OF THE 
 
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 or ILLI NOIS 
 
 823 
 
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MR. SPIVEY’S CLERK. 
 
©nf-FoIume Nobels. 
 
 PERFERVID : the Career of Ninian Jameison. By John 
 Davidson. Illustrated by Harry Furniss. 6s. 
 
 THE QUESTION OF CAIN. By Mrs. Cashel Hoey. 6s. 
 
 DESPERATE REMEDIES. By Thomas Hardy. 6s. 
 
 THE WYVERN MYSTERY. By J. S. Le Fanu. 6s. 
 
 WHEAL CERTAINTY. By John Cahill. 6s. 
 
 SFORZA: a Story of Milan. By W. W. Astor. 6s. 
 
 PRINCE DICK. OF DAHOMEY. By James Greenwood. 
 6s. 
 
 QUEEN OF ROSES. By Baynton Foster. 6s. 
 
 WARD & DOWNEY, PUBLISHERS. LONDON. 
 
MR. SPIVEY’S CLERK 
 
 a flobcl. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. S. FLETCHER, 
 
 AUTHOR OF “the WINDING WAY,” “ ANDREWLINA,” “ACROSS THE BREAKERS, 
 
 “old lattimer’s legacy,” “frank carisbroke’s stratagem,” etc. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 WARD AND DOWNEY, 
 
 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. 
 
 1890. 
 
 \All rights reserved^ 
 
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, 
 CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN EVENING WALK 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 MR. spivey’s establishment 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON . . . . 70 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 96 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MR. RUPERT TREMAYNE . . . . .121 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 GALATEA . . 1 56 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TOM GOES OVER SEAS 187 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN HYDE PARK 21 1 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A LETTER FROM FRANCE 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 OUR LADY OF MERCY . 
 
MR. SPIVEY’S CLERK. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN EVENING WALK. 
 
 About half-way down Paternoster Row there 
 was^ not many years ago, a small shop, which 
 bore above its window the name of Spivey^ 
 Publisher and Bookseller, and was not otherwise 
 distinguished from the adjacent establishments. 
 What its number was has now slipped from my 
 memory ; nay, I do not remember that in the 
 time of my acquaintance with it it ever had a 
 number. The letters which were delivered there 
 never bore a number ; and the booksellers^ 
 collectors, who came to the place with blue or 
 black bags across their shoulders, never knew 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 it by any other term than Spivey's.” Not that 
 Spivey's possessed any features likely to attract. 
 I believe, speaking from memory, that it was 
 a very dirty shop as regards its exterior ap- 
 pearance. The door and window-frames had 
 grown dingy from much rubbing. The Row is 
 exceedingly narrow just there, and the top half 
 of the large sheets of glass had evidently not 
 seen the charwoman's mop or leather for some 
 years. The lower half was painted with white 
 lead, so that no one might peer into the shop, 
 lest they should catch glimpses of the mysteries 
 of the publishing craft. But Mr. Spivey's various 
 office-boys had thought it well to have an 
 occasional peep into the Row, and they had 
 therefore scratched minute portions of the paint 
 away, so that the painted half bore something 
 of a piebald appearance. There was generally 
 a contents bill hanging in the square of glass 
 which ornamented the top panel of the door; 
 but the latter was always so dingy that I question 
 
AN EVENING WALK, 
 
 3 
 
 whether any one could read it. Nevertheless, 
 as Mr. Spivey published a magazine and also 
 a weekly paper, it was necessary that a contents 
 bill should be displayed somewhere about the 
 establishment, and accordingly the magazine bill 
 was posted in the door, and the weekly paper 
 in the window. The titles of both magazine and 
 journal were painted in neat black letters on the 
 door-post, but I am not going to tell you what 
 they were just now. 
 
 It was seven o’clock in the evening of a warm 
 June day, and things in the Row were beginning 
 to get quiet. The great vans which so effectually 
 block that tiny thoroughfare were gone ; the 
 itinerant vendors of fruit and ice-cream had 
 betaken themselves to likelier places; and there 
 was a steady procession of men in top-hats 
 towards Ludgate Hill. The Row, in fact, was 
 going home to Kensington and Camberwell, to 
 Highbury and Brixton, to Shepherd’s Bush and 
 eke to Bow ; to dinner with plenty of wine, and 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 a box at the Opera ; to tea with a penn'orth 
 of shrimps, and a look in at the tuppeny seats 
 of the Britt, or the Vic. For in the Row there 
 are mingled all sorts and conditions, from the 
 aristocratic publisher who gives splendid dinners 
 to his more famous authors, to the office-boy 
 whose circle is that of Kingsland Road or 
 Blackfriars. 
 
 They had not yet closed, however, at Spivey’s. 
 Mr. Spivey himself had certainly gone home to 
 Sydenham at five o’clock, carrying with him a 
 bit of fish in a straw bag, and a pine-apple in 
 a paper bag. It was a habit of his to go home 
 early, perhaps because it seemed the correct thing 
 to do, or possibly because he found seven hours^ 
 attendance at his establishment quite enough for 
 his constitution. Mr. Spivey’s clerks, however, 
 were expected to remain in evidence until seven 
 o’clock. When the clock of St. Paul’s struck 
 seven the office-boy was at liberty to sweep up; 
 at a quarter-past the whole staff was equally at 
 
AN EVENING WALK. 
 
 5 
 
 liberty to depart. Mr. Spivey thought that his 
 clerks ought to be grateful to him for granting 
 them such early hours, and he never lost an 
 opportunity of impressing upon them the ad- 
 vantages which they might gain during the hours 
 intervening between seven and bedtime. 
 
 Let us enter Mr. Spivey’s establishment and 
 look round. It is somewhat dingy inside as well 
 as outside, and the place smells as if the gas had 
 been burning all day long, as indeed it usually is. 
 There is a long counter running the length of the 
 shop ; there are rows upon rows of square pigeon- 
 holes filled with books ; and there is a glass screen 
 at the end of the counter, with a door in the 
 middle on which is inscribed the word Office.'” 
 Close to the window looking into the street 
 there is a small desk, protected from the vulgar 
 gaze by a wood screen, and on the screen, and 
 immediately facing you as you enter the shop, is a 
 placard drawing attention to the fact that 
 payments will only be made on the second 
 
6 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK, 
 
 Saturday in each month, a most disturbing 
 announcement to any who want their money 
 badly and come three weeks too early for it. 
 Mr. Spivey^s clerks are preparing to go home. 
 The office-boy, whose jacket is so much too 
 small for him that it seems to have grown with 
 him, has sprinkled the floor with water and is 
 now sweeping up. A young gentleman of 
 twenty is performing the duties of his toilet 
 at a small square of looking-glass. He has 
 taken off and hung up a very dirty turn-down 
 collar^ a decayed vest, and an out-at-elbows 
 jacket, and is now donning a very high collar, 
 a brilliant tie, and an irreproachable vest and 
 coat. A bottle of boot-polish at his elbow gives 
 evidence that he has not forgotten his pointed 
 shoes, while his shining top-hat is standing ready 
 to be adjusted upon his well - ordered head. 
 Near him a middle-aged individual is putting 
 on his coat with a preoccupied air, which simply 
 means that he is endeavouring to decide at which 
 
AN EVENING WALK, 
 
 of the neighbouring public-houses he will take 
 a glass of bitter. And at the small desk near 
 the window stands a young man, who is casting 
 up figures in a ledger and comparing them with 
 a pile of coins at his side, being, in fact, occupied 
 in making up his petty cash for the day. The 
 carefully-attired young gentleman, having finished 
 his toilet to his own satisfaction, adjusts the 
 curly-brimmed hat, and, with a Good-night, old 
 man,^’ to the figure at the desk, goes out. The 
 middle-aged man follows him more slowly and 
 says, '^Good-night, old fellow,^’ too. And then 
 the office-boy, having struggled bravely with the 
 brush and swept the last vestige of dust into 
 the street, comes up and says, meekly: 
 
 '' IVe swept up now, Mr. Christmas.” 
 
 The young man at the desk nods, says, 
 '^All right, James, you can go,” and is at 
 once left alone, the boy producing his cap from 
 some invisible quarter and vanishing through 
 the door like a shadow. 
 
8 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 Let us look at Mr. Thomas Christmas^ head 
 clerk to Mr. Spivey the publisher, as he stands 
 at his desk adding up pounds, shillings, and 
 pence. He is rather above the average height ; 
 he is not good-looking; he is badly-dressed. 
 Beginning at his boots, you will notice that they 
 are patched in more than one place, that his 
 trousers are very much bagged at the knees and 
 white at the seams, that his vest is also the 
 worse for wear, and his coat old-fashioned and 
 shiny. Nevertheless there is nothing untidy 
 about him. His clothes are darned here and 
 there, but they are not torn ; his boots are 
 patched, but the soles are thick and the heels 
 are not down. His linen is clean and good, his 
 black tie is new, and he wears an old-fashioned 
 hair-chain to his watch. In spite of his well-worn 
 clothes and unfashionable appearance he looks 
 what he is — a gentleman. Certainly, it is not 
 handsome looks which bestow the stamp of 
 gentility upon him, for he is not handsome. His 
 
AN EVENING WALK. 
 
 9 
 
 hair is suspiciously auburn, his nose is a snub, 
 his moustache slight and sandy, his cheeks are 
 much freckled, and his ears, like his hands, 
 are large and red. But his eyes are soft and 
 gentle and kindly, and there are lines about 
 his mouth which mean, properly read, that 
 Thomas Christmas is patient and forbearing and 
 just. 
 
 The clock of St. Paul's chimed a quarter-past 
 seven, and Mr. Christmas, having found his petty 
 cash correct, put away his books in the safe in 
 Mr. Spivey's office, and transferred the keys to 
 his own pocket. This done, he took down his 
 hat from its peg, and, having brushed it, put 
 it on, and, giving a careful look round to see 
 that all was right, went out of the shop and 
 locked the door. He was evidently not in any 
 great hurry to get home, for he strolled gently 
 Citywards, and often stopped to look in the 
 shop-windows in Cheapside. Any one bestow- 
 ing careful notice upon him, would have perceived 
 
lO 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 that Mr. Christmas generally chose the jewellers^ 
 shops as his objects of admiration. 
 
 He had nearly reached the Mansion House, 
 when he saw a young lady advancing towards 
 him, at sight of whom he quickened his own 
 pace. She came up to him with a smile, and 
 gave him her hand ; and then they turned, 
 and went westward with the rest of the crowd. 
 
 “You are ten minutes earlier to-night, 
 Maggie, said Mr. Christmas, when they reached 
 the comparative quietude of St. Paul’s Churchyard, 
 and were able to hear each other speak. “ I 
 thought I should be too soon, and I was too late.^^ 
 “ Oh ! said the girl, “ I was so glad, Tom, 
 to get away. It has been so hot to-day. I 
 was nearly stifled. Let us go somewhere where 
 we can get a breath of fresh air — if there is 
 any fresh air in London.’’ 
 
 You have had tea, Maggie?” 
 
 “Yes, Tom. Tea, and bread and butter, and 
 some cherries. And you 'i 
 
AA-^ EVENING WALK. 
 
 II 
 
 I have had tea, Maggie^ long since, And^ 
 now, where shall we go?^’ 
 
 Let us go along the Embankment, and 
 past the Abbey, Tom ; and along Parliament 
 Street, and the Strand, and then home.^^ 
 
 They crossed Ludgate Hill — crowded with 
 cabs and omnibuses — and turned aside into the 
 Broadway, and thus reached the Embankment. 
 And there, with one consent, they both leaned 
 over the parapet, and looked down at the 
 river. 
 
 “ Oh,^^ said the girl, “ if it was only the 
 sea ! 
 
 She was a pretty girl, with brown eyes and 
 hair, and a confiding expression about her which 
 made her seem as if she were perpetually en- 
 deavouring to win every one’s heart. Not a 
 strong or very healthy maiden by any means. 
 The round cheeks were pale, and had more of 
 the lily than the rose. A countryman, remember- 
 ing the damask cheeks of his daughters, would 
 
12 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 have said that the girl wanted fresh air, and 
 plenty of it. And that was just what she did 
 want^ and just what she could not get. For 
 milliners* assistants in London do not get much 
 time for country junketings ; and Maggie Primrose 
 was a milliner’s assistant. 
 
 If it was only the sea ! ** she repeated, 
 longingly, looking at the muddy river. I wonder 
 when I shall see the sea again, Tom.” 
 
 “ Before the summer is over, my dear, I 
 hope,” said Tom Christmas. ^^We will have a 
 day somewhere, Maggie.** 
 
 Maggie’s face grew brighter. 
 
 Won’t that be splendid 'i ” she said, de- 
 lightedly. But, oh, not Margate or Ramsgate, 
 Tom, please ! One does not get clear of London 
 at either place. I wish we could find a nice 
 quiet place where there would be just the sea, 
 and the sky, and some old fishermen, and a 
 ruined tower, and ourselves.” 
 
 You see, the weary, dreary City life had not 
 
AN EVENING WALK, 
 
 13 
 
 crushed all the imagination out of this young 
 lady. What the things she mentioned suggested 
 to her I cannot tell you ; probably she thought 
 of absolute rest, which some people call Heaven 
 and others Death. 
 
 Listen, Maggie,” said Tom Christmas. I 
 have been thinking lately that we might manage 
 something more than a trip this year. I shall 
 have my holidays soon, and so will you. What 
 do you think if we all go to the seaside, or 
 into the country, for a week — a whole week ? 
 Would you like it?” 
 
 ^^Like it! Oh, Tom — why it almost takes 
 my breath away to even think about it 1 Oh, 
 how splendid it would be 1 Should we all go — 
 your mother, and Julia, and you, Tom, and I?” 
 
 All, Maggie. I think we shall manage it. 
 I have got a little work in hand which will 
 bring ten or twelve pounds in ; and that would 
 be enough for a week. But donT say anything 
 at home, my dear, until the thing is certain. 
 
14 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 No^ Tom. Oh, I wish I could do something 
 towards it. I wish I could earn a few pounds 
 extra.’' 
 
 My dear, I don’t. I am sorry that you have 
 to work at all. Some day, Maggie, you shall do 
 nothing and live in a beautiful little house, and 
 have a servant-maid, and read all the new books 
 — those, I mean, which are worth reading — and 
 you shall have a real silk dress. I think you 
 would like all that, Maggie, wouldn’t you ? ” 
 ‘‘Yes, Tom. And I should like to know that 
 you were not obliged to work so hard, and that 
 you could buy all the books and things you 
 would like, and have a new coat whenever you 
 wanted it.” 
 
 “ Is that a hint, Maggie } I do want a new 
 coat now, I believe. Let me see — is it three, or 
 four, or five years since I had a new coat. Alas ! 
 it must be six. Never mind. Somehow, I don’t 
 think I should be very comfortable in new gar- 
 ments ; the old are so much easier.” 
 
AN EVENING WALK, 
 
 15 
 
 Aren’t you going to smoke, Tom ? 
 
 He pulled out an old briar pipe^ which had 
 evidently seen much service^ and produced an 
 equally ancient tobacco-pouch. He filled the 
 pipe carefully, taking care not to spill any of 
 the precious weed. When the pipe was lighted 
 he gave his arm to the girl and they walked on, 
 evidently quite content with themselves and the 
 world. And yet they were very poor, these two, 
 and had small prospect and little chance of ever 
 being anything else. For Tom Christmxas, only 
 son of a poor country parson, had a mother and 
 a sister to support out of the very small salary 
 he received at Spivey’s, and it was only by doing 
 a little extra work in the evenings that he 
 managed to keep his head above water. As for 
 Maggie Primrose, she was, as I have already 
 told you, a milliner’s assistant, and received the 
 magnificent remuneration of thirty pounds a year, 
 out of which sum she had to provide herself 
 with board and lodging and clothes. 
 
i6 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 Have you been busy to-day^ Tom ? she 
 asked as they paced leisurely along the Embank- 
 ment. Is Mr. Spivey still coining money, and 
 has he promised to raise your salary ? 
 
 Spivey, my dear, is a second Midas. What- 
 ever he touches turns to gold. It is really 
 wonderful, how fortunate he is. He hadn't much 
 when I first went to him, Maggie, and now he 
 lives in a big house and has half-a-dozen servants 
 and wears a diamond ring. But for all that, my 
 dear, Spivey is not a gentleman, and never will 
 be.^^ 
 
 Maggie nodded her pretty head. Her own 
 ideas as to what constituted a gentleman were 
 not very clear, but she had implicit faith in 
 Tom Christmas. 
 
 “Poor Spivey!” said Tom, blowing a huge 
 cloud of smoke at the imperturbable Needle. 
 
 He tries very hard to ape the manners of his 
 betters. I believe he was a street urchin in the 
 beginning. But that’s in his favour. I applaud 
 
AN EVENING WALK, 
 
 17 
 
 Spivey for that. Where his caddishness comes 
 in Is In his being ashamed of his humble 
 parentage, and in the tremendous airs he gives 
 himself. I shall never forget Spivey and his 
 wine. You remember, Maggie, when he asked 
 Denton and Jones and me down to supper with 
 him ? Spivey brought out some claret and 
 began praising it, telling us how much it cost 
 him a dozen, and swelling out before us with all 
 the magnificence of an Alderman. And, oh. 
 Lord ! the stuff was corked, and that badly, and 
 poor Spivey didn^t know what was the matter 
 with it.” 
 
 He took the pipe out of his mouth and 
 laughed heartily at the remembrance of Mr. 
 Spivey’s corked claret. Maggie laughed too, 
 though she was probably no wiser than the un- 
 fortunate publisher. 
 
 But it’s too bad to laugh at poor Spivey,^^ 
 said Tom. ^^He’s got plenty of good points 
 about him. I wish, though, he wouldn^t give 
 
 c 
 
1 8 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 himself such airs. Fellows who drop their h’s 
 and occasionally say ^ was you ^ shouldn't give 
 themselves airs. And, oh, Maggie, Spivey got 
 such a snub to-day. You know Bumpo^ the 
 great ^ special/ the fellow who writes those 
 grand accounts of royal funerals, and weddings, 
 and assassinations, and so on, in The Daily 
 Telephone? Well, Spivey wanted Bumpo to 
 write him a page for Sparks every week, and 
 he wrote to Bumpo and said that it had 
 occurred to him (things always are ^ occurring ^ 
 to Spivey, somehow), that a page from Bumpo's 
 pen would prove an interesting feature in his 
 paper, and he had therefore very great pleasure 
 in offering him a guinea a page for his con- 
 tribution. Bumpo wrote back and said that as 
 he always endeavoured to pay the butcher and 
 the baker and the candlestickmaker he must 
 decline Mr. Spivey^s magnificent offer. Oh, Lord ! 
 you should have seen Spivey's face when I gave 
 him the letter. Why, Bumpo gets ten guineas 
 
AN EVENING WALK, 
 
 19 
 
 a page from The Sketcher, But that^s Spivey all 
 over. He wants as much as possible for as 
 little as possible/^ 
 
 I don^t think Tom Christmas was actuated 
 by any malevolent feeling in telling his sweet- 
 heart these anecdotes of his employer. But 
 he knew that he was a gentleman by birth 
 and education, and that Spivey was a little cad, 
 who possessed neither the one nor the other ; 
 and it sometimes galled him, patient as he was, 
 to know that he was bound to serve his in- 
 ferior. Moreover, he regarded Maggie as his 
 alter egOj and only talked of Spivey to her. To 
 his mother and sister, Spivey was, according to 
 Tom, a very nice man, perhaps not quite a 
 gentleman, but very nearly so. 
 
 The two went on, stopping awhile to gaze 
 at the Houses of Parliament, contemplating 
 which, Maggie said that she felt sure Tom ought 
 to be a Member, and perhaps he would be one 
 day. Whereupon Tom said that when he took 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 MR. SPlVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 his seat in St. Stephen’s, he would bring in a 
 Bill to give everybody a salary large enough 
 for their needs, with a special provision for 
 holidays. 
 
 I used to think once, Maggie,’^ he said, 
 as they stood at Poets’ Corner, and remembered 
 the names of those who lay inside, “that I 
 should be a great author, and be buried here. 
 I used to write poetry. Fancy me a poet! A 
 red-haired poet ! Love-verses they were, too, 
 some of them. Fancy a red-haired poet writing 
 love- verses! You might as well imagine a 
 donkey posing as a war-horse or an elephant.” 
 
 ^^And what have you done with them, Tom 
 — the verses, I mean } You might have shown 
 them to me.” 
 
 “My dear, I don’t want to make an ass of 
 myself in your dear eyes. Perhaps once upon 
 a time I might have shown them to you. I am 
 afraid they are burnt now, Maggie.” 
 
 “ I am sure they would be beautiful, Tom.” 
 
AN EVENING WALK. 
 
 21 
 
 She had so much implicit faith in him, that 
 she believed him capable of any great deed ; 
 and if he had claimed the honours of a great 
 poet, she would have accorded them to him 
 without demur. 
 
 believe I thought so, too, at one time,^^ 
 said Tom; “but when I came across some of 
 them the other day, they seemed awful rubbish, 
 Maggie, awful rubbish.” 
 
 She shook her head at that, doubting if 
 anything that Tom did could be done badly, 
 and said that she felt sure Tom was a great 
 poet, whose light was hidden under a bushel, 
 but who would eventually startle the world, and 
 finally be buried in Poets^ Corner. And with 
 that she gave his arm a little squeeze, and they 
 both laughed and turned away, and went up 
 Parliament Street into the Strand, which was 
 busy, and gay, and full of light. And there, 
 like one Traddles and his sweetheart, they began 
 to look in all the shop-windows, and tell each 
 
22 
 
 MR. SPlVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 other what they would buy when they were 
 rich. And while Tom desired nothing but books 
 and scientific instruments, Maggie^s tastes ran, 
 as was perfectly natural, in the way of diamond 
 rings and silk dresses. 
 
 It was half-past ten o’clock when they reached 
 the High Street in Islington, and said good-night 
 to each other. Both had had a hard day, and 
 had added to their labours the further exertion 
 of a long walk, and yet neither felt tired, so 
 exhilarating is love. Maggie Primrose, how- 
 ever, went to bed immediately after leaving her 
 lover, and dreamed, perhaps, of all the happiness 
 that the future was to bring. As for Tom 
 Christmas, he sat up until the clocks chimed two 
 in the morning, working, as usual, for those whom 
 he loved. I have no doubt that his poor head 
 ached and his eyes burned before he finished 
 his appointed task. What of that } Laborare 
 
 est orare. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 MR. SPIVEY'S ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 I SHALL not soon forget the day whereon I first 
 came to London, like a stray beam drifted into 
 some stupendous whirlpool, to take up a posi- 
 tion in the office of Mr. Spivey, publisher, of 
 Paternoster Row. I was just twenty, an orphan 
 with strong inclinations towards literature as a 
 profession, and eager to get to London, which 
 was, I fancied, the only place where an author 
 should live. I believe that I cared very little 
 what position I secured, so long as it was in 
 the metropolis. Perhaps I should have drawn 
 the line at butchering or baking, but I had 
 certainly had no objection to serving Mr. Spivey. 
 Mr. Spivey wanted a clerk who could do some- 
 
24 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 thing more than cast up accounts and write 
 dictated letters. My qualifications pleased him; 
 he engaged me. It was not at a great salary. 
 Men of the Spivey persuasion never do pay great 
 salaries. Their method is to secure the largest 
 amount of work at the smallest possible cost, 
 and it matters little to them that the necessary 
 balance is paid out of human flesh and blood. 
 
 And yet to look at him, or to hear him 
 speak to strangers or great people, you would 
 not have thought Mr. Spivey a hard man. He 
 was only middle-aged ; he had made his way in 
 the world ; he was a member of two learned 
 societies, and an extensive dissenting community 
 reckoned him as one of its shining lights. Nay, 
 he was accustomed to preach now and then in 
 the chapels of this community, and he was per- 
 petually holding himself up to us, his clerks, 
 as a model Christian man, repeating daily, with 
 much unctuousness, certain texts which seemed 
 to fit his case, and might possibly some day 
 
MR, SPIVEY^ S ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 25 
 
 fit ours. He was always attired in sober black, 
 and wore the nattiest of turn-down collars^ and 
 black ties, so that no one could possibly mistake 
 him for other than a deacon of the church. He 
 affected the company of his society's ministers, 
 and was never so much pleased as when a 
 dean or a minor canon of the Establishment 
 visited his shop with a view” to purchasing certain 
 publications. Nay, sound and somewhat aggressive 
 Protestant as he was, Mr. Spivey was even 
 delighted if the shovel hat and round collar of 
 a Papist priest became visible in his little shop. 
 
 I suppose that most of us are somewhat 
 better off in our old age than we were in our 
 youth, at least, as regards worldly position. The 
 man who was born heir to an earldom should, 
 if he plays his cards well, die possessor of a 
 ducal coronet. Tom Scales, the rich grocer^s 
 son, should, with like good management, blossom 
 into Sir Thomas Scales, Knt., head of a county 
 family. It is a sad result if a man goes out 
 
26 
 
 MR. SPIVEY CLERK. 
 
 of the world as poor as he came into it, though 
 it is indeed quite certain that none of us, by 
 a strange irony of fate, can carry even a half- 
 penny away with us. Mr. Spivey, who sprang 
 from very humble beginnings, was evidently 
 impressed early in life with the necessity of 
 climbing the social ladder. What he did in 
 extreme youth, or where he acquired his limited 
 education, I cannot say, but he was very shaky 
 about aspirates, and in moments of excitement 
 or forgetfulness would plough through the gram- 
 matical rules with unbounded license. I fancy 
 Spivey had tried more trades than one in his 
 time ; but he certainly hit the nail on the head 
 when he decided to become a Father of the 
 Row. How he got to London from his native 
 Yorkshire, none of us ever knew; but it was 
 currently reported in the office that when he 
 first arrived in town, bent upon making his 
 fortune, he possessed as capital the insignificant 
 sum of one hundred pounds. We used to wonder 
 
MR, SPIVEY^ S ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 27 
 
 how he had managed to build up his business 
 on so small an amount, and admired his pluck 
 as much as we laughed at his peculiarities. 
 
 It was, perhaps, fortunate that Mr. Spivey’s 
 affairs prospered, for down at Sydenham he 
 had a colony of little Spiveys, whose feet must 
 have worn out a tremendous lot of shoes, and 
 whose mouths must have taken a great deal of 
 filling. I think there were six young Spiveys 
 when I first knew the family, and a new one 
 used to arrive every year. These young olive- 
 branches, of course, necessitated a small army 
 of nurses and servants, and I used to wonder 
 whenever I went down to Spivey’s private estab- 
 lishment, wherever the master of the house used 
 to creep when he wanted to be quiet. But, in 
 course of time, Spivey built himself a man- 
 sion, a thing of many gables, and turrets, and 
 lancet windows, and hideous stained glass, and, 
 I suppose, he devised a prison for the children 
 somewhere about it. 
 
28 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 It was not of course to be supposed that a 
 man who had a large business and a larger family 
 could manage both without some slight diversion. 
 Nothing, according to the doctors, is so bad as 
 keeping your attention fixed on one thing, and 
 Spivey believed this to the letter. I think it 
 was about the second year of my stay with him 
 that he began to frequent certain cafes and 
 restaurants where certain literary persons most do 
 congregate and discuss professional matters over 
 a glass. I dare say Spivey told his wife — if he 
 ever did tell her anything about it — that the 
 exigencies of business required his attendance 
 at the Gaiety and the Criterion bars. Literary 
 men, of course, are fond of whisky-and-water 
 and tobacco smoke, and though Spivey hated 
 both, and was always deadly ill after being in 
 company with either, he displayed a brave spirit 
 and courted the Muses^ devotees with an ardour 
 quite praiseworthy. Not that Spivey ever suc- 
 ceeded, in my time at least, in catching any one 
 
MR. SPIVEY’S ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 29 
 
 of note. Great authors, nowadays at any rate, 
 do not flock together in public haunts in order 
 to smoke bad cigars and drink fiery spirits, 
 and though Spivey was always bringing some 
 “ distinguished writer ” to the office, his swan 
 invariably turned out a goose, and a thin one. 
 He was always electrifying us with the news 
 that he had made the acquaintance of Mr. So- 
 and-so, the great author, who was about to 
 call and arrange for the supply of a great novel 
 or a grand poem. When Mr. So-and-so turned 
 up, he generally proved to be down-at-heel and 
 out-at-elbow, while his aptitude for borrowing 
 half-crowns or getting advances was truly won- 
 derful. I think that literary men who were in 
 comfortable positions used to palm their poorer 
 brethren off on Spivey, in order to rid them- 
 selves of him. They knew that Spivey paid 
 poorly and expected a great deal. 
 
 And yet, in spite of his meanness, and his 
 silliness, and his foolish endeavours to penetrate 
 
30 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 into the society of men who would never have 
 condescended to talk with him for five minutes, 
 Spivey got on and made money, and became 
 fat, and comfortable, and rich. And the way 
 in which he did it was very simple. The books 
 that he published cost him practically nothing, 
 for authorship at any rate. They were all certain 
 to sell. Nothing that was not cheap or popular 
 ever went out of Spivey’s shop. Books, he used 
 to say oracularly, the public will have — not, 
 perhaps, as they will have sugar or bacon, 
 but still in fair quantities, and he who can 
 meet the demand cheap must needs succeed. 
 And Spivey^s books sold, though no author ever 
 profited by them. Famous novels, the copy- 
 right of which had expired, issued from Spivey^s 
 doors at fabulously low prices, and were eagerly 
 bought. French novels, too, he published ; and 
 paid a poor governess or despairing hack ten 
 pounds for translating. Anything salable, which 
 involved no more cost than printing and bind- 
 
MR. SPIVEY^ S ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 31 
 
 ing, Spivey took up with alacrity. If he ever 
 did employ an author, that author had to write 
 a great deal for a very little. Then, too, Spivey 
 had a magazine. A wonderful magazine, too. 
 It was a class magazine. When its proprietor 
 began business, he looked round him and saw 
 a certain profession which needed a journal 
 and had none. Spivey saw his chance and 
 seized it. He founded a periodical for the use 
 of that profession, and made it so useful to that 
 profession, that every member of it subscribed. 
 Spivey^s journal attained an enormous circulation. 
 Imitations sprung up, of course ; but it was 
 recognised as T/ie 0rga7i. Its advertisement 
 columns were always full, and its editorials re- 
 garded as oracular utterances. And when it 
 was at the very height of its prosperity, Mr. 
 Spivey sold it to a Limited Liability Company 
 for twenty thousand pounds. 
 
 Mr. Spivey also possessed a weekly paper. 
 It was one of those journals which seem charac- 
 
32 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 tenstic of the present age, when no one is happy 
 unless there is a cause cilkbre in the Divorce 
 Court. Its name was Sparks^ and the famous 
 literary man-of-all-work, C. Portsmouth McFlynn 
 (author of numberless works in fiction, history, 
 theology, and the drama), was the editor. A 
 wonderful fellow, McFlynn, and never at a loss. 
 To see him throw off a dashing description of 
 a fight between the Brixton Chicken and the 
 Putney Pet, and then turn to a new sheet and 
 commence an essay on the Brutality of the 
 Age,” was something to be admired. His copy 
 for Sparks was always ready, although it usually 
 had to be dashed off at the last moment. 
 
 ^^Ah, me bhoy, Oi’m late agin this blessed 
 afthernoon ! Give me some peepor, me bhoy, 
 and a pincil, and Oi^ll knock off the shtuff in 
 foive minutes, so Oi will.’^ 
 
 I used to keep all the old scraps of letter- 
 paper for McFlynn's use. A more careless, un- 
 tidy man in preparing his shtuff,” never existed. 
 
MR. SPIVEY ESTABLISHAfENT. 
 
 33 
 
 ^^Did you ever, by any possible chance, buy 
 any scribbling paper of your own, McFlynn ? 
 
 I asked him once. 
 
 He threw back his head and laughed, as only 
 impudent, handsome Irishmen can laugh. 
 
 Faith, me bhoy,^^ he said. OiVe been a 
 journalist this twenty year, and niver did Oi 
 boy peepor, or pin, or pincil in me loife.'^ 
 
 Where McFlynn got all his information from 
 regarding the doings of high life I have often 
 wondered; but Sparks was always so full of 
 chit-chat about Lord This and Lady That, that 
 some of us used to associate its editor with the 
 cream of Society. 
 
