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 UNIVLR5ITY 
 or ILLINOIS 

 
 IN OXE VOL., FOOLSCAP OCTAVO, PEICE 2s. 6d. CLOTH, 
 
 GLAD TIDINGS. 
 
 Fkom "The Times," Nov. 7th. 
 
 T\Tien we say that the scene on which the actors in this little 
 gtory move -^ laid at Athens, that the date of the action is the year 
 Go A.D.. and that the chief personage in it is St. Paul, assisted by 
 '• Dionysius the Areopagite," and *• a woman named Damaris."' our 
 readers will have no dirticulty in guessing that this is a religious 
 story, and that the " glad tidings " here announced relate to the 
 preaching of the Apostle to the Gentiles on Mars" Hill. The question 
 arises, why tell a story about a truth ? Why embody in a work of 
 fiction scenes so sacred as those described in the Acts of the 
 Apostles ? The answer is that there have been Ta]es before this 
 ill wMch characters more sacred than that of St. Paul have been 
 Lirought upon the stage of fiction, and in which religious subjects 
 bave been handled with a freedom — nay. T\ith a licence — of which 
 there is not a trace in this little book. This is a religious book on 
 a sacred subject, and its sole intention is to edify the Christian 
 reader by imaginary examples of the faith and constancy which 
 enabled the converts of the early ages to trivmiph over death itself. 
 
 But now another question arises — Is the subject well treated ? Is 
 it, so far as so slight a story can be, a work of art ? We think it is. 
 The plot is simple enough. Damaris mourns for Callias, her ab- 
 sent lover, and finds no comfort in prayers to any of the gods. 
 There is a shipwreck off the Piraeus, and in that sliip are St. Paul 
 and Callias. the author supposing, as we infer, that this was one of 
 the occasions unrecorded in the Acts, but indicated in the Second 
 Epistle to the Corinthians, in which the Apostle to the Gentiles 
 endured the dangers of the deep. St. Paul saves the life of Callia* 
 after he has sustained the spirits of all on board by hLs faith ; but 
 the lover only reaches the shore to fall into a fever, and Damaris 
 Btill mourns her lost Callias. 'Tlie shipAvrecked mariners noise the 
 Apostle's fame throughout the city: then follows the scene on Mars' 
 Hill and the rebuke of the superstitious worship of " the unknown 
 god." Shortly after St. Paul meets Damaris by accident at the 
 altar of that dark diviuit}-. whither she had gone to pray, for slio 
 had heard that this, after all. was the true God. She reveals her 
 grief, and after words of comfort she promises to see him again, 
 fcnd says her name is Damaris. " Damaris l"' repeated the Apostle
 
 '* and he for whom thou would'st pray is named Callias ; give nc 
 thy hand, and I will lead thee to him." Callias, of course, recovers, 
 and thus the story goes on, the Apostle making converts among 
 the seniors of the city, and among others Dionysius the Areopagite, 
 besides especially instructing the youthful pair in Christian truth, 
 and advising Damaris to lay aside her gay attire and plaiting of 
 the hair, and to put on a garb becoming to a Christian woman. 
 ' > On one occasion, when Damaris has been chosen to fill the chief 
 place among the maidens of the city in the Pan-Athenaic proces- 
 sion, a tumult arises, because Damaris, chosen against her will, ap- 
 pears in homely dress, and refuses to take part in the idolatrous 
 ceremony. The house in which the Apostle and his converts are 
 living is surrounded by a mob, who accuse him of having obtained 
 an influence over their minds by magic, and ever3'thing looks like 
 Socrates and hemlock, if not a speedier death, when the Apostle 
 exerts the magic of his Eoman citizenship, and the mob slink off, 
 awed by the presence of a few Eoman legionaries. 
 
 So things progress, and Callias and Damaris, the Christian pair, 
 might have been united by Christian rites, instead of heathen 
 ceremonies ; but that the course of true love should run smooth is 
 not to be expected, least of all in a religious tale, 'and so Callias is 
 assassinated by Alexander the Coppersmith — of whom, we may re- 
 mark, from the Second Epistle to Timothy, that we should rather 
 have expected to find him at Ephesus than at Athens — but who, 
 wl'.erever he abode, seems, like Demetrius of Ephesus, to have 
 driven a good trade in shrines, and who had just lost an order 
 through the interference of the young Christian. 
 
 The loss of Callias is naturally a great blow to Damaris, but 
 Christianity and the Apostle enable her to bear up under her af- 
 fliction. And now the story hastens to a close. Alexander is tried 
 solemnly for the murder and escapes, inasmuch as he had slain an 
 enemy of the gods. The Apostle's work is over in Athens, and, 
 after a solemn warning to the idolatrous authorities, he shakes off 
 the dust of Athens from his feet, and departs for Asia with his con- 
 vert Damaris, whom her friends vainly endeavour to divert n-om 
 her purpose. 
 _ The little Tale is good in tone and keeping, and a few incon- 
 sistencies which it presents to the deeply read classical scholar are 
 not such as to spoil its effect on the general public. If it should 
 edify any among the careless herd of " babblers" in this generation 
 " who spend their time in nothing else but either to tell or to hear 
 some new thing," we imagine that the purpose of the author will 
 be amply fulfilled.
 
 FROM THE PEASANTRY TO 
 THE PEERAGE. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 / 
 By blue tunic. 
 
 VOL I. 
 
 Honlion : 
 T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 80, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 
 1860. 
 
 [7%e Right of Translation is reserved,^
 
 8^5 
 
 FROM THE PEASANTRY TO THE 
 PEERAGE. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " A good thought is the foundation of a great conclusion ! " 
 I. 
 ^ GREENHILL. 
 
 Paul Doveton and John Leedon, two healthy- 
 looking ploughboys, walked together in the 
 evening, on their way home from the Barrow 
 ^ Farm, at Greenhill, on which, for the last 
 two years, they had found constant employ- 
 ment. They were apparently about the same 
 age — thirteen; broad-shouldered, able, and to 
 YOL. I. B *
 
 6 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 judge by the expression of their open, oval, 
 ruddy faces, willing lads. Their stooping 
 gait, as they strode over the newly-ploughed 
 field, showed that they were tired, but whatever 
 effect fatigue had upon their bodies, it evidently 
 had but little upon their minds, for they chatted 
 and laughed gaily, recounting the trivial inci- 
 dents of the day, as they went along towards 
 the humble home, in which they saw nothing 
 humble. It was their retreat from hard words, 
 and sometimes from hard blows. It was their 
 resting place from labour, and the abode of the 
 only friend they had in the world, for they were 
 both orphans. Paul Doveton was strong and 
 resolute; John Leedon was strong, too, but he 
 was calm, and in all things more thoughtful 
 than his companion. Neither of them had ever 
 been to school; labour from childhood had been 
 their lot, and as it was the lot of all around 
 them, they knew no better. 
 
 They had reached the boundary of the field, 
 and were about to enter the lane that led to 
 Greenhill, when their master, mounted on a
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 7 
 
 stout cob, rode past tliem. The boys touched 
 their hats, but the rich farmer took no more 
 notice of them than he took of the rank weeds 
 which grew on the pathway side. 
 
 Paul stood looking at the farmer until he had 
 rode beyond hearing, and then said : 
 
 "John, it be a fine thing to be farmer; he 
 bean't tired like we." 
 
 " Mayhap not," responded thoughtful John 
 Leedon, " nor so light-hearted neither, if so be 
 we judge by his looks; I often notice folk as be 
 rich, an' I thinks their faces always be graver 
 than poor folks." 
 
 " I dun know," returned Paul; " some of our 
 farm people be sad faced enow, an' they be poor 
 too. Better be rich an' grave, I thinks, than 
 poor and gloomy like." 
 
 " Then you must grow rich an' grave, and be 
 a farmer like master," laughingly replied John 
 Leedon. 
 
 They walked on quietly for a few moments, 
 and then Paul, turning suddenly full upon his 
 companion, said :
 
 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 " That be a goo 1 thought, John. Why 
 shouldn't I ? Dame says as how poor folks 
 grow rich sometimes. Why not we? Tell you 
 what, John; you be thoughtful an' good, better 
 than I, but if I says I will, I means it. Will 
 you be a flirmer wi' me?" 
 
 John Leedon laughed a low, soft, merry laugh, 
 and replied: 
 
 " Yes, Paul, I don't—" 
 
 " Then gi' us thee hand upon it, John," re- 
 turned Paul earnestly ; and he grasped the hand 
 of his companion tightly, and shook it fervently, 
 as he continued: ''That thought be like seed, 
 John, an' if we sow it wi' care, it will grow into 
 two farmers." 
 
 As the boy spoke, his eyes sparkled, and a 
 flush of earnestness crimsoned his handsome 
 face. He little knew then of the care, the 
 trouble, the strength of mind and body it re- 
 quired for one in the lowest walk of life to nurse 
 and tend the " good thought," until it bore rich, 
 wholesome harvest; but the idea had come, and 
 they who held it were neither weak nor stupid.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 9 
 
 They went on their way home, a shade, perhaps, 
 less cheerful than before the dawning of that 
 new thought, but more hopeful. 
 
 The good chance mother, that fortune had 
 sent them was standing at the door of her cot- 
 tage, looking out for them, and when she saw 
 them coming, she turned into the room " to dish 
 up." The table was covered with a clean cloth ; 
 three knives, whose blades were thin with age; 
 a wooden bowl, holding a pyramid of smoking 
 potatoes; a stone jug, filled with water from the 
 spring well; a tin salt dish, and three tin plat- 
 ters, completed the dinner, and the dinner ser- 
 vice! 
 
 Directly the boys entered, full of the new re- 
 solution, Paul began : 
 
 " Well, mother, what do you — " 
 
 Dame. — " No talk, boys, till you've had your 
 suppers. You're tired enow, I'll warrant; an' 
 hungry too, so set to work, an' anything you've 
 to say, can be said afterwards." 
 
 The boys drew their stools to the table; the 
 dame bent her head and asked a blessing, and 
 B 5
 
 10 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 then helped the hearty hungry boys, her smiles 
 alone telling the pleasure she felt, as she watched 
 them satisfying their great hunger, and drink- 
 ing huge draughts from the brown stone jug. 
 The pyramid had nearly disappeared, when 
 Paul, giving a long sigh of contentment, wiped 
 his mouth with the sleeve of his smock frock, 
 rubbed his hands together expressive of satisfac- 
 tion, and again said ; 
 
 " Well, mother—" 
 
 Dame. — " Not yet, Paul. Have you had a 
 good supper?" 
 
 Paul.—" Yes, thank'ee, mother — never a 
 better." 
 
 Dame. — "And you, John?" 
 
 JoHK. — "Thanks, mother. Farmer bean't 
 fuller than I be." 
 
 Dame.— "That's right, boys; now Pll clear 
 away, and then Paul, you can open your budget 
 and tell me the news." 
 
 Paul, apparently not satisfied with that ar- 
 rangement, got up and began to assist her in 
 clearing away.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 11 
 
 Bame — " I'll do it, Paul. You're tired; sit 
 down, lad. You've done quite enow to-day, I'll 
 warrant." 
 
 Paul. — "Til help you, mother; from this 
 day I'll help you ! From this day I'll not be 
 tired because I thinks I'm tired ! When I'm 
 reg'lar knocked up, I'll ask you to do it 
 all." 
 
 John got up and expressed the same resolu- 
 tion, and while the good dame washed the plat- 
 ters, they wiped the knives, cleared the table, 
 folded the cloth and placed it in the cupboard, 
 and when the good dame had done, and every- 
 thing was made snug for the evening, they dre\7 
 the table nearer to the fire, placed their stools 
 one on each side of the good dame, and had 
 "the memorable chat," that was never forgotten 
 bv either of them while life lasted. 
 
 Dame. — " Now, Paul dear, what have you to 
 say?" 
 
 Paul.— "Well, mother, John an' Pare going 
 to be farmers. We settled it as we came home. 
 I'm thirteen; John's close on to it, an' by time
 
 12 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 we're twenty-one, we're to save money enough 
 to begin." 
 
 The dame was surprised, and more pleased 
 than she chose to express, at the sudden resolu- 
 tion of her boys. She knew that such ideas 
 generally died young; but she also knew the 
 firmness of little Paul Doveton. 
 
 Brought up to poverty herself, and married 
 at an early age, she had been receiving stern 
 lessons in the value and power of money all her 
 life time. The bye-ways of thrift, and the art of 
 living upon the very smallest wages, were no 
 secrets to the good dame. Well, indeed, she 
 knew the value of money, for her deceased hus- 
 band had been a profligate man, a man that 
 loved the tavern tap-room better than his good 
 wife's simple fire-side. She knew how much of 
 her hard earnings, as well as all his own, he 
 had squandered to enrich the stranger to their 
 hearth,, and she was fully aware of the sterling 
 comforts, the solid benefits, and — dearer than 
 all beside to that good woman's heart — the re- 
 spectability, which that squandered money,
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 13 
 
 rightly applied, would have brought them. She 
 had calculated it all, many, many times, under 
 the stern influence of cold, and grief, and 
 hunger. 
 
 Thinking, then, of these things, and blend- 
 ing with them the possibility of her boys rising 
 up from men. to be masters, she replied slowly 
 and thoughtfully : 
 
 ''Why for not, Paul, why for not? The 
 struggle will be hard, dreadful hard; but the 
 pleasure after the struggle will be soft as sun- 
 shine. You'll have to work an' think, too, from 
 morn till night, but your sleep'll be all the 
 sounder. An' 'twill be hard to miss the sports an' 
 playings the young so much incline to, but it will 
 be pleasant to see your own cow grazing on the 
 common meadow. It'll be pleasant to know 
 you'll never want; to know you owe no man a 
 shilling, an' sweeter than all to know that the 
 hard overseers'll never say cold, bitter words to 
 you, when ' the starvin' ' that forces poor folks 
 to seek 'era is cold and bitter likewise. Cer- 
 tainly you can be farmers. Young folks wants
 
 14 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 nothing but full stomachs; an' simpler the meal 
 the better. Be determined not to waste. 
 Work'll keep you healthy, an' the good thought^U 
 make you cheerful an' light-hearted. It'll be a 
 struggle, my boys, but if you say you'll do it, 
 you will ! for no man can gainsay your promise. 
 You'll succeed, an' honestly, too; a dirty 
 thought'll never enter your minds, an' a dis- 
 honest coin'll never soil your fingers. Don't let 
 the resolution press you down; never forget 
 you have made it, an' never forget to keep it. 
 Trust to our Father in heaven for the rest, and 
 in all other things let us go on as usual." 
 
 Paul. — " Thank you, mother, you know 
 better than we, an' if you say 't can be done, it 
 can. We don't care for fairs, an' we don't care 
 for beer. To save money an' be farmers, '11 be 
 our pleasure. You shall have all our money, 
 every farthing, an' we'll get better wages soon. 
 We'll work early morning an' late night; an' 
 we'll — we'll kiss you, mother, an' love you all 
 our lives " ! 
 
 The excited boy threw his arras round his
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 15 
 
 mother's neck, and kissed her with affectionate 
 violence, in the excessive joy created by that 
 new thought. 
 
 John Leedon, without uttering a word, sat 
 listening attentively, weighing in his thoughtful 
 little mind every word of the conversation, and 
 when Paul re-seated himself, he stood up, and 
 in his calm, quiet way, said : 
 
 " We shall begin to-morrow morning, mother ; 
 the ground at the back of the cottage may as 
 well be covered with vegetables as long grass. 
 You an' I can do it, Paul. We do harder work 
 in the field. It'll only take an hour morn and 
 night, an' it will save dame's farthings, an' may- 
 hap help to pay the rent." 
 
 Paul. — " Right, John; we'll get up at three. 
 Yes, we'll begin to-morrow; we'll borrow Master 
 Ben's spade. I'll do it now," and he got up and 
 went and borrowed their neighbour's spade forth- 
 with. 
 
 Little more was said upon the subject that 
 night. Presently the orphan boys knelt down 
 one on each side of that good chance mother.
 
 16 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 while she slowly repeated the words of the only 
 hymn she knew, a hymn taught her in her child- 
 hood by her own hard-working, humble mother, 
 after which they retired to their common sleep- 
 ing-room, and the working of the new thought 
 was soon forgotten.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 17 
 
 II. 
 
 ''Action loiters not to watch the race of Time.'' 
 
 At sixteen years of age, Paul Doveton and John 
 Leedon, though youths in age, were men in 
 stature. The hard task they had set them- 
 selves, had neither interfered with their light 
 hearts nor their good looks. Eising womankind 
 glanced admiringly upon the handsome and pros- 
 perous young ploughmen, and invitations were 
 freely given to them by the village mothers. 
 But the good thought was always with them, 
 nothing since the evening of " The Memor- 
 able Chat," had ever tempted them to lose sight 
 of it. Early and late they toiled on the farm, 
 or at home, and the difficulties that lay between 
 them and their ambition, which seemed so in-
 
 18 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 surmountable at the onset, were fast dwindling 
 away. 
 
 John had set himself the task of studying 
 the qualities, of soil and grain, of every descrip- 
 tion, and the average yield of crops, and their 
 market value; and Paul, intent upon the study 
 of cattle, gave much promise of becoming 
 experienced in that branch of agricultural know- 
 leds<e. 
 
 They had gained self-respect, and with it 
 came the respect of others. The rich farmer 
 acknowledged their salutations then, for they 
 were his head field hands, and nothing of im- 
 portance was undertaken upon the farm without 
 the opinion of thoughtful John Leedon being 
 solicited. Their kitchen garden, for order and 
 produce, was a model for the village, and the 
 pastor, the squire, and the doctor, always had 
 their celery and cauliflower from John Leedon's 
 garden, and there was always a goodly display 
 of vegetables on sale outside the cottage, over 
 the door of which a notice had lately appeared, 
 indicating that the good dame was licensed
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 19 
 
 to sell tea, coflfee, sugar, tobacco, snuiF, salt, 
 pepper, and vinegar. Under the garden fence 
 four bee-hives yielded a large supply of honey, 
 and in the three stys at the bottom of the gar- 
 dens, there were no " lodgings to let." 
 
 The good dame had come to joy. All doubts 
 relative to the success of her boys had flown long 
 ago, and the good thought which had prompted 
 her to shelter the orphans when they were left 
 destitute, had produced the fruit that placed 
 her beyond the reach of want, and brought her 
 some little consequence, and a great deal of hap- 
 piness. It was pleasant to see her bustling 
 about, always on the move; now serving a cus- 
 tomer in or out of the shop, now watering the 
 garden, now tending the hives, and now leaning 
 over the stys at garden bottom, feeding those 
 clamorous pigs, whose grunting was rich music 
 to her ears. The resolution of her boys had 
 brought her, as well as themselves, labour un- 
 limited, for beside the garden, and the shop, she 
 did all the cleaning, cooking, and washing of 
 their little establishment.
 
 20 FROM THE PEASANRRY 
 
 The wages and profits of the three past years 
 had gone to swell the stock on sale, so that they 
 had no money set aside then for " the farm," 
 and people who knew of their intentions — for 
 the bump of secretiveness was no larger in the 
 good dame, than it is in the generality of " dear 
 womankind" — wondered " where the money was 
 coming from;" but the youths knew where, and 
 when, and how, and what was more surprising 
 than all, and far more difficult, they knew how 
 to keep, or lay it out, when they received it. 
 
 During those three years, not one sixpence 
 had been spent upon additional furniture. There 
 was the same table, the three stools, the wooden 
 bowl, the tin platters, the salt dish, the stone 
 jug, and the three knives, worn almost to the 
 handles. The dame never expressed a desire for 
 more, and the youths, finding the same things 
 to-day that they had yesterday, and last month, 
 and last year, thought nothing about it. They 
 slept on straw as usual, and as usual covered 
 themselves with the clean old mill cloth. Every 
 morning and evening they had for breakfast and
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 21 
 
 supper the usual pyramid of potatoes, or dishes 
 of wheaten porridge, and whenever they went 
 forth to labour, they took with them a large 
 sweet brown loaf of the good dame's own 
 baking. 
 
 By reason of this unalterable self-denial, they 
 were, as time progressed, enabled to buy sucking 
 pigs, and sell porkers; to buy calves, and sell 
 cows ; and to buy colts, and sell horses ; and so 
 from the comraon-meadow, which was free to all 
 the villagers, from the stys, from the hives, from 
 the garden, and from " the license to sell, &c.," 
 the profits poured in, and were added with the 
 surplus wages to the stock set aside expressly 
 for barter and farm purposes. One by one they 
 bought up good second-hand agricultural imple- 
 ments, — of which Paul had made himself an ex- 
 cellent judge — until they had sufficient for the 
 commencement of self-iesponsible labour, and 
 they returned home in excellent spirits one 
 evening, after concluding an excellent bargain 
 for their first large strong farm waggon !
 
 22 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 III. 
 
 " Virtue lives on rich thoughts, and those only who move in 
 her refined circles can understand the splendour and beauty of 
 her festive banquets !" 
 
 Amongst the female domestics employed on the 
 establishment of the rich farmer, Fanny and 
 Jane Mills, sister dairy maids, were the most 
 esteemed, for their excellent skill, for their 
 steadiness and industry, and for the simplicity 
 of their dress and manners. They were the 
 daughters of a common labourer; their mother, 
 a right thinking simple minded woman, had 
 from their childhood instilled those principles of 
 virtue and forethought which go far towards 
 securing for their possessors a life-lasting peace 
 of mind. The gay and loose young men of 
 Greenhill never obstructed the path of Fanny
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 23 
 
 and Jane Mills. Alone they tripped to and 
 from the farm house, and fearless, for the good 
 respected them, and none but the vilest of the 
 worthless could have wished them evil. 
 
 Paul and John had often passed the sisters on 
 their way home; quietly and unheedingly at first, 
 then with a friendly nod, and a ^' good evening, 
 lassies." At length, finding their advances re- 
 ceived with a certain degree of pleasure, they 
 accompanied the young women home, and shook 
 hands with them on parting at their mother's 
 cottage. 
 
 These civilities ripened into friendship, and 
 from friendship into a warmer feeling, until one 
 evening, when Paul and John were closing their 
 eighteenth year, they, instead of passing the 
 cottage as usual, entered with the young women. 
 Their business was soon told ; they respectfully 
 solicited permission from the father and mother, 
 to court Fanny and Jane, with a clear under- 
 standing that they did not intend to marry until 
 they had been five years settled upon a farm, 
 which they intended to take when they were
 
 24 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 twenty-one years of age. They were then 
 eighteen, they said, and the courtship must last 
 over seven years. 
 
 "Where do you intend to settle?" said the 
 startled mother. 
 
 " At Whitbell," replied sturdy Paul. 
 
 '' It's a good distance off,'' said the affectionate 
 mother. *' I shall never be able to see my 
 children. I can't walk so far now, and I opine 
 I shan't be any younger seven years hence/' 
 
 " That be easily settled," returned resolute 
 Paul; '' come with them. Mr. Mills shall have 
 better wages than now. We'll pay your rent, 
 and see you have as good a garden as here. 
 Fanny an' Jane '11 be farmers' wives, an' by the 
 time you grow old, we expect to build a farm 
 house large enough for all." 
 
 '' What do you say, good man?" said uncertain 
 mother, appealing to her husband. 
 
 " The girls might go farther and fare worse," 
 answered Mr. Mills. " Paul and John are right 
 sort; and Pve faith that whatever they under- 
 take they'll 'complish."
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 25 
 
 " Seven years is a long time to wait," said 
 wavering mother, somewhat reassured by thegood 
 opinion of the young men given by her husband. 
 " What do you say, Fanny?" 
 
 Fanny. — "Tt does not seem long, mother, 
 since I was eight, and I'm fifteen now." 
 
 Mother. — '' There's a great difference in 
 looking back and looking forward, simple 
 child." 
 
 Fanny. — "I know, mother; but for all that 
 the seven years to come '11 be no longer than 
 the seven that are passed, an*, besides, there'll 
 be something to hope for, an' more to strive for. 
 We must be very busy, an' learn all the things 
 missus has to do at the farm-house. I'm very 
 young, mother. It'll take seven years to fit me 
 for Paul Doveton's wife." 
 
 Mother. — " And you, Jane?" 
 
 Jane. — '' I love John Leedon, mother. Seven 
 years, or fourteen, '11 make no difference to me. 
 I'll wait his pleasure; it'll all come right in time; 
 I'll trust him." 
 
 VOL. I C
 
 26 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Mother. — " And you, John? What have you 
 to say in the matter? You look thoughtful." 
 
 John. — " I always decide before I start, dame. 
 Jane knows my intentions. If she keeps faith, 
 ril make her, and her father and mother, 
 happy." 
 
 So it was settled. 
 
 From that evening it became known throughout 
 Greenhill that Paul Doveton and John Leedon 
 were engaged to Fanny and Jane Mills. Thence- 
 forward they went together, and sat beside each 
 other in the village church. 
 
 The good chance mother was quite delighted 
 at the choice her boys had made. She knew 
 Mrs. Mills very well, and, as she expressed it, 
 " there warn't a better soul in twenty parishes." 
 
 From that time Paul and John set to work if 
 possible more vigorously than ever. They bought 
 and sold all sorts of cattle; the kitchen garden 
 was .always stocked with choice vegetables in 
 season ; and the increasing custom of the retail 
 business kept the good dame as busy as she could 
 possibly be. No toil that they could cram into
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 27 
 
 sixteen hours a-day daunted them. Month after 
 month their prospects brightened ; year after year 
 they became richer. Their six fine two-year-old 
 colts, not for sale, sported and grew strong on 
 the common meadow; and their four carts and 
 two strong waggons were stored in the outhouses 
 of the rich farmer. Nothing thrives so well as 
 industry. The young men wanted yet a few 
 weeks to complete their twentieth year, when 
 the dame stood one evening watching for their 
 return at the door of her cottage. There was 
 joy in her countenance, and expectation. She 
 was evidently filled with something that she 
 deemed of great importance. Her head was turned 
 towards the lane from which the farm labourers 
 entered the village, and so great was her ab- 
 straction, that two small children had to ask for 
 their " fardin's 'orth o' bulls-eyes, please," several 
 times before she heard them, and then she dived 
 into- the shop, with a jerky spring that shewed a 
 nimbleness of which her dear old-fashioned body 
 gave no outward token. The children got the 
 small sweet that embraced their all of earthly 
 C 2
 
 28 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 desire, and went away feasting, and she returned 
 to her post at the door. The boys were in sight, 
 walking leisurely along, too leisurely by half to 
 keep up with her impatience; so she ran, much 
 to their surprise, to meet thera. Seeing this, the 
 boys — she always called them boys — hurried also, 
 and when they met, the good dame, in a most 
 excited manner, returned with them to the cot- 
 tage, and directly they were in-doors, kissed 
 them both affectionately, and said, as fast as she 
 could speak : 
 
 " It's all ready, my dear boys ; it's all ready." 
 
 Paul. — "And so are we, mother, an' hungry 
 too; the wind's rather bracing this evening." 
 
 Dame. — ''I don't mean the potatoes, I mean 
 the—" 
 
 Paul.—" The porridge? Well, that's just as 
 good, mother, — makes no difference. One's 
 as good as t'other. Let's have it while it's 
 hot." . 
 
 Dame. — " Drat the porridge, though I don't 
 mean that neither. I mean the money's ready — 
 the farm money. The sum agreed upon is saved.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE 29 
 
 An' if you please you can take farm to- 
 morro V." 
 
 The young men were quite taken by surprise. 
 The money ready, and twelve months to the 
 good! It was grand news for them. Their 
 faith in the good dame had been so great and 
 steadfast that they had never, since the evening 
 of the memorable chat, said, " Mother, how many 
 pounds have we saved?" That was a pleasant 
 evening at the cottage. The long hope was 
 realised. The good thought had blossomed 
 sooner than they expected, and, to use Paul's 
 prospective expression, '• had grown two far- 
 mers." They were very pleased, and the voice 
 of John lacked something of its usual calmness, 
 as he proposed, '^ that the possession of the 
 amount agreed upon by them for a start, should 
 not make any diflference in their original design 
 of waiting until they were twenty-one years of 
 age. We have only a year to wait, Paul," he 
 said. " Our wages are good now, and our notions 
 of business are beginning to pay us. You do a 
 good thing with cattle. We have all the horses
 
 30 FROM THE FEASANTRY 
 
 and working stock ready, an' all we can earn, 
 wages an' barter^ will be clean profit. Sometimes 
 there's fierce winds that beats down the corn ; 
 sometimes there's heavy rains to help it; and 
 sometimes there's blight. Horses and cows meet 
 wi' accidents, an' possibly mother, or you or I 
 may be taken ill, an' then, Paul, we shall see 
 the valley o' waiting, an' the valley of overplus. 
 Yes, Paul, I think we'd better wait." 
 
 Paul. — "Eight, John; we'll keep on wi' farmer 
 till we're twenty-one. We settled it so at 
 startin', an' we'll not change. We can't be too 
 well ready when we set out. Mother, I've got 
 an order from Whitbell for three cart horses; 
 Mr. Maynard, the land steward, brought it. 
 They're for Sir George Winby, the lord of the 
 manor, and Mr. Maynard says as how he'll let us 
 a good farm when we're ready for it. It seems 
 Sir George be short of cash, and they're selling 
 an' letting fine park land. We'll rent first, and 
 purchase after, John. We understand it now. 
 How easy it seems to save now we've learned 
 how, and how difficult it seemed at startin'.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 31 
 
 Looking up from thirteen, 'twas all like scrubby 
 hills, wi' points, an' rocks, an' mists; but looking 
 back from twenty, it seems level as a field, an' 
 smooth an' clear as Dame's reason for doing 
 things, so that it seems as if the hardship wasn't 
 real, as if 'twere only a 'maginary thing, only to 
 be scared away to be got rid of." 
 
 John. — '' So it does, Paul. The difficulty's 
 only 'maginary. Anybody as is healthy and 
 strong, and thinks rightly, can do it. Don't you 
 think so, mother?" 
 
 Dame. — " Well, my boys, I dun zackly know. 
 I thinks it's hard for some, an' easy for some. 
 When folks begin a good resolution, 'tain't only 
 strength o' body they wants, it's slow thoughts 
 sometimes, an' quick thoughts sometimes, and 
 they must be upbearing wi' strong will. It's 
 hard for them as are brought up wi,' comfortable 
 notions, to give 'em up an' begin at the bottom 
 0^ ' necessities, an' live simple as we does, for 
 'tain't so much good wages, as good saving, and 
 good outlaying as does it. If that sort of folks 
 would do it they must eat humble an' drink
 
 32 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 humble from the day they begin, to the day they 
 'complish the end. They must keep down, while 
 the money rises up; coarse food mustn't trouble 
 'em, coarse clothes mustn't trouble 'em, rough 
 furniture mustn't trouble 'em, jeers musn't 
 trouble 'em; they must live for themselves, and 
 the good intention, thinking right and acting 
 right; they mustn't mind back ache, an' if they 
 take wrong turnings they must go back an' start 
 fresh. Yes, my boys, it's hard for them as are 
 brought up wi' comfortable notions, an' nothing 
 else when the dark day comes to support 'em, to 
 go down to a strange startin' post an' begin life 
 anew. But it can be done, an' brave's the heart 
 an' good an' self trusting are they as 'complish 
 it. 'Tain't half so hard for folks brought up 
 like we, 'cause we've the things now we've had 
 always. Things we don't know anything of we 
 don't want, and it's them as runs away with the 
 wages* The dear eating an' drinking, the shiny 
 chairs, tables, gim-cracks, an' fine clothes, an' 
 above all, the fear of other folks opinions, that 
 won't help, when that fear brings ruin. Then
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 33 
 
 there^s love of being thought high, as makes 
 some folks try mad struggles to live on one 
 pound a week like some o* their neighbours as 
 have three or four. It would be hard for them 
 to do it, for they could never scramble an' climb 
 over the dark pride, which "joy lights" never 
 shines upon. Yes, boys, it's hard for some, an' 
 it's easy for some; you've had the courage to 
 live at the bottom all through, an' love of rigtit, 
 an' faith in Providence has done the rest. An' 
 now, boys, it's bed time. Let's say the hymn." 
 
 During that last year, the young men went 
 on as usual, working willingly, watching every 
 chance for the purchase and sale of farm stock, 
 and so correct had Paul become in his estimate 
 of cattle, that his judgment was sought, and 
 commissions given to him by most of the gentle- 
 men in the surrounding neighbourhood. 
 
 John was equally successful in acquiring a 
 thorough knowledge of the branches of agricul- 
 tural science which he had undertaken. By 
 close observation and earnest study, he had 
 learned the nature of the soil best suited for 
 c 5
 
 34 FROM THE PEASAINTRY 
 
 every description of grain. In his private bag 
 at the cottage he had small packet samples of 
 the wheat, oats, and beans which had been 
 grown upon Barrow farm during the last six 
 years, he had carefully studied their relative 
 qualities and value; he had carefully studied 
 the art of preparing the soil for sowing them, 
 watching the seasons, and noticing their effects 
 upon the outlying crops, so that when he was 
 near his twenty-first birthday, he could have 
 told the rich farmer in which year of the last 
 six, and in what months, the greatest quantity 
 of rain had fallen. Little connected with farm- 
 ing escaped his thoughtful mind. He watched 
 the habits of birds, and noted the grain they 
 feasted upon. Insects had his share of atten- 
 tion, too; he noted their ravages upon particu* 
 lar plants, and studied the most approved 
 methods of getting rid of them. 
 
 So they grew up to manhood, strong in body, 
 and fair in principles. For eight years they had 
 set themselves the task of acquiring knowledge, 
 and the means necessary for its application.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 35; 
 
 They had concentrated their entire energies 
 upon one aim, and they succeeded. 
 
 Twelve hours a day for eight years is a long 
 probation, but with a firm resolution, crowned 
 with health and strength, who could fail? The 
 knowledge requisite for perfecting a large ambi- 
 tion is doubtless very great, but eight years' 
 of close application and study, for the ac- 
 quirement of that knowledge, is very great also. 
 There can be no mistake, no mystery, in a suc- 
 cess achieved by a perseverance like this. It is 
 the natural result — the old story of a grain of 
 corn multiplied. If we begin to-day the result 
 to-night may be small, almost imperceptible; 
 but if we multiply it by three hundred and 
 sixty-five, and that again by eight, and add the 
 profits which have accrued from interest or 
 barter, we should find in the " grand total" of 
 solid knowledge and solid property, a glorious 
 compensation for our self denial The tax col- 
 lector would never send the broker to our homes, 
 l^verty would never make our sick chambers a 
 scene of misery or wretchedness. Self respect
 
 36 FKOM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 would be a light upon our paths, and heaven 
 and earth would find in us interpreters of their 
 beaut}'. The ways of life would be made smooth, 
 and our death-bed moments would not be total 
 darkness !
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 37 
 
 IV. 
 
 Upon the quarter day preceding their twenty- 
 first year, John Leedon went to Whitbell, where 
 he examined the " farms to let," and took that 
 of Ashmayne upon a lease of ten years. Upon 
 the same day Paul Doveton gave the rich farmer 
 notice that they intended to leave at the expi- 
 ration of the quarter. The farmer would fain 
 have kept them, for their services had become 
 almost invaluable to him; but he knew their 
 firmness and decision, and accepted with grace 
 the notice he could not gainsay. And he also 
 voluntarily promised Paul that he would look 
 after the interests of Fanny and Jane Mills 
 during the five years that were to elapse before 
 the young people got married. 
 
 When the farmer returned home that evening 
 he told his wife about the notice, and also of
 
 38 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 the promise he had made to Paul concerning the 
 girls. 
 
 "You have done well, Goodman," his wife 
 replied ; " but the girls are quite safe. No 
 harm of their own bringing on'll ever touch 
 ^em, though it would serve the young men right 
 if they were to lose 'era. The idea of waiting 
 five years longer — only fancy ! Flesh an' blood 
 can't stand it; at least, mine couldn't. But it's 
 all the better for us; I should miss the girls as 
 much as you will their sweethearts, for I'm sure 
 there ain't two like them in the whole county 
 side. No fear of the girls, farmer. He'd be a 
 bold man as would say hot words to 'em, for 
 there's that in their faces that scares badness. 
 However, we'll see to them ; it's our duty, an* 
 I'll teach 'em many of the secrets which have 
 helped to make us rich, my good man, an' will 
 help them on the same road. An' if you'll give 
 them a nod or a kind word when you meet 
 them, 'twill help their confidence, and increase 
 their regard for us ; ' for sure as there's a gold 
 nob to the far end of resolution,' they'll be our 
 equals some day."
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 39 
 
 As the end of their probation drew near, the 
 young men walked home every evening with 
 Fanny and Jane, and remained some time with 
 them in their father's cottage, and the two 
 families visited each other on alternate Sundays. 
 It was during the week preceding the first visit 
 of the Mills, to the Dame's cottage, that thought- 
 ful John, one night as he was about to retire, 
 turned and said ; 
 
 " Mother, we have invited Mr. and Mrs. 
 Mills and their daughters to dine with us next 
 Sunday. We shall want four extra platters — 
 get them. Good night, mother." 
 
 The Dame purchased them. It was the first 
 outlay in utensils for domestic uses that she had 
 made during the last eight years. 
 
 The final day of servitude arrived ! At mid- 
 day the farm hands struck work to dine, and 
 Paul and John that day, as they had done boys 
 and men for years, went and sat down by the 
 side of the brook that run through the farm 
 land. They took "the loaf" from the bag, 
 divided it, and after thanking God for all
 
 40 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 things, ate their dinner, and quenched their 
 thirst with water from the brook stream. 
 
 " I think Dame makes the bread sweeter 
 every day," said Paul, stretching himself upon 
 the bank, and placing his hands beneath his head. 
 "It seems sweeter to-day than 't ever was before." 
 
 " The bread's about the same as usual," re- 
 plied John. "It's always sweet an' good, 
 always, an' 'twill always be sweet an' good while 
 Dame makes it, an' we continue to deserve it, 
 'pend upon 't, Paul. The pleasure of knowing 
 it ain't the bread of idleness '11 always sweeten 
 the meal." 
 
 Paul.—'' True, John, an' I hope ours '11 al- 
 ways be sweetened so. We've had many a sweet 
 meal on this bank, an' now the last is taken 
 most likely that we shall ever take here. To- 
 morrow we shall dine in a strange village, 
 among a strange people. The ways of life is 
 curious, John, an' I think folks as ain't curious 
 to know why gets through it best. Can you 
 think of anything we've to do as I've for- 
 gotten?"
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 41 
 
 John. — "No, Paul. The travelling pedlar 
 as bought the goodwill of the cottage from 
 Dame was to come this morning; dessay he's 
 there now. The cottage was empty at nine, so 
 farmer says, and Dame's at Mrs. Mills's. The 
 waggons are loaded, an' everything ready as I 
 can think of. We've only to say good-bye to 
 old acquaintance; spend the evening with 
 Master Mills and his family — the dame will 
 sleep there ; kiss the girls — bless 'era ! an' I 
 don't know of anything else. Here comes 
 farmer !'' 
 
 Paul and John stood up. 
 
 Farmer. — " Well, my friends, have you 
 dined?" 
 
 Paul. — "Yes, thank you, farmer." 
 
 Farmer. — " Then you and John may as well 
 give over. I daresay you've plenty to do, an' 
 we're not so very busy just now." 
 
 John. — " Thank you, farmer; it's very good 
 of you, but 'tain't necessary. Paul and I al- 
 ways settle everything before we start. To 
 give us the afternoon would only be to give us
 
 42 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 idleness. Labour is money, farmer, an' you're 
 as titled to one as we are to t'other." 
 
 Farmer. — "You're quite right, John; the 
 light you've took for a guide's a bright one, an' 
 'twill be a strong wind as '11 blow it out. How- 
 ever, I intend to knock off work one hour 
 earlier this evening out of respect to you. 
 Nobody '11 refuse that hour but yourselves, an' 
 as you're determined to give me enough work 
 for my money, you must work that hour out at 
 the farm house, and so finish your engagement 
 without taking or giving any favours. TU call 
 over at this part of the field at five." 
 
 The farmer turned and rode off. 
 
 They were about to leave Greenhill perhaps 
 for ever, but the event did not excite them, day 
 by day all those eight years they had been pre- 
 paring for it, watching and waiting for it, and 
 yet they felt something like regret, a mournful 
 feeling of separation from what had been so 
 long It was an unsettled state, that left them 
 less buoyant than usual. 
 
 At five o'clock the labourers ceased working.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 43 
 
 The farmer was in the field, and while the bell 
 yet rung out the signal for cessation, he rode 
 over to the spot where Paul and John had just 
 completed their last task upon the farm. 
 
 " Come with me, Paul and John," said the 
 farmer. " One hour, and master and man 
 will be upon a more equal footing, but until the 
 expiration of that hour, you belong to me." 
 
 The young men followed him. At the swing- 
 ing gate that closed the entrance to the farm, 
 the whole of the labourers were waiting to say 
 good-bye to their fellow labourers, who had 
 toiled with them late and early for so many 
 years. Expressions of the kindliest feelings 
 were spoken by them, and heartfelt wishes for 
 their prosperity. There was a warm shaking 
 of hands, and as they separated — Paul and John 
 following the farmer — the labourers made the 
 farm land ring with the old-fashioned English 
 three cheers for Paul Doveton and John Leedon. 
 
 They followed the farmer into the farm house. 
 The farmer ordered water and towels, and throw- 
 ing off his coat, set them the example by having
 
 44 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 a good wash himself j while the servants stood 
 wondering what it meant, for it was the first 
 time they had ever seen ''the master" do so in 
 their lives. When they had washed themselves 
 the farmer said : 
 
 " Now, my men, I want your services up- 
 stairs. Follow the leader." 
 
 Paul and John could not exactly understand 
 the matter, but they were clear-headed fellows, 
 that didn't care for surprises of any kind. They 
 were certainly taken aback, however, with plea- 
 sure more than surprise, when the farmer opened 
 the parlour door and held the handle, standing 
 outside himself, while he motioned for them to 
 enter, shouting with a voice by no means small : 
 
 " Mr. Doveton and Mr. Leedon, good wife." 
 
 They entered : the tea service was laid for 
 six. The farm wife, and Fanny and Jane Mills, 
 were seated by the fire-side when the door 
 opened, and as the big, strong voice of her 
 husband announced his guests, they rose and 
 went forward to meet them. The farm wife 
 treated them with a freedom that instantly re-
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 45 
 
 lieved them of the slight embarrassment caused 
 by the novelty of their position. Fanny and 
 Jane had evidently been tutored. They ad- 
 vanced one on each side of the Dame, smiling 
 and blushing with excitement and delight, and 
 the party stood in a circle, chatting away as 
 freely after the lapse of a few minutes, as if 
 that party meeting was not an unusual occur- 
 rence. 
 
 The young men were of course quite ignorant 
 of the formalities of social life, but they per- 
 ceived in a moment the rare delicacy with 
 which that meeting was devised to give them 
 pleasure. 
 
