STRIVE AND THRIVE.
A TALE..
BY MARY HOWITT,
AUTHOR OF " WHO SHALL BE GREATEST " " HOPE ON! UOP]
EVEI!" " SOWING AND REAPING," ETC. ETC.
443 & 445 BROADWAY.
1864.








CO NTENTS.
(MAP.                                             PAs
I. Neighbour's Gossip..                         1
II. Neighbour's Gossip illustrated..  10
III. Married Life..                       19
IV. Mr. Thompson's Visit...             29
V. A Great Change.....                           36
VI. The New Home.....  45
VII. A Hopeless Quest..   56
VIII. New Characters...                  61
IX. The Twelfth Hour.....  73
X. New Prospects..                               80
XI. Little Margaret's  Sorrow; and  the  First
Holiday.91
XII. Brighter Prospects.,.. 102
XIII. Secret Schemes...113
XIN'. La Belle Flora... 131
XV. Difficulties.      141
XVI. A Friend in Need                               154
XVII. New Connexions..,..  162
Conclusion....            112








STRIVE AND THRIVE.
CHAPTER I.
NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP.'THAT poor man over the way is dead at last,"
said the younger of the two Miss Poindens, as
they sate at breakfast.
" How do you know that? " returned the elder.
"They did not take the roll this morning,'
answered Miss Barbara; " I saw the baker put
it back into his basket; and that tall, thin girl
has not dusted the window-frames; nor has that
pale-faced boy fetched the spring-water, as usual;
nor have the blinds been drawn up; and the sash
of the sick chamber has been raised a matter of
three inches. I am sure he is dead. It would
but be neighbourly to send over and inquire if we.ould be of any service."
"Barbazal" exclaimed Miss Poinden, as If
ID




2           NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP.
quite shocked and astonished; " and what con.
cern is it of ours if the man be dead or alive?"
" Siser," replied the more benevolent Barbara,
"they are poor; very poor, I am sure they are.
I have studied the ways of those people as if they
were my own kindred; I know they are poor:
and relations or friends they have none, for there
never was going or coming to that house, nor
have they had as much as a neighbour to take
tea with them; and yet how respectable they all
look; those children-and there are five of themalways so neat, and with a something about them
so unlike common people's children; the boys
with their clean white collars-but they always
take them off as soon as they get within doorsI've seen it scores of times! Bless me! I've sate
and fretted myself if it came on rain while they
were out, as if they had been my own children,
and I had to pay for their washing. Of course I
know nothing of them further than I have seen,"
continued Miss Barbara, talking on in a weak, pattering voice, that might have reminded an unaccustomed listener of quiet rain against the window;
" but, you know, when one has seen a thing for
some time, one can make a shrewd guess respecting it. Now, I maintain it, that although these
people are poor-which is a common lot enough —




WEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP.          S
yet that they are not common people. The house
itself is a miracle to me; —always so clean and neat
as it looks; and yet there is no servant, not even a
girl, nor a char-woman on a Saturday;-how they
manage is past my skill to say; one would think
fairies did the work of the house. Look only at
their street-door-there is not a door like it:
paint clean, knocker bright, steps as white as a
lily; yet, never did I see a hand upon them. It is
my opinion that all this is done when everybody
else is in bed: and they would not have that
sensibility if they were your common people. I
declare I feel quite a regard for them. They take
in needle-work, poor things, and that's money
hardly earned.  I've seen the draper's porter
bring Irish linen there-I am sure it was Irish;
and it is my opinion that they work for warehouses; and the boy takes home the work in a
carpet-bag every Saturday morning.  I was a
long time before I could understand things-that
carpet-bag puzzled me much; but I have a pretty
good knowledge of all their movements now.
They are respectable people, sister; very respectable people, though they are poor. I think I
shall just send Martha over with my or our compliments, and ask if we could be of any serviceit would but be neighbourly, you know."
" Nonsense!" returned Miss Poinden; " I beg




4           NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP.
you will do no such thing. Half a dozen people
may be dead in the street beside this man, yet it
is no concern of ours."
Poor Miss Bearara always yielded to her sister,
and therefore she did not urge the point, although
she thought within herself, that it was very disagreeable never to have her own way.
" He must have been ill many years," said
Barbara, after a silence of five minutes, during
which time the circumstances of the opposite
neighbours had passed in busy review before her.
" The man over the way?" inquired Miss
Poinden, who had thought in the meantime on
twenty different subjects, and yet who, accustomed to her sister's unwearying perseverance in
one train of thought, naturally reverted to the
last topic of discourse —" perhaps he may."
" He has," persisted Miss Barbara; "why, it
is three years last July since he came-don't you
remember? Last July three years they brought
him in a sedan-chair, and he then was too ill to
walk. Three years it is since they came; those
dressy Martins-Mrs. Martin and her three daughters-lived there before them. You had your
lavender silk the very May before they left, and
no sooner had you been seen in it, than Mrs.
Martin got one like it."
" Going on for four years since I bought my




NEIGHBOUR PS GOSSIP.          a
lavender silk! It is impossible!" exclaimed Miss
Poinden.
" It will be four years next May," returned
Barbara, quietly, "since you bought that dress."
"If you can make that out, the dress shall be
yours," said the elder sister; and Barbara, who,
unfortunately for the indulgence of her benevolent impulses, was dependent upon her senior,
and who was the grateful receiver of her more
costly cast-off habiliments, set about proving that
the poor opposite neighbour had been ill in that
house upwards of three years, inasmuch as he had
been the succeeding tenant to the dressy Martins
in whose time the lavender silk was unquestionably bought.
" Now I can prove it to you past a doubt,"
said Miss Barbara, settling herself into a talking
position in her chair: " they came here on the
first of July-that was your birthday, you know.
I daresay they took the house at Midsummer, but
perhaps he was too ill to be moved; I hope,
however, they had not another quarter's rent to
pay; or perhaps they were in lodgings by the
week-then it wouldn't matter. Well, however,
as I said, they came on the first of July, and he
was brought in a sedan-chair. I was standing at
that window, dusting the old china on the stand;
B 2




6      ~    NEIGHBOUIR S GOSSIP,
for, as it was your birthday, we were going to have
company. We had the Smiths and the Wilsons
that night to tea and supper. Young Wilson was
over then from Barbadoes, and we asked the
Smiths to meet them. Well, as I said, I was
dusting the china; I had my Jemmy Jessamy in
my hand wher the sedan-chair came up, and I
was naturally curious to know who it held, fothe goods had come the day before —no great
quantity of them either-and that pale-faced boy
walked beside the sedan; he was a very little
fellow then; and Mrs. Walsingham, though at
that time I didn't know her name, came out to
the door to receive them. The chairman carried
out the sick man, wrapped in a blanket, and presently I saw him brought into the chamber where
he now lies dead. He must have been very ill at
that time, for he has kept his chamber ever since,
and his bed also, in my opinion, for I never saw
him more than once or twice, and that at distant
intervals, sitting in an easy chair near the fire.
It was some incurable malady-some slow consumption or other-that has been the death of him;
for, though a doctor came now and then, just at
regular times, I never could see that any physic
came to the house. But, however, all this is
nothing to the purpose; I was telling you about




NEIGHBOUR 9S GOSSIP            7
their first coming. I was very busy looking at
them, and put my hand back to set the Jemmy
Jessamy on the stand, that I might go nearer to
the window, for I didn't care to be seen dusting
it as I stood there; but unfortunately I forgot
that I had moved the stand, so instead of setting
it down as I expected, I drop-ped it on the floor."
"Just like you," chimed in Miss Poinden, in
rather a bitter tone.
" Well, well, sister," continued Miss Barbaia,
with a deprecating voice, " my accidents mostly
fall on my own head, as in this case, for, as I
told you at the time, it was my own piece; and,
seeing I have no great possessions, I had most
cause to grieve: and then Mrs. Smith-just like
her-asked where the Jemmy was, the moment
she entered the room, for she catalogues everything in everybody's house.  And didn't you
wear your lavender silk that night; and Mr. Wilson, the old gentleman, dropped his muffin, with
the buttered side downward, on the side-breadth;
and old Mr. Smith told you that magnesia was
the best thing in the world to take out grease?
0, I remember it as if it were only to-night! and
that was the day the people over the way first
came; and I declare I never saw any one of them
for a long time afterwards, without feeling as if I
had just broken something."




8           NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP.
" To be sure," said the elder lady, "I did
wear that dress that particular night; it was new
just then: but that cannot be three years ago."
"Well," returned Miss Barbara, " you'll see.
Your next birthday you spent at Margate; the
next, you had that fit of lumbago, when Mr.
Baillie sent in that large bill: bless me, what
money those doctors must get! I don't wonder
at the poor Walsinghams having the doctor only
now and then. Last first of July, don't you
remember sitting in the morning for your picture,
and our drinking tea with the Phillipses in the
evening?   Now there are three birthdays for
you; and that makes three years, to my knowledge, that that poor man has kept his sick-bed;
and next May your lavender silk gown will be
four years old."
" Bless me," said Miss Poinden, "how time
goes on! That gown looks well for its age; it
was a good silk to begin with-seven-and-sixpence a-yard; but it is time you had it: and, now
I think of it, I am rather tired of it. It will
make you an excellent church-going dress when
you've turned it."
Poor Miss Barbara, though she was two-andfifty years old, was sA pleased and so occupied
with the business of re-modelling the lavender silk
dress, that she said no more about sending Martha




NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP.           9
with her compliments over the way, or with her
offers of service; but yet, in the midst of hpr
sewing and shaping, she could not help wondering how poor Mrs. Walsingham would contrive
to put herself, and all those five children, into
decent mourning.
Miss Barbara Poinden was quite right in most,
if not all of her surmises. She was right in believing that Walsingham was dead —that be had died
that night, after a long confinement to a sick
chamber. She was right in saying that they were
poor; that there was no coming nor going of relations or friends to their door, nor neighbourly
tea-drinkings, and yet that they had a respectable
look-a something about them unlike common
people. She was right as to the needle-work
and the street-door; and, as neither servant nor
char-woman could be afforded in that house,
had Miss Barbara been an early riser, she might
have seen that the fairy who cleaned the steps
and the knocker was no other than the thin,
pale-faced boy who had so often excited her
compassion.
But as Miss Barbara's observations only served
for a breakfast-table gossip, and were only the
result of an idle though kind-hearted curiosity,
we, who know all the detail of the family history,




10          NEIGHBOUR'b GOSSIP.
must enlighten our readers thereon; anti, in order
to do that thoroughly, we must go back nearly
twenty years.
CHAPTER II.
NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP ILLUSTRATED.
NEARLY twenty years ago, Walsingham had just
left college. He was a man of fine taste and
accomplishments; that is, he had received a classical education; he read and discussed modem
literature and the belles lettres, and was not only
a connoisseur in the arts of music and painting,
but an amateur practitioner of them also. He
sketched excellently; he played on the flute and
violin more than passingly well; and was, in fine,
in the opinion of all his family, a most elegant
young man. Add to these other attractions, that
he possessed six thousand pounds in the funds, at
his own disposal, and, better still, that he was the
undoubted heir of a rich uncle, and it will be
easily seen that the world gave its golden opinions
not without reason. To his uncle, who was an
old bachelor, he was the nearest of kin, and had




IEIGHBOUR'S GOSSIP.          11
been brought up by him from his earliest thildhood. The good old man, in fact, had been to
him "father and mother both," and, as he advanced from childhood, had spared no expense to
give him every advantage of education.
Too much money, however, had been spent,
and too much indulgence allowed, if Mr. Thompson (for such was the uncle's name) expected
that at his one-and-twentieth year he "would
buckle to," as he expressed it, and take the place
of head clerk in the soap-boiling establishment,
oven with the whole concern in reversion. Matters
foil out as might have been expected: the nephew
-hought trade vulgar, and his uncle an unreasonl le, if not a tyrannical old man, who expected,:m to sit down to ledgers and invoices punctually
ita ten o'ciock daily, Sundays and Saint-days only
excepted. He declared decidedly, that he should
rot do it; and that, if the prosperity of the soapsoiling concern depended upon him, it might go
t) ruin. The uncle thought the nephew an idle,
uingrateful, good-for-nothing fellow, whose mind
nas given up to operas and plays, to picturelaintlng and fiddling, and to idle books, that
w.rre only written to turn weak heads. He was
eruellv deceived; and such ingratitude, he sid,
r'ould never bring a blessing.




12          NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP.
Poor Mr. Thompson! he felt the disappoint.
ment even deeper than his words expressed.
Walsingham had been as a son to him; he had
toiled for him and thought for him, and had been
destined, even from his birth, for his worthy
and superior successor.  The young man for
the last several years had lived mostly at college;
his mind had bon occupied partly by study, but
more by pleasure, and he soon learned that life went
on merrily without his uncle. The uncle, on the
contrary, never lost the memory of his ward; every
scheme in business, every accumulation of wealth,
had reference to him; and when, during the last
half year of his college life, the good soap-boiler
enlarged his warehouses, refitted and modernized
his counting-house, and had his old-fashioned,
dingy dwelling in Fore Street trimmed up, as it
never had been, trimmed up before, all was done
with an eye to the comfort and credit of his
nephew. No wonder was it, therefore, that that
nephew's contempt of trade was a most severe
blow: he doubted if his senses, indeed, conveyed
true intelligence; he had no conception of such
consummate folly. The younger kinsman, however, conceded so far as to make an attempt at
book-keeping, but six months more than sufficed
to satisiv both parties: he smoked cigars, which




NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP.          13
were the old man's abomination, while he posted
the ledger; he made crooked ees instead of the
good, old-fashioned, round-backed ones; and
although his handwriting was naturally a good,
clear, bold, tradesman's hand, he wrote a hurried,
unintelligible scrawl, which would have disgraced
a nobleman. The two, therefore, parted, and
with less regret on the senior's part than if this
trial had not been made.
Walsingham was his own master. He made a
tour on the continent; he joined a grouse-shooting party in Scotland; and in the third summer
after leaving his uncle, having seen him but seldom, and then casually, during that time, he set
out on a pedestrian fishing ramble to some of the
fishing streams in England. In the pleasant little
town, or rather village, of Ashford-in-the-Water,
in Derbyshire, where he had located himself for
trout-fishing, in the delicious littJl'ver Wye, he
became acquainted with a gentle- _nan and her
daughter, of the name of Hammond. Walsingham had never been much captivated by fashionable beauties, for they were too much of his own
stamp to excite great interest in his heart. But
sweet Margaret Hammond-more beautiful than
the most admired beauty of a London seasonwith so much simplicity with so much good
c




14          NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP.
sense, with so mnuch information-where might
there be one to compare with her? There was a
wonderful fascination about her: m ith the utmost
self-possession and maidenly quietness there was
a naivete, a piquancy, an indescribable something
in her manner and conversation, that won all
hearts; she was accomplished. too, but her accomplishments were the last thing thought of.
Margaret, however, was not rich-in the world's
estimation she was poor. She had eight hundred
pounds to her portion, and her mother, who was
a widow, was dependent on a small annuity.
Nevertheless, they knew no wants, because their
desires were bounded by their means; and those
means, managed with admirable economy, seemed
to extend as by a miracle.
Walsingham went no further that summer than
Ashford-in-the-Water, and the next spring he
again returned. The young people became extremely attached to each other, and Mrs. Hammond placed no impediment in the way of their
marriage. He was candid in telling all that related to himself; he told of his uncle's early kindness and devotion to him, and of his earnest
desire that he should enter into trade: he even
told how the good old man, who had a horror of
bricklayers and carpenters, had admitted them into




NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP.          15
his den for the sake of his comfort, and had even
pulled down and builded up, and offended his
own love of ancient dinginess, to make the count.
ing-house more attractive to him; and yet, that
all had failed of its purpose. Margaret did not
laugh at this relation, as he intended she should,
but she asked him why he had done so? for that,
to her mind, his conduct was selfish and ungrate.ful. Perhaps he was startled by her plain speak...
ing; perhaps he was conscious that there was
truth in it.  However that might be, as he now
seriously intended to marry, he thought it worth
while to make up matters with his uncle. The
old gentleman was upwards of sixty years of age;
and, considering that he was the nearest kinsman,
and that, after all, he owed him some duty, it was
worth while to conciliate him, supposing nim
really affronted, even at the expense of sitting
down punctually to day-books and ledger.
Margaret could not analyze all her lover's private reasoning, but, giving him credit for every
pure and noble motive, her own good heart sincerely blessed him.
Mr. Thompson, habited as usual, in his brown
coat, buff waistcoat, kerseymere small-clothes,
and neatly-blacked and buckled shoes, was sitting
at his desk, within a sort of large glass cage, that




16          SEIGHBOUR,S GOSSIP.
occupied an angle of his spacious counting-house,
when his nephew, with a non-chalant air, presented himself before him. The old gentleman
raised his head from the large ledger on which he
had been poring, and, adjusting his spectacles to
the proper angle for transacting business by word
of mouth, beheld his unexpected nephew.
The monosyllable "so" greeted his ear the
first moment his uncle's eyes glanced upon him,
but in the next his hand was involuntarily
stretched forth, and his own grasped with the
most cordial welcome. Walsingham's heart was
really touched by this undoubted proof of kindness, and at the same moment he was shocked to
see the pallid, thin countenance of his uncle: the
old man had evidently been ill.
Mr. Thompson did not conceal the pleasure he
had in again meeting his nephew; and when, as
the two sate prolonging to an unusual time the
leisure the old gentleman allowed for his solitary
glass of after-dinner port, Walsingham announced
his wish to make himself useful in business, declaring that he was satisfied with gentlemanly
indolence, and would now become the plodding
tradesman, the good old man was overjoyed;
he declared it was the happiest day of his life;
that he would have the back bed-room new




NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP,         17
papered, and new moreen hangings to the bed,
and that he should be lodged like a prince  Unfortunately, that was not what Walsingham intended; but as he feared the old bachelor's aversion to marriage might throw some impediment
in his way, he kept his own counsel, and merely
replied, that he should prefer choosing his own
lodgings, and that he would not trouble his uncle
to make any domestic alterations for him. Mr.
Thompson would have thought nothing trouble
that secured his nephew to himself, and he was
therefore thrown quite a-back by this repulse.
" So, my house is not good enough for him-my
way of living does not please him," muttered he
to himself, as he put on his slippers that evening:
and next morning Walsingham found his uncle
considerably abated in cordiality.  There were
many stipulations now to be. made before he
would agree to receive him even into his counting-house. In the first place, he must be punctual;
" to the minute, sir," said the senior, with emphasis: Walsingham  promised.  He must never
smoke a cigar in the counting-house; he must
write a good, round, legible, tradesman's hand:
he promised, without hesitation. Further, the old
gentleman approved neither of play-books, playhouses, operas, nor fiddling; and if his nephew
c2




s18         NEIGHBOUR S GOSSIP.
expected important advantages from him, he too
expected some little concessions.  Walsingham
thought his uncle ignorant and unreasonable, but
he was in no humour to stand upon trifles; and
therefore he again promised. No ii dulgence, he
said, of his own pleasures or private tastes, should'iterfere with his duty to his uncle.
Mr. Thompson gave his hand, and said it
should be a bargain, and that in one month from
that day he would expect him to be at his post.
Walsingham passed what he thought a happy
fortnight in London, and then went down to Ashford, intending to spend the remainder of his time
with Margaret. He had left all bright and hopeful but a short time before; on his return he
found that a fearful change had occurred: Mrs.
Hammond had been visited by a paralytic stroke,
and Margaret was overwhelmed by sorrow and
anxiety.
Walsingham, on his part, had nothing but good
to communicate. He was, he believed, secure of
his uncle's affections; he had a prospect of wealth
before him, and, with him, for Margaret also.
Mrs. Hammond's faculties were unimpaired by hex
severe visitation; but as the physician was apprehensive of another attack, which he feared might
be fatal, the one earnest desire of her heart was




MARRIED LIFE.             19
now to see her daughter united to Walsingham;
which she urged incessantly, and with almost
childish impatience. Walsingham  seconded her
wishes with an urgency that would take no denial.
Margaret alone hesitated; but her hesitation was
overruled, and her marriage took place but a few
days before her mother's death.
CHAPTER III.
MARRIED LIFE.
Toin day after Mrs. Hammond's funeral was that
on which Walsingham was bound to return to,Uis
uncle. Margaret insisted on his punctually keeping his appointment; but this she could only
persuade him to by accompanying him to town.
Walsingham, however, did not keep his appointment; he was one day and three hours after his
time-a serious delinquency in the eyes of his
kinsman. A very different countenance to that
of their late interview now met him; and Walsingham ventured not to make the excuses of either
of the men in the Gospel, that he had to bury the




20             MARRIED LIFE.
dead, or that he had married a wife, and could
not come. He took the unoccupied seat by his
uncle, whose only salutation to him was, that
there would'be double duty for him to-day, seeing he had neglected that of the day before.
It seemed an interminable day to Walsingham:
he grew out of humour, bit his pen, and thought,
that of all drudgery under the sun, that of headclerk in a soap-boiler's office was the most irksome, even with the whole business in reversion.
Margaret's first day in London, too-spent in a
small room at the Bull-and-Mouth, Aldersgatestreet-was melancholy enough.  It was seven
o'clock before her husband returned, and he then
proposed their spending the evening at the opera:
but she was in no spirits for the opera; and, late
as it was for such a quest, she prayed him to let
them seek for quiet lodgings, that, at least in his
absence, she might have some feeling of homecomfort. Their quest was unsuccessful; and, as
Walsingham did not rise early enough to go out
before he went to the counting-house, after four
joyless days spent at an hotel, she determined to
go down to Ashford, wind up all their little affairs
there, and leave her husband in the meantime to
provide a house for them.
"u We need not go through the melancholy detail




MARRIED LIFE.              21
of the busy three weeks which Margaret spent at
her old but now desolate home. After packing
up their good store of old-fashioned, respectable
plate, linen, and china, and selecting from their
well-kept furniture what she thought would be
most useful to them in their new housekeeping,
the rest was sold, a farewell was taken of her
friends, and she returned to London. To her
surprise she was introduced by her husband into
a- small but elegant villa, in the pleasant neighbourhood of Highgate, as her future home.  It
seemed all like magic: the rooms so light and
cheerful, the views so delicious; the neat gay
frarden, with its trim lawn and abundant evergreens, looking so verdant and refreshing; all her
wants and wishes studied, and even her domestic
comforts thought for. It was better than any
magic-it was the forethought of an affectionate
heart.
" Oh, Edward, how kind, how considerate!"
exclaimed she, glancing round, with an emotion
at her heart that filled her eyes with tears; " this
is, indeed, like coming into Paradise!"
He was not less pleased than his wife; he had
intended her an agreeable surprise, and such it
had proved.
Walsingham, as we have said, had fine tatste




