, and the day afterwards he forgot 
 it, and the day after that, he received a letter from the collector 
 of excise, summoning him to answer to an information which 
 had been laid against him for misconduct. In this emergency, 
 he resolved to have recourse to his friend Sir Hyacinth 
 O’Brien, who, he thought, could make interest to screen him 
 from justice. Sir Hyacinth gave him a letter to the collector, 
 
 227 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 who happened to be in the country. Away he went with the 
 letter : he was met on the road by a friend, who advised him 
 to ride as hard after the collector as he could, to overtake him 
 before he should reach Counsellor Quin’s, where he was 
 engaged to dine. Counsellor Quin was candidate for the 
 county in opposition to Sir Hyacinth O’Brien ; and it was well 
 understood that whomsoever the one favoured the other hated. 
 It behoved Simon, therefore, to overtake the collector before 
 he should be within the enemy’s gates. Simon whipped and 
 spurred, and puffed and fretted, but all in vain, for he was 
 mounted upon the horse which, as the reader may remember, 
 fell into the tan-pit. The collector reached Counsellor Quin’s 
 long before Simon arrived ; and, when he presented Sir 
 Hyacinth’s letter, it was received in a manner that showed it 
 came too late. Simon lost his place and his fifty pounds a 
 year : but what he found most trying to his temper were the 
 reproaches of his wife, which were loud, bitter, and unceasing. 
 He knew, from experience, that nothing could silence her but 
 letting her ‘ have all the plea ’ ; so he suffered her to rail till 
 she was quite out of breath, and he very nearly asleep, and 
 then said, ‘ What you have been observing is all very just, no 
 doubt ; but since a thing past can’t be recalled, and those that 
 are upon the ground, as our proverb says, can go no lower, 
 that’s a great comfort ; so we may be content.’ 
 
 ‘ Content, in troth ! Is it content to live upon potatoes and 
 salt p I, that am your lawful wife ! And you, that are an 
 O’Dougherty too, to let your lady be demeaned and looked 
 down upon, as she will be now, even by them that are sprung 
 up from nothing since yesterday. There’s Mrs. Gray, over 
 yonder at Rosanna, living on your own land : look at her and 
 look at me ! and see what a difference there is ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Some difference there surely is,’ said Simon. 
 
 ! Some difference there surely is,’ repeated Mrs. O’Dougherty, 
 raising her voice to the shrillest note of objurgation ; for she 
 was provoked by a sigh that escaped Simon, as he pronounced 
 his reply, or rather his acceding sentence. Nothing, in some 
 cases, provokes a female so much as agreeing with her. 
 
 ‘ And if there is some difference betwixt me and Mrs. Gray, 
 I should be glad to know whose fault that is.’ 
 
 ‘ So should I, Mrs. O’Dougherty.’ 
 
 ‘Then I’ll tell you, instantly, whose fault it is, Mr. 
 
 228 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 O’Dougherty : the fault is your own, Mr. O’Dougherty. No, 
 the fault is mine, Mr. O’Dougherty, for marrying you, or con- 
 sorting with you at all. If I had been matched to an active, 
 industrious man, like Mr. Gray, I might have been as well in 
 the world and better than Mrs. Gray ; for I should become a 
 fortune better than she, or any of her seed, breed, or genera- 
 tion ; and it’s a scandal in the face of the world, and all the 
 world says so, it’s a scandal to see them Grays flourishing and 
 settling a colony, there at Rosanna, at our expense ! ’ 
 
 ‘Not at our expense, my dear, for you know we made 
 nothing of either tan-yard or mill ; and now they pay us ^30 
 a year, and that punctually too. What should we do without 
 it, now we have lost the place in the revenue ? I am sure, I 
 think we were very lucky to get such tenants as the Grays.’ 
 
 ‘ In truth, I think no such thing ; for if you had been 
 blessed with the sense of a midge, you might have done all 
 they have done yourself : and then what a different way your 
 lawful wife and family would have been in ! I am sure I wish 
 it had pleased the saints above to have married me, when they 
 were about it, to such a man as farmer Gray or his sons.’ 
 
 ‘As for the sons,’ said Simon, ‘they are a little out of the 
 way in point of age, but to farmer Gray I see no objection in 
 life : and if he sees none, and will change wives, I’m sure, 
 Ally, I shall be content.’ 
 
 The sort of composure and dry humour with which Simon 
 made this last speech overcame the small remains of Mrs. 
 O’Dougherty’s patience : she burst into a passion of tears ; and 
 from this hour, it being now past eleven o’clock at night, from 
 this hour till six in the morning she never ceased weeping, 
 wailing, and upbraiding. 
 
 Simon rose from his sleepless bed, saying, ‘ The saints 
 above, as you call them, must take care of you now, Ally, any- 
 how ; for I’m fairly tired out : so I must go a-hunting or a- 
 shooting with my friend Sir Hyacinth O’Brien, to recruit my 
 spirits.’ 
 
 The unfortunate Simon found, to his mortification, that his 
 horse was so lame he could scarcely walk. Whilst he was 
 considering where he could borrow a horse, just for the day’s 
 hunt, Mr. Hopkins rode into his yard, mounted upon a fine 
 hunter. Though naturally supercilious, this gentleman could 
 stoop to conquer : he was well aware of Simon’s dislike to him, 
 
 229 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 but he also knew that Simon was in distress for money. Even 
 the strongest passions of those who involve themselves in 
 
 1 Vm sure , Ally , I shall be content 
 
 pecuniary difficulties must yield to the exigencies of the 
 moment. Easy Simon’s indolence had now reduced him to a 
 
 230 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 situation in which his pride was obliged to bend to his interest. 
 Mr. Hopkins had once been repulsed with haughtiness by the 
 representative of the O’Uougherty family, when he offered to 
 purchase some of the family estate ; but his proposal was now 
 better timed, and was made with all the address of which he 
 was master. He began by begging Simon to give him his 
 opinion of the horse on which he was mounted, as he knew 
 Mr. O’Dougherty was a particularly good judge of a hunter ; 
 and he would not buy it from Counsellor Quin’s groom without 
 having a skilful friend’s advice. Then he asked whether it was 
 true that Simon and the collector had quarrelled, exclaimed 
 against the malice and officiousness of the informer, whoever 
 he might be, and finished by observing that, if the loss of his 
 place put Simon to any inconvenience, there was a ready way 
 of supplying himself with money, by the sale of any of the 
 lands of Rosanna. The immediate want of a horse, and the 
 comparison he made, at this moment, between the lame animal 
 on which he was leaning and the fine hunter upon which 
 Hopkins was mounted, had more effect upon Simon than all 
 the rest. Before they parted, Mr. Hopkins concluded a 
 bargain for the field on which he had set his heart : he 
 obtained it for less than its value by three years’ purchase. 
 The hunter was part of the valuable consideration he gave to 
 Simon. 
 
 The moment that Hopkins was in possession of this field 
 adjoining to Gray’s mill, he began to execute a malignant 
 project which he had long been contriving. 
 
 We shall leave him to his operations ; matters of higher 
 import claim our attention. One morning, as Rose was on the 
 little lawn before the house door, gathering the first snowdrops 
 of the year, a servant in a handsome livery rode up, and asked 
 if Mr. Gray or any of the family were at home. Her father 
 and brothers were out in the fields, at some distance ; but she 
 said she would run and call them. ‘ There is no occasion, 
 Miss,’ said the servant ; ‘ for the business is only to leave these 
 cards for the ladies of the family.’ 
 
 He put two cards into Rose’s hand, and galloped off with 
 the air of a man who had a vast deal of business of importance 
 to transact. The cards contained an invitation to an election 
 ball, which Sir Hyacinth O’Brien was going to give to the 
 secondary class of gentry in the county. 
 
 231 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Rose took the cards to her mother ; and whilst they were 
 reading them over for the second time, in came farmer Gray 
 to breakfast. ‘ What have we here, child ? ’ said he, taking up 
 one of the cards. He looked at his wife and daughter with 
 some anxiety for a moment ; and then, as if he did not wish to 
 restrain them, turned the conversation to another subject, and 
 nothing was said of the ball till breakfast was over. 
 
 Mrs. Gray then bade Rose go and put her flowers into 
 water ; and as soon as she was out of the room, said, ‘ My 
 dear, I see you don’t like that we should go to this ball ; so I 
 am glad I did not say what I thought of it to Rose before you 
 came in : for you must know, I had a mother’s foolish vanity 
 about me ; and the minute I saw the card, I pictured to myself 
 our Rose dressed like any of the best of the ladies, and looking 
 handsomer than most of them, and everybody admiring her ! 
 But perhaps the girl is better as she is, having not been bred 
 to be a lady. And yet, now we are as well in the world as 
 many that set up for and are reckoned gentlefolks, why should 
 not our girl take this opportunity of rising a step in life ? ’ 
 
 Mrs. Gray spoke with some confusion and hesitation. ‘ My 
 dear,’ replied farmer Gray, in a gentle yet firm tone, ‘ it is 
 very natural that you, being the mother of such a girl as our 
 Rose, should be proud of her, and eager to show her to the 
 best advantage ; but the main point is to make her happy, not 
 to do just what will please our own vanity for the minute. 
 Now I am not at all sure that raising her a step in life, even if 
 we could do it by sending her to this ball, would be for her 
 
 happiness. Are not we happy as we are Come in, Rose, 
 
 love ; come in ; I should be glad for you to hear what we are 
 saying, and judge for yourself ; you are old enough, and wise 
 enough, I am sure. I was going to ask, are not we all happy 
 in the way we live together now ? ’ 
 
 ‘Yes ! Oh yes ! That we are indeed,’ said both the wife 
 and daughter. 
 
 ‘ Then should not we be content, and not wish to alter our 
 condition ? ’ 
 
 ‘ But to go to only one ball, father, would not alter our 
 condition, would it ? ’ said Rose, timidly. 
 
 ‘ If we begin once to set up for gentry, we shall not like to 
 go back again to be what we are now : so, before we begin, 
 we had best consider what we have to gain by a change. We 
 
 232 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 have meat, drink, clothes, and fire : what more could we have, 
 if we were gentry ? We have enough to do, and not too much ; 
 we are all well pleased with ourselves, and with one another ; 
 we have health and good consciences : what more could we 
 have, if we were to set up to be gentry ? Or rather, to put 
 the question closer, could we in that case have all these 
 comforts? No, I think not: for, in the first place, we should 
 be straitened for want of money ; because a world of baubles, 
 that we don’t feel the want of now, would become as neces- 
 sary to us as our daily bread. We should be ashamed not to 
 have all the things that gentlefolks have ; though these don’t 
 signify a straw, nor half a straw, in point of any real pleasure 
 they give, still they must be had. Then we should be ashamed 
 of the work by which we must make money to pay for all these 
 nicknacks. John and Robin would blush up to the eyes, then, 
 if they were to be caught by the genteel folks in their mill, 
 heaving up sacks of flour, and covered all over with meal ; or 
 if they were to be found, with their arms bare beyond the 
 elbows, in the tan-yard. And you, Rose, would hurry your 
 spinning-wheel out of sight, and be afraid to be caught cooking 
 my dinner. Yet there is no shame in any of these things, and 
 now we are all proud of doing them.’ 
 
 ‘And long may we be so!’ cried Mrs. Gray. ‘You are 
 right, and I spoke like a foolish woman. Rose, my child, 
 throw these cards into the fire. We are happy, and contented : 
 
 • and if we change, we shall be discontented and unhappy, as so 
 many of what they call our betters are. There ! the cards are 
 burnt ; now let us think no more about them.’ 
 
 ‘ Rose, I hope, is not disappointed about this ball ; are you, 
 my little Rose?’ said her father, drawing her towards him, 
 and seating her on his knee. 
 
 ‘ There was one reason, father,’ said Rose, blushing, ‘ there 
 was one reason, and only one, why I wished to have gone to 
 this ball.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, let us hear it. You shall do as you please, I promise 
 you beforehand. But tell us the reason. I believe you have 
 found it somewhere at the bottom of that snowdrop, which 
 you have been examining this last quarter of an hour. Come, 
 let me have a peep, 1 added he, laughing. 
 
 ‘The only reason, papa, is — was, I mean,’ said Rose. — 
 
 ‘ But look ! Oh, I can’t tell you now. See who is coming.’ 
 
 2 33 
 
i • \'r'> 
 
 Rose , / /iope f is not disappointed about this ball; are you, my little Rose ? 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 It was Sir Hyacinth O’Brien, in his gig ; and with him his 
 English servant, Stafford, whose staid and sober demeanour 
 was a perfect contrast to the dash and bustle of his master’s 
 appearance. This was an electioneering visit. Sir Hyacinth 
 was canvassing the county — a business in which he took great 
 delight, and in which he was said to excel. He possessed all 
 the requisite qualifications, and was certainly excited by a 
 sufficiently strong motive ; for he knew that, if he should lose 
 his election, he should at the same time lose his liberty, as the 
 privilege of a Member of Parliament was necessary to protect 
 him from being arrested. He had a large estate, yet he was 
 one of the poorest men in the county ; for, no matter what a 
 person’s fortune may be, if he spend more than his income, he 
 must be poor. Sir Hyacinth O’Brien not only spent more 
 than his income, but desired that his rent-roll should be 
 thought to be at least double what it really was : of course he 
 was obliged to live up to the fortune which he affected to 
 possess ; and this idle vanity early in life entangled him in 
 difficulties from which he had never sufficient strength of mind 
 to extricate himself. He was ambitious to be the leading 
 man in his county, studied all the arts of popularity, and found 
 them extremely expensive, and stood a contested election. He 
 succeeded ; but his success cost him several thousands. All 
 was to be set to rights by his talents as a public speaker, and 
 these were considerable. He had eloquence, wit, humour, 
 and sufficient assurance to place them all in the fullest light. 
 His speeches in Parliament were much admired, and the 
 passion of ambition w-as now kindled in his mind : he deter- 
 mined to be a leading man in the senate ; and whilst he 
 pursued this object with enthusiasm, his private affairs were 
 entirely neglected. Ambition and economy never can agree. 
 Sir Hyacinth, however, found it necessary to the happiness, 
 that is, to the splendour, of his existence, to supply, by some 
 means or other, the want of what he called the paltry, selfish, 
 counterfeit virtue — economy. Nothing less would do than 
 the sacrifice of that which had been once in his estimation the 
 most noble and generous of human virtues — patriotism. The 
 sacrifice was painful, but he could not avoid making it ; because, 
 after living upon five thousand a year, he could not live upon 
 five hundred. So, from a flaming patriot, he sank into a 
 pensioned placeman. 
 
 2 35 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 He then employed all his powers of wit and sophistry to 
 ridicule the principles which he had abandoned. In short, he 
 affected to glory in a species of political profligacy ; and laughed 
 or sneered at public virtue, as if it could only be the madness 
 of enthusiasm, or the meanness of hypocrisy. By the brilliancy 
 of his conversation, and the gaiety of his manners, Sir Hyacinth 
 sometimes succeeded in persuading others that he was in the 
 right ; but, alas ! there was one person whom he could never 
 deceive, and that was himself. He despised himself, and 
 nothing could make him amends for the self-complacency that 
 he had lost. Without self-approbation, all the luxuries of life 
 are tasteless. 
 
 Sir Hyacinth O’Brien, however, was for some years thought, 
 by those who could see only the outward man, to be happy ; 
 and it was not till the derangement of his affairs became public 
 that the world began at once to pity and blame him. He had 
 a lucrative place, but he was, or thought himself, obliged to live 
 in a style suited to it ; and he was not one shilling the richer 
 for his place. He endeavoured to repair his shattered fortunes 
 by marrying a rich heiress, but the heiress was, or thought 
 herself, obliged to live up to her fortune ; and, of course, her 
 husband was not one shilling the richer for his marriage. 
 When Sir Hyacinth was occasionally distressed for money, his 
 agent, who managed all affairs in his absence, borrowed money 
 with as much expedition as possible ; and expedition, in matters 
 of business, must, as everybody knows, be paid for exorbitantly. 
 There are men who, upon such terms, will be as expeditious in 
 lending money as extravagance and ambition united can desire. 
 Mr. Hopkins was one of these : and he was the money-lender 
 who supplied the baronet’s real and imaginary wants. Sir 
 Hyacinth did not know the extreme disorder of his own affairs, 
 till a sudden dissolution of Parliament obliged him to prepare 
 for the expense of a new election. When he went into the 
 country, he was at once beset with duns and constituents who 
 claimed from him favours and promises. Miserable is the man 
 who courts popularity, if he be not rich enough to purchase 
 what he covets. 
 
 Our baronet endeavoured to laugh off with a good grace 
 his apostasy from the popular party ; and whilst he could laugh 
 at the head of a plentiful table, he could not fail to find many 
 who would laugh with him ; but there was a strong party formed 
 
 236 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 against him in the county. Two other candidates were his 
 competitors ; one of them was Counsellor Quin, a man of 
 vulgar manners and mean abilities, but yet one who could drink 
 and cajole electors full as well as Sir Hyacinth with all his wit 
 and elegance. The other candidate, Mr. Molyneux, was still 
 more formidable ; not as an electioneerer, but as a man of 
 talents and unimpeached integrity, which had been successfully 
 exerted in the service of his country. He was no demagogue, 
 but the friend of justice and of the poor, whom he would not 
 suffer to be oppressed by the hand of power, or persecuted by 
 the malice of party spirit. A large number of grateful in- 
 dependent constituents united to support this gentleman. Sir 
 Hyacinth O’Brien had reason to tremble for his fate ; it was 
 to him a desperate game. He canvassed the county with the 
 most keen activity ; and took care to engage in his interest all 
 those underlings who delight in galloping round the country 
 to electioneer, and who think themselves paid by the momentary 
 consequence they enjoy and the bustle they create. 
 
 Amongst these busybodies was Simon O’Dougherty ; indo- 
 lent in all his own concerns, he was remarkably active in 
 managing the affairs of others. His home being now insuffer- 
 able to him, he was glad to stroll about the country ; and to 
 him Sir Hyacinth O’Brien left all the dirty work of the canvass. 
 Soft Simon had reduced himself to the lowest class of stalkoes 
 or walking gentlemen , as they are termed ; men who have 
 nothing to do, and no fortune to support them, but who style 
 themselves esquire ; and who, to use their own mode of ex- 
 pression, are jealous of that title, and of their claims to family 
 antiquity. Sir Hyacinth O’Brien knew at once how to flatter 
 Simon’s pride, and to lure him on by promises. Soft Simon 
 believed that the baronet, if he gained his election, would 
 procure him some place equivalent to that of which he had 
 been lately deprived. Upon the faith of this promise, Simon 
 worked harder for his patron than he ever was known to do 
 upon any previous occasion ; and he was not deficient in that 
 essential characteristic of an electioneerer, boasting. He 
 carried this habit sometimes rather too far, for he not only 
 boasted so as to bully the opposite party, but so as to deceive 
 his friends : over his bottle, he often persuaded his patron that 
 he could command voters, with whom he had no manner of 
 influence. For instance : he told Sir Hyacinth O’Brien that 
 
 237 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 he was certain all the Grays would vote for him ; and it was 
 in consequence of this assurance that the cards of invitation 
 to the ball had been sent to Rose and her mother, and that 
 the baronet was now come in person to pay his respects at 
 Rosanna. 
 
 We have kept him waiting an unconscionable time at the 
 cottage door ; we must now show him in. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 The beauty of Rose was the first thing that struck him upon 
 his entrance. The impression was so sudden, and so lively, 
 that, for a few minutes, the election, and all that belonged to 
 it, vanished from his memory. The politeness of a county 
 candidate made him appear, in other houses, charmed with 
 father, mother, son, and daughter ; but in this cottage there 
 was no occasion for dissimulation ; he was really pleased with 
 each individual of the family. The natural feelings of the 
 heart were touched. The ambitious man forgot all his schemes 
 and all his cares in the contemplation of this humble picture 
 of happiness and content ; and the baronet conversed a full 
 quarter of an hour with farmer Gray, before he relapsed into 
 himself. 
 
 ‘ How much happier,’ thought he, ‘ are these people than I 
 am, or than I ever have been ! They are contented in ob- 
 scurity ; I was discontented even in the full blaze of celebrity. 
 But my fate is fixed. I embarked on the sea of politics as 
 thoughtlessly as if it were only on a party of pleasure : now I 
 am chained to the oar, and a galley-slave cannot be more 
 wretched.’ 
 
 Perhaps the beauty of Rose had some share in exciting Sir 
 Hyacinth’s sudden taste for rural felicity. It is certain he at 
 first expressed more disappointment at hearing she would not 
 go to the ball, than at being told her father and brothers could 
 not vote for him. Farmer Gray, who was as independent in 
 his principles as in his circumstances, honestly answered the 
 baronet that he thought Mr. Molyneux the fittest man to 
 represent the county ; and that it was for him he should there- 
 
 238 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 fore vote. Sir Hyacinth tried all his powers of persuasion in 
 vain, and he left the cottage mortified and melancholy. 
 
 He met Simon O’Dougherty when he had driven a few 
 miles from the door ; and, in a tone of much pique and dis- 
 pleasure, reproached him for having deceived him into a belief 
 that the Grays were his friends. Simon was rather em- 
 barrassed ; but the genius of gossiping had luckily just supplied 
 him with a hint, by which he could extricate himself from this 
 difficulty. 
 
 ‘ The fault is all your own, if I may make so free as to tell 
 you so. Sir Hyacinth O’Brien,’ said he, ' as capital an elec- 
 tioneerer as you are, I’ll engage I’ll find one that shall outdo 
 you here. Send me and Stafford back again this minute to 
 Rosanna, and we’ll bring you the three votes as dead as crows 
 in an hour’s time, or my name is not O’Dougherty now.’ 
 
 ‘ I protest, Mr. O’Dougherty, I do not understand you.’ 
 
 1 Then let me whisper half a word in your ear, Sir Hyacinth, 
 and I’ll make you sensible I’m right.’ Simon winked most 
 significantly, and looked wondrous wise ; then stretching him- 
 self half off his horse into the gig to gain Sir Hyacinth’s ear, 
 he whispered that he knew, from the best authority, Stafford 
 was in love with Gray’s pretty daughter Rose, and that Rose 
 had no dislike to him ; that she was all in all to her father and 
 brothers, and of course could and would secure their votes, if 
 properly spoken to. 
 
 This intelligence did not immediately produce the pleasing 
 change of countenance which might have been expected. Sir 
 Hyacinth coldly replied, he could not spare Stafford at present, 
 and drove on. The genius of gossiping, according to her 
 usual custom, had exaggerated considerably in her report. 
 Stafford was attached to Rose, but had never yet told her so ; 
 and as to Rose, we might perhaps have known all her mind, 
 if Sir Hyacinth’s gig had not appeared just as she was seated 
 on her father’s knee, and going to tell him her reasons for 
 wishing to go to the ball. 
 
 Stafford acted in the capacity of house-steward to the 
 baronet ; and had the management of all his master’s unmanage- 
 able servants. He had brought with him from England ideas 
 of order and punctuality, which were somewhat new, and 
 extremely troublesome to the domestics at Hyacinth Hall : con- 
 sequently he was much disliked by them ; and not only by 
 
 239 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 them but by most of the country people in the neighbourhood, 
 who imagined he had a strong predilection in favour of every- 
 thing that was English, and an undisguised contempt for all 
 that was Irish. They, however, perceived that this prejudice 
 against the Irish admitted of exceptions : the family of the 
 Grays, Stafford acknowledged, were almost as orderly, punctual, 
 industrious, and agreeable, as if they had been born in England. 
 This was matter of so much surprise to him, that he could not 
 forbear going at every leisure hour to the mill or the cottage 
 of Rosanna, to convince himself that such things could actually 
 be in Ireland. He bought all the flour for the Hall at Rosanna 
 mill ; and Rose supplied the housekeeper constantly with 
 poultry ; so that his master’s business continually obliged 
 Stafford to repeat his visits ; and every time he went to Gray’s 
 cottage, he thought it more and more like an English farm- 
 house, and imagined Rose every day looked more like an 
 Englishwoman than anything else. What a pity she was not 
 born the other side of the water ; for then his mother and 
 friends in Warwickshire could never have made any objection 
 to her. But, she being an Irishwoman, they would for certain 
 never fancy her. He had oftentimes heard them as good as 
 say that it would break their hearts if he was to marry and 
 settle amongst the bogs and the wild Irish. 
 
 This recollection of his friends’ prejudices at first deterred 
 Stafford from thinking of marrying Rose ; but it sometimes 
 happens that reflection upon the prejudices of others shows us 
 the folly of our own, and so it was in the present instance. 
 Stafford wrote frequently to his friends in Warwickshire, to 
 assure them that they had quite wrong notions of Ireland : 
 that all Ireland was not a bog ; that there were several well- 
 grown trees in the parts he had visited ; that there were some 
 as pretty villages as you could wish to see anywhere, only that 
 they called them towns ; that the men, though some of them 
 still wear brogues, were more hospitable to strangers than the 
 English ; and that the women, when not smoke-dried, were 
 some of the handsomest he had seen, especially one Rose or 
 Rosamond Gray, who was also the best and most agreeable 
 girl he had ever known ; though it was almost a sin to say so 
 much of one who was not an Englishwoman born. 
 
 Much more in the same strain Stafford wrote to his mother, 
 who, in reply to these letters, ‘ besought him to consider well 
 
 240 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 what he was about, before he suffered himself to begin falling 
 desperately in love with this Rose or Rosamond Gray, or any 
 Irishwoman whatsoever, who, having been bred in a mud- 
 walled cabin, could never be expected to turn out at the long 
 run equal to a true-born Englishwoman, bred in a slated 
 house.’ 
 
 Stafford’s notions had been so much enlarged by his 
 travel, that he could not avoid smiling at some passages in 
 his mother’s epistle ; yet he so far agreed with her in opinion 
 as to think it prudent not to begin falling desperately in 
 love with any woman, whether Irish or English, till he was 
 thoroughly acquainted with her temper and disposition. He 
 therefore prudently forbore, that is to say, as much as he could 
 forbear, to show any signs of his attachment to Rose, till he 
 had full opportunity of forming a decisive judgment of her 
 character. 
 
 This he had now in his power. He saw that his master 
 was struck with the fair Rosamond’s charms ; and he knew 
 that Sir Hyacinth would pursue his purpose with no common 
 perseverance. His heart beat with joy, when the card which 
 brought her refusal arrived. He read it over and over again ; 
 and at last put it into his bosom, close to his heart. ‘ Rose is 
 a good daughter,’ said he to himself ; ‘ and that is a sign that 
 she will make a good wife. She is too innocent to see or 
 suspect that master has taken a fancy to her, but she is right 
 to do as her prudent, affectionate father advises. I never 
 loved that farmer Gray so well, in all my whole life, as at this 
 instant.’ 
 
 Stafford was interrupted in his reverie by his master, who, 
 in an angry voice, called for him to inquire why he had not, 
 according to his orders, served out some oats for his horses 
 the preceding day. The truth was, that anxiety about Rose 
 and the ball had made him totally forget the oats. Stafford 
 coloured a good deal, confessed that he had done very wrong 
 to forget the oats, but that he would go to the granary im- 
 mediately, and serve them out to the groom. Perhaps 
 Stafford’s usual exactness might have rendered his omission 
 pardonable to any less irritable and peremptory master than 
 Sir H. O’Brien. 
 
 When Sterne once heard a master severely reprimanding a 
 servant for some trifling fault, he said to the gentleman, ‘ My 
 R 241 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 dear sir, we should not expect to have every virtue under the 
 sun for £20 a year.’ 
 
 Sir Hyacinth O’Brien expected to have them for merely the 
 promise of £ 20 a year. Though he never punctually paid his 
 servants’ wages, he abused them most insolently whenever he 
 was in a passion. Upon the present occasion, his ill-humour 
 was heightened by jealousy. 
 
 ‘ I wish, sir,’ cried he to Stafford, after pouring forth a 
 volley of oaths, ‘ you would mind your business, and not 
 run after objects that are not fit for you. You are become 
 good for nothing of late ; careless, insolent, and not fit to be 
 trusted.’ 
 
 Stafford bore all that his master said till he came to the 
 words not fit to be trusted ; but the moment those were uttered, 
 he could no longer command himself ; he threw down the 
 great key of the granary, which he held in his hand, and 
 exclaimed, ‘Not fit to be trusted ! Is this the reward of all 
 my services ? Not fit to be trusted ! Then I have no 
 business here.’ 
 
 ‘ The sooner you go the better, sir,’ cried the angry baronet, 
 who, at this instant, desired nothing more than to get him out 
 of his way. ‘ You had best set off for England directly : I 
 have no farther occasion for your services.’ 
 
 Stafford said not a word more, but retired from his master’s 
 presence to conceal his emotion ; and, when he was alone, burst 
 into tears, repeating to himself, ‘ So this is the reward of all 
 my services ! ’ 
 
 When Sir Hyacinth’s passion cooled, he reflected that 
 seven years’ wages were due to Stafford ; and as it was not 
 convenient to him at this election time to part with so much 
 ready money, he resolved to compromise. It was not from 
 any sense of justice ; therefore it must be said he had the 
 meanness to apologise to his steward, and to hint that he was 
 welcome to remain, if he pleased, in his service. 
 
 Satisfied by this explanation, and by the condescension 
 with which it was given, Stafford’s affection for his master 
 returned with all its wonted force : and he resumed his former 
 occupations about the house with redoubled activity. He 
 waited only till he could be spared for a day to go to Rosanna, 
 and make his proposal for Rose. Her behaviour concerning 
 the ball convinced him that his mother’s prejudices against 
 
 242 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 Irishwomen were ill founded. Whilst his mind was in this 
 state, his master one morning sent for him, and told him that 
 it was absolutely necessary he should go to a neighbouring 
 county, to some persons who were freeholders, and whose 
 votes might turn the election. The business would only 
 occupy a few days, Sir Hyacinth said ; and Stafford willingly 
 undertook it. 
 
 The gentlemen to whom Stafford had letters were not at 
 home, and he was detained above a fortnight. When he 
 returned, he took a road which led by Rosanna, that he 
 might at least have the pleasure of seeing Rose for a few 
 minutes ; but when he called at the cottage, to his utter 
 surprise, he was refused admittance. Being naturally of a 
 warm temper, and not deficient in pride, his first impulse was 
 to turn his horse’s head, and gallop off : but, checking his 
 emotion, he determined not to leave the place till he should 
 discover the case of this change of conduct. He considered 
 that none of this family had formerly treated him with cap- 
 rice or duplicity ; it was therefore improbable they should 
 suddenly alter their conduct towards him, unless they had 
 reason to believe that they had some sufficient cause. He 
 rode immediately to a field where he saw some labourers at 
 work. Farmer Gray was with them. Stafford leaped from 
 his horse, and with an air of friendly honesty, held out his 
 hand, saying, ‘ I can’t believe you mean to affront me : tell me 
 what is the reason 1 am not to be let into your house, my 
 good friend.’ 
 
 Gray leaned upon his stick, and, after looking at him for a 
 moment, replied, ‘ We have been too hasty, I see : we have 
 had no cause of quarrel with you, Stafford ; you could never 
 look at me with that honest countenance, if you had any hand 
 in this business.’ 
 
 ‘ What business ? ’ cried Stafford. 
 
 1 Walk home with me, out of the hearing of these people, 
 and you shall know.’ 
 
 As they walked towards his cottage, Gray took out his 
 great leather pocket-book, and searched for a letter. ‘ Pray, 
 Stafford,’ said he, ‘ did you, about ten days ago, send my girl 
 a melon ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes ; one of my own raising. I left it with the gardener, 
 to be sent to her with my best respects and services ; and a 
 
 243 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 message intimating to say that I was sorry my master’s 
 business required I should take a journey, and could not see 
 her for a few days, or something that way.’ 
 
 ‘No such message came; only your services, the melon, 
 and this note. I declare,’ continued Gray, looking at Stafford 
 whilst he read the letter, ‘he turns as pale as my wife herself 
 did when I showed it to her ! ’ 
 
 Stafford, indeed, grew pale with anger. It was a billet- 
 doux from his master to Rose, which Sir Hyacinth entreated 
 might be kept secret, promising to make her fortune and 
 marry her well, if she would only have compassion upon a man 
 who adored and was dying for her, etc. 
 
 ‘ I will never see my master again,’ exclaimed Stafford. ‘ I 
 could not see him without the danger of doing something that 
 I might not forgive myself. He a gentleman ! He a gentle- 
 man ! I’ll gallop off and leave his letters, and his horse, with 
 some of his people. I’ll never see him again. If he does not 
 pay me a farthing of my seven years’ wages, I don’t care ; I 
 will not sleep in his house another night. He a gentleman ! ’ 
 
 Farmer Gray was delighted by Stafford’s generous indigna- 
 tion ; which appeared the more striking, as his manner was 
 usually sober, and remarkably civil. 
 
 All this happened at two o’clock in the afternoon ; and the 
 evening of the same day he returned to Rosanna. Rose was 
 sitting at work, in the seat of the cottage window. When she 
 saw him at the little white gate, her colour gave notice to her 
 brothers who was coming, and they ran out to meet him. 
 
 ‘ You ought to shut your doors against me now, instead of 
 running out to meet me,’ said he ; ‘for I am not clear that I 
 have a farthing in the world, except what is in this portmanteau. 
 I have been fool enough to leave all I have earned in the 
 hands of a gentleman , who can give me only his bond for 
 my wages. But I am glad I am out of his house, at any 
 rate.’ 
 
 ‘ And I am glad you are in mine,’ said farmer Gray, re- 
 ceiving him with a warmth of hospitality which brought tears 
 of gratitude into Stafford’s eyes. Rose smiled upon her father, 
 and said nothing ; but set him his arm-chair, and was very busy 
 arranging the tea-table. Mrs. Gray beckoned to her guest, and 
 made him sit down beside her ; telling him he should have as 
 good tea at Rosanna as ever he had in Warwickshire ; ‘ and out 
 
 244 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 of Staffordshire ware, too,’ said she, taking her best Wedgwood 
 teacups and saucers out of a cupboard. 
 
 Robin, who was naturally gay and fond of rallying his 
 friends, could not forbear affecting to express his surprise at 
 Stafford’s preferring an Irishwoman, of all women in the 
 world. ‘ Are you quite sure, Stafford,’ said he, ‘ that you are 
 not mistaken ? Are you sure my sister has not wings on her 
 shoulders ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Have you done now, Robin ? ’ said his mother ; who saw 
 that Stafford was a good deal abashed, and had no answer ready. 
 ‘ If Mr. Stafford had a prejudice against us Irish, so much the 
 more honourable for my Rose to have conquered it ; and, as to 
 wings, they would have been no shame to us natives, supposing 
 we had them ; and of course it was no affront to attribute them 
 to us. Have not the angels themselves wings ?’ 
 
 A timely joke is sometimes a real blessing ; and so Stafford 
 felt it at this instant : his bashfulness vanished by degrees, and 
 Robin rallied him no more. ‘ I had no idea,’ said he, ‘ how 
 easy it is to put an Englishman out of countenance in the com- 
 pany of his mistress.’ 
 
 This was a most happy evening at Rosanna. After Rose 
 retired, which she soon did, to see after the household affairs, 
 her father spoke in the kindest manner to Stafford. ‘ Mr. 
 Stafford,’ said he, ‘ if you tell me that you are able to maintain 
 my girl in the way of life she is in now, you shall have her : this, 
 in my opinion and in hers, is the happiest life for those who 
 have been bred to it. I would rather see Rose matched to an 
 honest, industrious, good-humoured man, like yourself, whom 
 she can love, than see her the wife of a man as grand as Sir 
 Hyacinth O’Brien. For, to the best of my opinion, it is not the 
 being born to a great estate that can make a man content or 
 even rich : I think myself a richer man this minute than Sir 
 Hyacinth ; for I owe no man anything, am my own master, 
 and can give a little matter both to child and stranger. But 
 your head is very naturally running upon Rose, and not upon 
 my moralising. All I have to say is, win her and wear her ; 
 and, as to the rest, even if Sir Hyacinth never pays you your 
 own, that shall not stop your wedding. My sons are good lads, 
 and you and Rose shall never want, whilst the mill of Rosanna 
 is going.’ 
 
 This generosity quite overpowered Stafford. Generosity is 
 245 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 one of the characteristics of the Irish. It not only touched but 
 surprised the Englishman, who, amongst the same rank of his 
 own countrymen, had been accustomed to strict honesty in their 
 dealings, but seldom to this warmth of friendship and forgetful- 
 ness of all selfish considerations. It was some minutes before he 
 could articulate a syllable ; but, after shaking his intended father- 
 in-law’s hand with that violence which expresses so much to 
 English feelings, he said, ‘ I thank you heartily ; and, if I live 
 to the age of Methusalem, shall never forget this. A friend in 
 need is a friend indeed. But I will not live upon yours or your 
 good sons’ earnings ; that would not be fair dealing, or like what 
 I’ve been bred up to think handsome. It is a sad thing for me 
 that this master of mine can give me nothing for my seven 
 years’ service, but this scrap of paper (taking out of his pocket- 
 book a bond of Sir Hyacinth’s). But my mother, though she 
 has her prejudices, and is very stiff about them, being an elderly 
 woman, and never going out of England, or even beyond the 
 parish in which she was bom, yet she is kind-hearted ; and I 
 cannot think will refuse to help me, or that she will cross me in 
 marriage, when she knows the thing is determined ; so I shall 
 write to her before I sleep, and wish I could but enclose in the 
 cover of my letter the picture of Rose, which would be better 
 than all I could say. But no picture would do her justice. I 
 don’t mean a compliment, like those Sir Hyacinth paid to her 
 face, but only the plain truth. I mean that a picture could 
 never make my mother understand how good, and sweet- 
 tempered, and modest, Rose is. Mother has a world of 
 prejudices ; but she is a good woman, and will prove herself 
 so to me, I make no doubt.’ 
 
 Stafford wrote to his mother a long letter, and received, in 
 a fortnight afterwards, this short answer : — 
 
 ‘ Son George — I warned you not to fall in love with an 
 Irishwoman, to which I told you I could never give my 
 consent. 
 
 ‘As you bake, so you must brew. Your sister Dolly is 
 marrying too, and setting up a shop in Warwick, by my advice 
 and consent : all the money I can spare I must give, as in reason, 
 to her who is a dutiful child ; and mean, with her and grand- 
 children, if God please, to pass my latter days, as fitting, in this 
 parish of Little Sonchy, in Old England, where I was born and 
 
 246 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 bred. Wishing you may not repent, or starve, or so forth, which 
 please to let me know, I am your affectionate mother, 
 
 ‘ Dorothy Stafford.’ 
 
 All Stafford’s hopes were confounded by this letter : he put it 
 into farmer Gray’s hands, without saying a word ; then drew his 
 chair away from Rose, hid his face in his hands, and never 
 spoke or heard one word that was saying round about him for 
 full half an hour ; till, at last, he was roused by his friend Robin, 
 who, clapping him on his back, said, ‘ Come, Stafford, English 
 pride won’t do with us ; this is all to punish you for refusing to 
 share and share alike with us in the mill of Rosanna, which is 
 what you must and shall do now, for Rose’s sake, if not for ours 
 or your own. Come, say done.’ 
 
 Stafford could not help being moved. All the family, except 
 Rose, joined in these generous entreaties ; and her silence said 
 even more than their words. Dinner was on the table before 
 this amicable contest was settled, and Robin insisted upon his 
 drinking a toast with him, in Irish ale ; which was ‘ Rose Gray, 
 and Rosanna mill.’ 
 
 The glass was just filled and the toast pronounced, when in 
 came one of Gray’s workmen, in an indescribable perspiration 
 and rage. 
 
 ‘ Master Robin, Master John 1 Master,’ cried he, ‘we are 
 all ruined 1 The mill and all ’ 
 
 ‘ The mill ! ’ exclaimed everybody, starting up. 
 
 ‘ Ay, the mill : it’s all over with it, and with us : not a turn 
 more will Rosanna mill ever take for me or you ; not a turn,’ 
 continued he, wiping his forehead with his arm, and hiding by 
 the same motion his eyes, which ran over with tears. 
 
 ‘ It’s all that thief Hopkins’s doing. May every guinea he 
 touches, and every shilling, and tester, and penny itself, blister 
 his fingers, from this day forward and for evermore 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ But what has he done to the mill ? ’ 
 
 ‘ May every guinea, shilling, tester, and penny he looks upon, 
 from this day forth for evermore, be a blight to his eyes, and a 
 canker to his heart ! But I can’t wish him a worse canker than 
 what he has there already. Yes, he has a canker at heart ! Is 
 not he eaten up with envy ? as all who look at him may read in 
 that evil eye. Bad luck to the hour when it fixed on the mill 
 of Rosanna ! ’ 
 
 247 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ But what has he clone to the mill ? Take it patiently, and 
 tell us quietly,’ said fanner Gray, ‘ and do not curse the man 
 any more.’ 
 
 ‘Not curse the man ! Take it quietly, master! Is it the 
 time to take it quietly, when he is at the present minute carry- 
 ing off every drop of water from our mill-course ? so he is, the 
 villain ! ’ 
 
 At these words, Stafford seized his oak stick, and sprang 
 towards the door. Robin and John eagerly followed : but, as 
 they passed their father, he laid a hand on each, and called to 
 Stafford to stop. At his respected voice they all paused. ‘ My 
 children,’ said he, ‘what are you going to do? No violence. 
 No violence. You shall have justice, boys, depend upon it ; 
 we will not let ourselves be oppressed. If Mr. Hopkins were 
 ten times as great, and twenty times as tyrannical as he is, we 
 shall have justice ; the law will reach him : but we must take 
 care and do nothing in anger. Therefore, I charge you, let 
 me speak to him, and do you keep your tempers whatever 
 passes. Maybe, all this is only a mistake : perhaps Mr. 
 Hopkins is only making drains for his own meadow ; or, maybe, 
 is going to flood it, and does not know, till we tell him, that 
 he is emptying our water-course.’ 
 
 ‘ He can’t but know it ! He can’t but know it ! He’s ’cute 
 enough, and too ’cute,’ muttered Paddy, as he led the way to 
 the mill. Stafford and the two brothers followed their father 
 respectfully ; admiring his moderation, and resolving to imitate 
 it if they possibly could. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins was stationed cautiously on the boundary of 
 his own land. ‘There he is, mounted on the back of the 
 ditch, enjoying the mischief all he can ! ’ cried Paddy. ‘ And 
 hark ! He is whistling, whilst our stream is running away 
 from us. May I never cross myself again, if I would not, 
 rather than the best shirt ever I had to my back, push him 
 into the mud, as he deserves, this very minute ! And, if it 
 wasn’t for my master here, it’s what I’d do, before I drew 
 breath again.’ 
 
 Farmer Gray restrained Paddy’s indignation with some 
 difficulty ; and advancing calmly towards Mr. Hopkins, he 
 remonstrated with him in a mild tone. ‘ Surely, Mr. Hopkins,’ 
 said he, ‘ you cannot mean to do us such an injury as to gtop 
 our mill ? ’ 
 
 248 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 ‘ I have not laid a finger on your mill,’ replied Hopkins, 
 with a malicious smile. ‘ If your man there,’ pointing to 
 Paddy, ‘could prove my having laid a finger upon it, you 
 might have your action of trespass ; but I am no trespasser ; I 
 stand on my own land, and have a right to water my own 
 meadow ; and moreover have witnesses to prove that, for ten 
 years last past, while the mill of Rosanna was in Simon 
 O’ Dougherty’s hands, the water-course was never full, and the 
 mill was in disuse. The stream runs against you now, and so 
 does the law, gentlemen. I have the best counsel’s opinion in 
 Ireland to back me. Take your remedy, when and where you 
 can find it. Good morning to you.’ 
 
 Without listening to one word more, Mr. Hopkins hastily 
 withdrew : for he had no small apprehensions that Paddy, 
 whose threats he had overheard, and whose eyes sparkled with 
 rage, might execute upon him that species of prompt justice 
 which no quibbling can evade. 
 
 ‘ Do not be disheartened, my dear boys,’ said farmer Gray 
 to his sons, who were watching with mournful earnestness the 
 slackened motion of their water-wheel. ‘ Saddle my horse for 
 me, John ; and get yourselves ready, both of you, to come with 
 me to Counsellor Molyneux.’ 
 
 ‘Oh, father,’ said John, ‘there is no use in going to him ; 
 for he is one of the candidates, you know, and Mr. Hopkins 
 has a great many votes.’ 
 
 ‘No matter for that,’ said Gray: ‘Mr. Molyneux will do 
 justice ; that is my opinion of him. If he was another sort of 
 man, I would not trouble myself to go near him, nor stoop to 
 ask his advice : but my opinion of him is, that he is above 
 doing a dirty action, for votes or anything else ; and I am 
 convinced his own interest will not weigh a grain of dust in the 
 balance against justice. Saddle the horses, boy.’ 
 
 His sons saddled the horses ; and all the way the farmer 
 was riding he continued trying to keep up the spirits of his 
 sons, by assurances that if Counsellor Molyneux would take 
 their affair in hand, there would be an end of all difficulty. 
 
 ‘He is not one of those justices of the peace,’ continued he, 
 
 ‘ who will huddle half a dozen poor fellows into jail without law 
 or equity. He is not a man who goes into Parliament saying 
 one thing, and who comes out saying another. He is not, 
 like our friend Sir Hyacinth O’Brien, forced to sell tongue, 
 
 249 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 and brains, and conscience, to keep his head above water. 
 In short, he is a man who dares to be the same, and can 
 moreover afford to be the same, at election time as at any 
 other time ; for which reason, I dare to go to him now in this 
 our distress, although I have to complain of a man who has 
 forty-six votes, which is the number, they say, Mr. Hopkins 
 can command.’ 
 
 Whilst farmer Gray was thus pronouncing a panegyric on 
 Counsellor Molyneux, for the comfort of John and Robin, 
 Stafford was trying to console Rose and her mother, who were 
 struck with sorrow and dismay at the news of the mill’s being- 
 stopped. Stafford had himself almost as much need of conso- 
 lation as they ; for he foresaw it was impossible he should at 
 present be united to his dear Rose. All that her generous 
 brothers had to offer was a share in the mill. The father had 
 his farm, but this must serve for the support of the whole 
 family ; and how could Stafford become a burden to them, now 
 that they would be poor, when he could not bring himself to 
 be dependent upon them, even when they were, comparatively 
 speaking, rich ? 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 With anxious hearts the little party at the cottage expected 
 the return of the father and his sons. Rose sat at the window 
 watching for them : her mother laid down her knitting, and 
 sighed : and Stafford was silent, for he had exhausted all his 
 consolatory eloquence, and saw and felt it had no effect. 
 
 ‘ Here they come ! But they ride so slow, that I am sure 
 they bring us no good news.’ 
 
 No : there was not any good news. Counsellor Molyneux 
 had indeed behaved as well as man could do : he had declared 
 that he would undertake to manage and plead their cause in 
 any court of justice on earth ; and had expressed the strongest 
 indignation against the villainy of Hopkins ; but, at the same 
 time, he had fairly told the Grays that this litigious man, if 
 they commenced a suit, might ruin them, by law, before they 
 could recover their rights. 
 
 25° 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 ‘ So we may go to bed this night melancholy enough,’ said 
 Robin ; ‘ with the certainty that our mill is stopped, and that 
 we have a long lawsuit to go through, before we can see it 
 going again— if ever we do.’ 
 
 Rose and Stafford looked at one another, and sighed. 
 
 ‘ We had better not go to law, to lose the little we have left, 
 at any rate,’ said Mrs. Gray. 
 
 ‘Wife, 1 am determined my boys shall have justice,’ said 
 the father, firmly. ‘ I am not fond of law, God knows ! I 
 never had a lawsuit in my life ; nobody dreads such things 
 more than I do ; but I dread nothing in defence of my sons 
 and justice. Whilst I have a penny left in the world, I’ll 
 spend it to obtain them justice. The labour of their lives shall 
 not be in vain ; they shall not be robbed of all they have : they 
 shall not be trampled upon by any one living, let him be ever 
 so rich, or ever so litigious. I fear neither his money nor his 
 quirks of law. Plain sense is the same for him and for me ; 
 and justice my boys shall have. Mr. Molyneux will plead our 
 cause himself — I desire no more. If we fail and are ruined, 
 our ruin be upon the head of him who works it ! I shall die 
 content, when I have done all I can to obtain justice for my 
 children.’ 
 
 As soon as these facts were known, everybody in the 
 neighbourhood felt extreme indignation against Hopkins ; and 
 all joined in pitying the two brothers, and applauding the 
 spirit of their father. There was not an individual who did 
 not wish that Hopkins might be punished ; but he had been 
 engaged in so many lawsuits, and had been so successful in 
 screening himself from justice, and in ruining his opponents, 
 that everybody feared the Grays, though they were so much in 
 the right, would never be able to make this appear, according 
 to the forms of law : many, therefore, advised that it might not 
 be brought to trial : but farmer Gray persisted, and Counsellor 
 Molyneux steadily abided by his word, and declared he would 
 plead the cause himself. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins sent the counsellor a private hint, that if he 
 directly or indirectly protected the Grays, he must give up all 
 hopes of the forty-six votes which, as the county was now 
 nearly balanced, must turn the election. Mr. Molyneux paid 
 no attention to this hint ; but, the very day on which he 
 received it, visited farmer Gray in his cottage, walked with 
 
 25 1 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 him to Rosanna mill, and settled how the suit should be 
 carried on. 
 
 Hopkins swore he would spare no expense to humble the 
 pride both of the Grays and their protector : an unexpected 
 circumstance, however, occurred. It had often been prophesied 
 by Mr. Molyneux, who knew the species of bargains which 
 Hopkins drove with all manner of people by whose distresses 
 he could make money, that he would sooner or later over- 
 shoot his mark, as cunning persons often do. Mr. Molyneux 
 predicted that, amongst the medley of his fraudulent purchases, 
 he would at length be the dupe of some unsound title ; and 
 that, amongst the multitudes whom he ruined, he would at 
 last meet with some one who would ruin him. The person who 
 was the means of accomplishing this prophecy was indeed the 
 last that would have been guessed — soft Simon O’Dougherty ! 
 In dealing with him, Mr. Hopkins, who thoroughly despised 
 indolent honesty, was quite off his guard ; and, in truth, poor 
 Simon had no design to cheat him : but it happened that the 
 lease, which he made over to Hopkins, as his title to the field 
 that he sold, was a lease renewable for ever ; with a strict 
 clause, binding the lessee to renew, within a certain time after 
 the failure of each life, under penalty of forfeiting the lease. 
 From the natural laziness of easy Simon, he had neglected to 
 renew, and had even forgotten that the life was dropped : he 
 assigned his lease over a bottle to Mr. Hopkins, who seized it 
 with avidity, lest he should lose the lucky moment to conclude 
 a bargain in which, he thought, he had at once overreached 
 Simon, and had secured to himself the means of wreaking his 
 vengeance upon the Grays. This lease was of the field adjoin- 
 ing to Rosanna mill ; and by the testimony of some old people 
 in the neighbourhood, he fancied he could prove that this 
 meadow was anciently flooded, and that the mill-course had 
 gone into disuse. In all his subsequent operations, he had 
 carefully kept himself, as he thought, upon his own lands ; but, 
 now that a suit against him was instituted, it was necessary to 
 look to his own title, into which he knew Mr. Molyneux would 
 examine. 
 
 Upon reading over the lease assigned to him by Simon, he 
 noticed the strict clause binding the tenant to renew within a 
 certain time. A qualm came over him ! He was astonished 
 at himself for not having more carefully perused the lease 
 
 252 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 before he concluded the bargain. Had it been with any one 
 but soft Simon, this could not have happened. He hastened 
 in search of Simon with the utmost anxiety, to inquire whether 
 all the lives were in being. Simon at first said he had such a 
 mist over his memory that he could not exactly recollect who 
 the lives were ; but at last he made out that one of them had 
 been dead beyond the time for renewal. The gentleman, his 
 landlord, he said, was in Dublin ; and he had neglected, sure 
 enough, to write to him from post to post. 
 
 The rage of Mr. Hopkins was excessive : he grew white 
 with anger ! Easy Simon yawned, and begged him not to 
 take the thing so to heart : ‘ for, after all,’ said he, ‘ you know 
 the loss must be mine. I can’t make good the sale of this 
 field to you, as I have lost it by my own carelessness : but 
 that’s nothing to you ; for you know, as well as I do, that to 
 make good the deficiency, you will, somehow or other, get a 
 better piece of ground out of the small remains of patrimony I 
 have left, God help me ! ’ 
 
 ‘ God help you, indeed ! ’ cried Hopkins, with a look and 
 accent of mingled rage and contempt. ‘ I tell you, man, the 
 loss is mine ; and no other land you have, to sell or give, can 
 make me any amends. I shall lose my lawsuit.’ 
 
 ‘ Wheugh ! wheugh ! Why, so much the better. Where’s 
 the use of having lawsuits ? The loss of such bad things can 
 never be great.’ 
 
 ‘No trifling, pray,’ said Hopkins, with impatience, as he 
 walked up and down the room, and repeatedly struck his 
 forehead. 
 
 ‘ Ho ! ho ! ho ! I begin to comprehend. I know where- 
 abouts you are now,’ cried Simon. ‘ Is not it the Grays you 
 are thinking of? Ah, that’s the suit you are talking about. 
 But now, Mr. Hopkins, you ought to rejoice, as I do, instead 
 of grieving, that it is out of your power to ruin that family ; 
 for, in truth, they are good people, and have the voice of the 
 country with them against you ; and if you were to win your 
 suit twenty times over, that would still be the same. You 
 would never be able to show your face ; and, for my own part, 
 my conscience would never forgive me for being instrumental, 
 unknown to myself, in giving you the power to do this mischief. 
 And, after all, what put it into your head to stop Rosanna mill, 
 when its going gave you no trouble in life ? ’ 
 
 2 53 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Hopkins, who had not listened to one syllable Simon was 
 saying, at this instant suddenly stopped walking ; and, in a 
 soft insinuating voice, addressed him in these words : 
 
 ‘ Mr. O’Dougherty, you know I have a great regard for 
 you.’ 
 
 ‘ Maybe so,’ said Simon ; 1 though that is more than I ever 
 knew you to have for anybody.’ 
 
 ‘ Pray be serious. I tell you I have, and will prove it.’ 
 
 ‘ That is more and more surprising, Mr. Hopkins.’ 
 
 ‘ And, which is more surprising still, I will make your 
 fortune, if you will do a trifling kindness for me.’ 
 
 ‘Anything in nature, that won’t give me an unreasonable 
 deal of trouble.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, this will give you no sort of trouble,’ said Hopkins. 
 ‘ I will get you, before this day se’nnight, that place in the 
 revenue that you have been wishing for so long, and that Sir 
 Hyacinth O’Brien will never get for you. I say I will ensure 
 it to you under my hand, this minute, if you will do what I 
 want of you.’ 
 
 ‘ To be sure I will, if it’s no trouble. What is it ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Only just,’ said Hopkins, hesitating ; ‘ only just You 
 
 must remember — you cannot but recollect that you wrote to 
 your landlord, to offer to renew ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I remember to recollect no such thing,’ said Simon, sur- 
 prised. 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes,’ said Hopkins ; ‘ but he gave you no answer, 
 you know.’ 
 
 ‘ But, I tell you, I never wrote to him at all.’ 
 
 ‘ Pshaw ! You have a bad memory, Simon ; and your 
 letter might have miscarried. There’s nothing simpler than 
 that ; nothing more easily said.’ 
 
 ‘ If it were but true,’ said Simon. 
 
 ‘True or not, it may be said, you know.’ 
 
 ‘Not by Simon O’ Dougherty, Mr. Hopkins.’ 
 
 ‘ Look you, Mr. O’Dougherty, I have a great regard for 
 you,’ continued Hopkins, holding him fast, and producing a 
 pocket-book full of bank-notes. I must, thought he, come 
 up to this scoundrel’s price, for he has me now. He is 
 more knave than fool, I see. ‘ Let us understand one an- 
 other, my good friend Simon. Name your sum, and make 
 me but a short affidavit, purporting that you did apply for this 
 
 254 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 renewal, and you have your place in the revenue snug be- 
 sides.’ 
 
 ‘You don’t know whom you are speaking to, Mr. Hopkins,’ 
 said Simon, looking over his shoulder, with cool and easy 
 contempt. ‘ The O’Doughertys are not accustomed to per- 
 juring themselves ; and it’s a trouble I would not take for any 
 man, if he were my own father even ; no, not for all the 
 places in the revenue that ever were created, nor for all the 
 bank-notes ever you cheated mankind out of, Mr. Hopkins, 
 into the bargain. No offence. I never talked of cheating, 
 till you named perjury to me ; for which I do not kick you 
 downstairs, in the first place, because there are no stairs, I 
 believe, to my house ; next, because, if there were ever so 
 many, it would be beneath me to make use of them upon any 
 such occasion ; and, lastly, it would be quite too much trouble. 
 Now we comprehend one another perfectly, I hope, Mr. 
 Hopkins.’ 
 
 Cursing himself, and overwhelmed with confusion, Mr. 
 Hopkins withdrew. Proud of himself, and having a story to 
 tell, Simon O’Dougherty hastened to Rosanna, to relate all 
 that had happened to the Grays, and to congratulate them, as 
 he said, upon his own carelessness. 
 
 The joy with which they listened to Simon’s story was 
 great, and in proportion to the anxiety they had suffered. 
 In less than half an hour’s time, they received a mean, sup- 
 plicating letter from Hopkins, entreating they would not ruin 
 his reputation, and all his prospects in life, by divulging what 
 had passed ; and promising that the mill-stream of Rosanna 
 should be returned to its proper channel, without any expense 
 to them, and that he would make a suitable compensation in 
 money, if they would bind themselves to secrecy. 
 
 It will easily be guessed that they rejected all his offers 
 with disdain : the whole affair was told by them to Mr. 
 Molyneux, and the next day all the neighbourhood knew it, 
 and triumphed in the detection of a villain, who had long been 
 the oppressor of the poor. The neighbours all joined in re- 
 storing the water to the mill-course ; and when Rosanna mill 
 was once more at work, the village houses were illuminated, 
 and even the children showed their sympathy for the family of 
 the Grays, by huge bonfires and loud huzzas. 
 
 Simon O’ Dougherty’s landlord was so much pleased by 
 
 2 55 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 the honesty he had shown in this affair, that he renewed the 
 lease of the meadow, instead of insisting upon the forfeiture ; 
 and farmer Gray delighted poor Simon still more, by pro- 
 mising to overlook for him the management of the land 
 which still remained in his possession. 
 
 ‘ To congratulate them , as he said , upon his own carelessness 
 
 In the meantime, Mr Hopkins, who could not go out of 
 his own house without being insulted, or without fearing to be 
 insulted, prepared to quit the country. ‘ But before I go,’ 
 said he, ‘ I shall have the pleasure and triumph, at least, of 
 making Mr. Molyneux lose his election.’ 
 
 The Grays feared Mr. Molyneux would indeed be a sufferer 
 256 
 
ROSANNA 
 
 for the generous protection he had afforded them in their 
 distress. The votes were nearly balanced in the county, and 
 the forty-six votes which Hopkins could command would de- 
 cide the contest. There are often in real life instances of 
 what is called poetical justice. The day before the election, 
 Sir Hyacinth was arrested at the suit of Stafford, who chose 
 his opportunity so well, that the sheriff, though he was a fast 
 friend of the baronet’s, could not refuse to do his duty. The 
 sheriff had such a number of writs immediately put into his 
 hands, that bail could not be found ; and Mr. Molyneux was 
 elected without opposition. 
 
 But let us return, from the misery of arrests and elections, 
 to peace, industry, family union, and love, in the happy cottage 
 of Rosanna. No obstacles now prevented the marriage of 
 Stafford and Rose ; it was celebrated with every simple de- 
 monstration of rural felicity. The bride had the blessings of 
 her fond father and mother, the congratulations of her beloved 
 brothers, and the applause of her own heart. Are not these 
 better things than even forty fine wedding gowns, or a coach of 
 Hatchett’s best workmanship ? Rose thought so, and her 
 future life proved she was not much mistaken. Stafford some 
 time after his marriage took his wife to England, to see his 
 mother, who was soon reconciled to him and her Irish 
 daughter-in-law, whose gentle manners and willing obedience 
 overcame her unreasonable dislike. Old Mrs. Stafford de- 
 clared to her son, when he was returning, that she had so far 
 got the better of what he called her prejudices, that, if she 
 could but travel to Ireland without crossing the sea, she verily 
 believed she would go and spend a year with him and the 
 Grays at Rosanna. 1 
 
 Feb. 1802. 
 
 1 Having heard, from good judges, that the language used by Farmer 
 Gray in this story appears superior to his condition, we insert a letter which 
 we lately received from him ; matter, manner, and orthography his own. 
 
 ' To R. L. Edgeworth, Esq. 
 
 ' Hon. Sir — I have read your valuable present with care, so has also the 
 whole family ; its design is excellent, it breathes forth a spirit of virtue and 
 industry, and in a word all the social virtues which constitute human 
 happiness. Its other characters are admirably adapted to expose vice in all 
 its hideous forms, and gives us a view of those baneful principles which 
 
 s 257 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 terminate in certain misery and proves beyond a doubt that many of man- 
 kind are the authors of their own calamities and frequently involve others 
 in the same or similar unhappy circumstances. 
 
 ‘ Thrice happy are they who in affluence endeavour thus to amend the 
 morals of mankind ; it’s they only who enjoy true felicity — their example 
 and their precepts have a powerful influence on all around them, and never 
 fail to excite a virtuous emulation, except among the utterly abandoned 
 and profligate. 
 
 ' On the contrary, families in elevated situations of life who devote 
 their time to dissipation and its sensual allurements are the pest of society 
 — the vices and crimes of the great are frequently imitated by the lower 
 ranks — they all die, and no memorial is left behind but that of folly and an 
 ill-spent life. 
 
 ‘ May that life of virtue so strongly recommended be long the shining 
 ornament of you and your family, and its end be rewarded with a crown 
 of eternal happiness, which is the joint wish of the family of 
 
 'Farmer Gray.’ 
 
 ‘July is/, 1804.’ 
 
 258 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 .f CHAPTER I 
 
 It is well known that the Grand Seignior amuses himself by 
 going at night, in disguise, through the streets of Constan- 
 tinople ; as the caliph, Haroun Alraschid, used formerly to do 
 in Bagdad. 
 
 One moonlight night, accompanied by his grand vizier, he 
 traversed several of the principal streets of the city, without 
 seeing anything remarkable. At length, as they were passing 
 a rope-maker’s, the sultan recollected the Arabian story of 
 Cogia-Hassan Alhabal, the rope-maker, and his two friends, 
 Saad and Saadi, who differed so much in their opinion con- 
 cerning the influence of fortune over human affairs. 
 
 ‘What is your opinion on this subject?’ said the Grand 
 Seignior to his vizier. 
 
 ‘ I am inclined, please your majesty,’ replied the vizier, ‘ to 
 think that success in the world depends more upon prudence 
 than upon what is called luck, or fortune.’ 
 
 ‘And I,’ said the sultan, ‘am persuaded that fortune does 
 more for men than prudence. Do you not every day hear of 
 persons who are said to be fortunate or unfortunate ? How 
 comes it that this opinion should prevail amongst men, if it be 
 not justified by experience ? ’ 
 
 ‘ It is not for me to dispute with your majesty,’ replied the 
 prudent vizier. 
 
 ‘ Speak your mind freely ; I desire and command it,’ said 
 the sultan. 
 
 ‘ Then I am of opinion,’ answered the vizier, ‘ that people 
 are often led to believe others fortunate, or unfortunate, merely 
 
 259 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 because they only know the general outline of their histories, 
 and are ignorant of the incidents and events in which they 
 have shown prudence or imprudence. I have heard, for 
 instance, that there are at present, in this city, two men, who 
 are remarkable for their good and bad fortune : one is called 
 Murad the Unlucky , and the other Saladin the Lucky. Now 
 I am inclined to think, if we could hear their stories, we should 
 find that one is a prudent and the other an imprudent character.’ 
 
 1 Where do these men live ? ’ interrupted the sultan. ‘ I 
 will hear their histories from their own lips, before I sleep.’ 
 
 ‘ Murad the Unlucky lives in the next square,’ said the 
 vizier. 
 
 The sultan desired to go thither immediately. Scarcely 
 had they entered the square, when they heard the cry of loud 
 lamentations. They followed the sound till they came to a 
 house of which the door was open, and where there was a man 
 tearing his turban, and weeping bitterly. They asked the 
 cause of his distress, and he pointed to the fragments of a 
 china vase, which lay on the pavement at his door. 
 
 ‘ This seems undoubtedly to be beautiful china,’ said the 
 sultan, taking up one of the broken pieces ; ‘ but can the loss 
 of a china vase be the cause of such violent grief and 
 despair ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Ah, gentlemen,’ said the owner of the vase, suspending 
 his lamentations, and looking at the dress of the pretended 
 merchants, ‘ I see that you are strangers : you do not know 
 how much cause I have for grief and despair! You do not 
 know that you are speaking to Murad the Unlucky ! Were 
 you to hear all the unfortunate accidents that have happened 
 to me, from the time I was born till this instant, you would 
 perhaps pity me, and acknowledge I have just cause for despair.’ 
 
 Curiosity was strongly expressed by the sultan ; and the 
 hope of obtaining sympathy inclined Murad to gratify it by 
 the recital of his adventures. ‘ Gentlemen,’ said he, ‘ I scarcely 
 dare invite you into the house of such an unlucky being as I 
 am ; but, if you will venture to take a night’s lodging under my 
 roof, you shall hear at your leisure the story of my misfortunes.’ 
 
 The sultan and the vizier excused themselves from spending 
 the night with Murad ; saying that they were obliged to proceed 
 to their khan, where they should be expected by their com- 
 panions : but they begged permission to repose themselves for 
 
 260 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 half an hour in his house, and besought him to relate the history 
 of his life, if it would not renew his grief too much to recollect 
 his misfortunes. 
 
 Few men are so miserable as not to like to talk of their 
 misfortunes, where they have, or where they think they have, 
 any chance of obtaining compassion. As soon as the pretended 
 merchants were seated, Murad began his story in the following 
 manner : — 
 
 ‘ My father was a merchant of this city. The night before 
 I was born, he dreamed that I came into the world with the 
 head of a dog and the tail of a dragon ; and that, in haste to 
 conceal my deformity, he rolled me up in a piece of linen, which 
 unluckily proved to be the Grand Seignior’s turban, who, enraged 
 at his insolence in touching his turban, commanded that his head 
 should be struck off. 
 
 ‘ My father awaked before he lost his head, but not before 
 he had lost half his wits from the terror of his dream. He 
 considered it as a warning sent from above, and consequently 
 determined to avoid the sight of me. He would not stay to see 
 whether I should really be born with the head of a dog and the 
 tail of a dragon ; but he set out, the next morning, on a voyage 
 to Aleppo. 
 
 ‘ He was absent for upwards of seven years ; and during that 
 time my education was totally neglected. One day I inquired 
 from my mother why I had been named Murad the Unlucky. 
 She told me that this name was given to me in consequence of 
 my father’s dream ; but she added that, perhaps, it might be 
 forgotten, if I proved fortunate in my future life. My nurse, a 
 very old woman, who was present, shook her head, with a look 
 which I shall never forget, and whispered to my mother loud 
 enough for me to hear, “ Unlucky he was, and is, and ever 
 will be. Those that are born to ill luck cannot help themselves ; 
 nor can any, but the great prophet, Mahomet himself, do any- 
 thing for them. It is a folly for an unlucky person to strive 
 with their fate : it is better to yield to it at once.” 
 
 ‘ This speech made a terrible impression upon me, young as 
 I then was ; and every accident that happened to me afterwards 
 confirmed my belief in my nurse’s prognostic. I was in my 
 eighth year when my father returned from abroad. The year 
 after he came home my brother Saladin was born, who was 
 named Saladin the Lucky, because the day he was born, a 
 
 261 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 vessel freighted with rich merchandise for my father arrived 
 safely in port. 
 
 ‘ I will not weary you with a relation of all the little instances 
 of good fortune by which my brother Saladin was distinguished, 
 even during his childhood. As he grew up, his success in every- 
 thing he undertook was as remarkable as my ill luck in all that 
 I attempted. From the time the rich vessel arrived, we lived 
 in splendour ; and the supposed prosperous state of my father’s 
 affairs was of course attributed to the influence of my brother 
 Saladin’s happy destiny. 
 
 ‘ When Saladin was about twenty, my father was taken 
 dangerously ill ; and as he felt that he should not recover, he 
 sent for my brother to the side of his bed, and, to his great 
 surprise, informed him that the magnificence in which we had 
 lived had exhausted all his wealth ; that his affairs were in the 
 greatest disorder ; for, having trusted to the hope of continual 
 success, he had embarked in projects beyond his powers. 
 
 ‘ The sequel was he had nothing remaining to leave to his 
 children but two large china vases, remarkable for their beauty, 
 but still more valuable on account of certain verses inscribed 
 upon them in an unknown character, which were supposed to 
 operate as a talisman or charm in favour of their possessors. 
 
 ‘ Both these vases my father bequeathed to my brother 
 Saladin ; declaring he could not venture to leave either of 
 them to me, because I was so unlucky that I should inevitably 
 break it. After his death, however, my brother Saladin, who was 
 blessed with a generous temper, gave me my choice of the two 
 vases ; and endeavoured to raise my spirits, by repeating fre- 
 quently that he had no faith either in good fortune or ill fortune. 
 
 ‘ I could not be of his opinion, though I felt and acknow- 
 ledged his kindness in trying to persuade me out of my settled 
 melancholy. I knew it was in vain for me to exert myself, 
 because I was sure that, do what I would, I should still be 
 Murad the Unlucky. My brother, on the contrary, was nowise 
 cast down, even by the poverty in which my father left us : he 
 said he was sure he should find some means of maintaining 
 himself, and so he did. 
 