 They sat down to tea, Paul and Fanny facing 
 John and Jane. The farmer and his wife, op- 
 posite each other, did '* the honours." Every- 
 •thing was pre arranged between the young 
 women and their mistress before the arrival of 
 the men, so that no mistake could occur to dis- 
 turb the self-possession of the male strangers. 
 Fanny watched Paul without seeming to; Jane 
 did the same by John, and everything they
 
 46 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 required was supplied by the young women 
 before they could express the trifling want. 
 They eat heartily, those two young men, as 
 they would have done at home. There was no 
 seeming about them ; they were hungry, and 
 they did ample justice to the cheer provided — 
 not rudely, nor hurriedly, but leisurely, and 
 with the respect due to their entertainers for 
 pleasure received. 
 
 Altogether the tea party was a decided suc- 
 cess. The girls were pleased beyond their usual 
 pleasure, and the young men were proud of the 
 honour and the manner of its shewing. They 
 appreciated the kindness which prompted and 
 planned the invitation that brought them and 
 the young women together, and initiated them 
 into the manner of doing "those things'* in 
 long-settled establishments. It was also a 
 guarantee to the young men for the safety of 
 Fanny and Jane during their absence. 
 
 When the clock in the parlour struck six, the 
 party rose from the table, and the farmer, hold- 
 ing out his hand to Pau', said :
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 47 
 
 " You have plenty to do before you sleep, my 
 friends; I will not detain you. Good-bye, an* 
 may God speed you ! Greenhill is only fifteen 
 miles from Whitbell, an' if anything should go 
 crooked with you that fifty or a hundred '11 put 
 straight,you shall be welcome to it. Don't fear 
 for the girls ; we'll look after them. Good bye !'* 
 
 The farm wife was equally warm in her ex- 
 pressions of good will, and the young people 
 w^ent forth on their way to the Mills's cottage, 
 more cheerful and light-hearted than they had 
 ever been in all their lives before. 
 
 Outside the widow's cottage that evening 
 there was nothing on sale. Neither was there a 
 light within. It had passed away into a 
 stranger's hands, and he had not yet stocked 
 and taken possession. 
 
 There was a strange blending of joy and 
 sorrow amongst the persons assembled round 
 Master Mills's log fire side that night. Fanny, 
 and Jane, too, strove very much to hide from 
 their faces the feelings of their hearts. " The 
 young men will have trouble enough at the new
 
 48 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 farm," they thought, " without the remembrance 
 of our depression to sadden their leisure mo- 
 ments." So they chatted with affectionate 
 gaiety, striving with all a woman's tact to keep 
 the subject of discourse from — to-morrow ! 
 
 Their parting was done quickly: John had 
 designed that. As the clock struck ten he 
 stood up, and said: 
 
 '* Jane dear, good bye. We must be early 
 astir. Be brave, my girl, and God will bless 
 us. Good bye, Master Mills; good bye, Mrs. 
 Mills. If anything should happen, send a 
 boy to Whitbell. Mother, good night." 
 
 Paul bid his friends good bye in like manner. 
 The girls were brave as girls can be, with swel- 
 ling hearts and tearful eyes, which they tried 
 much to hide. The moment came. The part- 
 ing words were said, and the young men de- 
 parted. 
 
 At the earliest dawn of day, before any of the 
 villagers were astir, the widow quietly left the 
 cottage, and proceeded towards the farm house. 
 The waggons were drawn out upon the road;
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 49 
 
 her boys were waiting for her; they lifted her 
 up to the seat in front beside Paul, who was 
 leading waggoner; the word was given; the 
 whip cracked, and the enterprising young men 
 started off to try their fortunes in a strange 
 place ! 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 50 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 The Hamlet of Whitbell, situated about four 
 hundred yards from the Eiver Fernside, was 
 built and peopled by the shepherds, gardeners, 
 and humble retainers of the ancient '^ House of 
 Winby." The hamlet consisted of twenty or 
 thirty cottages, four of which were open for the 
 retail business of the inhabitants. 
 
 There was no church, and consequently no 
 pastor in Whitbell, nor apothecary, nor attorney, 
 and considering the absence of those invaluable 
 professions, it was wonderful how healthy, how 
 peaceful, and how virtuous, the simple peasants 
 were. 
 
 The breakfast bell at Stinton Hall was warn- 
 ing the domestics to their early meal, when the 
 waggons of the "new people" halted in the farm
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 51 
 
 yard at Ashraayne. The good dame was lifted 
 down, the keys were taken out, and the new 
 occupants went into the house to take posses- 
 sion. 
 
 They found it in excellent order. There was 
 plenty of room : a parlor, dining-room, four bed 
 rooms, pantry, dairy, and kitchen. The parlor, 
 with a beautiful prospect facing the river, was 
 voted the general sitting and refreshment room, 
 and the old cottage table, the three stools, and 
 the other trifles which comprised their all of 
 furniture, were carried there forthwith. The 
 dame had her choice of bed-rooms. Paul and 
 John selected one each. They were all pleased 
 with the new arrangements, and Paul declared 
 that it was a decided improvement on the old 
 cottage. 
 
 The dame said it was the beginning of spring 
 after the long winter, a glimpse of the coming 
 sunshine after the struggle. 
 
 " It is very good, certainly," responded John; 
 "bat the old cottage system was not a bad 
 
 D 2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY
 
 52 FROM THE lEASANTRY 
 
 " The other rooms must remain empty for the 
 present," said the dame. " Better too much room 
 than too little. Daresay we shall have them all 
 full some day." 
 
 The seed grain, and flour, and potatoes for 
 six months' consumption, were taken in-doors and 
 stored, the horses were taken out, stabled, cleaned, 
 and fed, and the party assembled to breakfast; 
 after which, the young men, leaving the dame to 
 set things to rights inside, went out to inspect 
 their new property. 
 
 The farm, a level oblong, containing one hun- 
 dred acres of rich arable soil, without a single 
 tree within its boundary, was fenced by a tall 
 hedge of hawthorn. 
 
 The granary, sheds, stables, and out-houses 
 surrounded the large farm yard at the back of 
 the house, on each side of which a long narrow 
 strip of ground was railed in for a kitchen 
 garden. 
 
 After they had inspected the whole of the 
 buildings, with which Paul was pleased, they set 
 to work and unloaded the waggons. The carts
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 53 
 
 were put together, and drawn under their 
 sheds, the field implements were set in their 
 allotted places, and by four o'clock in the after- 
 noon, so far as their goods and chattels were 
 concerned, they were as settled as they were that 
 day twelvemonths. 
 
 Later in the day they went over the farm land, 
 and arranged their plans for commencing labour. 
 The soil was ready for the plough, and the young 
 men were ready for the work. The more Paul 
 saw of it the more he was pleased, and John de- 
 clared there was not a finer piece of soil for 
 farming purposes in England. 
 
 In the evening they went into the hamlet, and 
 engaged the services of two strong boys, sons of 
 gardeners, to assist in field labour. The boys 
 were to board and lodge with them. They then 
 returned to the farm, and tired with their day's 
 work, had their suppers and retired. 
 
 Up with the larks in the morning, men and 
 boys were at work turning the soil in the kitchen 
 garden ; the seed was sown, the plants were set, 
 and that small branch of the estate was left
 
 54 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 for the occupation and aaiusement of the good 
 dame. 
 
 OiF then to the upper end of the farm went 
 men and boys, horses and ploughs, and the busi- 
 ness of the farm commenced in earnest. Day 
 after day the land was ploughed and cleaned. 
 In due season the grain was sown, the harrow 
 passed over the soil, and the seed was left for 
 the germinating effects of light and heat, and 
 rain. 
 
 A rough lad was then engaged to watch the 
 land, and keep the birds off, and whenever a 
 scientific old crow, out upon an explorii;g expe- 
 dition, rested upon the wing to reconnoitre the 
 newly-turned fields, he invariably discovered a 
 tall fat boy strolling over the farm, bearing on 
 his shoulder, or under his arm, a very suspicious 
 looking long gun, which seemed to give threat- 
 ening notice that any rook, crow, or jackdaw, 
 found settling down upon the premises would be 
 shot, according to farm law. 
 
 The field work of the season being finished, 
 Paul and John, who had settled long before,
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 55 
 
 that nobody knew what they could do until 
 they tried, set to work and built additional 
 stables and cow-sheds, after the plan and method 
 of the old ones ; and when the building of those 
 tenements was completed, if they were not in 
 appearance so finished as the original, they were 
 quite PS weatherproof. 
 
 The barns and out-houses then underwent a 
 thorough cleansing; the whole of the hawthorn 
 hedge was examined, and the gaps filled up ; the 
 roads leading to the farm were mended, and 
 every precaution against accidents which human 
 foresight might prevent was taken. 
 
 The winter came ! 
 
 A council of three were seated on three 
 stools, round a very aged table, in the prospect 
 parlour of the farm house at Ashmayne, for the 
 consideration of a scheme, concocted by Paul, 
 for breeding cattle in a small way upon the farm. 
 The theory of his scheme was carefully explained, 
 carefully weighed, and, after mature delibera- 
 tion, agreed upon in council. Leaving John to 
 watch the interests of the farm, Paul then started
 
 56 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 off on a tour of the cattle markets within a 
 radius of twenty miles from Ashmayne, and 
 from observations made during the journey, he 
 came to the conclusion that the scheme was 
 practicable, and would turn out beneficial to the 
 community. Carefully then he selected and 
 purchased a small trial stock of cattle, and in- 
 troduced upon the farm a system of cattle breed- 
 ing, which in time paid them handsomely for 
 their outlay and labour. 
 
 So they progressed, living as at Greenhill, 
 careful in all things, never undertaking more 
 than they could perform, meeting successes 
 calmly, and losses manfully, repairing accidents, 
 watching the land and the cattle, and busying 
 themselves about the thousand and one trifles 
 which require the labour of all hands during the. 
 slack season on a well-managed farm. 
 
 Spring came! Nature awoke; country life 
 was renewed; the farm was filled with its old 
 noises — men and boys came forth earlier, and 
 active labour was resumed. 
 
 The good dame soon found a new employment
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 57 
 
 also. Morning and evening she went into the 
 farm yard, carrying a stool and two new pails, 
 and when she re-entered the house those pails 
 were full of new milk. Day after day then the 
 whirr of the churn in the dairy resounded 
 through the farm yard. Twice a week she went 
 to the hamlet with a basket, covered with a clean 
 white cloth; when she returned that basket was 
 always empty, and a pleasant jingling of coin in 
 that capacious pocket of hers sung loudly of 
 labour's compensation. 
 The summer came ! 
 
 "In green and gold, Dame Nature sported then!' 
 
 The farm land was rich in varied crops. The 
 wheat grew large, within the pendant ears, that 
 waved beneath the breeze. The neighing of 
 horses rose up above the meadow land, and the 
 lowing of cows, and the bleating of sheep ; pigs, 
 grunting low grunts of inward satisfaction, roved 
 freely about the litter, poking their inquisitive 
 snouts into every hole and corner of the farm 
 D 5
 
 58 FKOM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 yard; motherly hens, cluck, clucked, and 
 answering chicks ran eagerly towards them; 
 ducks and geese quacked notes of grave con- 
 tentment, as they waddled to and from the 
 river; and sparrows and sparrowlings twittered 
 merrily in the thatched roof of the old farm 
 house. 
 
 The good dame's face was full of smiles, and 
 the hearts of the young farmers were filled with 
 gladness. Everything upon the farm was life 
 and action. Everything was healthy and 
 vigorous, and the signs, and the sights, and the 
 sounds about the farm told of the intelligent, 
 creative, and physical power of man. Scarce 
 twelve months past, no life, no stir, was there. 
 Twelve months, and there was nothing still. 
 All was life — active, growing, sounding life! 
 
 How great is the power of man ! And how 
 great and manifold are the blessings arising from 
 its earnest application. Ignorant indeed are 
 many of us that we possess this power, and in 
 this ignorance we covet '' the good things" pro- 
 duced by its energetic action in others, wishing
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 59 
 
 for what we ought to command, and longing for 
 that to which we have no manly right. Let us 
 remember that Labour is our Birthright ! Let 
 us use it freely, trusting faithfully in its fair, just 
 compensation ! Let us not waste Labour'' s time, 
 nor Labour's wages^ and the good things we 
 have coveted so long, shall be ours presently ! 
 
 Autumn, the jubilee for children of the soil, 
 transformed the face of nature, and the fulness 
 of earth was ripe for the use of man. The 
 reapers were out; strange forms, male and 
 female, from the hamlet, moved cheerfully about 
 Ashmayne. The golden grain fell beneath the 
 sickle; sheaves, bound and gathered in stooks, 
 were left to dry beneath the sun that ripened 
 them, until they were collected at one point, and 
 built in stacks, piled close and high, and thatched 
 for preservation. 
 
 The harvest was gathered in; the gleaners 
 passed over the fields, and the pure fresh air 
 played again on the bare bosom of the earth, 
 relieved of its heavy burthen. 
 
 The trial year was ended ! Grateful hearts
 
 60 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 gathered round the humble board at Ashmayne, 
 and the young farmers thankfully acknowledged 
 that the pleasure after the struggle, as foretold 
 by the good dame, was indeed soft as sunshine. 
 
 Thenceforward their lives became one quiet 
 continuous round of cheerful labour ; and as the 
 years passed away, each one found them wiser, 
 better, and richer men than the one preceding; 
 until the fifth harvest was gathered in, and the 
 pledge of faith and affection, given seven years 
 before, was about to be redeemed. 
 
 A saddle horse, and a waggon drawn by two 
 horses, stood before the farm-house at Ashmayne. 
 The good chance-mother was again lifted to the 
 seat in front, Paul jumped up and sat beside her, 
 the reins were gathered in, the whip cracked, the 
 horses started, and the waggon moved off on its 
 way to a neighbouring town. John mounted 
 the saddle horse, turned its head towards the 
 road leading to Whitbell, and galloped off in the 
 direction of Greenhill. 
 
 When the waggon returned in the evening it 
 was piled high with new house furniture, and at
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 6 1 
 
 the back of the waggon, having been secretly 
 conveyed there without Paul's knowledge, and 
 nearly hidden by the chairs and tables placed 
 over them, a mother might have detected two 
 curiously-shaped, old-fashioned English wicker 
 baskets, to which modern refinement has given 
 the name of basinettes. The good dame thought 
 they might possibly be required presently, and 
 they would save the time, the expense, and the 
 trouble of another journey ; so she paid for them 
 out of her private purse, and hid them away, 
 while Paul went to pay a visit to the corn ex- 
 change. 
 
 The furniture was disposed of according to the 
 dame's notions of such foreign matters, and the 
 house, set in order, was ready for the reception 
 of faithful and patient Fanny and Jane Mills! 
 
 On the following Sunday, Paul and John sat 
 beside Fanny and Jane in the village church at 
 Greenhill. Their banns of marriage were pub- 
 lished, and as the words were spoken which 
 crowned '^ the hope deferred," they each felt an
 
 62 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 emotion of pure joy, to which their tongues could 
 give no utterance. 
 
 On that daj three weeks a bridal party left 
 the cottage of Master Mills, and walked openly 
 to church, followed by a procession of maidens 
 in white, and youths in Sunday best. The rich 
 farmer and his bright-eyed dame were in attend- 
 ance, and as each of the couples was united, 
 when the clergyman asked, '* Who gives this 
 woman away?" the old farmer, contrary to 
 all rule, stepped forward, and in his usual as- 
 sured voice said, " I do." 
 
 From the church they proceeded to the far- 
 mer's house, where they partook of toast and 
 ale, and after many expressions of good-will, 
 and a promise on the part of the farmer and his 
 wife to look over some day, the homely good- 
 bye was spoken, and the bridal party, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Mills included, took their seats in the 
 farm carts, and set off at a quick pace to Whit- 
 bell. 
 
 The good dame was standing on the thresh-
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 63 
 
 hold of the front entrance when the party ar- 
 rived at the farm house, and with words of 
 kindly and affectionate import she welcomed the 
 young women to their new home. 
 
 The wedding dinner, upon which that dear, 
 delighted old lady — we must call her old lady — 
 had exhausted every secret of her culinary skill, 
 was quite ready, and when the arrivals had 
 doffed hats, bonnets, and cloaks, they all sat 
 down to dinner. Light sounds of mirth rang 
 through the farm house that evening, and the 
 young men and women, as they sat round that 
 board at that time, received, for their tried 
 virtues and their tested faith, their full reward, 
 in perfect human happiness ! 
 
 Who says there is no such thing as human 
 happiness? Who thinks so? Sceptics. There 
 are affections, harmonies, and rare pleasures, 
 blending a perfect joy in the world, of which 
 you have not even a flashing dream. You deny 
 the long, long months of sunshine, because its 
 brightness is obscured for a few short, fleeting 
 days. With you a single grief weighs down a
 
 64 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 thousand pleasures. You slight the things you 
 have, yet grudge their loss, and only discover 
 when they are gone past all regaining how kind, 
 how dear, and how good those things were for 
 you! Again and again you have the means, 
 which, rightly applied, would lead you to 
 brighter things; but you waste and squander 
 them, as if their touch was hot as molten lead. 
 Truly for you there is no early happiness. You 
 will not have it; you cast it from you, fretting 
 and fuming. Yiewing everything through the 
 medium of the senses, to which you pander, until 
 you become their slave. To please them, you 
 eat bravely, and breed agony ; you drink glo- 
 riously, and distil madness ; you dress to ape your 
 betters, and sow extravagance ; and you sit side 
 by side with vanity on silken cushions, and reap 
 ruin. And then, with darkened minds, and pale, 
 bruised hearts, you whine about decrees of fate, 
 vale of tears, mythology of human happiness, 
 and a host of phantom phrases quoted by 
 atheistical madmen, to hide the vice that hurled 
 you down when all around is bitterness. Be
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 65 
 
 sure, that as truly as Poverty, Misery, and 
 utter Wretchedness, spring from the vices — 
 Idleness, Extravagance, and Folly, — so truly will 
 Plenty, Comfort, and Pure Joy, arise from the 
 virtues — Prudence, Forethought, and Activity. 
 
 Where are the means we have wasted? — 
 Where? 
 
 Where is the time we have trifled away? — 
 Where, indeed? 
 
 Happiness and misery are antipodean ex- 
 tremes of an existing state ! 
 
 Wealth and poverty are antipodean extremes 
 of an existing state, also ; and earnest men, with 
 their labour and their virtues, purchase the 
 brightest end of each of them ! 
 
 There was no misery then at Ashmayne, cer- 
 tainly not They could not see it. They did 
 not think, and plan, and labour, and practice 
 stern self-denial, for anything so uncomfortable. 
 They toiled for what they gained — competence, 
 self-respect, peace of mind, and what you, sceptic 
 that you are, deny, the joy, the perfect happiness 
 which all well-balanced, active-minded men and
 
 6Q FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 women enjoy to the full, even here in this bright, 
 joyous, beautiful — but to you sceptic, poor and 
 miserable — world ! The young womens' presence 
 lit the precincts of Ashmayne with a new light, 
 the house seemed brighter and fresher, adorned 
 by their ripe beauty and their wonder-working 
 hands. Well indeed had they learned " all that 
 missus had to do at farm." 
 
 The rooms and the furniture were the same, 
 but the arrangement of the latter was so different 
 that it entirely altered the aspect of the whole. 
 The dairy became a perfect bee-hive of business, 
 and their wonders in culinary skill quite altered 
 the dietary table of the farm house. And so 
 throughout, from the lumber-room to the garret, 
 there was order, settled continuous order. No 
 cupboards filled with beautiful glasses kept they 
 to swell their labour. They saved their labour 
 for labour^s rightful purposes, *' Remunerative 
 Compensation," and that brought them more 
 solid comforts than the dusting of china shep- 
 herds and shepherdesses, will ever bring the 
 duster.
 
 TO THE PEEKAGE. 67 
 
 How excellent was that voluntary discipline. 
 Time, space, and labour fitted each other so 
 exactly, that when the hour was past, its task 
 was completed, on the spot set apart for its ac- 
 complishment. And the winter, and the spring, 
 and the summer brought them industry, and 
 when the autumn returned the cradles had been 
 moved from the lumber-room to the nursery, 
 and the small voices which young mothers love 
 to hear, resounded through the farm-house. 
 Sons and daughters were born to them, and as 
 they grew up they were taught to work early in 
 life, as their parents had done : cheerfully and un- 
 tiringly worked each and all of them. The 
 trifling vexations of to-day were forgotten in the 
 labour of to-morrow. And so years passed away. 
 Wealth poured in, and the tide of prosperity ran 
 smoothly on at Ashmayne. 
 
 Field after field had been added to the farm, 
 and when the farmers were in their fortieth 
 year, they purchased from Sir George Winby, 
 the lord of the manor of Whitbell, all the land 
 parallel with the hamlet and the river, from the
 
 68 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 park boundary to Fernside Point. They hired 
 workmen; trees were felled and rooted up; 
 peasants and labourers from the surrounding 
 country flocked to the new scene of industry; 
 acre after acre was made ready for the plough, 
 and appearances indicated that Paul Doveton 
 and John Leedon were about to commence farm- 
 ing on an extensive scale. Cottage after cottage 
 was added to the hamlet, until there were two 
 long rows of dwellings, with a broad street be- 
 tween them, opposite the park gates. Small 
 tradesmen dropped in one after another as the 
 wants of the people increased, and when the 
 new farms were ready for the commencement of 
 the first harvest, the population of the hamlet 
 was increased forty-fold. 
 
 As a crowning act to a long life of virtue 
 and labour, Paul Doveton and John Leedon 
 built a church and a parsonage at the east end 
 of the hamlet. The opening of that church 
 was the dawn of a new era. The hamlet 
 became as it were — of age — and was thence- 
 forward dignified with the loftier title of village.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 69 
 
 And a very pretty little village it was, with 
 its long rows of cottages, almost uniform in de- 
 sign if not in size, for the village could only boast 
 of one architect, and his were most humble pre- 
 tensions. Whitbell was only in its infancy, and 
 one tradesman of each handicraft or calling was 
 sufficient for the simple wants of the inhabi- 
 tants. 
 
 At the west end .. of the village, the manor 
 house, Stinton Hall, lofty and frowning, with its 
 tree bordered walk, and carriage drive in Winby 
 — or, as it was commonly called — Whitbell Park, 
 fronted the High Street, and stood, as it was, 
 the head of the village; and the primitive 
 thatch-covered church, as the foot thereof, 
 humble and lowly, with its simple white spire 
 pointing heavenward, was distinctly visible 
 through the long rows of trees and houses from 
 the aristocratic manor house. 
 
 About the middle of the village, in the centre 
 of the broad street, and opposite an outlet to the 
 farms, there was a large well, Cupid's Well it 
 was called, for there were very few courtships
 
 70 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 ending in happy marriage amongst the villagers 
 that were not begun thereat. 
 
 It was a fact which some people may deem 
 curious, but it was nevertheless a fact, that be- 
 tween the hours of eight and nine p.m. in summer, 
 and four and five in winter, the virgins of 
 Whitbell invariably discovered that there was no 
 water in their cottages, and as dutiful daughters 
 they tripped straightway to the well to procure 
 the necessary element. 
 
 By a singular coincidence it also happened, 
 that about those hours the farm peasants, soiled 
 with labour, and red with sun exposure, entered 
 the village through the pathway opposite that 
 well, and it was also a fact, they were then to 
 a man exceedingly thirsty. 
 
 A pleasant sight were those well gatherings 
 at Whitbell, a rare pleasant sight, to see the 
 graceful timidity of the younger maidens, as 
 they raised their pitchers, to give water to those 
 whose glances had sought for, and found them 
 amongst the virgin throng; to note the drooping 
 lids, the bright blushes, and the timid enquiries
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 71 
 
 of the bashful, and to observe the frank greeting, 
 the hearty hand shaking, and the eager ques- 
 tioning of the more self-possessed. Yes, those 
 meetings were glad meetings indeed. The 
 crown of pleasure to a day of toil. The young 
 people all loved them !
 
 72 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 YI. 
 
 To prevent litigation amongst their children 
 when they were gone, Paul and John made an 
 equal division of the whole property, for the 
 old men wished, naturally enough, that the 
 friendship which had marked their lives from 
 childhood upwards, should descend to their 
 children, and their children's children, for 
 generation after generation. Everybody was 
 satisfied with the division. Two new farm 
 houses were built, and in the course of time the 
 children took their father's places upon the 
 farms, and their methods of business shewed 
 that their education had well fitted them to take 
 the responsibility which for so many years had 
 been held with credit by their energetic, noble 
 old fathers.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 73 
 
 It was pleasant to see the old gentlemen after 
 they had retired, wealthy and honoured, from the 
 fatigues of Hfe, with their good wives, and their 
 venerable chance-mother, who still called the 
 old men her boys, strolling about the farms, or 
 sitting upon their favourite seat, which was 
 built years past by the old men, round a solitary 
 oak tree, that stood between Ashmayne House 
 and the river, and which, by reason of its lone- 
 liness, was named by the farm womankind, 
 " The Old Bachelor." It was very pleasant to 
 see them sitting there, chatting lightly, and 
 shewing, in the calm, cheerful, and contented 
 expression of their aged faces, that they were 
 happy in the remembrance of the past, and 
 hopeful and trusting for the promises of the 
 future. 
 
 And so we leave them, neither doubting 
 the peace of their decline, nor the rich coming 
 rewards which they had virtuously and nobly 
 earned in their long life's journey, Onward and 
 Upward ! 
 
 VOL, I. E
 
 74 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 INTERVAL. 
 
 " Good thoughts outlive the thmkers 
 In the temples, and wonders of to-day, 
 Existing monuments of man's creative power. 
 We behold the thoughts of past ages." 
 
 Moon after moon shewed crescent and circle. 
 Year followed year in the wake of endless Time. 
 Young hearts still flocked round Cupid's Well at 
 eventide, and the fortunes of the village pros- 
 pered. 
 
 The ivy had crept, slowly but surely, up the 
 walls of the pretty parsonage, stealing in at the 
 windows, until put aside, and trained along the 
 fi-ames, by the fair fingers of women inmates, 
 and yet roved wildly up, to the right and to the 
 left, covering the whole body of the dwelling, 
 and then over, on to the roof, and up, on, 
 until there was nothing bare except the tall
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 75 
 
 chimney stack, up which it crept, clinging to 
 every interstice, grasping the small juttings of 
 brick and plaster, until it reached the top, and 
 yet sprung upward, stretching out, and feeling 
 in vain, like a living thing, for the support that 
 was. not. 
 
 The two wealthy farmers, Mr. Doveton and 
 Mr. Leedon, with their good chance-mother, and 
 their wives, and children, slept peacefully the 
 sleep thai knows no dreaming, beneath the aisle 
 of the little church they had dedicated to God ! 
 
 And the many strange small voices heard in 
 the village since their day, and the many mounds 
 in the quiet grave yard, on which the grass grew 
 long and bright, and on which the daisies of many 
 summers had bloomed and withered, told of the 
 Advent and the Exodus of generation after 
 generation of the simple villagers ! 
 
 In a vault beneath the private chapel at 
 Stinton Hall, resting on funereal tressels, two 
 coffins, — dated within the last half century, — 
 gilded and emblazoned with the arms and in- 
 signia of an " ancient house," told that two 
 2 E
 
 76 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 lords of the manor lay embalmed therein, and 
 shewed, although they told it not, that Death 
 deals even-handed justice to all, from the man- 
 emperor, who fancies that his greatness is of 
 him, not for him; to the man-serf, of whose 
 fancies we know nothing ! All die I and then 
 — what then? Prince and peasant. Wise man 
 and ignorant — what then?
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 77 
 
 PART I. 
 
 WHITBELL. 
 
 Stinton Hall, the baronial residence of the 
 Winby's, of Whitbell, was a large, strongly- 
 built, brick edifice, of quadrangular form, 
 blackened with age, and grim looking. Front- 
 ing the eastern wing there was a large orna- 
 mental flower-garden, the beautiful design of 
 which, together with the numerous beds of rare 
 choice plants, bespoke the master passion of its 
 wealthy owner. 
 
 On the southern wing there was a broad ter- 
 race, from which a low flight of steps descended
 
 78 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 to a lawn sloping almost imperceptibly towards 
 the river. A double row of fine old beech 
 trees, arching the centre of the lawn, excluded 
 the summer heat, and formed a delightful 
 promenade from the terrace to the edge of the 
 water. 
 
 At the back of the mansion, a space of ground, 
 about one acre, enclosed by a high wall, con- 
 tained the kitchen garden and fruitery of the 
 establishment. Beyond that, sweeping off in a 
 northerly direction, the great forest of Whitbell 
 stretched far away into the interior of the 
 country. 
 
 The magnificent groups of fine old oaks in 
 Winby Park — growing closer and larger as they 
 fell back upon the forest — covered the game pre- 
 serves, and separated Stinton Hall from the 
 village of Whitbell. 
 
 A lovely place was Stinton Hall; not that the 
 house had any pretensions to beauty ; it was too 
 sombre, too heavy seeming, not in harmony with 
 the scenery between the river and the forest; 
 but everything around and about it was very
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 7^ 
 
 lovely, and made the possession of Stinton Hall 
 a thing co be coveted, without sinning. 
 
 The Lord of the Manor, Sir George Winby, 
 was a pure type of a lord of the soil, when lords 
 of the soil were high and mighty men. Proud 
 of his ancient name, proud of his noble estate, 
 and proud of his own handsome person, and as 
 far as pride of self is right and natural, he had 
 every reason to be proud, for his figure was tall 
 and well proportioned, his dark brown hair fell 
 in massive curls upon his shoulders, his beard 
 was ample, a fine silken moustache ornamented 
 his upper lip, his eyes were of hazel hue, and 
 his complexion, a clear olive, was not void of the 
 rich red tint so peculiar to natives of the British 
 Isles; added to these advantages, his bearing 
 was dignified and stately, and the usual expres- 
 sion of his countenance, was lofty pride. It was 
 not without reason that Sir George Winby was 
 accounted one of the handsomest men in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 Lady Alice, the wife of Sir George, was the 
 only daughter of Lord and Lady Oldstock. At
 
 80 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 the time of Sir George's introduction to her, 
 she was a reigning belle of sweet seventeen, and 
 although he numbered thirty years, and was not 
 so wealthy then as he afterwards became, he won 
 her, a much coveted prize, from many younger 
 and wealthier suitors, and notwithstanding the 
 disparity in their ages, their union was a love 
 match, that Time, the sure test, had only served 
 to purify and strengthen. 
 
 And, as her Lord, so was Lady Winby ; tall, 
 stately, and handsome; a beautiful blonde, with 
 a rare complexion, blending snow and roses; 
 large blue eyes, clear and shining as au Infant's, 
 and yellow hair, so profuse and bright as to 
 elicit admiration from all who beheld it. The 
 sterling proof of her rare beauty was, that while 
 the men were unanimous in its praise, even the 
 women admitted it was faultless. With all these 
 advantages, personal and social, tliough sur- 
 rounded by afiection and affluence, there was 
 yet one blessing wanted to complete, as they 
 fondly imagined, their perfect happiness on 
 earth-— Lord and Lady Winby were childless.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 8l 
 
 There was another person, one of humble 
 origin, belonging to the establishment at Stinton 
 Hall, who takes a part in our tale, and while we 
 are at the Manor House we may as well intro- 
 duce her to our readers. 
 
 Nance Maynard, " The Village Queen of 
 Beauty," was the daughter of the late land- 
 steward of Sir George Winby. The Maynards 
 were hereditary retainers of the Winbys, and 
 ever since the founding of that family, the land- 
 stewardship had descended from father to son, 
 until the death of Nance's father, when, failing 
 male issue, the stewardship passed into other 
 hands. Nance, then left an orphan, had been 
 taken by Lady Winby into the family, where 
 she had grown from a lovely child to beautiful 
 womanhood; her position in the family was 
 principal tire woman, and humble companion to 
 her kind mistress. In the village her position 
 was more exalted ; the peasantry esteemed her 
 quite a lady, and her youthful beauty, her gentle 
 yet dignified manner, together with a consider- 
 able property left her by her father, made her a 
 £ 5
 
 82 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 prize much coveted by the young farmers 
 and middle class gentry of Whitbell and its 
 vicinity. 
 
 Living in the perfumed atmosphere of Stinton 
 Hall from her early childhood, Nance had imbibed 
 a portion of its ruler's, family pride. To her, the 
 race of Winby was the noblest upon earth, their 
 prosperity, was her prosperity; their glory, her 
 glory; and to uphold its honour inviolate, and 
 its lofty fame unsullied, she deemed no devotion 
 too pure, no sacrifice too great. The Winbys 
 had a faithful retainer in Nance Maynard. 
 
 II, 
 
 Adjoining Whitbell Park, and only separated 
 therefrom by a high quick-set hedge, lay Ash- 
 mayne Farm, the property of Squire Leedon, a 
 farm, he was used to say, containing nine hundred 
 acres of as good land as ever fattened a crow. 
 The age of the Squire was three-and-twenty
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 83 
 
 years : he was a young man to superintend so 
 large a farm, but he had been born and brought 
 up on it, so that he grew up to it, and indeed 
 the clean looking farm-house facing the river, 
 the orderly kept barns, stabling, and outhouses, 
 the healthy appearance of the corn stacks, hay 
 ricks, and the farm land generally, told that he 
 was up to the task of well-regulated superinten- 
 dence. 
 
 Squire Leedon was the youngest of three 
 brothers. The other two were bankers in 
 London. Two hundred thousand pounds had 
 been left to them by their father, for equal 
 division when he died. Mark and Robert had 
 deposited their shares in the bank in which they 
 had each lately risen to be junior partners, they 
 having joined the firm as clerks at the age of 
 seventeen respectively, and John, or Squire 
 Leedon, as he was generally termed, loving the 
 land better than the ledger, remained upon the 
 well-stocked farm, under the protection and 
 guidance of Mr. Paul Dove ton, their father's 
 most trusty friend.
 
 84 FROM THE PEASANRRY 
 
 III. 
 
 Thistle Farm was divided from Asbmayne by 
 a narrow gravel pathway stripping tbe land from 
 the highway to the river. There being no other 
 boundary, a stranger might readily have believed 
 that the two farms were the property of one 
 person. Thistle Farm belonged to Mr Paul 
 Doveton (Fanner Doveton he loved to be called) 
 an independent yeoman, who farmed more for 
 recreative and healthy pastime than for neces- 
 sity, or love of gain. Bluff, jolly, warm-hearted, 
 and open-handed, the rich and the poor alike 
 respected him ; and there were not many persons 
 once entertained at Thistle Farm, who were not 
 constantly ever after finding themselves upon 
 the road that led thereto, for the sake of the 
 cheerful, healthy tone pervading everything 
 about it. 
 
 Mary, the good wife of Farmer Doveton, had 
 never known a single care. Wherever she went 
 it disappeared, and asleep or awake the same
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 85 
 
 light smile held possession of her face. It was 
 very rarely a frown clouded its brightness, only 
 on such occasions, as when 
 
 " Some trusted maiden went a wooing, 
 By wild youth led astray." 
 
 And then followed an earnest lecture, a firm ad- 
 monition, and real forgiveness. 
 
 Under the friendly care of Farmer and Mrs. 
 Doveton, the Squire Leedon had grown from 
 early youth to manhood ; his education had been 
 sound and practical. The two farms governed 
 by one head, prospered, and the two families, 
 superintended by Mrs. Doveton, lived in perfect 
 unity, until Squire Leedon celebrated his 
 twenty-first birthday, by giving a grand feast 
 to all his farm servants, and taking the manage- 
 ment of Ashmayne into his own hands, after 
 which its farming devolved upon himself, and 
 his ability for the task justified the opinions en- 
 tertained of him by his best friends. 
 
 Besides the Squire Leedon, there was another
 
 86 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 constant and welcome visitor at Thistle Farm, 
 Nance Maynard. Farmer Doveton, in his ear- 
 liest manhood, had been intimately acquainted 
 with her father, and he had promised him to 
 look after Nancy's welfare when she had no 
 parent to love and care for her. He had stood 
 by the death-bed side of Mr. Maynard, and 
 when the body of his old friend was lowered 
 into the grave, the farmer was not far off, and 
 well and f^iithfully to the living, he performed his 
 promise to the dead. 
 
 Nance, even as a child, was used to walk 
 from the Manor House to Thistle Farm under 
 the direct escort of little Jack Leedon, then a 
 boy some four years her senior, and she, because 
 of her artless, confiding nature, soon became his 
 especial favourite; thereafter he became known 
 throughout the village as her protector and 
 sworn champion. 
 
 The Dovetons loved Nance as if she were 
 their own child, and often at night when their 
 visitors had departed, when Nance slept soundly 
 at the Manor House, and young Leedon was
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 87 
 
 dreaming at Ashmayne, the farmer and his wife 
 discoursed upon the subject nearest their hearts, 
 a union between John and Nance, the two beings 
 they most esteemed on earth, for they had no 
 children of their own to caress and scheme for 
 at that time. They knew very well that Nance 
 loved young Leedon; they had divined that 
 long since, for evening after evening found her 
 at their house, to which some twelve months 
 earlier she went regularly but three evenings in 
 the week. Her visits then were chiefly to the 
 Dovetons. She loved John Leedon, then, but it 
 was a calm, quiet love, in which there is no 
 battling fire ; but latterly her face became illu- 
 mined when Leedon entered, and its light dis- 
 appeared when he departed. The visitors all 
 knew that Nance Maynard loved John Leedon, 
 
 IV. 
 
 Who can guide love? Who control it? Kest- 
 less and contradictory, the sprite selects his vie-
 
 88 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 tims at random, without judgment, without 
 mercy, and without for an instant deigning to 
 consult the wishes of the parties most deeply 
 interested. Scornfully and maliciously he aims 
 his darts at the most unsuspecting bosoms, and 
 youth becomes enamoured of age, beauty walks 
 proudly hand in hand with deformity, riches so- 
 licits affection from poverty, and high birth 
 stoops to love extreme plebeianism. And ever 
 and ever so it is, to the utter annoyance and 
 mighty indignation of tyrannical parents, abso- 
 lute guardians, and despotic chancellors, and 
 after completing the mischief, he flies away, 
 laughing to scorn, the tyranny, the abso- 
 lutism, and the despotism of the whole host of 
 bigwigs, who would willingly furnish golden 
 bars ungrudgingly, if they could bar love out. 
 
 Thus it was at Thistle Farm. Everybody 
 perceived Nance's love for the young squire ex- 
 cept the young squire himself. He never enter- 
 tained the slightest idea that the beautiful 
 Nance nourished any other than a sisterly affec- 
 tion for him. He had met her day after day
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 89 
 
 for years; he had been her playmate in childhood, 
 her guide in youth, and her companion since 
 maturity. He loved her well, too, but his love 
 for the fair girl was not the love that leads Hy- 
 menward; his aflPection for her was such as a 
 true brother feels for a beloved sister, a calm, 
 passionless love, that remains true until death. 
 So it happened, that while the devotion Nance 
 cherished for him bounded her young heart, 
 moistening her eyes, and making her speech 
 tremulous, he, ignorant of the agony he was 
 preparing for the young girl, had wooed and 
 won another in a distant village. 
 
 The peasantry of Whitbell, speculating upon 
 the marriage of their beautiful Nance and hand- 
 some squire, never for a moment considered the 
 possibility of its being otherwise. They had 
 created in their fancy's future, a goodly troop of 
 lovely girls and handsome boys, bearing the re- 
 spected name of Leedon, to grace their native 
 Whitbell. 
 
 Having arrived at that solid conclusion, they 
 settled down upon it most confidingly, and every
 
 90 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 coming Sunday only heightened their expecta- 
 tion of hearing from the pulpit the publication 
 of the banns, which point — to the yielding up of 
 self for each, — to the surrender of the real for the 
 imaginary, — to the speedy coming of the insepa- 
 rable life that leads to misery or happiness, as 
 feelings clash or harmonise. 
 
 At length the Sunday came, a Sunday long 
 remembered in the village of Whitbell. Every 
 seat in the picturesque little church was occu- 
 pied as usual, and the morning service pro- 
 ceeded to the close of the second lesson, when 
 the pastor, in a clear voice that thrilled the con- 
 gregation like an electric shock, made public 
 the banns of marriage between John Leedon, 
 bachelor, of Ashmayne, and Rachel Bernard, 
 spinster, of Heathhill, that being the first time 
 of asking. 
 
 Had the pulpit sunk into the floor, the con- 
 gregation could not have felt greater consterna- 
 tion; there was deep, deep silence, and then the 
 heavy breathing that follows a moment of in- 
 tense excitement was audible throughout the
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 91 
 
 church. The faces of many reddened with sur- 
 prise and anger; glance sought glance, and the 
 people looked at each other, as only people who 
 have been baffled in their settled imaginings can 
 look. Before the closing benediction was given 
 to them, the daughters of Whitbell had arrived 
 at a firm conclusion that their queen of beauty 
 had been most shamefully ill-treated. 
 
 While these conflicting feelings agitated the 
 minds of the indignant villagers, the objects of 
 their anger sat before the pulpit, unconscious of 
 the offence their intended marriage had given to 
 their fellow worshippers. It was not until the 
 conclusion of the service, when the Squire 
 passed forth with the hand of Eachel Bernard 
 on his arm, that he felt something was wrong, 
 for there was no mistaking the disapprobation 
 visible in many faces, and when he stepped from 
 the church porch on to the pathway leading 
 through the churchyard to the highway, he 
 found none there to congratulate or wish him 
 
 joy- 
 Wondering what could be the cause of this
 
 92 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 sudden change of feeling, on the part of those 
 who until then had always treated him with 
 a marked respect, he passed on his way to Ash- 
 mayne, where the parents of Rachel Bernard 
 were awaiting their return. 
 
 Whitbell was in an uproar ; the good people 
 were so full of anger at the apostacy — as they 
 deemed it — of their pet Squire, that their appe- 
 tites were fairly destroyed. There was little 
 meat eaten by the fair sex at the mid-day meal 
 in Whitbell on that day, and by the time the 
 tables were cleared, and the village fathers had 
 lit their pipes, the village mothers and the vil- 
 lage maidens had pronounced a verdict of guilty 
 against John Leedon, farm squire and landlord 
 of Ashmayne, for a breach of promise extending 
 over a period of sixteen years. It was their 
 decided opinion, that the rights of the women of 
 Whitbell had been grossly violated, and that the 
 Squire had exhibited a vile taste in selecting for 
 a wife, Rachel Bernard, whom they declared was 
 decidedly ugly, shockingly dressed, and one of 
 them nasty pert Heathhillers, who was no better
 
 To THE PEERAGE. 93 
 
 than she should be, in preference to their queen 
 of beauty, the lovely Nance Maynard, of Whit- 
 bell. 
 
 After dinner Squire Leedon, accompanied by 
 Miss Bernard, went to visit the Dovetons. 
 
 The farmer was walking in his garden, directly 
 he saw the Squire, he went forward to meet him. 
 
 " Good morning, John. Pleasant weather — 
 out for a stroll. Been to church- — eh, John ?'' 
 
 " Yes, farmer," replied the Squire, joining 
 him, " I went there this morning for an especial 
 purpose, and I have come here for the especial 
 purpose of introducing to you and Mrs. Dove- 
 ton, this young lady. Miss Rachel Bernard, of 
 Heathhill, my intended wife." 
 