22             MARRIED LIFE.
he had a Dassion for the beautiful, and, in con.
sequence. considerable knowledge of the fine arts.
He loved music; he purchased pictures and expensive casts; life lost half its charm to his mind,
without the enjoyment of these things. Poor
Mrs. Walsingham had a practical lesson, only a
few days after her arrival at Highgate, how inferior her tastes and notions were to those of her
husband.
"What is all this old lumbering rubbish
brought here for?" exclaimed he, as he saw the
furniture which Margaret had left to come by the
waggon, and which had now arrived, brought into
his hall. " Where does this brokers' rubbish
come from?" again asked he, as his wife came
down stairs, eager to empty the drawers of the
old linen and plate which she had so carefully
packed in them.
" It is some of mother's furniture," replied she,
"which I thought might be useful to us."
"To us!" repeated he, disdainfully; " I would
not give such lumber house-room! Such things
as these are inadmissible in a modern house!"
" I did -not think our house would have been
as elegant as this; and, besides, dear Edward. I
thought of saving us expense."
" The deuce you did!" was his impatient re




MARRIED LIFE.             23
ply: the first time he had spoken impatiently to
her. "You ought to consult me about such
things, for you are not to be trusted in matters or
taste. These things are not even antique!"
Margaret was mortified; and she stood with
the handle of a drawer between her fingers, forbearing to open it, lest her husband should dis..
cover some additional cause of displeasure. An
additional cause of displeasure, however, stood
before him in a chest of books-the small library
of Margaret's mother-the old binding and dingy
gilding of which made it unsightly to his eyes.
" It is really too bad, Margaret," said he, " to
fill the house with these worthless things; had
you put them in the sale they might have brought
their value; as it is, they are valueless here."
" Not to me," returned his wife: " and have
you forgotten, Edward, the pleasure we have had
in reading these very books?"
"One might endure to read them at Ashford,"
said he, " where all things corresponded, but here
I could not touch them."
In the evening, when her husband returned
from the counting-house, all the offensive old furniture was removed from sight; not a straw nor
a piece of matting remained; nor even a china jar,
nor an antiquated piece of plate, was in sight, to




24             MARRIED LIFE.
recall the annoyance of the morning. All hwd
been carefully put away, and the old furniture
stowed into an unfurnished chamber-not without
an involuntary and depressing thought that, per.
haps, a time might come when even these despised
articles should stand them in stead.
Time went on-children were born to them-.
and, to all appearance, this little villa at Highgate
was a happy home: it was so to Mrs. Walsingham, with one or two drawbacks. Her husband's
lavish expenditure, his unabated dislike to all the
details of trade, and the coldness and disunion
which now existed between himself and his unck]<,
were her saddest causes of anxiety.
Mr. Thompson had found his nephew a very
indifferent substitute for his old regular headclerk; his want of punctuality and business-like
precision reduced the old man's patience to the
strength of a burnt thread. Frequent dissensions
occurred between.them; still the one forbore and
forgave, and the other promised amendment, and
even attempted it; but still they met upon the
fertile ground of difference, and no sympathy nor
confidence existed between them.
In all this time Mrs. Walsingham was unknown
to her husband's uncle. Mr. Thompson soon
learned that his nephew had taken to himself a




MARRIED LIFE.              25
wife: but after his first ebullition of anger was
over, the subject was never started by eitiher,.:though now and then, when some gleam of better
intelligence passed over them, Walsingham would
quietly hint that a visit from his uncle would give
his wife pleasure. So it would; for Mrs. Walsingham had soon learned, even from her husband's complainings, to understand the character
of his uncle; and her earnest wish had always
been, that they might be acquainted.
"Only bring us acquainted," said she to her
husband one day, " and all will be well. I understand the old gentleman's character far better
-than you do, and I respect many of his prejudices.
I could make you also understand, and, perhaps,
like each other."
Walsingham burst into an uncontrollable fit of
laughter.
"' But, at all events, dearest husband," continued she, " endeavour to please him.  If he
chooses to have his safes unlocked, and his books
opened, precisely at ten, he is perfectly right in
requiring it; and if he forbids a cigar to be
smoked in his glass house, neither you nor any
other person ought to do it; and if he does thirk
that a man who gets his own living has no right
to make crooked ees, for henceforth and for ever,
D




26             MARRIED LIFE.
in his books, at least, let every e be straight.
You would conciliate him at once, by humouring
him in these harmless little fancies.
Walsinghllam persisted that his wife talked of
what she did not understand.
" This, at least, I understand," she replied;
"he behaved as the most affectionate of fathers in
your younger days; some obedience and some
gratitude, therefore, you surely owe him. It
would be a small thing to try, at least, to please
him-for the sake of your children, dearest Edward, do it!"
Walsingham was moved, and promised that he
would even try.. " And though," continuei his wife, " he may
have refused your former invitations, still invite
him again; not with that cold, measured voice of
yours, but with a kind, cordial voice, as if your
heart went with your invitation; and I am sure
he will come. I think he would like me, and I
have made up my mind to like him."
Walsingham put, as he thought, his heart into
his words, and invited the old gentleman, but he
again refused. He thought of thie invitation
afterwards, however, again and again; and after
it had revolved in his mind for about six months,
he thought, all at once, that he would go —tnat




MARRIED LIFE.             27
be weuld drop in quite unexpectedly, for that was
the true way of seeing people as they were.
A few more pages, however, we must be allowed, before we relate Mr. Thompson's very
momentous visit.
" I'll have that old tea-service of your mother's
exchanged for modern," said Walsingham one
evening, after a little party had left them; " it is
neither modern nor antique, and I cannot bear
the style of it —I must have it exchanged."
"By no means," said his wife, " for I have a
strong attachment to that old tea-service; I remember it from the time when I was a childbefore my father died-when we had that faithful
old servant that I have told you of."
" But," said her husband, "you cannot tell
everybody of your early attachments: you are
quite a child, Margaret, about these things."
" Perhaps I am," said she; " but I must confess that I love to think of those times when mother had her tea-parties at six o'clock-they kept,
then, such early hours in the country; and I
wore a white frock and red shoes, and used to sit
so demurely at her feet. Then that old tea-service was so carefully kept-it was always considered so very good —and, after father's death,
we only used it now and then, on great occasions.




28             MARRIED LIFE.
I remember we brought it out the first time you
took tea with us.  I remember it well —perhaps
you don't."
Walsingham kissed his wife's cheek, and called
her a little fool; adding, that spite of all her tender
associations, the old tea-service must still be exchanged, and that he would call at the silversmith's before long, and see about it."
" Wait, at least," said Mrs. Walsingham, " till
we are assured of Mr. Thompson's good will;
and, whatever we do, dearest Edward, let us be
prudent."
These were unfortunate words for her to have
spoken, and her husband's temper became ruffled.
He held an opinion, which many men hold-and
a very false, and often fatal opinion it is-that
women'have nothing to do with their husbands'
incomes, further than managing their housekeeping, and purchasing clothes for themselves and
their children.  Mrs. Walsingham  had always
received from her husband what her good management and prudence made sufficient for this
expenditure, but the real extent of his resources,
or the state of his circumstances, she never was
permitted to know. She saw no visible want of
money: she knew that her husband was lavish
m the indulgence of his tastes; and even in mu




MR. THOMPSON S VISIT.          29
personal expenses; but as he repelled interference
from her. she remained in passive ignorance.
Poor Waisingham! this was his most fatal error,
and the source of all his after sorrows. The truth
was, that his yearly expenditure had long exceeded his income-his funded property had been
sold, and much of the ornamental furniture of his
house, his pictures, and various articles of virtu,
which he was constantly exchanging, unpaid for.
Of all this his wife knew nothing; and he, with
his unbusiness-like habits, detested the very
thought of looking into his affairs. These few
remarks will prepare the reader for the chapter
which is to follow.
CHAPTER IV.
MR. THOMPSON S VISIT.
IT was a fine evening, late in May, when the old
gentleman took a turn up to Highgate. It was
about six o'clock when he set out; he dined at
one. and he now made up his mind for a comfortable "dish of tea" with his kinsfu'k.  It was
D 2




80         MR. THOMPSON S VISIT.
altogether a most unlucky time. Walsingham
was going that evening with a gentleman to the
opera, with whom he was also first to dine. He
had returned from the counting-house in time to
dress; and, as the evening was as deliciously fine
as an evening on the verge of June could well be,
Mrs. Walsingham, who had that day dined early
with her children, had taken them out for a walk.
Walsingham, when he went to dress, emptied
a quantity of loose papers out of the pocket of the
coat he intended to wear, and laid them, with his
new primrose-coloured gloves, his opera-ticket,
and his opera-glass, upon the dining-room table.
While dressing, he was informed that an old
gentleman wished to see him.
" I am engaged; I cannot see any one," was
his reply: " but, stop-what name?"
" He gave no name, sir," replied the servant.
"What is he like? " asked Walsingham.
" An old gentleman, sir-rather like a tradesman."
His uncle was the last person in his mind; and
the word tradesman suggested some unpleasant
images to his mind, in the forms of sundry duns
for unnaid bills.
"I cannot see any one," said Walsingham,
impatiently.




MR. THOMPSON S VISIT.         31
Mr. Thompson had been asked to sit down in
the dining-room; and in the meantime he took an
attentive survey of everything, and saw much
which, in the fit of ill-humour that was rapidly
coming over him, he disapproved.    Very fine!"
said he to himself; " I wonder,fnether all this is
paid for."
The maid went into the kitchen to pin on a
pink bow which had 4allen from her cap, and, as
she thought the " old tradesman" was in no
hurry, she let him wait some time before she delivered her message. Mr. Thompson had ample
time to complete his survey. " Upon my word!"
said he, " an opera-ticket and glass!"
Completely out of humour by this time, and
scarcely thinking what he was doing, except that
it was his way at home, he took up paper after
paper, and made himself master of their contents.
They were sundry unpaid bills, letters of duns,
and other such documents, which Walsingham had
been careful in keeping from his wife's knowledge.
" An extravagant dog!" growled he, no longer
able to control his anger, and reading aloud the
subjects and totals of the four last bills-" Sevenand-thirty pounds, nineteen shillings, for a tailor's
bill! fifteen pounds eighteen for horse-hire! seven
guineas for the Graces-a group in plaster! thirty



82          IMR. THOMPSON'S VISIT.
five pounds on the exchange of the silver tea.
service! "-and, scarcely waiting for the assurance
that Mr. Walsingham was engaged, and could see
no one, the old gentleman flung out of the house
more irritated against his nephew than he had
ever been before.
All unconscious who had been the visite:, but
convinced that it was some " dunning tradesman,"
from  the maid's remark, tWt ".he went off in a
towering passion," he gathered up his unfortunate
papers, the disarrangement of which he never observed, locked them in his desk, drew on his
delicate gloves, pocketed his ticket and glass, and
set off for an evening of pleasure.
Mrs. Walsingham enjoyed her walk-so did
her children; the spirits of all seemed bright and
cheerful as the sunny air they had been breathing,
and, long after they had nestled down in their
healthy slumbers, their mother's heart knew no
feelings but those of thankfulness and pleasure.
Walsingham returned home in raptures of delight. Life, he declared, was not worth having
without such pleasures as he had that night enjoyed. Catalani's singing, Desshayes' dancingthey were the very perfection of intellectual pleasure! Margaret thought that she had enjoyed
sounder pleasure, perhaps, though less ostentatious,




M1l THOMPSON'S VISIT,          33
in sitting by her sleeping children. She had no
doubt, she said, of such pleasures as her husband
spoke of being very delightful, very intellectual;
but still they were not the only pleasures, nor the
highest pleasures of life.
" You are so prudent, you are so measured in
your approbation, you are so very domestic in
your tastes," was his unsatisfied reply.
The next morning Walsingham felt a great reaction of spirits; he was not the excited, animated
being of the last night; and it was with a weariness of mind and a thorough disgust of business
that, an hour and a half after his time, he presented himself before his uncle. Here a reception
awaited him for which he was not at all prepared.
" So, sir," began his uncle, " you make use of
a silver tea-service!"
Walsingham was astonished; yet it was not
without a smile that he replied he did.
"' Sir," returned his uncle, "Britannia-metal
or Sheffield plate, at least, might serve your turn.
I am a man, sir, not worth less than a quarter of
a million, yet I never had a silver tea-pot in my
life. And you have spent seven guineas in three
plaster women!-not seemly figures, any of them,
to be in a decent man's house," continued he, as
his nephew, utterly amazed at what this could
mean, looked at him without a reply.




84         MR. THOMPSON'S VISIT.
He then announced his last evening's visit, and,
without permitting a word of apology or expla.
nation, went on to state in what manner he had
possessed himself of these facts.
Walsingham, who almost rejoiced, at the mo.
ment, in what seemed a plea against his uncle,
declared his conduct to have been treacherous and
mean; and that only in the most dishonourable
manner had le possessed himself of these facts.
He would rather, he declared, live on bread and
water; he would rather pine in a jail, than tamely
submit to conduct so ungentlemanly!
"As you please," was his uncle's unmoved
reply.
Walsingham believed that he stood in the position of an injured man, and he was not cast
down. His uncle pursued: "I called on you
last evening with a disposition to establish a
friendly feeling between us; but I saw enough to
convince me that we hold such different principles,
and take such different views of life, that the less
intercourse between us the better. I will leave
you uninterruptedly to walk in the path you have
chosen. A man who will not pay his debts, a
man who will sacrifice his own self-respect for the
sake of indulging fancies that he calls taste, shall
not have the encouragement of my countenance.
Do not interrupt me, sir; your services have nevez




MR. THOMPSON S VISIT,        35
Uw- o.f any value to me; I have all along overpaid 7ou, and henceforth I shall have my work
done &y those from whom I can have my money's
worth.  I am not the dishonourable being you
represent me; the full amount of those unpaid
bills, with which I became acquainted last night,
you will fild in this checque. The less we see of
each other, henceforward, the better." So saying,
he left his nephew almost stupified by contending
feelings. Was he injured by his uncle, or benefitted by him — he scarcely knew which. He
stood for a few moments undecided what to do
next, and he might have remained undecided
much longer, had not a clerk pushed past him, as
he thought rudely, altd for an instant diverted the
current of his feelings.
He took up his hat and the checque to which
his uncle had pointed, and, without ascertaining
its amount, hastened tu the bank, presented it,
and received a hundred and fifty pounds.




CHAPTER V.
A GREAT CHANGE.
WALSINGRAM put the money in his pocket, and
determined that his wife should know nothing of
this unpleasant affair. He had no fear but that
in the end his uncle would pass all over; and,
since he was now free from coanting-house duties,
why not enjoy a week's real relaxation? why not
take his wife and children, this delicious weather, to spend a week at Richmond, at Windsor,
or somewhere?
The little scheme of pleasure was soon arranged; his unlooked-for week of leisure made
every home-inmate glad; and he, confident in his
own mind that his uncle would relent, gave himself up to enjoyment, with an entire reaction of
spirit that was perhaps neither unnatural nor
strange. How happily that week at Richmond
wore away!
" I am not bound to be back precisely to the
week," said he, as the seventh day was accom-n
plished, and with a secret reluctance to encounter
again any disagreeable reality; " I am not bound




A GREAT CHANGE.            37
exactly to time; suppose we stay over the Sunday-.just three days longer." Every one joyfully acceded.
On the Sunday, as he and his wife were walk.
ing on the terrace, they were met by the gentle.
man who went with him to the opera on the
unfortunate evening of his uncle's visit.
" Good Heavens!" exclaimed the gentleman,
" you here!"
" And why not?" asked Walsingham, in a
cheerful voice, yet not without a sudden chillness
of heart.
"' You have not heard, then?" said the other.
" Heard what?" asked he, alarmed.
" Of Mr. Thompson's death!-Good Heavens,
that I should thus distress you!" added he, seeing
the shock his words had produced upon both his
hearers; " but it will be all the better for you, my
dear fellow," he said, laying his hand on Walsingham's arm, and meaning to act the comforter.
The gentleman's information was only too correct. Mr. Thompson had died whilst holding his
pen in his counting-house the day before. The
little party hurried to London immediately. At
his house Walsingham found the announcement of
his uncle's death; and on the next Thursday he
was invited to attend the funeral, and hear the
II




88            A GREAT CHANGE.
reading of his will.  He had not yet told his vwif
under what circumstances they had last parted;
there would be no need now, he thought, if things
were as he hoped, and as he almost expected.
Mr. Thompson's will was dated the day after
their last interview, and was short, clear, and
strong as words could make it. His business he
ordered to be disposed of, and the whole of his
property was left in bequests. Alms-houses were
to be built, different institutions enriched, and a
large amount given to various charities in the
metropolis. A few annuities came last, to his old
cervants, male and female, to his oldest clerk, and
%o his nephew; one hundred pounds a year to the
latter, and fifty pounds for funeral expenses.
This was a blow which crushed poor Walsingham to the earth. In the agony of his disappointrnent he opened his whole soul to his wife; he
told of his uncle's strange visit, of the manner in
which he iad discovered his debts, of their last
interviewi anid ot the money which he had given
him.  Ma:garet shed bitter, heart-felt tears at
this unexpected recital; she was amazed at the
knowledge of their debts, at the amount of borrowed money, but above all, at the discovery that
her husband's private resources, and her own
amal) dowry, were alike dissipated. It was an




|88           A GREAT CHANGE.
reading of his will.  He had not yet told his wife
under what circumstances they had last parted;
there would be no need now, he thought, if things
were as he hoped, and as he almost expected.
Mr. Thompson's will was dated the day after
their last interview, and was short, clear, and
strong as words could make it. His business he
ordered to be disposed of, and the whole of his
property was left in bequests. Alms-houses were
to be built, different institutions enriched, and a
large amount given to various charities in the
metropolis. A few annuities came last, to his old
servants, male and female, to his oldest clerk, and
so his nephew; one hundred pounds a year to the
latter, and fifty pounds for funeral expenses.
This was a blow which crushed poor Walsinghaun to the earth. In the agony of his disappointrnent he opened his whole soul to his wife; he
told of his incle's strange visit, of the manner in
which he iad discovered his debts, of their last
interview, anid ot the money which he had given
him.- Margaret shed bitter, heart-felt tears at
this unexpected recital; she was amazed at the
knowledge of their debts, at the amount of borrowed money, but above all, at the discovery that
her husband's private resources, and her own;mall dowry, were alike dissipated.  It was an




40           A GREAT CHANGE.
she proposed her plans to him; but day after day
the poor man put away the idea from  him.
" When I am stronger," said he, " I will talk of
these things!" But pitiless creditors would admit
of no delay, and she again introduced the subject.
"' I see clearly, dearest husband," said she, " tne
course which it is right for us to take: only allow
me to guide us. We must part with all these expensive things-nay, do not shrink from meadmit but once this idea, and your mind will
be reconciled to it. We must remove quite away
from this place. We must begin life anew; and,
please God we can pay all our debts, we shall
yet do well. The true happiness of life does not
alone consist in wealth."
Walsingham groaned aloud, for he could not
conceive of happiness without wealth. His wife's
heart bled for him, but she continued to lay down
her systematic plans of reform.
", Do not urge me to do any thing in this detestable business," said he, in a voice half of
petulance, half of distress: " let me only be absent, then you may do what you please."
Margaret hesitated to reply, and her husband
went on.
" I have not the strength of mind which you
have; I could not sweep away all the little




A GREAT CHANGE.            41
elegances and embellishments of life with the
same indifference that you could. If I remained
with you I should only be a hinderance: give me
a fortnight's time to prepare my mind for this
frightful change-for the fall from a gentleman's
to a pauper's condition-and I will return, prepared
for whatever arrangements you may have made."
"But, my love," urged his wife, with the
greatest gentleness, " this morbid shrinking from
unpleasant duty is only increasing your own difficulty. We must all exert ourselves as we have
never done before. We shall be pennyless when
all our debts are paid."
"' I know it, I know it!" exclaimed the poor
man, with an agony of distress which he could no
longer command: " I am a weak, worthless incumbrance on society. I shall bring you all to
-beggary-those dear, dear children! and you, AMargaret!" Walsingham covered his face with his
hands, and wept.  "You cannot conceive," at
length he continued, "with your strong, calm
mind, the extreme misery of mine! Do not ask
me to face all the wretched detail of this needful
change. I have lived here as a gentleman, and
I will not be seen here as a bankrupt."
" No, no, not as a bankrupt," said his wife;
" as an honest man who will pay every farthing
he owes,"
E 2




42           A GREAT CHANCE.
" I cannot do it," returned he; " and, if you
love me, do not require it from me. I will go
but for one fortnight-I care not how sordidly to
live, where no one knows me-and in the meantime do just what you please; I will harden my
mind for the change, and we will sit down for the
rest of our days humbled and poor."
Margaret began to think with her husband, that
she really was more capable of going through this
disagreeable business than he was; and that,,in
his present state of feeling, it was desirable to
spare him the annoyance even of its petty details.
She perceived, too, advantages in his absence; for
the very regret with which he would have parted
with a picture, or some favourite piece of ornamental furniture, would have weakened her own
resolution. Besides, his health and his mind had
been so shaken of late, that the change of air and
scene would benefit both. He should take Willy,
the second child, now six years old, with himhe always was happy with his children-and, with
the boy to occupy his attention, he would have no
time for melancholy thoughts.
The next day all was ready. Willy was delighted with the prospect of another visit to the
country, like that happy time at Richmond, and
Walsingham, absolutely refusing to enter again
upon the subject, gave his wife free permission to




A GREAT CHANGE.            43
do whatever she thought right: and, not even
venturing a parting look at any of his possessions,
and begging that in her letters she would not even
hint of her progress, unless his presence were
absolutely requisite, nor that she would even hint
of where she intended them to remove, he and his
child took the coach to Dorking, designing to
spend their time in that delightful neighbourhood.
He was to write at the end of the first week to
their present home; and, as their future one was
to remain unknown, it was agreed that on that
evening se'nnight they were to meet punctually
at six o'clock by the' great gate of St. Paul's,
whence Margaret was to conduct them to their
new habitation.
How Mrs. Walsingham alone, and without
counsellors, went through the business of these
important two weeks, we need not relate at full.
We will only say, that that elegant new tea-service which had given such displeasure to Mr.
Thompson, and for which the old, associated as it
was with the pleasant memories of Margaret's
childhood, had been exchanged, was taken back
by the silversmith, having a considerable allowance made for use. The Graces too, with another
group, went back to their unpaid former proprietor; so did some of the pictures. Fortunately




44           A GREAT CHANGE.
it was well known that Walsingham was a man
of great taste; and the circumstance of his uncle's
will having excited some sympathy towards him,
many of his pictures, and various articles of virtu,
sold for even more than he had given for them.
The landlord, too, was not an unreasonable man.
He thought IMrs. Walsingham the very paragon of
women;-so young apd handsome, and yet to understand business so well; to have her senses
about her for everything; —he wished all men had
as much business-knowledge;-and yet she was
quite a lady; could draw, and could play on the
piano like an angel, as he had heard! She was,
to be sure, one in a thousand! Such was the
summing up of the good landlord's encomium, as
he set out with a proposal to take the furniture
off her hands, together with the house, which he,
in future, would let furnished. Spite, however, ot
his admiration for her business-talents, he expected to get every thing at a considerable reduction, and to make a good bargain for himself; yet
with these drawbacks she gladly assented, and
thanked God that this formidable business had
been made so easy to her.
As the house had been furnished in the most
unsparing manner, she had the opportunity of reserving some of the least valuable articls; while




THE NEW HOME.              45
the whole of that stowed-away, despised old furT
niture, which she had brought from her mother's,
was destined to be again useful. She was not,
however, forgetful of her husband's sensitiveness
on the score of elegance; and some few articles of
luxury and taste she reserved especially for him.
CHAPTER VI.
THE NEW HOME.
MRS. WvALSINGHAM, after all, found the result less
appalling than she expected. When every demand was satisfied, and unexpensive lodgings
furnished-for she would not venture again upon
taking a house-a small surplus would yet remain
with which to commence their humble housekeeping. A mountain's weight seemed at once
removed from her mind, and she could not resist
an expression of thankful joy when she wrote to
her husband, even though it approached the forbidden topic.
She then took four rooms in the house of a
respectable working watchmaker at Pentonville.
The place altogether had a very reputable aspect;




46            THE NEW HOME.
the window-glass was good, and bright as hands
could make it; the paint was clean, nor even tne
wall-papers inelegant; there was a light, welllooking staircase, and a private door. To her
judgment the lodgings had much to recommend
them, and she hoped her husband would feel no
insuperable repugnance nor disgust against them.
What principally influenced her, however, in the
choice, was the cheerful, healthful, honest countenances of the old couple to whom they belonged;
countenances which bespoke good lives and good
consciences.
She had dismissed her three servants on leaving
Highgate, and, hiring a young woman, recommended by the watchmaker's wife, had her goods
and chattels removed. Even she could not resist
a very natural depression of spirits, a sort ot
weary foreboding of heart, as, with her three cbildren, who had questioned her painfully as to these
strange and melancholy changes, she lay down
amid the disarrangements and discomforts of her
half-furnished chamber. But with the morning's
light came better and more hopeful feeling. The
second week was wearing on, and there was no
time to be lost. In many cases the very necessity
for exertion both of body and mind is our greatest
blessing; it was so with Mrs. Walsingham.