 ‘ On examining our china vases, he found in them a powder 
 of a bright scarlet colour ; and it occurred to him that it would 
 make a fine dye. He tried it, and after some trouble, it 
 succeeded to admiration. 
 
 262 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 ‘ During my father’s lifetime, my mother had been supplied 
 with rich dresses by one of the merchants who was employed 
 by the ladies of the Grand Seignior’s seraglio. My brother 
 had done this merchant some trifling favours ; and, upon 
 application to him, he readily engaged to recommend the new 
 scarlet dye. Indeed it was so beautiful, that, the moment it 
 was seen, it was preferred to every other colour. Saladin’s 
 shop was soon crowded with customers ; and his winning 
 manners and pleasant conversation were almost as advantageous 
 to him as his scarlet dye. On the contrary, I observed that 
 the first glance at my melancholy countenance was sufficient 
 to disgust every one who saw me. I perceived this plainly ; 
 and it only confirmed me the more in my belief in my own 
 evil destiny. 
 
 ‘ It happened one day that a lady, richly apparelled and 
 attended by two female slaves, came to my brother’s house to 
 make some purchases. He was out, and I alone was left to 
 attend to the shop. After she had looked over some goods, 
 she chanced to see my china vase, which was in the room. 
 She took a prodigious fancy to it, and offered me any price if 
 I would part with it ; but this I declined doing, because I 
 believed that I should draw down upon my head some dreadful 
 calamity, if I voluntarily relinquished the talisman. Irritated 
 by my refusal, the lady, according to the custom of her sex, 
 became more resolute in her purpose ; but neither entreaties 
 nor money could change my determination. Provoked beyond 
 measure at my obstinacy, as she called it, she left the house. 
 
 ‘ On my brother’s return, I related to him what had 
 happened, and expected that he would have praised me for my 
 prudence ; but, on the contrary, he blamed me for the super- 
 stitious value I set upon the verses on my vase ; and observed 
 that it would be the height of folly to lose a certain means of 
 advancing my fortune, for the uncertain hope of magical 
 protection. I could not bring myself to be of his opinion ; I 
 had not the courage to follow the advice he gave. The next 
 day the lady returned, and my brother sold his vase to her for 
 ten thousand pieces of gold. This money he laid out in the 
 most advantageous manner, by purchasing a new stock of 
 merchandise. I repented, when it was too late ; but I believe 
 it is part of the fatality attending certain persons, that they 
 cannot decide rightly at the proper moment. When the 
 
 263 
 
Provoked beyond measure at my obstinacy, as she called it, she left the house. 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 opportunity has been lost, I have always regretted that I did 
 not do exactly the contrary to what I had previously determined 
 upon. Often, whilst I was hesitating, the favourable moment 
 passed . 1 Now this is what I call being unlucky. But to 
 proceed with my story. 
 
 ‘ The lady, who bought my brother Saladin’s vase, was the 
 favourite of the sultan, and all-powerful in the seraglio. Her 
 dislike to me, in consequence of my opposition to her wishes, 
 was so violent, that she refused to return to my brother’s 
 house while I remained there. He was unwilling to part with 
 me ; but I could not bear to be the ruin of so good a brother. 
 Without telling him my design, I left his house, careless of 
 what should become of me. Hunger, however, soon compelled 
 me to think of some immediate mode of obtaining relief. I sat 
 down upon a stone, before the door of a baker’s shop : the 
 smell of hot bread tempted me in, and with a feeble voice I 
 demanded charity. 
 
 ‘ The master baker gave me as much bread as I could eat, 
 upon condition that I should change dresses with him, and 
 carry the rolls for him through the city this day. To this I 
 readily consented ; but I had soon reason to repent of my 
 compliance. Indeed, if my ill luck had not, as usual, deprived 
 me at this critical moment of memory and judgment, I should 
 never have complied with the baker’s treacherous proposal. 
 For some time before, the people of Constantinople had been 
 much dissatisfied with the weight and quality of the bread 
 furnished by the bakers. This species of discontent has often 
 been the sure forerunner of an insurrection ; and, in these 
 disturbances, the master bakers frequently lose their lives. 
 All these circumstances I knew ; but they did not occur to my 
 memory when they might have been useful. 
 
 ‘ I changed dresses with the baker ; but scarcely had I 
 proceeded through the adjoining streets with my rolls, before 
 the mob began to gather round me, with reproaches and 
 execrations. The crowd pursued me even to the gates of the 
 Grand Seignior’s palace ; and the grand vizier, alarmed at their 
 violence, sent out an order to have my head struck off ; the 
 usual remedy, in such cases, being to strike off the baker’s 
 head. 
 
 ‘ I now fell upon my knees, and protested I was not the 
 1 ‘ Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first deprive of understanding.’ 
 
 265 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 baker for whom they took me ; that I had no connection with 
 him ; and that I had never furnished the people of Constanti- 
 nople with bread that was not weight. I declared I had 
 merely changed clothes with a master baker, for this day ; and 
 that I should not have done so, but for the evil destiny which 
 governs all my actions. Some of the mob exclaimed that I 
 deserved to lose my head for my folly ; but others took pity 
 on me, and whilst the officer, who was sent to execute the 
 vizier’s order, turned to speak to some of the noisy rioters, 
 those who were touched by my misfortune opened a passage 
 for me through the crowd, and, thus favoured, I effected 
 my escape. 
 
 ‘ I quitted Constantinople : my vase I had left in the care 
 of my brother. At some miles’ distance from the city, I over- 
 took a party of soldiers. I joined them ; and learning that 
 they were going to embark with the rest of the Grand Seignior’s 
 army for Egypt, I resolved to accompany them. If it be, 
 thought I, the will of Mahomet that I should perish, the sooner 
 I meet my fate the better. The despondency into which I 
 was sunk was attended by so great a degree of indolence, that 
 I scarcely would take the necessary means to preserve my 
 existence. During our passage to Egypt, I sat all day long 
 upon the deck of the vessel, smoking my pipe ; and I am 
 convinced that if a storm had risen, as I expected, I should 
 not have taken my pipe from my mouth, nor should I have 
 handled a rope, to save myself from destruction. Such is the 
 effect of that species of resignation or torpor, whichever you 
 please to call it, to which my strong belief in fatality had 
 reduced my mind. 
 
 ‘ We landed, however, safely, contrary to my melancholy 
 forebodings. By a trifling accident, not worth relating, I was 
 detained longer than any of my companions in the vessel when 
 we disembarked ; and I did not arrive at the camp till late at 
 night. It was moonlight, and I could see the whole scene 
 distinctly. There was a vast number of small tents scattered 
 over a desert of white sand ; a few date trees were visible at a 
 distance ; all was gloomy, and all still ; no sound was to be 
 heard but that of the camels feeding near the tents ; and, as 
 I walked on, I met with no human creature. 
 
 ‘ My pipe was now out, and I quickened my pace a little 
 towards a fire, which I saw near one of the tents. As I pro- 
 
 266 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 ceeded, my eye was caught by something sparkling in the 
 sand : it was a ring. I picked it up, and put it on my finger, 
 resolving to give it to the public crier the next morning, who 
 might find out its rightful owner : but by ill luck, I put it on my 
 little finger, for which it was much too large ; and as I hastened 
 towards the fire to light my pipe, I dropped the ring. I 
 stooped to search for it amongst the provender on which a 
 mule was feeding ; and the cursed animal gave me so violent 
 a kick on the head, that I could not help roaring aloud. 
 
 ‘ My cries awakened those who slept in the tent near which 
 the mule was feeding. Provoked at being disturbed, the 
 soldiers were ready enough to think ill of me ; and they took 
 it for granted that I was a thief, who had stolen the ring 1 
 pretended to have just found. The ring was taken from me 
 by force ; and the next day I was bastinadoed for having found 
 it : the officer persisting in the belief that stripes would make 
 me confess where I had concealed certain other articles of 
 value, which had lately been missed in the camp. All this 
 was the consequence of my being in a hurry to light my pipe, 
 and of my having put the ring on a finger that was too little 
 for it ; which no one but Murad the Unlucky would have 
 done. 
 
 ‘ When I was able to walk again after my wounds were 
 healed, I went into one of the tents distinguished by a red flag, 
 having been told that these were coffee-houses. Whilst I was 
 drinking coffee, I heard a stranger near me complaining that 
 he had not been able to recover a valuable ring he had lost ; 
 although he had caused his loss to be published for three days 
 by the public crier, offering a reward of two hundred sequins 
 to whoever should restore it. I guessed that this was the very 
 ring which I had unfortunately found. I addressed myself to 
 the stranger, and promised to point out to him the person who 
 had forced it from me. The stranger recovered his ring ; and, 
 being convinced that I had acted honestly, he made me a 
 present of two hundred sequins, as some amends for the 
 punishment which I had unjustly suffered on his account. 
 
 ‘ Now, you would imagine that this purse of gold was 
 advantageous to me : far the contrary ; it was the cause of 
 new misfortunes. 
 
 ‘ One night, when I thought that the soldiers who were in 
 the same tent with me were all fast asleep, I indulged myself 
 
 267 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 in the pleasure of counting my treasure. The next day, I was 
 invited by my companions to drink sherbet with them. What 
 they mixed with the sherbet which I drank, I know not ; but I 
 could not resist the drowsiness it brought on. I fell into a 
 profound slumber ; and, when I awoke, I found myself lying 
 under a date tree, at some distance from the camp. 
 
 ‘ The first thing I thought of, when I came to my recollec- 
 tion, was my purse of sequins. The purse I found still safe in 
 my girdle ; but, on opening it, I perceived that it was filled 
 with pebbles, and not a single sequin was left. I had no 
 doubt that I had been robbed by the soldiers with whom I had 
 drunk sherbet ; and I am certain that some of them must have 
 been awake the night I counted my money ; otherwise, as I 
 had never trusted the secret of my riches to any one, they 
 could not have suspected me of possessing any property ; for, 
 ever since I kept company with them, I had appeared to be in 
 great indigence. 
 
 ‘ I applied in vain to the superior officers for redress : the 
 soldiers protested they were innocent ; no positive proof 
 appeared against them, and I gained nothing by my complaint 
 but ridicule and ill-will. I called myself, in the first transport 
 of my grief, by that name which, since my arrival in Egypt, I 
 had avoided to pronounce : I called myself Murad the Unlucky ! 
 The name and the story ran through the camp ; and I was 
 accosted afterwards, very frequently, by this appellation. Some 
 indeed varied their wit, by calling me Murad with the purse 
 of pebbles. 
 
 ‘All that I had yet suffered is nothing compared to my 
 succeeding misfortunes. 
 
 ‘ It was the custom at this time, in the Turkish camp, for 
 the soldiers to amuse themselves with firing at a mark. The 
 superior officers remonstrated against this dangerous practice , 1 
 but ineffectually. Sometimes a party of soldiers would stop 
 firing for a few minutes, after a message was brought them 
 from their commanders ; and then they would begin again, in 
 defiance of all orders. Such was the want of discipline in our 
 army, that this disobedience went unpunished. In the mean- 
 time, the frequency of the danger made most men totally 
 regardless of it. I have seen tents pierced with bullets, in 
 which parties were quietly seated smoking their pipes, whilst 
 1 Antis's Observations on the Manners and Customs of the Egyptians. 
 
 268 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 those without were preparing to take fresh aim at the red flag 
 on the top. 
 
 ‘ This apathy proceeded, in some, from unconquerable 
 indolence of body ; in others, from the intoxication produced 
 by the fumes of tobacco and of opium ; but in most of my 
 brother Turks it arose from the confidence which the belief in 
 predestination inspired. When a bullet killed one of their 
 companions, they only observed, scarcely taking the pipes from 
 their mouths, “ Our hour is not yet come : it is not the will of 
 Mahomet that we should fall.” 
 
 ‘ I own that this rash security appeared to me, at first, 
 surprising ; but it soon ceased to strike me with wonder ; and it 
 even tended to confirm my favourite opinion, that some were 
 born to good and some to evil fortune. I became almost as 
 careless as my companions, from following the same course of 
 reasoning. It is not, thought I, in the power of human prudence 
 to avert the stroke of destiny. I shall perhaps die to-morrow ; 
 let me therefore enjoy to-day. 
 
 ‘ I now made it my study, every day, to procure as much 
 amusement as possible. My poverty, as you will imagine, 
 restricted me from indulgence and excess ; but I soon found 
 means to spend what did not actually belong to me. There 
 were certain Jews who were followers of the camp, and who, 
 calculating on the probability of victory for our troops, advanced 
 money to the soldiers ; for which they engaged to pay these 
 usurers exorbitant interest. The Jew to whom I applied traded 
 with me also upon the belief that my brother Saladin, with 
 whose character and circumstances he was acquainted, would 
 pay my debts if I should fall. With the money I raised from 
 the Jew I continually bought coffee and opium, of which I grew 
 immoderately fond. In the delirium it created, I forgot all 
 my misfortunes, all fear of the future. 
 
 ‘ One day, when I had raised my spirits by an unusual 
 quantity of opium, I was strolling through the camp, sometimes 
 singing, sometimes dancing, like a madman, and repeating that 
 I was not now Murad the Unlucky. Whilst these words were 
 on my lips, a friendly spectator, who was in possession of his 
 sober senses, caught me by the arm, and attempted to drag me 
 from the place where I was exposing myself. “ Do you not see,” 
 said he, “ those soldiers, who are firing at a mark ? I saw one 
 of them, just now, deliberately taking aim at your turban ; and, 
 
 269 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 observe, lie is now reloading his piece.” My ill luck prevailed 
 even at this instant, the only instant in my life when I defied 
 its power. I struggled with my adviser, repeating, “ I am not 
 the wretch you take me for; I am not Murad the Unlucky.” 
 He fled from the danger himself : I remained, and in a few 
 seconds afterwards a ball reached me, and I fell senseless on 
 the sand. 
 
 ‘ The ball was cut out of my body by an awkward surgeon, 
 who gave me ten times more pain than was necessary. He 
 was particularly hurried, at this time, because the army had 
 just received orders to march in a few hours, and all was 
 confusion in the camp. My wound was excessively painful, 
 and the fear of being left behind with those who were deemed 
 incurable added to my torments. Perhaps, if I had kept myself 
 quiet, I might have escaped some of the evils I afterwards 
 endured ; but, as I have repeatedly told you, gentlemen, it was 
 my ill fortune never to be able to judge what was best to be 
 done, till the time for prudence was past. 
 
 1 During that day, when my fever was at the height, and 
 when my orders were to keep my bed, contrary to my natural 
 habits of indolence, I rose a hundred times, and went out of 
 my tent in the very heat of the day, to satisfy my curiosity as 
 to the number of the tents which had not been struck, and of 
 the soldiers who had not yet marched. The orders to march 
 were tardily obeyed, and many hours elapsed before our en- 
 campment was raised. Had I submitted to my surgeon’s 
 orders, I might have been in a state to accompany the most 
 dilatory of the stragglers ; I could have borne, perhaps, the 
 slow motion of a litter, on which some of the sick were trans- 
 ported ; but in the evening, when the surgeon came to dress 
 my wounds, he found me in such a situation that it was scarcely 
 possible to remove me. 
 
 ‘ He desired a party of soldiers, who were left to bring up 
 the rear, to call for me the next morning. They did so ; but 
 they wanted to put me upon the mule which I recollected, by a 
 white streak on its back, to be the cursed animal that had 
 kicked me whilst I was looking for the ring. I could not be 
 prevailed upon to go upon this unlucky animal. I tried to 
 persuade the soldiers to carry me, and they took me a little 
 way ; but, soon growing weary of their burden, they laid me 
 down on the sand, pretending that they were going to fill a 
 
 270 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 skin with water at a spring they had discovered, and bade me 
 lie still, and wait for their return. 
 
 ‘ I waited and waited, longing for the water to moisten my 
 parched lips ; but no water came — no soldiers returned ; and 
 there I lay, for several hours, expecting every moment to 
 breathe my last. I made no effort to move, for I was now con- 
 vinced my hour was come ; and that it was the will of Mahomet 
 that I should perish in this miserable manner, and lie unburied 
 like a dog ; a death, thought I, worthy of Murad the Unlucky. 
 
 ‘ My forebodings were not this time just ; a detachment of 
 English soldiers passed near the place where I lay : my groans 
 were heard by them, and they humanely came to my assistance. 
 They carried me with them, dressed my wound, and treated 
 me with the utmost tenderness. Christians though they were, I 
 must acknowledge that I had reason to love them better than any 
 of the followers of Mahomet, my good brother only excepted. 
 
 ‘Under their care I recovered ; but scarcely had I regained 
 my strength before I fell into new disasters. It was hot 
 weather, and my thirst was excessive. I went out with a 
 party, in hopes of finding a spring of water. The English 
 soldiers began to dig for a well, in a place pointed out to them 
 by one of their men of science. I was not inclined to such 
 hard labour, but preferred sauntering on in search of a spring. 
 I saw at a distance something that looked like a pool of water ; 
 and I pointed it out to my companions. Their man of science 
 warned me by his interpreter not to trust to this deceitful 
 appearance ; for that such were common in this country, and 
 that, when I came close to the spot, I should find no water 
 there. He added, that it was at a greater distance than I 
 imagined ; and that I should, in all probability, be lost in the 
 desert, if I attempted to follow this phantom. 
 
 1 1 was so unfortunate as not to attend to his advice : I set 
 out in pursuit of this accursed delusion, which assuredly was 
 the work of evil spirits, who clouded my reason, and allured 
 me into their dominion. I went on, hour after hour, in expect- 
 ation continually of reaching the object of my wishes ; but it 
 fled faster than I pursued, and I discovered at last that the 
 Englishman, who had doubtless gained his information from 
 the people of the country, was right ; and that the shining 
 appearance, which I had taken for water, was a mere deception. 
 
 ‘ I was now exhausted with fatigue : I looked back in vain 
 271 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 after the companions I had left ; I could see neither men, 
 animals, nor any trace of vegetation in the sandy desert. I 
 had no resource but, weary as I was, to measure back my 
 footsteps, which were imprinted in the sand. 
 
 1 1 slowly and sorrowfully traced them as my guides in this 
 unknown land. Instead of yielding to my indolent inclinations, 
 I ought, however, to have made the best of my way back, 
 before the evening breeze sprang up. I felt the breeze rising, 
 and, unconscious of my danger, I rejoiced, and opened my 
 bosom to meet it ; but what was my dismay when I saw that 
 the wind swept before it all trace of my footsteps in the sand. 
 I knew not which way to proceed ; I was struck with despair, 
 tore my garments, threw off my turban, and cried aloud ; but 
 neither human voice nor echo answered me. The silence was 
 dreadful. I had tasted no food for many hours, and I now 
 became sick and faint. I recollected that I had put a supply of 
 opium into the folds of my turban ; but, alas ! when I took my 
 turban up, I found that the opium had fallen out. I searched 
 for it in vain on the sand where I had thrown the turban. 
 
 ‘ I stretched myself out upon the ground, and yielded without 
 further struggle to my evil destiny. What I suffered from 
 thirst, hunger, and heat, cannot be described ! At last I fell 
 into a sort of trance, during which images of various kinds 
 seemed to flit before my eyes. How long I remained in this 
 state I know not ; but I remember that I was brought to my 
 senses by a loud shout, which came from persons belonging to 
 a caravan returning from Mecca. This was a shout of joy for 
 their safe arrival at a certain spring, well known to them in 
 this part of the desert. 
 
 ‘ The spring was not a hundred yards from the spot where 
 I lay ; yet, such had been the fate of Murad the Unlucky, that 
 he missed the reality, whilst he had been hours in pursuit of 
 the phantom. Feeble and spiritless as I was, I sent forth as 
 loud a cry as I could, in hopes of obtaining assistance ; and I 
 endeavoured to crawl to the place from which the voices 
 appeared to come. The caravan rested for a considerable 
 time whilst the slaves filled the skins with water, and whilst 
 the camels took in their supply. I worked myself on towards 
 them ; yet, notwithstanding my efforts, I was persuaded that, 
 according to my usual ill fortune, I should never be able to 
 make them hear my voice. I saw them mount their camels ! 
 
 272 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 I took off my turban, unrolled it, and waved it in the air. My 
 signal was seen ! The caravan came towards me. 
 
 ‘ I had scarcely strength to speak : a slave gave me some 
 water ; and, after I had drunk, I explained to them who I was, 
 and how I came into this situation. 
 
 ‘Whilst I was speaking, one of the travellers observed the 
 purse which hung to my girdle : it was the same the merchant, 
 for whom I recovered the ring, had given to me ; I had carefully 
 preserved it, because the initials of my benefactor’s name, and 
 a passage from the Koran, were worked upon it. When he gave 
 it to me, he said that, perhaps, we should meet again in some 
 other part of the world, and he should recognise me by this 
 token. The person who now took notice of the purse was his 
 brother ; and when I related to him how I had obtained it, he 
 had the goodness to take me under his protection. He was a 
 merchant, who was now going with the caravan to Grand 
 Cairo : he offered to take me with him, and I willingly accepted 
 the proposal, promising to serve him as faithfully as any of his 
 slaves. The caravan proceeded, and I was carried with it. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ‘ The merchant, who was become my master, treated me with 
 great kindness ; but, on hearing me relate the whole series of 
 my unfortunate adventures, he exacted a promise from me, 
 that I would do nothing without first consulting him. “ Since 
 you are so unlucky, Murad,” said he, “ that you always choose 
 for the worst when you choose for yourself, you should trust 
 entirely to the judgment of a wiser or a more fortunate friend.” 
 
 ‘ I fared well in the service of this merchant, who was a 
 man of a mild disposition, and who was so rich that he could 
 afford to be generous to all his dependants. It was my 
 business to see his camels loaded and unloaded at proper 
 places, to count his bales of merchandise, and to take care that 
 they were not mixed with those of his companions. This I 
 carefully did, till the day we arrived at Alexandria ; when, 
 unluckily, I neglected to count the bales, taking it for granted 
 that they were all right, as 1 had found them so the preceding 
 
 273 
 
 T 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 day. However, when we were to go on board the vessel that 
 was to take us to Cairo, I perceived that three bales of cotton 
 were missing. 
 
 ‘ I ran to inform my master, who, though a good deal pro- 
 voked at my negligence, did not reproach me as I deserved. 
 The public crier was immediately sent round the city, to offer 
 a reward for the recovery of the merchandise ; and it was 
 restored by one of the merchants’ slaves, with whom we had 
 travelled. The vessel was now under sail ; my master and I 
 and the bales of cotton were obliged to follow in a boat ; and 
 when we were taken on board, the captain declared he was so 
 loaded that he could not tell where to stow the bales of cotton. 
 After much difficulty, he consented to let them remain upon 
 deck ; and I promised my master to watch them night and day. 
 
 ‘ We had a prosperous voyage, and were actually in sight of 
 shore, which the captain said we could not fail to reach early 
 the next morning. I stayed, as usual, this night upon deck ; 
 and solaced myself by smoking my pipe. Ever since I had 
 indulged in this practice at the camp at El Arish, I could not 
 exist without opium and tobacco. I suppose that my reason 
 was this night a little clouded with the dose I took ; but, 
 towards midnight, I was sobered by terror. I started up from 
 the deck on which I had stretched myself ; my turban was in 
 flames ; the bale of cotton on which I had rested was all on 
 fire. I awakened two sailors, who were fast asleep on deck. 
 The consternation became general, and the confusion increased 
 the danger. The captain and my master were the most active, 
 and suffered the most in extinguishing the flames : my master 
 was terribly scorched. 
 
 ‘ F or my part, I was not suffered to do anything ; the 
 captain ordered that I should be bound to the mast ; and, 
 when at last the flames were extinguished, the passengers, 
 with one accord, besought him to keep me bound hand and 
 foot, lest I should be the cause of some new disaster. All 
 that had happened was, indeed, occasioned by my ill luck. 1 
 had laid my pipe down, when I was falling asleep, upon the 
 bale of cotton that was beside me. The fire from my pipe fell 
 out, and set the cotton in flames. Such was the mixture of 
 rage and terror with which I had inspired the whole crew, that 
 I am sure they would have set me ashore on a desert island, 
 rather than have had me on board for a week longer. Even 
 
 274 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 my humane master, I could perceive, was secretly impatient to 
 get rid of Murad the Unlucky, and his evil fortune. 
 
 ‘ You may believe that I was heartily glad when we landed, 
 and when I was unbound. My master put a purse containing 
 fifty sequins into my hand, and bade me farewell. “Use this 
 money prudently, Murad, if you can,” said he, “ and perhaps 
 your fortune may change.” Of this I had little hopes, but 
 determined to lay out my money as prudently as possible. 
 
 ‘As I was walking through the streets of Grand Cairo, con- 
 sidering how I should lay out my fifty sequins to the greatest 
 advantage, I was stopped by one who called me by my name, 
 and asked me if I could pretend to have forgotten his face. I 
 looked steadily at him, and recollected to my sorrow that he 
 was the Jew Rachub, from whom I had borrowed certain sums 
 of money at the camp at El Arish. What brought him to 
 Grand Cairo, except it was my evil destiny, I cannot tell. He 
 would not quit me ; he would take no excuses ; he said he 
 knew that I had deserted twice, once from the Turkish and 
 once from the English army ; that I was not entitled to any 
 pay ; and that he could not imagine it possible that my brother 
 Saladin would own me, or pay my debts. 
 
 ‘ I replied, for I was vexed by the insolence of this Jewish 
 dog, that I was not, as he imagined, a beggar ; that I had the 
 means of paying him my just debt, but that I hoped he would 
 not extort from me all that exorbitant interest which none but 
 a Jew could exact. He smiled, and answered that, if a Turk 
 loved opium better than money, this was no fault of his ; that 
 he had supplied me with what I loved best in the world ; and 
 that I ought not to complain, when he expected I should return 
 the favour. 
 
 ‘ I will not weary you, gentlemen, with all the arguments 
 that passed between me and Rachub. At last we compromised 
 matters ; he would take nothing less than the whole debt : but 
 he let me have at a very cheap rate a chest of second-hand 
 clothes, by which he assured me I might make my fortune. He 
 brought them to Grand Cairo, he said, for the purpose of selling 
 them to slave merchants, who, at this time of the year, were in 
 want of them to supply their slaves ; but he was in haste to 
 get home to his wife and family, at Constantinople, and there- 
 fore he was willing to make over to a friend the profits of this 
 speculation. I should have distrusted Rachub’s professions of 
 
 275 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 friendship, and especially of disinterestedness ; but he took me 
 with him to the khan, where his goods were, and unlocked the 
 chest of clothes to show them to me. They were of the 
 richest and finest materials, and had been but little worn. I 
 could not doubt the evidence of my senses ; the bargain was 
 concluded, and the Jew sent porters to my inn with the 
 chest. 
 
 ‘ The next day I repaired to the public market-place ; and, 
 when my business was known, I had choice of customers : before 
 night my chest was empty — and my purse was full. The 
 profit I made, upon the sale of these clothes, was so considerable, 
 that I could not help feeling astonishment at Rachub’s having 
 brought himself so readily to relinquish them. 
 
 ‘ A few days after I had disposed of the contents of my 
 chest, a Damascene merchant, who had bought two suits of 
 apparel from me, told me, with a very melancholy face, that 
 both the female slaves who had put on these clothes were sick. 
 I could not conceive that the clothes were the cause of their 
 sickness ; but soon afterwards, as I was crossing the market, I 
 was attacked by at least a dozen merchants, who made similar 
 complaints. They insisted upon knowing how I came by the 
 garments, and demanded whether I had worn any of them 
 myself. This day I had for the first time indulged myself with 
 wearing a pair of yellow slippers, the only finery I had reserved 
 for myself out of all the tempting goods. Convinced by my 
 wearing these slippers that I could have had no insidious de- 
 signs, since I shared the danger, whatever it might be, the 
 merchants were a little pacified ; but what was my terror and 
 remorse the next day, when one of them came to inform me 
 that plague-boils had broken out under the arms of all the 
 slaves who had worn this pestilential apparel ! On looking 
 carefully into the chest, we found the word Smyrna written, 
 and half effaced, upon the lid. Now, the plague had for some 
 time raged at Smyrna ; and, as the merchants suspected, these 
 clothes had certainly belonged to persons who had died of that 
 distemper. This was the reason why the Jew was willing to 
 sell them to me so cheap ; and it was for this reason that he 
 would not stay at Grand Cairo himself to reap the profits of his 
 speculation. Indeed, if I had paid attention to it at the 
 proper time, a slight circumstance might have revealed the 
 truth to me. Whilst I was bargaining with the Jew, before he 
 
 276 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 opened the chest, he swallowed a large dram of brandy, and 
 stuffed his nostrils with sponge dipped in vinegar: this he told 
 me he did to prevent his perceiving the smell of musk, which 
 always threw him into convulsions. 
 
 * The horror I felt, when I discovered that I had spread the 
 infection of the plague, and that I had probably caught it 
 myself, overpowered my senses ; a cold dew spread over all my 
 limbs, and I fell upon the lid of the fatal chest in a swoon. It 
 is said that fear disposes people to take the infection ; however 
 this may be, I sickened that evening, and soon was in a raging 
 fever. It was worse for me whenever the delirium left me, and 
 I could reflect upon the miseries my ill fortune had occasioned. 
 In my first lucid interval, I looked round and saw that I had 
 been removed from the khan to a wretched hut. An old woman, 
 who was smoking her pipe in the farthest corner of my room, 
 informed me that I had been sent out of the town of Grand 
 Cairo by order of the cadi, to whom the merchants had made 
 their complaint. The fatal chest was burnt, and the house in 
 which I had lodged razed to the ground. “ And if it had not 
 been for me,” continued the old woman, “ you would have been 
 dead, probably, at this instant ; but I have made a vow to our 
 great prophet, that I would never neglect an opportunity of 
 doing a good action : therefore, when you were deserted by all 
 the world, I took care of you. Here, too, is your purse, which 
 I saved from the rabble ; and, what is more difficult, from the 
 officers of justice : I will account to you for every para that I 
 have expended ; and will moreover tell you the reason of my 
 making such an extraordinary vow.” 
 
 ‘As I believed that this benevolent old woman took great 
 pleasure in talking, I made an inclination of my head to thank 
 her for her promised history, and she proceeded ; but I must 
 confess I did not listen with all the attention her narrative 
 doubtless deserved. Even curiosity, the strongest passion of us 
 Turks, was dead within me. I have no recollection of the old 
 woman’s story. It is as much as I can do to finish my own. 
 
 ‘ The weather became excessively hot : it was affirmed, by 
 some of the physicians, that this heat would prove fatal to 
 their patients ; 1 but, contrary to the prognostics of the 
 physicians, it stopped the progress of the plague. I recovered, 
 and found my purse much lightened by my illness. I divided 
 1 Antis’s Observations on the Afanners and Customs of the Egyptians. 
 
 277 
 
rOPULAR TALES 
 
 the remainder of my money with my humane nurse, and sent 
 her out into the city, to inquire how matters were going on. 
 
 ‘ She brought me word that the fury of the plague had much 
 abated ; but that she had met several funerals, and that she 
 had heard many of the merchants cursing the folly of Murad 
 the Unlucky, who, as they said, had brought all this calamity 
 upon the inhabitants of Cairo. Even fools, they say, learn by 
 experience. I took care to burn the bed on which I had lain, 
 and the clothes I had worn : I concealed my real name, which 
 I knew would inspire detestation, and gained admittance, ,with 
 a crowd of other poor wretches, into a lazaretto, where I per- 
 formed quarantine, and offered up prayers daily for the sick. 
 
 ‘ When I thought it was impossible I could spread the infec- 
 tion, I took my passage home. I was eager to get away from 
 Grand Cairo, where I knew I was an object of execration. I 
 had a strange fancy haunting my mind : I imagined that all my 
 misfortunes, since I left Constantinople, had arisen from my 
 neglect of the talisman upon the beautiful china vase. I 
 dreamed three times, when I was recovering from the plague, 
 that a genius appeared to me, and said, in a reproachful tone, 
 “ Murad, where is the vase that was entrusted to thy care ?” 
 
 ‘ This dream operated strongly upon my imagination. As 
 soon as we arrived at Constantinople, which we did, to my great 
 surprise, without meeting with any untoward accidents, I went 
 in search of my brother Saladin, to inquire for my vase. He no 
 longer lived in the house in which I left him, and I began to be 
 apprehensive that he was dead ; but a porter, hearing my in- 
 quiries, exclaimed, “ Who is there in Constantinople that is 
 ignorant of the dwelling of Saladin the Lucky ? Come with 
 me, and I will show it to you.” 
 
 ‘ The mansion to which he conducted me looked so mag- 
 nificent, that I was almost afraid to enter lest there should be 
 some mistake. But, whilst I was hesitating, the doors opened, 
 and I heard my brother Saladin’s voice. He saw me almost 
 at the same instant that I fixed my eyes upon him, and imme- 
 diately sprang forward to embrace me. He was the same good 
 brother as ever, and I rejoiced in his prosperity with all my 
 heart. “ Brother Saladin,” said I, “ can you now doubt that 
 some men are born to be fortunate, and others to be unfortu- 
 nate ? How often you used to dispute this point with me ! ” 
 
 ‘ “ Let us not dispute it now in the public street,” said he, 
 278 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 smiling ; “ but come in and refresh yourself, and we will con- 
 sider the question afterwards at leisure.” 
 
 ‘“No, my dear brother,” said I, drawing back, “ you are 
 too good : Murad the Unlucky shall not enter your house, lest 
 he should draw down misfortunes upon you and yours. I come 
 only to ask for my vase.” 
 
 ‘“It is safe,” cried he; “come in, and you shall see it: 
 but I will not give it up till I have you in my house. I have 
 none of these superstitious fears : pardon me the expression, 
 but I have none of these superstitious fears.” 
 
 ‘ I yielded, entered his house, and was astonished at all I 
 saw ! My brother did not triumph in his prosperity ; but, on 
 the contrary, seemed intent only upon making me forget my 
 misfortunes : he listened to the account of them with kindness, 
 and obliged me by the recital of his history ; which was, I must 
 acknowledge, far less wonderful than my own. He seemed, by 
 his own account, to have grown rich in the common course of 
 things ; or rather, by his own prudence. I allowed for his 
 prejudices, and, unwilling to dispute farther with him, said, 
 “You must remain of your opinion, brother; and I of mine: 
 you are Saladin the Lucky, and I Murad the Unlucky ; and so 
 we shall remain to the end of our lives.” 
 
 ‘ I had not been in his house four days when an accident 
 happened, which showed how much I was in the right. The 
 favourite of the sultan, to whom he had formerly sold his china 
 vase, though her charms were now somewhat faded by time, still 
 retained her power, and her taste for magnificence. She com- 
 missioned my brother to bespeak for her, at Venice, the most 
 splendid looking-glass that money could purchase. The mirror, 
 after many delays and disappointments, at length arrived at my 
 brother’s house. He unpacked it, and sent to let the lady know 
 it was in perfect safety. It was late in the evening, and she 
 ordered it should remain where it was that night ; and that it 
 should be brought to the seraglio next morning. It stood in 
 a sort of ante-chamber to the room in which I slept ; and with 
 it were left some packages, containing glass chandeliers for an 
 unfinished saloon in my brother’s house. Saladin charged all 
 his domestics to be vigilant this night, because he had money to 
 a great amount by him, and there had been frequent robberies 
 in our neighbourhood. Hearing these orders, I resolved to be 
 in readiness at a moment’s warning. I laid my scimitar beside 
 
 279 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 me upon a cushion ; and left my door half open, that I might 
 hear the slightest noise in the ante-chamber or the great stair- 
 case. About midnight, I was suddenly awakened by a noise in 
 the ante-chamber. I started up, seized my scimitar, and the 
 instant I got to the door, saw, by a light of the lamp which 
 was burning in the room, a man standing opposite to me, with a 
 drawn sword in his hand. I rushed forward, demanding what 
 he wanted, and received no answer ; but, seeing him aim at me 
 with his scimitar, I gave him, as 1 thought, a deadly blow. At 
 this instant, I heard a great crash ; and the fragments of the 
 looking-glass, which I had shivered, fell at my feet. At the 
 same moment, something black brushed by my shoulder : I 
 pursued it, stumbled over the packages of glass, and rolled over 
 them down the stairs. 
 
 ‘ My brother came out of his room, to inquire the cause of all 
 this disturbance ; and when he saw the fine mirror broken, and 
 me lying amongst the glass chandeliers at the bottom of the 
 stairs, he could not forbear exclaiming, “ Well, brother ! you are 
 indeed Murad the Unlucky.” 
 
 ‘When the first emotion was over, he could not, however, 
 forbear laughing at my situation. With a degree of goodness, 
 which made me a thousand times more sorry for the accident, 
 he came downstairs to help me up, gave me his hand, and said, 
 “ Forgive me, if I was angry with you at first. I am sure you 
 did not mean to do me any injury ; but tell me how all this has 
 happened.” 
 
 ‘ Whilst Saladin was speaking, I heard the same kind of noise 
 which had alarmed me in the ante-chamber ; but, on looking 
 back, I saw only a black pigeon, which flew swiftly by me, un- 
 conscious of the mischief he had occasioned. This pigeon I 
 had unluckily brought into the house the preceding day ; and 
 had been feeding and trying to tame it for my young nephews. 
 I little thought it would be the cause of such disasters. My 
 brother, though he endeavoured to conceal his anxiety from me, 
 was much disturbed at the idea of meeting the favourite’s dis- 
 pleasure, who would certainly be grievously disappointed by the 
 loss of her splendid looking-glass. I saw that I should inevitably 
 be his ruin, if I continued in his house ; and no persuasions 
 could prevail upon me to prolong my stay. My generous 
 brother, seeing me determined to go, said to me, “ A factor, 
 whom I have employed for some years to sell merchandise for 
 
 280 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 me, died a few days ago. Will you take his place ? I am 
 rich enough to bear any little mistakes you may fall into from 
 ignorance of business ; and you will have a partner who is 
 able and willing to assist you.” 
 
 ‘ I was touched to the heart by this kindness, especially at 
 such a time as this. He sent one of his slaves with me to the 
 shop in which you now see me, gentlemen. The slave, by my 
 brother’s directions, brought with us my china vase, and delivered 
 it safely to me, with this message : “ The scarlet dye that was 
 found in this vase, and in its fellow, was the first cause of 
 Saladin’s making the fortune he now enjoys : he therefore does 
 no more than justice, in sharing that fortune with his brother 
 Murad.” 
 
 ‘ I was now placed in as advantageous a situation as possible ; 
 but my mind was ill at ease, when I reflected that the broken 
 mirror might be my brother’s ruin. The lady by whom it had 
 been bespoken was, I well knew, of a violent temper ; and this 
 disappointment was sufficient to provoke her to vengeance. My 
 brother sent me word this morning, however, that though her 
 displeasure was excessive, it was in my power to prevent any ill 
 consequences that might ensue. “ In my power ! ” I exclaimed ; 
 “then, indeed, I am happy ! Tell my brother there is nothing 
 I will not do to show him my gratitude, and to save him from 
 the consequences of my folly.” 
 
 ‘ The slave who was sent by my brother seemed unwilling to 
 name what was required of me, saying that his master was afraid 
 I should not like to grant the request. I urged him to speak 
 freely, and he then told me the favourite declared nothing 
 would make her amends for the loss of the mirror but the 
 fellow vase to that which she had bought from Saladin. It 
 was impossible for me to hesitate ; gratitude for my brother’s 
 generous kindness overcame my superstitious obstinacy ; and 
 I sent him word I would carry the vase to him myself. 
 
 ‘ I took it down this evening from the shelf on which it stood ; 
 it was covered with dust, and I washed it, but unluckily, in 
 endeavouring to clean the inside from the remains of the scarlet 
 powder, I poured hot water into it, and immediately I heard a 
 simmering noise, and my vase, in a few instants, burst asunder 
 with a loud explosion. These fragments, alas ! are all that 
 remain. The measure of my misfortunes is now completed ! 
 Can you wonder, gentlemen, that I bewail my evil destiny ? 
 
 281 
 
My vase, in a few instants , burst asunder. 
 
MURAD TIIE UNLUCKY 
 
 Am I not justly called Murad the Unlucky ? Here end all my 
 hopes in this world ! Better would it have been if I had died 
 long ago ! Better that I had never been born ! Nothing I 
 ever have done or attempted has prospered. Murad the 
 Unlucky is my name, and ill -fate has marked me for her 
 own.’ 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 The lamentations of Murad were interrupted by the entrance of 
 Saladin. Having waited in vain for some hours, he now came 
 to see if any disaster had happened to his brother Murad. 
 He was surprised at the sight of the two pretended merchants, 
 and could not refrain from exclamations on beholding the 
 broken vase. However, with his usual equanimity and good- 
 nature, he began to console Murad ; and, taking up the 
 fragments, examined them carefully, one by one joined them 
 together again, found that none of the edges of the china were 
 damaged, and declared he could have it mended so as to look 
 as well as ever. 
 
 Murad recovered his spirits upon this. ‘ Brother,’ said he, 
 ‘ I comfort myself for being Murad the Unlucky, when I reflect 
 that you are Saladin the Lucky. See, gentlemen,’ continued he, 
 turning to the pretended merchants, ‘scarcely has this most 
 fortunate of men been five minutes in company before he gives 
 a happy turn to affairs. His presence inspires joy : I observe 
 your countenances, which had been saddened by my dismal 
 history, have brightened up since he has made his appearance. 
 Brother, I wish you would make these gentlemen some amends 
 for the time they have wasted in listening to my catalogue of 
 misfortunes, by relating your history, which, I am sure, they 
 will find rather more exhilarating.’ 
 
 Saladin consented, on condition that the strangers would 
 accompany him home, and partake of a social banquet. They 
 at first repeated the former excuse of their being obliged to 
 return to their inn ; but at length the sultan’s curiosity prevailed, 
 and he and his vizier went home with Saladin the Lucky, who, 
 after supper, related his history in the following manner : — 
 
 ‘ My being called Saladin the Lucky first inspired me with 
 283 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 confidence in myself ; though I own that I cannot remember 
 any extraordinary instances of good luck in my childhood. 
 An old nurse of my mother’s, indeed, repeated to me twenty 
 times a day, that nothing I undertook could fail to succeed, 
 because I was Saladin the Lucky. I became presumptuous 
 and rash ; and my nurse’s prognostics might have effectually 
 prevented their accomplishment, had I not, when I was about 
 fifteen, been roused to reflection during a long confinement, 
 which was the consequence of my youthful conceit and 
 imprudence. 
 
 ‘ At this time there was at the Porte a Frenchman, an inge- 
 nious engineer, who was employed and favoured by the sultan, 
 to the great astonishment of many of my prejudiced countrymen. 
 On the Grand Seignior’s birthday he exhibited some extraordi- 
 narily fine fireworks ; and I, with numbers of the inhabitants of 
 Constantinople, crowded to see them. I happened to stand 
 near the place where the Frenchman was stationed ; the crowd 
 pressed upon him, and I amongst the rest ; he begged we 
 would, for our own sakes, keep at a greater distance, and 
 warned us that we might be much hurt by the combustibles 
 which he was using. I, relying upon my good fortune, dis- 
 regarded all these cautions ; and the consequence was, that as 
 I touched some of the materials prepared for the fireworks, they 
 exploded, dashed me upon the ground with great violence, and 
 I was terribly burnt. 
 
 ‘ This accident, gentlemen, I consider as one of the most 
 fortunate circumstances of my life ; for it checked and corrected 
 the presumption of my temper. During the time I was con- 
 fined to my bed, the French gentleman came frequently to see 
 me. He was a very sensible man ; and the conversations he 
 had with me enlarged my mind, and cured me of many foolish 
 prejudices, especially of that which I had been taught to enter- 
 tain, concerning the predominance of what is called luck, or 
 fortune, in human affairs. “ Though you are called Saladin the 
 Lucky,” said he, “ you find that your neglect of prudence has 
 nearly brought you to the grave even in the bloom of youth. 
 Take my advice, and henceforward trust more to prudence than 
 to fortune. Let the multitude, if they will, call you Saladin 
 the Lucky ; but call yourself, and make yourself, Saladin the 
 Prudent.” 
 
 ‘ These words left an indelible impression on my mind, and 
 284 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 gave a new turn to my thoughts and character. My brother 
 Murad has doubtless told you that our difference of opinion, on 
 the subject of predestination, produced between us frequent 
 arguments ; but we could never convince one another, and 
 we each have acted, through life, in consequence of our 
 different beliefs. To this I attribute my success and his mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
 ‘ The first rise of my fortune, as you have probably heard 
 from Murad, was owing to the scarlet dye, which I brought to 
 perfection with infinite difficulty. The powder, it is true, was 
 accidentally found by me in our china vases ; but there it might 
 have remained to this instant, useless, if I had not taken the 
 pains to make it useful. I grant that we can only partially 
 foresee and command events ; yet on the use we make of our 
 own powers, I think, depends our destiny. But, gentlemen, 
 you would rather hear my adventures, perhaps, than my reflec- 
 tions ; and I am truly concerned, for your sakes, that I have 
 no wonderful events to relate. I am sorry I cannot tell you of 
 my having been lost in a sandy desert. I have never had the 
 plague, nor even been shipwrecked : I have been all my life an 
 inhabitant of Constantinople, and have passed my time in a very 
 quiet and uniform manner. 
 
 ‘The money I received from the sultan’s favourite for my 
 china vase, as my brother may have told you, enabled me to 
 trade on a more extensive scale. I went on steadily with my 
 business ; and made it my whole study to please my employers, 
 by all fair and honourable means. This industry and civility 
 succeeded beyond my expectations : in a few years, I was rich 
 for a man in my way of business. 
 
 ‘ I will not proceed to trouble you with the journal of a petty 
 merchant’s life ; I pass on to the incident which made a con- 
 siderable change in my affairs. 
 
 ‘ A terrible fire broke out near the walls of the Grand 
 Seignior’s seraglio : 1 as you are strangers, gentlemen, you may 
 not have heard of this event, though it produced so great a 
 sensation in Constantinople. The vizier’s superb palace was 
 utterly consumed ; and the melted lead poured down from the 
 roof of the mosque of St. Sophia. Various were the opinions 
 formed by my neighbours, respecting the cause of the conflagra- 
 tion. Some supposed it to be a punishment for the sultan’s 
 1 Vide Baron de Tott’s Memoirs. 
 
 285 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 having neglected, one Friday, to appear at the mosque of St. 
 Sophia ; others considered it as a warning sent by Mahomet, 
 to dissuade the Porte from persisting in a war in which we 
 were just engaged. The generality, however, of the coffee- 
 house politicians contented themselves with observing that it 
 was the will of Mahomet that the palace should be consumed. 
 Satisfied by this supposition, they took no precaution to prevent 
 similar accidents in their own houses. Never were fires so 
 common in the city as at this period ; scarcely a night passed 
 without our being wakened by the cry of fire. 
 
 ‘ These frequent fires were rendered still more dreadful by 
 villains, who were continually on the watch to increase the con- 
 fusion by which they profited, and to pillage the houses of the 
 sufferers. It was discovered that these incendiaries frequently 
 skulked, towards evening, in the neighbourhood of the 
 bezestein, where the richest merchants store their goods ; 
 some of these wretches were detected in throwing coundaks j 1 
 or matches, into the windows ; and if these combustibles 
 remained a sufficient time, they could not fail to set the house 
 on fire. 
 
 ‘Notwithstanding all these circumstances, many even of 
 those who had property to preserve continued to repeat, “ It is 
 the will of Mahomet,” and consequently to neglect all means of 
 preservation. I, on the contrary, recollecting the lesson I 
 had learned from the sensible foreigner, neither suffered my 
 spirits to sink with superstitious fears of ill-luck, nor did I trust 
 presumptuously to my good fortune. I took every possible 
 means to secure myself. I never went to bed without having 
 seen that all the lights and fires in the house were extinguished, 
 and that I had a supply of water in the cistern. 1 had like- 
 wise learned from my Frenchman that wet mortar was the 
 
 1 ‘ A coundak is a sort of combustible that consists only of a piece of 
 tinder wrapped in brimstone matches, in the midst of a small bundle of 
 pine shavings. This is the method usually employed by incendiaries — they 
 lay this match by stealth behind a door, which they find open, or on a 
 window ; and after setting it on fire, they make their escape. This is 
 sufficient often to produce the most terrible ravages in a town where the 
 houses, built with wood and painted with oil of spike, afford the easiest 
 opportunity to the miscreant who is disposed to reduce them to ashes. The 
 method employed by the incendiaries, and which often escapes the vigilance 
 of the masters of the houses, added to the common causes of fires, gave for 
 some time very frequent causes of alarm.'— ■ Translation of Memoirs of 
 Baron de Tott , vol. i. 
 
 286 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 most effectual thing for stopping the progress of flames : I 
 therefore had a quantity of mortar made up in one of my out- 
 houses, which I could use at a moment’s warning. These 
 precautions were all useful to me : my own house, indeed, was 
 never actually on fire, but the houses of my next-door neigh- 
 bours were no less than five times in flames, in the course of one 
 winter. By my exertions, or rather by my precautions, they 
 suffered but little damage ; and all my neighbours looked upon 
 me as their deliverer and friend : they loaded me with presents, 
 and offered more indeed than I would accept. All repeated 
 that I was Saladin the Lucky. This compliment I disclaimed, 
 feeling more ambitious of being called Saladin the Prudent. 
 It is thus that what we call modesty is often only a more 
 refined species of pride. But to proceed with my story. 
 
 ‘ One night I had been later than usual at supper, at a 
 friend’s house : none but the watch were in the streets, and 
 even they, I believe, were asleep. 
 
 ‘ As I passed one of the conduits, which convey water to the 
 city, I heard a trickling noise ; and, upon examination, I found 
 that the cock of the water-spout was half turned, so that the 
 water was running out. I turned it back to its proper place, 
 thought it had been left unturned by accident, and walked on ; 
 but I had not proceeded far before I came to another spout and 
 another, which were in the same condition. I was convinced 
 that this could not be the effect merely of accident, and 
 suspected that some ill-intentioned persons designed to let out 
 and waste the water of the city, that there might be none to ex- 
 tinguish any fire that should break out in the course of the night. 
 
 ‘ I stood still for a few moments, to consider how it would be 
 most prudent to act. It would be impossible for me to run to 
 all parts of the city, that I might stop the pipes that were run- 
 ning to waste. I first thought of wakening the watch and the 
 firemen, who were most of them slumbering at their stations ; 
 but I reflected that they were perhaps not to be trusted, and 
 that they were in a confederacy with the incendiaries ; other- 
 wise, they would certainly, before this hour, have observed and 
 stopped the running of the sewers in their neighbourhood. I 
 determined to waken a rich merchant, called Damat Zade, who 
 lived near me, and who had a number of slaves, whom he could 
 send to different parts of the city, to prevent mischief, and give 
 notice to the inhabitants of their danger. 
 
 287 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ He was a very sensible, active man, and one that could 
 easily be wakened ; he was not, like some Turks, an hour in 
 recovering their lethargic senses. He was quick in decision 
 and action ; and his slaves resembled their master. He 
 despatched a messenger immediately to the grand vizier, that 
 the sultan’s safety might be secured ; and sent others to the 
 magistrates, in each quarter of Constantinople. The large 
 drums in the janissary aga’s tower beat to rouse the inhabitants ; 
 and scarcely had these been heard to beat half an hour before 
 the fire broke out in the lower apartments of Damat Zade’s 
 house, owing to a coundak, which had been left behind one of 
 the doors. 
 
 ‘ The wretches who had prepared the mischief came to 
 enjoy it, and to pillage ; but they were disappointed. Asto- 
 nished to find themselves taken into custody, they could not 
 comprehend how their designs had been frustrated. By timely 
 exertions, the fire in my friend’s house was extinguished ; and 
 though fires broke out, during the night, in many parts of the 
 city, but little damage was sustained, because there was time 
 for precautions ; and by the stopping of the spouts, sufficient 
 water was preserved. People were awakened, and warned of 
 the danger, and they consequently escaped unhurt. 
 
 ‘ The next day, as soon as I made my appearance at the 
 bezestein, the merchants crowded round, called me their bene- 
 factor, and the preserver of their lives and fortunes. Damat 
 Zade, the merchant whom I had awakened the preceding night, 
 presented to me a heavy purse of gold, and put upon my finger 
 a diamond ring of considerable value ; each of the merchants 
 followed his example, in making me rich presents : the magis- 
 trates also sent me tokens of their approbation ; and the grand 
 vizier sent me a diamond of the first water, with a line written 
 by his own hand: “To the man who has saved Constanti- 
 nople.” Excuse me, gentlemen, for the vanity I seem to show 
 in mentioning these circumstances. You desired to hear my 
 history, and I cannot therefore omit the principal circumstance 
 of my life. In the course of four-and-twenty hours, I found 
 myself raised, by the munificent gratitude of the inhabitants of 
 this city, to a state of affluence far beyond what I had ever 
 dreamed of attaining. 
 
 ‘ I now took a house suited to my circumstances, and bought 
 a few slaves. As I was carrying my slaves home, I was met 
 
 288 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 by a Jew, who stopped me, saying, in his language, “ My lord, 
 I see, has been purchasing slaves : I could clothe them 
 cheaply.” There was something mysterious in the manner of 
 this Jew, and I did not like his countenance ; but I considered 
 that I ought not to be governed by caprice in my dealings, 
 and that, if this man could really clothe my slaves more cheaply 
 than another, I ought not to neglect his offer merely because 
 I took a dislike to the cut of his beard, the turn of his eye, or 
 the tone of his voice. I therefore bade the Jew follow me 
 home, saying that I would consider of his proposal. 
 
 ‘ When we came to talk over the matter, I was surprised to 
 find him so reasonable in his demands. On one point, indeed, 
 he appeared unwilling to comply. I required not only to see 
 the clothes I was offered, but also to know how they came 
 into his possession. On this subject he equivocated ; I there- 
 fore suspected there must be something wrong. I reflected 
 what it could be, and judged that the goods had been stolen, 
 or that they had been the apparel of persons who had died of 
 some contagious distemper. The Jew showed me a chest, 
 from which he said I might choose whatever suited me best. 
 
 I observed, that as he was going to unlock the chest, he stuffed 
 his nose with some aromatic herbs. He told me that he did 
 so to prevent his smelling the musk with which the chest was 
 perfumed : musk, he said, had an extraordinary effect upon 
 his nerves. I begged to have some of the herbs which he 
 used himself ; declaring that musk was likewise offensive to me. 
 
 ‘The Jew, either struck by his own conscience, or observing 
 my suspicions, turned as pale as death. He pretended he 
 had not the right key, and could not unlock the chest ; said he 
 must go in search of it, and that he would call on me 
 again. 
 
 ‘ After he had left me, I examined some writing upon the 
 lid of the chest that had been nearly effaced. I made out the 
 word Smyrna, and this was sufficient to confirm all my sus- 
 picions. The Jew returned no more : he sent some porters to 
 carry away the chest, and I heard nothing of him for some 
 time, till one day, when I was at the house of Damat Zade, I 
 saw a glimpse of the Jew passing hastily through one of the 
 courts, as if he wished to avoid me. “ My friend,” said I to 
 Damat Zade, “ do not attribute my question to impertinent 
 curiosity, or to a desire to intermeddle with your affairs, if I 
 U 289 
 
‘ He pretended he had not the right key , and could not unlock the chest.’ 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 venture to ask the nature of your business with the Jew who 
 has just now crossed your court.” 
 
 ‘ “ He has engaged to supply me with clothing for my 
 slaves,” replied my friend, “cheaper than I can purchase it 
 elsewhere. I have a design to surprise my daughter Fatima, 
 on her birthday, with an entertainment in the pavilion in the 
 garden ; and all her female slaves shall appear in new dresses 
 on the occasion.” 
 
 ‘ I interrupted my friend, to tell him what I suspected 
 relative to this Jew and his chest of clothes. It is certain that 
 the infection of the plague can be communicated by clothes, 
 not only after months but after years have elapsed. The 
 merchant resolved to have nothing more to do with this wretch, 
 who could thus hazard the lives of thousands of his fellow- 
 creatures for a few pieces of gold : we sent notice of the 
 circumstance to the cadi, but the cadi was slow in his operations ; 
 and, before he could take the Jew into custody, the cunning 
 fellow had effected his escape. When his house was searched, 
 he and his chest had disappeared : we discovered that he 
 sailed for Egypt, and rejoiced that we had driven him from 
 Constantinople. 
 
 ‘ My friend, Damat Zade, expressed the warmest gratitude 
 to me. “ You formerly saved my fortune : you have now saved 
 my life ; and a life yet dearer than my own, that of my daughter 
 Fatima.” > 
 
 ‘At the sound of that name I could not, I believe, avoid 
 showing some emotion. I had accidentally seen this lady ; 
 and I had been captivated by her beauty, and by the sweetness 
 of her countenance ; but as I knew she was destined to be the 
 wife of another, I suppressed my feeling, and determined to 
 banish the recollection of the fair Fatima for ever from my 
 imagination. Her father, however, at this instant, threw into 
 my way a temptation, which it required all my fortitude to 
 resist. “ Saladin,” continued he, “ it is but just that you, who 
 have saved our lives, should share our festivity. Come here on 
 the birthday of my Fatima : I will place you in a balcony, which 
 overlooks the garden, and you shall see the whole spectacle. 
 We shall have a feast of tulips, in imitation of that which, as you 
 know, is held in the Grand Seignior’s gardens. I assure you the 
 sight will be worth seeing ; and besides, you will have a chance 
 of beholding my Fatima, for a moment, without her veil.” 
 
 291 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ “ That,” interrupted I, “ is the thing I most wish to avoid. 
 I dare not indulge myself in a pleasure which might cost me 
 the happiness of my life. I will conceal nothing from you, 
 who treat me with so much confidence. I have already beheld 
 the charming countenance of your Fatima, but I know that 
 she is destined to be the wife of a happier man.” 
 
 ‘ Darnat Zade seemed much pleased by the frankness with 
 which I explained myself; but he would not give up the idea 
 of my sitting with him, in the balcony, on the day of the feast 
 of tulips ; and I, on my part, could not consent to expose 
 myself to another view of the charming Fatima. My friend 
 used every argument, or rather every sort of persuasion, he 
 could imagine to prevail upon me : he then tried to laugh me 
 out of my resolution ; and, when all failed, he said, in a voice 
 of anger, “ Go, then, Saladin ; I am sure you are deceiving 
 me : you have a passion for some other woman, and you would 
 conceal it from me, and persuade me you refuse the favour I 
 offer you from prudence, when, in fact, it is from indifference 
 and contempt. Why could you not speak the truth of your 
 heart to me with that frankness with which one friend should 
 treat another ? ” 
 
 ‘ Astonished at this unexpected charge, and at the anger 
 which flashed from the eyes of Damat Zade, who till this 
 moment had always appeared to me a man of a mild and 
 reasonable temper, I was for an instant tempted to fly into a 
 passion and leave him : but friends, once lost, are not easily 
 regained. This consideration had power sufficient to make 
 me command my temper. “My friend,” replied I, “we will 
 talk over this affair to-morrow : you are now angry, and cannot 
 do me justice ; but to-morrow you will be cool : you will then 
 be convinced that I have not deceived you ; and that I have 
 no design but to secure my own happiness, by the most prudent 
 means in my power, by avoiding the sight of the dangerous 
 Fatima. I have no passion for any other woman.” 
 
 ‘ “ Then,” said my friend, embracing me, and quitting the 
 tone of anger which he had assumed only to try my resolution 
 to the utmost, “then, Saladin, Fatima is yours.” 
 
 ‘ I scarcely dared to believe my senses ! I could not express 
 my joy ! “ Yes, my friend,” continued the merchant, “ I have 
 
 tried your prudence to the utmost ; it has been victorious, and 
 I resign my Fatima to you, certain that you will make her 
 
 292 
 
MURAD THE UNLUCKY 
 
 happy. It is true, I had a greater alliance in view for her : 
 the pacha of Maksoud has demanded her from me ; but I have 
 found, upon private inquiry, he is addicted to the intemperate 
 use of opium : and my daughter shall never be the wife of one 
 who is a violent madman one half the day, and a melancholy 
 idiot during the remainder. I have nothing to apprehend from 
 the pacha’s resentment, because I have powerful friends with 
 the grand vizier who will oblige him to listen to reason, and to 
 submit quietly to a disappointment he so justly merits. And 
 now, Saladin, have you any objection to seeing the feast of 
 tulips ? ” 
 
 ‘ I replied only by falling at the merchant’s feet, and em- 
 bracing his knees. The feast of tulips came, and on that day 
 I was married to the charming Fatima ! The charming Fatima 
 I continue still to think her, though she has now been my wife 
 some years. She is the joy and pride of my heart ; and, from 
 our mutual affection, I have experienced more felicity than 
 from all the other circumstances of my life, which are called so 
 fortunate. Her father gave me the house in which I now live, 
 and joined his possessions to ours ; so that I have more wealth 
 even than I desire. My riches, however, give me continually 
 the means of relieving the wants of others ; and therefore I 
 cannot affect to despise them. I must persuade my brother 
 Murad to share them with me, and to forget his misfortunes : 
 I shall then think myself completely happy. As to the sultana’s 
 looking-glass, and your broken vase, my dear brother,’ continued 
 Saladin, ‘we must think of some means ’ 
 
 ‘ Think no more of the sultana’s looking-glass, or of the 
 broken vase,’ exclaimed the sultan, throwing aside his mer- 
 chant’s habit, and showing beneath it his own imperial vest. 
 
 ‘ Saladin, I rejoice to have heard, from your own lips, the 
 history of your life. I acknowledge, vizier, I have been in the 
 wrong, in our argument,’ continued the sultan, turning to his 
 vizier. 1 1 acknowledge that the histories of Saladin the Lucky, 
 and Murad the Unlucky, favour your opinion, that prudence 
 has more influence than chance in human affairs. The success 
 and happiness of Saladin seem to me to have arisen from his 
 prudence : by that prudence, Constantinople has been saved 
 from flames, and from the plague. Had Murad possessed his 
 brother’s discretion, he would not have been on the point of 
 losing his head, for selling rolls which he did not bake : he 
 
 2 93 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 would not have been kicked by a mule, or bastinadoed for 
 finding a ring : he would not have been robbed by one party 
 of soldiers, or shot by another : he would not have been lost 
 in a desert, or cheated by a Jew : he would not have set a ship 
 on fire ; nor would he have caught the plague, and spread it 
 through Grand Cairo : he would not have run my sultana’s 
 looking-glass through the body, instead of a robber : he would 
 not have believed that the fate of his life depended on certain 
 verses on a china vase : nor would he, at last, have broken this 
 precious talisman, by washing it with hot water. Henceforward, 
 let Murad the Unlucky be named Murad the Imprudent: let 
 Saladin preserve the surname he merits, and be henceforth 
 called Saladin the Prudent.’ 
 
 So spake the sultan, who, unlike the generality of monarchs, 
 could bear to find himself in the wrong ; and could discover 
 his vizier to be in the right, without cutting off his head. 
 History farther informs us that the sultan offered to make 
 Saladin a pacha, and to commit to him the government of a 
 province ; but Saladin the Prudent declined this honour, saying 
 he had no ambition, was perfectly happy in his present situation, 
 and that, when this was the case, it would be folly to change, 
 because no one can be more than happy. What farther 
 adventures befell Murad the Imprudent are not recorded ; it 
 is known only that he became a daily visitor to the Teriaky j 
 and that he died a martyr to the immoderate use of opium . 1 
 
 1 Those among the Turks who give themselves up to an immoderate 
 use of opium are easily to be distinguished by a sort of rickety complaint, 
 which this poison produces in course of time. Destined to live agreeably 
 only when in a sort of drunkenness, these men present a curious spectacle, 
 when they are assembled in a part of Constantinople called Teriaky or 
 Tcharkissy, the market of opium-eaters. It is there that, towards the 
 evening, you may see the lovers of opium arrive by the different streets 
 which terminate at the Solymania (the greatest mosque in Constantinople) : 
 their pale and melancholy countenances would inspire only compassion, 
 did not their stretched necks, their heads twisted to the right or left, their 
 backbones crooked, one shoulder up to their ears, and a number of other 
 whimsical attitudes, which are the consequences of the disorder, present 
 the most ludicrous and the most laughable picture. — Vide De Tott’s 
 Memoirs. 
 
 Jan. 1802. 
 
 294 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 By patient persevering attention to business, Mr. John Darford 
 succeeded in establishing a considerable cotton manufactory, 
 by means of which he secured to himself in his old age what 
 is called, or what he called, a competent fortune. His ideas 
 of a competent fortune were, indeed, rather unfashionable ; 
 for they included, as he confessed, only the comforts and 
 conveniences, without any of the vanities, of life. He went 
 farther still in his unfashionable singularities of opinion, for he 
 was often heard to declare that he thought a busy manufacturer 
 might be as happy as any idle gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Darford had taken his two nephews, Charles and 
 William, into partnership with him : William, who had been 
 educated by him, resembled him in character, habits, and 
 opinions. Always active and cheerful, he seemed to take 
 pride and pleasure in the daily exertions and care which his 
 situation, and the trust reposed in him, required. Far from 
 being ashamed of his occupations, he gloried in them ; and 
 the sense of duty was associated in his mind with the idea of 
 happiness. His cousin Charles, on the contrary, felt his duty 
 and his ideas of happiness continually at variance : he had 
 been brought up in an extravagant family, who considered 
 tradesmen and manufacturers as a casie disgraceful to polite 
 society. Nothing but the utter ruin of his father’s fortune 
 could have determined him to go into business. 
 
 He never applied to the affairs of the manufactory ; he 
 affected to think his understanding above such vulgar concerns, 
 
 295 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 and spent his days in regretting that his brilliant merit was 
 buried in obscurity. 
 
 He was sensible that he hazarded the loss of his uncle’s 
 favour by the avowal of his prejudices ; yet such was his 
 habitual conceit, that he could not suppress frequent expres- 
 sions of contempt for Mr. Darford’s liberal notions. When- 
 ever his uncle’s opinion differed from his own, he settled the 
 argument, as he fancied, by saying to himself or to his clerk, 
 
 1 My uncle Darford knows nothing of the world : how should 
 he, poor man ! shut up as he has been all his life in a counting- 
 house ? ’ 
 
 Nearly sixty years’ experience, which his uncle sometimes 
 pleaded as an apology for trusting to his own judgment, 
 availed nothing in the opinion of our prejudiced youth. 
 
 Prejudiced youth, did we presume to say ? Charles would 
 have thought this a very improper expression • for he had no 
 idea that any but old men could be prejudiced. Uncles, and 
 fathers, and grandfathers were, as he thought, the race of 
 beings peculiarly subject to this mental malady : from which 
 all young men, especially those who have their boots made by 
 a fashionable bootmaker, are of course exempt. 
 
 At length the time came when Charles was at liberty to 
 follow his own opinions : Mr. Darford died, and his fortune and 
 manufactory were equally divided between his two nephews. 
 ‘ Now,’ said Charles, ‘ I am no longer chained to the oar. I 
 will leave you, William, to do as you please, and drudge on, 
 day after day, in the manufactory, since that is your taste : 
 for my part, I have no genius for business. I shall take my 
 pleasure ; and all I have to do is to pay some poor devil for 
 doing my business for me.’ 
 
 ‘ I am afraid the poor devil will not do your business as 
 well as you would do it yourself,’ said William : 4 you know 
 the proverb of the master’s eye.’ 
 
 ‘True! true! Very likely,’ cried Charles, going to the 
 window to look at a regiment of dragoons galloping through 
 the town ; 4 but I have other employment for my eyes. Do 
 look at those fine fellows who are galloping by ! Did you 
 ever see a handsomer uniform than the colonel’s ? And what 
 a fine horse ! ’Gad ! I wish I had a commission in the army : 
 I should so like to be in his place this minute.’ 
 
 4 This minute ? Yes, perhaps, you would ; because he has, 
 296 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 as you say, a handsome uniform and a fine horse : but all his 
 minutes may not be like this minute.’ 
 
 ‘ Faith, William, that is almost as soberly said as my old 
 uncle himself could have spoken. See what it is to live shut 
 up with old folks ! You catch all their ways, and grow old 
 and wise before your time.’ 
 
 ‘ The danger of growing wise before my time does not 
 alarm me much : but perhaps, cousin, you feel that danger 
 more than I do ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Not I,’ said Charles, stretching himself still farther out of 
 the window to watch the dragoons, as they were forming on 
 the parade in the market-place. ‘ I can only say, as I said 
 before, that I wish I had been put into the army instead 
 of into this cursed cotton manufactory. Now the army is a 
 genteel profession, and I own I have spirit enough to make it 
 my first object to look and live like a gentleman.’ 
 
 ‘ And I have spirit enough,’ replied William, ‘ to make it 
 my first object to look and live like an independent man ; and 
 1 think a manufacturer, whom you despise so much, may be 
 perfectly independent. I am sure, for my part, I am heartily 
 obliged to my uncle for breeding me up to business ; for now 
 1 am at no man’s orders ; no one can say to me, “ Go to the 
 east, or go to the west ; march here, or march there ; fire 
 upon this man, or run your bayonet into that.” I do not 
 think the honour and pleasure of wearing a red coat, or of 
 having what is called a genteel profession, would make me 
 amends for all that a soldier must suffer, if he does his duty. 
 Unless it were for the defence of my country, for which I 
 hope and believe I should fight as well as another, I cannot 
 say that I should like to be hurried away from my wife and 
 children, to fight a battle against people with whom I had no 
 quarrel, and in a cause which perhaps I might not approve of.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, as you say, William, you that have a wife and 
 children are quite in a different situation from me. You 
 cannot leave them, of course. Thank my stars, I am still at 
 liberty, and I shall take care and keep myself so : my plan is to 
 live for myself, and to have as much pleasure as I possibly can.’ 
 
 Whether this plan of living for himself was compatible with 
 the hopes of having as much pleasure as possible, we leave it 
 to the heads and hearts of our readers to decide. In the 
 meantime we must proceed with his history. 
 
 297 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Soon after this conversation had passed between the two 
 partners, another opportunity occurred of showing their 
 characters still more distinctly. 
 