 Farmer Doveton started. The bluff, sturdy, 
 independent man was fairly taken aback at the 
 sudden announcement of his young friend. 
 Thq welcome he accorded to the young lady was 
 not so warm as he usually gave to strangers at 
 Thistle Farm. 
 
 "Mrs. Doveton is in-doors; let us join her. 
 She will be surprised at this sudden resolution
 
 94 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 of yours, John. The good wife is fond of you, 
 and her pleasure and mine would have been 
 heightened had you prepared us for this intro- 
 duction." 
 
 Squire Leedon looked very grave, but made 
 no reply. 
 
 Mrs. Doveton, who saw the party from her 
 drawing-room, waved her handkerchief, and 
 cried out: 
 
 " Come, Paul, no monopoly ; bring your 
 friends in. Who has John got there — a stranger? 
 Come in, young lady, never mind the gentlemen ; 
 their heads are too full of crops and corn prices 
 to be very amusing to you, so come in, and par- 
 take a farm wife's welcome." 
 
 Squire Leedon was desirous of introducing 
 Eachel to Mrs. Doveton himself, so he took her 
 hand, and, preceded by the farmer, they moved 
 towards the house. 
 
 Mr. Doveton walked very fast indeed, and so 
 got up- stairs in time to inform his wife how 
 matters stood. 
 
 " Bear it bravely, dame," said he ; '^ speak
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 95 
 
 kindly to the young woman ; it is not her fault. 
 We shall see John to-morrow, and be able to 
 talk the matter over better then than now, so 
 be firm, my dear, be firm." 
 
 It is useless to preach philosophy to a tender- 
 hearted, true woman; her nature rises superior 
 to that false seeming, which, hard, cold, and close 
 as marble, conceals the heart's true working^, and 
 while it hisses a curse, can smile a blessing. 
 
 When Mr. Doveton ceased speaking, his wife 
 was unable to articulate a sound; the news so 
 unexpected, for a moment deprived her of speech, 
 and when John Leedon and Miss Bernard en- 
 tered the room, she looked angrily at him, kissed 
 Rachel tenderly, burst into tears, and hurried 
 from the apartment. 
 
 " What in the world is the matter?" said the 
 amazed Squire; "everybody is looking gloomy 
 to-day. First the villagers, and then you, and 
 now Mrs. Doveton. What is the meaning of 
 this, farmer? I don't understand it." 
 
 '' I will explain it to you in the morning, 
 John. Young lady, you will excuse my good
 
 69 PROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 dame. When you are married we shall be 
 neighbours, and see each other very often; but 
 now you must not think me rude if I bid you 
 good-day. Good-day, John; I will see you in 
 the morning." 
 
 The Squire and Miss Bernard returned to 
 Ashmayne wondering. 
 
 Farmer Doveton found his wife sitting in the 
 parlour in deep trouble; her tears flowed fast 
 and large ; the good woman's dignity was pain- 
 fully wounded. 
 
 "Whatever will Nance do, Paul? I fear for 
 her when this news is conveyed to her, poor 
 child! How could John be so cruel? Not to 
 give us the least intimation of his purpose," and 
 she mechanically repeated John Leedon's words, 
 " I don't understand it." 
 
 '* Neither do I, dame," said the farmer. " This 
 confounded affair will knock me up for a week; 
 and yet," continued he, thoughtfully, " I cannot 
 see how John is to blame. His bearing towards 
 Nance has been uniformly kind, always alike; 
 nor do I remember now, when it is too late, that
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 97 
 
 he ever appeared to her more than a sincere 
 friend. I think the fault lies between us — be- 
 tween you and me, dame." 
 
 "Eh! Between you and me, Paul?" 
 
 " Yes, dame, between us. You and me, wise- 
 acres that we are, have been planning all manner 
 of good and happy things for John and Nance, 
 without speaking to him at all about the matter. 
 It serves us right ; we are punished by our own 
 arrogance, dame, our own arrogance." 
 
 Mrs. Doveton stared at him, with amazement 
 depicted in every feature. She did not seem 
 to comprehend him. The surprise had stayed 
 her tears. 
 
 The farmer observed that, so he continued 
 resolutely : 
 
 " I don't believe that my vanity has ever been 
 brought home to me so close before, nor that it 
 has. ever punished me so severely as it has done 
 this day; but it will do me good, dame; do me 
 a vast amount of good." 
 
 Mrs. Doveton's astonishment fairly broke out : 
 
 " My dear Paul, what in the name of reason 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 are you talking about? Arrogance? Punish- 
 ment? Do you mean to say that John's strange 
 behaviour to Nance is attributable to us?" 
 
 " I mean, my dear, that we have been build- 
 ing a castle without paying any attention to the 
 basements, and as a punishment for our neglect, 
 it has now tumbled down, and driven us bang 
 into a corner. We had no right to dispose of 
 the hand of John Leedon with as little ceremony 
 as if it was our gift, and we had sovereign right 
 to it. Hang the thing! I feel as wild as — 
 well — there, never mind, we shall be all the 
 better for it presently ; it will teach us not to 
 arrogate to ourselves a right to meddle in things 
 that lie beyond our power. So long as we can 
 make our friends happy here, let us not be vain- 
 glorious enough to suppose that we can make 
 them happy here, there, and everywhere. Give 
 me a kiss, dame. There, dry your eyes, put on 
 your bonnet and shawl, go to the Manor House, 
 see Nance, and teach her to believe that John is 
 not in fault, that the blame belongs to us, that 
 we encouraged her love for him, without study- 
 ing his feelings. The bitterness will be less
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 99 
 
 bitter coming from you, and your true sympathy 
 will lighten this, her virgin disappointment. 
 There, God bless you, Mary, don*t cry. Here's 
 your shawl; that's right. This is the stormiest 
 day in our marriage calendar, but we must bend 
 to it, good wife, bend to it, and — well, well, I 
 am but a sorry philosopher after all. Come 
 along, dame ; dry your eyes ; don't let us forget 
 poor Nance." 
 
 So Mrs. Doveton went to the Manor House, 
 and Farmer Doveton retired to his study; and 
 while his thoughts, like the dark clouds in a 
 storm sky drifting to and fro, could find no 
 resting place, he filled his largest pipe, lit it, and 
 puffing away furiously, emitted smoke in such 
 huge volumes, that he was soon hidden in an 
 atmosphere of his own creating. 
 
 Only those who have set up an idol in their 
 hearts, who have bowed down to it, and wor- 
 2 F
 
 100 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 shipped it, who have sacrificed heart and soul 
 upon its altar, who have forgotten the divine 
 spirit within them, and have lost sight of self 
 in their passion's intensity, who have shut out 
 the bright world and all its beautiful complexity, 
 and have consecrated their entire being, and its 
 unknown future, to their enthroned idol ; only 
 those who have entranced themselves in this bright 
 day dream, and have been rudely awakened there- 
 from to find their idol a myth, their worship a 
 mockery, and their sacrifice a shame; it is only 
 those who can realise the weight of utter woe 
 that fell upon Nance Maynard when she 
 was informed by Mrs. Doveton, in words as 
 gentle as a gentle mind could frame them, of 
 the intended marriage of John Leedon and 
 Rachel Bernard, of Heathhill. 
 
 Nance was stricken down, and days, and weeks, 
 and months came and departed ere she arose 
 again, and then the spirit that quickens beauty 
 had departed ; she was not the Nance of former 
 days. The health-bloom had forsaken her 
 cheeks, and the light of joy shone in her eyes no
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 101 
 
 more; her form was not so erect, nor her hear- 
 ing so free, as when, ere her illness, she moved 
 in all the sweet and conscious pride of early 
 womanhood, and innocence unshamed. Lowly and 
 gentle then, she appeared like one for whom the 
 world had no more sorrow, no more shame, as if 
 she had passed through some fierce ordeal, and 
 come forth purified. 
 
 The wisdom displayed by Mr. Doveton, in 
 exonerating Squire Leedon from any share in 
 the cause of their mutual disappointment, proved 
 the sweetest medicine to Nance; by teaching her 
 this they removed the suspicion that would have 
 poisoned her whole life, and made her future life 
 at Stinton Hall unbearable. It enabled her, 
 when she regained her strength, to visit the Lee- 
 dons, and if there was a struggle when the 
 manly voice of the Squire fell upon her ear, it 
 was internal; her heart alone felt the pain. He 
 told her how much he had grieved for her illness, 
 and how he rejoiced in her recovery ; and Mrs. 
 Leedon spoke kind and gentle things to her, of 
 how much and how kindly her husband had ex- 
 pressed himself regarding her, during her con-
 
 102 rUOM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 finement in the sick chamber; she told her how 
 much pleasure that — their first interview gave 
 herself, and she shewed Nance over the house, 
 and pointed out the alterations made by her 
 suggestions, and she asked Nance's opinion upon 
 many matters of feminine importance in farm- 
 wifery, and altogether she displayed so much 
 tenderness and delicacy, that when Nance left 
 them, she was apparently charmed of any en- 
 vious feelings that her first interview with Mrs. 
 Leedon might have created. She visited the 
 Leedons again and again, until every tinge of 
 the gloom their marriage threw over Whitbell 
 had disappeared, and the Dovetons and the Lee- 
 dons and Nance were re-united. Thistle Farm 
 was as bright as ever, and the farm peasants 
 said "as there weren't two measters in hull 
 England so koind loike as Termer Doveton an' 
 the young Squire." 
 
 VL 
 
 Ten months passed away after the excite- 
 ment caused by the Squire's wedding, without
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 103 
 
 any incident occurring to disturb the peaceful 
 feelings of the villagers, when a rumour was 
 spread abroad that Lady Winby, of Stinton 
 Hall, was about to become a mother, and an 
 earnest joy was felt by all who dwelt in and 
 around Whitbell. 
 
 The rumour became certainty. The servants 
 were awaiting their mid-day repast in the hall, 
 gossiping as servants only can gossip, and spe- 
 culating upon the sex of the expected infant, 
 when the ringing of bells, and the hurried 
 tramp of many feet, followed by an unusual 
 silence, bespoke the coming moment, when fear 
 and hope alternating, make an expectant father 
 tremble for sorrow or for joy. 
 
 It was a fine day in early June when the heir 
 of Whitbell was ushered into the world. The 
 sun shone gloriously; the river ripples danced 
 and sparkled in its brightness; the birds sang 
 merrily, and the whole air was full of nature's 
 music. 
 
 Sir George Winby was striding to and fro in 
 the library ; his stern pride had vanished ; he
 
 104 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 was nervous and excited. His tightly closed 
 hands, the constant moistening of his lips, and 
 his frequent sidelong glances at the door be- 
 trayed the tumult of his mind. The hour then 
 dawning was full of rare significance for him. 
 The happy husband and the proud father, or 
 perchance the hopeless widower and the child- 
 less man. It was no wonder that he betrayed 
 anxiety. 
 
 Presently there was a sound as of footsteps 
 coming hurriedly down stairs. He stood still, 
 erect, with a face pale as death ; the moment 
 had arrived ; the proud man was humiui after 
 all — he trembled! 
 
 The door opened. The sweet voice of Nance 
 
 Maynard relieved him in an instant, as she said : 
 
 " A son is born to the house of Winby, Sir 
 
 George, a stout boy; and my lady is doing 
 well!" 
 
 Before he had the power to reply, the door 
 
 closed, and the light tread of her feet died 
 
 away, as she hurried back to the chamber of her 
 
 mistress.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 105 
 
 The moment had passed ; the anxiety disap- 
 peared from the face of Sir George. He rubbed 
 his hands joyfully, rung the bell, and as he 
 awaited an answer to his summons, he seemed 
 to rise beyond his usual height. England upon 
 that day contained no happier man than Sir 
 George Winby. 
 
 A superior domestic of the house entered. 
 
 '•'' Janes, go to the Parsonage ; tell Mr. 
 Bright that an heir is born to Whitbell. I 
 desire that the church bells be rung until sun- 
 down. Send Frank to the cottages, and tell 
 him to proclaim a general holiday through my 
 estates; the tenants of Whitbell shall make 
 merry to-day. Supply them with everything 
 that will tend to their enjoyment. When you 
 return let me know. That will do." 
 
 The domestic bowed and retired. 
 
 It is a pleasant thing to become a father when 
 we are rich and powerful, especially when the 
 meridian of life has passed, and our hopes of a 
 son to bear our name to future generations, have 
 almost passed away with it. Thus, we presume, 
 F 5
 
 106 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 thought Sir George Winby, as he sat down and 
 wrote letters to those whom he wished to 
 apprize of the happy advent of an heir to his 
 name and title. The letters were sealed and 
 despatched, and Sir George Winby, with a full, 
 glad heart, adjourned to the chamber of her, who 
 for twenty years had shared the cares and plea- 
 sures of his life's best manhood. 
 
 YII. 
 
 It likewise happened, about the same hour the 
 heir of Whitbell was born, that Mrs. Leedon 
 made her husband a present of twin boys, two 
 fat, round-faced, sturdy little fellows, the Squire 
 said to Mr. Doveton, whom he'd back against 
 any children of their age (four hours old) in 
 the world. So while the bells were ringing to 
 celebrate the birth of the great man's son, and 
 the tenantry of Whitbell were feasting in the 
 park on one side of the hedge, the farm labourers
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 107 
 
 and servants were feasting and rejoicing for the 
 birth of the infant Leedons on the other side. 
 
 YIII. 
 
 The bells rung, the peasantry feasted, and the 
 rejoicings upon that day were universal and 
 heartfelt. 
 
 The sun set; the pleasant twilight faded, 
 and night en wrapt Whitbell, calm and peaceful. 
 
 The silence in the hall remained unbroken; 
 the doubly -carpeted passages stilled the footfall 
 of the passers. The handmaidens of Lady 
 Winby remained either in her chamber or in 
 the ante-room adjoining, for they came not 
 forth to impart gossip to their fellow servants, 
 who expected a bulletin of mistress and infant 
 every ten minutes, failing which the silence was 
 painful to them. 
 
 The moon arose with its bright, pale face, 
 looking down upon the silent earth, darting its 
 beams in through the corridor windows, and
 
 108 FKOM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 lighting up the long, silent passages. And the 
 midnight came, and with it came also the low, 
 wailing cry as of an infant suffering. The ser- 
 vants who heard it at intervals through the 
 thick wall that separated them from its cham- 
 ber, looked at each other with foreboding. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Again the bells rung, again hasty steps traversed 
 the corridor of Stinton Hall, and sad faces passed 
 to and fro. The night brought grief that mocked 
 the day's rejoicing. The new born heir, the 
 greatest boon that heaven could have granted 
 Sir George Winby, was taken ill — was sick al- 
 most unto death ! 
 
 A physician celebrated for his skill in infant 
 treatment, was in attendance; he remained with 
 the tortured child all night, and from time to 
 time, until the sun set again, until every remedy 
 his great skill could suggest had been applied in 
 vain, and as the body of the infant writhed
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 109 
 
 under the agony he could not lessen, he shook 
 his head doubtingly. His faith in its recovery 
 faded away ; and as he imparted his sad belief 
 to Sir George Winby, he added : " The skill of 
 man cannot prevail; your only trust is in 
 Heaven !" 
 
 The heart of Sir George Winby v^as sorely 
 troubled. Yesterday the dearest wish of his life 
 had been gratified; a son was born to him in seem- 
 ing health, and his heart was filled with a father's 
 pride, and a worldly man's vain glory. He had 
 kissed his wife affectionately, hugged himself in 
 a very friendly manner, feasted his tenants 
 right liberally, and how merrily rang the bells 
 to celebrate the birth of the great man's son. 
 He had no wish left then; the aim of his life 
 was accomplished. His goodly hall, his beauti- 
 ful park, his great forest, and his large revenues 
 would not pass into the stranger's hands ; nor 
 would his name be heard no more in the golden 
 circles of the highborn, the ancient families, the 
 best blood in free England. 
 
 Yesterday the great man was exalted!
 
 110 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 To- day brought proof of the littleness of the 
 greatest. The child — his hope was ill; its 
 seeming health and strength had given place to 
 pain and aoguish. Of what value then was the 
 man's pride and vain glory? of what avail the 
 joyous feast, the merry bells, his high birth, his 
 ancient lineage, his best blood? They had no 
 power to give relief to the pained infant. His 
 noble hall, his beautiful park, the large forest 
 and immense revenues, had no virtues to retain 
 health or stay the hand of Death. 
 
 To-day the great man was abased ! 
 
 It was then the words of the physician created 
 a new hope. The Spirit spoke within him, and 
 trembling-hearted, almost doubting its efficacy, 
 he retired and prayed a fervent prayer that his 
 lirst-born might be spared unto him. 
 
 X. 
 
 Lady Winby had fallen asleep, her cheeks yet 
 damp with the tears that flowed from the grief
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. Ill 
 
 brought OQ by withered hopes. The physician 
 said the child would die ere he departed; the 
 experienced nurse that was engaged to attend 
 the infant said the child would die ; and then, tired 
 with long watching, she laid down and slept. 
 
 The light in the nursery shone full upon the 
 infant heir; its breathing was low and irregular; 
 its pulsation was weak and uneven; its white 
 lips and dull dark eyes were slightly open; the 
 convulsion that caused it so much agony had 
 ceased. The child appeared to be fast sinking. 
 
 By the side of the infant's couch, gazing sadly 
 upon its little wrinkled, strange old-fashioned face, 
 sat the devoted Nance Maynard ; her eyes were 
 red with tears and want of rest. Once or twice 
 she nodded, as though she had no power to stay 
 the drowsiness that seemed to net her in. Then 
 she stood, and walked up and down the room 
 until sleep seemed driven away, and before she re- 
 seated herself beside the couch, she muttered in 
 anger, with a semi -defiant tone: 
 
 " It shall not die ! I will not sleep ! " 
 
 And so she sat there, with one of the child's
 
 112 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 hands in hers — a thin white hand, almost trans- 
 parent, and slightly deformed by the spasm, the 
 little finger being turned down, bent double, as 
 though the drawn sinew had not relaxed. Nance 
 stooped and kissed the little hand, saying as she 
 did so : 
 
 '' Well, it will make no difference — poor babe 
 — no difference !" 
 
 Presently she started up, and hurried to the 
 couch on which the wet nurse slumbered. 
 
 " Nurse, nurse," she said, " get up and watch. 
 I must go out, or I shall be overpowered; the 
 fresh air will awaken me. I will ramble across 
 the park for an hour or two, and then, Betsy, 
 you shall have a good long rest; do not fall 
 asleep, or you will ruin all. Lave your eyes, 
 walk about — ^do anything to keep yourself 
 awake. Watch over the heir of Winby for two 
 short hours, and if you see any change, wake 
 Anna, the charmer.'* 
 
 Nance took down her hat and mantle, and left 
 the room and the house. The pure air played 
 upon her face, the perfume of flowers came
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 113 
 
 to her in pleasant contrast with the odour of the 
 chamber of sickness, and the intense desire to 
 sleep left her, as she crossed the park in the di- 
 rection of x4shmayne, to visit Mrs. Leedon, whom 
 she had not seen since the birth of her children. 
 
 As she entered the farm house the clock in 
 the parlour struck ten. 
 
 She found the young mother awake. The 
 babes were dozing in a cradle by the bed-side. 
 His babes ! Her babes ! Nance looked at them 
 earnestly, and a strange expression passed over 
 her face, as she glanced from the infants in their 
 cradle to the mother in her bed. 
 
 Mrs. Leedon smiled as Nance entered, and 
 stretching out her hand, said : 
 
 " Welcome, dear Nance. I knew you would 
 come soon — but you look tired! What is the 
 matter with you?" 
 
 Nance was pale; she sat by the bed side. 
 
 " I am tired out with long watching, Rachel. 
 Our noble child has been very tiresome. How- 
 do you find yourself?'' 
 
 " Oh, I am in good health ; rather weakly, of
 
 114 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 course, for young saucies there keep me pretty 
 busy, but I manage very well. I wish you 
 could stay a few hours, Nance, dear. I have 
 had such a nice doze; I feel inclined to talk 
 now. John has only just left me; I would not 
 keep him up, because he must be astir early in the 
 morning. How long canyon remain, Nance?" 
 
 Nance considered for a moment, and then an- 
 swered : 
 
 " If you can keep awake until I run over to 
 the Manor House and back, I will remain with 
 you until sun-rise." 
 
 " Thank you, darling ; I am very selfish, but 
 I have not seen you for five whole days, and I 
 have a great many things to tell you. Now run 
 away ; I will count the minutes until you return. 
 Wrap up, love." 
 
 XI 
 
 Nance hurried back to the Hall. She was not 
 sleepy then ; the sight of Lee don's children had
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. Il5 
 
 aroused her. His babes ! Her babes ! What 
 ailed her? Was the old wound re-opened? Was 
 there bitterness in the sight? It was many 
 months since her step was so light and so fleet 
 as then. 
 
 She arrived at the house, and with a stealthy 
 pace ascended to the nursery. The child — her 
 first care — continued its low irregular breathing; 
 its position was unaltered, and its pale lips and 
 dull, dark eyes were still half open. 
 
 The wet nurse was fast asleep ! 
 
 Nance awoke her, and in low, angry tones, 
 said: 
 
 " Go to your bed-room, and in the morning 
 leave the house. Its glory might fade, and its 
 name become extinct, while you eat the bread — 
 and take the wages — of idleness. Get you gone ! 
 We retain no lukewarm followers here." 
 
 The young woman bowed to Nance's decision, 
 lit her lamp, and retired to her bed room, where 
 she lay down, and in an instant was fast 
 asleep. 
 
 When she retired, Nance closed and bolted
 
 116 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 the door, and went to the table on which the 
 medicines used by the physician were standing. 
 Amongst them there was a small vial marked 
 "poison." The fluid was colourless; she held 
 it up between ' herself and the light, and her 
 eyes filled with tears as she murmured : 
 
 "• I will risk it/' 
 
 She took a wine glass, poured a small portion 
 of water into it, raised the vial until one drop 
 therefrom fell into the water, went to the cradle, 
 and administered it drop by drop, until with 
 slight gaspings, the infant had swallowed half a 
 teaspoon full. She then sat and watched. 
 
 In about ten minutes the eyes of the infant 
 closed, and it lay to all appearance dead. 
 Nance then replaced the cork in the vial, put it 
 into her pocket, went to the door, passed out, 
 turned and gazed sorrowfully upon the infant in 
 the cradle, closed the door, locked it, took the 
 key, and returned to Ashmayne. 
 
 Look up, Nance! one glance at the myriad 
 eyes gazing upon you from the spangled heavens 
 will save you ! Look upwards !
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 117 
 
 The thoughts of Nance were of earth, and 
 her eyes rested thereon ! 
 
 Mrs. Leedon lay awake. 
 
 " You have not been long, dear Nance. Take 
 off your things ; — that's right, love. Now get a 
 chair and sit beside me; — closer. That will do; 
 bless you, Nance !" 
 
 Mrs. Leedon then told her how many kind 
 friends had been to see her, and all about the 
 many presents she had received, and the names 
 of the village mothers who had been to offer 
 their services to sit up with her at night; and 
 how good Mrs. Doveton had tended her with 
 quite a mother's love; and she told her every- 
 thing about her dear saucy boys, whose big 
 appetites gave her constant employment. 
 
 They talked and chatted away until the clock 
 struck one, and Mrs. Leedon's eyes began to 
 shew symptoms of drowsiness. 
 
 " My prattle has made me quite thirsty ; hand 
 me drink, dear Nance. On the table behind the 
 screen there's some barley water, — fill the cup." 
 
 Nance started; rose, and went behind the 
 screen, filled the cup, took the vial rapidly from
 
 118 FROM THE PEASANTKY 
 
 her pocket, — one minute, and Mrs. Leedon had 
 drank the barley water, and quenched her thirst. 
 " It's a proud thing to become a mother," Mrs. 
 Leedon continued. '* I feel as if I had attained 
 a loftier place amongst my kind. I feel as if I 
 had become greater, nobler ! Oh ! Nance, de- 
 pend upon it, the pure, calm feeling of unutter- 
 able joy that thrills a mother's bosom, when for 
 the first time she presses thereunto her newly 
 born, the life of her life ; when for the first time 
 she presses a kiss upon her infant's browj then, 
 Nance, all pain is veiled, forgotten, and the babe 
 becomes a noble compensation. John is so proud 
 of our boys, and so good, so attentive to me. 
 How fortunate I have been, and how grateful I 
 ought to be for so many kind friends, and so 
 much goodness. You shall know, dear Nance, 
 that when I lay awake in the still nights, my 
 thoughts seem to flow from a clearer, a purer 
 source than heretofore; everything appears to 
 rise before me from a brighter point of view, 
 and I have internal whisperings telling me how 
 frail, how weak, and yet how wonderously great 
 I am; telling me what mighty power I possess
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 119 
 
 to cast shade or sunshine over those around me, 
 to make among our farming men glad hearts and 
 happy faces. Surely this is a beautiful power, 
 Nance, and if rightly used, would lessen the 
 cares that haunt our servants dwellings. This 
 teaching has taken a firm hold upon me, "N'ance, 
 and when I am strong enough, I will go amongst 
 them ; I will return the village mothers visits to 
 ine, and thank them, and be kind and loving to 
 them. Ah ! how haughty I was when I lived at 
 Heathhill. Surely our education is a mistake. I 
 looked upon our rude farm servants there as in- 
 ferior beings, only fitted to till the earth, and 
 bring my father wealth to decorate our home. 
 Is it not blasphemous instilling; this calling low 
 and common the image of our Maker. But 
 this revelation from within has taught me holier 
 views; the old notions are dead, never, I hope 
 and trust, to be revived ! This subject is ex- 
 citing, Nance. I feel so glowing, and an in- 
 clination to sleep creeps over me so calm, so 
 happy like ! You can not go home now ; lay 
 down beside me, dear. I will not keep you
 
 120 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 from sleeping any longer. Kiss me, sweetheart. 
 Bless you, Nance- — bless you !" 
 
 Almost as the blessing was uttered; her eyes 
 closed ; she fell asleep. 
 
 For a short time Nance remained quiet with 
 her eyes riveted upon the babes in the cradle, 
 and in the meanwhile the expression of her fea- 
 tures became fierce, unpleasant; her lips were 
 tightly compressed, and once or twice she pressed 
 her hand upon her heart, as if some internal 
 struggle gave her pain. Suddenly she arose, 
 and lifted one of the infants from the cradle, 
 and hugged it to her bosom, close, closer, almost 
 too tightly, for the little one awoke at the un- 
 usual pressure, and fixed its large, unmeaning 
 eyes, the dark eyes of its mother full upon her. 
 
 "What ailed thee, Nance?" 
 
 XII. 
 
 The morning broke. At four o'clock Squire 
 Leedon went to the chamber of bis wife and
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 121 
 
 children. They were asleep. His wife and one 
 of the children were restless — moving — but 
 evidently asleep. He stooped down and kissed 
 the infants in their cradle ; he leaned over the bed, 
 and pressed a soft caress upon the cheek of his 
 slumbering wife, retired gently, closed the door, 
 and went forth to his farm. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Who was it, that with scared face, and lips 
 apart; with crouching form, and wild glances 
 cast furtively around, shunned human observa- 
 tion; as she stole creeping away, along the 
 quick set hedge that divided Whitbell Park from 
 Ashmayne? Did she fancy herself unseen? 
 Did she think the transaction of that one ter- 
 rible moment would not live for ever in her mind, 
 searing her brain, and blighting the pure bright 
 sense of right, that like a giant stay, supporteth 
 conscious innocence? Will she ever again, with 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 head erect and foothold firm, and proud, un- 
 quailing eye, stand hravely up amongst her 
 kindred sex? Ah! she will feel sorrow, and 
 remorse, and shame ; nor will all the hitter tears 
 she ever weeps wash out the recollection of that 
 morning*s deed. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ''Is Mrs. Doveton up yet?" hurriedly enquired 
 a female domestic from Ashmayne, about six 
 o'clock in the morning. " Quick, Kalph ! one 
 of our children is poisoned, and Mrs. Leedon is 
 dead asleep! Where is Mrs. Doveton?" 
 
 The little hoy thus addressed was flurried by 
 the agitation of the servant girl; at length he 
 murmured : 
 
 " I think she be in bed yet, but if 'ee loike 
 I'll show 'ee the room." 
 
 " Go on; pray make haste, my good boy; the 
 Squire's almost distracted. Mrs. Doveton is the
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 123 
 
 only one that can do any good. Harry on, 
 Ralph." 
 
 The young woman stood in the bed-room of 
 Mrs. Doveton; presently there was a faint 
 scream therein, followed by hurried questioning 
 and quick replying, in which the name of Nance 
 Maynard, and the word poison were distinctly 
 audible. In a short time the good farm wife 
 came out, pale-faced, but collected. Accom- 
 panied by the domestic, she hastened to the 
 homestead of Squire Leedon, and soon stood in 
 the bed-room of the young mother. 
 
 '' Open the window !" " Stand aside !" "Give 
 it air !" and such like exclamations were uttered 
 as she entered the room. 
 
 It was a sad sight! Mrs. Leedon lay pale 
 and motionless; not dead, but insensible, like 
 one in a trance. The Squire was stamping and 
 raving, almost crazy ! The infant ! Mrs. Dove- 
 ton looked at it, and for a moment closed her 
 eyes. It was too horrible; its little face was 
 livid, twisted with spasms, and frightfully dis- 
 torted ; its limbs were contracted, drawn up and 
 
 G 2
 
 124 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 down, tightened and loosened, as if their sinews 
 were in the hands of some infernal torment; its 
 large eyes were starting from their sockets, and 
 it bent itself, writhing and struggling for breath. 
 
 Mrs. Doveton, of all the noisy inmates there, 
 was the most decided. Without knowing whether 
 she was doing right or wrong, she took the in- 
 fant from the woman who held it, run down 
 stairs into the kitchen, and plunged it into a 
 large tub of cold water several times in quick 
 succession; she then stripped it, rubbed it well 
 before the fire, wrapped it up in a warm blanket, 
 and sat down beside the grate and nursed it. 
 
 This treatment brought on violent retching, 
 followed by a low, feeble wail of anguish, that 
 fell upon her ear like the knell of coming death, 
 and almost made her ill. After awhile a slight 
 perspiration burst from its small, puckered-up 
 face; that, she considered an excellent sign, but 
 the spasms returned, and again she resorted to 
 the cold water, the rubbing, and the warm 
 blanket process, until the spasms left it, and the 
 hard retching ceased. The little fellow then lay
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 125 
 
 motionless in her lap, as if he was too pros- 
 trated to utter a note of pain. 
 
 Whether the good woman saved the life of 
 the child or not, was a matter of speculation. 
 The apothecary said that such treatment — with- 
 out the aid of poison — was enough to kill the 
 strongest child in the world. However true in 
 ordinary occasions his opinion might have been, 
 the child recovered, but it was weak and ailing 
 for weeks after. It took very little nourishment, 
 and its face, so round and chubby before, was 
 much emaciated. Its hollow cheeks, sunken 
 eyes, and prominent mouth, showed the great 
 fury of the enemy that had grappled with it. 
 
 The Squire, still dubious of its ultimate re- 
 covery, had it christened by the name of George, 
 after Mrs. Leedon's father, and the other by the 
 name of Robert, after his elder brother. When 
 poor Mrs. Leedon awoke from her long sleep, 
 and heard of the illness of her firstborn, and of 
 the poison, and when she saw her lovely child 
 so altered, so ghastly looking, it took all her 
 motherly fortitude, and all her husband's unfail-
 
 126 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 ing love and attention, to enable her to bear up 
 against the shock. After that she was jealous 
 of everybody who came near her children. She 
 permitted nobody but her husband and the 
 Dovetons to lay a finger upon them, for there 
 was somebody in the world, she said, that would 
 deprive her of her darlings if they had the 
 pawer. 
 
 Squire Leedon concealed whatever he thought 
 about the poison, for he gave stern and peremp- 
 tory orders to his household to cease their ac- 
 cusations against Nance Maynard. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The gloom over Stinton Hall remained. Sir 
 George Winby had been summoned to London; 
 Lady Winby was powerless through grief, and 
 everybody in the house was sad and despondent. 
 Great indeed must have been the devotion of 
 Nance Maynard to the house of Winby. Hour
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 127 
 
 after hour, until she looked but the shadow of 
 her former self, she sat at the bed-side of the 
 wasting infant, and if undivided attention and 
 heart service could detain life, she gave it 
 freely. She never left the room for a moment, 
 except to visit Lady Winby, whose grief for the 
 little sufferer was most distressing. Nance gave 
 her no hope : she said it was a mystery how the 
 child lived, but its death was almost certain. 
 Four days after Nance had visited Ash may ne, 
 she was seated beside the little couch ; her elbows 
 were upon her knees, and her chin rested in the 
 palms of her hands ; her face was pale and hag- 
 gard, and at times a scarcely perceptible shud- 
 der passed over her, like a vibration, no more. 
 The eyes of the child were open, dull and im- 
 movable; its breathing was slight, scarcely dis- 
 cernible. Thus it lay through the long hours, 
 and then it was sallow, wrinkled like a living 
 skeleton. Those who saw it that day wondered 
 how it lived. 
 
 Towards nightfall, worn out with sorrow and 
 long watching, Nance, with her hand tightly
 
 128 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 clasping the edge of the cradle, fell asleep ; and 
 darkness had fallen upon the earth, when she 
 was awoke by a cold touch upon her hand. She 
 arose hastily, lit the lamp, and hurried back to 
 the cradle. The child's eyes, turned towards 
 her, had expression in them then, and its little 
 lips moved, as if it would fain utter sound, but 
 could not, and its hand, the thin cold hand that 
 awoke Nance, was raised above the coverlet of 
 the bed. Nance uttered a sharp cry, and 
 tears gathered in her eyes, as she rung the bell, 
 and told the waiting woman to go and enquire 
 if Lady Winby was awake, and if so, to tell 
 her gently that the child would live. She then 
 raised the infant tenderly, and gazed upon it 
 with a feeling, almost bordering on delirium. 
 
 The waiting woman returned. Lady Winby 
 was awake, and wished to see the child, if it was 
 possible to move it. Nance nodded assent, and 
 with trembling steps bore it to the apartment of 
 her mistress. 
 
 "' The crisis has passed, dear, dear Lady," 
 said Nance, entering the room. " The babe
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 12 9 
 
 will live, and Sir George Winby, will not be the 
 last of his race !" 
 
 The overjoyed mother received her child, and 
 thanked Nance most rapturously for the inva- 
 luable service she had rendered to her first born, 
 saying : 
 
 '* I will nurse and nourish it myself now, 
 while you go and have a good long rest. Look, 
 Nance !'* said the delighted mother; and indeed 
 the little one drew the nourishment from her 
 bosom very eagerly indeed, as if it had found 
 its proper medicine at last. 
 
 The tears fell fast from Nance's eyes, as slie 
 answered : 
 
 " Keep him by your side, dear Lady ; permit no 
 
 other one to feed him ; he is weak now, very weak, 
 
 but he will soon grow strong under your own 
 
 immediate care. Do not let your maidens take 
 
 him from your presence ; they may let him fall, 
 
 or some accident may happen to him. Under 
 
 your eyes only is he safe. Good night, dear 
 
 Lady. I will go to rest" — to rest ? She 
 
 shuddeied. "Good-bye, dear Lady." 
 G 5
 
 130 FKOM THE PEASANIKY 
 
 She stooped and pressed her lips upon the 
 forehead of Lady Winby, and saying again, 
 " Good-bye," she departed from the presence of 
 her mistress. 
 
 On that night the servants who passed her 
 bed-room, said they heard her sobbing as if her 
 heart would break. 
 
 When the family assembled at breakfast on 
 the following morning, Nance was not there. 
 They went to her room. It was empty ! They 
 sought over the house; she was not found. 
 The day passed. They sent to Whitbell; no- 
 body had seen her. The night gathered and 
 dissolved; and the next morning brought no 
 tidings. She had disappeared, leaving no trace, 
 no guide, and after the lapse of a few years, 
 except by those who had known her well and 
 loved her, Nance Maynard was forgotten! 
 
 XYI. 
 
 Towards the approach of winter, a young man, 
 tall, upwards of six feet j strongly built, and not
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 13l 
 
 more than eighteen years of age; was sitting at 
 the close of evening upon the seat against " the 
 old Bachelor." The face of the young man 
 was handsome; his features were regular and 
 well -formed, but the glances of his blue eyes 
 were not steadfast, and his thin red lips, hang- 
 ing loosely and slightly apart, betrayed a want 
 of energy. His head was bare, and the soft, 
 curling, light brown hair that ornamented it, 
 was tossed by the play of the wind. His cap 
 was laying in his lap, and in that cap his 
 glances rested. 
 
 " Three — six — nine snares. I shall do well 
 to night," he murmured; " the moon '11 not rise 
 till eleven. Everybody '11 be sleeping then, an' 
 nobody comes this way after nightfall, for fear 
 o' the dark river; an' ' The old Bachelor,' that 
 generally has so much gay company with him 
 in the day time, is always deserted by everybody 
 but me when the light fades. I wish that 
 Squire Leedon had the gout, or the rheumatiz, 
 or the shakes, or that he was a drunkard, or 
 anything, in fact, that ud keep him in bed late
 
 132 FROM THE PEASANRRY 
 
 0^ mornings. He never gives a chap the least 
 chance o' doing early business, for he's got eyes 
 as keen as a viper's ; nothing never can escape 
 'em. I think it's dark enough now; I don't 
 hear anything stirring, an' I ain't much time to 
 lose, so here goes " 
 
 He got up and walked stealthily from " The 
 old Bachelor," towards the hawthorn hedge that 
 bounded the farm of Ashmayne, beside which 
 he walked, until he came to a spot where the 
 hedge had been cut away at the bottom, as Mr. 
 Leedon said, by poachers. The handsome 
 young man then lay himself down at full length 
 on the pathway, and placing his ear close to the 
 ground, listened long and carefully, which sys- 
 tem, he told his wild mates, was the best plan 
 for detecting sound, in his line of business. 
 After lying in that attitude for ten or fifteen 
 minutes, and hearing nothing but the rustling 
 of the leaves in the hedgerow, he began to crawl 
 cautiously through the gap, looking, when his 
 hftad was free on the other side, to the right 
 and to the left, and then slowly, stealthily, be
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. ]33 
 
 crawled on, on, until lie lay with his body on 
 the farm land, and his legs beneath the hedge 
 and on the outer pathway. Then he started ! 
 Two eyes, low down, almost close to his own, 
 were watching him ; he tried to back out, but 
 he was too late. The watchers, who had ob- 
 served his every step from " The old Bachelor'* 
 to the gap ; lay down in the long grass, facing 
 the hole through which they expected him ; and 
 waiting — for they knew of his great strength — 
 until he lay prone upon his stomach, half way 
 through the hawthorn trap, which he himself 
 had cut. Then tbey sprang up, three of them, 
 and seized upon him; he struggled, but he had 
 no foothold, and they bound him with cords, 
 and dragged him out on to the farm, winding 
 the strong line round his body and arms and 
 legs, until he lay perfectly helpless. Then they 
 lifted him up, and carried him to the round 
 house, where they left him, bound, under lock 
 and key, until the morning. At ten o'clock 
 they brought him before Sir George Winby, in 
 the justice room at Stinton Hall, where the
 
 134 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 long table was covered with baize and law books, 
 behind which the justice sat in a very high 
 chair, and beside which the clerk sat in a very 
 low one. The prisoner was brought in between 
 two bailiffs, and advanced to the front of the 
 table, facing Sir George. The prosecutor. 
 Squire Leedon, stood opposite the clerk, with 
 the justice on his right, and the prisoner on his 
 left. There was much formal observance in that 
 justice room. 
 
 Sir George. — " So you are here again, Wil- 
 liam Blight?" 
 
 The prisoner made no answer. 
 
 Sir George. — "State the charge, Mr. Lee- 
 don. What is it?" 
 
 Mr. Leedon. — " Trespass, with intent. The 
 game is stolen from the farm land in a shameful 
 manner. Sir George Winby, and my boundary 
 hedge is gapped in a dozen places. Yesterday 
 morning, as I was inspecting the water boun- 
 dary, I discovered a new cutting, and knowing 
 what it meant, I last night set a watch upon 
 it; at half-past ten o'clock the prisoner was
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 136 
 
 taken in the act of entering upon the farm 
 through the new gap, with no less than nine 
 snares in his possession." 
 
 Sir George. — '' What have you to say against 
 the charge, William Blight?" 
 
 " What have I got to say ?" the man an- 
 swered bitterly. " His table and yours bend 
 with the loads of meat that stand upon them 
 every day, while the sight of meat is never seen 
 on mine. There's birds flying about the trees, 
 and running in the woods; and wild animals, 
 that you'll never want, crossing the fields almost 
 at every step; an' yet if I'd have taken one 
 'twould bin a crime. Well, I don't know; it's 
 strange, I'm livin', an' I wants food. I can't get 
 it by work; my character don't please 'em, and 
 if I takes a bird, as nobody would miss if they 
 weren't precious greedy, I'm collar'd an' locked 
 up. I think it's wrong, that's what I think, 
 an' that's what I've got to say." 
 
 Sir George. — "You held the same line of 
 defence the last time you were here, with this 
 exception, — you did not tell me then that you
 
 136 FKOM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 could not procure employment because your 
 character was not what it ought to be. Now 
 listen to me, William Blight, and bear in mind 
 that Mr. Leedon in this room is no more to me 
 than you are; you have learned, or been advised 
 by some ignorant person, or persons, that there 
 is no crime in stealing a pheasant, or a hare, 
 whenever and wherever you can place your hand 
 upon it, and that if you steal them without de- 
 tection you commit no wrong ; and this teaching 
 has transformed you from an industrious lad, 
 respected by everybody, into a low thief, sneak- 
 ing and creeping about at night, when all right- 
 minded people are at home, to possess yourself 
 of other people's property. I tell you again, 
 William Blight, that Squire Leedon's farm, and 
 everything upon it — regularly purchased and paid 
 for in hard earned cash — is as much his property 
 as the watch he carries in his pocket, or the coat 
 upon his back, and you have no more right to 
 trespass on his fields than you have to enter his 
 house, nor to take a pheasant from his farm 
 than you have to take the watch from his pocket.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 137 
 
 I am exceedingly pleased to learn that you had 
 none of Squire Leedon's property in your pos- 
 session when you were taken. Had it been 
 otherwise 1 must have sent you to London. As 
 it is, you must be locked up ten days for trespass, 
 and if, at the expiration of that time, you have 
 learned to see the justice of my reasoning, I will 
 take care that your character shall not stand 
 between you and honest employment. Take him 
 away." 
 
 '* Stay, yer honour, one moment," — the young 
 man's eyes were very angry. " Mr. Leedon, you 
 have deprived me of liberty ; this is the second 
 time. You are very powerful, but you haven't 
 got all the power, and the next time you lock 
 me up, it shall not be for pocketing a hare nor a 
 pheasant neither. Carry that home with you, 
 master, and see if it'll make you sleep any the 
 sounder. An' as sure — " 
 
 Sir George. — '' Silence, sir ! You are an 
 ungrateful, good-for-nothing fellow, and in addi- 
 tion to the ten days awarded for trespass, you 
 shall have five more for contempt of court.
 
 138 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Let him be locked up for fifteen days. Now go 
 away !" 
 