THE NEW HOME.              47
It was a long time before she could arrange and
fit things to her own mind, so as to combine comfort and convenience with some little appearance
of elegance. She herself had now many misgivings about the old furniture. Her husband had
said truly, that it was neither modern nor antique.
True it was well kept, and, in an old house in the
country, it would have had a respectable look; it
would have done very well in a country cottage,
even ornee, but it certainly was less handsome
than she had thought. It was bright, to be sure,
but it was not French polish whioh had made it
so; —it had been the daily watchfulness of her good
mother's housewifely care; and she sighed to think,
now that it was again come into use, she should
neither have the time nor the means even to preserve its present state. The colour of the paper,
also, in the sitting-room, did not accord with that
of the only carpet she had been able to bring with
her; and that, she knew, would annoy herhusband:
again, the windows, bright and good as the glass
was, looked staring and naked, with only their
white roller-blinds, to an eye accustomed to ample, well-hung curtains, stained glass, and venetian blinds. " Alas!" sighed she, " what mere
trifles make it hard to descend into a lower
estate i"




48           THE NEW HOME,
It was, however, of importance that her hus.
band should not be depressed at the first moment,
by any little deficiencies which she could supply,
or defects which she could remedy. She therefore set herself again assiduously to work. A
drab drugget, bound with crimson, would correct
the carpet; and a little stand in that corner would
fill an awkward blank: but the only stand she
could spare for that purpose was ill-conditioned
and hopelessly ugly. A crimson cloth, however,
would not only conceal its defects, but would give
character and cheerfulness to the room. Full,
white muslin curtains, too, would sufficiently clothe
the windows; and, as Walsingham liked those in
their own drawing-room, these she would make
like them.
Accordingly she set to work with all the zeal
which a kind heart and a willing mind give to a
ready hand; and, after expending about three
pounds, and working the whole day, with the help
of Mrs. Knivett, the good woman of the house,
and her own two little girls, Mary and Grace, who
threaded all their needles, waxed the thread,
picked up pins, and ran little errands, had the satisfaction of seeing that the effect she desired was
produced even beyond her hopes.
A recess at the end of the room had been fitted




THE NEW HOME.              49
au with shelves for books; but it'was enclosed
with heavy doors, painted in bad taste, to imitate
different woods; these doors were a great annoyance to Aer —to her husband she knew they would
be detestable. " If I could only have them away,"
thought she, " I could fill the shelves with the
best of the books.  Even their dingy gilding
would look better than those frightful doors, or
the empty shelves."
The doors were removed, and the shelves filled
with the best-conditioned and brightest-looking of
the books, carefully rubbed up, and arranged to
the best advantage.
" What a blessing it is to have all these excellent books," thought she to herself. " When
these dear children grow a little older, what delight we shall have in reading them together! and
even poor Edward too, how he would enjoy them,
could he once get over the dingy paper and the
old-fashioned types!"
" It will do! " exclaimed Margaret, when, after
having finished all her little arrangements and improvements, she went out of the room, endeavouring to make herself a stranger to it, and came in
again to have a general, and, as it were, a first
view of the whole; " it will do excellently-even
Edward will see nothing to displease him."
if




s0             THE NEW HOME.
It was in the same spirit, with the same attention to her husband's tastes and prejudices, that
all her little arrangements were made.
" Well, you are the very cleverest lady that
ever I knew!" said good Mrs. Knivett, when, at
three o'clock on Saturday afternoon, the day which
completed the fortnight, Mrs. Walsingham, who
had finished all her operations, invited her to take
a general survey.
" I think it all looks very nice, Mrs. Knivett,"
she said.
" Oh, it is like a palace, madam. And see all
the forecast you have had to hide all the flaws!
why, if I did not know where the broken places
in the walls were, I should never find themi out.
And all this furniture, how finely it has been kept!
I am sure it will be a pleasure to me, at any timo
to lend a helping hand. 1 love bright furniture;
but none of your fine French polish for me. Nothing like elbow-grease, madam, for furniture!"
Mrs. Walsingham wished it possible that hex
husband could be of Mrs. Knivett's opinion.
She was punctual to the moment, at the great
gate of St. Paul's, but her husband was not there.
She was not very much surprised, because she
knew it so difficult for him to keep an appointment. She walked backward and forward in sight




THE NEW HOME.              51
of the gate, till two quarters had tolled, and she
grew uneasy and dispirited. Was he ill? HIad
he fallen into some strange distress, and knew not
now whence to summon her? And the child, the
poor child, what would become of him? The idea
almost. made her dizzy. " Oh, this separation
has been a wild scheme," thought she. " Perhaps it will cost —perhaps it has already cost him,
or both of them, their lives! " Her steps grew as
hurried and bewildered as her thoughts; and when,
at ten minutes before seven, her husband stood
before her, and little Willy caught hold of her
dress, she felt ready to faint. " Thank God," she
exclaimed, " that you are come! but, oh, you
should not have kept me waiting thus! "
Walsingham  was astonished to find himself
after his time; he meant to have been punctual;
and Willy declared that papa had set his watch
just as they left Dorking, and that they had only
stopped to look in at the pretty shop-windows
since they got off the coach at Charing Cross.
How impossible it was for Walsingham to be
punctual! Margaret thought that she would not
have subjected him to the anxiety of mind which
she had endured, but she did not say so; and she
was distressed to see'that he looked Dale and out
of spirits. He was so; and this coming back to




52            THE NEW HOME.
what he considered degradation, was terrible: andil,
could he have delayed it, by weeks or months, or
even years of absence, he would have done it.
Willy ran talking on with all the eagerness of a
child, and mingled up Leith Hill, Box Hill, and
yellow butterflies, with his delight in the attractions of the shop-windows which they passed.
" And whither are we bound? " at length asked
Walsingham, as, after walking through St. Martinle-Grand and Aldersgate, they entered Goswell
Street-the first allusion he had made to the subject which pressed so heavily on his heart; "whither are we bound? for, to tell you the truth, I
do not admire the direction: surely we are not to
live in Islington! "
" No, love," replied his wife, " but our new
abode is in Pentonville."
"Lord bless me!" exclaimed poor Walsingham,
with a wretchedness of tone that went to his wife's
heart.
" Yes, it is true, dear Edward," continued she,
cheerfully, and wishing to prepare him for the
worst-" and we lodge at a watchmaker's."
Walsingham literally made a pause, and dropped
his wife's arm from his. " Well, Margaret," said
he, bitterly, " you have brought us low indeed;
but, thank Heaven, we cannot fall much lower."




THIE NEW HOME.             63
She made no reply, for she was not sure of
either of these facts-either that it was she who
had brought them low, or that they would fall no
lower.
Not another word was spoken, except on indif'ferent subjects; and, before long, they entered the
watchmaker's door.
Walsingham looked upon himself as a hopelessly degraded man, and he made up his mind to
take whatever came, without observation. According to his apprehension, it would be the truest
philosophy.  It therefore was with great disappointment, if not mortification, that his wife found
all her little schemes and forethought for his
indulgence and gratification, either unperceived or
unappreciated. He did not seem to notice his
easy chair set invitingly for him, nor his slippers
and evening coat, which were laid ready; nor,
fallen though he thought himself to be, that still
the clean damask napkin was carefully folded, the
silver fork still laid for him, and the hot, savoury
steak served with as much propriety as in the
days of his prosperity. Or if he did notice these
things, it was but with the morbid sense that
this exact observance, which was intended to spare
his feelings, only harrowed them the more.
The next morning, his wife, unable longer to
pI




54            THE NEW HOME.
endure this cold indifference, and knowing that
there existed a strong necessity for him manfully
to face his misfortunes, and rouse himself into exertion, gave him the history of the last fortnight,
without disguising the fatigue she had gone
through, or the annoyance she had endured.  He
was almost perplexed with the very idea. " You
are an angel," he said, when she had finished!
" and you really have done miracles: but oh,
Margaret, to think of coming here!-to take
lodgings at a watchmaker's! When you spoke so
cheerfully in your letter of the future, I expected
something better than this."
The tears started to her eyes. "'How differently," she said, " you and I estimate things. I
thank the Almighty that we have such a home
as this!" and then she added, looking round
with a cheerful countenance, " I do not ask you
to admire any thing, but tell me, is it not comfortable?  See, here is your own chair; and there
is your favourite pair of nymphs-and are they
not on pretty brackets? and here is your mother's
picture-hanging in a very good light too: —you
are not without your old friends!"
Walsingham heaved a sigh which was very
much akin to a groan.  "Those few meagre
relics," at length he said, "annoy me infinitely




THE NEW HOME.              55
more than no vestige whatever. They keep the
past in the mind: when I see them, I know that
I am fallen!"
" No, Edward," she said, "you take a false
view of your circumstances; you are not fallen, so
long as you deserve your own self-respect-so
long as you have acted honestly and uprightly
towards your fellow-men!  Thank God! you
owe no man a shilling; these few possessions are
honestly your own; and, please Heaven to prolong
us our health, what should hinder us raising ourselves and our children above indigence?"
" Lord bless me!" said he, impatiently, "how
is it to be done? the very power of my mind is
gone; in the midst of poverty I shall always be
poor. These very lodgings will sink my spirit;
the sound of that old woman's voice, and the very
knowledge of the string of watches stretching
across the window below, will distress me for
ever."




56
CHAPTER VII.
A HOPELESS QUEST.
TIME wore on, and Walsingham, as he said, remained poor.  He solicited the assistance of many
former friends-of men, at least, who, in his
prosperity, had professed themselves his friendsand many were liberal of promises.  He was
flattered with hopes of situations in the Customs,
in the India House, in various Insurances Offices,
and even in the Herald's Office itself; but the
hope was all that he obtained: and at length, the
very men who had raised the false hopes, tired of
his solicitations, began to treat him coldly, and
then stood altogether aloof. He had filled, in the
meantime, several situations; but some he had
thrown up in disgust, and others he lost from his
very incapacity for business. All this continual
change, this perpetual disappointment and unsuccess, made him doubtful and distrustful of himself; and he cist, in great measure, his former
confident, unembarrassed air, which had insured
influence and success in his better days.  His
dress, also, insensibly acquired that harsh, napless




A HOPELESS QUEST.            57
look which belongs to the needy man. The very
consciousness of this stealing-on air of shabbiness,
depressed him even more painfully than the coolness and rebuffs of his friends.
One day, at the commencement of winter,
about four years after their coming to the watchmaker's, Walsingham dressed himself in his very
best manner. He was thin and care-worn, with
hollow cheeks and hollow eyes; and his dark
hair was thickly sprinkled with gray.  It was not
often, of late, that he had taken extraordinary
pains with his person; but he was bent this day
upon doing the very best for himself. His linen
was whole, and spotlessly clean; his hat and coat
were studiously brushed; his best black stock
put on with great precision; his trowsers carefully
strapped down to his well-blacked, but twelvemonths-old boots; and his dark kid gloves, repeatedly, but invisibly mended, and fitting as well
as old gloves might, were heedfully drawn on,
and his shirt-wristbands made visible just half an
inch beyond the cuff of his coat. It would have
been evident to any one that he had some important business in view. He had. He was
going to present himself before a bank-director,
whose advertisement in the Times he had answered.
and whose reply had now invited him to an




58          A HOPELESS QUEST.
interview. Poor fellow! twenty others besides
himself had received a similar reply; and the oneand-twenty hoping and fearing candidates met in
the same apartment, each in a short time after the
other. Walsingham glanced round in dismay.
Each one was eyeing the rest with inquisitive and
envious glances, as if each thought the o'hers
interlopers who would come between himself and
the desired good.  Scarcely a word was said, but
each tried to look perfectly at ease; some wlhistling, scme liumming a tune, some walking quickly
about, and others looking through the windows.
There was a rush whenever the door opened, for
admittance, each eager to get precedence; for on
that precedence success might depend. Some
kind of regulation, however, was acted upon in the
admission, and Walsingham's turn came among
the latest. But he felt no immediate reason to be
dissatisfied with the interview granted him; he
was left in uncertainty, it is true, but his names
age, and residence, were noted down in a book,
and he was desired to call at ten the day after the
morrow.
Walsingham, as we have said, was kept waiting
a long time. He stood four hours in a large cold
room; the streets were wet through which he had
walked, and his boots were not the best in the




A HOPELESS QUEIST.          59
world: add to this, a drizzling rain had come on
in his walk; and he had not bee.. long in waiting
before he felt a chilly, comfortless sensation come
over him. But the hope, however vague, which
had been excited in his breast, dismissed any
anxious thought about himself, and he went home
to cheer them with the hope that he might perhaps get a situation of two hundred pounds a year.
The next morningr he felt very unwell; but he
had forgotten the large cold room, and the misty
rain, and only wondered what could be amiss with
him; and when his wife urged him to take something warm and go to bed, he laughed away her
anxieties, quite unwilling to yield to any indisposition which might confine him for a moment.
The next day he dressed himself with the same
scrupulous care, and punctually presented himself. Poor Walsingham! that once he was five
minutes before his time! After a delay of two
hours he was admitted, and was told by the gentleman he had formerly seen, that there were others.beside himself to be consulted; that he had failed
to see them, and that it must still stand over.
Walsingham inquired when he should call again.
" Oh," replied the other, carelessly, " in two or
three days: or, stay, we have your address; if we
decide in your favour, you shall hear from us."




60          A HOPELESS QUEST.
His hopes sunk; but he requested that he
might hear soon, as he was naturally very anxious. The gentleman looked at him as if he
thought his request very impertinent, and replied,
" that if their decision were favourable, of course
he would hear; but his opinion was, that it would
not be so."
Walsingham would have asked if any thing had
prepossessed the gentleman unfavourably towards
him —for at that moment he was very humble-but
the other motioned to the door.  Walsingham
went out, and, regardless of who might see him,
or what might be thought of him, absolutely wept
as he walked homeward.
That was the last time he walked in the streets
of London. The severe cold which he had taken,
and which he had concealed from his wife, settled
upon his lungs; and an illness followed which
confined him to his bed through the winter. He had
scarcely recovered in the spring, when a paralytic
stroke took the use of his left side, and reduced
him in a great measure to helplessness. In process of time, however, he recovered his health
sufficiently to be able to write; and, for upwards
of twelve months, he was employed in copying
folios for lawyers. He became very expert in
this business, and might have practised it much




NEW CHARACTERS.            61
longer, had not the close confinement again
brought an illness which in the end became confirmed consumption.
Houses had been built, right and left, round
the watchmaker's at Pentonville, and the situation
became every day less desirable. The watchmaker
himself died, and, as his wife intended to reside
with her married daughter in the country, the
little establishment was broken up.
Mrs. Walsingham then took the little house in
--  Street, opposite Miss Poinden's, and the
removal took place, of which Miss Barbara Poinden spoke in our opening chapter.
CHAPTER VIII.
NEW CHARACTERS.
BUT it is time we introduced the children of the
Walsinghams more fully to our readers; and these
children, at the time the family left the watchmaker's, were, as Miss Barbara correctly stated,
five in number. At the time they left Highgate, they consisted but of four. A little scene or
G




62            NEW CHARACTERS.
two shall make our young readers acquainted with
them.
" Willy," said Mary, the eldest girl, taking her
brother by the hand, the first evening of his arrival
at the watchmaker's, " you must come with me,
and be quite still. We don't live at Highgate now,
you see, but we have such pretty little rooms
here; and I've been mamma's maid, for Kitty's
gone, and so is cook, and Betsy, and we have only
Rebecca: Rebecca is the new maid; but I am sure
you will like her. And this is Grace's and my
room; and little Jack is to sleep in the crib beside
us; and I am to dress Jack, and help Grace to
dress herself-only mamma washes Jack all over
at night."
" I don't like this room at all," interrupted
Willy. It is not half as pretty as that at Highgate; nor half as pretty as our's at Dorking. Oh,
it was so pleasant at Dorking! I wish you and
Grace could go. And Box Hill is so high, and
so is Leith Hill: and there are butterflies, and
box-trees as big as houses! "
"Butterflies as big as houses, Willy'?" asked
Grace, who had come softly into the chamber.
"No," replied Willy, indignantly, "box-trees
as big as houses; and such butterflies!" And
Willy then unburdened his mind of some of the




NEW CHARACTERS.
pent-up delights of the Dorking sojourn; and the
second mention of the pretty chamber then recalled the one in which they stood.
" Now, Grace," asked he, " do you call this a
pretty room?"
" No, I am sure I do not," replied Grace; " the
window is not straight, and there is nothing but
backs of houses to be seen from it; and I don't
like the paper; and there are no pictures; and
the chimney-piece is only wood. I don't like it
at all."
"But, Grace," interrupted Mary, " you must
not say so-you must like it. Mamma told
me something that convinced mo that we
must be contented; and we must not find fault;
and we must do everything for ourselves-much
more than we did at Highgate; and we must
help one another, and love one another," said she,
putting her arms affectionately round the neck of
each. " Oh, mamma told me something that
made me cry so! "
" I know what it was," said Grace; " I heard
cook say that we were not as rich as we had been.
Oh! Willy," continued she, in an earnest and
sorrowful voice, " all the pictures are gone, and
the casts, and the marble table, and the or-molu
lamps, and the piano; I am so very sorry!"




64           NEW CHARACTERS.
Willy was confounded by this strange intelli.
gence. " And so we are to live here, then," re.
marked he, after a pause of a few moments;
" then I know now what made poor papa so sorry
when we were at Dorking; he was not half as
merry as he was at Richmond, and yet Box Hill
and Leith Hill, and Denbies, and Deepdene, and
Norbury Park, are a great deal prettier than all
Richmond."
" Yes, Willy," said Mary, who felt herself to
be full of experience, " mamma says we are never
to complain of anything before papa, nor to say
that it is not as nice as Highgate; for, though it
may be true, it would do no good, and only distress poor papa. Now, you must remember, both
of you; and I am sure we shall be very happy
here, for there are very pretty walks."
"' Yes, that there are," said Grace, " for I went
out with Rebecca and Jack, and it is pleasant,
though it is not like Highgate."
" And then," chimed in Mary, " Mrs. Knivett
is such a nice old lady."
" Mrs. Knivett? " asked Willy.
" Yes," said Grace, " Mrs. Knivett lives at this
house, only you don't know her; and she is very
good-natured; and she looks very like an old
picture on a Sunday, for she wears such a funny




NEW CHARACTERS.            65
little bonnet, and a black silk cloak, and suoh a
handsome, old-fashioned gown.  She is very
good-natured; do you know, she gave Jack some
bread and honey, and Grace some such nice
apple-marmalade. And then old Mr. Knivetthe makes watches down in the parlour-sits sing.
ing all day long; and he works with such pretty
little tools."
" I think, Willy," said Mary, "you would like
to be a watchmaker-and then you would get
some money-mamma's watch was worth fifteen
guineas."
" Oh, Willy, do you know," whispered Grace,
"mamma has parted with her watch; it was
packed up with her gold chain, and all those
pretty rings and brooches; and the necklace and
the cross, Willy, are all gone."
"Don't say a word about it," said Mary;
" mamma cried very much when she packed up
the box; and when I told her she had promised
me the necklace when I grew a woman, it only
made her cry more-so don't say a word about it."
" And, Willy," said Grace, " never ask mamma what time it is by her watch. I will teach
you the clock, for, do you know, Mr. Knivett
taught me since I came here."
"And where am I to sleep?" asked Willy,
G2




66            NEW CHARACIERS.
after the three had remained in silence for some
time.
" You sleep in papa and mamma's room, in the
nursery French bed; and, you must know," said
Mary, " that Grace and I hemmed the ends of
your curtains our own selves."
The children said truly, that they nmust learn to
do everything for themselves, for, a fifth child
being born in the first twelvemonth of their residence at Pentonville, neither Mrs. Walsingham
nor Rebecca had time to spare for waiting on
them. But this was no disadvantage to them;
they gained self-dependence, and the constant
interchange of little good offices only increased
their affection for each other.
The great cause of anxiety to their mother was
the little chance there seemed of giving them
education-that part of education, at least, which
is gained at school. But what will not affection
and necessity achieve? Their mother undertook
their education herself. Her own school-books
were looked up —lessons learned and repeatedcopies set and sums done-and even history and
travels read and explained, to the infinite amazement of good Mrs. Knivett, who seemed to take
a livelier interest in the domestic arrangements of
the family than Walsingham himself, who, dis.