 A party of ladies and gentlemen, travellers, came to the 
 town, and wished to see the manufactories there. They had 
 letters of recommendation to the Mr. Darfords ; and William, 
 with great good-nature, took them to see their works. He 
 pointed out to them, with honest pride, the healthy counte- 
 nances of the children whom they employed. 
 
 ‘You see,’ said he, ‘that we cannot be reproached with 
 sacrificing the health and happiness of our fellow-creatures to 
 our own selfish and mercenary views. My good uncle took 
 all the means in his power to make every person concerned 
 in this manufactory as happy as possible ; and I hope we 
 shall follow his example. I am sure the riches of both the 
 Indies could not satisfy me, if my conscience reproached me 
 with having gained wealth by unjustifiable means. If these 
 children were overworked, or if they had not fresh air and 
 wholesome food, it would be the greatest misery to me to 
 come into this room and look at them. I could not do it. 
 But, on the contrary, knowing, as I do, that they are well 
 treated and well provided for in every respect, I feel joy and 
 pride in coming amongst them, and in bringing my friends 
 here.’ 
 
 William’s eyes sparkled, as he thus spoke the generous 
 sentiments of his heart ; but Charles, who had thought him- 
 self obliged to attend the ladies of the party to see the manu- 
 factory, evidently showed he was ashamed of being considered 
 as a partner. William, with perfect simplicity, went on to 
 explain every part of the machinery, and the whole process 
 of the manufacture ; whilst his cousin Charles, who thought he 
 should that way show his superior liberality and politeness, 
 every now and then interposed with, ‘ Cousin, I’m afraid we 
 are keeping the ladies too long standing. Cousin, this noise 
 must certainly annoy the ladies horridly. Cousin, all this 
 sort of thing cannot be very interesting, I apprehend, to the 
 ladies. Besides, they won’t have time, at this rate, to see the 
 china-works ; which is a style of thing more to their taste, I 
 presume.’ 
 
 The fidgeting impatience of our hero was extreme ; till at 
 last he gained his point, and hurried the ladies away to the 
 
 298 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 china-works. Amongst these ladies there was one who claimed 
 particular attention, Miss Maude Germaine, an elderly young 
 lady, who, being descended from a high family, thought her- 
 self entitled to be proud. She was yet more vain than proud, 
 and found her vanity in some degree gratified by the officious 
 attention of her new acquaintance, though she affected to 
 ridicule him to her companions, when she could do so un- 
 observed. She asked them, in a whisper, how they liked her 
 new cicerone ; and whether he did not show the lions very 
 prettily, considering who and what he was. 
 
 It has been well observed ‘that people are never ridiculous 
 by what they are, but by what they pretend to be .’ 1 These 
 ladies, with the best dispositions imaginable for sarcasm, could 
 find nothing to laugh at in Mr. William Darford’s plain un- 
 assuming manners ; as he did not pretend to be a fine gentle- 
 man, there was no absurd contrast between his circumstances 
 and his conversation ; while almost every word, look, or motion 
 of his cousin was an object of ridicule, because it was affected. 
 His being utterly unconscious of his foibles, and perfectly 
 secure in the belief of his own gentility, increased the amuse- 
 ment of the company. Miss Maude Germaine undertook to 
 play him off, but she took sufficient care to prevent his sus- 
 pecting her design. As they were examining the beautiful 
 china, she continually appealed to Mr. Charles Darford, as a 
 man of taste ; and he, with awkward gallantry, and still more 
 awkward modesty, always began his answers by protesting he 
 was sure Miss Maude Germaine was infinitely better qualified 
 to decide in such matters than he was : he had not the smallest 
 pretensions to taste ; but that, in his humble opinion, the 
 articles she pitched upon were evidently the most superior in 
 elegance, and certainly of the newest fashion. ‘ Fashion, you 
 know, ladies, is all in all in these things, as in everything else.’ 
 
 Miss Germaine, with a degree of address which afforded 
 much amusement to herself and her companions, led him to 
 extol or reprobate whatever she pleased ; and she made him 
 pronounce an absurd eulogium on the ugliest thing in the room, 
 by observing it was vastly like what her friend, Lady Mary 
 Crawley, had just bought for her chimney-piece. 
 
 Not content with showing she could make our man of taste 
 decide as she thought proper, she was determined to prove that 
 1 Rochefoucault. 
 
 299 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 she could make him reverse his own decisions, and contradict 
 himself, as often as she pleased. They were at this instant 
 standing opposite to two vases of beautiful workmanship. 
 ‘Now,’ whispered she to one of her companions, ‘I will lay 
 you any wager I first make him say that both those vases are 
 frightful ; then that they are charming ; afterwards that he does 
 not know which he likes best ; next, that no person of any taste 
 can hesitate betwixt them ; and at last, when he has pronounced 
 his decided humble opinion, he shall reverse his judgment, and 
 protest he meant to say quite the contrary.’ 
 
 All this the lady accomplished much to her satisfaction and 
 to that of her friends ; and so blind and deaf is self-love, our 
 hero neither heard nor saw that he was the object of derision. 
 William, however, was rather more clear-sighted ; and as he 
 could not bear to see his cousin make himself the butt of the 
 company, he interrupted the conversation, by begging the ladies 
 would come into another room to look at the manner in which 
 the china was painted. Charles, with a contemptuous smile, 
 observed that the ladies would probably find the odour of the 
 paint rather too much for their nerves. Full of the sense of his 
 own superior politeness, he followed ; since it was determined 
 that they must go, as he said, nolens volens. He did not hear 
 Miss Germaine whisper to her companions as they passed, 
 ‘ Can anything in nature be much more ridiculous than a vulgar 
 manufacturer, who sets up for a fine gentleman ? ’ 
 
 Amongst the persons who were occupied in painting a set of 
 china with flowers, there was one who attracted particular 
 attention, by the ease and quickness with which she worked. 
 An iris of her painting was produced, which won the admiration 
 of all the spectators ; and whilst Charles was falling into 
 ecstasies about the merit of the painting, and the perfection 
 to which the arts are now carried in England, William was 
 observing the flushed and unhealthy countenance of the young 
 artist. He stopped to advise her not to overwork herself, to 
 beg she would not sit in a draught of wind where she was 
 placed, and to ask her, with much humanity, several questions 
 concerning her health and her circumstances. 
 
 Whilst he was speaking to her, he did not perceive that he 
 had set his foot by accident on Miss Germaine’s gown ; and, 
 as she walked hastily on, it was torn in a deplorable manner. 
 Charles apologised for his cousin’s extreme absence of mind 
 
 3 °° 
 

 It was torn in a deplorable manner . 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 and rudeness ; and with a candid condescension added, 
 
 ‘ Ladies, you must not think ill of my cousin William, because 
 he is not quite so much your humble servant as I am : not- 
 withstanding his little rusticities, want of polish, gallantry, and 
 so forth, things that are not in every man’s power, I can assure 
 you there is not a better man in the world ; except that he is 
 so entirely given up to business, which indeed ruins a man for 
 everything else.’ 
 
 The apologist little imagined he was at this moment infinitely 
 more awkward and ill-bred than the person whom he affected 
 to pity and to honour with his protection. Our hero continued 
 to be upon the best terms possible with himself and with Miss 
 Maude Germaine, during the remainder of this day. He dis- 
 covered that this lady intended to pass a fortnight with a 
 
 relation of hers in the town of . He waited upon her the 
 
 next day, to give her an account of the manner in which he 
 had executed some commissions about the choice of china with 
 which she had honoured him. 
 
 One visit led to another, and Charles Darford was delighted 
 to find himself admitted into the society of such very genteel 
 persons. At first, he was merely proud of being acquainted 
 with a lady of Miss Maude Germaine’s importance, and con- 
 tented himself with boasting of it to all his acquaintance ; by 
 degrees, he became more audacious ; he began to fancy himself 
 in love with her, and to flatter himself she would not prove 
 inexorable. The raillery of some of his companions piqued 
 him to make good his boast ; and he determined to pay his 
 addresses to a lady who, they all agreed, could never think of 
 a man in business. 
 
 Our hero was not entirely deluded by his vanity : the lady’s 
 coquetry contributed to encourage his hopes. Though she 
 always spoke of him to her friends as a person whom it was 
 impossible she could ever think of for a moment, yet as soon 
 as he made a declaration of his love to her, she began to 
 consider that a manufacturer might have common sense, and 
 even some judgment and taste. Her horror of people in 
 business continued in full force ; but she began to allow there 
 was no general rule that did not admit of an exception. When 
 her female friends laughed, following the example she had set 
 them, at Charles Darford, her laughter became fainter than 
 theirs ; and she was one evening heard to ask a stranger, who 
 
 3° 2 
 
TIIE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 saw him for the first time, whether that young gentleman 
 looked as if he was in business. 
 
 Sundry matters began to operate in our hero’s favour : 
 precedents, opportunely produced by her waiting-maid, of ladies 
 of the first families in England, ladies even of the first fashion, 
 who had married into mercantile houses ; a present, too, from 
 her admirer, of the beautiful china vase, of which she had so 
 often made him change his opinion, had its due effect ; but 
 the preponderating motive was the dread of dying an old maid, 
 if she did not accept of this offer. 
 
 After various airs, and graces, and doubts, and disdains, 
 this fair lady consented to make her lover happy, on the express 
 condition that he should change his name from Darford to 
 Germaine, that he should give up all share in the odious cotton 
 manufactory, and that he should purchase the estate of 
 Germaine Park, in Northamptonshire, to part with which, as 
 it luckily happened, some of her great relations were com- 
 pelled. 
 
 In the folly of his joy at the prospect of an alliance with 
 the great Germaine family, he promised everything that was 
 required of him, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his friend 
 William, who represented to him, in the forcible language of 
 common sense, the inconveniences of marrying into a family 
 that would despise him ; and of uniting himself to such an old 
 coquette as Miss Germaine, who would make him not only a 
 disagreeable but a most extravagant wife. 
 
 ‘ Do you not see,’ said he, ‘ that she has not the least 
 affection for you ? she marries you only because she despairs 
 of getting any other match ; and because you are rich, and she 
 is poor. She is seven years older than you, by her own con- 
 fession, and consequently will be an old woman whilst you are 
 a young man. She is, as you see — I mean as I see — vain and 
 proud in the extreme ; and if she honours you with her hand, 
 she will think you can never do enough to make her amends 
 for having married beneath her pretensions. Instead of finding 
 in her, as I found in my wife, the best and most affectionate of 
 friends, you will find her your torment through life ; and con- 
 sider, this is a torment likely to last these thirty or forty years. 
 Is it not worth while to pause — to reflect for as many minutes, 
 or even days ? ’ 
 
 Charles paused double the number of seconds, perhaps, and 
 
 3°3 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 then replied, ‘You have married to please yourself, cousin 
 William, and I shall marry to please myself. As I don’t mean 
 to spend my days in the same style in which you do, the same 
 sort of wife that makes you happy could never content me. I 
 mean to make some figure in the world ; I know no other use 
 of fortune ; and an alliance with the Germaines brings me at 
 once into fashionable society. Miss Maude Germaine is very 
 proud, I confess ; but she has some reason to be proud of her 
 family ; and then, you see, her love for me conquers her pride, 
 great as it is.’ 
 
 William sighed when he saw the extent of his cousin’s folly. 
 The partnership between the two Darfords was dissolved. 
 
 It cost our hero much money but no great trouble to get his 
 name changed from Darford to Germaine ; and it was certainly 
 very disadvantageous to his pecuniary interest to purchase 
 Germaine Park, which was sold to him for at least three years’ 
 purchase more than its value : but, in the height of his 
 impatience to get into the fashionable world, all prudential 
 motives appeared beneath his consideration. It was, as he 
 fancied, part of the character of a man of spirit, the character 
 he was now to assume and support for life, to treat pecuniary 
 matters as below his notice. He bought Germaine Park, 
 married Miss Germaine, and determined no mortal should ever 
 find out, by his equipages or style of life, that he had not been 
 born the possessor of this estate. 
 
 In this laudable resolution, it cannot possibly be doubted 
 but that his bride encouraged him to the utmost of her power. 
 She was eager to leave the county where his former friends 
 and acquaintance resided ; for they were people with whom, of 
 course, it could not be expected that she should keep up any 
 manner of intercourse. Charles, in whose mind vanity at this 
 moment smothered every better feeling, was in reality glad of 
 a pretext for breaking off all connection with those whom he 
 had formerly loved. He went to take leave of William in a 
 fine chariot, on which the Germaine arms were ostentatiously 
 blazoned. That real dignity, which arises from a sense of 
 independence of mind, appeared in William’s manners ; and 
 quite overawed and abashed our hero, in the midst of all his 
 finery and airs. ‘ I hope, cousin William,’ said Charles, ‘ when 
 you can spare time, though, to be sure, that is a thing hardly 
 to be expected, as you are situated; but, in case you should be 
 
 304 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 able anyways to make it convenient, I hope you will come and 
 take a look at what we are doing at Germaine Park.’ 
 
 There was much awkward embarrassment in the enunciation 
 of this feeble invitation : for Charles was conscious he did not 
 desire it should be accepted, and that it was made in direct 
 opposition to the wishes of his bride. He was at once relieved 
 from his perplexity, and at the same time mortified, by the 
 calm simplicity with which William replied, 1 1 thank you, 
 cousin, for this invitation ; but you know I should be an en- 
 cumbrance to you at Germaine Park : and I make it a rule 
 neither to go into any company that would be ashamed of me, 
 or of which I should be ashamed.’ 
 
 ‘ Ashamed of you ! But What an idea, my dear 
 
 William ! Surely you don’t think — you can’t imagine— I should 
 ever consider you as any sort of encumbrance ? — I protest ’ 
 
 ‘ Save yourself the trouble of protesting, my dear Charles,’ 
 cried William, smiling with much good-nature : ‘ I know why 
 you are so much embarrassed at this instant ; and I do not 
 attribute this to any want of affection for me. We are going 
 to lead quite different lives. I wish you all manner of satisfac- 
 tion. Perhaps the time may come when I shall be able to 
 contribute to your happiness more than 1 can at present.’ 
 
 Charles uttered some unmeaning phrases, and hurried to 
 his carriage. At the sight of its varnished panels he recovered 
 his self-complacency and courage, and began to talk fluently 
 about chariots and horses, whilst the children of the family 
 followed to take leave of him, saying, * Are you going quite 
 away, Charles ? Will you never come back to play with us, as 
 you used to do ? ’ 
 
 Charles stepped into his carriage with as much dignity as 
 he could assume ; which, indeed, was very little. William, 
 who judged of his friends always with the most benevolent 
 indulgence, excused the want of feeling which Charles betrayed 
 during this visit. ‘ My dear,’ said he to his wife, who expressed 
 some indignation at the slight shown to their children, ‘ we 
 must forgive him ; for, you know, a man cannot well think of 
 more than one thing at a time ; and the one thing that he is 
 thinking of is his fine chariot. The day will come when he 
 will think more of fine children ; at least 1 hope so, for his 
 own sake.’ 
 
 And now, behold our hero in all his glory ; shining upon 
 
 x 3°5 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 the Northamptonshire world in the splendour of his new 
 situation ! The dress, the equipage, the entertainments, and, 
 above all, the airs of the bride and bridegroom, were the 
 general subject of conversation in the county for ten days. 
 Our hero, not precisely knowing what degree of importance 
 Mr. Germaine, of Germaine Park, was entitled to assume, out- 
 Germained Germaine. 
 
 The country gentlemen first stared, then laughed, and at 
 last unanimously agreed, over their bottle, that this new 
 neighbour of theirs was an upstart, who ought to be kept down ; 
 and that a vulgar manufacturer should not be allowed to give 
 himself airs merely because he had married a proud lady of 
 good family. It was obvious, they said, he was not born for 
 the situation in which he now appeared. They remarked and 
 ridiculed the ostentation with which he displayed every luxury 
 in his house ; his habit of naming the price of everything, to 
 enforce its claim to admiration ; his affected contempt for 
 economy ; his anxiety to connect himself with persons of rank, 
 joined to his ignorance of the genealogy of nobility, and the 
 strange mistakes he made between old and new titles. 
 
 Certain little defects in his manners, and some habitual 
 vulgarisms in his conversation, exposed him also to the derision 
 of his well-bred neighbours. Mr. Germaine saw that the 
 gentlemen of the county were leagued against him ; but he had 
 neither temper nor knowledge of the world sufficient to wage 
 this unequal war. The meanness with which he alternately 
 attempted to court and to bully his adversaries, showed them, 
 at once, the full extent of their power and of his weakness. 
 
 Things were in this position when our hero unluckily 
 affronted Mr. Cole, one of the proudest gentlemen in the 
 county, by mistaking him for a merchant of the same name ; 
 and, under this mistake, neglecting to return his visit. A few 
 days afterwards, at a public dinner, Mr. Cole and Mr. Germaine 
 had some high words, which were repeated by the persons 
 present in various manners ; and this dispute became the 
 subject of conversation in the county, particularly amongst the 
 ladies. Each related, according to her fancy, what her 
 husband had told her ; and as these husbands had drunk a 
 good deal, they had not a perfectly clear recollection of what 
 had passed, so that the whole and every part of the conversa- 
 tion was exaggerated. The fair judges, averse as they avowed 
 
 3°6 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 their feelings were to duelling, were clearly of opinion, among 
 themselves, that a real gentleman would certainly have called 
 Mr. Cole to account for the words he uttered, though none of 
 them could agree what those words were. 
 
 Mrs. Germaine’s female friends, in their coteries, were the 
 first to deplore, with becoming sensibility, that she should be 
 married to a man who had so little the spirit as well as the 
 manners of a man of birth. Their pity became progressively 
 vehement the more they thought of, or at least the more they 
 talked of, the business ; till at last one old lady, the declared 
 and intimate friend of Mrs. Germaine, unintentionally, and in 
 the heat of tattle, made use of one phrase that led to another, 
 and another, till she betrayed, in conversation with that lady, 
 the gossiping scandal of these female circles. 
 
 Mrs. Germaine, piqued as her pride was, and though she 
 had little affection for her husband, would have shuddered with 
 horror to have imagined him in the act of fighting a duel, and 
 especially at her instigation ; yet of this very act she became 
 the cause. In their domestic quarrels, her tongue was un- 
 governable : and at such moments, the malice of husbands and 
 wives often appears to exceed the hatred of the worst of foes ; 
 and, in the ebullition of her vengeance, when his reproaches 
 had stung her beyond the power of her temper to support, 
 unable to stop her tongue, she vehemently told him he was a 
 coward, who durst not so talk to a man ! He had proved 
 himself a coward ; and was become the by-word and contempt 
 of the whole county ! Even women despised his cowardice ! 
 
 However astonishing it may appear to those who are un- 
 acquainted with the nature of quarrels between man and wife, 
 it is but too certain that such quarrels have frequently led to 
 the most fatal consequences. The agitation of mind which 
 Mrs. Germaine suffered the moment she could recollect what 
 she had so rashly said, her vain endeavours to prove to herself 
 that, so provoked, she could not say less, and the sudden effect 
 which she plainly saw her words had produced upon her 
 husband, were but a part of the punishment that always follows 
 conduct and contentions so odious. 
 
 Mr. Germaine gazed at her a few moments with wildness in 
 his eyes ; his countenance expressed the stupefaction of rage : 
 he spoke not a word ; but started at length, and snatched up 
 his hat. She was struck with panic terror, gave a scream, 
 
 3°7 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 sprang after him, caught him by the coat, and, with the most 
 violent protestations, denied the truth of all she had said. The 
 look he gave her cannot be described ; he rudely plucked the 
 skirt from her grasp, and rushed out of the house. 
 
 All day and all night she neither saw nor heard of him : in 
 the morning he was brought home, accompanied by a surgeon, 
 in the carriage of a gentleman who had been his second, dan- 
 gerously wounded. 
 
 He was six weeks confined to his bed ; and, in the first 
 moment of doubt expressed by the surgeon for his life, she 
 expressed contrition which was really sincere : but, as he re- 
 covered, former bickerings were renewed ; and the terms on 
 which they lived gradually became what they had been. 
 
 Neither did his duel regain that absurd reputation for which 
 he fought ; it was malignantly said he had neither the courage 
 to face a man, nor the understanding to govern a wife. 
 
 Still, however, Mrs. Germaine consoled herself with the 
 belief that the most shocking circumstance of his having been 
 partner in a manufactory was a profound secret. Alas ! the 
 fatal moment arrived when she was to be undeceived in this 
 her last hope. Soon after Mr. Germaine recovered from his 
 wounds she gave a splendid ball, to which the neighbouring 
 nobility and gentry were invited. She made it a point, with 
 all her acquaintance, to come on this grand night. 
 
 The more importance the Germaines set upon success, and 
 the more anxiety they betrayed, the more their enemies enjoyed 
 the prospect of their mortification. All the young belles, who 
 had detested Miss Maude Germaine for the airs she used to give 
 herself at county assemblies, now leagued to prevent their 
 admirers from accepting her invitation. All the married ladies 
 whom she had outshone in dress and equipage, protested they 
 were not equal to keep up an acquaintance with such pro- 
 digiously fine people ; and that, for their part, they must make 
 a rule not to accept of such expensive entertainments, as it was 
 not in their power to return them. 
 
 Some persons of consequence in the county kept their deter- 
 mination in doubt, suffered themselves to be besieged daily 
 with notes and messages, and hopes that their imaginary coughs, 
 headaches, and influenzas were better, and that they would 
 find themselves able to venture out on the 15th. When the 
 coughs, headaches, and influenzas could hold out no longer, 
 
 308 
 
< Ue rudely plucked the skirt from her grasp, and rushed out of the house.' 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 these ingenious tormentors devised new pretexts for supposing 
 it would be impossible to do themselves the honour of 
 accepting Mr. and Mrs. Germaine’s obliging invitation on the 
 1 5th. Some had recourse to the roads, and others to the 
 moon. 
 
 Mrs. Germaine, whose pride was now compelled to make 
 all manner of concessions, changed her night from the 15th 
 to the 20th, to ensure a full moon to those timorous damsels 
 whom she had known to go home nine miles from a ball the 
 darkest night imaginable, without scruple or complaint. Mr. 
 Germaine, at his own expense, mended some spots in the 
 roads, which were obstacles to the delicacy of other travellers ; 
 and when all this was accomplished, the haughty leaders of 
 the county fashions condescended to promise they would do 
 themselves the pleasure to wait upon Mr. and Mrs. Germaine 
 on the 20th. 
 
 Their cards of acceptation were shown with triumph by the 
 Germaines ; but it was a triumph of short duration. With all 
 the refinement of cruelty, they gave hopes which they never 
 meant to fulfil. On the morning, noon, and night of the 20th, 
 notes poured in with apologies, or rather with excuses, for not 
 keeping their engagements. Scarcely one was burnt, before 
 another arrived. Mrs. Germaine could not command her 
 temper ; and she did not spare her husband in this trying 
 moment. 
 
 The arrival of some company for the ball interrupted a warm 
 dispute between the happy pair. The ball was very thinly 
 attended ; the guests looked as if they were more inclined to 
 yawn than to dance. The supper table was not half filled ; 
 and the profusion with which it was laid out was forlorn and 
 melancholy : everything was on too grand a scale for the 
 occasion ; wreaths of flowers, and pyramids, and triumphal 
 arches, sufficient for ten times as many guests ! Even the 
 most inconsiderate could not help comparing the trouble and 
 expense incurred by the entertainment with the small quantity 
 of pleasure it produced. Most of the guests rose from table, 
 whispering to one another, as they looked at the scarcely-tasted 
 dishes, ‘ What a waste ! What a pity ! Poor Mrs. Germaine ! 
 What a melancholy sight this must be to her ! ’ 
 
 The next day, a mock-heroic epistle, in verse, in the 
 character of Mrs. Germaine, to one of her noble relations, 
 
 310 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 giving an account of her ball and disappointment, was handed 
 about, and innumerable copies were taken. It was written 
 with some humour and great ill-nature. The good old lady 
 who occasioned the duel thought it but friendly to show Mrs. 
 Germaine a copy of it ; and to beg she would keep it out of 
 her husband’s way : it might be the cause of another duel 1 
 Mrs. Germaine, in spite of all her endeavours to conceal her 
 vexation, was obviously so much hurt by this mock - heroic 
 epistle, that the laughers were encouraged to proceed ; and the 
 next week, a ballad, entitled, ‘ The Manufacturer turned 
 Gentleman,’ was circulated with the same injunctions to 
 secrecy, and the same success. Mr. and Mrs. Germaine, 
 perceiving themselves to be the objects of continual enmity and 
 derision, determined to leave the county. Germaine Park was 
 forsaken ; a house in London was bought ; and, for a season 
 or two, our hero was amused with the gaieties of the town, 
 and gratified by finding himself actually moving in that sphere 
 of life to which he had always aspired. But he soon perceived 
 that the persons whom, at a distance, he had regarded as 
 objects of admiration and envy, upon a nearer view were 
 capable of exciting only contempt or pity. Even in the 
 company of honourable and right honourable men, he was 
 frequently overpowered with ennui ; and, amongst all the fine 
 acquaintances with whom his fine wife crowded his fine house, 
 he looked in vain for a friend : he looked in vain for a William 
 Darford. 
 
 One evening, at Ranelagh, Charles happened to hear the 
 name of Mr. William Darford pronounced by a lady who was 
 walking behind him : he turned eagerly to look at her ; but, 
 though he had a confused recollection of having seen her face 
 before, he could not remember when or where he had met with 
 her. He felt a wish to speak to her, that he might hear some- 
 thing of those friends whom he had neglected, but not forgotten. 
 He was not, however, acquainted with any of the persons with 
 whom she was walking, and was obliged to give up his purpose. 
 When she left the room, he followed her, in hopes of learning, 
 from her servants, who she was ; but she had no servants — no 
 carriage 1 
 
 Mrs. Germaine, who clearly inferred she was a person of 
 no consequence, besought her husband not to make any 
 further inquiries. ‘ I beg, Mr. Germaine, you will not gratify 
 
 3 1 1 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 your curiosity about the Darfords at my expense. I shall have 
 a whole tribe of vulgar people upon my hands, if you do not 
 take care. The Darfords, you know, are quite out of our line 
 of life, especially in town.’ 
 
 This remonstrance had a momentary effect upon Mr. 
 Germaine’s vanity ; but a few days afterwards he met the same 
 lady in the park, attended by Mr. William Darford’s old 
 servant. Regardless of his lady’s representations, he followed 
 the suggestions of his own heart, and eagerly stopped the man 
 to inquire after his friends in the most affectionate manner. 
 The servant, who was pleased to see that Charles was not 
 grown quite so much a fine gentleman as to forget all his 
 friends in the country, became very communicative ; he told 
 Mr. Germaine that the lady whom he was attending was a 
 Miss Locke, governess to Mr. William Darford’s children ; 
 and that she was now come to town to spend a few days with 
 a relation, who had been very anxious to see her. This relation 
 was not either rich or genteel ; and though our hero used 
 every persuasion to prevail upon his lady to show Miss Locke 
 some civility whilst she was in town, he could not succeed. 
 Mrs. Germaine repeated her former phrase, again and again, 
 
 1 The Darfords are quite out of our line of life ’ ; and this was 
 the only reason she would give. 
 
 Charles was disgusted by the obstinacy of his wife’s pride ; 
 and indulged his better feelings by going frequently to visit 
 Miss Locke. She stayed, however, but a fortnight in town ; 
 and the idea of his friends, which had been strongly recalled 
 by his conversations with her, gradually faded away. He 
 continued the course of life into which he had been forced, 
 rather from inability to stop than from inclination to proceed. 
 Their winters were spent in dissipation in town ; their summers 
 wasted at watering-places, or in visits to fine relations, who 
 were tired of their company, and who took but little pains to 
 conceal this sentiment. Those who do not live happily at 
 home can seldom contrive to live respectably abroad. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Germaine could not purchase esteem, and never 
 earned it from the world or from one another. Their mutual 
 contempt increased every day. Only those who have lived 
 with bosom friends whom they despise can fully comprehend 
 the extent and intensity of the evil. 
 
 We spare our readers the painful detail of domestic 
 312 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 grievances and the petty mortifications of vanity : from the 
 specimens we have already given they may form some idea, 
 but certainly not a competent one, of the manner in which this 
 ill-matched pair continued to live together for twelve long years. 
 Twelve long years ! The imagination cannot distinctly repre- 
 sent such a period of domestic suffering ; though, to the fancy 
 of lovers, the eternal felicity to be ensured by their union is an 
 idea perfectly familiar and intelligible. Perhaps, if we could 
 bring our minds to dwell more upon the hours, and less upon 
 the years of existence, we should make fewer erroneous judg- 
 ments. Our hero and heroine would never have chained 
 themselves together for life, if they could have formed an 
 adequate picture of the hours contained in the everlasting 
 period of twelve years of wrangling. During this time, 
 scarcely an hour, certainly not a day, passed in which they did 
 not, directly or indirectly, reproach one another ; and tacitly 
 form, or explicitly express, the wish that they had never been 
 joined in holy wedlock. 
 
 They, however, had a family. Children are either the 
 surest bonds of union between parents, or the most dangerous 
 causes of discord. If parents agree in opinion as to the 
 management of their children, they must be a continually- 
 increasing source of pleasure ; but where the father counteracts 
 the mother, and the mother the father — where the children 
 cannot obey or caress either of their parents without displeasing 
 the other, what can they become but wretched little hypocrites, 
 or detestable little tyrants ? 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Germaine had two children, a boy and a girl. 
 From the moment of their birth, they became subjects of 
 altercation and jealousy. The nurses were obliged to decide 
 whether the infants were most like the father or the mother : 
 two nurses lost their places, by giving what was, in Mr. 
 Germaine’s opinion, an erroneous decision upon this important 
 question. Every stranger who came to pay a visit was obliged 
 to submit to a course of interrogations on this subject ; and 
 afterwards, to their utter confusion, saw biting of lips, and 
 tossing of heads, either on the paternal or maternal side. At 
 last, it was established that Miss Maude was the most like her 
 mamma, and Master Charles the most like his papa. Miss 
 Maude, of course, became the faultless darling of her mother, 
 and Master Charles the mutinous favourite of his father. A 
 
 3i3 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 comparison between their features, gestures, and manners was 
 daily instituted, and always ended in words of scorn from one 
 party or the other. Even whilst they were pampering these 
 children with sweetmeats, or inflaming them with wine, the 
 parents had always the same mean and selfish views. The 
 mother, before she would let her Maude taste the sweetmeats, 
 insisted upon the child’s lisping out that she loved mamma 
 best ; and before the little Charles was permitted to carry the 
 bumper of wine to his lips, he was compelled to say he loved 
 papa best. In all their childish quarrels, Maude ran roaring 
 to her mamma, and Charles sneaked up to his papa. 
 
 As the interests of the children were so deeply concerned in 
 the question, it was quickly discovered who ruled in the house 
 with the strongest hand. Mr. Germaine’s influence over his 
 son diminished, as soon as the boy was clearly convinced that 
 his sister, by adhering to her mamma, enjoyed a larger share 
 of the good things. He was wearied out by the incessant 
 rebuffs of the nursery- maids, who were all in their lady’s 
 interests ; and he endeavoured to find grace in their sight by 
 recanting all the declarations he had made in his father’s 
 favour. ‘ I don’t like papa best now : I love mamma best 
 to-day.’ 
 
 1 Yes, master, but you must love mamma best every day, or 
 it won’t do, I promise you.’ 
 
 By such a course of nursery precepts these unfortunate 
 children were taught equivocation, falsehood, envy, jealousy, 
 and every fault of temper which could render them insupport- 
 able to themselves, and odious to others. Those who have 
 lived in the house with spoiled children must have a lively 
 recollection of the degree of torment they can inflict upon all 
 who are within sight or hearing. These domestic plagues 
 became more and more obnoxious ; and Mrs. Germaine, in the 
 bitterness of her heart, was heard to protest she wished she 
 had never had a child ! Children were pretty things at three 
 years old, but began to be great plagues at six, and were quite 
 intolerable at ten. 
 
 Schools, and tutors, and governesses were tried without 
 number ; but those capricious changes served only to render 
 the pupils still more unmanageable. At length Mr. and Mrs. 
 Germaine’s children became so notoriously troublesome, that 
 everybody dreaded the sight of them. 
 
 3M 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 One summer, when Mrs. Germaine was just setting out on 
 a visit to my Lady Mary Crawley, when the carriage was 
 actually at the door, and the trunks tied on, an express arrived 
 from her ladyship with a letter, stipulating that neither Miss 
 Maude nor Master Charles should be of the party. Lady 
 Mary declared she had suffered so much from their noise, 
 quarrelling, and refractory tempers when they were with her 
 the preceding summer, that she could not undergo such a 
 trial again ; that their mother’s nerves might support such 
 things, but that hers really could not : besides, she could not, 
 in justice and politeness to the other friends who were to be in 
 her house, suffer them to be exposed to such torments. Lady 
 Mary Crawley did not give herself any trouble to soften her 
 expressions, because she would have been really glad if they 
 had given offence, and if Mrs. Germaine had resented her 
 conduct, by declining to pay that annual visit which was now 
 become, in the worst sense of the word, visitation. To what 
 meanness proud people are often forced to submit ! Rather 
 than break her resolution never to spend another summer at 
 her own country seat, Mrs. Germaine submitted to all the 
 haughtiness of her Leicestershire relations, and continued 
 absolutely to force upon them visits which she knew to be 
 unwelcome. 
 
 But what was to be done about her children ? The first 
 thing, of course, was to reproach her husband. ‘ You see, 
 Mr. Germaine, the effect of the pretty education you have given 
 that boy of yours. I am sure, if he had not gone with us last 
 summer into Leicestershire, my Maude would not have been 
 in the least troublesome to Lady Mary.’ 
 
 ‘ On the contrary, my dear, I have heard Lady Mary herself 
 say, twenty times, that Charles was the best of the two ; and 1 
 am persuaded, if Maude had been away, the boy would have 
 become quite a favourite.’ 
 
 ‘ There you are utterly mistaken, I can assure you, my dear ; 
 for you know you are no great favourite of Lady Mary’s your- 
 self ; and I have often heard her say that Charles is your 
 image.’ 
 
 ‘ It is very extraordinary that all your great relations show 
 us so little civility, my dear. They do not seem to have much 
 regard for you.’ 
 
 ‘ They have regard enough for me, and showed it formerly ; 
 
 3 1 5 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 but of late, to be sure, I confess, things are altered. They 
 never have been so cordial since my marriage, and, all things 
 considered, I scarcely know how to blame them.’ 
 
 Mr. Germaine bowed, by way of thanking his lady for this 
 compliment. She besought him not to bow so like a man 
 behind a counter, if he could possibly help it. He replied, it 
 became him to submit to be schooled by a wife who was often 
 taken for his mother. At length, when every species of 
 reproach, mental and personal, which conjugal antipathy could 
 suggest, had been exhausted, the orators recurred to the busi- 
 ness of the day, and to the question, ‘ What is to be done with 
 the children whilst we are at Lady Mary Crawley’s ? ’ 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 In this embarrassment we must leave the Germaines for the 
 present, and refresh ourselves with a look at a happy circle — 
 the family of Mr. Darford, where there is no discordance of 
 opinions, of tastes, or of tempers ; none of those evils which 
 arise sometimes from the disappointment and sometimes from 
 the gratification of vanity and pride. 
 
 Mr. Darford succeeded beyond his most sanguine expecta- 
 tions in the management of his business. Wealth poured in 
 upon him ; but he considered wealth, like a true philosopher, 
 only as one of the means of happiness : he did not become 
 prodigal or avaricious ; neither did he ever feel the slightest 
 ambition to quit his own station in society. He never attempted 
 to purchase from people of superior rank admission into their 
 circles, by giving luxurious and ostentatious entertainments. 
 He possessed a sturdy sense of his own value, and commanded 
 a species of respect very different from that which is paid to 
 the laced livery or the varnished equipage. 
 
 The firmness of his character was, however, free from all 
 severity : he knew how to pardon in others the weakness and 
 follies from which he was himself exempt. Though his cousin 
 was of such a different character, and though, since his marriage, 
 Mr. Germaine had neglected his old friends, William felt more 
 compassion for his unhappiness than resentment for his faults. 
 
 3 l6 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 In the midst of his own family, William would often say, ‘ I 
 wish poor Charles may ever be as happy as we are! 1 Fre- 
 quently, in his letters to London correspondents, he desired 
 them to inquire, privately, how Mr. Germaine went on. 
 
 For some time he heard of nothing but his extravagance, 
 and of the entertainments given to the fine world by Mrs. 
 Germaine ; but in the course of a few years, his correspondents 
 hinted that Mr. Germaine began to be distressed for money, 
 and that this was a secret which had been scrupulously kept 
 from his lady, as scrupulously as she concealed from him her 
 losses at play. Mr. Darford also learned from a correspondent 
 who was intimately acquainted with one of Mrs. Germaine’s 
 friends, that this lady lived upon very bad terms with her 
 husband ; and that her children were terribly spoiled by the 
 wretched education they received. 
 
 These accounts gave William sincere concern : far from 
 triumphing in the accomplishing of his prophecies, he never 
 once recalled them to the memory even of his own family; all 
 his thoughts were intent upon saving his friend from future pain. 
 
 One day, as he was sitting with his family round their 
 cheerful tea-table, his youngest boy, who had climbed upon his 
 knees, exclaimed, 1 Papa ! what makes you so very grave to- 
 night ? You are not at all like yourself! What can make you 
 sorry ? 1 
 
 ‘ My dear little boy, 1 said his father, ‘ I was thinking of a 
 letter I received to-day from London. 1 
 
 ‘ I wish those letters would never come, for they always 
 make you look sad, and make you sigh ! Mamma, why do 
 you not desire the servants not to bring papa any more such 
 letters ? What did this letter say to you, papa, to make you 
 so grave ? 1 
 
 ‘ My dear, 1 said his father, smiling at the child’s simplicity, 
 ‘ this letter told me that your little cousin Charles is not quite 
 so good a boy as you are. 1 
 
 ‘ Then, papa, I will tell you what to do : send our Miss 
 Locke to cousin Charles, and she will soon make him very 
 good. 1 
 
 ‘ I daresay she would, 1 replied the father, laughing : ‘ but, 
 my dear boy, I cannot send Miss Locke ; and I am afraid she 
 would not like to go : besides, we should be rather sorry to 
 part with her. 1 
 
 3 r 7 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ Then, papa, suppose you were to send for my cousin ; 
 and Miss Locke could take care of him here, without leaving 
 us ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Could take care of him — true ; but would she ? If you 
 can prevail upon her to do so, I will send for your cousin.’ 
 
 The proposal, though playfully made, was seriously accepted 
 by Miss Locke : and the more willingly, as she remembered, 
 with gratitude, the attention Mr. Germaine had paid to her 
 some years before, when with poor relations in London. 
 
 Mr. Darford wrote immediately, to invite his cousin’s children 
 to his house ; and the invitation was most gladly accepted, for 
 it was received the very day when Mr. and Mrs. Germaine 
 were so much embarrassed by Lady Mary Crawley’s absolute 
 refusal to admit these children into her house. Mrs. Germaine 
 was not too proud to accept of favours from those whom she 
 had treated as beneath her acquaintance, ‘ quite out of her line of 
 life ! ’ She despatched her children directly to Mr. Darford’s ; 
 and Miss Locke undertook the care of them. It was not an 
 easy or agreeable task ; but she had great obligations to Mrs. 
 Darford, and was rejoiced at finding an opportunity of showing 
 her gratitude. 
 
 Miss Locke was the young woman whose painting of an iris 
 had been admired by Charles and by Miss Maude Germaine 
 when they visited the china-works, thirteen or fourteen years 
 before this time. She was at that period very ill, and in great 
 distress : her father had been a bankrupt, and to earn bread for 
 herself and her sisters she was obliged to work harder than her 
 health and strength allowed. Probably she would have fallen 
 a sacrifice to her exertions, if she had not been saved by the 
 humanity of Mr. Darford ; and, fortunately for him, he was 
 married to a woman who sympathised in all his generous 
 feelings, and who assisted him in every benevolent action. 
 
 Mrs. Darford, after making sufficient inquiries as to the 
 truth of the story, and the character of the girl, was so much 
 pleased with all she heard of her merit, and so much touched 
 by her misfortunes, that she took Miss Locke into her family 
 to teach her daughters to draw. She well knew that a sense 
 of dependence is one of the greatest evils ; and she was careful 
 to relieve the person whom she obliged from this painful feeling, 
 by giving her an opportunity of being daily useful to her bene- 
 factress. Miss Locke soon recovered her health : she perceived 
 
 3i8 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 she might be serviceable in teaching the children of the family 
 many things besides drawing ; and, with unremitting persever- 
 ance, she informed her own mind, that she might be able to 
 instruct her pupils. Year after year she pursued this plan ; 
 and was rewarded by the esteem and affection of the happy 
 family in which she lived. 
 
 But though Miss Locke was a woman of great abilities, she 
 had not the magical powers attributed to some characters in 
 romance : she could not instantaneously produce a total reforma- 
 tion of manners. The habits of spoiled children are not to be 
 changed by the most skilful preceptress, without the aid of time. 
 Miss Maude Germaine and her brother had tempers which 
 tried Miss Locke’s patience to the utmost ; but, gradually, she 
 acquired some influence over these wayward spirits. She 
 endeavoured with her utmost skill to eradicate the jealousy 
 which had been implanted in the minds of the brother and 
 sister. They found that they were now treated with strict 
 impartiality, and they began to live together more peaceably. 
 
 Time was willingly allowed to Miss Locke by their parents, 
 who were glad to be disencumbered of their children. Eighteen 
 months passed away, and no news was heard of Mr. or Mrs. 
 Germaine, except that they continued the same extravagant, 
 dissipated course of life, and that they began to be much 
 embarrassed in their circumstances. At last Mr. Darford 
 received a letter which informed him that an execution was 
 laid on Mr. Germaine’s fine house in town ; and that he and 
 his family were all in the greatest distress and affliction. 
 
 William hastened immediately to London. He was denied 
 admittance at Mr. Germaine’s : the porter, with an air of mys- 
 tery, said that his master was ill, and did not choose to see 
 anybody. William, however, forced his way up stairs. 
 
 Charles, at the sight of him, stepped back, exclaiming, ‘ May 
 I believe my eyes ? William ! Is it you ?’ 
 
 ‘Yes, it is William; your old friend William,’ said Mr. 
 Darford, embracing him affectionately. Pride and shame 
 struggled in the mind of Charles ; and, turning aside to repress 
 the tears, which in the first instance of emotion had started 
 into his eyes, he went to the farthest end of the room for an 
 arm-chair for his cousin, placed it with awkward ceremony, and 
 said, ‘ Won’t you be seated, cousin Darford ? I am sure Mrs. 
 Germaine and I are much indebted to you and Mrs. Darford, 
 
 3i9 
 
May I believe my eyes ? William ! Is it you ? ” 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 for your goodness to our children. I was just thinking of writ- 
 ing to you about them ; — but we are in sad confusion here, just 
 
 at this moment. I am quite ashamed — I did not expect 
 
 Why did you never honour us with a visit before ? I am sure 
 you could not possibly have hit upon a more unlucky moment 
 for a visit — for yourself, I mean.’ 
 
 ‘ If it proves lucky to you, my dear Charles,’ replied 
 William, mildly, ‘ I shall think it the most fortunate moment I 
 could possibly have chosen.’ 
 
 Vanquished by the tone of this reply, our hero burst into 
 tears : he squeezed his friend’s hand, but could not speak. 
 Recovering himself, after a few minutes, he said, ‘ You are too 
 good, cousin William, and always were ! I thought you called 
 in by accident ; I had no supposition that you came on purpose 
 to assist me in this moment of distress — embarrassment, I 
 ought to say ; for, in fact, it is only a mere temporary 
 embarrassment.’ 
 
 ‘ I am heartily glad to hear it. But, speak to me freely, 
 Charles : do not conceal the real state of your affairs from your 
 best friend. What tendency could this have but to plunge you 
 into irretrievable ruin ? ’ 
 
 Charles paused for a minute. ‘ The truth of the matter is, 
 my dear William,’ continued he, ‘ that there are circumstances 
 in this business which I should be sorry reached Mrs. Germaine's 
 ear, or any of her cursed proud relations ; for if once they heard 
 of it, I should have no peace for the rest of my life. Indeed, 
 as to peace, I cannot boast of much as it is : but it might be 
 worse, much worse, if the whole truth came out. To you, 
 however, I can trust it ; though in your line of life it would be 
 counted a shocking thing : but still you are so indulgent ’ 
 
 William listened without being able to guess where this pre- 
 amble would end. 
 
 ‘ In the first place,’ continued Charles, ‘ you know — Mrs. 
 Germaine is almost ten years older than I am.’ 
 
 ‘ Six years, I thought you formerly told me ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I beg your pardon, ten — ten — within a few months. If I 
 said six, it was before our marriage, when I knew no better. 
 She owns to seven ; her own relations say eight ; her nurse 
 said nine ; and I say ten.’ 
 
 ‘Well, ten let it be, since you will have it so.’ 
 
 ‘ I should be very glad to have it otherwise, I promise you, 
 Y 321 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 if I could : for it is not very pleasant to a man like me to be 
 quizzed by half the young men of fashion in town, for having 
 married a woman old enough to be my mother.’ 
 
 ‘Not quite old enough to be your mother,’ said his cousin, 
 in a conciliatory tone ; ‘ these young men of fashion are not the 
 best calculators. Mrs. Germaine could not well have been 
 your mother, since at the worst, by your own account, there is 
 only ten years difference between you.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, but that is not all ; for, what is still worse, Mrs. 
 Germaine, thanks to the raking hours she keeps, and gaming 
 and fretting, looks full ten years older than she is : so that you 
 see, in fact, there are twenty years between us.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not see it, indeed,’ replied William, smiling ; ‘ but I 
 am bound to believe what you assert. Let me ask you, to what 
 does this discussion, concerning poor Mrs. Germaine’s age, 
 tend ? ’ 
 
 ‘To justify, or at least to excuse, poor Mr. Germaine for 
 keeping a mistress, who is something younger, something 
 prettier, and, above all, something more good-humoured, than 
 his wife.’ 
 
 ‘ Perhaps the wife would be as good-humoured as the 
 mistress, if she were as happy in possessing her husband’s 
 affections.’ 
 
 ‘Affections ! O Lord ! Affections are out of the question. 
 Mrs. Germaine does not care a straw about my affections.’ 
 
 ‘ And yet you dread that she should have the least hint of 
 your having a mistress.’ 
 
 ‘ Of course. You don’t see my jet. You don’t consider 
 what a devil of a handle that would give her against me. She 
 has no more love for me than this table ; but she is jealous 
 beyond all credibility, and she knows right well how to turn her 
 jealousy to account. She would go caballing amongst her 
 tribes of relations, and get all the women and all the world on 
 her side, with this hue and cry of a mistress ; and then I 
 should be branded as the worst husband upon earth. That 
 indeed I should laugh at, because all the young men in town 
 would keep me in countenance ; but Mrs. Germaine would 
 rummage out the history of the sums of money I have given 
 this girl, and then would set those against her play-debts, and 
 I should have no more hold over her ; for, you know, if I 
 should begin to reproach her with the one, she would recrimi- 
 
 3 22 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 nate She is a devil of a hand at that work ! Neither you nor 
 any man on earth, except myself, can form any idea of the 
 temper of Mrs. Germaine ! She is — to you, my dear friend, I 
 may have the relief of saying so — she is, without exception, 
 the most proud, peevish, selfish, unreasonable, extravagant, 
 tyrannical, unfeeling woman in Christendom ! ’ 
 
 ‘ In Christendom ! Oh, you exaggerate, Charles !’ 
 
 ‘ Exaggerate ! Upon my soul, I do not : she is all I have 
 said, and more.’ 
 
 ‘ More ! Impossible. Come, I see how it is ; she has 
 been unlucky at the card-table ; you are angry, and therefore 
 you speak, as angry people always do , 1 worse than you 
 think.’ 
 
 ‘No, not at all, I promise you. I am as perfectly cool as 
 you are. You do not know Mrs. Germaine as well as I do.’ 
 
 ‘ But I know that she is much to be pitied, if her husband 
 has a worse opinion of her than anybody else expresses.’ 
 
 ‘ That is precisely because I am her husband, and know her 
 better than other people do. Will not you give me leave to be 
 the best judge in what relates to my own wife ? I never, indeed, 
 expected to hear you, of all people upon earth, cousin William, 
 undertake her defence. I think I remember that she was no 
 great favourite of yours before I married, and you dissuaded me 
 as much as possible from the match : yet now you are quite 
 become her advocate, and take her part to my face against me.’ 
 
 ‘ It is not taking her part against you, my dear Charles,’ 
 replied his cousin, ‘ to endeavour to make you better satisfied 
 with your wife. I am not so obstinate in self-opinion as to 
 wish, at the expense of your domestic happiness, to prove that 
 I was right in dissuading you from the match ; on the con- 
 trary, I would do all in my power to make the best of it ; and 
 so should you.’ 
 
 ‘ Ah, cousin William, it is easy for you to talk of making the 
 best of a bad match ; you who are married to one of the best- 
 tempered women alive ! I wish you were to live with Mrs. 
 Germaine for one month.’ 
 
 William smiled, as much as to say, ‘ I cannot join in that 
 wish.’ 
 
 ‘ Besides,’ continued Charles, ‘ if I were to open my whole 
 heart to you, you would pity me on another account. My wife 
 1 Swift. 
 
 323 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 is not my only plague : my mistress is almost as great a torment 
 as my wife.’ 
 
 ‘ What ! this mistress of whom you are so fond ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Ay ! there is the curse ! I cannot help being fond of her : 
 and that she knows, and plays me off as she pleases. But I 
 believe the little jilt loves me all the time : because she has 
 offers enough, and from men of the first fashion, if she would 
 leave me. She is certainly a good girl ; but then so passionate ! ’ 
 
 ‘ I thought you told me she was good-humoured,’ interrupted 
 his cousin. 
 
 ‘ Well, so she is, at times, the best-humoured creature in 
 nature ; and then she is charming : but when she falls into a 
 passion, she is a little fury ! absolutely a little devil ! There is 
 nothing she would not do. Now, do you know, all this terrible 
 business, this execution against me, is her doing?’ 
 
 ‘ A singular proof of love ! ’ said Mr. William Darford. 
 
 ‘ Oh, the fool loves me, notwithstanding ; I must do her 
 that justice : but she is quite a child. I put her into a passion, 
 by going down to Leicestershire when she wanted me to stay 
 with her in town. She told me she would be revenged ; but I 
 could not believe she would go such lengths. She gave a note 
 of mine, for two hundred guineas, to her uncle ; and he got a 
 writ. Now she is in despair about it ; I saw her two hours ago 
 all in tears, and tearing her hair, because her uncle won’t con- 
 sent to withdraw the execution. I am sure she is really and 
 truly sorry, and would give her eyes to get me out of this scrape.’ 
 
 ‘ Whether she would give her eyes or not, I will not pretend 
 to determine ; but it is plain she would not pay two hundred 
 guineas “ to get you out of this scrape.” Now, where do you 
 intend to get the money ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Ah, there’s the rub ! I have not a farthing, till our next 
 rents come in ; and you see these heaps of bills. Then the 
 agent, who manages everything, Heaven knows how ! at 
 Germaine Park, says tenants are breaking ; that we are, I do 
 not know how much, in his debt, and that we must sell ; but 
 that, if we sell in a hurry, and if our distress be talked of, we 
 shall get nothing for the land, and so shall be ruined outright. 
 Now, this all originates in Mrs. Germaine’s pride and positive- 
 ness : she never could be prevailed upon to go down to 
 Germaine Park, these ten years past, because some of the 
 Northamptonshire people affronted her: so our affairs have 
 
 3 2 4 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 gone on just as the agent pleases ; and he is a rascal, I am 
 convinced, for he is always writing to say we are in his 
 debt. But, indeed, my dear William, you are too good to take 
 any interest in this history of my affairs : I am conscious that 
 I have not treated you well.’ 
 
 ‘ Do not talk of that now : do not think of it, Charles,’ 
 interrupted Mr. Darford. ‘ I am come to town on purpose to 
 be of all the service to you I can. I will discharge this writ 
 upon one, and only upon one, condition.’ 
 
 ‘Upon any condition you please,’ cried Charles. ‘I will 
 give you my bond. I will give you security upon the Germaine 
 estate, if you require it.’ 
 
 ‘ I require no security ; I require no bond, Charles ; I require 
 only a condition which I believe to be absolutely necessary for 
 your happiness. Promise me you will break off all connection 
 with that treacherous mistress of yours.’ 
 
 ‘ Treacherous ! No, no ! I assure you, you mistake the girl.’ 
 
 ‘ Mistake her or not, Charles, without arguing the matter 
 farther, on this one point I must be peremptory ; and, positively, 
 the only condition on which I will pay this money is your 
 promise never to see her again.’ 
 
 Charles hesitated. ‘Upon my soul,’ cried he, ‘I believe 
 the girl will break her heart. But then she is so cursedly 
 extravagant, she ruins me ! I would have broken with her long 
 ago, if I could have summoned up courage enough. After all, I 
 believe it was more habit, idleness, and fashion, than anything 
 else, that made me go to see her so often. When I did not know 
 what to do with myself, or when I was put out of humour at 
 home, I went to this girl. Well, let us say no more about it : 
 she is not worth thinking of ; I give her up. You may depend 
 upon it, my dear William, I will have nothing more to do with 
 her. I will, since you make that your ultimatum, never see her 
 again.’ 
 
 ‘ Will you write to her then immediately, to let her know 
 your determination ?’ 
 
 ‘ Certainly ; immediately.’ 
 
 Charles wrote, to bid adieu to this mistress ; to whom, by 
 his own account, habit, idleness, fashion, and the want of a 
 happy home, had attached him ; and William gave him a 
 draft for the amount of his debt, by which the execution was 
 taken off. 
 
 325 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Mr. Darford seized the moment when his cousin’s mind was 
 warmed with gratitude to say a few words, as little in the form 
 of advice as possible, in praise of economy. 
 
 ‘You know, my dear Charles,’ said he, ‘that I am, and 
 always was, a very plain man, in my way of living ; and I dare- 
 say my ideas will appear quite absurd to you, who are used to 
 live with men of taste and fashion ; but really these rooms, this 
 furniture, and this house appear to me fitter for a nobleman 
 than for a man of your fortune.’ 
 
 ‘ It is so. Mrs. Germaine would insist upon my taking it. 
 But I will part with it before next winter. I will advertise it 
 immediately. I will begin a course of economy.’ 
 
 Mr. Germaine’s projects of economy were at this moment 
 interrupted by the sudden entrance of his wife. Her eyes 
 flashing with anger, she walked with the proud air of an 
 enraged tragedy queen across the room, seated herself upon a 
 sofa, and, in a voice which trembled with ill-suppressed rage, 
 said, ‘ I am to thank you, Mr. Germaine, for the many obliging 
 things you have said of me this last hour ! I have heard them 
 all ! You are under a mistake, sir, if you imagine I have been 
 hitherto your dupe. You have never imposed upon me for a 
 moment. I have suspected, this twelvemonth, that you kept a 
 mistress : and now I am happy to have the truth confirmed from 
 your own lips. But I deserve all that has happened ! I am 
 justly treated ! Weak woman, to marry as I did ! No gentle- 
 man, sir, would have behaved or would have spoken as you have 
 done ! Could not you have been content with ruining yourself 
 and your family, Mr. Germaine, by your profligate low tastes, 
 without insulting me by base reflections upon my temper, and 
 downright falsehoods about my age ? No gentleman, sir, would 
 have treated me as you have done. I am the most miserable 
 of women ! ’ 
 
 Passion choked her utterance, and she fell back in a violent 
 fit of hysterics. Mr. William Darford was much shocked at 
 this matrimonial scene. The lady had caught hold of his arm, 
 in one of her convulsive motions ; and she held it so fast that 
 he could not withdraw. Charles stood in silent dismay. His 
 conscience smote him ; and though he could not love his wife, 
 he blamed himself for having rendered her ‘ the most miserable 
 of women.’ ‘ Leave her to me, Charles,’ said Mr. Darford, 
 ‘ and I will endeavour to set matters to rights.’ 
 
 3 26 
 
t:i [ am to thank you, Mr. Germaine; for the many obliging things you have said 
 of me this last hour ! ” ’ 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Charles shook his head, and left the room. Mrs. Germaine 
 by degrees recovered herself ; for a hysteric fit cannot last for 
 ever. She cast her eyes round the room, and exclaimed, ‘ He 
 has done well to leave me ! Oh that it were for ever ! Oh 
 that we had never met ! But may I ask why Mr. William 
 Darford is here ? My own servant — my own maid, should have 
 been summoned to attend me. We have servants still, sir ; and, 
 humbled as I am, I see no necessity for submitting to have cool 
 spectators of our family distresses and family quarrels.’ 
 
 ‘ Believe me, madam,’ said Mr. Darford, ‘ I am not a cool 
 spectator of either. I do not wish to recall disagreeable things, 
 but to obtain the right of speaking to you of your affairs as a 
 friend. Permit me to remind you that, when I could not guess 
 you heard me, I defended your interests.’ 
 
 ‘ Really, sir, you spoke so low that I did not distinctly hear 
 what you said ; and my feelings were so much hurt, by all I 
 heard from Mr. Germaine, who spoke loud enough, that I 
 attended to nothing else. Upon recollection, I do, however, 
 remember you made some offer to get Mr. Germaine out of his 
 present embarrassments, upon condition that he would break off 
 all connection with this girl, whom nobody knows ; or rather 
 whom everybody knows too well.’ 
 
 ‘ And was not this offer of mine some proof, Mrs. Germaine, 
 that I wish your happiness ?’ 
 
 ‘ Why, really, Mr. Darford, having lived in the world as I 
 have done from my childhood, I am not apt to expect much 
 friendship from any one, especially from people in the habits of 
 calculation ; and I have been so much deceived where I have 
 unguardedly trusted to the friendship and love of a man brought 
 up in that sort of way, that you must forgive me if I could not 
 bring my mind to think you had any concern for my happiness 
 in the offer you made. I did indeed suppose it would be a 
 mortifying circumstance to you to see your cousin quite ruined 
 by this infamous creature. 1 say, I did imagine you would be 
 shocked at seeing your cousin sent to jail. That, you know, is 
 a thing discreditable to a whole family, let it be of what sort it 
 may. From your kindness to our children, I see you consider 
 us as relations. Every human being, I do suppose, has some 
 family pride in their own way.’ 
 
 ‘ I own I have a great deal of family pride, in my own way, 
 madam,’ replied Mr. Darford, with a calm smile ; ‘ I am proud, 
 
 328 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 for instance, of having, and of being able to maintain in perfect 
 independence, a number of good and affectionate children, and 
 a wife, whose good sense and sweetness of temper constitute the 
 happiness of my existence ! ’ 
 
 Mrs. Germaine coloured, threw back her head, and strove to 
 conceal the anguish of her conscience. William was sorry he 
 had inflicted pain, but he saw that the only way to make him- 
 self understood in this conversation, was to assert that real 
 superiority of character to which, in certain situations, the 
 factitious pretensions of rank or fashion never fail to yield. 
 
 ‘You are at liberty, Mrs. Germaine,’ continued William, ‘to 
 interpret my offers and my actions as you think proper ; but you 
 will, when you are cool, observe that neither I nor any of my 
 family have anything to gain from you or yours ; not even a 
 curtsy or a bow, in public places ; for we do not frequent them. 
 We live retired, and have no connection with fine people ; we 
 preserve our own independence by confining ourselves to our 
 own station in life ; and by never desiring to quit it, nor to ape 
 those who are called our betters. From what I have just heard 
 you say, I think it possible you may have formed the idea that 
 we invited your children to our house with the selfish supposition 
 that the connection — I believe that is the fashionable phrase — 
 might be advantageous to our own. But this is quite a 
 mistake. Our children will live as we do : they have no idea of 
 forming high connections, because they have been taught not to 
 think them necessary to happiness. I assure you it is not my 
 habit to talk so much of myself and of mine ; but I thought it 
 best to explain the truth to you at once, as this was the only way 
 to gain your confidence, and as we have neither of us time to 
 spare.’ 
 
 ‘Very true,’ said Mrs. Germaine. 
 
 ‘ And now, madam, I have a proposal to make you, which 
 I hope you will take as it is meant. I understand, from Mr. 
 Germaine, you have some play-debts.’ 
 
 ‘ Mr. Germaine does not know their amount,’ said Mrs. 
 Germaine, lowering her voice, as if she apprehended she might 
 be overheard. 
 
 ‘ If you will trust me with that secret, I will not make a 
 bad use of it.’ 
 
 Mrs. Germaine in a whisper named the sum. It was 
 certainly considerable, for the naming of it made Mr. Darford 
 
 329 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 step back with surprise. After a few minutes’ thought, he 
 recovered himself, and said, ‘ This is a larger debt than I was 
 aware of, but we will see what can be done. From the time 
 that Charles and I dissolved our partnership, I have never 
 remitted my attention to business ; and that very circumstance, 
 for which you must despise me, puts it now in my power to 
 assist you without injuring my own family. I am a man who 
 speak my mind freely, perhaps bluntly. You must solemnly 
 promise me you will never again play at any game of hazard. 
 Upon this condition, I will pay your present debts immediately.’ 
 
 With all the eagerness of a person who wishes to seize an 
 offer which appears too generous to be repeated, Mrs. Germaine 
 promised all that was required. Her debts were paid. 
 
 And now her benefactor had hopes that she and her 
 husband would live more prudently ; and that they might still 
 enjoy some portion of domestic happiness. Vain hopes ! 
 Charles really wished to retrench his expenses ; but Mrs. 
 Germaine’s pride was an insuperable obstacle to all his plans 
 of economy. She had always been accustomed to such and 
 such things. There was no possibility of living without them. 
 Her relations would be perfectly astonished if she did not 
 appear in the style in which she had always lived before her 
 marriage. Provoked by the insolent absurdity of such argu- 
 ments, Mr. Germaine insisted with the authoritative voice of a 
 husband who was conscious that he had both reason and 
 power on his side. Hence arose daily altercations, more 
 bitter even than those which jealousy had formerly occasioned. 
 Some wives acknowledge they can more easily forgive a 
 husband’s infidelity than his interference in the regulation of 
 their household expenses. Of this class of amiable females was 
 Mrs. Germaine. Though her husband strictly adhered to his 
 promise never to have any farther connection with his mistress, 
 yet he was not rewarded by any increase of affection or kind- 
 ness from his wife ; on the contrary, she seemed to be rather 
 vexed that she was deprived of this legitimate subject of com- 
 plaint. She could not, with so much tragic effect, bewail that 
 her husband would ruin himself and her by his follies. 
 
 To loud altercations silent hatred succeeded. Mrs. 
 Germaine grew sullen, low-spirited, nervous, and hysterical. 
 Among fashionable medical dowagers, she became an interest- 
 ing personage : but this species of consequence was by no 
 
 33 ° 
 
TIIE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 means sufficient to support her self-complacency, and, as she 
 declared, she felt herself incapable of supporting the intolerable 
 burden of ennui. 
 
 In various situations the conduct of many individuals may 
 be predicted with certainty by those who are acquainted with 
 their previous habits. Habit is, to weak minds, a species of 
 moral predestination, from which they have no power to 
 escape. Their common language expresses their sense of 
 their own inability to struggle against that destiny which their 
 previous folly has prepared. They usually say, ‘ For my part, 
 I cannot help doing so and so. I know it is very wrong. I 
 know it is my ruin ; but I own I cannot resist. It is in vain 
 to argue with me : it is my way ; it is my fate.’ 
 
 Mrs. Germaine found herself led, ‘ by an irresistible im- 
 pulse,’ to the card-table, notwithstanding her solemn promise 
 never more to play at any game of hazard. It was in vain to 
 argue with her. ‘ It was her way ; it was her fate ; she knew 
 it was very wrong ; she knew it was her ruin ; but she could 
 not resist ! ’ 
 
 In the course of a few months, she was again involved in 
 debt ; and she had the meanness and the assurance again to 
 apply to the generosity of Mr. William Darford. Her letter 
 was written in the most abject strain, and was full of all the 
 flattering expressions which she imagined must, from a woman 
 of her birth and consequence in the world, have a magical 
 effect upon one in Mr. William Darford’s station. She was 
 surprised when she received a decided refusal. He declined 
 all farther interference, as he perceived it was impossible that 
 he could be of any real utility. He forbore to reproach the 
 lady with her breach of promise. ‘ She will,’ said he to him- 
 self, ‘ be sufficiently punished by the consequences of her own 
 conduct : I would not increase her distress.’ 
 
 A separation from her husband was the immediate conse- 
 quence. Perhaps it may be thought that, to Mrs. Germaine, 
 this would be no punishment : but the loss of all the pride, 
 pomp, and circumstance of married life was deeply felt. She 
 was thrown absolutely upon the charity of relations, who had 
 very little charity in any sense of the word. She was dis- 
 regarded by all her fine acquaintance ; she had no friend upon 
 earth to pity her; even her favourite maid gave warning, because 
 she was tired of her mistress’s temper, and of receiving no wages. 
 
 33i 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 The detail of poor Mrs. Germaine’s mortifications and 
 sufferings cannot be interesting. She was a prey to low 
 spirits, or, in other words, to mortified vanity, for some time ; 
 and at last died of a nervous fever. 
 
 Her husband wrote the following letter to Mr. William 
 Darford, soon after her death : — 
 
 ‘My dear William — You have heard of poor Mrs. 
 Germaine’s death, and of the manner of it ; no more need be 
 said upon that subject. Whatever were her faults, she has 
 suffered for them ; and so have I for mine. Believe me, I am 
 effectually cured of all my desire to be a fine gentleman. I shall 
 quit the name of Germaine immediately, and resume that of 
 Darford. You know the state of my affairs. There is yet hope 
 I may set things to rights by my own industry ; and I am 
 determined to go into business, and to apply to it in good 
 earnest, for my own sake, and for the sake of my children, 
 whom I have hitherto shamefully neglected. But 1 had it not 
 always in my power, after my marriage, to do as I wished. 
 No more of that. The blame be upon me for the past ; for 
 the future I shall, I hope, be a different man. I dare not ask 
 you to trust so far to these good resolutions as to take me into 
 partnership with you, in your manufactory ; but perhaps your 
 good-nature can direct me to some employment suited to my 
 views and capacity. I ask only a fair trial ; I think I shall 
 not do as I used to do, and leave all the letters to be written 
 by my partner. 
 
 ‘ Give my love to my dear little boy and girl. How can I 
 thank you and Mrs. Darford enough for all you have done for 
 them ? There is another person whom I should wish to thank, 
 but scarcely dare to name ; feeling, as I do, so unworthy of 
 her goodness. — Adieu, yours sincerely, 
 
 ‘ Charles Darford, again, thank God.’ 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to inform our readers that Mr. 
 William Darford received his penitent friend with open arms, 
 took him into partnership, and assisted him in the most kind 
 and judicious manner to re-establish his fortune and his credit. 
 He became remarkable for his steady attention to business ; 
 to the great astonishment of those who had seen him only in 
 the character of a dissipated fine gentleman. Few have 
 
 332 
 
THE MANUFACTURERS 
 
 sufficient strength of mind thus to stop short in the career of 
 folly, and few have the resolution to bear the ridicule thrown 
 upon them even by those whom they despise. Our hero was 
 ridiculed most unmercifully by all his former companions, — by 
 all the Bond Street loungers. But of what consequence was 
 this to him ? He did not live among them ; he did not hear 
 their witticisms ; and well knew that, in less than a twelve- 
 month, they would forget such a person as Charles Germaine 
 had ever existed. His knowledge of what is called high life 
 had sufficiently convinced him that happiness is not in the 
 gift or in the possession of those who are often, to ignorant 
 mortals, objects of supreme admiration and envy. 
 
 Charles Darford looked for happiness, and found it in 
 domestic life. 
 
 Belief founded upon our own experience is more firm than 
 that which we grant to the hearsay evidence of moralists ; but 
 happy those who, according to the ancient proverb, can profit 
 by the experience of their predecessors ! 
 
 Feb. 1803. 
 
 333 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ‘What a blessing it is to be the father of such a family of 
 children!’ said farmer Frankland, as he looked round at the 
 honest affectionate faces of his sons and daughters, who were 
 dining with him on his birthday. ‘ What a blessing it is to 
 have a large family of children ! ’ 
 
 ‘A blessing you may call it, if you will, neighbour,’ said 
 farmer Bettesworth ; ‘ but if I were to speak my mind, I should 
 be apt to call it a curse.’ 
 
 1 Why, as to that, we may both be right and both be wrong,’ 
 replied Frankland ; ‘ for children are either a blessing or a curse 
 according as they turn out ; and they turn out according as 
 they are brought up. “ Bring up a child in the way it should 
 go ” ; that has ever been my maxim : show me a better, show 
 me a happier family than my own ; and show me a happier 
 father than myself,’ continued the good old man, with pleasure 
 sparkling in his eyes. Observing, however, that his neighbour 
 Bettesworth looked blank and sighed deeply, he checked himself, 
 and said, in a more humble tone, ‘ To be sure, it is not so 
 mannerly for a man to be praising his own, except it just come 
 from the heart unawares, amongst friends who will excuse it, 
 especially upon such a day as this. This day I am seventy years 
 of age, and never was heartier or happier ! So, Fanny, love, 
 fill neighbour Bettesworth a glass of your sister’s cider. ’Tis 
 my Patty’s making, sir ; and better never was drunk. Nay, nay, 
 sit ye still, neighbour ; as you happened to call in just as we 
 were all dining, and making merry together, why you cannot do 
 
 335 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 better than to stay and make one of us, seeing that you are 
 heartily welcome.’ 
 
 Mr. Bettesworth excused himself, by saying that he was in 
 haste to get home. 
 