 So William Blight was locked up. At dinner 
 time, and in the evening, the keeper brought him 
 bread and water. Will grumbled, and said he didn't 
 think he should grow fat on't. The keeper told 
 him angrily that he "should have held his tongue 
 after his honour's kindness Nobody pities you. 
 The bread and water's all you'll get, for being a 
 fool; so now you can lay down and sleep on it; an' 
 perhaps you'll like your bed on the bare boards, 
 better than your breakfast, which, if you prefer 
 it, you can have without the water." The pri- 
 soner shrugged his shoulders. The jailor slam- 
 med the door, drew the bolt and locked it, and 
 left Will to digest his supper and his discontent 
 in the dark. 
 
 On the following morning, when the keeper, 
 with the bread and water, opened the round 
 house, he found it empty. The prisoner had 
 escaped ; a hole in the roof told how. So he 
 carried the bread and water back, and made his 
 report to the authorities.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 139 
 
 They hunted in every part of the village, and 
 in the park, but the search was fruitless. What 
 in the world became of him nobody knew, for 
 William Blight never troubled the authorities of 
 Whitbell any more!
 
 140 mOM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 PART 11. 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 In the private sitting-room of a house in Lom- 
 bard Street, occupied by the firm of Boyle, 
 Leedon, and Leedon, merchant bankers, two men 
 were seated. They were each busily engaged 
 examining the ledgers and bills of accounts that 
 lay strewn upon the table before them. 
 
 Large men they were, with florid complexions, 
 and great blue eyes, firm looking men ; such as 
 generally form true and lasting friendships; men
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 141 
 
 that were always in earnest; men that worked 
 without sport, and sported without work. None 
 were more active nor serious in hours devoted 
 to business, none more cheerful and glee-hearted 
 in hours devoted to recreation. As they sat 
 there with their minds concentrated upon their 
 task, the resemblance between them naturally 
 led to a supposition of close relationship. 
 
 They were Mr. Mark and Mr. Robert Leedon, 
 the elder brothers of Squire Leedon, of Ash- 
 may ne, and the junior partners of the firm ending 
 with their name. 
 
 The " House" was of established respectability. 
 The number of clerks and other persons em- 
 ployed therein, and the quiet regularity and 
 activity visible in every branch of the establish- 
 ment, denoted a large amount of solid business, 
 and shadowed forth its ever faithful follower 
 — Prosperity. 
 
 *' Seventeen thousand one hundred and five 
 pounds seven shillings and four-pence. What 
 do you make it, Robert?" said Mark, laying
 
 142 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 down his pen, and rubbing his hands, as if he 
 was pleased at having got through a trouble- 
 some task. 
 
 Eobert Leedon made no answer, but kept on 
 steadily adding sura to sum, until he got to the 
 bottom of the long column of figures. 
 
 Mark, in the meanwhile, shoved his hands 
 into his pocket, leaned back in his chair, stared 
 at the ceiling, and shewed a set of large 
 white teeth as he gave a tremendous yawn, the 
 close of which forced him forward to the table, 
 upon which he leaned his arm, and patiently 
 awaited his brother's summing up. 
 
 " Seventeen thousand one hundred and five 
 pounds seven shillings and fourpence," said 
 Robert, throwing down his pen ; " and I believe 
 that to be the correct total." 
 
 " Quite right, brother," replied Mark. " My 
 reckoning to a cypher; and now I think it's 
 about time for luncheon. What say you?" 
 
 *' Lunch, by all means. It's past twelve o' — 
 (knock at the door). Come in," said Robert.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 143 
 
 " Letter for Mr. Mark, sir." 
 
 The clerk handed that gentleman the letter, 
 and retired. 
 
 A smile came over the face of Mark Leedon 
 as he read the letter, and by the time he had 
 finished it the smile grew into a fair, honest, 
 hearty great laugh. 
 
 "Ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! read, Uncle 
 Robert, Uncle ! Ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! The young 
 dog! to presume — ah! ah! ah! — to have chil- 
 dren before either of his elder brothers — ah ! ah ! 
 — twins! Did you — ah! ah! ah! ah! — ever 
 know of such presumption — ah! ah! Only 
 married ten months, and got a son and heir, and 
 a son to spare — ah ! ah ! ah ! Why, if he keeps 
 on like this, the Leedon's will become a formid- 
 able body presently — ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah !" 
 
 The contents of the letter did not seem to 
 strike the chord of laughter in Robert Leedon, 
 for he looked calm, almost grave, when he had 
 finished reading it. 
 
 " I can see nothing here to laugh at, Mark. 
 It appears to me that one of the children has
 
 144 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 been near death's door, and I have no doubt 
 that Rachel is still suffering from the fright its 
 illness occasioned her." 
 
 " Brother," replied Mark, " you're a grave 
 fellow, sir, a very grave fellow. I can never 
 induce you to look steadily at the present. The 
 child was ill — that's what troubles you. The 
 child is well — that's what pleases me. Zounds 
 sir ! I laughed because I was tickled — tickled by 
 Jack's activity. Regular farmer. Jack ! Make 
 hay while the sun shines — that's his motto! 
 Knows there's no children in old age !" 
 
 And Mark laughed until tears ran down his 
 open, florid countenance. 
 
 " But the story about Nance Maynard and 
 the poison — do you believe that, Mark?" 
 
 " Not a sentence — not a word — not a letter 
 of it," said Mark earnestly. " I have known 
 Nance long and well, Robert, and I believe that 
 she would sooner restore life to a child of John's 
 if it lay in her power than hurt a single hair of 
 its little head. Children are troubled with 
 strange sorts of illnesses, and mothers are timid
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 145 
 
 and suspicious. At all events, Eobert, there's a 
 doubt, and I give it to the benefit of the accused. 
 What is your opinion?" 
 
 " 1 am not so unsuspicious as you are, Mark. 
 I believe that when the moment for its expres- 
 sion is called forth by circumstances, there is a 
 fearful ability and readiness for the display of 
 hatred and revenge, innate in every human heart, 
 aye, even in the most gentle and affectionate. 
 It may lay asleep, dormant for awhile, or per- 
 haps for ever, if no stirring event arises to call 
 it forth, but it is there venemous and deadly 
 even to the last. You know that Nance May- 
 nard, in her deep love for our brother, almost 
 idolised him. Could the sight of his children, 
 nestling in the bosom of another woman, bring 
 any pleasant feeling to her heart? We are 
 slaves to passion, Mark. When anger reigns, 
 love flies away affrighted. Our senses govern 
 then with the sway of despots, and the deeds 
 they prompt are done readily. Few of us are 
 ignorant of the blackness of physical action, 
 
 VOL. I, H
 
 146 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 without the control and guidance of the spiritual 
 portion of our nature. The power to govern 
 our senses and our passions is a gift so great as 
 to be nearly allied to inspiration. Few there 
 are who possess the power, and they are Great 
 Men/' 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! Robert. You think 
 too deeply ; live more upon the surface of things. 
 If we studied more the virtues, and less the vices 
 of our kind, a happier feeling would result 
 therefrom. Why are we for ever looking at the 
 gloomy side of things? Abstract thought is 
 idleness, only suitable for listless wealth and 
 dreamers. Where action is, such thoughts are 
 not. The surface is our allotted place. In the 
 depths of. all things monsters abide, and things 
 that shun the light. Leave such depths to philo- 
 sophers and fools. You are a merchant banker, 
 and the only depth with which you have to do, 
 is the depth of the gold mines in Afric South, 
 and that reminds me of the invoice for Captain 
 Joy. Is it ready?"
 
 TO THE TEERAGE. 147 
 
 '' It is, Mark. And, by the way, we pro- 
 mised to present Joy and his mate Buffet with a 
 mark of our esteem for their invaluable service 
 to the firm ; they are excellent men, with their 
 strange, Anglo-American speech and quaint 
 manners, and we have been fortunate in securing 
 the services of such honest men and accomplished 
 sailors." 
 
 " Right, brother; they are true men. I have 
 spoken to Boyle about them, and he has left the 
 matter in our hands. I will find in what ob- 
 jects their desires lay. To the mate Buffet I will 
 present my gold watch and chain. I know that 
 will please him." 
 
 "A very handsome present, Mark; and if 
 they are as successful in their next trip to the 
 gold coast as they have been in this, we shall 
 be able to do something for the Leedon babies, 
 eh! Mark?" 
 
 '" The Leedon babies? The young giants — 
 ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! — buy them monster hats and 
 feathers. You look to your immense namesake. 
 2 H
 
 148 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 George — big, bluff George is my man, and when 
 he grows up, I'll have him trained an orator. 
 I'll buy him a rotten borough, and make hira a 
 member of parliament — ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! What 
 do you think of that for a new idea, eh, brother 
 Robert?" 
 
 " Capital idea, Mark. George Leedon, M.P., 
 sounds well — very well." 
 
 " It has a beautiful sound, brother. Who 
 knows? The name of Leedon may yet be hon- 
 oured in the land — who knows? Zounds, Bob, 
 he may some day aspire to the woolsack. Come 
 along — (Mark took down his hat) — come along. 
 I'm glad I thought of it. And while we're at 
 luncheon we'll have a look at the peerage. Who 
 knows ?'^ 
 
 The brothers Leedon went to luncheon. A 
 new thought had taken possession of them, a 
 new desire — another care to mingle with their 
 joy, and vex them on their way. 
 
 Why do we strew flints upon our level path- 
 ways? Why are we so discontented?
 
 TO TnE PEERAGE. H9 
 
 II. 
 
 It was luncheon time on " Change." 
 
 At Gray's well-known city coffee house, in 
 the long room set apart for the aristocracy of 
 London city, two goodly rows of men were 
 seated ; men whose ships ploughed the ocean, 
 and whose teams furrowed the land; the magi- 
 cians of commerce and finance, who charmed 
 wealth from the bosom and the bowels of the 
 earth, who transformed beasts, birds, and fishes 
 into solid gold, who made all nature*, animate 
 and inanimate, pay them tribute ; men who had 
 secret dealings with every crowned head in 
 Europe, and who knew the exact rent roll of 
 every nobleman in England. 
 
 There was no rigid ettiquete, nor nonsensical 
 ceremony of any sort observed in that long room 
 at Gray's. Merchants went there to eat and 
 drink, and enjoy themselves. Easy and un- 
 trammeled by rule or care, they made that lun-
 
 150 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 cheon hour a time for relaxation, and that long 
 room at Gray's a temple of unity and freedom. 
 
 Had a stranger entered that room between 
 the hours of twelve and one, he would not have 
 deemed the men therein assembled to be the 
 possessors of wealth so immense, that it swayed 
 in the home and foreign markets the moneyed 
 interests of the world. Most of them were 
 earelessly and some even slovenly dressed, and 
 their conversation showed no signs of a refined 
 culture. But there was an independent signifi- 
 cance in their speech and bearing that proclaimed 
 them large units in a world where there are so 
 many ciphers. 
 
 When the brothers Leedon entered, the minute 
 hand of the old-fashioned clock told them they 
 were five minutes behind their usual time. 
 
 Alderman Eager — " Ah, Leedon and Leedon, 
 how d^ you do? News — any news? Sit down. 
 You're late; rather an unusual circumstance. 
 Gentlemen ! Leedon and Leedon, Time's most 
 faithful servitors, are five minutes behind it! 
 What say you — a fine?"
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 151 
 
 Wardmaster. — ''No innovation, Alderman 
 Eager; no excitement. To lunch discreetly is 
 no trifling undertaking. The mind should be 
 at ease." 
 
 Alderman Stout. — " True, wardraaster, the 
 hour of luncheon is too sacred for frivolous ob- 
 servances. The stomach is a stern master, a 
 tyrant if not waited upon with prompt regula- 
 rity. Sit down, Bank brothers. Have you 
 heard the report? Bolinetti, of Lisbon, failed 
 for a plum !" 
 
 Mark Leedon. — "The name is not on our 
 books. Alderman. We always look to the foun- 
 dation before we lay a single brick ; never build 
 on made soil — dangerous. Waiter, two lambs 
 and a flagon, and bring the peerage. Seen the 
 Mayor this morning, Wardmaster?" 
 
 Wardmaster. — " No, Banker; he's not visible 
 yet. We didn't break up till three. His Lord- 
 ship was seized with a sudden fit of giddiness 
 about that time; I daresay he feels feverish this 
 morhing. You left early." 
 
 Mark Leedon. — "True, Wardmaster; I
 
 152 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 never disorder my health by drinking to the 
 health of others. I like to stand in the de- 
 lightful suburb of Aldgate, and see the sun rise 
 from behind the cones of Kent. I always 
 breakfast better and work clearer after I have 
 done so. Eager ! have you heard from Whit- 
 bell lately? Sir George Winby has a son and 
 heir." 
 
 Alderman Eager. — " The heir brings care. 
 You remember the old saw. A son — so, so — 
 rather late blossom, eh? Well, better late than 
 never. Sir George has all his wine from me. 
 There is not a prouder man than Sir George 
 out of the privy council. A son ! Good ! he'll 
 want a fresh stock of wine for the christening. 
 Been on 'Change this morning?" 
 
 Mark Leedon. — "Yes, sir; there is nothing 
 stirring in the money market. The political 
 atmosphere is almost without a cloud." 
 
 Alderman Eager. — *' But there's a rumour 
 abroad of war 'twixt France and Austria. Wait ! 
 When kings grow angry, merchants meet on 
 'Change. If my foresight is not faulty, there'll
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 153 
 
 be a cloud with a vengeance before long. Your 
 ear — T sell out !" 
 
 Mark Leedon. — "Ah! whence got you the 
 information? My agent at — '* 
 
 Robert Leedon closed the peerage with a bang 
 that made his brother start and turn round. 
 Their eyes met; there was a rebuke in the ejes 
 of Robert, who said as he stood up : 
 
 "One o'clock! We're behind time, Mark. 
 Joy is waiting for us at Lloyd's ; we must be 
 off. Good morning, Alderman Eager. Gen- 
 tlemen, good morning." 
 
 Alderman Eager. — " Good morning, sir. 
 Well, Banker, your agent at — " 
 
 Mark Leedon. — " Oh, nothing of importance, 
 my dear Alderman. Good day. Joy is Time's 
 high priest; he'll not wait even for a banker. 
 Wardmaster, give my respects to his Lordship. 
 Good day, gentlemen." 
 
 "Ob, Mark, Mark!" said Robert Leedon, 
 
 when they emerged into the street; "your 
 
 thoughtless confidence will never fill the iron 
 
 chest. That secret may be worth thousands to 
 
 H 5
 
 154 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 US. If Eager had it he'd cause a panic on 
 'Change before we have time to balance its 
 chances in our cash book." 
 
 Mark Leedon. — "I admit the imputation, 
 brother Robert. Mj want of thought certainly 
 amounts to a weakness; I cannot deal in secrets 
 for the life of me. I'm glad you were at 
 my elbow; I might have got myself into a 
 scrape." 
 
 Robert Leedon. — '* Don't give the loss of 
 fortune so light a title, brother. Listen again ; 
 draw closer. The advices from our agent state, 
 that information of an amicable arrangement of 
 the differences between France and Austria, will 
 reach Whitehall on the seventh proximo. Con- 
 fidence will be restored; the funds will rise. 
 We place the whole of our stock in the hands 
 of our broker, and sell out. On the twenty- 
 first, or about a fortnight after, new difiiculties 
 will be started. The French government will 
 reject a settlement; the Austrian minister will 
 demand his passport; the gage will be thrown 
 by France. Europe will be taken by surprise ;
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 155 
 
 the funds will sink rapidly, and Boyle, Leedon, 
 and Leedon, by a splendid purchase of early in- 
 formation, will escape the storm that carries 
 thousands to destruction. The day and the 
 hour on which the French army will cross the 
 frontier has been settled in the royal studio, the 
 landscape room at " 
 
 Mark Leedon. — " There's something very 
 like knavery in all this, brother Robert. If I 
 am not a dull, thick-headed fellow, this seems to 
 me a grand political swindle, in which two cabi- 
 nets, under the guise of national dignity in- 
 sulted, betray the confidence of the sovereign 
 people; and seamen and soldiers, good men and 
 true, must forfeit limb and life to mask the 
 sharpers villany." 
 
 EoBERT Leedon. — "You made a mistake 
 when you became a merchant. The village green, 
 the quiet parsonage, and the peaceful haunts of 
 this life would have harmonised better with your 
 straight ideas, than mingling in battles of the 
 brain in this metropolis of commerce, where 
 cunning hunts with cunning to catch the
 
 156 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 changing taste of a fickle public ; where, in the 
 ebb and flood of events, the chemistry of 
 common thoughts and the analysis of common 
 actions are royal roads to fortunes. What to 
 you or me are the crimes of others? There was 
 a secret, the knowledge of which, it was guaran- 
 teed would nearly double our fortune. We pur- 
 chased, were put into possession of it, and the 
 affair is settled. What business is it of ours if 
 the scheme was hatched and reared in villany? 
 Men, great and honoured in the outer world, 
 sit round the crimson boards on which these 
 schemes are rounded to perfection. The fatal 
 words are spoken. Strong men with iron limbs 
 and fearless hearts lay prone upon the field of 
 battle ; territories change hands ; the inde- 
 pendent of yesterday become the beggars of 
 to day, and the battle braggarts who skulk 
 while others fight, laden with plunder stalk 
 boldly through the world, wealthy and 
 honoured. What if there are red stains upon 
 their money bags? What if every line of their 
 title deeds are underlined with that weird
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 157 
 
 colour which robes its priests in glory, and lifts 
 its votaries up to the highest pinnacles of fame ? 
 What do these things matter to you or me ? 
 The sins are not of our creation. We only 
 take advantage of attending circumstances, and 
 reap the fair reward of energetic action." 
 
 Mark Leedon. — *' Let us drop the subject, 
 Kobert ; I like it not. We look upon the human 
 world from different altitudes. The quiet buy 
 and sell system is more to my taste, and if it 
 is not so remunerative as secret scheming, it 
 leaves the heart light at all events. Here we 
 are at Lloyds. See, Joy is waiting for us." 
 
 m. 
 
 Charles Joy, the master — captain by courtesy 
 — of the " Saucy Dolphin," twenty-five years 
 of age, low in stature, broad-set, with an in- 
 telligent face, bright eyes, and resolute bearing, 
 accompanied by his mate, Nathaniel Buffet, a
 
 158 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 tall, wiry young man, with an unreadable face, 
 entered Lloyd's Commercial Coffee House, to 
 meet the Brothers Leedon by appointment, ex- 
 actly as the clock struck one. The bankers were 
 not there. 
 
 Captain Joy. — "Wal, Buffet, yer see they 
 ain't at the rondavoo; we'll just take a mug o' 
 nigger berry, an' if they don't heave in sight by 
 that time, we'll 'bout ship, an' steer for the 
 wharf. Time never stays, 'tain't got any half- 
 way houses." 
 
 Buffet — True, Bo! A man's only a man, if 
 he's a banker, or a bargeman, providin' he's 
 true. Time is every man's rhino ; every minute 
 lost is a waste o' provisions ; not as the bankers 
 often miss,, muster; they're generally present 
 when the watch is called, an' allers sober and fit 
 for a good look-out." 
 
 Captain Joy. — '* Right, mate; they don't swell 
 out like bloat frogs when they speak to poorer 
 folk, as many do as comes to this celebrated 
 coffee house. Nigger buyers most of 'em are, 
 it's the buyin' and sellin' the poor black var-
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 159 
 
 mint as makes 'era undervalle everybody as ain't 
 so rich as themselves. No, the bankers are 
 genuine, Mark 'specially. Think they'll let us 
 have the cannon, Bo' ?" 
 
 Buffet.—" Only one thing more certain, 
 Charley, an' that is, when we get 'em, if '' The 
 Tempest" crosses our course, we'll make 'em 
 whistle a tune she never danced to in her life 
 before. When pirates are sharp set, it's dan- 
 gerous to be without the black muzzles in their 
 locality. Yes, the bankers '11 give 'em." 
 
 Captain Joy. — " I hope they will, Buflf; not 
 that I fear the pirate varmint when there's a 
 cap-full o' wind. It's in a calm, when they take 
 to their boats, and come howlin' round us like 
 wolves with empty maws; we're powerless then 
 without the big long roarers, for muskets ain't 
 much use in close quarters." 
 
 Buffet. — " Sail in sight, Joy. Here come 
 the bankers, broadside on ; it's allers fair weather 
 wi' them brothers, an' it's pleasant to work a 
 reckonin' wi' them. Good day, gentlemen."
 
 160 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Robert Leedon. — " Good morning, gentle- 
 men." 
 
 Mark Leedon, — '* Good morning, Joy. Buf- 
 fet, we've kept you waiting. Never mind ; debit 
 the time to us. How are you getting on with 
 the ' Saucy Dolphin,' Captain Joy?" 
 
 Captain Joy, — " We're washin' the wave 
 stains off, an' physicin' her, Mr. Leedon; put- 
 ting her through a course of pitch an' paint to 
 clean her complexion; and the sail-maker is 
 cutting out new riggin', so that when her cargo's 
 under hatches, an' you come to say ' God speed 
 yer,' she'll be looking fresher and saucier than 
 ever. I think her speed improves every 
 voyage." 
 
 Buffet. -r-" Sure it does, Bo'. She didn't 
 understand the natur' of it at first; the storm 
 winds came sort o' strange to her, but arter a few 
 voyages she's gathered confidence. She ain't 
 afraid of high winds nor high waves now, an' 
 as for lightnin', she takes no more notice of it 
 than she does o' sunshine."
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 161 
 
 Robert Leedon. — " The cargo, packed and 
 branded, is all ready at the wharf stores." 
 
 Captain Joy. — " Then the * Saucy Dolphin' 
 '11 soon make a clearance. What say you, gen- 
 tlemen, will you come on board the good ship, 
 an' have a look at her?" 
 
 Mark Leedon. — " We have an hour to spare. 
 What say you, Robert?" 
 
 Robert Leedon. — " Agreed. Joy, you lead 
 the way. Buffet and I will follow — " 
 
 Buffet. — '' In their wake, Mr. Leedon. It's 
 just the last time this bout I shall have the 
 pleasure o' your company. When this full moon 
 fades, there'll be many miles o' blue ocean 'twixt 
 you an' me. The ' Dolphin' '11 be making east- 
 ward then, an' the Cape de Verd's '11 not be 
 many hundred miles from her comical snout. 
 Have you ever taken particular notice of that 
 feature on our 'Dolphin,' Mr. Leedon; if you 
 havn't, do, for if ever a fish in this world was 
 blessed with a saucy turn up pug nose, it's on 
 the face of the one that allers goes before us in
 
 162 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 fair an' foul weather. When we get on board, 
 I'll shew it you." 
 
 Robert Leedon, — "I will remind you of 
 it, Buffet; at present I have something to 
 talk to you about. The firm you serve have 
 not been unmindful of the services you have 
 rendered them, and I am desired to express 
 their appreciation of your fidelity, by present- 
 ing to Captain Joy and yourself a solid token 
 of our thanks. Let there be no hesitation 
 on your part, Buffet. You must meet us half- 
 way by letting me know on what things your 
 wishes lay, what present will best please you; 
 anything that you are desirous of possessing, 
 either for your comfort or amusement. Do you 
 know of any such thing? if you do, name it, 
 and the business is settled." 
 
 Buffet. — " Wal, yer kind, banker, it's a rale 
 pleasure, without anythin' else, to know you 
 understand us. To know that you know we do 
 our best, I'm thankful, very thankful; but while 
 you know an' acknowledge that we do our best.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 163 
 
 we know that the best is only our simple duty, 
 an^ every right-thinking, single-minded man '11 
 allers do that. I work for you it's true, but it's 
 as true I eat your bread, drink your grog, sleep 
 in the cabin o' your ship, an' you pay me the rest 
 in hard dollars, an' they 'ables me to store some 
 riggin'; all I want I has; an' if I meet a ship- 
 mate in distress, I can allers lay my hand on a 
 few yaller boys to help him. Your offer is very 
 kind, banker, but I don't know of anything 
 you could buy me as wouldn't be a waste o' 
 money." 
 
 Robert Leedon. — " Nonsense, Buffet. It's 
 the expressed wish of the firm that you are to 
 accept a token of their respect. A case of in- 
 struments, a gold watch, a sword, a matchlock, 
 a boar spear — " 
 
 Buffet. — You've just hit it There is some- 
 thing I want, but it'll come expensive." 
 
 Robert Leedon. — "We think only of the 
 pleasure ; don't let the expense trouble you." 
 
 Buffet. — " Wal, it'll give me rale pleasure, 
 Mr. Leedon, after you have spoken to Mr. Boyle
 
 164 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 and Mr. Mark about it, if you could afford to 
 make us a present of — " 
 
 Robert Leedon.— " Well, out with it, Buffet." 
 Buffet. — "- All right, sir. I was calkilatin' 
 — yes, we must say twelve — twelve'll do." 
 
 EoBERT Leedon. — "' Then twelve it shall be. 
 Name the article, Buffet." 
 
 Buffet. — " Twelve thirty-two pounders!" 
 KoBERT Leedon. — " Twelve what?" 
 Buffet. — " You see, sir, it's this. When we 
 left Elmina wi' the last cargo of gold dust, the 
 Tempest was seen cruisin' off the Cape de 
 Yerd's." 
 
 Robert Leedon. — "Wheugh! The devil 
 she was. Mark, step slower. What do you 
 think Buffet tells me? He says that the Tem- 
 pest is abroad again, cruising about amongst 
 the Cape de Verd's, crouching ready for a spring 
 upon the first head of game that passes there 
 away between England and Africa " 
 i Mark Leedon. — " Joy has been making a 
 similar statement to me, and he makes earnest 
 request that we do something towards arming
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 165 
 
 the vessel. Twelve thirty-two pounders, he 
 thinks, will be sufficient. What do you think 
 about it, Robert?" 
 
 Robert Leedon. — **I say yes, with all my 
 heart, and for the sake of Buffet here, I'll make 
 it eighteen if twelve will not be sufficient." 
 
 Buffet.—" Thanks, banker, twelve '11 be 
 enough. Mustn't forget the freight — more guns 
 less gold dust — mustn't forget the freight; guns 
 weigh heavy, Mr. Leedon." 
 
 Mark Leedon. — '' True, my friend. Robert, 
 we must give orders about the guns imme- 
 diately." 
 
 Captain Joy.— " Buffet." 
 
 Buffet. — " Aye, aye, sir." 
 
 Captain Joy. — " There she is. Look ! 
 through the trees yonder. The saucy hussey 
 lays quietly, as if she was weary and sleepy 
 after her long voyage. Forge a-head. Buffet, 
 and hail the boat. 'Tain't manners to keep the 
 gentlemen waiting." 
 
 Buffet responded, *^ Aye, aye, sir," and forged 
 a-head accordingly.
 
 166 FliOM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Mark Leedon. — '* After her next voyage. 
 Captain Joy, we must have her dry-docked and 
 overhauled completely." 
 
 Captain Joy.—" She'll not want it, sir. The 
 Dolphin is no river fish; she never hugs the 
 land long at a stretch. The borer worms which 
 colonize in river mud, don't screw themselves 
 into her keel ; they havn't time, and we never 
 find the borers in deep water.'* 
 
 They arrived at the landing place, and found 
 the boat waiting to receive them. 
 
 lY. 
 
 There were plenty of trees on Thames bank, 
 London, at that time, and the river flowed as 
 clean and sparkling past the old Tower as it did 
 past Maidenhead and Twickenham. 
 
 The " Saucy Dolphin," (laying idly in mid- 
 river between the Tower and the old wooden 
 bridge,) was not the lightsome thing her name
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 167 
 
 suggested. She was as broad as she could well 
 be, without deformity, in bows, waist, and 
 quarter. Fat and jolly looking outside, and 
 roomy, very roomy within, she was evidently 
 built less for speed than freightage, but there 
 -was a smartness in her rig, a dandyism in the 
 shine of her brass and iron fittings, in the 
 whiteness of her sheet blocks, and in the clean 
 brown of her tall, strong masts, which imparted 
 an air of jaunty assurance over all, and made 
 her seem active in spite of her great, heavy 
 looking hull and solid upper timbers. Her 
 figure head was a huge, comical looking por- 
 poise, that strangely shaped animal being (ac- 
 cording to Captain Joy) the true dolphin, to 
 the prejudice of the handsome fish, which dies 
 with colours changing; that rare finny beauty 
 (Captain Joy stoutly insisted) being neither 
 more nor less than a rank marine impostor. 
 
 The bankers went all over the ship; she had 
 been newly painted outside and in, from bulwarks 
 to ballast level. Cleanliness and order seemed 
 to be the chief characteristics of the quaint
 
 168 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 skipper and his rough mate, and when the mer- 
 chants departed, they expressed their entire 
 satisfaction with the young sailor's ability and 
 discipline. 
 
 On the following day Captain Joy received a 
 present of a complete set of nautical instru- 
 ments, and Buffet was surprised and exalted by 
 the present of Mr. Mark Leedon's gold watch 
 and chain. " The banker's own watch, out 
 of his own pocket," he used to observe ever 
 after (when any brother mariner was favoured 
 with an examination of it), "" which I never 
 wear 'cept on Fridays. It's as good as a charm, 
 for we've never had a single mishap on a Friday ; 
 since the day it was given to me, on the quarter 
 deck of the ' Saucy Dolphin,' fitting out for sea 
 in the river Thames, near the old city bridge, 
 on the fifteenth day of October, one thousand — " 
 There he invariably stopped, made a pause, and 
 then continued : '^ Wal, I forget the tally of the 
 year, but it was about the time as Bill Brittle, 
 our crack steersman, had a race with a reg'lar 
 Bow Street runner on Tower Hill, and beat him
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 169 
 
 by a quarter less four. Everybody recollects it, 
 ^cause you see, a sailor's beatin' a runner at his 
 own trade on Tower Hill doesn't happen, p'raps, 
 only once in a man's lifetime." 
 
 The twelve thirty-two pound carronades, with 
 ammunition and stores, were placed on board, 
 an old war tar was engaged as chief gunner, 
 the cargo, packed and branded, was stowed 
 away in the depths of the hold, and the day of 
 sailing arrived. The '' Saucy Dolphin " looked 
 fatter and saucier than ever, and there was a 
 sly twinkle in the eyes of the comical porpoise, 
 as if it had merry anticipations of wild rolick- 
 ing plunges in the far deep, to which its green, 
 swinish looking snout so often pointed. 
 
 Farewell ! What charm lies hidden in the 
 sound of that strange word, lifting some up, as 
 if life's elixir was transfused in its breathing, 
 and striking others down as if the sound gave 
 out a deadly poison? What spell is there, that 
 pales the cheeks where health seems everlasting, 
 that steals the mighty strength from giant 
 sinews, that locks up the floodgates of the heart, 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 or letting all run loose, floods body and brain 
 with a sense of suffocation, which leaves the 
 strong nerveless and the weak lifeless? 
 
 Farewell ! To part — to meet again. When ? 
 Where ? 
 
 Hands were shaken warmly, caresses were ex- 
 changed j stern men, with quickening pulses, 
 turned with dogged resolution to their work; 
 trembling women bowed and wept. The bankers 
 said earnestly, " God speed ye !" the anchor 
 rose, the sails fell, and the " Saucy Dolphin," 
 aided by the ebbing tide, crept slowly from her 
 old anchorage. 
 
 V. 
 
 The firm of Boyle, Leedon and Leedon realised 
 a fortune by the war between France and Aus- 
 tria, which took place in accordance with the 
 information forwarded by the bankers' agent. 
 First came the rumour of war : the funds fell
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 171 
 
 considerably, and the firm bought in. Then 
 came news of a perfect reconciliation between 
 the two kingdoms : " 'Change" was in smiles, 
 everybody shook hands with everybody, confi- 
 dence was restored, the funds rose above par., 
 and the firm quietly sold out its entire stock. 
 
 About a fortnight after, fresh rumours floated 
 across the channel; there was a new quarrel. 
 The Austrian minister demanded his passport, 
 and the French array crossed the frontiers. 
 
 Crash ! 
 
 '* 'Change" was frightfully crestfallen, un- 
 gracious ; and the Englishman's right to grumble 
 was in mighty force. 
 
 Then came the usual news: — Battle, Death, 
 Pillage, and Ruin! Fields, rich in corn, were 
 blighted ! A swarm of human locusts had 
 passed over them, and the golden grain was 
 trampled in the dust ! Village after village was 
 sacked and burned! Virtue was blackened on 
 the route of the destroyers! Mothers became 
 maniacs, and the hearts of little children grew 
 cold with fear ! 
 
 I 2
 
 172 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Twelve thousand human beings — living, stal- 
 wart, brave, and buoyant men — were slain ! 
 Five times twelve thousand souls were whelmed 
 in grief and ruin, and 
 
 A king was satisfied ! 
 
 Victorious battle planners were made famous; 
 and priestmen in sacred vestments, within 
 temples dedicated to Heaven, offered up a 
 thanksgiving — to God — for a glorious victory ! 
 
 YI. 
 
 The voyage of the " Saucy Dolphin" was pros- 
 perous; and again, time after time, she sailed 
 to and from Africa, without falling in with the 
 "- Tempest." 
 
 The firm of Boyle, Leedon and Leedon grew 
 very rich. But, every time the " Saucy Dol- 
 phin" returned, laden with gold and precious 
 freight, to swell their enormous wealth, the 
 merchant bankers were — one year older !
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 173 
 
 VII. 
 
 Four years passed away, and in the interval, 
 Squire Leedon had lost Kobert, the youngest of 
 his twin sons. Mrs. Doveton had become a 
 mother, and Farmer, then Father Doveton, in 
 his immense gladness, was more boisterously 
 jolly than ever. 
 
 The birth of that baby girl was an event in 
 Whitbell equal to a coronation, or a royal visit. 
 From afar and near came friends and congratula- 
 tions. Presents arrived by every vehicle that 
 stopped at the Cardinal's Arms, in the High 
 Street, and the Bank brothers wrote to Mr. 
 Doveton, telling him that they would make it 
 an especial occasion for visiting their native 
 village, to shew and give utterance to the joy 
 they felt in his joy. 
 
 In conformity with this promise, they wound 
 up their accounts in Lombard Street, went to 
 Whitbell, and remained there six weeks, during
 
 174 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 which time the merry-makings were greater than 
 had ever been known in the village within the 
 memory of the oldest inhabitant. And as a 
 wind up, came the christening, to set its seal 
 upon, and crown the full rejoicing. 
 
 Mr. Eobert Leedon and Mrs. Squire Leedon 
 were the baptismal parents of the little favorite. 
 And to celebrate the event, the bells rang mad, 
 merry peals, which sounded as if the zeal of the 
 ringers was electric, and glided up the ropes into 
 the bell- metal. 
 
 Great was the enthusiasm upon the occasion. 
 The villagers lined the road from the church to 
 the farm house, to get a glimpse at Baby Helen 
 Doveton, as the party returned home after the 
 christening. And they shouted — how they did 
 shout! There never was such a noise in Whit- 
 bell before! 
 
 Then followed the miraculous feasting of the 
 peasantry. Huge sirloins of beef, and large 
 joints of veal and mutton appeared and disap- 
 peared, as if they were only ghostly sirloins, 
 and shades of legs and shoulders, gliding in and
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 375 
 
 vanishing, to spoil the excellent appetites of the 
 humble and grateful guests. Gigantic pies were 
 soon dwarfed down to pigmies. Large dishes 
 of vegetables of every procurable description, 
 amongst which, perhaps, cabbage slightly pre- 
 dominated, were emptied with a celerity that 
 baffles description. The ale cans were always 
 being filled, and yet somehow or other were 
 always empty, and the village wit facetiously 
 gave the old joke of its being on 'count of the 
 leakage, seeing as all the cans had a large hole 
 at top. 
 
 The singing after dinner was indescribable. 
 The amateurs scorned to be guided either by rule 
 or measure. 
 
 The dancing — not the light, graceful motion 
 that delights fastidious city folks — ^was the real up 
 and down — toe and heel — double shuffle — clog 
 hornpipe, stepped to the most primitive — out of 
 tune — three stringed tin fiddle in the world. 
 The crack fiddler from Greenhill, a surly fellow, 
 would not attend, because Whitbell boasted the 
 best clog dancer in the two villages.
 
 176 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 The merry-making continued until nightfall, 
 and so brilliant was their monster bonfire, that 
 its reflection in the air was distinctly visible 
 from all the surrounding villages. 
 
 As a wind up to the festivities, Mr. Mark 
 presented to his little nephew, George, the giant, 
 and Mr. Kobert presented to his god-daughter, 
 Helen, the fairy, vouchers for one thousand 
 pounds each, to be funded until the children 
 came of age. 
 
 Early on the following morning, the bankers 
 departed for London in their lumbering coach, 
 from the Cardinal's Arms, amid the hurrahs of 
 half the honest rustics of the village. And 
 lastly, it is recorded, that the unusual noise 
 would have frightened the horses, and made 
 them bolt, thereby most likely causing a serious 
 accident to the brothers, if the horses, four of 
 the most serious and philosophical animals in 
 existence, had not made up their minds long 
 before never to become excited.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 177 
 
 PART III. 
 
 I. 
 
 TEXAS. 
 
 Far away — where the long waving grass kisses 
 the water in the Gulf of Mexico — where the land 
 is so low, and the landmarks so peculiar, that it 
 requires a practised eye to trace the boundary 
 line between the emerald water in the Bay and 
 the bright green shore creeping away beneath 
 its surface. There — gliding like a silver line? 
 through the beautiful prairie land of Texas — is 
 a river; we will call it The Lutter. 
 I 5
 
 178 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 About twenty miles from the Gulf, on the 
 left bank of the river, stood the village, or slave 
 colony of Lutterby, with its quaint dwelling 
 houses, and stores, oblong wooden tenements, 
 with high sloping roofs, terminating in broad 
 verandahs to exclude the heat; with doors turn- 
 ing upon pivots, and v^ith sliding panels in the 
 walls to give admission to light and air, for 
 hinges were scarce, and there were no glass 
 windows in Texas in those days. 
 
 For coolness, or economy, or caprice on the 
 part of the owner, every one of the houses was 
 painted white, and, as seen from a distance, 
 rising in the midst of the fresh green prairie, 
 the settlement had the appearance of an en- 
 campment, in front of which, the large mansion 
 of the planter towered like the marquee of a 
 Commander-in-Chief. 
 
 Mr. Level Eeach, the founder and owner of 
 the colony, was a wealthy Englishman of middle 
 stature, thin, and thoughtful. His age was six 
 and forty years. A thousand slaves, superin- 
 tended by numerous overseers — natives of
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 179 
 
 England — farmed his corn fields and cotton 
 plantations; tended his cattle; produced every 
 available necessity; and performed all the do- 
 mestic and menial offices of the colony. His 
 own shipping did the import and export business, 
 and if we except the trader — whose vessel an- 
 nually brought slaves to the station — no 
 strangers ever appeared in or near Lutterby ; for, 
 at that time the beautiful prairie land of Texas 
 was almost unknown to European adventurers. 
 
 II. 
 
 The visit of the slaver was daily expected; 
 the ship had been due some time, and the tele- 
 scope of the planter had often during the past 
 week been pointed in the direction of the 
 Gulf. 
 
 At length it was announced that the vessel 
 was entering the river. Orders were accord- 
 ingly given for the slaves to cease their labour,
 
 ISO FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 the arrival of the trader was an event that 
 always brought them a holiday. 
 
 Over the land, like a swan flying near its 
 surface, the white sails of the vessel were pre- 
 sently seen, gliding in the direction of Lut- 
 terby. 
 
 At a point where the river narrowed, the 
 sails were furled, and propelled by sweeps, the 
 ship made slow headway towards the settlement, 
 accompanied by the Lutterby slaves, who walked 
 along the river bank, watching the progress of 
 the slaver, within whose gloomy hull they knew 
 that countrymen, perhaps friends and relatives, 
 were anxiously awaiting the moment that would 
 deliver them from the sickly atmosphere of their 
 floating prison. 
 
 As the vessel glided to her old anchorage, the 
 chief superintendent was seen leaving the big 
 house. That was a sign for the slaves to form 
 lane. Shortly after him, Mr. Keach, followed 
 by a staff* of overseers, came through the gates, 
 and walked along the pathway leading to the 
 river side.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 181 
 
 He passed through the crowd, stepped into 
 his boat, and in a few minutes was stand- 
 ing on the deck of the slaver. As he stepped 
 on board, the trader touched his hat. Mr. 
 Keach nodded in return, but neither of them 
 spoke, nor was there any sign of recognition be- 
 tween them. After looking aloft and along the 
 deck, the planter motioned the way into the 
 cuddy, and preceded by the trader, entered 
 therein. 
 
 Trader (to a slave in waiting). — " Cigars 
 and rum." 
 
 Mr. Keach sat down. The trader placed a 
 register of the ages and descriptions of his 
 slaves before the planter, who began an exami- 
 nation of its contents. 
 
 The cigars and rum were brought in, and the 
 trader seated himself. Let us look at him. He 
 is a tall, square set man, with savage eyes, and 
 an expression blending cunning and ferocity 
 over a rum-blossomed face. He lit a cigar, 
 filled a large tumbler with pure rum, swallowed 
 about two-thirds of the burning spirit, blew to-
 
 182 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 bacco smoke, and fixed his eyes upon the 
 planter with a look which, in the language of 
 eyes, said plainly; 
 
 " Well ! yer high up in yer atmosphere of 
 pride, Mr. Planter, but I guess I'm many 
 lengths yer superior anyhow, and I'd much 
 rather yer infernal pride and yer ready money, 
 than a mock politeness and a bill at three 
 months. Til do yer, planter, knowing as yer 
 are, an' I'll be swung if it warn't for the dol- 
 lars, if I wouldn't plant my fist into yer ugly 
 sneering mouth, that's what I would. Yer one 
 of them heaven-bound critters, that fancy us 
 slavers beneath yer, but we're yer masters, yer 
 masters by never-ending odds, yer superior in 
 everything but hypocricy, an' yer beat us there 
 by a whole circle of chalks. Yer a nice — reg'lar 
 — conscience man, yer are, a never do wrong, a 
 saint with invisible horns, a black devil, with a 
 sanctimonious face, and a heart stamped all over 
 with dollar prints. I only wish I had yer a 
 hundred miles away at sea, where the dust 
 wouldn't blow in yer eyes. If I wouldn't
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 183 
 
 equalize yer delicate carcase into dice squares 
 with a cowhide machine, may I be smothered 
 in rum or choked with the fumes of rale Yir- 
 
 In this manner those eyes kept on cursing 
 the planter, silent but significant. The brute 
 was in a passion, for during the many hours 
 year after year, that Mr. Reach had sat in that 
 cuddy, he ne-ver lit a cigar or moistened his lips 
 with the trade glass of the dealer. He despised 
 the man for his coarse vulgarity, and he took 
 no pains to conceal it. 
 
 From the trade dealer let us glance at his 
 subordinates. 
 