NEW CHARACTERS.            67
pirited and self-absorbed, had but little interest in
anything.
After his paralytic attack, when he was wholly
confined to their room, and the returns even of
his former precarious labour were so seriously
diminished, his wife found it necessary that she
also should add to the family resources. What
was there for her to do but needlework —tVat
most unproductive of all employment? Nothing.
And needlework, accordingly, she did.  She
hired herself to a ready-made linen warehouse,
and, while she was occupied in the education of
her children, plied her busy needle incessantly.
Let it not, however, be supposed, that all this
was done without exertion and fatigue, both of
body and mind. The imparting instruction, even
to the quickest and most docile of children, is
severe labour; and when to this was added the
necessity of assiduously attending to a sedentary
and dull occupation, the extent of her praiseworthy efforts and endurance may be understood.
Margaret Walsingham was a heroine in the best
sense of the word; still her spirits often sank, and
she felt bodily exhaustion that almost amounted
to illness; but that energy of mind, and that
strength of moral principle, which, combined, produoe the truest heroism, in the very moment of




68           NEW CHARACTERS.
despondency brought hope, and nerved her for
further and even greater exertion.
Walsingham's long confinement and increasing
illness made him fretful and wayward; and, when
it was necessary for the family to remove from
Penton'-ille, he insisted upon their taking a house,
though it might be ever so small, in preference to
lodgings; for poor Mrs. Knivett's cracked voice,
and the string of watches in the window below,
had never ceased to annoy him. The small house,
therefore, in -     Street was taken, and he was
removed thither in a sedan-chair, as Miss Barbara
Poinden had said.
The furniture had been mostly removed the
day before, but his chamber was the only room in
a state of preparation; into it he was carried, and
placed in his easy chair.
" Now, let that hideous pair of nymphs be carried out of my sight," were his first words, as he
saw Grace put them on the brackets which had
been fixed in the wall; " I have seen those things
before me for the last five years; every fold of
their drapery is disgusting to me; they recall
nothing but unpleasant thoughts!"  Grace stood
rebuked, and, taking down the unfortunate casts,
which to her taste were exquisitely beautiful-the
only beautiful things in the house-she carried




NEW CHARACTERS.             69
them into her own chamber, intending, with her
mother's permission, to keep them there.
The family was soon settled in their little domicile, and things took that dull routine, in one
week's time, which might continue for years.
Walsingham's chamber was the first floor frontthe airiest and most cheerful room in the house.
There was little prospect of his ever leaving this
chamber, except for his last home.  Here Mrs.
Walsingham generally sate at her never-ceasing
work. The three elder children came in and out;
but Grace, who was on many accounts her father's
favourite, was more frequently there than any of
the others. The two eldest were the habitually
useful members of the family; Mary was the
housekeeper, and Willy the man-of-all-work.
The two youngest, Jack and little Margaret, who,
the latter, at least, had been born, as it were, to
their present fortunes, and who had no remembrance of better days wherewith to gloom the
present-who had never had nursery-maids, nor
any expensive indulgences whatever-were two
bold-spirited, robust children, full of health and
animal spirits, which nothing but the fear of disturbing their father could repress; they, therefore, were but seldom the companions of the poor
nervous invalid.




70           NEW CHARACTERS,
Good Miss Barbara, over the way, puzzled herself prodigiously to know exactly how the family
managed matters. Mrs. Walsingham's day might
be said to begin at nine o'clock at night. At that
hour her husband had his supper, and settled
down for such rest as he might get-she softly
stealing to the little sofa-bed in his chamber
towards twelve, or later. After her husband was
left for the night, she began her house-work, at
first alone, but, by degrees, Mary and Willy insinuated themselves into a participation of ali the
duties and burdens of the little household; and
then it was much more quickly dispatched, everything being left perfectly clean over night, and
the fires ready laid for lighting next morning.
Mrs. Walsingham was not ashamed of the performance of any duty, however humble; yet she
had a sense of self-respect-call it pride, if you
please-which made her unwilling to be seen by
her neighbours employed in her more menial
offices. Hence her street-door was so miraculously cleaned. This was for some time her early
morning work, for it was no use cleaning it over
night. Mary was willing to undertake it, but the
good mother, who saw her daughter growing tall
and comely for her years, would not thus expose
her to the notice of early passers by, or even oi




NEW CHARACTERS.             71
policemen, and it remained, for long, the most un.
pleasant part of her household work. At length
William insisted upon undertaking it himself.
" But, my dear," said his mother, " it is not
quite the proper work for a boy."
" Never mind that," said he, " I shall be useful
to you; and, besides,    "  He did not know
exactly what he meant to say besides; and his
mother urged that, with his bad cough, it was not
right for him-there was so strong a draft at the
door, and the mornings were so cold.
" As to that," said William, " I'll manage;
and I shall clean the knives and shoes, and I shall
begin to do a great many more things than I have
yet done, for I don't like to see your hands and
Mary's get so hard."
His mother kissed him with unfeigned affection,
and, from that day forth, William, true to his
word, cleaned the street-door. It would, indeed,
have touched the kind heart of Miss Barbara
Poinden, had she seen the thin, pale-faced boy,
with his woollen comforter tied round his neck,
and his old cap on, cleaning the steps and rubbing
the knocker; or, had poor Walsingham, in the
room above, only known or thought of all that
hIs family were reduced to, it would have made
his sick-bed more uneasy than ever, if not have




712          NEW CHARACTERS.
driven him to his grave at once. All day long,
after Mrs. Walsingham had arranged with Mary
the frugal family-dinner, and prepared herself the
choice morsel for her husband's eating, she sat at
her unceasing needlework.
" That's beautifully fine linen," said Walsingham, one day to his wife, as she stood at his bedside, gathering the sleeve of a shirt; "but why
do you make up such for me?-why, indeed,
make any, for I shall not need them long?"' My love," replied his wife, astonished at his
words-for though she had never told him that she
was compelled to do needlework, yet, as she had
done it for the last three years, she had supposed
him aware of the fact-" these are not for you."
" Good Heavens! " exclaimed the poor man, all
at once perceiving the truth; " and you are reduced to this! "
" We none of us complain, dear Edward," she
replied, " and to us it is no hardship."
Walsingham turned his face to the pillow and
went: it was, to his mind, another and an unex.
pected proof of his family's degradation.




CHAPTER IX.
THI TWELFTH HOUR.
GRACE, as we have said, was her father's favourite
She was now nearly twelve-of a pensive coun.
tenance, delicate figure, and soft, gentle manners,
In many respects she greatly resembled her father;
she had the same love of elegance, the same tastes,
and the same irritable temperament. She had
always shrunk from the performance of the common household duties, and she had been spared it
by her elder brother and sister. Having thus
much more leisure than either of them, she devoted herself principally to waiting on her father,
of whom she was extremely fond, and in reading
to him.  The dingy paper and the old-fashioned
type did not offend him, as the words came to his
ear through the sweet voice of his daughter; and
thus many hours of every day were most profitably and agreeably spent.
"And what has become of those two young
rogues?" asked the father, on one of those very
days of which Mliss Barbara spoke, when he sate
H




74          THE TWZL  I HOUR.
in his easy chair; "I have not seen themi for
weeks, nor scarcely heard them for days."
"They are down stairs," said Grace.
"Why do they never come to see me?" asked
he, half peevishl); "   shall be entirely forgotten
at this rate."
" They were too noisy the last time they were
up," said the mother.
" Oh yes," replied Walsingham, " I remember,
and' I was very angry-but let them come up
now.'"
Grace ran down, eager to convey to the little
excommunicated ones what she knew would be
joyful tidings.
" Father wants to see you, dears," said Grace,
as she entered the little back-parlour, in which
they were busily playing at riding to market on a
broken chair; for Jack, though he was turned nine
years old, liked that play best which had most
fun in it.
Down jumped they, ovejoyed at the news,
and, leaping up stairs, without waiting for Grace to
look at them, rushed into their father's chamber.
They had coarse pinafores on, and old shoes;
wild, rough-looking hair, though it had been
smooth enough in the morning; and their hands
and faces were very far from  clean.  They




THE TWELFTH HOUR.            75
had been playing in a room without a fire. and,
though their blood was warm with exercise, their
red hands and cheeks looked coarse and cold.
Poor Walsingham's heart had been full of affection, but this sudden vision of robust childhood
shocked him; and, holding up his feeble right
hand with a motion of disgust, and closing his
eyes, he exclaimed, "Oh, Margaret, how like
common children they are grown-I cannot bear
to see them!"
The poor children, who felt that they had displeased their father, though they knew not how,
slunk out of the chamber, and stood outside the
door silent and bewildered.  Mrs. Walsingham
looked at her husband, the tears starting to her
eyes, but said nothing. The silent reproof, however, went to his heart.
" Margaret," said he the next day, taking her
hand affectionately, "it is only by very slow degrees that I shall ever gain wisdom. Thank God,
however, these last few hours have taught me
more than years. I have taken a review of my
life: I have seen the duties I have neglectedthe advantages I have wasted-the blessings I
have thrown away! I have been an unworthy
husband, and a negligent father; but, please Heaven to strengthen me in the performance of duties,
even at the.eleventh hour I will not fail you."




76          THE TWELFTH HOUR
His wife wept; and, though she could not
blame her husband as he blamed himself, she
blessed God, on her bended knees, for all the
mercies he had bestowed upon them; among
which she emphatically numbered her husband's
prolonged days: and she prayed, that whatever
his pious wishes and desires might be, that the
Almighty would enable him to perform them.
That morning was as a sabbath of the heart.
The blessing of Heaven was assuredly on that
home of humble virtue.
The two little children were again admitted to
their father's room. It is true that Grace washed
them, put on their Sunday dresses, and, with
smoothly-combed locks, sent them in, hand in
hand. " You should not have done this, Grace,"
said he, mildly; "it is the severest of reproofs,
and I hardly needed it." Grace felt the truth of
her father's remark, and wondered at her own
dulness.
" How I love father," said Jack, as he went
down stairs again.
" I wish he would get well," said Margaret.
Mary shook her head, and the tears were in
her eyes.." Why are you crying, Mary?" asked Jack.
"Poor dear father," said Mary, " wll never
be any better."




THB TWELFTH HOUR.            77
lack and Margaret cried too. " But what can
we do for him?" asked the little girl.
" Be good, quiet children," replied their sister;
"learn some pretty verses to say to him, and
mind to have clean hands and faces when you go
up stairs, for father cannot bear to see you dirty."
" Oh yes," said Jack, in whom it was an act of
virtue to be clean; " and we won't play at fishwomen any more."
Walsingham did not feel that he could be very
useful to Mary. She had no particular tastes;
her characteristics were strong good sense, perfect disinterestedness, and keen, quick understanding. Whatever she had read she had treasured up and comprehended; and whatever she
did, she did well. The management of the house,
as we have said, entirely devolved upon her; and
it was a mystery how one so perpetually occupied
with undignified duties had found time to acquire
so much. To William and Grace, however, the
father could be essentially useful in many ways.
It was a touching sight to see the poor invalid
propped up in his bed, feeble as he was, in the
intervals of his harassing cough teaching William
his Latin grammar, or instructing him in mathematics; or even teaching the little ones their elementary lessons and going through a column of
H2




78          THE TWELFTH HOUR.
common spelling, when the pupil was unwittingly
dull, with a patience and propriety that cast his
wife's former efforts entirely into the shade.
"And have you no drawing to show me,
Grace?" asked he one day, after she had read an
Italian lesson. Grace hesitated.
" What were you doing yesterday? Your mo.
ther said you were drawing."
"Yes, father, but —-"
" But what? Let me see what you were do.
ing," added he, with an earnestness that brought
on his cough with terrible violence. Poor Grace
thought that she was the cause of this, and ran
instantly to fetch her drawing. Her father, however, was too much exhausted to give any further
lessons that day.
Next morning Grace went softly to his bed,
and, kissing him tenderly, " Dearest father," she
said, " I did not wish to show you the drawings
yesterday, because I thought you might not like
the subjects; but, however, here they are." And,
half hesitating still, she held up two chalk drawings of the nymphs which he had ordered from
his chamber. "' I have been very long over
them, and I only finished them the day before
yesterday."
" Ah!" said Walsingham, mournfully, after he




THE TWELFTH HOUR,            79
had examined them for some time, " if it would
only please Heaven to prolong my life, what pleasure we two might have together! "
From this day forward Grace received drawing
lessons from her father, whenever he was able to
give them.
The discarded casts were again placed on their
brackets, or on a stand, as best suited the student;
and, now in one position, and now in another,
they were copied over and over, until Grace became even more familiar with every fold than her
father had been.
Mrs. Walsingham had said, in the early time of
their misfortunes, that happiness was not entirely
dependent on wealth. The truth of this assertion
was proved; and her husband himself, whose
memory was painfully alive to every circumstance
of the past, was the first to remind her of her own
words.
The time of separation, however, was drawing
near: Latin, mathematics, Italian, and drawing,
were studied only at irregular times, and with
longer intervals. At length the physician, who
had lad his stated times for calling, was summoned
suddenly, owing to' Walsingham's increased ill.
ness; and he announced that, in all probability,
a few days would terminate the poor invalid's




80            zEW PROSPECTS.
suffering.  He was right. Walsingham died but
two days after this opinion was given.
How like a good Samaritan would Miss Poinden have seemed to the stricken heart of poor
Mrs. Walsingham, had she sent in Martha with
her compliments and offers of neighbourly service;
for on that very morning, for the first time, Margaret Walkingham felt hopelessly forlorn!
But " God tempers the wind to the shorn
lamb;" and the widow soon ceased to mourn as
one that refused to be comforted.
CHAPTER X.
NEW PROSPECTS.
BY the death of Walsingham his family was de.
prived of the only certain income which they had
possessed for several years; but their industry,
their combined efforts and affections, and their
good economy, that surest of all alchemy, were
left; with this joint stock the mother looked to
the future with an anxious, it is true, but an undismayed heart. The last quarterly payment had




NEW PROSPECTS.               81
been received only two weeks before Door Walsing.
ham's death, and they had punctually been paid
the bequeathed fifty pounds for his funeral expenses.
It was with an unexpressed, but a general
sentiment of still closer-drawn affection, that the
little family group gathered round their fire on the
mournful evening of the funeral. The tea was
almost silently taken, even by the younger
branches of the family; and, as they sate in a still
prolonged silence, now and then a sob might be
heard from some heart whose sorrow was too
strong to be repressed.
Mrs. Walsingham was the first to make an
effort at dispelling the general gloom, although
her own heart at the time felt an unwonted depression.  " My children," she said, "it has
pleased God to afflict us; but it is not his will
that we should sink under any affliction. Years
of experience have proved to me, that no dispensation comes from his hand without its full freight
of mercies. "E We have lost a dear friend"-and
here the widow's voice faltered-" or rather, I
should say," she continued, " the Almighty has
taken him to his rest; and we are left, my children. buit not without sufficient blessings: we have
hearth, united affections, and various faculties,




82             NEW PROSPECTS.
and, as I trust, before God and man, clear con.
sciences! How, then, should we utter a complaint,
or why should we be cast down?"
" But what can we do?" asked William; " how
can we help you?"
" We can do many things," said Mary, hopefully; " whatever mother determines upon doing,
we shall find many ways of helping her."
" Now I can run up and down stairs, without
fearing to make a noise," said Jack, cheerfully;:" I'll carry up the coal and water, for I am a deal
stronger than you, William."
"Ah!" remarked poor Grace, with a faltering
voice, "there will need no more coal up stairs
now!"
" My plans, dear children," said Mrs. Walsingham, " are these, and I make you all confidants
in them; because from all of you, for the present at least, I shall need co-operation.  I shall
open a small haoerdasher's shop."
"A shop!" repeated the elder ones.
" I formed this plan," continued she, "long
since, in anticipation of the event which it has
pleased Heaven should now take place. There is
at the corner of-    Street, which is a good
thoroughfare, and leads to the Park, a small shnp
now to be let. That I intend to take. We must




NEW PROSPECTS.             83
be very humble at first, and contented with very
small things, for my capital would seem absurd to
tradesmen generally; but I remember the widow's
mite, and the widow's oil, and I am not discouraged."
A knock at the door interrupted a re-discussion
of the shop-keeping scheme the next morning,
as Mrs. Walsingham and her two eldest girls
were employed over a set of shirts, which had
been interrupted by Walsingham's death. William
hurried the last of the breakfast things, which he
had been washing, into the cupboard, and ran to
the door. It was the good physician who had
attended his father. Without the ceremony of an
apology, or any circuitous introduction-for Dr.
Elliot had never a moment to spare-he began
with the occasion of his call. He wished to know
if there were any way in which he could assist
them. In a very few words Mrs. Walsingham
stated her plans, and her wish to retain the assistance of her three elder children.  "Very good,
very good," said the physician; "quite right,
Mrs. Walsingham."
" For my youngest boy," said she, half hesitating   -
" What! the fine little fellow with the black
hair," said he, glancing round, as if expecting to
find him.




84             NEW PROSPECTS,
" Yes," she replied; " there are, sir, many good
institutions in London, where he would receive a
better education than I have any chance of giving
him at present."
" Yes, yes; to be sure," said the physician,
"' a boy like that deserves a good education; I'll
see what I can do for him. And as to this shopkeeping scheme of yours-you'll pardon me, but
some capital is needed."
Poor Mrs. Walsingham, free from false shame as
she was, felt some hesitation in mentioning the
amount of her capital, and a slight colour passed
over her cheek.
" If, my good lady," continued the physician,
" one or two hundred pounds would be useful
to you, have no reluctance in asking it from me."
" Oh sir!" said she, " I would not venture to
borrow sums as large as those; but if I should
need assistance, I will not forget that God has
sent me a friend."
" All perfectly right," responded the Doctor, as
if he had been hearing the effect of a prescription;
and, giving his hand, and hurrying away, at the
same moment, in three seconds more he was
driving down the street.
" The last of their goods are gone now," said
Miss Barbara Poinden, about a fortnight after the
above conversation; " and very clean, respectable




NEW PROSPECTS.            85
goods they are, though old-fashioned. And now
there goes Mrs. Walsingham-poor woman, how
respectable she looks in her mourning-and that
pale-faced boy too —she has put the key in her
pocket-they will sleep to-night at their new house.
Bless me, what a deal I think about those people,
and never spoke one word to them in all my life!"
"Whether you speak to them or not," said her
sister, " you speak enough of them."
" But, did I tell you," asked Miss Barbara,
not perceiving that her sister's remark was intended for a reproof, " that the second boy has
actually got the Blue-coat School dress on? I protest, I didn't know him at first, for all his beautiful
black hair, you know, sister, is cut off-they make
those boys such frights! And he looked half
ashamed of his yellow stockings; I declare I was
quite sorry for him; and he thrust his hand into his
sister's when they went out yesterday-no, it
was the day before yesterday-as if he wanted
somebody to countenance him, and make him feel
that he was himself; and yet he's a fine, bold lad,
with ten times the spirit of his brother. That
boy will go off in a consumption, it's my opinion,
and, if I were his mother, he should wear flannel,n his chest."
" Martha says," again began Miss Barbara,
I




86             NEW PROSPECTS.
after she had knit three rows of the worsted shawl,
which was then occupying her, " that they have
opened a shop-a little haberdasher's shop-somewhere in        Street. I think, sister, we might
be a few shillings in their way now and then;
pins and needles, and stay-laces, and buttons, and
sewing-cotton, are articles always in demand."
" We are very well served at Venables's, " replied Miss Poinden; " and articles bought from
those little shops are always inferior."
" Ah!" sighed Miss Barbara, fearing within
herself that she had no chance with her sister, " if
everybody reasoned so, what would become of the
small shop-keepers?"
" Thank Heaven!" returned Miss Poinden,
" that I am not a small shopkeeper, and, therefore, it is no concern of mine."
The little shop at tie corner of  -    Street
was to be opened on the following Monday.
Mrs. Walsingham's capital amounted to seven-and
thirty pounds; and ten pounds she borrowed
from Dr. Elliot, but not until she had found that
her seven-and-thirty would be entirely consumed
in the purchase of her little stock, for all of which
she paid ready money.
The little shop was neat and clean, and cheer(al-looking to begin with; there was altogether a




IEW rROSPECTS,             87
happy lok. about it, even before the goods were
put in it; and the physiognomy even of a shop is
of some importance. How busy each member of
the family was in arranging every thing in its proper place;-the neatly-tied-up packets of glovesno great quantity of them, we confess; the stockings, the mits, the various woollen wares of divers
colours; the crewels, the worsteds, the wool;
the compartmented drawers of sewing-cotton,
white and coloured; the buttons, the wire, the
thread, the tape, the pins and needles, and all the
thousand multifarious articles of the haberdasher's
ware. There was a glass-case with its small store
of cutlery, in one part, and a few dolls, wax and
composition, in the other.
The shop made no great show after all; but a
world of thought and care was expended over it.
William rubbed and polished the wood-work, and
cleaned the windows, and left not an atom of dust
in any corner; Grace arranged the colours of the
wools and netting-silks, so as to produce the best
effect, and then she sate down with her sister and
mother, for three whole days, before the shop was
opened, to assist them in stitching gentlemen's
collars, in making stocks, and in knitting some
dozen woollen night-caps and comforters, lttle




88 sEW PROSrECTS.
socks, and mits, which, as autumn had set in,
they thought might be attractive.
At last the Saturday night came, which concluded their labours. The shop was to be opened
on the Monday morning; and, for the first time
for several years, the mother and her five children
went altogether to church. It was an anxious
Sunday to all the elder members of the family;
the mother herself felt more anxious than she
chose to avow; and she did not sleep that night
without putting up a prayer to the Almighty, that
he would be pleased to bless these her humble
but honest endeavours.
William was up before it was light. He passed
first into the little shop, to see that all was right;
he lit the ready-laid kitchen fire, cleaned the
shoes, and then opened the shop-shutters, which
was to be his business. He was, in fact, to be
porter, errand-boy, youngest apprentice, and headclerk, all in one. There was no customer before
breakfast; and, while that meal was dispatching
in the little back room, which opened into the
shop-the only room, indeed, on the ground-floorevery eye was continually turned to the shop-door.
as if customers were plenty as blackberries: but
none came.  Mrs. Walsingham sate behind the