 No happy home had he, no affectionate children to welcome 
 his return. Yet he had as numerous a family as Mr. Frank- 
 land ; three sons and two daughters : Idle Isaac, Wild Will, 
 Bullying Bob, Saucy Sally, and Jilting Jessy. Such were the 
 names by which they were called by all who knew them in the 
 town of Monmouth, where they lived. Alliteration had “ lent 
 its artful aid ” in giving these nicknames ; but they were not 
 misapplied. 
 
 Mr. Bettesworth was an indolent man, fond of his pipe, and 
 fonder of building castles in the air by his fireside. Mrs. 
 Bettesworth was a vain, foolish vixen ; fond of dress, and fonder 
 of her own will. Neither of them took the least care to breed 
 up their children. Whilst they were young, the mother 
 humoured them : when they grew up, she contradicted them in 
 everything, and then wondered how they could be so ungrateful 
 as not to love her. 
 
 The father was also surprised to find that his boys and girls 
 were not as well-mannered, nor as well-tempered, nor as clever, 
 nor as steady, nor as dutiful and affectionate, as his neighbour 
 Frankland’s ; and he said to himself, ‘ Some folks have the luck 
 of having good children. To be sure, some children are born 
 better than others.’ 
 
 He should rather have said, ‘ To be sure, some children are 
 bred better than others.’ 
 
 Mr. Frankland’s wife was a prudent, sensible woman, and had 
 united with him in constant endeavours to educat^ their family. 
 Whilst they were yet infants, prattling at their mother’s knee, 
 she taught them to love and help one another, to conquer their 
 little froward humours, and to be obedient and tractable. This 
 saved both them and herself a great deal of trouble afterward ; 
 and their father often said, both to the boys and girls, ‘You 
 may thank your mother, and so may I, for the good tempers 
 you have.’ 
 
 The girls had the misfortune to lose this excellent mother, 
 when one was about seventeen, and the other eighteen ; but she 
 was always alive in their memory. Patty, the eldest sister, 
 was homely in her person ; but she was so neat in her dress, 
 
 336 
 
TIIE CONTRAST 
 
 and she had such a cheerful, agreeable temper, that people for- 
 got she was not handsome ; particularly as it was observed that 
 she was very fond of her sister Fanny, who was remarkably 
 pretty. 
 
 Fanny was neither prudish nor censorious ; neither a romp 
 nor a flirt : she was so unaffected and unassuming, that most of 
 her neighbours loved her ; and this is saying a great deal in 
 favour of one who had so much the power to excite envy. 
 
 Mr. Frankland’s eldest son, George, was bred to be a farmer ; 
 and he understood country business uncommonly well for a 
 young man of his age. He constantly assisted his father in the 
 management of the farm ; and, by this means, acquired much 
 experience with little waste of time or money. His father had 
 always treated him so much as his friend, and had talked to him 
 so openly of his affairs, that he ever looked upon his father’s 
 business as his own ; and he had no idea of having any separate 
 interest. 
 
 James, the second son, was bred to trade. He had been 
 taught whatever was necessary and useful for a man in business ; 
 he had habits of punctuality, civil manners, and a thorough love 
 of fair dealing. 
 
 Frank, the youngest son, was of a more lively disposition 
 than his brothers ; and his father used often to tell him, when 
 he was a boy, that, if he did not take care, his hasty temper 
 would get him into scrapes ; and that the brightest parts, 
 as they are called, will be of little use to a man, unless he has 
 also steadiness to go through with whatever he begins. These 
 hints, from a father whom he heartily loved, made so strong an 
 impression upon Frank, that he took great pains to correct the 
 natural violence of his temper, and to learn patience and 
 industry. The three brothers were attached to one another ; 
 and their friendship was a source of improvement, as well as 
 of pleasure. 
 
 The evening of Mr. Frankland’s birthday the whole family 
 retired to an arbour in their garden, and began to talk over 
 their affairs with open hearts. 
 
 ‘Well, Frank, my boy,’ said the happy father, who was the 
 confidant of his children, ‘ I am sure, if your heart is set upon 
 this match with Jessy Bettesworth, I will do my best to like the 
 girl ; and her not being rich shall be no objection to me ; we 
 can make that up amongst us, some way or other. But, Frank, 
 
 2 337 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 it is fair to tell you my opinion of the girl, plainly and fully, 
 beforehand, as I have done. She that has jilted others, I think, 
 would be apt to jilt you, if she met with a better offer.’ 
 
 ‘Why then, father, I’ll not be in a hurry : I’ll take time to 
 consider, before I speak to her any more ; and I thank you for 
 being so kind, which I hope I shall not forget.’ 
 
 The morning after this conversation passed, Jilting Jessy, 
 accompanied by her sister, Saucy Sally, came to pay Patty and 
 Fanny Frankland a visit. They were full of some piece of 
 news, which they were eager to tell. 
 
 ‘ Well, to be sure, I dreamed I had a diamond ring put on 
 my finger by a great lord, not a week ago,’ cried Jessy ; ‘and 
 who knows but it may come true ? You have not heard the 
 news, Fanny Frankland? Hey, Patty?’ 
 
 ‘ Not they : they never hear any news ! ’ said Sally. 
 
 ‘Well, then, I’ll tell you,’ cried Jessy. ‘Rich Captain 
 Bettesworth, our relation, who made the great fortin abroad, 
 over seas, has just broken his neck out a-hunting ; and the 
 fortin all comes to us.’ 
 
 ‘ We shall now see whether Mrs. Craddock will push by me 
 again, as she did yesterday in the street ! We’ll see whether I 
 shan’t make as good a fine lady as herself, I warrant it, that’s 
 all. It’s my turn to push by folk now,’ said Saucy Sally. 
 
 Fanny and Patty Frankland, with sincere good-nature, con- 
 gratulated their neighbours on this increase of fortune ; but 
 they did not think that pushing by Mrs. Craddock could be one 
 of the most useful or agreeable consequences of an increase in 
 fortune. 
 
 ‘ Lord, Patty ! how you sit moping yourself there at your 
 work,’ continued Sally ; ‘ but some people must work, to be 
 sure, that can’t afford to be idle. How you must envy us, 
 Patty ! ’ 
 
 Patty assured her she did not in the least envy those who 
 were idle. 
 
 ‘ Fine talking ! Fine airs, truly, Miss Patty ! This is by 
 way of calling me over the coals for being idle, I suppose ! ’ 
 said Sally : ‘ but I’ve no notion of being taken to task this way. 
 You think you’ve had a fine edication , I suppose, and so are 
 to set a pattern for all Monmouthshire, indeed : but you’ll 
 find some people will be as much thought of now as other 
 people, and may hold their heads as high. Edicatiorf s a fine 
 
 338 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 thing, no doubt ; but for tin! s a better, as the world goes, I’ve 
 a notion : so you may go moping on here as long as you please, 
 being a good child all the days of your life ! 
 
 Come when you’re call’d ; 
 
 And do as you’re bid ; 
 
 Shut the door after you ; 
 
 And you’ll never be chid. 
 
 I’m sure, I would not let my nose be kept to the grindstone, 
 as yours is, for any one living. I’ve too much spirit, for my 
 part, to be made a fool of as some people are ; and all for the 
 sake of being called a vastly good daughter, or a vastly good 
 sister, forsooth 1 ’ 
 
 Nothing but the absolute want of breath could have sus- 
 pended the remainder of this speech, for she was so provoked 
 to see Patty did not envy her, that she was determined to say 
 everything she could invent to try her. Patty’s temper, how- 
 ever, was proof against the trial ; and Saucy Sally, despairing 
 of success against one sister, turned to the other. 
 
 ‘ Miss Fanny, I presume,’ said she, ‘ won’t give herself such 
 high and mighty airs, as she used to do, to one of her sweet- 
 hearts, who shall be nameless.’ 
 
 Fanny blushed, for she knew this speech alluded to Wild 
 Will, who was an admirer of hers, but whom she had never 
 encouraged. 
 
 ‘ I hope,’ said she, ‘ I never gave myself airs to anybody : 
 but, if you mean to speak of your brother William, I assure 
 you that my opinion of him will not be changed by his becom- 
 ing richer ; nor will my father’s.’ 
 
 Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of 
 Frank, who had just heard, from one of the Bettesworths, of 
 their good fortune. He was impatient to see how Jessy would 
 behave in prosperity. ‘Now,’ said he to himself, ‘I shall 
 judge whether my father’s opinion of her or mine is right.’ 
 
 Jilting Jessy had certainly given Frank reason to believe 
 she was very fond of him ; but the sudden change in her fortune 
 quite altered her views and opinions. As soon as Frank came 
 in, she pretended to be in great haste to be gone ; and, by 
 various petty manoeuvres, avoided giving him an opportunity 
 of speaking to her ; though she plainly saw he was anxious to 
 say something to her in private. At length, when she was 
 
 339 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 looking out of the window, to see whether a shower was over, 
 he went behind her and whispered, ‘Why are you in such 
 haste ? Cannot you stay a few minutes with us ? You were 
 not always in such a hurry to run away ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Lord, nonsense ! Mr. Frank. Why will you always plague 
 me with nonsense, Mr. Frank ?’ 
 
 She opened the lattice window as she spoke, put out her 
 beautiful neck as far as possible, and looked up eagerly to the 
 clouds. 
 
 ‘ How sweet this jasmine smells ! ’ said Frank, pulling a bit 
 of it which hung over the casement. ‘ This is the jasmine you 
 used to like so much. See, I’ve nailed it up, and it’s finer 
 than ever it was. Won’t you have a sprig of it ? ’ offering to 
 put some in her hat, as he had done before ; but she now drew 
 back disdainfully, saying : 
 
 ‘ Lord ! Mr. Frank, it’s all wet, and will spoil my new 
 lilac ribbons. How awkward and disagreeable you are 
 always ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Always ! you did not always think so ; at least, you did 
 not say so.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, I think so, and say so now ; and that’s enough.’ 
 
 ‘ And too much, if you are in earnest ; but that I can hardly 
 believe.’ 
 
 ‘That’s your business, and not mine. If you don’t choose 
 to believe what I say, how can I help it ? But this you’ll 
 remember, if you please, sir.’ 
 
 ‘ Sir ! ! ! Oh, Jessy ! is it come to this ? ’ 
 
 ‘To what, sir? For I vow and declare I don’t understand 
 you ! ’ 
 
 ‘ I have never understood you till now, I am afraid.’ 
 
 ‘ Perhaps not : it’s well we understand one another at last. 
 Better late than never.’ 
 
 The scornful lady walked off to a looking-glass, to wipe 
 away the insult which her new lilac ribbons had received from 
 Frank’s sprig of jasmine. 
 
 ‘One word more, and I have done,’ said Frank, hastily 
 following her. ‘ Have I done anything to displease you ? Or 
 does this change in you proceed from the change in your 
 fortune, Jessy?’ 
 
 ‘ I’m not obliged, sir, to account for my proceedings to any- 
 body ; and don’t know what right you have to question me, as 
 
 340 
 

 
 * The scornful lady walked off to a looking-glass 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 if you were my lord and judge : which you are not, nor ever 
 will be, thank God ! ’ 
 
 Frank’s passion struggled with his reason for a few instants. 
 He stood motionless ; then, in an altered voice, repeated, 
 ‘ Thank God ! ’ and turned from her with proud composure. 
 From this time forward he paid no more court to Jessy. 
 
 ‘ Ah, father ! ’ said he, ‘ you knew her better than I did. 
 I am glad I did not marry her last year, when she would have 
 accepted of me, and when she seemed to love me. I thought 
 you were rather hard upon her then. But you were not in love 
 with her as I was, and now I find you were right.’ 
 
 ‘ My dear Frank,’ said the good old man, ‘ I hope you will 
 not think me hard another time, when I do not think just the 
 same as you do. I would, as I told you, have done every- 
 thing in my power to settle you well in the world, if you had 
 married this girl. I should never have been angry with you ; 
 but I should have been bitterly grieved if you had, for the whim 
 of the minute, made yourself unhappy for life. And was it 
 not best to put you upon your guard ? What better use can an 
 old man make of his experience than to give it to his children ? ’ 
 
 Frank was touched by the kind manner in which his father 
 spoke to him ; and Fanny, who was present, immediately put 
 a letter into her father’s hand, saying, ‘ I have just received 
 this from Will Bettesworth : what answer do you think I had 
 best give him ? ’ 
 
 Now, Fanny, though she did not quite approve of Wild 
 Will’s character, felt a little partiality for him, for he seemed 
 to be of a generous temper, and his manners were engaging. 
 She hoped his wildness was only the effect of good spirits, and 
 that he would soon settle to some business. However, she 
 had kept these hopes and this partiality a secret from all but 
 her father, and she had never given Will Bettesworth any 
 encouragement. Her father had not a good opinion of this 
 young man ; and she had followed his advice, in keeping him 
 at a distance. His letter was written in so vile a hand, that 
 it was not easy to decipher the meaning : — 
 
 ‘ My sweet pretty Fanny — Notwithstanding your cruelty, 
 I ham more in love with you than hever ; and now I ham come 
 in for a share in a great fortin ; and shall ask no questions 
 from father nor mother, if you will marry me, having no reason 
 
 342 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 to love nor care for either. Mother’s as cross as hever, and will 
 never, I am shure, agre to my doing anything I like myself ; 
 which makes me more set upon having my own whay, and I 
 ham more and more in love with you than hever, and would go 
 through fire and water to get you. — Your true love (in haste), 
 
 ‘Will Bettesworth.’ 
 
 At first reading the letter, Fanny was pleased to find that 
 her lover did not, like Jilting Jessy, change his mind the 
 moment that his situation was altered : but, upon looking over 
 it again, she could not help considering that such an undutiful 
 son was not likely to make a very good husband ; and she 
 thought even that Wild Will seemed to be more and more in 
 love with her than ever, from the spirit of opposition ; for he 
 had not been much attached to her, till his mother, as he said, 
 set herself against the match. At the end of this letter were 
 the words turn over ; but they were so scrawled and blotted, 
 that Fanny thought they were only one of the strange flourishes 
 which he usually made at the end of his name ; and con- 
 sequently she had never turned over, or read the postscript, 
 when she put the epistle into her father’s hands. He deciphered 
 the flourish, and read the following addition : — 
 
 ‘ I know your feather does not like me ; but never mind 
 his not being agreuble. As shure as my name’s Will, Fd carry 
 you hoff, night or day ; and Bob would fight your brothers 
 along with me, if they said a word : for Bob loves fun. I will 
 be at your windor this night, if you are agreuble, like a gurl 
 of spirit.’ 
 
 Fanny was shocked so much that she turned quite pale, 
 and would have sunk to the ground, if she had not been 
 supported by her father. As soon as she recovered herself 
 sufficiently to be able to think, she declared that all the liking 
 she had ever felt for William Bettesworth was completely 
 conquered ; and she thanked her father for having early warned 
 her of his character. ‘ Ah ! father,’ said she, ‘ what a happiness 
 it has been to me that you never made me afraid of you ! 
 Else, I never should have dared to tell you my mind ; and in 
 what a sad snare might I have been at this instant ! If it had 
 not been for you, I should perhaps have encouraged this man ; 
 
 343 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 I might not then, maybe, have been able to draw back ; and 
 what would have become of me ? ’ 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to say that Fanny wrote a decided 
 refusal to Wild Will. All connection between the Bettesworths 
 and Franklands was now broken off. Will was enraged at 
 being rejected by Fanny ; and Jessy was equally incensed at 
 finding she was no longer admired by Frank. They, however, 
 affected to despise the Franklands, and to treat them as people 
 beneath their notice. The fortune left by Captain Bettesworth 
 to his relations was said to be about twenty thousand pounds : 
 with this sum they thought, to use their own expression, they 
 were entitled to live in as great style, and cut as grand a dash, 
 as any of the first families in Monmouthshire. For the present 
 we shall leave them to the enjoyment of their new grandeur, and 
 continue the humble history of farmer Frankland and his family. 
 
 By many years of persevering industry, Mr. Frankland had 
 so improved the farm upon which he lived, that he was now 
 affluent, for a man in his station of life. His house, garden, 
 farmyard, everything about him, were so neat and comfortable, 
 that travellers, as they passed by, never failed to ask, ‘ Who 
 lives there ? ’ Travellers, however, only saw the outside ; and 
 that was not, in this instance, the best part. They would have 
 seen happiness, if they had looked within these farmhouse 
 walls : happiness which may be enjoyed as well in the cottage 
 as in the palace ; that which arises from family union. 
 
 Mr. Frankland was now anxious to settle his sons in the 
 world. George had business enough at home, in taking care 
 of the farm ; and James proposed to set up a haberdasher’s 
 shop in Monmouth : accordingly, the goods were ordered, and 
 the shop was taken. 
 
 There was a part in the roof of the house which let in the 
 wet, and James would not go into it till this was completely 
 repaired ; so his packages of goods were sent from London 
 to his father’s house, which was only a mile distant from 
 Monmouth. His sisters unpacked them by his desire, to set 
 shop-marks upon each article. Late at night, after all the rest 
 of the family were asleep, Patty was sitting up to finish setting 
 the marks on a boxful of ribbons ; the only thing that 
 remained to be done. Her candle was just burned out ; and 
 as she was going for another, she went by a passage window 
 that faced the farmyard, and suddenly saw a great light 
 
 344 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 without. She looked out, and beheld the large hay-rick all in 
 flames. She ran immediately to awaken her brothers and her 
 father. They used every possible exertion to extinguish the fire, 
 and to prevent it from communicating to the dwelling-house ; 
 but the wind was high ; it blew directly towards the house. 
 George poured buckets of water over the thatch, to prevent its 
 catching fire ; but all was in vain : thick flakes of fire fell upon 
 it faster than they could be extinguished, and in an hour’s time 
 the dwelling-house was in a blaze. 
 
 The first care of the sons had been to get their father and 
 sisters out of danger ; then, with great presence of mind, they 
 collected everything that was most valuable and portable, and 
 laboured hard to save poor James’s stock of haberdashery. 
 They were all night hard at work : towards three o’clock the 
 fire was got under, and darkness and silence succeeded. There 
 was one roof of the house saved, under which the whole family 
 rested for a few hours, till the return of daylight renewed the 
 melancholy spectacle of their ruin. Hay, oats, straw, corn- 
 ricks, barn, everything that the farmyard contained, was utterly 
 consumed : the walls and some half-burnt beams remained of 
 the dwelling-house, but it was no longer habitable. It was 
 calculated that six hundred pounds would not repair the loss 
 occasioned by this unfortunate accident. How the hay-rick had 
 caught fire nobody knew. 
 
 George, who had made up the hay-stack, was most inclined 
 to think that the hay had not been sufficiently dried, and that 
 the rick had heated from this cause. He blamed himself 
 extremely ; but his father declared he had seen, felt, and smelt 
 the hay, when the rick was making, and that it was as well 
 saved hay as ever was brought into a farmyard. This, in some 
 measure, quieted poor George’s conscience : and he was yet 
 more comforted by Patty’s good-nature, who showed him a 
 bucket of ashes which had been left very near the spot where 
 the hay-rick stood. The servant -girl, who, though careless, 
 was honest, confessed she recollected having accidentally left 
 this bucket in that dangerous place the preceding evening ; that 
 she was going with it across the yard to the ash-hole, but she 
 heard her lover whistle to her from the lane, and she set down 
 the bucket in a hurry, ran to meet him, and forgot the ashes. 
 All she could say in her own defence was, that she did not 
 think there was any fire in the bucket. 
 
 345 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Her good master forgave her carelessness ; he said he was 
 sure she reproached herself enough for it, as indeed she did, 
 and the more so when her master spoke to her so kindly ; she 
 cried as if her heart would break ; and all that could be done 
 to comfort her, was to set her to work as hard as possible for 
 the family. 
 
 They did not, any of them, spend their time in vain lamenta- 
 tions : ready money was wanting to rebuild the house and 
 bams, and James sold to a haberdasher in Monmouth all of his 
 stock which had been saved out of the fire, and brought the 
 money to his father. 
 
 ‘ Father,’ said he, ‘you gave this to me when you were able 
 to afford it ; you want it now, and I can do very well without it. 
 I will go and be shopman in some good shop in Monmouth ; 
 and by degrees I shall get on, and do very well in the world. 
 It would be strange if I did not, after the education you have 
 given me.’ 
 
 The father took the money from his son with tears of 
 pleasure. ‘It is odd enough,’ said he, ‘that I should feel 
 pleasure at such a time ; but this is the blessing of having good 
 children. As long as vve all are ready to help one another in 
 this manner, we can never be very miserable, happen what may. 
 Now let us think of rebuilding our house,’ continued the active 
 old man. ‘Frank, reach me down my hat. I’ve a twinge of 
 the rheumatism in this arm : I caught a little cold the night 
 of the fire, I believe ; but stirring about will do me good, and I 
 must not be lazy : I should be ashamed to be lazy amongst so 
 many active young men.’ 
 
 The father and sons were very busy at work, when an ill- 
 looking man rode up to them ; and, after asking if their name 
 was Frankland, put a paper into each of their hands. These 
 papers were copies of a notice to quit their farm, before the 
 ensuing first of September, under pain of paying double rent 
 for the same. 
 
 ‘This is some mistake, sir,’ said old Frankland, mildly. 
 
 ‘No mistake, sir,’ replied the stranger. ‘You will find the 
 notice is a good notice, and duly served. Your lease I have 
 seen myself within these few days : it expired last May ; and 
 you have held over, contrary to law and justice, eleven months, 
 this being April.’ 
 
 ‘ My father never did anything contrary to law and justice 
 346 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 in his whole life,’ interrupted Frank, whose eyes flashed with 
 indignation. 
 
 ‘Softly, Frank, 5 said his father, putting his hand on his 
 son’s shoulder ; ‘ softly, my dear boy : let this gentleman and 
 I come to an understanding quietly. — Here is some mistake, 
 sir. It is very true that my lease expired last May ; but I had 
 a promise of a renewal from my good landlord.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know, sir, anything of that,’ replied the stranger, 
 as he looked over a memorandum-book. ‘ I do not know 
 whom you denominate your good landlord j that being no way 
 of describing a man in the eye of the law : but if you refer to 
 the original granter, or lessor, Francis Folingsby, of Folingsby 
 Place, Monmouthshire, Esq., I am to inform you that he died 
 at Bath the 17th instant.’ 
 
 1 Died ! my poor landlord dead ! I am very sorry for it.’ 
 
 ‘And his nephew, Philip Folingsby, Esq., came into pos- 
 session as heir at law,’ continued the stranger, in an unvaried 
 tone ; ‘ and under his orders I act, having a power of attorney 
 for that purpose.’ 
 
 ‘ But, sir, I am sure Mr. Philip Folingsby cannot know of 
 the promise of renewal, which I had from his uncle.’ 
 
 ‘ Verbal promises, you know, are nothing, sir ; mere air, 
 without witnesses : and, if gratuitous on the part of the deceased, 
 are no ways binding, either in common law or equity, on the 
 survivor or heir. In case the promise had been in writing, 
 and on a proper stamp, it would have been something.’ 
 
 ‘ It was not in writing, to be sure, sir,’ said Frankland, ‘but 
 I thought my good landlord’s word was as good as his bond, 
 and I said so.’ 
 
 ‘Yes,’ cried Frank ; ‘and I remember when you said so to 
 him, I was by ; and he answered, “You shall have my promise 
 in writing. Such things are of little use between honest men : 
 but who knows what may happen, and who may come after 
 me ? Everything about business should be put into writing. 
 
 I would never let a tenant of mine be at an uncertainty. You 
 have improved your farm, and deserve to enjoy the fruits of 
 your own industry, Mr. Frankland.” Just then company came 
 in, and our landlord put off writing the promise. He next day 
 left the country in a hurry ; and I am sure thought, afterwards, 
 he had given us the promise in writing.’ 
 
 ‘ Very clear evidence, no doubt, sir ; but not at all to the 
 
 347 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 point at present,’ said the stranger. ‘As an agent, I am to 
 know nothing but what is my employer’s intent. When we see 
 the writing and stamp, I shall be a better judge,’ added he with 
 a sneer. ‘ In the meantime, gentlemen, I wish you a good 
 morning : and you will please to observe that you have been 
 duly served with notice to quit, or pay double rent.’ 
 
 ‘There can be no doubt, however,’ said Frank, ‘that Mr. 
 Folingsby will believe you, father. He is a gentleman, I 
 suppose, and not like this new agent, who talks like an attorney. 
 
 I hate all attorneys.’ 
 
 ‘ All dishonest attorneys, I suppose you mean, Frank,’ said 
 the benevolent old man, who, even when his temper was most 
 tried, never spoke, or even felt, with acrimony. 
 
 The new landlord came into the country ; and a few days 
 after his arrival, old Frankland went to wait upon him. There 
 was little hope of seeing young Mr. Folingsby ; he was a man 
 whose head was at this time entirely full of gigs, and tandems, 
 and unicorns : business was his aversion ; pleasure was his 
 business. Money he considered only as the means of pleasure ; 
 and tenants only as machines who make money. He was 
 neither avaricious nor cruel ; but thoughtless and extravagant. 
 
 Whilst he appeared merely in the character of a young man 
 of fashion, these faults were no offence to his equals, to whom 
 they did no injury : but when he came into possession of a large 
 estate, and when numbers were dependent upon him, they were 
 severely felt by his inferiors. 
 
 Mr. Folingsby had just gathered up the reins in hand, and 
 was seated in his unicorn, when farmer Frankland, who had 
 been waiting some hours to see him, came to the side of the 
 carriage. As he took off his hat, the wind blew his grey hair 
 over his face. 
 
 ‘ Put on your hat, pray, my good friend ; and don’t come 
 near these horses, for I can’t answer for them. Have you any 
 commands with me ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I have been waiting some hours to speak to you, sir ; but, 
 if you are not at leisure, I will come again to-morrow morning,’ 
 said old Frankland. 
 
 ‘ Ay, do so ; call to-morrow morning ; for now I have not 
 one moment to spare,’ said young Folingsby, as he whipped 
 his horses, and drove off, as if the safety of the nation had 
 depended upon twelve miles an hour. 
 
 348 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 The next day, and the next, and the next, the old tenant 
 called upon his young landlord, but without obtaining an 
 audience ; still he was desired to call to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 and to-morrow. He wrote several letters to him, but received 
 no answer : at last, after giving half a guinea to his landlord’s 
 gentleman, he gained admittance. Mr. Folingsby was drawing 
 on his boots, and his horses were coming to the door. Frank- 
 land saw it was necessary to be concise in his story : he slightly 
 touched on the principal circumstances, the length of time he 
 had occupied his farm, the improvements he had made upon 
 the land, and the misfortune which had lately befallen him. 
 The boots were on by the time that he got to the promise of 
 renewal, and the notice to quit. 
 
 ‘ Promise of renewal ! I know of no such thing. Notice to 
 quit ! that’s my agent’s business ; speak to him ; he’ll do you 
 justice. I really am sorry for you, Mr. Frankland ; very sorry, 
 extremely sorry. — Damn the rascal who made these boots ! — 
 but you see how I’m circumstanced ; haven’t a moment to 
 myself ; only came to the country for a few days ; set out for 
 Ascot races to-morrow ; really have not a moment to think of 
 anything. But speak to Mr. Deal, my agent. He’ll do you 
 justice, I’m sure. I leave all these things to him. Jack, that 
 bay horse is coming on ’ 
 
 * I have spoken to your agent, sir,’ said the old tenant, 
 following his thoughtless young landlord ; ‘ but he said that 
 verbal promises, without a witness present, were nothing but 
 air ; and I have nothing to rely on but your justice. I assure 
 you, sir, I have not been an idle tenant : my land will show 
 that I have not.’ 
 
 ‘Tell Mr. Deal so; make him understand it in this light. 
 1 leave everything of this sort to Mr. Deal. I really have 
 not time for business, but I’m sure Mr. Deal will do you 
 justice.’ 
 
 This was all that could be obtained from the young land- 
 lord. His confidence in his agent’s sense of justice was some- 
 what misplaced. Mr. Deal had received a proposal from 
 another tenant for Frankland’s farm ; and with this proposal a 
 bank-note was sent, which spoke more forcibly than all that 
 poor Frankland could urge. The agent took the farm from 
 him ; and declared he could not, in justice to his employer, do 
 otherwise ; because the new tenant had promised to build upon 
 
 349 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 the land a lodge fit for any gentleman to inhabit, instead of a 
 farmhouse. 
 
 The transaction was concluded without Mr. Folingsby’s 
 knowing anything more of the matter, except signing the leases, 
 which he did without reading them ; and receiving half a year’s 
 rent in hand, as a fine, which he did with great satisfaction. 
 He was often distressed for ready money, though he had a 
 large estate ; and his agent well knew how to humour him in 
 his hatred of business. No interest could have persuaded Mr. 
 Folingsby deliberately to commit so base an action as that of 
 cheating a deserving old tenant out of a promised renewal ; 
 but, in fact, long before the leases were sent to him, he had 
 totally forgotten every syllable that poor Frankland had said 
 to him on the subject. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The day on which they left their farm was a melancholy day 
 to this unfortunate family. Mr. Frankland’s father and grand- 
 father had been tenants, and excellent tenants, to the Folingsby 
 family : all of them had occupied, and not only occupied, but 
 highly improved, this farm. All the neighbours were struck 
 with compassion, and cried shame upon Mr. Folingsby ! But 
 Mr. Folingsby was at Ascot, and did not hear them. He was 
 on the race-ground, betting hundreds upon a favourite horse, 
 whilst this old man and his family were slowly passing in their 
 covered cart down the lane which led from their farm, taking a 
 last farewell of the fields they had cultivated, and the harvest 
 they had sown, but which they were never to reap. 
 
 Hannah, the servant -girl, who had reproached herself so 
 bitterly for leaving the bucket of ashes near the hay-rick, was 
 extremely active in assisting her poor master. Upon this 
 occasion she seemed to be endowed with double strength ; and 
 a degree of cleverness and presence of mind, of which she had 
 never shown any symptoms in her former life : but gratitude 
 awakened all her faculties. 
 
 Before she came to this family, she had lived some years 
 with a farmer who, as she now recollected, had a small farm, 
 
 350 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 with a snug cottage upon it, which was to be this very year 
 out of lease. Without saying a word of her intentions, she 
 got up early one morning, walked fifteen miles to her old 
 master’s, and offered to pay out of her wages, which she had 
 laid by for six or seven years, the year’s rent of this farm 
 beforehand, if the farmer would let it to Mr. Frankland. The 
 farmer would not take the girl’s money, for he said he wanted 
 no security from Mr. Frankland, or his son George : they bore 
 the best of characters, he observed, and no people in Monmouth- 
 shire could understand the management of land better. He 
 willingly agreed to let him the farm ; but it contained only a 
 few acres, and the house was so small that it could scarcely 
 lodge above three people. 
 
 Here old Frankland and his eldest son, George, settled. 
 James went to Monmouth, where he became shopman to Mr. 
 Cleghom, a haberdasher, who took him in preference to three 
 other young men, who applied on the same day. ‘ Shall I tell 
 you the reason why I fixed upon you, James?’ said Mr. Cleg- 
 horn. 1 It was not whim ; I had my reasons.’ 
 
 ‘ I suppose,’ said James, ‘ you thought I had been honestly 
 and well brought up ; as, I believe, in former times, sir, you 
 knew something of my mother.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, sir ; and in former times I knew something of yourself. 
 You may forget, but I do not, that, when you were a child, not 
 more than nine years old , 1 you came to this shop to pay a bill 
 of your mother’s : the bill was cast up a pound too little : you 
 found out the mistake, and paid me the money. I daresay you 
 are as good an accountant, and as honest a fellow, still. I have 
 just been terribly tricked by a lad to whom I trusted foolishly ; 
 but this will not make me suspicious towards you, because I 
 know how you have been brought up ; and that is the best 
 security a man can have.’ 
 
 Thus, even in childhood, the foundation of a good character 
 may be laid ; and thus children inherit the good name of their 
 parents. A rich inheritance ! of which they cannot be deprived 
 by the utmost malice of fortune. 
 
 The good characters of Fanny and Patty Frankland were well 
 known in the neighbourhood ; and when they could no longer 
 afford to live at home, they found no difficulty in getting places. 
 On the contrary, several of the best families in Monmouth were 
 1 This circumstance is a fact. 
 
 35 1 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 anxious to engage them. Fanny went to live with Mrs. Hunger- 
 ford, a lady of an ancient family, who was proud, but not in- 
 solent, and generous, but not what is commonly called affable. 
 She had several children, and she hired Fanny Frankland for 
 the particular purpose of attending them. 
 
 ‘ Pray, let me see that you exactly obey my orders, young 
 woman, with respect to my children,’ said Mrs. Hungerford, 
 
 ‘ and you shall have no reason to complain of the manner in 
 which you are treated in this house. It is my wish to make 
 everybody happy in it, from the highest to the lowest. You 
 have, I understand, received an education above your present 
 station in life ; and I hope and trust that you will deserve the 
 high opinion I am, from that circumstance, inclined to form 
 of you.’ 
 
 Fanny was rather intimidated by the haughtiness of Mrs. 
 Hungerford’s manner ; yet she felt a steady though modest 
 confidence in herself, which was not displeasing to her 
 mistress. 
 
 About this time Patty also went into service. Her mistress 
 was a Mrs. Crumpe, a very old rich lady, who was often sick 
 and peevish, and who confessed that she required an un- 
 commonly good-humoured person to wait upon her. She lived 
 a few miles from Monmouth, where she had many relations ; 
 but on account of her great age and infirmities, she led an 
 extremely retired life. 
 
 Frank was now the only person in the family who was not 
 settled in the world. He determined to apply to a Mr. Barlow, 
 an attorney of an excellent character. He had been much 
 pleased with the candour and generosity Frank showed in a 
 quarrel with the Bettesworths ; and he had promised to befriend 
 him, if ever it should be in his power. It happened that, at this 
 time, Mr. Barlow was in want of a clerk ; and as he knew 
 Frank’s abilities, and had reason to feel confidence in his in- 
 tegrity, he determined to employ him in his office. Frank had 
 once a prejudice against attorneys : he thought that they could 
 not be honest men ; but he was convinced of his mistake when 
 he became acquainted with Mr. Barlow. This gentleman never 
 practised any mean pettifogging arts ; on the contrary, he 
 always dissuaded those who consulted him from commencing 
 vexatious suits. Instead of fomenting quarrels, it was his 
 pleasure and pride to bring about reconciliations. It was said 
 
 352 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 of Mr. Barlow that he had lost more suits out of the courts, and 
 fewer in them, than any attorney of his standing in England. 
 His reputation was now so great that he was consulted more 
 as a lawyer than as an attorney. With such a master, Frank had 
 a prospect of being extremely happy ; and he determined that 
 nothing should be wanting, on his part, to ensure Mr. Barlow’s 
 esteem and regard. 
 
 James Frankland, in the meantime, went on happily with 
 Mr. Cleghorn, the haberdasher, whose customers all agreed 
 that his shop had never been so well attended as since this 
 young man had been his foreman. His accounts were kept in 
 the most exact manner ; and his bills were made out with 
 unrivalled neatness and expedition. His attendance on the 
 shop was so constant that his master began to fear it might 
 hurt his health ; especially as he had never, till of late, been 
 used to so confined a life. 
 
 ‘You should go abroad, James, these fine evenings,’ said Mr. 
 Cleghorn. ‘ Take a walk in the country now and then, in the 
 fresh air. Don’t think I want to nail you always to the 
 counter. Come, this is as fine an evening as you can wish ; 
 take your hat, and away ; I’ll mind the shop myself, till you 
 come back. He must be a hard master indeed that does not 
 know when he is well served ; and that never will be my case, 
 I hope. Good servants make good masters, and good masters 
 good servants. Not that I mean to call you, Mr. James, a 
 servant ; that was only a slip of the tongue ; and no matter for 
 the tongue, where the heart means well, as mine does towards 
 you.’ 
 
 Towards all the world Mr. Cleghorn was not disposed to be 
 indulgent : he was not a selfish man ; but he had a high idea of 
 subordination in life. Having risen himself by slow degrees, he 
 thought that every man in trade should have what he called 
 ‘ the rough as well as the smooth.’ He saw that his new fore- 
 man bore the rough well ; and therefore he was now inclined to 
 give him some of the smooth. 
 
 James, who was extremely fond of his brother Frank, called 
 upon him and took him to Mrs. Hungerford’s, to ask Fanny to 
 accompany them in this walk. They had seldom seen her since 
 they had quitted their father’s house and lived in Monmouth ; 
 and they were disappointed when they were told, by Mrs. 
 Hungerford’s footman, that Fanny was not at home; she was 
 
 353 
 
 2 A 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 gone to walk out with the children. The man did not know 
 which road they went, so they had no hopes of meeting her ; 
 and they took their way through one of the shady lanes near 
 Monmouth. It was late before they thought of returning ; 
 for, after several weeks’ confinement in close houses, the fresh 
 air, green fields, and sweet-smelling wild-flowers in the hedges, 
 were delightful novelties. ‘ Those who see these things every 
 day,’ said James, ‘scarcely notice them ; I remember I did not 
 when I lived at our farm. So things, as my father used to say, 
 are made equal to people in this world. We, who are hard at 
 work in a close room all day long, have more relish for an 
 evening walk, a hundred to one, than those who saunter about 
 from morning till night.’ 
 
 The philosophic reflections of James were interrupted by the 
 merry voices of a troop of children, who were getting over a stile 
 into the lane where he and Frank were walking. The children 
 had huge nosegays of honeysuckles, dog-roses, and blue-bells, 
 in their little hands ; and they gave their flowers to a young 
 woman who attended them, begging she would hold them whilst 
 they got over the stile. James and Frank went to offer their 
 services to help the children ; and then they saw that the young 
 woman who held the flowers was their sister Fanny. 
 
 ‘ Our own Fanny ! ’ said Frank. ‘ How lucky this is ! It 
 seems almost a year since I saw you. We have been all the way 
 to Mrs. Hungerford’s to look for you, and have been forced to 
 take half our walk without you ; but the other half will make 
 amends. I’ve a hundred things to say to you : which is your 
 way home ? Take the longest way, I entreat you. Here is 
 my arm. What a delightful fine evening it is ! But what’s the 
 matter ? ’ 
 
 ‘ It is a very fine evening,’ said P'anny, hesitating a little ; 
 ‘ and I hope to-morrow will be as fine. I’ll ask my mistress to 
 let me walk out with you to-morrow ; but this evening I cannot 
 stay with you, because I have the children under my care ; and 
 I have promised her that I will never walk with any one when 
 they are with me.’ 
 
 ‘But your own brother,’ said Frank, a little angry at this 
 refusal. 
 
 ‘ I promised I would not walk with any one ; and surely you 
 are somebody : so good-night ; good-bye,’ replied Fanny, en- 
 deavouring to turn off his displeasure with a laugh. 
 
 354 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 ‘ But what harm, I say, can I do the children, by walking 
 with you ?’ cried Frank, catching hold of her gown. 
 
 ‘ I don’t know ; but I know what the orders of my mistress 
 are ; and you know, dear Frank, that whilst I live with her, I 
 am bound to obey them.’ 
 
 ‘Oh, Frank, she must obey them,’ said James. 
 
 Frank loosened his hold of Fanny’s gown immediately. 
 ‘You are right, dear Fanny,’ said he; ‘you are right, and I 
 was wrong : so good-night ; good-bye. Only remember to ask 
 leave to walk with us to-morrow evening ; for I have had a 
 letter from father and brother George, and I want to show it 
 you. Wait five minutes, and I can read it to you now, 
 Fanny.’ 
 
 Fanny, though she was anxious to hear her father’s letter, 
 would not wait, but hurried away with the children that were 
 under her care ; saying she must keep her promise to her 
 mistress exactly. Frank followed her, and put the letter into her 
 hands. ‘ You are a dear good girl, and deserve all the fine 
 things father says of you in this letter. Take it, child : your 
 mistress does not forbid you receiving a letter from your father, 
 1 suppose. I shall wish her hanged, if she does not let you walk 
 with us to-morrow,’ whispered he. 
 
 The children frequently interrupted Fanny, as she was 
 reading her father’s letter. ‘ Pray pull that high dog-rose for 
 me, Fanny,’ said one. ‘ Pray hold me up to that large honey- 
 suckle,’ said another. ‘And do, Fanny,’ said the youngest 
 boy, ‘ let us go home by the common, that I may see the 
 glowworms. Mamma said I might ; and whilst we are look- 
 ing for the glowworms, you can sit on a stone, or a bank, and 
 read your letter in peace.’ 
 
 Fanny, who was always very ready to indulge the children 
 in anything which her mistress had not forbidden, agreed to 
 this proposal ; and when they came to the common, little 
 Gustavus, for that was the name of the eldest boy, found a 
 charming seat for her ; and she sat down to read her letter 
 whilst the children ran to hunt for glowworms. 
 
 Fanny read her father’s letter over three times ; and yet 
 few people, except those who have the happiness to love a 
 father as well, and to have a father as deserving to be loved, 
 would think it at all worth reading even once. 
 
 355 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ My dear Boys and Girls — It is a strange thing to me 
 to be without you ; but, with me or from me, I am sure you 
 are doing well ; and that is a great comfort ; ay, the best 
 a father can have, especially at my age. I am heartily glad 
 to hear that my Frank has, by his own deserts, got so good a 
 place with that excellent man, Mr. Barlow. He does not hate 
 attorneys now, I am sure. Indeed, it is my belief, he could 
 not hate anybody for half an hour together, if he were to do 
 his worst. Thank God, none of my children have been 
 brought up to be revengeful or envious ; and they are not 
 fighting with one another, as I hear the poor Bettesworths 
 now all are for the fortune. “ Better is a dinner of herbs, 
 where love is, than a stalled ox, and hatred therewith.” I 
 need not have troubled myself to write this text to any of you ; 
 but old men will be talkative. My rheumatism, however, 
 prevents me from being as talkative as I could wish. It has 
 been rather severe or so, owing to the great cold I caught the 
 day that I was obliged to wait so long at Squire F olingsby’s in 
 my wet clothes. But I hope soon to be stirring again, and 
 to be able to take share of the work about our little farm, 
 with your dear brother George. Poor fellow ! he has so much 
 to do, and does so much, that I fear he will overwork himself. 
 He is at this present time out in the little field, opposite my 
 window, digging up the docks, which are very hard to conquer ; 
 he has made a brave large heap of them, but I wish to my 
 heart he would not toil so desperately. 
 
 ‘ I desire, my dear James and Frank, you will not confine 
 yourselves too much in your shop and at your desk : this is 
 all I have to dread for either of you. Give my love and 
 blessing to my sweet girls. If Fanny was not as prudent as 
 she is pretty, I should be in fear for her ; hearing as I do, 
 that Mrs. Hungerford keeps so much fine company. A wait- 
 ing-maid in such a house is in a dangerous place : but my Fanny, 
 I am sure, will ever keep in mind her mother s precepts and 
 example. I am told that Mrs. Crumpe, Patty’s mistress, is 
 (owing, I suppose, to her great age and infirmities) difficult 
 in her humour ; but my Patty has so even and pleasant a 
 temper that I defy any one living, that knows her, not to love 
 her. My hand is now quite tired of writing, this being penned 
 with my left, as my right arm is not yet free from rheumatism : 
 I have not James with me to write. God bless and pre- 
 
 35 6 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 serve you all, my dear children. With such comforts, I can 
 have nothing to complain of in this world. This I know, I 
 would not exchange any one of you for all my neighbour 
 Bettesworth’s fine fortune. Write soon to your affectionate 
 father, B. Frankland.’ 
 
 ‘ Look ! look at the glowworms ! ’ cried the children, gather- 
 ing round Fanny, just as she had finished reading her letter. 
 There were prodigious numbers of them on this common ; 
 and they shone over the whole ground, in clusters, or singly, 
 like little stars. 
 
 Whilst the children were looking with admiration and 
 delight at this spectacle, their attention was suddenly diverted 
 from the glowworms by the sound of a French-horn. They 
 looked round and perceived that it came from the balcony of 
 a house, which was but a few yards distant from the spot 
 where they were standing. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! let us go nearer to the balcony ! ’ said the children, 
 ‘ that we may hear the music better.’ A violin and a clarionet 
 at this moment began to play. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! let us go nearer ! ’ repeated the children, drawing 
 Fanny with all their little force towards the balcony. 
 
 ‘ My dears, it is growing late,’ said she, ‘ and we must 
 make haste home. There is a crowd of company, you see, at 
 the door and at the windows of that house ; and if we go 
 near to it, some of them will certainly speak to you, and that, 
 you know, your mamma would not like.’ 
 
 The children paused and looked at one another, as if in- 
 clined to submit ; but, at this moment, a kettle-drum was 
 heard, and little Gustavus could not resist his curiosity to hear 
 and see more of this instrument : he broke loose from Fanny’s 
 hands, and escaped to the house, exclaiming, ‘ I must and 
 will hear it, and see it too ! ’ 
 
 Fanny was obliged to pursue him into the midst of the 
 crowd : he made his way up to a young gentleman in regi- 
 mentals, who took him up in his arms, saying, ‘ By Jove, a 
 fine little fellow ! A soldier, every inch of him ! By Jove, he 
 shall see the drum, and beat it too ; let us see who dares 
 say to the contrary.’ 
 
 As the gallant ensign spoke, he carried Gustavus up a 
 flight of stairs that led to the balcony. Fanny in great 
 
 357 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 anxiety called after him to beg that he would not detain the 
 child, who was trusted to her care : her mistress, she said, 
 would be extremely displeased with her, if she disobeyed her 
 orders. 
 
 She was here interrupted in her remonstrance by the shrill 
 voice of a female, who stood on the same stair with the ensign, 
 and whom, notwithstanding the great alteration in her dress, 
 Fanny recognised to be Sally Bettesworth. Jilting Jessy 
 stood beside her. 
 
 ‘Fanny Frankland, I protest! What a pother she keeps 
 about nothing,’ cried Saucy Sally. ‘ Know your betters, and 
 keep your distance, young woman. Who cares whether your 
 mistress is displeased or not ? She can’t turn us away, can 
 she, pray ? She can’t call Ensign Bloomington to account, 
 can she, hey ? ’ 
 
 An insolent laugh closed this speech ; a laugh in which 
 several of the crowd joined : but some gentlemen were inter- 
 ested by Fanny’s beautiful and modest countenance, as she 
 looked up to the balcony, and, with tears in her eyes, en- 
 treated to be heard. ‘ Oh, for shame, Bloomington ! Give 
 her back the boy. It is not fair that she should lose her 
 place,’ cried they. 
 
 Bloomington would have yielded ; but Saucy Sally stood 
 before him crying in a threatening tone, ‘ I’ll never speak to 
 you again, I promise you, Bloomington, if you give up. A 
 fine thing indeed for a man and a soldier to give up to a 
 woman and a servant-girl ! and an impertinent servant-girl ! 
 Who cares for her or her place either ? ’ 
 
 ‘I do! I do ! ’ exclaimed little Gustavus, springing from 
 the ensign’s amis. ‘ I care for her ! She is not an im- 
 pertinent girl ; and I’ll give up seeing the kettle-drum, and go 
 home with her directly, with all my heart.’ 
 
 In vain Sally attempted to withhold him ; the boy ran 
 down the stairs to Fanny, and marched off with her in all the 
 conscious pride of a hero, whose generosity has fairly 
 vanquished his passions. Little Gustavus was indeed a truly 
 generous child : the first thing he did, when he got home, was 
 to tell his mother all that had passed this evening. Mrs. 
 Hungerford was delighted with her son, and said to him, 4 1 
 cannot, I am sure, reward you better, my dear, than by re- 
 warding this good young woman. The fidelity with which 
 
 358 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 she has fulfilled my orders, in all that regards my children, 
 places her, in my opinion, above the rank in which she was 
 born. Henceforward she shall hold in my house a station to 
 which her habits of truth, gentleness, and good sense entitle 
 her.’ 
 
 From this time forward, Fanny, by Mrs. Hungerford’s 
 desire, was always present when the children took their lessons 
 from their several masters. Mrs. Hungerford advised her to 
 apply herself to learn all those things which were necessary 
 for a governess to young ladies. ‘ When you speak, your 
 language in general is good, and correct ; and no pains shall 
 be wanting, on my part,’ said this haughty but benevolent lady, 
 ‘ to form your manners, and to develop your talents. This I 
 partly owe you for your care of my children ; and I am happy 
 to reward my son Gustavus in a manner which I am certain 
 will be most agreeable to him.’ 
 
 ‘And, mamma,’ said the little boy, ‘may she walk out some- 
 times with her brothers ? for I do believe she loves them as 
 well as I love my sisters.’ 
 
 Mrs. Hungerford pennitted Fanny to walk out for an hour, 
 every morning, during the time that her children were with 
 their dancing-master ; and at this hour sometimes her brother 
 James, and sometimes her brother Frank, could be spared ; and 
 they had many pleasant walks together. What a happiness it 
 was to them to have been thus bred up, from their earliest 
 years, in friendship with one another ! This friendship was 
 now the sweetest pleasure of their lives. 
 
 Poor Patty ! She regretted that she could not join in these 
 pleasant meetings ; but, alas ! she was so useful, so agreeable, 
 and so necessary to her infirm mistress, that she could never be 
 spared from home. ‘ Where’s Patty ? why does not Patty do 
 this?’ were Mrs. Crumpe’s constant questions whenever she 
 was absent. Patty had all the business of the house upon her 
 hands, because nobody could do anything so well as Patty. 
 Mrs. Crumpe found that no one could dress her but Patty ; 
 nobody could make her bed, so that she could sleep on it, but 
 Patty ; no one could make jelly, or broth, or whey, that she 
 could taste, but Patty ; no one could roast, or boil, or bake, but 
 Patty. Of course, all these things must be done by nobody else. 
 The ironing of Mrs. Crumpe’s caps, which had exquisitely nice 
 plaited borders, at last fell to Patty’s share ; because once, when 
 
 359 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 the laundry-maid was sick, she plaited one so charmingly, that 
 her lady would never afterwards wear any but of her plaiting. 
 Now Mrs. Crumpe changed her cap, or rather had her cap 
 changed, three times a day ; and never wore the same cap 
 twice. 
 
 The labours of washing, ironing, plaiting, roasting, boiling, 
 baking, making jelly, broth, and whey, were not sufficient : 
 Mrs. Crumpe took it into her head that she could eat no butter 
 but of Patty’s churning. But, what was worse than all, not a 
 night passed without Patty’s being called up to see ‘ what could 
 be the matter with the dog that was barking, or the cat that 
 was mewing.’ And when she was just sinking to sleep again, 
 at daybreak, her lady, in whose room she slept, would call out, 
 ‘ Patty ! Patty ! There’s a dreadful noise in the chicken-yard.’ 
 
 1 Oh, ma’am, it is only the cocks crowing.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, do step out, and hinder them from crowing at this 
 terrible rate.’ 
 
 ‘ But, ma’am, I cannot hinder them indeed.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh yes, you could, if you were up. Get up and whip ’em, 
 child. Whip ’em all round, or I shall not sleep a wink more 
 this night .’ 1 
 
 How little poor Patty slept, her lady never considered : not 
 that she was in reality an ill-natured woman, but sickness in- 
 clined her to be peevish ; and she had so long been used to be 
 humoured and waited upon by relations and servants, who ex- 
 pected she would leave them rich legacies, that she considered 
 herself as a sort of golden idol, to whom all that approached 
 should and would bow as low as she pleased. Perceiving that 
 almost all around her were interested, she became completely 
 selfish. She was from morning till night, from night till morn- 
 ing, nay, from year’s end to year’s end, so much in the habit 
 of seeing others employed for her, that she absolutely con- 
 sidered this to be the natural and necessary course of things ; 
 and she quite forgot to think of the comfort, or even of the 
 well-being, of those creatures who were ‘ born for her use, and 
 live but to oblige her.’ 
 
 From time to time she was so far awakened to feeling, by 
 Patty’s exertions and good-humour, that she would say, to quiet 
 her own conscience, ‘ Well ! well ! I’ll make it all up to her in 
 my will ! I’ll make it all up to her in my will ! ’ 
 
 1 Taken from life. 
 
 360 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 She took it for granted that Patty, like the rest of her de- 
 pendants, was governed entirely by mercenary considerations ; 
 and she was persuaded that the hopes of this legacy would 
 secure Patty her slave for life. In this she was mistaken. 
 
 One morning Patty came into her room with a face full of 
 sorrow ; a face so unlike her usual countenance, that even her 
 mistress, unaccustomed as she was to attend to the feelings of 
 others, could not help noticing the change. 
 
 ‘ Well ! What’s the matter, child ? ’ said she. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! sad news, madam ! ’ said Patty, turning aside to hide 
 her tears. 
 
 ‘ But what’s the matter, child, I say ? Can’t you speak, 
 whatever it is, hey ? What, have you burnt my best cap in the 
 ironing, hey ? It that it ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Oh ! worse, worse, ma’am ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Worse ! What can be worse ? ’ 
 
 ‘ My brother, ma’am, my brother George, is ill, very ill of a 
 fever ; and they don’t think he’ll live ! Here is my father’s 
 letter, ma’am ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Lord ! how can I read it without spectacles ? and why 
 should I read it, when you’ve told me all that’s in it ? How 
 the child cries !’ continued Mrs. Crumpe, raising herself a little 
 on her pillow, and looking at Patty with a sort of astonished curi- 
 osity. 1 Heigho ! But I can’t stay in bed this way till dinner- 
 time. Get me my cap, child, and dry your eyes ; for crying 
 won’t do your brother any good.’ 
 
 Patty dried her eyes. ‘No, crying will not do him any 
 good,’ said she, ‘but ’ 
 
 ‘ But where is my cap? I don’t see it on the dressing-table.’ 
 
 ‘ No, ma’am : Martha will bring it in a minute or two : she 
 is plaiting it.’ 
 
 ‘ I will not have it plaited by Martha. Go and do it your- 
 self.’ 
 
 ‘ But, ma’am,’ said Patty, who, to her mistress’s surprise, 
 stood still, notwithstanding she heard this order, ‘ I hope you 
 will be so good as to give me leave to go to my poor brother 
 to-day. All the rest of my brothers and sisters are with him, 
 and he wants to see me ; and they have sent a horse for me.’ 
 
 ‘No matter what they have sent, you shan’t go; I can’t 
 spare you. If you choose to serve me, serve me. If you choose 
 to serve your brother, serve your brother, and leave me.’ 
 
 361 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ Then, madam,’ said Patty, ‘ I must leave you ; for I cannot 
 but choose to serve my brother at such a time as this, if I 
 can serve him ; which God grant I mayn’t be too late to do ! ’ 
 
 ‘What! You will leave me ! Leave me contrary to my 
 orders ! Take notice, then : these doors you shall never enter 
 again, if you leave me now,’ cried Mrs. Crumpe, who, by this 
 unexpected opposition to her orders, was actually worked up to 
 a state unlike her usual peevishness. She started up in her 
 bed, and, growing quite red in the face, cried, ‘ Leave me now, 
 and you leave me for ever. Remember that ! Remember 
 that ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Then, madam, I must leave you for ever,’ said Patty, 
 moving towards the door. ‘ I wish you your health and happi- 
 ness, and am sorry to break so short.’ 
 
 ‘ The girl’s an idiot ! ’ cried Mrs. Crumpe. ‘ After this you 
 cannot expect that I should remember you in my will.’ 
 
 ‘No, indeed, madam ; I expect no such thing,’ said Patty. 
 (Her hand was on the lock of the door as she spoke.) 
 
 ‘ Then,’ said Mrs. Crumpe, ‘ perhaps you will think it worth 
 your while to stay with me, when I tell you I have not forgot 
 you in my will ? Consider that, child, before you turn the 
 handle of the door. Consider that ; and don’t disoblige me 
 for ever.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, madam, consider my poor brother. I am sorry to 
 disoblige you for ever ; but I can consider nothing but my poor 
 brother,’ said Patty. The lock of the door turned quickly in 
 her hand. 
 
 ‘ Why ! Is your brother rich ? What upon earth do you 
 expect from this brother, that can make it worth your while to 
 behave to me in this strange way ? ’ said Mrs. Crumpe. 
 
 Patty was silent with astonishment for a few moments, and 
 then answered, ‘ I expect nothing from him, madam ; he is as 
 poor as myself ; but that does not make me love him the less.’ 
 
 Before Mrs. Crumpe could understand this last speech, Patty 
 had left the room. Her mistress sat up in her bed, in the same 
 attitude, for some minutes after she was gone, looking fixedly at 
 the place where Patty had stood : she could scarcely recover 
 from her surprise ; and a multitude of painful thoughts crowded 
 upon her mind. 
 
 ‘ If I were dying, and poor, who would come to me ? Not 
 a relation I have in the world would come near me ! Not a 
 
 362 
 
y?i^ v <r 
 
 / «*, consider nothin, but my poor brother? said Patty. The lock of the door 
 turned quickly in her hand. 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 creature on earth loves me as this poor girl loves her brother, 
 who is as poor as herself.’ 
 
 Here her reflections were interrupted by hearing the 
 galloping of Patty’s horse, as it passed by the windows. Mrs. 
 Crumpe tried to compose herself again to sleep, but she could 
 not ; and in half an hour’s time she rang the bell violently, 
 took her purse out of her pocket, counted out twenty bright 
 guineas, and desired that a horse should be saddled immedi- 
 ately, and that her steward should gallop after Patty, and offer 
 her that whole sum in hand , if she would return. ‘ Begin with 
 one guinea, and bid on till you come up to her price,’ said 
 Mrs. Crumpe. ‘ Have her back again I will, if it were only to 
 convince myself that she is to be had for money as well as 
 other people.’ 
 
 The steward, as he counted the gold in his hand, thought 
 it was a great sum to throw away for such a whim : he had 
 never seen his lady take the whim of giving away ready money 
 before ; but it was in vain to remonstrate ; she was peremptory, 
 and he obeyed. 
 
 In two hours’ time he returned, and Mrs. Crumpe saw her 
 gold again with extreme astonishment. The steward said he 
 could not prevail upon Patty even to look at the guineas. 
 Mrs. Crumpe now flew into a violent passion, in which none 
 of our readers will probably sympathise : we shall therefore 
 forbear to describe it. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 When Patty came within half a mile of the cottage in which 
 her father lived, she met Hannah, the faithful servant, who 
 had never deserted the family in their misfortunes ; she had 
 been watching all the morning on the road for the first sight 
 of Patty, but when she saw her, and came quite close up to 
 her, she had no power to speak ; and Patty was so much 
 terrified that she could not ask her a single question. She 
 walked her horse a slow pace, and kept silence. 
 
 ‘ Won’t you go on, ma’am ? ’ said Hannah at last, forcing 
 herself to speak. ‘ Won’t you go on a bit faster ? He’s 
 almost wild to see you.’ 
 
 364 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 ‘ He is alive then ! ’ cried Patty. The horse was in full 
 gallop directly, and she was soon at her father’s door. James 
 and Frank were there watching for her : they lifted her from the 
 horse ; and feeling that she trembled so much as to be scarcely 
 able to stand, they would have detained her a little while in 
 the air ; but she passed or rather rushed into the room where 
 her brother lay. He took no notice of her when she came in, 
 for he was insensible. Fanny was supporting his head ; she 
 held out her hand to Patty, who went on tiptoe to the side of 
 the bed. ‘ Is he asleep ?’ whispered she. 
 
 ‘ Not asleep, but He’ll come to himself presently,’ con- 
 
 tinued Fanny, ‘and he will be very, very glad you are come ; 
 and so will my father.’ 
 
 ‘ Where is my father ? ’ said Patty ; ‘ I don’t see him.’ 
 Fanny pointed to the farthest end of the room, where he 
 was kneeling at his devotion. The shutters being half closed, 
 she could but just see the faint beam which shone upon his 
 gray hairs. He rose, came to his daughter Patty, with an air 
 of resigned grief, and taking her hand between both of his, 
 said, ‘ My love — we must lose him — God’s will be done ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Oh ! there is hope, there is hope still ! ’ said Patty. 
 ‘ See ! the colour is coming back to his lips again ; his eyes 
 open ! Oh ! George, dear George, dear brother ! It is your 
 own sister Patty : don’t you know Patty ? ’ 
 
 ‘Patty ! — Yes. Why does she not come to me? I would 
 go to her if I could,’ said the sufferer, without knowing what 
 he talked of. ‘ Is not she come yet ? Send another horse, 
 Frank. Why, it is only six miles. Six miles in three hours, 
 that is — how many miles an hour ? ten miles, is it ? Don’t 
 hurry her — don’t tell her I’m so bad ; nor my father — don’t 
 let him see me, nor James, nor Frank, nor pretty Fanny, nor 
 anybody — they are all too good to me : I only wished to see 
 poor Patty once before I die ; but don’t frighten her— I shall 
 be very well, tell her — quite well, by the time she comes.’ 
 
 After running on in this manner for some time, his eyes 
 closed again, and he lay in a state of stupor. He continued 
 in this condition for some time : at last his sisters, who were 
 watching beside the bed, heard a knocking at the door. It 
 was Frank and James : they had gone for a clergyman, whom 
 George, before he became delirious, had desired to see. The 
 clergyman was come, and with him a benevolent physician, 
 
 365 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 who happened to be at his house, and who insisted upon accom- 
 panying him. As soon as the physician saw the poor young 
 man, and felt his pulse, he perceived that the ignorant apo- 
 thecary, who had been first employed, had entirely mistaken 
 George’s disease, and had treated him improperly. His 
 disease was a putrid fever, and the apothecary had bled him 
 repeatedly. The physician thought he could certainly have 
 saved his life, if he had seen him two days sooner ; but now it 
 was a hopeless case. All that could be done for him he tried. 
 
 Towards evening, the disease seemed to take a favourable 
 turn. George came to his senses, knew his father, his 
 brothers, and Fanny, and spoke to each with his customary 
 kindness, as they stood round his bed : he then asked whether 
 poor Patty was come. When he saw her, he thanked her 
 tenderly for coming to him, but could not recollect he had 
 anything particular to say to her. 
 
 ‘ I only wished to see you all together, to thank you for 
 your good-nature to me ever since I was born, and to take 
 leave of you before I die ; for I feel that I am dying. Nay, 
 do not cry so ! My father ! Oh ! my father is most to be 
 pitied; but he will have James and Frank left.’ 
 
 Seeing his father’s affliction, which the good old man 
 struggled in vain to subdue, George broke off here : he put his 
 hand to his head, as if fearing it was again growing confused. 
 
 ‘ Let me see our good clergyman, now that I am well 
 enough to see him,’ said he. He then took a hand of each of 
 his brothers and sisters, joined them together, and pressed 
 them to his lips, looking from them to his father, whose back 
 was now turned. ‘You understand me,’ whispered George: 
 ‘ he can never come to want, while you are left to work and 
 comfort him. If I should not see you again in this world, 
 farewell ! Ask my father to give me his blessing ! ’ 
 
 ‘ God bless you, my son ! God bless you, my dear good 
 son ! God will surely bless so good a son ! ’ said the agonised 
 father, laying his hand upon his son’s forehead, which even 
 now was cold with the damp of death. 
 
 ‘ What a comfort it is to have a father’s blessing ! ’ said 
 George. ‘ May you all have it when you are as I am now ! ’ 
 
 ‘ I shall be out of this world long, long before that time, I 
 hope,’ said the poor old man, as he left the room. ‘ But God’s 
 will be done ! Send the clergyman to my boy ! ’ 
 
 3 66 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 The clergyman remained in the room but a short time : when 
 he returned to the family, they saw by his looks that all was over ! 
 
 There was a solemn silence. 
 
 ‘Be comforted,’ said the good clergyman. ‘Never man 
 left this world with a clearer conscience, or had happier hope 
 of a life to come. Be comforted. Alas ! at such a time as 
 this you cannot be comforted by anything that the tongue of 
 man can say.’ 
 
 All the family attended the funeral. It was on a Sunday, 
 just before morning prayers ; and as soon as George was 
 interred, his father, brothers, and sisters, left the churchyard, 
 to avoid being seen by the gay people who were coming to 
 their devotion. As they went home, they passed through the 
 field in which George used to work : there they saw his heap 
 of docks, and his spade upright in the ground beside it, just 
 as he had left it, the last time that he had ever worked. 
 
 The whole family stayed for a few days with their poor 
 father. Late one evening, as they were all walking out 
 together in the fields, a heavy dew began to fall ; and James 
 urged his father to make haste home, lest he should catch 
 cold, and should have another fit of the rheumatism. They 
 were then at some distance from their cottage ; and Frank, 
 who thought he knew a short way home, took them by a new 
 road, which unluckily led them far out of their way ; it brought 
 them unexpectedly within sight of their old farm, and of the 
 new house which Mr. Bettesworth had built upon it. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! my dear father, I am sorry I brought you this way,’ 
 cried Frank. ‘ Let us turn back.’ 
 
 ‘No, my son, why should we turn back?’ said his father 
 mildly ; ‘ we can pass by these fields, and this house, I hope, 
 without coveting our neighbour’s goods.’ 
 
 As they came near the house, he stopped at the gate to 
 look at it. ‘ It is a good house,’ said he ; ‘ but I have no need 
 to envy any man a good house ; I, that have so much better 
 things — good children ! ’ 
 
 Just as he uttered these words, Mr. Bettes worth’s house 
 door opened, and three or four men appeared on the stone 
 steps, quarrelling and fighting. The loud voices of Bullying 
 Bob and Wild Will were heard too plainly. 
 
 ‘We have no business here,’ said old Frankland, turning to 
 his children : ‘let us go.’ 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 The combatants pursued each other with such furious rapidity 
 that they were near to the gate in a few instants. 
 
 ‘ Lock the gate, you without there, whoever you are ! Lock 
 the gate ! or I’ll knock you down when I come up, whoever you 
 are,’ cried Bullying Bob, who was hindmost in the race. 
 
 Wild Will was foremost ; he kicked open the gate, but his 
 foot slipped as he was going through : his brother overtook him, 
 and, seizing him by the collar, cried, ‘ Give me back the bank- 
 notes, you rascal ! they are mine, and I’ll have ’em in spite 
 of you.’ 
 
 ‘They are mine, and I’ll keep ’em in spite of you,’ retorted 
 Will, who was much intoxicated. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! what a sight ! brothers fighting ! Oh ! part them, 
 part them ! Hold ! hold ! for Heaven’s sake ! ’ cried old 
 Frankland to them. 
 
 Frank and James held them asunder, though they continued 
 to abuse one another in the grossest terms. Their father, by 
 this time, came up ; he wrung his hands, and wept bitterly. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! shame, shame to me in my old age ! ’ cried he; ‘ can’t 
 you two let me live the few years I have to live in peace ? 
 Ah, neighbour Frankland, you are better off! My heart will 
 break soon ! These children of mine will be the ruin and the 
 death of me ! ’ 
 
 At these words the sons interrupted their father with loud 
 complaints of the manner in which he had treated them. They 
 had quarrelled with one another, and with their father, about 
 money. The father charged them with profligate extravagance ; 
 and they accused him of sordid avarice. Mr. Frankland, much 
 shocked at this scene, besought them at least to return to their 
 house, and not to expose themselves in this manner, especially 
 now that they were in the station of gentlemen. Their passions 
 were too loud and brutal to listen to this appeal to their pride ; 
 their being raised to the rank of gentlemen could not give 
 them principles or manners ; that can only be done by educa- 
 tion. Despairing to effect any good, Mr. Frankland retired from 
 this scene, and made the best of his way home to his peaceful 
 cottage. 
 
 ‘ My children,’ said he to his family, as they sat down to 
 their frugal meal, ‘ we are poor, but we are happy in one 
 another. Was not I right to say I need not envy neighbour 
 Bettesworth his fine house ? Whatever misfortunes befall me, 
 
 368 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 I have the blessing of good children. It is a blessing I would 
 not exchange for any this world affords. God preserve them 
 in health ! ’ 
 
 He sighed, and soon added, ‘ It is a bitter thing to think of 
 a good son, who is dead ; but it is worse, perhaps, to think of 
 a bad son, who is alive. That is a misfortune I can never know. 
 But, my dear boys and girls,’ continued he, changing his tone, 
 ‘this idle way of life of ours must not last for ever. You are 
 too poor to be idle ; and so much the better for you. To- 
 morrow you must all away to your own business.’ 
 
 ‘ But, father,’ cried they all at once, ‘ which of us may stay 
 with you ? ’ 
 
 ‘ None of you, my good children. You are all going on well 
 in the world ; and I will not take you from your good masters 
 and mistresses.’ 
 
 Patty now urged that she had the strongest right to remain 
 with her father, because Mrs. Crumpe would certainly refuse to 
 receive her into her service again, after what had passed at their 
 parting: but nothing could prevail upon Frankland; he posi- 
 tively refused to let any of his children stay with him. At last 
 Frank cried, ‘ How can you possibly manage this farm with- 
 out help ? You must let either James or me stay with you, 
 father. Suppose you should be seized with another fit of the 
 rheumatism ? ’ 
 
 Frankland paused for a moment, and then answered, ‘Poor 
 Hannah will nurse me if I fall sick. I am able still to pay her 
 just wages. I will not be a burden to my children. As to this 
 farm, I am going to give it up ; for, indeed,’ said the old man, 
 smiling, ‘ I should not be well able to manage it with the 
 rheumatism in my spade-arm. My landlord, farmer Hewit, is 
 a good-natured friendly man ; and he will give me my own time 
 for the rent : nay, he tells me he would let me live in this 
 cottage for nothing : but I cannot do that.’ 
 
 ‘ Then what will you do, dear father ? ’ said his sons. 
 
 ‘ The clergyman who was here yesterday has made interest 
 for a house for me which will cost me nothing, nor him either ; 
 and I shall be very near you both, boys.’ 
 
 ‘ But, father,’ interrupted Frank, ‘ I know, by your way 
 of speaking, there is something about this house which you do 
 not like.’ 
 
 ‘That is true,’ said old Frankland : ‘but that is the fault of 
 2 B 369 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 my pride, and of my old prejudices ; which are hard to conquer 
 at my time of life. It is certain, I do not much like the thoughts 
 of going into an almshouse.’ 
 