 Upon the forecastle and along the bulwarks 
 they were assembled, and a rough lot they 
 were. Their complexions, tanned with sun 
 and salt water, were of a uniform old copper 
 colour. Their eyes, shifty, cunning, peering, 
 and avoiding, were as the eyes, of men con- 
 scious of ever present guilt, of men fearful and 
 abandoned. The general set of their mouths 
 was loose and heavy, lacking the signs of innate
 
 184 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 power, fixed principles, or firm manhood, and 
 the expression on their faces was sullen and re- 
 pelling. No shade was there of freedom, no 
 pleasure, no spirit-beam of joy nor calm hu- 
 manity. 
 
 They were a rough crew, without any distin- 
 guishing nationality about them; neither the style 
 of their hair, nor the cut of their greasy gar- 
 ments, betrayed any fashion. There was nothing 
 fixed or conventional about them; nothing indi- 
 cative of tribe or country. They were a wild 
 crew, whose faces bespoke them low, and whose 
 dresses bespoke them lawless. 
 
 We will not sully our pages with the conver- 
 sation of that crew, as they leaned over the bul- 
 warks, gazing upon the beautiful prairie, to 
 them dull and unattractive. No wine stores, 
 no grog shops, no gambling hells, nor bagnio's 
 were there, and minus these fascinations, Para- 
 dise to them would be a lifeless, barren land. 
 Warped by the fever heat of sensual indulgence, 
 their natures were transformed. Their lovely 
 was deformity. The low, lewd carouse, the las-
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 185 
 
 civious syren, the dice, the brawl, the knife and 
 the assassination — these were their beautiful, 
 for they were of all earth the most earthly, and 
 no single idea of theirs ever rose above it. 
 
 III. 
 
 Sitting apart from the crew, on the quarter 
 deck, a child, a boy about five years of age, was 
 twisting a piece of rope into circles and semi- 
 circles, not playfully, he was too sad to play, but 
 mechanically, for waking stillness in children is 
 unnatural, they are forced into action, and 
 except when sleeping, are seldom still; so the 
 child twisted the rope, not for pleasure, but be- 
 cause he could not remain inactive. 
 
 The seeds of thought had been early sown in 
 that child's infant mind. It was as if the stream 
 of sunny light which flows round children's 
 hearts, had been suddenly turned from its 
 coutse, dammed across or dried up, leaving the
 
 186 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 heart parched and thirsting — for the buoyancy 
 so early and so cruelly snatched away from it — for 
 the ariel gladness which illumines the eyes and 
 shapes the gleesome smiles of child humanity. 
 The fresh and pleasing independence of young 
 life had been bruised in him, until it retreated 
 altogether from his face, and lay hidden, gar- 
 nered up with his suppressed affection round his 
 heart, and in his early tasked brain. Hence 
 the glances he gave, and the words he spoke 
 were forethought and guarded, for the treat- 
 ment he received was such as often fashions 
 cunning in young minds early fettered; but his 
 mind was a rich soil, carefully cultivated, care- 
 fully weeded, and trained lovingly and highly, 
 from the beginning, until his advent on the 
 ocean. In minds thus gently tended there is no 
 cunning; the boy had none in him, but the 
 cruelty from the brute trader made him cautious. 
 And as he sat there twisting that piece of rope 
 into circles, he appeared like one whose mind 
 had grown faster than his body; a little child 
 youth, with a sweet oval face, framed in long
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 187 
 
 brown hair, wavy, but neglected; his eyes, of 
 jet black, were restless for want of love ; he had 
 a Grecian nose, and thin rosy lips which opened 
 upon teeth, white and even as children's teeth in 
 general; his face was sunburnt, but beneath the 
 overbrown lay a rich red tinting. 
 
 There he sat, twisting that piece of rope into 
 circles, and all the coaxing of all that crew could 
 not tempt hirn to mingle with them freely; 
 therefore they beat him, and called him sulky 
 brat and stubborn whelp, until his little heart 
 throbbed with the anger he dared not vent upon 
 them. So he hung aloof from them always, and 
 was never so happy as when he was by himself, 
 looking around him, out upon the sea, and upon 
 the land, and thinking, all alone. 
 
 When Mr. Reach left the cabin, the slaves 
 were ordered up; there was hurried confusion 
 then, in which the clanking of irons and the 
 oaths of the crew blended a jarring discord. 
 Dark forms came up from the lower regions of 
 that floating hell. Young men and women — 
 with bent attenuated bodies, despairing eyes?
 
 188 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 and vacant hopeless faces — whose appearance, 
 as they crawled up through the hatchways, 
 conveyed the idea of a resurrection from the 
 dead of sinful men, who had no hope in the 
 coming judgment. The light of day was too 
 strong for them, they closed their eyes in mute 
 misery; the pure fresh air overpowered them; 
 many fainted, others clung to the bulwarks for 
 support, and all the while, amid the groans of the 
 oppressed, was heard the brave curses of the 
 oppressors; the brute men who fattened on the 
 agony of their fellow creatures. It was a pan- 
 demoniac scene, which none but devils ought to 
 Avitness. 
 
 Boat load after boat load left the ship, and 
 were carried or supported to the settlement by 
 their healthy countrymen. 
 
 The cargo was landed, and Mr. Reach and 
 the trader again entered the cuddy to wind up 
 their accounts. The planter was accompanied by 
 his overseers, for he had no confidence either in 
 the crew or their commander. The business was 
 settled. The money was paid. A receipt was
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 189 
 
 not required^ and Mr. Reach, rising to depart, 
 said; 
 
 " Now, sir, I think that everything is settled 
 between you and me. Is there anytliing for- 
 gotten?" 
 
 The trader— whose conceding look, after he 
 received the cash, gave place to one of swag- 
 gering insolence, replied : 
 
 "You owe me nothing; the debt remains with 
 me. Will you take a trade glass before you 
 go?" 
 
 " No, sir !" Mr. Reach spoke sharply. The 
 idea of drinking raw rum with a low drunken 
 scoundrel rather nettled the old gentleman. 
 
 Trader. — " I didn't expect yer would, but 
 the offer is customary. " Yer've squared yer 
 bill with me, so yer can go. What I owe you 
 — an' it's a pretty consider'ble trifle — must stand 
 over, the payment of that debt isn't due yet. 
 When the settlin' day comes p'raps there'll be a 
 wrangle about it. An' now, Mr. Planter, I've 
 done, yer can go."
 
 190 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Mr. Reach. — "• What is the nature of the 
 debt due from you to me, sir?" 
 
 Trader. — " Oh ! yer want an expknation do 
 yer. Well, p'raps I'll oblige yer with it. Yer 
 know I've been to this settlement of yours once 
 anyerly for the last six years ; an' p'raps yer'll 
 also remember that upon every occasion, during 
 each visit, whenever the opportunity has bin 
 yours, yer've treated me to many a gallon of yer 
 insolent pride. I owe yer for that; an' Bully- 
 boy ain't the cove to remain long in any man's 
 debt. I'll pay you, Mr. Planter, sure as there's 
 true strength in pure rum, I'll pay you. There 
 now you can go." 
 
 Mr. Reach. — "You are insolent, sir. The 
 strength of pure rum, in which you seem to 
 place so much faith, will one day betray you. 
 In future I will deal with some other trader. 
 Your dignity shall no more be insulted by a 
 want of hale fellowship on my part. Your 
 presence in the Lutter is no further required. 
 Recollect, Mr. Trader, you come here no more."
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 191 
 
 He turned, and was about to leave the cuddy, 
 when the child we have described, entered; he 
 looked steadily in the faces of the planter and 
 his overseers, and, then in a sweet tremulous 
 voice, said : *' Take me with you." 
 
 *' Out, beggar's brat !" roared the trader, lift- 
 ing a tumbler, which he was about to hurl at 
 the child, when one of the overseers, a strong 
 man from Cumberland, caught his wrist, and 
 quietly wrenched the tumbler from his hand. 
 
 Mr. Reach. — " Surely, sir, you are not void 
 of all humanity. You cannot be cruel enough 
 to beat a child like this?" 
 
 Trader. — "Look yer, Mr, Planter, I want 
 none of yer canting humbug about humanity, 
 and that ear nonsense; the brat is my property, 
 to kill or let live, as suits me." Turning then 
 to him of Cumberland, he continued : " Yer've a 
 a strong grip, young fellar, but it isn't quite so 
 strong as a slaver's cunning. Mark it in your log 
 book. The slaver's yer debtor for a grip, an' if 
 the one he pays yer isn't as firm, it'll be more 
 painful 'tall events.*'
 
 192 FROM THE PfiASAJSTRY 
 
 "Come, trader, don't be revengeful," said 
 Mr. Reach, who had conceived an interest for 
 the child. "Whose boy is this? Where did 
 you get him? Is he for sale? Will you let me 
 purchase him?'* 
 
 The cupidity of the Trader was again aroused. 
 
 "It's English material," he replied, "where 
 I got it doesn't so much matter, I s'pose. It's 
 an article for the Turkish market; they pay 
 first price there for goods of that description." 
 
 Mr. Reach. — " What do you want for him?" 
 
 Trader, — " Three hundred dollars ; dirt 
 cheap. Just look at the eyes an' teeth ; they're 
 worth double the sum, an' there ain't a speck 
 nor blemish on the whole carcase." The brute 
 forgot the black and blue imprints of foot and 
 fist on the child's body. 
 
 Mr. Reach, without any observation, paid the 
 money, and the trader, while putting it away, 
 said : " I wish yer joy of yer bargain ; yer've 
 got a saw tempered article to make a pet of, an' 
 no mistake. I shan't be far out if I proficy that 
 he'll get a sudden transfer some of these dull
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 193 
 
 days from yer parlour to yer plantation. 
 An' now our business is settled yer can go, all 
 of yer, the sooner the better. An' the next 
 time I come here, Mr. Planter, it'll not be to 
 trade in black skins for your advantage, recol- 
 lect that; if it is may I be eternally flayed with 
 one of my own cowhides." After saying this the 
 Trader entered a sleeping den that opened from 
 the cuddy. And as Mr. Reach and his over- 
 seers, accompanied by the child, were turning 
 away they heard a bolt drawn inside, and a 
 sound of the jingling of dollars. The trader 
 had retired to gloat over his blood money, and 
 calculate his nefarious gains. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 FROM THE PEASANTKY 
 
 PART lY. 
 
 I. 
 
 BACK TO WHITBELL. 
 
 Sir George Winby still resided at Stiiiton Hall. 
 But his form was not so erect as when we last 
 watched his upright bearing, as he strolled 
 proudly through his Park of Whitbell. There 
 was a stoop in his gait, and a nervous nodding 
 of the head, which his friends regretted to ob- 
 serve. His last few years had been much 
 embittered by his son, who ought to have been 
 his stay and upholder in the present, and the 
 pride and joy of his remaining years.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 195 
 
 Lady Winby was quite well. She had wisely 
 given up the task of trying to control the un- 
 controllable boy, and very sensibly left hiin to 
 his own wild humours, and the stern upbraidings 
 of her angry lord. 
 
 Farmer Doveton and his cheerful wife were 
 just as young in spirits, and, if anything, hap- 
 pier than when we parted with them. 
 
 Their only child, Helen, the fairy of Whit- 
 bell, was in her fourteenth year. Of slow 
 growth, she was in outward appearance yet 
 quite a child. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Leedon were both ailing, 
 especially the Squire, whose broken cough and 
 crimson flush, foreshadowed England's bane — 
 consumption. 
 
 Mr. Bright, the good village pastor, was 
 hearty as ever, and still kept his establishment 
 for the education of superior boys. And in the 
 person of his sister, the Dowager Baroness 
 GetemofF, Whitbell had received another resi- 
 dent. 
 
 Her late husband, the deceased Baron, had 
 K 2
 
 196 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 fallen in love with her when she was a youns; 
 governess and occasional companion to the 
 daughter of an English gentleman travelling 
 through Eussia. In due time he married her, 
 and fiYQ daughters, the offsprings of five succes- 
 sive years, were the fruit of their union. When 
 the Baron died, he left an independence to his 
 weeping Dowager, who for three months was 
 inconsolable. At the expiration of that period, 
 she arose, sold all her property in Russia, and 
 returned to England. Whitbell, when it had 
 become used to her, would have been dull 
 without the Baroness. 
 
 For the last ten years Master Winby and George 
 Leedon had seen nothing of each other. The 
 former had been to college, from which he was 
 recently expelled fur some fault, the nature ot 
 which had not transpired. They had both 
 grown to man's estate, and fine young men they 
 were, handsome and accomplished, after the 
 fashion of their times. 
 
 Since the expulsion of Master Winby from 
 college, George Leedon had been three times
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 197 
 
 beset by strange men, as he returned home at 
 night, from visiting theDovetons and the Brights. 
 The first and second time he only escaped by 
 his superior fleetness; but the third time, like 
 a good general, he mustered his forces; an old 
 soldier, — called by the villagers, Battle Father, — 
 and young Ealph Broadsides, Mr. Doveton's cow- 
 herd, went with him; and regaled themselves 
 with the servants at the Parsonage, while he 
 spent the evening with the pastor and his 
 family. Not wishing to alarm his friends, 
 George had said nothing about those assaults. 
 He left at the usual time, and proceeded to- 
 wards home, followed at a short distance by the 
 veteran and the peasant. 
 
 The enemy was abroad! 
 
 He had not proceeded far when he found the 
 path through which he had formerly escaped 
 blocked up by three men, evidently bent on 
 mischief. When he saw them he stopped, 
 grasped the stick he carried firmly in his right 
 hand, gave a low whistle, and awaited the 
 attack.
 
 198 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 On they carae, and on came the old buffer 
 and young Broadsides. Three to three! It 
 was really pleasant, and very comical also, 
 George Leedon often said afterwards, to see the 
 sturdy old veteran cut, parry, and thrust, and 
 to hear the strange quaint expressions that ac- 
 companied every motion of his good-sized oak 
 sapling. Ealph Broadsides behaved well also, 
 but the opponent of George Leedon was the 
 first to run. When they fairly bolted, the 
 old warrior flung his stick after them, saying: 
 — " Take that, you thin-blooded light heels; it's 
 proud you ought to be of a thrashing from one 
 of England's thunder boys, and his two recruits, 
 proud and grateful to think we didn't kill you 
 outright. I'll wager my war medal," he said to 
 George, " that gold won't tempt 'em to waylay 
 you again in a hurry. Ealph, you're a trump 
 card. Give me your fist, Ealph. You'll make 
 an excellent trooper when General George gets 
 his commission." 
 
 Ealph grinned : he was a silent man. 
 
 From that night George Leedon passed to
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 199 
 
 and fro without molestation. Once he thought 
 he saw George Winby lurking about the Par- 
 sonage, but the night was dark, and the glimpse 
 he caught of the figure was too slight for him to 
 judge with certainty. 
 
 Shortly after this an event occurred which 
 created a great sensation in the village, brought 
 the two young men again in contact, drove 
 Master Winby from home, and, if possible, in- 
 creased his burning hatred of young Leedon. 
 
 On the opposite side of the river, about half 
 way between Stinton Hall and Ashmayne, there 
 was a creek running some distance inland, to 
 which, in the summer afternoons, George Leedon 
 occasionally crossed over in his boat for the pur- 
 pose of angling. It was a quiet spot, and he 
 had never mefc with any interruption there. 
 
 At one o'clock in the day George Winby took 
 boat at Stinton, and pulled up stream to Shelf 
 Bank, a point in the river below the boundary 
 of Whitbell. 
 
 At two o'clock a ftmale with veiled features, 
 closely muffled, left the village and proceeded at
 
 200 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 a slow pace by the river side to Shelf Bank. 
 There was a boat waiting to receive her, into 
 which, not without a little trepidation, she 
 stepped. The boatman escorted her to the seat 
 of honour. He then pushed the boat off shore, 
 and with well practised strokes, pulled down 
 stream, until the boat was opposite the creek. 
 A sharp turn, a strong pull; the boat sped 
 away up creek, and was soon hidden by the 
 dense foliage that grew in wild beauty on each 
 side of it. 
 
 At three o'clock George Leedon crossed over 
 to the creek with his fishing tackle. The day 
 was favourable, and as far as the weather was 
 concerned, he anticipated excellent sport. 
 
 IL 
 
 Murder! 
 
 Over the water, across the fields, and through 
 the village, the cry sped on like fire. Mothers 
 and maidens rushed to their thresholds with
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 201 
 
 horror marked upon their faces. Men gathered 
 together in small parties by the roadside, 
 moving to and fro, uncertain, ready to act, but 
 wanting a leader. 
 
 Murder ! 
 
 Until that day the dread cry had never been 
 heard in Whitbell. It was terrible in its effect 
 upon the villagers. That strange, creeping, in- 
 definable thrill that weighs so heavily, pressing 
 out the strength, and crushing down the forms 
 of the gentler sex, and creating that fierce 
 desire in the minds of men to clutch the mur- 
 derer by the throat, to tear him limb from limb, 
 and sweep him from the face of the earth. 
 Pale faces and wicked eyes were in excess there. 
 Anger was rampant that day in Whitbell. 
 
 At four o'clock the boat containing young 
 Leedon shot rapidly back from the creek into 
 the river, which he recrossed in seeming great 
 haste. As he neared the farm land, he beckoned 
 to a labourer, who approached, and assisted him 
 in bearing the body of a female, apparently life- 
 less, over the fields to the farm house of Ash- 
 K 5
 
 202 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 mayne, from which, after he had changed his 
 dripping garments, he started off with anxious 
 face and hurried steps to the parsonage. Shortly 
 after his entrance therein, a shrill scream fell 
 startling on the ear of the already excited pea- 
 sants, Mr. Bright rushed out of the parsonage, 
 with head uncovered, and wild indignation flash- 
 ing from his eyes. 
 
 '* To the Manor House !" he shouted. " To 
 the Manor House ! Justice for one and all !" 
 
 The gentle pastor was lost in the angry 
 father. He strode down the High Street, his 
 thin grey hair blown forward by the wind, 
 shouting "Justice!" The men followed him 
 with looks of determination. The crowd 
 swelled, and the sound increased, until in the 
 far off fields the labourers threw down their im- 
 plements of husbandry, and with hastening 
 steps and wondering eyes joined the lengthening 
 throng. Long before the mass of people arrived 
 at S tin ton, the sound uprising on the air was 
 heard thereat, and they who listened most in- 
 tently knew that the cry was '' Justice !"
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 203 
 
 Sir George Winby, hearing the tumult, left 
 the hall and awaited the approach of the crowd 
 on the terrace. They came, and before he could 
 make enquiry into the cause of their assembling, 
 Mr. Bright, in a torrent of indignant words, 
 preferred a charge of attempted murder against 
 George Winby. 
 
 Those who saw Sir George upon that occasion 
 never forgot the look of surprise, of shame, and 
 anger that shadowed his face as the serious 
 charge unfolded. When Mr. Bright ceased 
 speaking, the knight staggered; they thought 
 he would have fallen. It could only have been 
 by a mighty effort that he sustained himself. 
 At length, after a pause, he regained something 
 of his usual firmness. 
 
 Sir Gkorge. — " Who is the principal witness 
 against the — criminal?" 
 
 Mr. Bright. — " Young George Leedon." 
 
 Sir George. — " Send him to me. Is the 
 maiden alive yet?" 
 
 Mr. Bright. — *' She is alive. Sir George, but 
 insensible."
 
 204 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Sir George murmured, "Thank God!" He 
 then addressed the crowd in a firm tone, but his 
 face was pale as death. 
 
 "You have come to demand justice. You 
 shall have it. If I find by the evidence of 
 Master Leedon, that George Winby is guilty of 
 the crime, I will reject him. Henceforth I will 
 have no son ; I will cast him off from amongst 
 you; he shall trouble you no more. Never 
 while I live, shall he reside again at Stinton ! 
 Are you satisfied? Mortal man can impart no 
 sterner justice. I have done." 
 
 As he uttered these words, the old man turned 
 and walked slowly into the hall. 
 
 Mr. Bright had no difficulty in prevailing 
 upon the crowd to disperse. They saw the an- 
 guish of Sir George Winby, and their anger 
 against the son gave place to pity for the father ; 
 and knowing that the old knight would keep his 
 word, they went quietly away. 
 
 By that time a better feeling had come over 
 Mr. Bright. The words of Sir George, " Hence- 
 forth I will have no son !" smote him painfully.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 205 
 
 The mercy his holy mission bade him preach 
 came back to him, so he followed Sir George 
 Winby into the hall — a father, to meet a 
 father ! 
 
 Sir George Winby went straight to the 
 library, rung the bell, and when the servant an- 
 swered his summons, he bade him inform Lady 
 Winby that he required her presence, and he 
 also gave orders, if Master Leedon came, that 
 he was to be shewn into the library. As the 
 servant departed, Mr. Bright entered. When 
 Sir George saw him he started up, and angrily 
 demanded the cause of his intrusion. 
 
 " I have pledged my word that you shall 
 have justice. Is that not a sufficient guarantee, 
 without your coming here to witness the degra- 
 dation of Winby's heir, and the destroyal of an 
 old man's hopes?" 
 
 '' Sir George," meekly replied the pastor, " I 
 rejoice in no man's sorrow. The anger of an 
 outraged father overpowered my reason, and for 
 a period I forgot my sacred calling. I have 
 ventured to intrude upon you — to forgive, and
 
 206 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 to implore your forgiveness for your erring son, 
 to implore you not to cast him from you. The 
 happiness or the misery of your few remaining 
 years depends upon your action in the present 
 hour. It is a painful sentence, the words, ' I 
 have no son ! ' " 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Bright. The motive compen- 
 sates for the intrusion. I am glad now that you 
 have come; your presence will do me good. It 
 is painful when the mind is hruised to be alone. 
 I regret that I cannot accede to your wishes. I 
 must not pardon him — no ! justice forbids it. I 
 might pity, if I could not forgive, the man — 
 who — cradled in vice, walks therein every 
 minute of the years which form his life time; the 
 man whose eyes and ears have drank in nothing 
 but sinfulness, whose food is the produce of 
 crime, and whose beverage is the liquor that de- 
 bases ; the fated outcast, born in a cellar or a 
 garret, living in the crevices of cities, and dying 
 in the hulks or on the gallows — I could pity 
 that man. But I have neither sorrow nor pity 
 for the gently nurtured and educated man, who,
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 207 
 
 to satisfy his brute passion, uses his manhood's 
 strength to stain a helpless maiden. Were she 
 the daughter of my poorest tenant, instead of 
 the child of his pastor and early tutor, I would 
 consider my house as much desecrated by his 
 presence as I deem my name dishonoured by his 
 baseness; and were it not that my name would 
 become a bye- word, he should be punished by 
 the law, and even that would be more lenient to 
 him than I will be. Nay," he continued, as he 
 observed the pastor about to speak, " you would 
 urge that your child is not dead. I gratefully 
 thank my God it is so, but that she lives is not 
 by his virtue." 
 
 Lady Winby entered; she was pale, but 
 calm. After her came George Leedon; he ap- 
 peared excited, but he was firm as steel. Sir 
 George handed his lady to a chair; Leedon was 
 left standing. 
 
 Sir George. — " Master Leedon, I have de- 
 manded your presence here, only to ascertain 
 what evidence you are prepared to give relative
 
 208 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 to the fearful transaction which brands my son 
 a felon!" 
 
 George Leedon replied : — " About three 
 o'clock this afternoon, I crossed the river, 
 and went up Bower Creek, for the purpose 
 of angling. I had not proceeded far when 
 I heard a voice that struck gratingly upon 
 my ears, I knew the speaker was Mr. George 
 Winby, of the Manor House, between whom and 
 myself there is no single feeling in unison. As 
 he was hidden by the trees which grow thickly 
 on each side of the creek, I did not see him until 
 I arrived opposite the Bower, a piece of grass 
 land of a semicircular form, clear of timber; it 
 is a pleasant place in summer time, and my 
 favourite resort for angling. I then saw Mr. 
 George Winby; he was standing in close and 
 earnest conversation with Miss Esther Bright, 
 the daughter of our kind preceptor. Mr. 
 Winby appeared excited. The noise of the boat 
 gliding up the creek attracted his attention; our 
 eyes met; he started; and I shall never forget
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 209 
 
 the look of anger he cast upon me as I passed 
 them. I was equally surprised, for T had not 
 seen him since we fought in Whitbell Park; but 
 I was more surprised and grieved to see Esther 
 Bright in his company, for she is esteemed a 
 virtuous young lady by everybody in the village. 
 I do not think she saw me; her head tvas bowed 
 down. I pulled away quickly, for I knew his 
 fierce nature, and I had no desire to pick a 
 quarrel with him, so I went farther up stream, 
 and commenced fishing, and in the ardour and 
 excitement of the sport, forgot all about them. 
 Twenty minutes or half-an-hour might have 
 elapsed in that way, when I heard a succession 
 of screams from the direction of The Bower. 
 I flung my rod away, seized my oars, and com- 
 menced pulling hard in that direction; but I was 
 too late. As my boat darted forward, I saw 
 Esther Bright impelled, or flung, as it were 
 into the right centre of the stream. The water 
 is about twelve feet deep there. She sank. I 
 dashed forward, and flinging off my coat, sprung 
 into the water just as she rose upon the surface.
 
 210 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 As she was senseless, I had no difficulty in keep- 
 ing her afloat. The tide was ebbing rapidly, 
 and we were carried some distance down stream 
 by the current before I succeeded in gaining the 
 creek bank. When I had done so, I placed the 
 young lady on the bank side, and went into the 
 water again to recover my boat, which had 
 floated away down stream. When I returned I 
 placed her in it, and pulled quickly towards the 
 river. As I emerged from the creek, Mr. 
 Winby was stepping from his boat on to the 
 lawn at Stinton. He turned and looked at me, 
 and made a movement to step into his boat 
 again; but if such was his intention he aban- 
 doned it, and strode away towards the Hall. 
 I crossed the river to the farm land of Ash- 
 mayne, made the boat fast, and with assistance 
 conveyed the young woman to my home, and 
 informed my parents of the occurrence as I have 
 related it here. I then went to the Parsonage 
 to acquaint Mr. Bright of his child's danger, 
 and her timely rescue from the creek water." 
 So intent were Sir George and Lady Winby
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 211 
 
 and Mr. Bright upon the words of young Lee- 
 don, that none of them perceived the entrance 
 of George Winby. At the close of the accusa- 
 tion, he stepped forward. 
 
 Sir George looked at him angrily for a 
 moment, and then pointing to a chair, said firmly : 
 
 " Sit down, sir. You have come in time for 
 judgment. Sit down!" 
 
 George Winby.— "I will not sit down. What 
 is all this outcry about? Has my reverend 
 tutor come to demand redress because I have 
 condescended to toy with his prudish daughter. 
 Methinks the embrace of a Winby is an honour 
 she might well be proud of." 
 
 Sir George rung the bell, while Mr. Bright, 
 deprecatingly motioned to the young man to sit 
 down, but the offender turned haughtily away. 
 
 The servant entered. 
 
 Sir George. — " Tell Mr. Leonard to pay this 
 boy one hundred pounds, and then turn him out 
 of my house, and remember while I live that he 
 never sets foot in it again." (To his son): — 
 '* Go, sir! You have dishonoured my old age.
 
 212 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Go! and I pray to Heaven that I may never 
 see your face again!" 
 
 '- In truth, sir," replied his son sneeringly, 
 '' when you hold the affected chastity of an 
 artful woman in greater estimation than a 
 Winby's pride, it's time that I departed. I will 
 go forth, sir, but I will carry neither your gold 
 nor your name along with me. The ocean is 
 broad, and youth is buoyant as its waters. I 
 will go and make a name that shall not long 
 remain unknown. For your title and estates I 
 have no thanks to offer you : they will one day 
 be mine: you cannot rob me of them. You 
 have cast me off. Whence I come and whither 
 I go you shall never learn. I will see you no 
 more ; neither in sickness nor in health. And if 
 repentance comes, and your old age is lonely, 
 your summons shall not attract me to you. You 
 may live, and I will not love you; you may die, 
 and I will not mourn for you. Until then, 
 perhaps, your nice sense of honour, that 
 wrongs a son to right an artful woman, will 
 uphold, and compensate you for my loss."
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 213 
 
 The young man turned, strode lightly from 
 the apartment, passed through the hall door, 
 and went forth — into the world ! 
 
 III. 
 
 That evening it was very dark. The stars 
 twinkled afar oflf, as if they had mounted higher 
 lip nearer unto heaven, and there was no moon, 
 so that the gloom was very great, and the senses 
 of sight and hearing of night travellers were 
 summoned to their keenest display of power. 
 
 Everything in the village was still, and most 
 of the peasants were wrapped in slumber, when 
 George Leedon left the Dovetons to return home. 
 He had not proceeded far, when he felt a hand 
 laid heavily upon his shoulder, and heard a 
 voice, husky with passion, hiss into his ears: — 
 " Enemy of my life! you have triumphed. You 
 thwarted ray every boyish longing. You em- 
 bittered my whole youth ; and now, while stand-
 
 214 PROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 ing on the threshold of early manhood, with the 
 fairest prospects of a bright future all shining 
 out before me, you have crawled in like a serpent 
 to poison my atmosphere and darken my pleasant 
 way! You have borne witness, and given evi- 
 dence against me. You have triumphed, and I 
 am driven forth a wanderer upon the face of the 
 earth, an outcast, a thing without a home ! 
 Confident fool! do you think I will suffer alone? 
 No ! by the power of hatred, no ! I will go 
 forth, and although years may wither away be- 
 fore I return, my hatred of you shall not wither ! 
 Like an oak sapling, time shall give it strength. 
 It shall grow until it becomes a thing of might. 
 And then, when prosperity edges you in on every 
 side, when your heart beats proudly with all 
 man's meed of happiness around you, when your 
 life is most bright, and your sky apparently has 
 not one coming cloud to shadow it, I will crush 
 you, with a pleasure I cannot enlarge ! Eeptile ! 
 I will crush you! — crush you!" 
 
 The speaker ceased, and before George Leedon 
 could utter a sentence in reply, George Winby
 
 TO THE PEEilAGE. 215 
 
 hurried away, and was hidden by the surround- 
 ing gloom. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Within twelvemonths from the date of his son's 
 departure, Sir George was stricken down. 
 
 Again the bells rung, again the hasty foot- 
 steps traversed the corridors of Stinton Hall, 
 the twilight of life had faded, and its midnight 
 was fast approaching to Sir George Winby. Up 
 to the last moment he reserved his lofty pride, and 
 bore his sufferings as only proud, stern men can 
 bear them ; he complained but little, and shewed 
 no signs of fear when his physician advised him 
 to the settlement of his earthly affairs. To Lady 
 Winby only did he betray the gentler feelings of 
 his nature. " Do not nurse your sorrow for my 
 loss, my wife, my faithful friend," he said, affec- 
 tionately, shortly before he died; " life is a state 
 too transient for grief, and our separation will 
 be but a link of moments ; there will be no cares 
 to depress us there" — he turned his eyes up-
 
 216 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 wards, '' for pure affection is of the soul, and the 
 soul lives for ever; trust to its majesty, my own 
 beloved, and bend to the divine will of its 
 glorious Creator." 
 
 He died, and of the thousands who knew and 
 respected him, there was not one who loved him 
 but his wife, and her love was all that he re- 
 quired, the love of the true hearted; the well 
 known, the long tried, and found faithful. 
 What is all other love compared with this? 
 Children leave us and their love becomes the 
 light of others. Friends, with promises of last- 
 ing friendship — earnestly spoken and truthfully 
 meant when given — start from the platform of 
 hey-day life upon diverging lines, and part, per- 
 haps for ever; the fire of their love burns 
 brightly at first, then it pales down, time widens 
 the separation, and new scenes produce new faces, 
 the fire burns dimly then for want of presence, 
 and smoulders out — away! Oh, yes, yes; the 
 love of the one confiding loyal heart, that never 
 in our darkest need forsakes us, surpasses the 
 united love of all the friends on earth.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 217 
 
 The coffin bearing the arras and insignia of 
 his race, was set in a plumed hearse, and drawn 
 by plumed horses from his knightly home, along 
 the tree-bordered walk, and through Whitbell 
 High Street, followed by a long line of carriages, 
 to the village church. The service for the dead 
 was read by Pastor Bright, and the funeral 
 cortege returned slowly to Stinton Hall. The 
 gilded coffin was lowered into the vault, and Sir 
 George Winby slept with his ancestors. 
 
 It was not pride, nor love of ostentation, that 
 dictated the clause in his will, which made his 
 funeral a public one; he thought of his son, not 
 in enmity, nor sorrowing, but as the protector 
 of Lady Winby, his affectionate and faithful 
 wife. " If my funeral is made public" — so he 
 reasoned — *' an account of my death will travel 
 far and wide, and he will see or hear of it, and 
 return to claim the title and estates, which long 
 ere this he may perchance have wished for.'' 
 So the clause was inserted, the funeral was made 
 public, and the death of Sir George Winby, 
 Baronet, of Stinton Hall, Lord of the Manor of 
 
 VOL. II. L
 
 218 IXOM THE FEAMlflXT 
 
 WMtbdl, WIS pnUislied in eTcnr journal in 
 En^and, and becaae known in polite dideSi 
 wkererer in crrifiaed Europe, tiie SiU of 
 ^&^laB^ csFTj tibcir wealth and conrtlj presence. 
 
 A' - ^ 
 
 iirk ejes of his son read it and 
 
 g-- 
 
 i lis dark bear! rejoiced. 
 
 And 
 
 aiincL^ 
 
 3ed not to WliitbelL he 
 
 drew 
 
 k-g'- 
 
 !r!anor rentSy and in 
 
 the 
 
 dis: : 
 
 
 Eurip^, :^ 
 
 - ^3 no man better known 
 
 than 
 
 Sir George 
 
 W : Whitbell. 

 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 219 
 
 PART y. 
 
 LUTTERBT IN TEXAS. 
 
 The early supper was over in the Big House. 
 On the table in the dining room there was fruit 
 and wine. 
 
 The planter was seated in an easy chair 
 facing the windows which opened towards the 
 garden and the river. Opposite to him sat the 
 youth, Level Reach, so named by the planter, 
 who had adopted and been as a kind parent and 
 instructor to him, ever since his purchase from 
 
 L 2
 
 220 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 the brutal trader. Loving hearts had tended 
 him since then, and nothing in the colony was 
 too good for the handsome boy. The women 
 loved him for his beauty and his gentleness, and 
 the men loved him for the free and easy grace 
 with which he received their advances and in- 
 structions. 
 
 From his nurse, a simple negro woman, and 
 from the numerous domestic servants of the 
 house, he had learned to speak the African 
 tongue fluently in various dialects. By the 
 overseers he was taught — as labour, practical 
 agriculture and ornamental gardening; and as 
 pastimes, running, leaping, riding, singlestick, 
 wrestling, and other athletic sports, which 
 add strength and elasticity to the frame, and 
 light the mind with free and cheerful images. 
 But his principal knowledge was derived from 
 the teachings of the planter, who was a man of 
 deep thought, and who, in spirit, had been a lonely 
 man, until he adopted the child, and made a 
 namesake. His loneliness was broken then, and 
 his loftier thoughts, so long stored up, and so
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 221 
 
 carefully analysed were poured in conversation 
 into grateful and willing ears. 
 
 The Planter was unusually calm and thought- 
 ful; his cigar unlit, lay upon the edge of the 
 table, and a glance of anxietj/ shot across his 
 face whenever he turned his gaze upon the 
 happy countenance of the youth before hira. 
 Young Level was tall — grown up to man's 
 estate, and the heart of the Planter was troubled 
 with a fear that he might become tired of the 
 quiet colony, that he might one day express a 
 desire to leave the settlement, and go away into 
 the busy world. He feared fifty things, and 
 among them was a fear of broaching the subject, 
 lest his suspicions might be wrong, and the 
 youth should catch the idea from him. 
 Presently he lit his cigar, gazed a few moments 
 upon the curling smoke, and began the conver- 
 sation : 
 
 " Level, my son, I begin to think that I am 
 breaking up." 
 
 Level Keach. — " Only a fancy, my dear sir. 
 You walked five-and-twenty miles yesterday."
 
 222 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Planter. — " You have bit upon the cause of 
 my observation. Formerly I could walk thirty 
 or forty miles without feeling any inconvenience, 
 but now, after anything like a long walk, I feel 
 sundry odd sensations about my joints ; my body 
 seems to become heavier, and that I take to be 
 a sign of decaying strength. I am fifty years of 
 age, certainly, but that ought to be the autumn 
 not the winter of life. I must have abused my 
 physical manhood in some way, broken some 
 natural law, and now the punishment comes in 
 the shape of premature decay." 
 
 Levll — " I fear I am too inexperienced to 
 understand you thoroughly, but to me it seems 
 perfectly natural that you should feel tired to- 
 day, after your long walk of yesterday." 
 
 Planter. — " True, my son. Fatigue is the 
 certain consequence of over exertion ; but what 
 I feel is not fatigue, it is pain. We expect 
 these sensations in age, but to me they have 
 come ten years before their time, which is a 
 proof that I have been too proud and too liberal 
 with my strength ; that 1 have broken a fixed
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 223 
 
 law and suffer for it. You do not comprehend 
 me. I will explain myself more fully. You 
 must give me your undivided attention, for the 
 subject is somewhat difficult to grasp. That is 
 the reason why I have never spoken to you of 
 these things hitherto." 
 
 Level smiled and bowed acquiescence. 
 
 Planter. — " We suffer much from our igno- 
 rance of ourselves, and the laws which govern 
 us in our relations with external nature, a 
 knowledge of which is indispensable to that 
 perfect happiness which man will ultimately 
 attain. 
 
 " Insignificant as a drop of water separated 
 from the ocean, is our school teaching separated 
 from the infinity of knowledge. Language, re- 
 ligion, astronon^y, chemistry, mathematics, geo- 
 graphy, and other noble sciences, which have 
 been discovered to attest the majesty of the 
 human intellect, are taught with an earnestness 
 worthy of their wondrous and beneficial great- 
 ness. But what do we know of man, as an 
 active, intelligent, creative life?
 
 224 FROM THE TEASA^s^TRY 
 
 ''Of the meteor light shining within him, 
 brightly as the sun at noonday — above all, sur- 
 rounding and commanding all — the soul, the 
 spiritual image of the Mighty Architect? 
 
 *' Of his reflective, transparent, analysing 
 reason ? 
 
 " Of his commanding will, balancing his pas- 
 sions, controlling his senses, and repressing their 
 desire for excesses? 
 
 ''Of the subtle electric communication between 
 intellect and heart, that conveys affection's mes- 
 sages, and tells of broken laws? The fine ner- 
 vous system, over which his faintest sensatioi^s 
 glide, and thrill like dancing light? 
 
 "Or of the production, by their united agency, 
 of that perfect harmony in man which raises 
 him — great beyond all place greatness — upon 
 the summit of creation. What do we know? 
 
 " These and many other things are never 
 taught in schools; things of great beauty, too, 
 and usefulness, things which few of us learn, 
 until they come to us with a shock that strikes 
 us down, makes us thoughtful, and ultimately
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 225 
 
 teaches us that there are laws more binding, 
 more imperative, and more beneficial to mankind 
 than wise men ever framed. For the laws of 
 men are mutable, changing to suit progress and 
 emergency, and men may evade them; but the 
 law^s of nature are immutable, fixed as the light 
 of heaven, and men evade them not; they must 
 obey them, or suffer penalty." 
 
 Level. — " Is the knowledge of these laws 
 difficult to attain, that so few men understand 
 them?" 
 
 Planter. — "No, my son, their existence is 
 
 "well known to men of thought, and in part to 
 
 the masses. It is less our want of knowledge 
 
 than our want of obedience that punishes us. 
 
 That fire burns and water suffocates is children's 
 
 knowledge, and yet how many adults perish by 
 
 burning and drowning. How many suffer 
 
 through their careless defiance of heat and cold. 
 
 How many undergo physical tortures through 
 
 their excesses in meats and drinks, without a 
 
 forethought of the stern laws which punish so 
 
 severely. This utter thoughtlessness is the 
 L 5
 
 226 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 cause of almost all the miseries of man. If 
 early thoughts relative to these laws were in- 
 stilled in childhood, and formed a part of our 
 rising studies, mankind would become happier. 
 If we felt the shame before we uttered the lie, 
 or felt the degradation before we did an act of 
 meanness, we should neither say the one nor do 
 the other; or if before we spoke or performed, 
 we thought of the result of such speech or 
 action, we should save ourselves and others 
 much pain. The immense power we possess to 
 check these evils ought to be known wherever 
 stand school and scholar. Man might then 
 become wiser and better, might approach nearer 
 to the Creator's design, the disciple of living har- 
 mony, the mighty ruler of that rare mystery — 
 himself. There are not wanting many by whom 
 the dignity of manhood is thought a noble study 
 — men who pass through the trials of life with- 
 out bowing to temptation, who pass over the 
 crooked ways and quicksands of commerce with- 
 out staining their minds with a single meanness 
 or a single fraud, and become wealthy in the
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 227 
 
 midst of traders who do these petty frauds so 
 commonly that the evil has almost ceased to be 
 looked upon as crime. But the men who prac- 
 tise them have not one free thought. They 
 smile and cringe in their struggles to reach the 
 class above them, only to find when they have 
 entered it, a class above them still. They also 
 may grow rich, their garments may be super- 
 fine, and they may be held in good repute ; but 
 as they have stooped beneath their manhood to 
 practise deceit, so they must suffer the penalty. 
 The high sense of honour, that lofty power, 
 which assures the gaze of man upon the face of 
 all men and all things, will never yield to them 
 its secret of the greatest and purest of all 
 human pleasures, intellectual freedom." 
 
 Level. — "Is ambition — is the desire to rise, 
 bad, father?" 
 
 Planter. — " To rise or to fall is not ignoble, 
 if we rise or fall with dignity, dealing fairly in 
 our progress with our fellow men, relying on 
 the integrity of our purposes, on our sense of 
 right and our love of truth and justice."
 
 228 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Leyel. — " To me there seems nothing ar- 
 duous in this social ascent. Why then, father, 
 is it so difficult for others?" 
 
 Planter. — " You have never undergone the 
 ordeal of a trial, my son. Progress and civili- 
 zation have not yet turned these quiet prairies 
 into a trading mart, but they must ultimately 
 reach even this remote spot, and with their 
 pioneers will come a lengthened train of good 
 and evil, in which there will be a greater 
 number of low minds than lofty ones, more imi- 
 tative than independent action, more tempta- 
 tion, and more crime than could possibly exist 
 in a small colony like this." 
 
 Level. — " The picture is not very fascinating. 
 It would scarcely tempt one to leave Lutterby, 
 with its cheerful labour and exhilarating pas- 
 times, to mingle in the crowds you term society, 
 for where the balance is in favour of evil, good 
 can have but little chance of competition." 
 