 ^^He must be a big swelV^ said Jones, wha 
 was our office swell, or else how could he know 
 all about the great people^s doings 
 
 Certainly, if ever there was a divorce in the 
 air, McFlynn knew all about it, and would 
 hint of it in carefully considered and suggestive 
 paragraphs in Sparks, I think he must have 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 been in the confidence of a good many gentle- 
 men and ladies of the kitchen, judging from 
 the unheroic figures some of our supposed no- 
 bility used to cut in his paragraphs. Valets and 
 ladies’ maids have, we know, a nasty habit of 
 peeping through keyholes and listening at doors. 
 It only needed men of the McFlynn stamp to 
 turn these “maynials” into first-class journalists. 
 
 Mr. McFlynn, besides editing Sparks, was 
 engaged in much other literary work, and only 
 attended in Mr. Spivey’s office for an hour or 
 two daily. But we were not without company ; 
 for besides Tom Christmas and myself, there 
 was Mr. Jones, who dressed exceedingly well, 
 and had duly qualified as what people now call 
 a masher,” and what was then known as a 
 *‘tofTf,” and Mr. Denton, who was a somewhat 
 dreamy, poetically-inclined individual, working on 
 a very small salary; and Mr. Rattler, the traveller 
 and advertisement agent, who was a very lively 
 fellow, and kept us all going after Spivey had 
 
MR. SPIVEY’S ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 35 
 
 gone home at five o^clock. We used to look 
 forward to Rattler’s appearance from a journey, 
 for he would then relate to us all the news of 
 the road, and recount each and every new story 
 and joke which had recently come to his notice. 
 We had also two office-boys, one of whom was 
 perpetually asleep like Pickwick’s fat boy, and 
 the other kept in a state of feverish anxiety lest 
 the evening’s parcels should be late at Hayden’s 
 or Billing’s. 
 
 On the whole we had very good times at 
 Spivey’s. Spivey himself, with all his snobbish- 
 ness and meanness, was not a bad master. Some- 
 times, when we had been working extra hard, 
 he would give us each half-a-sovereign, and tell 
 us to go and ^^henjoy” ourselves for the 
 afternoon. Whenever we worked after seven 
 o’clock, he allowed us sixpence each for tea — 
 which, when one comes to think of it, was ex- 
 tremely handsome conduct. Mr. Rattler, to be 
 sure, never would stop later than half-past five 
 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK, 
 
 o’clock ; but then he had a wife waiting tea for 
 him, and scorned our bachelor festivities. Mr. 
 Jones used to observe that sixpence meant three 
 glasses of bitter beer and pocketed the coin, 
 and Mr. Denton used similarly to mention that 
 it meant two goes of Irish whisky, and both 
 worked on while Tom Christmas and myself 
 drank our tea and ate our tea-cake. 
 
 Looking back on those days, I believe that 
 I have never since lived such a regular, 
 monotonous life, as during the few years I 
 spent at Spivey’s. I used to arrive at the 
 office at half-past nine o’clock ; I went out to 
 dinner at one ; I went out again to tea at five ; 
 I went home at seven. I had a table of my 
 own in a quiet corner, and there I used to sit 
 for hours at a stretch correcting proofs — oh, 
 horrible and dreary task, which I now hate 
 like poison! — or writing letters, or scribbling 
 copy for Mr. McFlynn. Every afternoon I used 
 to visit the printers, where there was more 
 
MR. SPIVEY’S ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 37 
 
 proof-reading, and consultations with the printer’s 
 foreman about blocks and plates and what not. 
 Now and then, I used to have to hunt up 
 McFlynn, whom I should probably find at the 
 “ Cock,” or the “ Cheshire Cheese,” talking 
 politics with a compatriot, and perfectly ob- 
 livious of the fact that it was Thursday after- 
 noon, and within two hours of Sparks going 
 to press. When I did so find him, I was bound 
 to treat him to a brandy-and-soda before he 
 would consent to accompany me. Once at the 
 office he would sit down at my table, borrow 
 “ pincil an’ peepor,” and fling off paragraphs 
 about the Royal Family, My Lord Broadacres, 
 the Terrible Scandal in High Life, and the 
 
 Club Incident, as fast as I could catch 
 
 and sort them. 
 
 The first year that I spent at Spivey’s, 
 Tom Christmas and I used to be a great deal 
 together. We were both the sons of clergymen; 
 we had each certain tastes in common ; we were 
 
38 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 both very poor. At first, London being a verit- 
 able gold mine to me, he took me round to 
 see the sights^ and under his guidance I made 
 acquaintance with all that was worth seeing 
 in town. That was^in summer^ when the evenings 
 were long. In winter, we used to go to the 
 Guildhall Library and read, and I am quite 
 sure that I have never read so much since as 
 I did then. I believe we used to look forward 
 to the winter evenings. We always sat at the 
 same table, the last one on the left hand side 
 as you enter, and we generally stayed there 
 from half-past seven until ten o'clock, at which 
 hour we used to go home, talking on the way 
 of what we had read. I used to read little else 
 than poetry in those days, and some fine verse 
 I first made acquaintance with in that fine old 
 City Library. There I first read William Morrises 
 ‘‘ Defence of Guenevere and his Earthly 
 Paradise ; " there I read Swinburne^s earlier 
 volumes ; there I disinterred many a thin 
 
MR. SPIVEY^S ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 39 
 
 octavo, which had not seen the light for many 
 a year. But Tom Christmas, across the table, 
 used to read books whose very appearance 
 used to discomfit me — Kant, Hegel, Spinoza, 
 and Comte. And he read them carefully and 
 thoroughly, and carried away the pith of them 
 in a bulky note-book. He used to listen patiently 
 to my views on everything, and never contra- 
 dicted any of my wild and immature statements 
 or assertions ; but he taught me much in a 
 quiet, unobtrusive way. In those days I used 
 to write verses, and eventually spoke of them 
 to him. Then I found that he, too, had once 
 flirted with the Muses, though I never saw 
 the result of the flirtation. For life, eminently 
 prosaic, had knocked the poetry out of Tom 
 Christmas's brain, and left there something more 
 tangible, if less real. 
 
 It was in early spring when I first went 
 to Spivey's. I remember the day well enough. 
 How is it that one remembers some days so 
 
40 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 clearly, and others not at all? Every minute 
 of that day is photographed on my mind, for 
 it was the day when I went to London for the 
 first time. Think of that, ye country swains 
 and maidens, who have never yet seen the 
 great metropolis, and are ardently desirous of 
 doing so. It was afternoon when I reached 
 London — an afternoon in April. The hedges 
 and trees in my native northern county were 
 bare and brown, but the hedges and trees of 
 Middlesex were fair and green. As we ap- 
 proached the great city, its vastness impressed 
 me to the last degree. Houses, houses, houses 
 on every side, and houses, I knew, for many a 
 mile beyond. Once outside the station objects 
 of interest began to appear to me, who had 
 studied my map of London thoroughly. Gray’s 
 Inn Road, the old houses in Holborn, Chancery 
 Lane, Fleet Street, Temple Bar, the busy Strand, 
 all these places seemed like old friends, met 
 in strange places, so familiar was I with their 
 
MR, SPIVEV^S ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 41 
 
 names if not with their faces. From my hotel 
 I made my way, never once asking a direction, 
 to Paternoster Row. Spivey had gone home. 
 I went away, too, and wandered round Ludgate 
 Circus to the Embankment, where I stood and 
 admired, fairly enchanted by the great buildings 
 of the world's centre, as the setting sun cast 
 his last rays upon them. I wandered into 
 Westminster Abbey, and nearly wept over the 
 tombs in Poets^ Corner, going afterwards into 
 Palace Yard, and watching the Members pass 
 into the House. Knowing no one and having 
 none to speak to, I wandered up and down the 
 Strand that night until it was almost next 
 morning, intoxicated with the sensation of 
 novelty, and by the crowds, and gas-glare, and 
 thousand-and-one strange sights. I have often 
 wished that I could go to London for the first 
 time again. 
 
 I remained in the quiet hotel, to which 
 domestic authority had consigned me, for a few 
 
42 
 
 MR. SPIVEV^S CLERK. 
 
 days, during which I tried to find suitable 
 lodgings. One whole day, at Spivey’s direction, 
 I devoted to wandering up and down London, 
 endeavouring to come across such accommodation 
 as would fit my limited purse. But I had to 
 present myself in the Row again next morning 
 and confess that I had seen plenty of landladies, 
 but none likely to suit me. And I looked at 
 Spivey wistfully, I have no doubt, hoping, though 
 it was no business of his, that he would descend 
 from his pedestal and find me a place where I 
 could lay my head in peace. Spivey was always 
 particular that his assistants should be lodged 
 in sober Christian families. He rang his bell, 
 and summoned Tom Christmas. 
 
 ‘‘Christmas, Mr. Tempest wants to find 
 lodgings. In a good, respectable, Christian 
 family, Christmas. Do you know' of anything } ” 
 
 Tom Christmas looked at me and I looked at 
 him. Speculation was in his eyes ; hope and 
 entreaty in mine. I think he meant his eyes to 
 
MR. SPIVEY^S ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 43 
 
 say : “ What sort of fellow are you ? I am sure 
 that I meant mine to say: “ Help me if you can/^ 
 We had seen each other for a few minutes on the 
 previous day and I think had been favourably 
 impressed each by the other. 
 
 I am afraid I don’t/^ said Tom Christmas^ 
 upon which my hopes fell. But I will see what 
 I can do,” he added, upon which they again rose 
 higher than ever. 
 
 ^Wery good, Christmas/^ said Mr. Spivey. 
 ‘‘ I shall be glad if you will. A sober, respectable 
 family, Christmas, mind. Where there are all the 
 spiritual advantages to be had. Family prayer, 
 of course. Also no late hours.^^ 
 
 I thought I discerned just the least sparkle in 
 Tom Christmas’s patient eyes. He looked at me 
 again. 
 
 was just thinking,” he said, ^^that there is 
 a room to spare in my own house if Mr. Tempest 
 would like to take it.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” I cried, I should be delighted.” 
 
44 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 of course,” added Tom, I must consult 
 my mother and sister, who live with me/^ 
 
 ^^Certainly,^^ said Mr. Spivey, certainly. 
 Very kind of you, Christmas. Your mother and 
 sister, I think, are members of the Church } ” 
 
 Tom Christmas bowed. 
 
 ‘'And you — er, you are attached to some 
 body, eh ? 
 
 To this question Tom Christmas made no 
 direct answer, but I am sure that his face flushed 
 a little, as though he resented these searching 
 questions. He turned to me. 
 
 If you would like to go home with me this 
 evening, he said, kindly, I will introduce you 
 to my mother, and we will see what arrangements 
 can be made.” 
 
 I hastened to thank him, and Mr. Spivey, 
 forgetting his anxiety about family prayer and 
 the spiritual privileges, thanked him too, and 
 told me that I ought to feel much obliged to 
 Mr. Christmas, which I certainly did. 
 
MR, SPIVEY^ S ESTABLISHMENT, 
 
 45 
 
 I went home with Tom Christmas that night. 
 It was seven o^clock when we left the office, and 
 he led the way into Aldersgate Street, where he 
 looked dubiously at the trams and ^buses. 
 
 ‘‘We will ride, if you like. Tempest,” he said, 
 looking at me. generally walk. Salaries at 
 Spivey^s hardly allow one to spend twopence on 
 a tram.^^ 
 
 I hastened to say that I should really prefer 
 to walk and we set out, Tom Christmas talking 
 to me all the way in a kindly fashion. I am sure 
 he had no desire to draw me out ; but before 
 we reached the “ Angel at Islington I had told 
 him all about myself, my hopes, and my aspira- 
 tions. And to everything I said he listened 
 kindly and patiently, impressing me more by 
 this than I had ever been impressed before. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY. 
 
 The house to which Tom Christmas conducted 
 me was one of many similar mansions in Canon- 
 bury Square, big, gloomy, and in no wise 
 conducive to good spirits. The square itself 
 looked fairly pleasant in the evening light, for 
 the trees in its midst had just put on a new 
 coat of green, and the meagre flower-beds were 
 gay with the glory of crocus and snowdrop. 
 But in the windows of the houses, which might 
 have been equally bright with flowers, there was 
 nothing more attractive than dingy blinds and 
 doubtful lace curtains. I had come from a part 
 of the country where the inhabitants are very 
 particular about their windows, and the dinginess 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY. 
 
 47 
 
 of the London windows made itself very apparent 
 to me. 
 
 The Christmas mansion, however,, which was 
 in the furthest corner of the square, and almost 
 under the shadow of Canonbury Tower, which 
 is famous for something or other — I have for- 
 gotten what now, but I believe there is something 
 about Oliver Cromwell or Oliver Goldsmith or 
 both in it — was conspicuous from its neighbours 
 by reason of very white blinds, bright door-knob, 
 and clean doorstep. One glance at it was enough 
 to show you that some one lived there who was 
 scrupulously clean and neat. I felt it almost 
 an act of sacrilege to step on the white thresh- 
 old, and nearly shuddered as Tom Christmas 
 laid hold of the highly-polished brass knocker. 
 Admitted by a very small servant-maid, who 
 was so clean that you could see yourself reflected 
 on her well-soaped forehead, and who wore a 
 large white apron and a huge white mob-cap, 
 we found ourselves in a fairly wide hall, smelling 
 
48 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 much more sweetly and soap-and-waterish than 
 most metropolitan halls do. Tom ushered me 
 into a room on the right, and left me to amuse 
 myself there while he went to find his mother 
 and sister and inform them of my presence. 
 
 The room, a large, square apartment with a 
 window commanding a view of the square, was 
 just as neat as the outside of the house. Every 
 chair seemed to be in its place, and each had 
 a white antimacassar on its back; a mahogany 
 table in the middle of the floor was arranged 
 in stiff, formal fashion with books in ornamental 
 bindings ; a mahogany bookcase fitted the wall 
 opposite the window ; a few oil-paintings hung 
 here and there, relieved at intervals by heavily- 
 framed steel-plates ; a group of wax-flowers under 
 a glass shade stood on the mantelpiece, flanked 
 on each side by two heavy bronze candlesticks. 
 I looked in vain for anything bright. 
 
 The bookcase naturally attracted my attention 
 first. It had glass doors, which are abominable 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY. 
 
 49 
 
 things, and one had to hold one’s head very- 
 much on one side in endeavouring to look round 
 the divisions at the titles. When the titles of 
 the books were seen they were not reassuring. 
 Theological, all of them, and of that dismal type 
 which was so prevalent a hundred years ago : 
 
 Sermons,^^ by the Rev. Timothy Stamper, 
 A.M. ; “ Discourses, by the Rev. Prudence 
 
 Wellbeloved, B.D. ; Voice from the Pit,^^ 
 
 by Master Barnabas Tinkler, Minister of the 
 Gospel, at Little Bullocksmithy in Hampshire ; 
 
 Experience of Humphrey Cartwright, the Con- 
 verted Play-actor,” by himself, and so on. I 
 turned from the bookcase with a dreary feeling. 
 
 The books lying on the table were some- 
 what more attractive in appearance, and I went 
 over and looked at them. Alas, they were all 
 of the same class as their less showy brethren, 
 their superior binding evidently arising from 
 the fact that they were presentation copies or 
 Mitions de luxe. ‘‘ Memorials of a Consecrated 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 MR, SPIVEV^S CLERK, 
 
 Life: being the Autobiography of Emma Jane 
 Piper ; Ease in Zion : Discourses for the 
 King's Children ; “ Sammy Smith, the Village 
 
 Class - Leader : or, Holiness in Homespun 
 Father Vincent : the Story of a Pervert,^^ by 
 the late Emma Jane Piper; “Consecrated 
 Learning : Memorials of the late Zephaniah 
 Adolphus Spifhnwell, A.M.,^' by his father. Dr. 
 Benjamin Spififinwell, editor of the “Anti- Jesuit 
 and True Gospel Monthly.^^ I looked in vain 
 for novel or poem ; everything was sad, gloomy, 
 foolish. Stay, in one corner of the table lay 
 Young's Night Thoughts," with an inscription 
 on the blank fly-leaf: Julia Christmas, from her 
 Christian friend, Emma Jane Piper. Remember 
 when you retire each night that you may be dead 
 ere morning ! " 
 
 I put the book down in disgust. I was 
 young then and not over careful about anything ; 
 but the cold, dreary, gloomy spirit of these 
 books oppressed me and made me feel rebellious. 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY, 
 
 51 
 
 Looking back now, and that with more experience 
 and riper knowledge, I do not wonder that Miss 
 Julia Christmas’s books did repel me. God 
 forbid that I should ever sneer at religion, or 
 shock the pious feelings of good people ! But 
 cant is not religion and hypocrisy is damnable 
 anywhere, and the eyes of the Great Master, 
 which looked kindly and mercifully on the 
 harlot, were filled with scorn and anger as they 
 fell on the smooth brow of the Pharisee. 
 
 The pictures on the walls were not much 
 behind the books in the race for gloom and 
 dreariness. They seemed chiefly to consist 
 of portraits of ecclesiastics. Just where the light 
 could fall full upon it hung a steel engraving 
 of the Last Judgment, full of gruesome details 
 and writhing bodies. 
 
 I was standing in front of this production 
 when Tom Christmas came back. He blushed 
 slightly as he saw how I was engaged. 
 
 am afraid you have thought me long.?” 
 
 E 2 
 
 LIBRARY ^ 
 
 UNIVERSITY OP ILUNOW! 
 
52 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 he said, and I fear there is little in this room to 
 attract you/^ 
 
 I hastened to assure him that I was quite 
 comfortable. I wasn^t ; but what of that? 
 
 I don^t often come into this room,” he said, 
 in a low voice, as if he had no wish that any 
 one else should hear him. “The books and things 
 here are not quite in my line, you know. I have 
 a little place upstairs which I will show you 
 after tea. Will you come, Tempest 
 
 He led me through the hall to a smaller 
 and less funereal-looking room where a tea-table 
 was spread. On the threshold he stopped me 
 .and whispered in my ear. 
 
 My sister, he said, “ is rather strict and 
 Puritanical. Please bear with her, to oblige me.” 
 
 I nodded in the same confidential manner. 
 I would have borne with all the Puritans that 
 ever lived to oblige him, whom I had only 
 known for two days, and had already learned 
 to love and esteem. 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY. 
 
 53 
 
 We entered. The room, smaller, brighter 
 than the other, was occupied by two ladies, 
 both of whom rose at my entrance. The elder, 
 who had been sitting in an easy-chair by the 
 fireside, was a tall, gray-haired woman of sixty 
 or sixty-five, with a huge cap, a prominent nose, 
 and very long thin fingers which she was always 
 clasping and unclasping. Her attire was some- 
 what juvenile, and she had a full set of very 
 white false teeth which she constantly displayed 
 in conversation. The younger lady, standing by 
 the tea-table, was a rather tall female of thirty- 
 five. Her dark hair, drawn tightly back from 
 her forehead after the fashion of children’s dolls, 
 was gathered up in a severe-looking knot at the 
 back of her head. Her mouth was straight, thin- 
 lipped, and rigid. She wore pince-nez, and had 
 a habit of looking over them at any one which 
 was sometimes very disconcerting. Her gown 
 was cut in the plainest fashion and a semi-clerical 
 looking collar was all that relieved its sombre 
 
54 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 blackness. Somehow I felt that Miss Julia 
 Christmas was one to be reckoned with. 
 
 I shook hands with both ladies and we sat 
 down to the little table, Miss Christmas presiding 
 at the tray while her mother folded her silk- 
 mittened hands beneath the table. 
 
 ‘‘ Sugar and milk ? ” asked Miss Christmas, 
 in a voice so deep and magisterial that it would 
 have well-befitted any one forced to ask for poison 
 or dagger. 
 
 I hastened to inform her that I had a deep- 
 rooted antipathy to sugar, and never by any 
 possible chance took it in anything. 
 
 Ah ! said Mrs. Christmas, smiling ex- 
 pansively on all of us. ^^That reminds me of 
 the Larkinses. You remember the Larkinses, 
 Julia? Sophonisba Larkins and you were great 
 friends, and it was old Squire Larkins who gave 
 your papa his first living. At least it was 
 the old Squire who went up to see the Prime 
 Minister or the Queen or the Archbishop, because 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY. 
 
 SS 
 
 he told us so himself when he came back, and 
 brought Miss Larkins a silver-gray moire-antique 
 with the loveliest trimming that you could 
 possibly imagine, though indeed I don’t think 
 it was quite so nice as some trimming that my 
 great-aunt Slummins had from Fillimers at 
 Exeter — that shop, you know, Julia, on the 
 right hand side of the way as you go down from 
 the little church on the 
 
 ^^Thomas,^^ said Miss Christmas, “grace!” 
 
 Why she addressed her brother in particular 
 I don’t know, but she immediately bent her 
 head and recited a long grace with much unction. 
 Keeping one eye open, I noticed that Mrs. 
 Christmas had screwed her eyes up tightly and 
 dutifully, and that Tom was steadily staring 
 at a picture on the opposite wall. I concluded 
 then that Thomas and Julia Christmas did not 
 think alike. I had barely got through my first 
 cup of tea, when Miss Christmas opened the 
 subject of my going to reside there. Tom had 
 
56 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 evidently broached the matter to his family circle 
 while I waited in the front room. 
 
 ‘‘ My brother tells me that you wish to 
 find a lodging, Mr. Tempest/^ she said, with a 
 keen glance at me. '‘We have a very good 
 room here which we have sometimes let; but 
 we are very particular about those to whom we 
 let it.^^ 
 
 I bowed, and said nothing, being, indeed, at 
 a loss for words wherewith to reply. 
 
 “We like our lodger to be steady, sober, and 
 a joined believer, Mr. Tempest. I hope you are 
 a joined believer?*’’ 
 
 I looked across at Tom Christmas. A joined 
 believer ! What was a joined believer ? 
 
 “ I mean,’^ said Miss Christmas, before Tom 
 could speak, “that I hope you are a member of 
 the Church.’’ 
 
 “I go to church,” I said, “and I think I 
 can satisfy you on the grounds of sobriety and 
 steadiness.” 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY. 
 
 57 
 
 “We could not possibly take any one who 
 was not a member of the Church/^ she said, 
 ^^Full Christian privileges are to be had in this 
 house, Mr. Tempest/^ 
 
 ‘‘My dear Julia, said Tom, “Mr. Tempest 
 may not feel that interest in these matters which 
 you feel.” 
 
 She took no notice of his remark, and con- 
 tinued addressing herself to me. 
 
 “ I suppose you will attend church regularly/^ 
 she said. I should strongly advise you to sit 
 under the Rev. Mr. Dumbury, a most excellent 
 man, and so very faithful.^^ 
 
 I thanked her, and said that I would remember 
 her advice when I next went to church. 
 
 “What church have you previously attended } ” 
 she asked next, 
 
 “The little village church of which my father 
 was vicar,” I answered. 
 
 “What were your fathers views Was he 
 
 faithful 'i I hope he was faithful.^^ 
 
58 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK, 
 
 should imagine he was/^ I said, every 
 one loved him/^ 
 
 Was he Evangelical ? '' 
 
 “I don^t know/^ I answered. ‘‘But he had 
 a very nice service. There were candles and 
 flowers on the altar, and incense sometimes, 
 and 
 
 I stopped, for Miss Christmas sat bolt upright 
 with a horror-stricken air, and gazed at me as 
 if I had strayed from the pit of Tophet. 
 
 A Jesuit in disguise ! she exclaimed. 
 “ Oh, my dear young friend, I hope you are 
 not infatuated by the rags of Popery. Alas, 
 how dreadfully this plague is spreading in 
 England. And the poor man, your father, is 
 dead?” 
 
 “He died ten years ago, ma^am.” 
 
 “ Ah, then he could not have had much oppor- 
 tunity of instilling those poisonous doctrines into 
 your mind. I will lend you my dear friend 
 Emma Jane Piper's ‘Remarks on Ritualism.’ 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY. 
 
 59 
 
 They will convince you "of your error. Dear me ! 
 Did your father use to worship images in a dark 
 room ? ” 
 
 I donT think so.” 
 
 ^‘^You would be almost too young to know. 
 And did he hear confessions, and wear a hair 
 shirt ? 
 
 I don^t know, ma’am. He used to give 
 away a great deal of money to the poor, and 
 helped everybody who needed help.” 
 
 ^^Ah, those are but works. Works are un- 
 profitable. It is only faith which saves. Well, 
 Mr. Tempest, I hope you will learn much. You 
 shall read my deceased friend Emma Jane Piper’s 
 ^ Snatched from the Fire,’ a story of how a young 
 man was converted from Popery to the truth, 
 and became a faithful minister of the Jedediah 
 Bungleton Society.” 
 
 “ Will you come upstairs to my room, Tem- 
 pest ? ” said Tom Christmas, breaking in upon 
 this highly interesting conversation. I dare say 
 
6o 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 my sister will see us later, so that we can arrange 
 about your coming here/^ 
 
 I was only too glad to follow him. To tell 
 the truth I was getting afraid of Miss Christmas. 
 She seemed so terribly in earnest, and spoke 
 so fiercely, that I almost imagined her to be 
 some terrible Inquisitor, bent on getting all my 
 secrets out of my breast. 
 
 Tom Christmas led the way upstairs, pro- 
 ceeding right to the top of the house and finally 
 opening the door of what was, I suppose, an 
 attic. He ushered me in, and, closing the door 
 behind us, glanced at me in rather a shame-faced 
 manner. 
 
 ‘‘ I’m awfully sorry,’^ he said. And then we 
 both looked at each other and laughed, and 
 understood things so clearly that there was no 
 need of further explanation. 
 
 ^^You see,’^ he said, pointing me to a chair, 
 Julia is quite an — well, let us say enthusiast — 
 on these matters, and I am not. I believe I 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY, 
 
 6i 
 
 could put my creed in a nutshell; but Julia’s 
 is a long and dismal one. I don^t know exactly 
 where she got it^ for my father^ Calvinist though 
 he was, was a good^ kindly man as ever lived. 
 I think it must be Dumbury’s influence. A most 
 awful fellow, that Dumbury. Sighs and groans 
 over me every time we meet, as though I were 
 some awful profligate. However. Julia is a good 
 girl when you come to know her^ and one of 
 the best housekeepers living. Do you smoke, 
 Tempest?’^ 
 
 I had just commenced smoking at that 
 time, so we lighted our pipes and puffed away 
 contentedly. 
 
 Tom’s attic — for it was an attic, and looked 
 out upon the roof — was rather a nice place, in 
 spite of its lofty position. It contained a desk, 
 and two chairs, and some book-shelves, the 
 contents of which were vastly different to those 
 books in the heavy glass-fronted abomination 
 downstairs. 
 
62 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 I think we could make you comfortable 
 here, Tempest/^ said Tom Christmas, after a 
 pause. “ I should be very glad, too, of your com- 
 pany. This house is too large for us, and we 
 have generally let one bedroom — the one under- 
 neath us — to somebody. Generally the some- 
 body has been a parson — of the ^ faithful^ 
 of course. I am rather tired of parsons. Once 
 a very reverend and grave gentleman came and 
 took the room, and stayed with us two months, 
 chiming in with Julia in everything, and quite 
 winning her admiration. Lord ! you should have 
 seen him going to church with her on Sundays, 
 or have heard him and Dumbury and Julia 
 talking after service ! And oh ! how he could 
 read family prayers, and pray, too, out of his 
 own head. Dumbury said, one day, that he had 
 never known a man who enjoyed so much ‘liberty 
 in prayer^ as this fellow did. And, Tempest, 
 when he left he took a most affecting farewell 
 of all of us, and, at the very door, begged my 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY. 
 
 63 
 
 poor sister to accept a free pass to the Royal 
 Pumpadelphian Music Hall, where he was a well- 
 known comic singer. Oh ! if you could but have 
 seen her face ! 
 
 Of course she didn^t accept the pass ? 
 don^t remember about that; but I met 
 the fellow a few weeks after and blew him up 
 for his imposition. ‘ Dear boy,’ said he^ ‘ thaPs 
 all right. Don’t you remember the apostolic 
 injunction to be all things to all men? I saw 
 what your worthy sister was and I humoured her. 
 Gad ! it was amusing, too, to hear her and the 
 parson going on about the wickedness of the stage, 
 and me sitting by all the time.’ Poor Julia! she 
 means well, Tempest.” 
 
 ‘‘ I am sure of it/’ I said, warmly. And then 
 we began to talk about Spivey’s and my own 
 prospects. 
 
 ‘‘ I have been at Spivey’s six years,” said Tom 
 Christmas, ‘‘six years last February. Dear me! 
 how time flies. I don’t seem much better off than 
 
64 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 I was then, either. It's hard work getting on 
 at Spivey^ s, Tempest ; but, then, it’s hard work 
 getting on anywhere, and I’m thankful I’ve got 
 a permanency.^^ 
 
 ‘‘ How did you get to Spivey’s place ? I 
 asked him. 
 
 How ? I’ll tell you, though it’s a poor 
 story, I’m afraid. You see, Tempest, my father 
 died when I was just twenty, and left us with 
 nothing but this house. He had only a poor 
 living, and had saved nothing. It was neces- 
 sary that I should do something, for my mother 
 and sister depended upon me. I was at Oxford 
 then.” 
 
 He stopped, and looked round dreamily, and 
 following his eyes I saw them rest at last on 
 a cricket bat, reposing in one corner of his attic 
 beneath a faded dark-blue cap and jacket. 
 
 “Yes,” he said, seeing me look at these 
 objects, “I was in the Eleven at Oxford, and 
 the ’Varsity Match was the last one I ever played 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY, 
 
 65 
 
 m, for my father died the next day, suddenly, 
 and I had no more time for cricket/^ 
 
 He pulled down an old Cricket Annual from 
 the topmost shelf, and showed me the score of 
 the match in question with much pride. 
 
 It is hard work. Tempest, finding some 
 occupation that will put even bread and cheese 
 in your mouth. I was literally obliged to find 
 work quickly, for we had nothing to live upon. 
 
 I wished to sell this house, but my mother and 
 sister thought it would be a wiser plan to come 
 here and live in it. It would have sold for a 
 good price ; but we have lived here rent free,, 
 and sometimes, you know, it would have been- 
 very difficult for me to raise the rent. It has. 
 been all that I could do, so far, to keep things 
 going.” 
 
 “ But I suppose your sister is engaged in 
 some work?” I said. 
 
 “ Oh, Julia works very hard indeed. She 
 sees to the housekeeping, and she assists Mr. 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 MR, SPIVEY CLERK, 
 
 Dumbury in his parish ; but, of course^ that does 
 not bring anything in.^^ 
 
 Of course not.” 
 
 ‘‘We were here six months, Tempest, before 
 I found any work. My mother had a little 
 money, and we managed to subsist on it until 
 I secured a post. I tried nearly everything. 
 
 I tried agencies and agents, answered and in- 
 serted advertisements, and tramped many a 
 weary mile. And yet nothing ever turned up, 
 and I used to go home every evening sick at 
 heart and weary. At length I determined to 
 take any post that would put a pound a week 
 into my empty pockets. The house was our 
 own, and nothing could turn us out of it ; but 
 we must have something to eat. I went down 
 to the City again, and began to call on the 
 publishers, trusting that one or other of them 
 would think me likely to be useful. At last I 
 came to Mr. Spivey. It was at the end of a 
 dreary day in February, and I had called at 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY. 
 
 67 
 
 so many places and received so many rebuffs, 
 that I was well-nigh worn out. You know 
 Spivey^ Tempest, you know his quick, abrupt 
 manner, his way of going straight to the point. 
 He heard my story, looked me over at a glance, 
 and seemed to finish his calculations respecting 
 me in a second. ^You’re an Oxford man,' 
 said he; ^you haven't a degree; you're poor; 
 you want work. Well, you'll find it very hard 
 to get any.' I assured him that I was so well 
 aware of that fact, that I could not possibly 
 hope to add to my knowledge of it. ‘ Well,' 
 says he, in that pertinent fashion of his, ^what 
 can you do ? What about languages ? Latin 
 and Greek ? All very well for lawyers, doctors, 
 and parsons, but little use in my trade. French ? 
 That's better. German ? Better still. Come, 
 now, here's a French letter and here a German 
 one. Just translate them, will you?' I wrote 
 out a hurried translation for him, and then 
 added that I could also write short-hand pretty well. 
 
 F 2 
 
68 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 ‘ That^s the best thing IVe heard yet/ he said. 
 Then he asked me what salary I wanted. I 
 said I must leave that in his hands. ‘ Come 
 here at nine o’clock to-morrow morning/ he 
 said, ^and I’ll tell you what I’ll do then.’ The 
 next morning I went, and Mr. Spivey engaged 
 me as his principal clerk — up to that time he 
 had only had an office-boy — at the magnificent 
 salary of one guinea per week.” 
 guinea.^” 
 
 guinea, Tempest. Lord, man, I have 
 been there six years and my salary now is but 
 fifty shillings a week ! When I first went to 
 Spivey he was doing hardly any business ; now, 
 he has a good business. I have seen it rise 
 tremendously, and Spivey has made money. He 
 ought to pay me five pounds a week at least ; but 
 he won’t, and I’m too much afraid of being 
 without a situation to throw it up.” 
 