 ‘ An almshouse ! ’ cried all his children at once, in a tone of 
 horror. ‘ Oh, father, you must not, indeed you must not, go 
 into an almshouse !’ 
 
 The pride which renders the English yeoman averse to live 
 upon public charity is highly advantageous to the industry and 
 virtue of the nation. Even where it is instilled early into 
 families as a prejudice, it is useful, and ought to be respected. 
 
 Frankland’s children, shocked at the idea of their father’s 
 going into an almshouse, eagerly offered to join together the 
 money they had earned, and to pay the rent of the cottage in 
 which he now lived; but Frankland knew that, if he took this 
 money, his children would themselves be in distress. He an- 
 swered, with tears in his eyes, 
 
 ‘ My dear children, I thank you all for your goodness ; but 
 I cannot accept of your offer. Since I am no longer able 
 to support myself, I will not, from false pride, be the ruin of 
 my children. I will not be a burden to them ; and I prefer 
 living upon public charity to accepting of the ostentatious liberal- 
 ity of any one rich man. I am come to a resolution, which 
 nothing shall induce me to break. I am determined to live in 
 the Monmouth almshouse — nay, hear me, my children, patiently 
 — to live in the Monmouth almshouse for one year ; and during 
 that time I will not see any of you, unless I am sick. I lay my 
 commands upon you not to attempt to see me till this day 
 twelvemonth. If at that time you are all together able to 
 maintain me without hurting yourselves, I will most willingly 
 accept of your bounty for the rest of my days.’ 
 
 His children assured him they should be able to earn money 
 sufficient to maintain him, without injury to themselves, long 
 before the end of the year ; and they besought him to permit 
 them to do so as soon as it was in their power ; but he continued 
 firm in his resolution, and made them solemnly promise they 
 would obey his commands, and not even attempt to see him 
 during the ensuing year. He then took leave of them in a most 
 affectionate manner, saying, ‘ I know, my dearest children, I 
 have now given you the strongest possible motive for industry 
 and good conduct. This day twelvemonth we shall meet again ; 
 and I hope it will be as joyful a meeting as this is a sorrowful 
 
 37 ° 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 parting.’ His children, with some difficulty, obtained permission 
 to accompany him to his new abode. 
 
 The almshouses at Monmouth are far superior to common 
 institutions of this kind ; they are remarkably neat and com- 
 fortable little dwellings, and form a row of pretty cottages, 
 behind each of which there is a garden full of gooseberries, 
 currants, and a variety of useful vegetables. These the old men 
 cultivate themselves. The houses are fitted up conveniently ; 
 and each individual is provided with everything that he wants 
 in his own habitation ; so that there is no opportunity or 
 temptation for those petty disputes about property which often 
 occur in charitable institutions that are not prudently conducted. 
 Poor people who have their goods in common must necessarily 
 become quarrelsome. 
 
 ‘ You see,’ said old Frankland, pointing to the shining row 
 of pewter on the clean shelf over the fireplace in his little 
 kitchen ; ‘ you see I want for nothing here. I am not much to 
 be pitied.’ 
 
 His children stood silent and dejected, whilst he dressed 
 himself in the uniform belonging to the almshouse. Before they 
 parted, they all agreed to meet at this place that day twelve- 
 month, and to bring with them the earnings of the year ; they 
 had hopes that thus, by their united efforts, a sum might 
 be obtained sufficient to place their father once more in a state 
 of independence. With these hopes they separated, and 
 returned to their masters and mistresses. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Patty went to Mrs. Crumpe’s to get her clothes which she had 
 left there, and to receive some months’ wages which were still 
 due for her services. After what had passed, she had no idea 
 that Mrs. Crumpe would wish she should stay with her ; and she 
 had heard of another place in Monmouth, which she believed 
 would suit her in every respect. 
 
 The first person she saw, when she arrived at the house of 
 her late mistress, was Martha, who, with a hypocritical length 
 of face, said to her, ‘ Sad news ! sad news, Mrs. Patty ! The 
 
 37i 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 passion my lady was thrown into, by your going away so 
 sudden, was of terrible detriment to her. That very night she 
 had a stroke of the palsy, and has scarce spoke since.’ 
 
 ‘ Don’t take it to heart, it is none of your fault : don’t take 
 it to heart, dear Patty,’ said Betty, the housemaid, who was 
 fond of Patty. ‘ What could you do but go to your brother ? 
 Here, drink this water, and don’t blame yourself at all about 
 the matter. Mistress had a stroke sixteen months ago, afore 
 ever you came into the house ; and I dare say she’d have had 
 this last whether you had stayed or gone.’ 
 
 Here they were interrupted by the violent ringing of Mrs. 
 Crumpe’s bell. They were in the room next to her ; and, as 
 she heard voices louder than usual, she was impatient to know 
 what was going on. Patty heard Mrs. Martha answer, as she 
 opened her lady’s door, ‘’Tis only Patty Frankland, ma’am, 
 who is come for her clothes and her wages.’ 
 
 ‘ And she is very sorry to hear you have been so ill ; very 
 sorry,’ said Betty, following to the door, 
 
 ‘ Bid her come in,’ said Mrs. Crumpe, in a voice more 
 distinct than she had ever been heard to speak in since the 
 day of her illness. 
 
 ‘ What ! are you sorry for me, child ? ’ said Mrs. Crumpe, 
 fixing her eyes upon Patty’s. Patty made no answer ; but it 
 was plain how much she was shocked. 
 
 ‘ Ay, I see you are sorry for me,’ said her mistress. ‘ And 
 so am I for you,’ added she, stretching out her hand, and 
 taking hold of Patty’s black gown. ‘You shall have a finer 
 stuff than this for mourning for me. But I know that is not 
 what you are thinking of ; and that’s the reason I have more 
 value for you than for all the rest of them put together. Stay 
 with me, stay with me, to nurse me ; you nurse me to my 
 mind. You cannot leave me in the way I am in now, when I 
 ask you to stay.’ 
 
 Patty could not without inhumanity refuse ; she stayed with 
 Mrs. Crumpe, who grew so dotingly fond of her, that she 
 could scarcely bear to have her a moment out of sight. She 
 would take neither food nor medicines but from Patty’s hand ; 
 and she would not speak, except in answer to Patty’s questions. 
 The fatigue and confinement she was now forced to undergo 
 were enough to hurt the constitution of any one who had not 
 very strong health. Patty bore them with the greatest patience 
 
 372 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 and good-humour ; indeed, the consciousness that she was 
 doing right supported her in exertions which would otherwise 
 have been beyond her power. 
 
 She had still more difficult trials to go through : Mrs. 
 Martha was jealous of her favour with her lady, and often 
 threw out hints that some people had much more luck, and 
 more cunning too, than other people ; but that some people 
 might perhaps be disappointed at last in their ends. 
 
 Patty went on her own straight way, without minding these 
 insinuations at first ; but she was soon forced to attend to 
 them. Mrs. Crumpe’s relations received intelligence from 
 Mrs. Martha, that her lady was growing worse and worse 
 every hour ; and that she was quite shut up under the dominion 
 of an artful servant-girl, who had gained such power over her 
 that there was no knowing what the consequence might be. 
 Mrs. Crumpe’s relations were much alarmed by this story : 
 they knew she had made a will in their favour some years 
 before this time, and they dreaded that Patty should prevail 
 upon her to alter it, and should get possession herself of the 
 fortune. They were particularly struck with this idea, because 
 an instance of undue power, acquired by a favourite servant- 
 maid over her doting mistress, happened about this period to 
 be mentioned in an account of a trial in the newspapers of the 
 day. Mrs. Crumpe’s nearest relations were two grand-nephews. 
 The eldest was Mr. Josiah Crumpe, a merchant who was 
 settled at Liverpool ; the youngest was that Ensign Bloomington 
 whom we formerly mentioned. He had been intended for a 
 merchant, but he would never settle to business ; and at last 
 ran away from the counting-house where he had been placed, 
 and went into the army. He was an idle, extravagant young 
 man : his great-aunt was by fits very angry with him, or very 
 fond of him. Sometimes she would supply him with money ; 
 at others, she would forbid him her presence, and declare he 
 should never see another shilling of hers. This had been her 
 latest determination ; but Ensign Bloomington thought he could 
 easily get into favour again, and he resolved to force himself 
 into the house. Mrs. Crumpe positively refused to see him : 
 the day after this refusal he returned with a reinforcement, for 
 which Patty was not in the least prepared : he was accompanied 
 by Miss Sally Bettesworth, in a regimental riding-habit. Jessy 
 had been the original object of this gentleman’s gallantry ; but 
 
 373 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 she met with a new and richer lover, and of course jilted him. 
 Sally, who was in haste to be married, took undisguised pains 
 to fix the ensign ; and she thought she was sure of him. But 
 to proceed with our story. 
 
 Patty was told that a lady and gentleman desired to see her 
 in the parlour : she was scarcely in the room when Sally began 
 in a voice capable of intimidating the most courageous of 
 scolds, ‘ Fine doings ! Fine doings, here ! You think you 
 have the game in your own hands, I warrant, my Lady 
 Paramount ; but I’m not one to be bullied, you know of old.’ 
 
 ‘Nor am I one to be bullied, I hope,’ replied Patty, in a 
 modest but firm voice. ‘ Will you be pleased to let me know, 
 in a quiet way, what are your commands with me, or my 
 lady ? ’ 
 
 ‘ This gentleman here must see your lady, as you call her. 
 To let you into a bit of a secret, this gentleman and I is soon 
 to be one ; so no wonder I stir in this affair, and I never stir 
 for nothing ; so it is as well for you to do it with fair words as 
 foul. Without more preambling, please to show this gentleman 
 into his aunt’s room, which sure he has the best right to see of 
 any one in this world ; and if you prevent it in any species, I’ll 
 have the law of you ; and I take this respectable woman,’ 
 looking at Mrs. Martha, who came in with a salver of cakes 
 and wine, ‘ I take this here respectable gentlewoman to be my 
 witness, if you choose to refuse my husband (that is to be) 
 admittance to his true and lawful nearest relation upon earth. 
 Only say the doors are locked, and that you won’t let him in ; 
 that’s all we ask of you, Mrs. Patty Paramount. Only say 
 that afore this here witness.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, I shall say no such thing, ma’am,’ replied Patty ; 
 ‘ for it is not in the least my wish to prevent the gentleman 
 from seeing my mistress. It was she herself who refused to 
 let him in ; and I think, if he forces himself into the room, she 
 will be apt to be very much displeased : but I shall not hinder 
 him, if he chooses to try. There are the stairs, and my lady’s 
 room is the first on the right hand. Only, sir, before you go 
 up, let me caution you, lest you should startle her so as to be 
 the death of her. The least surprise or fright might bring on 
 another stroke in an instant.’ 
 
 Ensign Bloomington and Saucy Sally now looked at one 
 another, as if at a loss how to proceed : they retired to a 
 
 374 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 window to consult ; and whilst they were whispering, a coach 
 drove up to the door. It was full of Mrs. Crumpe’s relations, 
 who came post-haste from Monmouth, in consequence of the 
 alarm given by Mrs. Martha. Mr. Josiah Crumpe was not in 
 the coach : he had been written for, but was not yet arrived 
 from Liverpool. 
 
 Now, it must be observed, this coachful of relations were all 
 enemies to Ensign Bloomington ; and the moment they put 
 their heads out of the carriage-window, and saw him standing 
 in the parlour, their surprise and indignation were too great for 
 coherent utterance. With all the rashness of prejudice, they 
 decided that he had bribed Patty to let him in and to exclude 
 them. Possessed with this idea, they hurried out of the coach, 
 passed by poor Patty who was standing in the hall, and 
 beckoned to Mrs. Martha, who showed them into the drawing- 
 room, and remained shut up with them there for some minutes. 
 ‘ She is playing us false,’ cried Saucy Sally, rushing out of the 
 parlour. ‘ I told you not to depend on that Martha ; nor on 
 nobody but me : I said I’d force a way for you up to the room, 
 and so I have ; and now you have not the spirit to take your 
 advantage. They’ll get in all of them before you ; and then 
 where will you be, and what will you be ? ’ 
 
 Mrs. Crumpe’s bell rang violently, and Patty ran up stairs 
 to her room. 
 
 ‘ I have been ringing for you, Patty, this quarter of an hour ! 
 What is all the disturbance I hear below ? ’ 
 
 ‘Your relations, ma’am, who wish to see you. I hope you 
 won’t refuse to see them, for they are very anxious.’ 
 
 ‘Very anxious to have me dead and buried. Not one of 
 them cares a groat for me. I have made my will, tell them ; 
 and they will see that in time. I will not see one of them.’ 
 
 By this time, they were all at the bedchamber door, strug- 
 gling which party should enter first. Saucy Sally’s loud voice 
 was heard maintaining her right to be there, as wife-elect to 
 Ensign Bloomington. 
 
 ‘Tell them the first who enters this room shall never see a 
 shilling of my money,’ cried Mrs. Crumpe. 
 
 Patty opened the door ; the disputants were instantly silent. 
 
 ‘ Be pleased, before you come in, to hearken to what my 
 mistress says. Ma’am, will you say whatever you think proper 
 yourself?’ said Patty ; ‘ for it is too hard for me to be suspected 
 
 375 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 of putting words into your mouth, and keeping your friends 
 from the sight of you.’ 
 
 ‘ The first of them who comes into this room,’ cried Mrs. 
 Crumpe, raising her feeble voice to the highest pitch she was 
 able, ‘ the first who enters this room shall never see a shilling 
 of my money ; and so on to the next, and the next, and the 
 next. I’ll see none of you.’ 
 
 No one ventured to enter. Their infinite solicitude to see 
 how poor Mrs. Crumpe found herself to-day suddenly vanished. 
 The two parties adjourned to the parlour and the drawing-room ; 
 and there was nothing in which they agreed, except in abusing 
 Patty. They called for pen, ink, and paper, and each wrote 
 what they wished to say. Their notes were carried up by 
 Patty herself ; for Mrs. Martha would not run the risk of losing 
 her own legacy to oblige any of them, though she had been 
 bribed by all. With much difficulty, Mrs. Crumpe was 
 prevailed upon to look at the notes ; at last she exclaimed, 
 
 ‘ Let them all come up ! all ; this moment tell them, all ! ’ 
 
 They were in the room instantly ; all, except Saucy Sally : 
 Ensign Bloomington persuaded her it was for the best that she 
 should not appear. Patty was retiring, as soon as she had 
 shown them in ; but her mistress called to her, and bade her 
 take a key, which she held in her hand, and unlock an escritoire 
 that was in the room. She did so. 
 
 ‘ Give me that parcel, which is tied up with red tape and 
 sealed with three seals,’ said Mrs. Crumpe. 
 
 All eyes were immediately fixed upon it, for it was her will. 
 
 She broke the seals deliberately, untied the red string, 
 opened the huge sheet of parchment, and without saying one 
 syllable tore it down the middle ; then tore the pieces again, 
 and again, till they were so small that the writing could not be 
 read. The spectators looked upon one another in dismay. 
 
 ‘Ah ! you may all look as you please,’ cried Mrs. Crumpe. 
 
 ‘ I’m alive, and in my sound senses still ; my money’s my own ; 
 my property’s my own ; I’ll do what I please with it. You 
 were all handsomely provided for in this will ; but you could 
 not wait for your legacies till I was under ground. No ! you 
 must come hovering over me, like so many ravens. It is not 
 time yet ! It is not time yet ! The breath is not yet out of 
 my body ; and when it is, you shall none of you be the better 
 for it, I promise you. My money’s my own ; my property’s 
 
 376 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 my own ; I’ll make a new will to-morrow. Good-bye to you 
 all. I’ve told you my mind.’ 
 
 Not the most abject humiliations, not the most artful 
 caresses, not the most taunting reproaches, from any of the 
 company, could extort another word from Mrs. Crumpe. Her 
 disappointed and incensed relations were at last obliged to 
 leave the house ; though not without venting their rage upon 
 Patty, whom they believed to be the secret cause of all that 
 had happened. After they had left the house, she went up to 
 a garret, where she thought no one would see her or hear her, 
 sat down on an old bedstead, and burst into tears. She had 
 been much shocked by the scenes that had just passed, and 
 her heart wanted this relief. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! ’ thought she, ‘ it is plain enough that it is not riches 
 which make people happy. Here is this poor lady, with heaps 
 of money and fine clothes, without any one in this whole world 
 to love or care for her, but all wishing her dead ; worried by 
 her own relations, and abused by them, almost in her hearing, 
 upon her death-bed ! O my poor brother ! How different 
 it was with you ! ’ 
 
 Patty’s reflections were here interrupted by the entrance of 
 Martha, who came and sat down on the bedstead beside her, 
 and, with a great deal of hypocritical kindness in her manner, 
 began to talk of what had passed ; blaming Mrs. Crumpe’s 
 relations for being so hard-hearted and inconsiderate as to 
 force business upon her when she was in such a state. 
 ‘ Indeed, they have no one to thank but themselves, for the 
 new turn things have taken. I hear my mistress has torn her 
 will to atoms, and is going to make a new one ! To be sure, 
 you, Mrs. Patty, will be handsomely provided for in this, as is, 
 I am sure, becoming ; and I hope, if you have an opportunity, 
 as for certain you will, you won’t forget to speak a good word 
 for me ! ’ 
 
 Patty, who was disgusted by this interested and deceitful 
 address, answered she had nothing to do with her mistress’s 
 will ; and that her mistress was the best judge of what should 
 be done with her own money, which she did not covet. 
 
 Mrs. Martha was not mistaken in her opinion that Patty 
 would be handsomely remembered in this new will. Mrs. 
 Crumpe the next morning said to Patty, as she was giving her 
 some medicine, ‘ It is for your interest, child, that I should get 
 
 377 
 

 POPULAR TALES 
 
 through this day at least ; for if I live a few hours longer, 
 you will be the richest single woman in Monmouthshire. I’ll 
 show them that all my money’s my own ; and that I can do 
 what I please with my own. Go yourself to Monmouth, child 
 (as soon as you have plaited my cap), and bring me the attorney 
 your brother lives with, to draw my new will. Don’t say one 
 word of your errand to any of my relations, I charge you, for 
 your own sake as well as mine. The harpies would tear you 
 to pieces ; but I’ll show them that I can do what I please with 
 my own. That’s the least satisfaction I can have for my money 
 before I die. God knows, it has been plague enough to me 
 all my life long ! But now, before I die ’ 
 
 1 Oh ! ma’am,’ interrupted Patty, ‘ there is no need to talk 
 of your dying now ; for I have not heard you speak so strong, 
 or so clear, nor seem so much yourself, this long time. You 
 may live yet, and I hope you will, to see many a good day ; 
 and to make it up, if I may be so bold to say it, with all your 
 relations : which, I am sure, would be a great ease to your 
 heart ; and I am sure they are very sorry to have offended you.’ 
 
 ‘ The girl’s a fool ! ’ cried Mrs. Crurnpe. ‘ Why, child, 
 don’t you understand me yet ? I tell you, as plain as I can 
 speak, I mean to leave the whole fortune to you. Well ! what 
 makes you look so blank ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Because, ma’am, indeed I have no wish to stand in any- 
 body’s way ; and would not for all the world do such an unjust 
 thing as to take advantage of your being a little angry or so 
 with your relations, to get the fortune for myself : for I can do, 
 having done all my life, without fortune well enough ; but I 
 could not do without my own good opinion, and that of my 
 father, and brothers, and sister ; all which I should lose, if I 
 was to be guilty of a mean thing. So, ma’am,’ said Patty, ‘ I 
 have made bold to speak the whole truth of my mind to you ; 
 and I hope you will not do me an injury, by way of doing me 
 a favour. I am sure I thank you with all my heart for your 
 goodness to me.’ 
 
 Patty turned away as she finished speaking, for she was 
 greatly moved. 
 
 ‘You are a strange girl!’ said Mrs. Crurnpe. ‘I would 
 not have believed this, if any one had sworn it to me. Go for 
 the attorney, as I bid you, this minute. I will have my own way.’ 
 
 When Patty arrived at Mr. Barlow’s, she asked immediately 
 
 378 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 for her brother Frank, whom she wished to consult ; but he 
 was out, and she then desired to speak to Mr. Barlow himself. 
 She was shown into his office, and she told him her business, 
 without any circumlocution, with the plain language and 
 ingenuous countenance of truth. 
 
 ‘ Indeed, sir,’ said she, ‘ I should be glad you would come 
 directly to my mistress and speak to her yourself ; for she will 
 mind what you say, and I only hope she may do the just thing 
 by her relations. I don’t want her fortune, nor any part of it, 
 but a just recompense for my service. Knowing this in my 
 own heart, I forgive them for all the ill-will they bear me : it 
 being all founded in a mistaken notion.’ 
 
 There was a gentleman in Mr. Barlow’s office who was 
 sitting at a desk writing a letter, when Patty came in : she took 
 him for one of the clerks. Whilst she was speaking, he turned 
 about several times, and looked at her very earnestly. At last 
 he went to a clerk, who was folding up some parchments, and 
 asked who she was. He then sat down again to his writing, 
 without saying a single word. This gentleman was Mr. Josiah 
 Crumpe, the Liverpool merchant, Mrs. Crumpe’s eldest nephew, 
 who had come to Monmouth, in consequence of the account 
 he had heard of his aunt’s situation. Mr. Barlow had lately 
 amicably settled a suit between him and one of his relations 
 at Monmouth ; and Mr. Crumpe had just been signing the 
 deed relative to this affair. He was struck with the disinter- 
 estedness of Patty’s conduct ; but he kept silence that she 
 might not find out who he was, and that he might have full 
 opportunity of doing her justice hereafter. He was not one of 
 the ravens, as Mrs. Crumpe emphatically called those who 
 were hovering over her, impatient for her death : he had, by 
 his own skill and industry, made himself not only independent, 
 but rich. After Patty was gone, he with the true spirit of a 
 British merchant declared that he was as independent in his 
 sentiments as in his fortune ; that he would not crouch or fawn 
 to man or woman, peer or prince, in his majesty’s dominions ; 
 no, not even to his own aunt. He wished his old aunt Crumpe, 
 he said, to live and enjoy all she had as long as she could ; 
 and if she chose to leave it to him after her death, well and 
 good ; he should be much obliged to her : if she did not, why 
 well and good ; he should not be obliged to be obliged to her : 
 and that, to his humour, would perhaps be better still. 
 
 379 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 With these sentiments Mr. Josiah Crumpe found no difficulty 
 in refraining from going to see, or, as he called it, from paying 
 his court to his aunt. ‘ I have some choice West India sweet- 
 meats here for the poor soul,’ said he to Mr. Barlow : 1 she 
 gave me sweetmeats when I was a schoolboy ; which I don’t 
 forget. I know she has a sweet tooth still in her head ; for 
 she wrote to me last year, to desire I would get her some : but 
 I did not relish the style of her letter, and I never complied 
 with the order ; however, I was to blame : she is an infirm 
 poor creature, and should be humoured now, let her be ever 
 so cross. Take her the sweetmeats ; but mind, do not let her 
 have a taste or a sight of them till she has made her will. I 
 do not want to bribe her to leave me her money-bags ; I thank 
 my God and myself, I want them not.’ 
 
 Mr. Barlow immediately went to Mrs. Crumpe’s. As she 
 had land to dispose of, three witnesses were necessary to the 
 will. Patty said she had two men-servants who could write ; 
 but to make sure of a third, Mr. Barlow desired that one of 
 his clerks should accompany him. Frank was out ; so the 
 eldest clerk went in his stead. 
 
 This clerk’s name was Mason ; he was Frank’s chief friend, 
 and a young man of excellent character. He had never seen 
 Patty till this day ; but he had often heard her brother speak 
 of her with so much affection, that he was prepossessed in her 
 favour, even before he saw her. The manner in which she 
 spoke on the subject of Mrs. Crumpe’s fortune quite charmed 
 him ; for he was of an open and generous temper, and said to 
 himself, ‘ I would rather have this girl for my wife, without 
 sixpence in the world, than any woman I ever saw in my life — 
 if I could but afford it — and if she was but a little prettier. 
 As it is, however, there is no danger of my falling in love with 
 her ; so I may just indulge myself in the pleasure of talking to 
 her : besides, it is but civil to lead my horse and walk a part 
 of the way with Frank’s sister.’ 
 
 Accordingly, Mason set off to walk a part of the way to 
 Mrs. Crumpe’s with Patty ; and they fell into conversation, in 
 which they were both so earnestly engaged that they did not 
 perceive how time passed. Instead, however, of part of the 
 way, Mason walked the whole way ; and he and Patty were 
 both rather surprised when they found themselves within sight 
 of Mrs. Crumpe’s house. 
 
 380 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 What a fine healthy colour this walking has brought into 
 her face, thought Mason, as he stood looking at her, whilst 
 they were waiting for some one to open the door. Though 
 she has not a single beautiful feature, and though nobody could 
 call her handsome, yet there is so much good-nature in her 
 countenance, that, plain as she certainly is, her looks are more 
 pleasing to my fancy than those of many a beauty I have heard 
 admired. 
 
 The door was now opened ; and Mr. Barlow, who had 
 arrived some time, summoned Mason to business. They went 
 up to Mrs. Crumpe’s room to take her instructions for her new 
 will. Patty showed them in. 
 
 ‘ Don’t go, child, I will not have you stir,’ said Mrs. Crumpe. 
 ‘ Now stand there at the foot of my bed, and, without hypocrisy, 
 tell me truly, child, your mind. This gentleman, who under- 
 stands the law, can assure you that, in spite of all the relations 
 upon earth, I can leave my fortune to whom I please, so do 
 not let fear of my relations prevent you from being happy.’ 
 
 ‘No, madam,’ interrupted Patty, ‘it was not fear that 
 made me say what I did to you this morning ; and it is not 
 fear that keeps me in the same mind still. I would not do 
 what I thought wrong myself if nobody else in the whole world 
 was to know it. But, since you desire me to say what I 
 really wish, I have a father, who is in great distress, and I 
 should wish you would leave fifty pounds to him.’ 
 
 ‘ With such principles and feelings,’ cried Mr. Barlow, ‘ you 
 are happier than ten thousand a year could make you ! ’ 
 
 Mason said nothing ; but his looks said a great deal : and 
 his master forgave him the innumerable blunders he made in 
 drawing Mrs. Crumpe’s will. ‘ Come, Mason, give me up the 
 pen,’ whispered he at last ; ‘ you are not your own man, I see ; 
 and I like you the better for being touched with good and 
 generous conduct. But a truce with sentiment, now ; I must 
 be a mere man of law. Go you and take a walk, to recover 
 your legal senses.’ 
 
 The contents of Mrs. Crumpe’s new will were kept secret : 
 Patty did not in the least know how she had disposed of her 
 fortune ; nor did Mason, for he had written only the preamble, 
 when his master compassionately took the pen from his hand. 
 Contrary to expectation, Mrs. Crumpe continued to linger on 
 for some months ; and during this time, Patty attended her 
 
 38i 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 with the most patient care and humanity. Though long habits 
 of selfishness had rendered this lady in general indifferent to 
 the feelings of her servants and dependants, yet Patty was an 
 exception : she often said to her, ‘ Child, it goes against my 
 conscience to keep you prisoner here the best days of your life, 
 in a sick-room : go out and take a walk with your brothers 
 and sister, I desire, whenever they call for you.’ 
 
 These walks with her brothers and sister were very refresh- 
 ing to Patty, especially when Mason was of the party, as he 
 almost always contrived to be. Every day he grew more and 
 more attached to Patty ; for every day he became more and 
 more convinced of the goodness of her disposition and the 
 sweetness of her temper. The affection which he saw her 
 brothers and sister bore her, spoke to his mind most strongly 
 in her favour. They have known her from her childhood, 
 thought he, and cannot be deceived in her character. ’Tis a 
 good sign that those who know her best love her most ; and 
 her loving her pretty sister, Fanny, as she does, is a proof that 
 she is incapable of envy and jealousy. 
 
 In consequence of these reflections, Mason determined he 
 would apply diligently to his business, that he might in due 
 time be able to marry and support Patty. She ingenuously 
 told him she had never seen the man she could love so well as 
 himself ; but that her first object was to earn some money, to 
 release her father from the almshouse, where she could not bear 
 to see him living upon charity. ‘When, amongst us all, we 
 have accomplished this,’ said she, ‘ it will be time enough for 
 me to think of marrying. Duty first and love afterwards.’ 
 
 Mason loved her the better, when he found her so steady in 
 her gratitude to her father ; for he was a man of sense, and 
 knew that so good a daughter and sister would, in all prob- 
 ability, make a good wife. 
 
 We must now give some account of what Fanny has been 
 doing all this time. Upon her return to Mrs. Hungerford’s, 
 after the death of her brother, she was received with the 
 greatest kindness by her mistress, and by all the children, who 
 were really fond of her ; though she had never indulged them 
 in anything that was contrary to their mother’s wishes. 
 
 Mrs. Hungerford had not forgotten the affair of the kettle- 
 drum. One morning she said to her little son, ‘ Gustavus, 
 your curiosity about the kettle-drum and the clarionet shall be 
 
 382 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 satisfied ; your cousin Philip will come here in a few days, and 
 he is well acquainted with the colonel of the regiment which is 
 quartered in Monmouth : he shall ask the colonel to let us 
 have the band here, some day. We may have them at the 
 farthest end of the garden ; and you and your brothers and 
 sisters shall dine in the arbour, with Fanny, who upon this 
 occasion particularly deserves to have a share in your 
 amusement.’ 
 
 The cousin Philip, of whom Mrs. Hungerford spoke, was 
 no other than Frankland’s landlord, young Mr. Folingsby. 
 Besides liking fine horses and fine curricles, this gentleman 
 was a great admirer of fine women. 
 
 He was struck with Fanny’s beauty the first day he came to 
 Mrs. Hungerford’s : every succeeding day he thought her 
 handsomer and handsomer ; and every day grew fonder and 
 fonder of playing with his little cousins. Upon some pretence 
 or other, he contrived to be constantly in the room with them 
 when Fanny was there : the modest propriety of her manners, 
 however, kept him at that distance at which it was no easy 
 matter for a pretty girl, in her situation, to keep such a gallant 
 gentleman. His intention, when he came to Mrs. Hungerford’s, 
 was to stay but a week ; but when that week was at an end, 
 he determined to stay another : he found his aunt Hungerford’s 
 house uncommonly agreeable. The moment she mentioned to 
 him her wish of having the band of music in the garden, he 
 was charmed with the scheme, and longed to dine out in the 
 arbour with the children ; but he dared not press this point, 
 lest he should excite suspicion. 
 
 Amongst other company who dined this day with Mrs. 
 Hungerford was a Mrs. Cheviott, a blind lady, who took the 
 liberty, as she said, to bring with her a young person, who was 
 just come to live with her as a companion. This young person 
 was Jessy Bettesworth ; or, as she is henceforth to be called, 
 Miss Jessy Bettesworth. Since her father had ‘come in for 
 Captain Bettesworth’s fortin,’ her mother had spared no pains 
 to push Jessy forward in the world ; having no doubt that ‘her 
 beauty, when well dressed, would charm some great gentleman ; 
 or, may be, some great lord !’ Accordingly, Jessy was dizened 
 out in all sorts of finery : her thoughts were wholly bent on 
 fashions and flirting ; and her mother’s vanity, joined to her 
 own, nearly turned her brain. 
 
 383 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Just as this fermentation of folly was gaining force, she 
 happened to meet with Ensign Bloomington at a ball at Mon- 
 mouth : he fell, or she thought he fell, desperately in love with 
 her ; she of course coquetted with him : indeed, she gave him 
 so much encouragement, that everybody concluded they were 
 to be married. She and her sister Sally were continually seen 
 walking arm in arm with him in the streets of Monmouth ; and 
 morning, noon, and night, she wore the drop-earrings of which 
 he had made her a present. It chanced, however, that Jilting 
 Jessy heard an officer, in her ensign’s regiment, swear she was 
 pretty enough to be the captain’s lady instead of the ensign’s ; 
 and, from that moment, she thought no more of the ensign. 
 
 He was enraged to find himself jilted thus by a country girl, 
 and determined to have his revenge : consequently he im- 
 mediately transferred all his attentions to her sister Sally ; 
 judiciously calculating that, from the envy and jealousy he had 
 seen between the sisters, this would be the most effectual mode 
 of mortifying his perfidious fair. Jilting Jessy said her sister 
 was welcome to her cast-off sweethearts : and Saucy Sally 
 replied, her sister was welcome to be her bridesmaid ; since, 
 with all her beauty and all her airs, she was not likely to be 
 a bride. 
 
 Mrs. Bettesworth had always confessed that Jessy was her 
 favourite : like a wise and kind mother, she took part in all 
 these disputes ; and set these amiable sisters yet more at 
 variance, by prophesying that ‘her Jessy would make the 
 grandest match.’ 
 
 To put her into fortune’s way, Mrs. Bettesworth determined 
 to get her into some genteel family, as companion to a lady. 
 Mrs. Cheviott’s housekeeper was nearly related to the Bettes- 
 worths, and to her Mrs. Bettesworth applied. ‘ But I’m afraid 
 Jessy is something too much of a flirt,’ said the housekeeper, 
 ‘for my mistress, who is a very strict, staid lady. You know, 
 or at least we in Monmouth know, that Jessy was greatly talked 
 of about a young officer here in town. I used myself to see 
 her go trailing about, with her muslin and pink, and fine 
 coloured shoes, in the dirt.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh ! that’s all over now,’ said Mrs. Bettesworth : ‘ the 
 man was quite beneath her notice — that’s all over now : he 
 will do well enough for Sally ; but, ma’am, my daughter Jessy 
 has quite laid herself out for goodness now, and only wants to 
 
 384 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 get into some house where she may learn to be a little 
 genteel.’ 
 
 The housekeeper, though she had not the highest possible 
 opinion of the young lady, was in hopes that, since Jessy had 
 now laid herself out for goodness, she might yet turn out well ; 
 and, considering that she was her relation, she thought it her 
 duty to speak in favour of Miss Bettesworth. In consequence 
 of her recommendation, Mrs. Cheviott took Jessy into her 
 family ; and Jessy was particularly glad to be the companion 
 of a blind lady. 
 
 She discovered, the first day she spent with Mrs. Cheviott, 
 that, besides the misfortune of being blind, she had the still 
 greater misfortune of being inordinately fond of flattery. Jessy 
 took advantage of this foible, and imposed so far on the under- 
 standing of her patroness, that she persuaded Mrs. Cheviott 
 into a high opinion of her judgment and prudence. 
 
 Things were in this situation when Jessy, for the first time, 
 accompanied the blind lady to Mrs. Hungerford’s. Without 
 having the appearance or manners of a gentlewoman, Miss 
 Jessy Bettesworth was, notwithstanding, such a pretty, showy 
 girl, that she generally contrived to attract notice. She caught 
 Mr. Folingsby’s eye at dinner, as she was playing off her best 
 airs at the side-table ; and it was with infinite satisfaction that 
 she heard him ask one of the officers, as they were going out 
 to walk in the garden, ‘ Who is that girl ? She has fine eyes, 
 and a most beautiful long neck !’ Upon the strength of this 
 whisper, Jessy flattered herself she had made a conquest of 
 Mr. Folingsby ; by which idea she was so much intoxicated, 
 that she could scarcely restrain her vanity within decent 
 bounds. 
 
 1 Lord ! Fanny Frankland, is it you ? Who expected to 
 meet you sitting here ? ’ said she, when, to her great surprise, 
 she saw Fanny in the arbour with the children. To her yet 
 greater surprise, she soon perceived that Mr. Folingsby’s 
 attention was entirely fixed upon Fanny ; and that he became 
 so absent he did not know he was walking upon the flower- 
 borders. 
 
 Jessy could scarcely believe her senses when she saw that 
 her rival, for as such she now considered her, gave her lover 
 no encouragement. 1 Is it possible that the girl is such a fool 
 as not to see that this here gentleman is in love with her ? 
 
 2 c 385 
 
TOrULAR TALES 
 
 No ; that is out of the nature of things. Oh ! it’s all artifice ; 
 and I will find out her drift, I warrant, before long ! ’ 
 
 Having formed this laudable resolution, she took her 
 measures well for carrying it into effect. Mrs. Cheviott, being 
 blind, had few amusements : she was extremely fond of music, 
 and one of Mrs. Hungerford’s daughters played remarkably 
 well on the pianoforte. This evening, as Mrs. Cheviott was 
 listening to the young lady’s singing, Jessy exclaimed, ' O, 
 ma’am, how happy it would make you to hear such singing 
 and music every day ! ’ 
 
 ‘ If she would come every day, when my sister is practising 
 with the music-master, she might hear enough of it,’ said little 
 Gustavus. ‘ I’ll run and desire mamma to ask her ; because,’ 
 added he, in a low voice, ‘ if I was blind, maybe I should like 
 it myself.’ 
 
 Mrs. Hungerford, who was good-natured as well as polite, 
 pressed Mrs. Cheviott to come, whenever it should be agreeable 
 to her. The poor blind lady was delighted with the invitation, 
 and went regularly every morning to Mrs. Hungerford’s at the 
 time the music -master attended. Jessy Bettesworth always 
 accompanied her, for she could not go anywhere without a 
 guide. 
 
 Jessy had now ample opportunities of gratifying her malicious 
 curiosity ; she saw, or thought she saw, that Mr. Folingsby 
 was displeased by the reserve of Fanny’s manners ; and she 
 renewed all her own coquettish efforts to engage his attention. 
 He amused himself sometimes with her, in hopes of rousing 
 Fanny’s jealousy ; but he found that this expedient, though an 
 infallible one in ordinary cases, was here totally unavailing. 
 His passion for Fanny was increased so much, by her unaffected 
 modesty, and by the daily proofs he saw of the sweetness of 
 her disposition, that he was no longer master of himself : he 
 plainly told her that he could not live without her. 
 
 ‘That’s a pity, sir,’ said Fanny, laughing, and trying to turn 
 off what he said, as if it were only a jest. ‘ It is a great pity, 
 sir, that you cannot live without me ; for, you know, I cannot 
 serve my mistress, do my duty, and live with you.’ 
 
 Mr. Folingsby endeavoured to convince, or rather to 
 persuade her, that she was mistaken ; and swore that nothing 
 within the power of his fortune should be wanting to make her 
 happy. 
 
 386 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 ‘ Ah ! sir,’ said she, ‘ your fortune could not make me hapfiy, 
 if I were to do what I know is wrong, what would disgrace 
 me for ever, and what would break my poor father’s heart ! ’ 
 
 ‘ But your father shall never know anything of the matter. I 
 will keep your secret from the whole world : trust to my honour.’ 
 
 ‘ Honour ! Oh, sir, how can you talk to me of honour ? 
 Do you think I do not know what honour is, because I am 
 poor ? Or do you think I do not set any value on mine, though 
 you do on yours ? Would you not kill any man, if you could, 
 in a duel, for doubting of your honour ? And yet you expect 
 me to love you, at the very moment you show me, most plainly, 
 how desirous you are to rob me of mine ! ’ 
 
 Mr. Folingsby was silent for some moments ; but, when he 
 saw that Fanny was leaving him, he hastily stopped her, and 
 said, laughing, ‘ You have made me a most charming speech 
 about honour ; and, what is better still, you looked most 
 charmingly when you spoke it ; but now take time to consider 
 what I have said to you. Let me have your answer to-morrow ; 
 and consult this book before you answer me, I conjure you.’ 
 
 Fanny took up the book as soon as Mr. Folingsby had left 
 the room ; and, without opening it, determined to return it 
 immediately. She instantly wrote a letter to Mr. Folingsby, 
 which she was just wrapping up with the book in a sheet of 
 paper, when Miss Jessy Bettesworth, the blind lady, and the 
 music-master, came into the room. Fanny went to set a chair 
 for the blind lady ; and, whilst she was doing so, Miss Jessy 
 Bettesworth, who had observed that Fanny blushed when they 
 came in, slily peeped into the book, which lay on the table. 
 Between the first pages she opened there was a five -pound 
 bank-note ; she turned the leaf, and found another, and another, 
 and another at every leaf ! Of these notes she counted one- 
 and-twenty ! whilst Fanny, unsuspicious of what was doing 
 behind her back, was looking for the children’s music-books. 
 
 ‘Philip Folingsby! So, so! Did he give you this book, 
 Fanny Frankland?’ said Jessy, in a scornful tone: ‘it seems 
 truly to be a very valuable performance ; and, no doubt, he had 
 good reasons for giving it to you.’ 
 
 Fanny coloured deeply at this unexpected speech ; and 
 hesitated, from the fear of betraying Mr. Folingsby. ‘ He did 
 not give me the book ; he only lent it to me,’ said she, ‘ and I 
 am going to return it to him directly.’ 
 
 387 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 * Oh no ; pray lend it to me first,’ replied Jessy, in an 
 ironical tone; ‘Mr. Folingsby, to be sure, would lend it to me 
 as soon as to you. I’m growing as fond of reading as other 
 folks, lately,’ continued she, holding the book fast. 
 
 ‘I dare say Mr. Folingsby would — Mr. Folingsby would 
 lend it to you, I suppose,’ said Fanny, colouring more and more 
 deeply ; ‘ but, as it is trusted to me now, I must return it safe. 
 Pray let me have it, Jessy.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh yes ; return it, madam, safe ! I make no manner of 
 doubt you will ! I make no manner of doubt you will ! ’ 
 replied Jessy, several times, as she shook the book ; whilst the 
 bank-notes fell from between the leaves, and were scattered 
 upon the floor. ‘It is a thousand pities, Mrs. Cheviott, you 
 can’t see what a fine book we have got, full of bank-notes ! 
 But Mrs. Hungerford is not blind at any rate, it is to be hoped,’ 
 continued she, turning to Mrs. Hungerford, who at this instant 
 opened the door. 
 
 She stood in dignified amazement. Jessy had an air of 
 malignant triumph. Fanny was covered with blushes ; but she 
 looked with all the tranquillity of innocence. The children 
 gathered round her ; and blind Mrs. Cheviott cried, ‘ What is 
 going on ? What is going on ? Will nobody tell me what is 
 going on ? Jessy ! What is it you are talking about, Jessy ?’ 
 
 ‘ About a very valuable book, ma’am ; containing more than 
 I can easily count in bank-notes, ma’am, that Mr. Folingsby 
 has lent, only lent, ma’am, she says, to Miss Fanny Frankland, 
 ma’am, who was just going to return them to him, ma’am, when 
 I unluckily took up the book, and shook them all out upon the 
 floor, ma’am.’ 
 
 ‘ Pick them up, Gustavus, my dear,’ said Mrs. Hungerford, 
 coolly. ‘From what I know of Fanny Frankland I am 
 inclined to believe that whatever she says is truth. Since she 
 has lived with me, I have never, in the slightest instance, found 
 her deviate from the truth ; therefore I must entirely depend 
 upon what she says.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh yes, mamma,’ cried the children, all together, ‘ that I 
 am sure you may.’ 
 
 ‘Come with me, Fanny,’ resumed Mrs. Hungerford; ‘it is 
 not necessary that your explanation should be public, though I 
 am persuaded it will be satisfactory.’ 
 
 Fanny was glad to escape from the envious eye of Miss 
 
 388 
 
‘ “ It is a thousand pities , Mrs. Chevioit , you can't see what a fine look we 
 got, full of bank-notes ! " ' 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Jessy Bettesworth, and felt much gratitude to Mrs. Hungerford 
 for this kindness and confidence ; but, when she was to make 
 her explanation, Fanny was in great confusion. She dreaded 
 to occasion a quarrel between Mr. Folingsby and his aunt ; 
 yet she knew not how to exculpate herself, without accusing 
 him. 
 
 ‘ Why these blushes and tears, and why this silence, F anny ? ’ 
 said Mrs. Hungerford, after she had waited some minutes, in 
 expectation she would begin to speak. ‘ Are not you sure of 
 justice from me ; and of protection, both from slander and 
 insult ? I am fond of my nephew, it is true ; but I think 
 myself obliged to you, for the manner in which you have con- 
 ducted yourself towards my children, since you have had them 
 under your care. Tell me then, freely, if you have any reason 
 to complain of young Mr. Folingsby.’ 
 
 ‘Oh, madam,’ said Fanny, ‘thank you a thousand times 
 for your goodness to me. I do not, indeed, I do not wish to 
 complain of anybody ; and I would not for the world make 
 mischief between you and your nephew. I would rather leave 
 your family at once ; and that,’ continued the poor girl, sobbing, 
 ‘ that is what I believe I had best ; nay, is what I must and 
 will do.’ 
 
 ‘No, Fanny, do not leave my house, without giving me an 
 explanation of what has passed this morning ; for, if you do, 
 your reputation is at the mercy of Miss Jessy Bettesworth’s 
 malice.’ 
 
 ‘Heaven forbid!’ said Fanny, with a look of real terror. 
 ‘ I must beg, madam, that you will have the kindness to return 
 this book, and these bank-notes, to Mr. Folingsby; and that 
 you will give him this letter, which I was just going to wrap 
 up in the paper, with the book, when Jessy Bettesworth came 
 in and found the bank-notes, which I had never seen. These 
 can make no difference in my answer to Mr. Folingsby: there- 
 fore I shall leave my letter just as it was first written, if you 
 please, madam.’ 
 
 Fanny’s letter was as follows : 
 
 ‘ Sir — I return the book which you left with me, as nothing 
 it contains can ever alter my opinion on the subject of which 
 you spoke to me this morning. I hope you will never speak 
 to me again, sir, in the same manner. Consider, sir, that I 
 
 39 ° 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 am a poor unprotected girl. If you go on as you have done 
 lately, I shall be obliged to leave good Mrs. Hungerford, who 
 is my only friend. Oh ! where shall I find so good a friend ? 
 My poor old father is in the almshouse ! and there he must 
 remain till his children can earn money sufficient to support 
 him. Do not fancy, sir, that I say this by way of begging 
 from you ; I would not, nor would he, accept of anything that 
 you could offer him, whilst in your present way of thinking. 
 Pray, sir, have some compassion, and do not injure those 
 whom you cannot serve. — I am, sir, your humble servant, 
 
 ‘Fanny Frankland.’ 
 
 Mr. Folingsby was surprised and confounded, when this 
 letter and the book containing his bank-notes were put into 
 his hand by his aunt. Mrs. Hungerford told him by what 
 means the book had been seen by Miss Jessy Bettesworth, and 
 to what imputations it must have exposed Fanny. ‘ Fanny is 
 afraid of making mischief between you and me,’ continued 
 Mrs. Hungerford ; ‘ and I cannot prevail upon her to give me 
 an explanation, which I am persuaded would be much to her 
 honour.’ 
 
 ‘ Then you have not seen this letter ! Then she has de- 
 cided without consulting you ! She is a charming girl ! ’ cried 
 Mr. Folingsby; ‘and whatever you may think of me, I am 
 bound, in justice to her, to show you what she has written : 
 that will sufficiently explain how much I have been to blame, 
 and how well she deserves the confidence you place in her.’ 
 
 As he spoke, Mr. Folingsby rang the bell to order his 
 horses. ‘ I will return to town immediately,’ continued he ; 
 ‘ so Fanny need not leave the house of her only friend to avoid 
 me. As to these bank-notes, keep them, dear aunt. She says 
 her father is in great distress. Perhaps, now that I am come 
 “ to a right way of thinking,” she will not disdain my assistance. 
 Give her the money when and how you think proper. I am 
 sure I cannot make a better use of a hundred guineas ; and 
 wish I had never thought of making a worse.’ 
 
 Mr. Folingsby returned directly to town ; and his aunt 
 thought he had in some measure atoned for his fault by his 
 candour and generosity. 
 
 Miss Jessy Bettesworth waited all this time, with malicious 
 impatience, to hear the result of Fanny’s explanation with Mrs. 
 
 39i 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Hungerford. How painfully was she surprised and disap- 
 pointed, when Mrs. Hungerford returned to the company, to 
 hear her speak in the highest terms of Fanny ! ‘ Oh, mamma,’ 
 
 cried little Gustavus, clapping his hands, ‘ I am glad you think 
 her good, because we all think so ; and I should be very sorry 
 indeed if she was to go away, especially in disgrace.’ 
 
 ‘ There is no danger of that, my dear,’ said Mrs. Hunger- 
 ford. ‘ She shall never leave my house, as long as she desires 
 to stay in it. I do not give, or withdraw, my protection, without 
 good reasons.’ 
 
 Miss Jessy Bettesworth bit her lips. Her face, which nature 
 intended to be beautiful, became almost ugly ; envy and malice 
 distorted her features ; and, when she departed with Mrs. 
 Cheviott, her humiliated appearance was a strong contrast to 
 the air of triumph with which she had entered. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 After Jessy and Mrs. Cheviott had left the room, one of the 
 little girls exclaimed, 1 1 don’t like that Miss Bettesworth ; for 
 she asked me whether I did not wish that Fanny was gone, 
 because she refused to let me have a peach that was not ripe. 
 I am sure I wish Fanny may always stay here.’ 
 
 There was a person in the room who seemed to join most 
 fervently in this wish : this was Mr. Reynolds, the drawing- 
 master. For some time his thoughts had been greatly occupied 
 by Fanny. At first, he was struck with her beauty ; but he had 
 discovered that Mr. Folingsby was in love with her, and had 
 carefully attended to her conduct, resolving not to offer himself 
 till he was sure on a point so serious. Her modesty and pru- 
 dence fixed his affections ; and he now became impatient to 
 declare his passion. He was a man of excellent temper and 
 character ; and his activity and talents were such as to ensure 
 independence to a wife and family. 
 
 Mrs. Hungerford, though a proud, was not a selfish woman : 
 she was glad that Mr. Reynolds was desirous to obtain Fanny, 
 though she was sorry to part with one who was so useful in her 
 family. Fanny had now lived with her nearly two years ; and 
 
 39 2 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 she was much attached to her. A distant relation, about this 
 time, left her five children a small legacy of ten guineas each. 
 Gustavus, though he had some ambition to be master of a watch, 
 was the first to propose that this legacy should be given to 
 Fanny. His brothers and sisters applauded the idea ; and Mrs. 
 Hungerford added fifty guineas to their fifty. ‘ I had put by 
 this money,’ said she, ‘ to purchase a looking-glass for my 
 drawing-room ; but it will be much better applied in rewarding 
 one who has been of real service to my children.’ 
 
 Fanny was now mistress of two hundred guineas ; a hundred 
 given to her by Mr. Folingsby, fifty by Mrs. Hungerford, and 
 fifty by the children. Her joy and gratitude were extreme : for 
 with this money she knew she could relieve her father ; this was 
 the first wish of her heart ; and it was a wish in which her lover 
 so eagerly joined that she smiled on him, and said, ‘Now I am 
 sure you really love me.’ 
 
 ‘ Let us go to your father directly,’ said Mr. Reynolds. ‘ Let 
 me be present when you give him this money.’ 
 
 ‘You shall,’ said Fanny; ‘but first I must consult my 
 sister Patty and my brothers ; for we must all go together ; that 
 is our agreement. The first day of next month is my father’s 
 birthday ; and, on that day, we are all to meet at the almshouse. 
 What a happy day it will be ! ’ 
 
 But what has James been about all this time ? How has he 
 gone on with his master, Mr. Cleghorn, the haberdasher ? 
 
 During the eighteen months that James had spent in Mr. 
 Cleghorn’s shop, he never gave his master the slightest reason 
 to complain of him ; on the contrary, this young man made his 
 employer’s interests his own ; and, consequently, completely 
 deserved his confidence. It was not, however, always easy to 
 deal with Mr. Cleghorn ; for he dreaded to be flattered, yet 
 could not bear to be contradicted. James was very near losing 
 his favour for ever, upon the following occasion. 
 
 One evening, when it was nearly dusk, and James was just 
 shutting up shop, a strange-looking man, prodigiously corpulent, 
 and with huge pockets to his coat, came in. He leaned his 
 elbows on the counter, opposite to James, and stared him full in 
 the face without speaking. James swept some loose money off 
 the counter into the till. The stranger smiled, as if purposely 
 to show him this did not escape his quick eye. There was in 
 his countenance an expression of roguery and humour: the 
 
 393 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 humour seemed to be affected, the roguery natural. ‘ What 
 are you pleased to want, sir?’ said James. 
 
 ‘ A glass of brandy, and your master.’ 
 
 ‘ My master is not at home, sir ; and we have no brandy. 
 You will find brandy, I believe, at the house over the way.’ 
 
 ‘ I believe I know where to find brandy a little better than 
 you do ; and better brandy than you ever tasted, or the devil’s 
 in it,’ replied the stranger. ‘ I want none of your brandy. I 
 only asked for it to try what sort of a chap you were. So you 
 don’t know who I am ? ’ 
 
 ‘ No, sir; not in the least.’ 
 
 ‘ No ! Never heard of Admiral Tipsey ! Where do you come 
 from? Never heard of Admiral Tipsey ! whose noble paunch is 
 worth more than a Laplander could reckon,’ cried he, striking 
 the huge rotundity he praised. 1 Let me into this back parlour ; 
 I’ll wait there till your master comes home.’ 
 
 ‘ Sir, you cannot possibly go into that parlour ; there is a 
 young lady, Mr. Cleghorn’s daughter, sir, at tea in that room : 
 she must not be disturbed,’ said James, holding the lock of the 
 parlour door. He thought the stranger was either drunk or 
 pretending to be drunk ■ and contended, with all his force, to 
 prevent him from getting into the parlour. 
 
 Whilst they were struggling, Mr. Cleghorn came home. 
 ‘ Heyday ! what’s the matter ? O admiral, is it you ? ’ said Mr. 
 Cleghorn in a voice of familiarity that astonished James. ‘ Let 
 us by, James ; you don’t know the admiral.’ 
 
 Admiral Tipsey was a smuggler : he had the command of two 
 or three smuggling vessels, and thereupon created himself an 
 admiral : a dignity which few dared to dispute with him, whilst 
 he held his oak stick in his hand. As to the name of Tipsey, no 
 one could be so unjust as to question his claim to it ; for he was 
 never known to be perfectly sober, during a whole day, from 
 one year’s end to another. To James’s great surprise, the 
 admiral, after he had drunk one dish of tea, unbuttoned his 
 waistcoat from top to bottom, and deliberately began to unpack 
 his huge false corpulence ! Round him were wound innumer- 
 able pieces of lace, and fold after fold of fine cambric. When 
 he was completely unpacked, it was difficult to believe that he 
 was the same person, he looked so thin and shrunk. 
 
 He then called for some clean straw, and began to stuff him- 
 self out again to what he called a passable size. ‘ Did not I 
 
 394 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 tell you, young man, I carried that under my waistcoat which 
 would make a fool stare ? The lace that’s on the floor, to say 
 nothing of the cambric, is worth full twice the sum for which 
 you shall have it, Cleghorn. Good-night. I’ll call again to- 
 morrow, to settle our affairs ; but don’t let your young man here 
 shut the door, as he did to-day, in the admiral’s face. Here is 
 a cravat for you, notwithstanding,’ continued he, turning to 
 James, and throwing him a piece of very fine cambric. ‘ I must 
 'list you in Admiral Tipsey’s service.’ 
 
 James followed him to the door, and returned the cambric in 
 despite of all his entreaties that he would 1 wear it, or sell it, for 
 the admiral’s sake.’ 
 
 ‘So, James,’ said Mr. Cleghorn, when the smuggler was 
 gone, ‘ you do not seem to like our admiral ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I know nothing of him, sir, except that he is a smuggler ; 
 and for that reason I do not wish to have anything to do with him.’ 
 
 ‘ I am sorry for that,’ said Mr. Cleghorn, with a mixture of 
 shame and anger in his countenance : ‘ my conscience is as nice 
 as other people’s ; and yet I have a notion I shall have some- 
 thing to do with him, though he is a smuggler ; and, if I am 
 not mistaken, shall make a deal of money by him. I 
 have not had anything to do with smugglers yet ; but I see 
 many in Monmouth who are making large fortunes by their 
 assistance. There is our neighbour, Mr. Raikes ; what a rich 
 man he is become ! And why should I, or why should you, be 
 more scrupulous than others ? Many gentlemen, ay, gentlemen, 
 in the country are connected with them ; and why should a 
 shopkeeper be more conscientious than they ? Speak ; I must 
 have your opinion.’ 
 
 With all the respect due to his master, James gave it as his 
 opinion that it would be best to have nothing to do with Admiral 
 Tipsey, or with any of the smugglers. He observed than men 
 who carried on an illicit trade, and who were in the daily habit 
 of cheating, or of taking false oaths, could not be safe partners. 
 Even putting morality out of the question, he remarked that 
 the smuggling trade was a sort of gaming, by which one year 
 a man might make a deal of money, and another might be 
 ruined. 
 
 ‘Upon my word !’ said Mr. Cleghorn, in an ironical tone, 
 
 ‘ you talk very wisely, for so young a man ! Pray, where did 
 you learn all this wisdom ?’ 
 
 395 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ From my father, sir ; from whom I learned everything that 
 I know ; everything that is good, I mean. I had an uncle 
 once, who was ruined by his dealings with smugglers ; and 
 who would have died in jail, if it had not been for my father. 
 
 I was but a young lad at the time this happened ; but I 
 remember my father saying to me, the day my uncle was 
 arrested, when my aunt and all the children were crying, 
 “ Take warning by this, my dear James : you are to be in trade, 
 some day or other, yourself : never forget that honesty is the 
 best policy. The fair trader will always have the advantage, 
 at the long run.” ’ 
 
 ‘Well, well, no more of this,’ interrupted Mr. Cleghorn. 
 
 ‘ Good-night to you. You may finish the rest of your sermon 
 against smugglers to my daughter there, whom it seems to suit 
 better than it pleases me.’ 
 
 The next day, when Mr. Cleghorn went into the shop, he 
 scarcely spoke to James, except to find fault with him. This 
 he bore with patience, knowing that he meant well, and that 
 his master would recover his temper in time. 
 
 ‘ So the parcels were all sent, and the bills made out as I 
 desired,’ said Mr. Cleghorn. ‘ You are not in the wrong there. 
 You know what you are about, James, very well ; but why 
 should not you deal openly by me, according to your father’s 
 maxim, that “honesty is the best policy ” ? Why should not 
 you fairly tell me what were your secret views, in the advice 
 you gave me about Admiral Tipsey and the smugglers ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I have no secret views, sir,’ said James, with a look of 
 such sincerity that his master could not help believing him : 
 ‘ nor can I guess what you mean by secret views. If I 
 consulted my own advantage instead of yours, I should certainly 
 use all my influence with you in favour of this smuggler : for 
 here is a letter, which I received from him this morning, 
 “ hoping for my friendship,” and enclosing a ten-pound note, 
 which I returned to him.’ 
 
 Mr. Cleghorn was pleased by the openness and simplicity 
 with which James told him all this ; and immediately throwing 
 aside the reserve of his manner, said, ‘James, I beg your 
 pardon ; I see I have misunderstood you. I am convinced 
 you were not acting like a double dealer, in the advice you 
 gave me last night. It was my daughter’s colouring so much 
 that led me astray. I did, to be sure, think you had an eye 
 
 39 6 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 to her more than to me, in what you said : but if you had, I 
 am sure you would tell me so fairly.’ 
 
 James was at a loss to comprehend how the advice that he 
 gave concerning Admiral Tipsey and the smugglers could 
 relate to Miss Cleghorn, except so far as it related to her 
 father. He waited in silence for a farther explanation. 
 
 ‘ You don’t know, then,’ continued Mr. Cleghorn, ‘ that 
 Admiral Tipsey, as he calls himself, is able to leave his 
 nephew, young Raikes, more than I can leave my daughter ? 
 It is his whim to go about dressed in that strange way in 
 which you saw him yesterday ; and it is his diversion to carry 
 on the smuggling trade, by which he has made so much ; but 
 he is in reality a rich old fellow, and has proposed that I 
 should marry my daughter to his nephew. Now you begin to 
 understand me, I see. The lad is a smart lad : he is to come 
 here this evening. Don’t prejudice my girl against him. 
 Not a word more against smugglers, before her, I beg.’ 
 
 ‘You shall be obeyed, sir,’ said James. His voice altered, 
 and he turned pale as he spoke ; circumstances which did not 
 escape Mr. Cleghorn’s observation. 
 
 Young Raikes, and his uncle, the rich smuggler, paid their 
 visit. Miss Cleghorn expressed a decided dislike to both 
 uncle and nephew. Her father was extremely provoked ; and 
 in the height of his anger, declared he believed she was in love 
 with James Frankland ; that he was a treacherous rascal ; and 
 that he should leave the house within three days, if his 
 daughter did not, before that time, consent to marry the man 
 he had chosen for her husband. It was in vain that his 
 daughter endeavoured to soften her father’s rage, and to 
 exculpate poor James, by protesting he had never directly or 
 indirectly attempted to engage her affections ; neither had he 
 ever said one syllable that could prejudice her against the man 
 whom her father recommended. Mr. Cleghom’s high notions 
 of subordination applied, on this occasion, equally to his 
 daughter and to his foreman : he considered them both as 
 presumptuous and ungrateful ; and said to himself, as he 
 walked up and down the room in a rage, ‘ My foreman to 
 preach to me indeed ! I thought what he was about all the 
 time ! But it shan’t do — it shan’t do ! My daughter shall 
 do as I bid her, or I’ll know why ! Have not I been all my 
 life making a fortune for her ? and now she won’t do as I bid 
 
 397 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 her ! She would, if this fellow were out of the house ; and 
 out he shall go, in three days, if she does not come to her 
 senses. I was cheated by my last shopman out of my money : 
 I won’t be duped by this fellow out of my daughter. No, 
 no ! Off he shall trudge ! A shopman, indeed, to think of 
 his master’s daughter without his consent ! What insolence ! 
 What the times are come to ! Such a thing could not have 
 been done in my days ! I never thought of my master’s 
 daughter, I’ll take my oath ! And then the treachery of the 
 rascal ! To carry it all on so slily ! I could forgive him any- 
 thing but that : for that he shall go out of this house in three 
 days, as sure as he and I are alive, if this young lady does not 
 give him up before that time.’ 
 
 Passion so completely deafened Mr. Cleghorn that he would 
 not listen to James, who assured him he had never, for one 
 moment, aspired to the honour of marrying his daughter. 
 ‘ Can you deny that you love her ? Can you deny,’ cried Mr. 
 Cleghorn, ‘ that you turned pale yesterday, when you said I 
 should be obeyed ? ’ 
 
 James could not deny either of these charges ; but he firmly 
 persisted in asserting that he had been guilty of no treachery ; 
 that he had never attempted secretly to engage the young 
 lady’s affections ; and that, on the contrary, he was sure she 
 had no suspicion of his attachment. ‘ It is easy to prove all 
 this to me, by persuading my girl to do as I bid her. Prevail 
 on her to marry Mr. Raikes, and all is well.’ 
 
 ‘ That is out of my power, sir,’ replied James. 1 1 have no 
 right to interfere, and will not. Indeed, I am sure I should 
 betray myself, if I were to attempt to say a word to Miss 
 Cleghorn in favour of another man : that is a task I could not 
 undertake, even if I had the highest opinion of this Mr. 
 Raikes ; but I know nothing concerning him, and therefore 
 should do wrong to speak in his favour merely to please you. 
 I am sorry, very sorry, sir, that you have not the confidence 
 in me which I hoped I had deserved ; but the time will come 
 when you will do me justice. The sooner I leave you now, 
 I believe, the better you will be satisfied ; and far from wishing 
 to stay three days, I do not desire to stay three minutes in 
 your house, sir, against your will.’ 
 
 Mr. Cleghorn was touched by the feeling and honest pride 
 with which James spoke. 
 
 398 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 ‘ Do as I bid you, sir,’ said he ; 1 and neither more nor less. 
 Stay out your three days-, and maybe, in that time, this saucy 
 girl may come to reason. If she does not know you love her, 
 you are not so much to blame.’ 
 
 The three days passed away, and the morning came on 
 which James was to leave his master. The young lady 
 persisted in her resolution not to marry Mr. Raikes ; and 
 expressed much concern at the injustice with which James was 
 treated on her account. She offered to leave home, and spend 
 some time with an aunt, who lived in the north of England. 
 She did not deny that James appeared to her the most 
 agreeable young man she had seen ; but added, she could not 
 possibly have any thoughts of marrying him, because he had 
 never given her the least reason to believe that he was attached 
 to her. 
 
 Mr. Cleghorn was agitated, yet positive in his determination 
 that James should quit the house. James went into his 
 master’s room to take leave of him. ‘ So then you are really 
 going?’ said Mr. Cleghorn. ‘You have buckled that port- 
 manteau of yours like a blockhead ; I’ll do it better : stand 
 aside. So you are positively going ? Why, this is a sad 
 thing ! But then it is a thing, as your own sense and honour 
 
 tell you — it is a thing ’ (Mr. Cleghorn took snuff at every 
 
 pause of his speech ; but even this could not carry him through 
 it ;) when he pronounced the words, ‘ It is a thing that must 
 be done,’ the tears fairly started from his eyes. ‘ Now this is 
 ridiculous!’ resumed he. ‘In my days, in my younger days 
 I mean, a man could part with his foreman as easily as he 
 could take off his glove. I am sure my master would as soon 
 have thought of turning bankrupt as of shedding a tear at 
 parting with me ; and yet I was as good a foreman, in my 
 day, as another. Not so good a one as you are, to be sure. 
 But it is no time now to think of your goodness. Well ! what 
 do we stand here for ? When a thing is to be done, the 
 sooner it is done the better. Shake hands before you go.’ 
 
 Mr. Cleghorn put into James’s hand a fifty-pound note, and 
 a letter of recommendation to a Liverpool merchant. James 
 left the house without taking leave of Miss Cleghorn, who did 
 not think the worse of him for his want of gallantry. His 
 master had taken care to recommend him to an excellent house 
 in Liverpool, where his salary would be nearly double that 
 
 399 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 which he had hitherto received ; but James was notwith- 
 standing very sorry to leave Monmouth, where his dear brother, 
 sister, and father lived, — to say nothing of Miss Cleghorn. 
 
 Late at night, James was going to the inn at which the 
 Liverpool stage set up, where he was to sleep : as he passed 
 through a street that leads down to the river Wye, he heard a 
 great noise of men quarrelling violently. The moon shone 
 bright, and he saw a party of men who appeared to be fighting 
 in a boat that was just come to shore. He asked a person 
 who came out of the public-house, and so seemed to have 
 nothing to do with the fray, what was the matter. ‘ Only some 
 smugglers, who are quarrelling with one another about the 
 division of their booty,’ said the passenger, who walked on, 
 eager to get out of their way. James also quickened his pace, 
 but presently heard the cry of ‘ Murder ! murder ! Help ! 
 help ! ’ and then all was silence. 
 
 A few seconds afterwards he thought that he heard groans. 
 He could not forbear going to the spot whence the groans pro- 
 ceeded, in hopes of being of some service to a fellow-creature. 
 By the time he got thither, the groans had ceased : he looked 
 about, but could only see the men in the boat, who were row- 
 ing fast down the river. As he stood on the shore listening, he 
 for some minutes heard no sound but that of their oars ; but 
 afterwards a man in the boat exclaimed, with a terrible oath, 
 ‘ There he is ! There he is ! All alive again ! We have not 
 done his business ! D — n it, he’ll do ours ! ’ The boatmen 
 rowed faster away, and James again heard the groans, though 
 they were now much feebler than before. He searched and 
 found the wounded man ; who, having been thrown overboard, 
 had with great difficulty swum to shore, and fainted with the 
 exertion as soon as he reached the land. When he came to 
 his senses, he begged James, for mercy’s sake, to carry him 
 into the next public-house, and to send for a surgeon to dress 
 his wounds. The surgeon came, examined them, and declared 
 his fears that the poor man could not live four-and-twenty 
 hours. As soon as he was able to speak intelligibly, he said 
 he had been drinking with a party of smugglers, who had 
 just brought in some fresh brandy, and that they had quarrelled 
 violently about a keg of contraband liquor : he said that he 
 could swear to the man who gave him the mortal wound. 
 
 The smugglers were pursued immediately, and taken. 
 
 400 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 When they were brought into the sick man’s room, James 
 beheld amongst them three persons whom he little expected to 
 meet in such a situation : Idle Isaac, Wild Will, and Bullying 
 Bob. The wounded man swore positively to their persons. 
 Bullying Bob was the person who gave him the fatal blow ; 
 but Wild Will began the assault, and Idle Isaac shoved him 
 overboard ; they were all implicated in the guilt ; and, instead 
 of expressing any contrition for their crime, began to dispute 
 about which was most to blame : they appealed to James ; and, 
 as he would be subpoenaed on their trial, each endeavoured to 
 engage him in his favour. Idle Isaac took him aside, and said 
 to him, ‘You have no reason to befriend my brothers. I can 
 tell you a secret : they are the greatest enemies your family ever 
 had. It was they who set fire to your father’s hay-rick. Will 
 was provoked by your sister Fanny’s refusing him ; so he deter- 
 mined, as he told me, to carry her off ; and he meant to have 
 done so, in the confusion that was caused by the fire ; but 
 Bob and he quarrelled the very hour that she was to have been 
 carried off ; so that part of the scheme failed. Now I had no 
 hand in all this, being fast asleep in my bed ; so I have more 
 claim to your good word, at any rate, than my brothers can 
 have : and so, when we come to trial, I hope you’ll speak to 
 my character.’ 
 
 Wild Will next tried his eloquence. As soon as he found 
 that his brother Isaac had betrayed the secret, he went to 
 James, and assured him the mischief that had been done was 
 a mere accident ; that it was true he had intended, for the 
 frolic’s sake, to raise the cry of fire, in order to draw Fanny 
 out of the house ; but that he was shocked when he found how 
 the jest ended. 
 
 As to Bullying Bob, he brazened the matter out ; declaring 
 he had been affronted by the Franklands, and that he was glad 
 he had taken his revenge of them ; that, if the thing was to be 
 done over again, he would do it ; that James might give him 
 what character he pleased upon trial, for that a man could be 
 hanged but once. 
 