 Planter. — ''You are wrong, my son; that 
 balance is one of the most beautiful of natural 
 laws. As, before the rich corn waves above the
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 229 
 
 soil, manure is spread over the land, so before 
 society settles down, the refuse passes over the 
 settlement. In numerals the men who practise 
 fraud designedly, to amass wealth or power, are 
 frightfully in excess of upright, self-reliant men ; 
 but weighed in the balance, evil against good, is 
 as thistle down against virgin silver, quantity 
 against quality. One good, earnest man any- 
 where is worth a thousand of the drivelling 
 cyphers who fawn and cheat and crawl through 
 life and vanish. Evil is useless, dissolving, 
 evanescent. Good is firm, enduring, everlast- 
 ing. It is a pleasant sight to see the man in 
 whom thought has enthroned the perfect balance^ 
 going through life's -journey with that loftiness 
 of mind, and that singleness of purpose which 
 proclaim the original man. There is and there 
 always have been such. If we travel back into 
 the past, if we search for them in the records 
 of ruined cities and dead nations, we behold 
 them standing out from all other men, cham- 
 pions of orders, barriers against the ocean of 
 misrule, checking Us inroads, and protecting so-
 
 230 FROM THE lEASANTRY 
 
 ciety from its inundations; defending truth 
 against all comers, great and godlike, slirinking 
 from nothing, fearing nothing, and facing death 
 itself if it stood in the way of their firm man- 
 hood and their free souls; stars in the sky of 
 humanity, models and reproofs for all men in 
 all ages. But the millions of men who peopled 
 the earth in their days, what were they ? Foot- 
 stools for the feet of cunning men and juggling 
 knaves. Their manhood, their birthright, was 
 forfeited by fear, and for that forfeiture their 
 strength was demanded as a right, and the 
 fruits of their labour filched from them by the 
 bold bad men of all times. That is the reason 
 why we find recorded in history so many great 
 names and so few good ones The butterfly 
 historians who fluttered around courts, fearing 
 a king's frown rather than God's anger, gilded 
 their master's crimes, and passed them down as 
 golden virtues to posterity; but justice is pa- 
 tient, untiring, and keen-sighted, and time 
 wears off the gilding. '' 
 There was a pause.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 231 
 
 Level Eeach, in contemplation of the images 
 called forth by his preceptor, remained silent. 
 The planter re- lit his cigar, leaned back in his 
 chair, and after smoking quietly for several 
 minutes, resumed the conversation. 
 
 " When I was your age, my dear Level, I was 
 neither so light-hearted nor so free as you are. 
 I knew nothing of these great truths then, for 
 I was poor, friendless, and uncared for by a 
 single human being. I remember, just after I 
 entered into my sixteenth year, standing one 
 cold winter's morning by the Tower stairs, on 
 Thames bank, England; I was faint, hungry, 
 and weary, for I had not tasted food for eighteen 
 hours, and I had slept in the open air. I recol- 
 lect the dark tiioughts, which, arising in my 
 mind, prompted me to hide myself and my 
 miseries beneath the cold, dark river. I re- 
 member turning away, to resist the black 
 temptation, just as a young sailor approached 
 the stairs and hailed a boat to take him to his 
 ship. Then a new prompting came; I solicited 
 alilis. The young man looked at me for a few
 
 232 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 moments, and then asked me if I wanted em- 
 ployment. I answered in the affirmative. Say- 
 ing 'follow me,' he stepped into his boat. I 
 followed. We were pulled to a ship lying off 
 Deptford, and I became a sailor. In two years 
 from that time I was promoted to boatswain. 
 In four years I was third mate; and at twenty- 
 six years of age — ten years after I entered that 
 ship as a common sailor — I had gained the con- 
 fidence of the owners, and was appointed her 
 commander. During all that time, and since 
 then, no temptation has ever induced me to 
 waste a single shilling. Money grows fast when 
 it is well planted. I became rich, and with 
 wealth came the query, what shall I do with it? 
 I have no kindred, and I had no home but my 
 ship. The question was soon answered : I one 
 day accompanied a brother captain on a visit to 
 a friend of his, a planter at Guadaloupe, and 
 for the first time in my life witnessed the cruelty 
 to which slaves were subjected on the plantation. 
 I thought of the Tower stairs, and remembered 
 the bitterness of want. I made enquiries, and
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 233 
 
 learned that that planter was not worse than his 
 fellow planters; and I made a resolution then 
 and there to save a few degraded Africans from 
 such a hard dark life. Acting on that resolve, I 
 came to Mexico, and purchased this section of 
 the prairie from the government. When the 
 boundary was fixed I sailed to England, where I 
 sought for and found a dozen poor but active 
 men to suit my purpose. I laid in a large store 
 of provisions, grain, and agricultural imple- 
 ments, and with my form labourers, house car- 
 penters, and smiths, set sail for Africa, and after 
 purchasing as many slaves as my ship could ac- 
 commodate, I returned to Mexico, and founded 
 the colony. As you have known it, so it has 
 always been; no flogging, no degradation; and 
 yet I grow wealthier daily, and my slaves can 
 laugh, and be gay. They do their labour cheer- 
 fully, and I supply their wants. I encourage 
 marriage, and enforce domestic cleanliness; and 
 out of the wealth I reap from their industry, I 
 can often spare a few hundreds to increase the
 
 234 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 comforts of their homes, and make their slavery 
 as light as is compatible with security. But if 
 this weakness, this pain after slight exercise 
 continue to hang about me, I shall have to lay 
 up in ordinary, and employ a deputy to superin- 
 tend and promote the prosperity of the colony, 
 for it would be cruel on my part to sell them 
 again and retire on the wealth they have assisted 
 me to accumulate, after having taught them to 
 appreciate that comparative freedom which in 
 all human probability they would not receive 
 elsewhere. This is what pains me more than 
 my failing strength. Now, if I was assured 
 that you would remain here, that pain would be 
 alleviated. I have watched you well, my son, 
 from your childhood upwards, and I believe your 
 sense of right to be so firmly based, that no 
 prosperity could warp it. Power is a dangerous 
 weapon in the hands of a man disposed to 
 cruelty or selfishness, and 1 would sooner that 
 every one of them preceded me to the grave, 
 and I was left alone on this fair Texan prairie,
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 235 
 
 rather than know that they were carried away 
 and treated as were those whose misery gave rise 
 to the founding of this colony." 
 
 Level Keach stood up, and taking the hand of 
 the planter between his own, said: — 
 
 " Father, never let that pain trouble you any 
 more. When my childish heart was all storm 
 and confusion, when niy eyes were void of tears, 
 for I had cried them all away, you came ! I 
 have been very happy since then, and now, and 
 henceforth, I shall have no joy so pure, as will 
 spring from the knowledge, that my aid towards 
 the accomplishment of any wish that you may 
 have at heart, will give you pleasure. Thus it 
 shall be ; so long as it is God's good will, and 
 you desire it, Lutterby shall be my home, and 
 your health and comfort my greatest earthly 
 wish/' 
 
 Planter. — '* Thank you. Level. Your deci- 
 sion has removed the cause of my greatest 
 anxiety, and when it pleases the Father to call 
 my spirit to him, I shall die happy in the know- 
 ledge that I leave you as my successor. It is
 
 236 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 getting late, my son. Think over the subjects 
 of our evening's conversation ; study your health ; 
 think before you act ; and uphold the dignity of 
 manhood. All meanness sinks beneath it, nor 
 will arrogance ever attain its lofty eminence, and 
 in the midst of all these things, when your joys 
 are greatest, or when sorrow tests your strength, 
 whether you sit in the high place, chief and 
 absolute, or walk with head bowled down, op- 
 pressed, perchance the servant of a worthless 
 man, remember the inner light, the lamp that 
 burns for ever. Where it is, there is wealth, 
 there is freedom! Good night, my son; be 
 thoughtful always, and great in excellence." 
 
 II. 
 
 Young Master Reach was about eighteen years of 
 age, when the Planter, one morning after break- 
 fast, said to him : " Level, would you like to be 
 married?" 
 
 '* To Cora ?" enquired the young man, archly.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 237 
 
 Planter. — *' Just the name I would have 
 uttered if the selection was my choice. What 
 time is it? Just eight. Forty-five miles. We 
 can get there by one, just in time for dinner. 
 It is a fine day; we may as well settle the busi- 
 ness at once." 
 
 "Stay, sir; one moment. I have only been 
 twice to Mr. Maracora's, I must know the 
 young lady better. Wives are taken for life, 
 and life sometimes extends over a great number 
 of years. Before you enter upon the subject of 
 marriage to her father, give the young lady an 
 invitation to Lutterby. If her inclination 
 points this way she will accept it. My wife 
 must be a diamond, and before I become its pos- 
 sessor I will find out if there are any flaws in it." 
 
 Planter. — *' Good; so you shall my boy. I 
 will urge the invitation; she can bring her 
 women servants with her, and if you suit each 
 other she can remain here altogether. As the 
 distance is pretty stiff I shall mount Bowling 
 Green. What will you ride ? Here, Willy" — . 
 a negro ran up to him.
 
 238 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 " Level. — " Prairie Bird, sir." 
 
 Planter. — " Tell Jem to saddle Bowling 
 Green and Prairie Bird for a long journey." 
 The negro giinned and ran off. " If you wish 
 to make any alteration in your toilet, you must 
 look sharp." 
 
 Level. — " No, sir. I shall go as I am. If 
 Cora visits here she will see me oftener in this 
 costume than any other. But I must not forget 
 the flask and wallet, or you will miss your lun- 
 cheon." 
 
 III. 
 
 Mr. Maracora, a Spaniard, was a proud man, 
 whose greatest boast was his relationship to 
 royalty. His great great grandmother^s niece 
 had a cousin (far removed), who was married — 
 illegally — ^to a prince of the blood-royal of Spain 
 and that very ancient transaction had been 
 handed down by the Maracora's from father to 
 son, until it became their fixed belief that they
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 239 
 
 were intimately related to the reigning sove- 
 reign of Spain. It was a sad drawback to 
 the amiability of our Mr. Maracora, who — libe- 
 ral on every other subject, hospitable and honor- 
 able in all his business transactions — would 
 never admit the equality of his guests with him- 
 self. He was a fur and skin merchant, and his 
 stores, forty-five miles miles from Lutterby, were 
 on the same side of the river. His dwelling 
 house, or Pallazza, as he called it, was a long 
 wooden tenement of large dimensions, gor- 
 geously furnished in the Spanish style, and his 
 head servants (slaves) were, upon all great oc- 
 casions, dressed in royal livery. His wife had 
 died a few years after her marria,ge, leaving 
 him one child, a daughter, upon whom his all of 
 earthly affection was centred. 
 
 About twelve o'clock on the day that the 
 planter mounted Bowling Green to ride over 
 to the Pallazza, Mr. Maracora, dressed in 
 the highest style of the Spanish fashion, was 
 walking to and fro in his drawing-room. Con- 
 stant thoughts of royalty had made him stately,
 
 240 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 his head was slightly raised, and his step was 
 measured and formal. 
 
 Cora Maracora was seated at her embroidery 
 frame, by the open window, humming and sing- 
 ing, as she plied her needle and beat time to the 
 music with the prettiest feet in Mexico. 
 
 Cora was about tlie middle height of women, 
 seventeen years of age, wild and shy as a forest 
 bird. A brunette, with bright hazle eyes, and 
 black hair combed back from her forehead and 
 falling in wavy masses behind her. Her coun- 
 tenance — more pleasing than handsome— carried 
 that free and beautiful expression of careless joy 
 that exists only before the first tempest sweeps 
 over the human heart, when life is morning, 
 fresh with glowing sunshine. She wore an 
 ample purple skirt, trimmed with a border of 
 the lightest blue, that fell nearly to her ancles. 
 A delicate rose-coloured boddice, open in front 
 and bound with narrow crimson edging, fitted 
 tightly round her body, rising to her neck, and 
 falling below her waist, round which it was 
 fastened with a silver girdle. The sleeves were
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 241 
 
 long, and tight with narrow plaits from the 
 wrist to the elbow, above which they swelled 
 out to the gatherings at the shoulder. Her 
 habit shirt — of the finest canabric — was orna- 
 mented with a close row of the tiniest silver bell 
 studs. Embroidered slippers covered her small 
 feet, and a blush rose fastened in her right side- 
 hair completed her adornments. 
 
 And so she sat and sung on that day, while 
 her father walked up and down, with his arms 
 across his breast, and his thoughts divided, be- 
 tween fanciful pictures of royal pageantries at 
 the palace of Madrid, and his daughter's music. 
 Suddenly Cora left off singing in the middle of 
 one of her sweetest melodies; it was unusual. 
 
 Mr. Maracora started, and stood still. 
 
 ^' Father," said Cora, in answer to his look of 
 surprise; " when is Mr. Reach coming to visit 
 
 us r 
 
 Mr. Makacora. — " The gates of the Palazza 
 are never closed ; Mr. Reach has free ingress. 
 When the gentleman's inclinations turn this way- 
 he will come." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Cora.—" But suppose his inclinations do not 
 turn this way, how then?" 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " Ah ! true ; how then ?" 
 
 Cora. — " Well, then we must go and see 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " Mr. Reach has no coat- 
 of arms, no livery ; he dwells in a barn, my love. 
 The style is plebeian. No, it's altogether out of 
 the question. Mr. Eeach may come here when- 
 ever he pleases , I can welcome him ; but as for 
 our going there, pray don't entertain the idea." 
 
 Cora. — " But I do entertain the idea, father: 
 I cannot help entertaining it. It will not leave 
 me ; it is very impertinent of the idea to force 
 itself upon me in this odd way, but I really 
 cannot help it." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " Then we must call in the 
 aid of Time. Time is—" 
 
 "The present moment," broke in Cora; 
 " always stern, never stationary, never more 
 than a moment old; it no sooner comes in at 
 the door, than it flies away out of the window. 
 Mr. Eeach when he comes always remains a day
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 243 
 
 or two, and makes quite a change in the Pal- 
 lazza." 
 
 The father looked suspiciously at his daughter, 
 and said: 
 
 " Tell me, Cora, is it the elder or the younger 
 Mr. Reach whom you are so anxious to see?" 
 
 Cora. — " I think I love them both, sir. With 
 the elder, the feeling is calm and settled; with 
 the younger, it is active, bounding to and from 
 him, springy, elastic, indescribable, but very 
 pleasant. Formerly, whenever I thought of Lut- 
 terby, Mr. Reach was always in the foreground of 
 my thoughts ; but latterly, the young man comes 
 before the elder, like a sunbeam, so that 1 can 
 only see his father through him. And yet I 
 like them to come together. If they visited 
 separately, I think I would prefer the visits of 
 the elder; I feel more at ease with him. The 
 young man makes me feel strangely; I flutter, 
 and an idea that I am not his equal comes — " 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " Silence, child ! His equal ! 
 How dare you talk thus? Not equal to the son 
 of a common planter? Do you forget that your 
 
 M 'I
 
 244 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 great great grandmother's niece's cousin was a 
 princess of the royal house of Spain? Do 
 you-" 
 
 Cora. — "Do you not anger, father. The 
 young man knows nothing of all this. I was 
 trying to explain my feelings to you. I cannot 
 help them, and as for my great great grannie's 
 niece's cousin, you might in truth as well remind 
 me of dear old ancient Madame Eve and her 
 kingly Adam, from whom in gospel truth we are 
 all descended, you, my father, Mr. Eeach, the 
 young man, and — There they are ! Run away 
 father. That is he — they I mean. Run away. 
 How fortunate. Go and welcome them, papa, 
 do go. If you will not I — " 
 
 She said no more, but darted from the room, 
 flew across the lawn, and went out on the open 
 prairie to meet them. 
 
 Mr. Maracora stood at the entrance, but made 
 no further advance. The gentlemen entered the 
 portico. Mr. Maracora returned their bows, 
 and after passing friendly greetings, they retired 
 to their rooms to prepare for dinner.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 245 
 
 When that social meal was over, Level Reach 
 and Cora, leaving the elders to their cigars and 
 conversation, went into the garden. 
 
 Mr. Reach. — " Have you heard from Europe 
 lately, Mr. Maracora?" 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " Not since you were last 
 here. How long ago is that?'^ 
 
 Mr. Reach — " Six months. How time flies. 
 The interval seems scarcely more than as many 
 weeks." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — *' Time passes unnoticed by 
 active men. It is only the idlers who watch and 
 quarrel with it, and endeavour with ill success, 
 to kill it. To them time is perfect misery; it 
 hangs about them, weighs them down, and often 
 drives them to practices which destroy happi- 
 ness, and shorten life." 
 
 Mr. Reach. — " True, sir. Industry is the tax 
 that health demands from all mankind. If they 
 pay it regularly, her bounties are royal compen- 
 sations. If they withhold it, the compensation 
 becomes forfeited. Industry is freshness and 
 motion ; Idleness is rust and stagnation. If the
 
 246 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 idle ones of earth knew anything of the rewards 
 bestowed by Health upon her tax payers, Idleness 
 would in time become only an ancient name." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — "• There is something grand 
 in ancient names, Mr. Reach. We must not 
 apply the term to an extinct principle so ignoble 
 as idleness; ratlier let us say that the vice might 
 in time become unknown, obsolete, obliterated. 
 Ancient names are sacred things, sir; ancestry 
 and pedigrees are the pillars which support 
 society." 
 
 Mr. Reach. — " For society, say a throne, and 
 I will echo your assertion. It follows as a 
 natural sequence that old families, men with 
 ancient names and lengthened pedigrees, should 
 support the throne from which all titles are de- 
 rived. But how about the pillars themselves? 
 On what are they supported? Is not society, 
 the industrious millions, the foundation from 
 which the noble-minded ascend to found a 
 family, and to do a sovereign's bidding? If to 
 be born great and wealthy is noble, to become 
 great and wealthy must be noble also. A title of
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 2i7 
 
 nobility may be obtained in a single lifetime by 
 one who has risen from obscurity, and his de- 
 scendants for thirty generations, born noble only 
 through his nobility, may not produce so great 
 a man as he, the obscure founder. Integrity, 
 Fortitude, Action, and Intrepidity, are the roots 
 from which spring all greatness, all nobility; 
 and no class, nor unit of a class, will ever hold 
 them a monopoly." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " Royalty is great beyond 
 all nobility. The kings of Spain — " 
 
 Mr. Eeach. — " Were doubtless very royal ac- 
 cording to custom. What is royalty but a 
 symbol? What is a crown, sceptre, and throne 
 but the insignia of office? Or what is kingship 
 itself but a gift^ an election^ a recognised succes- 
 sion^ or an usurpation ? As a lordship is the gift 
 of a sovereign king, so a kingship is the gift 
 of a sovereign people. It is for this reason that 
 a virtuous monarch is a nation's glory, and a 
 vicious monarch is a nation's shame." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " You are republican in 
 spirit, Mr. Reach."
 
 248 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Mr. Eeach. — '' Wrong again, sir. I am 
 royalist to the backbone, loving pure royalty 
 and pure nobility. My country has a free con- 
 stitutional government, and it is our boast that 
 Englishmen are free, as far as freedom is com- 
 patible with justice to all. But I do hate, and 
 every Englishman hates with all his power of 
 hatred, the royal despots whose regal splendour 
 is the gift of the men they brutalise with all 
 the rigour and cruelty of despotism. Such 
 royalty I despise, because it is a lie and a 
 burlesque. There is no nobility in brute force; 
 no royalty in oppression!" 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " Kings are sacred, be they 
 good or bad." 
 
 Mr. Reach. — "I deny it. There can be 
 nothing sacred in crime, in riot and debauchery, 
 in a power wielded only for love and lust of 
 self- gratification. Are kings sacred who destroy 
 and oppress their subjects, who debase them- 
 selves with low and vulgar excesses, and who, 
 behind the shield of royalty, degrade the dignity 
 of manhood, and the regality of thrones? Are
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 249 
 
 wholesale murder and grim robbery and brutal 
 violence sacred? No! Whether they are 
 enacted by king or subject, they are still 
 crimes, and no criminal, noble or ignoble, can 
 have any affinity with things sacred. Even 
 you, that own no earthly responsibility, if you 
 admit the sacredness of truth and justice, will 
 not oppress the people who assist you in your 
 trade." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — *' My labour is a profession, 
 not a trade, Mr. Eeach; a profession closely 
 allied to that of great painters and sculptors. 
 True genius is required in the selection of many 
 coloured and costly furs; the occupation is 
 purely intellectual, and if I accumulate wealth 
 by the fruits of my studies, I only follow the 
 example of great and brilliant men." 
 
 Mr. Reach. — *" Terms are of little conse- 
 quence, my friend, so long as our labour is 
 honestly productive, and tends to make us 
 happy, its name is of no importance." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " Terms are everything, 
 sii". Labour has its gradations; intellectual 
 M 5
 
 250 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 produce is the highest order of labour, physical 
 produce the lowest order. Kings and princes 
 are adorned with the results of my studies, and 
 high church dignitaries do not class the rich 
 furs which beautify their sacred robes amongst 
 the vanities of life.'* 
 
 Mr. Eeach smiled and replied : 
 
 " The furs are very beautiful and of great 
 value. I should like to be present at a market. 
 Have the traders been across the prairies lately ? 
 I believe they generally come before the setting 
 in of the rainy season." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — '^I expect them daily; they 
 invariably send forward a courier to announce 
 them. "When he arrives I will send over a foot- 
 man with the intelligence. Miss Maracora and 
 myself will be pleased with your society during 
 their stay," 
 
 Mr. Eeach. — *' Thank you, sir. I will 
 accept the pleasure. Miss Maracora has quite 
 grown to woman's estate, sir. I presume she 
 will soon be leaving you?" 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — '' I have nevc^r bestowed a
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 251 
 
 single thought upon such an event. The Pal- 
 lazza would be lifeless without her. Even the 
 prairies, which I hold to be the fairest land on 
 earth, would lose their charm for me if Cora 
 went away from them, and if I was desirous of 
 Seeing her married, where could I find her 
 equal in this distant country, where no royalty 
 exists?'^ 
 
 Mr. Eeach. — '• Patience, my good friend. 
 You are aware that I do not lack wealth, 
 Boyle, Leedon, and Leedon, the great English 
 bankers, can shew the credit sheet of my ac- 
 count, with a balance of one hundred and Mty 
 thousand pounds. My land here reaches from 
 the Lutter Falls to the Summer Shallows, north 
 and south ; and from the river to the Four Tree 
 Island west. Your land meets mine at the 
 Lutter Falls, and extends north to Battle Point. 
 Now, the family that possesses all this extent of 
 territory will not, in four or five generations, be 
 thought the least in Texas. I consider Level 
 Keach, with my property, quite equal and eligible 
 for a marriage with Cora Maracora, and I think
 
 252 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 everything properly summed up, that the match 
 would not be an ill-advised scheme." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " Level Reach is not Cora's 
 equal, sir. You forget that my child is of the 
 blood royal of Spain; excess of wealth can 
 never compensate for poverty of blood." 
 
 Mr. Reach. — " I grant her the invisible su- 
 periority, sir, for you will at least admit that 
 royal blood stamps no external impress on its 
 possessor, and if their posterity should ever be- 
 come chiefs in Texas, will they not also be, the 
 old — the ancient family^ the point on which you 
 are so tender ? Will not their pedigree be the 
 longest in the land? and the knowledge that 
 they inherit royal blood direct from your ances- 
 tors of Spain, will not lessen their dignity in 
 the eyes of subjects, most of whom love pedi- 
 gree in their chieftains." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " My name must not be 
 blotted out when I am gone. The man that 
 weds Cora must hand it down throughout his 
 line. That shall be the first clause in the agree- 
 ment."
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 253 
 
 Mii. Reach. — '' Level Keach Maracora. The 
 blending is not very euphonious, but their chil- 
 dren may be differently christened. Well, I 
 agree to that clause." 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — "Level Reach Maracora, 
 Governor-General of Texas, Prince of Texas, 
 Protector of Texas, King of Texas. The 
 last is very euphonious. Don't you think so? 
 Well, I will consider about it. Cora's high 
 birth requires some consideration. Level Reach 
 Maracora, King of Texas and its dependencies. 
 It may be so. Yes. I am of your opinion, Mr. 
 Reach; the match is certainly eligible. The 
 royal blood of Spain may yet find renewal in 
 this fair land of Texas, and our descendants 
 may in the course of time be independent 
 monarchs. Who knows? Who knows? Let 
 us join the young people in the garden." 
 
 Mr. Reach. — "Hold! One minute. Free- 
 dom of choice on their part, and no coercion on 
 ours. Is that agreed upon?" 
 
 Mr. Maracora. — " I love my child too well
 
 254 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 to coerce her in anything that will press a single 
 shade of sorrow on her heart." 
 
 Mr. Reach. — '* Nobly spoken, sir. We think 
 alike in that respect, at all events. Now let us 
 go." 
 
 IV. 
 
 The garden of the Palazza, covering a quarter 
 of an acre of ground, was kept in beautiful order. 
 Its boundary, preserved by iron railings, was 
 enclosed by a rich hedging of rhododendrons, 
 brilliant in their full, variegated bloom. The 
 grass, mown lawn-like, short and level as a 
 carpet, was spangled by a variety of flower beds 
 in circles, ovals, crescents, stripes, angles, ser- 
 pentines, crosses, stars, and pyramids, filled with 
 plants of choicest hues and perfumes. Raised 
 slightly above these and occupying the central 
 position in the garden, there was a large circular 
 bed of surpassing magnificence, ring within ring,
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 255 
 
 species within species, the flowers sprung up, 
 deepening in colour, shade blending in shade, 
 from the faintest yellow to the deepest purple, 
 until the inner ring merged into the blue flowers 
 which covered the interior of the circle. This 
 the queen bed of the garden, was Cora's floral 
 rainbow. 
 
 Spanned at measured intervals by netted wire 
 arches — over which roses, fuschias, pearl vines, 
 parnblooms, and floral creepers of every form 
 and tint, were trained in luxurious profusion, a 
 gravel pathway, three yards in width, wound its 
 way like a maze, zig-zag, to the right and to the 
 left; now approaching, now receding from, the 
 beautiful hedge on either side. Now circling 
 beds of rare beauty, now rounding clumps of tall 
 flowering shrubs; now forming an angle, now a 
 serpentine, now a semicircle, and so winding its 
 way, until it terminated in a large cross at the 
 extremity of the garden. 
 
 In the heart of the cross there was a fountain 
 whose gushing water — forming in the sun's rays 
 a diamond dome — fell into a tulip-shaped vase, of
 
 256 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 ruby granite, which rested in the open, upraised 
 hand of a smiling Amazon. 
 
 The arms of the cross stretching away from 
 the fountain, east and west, led to aviaries of 
 beautiful birds, from the golden honeysucker, of 
 Southern Mexico, to the royal pigeon of the back 
 forest. 
 
 The head of the cross was crowned by a light 
 bower, which — open-fronted — cone roofed, and 
 simply but tastefully decorated, ornamented, and 
 formed the garden terminus. And over that 
 terminus, and over the abode of birds, crept pearl 
 vines and trained roses, and around the bower, 
 circling the fountain, and the aviaries, framing 
 every bed in the garden ; and edging the path 
 through all its mazy way, there was a narrow, 
 even border, only three inches in width, of the 
 scarce and rare blue liberty flower of Brazil. 
 
 Cora and Level sported in the garden. During 
 the first quarter of an hour neither of them 
 spoke, except to pass uninteresting remarks 
 about the weather and the flowers. Level, un- 
 used to female society, was calm and polite, and
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 257 
 
 Cora, wondering at her own shyness, was half 
 afraid of the polite youth who walked so calmly 
 beside her. Presently, however, she regained 
 her confidence, and with a woman's tact soon 
 penetrated through the reserve of her companion, 
 she became lively, then gay, and then, playfully 
 assuming the imperative mood, the joyousness of 
 her natural temperament broke forth. 
 
 Her mirth was contagious. Level soon found 
 himself playing courtier to the sportively impe- 
 rious Cora. 
 
 " Don't tell me, sir," she said, with seeming 
 earnestness, " don't tell me, you have no garden 
 like this at Lutterby, it is impossible. Be quiet, 
 sir ; how dare you attempt to interrupt us. We 
 say it is quite impossible; you have no lady at 
 Lutterby. Gentlemen may plant flowers, but 
 they can never make a garden, never! There, 
 we have said it, and now, sir, refute us if you 
 dare." 
 
 Level. — " The assertion of your royal high- 
 ness may be in part correct." 
 
 Cora. — " In part, sir! — in part! We say it
 
 258 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 is correct in total. Men may plant flowers, but 
 they can never love them as we do. Bright, 
 soft, and yielding, they are types of us. Yes, 
 sir, flowers are strictly feminine, and only women 
 can truly love and care for them. Look at these 
 beds; could any gentleman, day by day, month 
 after month, and year after year, find patience 
 to nurse, and feed, and rear them, from tender 
 slips or seedlings, to graceful plants, healthy in 
 living beauty, as these are? Know, sir, that 
 we have been seven years rearing these, our 
 pets!" 
 
 Level. — " Just the period that Jacob served 
 for Eachel, your serene highness." 
 
 Cora.—" Rachel ? Who is Rachel ?" 
 
 Leyel. — '* A handsome Jewess that lived 
 about three thousand years ago, gracious 
 princess." 
 
 Cora. — " Oh, indeed, sir. Then pray don't 
 interrupt us again with your ancient Rachels. 
 Use more caution, sir. You have our pardon 
 this time; be mindful how you off^end again. 
 We were seven years rearing these, our pets.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 259 
 
 Papa scolded very much at first. We had 
 several battles about this garden ; but let us in- 
 form you, sir, that papa, if he was not beaten, 
 always had to retreat. We had said, there shall 
 be a garden, and we intended to keep our word. 
 For twelve months he scolded, then he fell off to 
 grumbling, then he only looked cross, in a short 
 time he became indifferent; and at last, after dis- 
 couraging us for two years, he smiled, entered into 
 partnership with us, and now he could no more 
 do without the garden than we ourselves could." 
 
 Level.—" A fair reward for constancy. Your 
 majesty besieged the citadel for two years before 
 the garrison surrendered and became faithful 
 allies. It was a splendid victory." 
 
 Cora. — " Our sex stoops to conquer, sir. We 
 yield only to brute force. Men will never pos- 
 sess our untiring perseverance. In all ages of 
 the world, past, present, and to come, womeu 
 have been, and always will be, the rulers of 
 mankind. You keep the seeming, while we re- 
 tain the reality. Where men have absolute
 
 260 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 power, freedom pines in fetters. Wealth may 
 allure, ambition may attract, but women fasci- 
 nate. That premier power is our birthright, 
 our throne, and our sceptre is — " 
 
 Level. — " A glance gemmed with smiles, 
 lovely Queen Coral" 
 
 Cora. — ''Mocker! Take the queen's arm 
 then, and as you value our smiles, do our bid- 
 ding in all things. You are an accomplished 
 listener ; and as a reward for your attention, we 
 shall permit you to assist us. Take that garden 
 can, and follow us." 
 
 Level, with a courtly bow, raised the watering 
 can and followed. They had not proceeded far 
 •when she suddenly stopped, turned round, and 
 said : 
 
 "Let me throw aside my royalty. Level Reach, 
 and speak seriously. In your fancies of woman- 
 kind, which do you hold in the highest estima- 
 tion : the diminutive and fairy like, the medium 
 and most common, or the tall and imperious of 
 our sex?"
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 261 
 
 Level, somewhat taken aback by tbe boldness 
 of the question, replied, rather sarcastically : 
 
 *' The tall and imperious. Miss Maracora." 
 
 Cora, not at all disconcerted by the alteration 
 in his manner, continued : 
 
 *' We have one such in our establishment, a 
 tall, majestic woman; very beautiful indeed she 
 is considered ; the gentlemen always admire her. 
 Would you like to see her ?" 
 
 Level answered : 
 
 " If her beauty is so wondrous, yes. Is this 
 majestic creature young ?" 
 
 Cora. — " About my age — seventeen. She is 
 very modest, very retiring, and, foi* a woman, 
 exceedingly taciturn." 
 
 Level. — '' An African slave?" 
 
 Cora. — " Oh, dear, no ! She is fairer than I 
 am. Papa brought her from Europe." 
 
 Level.—" 1 see. A daughter of Spain?" 
 
 Cora. — " No; a native of Italy." 
 
 They were close to the fountain, and Cora, 
 pointing to the Amazon, said : 
 
 " There she is."
 
 262 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Level looked up. 
 
 " Let me introduce you,'* said Cora : — Tall 
 and Imperious Lady, Mr. Level Reach. Mr. 
 Level Reach, Majestic Young Female." 
 
 Then she ran away, and Level, provoked to 
 laughter, set down the can and ran after her. 
 It so happened that Mr. Maracora and Mr. 
 Reach were strolling gently along the pathway 
 in search of them ; when Cora, bounding like a 
 fawn, suddenly darted round an angle close upon 
 them. To let her pass, Mr. Reach stepped 
 hastily behind Mr. Maracora, and at that 
 moment, Level, at full speed, turned the angle 
 in chase. Unable to stop himself, he ran full 
 tilt upon Mr. Maracora, and that gentleman, 
 thrown back like a shot, fell upon Mr. Reach, 
 who also lost his balance, and the three fell to 
 the ground together. Cora, wicked Cora ! hear- 
 ing their exclamations, returned, and there she 
 stood laughing, until she bent herself, and the 
 tears ran down her cheeks. Mr. Maracora 
 stormed and raged, Mr. Reach joined Cora in 
 her laughter, and Level, utterly unable to apolo-
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 263 
 
 gize, stood laughing also. At length, Mr. 
 Maracora, looking first at one and then at 
 another, and unable to restrain himself any 
 longer, fairly gave in, and joined heartily in the 
 laugh against himself! 
 
 When order was restored, Cora, to the elders, 
 related her story of the tall and imperious lady ; 
 which created a great deal of merriment at the 
 expense of Level. 
 
 The party reached the fountain, Cora and 
 Level filled their cans at the basin, and departed 
 to water the flowers. 
 
 The elders continued their stroll to the bower, 
 where they seated themselves comfortably ; and 
 as they smoked their cigars, and watched the 
 movements of the young people, they held a 
 quiet consultation upon the merits and accom- 
 plishments of their respective favorities. 
 
 For three days Mr. Reach enjoyed the hospi- 
 tality of the Palazza, much to the delight of 
 Cora and Level, who managed, with their morn- 
 ing rides across the prairies, and their afternoon 
 romps in the garden, and with reading and
 
 264 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 singing in the evening, to pass their time very 
 pleasantly. 
 
 During the breakfast time, before they left, on 
 the morning of the fourth day, it was arranged 
 that the Planter and Level were to visit theMara- 
 coras once a week until the commencement of 
 the harvest, during which period, the stately Mr. 
 Maracora had condescended to accept an invita- 
 tion to spend a week or two at Lutterby. 
 
 When everything was settled, the Planter 
 mounted Bowling-green, Level sat Prairie-Bird 
 like a statue, and with a mutual exchange of 
 good wishes and adieus they started on their 
 way homeward. 
 
 Two-thirds of the journey were accomplished 
 before the Planter reined in his horse to rest 
 himself and the animal, and they were walking 
 briskly along the river bank, when he said : 
 
 " Well, Level, my boy, what's your opinion of 
 Miss Maracora?" 
 
 Level. — " At present, sir, I feel as if I could 
 marry her this instant. I want time to analyze 
 the feeling ; Cora has many faults, though none,
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 265 
 
 I believe, that affection will not in time softea 
 and perhaps eradicate." 
 
 Planter. — " You must not be too exacting, 
 my dear boy; remember that human nature is 
 nowhere perfect, and in our choice of friends, so 
 long as we reject the vicious, we can afford to 
 accept the imperfect. I think Cora a very 
 charming girl." 
 
 Level.—" She is, sir. I have little doubt, 
 that when I have made my final decision, the re- 
 sult will be in her favor. At present, dazzled 
 by her brightness, I am bewildered as a poor 
 moth, in the skillfully wrought web of a very 
 experienced elderly spider." 
 
 Planter. — " In which, struggling for freedom 
 generally tightens the meshes of captivity. Your 
 liking will turn to love ; the wedding will follow 
 as a matter of course, and then, my boy, you 
 must have a house of your own. It must not be 
 exactly at Lutterby, neither can it be far 
 away." 
 
 Level. — '* Let it be within fifteen or twenty 
 minutes ride from the station, sir ; that will be 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 tbree miles or thereabouts. The distance will 
 suit you, and make a pleasant walk for Cora when 
 she strolls over to the settlement." 
 
 Planter. — "Three miles; yes, I think that 
 will do. If I have not forgotten, there is a piece 
 of ground about that distance on this side, that 
 will just answer the purpose. The Bank Tree 
 Island is about midway between it and the 
 colony. That will be excellent ; we can erect 
 seats under the foliage, and make a half-way 
 resting place for Cora during her rambles. We 
 are not far from the spot now; let us trot 
 on." 
 
 When they again reined up, they stood upon a 
 slightly raised platform of land, about seven 
 square acres in extent, " This is the spot, 
 Level," said the Planter ; " the river here flows 
 over a sandy bed, with a uniform depth across of 
 three feet. There is a tree island on your right 
 about a mile off, another to your left, three miles ; 
 and on the opposite bank several groups at 
 various intervals and distances. You can have 
 a boat-house built there where the bank slopes
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 267 
 
 in ; what say you ? I think the locality just what 
 you might desire." 
 
 Level followed the glances of the Planter over 
 the river and the prospect around him ; and 
 thanking his kind friend for his excellent choice, 
 he expressed his own unbounded satisfaction at 
 the site and prospect. 
 
 Planter. — "I am glad you like it, my boy; 
 now let us home; if we spoil the dinner Mrs. May 
 will be cross for an hour. Twenty-five minutes 
 to one! Bowling-green can cover the distance 
 in twelve minutes. Now Level, off! 
 
 V. 
 
 Cora Maracora was betrothed to Level Reach ! 
 Thus he proposed, and thus she consented to 
 their marriage. They walked together in the 
 Palazza garden, Cora gay as usual, Level was 
 serious ; they had neither of them ever hinted of 
 love,, each seemed to divine the feelings of the 
 other. So they walked on, Cora pelting Level 
 
 N -l
 
 268 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 with red autumn leaves ; Level weighing in the 
 balance, with the nicest exactitude, the pleasure 
 of the consent, yes ! with the disappointment of 
 the denial, no ! And having arrived at the sage 
 conclusion, that ' no' totally capsized and de- 
 stroyed the equilibrium of the scales, and feeling 
 impatient with himself for giving ' no' a place 
 in the balance at all, he turned to Cora, who at 
 that moment nearly smothered him with crimson 
 rose leaves, and taking both her hands within 
 his own, and looking fixedly and lovingly at 
 her laughing eyes, he said quietly, " Cora, when 
 shall we be married?" 
 
 Cora neither stammered nor blushed ; but 
 swiftly as the sun glides behind a cloud, her merri-' 
 ment vanished, and she answered earnestly, "To- 
 morrow, in a week, a month or a year, whichever 
 period you chose to select. You will consult with 
 papa about it, dearest, and if possible lead your 
 wishes to harmonise with his. Educated amid 
 the wild freedom of these prairies, we know 
 nothing of the prejudices imbibed by the customs 
 and usages of a town life; my papa has these
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 269 
 
 prejudices, they are a portion of his education, 
 therefore, in anything that will give him plea- 
 sure, without disturbing our affection or wound^ 
 ing your love of self-reliance, you will not say 
 him nay." 
 
 While Cora was speaking. Level retained her 
 hands in his, and their eyes looked each into the 
 other's; as she ceased, he stooped and pressed 
 his lips upon her forehead. It was his first 
 caress, and he replied, " As your father pleases, 
 Cora, so it shall be; let us join him." 
 
 YL 
 
 The house upon the platform was finished and 
 called Plantation; in compliment to Mr. Mara- 
 cora, it was designed after and upon the same 
 scale as the Palazza, even to the extent and form 
 of the garden ; the furniture of Level's private 
 room at Lutterby was already removed to the 
 new building, and his guns and hunting knives 
 hung in their allotted places on the wall ; busy
 
 270 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 hands at Mexico were completing the furniture and 
 the garden railings ; and the wedding ring, with 
 other jewels, purchased for the intended bride, 
 was locked up in Mr. Reach's strong box. The 
 Catholic bishop of Mexico was engaged to per- 
 form the ceremony ; Cora was actively engaged 
 with her wedding robes of rose muslin, and 
 everything was in preparation for a speedy and 
 happy union. The wedding was fixed for the 
 thirtieth day of September, sixteen days of 
 which were already numbered with the past. 
 
 The deep toned gong of the colony proclaimed 
 the hour of four on the evening of the seven- 
 teenth day, just as Level Reach, dressed for the 
 evening, left the counting house to take his usual 
 afternoon's walk to Plantation, where he was 
 about to put the finishing stroke to the plan, 
 made by himself, of " the garden pathway ;" 
 preparatory to marking out the beds, and leaving 
 everything ready for the commencement of the 
 laborers. 
 
 Previous to starting he adjourned to the draw- 
 ing room, where he knew he would find Cora.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 271 
 
 He told her of his intention, and the happy girl 
 no sooner heard of it, than she proposed to trip 
 over to him in the evening, and accompany him 
 back to the colony. '' It will be a delightful 
 walk," she said, " and a nice change after the 
 confinement of the day." 
 
 Level readily assented to the proposition, say- 
 ing as he left the room, ** Only fourteen days, 
 Cora, and then! and then!" Level went ofi* to 
 Plantation ! 
 
 At five o'clock a boat, filled with armed men 
 was pulled up the river Lutter, the crew were 
 evidently desirous of shunning observation, for 
 they kept close in shore beneath the left bank, 
 as they neared the station. They had chosen 
 their season well, it was harvest time, and every 
 available hand in the colony was away in the 
 fields, gathering in the ripe corn as it fell from 
 the sickles of the reapers. 
 
 At the tiller of the boat sat the sallow grow- 
 ling brute that brought Level Eeach to Lutter- 
 by, and had threatened Mr. Reach to repay him 
 at some future period for all his insolent pride.
 
 272 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Thirteen years had elapsed since then, but that 
 man had neither forgiven nor forgotten, and now, 
 after all those years of " biding time" he had 
 come to put his threat into execution. He knew 
 the colony well, the situation of every house, hut, 
 and store, and he also knew the time best suited 
 for carrying out his threatened vengeance. Be- 
 sides himself, there were eight brawny men with 
 wild faces, and in wild costume, who were paid 
 to do his bidding. 
 
 As the boat drew near to the house of the 
 Planter, the skipper ordered the men to cease 
 talking, and pull quietly as they passed the 
 colony. They did so unperceived, and then with 
 long strong pulls the boat sped onward up the 
 river^ until they arrived at Bank Tree Island. 
 
 Leaving their arms in the boat, they moored 
 it close in land, and then taking a hamper of 
 provisions and spirits with them, stepped ashore, 
 and entered the cover of the Tree Island ; where 
 the magnificent silken root-like pendants that 
 dropped from every branch, canopied the entire 
 group of trees from their summits to their bases,
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 273 
 
 and formed an impenetrable screen and hiding 
 place for the revengeful skipper and his wild 
 crew. 
 
 His design was to fire the colony in seven or 
 eight places simultaneously, reserving for his 
 own hand the house of the planter, for there his 
 hate lay, and he was not unconscious that, in 
 case of surprise or alarm, it was nearest to the 
 river ; he remembered the grip of the Northum- 
 berland man, too, and for that reason he had 
 allotted the dwelling of the overseers, the longest 
 building in the colony, to his coxswain, a man 
 with a low, scowling brow, in whose love of 
 crime and wild energy he had every confi- 
 dence. 
 
 So they sat there and caroused, leaving one 
 man to watch for the coming or going of anyone 
 to or from the colony. 
 