 We went downstairs after that, and there had 
 a short conversation with Miss Christmas, the 
 
THE CHRISTMAS FAMILY. 
 
 69 
 
 result of which was that I settled to come and 
 live with them from the next day forward. 
 
 I then rose to say good-night ; but Miss 
 Christmas, who was holding a large quarto of 
 Devotions in her hand, remarked that it was 
 time for the evening exercises, and she would 
 be glad if I would join them. I was so com- 
 pletely under her power that I should have 
 consented, had not Tom Christmas reminded his 
 sister that the tram passed through the Square 
 in three minutes and hurried me off, Miss Christ- 
 mas observing pointedly that a time would come 
 when we should all have to find leisure for death. 
 With which very pleasant truism ringing in my 
 ears I said good-night and went away, the warm 
 grasp of Tom^s hand dwelling with me until I 
 got back to my hotel. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON. 
 
 In spite of Miss Julia Christmas’s persistent 
 attempts to supervise my religious and moral 
 welfare, I managed to be very comfortable 
 while residing under her brother's roof. I think 
 that the knowledge that it was her brother's 
 roof made me summon up courage to resist 
 Miss Julia’s influence. Quiet and unassuming 
 as he was, Tom Christmas had yet plenty of 
 decision about him, and though he would listen 
 patiently to all that his over-zealous sister had 
 to say, he never allowed himself to be influenced 
 by her. And though I^ at first, used to wait 
 upon Miss Julia's words with fear and trembling, 
 and even accompanied her on more than one 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON. 
 
 71 
 
 occasion to the church in which she sat under the 
 faithful Mr. Dumbury, I gradually drew courage 
 to myself from Tom, and began to make myself 
 quite at home. 
 
 Tom and I, indeed, became like two brothers. 
 He cleared out a corner of his attic study for 
 me, and we bought a second-hand desk and set 
 it up therein, and there we used to read and 
 write of an evening after coming home from a 
 day^s hard work at Spivey’s. There, too, we 
 used to sit and talk when all else were sleeping, 
 discussing schemes whereby we could raise or 
 supplement our incomes, for we were both 
 ardently desirous of becoming rich men. There 
 was small chance of our ever acquiring fortunes 
 in the service of Mr. Spivey, though indeed that 
 gentleman was rapidly making one himself, and 
 whenever we got a chance of earning a few extra 
 sovereigns we were glad to take it. 
 
 As for Tom Christmas, it was indeed quite 
 necessary that he should add something to the 
 
72 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 fifty shillings which he received weekly from Mr. 
 Spivey. His mother and sister were absolutely 
 dependent upon him. There was no rent to 
 pay for the house, to be sure, but everything 
 else^ taxes, rates, bread, coals, and candles, 
 had to be provided out of Tom^s slender salary 
 — yea, and clothes also. When there is no rent 
 to pay, fifty shillings per week is certainly enough 
 for a family of three, though strict economy 
 will have to be practised and a rigid super- 
 vision exercised in dealing with butcher and 
 grocer. I had not been long at Christmas’s, 
 however, before I found that Mrs. and Miss 
 Christmas were not the most economical people 
 in the world. Of course it was not to be wondered 
 at. People who have never had to earn their own 
 bread, who have never known what it is to earn 
 a meal before eating it, knowing that unless it 
 was earned there would be no meal, are not the 
 people for economy. Miss Christmas was a good 
 manager and a model housekeeper in the way 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON. 
 
 73 
 
 of cleanliness and order ; but her economy was of 
 that sort which the proverb calls penny wise and 
 pound foolish.” Mrs. and Miss Christmas were 
 aware that things were not so well with them as in 
 the days of the Devonshire rectory and promptly 
 paid tithes ; and, therefore, Miss Christmas decided 
 that less butter must be used in the kitchen, and 
 not more than one pound of tea bought per week. 
 But Miss Christmas had always been accustomed 
 to subscribing a guinea to the Tract Society, and 
 half-a-guinea to the Married Missionaries, and 
 two guineas to the Society for converting Irish 
 Papists ; and under no circumstances whatever 
 could she dream of discontinuing these annual 
 absurdities. And so the housekeeping money 
 used to go, and poor Tom knew that it went, and 
 said nothing, for he could not bear, as he once 
 said to me, to think that his sister should be 
 deprived of her little pleasures. 
 
 People who only knew Tom Christmas very 
 slightly must have thought him the most mean 
 
74 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 and miserly hunks that ever lived. I never knew 
 him to spend a penny without taking it out of 
 his pocket and looking dubiously at it for a long 
 time. He would tramp through a shower of rain 
 rather than spend twopence on a ^bus or tram. 
 He would never have a drink with any one, 
 because it would have necessitated his inviting the 
 other party to drink at his expense. He would 
 never go anywhere or do anything that cost 
 money. He would sometimes explain this to 
 those for whose opinion he cared, telling them 
 that it was so awfully hard to. keep going in 
 London that he was literally forced to be a screw. 
 But there were times when Tom^s pocket opened 
 like magic, and when even shillings came from it 
 as carelessly as though he owned the purse of 
 Fortunatus. Such were the occasions when he 
 carried home a bottle or two of good old port for 
 his mother, or when his sister had expressed a 
 desire to read and possess the Life and Letters of 
 some divine or female celebrated for sanctification 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON. 
 
 75 
 
 and faithfulness — or, as the book generally proved, 
 for peevish selfishness and a general aptitude for 
 making everybody else miserable. 
 
 And yet Tom Christmas, though he had a 
 tremendous love of books, never seemed to see 
 that it would have been quite as just for him to 
 have treated himself to a volume or two at a 
 second-hand stall as to spend seven-and-sixpence 
 on some faci of Miss Julia’s. This habit of self- 
 abnegation was the radical defect in his character. 
 Self-knowledge and self-control he had in plenty ; 
 but his self-reverence was conspicuously absent in 
 that he never understood how good it is for a 
 man to be just to himself before he is generous to 
 others. Selfishness, like Miss Julia Christmases, 
 is well-nigh invincible ; but I think even she 
 would have melted if she had sometimes seen 
 Tom gazing wistfully at some battered and 
 tattered old volume in the twopenny boxes of 
 Booksellerse Row. 
 
 Why don^t you buy it then ? I used to say. 
 
76 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 when he was turning over the leaves of some 
 or other^ to be had at some such sum as 
 sixpence or a shilling. It’s very cheap.” 
 
 ‘‘Ah, but, you see, it^s this way. If I once 
 give way, Leonard, I shall never, never recover my 
 self-command. I can look at things now, and 
 think I should like to possess them, and still never 
 entertain a thought of buying them. Sixpence 
 is a very small amount — I say, fancy Spivey 
 hesitating over a sixpence ! — and I can afford 
 to spend one sixpence. But if I bought this 
 book I should want to buy another next week. 
 And I made a rule, Len, six years ago, of a very 
 stringent nature, and I mean to stick to it.^^ 
 
 “And what was it, Tom? Though, of course, 
 I can guess it. It was that you would never, by 
 any possible chance, give yourself a bit of 
 pleasure/^ 
 
 “No — hardly that. No pleasure? Why, my 
 dear man, I have a lot of pleasure. Is it not 
 pleasure to walk and talk with you ? ’’ 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON. 
 
 77 
 
 “ I am glad^ very glad, if it is, Tom. But 
 
 “Indeed, when one comes to think of it, I 
 have plenty of pleasure. I feel pleased when I 
 come strolling through this musty little street and 
 look at all the old books. I feel pleased when 
 we walk along the busy Strand and see all the 
 people hurrying this way and that. I feel pleased 
 when weVe had a good day at Spivey^s, and that 
 gentleman has gone home with visions of untold 
 wealth floating in his brain. I feel pleased when 
 I see McFlynn getting his ‘shtufif^ ready in 
 good time.” 
 
 “ Poor pleasures, and all cheaply acquired.^^ 
 Nay, Len, there you are wrong. Not poor^ 
 and not to be despised because they cost nothing. 
 Indeed, I think the highest pleasure is that 
 which springs from one^s self and not from the 
 outside.^^ 
 
 “You are , getting too deep for me now,. 
 Tom,” I answered. “ But confess, wouldn't you 
 like to go up to Lord's and see the University 
 
78 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 Cricket Match^ which you can easily do by ex- 
 pending, say, half-a-crown ? 
 
 I should, Len. But think — that half-a- 
 crown would buy ever so many loaves of bread. 
 I believe it would even purchase a very small 
 shoulder of mutton. It would provide me with 
 two dinners — mutton tenpence, potatoes a penny, 
 bread a penny, and pudding threepence, which 
 is one-and-three altogether. I should like the 
 cricket match, Len, but I should want my money 
 back when it was over. I suppose circumstances 
 have made me selfish and money-grubbing.’' 
 
 Selfish you are not, Tom,’^ I said. ^^Few 
 men are less so.^^ 
 
 I don’t know,” he answered. I am afraid 
 we men are desperately selfish. If we talk about 
 Heaven it’s because we’re thinking of going 
 there ; if we fear Hell it’s because we’re afraid 
 for ourselves. Always self, always self! There 
 are very few people who ever lose themselves, 
 Len.” 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON, 
 
 79 
 
 And yet I think Tom did his best to lose 
 himself in work for others. He was upstairs in 
 his study as soon as tea was over, sweating 
 away at some extra work so that the water- 
 rate collector should not have to inform us that 
 he really would not call again^ or the gas- 
 bill man throw out nasty hints about proceedings 
 and summingses.’’ Sometimes he had to put 
 on an extra spurt so that Miss Julia could have 
 a new gown or a new bonnet, though I will 
 do that lady the justice to say that she was very 
 careful of her clothes and never indulged in 
 splendid attire. Tom, however, never by any 
 possible chance bought a new suit for himself. 
 He explained to me one day that he had possessed 
 a fair stock of clothing at the time of his father^s 
 death, and that he meant to wear it up. The 
 consequence was that he was rather out-of-date 
 in appearance, and would often have looked the 
 better for a new pair of trousers. 
 
 I wonder/^ he said one morning, as we were 
 
8o 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 walking to the office, and had just admired the 
 superlative cut of a City mans coat, wonder 
 when I shall buy another coat. I think my 
 black one will last another five years.^^ 
 
 I will tell you when you’ll buy one, Tom. 
 When you fall in love.” 
 
 ^^In love? I fall in love? Man alive, do I 
 look the sort of party to fall in love, or, rather, 
 do you think anybody would ever fall in love with 
 me?^’ 
 
 don’t see why not. And as for you, Tom, 
 why, there is no man living more likely to fall 
 in love badly.” 
 
 He looked at me wonderingly, and almost 
 stopped his hurried walk. 
 
 “ And why, Len ? ” 
 
 Because you have a great reverence for 
 
 women ; because you would deify the woman 
 you select; and because you have got the 
 
 domestic capacity — the capacity of making 
 
 everybody happy. But it will be better for 
 
l^HE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON. 8i 
 
 you^ Tom Christmas, if you never do fall in 
 love/^ 
 
 ^^And why, youthful philosopher?^^ 
 
 Because, whatever you do, you do in earnest. 
 You will think too much of the woman you fall in 
 love with, and will look upon her as spirit, whereas 
 she will be but flesh. Wherefore trouble would 
 come upon you, and, maybe, worse.^^ 
 
 “A Daniel come to judgment!” he said, 
 and laughed. “Now, do you know, Len, I 
 once was in love and that badly. Yes — and she 
 was a very nice girl, too. A nice, plump, jolly 
 girl. It was when I was at Oxford. As for 
 the girl, she was a barmaid. I think it was 
 the inimitable way in which she used to fill 
 glasses of ale that attracted so many of us to 
 her feet — metaphorically, of course. I wrote a 
 poem about her in which there were several 
 classical allusions. She was Hebe, and I and 
 my graceless companions were the Gods, and 
 the bar-parlour was Olympus, and the bitter 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 beer was nectar. But then nectar was never 
 half so nice as bitter beer/^ 
 
 I had been at Mr. Spivey’s establishment 
 about twelve months when that good and 
 worthy gentleman took it into his head to 
 introduce a change in the arrangements of his 
 counting-house. Some philanthropist — a lady, 
 I suppose — had induced him to attend a series 
 of meetings held for the purpose of promoting 
 the employment of young women in offices 
 and shops — of course, at longer hours and lower 
 wages than are usually arranged for with young 
 men. Wherefore Mr. Spivey decided to employ 
 a couple of female clerks, and dismiss Messrs. 
 Denton and Jones, the one of whom was too 
 fond of his glass and the other of his mirror to 
 do any good. That is to say, they were both 
 too fond of the glass, but old Denton’s glass 
 went to his mouth, while Joneses only reflected 
 its owner^s countenance and collar. 
 
 Mr. Spivey at that time used to consult Tom 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON. 
 
 83 
 
 Christmas and me about everything. Tom, 
 indeed, had been his familiar spirit for many a 
 year, and nothing had ever been done at Spivey^s 
 without his advice. But they had dragged me 
 into their counsels within the first six months of 
 my arrival, I suppose because I was a sober, 
 steady little party with an old-fashioned air and 
 somewhat strait-laced ideas. When the girl-clerk 
 question came up we were duly called into our 
 employees sanctum. 
 
 am thinking,^^ said Mr. Spivey, magis- 
 terially, ‘‘ of employing female labour. 
 
 He spoke as if the world was a convict-prison, 
 full of women, and he the Grand Bashaw, at whose 
 nod everybody must obey. 
 
 ‘‘What 6.0 you think, Mr. Christmas.?^’ added 
 Mr. Spivey, after we had digested this important 
 information. 
 
 ^^Do you purpose to dismiss all your present 
 clerks, sir ?” asked Tom. 
 
 ^^Oh, dear me, no! But,^^ said Mr. Spivey, 
 
 G 2 
 
84 
 
 MR. SPIVEY'S CLERK. 
 
 “that Denton will have to go, and young Jones, 
 too. The one’s a drunkard, and the other a puppy. 
 I think, Mr. Christmas, if we replace them by two 
 nice ” — a pause — “ respectable ” — another pause — 
 well-educated ” — one more pause — “ Christian ” 
 — tremendous emphasis on this last word — 
 '■“young women, we shall have wrought a great 
 improvement. Now, what do you think ? ” 
 
 “I think,” said Tom, “that two nice, respect- 
 able, well-educated, Christian young women, who 
 could do the work, would quite meet our require- 
 ments. But of course they ought to possess all 
 ■these qualifications without question.” 
 
 “Oh, of course,” assented Mr. Spivey. “Oh, 
 dear me, yes. Nice, respectable, well-educated, 
 Christian young women ! What do you think, 
 Mr. Tempest ?” 
 
 I think, sir,” I said, “ that the nice, respect- 
 able, well-educated, Christian young women will 
 need one more qualification. They ought to be 
 good-looking.” 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON. 
 
 85 
 
 Of course, of course/' said Mr. Spivey, 
 hurriedly, ^^that^s included in the ^nice.’ You’re 
 quite right. Tempest. You see, Christmas, they 
 might have to serve customers now and then, and 
 people like an attractive girl. Well, now, Mr. 
 Christmas, will you put an advertisement in The 
 Daily Telegraph, saying that we want a — let me 
 see, we’ll say ^of good appearance,’ instead of 
 * nice ' — that we want two respectable, well- 
 educated young ladies of good appearance and 
 Christian habits, as clerks. Letters only, to The 
 Telegraph office, Christmas. You and Tempest 
 must select a dozen of the best, and have ’em 
 ready for me on Tuesday morning, when I come 
 back from Brighton, and I’ll select the two. 
 Hours ! oh, nine till seven, and wages — er — let me 
 see — well, say ten shillings a week. Oh, and 
 Christmas, give Denton and Jones a week’s wages 
 in lieu of notice, and let ’em go on Saturday.” 
 
 We inserted the advertisement, as in duty 
 bound, in the Friday’s paper, and next morning 
 
86 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 had several hundred letters in answer thereto. 
 Alas, for our modern state of society, when young 
 women are glad to go into slavery for a miserable 
 weekly wage of half-a-sovereign ! Ten hours a 
 day of unhealthy toil in a close shop for as many 
 shillings per week ! 
 
 It was impossible for Tom Christmas and 
 myself, whom Mr. Spivey had appointed judges 
 in this important matter, to see all the candidates 
 for the vacant offices, and we accordingly spent 
 a busy day that Saturday in opening and reading 
 the tremendous pile of applications, putting all 
 envelopes aside which gave evidence of bad or 
 slovenly handwriting. 
 
 “ There’s a pretty ‘ fist,’ Tom,’’ I remarked, 
 showing him a square envelope ornamented by 
 a neat Italian style of caligraphy. I should 
 say that the girl who wrote this is a lady.” 
 
 He took it from me and looked at it musingly. 
 
 ‘‘Yes,” he said, “it’s a much better style 
 than most of these young females indulge in. We 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON. 
 
 87 
 
 must lay that aside, Len. Ah^ there’s a portrait 
 in here.” 
 
 ^^Out with it,” I said. ‘‘I wish we had told 
 them all to send their portraits. What a 
 collection we should have had ! ” 
 
 Tom cut the envelope open and slowly 
 drew forward the photograph. I bent over 
 and looked at it as he held it in his hands. It 
 was just a small carte-de-visite size and showed 
 the head and bust. A pretty girl, with just a 
 trace of sadness about the corners of the mouth, 
 and yet with dimples in her cheeks which 
 showed that there was some fun somewhere in 
 her disposition, and that she would like to 
 laugh and sing if only the exigencies of life 
 would admit of it. 
 
 That's a pretty girl,” I said, critically 
 regarding the portrait. She looks good and 
 sensible, too. I think she would meet Spivey's 
 definition. Nice, respectable, well - educated^ 
 Christian young woman. Put it aside, Tom.” 
 
88 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 Let us see the letter while we are about 
 it/^ he answered. “ It is a nice style of hand- 
 writing, too^ and would look well for our 
 invoices.^’ 
 
 ^^Or in a billet-doux, Tom Christmas.^^ 
 
 Bah ! Let us see what this young lady 
 says.^^ 
 
 They are much of a muchness, the letters 
 which any employer of labour receives when- 
 ever he advertises for a female clerk. There 
 is generally something about having been reduced 
 in circumstances, attending school with the Misses 
 Slogo, daughters of Sir Pomponius Slogo, twice 
 Lord Mayor, and being remarkably proficient 
 in all and every branch of arithmetic. There 
 is also, generally, about six mistakes in spelling 
 and half-a-dozen grammatical errors ; and there 
 is sure to be a postscript. 
 
 The letter which Tom Christmas was un- 
 folding, however, bore none of these time- 
 borrowed characteristics. It was well-written. 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON, 
 
 the writer conveyed her meaning clearly and 
 concisely, and had evidently remembered that 
 hers would not be the only letter which we should 
 receive. 
 
 “ What^s her name I said, trying to read 
 the signature. Margaret Primrose, eh? Um, 
 that’s a pretty name, isn’t it, Tom ? 
 
 Sweet Maggie Primrose,^^ he answered, 
 looking dreamily at the letter. ^^What a capital 
 title for a novel or a poem. A little ballad, you 
 know, with a Envoi and a head-piece with two 
 Cupids and some hieroglyphics scrawled about it. 
 
 Sweet Maggie Primrose went one day 
 
 Into the meadows a-making hay. 
 
 Fair was the land and fair the sea ; 
 
 But nothing was half so fair as she ! 
 
 Does ^she’ and ‘sea’ rhyme, Len? Lord, 
 it is so long since I tagged rhymes together 
 that I forget. Lie there, sweet Maggie Primrose’s 
 letter, and take thy chance. See, Len, Maggie 
 Primrose is a neighbour of ours. She resides 
 
90 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 in that busy thoroughfare yclept the High 
 Street/^ 
 
 ‘^Then she is the Primrose of Islington,” I 
 replied. And some day ruthless man will 
 come by and pluck this primrose and cast it 
 from him to die on the river's brim.” 
 
 And what may that mean, unrazored 
 philosopher, or, as I ought to say, seeing that 
 some folk never do shave, beardless boy } ” 
 
 It means,” I said, that it is a poor 
 look-out for anybody who wants to become 
 a clerk on ten shillings a week, and that an 
 oak-tree would stand the storm better than a 
 primrose.” 
 
 And that suggested to him certain thoughts 
 about the Position of Women, and from that 
 he got to lecturing me on Social Science; and 
 we forgot Maggie Primrose and only remembered 
 her again when we had waded through the many 
 hundred letters and selected two dozen appli- 
 cations. 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON, 
 
 91 
 
 “ Len/^ said Tom, these young ladies 
 must come here on Monday, and out of the 
 two dozen we must select twelve from whom 
 Spivey must make his choice. It sounds 
 something like the jargon of the slave-market, 
 this, does it not ? We can^t help it, however. 
 I am afraid Spivey will not regard the feelings 
 of these young women so tenderly as we shall. 
 Now, one thing is certain — they must not all 
 call at the same time. Get four-and-twenty 
 post-cards, Len. Now, write. ‘ Miss Matilda 
 Smith — Dear Madam, will you please call here 
 at nine o’clock sharp’ — underline sharp, Len — 
 ^ on Monday morning, and oblige, yours faithfully, 
 Joseph Spivey.’ ^Miss Mary Ann Jones’ — ditto, 
 except that you’ll say a quarter-past nine. 
 ‘Miss Emily Harriett Spooner’ — ditto, and half- 
 past nine. ^ Miss Deborah Robinson ’ — ditto, 
 and a quarter to ten. ‘Miss^ — ah, here’s sweet 
 Maggie Primrose^ Ten o’clock, Len. Why 
 don’t they all have names like that } 
 
92 
 
 MR. SPIVEY CLERK. 
 
 What was the barmaid’s name, Tom Christ- 
 mas ? ” 
 
 ^^The barmaid’s name, Len? It was, I 
 think, Ruby, or perhaps it was Pearlie, or 
 possibly it was Tottie. But in reality it was 
 Elizabeth Brown — a good name enough, but 
 not poetic/^ 
 
 I dare say we did not think much about 
 Maggie Primrose between then and Monday 
 morning ; but when we had seen and dismissed 
 four applicants and the clock began to strike ten, 
 we remembered that she came next on the 
 list and looked for her coming with much 
 interest. She was punctual to the minute, 
 and seemed somewhat surprised to find two 
 young gentlemen waiting to catechise her. My 
 part indeed was to sit by and hear Tom talk, 
 and vastly was I amused by the paternal fashion 
 in which he drew his candidates out. Not one 
 of them came who did not tell him all her little 
 troubles. 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON. 
 
 93 
 
 Miss Primrose’s story was a very short one. 
 She was an orphan ; she had no relations and 
 few friends, and she wished to earn her living. 
 She was at present engaged in a large millinery 
 establishment in the City ; but the hours there 
 were from eight till seven, and she would like 
 lighter work. She was dressed neatly, she spoke 
 well, was prettier than her portrait, and would have 
 been very pretty if she had had a little country 
 air to put some colour in her pale cheeks. Tom 
 told her to call next day and hear Mr. Spivey’s 
 decision, and led her out himself. He had not 
 been so attentive to the other four, three of 
 whom had proved to be forward cockney hussies 
 with horrible pronunciation of a^s and o’s and 
 remarkably knowing manners, while the fourth 
 turned up her nose on seeing the establishment 
 and said it wouldnT suit her. 
 
 It was with a feeling of deep thankfulness 
 that we heard the door close on the last of the 
 twenty-four. We had reduced them to twelve. 
 
94 
 
 MR, SPIVEY CLERK, 
 
 and the successful dozen were to attend at 
 various hours next day in order to see the great 
 Panjandrum himself. 
 
 ‘‘ I hope Spivey will select the Primrose of 
 Islington, Tom Christmas/^ I said as we walked 
 home that night. 
 
 So do I, Len, so do L She is a nice, 
 quiet, modest girl. But Spivey wonT engage 
 her.^^ 
 
 And why 
 
 Because there are two girls coming who 
 have had some previous experience in a 
 publisher’s office, and who would therefore be 
 more useful. If they had not come in the way, 
 Maggie might have got the post. I had thoughts 
 of rejecting them ; but I remembered my duty 
 to the good, the generous, the honourable Spivey, 
 and didn’t.” 
 
 I hope you are wrong, then, Tom Christ- 
 mas.^’ 
 
 But he was right. For Mr. Spivey, on seeing 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF ISLINGTON. 95 
 
 and listening to the two previously-experienced 
 damsels^ immediately engaged them, though for 
 some reason or other he insisted on seeing the 
 other ten applicants personally. Perhaps he 
 thought that we were too young to break the 
 bad news, and preferred, being a joined believer, 
 to do it himself. Or perhaps he wished to see 
 what the state of the Female Labour Market was, 
 just as the traveller wishes to see what the slave- 
 market is like at Constantinople. 
 
 I am sorry you have not been successful, 
 said Tom Christmas when Maggie Primrose 
 emerged from Mr. Spivey's door. And she 
 smiled and thanked him, and Tom again 
 opened the door for her, all oblivious of the 
 fact that he was attired in a most awfully 
 dilapidated office-coat and certainly not much 
 of an object for any lady's admiration. 
 
 Alas ! Poor Tom Christmas had fallen in 
 
 love. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED. 
 
 Mr. Spivey^S experiment in female labour was 
 not successful^ for the two previously-experienced 
 young women whom he engaged did not turn 
 out such paragons as he expected. They were 
 not one half so careful as even Denton and Jones 
 in reckoning up figures, they took offence if any 
 one in authority ventured to correct them, and 
 upon one celebrated occasion indulged in a grand 
 cry because Mr. Spivey reproved them in the 
 presence of the office-boy. Wherefore they left, 
 and on the following Monday morning Messrs. 
 Jones and Denton, who had often put their heads 
 through the door and asked when they were to 
 
ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED, 
 
 97 
 
 come back^ were reinstated in their old positions, 
 and everything went on as in former tim*es. 
 
 ^^That female labour experiment was not a 
 success, Christmas,^^ said Mr. Spivey ; I feared 
 it would not be. However, it^s not done us any 
 harm, and I really think Jones and Denton are 
 improved by their temporary suspension/^ 
 
 I was not so sure as Mr. Spivey about the 
 amount of harm caused by his experiment in 
 female labour. The experiment had brought 
 Maggie Primrose to our office, and Tom Christinas 
 had fallen in love with her. 
 
 I donT know how it was that I first found 
 it out. I believe I had suspected it all along 
 from the time when the little milliner^s assistant, 
 with her pale, pretty face and ladylike manners, 
 had come to the office and found Tom Christmas- 
 very polite, in spite of his old coat and baggy 
 trousers. After Mr. Spivey had made his final 
 selection it was some time before we saw Miss 
 Primrose again ; but we often used to talk about 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK, 
 
 her, and wonder if she was still pegging away 
 at the great millinery establishment in the City. 
 And then, one morning, chancing to go to our 
 office by way of Aldersgate instead of through 
 Smithfield, we saw her tripping along with the 
 melancholy crowd of human beings who go 
 every morning into the City to earn their daily 
 bread. 
 
 Look, Tom,’’ I said, there^s the Primrose 
 over on the other side. Poor little Primrose, she 
 looks paler than ever.” 
 
 He looked across, and I think he blushed, 
 or, at any rate, his cheek put on a little more 
 colour, and his eyes brightened. 
 
 Poor girl,” he said, I dare say she has 
 to work very hard. I suppose she comes this 
 way to the millinery place every morning. I 
 wonder if she would mind it, supposing we stepped 
 over the way and said good-morning ? ” 
 
 I don’t think she would, Tom Christmas. 
 But why do you desire to waste two minutes 
 
ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED, 
 
 99 
 
 in making your way across a crowded street^ in 
 order to say good-morning to a young lady?^^ 
 — I don^t know, Len. But, you see, the 
 Primrose told us she had no father or mother, 
 and I think no friends. Perhaps there is no one 
 to say good-morning to her.’’ 
 
 Which do you think is the nearest way from 
 our place to the City, Tom Christmas I asked. 
 ^Wou see the Primrose comes this way, whereas 
 we go by way of Smithfield generally. I almost 
 think this is the nearest, and I am sure it is 
 more savoury than the other. There are so many 
 visions of bloody carcases in Smithfield, and I 
 never can help thinking that they may be cutting 
 off arms and legs in St. Bartholomew’s while the 
 other butchers are cutting off shoulders and loins 
 in the Meat Market.” 
 
 “ I don’t think there is much difference in 
 the distance,^^ he said, still keeping his eye on 
 the neat figure of the Primrose before us ; but we 
 can change our route if you like, Len.^^ 
 
 H 2 
 
lOO 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 '"I thought, perhaps, that you might like to 
 walk down with the Primrose of Islington, Tom. 
 She has no one to talk to her, and it might 
 cheer her up a little if you took pity on her.^^ 
 
 I do pity her, Len. I know so much of 
 life’s struggles that I pity any girl who has to 
 keep body and soul together in this wilderness 
 on ten shillings a week.’^ 
 
 As it turned out we were fated to meet Maggie 
 Primrose again that very evening. Walking home 
 at night we passed her in the High Street, and 
 raised our hats, receiving a smile from her in 
 acknowledgment. 
 
 ‘‘ I believe,” said Tom, when we had passed 
 on, ^^that I have never lifted my hat to a lady 
 for six years. Lord! what a clown I must bel 
 Do I look very ancient and rusty, Len ? ” 
 
 ^^You look like a small country tradesman, 
 Tom. Your coat does not fit, and your trousers 
 bag at the knees, and are moreover braced up 
 too tightly. The next thing, though, will be 
 
ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED. 
 
 lOI 
 
 that you will lay out five pounds in a grand 
 new suit and go swelling it in Regent Street ” 
 think not/^ said Tom. Julia wants 
 a new bonnet and it is really time the dear 
 old marm had a new dress. I wonder what 
 particular form of head-gear Julia will want 
 this time. Something suitable for a joined 
 believer^ of course. 
 
 ^^Do believers ever become joined in any 
 other sense } 
 
 I suppose they do, Len. But why?” 
 
 Oh, nothing. I was only thinking it would 
 be a jolly good thing if Julia would get joined 
 to Dumbury.’^ 
 
 Julia marry Dumbury ! My dear man, 
 who would keep house for us 1 ” 
 
 Why, the Primrose to be sure, Tom 
 Christmas. And a nice, tidy little housekeeper 
 she would make, Pll be bound. A pudding 
 prepared by her dainty hands would taste 
 twice as sweet. And, I say, Tom, she would 
 
102 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 let us smoke downstairs. Oh, let us go and ask 
 Dumbury if it is good for man to live alone "i 
 “ And who would ask the Primrose } 
 
 That would be your business. Confess, 
 now, are you not in love with her, Tom the 
 susceptible ? 
 
 She is a very nice girl,^^ he said, and would 
 say no more. 
 
 A few days after that we came across the 
 Primrose of Islington again. She was walking 
 down the High Street, and so were we. We 
 shook hands with her and walked on together 
 to the City. I think it was Tom Christmas 
 who did the talking. He put questions to her 
 in his nice, quiet, semi-paternal fashion, and 
 she answered them like a child. Was she still 
 employed at Messrs. Snipper and Cuttem’s ? 
 She was. He was sorry she did not succeed 
 in obtaining the situation at Mr. Spivey’s. So 
 was she, as she thought the work would not 
 have been so hard. At Messrs. Snipper and 
 
ENGAGED TO EE MARRIED. 
 
 103 
 
 Cuttem's, now, it was very hard, as she had to 
 stand all day long. What, all day long 1 It was 
 abominable, said Tom, and asked me if I had 
 ever heard of such a scandalous thing. Upon 
 which I said that I never had, and expressed 
 a hope that Messrs. Snipper and Cuttem 
 might some day experience something of the 
 sort themselves. And from that we got to 
 other subjects and chatted cheerily all the way 
 to the General Post Office, where Miss Primrose 
 went one way and we another. 
 