 Such were the absurd, bravadoing speeches he made, while 
 he had an alehouse audience round him, to admire his spirit ; 
 but a few hours changed his tone. He and his brothers were 
 taken before a magistrate. Till the committal was actually 
 made out, they had hopes of being bailed : they had despatched 
 2 D 401 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 a messenger to Admiral Tipsey, whose men they called them- 
 selves, and expected he would offer bail for them to any 
 amount ; but the bail of their friend Admiral Tipsey was not 
 deemed sufficient by the magistrate. 
 
 ‘ In the fmst place, I could not bail these men ; and if I 
 could, do you think it possible,’ said the magistrate, ‘ I could 
 take the bail of such a man as that ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I understood that he was worth a deal of money,’ whispered 
 James. 
 
 ‘ You are mistaken, sir,’ said the magistrate : ‘he is what he 
 deserves to be, a ruined man. I have good reasons for know- 
 ing this. He has a nephew, a Mr. Raikes, who is a gamester : 
 whilst the uncle has been carrying on the smuggling trade here, 
 at the hazard of his life, the nephew, who was bred up at 
 Oxford to be a fine gentleman, has gamed away all the money 
 his uncle has made during twenty years by his contraband 
 traffic. At the long run, these fellows never thrive. Tipsey is 
 not worth a groat.’ 
 
 James was much surprised by this information, and resolved 
 to return immediately to Mr. Cleghorn, to tell him what he had 
 heard, and put him on his guard. 
 
 Early in the morning he went to his house — ‘You look as 
 if you were not pleased to see me again,’ said he to Mr. 
 Cleghorn ; ‘ and perhaps you will impute what I am going to 
 say to bad motives ; but my regard to you, sir, determines me 
 to acquaint you with what I have heard : you will make what 
 use of the information you please.’ 
 
 James then related what had passed at the magistrate’s ; and 
 when Mr. Cleghorn had heard all that he had to say, he thanked 
 him in the strongest manner for this instance of his regard ; and 
 begged he would remain in Monmouth a few days longer. 
 
 Alarmed by the information he received from James, Mr. 
 Cleghorn privately made inquiries concerning young Raikes 
 and his uncle. The distress into which the young man had 
 plunged himself by gambling had been kept a profound secret 
 from his relations. It was easy to deceive them as to his 
 conduct, because his time had been spent at a distance from 
 them : he had but just returned home, after completing his 
 education. 
 
 The magistrate from whom James first heard of his extrava- 
 gance happened to have a son at Oxford, who gave him this 
 
 402 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 intelligence : he confirmed all he had said to Mr. Cleghorn, who 
 trembled at the danger to which he had exposed his daughter. 
 The match with young Raikes was immediately broken off ; and 
 all connection with Admiral Tipsey and the smugglers was for 
 ever dissolved by Mr. Cleghorn. 
 
 His gratitude to James was expressed with all the natural 
 warmth of his character. ‘ Come back and live with me,’ said 
 he. ‘You have saved me and my daughter from ruin. You 
 shall not be my shopman any longer, you shall be my partner : 
 and, you know, when you are my partner, there can be nothing 
 said against your thinking of my daughter. But all in good 
 time. I would not have seen the girl again if she had married 
 my shopman ; but my partner will be quite another thing. 
 You have worked your way up in the world by your own de- 
 serts, and I give you joy. I believe, now it’s over, it would 
 have gone nigh to break my heart to part with you ; but you 
 must be sensible I was right to keep up my authority in my 
 own family. Now things are changed : I give my consent : 
 nobody has a right to say a word. When I am pleased with 
 my daughter’s choice, that is enough. There’s only one thing 
 that goes against my pride : your father— — -’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, sir,’ interrupted James, ‘if you are going to say any- 
 thing disrespectful of my father, do not say it to me ; I beseech 
 you, do not ; for I cannot bear it. Indeed I cannot, and will 
 not. He is the best of fathers ! ’ 
 
 ‘ I am sure he has the best of children ; and a greater 
 blessing there cannot be in this world. I was not going to 
 say anything disrespectful of him : I was only going to lament 
 that he should be in an almshouse,’ said Mr. Cleghorn. 
 
 ‘He has determined to remain there,’ said James, ‘till his 
 children have earned money enough to support him without 
 hurting themselves. I, my brother, and both my sisters, are 
 to meet at the almshouse on the first day of next month, which 
 is my father’s birthday ; then we shall join all our earnings 
 together, and see what can be done.’ 
 
 ‘ Remember, you are my partner,’ said Mr. Cleghorn. ‘ On 
 that day you must take me along with you. My good-will is 
 part of your earnings, and my good-will shall never be shown 
 merely in words.’ 
 
 4°3 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 It is now time to give some account of the Bettesworth family. 
 The history of their indolence, extravagance, quarrels, and ruin, 
 shall be given as shortly as possible. 
 
 The fortune left to them by Captain Bettesworth was nearly 
 twenty thousand pounds. When they got possession of this 
 sum, they thought it could never be spent ; and each individual 
 of the family had separate plans of extravagance, for which 
 they required separate supplies. Old Bettesworth, in his youth, 
 had seen a house of Squire Somebody, which had struck his 
 imagination, and he resolved he would build just such another. 
 This was his favourite scheme, and he was delighted with the 
 thoughts that it would be realised. His wife and his sons 
 opposed the plan, merely because it was his ; and consequently 
 he became more obstinately bent upon having his own way, 
 as he said, for once in his life. He was totally ignorant of 
 building ; and no less incapable, from his habitual indolence, 
 of managing workmen : the house might have been finished 
 for one thousand five hundred pounds ; it cost him two 
 thousand pounds : and when it was done, the roof let in the 
 rain in sundry places, the new ceilings and cornices were 
 damaged, so that repairs and a new roof, with leaden gutters, 
 and leaden statues, cost him some additional hundreds. The 
 furnishing of the house Mrs. Bettesworth took upon herself ; 
 and Sally took upon herself to find fault with every article that 
 her mother bought. The quarrels were loud, bitter, and at 
 last irreconcilable. There was a looking-glass which the 
 mother wanted to have in one room, and the daughter insisted 
 upon putting it into another ; the looking-glass was broken 
 between them in the heat of battle. The blame was laid on 
 Sally, who, in a rage, declared she would not and could not 
 live in the house with her mother. Her mother was rejoiced 
 to get rid of her, and she went to live with a lieutenant’s lady 
 in the neighbourhood, with whom she had been acquainted 
 three weeks and two days. Half by scolding, half by cajoling 
 her father, she prevailed upon him to give her two thousand 
 pounds for her fortune ; promising never to trouble him any 
 more for anything. 
 
 404 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 As soon as she was gone, Mrs. Bettesworth gave a house- 
 warming, as she called it, to all her acquaintance ; a dinner, a 
 ball, and a supper, in her new house. The house was not half 
 dry, and all the company caught cold. Mrs. Bettesworth’s cold 
 was the most severe. It happened at this time to be the 
 fashion to go almost without clothes ; and as this lady was 
 extremely vain and fond of dress, she would absolutely appear 
 in the height of fashion. The Sunday after her ball, whilst 
 she had still the remains of a bad cold, she positively would go 
 to church, equipped in one petticoat and a thin muslin gown, 
 that she might look as young as her daughter Jessy. Every- 
 body laughed, and Jessy laughed more than any one else ; but, 
 in the end, it was no laughing matter ; Mrs. Bettesworth 
 ‘caught her death of cold.’ She was confined to her bed on 
 Monday, and was buried the next Sunday. 
 
 Jessy, who had a great notion that she should marry a lord, 
 if she could but once get into company with one, went to live 
 with blind Mrs. Cheviott ; where, according to her mother's 
 instructions, ‘ she laid herself out for goodness.’ She also took 
 two thousand pounds with her, upon her promise never to 
 trouble her father more. 
 
 Her brothers perceived how much was to be gained by 
 tormenting a father who gave from weakness, and not from a 
 sense of justice or a feeling of kindness ; and they soon 
 rendered themselves so troublesome that he was obliged to buy 
 off their reproaches. Idle Isaac was a sportsman, and would 
 needs have a pack of hounds : they cost him two hundred a 
 year. Then he would have racehorses ; and by them he soon 
 lost some thousands. He was arrested for the money, and his 
 father was forced to pay it. 
 
 Bob and Will soon afterwards began to think, ‘ it was very 
 hard that so much was to be done for Isaac, and nothing for 
 them ! ’ 
 
 Wild Will kept a mistress ; and Bullying Bob was a cock- 
 fighter : their demands for money were frequent and un- 
 conscionable ; and their continual plea was, ‘ Why, Isaac lost 
 a thousand by his racehorses, and why should not we have 
 our share ? ’ 
 
 The mistress and the cockpit had their share ; and the poor 
 old father, at last, had only one thousand left. He told his 
 sons this, with tears in his eyes : ‘ I shall die in a jail, after 
 
 4°5 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 all ! ’ said he. They listened not to what he said, for they 
 were intent upon the bank-notes of this last thousand, which 
 were spread upon the table before him. Will, half in jest, 
 half in earnest, snatched up a parcel of the notes ; and Bob 
 insisted on dividing the treasure. Will fled out of the house ; 
 Bob pursued him, and they fought at the end of their own 
 avenue. 
 
 This was on the day that Frankland and his family were 
 returning from poor George’s funeral, and saw the battle 
 betwixt the brothers. They were shamed into a temporary 
 reconciliation, and soon afterwards united against their father, 
 whom they represented to all the neighbours as the most cruel 
 and the most avaricious of men, because he would not part 
 with the very means of subsistence to supply their profligacy. 
 
 Whilst their minds were in this state, Will happened to 
 become acquainted with a set of smugglers, whose disorderly 
 life struck his fancy. He persuaded his brothers to leave 
 home with him, and to ’list in the service of Admiral Tipsey. 
 Their manners then became more brutal ; and they thought, 
 felt, and lived like men of desperate fortunes. The consequence 
 we have seen. In a quarrel about a keg of brandy, at an ale- 
 house, their passions got the better of them, and, on entering 
 their boat, they committed the offence for which they were now 
 imprisoned. 
 
 Mr. Barlow was the attorney to whom they applied, and 
 they endeavoured to engage him to manage their cause on 
 their trial ; but he absolutely refused. From the moment he 
 heard from James that Will and Bob Bettesworth were the 
 persons who set fire to Frankland’s hay-stack, he urged Frank 
 to prosecute them for this crime. ‘When you only suspected 
 them, my dear Frank, I strongly dissuaded you from going to 
 law : but now you cannot fail to succeed, and you will recover 
 ample damages.’ 
 
 ‘That is impossible, my dear sir,’ replied Frank; ‘for the 
 Bettesworths, I understand, are ruined.’ 
 
 ‘ I am sorry for that, on your account ; but I still think you 
 ought to carry on this prosecution, for the sake of public 
 justice. Such pests of society should not go unpunished.’ 
 
 ‘ They will probably be punished sufficiently for this un- 
 fortunate assault, for which they are now to stand their trial. 
 I cannot, in their distress, revenge either my own or my 
 
 406 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 father’s wrongs. I am sure he would be sorry if I did ; for I 
 have often and often heard him say, “ Never trample upon the 
 fallen.” ’ 
 
 ‘You are a good, generous young man,’ cried Mr. Barlow ; 
 ‘and no wonder you love the father who inspired you with 
 such sentiments, and taught you such principles. But what a 
 shame it is that such a father should be in an almshouse ! 
 You say he will not consent to be dependent upon any one ; 
 and that he will not accept of relief from any but his own 
 children. This is pride ; but it is an honourable species of 
 pride ; fit for an English yeoman. I cannot blame it. But, 
 my dear Frank, tell your father he must accept of your friend’s 
 credit, as well as of yours. Your credit with me is such, that 
 you may draw upon me for five hundred pounds whenever you 
 please. No thanks, my boy, half the money I owe you for 
 your services as my clerk ; and the other half is well secured 
 to me, by the certainty of your future diligence and success in 
 business. You will be able to pay me in a year or two ; so I 
 put you under no obligation, remember. I will take your 
 bond for half the money, if that will satisfy you and your proud 
 father.’ 
 
 The manner in which this favour was conferred touched 
 Frank to the heart. He had a heart which could be strongly 
 moved by kindness. He was beginning to express his grati- 
 tude, when Mr. Barlow interrupted him with, ‘Come, come! 
 Why do we waste our time here, talking sentiment, when we 
 ought to be writing law ? Here is work to be done, which 
 requires some expedition : a marriage settlement to be drawn. 
 Guess for whom.’ 
 
 Frank guessed all the probable matches amongst his 
 Monmouth acquaintance ; but he was rather surprised when 
 told that the bridegroom was to be young Mr. Folingsby; as 
 it was scarcely two months since this gentleman was in love 
 with Fanny Frankland. Frank proceeded to draw the settle- 
 ment. 
 
 Whilst he and Mr. Barlow were writing, they were inter- 
 rupted by the entrance of Mr. Josiah Crumpe. He came to 
 announce Mrs. Crumpe’s death, and to request Mr. Barlow’s 
 attendance at the opening of her will. This poor lady had 
 lingered out many months longer than it was thought she 
 could possibly live ; and during all her sufferings, Patty, with 
 
 407 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 indefatigable goodness and temper, bore with the caprice and 
 peevishness of disease. Those who thought she acted merely 
 from interested motives expected to find she had used her 
 power over her mistress’s mind entirely for her own advantage : 
 they were certain a great part of the fortune would be left to 
 her. Mrs. Crumpe’s relations were so persuaded of this, that, 
 when they were assembled to hear her will read by Mr. Barlow, 
 they began to say to one another in whispers, ‘ We’ll set the 
 will aside ; we’ll bring her into the courts : Mrs. Crumpe was 
 not in her right senses when she made this will : she had 
 received two paralytic strokes ; we can prove that : we can set 
 aside the will.’ 
 
 Mr. Josiah Crumpe was not one of these whisperers ; he 
 sat apart from them, leaning on his oaken stick in silence. 
 
 Mr. Barlow broke the seals of the will, opened it, and read 
 it to the eager company. They were much astonished when 
 they found that the whole fortune was left to Mr. Josiah 
 Crumpe. The reason for this bequest was given in these 
 words : 
 
 ‘ Mr. Josiah Crumpe being the only one of my relations 
 who did not torment me for my money, even upon my death- 
 bed, I trust that he will provide suitably for that excellent girl, 
 Patty Frankland. On this head he knows my wishes. By 
 her own desire, I have not myself left her anything ; I have 
 only bequeathed fifty pounds for the use of her father.’ 
 
 Mr. Josiah Crumpe was the only person who heard un- 
 moved the bequest that was made to him ; the rest of the 
 relations were clamorous in their reproaches, or hypocritical in 
 their congratulations. All thoughts of setting aside the will 
 were, however, abandoned ; every legal form had been 
 observed, and with a technical nicety that precluded all hopes 
 of successful litigation. 
 
 Mr. Crumpe arose, as soon as the tumult of disappointment 
 had somewhat subsided, and counted with his oaken stick the 
 numbers that were present. ‘ Here are ten of you, I think. 
 Well ! you, every soul of you, hate me ; but that is nothing to 
 the purpose. I shall keep up to the notion I have of the 
 character of a true British merchant, for my own sake — not 
 for yours. I don’t want this woman’s money ; I have enough 
 of my own, and of my own honest making, without legacy- 
 hunting. Why did you torment the dying woman? You 
 
 408 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 would have been better off, if you had behaved better ; but 
 that’s over now. A thousand pounds apiece you shall have 
 from me, deducting fifty pounds, which you must each of you 
 give to that excellent girl, Patty Frankland. I am sure you 
 must be all sensible of your injustice to her.’ 
 
 Fully aware that it was their interest to oblige Mr. Crumpe, 
 they now vied with each other in doing justice to Patty. 
 Some even declared they had never had any suspicions of her ; 
 and others laid the blame on the false representations and 
 information which they said they had had from the mischief- 
 making Mrs. Martha. They very willingly accepted of a 
 thousand pounds apiece ; and the fifty pounds deduction was 
 paid as a tax by each to Patty’s merit. 
 
 Mistress now of five hundred pounds, she exclaimed, * O 
 my dear father ! you shall no longer live in an almshouse ! 
 To-morrow will be the happiest day of my life ! I don’t know 
 how to thank you as I ought, sir,’ continued she, turning to 
 her benefactor. 
 
 ‘ You have thanked me as you ought, and as I like best,’ said 
 this plain-spoken merchant, ‘ and now let us say no more about it.’ 
 
 In obedience to Mr. Crumpe’s commands, Patty said no 
 more to him ; but she was impatient to tell her brother Frank, 
 and her lover, Mr. Mason, of her good fortune : she therefore 
 returned to Monmouth with Mr. Barlow, in hopes of seeing 
 them immediately ; but Frank was not at work at the marriage 
 settlement. Soon after Mr. Barlow left him, he was summoned 
 to attend the trial of the Bettesworths. 
 
 These unfortunate young men, depending on Frank’s good 
 nature, well knowing he had refused to prosecute them for 
 setting fire to his father’s hay-rick, thought they might venture 
 to call upon him to give them a good character. ‘ Consider, 
 dear Frank,’ said Will Bettes worth, a good word from one of 
 your character might do a great deal for us. You were so 
 many years our neighbour. If you would only just say that 
 we were never counted wild, idle, quarrelsome fellows, to your 
 knowledge. Will you ? ’ 
 
 ‘How can I do that?’ said Frank: ‘or how could I be 
 believed, if I did, when it is so well known in the country — 
 forgive me ; at such a time as this I cannot mean to taunt 
 you : but it is well known in the country that you were called 
 Wild Will, Bullying Bob, and Idle Isaac.’ 
 
 409 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 ‘ There’s the rub ! ’ said the attorney who was employed 
 for the Bettesworths. ‘ This will come out in open court ; and 
 the judge and jury will think a great deal of it.’ 
 
 ‘Oh, Mr. Frank, Mr. Frank !’ cried old Bettesworth, ‘have 
 pity upon us ! Speak in favour of these boys of mine ! Think 
 what a disgrace it is to me in my old age, to have my sons 
 brought this way to a public trial ! And if they should be 
 transported ! Oh, Mr. Frank, say what you can for them ! 
 You were always a good young man, and a good-natured 
 young man.’ 
 
 Frank was moved by the entreaties and tears of the 
 unhappy father ; but his good-nature could not make him 
 consent to say what he knew to be false. ‘ Do not call me 
 to speak to their characters upon this trial,’ said he ; ‘I cannot 
 say anything that would serve them : I shall do them more 
 harm than good.’ 
 
 Still they had hopes his good-nature would, at the last 
 moment, prevail over his sense of justice, and they summoned 
 him. 
 
 ‘ Well, sir,’ said Bettesworths’ counsel, ‘ you appear in 
 favour of the prisoners. You have known them, I understand, 
 from their childhood ; and your own character is such that 
 whatever you say in their favour will doubtless make a weighty 
 impression upon the jury.’ 
 
 The court was silent in expectation of what Frank should 
 say. He was so much embarrassed betwixt his wish to serve 
 his old neighbours and playfellows, and his dread of saying 
 what he knew to be false, that he could not utter a syllable. 
 He burst into tears . 1 
 
 ‘This evidence is most strongly against the prisoners,’ 
 whispered a juryman to his fellows. 
 
 The verdict was brought in at last — Guilty ! — Sentence — 
 transportation. 
 
 As the judge was pronouncing this sentence, old Bettesworth 
 was carried out of the court : he had dropped senseless. Ill 
 as his sons had behaved to him, he could not sustain the sight 
 of their utter disgrace and ruin. 
 
 When he recovered his senses, he found himself sitting on 
 the stone bench before the court-house, supported by Frank. 
 Many of the town’s-people had gathered round ; but, regardless 
 1 This is drawn from real life. 
 
 410 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 of everything but his own feelings, the wretched father ex- 
 claimed, in a voice of despair, ‘ I have no children left me in 
 my old age ! My sons are gone ! And where are my 
 daughters ? At such a time as this, why are not they near 
 their poor old father ? Have they no touch of natural affection 
 in them? No ! they have none. And why should they have 
 any for me ? I took no care of them when they were young ; 
 no wonder they take none of me now I am old. Ay ! Neigh- 
 bour Frankland was right : he brought up his children ‘in the 
 way they should go.’ Now he has the credit and the comfort 
 of them ; and see what mine are come to ! They bring their 
 father’s gray hairs with sorrow to the grave ! ’ 
 
 The old man wept bitterly : then, looking round him, he 
 again asked for his daughters. ‘ Surely they are in the town, 
 and it cannot be much trouble to them to come to me ! Even 
 these strangers, who have never seen me before, pity me. 
 But my own have no feeling ; no, not for one another ! Do 
 these girls know the sentence that has been passed upon their 
 brothers? Where are they? Where are they? Jessy, at 
 least, might be near me at such a time as this ! I was always 
 an indulgent father to Jessy.’ 
 
 There were people present who knew what was become of 
 Jessy ; but they would not tell the news to her father at this 
 terrible moment. Two of Mrs. Cheviott’s servants were in the 
 crowd; and one of them whispered to Frank, ‘You had best, 
 sir, prevail on this poor old man to go to his home, and 
 not to ask for his daughter : he will hear the bad news soon 
 enough.’ 
 
 Frank persuaded the father to go home to his lodgings, and 
 did everything in his power to comfort him. But, alas ! the 
 old man said too truly, ‘ There is no happiness left for me in 
 this world ! What a curse it is to have bad children ! My 
 children have broken my heart ! And it is all my own fault : I 
 took no care of them when they were young ; and they take no 
 care of me now I am old. But, tell me, have you found out 
 what is become of my daughter ? ’ 
 
 Frank evaded the question, and begged the old man to rest 
 in peace this night. He seemed quite exhausted by grief, and 
 at last sank into a sort of stupefaction : it could hardly be called 
 sleep. Frank was obliged to return home, to proceed with his 
 business for Mr. Barlow ; and he was glad to escape from the 
 
 411 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 sight of misery, which, however he might pity, he could not 
 relieve. 
 
 It was happy indeed for Frank that he had taken his 
 father’s advice, and had early broken off all connection with 
 Jilting Jessy. After duping others, she at length had become a 
 greater dupe. She had this morning gone off with a common 
 sergeant, with whom she had fallen suddenly and desperately 
 in love. He cared for nothing but her two thousand pounds ; 
 and, to complete her misfortune, was a man of bad character, 
 whose extravagance and profligacy had reduced him to the 
 sad alternative of either marrying for money or going to jail. 
 
 As for Sally, she was at this instant far from all thoughts 
 either of her father or her brothers ; she was in the heat of a 
 scolding match, which terminated rather unfortunately for her 
 matrimonial scheme. Ensign Bloomington had reproached her 
 with having forced him into his aunt’s room, when she had 
 absolutely refused to see him, and thus being the cause of his 
 losing a handsome legacy. Irritated by this charge, the lady 
 replied in no very gentle terms. Words ran high ; and so high 
 at last, that the gentleman finished by swearing that he would 
 sooner marry the devil than such a vixen ! 
 
 The match was thus broken off, to the great amusement of 
 all Saucy Sally’s acquaintance. Her ill-humour had made her 
 hated by all the neighbours ; so that her disappointment at the 
 loss of the ensign was embittered by their malicious raillery, 
 and by the prophecy which she heard more than whispered from 
 all sides, that she would never have another admirer, either for 
 ‘ love or money.’ 
 
 Ensign Bloomington was deaf to all overtures of peace : he 
 was rejoiced to escape from this virago ; and, as we presume 
 that none of our readers are much interested in her fate, we 
 shall leave her to wear the willow, without following her history 
 farther. 
 
 Let us return to Mr. Barlow, whom we left looking over 
 Mr. Folingsby’s marriage settlements. When he had seen that 
 they were rightly drawn, he sent Frank with them to Folingsby 
 Hall. 
 
 Mr. Folingsby was alone when Frank arrived. ‘Sit down, 
 if you please, sir,’ said he. ‘Though I have never had the 
 pleasure of seeing you before, your name is well known to me. 
 You are a brother of Fanny Frankland’s. She is a charming 
 
 412 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 and excellent young woman ! You have reason to be proud of 
 your sister, and I have reason to be obliged to her.’ 
 
 He then adverted to what had formerly passed between them 
 at Mrs. Hungerford’s ; and concluded by saying it would give 
 him real satisfaction to do any service to him or his family. 
 ‘ Speak, and tell me what I can do for you.’ 
 
 Frank looked down, and was silent ; for he thought Mr. 
 Folingsby must recollect the injustice that he, or his agent, had 
 shown in turning old Frankland out of his farm. He was too 
 proud to ask favours, where he felt he had a claim to justice. 
 
 In fact, Mr. Folingsby had, as he said, ‘left everything to 
 his agent ’ ; and so little did he know either of the affairs of his 
 tenants, their persons, or even their names, that he had not at 
 this moment the slightest idea that Frank was the son of one 
 of the oldest and the best of them. He did not know that old 
 Frankland had been reduced to take refuge in an almshouse, in 
 consequence of his agent’s injustice. Surprised by Frank’s cold 
 silence, he questioned him more closely, and it was with asto- 
 nishment and shame that he heard the truth. 
 
 ‘ Good heavens ! ’ cried he, ‘ has my negligence been the 
 cause of all this misery to your father — to the father of Fanny 
 Frankland? I remember, now that you recall it to my mind, 
 something of an old man, with fine gray hair, coming to speak 
 to me about some business, just as I was setting off for Ascot 
 races. Was that your father ? I recollect I told him I was in 
 a great hurry ; and that Mr. Deal, my agent, would certainly 
 do him justice. In this I was grossly mistaken ; and I have 
 suffered severely for the confidence I had in that fellow. Thank 
 God, I shall now have my affairs in my own hands. I am de- 
 termined to look into them immediately. My head is no longer 
 full of horses, and gigs, and curricles. There is a time for every- 
 thing : my giddy days are over. I only wish that my thought- 
 lessness had never hurt any one but myself. 
 
 ‘All I now can do,’ continued Mr. Folingsby, ‘is to make 
 amends, as fast as possible, for the past. To begin with your 
 father : most fortunately, I have the means in my power. His 
 farm is come back into my hands ; and it shall, to-morrow, be 
 restored to him. Old Bettesworth was with me scarcely an 
 hour ago, to surrender the farm, on which there is a prodigious 
 arrear of rent ; but I understand that he has built a good house 
 on the farm ; and I am extremely glad of it, for your father’s 
 
 413 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 sake. Tell him it shall be his. Tell him I am ready, I am 
 eager, to put him in possession of it ; and to repair the injustice 
 I have done, or which, at least, I have permitted to be done 
 in my name.’ 
 
 Frank was so overjoyed that he could scarcely utter one word 
 of thanks. In his way home he called at Mrs. Hungerford’s, 
 to tell the good news to his sister Fanny. This was the eve of 
 their father’s birthday ; and they agreed to meet at the alms- 
 house in the morning. 
 
 The happy morning came. Old Frankland was busy in his 
 little garden, when he heard the voices of his children, who 
 were coming towards him. ‘Fanny! Patty! James! Frank! 
 Welcome, my children ! Welcome ! I knew you would be so 
 kind as to come to see your old father on this day ; so I was 
 picking some of my currants for you, to make you as welcome 
 as I can. But I wonder you are not ashamed to come to see 
 me in an almshouse. Such gay lads and lasses ! I well know 
 I have reason to be proud of you all. Why, I think, I never 
 saw you, one and all, look so well in my whole life ! ’ 
 
 ‘Perhaps, father,’ said Frank, ‘because you never saw us, 
 one and all, so happy ! Will you sit down, dear father, here in 
 your arbour ; and we will all sit upon the grass, at your feet, 
 and each tell you stories, and all the good news.’ 
 
 ‘ My children,’ said he, ‘ do what you will with me ! It 
 makes my old heart swim with joy to see you all again around 
 me looking so happy.’ 
 
 The father sat down in his arbour, and his children placed 
 themselves at his feet. First his daughter Patty spoke ; and 
 then Fanny ; then James ; and at last Frank. When they had 
 all told their little histories, they offered to their father in one 
 purse their common riches ; the rewards of their own good 
 conduct. 
 
 ‘ My beloved children!’ said Frankland, overpowered with 
 his tears, ‘this is too much joy for me! this is the happiest 
 moment of my life ! None but the father of such children can 
 know what I feel ! Your success in the world delights me ten 
 times the more, because I know it is all owing to yourselves.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh no, dear father ! ’ cried they with one accord ; ‘ no, 
 dear, dear father ; our success is all owing to you ! Everything 
 we have is owing to you ; to the care you took of us, from our 
 infancy upward. If you had not watched for our welfare, and 
 
 414 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 taught us so well, we should not now be all so happy ! — Poor 
 Bettesworth ! ’ 
 
 Here they were interrupted by Hannah, the faithful maid- 
 servant, who had always lived with old Frankland. She came 
 running down the garden so fast, that, when she reached the 
 arbour, she was so much out of breath she could not speak. 
 
 ‘ Dear heart ! God bless you all ! ’ cried she, as soon as she 
 recovered breath. ‘ But it is no time to be sitting here. Come 
 in, sir, for mercy’s sake,’ said she, addressing herself to her 
 old master. ‘ Come in to be ready ; come in all of you to be 
 ready ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Ready ! ready for what ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Oh ! ready for fine things ! Fine doings ! Only come in, 
 and Pll tell you as we go along. How I have torn all my hand 
 with this gooseberry-bush ! But no matter for that. So then 
 you have not heard a word of what is going on ? No, how 
 could you ? And you did not miss me, when you first came 
 into the house ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Forgive us for that, good Hannah : we were in such a 
 hurry to see my father, we thought of nothing and nobody 
 else.’ 
 
 ‘ Very natural. Well, Miss Fanny, I’ve been up at the great 
 house, with your lady, Mrs. Hungerford. A better lady cannot 
 be ! Do you know she sent for me, on purpose to speak to 
 me ; and I know things that you are not to know yet. But 
 this much I may tell you, there’s a carriage coming here, to 
 carry my master away to his new house ; and there’s horses, 
 and side-saddles beside, for you, and you, and you, and I. 
 And Mrs. Hungerford is coming in her own coach ; and young 
 Mr. Folingsby is coming in his carriage ; and Mr. Barlow in 
 Mr. Jos. Crumpe’s carriage ; and Mr. Cleghorn, and his pretty 
 daughter, in the gig ; and — and — and heaps of carriages 
 besides ! friends of Mrs. Hungerford : and there’s such crowds 
 gathering in the streets ; and I’m going on to get breakfast.’ 
 
 ‘O my dear father,’ cried Frank, ‘make haste, and take 
 off this badge-coat before they come ! We have brought 
 proper clothes for you.’ 
 
 Frank pulled off the badge-coat, as he called it, and flung 
 it from him, saying, ‘ My father shall never wear you more.’ 
 
 Fanny had just tied on her father’s clean neckcloth, and 
 Patty had smoothed his reverend gray locks, when the sound 
 
 4i5 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 of the carriages was heard. All that Hannah had told them 
 was true. Mrs. Hungerford had engaged all her friends, and 
 
 all who were acquainted with the good conduct of the Frank- 
 lands, to attend her on this joyful occasion. 
 
 ‘Triumphal cavalcades and processions,’ said she, ‘are in 
 416 
 
TIIE CONTRAST 
 
 general foolish things — mere gratifications of vanity ; but this 
 is not in honour of vanity, but in honour of virtue. We shall 
 do good in the country, by showing that we respect and admire 
 it, in whatever station it is to be found. Here is a whole 
 family who have conducted themselves uncommonly well ; who 
 have exerted themselves to relieve their aged father from a 
 situation to which he was reduced without any fault or impru- 
 dence of his own. Their exertions have succeeded. Let us 
 give them, what they will value more than money, SYMPATHY.’ 
 
 Convinced or persuaded by what Mrs. Hungerford said, all 
 her friends and acquaintances attended her this morning to the 
 almshouse. Crowds of people followed; and old Frankland 
 was carried in triumph by his children to his new habitation. 
 
 The happy father lived many years to enjoy the increasing 
 prosperity of his family . 1 
 
 May every good father have as grateful children ! 
 
 1 It may be necessary to inform some readers, that Patty and Fanny 
 were soon united to their lovers ; that James, with Mr. Cleghorn’s consent, 
 married Miss Cleghorn ; and that Frank did not become an old bachelor : 
 he married an amiable girl, who was ten times prettier than Jilting Jessy, 
 and of whom he was twenty times as fond. Those who wish to know the 
 history of all the wedding-clothes of the parties may have their curiosity 
 gratified by directing a line of inquiry, post-paid, to the editor hereof. 
 
 May, 1801. 
 
 2 E 
 
 4 1 7 
 
THE GRATEFUL NEGRO 
 
 In the island of Jamaica there lived two planters, whose 
 methods of managing their slaves were as different as possible. 
 Mr. Jefferies considered the negroes as an inferior species, 
 incapable of gratitude, disposed to treachery, and to be roused 
 from their natural indolence only by force ; he treated his 
 slaves, or rather suffered his overseer to treat them, with the 
 greatest severity. 
 
 Jefferies was not a man of a cruel, but of a thoughtless and 
 extravagant temper. He was of such a sanguine disposition, 
 that he always calculated upon having a fine season, and fine 
 crops on his plantation ; and never had the prudence to make 
 allowance for unfortunate accidents : he required, as he said, 
 from his overseer produce and not excuses. 
 
 Durant, the overseer, did not scruple to use the most 1 cruel 
 and barbarous methods of forcing the slaves to exertions beyond 
 their strength. Complaints of his brutality, from time to time, 
 reached his master’s ears ; but though Mr. Jefferies was moved 
 to momentary compassion, he shut his heart against conviction : 
 he hurried away to the jovial banquet, and drowned all painful 
 reflections in wine. 
 
 He was this year much in debt ; and, therefore, being more 
 than usually anxious about his crop, he pressed his overseer to 
 exert himself to the utmost. 
 
 The wretched slaves upon his plantation thought themselves 
 
 1 The Negro Slaves — a fine drama, by Kotzebue. It is to be hoped 
 that such horrible instances of cruelty are not now to be found in nature. 
 Bryan Edwards, in his History of Jamaica, says that most of the planters 
 are humane ; but he allows that some facts can be cited in contradiction 
 of this assertion. 
 
 419 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 still more unfortunate when they compared their condition with 
 that of the negroes on the estate of Mr. Edwards. This gentle- 
 man treated his slaves with all possible humanity and kindness. 
 He wished that there was no such thing as slavery in the world ; 
 but he was convinced, by the arguments of those who have the 
 best means of obtaining information, that the sudden emanci- 
 pation of the negroes would rather increase than diminish their 
 miseries. His benevolence, therefore, confined itself within 
 the bounds of reason. He adopted those plans for the amelior- 
 ation of the state of the slaves which appeared to him the 
 most likely to succeed without producing any violent agitation 
 or revolution . 1 For instance, his negroes had reasonable and 
 fixed daily tasks ; and when these were finished, they were 
 permitted to employ their time for their own advantage or 
 amusement. If they chose to employ themselves longer for 
 their master, they were paid regular wages for their extra work. 
 This reward, for as such it was considered, operated most 
 powerfully upon the slaves. Those who are animated by hope 
 can perform what would seem impossibilities to those who are 
 under the depressing influence of fear. The wages which Mr. 
 Edwards promised, he took care to see punctually paid. 
 
 He had an excellent overseer, of the name of Abraham 
 Bayley, a man of a mild but steady temper, who was attached 
 not only to his master’s interests but to his virtues ; and who, 
 therefore, was more intent upon seconding his humane views 
 than upon squeezing from the labour of the negroes the utmost 
 produce. Each negro had, near his cottage, a portion of land, 
 called his provision-ground ; and one day in the week was 
 allowed for its cultivation. 
 
 It is common in Jamaica for the slaves to have provision- 
 grounds, which they cultivate for their own advantage ; but it 
 too often happens that, when a good negro has successfully 
 improved his little spot of ground, when he has built himself a 
 house, and begins to enjoy the fruits of his industry, his acquired 
 property is seized upon by the sheriff’s officer for the payment 
 of his master’s debts ; he is forcibly separated from his wife and 
 children, dragged to public auction, purchased by a stranger, 
 and perhaps sent to terminate his miserable existence in the 
 mines of Mexico ; excluded for ever from the light of heaven ; 
 
 1 History of the West Indies , from which these ideas are adopted — not 
 stolen. 
 
 420 
 
TIIE GRATEFUL NEGRO 
 
 and all this without any crime or imprudence on his part, real 
 or pretended. He is punished because his master is unfortunate ! 
 
 To this barbarous injustice the negroes on Mr. Edwards’ 
 plantation were never exposed. He never exceeded his 
 income ; he engaged in no wild speculations ; he contracted 
 no debts ; and his slaves, therefore, were in no danger of 
 being seized by a sheriffs officer : their property was secured 
 to them by the prudence as well as by the generosity of their 
 master. 
 
 One morning, as Mr. Edwards was walking in that part of 
 his plantation which joined to Mr. Jefferies’ estate, he thought 
 he heard the voice of distress at some distance. The lament- 
 ations grew louder and louder as he approached a cottage, 
 which stood upon the borders of Jefferies’ plantation. 
 
 This cottage belonged to a slave of the name of Caesar, 
 the best negro in Mr. Jefferies’ possession. Such had been 
 his industry and exertion, that, notwithstanding the severe 
 tasks imposed by Durant, the overseer, Caesar found means to 
 cultivate his provision -ground to a degree of perfection no- 
 where else to be seen on this estate. Mr. Edwards had often 
 admired this poor fellow’s industry, and now hastened to in- 
 quire what misfortune had befallen him. 
 
 When he came to the cottage, he found Caesar standing 
 with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. A 
 young and beautiful female negro was weeping bitterly, as she 
 knelt at the feet of Durant, the overseer, who, regarding her 
 with a sullen aspect, repeated, ‘ He must go. I tell you, 
 woman, he must go. What signifies all this nonsense ? ’ 
 
 At the sight of Mr. Edwards the overseer’s countenance 
 suddenly changed, and assumed an air of obsequious civility. 
 The poor woman retired to the farther corner of the cottage, 
 and continued to weep. Caesar never moved. ‘Nothing is 
 the matter, sir,’ said Durant, ‘ but that Caesar is going to be 
 sold. That is what the woman is crying for. They were to 
 be married ; but we’ll find Clara another husband, I tell her ; 
 and she’ll get the better of her grief, you know, sir, as I tell 
 her, in time.’ 
 
 ‘ Never ! never ! ’ said Clara. 
 
 ‘ To whom is Caesar going to be sold ? and for what sum ? ’ 
 
 ‘For what can be got for him,’ replied Durant, laughing; 
 ‘and to whoever will buy him. The sheriff’s officer is here, 
 
 421 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 who has seized him for debt, and must make the most of him 
 at market.’ 
 
 ‘ Poor fellow ! ’ said Mr. Edwards ; ‘and must he leave this 
 cottage which he has built, and these bananas which he has 
 planted ? ’ 
 
 Caesar now for the first time looked up, and, fixing his eyes 
 upon Mr. Edwards for a moment, advanced with an intrepid 
 rather than an imploring countenance, and said, ‘ Will you be 
 my master ? Will you be her master ? Buy both of us. 
 You shall not repent of it. Caesar will serve you faithfully.’ 
 
 On hearing these words Clara sprang forward, and clasping 
 her hands together, repeated, ‘ Caesar will serve you faith- 
 fully.’ 
 
 Mr. Edwards was moved by their entreaties, but he left 
 them without declaring his intentions. He went immediately 
 to Mr. Jefferies, whom he found stretched on a sofa, drinking 
 coffee. As soon as Mr. Edwards mentioned the occasion of 
 his visit, and expressed his sorrow for Caesar, Jefferies ex- 
 claimed, ‘ Yes, poor devil ! I pity him from the bottom of my 
 soul. But what can I do ? I leave all those things to 
 Durant. He says the sheriff’s officer has seized him ; and 
 there’s an end of the matter. You know, money must be had. 
 Besides, Caesar is not worse off than any other slave sold for 
 debt. What signifies talking about the matter, as if it were 
 something that never happened before ! Is it not a case that 
 occurs every day in Jamaica?’ 
 
 ‘ So much the worse,’ replied Mr. Edwards. 
 
 ‘ The worse for them, to be sure,’ said Jefferies. ‘ But, 
 after all, they are slaves, and are used to be treated as such ; 
 and they tell me the negroes are a thousand times happier 
 here, with us, than they ever were in their own country.’ 
 
 ‘ Did the negroes tell you so themselves ? ’ 
 
 ‘No; but people better informed than negroes have told 
 me so ; and, after all, slaves there must be ; for indigo, and 
 rum, and sugar, we must have.’ 
 
 ‘ Granting it to be physically impossible that the world 
 should exist without rum, sugar, and indigo, why could they 
 not be produced by freemen as well as by slaves ? If we 
 hired negroes for labourers, instead of purchasing them for 
 slaves, do you think they would not work as well as they do 
 now ? Does any negro, under the fear of the overseer, work 
 
 422 
 
‘ • • Buy loth of us. You shall not repent of it." ' 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 harder than a Birmingham journeyman, or a Newcastle collier, 
 who toil for themselves and their families ? ’ 
 
 * Of that I don’t pretend to judge. All I know is, that the 
 West India planters would be ruined if they had no slaves ; 
 and I am a West India planter.’ 
 
 ‘ So am I ; yet I do not think they are the only people 
 whose interests ought to be considered in this business.’ 
 
 ‘ Their interests, luckily, are protected by the laws of the 
 land ; and though they are rich men, and white men, and 
 freemen, they have as good a claim to their rights as the 
 poorest black slave on any of our plantations.’ 
 
 ‘ The law, in our case, seems to make the right ■ and the 
 very reverse ought to be done — the right should make the 
 law.’ 
 
 ‘Fortunately for us planters, we need not enter into such 
 nice distinctions. You could not, if you would, abolish the 
 trade. Slaves would be smuggled into the islands.’ 
 
 ‘What! if nobody would buy them? You know that you 
 cannot smuggle slaves into England. The instant a slave 
 touches English ground he becomes free. Glorious privilege ! 
 Why should it not be extended to all her dominions? If the 
 future importation of slaves into these islands were forbidden 
 by law, the trade must cease. No man can either sell or 
 possess slaves without its being known : they cannot be 
 smuggled like lace or brandy.’ 
 
 ‘Well, well !’ retorted Jefferies, a little impatiently, ‘as yet 
 the law is on our side. I can do nothing in this business, nor 
 can you.’ 
 
 ‘Yes, we can do something; we can endeavour to make 
 our negroes as happy as possible.’ 
 
 ‘ I leave the management of these people to Durant.’ 
 
 ‘ That is the very thing of which they complain ; forgive 
 me for speaking to you with the frankness of an old acquaint- 
 ance.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh ! you can’t oblige me more : I love frankness of all 
 things ! To tell you the truth, I have heard complaints of 
 Durant’s severity ; but I make it a principle to turn a deaf ear 
 to them, for I know nothing can be done with these fellows 
 without it. You are partial to negroes ; but even you must 
 allow they are a race of beings naturally inferior to us. You 
 may in vain think of managing a black as you would a white. 
 
 424 
 
TIIE GRATEFUL NEGRO 
 
 Do what you please for a negro, he will cheat you the first 
 opportunity he finds. You know what their maxim is : “ God 
 gives black men what white men forget.” ’ 
 
 To these commonplace desultory observations Mr. Edwards 
 made no reply ; but recurred to poor Caesar, and offered to 
 purchase both him and Clara, at the highest price the sheriff’s 
 officer could obtain for them at market. Mr. Jefferies, with 
 the utmost politeness to his neighbour, but with the most 
 perfect indifference to the happiness of those whom he con- 
 sidered of a different species from himself, acceded to this 
 proposal. Nothing could be more reasonable, he said ; and 
 he was happy to have it in his power to oblige a gentleman 
 for whom he had such a high esteem. 
 
 The bargain was quickly concluded with the sheriff’s 
 officer ; for Mr. Edwards willingly paid several dollars more 
 than the market price for the two slaves. When Caesar and 
 Clara heard that they were not to be separated, their joy and 
 gratitude were expressed with all the ardour and tenderness 
 peculiar to their different characters. Clara was an Eboe, 
 Caesar a Koromantyn negro : the Eboes are soft, languishing, 
 and timid ; the Koromantyns are frank, fearless, martial, and 
 heroic. 
 
 Mr. Edwards took his new slaves home with him, desired 
 Bayley, his overseer, to mark out a provision-ground for Caesar, 
 and to give him a cottage, which happened at this time to be 
 vacant. 
 
 ‘ Now, my good friend,’ said he to Caesar, ‘ you may work 
 for yourself, without fear that what you earn may be taken 
 from you ; or that you should ever be sold, to pay your 
 master’s debts. If he does not understand what I am saying,’ 
 continued Mr. Edwards, turning to his overseer, ‘you will ex- 
 plain it to him.’ 
 
 Caesar perfectly understood all that Mr. Edwards said ; but 
 his feelings were at this instant so strong that he could not 
 find expression for his gratitude : he stood like one stupefied ! 
 Kindness was new to him ; it overpowered his manly heart ; 
 and at hearing the words ‘ my good friend,’ the tears gushed 
 from his eyes : tears which no torture could have extorted ! 
 Gratitude swelled in his bosom ; and he longed to be alone, 
 that he might freely yield to his emotions. 
 
 He was glad when the conch-shell sounded to call the 
 425 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 negroes to their daily labour, that he might relieve the sensa- 
 tions of his soul by bodily exertion. He performed his task 
 in silence ; and an inattentive observer might have thought 
 him sullen. 
 
 In fact, he was impatient for the day to be over, that he 
 might get rid of a heavy load which weighed upon his mind. 
 
 The cruelties practised by Durant, the overseer of Jefferies’ 
 plantation, had exasperated the slaves under his dominion. 
 
 They were all leagued together in a conspiracy, which was 
 kept profoundly secret. Their object was to extirpate every 
 white man, woman, and child, in the island. Their plans were 
 laid with consummate art ; and the negroes were urged to 
 execute them by all the courage of despair. 
 
 The confederacy extended to all the negroes in the island of 
 Jamaica, excepting those on the plantation of Mr. Edwards. 
 To them no hint of the dreadful secret had yet been given ; 
 their countrymen, knowing the attachment they felt to their 
 master, dared not trust them with these projects of vengeance. 
 Hector, the negro who was at the head of the conspirators, 
 was the particular friend of Caesar, and had imparted to him 
 all his designs. These friends were bound to each other by 
 the strongest ties. Their slavery and their sufferings began 
 in the same hour ; they were both brought from their own 
 country in the same ship. This circumstance alone forms, 
 amongst the negroes, a bond of connection not easily to be dis- 
 solved. But the friendship of Caesar and Hector commenced 
 even before they were united by the sympathy of misfortune ; 
 they were both of the same nation, both Koromantyns. In 
 Africa they had both been accustomed to command ; for they 
 had signalised themselves by superior fortitude and courage. 
 They respected each other for excelling in all which they had 
 been taught to consider as virtuous ; and with them revenge 
 was a virtue ! 
 
 Revenge was the ruling passion of Hector : in Caesar’s mind 
 it was rather a principle instilled by education. The one con- 
 sidered it as a duty, the other felt it as a pleasure. Hector’s 
 sense of injury was acute in the extreme ; he knew not how to 
 forgive. Caesar’s sensibility was yet more alive to kindness 
 than to insult. Hector would sacrifice his life to extirpate an 
 enemy. Caesar would devote himself for the defence of a friend ; 
 and Caesar now considered a white man as his friend. 
 
 426 
 
THE GRATEFUL NEGRO 
 
 He was now placed in a painful situation. All his former 
 friendships, all the solemn promises by which he was bound to 
 his companions in misfortune, forbade him to indulge that 
 delightful feeling of gratitude and affection which, for the first 
 time, he experienced for one of that race of beings whom he 
 had hitherto considered as detestable tyrants — objects of 
 implacable and just revenge ! 
 
 Caesar was most impatient to have an interview with Hector, 
 that he might communicate his new sentiments, and dissuade 
 him from those schemes of destruction which he meditated. 
 At midnight, when all the slaves except himself were asleep, 
 he left his cottage, and went to Jefferies’ plantation, to the hut 
 in which Hector slept. Even in his dreams Hector breathed 
 vengeance. ‘ Spare none ! Sons of Africa, spare none ! ’ were 
 the words he uttered in his sleep, as Caesar approached the 
 mat on which he lay. The moon shone full upon him. Caesar 
 contemplated the countenance of his friend, fierce even in sleep. 
 ‘ Spare none ! Oh yes ! There is one that must be spared. 
 There is one for whose sake all must be spared.’ 
 
 He wakened Hector by this exclamation. ‘Of what were 
 you dreaming ? ’ said Caesar. 
 
 ‘ Of that which, sleeping or waking, fills my soul — revenge ! 
 Why did you waken me from my dream ? It was delightful. 
 The whites were weltering in their blood ! But silence ! we 
 may be overheard.’ 
 
 ‘No; everyone sleeps but ourselves,’ replied Caesar. ‘I 
 could not sleep without speaking to you on — a subject that 
 weighs upon my mind. You have seen Mr. Edwards ? ’ 
 
 ‘Yes. He that is now your master.’ 
 
 ‘ He that is now my benefactor — my friend ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Friend ! Can you call a white man friend ? ’ cried Hector, 
 starting up with a look of astonishment and indignation. 
 
 ‘ Yes,’ replied Caesar, with firmness. ‘ And you would speak, 
 ay, and would feel, as I do, Hector, if you knew this white 
 man. Oh, how unlike he is to all of his race that we have 
 ever seen ! Do not turn from me with so much disdain. Hear 
 me with patience, my friend.’ 
 
 ‘ 1 cannot,’ replied Hector, ‘ listen with patience to one who 
 between the rising and the setting sun can forget all his resolu- 
 tions, all his promises ; who by a few soft words can be so 
 wrought upon as to forget all the insults, all the injuries, he has 
 
 427 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 received from this accursed race ; and can even call a white 
 man friend ! ’ 
 
 Caesar, unmoved by Hector’s anger, continued to speak of 
 Mr. Edwards with the warmest expressions of gratitude ; and 
 finished by declaring he would sooner forfeit his life than rebel 
 against such a master. He conjured Hector to desist from 
 executing his designs ; but all was in vain. Hector sat with 
 his elbows fixed upon his knees, leaning his head upon his 
 hands, in gloomy silence. 
 
 Caesar’s mind was divided between love for his friend and 
 gratitude to his master : the conflict was violent and painful. 
 Gratitude at last prevailed : he repeated his declaration, that 
 he would rather die than continue in a conspiracy against his 
 benefactor ! 
 
 Hector refused to except him from the general doom. 
 
 ‘ Betray us if you will ! ’ cried he. ‘ Betray our secrets to him 
 whom you call your benefactor ! to him whom a few hours 
 have made your friend ! To him sacrifice the friend of your 
 youth, the companion of your better days, of your better self ! 
 Yes, Caesar, deliver me over to the tormentors : I can endure 
 more than they can inflict. I shall expire without a sigh, 
 without a groan. Why do you linger here, Caesar ? Why do 
 you hesitate ? Hasten this moment to your master ; claim 
 your reward for delivering into his power hundreds of your 
 countrymen ! Why do you hesitate ? Away ! The coward’s 
 friendship can be of use to none. Who can value his gratitude ? 
 Who can fear his revenge ? ’ 
 
 Hector raised his voice so high, as he pronounced these words, 
 that he wakened Durant, the overseer, who slept in the next 
 house. They heard him call out suddenly, to inquire who was 
 there : and Caesar had but just time to make his escape, before 
 Durant appeared. He searched Hector’s cottage ; but, finding 
 no one, again retired to rest. This man’s tyranny made him 
 constantly suspicious ; he dreaded that the slaves should com- 
 bine against him ; and he endeavoured to prevent them, by 
 every threat and every stratagem he could devise, from convers- 
 ing with each other. 
 
 They had, however, taken their measures, hitherto, so 
 secretly, that he had not the slightest idea of the conspiracy 
 which was forming in the island. Their schemes were not yet 
 ripe for execution ; but the appointed time approached. 
 
 428 
 
THE GRATEFUL NEGRO 
 
 Hector, when he coolly reflected on what had passed between 
 him and Caesar, could not help admiring the frankness and 
 courage with which he had avowed his change of sentiments. 
 By this avowal Caesar had in fact exposed his own life to the 
 most imminent danger, from the vengeance of the conspirators, 
 who might be tempted to assassinate him who had their lives 
 in his power. Notwithstanding the contempt with which, in 
 the first moment of passion, he had treated his friend, he was 
 extremely anxious that he should not break off all connection 
 with the conspirators. He knew that Caesar possessed both 
 intrepidity and eloquence, and that his opposition to their 
 schemes would perhaps entirely frustrate their whole design. 
 He therefore determined to use every possible means to bend 
 him to their purposes. 
 
 He resolved to have recourse to one of those persons 1 who, 
 
 1 The enlightened inhabitants of Europe may, perhaps, smile at the 
 superstitious credulity of the negroes, who regard those ignorant beings 
 called Obeah people with the most profound respect and dread ; who believe 
 that they hold in their hands the power of good and evil fortune, of health 
 and sickness, of life and death. The instances which are related of their 
 power over the minds of their countrymen are so wonderful, that none but 
 the most unquestionable authority could make us think them credible. 
 The following passage, from Edwards’ History of the West Indies, is 
 inserted to give an idea of this strange infatuation : 
 
 " In the year 1760, when a very formidable insurrection of the Koro- 
 mantyn or Gold Coast negroes broke out, in the parish of St. Mary, and 
 spread through almost every other district of the island, an old Koro- 
 mantyn negro, the chief instigator and oracle of the insurgents in that 
 parish, who had administered the fetish, or solemn oath, to the conspirators, 
 and furnished them with a magical preparation, which was to render them 
 invulnerable, was fortunately apprehended, convicted, and hung up with 
 all his feathers and trumperies about him ; and his execution struck the 
 insurgents with a general panic, from which they never afterwards re- 
 covered. The examinations, which were taken at that period, first opened 
 the eyes of the public to the very dangerous tendency of the Obeah practices ; 
 and gave birth to the law which was then enacted for their suppression 
 and punishment ; but neither the terror of this law, the strict investigation 
 which has since been made after the professors of Obi, nor the many 
 examples of those who, from time to time, have been hanged or transported, 
 have hitherto produced the desired effect. A gentleman, on his returning 
 to Jamaica, in the year 1775, found that a great many of his negroes had 
 died during his absence ; and that, of such as remained alive, at least one 
 half were debilitated, bloated, and in a very deplorable condition. The 
 mortality continued after his arrival ; and two or three were frequently 
 buried in one day ; others were taken ill, and began to decline under the 
 same symptoms. Every means was tried, by medicine and the most 
 
 429 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 amongst the negroes, are considered as sorceresses. Esther, 
 an old Koromantyn negress, had obtained by her skill in 
 poisonous herbs, and her knowledge of venomous reptiles, a 
 high reputation amongst her countrymen. She soon taught 
 them to believe her to be possessed of supernatural powers ; 
 and she then worked their imagination to what pitch and 
 purpose she pleased. 
 
 She was the chief instigator of this intended rebellion. It 
 was she who had stimulated the revengeful temper of Hector 
 almost to frenzy. She now promised him that her arts should 
 be exerted over his friend ; and it was not long before he felt 
 their influence. Caesar soon perceived an extraordinary change 
 in the countenance and manner of his beloved Clara. A 
 melancholy hung over her, and she refused to impart to him 
 
 careful nursing, to preserve the lives of the feeblest ; but in spite of all his 
 endeavours, this depopulation went on for a twelvemonth longer, with 
 more or less intermission, and without his being able to ascertain the real 
 cause, though the Obeah practice was strongly suspected, as well by him- 
 self as by the doctor, and other white persons upon the plantation ; as it 
 was known to have been very common in that part of the island, and 
 particularly among the negroes of the Popaw or Popo country. Still he 
 was unable to verify his suspicions ; because the patients constantly denied 
 their having anything to do with persons of that order, or any knowledge 
 of them. At length a negress, who had been ill for some time, came 
 and informed him that, feeling it was impossible for her to live much 
 longer, she thought herself bound in duty, before she died, to impart a 
 very great secret, and acquaint him with the true cause of her disorder, in 
 hopes that the disclosure might prove the means of stopping that mischief 
 which had already swept away such a number of her fellow-slaves. She 
 proceeded to say that her step-mother, a woman of the Popo country, 
 above eighty years old, but still hale and active, had put Obi upon her, as 
 she had upon those who had lately died ; and that the old woman had 
 practised Obi for as many years past as she could remember. The other 
 negroes of the plantation no sooner heard of this impeachment than they 
 ran in a body to their master, and confirmed the truth of it. . . . 
 Upon this he repaired directly, with six white servants, to the old woman’s 
 house ; and, forcing open the door, observed the whole inside of the roof, 
 which was of thatch, and every crevice of the wall, stuck with the 
 implements of her trade, consisting of rags, feathers, bones of cats, and a 
 thousand other articles. . . . The house was instantly pulled down ; 
 and, with the whole of its contents, committed to the flames, amidst the 
 general acclamations of all his other negroes. . . . From the moment 
 of her departure, his negroes seemed all to be animated with new spirits ; 
 and the malady spread no farther among them. The total of his losses, 
 in the course of about fifteen years preceding the discovery, and imputable 
 solely to the Obeah practice, he estimates at least at one hundred negroes.” 
 
 43 ° 
 
THE GRATEFUL NEGRO 
 
 the cause of her dejection. Cresar was indefatigable in his 
 exertions to cultivate and embellish the ground near his cottage, 
 in hopes of making it an agreeable habitation for her ; but she 
 seemed to take no interest in anything. She would stand 
 beside him immovable, in a deep reverie ; but when he inquired 
 whether she was ill, she would answer no, and endeavour to 
 assume an air of gaiety : but this cheerfulness was transient ; 
 she soon relapsed into despondency. At length she en- 
 deavoured to avoid her lover, as if she feared his farther 
 inquiries. 
 
 Unable to endure this state of suspense, he one evening 
 resolved to bring her to an explanation. ‘ Clara,’ said he, 
 ‘you once loved me: I have done nothing, have I, to forfeit 
 your confidence ? ’ 
 
 1 I once loved you ! ’ said she, raising her languid eyes, and 
 looking at him with reproachful tenderness ; ‘ and can you 
 doubt my constancy ? Oh, Caesar, you little know what is 
 passing in my heart ! You are the cause of my melancholy ! ’ 
 She paused and hesitated, as if afraid that she had said too 
 much ; but Caesar urged her with so much vehemence, and so 
 much tenderness, to open to him her whole soul, that, at last, 
 she could not resist his eloquence. She reluctantly revealed 
 to him that secret of which she could not think without horror. 
 She informed him, that unless he complied with what was 
 required of him by the sorceress Esther, he was devoted to die. 
 What it was that Esther required of him Clara knew not : she 
 knew nothing of the conspiracy. The timidity of her character 
 was ill suited to such a project ; and everything relating to it 
 had been concealed from her with the utmost care. 
 
 When she explained to Caesar the cause of her dejection, 
 his natural courage resisted these superstitious fears ; and he 
 endeavoured to raise Clara’s spirits. He endeavoured in vain : 
 she fell at his feet ; and with tears, and the most tender suppli- 
 cations, conjured him to avert the wrath of the sorceress, by 
 obeying her commands, whatever they might be ! 
 
 ‘ Clara,’ replied he, ‘ you know not what you ask ! ’ 
 
 ‘ I ask you to save your life ! ’ said she. ‘ I ask you, for my 
 sake, to save your life, while yet it is in your power ! ’ 
 
 ‘ But would you, to save my life, Clara, make me the worst 
 of criminals ? Would you make me the murderer of my 
 benefactor ? ’ 
 
 43i 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Clara started with horror. 
 
 ‘ Do you recollect the day, the moment, when we were on the 
 point of being separated for ever, Clara ? Do you remember the 
 white man’s coming to my cottage ? Do you remember his look 
 of benevolence — his voice of compassion ? Do you remember 
 his generosity ? Oh, Clara, would you make me the murderer 
 of this man ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Heaven forbid ! ’ said Clara. ‘ This cannot be the will of 
 the sorceress ! ’ 
 
 1 It is,’ said Caesar. 1 But she shall not succeed, even though 
 she speaks with the voice of Clara. Urge me no further ; my 
 resolution is fixed. I should be unworthy of your love if I were 
 capable of treachery and ingratitude.’ 
 
 ‘ But is there no means of averting the wrath of Esther ? ’ 
 said Clara. ‘Your life ’ 
 
 ‘Think, first, of my honour,’ interrupted Caesar. ‘Your 
 fears deprive you of reason. Return to this sorceress, and tell 
 her that I dread not her wrath. My hands shall never be 
 imbrued in the blood of my benefactor. Clara ! can you forget 
 his look when he told us that we should never more be 
 separated ? ’ 
 
 ‘ It went to my heart,’ said Clara, bursting into tears. 
 
 ‘ Cruel, cruel Esther ! Why do you command us to destroy 
 such a generous master ? ’ 
 
 The conch sounded to summon the negroes to their morning’s 
 work. It happened this day, that Mr. Edwards, who was con- 
 tinually intent upon increasing the comforts and happiness of 
 his slaves, sent his carpenter, while Caesar was absent, to fit up 
 the inside of his cottage ; and when Caesar returned from work, 
 he found his master pruning the branches of a tamarind tree that 
 overhung the thatch. ‘ How comes it, Caesar,’ said he, ‘ that 
 you have not pruned these branches ? ’ 
 
 Caesar had no knife. ‘ Here is mine for you,’ said Mr. 
 Edwards. ‘It is very sharp,’ added he, smiling; ‘but I am 
 not one of those masters who are afraid to trust their negroes 
 with sharp knives.’ 
 
 These words were spoken with perfect simplicity : Mr. 
 Edwards had no suspicion, at this time, of what was passing 
 in the negro’s mind. Caesar received the knife without uttering 
 a syllable ; but no sooner was Mr. Edwards out of sight than he 
 knelt down, and, in a transport of gratitude, swore that, with 
 
 43 2 
 
THE GRATEFUL NEGRO 
 
 this knife, he would stab himself to the heart sooner than betray 
 his master ! 
 
 The principle of gratitude conquered every other sensation. 
 The mind of Caesar was not insensible to the charms of freedom : 
 he knew the negro conspirators had so taken their measures 
 that there was the greatest probability of their success. His 
 heart beat high at the idea of recovering his liberty : but he was 
 not to be seduced from his duty, not even by this delightful hope ; 
 nor was he to be intimidated by the dreadful certainty that his 
 former friends and countrymen, considering him as a deserter 
 from their cause, would become his bitterest enemies. The loss 
 of Hector’s esteem and affection was deeply felt by Ctesar. 
 Since the night that the decisive conversation relative to Mr. 
 Edwards passed, Hector and he had never exchanged a 
 syllable. 
 
 This visit proved the cause of much suffering to Hector, and 
 to several of the slaves on Jefferies’ plantation. We mentioned 
 that Durant had been awakened by the raised voice of Hector. 
 Though he could not find any one in the cottage, yet his 
 suspicions were not dissipated ; and an accident nearly brought 
 the whole conspiracy to light. Durant had ordered one of the 
 negroes to watch a boiler of sugar : the slave was overcome by 
 the heat, and fainted. He had scarcely recovered his senses 
 when the overseer came up, and found that the sugar had 
 fermented, by having remained a few minutes too long in the 
 boiler. He flew into a violent passion, and ordered that the 
 negro should receive fifty lashes. His victim bore them without 
 uttering a groan ; but, when his punishment was over, and when 
 he thought the overseer was gone, he exclaimed, ‘ It will soon 
 be our turn ! ’ 
 
 Durant was not out of hearing. He turned suddenly, and 
 observed that the negro looked at Hector when he pronounced 
 these words, and this confirmed the suspicion that Hector was 
 carrying on some conspiracy. He immediately had recourse to 
 that brutality which he considered as the only means of govern- 
 ing black men : Hector and three other negroes were lashed 
 unmercifully ; but no confessions could be extorted. 
 
 Mr. Jefferies might perhaps have forbidden such violence to 
 be used, if he had not been at the time carousing with a party of 
 jovial West Indians, who thought of nothing but indulging their 
 appetites in all the luxuries that art and nature could supply. 
 
 2 F 433 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 The sufferings which had been endured by many of the wretched 
 negroes to furnish out this magnificent entertainment were never 
 once thought of by these selfish epicures. Yet so false are the 
 general estimates of character, that all these gentlemen passed 
 for men of great feeling and generosity ! The human mind, in 
 certain situations, becomes so accustomed to ideas of tyranny 
 and cruelty, that they no longer appear extraordinary or detest- 
 able : they rather seem part of the necessary and immutable 
 order of things. 
 
 Mr. Jefferies was stopped, as he passed from his dining-room 
 into his drawing-room, by a little negro child, of about five years 
 old, who was crying bitterly. He was the son of one of the 
 slaves who were at this moment under the torturer’s hand. 
 ‘ Poor little devil ! ’ said Mr. Jefferies, who was more than half 
 intoxicated. ‘ Take him away ; and tell Durant, some of ye, to 
 pardon his father — if he can.’ 
 
 The child ran, eagerly, to announce his father’s pardon ; but 
 he soon returned, crying more violently than before. Durant 
 would not hear the boy ; and it was now no longer possible to 
 appeal to Mr. Jefferies, for he was in the midst of an assembly 
 of fair ladies, and no servant belonging to the house dared to 
 interrupt the festivities of the evening. The three men, who 
 were so severely flogged to extort from them confessions, were 
 perfectly innocent : they knew nothing of the confederacy ; but 
 the rebels seized the moment when their minds were exasperated 
 by this cruelty and injustice, and they easily persuaded them to 
 join the league. The hope of revenging themselves upon the 
 overseer was a motive sufficient to make them brave death in 
 any shape. 
 
 Another incident, which happened a few days before the time 
 destined for the revolt of the slaves, determined numbers who 
 had been undecided. Mrs. Jefferies was a languid beauty, or 
 rather a languid fine lady who had been a beauty, and who 
 spent all that part of the day which was not devoted to the 
 pleasures of the table, or to reclining on a couch, in dress. 
 She was one day extended on a sofa, fanned by four slaves, 
 two at her head and two at her feet, when news was brought 
 that a large chest, directed to her, was just arrived from London. 
 
 This chest contained various articles of dress of the newest 
 fashions. The Jamaica ladies carry their ideas of magnificence 
 to a high pitch : they willingly give a hundred guineas for a 
 
 434 
 
THE GRATEFUL NEGRO 
 
 gown, which they perhaps wear but once or twice. In the 
 elegance and variety of her ornaments Mrs. Jefferies was not 
 exceeded by any lady in the island, except by one who had 
 lately received a cargo from England. She now expected to 
 outshine her competitor, and desired that the chest should be 
 unpacked in her presence. 
 
 In taking out one of the gowns, it caught on a nail in the lid, 
 and was torn. The lady, roused from her natural indolence by 
 this disappointment to her vanity, instantly ordered that the 
 unfortunate female slave should be severely chastised. The 
 woman was the wife of Hector ; and this fresh injury worked up 
 his temper, naturally vindictive, to the highest point. He 
 ardently longed for the moment when he might satiate his 
 vengeance. 
 
 The plan the negroes had laid was to set fire to the canes, 
 at one and the same time, on every plantation ; and when the 
 white inhabitants of the island should run to put out the fire, 
 the blacks were to seize this moment of confusion and con- 
 sternation to fall upon them, and make a general massacre. 
 The time when this scheme was to be carried into execution 
 was not known to Caesar ; for the conspirators had changed 
 their day, as soon as Hector told them that his friend was no 
 longer one of the confederacy. They dreaded he should betray 
 them ; and it was determined that he and Clara should both 
 be destroyed, unless they could be prevailed upon to join the 
 conspiracy. 
 
 Hector wished to save his friend, but the desire of vengeance 
 overcame every other feeling. He resolved, however, to make 
 an attempt, for the last time, to change Caesar’s resolution. 
 
 For this purpose, Esther was the person he employed : she 
 was to work upon his mind by means of Clara. On returning 
 to her cottage one night, she found suspended from the thatch 
 one of those strange fantastic charms with which the Indian 
 sorceresses terrify those whom they have proscribed. Clara, 
 unable to conquer her terror, repaired again to Esther, who 
 received her first in mysterious silence ; but, after she had 
 implored her forgiveness for the past, and with all possible 
 humility conjured her to grant her future protection, the 
 sorceress deigned to speak. Her commands were that Clara 
 should prevail upon her lover to meet her, on this awful spot, 
 the ensuing night. 
 
 435 
 
It caught on a nail hi the lid , and was torn 
 
TIIE GRATEFUL NEGRO 
 
 Little suspecting what was going forward on the plantation 
 of Jefferies, Mr. Edwards that evening gave his slaves a 
 holiday. He and his family came out at sunset, when the 
 fresh breeze had sprung up, and seated themselves under a 
 spreading palm-tree, to enjoy the pleasing spectacle of this 
 negro festival. His negroes were all well clad, and in the 
 gayest colours, and their merry countenances suited the gaiety 
 of their dress. While some were dancing, and some playing 
 on the tambourine, others appeared amongst the distant trees, 
 bringing baskets of avocado pears, grapes, and pine-apples, the 
 produce of their own provision-grounds ; and others were 
 employed in spreading their clean trenchers, or the calabashes 
 which served for plates and dishes. The negroes continued to 
 dance and divert themselves till late in the evening. When 
 they separated and retired to rest, Caesar, recollecting his 
 promise to Clara, repaired secretly to the habitation of this 
 sorceress. It was situated in the recess of a thick wood. 
 When he arrived there, he found the door fastened ; and he 
 was obliged to wait some time before it was opened by Esther. 
 