 At half-past five o'clock Cora departed for 
 
 Plantation. The heart of the young creature 
 
 was light and joyous, and the distance there 
 
 and back, five miles, seemed only as a bird's 
 
 flight to her. 
 
 N 5
 
 274 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Level Reach had finished his task in the gar- 
 den, and was standing by the river side. Let 
 us look at him. He was in his eighteenth year 
 — -so they judged — slightly above the middle 
 height; his proportions denoted activity and 
 growing strength; his limbs were muscular, 
 well developed by toil and active sports, and his 
 face, in the loftiest style of manhood, was ren- 
 dered particularly attractive by the deep bright- 
 ness of his intense black eyes. It was no 
 wonder that he was beloved by the free, light- 
 hearted Cora. 
 
 The river opposite where he stood, though 
 broad, was not deep, and as it glided slowly 
 past, its murmur ings carried him away into 
 dreamland ; back years passed slowly in review 
 before him. The good planter, with his lofty 
 estimate of intellectual civilisation ; the stately 
 Spaniard and his conventional reverence for 
 high earthly dignitaries; the daughter of the 
 stately man — the Cora — his Cora — came then, 
 and remained in the foreground of his dream, 
 and as he stood gazing into her mirthful eyes,
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 275 
 
 there came thoughts of happy marriage, and 
 then — " Ah, youth, youth, 'tis sweet to dream 
 thus, even though the dream dregs are often 
 bitter, very bitter'* — he pictured a paradise for 
 himself and her, and he would have filled it no 
 doubt with bright glowing images, had not his 
 senses been recalled by the sudden utterance of 
 his name, and a loud scream for assistance. He 
 turned his head, and the hot blood mounted to 
 his brow, as he beheld her — his betrothed — hur- 
 rying swiftly, almost flying towards him, pursued 
 by a party of men whose dresses at once pro- 
 claimed them lawless. He took in the scene at 
 a glance, he ran into the cottage, and quickly 
 returned, bearing a creese dagger in his right 
 hand. 
 
 There was a fierce race ! 
 
 Level run as if his life depended on his speed. 
 The pursuing party were men swift of foot, 
 hardy adventurers, whose only dower was 
 daring and activity. So each ran towards the 
 maiden ; but love, swifter than avarice, con-
 
 276 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 quereJ. Level passed between his betrothed 
 and her pursuers. 
 
 " To Plantation, Cora — quick !" 
 
 Then he stood still, awaiting them, one man 
 to nine; it was foolish daring, but he was just 
 at the age when fear is no in-dweller of manly 
 youth, and just on that stage of love, when he 
 would have faced the whole world, and died 
 giving it battle, if it dared to place danger in 
 the path of his beloved. There was something 
 very noble in the attitude of the young man as 
 lie stood there, his right arm and leg thrown 
 back, his left knee slightly bent, the upper part 
 of his body pressed forward, his head erect, his 
 eyes gleaming black and starry, and his whole 
 bearing firm — concentrated ! 
 
 He had scarcely placed himself, when they 
 were upon him, whooping, leaping, and shout- 
 ing like devils at the fool-hardy boy who 
 had dared to shew them battle. The right arm 
 of Level Eeach was raised sharply ; the dagger 
 gleamed twice in rapid succession, and the two
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 277 
 
 foremost men fell dead! The third man was 
 then so close upon him, that he leaped aside to 
 avoid him. The impetus of the runner carried 
 him on; Level turned and grappled with him. 
 The struggle was but momentary, and Level 
 had barely time to draw the dagger from the 
 breast of his foe, and hurl it into the river, 
 before he was surrounded. Then kicks, cuflfs, 
 and curses were showered upon him most freely. 
 No doubt he would have been dead in an in- 
 stant had they been armed, but deeming the 
 lone maiden an easy capture, they had not taken 
 their arms from the boat. Level had glanced 
 at that fact before he flung his creese into the 
 river, so they kicked him and struck him with 
 their great brawny fists until he lay sense- 
 less ! 
 
 "' Hurl him into the river!" cried one. 
 
 " Dash his brains out!" shouted another. 
 
 " Cut him up piecemeal!" roared a third. 
 
 "Stop, mates!" hallooed the sallow-faced 
 brute with uncertain eyes. " We shall get 
 nothing by braining the young panther, but if
 
 278 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 he survives this hammering, he'll bring us a 
 clear thousand dollars. What fiery eyes the 
 young eagle's got! Three of our true mates 
 gone to kingdom come. The fierce devil ! he has 
 pluck enough for a pirate. Let us bind hiin 
 and carry him to his dove cote; no doubt his 
 mate is there. If we find her, this venture '11 
 bring us a clear two thousand." 
 
 So they bound him with the cords they had 
 intended for the maiden. They carried him to 
 Plantation, and laid him in the front parlour. 
 Their avarice had subdued their rage, for they 
 had a stake in his recovery, so they poured some 
 brandy down his throat, and went away in 
 search of the maiden, whose hopeless cries soon 
 told that they had tracked her to her hiding 
 place. 
 
 When Level regained his consciousness, he 
 struggled much to free himself, but his cords 
 were too securely fastened ; binding was a por- 
 tion of their trade — besides, the cords were 
 strong, and he was bruised and powerless. As 
 he lay thus, he heard her screams for mercy ; he
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 279 
 
 heard her call upon his name, beseeching him to 
 aid her, until her voice became less and less. 
 Then there was a pause. Then a struggle ; he 
 heard it all distinctly — and lastly there came a 
 sound that thrilled his frame, and made him 
 shudder in every nerve. It was the shriek so 
 thin, so full of piercing agony, that rent her 
 heart and sent her spirit forth ! As the last vi- 
 bration of that terrible cry passed away, he felt 
 that she was dead! Then there came over him 
 a feeling as of suffocation — he fainted ! 
 
 When he again opened his eyes everything 
 was still; his mouth was parched; his skin was 
 hot and dry ; there was a painful throbbing over 
 his whole body, and as the memory of that last 
 despairing cry came back to him, he turned his 
 head in anguish, and beheld her, his Cora, there 
 on the floor near him — cold, motionless, dead! 
 The fright, the pain, his swollen limbs, were all 
 forgotten then. He rolled himself over and 
 over, until he lay beside her. He gazed upon 
 her face long and earnestly, impressing upon his 
 mind the injuries thereon inflicted, for the marks
 
 280 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 upon her shewed the rage her resistance had 
 created in those lawless men. 
 
 He pressed a warm kiss upon her forehead, 
 and as the crimson blood upon it stained his 
 lips, he registered in his heart and in his mind 
 a silent, binding vow, and left it treasured there 
 to expand and grow. The last hour had set the 
 seal upon his manhood, and in this, his life's 
 first storm, was sown the seed of a revenge 
 that took root, and before many years had passed 
 away, grew large and bore fruit. 
 
 The slavers had gone for their boat. When 
 they returned they carried Level into the open 
 air, and threw him down upon the grass beside 
 the river, and they mocked him and cursed his 
 betrothed for presuming to die, and cheat them 
 out of her value in hard dollars. And they 
 fired the building, gloating over the revenge 
 they had obtained for the loss of the men who 
 had fallen in the daj's adventure. As the 
 flame darted up. Level Reach lay there, his 
 eyes searching into the faces of her murderers, 
 until there was no face amongst them he could
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 281 
 
 not recollect at any future period of his 
 life. 
 
 Suddenly the brute skipper perceived that 
 the firing of Plantation was a mistake; he 
 thought of the colony, and saw in a moment 
 that his primary scheme was frustrated, that he 
 had over-reached himself, and he knew that if 
 the flames were then visible from Lutterby, it 
 would be as much as he could to save himself. 
 Savagely, then, he gave the alarm; hurriedly 
 they placed Level in the boat, and with arms 
 braceii by fear, and leaning to their strokes as 
 one man, they pulled away down stream. The 
 tramp of horses galloping, and the voices of men 
 hurrying to the scene of the conflagration fell 
 upon their ears, and terrified, cringing down, 
 lest some stray foot should tread too near the 
 bank and espy them, they pulled close in shore, 
 and away — away for life in pale silence, away — 
 away past the big house, cowering with bent 
 bodies and watchful, sullen eyes, and yet away 
 in dread, with quickened pulses, until they 
 turned the point in the winding river that hid 
 them from Lutterby and peril together.
 
 282 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Not till then did they breathe freely, not till 
 then did they feel secure. The danger was past ! 
 Their voices came back to them, and they grew 
 brave as they receded from the colony ; how man- 
 fully they taunted their bound captive then ; how 
 courageously they talked, and boastfully, as if 
 fear had never contracted their despicable and 
 cowardly hearts. 
 
 They reached the gulf about nine o'clock. 
 Level Reach, exhausted in mind and body, was 
 lifted on board their ship and confined between 
 decks, with others whom they had kidnapped. 
 When the day broke on the following morning, 
 the Slaver was steering for the North Atlantic 
 Ocean ! 
 
 YIL 
 
 Has language sufficient power to describe the 
 inner effects of sudden sorrow upon man? Can 
 man himself explain his feelings under its in- 
 fluence, or do words fail him when he endeavours 
 to pourtray its hard depressing weight, its chill-
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 283 
 
 ing influence, upon the sinking swelling heart, 
 its pressure — fire-like upon the brain; its con- 
 fusion of thought and senses, casting darkness 
 upon the mind's presence, its victory over the 
 physical, hurling, debility and utter prostration, 
 and above all, its mightiest triumph, the separa- 
 tion of the spiritual essence from our double 
 nature that leaves us wholly animal. 
 
 Can man describe these inward subtle work- 
 ings of this sudden sorrow ? In truth we can- 
 not. 
 
 This sorrow, this deep grief came over Lutter- 
 by! 
 
 The body of poor Cora was rescued for Chris- 
 tian burial. 
 
 Mr. Maracora fell as if struck by lightning, 
 and never awoke to a consciousness of his be- 
 reavement; slowly he wasted away, speaking 
 words of endearing love to the darling girl whom 
 he fancied was hovering angel-like around his 
 death bed side. 
 
 Gradually he sunk — low, lower down, away, 
 until he slept, free from anguish and from strife,
 
 284 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 by the side of his beloved child, in their quiet 
 grave at Lutterby. 
 
 Mr. Eeach was stricken to the foundation of 
 bis strength, as the pitiless storm that wrecked 
 bis "hope of years" swept over him. But after 
 the first shook, and while its power was yet dark, 
 be looked up trustingly to God, and the words of 
 a beloved teacher, " Thy will, not mine, be done !" 
 escaped bis lips. Sternly then be threw off the 
 crushing weight that pressed on beart and 
 intellect ; nobly then he upheld the grandeur of 
 man's nature in its fiercest trial, and if his beart 
 felt cbilled by the loss of the warm love which 
 for years bad twined around it, as a vine clings 
 circling round a strong oak, like the oak that 
 falls not when the vine fades, be was not pros- 
 trated. 
 
 His hair bad whitened in the first fierce heat of 
 bis excessive grief, and wrinkles gathered on bis 
 brow, but calmly after a short period of time, be 
 followed bis vocation. Level might not be dead ! 
 That was bis new bope, so he trusted and looked 
 upward; the baLn that heals the bruised spirit
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 285 
 
 was there — for him the true man — there 
 always! 
 
 During the voyage of the Slaver, Level Reach 
 had an interval of repose, his body regained its 
 strength, and the sickness of his mind was 
 lessened, as day by day the recital of adventures 
 by his fellow prisoners crowded upon it, bringing 
 new thoughts, new ideas, displacing old ones, 
 and driving them back, away into the mysterious 
 and illimitable cavern-stones of memory. He 
 took no note of time, and a month or six weeks 
 might have elapsed, when there was a commo- 
 tion on deck, and shouts of " Land !" with the 
 hurried tread of feet, and the hum of eager 
 voices. Presently the sails were furled, and a 
 coarse voice shouted, " Let go the anchor." 
 
 The cable, with a loud jarring rumble, rushed 
 out, and the ship swung round at anchor in the 
 Sea of Marmora. 
 
 The captives were marshalled on deck and 
 conveyed ashore. Level Reach stood in the 
 Auction Mart! He became a slave ! And the 
 man that received the purchase money was the
 
 286 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 sallow brute who had sold him once before, who 
 had piloted the wild crew up the Lutter to Plan- 
 tation, who was foremost in the murder of his 
 betrothed ! and who had struck — bound — mocked 
 — and spat upon himself. There was no line — 
 no wrinkle — no curve — no spot in that burly 
 brute's face, that was not indelibly imprinted in 
 the mind of Level Eeach. 
 
 The young man had stood erect and fearless 
 during the slave sale, for he thought very truth- 
 fully that no hardship, however severe, could sur- 
 pass mentally and physically what he had already 
 suffered ; and he was determined to bear with 
 fortitude and patience whatever reverses might 
 befall him, in the hope — the sweet well cherished 
 hope — that his all-bearing courage might one day 
 bring him face to face! — Free I with that big 
 sallow man !
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 287 
 
 PART VI. 
 
 CALAIS. 
 
 Marell. — "Ah! Leroc, early astir this morn- 
 ning. We have a goodly forest of masts in the 
 harbour. This wind does not often favour the 
 good city with such lengthened visits. If it 
 continues in its present mood, our poor citizens 
 will be growing purse proud." 
 
 Leroc. — '' True, Marell. As Milord Win- 
 beagle says, ' It's an ill wind that blows nobody 
 good.* Do you know Milord Winbeagle?" 
 
 Marell. — " I do not. In fact, there are so 
 many milords come over from ' Fog Island,' that
 
 288 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 I begin to suspect the title is one more of cour- 
 tesy than high birth." 
 
 Leroc. — " Then must courtesy be confound- 
 edly rich, friend Marell, for Milord Winbeagle 
 scatters gold about as freely as if the revenues 
 of his country were at his disposal. Look at 
 his yacht; yonder she lies; schooner rig. The 
 greatest achievement in naval architecture that 
 ever left a cradle. There's proportion, length, 
 height, beam, bow, and quarter; and she's five 
 hundred tons burthen, if she's a pound. Cour- 
 tesy, eh ! You don't often find courtesy playing 
 milord in a yacht like that. How gracefully 
 she rides there, beside the ' Golden Venture,' the 
 ship in which you are so deeply interested. 
 Come to the Port Hotel, and see Milord. No 
 pride; rough, sailor-like, jolly good fellow; fond 
 of merchants and men of enterprise. I break- 
 fast there; join me; I'll introduce you." 
 
 Marell. — *' Thank you, Leroc. I've nothing 
 to do till eleven. Til go with you and see your 
 rich milord. Where they all get their titles 
 and their money from is a riddle I can never 
 solve."
 
 To THE PEERAGE. 289 
 
 They arrived at the hotel. Breakfast was 
 beiDg served up. With his back to the door, a 
 gentleman sat reading the paper. Leroc went 
 up to him, followed by Marell. 
 
 Leroc. — " Good morning, Milord Winbeagle." 
 
 Milord (rising). — " Ah, Leroc, good morn- 
 ing. I was looking for a word from the weather 
 wise." 
 
 Leroc. — " Milord Winbeagle, my friend 
 Marell, bullion merchant of Paris." 
 
 Milord. — "How do, Marell? Paris, eh! 
 Fairyland! Haven't time to run over. Wait- 
 ing for change of wind ; deuced annoying. You'll 
 breakfast with me, gentlemen? Yes, Vm in a 
 fix. Ought to be at St. Petersburgh on the 
 twenty-sixth. Marell, let me assist you. I 
 can't go inland, because the wind will change; 
 and I can't go out to sea, because it will not. 
 Leroc, pass the chicken. Anything doing in 
 the money market; business brisk, eh, Marell?'' 
 
 Marell. — " Yery brisk, milord; bullion is 
 looking up. Do you do much that way ?" 
 
 Milord. — "Curse it! no. I leave that sort 
 
 vol. I.
 
 290 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 of thing to my bankers. What with my estates, my 
 racers, my hounds, my yacht, and my mistresses, 
 I have no time to do anything commercial. 
 Yery good though, commerce ; root of a nation's 
 prosperity. Glorious fellows its conductors! 
 Gentlemen, will you spend the day with me on 
 board my yacht ?" 
 
 Marell. — " I am sorry I must deprive myself 
 of the pleasure, milord. I am obliged to superin- 
 tend the shipping of two hundred thousand francs 
 for St. Petersburgh." 
 
 Milord. — "Haw! Is it expensive to have 
 the stuff taken over there. If it is, come with 
 me, in my yacht. I'm going to visit the 
 Emperor. I'll take you, bags and all, for 
 the sake of your company. Leroc will come 
 too?" 
 
 Leroc. — " I am much obliged, milord, but I 
 cannot spare time." 
 
 Marell. — '* It is impossible to take advan- 
 tage of your good kindness, milord. The invoice 
 went over with the last packet, the specie is 
 over made to the shippers, and the owner of
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 291 
 
 the ^ Golden Venture' has forwarded a receipt 
 to my partners for the whole amount." 
 
 Milord. — '"Well. Captain of the 'Golden 
 Venture/ nice fellow, fortunate. Clean, well- 
 conducted, valuable ship. Wish she was fast. 
 Would like to get somebody to sail round the 
 world 'gainst 'Pride of the Channel' for half a 
 million. Pity the ' Golden Venture' can't 
 sail." 
 
 Marell. — " Why, milord, she's considered 
 the fastest in the merchant navy." 
 
 Milord. — " Ah, of course ; sails pretty well 
 for a merchantman. You see, she is handicapped, 
 spoils her paces, breaks her wind. (Rising). 
 Well, gentlemen, you can't yacht to-day, sorry ; 
 I must be off. Good morning, Leroc; Marell, 
 good morning. Know my yacht; welcome any 
 time you like. Good morning." 
 
 Leroc. — " Well, Marell, what do you think 
 of him?" 
 
 Marell. — " Princely fellow, real nobleaian ! 
 Only think, going to visit the Emperor of 
 Eussia !" 
 
 2
 
 292 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 II. 
 
 A LARGE assemblage of men, Dutch, French, 
 Spanish, Italian, and a small sprinkling of 
 Englishmen, belonging to the vessels in the 
 harbour, were seated round a gambling table, 
 in '' The Free Mariner," one of the low public 
 houses near the landing-place at Calais. 
 
 They were all attired in the maritime costume 
 of the day, some coarsely, others flashily ; there 
 was but one amongst them whose dress bespoke 
 a superior taste and refinement. He was standing 
 behind the gamblers, to all of whom he seemed a 
 stranger. None of them addressed him, nor 
 made any allusion to him. 
 
 The man sitting in his direct front continued 
 to win, until he had drained the purse of his 
 adversary, who bore his losses with great good 
 humour. 
 
 The fortunate gambler, an Italian, then looked 
 about for a fresh antagonist, and seeing nobody 
 but the stranger disengaged, addressed him :
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 293 
 
 "Come, mvnbeer, take a throw; Fortune 
 generally favours her youngest priests. You 
 seem to be a novice; take a throw. See here 
 (pointing to gold and silver) you have a chance 
 to clear me out as empty as I have cleared out 
 young salt here. What say you?" 
 
 The stranger nodded assent. 
 
 " Vive le brave ! I like pluck. Now, young 
 briny, let the gentleman take your place." 
 
 " All right, bo' ; come along, sir. Luck isn^t 
 on this side o' the table at present, but p'rhaps 
 she'll get tired o' sitting so long over yonder. 
 I hope she may, for I can tell by the cut o' your 
 jib that you come from Union Jack Land. 
 There, sit down. Sit, an' I'll just watch the 
 Hitalian's bearins; 'tain't always plain sailiu' 
 wi' them furriners." 
 
 The stranger sat down, rattled the dice, 
 threw, and won; and again, and again he threw 
 and won; so he kept on throwing and winning, 
 until the gold and silver pointed out by the 
 challenger had again changed sides. 
 
 " Hurrah !" shouted the young man, who had
 
 294 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 given up his seat, " I thought you could take 
 the shine out of him. An' now, sir, if you've 
 no objection, I don't mind drinking a glass o' 
 grog to your good health." 
 
 The stranger looked keenly in the speaker's 
 face for a second, his stern features relaxed, he 
 smiled, and said ; 
 
 " You shall." 
 
 HI. 
 
 When the landlord of the tavern entered the 
 room, the clock was striking twelve. 
 
 " Now, then," he shouted, *' clear out ! Mid- 
 night, gentlemen. The police are below. Gui- 
 seppe, remove the lamps. Now, gentlemen, 
 clear the room, if you please. Make haste !" 
 
 Jabber! jabber! jabber! A tavern Babel. 
 How their foreign tongues wagged, with curses 
 and benedictions ; and laughter, and fierce frowns, 
 and pleasant faces, and angry ones, left the room 
 together.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 295 
 
 The moon was up, but dense masses of clouds, 
 floating on the atmosphere, obscured its light. 
 It was only at sudden and quick passing inter- 
 vals, where the masses were rent and broken, 
 that its light passed sweeping like a shadow 
 over the earth. 
 
 When the stranger left the house, he looked 
 about him for the young man whom he had been 
 treating. Not seeing him, he passed through 
 the crowd assembled outside the door, and walked 
 down the street nearest the quay. 
 
 He had not proceeded far, when two men 
 crossed over from the opposite side, and walked 
 so as to meet him. When he drew near to them 
 they separated, making way for him to pass be- 
 tween them. As he did so, they seized him. 
 One of them held a thick stick in his right 
 hand; the other drew a stiletto. 
 
 In a moment their purpose gleamed upon his 
 mind. With a strength unlooked for in one so 
 young, he threw them both from him, and 
 thrusting his hand quickly into the breast pocket 
 of his jacket, turned to face them, but before he
 
 296 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 could draw out the weapon he sought, they closed 
 upon him again. 
 
 He felt the point of the stiletto enter his side, 
 and he grasped the throat of the stabber. While 
 in the act of doing this, the other man struck 
 him heavy blows upon the head with the stick. 
 As the stranger fell back against the wall, 
 another man appeared in sight, running towards 
 them. 
 
 "" Avast heaving there, you Dutch gin-drink- 
 ing thief— take that!' 
 
 The action accompanied the words. A blow 
 from a powerful hand knocked the Dutchman 
 senseless. 
 
 " Hitch off there, you fly-gutted shark — this 
 for you !" 
 
 The speaker struck the stabber a right down 
 blow on the crown of his head, with a clenched 
 fist, that almost entered his skull. 
 
 The wounded man, weak through loss of 
 blood, had fallen to the ground. 
 
 ^' Cheer up, yonker/' said the new comer; 
 " never say die. Lion land for ever ! These
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 297 
 
 sharks won't board you again this bout. No 
 fear; 'tain't in a hurry they gets up as Tough 
 Yarn floors! Cheer up, bo'.*' 
 
 Tough Yarn, as he called himself, then stooped 
 down over the stranger. 
 
 "Hilloa! Wet! What's this?— blood, I 
 s'pose. I'm splintered if that rascally Hitallan 
 ain't let starlight into him !" 
 
 Uttering these phrases. Tough Yarn sought 
 for the wound. When he found it he took the 
 kerchief from his neck, and bound it tightly 
 round the body of the wounded man, lifted him 
 up, and with the strength of a young giant car- 
 ried him down to the quay. 
 
 "Portfire! Portfire!" Tough Yarn uttered 
 the name in a low, deep whisper. " Portfire, 
 where are you?" 
 
 A boat shot out from the gloom. 
 
 " Fra here, bo' ! Where are you? The dark 
 is thick to-night; 'tain't often I can't see 
 through it, but this makes eyes valeyless." 
 
 " This way, old Port; that's right; mind — 
 take care ! Don't manifacter a noise. There's 
 5
 
 298 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 bin a blow up. The watch is afloat. Look 
 sharp! here — that's right. I've got a prize. 
 The Hitallian — you know, the fly-gutted one, 
 him as waters his rum — has made a hole in him. 
 Gently! Well done, bo'; hold him up till I 
 gets in. There ! now give him to me. I knows 
 where the hole is, an' I want to keep that side 
 uppermost. Pull away! I've got the young un 
 all right; an' now I'll just take charge o' the 
 tiller ropes. Isn't it dark? I wonder where 
 the schooner is. Gently! we are abreast of 
 something. Ah — h — h — h — by the ghost of 
 Davy, that was a clean shave; half an inch 
 nearer, an' we should have bin taking a swim 
 in the dark. Starboard, Tough, starboard it 
 is. I see the schooner's lights twinklin' like 
 stars on the water. Now then, old Port, a long, 
 strong pull at the oars, and then a long, strong 
 pull at the grog bag." 
 
 As the boat closed up to the schooner, two 
 low, sharp sounds, like the striking of a small 
 bell, passed over the water. 
 
 "There's the challenge, Port; strike low.'*
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 299 
 
 The answering signal was given; the words 
 "All right!" came back, and the boat drew up 
 alongside the schooner. 
 
 ''Who's there?" 
 
 '' Tough Yarn. Is that you, Blue un ?" 
 
 ''Yes, bo'. What's up?" 
 
 "It's all down at present, bo'. Rig a chair; 
 an' I say. Blue un, tell the President to get the 
 balsam ready. Say I've got the young un, but 
 he's sprung a leak." 
 
 After a little delay the chair descended. The 
 stranger, carefully seated and fastened therein, 
 was hoisted up on deck, and carried down to the 
 President's cabin. 
 
 The boat halyards were lowered, and the boat 
 swung aloft. 
 
 Tough Yarn went to see the President, and 
 Portfire after taking a long pull of rum from 
 the pig skin in the President's pantry, dived 
 down the hatchway, and was soon fast asleep in 
 his hammock. 
 
 They undressed the stranger, and laid him
 
 300 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 upon the President's bed. The wound was 
 gently sponged with tepid water; the balsam 
 alluded to by Tough Yarn was applied inter- 
 nally and externally ; a bandage was then bound 
 tightly over all; he was warmly covered, so as 
 to prevent him from turning round, and left to 
 his repose. 
 
 The President sat down. 
 
 He was just turned forty-five years of age. 
 Below the middle height, his form was rounded 
 off, full and well proportioned, hips swelling, 
 waist narrow as a woman's, and his face — the 
 riddle of a man. Who says it is an index ? His 
 sunburnt face was soft and oval, forehead white 
 and broad, without a wrinkle to indicate age or 
 care; his eyes, a clear deep blue, seemed to say, 
 " I speak in all sincerity," and the expression 
 illumining all was bright and cheerful; nose, 
 Grecian: mouth, rather small and well-formed; 
 hair, beard, whiskers, and thin moustache, 
 brown, silken, and curly; the President was 
 a handsome and intellectual looking man.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 301 
 
 lY. 
 
 The stranger, who had only fainted from loss of 
 blood, regained his consciousness during the 
 passage of the boat from the landing place to 
 the schooner, but he felt deadly sick, like one to 
 whom life or death is equally indifferent, so he 
 lay still, prostrate; he knew he was in a boat, 
 but what boat or where gave him no concern ; 
 he heard the men speaking in guarded tones, 
 but he knew not the purport of their speech, 
 and the breeze that curled up ripples on the 
 water fanned his hot face with its welcome 
 freshness; he felt it a little while and respired 
 deeply, as if its inhalation was very pleasant; 
 but the fainting sickness struck him once more, 
 and he again lay in a state of semi -conscious- 
 ness. His eyes were closed, but he was aware 
 of being raised up and carried down, and of 
 their laying him on a bed and stripping him ; he 
 felt the balsam as it was poured into his wound ; 
 hot, burning hot, it seemed at first, but after a
 
 302 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 little while the pain gave place to a sense of 
 coolness stealing over his frame, and creeping 
 through his veins with a delicious thrill that al- 
 most caused him to utter an exclamation of 
 grateful thanks to those around him; but a 
 guarding thought flit through his mind. He 
 stilled the rising impulse, and remained quiet, 
 with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep, so he 
 heard a conversation that took place between 
 the President and Tough Yarn, and he gleaned 
 therefrom that they wished him to join their 
 crew ; but what they were, or their motive for 
 desiring to secure him, he could not gather from 
 their speech. One of them had evidently saved 
 his life, and that was a large obligation in their 
 favour. He heard the President go away; he 
 heard the gurgling of the liquor from the bottle 
 as Tough Yarn helped himself to some spirit, 
 and he heard him puffing the smoke from a 
 cigar. No other sound reached him. 
 
 The balsam had acted like a miracle. How 
 cool and comfortable he felt ! The sickly brain 
 giddiness had left him. Puff — puff — puff — puff
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 303 
 
 — he heard it distinctly at first; then the sound 
 became less distinct — less and less, until it 
 ceased entirely. 
 
 The stranger had fallen asleep. 
 
 For twelve hours he slept soundly, never 
 altering his position. When he awoke the sun 
 was shining in through the stern port. It was 
 past midday; he felt well, and very hungry and 
 thirsty. 
 
 Tough Tarn sat smoking by the port hole, 
 looking out upon the water, and as he puffed the 
 smoke from his lips, it ascended slowly in curl- 
 ing, circling wreaths, until it was caught by the 
 current of air. Then it made a mad, wild, 
 sudden rush to escape, and flew out of the port 
 with a comical rapidity that made the stranger 
 laugh outright. 
 
 Tough Yarn was down in an instant. He 
 thought the stranger was insane ; but when their 
 eyes met, he saw that it was all right. 
 
 Stranger.—" I was laughing at the comical 
 exit of your smoke through the window." 
 
 " Don't laugh, don't speak," replied Tough
 
 304 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 Tarn ; " yer all right, ray hearty. I know what 
 yer want. Don't speak." 
 
 HaTing uttered these oracular sentences, 
 Tough Yarn hurried away, and presently re- 
 turned carrying a tray with tea, toast, an egg^ 
 and a small portion of cold roast mutton. 
 
 " There, bo','' he said, " eat it all. It's bin 
 measured and weighed; any more ud be too 
 much, an' any less wouldn't be enough. As 
 soon as yer've stowed it away, I'll hold a council 
 wi' yer, if yer fancy the council won't damage 
 yer wind. There ! don't speak — eat." 
 
 The stranger set to, and when he finished the 
 last cup of tea, the dishes were all empty; he 
 had made a hearty breakfast, and felt refreshed 
 accordingly. 
 
 Tough Yarn carried away the tea things; he 
 then drew a chair to the bedside, and opened 
 what he termed " the council" thus : — 
 
 " I'm Tough Yarn, an' as we can't hold a 
 council until we know each other's signals, 
 p'raps yer'll have no objection to hoist yours?'* 
 
 " My name you mean?"
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 305 
 
 Tough Yarn.—" Eight, bo'." 
 
 Stranger.—'* Eagle. Loril Eagle." 
 
 Tough Yarn. — "• Well, that's a curious right 
 signal, that is, for if yer hadn't bin born a man, 
 yer must ha' bin an eagle. Yer've got the 
 bird's eyes anyhow." 
 
 Loril Eagle smiled, but made no answer. 
 
 Tough Yarn. — " Yes, them's what captivated 
 the President. The owner o' them eyes, he said, 
 ud be as good to us as a whole boatload o' the 
 volunteers as comes to roll themselves into the 
 Tempest. I wonder, says he, if we could get 
 him. The craft and the rig is first rate, says 
 he, but I'm afraid he isn't aground. Are yer 
 aground?" 
 
 As Tough Yarn put the question, he looked 
 into the young man's face with an earnestness 
 that shewed how deeply he was interested in the 
 answer. 
 
 Loril Eagle.— "Aground! I don't under- 
 stand you." 
 
 The eyes of Tough Yarn brightened. 
 
 " Kigged before he come out o' docks," thought
 
 306 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 he; " we'll have nothing to undo. I mean are 
 yer aground? Do yer want a berth? Are yer 
 on the look out for a craft?" 
 
 LoRiL Eagle — " Yes, Tough Yarn, I am 
 aground. I want a berth, as you call it, and I 
 am on the look out for a craft." 
 
 Tough Yarx.—" Bravo ! Then yer'll join 
 us?" 
 
 He spoke eagerly. 
 
 LoRiL Eagle.—" Stay, my friend. What 
 trade are you in?" 
 
 Tough Yarn.— ''Ours ain't a trade; it's a 
 profession." 
 
 LoRiL Eagle. — " A profession ! Ts this a 
 vessel of war?" 
 
 Tough Yarn.— "Yes; but not a man-o'- 
 war." 
 
 He smiled, and winked slyly. 
 
 Loril Eagle " Oh, a letter of marque?" 
 
 Tough Yarn.— "No, nor a letter o' mark. 
 President '11 tell you all about it. Fact o' the 
 matter is — but yer won't split? Yer'll keep our 
 secret, even if yer don't join us?"
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 307 
 
 Loril Eagle^ colouring at the implied doubt, 
 answered : 
 
 '' I am no spy, sir !" 
 
 Tough Yarn.—'' It's all plain sailin', Loril 
 Eagle. My question's natural enough, an' now 
 yer've given yer word, I can tell yer all- about 
 it. This is a vessel o' war, but we ain't any 
 commission. We fight for ourselves, an' take 
 orders from ourselves. We go when and where 
 we like, and come ditto. We ain't remarkable 
 for even temper. We quarrel wi' every craft 
 we meet, and if they fight we fight; if we fight 
 we beat 'em ; if they cut we cut arter 'em, an' 
 if we cut arter 'em we catches 'em, and makes 
 'em pay marine lawyer's expences for the trouble 
 they've put us to." 
 
 Loril Eagle.—" Pirates?" 
 
 Tough Yarn.—" Some call us pirates; I don't 
 know why, 'cept 'tis that pi means first. Then 
 some calls us freebooters. I don't understand 
 that neither ; we're free enough certainly, but 
 as for hooters, we ain't got a pair o' boots in 
 the ship ; but that doesn't matter, we're
 
 308 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 neither one nor t'other. President says we're 
 simply free mariners, an' I should just like to 
 see the man as knows better than he does. All 
 ports are our ports; all nations are our nations, 
 hut we don't bow to any o' their flags, an' their 
 laws are only ours while we're among 'em. We 
 work hard and fight hard three or four months 
 in the year, and live a free and easy do-what- 
 you-like sort of a life for the other three times 
 three. We all share alike. President has no 
 more than the others, only he lives by himself, 
 in this cabin, and has a cook an' a servant; 
 that's all he has extra for commanding. An' 
 now yer know all about it. We want you — you 
 want a craft, an' it's my way o' thinking, Loril 
 Eagle, that this craft was made for you, and you 
 were made for this craft. Yer exactly alike— 
 yer a pair, an' I shouldn't be 'tall surprised to 
 learn as how she was launched same day as you 
 were." 
 
 Loril Eagle closed his eyes, and remained 
 buried in thought, analysing the proposition of 
 his strange companion. Suddenly a dark
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 309 
 
 shadow passed over his face, and he replied 
 quickly : 
 
 " Tough Yarn, I will join you. When do you 
 sail?'' 
 
 Tough Yarn. — " Maybe to-day, maybe to- 
 morrow. The ' Tempest' comes and goes without 
 giving much notice." 
 
 As he ceased speaking, the sound of a bell 
 striking one, with a strange vibration, that 
 lasted upwards of a minute, was audible in 
 every part of the vessel. 
 
 "That's the President; he's just coming 
 aboard. Now yer shall learn all about us." 
 
 Tough Yarn retired. 
 
 There was a shore boat approaching. Several 
 of the men gathered round the gangway, and 
 touched their hats respectfully as the President 
 stepped lightly up from the boat to the schooner. 
 As he passed the men, he nodded a recognition 
 of their salute, and walked aft to the quarter 
 deck, where he stood looking intently at the 
 vessels in the harbour. 
 
 Tough Yarn went over to him, and after
 
 310 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 waiting a considerable time, five or ten minutes, 
 
 said: 
 
 "President!" 
 
 The President turned quickly : 
 
 "Ah, Tough Yarn, how is your patient?" 
 
 Tough Yarn. — "All right, yer honour; eats 
 
 hearty as a haligator. I've read the articles, 
 
 an' the ' Tempest' has got a first-rate volunteer." 
 President. — " Lead the way, I will see him." 
 
 V. 
 
 LoRiL Eagle had dressed himself, and was 
 sitting by the stern post. 
 
 " The President is coming to see you," said 
 Tough Yarn, entering the cabin. "' This is his 
 honour." 
 
 The President passed in. 
 
 Loril Eagle bowed his head, and attempted to 
 rise. 
 
 Presidet^t. — " Sit still, young man." 
 
 " Loril Eagle," chimed in Tough Yarn.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 311 
 
 President. — "Loril Eagle! Are you of 
 England?" 
 
 LoRiL Eagle " I am, sir." 
 
 President.—" My aide, Tough Yarn, here, 
 informs me that you have volunteered to join 
 us?" 
 
 LoRiL Eagle. — "You are rightly informed, 
 sir." 
 
 President. — '^ Has he given you any idea of 
 our method of life? Of the pleasures and dan- 
 gers attending our profession?" 
 
 LoRiL Eagle. — " A free and exciting life in 
 success, death in failure !" 
 
 President. — " Tough Yarn, you may go 
 ashore." 
 
 Tough Yarn (touching the rim of his round 
 straw). — " Thank, yer honour. May I take 
 Blue Ruin wi' me ? He warn't ashore yester- 
 day." 
 
 The chief nodded assent. Tough Yarn dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 President (after a pause). — "• Yes, our life is 
 free. We come and go without let or hindrance.
 
 312 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 We acknowledge no supremacy. We lower our 
 flag to none on the ocean. Our strength is put 
 forth for ourselves alone. We neither toil nor 
 sport to pamper haughty idleness ; shaven crowns 
 have no thrall over our minds, nor have armed 
 police any control over our bodies. We are free ! 
 — free as birds of air ; and we have their chance 
 of freedom. The fowler's shot, or the hunts- 
 man's snare, may overtake us; but foiling them, 
 we are free ! And for the love of this wild freedom, 
 we leave to chance the manner of our death." 
 
 LoRiL Eagle. — ''Fearless men die once; 
 cowards are all their life's time dying. Your 
 profession suits me; place my name on your 
 register, 1 will be a free mariner." 
 
 President. — " Pirate is the city term, Loril 
 Eagle." • 
 
 Loril Eagle. — " Pirate be it then. Death 
 laughs at titles. What does it signify, while we 
 are free?" 
 
 President. — "What, indeed! 'Tis for that 
 we do battle, and as victory is power, we have 
 to fight with terrible earnestness."
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 3 13 
 
 LoRiL Eagle.— ''Freedom is the wages of 
 labour." 
 
 PRESIDENT. — " Say rather the wages of suc- 
 cess. Labour is oft-times a failure. A flaw in 
 the diamond nullifies the toil of the lapidary. 
 The toilsome efforts of farm masters are oft 
 rendered nugatory by the counter labour of 
 worms or flies. But what is failure to them? 
 A pecuniary loss, a disappointment, which time 
 and renewed labour may compensate. With us 
 the result is widely different. Our labour, with 
 success, is life and freedom. Our labour, with 
 failure, is captivity and death. And the manner 
 of that death is such that city people hold it in 
 utter abhorence." 
 
 LoRiL Eagle. — " Death on the scaffold?" 
 
 President. — '' By the public executioner !" 
 
 LoRiL Eagle. — " Its ignominy will teach us 
 to die sooner than yield." 
 
 President. — " Bravely spoken, young man ! 
 and now we understand each other, let there be 
 perfect confidence between us. I know that you 
 are a free spirit. Your bearing tells me that you 
 
 VOL. I P
 
 314 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 will never brook a task master. How true it is, 
 that spirits tamed in youth, are tame for ever. A 
 pity *tis there are so many such. (There was a 
 pause, then he continued) : — You will have some- 
 thing to learn, but a mind determined knows no 
 obstacle. The practical part of our craft you 
 will soon master. Its theory you can study with 
 me. I have no confidant, no companion here. 
 My men, though brave as lions, are of the rude, 
 unlettered class. I want a second, a right hand. 
 (There was a slight pause, and he continued): 
 — Will you give me yours, and accept my prof- 
 fered friendship?" 
 
 Loril Eagle had found a kindred spirit. He 
 took the hand of the President, and grasping it 
 firmly with both his own, replied : 
 
 *' You are kind, sir. I accept the gift, and 
 will hold it sacred until— death !" 
 
 The President responded : " Until death !" 
 
 VI. 
 
 The day after the above compact was formed, 
 the wind changed, and fifty ships set sail from
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 315 
 
 Calais harbour. Amongst them " The Golden 
 Venture," and " The Pride of the Channel," 
 were the most conspicuous, the former for her 
 immense wealth, and the latter for her extreme 
 beauty. It was observed, when the vessels 
 diverged on their several lines, that those two 
 held the same course. 
 
 " The Golden Venture' ' was considered a fast 
 sailing ship, but there was not a seaman in her 
 crew who at starting was not of opinion that the 
 beautiful schooner yacht would fly past them like 
 a shot. How great then was their surprise when 
 at sunset the schooner was far astern, almost hull 
 down. The experienced captain of " The Golden 
 Venture" was in raptures at his own want of 
 judgment. 
 
 In the morning the schooner yacht had dis- 
 appeared, but another vessel, homeward bound, 
 was sailing towards the richly laden merchant- 
 man. The stranger was barque rigged, with 
 short masts and wide sails, out of all proportion 
 with her low, black, narrow hull. 
 
 Down came the ugly rigged barque with the 
 p 2
 
 316 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 speed of a race horse, and the crew and such of the 
 passengers as were not sea sick, flocked to the 
 gangway and bulwarks, watching in admiration 
 the speed of the ugly rigged barque. On she 
 rushed, like a wounded sea horse, dipping her 
 nose, rising, flinging off" the foam, and dashing 
 on again. 
 
 If the crew of " The Golden Venture" were 
 surprised at the strange speed of the ugly 
 rigged barque, what where they, when a jet of 
 smoke issued from one of her starboard bow 
 ports, and a shot came whizzing across their 
 course; and shortly after that another, and 
 another ? It was getting warm. The captain 
 said it must be a mistake, a government cruiser, 
 or really he couldn't understand it; perhaps 
 they had better lay to, the mistake would soon 
 be rectified. 
 
 So " The Golden Venture" lay to. 
 
 '' All hands shorten sail," from a voice in the 
 ugly rigged barque, short it was. " Helm a-star- 
 board — hard— jam her close in — lay her aboard !" 
 Up she came, hull to hull. It was no mistake,
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 317 
 
 for sixty lawless men, wild and fierce with the 
 idea of plunder, sprung up and over on to the 
 deck of the devoted " Golden Venture." 
 
 The pirate ship had been masquerading. The 
 beautiful schooner yacht, " Pride of the Chan- 
 nel," was the ugly barque, " Tempest," and the 
 calm, smiling President was Milord Winbeagle. 
 
 In the plunder of " The Golden Venture," 
 and amid the scenes which followed it, Loril 
 Eagle was initiated into the mysteries of piracy. 
 
 VIL 
 
 News of " The Golden Venture" was expected 
 in due season: none arrived. Expectancy be- 
 came anxiety, and that grew old and dried. 
 After the lapse of a few years, it was concluded 
 that " The Golden Venture" had foundered at 
 sea!
 
 318 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 PAET YII. 
 
 CANDIA. 
 