 After that it soon became a recognised thing 
 that we should all walk to the City together 
 every morning and home at night into the 
 bargain. A wondrous fellow feeling exists 
 between young men and women employed in 
 business houses, and it was perhaps this feeling 
 of camaraderie which made us all so friendly. 
 This feeling was deepened when we found that 
 the Primrose's father had been, like our own 
 paternal parents, a country parson. She never 
 
104 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 told us, at least in those days, how it was that 
 she came to live alone in London, forced to 
 work so hard for so miserable a pittance. But 
 sometimes as we walked home of an evening, 
 Tom Christmas used to say how grand things 
 would be looking in his native Devon, and I 
 used to swear that Yorkshire was a more 
 beautiful county ; and then Maggie Primrose’s 
 brown eyes would grow tender with some memory 
 of better times, and she would tell us about 
 the little seaside village where her father had 
 lived and died. 
 
 I knew Tom Christmas would fall in love 
 with her. I could see it from the first. I could 
 see it in his eyes when he first caught sight of 
 her in the spring mornings tripping along to 
 that beastly millinery place ; I could see it in 
 the way he held her hand as he bade her good- 
 night. I also noticed that he took some slight 
 pains to make himself more presentable, brushing 
 his clothes carefully, and tying his cravat in 
 
ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED. 
 
 105 
 
 the latest and most approved fashion, although 
 he did not go to the length of purchasing new 
 garments, as I had foretold. And I was certain 
 of it when he took me upstairs with him one 
 night after tea, and, having locked the study 
 door, showed me, with an air of great mystery 
 and deliberation, a handsome brass photo-frame 
 from which looked forth the counterfeit of the 
 Primrose. He set this up on his desk and looked 
 at me in triumph. 
 
 I knew how it would be, Tom Christmas,^^ 
 I said, dolefully, for I really felt sad. ‘‘ I warned 
 you, I prophesied unto you, and you laughed 
 me to scorn. And now I shall have to walk 
 to and from the City by myself.^^ 
 
 He smiled and gave my arm a stalwart grip — 
 a habit he had whenever he wished to show his 
 affection or friendship — and answered that that 
 would never be while ever he, Thomas Christmas^ 
 had legs wherewith to walk and tongue where- 
 with to converse. 
 
io6 MR. SPlVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 But seriously, Tom, have you been and gone 
 and confessed to Miss Primrose that you love her, 
 and would die for her, and all that sort of thing ? 
 
 ‘‘Not much of that sort of thing, Len. But I 
 have asked her to marry me some day, and she 
 has promised/^ 
 
 “ Hooray ! ” I said, and seized Tom Christmas’s 
 hand and shook it till my own was tired. “ I am 
 as glad, Tom, as if it were I who had been 
 accepted. I say, though, have you told Miss 
 Julia?” 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ‘^No,” said he; but I mean to do so to- 
 morrow. I shall also ask Julia to go and call 
 on Maggie.^^ 
 
 Do you think she will.’’ 
 
 Yes, if I ask her to. I shall ask her to take 
 Maggie to church next Sunday morning and bring 
 ^her to dinner, and we will go with them to church, 
 Len.” 
 
 “What, to Dumbury’s church, Tom Christmas.^” 
 
ENGAGED TO EE MARRIED, 
 
 107 
 
 I suppose so/^ he said; with a sigh. Never 
 mind; we can think about something else while old 
 Dumbury is holding forth. It will please Julia 
 immensely if we go.^' 
 
 I say; Tom Christmas; is Maggie Primrose a 
 joined believer 'I Because, if not; donT you think 
 you had better coach her up a little before next 
 Sunday.^ Miss Julia is sure to put a few leading 
 questions to her.^^ 
 
 Miss Julia, I think; was not over well pleased 
 to hear her brother’s news, which he communicated 
 to her early next morning. Possibly she foresaw 
 coming troubles. 
 
 “ I suppose you will be getting married next, 
 Thomas } she said, as she poured out our coffee. 
 
 I trust you will not hurry matters too much. 
 Nowadays young men think of nothing else but 
 getting married.” 
 
 It stands to reason that if young men think of 
 nothing but marriage; the maidens must be con- 
 siderably influenced by their thoughts. Now Miss 
 
io8 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 Julia Christmas had been a maiden for five-and- 
 thirty years, so that I think her conclusions were 
 premature. 
 
 I shall not marry for a long time yet, sister 
 Julia, answered Tom. 
 
 ^^When did the fatal deed come off, Tom 
 Christmas ? I inquired, a quarter of an hour later, 
 as we were setting out for the City. You are 
 getting such a desperately deep sort of fellow now- 
 adays that I can't make you out always." 
 
 You remember last Sunday afternoon, Len,^^ 
 he said. ^^You went to sleep, you know, after 
 dinner, and lay snoring until five o'clock. Un- 
 profitable one ! while you slept I went forth and 
 won the prize. I met her, Len ; she was going for 
 a walk all by herself and I asked her if I might 
 not go with her. We went out there by Highgate 
 and Hornsey, and it seemed somehow, Len, that 
 everything looked brighter and fresher than it 
 usually does. You know the old church out there, 
 with all its ivy fresh and green about it.^ We 
 
ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED. 
 
 109 
 
 went into the churchyard, and — and — and that is 
 all/^ he concluded, somewhat lamely. 
 
 “And that is all, eh? Which means, Tom, 
 that I am to imagine the rest.^^ 
 
 “ Imagine it or not, Len, you will never be able 
 to conceive it until you go and fall in love your- 
 self. Dear me ! I seem to have lived ages since 
 Sunday last. I am going to work terribly hard, 
 Leonard, so that I can get some money in hand 
 and get married. And then, my boy, if Julia does 
 marry Dumbury, why, you shall smoke all over 
 the house if you like.^^ 
 
 Just then we overtook Maggie Primrose, and to 
 her I repeated all the congratulations which I had 
 already poured into Tom^s ears. She thanked me 
 very prettily, and looked up at Tom with a 
 trusting air which I was glad to see. It really 
 seemed as if this frail little Primrose had crept 
 into the shadow of a rock big and strong enough 
 to shelter her from all the storms of life. 
 
 After that I used to make all sorts of excuses 
 
no 
 
 MR. SPIVEV\S CLERK. 
 
 for leaving these two together in their outward 
 and homeward walks. I used to put off my daily 
 pilgrimage to the printer's establishment until five 
 o’clock, 'at which hour I would divest myself of 
 my office coat, and make myself ready for going 
 out. 
 
 “Oh, by-the-bye, Tom,” I used to say as I 
 passed his desk, I am just going down to the 
 printer’s, so I won’t come back here. Fll walk 
 straight home from there.” 
 
 I never dared to look him in the face while I 
 uttered these pieces of casuistry, but once taking a 
 side peep at him I saw that he, too, was somev/hat 
 shy of looking at me. And so we continued 
 deceiving each other, or rather I continued to 
 deceive him, for I believe he thought to the very 
 end that my duties always took me away at an 
 earlier hour than usual. 
 
 The Sunday whereon Maggie Primrose was 
 introduced to Mrs. and Miss Christmas was quite 
 an eventful one. Tom and I, attired in our very 
 
ENGAGED TO BE MATE /ED. 
 
 Ill 
 
 best, proceeded about ten o’clock to Miss Prim- 
 rose’s lodgings (she boarded with a most respect- 
 able greengrocer and his good lady, who were 
 really very kind to her, and whom I shall always 
 think a great deal of for that reason), and escorted 
 her in a sort of semi-state to our house. I think 
 she never looked prettier than she did that morn- 
 ing, for the excitement brought a little colour 
 to her cheeks, and her brown eyes were full of 
 light. 
 
 werry nice couple, sir,'’ said Mr. Migson, 
 the greengrocer, who was smoking his Sunday 
 morning pipe in the door as we went forth, and 
 with whom I lingered a moment to pass the 
 time of day and make myself generally agreeable. 
 
 werry nice couple, hindeed, as I ’ave said 
 to my missus many a time of late.” 
 
 He jerked his thumb, first in the direction 
 of Tom and Maggie, and then in the direction of 
 Mrs. Migson, who was tidying up the breakfast 
 in the little parlour. 
 
II2 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 “I am very glad you approve of Miss Prim- 
 rose's choice, Mr. Migson/^ I said. ^^For I am 
 quite sure you and Mrs. Migson must have taken 
 a great interest in the young lady.” 
 
 Mr. Migson removed the pipe from his mouth 
 and spat with great vehemence across the pave- 
 ment. 
 
 Lord bless you^ sir ! why, the hinterest wot 
 we takes in that there young lady is sumthin^ 
 wonderful. We thinks more of her than we 
 should of twinses — which we never had no babbies 
 ourselves in our time. Between you an^ me, sir, 
 the pore young thing’s to be pitied. Father was 
 a parson, and she’s a lady. Well, there ain’t no 
 finer and stiddier young feller than Mr. Thomas 
 Christmas ’twixt here an’ Land’s End, that there 
 ain't^ s’elp me bob ! W’y, I’ve known ’em ever 
 since they come into the Square — nigh on to 
 seven year. I’ve supplied ’em with every wegetable 
 they’ve ever eaten, and they don’t owe me a 
 penny, sir, not a penny, and there’s precious 
 
ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED, 113 
 
 few of my customers can say that, He^s a rare 
 ^un, is young Mr. Christmas. I seen him off 
 and away, bright and early, in a morning to his 
 work, and home to his mar in a hevenin’. None 
 of yer publics, and free-and-easies, and hifalutin 
 torf business for hhn, W’y^ you don’t have 
 to send in a bill there at all ! As reg’lar as 
 the fust o’ the month comes round here he 
 is with his ^Now, Mr. Migson, what do I owe 
 you, sir ? ’ Tell yer what it is, sir — when missie 
 comes and tells me and my missus — which she 
 looks on us as sort o’ friends — that she’s a-goin’ 
 to marry Mr. Tom Christmas, I says, ‘Then, 
 my dear, you’re a-going to marry the very bestest 
 young man in all Hengland!”’ 
 
 I told Mr. Migson that I believed he was 
 quite right, and was glad to know that he had 
 such a good opinion of my friend. I also told 
 him that it was very kind and Christian-like of 
 
 t 
 
 him and his good lady to be so kind to ‘Miss 
 Primrose, on receiving which praise he blushed 
 
 I 
 
1 14 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 very much beneath his tanned cheek and shuffled 
 about from one foot to the other. 
 
 ''W'y, you see, sir/’ said Mr. Migson, ‘‘it’s 
 werry hard, ain^t it now, for a pore young thing 
 like missie to be left an orfund ? You wouldn’t 
 like it yourself now, would you, sir? And when 
 she fust comes to lodge here, and we see how 
 pore she was and yet the lady in everythin’, we 
 sort o’ took to her. We ain’t much of scollards, 
 me an’ the missus, and the Scripture reader, wot 
 comes round with them there track papers, says 
 as ’ow we’re both heathens cos we don’t never 
 go to church nor chapel ; but our motter, sir, is, 
 ‘Let’s do as much good as we can,’ and that 
 we means to stick to, blarmed if we don’t.” 
 
 I said good morning to him then and followed 
 Tom and Maggie, feeling that I should hear 
 nothing half so true or beautiful at Mr. Dumbury’s 
 fashionable church as the sentiments conveyed in 
 Mr. Migson’s “ motter,” despite the fact that that 
 gentleman was only a heathen, I was late in 
 
ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED, T15 
 
 consequence of remaining to talk with him, and 
 when I got to the house Tom had gone through 
 the ceremonies, and Miss Julia had retired upstairs 
 to put on her bonnet. 
 
 Maggie was sitting by Mrs. Christmas when 
 I entered, while Tom stood by the window watch- 
 ing them, and Sarah Ann, the maid-of-all-work, 
 peeped through the door with a laudable desire 
 to catch a glimpse of our new visitor. Mrs. Christ- 
 mas, who was just the least bit weak in her head, 
 was evidently highly pleased with her son’s 
 sweetheart, and sat stroking Maggie^s hand, much 
 as a child strokes a new toy. Julia, too, I could 
 see, was not unfavourably disposed towards her 
 prospective sister-in-law. 
 
 A nice, modest, lady-like girl, Leonard 
 Tempest,” she observed to me as we came back 
 from church, where Mr. Dumbury had been most 
 profoundly faithful and had preached us a dis- 
 course on sudden deaths, ^^and one that I quite 
 approve. Though, perhaps, not perfected in 
 
 I 2 
 
 1 
 
ii6 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 sanctification she promises in time to become a 
 very precious vessel. She told me as we came to 
 church that] she had never missed attendance on 
 the means of grace twice a Sunday in all her life. 
 A great example for some people, Leonard 
 Tempest. 
 
 “Yes, Miss Christmas, I said, meekly. 
 
 Jiope she will influence Tom for good.*' 
 
 If Thomas Christmas could be influenced for 
 good, Leonard Tempest, his sister would have 
 .influenced him long ago. I have pleaded with 
 him, and my late dear friend, the saintly Emma 
 Jane Piper, strove hard with him. He is given 
 over to his idols.'' 
 
 “What sort of idols. Miss Julia.?" 
 
 “Thomas Christmas, Leonard Tempest, is a 
 confirmed unbeliever. He has striven to seek 
 
 into the secrets that no man has a right to learn. 
 
 » 
 
 I give him up. Mind that he does not make ship- 
 wreck of you also. Remember, Leonard Tempest, 
 that you will have to die." 
 
ENCAGED TO BE MARRIED. 
 
 117 
 
 “Thank you, Miss Julia. Til strive to 
 remember it/' 
 
 I am afraid that poor Maggie found it rather 
 tedious, that Sunday afternoon and evening at our 
 house. Miss Julia's ideas of Sunday would have 
 done credit to that arch-heretic Calvin himself. 
 She shuddered if anybody laughed, she closed her 
 eyes and groaned if Tom or I spoke of secular 
 matters, and if she had seen us take up a news- 
 paper or a novel she would have looked for the 
 wrath of Heaven to descend upon us. On Sunday 
 afternoons she used to give her mother, who was 
 too infirm to go to church, a volume of sermons 
 out of the big bookcase, and the poor old lady 
 had bad times of it if she was unable to converse 
 with her daughter about the selected discourse on 
 -^he latter's return. Sarah Ann of the kitchen, 
 having washed up, and mended the fire, was 
 expected to repair to Mr. Dumbury's Sabbath- 
 school, where Miss Julia also went and taught for 
 a couple of hours. Sarah Ann, I think, did not 
 
ii8 MR. SPIVEY CLERK. 
 
 enjoy the day of rest very much. She had to go 
 to church again at nighty and did not get even a 
 chance of speaking to a male person^ because Miss 
 Julians eagle eye was on her small figure all the 
 way there and back. I often laugh now to think 
 what a doleful, dismal day Sunday must have 
 seemed to that poor maid-of-all-work. She had 
 to learn a ^^text” some time during the day and 
 repeat it to Miss Christmas. After supper was 
 over she had to read her Bible in the kitchen, 
 which she did in the most conscientious fashion, 
 spelling every word aloud, and^ piping forth the 
 result in a high, thin voice which would have done 
 credit to the blind men who read in the streets. 
 If she ever ventured to request “something with 
 pictures in it,^^ Miss Julia used to give her a large 
 quarto copy of ‘^Foxe's Book of Martyrs, which 
 contained a number of engravings quite as 
 remarkable for ingenuity as the letter-press itself. 
 Over these horrible conceptions poor Sarah Ann 
 used to sit with pallid cheek and beating heart 
 
ENGAGED TO BE MARE /ED. 119 
 
 thinking, I doubt not, of the horrible moment 
 when she should have to climb candleless to bed, 
 and there dream of rack and thumb-screw and 
 fire. 
 
 Tom and Maggie went out for a walk that 
 Sunday afternoon, and Miss Julia and Sarah Ann 
 having departed to Sabbath-school, I remained at 
 home with Mrs. Christmas and heard her talk. 
 She was very fond of talking, and had as great a 
 talent for reminiscences as Greville or Mosley ; 
 
 indeed, she would have been invaluable as the 
 
 % 
 
 chronicler of a movement, for names and places 
 and deeds jumbled themselves together in her 
 head in the most approved fashion, and if she 
 began to tell you an anecdote respecting the Duke 
 of Wellington she was sure to divert it into one of 
 General Tom Thumb — the connecting link being 
 the fact that they were both military men, and 
 that Major Piker, Mrs. Christmases father, knew 
 both of them. We went to church again in the 
 evening, and I noticed that Tom went to sleep as 
 
120 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 soon as Dumbury gave out his text, and slept 
 soundly, but without snoring, all through the 
 sermon. And then we came home, and, after 
 supper. Miss Julia conducted the family devotions. 
 And then Tom opened the old cottage piano 
 and asked Maggie to sing for us, for he had 
 found that his sweetheart possessed a voice. And 
 he and Maggie having found an old copy of 
 Hymns, Ancient and Modern,^^ which collection 
 Miss Julia at once denounced as Popish, our little 
 Primrose sat down and sang us ‘‘Abide with Me,^^ 
 and Rock of Ages,^^ and “ O Paradise,” and 
 finally “Lead, kindly Light.” And Tom Christ- 
 mas, hidden behind the window-curtain, cried, I 
 am positive, being susceptible and soft-hearted 
 and a great baby, and I, too, felt my eyes some- 
 what dim, and Miss Christmas, in spite of the 
 Popish hymn-book, melted a little, and kissed 
 Maggie when Tom took her away to good Mr. 
 and Mrs. Migson’s domicile. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MR. RUPERT TREMAYNE. 
 
 I HAVE already told you that Mr. Spivey was 
 very fond of the company of great people, and 
 that he would do anything and go anywhere 
 in order to have a few minutes^ chat or even 
 a cool nod from anybody who was Somebody. 
 I have also told you that his somebodies very 
 often turned out to be nobodies, with unpleasant 
 habits of borrowing half-crowns and asking for 
 advances out of the petty cash. I think this 
 was perhaps a righteous judgment on Mr. Spivey 
 for presuming to make himself that which he 
 certainly was not. But despite the fact that 
 his somebodies were usually very disappointing, 
 Mr. Spivey, who was nothing, if not plucky 
 
122 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 and persevering, stuck to his guns with much 
 zeal, and made bold efforts to bring down some- 
 thing that should be worth exhibiting. Snubs, like 
 that which the well-known Bumpo administered 
 to him, seemed to glide away from his soul 
 like water from a duck^s oily back ; failures, 
 like that which he experienced when he published 
 Mr. McMurdo's novel, a production in which 
 Spivey had much confidence, and every one else 
 no pleasure, only determined him in his onward 
 course. He was bound to capture something 
 great some day — only the capture must be 
 effected at very small cost. That was where the 
 difficulty came in. Great authors, or hawthurs, 
 as Spivey called them, could have been had in 
 plenty, if the cheques had been correspondingly 
 big ; but Spivey's idea was to have a big bag 
 for a very few cartridges. 
 
 Now, in the early summer of the year 187 — , 
 there appeared from the press of a London 
 firm, a novel or novelette, which set everybody 
 
MR, RUPERT TREMAVNE, 
 
 123 
 
 by the ears. That is to say, one portion — the 
 least intelligent — of the reading public vowed 
 that such a work had not been issued within the 
 memory of the oldest inhabitant ; the other 
 portion — the most intelligent — said that if pro- 
 ductions of this class were to be looked upon 
 as good work, it was quite certain that our 
 national tastes were going to the bad, instead 
 of to the good. Nevertheless, both portions 
 of the reading public bought and read the 
 book, which was sold at a shilling, and stood 
 in huge piles on every bookstall in town and 
 country. I dare say the most intelligent class 
 of readers read the book with as much avidity 
 as the least intelligent, although, as is the way 
 with your clever people, they affected to de- 
 spise its style and tone. It was, of course, a 
 very sensational book, and dealt with themes 
 which the last ten years have hackneyed for 
 us ; but which were then comparatively new 
 to English fiction. Murders there were in plenty, 
 
124 
 
 MR, SPIVEV^S CLERK, 
 
 with much realism and detail; there was also 
 more than a trace of supernatural dealings, and 
 there was that contempt of certain national 
 virtues which some of our novelists have taken 
 to borrowing from the novelists of a less healthy 
 nation. The style and theme^ in fact, were 
 new — wherefore the people left the old paths 
 and went to bow down before a new idol. Then, 
 too, the book was published under an assumed 
 name, and the latter was one eminently calculated 
 to impress itself upon the imagination of young 
 ladies and very young gentlemen. It was 
 Rupert Tremayne. Fancy the possibilities ex- 
 isting behind a name like that ! Who might 
 not Rupert Tremayne be } Perhaps a member 
 of our nobility, who had been blighted in his 
 early youth, and after wandering through the earth 
 like Cain or Mephistopheles, or some of those 
 other nice, interesting people, don't you know, 
 had written down this fascinating chronicle of 
 love and passion. Perhaps the main incidents 
 
MR. RUPERT TREMAYNE. 
 
 125 
 
 were passages from his own life. Indeed^ they 
 must be, for who could have imagined so grue- 
 some a murder, or such thrilling descriptions 
 of the grand passion ? Yes, Rupert Tremayne 
 must indeed be a remarkable man — half Corsair 
 or Giaour or something of that sort. So de- 
 clared the young ladies who read the book 
 and lay awake half the night weeping o^er 
 the wrongs of its hero, who was indeed such 
 a remarkable character, that if he had lived 
 in civilised circles, he would infallibly have been 
 sent to Portland for ten years, or finished off 
 altogether at the hands of Mr. Calcraft’s successor. 
 
 When a book makes a sensation the first 
 question asked by everybody is — has the author 
 written anything else ? Everybody asked this 
 in connection with Mr. Rupert Tremayne’s 
 book. Were there any other works of his ? 
 Who published them ? What were they called ? 
 
 Alas, Mr. Rupert Tremayne had only pub- 
 lished one previous volume — a book of tender 
 
126 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 little things, bound in delicate apple-green cloth 
 and entitled Lotus and Aloe/^ They, too, 
 were of the please-pity-me order, and produced 
 as many tears as the realistic story. They gave 
 an insight into the author’s soul, and opened up 
 vistas of moonlight and perfume and kisses, 
 and jewelled daggers, and mysterious deeds done 
 in Venetian chambers. The little apple-green 
 volume found its way into every boudoir, and 
 some of its more understandable contents were 
 set to music and sung by aesthetic-gowned damsels 
 in Mayfair drawing - rooms, amidst a general 
 sense of unutterable woe and misery. 
 
 And after this of course Society began to 
 clamour for the man himself. It must see him 
 and hear him, and invite him to balls, and routs, 
 and tennis. He must pose on river-side lawns 
 and at a minister's breakfast-table in company 
 with Professer Trotaround, the Asiatic Explorer, 
 and Mr. Tapthumb, the eminent pulpit orator, 
 and Miss Chickamanga, the American actress. 
 
MR, RUPERT TREMAYNE. 
 
 127 
 
 He must give himself up to be stared at, and ex- 
 hibited, and bowed down to, and therefore Society 
 set itself to find him out and bring him forward. 
 
 Anything of this sort is of course a veritable 
 godsend to people like Mr. McFlynn. The 
 paragraphs which he wrote in Sparks con- 
 cerning the mysterious Rupert Tremayne were 
 legion. ^^We have it on the best authority that 
 the distinguished author who veils his identity 
 under the pseudonym Rupert Tremayne, is a young 
 and well-known member of the aristocracy who 
 figured a year or two ago in a well-remembered 
 cause cdkbrey and who has since travelled through 
 all parts of the globe.^^ We are in a position 
 to state that Rupert Tremayne is the assumed 
 
 name of the D of C , whose name was so 
 
 prominently before the public a year ago, in 
 connection with that of a celebrated and very 
 beautiful burlesque actress ! “ We hear that 
 
 Rupert Tremayne is not, as we formerly 
 announced, the D of C , but we can now 
 
128 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 state positively that the peer who veils his identity 
 under this now well-known nom de plume is the 
 young E of F ^ whose name/^ etc. 
 
 Now it chanced that when Rupert Tremayne’s 
 novel first appeared Mr. Spivey bought a copy 
 of it. I suppose he did so because it had the 
 picture of a very beautiful young woman on the 
 back, for Mr. Spivey had a great weakness for 
 beauty in any form. I don’t know whether he 
 was impressed or disappointed by the story ; 
 but when the second edition appeared in a few 
 days with a loud flourish of trumpets from the 
 lucky publishers, Mr. Spivey pricked up his ears. 
 Two or three days more saw a third edition 
 called for, with more braying of trumpets and 
 display of heavy-typed advertisements, and Mr. 
 Spivey began to get uneasy. When the fourth 
 edition appeared, and everybody began to ask 
 everybody else if he or she had seen Rupert 
 Tremayne’s novel, Mr. Spivey became feverish, 
 and made a vow that he would secure this goose 
 
MR, RUPERT TREMAVNE. 
 
 129 
 
 of the golden eggs for himself. He got McFlynn 
 into his sanctum and asked that worthy Hibernian 
 
 if the paragraph about the D of C 
 
 was true. McFlynn laughed in his face, and 
 seemed quite unable to understand Mr. Spivey^s 
 credulity. No, he said, the paragraph about 
 
 the D of C was purely imaginary, and, 
 
 for aught he knew to the contrary, Rupert 
 Tremayne might be a miserable hack-writer 
 living in the dreariest house in Grub Street. 
 
 That morning Mr. Spivey shut himself in his 
 own sanctum and locked the door, previously 
 comm^anding everybody to observe strict silence 
 and disturb him on no account whatever. He 
 also washed his hands at the sink downstairs, and 
 gave the office-boy a shilling wherewith to pur- 
 chase a new towel. He further instructed Mr. 
 Denton to lay a new pad of blotting-paper on 
 his desk, and put a new pen into his holder, and 
 to pour a fresh supply of black ink into his 
 gorgeous inkstand. 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 .We all knew, from previous experience, what 
 this meant. It meant that Mr. Spivey was going 
 to compose! Yes, from the brain of Spivey 
 there was about to come forth a letter, a letter 
 designed to subdue and conquer whosoever should 
 read it. 
 
 At the end of an hour Mr. Spivey came forth 
 red and triumphant, a sealed envelope in his 
 hands. He marched through the office, and 
 through the shop, and out at the door. He had 
 gone to post the important missive with his own 
 hands. 
 
 After he returned, he summoned Tom Christ- 
 mas and myself to his presence. He sat at his 
 desk with the air of an Alexander who has 
 resolved on conquering a new world. 
 
 Christmas and Tempest, said Mr. Spivey, 
 playing carelessly with his elegant paper-knife, 
 
 “ I am about to develop the business very largely. 
 For a long time I have contemplated issuing a 
 new series of shilling novels. Shilling novels. 
 
MR. RUPERT TREMAYNE. 
 
 131 
 
 you know, are going to be all the rage. I have 
 deferred commencing publication, however, until 
 I could meet with an hawthur whose name would 
 command the sale.^^ 
 
 It seemed to me that plenty of authors might 
 have been found if Mr. Spivey had only looked 
 in the right place for them ; but I bowed politely, 
 and he proceeded. 
 
 ‘‘You are both aware that that new novel by 
 Rupert Tremayne is selling like wildfire. I have 
 written this morning to Mr. Tremayne and offered 
 him first-class, first-class terms. I don’t think 
 there’s another house in London or anywhere 
 else that would pay such terms. Of course he’ll 
 take them. Now, Christmas, if a letter comes 
 for me, enclosed in an envelope with my writing 
 on it, don’t open it, but keep it for me.” 
 
 Tom Christmas promised to obey. 
 
 “This’ll mean a good deal to you two young 
 men,” continued Mr. Spivey, grandly. “ If the 
 thing pays we shall have to remove to much 
 
 K 2 
 
132 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 larger premises, and your salaries will both be 
 doubled/^ 
 
 I beg Mr. Spivey's pardon. He did not say 
 “salaries," he said "‘wages." It was his idea to 
 keep his clerks in a state of servitude, and servants 
 get “wages," whereas “salaries” are paid to 
 secretaries, and F.O. people, and members of 
 H.M. Government. 
 
 “ I have been obliged to write to Mr. Tremayne 
 at his present publisher’s,” said Mr. Spivey, “as 
 no one knows his address, nor, indeed, who he 
 is. It may therefore be a few days before I hear 
 from him ; but you^ll keep the letter, Christmas, 
 for me alone.” 
 
 Mr. Spivey was in a state of feverish anxiety 
 during the next few days. He came earlier to 
 the office every morning and went away an hour 
 later every evening. He walked into the shop 
 every half-hour and inquired of Tom Christmas 
 if that letter had not come yet. 
 
 On the fifth day it came, and Tom carried 
 
MR. RUPERT TREMAYNE. 
 
 133 
 
 it into Mr. Spivey^s office. Ten minutes later 
 we were both summoned to hear that gentle- 
 man communicate a great piece of news. Mr. 
 Rupert Tremayney the mysterious, proposed to 
 call upon Mr. Spivey at ten o’clock the following 
 morning ! 
 
 I believe that Spivey was nearly wild with 
 excitement all that day, and I feel certain that 
 he did not sleep a wink all night, so overjoyed 
 was he at the thought of capturing this very 
 great man. He came bright and early to the 
 office on the auspicious morning and sat in great 
 dignity in his sanctum, while Tom Christmas 
 and I lingered on some pretext or another in 
 the shop, for we, too, were foolish enough to be 
 curious about the new ^^hawthur.^’ 
 
 At five minutes past ten a tall young gentle- 
 man, well-dressed, of well-bred appearance, but 
 not otherwise remarkable or distinguishable from 
 the type which you may see in Bond Street or 
 Piccadilly any morning, entered Mr. Spivey’s shop 
 
134 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 and advanced to the counter. Tom Christmas 
 stepped forward to meet him. 
 
 I wish to see/^ began the stranger, and then 
 he stopped and looked hard at the head clerk. 
 
 Good Heavens he cried, ‘Msn’t that Tom 
 Christmas? Tom, my dear fellow, what are you 
 doing here? I thought you were dead.^^ 
 
 He held out his hand and Tom Christmas 
 took it, looking like a man who walks in his 
 sleep. 
 
 It’s — it’s — it’s Frank Lestrange, isn’t it 1 ” he 
 said, staring at the other’s face as though he 
 were not sure of his guess. 
 
 Hush ! Frank Lestrange once, Tom, but 
 Rupert Tremayne now. Hah, hah, hah! Rupert 
 
 Tremayne, indeed. The D of C 1 The 
 
 E of F 1 But, Tom, what are you doing 
 
 here, and where have you been these six years 
 past?” 
 
 He laughed again, and sat himself down on 
 the edge of the counter, seeming very much at 
 
MR, RUPERT TREMAYNE, 
 
 135 
 
 home, and very well satisfied with himself and 
 the world in general. Tom Christmas, who 
 still appeared mystified^ stood staring at him. 
 
 ICs so long since I saw an old friend,’' 
 he said, at last, that I seem to lose my 
 head now that I do see one. So you are 
 Rupert Tremayne?^^ 
 
 “ I am that mysterious personage, Tom. 
 But tell it not in Gath, publish it not, and so 
 on. And now, Tom Christmas, whom I re- 
 member as a hard-working student and dangerous 
 batsman, what are you doing here?^^ 
 
 He looked round him with contemptuous 
 eyes, taking in every detail of Mr. Spivey’s 
 dingy establishment. He was clearly not im- 
 pressed by what he saw. 
 
 ^^You don’t mean to say, Tom Christmas, 
 that you are — are employed here? You, with 
 your talents and scholarship } ” 
 
 “ I am employed here, and am glad to be, 
 Lestrange. Talents and scholarship in the 
 
136 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 bush are not worth so much per week in the 
 hand/^ 
 
 ‘‘But your talents were in hand, man. But 
 there, you know best ; and you have not told 
 me all. We must have a chat together, some 
 day soon. Is your father dead, Tom.^^^ 
 
 “Six, nearly seven years ago, Lestrange.^^ 
 “Was that why you left Oxford so suddenly?^’ 
 It was.” 
 
 “ Poor old Tom. Ah, well, time changes 
 everything. You are Tom, a publisher's clerk. 
 I am Rupert Tremayne, the successful author. 
 Tom, you once lent me twenty pounds. Will 
 you let me pay it back ? 
 
 “ If I really did lend you it, Frank. But 
 are you sure ? 
 
 “ I am certain. Let me recall the incident. 
 Do you remember a bad boy who had been 
 betting and could not raise all the money and 
 went to the good boy.^^^ 
 
 “ Who happened to have it } Yes, I re- 
 
MR. RUPERT TREMAVNE. 
 
 137 
 
 member. You can give me the twenty pounds, 
 Frank. I can do with it nowadays.’’ 
 
 “Let me lend you some, Tom, do!^^ 
 
 I don’t owe anybody a penny^ Frank. 
 When I do, I will borrow something. Not 
 before.” 
 