 The first object he beheld was his beloved Clara, stretched 
 on the ground, apparently a corpse ! The sorceress had thrown 
 her into a trance by a preparation of deadly nightshade. The 
 hag burst into an infernal laugh, when she beheld the despair 
 that was painted in Csesads countenance. ‘ Wretch ! ’ cried 
 she, ‘ you have defied my power : behold its victim ! ’ 
 
 Caesar, in a transport of rage, seized her by the throat : but 
 his fury was soon checked. 
 
 ‘ Destroy me,’ said the fiend, ‘ and you destroy your Clara. 
 She is not dead : but she lies in the sleep of death, into which 
 she has been thrown by magic art, and from which no power 
 but mine can restore her to the light of life. Yes ! look at 
 her, pale and motionless ! Never will she rise from the earth, 
 unless, within one hour, you obey my commands. I have 
 administered to Hector and his companions the solemn fetish 
 oath, at the sound of which every negro in Africa trembles ! 
 You know my object.’ 
 
 ‘ Fiend, 1 do ! ’ replied Caesar, eyeing her sternly ; ‘ but, 
 while I have life, it shall never be accomplished.’ 
 
 ‘ Look yonder ! ’ cried she, pointing to the moon ; ‘ in a few 
 minutes that moon will set : at that hour Hector and his 
 friends will appear. They come armed — armed with weapons 
 
 437 
 
TOPULAR TALES 
 
 which I shall steep in poison for their enemies. Themselves 1 
 will render invulnerable. Look again ! ’ continued she ; ‘ if 
 my dim eyes mistake not, yonder they come. Rash man, you 
 die if they cross my threshold.’ 
 
 ‘ I wish for death,’ said Caesar. ‘ Clara is dead ! ’ 
 
 ‘ But you can restore her to life by a single word.’ 
 
 Caesar, at this moment, seemed to hesitate. 
 
 ‘ Consider ! Your heroism is vain,’ continued Esther. 
 ‘You will have the knives of fifty of the conspirators in your 
 bosom, if you do not join them ; and, after you have fallen, the 
 death of your master is inevitable. Here is the bowl of poison, 
 in which the negro knives are to be steeped. Your friends, 
 your former friends, your countrymen, will be in arms in a few 
 minutes ; and they will bear down everything before them — 
 Victory, Wealth, Freedom, and Revenge, will be theirs.’ 
 
 Caesar appeared to be more and more agitated. His eyes 
 were fixed upon Clara. The conflict in his mind was violent : 
 but his sense of gratitude and duty could not be shaken by 
 hope, fear, or ambition ; nor could it be vanquished by love. 
 He determined, however, to appear to yield. As if struck with 
 panic at the approach of the confederate negroes, he suddenly 
 turned to the sorceress, and said, in a tone of feigned sub- 
 mission, ‘It is in vain to struggle with fate. Let my knife, 
 too, be dipped in your magic poison.’ 
 
 The sorceress clapped her hands with infernal joy in her 
 countenance. She bade him instantly give her his knife, that 
 she might plunge it to the hilt in the bowl of poison, to which 
 she turned with savage impatience. His knife was left in his 
 cottage, and, under pretence of going in search of it, he escaped. 
 Esther promised to prepare Hector and all his companions to 
 receive him with their ancient cordiality on his return. Caesar 
 ran with the utmost speed along a bypath out of the wood, 
 met none of the rebels, reached his master’s house, scaled the 
 wall of his bed-chamber, got in at the window, and wakened 
 him, exclaiming, ‘ Arm — arm yourself, my dear master ! Arm 
 all your slaves ! They will fight for you, and die for you ; as 
 I will the first. The Koromantyn yell of war will be heard in 
 Jefferies’ plantation this night ! Arm — arm yourself, my dear 
 master, and let us surround the rebel leaders while it is yet time. 
 I will lead you to the place where they are all assembled, on con- 
 dition that their chief, who is my friend, shall be pardoned.’ 
 
 438 
 
* The sorceress clapped her hands' 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Mr. Edwards armed himself and the negroes on his planta- 
 tion, as well as the whites ; they were all equally attached to 
 him. He followed Cassar into the recesses of the wood. 
 
 They proceeded with all possible rapidity, but in perfect 
 silence, till they reached Esther’s habitation, which they 
 surrounded completely, before they were perceived by the 
 conspirators. 
 
 Mr. Edwards looked through a hole in the wall ; and, by 
 the blue flame of a cauldron, over which the sorceress was 
 stretching her shrivelled hands, he saw Hector and five stout 
 negroes standing, intent upon her incantations. These negroes 
 held their knives in their hands, ready to dip them into the 
 bowl of poison. It was proposed, by one of the whites, to set 
 fire immediately to the hut, and thus to force the rebels to 
 surrender. The advice was followed ; but Mr. Edwards 
 charged his people to spare their prisoners. The moment the 
 rebels saw that the thatch of the hut was in flames, they set up 
 the Koromantyn yell of war, and rushed out with frantic 
 desperation. 
 
 ‘ Yield ! You are pardoned, Hector,’ cried Mr. Edwards, 
 in a loud voice. 
 
 ‘You are pardoned, my friend !’ repeated Caesar. 
 
 Hector, incapable at this instant of listening to anything but 
 revenge, sprang forwards, and plunged his knife into the bosom 
 of Caesar. The faithful servant staggered back a few paces : 
 his master caught him in his arms. ‘ I die content,’ said he. 
 ‘ Bury me with Clara.’ 
 
 He swooned from loss of blood as they were carrying him 
 home ; but when his wound was examined, it was found not to 
 be mortal. As he recovered from his swoon, he stared wildly 
 round him, trying to recollect where he was, and what had 
 happened. He thought that he was still in a dream, when he 
 saw his beloved Clara standing beside him. The opiate, which 
 the pretended sorceress had administered to her, had ceased to 
 operate ; she wakened from her trance just at the time the 
 Koromantyn yell commenced. Caesar’s joy ! — we must leave 
 that to the imagination. 
 
 In the meantime, what became of the rebel negroes, and 
 Mr. Edwards ? 
 
 The taking the chief conspirators prisoners did not prevent 
 the negroes upon Jefferies’ plantation from insurrection. The 
 
 440 
 
THE GRATEFUL NEGRO 
 
 moment they heard the war-whoop, the signal agreed upon, 
 they rose in a body ; and, before they could be prevented, 
 either by the whites on the estate, or by Mr. Edwards’ 
 adherents, they had set fire to the overseer’s house, and to the 
 canes. The overseer was the principal object of their vengeance 
 —he died in tortures, inflicted by the hands of those who had 
 suffered most by his cruelties. Mr. Edwards, however, quelled 
 the insurgents before rebellion spread to any other estates in 
 the island. The influence of his character, and the effect of 
 his eloquence upon the minds of the people, were astonishing : 
 nothing but his interference could have prevented the total 
 destruction of Mr. Jefferies and his family, who, as it was 
 computed, lost this night upwards of fifty thousand pounds. 
 He was never afterwards able to recover his losses, or to shake 
 off his constant fear of a fresh insurrection among his slaves. 
 At length, he and his lady returned to England, where they 
 were obliged to live in obscurity and indigence. They had no 
 consolation in their misfortunes but that of railing at the 
 treachery of the whole race of slaves. Our readers, we hope, 
 will think that at least one exception may be made, in favour 
 of THE GRATEFUL NEGRO. 
 
 March , 1S02. 
 
 441 
 

TO-MORROW 
 
 ■ Oh this detestable To-morrow / — a thing always expected, yet never 
 found.' — J ohnson. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 It has long been my intention to write my own history, and I 
 am determined to begin it to-day ; for half the good intentions 
 of my life have been frustrated by my unfortunate habit of 
 putting things off till to-morrow. 
 
 When I was a young man, I used to be told that this was 
 my only fault ; I believed it, and my vanity of laziness per- 
 suaded me that this fault was but small, and that I should 
 easily cure myself of it in time. 
 
 That time, however, has not yet arrived, and at my 
 advanced age I must give up all thoughts of amendment, 
 hoping, however, that sincere repentance may stand instead of 
 reformation. 
 
 My father was an eminent London bookseller : he happened 
 to be looking over a new biographical dictionary on the day 
 when I was brought into the world ; and at the moment when 
 my birth was announced to him, he had his finger upon the 
 name Basil j he read aloud — ‘ Basil , canonised bishop of 
 Caesarea, a theological, controversial, and moral writer.’ 
 
 ‘ My boy,’ continued my father, ‘shall be named after this 
 great man, and I hope and believe that I shall live to see him 
 either a celebrated theological, controversial, and moral author, 
 or a bishop. I am not so sanguine as to expect that he should 
 be both these good things.’ 
 
 I was christened Basil according to my father’s wishes, and 
 his hopes of my future celebrity and fortune were confirmed, 
 during my childhood, by instances of wit and memory, which 
 
 443 
 

 ‘ A t the moment when my birth was announced to him, he had his finger upon 
 the name Basil.' 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 were not perhaps greater than what could have been found in 
 my little contemporaries, but which appeared to the vanity of 
 parental fondness extraordinary, if not supernatural. My father 
 declared that it would be a sin not to give me a learned educa- 
 tion, and he went even beyond his means to procure for me all 
 the advantages of the best modes of instruction. I was stimu- 
 lated, even when a boy, by the idea that I should become a 
 great man, and my masters had for some time reason to be 
 satisfied ; but what they called the quickness of my parts con- 
 tinually retarded my progress. The facility with which I learned 
 my lessons encouraged me to put off learning them till the last 
 moment ; and this habit of procrastinating, which was begun in 
 presumption, ended in disgrace. 
 
 When I was sent to a public school, I found among my 
 companions so many temptations to idleness, that, notwith- 
 standing the quickness of my parts, I was generally flogged 
 twice a week. As I grew older, my reason might perhaps 
 have taught me to correct myself, but my vanity was excited to 
 persist in idleness by certain imprudent sayings or whisperings 
 of my father. 
 
 When I came home from school at the holidays, and when 
 complaints were preferred against me in letters from my school- 
 master, my father, even while he affected to scold me for my 
 negligence, flattered me in the most dangerous manner by 
 adding — aside to some friend of the family — 1 My Basil is a 
 strange fellow ! — can do anything he pleases — all his masters 
 say so — but he is a sad idle dog — all your men of genius are 
 so — puts off business always to the last moment — all your men 
 
 of genius do so. For instance, there is , whose third 
 
 edition of odes I have just published — what an idle dog he is ! 
 Yet who makes such a noise in the world as he does? — puts 
 everything off till to-morrow , like my Basil — but can do more 
 at the last moment than any man in England — that is, if the 
 fit seizes him — for he does nothing but by fits — has no applica- 
 tion — none — says it would “ petrify him to a dunce.” I never 
 knew a man of genius who was not an idle dog.’ 
 
 Not a syllable of such speeches was lost upon me : the ideas 
 of a man of genius and of an idle dog were soon so firmly 
 joined together in my imagination, that it was impossible to 
 separate them, either by my own reason or by that of my 
 preceptors. 1 gloried in the very habits which my tutors 
 
 445 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 laboured to correct ; and I never was seriously mortified by the 
 consequences of my own folly till, at a public examination at 
 Eton, I lost a premium by putting off till it was too late the 
 finishing a copy of verses. The lines which I had written were 
 said by all my young and old friends to be beautiful. The 
 prize was gained by one Johnson, a heavy lad, of no sort of 
 genius, but of great perseverance. His verses were finished, 
 however, at the stated time. 
 
 ‘ For dulness ever must be regular ! ’ 
 
 My fragment, charming as it was, was useless, except to 
 hand about afterward among my friends, to prove what I might 
 have done if I had thought it worth while. 
 
 My father was extremely vexed by my missing an opportunity 
 of distinguishing myself at this public exhibition, especially as 
 the king had honoured the assembly with his presence ; and as 
 those who had gained premiums were presented to his Majesty, 
 it was supposed that their being thus early marked as lads of 
 talents would be highly advantageous to their advancement in 
 life. All this my father felt, and, blaming himself for having 
 encouraged me in the indolence of genius , he determined to 
 counteract his former imprudence, and was resolved, he said, 
 to cure me at once of my habit of procrastination. For this 
 purpose he took down from his shelves Young’s Night 
 Thoughts ; from which he remembered a line, which has 
 become a stock line among writing-masters’ copies : 
 
 ‘ Procrastination is the thief of time.’ 
 
 He hunted the book for the words Procrastination, Time, 
 To-day, and To-morrow, and made an extract of seven long 
 pages on the dangers of delay. 
 
 ‘ Now, my dear Basil,’ said he, ‘this is what will cure you 
 for life, and this you must get perfectly by heart, before I give 
 you one shilling more pocket-money.’ 
 
 The motive was all-powerful, and with pains, iteration, and 
 curses, I fixed the heterogeneous quotations so well in my 
 memory that some of them have remained there to this day. 
 For instance — 
 
 ‘ Time destroyed 
 
 Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt. 
 
 Time flies, death urges, knells call, Heav’n invites, 
 
 Hell threatens. 
 
 446 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 We push Time from us, and we wish him back. 
 
 Man flies from Time , and Time from man too soon ; 
 
 In sad divorce this double flight must end ; 
 
 And then where are we ? 
 
 Be wise to-day, ’tis madness to defer, &c. 
 
 Next day the fatal precedent will plead, &c. 
 
 Lorenzo — O for yesterdays to come ! 
 
 To-day is yesterday return’d ; return’d, 
 
 Full-powered to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn. 
 
 And reinstate us on the rock of peace. 
 
 Let it not share its predecessor’s fate, 
 
 Nor, like its elder sisters, die a fool. 
 
 Where shall I find him ? Angels ! tell me where : 
 
 You know him ; he is near you ; point him out j 
 Shall I see glories beaming from his brow ? 
 
 Or trace his footsteps by the rising flow’rs ? 
 
 Your golden wings now hov’ring o’er him shed 
 Protection : now are wav’ring in applause 
 To that blest son of foresight ! Lord of fate ! 
 
 That awful independent on to-morrmv ! 
 
 Whose work is done ; who triumphs in the past ; 
 
 Whose yesterdays look backward with a smile.’ 
 
 I spare you the rest of my task, and I earnestly hope, my dear 
 reader, that these citations may have a better effect upon you 
 than they had upon me. With shame I confess, that even with 
 the addition of Shakspeare’s eloquent 
 
 ‘ To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,’ &c. 
 which I learnt by heart gratis, not a bit the better was I for 
 all this poetical morality. What I wanted was, not conviction 
 of my folly, but resolution to amend. 
 
 When I say that I was not a bit the better for these docu- 
 mentings, I must not omit to observe to you that I was very 
 near four hundred pounds a year the better for them. 
 
 Being obliged to learn so much of Young’s Night Thoughts 
 by rote, I was rather disgusted, and my attention was roused to 
 criticise the line which had been forced upon my admiration. 
 Afterward, when I went to college, I delighted to maintain, in 
 opposition to some of my companions, who were enthusiastic 
 admirers of Young, that he was no poet. The more I was ridi- 
 culed, the more I persisted. I talked myself into notice ; I 
 became acquainted with several of the literary men at Cam- 
 
 447 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 bridge ; 1 wrote in defence of my opinion, or, as some called 
 it, my heresy. I maintained that what all the world had mis- 
 taken for sublimity was bombast ; that the Night Thoughts 
 were fuller of witty conceits than of poetical images : I drew a 
 parallel between Young and Cowley ; and I finished by pro- 
 nouncing Young to be the Cowley of the eighteenth century. 
 To do myself justice, there was much ingenuity and some truth 
 in my essay, but it was the declamation of a partisan, who can 
 think only on one side of a question, and who, in the heat of 
 controversy, says more than he thinks, and more than he 
 originally intended. 
 
 It is often the fortune of literary partisans to obtain a share 
 of temporary celebrity far beyond their deserts, especially if 
 they attack any writer of established reputation. The success 
 of my essay exceeded my most sanguine expectations, and I 
 began to think that my father was right ; that I was born to 
 be a great genius and a great man. The notice taken of me 
 by a learned prelate, who piqued himself upon being considered 
 as the patron of young men of talents, confirmed me at once 
 in my self-conceit and my hopes of preferment. 
 
 I mentioned to you that my father, in honour of my name- 
 sake Basil, bishop of Caesarea, and to verify his own firese7iti- 
 ments , had educated me for the Church. My present patron, 
 who seemed to like me the better the oftener I dined with him, 
 gave me reason to hope that he would provide for me hand- 
 somely. I was not yet ordained, when a living of four hundred 
 per annum fell into his gift : he held it over for some months, 
 as it was thought, on purpose for me. 
 
 In the meantime he employed me to write a charity sermon 
 for him, which he was to preach, as it was expected, to a 
 crowded congregation. None but those who are themselves 
 slaves to the habit of procrastination will believe that I could 
 be so foolish as to put off writing this sermon till the Saturday 
 evening before it was wanted. Some of my young companions 
 came unexpectedly to sup with me ; we sat late : in the vanity 
 of a young author, who glories in the rapidity of composition, 
 I said to myself that I could finish my sermon in an hour’s 
 notice. But, alas ! when my companions at length departed, 
 they left me in no condition to complete a sermon. I fell fast 
 asleep, and was wakened in the morning by the bishop’s 
 servant. The dismay I felt is indescribable ; I started up — 
 
 448 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 it was nine o’clock : I began to write ; but my hand and my 
 mind trembled, and my ideas were in such confusion, that I 
 could not, great genius as I was, produce a beginning sentence 
 in a quarter of an hour. 
 
 I kept the bishop’s servant forty minutes by his watch ; 
 wrote and re-wrote two pages, and walked up and down the 
 room ; tore my two pages ; and at last, when the footman 
 said he could wait no longer, was obliged to let him go with 
 an awkward note, pleading sudden sickness for my apology. 
 It was true that I was sufficiently sick at the time when I 
 penned this note : my head ached terribly ; and I kept my 
 room, reflecting upon my own folly, the whole of the day. I 
 foresaw the consequences : the living was given away by my 
 patron the next morning, and all hopes of future favour were 
 absolutely at an end. 
 
 My father overwhelmed me with reproaches ; and I might 
 perhaps have been reformed by this disappointment, but an 
 unexpected piece of good fortune, or what I then thought good 
 fortune, was my ruin. 
 
 Among the multitude of my college-friends was a young 
 gentleman, whose father was just appointed to go out upon 
 the famous embassy to China ; he came to our shop to buy 
 Du Halde ; and upon hearing me express an enthusiastic 
 desire to visit China, he undertook to apply to his father to 
 take me in the ambassador’s suite. His representation of me 
 as a young man of talents and literature, and the view of some 
 botanical drawings, which I executed upon the spur of the 
 occasion with tolerable neatness, procured me the favour which 
 I so ardently desired. 
 
 My father objected to my making this voyage. He was 
 vexed to see me quit the profession for which I had been 
 educated ; and he could not, without a severe struggle, 
 relinquish his hopes of seeing me a bishop. But I argued 
 that, as I had not yet been ordained, there could be no dis- 
 grace or impropriety in my avoiding a mode of life which was 
 not suited to my genius. This word genius had now, as upon 
 all other occasions, a mighty effect upon my father ; and, 
 observing this, I declared further, in a high tone of voice, that 
 from the experience I had already had, I was perfectly certain 
 that the drudgery of sermon-writing would paralyse my genius j 
 and that, to expand and invigorate my intellectual powers, it 
 2 G 449 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 was absolutely necessary I should, to use a great author’s 
 expression, ‘view in foreign countries varied modes of existence.’ 
 
 My father’s hopes that one half of his prophecy would at 
 least be accomplished, and that I should become a great 
 author, revived ; and he consented to my going to China, 
 upon condition that I should promise to write a history of my 
 voyage and journey, in two volumes octavo, or one quarto, 
 with a folio of plates. The promise was readily made ; for in 
 the plenitude of confidence in my own powers, octavos and 
 quartos shrank before me, and a folio appeared too small for 
 the various information, and the useful reflections, which a 
 voyage to China must supply. 
 
 Full of expectations and projects, I talked from morning 
 till night of my journey : but, notwithstanding my father’s 
 hourly remonstrances, I deferred my preparations till the last 
 week. Then all was hurry and confusion ; tailors and semp- 
 stresses, portmanteaus and trunks, portfolios and drawing- 
 boxes, water-colours, crayons, and note-books wet from the 
 stationer’s, crowded my room. I had a dozen small note-books, 
 and a huge commonplace-book, which was to be divided and 
 kept in the manner recommended by the judicious and im- 
 mortal Locke. 
 
 In the midst of the last day’s bustle, I sat down at the 
 corner of a table with compass, ruler, and red ink, to divide 
 and rule my best of all possible commonplace-books ; but the 
 red ink was too thin, and the paper was not well sized, and it 
 blotted continually, because I was obliged to turn over the 
 pages rapidly ; and ink will not dry, nor blotting-paper suck it 
 up, more quickly for a genius than for any other man. Besides, 
 my attention was much distracted by the fear that the semp- 
 stress would not send home my dozen of new shirts, and that 
 a vile procrastinating bootmaker would never come with my 
 boots. Every rap at the door I started up to inquire whether 
 that was the shirts, or the boots : thrice I overturned the red, 
 and twice the black ink bottles by these starts ; and the 
 execrations which I bestowed upon those tradespeople, who 
 will put off everything to the last moment, were innumerable. 
 I had orders to set off in the mail-coach for Portsmouth, to 
 join the rest of the ambassador’s suite. 
 
 The provoking watchman cried ‘past eleven o’clock’ before 
 I had half-finished ruling my commonplace-book; my shirts 
 
 45 ° 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 and my boots were not come : the mail-coach, as you may 
 guess, set off without me. My poor father was in a terrible 
 tremor, and walked from room to room, reproaching me and 
 himself ; but I persisted in repeating that Lord M. would not 
 set out the day he had intended : that nobody, since the 
 creation of the world, ever set out upon a long journey the day 
 he first appointed : besides, there were at least a hundred 
 chances in my favour that his lordship would break down on 
 his way to Portsmouth ; that the wind would not be fair when 
 he arrived there ; that half the people in his suite would not be 
 more punctual than myself, etc. 
 
 By these arguments, or by mere dint of assertion, I quieted 
 my father’s apprehensions and my own, and we agreed that, as 
 it was now impossible to go to-day, it was best to stay till to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Upon my arrival at Portsmouth, the first thing I heard was 
 that the Lion and Hindostan had sailed some hours before, 
 with the embassy for China. Despair deprived me of utterance. 
 A charitable waiter at the inn, however, seeing my consternation 
 and absolute inability to think or act for myself, ran to make 
 further inquiries, and brought me back the joyful tidings that 
 the Jackal brig, which was to carry out the remainder of the 
 ambassador’s suite, was not yet under weigh ; that a gentleman, 
 who was to go in the Jackal , had dined at an hotel in the next 
 street, and that he had gone to the water-side but ten minutes 
 ago. 
 
 I hurried after him : the boat was gone. I paid another 
 exorbitantly to take me and my goods to the brig, and reached 
 the Jackal just as she was weighing anchor. Bad education 
 for me ! The moment I felt myself safe on board, having 
 recovered breath to speak, I exclaimed, ‘ Here am I, safe and 
 sound ! just as well as if I had been here yesterday ; better 
 indeed. Oh, after this, I shall always trust to my own good 
 fortune ! I knew I should not be too late.’ 
 
 When I came to reflect coolly, however, I was rather sorry 
 that I had missed my passage in the Lion, with my friend 
 and protector, and with most of the learned and ingenious men 
 of the ambassador’s suite, to whom I had been introduced, and 
 who had seemed favourably disposed towards me. All the 
 advantage I might have derived from their conversation, during 
 this long voyage, was lost by my own negligence. The Jackal 
 
 45i 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 lost company of the Lion and Hindostan in the Channel. As 
 my friends afterwards told me, they waited for us five days in 
 Praya Bay ; but as no Jackal appeared, they sailed again with- 
 out her. At length, to our great joy, we descried on the beach 
 of Sumatra a board nailed to a post, which our friends had set 
 up there, with a written notice to inform us that the Lion and 
 Hindostan had touched on this shore on such a day, and to point 
 out to us the course that we should keep in order to join them. 
 
 At the sight of this writing my spirits revived : the wind 
 favoured us ; but, alas ! in passing the Straits of Banka, we 
 were damaged so that we were obliged to return to port to refit, 
 and to take in fresh provision. Not a soul on board but wished 
 it had been their fate to have had a berth in the other ships ; 
 and I more loudly than any one else expressed this wish twenty 
 times a day. When my companions heard that I was to have 
 sailed in the ambassador’s ship, if I had been time enough at 
 Spithead, some pitied and some rallied me : but most said I 
 deserved to be punished for my negligence. At length we joined 
 the Lion and Hindostan at North Island. Our friends had 
 quite given up all hopes of ever seeing us again, and had 
 actually bought at Batavia a French brig, to supply the place 
 of the Jackal. To my great satisfaction, I was now received 
 on board the Lion , and had an opportunity of conversing with 
 the men of literature and science, from whom I had been so 
 unluckily separated during the former part of the voyage. 
 Their conversation soon revived and increased my regret, when 
 they told me of all that I had missed seeing at the various 
 places where they had touched : they talked to me with provok- 
 ing fluency of the culture of manioc ; of the root of cassada, of 
 which tapioca is made ; of the shrub called the cactus, on 
 which the cochineal insect swarms and feeds ; and of the 
 ipecacuanha-plant ; all which they had seen at Rio Janeiro, 
 besides eight paintings representing the manner in which the 
 diamond and gold mines in the Brazils are worked. Indeed, 
 upon cross-examination, I found that these pictures were miser- 
 ably executed, and scarcely worth seeing. 
 
 I regretted more the fine pine-apples, which my companions 
 assured me were in such abundance that they cleaned their 
 swords in them, as being the cheapest acid that could be there 
 procured. But, far beyond these vulgar objects of curiosity, I 
 regretted not having learned anything concerning the celebrated 
 
 45 2 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 upas-tree. I was persuaded that, if I had been at Batavia, I 
 should have extracted some information more precise than these 
 gentlemen obtained from the keepers of the medical garden. 
 
 I confess that my mortification at this disappointment did 
 not arise solely from the pure love of natural history : the upas- 
 tree would have made a conspicuous figure in my quarto volume. 
 I consoled myself, however, by the determination to omit 
 nothing that the vast empire of China could afford to render 
 my work entertaining, instructive, interesting, and sublime. I 
 anticipated the pride with which I should receive the compli- 
 ments of my friends and the public upon my valuable and 
 inco7nparable work j I anticipated the pleasure with which my 
 father would exult in the celebrity of his son, and in the ac- 
 complishment of his own prophecies : and, with these thoughts 
 full in my mind, we landed at Mettow, in China. 
 
 I sat up late at night writing a sketch of my preface and 
 notes for the heads of chapters. I was tired, fell into a profound 
 sleep, dreamed I was teaching the emperor of China to pro- 
 nounce ‘ chrononhotonthologos,’ and in the morning was 
 wakened by the sound of the gong ; the signal that the accom- 
 modation junks were ready to sail with the embassy to Pekin. 
 I hurried on my clothes, and was in the junk before the gong 
 had done beating. I gloried in my celerity ; but before we 
 had gone two leagues up the country, I found reason to repent 
 of my precipitation : I wanted to note down my first impressions 
 on entering the Chinese territories ; but, alas ! I felt in vain in 
 my pocket for my pencil and note-book : I had left them both 
 behind me on my bed. Not only one note-book, but my whole 
 dozen ; which, on leaving London, I had stuffed into a bag 
 with my night-gown. Bag, night-gown, note-books, all were 
 forgotten ! 
 
 However trifling it may appear, this loss of the little note- 
 books was of material consequence. To be sure, it was easy 
 to procure paper and make others ; but, because it was so 
 easy, it was delayed from hour to hour, and from day to day ; 
 and I went on writing my most important remarks on scraps 
 of paper, which were always to be copied to-morrow into a 
 note-book that was then to be made. 
 
 We arrived at Pekin, and were magnificently lodged in a 
 palace in that city ; but here we were so strictly guarded, that 
 we could not stir beyond the courts of the palace. You will 
 
 453 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 say that in this confinement I had leisure sufficient to make a 
 note-book, and to copy my notes : so I had, and it was my 
 firm intention so to have done ; but I put it off because I 
 thought it would take up but a few hours’ time, and it could 
 be done any day. *Besides, the weather was so excessively 
 hot, that for the first week, I could do nothing but unbutton 
 my waistcoat and drink sherbet. Visits of ceremony from 
 mandarins took up much of our time : they spoke and moved 
 like machines ; and it was with much difficulty that our inter- 
 preter made us understand the meaning of their formal 
 sentences, which were seldom worth the trouble of deciphering. 
 We saw them fan themselves, drink tea, eat sweetmeats and 
 rice, and chew betel ; but it was scarcely worth while to come 
 all the way from Europe to see this, especially as any common 
 Chinese paper or screen would give an adequate idea of these 
 figures in their accustomed attitudes. 
 
 I spent another week in railing at these abominably stupid 
 or unnecessarily cautious creatures of ceremony, and made 
 memorandums for an eloquent chapter in my work. 
 
 One morning we were agreeably surprised by a visit from a 
 mandarin of a very different description. We were astonished 
 to hear a person in the habit of a Chinese, and bearing the 
 title of a mandarin, address us in French : he informed us that 
 he was originally a French Jesuit, and came over to China 
 with several missionaries from Paris ; but as they were pro- 
 hibited from promulgating their doctrines in this country, most 
 of them had returned to France ; a few remained, assumed the 
 dress and manners of the country, and had been elevated to 
 the rank of mandarins as a reward for their learning. The 
 conversation of our Chinese Jesuit was extremely entertaining 
 and instructive : he was delighted to hear news from Europe, 
 and we were eager to obtain from him information respecting 
 China. I paid particular attention to him, and I was so 
 fortunate as to win his confidence, as far as the confidence of 
 a Jesuit can be won. He came frequently to visit me, and did 
 me the honour to spend some hours in my apartment. 
 
 As he made it understood that these were literary visits, and 
 as his character for propriety was well established with the 
 government, he excited no suspicion, and we spent our time 
 most delightfully between books and conversation. He gave 
 me, by his anecdotes and descriptions, an insight into the 
 
 454 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 characters and domestic lives of the inhabitants of Pekin, which 
 I could not otherwise have obtained : his talent for description 
 was admirable, and his characters were so new to me that I 
 was in continual ecstasy. I called him the Chinese La Bruyere ; 
 and, anticipating the figure which his portraits would make in 
 my future work, thought that I could never sufficiently applaud 
 his eloquence. He was glad to lay aside the solemn gravity 
 of a Chinese mandarin, and to indulge the vivacity of a French- 
 man ; his vanity was gratified by my praises, and he exerted 
 himself to the utmost to enhance my opinion of his talents. 
 
 At length we had notice that it was the emperor’s pleasure to 
 receive the embassy at his imperial residence in Tartary, at 
 Jehol ; the seat of grateful coolness, the garden of innumerable 
 trees. From the very name of this place I augured that it 
 would prove favourable to the inspirations of genius, and deter- 
 mined to date at least one of the chapters or letters of my future 
 work from this delightful retreat, the Sans Souciof China. Full 
 of this intention, I set out upon our expedition into Tartary. 
 
 My good friend, the Jesuit, who had a petition to present to 
 the emperor relative to some Chinese manuscripts, determined, 
 to my infinite satisfaction, to accompany us to Jehol ; and our 
 conducting mandarin, Van-Tadge, arranged things so upon our 
 journey that I enjoyed as much of my friend’s conversation as 
 possible. Never European travelling in these countries had 
 such advantages as mine : I had a companion who was able 
 and willing to instruct me in every minute particular of the 
 manners, and every general principle of the government and 
 policy, of the people. I was in no danger of falling into the 
 ridiculous mistakes of travellers, who, having but a partial view 
 of things and persons, argue absurdly, and grossly misrepresent, 
 while they intend to be accurate. Many people, as my French 
 mandarin observed, reason like Voltaire’s famous traveller, who, 
 happening to have a drunken landlord and a red-haired land- 
 lady at the first inn where he stopped in Alsace, wrote down 
 among his memorandums — ‘ All the men of Alsace drunkards : 
 all the women red-haired.’ 
 
 When we arrived at Jehol, the hurry of preparing for our 
 presentation to the emperor, the want of a convenient writing- 
 table, and perhaps my habit of procrastination, prevented my 
 writing the chapter for my future work, or noting down any of 
 the remarks which the Jesuit had made upon our journey. One 
 
 455 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 morning when I collected my papers and the scraps of memo- 
 randums with which the pockets of all my clothes were stuffed, 
 
 I was quite terrified at the heap of confusion, and thrust all 
 these materials for my quarto into a canvas bag, purposing to 
 lay them smooth in a portfolio the next day. But the next day 
 I could do nothing of this sort, for we had the British presents 
 to unpack, which had arrived from Pekin ; the day after was 
 taken up with our presentation to the emperor, and the day 
 after that I had a new scheme in my head. The emperor, with 
 much solemnity, presented with his own hand to our ambassador 
 a casket, which he said was the most valuable present he could 
 make to the king of England : it contained the miniature 
 pictures of the emperor’s ancestors, with a few lines of poetry 
 annexed to each, describing the character and recording the 
 principal events of each monarch’s reign. It occurred to me 
 that a set of similar portraits and poetical histories of the kings 
 of England would be a proper and agreeable offering to the 
 emperor of China : I consulted my friend the French mandarin, 
 and he encouraged me by assurances that, as far as he could 
 pretend to judge, it would be a present peculiarly suited to the 
 emperor’s taste ; and that in all probability I should be dis- 
 tinguished by some mark of his approbation, or some munificent 
 reward. My friend promised to have the miniatures varnished 
 for me in the Chinese taste ; and he undertook to present the 
 work to the emperor when it should be finished. As it was 
 supposed that the embassy would spend the whole winter in 
 Pekin, I thought that I should have time enough to complete 
 the whole series of British sovereigns. It was not necessary to 
 be very scrupulous as to the resemblance of my portraits, as the 
 emperor of China could not easily detect any errors of this 
 nature : fortunately, I had brought from London with me 
 striking likenesses of all the kings of England, with the principal 
 events of their reign, in one large sheet of paper which belonged 
 to a joining-map of one of my little cousins. In the confusion 
 of my packing up, I had put it into my trunk instead of a sheet 
 almanack, which lay on the same table. In the course of 
 my life many lucky accidents have happened to me, even in 
 consequence of my own carelessness ; yet that carelessness has 
 afterward prevented my reaping any permanent advantage from 
 my good fortune. 
 
 Upon this occasion I was, however, determined that no 
 
 45 6 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 laziness of mine should deprive me of an opportunity of making 
 my fortune : I set to work immediately, and astonished my 
 friend by the facility with which I made verses. It was my 
 custom to retire from the noisy apartments of our palace to a 
 sort of alcove, at the end of a long gallery, in one of the outer 
 courts, where our corps of artillery used to parade. After their 
 parade was over, the place was perfectly quiet and solitary for 
 the remainder of the day and night. I used to sit up late, 
 writing ; and one fine moonlight night, I went out of my alcove 
 to walk in the gallery, while I composed some lines on our great 
 queen Elizabeth. I could not finish the last couplet to my 
 fancy : I sat down upon an artificial rock, which was in the 
 middle of the court, leaned my head upon my hand, and as I 
 was searching for an appropriate rhyme to glory, fell fast asleep. 
 A noise like that of a most violent clap of thunder awakened 
 me ; I was thrown with my face flat upon the ground. 
 
 When I recovered my senses, the court was filled with 
 persons, some European, some Chinese, seemingly just risen 
 from their beds, with lanterns and torches in their hands ; all of 
 them with faces of consternation, asking one another what had 
 happened. The ground was covered with scattered fragments 
 of wooden pillars, mats, and bamboo cane-work ; I looked and 
 saw that one end of the gallery in which I had been walking, 
 and the alcove, were in ruins. There was a strong smell of 
 gunpowder. I now recollected that I had borrowed a powder- 
 horn from one of the soldiers in the morning ; and that I had 
 intended to load my pistols, but I delayed doing so. The horn, 
 full of gunpowder, lay upon the table in the alcove all day, and 
 the pistols, out of which I had shaken the old priming. When 
 I went out to walk in the gallery, I left the candle burning ; 
 and I suppose during my sleep a spark fell upon the loose 
 gunpowder, set fire to that in the horn, and blew up the alcove. 
 It was built of light wood and cane, and communicated only 
 with a cane-work gallery ; otherwise the mischief would have 
 been more serious. As it was, the explosion had alarmed 
 not only all the ambassador’s suite, who lodged in the palace, 
 but many of the Chinese in the neighbourhood, who could not 
 be made to comprehend how the accident had happened. 
 
 Reproaches from all our own people were poured upon me 
 without mercy ; and, in the midst of my contrition, I had not 
 for some time leisure to lament the loss of all my kings of 
 
 457 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 England : no vestige of them remained ; and all the labour that 
 I had bestowed upon their portraits and their poetical histories 
 was lost to the emperor of China and to myself. What was still 
 worse, I could not even utter a syllable of complaint, for nobody 
 would sympathise with me, all my companions were so much 
 provoked by my negligence, and so apprehensive of the bad 
 consequences which might ensue from this accident. The 
 Chinese, who had been alarmed, and who departed evidently 
 dissatisfied, would certainly mention what had happened to the 
 mandarins of the city, and they would report it to the emperor. 
 
 I resolved to apply for advice to my friend the Jesuit ; but he 
 increased instead of diminished our apprehensions ; he said that 
 the affair was much talked of and misrepresented at Jehol ; and 
 that the Chinese, naturally timid, and suspicious of strangers, 
 could not believe that no injury was intended to them, and that 
 the explosion was accidental. A child had been wounded by the 
 fall of some of the ruins of the alcove, which were thrown with 
 great violence into a neighbouring house : the butt end of one of 
 my pistols was found in the street, and had been carried to the 
 magistrate by the enraged populace, as evidence of our evil 
 designs. My Jesuit observed to me that there was no possibility 
 of reasoning with the prejudices of any nation ; and he confessed 
 he expected that this unlucky accident would have the most 
 serious consequences. He told me in confidence a circum- 
 stance that tended much to confirm this opinion : a few days 
 before, when the emperor went to examine the British presents 
 of artillery, and when the brass mortars were tried, though he 
 admired the ingenuity of these instruments of destruction, yet 
 he said that he deprecated the spirit of the people who employed 
 them, and could not reconcile their improvements in the arts of 
 war with the mild precepts of the religion which they professed. 
 
 My friend the mandarin promised he would do all in his 
 power to make the exact truth known to the emperor ; and to 
 prevent the evil impressions which the prejudices of the 
 populace, and perhaps the designing misrepresentations of the 
 city mandarins, might tend to create. I must suppose that the 
 good offices of my Jesuit were ineffectual, and that he either 
 received a positive order to interfere no more in our affairs, or 
 that he was afraid of being implicated in our disgrace if he 
 continued his intimacy with me, for this was the last visit I 
 ever received from him. 
 
 45 8 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 In a few days the embassy had orders to return to Pekin. The 
 ambassador’s palace was fitted up for his winter’s residence ; and, 
 after our arrival, he was arranging his establishment, when, by a 
 fresh mandate from the emperor, we were required to prepare 
 with all possible expedition for our departure from the Chinese 
 dominions. On Monday we received an order to leave Pekin 
 the ensuing Wednesday ; and all our remonstrances could 
 procure only a delay of two days. Various causes were assigned 
 for this peremptory order, and, among the rest, my unlucky 
 accident was mentioned. However improbable it might seem 
 that such a trifle could have had so great an effect, the idea was 
 credited by many of my companions ; and I saw that I was 
 looked upon with an evil eye. 
 
 I suffered extremely. I have often observed, that even 
 remorse for my past negligence has tended to increase the 
 original defect of my character. During our whole journey 
 from Pekin to Canton, my sorrow for the late accident was an 
 excuse to myself for neglecting to make either notes or observa- 
 tions. When we arrived at Canton, my time was taken up with 
 certain commissions for my friends at home, which I had delayed 
 to execute while at Pekin, from the idea that we should spend 
 the whole winter there. The trunks were on board before all 
 my commissions were ready, and I was obliged to pack up several 
 toys and other articles in a basket. As to my papers, they 
 still remained in the canvas bag into which I had stuffed them 
 at Jehol : but I was certain of having leisure, during our voyage 
 home, to arrange them, and to post my notes into Locke’s 
 commonplace-book. 
 
 At the beginning of the voyage, however, I suffered much 
 from sea-sickness : toward the middle of the time I grew better, 
 and indulged myself in the amusement of fishing while the 
 weather was fine ; when the weather was not inviting, in idle- 
 ness. Innumerable other petty causes of delay occurred : there 
 was so much eating and drinking, so much singing and laughing, 
 and such frequent card-playing in the cabin, that, though I 
 produced my canvas bag above a hundred times, I never could 
 
 459 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 accomplish sorting its contents : indeed, I seldom proceeded 
 farther than to untie the strings. 
 
 One day I had the state cabin fairly to myself, and had 
 really begun my work, when the steward came to let me know 
 that my Chinese basket was just washed overboard. In this 
 basket were all the presents and commissions which I had bought 
 at Canton for my friends at home. I ran to the cabin window, 
 and had the mortification to see all my beautiful scarlet calabash 
 boxes, the fan for my cousin Lucy, and the variety of toys 
 which I had bought for my little cousins, all floating on the sea 
 far out of my reach. I had been warned before that the basket 
 would be washed overboard, and had intended to put it into a 
 safe place ; but unluckily I delayed to do so. 
 
 I was so much vexed with this accident, that I could not go 
 on with my writing : if it had not been for this interruption, I 
 do believe I should that day have accomplished my long- 
 postponed task. I will not, indeed I cannot, record all the 
 minute causes which afterwards prevented my executing my 
 intentions. The papers were still in the same disorder, stuffed 
 into the canvas bag, when I arrived in England. I promised 
 myself that I would sort them the very day after I got home ; 
 but visits of congratulation from my friends upon my return 
 induced me to delay doing anything for the first week. The 
 succeeding week I had a multiplicity of engagements : all my 
 acquaintance, curious to hear a man converse who was fresh 
 from China, invited me to dinner and tea parties ; and I could 
 not possibly refuse these kind invitations, and shut myself up 
 in my room, like a hackney author, to write. My father often 
 urged me to begin my quarto ; for he knew that other gentlemen, 
 who went out with the embassy, designed to write the history 
 of the voyage ; and he, being a bookseller, and used to the ways 
 of authors, foresaw what would happen. A fortnight after we 
 came home, the following advertisement appeared in the papers : 
 ‘Now in the press, and speedily will be published, a Narrative 
 of the British Embassy to China, containing the various Cir- 
 cumstances of the Embassy ; with Accounts of the Customs and 
 Manners of the Chinese ; and a Description of the Country, 
 Towns, Cities, etc.’ 
 
 I never saw my poor father turn so pale or look so angry as 
 when he saw this advertisement : he handed it across the 
 breakfast table to me. 
 
 460 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 ‘ There, Basil,’ cried he, ‘ I told you what would happen, and 
 you would not believe me. But this is the way you have served 
 me all your life, and this is the way you will go on to the day 
 of your death, putting things off till to-morrow. This is the 
 way you have lost every opportunity of distinguishing yourself ; 
 every chance, and you have had many, of advancing yourself 
 in the world ! What signifies all I have done for you, or 
 all you can do for yourself? Your genius and education are 
 of no manner of use ! Why, there is that heavy dog, as you 
 used to call him at Eton, Johnson : look how he is getting on 
 in the world, by mere dint of application and sticking steadily 
 to his profession. He will beat you at everything, as he beat 
 you at Eton in writing verses.’ 
 
 ‘ Only in copying them, sir. My verses, everybody said, 
 were far better than his ; only, unluckily, I had not mine 
 finished and copied out in time.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, sir, and that is the very thing I complain of. I sup- 
 pose you will tell me that your voyage to China will be far 
 better than this which is advertised this morning.’ 
 
 ‘ To be sure it will, father ; for I have had opportunities, and 
 collected materials, which this man, whoever he is, cannot 
 possibly have obtained. I have had such assistance, such 
 information, from my friend the missionary— — ’ 
 
 ‘ But what signifies your missionary, your information, your 
 abilities, and your materials ? ’ cried my father, raising his 
 voice. ‘ Your book is not out, your book will never be finished ; 
 or it will be done too late, and nobody will read it ; and then 
 you may throw it into the fire. Here you have an opportunity 
 of establishing your fame, and making yourself a great author 
 at once ; and if you throw it away, Basil, I give you fair notice, 
 
 I never will pardon you.’ 
 
 I promised my father that I would set about my work to- 
 morrow ; and pacified him by repeating that this hasty publica- 
 tion, which had just been advertised, must be a catchpenny, and 
 that it would serve only to stimulate instead of satisfying the 
 public curiosity. My quarto, I said, would appear afterwards 
 with a much better grace, and would be sought for by every 
 person of science, taste, and literature. 
 
 Soothed by these assurances, my father recovered his good- 
 humour, and trusted to my promise that I would commence my 
 great work the ensuing day. I was fully in earnest. I went to 
 
 461 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 my canvas bag to prepare my materials. Alas ! I found them 
 in a terrible condition. The sea-water, somehow or other, had 
 got to them during the voyage ; and many of my most precious 
 documents were absolutely illegible. The notes, written in 
 pencil, were almost effaced, and when I had smoothed the 
 crumpled scraps, I could make nothing of them. It was with 
 the utmost difficulty I could read even those that were written 
 in ink ; they were so villainously scrawled and so terribly blotted. 
 When I had made out the words, I was often at a loss for the 
 sense ; because I had trusted so much to the excellence of my 
 memory, that my notes were never either sufficiently full or 
 accurate. Ideas which I had thought could never be effaced 
 from my mind were now totally forgotten, and I could not 
 comprehend my own mysterious elliptical hints and memor- 
 andums. I remember spending two hours in trying to make out 
 what the following words could mean : Hoy — alia — hoya ; — 
 hoya, hoya — hoy — waudihoya. 
 
 At last I recollected that they were merely the sounds of the 
 words used by the Chinese sailors in towing the junks, and I 
 was much provoked at having wasted my time in trying to 
 remember what was not worth recording. Another day I was 
 puzzled by the following memorandum; ‘W:C:3o. f. h. — 
 24 b. — 120 m — 1 — mandarin — C. tradition— 2000 — 200 before 
 J. C. — ’ which, after three-quarters of an hour’s study, I dis- 
 covered to mean that the wall of China is 30 feet high, 24 feet 
 broad, and 120 miles long ; and that a mandarin told me that, 
 according to Chinese tradition, this wall had been built above 
 2000 years, that is, 200 before the birth of our Saviour. 
 
 On another scrap of paper, at the very bottom of the bag, 
 I found the words, ‘ Wheazou — Chanchin — Cuaboocow — 
 Caungchumfoa — Callachottueng — Quanshanglin — Callachotre 
 shansu,’ etc. ; all which I found to be a list of towns and villages 
 through which we had passed, or palaces that we had seen ; 
 but how to distinguish these asunder I knew not, for all recol- 
 lection of them was obliterated from my mind, and no farther 
 notes respecting them were to be found. 
 
 After many days’ tiresome attempts, I was obliged to give up 
 all hopes of deciphering the most important of my notes, those 
 which I had made from the information of the French missionary. 
 Most of what I had trusted so securely to my memory was de- 
 fective in some slight circumstances, which rendered the whole 
 
 462 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 useless. My materials for my quarto shrank into a very small 
 compass. I flattered myself, however, that the elegance of my 
 composition, and the moral and political reflections with which 
 I intended to intersperse the work, would compensate for the 
 paucity of facts in my narrative. That I might devote my 
 whole attention to the business of writing, I determined to 
 leave London, where I met with so many temptations to idleness, 
 and set off to pay a visit to my uncle Lowe, who lived in the 
 country, in a retired part of England. He was a farmer, a 
 plain, sensible, affectionate man ; and as he had often invited 
 me to come and see him, I made no doubt that I should be an 
 agreeable guest. I had intended to have written a few lines 
 the week before I set out, to say that I was coming ; but I put 
 it off till at last I thought that it would be useless, because I 
 should get there as soon as my letter. 
 
 I had soon reason to regret that I had been so negligent ; 
 for my appearance at my uncle’s, instead of creating that 
 general joy which I had expected, threw the whole house into 
 confusion. It happened that there was company in the house, 
 and all the beds were occupied : while I was taking off my 
 boots, I had the mortification to hear my aunt Lowe say, in a 
 voice of mingled distress and reproach, ‘ Come ! is he ?■ — -My 
 goodness ! What shall we do for a bed ?— How could he 
 think of coming without writing a line beforehand ? My 
 goodness ! I wish he was a hundred miles off, I’m sure.’ 
 
 My uncle shook hands with me, and welcomed me to old 
 England again, and to his house ; which, he said, should 
 always be open to all his relations. I saw that he was not 
 pleased ; and, as he was a man who, according to the English 
 phrase, scorned to keep a thing long upon his mind , he let me 
 know, before he had finished his first glass of ale to my good 
 health, that he was inclinable to take it very unkind indeed 
 that, after all he had said about my writing a letter now and 
 then, just to say how I did, and how I was going on, I had 
 never put pen to paper to answer one of his letters since the 
 day I first promised to write, which was the day I went to Eton 
 school, till this present time of speaking. I had no good 
 apology to make for myself, but I attempted all manner of 
 excuses ; that I had put off writing from day to day, and from 
 year to year, till I was ashamed to write at all ; that it was not 
 from want of affection, etc. 
 
 463 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 My uncle took up his pipe and puffed away, while I spoke : 
 and when I had said all that I could devise, I sat silent ; for I 
 saw by the looks of all present that I had not mended the 
 matter. My aunt pursed up her mouth, and ‘ wondered, if she 
 must tell the plain truth, that so great a scholar as Mr. Basil 
 could not, when it must give him so little trouble to indite a 
 letter, write a few lines to an uncle who had begged it so often, 
 and who had ever been a good friend.’ 
 
 ‘ Say nothing of that,’ said my uncle : ‘ I scorn to have that 
 put into account. I loved the boy, and all I could do was done, 
 of course : that’s nothing to the purpose ; but the longest day I 
 have to live I’ll never trouble him with begging a letter from 
 him no more. For now I see he does not care a fig for me ; 
 and of course I do not care a fig for he. Lucy, hold up your 
 head, girl ; and don’t look as if you were going to be 
 hanged.’ 
 
 My cousin Lucy was the only person present who seemed to 
 have any compassion for me ; and, as I lifted up my eyes to 
 look at her when her father spoke, she appeared to me quite 
 beautiful. I had always thought her a pretty girl, but she never 
 struck me as anything very extraordinary till this moment. I 
 was very sorry that I had offended my uncle : I saw he was 
 seriously displeased, and that his pride, of which he had a large 
 portion, had conquered his affection for me. 
 
 ‘ ’Tis easier to lose a friend than gain one, young man,’ said 
 he ; ‘ and take my word for it, as this world goes, ’tis a foolish 
 thing to lose a friend for want of writing a letter or so. Here’s 
 seven years I have been begging a letter now and then, and 
 could not get one. Never wrote a line to me before you went 
 to China ; should not have known a word about it but for my 
 wife, who met you by mere chance in London, and gave you 
 some little commission for the children, which it seems you 
 forgot till it was too late. Then, after you came back, never 
 wrote to me.’ 
 
 ‘ And even not to write a line to give one notice of his 
 coming here to-night,’ added my aunt. 
 
 ‘ Oh, as to that,’ replied my uncle, ‘ he can never find our 
 larder at a nonplus ; we have no dishes for him dressed 
 Chinese fashion ; but as to roast beef of old England, which, 
 I take it, is worth all the foreign meats in the world, he is 
 welcome to it, and to as much of it as he pleases. I shall 
 
 464 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 always be glad to see him as a relation and so forth, as a good 
 Christian ought, but not as the favourite he used to be — that 
 is out of the question ; for things cannot be both done and 
 undone, and time that’s past cannot come back again, that is 
 clear ; and cold water thrown on a warm heart puts it out ; 
 and there’s an end of the matter. Lucy, bring me my night- 
 cap.’ 
 
 Lucy, I think, sighed once ; and I am sure I sighed above 
 a dozen times ; but my uncle put on his red nightcap, and 
 heeded us not. I was in hopes that the next morning he 
 would have been better disposed towards me after having slept 
 off his anger. The moment that I appeared in the morning, 
 the children, who had been in bed when I arrived the preced- 
 ing night, crowded round me ; and one cried, ‘ Cousin Basil, 
 have you brought me the tumbler you promised me from 
 China ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Cousin Basil, where’s my boat ? ’ 
 
 ‘ O Basil, did you bring me the calabash box that you 
 promised me ? ’ 
 
 1 And pray,’ cried my aunt, ‘ did you bring my Lucy the 
 fan that she commissioned you to get ? ’ 
 
 ‘No, I’ll warrant,’ said my uncle. ‘He that cannot bring 
 himself to write a letter in the course of seven years to his 
 friends, will not be apt to trouble his head about their foolish 
 commissions, when he is in foreign parts.’ 
 
 Though 1 was abashed and vexed, I summoned sufficient 
 courage to reply that I had not neglected to execute the com- 
 missions of any of my friends ; but that, by an unlucky 
 accident, the basket into which I had packed all their things 
 was washed overboard. 
 
 ‘ Hum ! ’ said my uncle. 
 
 ‘ And pray,’ said my aunt, ‘ why were they all packed in a 
 basket ? Why were not they put into your trunks, where they 
 might have been safe ? ’ 
 
 I was obliged to confess that I had delayed to purchase them 
 till after we left Pekin ; and that the trunks were put on board 
 before they were all procured at Canton. My vile habit of pro- 
 crastination ! How did I suffer for it at this moment ! Lucy 
 began to make excuses for me, which made me blame myself 
 the more : she said that, as to her fan, it would have been of 
 little or no use to her ; that she was sure she should have 
 2 H 465 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 broken it before it had been a week in her possession ; and 
 that, therefore, she was glad that she had it not. The 
 children were clamorous in their grief for the loss of the boat, 
 the tumbler, and the calabash boxes ; but Lucy contrived to 
 quiet them in time, and to make my peace with all the younger 
 part of the family. To reinstate me in my uncle’s good 
 graces was impossible ; he would only repeat to her — ‘ The 
 young man has lost my good opinion ; he will never do any 
 good. F rom a child upward he has always put off doing every- 
 thing he ought to do. He will never do any good ; he will 
 never be anything.’ 
 
 My aunt was not my friend, because she suspected that 
 Lucy liked me ; and she thought her daughter might do much 
 better than marry a man who had quitted the profession to 
 which he was bred, and was, as it seemed, little likely to settle 
 to any other. My pretensions to genius and my literary 
 qualifications were of no advantage to me, either with my 
 uncle or my aunt ; the one being only a good farmer, and the 
 other only a good housewife. They contented themselves with 
 asking me, coolly, what I had ever made by being an author. 
 And when I was forced to answer nothing, they smiled upon 
 me in scorn. My pride was roused, and I boasted that I 
 expected to receive at least ^600 for my Voyage to China, 
 which I hoped to complete in a few weeks. My aunt looked 
 at me with astonishment ; and, to prove to her that I was not 
 passing the bounds of truth, I added, that one of my travelling 
 companions had, as I was credibly informed, received ^1000 
 for his narrative, to which mine would certainly be far superior. 
 
 ‘ When it is done, and when you have the money in your 
 hand to show us, I shall believe you,’ said my aunt ; ‘ and 
 then, and not till then, you may begin to think of my Lucy.’ 
 
 ‘He shall never have her,’ said my uncle ; ‘he will never 
 come to good. He shall never have her.’ 
 
 The time which I ought to have spent in composing my 
 quarto I now wasted in fruitless endeavours to recover the good 
 graces of my uncle. Love, assisted as usual by the spirit of 
 opposition, took possession of my heart ; and how can a man in 
 love write quartos ? I became more indolent than ever, for 
 I persuaded myself that no exertions could overcome my 
 uncle’s prejudice against me ; and, without his approbation, I 
 despaired of ever obtaining Lucy’s hand. 
 
 466 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 During my stay at my uncle’s I received several letters from 
 my father, inquiring how my work went on, and urging me to 
 proceed as rapidly as possible, lest another Voyage to Chma, 
 which it was reported a gentleman of high reputation was now 
 composing, should come out, and preclude mine for ever. I 
 cannot account for my folly : the power of habit is impercep- 
 tible to those who submit passively to its tyranny. From day to 
 day I continued procrastinating and sighing, till at last the fatal 
 news came that Sir George Staunton’s History of the Embassy 
 to China , in two volumes quarto, was actually published. 
 
 There was an end of all my hopes. I left my uncle’s house 
 in despair; I dreaded to see my father. He overwhelmed me 
 with well-merited reproaches. All his expectations of my suc- 
 cess in life were disappointed ; he was now convinced that I 
 should never make my talents useful to myself or to my family. 
 A settled melancholy appeared in his countenance ; he soon 
 ceased to urge me to any exertion, and I idled away my time, 
 deploring that I could not marry my Lucy, and resolving upon 
 a thousand schemes for advancing myself, but always delaying 
 their execution till to-morrow. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Two years passed away in this manner, about the end of which 
 time my poor father died. I cannot describe the mixed sensa- 
 tions of grief and self reproach which I felt at his death. I 
 knew that I had never fulfilled his sanguine prophecies, and 
 that disappointment had long preyed upon his spirits. This 
 was a severe shock to me : I was roused from a state of 
 stupefaction by the necessity of acting as my father’s executor. 
 
 Among his bequests was one which touched me particularly, 
 because I was sensible that it was made from kindness to me. 
 ‘ I give and bequeath the full-length picture of my son Basil, 
 taken when a boy (a very promising boy) at Eton School, to 
 my brother Lowe- — I should say to my sweet niece Lucy Lowe, 
 but am afraid of giving offence.’ 
 
 I sent the picture to my uncle Lowe, with a copy of the 
 words of the will, and a letter written in the bitterness of grief. 
 
 467 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 My uncle, who was of an affectionate though positive temper, 
 returned me the following answer : 
 
 ‘Dear Nephew Basil — -Taking it for granted you feel 
 as much as I do, it being natural you should, and even more, I 
 shall not refuse to let my Lucy have the picture bequeathed to 
 me by my good brother, who could not offend me dying, never 
 having done so living. As to you, Basil, this is no time for 
 reproaches, which would be cruel ; but, without meaning to 
 look back to the past, I must add that I mean nothing by 
 giving the picture to Lucy but respect for my poor brother’s 
 memory. My opinions remaining as heretofore, I think it a 
 duty to my girl to be steady in my determination ; convinced 
 that no man (not meaning you in particular) of what I call a 
 putti?ig-off temper could make her happy, she being too mild 
 to scold and bustle, and do the man’s business in a family. 
 This is the whole of my mind without malice ; for how could I, 
 if I were malicious, which I am not, bear malice, and at such 
 a time as this, against my own nephew ? and as to anger, that 
 is soon over with me ; and though I said I never would forgive 
 you, Basil, for not writing to me for seven years, I do now 
 forgive you with all my heart. So let that be off your con- 
 science. And now I hope we shall be very good friends all 
 the rest of our lives ; that is to say, putting Lucy out of the 
 question ; for, in my opinion, it is a disagreeable thing to have 
 any bickerings between near relations. So, my dear nephew, 
 wishing you all health and happiness, I hope you will now settle 
 to business. My wife tells me she hears you are left in a good 
 way by my poor brother’s care and industry ; and she sends 
 her love to you, in which all the family unite ; and hoping you 
 will write from time to time, I remain, my dear nephew 
 Basil, your affectionate uncle, THOMAS Lowe.’ 
 
 My aunt Lowe added a postscript, inquiring more particu- 
 larly into the state of my affairs. I answered, by return of post, 
 that my good father had left me much richer than I either 
 expected or deserved : his credit in the booksellers’ line was 
 extensive and well established ; his shop was well furnished, 
 and he had a considerable sum of money in bank ; beside 
 many good debts due from authors, to whom he had advanced 
 cash. 
 
 468 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 My aunt Lowe was governed by her interest, as decidedly 
 as my uncle was swayed by his humour and affection ; and, of 
 course, became more favourable toward me, when she found 
 that my fortune was better than she had expected. She wrote 
 to exhort me to attend to my business, and to prove to my 
 uncle that I could cure myself of my negligent habits. She 
 promised to befriend me, and to do everything to obtain my 
 uncle’s consent to my union with Lucy, upon condition that I 
 would for six months steadily persevere, or, as she expressed 
 herself, show that I could come to good. 
 
 The motive was powerful, sufficiently powerful to conquer 
 the force of inveterate habit. I applied resolutely to business, 
 and supported the credit which my father’s punctuality had 
 obtained from his customers. During the course of six entire 
 months, I am not conscious of having neglected or delayed to 
 do anything of consequence that I ought to have done except 
 whetting my razor. My aunt Lowe faithfully kept her word 
 with me, and took every opportunity of representing, in the 
 most favourable manner, to my uncle, the reformation that love 
 had wrought in my character. 
 
 I went to the country, full of hope, at the end of my six 
 probationary months. My uncle, however, with a mixture of 
 obstinacy and good sense, replied to my aunt in my presence : 
 ‘This reformation that you talk of, wife, won’t last. ’Twas 
 begun by love, as you say ; and will end with love, as / say. 
 You and I know, my dear, love lasts little longer than the 
 honeymoon ; and Lucy is not, or ought not to be, such a simple- 
 ton as to look only to what a husband will be for one short month 
 of his life, when she is to live with him for twenty, thirty, may- 
 be forty long years ; and no help for it, let him turn out what 
 he will. I beg your pardon, nephew Basil ; but where my 
 Lucy’s happiness is at stake, I must speak my mind as a 
 father should. My opinion, Lucy, is, that he is not a whit 
 changed ; and so I now let you understand, if you marry the 
 man, it must be without my consent.’ 
 
 Lucy turned exceedingly pale, and I grew extremely angry. 
 My uncle had, as usual, recourse to his pipe ; and to all the 
 eloquence which love and indignation could inspire, he would 
 only answer, between the whiffs of his smoking, ‘ If my girl 
 marries you, nephew Basil, I say she must do so without my 
 consent.’ 
 
 469 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Lucy’s affection for me struggled for some time with her 
 sense of duty to her father ; her mother supported my cause 
 with much warmth ; having once declared in my favour, she 
 considered herself as bound to maintain her side of the question. 
 It became a trial of power between my uncle and aunt ; and 
 their passions rose so high in the conflict, that Lucy trembled 
 for the consequences. 
 
 One day she took an opportunity of speaking to me in 
 private. ‘My dear Basil,’ said she, ‘we must part. You see 
 that I can never be yours with my father’s consent ; and with- 
 out it I could never be happy, even in being united to you. I 
 will not be the cause of misery to all those whom I love best 
 in the world. I will not set my father and mother at variance. 
 
 I cannot bear to hear the altercations, which rise higher and 
 higher between them every day. Let us part, and all will be 
 right again.’ 
 
 It was in vain that I combated her resolution : I alternately 
 resented and deplored the weakness which induced Lucy to 
 sacrifice her own happiness and mine to the obstinate prejudices 
 of a father ; yet I could not avoid respecting her thermore for 
 her adhering to what she believed to be her duty. The sweet- 
 ness of temper, gentleness of disposition, and filial piety, which 
 she showed on this trying occasion, endeared her to me beyond 
 expression. 
 
 Her father, notwithstanding his determination to be as im- 
 movable as a rock, began to manifest symptoms of internal 
 agitation ; and one night, after breaking his pipe, and throwing 
 down the tongs and poker twice, which Lucy twice replaced, 
 he exclaimed, ‘ Lucy, girl, you are a fool ! and, what is worse, 
 you are grown into a mere shadow. You are breaking my 
 heart. Why, I know this man, this Basil, this cursed nephew 
 of mine, will never come to good. But cannot you marry him 
 without my consent ? ’ 
 
 Upon this hint, Lucy’s scruples vanished ; and, a few days 
 afterward, we were married. Prudence, virtue, pride, love, 
 every strong motive which can act upon the human mind, 
 stimulated me to exert myself to prove that I was worthy of 
 this most amiable woman. A year passed away, and my Lucy 
 said that she had no reason to repent of her choice. She took 
 the most affectionate pains to convince her father that she was 
 perfectly happy, and that he had judged of me too harshly. 
 
 470 
 
‘ “ Cannot you marry him without my consent ?” ’ 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 His delight at seeing his daughter happy vanquished his reluc- 
 tance to acknowledge that he had changed his opinion. I 
 never shall forget the pleasure I felt at hearing him confess 
 that he had been too positive, and that his Lucy had made a 
 good match for herself. 
 
 Alas ! when I had obtained this testimony in my favour, 
 when I had established a character for exertion and punctuality, 
 
 I began to relax in my efforts to deserve it : I indulged myself 
 in my old habits of procrastination. My customers and 
 country correspondents began to complain that their letters 
 were unanswered, and that their orders were neglected. Their 
 remonstrances became more and more urgent in process of 
 time, and nothing but actually seeing the dates of their letters 
 could convince me that they were in the right, and that I was 
 in the wrong. An old friend of my father’s, a rich gentleman, 
 who loved books, and bought all that were worth buying, sent 
 me, in March, an order for books to a considerable amount. 
 In April he wrote to remind me of his first letter. 
 
 April 3. 
 
 ‘ My dear Sir — Last month I wrote to request that you 
 would send me the following books: — 1 have been much 
 disappointed by not receiving them ; and I request you will be 
 so good as to forward them immediately. — I am, my dear sir, 
 yours sincerely, J. C.’ 
 
 In May he wrote me again : 
 
 1 Dear Sir — I am much surprised at not having yet 
 received the books I wrote for last March — beg to know the 
 cause of this delay ; and am, dear sir, yours, etc. J. C.’ 
 
 A fortnight afterward, as I was packing up the books for 
 this gentleman, I received the following : 
 
 ‘ Sir — A s it is now above a quarter of a year since I 
 wrote to you for books, which you have not yet sent to me, I 
 have been obliged to apply to another bookseller. 
 
 ‘ I am much concerned at being compelled to this : I had a 
 great regard for your father, and would not willingly break off 
 my connection with his son ; but really you have tried my 
 patience too far. Last year I never had from you any one 
 new publication, until it was in the hands of all my neighbours ; 
 
 47 2 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 and I have often been under the necessity of borrowing books 
 which I had bespoken from you months before. I hope you 
 will take this as a warning, and that you will not use any of 
 your other friends as you have used, sir, your humble servant, 
 
 ‘J. C.’ 
 
 This reprimand had little effect upon me, because, at the 
 time when I received it, I was intent upon an object, in 
 comparison with which the trade of a bookseller appeared 
 absolutely below my consideration. I was inventing a set of 
 new taxes for the minister, for which I expected to be liberally 
 rewarded. I was ever searching for some short cut to the 
 temple of Fame, instead of following the beaten road. 
 
 I was much encouraged by persons intimately connected with 
 those high in power to hope that my new taxes would be 
 adopted ; and I spent my time in attendance upon my patrons, 
 leaving the care of my business to my foreman, a young man 
 whose head the whole week was intent upon riding out on 
 Sunday. With such a master and such a foreman affairs could 
 not go on well. 
 
 My Lucy, notwithstanding her great respect for my abilities, 
 and her confidence in my promises, often hinted that she 
 feared ministers might not at last make me amends for the 
 time I devoted to my system of taxation ; but I persisted. 
 The file of unanswered letters was filled even to the top of the 
 wire ; the drawer of unsettled accounts made me sigh pro- 
 foundly, whenever it was accidentally opened. I soon acquired 
 a horror of business, and practised all the arts of apology, 
 evasion, and invisibility, to which procrastinators must sooner 
 or later be reduced. My conscience gradually became callous ; 
 and I could, without compunction, promise, with a face of 
 truth, to settle an account to-morrow, without having the 
 slightest hope of keeping my word. 
 
 I was a publisher as well as a bookseller, and was assailed 
 by a tribe of rich and poor authors. The rich complained con- 
 tinually of delays that affected their fame ; the poor of delays 
 that concerned their interest, and sometimes their very existence. 
 I was cursed with a compassionate as well as with a procras- 
 tinating temper ; and I frequently advanced money to my poor 
 authors, to compensate for my neglect to settle their accounts, 
 and to free myself from the torment of their reproaches. 
 
 473 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 They soon learned to take a double advantage of my virtues 
 and my vices. The list of my poor authors increased, for I 
 was an encourager of genius. I trusted to my own judgment 
 concerning every performance that was offered to me ; and I 
 was often obliged to pay for having neglected to read, or to 
 send to press, these multifarious manuscripts. After having 
 kept a poor devil of an author upon the tenterhooks of expecta- 
 tion for an unconscionable time, I could not say to him, ‘ Sir, 
 
 I have never opened your manuscript ; there it is, in that heap 
 of rubbish : take it away, for Heaven’s sake.’ No, hardened 
 as I was, I never failed to make some compliment, or some 
 retribution ; and my compliments were often in the end the 
 most expensive species of retribution. 
 
 My rich authors soon deserted me, and hurt my credit in 
 the circles of literary fashion by their clamours. I had ample 
 experience, yet I have never been able to decide whether I 
 would rather meet the £ desperate misery ’ of a famishing 
 pamphleteer, or the exasperated vanity of a rich amateur. 
 Every one of my authors seemed convinced that the fate of 
 Europe or the salvation of the world depended upon the 
 publication of their book on some particular day ; while I all the 
 time was equally persuaded that their works were mere trash, 
 in comparison with my new system of taxation ; consequently I 
 postponed their business, and pursued my favourite tax scheme. 
 