 Three years passed away, after the murder of 
 poor Cora on Lutterbank, and Level Reach was 
 yet a slave; but his form was erect, his step was 
 firm, and the glances of his bright black eyes, 
 were as open and as fearless as the glances of a 
 freeman. 
 
 His purchaser, Iben Fascha, was an admiral 
 in the Turkish navy; a silent man, that seldom 
 opened his mouth, except to feed and smoke; an 
 even-tempered man, very easy to please, so that 
 Iben Pascha and Level Reach agreed remarkably
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 3l9 
 
 well together. The ship was in comaiission, 
 and ever since the first day of his servitude 
 Level had been on board ship. Flis labour was 
 light; he had many hours to spare; and as he 
 could not possibly be idle, he devoted hiniself- 
 first to the study of the Turkish language, and 
 then to the science of navigation. He made 
 use, by permission, of his master's books and 
 instruments; and with the assistance of another 
 English slave, who had been a captain in 
 the merchant service of his country, he acquired 
 during those three years a very respectable share 
 of the knowledge so indispensable to a thorough 
 sailor; and at the- helm, or aloft amid the 
 rigging, there was not a man on board more 
 active than the slave. Level Reach ! 
 
 In the month of August, the Turkish man-of- 
 war, *' Ali Achmet," carrying the flag of Iben 
 Pascha, was cruising off Cape Matapan, in the 
 Mediterranean. The morning was grey, and 
 the wind in sudden gusts, came fitful and im- 
 patient. The air was damp and chilly; and 
 the glances of the sailors, as they looked up
 
 320 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 aloft, were prolonged and suspicious. Storm 
 signs were out, and the Turkish sailors, usually 
 so indolent, were active then. The commander 
 of the frigate strove much to work the ship into 
 Koran Bay; but the storm rode faster than the 
 *' Ali Achmet,'" and the hopes that were fixed 
 on Koran Bay were never realised. 
 
 The wind, so uncertain in the early morning, 
 ceased entirely ; the air became still ; the light 
 ribbon on the vane hung motionless ; a grey mist 
 gathered thick upon the Mediterranean; the sky 
 was hidden by its density ! 
 
 No air, no breath of air ! How anxiously the 
 sailors looked out towards the Bay, and up into 
 the slaty gloom above them ; but nothing stirred ; 
 all was silent, calm ! There was something de- 
 pressing, something foreboding in that ghastly 
 quiet. N'o one spoke. It was as if Nature 
 had commanded everything — Be still! 
 
 The sickening calm lasted above twenty 
 minutes, so oppressive, so bowing down, that 
 a relief was felt when the first electric flash 
 sped from the massive gloom above, lighting up,
 
 TO THE PEET^AGE. 321 
 
 as if in mockery, the land they could not reach, 
 and giving notice of the coming tempest. The 
 thunder followed Long, low peals seemed to 
 roll upon the surface of the water, and the 
 water shrunk down and rose up in small, timid 
 waves, as if it were affrighted ! 
 
 Then flash came after flash, swift, sharp, and 
 angrily; and peals, crashes of thunder, full, 
 round, and deep, followed each successive blast 
 of light, as if they would crumble up the mighty 
 earth ; and the strong broad wind rushed past 
 with howl and shriek, to make the scene more 
 terrible, and at length the water, becoming as it 
 were, aroused to fury, hurled back defiance at 
 the flaming clouds above it. In heavy, ponderous 
 masses it arose, white crested, seething, and hiss- 
 ing like monster things endowed with life, goaded 
 to desperation. And the close, heavy, blinding 
 rain beat do^.vn upon the storm, as if it would 
 fain quench the subtle fire that leaped for it too 
 nimbly. 
 
 The storm raged furiously ! 
 p 5
 
 322 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 The pale, blue fire flashed from its furnace in 
 the black red clouds ! 
 
 The wild, crashing thunder peals were appal- 
 ling, as flash after flash tore through the air, 
 cutting and rending it with unearthly fury ! 
 
 The wind, howling and shrieking, rushed by, 
 away, as if it was pursued by some much 
 dreaded enemy? And the sound, of the sea 
 broken up, like unto jagged rocks and steep 
 ravines, leaping, bellowing, charging, and 
 falling, like vanquished things, maddened and 
 impatient; made the storm awful in its grandeur. 
 Striking terror, and subduing the courage of 
 hearts the most undaunted. 
 
 The storm became a tempest, a -wild whirr, and 
 utter confusion ; and the earth and air became 
 purified. 
 
 From the centre of the tempest to its outer 
 boundary, no ship was there; no earth built 
 vessel could ride upon the broken waters. 
 
 The *' Ali Acbmet*' had gone down in the 
 fierce whirl of the tempest, and of the crew, 
 numbering four hundred and thirty men, only
 
 TO THE Pl^ERAGE. 323 
 
 two remained, the least, the most despised of all 
 the number. The despotic admiral, the great 
 captain, the tyranic officers, and the arrogant 
 free men, were all gone. The spirit from which 
 alone all power is derived was dormant in them, 
 they placed their trust in Fate, and Fate be- 
 trayed them. 
 
 The Christian slaves, who were the least be- 
 fore, were the greatest then. Their might was 
 not an apathetic thing; it was the majesty of 
 Man, shewing the stern, strong will of men 
 determined not to die without a struggle. 
 
 Level Reach and the sailors'-mate lay upon 
 their backs in the lap of the storm; and the 
 mighty waves, against whose force they never 
 struggled, lifted them up and cast them down, 
 but never separated them. 
 
 The spirit in Level Eeach came forth in 
 its majestic beauty; his eyes shone with the 
 lustre of earnest manhood, and although of the 
 two he was the youngest and least experienced, 
 the sailor-mate submitted tacitly to his com-
 
 324 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 inands, as he heard his voice at intervals in the 
 lull of the rushing waves. 
 
 " Lay still," said Level; " move not a limb; 
 the tempest will soon be spent ; it is too fierce to 
 last much longer. To struggle against it, is to 
 waste the strength we shall each require pre- 
 sently. We shall be saved ; for all this has no 
 terror for me. I have never seen the fire so 
 angry, I have never known the water so wild, 
 nor the wind so full of might, and yet I have no 
 fear. We shall be saved, and — sweet as life 
 itself — we shall be free!" 
 
 Noble was that unbending faith of Level 
 Reach, his heart beat calmly even in that dire 
 peril. 
 
 Hour succeeded hour, and the morning was 
 growing old. The tempest had merged into the 
 storm again ; the storm became only a gale ; the 
 gale sunk into a breeze; and the breeze died 
 away. The pelting rain, which had proved the 
 most painful of all to the storm tossed men, 
 ceased beating in their faces; the clouds began
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 325 
 
 to unfold, to loosen, and separate, and through 
 the first clear opening to the sky, a sun ray 
 shot down full and bright, renewing their spirits, 
 animating them afresh, and telling, they were 
 not — alone I 
 
 Away, away past Kerigo, and Kerigotto Is- 
 lands; away past Cape Krio, ports Lutro and 
 Sphakie, off the Island of Candia. The waves 
 yet running high, not crested nor furious as be- 
 fore, but with the great round lifting swell, that 
 without a breeze, makes the after storm so un- 
 pleasant to travellers sailing on the ocean. 
 
 It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when 
 they were carried past the small Island of Paxa- 
 mido, into the open bay between Cape St. Paul 
 and Cape Matala. The sea there, from its shel- 
 tered position, was less agitated, but the impetus 
 given by the storm still carried them onward, 
 until they arrived into, comparatively, smooth 
 water. 
 
 " Now is the time," said Level Keacb. " We 
 must swim ashore. Gently, no exertion. We 
 have plenty of time. Keep close to me, and if
 
 326 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 you find your strength failing, let me know. 
 Make for yonder solitary red brick house, on the 
 margin of the island. There is yet two good 
 miles of water between us and it. Eemember, 
 quietly, gently, no exertion. The distance is 
 great, but the water is buoyant, and the prize is 
 —Life!" 
 
 They won it ! 
 
 How gallantly they breasted the waters, full 
 of gratitude for their past escape, full of hope 
 to overcome the difficulty yet before them. 
 
 Who can describe, or explain the feelings of 
 intense joy that thrilled their hearts, when, 
 after the manly struggle which taxed their 
 courage and strength to its utmost spark, they 
 sat panting, exhausted, on the shore of Candia. 
 And, as with returning strength they looked 
 back over the peril from which they were saved, 
 a thanksgiving arose in their hearts, pure and 
 unleavened by thoughts of earth. The spirit of 
 man was raised in adoration, uplifted in mute 
 grateful communion with the Holy Spirit of God 
 in Heaven.
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 327 
 
 II. 
 
 It was near the hour of sunset; the sea and 
 the sky were blue, and the arc of the firmament 
 was pure, except in the far west, where huge 
 masses of cumulus clouds rested on the centre 
 of long horizontal lines of graceful cirrus, which 
 lengthened down to their lowest line like steps 
 at the base of a pedestal. The sun sunk down, 
 and down, until its beams fell aslant upon the 
 whole field of clouds , and suddenly there spread 
 over the whole cumulus, a bright, glowing crim- 
 son, bordered, and fringed, and spotted with a 
 regal purple such as is never seen on earth; and 
 the long white lines of cirrus, were tinted like 
 unto golden globules floating in streams of rich 
 Vermillion, streaked, and speckled, and crowned 
 with a rare lawn green that made them exquisite 
 to gaze upon; and there were spots of clouds 
 untinted, which shone forth from the gorgeous 
 scene like shields of frosted silver; and the 
 ever varying light and shade sent out quaint
 
 328 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 figures, and singular fantastic shapes, changing 
 forms, and fading hues, brightening up, dying, 
 and disappearing, as the receding sun cast its 
 farewell rays upon their unequal surfaces, telling 
 in the heavens, a wonder, a splendour, a glory. 
 It was a picture, once seen, to take up its abode 
 and dwell within the memory for ever ! 
 
 The daylight creeping silently away, the sea 
 calmed down to gentleness; the balmy air, and 
 the unbroken stillness around, all tended to 
 deepen the slumber of Level Reach and the 
 sailor-mate, who were laying upon the shore near 
 the spot where they landed, worn out with 
 fatigue, powerless. 
 
 It was the evening hour, the early twilight 
 time, when men remove the stains of labour, 
 and find refreshment in the cooling bath, when 
 the troubles of the day are over, and its cares 
 forgotten; when the mystic attraction that 
 draws young loves together, grows strong and 
 irresistible; when the youths of sexes meet, to 
 barter love for love, and in the warm and soft 
 embrace, forget the stern to-morrow. 
 
 In that pleasant evening hour, that early twi-
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 329 
 
 light time, the gates of the red house were thrown 
 open, and a party of ladies and gentlemen, splen- 
 didly attired in the costume of the Greek nation, 
 issued therefrom. On foot and on horseback 
 they came forth, some for a quiet ride upon the 
 water, some for a wild gallop along the shore, 
 and their bearing and manner, their costly robes 
 and jeweled trappings bespoke them persons of 
 distinction. 
 
 The foremost of the party was a white-haired 
 man, about sixty years of age, tall, and straight 
 as an arrow ; his brow was smooth, and his eyes 
 shone with the concentrated lustre so often seen 
 in men born to lofty station, in men whose 
 words are law, in men who from childhood up- 
 wards have never known a single contradiction. 
 
 The party followed the old man to the sea 
 shore. As they drew near to it, a boat was 
 drawn up to receive them. The crew were 
 dressed uniformly, and there was much observ- 
 ance amongst them, as they laid the head of the 
 boat ashore, for the reception of their master 
 and his guests.
 
 330 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 " I must be ofi, Prince," said an old noble, 
 mounted on a powerful black horse; " may your 
 ride be pleasant. See ! my party have grown 
 impatient; I must join them. A fair journey, 
 Prince. Beautiful Eurene, adio; adio, noble 
 Spiridom." 
 
 The pleasant old noble turned round, put 
 spurs to his horse, and the spirited amimal 
 bounded away. 
 
 To join his party more quickly, he was 
 cutting off an angle of the road, by galloping 
 across the beach, and he had not proceeded far, 
 "when his horse was seen to spring and bound 
 up, uttering at the time a loud, ringing snort. 
 The noble was then observed to rein up, turn 
 back, dismount, and beckon his party to him. 
 
 " The noble Aristides has reined up, prince. 
 See! he is dismounting. Something upon the 
 beach has attracted his attention." 
 
 " Pull the boat along shore," said the prince. 
 " Let us join him — something cast ashore by 
 the tempest of the morning." 
 
 When the boat arrived opposite to where the
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 33l 
 
 equestrians were assembled, the prince and his 
 party stepped ashore, and went up to them. 
 
 Around the shipwrecked sleepers the company 
 had formed a circle, and were awaiting the com- 
 mands of the prince, who, after gazing upon 
 them for a moment or two, stooped, and per- 
 ceiving they were only asleep, touched the 
 clothes of the sailor-mate. 
 
 '' Shipwrecked," he observed ; " their gar- 
 ments are not yet dry. Awake them gently. 
 I will take them to the palace; they must 
 have had a fearful trial, for there was no ship 
 wrecked in the bay. Awake them; they shall 
 have food and change of raiment. We must see 
 that they are well cared for." 
 
 They awoke the sleepers, who for a minute or 
 so were unconscious; then they started up, and 
 yet a little time elapsed before they could un- 
 derstand the place and the party ; but the sight 
 of the sea on one side and the large red house 
 on the other recalled their memory. 
 
 Level Reach advanced towards the Prince, 
 whom he perceived to be the chief of the party.
 
 332 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 and bowing gracefully, said, in the Turkish 
 tongue : 
 
 " We were wrecked this morning off Koran 
 Bay, chieftain. We are in want of assistance, 
 and have nothing at present but our thanks to 
 purchase it withal." 
 
 '' God disposes!" said the Prince reverently 
 in the same tongue. " Come with us. Men 
 wrecked off Koran Bay, and cast upon the 
 shores of Candia save not themselves. You are 
 sent to us, and, high or low, we give you ear- 
 nest welcome. Friends, let us return to the 
 palace." 
 
 He was a noble old man, that Prince Clean- 
 thus — Prince only by courtesy — a descendant 
 in a direct line from sires, who^ in the long 
 bygone times, held sovereign sway, over the 
 island as Kings of Crete. 
 
 On the day after the storm, Level Reach sat 
 before the Prince in a balcony overlooking the 
 ocean; and the eyes of Cleanthus were fixed 
 searching upon him, as he related the trials of 
 his young life, as he told of green fields, a wide,
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 333 
 
 wide river, a large house, and of a lady with 
 eyes so full of love, that used to press him to 
 her bosom and kiss his lips so often. Those 
 things — largely magnified, no doubt, by the eyes 
 of infancy — lay on the foundation of his me- 
 mory. Above them all was clear: the good 
 planter, the beautiful prairies, the lessons in 
 labour and knowledge, the fine sports, hunting 
 on foot and on horseback, swimming, climbing, 
 leaping, single stick, back sword, pistol shoot- 
 ing, and the spirit-stirring sports which made 
 his Texan home so dear to him. 
 
 Then came the sunny, glowing, young life 
 love! the changed pastimes; the changed, long- 
 ings; the changed nature; all changed by rosy 
 love, made smooth with universal consent and 
 universal recognition. 
 
 Then he recounted the fierce dark sudden 
 change; he became excited, and there was a wild 
 sparkling in his eyes as he described the tragic 
 scene on the green bank of the Lutter, the mur- 
 der of innocent Cora, the ferocity of the murderers, 
 his capture, his vow, his slavery, and, his faith in
 
 334 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 the dignity and power of manhood, when that 
 power is directed to uphold the loyalty of right. 
 
 As he ceased speaking, Cleanthus, who had 
 also become excited during the recital, stood up, 
 and walked to and fro ; presently he said : 
 
 '^ You shall return to Texas. There is a vessel 
 belonging to the port that trades with merchants 
 in the West Indies, she is away now. When she 
 returns I will guarantee a passage for yourself 
 and your companion; in the interval you must 
 remain my guest." 
 
 Cleanthus was much pleased with Level Reach, 
 there was a dignity, a firmness in him, such as 
 he had never before witnessed in one so young, 
 without a deterioration of the rich freshness, that 
 stamps on young maturity its fascinating charm. 
 
 From that period, during his stay with Prince 
 Cleanthus and his party, the time passed plea- 
 santly with Level Reach. His changes of rai- 
 ment were similar in richness to their own, he 
 ate, and drank, and rode, and sported with them, 
 and amongst the male guests that were honored 
 by admission into the Prince's circle, there was
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 335 
 
 no form more noble than that of Level Reach. 
 Beautiful Eur^ne noticed that, and as his stay 
 became prolonged she grew more thoughtful. 
 
 When the vessel, that traded to and from the 
 West Indies, arrived in port, arrangements for 
 the passage to Texas of Level Reach and the 
 sailor-mate, were made by the Prince's secretary. 
 
 The day of embarkation arrived ; the Prince 
 in his private reception room, presented Level 
 Reach with letters of introduction to the Greek 
 merchants in the various ports, to which it was 
 probable that he might call, during the time 
 spent in the fulfilment of his vow. 
 
 " Use ray name freely," said the good old 
 man. " There are few of our scattered nation 
 that will not assist you, for my sake, with advice, 
 and money too, if necessary. You possess firm- 
 ness; I have no trouble for you; go forth and 
 prosper, and when you apprehend the men that 
 have wrought you so much evil, hang them — 
 everyone ! and, for my sake, let the gibbet of the 
 monsters be higher than ordinary. Farewell! 
 my son ! I fancy I shall see you again before 1
 
 336 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 die. Eur^ne, come nearer child. If I should 
 not see you again, if my anticipation is not rea- 
 lized, Eurene will give you a warm welcome for 
 lier fond old father's sake." 
 
 " For his sake alone, my father," replied the 
 beautiful girl, " you will be here to make the 
 welcome warmer. Level Eeach will bear this 
 promise in his mind, and will, in return, give us 
 his promise not to increase — in his just eager- 
 ness to punish crime— the danger that will beset 
 him ere we meet again. Adio! Level Reach, 
 we have your promise?" 
 
 *' While life is mine, its gratitude and warm 
 regard belong to your princely sire and your- 
 self, beautiful lady, by right of priceless favors. 
 When we meet again, the heavy clouds that have 
 pressed me down these three past years, will be 
 dissolved. I shall have much to tell you then, 
 and, until then, I also will say Adio, lady. May 
 your paths be straight and cloudless. Prince 
 Cleanthus, your reward must come from a higher 
 power than mine, for there are benefits, " so 
 pure in their bestowal," that leave repayment
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 337 
 
 beyond us; and I trust, for the pleasure it will 
 bring to each of us, that the might that has 
 brought me here once, may bring me back again. 
 Until then, may God take us into his holy 
 keeping. Farewell !" 
 
 The anchor was tripped, the parting gun was 
 fired, the sails rolled down, and the vessel glided 
 away. 
 
 III. 
 
 Slavery, at that period, was recognized by every 
 leading power in the world, and the fortunes re- 
 ported to be made by the unholy traffic were 
 almost fabulous. The sound of a mighty voice, 
 saying, " They shall be Free !" had not then 
 reached across the ocean; but it has been heard 
 since then, and thrice honored be " the Land" 
 from whence the sound proceeded. In the con- 
 tinuity of its prosperity it shall ascend to the 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 338 FROM THE PEASANTRY 
 
 highest pinnacle of earthly grandeur, and its 
 love of freedom, and its love of right, shall go 
 forth, spreading their roots over the earth, until 
 their leaves bud and blossom in every corner of 
 the habitable globe ! 
 
 The work was nobly begun, and although the 
 evil — " a mountain of shame on the fair bosom 
 of the earth — scill exists," there are manly 
 laborers at work, its base becomes less and less, 
 beneath the stalwart blows of earnest excava- 
 tors. And the mountain shall be mined and 
 undermined, until it falls with a mighty crash, 
 spreading woe and desolation over the land, from 
 which it towers up so proudly and defiant. And 
 then — as at " the burning of Gomorrah, at the 
 overthrow of Babylon, at the destruction of As- 
 syria and Egypt!" — there will be weeping and 
 wailing, for the despairing appeal of " Man. 
 Brutalized," has risen up; and an answering 
 voice, that never faileth in truth, has been heard 
 in the spiritual recesses of a hundred millions of 
 huaian beings, saying, '' They shall be Free?
 
 TO THE PEERAGE. 339 
 
 And on the earth, and in the air, and upon the 
 waters, in the cities, and on the plains, the echo 
 rebounds with a terrible distinctness, that finds 
 a stern response in every true man's heart, say- 
 ing, '-They shall be Free!" 
 
 END OF VOL I. 
 
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 to all the priesthood,'' — Union. 
 
 XX. 
 
 In 1 vol., price 10s. 6d. 
 
 THE NEW EL DORADO; OR BRITISH 
 COLUMBIA. 
 
 BY KliNAHAN CORNWALLIS. 
 
 •'The book is full of information as to the best modes existing 
 or expected of reaching these enviable countries." — Morning 
 Chronicle. 
 
 "The book gives all the information which it is possible to ob- 
 tain respecting the new colony called British Columbia. The 
 book is altogether one of a most interesting and instructive cha- 
 racter." — The Star. 
 
 "The work is very spiritedly written, and will amuse and in- 
 struct.' ' — Observer,
 
 NEW PUBLICATIONS. / 
 
 XXI. 
 
 In 2 vols, post 8vo., price 2 Is. 
 
 A PANORAMA OF THE NEW 
 WORLD, 
 
 BY KINA.HAN CORNWALLIS, 
 Author of "Two Journeys to Japan." 
 *' Nothing can be more spirited, graphic, and full of interest, 
 nothing more pictorial or brilliant in its execution and animation." 
 —Globe. 
 
 "One of the most amusing tales ever written.'' — Review. 
 "He is a lively, rattling writer. The sketches of Peruvian Life 
 and manners are fresh, racy and vigorous. The volumes abound 
 with amusing anecdotes and conversations." — Weekly Mail. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 In 1 vol., price 10s. 6d. 
 
 NIL DESPERANDUM, 
 
 BEING AN ESCAPE FROM ITALIAN DUNGEONS. 
 
 "We find the volume entertaining and really Italian inspirit." 
 — Athen^iim. 
 
 "There is much fervour in this romantic narrative of suffering.'' 
 — Examiner, 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 In 2 vols., price 2 Is. 
 
 THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF A 
 DRAMATIC AUTHOR'S LIFE, 
 
 BY EDWARD FITZBALL, Esq. 
 
 "We scarcely remember any biography so replete with anec- 
 dotes of the most agreeable description. Everybody in the thea- 
 trical world, and a great many out of it, figure in this admirable 
 biography,'' — Globe. 
 
 "One of the most curious collections of histrionic incidents 
 ever put together. Fitzball numbers his admirers not by hun- 
 dreds and thousands, but by millions.'' — Liverpool Albion, 
 
 "A most wonderful book about all sorts of persons." — Birming- 
 ham Journal,
 
 T. C. NEWBy's 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 In 1 vol., price 10s. 6d. 
 
 GHOST STORIES, 
 
 BY CATHARINE CROWE, 
 
 Author of "Night Side of Nature." 
 
 "Mrs. Crowe's volume will delight the lovers of the superna- 
 tural, and their name is legion,'' — Morning Post. 
 
 "These Tales are calculated to excite all the feelings of awe, 
 and we may say of terror, with which Ghost Stories have ever 
 been read." — Morning Advertiser. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 In 2 vols, post 8vo. 
 TEA TABLE TALK, 
 
 BY MRS. MATHEWS. 
 
 "Livingstone's Africa, and Mrs. Mathews' Tea Tahle Talk will 
 be the two most popular works of the season.'' — Bicester Herald. 
 
 "It is ordinary criticism to say of a good gossiping book, that 
 it is a volume for the sea-side, or for the fireside, or wet weather, 
 or for a sunny nook, or in a shady grove, or for after dinner over 
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 found adapted to all these places, times, and circumstances. They 
 are brimfull of anecdotes. There are pleasant little biographical 
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 "The widow of the late, and the mother of the present Charles 
 Mathews would, under any circumstances, command our respect, 
 and if we could not conscientiously praise her work, we should be 
 slow to condemn it. Happily, however, the volumes in question 
 are so good, that in giving this our favourable notice we are only 
 doing justice to the literary character of the writer; her anecdotes 
 are replete with point and novelty and truthfulnes that stamps 
 them genuine." — Sporting Review.
 
 NEW PUBLICATIONS. V 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 In 2 vols., post 8vo., price 21s. 
 
 TWO JOURNEYS TO JAPAM, 
 
 BY KINAHAN CORNWALLIS. 
 
 "The mystery of Japan melts away as we follow Mr. Corawallis. 
 He enjoyed most marvellous good fortune, for he carried a spell 
 with him which dissipated Japanese suspicion and procured him 
 all sorts of privileges. His knowledge of Japan is considerable, 
 It is an amusing Book.'' — Athenaeum. 
 
 "This is an amusing book, pleasantly written, and evidencing 
 generous feeling." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 "We can honestly recommend Mr. Cornwallis's book to our 
 readers." — Morning Herald. 
 
 •'The country under his pencil comes out fresh, dewy, and 
 picturesque before the eye. The volumes are full of amusement, 
 lively and graphic.'' — Chambers^ Journal. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 In I vol., price 5s. 
 
 THINGS WORTH KNOWING ABOUT 
 
 HORSES. 
 
 BY HARRY HIEOVER. 
 
 "From the days of Nimrod until now no man has made so 
 many, few more valuable additions to what may be called 'Sports 
 ing Literature.' To those skilled in horses this litttle volume will 
 be very welcome, whilst to the raw youth its teachings will be as 
 precious as refined gold.'' — Critic. 
 
 "Into this little volume Harry Hieover has contrived to cram 
 an innumerable quantity of things worth knowing about the tricKs 
 and bad habits of all kinds of horses, harness, starting, shying, 
 and trotting ; about driving; about the treatment of ailing horses ; 
 about corns, peculiarities of shape and make; and about stables, 
 training, and general treatment." — Field. 
 
 "It is a useful hand-book about horses." — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 "Few men have produced better works upon the subject of 
 horses than Harry Hieover.'' — Review, 
 
 "The author has omitted nothing of interest in his 'Things 
 worth knowing about horses.' '' — Athenaeum.
 
 10 T. C. NEWBY S 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 In 1 Yol. post 8vo., price 10s. 6d. 
 
 HISTORICAL CLEANINGS AT HOME AND 
 ABROAD, 
 
 BY MRS. JAMIESON. 
 
 "This work is characterized by forcible and correct descriptions 
 of men and manners in bygone years. It is replete with passages 
 of the deepest interest." — Review. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 In 1 vol. demy 8vo., price 12s. 
 THE SPORTSMAN'S FRIEND IN A FROST. 
 
 BY HARRY HIEOVER. 
 
 "Harry Hieover's practical knowledge and long experience in 
 field sports, render his writings ever amusing and instructive. He 
 relates most pleasing anecdotes of flood and field, and is well 
 worthy of study.''— T/ie Field. 
 
 "No sportsman's library should be without it.'' — Sporting 
 Magazine. 
 
 "There is amusement as well as intelligence in Harry Hieover's 
 book." — Athenaeum. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 In 1 vol. demy 8vo., price 12s. 
 SPORTINC FACTS & SPORTING FANCIES. 
 
 BY HARRY HIEOVER. 
 
 Author of "Stable Talk and Table Talk," "The Pocket and the 
 Stud,'' "The Hunting Field," &c. 
 
 "This work will make a valuable and interesting addition to the 
 sportsman's library.'' — Bell's Life. 
 
 "In addition to the immense mass of practical and useful in- 
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 and fascinating as the pages of the renowned Nirarod himself.'' — 
 Dispatch. 
 
 "It contains graphic sketches of celebrated young sporting 
 characters.*' — Sunday Times.
 
 NEW PUBLICATIONS. 11 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 In 1 vol., price 5s. 
 
 THE SPORTING WORLD. 
 
 BY HARRY HIEOVER. 
 
 "Reading Harry Hieover's book is like listening lazily and 
 luxuriously after dinner to a quiet gentlemanlike, clever talker.'' 
 — Athenaeum. 
 
 "It will be perused with pleasure by ; 11 who take an interest 
 in the manly game of our fatherland. It ought to be added to 
 every sportsman's library," — Sporting Review., 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 FOURTH EDITION, PRICE 5s. 
 
 THE PROPER OONDITION OF ALL HORSES^ 
 
 BY HARRY HIEOVER. 
 
 "It should be in the hands of all owners of horses." — Belts 
 Life, 
 
 "A work which every owner of a horse ^dll do well to con- 
 sult." — Morning Herald, 
 
 "Every man who is about purchasing a horse, whether it be 
 hunter, riding-horse, lady's palfrey, or cart-horse, will do well 
 to make himself acquainted with the contents of this book." — 
 Sporting Magazine. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 In 1 vol., price 5s. 
 HINTS TO HORSEMEN, 
 
 SHOWINQ HOW TO IMAKE MONEY BY HORSES. 
 BY HARRY HIEOVER. 
 
 "When Harry Hieover gives hints to Horseman, he does not 
 mean by that term riders exclusively, but owners, breeders, 
 buyers, sellers, and admirers of horses. To teach such men how 
 to make money is to impart no valuless instruction to a large 
 class of mankind. The advice is frankly given, and if no 
 benefit result, it wiU not be for the want of good counsel." — 
 Athenaeum. 
 
 "It is by far the most useful and practical book that Harry 
 Hieover has written." — Express.
 
 V 
 
 12 T. C. NE why's 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 In 1 vol. price 5s. 
 
 THE WORLD AND HOW TO SQUARE IT. 
 
 BY HAERl" HIEOYER. 
 XXXV. 
 
 In 1 vol., price 4s. 
 BIPEDS AND QUADRUPEDS, 
 
 BY HAEEY HIEOVER. 
 
 "We recommend this little volume for the humanity towards 
 quadrupeds it advocates, and the proper treatment of them that 
 it inculcates." — BeWs Life. 
 
 xxxvt. 
 In 2 vols, post 8 vo., price 21s. 
 
 NAPLES, 
 
 POLITICAL, SOCIAL, AND RELIGIOUS. 
 BY LORD B***** 
 
 "The pictures are as lively and bright as the colours and 
 climate they reflect." — Spectator. 
 
 "It is a rapid, clear historical sketch." — Advertiser. 
 "The author has done good service to society." — Court Circular. 
 XXXVII. 
 
 In 2 vols., price 21s., cloth. 
 THE LIFE OF PERCY BYSSHE SHELLY. 
 
 BY CAPTAIN MEDWIN, 
 
 Author of "Conversations with Lord Byron." 
 " This book must be read by every one interested in litera- 
 ture." — Morning Post. 
 
 "A complete life of Shelley was a desideratum in literature 
 and there was no man so competent as Captain Medwin to sup- 
 ply it." — Inquirer. 
 
 "The book is sure of exciting much discussion." — Literary 
 Gazette,
 
 NEW PUBLICATIONS. 13 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 Price Is. 6d. 
 PRINCE LIFE. 
 
 BY a. p. R. JAMES, ESQ., 
 
 Author of "The Gipsy," " Eichelieu," &c. 
 
 "It is worth its weight in gold." — ''The Globe.'' 
 
 "Most valuable to the rising generation ; an invaluable little 
 book." — Guardian. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Second Edition, now ready, in 3 vols., price 42s. 
 THE LITERARY LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 OF THE 
 
 COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 
 
 BY R. IMADDEN, Esq., F.R.C.S.-ENG. 
 
 Author of "Travels in the East," "Life of Savonarola," &c. 
 
 "We may, with perfect truth affirm that duriag the last fifty 
 years there has been no book of such peculiar interest to the 
 literary and political world. It has contributions from every 
 person of literary reputation — Byron, Sir E. Bulwer, who con- 
 tributes an original Poem, James, D' Israeli, Marryatt, Savage 
 Landor, Campbell, L. E. L., the Smiths, Shelley, Jenkyn, Sir 
 W. Gell, Jekyll, &c., &c.; as well as letters from the most emi- 
 nent Statesmen and Foreigners of distinction, the Duke of Wel- 
 lington, Marquis Wellesley, Marquis Douro, Lords Lyndhurst, 
 Brougham, Durham, Abinger, &c." — Morning Post. 
 
 XL. 
 
 In 1 vol., price 7s. 6d. 
 ON SEX IN THE WORLD TO COME, 
 
 BY THE REV. G. B. HAUGHTON, A.M. 
 
 "A peculiar subject; but a subject of great interest, and in 
 this volume treated in a masterly style. The language is sur- 
 passingly good, showing the author to be a learned and a 
 thoughtful man." — New Quarterly Review.
 
 14 T. C. NEWBY S 
 
 XLI, 
 
 Price 2s. 6d. beautifully illustrated. 
 
 THE HAPPY COTTAGE, 
 
 ^ A TALE FOR SUMIVIER'S SUNSHINE. 
 By the Author of "Kate Vernon," *'Agness "Waring." 
 
 XLII. 
 In I vol. 8yo. 
 
 THE AGE OF PITT AND FOX. 
 
 BY DANIEL OWEN MADDEN, 
 
 Author of "Chiefs of Party," &;c. 
 
 The Times says " We may safely pronounce it to he the hest 
 text-hook of the age which it professes to descrihe." 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 In 3 vols, demy 8vo., price 21. 14s. 
 A CATHOLIC HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 
 
 BY W. MAC CABE, Esq. 
 "A work of great literary value." — Times. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 In 1 vol., price 14s. 
 
 LIVES OF THE PRIIVIE MINISTERS OF 
 
 ENGLAND 
 
 FROM THE RESTORATION TO THE PRESENT TIME. 
 
 BY J. HOUSTON BROWN, L.L.B. 
 Of the Inner Temple, Barrister-at-Law. 
 
 " The Biographer has collected the facts relating to the family 
 and career of his lour suhjects, Clarendon, Clifford, Danhy and 
 Essex, and stated these facts with clearness ; — selected such 
 personal traits as the memoirs and lampoons of the time have 
 presented, and interspersed his hiogi^aphies vdth. passing notices 
 of the times and reflections, which though sometimes harsh in 
 character or questionable in taste, have independence, and, at all 
 events, a limited truth." — Spectator,
 
 NEW PUBLICATIONS. 15 
 
 XLV. 
 
 In 2 vols., price 10s. 
 
 SHELLEY AND HIS WRITINGS. 
 
 BY C. S. MIDDLETON, Esq. j 
 
 "Never was there a more perfect specimen of biography." — 
 Walter Savage Landor, Esq. 
 
 "Mr. Middleton has done good service. He has carefully 
 sifted the sources of information we have mentioned, has made 
 some slight addition, and arranged his materials in proper 
 order and in gTaceful language. It is the first time the mass of 
 scattered information has been collected, and the ground is 
 therefore cleared for the new generation of readers." — Jthenaeum. 
 
 " The Life of the Poet which has just appeared, and which 
 was much required, is written with much beauty of expression 
 and clearness of purpose. Mr. Middleton' s book ia a masterly 
 performance." — Somerset Gazette. 
 
 "Mr. Middleton has displayed great ability in following the 
 poet through all the mazes of his Ufe and thoughts. We re- 
 commend the work as lively, animated and interesting. It con- 
 tains many curious disclosures." — Sunday Times, 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 In 1 vol., price Is. 6d. 
 THE FIRST LATIN COURSE 
 
 BY EEV. J. ARNOLD. 
 
 '' For beginners, this'Latin Grammar is unequalled." — Scholastic, 
 XLVII. 
 
 Price 7s. 6d. 
 INDIAN RELIGIONS, 
 
 By a Missionary.
 
 16 T. c. newby's new publications. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 NEW FRENCH GRAMMAR, 
 
 Price OS. 6d. 
 LE. TRESOR DE LA LANGUE FEANCAISE, 
 
 Comprising French and English Exercises, a recueil of Sen- 
 
 ences, Proverbs, Dialogues, and Anecdotes, forming a Reading 
 
 book, tecrminated by a French and English Dictionary. 
 
 BY C. A. DE a LLiNCOURT, M.A. 
 
 Professor of Compared Languages. 
 
 "This Grammar will be used in every school in England. It 
 is an invaluable assistant to masters, and facilitates the acquisi- 
 tion of the language to the pupil without fatiguiug with a 
 multiplicity of rules." — The Scholastic.
 
 POPULAR NEW NOVELS. 17 
 
 POPULAR 
 
 NEW NOVELS. 
 
 I. 
 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo., price £1 lis. 6d. 
 
 THE STORY OF A LOST LIFE, 
 
 By W. PL ATT, 
 Author of " Betty Westminster." 
 
 " Mr. Piatt lias evidently taken great pains and bestowed 
 much thought on this novel, and the result is, he has given us 
 the most charming piece of nature -painting we have read for 
 many a day." — Globe. 
 
 II. 
 
 In 1 vol., price 10s. 6d. 
 
 MANORDEAN. 
 
 III. 
 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo. price £3 lis. 6d. 
 
 TRIED IN THE FIRE, 
 
 BY MES. MACI^NZIE DANIELS, 
 
 Author of " My Sister Minnie," " Our Guardian," &.c. 
 
 " Mrs. Mackenzie Daniels, whose tales^have gained for her 
 considerable reputation as a novelist has, under this suggestiv- 
 title, given us a story of exquisite beauty. The characters are 
 as life-like as it is possible to immagine. For graceful lane 
 guage and the high moral it inculcates, there will be few better 
 novels published this season." — Globe.
 
 V 
 
 18 T. c. newby's 
 
 IV. 
 
 In 2 vols, post 8vo. price £1 lis. 6d. 
 
 THE GREAT EXPERIMENT, 
 
 BY MISS MOLESWORTH, 
 
 Author "of "The Stumble on the Threshold," &c. 
 
 " The Great Experiment, consists in pointing out to the 
 world the evils arising from ill-assorted marriages, and we 
 venture to predict that it will attain a degree of celebrity that 
 will not be surpassed by any other novel in the" year 1860." — 
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 " Lessons of something more valuable than those of worldly 
 wisdom can be gathered h-om Miss Molesworth's novel. The 
 married may find how to render their state permanently happy 
 — those about to marry, are told with Avhat feelings they should 
 enter upon their new duties, and those who are seeking hus- 
 bands and wives will do well to study and ponder Miss Moles- 
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 originality of thought and expression." — Court Journal, 
 
 V. 
 
 In 3 vols, price £1 lis. 6d. 
 
 COUNTRY LANDLORDS, 
 
 By L. M. S. 
 "Author of Gladys of Harloch." 
 
 VI 
 
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 Coming Events Cast their Shadows Before , 
 
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 VII. 
 In 2 vols, post 8vo. price £1 lis. 6d. 
 
 SYBIL GREY. 
 
 "Sybil Grey is a novel to be read by a mother to a daughter, or 
 by a father to the loved circle at the domestic fireside." — Herald.
 
 IQEW NOVELS. 19 
 
 VIII. 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo. price ^1 Us. 6d. 
 
 THE HOME AND THE PRIEST, 
 
 BY SIGNOR VOLPE. 
 
 " It peculiarly illustrates the spirit and motives of the pre- 
 sent movement in Italy, especially in exposing, by the force of 
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 rany, which the Roman priesthood exercises alike over the 
 commonwealth and the home." — Globe. 
 
 "The author relies, with reason, upon the universal interest 
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 crimes, intrigues, cruelty and treachery of the tonsured orders, 
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 " The actual working of the Italian church system is shown 
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 in the uprooting of the spiritual as well as temporal dominions 
 of the Pope." — Examiner. 
 
 " The machinations of priestcraft, the unscrupulous tenden- 
 cies of Popery are here laid down with a ^dgorous and an 
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 " It is admirably written and abounds in vi-\id representation 
 of strong passion." — Guardian. 
 
 IX. 
 
 In 2 vols, price 21s. Second Edition. 
 
 MABEL OWEN. 
 
 " A novel it is a pleasm^e to read, and what is better a novel, 
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 " Actions and feeling-s are delineated with such truthfulness 
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 writings of a woman's heart. It is written for the best pur- 
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 " The best novel of the season." — Advertiser. 
 
 " There is no individual whose history and private experience, 
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 can truly say this of the present work." — Express.
 
 20 T. c. newby's 
 
 111 1 vol. post 8vo. price 10s. 6d. 
 (Second Edition.) 
 
 MY VILLAGE NEIGHBOURS, 
 
 BY MISS G. M. STERNE. 
 
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 " Contains pleasing sketches of country scenery and agree- 
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 XI. 
 
 In 2 vols, post 8vo. price 21s. 
 
 HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY, 
 
 By Mrs. AUGUSTUS PEEL. 
 
 " Mrs. Agustus Peel has worked out this Proverb admirably 
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 that her book is in every way worthy the name she bears. 
 The langiiage is eloquent, the style unaffected and the story 
 interesting from begining to end." — Globe. 
 
 "A very pleasing and instructive novel." — Atlas. 
 
 XII. 
 
 In 3 vols., price 31s. 6d. 
 
 ma:ster and pupil, 
 
 By Mrs. MACKENZIE DANIELS.
 
 NEW NOVELS. 21 
 
 XIII. 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo. price £1 lis. 6d. 
 
 THE LILY OF DEVON, 
 
 BY C. F. ARMSTRONG. 
 
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 XIV. 
 
 In 1 vol., price 7s. 6d. 
 
 MILLY WARRENER. 
 
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 XV. 
 
 In 2 vols., price 21s. 
 
 THE COUNT DE PERBRUCK, 
 
 By HENRY COOKE, Esq. 
 
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 reader till the closing page." — Morning Post. 
 
 " This highly-interesting romance will find a place amongst 
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 " Thijj is an experiment, and a successful one." — Jtlas»
 
 22 T. c. newby's 
 
 XVI. 
 
 In 3 vol., price 31s. 6d. 
 
 THE CAMPBELLS, 
 
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 XVII. 
 
 In 3 vols., price 31s. 6d. 
 
 EBB AND FLOW. 
 
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 mended." — The Sun. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 In 3 vols., price 31s. 6d. 
 
 GEOEGIE BARRINGTON, 
 
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 XIX. 
 
 In 2 vols., price 21s. 
 
 BEVERLEY PmORY. 
 
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 cjuestionably clever." — Examiner.
 
 NEW NOVELS. 23 
 
 XX 
 
 In 3 vols., price 31s. 6d. 
 
 THE PARSON AND THE POOR. 
 
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 out." — Illustrated News of the World. 
 
 xxr. 
 
 In 3 vols., price Sis. 6d. 
 
 THE FATE OF FOLLY, 
 
 BY LORD B******* 
 Author of Masters and Workmen, &c. 
 
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 " It is a good book." — Spectator.
 
 24 T. c. newby's new novels. 
 
 xxir. 
 
 In 3 vols., price 31s. 6d. 
 
 BETTY WESTMINSTER, 
 
 BY W. PL ATT, Esq. 
 
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 years." — Review. 
 
 "All is described by a master handi"— Jo^n Bull, 
 XXIII. 
 
 In 3 vols., post 8vo., 31s. 6d. 
 
 FEOM THE PEASANTRY TO THE 
 PEERAGE. 
 
 BY BLUE TUNIC. 
 XXIV. 
 
 In 2 vols., post 8vo., price 21s. 
 
 THE TWO HOUSEHOLDS.