 ^^As you will. Well, now, I came here to 
 see an individual named Spivey. Funny name, 
 Spivey. I once knew a man who made coffins 
 with a similar name — the man, I mean. But 
 it was Twivey and not Spivey. Where is Spivey, 
 Tom Christmas 
 
 At that moment Mr. Spivey, who was be- 
 ginning to think the very great man somewhat 
 unpunctual, opened the door of his office, and 
 came into the shop. Seeing a well-dressed young 
 gentleman sitting on the counter in conversation 
 with Tom Christmas, he strolled towards them, 
 his thumbs in his waistcoat-pockets. 
 
 “Mr. Spivey,” said Tom Christmas, ^^this 
 is Mr. Rupert Tremayne.” 
 
138 
 
 MR. SR IVEY CLERK. 
 
 Mr. Spivey turned round and stared in 
 astonishment. The very great man sitting on 
 his counter and talking to his clerk ! He opened 
 his mouth and fairly gasped. 
 
 My dear sir,” he said, when speech re- 
 turned to him, how do you do } I was not 
 aware that you had arrived. Christmas, why didn't 
 you show Mr. Tremayne into my office at once? ” 
 He held out his hand to Lestrange as he 
 spoke. The rising “ hawthur ” looked at the 
 hand, but did not take it. 
 
 Er, Mr. Spivey, I presume ? he said. 
 
 That^s my name, sir. Come into my office,” 
 said Spivey, drawing back the insulted member. 
 
 ^^Tha— anks, but I've not quite finished with 
 my friend Mr. Christmas, yet. Tom,^^ he con- 
 tinued, turning his back on Spivey, who stood 
 transfixed with surprise, “when will you come 
 and dine with me ? And shall it be at the 
 club or at my chambers ? To-morrow evening 
 let it be ” 
 
MR, RUPERT TREMAYNE, 
 
 139 
 
 “I will think of it^ Frank. I am not much 
 given to dining out/^ 
 
 ‘‘But you will dine with me, my old friend. 
 Think it over while I speak to Mr. Spivey.'' 
 
 He turned away^ and having intimated to 
 Mr. Spivey that he was at that gentleman's 
 service, they went into the private office. As 
 they passed my desk, I had a good look at 
 Lestrange's face. He had good features, and 
 was what women call handsome — that is to 
 say, he had a straight nose, and a beautiful 
 moustache, and curly brown hair, and he held 
 himself erect, and looked very distinguished 
 without seeming to know it. His face was 
 very brown, as if with travel or exposure, and 
 across his right cheek there was the distinct 
 mark of a sword cut. But I did not like him. 
 There was something in his eyes, which I could 
 not fathom, and there were lines about the 
 corners of his mouth which told of evil passions. 
 I mistrusted him from the beginning. 
 
140 
 
 MR, SPIVEY CLERK. 
 
 Mr. Spivey, in his excitement, forgot to 
 close the door of his private room, and as my 
 desk was very near, I was able to catch every 
 syllable of the conversation which followed. 
 
 ^^You know my clerk, Christmas, I find?^* 
 said Mr. Spivey, as a pleasant way of beginning 
 the interview. 
 
 ^^Mr. Christmas is an old college friend of 
 mine,” said Lestrange. 
 
 ^^Ah,” said Spivey, “he^s a very excellent 
 servant, very excellent indeed. I took him on 
 as a sort of charity, you know.^^ 
 
 ‘‘ I am not anxious to know anything of 
 your motive in employing Mr. Christmas, sir. 
 I dare say he does a day’s work for a day’s 
 wages.” 
 
 This was another snub for Spivey. He 
 shuffled about in his chair and I have no doubt 
 got very red. Lestrange continued. 
 
 ^‘You wrote to me about a new story,” he 
 said. “ My hands are very full, but it is always 
 
MR, RUPERT TREMAYNE, 141 
 
 well to make hay when the sun shines, and you 
 spoke of exceedingly liberal terms, so that I 
 felt compelled to call upon you. May I ask 
 you to explain definitely what it is you want ? 
 
 I don't think Mr. Spivey had ever been 
 addressed in this fashion before. Most of the 
 “hawthurs^^ who came to him were very poor- 
 spirited creatures^ and used to tremble in his 
 presence. It was a very humble Spivey who 
 proceeded to unfold to Mr. Rupert Tremayne 
 his scheme for a series of shilling novels. 
 
 It has occurred to me/' concluded Mr. Spivey,, 
 ^^that you would contribute the first story, and 
 I am prepared to be very liberal, very liberal 
 indeed." 
 
 ^‘Very good. Let us come to terms. How 
 many words do you require 
 
 Mr. Spivey made an elaborate calculation. 
 ‘‘About eighty thousand, Mr. Tremayne.^^ 
 ^^Very good. And what do you offer for 
 the copyright } " 
 
142 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 Mr. Spivey moved very uncomfortably in his 
 arm-chair. His ideas of liberality were limited, 
 and he felt like the girl feels who is going 
 to take a header into the cold sea and trembles 
 at the thought. 
 
 ^^What do you think, Mr. Tremayne?^^ he 
 said, as a feeler. 
 
 Oh,^^ said Mr. Tremayne, ^‘if you wish 
 it I will tell you my terms ; in fact it will save 
 trouble if I do, as I should not accept less. I 
 will write you a story, containing eighty thousand 
 words, for a thousand pounds.^^ 
 
 I heard Mr. Spivey jump. In my mind^s 
 eye I could see Mr. Spivey turn pale. 
 
 ‘‘ Pooh ! ” he said, after he had recovered his 
 breath. “ My dear sir ! Why there are not 
 five people living who can get that price. 
 Preposterous ! 
 
 Good morning, Mr. Spivey,^^ said Lestrange. 
 
 I am sorry you have put me to the trouble 
 
 of calling here for nothing.^^ 
 
MR, RUPERT TREMAYNE, 
 
 143 
 
 “ Can’t you really take less ? asked Spivey_, 
 unwilling to let him go. Say a hundred now, 
 and a royalty.’^ 
 
 I have told you my terms, sir. Good 
 morning.^^ 
 
 But, my dear sir ” 
 
 The independent ^^hawthur,^^ however, was 
 gone ; and Mr. Spivey, flying after him to the 
 office door, saw him walk up to Tom Christmas, 
 say a few words to him, and go away with a 
 hand-shake to the shabby clerk whom Mr, 
 Spivey had taken on for charity. Mr. Spivey’s 
 very great man had escaped him. 
 
 '‘You know Tremayne, I find, Christmas,” 
 said Spivey, sidling up to Tom after a time. 
 
 “ He is an old college friend of mine,” 
 answered Tom. 
 
 ^^And is Tremayne his real name, Christ- 
 mas } ” 
 
 ^^No, sir. I am not at liberty to give my 
 friend’s real name,” said Tom, who knew quite 
 
144 
 
 MR. SPIVEY'S CLERK. 
 
 well what Spivey was after. And with that 
 Spivey was fain to be content. 
 
 We heard nothing more of the shilling series, 
 nor of the tremendous rise in our wages ; and 
 the name of Rupert Tremayne was as an eye- 
 sore to Mr. Spivey, especially when he found 
 that that gentleman^s books continued to sell 
 in enormous quantities, and that other publishers 
 were making fortunes out of him. 
 
 On the second day after Tremayne, or, as 
 I shall call him in future, Lestrange, had been 
 to Spivey^s, Tom Christmas arrayed himself in 
 an old-fashioned dress suit and went away from 
 the office to dine with his old friend. And that 
 night Maggie Primrose went without her usual 
 walk. But she was glad and proud to know 
 that Tom had come across some one who knew 
 him in his more prosperous days. 
 
 It was late when Tom returned, and everybody 
 but myself had retired to rest. He sat down to 
 tell me all about it. 
 
MR, RUPERT TREMAYNE, 
 
 145 
 
 So you have returned from your dissipation, 
 Tom. Miss Julia has been much alarmed lest you 
 should come home in a state of intoxication.^^ 
 
 ^^And yet I am quite sober, Len. I dare say 
 my head will ache to-morrow morning, though, for 
 I am not used to dining so late. It seems as if I 
 had gone back to the old life a little to-night.^^ 
 
 I am glad, Tom. It will have done you 
 good.*^^ 
 
 He shook his head as if in some doubt as to 
 the truth of my assertion. 
 
 ^^I donT know, Len, I don't know. I have 
 dropped away from it all, and it is, perhaps, not 
 well that I should catch glimpses of the lazy, easy 
 life that I once lived.^' 
 
 “ If I were a Grand Inquisitor, Tom Christmas, 
 you should burn for that heretical statement. 
 You lazy ? Never ! ” 
 
 Lazier than I am now, Len, at any rate. I 
 was as a lily of the field ; I toiled not, neither did 
 I spin — unless you can call sweating after Greek 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 MR. SPIVEY CLERK. 
 
 verbs toiling, and spinning yarns labour. Will 
 you smoke, Len ? See, I have got some cigars. 
 Lestrange filled a case and put it into my pocket.'’^ 
 Who is Lestrange, Tom?^^ I asked, after we 
 had lighted that gentleman^s weeds and made 
 ourselves comfortable before the kitchen fire. 
 Miss Julia only allowed us to smoke in the kitchen. 
 
 I know, of course, that he is a successful maker 
 of unhealthy fiction, though I will say no more of 
 that in consideration of the fact that I am smoking 
 his remarkably good tobacco. But who is he } '' 
 Lestrange, Len, is a fellow who read with 
 my father for a few weeks one summer, and after- 
 wards was at Balliol with me. I have very little 
 idea as to who his people are, for I never 
 remember hearing him speak of them. Some one 
 used to find him money and pay his debts at 
 Oxford, but I don’t think he had many relations, 
 for he never went anywhere during the vacations 
 as other fellows did. When we went home he 
 used to go to Italy or Switzerland and come back 
 
MR, RUPERT TREMAYNE, 
 
 147 
 
 with plenty to talk about, but with none of those 
 home-for-the-holidays reminiscences that other 
 fellows had/' 
 
 “ And what made him turn author, Tom ? 
 
 “ I don't know, Len, unless it was that he 
 wanted a new amusement, or that he has a natural 
 gift that way. He has been telling me his story 
 to-night. He has seen some strange things and 
 people." 
 
 “I am all attention, Tom Christmas.^^ 
 
 ^^You know, Len, that I left Oxford very 
 suddenly. Very few of my friends there knew 
 what became of me. It^s a strange thing that 
 when a fellow has money in his pocket he likes to 
 mix with his fellows ; when he has none he likes 
 to be by himself. That was my case. When I 
 found that I should have to work I seemed to lose 
 all inclination to let my old friends know of my 
 whereabouts.^^ 
 
 ^^And yet, Tom, most men would have gone 
 to their old friends for help." 
 
 L 2 
 
148 
 
 MR, SriVEV^S CLERK, 
 
 “ Perhaps. I didn^t. I didn’t like to. It was 
 In consequence of this that I lost sight of 
 Lestrange. He, it seems, came of age soon after I 
 left Oxford, and found himself a rich man. Very 
 rsoon after that he was rusticated. Always a wild 
 sort of fellow, Lestrange. I don’t think he cared 
 two pins for the rustication. He went abroad, 
 and has been travelling up and down the world for 
 five years, meeting with all manner of strange 
 adventures. He has seen some fighting by land 
 and sea ; has been nearly to the North Pole, and 
 round the globe six or seven times, and, having 
 got sick and tired of it, came home last year and 
 settled down in some particularly comfortable 
 rooms in Jermyn Street.^^ 
 
 But the authorship ? ” 
 
 “ I don’t think Lestrange much cares to 
 talk about authorship, his own at any rate. 
 He published the poems a couple of years ago, 
 and he told me to-night that the book didn’t 
 sell at all, until this novel came out. He 
 
MR. RUPERT TREMAYNE. 
 
 149 
 
 wrote the novel after he came home — for amuse- 
 ment, he says. It is selling enormously, Len. 
 The two hundredth thousand is out this week.” 
 
 “What did he get for it, Tom? Did he tell 
 you that ? ” 
 
 “ He got twenty pounds, Len. Twenty pounds 
 for the copyright.” 
 
 ” And he refused Spivey’s hundred ? ” 
 
 “ Ah ! but he has got some tremendously 
 good commissions. Much as he professes to 
 despise money, he is a keen hand at a bargain. 
 He is writing a tale for Sheets and Binder for 
 a thousand, and another for a syndicate for 
 another thousand ; and the first novel is being 
 dramatised under his own supervision.^’ 
 
 “He is a lucky fellow, your friend Lestrange, 
 Tom Christmas. Do you like him ? ” 
 
 “ Do I like him ? Why, Len ? ” 
 
 ” Because I should like to know whether 
 you do or not.” 
 
 “Yes,” he said; “I do like him. I think 
 
150 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK, 
 
 him a very clever fellow — a man with great 
 talents. Then, too, he is kindly and generous 
 to a fault. He would do anything for any one 
 to whom he took a fancy.” 
 
 ^^Do you know, Tom, that I am a great 
 judge of character } Now, I will tell you what 
 I thought of Lestrange's face. He is a creature 
 of strong impulses. He will follow whatever 
 pleases him at the time, with the ardour of 
 a bloodhound, and he will tire of it just as 
 quickly. Am I right ? ” 
 
 I believe you are, Len. He is impulsive.^^ 
 Again, he is an egotist. An egotist, Tom 
 Christmas, of the worst sort. I don’t think 
 he would go about talking of himself or his 
 own deeds ; but I will tell you what he would 
 do. He would make his own will his idol, 
 and spare nothing and nobody in order to 
 worship it. Am I right again.?” 
 
 believe you are, Len. There are excuses 
 for him, though. He has practically lived by 
 
MR, RUPERT TR EM AVNE, 151 
 
 himself all his life. He has always been his 
 own master. No one has ever had any real 
 control over him ; he has been able to gratify 
 every wish as it came up. A man like that, 
 Len, must needs be selfish. And yet he is 
 open-handed and generous to the last degree.’' 
 
 ^^As so many selfish men are, Tom. Well, 
 Mr. Lestrange seems to be settling down to 
 authorship, at any rate. Let us hope he will 
 stick to it. What did he think of your prospects, 
 Tom .? 
 
 ‘‘He didn’t like them, Leonard. He asked 
 me to become his secretary, amanuensis, or 
 whatever you like to call it, at a salary twice 
 as large as my present one.” 
 
 “ And you accepted ^ ” 
 
 he said, “I did not accept. You see, 
 Len, I know that Lestrange is variable and 
 eccentric. In six months he may tire of London 
 and sigh for Thibet, for which outlandish country 
 he would at once start. Then where should I 
 
152 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 be ? No ; badly as I am paid at SpIvey^s, I 
 shall not leave my present post. I can keep 
 out of debt at present. I know that Spivey 
 will never let me go if he can help it. And 
 I have learnt, Len, to be content with little. 
 So long as I have my health and enough 
 to live on, I shall be satisfied. I dare say 
 Spivey will some day see his way to giving 
 me five pounds a week. And with that and 
 Maggie, I shall be satisfied, ay, more than 
 satisfied, for life.^^ 
 
 Where be all thy dreams of wealth, Tom 
 Christmas } ” 
 
 “ Where they always were, my dear. I shanT 
 refuse wealth if it comes to me, Len. But 
 Tm not going to kill myself in order to get 
 it. ^ Man wants but little here below,^ you 
 know. Did you see Maggie to-night, Len ? '' 
 
 I did, Tom. After I had eaten my evening 
 meal and heard Miss Julia tell your mother 
 some wondrous anecdotes about the late St. 
 
MR. RUPERT TREMAYNE. 153 
 
 Emma Jane Piper, I walked round to the High 
 Street and called upon Mr. Migson and Miss 
 Primrose. Those Migsons, Tom, are particularly 
 nice people.^’ 
 
 They are — good, honest folk as ever lived. 
 And what was Maggie doing.? Poor little soul, 
 I was wondering all the time how she was 
 getting along.” 
 
 ^^My dear Tom, she was getting along 
 splendidly. It being nine o^clock, Mr. Migson 
 had closed his shop and was a-washing of 
 himself in the scullery. The parlour was 
 beautifully warm and bright, and Miss Maggie 
 was reading by the fire. Mrs. Migson was 
 cooking something beautiful for supper. I am 
 almost certain it was beefsteak and onions. 
 It smelt so grand that I felt hungry. Mrs. 
 Migson pressed me very much to stay and eat, 
 but I declined. I am glad, Tom, very glad, 
 that the little Primrose has such good friends 
 in these humble people.^^ 
 
154 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 “ And so am I, Len/^ 
 
 ^^And I have got a piece of news for you^ 
 Tom. Old Migson told me to-night that he 
 and his missus have long desired to possess a 
 piano, Migson being musically inclined, and his 
 wife having once possessed a very fine ^ seconds ^ 
 voice. And to-day he has bought one — thirty- 
 five pound ten, Tom Christmas — and you and 
 I are to go to-morrow night, if we will be so 
 condescending, and hear missie try it.^’ 
 
 What good folks ! Ah, Len, the upper 
 crust little knows what a lot of real gentility 
 is hidden in the lower.^’ 
 
 ^^Tom Christmas, thou art a Tory! Upper 
 crust, indeed 1 And pray which is the lower 
 We went upstairs to bed then. As we were 
 separating at the door of my room, Tom told 
 me that Lestrange was coming to have supper 
 with us some day, soon. 
 
 He asked after my mother and Julia, to- 
 night,” he said, ^^and seemed pleased at the 
 
MR. RUPERT TREMAYNE. 
 
 155 
 
 thought of seeing them again. Len^ shall we 
 invite Spivey to come ? How proud he would 
 be to put his legs under the table with those 
 of so famous a ‘ hawthur ’ ! ” 
 
 And that table the table of his clerk. 
 No, Tom, not Spivey, please. Will Maggie 
 come ? ” 
 
 Of course, Len. I told Lestrange all about 
 her to-night, and showed him her portrait. Yes, 
 Maggie will be there.^^ 
 
 There was once a spider which possessed a 
 very grand parlour, and there was a fly which — 
 but everybody knows the rest. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 GALATEA. 
 
 The supper-party at our house was a very 
 grand affair indeed, for Miss Julia put her 
 heart and soul into it and served up a banquet 
 fit for the gods. I have always thought that 
 if Julia Christmas had a weakness it was in the 
 housekeeping way. She liked to see spotless 
 linen, and bright glass and silver, and flowers, 
 and plenty of light, for all of which things she 
 would I doubt not have easily found Scriptural 
 authority if required. When she heard that her 
 father’s old pupil was coming to visit us, she 
 immediately commenced preparations, and got 
 out all the best silver, together with many other 
 wonderful things ; so that Tom and I, when the 
 
GALATEA. 
 
 157 
 
 eventful evening came, were quite surprised, and 
 mentally wondered if we were not dreaming. 
 
 It is really wonderful how indulgent women 
 of the Julia Christmas type are to men like 
 Lestrange. She knew all about his freaks ; 
 she knew that he was what is called wild ; 
 she remembered that he was a graceless lad 
 and likely to develop into a graceless man ; 
 she must have known from his novel — which 
 she read, because he had written it — that his 
 record was a not over cleanly one ; and yet, 
 in spite of all, she killed the fatted calf for him, 
 and proposed to make exceeding merry over 
 his coming. Nay, more, she who was usually 
 so plainly attired, came downstairs that night 
 in purple satin, looking a new woman. She had 
 a fine, well-developed figure, and a commanding 
 presence, and in her fine gown looked more 
 like a duchess than a member of Mr. Dumbury^s 
 congregation. She had also caused her mother 
 to array herself in a very fine silk dress, which 
 
158 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK, 
 
 rustled exceedingly, and she had made the old 
 lady a new cap, so that Mrs. Christmas sat in 
 her easy-chair, and marvelled at her own finery. 
 Indeed, her gala attire gave reins to her imagi- 
 nation, and she told me and Maggie Primrose 
 many long and very particular stories about by- 
 gone days. 
 
 Maggie, too, looked at her best that night. 
 I cannot remember how she was dressed ; but 
 I know that she and Julia Christmas made an 
 agreeable contrast and showed each other off. 
 The one was a strong, self-possessed woman, 
 whose will no earthly power could bend or 
 break ; the other a pretty, childish girl, whose 
 will could be swayed in any direction, if one 
 did but set about the work in the right way. 
 
 It was nine o^clock when Lestrange arrived. 
 He was in evening dress, and looked taller 
 and handsomer than when I had seen him pre- 
 viously. He shook hands reverently with Mrs. 
 Christmas, making some appropriate allusion to 
 
GALATEA. 
 
 159 
 
 the last time he had seen her ; greeted Julia with 
 the hearty good-will which young men so often 
 show to a good-looking woman who is a few years 
 their senior ; bowed in the most courtly fashion 
 before Maggie, and congratulated her in brief, 
 well-chosen terms ; and was good enough to 
 shake hands with me. His well-bred air and 
 good looks carried him into everybody's favour ; 
 his exquisite tact put us all at home with him 
 in five minutes. He addressed Miss Christmas 
 as Julia/' and bade her remember that when 
 he last saw her she had been accustomed to 
 call him ‘‘Frank/^ a reminiscence which pleased 
 Miss Julia immensely, and brought a blush to 
 her round cheek. 
 
 We were all very merry during the meal. 
 Everybody was in good spirits, and everybody 
 talked. Lestrange and Tom Christmas were 
 full of old Oxford memories, and the one spurred 
 the other on, though neither of them needed 
 much prompting, for Lestrange was a ready 
 
i6o MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 talker, and Tom, once set going, was the 
 longest-winded man I ever knew. I donT think 
 I talked much, for I was very hungry, and few 
 men can talk and eat. But I kept my ears 
 and eyes open, and I saw that Lestrange often 
 glanced at Maggie Primrose, and that Maggie^s 
 round eyes were often turned on him. 
 
 After supper we all sat round the fire, and 
 were very comfortable. Often nowadays, closing 
 my eyes, I can see the little circle again. Mrs. 
 Christmas sat in her arm-chair, I sat next her, 
 and Lestrange sat in an easy-chair next me ; 
 then came Julia at his right hand, and Tom 
 Christmas sat at the opposite side of the hearth, 
 with Maggie Primrose, on a low seat, between 
 him and the fire. It was all very nice and 
 very comfortable, and Miss Julia actually in- 
 formed us that we might smoke, and never 
 coughed once. 
 
 And then some one, Tom, I think, induced 
 Lestrange to tell us something of his travels. 
 
GALATEA. 
 
 i6i 
 
 He was reticent at first, but when Julia also 
 prompted him to give an account of himself, he 
 hastened to comply. And, having asked our 
 permission, he turned down the lights, saying 
 that the firelight was so much more fitting to 
 the telling of stories, and so there we sat, with 
 the shadows dancing about the room and 
 Lestrange talking. 
 
 I don^t think I have ever heard a man speak 
 who had such a beautiful voice as he had. 
 Every note was a pleasure to listen to, every 
 tone was modulated to a nicety. His voice 
 sank and fell as he talked, and made a stream 
 of melody. And yet all was unconscious, all 
 without effort. I don^t think he knew that 
 he had such a good voice ; if he did, he 
 never betrayed the knowledge in the slightest 
 degree. 
 
 He had seen a great deal, and was able to 
 tell us of some wonderful sights and adventures. 
 He had been with an exploring party to the 
 
 M 
 
MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 162 
 
 North Cape, and with a noted traveller through 
 
 • 
 
 Africa. He had lived all alone for six months 
 in North-West America^ and had penetrated a 
 long way into the interior of Australia. He 
 had helped to dig for ancient Greek remains 
 in the Morea^ and had found traces of long- 
 lost nations in South America. He had been 
 shipwrecked in the Atlantic^ and becalmed in 
 the Pacific. He had, in fact, though in a much 
 more extensive fashion than the poet imagined, 
 surveyed mankind from China to Peru. 
 
 I am bound to say, in fairness to him, that 
 Lestrange left himself out of his narrative at 
 much as possible. There was no dragging of 
 his own name and deeds into the exciting 
 adventures he told of ; nay, it might have been 
 of some one else^s travels that he was speaking, 
 so little did we hear of himself in direct fashion. 
 And yet somehow his every word seemed to bring 
 him more vividly before our eyes as the hero 
 of his story. We sat spell-bound while he 
 
GALATEA, 
 
 163 
 
 talked, and I think none of us had even a desire 
 to interrupt him by a question. 
 
 Once, catching a glimpse of Maggie Primrose^s 
 face as the firelight danced up, I saw that she 
 was watching Lestrange, her eyes fixed upon 
 him with an expression which I had never seen 
 there before. An uneasy feeling broke over me 
 when I saw that, and I began to wish that Tom's 
 friend was not so brilliant. Othello the Black 
 could win a Christian maiden from her father ; 
 might not this modern knight cause the modern 
 maiden to waver in her allegiance to the poor 
 squire who could tell of nothing but hard work } 
 
 She lovqd me for the dangers I had passed. 
 
 And I loved her that she did pity them. 
 
 It was past midnight when Lestrange went 
 away. I walked with him to the nearest cab- 
 stand. Out of the house his mood changed, 
 and he began to talk about the change in Tom 
 Christmas's fortunes. 
 
 What a life ! " he said. ^^To serve a fellow 
 
 M 2 
 
164 
 
 MR. SPIVEY'S CLERK. 
 
 like Spivey, a man who throws his h’s about 
 like pepper, and was probably taught to read 
 in a Board School ! And now all the spirit seems 
 to have gone from him.” 
 
 “ From whom ? ” 
 
 “From Tom Christmas. He used to be 
 full of spirit ; and now he looks broken down 
 and worn.” 
 
 “And yet he is happy.” 
 
 He gave me a glance out of his dark eyes. 
 
 “ Happy ? There are so many sorts of 
 happiness. The slave is happy, I suppose, in 
 knowing that his meals and clothes are provided 
 for.” 
 
 “Tom Christmas is happy in being content.” 
 
 “ Content ? Now of all the damnable cant 
 in this world, that of content is the very worst I 
 A man never should be content. Of course it 
 is in the catechisms; and Julia Christmas would 
 tell us that it is our first duty to be content 
 with the state to which we have been called. 
 
GALATEA. 
 
 165 
 
 Luckily, Mr. Tempest, this world’s law is not 
 contentment but progress, otherwise we should 
 all be dirty savages, eating each other, and little 
 better than the apes and gorillas/^ 
 
 I knew he was so far right there that I said 
 nothing in answer. Presently he began to speak 
 of Julia Christmas. 
 
 A fine woman,” he said. ^^And a clever 
 woman. A bigot, of course. She always will 
 be a bigot. But she will do well. In the 
 Middle Ages she would have been either 
 Lucrezia Borgia or St. Teresa. I should have 
 preferred her as Lucrezia. Adversity, I think, 
 has destroyed Tom^s spirit, but Julia has a lot 
 in reserve. I suppose it is conservation of 
 energy."’^ 
 
 He got into a cab, ordered the man to drive 
 to a well-known club and went away, and I 
 walked home, feeling somehow ill at ease. In 
 the square I overtook Tom Christmas, who 
 had been conducting Maggie to Mrs. Migson’s. 
 
MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 1 66 
 
 ^^What a grand fellow he is, Len, and what 
 a splendid talker ! said honest Tom. “ I could 
 have sat and listened to him all night. Did you 
 ever hear any one who could talk as he can ? 
 
 No,^^ I answered, for I never had. 
 
 It was most curious to notice the effect his 
 story had on Maggie,’' continued Tom. ‘‘As we 
 sat in the firelight I had my hand on hers, and 
 sometimes the pulse beat quite quickly and some- 
 times it went slowly. You remember him telling 
 us of that thrilling adventure with a lion in 
 Africa When he came to the critical moment 
 Maggie’s pulse all but stopped ; when the danger 
 was over it began to beat furiously. She told me 
 afterwards that she could almost see the whole 
 scene.^^ 
 
 “Your friend Lestrange’s powers of conversa- 
 tion are very brilliant, Tom — and very dangerous.” 
 
 Yes,^^ he said, as if he had hardly heard me. 
 And we began to talk of something else. 
 
 Before leaving us, Lestrange had asked us al 
 
GALATEA, 
 
 167 
 
 to go and dine with him at his chambers on the 
 following Saturday evening. He had selected 
 that day because Tom and I were able to leave 
 the City earlier on Saturdays than on other days. 
 He had asked a lady friend, he said, to play the 
 part of hostess, and he should take no refusal 
 from any of us. And we all promised to go, Julia, 
 however, making an express stipulation that we 
 should be allowed to depart not later than eleven 
 o^clock. 
 
 It was a very grand entertainment which 
 Lestrange gave us that Saturday evening. He 
 occupied a suite of very fine rooms in Jermyn 
 Street, and one room seemed to have been fitted 
 up as a drawing-room for the occasion. Here, on 
 various stands and tables, were arranged a large 
 collection of objects which Lestrange had brought 
 together during his five years of travel. For an 
 hour before dinner he showed us these, exhibiting 
 things which we had often heard and read of, but 
 never seen, and making his descriptions so real 
 
MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 1 68 
 
 and graphic that we felt as though we were living 
 in some enchanted palace. 
 
 Lestrange^s rooms, indeed, seemed more like a 
 fairy scene from the Arabian Nights than a set of 
 apartments in prosaic London. There was no 
 hideous glare of gas; everything was lighted by 
 coloured lamps. He had prepared a retiring-room 
 for the ladies, and I caught a glimpse of its 
 magnificent appointments, bathed in a rose-tinted 
 light, as we passed the open door. The dining- 
 room seemed to glow with light, and the table was 
 a glittering mass of silver. Flowers of the most 
 expensive varieties were everywhere. Three men- 
 servants, evidently highly-trained in their calling, 
 waited upon us. Tom Christmas whispered to me 
 that Lestrange had been getting up an extra swell 
 affair in honour of the ladies. 
 
 It was seven o’clock when we went to dinner 
 and nearly nine when the ladies left us. We 
 followed them within a few minutes, and very 
 soon Tom Christmas, who had an insatiable 
 
GALATEA, 
 
 169 
 
 thirst for knowledge^ asked Lestrange to give 
 us some further particulars of his adventures. 
 And Maggie Primrose seconded the request with 
 a glance from her brown eyes. 
 
 Are you not tired of my adventures } ” he 
 said. ‘‘ Come, I will show you something better 
 worth seeing than my stories are worth hearing — 
 something that will interest the ladies; though 
 you_, Julia, I fear, will tell me that I am paying 
 you a doubtful compliment in saying so.” 
 
 Whatever it is, let us see it, Frank,” said 
 Julia Christmas. ^^On you be the blame if we 
 are tempted.” 
 
 He rang the bell and directed the two foot- 
 men to bring in certain cases which they would 
 find in his study. Presently they returned 
 carrying two large oblong boxes of cedar-wood, 
 afterwards going back and bringing two more. 
 
 These four cases,” said Lestrange, contain 
 a complete collection of Eastern female attire — 
 Greek, Egyptian, Hebrew, and so on. It was 
 
170 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK, 
 
 formed for me by an old antiquary at Damascus, 
 whose work on Eastern habits and customs lies 
 on that table. Now, Miss Julia, shall we feast 
 our eyes on these vanities ? 
 
 I am afraid it is very wrong, sighed Miss 
 Julia. But, after all, it is interesting. Please 
 open the boxes, Frank.'’ 
 
 I am not going to describe the garments 
 which came from the huge cedar- wood cases. 
 There were dozens of them, all wrapped in some 
 curiously-scented paper, and each distinctive of 
 a certain nation and period. To Tom Christmas 
 and me they were a mass of white, blue, and 
 red; but Julia and Maggie Primrose were in 
 raptures over them. Lestrange, who had com- 
 menced a learned lecture on the tastes of 
 various nationalities as illustrated by female 
 costumes, was soon left out in the cold, while 
 the ladies admired, and exclaimed, and criticised, 
 and wondered. 
 
 ^^But you know,’^ said Miss Julia, ^^one 
 
GALATEA, 
 
 171 
 
 cannot admire these things properly without 
 trying them on. Don^t you know that there 
 is nothing so pleasing to the female mind as the 
 trying on of new gowns? How should I 
 look, for instance, in this Greek dress ? 
 
 ^^Like Juno, or Minerva,'' suggested Tom 
 
 I 
 
 Christmas. Better array yourself in it, Julia, 
 and pose before us.'” 
 
 Nay," she said. I am too old. But you, 
 Maggie, might wear it. Come, if Mr. Lestrange 
 will allow me, I will attire you as a Greek 
 maiden.” 
 
 I could not make out what was coming over 
 Julia Christmas. She was actually turning 
 frivolous and making herself agreeable to every- 
 body, and I began to look upon Lestrange as an 
 enchanter. Julia caught up the Greek dress and 
 with a little laugh of amusement led Maggie to 
 the door. But the little Primrose, suddenly 
 struck shy, hung back. 
 