NEW PROSPECTS.             89
counter, busy at needlework, all morning; and
Mary and Grace, after their housework was done,
sate down also, to prepare what, it was hoped,
others would buy; Mary, to knit night-caps; and
Grace, to net purses. William fidgetted about
from the counter to the door, from the door to the
inner room, full of nervous excitement; for nobody
came. Two ragged children, for a penny ball of
cotton, a servant-girl, who came intending to buy
shoes, and took a shilling pa;r of scissors instead,
and a policeman, who bought a fourteen-penny
pair of woollen gloves, were the first day's customers.
A week went on, and things got no better. It
was not encouraging. The family left off taking
supper, partly because they were out of spirits,
partly from motives of economy; for those who
had so little coming in, and whose very bread was
bought with borrowed money, must be satisfied,
they thought, with three meals a day.
" Did you notice a little haberdasher's shop at
the corner?" asked a certain Mrs. Spenser, as she
walked one fine day, about this time, towards the
Park. Her husband replied that he had not.
" She is a widow," continued his wife, " who has
just opened that shop. I have not been in it yet,
but her anxious countenance strikes me every
I2




90            NEW PROSPECTS.
time I go past. She looks to me like one who
has seen better days. I doubt her shop will not
answer; and she seems, poor thing, to have several children."
" Cannot you buy something from her? " asked
her husband; " for you ladies are happily gifted
with never-supplied wants."
" I will," replied Mrs. Spenser, " and we will
call on our return."
They did so.  Poor Mrs. Walsingham  was
cheered by their entrance; so was William, who,
since he had nothing better to do, had taken his
old Latin dilectus to get on with his lessons; so
were Mary and Grace, to whom little Margaret,
who had been sitting on a high stool by her mother at the counter, ran to communicate the joyful intelligence, that such a handsome lady and
gentleman were buying such a many things, and
were paying in gold!  Five-and-thirty shillings
good Mrs. Spenser laid out that morning at the
little haberdasher's shop; a sovereign, half-a-sovereign, and a five-shilling piece; there was something generous in the very look of the coin. But
far more than the money's worth was the kind
look, and the few words of kind inquiry and sympathizing good-will which were spoken.
" How I wish it had been a great, big parcel,




LITTLE M.RGARET S SCRROW.     91
ever so heavy," said William, "that I might have
had the pleasure of carrying it home for them!"
It seemed as if Mrs. Spenser's purchase had
brought good luck with it. An old man came in
before they went out of the shop, and two young
ladies immediately succeeded him. In the evening
William said there had been fifteen customers;
and Mrs. Walsingham announced that she had
taken four pounds.
CHAPTER XI.
LITTLE MARGARET S SORROW; AND THE FIRST
HOLIDAY.
THINGS were decidedly taking a turn for the better; and, as the winter came on, so great was the
demand for Mrs. Walsingham's peculiarly warm,
home-made comforters, night-caps, gloves, and
socks, that it required the unceasing industry of
herself and her two daughters to supply the demand. Among her customers was a lady of the
name of Aukland. She had one little daughter,
about six years old, who, on her next birth-day,
waa to have a wax-doll which could open and




9 LITTLE MARGARET'S SORROW.
shut its eyes.  In the centre of Mrs. Walsing,
ham's glass-case lay a doll of this description,
beautifil beyond measure in the eyes of this little
child-a doll which sometimes lay with its eyes
open, and sometimes with them shut. There was
another little girl, besides this, whose heart had
kindled with the most excessive admiration of this
wax miracle, and that was Margaret Walsinghem.
Margaret had never possessed any bought toys;
she never had a better doll than the one which
Grace manufactured for her of linen; a beautiful
doll, as the grateful but inexperienced child then
thought; but oh, how inferior to these in her
mother's glass-case, and to this, the very queen
and empress of them all!
Mrs. Walsingham had forbidden her to open
the glass-case, but her admiration through the
glass was allowable. The little girl seated herself often by her mother, pleasing herself with
day-dreams of how, if she had that doll, she
would dress it for the day and carry it out with its
blue eyes open, and then how she would bring it
home, take off its gay clothes, put on its nightdress, little frilled cap and all, shut its eyes, and
lay it to sleep on her own pillow. Such excessive
admiration could not exist without touching; and,
spite of the prohibition, the little girl, one day




LITTLE MARGARET S SORROW.       93
when the shop, with closed door, was left to her
keeping, opened the glass-case and gently pulled
the wire; the pink eyelids closed, and the child
was ready to scream with delight; another touch,
and they opened. It seemed to her as if the doll
woke and smiled upon her. " How I wish she
were mine! " sighed she, as, with a throbbing heart,
she closed the glass-case.
Her mother entered, but said not a word; she
had not seen her. The temptation, once yielded
to, could no longer be resisted, and the doll's eyes
accordingly were sometimes open and sometimes
shut. Neither Mrs. Walsingham, nor the elder
girls, nor even William, had noticed this circumstance; but so it was. Margaret used to delight
herself with the fearful pleasure, whenever she
found herself alone in the shop. One unfortunate
day, however, as she heard her mother's step near
the door, she jerked the wire upwards, to open the
eyes, and suddenly closed the glass-case. The
next time she went, the wire moved freely, but
the eyelids never closed. How was this? —what
was amiss-had she done it? Yes; and she then
remembered the jerk and the loose sensation with
which the wire went backwards:- the doll was
spoiled! All at once the horrible sense of disobedience, the dread of detection, the wish that




94       LITTLE MARGARET S SORROW.
all was known, that she could undo what she had
done-all the agony, in short, of an outrage done
to a tender conscience, fell upon her spirit. The
violent crimson which had flushed to the roots of
her hair, and the tips of her ears, faded away, and
a heavy sense of misery lay at her heart, that
paled and saddened her countenance.
" Oh, I wish Jack were at home! I could tell it
all to Jack! " sobbed the poor child, as, after unusual kindness from her mother and sisters, who,
supposing her ill, had sent her early to a warm
bed, she lay tossing from side to side.  "What
shall I do? what shall I do?" again, and again,
she exclaimed, till, fairly exhausted with her distress, she sank into heavy sleep, only to wake
with a soreness of heart on the morrow.
The morrow was the day before Christmas Eve,
and the lady and her sister, wrapped in fur and
velvet, came in to purchase the birthday present.
" My little girl," said the lady, " has fixed her
affections on a handsome wax-doll of yours, which
can open and shut its eyes. To-morrow is her
birthday, and I wish to purchase it for a birthday present."
Margaret was sitting at the counter as these
words were spoken. Her mother expressed her
pleasure and her thanks; opened the glass-case,




LITTLE MARGARET S SORROW.         95
and took out the doll, intending to exhibit its accomplishments; but the wire produced no effect.
She remarked that this was certainly very
strange. The doll had been injured; she could
not conceive how it had happened.
" Oh, mother, dearest, dearest mother, I did
it!" exclaimed Margaret, seizing her mother's
hand, and laying her face upon it; " can you
ever forgive me?"
" My child," said her mother, "you have done
very wrong; you have done me great mischief!"
The child laid her face on the counter, and sobbed violently.
" You naughty little girl!" said the lady, " if
I were your mamma, I would whip you!"
" She suffers more at this moment," replied
Mrs. Walsingham, calmly, " than she would from
such a punishment.  But the doll is certainly
spoiled, and I am sorry I have not another to
offer you."
" It might soon be repaired," whispered the
lady's sister to her; " J could almost do it myself.
She'll sell it cheap," added she, within the
other's bonnet.
" It is certainly spoiled," continueri the iady,
in reply to Mrs. Walsingham, " but i dollrt know




96       LITTLE MARGARET'S SORROW.
that Sophy would mind about the eyes, for it is
just as pretty as ever."
" If it please the young lady quite as well, it
might do," said Mrs. Walsingham, again present.
ing the doll.
"What is the price?" asked the lady.
" Seven shillings, in its uninjured state, madam."
" Seven shillings!" said the sister, " it is not
worth more than five now; —in fact, I would not
buy a damaged doll at any price; but Mrs. Aukland must please herself," said she, touching her
elbow at the same time, which was intended to
say, " Buy it!"
" I think I could get it repaired for you at the
toy-manufactory," said Mrs. Walsingham.
" We must have it to-day," said the sister; "it's
no use waiting to have it repaired.  If we have
it at all, we must have it to-night, to get it
dressed."
"I'll give you five shillings for it," said the
lady; " and, if-it can be repaired, we can get it
done."
" I think that's very fair," said the sister, who
acted, eon all occasions, as a corps-de-reserve.
"Very fair, Mrs. V'alsingham,:' repeated the
lady.




LITTLE MARGARET'S SORROW.        97
" I shall lose by it," said Mrs. WalsiIhgham,
4E more than I can well afford."
" Of course you expect to lose by damaged
goods," argued the sister; " and, do you remember, little miss," said she, leaning over the counter to Margaret, who still sate with her face buried in her hands,. " never to meddle with your
mamma's property again; for you hear she'll be a
loser by it."
" I am a good customer of yours, Mrs. Walsingham," said the lady, in an insinuating voice,
" and we like your woollen socks so much, that we
must have another dozen pair."
"I thank you," returned Mrs. Walsingham;
" and what size did you wish."
" I must call and bring you a pattern," replied
the lady; " but we must have the doll;" and,
taking a five-shilling piece from her purse, she laid
it on the counter.  "I have been a very good
customer of yours, Mrs. Walsingham, and I shall
send all my friends to you."
Mrs. Walsingham thanked her.  "You must
let your little boy carry the doll into the Regent's
Park: there is the address," said she, giving a
card. "And you must run, little boy," said she,
addressing William, " and mind you do not break
the doll; for we shall take a fly directly, and I




98       LITTLE MARGARET S SORROW.
shall be qouite provoked if you are not. there in
time. I'll call about the socks in a day or two,
Mrs. Walsingham."
"I've a great mind not to carry the doll for
her," said William, quite out of humour, and very
slowly putting on his hat and gloves; " and, if it
were not to oblige you, mother, I would not!"
" Oh, mother, will you ever kiss me again-will
you ever forgive me-will you ever trust me
again?" asked Margaret, half afraid to look into
her mother's face, as soon as William was out of
the shop.
" To be sure I shall forgive you," replied her
mother, " and trust you also, in order that you
may prove yourself trust-worthy. You must consider, my dear child, that it is as important for us
to preserve our property uninjured, as it is to increase it. You are too young yet to increase it;
all you call do is not to injure it. This doll cost
me five shillings and sixpence; I hoped to sell it
for seven, and thus gain one shilling and sixpence
by it. You have injured the doll, and I can only
obtain five shillings for it; I am thus a loser by
you, not only sixpence in the first cost of the doll,
but one and sixpence also which I hoped to gain.
Do you understand?"
" Yes," sobbed Margaret.




LITTLE MARGARET'S SORROW.         99
" What can I do to help mother?" asked Mar.garet, from her sisters, to whom she told her trouble, and her grief for her mother's loss; " you are
at work for her; can I do nothing to make up her
loss, at least?"
" I think we can put you in a way of doing
something to make up her loss," said Mary, kissing her: " have you any money at all?"
" I have only one silver sixpence, which the
gentleman gave me for picking up his purse in the
shop," said Margaret.
" If I were to set you some knitting, would you
take pains to learn?" inquired her sister. Margaret joyfully promised.
The knitting was set, and, after about a week's
practice, Margaret was pronounced able to begin
upon a nioht-cap.
" But don't you say a single word to mother,"
said the little girl. " And, don't you think she
will be very much surprised when I give her the
two shillings?"
Her sisters thought she would, and promised
to be faithful.  The sixpence was laid out in
wool, which produced two caps worth fifteenpence; this, again, was expended on fresh material; and, in somewhat more than two months'
time, the little girl had two shillings in hand, be



100     LITTLE MARGARET'S SORROW.
sides three caps in her mother's shop. Of course
all this little merchandise could not be carried ou
without Mrs.Walsingham's knowledge; but it was
understood amongst them, that Margaret's laudable mystery should be inviolate, and that no one
should anticipate her act of justice, even by commendation.
One morning-it was on Shrove Tuesday-Margaret was observed by her mother at breakfast to
look very smiling; to glance at her brother and
sisters, and to fidget about in her chair, as if for
very joy. " What makes you look so pleased,
yet so mysterious," asked she. Margaret took
from her bosom a neat little packet, in white
paper. " I have a little present for you, mother,"
she said-" and yet not quite a present either;it is the money I owe you-the two shillingsdon't you remember? "-and she blushed and hesitated, unwilling to remind her mother of the doll.
" You are a dear, honest little girl," said her
mother, opening the packet, and looking at the
money with great pleasure. "You have shown
wonderful perseverance; for this money, I suppose, is obtained from the sale of those caps you
have been knitting so long?"
"Yes, mother," said Margaret.
"You have shown a strong and clear sense of




LITTLE MARGARET'S SORROW.      101
honour and justice in this little affair. You have
given me real pleasure," said her mother, kissing
her affectionately.
" I never was so happy in all my life," exclaimed
the child, " and I don't care about dolls now! "
"Then," said her mother, " if I were to offer
you a doll, a very nice doll, in exchange for youx
remaining caps, you would not accept it? "
" I think not," said she, half hesitating; " but
what do you say, Mary?"
" Be guided, my love," said her mother, " by
your own inclinations-by your own judgment."
" No-I won't have a doll," was at length hex
decision; " it would remind me of that unfortunate
day."
" You shall go with me this morning," said her
mother; to Dr. Elliott's. I am going to return
the money which he so kindly lent me when we
first opened the shop."
" It is a happy thing to pay money that one
owes," replied she; " I am so glad you are going! "
" And as the shops will be closed after twelve,"
remarked Mrs. Walsingham, " suppose we all cf
us-Jack too-go to the Zoological Gardens?
Dr, Elliott gave you tickets lng ago."
" So did Mrs. Spenser," remarked Mary.
" How  delightful! how delightful!" shouted
K2




102         BRIGHTER PROSPECTS,
Margaret; and all agreed that it was a happy
thought.
That Shrove Tuesday, bright and warm beyond
most early spring days, afforded to this toiling and
worthy family their first real holiday.
Blessings on those old holy-days of the Catholic institution, which, as if in benevolent foreknowledge of the wants of modern social life, are
still retained! Blessings on them, I say, for they
are like sunny glimpses in the desert of workyday-life; like a pause in the wheel that grinds;
like a relaxing of the chain that pinches. There
is a sort of God-send in them; they seem out of
the common run of things; an extra day of rest,
besides the one in seven!
CHAPTER XII.
BRIGHTER PROSPECTS.
THE little shop prospered; and, before two years
had elapsed, Mrs.'Walsingham was able to make
some improvements in her domestic establishment.
Tiere was a weli-qualltied maid-servant in the




BRIGHTER PROSPECTS,         103
kitchen, and an errand-boy in the shop; and, besides this, she was able to give constant employment to several women in making up linen, and
the childrens' and babies' clothes, for which her
shop was becoming much celebrated. The little
concern was decidedly flourishing. The sevenand-thirty pounds had been turned over and over
and over again; and, like the snow-ball in the
deep snow, it grew at every turn. The shop
shelves and drawers were full, and every corner
was fitted up to hold boxes and cases of goods.
The place bore a fanciful resemblance to a nest,
which, as the brood becomes full-fledged and
strong, is too narrow for its contents. Mrs. Walsingham, however, was unwilling to remove from
a place which had evidently been so blessed to
her; and the family inconvenience was soon remedied by the next house becoming vacant; the original tenement was, therefore, converted into
work-rooms, second shop, and private room; and
the family removed into the next, to which internal communication was made. In all these things
Mrs. Walsingham saw the visible hand of Providence; and she went through her daily duties, her
daily occupations, with an increasing thankfulness
of spirit.
"William, you are nearly fifteen," said his




104         BRIGHTER PROSPECTS.
mother to him one Sunday evening, as the whole
family sate together in their comfortable parlour;
but it is never too late for you to learn," continued
she, smilingr-" you must now go to school."
William looked quite pleased, so did his sisters; and Jack, with no very gentle laugh, exclaimed, " Now, brother, you need not envy me."
" What think you of the London University?"
asked his mother.
"' I should like it of all things," replied he;
"' and, at my age, it sounds better to go to the
University than to school." William, however,
blushed as he said this-half suspecting that his
words were foolish.
" Yes," said Grace, quite sympathizing with
her brother, "you are right; it sounds a great
deal better."
"But mother," said William, " do you think I
shall seem very ignorant at first-as if I had been
very much neglected-I don't mean neglected
either"-said he, again correcting himself, in
the fear that his words implied a censure on
his mother-" I mean, shall I seem much more
ignorant than common boys of my age?"
" I hope, not generally ignorant," replied his
mother, "but, probably, deficient in much elementary knowledge."




BRIGHTER PROSP'ECTS.        105
"But," said Mary, "you will understand
ihings so muchn better than younger boys, that
vou will soon overcome that deficiency; and poor,
dear father, you know, thought you read Latin
very well; and you can translate with great ease:
you know something of mathematics, too; and you
have been pondering over that old Encyclopaedia
that Jack borrowed for us, for these three months.
There must be a deal of knowledge in this round
head of yours," said she, pushing the thick locks
from his forehead; " depend upon it, you'll be a
first-rate scholar!"
" And, William," said Jack, with a countenance
of very extraordinary gravity, " if you wouldn't
be offended, I know what I would do. I would
teach you grammar rules, and geography, and
show you how to parse, and to find the latitude and
longitude, and all that; and I would hear you
spelling lessons, and words with meanings, and
all!"
" Upon my word," said Grace, laughing,'" you
are very patronizing, Jack." But Jack neither
looked abashed nor vexed.
" Thank you, brother," said William; "you
shall hear me those lessons, and give me those inrtructions, for it is just what I want."
" There, Mistress Grace!" said Jack, nodding




106         BRIGHTER PROSPECTS.
at her, and archly glancing out of the corners of
his laughing black eyes.
This happy scheme, the first-fruits, as it were,
of their amended fortunes, furnished the fireside
topic for many days. William was allowed to
take his Sunday clothes into every-day wear, and
a new suit was ordered for him; and the whole of
the next fortnight he spent in acquiring elementary knowledge, and in exhibiting to Jack, every
leave-day, the progress he had made.
At the end of the fortnight the new term commenced. William kissed his mother and sisters,
and, with a joyful heart, ran off to the University;
thinking, as he went, that it was a great deal
pleasanter to be going to school, than to be standing behind a counter: and it was with a beating,
but yet with a proud heart, that he, when the
school-roll was called over, answered to the name
of Walsingham —" adsum."
Mary, as we said before, had frequently assisted her mother in the shop. She was a tall,
well-grown, and remarkably handsome girl, very
womanly in appearance, ar.d of very quiet, elegant
manners. Everybody admired her, and many
came nurnoselv to look at her, or be served by her.
Mrs. Walsinhnam soon became aware of the
circunstance, ana, Knowing how dangerous such




BRIGHTER PROSPECTS.         107
admiration might be to her daughter, determined
immediately to remove her from it
" Do not ask Grace to serve in the shop,
dearest mother," said Mary, as the three were
talking family affairs over.
" Oh do not, mother!" exclaimed Grace, with
nervous excitement-" I never could do it. I will
net purses, do worsted-work, work satin-stitch,
open-hem, embroider, braid, design patterns —
or do any thing except serve in the shop."
" You shall never be asked to do it, my love,"
said her mother. And the grateful girl, touched
by what she thought another proof of her mother's
kindness, sate down with redoubled industry, to
the beautiful work in which she excelled.
A few days after, Mrs. Spenser, who from the
first had remained Mrs. Walsingham's firm friend,
came in, and asked to have some private conversation with her. She wished to know, she said,
if she intended her eldest daughter to remain in
the shop. No, she was not likely to be in it
again, Mrs. Walsingham replied. Mrs. Spenser
was very glad. Had she any decided plans for her
daughter? Not for the present; the removing her
from the shop was only a late determination.
" Will your daughter spend this evening with
me?" asked Mrs. Spenser, after a moment'




108         BRIGHTER PROSPECTS,
pause; "I shall be quite alone."  Mrs. Walsing.
ham was quite sure it would give her daughter
great pleasure; and at six o'clock, accordinglyfor she was to go very early-Mary, dressed in her
very best-in her new dark-blue silk frock, the most
expensive dress she had ever had-set out for
Russell Square. It was with some little excitement of spirit that she set out; for an invitation,
even to tea, in those days was a very great event.
As Mary, in her unornamented dress, with her rich,
abundant,' dark hair plainly braided, and her calm,
self-possessed demeanour, entered the spacious
and handsomely furnished drawing-room, Mrs.
Spenser thought she had seldom seen a more prepossessing girl. Mary Walsingham was, in fact,
the very counterpart of her mother in her younger
days: but of that Mrs. Spenser knew nothing.
Mary, although she looked calm, did not feel
quite so. She had hitherto seen Mrs. Spenser as
the kind patron of themselves, humble tradespeople; they were thankful, grateful to her, nay,
they even loved her; but they had never ceased to
feel that she was rich and they poor; that she was
placed infinitely above them in station, and that,
perhaps, any sentiment stronger than that of obligation, might be thought impertinent; and now,
here was she, the very girl who had sold her




BRIGHTER PROSPECTS.         109
cambric handkerchiefs, and even things as humble
as pins and knitting-cotton, sitting on the same
sofa, and talking unbonnetted to her, face to face!
This feeling, however, soon passed away; and
Mary forgot that Mrs. Spenser was so much richer,
was so much higher in station than themselves.
A great variety of topics was conversed upon, and
Mary, shrewd as she was, never suspected that
Mrs. Spenser was testing her in many ways; that
she was fathoming her general knowledge, sounding her principles, and discovering her sentiments
on the most important points. Had Mary known
this, perhaps she might not have passed through
the ordeal as unexceptionably as she did.
"And now, Miss Walsingham," said Mrs.
Spenser, " I will be frank with you: I was not
altogether disinterested when I requested the pleasure of your company. I had an object in view, in
which my own interest was entirely concerned.
I have one little daughter." Mary said she had
seen her very often. " She has hitherto," continued
Mrs. Spenser, " had only a daily governess; but
we wish rather for a resident one-one whose
manners and principles we may have an opportunity of knowing thoroughly.  You are young,
Miss Walsingham-younger than I supposed —