 I have the pride and pleasure to say that all my taxes were 
 approved and adopted, and brought in an immense increase of 
 revenue to the state ; but I have the mortification to be obliged 
 to add, that I never, directly or indirectly, received the 
 slightest pecuniary reward ; and the credit of all I had proposed 
 was snatched from me by a rogue, who had no other merit than 
 that of being shaved sooner than I was one frosty morning. 
 If I had not put off whetting my razor the preceding day, this 
 would not have happened. To such a trifling instance of my 
 unfortunate habit of procrastination must I attribute one of the 
 most severe disappointments of my life. A rival financier, 
 who laid claim to the prior invention and suggestion of my 
 principal taxes, was appointed to meet me at the house of my 
 great man at ten o’clock in the morning. My opponent was 
 punctual ; I was half an hour too late : his claims were estab- 
 lished ; mine were rejected, because I was not present to 
 produce my proofs. When I arrived at my patron’s, the 
 
 474 
 
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 insolent porter shut the door in my face ; and so ended all 
 hopes from my grand system of taxation. 
 
 I went home and shut myself up in my room, to give vent 
 to my grief at leisure ; but I was not permitted no indulge my 
 sorrow long in peace. I was summoned by my foreman to 
 come down stairs to one of my enraged authors, who positively 
 refused to quit the shop without seeing me. Of the whole 
 irritable race, the man who was now waiting to see me was the 
 most violent. He was a man of some genius and learning, 
 with great pretensions and a vindictive spirit. He was poor, 
 yet lived among the rich ; and his arrogance could be equalled 
 only by his susceptibility. He was known in our house by the 
 name of Thaumaturgos , the retailer of wonders, because he 
 had sent me a manuscript with this title ; and once or twice a 
 week we received a letter or message from him, to inquire 
 when it would be published. I had unfortunately mislaid this 
 precious manuscript. Under this circumstance, to meet the 
 author was almost as dreadful as to stand the shot of a pistol. 
 Down stairs I went, unprovided with any apology. 
 
 ‘ Sir,’ cried my angry man, suppressing his passion, 4 as you 
 do not find it worth your while to publish Thaumaturgos, you 
 will be so obliging as to let me have my manuscript.’ 
 
 4 Pardon me, my dear sir,’ interrupted I ; 4 it shall certainly 
 appear this spring.’ 
 
 4 Spring ! Zounds, sir, don’t talk to me of spring. Why, 
 you told me it should be out at Christmas ; you said it should 
 be out last June; you promised to send it to press before last 
 Easter. Is this the way I am to be treated ? ’ 
 
 4 Pardon me, my dear sir. I confess I have used you and the 
 world very ill; but the pressure of business must plead my apology.’ 
 
 4 Look you, Mr. Basil Lowe, I am not come here to listen 
 to commonplace excuses. I have been ill used, and know it ; 
 and the world shall know it. I am not ignorant of the designs 
 of my enemies ; but no cabal shall succeed against me. 
 Thaumaturgos shall not be suppressed ! Thaumaturgos shall 
 see the light ! Thaumaturgos shall have justice, in spite of all 
 the machinations of malice. Sir, I demand my manuscript.’ 
 
 4 Sir, it shall be sent to you to-morrow.’ 
 
 ‘To-morrow, sir, will not do for me. I have heard of to- 
 morrow from you this twelvemonth past. I will have my manu- 
 script to-day. I do not leave this spot without Thawnaturgosl 
 
 475 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Thus driven to extremities, I was compelled to confess that 
 I could not immediately lay my hand upon it ; but I added 
 that the whole house should be searched for it instantly. It 
 is impossible to describe the indignation which my author 
 expressed. I ran away to search the house. He followed me, 
 and stood by while I rummaged in drawers and boxes full of 
 papers, and tossed over heaps of manuscripts. No Thauma- 
 turgos could be found. The author declared that he had no 
 copy of the manuscript ; that he had been offered ^500 for it 
 by another bookseller ; and that, for his own part, he would not 
 lose it for twice that sum. Lost, however, it evidently was. 
 He stalked out of my house, bidding me prepare to abide by 
 the consequences. I racked my memory in vain, to discover 
 what I had done with this bundle of wonders. I could 
 recollect only that I carried it a week in my greatcoat pocket, 
 resolving every day to lock it up ; and that I went to the 
 Mount Coffee-house in this coat several times. These recollec- 
 tions were of little use. 
 
 A suit was instituted against me for the value of Thauma- 
 turgos j and the damages were modestly laid by the author at 
 eight hundred guineas. The cause was highly interesting to 
 all the tribe of London booksellers and authors. The court 
 was crowded at an early hour ; several people of fashion, who 
 were partisans of the plaintiff, appeared in the gallery ; many 
 more, who were his enemies, attended on purpose to hear my 
 counsel ridicule and abuse the pompous Thaumaturgos. I 
 had great hopes, myself, that we might win the day, especially 
 as the lawyer on the opposite side was my old competitor at 
 Eton, that Johnson, whom I had always considered as a mere 
 laborious drudge, and a very heavy fellow. How this heavy 
 fellow got up in the world, and how he contrived to supply, by 
 dint of study, the want of natural talents, I cannot tell ; but 
 this I know, to my cost, that he managed his client’s cause so 
 ably, and made a speech so full of sound law and clear sense, 
 as effectually to decide the cause against me. I was con- 
 demned to pay ^500 damages, and costs of suit. Five hundred 
 pounds lost, by delaying to lock up a bundle of papers ! Every- 
 body pitied me, because the punishment seemed so dispropor- 
 tioned to the offence. The pity of everybody, however, did 
 not console me for the loss of my money. 
 
 476 
 

 ‘ He followed me, and stood by while / rummaged in drawers and boxes 
 full of papers' 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 The trial was published in the papers : my uncle Lowe read 
 it, and all my credit with him was lost for ever. Lucy did not 
 utter a syllable of reproach or complaint ; but she used all her 
 gentle influence to prevail upon me to lay aside the various 
 schemes which I had formed for making a rapid fortune, and 
 urged me to devote my whole attention to my business. 
 
 The loss which I had sustained, though great, was not irre- 
 mediable. I was moved more by my wife’s kindness than I 
 could have been by the most outrageous invective. But what 
 is kindness, what is affection, what are the best resolutions, 
 opposed to all-powerful habit ? I put off settling my affairs 
 till I had finished a pamphlet against government, which my 
 friends and the critics assured me would make my fortune, by 
 attaching to my shop all the opposition members. 
 
 My pamphlet succeeded, was highly praised, and loudly 
 abused : answers appeared, and I was called upon to provide 
 rejoinders. Time thus passed away, and while I was gaining 
 fame, I every hour lost money. I was threatened with bank- 
 ruptcy. I threw aside my pamphlets, and in the utmost terror 
 and confusion, began, too late, to look into my affairs. I now 
 attempted too much : I expected to repair by bustle the effects 
 of procrastination. The nervous anxiety of my mind prevented 
 me from doing anything well ; whatever I was employed about 
 appeared to me of less consequence than a hundred other 
 things which ought to be done. The letter that I was writing, 
 or the account that I was settling, was but one of a multitude, 
 which had all equal claims to be expedited immediately. My 
 courage failed ; I abandoned my business in despair. A 
 commission of bankruptcy was taken out against me ; all my 
 goods were seized, and I became a prisoner in the King’s 
 Bench. 
 
 My wife’s relations refused to give me any assistance ; but 
 her father offered to receive her and her little boy, on condition 
 that she would part from me, and spend the remainder of her 
 days with them. This she positively refused ; and I never 
 shall forget the manner of her refusal. Her character rose in 
 
 478 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 adversity. With the utmost feminine gentleness and delicacy, 
 she had a degree of courage and fortitude which I have seldom 
 seen equalled in any of my own sex. She followed me to prison, 
 and supported my spirits by a thousand daily instances of kind- 
 ness. During eighteen months that she passed with me in a 
 prison, which we then thought must be my abode for life, she 
 never, by word or look, reminded me that I was the cause of 
 our misfortunes : on the contrary, she drove this idea from my 
 thoughts with all the address of female affection. I cannot, 
 even at this distance of time, recall these things to memory 
 without tears. 
 
 What a woman, what a wife, had I reduced to distress ! I 
 never saw her, even in the first months of our marriage, so 
 cheerful and so tender as at this period. She seemed to have 
 no existence but in me and in our little boy, of whom she was 
 dotingly fond. He was at this time just able to run about and 
 talk ; his playful caresses, his thoughtless gaiety, and at times 
 a certain tone of compassion for poor ftapa, were very touching. 
 Alas ! he little foresaw . . . But let me go on with my 
 history, if I can, without anticipation. 
 
 Among my creditors was a Mr. Nun, a paper-maker, who, 
 from his frequent dealings with me, had occasion to see some- 
 thing of my character and of my wife’s ; he admired her, and 
 pitied me. He was in easy circumstances, and delighted in 
 doing all the good in his power. One morning my Lucy came 
 into my room with a face radiant with joy. 
 
 ‘ My love,’ said she, ‘here is Mr. Nun below, waiting to see 
 you ; but he says he will not see you till I have told you the 
 good news. He has got all our creditors to enter into a com- 
 promise, and to set you at liberty.’ 
 
 I was transported with joy and gratitude ; our benevolent 
 friend was waiting in a hackney-coach to carry us away from 
 prison. When I began to thank him, he stopped me with a 
 blunt declaration that I was not a bit obliged to him ; for that, 
 if I had been a man of straw, he would have done just the same 
 for the sake of my wife, whom he looked upon to be one or other 
 the best woman he had ever seen, Mrs. Nun always excepted. 
 
 He proceeded to inform me how he had settled my affairs, and 
 how he had obtained from my creditors a small allowance for 
 the immediate support of myself and family. He had given 
 up the third part of a considerable sum due to himself. As 
 
 479 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 my own house was shut up, he insisted upon taking us home 
 with him : ‘ Mrs. Nun,’ he said, ‘had provided a good dinner ; 
 and he must not have her ducks and green peas upon the 
 table, and no friends to eat them.’ 
 
 Never were ducks and green peas more acceptable ; never 
 was a dinner eaten with more appetite, or given with more 
 goodwill. I have often thought of this dinner, and compared 
 the hospitality of this simple-hearted man with the ostentation 
 of great folks, who give splendid entertainments to those who 
 do not want them. In trifles and in matters of consequence 
 this Mr. Nun was one of the most liberal and unaffectedly 
 generous men I ever knew ; but the generous actions of men 
 in middle life are lost in obscurity. No matter: they do not 
 act from a love of fame ; they act from a better motive, and 
 they have their reward in their own hearts. 
 
 As I was passing through Mr. Nun’s warehouse, I was 
 thinking of writing something on this subject ; but whether it 
 should be a poetic effusion, in the form of ‘ An Ode to him who 
 least expects it,’ or a prose work, under the title of ‘ Modern 
 Parallels,’ in the manner of Plutarch, I had not decided, when 
 I was roused from my reverie by my wife, who, pointing to a 
 large bale of paper that was directed to ‘ Ezekiel Croft, merchant, 
 Philadelphia,’ asked me if I knew that this gentleman was a 
 very near relation of her mother. ‘ Is he, indeed ? ’ said Mr. 
 Nun. ‘Then I can assure you that you have a relation of 
 whom you have no occasion to be ashamed : he is one of the 
 most respectable merchants in Philadelphia.’ 
 
 ‘ He was not very rich when he left this country about six 
 years ago,’ said Lucy. 
 
 ‘ He has a very good fortune now,’ answered Mr. Nun. 
 
 ‘ And has he made this very good fortune in six years ? ’ 
 cried I. ‘ My dear Lucy, I did not know that you had any 
 relations in America. I have a great mind to go over there 
 myself.’ 
 
 ‘ Away from all our friends ! ’ said Lucy. 
 
 ‘ I shall be ashamed,’ replied I, ‘ to see them after all that 
 has happened. A bankrupt cannot have many friends. The 
 best thing that I can possibly do is to go over to a new world, 
 where I may establish a new character, and make a new 
 fortune.’ 
 
 ‘ But we must not forget,’ said Mr. Nun, ‘ that in the new 
 480 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 world, as in the old one, a character and a fortune must be 
 made by much the same means ; and forgive me if I add, the 
 same bad habits that are against a man in one country will be 
 as much against him in another.’ 
 
 True, thought I, as I recollected at this instant my un- 
 fortunate voyage to China. But now that the idea of going to 
 America had come into my mind, I saw so many chances of 
 success in my favour, and I felt so much convinced I should 
 not relapse into my former faults, that I could not abandon the 
 scheme. My Lucy consented to accompany me. She spent 
 a week in the country with her father and friends, by my 
 particular desire ; and they did all they could to prevail upon 
 her to stay with them, promising to take the best possible care 
 of her and her little boy during my absence ; but she steadily 
 persisted in her determination to accompany her husband. I 
 was not too late in going on ship-board this time ; and, during 
 the whole voyage, I did not lose any of my goods ; for, in the 
 first place, I had very few goods to lose, and, in the next, my 
 wife took the entire charge of those few. 
 
 And now behold me safely landed at Philadelphia, with one 
 hundred pounds in my pocket — a small sum of money ; but 
 many, from yet more trifling beginnings, had grown rich in 
 America. My wife’s relation, Mr. Croft, had not so much, as 
 I was told, when he left England. Many passengers, who came 
 over in the same ship with me, had not half so much. Several 
 of them were, indeed, wretchedly poor. 
 
 Among others, there was an Irishman who was known by 
 the name of Barny, a contraction, I believe, for Barnaby. As 
 to his surname, he could not undertake to spell it ; but he 
 assured me there was no better. This man, with many of his 
 relatives, had come to England, according to their custom, 
 during harvest-time, to assist in reaping, because they gain 
 higher wages than in their own country. Barny heard that he 
 should get still higher wages for labour in America, and 
 accordingly he and his two sons, lads of eighteen and twenty, 
 took their passage for Philadelphia. A merrier mortal I never 
 saw. We used to hear him upon deck, continually singing or 
 whistling his Irish tunes ; and I should never have guessed that 
 this man’s life had been a series of hardships and misfortunes. 
 
 When we were leaving the ship, I saw him, to my great 
 surprise, crying bitterly ; and upon inquiring what was the 
 2 1 481 
 
TOrULAR TALES 
 
 matter, he answered that it was not for himself, but for his sons, 
 he was grieving, because they were to be made redemption-men, 
 that is, they were to be bound to work, during a certain time, 
 for the captain, or for whomever he pleased, till the money 
 due for their passage should be paid. Though I was somewhat 
 surprised at any one’s thinking of coming on board a vessel 
 without having one farthing in his pocket, yet I could not for- 
 bear paying the money for this poor fellow. He dropped down 
 on the deck upon both his knees as suddenly as if he had been 
 shot, and, holding up his hands to heaven, prayed, first in Irish, 
 and then in English, with fervent fluency, that ‘ I and mine 
 might never want ; that I might live long to reign over him ; 
 that success might attend my honour wherever I went ; and 
 that I might enjoy for evermore all sorts of blessings and 
 crowns of glory.’ As I had an English prejudice in favour of 
 silent gratitude, I was rather disgusted by all this eloquence ; 
 I turned away abruptly, and got into the boat which waited to 
 carry me to shore. 
 
 As we rowed away I looked at my wife and child, and re- 
 proached myself with having indulged in the luxury of gener- 
 osity, perhaps at their expense. 
 
 My wife’s relation, Mr. Croft, received us better than she 
 expected, and worse than I hoped. He had the face of an 
 acute money-making man ; his manners were methodical ; 
 caution was in his eye, and prudence in all his motions. In 
 our first half-hour’s conversation he convinced me that he 
 deserved the character he had obtained, of being upright and 
 exact in all his dealings. His ideas were just and clear, but 
 confined to the objects immediately relating to his business ; 
 as to his heart, he seemed to have no notion of general 
 philanthropy, but to have perfectly learned by rote his duty to 
 his neighbour. He appeared disposed to do charitable and 
 good-natured actions from reason, and not from feeling ; because 
 they were proper, not merely because they were agreeable. 
 I felt that I should respect, but never love him ; and that he 
 would never either love or respect me, because the virtue which 
 he held in the highest veneration was that in which I was 
 most deficient — punctuality. 
 
 But I will give, as nearly as I can, my first conversation 
 with him ; and from that a better idea of his character may 
 be formed than I can afford by any description. 
 
 482 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 I presented to him Mr. Nun’s letter of introduction, and 
 mentioned that my wife had the honour of being related to 
 him. He perused Mr. Nun’s letter very slowly. I was 
 determined not to leave him in any doubt respecting who and 
 what I was ; and I briefly told him the particulars of my history. 
 He listened with immovable attention : and when I had 
 finished, he said, ‘ You have not yet told me what your views 
 are in coming to America.’ 
 
 I replied, ‘ that my plans were not yet fixed.’ 
 
 ‘ But of course,’ said he, ‘ you cannot have left home with- 
 out forming some plan for the future. May I ask what line 
 of life you mean to pursue ? ’ 
 
 I answered, ‘ that I was undetermined, and meant to be 
 guided by circumstances.’ 
 
 ‘ Circumstances ! ’ said he. ‘ May I request you to explain 
 yourself more fully ? for I do not precisely understand to what 
 circumstances you allude.’ 
 
 I was provoked with the man for being so slow of appre- 
 hension ; but, when driven to the necessity of explaining, I 
 found that I did not myself understand what I meant. 
 
 I changed my ground ; and, lowering my tone of confidence, 
 said, that as I was totally ignorant of the country, I should 
 wish to be guided by the advice of better-informed persons ; 
 and that I begged leave to address myself to him, as having 
 had the most successful experience. 
 
 After a considerable pause, he replied it was a hazardous 
 thing to give advice ; but that, as my wife was his relation, 
 and as he held it a duty to assist his relations, he should not 
 decline giving me — all the advice in his power. 
 
 I bowed, and felt chilled all over by his manner. 
 
 ‘ And not only my advice,’ continued he, ‘ but my assistance 
 — in reason.’ 
 
 I said, ‘ I was much obliged to him.’ 
 
 ‘Not in the least, young man; you are not in the least 
 obliged to me yet, for I have done nothing for you.’ 
 
 This was true, and, not knowing what to say, I was silent. 
 
 ‘ And that which I may be able to do for you in future must 
 depend as much upon yourself as upon me. In the first place, 
 before I can give any advice, 1 must know what you are worth 
 in the world ? ’ 
 
 My worth in money, I told him, with a forced smile, was 
 
 483 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 but very trifling indeed. With some hesitation, I named the 
 sum. 
 
 ‘ And you have a wife and child to support ! ’ said he, shak- 
 ing his head. ‘ And your child is too young and your wife too 
 delicate to work. They will be sad burdens upon your hands ; 
 these are not the things for America. Why did you bring 
 them with you ? But, as that is done, and cannot be mended,’ 
 continued he, ‘ we must make the best of it, and support them. 
 You say you are ignorant of the country. I must explain to 
 you then how money is to be made here, and by whom. The 
 class of labourers make money readily, if they are industrious, 
 because they have high wages and constant employment \ 
 artificers and mechanics, carpenters, shipwrights, wheelwrights, 
 smiths, bricklayers, masons, get rich here, without difficulty, 
 from the same causes ; but all these things are out of the 
 question for you. You have head, not hands, I perceive. 
 Now mere head, in the line of bookmaking or bookselling, 
 brings in but poor profit in this country. The sale for imported 
 books is extensive ; and our printers are doing something by 
 subscription here, in Philadelphia, and in New York, they tell 
 me. But London is the place for a good bookseller to thrive ; 
 and you come from London, where you tell me you were a 
 bankrupt. I would not advise you to have anything more to 
 do with bookselling or bookmaking. Then, as to becoming a 
 planter : our planters, if they are skilful and laborious, thrive 
 well ; but you have not capital sufficient to clear land and build 
 a house ; or hire servants to do the work, for which you are 
 not yourself sufficiently robust. Besides, I do not imagine you 
 know much of agricultural concerns, or country business ; and 
 even to oversee and guide others, experience is necessary. 
 The life of a back settler I do not advise, because you and 
 your wife are not equal to it. You are not accustomed to live 
 in a log-house, or to feed upon raccoons and squirrels : not to 
 omit the constant dread, if not imminent danger, of being burnt 
 in your beds, or scalped, by the Indians with whom you would 
 be surrounded. Upon the whole, I see no line of life that 
 promises well for you but that of a merchant ; and I see no 
 means of your getting into this line without property and with- 
 out credit, except by going into some established house as a 
 clerk. You are a good penman, and ready accountant, I think 
 you tell me ; and I presume you have a sufficient knowledge 
 
 484 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 of book-keeping. With sobriety, diligence, and honesty, you 
 may do well in this way ; and may look forward to being a 
 partner, and in a lucrative situation, some years hence. This 
 is the way I managed, and I raised myself by degrees to what 
 you see. It is true, I was not at first encumbered with a wife 
 and young child. In due time I married my master’s daughter, 
 which was a great furtherance to me ; but then, on the other 
 hand, your wife is my relation ; and to be married to the relation 
 of a rich merchant is next best to not being married at all in 
 your situation. I told you I thought it my duty to proffer 
 assistance as well as advice : so take up your abode with me 
 for a fortnight ; in that time I shall be able to judge whether 
 you are capable of being a clerk ; and, if you and I should suit, 
 we will talk further. You understand that I enter into no 
 engagement, and make no promise ; but shall be glad to lodge 
 you, and your wife and little boy, for a fortnight ; and it will 
 be your own fault, and must be your own loss, if the visit turns 
 out waste of time. — I cannot stay to talk to you any longer at 
 present,’ added he, pulling out his watch, ‘for I have business, 
 and business waits for no man. Go back to your inn for my 
 relation and her little one. We dine at two precisely.’ 
 
 I left Mr. Croft’s house with a vague indescribable feeling 
 of dissatisfaction and disappointment ; but when I arrived at 
 my inn, and repeated all that had passed to my wife, she 
 seemed quite surprised and delighted by the civil and friendly 
 manner in which this gentleman had behaved. She tried to 
 reason the matter with me ; but there is no reasoning with 
 imagination. 
 
 The fact was, Mr. Croft had destroyed certain vague and 
 visionary ideas, that I had indulged, of making, by some 
 unknown means, a rapid fortune in America ; and to be re- 
 duced to real life, and sink into a clerk in a merchant’s 
 counting-house, was mortification and misery. Lucy in vain 
 dwelt upon the advantage of having found, immediately upon 
 my arrival in Philadelphia, a certain mode of employment, and 
 a probability of rising to be a partner in one of the first 
 mercantile houses, if I went on steadily for a few years. I 
 was forced to acknowledge that her relation was very good ; 
 that I was certainly very fortunate ; and that I ought to 
 think myself very much obliged to Mr. Croft. But, after 
 avowing all this, I walked up and down the room in melancholy 
 
 485 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 reverie for a considerable length of time. My wife reminded 
 me repeatedly that Mr. Croft said he dined precisely at two 
 o’clock ; that he was a very punctual man ; that it was a long 
 walk, as I had found it, from the inn to his house ; that I had 
 better dress myself for dinner ; and that my clean shirt and 
 cravat were ready for me. I still walked up and down the 
 room in reverie till my wife was completely ready, had dressed 
 the child, and held up my watch before my eyes to show me 
 that it wanted but ten minutes of two. I then began to dress 
 in the greatest hurry imaginable : and, unluckily, as I was 
 pulling on my silk stockings, I tore a hole in the leg, or as 
 my wife expressed it, a stitch dropped, and I was forced to 
 wait while she repaired the evil. Certainly this operation of 
 taking up a stitch , as I am instructed to call it, is one of the 
 slowest operations in nature ; or, rather, one of the most 
 tedious and teasing manoeuvres of art. Though the most 
 willing and the most dexterous fingers that ever touched a 
 needle were employed in my service, I thought the work 
 would never be finished. 
 
 At last, I was hosed and shod, and out we set. It struck a 
 quarter past two as we left the house ; we came to Mr. Croft’s 
 in the middle of dinner. He had a large company at table ; 
 everybody was disturbed ; my Lucy was a stranger to Mrs. 
 Croft, and was to be introduced ; and nothing could be more 
 awkward and embarrassing than our entree and introduction. 
 There were such compliments and apologies, such changing of 
 places, such shuffling of chairs, and running about of servants, 
 that I thought we should never be seated. 
 
 In the midst of the bustle my little chap began to roar 
 most horribly, and to struggle to get away from a black 
 servant, who was helping him up on his chair. The child’s 
 terror at the sudden approach of the negro could not be con- 
 quered, nor could he by any means be quieted. Mrs. Croft, 
 at last, ordered the negro out of the room, the roaring ceased, 
 and nothing but the child’s sobs were heard for some instants. 
 
 The guests were all silent, and had ceased eating ; Mrs. 
 Croft was vexed because everythmg was cold j Mr. Croft was 
 much discomfited, and said not a syllable more than was 
 absolutely necessary, as master of the house. I never ate, or 
 rather I was never at, a more disagreeable dinner. I was in 
 pain for Lucy, as well as for myself ; her colour rose up to her 
 
 486 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 temples. I cursed myself a hundred times for not having 
 gone to dress in time. 
 
 At length, to my great relief, the cloth was taken away ; 
 but even when we came to the wine after dinner, the cold 
 formality of my host continued unabated, and I began to fear 
 that he had taken an insurmountable dislike to me, and that I 
 should lose all the advantages of his protection and assistance : 
 advantages which rose considerably in my estimation, when 1 
 apprehended I was upon the point of losing them. 
 
 Soon after dinner, a young gentleman of the name of 
 Hudson joined the company ; his manners and appearance 
 were prepossessing ; he was frank and well bred ; and the 
 effect of his politeness was soon felt, as if by magic, for every- 
 body became at their ease ; his countenance was full of life 
 and fire ; and though he said nothing that showed remarkable 
 abilities, everything he said pleased. As soon as he found 
 that I was a stranger, he addressed his conversation princi- 
 pally to me. I recovered my spirits, exerted myself to 
 entertain him, and succeeded. He was delighted to hear 
 news from England, and especially from London ; a city which 
 he said he had an ardent desire to visit. When he took leave 
 of me in the evening, he expressed very warmly the wish to 
 cultivate my acquaintance, and I was the more flattered and 
 obliged by this civility, because I was certain that he knew 
 exactly my situation and circumstances, Mrs. Croft having 
 explained them to him very fully even in my hearing. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 In the course of the ensuing week, young Mr. Hudson and I 
 saw one another almost every day, and our mutual liking for 
 each other’s company increased. He introduced me to his 
 father, who had been a planter ; and, having made a large 
 fortune, came to reside at Philadelphia, to enjoy himself, as he 
 said, for the remainder of his days. He lived in what the 
 sober Americans call a most luxurious and magnificent style. 
 The best company in Philadelphia met at his house : and he 
 delighted particularly in seeing those who had convivial talents, 
 
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 and who would supply him with wit and gaiety, in which he 
 was naturally rather deficient. 
 
 On my first visit, I perceived that his son had boasted of 
 me as one of the best companions in the world ; and I deter- 
 mined to support the character that had been given of me ; 
 I told two or three good stories, and sang two or three good 
 songs. The company were charmed with me ; old Mr. 
 Hudson was particularly delighted ; he gave me a pressing 
 general invitation to his house, and most of the principal 
 guests followed his example. I was not a little elated with 
 this success. Mr. Croft was with me at this entertainment ; 
 and I own I was peculiarly gratified by feeling that I at once 
 became conspicuous by my talents, in a company where he 
 was apparently of no consequence, notwithstanding all his 
 wealth and prudence. 
 
 As we went home together, he said to me very gravely, ‘ I 
 would not advise you, Mr. Basil Lowe, to accept of all these 
 invitations, nor to connect yourself intimately with young 
 Hudson. The society at Mr. Hudson’s is very well for those 
 who have made a fortune, and want to spend it ; but for those 
 who have a fortune to make, in my opinion, it is not only useless 
 but dangerous.’ 
 
 I was in no humour, at this moment, to profit by this sober 
 advice ; especially as I fancied it might be dictated, in some 
 degree, by envy of my superior talents and accomplishments. 
 My wife, however, supported his advice by many excellent and 
 kind arguments. She observed that these people, who invited 
 me to their houses as a good companion, followed merely their 
 own pleasure, and would never be of any real advantage to 
 me ; that Mr. Croft, on the contrary, showed, from the first 
 hour when I applied to him, a desire to serve me ; that he 
 had pointed out the means of establishing myself ; and that, 
 in the advice he gave me, he could be actuated only by a wish 
 to be of use to me ; that it was more reasonable to suspect 
 him of despising than of envying talents which were not 
 directed to the grand object of gaining money. 
 
 Good sense, from the lips of a woman whom a man loves, 
 has a mighty effect upon his understanding, especially if he 
 sincerely believe that the woman has no desire to rule. This 
 was my singular case. I promised Lucy I would refuse all 
 invitations for the ensuing fortnight, and devote myself to what 
 
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 ever business Mr. Croft might devise. No one could be more 
 assiduous than I was for ten days; and I perceived that Mr. 
 Croft, though it was not his custom to praise, was well satisfied 
 with my diligence. Unluckily, on the eleventh day I put off 
 in the morning making out an invoice, which he left for me to 
 do, and I was persuaded in the evening to go out with young 
 Mr. Hudson. I had expressed, in conversation with him, some 
 curiosity about the American frog-concerts , of which I had read, 
 in modern books of travels, extraordinary accounts. 
 
 Mr. Hudson persuaded me to accompany him to a swamp, 
 at some miles’ distance from Philadelphia, to hear one of these 
 concerts. The performance lasted some time, and it was late 
 before we returned to town : I went to bed tired, and waked in 
 the morning with a cold, which I had caught by standing so 
 long in the swamp. I lay an hour after I was called, in hopes 
 of getting rid of my cold : when I was at last up and dressed, 
 1 recollected my invoice, and resolved to do it the first thing 
 after breakfast ; but, unluckily, I put it off till I had looked for 
 some lines in Homer’s ‘ Battle of the Frogs and Mice.’ There 
 was no Homer, as you may guess, in Mr. Croft’s house, and I 
 went to a bookseller’s to borrow one : he had Pope’s Iliad and 
 Odyssey , but no ‘ Battle of the Frogs and Mice.’ I walked over 
 half the town in search of it ; at length I found it, and was 
 returning in triumph, with Homer in each pocket, when at the 
 door of Mr. Croft’s house I found half a dozen porters, with 
 heavy loads upon their backs. 
 
 ‘Where are you going, my good fellows ?’ said I. 
 
 ‘To the quay, sir, with the cargo for the Betsy.' 
 
 ‘ My God ! ’ cried I. ‘ Stop. Can’t you stop a minute ? I 
 thought the Betsy was not to sail till to-morrow. Stop one 
 minute.’ 
 
 ‘ No, sir,’ said they, ‘that we can’t ; for the captain bade us 
 make what haste we could to the quay to load her.’ 
 
 I ran into the house ; the captain of the Betsy was bawling 
 in the hall, with his hat on the back of his head ; Mr. Croft on 
 the landing-place of the warehouse-stairs with open letters in 
 his hand, and two or three of the under-clerks were running 
 different ways with pens in their mouths. 
 
 ‘ Mr. Basil ! the invoice !’ exclaimed all the clerks at once, 
 the moment I made my appearance. 
 
 ‘ Mr. Basil Lowe, the invoice and the copy, if you please,’ 
 
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 repeated Mr. Croft. ‘We have sent three messengers after 
 you. Very extraordinary to go out at this time of day, and 
 not even to leave word where you were to be found. Here’s 
 the captain of the Betsy has been waiting this half-hour for the 
 invoice. Well, sir ! Will you go for it now ? And at the 
 same time bring me the copy, to enclose in this letter to our 
 correspondent by post.’ 
 
 I stood petrified. ‘ Sir, the invoice, sir ! — Good Heavens ! 
 I forgot it entirely.’ 
 
 ‘ You remember it now, sir, I suppose. Keep your apologies 
 till we have leisure. The invoices, if you please.’ 
 
 ‘ The invoices ! My God, sir ! I beg ten thousand pardons ! 
 They are not drawn out.’ 
 
 ‘Not drawn out. Impossible!’ said Mr. Croft. 
 
 ‘ Then I’m off,’ cried the captain, with a tremendous oath. 
 
 ‘ I can’t wait another tide for any clerk breathing.’ 
 
 ‘ Send back the porters, captain, if you please,’ said Mr. 
 Croft coolly. ‘ The whole cargo must be unpacked. I took 
 it for granted, Mr. Basil, that you had drawn the invoice, 
 according to order, yesterday morning ; and of course the 
 goods were packed in the evening. I was certainly wrong in 
 taking it for granted that you would be punctual. A man of 
 business should take nothing for granted. This is a thing that 
 will not occur to me again as long as I live.’ 
 
 I poured forth expressions of contrition ; but, apparently 
 unmoved by them, and without anger or impatience in his 
 manner, he turned from me as soon as the porters came back 
 with the goods, and ordered them all to be unpacked and 
 replaced in the warehouse. I was truly concerned. 
 
 ‘ I believe you spent your evening yesterday with young 
 Mr. Hudson?’ said he, turning to me. 
 
 ‘ Yes, sir, — I am sincerely sorry ’ 
 
 ‘ Sorrow, in these cases, does no good, sir,’ interrupted he. 
 ‘ I thought I had sufficiently warned you of the danger of 
 forming that intimacy. Midnight carousing will not do for men 
 of business.’ 
 
 ‘Carousing, sir!’ said I. ‘Give me leave to assure you 
 that we were not carousing. We were only at a frog-coficert .’ 
 
 Mr. Croft, who had at least suppressed his displeasure till 
 now, looked absolutely angry ; he thought I was making a joke 
 of him. When I convinced him that I was in earnest, he 
 
 490 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 changed from anger to astonishment, with a large mixture of 
 contempt in his nasal muscles. 
 
 ‘A frog - concert ! ’ repeated he. ‘And is it possible that 
 any man could neglect an invoice merely to go to hear a parcel 
 of frogs croaking in a swamp ? Sir, you will never do in a 
 mercantile house.’ He walked off to the warehouse, and left 
 me half mortified and half provoked. 
 
 From this time forward all hopes from Mr. Croft’s friendship 
 were at an end. He was coldly civil to me during the few 
 remaining days of the fortnight that we stayed at his house. 
 He took the trouble, however, of looking out for a cheap and 
 tolerably comfortable lodging for my wife and boy ; the rent of 
 which he desired to pay for his relation, he said, as long as I 
 should remain in Philadelphia, or till I should find myself in 
 some eligible situation. He seemed pleased with Lucy, and 
 said she was a very properly-conducted, well-disposed, prudent 
 young woman, whom he was not ashamed to own for a cousin. 
 He repeated, at parting, that he should be happy to afford me 
 every assistance in reason , towards pursuing any feasible plan 
 of advancing myself ; but it was his decided opinion that 1 
 could never succeed in a mercantile line. 
 
 I never liked Mr. Croft ; he was much too punctual, too 
 much of an automaton, for me ; but I should have felt more 
 regret at leaving him, and losing his friendship, and should 
 have expressed more gratitude for his kindness to Lucy and 
 my boy, if my head had not at the time been full of young 
 Hudson. He professed the warmest regard for me, congratu- 
 lated me on getting free from old Croft’s mercantile clutches, 
 and assured me that such a man as I was could not fail to 
 succeed in the world by my own talents and the assistance of 
 friends and good connections. 
 
 I was now almost every day at his father’s house in company 
 with numbers of rich and gay people, who were all my friends. 
 I was the life of society, was invited everywhere, and accepted 
 every invitation, because I could not offend Mr. Hudson’s 
 intimate acquaintance. 
 
 From day to day, from week to week, from month to month, 
 I went on in this style. I was old Hudson’s grand favourite, 
 and everybody told me he could do anything he pleased for 
 me. I had formed a scheme, a bold scheme, of obtaining from 
 government a large tract of territory in the ceded lands of 
 
 49 1 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 Louisiana, and of collecting a subscription in Philadelphia 
 among my friends , to make a settlement there : the subscribers 
 to be paid by instalments, so much the first year, so much the 
 second, and so onward, till the whole should be liquidated. I 
 was to collect hands from the next ships, which were expected 
 to be full of emigrants from Ireland and Scotland. I had soon a 
 long list of subscribers, who gave me their names always after 
 dinner, or after supper. Old Hudson wrote his name at the head 
 of the list, with an ostentatiously large sum opposite to it. 
 
 As nothing could be done until the ensuing spring, when the 
 ships were expected, I spent my time in the same convivial 
 manner. The spring came, but there was no answer obtained 
 from government respecting the ceded territory ; and a delay 
 of a few months was necessary. Mr. Hudson, the father, was 
 the person who had undertaken to apply for the grant ; and he 
 spoke always of the scheme, and of his own powers of carrying 
 it into effect, in the most confident manner. From his con- 
 versation anybody would have supposed that the mines of Peru 
 were upon his plantation ; and that in comparison with his the 
 influence of the President of the United States was nothing. I 
 was a full twelvemonth before I was convinced that he was a 
 boaster and a fabulist j and I was another twelvemonth before 
 I could persuade myself that he was one of the most selfish, 
 indolent, and obstinate of human beings. He was delighted to 
 have me always at his table to entertain him and his guests, 
 but he had not the slightest real regard for me, or care for my 
 interests. He would talk to me as long as I pleased of his 
 possessions, and his improvements, and his wonderful crops ; 
 but the moment I touched upon any of my own affairs, he 
 would begin to yawn, throw himself on a sofa, and seem going 
 to sleep. Whenever I mentioned his subscription, he would 
 say with a frown — ‘ We will talk of that, Basil, to-morrow l 
 
 Of my whole list of subscribers, not above four ever paid a 
 shilling into my hands : their excuse always was, ‘ When 
 government has given an answer about the ceded territory, we 
 will pay the subscriptions ’ ; and the answer of government 
 always was, ‘ When the subscriptions are paid, we will make 
 out a grant of the land.’ I was disgusted, and out of spirits, 
 but I thought all my chance was to persevere and to keep my 
 frie?ids in good humour : so that I was continually under the 
 necessity of appearing the same jovial companion, laughing, 
 
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TO-MORROW 
 
 singing, and drinking, when, Heaven knows, my heart was 
 heavy enough. 
 
 At the end of the second year of promises, delays, and 
 disappointments, my Lucy, who had always foretold how things 
 would turn out, urged me to withdraw myself from this idle 
 society, to give up my scheme, and to take the management of a 
 small plantation inconjunction with the brother of Mr. Croft. His 
 regard for my wife, who had won much upon this family by her 
 excellent conduct, induced him to make me this offer ; but I con- 
 sidered so long, and hesitated so much, whether I should accept 
 of this proposal, that the time for accepting it passed away. 
 
 I had still hopes that my friend, young Hudson, would 
 enable me to carry my grand project into execution ; he had a 
 considerable plantation in Jamaica, left to him by his grand- 
 father on the mother’s side ; he was to be of age and to take 
 possession of it the ensuing year, and he proposed to sell it, 
 and to apply some of the purchase-money to our scheme, of the 
 success of which he had as sanguine expectations as I had 
 myself. He was of a most enthusiastic, generous temper. I 
 had obtained the greatest influence over him, and I am con- 
 vinced, at this time, there was nothing in the world he would 
 not have sacrificed for my sake. All that he required from me 
 was to be his constant companion. He was extravagantly fond 
 of field sports ; and, though a Londoner, I was a good shot 
 and a good angler ; for, during the time I was courting Lucy, 
 I found it necessary to make myself a sportsman to win the 
 favour of her brothers. With these accomplishments, my hold 
 upon the esteem and affections of my friend was all-powerful. 
 Every day in the season we went out shooting or fishing 
 together: then, in the winter-time, we had various employ- 
 ments, I mean, various excuses for idleness. Hudson was a 
 great skater, and he had infinite diversion in teaching me to 
 skate, at the hazard of my skull. He was also to initiate me in 
 the American pastime of sleighing , or sledging. Many a 
 desperately cold winter’s day I have submitted to be driven in 
 his sledge, when I would much rather, I own, have been safe 
 and snug by my own fireside, with my wife. 
 
 Poor Lucy spent her time in a disagreeable and melancholy 
 way during these three years : for, while I was out almost every 
 day and all day long, she was alone in her lodging for number- 
 less hours. She never repined, but always received me with a 
 
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 good-humoured countenance when I came home, even after 
 sitting up half the night to wait for my return from Hudson’s 
 suppers. It grieved me to the heart to see her thus seemingly 
 deserted, but I comforted myself with the reflection that this way 
 of life would last but for a short time ; that my friend would soon 
 be of age, and able to fulfil all his promises ; and that we should 
 then all live together in happiness. I assured Lucy that the 
 present idle, if not dissipated, manner in which I spent my 
 days was not agreeable to my taste ; that I was often extremely 
 melancholy, even when I was forced to appear in the highest 
 spirits ; and that I often longed to be quietly with her, when I 
 was obliged to sacrifice my time to friendship. 
 
 It would have been impossible that she and my child could 
 have subsisted all this time independently, but for her steadiness 
 and exertions. She would not accept of any pecuniary assistance 
 except from her relation, Mr. Croft, who regularly paid the rent 
 of her lodgings. She undertook to teach some young ladies, 
 whom Mrs. Croft introduced to her, various kinds of fine needle- 
 work, in which she excelled ; and for this she was well paid. I 
 know that she never cost me one farthing during the three years 
 and three months that we lived in Philadelphia. But even for 
 this I do not give her so much credit as for her sweet temper 
 during these trials, and her great forbearance in never reproach- 
 ing or disputing with me. Many wives, who are called ex- 
 cellent managers, make their husbands pay tenfold in suffering 
 what they save in money. This was not my Lucy’s way ; and, 
 therefore, with my esteem and respect, she ever had my fondest 
 affections. I was in hopes that the hour was just coming when 
 I should be able to prove this to her, and when we should no 
 longer be doomed to spend our days asunder. But, alas ! her 
 judgment was better than mine. 
 
 My friend Hudson was now within six weeks of being of 
 age, when, unfortunately, there arrived in Philadelphia a com- 
 pany of players from England. Hudson, who was eager for 
 everything that had the name of pleasure, insisted upon my 
 going with him to their first representation. Among the 
 actresses there was a girl of the name of Marion, who seemed 
 to be ordinary enough, just fit for a company of strolling players, 
 but she danced passably well, and danced a great deal between 
 the acts that night. Hudson clapped his hands till I was quite 
 out of patience. He was in raptures, and the more I depreciated, 
 
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TO-MORROW 
 
 the more he extolled the girl. I wished her in Nova Zembla, 
 for I saw he was falling in love with her, and had a kind of pre- 
 sentiment of all that was to follow. To tell the matter briefly 
 (for what signifies dwelling upon past misfortunes ?), the more 
 young Hudson’s passion increased for this dancing girl, the 
 more his friendship for me declined ; for I had frequent 
 arguments with him upon the subject, and did all I could to 
 open his eyes. I saw that the damsel had art, and she knew 
 the extent of her power, and that she would draw her infatuated 
 lover in to marry her. He was headstrong and violent in all his 
 passions ; he quarrelled with me, carried the girl off to Jamaica, 
 married her the day he was of age, and settled upon his planta- 
 tion. There was an end of all my hopes about the ceded territory. 
 
 Lucy, who was always my resource in misfortune, comforted 
 me by saying I had done my duty in combating my friend’s folly 
 at the expense of my own interest ; and that, though he had 
 quarrelled with me, she loved me the better for it. 
 
 Reflecting upon my own history and character, I have often 
 thought it a pity that, with certain good qualities, and I will 
 add talents, which deserved a better fate, I should have never 
 succeeded in anything I attempted, because I could not conquer 
 one seemingly slight defect in my disposition, which had grown 
 into a habit. Thoroughly determined by Lucy’s advice to 
 write to Mr. Croft, to request he would give me another trial, 1 
 put off sending the letter till the next day ; and that very morning 
 Mr. Croft set off on a journey to a distant part of the country, 
 to see a daughter who was newly married. 
 
 I was vexed, and from a want of something better to do, 
 went out a-shooting, to get rid of disagreeable thoughts. 1 shot 
 several pheasants, and when I came home, carried them, as was 
 my custom, to old Mr. Hudson’s kitchen, and gave them to the 
 cook. I happened to stay in the kitchen to feed a favourite dog, 
 while the cook was fireparmg the birds I had brought. I 
 observed, in the crop of one of the pheasants, some bright green 
 leaves, and some buds, which I suspected to be the leaves and 
 buds of the Kalmia latifolia , a poisonous shrub. I was not quite 
 certain, for 1 had almost forgotten the little botany which I 
 knew before I went to China. I took the leaves home with me, 
 to examine them at leisure, and to compare them with the 
 botanical description ; and 1 begged that the cook would not 
 dress the birds till she saw or heard from me again. I promised 
 
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POrULAR TALES 
 
 to see her, or send to her, the next day. But the next day, 
 when I went to the library to look into a book of botany, my 
 attention was caught by some new reviews, which were just 
 arrived from London. I put off the examination of the Kalmia 
 latifolia till the day after. To-morrow, said I, will do just as 
 well, for I know the cook will not dress the pheasants to-day : 
 old Hudson does not like them till they have been kept a day 
 or two. 
 
 To-morrow came, and the leaves were forgotten till evening, 
 when I saw them lying on my table, and put them out of the 
 way, lest my little boy should find and eat them. I was sorry 
 that I had not examined them this day, but I satisfied myself in 
 the same way as I had done before : to-morrow will do as well ; 
 the cook will not dress the pheasants to-day ; old Hudson thinks 
 them the better for being kept two or three days. 
 
 To-morrow came ; but, as the leaves of the Kalmia latifolia 
 were out of my sight, they went out of my mind. I was invited 
 to an entertainment this day at the mayor’s : there was a large 
 company, and after dinner I was called upon, as usual, for a 
 song ; the favourite song of 
 
 ‘ Dance and sing, Time’s on the wing, 
 
 Life never knows return of spring ; ’ 
 
 when a gentleman came in, pale and breathless, to tell us that 
 Mr. Hudson and three gentlemen who had been dining with 
 him, were suddenly seized with convulsions after eating of a 
 pheasant, and that they were not expected to live. My blood 
 ran cold : I exclaimed, ‘ My God ! I am answerable for this.’ 
 On my making this exclamation, there was immediate silence in 
 the room ; and every eye turned upon me with astonishment and 
 horror. I fell back in my chair, and what passed afterward I 
 know not ; but when I came to myself, I found two men in the 
 room with me, who were set to guard me. The bottles and 
 glasses were still upon the table, but the company were all dis- 
 persed ; and the mayor, as my guards informed me, was gone to 
 Mr. Hudson’s to take his dying deposition. 
 
 In this instance, as in all cases of sudden alarm, report had 
 exaggerated the evil : Mr. Hudson, though extremely ill, was 
 not dying ; his three guests, after some hours’ illness, were per- 
 fectly recovered. Mr. Hudson, who had eaten the most plenti- 
 fully of the pheasant, was not himself as he said, for two days ; 
 
 496 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 the third day he was able to see company at dinner as usual, 
 and my mind was relieved from an insupportable state of anxiety. 
 
 Upon examination, the mayor was convinced that I was per- 
 fectly innocent : the cook told the exact truth, blamed herself 
 for not sending to me before she dressed the birds ; but said that 
 she concluded I had found the leaves I took home were harm- 
 less, as I never came to tell her the contrary. 
 
 I was liberated, and went home to my wife. She clasped me 
 in her arms, but could not articulate a syllable. By her joy at 
 seeing me again, she left me to judge of what she must have 
 suffered during this terrible interval. 
 
 For some time after this unfortunate accident happened, it 
 continued to be the subject of general conversation in Philadel- 
 phia. The story was told a thousand different ways, and the 
 comments upon it were in various ways injurious to me. Some 
 blamed me, for what indeed I deserved to be most severely 
 blamed, my delaying one hour to examine the leaves found in 
 the crop of the pheasant ; others affected to think it absolutely 
 impossible that any human being could be so dilatory and 
 negligent, where the lives of fellow-creatures and friends , and 
 friends by whom I had been treated with the utmost hospitality 
 for years, were concerned. Others, still more malicious, hinted 
 that, though I had been favoured by the mayor, and perhaps 
 by the goodness of poor Mr. Hudson, there must be something 
 more than had come to light in the business ; and some boldly 
 pronounced that the story of the leaves of the Kalinin latifolia 
 was a mere blind, for that the pheasant could not have been 
 rendered poisonous by such means . 1 2 
 
 That a motive might not be wanting for the crime, it was 
 whispered that old Mr. Hudson had talked of leaving me a con- 
 siderable legacy, which I was impatient to touch, that I might 
 carry my adventuring schemes into execution. I was astonished 
 as much as shocked at the sudden alteration in the manners of 
 
 1 ‘ In the severe winter of the years 1790 and 1791. there appeared to 
 be such unequivocal reasons for believing that several persons in Philadel- 
 phia had died in consequence of their eating pheasants, in whose crops the 
 leaves and buds of the Kalmia latifolia were found, that the mayor of the 
 city thought it prudent and his duty to warn the people against the use of this 
 bird, by a public proclamation. I know that by many persons, especially 
 by some lovers of pheasants' flesh, the circumstance just mentioned was 
 supposed to be destitute of foundation : but the foundation was a solid one. 
 — Vide a paper by B. Smith Barton, M. D. , American Transactions, vol. li. 
 
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 all my acquaintances. The tide of popularity changed, and I 
 was deserted. That those who had lived with me so long in 
 convivial intimacy, that those who had courted, admired, flattered 
 me, those who had so often professed themselves my friends, 
 could suddenly, without the slightest probability, believe me 
 capable of the most horrible crime, appeared to me scarcely 
 credible. In reality, many would not give themselves the 
 trouble to think about the matter, but were glad of a pretence 
 to shake off the acquaintance of a man of whose stories and 
 songs they began to be weary, and who had put their names to 
 a subscription, which they did not wish to be called upon to pay. 
 Such is the world ! Such is the fate of all good fellows and 
 excellent bottle companions ! Certain to be deserted by their 
 dear friends at the least reverse of fortune. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 My situation in Philadelphia was now so disagreeable, and my 
 disgust and indignation were so great, that I determined to quit 
 the country. My real friend, Mr. Croft, was absent all this 
 time from town. I am sure, if he had been at home, he would 
 have done me justice ; for, though he never liked me, he was a 
 just, slow-judging man, who would not have been run away 
 with by the hurry of popular prejudice : I had other reasons 
 for regretting his absence : I could not conveniently quit 
 America without money, and he was the only person to whom 
 I could or would apply for assistance. We had not many debts, 
 for which I must thank my excellent wife ; but, when every- 
 thing to the last farthing was paid, I was obliged to sell my 
 watch and some trinkets, to get money for our voyage. I was 
 not accustomed to such things, and I was ashamed to go to the 
 pawnbroker’s, lest I should be met and recognised by some of 
 my friends. I wrapped myself up in an old surtout, and 
 slouched my hat over my face. 
 
 As I was crossing the quay, I met a party of gentlemen 
 walking arm in arm. I squeezed past them, but one stopped 
 to look after me ; and, though I turned down another street to 
 escape him, he dogged me unperceived. Just as I came out 
 of the pawnbroker’s shop, I saw him posted opposite to me : I 
 
 498 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 brushed by ; I could with pleasure have knocked him down for 
 his impertinence. By the time that I had reached the corner 
 of the street, I heard a child calling after me. I stopped, and a 
 little boy put into my hands my watch, saying, ‘ Sir, the gentle- 
 man says you left your watch and these thingumbobs by mistake.’ 
 
 ‘ What gentleman ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know, but he was one that said I looked like an 
 honest chap, and he’d trust me to run and give you the watch. 
 He is dressed in a blue coat. He went toward the quay. 
 That’s all I know.’ 
 
 On opening the paper of trinkets I found a card with these 
 words : 
 
 ‘ Barny — with kind thanks.’ 
 
 Barny ! Poor Barny ! The Irishman whose passage I paid 
 coming to America three years ago. Is it possible ? 
 
 I ran after him the way which the child directed, and was so 
 fortunate as just to catch a glimpse of the skirt of his coat, as 
 he went into a neat, good-looking house. I walked up and 
 down some time, expecting him to come out again ; for I could 
 not suppose that it belonged to Barny. I asked a grocer, who 
 was leaning over his hatch door, if he knew who lived in the 
 next house. 
 
 ‘An Irish gentleman, of the name of O’Grady.’ 
 
 ‘ And his Christian name ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Here it is in my books, sir— Barnaby O’Grady.’ 
 
 I knocked at Mr. O’Grady’s door, and made my way into 
 the parlour ; where I found him, his two sons and his wife, 
 sitting very sociably at tea. He and the two young men rose 
 immediately to set me a chair. 
 
 ‘You are welcome, kindly welcome, sir,’ said he. ‘This is 
 an honour I never expected any way. Be pleased to take the 
 seat near the fire. ’Twould be hard indeed if you would 1 not 
 have the best seat that’s to be had in this house, where we 
 none of us never should have sat, nor had seats to sit upon, 
 but for you.’ 
 
 The sons pulled off my shabby greatcoat, and took away 
 my hat, and the wife made up the fire. There was something 
 in their manner altogether which touched me so much, that it 
 was with difficulty I could keep myself from bursting into tears. 
 They saw this, and Barny (for I shall never call him anything 
 1 'Should. 
 
 499 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 else), as he thought that I should like better to hear of public 
 affairs than to speak of my own, began to ask his sons if they 
 had seen the day's papers, and what news there was. 
 
 As soon as I could command my voice, I congratulated his 
 family upon the happy situation in which I found them ; and 
 asked by what lucky accidents they had succeeded so well. 
 
 ‘ The luckiest accident ever happened me before or since 
 I came to America,’ said Barny, ‘ was being on board the 
 same vessel with such a man as you. If you had not given me 
 the first lift, I had been down for good and all, and trampled 
 under foot long and long ago. But after that first lift, all was 
 as easy as life. My two sons here were not taken from me — 
 God bless you ! for I never can bless you enough for that. The 
 lads were left to work for me and with me ; and we never 
 parted, hand or heart, but just kept working on together, and 
 put all our earnings, as fast as we got them, into the hands of that 
 good woman, and lived hard at first, as we were bred and born 
 to do, thanks be to Heaven ! Then we swore against drink of 
 all sorts entirely. And, as I had occasionally served the masons, 
 when I lived a labouring man in the county of Dublin, and 
 knew something of that business, why, whatever I knew I made 
 the most of, and a trowel felt no ways strange to me ; so I went 
 to work, and had higher wages at first than I deserved. The 
 same with the two boys : one was as much of a blacksmith as 
 would shoe a horse ; and t’other a bit of a carpenter ; and the 
 one got plenty of work in the forges, and t’other in the dock- 
 yards, as a ship carpenter. So early and late, morning and 
 evening, we were all at the work, and just went this way 
 struggling on even for a twelvemonth, and found, with the high 
 wages and constant employ we had met, that we were getting 
 greatly better in the world. Besides, the wife was not idle. 
 When a girl, she had seen baking, and had always a good 
 notion of it, and just tried her hand upon it now, and found 
 the loaves went down with the customers, and the customers 
 coming faster and faster for them ; and this was a great help. 
 Then I grew master mason, and had my men under me, and 
 took a house to build by the job, and that did ; and then on 
 to another and another ; and after building many for the 
 neighbours, ’twas fit and my turn, I thought, to build one for 
 myself, which I did out of theirs, without wronging them of a 
 penny. And the boys grew master-men in their line ; and 
 
 5 °° 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 when they got good coats, nobody could say against them, for 
 they had come fairly by them, and became them well perhaps 
 for that rason. So, not to be tiring you too much, we went on 
 from good to better, and better to best ; and if it pleased God 
 to question me how it was we got on so well in the world, I 
 should answer, Upon my conscience, myself does not know; 
 except it be that we never made Saint Monday, 1 nor never put 
 off till the morrow what we could do the day.’ 
 
 I believe I sighed deeply at this observation, notwithstanding 
 the comic phraseology in which it was expressed. 
 
 ‘ But all this is no rule for a gentleman born,’ pursued the 
 good-natured Barny, in answer, I suppose, to the sigh which I 
 uttered ; ‘ nor is it any disparagement to him if he has not 
 done as well in a place like America, where he had not the 
 means ; not being used to bricklaying and slaving with his 
 hands, and striving as we did. Would it be too much liberty 
 to ask you to drink a cup of tea, and to taste a slice of my 
 good woman’s bread and butter ? And happy the day we see 
 you eating it, and only wish we could serve you in any way 
 whatsoever.’ 
 
 I verily believe the generous fellow forgot, at this instant, 
 that he had redeemed my watch and wife’s trinkets. He would 
 not let me thank him as much as I wished, but kept pressing 
 upon me fresh offers of service. When he found I was going 
 to leave America, he asked what vessel we should go in. I 
 was really afraid to tell him, lest he should attempt to pay for 
 my passage. But for this he had, as I afterwards found, too 
 much delicacy of sentiment. He discovered, by questioning 
 the captains, in what ship we were to sail ; and, when we 
 went on board, we found him and his sons there to take leave 
 of us, which they did in the most affectionate manner ; and, 
 after they were gone, we found in the state cabin, directed to 
 me, everything that could be useful or agreeable to us, as sea- 
 stores, for a long voyage. 
 
 llow I wronged this man, when 1 thought his expressions 
 of gratitude were not sincere, because they were not made 
 
 1 Saint Monday , or Saint Crispin. It is a custom in Ireland, among 
 shoemakers, if they intoxicate themselves on Sunday, to do no work on 
 Monday, and this they call making a Saint Monday, or keeping Saint 
 Crispin's day. Many have adopted this good custom from the example 
 of the shoemakers. 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 exactly in the mode and with the accent of my own country- 
 men ! I little thought that Barny and his sons would be the 
 only persons who would bid us a friendly adieu when we were 
 to leave America. 
 
 We had not exhausted our bountiful provision of sea-stores 
 when we were set ashore in England. We landed at Liverpool ; 
 and I cannot describe the melancholy feelings with which I sat 
 down, in the little back parlour of the inn, to count my money, 
 and to calculate whether we had enough to carry us to London. 
 Is this, thought I, as I looked at the few guineas and shillings 
 spread on the table, is this all I have in this world ? I, my 
 wife, and child ! And is this the end of three years’ absence 
 from my native country ? As the negroes say of a fool who 
 takes a voyage in vain, I am come back ‘ with little more than 
 the hair upon my head . 1 Is this the end of all my hopes, and 
 all my talents ? What will become of my wife and child ? I 
 ought to insist upon her going home to her friends, that she 
 may at least have the necessaries and comforts of life, till I am 
 able to maintain her. 
 
 The tears started from my eyes ; they fell upon an old 
 newspaper, which lay upon the table under my elbow. I took 
 it up to hide my face from Lucy and my child, who just then 
 came into the room : and, as I read without well knowing 
 what, I came among the advertisements to my own name. 
 
 ‘ If Mr. Basil Lowe, or his heir, will apply to Mr. Gregory, 
 attorney, No. 34 Cecil Street, he will hear of something to his 
 advantage.’ 
 
 I started up with an exclamation of joy, wiped my tears from 
 the newspaper, put it into Lucy’s hand, pointed to the adver- 
 tisement, and ran to take places in the London coach for the 
 next morning. Upon this occasion I certainly did not delay. 
 Nor did I, when we arrived in London, put off one moment 
 going to Mr. Gregory’s, No. 34 Cecil Street. 
 
 Upon application to him I was informed that a very distant 
 relation of mine, a rich miser, had just died, and had left his 
 accumulated treasures to me, ‘ because I was the only one of 
 his relations who had never cost him a single farthing.’ Other 
 men have to complain of their ill fortune, perhaps with justice ; 
 and this is a great satisfaction, which I have never enjoyed ; for 
 I must acknowledge that all my disasters have arisen from my 
 own folly. Fortune has been uncommonly favourable to me. 
 
 5°2 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 Without any merit of my own, or rather, as it appeared, in 
 consequence of my negligent habits, which prevented me from 
 visiting a rich relation, I was suddenly raised from the lowest 
 state of pecuniary distress to the height of affluent prosperity. 
 
 I took possession of a handsome house in an agreeable part 
 of the town, and enjoyed the delight of sharing all the comforts 
 and luxuries which wealth could procure with the excellent 
 woman who had been my support in adversity. I must do 
 myself the justice to observe that I did not become dissipated 
 or extravagant ; affection and gratitude to my Lucy filled my 
 whole mind, and preserved me from the faults incident to those 
 who rise suddenly from poverty to wealth. I did not forget 
 my good friend, Mr. Nun, who had relieved me formerly from 
 prison ; of course 1 paid the debt which he had forgiven, and 
 lost no opportunity of showing him kindness and gratitude. 
 
 I was now placed in a situation where the best parts of my 
 character appeared to advantage, and where the grand defect 
 of my disposition was not apparently of any consequence. I 
 was not now obliged, like a man of business, to be punctual ; 
 and delay, in mere engagements of pleasure, was a trifling 
 offence, and a matter of raillery among my acquaintance. My 
 talents in conversation were admired, and, if I postponed letter- 
 writing, my correspondents only tormented me a little with 
 polite remonstrances. I was conscious that I was not cured 
 of my faults ; but I rejoiced that I was not now obliged to 
 reform, or in any danger of involving those I loved in distress, 
 by my negligence. 
 
 For one year I was happy, and flattered myself that I did 
 not waste my time ; for, at my leisure, I read with attention 
 all the ancient and modern works upon education. 1 resolved 
 to select from them what appeared most judicious and prac- 
 ticable ; and so to form, from the beauties of each, a perfect 
 system for the advantage of my son. He was my only child ; 
 he had lived with me eighteen months in prison : he was the 
 darling of his mother, whom I adored, and he was thought to 
 be in mind and person a striking resemblance of myself. How- 
 many reasons had I to love him !— I doted upon the child. 
 He certainly showed great quickness of intellect, and gave as 
 fair a promise of talents as could be expected at his age. I 
 formed hopes of his future excellence and success in the world, 
 as sanguine as those which my poor father had early formed 
 
 5 °3 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 of mine. I determined to watch carefully over his temper, 
 and to guard him particularly against that habit of procrastina- 
 tion which had been the bane of my life. 
 
 One day, while I was alone in my study, leaning on my 
 elbow, and meditating upon the system of education which I 
 designed for my son, my wife came to me and said, 1 My dear, 
 l have just heard from our friend, Mr. Nun, a circumstance 
 that alarms me a good deal. You know little Harry Nun was 
 inoculated at the same time with our Basil, and by the same 
 person. Mrs. Nun, and all the family, thought he had several 
 spots, just as much as our boy had, and that that was enough ; 
 but two years afterwards, while we were in America, Harry 
 Nun caught the smallpox in the natural way, and died. Now 
 it seems the man who inoculated him was quite ignorant ; for 
 two or three other children, whom he attended, have caught 
 the disease since, though he was positive that they were safe. 
 Don’t you think we had better have our boy inoculated again 
 immediately, by some proper person ? ’ 
 
 ‘ U ndoubtedly, my dear ; undoubtedly. But I think we 
 had better have him vaccined. I am not sure, however ; but 
 
 I will ask Dr. ’s opinion this day, and be guided by that ; 
 
 I shall see him at dinner : he has promised to dine with us.’ 
 
 Some accident prevented him from coming, and I thought 
 of writing to him the next day, but afterward put it off. Lucy 
 came again into my study, where she was sure to find me in 
 the morning. 1 My dear,’ said she, * do you recollect that you 
 desired me to defer inoculating our little boy till you could 
 decide whether it be best to inoculate him in the common way 
 or the vaccine ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, my dear, I recollect it perfectly well. I am much 
 
 inclined to the vaccine. My friend, Mr. L , has had all 
 
 his children vaccined, and 1 just wait to see the effect.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, my love ! ’ said Lucy, ‘ do not wait any longer ; for 
 you know we run a terrible risk of his catching the smallpox, 
 every day, every hour.’ 
 
 ‘ We have run that risk, and escaped for these three years 
 past,’ said I ; ‘ and, in my opinion, the boy has had the small- 
 pox.’ 
 
 ‘So Mr. and Mrs. Nun thought, and you see what has hap- 
 pened. Remember our boy was inoculated by the same man. 
 I am sure, ever since Mr. Nun mentioned this, I never take 
 
 5°4 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 little Basil out to walk, I never see him in a shop, I never 
 have him in the carriage with me, without being in terror. 
 Yesterday a woman came to the coach-door with a child in 
 her arms, who had a breaking-out on his face. I thought it 
 was the smallpox, and was so terrified that I had scarcely 
 strength or presence of mind enough to draw up the glass. 
 Our little boy was leaning out of the door to give a halfpenny 
 to the child. My God ! if that child had the smallpox !’ 
 
 ‘My love,’ said I, ‘do not alarm yourself so terribly; the 
 boy shall be inoculated to-morrow.’ 
 
 ‘To-morrow! Oh, my dearest love, do not put it off till to- 
 morrow,’ said Lucy ; ‘ let him be inoculated to-day.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, my dear, only keep your mind easy, and he shall be 
 inoculated to-day, if possible ; surely you must know I love the 
 boy as well as you do, and am as anxious about him as you can 
 be.’ 
 
 ‘ I am sure of it, my love,’ said Lucy ; ‘ I meant no reproach. 
 But since you have decided that the boy shall be vaccined, let 
 us send directly for the surgeon, and have it done, and then he 
 will be safe.’ 
 
 She caught hold of the bell-cord to ring for a servant : I 
 stopped her. 
 
 ‘No, my dear, don’t ring,’ said I ; ‘for the men are both 
 out. I have sent one to the library for the new Letters on 
 Education , and the other to the rational toy-shop for some 
 things I want for the child.’ 
 
 ‘ Then, if the servants are out, I had better walk to the 
 surgeon’s, and bring him back with me.’ 
 
 ‘No, my dear,’ said I ; ‘ I must see Mr. L ’s children 
 
 first. I am going out immediately ; I will call upon them : 
 they are healthy children ; we can have the vaccine infection 
 from them, and I will inoculate the boy myself.’ 
 
 Lucy submitted. I take a melancholy pleasure in doing her 
 justice, by recording every argument that she used, and every 
 persuasive word that she said to me, upon this occasion. I am 
 anxious to show that she was not in the least to blame. I alone 
 am guilty ! I alone ought to have been the sufferer ! It will 
 scarcely be believed — I can hardly believe it myself — that, after 
 all Lucy said to me, I delayed two hours, and stayed to finish 
 making an extract from Rousseau’s Etnilius before I set out. 
 When I arrived at Mr. L ’s, the children were just gone out 
 
 5°5 
 
‘ “ No ' m y dear > dodt rin S," said /; " for the men are both out." ' 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 to take an airing, and 1 could not see them. A few hours may 
 sometimes make all the difference between health and sickness, 
 happiness and misery ; I put off till the next day the inocula- 
 tion of my child. 
 
 In the meantime a coachman came to me to be hired: my 
 boy was playing about the room, and, as I afterward recollected, 
 went close up to the man, and, while I was talking, stood 
 examining a greyhound upon his buttons. I asked the coach- 
 man many questions, and kept him for some time in the room. 
 Just as I agreed to take him into my service, he said he could 
 not come to live with me till the next week, because one of his 
 cMldren was ill of the smallpox. 
 
 These words struck me to the heart. I had a dreadful pre- 
 sentiment of what was to follow. I remember starting from my 
 seat, and driving the man out of the house with violent menaces. 
 My boy, poor innocent victim ! followed, trying to pacify me, 
 and holding me back by the skirts of my coat. I caught him 
 up in my arms. I could not kiss him ; I felt as if I was his 
 murderer. I set him down again ; indeed I trembled so 
 violently that I could not hold him. The child ran for his 
 mother. 
 
 I cannot dwell on these things. Our boy sickened the 
 next week ; and the week afterward died in his mother’s arms ! 
 
 Her health had suffered much by the trials which she had 
 gone through since our marriage. The disapprobation of her 
 father, the separation from all her friends, who were at variance 
 with me, my imprisonment, and then the death of her only 
 child, were too much for her fortitude. She endeavoured to 
 conceal this from me ; but I saw that her health was rapidly 
 declining. She was always fond of the country ; and, as my 
 sole object now in life was to do whatsoever I could to console 
 and please her, I proposed to sell our house in town, and to 
 settle somewhere in the country. In the neighbourhood of her 
 father and mother there was a pretty place to be let, which I 
 had often heard her mention with delight ; I determined to 
 take it : I had secret hopes that her friends would be gratified 
 by this measure, and that they would live upon good terms with 
 us. Her mother had seemed, by her letters, to be better dis- 
 posed towards me since my rich relation had left me his fortune. 
 Lucy expressed great pleasure at the idea of going to live in the 
 country, near her parents ; and I was rejoiced to see her smile 
 
 5°7 
 
POPULAR TALES 
 
 once more. Being naturally of a sanguine disposition, hope 
 revived in my heart ; I flattered myself that we might yet be 
 happy, that my Lucy would recover her peace of mind and 
 her health, and that perhaps Heaven might bless us with 
 another child. 
 
 I lost no time in entering into treaty for the estate in the 
 country, and I soon found a purchaser for my excellent house 
 in town. But my evil genius prevailed. I had neglected to 
 renew the insurance of my house ; the policy was out but nine 
 days , 1 when a fire broke out in one of my servants’ rooms at 
 midnight, and, in spite of all the assistance we could procure, 
 the house was burnt to the ground. I carried my wife out 
 senseless in my arms ; and, when I had deposited her in a place 
 of safety, returned to search for a portfolio, in which was the 
 purchase-money of the country estate, all in bank-notes. But 
 whether this portfolio was carried off by some of the crowd, 
 which had assembled round the ruins of my house, or whether 
 it was consumed in the flames, I cannot determine. A more 
 miserable wretch than I was could now scarcely be found in the 
 world ; and, to complete my misfortunes, I felt the conscious- 
 ness that they were all occasioned by my own folly. 
 
 I am now coming to the most extraordinary and the most 
 interesting part of my history. A new and surprising accident 
 happened. 
 
 1 Founded on fact. 
 
 Note by the Editor .— What this accident was can never now be known ; 
 for Basil put off finishing his history till TO-MORROW. 
 
 This fragment was found in an old escritoire, in an obscure lodging in 
 Swallow Street. 
 
 August, 1803. 
 
 THE END 
 
 Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh. 
 

Date Dee 
 
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 nA N 2 0 ’4S 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 L. B. Cat. Mo. 1137