 Oh, but " she cried, and looked, not 
 
172 
 
 MR. SPIVEY CLERK. 
 
 at Tom Christmas, but at Lestrange. He glanced 
 back at her, and she followed Julia out of the 
 room. 
 
 We were silent after they had gone, and we 
 could hear them laughing and talking in the 
 little room which Lestrange had had fitted up 
 specially for them. Presently Julia returned, 
 and we all looked round in expectancy. 
 
 There was a heavy curtain of dark material 
 hanging before the door of the little room, and 
 on its threshold, one white arm holding the curtain 
 back, stood a fair Greek maiden. Tom Christmas 
 started to his feet in surprise. 
 
 Maggie he cried. 
 
 Nay,^^ said Lestrange, ** but Galatea. Galatea 
 as she comes forward to greet the master who 
 has called her into rosy life.^^ 
 
 She was, indeed, Galatea stepping down from 
 the pedestal. Her arms and neck were bare, her 
 brown hair was knotted up in the correct style, 
 a great gold belt spanned the dainty waist and 
 
GALATEA. 
 
 173 
 
 gold bracelets pressed the white arms. The long 
 white draperies falling in straight lines to the 
 sandalled feet arranged themselves artistically 
 about the perfect figure. As she stood there^ 
 one arm holding back the dark curtain, one 
 hand falling at her side, her breast gently 
 heaving beneath the crossed folds of white, her 
 head slightly bent and her face covered with 
 soft maidenly blushes, she looked the very 
 counterfeit of Pygmalion^s statue sprung to 
 life. 
 
 Do I find favour in the eyes of my lord ? ” 
 she said, softly. And she raised her eyes and 
 looked, not at Tom Christmas, but at Lestrange. 
 
 Why, Maggie ! cried Tom, I did not 
 know you were so beautiful. Frank, could you 
 dress me up to look like that? Would my 
 snub nose and red hair come out well in ancient 
 Greek toggery ? 
 
 And then we all laughed ; and, after we had 
 admired the Greek dress again, Maggie slipped 
 
174 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 away and soon came back to us in nineteenth- 
 century garb. 
 
 Somehow no one seemed in a humour for 
 conversation that night, and we began strolling 
 about the rooms examining the various curiosities 
 which Lestrange had picked up. Tom and 
 Maggie and I wandered into Lestrange’s study, 
 there to inspect some old manuscripts, and left 
 Julia and our host talking by the fire in the 
 drawing-room. We stayed looking at the books 
 and papers for half an hour, and then, finding my 
 companions rather dull company, I went back to 
 the others. 
 
 The carpets in Lestrange^s rooms were very 
 soft and thick, and an elephant might have 
 walked over them without making his presence 
 known. At any rate I reached the folding-doors, 
 which opened out of the dining-room, without 
 their hearing me approach. And, standing there, 
 I looked into the room and saw that Lestrange 
 and Julia were standing side by side near the 
 
GALA TEA, 
 
 I7S 
 
 fire, and that the estimable old lady who had 
 played hostess had gone to sleep in an easy- 
 chair set in one of the recesses. Julia was 
 speaking, and when I caught her voice I stood 
 still, not knowing whether to retire or enter. 
 
 ^^You have soon forgotten, she was saying, 
 with something of bitterness in her voice. 
 
 ^^Soon? Come, Julia, eight years is a 
 long slice out of thirty. And, remember, 
 you would not listen to me eight years 
 ago.’^ 
 
 ^^You were only a boy then,’^ she said. 
 
 Quite true — I was a boy. Don^t be 
 angry, Julia. It can^t be. I shall never marry.” 
 
 “You would have married eagerly enough, 
 then',^ she said. 
 
 I dare say. But I shall not now.’^ 
 
 She turned away from him, and walked 
 across to the window. I also turned and went 
 back to the study, considerably mystified. So 
 there had been passages of a romantic nature 
 
176 
 
 MR, SPIVEY CLERK. 
 
 between Frank Lestrange and Julia Christmas, 
 had there? That explained Julia's change of 
 manner during the past few days. 
 
 Surprises seemed to be thickening about our 
 little domestic circle just then. When we reached 
 home at half-past eleven that night, we were met 
 at the door by Sarah Ann, who, in a high 
 state of excitement, informed us that the 
 Reverend Mr. Dumbury was awaiting our 
 arrival and meanwhile talking to Mrs. Christ- 
 mas. 
 
 We went into the dining-room, all three of 
 us, wondering what had brought the faithful 
 Mr. Dumbury to call upon us at that time of 
 night. Certainly he did not live very far away ; 
 but we had never been honoured with such 
 a late visit from him, so far as I knew. 
 
 Mr. Dumbury sat by the fire, his neat shoes 
 turned to the cheery blaze, and his hands spread 
 over his capacious stomach. I noticed at once 
 that he had some great news to communicate. 
 
GALATEA, 
 
 177 
 
 for his well-fed countenance wore a highly im- 
 portant expression, and the glance of his eye 
 betokened triumph and gratification. He was 
 naturally a rather pompous man, but on this 
 occasion his grandeur seemed to overpower, and 
 almost metamorphose him. He rose as we 
 entered and shook hands all round with us, 
 balancing his gold glasses in the other hand 
 very gracefully. 
 
 ^^And what brings you here, Mr. Dumbury, 
 at this disreputable hour?’' asked Tom Christmas. 
 
 I hope you have some good news for us.^^ 
 
 Mr. Dumbury assumed an elegant and 
 would-be-easy position, and coughed. 
 
 ‘H have just informed your worthy mother/' 
 he said, looking at Julia Christmas with approv- 
 ing eyes, that a great burden has been cast 
 upon me." 
 
 This was rather a doleful beginning. But I 
 quickly found that Mr. Dumbury's utterances 
 were somewhat of the nature of parables. 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 MR, SPIVEY CLERK. 
 
 ^'The Prime Minister, my dear friends,” he 
 resumed, looking round on us with an air of 
 importance, ^‘the Prime Minister, Lord Big- 
 borough, has asked my acceptance of the Bishopric 
 of Grandchester/^ 
 
 He watched us narrowly to catch the effect 
 of this announcement. Tom Christmas and I 
 were speechless, but I heard Julia catch her 
 breath sharply. 
 
 “ It is a very heavy responsibility,^^ said Mr. 
 Dumbury, ‘‘ a very heavy responsibility indeed. 
 The see of Grandchester is one of our most 
 important sees.'^^ 
 
 What is it worth, sir?^^ asked Tom Christ- 
 mas, bluntly. 
 
 “I am not — er — quite sure,^^ said Mr. 
 Dumbury, modestly. But I almost fancy 
 the emoluments are about six thousand pounds 
 per annum.^^ 
 
 “ Six thousand pounds a year ! said Tom. 
 
 Take it, sir, take it.'^ 
 
GALATEA, 
 
 179 
 
 ‘‘ My dear young friend/^ said Mr. Dumbury, 
 blandly, it is not at the stipend of an 
 office that a humble vessel should look. He 
 must consider whether he be called.''^ 
 
 How do you feel about it, sir ? ’’ asked 
 
 Tom. 
 
 I have prayerfully considered the matter/^ 
 said Mr. Dumbury, slowly^ and with due emphasis, 
 and I am now consulting the more responsible 
 of my flock. I have also to-day consulted 
 several clerical brethren. I may say that all 
 advise me to accept Her Majesty^s offer. Her 
 Majesty, the Prime Minister tells me, has heard 
 much of my humble efforts in this part of 
 London. It is very pleasing, my friends, to 
 know that one’s efforts are appreciated.” 
 
 ^^Very gratifying indeed, sir,” said Tom. 
 
 “ My dear Miss Christmas,” said Mr. Dumbury, 
 ‘‘you have always been a very earnest member 
 of my congregation. I feel that your advice, 
 your sisterly advice, in this weighty matter, will 
 
 N 2 
 
i8o 
 
 MR. SPlVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 much help me in arriving at a decision. What 
 do you say?^^ 
 
 Julia Christmas had remained very quiet 
 after hearing her pastor’s news. She had kept 
 her eyes fixed on the fire and was evidently 
 thinking hard about something. She looked 
 up as Mr. Dumbury addressed her, and turned 
 her face towards him. 
 
 ‘‘My advice is — accept/^ she said in a low 
 -voice. “Accept — by all means.^’ 
 
 Mr. Dumbury heaved a sigh — whether of 
 vregret or of gratification I cannot say. 
 
 “ I will take the advice of my kind friends/^ 
 he said. “ It will be a serious responsibility, very 
 serious. There are some four hundred beneficed 
 clergy in my — in the diocese of Grandchester, 
 and about half as many curates.^^ 
 
 “ I hope it is in a pleasant neighbourhood, sir/^ 
 said Mrs. Christmas, who was getting sleepy, and 
 began to mix up dioceses and livings. 
 
 “ The palace,^’ said Mr. Dumbury, speaking as 
 
GALATEA. 
 
 i8i 
 
 if he had been used to palaces all his life, ^Ms a 
 most delightful residence, and is situated about 
 three miles out of Grandchester in the midst of a 
 very large park. The society round Grandchester 
 is very select. Truly, it is an onerous position. 
 Ah, my dear friends, to what responsibility am I 
 committing myself.^^ 
 
 Well, sir, I congratulate you with all my 
 heart,^^ said Tom Christmas, who seemed unable to 
 get the six thousand pounds out of his head. 
 
 And I hope you will live long to enjoy your 
 good fortune.^^ 
 
 Thank you, Thomas, thank you. It is 
 consoling to know that one has the wishes of one^s 
 friends. Ah, if my dear old friend Christmas had 
 but lived, how invaluable would his advice have 
 been at this moment ! Julia, my dear friend, may 
 I have a few words with you in private } With 
 your dear mother’s permission.'’^ 
 
 Julia Christmas rose from her chair, perfectly 
 self-possessed, perfectly cool, and walked into the 
 
i 82 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 next room, the Bishop-to-be holding the door 
 open for her. He followed her and closed it 
 behind them. 
 
 “Well, of all the games ! said Tom Christmas. 
 “Whatever will happen next? After seeing my 
 Maggie in that masquerading dress, and now 
 hearing that old Dumbury is to be a Right 
 Reverend Lord, Pm almost prepared for anything. 
 What will be the next thing, do you think, Len ? 
 
 “We shall have a wire from Spivey, saying 
 that he has taken you into partnership, Tom 
 Christmas.” 
 
 “ I wish that would come true,^^ he said. 
 “ And see, Len, the dear old marm is going to 
 sleep. I wish my Lord Bishop would go.” 
 
 But before Mrs. Christmas had fairly dropped 
 off, Dumbury and Julia returned, the former very 
 pompous, the latter still self-possessed, but with a 
 little more colour in her cheeks than when she had 
 left the room. 
 
 “My dear madam, said Mr. Dumbury, “my 
 
GALATEA, 
 
 183 
 
 dear friend Thomas, my dear young gentleman/^ 
 condescendingly turning his episcopal eyes on 
 me, “ I have another announcement to make. 
 Our dear Julia has promised to become Mrs. 
 Dumbury at an early date. It is not good for 
 man to live alone, and the Apostle saith that a 
 Bishop should be the husband of one wife. 
 Wherefore I have selected my dear Julia, whom I 
 have known from infancy, and whose worthy 
 father was my first vicar.” 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Christmas wept, and kissed 
 her daughter^ and blew her nose very loudly and 
 very often, and said she had always known it from 
 the very firsts and Tom and I shook hands with 
 Dumbury and wished him great happiness. And 
 I think we were all a little moved^ except Julia, 
 who was as self-possessed as ever. 
 
 The events of that day had been so exciting 
 that I could not sleep when I went to bed ; and, 
 after tossing about for quite an hour, I resolved to 
 get up and read, hoping that that would send me 
 
MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 184 
 
 to sleep. But I found that I had no work of a 
 soporific nature in my bedroom, so I carefully 
 opened the door and stole downstairs, intending to 
 lay hold of a volume of sermons which I had seen 
 in the dining-room, and trust to their aid in 
 seeking a healthy slumber. I reached the room 
 without making any sound ; but, before I could 
 enter it, I saw that Julia Christmas had not gone 
 to bed yet, and was standing before the fire 
 gazing at something. 
 
 Presently she moved, and I saw that she was 
 looking at a small box which stood on the table at 
 her side. She unlocked it as I stood there and 
 took from it two or three things which were 
 worthless in themselves, but evidently valuable to 
 her, judging by the way in which she held them 
 and looked at them. There were some flowers,, 
 and one or two letters, and a photograph. 
 
 She stood looking at them a long time, and 
 then she suddenly pressed the portrait to her lips 
 and kissed it passionately. And that over, she 
 
GALATEA. 
 
 185 
 
 tore it into little pieces and threw them with the 
 flowers and the letters into the few ashes that 
 were still burning in the hearth. And I went 
 back to bed, feeling that Julia Christmas was a 
 strange woman and a clever one. 
 
 In about a month from then she and Dumbury 
 were married and went away to the South of 
 France for a few weeks_, after which they returned 
 for Dumbury^s consecration^ which took place at 
 Grandchester Cathedral, and was a very imposing 
 ceremony. And then they settled down at the 
 palace and began to rule their diocese with strong 
 arms. 
 
 As for me, and Tom, and Tom’s mother, things 
 went on in pretty much the same way. I advised 
 Tom to follow his sister’s example and get 
 married, but he said that he would wait until the 
 coming spring, when he believed Mr. Spivey 
 would give him a substantial increase in his salary. 
 But as Mrs. Christmas wanted a companion, 
 Maggie Primrose gave up her situation at the 
 
i86 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 millinery place, and came to live with us, and 
 Mrs. Christmas grew very fond of her, and was 
 not so much afraid of her as she had been of Julia. 
 And we cleared all the dreadful Emma Jane Piper 
 books out of the front room and made it very 
 cheerful, and used to smoke elsewhere than in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 And sometimes, during that winter, Lestrange 
 used to call on us. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TOM GOES OVER SEAS. 
 
 Before spring came round again^ Mr. Spivey^ 
 instead of increasing Tom Christmases salary, had 
 charged him with an important commission, the 
 duties of which were calculated to take him far 
 away from Paternoster Row for many a month. 
 Mr. Spivey, who rarely read anything except for 
 special reasons, had been reading up about our 
 Australian colonies, and he formed the idea — that 
 is to say, it occurred to him — that a branch of 
 his business might be established with much profit 
 and advantage in Melbourne or Sydney. He 
 accordingly proposed to send Tom Christmas out 
 there in order to carry this new idea into practical 
 working order. I donT think Tom cared very 
 
i88 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 much about leaving England for so many months. 
 He was to start in March and return about the 
 end of November; and, I dare say, it seemed a long 
 time to him. As for Maggie Primrose, she was 
 against it altogether, and begged Tom to stay at 
 home. Even when he had explained to her how 
 much it would be to his advantage to fall in with 
 Mr. Spivey^s wishes, she was opposed to it. I 
 think our little Primrose felt safe when Tom was 
 near and unsafe when he was away. At any rate, 
 she took the news very much to heart, and was 
 terribly uneasy about it from the moment it was 
 settled upon until the time of his departure. 
 
 When Tom Christmas first told me of Mr. 
 Spivey’s proposal, I strongly advised him to marry 
 before he went away. The sea-trip, I said, would 
 do Maggie good, and he would not feel so lonely 
 as he would if alone in a strange country. But he 
 shook his head at my proposal and said it would 
 not do. 
 
 “In the first place, Len,” he said, “I could 
 
TOM GOES OVER SEAS. 189 
 
 not afford to take Maggie with me. Secondly, 
 there is no one to leave with my mother. 
 
 Mrs. Christmas might go to the Bishop^s for 
 a few months,” I suggested. 
 
 Tom shook his head. 
 
 I don’t think she would care to do that/’ he 
 answered. ^^No, I shall get back as quickly as 
 possible, Len, and then we will have a wedding, 
 and you shall be my best man. I suppose we 
 shall have to invite Dumbury to officiate, Len, 
 shall we not } ” 
 
 I suppose so, Tom Christmas. If we do 
 not we shall have to settle matters with Mrs. 
 Dumbury.” 
 
 Fancy me being married by a real live 
 Bishop!” he said, laughing. “We shall have to 
 insert the announcement in the papers, I suppose, 
 Len. It will look like the marriage of some big 
 swell instead of that of poor Tom Christmas. But 
 perhaps, Len, his lordship of Grandchester will 
 not condescend to tie the knot,” 
 
190 
 
 MR. SPIVEY CLERK, 
 
 I know anything of his lordship’s lady, 
 Tom Christmas, I think he will condescend/^ 
 
 “Why, yes,” said Tom, with a thoughtful 
 expression. “I fancy Julia has the whip hand of 
 him.^^ 
 
 As, indeed, she had. Julia Christmas had 
 married Bishop Dumbury with a view to her own 
 advancement ; and she had made up her mind that 
 her husband should gratify her ambition in every 
 way. She meant him to be Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, or, at any rate, of York ; nay, I think 
 she would not have objected to his turning Papist, 
 providing he could by any means have attained to 
 the Papal Chair. She decided when she married 
 him that he should make his mark in something 
 beside his episcopal duties, and she also decided 
 that the best way in which he could do so was by 
 following her commands instead of trusting to his 
 own powers. So that Dumbury, after a few weeks 
 of married life, discovered that he had married a 
 strong-minded woman who believed herself capable 
 
TOM GOES OVER SEAS. 19 1 
 
 of managing his affairs better than he could 
 manage them himself. 
 
 In those days Julia Dumbury was a very busy 
 woman. After they returned from the honey- 
 moon and Dumbury had been consecrated Bishop, 
 she plunged into active work, and immediately 
 gained a name and fame amongst the more 
 influential people of the diocese. She went about 
 her self-imposed duties with tremendous energy^ 
 but did not forget her hereditary duties as 
 Bishop^s wife. The clergy round about Grand- 
 chester, who had been disposed to look askance 
 at Mrs. Dumbury, soon made up their minds to 
 worship the rising sun, and came to her dinner- 
 parties with smooth countenances and well-oiled 
 tongues. Gentlemen, who wanted anything in 
 the way of preferment, also quickly discovered 
 that it was far better to consult the Bishop's wife, 
 than to apply direct to the Bishop. Young in- 
 cumbents, who had been endeavouring to muster 
 up courage to assume coloured stoles and burn 
 
192 
 
 MR, SPIVEV^S CLERK, 
 
 candles, ceased their ceremonial labours on 
 learning that Mrs. Dumbury was decidedly 
 opposed to Ritualism in any shape or form. 
 Rumour soon spreads amongst people who have 
 little to do ; and everybody in the diocese of 
 Grandchester quickly learnt that Bishop Dum- 
 bury^s lady was the real power of Grandchester 
 Palace. 
 
 I always supposed that Julia would want to 
 work some radical change in her brother’s affairs 
 if ever she got a chance of doing so. When she 
 married Dumbury and became allied with the 
 Bench of Bishops, she evidently decided that she 
 must do something for Tom Christmas, for she 
 came over to London one day, and remained 
 over night with us in Canonbury Square, in order 
 to persuade her brother to leave Mr. Spivey’s 
 establishment, and embrace the profession in 
 which Mr. Dumbury, or Dr. Dumbury as he now 
 was, had attained so much fame. 
 
 I had gone home early that afternoon, and 
 
TOM GOES OVER SEAS. 
 
 193 
 
 I found Mrs. Dumbury sitting with her mother. 
 I thought she looked older ; certainly she had 
 lost the almost sprightly air which came to her 
 when Frank Lestrange renewed his acquaintance 
 with her family. She was very richly dressed, 
 and looked quite stately and dignified, and was 
 altogether calculated to impress the casual be- 
 holder. 
 
 She had already communicated her views to 
 Mrs. Christmas and to Maggie Primrose when I 
 arrived, and she was gracious enough to favour 
 me with a repetition of them before Tom came. 
 
 “I look to you, Leonard Tempest/^ she said, 
 with a touch of almost episcopal authority, ^^to 
 help me in persuading Thomas Christmas to fall 
 in with my views. It is not seemly that he, a 
 clergyman's son, should be occupied as at present, 
 and I and Bishop Dumbury feel this and propose 
 to do something for him.^^ 
 
 I shall be very glad to help you in per- 
 suading Tom to whatever may be for his good, 
 
 o 
 
194 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 Mrs, Dumbury,” I said. “May I ask what you 
 propose ? 
 
 “ We propose that he should take Orders/^ 
 she said. There are several very good livings 
 in the diocese of Grandchester, and the Bishop 
 would present Thomas to one if he will follow 
 out our wishes. Old Mr. Champney of Hogley- 
 poke-cum-Switherton is very infirm and cannot 
 live long, and the Bishop would make arrange- 
 ments for Thomas to succeed him. It is worth 
 seven hundred and fifty a year.^^ 
 
 I looked at Maggie and saw her eyes sparkle 
 for a moment. I knew what she was thinking. 
 Seven hundred and fifty pounds a year meant 
 that she and Tom would be happy for the rest 
 of their lives. There would be no slaving away 
 at Spivey’s all day and drudging in the attic-study 
 till midnight Tom would have rest and leisure, 
 and she would have a pretty vicarage with a 
 rose-garden and trim flower-beds. The picture 
 had its attractions for Maggie. I dare say that 
 
TOM GOES OVER SEAS, 
 
 195 
 
 if she had been rich all her life, it would have 
 possessed none. But as she had known what 
 it is to be very poor, it was as attractive as the 
 fairy palace is to the child. 
 
 Julia, too, saw that, longing look on Maggie’s 
 face, and knew that here was a powerful ally. 
 She began to talk to the girl about the vicarage 
 of Hogley-poke-cum-Switherton, and described 
 its charms and beauties very cleverly. Tom, 
 she said, could have as much leisure for his 
 scientific studies as he pleased, for the parish 
 was one of sparse population, and it had always 
 been usual to keep a curate, while Maggie would 
 find most enjoyable society, and be within five 
 miles of the palace. All of which made the 
 picture still more attractive in the little Prim- 
 rose’s eyes. 
 
 It was to a characteristic group that Tom 
 Christmas came home that night. There was 
 his sister, the great lady anxious for her own 
 sake to do something for him ; there was his 
 
 o 2 
 
196 
 
 MR. SPIVEY’S CLERK. 
 
 mother, understanding very little about the matter, 
 except that her son was to be a great man ; and 
 there was Maggie, his sweetheart, her brown eyes 
 alight with pleasurable anticipation. I think he 
 saw there was something on the tapis as soon 
 as he came in, for he sat down to his dinner in 
 silence, and prepared to listen to whatever 
 message Mrs. Dumbury was just then charged 
 with. 
 
 He heard her very quietly to the end, when 
 she finally delivered herself of the important 
 communication, and I think he saw with what 
 eagerness his mother and his sweetheart awaited 
 his reply. As for me, I was not eager or curious : 
 I knew well enough what his decision would be. 
 
 “ A comfortable vicarage, a pretty village and 
 church, a small population, plenty of leisure and 
 good society, and seven hundred and fifty pounds 
 a year?” he said. ‘'That sounds very nice, Julia, 
 very nice indeed. It sounds like rest, and peace, 
 and quiet for the remainder of one’s life. Why, 
 
TOM GOES OVER SEAS. 
 
 197 
 
 I think I should be able to write a book or two 
 with all these advantages/^ 
 
 I am glad you see it in a proper lignt, 
 Thomas,” said Mrs. Dumbury, graciously. ‘‘You 
 will no doubt be enabled to do useful work under 
 the conditions I have mentioned.” 
 
 I hope to do useful work under any and all 
 conditions^ sister Julia, said Tom Christmas. 
 “ But my work does not seem to lie in the 
 direction you wish me to take. I am sorry that 
 I cannot meet your wishes.” 
 
 “Not — meet — my — wishes!^’ Mrs. Dumbury 
 was astonished. 
 
 “ Oh, Tom,” cried Maggie. “ And I was so 
 pleased ! ” 
 
 “My dearest, said Tom, laying his broad 
 hand on his sweethearts little fingers, and speak- 
 ing in his slow, deliberate way, “ I dare say you 
 were pleased. I suppose the mention of seven 
 hundred a year would call up pleasurable ideas 
 in every one’s mind. Unfortunately, Maggie, 
 
MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 it is quite impossible for me to do what Julia 
 wishes/^ 
 
 “And why, pray ? asked Mrs. Dumbury. 
 
 ^‘My dear Julia/^ said Tom Christmas, do 
 not my reasons occur to you at once ? 
 
 I know of no reasons, Thomas, which would 
 support you in your denial/^ said the Bishop’s 
 lady. 
 
 ^^Yet there are many. In the first place, 
 I am not a member of the church in which 
 you wish me to minister.’^ 
 
 Mrs. Dumbury stiffened out and raised her 
 head. 
 
 Become a member, Thomas Christmas. 
 / have talked to you of it more than once.’’ 
 
 “You have, Julia. But that is impossible. 
 I cannot accept your offer, kind as it is ; for 
 I neither belong to your sect nor approve its 
 doctrines.” 
 
 “ Approve — its — doctrines ! Thomas Christ- 
 mas ! Doctrines ? But that will do. I have 
 
TOM GOES OVER SEAS, 
 
 199 
 
 done my best for my family, and I have failed. 
 You might, however, have remembered that 
 you are thinking of marriage, and that some 
 one beside yourself would have enjoyed and 
 benefited by the position I offered.^^ 
 
 A clever shot, Julia Dumbury, a very clever 
 shot. Tom Christmas turned his head and 
 looked at Maggie, and she did not look back 
 at him with eyes full of trust and confidence, 
 as she should have done — and as, alas ! very 
 few women would do — but kept them fixed on 
 the fire. He sighed and went out of the room, 
 giving my arm a fervent squeeze as he passed 
 me. And soon after that, I went upstairs and 
 found him writing as if for dear life at his 
 rickety table in the shabby attic. He was 
 not going to be a Dumburyite in spite of his 
 poverty and his hard work. 
 
 It was, perhaps, natural that Maggie Primrose 
 should not quite understand Tom^s reasons for 
 declining his sister's well-meant offer. She looked 
 
200 
 
 MR, SPIVEY CLERK, 
 
 upon Tom as the most saintly and perfect of 
 mortals, and would, I have no doubt, felt able 
 to recommend him, if she had ever had the 
 chance, for the first deanery or bishopric that 
 offered. When Julia spoke of Tom as an un- 
 believer, and backslider, and general religious 
 ne’er-do-weel, Maggie’s brown eyes would flash 
 indignant fire and her red lips pout in righteous 
 protest. Tom, she knew, was the best and kindest 
 of mortals. And yet she could not understand 
 his scruples about Mrs. Dumbury’s offer. 
 
 The Bishop’s lady returned to the episcopal 
 palace in deep chagrin, and Tom went on with 
 his daily routine at Mr. Spivey’s establishment. 
 And from that time there was a great coolness 
 between the Grandchester people and their 
 humble relation. 
 
 It was very soon after this episode that 
 Mr. Spivey issued his instructions to Tom about 
 the Australian voyage, and I think that the 
 chief cause of Maggie’s regret was the thought 
 
TOM GOES OVER SEAS. 
 
 201 
 
 that Tom, if he had only seen his way to 
 accepting Mrs. Dumbury’s offer, might have 
 remained at home and made his fortune in 
 more convenient fashion. I tried to console 
 her for Tom’s departure, by pointing out to 
 her how advantageous his trip to the Colonies 
 would be in more than one sense. I bade 
 her remember that he would not be absent 
 many months, and that accidents do not often 
 happen nowadays to well-appointed steamers. 
 I told her that if Tom carried his business to 
 a successful issue, Mr. Spivey would infallibly 
 raise his salary to that five pounds per week, 
 which was the present height of Tom’s ambition. 
 But no word of consolation found favour in 
 Maggie’s ears, for she seemed to have some 
 prevision of coming evil. 
 
 The day of Tom's departure came with 
 lightning-like rapidity to Maggie and me, and 
 at last he had got his leave-taking over and he 
 and I were driving away to the station. 
 
202 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 '‘You’ll take care of Maggie, Len?^^ he said, 
 looking at me wistfully. 
 
 As if she were my own sister, Tom. Make 
 yourself easy on her account. And we shall 
 have you back, you know, in no time at 
 all." 
 
 Ay," he said, dreamily, " six or eight months 
 is not a long time. And yet who knows what 
 may not happen in six months } Take care 
 of them both, Len, my dear, till I come back." 
 
 And then I pressed his hand and said 
 good-bye, and the train had carried him away, 
 and I was left in charge of the two women 
 for whom he thought and worked. Somehow 
 I felt that the world seemed darker and less 
 comfortable with Tom Christmas removed from 
 my part of it. Spivey^s establishment, indeed, 
 seemed miserable without him. Mr. Jones had 
 been promoted to Tom^s place, and general 
 chaos and confusion was the result for some 
 days. Spivey got bad-tempered, and more than 
 
TOM GOES OVER SEAS. 
 
 203 
 
 once declared his intention of wiring for Christmas 
 to come back. The adage that a good workman's 
 never appreciated until he^s lost, was fully- 
 exemplified in Tom Christmas’s case. 
 
 We were very dull in Canonbury Square 
 after Tom’s departure. Mrs. Christmas, it is 
 true, was full of reminiscences and told us on 
 the day of her son’s sailing a long story about 
 her great uncle Piker, who was a sea-going 
 party and came to a watery grave in the 
 English Channel, on the very spot over which 
 Tom’s steamer was probably passing just then. 
 But this had anything but a cheering effect 
 on Maggie Primrose, and it taxed my best 
 energies to divert her mind from its sad thoughts. 
 How she got on during the day I don’t know ; 
 but I never returned from the City at night 
 without finding her and Mrs. Christmas talking 
 together, or rather finding the elder lady talking 
 and the younger listening. And as Mrs. Christ- 
 mas’s stories were invariably of the shipwrecky 
 
204 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 order, I fancy that poor Maggie grew to regard 
 horrors and sorrows as her natural daily 
 food. 
 
 I was not sorry, when I came home rather 
 late one evening, to find Lestrange sitting with 
 my two charges. Maggie Primrose looked 
 brighter and less distrait^ and Mrs. Christmas 
 was listening to Lestrange, content to play the 
 part of audience now that a more capable 
 entertainer was present. And Lestrange had 
 plenty to talk about. We had not seen him 
 for three months, and we asked him where he 
 had been. He had been on the Continent, he 
 told us, in France, and Germany, and Italy; 
 one of his uneasy fits having seized him soon 
 after Christmas, and driven him forth to wander 
 in some sunnier clime. And for Maggie’s benefit 
 he proceeded to tell us all that he had seen, 
 and made himself so very agreeable and 
 entertaining that midnight came and took us 
 unawares and found even Mrs. Christmas wide 
 
TOM GOES OVER SEAS. 
 
 205 
 
 awake and much interested. I let him out 
 when he rose to go and walked a few yards 
 along the Square with him, telling him how 
 it was that Tom had left us^ and informing 
 him that Maggie had felt his departure 
 very keenly. And he was kind enough to say 
 that he would come again soon and help me 
 to entertain Mrs. Christmas and Miss Primrose^ 
 and keep the one from thinking about ship- 
 wrecks and kindred disasters, and the other 
 from brooding over her lovePs absence. And, 
 in accordance with this promise, he came again 
 the following week, and brought Mrs. Christ- 
 mas a number of Continental views, and Maggie 
 a box full of novels. And after that he began 
 to come regularly, so that we looked forward 
 to his visits as a matter of course, and thought 
 it strange if he did not present himself. But 
 he seldom failed to put in an appearance^ 
 though he was very often obliged to call in 
 the afternoon instead of evening, so that I 
 
2o6 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 personally was not benefited. On these occasions, 
 however, the two ladies had so much to tell me 
 about Mr. Lestrange, that I rarely missed much 
 of what he had said. 
 
 I grew to like Lestrange. I had disliked 
 him at first, and had then grown to admire him 
 against my will ; finally yielding myself to his 
 fascinating and agreeable manners, until I 
 thought him one of the most accomplished and 
 brilliant men in the world. Very soon I no 
 longer wondered that Tom Christmas should 
 think so much of him, or that the ladies of our 
 circle should look upon him as a sort of 
 Admirable Crichton and Chevalier Bayard 
 rolled into one. An hour’s chat with him 
 
 was a sort of epic poem, gorgeous and highly 
 scented ; a sort of Eastern panorama and 
 
 Arabian Nights’ Entertainment, so much had 
 he seen and so well could he recount his 
 
 experiences. He never seemed to weary in 
 endeavouring to divert his audience, and even 
 
TOM GOES OVER SEAS, 
 
 207 
 
 the most stupid of listeners met with the 
 greatest consideration at his hands. Mrs. 
 Christmas^ who usually went to sleep unless 
 her own tongue kept her awake, never yielded 
 to slumber when Lestrange talked to her ; 
 while Maggie Primrose was absolutely fasci- 
 nated by him, and would sit for an hour 
 with her large brown eyes fastened on him, 
 looking for all the world like some one in a 
 dream. 
 