110         BRIGHTER rROSPECTS.
but of that fault you would mend every day,"
said she, kindly.
" And did you indeed think of me, as Miss
Spenser's governess?" asked Mary, scarcely able
to keep down her emotion.
" I have thought of it for some time, my dear
girl," replied Mrs. Spenser, "but I sincerely desire it now."
Mary looked at Mrs. Spenser with her eyes
full of tears, but she could not speak.
" You are inexperienced in teaching, perhaps,
continued Mrs. Spenser; "but as my little
daughter is not yet six years old, not much booklearning is required. You shall have every opportunity of improving yourself."
Mary expressed her gratitude in few, but efficient words.
" My dear," said Mrs. Spenser, " society owes
much to a woman like your mother, who has not
only passed through a life of peculiar trial and
hardship unblemished, but who has set an example
of almost every virtue. Your mother, my dear,
has already more nobly deserved a statue than
many a hero; and no great merit is due to such
as I, who only do a little to make her path
easir,




BRIGHTER PROSPECTS,         111
Mary again could not speak; and the moment
after, her brother William was announced, who, as
had been arranged, was come to fetch her home.
That was a joyful going home; and the happy,
thankful family remained round the fire after
midnight-there was so much to be said, and so
much to be arranged.
"It is a pleasant thing," said Grace, " to build
castles in the air, but a far pleasanter thing to find
real castles built, and ready furnished for you, as
you have done to-night, Mary. I am sure I am
very glad, for you quite deserve it, and you will
fulfil all Mrs. Spenser's expectations."
"I hope so," replied Mary.
"You will," returned Grace: " only think how
well you do every thing, how thoroughly you succeed in all your attempts, and how much you know;
yet you never seemed to be learning-you had no
time for it! But, after all, mother," continued
Grace, turning to Mrs. Walsingham, " I am glad
Mrs. Spenser did not fix upon me; I could
never have fulfilled her expectations."
" And for that very reason, my dear," replied
her mother, " Mrs. Spenser would not have fixed
on you for such an office."
" Ah," said Grace, sorrowfully, " I shall always
be the least useful one of the family I "




112         BRIGHTER PROSPECTS.
" You undervalue yourself, my dear," said her
mother.
" Think of all that exquisite work which you
have done," said Mary.
" Of all those purses and bags, and bead-work,
and embroidery, and braiding," added'William,
each anxious to raise poor Grace in her own estimation. Grace made no answer; but she sighed,
well knowing, though she would not confess it,
that every kind of work which had been enumerated as among her good gifts, had long since
been distasteful to her; and, so that she might
have studied Italian and our best English poetry
and literature, and employed herself in drawing,
she would contentedly have lived on bread and
water.
Mary was soon happily established in her new
home, and twelve months more went on prosperously with the widow and her family. William
had lost his thin, pale-faced, anxious look, which,
in fact, had only been the consequence of an
over-tasked mind and an extremely anxious
spirit. He had become ten times more studious
than ever, and was as happy as the day was long.
He advanced rapidly in his classes, and brought
home, at the close of each term, the highest credentials of merit. Mr. Spenser took the warm



SECRET SCHEMES.           113
est and most friendly interest in him; and, when
he had been rather more than two years at schoolon his seventeenth birthday, in fact —he was admitted as junior clerk in Mr. Spenser's countinghouse; an event which filled the widow's heart
and house with gladness.
We must now go back a year and a half at
least, and return to Grace, who henceforth will be
the principal character in our little history.
CHAPTER XIII.
SECRET SCHEMES.
As Mrs. Walsingham's circumstances improved,
she became anxious that Grace, who seemed the
only one unbenefited by them, should share some
of their advantages as well as the other members
of the family. But Grace, in many respects, was
peculiar; she was a being extraordinarily gifted,
and, under prosperous circumstances, would have
been the flattered, courted, and, probably, the
spoiled child of genius: her character, too, would
have been transparent as water; but, chilled as




114            SECRET SCHEMES.
abe had insensibly been by early poverty, by wit.
nessing the privations, and, often, the concealed
suffering of those most dear to her, she had
learned to veil her own feelings, and even while
indulging an almost morbid sensitiveness of spirit,
wearing outwardly an appearance of coldness and
reserve. Her father, had he lived, would per.
fectly have understood her, but he would have
been far from the best guide for a being so constituted. Grace, though she had neither fear nor
distrust of her mother, dreaded so much the adding to her difficulties, or the receiving an over
proportion of indulgence or consideration from
her, that she never made her her confidant; and
although she loved her elder brother and sister,
and had the most profound respect for them, yet
they were never admitted to her most secret feelings.  It was Jack-the gay, volatile, lighthearted Jack, two years her junior —that was the
closest intimate of her heart. Two beings more
dissimilar could hardly be conceived; Grace,
slender, and of a marble paleness, with soft brown
hair, straight and glossy as silk, and limbs of the
most delicate mould-all ideality, and filled with
notions of beauty and perfection; Jack, strongbuilt, strong-featured, and rough-headed; a bold,
free-spoken youth, that seemed to laugh all sen-.




SECRET SCHEMES.           115
timent to scorn, and from whom it might have
been thought no tender sympathies could ever
have been extracted. It was by him, and him
only, that Grace was thoroughly known, and to
him only that she freely opened her heart.
When Mrs. Walsingham proposed that Grace
should have the advantage of school, she at once
shrunk from it.  " No, mother," said she, " I am
too old, too tall to go to school."
" You thought differently in William's case,
my love," argued her mother.
" William was very different to me," she replied; " I could not bear-indeed, mother, I
could not-the way in which I should be treated at
a first-rate school; and I had better be at home,"
she added, timidly, " than go to an inferior one."
Her mother quite agreed in that opinion.
" Do you not know, mother," asked Grace,
half reluctantly, " the ungenerous feeling, the
want of sympathy, there is among women generally, and among girls, too, I suppose? I mean,
that those who fancy themselves richer and
greater, despise those they think below  themsuch as ourselves," said she, with a faltering voice.
"' But, my dear," replied her mother, " while
we preserve our own self-respect, we are almost
independent of the opinions of others."




116          SECRET SCHEMES.
" That must depend, in great measure, on out
own natures," said Grace. "I could not bear
all you do, dearest mother," continued she, " from
people considering themselves perfect ladies;
they are so imperious often-so little considerate
of your feelings; and if ladies behave thus to you,
mother, whom everybody respects, and whose
real goodness everybody acknowledges, how is it
likely that ignorant girls, full of their own importance, and with all their educated notions of wealth
and station, would behave even civilly to me, a
stranger, who would be known to them only as a
shopkeeper's daughter?"
" There may be some truth in what you say,
my dear girl," returned her mother, "but you
want charity; your censures are far too sweeping;
you forget the kind friends we have found-you
forget Dr. Elliott and Mr. and Mrs. Spenser."
"Yes, mother," returned Grace, " but those
are the exceptions. Were the world made up of
Dr. Elliotts and Mrs. Spensers, we should hardly
wish to go to heaven: but, dearest mother, as to
my going to school, do not think of it. I have
plenty of time at home for the few studies I care
about."
" You shall have lessons in French and Italian,"
returned her mother," from good Mr. Hamilton,




SECRET SCHEMES.            117
and you shall have a little time also for your own
reading. It is but fair that you should reap some
advantage from our amended circumstances, particularly when you have done your part towards
their amendment."
Grace kissed her mother's cheek, and thanked
her again and again for her kindness.
"W Well, but, Grace," said Jack, one fine evening during the Midsummer holidays, as they were
walking in the Regent's Park together, " you are
low-spirited-you ought to think better of yourself. There's nothing like having a good conceit
of ourselves-I soon found that out."
" But you don't at all understand," said Grace;
" I only say, that many things make me lowspirited, that others would not mind about at all.
Now, you know, I ought to help mother-and I
will. But, oh Jack, you don't know how I loathe
that trumpery satin-stitch and embroidery, and
how often I feel to despise women, because they
think so much about dress. I wear nothing but
these plain cambric collars myself, because I hate
those worked ones."
" But," replied her brother, " you admire every
pretty pattern, and everything that is elegant and
graceful; and everybody says there never was
such beautiful work as yours. Didn't mother




118           SECRET SCHEMES.
say, this very morning, that there was another
order for another dozen of babies' caps?"
" Yes, brother," said Grace, " and I could not
eat another morsel after I had heard it. I sometimes think that I will leave off inventing patterns; but, then, it would be wicked not to help
mother to the utmost; and, now William's at the
University, and Margaret is going to school, and
now I take Freneh and Italian lessons, I know
that I ought to work even harder than ever. I
declare, Jack," said she, weeping, " I often pray
that God would enable me to do my duty cheerfully, for it is the doing it cheerfully that is the
great thing, after all! "
" I wish I could help you in some way," said
Jack.' You do help me," was her reply; " for it is
the greatest comfort 1 have to take these pleasant
evening walks with you, now you are at home
every day, and to open my whole heart to
you. "
"' Grace," commenced Jack, cheerfully, as if a
new set of ideas had taken possession of his mind,
"if you might have just what you liked, and be
just what you liked, what would you be? Very
rich, I suppose, wouldn't you? and have a grand
house, somewhere in a grand park, with plenty of




SECRET SCHEMES.           119
deer; and servants, and carriages, and horses;
and pictures, and statues, and a deal of music;
and fine folks to visit you? Would that please
you?"
" Not quite, I think," returned Grace, "though
I should like the grand house and the pictures,
and statues and music, and books, Jack, which
you have forgotten."
" You wouldn't do any more satin-stitch or
embroidery, I guess?" said Jack.
"No," replied Grace, "I would forbid anyaody ever to mention the words before me; aind
I don't think I should ever touch a needle again
as long as I lived."
" You would do famously," said Jack, " in
that island where ready-made shirts, with buttons
and button-holes, plaited frills and all, grow upon
the trees!"
" I should be a very princess there," replied
Grace, " and I would do nothing then but read
and draw. And, by the bye, did I show you my
little etching on copper?"
" It has turned out well, has it? " asked Jack.
" I think so," said Grace, " for a first attempt;
I should never despair of quite succeeding, if I
had only time. How useful that Encyclopedia
has been to us."




120           SECRET SCHEMES.
"And yet it was the satin-stitch that helped
you to buy it," said Jack.
" I have a notion," said Grace, " without no.
ticing her brother's observation, " that if I had
only the time to practise, I should succeed very
well; but I should prefer wood-engraving-I understand it so entirely: and my attempt was
really not despicable."
" No," said Jack, " I think it was capital."
" But, you know," continued Grace, " I should
never be satisfied to devote as much time as
would be needful to any art of this kind, while
mother had to struggle with difficulties."
" And yet I think," said her brother, " if she
only knew how you hated this stitch, stitch, stitching, she would not object to your giving it up;
and, in the end, you might get a deal of money by
engraving. I know two boys, whose father is an
engraver, and they walk the streets with a liveryservant after them."
" But," said Grace, " it is not common for
women to be engravers."
" Fiddlestick-end!" said Jack, "if that's all
the objection."
" Not quite all," replied Grace; " but mother
might think it a wild experiment, and, perhaps,
think me unkind, in not helping her still in the




SECRret SCHEMES.          121
way that seems most natural; and I heard her
say, this very morning, what advantage it would
be to her to keep lace of the most expensive
kinds, and in greater variety; and that she had
lost one of her best customers, because she could
not supply her with such lace, but that she should
not think it right to keep it at present, because
she had not sufficient capital. Now, if I were to
leave off doing that fine work, mother must hire
others to do it, which would lessen her profits,
and I, the while, should be making continual
demands upon her. If I had only any little way
of gaining money independently of the fine work,
that I would lay out for myself, and then I would
design, and etch, and engrave to my heart's
content."
" I wish you could," said Jack: and these few
emphatic words brought them again to their own
door.
" I want you to have a walk with me, Grace,"
said Jack, on his first leave-day, about a week
after the holidays were closed. Grace was sitting
at her work-table, busied over the last baby's cap
of the dozen which had been ordered. " I'll put
all these things by for you, for I'm in a prodigious
hurry; I want to have some particular conversation with you."
]w




122          SECRET SCHEMES.
Grace was very quick, for she longed to be out
in the fresh air; and she was curious, besides, to
know what important topic' Jack had in his
mind.
He linked his ungloved hand into her arm, and
the moment they had left the door he began:
", I really have found something that you can do,
and get a deal of money by, too-something
quite in your own way; and you may go on with
the fine work at the same time, and nobody else
know anything about it at present, but you and
me; and then, if it doesn't succeed-but it will
succeed, and so I won't fancy anything else."
" But what is it, dear brother?" interrupted
Grace.
"You know all about calico-printing," said
Jack; " printing ladies' dresses-those beautiful
muslins."
" No, indeed, I know nothing about it," replied Grace.
" Nonsense!" said he; "you know that those
beautiful patterns are all drawn first upon paper;
and very clever people-sometimes artists-design
them, and a great deal of money is often paid for
first-rate patterns, and many people get their
living by doing nothing else but designing and
drawing patterns."




SECRET SCHEMES.           123
" And you think I could design and draw
them?" asked Grace.
" I'm sure of it," he replied; " you could do
it beautifully —I should not wonder if you got
twenty guineas for one design."
" Impossible!" said Grace; " twenty guineas
can never be given for a single pattern."
" But it is!" said Jack. " Now, I know a
boy, his name is Ferrand, and his father does
nothing else but design patterns.  He lives at
Mr. Aukland's print-works. I have been often
at his house, for Dick and I are rather cronies;
and I have been all over the printing-works, and
I understand exactly how everything is done."
" But in what kind of way are these patterns
drawn?" asked Grace.
" Very nicely drawn, and coloured exactly;but, dear me," said Jack, interrupting himself,
"' I've three or four in my pocket that I begged,
for I thought of you directly."
"You are a dear, kind creature," said Grace.
Jack produced the patterns.  " You see," said
he, " they are made to look exactly as they are
meant to be; but these are nothing extraordinary-quite common things, that they set no
store by."
" The patterns are nothing," said Grace, " but
they are all I need."




124          SECRET SCHEMES.
"Mr. Ferrand said," continued Jack, " that
they were always wanting new patterns, and tha;
they would give any money for something very
original for next spring, because printed muslins
were to be all the rage. I told him I knew a
young person-I didn't say lady-that would do
him some better things than he had ever seen,
and that I would bring him some. He seemed
very much pleased, and asked me to have some
brandy-and-water with him."
" But you did not, I hope," interrupted Grace.
" No, I didn't drink any," said Jack, " I only
sipped at the glass; and he told me he used to
design a great many himself, but that of late his
hand had been out."
Grace thanked her brotner sincerely, and promised that she would try what she could do. The
next morning she was up early, and, instead of
either reading Italian or French, as had been her
custom, sate down to catch and realize, if she
could, some of the phantom designs which had
floated through her brain, even in her dreams. It
was several days before she produced anything
that at all satisfied herself; but after that time she
began to design rapidly, one combination suggesting another entirely different. Some were formal
Chinese-like things, all angles and interlacingsa gorgeous mass of colour; others, light floating




SECRET SCHEMES.           125
sprays and blossoms, like gossamer threads and
nodding flowers, heavy with dew. She grew delighted with her own work, and, full of confidence,
went on with amazing success. There was one
particular pattern, however, which she considered
worth all the rest, for its originality of design, and
bold, yet faultless, colouring. She tried again
and again, but to her judgment could produce
nothing at all equal to it. She called it the acanthus-pattern, because the first idea was suggested,
though she hardly knew how, by an acanthusleaf upon a Grecian capital, among the marbles of
the British Museum. and that particular leaf,
most accurately sketched, continued in the design.
Jack was with her at the time she sketched the
leaf; and one little fact connected with that circumstance made it memorable. But more of that
in its place.
Twelve of Grace's best designs, and the acanthus-pattern, of course, among them, were carried
by Jack, on his next holiday, to Mr. Ferrand,
who in the interim had, through his son, reminded
him of his promise.
" Now I have brought you something," said
he, opening the little portfolio, in which Grace
had carefully laid the designs; " you never saw
such as these, Mr. Ferrand."
u 2




126           SECRET SCHEMES.
Jack arranged them on the table, as  e thought
most advantageously.  " What do you say to
them, Mr. Ferrand?" asked he, as that person
delayed to give an opinion, though he could not
conceal his surprise.
" I say," said he, " that I have seen worse,
and I may have seen better; but all depends upon
trial," added he, gathering them up.
" But, stop," said Jack, seizing the acanthus,
"is not that a beauty?"
" It's riot an ugly thing," replied Mr. Ferrand,
coolly.
" What may such a design as that be worth?"
asked Jack.
" A matter of ten or fifteen shillings," said the
other.
" Ten or fifteen shillings!" repeated Jack;
"why, Mr. Ferrand, there is not such a design
as that in all Mr. Aukland's works; and you
said you would give any money for some original
designs.",,
" Pho! Pho!" said Mr. Ferrand; "but come,
here's two sovereigns for you, for the whole batch
of them; and I can't stand argufying," added he,
taking up his hat, and dropping the designs very
-deliberately into his pocket.
" The designs are not mine," said Jack, think



SECRET SCHEMES.           127
ing Mr. Ferrand meant to be dishonest, "and I
brought them neither to give, nor yet to sell, at
this rate!"
" Pocket your two sovereigns, and be off with
you," said Ferrand, growing red in the face.
" You are not behaving at all like a gentleman,"
said Jack, doggedly, but without touching the
money.
" Will you take these, and be off with you?"
said the other, again putting the sovereigns towards him.
" No," said Jack, "but I'll have the designs
back again."
" Will you?" exclaimed Ferrand, now growing
pale with passion; " we'll see, then! " and, taking
Jack by the shoulders, and not very gently either,
he turned him out of the house.
Poor Jack! In the whole course of his life he
had never been in such a passion as he was then.
" He's the shabbiest scoundrel in all London,"
said he, as, in the very childishness of his rage, he
flung a stone against the black wooden gates
within which Mr. Ferrand's house stood.
" And what shall I say to poor Grace? " thought
he, when the first ebullition of his anger was over;
and, from having walked with impetuous speed,
he now relaxed into a saunter. "What a'fine




128           SECRET SCHEMES.
fellow I shall seem to her, after all the swagger f
made about the money she was to get, and which
she ought to have got; for there never were such
beautiful designs seen! I've a good mind to go
to Mr. Aukland myself," said he, speaking aloud,
in the very energy of his perplexity, " and tell
him all about it; for that Ferrand is a downright
shabby, swindling fellow!"
" Thy language is somewhat free for thy years,"
said a calm voice behind, which made Jack suddenly turn round. It was a middle-aged Quaker,
who, in his plain brown suit, and well-varnished
brown walking-cane, was leisurely bending his
steps towards some anti-slavery or Bible meeting.
" And no wonder, sir," said Jack, in reply to
his observation, " for I have been shamefully
swindled."
" What may thy case be?" asked the Friend.
Jack told him exactly, and about the acanthuspattern also, and concluded by saying, that " Ferrand was the greatest swindler ill all London."
" Thou certainly hast not been well-used," replied the Friend, " if those designs of which thou
speakest are worth more than the two sovereigns."
" They are worth ten times that money, sir,"
said Jack, with emphasis.
"' See the man again," said the Quaker, " and




SECRET SCHEMES.            129
calmly represent to him the injustice of his conduct; but be calm, my young friend," said he,
laying his hand kindly on Jack's shoulder, " for
anger produces nothing but evil; and if he still
refuse' to restore thee either thy property or its
true value, thou shouldst see John Aukland, this
person's employer; he is an upright man, and
will not see injustice done to thee. And, further,
I advise thee," said the Friend, beginning to
quicken his pace, " to moderate thy temper.  Go
home now, and tell thy sister of this man's unfair conduct; and if she be, as thou sayest, so
excellent and so amiable, she will not blame thee.
Farewell! "
Jack thought there was good sense~in what the
Quaker advised, and, accordingly, calming himself
into as much stoical philosophy as he was capable of, he related to Grace the end of this grand
scheme. Grace did not belie the character which
Jack had given of her, for she did not blame him;
on the contrary, she assumed an indifference which
she did not feel, and, both by word and manner,
did all in her power to reconcile poor Jack to
himself.
In a week or two, on his very first leave-day,
he went again to Mr. Ferrand, and inquired after
the designs, with as much politeness as he could




130           SECRET SCHEMES.
possibly assume. Mr. Ferrand far more than
equalled him in civility; he apologized for his
former rudeness; he was sorry he had used violence towards him. As to the designs, they had
turned out absolutely nothing; there was no
judging of a design in paper; every one mnust be
tried with the blocks and proper dyes, before an
opinion could be formed of its worth; not one
design out of ten worked well on the calico.
Upon his honour, he assured Jack, that not one of
them was worth a farthing; but he had not time
then to spare. Jack was confounded by his civil
wordiness, but he did not believe even his protestations; before, however, he could frame an answer, Mr. Ferrand was gone.
Outside the gate was a gentleman alighting from
his phaeton.  " Was it Mr. Aukland?" inquired
Jack; for he thought, spite of Mr. Ferrand's polite
protestations, he would take the Quaker's advice,
and relate the whole affair to him.  " Was it,"
he asked, "Mr. Aukland?"  The answer was
affirmative. The moment Jack spoke of designs,
Mr. Aukland referred him  to Mr. Ferrand —he
was the proper person, and to him he must go.
" But" said Jack. " These are matters I have
nothing to do with," interrupted Mr. Aukland,
impatiently; "I cannot be detained." Mr. Auk..