 It never occurred to me at that time that 
 it might be dangerous to Tom Christmases 
 interests for this very brilliant young man 
 to come so constantly to our house. And yet 
 I might have known, if I had not been so very 
 young and inexperienced, that Tom Christmas 
 must suffer in comparison with Lestrange. 
 Tom was one of the most prosaic individuals 
 in existence, despite the fact that he had 
 once written verses. He was so absolutely 
 scientific, too, that he killed whatever poetic 
 
2o8 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 inspiration arose within him by criticism and 
 analysis. If anything of an emotional nature 
 suggested itself to him his first concern was 
 to analyse it and see from whence it sprung, 
 so that a miracle became a process of electricity, 
 and a rainbow the result of a natural law. 
 What he and Maggie used to talk about in 
 their evening perambulations I have often 
 wondered; but Tom\s favourite theme when 
 talking with anybody was not anything that 
 would much interest a young lady more or 
 less romantically disposed. Moreover, he was 
 usually a bad listener, as most great talkers 
 generally are, and would resume his own 
 subject at the end of his companion's remarks 
 as if the latter had never uttered a syllable. 
 In this respect Lestrange was sure to compare 
 favourably with him in a lady^s eyes. He was 
 eminently poetic, and romantic, and sympathetic; 
 he abhorred scientific methods ; and was quite 
 sentimental in his social and religious views^ 
 
TOM GOES OVER SEAS, 
 
 209 
 
 whereas Tom Christmas was matter-of-fact in 
 the one and sceptical in the other. 
 
 I suppose it was only natural that Maggie 
 Primrose, in Tom^s absence, should turn to Les- 
 trange with something more than mere admiration. 
 I don^t remember when it was that I first noticed 
 the change in her manner. But when two or 
 three of the summer months had gone, and 
 Lestrange still paid us his weekly visit, I began 
 to notice that Maggie looked forward to his 
 coming with unconcealed pleasure. All sorts of 
 little signs and symptoms began to make them- 
 selves apparent to me. Now it was a new method 
 of dressing her brown hair, now a bright ribbon 
 or dainty apron. All innocent things enough, 
 and yet done, consciously or unconsciously, with 
 the idea of making herself more pleasing in the 
 eyes of Lestrange. Other signs there were, too, 
 the heightened colour when his knock sounded 
 at the door, the bright blush and half-averted eyes 
 when she gave him her hand. And yet, fool 
 
210 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 that I was, I could not see in these things the 
 danger-signal out against Tom Christmas. If 
 I had been clear-sighted enough to see it, could 
 I have done anything to avert the disaster that 
 was coming? 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN HYDE PARK. 
 
 I HAD been working very hard one day^ about the 
 middle of July, chiefly because Mr. Spivey was 
 holiday-making at Eastbourne, and Mr. McFlynn 
 drunk in his lodgings, and at four o^clock I went 
 away from the office resolved to do nothing further 
 until I had had a breath of fresh air. I walked 
 down to the river and got on board a steamboat 
 and rode up to Westminster, from whence I made 
 my way to Hyde Park, which is, in my opinion, 
 the breeziest place in London, except Hampstead 
 Heath. And there I strolled about, watching 
 the gay carriages and fine horses, and wondering 
 who the lady in blue was, and whether the girl 
 in white was single or married. 
 
 P 2 
 
212 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 The paths were just as full of pedestrians as 
 the Row was full of carriages, and every face and 
 figure was alike strange to me, though the types 
 were of the usual cast. There was the country 
 cousin staring about him with wide open eyes 
 and mouth, and there the City swell who en- 
 deavoured to look as if to the manner born. 
 Here was the bluff old country squire with two 
 daughters, one on each arm, and at his elbow 
 a Chinaman resplendent in silk, and buttons, and 
 pig-tail. And walking along through the motley 
 crowd, I suddenly saw two people, at sight of 
 whom I stood still and wondered — Lestrange and 
 Maggie Primrose. 
 
 They were standing near the rails watching 
 the gay procession of carriages go by, and they 
 did not see me. He was attired in the most 
 approved style and looked very handsome and 
 distinguished, as indeed he did at all times. 
 But Maggie was almost beyond my recognition. 
 She was always particularly fastidious about her 
 
IN HYDE PARK. 
 
 213 
 
 dress ; but upon this occasion she had taken 
 more than ordinary care over it. From the 
 dainty hat to the neat shoes everything was 
 perfect. 
 
 I had a full view of her face as I stood there 
 watching them. She was talking and laughing 
 gaily to Lestrange, and her pretty face was full 
 of life and animation. I had never seen her look 
 so bright in Tom Christmas's company. 
 
 I turned away for the moment, sick at heart. 
 Somehow an irrepressible feeling of trouble came 
 over me. I felt that these two had no right to be 
 together in this way, and that Tom Christmas was 
 being betrayed. And then I turned round again^ 
 and would have gone up to them if I had not 
 suddenly remembered that I had no right to 
 interfere. I was not even Maggie Primrose's 
 brother^ though I had come to look upon her as a 
 sister. I was only the friend of Tom — and he 
 was far away in Australia. 
 
 After a while Lestrange and Maggie moved 
 
214 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 away, and I followed them at a distance wondering 
 what I ought to do. I could easily have gone up 
 and greeted them in the ordinary fashion, con- 
 cealing my surprise and astonishment. But I felt 
 it wisest not to reveal myself, and I let them go 
 on before while I followed after. There was not 
 much fear of losing sight of them, for Lestrange 
 was conspicuous by his tall figure and handsome 
 bearing, and even in that crowd of pretty and 
 beautiful women there were few more graceful 
 han Maggie Primrose. 
 
 I followed them away from the crowd and 
 across the Park towards the Marble Arch. They 
 were evidently in the closest sympathy, and I 
 began to think that these walks must have been 
 going on for some time. I noted everything 
 as I followed them. Once beneath a tree 
 they paused, and I could see that Lestrange 
 was talking quickly and earnestly, and that 
 Maggie was listening in silence with averted 
 eyes and downcast head. And then they went 
 
IN HYDE PARK. 
 
 215 
 
 on again and I followed them into Oxford 
 Street, where Lestrange put Maggie into a 
 hansom and she drove away. I watched him 
 light a cigar and turn back into the Park, and 
 then I went back to the City and wondered 
 what to do. 
 
 It was late that night when I returned home, 
 and I found Maggie alone, Mrs. Christmas 
 having gone out to tea two doors away. I 
 suppose I was very silent and gloomy during 
 the evening, and more than once I saw Maggie 
 glance at me as if she did not altogether 
 understand my quiet mood. 
 
 ^^You are very quiet to-night, Len,^^ she 
 said at length, ‘^and you look as if something 
 troubles you.^^ 
 
 I am tired and have a bad headache, 
 Maggie,’^ I answered. ^^My head has ached 
 badly all day. It was so bad this afternoon 
 that I was obliged to leave the office and go 
 out for some fresh air.^^ 
 
2i6 
 
 MR, SPIVEY CLERK, 
 
 And where did you go, Len ? 
 
 ^^Hyde Park/’ 
 
 I tried this direct shot with the view of 
 seeing what effect it would have upon her. But, 
 unprepared as she must have been, it produced 
 very little. She merely bent her head a little 
 closer over her work and made no answer. 
 
 ^^The Park was very full this afternoon, 
 
 I continued. And do you know, Maggie, 
 I thought I saw two people there whom I did 
 not expect to see.^^ 
 
 She looked up quickly then and coloured 
 slightly. 
 
 Indeed, Len. And who were they ? 
 
 '^You and Lestrange, Maggie.’^ 
 
 She bent her head over her work again and 
 went on with it for a minute or two before 
 replying. 
 
 Quite right, Len,” she said at last. “You 
 did see us. I had been to Knightsbridge, and 
 I met Mr. Lestrange near the Park. He 
 
IN HYDE PARK. 
 
 217 
 
 walked through the Park with me, and was 
 kind enough to send me home in a cab/’ 
 
 What could I say ? The explanation was 
 satisfactory enough to satisfy any one, and I 
 had no right to mention the scene under the 
 tree, nor to ask if she had ever met Lestrange 
 before under similar circumstances. I took up 
 a book and began to read, and presently Maggie 
 sat down at Mrs. Christmas’s desk and com- 
 menced writing a letter. She used to write to 
 Tom Christmas every week. 
 
 Lestrange did not come to see us for some 
 weeks after this occurrence, and I began to hope 
 that he had gone abroad again. Nothing 
 would have pleased me better than to hear 
 that he had left England for good. I was so 
 anxious to hear something of him that I once 
 or twice went to a few places where I thought 
 I should be likely to find him if he was in 
 London. But I saw nothing of him. 
 
 During those few weeks, Maggie went on 
 
2I8 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 in much the same way as usual. She went 
 about her housekeeping duties and took care 
 of Mrs. Christmas, and wrote her letter to Tom 
 Christmas every week. She was quiet and con- 
 tent enough now to all appearance, and had 
 evidently quite got over Tom's departure. And 
 seeing her calm demeanour I gradually lost 
 all fears about Lestrange, and did not mention 
 the matter to Tom when I next wrote to him, 
 as I had once thought of doing. 
 
 September came, and early in the month we 
 received a letter from Tom Christmas which 
 contained no end of good news. He was suc- 
 ceeding beyond all his anticipations in the 
 business which had taken him out, and he 
 believed that Mr. Spivey would be more than 
 satisfied. He hoped to return home by the 
 beginning of November, and to be married about 
 three weeks later. He had not the least doubt 
 that Mr. Spivey would materially increase his 
 salary, and he begged Maggie to make her pre- 
 
IN HYDE PARK, 
 
 219 
 
 parations for the wedding, as it was quite possible 
 that Mr. Spivey might request Tom to take up 
 his permanent residence in Melbourne as manager 
 of the business there. 
 
 Once upon a time this, letter would have given 
 Maggie Primrose all manner of pleasurable antici- 
 pations ; but now it fell flat. She read it quietly 
 enough and gave it to Tom's mother and then 
 to me. Tom Christmas’s love-letters were such 
 as any one could read. There was neither 
 sentiment nor poetry in them, but they were 
 straightforward and practical, and true and honest. 
 I went away to the City that morning, wishing 
 that Tom Christmas could return at once and 
 marry Maggie and take her away with him. 
 And I hoped ardently that Lestrange would not 
 appear on the scene again before Tom’s return. 
 
 That afternoon I was coming past Charing 
 Cross Station, and remembering that I wished 
 to get something from the bookstall inside, I 
 went in and walked down the platform. The 
 
220 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 tidal train was just about leaving, and I lingered 
 watching the heavy-cloaked and coated passengers 
 as they came along the platform. And then, 
 just as suddenly as I had seen her in the Park, 
 I saw Maggie Primrose coming towards me. She 
 recognised me at the same moment, and she did 
 not stop or falter, but came directly towards me. 
 She was very pale, and there were unshed tears 
 in her eyes ; but her face was resolute and 
 determined. 
 
 Maggie ! I cried. What brings you here } 
 Where are you going ? 
 
 I am going away, Len. I am — 
 
 Going away ? Oh, Maggie ! What does it 
 mean } ” 
 
 She looked round her and bit her lips. A 
 porter carrying a portmanteau came up, and 
 placing it in a carriage, signalled to her to come 
 across and take the place he had reserved for 
 her. She nodded to him, and turning round 
 to me began to speak quickly. 
 
IN HYDE PARK. 
 
 221 
 
 “ It means, Len, that I am going away, and 
 that you will not see me again. I thought I 
 should have got away without your knowing it, 
 Leonard^ listen. When you go home to-night, 
 look in your desk. You will find two letters, 
 one for yourself, and one for — for Tom/^ 
 
 For Tom ? 
 
 I thought she would break down then, but she 
 controlled herself, and went on again : 
 
 For Tom, Len. Send it to him, and ask 
 him to — to forgive me and forget me. Oh, Len, 
 it must seem bad, wicked, dreadful conduct, this 
 of mine ! I can’t help it. I have tried, oh, so 
 very hard to be true to him, and I canT, I 
 can't."’ 
 
 Maggie, tell me what you are going to do ? " 
 
 '' I am going to be married, Len.” 
 
 Married ? You, Maggie ? And to whom ? " 
 To Mr. Lestrange.” 
 
 I said no more, but stood before her silent 
 and surprised beyond measure. 
 
222 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 I have told Tom everything in my letter, 
 Leonard. You will send it to him at once, 
 will you not ? And now, good-bye, Len, and 
 
 oh, thank you so many, many times for 
 
 She began to cry then, and I found my 
 tongue. 
 
 “ Maggie,^^ I said, and I never tried to put 
 so much persuasion into my voice before or 
 since, Maggie, for Heaven's sake, stop ! Think 
 of what you are doing ? Where is Lestrange ? 
 If you are going to marry him, why not in the 
 proper way ? Why are you going away like this ? 
 Why is he not with you ? " 
 
 “He is ill, in Paris," she said. ^^We are to 
 be married there to-morrow morning. Let me 
 go, now, Len, and try to think kindly of me 
 sometimes." 
 
 “ Let me go with you, Maggie. Nay, I will go." 
 
 No, Leonard, no, please ! He would be 
 so angry. See, I will write to you to-morrow 
 morning.^^ 
 
IN HYDE PARK. 
 
 223 
 
 I shook my head. There was something 
 that I did not like about it. I stood wondering 
 what to do. Should I follow her and see that 
 all was right } While I hesitated^ the bell rang, 
 and a porter coming up, told Maggie that she 
 must take her seat. 
 
 “ You hear, Len — I must go. Won't you say 
 good-bye to me } 
 
 “ God bless you, Maggie, I said, wher- 
 ever you go. But oh, my dear, this will kill 
 Tom." 
 
 She turned paler than ever when I said that, 
 and put her hand to her breast as if in pain. And 
 then the look of resolution came back to her, 
 and she got into the carriage and drew down her 
 veil, and the train steamed away, and left me 
 standing there like a man in a dream. 
 
 How I got out of the station, I hardly re- 
 member. I have confused recollections of swear- 
 ing at Lestrange, and feeling that I should like 
 to kill him. Then I think I cried, and after that 
 
224 
 
 MR, SPIVEY'S CLERK, 
 
 laughed savagely, and vowed that every woman 
 living was false and fickle. And then, although 
 I had some very important business awaiting me 
 in the City, I hailed a cab and went home to 
 Canonbury Square. 
 
 Mrs. Christmas was sitting in calm repose 
 by the fire, reading one of the novels which 
 Lestrange had brought Maggie. She was very 
 fond of light reading, but her daughter Julia had 
 given her little chance of getting any during her 
 regime. She looked placidly at me as I entered, 
 and hardly expressed any surprise at my un- 
 usually early appearance. Miss Primrose, she 
 said, had gone away that day to visit some 
 friends, and had left instructions with Sarah Ann 
 about things in general. An easy-going, even- 
 tempered woman was Mrs. Christmas. 
 
 I went to the old desk in the corner and raised 
 the lid. Yes, there lay the two letters she had 
 spoken of, side by side, with the brief inscriptions, 
 ‘‘ Leonard ” and “ Tom,^^ on the envelopes. And 
 
IN HYDE PARK. 
 
 225 
 
 on the one marked ‘‘Tom,” there was a great 
 tear-stain. 
 
 I went upstairs to my own room, and read 
 the letter addressed to myself. It was very brief, 
 and it told me little more than Maggie had 
 already told me herself. But reading between 
 the lines I could see how absolutely fascinated 
 the poor girl had been by Lestrange, and how, 
 as soon as he put forth his power, she had yielded 
 to his persuasions and renounced her allegiance 
 to an incomparably better man. I could trace 
 something of the struggle that had gone on in 
 Maggie^s heart before she finally gave way ; I 
 could see what she had suffered in thinking about 
 Tom Christmases disappointment. And I could 
 also see something else — that she had come to 
 regard Lestrange as a demi-god, and had lost 
 her heart to him as she never could have lost it 
 to plain Tom Christmas. 
 
 I was obliged to go back to the office, and I 
 carried the letter for Tom with me, thinking that 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 I would write to him that night and tell him 
 everything, though I little knew how to find 
 words in which to convey my message. But on 
 second thoughts^ I decided to wait a day or two 
 in order that I might be able to tell him that 
 Maggie was married to Lestrange. She had 
 promised to write to me, and I knew that she 
 would keep her promise if she could possibly 
 do so. 
 
 I thought anxiously over the whole unfortu- 
 nate business that evening, and lay awake most 
 of the night still thinking of it. The more I con- 
 sidered it, the less I liked the look of it Why 
 had Lestrange not come a-wooing in straight- 
 forward fashion ? Why^ if he loved Maggie 
 Primrose, had he not been brave enough to say 
 so to others instead of letting her steal away 
 from us in so clandestine a manner } And why 
 was the wedding to take place in Paris, when it 
 might have easily been celebrated in a score of 
 quiet City churches } The only ray of light I 
 
IN HYDE PARK. 
 
 227 
 
 could get was the few words which Maggie had 
 dropped about Lestrange’s illness. It might be 
 that he was ill in some Parisian hotel, and had 
 sent for her so that she could nurse him. There 
 was some comfort in the thought, and I tried to 
 gain courage from it. 
 
 How I lived through the next day I don’t 
 know. I could not eat or sit still, and I dare say 
 that everybody with whom I came in contact 
 thought I was going crazy. I was totally unfit 
 for business as for everything else. I passed the 
 evening in hearing Mrs. Christmas talk, and 
 never did hours seem to drag so slowly or that 
 good lady^s tongue to wag so quickly. And 
 that night I slept, being fairly worn out with 
 anxiety. 
 
 And while I slept I dreamed. I was on a 
 great promontory, and it was dark midnight, and 
 beneath me the sea boiled and surged in mad 
 fury, and overhead lightning flashed and thunder 
 roared. And through all the wild devilry of the 
 
228 
 
 MR. SPIVEY CLERK. 
 
 scene, I saw a little white dove fluttering, beaten 
 this way and that, and never able to make 
 headway against the tempest. Now it was 
 dashed upwards by the angry wind, and now a 
 flercer gust caught it and whirled it far out to 
 sea. And then, while I watched it, the tempest 
 subsided, and the white dove, weary and worn, 
 fluttered to the great rock on which I stood, and 
 hid itself in the cleft. And then I awoke. 
 
 And again I slept and dreamed. I saw again 
 the rocky promontory and the sea beneath. I saw 
 the sea with the morning sun upon it, and it 
 looked fair and gracious. There was scarcely 
 a ripple upon it, and its emerald waters shone 
 with light. I saw the white dove fly out across 
 it, and sail far away towards the sunlighted east. 
 And while I watched, the skies grew dark and 
 the winds began to blow, and hail and rain 
 came down, and the lightning flashed and the 
 thunder rolled from north to south, and the white 
 dove, far away from the shadow of the rock, was 
 
IN HYDE PARK, 
 
 229 
 
 beaten and baffled, and sank down amongst the 
 angry waves — lost. And I awoke once more. 
 
 And once more I slept and once more I 
 dreamed. I saw the ocean again, fair and beauti- 
 ful, and the light which lighted it was neither of 
 sun nor moon nor star. And in the midst of it lay 
 an island like a great pearl set in a silver sea, and 
 on it I saw the white dove, calm, happy, and at 
 rest. And I woke again and it was morning, and 
 the autumn sunlight was flooding my window 
 with light. 
 
 I lost little time that morning in getting away 
 to the City. I expected that Maggie^s letter 
 would go to the office and not to the house. It 
 was with a beating heart that I inquired of Jones 
 if there were any letters for me. Yes, said Jones, 
 there was one on my table with the Paris post- 
 mark. 
 
 I tore it open and glanced at the signature. 
 Margaret Lestrange. Then she was married, and 
 my vague fears were groundless. Thank God ! 
 
230 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 I sat down and read the brief note. She had 
 seized the opportunity, she said, of writing to me 
 while her husband was out, making arrangements 
 for leaving Paris. They had been married that 
 morning, she said, and they were going away 
 during the day, first to Italy, then to Egypt, and 
 afterwards to India. They would probably go 
 round the world before returning home. And 
 then the letter concluded abruptly. 
 
 I wrote my letter to Tom Christmas that 
 night, sitting in his little attic-study at home. 
 How I did it I donT know ; but I do remember 
 that, when I had finished, I put my head on my 
 arms and cried like a child to think of the pain 
 and grief that good, honest fellow must endure 
 when he came to read it. I would cheerfully have 
 undergone the most exquisite tortures rather 
 than have written that letter, if such a vicarious 
 atonement would have done any good. But I 
 knew that he must hear the bad news sooner or 
 later, and I also knew that no one could break 
 
IN HYDE PARK, 
 
 231 
 
 it so gently or considerately as L I had come 
 to be almost a part of himself, and I understood 
 and loved him as no one else in this world did. 
 And so I forced myself to write the letter, and 
 finished the task and enclosed Maggie^s note 
 and despatched it, and wondered how Tom 
 Christmas would feel when it reached him, and 
 told him that his dearest hopes were shattered. 
 
 It was necessary that I should inform Julia 
 of what had happened, and I was wondering 
 whether a call or a letter would be the most 
 fitting means of doing so, when I noticed a 
 paragraph in the daily papers which informed 
 the world that the Bishop of Grandchester and 
 Mrs. Dumbury were in town for a few days. 
 So I attired myself in my best and went the next 
 morning to Grandchester House, where I ,, found 
 the prelate^s lady busy with his lordship's chaplain 
 and sundry other ecclesiastics. I think she saw 
 that I had news of moment to communicate, for 
 she gave me a private audience at once. 
 
232 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 I told her, in brief terms, that Maggie had 
 gone away from us and had since been married. 
 
 '^And pray, Leonard Tempest, who is the 
 man that Maggie Primrose has married, and 
 why have they behaved in such an underhand 
 fashion ? 
 
 The man, Mrs. Dumbury, is Frank Lestrange.’' 
 
 “ Frank Lestrange ! Impossible ! Impossible!'' 
 
 It is true, Mrs. Dumbury. Why are you 
 so surprised } " 
 
 “ Surprised, Leonard Tempest, surprised ? Are 
 you a fool or an idiot ? 
 
 I don’t know,” I replied, lamely. I believe 
 I soon shall be mad though, with a little more 
 anxiety.” 
 
 If you knew all that I know, Leonard 
 Tempest, of Frank Lestrange, you would not 
 ask why I am surprised. He marry ? Never ! ” 
 
 I remembered the scene in Lestrange’s 
 chambers, and that he had told Julia that he 
 would never marry. His air of certainty had 
 
IN HYDE PARK, 
 
 233 
 
 impressed me strongly at the time, and it came 
 back to me now with much force. Why had 
 I not remembered it sooner? I sat staring 
 stupidly at Julia Dumbury. 
 
 No/^ she continued, Frank Lestrange 
 would never marry that little simpleton. He 
 is deceiving her. She is not the first woman 
 that he has deceived and wronged, Leonard 
 Tempest. He is a roue^ a libertine, a liar.^^ 
 
 She spoke with such vehemence that I was 
 too much amazed to reply. What mystery lay 
 hid behind her words ? 
 
 But, Mrs. Dumbury, Maggie herself tells 
 me they are married. See, here is the letter.’' 
 
 ^^Fiddle-de-dee, Leonard Tempest. You are, 
 after all, only a baby. Did it never occur to 
 you that marriage, or what looked like marriage, 
 was the only way in which Lestrange could 
 overcome the girFs scruples ? Why, of course 
 they would go through some form, and she would 
 fancy it was the real thing. I tell you I know 
 
234 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK, 
 
 Frank Lestrange. He will make much of his 
 new toy for a while, and she will live in a 
 
 fool’s paradise. And then 
 
 “And then? What, Mrs. Dumbury?^^ 
 
 “ And then she will wake from her dream, 
 Leonard Tempest, and find that Frank Lestrange 
 has deceived and ruined her, and that he will 
 cast her away like an old glove or a faded 
 flower.” 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 A LETTER FROM FRANCE. 
 
 I WENT away from Grandchester House feeling 
 more miserable than when I entered it. Julia 
 Dumbury^s vehement denunciation of Lestrange 
 filled me with all manner of sorrowful anticipations. 
 If he was really all that she proclaimed him, then 
 indeed Maggie was not safe in his hands. But 
 was Mrs. Dumbury right ? I remembered the 
 little scene in Jermyn Street, the expression on her 
 face, almost vindictive and certainly not boding any 
 good to Lestrange. I remembered also the burn- 
 ing of the flowers and letters, and the passionate 
 way in which she. kissed both before committing 
 them to the flames. She had evidently been 
 deeply in love with Lestrange, and I had heard 
 
236 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 that women whose love is rejected very often 
 transform their affection into hatred. After all, 
 then, her denunciation of Lestrange might arise 
 from spiteful feeling and not from fact. I took 
 heart at that and resolved to trouble Julia Dum- 
 bury no longer. I had done what I could, and 
 now I must wait until Tom came home. It would 
 be my task to comfort him. 
 
 The weeks went slowly by and things jogged 
 on in pretty much the same way with us in Canon- 
 bury Square. Mrs. Christmas, having made up 
 her mind that Maggie was going to make a 
 lengthy stop with her friends in the country, 
 assumed the reins of government, and succeeded 
 beyond my expectations, though I believe that 
 Sarah Ann, who had been well-trained by Julia, 
 was responsible in no small degree for the order 
 and decorum of our household. I never mentioned 
 Maggie to Mrs. Christmas, and that good lady 
 never spoke of her to me, except to remark now 
 and then that Miss Primrose was making a long 
 
A LETTER FROM FRANCE. 
 
 237 
 
 stay, and would probably get her friends to help 
 her with the wedding clothes. 
 
 About six weeks after Maggie went away I 
 said farewell to Mr. Spivey^s establishment for 
 ever. Somehow I had not felt at home there after 
 Tom Christmas went away. I grew more and 
 more tired of Mr. Spivey and his surroundings. 
 Certain small differences arose between us on the 
 question of salary. Mr. Spivey discovered that 
 I, in my own spare time, had been so base as to 
 contribute articles of a frivolous nature to certain 
 of the weekly papers, and remarked that any 
 product of my pen ought to have been handed 
 over to Mr. McFlynn for the benefit of that 
 gentleman^s journal. I replied that I should be 
 glad, indeed, to contribute to Mr. McFlynn^s 
 columns providing that he, Mr. Spivey, would 
 remunerate me in a fitting manner — a remark 
 which brought clouds to Spivey's brow, and many 
 ^^hums^’ and “hahs^^ to his tongue. He thought 
 that I was already well paid, my ^^wage" being a 
 
238 
 
 MR. SPJVEY^S CLERK. 
 
 very good one. I answered that I had lately often 
 earned more by a single evening^s work than by a 
 long week’s toil in his employ, and hinted that it 
 was time I saw something in the shape of an 
 increased salary. At which audacious proposal 
 Mr. Spivey grew apoplectic, and said that there 
 were hundreds of deserving young people who 
 would gladly take my place at a smaller ^^wage.'’^ 
 There was only one answer to that statement. I 
 placed my resignation in Mr. Spivey’s hands and 
 left him the next week, determined henceforth to 
 do anything in the way of hack-work, but never 
 again to put my neck under the yoke of a little 
 cad. Vale Spivey. 
 
 So the office in Paternoster Row knew me no 
 more. I took a little room in Fleet Street and 
 began to write for the dailies, and weeklies, and 
 monthlies. Heavens ! what hard work it was, and 
 what a tremendous number of people seemed to 
 be at it. Paragraphs, articles, jokes,” tales, 
 comic poems — all these I manufactured and some- 
 
A LETTER FROM FRANCE. 
 
 239 
 
 times sold. I wrote penny novels and even a 
 shilling shocker, and somehow kept my head 
 above water quite as well as when I drudged at 
 Spivey^s. Very often Mr. McFlynn came panting 
 up the dingy stairs to my dingier room, and asked 
 me to write him a column or two, taking care to 
 be free with Dukes and Duchesses, and not for- 
 getting that a blank or a few asterisks were 
 wonderfully enlivening. And at first Mr. Jones 
 used to appear daily with a very humble request 
 from Mr. Spivey that I would please enlighten 
 him on some point of office work with which I was 
 specially familiar, and about which no one else 
 knew anything. I used to take a savage, an 
 almost fiendish delight in making my late em- 
 ployer pay through the nose for these services, and 
 charged him half-a-guinea per hour whenever he 
 sent me work which no one else could do. I was 
 overjoyed to find that Spivey often paid me twice 
 as much in this way for a few hours^ work as he 
 would have paid me for a whole Weeks’s labour 
 
240 
 
 MR, SPIVEY CLERK, 
 
 under the old conditions. Penny wise and pound 
 foolish Spivey ! 
 
 I looked out anxiously for a letter from Tom 
 Christmas. I was anxious to know how he had 
 taken the bad news. I knew how much he had 
 loved Maggie Primrose, and dreaded the shock 
 that he must experience on opening my letter. I 
 almost feared lest he should come home by the 
 next steamer and seek Lestrange out and kill him. 
 But I soon remembered that Tom Christmas was 
 not of the man- slaying order, and that he would 
 be much more likely to kill his own hopes than to 
 murder the man who had helped to destroy them ! 
 
 At last the letter came. Going down one 
 morning to my solitary breakfast — Mrs. Christmas 
 invariably took her first meal in the privacy of her 
 own apartment — I found it lying by my plate and 
 feared to open it. I let it lie there, and tried to 
 eat. But the first mouthful choked me, and I 
 took it up, and tore away the thin envelope, and 
 read it resolutely through. 
 
A LETTER FROM FRANCE, 
 
 241 
 
 He was stunned, but not killed. It had been 
 a heavy blow, he said, but he was thankful that 
 Maggie had found out her mistake before it was 
 too late. He hoped that she would be happy, and 
 that she would not allow her happiness to be 
 marred by any thoughts of him. He thought it 
 best not to reply to the letter she had sent him 
 through me, but he asked me to tell her if I saw 
 her again that his one wish was for her happiness. 
 
 In all the letter there was no mention of 
 Lestrange. There was no outburst of fury, none 
 of the It was thou, mine own particular friend,^^ 
 style which is so common in melodrama and 
 fiction. Tom Christmas was a man for facts, and 
 he accepted his sweethearts faithlessness as a fact, 
 and said no more. 
 
 The letter went on to tell me about his own 
 plans. He had lately received a communica- 
 tion, he said, from Mr. Spivey, who was delighted 
 with the way in which he had so far executed 
 his commission; and desired him to remain in 
 
 R 
 
242 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 Melbourne a few months longer, so that he could 
 find a responsible manager, and indoctrinate him 
 in the ways of the Spivey establishment. Accord- 
 ingly, said Tom, it would be spring before he 
 returned home again. When he did come back, 
 he concluded, he should settle down at his own 
 post and let the daily round and common task 
 satisfy him for the remainder of his days. 
 
 So that was all, and I was somewhat relieved, 
 and felt that Tom Christmas had borne the shock 
 like a man. And yet I would much rather he 
 had flown into a passion and sworn a little, and 
 thrown out hints about the frailty of woman, 
 and generally thrown off steam, than that he 
 should have exhibited so much fortitude and 
 resignation. For I knew that the human heart 
 and the steam-boiler are, after all, very much 
 alike — they must either open the escape -valve 
 or burst. 
 
 I was very busy during the winter that 
 immediately followed, and I was glad to be so ; 
 
A LETTER FROM FRANCE. 
 
 243 
 
 for otherwise I should have felt lonely and com- 
 panionless. I began once or twice to regret 
 the old days when Julia was with us; for^ bigot 
 as she was, she was still much livelier company 
 than Mrs. Christmas, whose sole idea of conversa- 
 tion was that she should talk and every one else 
 listen. I looked forward to Tom’s return, and 
 remembered with a sigh that he must be changed. 
 Change, change, there was little else but change 
 on every side. 
 
 It was nearly April. The crocuses and snow- 
 drops in the parks were already bright and fresh 
 in the trim flower-beds ; the spring sun was warm 
 and cheery in Piccadilly ; the great folks were 
 beginning to come back to town, and everything 
 in London seemed busier and brighter. I had 
 had a hard winter, and I welcomed the change. 
 I only wanted Tom Christmas back to be quite 
 content with my lot. I looked forward to greet- 
 ing him, to cheering him up, to having him 
 back to our old studies, to hearing him talk. 
 