LA BELLE FLORA.           11M
land bustie4d through the black gates, the groom
leisurely dro-7tt the phaeton down the street, and
Jack walked away more discontented than ever.
CHAPTER XIV.
LA BELLE FLORA.
As month after month rolled on, if Grace thought
less of her disappointed hopes, she found that any
chance of emancipation from the needle was more
distant than ever; for her satin-stitch and embroidery grew more in demand every day. Mrs.
Walsingham often thought Grace was too closely
confined, and she devised many little schemes of
pleasure, many little excursions into the country,
to diversify, as much as might be, the monotonous life of her daughter. Several young women,
it is true, were now associated with Grace in her
tasks; but as she had no talent for instructing
others, each was left to her own abilities, and, as
might be expected, not one equalled her. Mrs.
Walsingham's customers, therefore, soon learned
to distinguish her work from that of all others;
and, had poor Grace, like the goddess of the




132          LA BELLE FLORA.
Ephesians, been gifted with six hands instead of
two, she might fully have employed them all.
"Now, Mrs. Walsingham," said that same Mrs.
Aukland, who, in the early days of the little shop,
had triumphantly carried off the damaged doll at
less than its prime cost, and who had just now
alighted from her carriage, " I want another velvet
dress for my Augustus, embroidered in gold
thread." Mrs. Walsingham bowed her thanks.
" But I must have a perfectly original designsomething very striking, and very new," said the
lady.
"I have no doubt of our pleasing you," replied
Mrs. Walsingham.
" The last dress that he had," the lady continued, " was the sweetest thing I ever saw;
many gentlemen, artists, noticed it, and pronounced the style perfect."
" And you now wish for something quite unlike this?" inquired Mrs. Walsingham.
" Of a style quite dissimilar," said the lady,
" for though that dress is still as good as new, it
has been so imitated by everybody, that I cannot
bear to see the child in it. It is so very impertinent of people to imitate one!"
Mrs. Walsingham suggested that it might be
taken as a compliment, and then proceeded to lay




LA BELLE FLORA.           133
several of Grace's newest designs for such work
before her. She did not quite approve of any of
these; she wanted something very different-very
striking and original.  " And, remember, Mrs.
Walsingham," said she, " that I purchase the
pattern, which is to be destroyed the moment it
i3 done with."
It was then agreed that fresh patterns were
to be designed, and sent by post for her choice.
Two guineas were to be paid for the embroidering, and two also for the pattern; and Mrs.
Walsingham was to furnish the velvet and gold
thread. These important preliminaries being thus
arranged, the lady passed forth to her splendid
carriage. During Easter week, Jack had the pleasure of morning strolls through the streets of
London, with the joyful prospect of dining at
home each day. Towards noon, however, on
the Thursday, he came in with a very hurried
air, and begged Grace would go with him into
Regent Street, for that he, had something very
strange to show her. Not a word could Grace
obtain from her brother, as to the object of their
walk; " it was a something," he said, "which
was worth seeing."
"And now," said he, " as he suddenly stopped
beurt~ a fashionable shop, the windows of which
N




184           LA BELLE FLORA.
were filled with dresses of the newest spring
fashions, " what do you see there?" Grace made
a rapid survey, and then, with a sudden start,
exclaimed, " The acanthus-pattern! and how beautiful it is!"
" And what a false-hearted scoundrel that was!"
exclaimed he, losing all sense of the beauty of
the pattern in his extreme indignation.
" It must be my own design," said Grace,
thoughtfully, "for no one else would conceive
exactly the same idea!"
"It's your own, and  nobody else's,"  said
Jack; " and I'll tell you why: don't you remember
sketching it that night at the British Museumand the little mouse's face in the middle of the
acanthus leaf?"
" Yes," said Grace, smiling, " and there it is, to
be sure!"
"And you threw that scarlet flower, that ecrymocarpus across it, and I declared that it still
peeped through —and so it does, though nobody
but you or I would find it out."
" Yes," said Grace, " it must be my design."
" I'm confident it is!" said Jack; " but,-to make
assurance sure, I'll go in and ask whose print
it is."'The people of the shop were not busy just




LA BELLE FLORA.            135
then; and, as Jack put his question to the gen.
tleman of the shop, he received a direct and
very civil answer. It was, the shop-keeper said,
one of Aukland's, and would be, he expected, the
most fashionable print of the season. It was called
la belle Flora. A dress of it had.already been
worn by the Queen; but that this was the first
day it had been shown in the shops. Jack expressed his thanks, and ran out to communicate
what he had heard to his sister.
" And now," said he, " what had best be done?
"for that fellow shall not have the credit of la
belle Flora to himself."
" We must tell mother all about it," replied
Grace, "for she is the properest person to give
us good counsel. But, dear me, it will be no
use making any disturbance about it, for we
shall never get any good by it: but still it is a
great satisfaction to see that I have succeeded so
well, and that the very pattern which pleased me
so much, is likely to be a general favourite!"
" I tell you what," said Jack, " if there's justice
to be had in London, we'll have it! —and don't
you be chicken-hearted now;-that's the fault
every body blames women for," said he, half
vexed. Grace laughed, and called him her " Ceur
de Lion."




136           LA BELLE FLORA.
Whea they got home, they found their mother
closely occupied by a constant succession of im.
portant customers; there seemed no chance of them
two being able to speak a word with her before
evening. " I'm completely out of patience," said
Jack, as he went away from the door of his
mother's room; " she'll never be at liberty!" At
length, however, the door opened, and three
ladies, accompanied by his mother, came out.
Jack stole softly into the shop after them, intending
to secure his mother the moment they were gone.
But the lady who had ordered the embroidered
velvet dress was alighting from her own carriage,
and had entered the shop before Jack had spoken
a single word. " I shall not detain you many
minutes, Mrs. Walsingham," said the lady; "and
I will remain here, thank you." Jack saw instantly that she wore a dress of la belle Flora
pattern, and he stole softly outside the counter, to
get a nearer survey.
" You like these designs, I hope," said Mrs.
Walsingham, taking them from the lady's hand.
"They are all exquisite-the sweetest things I
ever saw," replied she; " but this is my choice."
" It is certainly very striking," said Mrs. Wal.
singham, "and will produce great effect."
" I cannot think," said the lady, " how you get




XA BELLE FLORA.            137
auch things made; and then the work itself is so
perfect! Do you employ the Jewesses?"
" Frequently," she replied; " but these designs
are made, and this particular work is done, by my
daughter."
" Indeed!" said the lady, " she must be wonderfully clever!"
" That she is!" exclaimed Jack, suddenly presenting himself, to the no small astonishment of
his mother and the lady; " and she invented the
pattern of that beautiful print which you are
wearing."
"Impossible!" said the lady, half laughing.
" But indeed, ma'am, she did," said Jack, not
standing on ceremony, even with a rich lady" only she has been swindled out of it!"
" You are a most impertinent boy," returned
the lady, "for this print, which is the most
fashionable print of the season, was invented by a
French gentleman, of the name of Du Roc."
" They may say so," returned Jack, steadily;
" and they call it, I kn'ow, la belle Flora; but
my own sister Grace herself, and nobody else,
designed it, and she called it the acanthus-pattern."
" This is very extraordinary behaviour, Mrs.
Walsingham," said the lady, looking very much
insulted. "Pray, who is this boy?"
N2




138          LA BELLE FLORA.
"He is my son," returned Mrs. Walsingham;
" and the facts which I now hear are quite as ex.
traordinary to myself as to you."
" Thefacts!" repeated the lady —" the falsehoods, Mrs. Walsingham; for this print belongs
to my husband, Mr. Aukland, the great calicoprinter; and every word which this boy has
spoken is a gross falsehood!"
" I trust not," returned Mrs. Walsingham —
" at all events, not wilfully false. But, how is
this, John?" said she, turning to him, "for I
never heard that Grace had designed any patterns
for printing."
" No, mother," returned he, " you never did;
nobody ever knew, but Grace and myself, and
Mr. Ferrand, and some old Quaker gentleman;
but whom I do not know: but we were going to
tell you all about it directly; for they've got the
pattern printed, as you see, and Grace has been
swindled out of it; and now they give it a fine
French name, and say it was invented by a
Frenchman!"
" There must be some mistake about it, John,"
said his mother; " this, most likely, is not the pattern which Grace designed."
" It is, indeed, mother," returned he, earnestly;
" for I know the pattern as well as if I had drawn
it myself!"




LA BELLE FLORA.           139
" Unless some apology is made for the extreme
Impertinence of that boy," said Mrs. Aukland,
"I shall not again enter this shop!"
" I understand the whole affair so imperfectly,"
replied Mrs. Walsingham, with great composure,
"that I am not able to illdge if he be reallv as
blameable as you suppose."
"Every word he has uttered," returned she, "is
false!" And then, giving orders that the velvet
dress should be finished, without fail, in two days,
she drove off in extreme indignation.
Quite unperceived by all the party, an old gentleman had entered the shop while this circumstance occurred, and he stood a quiet listener to
the conversation that passed. He was a stout
old gentleman, with a merry eye, and had been an
early and constant purchaser of Mrs. Walsingham's nice lamb's-wool stockings. The moment
Mrs. Aukland was gone, he burst into a loud fit
of laughter, and, clapping Jack on the back, called
him a fine fellow, and said that, like John Knox,
he was not afraid of the fair face of a gentlewoman.
" Sir," replied Jack, " I knew I was right."
" That's a fine spirit," said the old gentleman;
"stand up for the right as bold as a lion! But I'll
tell you what, my stout fellow, you've got into a




140           LA BELLE FLORA.
hornet's nest —this Aukland is a fiery chap, and
his lady seems a bit of a tartar: but, however, if
your sister really did invent that new-fashioned
print, that all the world is going mad about, she
can do something else, perhaps, as good."
" I am sure, sir, she could," replied Jack.' Then here's my hand, my fine fellow; I'm a
sort of calico-printer myself-that is, it's in the
family-and if you'll send me a score of designs,
only half as good as this fine French thing, I'll
make it worth your while."
" I'11 bring them, sir," said Jack; "but what's
your address?"
" Take them to Wells and Wilson's, the calicoprinters, and ask for Mr. Matthew Wilson, any
day between ten and two; I live at the next
house, and I'll see you."
" Thank you, sir," said Jack; and, running up
stairs to communicate all his news to Grace, he
left Mr. Matthew Wilson and his mother to do
their business about the lamb's-wool stockines.




141
CHAPTER XV.
DIFFICULTIES.
KHs. AUKLAND soon communicated to her huM.
band the circumstance which had occurred in
Mrs. Walsingham's shop, and how this most insolent of Blue-coat School boys declared his
sister to have invented la belle Flora; and that,
in the public shop, before she knew not how many
shop-women and customers, he insisted that his
sister had been swindled out of it. Mr. Aukland,
as Mr. Matthew Wilson had said, was a gentleman
of a hot temper, and he instantly inquired who
had swindled her out of the pattern. " Yourself,
of course," returned his wife. "The varlet,"
muttered Mr. Aukland, and, getting up, he pulled
the bell violently. "Bid John take the first
omnibus," said he to the footman who answered
the bell, " and go and tell Mr. Ferrand, at the
works, to come up to me instantly. Let him tell
Mr. Ferrand to take a cab, and lose no time."
Mr. Ferrand, having lost no more time than
was necessary to get rid of the fumes of the
brandy which he was drinking when the message




142            DIFFICULTIES.
arrived, made his appearance. "What a mon.
strous time you are in getting up here," said Mr.
Aukland, who, having questioned and cross-ques.
tioned his wife, found himself in an ill-humour
with everybody. Mr. Ferrand, with all humility,
protested that he had not lost a moment, and that.
he had even paid an extra sixpence to the cabdriver, to make speed.
" Where did you get the design of la belle
Flora?" asked Mr. Aukland. Ferrand was confounded at the abruptness of the question; but,
after a moment's pause, he replied, that he had it
from oni Du Roc, who lodged in Leicester Square.
"I remember you said so: that man I must
see," said his superior.
" Nothing easier, sir," replied Ferrand, supposing that Mr. Aukland was thinking of fresh designs.
" There is a family of the name of Walsingham:
do you know them? " asked Mr. Aukland.
Ferrand felt almost as if a thunderbolt had
struck him; and, uncertain how much his employer knew of the la belle Flora affair, he dared
not venture upon a direct answer. "Walsingham?" said he, as if considering with himself.
1" Yes," said Mr. Aukland, " the mother keeps a
haberdasher's shop, or something of that kind."




DIFFICULTIES.            143
The tone of his patron's voice reassured Ferrand,
and he fearlessly replied, " I know now, sir, who
you mean. One of the boys is in the Blue-coat
School."
" Have you, at any time," asked Mr. Aukland,
" received any designs for printed muslins from
that boy, said to be done by his sister?"
"Never!" returned Ferrand.  "That boy has
had old designs from me: I took rather a fancy to
him at one time, and he used to come a good deal
about the place; but he grew so impertinent at
last, that I was obliged to order him off the premises.  I have not seen him  there since that
time."
"Stop," said Mr. Auk]and, putting his forefinger to his temple, " don't I remember a Bluecoat School boy stopping me at the gate, to ask
something about designs which he had brought?"' Which he wanted to beg, sir, far more likely,
if you will excuse me interrupting you," said
Ferrand, anxious to pervert the fact in his patron's
memory; " to beg, I will be bound to say, for he
was always begging patterns."
"It might be to beg," said Mr. Aukland;"this boy, however, claims now the invention of
la belle Flora for his sister, and declares publicly
that she has been swindled out of it by some of us."
" I would be sorry to injure a widow's song"




144            DIFFICULTIES.
said Ferrand; " but that boy will come to the eallows if he does not mind what he is about: but as
to the swindling, sir, of course he means that for
me; and, if you will give me leave, I will take the
matter into my own hands. I will see the boy
myself, and stop his mouth."
" I will thank you to do so, Mr. Ferrand," said
his employer: " and you tell his mother from me,
that I will have her son prosecuted if I hear of his
mentioning another word on the subject!"
" I will, sir," was Mr. Ferrand's reply; and,
glad to escape, but yet filled with apprehension,
he went back to his own house.
Early the next morning,Ferrand went to the Bluecoat School, desiring to speak with Walsingham.
" Now, my good fellow," began he, in a tone of
friendly reproof, "you have got us into a pretty
scrape about that design of your sister's!"
"I?" said Jack.
"Yes, you! talking about swindling, and all
that nonsense, as if one did not mean to &o the
handsome thing by you."
"Was it handsome," replied Jack, " to tell me
the patterns were not worth a farthing; and then,
when that famous one was printed, go and say a
Frenchman had done it? Was that handsome,
Mr. Ferrand?"
" But, my dear fellcw," Said Ferrand, " this fa



DIFFICULTIES.            145
mous la belle Flora is not your sister's design: I
grant you it was taken from it."
" It is the very same!" asserted Jack, stoutly,
twisting his shoulder from  Ferrand's hand; "I
know it by the mouse's face!"
" By the what?" asked Ferrand.
" A private mark we set upon it," replied Jack.
"A  private fiddlestick!" returned Ferrand:
"but come, I know you are a lad of spirit; here is
five pounds for you, and do not say another word
about it!"
"I scorn your five pounds! " said Jack.
"Hark ye," returned Ferrand, not a little
alarmed at Jack's steadfastness, " it will be worse
for you if you refuse my offer. I stand between
you and Mr. Aukland's displeasure, and he vows
to have the whole strength of the law on you for
defamation, and your mother must pay damages.
It will be the ruin of her! "
"' It would break my heart,".said Jack, " to bring
any trouble on mother. But what have I done,
that I need fear Mr. Aukland, or any body else?
I only have said what you know to be true; and
I'll stick to it-that I will!-and I won't take
your five pounds," added he, putting both his
hands behind him, as if to remove them from the
temptation. Mr. Ferrand swore a fierce oath that
o




146            DIFFICULTIES
he would make him repent, and that he would be
the ruin of them all; and then, turning out of the
court, stalked swiftly to Leicester Square.
To his friend Du Roc he communicated the
untoward circumstance which had occurred: and it
was agreed that Du Roc should acknowledge the
idea of la belle Flora to have been derived from
a design of Grace Walsingham's, and that a pattern should be drawn, having some resemblance
to it, which should be brought forward as hers.
This was accordingly done. The paper was assiduously soiled and crumpled, to give it a worn
look; and with this the two set off for the printworks.
Ferrand, with a sufficiently unembarrassed and
honest look, told his patron that he had now
learned what he was not before aware of, that la
belle Flora was in reality originated by a design
of very moderate merit, made by this Miss Walsingham, which he supposed her brother had brought,
and which, he protested, he had never seen; and
this, he added, explained the boy's speaking to
Mr. Aukland on the subject of designs. Du Roe
then took up the word, and said, that this design
had been brought by young Walsingham one day
when he was at Ferrand's; that he had carried it
home with him, and worked out la belle Flora




DIFFICULTIES.            147
from it. He had been fortunate enough, he said,
to find it, and had now brought it with him.
After feeling first in one pocket, and then in another, as if uncertain where he had put a thing of
so little value, he drew it forth.
All this seemed straight-forward, and perfectly
probable, and'Mr. Aukland professed himself satisfied. He then desired Ferrand to take this design to Miss Walsingham, and convince her of her
mistake. " And since," added he, " the idea of this
successful design was suggested by her, I am
not unwilling to give her five or ten guineas: you
can arrange it, Ferrand, as you see best; but let
her family perfectly understand, that this discharges all obligation on my part; and that I will
prosecute any one who couples my name with
swindling!"
So far Ferrand thought they had managed admirably, and, taking Du Roc with him, they set
out for Mrs. Walsingham's. Ferrand felt that his
task here was much more difficult than with Mr.
Aukland; but, as it was no use standing on
trifles, he must even tell the falsehood boldly, and
stick to it.
" You are under a strange mistake about this
printed muslin, Miss Walsingham," said he, " as
I am sure you will confess in a moment.'Your
design was not this la belle Flora."




148             DIFFICULTIES.
" Indeed, Mr. Ferrand," replied Grace, firmly,
"it is precisely that which my brother took you."
" With your permission," said Du Roc, " I will
show you your own; or, if it is not your own,
that, at least, which gave me the fortunate idea of
la belle Flora;" and he presented to her tl:e false
design.
That," said Ferrand, " is the very thing your
brother brought to me. I would swear to it in
any court in England!"
" This is no design of mine," said Grace, handing it to her mother, with a look that expressed
her astonishment.
" Gentlemen," said Mrs. Walsingham, after she
had carefully examined it, " although I never saw
my daughter's design for the printed muslin, I am
convinced that this is not done by her. There is
some unjustifiable attempt here; for it is not even
the paper we have been in the habit of using.
" Do ladies always use the same paper? " asked
Du Roc, sarcastically: " might not this be the
back of a letter?" Grace said that her finished
designs were never made on the backs of letters.
Ferrand grew very hot and uneasy, and declared
that he would swear to that being the design
which young Walsingham had brought.
" I have four several designs of this pattern,"
said Grace, " from the very first idea to its finished




DIFFICULTIES.           149
state, and my own actual knowledge cannot be
thus imposed upon."
" Would the young lady permit him the sight
of those things?" asked Du Roc. Mrs. Walsingham forbade it. " She was convinced," she said,' that her daughter was the sole designer of the
pattern in question, which had been printed from
it, unaltered; and these copies should only oe produced at a proper opportunity. Ferrand and Du
Roe then began to speak together, but Ferrand
having the louder voice, surpassed the other. He
was ordered, he said, by Mr. Aukland, to forbid
any of the family coming near the place; but still,
that he was commissioned by that gentleman to
offer Miss Walsingham five, or even ten guineas
for the idea which had been worked out by another; and that, if it was refused, he would go to
law with them, and never rest till he had their
last shilling.
Grace turned deadly pale, as she heard the
angry man's threat, but her mother was unmoved.
She would not allow her daughter, she said, to
receive the money, neither did she believe that
the threat which had been expressed had pl Dceeded
from Mr. Aukland.
The Walsinghams' firmness only made Ferrand
more desperate; and, knowing that every thing deo2




150            DIFFICULTIES.
pended upon his maintaining Du Roc to be the
author of la belle Flora, he seized an early opportunity to represent his case as forcibly as possible. The Walsinghams, he said, were even
more artful and unprincipled than he had imagined,
for that this girl now actually denied that to be
her sketch from which the design of Du Roc was
made, although it was the very thing which her
own brother had brought; that not a word which
they said could be believed; and that mother, son,
and daughter, were all alike. They had refused
the money, he said, no doubt with the intention
of extorting a larger sum; but that, if he might
presume to give advice, they should not have a
farthing now; for that he and Du Roc would
swear to la belle Flora in any court, and the Walsinghams could not bring forth a single proof of
their right to it.  Ferrand's words had their
effect, and Mr. Aukland bestowed upon the whole
Walsingham family the epithet of swindlers.
Things went on quietly at the print-works for
about a week, and Ferrand was beginning to feel
quite at his ease again; in the meantime, a little
circumstance occurred which we must relate. MIrs.
Aukland had a large evening party, at which
Master Augustus appeared in the splendidly embroidered dress; but it is not of that we would




DIFFICULTIES.            151
particularly speak-only, as we have lost sight of
Grace's needlework for several pages, we would
just let our readers know that the poor girl had
been busied over this same dress the while.
There was a lady among the company wearing
a la belle Flora muslin. " You have one of these
exquisite dresses!" said another to her. " What
a sweet thing it is!" said a third; and the whole
company then began talking of la belle Flora.
"But have you noticed, Mrs. Aukland," said a
young lady, " something very odd in this pattern,
beautiful as it is?" Shehad not-what could it be?
" Something so like a mouse's face —the tiniest
little face, as if peeping from behind that scarlet
flower!"  " You saucy girl!" exclaimed Mrs.
Aukland, " you really are quite disagreeable!"
" What do you think Miss Welwood says, Mr.
Aukland?" exclaimed several voices; "she has
spied out a mouse's face in la belle Flora! "  The
very same thing may be seen in an acanthus leaf
on one of the marbles in the British Museum,"
said a young man of the party, who was a student
of the fine arts; " and I declare," added he, examining the pattern, " this very leaf is copied
from it; I know it so well, for I have copied it
myself: and, notice one thing, Mr. Aukland, if you
please-the designer of this pattern has thrown




152            DIJFICULTIES.
that flower over it to correct the effect, or defect,
if you will; but he could not quite have concealed
it without injuring the contour of the leaf; it has
been done by a person of fine taste."  " Is it fair
to inquire the designer, Mr. Aukland?" asked
another gentleman.  " Perfectly," replied Mr.
Aukland; " the designer is a Frenchman of the
name of Du Roc."  "Well, I would swear to
that acanthus leaf any where," said the student.
The entrance of Master Augustus in the full glory
of his embroidered velvet diverted the thoughts of
all from la belle Flora. " Did Du Roc design the
elegant style of that embroidery, Mrs. Aukland?"
asked the student, when he could make himself
heard through the babble of admiring tongues.
"What a strange question," said Mrs. Aukland;
"what could put it in your head?" The student
could not exactly tell, but he had fancied there
was a similar spirit in the thing. " Oh no," replied Mrs. Aukland; " and yet it was designed
and worked even by the very person who would
fain usurp poor Du Roc's glory in that very la
belie Flora!" Every one was at once interested
and curious.  " Yes," she said, " a daughter of
Mirs. Walsingham's, in  -  Street: and, by the
bye, Mrs. Digby," said she, turning to an elderly
lady, " I am sorry I recommended that woman to




DIFFICULTIES.             153
you, for they are all a most artful, unprincipled,
impertinent set of people!" She then gave an
exaggerated account of Jack's championship for
his sister; and then appealed to her husband for
his further testimony. He gave it with all the
artful colouring of Ferrand's malice, and ended by
saying that all the Walsinghams were swindlers.
There are very few who have not pleasure in
believing an evil report; and most of Mrs. Aukland's visiters went away, giving entire credit to all
which had been spoken to the disadvantage of the
widow and her family.
A few days afterwards, Mrs. Digby felt herself
compelled, by the remembered glory of the embroidered velvet dress, to order one similar for her
grandson.
" But I must have it precisely like little Aukland's," said she, after she had introduced the
subject to Mrs. Walsingham. " That is impossible," replied she, " as the pattern was purchased
by Mrs. Aukland, and I am bound not to work
another precisely the same."  " Nonsense, Mrs.
Walsingham!" said the lady, " I must have it
done! You need not be so scrupulous in disobliging Mrs. Aukland:" and then she narrated all
that had been said about la belle Flora and her
iamkiy at the evening party.




154         A FRIEND IN NEED.
Mrs. Walsingham was shocked and astonished,
but she still persisted that she would keep faith
with her employers. Mrs. Digby could not understand such punctilious honour in tradespeople;
but, as she supposed the artful Mrs. Walsingham
had her own interests to serve, and knew what
she was about, she countermanded the order, and'drove off, intending to call on Mrs. Aukland, and
assure her that every word was true which she had
spoken about this designing haberdasher.
CHAPTER XVI.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
BUT we must now return to the time of Du Roc's
and Ferrand's visit to Mrs. Walsingham.
No sooner were these two worthies gone, than
her first idea was to take counsel with some friend
as to the line of conduct which it would be best
for her to pursue: but unfortunately Mr. Spenser,
the friend who naturally occurred to her mind, had
set out with all his family for a summer residence




A FRIEND IN NEED.           155
in France. William was also gone with them as
far as Paris, whence he was to proceed to Leghlorn,
where he was to reside for the next twelve months
with Mr. Spenser's agent there.  The next best
thing, therefore, seemed to be to write to Mr. Aukland himself, and to request an interview. She
did so; but his answer was such as Fenand's advice naturally suggested: he treated her offer as a
scheme to extort money, and defied her to prove
her daughter's claim.  But how could that claim
be proved?  Grace had her four progressive
sketches, but in themselves they contained no
proof of design anterior to the printing of the
muslin itself. There were the eleven other designs which had accompanied the acanthus: if any
of them had been printed they might afford some
clue; but, after all possible inquiry, none of Mr.
Aukland's late prints bore any resemblance to
them. Witnesses there were none, for the whole
thing had been a secret.
" There is no one in this wide world," said
Jack, one holiday, as he sate in counsel with his
mother and sister, that could at all be considered
a witness but that old Quaker gentleman with
whom I talked the day I took the designs to Ferrand; but who he is, or whether he even lives in
London, I don't know."
"And the Quakers," said Grace, " are all so




156         A FRIEND IN NEED.
much alike, that if you attempt to desecibe one,
you describe the whole sect."
" I'd give any thing to meet him again," said
Jack; " for he said he knew Mr. Aukland; and I
am sure he would bear his testimony for us."
Mr. Matthew Wilson then presented himself to
Mrs. Walsingham's mind; and, as Grace had designed several patterns for him, as he had requested, it was immediately determined that she
and Jack should go there, and not only take these,
but duplicates of the eleven which had gone with
the acanthus to Ferrand, and the four progressive
sketches of the acanthus also. From him Mrs.
Walsingham thought she could ask counsel; and,
as he had spoken of himself as connected with
calico-printing, his advice would be still more
valuable.
Mrs. Walsingham  and her son were taken
through a back part of Wells and Wilson's printfactory, into an inner court, where stood Mr.
Matthew Wilson's house. The old gentleman
was courtesy itself; and at the same time that he
made himself very merry at the remembrance of
Jack confronting the lady, he listened with the
utmost interest to the full relation which Mrs.
Walsingham gave him, declaring himself entirely
convinced of the justice of their claim. He then
sent for patterns of all Aukland's late prints, but




A FRIEND IN NEED.           157
still no resemblance could be found between
them and the eleven duplicates. He compared
the finished drawing of the acanthus-pattern with
the printed labelle Flora, and there was not a shade
of difference. He next took up the new designs
which Grace had sent for his inspection; he cursorily turned them over, very little to Jack's
satisfaction; and, merely giving three or four little nods when he had done, said his brother must
see these, and then turned to the subject of more
immediate importance. He said that he, however,
was not the person to take up their cause with
Mr. Aukland: it was his brother's partner, Mr.
Wells, who mhst be enlisted in their service; for
that Mr. Aukland and he were on very good terms.
A servant was therefore despatched with a request that Mr. Wells would step in; and in ten
minutes' time the identical Quaker, whom Jack
had so long looked for in vain, entered.
" Thou and I have met before, I think," said
the good man, eyeing him attentively. Jack,
overjoyed, declared that they had, and that their
meeting now was the most fortunate thing in the
world.
The whole affair was then related to him, and
his friendly interference solicited. Good Samuel
Wells needed not to be solicited twice. lie exP




158         A FRIEND IN NEED.
amined the duplicate designs and the progressive
sketches; and then, requesting that every detail
might be circumstantially reiterated, that he
might have a clear idea of everything, he proposed that Jack should accompany him the next
morning to Mr. Aukland's house, "where we
will catch him at breakfast, and have him all to
ourselves," said the good man.
Jack said to-morrow was not a holiday, nor
even a leave-day, and that, therefore, he could
not go.
" We'll manage it," said Mr. Wells: " my
partner is friendly with some masters in thy
school; we will get thee liberated, and I will call
for thee at eight o'clock to-morrow morning."
Hie then wrote to Mr. Aukland, stating the
purport of his intended visit, and req:esting that,
at all events, a patient hearing might be given
him. Mr. Aukland, who had his own private
motives for not disobliging the rich Quaker, accorded the interview, making up his mind, nevertheless, not to be convinced, and amusing himself
with the thought that the shrewd old Quaker was
famously gulled.
Mrs. Aukland, who had been late the night
before at a party, took her breakfast in her chamber; and Mr. Wells and his companion found




A FRIEND IN NEED.           159
Mr. Aukland quite alone. The subject was introduced, and Mr. Aukland advanced all Ferrand's arguments.
" Thou must now oblige me," said Samuel
Wells, " by hearing what I have to say." And
he then related his first meeting with Jack, and
all that had passed between them at the time.
"But thou canst produce," said he to Jack,
" those progressive sketches of thy sister's?"
Jack laid them proudly before Mr. Aukland.
" But," said that gentleman, eyeing them carelessly, " these prove nothing: sketches of this
kind may easily be made after- any print is
published."
" Sir," returned Jack, feeling quite hot at the
imputation, " this sketch was made months ago.
I was with her when she did it in the British
Museum, and this is that very acanthus leaf which
is in the finished print, only this is copied from an
old marble. Indeed, sir, it is: and here's the
something like the mouse's face which is in the
original."
" That is not much to the purpose, my young
friend," said Samuel Wells.
"With your permission, sir," said Mr. Aukland, "it is: allow him to finish what he was
saying."




160         A FRIEND IN NEED.
" I wish somebody would go with me to the
British Museum," said Jack, " and I would show
them  the very marble.  Grace copied in the
mouse's face, because she said it must be right;
and then, because I said I would set a trap to
catch it, she said she would give it a flower to run
behind; so she threw the ecrymocarpus across the
leaf; but the little mouse peeps out still —and so
it does in the printed muslin."
"Very singular this!" said Mr. Aukland;
" but this circumstance of the mouse's face has
been noticed before: it was pointed out to me
by a young artist; and he recognized "it to be
copied from such a leaf in the British Museum."^
Jack made an exclamation of delight.
" Stay, sir," said Mr. Aukland, very coolly;
"this proves nothing. Du Roc himself, to whom
I mentioned the circumstance, allowed that he
also had copied it from this acanthus leaf."
" I don't believe he did, sir," said Jack, earnestly.
" It would be worth thy while, friend Aukland," said Mr. Wells, " to take both parties to
the Museum, and see if both point out the same
leaf."
" I will search the matter to the bottom now,
you may depend upon it," replied Mr. Aukland.
It was accordingly arranged that Mr. Auk.




A FRIEND In NEED.          161
land should take Du Roc to the Museum the next
morning, and that Grace and her brother should
be there also-Mr. Wells having undertaken that
Jack should have another leisure-day awarded
him for so important a purpose." But what hast thou here?" said Mr. Wells,
as they had risen to depart, putting his hand towards some designs for prints, which lay on a sidetable.
" Designs for the next season," said Aukland,
keeping his hand upon them, as if unwilling that
they should meet the eye of a rival calico-printer.
" I shall make no ungenerous use of them,"
observed the Friend.
Mr. Aukland declared that he had not the least
suspicion, and gave them into the other's hand.
" These, or some of them at least," remarked
Mr. Wells, " will tend to substantiate this young
woman's claim.'"
He then proceeded to tell.that eleven other
designs had been furnished by Grace at the same
time with la belle Flora; and, as he had seen duplicates of them, he could now recognize them
again. "But thou canst better point out thy
sister's designs," said he, giving them to Jack.
Y;' es,T said he, " this is one; and this, and this!"
"Very strange, indeed! " remarked Mr. Auk.
m2




162          NEW CONNEXIONS.
land, who was now beginning to let in doubts
readily; " these were all given to me two weeks
ago by Ferrand, as new designs by himself and
Du Roc: —they have cost me a deal of money!"
"Eight of them are my sister's," said Jack.
" Thou wouldst like to see those duplicates?"
observed Mr. Wells; " for here, at least, can be
no collusion."
" Undoubtedly I should," returned he.
" I will send them to thee to-day," he replied;'I have them safely under lock and key: no one
but Matthew Wilson and myself have seen them."
" I shall say nothing to Ferrand or Du Roc of
my suspicion to-day," said Mr. Aukland; " I
will have complete proof first."
" Thou art quite right," returned the other.
CHAPTER XVII.
NEW CONNEXIONS.
THE next morning Grace and her brother were
punctually at the British Museum by ten o'clocik.
In about half an hour Mr. Aukland cam, but
Du Roc was not with him.




NEW CONNEXIONS.            163
c, This, sir," said Grace, pausing before the
fragment of a beautiful Corinthian capital, " is
the marble, and this is the very acanthus leaf;"
and, showing her first sketch at the same time,
Mr. Aukland perceived the beautiful accuracy of
the drawing. At that moment the young artist
who had recognized the leaf at Mr. Aukland's,
and who was then copying an antique in the
Museum, came up.
" Good morning, Mr. Aukland,":said he; " you
are looking at the acanthus, I see-your belle
Flora. Had I been the designer of that beautiful
pattern, I would have called it the acanthus."
" So she did! " exclaimed Jack, involuntarily;
" that was the very name that Grace gave to this
pattern!"
" It was written on the back of my design, sir,"
said Grace, blushing deeply; " and, if you will
be so very good as to look, you will see it written
there."
" Unless it has been scratched off," said Jack.' I expect Du Roc every moment," observed
Mr. Aukland, who was beginning to be quite interested in these young people.  " You have
satisfied me so far; walk on, if you please."
The young student joined them, for he immediately concluded this to be the young person of
whom he had heard so unfavourable a report at




164          NEW CONNEXIONS.
Mrs. Aukland's, but whosetappearance and man.
ner interested him deeply. Jack told him, in a few
words, the true history of la belle Flora, and the
young artist was more interested than ever.
" I was sure," said he, " that that beautiful
embroidery and la belle Flora were designed by
the same hand."
After Mr. Aukland's patience was completely
exhausted, Du Roc made his appearance. He had
the paper, which he professed to be his drawing,
in his hand, as he had been told to bring it with
him; and he was evidently most anxiously prying
about for some acanthus which might suit it.
" This, perhaps, is it," said Mr. Aukland, stopping before a broken capital, whose leaves bore
no resemblance whatever to it.
"Ah! yes-the very one!" replied Du Roe,
hoping that any might do: " your apprehension
was much quicker than mine; this is it!"
" But where is the mouse's face, of which I
hear so much?" demanded Mr. Aukland.
" Oh, that was one little fancy of my own,"
replied the Frenchman.
" But," said Mr. Aukland, " artists tell me it
is very conspicuous in the original."
Du Roc protested that it was there, and, with
the help of fancy, was plainly to be seen.
"That will do," said Mr. Aukland, now com




NEW CONNEXIONS.            165
pletely convinced; " you may go about your
business! "
Du Roc bowed low; and, not suspecting the
trap into which he had fallen, adjourned to a
tavern for a day's carouse.
Mr. Aukland examined the back of the paper
which Du Roc had left with him, but no Writing
appeared upon it.:" Let me see," said the young artist, when this
deficiency was pointed out; and, holding it between his eye and the light, a very careful erasure
with the knife was discernible, over which the
words la belle Flora had been coarsely written.
Mr. Aukland was a man of strong' impulses,
and a violent re-action now took place in his
feelings. He parted with the brother and sister
in the most cordial manner, and declared that
ample justice should be done them.
How joyful was their return home, our readers
may conceive; and Jack was despatched with the
news of their successful visit to the Museum, to
good Mr. Wells, to whom they thought it would
give great pleasure.
" I am obliged to thee, my young friend," said
Samuel Wells, when Jack had finished his relation;'' thou didst me justice in supposing me
interestel  in your welfare; and John Aukland,




166          NEW CONNEXIONS.
I told thee, was an upright man; —thy sister will
find herself in good hands. But my partner,"
said he, turning round, with a bustling air, " wishes
to see thy sister on business. Bid friend Wilson
step here," said he to a clerk, who was passing at
that moment.
Mr. JohnWilson, Mir. Wells's partner, appeared:
he was a much younger man than either his brother or partner, and belonged altogether to a more
modern school.
" This is our young friend Walsingham," said
Samuel Wells: " he tells me that they have completely proved their claim to the new pattern."
" Aukland will rid himself of his man Ferrand,
I should think, now," returned Mr. John Wilson.
Samuel Wells thought also, that, without doubt, he
would. "But," said he to his partner, "thou
hadst better accompany this youth home, and
arrange that little business with his sister."
Jack hoped they were not going to return the
designs; and, as Mr. John Wilson declared himself ready to go at that moment, he sounded him
by the way, as to his opinion of them: but Mr.
John Wilson was a close man of business, and not
even Jack could extract the shadow of an opinion
from him.
It seemed a very formidable thing to Grace, to




NEW CONNEXIONS.            167
be shut up in a room with this methodical man of
business, who introduced the occasion of his call
with as much precision as he made his entries in
his ledger; and she proposed, therefore, that her
mother should be admitted to their conference.
Mr. John Wilson quite approved. He had called,
he said, to purchase the twelve designs which had
been brought to him the other day; but, in the
first place, he must inquire if they had been seen
by, or had been offered to any other house. They
had been seen by no one but themselves and her
own family, Grace replied. " They were willing,
then," said Mr. John Wilson, "to give fifty guineas
for them: would that sum satisfy her? " "Yes,
indeed it would!" replied poor Grace, to whom
the idea of possessing fifty guineas of her own,
seemed incredible. An important-looking stamped
paper, partly printed, and partly filled up, was
then produced, for her to sign, which consigned
over all her right and title in those patterns to the
house of Wells and Wilson. Grace wrote her
name very tremulously-it seemed to her altogether
like a dream: and when the fifty-two gold sovereigns and a half were counted out before her, the
room seemed to turn round. She had been a
poor, penniless girl but a day before; she had
tow signed over mere traces of her pen, which,




168           NEW CONNEXIONa.
like actual houses and land, had produced golden
coin of the realm!
Her mother, and Mr. John Wilson, seemed to
be talking very amicably, and Grace was roused
out of her revery by her mother's voice. " Grace,
my love, Mr. Wilson speaks to you!" Grace
started, and apologized.
" He and his partner," he said, " would be extremely glad to engage her as a designer of
patterns for the next twelve months, at least."
Grace looked at her mother, as if doubtful of her
approbation.  "Certainly, my dear," replied her
mother, "if you would like the occupation."
Grace then thanked Mr. John Wilson, and said
she should be most happy. Again, he had a
stamped, printed paper in readiness; and, supplying
the blanks as he went on, he read to the purport, that she engaged to furnish, during the
next twelve months, for the firm of Wells and
Wilson, original designs, solely and exclusively
for their use; a.nd for which designs she should
receive one hundred and fifty guineas: that
during the term of her engagement with them,
she should not furnish any design, or designs
whatsoever, to any other similar house, nor suffer
any of her designs to be seen by them.
Mrs. Walsingham said, their restrictions were




NIEW CONNEXIONS.           169
perfectly reasonable, and she was sure her daughter
would be satisfied with the terms. Grace also
expressed her thanks.  "We may then fill up
this agreement," said Mr. John Wilson; and
while he was so doing, the mother and daughter
exchanged glances perfectly intelligible, though
poor Grace's eyes were glistening with tears.
" We shall need two witnesses," said Mr. John
Wilson; and the very formality of all this repelled Grace's emotion, and she again wondered
to find herself a person of so much importance.
No sooner was Mr. John Wilson out of the
house; than Jack's arms were round Grace's
neck, and he was kissing her cheeks and forehead;
for he saw the gold which lay on the table, and
his delight was too great to satisfy itself in mere
words.
"I shall just finish that set of handkerchiefs
for Mrs Spenser," said Grace, after the first flush
of their happy talk was over, " and then, dearest
mother, you must excuse me doing any more fine
work."
" My dear girl," replied her mother, "why
should you?"
"How kind you are," was Grace's reply; and
then Jack began to tell how Grace, for all these
years, had done that sort of work without -omQ




170          NEW CONNEXIONS.
plaining, although it was so hateful to her; and
how she would like, of all things, to be an engraver; and what schemes they two had had
together, but how Grace had determined never to
desert her mother till she could obtain more
money some other way.
" The Almighty has blessed you, my dear
children," said Mrs. Walsingham, deeply moved;
and, kissing them both, she thanked God for
having given her his choicest blessings of life,
even in the midst of poverty-virtuous children.
Jack returned to his school, and Grace sate
down to write a long letter to her brother and
sister, which she hoped might reach them before
William left Paris. While she was in the very
middle of it, Mr. Aukland was announced. What
a cheerful, cordial man he then seemed! He
shook hands with Grace and her mother, and, as
if he had been an old acquaintance, sate down in
a fireside chair. He had not dismissed Ferrand,
he said, for he was reserving that till he had confronted him on the morrow with Du Roc; but he
had discovered one or two facts since morning,
that had further convinced him of his utterly base
character. Mrs. Aukland, however, was so wrapped up in Ferrand's wife, who had been her maid,
that he should have some trouble to get rid of




NEW CONNEXIONS.           171
them; but at this moment, he said, he was come
to make what reparation lay in his power. He
had paid, he said, already largely for la belle
Flora, but that was no reason why the real author
should go unrewarded-he would offer herfifty
pounds. Grace started, and even Mrs. Walsingham said it was a large sum. Mr. Aukland had
his purse in his hand, when Grace, springing up,
exclaimed, "No, Mr. Aukland, I will not receive
the money. It is enough for me that my favourite
design has been successful, and that you acknowledge my right to it. The very charm of that
pattern would be gone, sir, if I received its price
in money!"
" But, my dear young lady," argued Mr. Aukland, " this money you must receive as payment
for the eleven other designs-all of which I now
possess."
" Sir," said Grace, "it is quite too much. It
will be the second fifty I have received to-day."
" Indeed!" returned Mr. Aukland, with an expression of surprise.
" I received fifty," continued Grace, " from
Mr. John Wilson."
"What!" said Mr. Aukland, "have you engaged yourself to him?"
" I have, sir," replied Grace, "for the next
twelve months."




172             CONCLUSION.
Mr. Aukland struck his fist upon the table,
and looked very much disappointed. " That old
Quaker," said he, " is more than a match for us
all!-well, I really am vexed; I thought to have
made sure of you!"
Grace found all at once that she was become a
very important person; and she could not help
wondering what would happen next.
The next event which occurred, was the arrival
of a splendid gold bracelet, beautifully worked
in the style of the acanthus-pattern; of which, in
a most friendly note, Mr. Aukland begged her
acceptance. Du Roc, he added, in a postscript,
had left the country, and Ferrand had confessed
all; but he had not yet been dismissed entirely
from his service, because Ferrand's wife had
friends at court.
C O N C L U S I 0 N.
LET us now pass over upwards of twelve months,
and look in upon the Walsingham family on the
evening of Christmas day.
Grace had fulfilled her engagement with Wells
and Wilson so much to their satisfaction-so
much, indeed, to the advantage of their yearly




CONCLUSION.            173
balance-sheet-that they offered her her own
terms for a second twelvemonth's engagement.
But the desire of her heart was now to be accomplished; and, with the advice of the friendly
young artist who had met them in the British
Museum, and who ever since had been a welcome
visiter at their fireside, she had devoted herself
to engraving, with every prospect of success.
Jack, who was now just fifteen, had left the Bluecoat School, and was wearing man's apparela very goodly and pleasant-countenanced youth;
and William, too, who had but lately returned from
his travels, had shot up, at once, into a man.
Mary and Margaret also, were both spendlng their
holidays at home.
In all the wide, rich world of London, there
was no more happy Christmas fireside than that
of good Mrs. Walsingham!
"What an old fellow I must be," said Jack,
"if a man's age is to be reckoned by what he can
remember! I can remember a many strange
things in my days. I can remember, mother,
when you first came here, and I spent my first
holiday at home-you were very low-spirited
then!"
" God has wonderfully blessed me!" said his
mother.




174             CONCLUSION.
" And I can remember your great misfortune,
Maggie," said he, " when you broke the wax-doll;
and I can remember teaching you EnglishGrammar,
William; and Mary, I remember your first silk
frock; and, Mistress Grace," said he, with the
most arch smile in the world, "what can't I remember about you!-all the bags, and purses, and
babies' caps, and embroidered handkerchiefs, and
satin-stitch collars that I have seen vou do."
" I can bear to hear of it," said Grace, smiling.
"And then, I can remember your saying,"
continued Jack, " or somebody told me that you
said, you were to be the only useless member of
the family! Bless me, what wonderful things one
lives to see. I can remember thinking, too, that
I should be Archbisnop ot Canterbury, or my
Lord Chancellor, or something very grand; but
by living to my time of life, I've seen things
change a good deal. You, mother, are becoming
a tolerably rich woman; Maggie will be the lady
of the family; William has been in foreign parts,
and may die a great merchant; Mary is a travelled
lady, too, with dozens of silk gowns, for any thing
I know; and dear little Grace, here, will beat
Angelica Kauffman, and Artemisia Gentilescki
hollow, with money only for the asking; while I,
your very obedient servants instead of being either




CONqCLUSION.             175
a right reverend Father in God, or his lordship of
the woolsack, must e'en take to shop-keeping,
dear mother, and help you; and really," said he,
in his own heartsome voice, " when my hair is
grown, I shall be a very decent fellow behind a
counter! What say you all?"
Every eye was turned on Jack with the most
beaming affection, but he did not get many words
in renlv.
Yw3I lip.1