 R 2 
 
244 
 
 MR, SPIVEY CLERK. 
 
 to arguing with him, to telling him all that I 
 had done in his absence. I had heard from 
 him about the end of February^ and he told 
 me I might expect to see him about the middle 
 of April. And while I was making ready for 
 his coming, and considering what I could best 
 do to hide away the sorrow that I felt on his 
 account, there came news — news of Maggie. I 
 knew it was bad news as soon as I saw the 
 letter. It was lying waiting for me when I went 
 home one night. Mrs. Christmas was enjoying 
 the honour of a month^s visit at Grandchester 
 Palace, and a sister of Mrs. Migson’s was keep- 
 ing house in her stead. And so there was no 
 one with me when I took up my missive of 
 sorrow. 
 
 It was a thin, foreign-looking envelope, ad- 
 dressed in flowing female characters to Monsieur 
 Leonard Tempest, and it bore a French post- 
 mark. I had no friends or relations in France. 
 It must contain news of Maggie. 
 
A LETTER FROM FRANCE. 
 
 245 
 
 I tore it open, and found a large, thin sheet 
 of paper, closely written on all four sides. The 
 letter was in English, and the handwriting clear 
 and pretty, although the writer had chosen to 
 cross the lines instead of taking a new sheet. 
 I glanced at the signature ; it was unknown to 
 me. I sat down_, and began to read the long 
 epistle with as much patience as I could command. 
 
 ‘‘The Convent of Our Lady of Mercy,., 
 “ Fontrenelle, Villefranche, 
 
 “25/A March^ 187-.. 
 
 Monsieur, 
 
 “At the desire of our Reverend Mother 
 Superior, I write to inform you that we have 
 at this present moment a young lady staying 
 in our House who is very ill, and with whose 
 friends we should like to communicate if it be 
 in any way possible. The reason why I am 
 addressing you, monsieur, is briefly this : we 
 found in the young lady^s pocket a small book 
 in which was entered the name and address which 
 
246 
 
 MR. SPIVEY CLERK, 
 
 I shall write on the cover of this letter. There 
 were no other letters or papers^ and though the 
 young lady^s linen is marked with the letters 
 M. P., we could gain no clue from that as to her 
 identity or address. And as it is very probable, 
 monsieur, that she will never regain conscious- 
 ness, we judge it well to write to you at once, 
 in the hope that you may prove to be her 
 brother or friend, or that you may even help 
 us to place ourselves in communication with our 
 patient’s family. And in order that you may 
 understand all about the matter, our Reverend 
 Mother instructs me, monsieur, to tell you all 
 that we know of this unfortunate young lady for 
 whose sad fate we have all so much of pity. 
 
 “You must know, monsieur, that this village 
 of Fontrenelle, which is about three leagues from 
 Villefranche, is somewhat celebrated for its rural 
 air and surroundings, and that tourists come here 
 now and then, and stay at the hotel of the 
 ‘Three Swans.’ It is not a large hotel, monsieur; 
 
A LETTER FROM FRANCE. 
 
 247 
 
 but then the village is a very small one^ and 
 the tourists only come in small numbers as yet, 
 the fame of Fontrenelle not having penetrated 
 much beyond our own department, and there 
 being so many more places which are better 
 worth visiting. 
 
 ‘^To the ^ Three Swans, ^ monsieur, there 
 came about three weeks or a month ago a gentle- 
 man and lady, who engaged the best suite of 
 rooms, and appeared rich and prosperous. The 
 gentleman was tall, and very handsome and dis- 
 tinguished in appearance, and gave his orders 
 like one who has., been accustomed to obedience 
 all his life. The lady was young and pretty, 
 and very graceful, monsieur, and spoke kindly 
 to all who approached her. She had beautiful 
 brown eyes and hair, ^and her face was one 
 which you could not help admiring, so winning 
 an expression did it wear. And yet sometimes, 
 Madame Pierrot, the good landlady of the 
 ^ Three Swans,^ tells me, she looked sad and 
 
248 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 troubled, and there was an expression of much 
 sorrow in her face. 
 
 These two, monsieur, were English ; but the 
 gentleman spoke French perfectly, and with the 
 real Parisian accent, while the lady spoke it not 
 quite so well. They did not give their names 
 at the hotel, and, when they first came, the 
 husband told Master Pierrot that he could not 
 say how long they would remain, but probably 
 until they grew tired of Fontrenelle. He was 
 very particular, this distinguished-looking gentle- 
 man, that his apartments should be situated in 
 the most retired part of the house, and he was 
 accustomed to remain up late at night, writing 
 at a large desk, while madame sat near him, and 
 worked or read. 
 
 ‘‘ It was easy to see, I suppose, that the young 
 lady adored her husband. Madame Pierrot tells 
 me, monsieur, that never did she see such absolute 
 devotion. Alas ! I fear that her love was re- 
 turned but slightly, monsieur, and that the so- 
 
A LETTER FROM FRANCE. 
 
 249 
 
 handsome gentleman was cold of heart. Nayj 
 he must have been heartless, or he would have 
 loved his wife with a devotion equal to that which 
 she showed him. Mon Dieu I if you could but 
 see her, monsieur, as she now lies, like a 
 beautiful lily on her bed in this chamber where 
 I now write. 
 
 When these two, then, had lived at the 
 ^ Three Swans ^ about ten days, monsieur, it was 
 noticed that there was some trouble between the 
 handsome gentleman and the young lady. He was 
 gloomy and morose ; she wept much and remained 
 in her own apartment, no longer taking pleasure 
 in walking about our little village or conversing 
 with its inhabitants. Also, Madame Pierrot tells 
 me, there were w^ords passed between the two 
 which should not be used by husband and wife. 
 Occasionally, too, Madame Pierrot overheard 
 mutual upbraiding and recrimination, and after 
 such scenes monsieur would go away from the 
 hotel and remain on the hills until nightfall, 
 
250 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 and madame would remain in her room and weep 
 in solitude. So that you see^ monsieur, it was 
 not all sunshine with these two. 
 
 About a week ago, then, the troubles of 
 madame approached a crisis. I had occasion, 
 monsieur, to visit the ‘ Three Swans,^ and, on 
 arriving there, I found my friend Madame Pierrot 
 in a state of agitation. The handsome gentleman 
 and the sweet young lady were quarrelling ; 
 behold, I could hear it for myself, for Madame 
 Pierrot had conducted me into an apartment 
 adjoining theirs. And indeed I could overhear 
 much of what was said, monsieur, for I can speak 
 the English sufficiently well, having spent six 
 years in a house of our Order in London. And, 
 oh, monsieur, the words that I overheard were 
 sad indeed. The young lady accused the hand- 
 some gentleman of ennui^ of ennui caused by 
 herself. She said that he was tired of her, dis- 
 appointed in her and I know not what. Monsieur, 
 it was easy to perceive that the poor thing 
 
A LETTER FROM FRANCE. 
 
 251 
 
 passionately loved him, and that she expected him 
 to love her in the same way. And when he 
 answered nothing, she upbraided him still more. 
 And then, oh^ monsieur^ he began to speak, so 
 coldly and calmly, and with such exquisite cruelty. 
 He said yes, they had made a mistake, but it could 
 yet be repaired. It was very evident, he said, 
 that they were not suited to each other, and 
 they had therefore better separate. To which, 
 monsieur, she replied very properly that the 
 marriage-tie can be dissolved by no man, and 
 that she had meant her vows. And then — oh, 
 it frightens me yet to think of, monsieur ! he 
 laughed, and said that the marriage was nothing, 
 that it was not a marriage at all, in fact, and that 
 they were both free. ‘ The marriage nothing ? ^ 
 she cried.' ^My God ! it is not possible that you 
 have so cruelly deceived me.’ ^ Not only possible 
 but certain,^ he said, coolly. ^ It was a mock 
 ceremony. And now I have had enough of this ; 
 let us have an understanding and a settlement.^ 
 
MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK, 
 
 252 
 
 But shcj monsieur, answered him never a word, 
 only we heard her give a low moan as if in pain, 
 and a sound as though she had sunk down upon 
 the floor. And then monsieur came out of the 
 room and bade Madame Pierrot go to the young 
 lady, and we went in and found her lying on the 
 floor like one dead. 
 
 “ We sent for the doctor, monsieur, and he 
 shook his head, and asked if madame had not 
 just had a great shock. He told us that she 
 would probably be ill a long time ; and, when I 
 heard that, I ran quickly and told our Reverend 
 Mother all the circumstances, and she returned with 
 me, and we had the poor young lady removed to 
 the convent, so that she might be quieter than 
 she could have been at the ^ Three Swans.^ 
 And there, monsieur, she has lain ever, since, and 
 consciousness has not yet returned to her, though 
 this is the sixth day. 
 
 As for monsieur, no one in Fontrenelle has 
 seen him since. He did not return to the hotel, 
 
A LETTER FROM FRANCE. 
 
 253 
 
 and he has sent no word. Only we hear that 
 one answering his description left Villefranche 
 for the south on the evening of the sad day, 
 and we fancy him to have been the missing 
 one. 
 
 And now, monsieur, if you are a relation or 
 friend of this unhappy young lady’s, will you 
 not come to her? Alas! it is very probable 
 that she will die, for Dr. Cherbuliez looks more 
 grave each time he comes to visit her. But, think, 
 monsieur, if she should return to consciousness 
 for a few moments, how pleasing to her to find 
 one at her bedside whom she has known in 
 happier days ! Oh, monsieur, if you could but 
 see her, as I see her now, looking so fair and 
 fragile, your heart would indeed be melted. 
 Perhaps, monsieur, I am addressing one whom 
 this unfortunate one has wronged ? If it be so, 
 forgive her, for His sake who died for all of us 
 poor sinners. And remember, monsieur, that 
 if she has sinned she has also suffered, and that 
 
254 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 for her as for Mary Magdalene our good Lord 
 has mercy and compassion. 
 
 “ Receive, Monsieur, etc., 
 
 “ Sister Gudule, 
 
 Of the Cross and Passion. 
 
 The good nun’s letter dropped at my feet, 
 and if she had let a tear fall on it while she wrote, 
 I too had added to the tear-stains while I read. 
 Poor Maggie ! Poor little primrose, torn and 
 broken by the cruel winds of life ! Yes, I would 
 go to her. If she was going to die she should 
 see an old friend^s face by her bedside. I would 
 go at once. And woe be to Frank Lestrange if 
 he crossed my path. 
 
 I sprang up intent on packing a bag and 
 hurrying away by the night mail to Paris. As 
 my hand was on the door I heard a footstep in 
 the hall whose sound sent the blood throbbing 
 to my heart. I opened the door and saw Tom 
 Christmas. 
 
A LETTER FROM FRANCE. 
 
 255 
 
 He looked older, his hair was shot with gray, 
 and he had grown a beard. But it was the same 
 kind smile, the same warm clasp of the hand, 
 the same affectionate tone. Alas ! what sorrow 
 he had come home to ! 
 
 I led him to a chair, and not trusting myself 
 to speak, put the nun’s letter into his hands and 
 then turned away while he read it. It seemed 
 a long time before he folded it up and spoke. 
 
 You were going to her, Len ? ” 
 
 Yes, Tom.” 
 
 He picked up the bag which he laid down 
 when he entered, and buttoned his coat again. 
 
 Come,” he said, let us go.” And we left 
 the house together. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 OUR LADY OF MERCY. 
 
 We travelled all that night and all next day^ 
 and passed a considerable portion of the next 
 night in waiting at a small junction between 
 Paris and Villefranche. And all through the 
 long, weary hours Tom Christmas spoke little. 
 He sat silent and solitary in the corner of the 
 carriage, or paced up and down the various 
 platforms. Never once did he close his eyes 
 in sleep. And I began to watch him closely 
 at last, fearful lest his reason should give way 
 under the strain which those terrible hours were 
 putting upon it. I tried to induce him to talk ; 
 but my endeavours were all in vain. He sat 
 looking straight before him with eyes that noted 
 
OUR LADY OF MERCY. 
 
 257 
 
 nothing of the scenery through which we were 
 passing. And sometimes he took the nun's letter 
 from his pocket and read it through again. And 
 when he did that^ there was an expression in his 
 eyes which was terrible to see. 
 
 Villefranche at last; in the early morning sun- 
 light. How far away was Fontrenelle } Fontre- 
 nelle was three leagues. Did monsieur desire to 
 go there with his friend } Ah; then, monsieur 
 must hire a conveyance, of which they had the 
 most noble at the “Rayon d’Or" in the square, 
 with the most reasonable of charges and atten- 
 tive of drivers. So we proceeded to the posting 
 establishment and hired a carriage; and were 
 quickly bowling along the highway, bloused and 
 sabotted peasants peeping over the hedges at us 
 as we sped along. And at last the driver cried 
 to me to behold; and I looked, and saw a little 
 white-walled village nestling in the valley beneath 
 us. Ten minutes more, and we were in its midst. 
 Yes, here was the “Three Swans," and that must 
 
 s 
 
258 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 be Madame Pierrot standing in the old-fashioned 
 doorway. The driver would have stopped here, 
 but Tom told him to drive onward ; and he 
 whipped up his horses, and drove us to the outer 
 gate of the Convent of Our Lady of Mercy. It 
 was a plain, gray-walled building, shut in by trees 
 and shrubs, and with the little village church 
 peeping through a grove of trees on the further 
 side. A peaceful place to any one, but especially 
 so to us, who still heard the great world^s noise 
 ringing in our ears. 
 
 An old woman, clothed in a rough brown 
 habit, came to the outer gate, and looked through 
 a little wicket at us. I told her that we wished 
 to see Sister Gudule or the Reverend Mother, 
 on hearing which she hobbled away, and left us 
 waiting outside. There we stood for five minutes, 
 watching the carriage go slowly down the road 
 to the inn, and being stared at by a group of 
 tiny peasant children who had gathered round 
 to examine us. Then came steps across the 
 
OUR LADY OF MERCY, 
 
 259 
 
 flagged courtyard inside — firmer, more decisive 
 steps — not those of the old woman who had 
 peered at us through the wicket. There is a 
 jingling of keys, a drawing of bolts ; the door 
 opens, and a buxom, pleasant - faced woman 
 motions us to enter, and points us to a door 
 across the courtyard, where stands a figure in 
 the black garments of a nun. This is Sister 
 Gudule. She is tall, and of intelligent counte- 
 nance, and there are traces of tears on her pale 
 face. She comes a step forward to meet us, 
 and we raise our hats to her. 
 
 ‘‘ I am Leonard Tempest, madame.’' 
 
 “Welcome, monsieur, and a thousand thanks 
 for your so-speedy answer to my letter. Come 
 this way; indeed, I am glad to see you."^^ 
 
 She led us along a little corridor, and into 
 a small reception-room where there were two or 
 three chairs, and some religious pictures, and a 
 crucifix, and one or two books. She motions us 
 to be seated, and closes the door. 
 
26 o 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^ S CLERK, 
 
 ‘‘ Madame, we are very anxious, very anxious 
 indeed. We have travelled day and night to get 
 here/^ 
 
 ^^You are the brothers of madame, then, 
 monsieur ? ” 
 
 “We have been more than brothers, madame. 
 This gentleman was to have married her — once. 
 The man who deceived her was his friend.^^ 
 
 The nun turned her soft eyes on Tom Christ- 
 mas with compassionate interest. She saw the 
 trouble in his face. 
 
 ^^Tell me how she is,^^ he said. ^^Tell me 
 everything.*' 
 
 “ Monsieur, we must all die. Our patient is 
 with God.^* 
 
 “Dead.?" 
 
 “ She died yesterday, monsieur. It was at noon,” 
 
 He just covered his face with his hands for 
 an instant, and then he sat down. I went and 
 stood by him, and took his hand in mine, and 
 said nothing; but I knew he would understand. 
 
OUR LADY OF MERCY. 
 
 261 
 
 was at noon/^ said Sister Gudule. 
 knew it was coming, for Dr. Cherbuliez had told 
 us that she could not live. She was conscious 
 before the end came, and I told her that I had 
 written to you, Monsieur Tempest. She smiled 
 and said that you would come, she knew you 
 would ; and if she was dead, I was to tell you 
 that she asked every one to forgive her, and 
 that she hoped you would all forget her, and 
 be as happy as in the old days. And she asked 
 me, monsieur, to tell you that she had been 
 justly punished for her wicked treatment of a 
 good man, whose forgiveness she implored. And 
 soon after that, monsieur, she kissed me, and 
 thanked me for the little I had been privileged 
 to do for her, and said she would go to sleep. 
 And when I next looked at her, monsieur, she 
 was dead.^^ 
 
 The good Sister was weeping as she concluded, 
 and more than one tear had fallen from my own 
 eyes while she spoke. But Tom Christmas sat 
 
262 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 dry-eyed, with that terrible expression still on 
 his face. 
 
 ^^You must be fatigued and weary/^ said 
 Sister Gudule presently. Let me offer you 
 some refreshment, gentlemen.^^ 
 
 We are very tired/^ I replied ; but I do 
 not think we could eat just now. Can we not 
 see her, madame.^^^ 
 
 I knew that Tom would like to see the poor 
 dead girl again. And as all power of speech 
 seemed to have left him, I was obliged to speak 
 for him. He pressed my hand when I spoke, 
 and looked eagerly at the nun. 
 
 But certainly,” said Sister Gudule. Shall 
 it be now, monsieur } Then this way.^^ 
 
 We followed her along the corridor. She 
 unlocked a door at the extreme end, and laid 
 her hand on a heavy curtain which hung inside. 
 But before she could draw it aside and enter, 
 Tom Christmas spoke : 
 
 ^^Stay,” he said. ^^Only myself at first. I 
 
 must be alone.^’ 
 
OUR LADY OF MERCY, 
 
 263 
 
 She held the curtain back and let him enter, 
 looking at him the while with compassionate eyes. 
 Then she softly closed the door and retired to 
 a little recess along the corridor where she stood 
 with clasped hands, praying, no doubt, as women 
 will, for the man who seemed so sorely stricken. 
 It seemed an age to me, the half-hour that Tom 
 spent in that little room. I paced up and down 
 the corridor and wondered if he would never 
 come. I could hear no sound, though I listened 
 anxiously at the door. My own nerves had 
 become so excited that I could almost fancy the 
 scene inside. 
 
 At last he came. The Sister and I looked 
 at him, though it cost us both an effort to do so, 
 for his grief seemed almost sacred. But when 
 I saw his face, I saw that the bitterness of his 
 sorrow was over. His eyes were still dry and 
 bright, and there was that fixed look of deter- 
 mination upon his face which had made me so 
 uneasy. But in spite of that he looked better. 
 
264 
 
 MR, SPIVEY'S CLERK. 
 
 and his voice had got back some of its old ring 
 when he spoke. 
 
 Go in, Len,” he said, “ go in, and say good- 
 bye to Maggie. You have never seen her look 
 so beautiful as she does now.'^ 
 
 I went in. Sister Gudule following me. I 
 had never been in a death-chamber before, and I 
 was filled with many conflicting thoughts as I 
 lifted the heavy curtain aside and passed into 
 the mysterious presence. 
 
 I raised my head. Yes, there she lay, still, 
 motionless, without a breath. But was this 
 death Nay, she had fallen in a quiet sleep, 
 and would presently wake, and the sweet smile 
 which even now lingered on her lips would 
 deepen as she saw us watching her. Oh, not 
 death, not death — for death is terrible, and this 
 had nothing terrible in it ! 
 
 No, she had never seemed so beautiful as 
 now. All care and trouble had gone from the 
 dead face, and only peace remained. It seemed 
 
OUR LADY OF MERCY, 
 
 265 
 
 as if some vision of peace had dawned on her 
 before the end came, and left its impress on the 
 calm forehead and smiling lips. Her beautiful 
 brown hair fell curling over her shoulders ; her 
 hands were clasped across the still bosom. There 
 were flowers everywhere, flowers which had not 
 yet blossomed in our cold England, but were 
 smiling in every garden of this sunny France. 
 
 And some kind hand had laid at her feet 
 a bunch of golden primroses. 
 
 As I stood there and looked at her, and 
 noted the simple contents of the little room, the 
 snowy linen, the old-fashioned furniture, the 
 crucifix and pictures hanging above the bed, my 
 mind went back to the days when we had first 
 known her. We had always loved her, she was 
 so sweet, and gentle, and kind. I thought of 
 the days when we all used to walk into the City 
 together, she pleased to hear Tom Christmas 
 talk, and looking at him with love beaming from 
 her brown eyes. I thought of the quiet evenings 
 
266 
 
 MR. SPIVEY’S CLERK. 
 
 when she used to sing to us. In days to 
 come we should think of them and long, how 
 ardently and unavailingly, for their return. Yes, 
 nothing could be again that had been. She was 
 dead. 
 
 “ Is she not beautiful, monsieur ? Somehow, 
 I cannot think her dead. I have stolen in here 
 so often to-day to look at her. Ah, what a great 
 sorrow for him outside there ! 
 
 I bent my head ; speak I could not in that 
 little room. It seemed to me as if we were, for 
 the moment, in another world. 
 
 We went out again and joined Tom Christmas, 
 and I pressed his hand in mine, and in that hand- 
 clasp we once more strengthened a friendship 
 which nothing can ever break. 
 
 Monsieur,^^ said Sister Gudule, looking 
 diffidently at me, ‘‘we have thought that she 
 might lie in our little graveyard outside here. 
 It is a pretty place, monsieur. There are flowers, 
 and trees, and a fountain, and in summer the 
 
OUR LADY OF MERCY. 
 
 267 
 
 nightingales sing there every evening. But if 
 
 you wish otherwise, monsieur 
 
 No/^ said Tom Christmas, ^Met her be buried 
 here where she has found such good friends. May 
 we see the place } 
 
 She took us out into the tiny cemetery. It 
 was, indeed, an ideal resting-place. Flowers grew 
 on every side, and the trees were in full leaf. 
 They had already prepared a grave under the 
 shadow of an old yew-tree, and the same hands 
 which had decked the room with flowers, had 
 lined the grave with moss and roses. 
 
 “ We had arranged for the burial to take place 
 this evening,’' said the Sister. “ The Cure was to 
 come after vespers, monsieur. But now we will 
 do what monsieur pleases. 
 
 We told her that everything she proposed 
 was good to us, and that we were only too 
 anxious to show our gratitude for the good 
 Sister’s kindness. And then, promising to return 
 in the evening, I took Tom away to the little 
 
268 
 
 MR. SPIVEY’S CLERK. 
 
 inn and succeeded in making him eat some food, 
 and after that I got him to sleep. And he slept 
 soundly^ for he had not closed his eyes since 
 leaving London. 
 
 It was six o^clock when we went back to the 
 convent, and the bells of the little church and 
 the convent chapel were ringing the Angelus. 
 Sister Gudule again received us. 
 
 “ You would like to see her again, gentlemen } 
 We have carried her into the chapel and there 
 is no one there.^^ 
 
 We followed her along the quiet corridors 
 into the little chapel. The altar was hung with 
 black and lighted with many candles, and before 
 it, on a bier, she lay with the flowers still clustered 
 about her. The nun turned back the covering 
 from the quiet face. Tom Christmas stooped 
 down and kissed the calm forehead. 
 
 ‘‘ Good-bye, my dear,^’ he said, just as if she had 
 been alive, and he bidding her farewell for an hour 
 or a day. “ Kiss her, Len. She loved you, too.^^ 
 
OUR LADY OF MERCY. 269 
 
 I bent my head and kissed her^ and then for 
 the first time recognised that she was really dead, 
 and that we should never see her or speak to 
 her again. I took Tom^s arm and we went and 
 sat down in a remote corner of the chapel, and 
 presently two more nuns came in and put the 
 lid on the simple coffin, and placed a large pall 
 over it. And then the whole of the community 
 entered two and two, and the Superior last of all, 
 and they sang the solemn office for the dead, 
 and we two sat and listened to the sweet voices 
 and felt comforted. 
 
 And then, when the last notes had died away, 
 four nuns took up the bier and went out, the 
 others following, and Tom Christmas and I 
 walking behind them. And outside the chapel 
 we were met by the old priest and two boys, and 
 they went before the bier with candle, and incense, 
 and holy water, reciting the Psalms in the holy 
 Latin tongue. And there in the little convent 
 cemetery they laid her in the flower-lined grave, 
 
270 
 
 MR. SPIVEY CLERK. 
 
 and heaped more flowers upon her. And we 
 stood by, the old white-haired priest and two little 
 peasant lads, the nuns in their long black gowns, 
 and we two who had loved her so deeply, and had 
 never thought that her life would be so short. 
 
 And all the time that the Cure was reading 
 the service, a thrush was singing loudly in the 
 yew-tree above. 
 
 Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and 
 let light perpetual shine upon her ! ” said the old 
 man. 
 
 And the boys responded softly ‘‘ Amen ! 
 
 One last look at the quiet grave. Ay, rest 
 in peace, our little Primrose ! Thou wert frail 
 and easily tempted, but here are two hearts that 
 will always love thee and believe thee pure as 
 the flowers which cover all that is left of thee on 
 earth ! 
 
 We have lingered awhile in the little cemetery, 
 we have said good-bye to the kind-hearted Sister- 
 
OUR LADY OF MERCY. 
 
 271 
 
 hood^ and have promised to visit them again and 
 see the flowers growing over Maggie^s grave; and 
 now we are standing at the door of the convent, 
 and Sister Gudule has come across the court- 
 yard to open the outer door. She touches me 
 lightly on the sleeve and shows me two little 
 packets. 
 
 I thought that monsieur and his friend would 
 perhaps like these/^ she says, diffidently. ‘‘ She 
 had such beautiful hair, monsieur, and I — I cut 
 these two locks from it this afternoon. 
 
 We are outside in the dusky road, with two or 
 three stars glimmering high above our heads and a 
 faint blush in the west where the sun set an hour 
 ago. We do not speak for a long time ; our minds 
 are too full of what we have seen. A bird or two 
 still twitter in the hedgerows, and now and then 
 a peasant clatters by in his wooden shoes^and bids 
 us good-night. All nature is full of a great 
 benediction. 
 
 Len, I came here with terrible thoughts in 
 
272 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 my heart ! When I heard she was dead I said to 
 myself that I would seek him out and kill him as 
 he killed her. I vowed that I would hunt him 
 down wherever he might hide, and kill him as 
 cruelly as ever man was killed. I felt that no 
 agony, no pain could punish him sufficiently. I 
 longed for the power of God, so that I might have 
 him placed within my grasp and torture him and 
 laugh at his sufferings and make death a welcome 
 thing to him ! 
 
 And then, Len, I went in alone and saw her. 
 Oh, did she ever look so beautiful as she did then ? 
 I stood there and spoke softly to her, and she 
 could not answer, and I bent down and kissed the 
 cold lips that seemed still to smile, and I put my 
 hand on her hand — the hand that ought to have 
 been mine. And I knelt down by her and 
 watched her just as if she had been asleep, and 
 somehow the hard, terrible feelings went away 
 from my heart. After all, Len, she — she loved 
 him. Let that save him. Unless he is some devil 
 
OUR LADY OF MERCY, 
 
 273 
 
 let loose to prey on men, his own heart will punish 
 him enough. 
 
 Only, Len, never speak of him to me again ! 
 
 We reached the Three Swans and went 
 into our room. Going outside to give some orders 
 about our carriage, I saw the landlord, Master 
 Pierrot, in a state of great excitement. Seeing me 
 he began to nod and wink in a mysterious manner, 
 and led the way into a retired corner of the 
 courtyard. 
 
 He has been here, to-night, monsieur ! 
 
 Who.?" 
 
 ^^Ah, the vile libertine! Ah, the heartless 
 roue I Ah, the devil incarnate I Yes, monsieur, 
 the betrayer of that angel whom you have buried 
 to-night. He walked in here but ten minutes 
 after you had gone to the convent, monsieur. 
 ‘Where is madame?’ he asks. My wife went 
 to him. ‘Madame,^ says she, H’s in Heaven, 
 villain. They inter her to-night.^ Monsieur, 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 he staggered, and went pale. Ah, my little wife 
 was bitter with him, I promise you. She spared 
 him nothing. She told him all; how the poor 
 lady died, and of your and your friend^s arrival, 
 monsieur. And then she told him to leave an 
 honest man^s house, monsieur, unless he wished 
 a ducking in the horse-trough. And, oh, monsieur, 
 I fear it was impolitic, but Jacques Magnier, the 
 smith, that great fellow whom you saw to-day, 
 was standing by, and he shouted that we would 
 have no roues here, and smote the man across 
 the face, monsieur, a terrible blow, for Jacques 
 can knock down an ox. And I thought he had 
 killed him, for there was much blood, and he 
 fell. But presently he rose, and walked out, and 
 went down the road, and disappeared.^^ 
 
 Say nothing of it to my friend inside. 
 Monsieur Pierrot.^^ 
 
 Monsieur may rely on my discretion. But, 
 oh, if monsieur could but have seen Jacques 
 strike him ! 
 
OUR LADY OF MERCY. 
 
 275 
 
 My story is finished. It is ten years now 
 since Maggie died ; and every spring I have gone 
 to Fontrenelle with Tom Christmas, and looked 
 at her grave in the little convent cemetery. There 
 is a dainty slab of marble above it, and her name 
 cut upon the stone, and some words of Scripture. 
 It is always bright with flowers, and Sister Gudule 
 tells us that the thrushes sing in the yew-tree 
 all day long. They are always glad to see us 
 at the little convent, and there are several objects 
 in the tiny chapel which Tom Christmas has sent 
 to them from time to time. 
 
 And Tom is still toiling on at Spivey^s. 
 Mr. Spivey has prospered more and more, and 
 has now a large establishment, and Tom Christmas 
 is his head clerk, and has a salary which would 
 be a small one in some similar places, but is a 
 large one for Spivey. He is content and happy, 
 and never so much so as when he comes to see 
 me, and sits by my domestic fireside, and plays 
 with my children. 
 
276 
 
 MR, SPIVEY^S CLERK, 
 
 Let me close with three pictures. 
 
 The first is a large theatre. The house is 
 packed from floor to ceiling, there is not a seat 
 to be had ; for it is the first night of a new play 
 by that popular author and dramatist, Mr. Rupert 
 Tremayne, better known to his large and brilliant 
 circle of friends as Frank Lestrange. Few men 
 have had such a successful career. He is said 
 to earn large sums ; he has had a fortune and 
 an estate left him ; he is immensely popular with 
 the higher classes of society^ and in great favour 
 with Royalty itself. He is a Member of Parlia- 
 ment, and will probably get a peerage; and he has 
 lately married the only daughter of Sir Percival 
 Gresham, the great banker^ who is said to have 
 given his child half- a -million as a marriage 
 portion. Such is the gossip of the knowing 
 ones who have flocked together to-night to 
 see his latest success. For it is a success. 
 Every act goes well^ every scene and situation 
 tells. The subject is an every-day one. There 
 
OUR LADY OF MERCY. 
 
 277 
 
 is a villain who wrongs a woman, and there is 
 a good young man who suffers for her. And in 
 the play the villain prospers for a time ; but 
 Nemesis lights upon him at last, and Vice is 
 punished while Virtue is rewarded. Ah, but is 
 it always so ? You, Frank Lestrange, stand- 
 ing before the curtain, with the plaudits of the 
 audience ringing in your ears, know that it is 
 not ; for you are not punished yet. 
 
 And the second is the great drawing-room at 
 Grandchester Place, where sits Mrs. Dumbury, 
 who is one of the greatest and most influential 
 ladies in England, and feared and flattered by 
 every parson in her husband^s diocese. She has 
 been to Court, she has heard the Bishop speak 
 in the Lords, she is angling for the next Arch- 
 bishopric, and she has forgotten her mother, who 
 is dead, and her brother, who is only a poor, 
 hardworking clerk. 
 
 And the third } It is the little back room in 
 the Canonbury Square house, and Tom Christ- 
 
278 
 
 MR. SPIVEY^ S CLERK. 
 
 mas sits alone by the fire. His hair is gray, 
 there are many deep lines on his brow ; but the 
 eyes are kind, and patient, and true as ever. 
 He has been reading, but he has laid his book 
 aside, and is looking at a portrait which stands 
 in a brass frame on his mantelpiece. And he 
 sighs and looks in the fire again, and perhaps 
 sees the dead girl^s face there. 
 
 Have courage, Tom Christmas ! The roue 
 and the Pharisee have had their reward in this 
 present world. Does no voice speak to thee 
 sometimes of a world beyond the veil, where that 
 great love of thine shall be more than satisfied } 
 
 THE END. 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. 
 

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